#if someone had. like. sat down with me and helped me even just. find a network that could help me more often then they could.

[wooyoungiewritings]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (Part 1)

Summary: Your husband of 8 years suggests an open marriage, and while he's out finding a new girlfriend, you feel like it's wrong to even glance in another man's direction. But it all changes when you download Tinder and match with Seonghwa. The man who's about to turn your world upside down. And he even happens to be your husband's boss.

Word count: 11.7K

Genre: Fluff, Rich Seonghwa, some angst, slow burn, a little smut (something almost happens, that's all I'm saying)

warnings: Seonghwa with reader (fem pronouns), crying, betrayal, dry-humping, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Seonghwa in any way.

It’s been four months. Four months since you had the conversation with your husband about having an open marriage, because he wanted to try something new. The conversation is still taking up space in your mind like it was yesterday he sat you down on the couch in the house you share.

“Honey, you know I still love you,” He kept repeating after saying the possibly most shocking things you’ve ever heard. “I’m just afraid we’ll get tired of each other if we don’t try this.. We promised to be together forever, but aren’t you wondering what else is waiting for you out in the world?”

“No,” Is all you could say. A million questions run through your mind as he sits in front of you, kneeled down on his knee with your hands in his as you sit on the couch. “I married you because I want to be with you. And only you.” Your voice is shaky, trying to hold back the tears.

He notices the way you react and squeezes your hands in his.

“And I want to be with you, baby. I wanna be with you for the rest of my life, which is why I feel like this is the best we can do for now.” He tried explaining, but it didn’t help. 

“I just don’t understand? Are you not happy with me? Am I not satisfying you enough? Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?” The questions fly out of your mouth before you’re able to hold back. He quickly shakes his head, holding your hands even tighter. 

“No, no not at all. Look, I was just thinking we could do this for a year, maybe? A year where we are still married, but see other people in the meantime. When the year ends, we’ll be back to just us, and because we promised to stay together for the rest of our lives, a year won’t seem as much. This will be the only time we get to see other people for the rest of our lives, baby. It’s not a bad thing, it's only gonna strengthen our marriage in the end.” 

For some twisted reason, you saw his point. If you agreed to this, he would have a year to be with whoever he wanted, to get everything out of his system. So you agreed. You told him you agreed to do this for a year, but there had to be rules.

You had to tell the other person when you started seeing someone. No sleeping with a bunch of people, you have to tell the other person who you’re sleeping with (mostly for safety reasons). And NO one is allowed into the bedroom besides husband and wife.

And so this has been going on for four months now, and your husband is out with his girlfriend. Since this wasn’t against your deal, you couldn’t say much against it, so you just nodded and pretended to be okay. He started seeing her a week after the deal was made, a woman from his office, and the news broke your heart. He was barely home anymore, spending all of his time at her place.

The pain of hearing your husband of 8 years loving someone else was unbearable, and yet you couldn’t even get yourself to see someone else. It felt so wrong. 

It was a friday night and you’re sitting on your couch in your shared home, and your husband just left to have a weekend getaway with his girlfriend. You’re staring at the TV that has been going for hours with some bad reality TV-show, when you finally realize how sick you are of sitting home alone while your husband is out. You grab your phone and without thinking too much, you download Tinder. 

It wasn’t an app you’ve ever tried before, since your husband and you have been dating since you were teens and got married at an early age. But you quickly figured out the app and set up your profile. 

Swiping left and right on guys was more fun than you imagined, getting a few matches here and there. There were all different types of profiles on this app. Guys looking for serious relationships, guys looking for hookups, couples looking for a woman to add to their threesome. Men who opened with “hey sexy” or bios that included “I’m not looking for anything serious unless it’s with Sabrina Carpenter.”

So when his profile popped up, you hesitated.

His picture captures you immediately, and you’re taken back with his beauty. He was… breathtaking. But not in that overly filtered, red flag kind of way. There was warmth in his eyes, even in photos. A calm kind of confidence. One picture had him sitting at a piano, another laughing in the passenger seat of a car, sunlight washing over his face like it knew exactly where to land.

No shirtless mirror pics. No awkward drunk group-pictures. No fish.

“Park Seonghwa.” You read his name out loud. His bio was short. “Looking for something good. And maybe someone to watch bad TV with.”

You stared at his profile for a full two minutes before swiping right, mostly convinced it wouldn’t be a match anyway.

But then-

It’s a match!

Suddenly your heart starts to beat faster and you sit up straight on the couch while looking at your phone.

Did you just match him? Probably the most handsome man you’ve ever seen?

Your stomach did a weird little flip. You waited. Twenty minutes. An hour. Maybe he wasn’t the type to message first. Maybe he matched by accident. Or maybe-...

Park Seonghwa Are you watching something awful right now? Be honest.

You look at your screen for a few seconds before reacting. A smile spreads across your lips as you open his message and type back.

Me Love Mansion: Season 6. There’s a guy crying because no one likes his magic tricks.

You quickly see the dots that indicate he’s typing.

Park Seonghwa That sounds deeply tragic. And also like something I’d binge while pretending I hate it

Me You’re one of those people? “This show is terrible” but suddenly you’ve watched 8 episodes and you know everyone’s star sign.

While you wait for his answer, you enter his profile once again. You can’t help looking at his pictures, mesmerized by how beautiful this man is. You almost get a feeling of recognition while looking at him, like you’ve seen him on a poster or in an ad or something. His profile doesn’t inform about his occupation, but you’re sure he must be showing that face off somewhere. 

A new message pops up.

Park Seonghwa: I have a spreadsheet

You laughed out loud for the first time that night.

You: So what’s your favorite actually-good movie then?

Park Seonghwa: You’re asking a very serious question to someone who owns a full set of replica lightsabers

You: Oh, so you’re very serious about it

Park Seonghwa: Yes. Star Wars. All of it. Even the prequels. Especially the prequels. I said what I said

I’m at my third Star Wars movie of the day. The movies are over two hours each, so you can imagine how eventful my day is so far

You can’t help but smile while you type out your answer. 

Me As a person who doesn’t know much about the franchise, I can’t tell you whether I’m impressed or slightly worried. Maybe I should put on a Star Wars movie and give it a chance?

An answer ticks in a few seconds later.

Park Seonghwa If you do, watch “The Last Jedi”. I just started mine, we can watch it together but separately

You don’t know how a guy you’re only a few messages deep with has you convinced this is the best way to spend your night. You decide to play the movie and message him you’re watching it too. This is the most action you’ve gotten in months, but somehow it's the perfect way to start this journey of an open-relationship. 

Maybe.

The movie begins and Seonghwa introduces some of the characters as they show up on screen. You find yourself laughing at his messages, smiling and waiting for him to text you the next thing. A feeling you haven’t felt in years, despite being married to who you’re convinced is the love of your life. But you can already tell that Seonghwa is a completely different type of guy, and for once, you actually don’t feel alone in the house you share with your husband. 

The movie ends and you’re hundreds of messages deep.

Park Seonghwa Now that we’ve concluded that “The Last Jedi” is part of an amazing franchise but not at all the best movie, I wanna admit that I’ve never looked so much at my phone during a Star Wars movie. I feel like I’m cheating on my favorite series

The text makes you giggle and you’re quick to type your answer.

Me Despite enjoying the movie, I must admit that I didn’t see half of it because I was focused on my phone. But I’ll gladly give Star Wars another chance someday

You see the text bubble appear and then go away a few times, making you curious about what he’s about to say. 

Seonghwa: We could talk about the movie over dinner tomorrow?

You stare at your screen for what feels like forever, feeling like a teenager receiving a text from her crush. This overwhelming feeling Seonghwa leaves you is something completely new, but despite it being a new and slightly scary feeling, you can’t help but feel excited. And so your fingers start typing.

Me I’d love to! After arranging your upcoming date with Seonghwa, you decide to head to bed. You’re meeting him at a restaurant in the city tomorrow, Saturday. He offered to pick you up, but you’ve seen too many horror movies to give your address to a stranger before meeting them, so you came up with an excuse to meet him there. 

You get comfortable in bed before opening his profile once again to look at his pictures.

This man… wow.

But just like before, a feeling of recognition hits you and you study his pictures a bit more. You’re sure you would remember him if you had met him, because who would forget a face like that? But it doesn’t ring a bell.. 

You open a new tab on your phone and search for his name. Perhaps he has been in a show you’ve seen on tv, maybe on a poster somewhere. There’s no way this man isn’t showing off his looks somehow. 

His name pops up on your screen.

A gasp leaves your lips and you stare at him in awe. 

It can’t be him! No no no no no… 

The name, the face, him in a suit. Everything washes over you. You throw your phone away from you and bury your face in your pillow. 

In your mind, you’re getting transported to a specific night, one year ago. Your husband has your arm in his and you’re walking side by side in your finest attire. You’re laughing at something your husband's co-worker said, when you sense a powerful presence enter the circle at the company dinner at your husband’s job.

“Oh, I want to introduce you to someone,” Your husband says as he turns you towards the newest member of the group. “My boss, Park Seonghwa.”

You stare up at him, Seonghwa slightly taller than your husband. His gaze adverts to you as he reaches out his hand. But as you give him your hand, he doesn’t do a normal handshake. He gently takes your hand in his and sends you a warm smile. Something in his eyes makes you lose all concentration, as you’re lost in his beauty. 

And then it all made sense. You’ve thought these exact thoughts before. A year ago at the company dinner and again tonight. 

Everything in your mind is going 100 m/ph and you suddenly feel confused. Does he know you’re married to his employee? Does he remember you? You’re pretty sure he doesn’t, or else he would have said something. And now you’ve arranged a date with him. 

You grab your phone again, considering if you should cancel the dinner, but something in you stops that from happening. The words don't appear in your head when you try to get out of the situation, so you delete the nonsense you’ve written so far, and decide to take things as they come. You place your phone on your night stand and get comfortable under the covers, trying your best to fall asleep.

On a couch across town, Seonghwa is still looking at his phone, looking at the text-bubbles come and go. When it doesn’t result in a text from the woman he has been texting all night, he goes to look at your profile for the 29th time tonight. 

He didn’t expect much from Tinder.

Honestly, it had been a joke. A dare, technically. His assistant downloaded it on his phone one night after too many glasses of wine at a company dinner and said, “You need to date someone who doesn’t know what your net worth is.”

So fine. He swiped. Occasionally. Mostly out of boredom, sometimes out of curiosity. Everyone started blending together. Bios full of yoga poses, forced “entrepreneur” energy, one woman who said she manifested her future husband every morning through herbal tea and moon rituals.

But then he saw you.

He found himself leaning back against the cushions, phone in hand, grinning like an idiot as your replies came in. You weren't trying to be impressive. You were just herself. And that was more magnetic than anything he’d seen in months. He didn’t even realize he’d been texting for two straight hours until his phone buzzed with a calendar notification:

Dinner with Executive Team – 9 AM monday.

He groaned. Whatever. He’d been in back-to-back meetings all week. He could allow himself one night to just… feel normal. Human.

“What’s a woman like you doing here?” he’s asking himself with a smirk, scrolling through your pictures. 

He had planned to go to bed early, have a peaceful night and get up early tomorrow, but he’s been too fascinated by the woman on the other side of the app. The tug on his lips doesn’t go away as he gets up from the couch and decides to head to bed, already accepting that he won’t get up early tomorrow. 

But one thing is for sure.

He’s very satisfied with the way his night went.

***

Saturday arrives, and you find yourself in front of the restaurant you agreed to meet Seonghwa at. You haven’t had any contact since you arranged the date, besides the check-in he made earlier today to ask if you were still down for dinner.

You feel the nerves in your body when you open the door, not having felt this feeling since you started dating your husband. The restaurant is in an area of town you usually didn’t visit - it is more expensive than you are used to. But not spending money on dates with your husband, and only cooking food for one for the past four months has resulted in you having a bit more money than you usually do, so you could go big for one night and spend some money on a good restaurant. 

The restaurant has a dark design with marble and wooden interior. The light is dimmed and you notice couples occupying tables throughout the restaurant. 

This is actually happening. You are going on a date with him.

With Seonghwa. 

It suddenly hit you and once again, you starting to doubt if this was a good idea. You have come to the point where you wanted to date, but dating your husband’s boss seems like the next level. Will your husband be okay with this? Will Seonghwa be okay with this?

Suddenly feeling like your legs are about to give out, you turn around to head outside but you are instead met with a human wall. A set of hands grab your waist to steady you, making sure you won’t fall by the sudden collision. 

“Running away already?” The voice asks, darker than you remember but also soft with a small tease. You look up to see Seonghwa’s soft eyes, slightly covered by some dark pieces of hair. Being a few inches from his face, you can’t help but freeze to study how absolutely amazing he looks up close. 

His almost black eyes, bushy brows, how his upper lip looks slightly bigger than the other, the most perfect nose you’ve ever seen.. Everything is too perfect, you don't know how to react. 

The sudden realization that his hands are on your waist wakes you up, and you stand back up straight to take a step away from him and his undeniably stunning face. 

“Uhm, no I.. I mean, I- no. I didn’t..” Your struggle with words makes him chuckle and he seems to brush off your awkward first meeting quicker than you. 

“How about we find our table?” He asks with a smile, placing his hand on your back to lead you further into the restaurant. 

“Mh-hmm.” Is all you manage to get out, wanting to kick yourself in the head for almost walking out on this man. 

The restaurant is a rooftop spot. Quiet, upscale, city lights spilling in through the glass walls. A jazz trio played somewhere in the background, subtle and elegant. The staff seem to know him, your table is ready immediately, tucked in a quiet corner with a view of the city lights. He orders a bottle of wine without looking at the menu, his tone smooth and confident, and then turn all his attention to you.

“Tell me something,” he says, resting his chin on his hand, “How have you lived your entire life and last night was the first time you watched a Star Wars movie?”

You blink at him. “You start with the hard questions?”

He smile. “I like to skip the small talk.”

You giggle. And from there, the conversation goes rather smoothly. Then easier as the wine warms your chest and his eyes never stop watching you like you were the most interesting person in the world. He asks thoughtful questions. He doesn’t talk about himself unless you ask. And when you do, he’s vague, says he works in business, likes privacy, that his life isn’t all that exciting.

Which is a lie, you are sure.

This man radiates luxury. His watch alone could pay for your college loans, and he never once checked it. And then somewhere between the wine and the main course, it starts to gnaw at you. The weight of the secret you’re keeping. Or at least… the one you thought is yours alone.

You clear your throat, reaching for your glass again even though you didn’t really want another sip.

“I should tell you something.”

He tilts his head. “Are you okay?” he senses the way your behavior changes and tries meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, too nervous to break the truth that you know this man in front of you. “Or.. I don’t know, no, yes-no..” Your heart is beating fast. “Look, I’m sorry, but I feel like I have to be honest with you. I don’t want you to waste your time sitting here, and if you don’t feel comfortable after receiving this information I totally understand, so if you’re freaked out we can pretend this never happened and I won’t-..”

“Look,” Seonghwa places his hand over yours, totally calm, meeting your eyes. “Did you kill someone?”

“No!” You try keeping your voice down. Try.

“Do you need me to hide a body?”

“No!?”

“... Are we related?”

You tilt your head “No? I hope not…?”

“Then we’re good. I won’t be freaked out.” He shrugs, leans slightly back in his seat and sends you a smile as he picks up his glass.

You look at him, really look, and then just say it.

“You’re my husband’s boss.”

A beat. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t react. Just blinked once, slowly.

“Is that so?” he asked softly.

“I figured it out when I looked you up after we matched. I wasn’t… trying to snoop, I swear, I just got curious. And then I remembered you from the company dinner last year. Anyway, I wanted to say something in case it made this… weird for you.”

He smiles gently, setting down his glass. “It doesn’t.”

You blink. “Really?”

“I knew who you were the moment I saw your profile.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh.”

“But I still swiped right,” he adds, voice low, calm. “And I still wanted to meet you.”

“…Why?”

He doesn’t answer right away. He just looks at you for a moment, and something in his gaze makes your skin heat. “Because I wanted the honor of inviting you out for dinner.” he says.

Your breath catches. You don’t know what to say to that, so you stay quiet, letting the words sit between you like warm embers.

“And now that we’re being honest,” he continues gently, “That little thing on your finger.” He points to the gold band with a small diamond around your finger, proving to everyone, including yourself, that you’re still in a marriage.

You give a small, helpless laugh. “Oh.. Yeah, it’s not what it looks like. Or maybe it is? I don’t think so, actually, I don’t know what this looks like, but I’m not doing anything I’m not supposed to do-...”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” he says.

“No, I want to,” you reply, surprising yourself. “I need to.”

So you tell him. About the open marriage your husband suggested. About how you agreed, naively thinking it would be equal. About how he’d found someone in a matter of weeks while you’d sat at home, trying to convince yourself you weren’t just waiting. You watch Seonghwa carefully for a reaction. There is none, no judgment, no discomfort. Just a quiet focus that made you feel safer than you’d felt in months.

“But it’s actually a really good idea. I mean, we get the chance to see other people and do whatever we want, so we won’t cheat on each other later on,” you shrug, looking down at the wineglass instead of the piercing eyes in front of you. “It’s preventing us from hurting the other person in the end.” you say, finally. 

He sits quiet, just taking in your words. You can’t read his eyes, he just listens. But you don’t feel judged by the man in front of you. His eyes show too much warmth for you to be intimidated. 

“I don’t understand.” he finally says. 

“You know, if we date other people now, we won’t feel the need to do so in the future.” 

“No, I heard every word you said loud and clear,” he leaned forward in his chair, voice still soft. “I just don’t understand why he would need to.. you know.. date others when he has you.” 

Seonghwa was trying his best to not push. He could easily have said “I mean, if I was your husband, I wouldn’t want to see other people. I wouldn’t ever want another woman.” but he is still in the stage of getting to know you, doesn’t want to scare you away, and despite remembering you from the company dinner last year, he only remembers what impression you left him. A quick introduction and laughs shared in a circle of multiple people, but somehow his eyes kept drifting to you.

Your laugh, your dress, the way your eyes sparkled under the lights. It had stayed with Seonghwa for a year, so when he saw your profile on a dating app, he knew he had to shoot his shot. Unaware of what the circumstances are between you and your husband. 

But he doesn’t ask for more explanation. Instead, he shifts the conversation, just slightly, easing it toward lighter things, books, music, how you both secretly hate networking events.

And somehow, the night never felt heavy again. When dessert comes, some delicate French pastry you can’t pronounce, he insists you try the first bite. When your laugh returns, brighter this time, he smiles like that was the reward he’s been waiting for.

Later, as he walks you to your ride, you feel lighter. Like maybe it was okay to want something new. Someone new.

“I still want to see you again,” he says, standing beside the car door. His hand brushes your wrist, soft and brief. “If you want that too.”

You nod.

“I do.”

He opens the door for you, then leans down just enough to meet your eyes.

“Then let’s take our time.”

In the cab on the way home, you can’t stop smiling. You haven’t even finished closing the door behind you before your phone buzz.

Seonghwa: Text me when you’re home safe, yeah? No pressure, just want to know you’re good.

You smile into the hallway light. God, he’s that kind of man. You kick off your heels, phone still in hand, fingers already typing back.

You: Home. Warm. A little wine-dizzy but safe. Thank you for dinner.

Seonghwa: Thank you for giving me a chance. Sleep well xx

You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment longer than necessary, phone against your chest, still fully dressed. The night felt soft around the edges, like it wasn’t quite real. Like maybe you’d dreamed it. His smile, the way he listens to you like your words matter, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room.

And he knows. That was the wild part. He knows you’re married, to his employee, no less, and he still treats you with more care and curiosity than your own husband had in months. You let yourself fall back into bed, fully clothed, staring up at the ceiling with the ghost of his cologne still caught in your hair.

***

On this incredibly boring Monday, the rain started halfway through your meeting, and by the time you stepped outside, it had gone from a gentle drizzle to a full-on, cinematic downpour. You stand beneath the awning outside your building, arms crossed, watching as the other employees disappeared into warm cars and dry seats.

Your husband was supposed to pick you up. You agreed to that last week, so you texted him before you left, but no response. Not a word. That was twenty-five minutes ago. 

Your fingers tightens around your phone as you glance down the street for the fifth time. Just water streaking down your coat sleeve and your phone screen lighting up.

Not from him.

But from Seonghwa.

Seonghwa I debated texting you for ten minutes. This is me giving in. Hi.

You smile immediately, shoulders relaxing under your scarf as you type back.

You Ten minutes? I’m flattered. 

Three dots. Then:

Seonghwa Are you still at work or did you escape?

You exhale slowly, already smiling before your fingers move to reply.

You Currently trying to escape. But I’m waterlogged and standing under a leaky bus shelter.

A pause.

Seonghwa Do I want to know why you’re waiting for a bus in a rainstorm?

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want to tell him, but because you did. And that felt… a little dangerous. But you type anyway.

You Husband said he’d pick me up after work. Then forgot.

You don’t know the reason why your husband didn’t pick you up today. But it was not the first time this has happened. Last time he was busy hanging out with his girlfriend, having his phone on silent. 

Three dots danced at the bottom of the screen for a long moment before his reply came in:

Seonghwa Tell me where you are

You don’t answer right away. Another bus pass, wrong line again, and your fingers ache from the cold.

You Seonghwa. I’m fine. It’s just a little rain

Seonghwa Sure. And I’m a little meteorologist. Tell me where you are

You bite your lip, watching as a bus rumbled past - not yours. 

You Seventh and Willow. But you don’t have to, it’s okay

Seonghwa I’m already in my car. Don’t argue with me while you’re catching pneumonia

Your lips curve in spite of yourself. You pulled your scarf tighter.

Seonghwa On my way. Five minutes. Don’t wander off or find a mysterious love interest in a bookstore while I’m driving

You spotted his car before you saw him.

It turns the corner slowly, headlights washing across the slick pavement, wipers dragging across the windshield in a steady rhythm. The passenger window rolls down just enough for him to lean towards it.

“Hey, get in,” he says, his tone easy and unaffected by the weather. “You look like you’ve been here a while.” 

You step forward, your boots making soft splashes in the puddles, and slide into the passenger seat. The warmth of the car is immediate, and you exhale, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders. The car hums quietly as Seonghwa drives through the rain-slicked streets. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, but every now and then, his gaze flickers over to you, the small, concerned crease in his brow visible in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice steady but soft. He’s not pushing, just checking in.

You nod, brushing your damp hair back and glancing out the window. The cold air from the rain has soaked through your coat, and your clothes cling to you uncomfortably. The heater in the car is doing its best, but you can still feel the chill.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your voice sounds a little too quiet. “Just... a little wet. Didn’t expect next time you’d see me, to be me looking like this.”

Seonghwa doesn't respond right away, but you catch the small shift in his demeanor, a brief, thoughtful silence. His hands grip the steering wheel lightly as he drives through the darkened streets, navigating without hurry.

“Do you want to stop somewhere?” he asks, keeping his tone casual, though you can sense the care behind it. “Grab something warm?”

You think about it for a second. A warm drink, maybe a cozy corner of some café, those were things you used to enjoy. But the idea of sitting in a café, dripping wet and freezing, doesn’t feel right tonight. It feels… forced. You want warmth, sure, but not from the outside world.

You glance at him, then back at the road ahead.

“Actually,” you start, “could we just... go to your place?” your words surprising yourself. “If it’s not too much, of course.”

