#if you know you know and you’d know that im right

[jinwoosbabyboo]

It's Your Name

How I imagine the lads men react to finding out you use their name in your password A/N: Don’t ask me what ‘Code Cinnamon’ is bro I don’t know I made it up. If you want to use it for something go ahead. [Requested by: Anon]

Zayne

Zayne: I need to send a few emails is it alright if I use your laptop?

MC: Yea go ahead

Zayne: What’s your password?

MC: ….

Zayne: Did you forget?

MC: No it’s uhm….

Zayne stares at you in confusion

MC, mumbling: Zaynesfavorite18….

Zayne: My name is your password?

MC: Wipe that smile off your face

Zayne: I’m flattered my love

MC: Im so embarrassed right now

Zayne: Is there anything else you use my name for?

MC: See now you’re in my business

Rafayel

Rafayel: Can I use your laptop real quick?

MC: Of course

Rafayel: What’s the password?

You’re about to say it when you remember who you’re dating

MC: I’ll type it

Rafayel: No just tell me

You sighed loudly…..

MC: Rafayelsmuse_

Rafayel: You made my name your password cutie?

MC: Don’t start acting up

Rafayel: I’m already acting up

MC: Stop before I change it

Rafayel: You’re so in love with meeeee

MC: Shut up

Rafayel: Should I crown myself as boyfriend of the year?

MC: Im changing my password

Rafayel: Baby no please I'm done

MC: No you're not

Rafayel: ……….Im done for the next hour

Xavier

Your phone dings with a message

MC: Xavier can you check that

Xavier: Of course … what's your passcode?

MC: 9 2 8 4 3 7

Xavier: What's that combination?

MC: What do you mean?

Xavier: That’s not your birthday or mine …. it's not our anniversary

MC: It’s your name in numbers Xav

Xavier locks your phone just to type it in again

Xavier: Oh

Continues to lock and unlock your phone with a smile on his face

MC: Xavier

Xavier: yea?

MC: The message

Xavier: Oh right Lisa said Code Cinnamon and Tara and Simone responded with running emojis

MC: FUCK!

Xavier: What does that mean?

MC: You don’t wanna know

You rush out of the house forgetting your phone leaving Xavier to continue locking and unlocking your phone. You run back in and pluck it from his fingers.

MC: You can play later

Sylus

You pull your laptop out and take a seat at the kitchen island while Sylus comes up behind you and kisses your cheek.

Sylus: Your password is thats_sosylus? All lowercase?

MC: *looking over your shoulder* how in the blue fuck did you figure that out?

Sylus: I can see which keys you’re hitting

MC: I type 90 words per minute how can you track that so easily?

Sylus: I have good eyes but you’re getting off topic sweetie

MC: I plead the fifth

Sylus reaches over you locking your computer and proceeds to unlock it with the same password

Sylus: I must be quite special to you

MC: Don’t get a big head

Sylus: What else do you use my name for? Should I start charging a fee?

MC: You’d make me pay to use your name?!

You turn your head to glare at him and he crashes his lips onto yours making you melt into him. He swipes his tongue across your bottom lip and you allow him in. He seals the kiss off with a bite to your bottom lip and pulls away.

Sylus: Thank you for your payment

MC: You smooth talking bastard

[elikajinnie]

Enchant me - P.S

P: Ravenclaw!Sunghoon X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive Content, Angst, Sunghoon is kinda mean (not to you), Academic Rivalry, Tension, Fluff, Teasing, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Newt Scamander Mention!!

Synopsis: You’ve always found yourself in competition with Park Sunghoon, a brilliant Ravenclaw who seemed to have it all—intelligence, charm, and ambition. Whether it was academic duels or playful banter, he was always your rival. Yet, the only thing he truly wanted was you.

Wordcount: + 30k ( i know.. im sorry)

a/n: yall strap in for this one.. (heeseung is the last one that will be posted soon :) if yall wanna see more of the hogwarts au let me know!

masterlist

--

You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when you started being an overachiever in your studies. It was a gradual thing, a slow shift that snuck up on you and became part of who you were. When you received your letter to Hogwarts, you were ecstatic—absolutely thrilled by the thought of magic, the possibility of flying, the enchantment of potions, and the spells. But then you saw the material and you knew right away that in order to succeed, you had to study.

But it didn’t stop there. As you poured yourself into your work, absorbed every bit of information, you started to realize something else—something that fueled you even more. Praise. Recognition. House points. The feeling of achievement after every successful spell or potion, the way other students came to you for help. It was intoxicating. The more you learned, the more respect you gained, and you could feel your status growing. It was simple math, really: hard work plus success equals recognition. And you thrived on it.

Soon enough, you became known as one of the top students at Hogwarts, the one everyone turned to when they needed help or advice. And you liked it. You liked the feeling of being ahead, of being the best at something. You liked the way professors praised you, the way your name carried weight when spoken in hallways. You’d earned this position. You deserved it.

But, of course, you weren’t the only one who excelled. There were others, too, students who worked just as hard as you did. And you were fine with it. You respected them; they respected you. It wasn’t about competition—it was about mutual recognition.

Then there was Park Sunghoon.

He was a quiet Ravenclaw, one who kept to himself for the most part, except when he was in class. That’s when everything changed. He had a way of standing out without even trying—his answers sharp, his insight keen, his mind quick. Every time you thought you had the answer, Sunghoon was already there, raising his hand or blurting it out in that effortless, nonchalant way. And every single time, your chest tightened, your stomach dropped. He was always just a step ahead of you, and you hated it.

But what really made your blood boil wasn’t just that he outperformed you—it was the way he did it. The way he would always, always look at you with that damn smirk. That teasing, almost mocking expression, as if he knew exactly what it did to you. As if he relished in it. Every time he answered a question before you, every time he earned praise or house points, he would glance over at you, eyes glinting, that smug smile never leaving his face. It wasn’t just a simple exchange of competition. It was personal. It was deliberate. And it drove you mad.

It didn’t help that Park Sunghoon was everything you hated and everything you secretly admired. He was smart—impossibly smart. His resourcefulness in class was unmatched, and every time he spoke, it felt like he had all the answers. And on top of all that, he was tall, handsome, with perfectly styled hair that never seemed to fall out of place, his Ravenclaw robes always crisp and neat. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t catch yourself staring at him sometimes, trying to pretend you weren’t affected by how effortlessly he seemed to glide through life. He was always polished, always put together, and you hated how good he looked doing it.

It only made things worse when you started realizing that you were developing feelings for him. A crush, despite everything. Despite the way he ignored others, brushing them off like they were nothing, like they were dust clinging to his perfect robes. You couldn’t help it. He was attractive, there was no denying that. But it wasn’t just that—it was the way he held himself. The prefect badge on his chest always gleaming, always sparkling. The way he moved through the castle with an air of authority, a quiet power that seemed to command the attention of everyone in the room.

If Sunghoon deemed you as beneath him, he wouldn’t hesitate to let you know it—not directly, of course. No, that would be too obvious. Instead, he would treat you like one of the ghosts haunting Hogwarts, barely sparing you a glance, letting his indifference cut deeper than words ever could. You’d watch him glide past students who tried to catch his attention, their hopeful faces falling as he brushed them off without a second thought. His expression would remain blank, that neutral, almost cruel face he reserved for people he deemed unworthy of his time.

And the moments when he was forced to acknowledge someone? That’s when his sharp, silver tongue came out. You’d witnessed him being cold and dismissive, shutting down anyone who dared to push their luck. He had a way of saying just the right thing to make people feel small, a razor-edged wit that cut through even the bravest students, leaving them stammering, unsure of what they’d done wrong. It was subtle, and he was never outright rude—just dismissive enough to make it sting.

And yet, you couldn’t shake the crush. You hated it. You hated him. But the more he teased, the more you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting him.

And you wouldn’t dare to say you liked Sunghoon—not in the way one might admit to having a crush, at least. No, liking him wasn’t even an option. If anything, you tolerated him on your best days, pushed yourself to ignore the smug expressions and the subtle, condescending way he would respond to you in class. And on the worst days? You found yourself actively ignoring him. Because nothing seemed to satisfy Sunghoon more than bringing others down to elevate himself.

When someone dared to voice an answer he deemed beneath his own standards, you’d see it: the slight narrowing of his eyes, the subtle twist of his lips. He’d wait, just a beat, before stepping in to “correct” them, his tone laced with just enough contempt to make it clear who the “real” intellect in the room was. And somehow, he managed to do it all without outright insulting anyone. His comments were surgical, precise, his criticism delivered with a calm, cold detachment that only made it sting more. It made you question him, wonder why he seemed so determined to keep everyone beneath him.

But what frustrated you most was his selective charm. You’d watch him laugh and chat easily with other high-ranking students, his demeanor suddenly pleasant, even civil. He’d converse with them like they were equals, never the hint of a condescending smirk, no belittling glances. And in front of professors? Sunghoon transformed entirely. He was the picture of the ideal student, humble, deferential, offering polished responses that seemed designed to earn him a rare smile or a nod of approval. The teachers couldn’t seem to get enough of him.

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. His calculated, chameleon-like behavior left you wondering, time and time again, why he had ended up in Ravenclaw and not Slytherin. After all, he possessed every quality they prized: cunning, ambition, a nearly ruthless drive to succeed. It was like he wore a Ravenclaw uniform, but underneath, his nature seemed more like that of a Slytherin than anything else.

And perhaps, deep down, that was what unsettled you most about him—that he seemed to wear a mask depending on who he was with.

It frustrated you, intrigued you, and, despite yourself, drew you in.

So, you had learned to keep your distance from Sunghoon, to wear a mask of indifference around him. A poker face. Neutral. Unmoved. It became second nature, the way you could shut down your emotions whenever he entered the room, the way you refused to show any weakness in his presence. If you didn’t give him anything, you reasoned, he’d get bored of you eventually. He’d move on, as he did with everyone else. You figured, if you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, he’d leave you alone.

But now, reflecting on it, you realized that might have been the wrong choice. Because it didn’t matter how little you engaged with him. Sunghoon had a way of finding you. It was like he had a radar, some silent pull that always seemed to zero in on you during the day. And when he did, that was it. You had his full attention. Not a passing glance, not an idle comment. Sunghoon would fix his gaze on you, like a hawk locking onto its prey, his focus unyielding. It wasn’t an accidental glance; it was deliberate. Every moment, every word, every action seemed like it was a calculated move to engage with you, to get your attention—whether you wanted it or not.

If you were anyone else, if you were just a normal student, you might’ve gushed about it, maybe even bragged to your friends. After all, who wouldn’t want the attention of someone like Sunghoon? The handsome, accomplished, and charming prefect. But you weren’t anyone else. You weren’t lesser. You knew exactly why he sought you out—and it wasn’t because of some secret admiration.

He saw you as competition. You were an obstacle in his path to greatness. The two of you were always near the top of the class, always neck-and-neck, and he wasn’t about to let someone else get ahead of him. You knew that much. He probably had plans of his own—dreams of becoming an Auror, or securing some high-ranking position in the Ministry of Magic. He wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way. And you were the one standing there, blocking his path. He had to prove he was better, that he was the best. It was almost… inevitable.

But deep down, you started to realize that there was something more to it than that. Sunghoon wasn’t just focused on outshining you academically. No. You had started to see the little things—the moments when his eyes lingered a little too long, the rare flicker of something deeper in his expression when he caught you in the hall or across a classroom.

And it made you question: was there more to how he saw you than just another obstacle? Were you something else entirely?

You first started to figure it out years ago, back when you were in fourth year and the two of you shared a few classes. It was the first time you’d really noticed Sunghoon, in Astronomy class, of all places. You had been excited for that class, you had always been fascinated by space, by the endless expanse of stars and the way the moon seemed to shift and change. As a child, you’d spent countless hours lying on the grass, gazing up at the sky, watching the constellations dance. You hadn’t thought twice about taking the class, certain you’d excel.

But you weren’t the only one eager to impress the professor. No, there was another student who seemed just as invested, answering questions with ease, his knowledge sharp and quick. You’d expected some competition, sure—but it was the way he answered, the confidence with which he spoke, that made you take notice.

It was Sunghoon.

You could see it in his eyes, the surprise that mirrored your own. The realization that you weren’t just any ordinary student—no, you were just as capable, just as quick-witted as he was. And that’s when it clicked: you weren’t just another student to him. You were a challenge.

After class, you’d been making your way out of the room, mind already spinning with the next lesson. But then you’d turned a corner and found yourself face-to-face with him, Sunghoon standing in the hallway like he was waiting for you. You hadn’t expected it, not at all.

“Impressive,” he’d said, raising an eyebrow. “You always this good with the material?”

You’d been taken aback, not quite sure how to respond, but something in his tone made you pause. At that point you weren’t used to students, especially not someone like him, complimenting your intellect outright. And yet, there was something sharp about his words, something that made you feel like this wasn’t just casual admiration.

“Of course,” you replied, instinctively meeting his challenge. “It’s not that difficult once you understand the basics.”

Sunghoon gave a smirk that only seemed to intensify the challenge. “So,” he began, crossing his arms. “If you’re as clever as you say, what’s the difference between the Confundus Charm and the Misdirection Hex?”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but entertained. “Easy. The Confundus Charm affects the mind, creating confusion and distorting a person’s perception, whereas the Misdirection Hex only creates a temporary distraction without altering any mental clarity.”

Sunghoon nodded, clearly expecting that you’d know the answer but not missing a beat. “Fair enough. How about this one—” he leaned in slightly, his eyes glinting, “if you were to brew Amortentia, what’s the critical ingredient that activates the potion’s scent signature?”

You didn’t even flinch. “Moonstone. It’s the key to personalizing the scent and creating that pull, that... sense of longing,” you replied, a trace of smugness in your voice. “Now my turn.”

You watched him closely, his expression unchanging, as you asked, “What’s the main difference between Episkey and Vulnera Sanentur?”

Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed. “Episkey is a basic healing charm that works for minor injuries—usually cuts or bruises. Vulnera Sanentur, on the other hand, is far more advanced, and it actually seals major wounds, specifically stopping blood flow and beginning tissue repair.”

You smiled, only a little disappointed that he got it right. “Well done, Park,” you replied, crossing your arms.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a slight tilt of his head, he said, “If you’re so good, tell me, what’s the incantation for a Hot-Air Charm, and when would it be used?”

“Calidus Aero,” you replied easily, rolling your eyes. “And it’s used to produce a continuous flow of warm air. Good for drying things—or keeping people warm.”

There was a slight twitch of his lips, as if he were amused that you’d added the last bit. “Impressive. But let’s see how you handle this one,” he continued, looking pleased. “What’s the effect of adding powdered Runespoor eggs to a Memory Potion?”

You paused for only a moment, narrowing your eyes at him. “It sharpens the recall and clarity of recent memories, but it also makes them harder to alter or distort after the fact,” you replied, watching him carefully. “A good trick for Aurors needing airtight evidence in trials.”

There was a flicker of surprise in his expression, though he tried to hide it. “Not bad,” he admitted, a trace of a smile showing. “Looks like you know your potions.” He shifted, almost as if he’d found the whole exchange too easy. Then he gave you a look—calculated and challenging. “One more. What’s the wand movement for the Incarcerous spell, and what’s the incantation variation that makes the conjured ropes fireproof?”

You tried not to show that this one caught you off guard. “The wand movement for Incarcerous is a firm downward flick, followed by a counterclockwise twirl,” you said carefully, a smirk forming as you gained confidence. “And the fireproof variation is Ignus Incarcerous.”

Sunghoon let out a low chuckle, a little begrudging, but impressed all the same.

You’d hoped that after that, he’d leave it at that, yet, as you turned to leave, you felt his gaze on your back. And before you could walk away, he stopped you. You had expected something snide, maybe a remark about how you’d bested him, or how you were too proud. Instead, he spoke, his voice smooth, almost teasing.

“You’re… smarter than I expected.” There was a pause, and then he’d added, “In fact, you’re pretty impressive.”

You had frozen, not sure what to make of it. But then came the twist: the way he said it, the slight upturn of his lips, the almost flirtatious edge to his words. It caught you off guard.

You had been prepared for rivalry, for sharp competition, but not for that. Not for him to suddenly flirt with you. The change in his tone, the way his words softened, made you feel uneasy, but also... intrigued.

You hadn’t known how to respond, but all you could do was walk away, your mind racing. Sunghoon—Park Sunghoon—had just complimented you with the kind of look that made your heart beat a little faster, even though you told yourself you hated him.

You had barely made it a few steps when you heard him call out, his voice smooth and teasing, like a final jab in a match you hadn’t realized was over.

“Not bad at all,” Sunghoon said, the faintest hint of a smirk curling at his lips, his tone dipping slightly, as if it were more of a challenge than a compliment. “Nice to know there’s someone around here who can keep up.”

For a moment, your pulse quickened. You wanted to respond, to throw a witty retort back at him. But you couldn’t find the words—because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much that one line had affected you.

Instead, you just stopped. You didn’t turn around, not fully, but you allowed yourself one quick glance over your shoulder.

Sunghoon was standing there, looking perfectly composed, his hands tucked casually behind him, his eyes following you with that unreadable look. The smirk remained, but there was something different about it now—less arrogant, more knowing. Almost like he was waiting for you to react, as if this small exchange was part of some game he wasn’t finished playing yet.

Without a word, you turned back around and continued walking, your steps brisk, your mind swirling.

--

You didn’t usually talk to Sunghoon outside of class—there was never much reason to. Your friend groups didn’t overlap, and both of you had your own routines, different paths to follow. But somehow, that didn’t stop him. No, every chance he got, Sunghoon would find a way to cross paths with you. He’d come up to you before classes, lean against a wall, and throw in some teasing remark about the next lesson or slyly compliment you on your latest academic achievement. It was almost like clockwork.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the star student,” he said, his tone playful but sharp. “Bet you’ve already memorized the entire textbook for today’s lesson, haven’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, not even breaking your stride. “You’re the one who’s obsessed with keeping up with every lesson, Sunghoon. I’m just trying to avoid getting bored.”

He chuckled, pushing off from the door and walking alongside you. “Right, because you’re totally not the type to get caught up in the thrill of perfect grades.” His eyes twinkled with a mixture of admiration and challenge. “I guess I’ll just have to make sure you don’t make it too easy for yourself.”

You smirked back, not missing a beat. “You’re right, I don’t like making things easy,” you said dryly. “But I’m sure you’re just trying to keep me on my toes, aren’t you, Sunghoon?”

He shrugged with a grin. “I’m just keeping things interesting. Besides, I have a reputation to uphold.”

Another time, just before Transfiguration, you found him leaning against a pillar, twirling his wand with a practiced ease, his gaze catching yours as you approached.

“So, tell me, have you figured out the secret to getting Transfiguration perfect every time, or do you just have some magic trick up your sleeve?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You answered, not at all phased. “I think you’d be more impressed if you actually paid attention during class instead of just showing off your wand skills, Sunghoon.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, I pay attention. But I’m just more interested in seeing if you can stay on top of everything. Don’t want to make it too easy for you, right?”

“You wouldn’t know what to do without a challenge, would you?” you shot back, giving him a sideways glance.

“You’re right,” he said, his grin widening. “And it’s not every day I get to challenge someone like you.”

And alas every day, just before classes, there he was, making some comment that practically demanded a response. You’d either fire back a witty remark of your own or just give him a deadpan look, as if you couldn’t be bothered. And yet, he’d show up again the next day, and the cycle would repeat. It was a routine you both seemed to have unconsciously built into your days. Neither of you ever missed it, both being somewhat meticulous about perfect attendance.

At some point, you realized it was strange. You noticed that he never spoke to anyone else in quite the same way. No other girl at Hogwarts seemed to have the so-called privilege of Sunghoon’s attention, and it confused you beyond belief. It didn’t make sense—he was smart, popular, handsome. And yet, he’d somehow decided that teasing you was worth his time.

It wasn’t until one late afternoon in the library that the thought came to a head. You were tutoring one of your Hufflepuff friends, helping her brush up on Transfiguration, when she looked at you with a knowing smile and just dropped it on you.

“I think Sunghoon likes you,” she said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You laughed it off immediately, shaking your head. “That’s not possible. Sunghoon only likes people if they can help him get more house points,” you replied. “Why would he like me?”

Your friend just shrugged, that same smile still on her face. “You’re the only person he talks to like that,” she pointed out. “It’s like he’s constantly finding an excuse to be around you.”

You tried to ignore it, brush it off as one of her theories. But later, when you were alone, you couldn’t shake her words from your mind. You thought back to every interaction you’d seen between Sunghoon and other students, particularly girls. The more you thought about it, the more you realized it was true: you’d never once seen him act the same way around another girl. In fact, you couldn’t remember him ever dating anyone. Despite the whispers in the corridors and the way some girls openly admired him, he never seemed interested. No, you’d seen him reject more of them than you could count.

But with you... things were different.

You didn’t know what to make of it. Sunghoon had always been that one puzzle you couldn’t solve. He was unpredictable, throwing in little remarks as if he’d calculated your every reaction.

If he did like you, it would mean something you hadn’t prepared for. It would mean you’d been wrong about him—or, at least, about why he kept coming back to you.

Maybe that was why you found yourself in the library a little later than usual, searching for one specific book. The library was quieter than it had been all day, with only a handful of students still scattered between the rows of shelves, their heads buried in their books. Madam Pince was busy sorting through a stack of newly returned books at the far end of the room, so you figured you’d have some peace and quiet to yourself.

You’d been meaning to find this particular book for a while. The only problem was that you hadn’t seen it in the library for months. The last time you’d seen it, it had caught your eye when one of your Gryffindor friends had been flipping through its pages in the common room. You hadn’t been able to get a good look at it, but now, as you found it tucked away in the far corner, you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

You pulled the book off the shelf carefully, balancing it in your hands as you climbed down the ladder. The title read “Figuring and Tackling Your Feelings.” It was something about sorting through emotions, a guide that, frankly, seemed more like it belonged in the realm of self-help than anything academic. You weren’t sure why it had piqued your interest so much, but you were eager to take a closer look, especially now with everything on your mind.

Before you could fully inspect the cover, a voice came from behind you, low and familiar.

“Well, well. What do we have here?” Sunghoon’s voice cut through the silence of the library like a knife.

You jumped, startled, spinning around instinctively to hide the book behind your back. Your heart skipped a beat as you tried to regain your composure. There he stood, leaning casually against a nearby shelf, eyes already trained on you with that signature smirk of his.

“What are you doing here, Sunghoon?” you asked, your tone betraying the sudden flurry of nerves. You couldn’t help it. The last thing you needed right now was for him to get a glimpse of what you were holding.

“Me? Oh, nothing,” he said with a shrug, his eyes flicking to the book behind your back. “But you, on the other hand… reading ahead, are we?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “It’s none of your business,” you said quickly, trying to keep your voice steady.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that so?” His steps were slow and deliberate as he moved closer to you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know, it’s not like you to hide books behind your back. What’s got you so secretive?”

Before you could stop him, his hand darted toward the book, attempting to grab it from behind your back. Reflexively, you twisted away, turning just enough so that he couldn’t get his hands on it. You managed to get a better grip on the book, but Sunghoon wasn’t backing off. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the little game.

“Oh no, you don’t,” you muttered, trying to hold the book out of his reach. “Stop trying to grab it.”

Sunghoon just grinned, his gaze never leaving the book. “Come on, just let me see it. You know, I always find it fascinating when people start acting so mysterious about things.”

You twirled around again, moving just a little faster than him this time, keeping the book hidden behind you. The book’s cover was almost too easy to read from his angle, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he’d noticed the title.

“Why are you so curious about what I’m reading?” you shot back, hoping the question would throw him off balance.

His grin widened. “Maybe I just like seeing how you react. You’ve always been so… poised. I wonder if there’s more to you than the perfect student.” His voice dropped a little, a note of challenge creeping in. “Come on, just give it to me. You’re not that afraid of a little friendly competition, are you?”

You felt your cheeks flush slightly, the teasing getting to you. “It’s not about competition,” you muttered, taking another step back to keep the book away from his prying fingers. “Just… drop it, alright?”

His eyes flickered to the book once more, then back to you. “Fine, fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “But you’re really not going to let me see what you’re reading? You’re too mysterious for your own good.”

You exhaled, trying to calm your racing heart as you finally straightened up, no longer trying to keep it hidden. “It’s just a book. Nothing important.”

He tilted his head, eyeing you with that all-too-knowing look. “Uh-huh,” he said, clearly unconvinced.

And with that, he turned and strolled away, his footsteps echoing softly through the nearly empty library.