Seonghwa blinks, a soft smile curling at the corner of his lips, but he doesn't ask any questions. Instead, he simply nods, his gaze shifting back to the road as the corners of his mouth deepen into a fond, knowing expression.

“You sure?” he asks, voice low. “I mean... you’ve had a long day. You’re drenched.”

You shrug, even though a small part of you is shocked by your own words. "I’m fine. I’m not in the mood for a date-date or whatever. Just... somewhere warm. And I don’t wanna be alone tonight. If you don’t mind.”

The silence between you two feels more comfortable now, the tension from the earlier moments gone. It’s like a weight has lifted, neither of you needs to pretend anymore.

“Alright,” he says, his voice warm, “to my place it is.” The car turns into a quieter street, and Seonghwa taps his fingers lightly against the steering wheel, his smile still lingering.

When you step out of the car and into the rain, Seonghwa’s hand briefly touches the small of your back, guiding you toward the building. The touch is gentle and reassuring.

His apartment is warmer than you expected when you step inside. It’s spacious, sure, but it’s not the cold, intimidating type of wealth you might expect from someone like him. It’s cozy in a way that’s unexpected, like he’s curated it with care, each little thing in its place. You can tell he’s put thought into making this space a refuge, a place of comfort. 

“I can grab you a towel,” Seonghwa offers immediately, his voice soft. He’s already moving toward the bathroom, but when you shake your head, he pauses. “Are you sure? I’d feel better if you changed into something comfortable.”

You glance down at yourself, feeling how soaked your clothes are, and how tired you are of pretending like you don’t need help. You nod. “That would be nice, actually.”

He smiles, but it’s not a proud smile. It’s the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s quietly relieved, like he wants to take care of you in a way you didn’t realize you needed. “I have a few shirts you can borrow,” he says, a hint of hesitation in his tone. “Nothing fancy, just... dry.”

You watch him for a moment, the way he’s trying to gauge your comfort level without pushing too hard. It’s the first time you’ve seen him unsure of anything, and it’s a little disarming.

“That sounds perfect,” you say, giving him a small, appreciative smile.

He moves quickly, purposefully, heart thudding a little harder than usual. Not from nerves, but from quiet anger. Who forgets to pick up their wife in the middle of a downpour? He doesn’t let the frustration show on his face. He just breathes through it, reminding himself that this moment isn’t about him. It’s about making you comfortable. It’s about undoing a little bit of whatever damage your husband didn’t think twice about causing.

He returns with a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. A soft, worn-in tee, and hands it to you. The fabric is warm to the touch, and it smells faintly of him. He doesn’t linger too long, but there’s something in the way he carefully places it in your hands that makes you feel safe, like he genuinely wants you to be okay, not just physically, but emotionally too.

“Take your time,” he says softly, backing away. He nods toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s down to the left. I’ll make some tea. You’ll feel better.”

It’s a simple offer, like he’s willing to offer you warmth without making you feel indebted to him. When you disappear into the bathroom to change, you can hear him bustling around in the kitchen. You take a deep breath and let yourself relax for the first time in what feels like forever.

When you return, towel-drying your hair with one of the fluffy hand towels he left out for you, you’re practically swallowed in his clothes. The shirt hangs loose over your frame, the waistband of the sweatpants tied tight around your hips. You’ve never felt so ridiculous and so safe all at once.

Seonghwa looks up from the kitchen and immediately gives you that soft, amused smile. “Okay, that’s a look.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stylish, right? You might not get these back.”

“I was just about to say they suit you,” he replies, not missing a beat.

You laugh, and it’s small, but real, and it makes something warm twist in his chest. He’s pacing, sleeves pushed up as he moves easily around the kitchen. A kettle is on, two mugs already waiting. You catch the scent of honey and ginger in the air, something warm and slightly sweet.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you murmur, padding into the kitchen and wrapping your arms around yourself.

He glances up from stirring the honey. “You’re cold. You’re tired. I want to.” Then, with a softer voice: “Let me take care of you. Just a little.”

That shouldn’t make your stomach flutter the way it does.

You sit at the counter, fingers curling around the mug he places in front of you. You’re so used to handling everything on your own that this small act of care feels like a luxury.

He leans against the counter opposite you, arms crossed casually, like he’s trying to keep a respectful distance. But he can’t help stealing glances at you. Not hungry, not suggestive, just thoughtful. Quietly admiring.

“You’ve had a long day,” he says after a pause, not prying. “Want to talk about it?”

You shake your head, sipping your tea. “Not really.”

“That’s okay,” he says immediately. “We can just sit.”

No questions. No expectations. He wouldn’t make you relive any of it. Not the rain, not the waiting, not the part where someone was supposed to show up and didn’t.

You let a little smile play at the edge of your lips. “You’re... very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being comforting. It’s like you have a degree in it or something.”

Seonghwa chuckles, eyes crinkling just a little. “I’m just treating you how I think you deserve to be treated.”

He means it.

He means it.

You set your mug down. “You don’t even know me.”

Seonghwa smiles, not missing a beat. “I’m working on it.”

He leans slightly on the counter, arms still crossed, eyes steady on yours. “But I’ve picked up a few things. You’re the kind of person who checks in on others even when you’re the one having a bad day. You’re a little stubborn when it comes to letting people take care of you - you want to do things yourself. And when you’re tired, you get kind of funny. Like, weirdly funny.”

You laugh under your breath, and so does he.

“And tonight?” His smile softens. “You needed someone. I was close by. That’s all it takes.” There’s no hidden meaning in his voice. No pressure. Just the kind of honesty you’re not used to from a man.

You meet his eyes, and there it is. The kind of tension that doesn’t scream or flirt, it just hums. You glance around his kitchen. The wooden cabinets, the tiny potted herb garden on the windowsill, the slightly chipped mug in front of you. “Your place… it’s not what I expected.”

“Let me guess,” he teases, “you thought it’d be floor-to-ceiling glass, steel counters, and an automatic espresso machine?”

“Something like that.”

He grins. “I like homes that feel lived in. I don’t like that cold, overly-modern stuff. I like that I can comfortably show off my collection of magnets without having to worry if it fits in with the rest of the home.” He points to his fridge and you notice the huge collection of magnets. You let out a soft giggle.

You like that answer too much. You shouldn’t, but you do.

“I like it,” you say softly, not just about the apartment. The warm cup rests between your palms, grounding you, and Seonghwa leans back against the counter beside you, sipping his own. Then, without a word, he sets his mug down and starts rummaging through a cabinet.

You squint at him. “What are you doing?”

He glances over his shoulder with a small, almost mischievous smile. “We’re making cookies.”

You blink. “We are?”

“We are now,” he says simply, already pulling out a bag of flour.

You let out a soft laugh and step up beside him. You don’t ask if he needs help. You just join in. And he doesn’t say anything, just gives you a smile so gentle. Ten minutes later, the kitchen is a disaster.

The butter refuses to cooperate, slipping through your fingers and plopping to the floor. You try again, and this time it sticks to your hands so stubbornly that Seonghwa has to come to your rescue, giggling as he wipes it off with a spatula.

“Here,” he says, a soft chuckle escaping him. “Let’s try that again.” 

You giggle, brushing hair out of your face. “I swear, never make cookies.” 

“Oh, I can tell,” he teases, but there’s no judgment in his tone, only encouragement. “It’s okay. It’s the thought that counts.”

Later, flour explodes from the bag as it’s accidentally knocked over. It snows down across the counter, your arms, his shirt. You both freeze, and then burst into laughter. A moment later, the chocolate chips spill, scattering everywhere. 

Eventually, you both give up, the half-mixed dough resting lopsided in the bowl. You sat on the counter, legs swinging slightly as Seonghwa stood beside you. The bowl rests on your lap as he hands you a spoonful of raw dough, and you take it without hesitation.

“I think we killed it.” Seonghwa says proudly, scooping up some cookie dough for himself, using the same spoon.

“This might be the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” you say around a mouthful. You sit side by side in the wreckage of flour and chocolate chips, warm tea forgotten, sharing bites of something that didn’t quite turn out the way it was supposed to, but still feels like a win.

You’re mid-laugh when he pauses, his eyes softening as they settle on you. Without a word, he steps a little closer, and his hand lifts. Gentle and careful.

“There’s a little…” he murmurs, brushing his fingers just above your eyebrow, where a streak of flour has settled. His thumb grazes your skin as he wipes it away, but he doesn’t pull back right away.

His touch lingers.

You feel it all the way down to your spine. His warmth, the closeness, the way his eyes briefly drop to your lips before meeting your gaze again. The air feels thick, like something unsaid is pressing at the edges of the moment. 

“Got it,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t move. And neither do you.

You’re still perched on the counter, his body angled toward yours, only a breath between you. He leans in slightly, gaze dropping again, first to your lips, then back up to your eyes, like he’s asking without words.

You lean in too.

Your knees bump against his hips, and your breath catches, held in your chest like it’s afraid to break the moment. His hands finds the counter next to you, grounding him, pulling him even closer. So close you can count every faint freckle on his skin. So close his breath hits your cheek.

And your phone rings.

Loud. Sharp. Invasive.

You freeze.

The moment shatters like glass.

Seonghwa pulls back slowly, but his hand stays on the counter near you, and he doesn’t turn away. Your phone rings again, and your eyes flick to the screen.

“Husband.”

You swallow hard, something sinking in your chest. Seonghwa doesn't say anything. He just watches, his expression soft but unreadable, and steps back enough to give you space. Not far, just enough. You hesitate for half a second. Then you slide off the counter, still warm from where your knees had brushed against him, and answer.

“Hello?” Your voice is thinner than you meant it to be.

He turns away, not out of anger, not even disappointment, just… quiet. Respectful. Still the same steady, gentle man, already reaching for the dish towel to start wiping flour from the counter like he’s giving you time. Giving you privacy.

But the warmth between you hasn’t disappeared.

It just simmers now, quiet and unsaid. Still there. Still waiting.

You murmur a few short replies into the phone, keeping your tone neutral. You hang up a moment later, your fingers still loosely wrapped around the device, like you’re not quite sure what to do with it. Seonghwa glances at you, not questioning, not pressing. Just that same soft-eyed look, like he sees everything without needing it explained.

You clear your throat and set the phone down on the far end of the counter. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay.” His voice is quiet. He offers you the tiniest smile. “You didn’t miss much. The cookie dough was starting to melt anyway.”

You laugh under your breath, and he smiles a little wider.

“I should… probably get going soon,” you say.

“Yeah.” He nods slowly, “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll give you a ride.”

You change into your old clothes, now warm and dry after Seonghwa took care of it. You finish tying your shoes and glance up at him. His movements are calm, deliberate, like he’s giving you space to process, to gather yourself. His gentleness is almost too much to handle right now, and you wonder if he knows how much he’s doing, just being there. Just being himself.

The drive back to your place is calm, the city lights flickering by as Seonghwa keeps his focus on the road, his hand steady on the wheel. Every now and then, his eyes flicker toward you, like he’s checking, making sure you’re okay. 

When he finally pulls up to your house, you hesitate for a second before opening the door. 

“Thank you,” you murmur, “You really made my day.” and finally, and he offers you that smile of his. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes. 

“Anytime,” he replies softly, as if there’s no question.

You step out of the car, the door closing behind you with a soft click. You stand there for a moment, watching his headlights fade into the distance, a quiet warmth settling in your chest.

***

A week has passed since that night. The one where everything had almost felt like it could change. The small, sweet moments that lingered in the kitchen, the silent tension, and that quiet brush of his fingers against your face. But you hadn’t really spoken much after that.

Seonghwa had been giving you space. He never pressed, never pushed, just sent a message here and there, something light, something simple. Asking how your day was, letting you know he was there if you needed to talk. It was as though he understood the weight on your shoulders, the things you were still trying to process, and he respected that.

You’d found comfort in those texts. They were a gentle reminder that there was still kindness out there, that not all men were careless or indifferent. But you hadn’t been ready to dive into anything more. Not yet.

So you let the days pass, lost in work and the usual noise of life, where everything felt like it was moving forward and standing still all at once.

When you walk into the house that evening, expecting to be alone, the air feels too still. Almost oppressive. You take off your shoes, drop your bag, and then, suddenly, you hear it.

Moans.

Loud and unmistakable.

Your heart skips a beat. The noise comes from the bedroom.

You freeze, panic washes over you in a way you never thought you’d feel. The reality hits harder than a slap, and before your mind can catch up to your body, your feet are already moving, silent, quick, out the door.

Your husband. With her.

The woman he’d been seeing for months. The one you knew about. From his work. The one he swore wouldn’t ever step foot in your bedroom.

But she had. They had.

The rules didn’t matter now.

You can barely remember how you made it out of the house, your heart pounding like it’s trying to escape your ribs. You don’t stop to think. You just grab your coat and rush outside, the cold air stinging your cheeks. You get on the bus, not thinking clearly or caring about anything other than getting away.

Away to the last place that felt safe.

Seonghwa opens the door looking completely confused in a loose hoodie and gray sweatpants, as if he’s been lounging or about to sleep. His hair is slightly tousled, his face soft with surprise, but when he sees you standing there, shaking and crying, everything about him changes.

His eyes widens, his body tensing as if his instincts slammed into overdrive.

“Hey-..hey, what’s going on?” His voice cracks a little, pure concern bleeding through. “Are you-, are you okay? What happened?” He barely waits for an answer before stepping forward, one hand reaching out like he’s afraid to startle you, the other already pulling the door wider. “Come in. Come here. Please.”

You don’t even remember how you’d made it to his place. You didn’t call, didn’t text, didn’t even know where else to go. You are just… there. Your legs moved on their own. He gently takes your wrist, guiding you inside like he thought you might fall apart if he let go. And maybe you would.

“I-I didn’t know where else to go,” you whisper, your voice trembling so much the words barely came out. “I walked in and they were… in the bedroom. Our bedroom. I heard her, and him-”

Your breath hitched. The shame, the heartbreak, the betrayal all crashed into you again like a tidal wave. Seonghwa freeze, his face shifting from confusion to something like disbelief, followed by an ache so deep it flickered across his features before he could hide it.

“You’re shaking,” he breathes, like that was the only thing he could focus on to keep himself from doing something rash. “Gosh-, come here.”

Then he pulls you in. Not tentative. Not gentle like before. But firm. Warm. Protective. His arms wrap around you completely, hands cradling the back of your head, the middle of your back, holding you like he was trying to piece you back together with just his embrace.

You broke.

The sob that escaped you was raw, tearing through your chest as you collapsed against him. His hoodie quickly dampened with your tears, but he didn’t care. He only held you tighter.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, over and over again, his voice thick, arms unyielding. “I’m so sorry. I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you.”

A few hours passed. The silence of the apartment is heavy, and the soft hum of the city outside filters in through the windows, but none of it seems to matter. Seonghwa sits on the edge of the couch, his gaze fixed on you as you sleep, curled up with a blanket around you. Seonghwa didn’t move you. He wouldn’t dare. Your face is peaceful now, but he knows, he saw the remnants of the tears still streaked on your cheeks.

He watches you for a long moment, longer than he should have, just to be sure you were breathing easy, that your face wasn’t tight with the pain you’d carried in. He adjust the blanket around your shoulders once more, fingers brushing your arm like a silent promise: I’m here.

Then he slips away into the kitchen.

The lights are dim. He doesn’t turn on the overheads. Only the small one above the sink cast a quiet glow, painting gold over the counter and the delicate steam curling from the mug of tea he never ended up drinking.

He cleans slowly. Methodically. Not because there is much to clean, but because he needs to do something with his hands. He needs to focus on anything but the image of you curled on his couch with your cheeks still damp from crying. Something about seeing you so hurt, so vulnerable in his home, keeps his chest tight and his thoughts moving. He wants to be nearby, just in case you wake up and need him. 

He didn’t know what to do when you broke. His instinct was to hold you, to gather you up and shelter you from everything, but he’d hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to, but because he didn’t know if it was what you needed.

You are still married. Still healing. Still so fragile it makes his chest ache.

And yet, he can’t stop thinking about how you came here. To him. Not a friend. Not a hotel. Him.

What did that mean?

What could it mean?

He’s still standing at the sink, drying his hands on a dish towel, when he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps behind him. You’re quiet, hesitant, still wearing the same clothes from earlier. Sleep clinging to your features, eyes puffy, hair slightly mussed, your voice rough when you speak.

“Seonghwa?”

He turns once.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, barely looking at him. “For just… showing up. For staying. I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.”

Seonghwa sets the tea towel down gently and shakes his head “You didn’t take anything,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here.”

You look at him, startled by how easily he says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Like there was nowhere else he’d rather have you.

“I feel ridiculous,” you say quietly, fingers curling around the edge of the counter. “Showing up here. Crying like that. Falling asleep like a mess on your couch.”

Seonghwa looks up from the sink where he’s rinsing a cup, then reaches for the towel draped nearby to dry it. He moves slowly, deliberately, as if not to startle you. “You’re not a mess,” he says. “You’re human. And tonight was… a lot. You shouldn’t have had to hear that. Especially not in your own home.”

You nod once, lips press tight, your eyes tracing the pattern of the granite countertop.

“I guess I just didn’t expect it to hurt like that,” you whisper. “I agreed to this open marriage, I knew what it meant. All he had to do was follow the simple rules we made; let the other person know when you’re dating someone and don’t bring them into the bedroom. But hearing them like that… it was like everything I’d been pretending not to feel came crashing in.”

He steps a little closer, still drying the mug but slowing as he listens.

You look up at him then, eyes glassy. “I didn’t mean to bring it all here.”

“You didn’t bring anything but yourself,” he says, voice softer now. “And for what it’s worth… I’m glad you came. I’ve only seen you a few times, but I-” He hesitated, then smiled faintly, “I wouldn’t have wanted you to go anywhere else tonight.”

Your chest tightens. Something in his words, his expression, the way he stands there drying a cup like it was the only way he can keep his hands from holding you.

“I don’t know what it is about you,” he adds, glancing down at the towel in his hand, placing the cup on the counter. “But when I saw you at my door, I didn’t feel interrupted. I felt relieved.” he huffs a quiet breath, laughing under it, ”I didn’t want anyone else to be the one you went to. Is that selfish? Maybe. But—”

He didn’t get to finish.

The towel was halfway folded in his hands when you moved.

Three fast steps.

Your fingers gripped the front of his shirt, pulled him down before he could process what was happening, and you kissed him.

Hard. Needy. Quietly desperate.

You needed to. You needed to feel if this was more than just you feeling crazy. Could you really find safety in someone who isn’t your husband? How could this man you’ve met 3 times the past two weeks, be the most thoughtful and supportive person in your life at the moment?

The towel slips from his hand, landing forgotten on the kitchen floor. He kisses you back like it’s the most natural thing in the world, hands finding your cheeks, pulling you close without hesitation. The warmth of him spreads through you instantly, grounding, solid, safe.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

Not until the kiss breaks, just enough for breath.

“I…” you whisper, suddenly unsure.

He smiles, gently, almost in disbelief. “You caught me off guard.” He’s smiling, eyes warm, his thumb brushing your side like he can’t stop touching you now that he’s started. 

“I don’t know why I did that,” you whisper, nervous now, terrified he might say it was too soon. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m really glad you did it.” His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with hunger, and you can feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, but there was hesitation, just a flicker of it.

You mumble the words, barely loud enough for either of you to hear. “Is this... too fast?”

A beat passed. Then another. 

“No,” he says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “Not if it’s you. Not if you’re the one reaching for me.”

Your breath catches, the lump in your throat returning. Not from grief this time, but from something gentler. Something like hope. 

“You set the pace. I’ll follow.”

And he means it. Every word.

You reach for him again, pulling him in. The kiss is firmer this time, your lips claiming his with more urgency, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as if you couldn’t get close enough. He groans into your mouth, his hands tightening around your waist, as if holding you in place is the only thing keeping him from losing control.

Your hands slid by the hem of his shirt, fingertips barely grazing over his warm skin, and you feel him tense beneath your touch. His breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Fuck,” he rasp. “I’m barely holding on.”

“Good,” you whisper, and lean up to kiss him again.

His hands are on your waist, his grip tight, but there is still a slight hesitation in him. It’s as if he was torn between wanting to be the good guy, wanting to respect your boundaries, and the overwhelming, suffocating need to give in to everything you’re offering. His lips meet yours again, deeper this time, and the kiss is frantic, hungry, as though he can’t get close enough, can’t touch you enough.

You barely register your back hitting the edge of the kitchen island until his hands curl under your thighs and lift you effortlessly. You gasp, startled by the sudden motion, but his strength… the ease of it, the way he settles you gently onto the counter like you’re precious, it makes you shiver.

You wrap your legs around his hips instantly, locking your heels at the small of his back, and it pushes him in deeper, his length perfectly aligned with the ache between your legs.

The moment your bodies aligned, you both gasped.

You feel him.

Thick and full and undeniably hard, straining against the soft gray fabric of his sweatpants. He’s pressed right against your center, the outline of him so vivid you can practically trace it with your eyes.

You gasp. He curses. 

“I can see you,” you whisper, voice wrecked, eyes flicking down to where his sweatpants clung to him, every thick inch outlined and throbbing. “You’re so hard.”

He lets out a strangled groan. “Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that-”

You can't help but grind once against his member, and you whimper as his hips rolled forward, slow and deep. His cock drags up the seam of your heat, the head catching perfectly where your clit throbs. It’s too much and not enough. The layers between you only made it worse.

He feels you. Wet, warm, pressed against the inside of your panties, where your thin leggings clings like a second skin, doing nothing to hide how badly you want him. His mouth crashes onto yours, and it was different this time, no hesitation, no restraint. Just teeth and tongue and desperation. Your hands were in his hair now, tugging, dragging him closer. He presses against you, hard enough to make you moan, and God, you feel him, thick, hard, straining against his pants.

But something occupies your mind.

“Wait,” You keep your legs wrapped around him. You don’t let go. Immediately, he stills. His breathing ragging, chest rising and falling against yours. His hands are warm on your thighs where they rest, thumbs rubbing soft, slow circles into your skin like he’s grounding you. His forehead presses gently against yours, both of you still catching your breath. 

“I want to,” you admitted, your voice wrecked. “So bad. But I need… I need to say it first. To him.”

Him. Your Husband.

For the first time in months, you hated that your husband was in your mind right now. 

His gaze lifts to yours instantly, and for a second, you brace yourself for disappointment. But it never comes.

He nods. “I know,” he pulls back and kisses your forehead. “Just because he broke your rules does not mean you should do it too.” He’s way quicker to understand than you’ve ever imagined. He’s too good.

“I’m sorry… I really want to.” You say, finding his eyes. “But I feel like I have to tell him that I’m seeing someone, let alone his boss, before I do something.”

“Hey,” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin, the warmest eyes you’ve ever met. “You don’t have to explain, I totally understand.”

You try smiling but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. “It’s not you. I’m just not in the right headspace, and if we did this right now, I think I’d just… think too much. Regret it. Not because of you! But because of everything else.”

“I know,” he says gently, brushing your hair back with a touch that’s nothing short of reverent. “You don’t have to decide anything right now. If you want to do this or not. Whatever you end up deciding, I’ll respect. But if you decide you want to do this, with me sometime, I don’t want you to feel any pressure. I’m not going anywhere, I’ll wait for you.”

And God. That. That is the thing. He isn’t demanding. He isn’t jealous. He isn’t angry or annoyed or trying to guilt you into a decision.

He just understand.

“You’re kind,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re really fucking kind.” 

A silence fills the space between you, your gaze dropping down to where your bodies meet. You look up at him, cheeks flushed. “If I hadn’t said stop… would you have?”

His eyes darkens. He smile, not cocky. But honest.

“Not a chance in hell.” The weight behind those words makes your chest ache. “Can I do anything for you?” 

You glance down at yourself, then let out a soft, embarrassed laugh. “I probably need a shower. I look like someone who lost a fight to her own life.”

He grins at that, easing back just enough to slide his hands to your waist. Before you can say another word, he’s lifting you down from the counter with a firm but gentle grip, like you’re something precious, and threading his fingers through yours.

“Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you softly. “Shower. I’ll get everything ready.”

You trail behind him to the bathroom, your hand still tucked in his. He moves around the space with practiced ease, grabbing towels, adjusting the water, and even laying out the same sweatpants and oversized t-shirt you wore the last time you were here.

When he places them carefully on the counter, he gives you one last glance, warm and soft. “Take your time, your clothes are on the counter. I’ll be in the living room when you’re done.”

You nod, suddenly overwhelmed in a completely different way. “Seonghwa?”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you.

“Thank you. For… not making this weird.”

His smile is soft, patient. “It’s not weird. It’s okay.”

A few minutes later, you’re still in his bathroom, the warmth of the steam and the quiet hum of the fan giving you a moment to breathe. To be alone and let the water rinse some of it away. Not the pain of today, but the weight of it, just for a moment.

You change into the familiar sweatpants and soft T-shirt he left folded neatly by the sink. They still smell like him. When you open the door again, the hallway’s dim, and the softest light glows from the living room. 

He’s sitting on the couch, one arm resting over the back, a blanket already draped across the cushions, like he’s been preparing your little corner of the world for you. 

“Perfect timing,” he says, patting the space beside him with a grin that’s equal parts teasing and gentle. “I was about to start a movie without you and pretend I didn’t.”

You laugh, your heart lighter already. And as you cross the room and curl into his side beneath the blanket, it’s not the movie that matters. It’s the feeling that you’re safe here, with him.

And for the first time in a long time, that’s more than enough.

***

The boardroom is quiet when Seonghwa walks in the next day.

He’s always early, by design. It gives him time to breathe, to set the tone, to sit at the head of the glass table with everything already in place. His laptop is open, a black pen lined up perfectly beside his notepad, and his eyes skim the agenda, though he already knows it. But his focus isn’t on the day’s schedule.

Not yet.

It’s still on you.

Not the way you looked when you walked into his apartment yesterday. Exhausted, crying, your whole body weighed down by things you hadn’t said yet, but the way you looked curled up against him hours later, asleep on his couch, tucked into his side beneath a blanket like you’d always belonged there.

You had cried. You had kissed him. You had let him hold you. He’d kissed the crown of your head.

And he didn’t sleep much that night.

Not because you didn’t let him, if anything, you were warm and quiet, breathing slow against him. It was the way you felt in his arms that kept him awake. Like he was holding something fragile and sacred. Like if he moved, even slightly, you might disappear.

In the morning, you stirred first. Groggy and quiet, blinking sleepily against his chest before murmuring something about needing to go home and change before work. He offered to take the day off. Said he could cancel everything. That he didn’t care.

But you shook your head with a tiny smile. Insisted that he go.

You even teased him for hovering. Called him “overly attentive.” He’d rolled his eyes, pretending to be annoyed, but when you leaned in and kissed him goodbye, soft and sleepy, he nearly asked you to stay.

But you left. And he watched the door long after it closed behind you.

Now he’s here. Under sterile lighting. A boardroom full of chatter. And across the table sits the man who used to be your husband in everything but legality.

He walked in laughing - with her - like it’s just another Thursday. The girlfriend is practically attached to him, all smiles and subtle touches, like they don’t work under the same roof. Like they’re not sneaking around as if people haven’t noticed. Seonghwa doesn’t look up immediately. Just lets his fingers tap softly against the side of his coffee cup. 

Measured. Calm. Focused.

“Morning,” your husband says with that too-casual tone, like everything’s perfectly fine.

“Morning,” Seonghwa replies, flat and cool.

He doesn’t do anger like most people. It simmers quietly in him, contained, controlled. He doesn’t lash out. He remembers. He watches. He files things away until the time is right.

Today’s not the day.

But he is watching.

The meeting starts. The others file in, small talk filling the space. Projector humming, documents shuffling. Seonghwa opens the presentation. Keeps his voice even.

“I’d like to keep today’s meeting brief,” he says, voice smooth and low. “We’re focusing on timelines, project deliverables, and accountability.”

His gaze flicks to your husband. The pause is barely a second too long. “Especially accountability.”

There's a flicker in the man’s expression. He shifts in his seat, coughs once like he’s about to make a joke, but one look from Seonghwa shuts him down. The meeting ticks forward. 

Then your husband speaks up.

“I think the delay in deliverables came down to a lack of communication, not really our fault,” he says, flashing a grin at his girlfriend like she’ll have his back.

She does.

But Seonghwa is already leaning forward, calm but sharp. “And who was responsible for communicating that timeline to the vendors?”

Silence.

Your husband clears his throat. “Well… technically, I was. But-”

“Then let’s not redirect blame.” Seonghwa’s voice doesn’t rise. It never needs to. “If you were the lead, you’re accountable. End of story.”

The table goes quiet. The girlfriend shifts awkwardly. And your husband, he looks like he wants to argue but doesn’t dare.

Good.

Seonghwa could say more. So much more. He could talk about how you came to him last night after being ignored for months. How you told him things you never said to anyone. How you almost gave yourself to him. How you let him hold you, warm you, kiss you, keep you safe. How you fell asleep against him like he was the only place you felt okay.

He could say how he’s never going to forgive this man for not seeing you. For making you feel small. For letting you cry alone in your kitchen while he flirted with someone new on the clock.

But Seonghwa keeps it inside.

He lets the meeting run its course. Makes his points. Keeps his composure. Because no one knows what you are to him.

Yet.

And when it’s finally over, he gathers his papers slowly. Closes his laptop with care. And doesn’t look back once.

Because there’s something about seeing that man across from him, pretending like he still owns your heart, when Seonghwa knows what it feels like to have you kiss him good morning, in nothing but his hoodie, after a night of quiet healing.

He’s not done protecting you.

And your husband? He doesn’t even realize he already lost.

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[shady-tavern]

You were alone. You stared off into the distance, having slumped down on a rock at the side of the road. Your party of... of friends, you had thought, had told you that you were useless. Unnecessary.

Had you failed to support them as they needed and therefore they had decided you were a burden? Had you failed them? Hadn't you always healed them, stitching them back together, listening to their concerns and encouraging their endeavors?

Or had they never cared for you as much as you cared for them?

It didn't make sense and you did not know where to go, your next destination had always been decided by your friends, their sense for adventure urging them ever onward.

You just... tried not to cry.

At one point you got up again and headed back to the nearest town. Your friends - your former friends now, you supposed - had left in a north-east direction and you were not going to snivel after them when they had made very sure you knew you were no longer welcome.

You bought some provisions in that town and stayed the night in an inn and the next day you wandered on.

And somewhere between towns you got really fucking pissed. It was one thing if they didn't want you around anymore, but did they have to say it like this? Did they think you wouldn't respect it if they truly wanted you to move on?

You ranted and raved at trees and the empty road and then, just as the prettiest sunrise graced your eyes, you broke down into tears.

It hurt, to lose your friends, to be told you were useless. To have the worth of your abilities and presence boiled down into neat, stoppered little bottles of glass.

To find out that all your hard work, all your skills, all the nights you had spent pouring over medical texts and bothering clerics for lessons, harnessing what magic you had within you, was all for nothing.

You sat down at the side of the road when your tears turned into ugly sobbing. It wasn't like anyone was around at the moment anyway.

You just barely heard the rustling noise over your cries and then you dropped your forehead onto your pulled-up knees. "Leave me alone," you muttered against your knees.

More sounds came so you lifted your head to see a limping, injured, snow-white deer. Not a person, then. That was just as fine.

You wiped your tears and murmured soothing nothings, putting a bit of magic into your voice to calm the frantic deer. It slowed down and settled bit by bit until it allowed you to come closer.

The deer's left front leg was broken, but where you had expected to maybe fine bite marks or the leftovers of a snare, all you saw was a strangely iridescent, glimmering crack, as though the deer was not made of flesh and bone and fur after all, but something else.

"Huh," you murmured, sniffing as your nose was still running. That did not look like an ordinary injury. This looked like it had been caused by magic.

You still poured some healing into the leg until the bone mended and you bandaged the crack. "Dunno if you're cursed or what, but that's the best I can do," you muttered, giving the deer a wobbly little smile. "Well, if you can understand me and need help, there is a mage in that town down the road."

You pointed in the direction before getting up and grabbing your pack. You felt heavy with grief and pain and anger, but you also needed to keep going. If there was someone out here hurting or cursing deer, you didn't want to get caught by that kind of asshole.

It took you a little while to notice that the deer was following you, only a faint bit of a limp in its limbs.

"No herd?" you asked it and its ears flickered forward, those big eyes looking at you.

Those were not deer-eyes, you couldn't help but think. Not brown, not even dark. They were the strangest blue-green you had ever seen. Like chips of blue ice, a depth to them that made a little shiver crawl down your spine.

Shesh, hopefully you hadn't garnered the attention of anything unsavory. You still gave it a humorless little smile. "Makes two of us, buddy."

And just like that, you had a traveling companion. You had no idea how long the deer intended to stay, but as the hours passed it remained at your side.

It did, however, start to tire and even offering it some food and water didn't help much.

"Come here," you told the deer, holding out your arms. "We both know you're not normal, I can carry you for a bit."

It stepped closer, all long-legged grace and you picked it up - only to realize that you had severely underestimated just how much a deer weighed. You swore this one was particularly heavy.

You were huffing and puffing and sweating in no time, but you still determinedly carried on, until you found a good spot to camp for the night.

That night the deer had the worst nightmares and it only calmed when you held it, sacrificing your own sleep to keep soothing it with magic lacing your voice. You hummed your throat raw and when dawn crested, you fell asleep at last.

When you woke it was to the deer nowhere in sight. No amount of looking around and calling out brought your little buddy back and you couldn't spot any tracks anywhere either.

You couldn't stay, not when you spotted dark rainclouds approaching and so you left a pack of food, just in case it still needed some help, and walked on.

The road somehow felt all the more lonelier, though you had only had the deer as company for a day. From sunrise to sunrise. You hoped it was well, wherever it had gone.

You reached the big city a couple of days later, no deer companion in sight and for lack of anything better to do, you headed to the order of clerics that called the city home.

Everyone was welcome, so long as they were willing to be taught. No matter if they had a deity to follow or not, and the type of deity didn't matter either.

As the days passed, you let yourself get lost in the teachings, in medicine and magic, in putting bodies together and pulling them apart again. It did not soothe the pain of loss and abandonment within you, but it did soothe the part of you that felt... lesser, for what your friends had said and done.

Though, they weren't your friends, were they? After the way they had gotten rid of you, you could hardly call them that, even in your own head. So you stopped. You started calling them your ex-party when people asked with whom you had worked before.

And sometimes you thought of that deer, still, and its strange wound. So you focused your studies on curses and their various origins and ways to break them next.

The clerics had offered you a job by then and you were happy to put your studies to practice. You healed the sick and mended the wounded and broke the curses that were brought before you.

It was a fine enough life and you tried to heal your own emotional wounds with creeping success at best, when one day, a pale stranger entered the room where you healed visitors of the temple.

Skin like bone, long hair white like snow, lashes like frost and eyes like shards of blue ice. You knew immediately, even before noticing the white, fine pelt draped over their shoulder, that this had been the deer you had met all those months ago.

"Well met," they said, voice soft like gently falling snow and as they spoke, your surroundings felt strangely muffled too, as though you were suddenly standing in a wintry glade rather than a room of stone. Even the scent of herbs and salves and ointments was gone.

"Hello, deer companion," you said and they smiled, an expression of quiet, pleased joy making their face look younger and brighter.

This time, when they spoke, their smile revealed fangs too sharp to belong to a deer shapeshifter. "I must thank you for saving me from my curse."

At your surprised pause, they explained, "Three kindnesses must be given to me at the cost of another, from one sunrise to another and three you bestowed upon me. Healing even though you hurt, carrying my weary body even though you were tired and soothing me in my sleep even as you had to stay awake."

Huh. "Where did you go in the morning?" you couldn't help but ask. "I tried to find you."

At this the stranger bowed their head in quiet regret, snowy hair shimmering softly in the light of the room. "I tried to find the one who cursed me, but I was not successful. When I returned, I could not find you. I have been searching ever since."

"Well, you found me," you said, lightly spreading your hands. Hands that had changed over the past years, palm and fingers growing more calloused, your body stronger from lugging other bodies around and holding thrashing patients down.

The stranger smiled again, once more looking quietly pleased. "Indeed. I wish to extend my gratitude and brazenly request your aid at the same time."

"What do you need?" you asked, the question falling in a practiced tone from your lips. You had asked that so often you had lost count.

"A companion to help me hunt down the one who wounded me. The one who desires to wipe out my people and, once we are gone, turn its terrible gaze onto yours," the stranger answered and you stilled.

All at once it was back, the same feeling that had drawn you to your ex-party, that had dragged you out onto the road and into fights like a fish on a hook.

A hunger for adventure, for exploring the world. For seeing wonders and defeating evil and being around people who were like a family to you. Well, the latter you had lost, but the former?

"Alright," you answered without much thought. You could always return to the cleric order once you had helped the stranger, they always welcomed traveling doctors and healers and you would be no exception.

You'd finish your tasks for the day, take care of the patients still waiting and then you'd tell the mother superior that you would be leaving. "Meet me outside the temple this evening?"

"As you wish," the stranger said, regally bowing their head, their smile a little wider, revealing a hint of those throat-ripping teeth. "At dusk I shall seek you out."

"Oh, just one more thing," you said as they turned to leave. "What's your name?"

They smiled and this time it was something sharp and dangerous and wild. "I am a child of Nature and my name is not freely given."

Fair enough, especially if they were part of the people who put a piece of their soul into their name.

They left and you called for the next patient to enter, healing a weeping girl's broken arm, an old man's rash-covered back and a dog's bleeding bite mark. Animals were as welcome as people here, which was one of the reasons you had even stayed this long.

It pleased you that every living thing could find aid and relief here, as they should. Healing wasn't just for those with opposable thumbs, after all.

After the last patient you cleaned up the healing room, putting everything back into shelves and writing down how much you had used and which salves and ointments and herbs needed stocking up. Once you were done, you sought out the mother superior.

She wasn't even surprised when you told her that you were leaving, just smiled and said, "You will always have a home here, never forget that."

The idea of adventure made you brazen, so you pulled her into a hug. She laughed and hugged you back and whispered, "A soul like yours is a rare and precious thing, do not let the wounds of the past bar you from a future worth living for."

With a squeeze she let you go and you hurried to your room the temple had given you, packing your things. On the way out you were surprised when an apprentice called your name and handed you a bag full of herbs and ointments and spell components.

Everything you needed for healing and magic and breaking curses. You clutched it to your chest and thought, this was a god you could serve. This wordless kindness given to you with no expectation in return.

This was what you would worship, when you hadn't wanted to worship anything before. Gentle hands, a quiet bit of help, a warm smile and an encouraging push out the door, to go chase your dreams.

The stranger was waiting outside, like they had promised. This time, you took in their clothing for a moment. They were dressed in pale blues and silvers and the faintest bit of lilac embroidery. They were, truth be told, really damn pretty.

You set out together, heading into the sunset as the day dwindled away and your new traveling companion told you everything about the evil the two of you were hunting right now.

A godslayer. You had thought those were just fiction, a myth to scare children and make friends laugh during an evening where scary tales were told.

"They are rare," your companion admitted. "And this one is young and foolish and greedy. Godslayers have existed only twice in this world, one has slain the seven-headed Hydra of Decay and Destruction and another murdered the gatekeeper of eternity."

Which was how immortality had become possible for mortals, though to achieve such a goal, they usually had to give away something far too precious.

"And this one? Who did this one kill?" you asked and your companion bared their teeth.

"They did not succeed yet, but they are working on it. They hold my mother between their teeth, intend to break her neck. They would have succeeded a long time ago had they gone for one of the smaller gods first."

You could not imagine Mother Nature dying, but then again, you had also thought that godslayers were just a story.

"Onward, then," you said and your companion's teeth-baring snarl softened into a warmer, thankful smile.

The two of you traveled on and on, as the days tumbled into weeks and your companion - you did not dare call them a friend yet - pointed out the signs of Mother Nature's struggle. The faint graying along the tips of leaves, the unrest among the birds, the way wolves howled and howled at night, trying to find someone who would not respond.

Soon, they said, there would be more signs. Food growing less, rain falling either too much or too little and the winds would taste of death.

The deity would try to not take Mother Nature, their lover, any sooner than they were forced to, but at one point, they would no longer have a choice.

"But why?" you asked the night you were getting close to the godslayer's lair. "Why kill a god so important to the world?"

Your companion sat in silence for a moment. They had grown a little thinner over the past weeks, despite eating enough. It was their mother, they had said, they were trying to sustain her, as did her other children.

"To have the world itself," your companion answered. "A godslayer can take a god's power if they so desire. The past two didn't, one just wanted to defeat evil and the other wanted to keep their children from dying. Bringing immortality to mortals was their only goal."

They stared into the fire, their icy eyes gaining a strange, glimmering gleam as the flames flickered. "This godslayer failed to become an emperor and failed to become a lich and now he has set his sights even higher."

"Then let's make him fail again," you answered. "Like you had to receive three kindnesses, let him receive three failures to banish him from this world."

Your companion looked at you and that gleam in their eyes vanished to be replaced with something else. Something brighter, like shimmering starlight. Like hope.

They reached out to take your hand and though there were no words exchanged, you felt it. Their gratitude, their relief for your company, their... their trust in you.

As you felt a wound left by your former friends heal, you added this feeling to the things you would worship. A feeling of getting accepted, truly accepted and a sensation of being believed in, without hesitation.

It made you feel like you could move mountains.

*.*.*

The godslayer's lair was within an abandoned mine. Rather clever, no one would come here anymore and the town that had once lived off the ore mined here had turned into a ghost town long ago.

You saw signs of battle as you walked through the town and towards the entrance of the mine. Scorched ground, churned-up earth, half collapsed buildings and leftover residue from spells.

Arrows littered the surroundings, broken blades glinted in the low light of the dawn and shields were bent and split in half.

You paused when you spotted a very familiar shield, a crack running through it and the rearing dragon that had gotten painted on it in gold. The shield of a paladin.

You had seen that shield for months on end, watching one of your former friends polish and shine it while praying. It had a layer of grime on it that told you it had been laying here for a while already and your stomach plummeted a little.

What had those fools done?

There were some wards set up outside the mine, but with some patience and carefully applied magic - and in one case a fistful of dirt - you got past them without issue.

A few minutes into the mine, you turned around a bend and all at once, the entire space looked different. Until then, the illusion of an abandoned mine had persisted, even if the support beams were solid and everything was still safe.

From here on? The uneven walls had turned into carefully cut stone, mage lanterns hung from the ceiling and the neat hallway opened up into a massive cavern and smack-dab in the middle sat an underground fortress.

This must've taken ages to make. Or, perhaps the godslayer had already stolen some of Mother Nature's power and had molded the landscape to his desires.

Your companion scouted ahead, while you tucked away into a secret hidden spot to stretch out your sensed with magic. Since you followed no god, you should slip past a godslayer's notice, who had torn through a number of clerics and paladins, considering the leftovers outside.

You sensed some guards, shambling undead creatures and the star-burst bright glimmers of magical traps and wards.

They were like curses, you realized. A carefully crafted net of magic and you just needed to find the right spot to pluck at to unravel it all.

Silently, one by one, those star-burst bright glimmers in your mind faded away without notice.

By the time your companion came back with a detailed patrol-route of the guards and the exact number of undead soldiers, you were done. So long as you could slip past the guards unnoticed, you were golden.

Your companion cloaked the two of you in a sort of shadow-y sheen and it felt like you melded just a bit into your surroundings, the outlines of your body blurred to nothing.

You got inside without trouble, no magical traps springing shut and no wards getting triggered.

Inside, the fortress laid silent and still and somewhere within its bowels, Mother Nature had gotten lured into a trap. Somewhere around here, the godslayer lurked.

You started in the basement, since it was closest and you had to avoid another group of patrolling guards.

The basement did not lead, as you had hoped, to some sort of ritual chamber, but instead to a large prison complex. And it was filled to the brim with people. Knights and archers, clerics and paladins, rogues and druids.

And your group of former friends.

You gaped at them as much as they gaped at you, looking thin and rough and half healed at best. Strangest though, was the expression of utter heartbreak on their faces.

"Why are you here?" the paladin whispered and then, horrified, "Did you follow us?"

All at once, that pain and anger that you had worked so hard to soothe and heal, surged to the surface. "As if I would," you downright growled at them. "I got the message loud and clear, don't you worry. You don't have to worry about me hanging around."

"No, no, you weren't supposed to be here," the knight hissed, armor long gone and arm bandaged in a way that told you it had gotten broken pretty badly. "We wanted to keep you safe!"

You stilled. "Safe?" you asked, staring them down, this group of starved, wounded people you had once given everything to.

The explanation downright poured out of the, interspaced with hissed pleas for you to just go. That they had said these terrible, hurtful things to protect you.

And all at once, that bitterness and pain in your heart went cold. "No," you said and your voice was calm, steady, even though there was a storm within you. "You did not protect me, you thought me incompetent."

They tried to deny it, falling over themselves with words and you raised a hand. They fell silent and you shook your head. "You did," you insisted. "You thought I could not handle this and you thought I would not understand if you explained it to me."

Your lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You never trusted me, did you? So you just told yourself a pretty tale, that you would protect me, as if I ever needed that and then you left, to go and play hero." You took in their ragged appearance once more and whispered, "And look where the potions you traded me for got you."

They called after you as you left, rejoining with your companion waiting by the door.

"We should free them later," you whispered, glancing over the prisoners. "They are in no condition to fight." Even if you poured out all your magic to heal them, you could not heal starvation. They were all too weak to even lift a sword for more than a minute.

"A wise if hard choice," your companion murmured back and the two of you left, the prison laying silent as if the people within already expected the two of you to get dragged back in chains.

That it was useless to try and plead for anything, even being freed. That they knew they would never even make it out of the fortress in their current condition. As if others had tried without success until they had all, collectively, given up.

Only if the godslayer was defeated did they stand a chance.

Creeping through the fortress, your companion and you discovered many things - a treasure with a stupid amount of gold and jewels, a guard with diarrhea who thankfully didn't notice you in return, a room full of portraits.

It wasn't until you reached the very top, having dodged many a patrolling guard, that you finally sensed something. You would have noticed it from further away, since it was cloaked into a ridiculous amount of concealing spells, but there was something hidden somewhere around here.

You dug your way through the spells until you found it: a hidden door. And behind it, at long last, the massive ritual chamber where Mother Nature was held captive - and the godslayer.

You barely had a moment's time to notice Mother Nature in all her wrathful glory, her shape shifting between howling storms and roaring bears and cracking lightning surrounding her physical, godly body, as if she was unable to stick to one shape of her power, before the godslayer stepped forward.