You let out a long breath, the book still in your hands, but your mind now racing in a way it hadn’t been before. Why had you reacted like that? What was it about Sunghoon’s teasing that got under your skin so easily?

You couldn’t shake the feeling that Sunghoon had seen right through you—like he always did. As the library door closed behind you, you felt a strange sense of relief mixed with lingering unease. You hadn’t expected that interaction to leave you so rattled. It was just Sunghoon, right? Yet, there was something about his persistence, the way he kept pushing you, that had thrown you off balance.

The book was still tucked under your arm as you made your way out of the library and toward your common room. You tried to focus on the cool, quiet hallways of Hogwarts, the flickering torches lighting your path. The winding corridors, usually so familiar, now seemed almost too vast, too empty.

The sound of your footsteps echoed as you passed through the hallway, heading toward the familiar portrait that would let you into your common room. You had to hurry; curfew was close, and Madam Pince had already given you a warning for lingering too long in the library.

As you reached the entrance to your common room, you glanced over your shoulder, just in time to catch a shadow move in the corner of your vision. But when you turned fully, the hallway was empty, just the faint echo of your own footsteps following you.

You shrugged it off. You must have imagined it.

With a quick word, the portrait swung open, and you stepped inside, relieved to be back in the warmth of your common room.

Outside, beyond the walls of the common room, Sunghoon stood hidden in the shadows, leaning against a pillar just out of sight, watching you go. His eyes lingered a moment longer than necessary before he turned and slowly disappeared into the shadows. He walked through the dimly lit hallways, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet night. He hadn’t intended to follow you; it wasn’t some grand plan.

He’d tried to convince himself it was just curiosity—nothing more. After all, you were the only one who seemed to keep up with him in class. You challenged him, and that’s what he’d always thrived on.

And it was like he couldn’t not think about you. And that frustrated him.

He never expected you to be this… enigmatic. No one else had ever caught his attention like this—not like you did. It was a puzzle, one that didn’t make sense, and yet the more he tried to figure you out, the more complicated and captivating you became.

You had this effortless confidence, a sharp wit that matched his, but you weren’t like the other students he’d come across. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, not even him. There was something in your eyes when you’d deflect his teasing, a glimmer of something he couldn’t place. You didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting the way he expected, and that drove him mad.

Sunghoon pushed a hand through his hair, his thoughts tangled as he navigated the winding corridors of Hogwarts. He shouldn’t be thinking about you so much. There were other things to focus on—other students, other challenges, other ways to advance. Yet, every time he tried to shake it off, his mind would return to you.

How had you managed to enrapture him so effortlessly? He wasn’t the type of person to become so… fixated. Yet here he was, walking through the darkened halls, and all he could think about was you. You never played by the same rules as everyone else, and that intrigued him more than he cared to admit.

No. He couldn’t let himself get tangled up in this. You were a challenge, just like he’d always wanted. You were nothing more than that, right?

But even as he told himself this, Sunghoon couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else—something more—that was pulling him toward you.

--

You sat at your desk in Potions class, the scratch of your quill against parchment the only sound filling the otherwise quiet classroom. Snape’s voice droned on, but your mind kept drifting. You had hoped for a peaceful class today—one where you could focus on the lesson without the usual distractions. But of course, it didn’t take long for that hope to be dashed.

The seat next to you, which had been occupied by a nervous Hufflepuff just moments ago, was now filled by none other than Park Sunghoon.

You didn’t look up immediately when he sat down. You had caught the tail end of his glare directed at the Hufflepuff, whose wide eyes had flicked from Sunghoon’s cold stare to you in a silent plea. In an instant, the Hufflepuff had scurried off, leaving the seat beside you vacant for Sunghoon to claim.

A small sigh escaped your lips, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you focused on your notes, carefully copying the ingredients Snape was listing for the potion you were about to brew. You wouldn’t let him distract you, not this time. The class was important, and the competition was heating up, especially with exams just around the corner.

You could feel the subtle shift in the air with Sunghoon settled beside you. But today, he didn’t say anything. Not a word. He simply unpacked his books, setting them down with a quiet precision, and began his own notes. It was almost too quiet, too… calm. It was rare that he didn’t start a conversation, especially considering the usual banter you both shared.

The fact that he was acting so reserved, while sitting so close to you, made you all the more aware of the faint tension between you. It was like he was waiting for you to say something first. But you wouldn’t. Not this time.

You kept your focus on your parchment, the quill moving smoothly as you wrote. It was an exercise in patience, in ignoring the small things: the way his sleeve brushed yours as he leaned over to grab an ingredient, the soft rustling of his books as he turned pages. You didn’t let your mind wander. You wouldn’t.

Yet, no matter how much you tried to ignore him, you felt the pull of his presence, as if he were a magnet. You stole a glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He was scribbling down notes too, but there was something different about the way he held his quill, the way his eyes flicked to the board and then to the ingredients list. He was concentrating, but you knew it wasn’t just the potion he was thinking about.

The realization hit you a little too late: He was watching you.

Your quill faltered for just a second before you steadied it again, keeping your eyes on the board. You couldn’t ignore the small, almost imperceptible glance he threw at you from time to time. It was the kind of look that made you question whether he was as unfazed as he appeared—or if, like you, he was just trying to hold his composure.

The class ended bit too soon, but not before you felt that pull again. Before you could gather your things, Sunghoon stood up, his chair scraping the floor with a soft sound. He didn’t look at you as he walked away, but you couldn’t help but feel the weight of his gaze linger on your back as you packed up your belongings.

--

The class was buzzing with quiet energy as Professor Snape swept into the room, his black robes billowing behind him as he made his way to the front. You could feel the usual hum of anticipation ripple through the classroom as he began with his first question, his gaze sharp and probing.

Without fail, Sunghoon was seated right beside you. He had strolled in at the last possible second and taken the empty seat before you could even think about moving. It was a position that had become an unspoken habit between the two of you—a silent agreement that this was where you would always sit, even if neither of you admitted it out loud.

“Who can tell me the primary function of wolfsbane in this potion?” Snape’s gaze swept across the class, but it settled almost immediately on you.

You raised your hand automatically, but just as you opened your mouth to answer, Sunghoon’s voice cut through the air. “The primary function of wolfsbane is to suppress the transformation of a werewolf. But specifically, in this potion, it’s used to temper the effects, making the potion safe for consumption by those with lycanthropic tendencies.”

Your jaw clenched, and you quickly chimed in, “That’s true, but wolfsbane’s reaction with belladonna is crucial to ensure the potion is actually effective. Otherwise, you risk a rapid breakdown of the ingredients, and the potion loses its potency within hours.”

A faint smirk played on Sunghoon’s lips as he turned slightly to face you, his eyes glinting with a mixture of challenge and amusement. “Of course,” he said, his voice low enough for only you to hear, “but that’s only if the brewer doesn’t know how to stabilize the reaction properly.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you know better than the author of ‘Potions for Practical Application’?” You raised an eyebrow, the hint of a challenge in your voice.

Snape’s voice sliced through your exchange. “If the two of you are quite finished,” he said dryly, “perhaps you’d like to enlighten the rest of the class.”

You both looked up, not missing the faint irritation in his expression. And yet, as he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow, he seemed almost amused. If Snape enjoyed one thing in his classes, it was competent students—but if he enjoyed two things, it was watching competent students try to one-up each other.

With a quick glance at Sunghoon, you cleared your throat and addressed the rest of the class, your voice steady. “Wolfsbane, also known as aconite, stabilizes the transformation process. But the reason belladonna is needed in the mixture is because it counters the initial toxicity of the aconite.”

Sunghoon jumped in seamlessly, his tone smooth. “Exactly. Aconite alone could be harmful, but combined with the right ingredients, it actually makes the potion effective. Belladonna slows down the rate of the potion’s effect, balancing the intensity.”

You could see Snape’s eyes narrow just a fraction, clearly considering whether he’d allow this back-and-forth to continue. He hadn’t interrupted yet, though, and so you didn’t hold back.

“That only works, though,” you continued, “if the potion is brewed at precisely the right temperature. A variance of even one degree could cause the aconite to overpower the belladonna, which is why attention to detail is critical here.”

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “True. But I’d argue that anyone who’s capable of brewing at an advanced level should be able to handle such minor details.” He cast a sideways glance at you. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

You narrowed your eyes, resisting the urge to roll them. He was enjoying this far too much. “Perhaps. Though, as they say, perfectionists always notice the minor details others miss.”

“Implying I’m not a perfectionist?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone was light, but you could sense the competitive edge in it.

You shrugged, giving him a look of feigned innocence. “Just that you might not be as exacting as some of us.”

Before he could retort, Snape stepped in, his voice a mixture of impatience and reluctant amusement. “Miss Y/L/N. Mr. Park. While I am deeply fascinated by your thorough analysis, the class may benefit from a more structured approach.” He glanced around at the other students, who were watching you and Sunghoon with a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Your cheeks flushed as you turned back to your notes, feeling a rush of heat from Sunghoon’s lingering gaze. But Snape wasn’t done.

“In fact, why don’t you both demonstrate your understanding?” Snape gestured to the cauldron at the front of the room. “Brew the potion together. Let’s see if your theoretical knowledge holds up under practical application.”

You felt the tension shift as Sunghoon pushed himself up from his chair, casting a smirk in your direction. “Let’s see if you can keep up, then,” he murmured as he moved to the front.

Swallowing your nerves, you followed him, setting out the ingredients with practiced ease. As you worked, the rivalry simmered just beneath the surface. Sunghoon was methodical, careful with each step, yet he didn’t miss an opportunity to toss a teasing comment your way.

“Careful,” he said at one point, his voice low. “That’s a lot of aconite you’re adding there. Are you sure you’re not trying to mess up the potion to make a point?”

You shot him a look. “Maybe I just don’t trust you to brew this properly without a little oversight.”

His eyes glinted. “Funny, because I was about to say the same thing to you.”

The two of you continued in this vein, quietly exchanging barbs as you measured, stirred, and added ingredients with exacting precision.

When the potion was nearly complete, you both paused, watching as the liquid in the cauldron shifted from murky green to a smooth, midnight blue—the exact color it was supposed to be.

Sunghoon tilted his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not bad,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You met his gaze, a smirk of your own forming. “Could say the same to you.”

The rest of the class continued in much the same way, the tension between you and Sunghoon thick as you both remained locked in your rivalry. As Professor Snape continued his lesson, you and Sunghoon each made sure to answer his questions before the other could, each answer delivered with just enough confidence to imply you had known it all along.

Every now and then, you’d catch Sunghoon looking your way, a small, knowing smile on his face, as if he could read every thought running through your mind.

Just as you were jotting down notes on the final instructions for the potion, a Ravenclaw beside you leaned over. “Hey, Y/N,” she whispered, “can I borrow your notes from last week? I’m a bit behind.”

Before you could even respond, you noticed a shift beside you. From the corner of your eye, you saw Sunghoon’s expression harden. His jaw clenched as he shot the Ravenclaw a sharp look, his gaze practically daring her to linger a moment longer.

She hesitated, glancing between you and Sunghoon before quickly saying, “You know what, never mind. I’ll, uh, figure it out.” With that, she scurried off, leaving you a bit bewildered.

You turned back to your notes, only to feel Sunghoon relax beside you, leaning back in his chair with a casual air as if nothing had happened. His expression softened, the subtle smirk you’d come to expect making its return. You rolled your eyes, not bothering to address it as you continued your notes. But before long, another student tried to approach.

This time, it was a Gryffindor who slipped you a folded note with a question on today’s potion. But before you could even open it, you noticed that same glint in Sunghoon’s eyes, like he was quietly measuring the other student’s worth. His glare was steely, his gaze intense enough that, once again, your classmate seemed to change their mind about talking to you at all. The Gryffindor muttered a quiet apology and quickly returned to their seat.

You couldn’t help but cast a sidelong glance at Sunghoon, raising an eyebrow at his now placid expression. He noticed and merely gave a slight shrug, as if to say he hadn’t done a thing. It was infuriatingly typical of him, acting as if he hadn’t just sent two students retreating.

“What’s your problem?” you whispered, leaning in slightly.

Sunghoon’s smirk deepened. “No problem. Just keeping distractions to a minimum.”

You scoffed, your irritation clear, but deep down, a part of you wondered why he even cared.

But then Snape’s voice cut through the room, calling for silence, and you both snapped back to attention, the rivalry and tension settling between you once more.

As you walked out of the dungeon, feeling the cool stone hallway stretch out in front of you, you were met by two Gryffindor students waiting just outside. They exchanged a glance, visibly relieved as you approached, and one of them quickly stepped forward.

“Hey, Y/N,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “We were wondering if you could maybe tutor us in Potions? We’re both, uh… struggling with it, to say the least.”

His friend nodded, looking equally sheepish. “Yeah, we could really use the help.”

Before you could answer, though, you felt a presence at your side. Sunghoon had followed you out, his usual calm but intense demeanor practically radiating as he watched the two Gryffindors. His gaze hardened, and he didn’t waste a second before stepping between you and them.

“You two really have nothing better to do than pester her?” he asked, his tone dismissive, his glare enough to make them visibly uncomfortable.

The Gryffindors exchanged glances, shuffling back slightly, but they didn’t say anything. They seemed intimidated, but they didn’t seem like they were about to give up so easily. You sighed, shooting Sunghoon an exasperated look.

“Sunghoon, relax,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. You turned back to the two Gryffindors, who looked both embarrassed and desperate, and crossed your arms.

“Fine,” you told them, sighing. “Meet me in the library tomorrow. I’ll give you some pointers then.”

The two of them beamed, nodding quickly, and mumbled their thanks before heading off, leaving you alone with Sunghoon, who was still watching them as if they’d offended him personally.

As they turned the corner, Sunghoon glanced at you, a frown tugging at his lips. “You didn’t have to agree, you know,” he said, his tone more casual now, though there was still a trace of irritation. “They’re just looking for an easy answer.”

You gave him a look, shaking your head slightly. “Not everything is about competition, Sunghoon. Maybe they actually need help.”

He scoffed, a smirk curling at his lips. “Whatever you say. Are you coming, or are you too busy playing tutor?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation on your part. You hadn’t planned on sticking around with him after class, especially after his little standoff with your would-be students. But as his gaze settled on you, something about his expression��part expectant, part unreadable—made it hard to refuse.

With an exasperated roll of your eyes, you gave in. “Fine, lead the way.”

He smirked, clearly satisfied, and turned to walk down the hall. You fell into step beside him, the two of you moving together in silence.

Sunghoon led you through the winding corridors of Hogwarts, weaving up narrow staircases and into passages you were sure most students didn’t even know about. You were tempted to ask him what he was up to, but a strange, quiet curiosity kept you following him, even when you caught yourself glancing back, half-considering turning around. But you couldn’t deny your curiosity—and a reluctant trust in him, strange as it felt.

Finally, you reached a narrow staircase that led up to one of the less-frequented towers. “Here we are,” he said.

You stared at a latch, then at him. “What is this place?”

He didn’t answer immediately, instead climbing ahead of you, reaching up to open the concealed latch in the ceiling. With a glance down at you, he climbed up, disappearing through the opening.

You glanced around the empty hallway, biting your lip.

When he poked his head back down and raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming?” you sighed and climbed up after him, finding yourself in a tiny, dusty attic space. The room was cramped, with wooden beams crossing over the low ceiling and tiny, dusty windows letting in a dim glow. There wasn’t a sound in the air; no one ever came up here.

“What’s this about, Sunghoon?” you asked, crossing your arms, unable to keep a note of suspicion out of your voice. But he only smirked, taking your wrist and gently pulling you over to the corner of the room where a small wooden chest lay against the wall.

He lifted the lid, revealing a small creature nestled inside. You took a step closer, gasping softly as you recognized the little, dark-furred niffler, its leg twisted at an awkward angle, clearly hurt. You shot Sunghoon a surprised look, and he rubbed the back of his neck, almost sheepish.

“I, uh… I remembered you seemed to know a lot about magical creatures,” he said, his voice quieter, less sure than usual. “Saw it struggling outside the castle, and I thought… well, I figured you might know what to do with it.”

For a moment, you simply stared, taken aback by his unexpected gentleness. You knelt down beside the chest, assessing the niffler’s condition. “It looks like it twisted its leg pretty badly,” you murmured, brushing your fingers carefully over the creature’s fur as it whimpered, its small, dark eyes wide with trust and pain.

The niffler shivered, glancing up at you before letting out a soft chitter, its tiny paw reaching up to clutch your finger as you whispered calming words.

“It’s okay, little one,” you murmured, gently lifting the niffler into your arms. Sunghoon stepped back a little, allowing you space to work, and you couldn’t help but notice how quietly he was watching you, not saying a word.

You checked its leg, gently feeling around the injury. It wasn’t too severe, but it would need some attention. “The little guy will be okay. You just have to be careful with creatures like these—they can get skittish when they’re hurt.”

Sunghoon nodded, his gaze fixed on the niffler as you worked. You pulled out your wand, muttering the appropriate healing charms as you carefully mended its leg. The niffler let out a small chirp, its fur fluffing out in relief as it finally settled in your arms.

“You know,” Sunghoon said, breaking the silence, “I didn’t expect you to be so good with magical creatures.” You glanced up, meeting his gaze, which was unexpectedly warm, his usual guarded expression softened.

“Maybe there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you replied, a teasing lilt to your voice.

Sunghoon smiled faintly, watching as you wrapped the niffler’s leg with careful precision, almost as if seeing you in a new light. “Guess I’ll just have to keep finding excuses to learn, then,” he said.

With a final wave of your wand, the niffler’s leg was mended. Almost immediately, the little creature perked up, chirping happily as if testing out its newfound mobility. A small smile tugged at your lips as the niffler wobbled in your lap, nudging your hand before, quick as a flash, its tiny paw darted toward the shiny badge pinned on your robes.

“Hey!” you laughed, reaching for the niffler as it tugged at your prefect badge, determined to add it to whatever imaginary hoard it was building in its mind.

Sunghoon chuckled from where he stood, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze following the little creature’s antics. “Looks like it has a good eye for treasure,” he said, his tone playful. The niffler, clearly encouraged by his approval, squeaked and tugged harder, and you could only laugh as you tried to wrestle it gently away from your badge.

“Alright, alright, little troublemaker,” you said, scratching behind its ear, “I guess you’re all healed up.” The niffler chirped, clearly satisfied with itself, and settled back in your lap, peering up at you with big, curious eyes.

Sunghoon tilted his head, that faint smile still lingering. “You know, you have to name him now,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing down at the niffler. “Name him? Isn’t he a bit too… mischievous to settle for a name?” But as you looked into its wide, shining eyes, you felt a tug of fondness you couldn’t quite ignore.

Sunghoon shrugged, his tone a bit lighter than usual. “Well, you can’t just heal him and leave him unnamed. Plus, he’ll probably come back to find you if you give him a name.”

You bit back a smile, glancing at the niffler again. “Alright, fine.” After a moment’s thought, you looked back up at Sunghoon, the beginnings of an idea forming. “What about Spark? Since he’s so keen on shiny things.”

Sunghoon’s eyes crinkled slightly as he considered it. “Spark,” he echoed thoughtfully, and then nodded. “I like it. Seems fitting, for a niffler that’s already made it his mission to steal from a Hogwarts prefect.”

The niffler—now dubbed Spark—chirped in approval, as if satisfied with his new name. He scrambled back onto your lap, one paw still reaching toward your badge, his nose twitching.

As you watched Spark dart playfully around the room, you looked at Sunghoon and nodded toward the door. “We should probably take him to Hagrid. He’ll know how to take care of a niffler better than we can.”

Sunghoon nodded, and with a final scratch behind Spark’s ear, you tucked the little creature into the crook of your arm. As you and Sunghoon quietly made your way down the tower’s staircase and through the darkened hallways, Spark scampered excitedly between the two of you, chirping and squeaking in delight. Every now and then, he’d jump from your shoulder to Sunghoon’s, nuzzling close and tugging at a stray lock of his hair.

When you finally stepped out onto the moonlit grounds, Spark scrambled up Sunghoon’s arm and settled atop his head, tugging at the strands as if trying to style his hair. Sunghoon rolled his eyes but didn’t make any real effort to dislodge him.

As you arrived at Hagrid’s hut, Sunghoon reached up to knock on the door, but Spark clung stubbornly to his head, chirping with the excitement of a mischievous child. Hagrid’s warm, booming voice called from inside, and a moment later, he opened the door, his eyes lighting up when he saw the small creature atop Sunghoon’s head.

“What in Merlin’s beard… is that a niffler on yer head, Sunghoon?” Hagrid’s laughter was deep and genuine as he looked between the two of you.

You couldn’t help but laugh as well, reaching up to grab Spark gently from Sunghoon’s head. As you tugged the niffler free, you couldn’t help but notice the state of Sunghoon’s hair—it was thoroughly mussed, thanks to Spark’s playful grasping. “We found him hurt,” you explained to Hagrid as you cradled Spark, who snuggled into your arms with a satisfied chirp. “We patched him up a bit, but we figured he’d be in better hands with you. Could you take care of him?”

Hagrid’s face softened as he looked at Spark, his expression a mixture of fondness and excitement. “Course, I’ll look after the little rascal. Nifflers can be tricky, but they got good hearts.” Beside him, Fang barked happily, his tail thumping against the ground as he trotted up to you.

Grinning, you crouched down, running your hands through Fang’s thick fur as he nuzzled your hand. “Hey, Fang! Missed you too, big guy,” you murmured, scratching him behind the ears. Fang let out a pleased rumble, leaning into your touch.

As Hagrid took Spark from your hands, the niffler let out a mournful little chirp, his dark eyes fixed on you and Sunghoon as if he already missed you. Hagrid chuckled, petting Spark’s head. “Looks like he’s taken quite the likin’ to you two! I reckon he’ll be a handful. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure he’s well cared for.” With a wave, Hagrid gently closed the door, and you and Sunghoon turned back toward the castle.

Walking side by side through the quiet grounds, Sunghoon was still trying to tame his hair, grumbling softly as he ran his hands through it. Smiling, you reached out, gently pushing his hands away. “Let me,” you said softly, reaching up to smooth down his tousled locks.

Sunghoon was silent, watching you as you worked, and when you finally stepped back, satisfied, he looked at you with a softened expression. “Thanks,” he murmured, his voice unusually quiet, his gaze lingering on you just a little longer than usual.

You lowered your hand, feeling a bit self-conscious under his gaze, the gentle night air cool against your cheeks. “You’re welcome,” you replied, glancing away as a faint warmth crept up your neck.

For a few steps, the two of you walked in comfortable silence, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your feet the only sound. The castle loomed ahead, its towers silhouetted against the dark, star-strewn sky.

“You know,” Sunghoon finally spoke, his voice low but warm, “you didn’t have to help with Spark back there. Could’ve just let me figure it out on my own.”

You scoffed lightly, nudging him with your elbow. “Oh, please. You’d have probably spent half the night just trying to get him off your head,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Besides, I like helping out with creatures. It’s… peaceful.”

Sunghoon gave a soft chuckle, nodding. “Can’t argue with that. You’re a natural,” he added, the corner of his mouth lifting in a half-smile. “I’ve never seen you like that before.”

“Like what?” You turned your head to look at him, slightly caught off guard by his tone.

“Soft. I mean, not that you’re… not usually. Just… different,” he mumbled, running a hand over his head again, his gaze darting to the side as if searching for words. “Maybe it’s nice to see you care about something.”

A quiet chuckle escaped your lips as you shoved your hands into your pockets, your steps slowing. “I care about things. Just not usually things that… require all that much attention.”

Sunghoon stopped, turning toward you, his gaze intense yet gentle. “Well, it seems you’ve got another talent to add to the list,” he said quietly. “Even if I don’t see this… soft side very often.”

You could feel your face warm under his stare, an unspoken understanding passing between you. “Well, maybe I’ll show it a bit more… if you promise to keep your teasing to a minimum,” you countered, smiling slightly.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Only some teasing,” he replied, but there was a warmth behind his usual smirk, a hint of something more.

As you reached the entrance to the castle, you both paused, lingering in the cool shadows of the towering walls. Neither of you seemed ready to break the quiet moment. Eventually, you took a breath, giving him a final look. “Goodnight, Sunghoon.”

He nodded, his eyes still on you. “Goodnight,” he replied softly.

The next day, the routine rivalry between you and Sunghoon was as intense as ever, starting with the very first class. Snape had just handed back a round of potion assignments, and as you flipped through your parchment, you smirked at the sight of your high score. But your satisfaction was short-lived; Sunghoon leaned back in his seat beside you, carelessly waving his own assignment in the air, flashing a score just a fraction higher than yours.