An unassuming man at first glance, but his eyes were cold, his smile a practiced, lifeless thing and the only thing that existed in his heart was hunger.

This was a person devoid of everything you had decided to worship and who would take and take and take from the world until it laid dead at his feet. Until he ultimately had to devour himself, for lack of anything else left to take.

Your companion lunged forward with a snarl and you got a glimpse at what a child of nature was capable of. Your companion was ice and snow, the unforgiving chill of winter, the death of frozen lakes and the blood-thirsty hunger of wolves fighting for survival.

But there was more, more than there had been at the beginning of the journey. There were flickers of fire and heat, of warmth that had gotten absorbed and kindness that had bolstered their heart into something powerful.

The godslayer clearly hadn't expected for your companion to have come back so much stronger and as you cast spells, warding and healing, you crept along the edges of the fight until you reached the base of Mother Nature's cage.

She was trying to reach her child, a mother's love and fear pouring forth, wanting her child to flee, to be safe, wanting to be free to rip apart what threatened one of her own.

You ever so briefly met the gaze of your companion and there was a split second of shared, silent communication and they gave you a nod, before throwing themselves onto the godslayer with renewed vigor.

You dropped all the spells and turned around, slamming your hands onto the glyphs on the floor and you closed your eyes.

It had been interesting, at first, just how similar curses were to other types of magic. There were a lot of spells that wished to hold something back, after all, and let something else be in control.

You spread your senses along the magical cage until it laid before you, a truly revolutionary piece of work. In the hands of someone less hungry, less greedy, it would have caused terrible destruction already. It would have already killed a lesser god.

The thing about curses was, there always had to be a backdoor, so to speak. It was part of the rule, part of the make-up. One could not build a house to lock someone into without also adding a door, after all. Even if said door got walled off afterwards, there had to be one first.

You found the part of the cage, the clause that had to be met in order to imprison a god and you laid your hand over it and told it that the god had escaped.

It was a lie, the easiest way to break a curse that was too complicated to break in other, simpler ways. You just lied to it, told it that it had fulfilled its purpose.

The cage shattered and the sheer force of unleashed power threw you to the ground, blinding and deafening you to anything and everything, until hands grabbed you to pull you up.

Your companion's voice muffled the sheer howling and snarling of crushing power around you enough for you to regain your baring.

Sitting up, blinking, you saw that the once cold stone room was covered in roots and blooming flowers.

There was only a smear of blood left where you had last seen the godslayer standing and then you sensed it in the air. The rejoicing of other gods, who had called forth their clerics and paladins and devoted followers to try and save the one without this world would cease to exist.

To save their friend, their lover, the foundation they had built their own pantheons upon.

"Trice failed and no more," your companion whispered and then laughed for the first time since you had met them and they threw their arms around you, clinging to you tightly.

You said nothing when you felt tears wet your shoulder, you just hugged them back and poured some magic into them, gently mending wounds that had bled a strange, silver-red.

It helped calm your shaking hands and the hug helped you settle into your skin, your racing heart getting soothed back down to a regular beat. You sagged against your companion - fine, your friend - after a moment, dropping your forehead against their shoulder.

"We made it," you whispered and they laughed, muffled and gave you a little squeeze. For all that they were made of wintry things, they were warm, a heart beating against yours and their chest expanding with breaths.

After a long minute, you detangled from each other and left. There were plants everywhere, the very stone of the fortress humming with life and magic and the prison was completely empty.

Mother Nature was waiting outside the fortress, tall and powerful, a deity of everything wild and living, of everything surviving and growing. She was surrounded by the prisoners, all looking healed and stronger, though still far too thin.

"Thank you, my child," she whispered as she leaned forward to press a kiss to your friend's forehead and then she surprised you when she pressed her lips to your forehead as well.

A tingle of power, a blessing that would last for the rest of your life, made warmth bloom through you and she whispered, "Thank you, cleric of a god yet unnamed, grown by your hands and nurtured by your kindness. They will make this world better."

You jerked back in surprise, staring up at her and she smiled, like a million sunsets and sunrises, like every beautiful thing the world ever had to offer, breathtaking and awe inspiring. It made you feel more alive than ever to see a smile like that.

"That's how lesser gods are born, my dear," she said, gently reaching out to cup your cheek with a big hand. She smelled like herbs and flowers and forests, like sandy dunes and snowy tundras, like rivers and winds and stone and metal. "People like you make them. They will do good in this world and they are eager to meet you once they have grown enough power to gain a voice."

Well. You had no idea what to say to that, but thankfully Mother Nature needed no answer. She just closed her eyes and vanished, bursting into a shower of flower petals and laughing winds and roots vanishing into the ground.

Your former friends stared at you like they had never seen you before, like they had never thought you would ever be capable of any of the things you had done.

A warm hand gently took yours and you blinked, looking back at your companion - your friend. A truer friend than any you had had before.

"Want to meet my family?" they asked and then grinned, wicked and sharp, fangs on display. "And if you are willing, there are other evil things I would love to slay."

It surged forward within you once more, that hunger for adventure, the desire to test yourself against the world, to do good and make your time alive worth something.

"Yeah," you said and their grin turned into a glad smile.

And as they led you out of the mine-turned-fortress, away from people who had never truly known you, they leaned in and whispered their name into your ear.

Your a healer and was kicked out of the hero’s party because “Healers aren’t needed, just use potions”. You become powerful using your hate and distain for the hero’s party as a driving force. Only to learn, they kicked you out to protect you

[pazzi5351]

1,119 miles for you

Paige x Azzi

Word count: 1.3k

AN: based on this prompt!! Hope yall like🙀

————————————————————————————

Paige was laying on her bedroom floor in Minnesota, scrolling through TikTok with the kind of boredom only summer break could bring. The warm breeze of late afternoon flowed through her open window. She was just about to send a stupid TikTok to Azzi when her phone buzzed with a text.

Katie Fudd [1 New Message]

Weird. Paige sat up straighter.

Hey sweetie. Just wanted you to hear it from me. Azzi tore her ACL playing pickup tonight. We’re on the way to the ER now.

Everything stopped. Paige’s stomach dropped. Her vision blurred for a second before she was hitting the FaceTime button with shaking hands. Katie answered almost immediately.

“Hi, Paige,” she said gently.

“Wait—wait, what? No, no, no. She tore it? Are you sure? That can’t happen to Azzi. No. Are you sure?” Paige was already crying, tears brimming her eyes like she was the one hurt. “Katie, is she okay? Like, really okay?”

Katie gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Physically, she’ll be fine eventually. Emotionally… she’s gonna need some time. You know how much basketball means to her.”

Paige nodded, swiping tears off her cheeks. “Can I—would it be okay if I came? Like, to stay with you guys? Just for a week or something. I just—I don’t want her to feel alone after surgery.”

Katie’s expression softened even more. “Of course, Paige. I think she’d really like that.”

Paige didn’t even say goodbye. She dropped her phone onto the bed, the FaceTime call still open, and sprinted down the stairs.

“Dad!” she called breathlessly, already fumbling on her words. “Dad, Azzi—Azzi tore her ACL, she’s in the hospital, and I really wanna go see her, can I fly to Virginia, please?”

Her dad blinked at her from behind his laptop. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down, kiddo.”

She exhaled hard and started again, voice trembling but steady enough. “Azzi got hurt. She tore her ACL. I want to be there. Just for a week. I’ll do all my summer workouts when I get back. But I need to see her. Please let me go see her.”

He hesitated. “You’d be flying alone.”

“I don’t care,” she said, snapping slightly, voice suddenly fierce. “I don’t care if it’s scary. I just need to be with her.”

There was a pause. Then, a sigh.

“Alright,” he said finally, pulling up flight information. “I’ll book you a flight. Two days from now.”

Paige nearly tackled him in a hug, then bolted back upstairs, spewing a series of ‘thank you’s. “Katie!” she gasped into the phone, which was somehow still connected. “I’m coming in two days—I’m booking the flight right now. Gotta pack—bye!!”

The airport was still a blur in Paige’s mind. She’d somehow survived security, found her gate, and now sat in a window seat with her hoodie pulled over half her face. Her leg bounced nonstop. She couldn’t stop refreshing her texts, even though Azzi hadn’t messaged her in hours. Even though it was on purpose.

Because Paige had put her phone on Do Not Disturb.

Because she was trying to surprise her.

She almost threw up from nerves.

“First time flying alone?” a gentle voice asked beside her.

Paige turned to find a woman in her mid-sixties settling into the aisle seat, her floral scarf bright against her sweater. She had a travel pillow around her neck and a kind, weathered smile was plastered on her face.

“Uh… yeah,” Paige admitted.

The woman gave her a nod of understanding. “I still get nervous, and I’ve flown dozens of times. Deep breaths help.”

Paige smiled a little. “I’m not really nervous about the plane, I guess. Just… everything else.”

“Oh?” the woman asked, sliding a paperback into her seat pocket. “Something, or someone waiting for you at the other end?”

Paige hesitated. Then she nodded. “My best friend. Azzi. She uh… she tore her ACL a couple days ago. She doesn’t know I’m flying out to see her.”

“Oh honey,” the woman said, her voice laced with sympathy. “That’s tough. Knee injuries can take what feels like forever to heal.”

Paige’s throat tightened and her chest ached. “Yeah. She’s… taking it really hard. Basketball is her whole life.”

There was a pause, then the woman tilted her head, studying Paige. “And you’re going just to cheer her up?”

Paige nodded quickly, almost defensively. “Yeah. I just wanna be there for her. You know, help her feel a little better.”

The woman smiled knowingly. “She must be a very special young lady.”

That stopped Paige cold.

She glanced down at her hands, cheeks pink. “She is.”

“You love her?”

Paige blinked, startled by the question. Her voice came out quieter. “What? I— I mean, I dunno. Maybe. Probably.”

The woman chuckled, but it was gentle, not teasing. “You remind me of my granddaughter. She flew across the country once for a girl, too. You’re doing the right thing.”

Paige let herself smile, warm and shy. “Thanks.”

The woman leaned back in her seat. “Just wait until you see her face. That’ll be the moment worth every bit of turbulence.”

Paige pressed her forehead to the window, heart fluttering. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I hope so.”

Tim picked her up at the arrivals gate, waving casually. “Hey, Bueckers.”

“Hey, Mr. Fudd,” she said, pulling her suitcase along.

“We didn’t tell Azzi you were coming,” he said as they headed to the car.

Paige froze. “Wait, really?”

Tim just smirked. “Thought it’d be a good surprise. Plus, you’ll love her reaction.”

Paige grinned to herself, lightly whispering. “I’d thought you guys would’ve told her.”

Halfway to the house, Paige turned to him nervously. “Would it be okay if we stopped to get her Nutella and strawberries? Y’know— cause it’s her favorite. And maybe flowers? Those little yellow ones she likes.”

Tim gave her a side-eye smile. “You’re something else, kid. Of course.”

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Paige shyly picked out sun-colored daisies and grinned when she found heart-shaped strawberries. She even checked expiration dates on the Nutella jar like it mattered.

Tim teased her just a little on the ride back. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were really into my daughter.”

Paige turned beet red. “I—uh—I mean—she’s just—um—important to me.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, laughing quietly.

—

The house was warm and familiar. Paige stepped quietly behind Tim as they walked in.

From the living room, Azzi’s voice carried.

“I don’t know, Mom. Maybe she’s mad at me or something. Her phone’s been on Do Not Disturb for two days, and her location’s off. She’s never like that.”

Katie murmured something back, but Azzi kept rambling.

“I mean, she didn’t even send any TikToks today. That’s how I know it’s bad.”

Paige smirked from the hallway. “Wow. Two days without TikToks and I’m suddenly a villain.”

Azzi’s head whipped around so fast it startled Katie. “PAIGE?”

Paige stepped into view, arms full of daisies, strawberries, and Nutella. “Hey,” she said softly.

Azzi blinked like she couldn’t believe it, then gasped. “You’re actually here? You came?”

“Course I did,” Paige said, setting the things down and walking over slowly, careful of Azzi’s knee. She leaned in for a hug, holding her tight. “You think I’d leave you alone to be all sad and dramatic without me?”

Azzi laughed, already tearing up. “Shut up. I’m gonna cry.”

Katie and Tim stood in the kitchen doorway, watching them with quiet smiles, sharing a knowing look.

That night, the girls were curled up on Azzi’s bed. They’d talked about everything—basketball, rehab, Paige’s awful flight snack—and now they were quiet, the quiet of the room wrapping around them.

Azzi turned slightly toward her. “Paige?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m really glad you came here.”

Paige smiled, her heart aching, but in a warm, full way. “I’m really glad I came here too.”

Their eyes met, soft and sleepy, and before either of them could talk themselves out of it, they leaned in—slow and certain. The kiss was gentle, a little shy, but perfect. When they pulled back, Azzi was smiling, cheeks pink. Paige tucked her face into Azzi’s neck.

They fell asleep like that, limbs tangled carefully, holding on like they never wanted to let go.

[enwoso]

weight of the world | part four

alessia russo x baby!reader (last part of this little mini series!)

-> based on this request | some upsetting themes throughout so read with caution

grumpy masterlist | part three here

it had been a couple of weeks since alessia had made the jump and called the line on the piece of paper which her mum had left on her fridge and they'd been helping, more than alessia maybe realised.

after each session, she felt lighter. like she didn't have the world on her shoulders afterwards.

"i don't think i ever gave myself permission to not cope," alessia said, her voice low, fingers knotting tightly in her lap. "it was like... the second i admitted i was struggling, i'd lose everything. lose control. or worse—lose her."

alessia's throat ached as she said it, like even speaking the fear aloud might make it real.

dr. finch or morgan as alessia learned to find out after their first couple of sessions. morgan didn't rush alessia. she never did. she just nodded gently, legs crossed, her pen still. listening.

"so you became everything for everyone," morgan said after a pause.

alessia nodded, blinking fast. "yeah."

alessia rubbed at the skin on her wrist, the words coming harder now. "i kept thinking... if i just did everything right—fed her at the right time, rocked her the right way, got back to training fast, kept my head down—then no one would question me. no one would think i couldn't handle it. because if someone thought that... then maybe they'd think i wasn't fit to be her mum."

morgan's voice was soft but unflinching. "that is a heavy burden. to be everything. all the time."

alessia laughed bitterly, wiping under her eye. "didn't feel like i had a choice."

"and what about now?" morgan asked gently. alessia sat with that question for a long moment, staring at the window, at the strip of sky just visible behind the blinds.

"i-i'm... learning," alessia said finally. "to share the load. a bit. my mum, ella, the team... they've stepped up. they've been kind."

a beat.

"and i'm starting to believe they'll stay. even if i'm not perfect."

morgan nodded slowly. "that's good, alessia. that is really good." a longer pause stretched between them before morgan spoke again—careful, measured. "can i ask something about y/n's father?"

alessia's jaw clenched. her shoulders stiffened slightly. "he's not in the picture," alessia said quickly, automatically—like she'd practiced the line a hundred times.

"i see," morgan said gently. "would you be open to sharing how that's felt for you? being left to carry this on your own?"

alessia didn't answer right away. her eyes glossed over. then: "i didn't plan to be a single mum. i didn't plan any of it."

alessia let out a long breath that trembled at the edges. "he said he wasn't ready. and i told him i wasn't either but i had this connection with her so i told him that i could do it without him if i had to. i wasn't giving up my baby. and i meant it." alessia swallowed hard.

"but there's a difference between doing it alone because you choose to... and doing it alone because you're left with no other option."

silence again, thick and aching.

"and the worst part?" alessia added, voice cracking. "sometimes i still catch myself missing him. not being with him but—just... the idea. of not being alone at 3am with a crying baby and a pounding headache. of someone else washing the bottles. of someone else looking at her and seeing me."

alessia's lips trembled. "and then i hate myself for that. because i do have people. i have my mum. i have ella. the girls. but it's not the same. and i feel selfish for even saying that."

"it's not selfish," morgan said softly. "it's you being honest. wanting help—wanting softness, support, safety—that's human, alessia. that's not weakness."

alessia let her head fall forward slightly, chin trembling, eyes closed. "it just gets so loud in my head sometimes," alessia whispered. "and i think, what if i ruin her? what if she grows up and sees how lost i was? what if she hates me for that?"

"she won't," morgan said calmly, but firmly. "you are showing her something so incredibly powerful—what it looks like to be brave and broken and still present. you're showing your little girl what it means to fight for your healing. that matters."

alessia didn't say anything for a long time. then she nodded, one tear sliding down her cheek. and whispered, "i want to be better for her."

"you're already becoming that," morgan said gently. "one step at a time."

⸻

the sun was already slipping through the sheer curtains when alessia woke, her body still curled protectively around your little body, as you were nestled against your mummy's chest, asleep with your fist tucked under her chin. your breath was soft and even, and for a moment, alessia just lay there, watching you.

"hey, my little love," alessia whispered with a small, tired smile. "we did it. another night."

you stirred but didn't wake. alessia pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and let her eyes drift to the window. the morning light filtered in, warm and gold. the kind that made things feel gentler. softer.

alessia stood slowly, carefully, and padded into the kitchen with you still in her arms. the whiteboard calendar her mum had left was now full—training days, therapy sessions, checkups, even a coffee date with ella scribbled in pink marker. it made her feel like her life had shape again. a purpose again.

the kitchen smelled like toast and the radio played softly. there were now signs of life everywhere now—a new plant on the windowsill, baby socks drying on the radiator, alessia's training boots by the door. the kind of mess that meant people lived here. tried. laughed. started again.

ella had started picking her up on tuesdays and thursdays. a quiet routine that never needed to be spoken aloud.

alessia strapped you into your bouncer with a kiss to your forehead, then laced up her shoes up. her training schedule was light still—modified drills, rehab, nothing too intense—but it felt good to be back. good to sweat. to her body belong to her again, even in fragments.

"you know," alessia murmured, brushing a hand down your leg, "i thought i'd break. i really did."

you cooed up at her, wide-eyed and curious. "but we're still here, aren't we?" alessia smiled, the kind that reached her eyes now—tentative, but real. "and i'm not perfect. god, not even close. but i'm trying."

then alessia's phone buzzed on the counter. a message from ella.

tooney | ‘you still on for a light session today at the ground? i've got snacks. and tooney hugs for my fave little russo.’

alessia laughed under her breath and typed back:

less | ‘wouldn't miss it. save me a banana bar.’

—

later that day, at carrington, alessia stood on the edge of the pitch, nerves buzzing beneath her skin. she was still on an individual programme—short sprints, ball control, bodyweight strength.

the team were doing full drills on the other side of the pitch, but she didn't feel separate anymore. just... finding her way back.

you were in the dugout dressed in warm clothes to match the coolness of the air that swarmed manchester, tucked safely in ella's arms, surrounded by a rotating cast of teammates who doted on you like she was the team mascot.

"look at that face," mary grinned, making ridiculous noises to earn a gurgling laugh from you.

"she's our lucky charm," leah galton said, gently fixing your little bobble hat so that it didn’t cover you big blue eyes.

alessia glanced over and smiled, heart full. the sight was surreal. her daughter—her daughter—being passed between some of the best players in the world, held like something precious. like something that belonged.

as alessia powered through her final sprint, lungs burning, legs screaming, she heard it: cheers.

"go mummy! go mummy!" ella started to chant as she lifted you in the air with your arms as little smiles came from you

"go on lessi!"

"smash it, mama!"

alessia reached the final cone, doubled over with a laugh and a breathless sob tangled together. ella jogged over, still holding you. "you alright?"

alessia looked up, eyes bright. "yeah," alessia panted. "actually... yeah. i think i am."

you babbled and kicked your feet like you understood exactly what was going on. ella grinned. "told you. you've got this."

alessia reached out and took you in her arms, sweat-slicked and flushed with effort. alessia kissed your forehead, breathing in the soft scent of baby shampoo and something sweeter—something like hope.

as healing wasn't about bouncing back straight away like a bouncy ball. it wasn't linear. it was showing up, again and again, even when it hurt. it was letting yourself be seen. letting others help carry you across the line.

and as the sun dipped low over the training ground, alessia russo—mother, footballer, fighter—held her baby in her arms and smiled like maybe, just maybe, she believed it now too.

alessia wasn't fixed. but she was standing. and that was enough.

[riddlesrizzler]

Jelly Cat

summary: you said you wanted a jelly cat characters: bf! mattheo. reader. mentions of theo and enzo warnings: none! word count: 1.1k

It had been a rough week-one of those weeks where nothing seemed to go right. You’d spilled tea on your favorite sweater, failed a potion that turned your eyebrows green for a day and a half, and your Care of Magical Creatures partner had bailed on you again. By Friday evening, all you wanted was to collapse into bed and not be perceived.

Mattheo noticed. He always noticed.

He wasn’t the best with emotions-not in the way you were. You wore your feelings like ribbons, tied delicately into your expressions and tone. But Mattheo? He kept his locked in a fortress behind his eyes. Still, when it came to you, he paid attention.

Which is why, as you lay curled up on the common room sofa, sniffling over your Transfiguration notes and hugging your pillow to your chest, Mattheo sat nearby, deep in thought.

“She’s been saying that word all week,” he muttered.

“What word?” Theo asked, upside down on the armrest of the couch, lazily flipping through a Quidditch magazine.

“Jellycat,” Mattheo said, frowning like it was some kind of riddle. “She told Pansy she wants one. She told Draco she used to sleep with one every night. She told me they make her feel safe. So-what the hell is a jellycat?”

Enzo, lounging near the fireplace and buttering a crumpet with his wand, perked up. “Is that like... a magical beast? Like a pudding that purrs?”

“No,” Theo drawled. “it’s like an enchanted kneazle. Don’t bring up third year again.”

Mattheo rubbed his temples. “I don’t care what it is. I just want to give her one. She’s sad. I hate it.”

There was a pause.

Then Enzo grinned. “What if we... made her one?”

Mattheo’s eyes narrowed. “Made her a... jelly cat?”

“Exactly,” Theo chimed in, catching on fast. “We charm jelly. Give it ears. A tail. Little paws. It purrs. It jiggles. It’s what she wants.”

Thirty minutes later, three of Slytherin’s most feared boys were sneaking into the Hogwarts kitchens, tiptoeing past sleeping house-elves and nicking every bowl of jelly they could find-raspberry, strawberry, even one suspiciously glowing lime.

Back in their dorm, Enzo sculpted. Theo transfigured. Mattheo supervised with the intensity of someone about to fight a dragon.

It was hideous. Absolutely horrendous. The thing had tiny licorice whiskers, two uneven blueberry eyes, and a tail that wobbled like it was drunk. But when Theo tapped it with his wand, it purred-a long, wobbly little hum that made Enzo giggle like a maniac.

“I can’t believe I’m about to give this to her,” Mattheo muttered, staring down at the abomination with the reverence of someone preparing for a proposal.

That evening, you were curled under your blanket in the common room when he approached, awkwardly holding something behind his back.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly nervous.

You blinked up at him, tired but trying to smile. “Hey, Matty.”

His heart melted a bit. He cleared his throat. “So, I know you’ve had a crap week. And I know you kept saying you wanted a... a jelly cat.”

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! Yeah, I love Jellycats. They’re these plush stuffed animals-super soft and cuddly-”

Mattheo blinked. “Wait... they’re toys?”

“Yeah?” you said, laughing softly. “I had a bunny one as a kid. I miss her.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he slowly pulled the thing from behind his back.

It jiggled.

It meowed.

You stared. “Is that...?”

“A jelly cat,” he said proudly. “Literally.”

It was the strangest, ugliest, most endearing creature you’d ever seen. A wobbly, red blob shaped vaguely like a kitten, with gummy bear paws and licorice whiskers. It purred again, then flopped over with a squelch.

You blinked. “You made this?”

He shrugged, suddenly sheepish. “With Theo and Enzo. They helped. I just... I thought it would cheer you up."

You were speechless for a second. Then you laughed. Hard. The first real, full laugh you’d had in days. Tears prickled in your eyes-not from sadness this time, but from how much you adored him.

“Matty,” you whispered, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “It’s perfect.”

He grinned, a little pink in the face. “You’re not just saying that because it’s technically alive, right?”

You hugged the jelly cat against your chest. It wobbled and purred like a satisfied pudding. “No. I love it. And I love you.”

He paused, eyes softening. “Even though I didn’t know what a Jellycat was?”

“Especially because of that.”

And from that day on, the literal Jelly Cat sat on your shelf. Wobbly. Melty. Slightly cursed. And every time you looked at it, you remembered how much your ridiculous, thoughtful, soft-hearted Slytherin boyfriend loved you.

[rottenherbs]

An Enemy of an Enemy

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin! Reader

Summary: A guarded Slytherin student reluctantly joins Dumbledore’s Army, only to find herself drawn to George Weasley

W/C: 3.1k

A/N: BARK BARK potential for more parts BARK BARK

[Masterlist]

Much Love, Saige

The first time George Weasley noticed you, you were sitting three seats ahead in Umbridge’s Defense Against the Dark Arts class — arms folded, spine straight, green and silver uniform disturbingly immaculate against the damaged withered desks.

You looked the part of every Slytherin stereotype he despised.

But then you spoke.

“‘There are no dangers outside these walls’? You must be joking.” Your voice sliced cleanly through the room like a blade, cold but calm.

Every head turned. Even George stopped doodling a hex in the margin of his textbook.

Dolores Umbridge blinked slowly, lips curling.

“Miss L/N,” she said in her falsely sweet tone, “I do hope you are not questioning the Ministry.”

“I’m questioning your lies,” you replied, with the practiced poise of someone used to walking the fine edge of a knife.

It earned you two weeks’ worth of detentions.

And it earned George’s interest.

———-

Two weeks later; you sat on the floor of the corridor outside the Inquisitorial Squad’s meeting room, back against the cold stone, twirling your wand between your fingers. The sharp ache of the words Umbridge had etched into your hand still throbbed beneath your skin — though you had cast numbing charms, they only helped so much.

George Weasley rounded the corner, muttering to himself, and jumped a little when he saw you.

“Well, if it isn’t Princess Slytherin herself,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “Hiding from your loyal goons?”

You didn’t even glance at him. “They’re not mine. And you’re bleeding.”

George looked down at the thin cut across his knuckle. He’d forgotten. “Occupational hazard,” he said lightly.

You tilted your head and met his eyes — piercing, steady, unreadable.

“So,” he said after a pause, “what did you do this time? Questioned the existence of sunshine? Denied the glory of Umbridge’s pink cardigans?”

“I corrected her on wandless casting theory,” you replied flatly. “Apparently, logic is now subversive.”

George laughed. You didn’t smile, but you didn’t walk away either.

“Why are you really here?” you asked.

He hesitated. Then: “Dropped off some products. Just a little… chaos.”

You arched a brow. “You mean illegal contraband.”

“Tomato, toadstool.”

A pause.

You tucked your wand back into your sleeve. “She’s going to ruin this school.”

George looked at you carefully, then leaned against the wall beside you — not touching, but close enough that your shoulders nearly brushed.

“She already is,” he said quietly. “But we’re not letting her win.”

You turned your head just slightly, eyes meeting his again — and for the first time, he noticed how tired you looked. Not weak. Just… worn down. Like someone holding too much.

“I’m in,” you said.

George blinked. “In?”

“You’ll need help. You need someone she doesn’t suspect. I’m not exactly on her favorites list anymore.” You smirked faintly. “I can be useful.”

George stared at you, trying to decide if this was a trap, a joke, or something else entirely.

In the end, he held out his hand.

“Enemies, then allies,” he said with a lopsided grin.

You took it, but your face didn’t falter

“Just enemies.”

——

The corridors were already beginning to clog with students as classes let out, the usual swell of voices echoing against the stone. You kept your head down, your stride quick and purposeful, weaving through the crowd with the ease of someone who preferred not to be stopped.

But of course, he saw you.

“Oi, Serpent Queen!”

You didn’t stop. Didn’t flinch. Just rolled your eyes and walked faster.

George Weasley caught up anyway — falling into step beside you, that same smug grin tugging at his lips like he’d just won a bet.

“You always walk this fast, or is this just for me?”

“I walk this fast to avoid things that are a waste of time,” you muttered.

“Ouch,” he said with mock injury. “Brutal. I’m starting to think you don’t like me.”

You didn’t respond. You turned a corner sharply, nearly colliding with a second year, who squeaked and scampered off. George followed anyway.

“I’m trying to be friendly here,” he said, glancing sideways at you.

“You’re trying to satisfy your curiosity,” you replied coolly. “There’s a difference.”

That made him pause. You were sharp. Always a few words ahead. And yet something about your tired sarcasm only made him more fascinated.

“Alright,” he said, undeterred. “Let’s say I am curious. Can you blame me? Mysterious Slytherin girl who talks back to Umbridge, shows up to secret meetings like it’s no big deal, and then vanishes like a ghost afterward? Hard not to be intrigued.”

You stopped walking. Abruptly.

He almost ran into you.

You turned to face him, eyes narrowed. “Intrigued? Is that what this is?”

He blinked. “Er—well, I mean—yeah.”

You leaned in, voice low. “This isn’t a game, Weasley. You think I show up to help you and your band of revolutionaries because I want attention? I do it because someone has to. Because unlike you, I don’t get the luxury of people assuming I’m on the right side.”

George swallowed whatever smart remark was sitting on his tongue.

The space between you went quiet for a second — buzzing with something else now. Something sharp and electric.

Your gaze dropped to his hand, where he still had ink smudged across his fingers. “And for the record,” you added, stepping past him, “you’re not nearly as subtle in the halls as you think.”

George turned to watch you walk away, and despite the sting of your words, he couldn’t help the stupid smile tugging at his lips.

You were infuriating.

And brilliant.

And absolutely not someone he could ignore.

——

The castle was quieter at night, but not peaceful.

Every footstep echoed like a warning. Every whisper seemed louder under the weight of watchful portraits and prying shadows. You moved quickly, robes pulled tight, hood up, slipping between moving staircases and past dim torchlight until you reached the seventh floor.

You had to pass the tapestry three times. That’s what George had said, right? Concentrate on what you need.

You took a breath. Walked once.

A place to practice. A place they won’t find us.

Twice.

A place to fight back.

Third time—

A place where I’m not alone.

A door appeared in the wall.

You hesitated only for a second, then stepped inside.

The Room of Requirement was larger than you expected. Cozy but alive — lined with cushions, shelves of old books, target dummies, and glowing lanterns. A few students were already there, clustered in groups, wands in hand. The chatter was soft but warm.

It stopped the moment they saw you.

A Slytherin in green-trimmed robes.

Zacharias Smith made a choking noise. “Is this a joke?”

“I didn’t know we were inviting spies now,” someone muttered. “Did she get lost?”

You said nothing. You didn’t flinch, didn’t shrink, but you were aware of every stare burning into you.

Then George spoke.

“She’s with me.”

The room went silent for an entirely different reason.

Fred turned to look at his brother, brows raised. “She’s with you?”

George stood a little straighter, arms crossed. “She’s not a spy. She hates Umbridge as much as any of us. Maybe more.”

You didn’t thank him. Just walked further into the room, past the tension, past the disbelief, and stood near the edge of the group.

Hermione gave you a wary glance, then turned back to Harry, who looked caught somewhere between confusion and cautious interest.

George drifted toward you a few minutes later, tossing you a practice wand.

“They’ll get over it,” he said under his breath.

“I’m not here to be liked,” you replied, catching the wand.

He tilted his head. “No, but it might be nice not to be glared at like you poisoned the pumpkin juice.”

You smirked — just slightly.

When practice started, Harry began with simple disarming charms. You made no attempt to show off, but your spellwork was clean, efficient. George noticed. So did a few others. Slowly, the whispers stopped.

You paired with George — purely for convenience, of course.

He disarmed you on the first try, wand flying from your hand. You cursed under your breath, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Try that again,” you said, retrieving your wand.

He did.

This time, you won.

By the end of the session, you were breathing hard, hair slightly out of place, cheeks flushed from the effort. George was watching you again — not with suspicion. With something else.

Something almost…admiring.

You handed him his wand without meeting his eyes.

“Don’t get used to winning,” you muttered.

“Oh, I’m counting on a rematch,” he said, smiling.

As the group began to pack up, you lingered near the bookshelf, pretending to scan titles. George caught up to you just as you reached the door.

“You didn’t have to come, you know,” he said.

You looked up at him. “Yes, I did.”

He nodded once. “Same time next week?”

You paused, then gave the smallest, sharpest nod in return.

Then you were gone.

——-

The parchment had said the meeting was canceled.

Harry and Hermione had written back and forth about scheduling conflicts. Cho had caught a cold. Fred had detention. No one would be coming.

But you showed up anyway.

The Room of Requirement had adjusted to match the mood — the space was smaller tonight, quieter. The walls were lined with flickering candles, low and golden, casting long shadows on the wooden floor. The air felt warmer here, softer somehow, like the room knew this moment mattered.

You were the only one there.

Or at least, you thought you were — until the door opened again, and George Weasley stepped inside.

He looked surprised to see you. But only for a second.

“Didn’t get the memo?” he asked, voice lower than usual in the hush of the room.

You didn’t look at him. “I did. Just didn’t care.”

George shut the door behind him. “Me neither.”

He walked to the center of the room, spun his wand in his fingers absently, then turned to look at you fully.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to linger.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what type is that?”

“The… sentimental type.”

You gave a soft, humorless laugh. “This isn’t sentiment. It’s necessity. If we don’t practice, we fall behind. If we fall behind, we lose.”

George studied you. You were wearing your usual expression — guarded, unreadable — but there was something different about your eyes tonight. They looked tired again. Not from lack of sleep. From carrying too much.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “you don’t always have to be ready for war.”

You finally met his gaze. “Don’t I?”

The silence that followed was heavier than any hex.

George sat down on one of the worn cushions, patting the one beside him. “Alright then, soldier. Let’s practice.”

You hesitated, then crossed the room slowly and lowered yourself down beside him. Not close. But not far.

“I thought you’d be with Fred,” you murmured, setting your wand on your knee.

“He’s got a late-night delivery to Peeves. Something that fizzes and wails.”

“Sounds on brand.”

George chuckled, then fell quiet again.

You both sat like that for a while. Not speaking. Not needing to.

Then George said, very softly, “Why do you hate her so much?”

You didn’t pretend not to know who he meant.

You took a slow breath. “Because people like her think they can rewrite truth. They think power gives them the right to define right and wrong. She looks at me and sees a house. A name. A threat. Not a person.”

George’s expression changed. Not quite pity. Something deeper. Understanding.

You added, quieter now, “She reminds me of everything I’ve had to become to survive here.”

For once, George didn’t make a joke. He didn’t laugh or tease. He just leaned back on his hands and looked up at the ceiling like he was trying to memorize the shape of your words.

“I thought you were arrogant, you know,” he said after a moment. “Too good to talk to anyone who didn’t wear green.”

“I thought you were an idiot.”

He grinned. “I am an idiot.”

You looked at him, lips twitching before you could stop yourself.

It was the first real smile he’d seen from you.

“I don’t trust people easily,” you said, voice so quiet it was almost a secret.

George tilted his head. “Then don’t trust me yet. Just… keep showing up.”

You looked down at his hand — ink-stained fingers, a small burn across his knuckle. Not perfect. But honest.

And for a moment, you wanted to trust him more than you wanted to be safe.

You didn’t say anything.

But you didn’t leave either, your eyes softening just enough that George took it as acceptance. Turning on his heel, he left you alone, the silence of the room surrounding you in a tight embrace. 

—

The corridors were colder than before.

Or maybe it was just you.

The door to the Room of Requirement had shut softly behind you, but the echo of his voice still rang in your head:

Then don’t trust me yet. Just… keep showing up.

You moved like a shadow through the castle — silent, focused — the same way you always had when returning to the dungeons after hours. Your shoes barely made a sound on the stone floor, your wand gripped tight in your sleeve, just in case.

But your mind…

Your mind was loud.

You hated that George Weasley had gotten under your skin.

You hated even more that you didn’t hate it.

The Gryffindor boy with quick wit and firecracker ideas, with a reckless grin and ink-stained hands — he was everything your house was taught to scoff at. Too loud. Too messy. Too transparent.

And yet… he’d looked at you like he saw past everything. Like you were something more than a house badge and a reputation and a thousand well-worn shields.

You scowled to yourself and quickened your pace, storming down the familiar cold stone hallway that led to the Slytherin common room. The shadows felt more suffocating than usual.

What would your housemates say if they knew?

If they found out where you’d been? Who you’d been with?

They already think you’ve changed.

You paused in front of the blank stone wall and whispered the password, voice low.

The wall slid open. The common room was dim and quiet — a few candles flickered near the hearth, casting green light against the stone walls and darker corners. A first-year dozed on a couch, and someone flipped pages of a book near the fire. No one looked at you.

You crossed to your dorm in silence, closing the door behind you before pressing your back against it.

You stared up at the ceiling.

This was never supposed to happen.

You’d joined Dumbledore’s Army because you wanted to fight. You wanted to survive. You wanted to prove — to the world and to yourself — that you were more than the twisted expectations placed on you. That you could stand for something, even if no one else in your house did.

But now, there was him.

His voice, his smirk, his frustrating loyalty. The way he listened without interrupting. The way he looked at you — not as a threat or a project or a puzzle — but like you were worth hearing.

You sank onto your bed and pulled the curtains shut with a flick of your wand.

It was dangerous, this thing between you and George.

It wasn’t just forbidden. It was treasonous, in the eyes of both sides.

And yet…

You thought of the way he had said it.

Keep showing up.

Part of you already knew you would.

——-

It had been a long day.

Umbridge had handed out another round of detentions like sweets at a feast, and the air in the castle felt thick with tension. Slytherin House was divided — some drunk on the power she offered, others silent, cautious. You were somewhere in between. Always watching. Always calculating.

Always pretending it didn’t bother you.

You didn’t expect anything different when you returned to your dorm that evening.

Same stone walls. Same half-dim torches. Same cold.

But when you stepped inside and shut the door, something was… different.

There was a folded piece of parchment on your pillow. Cream-colored. Sealed with a faint wax stamp — not official, not Hogwarts. No signature. Just your name in a looping scrawl.

Your breath caught.

You locked the door behind you.

Fingers slightly trembling, you picked it up and broke the seal.

His handwriting was unmistakable.

Dear Serpent,

(don’t scowl — you know I say it with love)

If you’re reading this, then I’ve officially managed to pull off a miracle: delivering a letter into the inner sanctum of Slytherin without being hexed, cursed, or permanently transfigured into a newt.

You should be impressed.

I don’t really know why I’m writing this, except that I couldn’t stop thinking about the way you looked last night when you said, “I don’t trust people easily.”

I don’t take that lightly.

You carry yourself like someone built from armor — not the shiny kind, but the dented, scratched, heavy sort that’s been through too much and doesn’t fit quite right anymore. And somehow, you still walk like it doesn’t slow you down.

It makes me want to be softer when I speak to you.

To earn every word you don’t say out loud.

I don’t know what we are — or what this is — or how mad you’ll be at me for writing this, but I think I’d regret not saying it.

You make me want to show up, too.

Even when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

Yours in chaos,

George

You read the letter three times.

By the fourth, you had to sit down.

The room was quiet, but your heart wasn’t.

It hammered against your ribs like it was trying to escape — like it already knew.

You’d spent weeks pretending this meant nothing. That he was a distraction. That your loyalty and your survival were the only things that mattered.

But somewhere between the Room of Requirement and this folded parchment, George Weasley had become something else.

You pressed the letter to your chest.

And for once, you didn’t hesitate.

You threw on a cloak, tucked the letter into your pocket, and slipped out of the dormitory. The halls were quiet this time of night — perfect for a Slytherin who knew how to move unseen.

You weren’t entirely sure where you were going.

Just that you had to find him.

That you couldn’t let this moment — this chance — pass.

You’d let the world burn before you let yourself feel something real.

But now? 

Now you wanted to run towards it. 

Towards him …. 

[hannie-bees]

Sad Bread || c.hs

Pairing: Vernon × reader

« You wake up to your bf eating sad lonely bread like he isn't loved. »

Wc: 861

Genre: fluff

You woke up to silence.

The room was quiet, unusually so, save for the occasional shuffle of movement from the kitchen. You blinked sleep from your eyes, recalling just how late you’d stayed up working last night. Your limbs were still heavy, your brain foggy. You rolled over instinctively to find an empty spot where Vernon usually curled beside you.

He must’ve let you sleep in.

That’s when the faint sounds reached your ears—the clink of a plate, the dull scrape of a butter knife.

You yawned, pulling on a hoodie as you padded into the kitchen. You were expecting him to be cooking something, maybe even reheating leftovers.

And then you saw him.

Vernon. Sitting at the breakfast table. Shoulders hunched, hair still messy, eyes half-lidded as he stared mournfully at the single slice of bread in his hand. Next to him: a half-empty jar of jam and a butter knife. No toast. No eggs. Just... a sad, plain slice of bread.

He looked up when you entered—and you swore you saw his ears droop like a cartoon puppy caught doing something pitiful.

“Morning,” he mumbled, caught mid-bite.

Your heart cracked.

“Han,” you said, voice already trembling with offense. “Are you eating sad dry bread right now?”

He blinked. “I didn’t want to wake you. You were up really late...”

You stood there in the doorway for a beat, just staring. This wasn’t just any breakfast. This was the breakfast of someone who had lost all hope. Of someone who had resigned themselves to fate. He looked like a soaked puppy left at the doorstep of your heart, nibbling bread like it was the only thing left in the world.

You crossed the kitchen in a flash and stood beside him. “Vernon. Look at me.”

He hesitated but turned, crumbs still on his lips. You gently cupped his face in your hands. His cheeks were warm and soft, and his eyes were confused, but quietly pleased at the attention.

“Never do that again,” you whispered seriously. “Never eat sad, flavorless bread in front of me like a lonely little orphan.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Shh.” You pressed your forehead to his, then kissed him there softly. “This is a no-dry-bread household. Especially not for you.”

He blinked, looking like he was torn between laughing and melting.

“You looked like a puppy,” you muttered, ruffling his hair before standing. “An abandoned one. It physically hurt me.”

“I wasn’t trying to be dramatic.”

“You weren’t trying,” you echoed, already pulling out the pancake mix. “And yet here we are.”

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he watched you. “You really don’t have to—”

“I want to. Sit. I’m making breakfast for both of us.”

He obeyed, a little stunned, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself now that he was no longer stuck with jail-food-level bread.

You moved easily through the kitchen, cracking eggs into a bowl, mixing batter, and heating up the pan. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon started to fill the air as you added little touches—pushing your sleep-mussed hair out of your face, tapping your foot as you waited for the pancake bubbles to pop.

Behind you, Vernon leaned his chin on his hand, just… watching.

“Can I help?” he asked.

“You are helping. You’re existing. That’s all I need from you today. Just sit there and look pretty.”

He smiled, small but real.

Soon enough, pancakes were stacking on a plate, syrup was ready, and you dropped fresh strawberries into the blender with ice cream and milk. The whirring filled the kitchen like a happy hum, and Vernon’s face lit up when he saw the pink swirl.

“You made a milkshake?”

“For us. I’m not gonna sit here and drink something cute while you gnaw on bread.”

“I feel like this is a full-on intervention.”

“It is. And it’s not over yet.”

You set the plates and tall glasses down at the table, nudging him gently. “Eat. Like a loved man.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you both sat down. “You’re too good to me.”

“Someone has to be. You clearly weren’t being good to yourself.”

He picked up a fork, took a bite, and then let out a noise so soft and satisfied it made your heart do a little flip.

“I missed this,” he said between bites. “Us eating together.”

You smiled around a strawberry. “Then don’t skip it next time just because I sleep in. If I catch you eating sad bread again, I swear…”

“What? You’ll cry?”

“Worse. I’ll film it and send it to your mom. Caption it: ‘Look what your son’s resorted to.’”

He snorted mid-chew. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me.”

He leaned over the table, brushing a crumb off your cheek with his thumb. “Thanks for this,” he said quietly.

You looked at him for a long moment, your heart warm and full. “Anytime. Always.”

You clinked your milkshake glasses together like it was toast, and dug into breakfast, wrapped in the kind of comfort that only came from being with someone who made even jam and bread emergencies feel soft and funny in the end.

See more...

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

a temporary job, or something more?

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

pairings: lyra kane x grayson hawthorne tags: assistant x boss au authors note: okay i have never done an au before, BUT i really wanna try one!! basically the events of the brothers hawthorne still occured (the phone calls), but the grandest game doesn’t exist in this universe. also the whole “lyras father” thing is going to be REALLY played down because i dont want it to be a big problem in this universe. anywaysss thanks this is going to be a multiple part series and i hope u guys enjoy it 💖💖

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

GRAYSON:

“C’mon, Gray,” Nash drawled. “You’ve been overworking yourself for weeks. Just think about it.” Grayson sighed. He had been overworking himself for weeks.

His assistant, Sheila, was a kind, 42 year old woman. She had been working as Grayson’s assistant for 2 years, before quitting. Apparently she had gotten a job offering in Connecticut, closer to where her parents lived, and took it to be near them, and to help out her sick father. Grayson had been overrun with work, and simple tasks that Sheila used to take care of for him was weighing him down. And now there was finally time to open up the assistant job.

Taking a sip of his coffee, Grayson tried to ignore his 3 brother’s stares across from him. Their breakfast plates were empty, and yet they made no move to put them away. They simply stared, waiting for an answer. Grayson sighed.

“Fine.” he obliged, biting out that one word answer. Xander and Jameson both high-fived, glad that they had finally worn him down, while Nash just smiled at him.

“Good job, Gray. I’m glad you decided to finally get someone to help you out.” Nash said, his voice honest. Grayson gave him a slight smile.

“Honestly, I’m glad too.”

LYRA:

Lyra rubbed her temples, having gone over so many bank statements and tuition expenses that her head was starting to hurt. Not to mention it was currently way past midnight, and she had already drank 2 cups of coffee. She can’t stay at her out of state college if her brother wants a college fund, or if she wants to keep Mile’s End. And yet her father would kill her if she took a leave from school.

Lyra sighed, going over all her options one last time. The only reason she had continued to go to her out of state college was because she was already enrolled there. Otherwise, she would have dropped out and switched to a closer school. She didn’t have anything to run from anymore, anyway.

She remembered the day all too well. 1 year ago, Lyra was packing her bags for college. She didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly, she was arguing with her mother. And things got worse. Lyra was screaming, uncaring of what she was saying, when the words came out: “and it’s not like you care whether I go to an out of state college or not, or whether I quit ballet or not, because you never even bothered to ask me why!” She remembered pausing immediately, going silent, and her mother begging Lyra to tell her why. And she did.