You shot him a look that was equal parts irritation and challenge. “I guess perfection just comes naturally to some,” he murmured, his smirk widening as he glanced at your page. You couldn’t stop your glare from hardening as you rolled your eyes and muttered under your breath.

Throughout the day, this pattern continued in every class. Whenever you scored higher, he’d fall silent, his eyes narrowed in a glare as he examined his own work with a slight pout. If he managed to get the higher score, you’d feel your face flush in annoyance, lips pressed into a thin line as you begrudgingly accepted the tiny triumph. Each question the teachers posed became a mini-battle between the two of you. If you answered first, Sunghoon would scoff and find some way to counter your response with an added detail or correction; if he answered first, you’d find a way to elaborate on it with an extra flourish.

Eventually, in Charms, your constant back-and-forth about the finer points of nonverbal spells escalated to a full-blown debate. You could feel the class’s eyes on you both as you threw arguments back and forth, neither willing to back down until the professor finally cut in, moving to the next topic with an exasperated sigh.

When classes finally ended, you found yourself surrounded by a few Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students, all hoping you’d tutor them in some area or another. But before any of them could get too close, Sunghoon would somehow find his way into the middle, stepping forward with a cool glare that would make them hesitate. Without even noticing his interference, you were too busy rambling to him about magical creatures, hardly noticing as students reluctantly slipped away.

“…And the phoenix? Did you know they have regeneration abilities not just for themselves but that their tears can heal practically anything? It’s almost like a superpower,” you said animatedly, your eyes lighting up as you explained.

Sunghoon’s small, genuine smile went unnoticed by you, his eyes studying your expressions as you spoke. “You know,” he said after a moment, “you really get lost when you’re talking about them.”

You shrugged, unfazed. “Why wouldn’t I? There’s so much to learn, so much to explore. Don’t you ever feel like that about anything?”

His smile grew softer, almost thoughtful. “Yeah… I think I do,” he said, not taking his eyes off you. But you were too caught up in your own excitement to notice the way he looked at you, as if he had found something worth exploring right here.

You barely noticed the way Sunghoon’s eyes softened as you went on about the different habitats of magical creatures, caught up in sharing the things you loved. He seemed entirely focused on you, even as the hallway grew emptier, his usual sharp edge melting into a quieter attentiveness that he rarely showed.

As you two walked, he seemed to subtly steer you, ensuring other students didn’t approach with requests or questions. The few who tried to interrupt received one of Sunghoon’s cool, silent glares, and it was enough to make them think twice. But his attention never wavered from you, and you barely noticed anyone else around.

“…So I’m hoping to go on expeditions one day,” you said with a small smile, glancing up at him as you walked. “I want to see these creatures in the wild and understand their behaviors.”

Sunghoon looked at you, his gaze warm yet intent. “You really mean that,” he murmured.

“Of course I do,” you replied, almost laughing. “I thought everyone knew that by now.”

His faint smile returned. “Maybe not everyone. But… I do.”

You blinked at the sudden seriousness in his tone, and for a moment, you were struck by the way he was looking at you—as if there was something he’d been meaning to say, something he was wrestling with. But as quickly as the moment surfaced, it was gone; he looked away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Anyway,” he said, clearing his throat. “Guess I’ll have to find something just as impressive to match that.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing. “Good luck with that. You’ll have to work a lot harder to keep up.”

A smirk flashed across his face. “Challenge accepted,” he said quietly.

--

As you sat with the two Gryffindor students in the quiet corner of the library, the sunlight filtering through the high windows, you felt a sense of satisfaction in guiding them through the complexities of potions. They were both scrambling to keep up, flipping pages in their textbooks and frantically jotting down notes as you explained each component's properties and how they interacted.

After a moment, you paused to ask a question, gesturing to the list of ingredients for the Draught of Peace. “Which ingredient in this potion helps to reduce anxiety but can cause drowsiness in high doses?”

One of the boys squinted at his notes before raising his hand tentatively. “Um… powdered moonstone?”

You nodded, a small smile crossing your lips. “Exactly. Well done.”

He grinned, looking quite pleased with himself, then gave his friend a smug slap on the shoulder. “See? Told you I was getting the hang of this,” he boasted, earning an eye-roll from his friend.

“Don’t get too cocky,” you warned, a teasing edge to your voice. “One right answer doesn’t make you a Potions Master.”

He chuckled sheepishly, but it was clear he was still basking in your praise.

As the lesson went on, you glanced up for a moment, and your eyes caught sight of a familiar figure leaning against the edge of a nearby shelf: Sunghoon. He was watching the entire scene with his usual unreadable expression, arms crossed and a subtle smirk on his face, as if he found the whole situation amusing.

Rolling your eyes, you turned your focus back to the Gryffindors, deciding to ignore him. But despite your best efforts, you couldn’t shake the awareness of his gaze. The two Gryffindors seemed completely oblivious to Sunghoon’s presence, but every now and then, you caught him subtly stepping closer, listening in.

Finally, you finished your explanations, assigning them a few practice problems to work on in their own time. They thanked you, relief written on their faces as they gathered their things to leave.

As they left, Sunghoon sauntered over, raising an eyebrow at you. “You seem awfully generous with praise,” he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, don’t start,” you replied, rolling your eyes again as you closed your textbook. “I’m just trying to help them pass Potions. They don’t have to be my rivals.”

“Lucky for them,” he said, chuckling softly. Then he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering, “But I’d like to think I’m the only one who gets to compete with you.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled out a worn notebook and a slightly tattered copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander from your bag, flipping to a page you had been absorbed in earlier. Your notes were meticulous and precise, with a small sketch of a selkie in the margin, its sleek form and dark eyes captured with surprising detail.

Sunghoon noticed immediately, his gaze drifting to the open book and your notes. He shifted his chair a little closer, leaning in to get a better look. "What’s all this?" he asked, clearly intrigued.

“Oh, just some of my own notes,” you replied casually, though you couldn’t deny the flicker of excitement at the chance to explain. “I’m copying parts of the book, adding some of my observations. See—” You pointed to a note on selkies. “These markings here help them blend in with the seaweed, which makes them nearly invisible in shallow waters. Clever, right?”

Sunghoon nodded, and you could see the interest in his expression as he continued to study the page. Emboldened, you moved on, “And this—” you pointed to another entry, flipping a few pages to a section on kelpies. “If you ever encounter a kelpie, you should look out for water plants on its back; they often disguise themselves as beautiful horses near the shore to lure people into the water.”

“Or here, in this section on Acromantulas,” you continued, your excitement getting the better of you. “If you ever come across an Acromantula lair, the air will feel damp and oddly warm, almost like a warning. They leave webs that catch the light differently than normal spider webs—they’re shinier, with a silver tint.”

Sunghoon’s smirk softened, replaced by something you couldn’t quite place. “You really know your stuff,” he said softly, the admiration clear in his voice.

You glanced away, suddenly a little self-conscious under his gaze. “I just… really like learning about magical creatures,” you admitted with a shrug. “I think they’re fascinating.”

Sunghoon let out a low chuckle. “I think you’re fascinating,” he murmured, almost too quietly for you to hear.

You paused, heart skipping a beat as you processed his words. But before you could respond, he cleared his throat, his expression unreadable once more as he reached for your book. “So… what else should I know about magical creatures, in case we run into one?”

You grinned and continued explaining each creature with passion and detail, and he listened, seemingly content just to sit there, absorbed in every word you said.

You lost track of time as you continued sharing each creature’s traits, fully immersed in the world of magical beasts and their quirks. You explained to Sunghoon how to spot a bowtruckle in the trees, the difference between a griffin’s call and a hippogriff’s, and why nifflers are drawn to sparkly objects. With every fact you shared, his eyes never left your face.

After a while, you realized just how close he’d inched toward you. There was hardly any space between you now, and you were all too aware of his gaze tracing the slope of your nose, the curve of your mouth as you spoke. It was almost unnerving, and for the first time, you found yourself stumbling over your words.

When you paused to catch your breath, Sunghoon broke the silence, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk about magical creatures like that before.”

His words caught you off guard, and you felt warmth creeping into your cheeks. “There’s so much out there we don’t understand. I think that’s the best part—the mystery of it all.” You murmured, glancing down at your notebook.

Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, thoughtful. “Maybe that’s why I’ve always thought you’re different from everyone else.” He looked down, almost shyly, as if he hadn’t meant to let that slip.

You blinked, surprised. "Different?"

“Yeah,” he replied, finally meeting your gaze again. “You’re… genuine. Like, you actually care about the things that matter. You don’t just do things because it’s expected, or because someone told you to. You’re… well, it’s hard to explain.” He shrugged, visibly frustrated, and let out a small, self-deprecating chuckle.

You blinked, trying to make sense of what Sunghoon had just said, of the quiet vulnerability in his words. “I… didn’t realize you thought about things like that,” you replied, your voice softer than you’d meant it to be.

But Sunghoon’s momentary openness seemed to vanish as soon as the words left your mouth. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately turned away, his expression twisting into a frown. "I don’t know why I even—”

Before he could finish, he stood up abruptly, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. You barely had time to react as he took a few steps back, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “beautiful eyes” under his breath, though you couldn’t be sure. Then, without looking back, he turned on his heel and strode out of the library, leaving you staring after him, stunned.

You sat there, watching the tall silhouette of his figure disappear through the doorway, a thousand questions spinning through your mind.

Madam Pince’s voice snapped you out of your daze. She had quietly approached, tidying up the stray books the Gryffindor students had left behind. “It doesn’t take much to see he likes you,” she said, her tone somewhere between amused and exasperated.

Your head whipped around to face her, eyes wide. “Wait—what?”

She glanced at you over the rim of her spectacles, raising an eyebrow as she gathered a stack of books. “Oh, come on. That boy didn’t take his eyes off you for a second. He barely even noticed anyone else in the room.” She shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her. “If he could, I swear he’d have hearts in his eyes. Quite the smitten one, that Sunghoon.”

You felt your face heat up. “I—no, that can’t be.”

Madam Pince gave a noncommittal hum, but her eyes sparkled with something like knowing. “I’ve seen plenty of students in here studying. There’s something different about him.”

ou couldn’t shake the image of Sunghoon’s gaze lingering on you, softer than you’d ever seen it, and the way he’d fumbled over his own words like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“Maybe it’s just the way he looks at you,” Madam Pince added as she placed the last book on the shelf. “You’d think he’s looking at his entire world.”

You felt your breath catch, her words lingering long after you left the library.

The next day, you found yourself standing in the hallway before Charms class, nervously glancing at Wooyoung. You’d practically dragged him here to talk about Sunghoon, though you weren’t entirely sure what you wanted to ask or how to approach him.

“Come on, Wooyoung, you have to help me figure this out,” you said, your voice a little more frantic than you intended. “Do you think… do you think he likes me?”

Wooyoung, leaning casually against the wall, smiled so wide that his grin nearly split his face. There was a gleam in his eyes—one that you knew all too well. The one he always wore when he had some mischievous plan brewing.

“Like you?” he echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t he? You two are practically a walking cliché. The constant competition, the way you both try to one-up each other… It’s as obvious as your latest Transfiguration assignment.”

You frowned, unsure of where he was going with this. “I—what do you mean by that?”

Wooyoung pushed off the wall, standing up straighter. His smile grew wider, and you immediately recognized that look. The one that meant he’d just come up with something ridiculous, probably to your detriment. “Why don’t you make him show it? Get him to prove he likes you.”

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “What? How am I supposed to do that?”

He sighed dramatically, as though you’d just asked him a question that was too easy to answer. “It’s simple. Make him jealous using me,” Wooyoung replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your eyes widened. “Wait, what? You want me to pretend to like you to make Sunghoon jealous?”

“Exactly!” Wooyoung grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “And don’t worry. I’ll even be the test bunny —free of charge. I’ll stick close to you, spend all the time I can with you, and make it look like I’m all about you. Trust me, Sunghoon will get the message real quick.”

You hesitated, worried. “I don’t know, Wooyoung. This seems like a bad idea.”

He groaned in exasperation, rolling his eyes. “How can someone so smart be so clueless? It’s not like you have to actually date me or anything. Besides, you’re not even doing anything bad, just hanging out with your best friend Wooyoung. You’ll see what happens. Just wait until Sunghoon realizes what’s going on. If he likes you, he’ll show it.”

You bit your lip, not entirely convinced. The idea made you uneasy, but Wooyoung was already grabbing your arm, pulling you towards the classroom. “Come on. You can overthink it later. Let’s go.”

Reluctantly, you allowed yourself to be pulled into class, the moment you found your seat, you looked around, half-expecting to see Sunghoon. When he walked into class, you saw him immediately—tall and confident, his usual smirk in place. But as soon as his eyes landed on you, sitting next to Wooyoung, his entire demeanor shifted. His eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed.

You felt your stomach flip when Sunghoon stalked over, crossing his arms.

“You’re in my seat,” Sunghoon said, his voice cold as his eyes locked onto Wooyoung.

Wooyoung, not missing a beat, tilted his head back and looked at Sunghoon with a smug expression. “I don’t see your name here,” he teased, his voice playful, almost sing-song. He then dramatically pulled you closer to him, as though to stake his claim. “Besides, I’m sitting here now.”

You shot Wooyoung a look, but he was already enjoying this far too much. You glanced back at Sunghoon, who was glaring at Wooyoung with a look that could have burned a hole through him, his jaw clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line. But when Sunghoon looked at you, his eyes softened just a little—though the frown still remained. He sighed in frustration before walking off, clearly not wanting to make a scene.

His eyes then locked onto the desk directly in front of you, where a Ravenclaw student had been sitting just moments ago, quietly taking notes. Without so much as a glance toward you or Wooyoung, Sunghoon walked up to the desk with a purposeful stride.

The Ravenclaw, a young girl with glasses perched on the edge of her nose, looked up in mild surprise as Sunghoon approached her. She was about to ask if something was wrong when he stood before her, towering slightly as he looked down at her desk with an unwavering gaze.

“Move,” he said simply, his voice low and calm, but there was an unspoken authority in it. It wasn’t a question, and there was no room for negotiation in his tone.

The Ravenclaw blinked, unsure of what was happening. “Excuse me?” she asked, her voice a little shaky.

Sunghoon’s expression remained neutral. “I’m sitting here,” he repeated, and he placed his bag down on the desk, almost as though he were claiming it.

The girl hesitated, glancing at the seat next to yours where Wooyoung sat, clearly not understanding the situation. She looked at the empty seats around the room, trying to figure out what to do.

“You can find another seat,” Sunghoon added coolly, his gaze unflinching. “It’s not a big deal.”

The Ravenclaw swallowed hard, her face flushing with confusion and embarrassment. She had no idea what was happening. Was this some sort of joke? Was she supposed to just give up her seat because Sunghoon wanted it? She opened her mouth to protest again, but before she could speak, she caught the look in Sunghoon’s eyes—cold, almost daring her to defy him.

“Okay,” she muttered, gathering her things and standing up, clearly unnerved by the tension in the air. Reluctantly, she grabbed her bag, and with a small, defeated sigh, she walked toward a different desk, clearly trying to avoid further confrontation.

You watched the scene unfold with a mix of surprise and discomfort, and you could see Wooyoung beside you, clearly amused by the whole thing. Sunghoon didn’t even spare a glance at the girl as she moved to another desk. He simply adjusted his books, and slid into the chair with a casual ease.

Wooyoung chuckled under his breath as class started, nudging you with an exaggerated wink. “Worked like a charm,” he whispered, grinning.

As Professor Flitwick began the lecture, Wooyoung scribbled something on a scrap of parchment and nudged it toward you, his grin widening when you glanced down.

“I’d say Sunghoon looks about two seconds away from hexing me,” he’d scrawled, complete with a little doodle of a scowling Sunghoon.

You smirked, scribbling back, “More like two seconds from snapping his quill in half.”

Wooyoung had to stifle his laugh, glancing up to make sure Flitwick wasn’t watching. Meanwhile, Sunghoon sat in front of you, stiff and silent, answering Professor Flitwick’s questions with uncharacteristic quietness. Normally, this was the part of the lesson where you’d challenge him, but you were too busy passing notes and snickering quietly with Wooyoung.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon, seemed quieter than usual. It was obvious to you that he wasn’t paying much attention to the lesson now—his usually sharp focus shifted entirely to the students around him. You caught the way he glanced up when another student raised their hand, trying to challenge him. They asked a particularly tricky question about the correct incantation for a charm, but when Sunghoon answered smoothly, there was no cocky attitude, no smug smirk. He answered matter-of-factly, almost quietly, and then fell back into his seat, looking down at his parchment with furrowed brows.

Other students tried to challenge him, pushing for more details, but Sunghoon didn’t rise to the occasion like he usually did with you. He remained reserved, answering them simply and without the usual bite in his voice.

And you couldn’t help but wonder if this was all connected to the game you and Wooyoung had started—testing Sunghoon's reactions, seeing how far you could push him. You watched him for a few more moments, noting how his posture stiffened slightly whenever someone questioned him. It was like he was waiting for something—waiting for you to throw a comment or a challenge his way. But you stayed quiet, not offering him the usual banter or playful disagreement.

Wooyoung passed you another note, his handwriting messier this time from his suppressed laughter. “Guess he only cares if it’s you arguing with him.”

As soon as Professor Flitwick dismissed the class, you barely had a second to pack up your things before Wooyoung seized your arm, yanking you up from your seat and ushering you toward the door with hurried enthusiasm.

“Come on, come on!” he whispered, grinning as he practically dragged you through the aisle, weaving between students as they gathered their things.

You stumbled slightly, barely managing to throw your bag over your shoulder as Wooyoung tugged you along, his grip firm as he steered you toward the corridor. Behind you, you caught a quick glimpse of Sunghoon, his expression darkening as he watched Wooyoung pull you away.

“Wooyoung, slow down!” you protested, trying to keep from tripping as he continued his brisk pace down the hallway. You glanced back, half-expecting Sunghoon to be right behind you, but the corridor was empty, and you couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t followed.

Wooyoung just laughed, his mischief only growing as he finally slowed down, his grip loosening as he threw you a victorious smile. “Did you see his face? He was practically glaring daggers at me!”

You rolled your eyes, brushing your hair out of your face as you tried to catch your breath. “You’re going to drive him crazy at this rate. What if he actually loses it?”

Wooyoung smirked, shrugging as if it was no big deal. “Isn’t that the plan? You’ll know for sure if he really likes you.” He wagged his eyebrows at you playfully, nudging you with his shoulder. “Besides, I’ve never seen him that riled up over anything—or anyone, for that matter. And if he’s jealous, it’s because he knows he’s got competition.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Wooyoung was already shooting you a smug grin, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced over his shoulder, making sure Sunghoon hadn’t caught up to you. You hated to admit it, but a part of you couldn’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of getting under Sunghoon’s skin, especially after all the times he’d done the same to you.

Wooyoung didn't hold back over the next few days, sticking by your side at every opportunity, always there with that trademark mischievous grin. He’d slide into the seat beside you during classes, insist on walking you to the Great Hall for meals, and show up at the library to “help” you study—even if he spent more time drawing little doodles on your notes than actually being helpful.

You caught Sunghoon watching the two of you on more than one occasion, his gaze dark and intense, lips pressed into a firm line as Wooyoung leaned close to whisper something that would make you laugh. The frustration on Sunghoon’s face was unmistakable, but he never said anything. He would just look away with a huff, his jaw clenched as he turned his attention back to whatever was in front of him.

During Potions, Wooyoung made a particularly bold move, sliding his chair so close to yours that your shoulders brushed as you worked on a shared project. Sunghoon, who sat across from you, glared at Wooyoung with such ferocity that you were sure he’d burst.

“Are you two always this… close?” Sunghoon finally muttered, barely hiding the edge in his voice.

Wooyoung looked up with an innocent smile, putting an arm over your shoulder with exaggerated nonchalance. “Oh, absolutely. I’m just here to make sure no one distracts her from her studies,” he said with a wink in your direction.

You bit back a laugh as Sunghoon’s expression turned sour, his fingers tapping agitatedly against the desk.

As the days went on, Sunghoon’s patience seemed to fray bit by bit, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a simmering frustration. You could see it in the way he clenched his fists whenever he saw you with Wooyoung, how he’d roll his eyes when he overheard Wooyoung laughing with you in the library. He even began answering questions more aggressively in class, as though trying to reclaim some attention.

One evening, when Wooyoung had just pulled you out of the library after an impromptu “study session,” you spotted Sunghoon watching you from across the corridor, his expression dark. Wooyoung followed your gaze and smirked, leaning down to whisper, “I think he’s finally reaching his limit. Just wait—he’ll crack any day now.”

--

You were sat in the courtyard, finally getting a moment to study in peace with Wooyoung serving detention, a shadow fell over your books. You looked up, blinking as Sunghoon stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, an intense look in his eyes.

“Studying alone for once?” he asked, his voice casual, but the edge in it unmistakable.

You gave him a small shrug, trying to appear unfazed. “Yeah, Wooyoung’s busy.”

Sunghoon sat down across from you without asking, his gaze flickering over your books before settling on you. “So, you and Wooyoung… you’ve known each other for a while, huh?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly fishing for something.

You raised an eyebrow, sensing where this was going. “We’re good friends,” you replied simply. “We’ve known each other since second year.”

Sunghoon’s brows knit together, curiosity—and maybe a hint of jealousy—lingering in his expression. “How did that even happen? You two don’t seem like the most… obvious match.”

You laughed a little at the memory. “Oh, it was something, alright. I found him running from Filch after he’d set off one of those cursed prank fireworks. He practically begged me to hide him, so I did. After that, we just… clicked, I guess. I’d cover for him, and he’d keep me entertained with his ridiculous schemes.”

Sunghoon nodded, a faint smirk appearing on his lips. “So you’re telling me you’ve been cleaning up his messes for years.”

You laughed. “Pretty much.”

For a moment, Sunghoon seemed lost in thought, a silence settling between you as he absorbed what you’d shared. He looked down at the book open in front of you—a piece on mythical creatures.

“Sounds like you’re a better friend than he deserves,” he muttered, his voice barely loud enough to hear. And then, without waiting for your reaction, he quickly added, “But maybe you’re just too kind. I doubt you’d turn away anyone if they asked for help.” He leaned forward, arms crossed and a curious look on his face, as if he were ready to seize this moment and talk about anything—everything, even.

“So… this whole mythical creatures thing,” he began, nodding toward the book in front of you. “It’s what you want to do after school, right?”

You hesitated, but then you looked up and caught the way Sunghoon’s gaze softened as he waited for you to answer. There was no trace of his usual smirk or sarcastic tone; he just looked genuinely… interested. Almost desperate to keep this conversation going, like he needed to talk to you, even if it was about the most random thing he could think of.

Letting out a quiet sigh, you nodded. “Yeah… I guess I want to travel, see the world, learn about different creatures out there.”

Sunghoon nodded slowly, eyes never leaving yours. “Makes sense for you.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “What about you, Sunghoon? What do you want to do?”

He ran a hand through his hair, looking slightly awkward as he considered his answer. “Me? Well… my family expects me to follow in their footsteps and work in the Ministry. Some important role that’ll keep the Park name respectable or whatever.”

You raised an eyebrow, surprised at how openly he was talking about it. “And… is that what you want?”

He hesitated, glancing away briefly before meeting your eyes again. “Honestly? No. But it’s not like I get much say in it. My parents… they don’t really ask what I want. They just have this… plan. And I’m supposed to go along with it.”

You softened, forgetting all about Wooyoung’s plan. “Maybe one day, you’ll get to do what you actually want. Even if it means disappointing a few people along the way.”

Sunghoon’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Maybe.”

While you and Sunghoon continued your conversation, Wooyoung burst onto the scene, looking a bit disheveled from detention.

"Hey! You promised you’d help me with Astronomy, remember?" he announced, hands on his hips as he gestured toward the library.

You blinked, taken aback. “Did I? I don’t remember promising that, Woo—”

But Wooyoung wasn’t giving you a moment to think. He sidled up to you, giving Sunghoon a mischievous side-eye as he tried to usher you away. That was, until Sunghoon suddenly stood up with startling speed.

“Actually, we’ll both help you,” he said firmly, his voice determined, like he was making a declaration. He looked between you and Wooyoung, and you couldn’t hide your surprise. Sunghoon had never offered to tutor anyone, much less help anyone study.