Lyra told her mother every memory she had of that night, from beginning to end, and by the time she was done, she and her mother were kneeling on the floor. Lyra was crying, and her mother was rocking her in her arms.

That was when her mom decided she wasn’t going to continue to stand by and watch Lyra’s life continue to derail. She enrolled Lyra for therapy lessons at her college, and with a weekly outside of college therapist. Slowly but surely, Lyra began to work through her trauma, eventually getting better and better at controlling the narrative in her own life instead of her past doing that for her.

And the one thing that her mother did that really settled with Lyra was a year ago. Lyra’s mother sat her down, and showed her articles, older websites, anything she could find that showed that her father wasn’t the only person the Hawthorne’s screwed over. So many other patent owners experienced the same thing, losing everything typically at the hands of Tobias Hawthorne.

“Don’t get angry Lyra,” she told her in a kind voice. “But you have to accept this. Rich people do bad things. And your father is just another person Tobias Hawthorne screwed over. But you have to remember that Tobias is dead. That terrible generation of the Hawthorne family is gone. And that new heiress, she won’t do the things Tobias Hawthorne did. It’s not much consolation, and it’s not the justice I know you want. But knowing that nobody is going to go through what your father may have gone through by Tobias Hawthorne… that’s enough consolation for me.”

Her words resonated with Lyra. She can still feel the anger, the frustration when she thinks about what happened to her father. But now, instead of letting her anger and grief take control of her, Lyra remembers that both her father and Tobias are gone. And the only way for her to move forward in life is to accept that.

Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, her brain transporting her back to the present.

A job, her brain reminded her, you’re looking for a job. Lyra breathed in and out, the action something she was used to and calming, and continued to look through job applications. She didn’t need to look for ones close to her college, as she finally decided she was going back home on her leave. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, she thought. Besides, once she made more money she could rent an apartment, and that would help her make her own choices with her life, ones that helped her keep Mile’s End while also helping her parents get a trust fund started for her brother.

Finally, after 20 more minutes of scrolling through possible job opportunities, her eyes landed on one job in particular that stood out to her the most: an assistant opening for the Hannah the Same Backward as Forward Foundation. Lyra’s eyes widened. That was Avery Grambs’ foundation, she thought, having to fight back memories of her father, the one she created to donate 98% of her money. Then she clicked the read more section, saw who she would be working under in this assistant position, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.

Grayson Hawthorne. The man she had called a mere 2 years ago, asking about her father. The man who told her to “stop calling”. Frustration rose in her chest, remembering how quickly she’d been tossed out by him.

She didn’t need his help anymore. She was finally accepting her past. But then? Him abandoning her, him giving her hope and then taking it away, him telling her to “stop calling”? That broke her.

Lyra didn’t know what she was doing then; it felt as if a spirit had taken over her body, because in seconds she had submitted her resume and had applied for the job.

She stared at her laptop with shock at her own actions, and wondered then if she could reverse them. But then she remembered her brother’s college fund, and Mile’s End, and realized that no matter her past with Grayson Hawthorne, she needed this job. It must be high paying, considering there weren’t many positions in the foundation. And besides, Lyra was sure that he wouldn’t even remember her. Each call had been placed by a burner phone, all only a few minutes in length. Those calls wouldn’t deny her this job.

Shutting her laptop, Lyra placed it on her nightstand, and finally went to sleep.

Lyra didn’t know how to feel when she got the message that she had been accepted for the job. Her mind was stuck in a loop of worries, but somehow the idea that she would be working for Grayson Hawthorne didn’t quite hit her until she was standing outside of the foundation, her laptop bag in hand. Then she began to wonder about the state she was in when she applied for this job. They requested that she wear a “Hi, my name is” sticker on her blouse with her name scrawled on, so Lyra did exactly that, feeling wildly ridiculous.

After about 3 minutes of staring at the building, Lyra took a deep breath, and stepped in. She wasn’t quite sure where to go, so she walked up to the woman in the front desk, who looked just as elegant as that entire marble-coated building. Lyra’s heels clicked as she walked up towards her, and the woman looked up.

“Hello.” Lyra said, slightly awkward. The woman payed no mind to her hesitations, and smiled at Lyra with honesty and kindness in her expression.

“Hi there! What brings you to the Hannah the Same Backward as Forward Foundation building?” She chirped, surveying the sticker on her blouse with unfamiliarity in her eyes. Lyra couldn’t help but give her the slightest smile, even if it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m a new assistant. For Grayson Hawthorne?” Lyra said, trying to sound as unaffected as possible when she said his name. The woman looked surprised.

“I wasn’t aware that he had opened up the position. I mean, I knew that Mr. Hawthorne’s past assistant had quit, but he seemed pretty adamant on not needing a new one—“ the woman didn’t get to finish her sentence before somebody interrupted her.

“And yet here she is, a shining new assistant, all thanks to me!” Exploded a male voice. Immediately Lyra turned to give whoever interrupted this kind lady a mean look, when she realized who she was glaring at: Xander Hawthorne. Lyra didn’t have time to be shocked when she surveyed the two men behind Xander: Nash Hawthorne, and Jameson Hawthorne.

Lyra realized then that her glare from before was still sitting as clear as day on her face, and it looked as if she was judging all of them pretty fiercely.

Fixing her face, Lyra gave them a polite—and utterly fake—smile. “Do you think you could lead me to his office?”

They all shared the quickest look, before Jameson Hawthorne stepped forward. “Sure thing. Follow our lead…” he trailed off, reading the sticker on her shirt. “Lyra Catalina Kane.”

The walk there was mainly silent, as well as the elevator ride, but Xander Hawthorne still found a way to talk through it all, even when there weren’t any real conversations happening.

Finally they reached his office. The first thing she saw was an empty desk area in front of it, clearly meant for Lyra. The second thing she saw was the inscription on Grayson’s office door—Office 301 - G. D. Hawthorne.

Lyra swallowed, nervousness closing up her throat.

“Here it is,” Nash Hawthorne spoke abruptly, his Texan accent thick. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll be great at the job, I’m sure of it.” Lyra was surprised, her gaze flashing to Nash’s. She hadn’t expected him to be so kind.

“Thanks.” she said, politely yet surprisedly. Then she stepped forward, and opened up the door. There, sitting at the desk, was Grayson Hawthorne. She stepped forward, glancing behind her to see if the other 3 Hawthorne brothers were still there, but they were all starting for the elevator. Lyra turned back around, and saw that Grayson Hawthorne’s gaze was now on her. She opened her mouth to speak—and was immediately interrupted.

“You’re the new assistant?” he asked, his gaze formal yet calculating as he swept his eyes over her. Lyra nodded, slightly aggravated but not letting it take ahold of her, and opened her mouth to speak.

And wouldn’t you know what happened, yet again.

He interrupted.

“Good. I was just finishing up some paperwork. I have some more leftover documents, but I can look through those. Though I would appreciate you getting me a coffee.” he said, standing as he rearranged some papers. Lyra’s jaw went slack. First he interrupts her, twice, and now he assumes she can’t look over basic documents?

Asshole.

Lyra stayed silent, stewing in her anger, and Grayson Asshole Hawthorne looked up at her.

“Did you not hear me?” The question was entirely rude, but said with such formality that you would think you were going crazy for thinking it was. Lyra’s jaw tightened.

“I heard you perfectly fine. I just assumed that I’m supposed to be given leave to speak, considering I haven’t been able to get a word out up until now.” she gritted out, immediately regretting her words as soon as she said them. Great way to get fired 2 minutes into the job, Lyra thought.

But Grayson’s expression wasn’t annoyed, as she expected. No, he was utterly taken aback.

Lyra was beginning to feel scared, when Grayson spoke.

“What?” he breathed. Lyra made a face.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I—“

“No, not that.” Grayson cut her off again, waving a hand. He still looked shocked, staring at Lyra like she had grown a pair of horns mid conversation.

And then he spoke, and Lyra realized why he was so shocked.

“I know you.” he breathed. Lyra froze. The phone calls.

Each phone call was placed by a burner phone, all less than a few minutes in length and around 2 years ago. He shouldn’t have been able to recognize her voice. That was the one thing that soothed her nerves, knowing Grayson wouldn’t recognize her.

So much for that.

“2 years ago,” Grayson spoke, walking around his desk to come closer to her. “you called me, asking about your father. The one who killed himself, saying “a Hawthorne did this”.” Grayson was significantly closer now, his body only a few inches from hers.

“Am I correct?” Grayson asked, his pupils wide. Lyra gave him a look. He knew he was.

“Does it matter? It was 2 years ago. Those phone calls have nothing to do with this job.” she retorted, not being able to pry her gaze away from his. “I’m not here for some revenge plot. I need this job.” He came closer.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice cold—yet quiet, like he was grappling with himself. Lyra was about to defend herself, her eyes flashing, when the door to Grayson’s office suddenly opened.

“Mr. Hawthorne—“ Lyra heard a familiar voice behind her. She immediately stepped away from Grayson, turning around to see the same front desk lady who had greeted her a mere 5 minutes ago at the door. She seemed incredibly awkward after catching the two of them standing a mere few inches away.

“Ms. Grambs wanted me to drop these off. But now that Ms. Kane is here, she will be able to go through those for you, if it’s too much of a hassle.” she said, quickly shuffling into the room and dropping a small stack of papers onto Grayson’s desk, an air of hesitations around her.

“Thank you.” Grayson’s voice was deeper than previously, the rich and low sound of his voice distracting Lyra more than it should have.

More than it could have, now. Besides the fact that he was a Hawthorne, he was her boss.

Lyra went for the papers before he could.

“I can fill these out.” she said briskly, needing any excuse to turn and walk out the door. And she was about to when Grayson interrupted.

“Our conversation isn’t over, Lyra.” Lyra froze. Lie-ra.

“It’s Lyra.” Lee-ra. Her palms were getting sweatier as she had to fight back memories of her father.

“My apologies, Lyra.” he said, pronouncing her name right that time. Exactly right. He seemed like he was going to say something else, but Lyra didn’t give him the opportunity to. She turned and walked out the door before he could speak, closing it behind her and giving Grayson Hawthorne a taste of his own arrogant medicine.

GRAYSON:

Lyra Catalina Kane. Her voice immediately sent him back to two years ago, to phone calls and riddles, to that damn opal ring.

“What begins a bet? Not that”.

It became increasingly hard to focus on work when all Grayson could do was stare out the glass pane of his office, watching Lyra at her desk. His mind was occupied with questions, about why she needed the job, about her father, about what her being here meant for his family.

And for him.

He couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about her after he had told her to stop calling. But he didn’t think he could pester he about the phone calls any longer, especially when she’d said that the job had nothing to do with them.

Still, to be safe, he sent out a text to Avery.

“Did you perform a background check on Lyra Catalina Kane?”, he texted, pressing send. There was a pause, before the text bubbles showed up indicating that Avery was texting back, and she finally wrote her reply.

“Yes, there was nothing concerning about her. Why?”, read the text. Grayson paused, before his fingers continued texting.

“Just curious.”, he sent back. Then he placed his phone down, his mind going back to the mystery girl who he had been thinking about for the past 2 years. The one who was now his assistant.

Then a brief knock sounded at the door, pulling Grayson from his thoughts.

“Come in,” Grayson spoke. Lyra Kane walked in, holding a document.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” she spoke, sounding as if she were talking to him for the first time, like their past phone calls were nothing. “I need you to sign your name on one of these papers.���

Grayson stared at her, watching her as she came closer. She put the paper on the desk neatly in front of him. Grayson stared at her for only a moment longer, before turning his attention to the document.

Grayson signed his name quickly and efficiently on two different spots, before handing the paper to Lyra. She turned around and was about to walk out, when Grayson spoke.

“Ms. Kane,” he called out. Lyra turned around. He stared at her, unsure of what to say, before improvising.

“Call me Grayson.” he said. Grayson was a bit surprised; after all, Sheila had always called him Mr. Hawthorne, but Lyra and Sheila were different on a multitude of fronts. She paused, before a look came on her face.

“Only if you call me Lyra.” she retorted. Grayson was surprised, not used to anyone talking back as much as the spark in front of him did.

In a moment, Grayson realized that Lyra wasn’t just a spark. She was a wildfire—fatal, stubborn, and more than a little dangerous. He smiled then.

“If you wish, Lyra.” he said. Lyra looked at him a moment longer, before giving him a slight nod and stepping out of his office. Grayson watched her walked away, intrigue clear in his face.

Who really are you, Lyra Catalina Kane?

And despite what he thought, the idea of finding that out was a mystery that Grayson considered his to solve.

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

hi guys!!! so that was the first part to my first au fanfic, i hope u guys enjoyed it and if u have any constructive criticism/recommendations for what you might want to see moving forward in the fanfic please lmk!!! <33

[strawb3rry-hon3y]

Not Today

Pairing: Yeon Si-eun x Fem!Reader Requested: Yes / N/A

Summary: After a fight sparked by Yeon Si-eun's emotional distance, the reader storms off and ends up lost in a dangerous neighborhood only to be cornered by threatening strangers.

Length: 800 Words Genre: Angst, Hurt-Comfort, Fluff.

Warnings: Light injury, verbal argument, sketchy situation, mention of harassment, emotional vulnerability. Status: Complete!

It had been a long week. Exams were closing in, and I could feel the tension boiling beneath my skin like it was waiting to spill. Normally, I could keep it together. Normally, I could adjust to his moods, his quiet days, the way he shut everyone out. Si-eun wasn't like other boys. He didn’t sugarcoat things, didn’t waste words on meaningless apologies or gestures. And I liked that about him. I did. But sometimes, just sometimes, it made me feel like I was alone in this.

It started small. A skipped lunch together, A message left on read. A short reply when I tried to ask how his study group went: “Fine.” That would’ve been okay if it wasn’t already the third time this week. By Friday, I’d had enough. I was tired of feeling like I was orbiting his world without ever landing.

We were sitting under the usual tree behind the library, books open but neither of us really reading. The tension was thick, and I couldn’t take it anymore.

“You know,” I said, not looking at him. “I’m not asking for much. Just… a little more effort.”

He didn’t respond. Just turned a page like I hadn’t spoken. “Si-eun.” He looked up, finally. “What?”

That tone: flat, distant, like I was annoying him. It stung more than I wanted to admit.

“Do you even care about this? About me?” I asked, folding my arms. He frowned, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Of course I care. Why are you asking that?”

“Because you don’t act like it!” I snapped. “You barely talk to me unless I start the conversation. You don’t check in, you don’t ask how I’m doing, you don’t even notice when I’m upset—”

“I notice,” he cut in, voice low. “I just don’t always know what to say.”

“Well, maybe you could try saying something. Anything. It’s like talking to a wall sometimes.” He blinked at me. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he just closed his book and stood up.

“Maybe you should find someone who talks more.” I stared at him, blinking in surprise. “Are you serious right now?”

He didn’t answer. He just turned and walked away. I sat there, stunned, heart hammering in my chest. I hadn’t expected him to just leave. A part of me wanted to go after him: scream at him, tell him he was being ridiculous, but my pride wouldn’t let me.

So I walked. Not home, not to a friend’s place. I just walked. Through the neighborhood, ignoring the ache in my feet and the lump in my throat. It was dark by the time I realized I’d wandered somewhere unfamiliar. The houses were more run-down here, the streetlights flickering or dead. I turned around to retrace my steps and froze.

Three guys were leaning against a wall nearby, their eyes on me like they’d been waiting.

“Hey there,” one of them called, stepping forward. “You look upset. Want some company?” I backed away, heart pounding. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? You look like you could use some cheering up,” another said, grinning. They moved in closer. One of them reached for my bag. “C’mon, don’t be like that. Let us help.”

“Don’t touch me!” I yanked the bag back, stumbling. They laughed, but it didn’t feel funny. It felt dangerous. Then a voice cut through the air like a blade. “She said don’t touch her.”

I turned just in time to see Si-eun step out, his face dark with anger. He didn’t hesitate. One swift movement, and he had the guy who grabbed me shoved back against the wall.

“Walk away,” he said coldly. The guys cursed under their breath, but they backed off, muttering as they disappeared into the alley.

I was shaking, adrenaline making my knees weak. Si-eun looked at me, his expression softening instantly. “Are you okay?” I sighed, looking away like from him “I— yeah. I think so. Don’t think i'm going to forgive you just for showing up like prince charming…”

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” he said quietly. “I was angry. At myself, not you. I just… I don’t always know how to deal with things.” I bit my lip, trying not to cry. “I thought you didn’t care.”

He stepped closer, gently grabbing my hand with a sad look. “I care. Too much, maybe. I just don’t always know how to show it.” And for once, I believed him.

Taglist: N/A Header Creator’s: @saradika-graphics

[yuusishi]

mysterious beings

synopsis : characters finding your tsum running around !!

genre: fluff , established relationship

pairings : Rollo Flamme , Skully J. Graves x gn!Reader

cws/tws : none

a/n : oh yeah first fic in 4 months I can't wait for summer vacation. I actually haven't played twst in like a month cuz I'm burnt out but I still love everyone

ROLLO FLAMME

He was already informed before of the tsums’ appearance in NRC ever since he first time. He couldn’t help but think this could be yet another headache that the Headmage would thrust unto you to take care of.

If Rollo had to be honest it almost urged him to take you away from the school before the Headmage had a chance to give his work to you.

Thankfully, you texted him that everyone is taking care of their own tsums which relieved him greatly. He doesn’t need the problems of magic users to be yours as well.

He did find it peculiar that there isn’t the usual number of tsums in the picture you sent to him. That was until he heard the faintest of knocks on his door.

He opened it to find no one there until he looked down and saw…a tsum version of you.

So that’s where the last one went.

Before anyone could see, he swept tsum you up into his hands and shut the door to his dorm room. He stared and stared at the tsum contemplating what he should do until it tilted its head in confusion, a sight most familiar to him due to a certain someone (*cough* you obviously *cough*).

He let your tsum follow him around like a lost puppy as he did his student council duties until that evening where you visited him saying that the portal is opening soon.

Admittedly he was a little sad considering this was the closest he got to spending the day with you without it needing to be a holiday, but eventually he gave the little mini you back and said your goodbyes as you made your way back to NRC.

He went back to his dorm room shortly after, the silence with nothing but the flickering of the fireplace was interrupted by his phone buzzing

"There's a fair near NRC in a week, do you wanna come with me :) ?"

A small smile played on his face as he stared at the text you sent him, "Of course, I'll finish my work immediately to be with you" he replied.

(art by @ TsunTsun_tsunno on twitter)

SKULLY J. GRAVES

Scared. Like, pretty scared.

He assumed the worst and thought an evil witch cursed you to become a little stubby...thing...(he didn't know what to call it) that couldn't talk!

Then he saw five other students' little creatures and made his fears even worse, the entire school could've been cursed!

He took your tsum in his arms immediately and ran to the Headmage's office, ready to beg on his hands and knees to find a spell, whether forbidden or not, to turn you back.

As he opened the door, panting like he just ran from mortal danger, he saw you and other students speaking with the Headmage. He was stunned and thought to himself "If that's [Name], then who is this??"

Eventually he got an explanation from both you and the Headmage and he was relieved this wasn't a situation of cloning gone wrong either.

Throughout the day you would see him carrying and coddling your tsum with a smile. In classes it's sat on his lap as he wrote down notes, at lunch it sits on the table you and him are eating at and even occasionally offering it a bite of his food, and during PE placed on one of the benches a safe distance away from everyone participating in sports or broom flying (he doesn't want it getting hurt).

When it's time for the tsums to leave he's SO sad, literally crying as he lets go of your tsum and watches it levitate into the portal in the sky (the tsum doesn't have a hint of emotion on its face).

You have to remind him that the original you is still here but his argument is that he's was so happy with TWO of you 💔

He gets better eventually and you both probably go on an ice cream date after.

[rkive-joonie]

"On your hands and knees" | Jeon × Y/n x Kim

| Jungkook x Y/N x Taehyung |

warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut,emotional and possessive love and intimacy, he is literally so obsessed with her, oral sex (f. receiving), making out, hickies/marking,penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, missionary position, fingering, rough and slow paced sex, emotional sex,

Wordcount: 2.4k

"You're not going to believe what happened," Jungkook said, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he leaned over the counter to whisper into my ear. His warm breath tickled my skin, sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the chilly evening air.

"What's going on?" I asked, playing along with his game, my curiosity piqued.

"Remember that nightclub we talked about?" Jungkook replied, a sly smile playing at the corners of his lips. "The one with the... private rooms?"

"Yeah, what about it?" I inquired, my heart racing slightly as I tried to keep my voice even.

"Well, Taehyung and I went there last night," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And we had a little fun."

The air between us grew thick with tension as he spoke, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of jealousy and arousal. I had always been intrigued by the idea of BDSM, but never had the courage to explore it. Now, here was Jungkook, laying it all out for me like a secret I wasn't supposed to know.

"What did you guys do?" I probed, my voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook's smile widened, his eyes darkening with desire as he leaned closer. "Why don't I show you instead?"

Without waiting for my response, he grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowded street, his grip firm and unyielding. The neon lights of the city reflected off his piercings, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across his face. We arrived at the nondescript building, the heavy bass of music thumping through the walls.

As we entered, the smell of leather and musk filled the air. The club was dimly lit, with the occasional flicker of candlelight casting eerie shadows across the walls. People in various stages of undress mingled freely, the sounds of whips cracking and moans echoing through the space.

"This is your chance," Jungkook murmured, his hand sliding down to grip my wrist. "Do you trust me?"

I nodded, my breath hitching in anticipation. This was it. The moment I had unknowingly been waiting for.

He led me down a narrow hallway, past velvet-covered doors with signs that read "Private." We stopped in front of one, and Jungkook produced a key with a flourish.

"Are you ready, Y/N?" he asked, his voice dropping to a seductive purr.

I nodded again, unable to find my voice as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing a dimly lit room with a large, inviting bed in the center. Taehyung was already there, lounging on the bed, his eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

They both smirked at my reaction, and I realized that this was no ordinary night out. This was going to be an adventure I would never forget.

Jungkook guided me over to the bed, his hand warm and reassuring in mine. He sat me down, his strong hands gently pushing me back into the softness of the mattress. Taehyung leaned in, his breath hot on my neck as he began to unbutton my shirt, one by one, revealing my collarbone.

"We're going to take this slow," Jungkook said, his eyes never leaving mine. "But if you ever feel uncomfortable, just say the safe word, and we'll stop."

I nodded, my heart racing with excitement. I had always been drawn to the idea of submitting to someone else's desires, and now, here I was, with two gorgeous men ready to fulfill my darkest fantasies.

Taehyung's hands were everywhere, tracing patterns on my skin that sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body. He kissed me softly, his tongue teasing mine as he removed my shirt, leaving me in just my bra and jeans. Jungkook's eyes raked over me, a look of pure hunger in them that made me feel like the most desired person in the world.

He moved closer, his hand sliding up my thigh to unbutton my jeans. His touch was firm, but gentle, as he exposed my skin to the cool air of the room. My breath grew ragged as he slid them down my legs, taking my shoes and socks off in the process. I was now in just my underwear, feeling vulnerable yet incredibly

aroused by the situation.