Wooyoung faltered for a moment, his usual quick wit momentarily stunned. “Wait, you want to help? Since when does Sunghoon Park volunteer to help anyone?” he stammered, clearly thrown off his game.

Without missing a beat, Sunghoon reached out, grabbing your hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and gently pulled you along. He positioned himself slightly in front of you, blocking Wooyoung’s view just enough to hold your attention. His touch was firm, warm, and you could feel the faintest bit of tension in his grip, as though he was reluctant to let you go.

“Come on,” he said, glancing back at you, eyes lit with determination.

You barely had time to process the boldness of his move, your heart beating a little faster at the intensity in his gaze. But then, from behind you, Wooyoung snapped out of his daze.

“Hey! Don’t leave me!” he shouted, sprinting forward to catch up.

Once inside the library, Sunghoon led you to a secluded corner, where the stacks of books created a quiet, private nook. He settled down across from you, pulling out his Astronomy textbook and parchment without a word. You followed suit, just as Wooyoung stumbled in, slightly out of breath and muttering curses under his breath.

"Merlin, Sunghoon, did you have to practically run here? Not all of us have legs that belong on a Quidditch team,” Wooyoung huffed, plopping down in the remaining seat and tossing his Astronomy books onto the table.

You chuckled softly, but Sunghoon didn’t seem to notice. He had already opened his book and was flipping to a relevant chapter, his eyes scanning the page with a quiet focus. The three of you settled in, and soon, you began explaining the constellations and how to identify them, taking a parchment to map out a few diagrams for Wooyoung.

Sunghoon added an occasional word here and there, though you quickly noticed his advice was always directed toward you, not Wooyoung. It was as if he couldn’t be bothered to look at Wooyoung directly, instead choosing to watch you as you spoke. Every so often, he'd chime in at the end of your explanations, repeating or affirming your words like a quiet echo.

"Right," you’d say, finishing up a description of Orion. “That’s why its belt is so distinctive in the night sky.”

"Distinctive,” Sunghoon murmured, nodding slightly as he watched you, his gaze steady.

Wooyoung, however, wasn’t about to let this slide. He shot you a look of exaggerated exasperation, rolling his eyes playfully as Sunghoon added yet another short agreement after your sentence.

“If I’d known studying with the both of you would be this one-sided, I’d have just gone to Hagrid’s for a simpler lecture,” Wooyoung quipped, pretending to grumble. He shot you a grin. “You’re doing all the heavy lifting here. Sunghoon’s just admiring the view.”

You stifled a laugh, glancing at Sunghoon, who simply shrugged and looked away, not even trying to deny it. A faint blush had crept up his cheeks, but he kept his gaze on his notes, acting unbothered as he continued to jot things down.

The table fell quiet for a moment, the only sounds being the rustling of pages and the scratching of quills. Sunghoon had finally turned his attention to his notes, his posture still stiff and focused, while Wooyoung, sitting across from you, began to plot. You could feel the mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced between you and Sunghoon, an idea forming behind that grin of his. You knew that grin well—it was the kind of grin that spelled out nothing good.

And then, as if on cue, Wooyoung shifted in his seat, straightened up, and suddenly leaned forward, all casual-like.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice loud enough to carry across the quiet library. “Do you ever wonder what it would be like if Sunghoon here actually smiled when he helped us study? You know, like… with an actual expression, not just his usual ‘I’m-too-cool-for-this’ face?”

You shot him a look, one that made it clear you were aware of what he was doing. You opened your mouth to say something, but Wooyoung was already going for it. He nudged your elbow gently with his, a silent request for backup.

“I mean,” he continued, his voice deliberately drawing out the words, “I bet you could teach him a thing or two about showing some emotion, right? I’ve seen you make him smile once in a while. That’s kind of impressive, considering, you know… he usually doesn't even seem to know how to have fun. Maybe you should be his personal tutor on that.”

You suppressed a laugh, but it was difficult to stop your lips from twitching. Sunghoon, however, didn’t react at first. He kept his eyes on the page in front of him, though the muscles in his jaw twitched slightly, and his posture tightened.

Wooyoung wasn’t done. No, he was just getting started. He leaned back in his chair, completely at ease, as if he were speaking casually about the weather.

“So,” he said with a sly grin, “Sunghoon, what's it like, huh? Sitting here and being the epitome of cool? Don’t you get bored sometimes?” He leaned forward, directing his question to Sunghoon directly now. “You ever get jealous? Like when Y/N and I hang out and I make her laugh, but you can’t seem to do the same? Maybe you could learn something from me after all. You know, how to crack a joke here and there. It’d be a good change of pace for you.”

Your eyes widened, realizing the full extent of Wooyoung’s plan. He was making you the center of attention, and Sunghoon was stuck right in front of you, getting teased in a way that was bound to rattle him.

For a moment, it seemed like Sunghoon was going to retort, but then something changed. He looked at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before his gaze flicked back to his notes.

“I don’t need to crack jokes to be effective,” he muttered, the words clipped and sharp, though there was a distinct edge to them. “But you do seem to have a talent for making everything an entertainment show.”

Wooyoung’s grin only widened at the jab. "Well, someone’s gotta keep things interesting."

You were trying so hard not to laugh, your hand pressed against your lips to stifle the giggles. You could tell that Wooyoung was enjoying to push Sunghoon’s buttons, waiting for him to bite, and it was hard to ignore how Sunghoon seemed to slowly crack under the pressure.

Finally, you couldn’t keep it in anymore. You let out a soft laugh, looking at Sunghoon with a teasing smile. “You’re not gonna let Wooyoung get to you, are you?”

Sunghoon paused, his eyes flickering to you, he exhaled, almost like a sigh, and then said, with a quiet edge, “I’ve got more important things to focus on than whatever this is.”

Madam Pince appeared just as you were trying to suppress the last of your laughter, her stern eyes scanning the room. She spotted you from across the library and made her way over, her expression softening a little when she saw you sitting with Sunghoon and Wooyoung.

"Ah, Y/N," she said in her usual clipped tone. "I’m in need of some assistance. There’s a book missing, and you seem to be one of the few students who knows this library well enough to help me track it down."

You nodded quickly, grateful for the excuse to step away from the tension growing between Sunghoon and Wooyoung. "Of course, Madam Pince. I'll help you find it."

You were prepared to leave, but before you did, you leaned closer to Wooyoung, who was still watching Sunghoon, his expression one of quiet amusement.

“Play fair, Wooyoung,” you whispered, just loud enough for him to hear but soft enough that Sunghoon wouldn’t catch on.

Wooyoung gave you a wide, mischievous grin, his eyes twinkling with the hint of something else—perhaps a little bit of challenge. "You got it, Y/N," he whispered back, his voice teasing.

Then, you turned to Sunghoon, who had been unusually quiet, his eyes focused on his notes but his body language still tight. You weren’t sure if he was just avoiding Wooyoung’s teasing or if there was something else on his mind.

Leaning in slightly, you whispered to him, just as softly as you had to Wooyoung, “Go easy on Wooyoung, alright?”

Sunghoon didn’t immediately respond, but you could see his eyes flicker with a slight surprise. He gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod, though his lips remained pressed together in that tight line he often wore when he wasn’t sure how to express himself.

"Fine," he muttered, his tone as close to a concession as you’d get from him.

With that, you excused yourself from the table, gathering your bag and walking away with Madam Pince, who seemed to appreciate the extra pair of hands.

--

You handed Madam Pince the book when you found it, her lips curling into a small, appreciative smile. "Thank you, Y/N. You’re always so helpful," she said, before disappearing behind a shelf to return the book to its rightful place.

Once that was done, you made your way back to the table where you’d left Sunghoon and Wooyoung. But when you walked up, you noticed that only Sunghoon remained, his focus still on his notes, though he didn’t seem as intense as he had been earlier. His shoulders were slightly hunched over, his quill scratching across the parchment in front of him.

"Where’d Wooyoung go?" you asked, your voice light but curious.

Sunghoon didn’t look up at first, continuing to write something down before responding. "He got too bored and decided to leave. Probably off causing trouble somewhere," he said, his voice flat.

You sighed, shaking your head. "I should've known. He's always up to something."

Sunghoon just shrugged and went back to his work, not saying anything more.

After some time, Sunghoon glanced up from his notes and reached for one of the books you had both been reading. He scanned a passage, muttering something under his breath before looking at you again.

"Here’s a question," he said, reading aloud. "What do you think is the primary trait that allows a Thestral to remain undetected by most students?" He paused for a moment, his eyes locking with yours. "I think it's their ability to be invisible to those who haven't experienced death. What would you add to that?"

You thought for a second. "I would add that they also have an inherent ability to sense the emotions of others, which could explain why they only reveal themselves to people who have truly understood loss. It’s not just physical invisibility, it’s emotional, too."

Sunghoon nodded thoughtfully, a small smile playing at his lips. "I like that. You’ve got a good point."

As you both continued discussing the finer details of Thestrals, your chairs inched closer and closer without either of you noticing. At first, it was just a subtle shift in the way you both sat, both leaning in a little to be closer to the books and each other’s notes. But soon, you were sitting shoulder to shoulder, the space between you so small it almost didn’t matter anymore.

You could feel the warmth of his shoulder brushing against yours, a strange sense of familiarity in the way you both fit together in that moment. And when he passed you a book, his hand brushing yours in the process, neither of you pulled away.

The air between you both seemed to shift, subtle yet undeniable. Time seemed to slow for a moment, and you couldn't help but notice the brief flicker in Sunghoon's eyes—like he was aware of the closeness, of the sudden tension that hadn't been there before.

You both locked eyes, your gazes lingering a little longer than they should have. Then, just as quickly, his gaze dropped to your lips, and you felt a slight shift in your chest. You instinctively licked your lips, a nervous habit, and when you did, Sunghoon's gaze followed the motion, his eyes following the path of your tongue. You could almost feel the shift in his focus as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks at the realization that he had caught it, that he had been watching you so intently.

You gave him a soft smile, just a hint of amusement in your expression, before you quickly looked back down at your notes, trying to regain your composure.

Sunghoon, as if breaking free from whatever spell had taken hold of him, seemed to blink and shake himself out of his trance. His gaze shifted back to his notes, though there was a slight tightness in his jaw that hadn't been there before. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his usual collected demeanor.

"Right," he muttered, focusing on the book in front of him as though it was the most interesting thing in the room.

Your hand, poised over your quill, hesitated for a moment, as if unsure of what to write next. Your thoughts were scattered now—your mind buzzing with a thousand things, none of them having to do with the notes in front of you. You focused on the lines, the words, the shapes of the ink on the page, but it was a challenge. Everything felt so much more present now.

The night had stretched on without either of you noticing. The quiet between you had been comfortable, filled with soft whispers of pages turning and the faint scratch of quills on paper. When you finally stood, stretching your stiff limbs, the weight of the evening pressed down on you. Sunghoon, still by your side, packed his books slowly, as if reluctant to leave.

You both stepped out of the library together, the cool night air hitting you with the suddenness of it, making you shiver slightly. Sunghoon, as usual, was a step ahead of you, walking with that calm, collected air he always carried.

As the doors to the library clicked shut behind you, the portraits along the hallways seemed to come alive, their eyes following you both as you walked. Your eyes flicked over the various faces, and then you noticed a particular painting—two lovers standing close, gazing at each other with love. The two figures in the painting seemed to smirk at you, their eyes sparkling with mischievous intent.

A wave of warmth spread over you, and before you could even think, your face flushed, the embarrassment catching you off guard. You quickly looked away, focusing on the stone floor beneath your feet, trying to hide your blush. That’s when your gaze inadvertently lifted up, and you found yourself looking at Sunghoon.

You hadn’t meant to stare, but you couldn’t help it. His side profile was so striking, every feature seeming perfectly sculpted in the low light of the hallway. His sharp jawline was defined, the angle of it so perfect it almost looked like something out of a painting itself. His nose—straight and sharp—seemed to fit his face so well. You could see the faint moles on his skin, scattered along his otherwise perfect pale skin. His dark hair, messy but somehow perfect, fell effortlessly over his forehead, and the way it framed his face made everything about him seem even more… intense.

But it was his eyes that captivated you the most. Even though he wasn’t looking directly at you, you could feel them—those eyes that were usually so guarded, now more thoughtful.

When you reached the entrance to your common room, you stopped, both of you hesitant for just a second. The words you wanted to say stuck in your throat, you looked up at him again, your gaze lingering on his face.

“Thanks for walking me back,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon nodded, and for a moment, neither of you moved. He hesitated before giving you a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“Anytime,” he replied, his voice softer than usual, almost unsure.

--

You tossed and turned in your bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the restless whispers of your bedmates’ snores filling the silence of the dormitory. Despite the rhythmic sound of their breathing, it only seemed to make everything feel more stifling. The night stretched on far too long, the weight of your thoughts keeping you wide awake. No matter how you shifted, how many times you tried to find a comfortable position, sleep refused to come.

It was late. Too late. You should be asleep, but every time you closed your eyes, the thoughts came back, chasing you into a wakefulness that felt almost unbearable. You groaned softly, rubbing your face with both hands.

Sighing in frustration, you finally gave up. With a groan, you sat up, blinking in the dim light that filtered in from the window. You glanced around at your sleeping bedmates, none of them aware of your restlessness. The soft, sleepy murmurs of their dreams only made the weight of your own thoughts feel heavier. You needed to get out.

Quietly, you slipped your legs off the bed and padded across the floor in your slippers. You grabbed your jacket from the back of your chair and threw it on over your pyjamas, the fabric slightly chilly against your skin. Your wand was a comforting weight in your hand as you whispered the slightest incantation under your breath. The quiet "Lumos" from your wand’s tip provided a faint light, just enough to guide your way.

The corridors of Hogwarts were eerily quiet, bathed in shadow, save for the faint glow of your wand. You moved carefully, keeping your footsteps light, aware of the potential danger of being caught. You didn’t want to risk Filch or Mrs. Norris spotting you, so you kept your senses heightened. If you saw anyone, you'd be ready to cast the Disillusionment Charm in an instant, blending into the shadows before they could even register your presence.

Before long, you reached your destination—the Astronomy Tower. You could already feel the calming presence of the stars, even from the base of the tower. You hurried up the winding stairs, each step taking you closer to the quiet peace of the tower. Your breath quickened as you climbed. When you reached the top, you pushed open the door to the tower and stepped out into the cool night air.

The stars twinkled above you, scattered across the sky like diamonds scattered on velvet. The moon hung high and bright, casting a silvery glow over the castle. The familiar peace settled over you, the noise in your head beginning to fade as you stood there, gazing out at the endless night.

As you stood there in the quiet, the faint shuffle of footsteps behind you pulled your attention away from the stars. You instinctively gripped your wand, the spell already forming in your mind, but before you could cast it, a familiar voice rang out, low and quiet, but unmistakable.

“Well, well, didn’t expect to see you here.”

You turned quickly, your heart racing, and found Sunghoon standing just a few feet away. His presence felt like a sudden shift in the air, his gaze fixed on you, unreadable yet steady. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips.

“What are you doing here?” You tried to sound casual, but your pulse quickened. You had been hoping for solitude, not the unexpected company of someone who seemed to occupy so much space in your mind lately.

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing in that way that made you feel as though he was always observing, always calculating. “Same reason as you, I suspect. Couldn’t sleep.” He took a step closer, his movements smooth and deliberate. “The stars have a way of making everything… quieter, don’t they?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to make small talk or let the silence stretch on.

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to sneak out at night,” he added, his voice taking on that teasing tone you were so familiar with.

“I’m not usually,” you replied, though the words felt a little less convincing now. “Just… needed some air. Some time away from everything.”

“Everything?” Sunghoon echoed, his eyebrow raising slightly. “Including me?”

You froze, unsure how to answer, but before you could say anything, he was already standing next to you.

You turned your attention back to the stars, unable to meet his gaze. “No, not you,” you murmured quietly, almost reflexively. “I just… don’t know how to sort all of this out.”

Sunghoon was silent for a beat, then spoke again, his voice softer now, a touch more serious. “You know, you don’t have to figure everything out all at once.”

You met his gaze, and for the first time, you didn’t see a challenge there. “I don’t know if I want to figure it out,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curled into that familiar smirk, but this time, it was different. There was no teasing edge, just the soft hint of understanding. “Fair enough.”

You exhaled slowly, considering his words.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice almost thoughtful, “I’ve seen you up here before, on some nights.”

You blinked, surprised. “You have?”

He shrugged, his gaze never leaving the stars. “Sometimes. I didn’t want to disturb you, though. You looked… peaceful.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes, but it was gone so quickly that you weren’t sure if you had imagined it. He shifted slightly, and before you knew it, he was sitting down on the cold stone floor of the tower, his legs crossed as he looked up at the sky.

You hesitated for a moment, then joined him, sitting a few inches away.

After a long silence, you broke the silence, your voice almost soft. “The stars look beautiful, don’t they?”

Sunghoon glanced at you, but instead of following your gaze to the sky, his eyes lingered on you for a moment. “Yeah,” he agreed. “They are.” His gaze lingered a moment longer.

He never really looked at the night sky at all.

--

History of Magic class had never been your favorite, but this particular day, you were running late, thanks to a rather inconvenient staircase that decided to shift just as you were climbing it. You had narrowly avoided tripping, but it had definitely delayed your arrival to class.

You stepped into the classroom with a quiet sigh of relief, thankful that Professor Binns was, as usual, sound asleep, floating behind his desk in his usual ethereal state.

Your eyes scanned the classroom for an empty seat, your gaze flicking from student to student until you caught sight of Sunghoon. He was sitting a few rows ahead, his expression calm, though his eyes subtly flickered toward you. He gave you a slight nod and a small gesture with his hand, silently urging you to sit beside him.

You hesitated for a moment, but then shrugged, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to join him. As you made your way toward him, you felt the weight of your bag on your shoulder, wondering if you’d packed something extra this morning. You dropped into the seat beside him and set your bag down with a sigh.

But as you opened it to grab your notes, you immediately gasped, shocked. There was something extra in there that you hadn’t packed—something that wasn’t supposed to be in your bag. You quickly shut it again, looking around nervously, but fortunately, no one seemed to be paying attention. Most of the class was too busy chatting or goofing off to notice.

Sunghoon, noticing your surprise, raised an eyebrow at you. “What’s wrong?”

You nudged the bag toward him, a questioning look in your eyes. He tilted his head, curious, and then leaned in slightly. Without saying anything, he reached over and opened your bag. When his eyes met yours again, his expression mirrored your own surprise, and he quickly closed it, his eyebrows shooting up in shock.

“What the hell?” Sunghoon muttered under his breath, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed.

You both kept your voices low, trying to keep the situation between just the two of you. Sunghoon passed you his notes for the rest of the class, a wordless agreement to focus on the task at hand.

By the time Professor Binns finally stirred, slowly waking from his nap, you were practically ready to bolt out of the classroom. Sunghoon, too, had packed up quickly, his eyes flickering over to you as if he shared your urgency.

The moment Binns waved you off with a disinterested dismissal, you were out of your seat in an instant, clutching your bag tightly to your side. Sunghoon followed after you, his footsteps quick and light as he kept pace beside you. The two of you slipped into an empty classroom just down the hall. You quickly shut the door behind you, and Sunghoon locked it, his eyes flicking back to you, unsure of what was about to happen.

You didn’t waste any time. You set your bag on a nearby table and opened it again, and as you reached inside, your fingers brushed against something warm and soft—and then, with a slight tug, you pulled out Spark, the little Niffler, who immediately clung to you with his tiny paws.

You couldn’t help but laugh in surprise as Spark squirmed in your grip, his shiny black eyes gleaming as he wriggled in your arms, his pouch clearly overflowing. “That’s why my bag was so heavy!” you exclaimed in disbelief, shaking your head. “I thought I packed an extra book! How did you sneak in there, little guy?”

Spark tried twisting around in your arms, desperate to get away, but you held him tightly, trying to keep him under control. He was practically a bundle of energy, clearly pleased with himself after whatever little heist he’d gone on.

Sunghoon watched you both for a moment, raising an eyebrow as he crossed his arms. “How did he even get away from Hagrid?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and genuine curiosity.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Nifflers are tricky,” you said, your smile growing as you felt Spark nuzzle against you, clearly satisfied with his haul.

“I imagine Hagrid’s going to be missing something when he realizes.” Sunghoon said, his tone slightly teasing.

“I’ll return whatever he stole,” you said, a little exasperated, but the fondness for the mischievous creature clear in your voice. “If I can ever get him to give it back.”

Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on Spark for a moment longer before he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Only you could have a Niffler hiding in your bag during school.”

You smiled sheepishly. “Well, I don’t make it easy for myself, do I?”

Sunghoon let out a soft laugh, his gaze still fixed on Spark "Definitely not," he said, a teasing tone slipping into his voice.

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile at the way he looked at you. You adjusted your grip on Spark, who had decided that now was the perfect time to try and escape, wiggling energetically.

"Okay, okay," you said, giving up trying to keep him still. "You win. You can go play, but if you steal anything else, I’m telling Hagrid." Spark let out a small chirp as he scurried off your lap and darted toward a stack of books in the corner of the room, clearly on the hunt for more shiny objects.

Sunghoon’s chuckle faded as he looked over at you, his eyes a little more thoughtful now. "You’ve got a lot going on, huh?" he asked, his voice soft, almost as if he was just realizing something he hadn’t thought about before.

You cut him off with a playful shrug. "It’s nothing I can’t handle," you said, your tone light. "Besides, I’ve got good company to help me through it." You flashed him a grin, hoping to keep things light.

Sunghoon’s eyes softened, his lips curving into a small smile. For a moment, he just looked at you, but before either of you could say anything more, Spark returned with what looked like a shiny button in his mouth, clearly pleased with his new find.

Sunghoon glanced at Spark, then back at you, his expression amused but still thoughtful. "I think you’re more like him than you realize," he said, a hint of warmth in his voice. "Getting into trouble, but always figuring it out somehow."

You raised an eyebrow, surprised by his words. "I wouldn’t say I’m that bad."

He shrugged nonchalantly, his smile lingering. "Maybe not. But you definitely keep things interesting."

Eventually, Spark seemed to grow bored of his treasure hunt and returned to your lap, curling up contentedly. You smiled down at him, your fingers absentmindedly petting his fluffy little head.

"Guess we should probably get back to studying," you said, your voice softer now, more relaxed.

Sunghoon nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair, his gaze lingering on you for just a moment longer. "Yeah, I suppose so."

You and Sunghoon made your way to the courtyard after packing up your things from the empty classroom. The sun was beginning to set, casting a soft golden light over the stone pathways. The courtyard was quiet, except for the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant chatter of students who had finished their classes for the day. You found a quiet bench near the flowerbeds, your books spread out between you as you settled in to continue your study session.

As soon as you opened your notebook, the challenge began.

"So, what’s this about the Thunderbirds again?" Sunghoon asked, glancing at the page you were studying. "I’ve heard of them, but I’m not sure I get the whole thing."

You couldn’t help but smirk slightly, glad to have an advantage for once. "Thunderbirds are fascinating," you said, your voice animated as you leaned in a little closer to your notes. "They’re massive, magical birds that can summon storms with the beat of their wings. They’re native to North America and are known for being extremely elusive."

Sunghoon leaned back, crossing his arms with an amused smile. "Well, I already knew they could summon storms. But the elusive part? That’s new." He paused, then added, "So, what, they just hide all the time?"

"They’re incredibly protective of their nests," you continued, undeterred by his teasing. "They only show themselves to those they trust, and even then, it’s rare. That’s why spotting one is so special."

Sunghoon hummed thoughtfully, clearly intrigued, but then his gaze shifted to the open page of Defense Against the Dark Arts you had next to you. "Okay, okay. Enough with the Thunderbirds," he said, tapping the page lightly. "What about this spell here? Do you know how to counter the Inferius Charm? Because that’s actually something I’ve been working on in my spare time."

You paused, blinking a little at him. "Inferius Charm?" you asked, your brow furrowing as you tried to recall your lessons. "Isn’t that the one where you reanimate the dead?"

"Exactly," Sunghoon replied, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "It’s really tricky to deal with, but if you know the right counter-curse, you can stop them cold."

You thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I remember the counter-curse is Finite Incantatem, right? But it only works if the Inferius hasn’t fully gained control yet. Otherwise, you need something stronger, like Fiendfyre."

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. "You’ve been reading ahead, haven’t you?"

You smiled, a bit smug. "I like to be prepared."

"Well, I can see that," he said, turning his attention back to his notes. "But let me tell you something you might not know," he added, leaning forward a bit. "A strong Patronus works too. It’s not something most people would think about, but the energy from a Patronus is enough to break the dark magic animating the Inferius."

You blinked, surprised. "That’s… that’s actually really clever."

He smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "I don’t just look good, you know."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but there was something about the way Sunghoon said it, so confidently, that made you smile. "I’ll give you credit, that’s pretty impressive."

But you weren’t about to let him have the last word. "But, you know, for someone who’s so good at Defense Against the Dark Arts," you teased, "you should really know that Fiendfyre is a dangerous last resort. It’s not something to throw around casually."

Sunghoon raised his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. I’ll admit it—I was showing off a little."

You both laughed, as you leaned back, taking a deep breath. It was nice, you realized, to have this kind of easy conversation with him.

The cool evening air brushed against your face as the sun finally dipped below the horizon, casting the courtyard in a soft, dusky light. You and Sunghoon continued your quiet study session, each of you focused but every so often exchanging playful glances or little remarks.

You found yourself looking at him more often than you realized, noticing the way the fading light reflected in his dark eyes, how his sharp jawline seemed more defined in the soft glow of the evening.

"So, what’s your favorite magical creature?" Sunghoon asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence between you two.

You blinked, taken off guard by the question. "Favorite?" You thought for a moment, glancing at the magical creatures book on the table between you. "I think I’d have to go with Thestrals."

"Thestrals?" Sunghoon echoed, raising an eyebrow. "Isn’t that a bit dark for you?"

You smirked, tilting your head. "Not at all. They’re misunderstood creatures. They're associated with death, yes, but they’re also symbols of strength, resilience, and the importance of seeing the world for what it is."

Sunghoon seemed to pause for a moment, considering your words. "I get it," he said, his voice softening. "They're like the quiet ones that people forget about or are afraid of, but they're actually kind of… impressive."

You smiled, pleased he seemed to understand. "Exactly. They’re beautiful in their own way."

A comfortable silence stretched between you both after that, the air around you growing cooler as the evening progressed.

As you flipped through your notes, you heard him sigh, and when you looked up, his eyes were still on you.

"You’ve been pretty quiet about your personal life," Sunghoon said after a moment. His voice was casual, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity. "What’s something people don’t know about you?"

You raised an eyebrow, half-suspicious and half-curious. "Why the sudden interest?"

"I’m just wondering," he replied, shrugging with a nonchalant smile. "You know everything about me—well, almost everything—so I thought maybe I’d ask you something personal."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. You weren’t used to opening up about yourself like this, especially to someone who had been a bit of a puzzle to you until now.

"I guess," you started slowly, glancing down at your notes for a moment, "one thing people don’t know about me is that I actually really enjoy quiet moments like this. Everyone always thinks I’m outgoing, but I like being still. I like the peace."

Sunghoon watched you closely as you spoke, his expression softening. "That’s… kind of surprising," he said, almost as if he were contemplating your words. "But I get it. It’s nice to just… exist in the moment sometimes."

You simply nodded.

--

As weeks passed and the tension between you and Sunghoon grew, you found yourself wrestling with your thoughts more and more. The plan you’d concocted with Wooyoung had seemed like a good idea at the time—push Sunghoon into showing his feelings by making him jealous. But now, the thought of it made you uneasy. You had seen the signs in Sunghoon—his subtle glances, the way his attention shifted to you whenever you were around. But you realized you didn’t want to force him into a corner, didn’t want to pressure him into confessing if he wasn’t ready.

The truth was, you wanted him to figure it out on his own, just as you wanted to figure out your own feelings. But that didn’t make it any easier. Your heart raced every time he was near you, and your thoughts seemed to trip over themselves when you tried to sort out what you were feeling. You didn’t want to rush things, didn’t want to push him into something that wasn’t genuine, but you were also terrified of staying in this state of tension forever.

Wooyoung, of course, noticed the change immediately. His wide grin faltered when you told him you were cutting off the plan. "You’re really giving up on this, huh?" he asked, a little disappointment creeping into his voice. "I thought you were just waiting for the perfect moment."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I don’t want to force him into something, Wooyoung. I’m tired of all the games." You paused, the weight of your words sinking in. "I don’t even know if I’m ready to confess to him, let alone push him into it."

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, his usual teasing expression softening for once. "You’ve got a point," he admitted. "But you know, you’ve got this… tension. Like the two of you are on the verge of something, and neither of you wants to take that step. How long are you going to let that happen?"

You glanced away, feeling your cheeks flush. "I don’t know… I’m scared, Wooyoung. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? Or worse, what if we mess everything up by saying the wrong thing?"

He watched you for a moment, his eyes softer than usual. "You’re not alone in that fear, you know? But if you never try, you’ll never know. Just… don’t overthink it."

It was advice that made sense, but the doubt still lingered. You had always prided yourself on being confident, on taking things head-on, but with Sunghoon, everything felt so much more complicated. It wasn’t just about your feelings for him—it was about everything else too. The quiet moments you shared, the unspoken tension, the way he made you feel when he was around. You didn’t want to risk losing all of that by moving too quickly or, even worse, by never moving at all.

And yet, the longer the silence stretched between you, the harder it became to ignore. There were times when you would catch Sunghoon glancing at you across the room, when you’d catch his gaze lingering just a moment too long. And each time, you wondered if he was feeling the same things you were.

The months passed, and the tension between you two only seemed to build. Neither of you had confessed, and yet there was this invisible thread that connected you. Every laugh, every glance, every conversation seemed to deepen the unspoken bond between you. You couldn’t tell whether it was a friendship or something more, but the ambiguity felt like a heavy weight.

You still didn’t know what the right choice was. And as the year went on, you found yourself questioning whether you had made the right decision. Should you have taken the leap? Should you have forced Sunghoon into confessing, just like Wooyoung had suggested? Or was your choice to wait, to let him figure it out on his own, the right one after all?

--

The cool night air wrapped around you as you sat cross-legged on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, your eyes tracing the constellations above. It was one of those nights when the stars seemed to shine brighter, when everything around you felt still and quiet, almost too perfect for the chaotic thoughts running through your mind.

Your focus shifted as you flicked your wand, turning a nearby stone into a delicate flower for only a second before it crumbled back into dust. Sighing, you leaned back, your hands behind you, as you stared up at the sky again, wondering if you would ever find the courage to move past the endless tension with Sunghoon.

Then, just as you had almost settled into the quiet peace of the night, you heard it—a familiar sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You’d recognized the pattern of his steps by now.

Sunghoon’s silhouette appeared at the entrance to the tower, framed by the moonlight streaming in behind him. His figure was tall and steady, his usual confident demeanor not quite as present as it usually was, as if he too had come here to clear his mind.

"You always seem to find your way up here," you said without turning around, your voice quieter than usual, betraying the tension you’d been feeling.

Sunghoon paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the room until they found you, sitting on the floor, and he walked over. “I could say the same about you,” he replied, his voice softer than it had been in a while. "What’s got you up here alone?"

You shrugged, unwilling to go into details. "Just needed a break," you said, keeping your gaze on the sky. "Thought some quiet would help me clear my head."

There was a silence between you two then, a gap that seemed too long, yet neither of you spoke up to fill it. Sunghoon finally sat beside you, a little closer than you’d expected, but not quite close enough to feel intrusive.

"Practicing spells again?" Sunghoon asked after a while, glancing at the objects around you.

You nodded. "Just keeping my skills sharp. You know how it is."

Sunghoon smirked, but it was softer than usual. "I thought you only did that when you were avoiding something."

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the slight teasing tone in his voice, but you didn’t give him an answer right away. Instead, you bent down and flicked your wand again, turning a small rock into a sparkling butterfly. It fluttered around for a moment before landing gently in your palm, disappearing almost instantly. You felt a small sense of accomplishment, though it was fleeting.

Sunghoon watched you carefully, the hint of a smile still on his lips. He leaned back on his hands, settling beside you, his body warm despite the coolness of the night air.

Finally, Sunghoon broke the silence again, his voice more serious this time, a tone you weren’t used to hearing from him. "You know, you don’t have to pretend with me."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you turned to face him. His eyes met yours, the usual smirk gone.

“I’m not pretending,” you said, though your voice wavered slightly.

He shifted closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "You don’t have to hide from me," he repeated, his voice softer now, with a touch of concern, or maybe something else. "I’m not like the others. You can talk to me, you know."

You were almost caught off guard by his words. Your heart raced, and your mind scrambled for something to say, something to break the sudden weight of the moment. But all you could do was stare at him, feeling like you were teetering on the edge of something.

“Sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but it was enough to make him lean in closer, his gaze softening.

"Yeah?" he said, his breath a little more measured now, as if waiting for something.

But instead of answering, you simply shook your head, unable to find the words that felt right. Instead, you focused on the stars again, trying to ground yourself in the moment.

And Sunghoon, for once, didn’t push you. He simply sat there, his body close to yours, his presence familiar and comforting.

The night air was just as crisp as the night before when you found yourself back in the Astronomy Tower, sitting on the floor, gazing up at the stars. You had come up here again, hoping for some peace and quiet, needing to clear your mind, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was lingering in the air. You were starting to feel like the Astronomy Tower was becoming your place of refuge, even if the company had changed over the past few nights.

As you sat there, you heard the familiar sound of footsteps approaching from behind. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Sunghoon stepped into view, holding a wizard chessboard under his arm, a smirk on his face as his eyes met yours.

“You’re here early tonight,” he said, his tone light but somehow teasing, his usual confidence already in full swing.

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth curving slightly upward. “And you’re late,” you shot back. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

“Thought we could mix it up tonight,” Sunghoon replied, setting the board down between you. "Wizard's chess."

You chuckled lightly at the idea. “You’re just trying to make this more interesting, aren’t you?”

Sunghoon grinned, shrugging. “Well, I figured it’d be more fun than just staring at the stars again.”

You didn’t argue. The quiet had been nice, but you couldn’t deny that a little challenge wouldn’t hurt. Plus, it was hard to say no when Sunghoon looked so determined to have a little fun.

With that, you both settled down and began setting up the board. It didn't take long for the first round to start. Sunghoon moved with surprising confidence, and it wasn't long before you were both deep into the game. The first round was over before you knew it—Sunghoon had won, and it seemed like he couldn't resist the opportunity to tease you about it.

“Looks like I’m just better at this than you,” he said with a cocky grin, clearly pleased with his victory. “Better luck next time.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “I’ll make sure to do better next round,” you shot back, your voice filled with mock determination.

The second round began, and you could already feel your competitive streak rising. This time, it was your turn to win, and as the last piece fell, you couldn’t help but smirk at Sunghoon.

“Not bad for a second round, huh?” you teased.

Sunghoon let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you that one. But I won’t make it easy next time.”

The third round began, and with it came a more intense back-and-forth. “You know, if you’d actually focus, maybe you’d have a chance at winning this round,” Sunghoon taunted, leaning forward as he eyed the pieces carefully.

You shot him a smirk, not missing a beat. “Oh, I’m focused,” you replied with a wink. “I’m just letting you think you have the advantage.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, clearly amused. “Right. I’m sure that’s exactly what you’re doing.”

You both continued to play, the tension between you growing more palpable with each move.

“I have to say,” Sunghoon mused after a few more moves, “you’re actually pretty good at this. Maybe you’re not just good at charms and transfiguration.”

You smiled, proud of yourself. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. But don’t get too cocky; I’m still winning.” Sunghoon simply chuckled as the game went on.

The final move had been made, and with a smirk, you leaned back triumphantly, knowing that you had won the third round. "Looks like I’m the champion now," you teased, grinning widely at Sunghoon.

He was sitting back, his posture slouched in defeat, but there was something about the way he pouted that made you laugh softly. His eyes were still on the chessboard, as if pretending to study his loss, but you could tell he wasn’t truly bothered by it.

"Aw, don’t be like that," you teased, your voice taking on a playful tone. “It’s just a game.”

Sunghoon stayed silent, not giving you the usual comeback. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on the table, pretending to ignore you. You couldn’t resist the impulse to lean in.

As soon as you leaned in closer, though, his gaze flickered up to meet yours, and in an instant, everything shifted. Both of you froze, you were so close now that you could feel his breath mingling with yours, his eyes dark and intent as he locked onto you.

You were about to pull back, unsure of what was happening, but before you could move, Sunghoon’s hand shot up, his thumb and index finger gently cupping your chin. His touch was tender, almost possessive, as he leaned closer.

"Please… don’t pull back," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, his breath warm against your lips. His eyes fluttered between your eyes and your lips, clearly entranced by you, by the moment.

And then, before you could fully process what was happening, he closed the distance and kissed you. You widened your eyes in surprise, the shock of it stunning you for a brief moment, before you melted into the kiss, your hands instinctively reaching out to grip his shirt.

It felt like time stopped. The world fell away, leaving only the feeling of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hand still holding your chin as he deepened the kiss.

And just when you thought you couldn’t get any closer, he suddenly moved, shifting beneath you with an ease that surprised you. In a swift motion, he pushed the chessboard aside, sending it tumbling to the floor, and then pulled you onto his lap, your thighs resting against his, while still kissing you deeply.

You gasped, the suddenness of it all catching you off guard. The shock made you stiffen, but Sunghoon only tightened his hold on you, his hand on your waist, pulling you closer, his lips never leaving yours. His kiss became more passionate, and before you knew it, his hand was tilting your head to deepen the kiss further.

When the kiss finally broke, both of you were breathless. You stayed there for a moment, your forehead resting against his, both of you just breathing in the air between you.

Sunghoon’s hand gently brushed your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His eyes, now softer than before, locked onto yours.

“About time, don’t you think?” he whispered.

You smiled softly, the corners of your mouth turning upward in a genuine expression. “Yeah, I think so,” you replied, shifting slightly, finding a more comfortable position on his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist.

His eyes never left yours as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tender kiss. You melted into him, your body relaxing into the familiar embrace.

Sunghoon's hands moved to your back, pulling you closer, as if he couldn't get close enough. His lips moved against yours, exploring, teasing, and demanding. You responded in kind, your hands finding their way to his neck, pulling him closer.

You could feel Sunghoon's breath against your lips, his chest rising and falling with each heavy exhale. You parted your lips, inviting him in further, and he took the opportunity, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth. While your hands roamed freely, tracing the lines of his muscular back, feeling the heat emanating from his skin.

When the kiss finally broke, you both were breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Sunghoon's hand gently caressed your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your lips. "I could do this forever," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire.

You smiled, a contented smile, and leaned in for another kiss, Sunghoon's hands roamed freely, tracing the contours of your body with a gentle touch. Your own hands moved to his chest, feeling the strong, defined muscles beneath your palms.

Sunghoon's lips became more demanding, more insistent. His tongue traced the outline of your lips, teasing and inviting, before plunging into your mouth, exploring every corner.

You gasped softly into the kiss, your body responding to his every touch and movement.

When Sunghoon pulled back, his eyes never left yours. He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes, before leaning in and pressing soft kisses along your throat. You leaned your head back, offering him more room to explore, your eyes closed, savoring the sensation.

His kisses became more urgent, more demanding, as he traced a path down your throat, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy, his lips moving lower, sending shivers down your spine, his lips teasing and exploring. His lips left a trail of passionate marks on your skin. His hands tugged at the robes, pulling them down to expose more of your bare skin, his touch becoming more assertive.

As he mumbled against your skin, his words were a mix of jealousy and possessiveness. "Seeing you so close with Wooyoung was driving me insane," he growled, his voice low. "You're mine, know that. I can't stand seeing you with anyone else. You're my perfect match, the woman I want, the woman I need."

His kisses became more fervent, his hands roaming over your body. "You're the only one for me. I belong to you."

Sunghoon's kisses became more demanding, his lips pressing against your throat, his teeth grazing your skin. "I want you," he murmured, his voice hoarse with passion. "I need you. You're mine, and I'll show you just how much."

"I'll always be here for you. You're the only one who can make me feel this way." His eyes locked with yours, a smile played on his lips. You returned the gesture, your eyes sparkling with love.

Sunghoon's hands roamed over your body, his touch gentle. He traced the lines of your face, his thumbs brushing against your cheeks, as if memorizing every contour. "I love you," he whispered again, his voice hoarse with emotion. "You're the only one for me. I can't imagine my life without you."

You gazed into his eyes, feeling your heart race as his words sank deep into your soul. A warm smile tugged at your lips, and you cupped his face in your hands, gently brushing your thumb over his skin. "I love you too, Sunghoon," you murmured softly. "You're everything to me."

--

The next morning, everything felt different.

You were both quieter than usual, walking side by side down the corridors toward the Great Hall, you glanced at Sunghoon, his hand slipping into yours, fingers naturally intertwining as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, a small but comforting gesture that made your heart flutter a little each time.

As you entered the Grand Hall together, the usual buzz of conversation seemed to dim, and all eyes were on you both.

You walked to the Ravenclaw table, your eyes scanning the room as people’s faces lit up with surprise and amusement. Some of your friends, like Wooyoung, gave you knowing smiles, while others were just as surprised as the rest of the students.

You sat down with Sunghoon, still holding hands under the table. He looked over at you, his expression soft and affectionate.

“Can you believe this?” you started, leaning toward Sunghoon as you started ranting, your voice low enough not to be overheard by the entire hall. “It feels like everything has been building up forever and then—boom! Suddenly everyone’s waiting for us to spill everything.”

Sunghoon listened attentively, a small smile tugging at his lips, his eyes never leaving you.

“Well,” he said, his voice soft but teasing, “I’m pretty sure everyone had bets on us getting together.”

You paused for a moment, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Wait, what? People bet on us?”

Sunghoon chuckled softly, his hand still holding yours under the table. “Oh, yeah. You didn’t know?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “We’re that obvious, huh?”

“Apparently,” he said, his smile widening, he gently nudged you with his shoulder, his eyes glinting with affection. Without even thinking, you leaned in and gave him a quick, soft peck on the lips, the sweet, gentle gesture drawing a few surprised gasps and murmurs from nearby students.

You pulled away, grinning as you glanced around the table. “Well, that’s one way to shut them up.”

Sunghoon’s grin matched yours, and he shook his head, his cheeks flushed ever so slightly.

Some students were staring at you both with wide eyes, while others exchanged knowing glances, happy to see the two of you together. You could hear a few whispers, some offering congratulations, others teasing.

As you ate, you caught sight of Wooyoung at the other end of the table, giving you a thumbs up and a wide grin, clearly excited for the two of you.

“I guess we’re official now, huh?” you said quietly, your voice tinged with a little wonder.

Sunghoon nodded, his smile softening. “Yeah. Officially impossible to avoid.”

You laughed, leaning into his side for a moment before picking up your fork and continuing with your breakfast.

Wooyoung, of course, was the one who couldn't resist coming up to you at the given moment, a mischievous grin on his face. “I mean, I knew you two were perfect for each other. Now you have to admit I was right.” He dramatically threw an arm around your shoulders as you walked to class

You simply laughed, shaking your head.

--

The day of graduation arrived, and while the rest of the students was buzzing with excitement—filled with laughter and celebration—you found yourself slipping away from the crowded common room, seeking something more intimate, something quiet. You made your way up to the Astronomy Tower, the cool night air greeting you as you pushed open the door.

There, sitting by the edge of the tower, was Sunghoon, already waiting for you. His dark hair ruffled in the gentle breeze, and he looked so serene, so at peace in this moment that you couldn’t help but smile as you walked over to him. He turned his head as you approached, his eyes softening with affection when they met yours. Without a word, he opened his arms, and you slid into them, resting your head on his shoulder as you both gazed out at the stars together.

After a while, Sunghoon shifted, reaching into his robes with a faint smile, and pulled out a neatly wrapped box. He handed it to you, his eyes warm and full of anticipation.

"I’ve been meaning to give you this," he murmured, his voice soft in the stillness of the night.

Carefully, you peeled away the paper, revealing a small, elegant box. The surface was silver, polished to a shine, and you could see hints of blue around the edges. You ran your fingers over it for a moment before slowly opening the lid.

When you saw what was inside, your breath caught in your throat.

Two clocks, side by side, each gleaming with silver on the outside and a deep, beautiful blue on the inside. Intricate stars were imprinted on the faces of the clocks, each marking the hours with delicate precision. But it wasn’t just the time they showed. Both clocks also had a compass on it—N, S, E, W—engraved in elegant script.

Sunghoon smiled softly as he watched your reaction, the warmth of his gaze making your heart skip a beat. “It’s for us,” he said quietly. "I wanted to give you something that would remind you of us.”

You stared at the clocks for a moment, overwhelmed by the gesture, before you looked up at him. “Sunghoon… this is…” You didn’t know how to express what you felt, the words stuck in your throat.

“Open it,” he said, motioning to the other clock. With a curious tilt of your head, you reached over and carefully opened the glass of the second clock. The moment you did, a soft golden light began to swirl out, slowly forming into a shape. You watched, transfixed, as the golden light took form and danced in the air, weaving together until it became the image of you and Sunghoon—dancing together, caught in an eternal waltz as a beautiful, melodic tune filled the space around you.

You gasped, your hand going to your mouth in surprise and wonder. It was perfect, beautiful in a way you never could have imagined. You glanced at Sunghoon, your eyes wide, and he smiled back at you, his eyes just as captivated.

He opened his own clock, and the same golden light poured out, swirling in the air before it also took shape, the same dance playing out for him as well. His gaze never wavered from you as the music continued to play from both the clocks.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart full as you looked up at Sunghoon. “This… this is beautiful,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Sunghoon’s gaze softened as he looked at you, his hand reaching to gently cup your face. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by, even when we’re apart,” he said, his voice full of meaning.

Before you could reply, you leaned in, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug. You felt him hold you back, his embrace warm and steady, the comfort you’d come to rely on. “I’ll never forget this,” you whispered, “I promise.”

--

The day of your departure arrived with a bittersweet air, the sky painted in soft pastels as dawn crept over the horizon. You stood on the edge of the dock, your packed bags at your feet, glancing back at the shore as you tried to memorize every detail of his face. Sunghoon stood before you, his expression torn between pride and sadness.

Sunghoon had just secured a permanent position at the Ministry—a rare opportunity. But you had your own opportunity, and the call for adventure had been tugging at you for as long as you could remember. You had already been offered a mission that would take you to distant lands and across oceans. It was everything you had always wanted.

Sunghoon’s hand lingered on your arm as he looked at you, his voice a quiet plea, “You really have to go?”

You nodded, biting your lip as you looked into his eyes. “I do,” you whispered, the words heavy with both excitement and sorrow. “But I’ll come back, Sunghoon. I promise.” Your voice wavered, but you steadied it with a smile, reaching to brush a strand of hair from his face. “Will you… wait for me?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Of course I will,” he replied, his voice strong and certain, as though the very idea of waiting for you was as natural as breathing. His fingers wrapped around yours, his touch warm and grounding. “I’d wait as long as it takes. Just come back to me.”

You nodded, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a moment. Then, his lips found yours in a kiss that held a hundred unspoken promises.

As the final boarding call echoed through the harbor, you reluctantly pulled back, whispering one last, “Goodbye, Sunghoon.”

He offered you a small, brave smile, and with a last squeeze of your hand, he let you go. You climbed onto the boat, joining the other passengers. As the vessel began to pull away from the dock, you stood by the railing, watching him grow smaller with each passing second. Sunghoon lifted his hand in a final wave, and you threw one back, watching as he brought his hand to his mouth and sent you a flying kiss, his eyes never leaving you.

You clutched the railing, feeling the sting of tears but forcing a smile, a mixture of sorrow and exhilaration filling your chest. As the boat carried you into the unknown, you kept your eyes on him until he was nothing more than a speck on the horizon.

Your days got filled with adventure, traveling through vast, uncharted landscapes, rescuing rare creatures, and studying them closely. You documented each discovery, scribbling notes about their behaviors and habitats. Alongside your journal of field notes, you kept a separate stack of parchment, devoted solely to letters for Sunghoon. Every new place held a piece of him in it, something you wanted to share, some wonder or funny moment that you could only imagine him smiling at.

And he always replied, his letters rich with life back home—updates from the Ministry, stories about mutual friends, and playful teases about your escapades. You looked forward to every letter, savoring the small glimpses of him through the familiar strokes of his handwriting, each one a reminder of the life and love waiting for you.

But one month, his letters stopped coming.

You brushed it off at first, thinking maybe he was just busy or that there was a delay in the postal owls. But when another month passed without a single word, a sense of worry began to settle in your chest. You sent him a new letter, keeping it light-hearted but laced with an unmistakable undertone of concern, hoping he’d notice and send some sort of reassuring response.