Jungkook took the lead, attaching soft leather cuffs to my wrists and ankles. The feeling of restriction was exhilarating, a rush of adrenaline that made me want to beg for more. Taehyung watched with a smoldering gaze, his eyes lingering on my exposed flesh. They exchanged a knowing look before Jungkook attached the cuffs to the four bedposts, spreading my body out for their viewing pleasure.

The room was filled with the sound of my own panting as they began to explore my body with their hands and mouths. Jungkook's teeth grazed my nipples through the lace of my bra, sending bolts of pleasure to my core. Taehyung kissed a trail down my stomach, his tongue flicking over my navel before

continuing lower.

"Do you like this, baby?" Jungkook whispered in my ear, his teeth tugging at my earlobe.

"Y-yes," I gasped, unable to form coherent sentences

.

Taehyung's mouth was now on my panties, his warm breath making them wetter by the second. He slid them down, exposing me completely. His tongue traced the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, teasing, taunting, making me squirm with need.

They worked in perfect harmony, each knowing exactly what to do to drive me wild. Jungkook removed my bra, his lips immediately capturing one of my nipples while his hand played with the other. Taehyung's mouth found my clit, his tongue swirling around it in a tantalizing dance that had me arching off the bed.

Their movements grew more urgent as I neared the edge, my body tightening with every stroke. They watched me intently, reading my reactions like a book, making sure I was enjoying every second of it. And I was. The pleasure was intense, like nothing I had ever felt before.

As I reached my climax, I screamed their names, my body convulsing with the force of it. They didn't stop, though, pushing me further, making me come undone in a way I never thought possible.

Once I had caught my breath, they untied me, and we moved to the next stage of our night together. The anticipation was killing me, but I knew it would be worth it. This was just the beginning of an unforgettable experience that would change me forever.

Jungkook handed me a blindfold, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Trust us," he said, his voice low and commanding. I nodded, eager to see what they had in store for me. As the soft material covered my eyes, the world around me

was plunged into darkness.

Suddenly, my senses were heightened. Every sound was amplified, and I could feel the heat of their bodies as they moved closer to me. Taehyung's hand brushed against my bare skin, sending goosebumps down my spine. Jungkook's fingers traced a path along my collarbone, making me shiver with anticipation.

The bed dipped as one of them straddled my hips, their weight pressing me down into the mattress. I could feel the outline of their erection through their pants, and I moaned, desperate for them to take the next step. The air was thick with lust, and I could feel it coating my skin like a fine mist.

They didn't disappoint. Jungkook's hand slid down my stomach, his fingers slipping into my panties to stroke my wetness. His other hand found my throat, squeezing gently as he began to kiss me again, his tongue delving deep into my mouth. Meanwhile, Taehyung's mouth was on my neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin as he kissed and nipped his way down to my chest.

Their hands and mouths were everywhere, exploring and claiming every inch of me. They moved together like a well-oiled machine, each touch and kiss calculated to drive me closer to the edge. I was lost in a sea of sensation, unable to think about anything but the two of them and the way they were making me feel.

With a sudden jerk, Jungkook removed my blindfold, and I was met with the sight of them both, fully naked, their erections standing proudly before me. They looked like gods in the candlelight, their muscles rippling as they moved closer.

"We're going to take you now," Jungkook murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But remember, you're in control."

I nodded, my voice a breathy whisper. "I trust you."

And with those words, I gave them the power to do whatever they wanted to me.

The rest of the night was a blur of pleasure and pain, a dance of dominance and submission that I had never experienced before. They pushed me to my limits and beyond, each touch and sensation more intense than the last. I was theirs, to do with as they pleased, and I reveled in it.

Their hands were rough and demanding, leaving marks on my skin that would be there for days. But it was the gentle caresses and whispered words of encouragement that truly undid me. They knew exactly how to balance the two, how to keep me on the precipice of ecstasy without sending me over until they were ready.

Taehyung's cock slid into me, filling me completely. I moaned as he began to thrust, slow and steady, his eyes locked with mine. Jungkook knelt beside the bed, stroking himself as he watched us, his eyes dark with lust.

"Look at her," he said to Taehyung, his voice husky. "So beautiful when she's being fucked."

I blushed, my cheeks heating up despite the cool air. The words should have made me feel degraded, but instead, they filled me with a strange sense of pride. I was beautiful, and they were showing me just how much they wanted me.

Taehyung leaned down, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss as he picked up the pace. Jungkook's hand reached out to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing against my bottom lip. I could feel his eyes on me, drinking in every expression that played across my face.

Suddenly, he was there too, his cock pressing against my ass. He slicked it with lube before pushing in, filling me to the brim. The feeling was overwhelming, the pressure and the stretch almost too much. But they moved together, their rhythm matching perfectly, and soon the pain morphed into something else entirely.

They moved as one, their bodies in sync with mine. Each thrust brought a new wave of pleasure, and I could feel myself getting closer to the edge again. My breath came in gasps and moans, their names falling from my lips in a desperate litany.

And then, just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, they switched places. Jungkook took his place between my legs, his cock sliding in with ease thanks to Taehyung's preparation. Taehyung's mouth was now on my neck, his teeth scraping along my skin as he whispered sweet nothings into my ear.

Their hands were everywhere, touching, squeezing, and teasing. They brought me to the brink over and over again, only to pull back and start the slow build-up once more. It was torturous, but in the best possible way.

Finally, when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, they both pushed deep and held still, their eyes meeting over my body. And with a roar, they came together, their hot seed filling me up.

We collapsed onto the bed, our bodies slick with sweat and lust. They held me close, whispering sweet nothings into my ear, their kisses gentle and reverent.

For a moment, we just laid there, our hearts pounding in unison. Then, with a mischievous smile, Jungkook whispered, "Ready for round two?"

And despite the exhaustion that was already setting in, I couldn't help but nod eagerly. This was just the beginning of a night I would never forget.

Jungkook and Taehyung pulled away from me, their bodies glistening in the candlelight. They shared a smug smile before turning their attention back to me, their eyes gleaming with a mix of desire and challenge.

"On your hands and knees," Jungkook ordered, his voice firm and authoritative.

I complied without hesitation, the thrill of submission coursing through my veins. As I got into position, I felt a hand at the small of my back, guiding me down until my cheek was pressed against the cool fabric of the bed.

Taehyung's hand caressed my ass, his fingers slipping between my cheeks to tease my already stretched hole. He applied a bit more lube, the coldness of it making me gasp before he slid one digit in, then two. Jungkook's cock was already at my entrance, the head nudging insistently against my slick folds.

They didn't wait for me to adjust, instead pushing into me simultaneously. The sensation was overwhelming, and I moaned into the pillow, my body trying to accommodate both their sizes. They moved together again, their strokes long and deep, filling me completely.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin and my own cries of pleasure. They were relentless, pushing me to the edge again and again. And when I thought I couldn't take anymore, they would slow down, only to build back up to that delicious peak.

My orgasm washed over me like a tidal wave, my body shaking with the force of it. They followed soon after, their cocks pulsing deep inside me as they filled me up once more

.

As we all caught our breath, they helped me off the bed, their hands gentle as they cleaned me up. They led me to the bathroom, where they washed me with warm water and soft cloths. The care and tenderness in their touches was stark contrast to the roughness of the sex we'd just had.

We returned to the bed, our bodies tangled together as we lay there, basking in the afterglow. Jungkook's arms were around me, holding me close as Taehyung traced patterns on my skin with his fingertips.

We talked about our limits, our desires, and what we had just shared. They assured me that this was just the start of our exploration together, that they would always be there to guide and support me.

As I drifted off to sleep, my body sated and my mind racing with the possibilities of what was to come, I knew that I had found something special with these two men. Something that would change me in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine.

But for now, all I could do was lay there, feeling them both beside me, and know that I was exactly where I was meant to be.

[buckys-forgotten-plum]

A Lesson in Love {2}

College!AU

Smarty Pants!Bucky x Cheerleader!Reader

Synopsis: Being a newly metamorphosed social butterfly certainly has its perks: an amazing friend group, a position on the cheer squad you’ve dreamed about for years, and the ability to make connections everywhere you go. Unfortunately, it doesn't make you any better at Linear Algebra, enter Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Cursing, awkward reader, James Barnes being a menace, probs cringy writing, most definitely not proofread <3

A/N: Part 2! Hooray! I’m not super happy with it, but to be fair i’m never happy with my work so whomp whomp to me. Hopefully you guys like it, next part will intro a new character and perhaps some drama will occur~

Part one

~~~~~~~~~~

Fluorescent light floods the space, the fixtures letting out a quiet hum that harmonizes with the consistent drone of the radiator up against the wall. The windows do little to help light up the room as overcast skies tease the possibility of rain. The room is warm, a contrast to the uncharacteristically chill weather outside, and with the calming white noise, you wouldn’t be surprised if someone used the space as more of a nap pod than a study room located in your university’s library.

And yet, even with what some would consider the perfect environment-

“I think I’m dying,” You groan, head slowly falling to rest upon the cool surface of the desk, “Seriously, I can feel the life draining from my body as we speak.”

An amused snort sounds from directly beside you, ”You’re not dying, just dramatic,”

Your head whips up at the accusation, eyebrows furrowed as your lips puff out into a frowning pout, “How could you say that? Look at me, I’m wasting away! Whoever invented this stuff should be burned at the stake” you grumble quietly and hold your glare on the man next to you.

James lets out a boisterous laugh, relaxing back into the office chair he’s sat in as he tilts his head and raises a curious brow at you, “Have you eaten today, Sugar? It’s nearly 1 o’clock and we’ve been here for over two hours,”

The pout adorning you face solidifies as he zeroes in on your failure to eat, “I got distracted while getting ready and didn’t have time to grab anything before heading over,” You break away from James’ gaze and stare down at your notebook, a small wave of embarrassment washing over you.

The reason you didn’t have time to eat was due to the fact you had to stand in front of your bathroom mirror for an extra 15 minutes to keep yourself from bailing out of the study session entirely. It had been two weeks since you had sat next to the brunette man that complimented your stickers and called you a sweet pet name, and those two weeks had been the most socially awkward you’ve felt since you had graduated high school. The stuttering, stumbling, word-vomiting self you had tried so hard to shove down into the dark depths of your mind had made a startling appearance in the last few weeks and you were struggling to understand why. All confidence left you as soon as James entered your eyeline, and frankly, it was making you spiral.

Was it his looks? No, that can’t be it. All of your friends were major hotties so you’d gotten used to being around ethereal beauty.

Was it the pet names? Also no, Stevie and Lena gave you pet names within the first week of knowing you!

Was it how close he always insisted on being to you? That-well that certainly wasn’t helping the situation. He’s just so warm and his cologne is to die for-

“Hey Sweets? You okay over there?” Your head jerks back up and whips over to find James looking at you with mild concern clouding his eyes.

“Oh what? Yea-no, or yes, yes I’m okay! Why do you ask?” Your hand subconsciously balls into a fist as you silently will the burn in your cheeks to subside. Pull yourself together for god's sake!

“I asked if you wanted to go grab something to eat and you kinda just…zoned out?” His questioning eyes were trained on your face, looking over your features to see if he could find a clue to your strange behavior.

”Right! Sorry, I guess maybe the lack of eating really is getting to me,” You mumble quietly.

James leans towards you, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder before nodding, “That’s alright, let’s go get you something to eat-“

Before he could finish his offer, he was interrupted by the familiar buzz of his phone on the table. Your classmate immediately slaps his hand down onto the device and silences it, letting out a quiet sigh. Curiosity overtakes your embarrassment and you look at your study partner inquisitively, “That's like the third time someone’s called you, maybe you should answer it this time?”

He shakes his head and smiles down at you as he stands, “Nah it’s nothing important. C’mon, I know a really good diner that’s right off campus,” He doesn’t wait for any confirmation before putting your notebook away and slinging both your bags over his broad shoulder.

You stare up at him for a moment, a little stunned at his boldness and questioning if he was joking or not, “A-are you sure? Because the test tomorrow seems like it’s gonna be pretty difficult and I’m not sure if I’ve done enough prep work yet.”

James gives you an understanding nod, “You’re not gonna retain anything if you’re starving, Sugar. Once we get some food in you, I promise we’ll come back here and finish studying.”

“Yeah I guess you’re right, does the diner have good french fries?” You look up at James with hopeful eyes as the thought of one of your favorite foods comes to mind.

He snorts out a laugh and nods his head, “Yes the diner has excellent french fries.”

———————

Thankfully, James wasn’t lying when he said the diner wasn’t too far away, as the weather seemed to only worsen as time passed. By the time you had arrived and James was kindly holding the door to the restaurant open for you, a chill had settled deep within your body, the wind had picked up dramatically and the clouds had darkened even more in color.

“Spring storm I guess? If it gets any worse we can just wait it out here, they have free WiFi and everything so we’ll be all set,” James comments as he leads you over to a small booth in the corner with a window that gives a perfect view for the upcoming storm.

You nod and begin to take in your surroundings. It certainly wasn’t the most modern diner you had ever been in, kind of reminded you of the one your grandparents would take you to as a kid. The dark green upholster on all the seats was worn, even cracked in some booths, and the floor looked like it had seen better days. But the waitress that greeted you was friendly and the smells coming from the kitchen window were making your mouth water.

”Hey Bucky! How’s your day goin’? Who’s your little friend here?” The chirping voice of the waitress brings you back to the surface of your mind as she approaches the table.

Your head tilts curiously at the unfamiliar name, but you quickly recover to smile up at the middle aged woman as James replies.

“Hi Donna,” James replies, a bright smile on his face as he introduces you as his new study partner, “It’s going good, just taking a break from studying for a bit, how about yourself?”

The waitress replies enthusiastically, recounting her day and telling James about her son giving her a hard time when getting ready for school earlier in the morning. James, (or Bucky?) laughs at her story before quickly glancing towards you with a smile, “You want anything to drink, Sugar?”

You’re taken off guard by the question thrown your way, “O-oh sorry, um yeah- Could I have like a hot chocolate maybe?”

”Hot chocolate huh?” James looks at you, his eyes still crinkled into that charming smile.

You once again feel your cheeks flare up as you realize the childish order, “O-or coffee, I mean, coffee is good!” You glance between the waitress, Donna, and James, silently hoping now that you’ve ordered they could go back to talking.

“Oh don’t let him tease you, sweetheart. Our hot coco is to die for here, and I like to dress it up with all the fixin’s so don’t you worry,” She smiles down at you and gives you a mischievous wink before jotting your order down on a notepad.

You mumble a quiet thanks and immerse yourself in the menu that was slipped onto the table earlier. James gives his order to Donna before stating you’d both need a couple minutes to decide what you’d like to eat. As your waitress departs to begin fulfilling your orders, James turns his attention back to you. You fail to notice his stare as your attention remains locked onto the pages of the menu, and it’s not until you’re deciding between pancakes or a burger that he breaks your focus.

A little ball of paper hits your forehead, taking you by surprise and causing you to let out a grumble of discontent, “What the hell James?”

You look up from your menu, surprised by the plastic cups of water Donna had managed to deliver without disturbing you and realizing the object that hit you must have been a balled up straw wrapper. You glare down at the little piece of ammo before fixing your glare onto James’ mischievously glinting eyes, “Can I help you?”

His smile widens and he moves to lean his forearms on the table, his eyes turning from mischief to intensity as they narrow, “Yeah, actually you can,” he nods before leaning forward even more, “What’s your deal, Sugar?”

You instinctively try to lean further back into your own seat but only meet a wall, “What do you mean ‘what’s my deal’? What’s your deal, Bucky?” Your eyes narrow just like his, and even though you’re basically plastering yourself against the wall of the booth, you try to look as intimidating as possible.

‘Bucky’ leans over the table even more, comically so to the point where he’s basically kneeling on the bench, inadvertently making you let out some garbled hybrid of laughter and discomfort, “How do you know about that name?” He asks accusingly, his right hand shooting out to point a finger in your face.

You guffaw, face contorting into a look of absolute disbelief as you go to defend yourself, “James the waitress literally called you that like five minutes ago,” You deadpan, no wonder this guy was failing your math class.

James somehow manages to narrow his eyes even more and it starts a staring (or glaring) contest between you both. Your expression changes from disbelief at his cartoonish reaction, to unamused as you refuse to let him win the silly challenge. The two of you sit in silence for who knows how long, your eyes are beginning to feel a slight sting on your waterline and you’re almost sure James is cheating with how squinted he’s made his eyes. You nearly give in just to end the ridiculous game when suddenly two mugs of hot coco, brightly decorated in whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, are unceremoniously set down on the table. The loud clap of ceramic on wood makes both of you break and look up at Donna who is sporting an awkward, albeit friendly, smile.

“Everything alright over here?” She asks, glancing between you and James as she cautiously slides each mug towards their respective owner.

“All good over here Donna! You ready to order some food, Sweets?” James’ suspicion has completely melted away as he now casually leans against the back of the booth, sporting a lopsided grin.

“I-Uh yeah, yeah I guess so…” You murmur, quickly flipping through your menu again and making sure you recite the correct menu item to Donna as you order.

Donna makes sure to jot down both yours and James’ orders, along with any modifications that were requested before quickly making her way back to the kitchen, leaving you and James in another drought of silence. You take the chance to look around the diner once again, trying to ignore the feeling of James staring at you from across the table. You hear the faint scraping of ceramic sliding across the table and before you’re able to tear your eyes away from the downpour happening outside the window, James is out of his seat and gliding right back into yours, unabashedly crowding into you.

His right arm goes up to drape across the back of the booth while his left rests on the edge of the wood table. As soon as you notice what’s happening, a squeak of surprise pushes out of your lips and you begin to scoot closer to the window, James immediately following you and effectively trapping you in the corner of the booth. His cologne surrounds you, the warm, spicy scent of cinnamon takes over your senses and the body heat that begins to radiate off of him and on to you nearly sends you into a spiral.

“You didn’t answer my question, Honey Bee,” James hums smoothly, his eyes hooded as he looks down at you.

You immediately want to tell him that nickname is reserved for Steve but are unable to as you become distracted by how positively close he is to you. You’re able to make out details never before noticed from your previous, appropriately distanced, encounters. Every impossibly long eyelash that brushes against his sharp, freckle dusted cheekbones, the different hues of blue that marble his icy pupils, the rough stubble that signifies the beginning of a beard.

It feels like lava is injected into your veins and a fiery heat races up your neck to the tips of your ears. You stutter out a few incomprehensible words, trying to look anywhere but at the man who is taking up most of your field of vision. Your hands clench into stressed fists as they clam up from a mix of stress and shear shyness.

“I-I don’t… I’m not really sure w-what your-what you could be talking about James,” You mutter quietly, continuing to push yourself up against the window to achieve a modicum of space.

“That right there,” James nods in your direction, “Sweetheart, you’re known as the campus’ social butterfly. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you not talking to somebody, but whenever we get together for our study sessions you go all-“ He waves a hand haphazardly towards your scrunched up form, “gooey,” He finishes with finality, dropping his waving hand back down onto the table.

You don’t say it out loud, but gooey is a far cry to what you feel right now, tight and strung out, waiting for your strings to finally reach their limit before they inevitably snap.

James only waits a moment before speaking again, “It’s like every time we get together you wanna melt into the floor, you never want to push too hard, or your always bending to what you think I’d prefer. I know you aren’t like that with anyone else, Sugar. I saw you try to put Roger’s into a headlock last week and-“

”Y-you know Steve?” You interrupt suddenly, your brows furrowing curiously as you finally turn your gaze to James.

His reaction to your question makes it look like you caught him in some type of lie, and you actually start to think you might actually have. Ever since you had talked to James that day in your lecture, neither him nor Steve had made any indication of knowing each other, even if one was brought up by you in conversation with the other.

”Oh uhm…” James actually scoots back a bit, giving you the space to take a much needed breath. He breaks your gaze and glances around the booth, nervously tapping his index finger against the table, “I mean-y’know everybody kinda just, like, knows each other, ya know?”

You look at him, perplexed by the out of character reaction, “I guess, but you called him Roger’s and he only lets his close friends call him that.” Your head tilts as you look over the man's strange demeanor, “So do you guys know each other or…?”

”I think we should change the subject-“ He starts but before he can get very far you interrupt.

”Why are you being so dodgy about knowing Stevie?” You ask more firmly, gaining confidence as you realize your positions of interrogation have flipped.

”Why are you always so gooey around me?”

You scoff, “I am not gooey around you-“

James holds up a hand before you can continue your bickering, “Let’s make a deal. You drop the Steve thing, and I won’t comment on your gooey-ness-“

”But I’m not gooey!” You protest, voice strained and cheeks burning.

James puts his hand out for you to shake and raises a brow, “Deal or no deal, goober?”

You can’t help but let out a frustrated puff of air, your lips pouting out as you look up at him, “Fine. But you can’t call me goober ever again, and you have to tell me why Donna called you Bucky.” You grab his hand and wait for a response.

“I’ll tell you if I get to keep calling you goober,” He wagers, a sly grin spreading across his lips.

”You get a limit of once a day,” You deadpan.

“Make it five,” His grin grows wider and his grip on your hand firmer.

”Three,” You grumble, your pouted lips turning downward into a small frown.

”You got yourself a deal, goob,” James shakes your hand with finality and finally leans back to give you an appropriate amount of space.

You roll your eyes and snatch your hand back from his, “Pay up, you freak,” you grumble half heartedly.

James barks out a laugh at the lame insult, taken a little off guard by your sudden snappiness, “It’s nothing crazy, just a childhood nickname that followed me into adulthood. My middle name is Buchanan, so it’s just a shortened version,” He explains a bit bashfully, his eyes failing to keep contact with yours, “Most people call me Bucky unless it’s a professional thing or whatever,”

You try not to feel the disappointment of being categorized as ‘a professional thing or whatever’.

You nod your head in faux nonchalance, “That’s cool,”

James snorts at your lackluster reaction, “If you want, you can call me Bucky.”

You glance up at Bucky and back down to the table, biting down on your lip to hold back you smile, “O-okay,”

Bucky grins and lets out a quiet chuckle before turning to greet Donna as she cheerily arrives with your meals, pretending like she doesn’t notice that Bucky has switched to your side of the booth. She quickly restates each order and asks if anything else is needed, James confirms that everything looks fantastic and you both thank her before she walks away. You begin to dig into your plate, humming quietly at the flavorful scramble that melts in your mouth as you realize how truly hungry you are. Arithmetic and bickering with a handsome classmate really works up an appetite apparently. James begins to dig in to his as well, gracelessly shoving large bites of pancakes into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in years. You silently roll your eyes and continue on with your meal as you both enjoy your meals.

It’s only after a few minutes of wordless eating that Bucky speaks, “Y’know I like when you get feisty with me. Makes me get all hot n’ bothered,” He states simply, taking a break from stuffing his face to smirk down at you.

You shrink into yourself at his comment, the heat in your neck and face coming back like a tsunami. Your eyes stay fixed on your plate as you stiffly stab your fork into the pile of hash browns in the corner. You grumble out your response and pretend like you aren’t burning up from embarrassment.

“Shut up n’ eat your pancakes you freak,”

~~~~

taglist: @iyskgd

^let me know if you’d like to be added! :)

[classica-meretrix]

i love your writing!!!! could i perhaps request a mortal friends to lovers leo valdez x reader au?? like they're both at college, leo takes mec eng(obviously lol) and reader takes psychology and it's just painful fluff with mutual pining losers with smut when they end up sleeping together after a super romcom dramatic like confession from leo?? lol sorry for the big ass text i'm just way into romcoms rn😅 (also subby leo lmao)

thank you so much for the request, love! leo is so fun to write for, and I ended up making this a two parter, so stay tuned for next week!