But again, nothing came.

With each passing day, the silence grew heavier, until every rustle of feathers outside your tent made your heart race, only to end in disappointment. As more weeks passed, you found yourself sending letters more frequently, each one shorter but more urgent, your worry gradually bleeding into your words.

The unease gnawed at you, your once joyful routine now tainted with an ever-present sense of dread. Every empty day brought more questions—was he hurt? Was he in trouble? Had something happened?

One quiet morning, as you were packing up your campsite nestled in the foothills of the Pyrenees, a Ministry owl swooped down through the trees, its wings stretched wide and a letter clutched tightly in its talons. You straightened up, brushing off a bit of dust as you reached out, and the owl settled onto your forearm with surprising patience. It offered the letter, a pristine parchment sealed with the unmistakable stamp of the Ministry of Magic.

Curious, you took it, feeling the weight of the thick, neatly folded paper as you broke the wax seal.

As you unfolded the letter, a few crisp lines of text caught your attention immediately.

“You are hereby requested to present yourself at the Ministry of Magic for a formal review and trial regarding the research conducted and documented during your travels.”

You read it once, then again, trying to piece together the intentions behind the message. A formal trial? For your research? The Ministry had always been aware of your work with magical creatures, especially since you regularly submitted reports to protect and conserve species that had been neglected. You’d even been granted clearance to travel beyond regulated zones, so why the sudden summons?

You hummed softly, contemplating the letter with a mix of curiosity and unease. It wasn’t every day the Ministry reached out with such formality, and it certainly wasn’t the usual tone you received from them.

You weren’t sure whether to be nervous, intrigued, or just plain confused. You’d spent so much of your time studying and protecting magical creatures, especially those forgotten by the wizarding world, that the thought of a trial for it felt… off. You had no idea why they’d be interested in you, but you were more than willing to go and see what they wanted.

Just as you were about to read it again, you felt a gentle push at your side. With a giggle, you turned and looked at the creature that had nudged you—Erebus, the Hebridean Black dragon you’d rescued some months ago. His large, dark eyes gleamed up at you, and you reached out instinctively to scratch under his chin. His scales shimmered in the late afternoon sun, and his powerful wings rustled with a slight shift, his massive form bending slightly to press against you affectionately.

"Hey, hey, buddy," you said with a soft laugh. "No need to get pushy, I see you there."

You knew full well that Erebus had grown attached to you ever since you had saved him. He was a creature that had been bound, tortured, and left to die in a dungeon before you found him. Healing him had been a challenge, but when you saw the life come back into his eyes, the pride of the dragon slowly awakening as he learned to trust again, it was worth it. Erebus wasn’t just a rescued creature—he was your companion, your friend. And he had stayed with you ever since.

You glanced at the letter again. "I’ve got to go to the Ministry, it seems. They're asking for me."

Erebus snorted at the letter, a cloud of smoke billowing from his nostrils. You coughed and waved the smoke away. "Okay, okay, I get it. Not exactly ideal, right?" You smiled, running a hand over his scales. "But I’m not sure how much of a choice I have."

You looked at the open sky, mentally preparing yourself for the journey ahead.

“Looks like our plans to get you home will have to wait,” you murmured, holding up the Ministry’s letter.

You quickly took out your wand, and with a swish, your camp, all your notes, and the little research station you had set up around you swirled into a tidy, compact form, sucked into your magically expanded suitcase. The suitcase, a nifty little thing inspired by none other than Newt Scamander himself, whose work had been a guiding light for you since your early days as a student. You hoped that one day, you’d be able to follow in his footsteps as a trusted protector of magical creatures.

It had become indispensable during your travels, allowing you to carry your work with you wherever you went. Erebus watched as the suitcase opened and the whirlwind of your belongings was sucked inside, his wings twitching in mild curiosity.

"Alright, buddy," you said with a soft smile, glancing at him. "Time to go home… for a bit."

Erebus made a low rumble and flapped his wings. His deep growl seemed almost resigned, but you could tell he didn’t mind. He had grown used to these travels with you. He flew up effortlessly, circling above your head a few times, before swooping down and slipping neatly into the suitcase as though he’d done it a thousand times before.

"Good boy," you said with a smile, and with a soft click, you closed the suitcase, feeling its weight shift in your hand.

With a deep breath, you started walking, leaving the small, once-familiar encampment behind.

--

You stepped into the bustling atrium of the Ministry of Magic, clutching your suitcase tightly as you navigated the maze of witches, wizards, and magical beings bustling around you. The air was filled with the echoes of conversations, the hum of enchanted typewriters clattering away on desks, and the occasional whoosh of a fireplace activating, delivering someone in a puff of emerald flames.

Keeping a firm grip on your suitcase, you weaved your way through the crowd, nodding politely to a few familiar faces and doing your best to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might delay you. When you reached the elevators, the gate clanged open, and you stepped inside.

A house-elf stood on tiptoes near the control panel, staring up at you with large, curious eyes. “Which floor, miss?”

“Level Ten, please,” you replied, your voice steady despite the knot of anticipation tightening in your stomach.

The elf pressed a large, brass button marked with the number "10." The elevator jolted, and you gripped the suitcase handle a little tighter as the floors began to blur past, each accompanied by a soft chime.

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator slowed and came to a halt. The house-elf opened the gate, giving you an encouraging nod. You stepped out into the quiet, dimly lit hallway, your footsteps echoing as you moved. You walked up to a high desk where a stern-looking goblin sat, peering over a thick ledger with tiny, round spectacles perched on the end of his nose. He glanced up as you approached, his sharp eyes narrowing with curiosity as he took in your travel-worn appearance.

“What business do you have here?” he asked, his voice clipped but not unkind.

“I received a letter from the Ministry,” you said, pulling the official notice from your coat pocket and holding it up. “There’s a trial regarding my research.”

The goblin took the letter, inspecting it with a keen eye before nodding curtly. He flipped through a hefty stack of parchment, his long, nimble fingers moving quickly as he scanned each page. Finally, he gave a satisfied grunt and pushed the letter back toward you.

“Please have a seat,” he instructed, nodding toward a row of chairs against the wall. “Someone will come to escort you shortly.”

You thanked him and moved over to the chairs, your suitcase resting against your legs.

You had been sitting quietly in the waiting area, your thoughts whirling, when you saw Jungwon approaching. You recognized him immediately — a Gryffindor from your years at Hogwarts, though you never had much of a chance to get to know him personally. His warm smile caught you off guard, and you blinked as he stopped in front of you, his eyes twinkling with recognition.

"Hey," he greeted, his tone light and friendly. "Please, follow me."

You nodded, standing up as you grabbed your suitcase and followed him down the hall.

“So, how have you been?” Jungwon asked casually, casting a glance over his shoulder as you walked beside him. "It's been a while since Hogwarts, huh?"

You hummed in agreement, trying to place him better. You'd seen him around, but your interactions had always been limited. He was close to Sunghoon, wasn’t he?

“I’ve been well,” you answered, pulling your thoughts together as you walked, eyes flicking to the side. “So, uh… what’s this trial about?”

Jungwon shrugged nonchalantly, his hands tucked into his pockets. “Honestly, I’m not really sure. Ministry business, you know?”

Your curiosity couldn’t be quelled, though. “What about Sunghoon? How is he?” The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them.

Jungwon froze mid-step, and you followed his lead, watching as he turned to face you. His expression shifted, no longer the light, easygoing one he had worn just moments before. There was a sadness in his eyes, a quiet heaviness that you hadn’t anticipated.

For a moment, he seemed reluctant to answer, then he sighed. “Sunghoon’s… well. I mean, he’s okay. But,” he paused, studying your face carefully, “he found someone else.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you weren’t sure you had heard him correctly. “What?” The word felt foreign coming from your mouth, like a punch that left you stunned. “He… moved on?”

Jungwon nodded slowly, a faint frown tugging at his lips. “Yeah. A few weeks ago, actually. Sunghoon became… really different. Quiet, withdrawn. Wouldn’t speak much, and then, out of nowhere, he started showing up with Ju-Won. She’s an Auror too, like him. They’re together now. They’re engaged.”

Your chest felt tight, the air suddenly thicker as a lump formed in your throat. Sunghoon had promised. He had promised to wait for you. But here he was, with someone else. A fiancee.

You looked down at the floor, blinking rapidly to clear the stinging sensation behind your eyes. The room felt smaller, like you were suffocating, and you couldn’t understand why the weight of this hurt so much. You hadn’t expected Sunghoon to wait forever, but you didn’t think he’d let go so easily.

Jungwon shifted uncomfortably, noticing the change in your expression, but he didn’t press the issue further.

You felt numb as you followed Jungwon down the long corridor, his words echoing painfully in your mind. Sunghoon… had found someone else? You struggled to maintain your composure as Jungwon walked beside you, keeping a respectful silence.

He eventually stopped in front of a tall, polished door. “This is where they’ll be holding your trial,” he said gently. “You’ll be called in shortly.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Jungwon hesitated for a moment, studying you with quiet sympathy. It felt like he wanted to say something, perhaps offer some kind of comfort, but he seemed to decide against it, only giving you a slight nod before stepping into the room to take his place. You were left alone in the dimly lit hallway, your heart pounding. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the present. Whatever happened with Sunghoon, you would face it later. For now, you had a duty to the creatures you’d studied.

The door opened again, and an official leaned out to call you in. You squared your shoulders, lifted your chin, and stepped through the doorway.

The room was silent as you entered, only the shuffling of your footsteps echoing off the cold, stone walls. You took a seat in the lone chair positioned in the center of the room, feeling the weight of several pairs of eyes on you. Around you sat a panel of stern-faced Aurors, their expressions unreadable, though a few cast glances at one another as you settled in.

A head Auror, an older witch with sharp eyes and a set jaw, leaned forward. “We’ve received reports about your research,” she began, her voice crisp. “Could you give us an update on the… progress?”

You took a steadying breath and sat up straighter, the words flowing more easily than you expected. "I’ve made significant strides. I’ve been able to identify new species and create methods for safely caring for previously misunderstood creatures. I've also created healing treatments for certain species that were previously unmedicated." You shifted uncomfortably, but you managed to keep your voice steady.

Then came the dreaded question. “And have you rescued any creatures considered… dangerous?” another Auror asked, his tone laced with skepticism.

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Not dangerous if treated with respect,” you replied slowly, though you could feel their eyes narrowing, their skepticism deepening. The more you spoke, the more their expressions tightened.

After you finished, the lead Auror exchanged a glance with her colleagues before turning back to you. “You must understand, there are serious concerns about the dangers of these creatures. The potential for harm — not only to yourself but to others — is considerable.”

Another Auror stood, arms crossed, his voice dismissive. "You expect us to believe that every dangerous creature can be domesticated, tamed even? You do realize some of them are classified as too hazardous for interaction with the public?"

You met his gaze, trying not to show how much it rattled you. "My research shows that with the right methods, creatures like the Hungarian Horntail or the Manticore can be approached safely. I've helped them—rescued them—from illegal situations, from being exploited and misused." You said firmly.

"They're not dangerous if treated properly. With the right care, understanding, and respect, any creature can be manageable." You said earnestly, hoping they could see your perspective. “The true danger lies in the lack of understanding—”

But your words were cut short as she raised a hand, her tone turning icy. “Regardless, we cannot ignore the potential risks. Until further investigation is completed, you will be placed in custody for the time being.”

Before you could fully register her words, two wizards stepped forward, their expressions unyielding. One reached for your suitcase, wrenching it from your grasp, while the other grabbed your arms, twisting them behind your back. "Let go!" you shouted, trying to twist away, but the grip on your arms only tightened.

"We have our orders," the Auror said coldly, his face stoic as the other wizard snatched your wand away.

"No, please," you pleaded, your voice rising in panic. "I’m not a threat. They’re not a threat! Please, don’t hurt them!"

The Auror didn’t respond, and you felt the heavy presence of the two men as they dragged you from the room, your footsteps stumbling as they led you down the cold stone corridors. They escorted you to a small cell, shoving you inside before locking the heavy iron door with a dull clang.

You sank to the floor, the cold seeping into your bones as the reality of the situation settled over you. The Ministry was truly going to investigate your work, your methods, your intentions — as if you were some criminal. As if the creatures you loved and fought for were merely threats, rather than lives in need of protection.

As you pressed your back against the wall, feeling the weight of the day’s events pressing down, a tiny warmth stirred in the pocket of your shirt. You looked down and saw Kai, your small fire salamander, peeking out with his bright eyes, looking up at you with a gentle curiosity.

Gently, you cupped him in your hands, letting him sit on your palm as he looked around, with a small, trembling smile, you whispered, “Guess it’s just us for now, Kai.”

You gently placed Kai down on the stone floor, the warmth of his small body still lingering in your hands. You rummaged through your pockets, searching for something that could help, anything that would make sense of the mess you found yourself in. Herbs, a magnifying glass, food for creatures, parchment, ink—nothing useful.

As you sighed and leaned down, when a small fluttering noise caught your attention. Lena, your tiny pixie, had emerged from under your coat and was now fluttering around the cell, her tiny wings flapping excitedly. She squeaked, the sound high-pitched and curious as she zipped around the dim space. You smiled faintly at the sight of her, but your thoughts were too heavy to focus on her antics for long.

Your fingers brushed the cool edges of your pockets until something caught on the fabric. For a moment, you thought it was just some misplaced trinket, but as you pulled it out and saw its familiar shape, your breath hitched.

It was the clock that Sunghoon had gifted you at graduation, still in pristine condition despite everything. You had almost forgotten about it—thinking it misplaced, or perhaps stolen by one of the nifflers in your suitcase. But there it was. The clock.

You ran your fingers over the intricate silver design, the blue inner face still shimmering under the dim light. With a shaky breath, you slowly opened the glass. A soft golden light began to swirl from the clock’s center, and you froze, mesmerized by the familiar vision of you and Sunghoon dancing—just as it had been when you first opened it. The music filled the cell softly, the melody so beautiful and haunting, it almost felt like he was here with you.

Kai curled up beside you, his flame-like body flickering faintly in the dim light. Lena hovered just above your head, watching the clock with curious eyes. You took a deep breath, closing the glass gently, the music fading as you sealed it shut.

But then, unexpectedly, the music played again.

This time, it wasn’t your melody. The sweet, familiar tune was still there, but it felt different. Your heart skipped a beat, and before you could process the strangeness of it, Kai’s small squeak interrupted your thoughts. You looked up, and what you saw made your breath catch in your throat.

There, standing on the other side of the bars, was Sunghoon, holding his own clock in his hand, the same golden light flickering from it.

"Sunghoon…" you whispered, your voice barely audible, a wave of relief rushing over you, followed by a knot in your throat as you realized he was here.

He glanced at you, his eyes softening, though they weren’t as warm as you remembered. There was something different in them, something you couldn’t quite place. He closed the clock with a decisive motion and met your eyes.

"You’re… okay?" you asked quietly, your heart pounding in your chest as you walked closer to the bars, your hands reaching out instinctively.

"I’m fine," he said, his voice calm but distant. "But you—what happened? Why are you here?"

You tried to explain, your words stumbling out as you told him everything—how you had been summoned by the Ministry, how they had misunderstood your work, how they’d locked you away. You could see the muscles in his jaw tighten as you spoke, but he didn’t interrupt.

When you finished, you couldn’t help but ask the question that had been gnawing at your mind ever since you’d seen him. "Sunghoon, what happened? Why didn’t you answer my letters? I… I sent so many. Why didn’t you—"

He turned away for a moment, running a hand through his hair. You could see the conflict in his movements, the hesitation, and for a brief second, your heart dropped. It was as if he was trying to find the right words. "I… I waited for you," he finally said, his voice soft, almost too soft. "I waited, but you never came back. I kept writing, but I didn’t hear from you."

You felt a tightness in your chest as you processed his words. "What do you mean? I sent you letters, Sunghoon! I didn’t stop writing! How could you not know?" you asked, your voice rising slightly.

He looked back at you, his face confused. "I don’t know. I thought you just… didn’t come back. Didn’t answer. Then, my parents…" He trailed off, clearly struggling. "They found Ju-Won for me. I—I didn’t know what to do. And then Jungwon came to me after the trial. He told me about you being here, and I couldn’t believe it."

Your breath caught in your throat. "Ju-Won?" you whispered, the name like an icy hand on your heart.

He shook his head slowly. "I never wanted this. But I thought… maybe you had moved on, that you weren’t coming back." His voice cracked just slightly.

You looked at him, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over you. "No, Sunghoon… I never… I never moved on. I sent you letters because I was coming back for you, I was always coming back."

Sunghoon’s expression shifted, a quiet realization flickering across his features. He took a step forward, his hand trembling slightly before he reached out to gently caress your cheek. The touch was so soft, so tender, that it almost felt like a dream.

“You’re still as beautiful as the day you left…” His voice was low, his words barely more than a whisper, but they cut through the heavy silence between you two, settling in your heart like a soft ache.

A stray tear slipped from your eye, and you didn’t even realize it had fallen until Sunghoon gently wiped it away with his thumb.

“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” he said, his voice firm now. "I promise, I’ll get you out of here."

You felt your chest tighten, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Your heart felt torn, as if it was caught between the relief of seeing Sunghoon again and the panic of the mess you were in. "Please, Sunghoon… don’t let anyone harm my creatures."

He nodded, his gaze softening as he promised, "I won’t let them touch your creatures. I’ll take care of everything."

Then, to your surprise, he took your hand and kissed it softly, the warm pressure of his lips lingering for a brief moment. "I’ll be back soon. Stay safe, okay?"

You nodded, unable to form words as he turned and walked away, the sound of his footsteps fading, leaving you alone in the cold cell once again.

You sat back down against the cold stone wall, the silence of the prison pressing in on you.

Kai curled up on your lap, his warmth a small comfort amidst the uncertainty. Lena hovered nearby, her small face full of concern.

You didn’t know what to do now but wait and hope—hope that Sunghoon could undo the mess, that your creatures would remain safe.

After what felt like endless hours, you finally heard footsteps echoing down the corridor. Jungwon appeared at the cell door, a familiar reassuring smile on his face as he unlocked the door and motioned for you to follow. You stood up, heart pounding, and fell into step beside him.

“What happened?” you asked, searching his expression for answers, but he only gave you a gentle smile.

“Come with me,” he said simply, guiding you back through the winding halls of the Ministry to the trial room. The familiar sight of the council waited for you, but this time, the atmosphere was far less severe. You sat down in the chair at the center, your heart hammering in your chest, and looked up at the head Auror as he cleared his throat.

"We’d like to extend our apologies. We received a tip that you were harboring magical creatures with intent to use them against the Ministry," he explained. "After thorough investigation, however, we've concluded that the tip was unfounded. We see now that you only meant to help the creatures in your care."

A wave of relief washed over you, and a smile broke across your face as the head Auror nodded, officially releasing you as innocent. Jungwon stepped forward, his own smile widening, and handed you back your wand. You clasped it tightly, feeling a sense of calm return now that it was back in your hands.

“Thank you,” you said quietly. “What about my creatures? Where are they?”

"Follow me," Jungwon said, his tone lighter now. He led you down a quiet corridor, explaining as you went, "Sunghoon took them under his care. He didn’t trust anyone else to keep them safe."

You sighed in relief, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Finally, Jungwon stopped in front of a door, pushed it open, and gestured for you to enter.

Inside, Sunghoon stood by a desk, his expression tense, and his brows knit together in a rare display of anger. He looked up when he heard you enter, his expression softening, though a hint of frustration remained.

“Sunghoon… what happened?” you asked gently, stepping closer to him.

He clenched his jaw before answering, “It was my parents. They were behind everything.” His voice was low, controlled, but you could sense the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “They hid your letters from me. They sent the tip to the Ministry to have you arrested. And they set me up with Ju-won to… try to make me forget you.”

The revelation hit you like a cold wave. You shook your head, barely able to process the extent of what he was saying. "Your parents did all of that?"

Sunghoon nodded, his eyes searching yours. “They wanted me to move on, to find someone ‘suitable’—someone who fit their idea of a perfect match for me.” He took a shaky breath, looking away for a moment before his gaze returned to you. “I'm so sorry… I should have fought harder, questioned things more. I should have known something wasn’t right.”

You stepped forward, reaching for his hand, holding it tightly. “None of this is your fault, Sunghoon. You didn’t know, and neither did I.”

He nodded, his thumb brushing over your hand as he held it, and his expression softened. "I promise, I won’t let anyone keep us apart again." Sunghoon sighed, his eyes hardening as he pulled off the engagement ring, placing it on the desk without a second glance. He turned to you, a reassuring smile replacing the coldness from a moment ago, and handed over your suitcase.

You exhaled a breath of relief, hugging the suitcase close to your chest. “Thank you… for everything.”

“Come on,” Sunghoon said with a gentle smile, his hand resting protectively on your back as he guided you out. As you walked, you shared stories about the magical creatures you’d encountered on your travels, and he recounted a few of his more daring Auror missions.

But then, a sudden scream echoed down the corridor. You both turned to see a striking witch with dark hair and a sharp, furious expression storming toward you. Sunghoon’s arm instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you close.

“Sunghoon, how dare you!” she spat, her voice venomous. “You broke off our engagement for… for her?” She glared at you, eyes filled with barely contained rage. Her voice turned shrill as she pointed a finger in your face. “Do you know what you’ve cost me? The riches, the influence, the Park name—it was all right there!”

You slapped her hand away, your own anger flaring as you met her gaze unflinchingly. “Maybe you should’ve focused on him instead of what he could give you.”

Ju-won’s face twisted in rage, and you saw her hand rise, ready to strike you. But before she could even get close, Lena darted out of your pocket in a flash of blue light. The little pixie squeaked angrily, grabbing a fistful of Ju-won’s hair and tugging with surprising strength.

Ju-won shrieked, swatting at Lena in a desperate attempt to free herself, but Lena only pulled harder, her squeaks of defiance echoing in the hall. The few Ministry workers nearby stopped, eyes wide, as they took in the scene with shock.

“Get it off! Get it off!” Ju-won screeched, struggling against Lena’s relentless hold.

At last, with a little triumphant squeak, Lena released Ju-won’s hair and zoomed back to you, settling into your shoulder pocket. Ju-won stumbled back, face red with fury and humiliation, her hair in complete disarray.

Ju-won’s face twisted with fury when she suddenly pulled out two clocks from her pocket, dangling them from the strings with a victorious grin. “Oh, I will not be cast aside like this!” she spat, voice rising with a venomous edge. “You think you can have everything, don’t you?” she sneered. “Well, let’s see how it feels when something you want is taken from you.”

Both you and Sunghoon stiffened, the realization hitting like a punch to the gut. You immediately began patting yourself down, confirming what you feared—the clock was missing. She stole them. The heavy weight of anger settled over you as you watched her mockingly dangle them in the air.

“Ju-won. Give them back, now.” Sunghoon’s voice was low and commanding, each word sharp with fury.

You stepped forward, frustration bubbling inside you. “Those belong to us. You have no right to take them.”

“No!” Ju-won shouted, clutching the clocks tightly in her fists. With a spiteful glare, she spun around and hurled the clocks toward the nearest fireplace. The green flames of the Floo Network flared up, threatening to consume them.

Your wand was halfway out of your pocket, ready to cast Accio, but before you could speak, a familiar, small, furry figure leapt through the air. With nimble agility, a niffler intercepted the clocks mid-flight, snatching them away from the flames and landing safely on the floor.

The niffler scurried over to Sunghoon, who leaned down, carefully taking both clocks from its little paws. He gave the creature an affectionate pat. “Thank you, Spark.”

Spark beamed up at you, his eyes shining with the same mischievous glint they had from back at Hogwarts. He darted over to you, leaping up into your arms, and you caught him, laughing. “Hey, long time no see, buddy!”

Ju-won’s face twisted in disbelief as Sunghoon straightened, his eyes fierce. He addressed her with a calm authority that made her shrink back. “Ju-won, what you did today only shows that you don’t belong here,” he said, his voice low and unyielding. He leaned in, murmuring something sharp and private into her ear that made her face go pale.

With a final huff, Ju-won spun on her heel, face flushed with humiliation as she hurried away, avoiding the gazes of everyone around.

Afterwards Sunghoon led you toward a nearby fireplace with a small smile, gesturing for you to step in. Together, you went through the Floo Network, the swirling green flames transporting you both to a room that was both luxurious and filled with a sense of calm.

“Welcome to my room,” he said with a soft smile.

You looked around, taking in the warmth of the space. “I can’t believe Spark stayed with you all this time,” you said.

Sunghoon chuckled, “I could never let him go. He’s been a great companion. Right, Spark?”

Spark squeaked in response to that. “Would you like to meet some other nifflers, Spark?” You asked and watched as his eyes lit up, and he nodded excitedly. You laughed, reaching for your suitcase and opening it on the floor. Climbing down into it, you looked back up and beckoned to Sunghoon. “Come on in!”

Sunghoon hesitated for a moment, but curiosity won over, and he followed you. Inside, you led him through various sections of your enchanted suitcase, each with unique landscapes and ecosystems for the creatures you cared for. Sunghoon looked around, marveling at the sheer life around him.

Eventually, you reached the area where you kept your nifflers. With a quick call, five of them scampered out, their fur shining under the magical light. Spark chirped in excitement and darted forward, joining his new friends. You straightened up, watching with amusement as Lena, flitted out of your pocket and disappeared somewhere in the terrain.

You turned to Sunghoon, catching the awe in his expression. Smiling, you took his hand, guiding him through the different environments until you stopped by a stone ledge. With a short whistle, you called out, and the ground trembled slightly. Emerging from a large cave opening, Erebus, lowered his head, scales glistening with an otherworldly sheen as he rumbled softly in greeting.

Sunghoon took a small step back, looking at Erebus with a mix of fear and awe. You laughed softly, reaching for his hand again. “It’s okay,” you said gently. “He trusts me, and he’ll trust you, too.”

Sunghoon looked at you, searching your eyes before nodding. Slowly, you guided his hand forward, placing it against the warm, textured scales under Erebus’s jaw. The dragon rumbled again, leaning slightly into Sunghoon’s hand, a deep, pleased purr vibrating through him.

“See?” you whispered, smiling as Sunghoon’s gaze softened in amazement.

Sunghoon kept his hand steady, glancing between you and the massive dragon before him. Erebus leaned further into his touch, his dark eyes half-closing in contentment. Sunghoon exhaled a quiet laugh, a mixture of relief and wonder.

"I never imagined I'd be doing this," he murmured, glancing at you with a warm smile. "You've always had a way with creatures."

You grinned, feeling a swell of pride. "Erebus is special. I rescued him from a terrible situation, and ever since, we’ve had this bond." You gave Erebus a gentle pat before he pulled back, lifting his great head and retreating into the shadows of his sanctuary.

As Erebus disappeared, you turned to face Sunghoon fully. The awe hadn't left his expression. "I can see why you love this work," he said softly. "I missed seeing this side of you."

A warmth blossomed in your chest. "I missed having someone who understood," you replied, voice just above a whisper. "I always wanted to share this with you."

Sunghoon’s gaze softened, and without another word, he leaned in slowly, giving you time to close the remaining distance. The world seemed to fade as his lips met yours, gentle at first, then deepening as you both leaned into each other.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathless, but his forehead rested against yours, a soft smile playing on his lips.

“It’s you and me now, Sunghoon,” you whispered.

He nodded, his eyes sparkling as he took your hand. "Forever, if you’ll have me."

As you leaned up, pressing your lips against Sunghoon's, he responded with a passion that ignited a fire within you. His hand cupped your cheek, While his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he couldn't get enough of your warmth and presence.

As the kiss lingered, Sunghoon's hands moved down to your thighs, his fingers tracing the soft skin. He lifted you up gently, his strong arms supporting your weight, and placed you on the table, your legs wrapping around his waist. Sunghoon's hands roamed over your body, his touch becoming more assertive, more confident. He traced the lines of your waist, his fingers grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

When the kiss broke, you both were breathless, your hearts pounding in your chests. Sunghoon's hand gently caressed your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your lips. "I want you," he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion, his eyes filled with desire, caressing your legs, his touch gentle yet firm. His fingers traced the curves of your thighs, sending shivers down your spine.

His kisses became more intense, his lips moving from your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of passionate marks. His teeth grazed your skin, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration and lust. "I can't get enough of you." He came up to kiss you again. His lips met yours in a gentle, tender kiss. "You make me feel alive, like no one else ever has," he whispered against your lips, his voice hoarse with passion. "I'll always protect and cherish you." He murmured.

And as the kiss deepened, the sweet, familiar melody of your clocks began to chime, the golden swirls dancing out of their glass coverings on the table where Spark sat proudly, watching the scene unfold. The soft notes filled the room, adding a layer of warmth to your embrace, and you both smiled slightly against each other’s lips.

Sunghoon’s hand brushed along your cheek, wiping away the happy tears that had formed there. He pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed out softly. His eyes were filled with love, a love that glowed even brighter than the melody around you. Sunghoon looked down at you, his gaze filled with warmth. He took a steadying breath before murmuring, “Would you make me the happiest wizard in the world by becoming mine…forever?”

Your heart raced, and without hesitation, you beamed up at him, feeling a happiness you hadn’t known could exist. “Yes, Sunghoon,” you replied, voice filled with joy. “A million times, yes.”

His smile broke into a brilliant grin, and before you knew it, he was sweeping you off your feet. You laughed, the sound echoing through the room. “You make me so, so happy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve never stopped loving you, not even for a moment.”

[n0vazsq]

Way of the heart | OP81 x Reader

pairing . . . oscar piastri x racing!engineer!reader

summary . . . After a tough race, Oscar has nothing to look forward to more than spending time with (Y/n)

request . . . kind of?

word count . . . 1.1k

warnings . . . none!

alexavia yaps . . . i really hate this one for some reason like its not the best i could do but i wanted to write something so yeah!! the person who wanted this (im sorry i forgot your user), if you want another story i will totally write it!! tysm for asking <3

Oscar slumped into the chair in the back of the team garage, still in his racing suit, the helmet beside him on the floor. Today’s race had been brutal, everything going wrong until he finally crossed the finish line in a place he didn’t even want to remember. No matter how much he tried to forget it, the disappointment still clung to him.

As the crew packed up around him, you walked over, carrying a bottle of water and a quiet look of understanding. You’d worked with Oscar long enough to know when he needed a moment to think and when he needed someone to remind him he wasn’t alone. Today, he needed the latter.

“Rough day,” you said softly, offering him the bottle. He accepted it with a quick nod, cracking it open but not taking a sip.

“Understatement of the year,” he muttered, letting out a short, frustrated sigh. “Everything went wrong, didn’t it? Every call, every turn… feels like I let everyone down out there.”

You didn’t rush to disagree or to tell him it was all fine because you knew Oscar didn't want you to. Instead, you waited a bit, giving him the space to breathe.

“You know, racing’s a lot like life. Sometimes it’s out of our control, even when we do everything right. We all saw you fight today,” you said gently. “One tough race doesn’t define who you are as a driver.”

He glanced up, the frustration in his eyes softening as he met your steady gaze. “Thanks,” he said, managing a faint smile. “Not sure what I’d do without you, honestly.”

You laughed lightly, leaning against the wall beside him. “Lucky for you, I’m sticking around, win or lose.”

His smile widened a little, and after a few moments of quiet, he stood up, finally letting go of some of the weight he’d carried off the track. “Hey,” he said, glancing at his watch, “I know it’s late, but do you want to grab some food? Just… need to be somewhere that’s not here.”

The restaurant he picked was cozy, tucked away from the noise and chaos that followed you on racing weekends. He knew you’d love it, remembering how you mentioned your love for Italian food

When you walked in, his heart skipped a beat. You wore a smile that was both warm and teasing, the one that always seemed to make everything feel a little less overwhelming.

He stood, smiling sheepishly. “Hey, you look… great,” he said, his voice a little unsteady. The nerves of the race had melted away, replaced by a different kind of nervousness that he couldn’t ignore.

You grinned, taking a seat across from him. “Thanks, Piastri. It’s nice to see you in a non-race setting for once. And I have to say, you look pretty good.”

He laughed, glancing down at his simple outfit. “I tried, y’know, for you.”

The waiter took your orders, and as the evening went on, you two spoke about anything and everything but racing. The conversation drifted easily from favorite movies to random childhood memories. You two talked about wild stories and embarassing moments, laughing at every single thing.

But Oscar’s mind kept wandering back to you. How you’d been there every step of his career, how you’d seen him at his worst and still chose to believe in him. At one point, as you were laughing at a joke he’d told, he couldn’t help but stare a little, his heart pounding in a way that felt completely different from the adrenaline of racing.

The laughter quietened down, and a comfortable silence fell between you both. Oscar looked down at his hands, trying to think of what he wanted to say. “You know,” he began, a little quieter now, “you mean a lot to me. More than just… my engineer or friend.”

You looked up, your expression softening, and he felt his courage swell just a bit. “I think I realized that today, after everything went bad on the track. Just seeing you there, not judging me, not telling me what I should’ve done differently, just… being there. It made all the difference.”

You reached across the table, placing your hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’d be there no matter what, Oscar. You’re a brilliant driver and a good person. Bad race or not, that doesn’t change.”

His cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through him. He turned his hand to hold yours, letting the silence speak for itself. And for a moment, all the disappointment and frustration faded, replaced by a quiet joy that he hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

Later, you walked together under the night sky, the cool breeze a welcome contrast to the warm evening inside. He found himself wishing the walk could last forever, just the two of you, away from the chaos of everything.

Eventually, you both settled on a bench with a view of a beautiful fountain. The sound of the water filled the quiet spaces between you, and he reached over, slipping his hand into yours again, holding it with a confidence he hadn’t felt earlier.

“This feels perfect,” you murmured, leaning against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I wish every night could be like this.”

You let out a soft laugh, resting against him. “It’d be easier if we weren’t always at a race or in different cities every other week.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, looking out at the fountain. “But I think… I think it’s worth it.”

You turned to him, your gaze meeting his with a warmth that made his heart race. He took a deep breath, the words he’d been holding back finally finding their way out.

“Do you… maybe want to meet my family? Make it official?” he asked, his voice a little uncertain but hopeful.

You raised your eyebrows, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Oscar, I think we’re already there. You didn’t have to ask. And of course, I'd love to meet your family.”

He chuckled, feeling a weight lift as his heart swelled with happiness. “Then consider this official.” He leaned in, taking your lips in a kiss.

The kiss made butterflies fill your stomach, it was soft, but also made you crave more. It was something magical, like straight out of a movie. Oscar had his hands on your waist, and yours tangled in his hair. It somehow made it more intimate, more personal. You didn't want it to end.

When you finally pulled back, the smile on your face was everything Oscar ever wanted to see.

Hand in hand, you walked back to the car, and for the first time that night, Oscar felt a sense of peace, knowing that no matter what happened on the track, he’d always have you there, his biggest supporter, his steady presence.

And with you by his side, he knew he could face anything that came his way.

[daisymbin]

have you ever been in love? - choi seungcheol

warnings: none

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: friends to ???

wc: 900

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"have you ever been in love?" you ask, your eyes still fixated on the carefree clouds drifting lazily through the night sky, illuminated by the city lights.

seungcheol chuckles softly, the sound getting caught in the cool breeze that surrounds you both. he takes another sip of his beer, masking the way his heart races. how much more obvious could he be? are you really that oblivious?

"i suppose i have," he answers, his voice steady and calm even as his eyes can't help but trace the outline of your face, the way your features soften in the moonlight.

"what's it like?" you turn your head slightly, curiosity written in your expression. he's not sure how he should feel about your question.

seungcheol pauses, thinking about the feeling he’s harbored for you for so long. "it’s... terrifying and exhilarating at the same time," he says, a wistful smile playing at his lips. "it feels like wanting to be someone's everything, wanting to make them smile even when the world feels too heavy for myself. it’s being so scared of losing them that it’s all you think about. but at the same time, it makes everything brighter. love changes the way you see things, you know?"

you take a moment to process his words, letting them sink in, before you say quietly, “i guess..i dont know.”

“have you ever been in love?” he asks carefully, its a past tense question so it shouldnt hurt….right?

"i'm...not sure if i’ve ever been in love before.. but lately, i’ve started feeling things i’ve never felt before, and i wonder if it’s love. that's why im asking you.”

seungcheol’s heart stops, breaking a little at the thought of you loving someone else. his voice comes out smaller, almost vulnerable. "does what you’re feelin…m-match what i said?"

you think for a moment and then nod slowly. "yeah," you admit, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks.

his breath catches & he feels his stomach churning. this isn't a past tense situation, this is present tense, NOW. "who is it?" he asks as his voice trembles. the 4 years he's spent pinning over you seems to have made him timid tonight, he's not usually like this, but still, he braces himself for an answer that he knows will shatter him.

you hesitate, your eyes finding his, sparkling with adoration. "you," you whisper, your voice firm with sincerity.

seungcheol’s eyes widen, and for a moment, the world stills. and then, without thinking, he’s reaching for you, the biggest smile breaking out on his face. "me?" he repeats, as if he can’t quite believe it.

you nod, "you...you like me too right?"

"like?" seungcheol laughs, finding humour in your choice of words, his laugh holds a hint of disbelief, his eyes crinkling with pure joy. "like?" he repeats, his voice still colored with amusement. "i don't just like you," he confesses, his voice growing softer, more sincere. "i've been completely, ridiculously in love with you."

you feel your heart skip a beat, disbelief and hope swirling in your chest. "really?" you whisper, your voice small, almost afraid that this moment could shatter like a delicate glass figurine.

his gaze softens as he reaches for your hand, his warm fingers intertwining with yours. "really," he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"did you really not notice?" he asks, "i almost started to think you knew but just didnt have the heart to reject me."

your cheeks flushes as you think about all the little moments you'd noticed—the small ways he always seemed to look out for you, the way he'd remember the tiniest details about your life, and how his eyes would light up every time you entered a room. "i just... i always thought it was wishful thinking...like the time you carried extra snacks just because you knew i'd forget to eat, or when you'd always find an excuse to walk me home, even when you lived in the opposite direction. or how you’d get so quiet and protective whenever you thought someone was being unfair to me."

seungcheol's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and endearment, a fond smile spreading across his lips. "so you noticed all that?" he asks, his voice warm with a hint of embarrassment.

"i did," you say, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "but it just seemed too good to be true."

he pulls you a little closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of adoration and relief. "it wasn’t too good to be true," he whispers, and then, with the most tender of touches, he leans in.

when his lips meet yours, it's everything and more. it's gentle, sweet, and filled with all the love that has been building between you two, unspoken but always there, waiting for the right moment.

when you finally pull away, you're both breathless, cheeks flushed. seungcheol's smile is still there, brighter than ever.

[machveil]

HEY IM BACK TO BOTHER UU

OK IMAGINE THIS

simon seeing how you always coo at babies you see in public (grocery store, shopping, park, etc) and he decides then and there that you WILL be the mother of his children. and like maybe he never even wanted kids but after this happens one or two times he is SET on it.

idk just a thought that i had to share!

I am listening so hard

Simon gets hit with baby fever hard, he doesn’t even know what baby fever is - he just sees you with chunky little babies and snotty kids and something in his brain goes off. he just gets the itch to make you a mom, the urge to buy those stupid little baby shoes that look so fucking cute and why don’t you have a baby now—

Simon isn’t subtle either, he’ll silently guide your shopping trips so you end up in baby aisles, little onesies and pacifiers on display. you don’t even have a kid, but Simon picks up a cute little ducky pacifier and sets it in the cart. “Simon? We don’t need tha—”, turning his back to you, he just sets off out of the aisle, “Might.”, he mumbles

Simon who empties your guest your room one day, paint buckets in hand. he claims to just be ‘redoing’ the room, also lovie, if a box for a crib gets delivered call for him - Simon will sign for it! he’s like a man possessed, just mutters something about, “Could ‘ave a permanent guest…”, and it leaves you chuckling. he’s even got the 141 over to help, Gaz helping Simon paint while John squared try to assemble the crib

Simon who acts shocked when you tell him you’re pregnant, pretends to be innocent, “Really? How could tha’ ‘ave happened?”. he’s extremely excited even though he’s keeping a straight face, but you can tell - his fingers are tapping against his thighs and he’s bouncing his leg a little. and what a coincidence, Simon somehow predicted you’d need a nursery! good thing he converted that guest room, right doll?

[urarakasgff]

come here, babydoll.

Synopsis: Vi x f! Reader. Based on the song Babydoll by Ari. Even though you were just friends, her drunken words definitely made it seem like there were some hidden feelings underneath her intense demeanor. Not proofread.

It was late out at night, the wind crashing against the walls of your apartment, the moon brightly illuminated the night. You stayed in your warm sheets, tossing and turning as the night went by. That was until you heard a knock at your door.

You slowly opened your eyes, it was around 4am, you knew it had to be Vi if anyone was coming to your place this late. You shuffled out of your bed, trying to stabilize yourself on your feet, then making your way to the front door with half opened eyes.

As you slowly opened the door, Vi stumbled her way in, making eye contact with you, but you were both slightly out of it, for two entirely different reasons. 

“Vi..? What’s going on, why are you here so late?” You said gently, grabbing onto her arm and leading her over to your bed for her to get a place to just sit. The mix of alcohol, her cologne and sweat lingered.

Her being drunk wasn’t something that was unusual. She was a pit fighter after all, and this girl would constantly get drunk and get into the ring without a second thought, no care in the world for her own safety. But, for her to make an appearance this late at your place? That was unusual.

“Nothing cupcake. Just, needed you around.” She said, slightly slurring her words, the alcohol clearly had already taken over. She slowly sat down on your bed, slightly manspreading as she leaned her head into her arms, probably from how exhausted she was.

You stood there, just looking at her with concern. She was one of your closest friends, and to say you felt nothing but just friendly emotions towards her would be a lie. But feelings aside, and whatever they were, You were still beyond worried about her. These constant fights and drunken states could not be good for her, whatsoever.

As she slowly looked up at you to make eye contact, she opened her arms a bit. 

“Come here, babydoll.” She said in a lower tone, quite literally almost as if she was demanding for you to come over. A hint of affection and want in her eyes.

You looked at her, and luckily the mostly dimly lit room did an amazing job at hiding the blush that crept onto your face. While it wasn't unusual for you two to be close and even flirty sometimes, she was being a lot more blunt, direct even.

You walked over to her and grabbed the hand that was slightly reaching out for you, and she pulled you into her lap. “Darling, I’m falling, fucked up over you.” Her voice was a bit wavering, a hint of need and desperation. But, it wasn’t what you’d expect.

Vi isn’t one to just open up about her feelings, much less about romantic ones. She wasn’t sober, at all, her mouth was running on autopilot, leaving her a bit vulnerable and honest.

“Vi, you- you aren’t sober right now. And as much as I'd just love to-” You said gently, trying to almost avoid the conversion. She interrupted you by holding onto your hand, intertwining your fingers together.

She called out your name, almost as if she was pleading for you to try and understand her. “I don’t care, I mean it Cupcake. Fuck, I didn’t want to wait this long to tell you, but I can’t stand it. The thought of me losing you, all because I couldn't say it? Because I couldn't tell you?” She cupped your face, trying to keep the eye contact steady, still keeping your fingers interlaced with hers.

“And fuck me if im wrong, but you feel it too don’t you babydoll?” She said, smirking a bit, knowing she was right. 

writer’s note: TBH didn't know how to end this (could you tell) and I had to go study for an exam, so enjoy this little drabble <3

[celestailio]

a long night ( gojo x gn!reader )

outline: it’s late at night, and you have a math exam tomorrow. the loud music from a birthday party down the hall is making it hard for you to sleep. frustrated and needing some comfort, you decide to call your boyfriend, satoru, for support.

contains: gojo x gn!reader, college au, fluff, lots of fluff, common uni problems, reader is going through something and just satoru being the best boyfriend.

wc: 3.2k

a/n: i am thinking of making this a series. as much as i hate colleges and uni, i am a sucker for the aus ahhh. what do y'all think? this is an old work. i wrote this back in august when i had exams and was going through a similar situation. anyway, enjoy as always i appreciate any feedback <333

muffled music. loud vibrations. blurry vision.

this was getting too much now. it's past two in the morning. you just came back from the library after a gruelling study session much needed for your math exam tomorrow. 

it's been three hours of you trying to sleep. no matter what you do, sleep always seems to evade you during this time of dire need to just slip away from everything. away from the waking world. you’d sure you had done everything you could to set yourself up for the long night.

you jumped straight into a hot shower after you came home. it was refreshing and relaxing, easy on your muscles, and left you feeling rejuvenated. and don't forget to eat a proper dinner. the simple vegan salad with roasted cauliflower, kale, and cucumbers which you brought from the local café was crunchy and fulfilling. after dinner, you revised the exam materials for half an hour before deciding it was time for bed. 

following your night routine, teeth brushed and mouth fresh, the cooling sensation of an expensive skin mask on your face was sufficient to set you in the mood for winding down. you quickly sent your boyfriend a good night message to which he, as usual responded with an unnecessary amount of kiss emojis and mwahs. of course, his evening delight was topped with a voice recording of his sweet, sweet voice wishing his baby a nighty night, which always made you laugh and left your heart full of love.

a sense of pride settled in your chest as you made yourself comfortable in your sheets and you recall how productive your day was. you felt more than prepared for the exam tomorrow, and the only thing left was to catch up on some sleep so wake with a fresh mind. ready to tackle the horrors of calculus. except not a single thing went according to the plan.

at first, it was the hotness. you felt like a frog being prepared for a slow boil. the puffy blankets came off first. they usually brought you peace and comfort during cold and lonely nights were starting to irritate your skin but right now its fabric no longer silky soft as it grazes against your already swollen skin akin to a worn out rag. 

next, turning off the heater and opening the window for some fresh air was a good idea, as you instantly started feeling better, the body slowly but surely radiating excess heat. it wasn’t long before you quickly slipped into the blackness. it was peace for a short time before a loud bang echoes through the corridors of your floor.

what the fuck was that?

you jump from your bed and glide towards your door before looking out from the peephole. a number of students dressed in flimsy outfits and party hats run across the hallway, their footsteps similar to those of horses, before vanishing from your view leaving behind the faint smell of cake and spilled drinks, and a mess of confetti on the carpet. gosh, can these people keep it cool? not only is it the quiet hours but an exam period too. keep it down for god’s sake. 

all the progress flushed down the drain. back at point zero. for fuck’s sake.

with heavy steps, you crawl back to your bed, once again laying on the white floral sheets. this time for sure. you were going to fall asleep. but little did you know, their sudden presence was a sign of impending chaos. 

immediately loud disco music started playing from the direction of the common room where you assumed the party people were the ones behind it. the high intensity of the volume was making your eardrums hurt, each beat drop like a hammer on your skull. the strong thumps of the bass penetrating through the walls were enough to make your heart throb. the thunderous applause and cheers were clouding your rationality. ears ringing and brain switching to meltdown mode.

you jolted up and quickly searched beneath your pillows and sheets for your earphones, looked up a noise blocker on the phone. the bright light from the phone’s screen is harsh on your eyes. picking the first one it came up with, you hastily plugged the buds in your ear, desperate to keep your calm and pressed play. you laid back on the bed and put your focus on the white static buzzing in your ears. 

in the beginning, it felt like a fresh breath of air as the loud disturbances faded away in the background, leaving behind the calm you were yearning for the last three hours. soon you became accustomed to the noise, and despite the white static, the thumping bass and vibrations still rang in your ears, gnawing at your last nerve.

you tossed and turned, trying to find a position that might bring some comfort, fiddling with the phone’s volume. even at the maximum, it was of no use. this blocker barely did a good job masking the noises. 

i can’t take this anymore. need to do something.

your patience was wearing thin. sitting up abruptly, you grabbed your phone and considered your options. reporting the noise to the dorm authorities seemed like the best course of action right now. you typed out a quick email, explaining the situation and pleading for some peace and quiet. 

as you waited for a response, you couldn’t help but think about how this lack of sleep would affect your exam. the anxiety was starting to creep in, and you felt your chest tighten again. a ping erupts from your phone, and there was a response.

hello,

we have looked into your request. unfortunately, no campus staff are on duty due to the weekend. rest assured, tomorrow anyone who has broken residence protocols will have to face proper punishment.

thank you and have a good night.

residence life.

you stare at the message, feeling a mix of frustration and helplessness before tossing your phone aside. 

so much for getting any help.

with a heavy sigh, you lay back down, trying to focus on the white noise still playing in your ears. the music from the common room continues to pound through the walls, each beat a reminder of your growing exhaustion. you feel tears brimming in your eyes before huffing out a laugh. 

can’t believe it, crying at such a minor thing. at this point, staying in your room seemed more like being in a torture chamber. maybe you should go to the library and spend the night there, but isn’t it close? another groan. you definitely need to advocate along with the student union for the libraries to stay open twenty-four seven.

what else? oh, you could certainly crash at your best friend’s instead? no wait.

satoru…

the thought of him brings a small smile to your face. satoru had always been your strength, your one and only. the one person who could calm you down no matter what. he always knew how to make you feel better with his silly jokes and innocent kisses, even in the worst situations. 

but it’s so late. the clock reads 2:58 a.m. and you don’t want to disturb him. still, the idea of spending the night at his place is irresistible, cuddled against his chest, cocooned in his strong arms with his heavenly scent surrounding you like a bubble. god's you miss him so much to care right now.

you grab your phone again. navigating to his contact. you hesitate for a moment as the affectionate name he had set on your phone, satoru with a big blue heart, stares back at you. you know he says to call him anytime, anywhere you want. you know he will always be here for you, but he’s already had many other troubles weighing him down. and what if he’s already fast asleep? 

it doesn’t help that you want nothing in the world right now but to be in his warm, loving arms hidden away from the cold world.

your hands tremble slightly as you try to come up with something. 

satoru, u awake?

sent: 2:59 am

you set aside the device. as hopelessness once again settles deep in your bones. you guess he’s already asleep. sighing, you bury your head under the blankets before a familiar ping rings in the room.

yeah, bby. what’s up?

read: 3:01 am

your heart skips a beat as you see his reply. you quickly type back, your fingers shivering slightly with anxiety.

can we call?

read: 3:02 am

almost immediately, your ringtone starts blaring through your room. as his contact name displays on your phone’s screen. you waste no time accepting his call, eager to hear his sweet voice. you switch to the speaker mode, and put the phone near your ear as you lay down once again.