Are You Mad?

pt1, pt2

pairing: mortal leo valdez x fem!reader genre: fluff content/warnings: couldn't help but add some greek references lol, readers in denial, hoo friend group, dramatic love confession of course summary: you and leo end up as best friends after a chance collision, but soon it looks like it might be more a/n: I'm so excited to write the part 2 for this. should probably be out next thursday!

I tossed my empty cup into a trash can as I passed, trying to shuffle through the stack of papers and folders stacked in my arms with only one hand. At this point I was only half convinced I'd finished that paper, and if I didn't find it before I got Mr. Whitman's class, I was as good as dead.

Just as I thought I saw the header of the essay I had been searching for, I collided with something hard, and all my papers flew out of my arms, littering the sidewalk.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," the guy hurried out, immediately ducking down to collect my mess. All I could see of him from this angle was a mess of black curls, and the back of a beat up Carhartt jacket.

"No, no, that was on me. I wasn't looking where I was going." I grabbed as many of the papers as I could, attempting to put them back in a neat stack. "I was trying to find an essay."

"This one?" he asked, looking up. I was met with warm chocolate brown eyes, leaving me stunned for a moment. He had picked up a thin stack that had been stapled together at the corner, holding it at an awkward angle to read the title. "The Self: Human Nature or All in Our Heads?"

"Yep. That's the one." I had gathered myself enough to answer with a shy smile.

"Psychology?" he continued with a mischievous looking grin, handing over the last few rogue papers.

"Second year."

"Me too!" he said enthusiastically. "I mean—second year, not psych. I'm mechanical engineering."

"That's my roommates major! She loves it, but I've never been able to follow it much."

"It's not too hard once you get the hang of it. I'm Leo, by the way."

"It's nice to meet you! I'd shake your hand, but I'd probably drop all this again."

"We wouldn't want that," he laughed.

Just as I was about to make another comment, I caught a glance of his watch. "Shit. I'm gonna be late. It was lovely to talk to you, hope to see you around," I called over my shoulder as I hurried off to my class.

"That's the second time today!" Percy yelled, hopping up from his seat, the front of his shirt and pants soaked. "Why can't this shit be waterproof or something?"

"Sorry, man," Leo apologized, though his teasing tone and proud smile suggested otherwise.

As soon as Percy was out of the dorm room, hurrying off to change, Jason turned to his friend. "You've got to stop doing that," he laughed. "I think he's almost at the breaking point."

Leo shrugged, turning his attention back to me. I was laid in his bed on my stomach as he sat on the floor, resting his chin on the edge of the mattress.

"What was I saying?" he asked, his nose scrunching adorably.

"Those... Sphere thingies."

"Right!" he said, his eyes lighting up. "Archimedes' spheres. We were talking about them in class today. I mean, he had some crazy ideas, but these things were just wild. They're way too complicated. Those things would never work. They don't even know what half of them are supposed to do."

"He sounds rather ambitious. Like someone else I know," I responded, gently tapping the end of his nose. He scrunched it again at my actions, making me what to repeat my actions a thousand times over.

What the hell are you doing? Snap out of it.

I pulled my hand back to my side as he went on, rambling about the impossibility of the inventions. We were only a few inches away from each other, his chin on the edge of the bed and mine resting on the back of my palm, but neither of us seemed to notice the proximity.

How the hell I ended up in this position, I couldn't really tell you. It was probably Percy's stupid idea to come to this stupid party.

Leo was across the room, talking to some girl, and for some reason I couldn't pinpoint, I was pissed about it. Part of myself was saying he's just talking to some girl, what's the big deal? But another—much louder—part of me wanted to scream at how close they were, talking maybe a few inches apart at most, and neither had looked up for six minutes and fifty-two seconds. Not that I was counting. What has gotten into me?

I eventually tore my eyes away from them, afraid I'd make myself sick if I stared at them any longer. Set on searching out Annabeth, I took off into the crowd, eventually finding her in the kitchen, tucked under Percy's arm.

"I'm gonna head out."

Her expression immediately turned to worry as she saw my own. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't I be?" I answered, though my words came out sharp and uncomfortable, clearly not convincing either of us.

"I'll go with you."

"No, really. Percy's way too drunk to be left with the boys." My excuse was true, he was slurring aggressively, telling an overly exaggerated story.

"Jason isn't drinking, he'll be fine."

"Really," I tried again, practically pleading. I was more eager than ever now to get out of there, my skin heating to an unbearable temperature in time I'd be standing there.

She hesitated, studying me. "Fine. But text me as soon as your back in the dorm. Kay?"

"Mhm," I nodded, immediately ducking towards the door. I was eager for the fresh air, but as soon as I pushed my way outside I was pelted with thick, cold rain drops. Great.

I tried to ignore my shivering, tugging off my heels to avoid slipping. I was halfway home when my phone started ringing, playing the custom ringtone Leo had insisted I used for his contact. I hurriedly ignored it, fumbling with my heels and the slippery screen, but just as soon as I had put my phone away, it was blaring again.

"For fuck's sake!" I yelled, scrambling to clear it again.

'Where are you?' his text read. 'Are you okay?' 'Answer me please.'

"Give it up," I muttered angrily, shoving my phone into my bag. I had just made it to my building when an all too familiar voice came from somewhere behind me through the heavy patter of rain.

"Thank God! Are you okay?"

"Would everyone stop asking that?" I snapped, spinning around to face him. Leo was climbing out of his cherry red Cadillac he'd fixed up, hurrying over to me.

"I thought something had happened to you? Why didn't you answer my calls or texts?" His eyes quickly scanned over me, taking in the thin dress sticking to my skin, heels in one hands, and arms wrapped tightly around myself as I shivered violently. "You're shaking. Take my jacket," he started, shrugging off his coat.

I brushed him off, ignoring his attempts. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"What? I'm making sure you're okay. You shouldn't be walking home by yourself at two in the morning. Please, take the jacket."

"No."

"Are you mad at me or something?"

"Yes! No... I–I don't know! Can you just leave me alone?" I angrily pleaded. His expression was somewhere between confused and hurt, the arm holding his jacket now hanging by his side. "Shouldn't you be off with some little blonde?"

That comment struck a chord, only deepening his confusion. "No?" he said, almost as more of a question. "Are you mad about me talking to a girl?"

"I don't want to talk about this!" I yelled back, desperately wanting to get out of the heavy rain. I could practically feel the cold in my bones, and my clothes were clinging to me uncomfortably.

"I do," he pouted, looking like a kicked puppy. His curls were matted down on his forehead, his grease-stained t-shirt sticking to his skin, and his jacket hanging limping at his side, not bothering to put it back on.

"What is there to talk about? I'm soaking wet, cold, and tired, I don't want to talk about some skank at a frat party!"

"Are you jealous or something?" He had begun to raise his voice, from a mix of the loud rain and aggravation.

"Maybe I am!" I yelled in response. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"Yes," he answered, not skipping a beat.

I was too stunned to answer him, the anger suddenly leaving me. The image of us yelling at each other in the rain about something so simple suddenly seemed absurd, and I was frantically trying to figure out how we had ended up here. I was just beginning to realize I may feel something different for my best friend, and here he was saying he might feel the same.

He stared at me for what felt like forever, until I managed to croak out a barely audible, "What?"

"I like you. Hell, if we're being honest, I think I'm in love with you."

His big brown eyes watched me with no expectation, just observing. I realized he wasn't waiting for me to say it back, or even acknowledge it, he was just... watching me process.

Before I knew what I was doing I had thrown my heels to the ground, launching myself at him. I pressed my lips against his as I threaded my fingers through his soaked curls. Leo's hands instinctively found my waist, tugging me closer.

His teeth tugged my bottom lip, nipping me before his tongue darted out to lick across the area in a soothing manner. I tugged his hair at the action, silently praising him.

I pulled away breathlessly, trying to get even closer to him. "You're so warm," I muttered against his lips. My shivering had decreased significantly since he'd wrapped his arms around me.

"Let's get you inside." My only option for a response was a mindless nod, before returning to his lips.

[stranger-angel0401]

You'll Avoid Me Too

Pairing: Leo Valdez x Thanatos!Reader

Summary: When Leo ends up at Camp Half-Blood, he can't figure out why one camper is alone. When he gets to know them, he really doesn't get it.

Wc: 2.9k

Warnings: Language, reader gets bullied, reader doesn't know Spanish. No pronouns or description used for reader, but you could argue I used feminine adjectives (pretty, beautiful, etc).

From the day he arrived at Camp Half-Blood, Leo was convinced everyone there was insane. 

Of course, there was the whole ‘everyone is half god’ situation, but what really had him reeling was the fact that nobody was hanging out with the most beautiful person in camp.

He first noticed you at the campfire, sitting in the back by yourself. Nobody sat within several feet of you, and nobody seemed to even acknowledge your presence. 

Once he was pretty sure he’d gotten the general gist of what goes on at the campfire, Leo stood up and walked over to the log where you were sitting, plopping down right next to you. The sudden unexpected presence made you jump as your head whipped around to face him.

“Uh- can I help you?” You asked.

Your voice was just as pretty as you were. Soft and kind, despite you seeming mildly annoyed that he was sitting there.

“Well, I guess I was just wondering why you’re all alone. You got a disease or somethin’?” 

Leo immediately cursed himself for asking something so stupid, but it drew a soft snort from you.

“Or something, I guess.”

You seemed almost hesitant to talk to him, like you were trying not to engage too much.

“But seriously, why’s someone as awesome as you sittin’ all by yourself at the campfire?”

You sighed softly. “Trust me, you’ll want to avoid me too when you find out who I really am. Besides, how can you already think I’m awesome? You just met me.”

His grin dropped hearing you talk about yourself that way, but he quickly replaced it.

“I go based on vibes, Sweetheart. And your vibes seem pretty awesome.”

That brought a soft smile to your face, and you wondered if maybe this time would be different. For a moment, you considered your options. You were used to people avoiding you anyway, right? You’d just prepare for the worst, just in case.

“Can I show you something?”

You stood up, offering your hand. When he nodded and grabbed it, warmth flooded up your arm. It made you feel comfortable, a nice break from the constant cold you always seemed to feel. Leo let you lead him away from the campfire, towards the newer section of cabins. You stopped in front of one, assumedly yours. It was small compared to the others, and dark. He felt a small chill just standing in front of it.

“This,” you sighed softly. “Is my cabin. Can you guess which god it belongs to?”

Leo thought for a moment, running the few Greek names he knew through his head, but none seemed to fit. He shook his head.

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No worries,” you interrupted. “Most people don’t know him.”

He gave you a look, subtly pitiful. You hated it.

“Look, when I tell you who my father is, just- I get it if you never want to speak to me again. Most people don’t.”

Leo looked almost offended, you had to hold back a laugh.

“Yeah, well. I’m not like most people.”

You shook your head, holding back a small smile.

“My father is Thanatos. Do you know who that is?”

He shook his head again, looking disappointed with himself.

“Hey, it’s alright. It’s your first day, and there’s a lot of names to learn. Thanatos is..the god of death. Specifically peaceful death, but- that doesn’t usually make it better for people.”

You stared at the ground, waiting for some sort of response, or even for Leo to start running. 

“Okay,” he finally answered.

You gaped. “Okay?”

He shrugged.

“I don’t care if your father is Thanatos or Hades or Kronid-”

“Kronos?”

“Kronos himself. You seem cool, and I want to keep hanging around with you.”

You stared at him for a minute, trying to formulate a response. Truly, you thought he’d turn around and run by now.

“O-okay.”

“Leo!” Nyssa’s voice sounded from across the camp. “Lights out in five!”

Leo sighed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? I don’t think I got your name,” he grinned.

“Y/n. Goodnight, Leo.”

Honestly? You were pissed that Leo was going on a quest. You finally make a friend at camp after ten years, and he gets sent off two days later. Just your luck. You’d been front and center when he, Piper, and Jason left on the giant golden dragon. While Piper and Jason were saying their goodbyes, Leo had drifted over to you.

“You’d better come back safe,” you’d threatened. “Otherwise you’re gonna see why everyone at this camp is so scared of me.”

He laughed, wrapping you in a tight hug. You were stiff at first, shocked by the sudden contact, but you quickly melted into him.

“I promise I’ll come back, and I’ve got something to show you when I do.”

You’d watched the sky until you could no longer see the outline of Festus.

Even though Leo and his friends were only gone for a few days, they were torture. The quiet hurt so much more, now. You hated how quickly you’d gotten attached to Leo, especially after you’d sworn to yourself to never get that close to anyone. It would hurt too much if they left. When the three demigods had suddenly appeared standing on the Aphrodite cabin’s table, you’d nearly started crying. As soon as he’d stepped off of the table, you’d swept him into a hug, shocking him momentarily. 

“Hey, Sunshine,” he whispered, and the world felt right again.

“You do realize if you would tell me where we’re going, I could just shadow travel us instead of having to trek through the woods, right?”

You’d been hiking for what felt like forever, and Leo still wouldn’t reveal what exactly he had to show you.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re almost there. Just trust me.”

You groaned, but it was cut short when your foot caught in a hole. You yelped, failing to catch your balance, but the impact of the ground never came. Instead, Leo caught your arm, pulling you back up.

“Already falling for me, Sunshine?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Sunshine? Really? Pretty sure most people would say I’m the opposite.”

You pulled away from Leo, but he slid his grip from your forearm to your hand.

“Well, like I said. I’m not like most people. Come on, we’re almost there.”

When he stopped walking, you were standing at the base of a massive limestone cliff.

“I don’t think I understand,” you said, giving him a confused look.

He responded with a cocky grin.

“You trust me?”

You nodded, and his grin faltered.

“Look, I- you gotta promise you won’t be scared, okay?”

“This conversation sounds familiar,” you joked, but the look on his face told you he was serious.

“Okay, I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied, Leo nodded and placed his free hand against the cliff. Suddenly, flames erupted from his hand, dancing up the cliff face. You squeezed Leo’s hand as you watched, and then the flames outlined a massive door, which swung open into a huge cave.

“Holy shit,” you breathed. “You’re a fire user.”

Leo scratched the back of his neck nervously. 

“Yeah, I know, it’s kinda-”

“Awesome,” you finished.

Leo grinned before pulling you into the cave. The door swung shut behind you, leaving the two of you in darkness. You kept a hold of Leo’s hand as your eyes adjusted to the dark–night vision was one of the few perks of being Thanatos’ child. Next to you, a small torch lit in Leo’s hand. No, the torch was Leo’s hand. He scanned the wall for a moment, before mumbling a soft ‘there it is’. He flipped a switch, and suddenly the whole cave lit up. You sucked in a breath as you looked around. The walls were full of machinery and spare parts, and on a small desk was the head of Festus. 

“Holy shit, Leo. What is this place?”

You let go of his hand to look around, every square inch of the cave seemed more impressive than the last. You tried to ignore the chill you felt as you stepped away from Leo.

“It’s called Bunker 9. From what I can tell, it was built by my siblings centuries ago. But because fire users are so rare-”

“Nobody could get in,” you finished.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m gonna show my siblings later, but I wanted you to be the first.”

“It’s incredible, Leo.”

You ran a hand down Festus’ neck, and steam rolled out of his nostrils. Leo rolled his eyes next to you.

“I know, buddy. Believe me.”

You gave Leo a funny look, but he just shrugged, and you decided not to question it. 

“You ready to trek back?” Leo asked.

You grinned at him.

“Nah, this time we’re going my way.”

As it turns out, shadow traveling for the first time was not a pleasant sensation. When the two of you reappeared at camp, Leo was clinging to your arm and looking around wildly. 

“You’re tellin’ me you do that a lot?” He questioned, and you laughed.

“It gets easier, I promise. The first time is always a lot. You okay?” 

He nodded, “Yeah, I think so.”

“Good,” you smiled. “‘Cuz your siblings are headed this way.”

In the following months, you and Leo spent a lot of time together. Mostly in Bunker 9 while he obsessed over building the Argo II, but every once in a while you were able to drag him out for a campfire, or a real meal in the pavilion. The more time you spent together, the more you opened up, and you began to feel like you knew everything about Leo. You also thought of something you could do for Leo to thank him for letting you hang around all the time.

“Querida, slow down. Where are we going?” Leo questioned as you dragged him through the woods. 

“Just trust me, okay?”

He nodded and let you continue to pull him along until you’d reached the door of Bunker 9. You gave him an expectant look, and he rolled his eyes fondly before placing his hand against the stone and lighting it up. The door swung open, and on the ground in the middle of the room laid a blanket with a plate of food and a drink sitting on it, obviously stolen from the pavilion. Leo gave you a questioning look as you both stepped inside.

“That doesn’t look like enough food for two people. Plus, we just ate. I don’t-”

“Just shut up, okay? I need you to be quiet for like, thirty seconds. Can you please just trust me?”

He nodded, letting go of your hand as you kneeled on the blanket. You stayed quiet for a moment, and then you began chanting. Leo didn't understand most of it, but he did catch one part.

Esperanza Valdez.

In front of you, a sort of shimmering mist appeared. Slowly, it took the form of a person, Leo’s mother, he realized.

“Mamá?”

“Leo,” she smiled.

As Leo stepped forward, you backed into the shadows, trying not to listen too closely. This was a personal moment, you understood that. You managed to tune out their conversation until you heard Leo call out to you.

“Hey, Sunshine. Come over here.”

His voice was soft in a way you’d never heard before, it made you nervous. Carefully, you sat down next to Leo.

“Mamá, this is my friend, Y/n.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, and you thought you might explode from the way his warmth flooded into your limbs.

“Hi, Miss Valdez,” you waved.

She gave you a warm smile. She was beautiful, and it was obvious how much she loved Leo. 

“Please, Esperanza is fine. I'm so grateful my son has someone like you, querida. I wanted to make sure you knew that before I left.”

Your eyes stung, but you blinked back any tears before they could escape.

“Leo is..everything to me, Esperanza. He's the only one who's taken the time to understand me. I'll always be appreciative of that.”

Her form started to flicker, and you knew her time was running out. 

“I have to go, mijo. But I want you to know how proud of you I am. You're going to do amazing things, I just know it. I love you, Leo.”

He reached out to her.

“I love you too, mamá.”

She gave him a soft smile as her form slowly dissolved, leaving the two of you alone in Bunker 9. For a moment it was silent, and then from beside you came a soft sniffle. You turned to face Leo just in time to catch a single tear roll down his cheek before he wiped it away.

“Leo,” you started. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t-” His arms wrapped around you as he cried against your shoulder.

“Thank you,” he whispered. 

Leo thought he knew what being angry felt like. He learned a few weeks later that he had no idea. He had been in Bunker 9 working on the ship when he started to feel like he was being watched. He thought he was imagining things, until he heard a soft voice from the shadows.

“Leo?”

His head shot up, straight into the shelf above him with a loud bang. He groaned, rubbing the spot it had hit as he searched the darkness for your form.

“Amor? Is that you, Sunshine?”

When you stepped into the light, Leo’s heart snapped in two. You were standing in front of him, dripping in some sticky, red liquid, tears streaming down your face. You looked utterly defeated, and he wanted to kill whoever made you feel that way.

“Holy shit, what happened?”

In a second, Leo was by your side, wiping what he presumed to be juice, as well as tears away from your eyes. He took his jacket off the desk and wrapped it around your shoulders.

“Fucking Hermes cabin,” you sniffled. “They rigged a trap at my cabin door. As soon as I opened it I got covered in Kool-Aid. The whole camp saw, everyone laughed at me. Gods, I can never show my face again.”

Carefully, Leo lit a small flame in palm, holding it close to your clothes in an attempt to dry them. Somehow, your clothes didn’t catch on fire, which you were grateful for. With his free hand, he brushed a stray bit of hair away from your face.

“I’ll fucking kill them, I swear. I’ll make them regret ever touching you.”

You shook your head. “Leo, it's f-”

“The next word out of your mouth better not be fine, querida.”

“Why not?” You whispered. 

Leo looked personally offended.

“Because it’s not fine. They all treat you like shit for no reason, because- because they don’t like your dad? It’s fucking ridiculous. If they would just get to know you, if they would pull their heads out of their asses for five minutes- you’re beautiful, and funny, and so goddamn kind- I can’t even begin to comprehend how none of them will give you the time of day.”

You took in a shaky breath. You’d almost forgotten about being covered in sticky, sugary, Kool-Aid. 

“Your first night- why did you talk to me?”

You took a step back, suddenly feeling nervous. You shivered as your back hit the cold stone behind you.

“Because I thought you were pretty, and I couldn’t fathom how you were all alone.”

“You..thought?”

“I still do, mi amor. I think you’re the most incredible, kind, beautiful person in this camp.”

“Leo,” you breathed. “The- the nicknames you use, in Spanish. What do they mean?”

Sometimes Leo forgot how long you’d been at camp. He forgot that you didn’t spend much time in school, or watching cartoons like Dora the Explorer. You spent your life learning ancient Greek, but you didn’t know much Spanish.

“Well,” he took a step forward. “Querida means darling, or dear.”

You nodded, staring up at him as he came closer.

“A-and amor?”

With shocking gentleness, he placed two fingers under your chin, lifting your face closer. His usual cocky grin had been replaced by a new look, was he nervous?

“Amor,” he began, “Means love.”

Your heart thundered in your chest. Part of you wondered why you hadn’t asked him to translate sooner. Mainly, you were distracted by how incredible the words sounded coming from him. He leaned in closer, leaving a few centimeters between you, and you wondered if you were dreaming.

“Can- can I kiss you, amor?”

This was definitely a dream. Dumbfounded, you nodded.

“Please.”

That was all Leo needed. His lips met yours, and you felt like you were on fire. One hand moved from your chin to your cheek, pulling you closer, as the other came to rest on your waist. You could’ve cried at the way he held you–how soft he was. When he pulled away, he grinned.

“You’re so gorgeous.”

“I’m covered in Kool-Aid,” you rolled your eyes.

“And you’re still pretty. Even more so in my jacket.”

Heat rose to your cheeks, and reflexively, you looked down. Leo lifted your chin again, forcing you to look at him.

“Hey, don’t hide from me. You don’t ever have to hide from me.”

A tear rolled down your cheek, which he quickly brushed away with his thumb.

“Do you know what te amo means, Sunshine?” He asked.

You shook your head.

“It means I love you.”

You faltered, waiting for the punchline of the joke to come, but it didn’t. You weren’t waking up in your bed, alone. This was real.

“I- t-te amo too?”

Leo chuckled. “Yo también te amo.”

“Yo también te amo,” you repeated. 

“Thank gods.”

[thatfriendlyanon]

i think part of my problem is i lived with my best friend for two years of my life and have been searching for the same feeling of joy & acceptance & support ever since

[vagueconfusion]

it is late so I'm going to be a lil too vulnerable on main and then probably bury it so it doesn't get seen

sometimes I still get really upset that when my mental health took (even more of) a dive when I tried college my family mostly left me to deal with it on my own. and I struggled with it really hard for almost a decade. the only thing bringing this up would do is destroy or strain relationships that I rely on to keep myself housed and safe, and I also still love them despite everything.

but it hurts to have lost such a big chunk of my life while repeatedly asking for help, and sometimes being told yes they would help, only for it to rarely materialize. lingering in this only paralyzes me though, so I'm trying to learn to let it go but it's difficult