“satoru.” you breathe out, feeling a wave of relief wash over you as his calm breathing fills the air.

“my baby.. why are you up so late?” his voice is hoarse yet soft.

you can hear him shuffling in the background, the loud rustling of the sheets drowning out the static. oh, he was definitely sleeping before you called him. guilt eats you up, and you bite down on your lips.

‘’what’s going on?’’ he speaks, concern seeping into his words. silence lingers in the air as you struggle not to cry on the call. 

oh my god, why am i like this?

“i can’t sleep.” you admit after a minute, your voice barely above a whisper. it remains quiet between the two of you before you start ranting.

“it’s just someone throwing a party around the corner, and it’s just so loud, everything is. i just feel like i can’t breathe properly, and it sucks that i got an exam tomorrow-’’

‘’hey, hey. baby deep breaths, yeah?’’

you follow his instructions, breathing in and out with his counting, matching his pace.

“you don’t have to explain anything.” you hear a zipper sound and clink before the locking and closing of a door.

“gimme a sec baby, i am coming to get you.’’

you feel a rush of gratitude at his words. “thank you,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice steady.

“anything for my darling,” he replies softly. “just hang tight, i’ll be there soon.”

he blows some kisses like usual, and you end the call. sitting up, you quickly made your way towards the washroom gathering a few essentials into a small bag. since satoru already had some of your clothes in his room, you’d reckon you need anything else.

he is always pleading with you to leave behind your shirt or a hoodie whenever you visit his place, saying that it helps him on the lonely nights when you can’t be with him. near him. constantly talking about the soothing effect of your scent while he sleeps. you always teased him about this, but he was unaware that you had stolen some of his sweatshirts for the exact reason.  

you chuckle at the fond memory as you finish packing up. the noise from the party still reverberates through the walls, but knowing satoru is on his way makes it more bearable. you slip on your shoes and hoodie, ready to leave as soon as he arrives.

a few minutes later, there’s a gentle knock on your door. you open it to find satoru standing there, his hair dishevelled as he has just woken up. a plastic bag in his hand and with a reassuring smile on his face. as soon as he sees you, he pulls you into a tight hug, his calming scent infiltrates your nose, and his warmth immediately melts away the tension in your body.

“my baby. i am here now, yeah.” you can’t help but cry at his caring words and actions. satoru holds back a coo and gently pats your head, threading his fingers through your hair.

“let’s get you out of here, mhm.”  

he murmurs, gently pulling away before planting a gentle kiss on your lips. you smile at his gesture, and he mirrors the same. you see his large hands coming up to cup your face caressing the skin softly before he kisses you again. he pulls away and pinches your cheeks. 

“stop it ‘toru!” you grumble against him, and he laughs hysterically. the sound a pleasant melody for your parched ears.

keeping an arm around you, he leads you down the hallway and out of the dorm. the snowstorm is still going on, but the cold night air is a welcome change as you take a deep breath, feeling a bit more grounded.

“i brought soda and pocky of course.”

“soda at this time?”

“heh. you never know, baby.” he presses a quick kiss against your hairline.

“you’re such a dork.”

“mhm.”

the walk to his car is quiet. unlike you, satoru lives in his own apartment complex away from all the hustle and bustle of the university. many times, he had asked you to move in with him, but you’d always come up with an excuse before changing the subject. well, you didn’t outright reject him. it’s just that you feel like once he starts living with you, his idea of you might change for the worse. and you don’t want that. even though you know it’s not fair, you kept giving him false hope until he stopped asking one day.

you lean into him, drawing comfort from his presence, as you both reach his car. satoru opens the car door for you and shoots you a wink. always the gentleman. you slide into the passenger seat. he follows quickly, leaning over you and strapping your seatbelt.

“need to keep my baby safe.”

“hey!” you snort.

he chuckles and pinches your cheek like he always does before putting on his own seatbelt. soon he starts the engine, the soft hum of the car providing a soothing background noise. throughout the drive, satoru keeps up a steady stream of playful commentary of a random movie he watched some time ago. his dumb jokes and dialogues make you laugh despite yourself.

“i’ve got you, baby,” he says softly after the playfulness has subsided, his eyes briefly meeting yours before focusing back on the road. he reaches over and takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

you squeeze his hand back as you nod, feeling the warmth of calmness settle over you. the drive to his apartment is quiet, the city lights casting a gentle glow through the windows. you lean your head against the seat, closing your eyes and letting the rhythmic motion of the car lull you into a state of relaxation.

when you arrive at his apartment, satoru helps you out of the car and leads you inside. he helps you with taking your boots off, sneaking in little massages on your feet before you yell at him to stop. you’ve told him countless times that it is ticklish, but satoru will never stop doing that if it meant seeing you laugh.

the familiar scent of his place is comforting, and you feel a wave of relief knowing you’ll be able to rest here. he guides you to his room, where he has already set up a cozy spot with blankets and pillows. his room is a sanctuary of repose, with soft luminescence seeping in through his curtains. the faint fragrance of his cologne dances in the air.

“when did you do all of this?”

“what can i say? i am just that good.” he hums, standing proudly by his little creation.

“no seriously, ‘toru.” you hit his head before shimmying out of your jacket and tossing it towards him, which he catches effortlessly. you jump onto his bed and slip under his fluffy blankets. a moan escapes you as the mattress folds under your weight, finally feeling a sense of relief.

satoru looks at you, his heart swelling up with adoration.

“comfy?” he asks teasingly as he smirks and takes off his own jacket. you stare at him as he's ruffling his hair to remove the melting snow from his white locks. 

“very,” you reply, your eyes closing as you sink deeper into the blankets. “you really saved me, ya know.”

he chuckles, moving to sit beside you on the bed. “like i always say, there's nothing i won't do for my baby,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. 

satoru takes in the sight of you looking so much at peace. he brushes a strand of hair from your eyes and slides in next to you. you turn your body towards him, shuffling closer, seeking his presence. he responds immediately by embracing you tightly.

the skin to skin contact is pleasant as he pulls you in even closer until there’s not an inch left between the two of you. you listen closely to his steady breathing as he resumes rubbing up and down, from your neck all the way to your waist. his warmth and presence are a balm to your frayed nerves, and you feel the stress of the night slowly melting away.

“get some sleep, baby. you’ve got a big day tomorrow,” he murmurs softly against your hair, lifting himself to turn off the table lamp.

“i’ve got you.” you nod, resting your head against his shoulders. he plants one last kiss on your head.

as you drift off to sleep, satoru watches you with a soft smile. he doesn’t mind getting up in the middle of the night to drive you away from the noise and chaos. for him, it’s worth every second just to see you smile and relax. he wants to do everything he can to make you happy, to keep you safe and comfortable in his arms forever.

he gently brushes a knuckle against your cheek, his heart vibrating with love and affection. seeing you at peace, knowing that he can provide you with a sanctuary from the world, fills him with a sense of purpose and joy. he places a soft kiss on your lips and prays that the night’s rest will help you perform your best tomorrow.

and when you come running to him after your exam, a big grin on your face, as you excitedly show him the bright red ninety-eight on your paper, his heart flutters with pride and joy. at that moment, satoru knows that all the trouble is worth it—that you are worth it.

[shecriestotheclickingoftime]

it'll be ok

patrick x reader, 11.2k words

(basically, this fic is what happens when you let a songwriter have an unlimited word count with no narrative skills but a lot of feelings...)

this is a long one, and an intense one, and the plot is kind of convoluted and a mess and a lot of and im ngl reader is very specific and also very mentally ill and struggling the whole time (and is also def a flawed character but pls go easy on her)

an insanely angsty, moody, sad, but hopeful ending Patrick Zweig x reader fic (with a lot lot lot of Art Donaldson mentions though, like he is a main character just not a romantic interest)

set during Stanford era, reader goes to Stanford with Art

TWs: quite a bit of drinking, vomiting at one point from drinking, a lot of mental illness is present here ngl, reader has a really bad relationship with family (but there are not too many specifics), and some moments where reader cannot eat or sleep because of anxiety!

Freshman year of college was hard. You’d been so excited to finally get away from your family, and attend Stanford, but the adjustment was hard. You’d already been there a couple months, and you’d made friends, your closest one being Art Donaldson, a tennis player who just kind of… popped up in your Psychology 101 class, and then just stayed in your life.

The second you walked into the massive lecture hall, you knew you had messed up signing up for an introductory science class. You were an English major, this class wasn’t even required for you, but for some reason, you were here. You scanned the room, trying to not look as nervous as you were, and sat down in an empty seat. The class still didn’t start for a few minutes, and students were still filing in, getting set up for class. As the lecture hall started to get more full, you looked back down at your notes, trying to get everything ready for today. There were still a fair amount of empty seats left, so it took you by surprise when a blonde, athletic-looking boy came and sat down a seat away from you. He smiled at you, and you smiled back, and he introduced himself as Art Donaldson. You nodded and looked away, trying to look disinterested, but for some reason, this kid was hell bent on getting to know you. 

Eventually, you reluctantly decided to give him a chance. As much as the alarm bells in your mind went off, reminding you that it was definitely a bad idea to let yourself get socially involved, something about Art completely disarmed you. Though you tried your hardest to resist getting attached, especially to a guy, Art did everything he could to be a stable figure in your life, and for some reason, he cared about you. He didn’t mind your quiet, sharp exterior that you guarded yourself with; it seemed like he cared about you more because of it- from the first time you two met, it felt like he saw straight through you in a way that no one else ever had, like somehow he already knew you the first time you two met. 

You did everything you could to protect yourself, keeping your struggles and emotions to yourself, like you had been taught to. The hardest part about Stanford was being away from your family. All you had ever wanted was to be away from them, away from their mistreatment, but even after everything they had put you through, you couldn’t help but miss them. You missed your parents, as much as you didn’t want to, and you felt so alone without your family. You didn’t want to be alone, but you knew you couldn’t go home either. You just felt so alone. 

The only thing that felt worse to you than being completely alone, was actually trusting someone and then being left. But despite your resistance, you slowly found yourself starting to trust Art. At first, you tried everything you could to push Art away more. But every time he saw right through you, so you tried to be icier and more distant, so you could get him away before he even got the chance to hurt you. But Art had this careful kind of persistence, somehow not really minding that you pushed him away- He wasn’t trying to sneak closer to you, or get you to let him in, he just wanted to be there, wherever you were comfortable with. And as independent as you tried to be, you had to admit that maybe sometimes it was good to have a friend. 

You revolved your life around school. But nothing you did could help the loneliness that had been tearing you apart from the inside since you were a young teen. You were haunted by the thoughts that no one could understand, or care, and even if they did you knew that no one ever stayed. You were too much for anyone to handle. So you had no choice but to let the loneliness fester, and to just hide the pain from everyone else. But the emotions hurt more than words could describe- so you looked for distractions. So you studied. Obsessively. And your first midterm season was no exception- you put so much pressure on yourself that on the nights before your tests you couldn’t sleep or eat, your anxiety making you feel so restless and sick that you physically couldn’t do anything besides just studying and spiraling. 

–

It was not an exaggeration to say that by Friday night, you felt like death. After finishing your last midterm, you felt beyond empty. Your test adrenaline that had kept you going the past few days had suddenly worn off, and the consequences of your own actions had finally started to catch up to you. And without studying and anxiety to obsess over, you could no longer avoid your chronic loneliness. You were tired, and hungry, and completely alone. 

So when Art Donaldson showed up at your door to invite you to the frat party tonight, and added that his best friend was in town and he wanted us to meet, you knew it was a terrible idea, and you should definitely not drink in this condition.

So naturally, you agreed. 

You’d heard about his best friend Patrick Zweig before, and to be honest, he seemed like a cocky, self-centered idiot. But Art was insistent on introducing you two. You didn’t have much interest in meeting him, (but to be fair, you didn’t have much interest in meeting anyone right now). But, when Art asked you to just give him a chance, you couldn’t say no. 

So, in your zombie state and all, you went to a fucking fraternity party. Completely out of any energy, you poured yourself a strong drink, downed it, and repeated. And repeated. And repeated until losing count. 

And there you were, severely sleep deprived, practically hallucinating, and already wasted. 

And that’s when you met Patrick fucking Zweig for the first time. 

Even drunk, you could tell at first glance that Patrick was a player, just based on his cocky demeanor (and the fact that he was tall and hot. like, what girl wouldn’t want him?) So, you gave him a tight-lipped smile, closing your walls again before you’d let some womanizer guy take advantage of you.

Why had Art wanted you to meet him anyways? This guy seemed completely incompatible with you, and to be honest, you were surprised that he would be such close friends with sweet, gentle Art. So, you introduced yourself quickly, slipped out of the corner you’d been hiding in for the past half hour of this party, downed your way-too-strong drink, and went to go make another one. Now that midterms were over, you couldn’t use your obsessive studying to distract you from your family and loneliness, so getting fucking wasted seemed distracting enough. 

But of course, Art had to notice. And he had to get worried about you, making sure to stay close and keep you in his eyeline. He’d noticed your sadness, and having seen Patrick go through the same complicated family feelings throughout his years at Mark Rebellato’s, he could tell enough of what was going on. 

He was initially drawn to you because he saw Patrick in you. However, instead of shutting people out by acting overly confident and social like Patrick, Art watched you shut yourself away. And even though he had only known you for a couple months, he couldn’t help but care about you, recognizing Patrick’s sadness in you. 

So, when he saw you drinking so much at the party, he knew you were just coping with loneliness. He’d seen Patrick numb himself with drinks enough time in high school, trying to fill the emptiness with liquor and meaningless flings with the girls around him, trying to escape the desperate need to feel cared about and loved. Art knew Patrick like the back of his hand, and he knew that you two were scarily similar. 

As you got drunker, you migrated back to standing near Art, who was practically attached at the hip to Patrick, and you somehow end up rambling about the English paper you just finished. As douchey as Patrick seemed, something about his demeanor seemed gentle towards you, nodding and smiling softly, actually listening to you as you sipped drink after drink and had pointless conversations with Art. You tried to avoid his eye contact and ignore him- you hated to admit it, but he was good at being charming, and even after drinking this much, you still knew that you couldn’t let yourself fall for that. You’d already been dumb letting Art in so much, and you were still scared by how much you trusted him, and so there was no way you were going to let yourself develop some delusional crush on his douchey best friend. So you tried to ignore how tall he was, and how he towered over you, and how he somehow seemed actually interested in your idiotic drunken ramblings. You wouldn’t fall for his tricks.

You were incoherently drunk. And meeting Patrick fucking Zweig at the same time. You weren’t one to lose control, you wanted to tell him and Art, but at this point it didn’t even matter anymore. Because now, here you were, stumbling over your words and pouring all of your thoughts out before you could even stop to think about how embarrassing this was. It couldn’t get any worse than this. 

Actually, you soon learned that it could get worse. Finally, the countless drinks that had been churning around your stomach finally started to catch up with you, and you could tell that you were absolutely going to be sick. You tried to excuse yourself quickly from the boys, stumbling through the crowd outside as quickly as you could, just trying to reach the fresh air outside and hoping that it could refresh your senses. But of course, your escape plan was useless, because Art and Patrick trailed worriedly behind you. And as they followed you out, you prayed to forget all of this tomorrow.

You breathed in the cool, smoky air, wishing to vanish or something, anything to get out of what you knew was bound to happen.“I think I need to go back to my dorm,” you blurted out, turning around to face the boys, and slowly backing away, trying to conceal your wobbly steps, praying that they leave you alone before you got sick. 

But of course, you wouldn’t escape that easily. 

“Hey, let us walk you back,” Patrick said gently, stepping carefully towards you.

“Yeah, it’s really late, and my building is near yours anyways,” Art followed up, offering a comforting smile.

Even in your drunkenness, you could already tell that the two were worried and definitely wouldn’t be letting you walk home alone this late. And as much as you didn’t want them to see you like this, you didn’t trust your ability to get back home right now. So, you gave up on getting them to leave, and you finally nodded, letting them catch up to you as you accepted your fate of possibly having the worst first impression in the history of ever. 

You’d barely walked for 2 minutes when the inevitable feeling hit you… you were gonna throw up. 

So, this was how you introduced yourself to Patrick Zweig. Instead of hiding behind your cold, quiet demeanor that you tried to maintain, you ended up getting embarrassingly drunk, and now fucking throwing up. You scolded yourself in your head, trying to breathe slowly and calm the sickness, but the ground felt like it was spinning and you lost control. You quickly made yourself stumble towards some bushes as you vomited. (sorry guys i know this is gross but it's part of the plot </3)

You tried to conceal your face from Art and Patrick as much as you possibly could, not wanting them to get grossed out by your display (if you could call it that)- although there wasn’t really a way to hide when they’re standing next to you. Nonetheless, you tried, wishing to yourself that they would somehow forget about this, and just leave you alone to die in the bushes out of pure embarrassment. 

You continued to be sick, and everything just hurt at this point. But you suddenly felt a large, calloused hand gently lowering onto your back and rubbing soothing circles along your spine, as another hand gently brushed your hair away from your face, holding it back with a soft hold. Even in your dizzy state, you could tell that it wasn’t Art doing that- Art’s hands were always smooth and, like, way too well kept and soft for a college athlete. So, this must’ve been… Patrick?

God, this is your first impression? Throwing up at a fucking frat party? With him holding back my hair?

You can’t even tell how long you were standing there, throwing up into the damn Stanford bushes. But you do remember Patrick’s gentle touch never leaving your back or your face, as he whispered little “you’re ok”s into the night air as he comforted you. 

After you got back up, the rest of the night passed by in a dizzying blur, your vision making everything around you look like a stop-motion movie. You could feel your drunken memories as they evaded your mind and disappeared from consciousness just as quickly as they happened. You generally remember the idea of walking back to your dorm, trying to accept what just happened. You briefly remember Art and Patrick still walking with you after that, Patrick arm floating around your waist, as he tried to keep you steady. Both Art and Patrick seemed completely unfazed, and even understanding of you, like they had experienced this a million times before. 

The boys walked you all the way back up to right outside of your dorm door, making sure that you got all the way back home safe and intact. You whispered a feeble sorry and good night to them as you slipped back into your room, shutting the door and not even bothering to turn on the lights, letting yourself fall into your dorm’s shitty little twin bed. To be honest, you kind of knocked out after that, escaping from the chaos of the night and letting everything go black 

The next morning, you woke up with the golden San Francisco sun peeking through the half-open blinds on the windows. Despite not remembering falling asleep the night before, you could tell that you had knocked out cold soon after you got back to your room, seeing that you had fallen asleep outside of the covers and still in your party clothes and makeup… and even your shoes were on, damn. 

And, of course, you woke up with a headache. And a stomachache. And so tired, and so thirsty. But the pain in your body felt almost nonexistent compared to the horror that completely washed over you as the memories of the night before flooded back… at least enough of them to remember meeting Patrick, who was way too tall and cute to be embarrassing yourself in front of, as you recalled talking, and talking, and talking, and drinking, and talking, and then… throwing up. And then walking home. 

God, not only did you embarrass yourself in front of Art’s best friend, but you also did that in front of Art… your closest friend at Stanford… and god, he probably was disgusted by you and never wanted to see you again. 

At least, that’s what your mind told you, as you could help but feel nauseous again as the last night played back in your head. That’s what you get for going out right after skipping so many nights of sleep and proper meals because of midterms stress… God, you were dumb. Why did you listen to Art, and why did you agree to meet his best friend?

You still didn’t fully understand why Art had been so insistent on you meeting this Patrick guy, anyways. Did he want to set you up with a douchebag player? Like, what was the point?

Your mind flashed back to the feeling of his hand on your back, gently holding you while you were sick, and his careful, almost nervous hand floating around your waist, stabilizing you as you walked back to the dorm. That was Patrick, not even Art. And something about his featherlight touch and sweet silence made you feel like he understood you, and somehow he knew how you were feeling, even though you had never met before.

You shook the thought off, figuring that it was just your drunken mind making up this feeling between you. He was probably just giving you that smug smile that he flashed at you when you first met, and you perceived it as something gentle and kind in your pathetic loneliness. Ugh, you felt dumb. Your shame of the past night felt like a weight tied to your ankles, keeping you imprisoned in your dorm room. You didn’t want to see Art anytime soon, your mind crowded with thoughts about how he probably thinks you’re so dumb at this point, and he wouldn’t want to care about you anymore after seeing how you acted. (And to be fair, your thoughts were definitely irrational and untrue, but the Sunday (or technically Saturday) scaries can seriously be haunting sometimes).

Oh, and you could definitely never face that Patrick guy again. He doesn’t even go to Stanford, so if you can avoid Art enough, then you’d probably never have to see him again anyways. Hopefully.

But… you could almost still feel his hand on your back, rubbing circles, taking care of you while you were sick, and it just felt so… affectionate. No one had comforted you like that in a long time… Even at home, when you got sick, you’d lock the bathroom door and turn the faucet up to drown out any noise you’d make, so you didn’t “burden” your family with your illness. You took care of yourself. Like you always did, and you always would. But in that moment, even just recalling the hazy, embarrassing memory, you could still feel that safety and care from him… 

You snapped yourself out of this mental spiral- God, you were delusional. And probably also eternally pathetically lonely. 

And you were most definitely not leaving your dorm room for the rest of the weekend. 

–

You spent the rest of the weekend hiding in your dorm, feeling like fucking Dracula not being able to bear the outside light. You tried to push down your shame, blaming the hangover for your anxiety, but you still decided that distancing yourself from Art would be the right thing to do. There is no way you could let yourself be that vulnerable with a guy, especially since you couldn’t stop thinking about Patrick, and how he took care of you. And maybe this was a strange thing to ruminate on so much, but something about it felt so personal. It’s like something is pushing you towards him, that you have no control over, making you want to just be near him again. 

God, you were pining. For Patrick Zweig? You were getting attached to a guy you had met for one damn drunken night. Fuck you, Art, for introducing you to Patrick. You were fucked. And spiraling. 

– 

After a successful weekend of avoiding the world, you finally had to leave your room again. You had classes to go to. You took a long shower, composed youself, and got ready to get back out in the world- there was no way you were gonna let a dumb embarrassing moment in front of fucking Art Donaldson and Patrick Zweig interfere with your academics. And besides, you needed to distract yourself, and filling the void of loneliness with countless tasks and books to read sounded perfectly fine. 

You saw that Art had texted you that Sunday morning asking how you were. And you ignored it. And of course, he had to text again on Tuesday, asking if you wanted to grab coffee before Psychology lecture like the two of you usually did. Like everything was normal or something. 

And again, you didn’t respond. And then you skipped your Psych class. You emailed an apology to the professor, and watched over the class recording he sent you, taking notes on it. But there was no way you could face Art Donaldson yet. 

Your avoidance of him almost got irrational- you knew you were blowing things out of proportion, but you were so scared that if you got close to Art again, you’d see Patrick again, and… you couldn’t do that. You made a commitment to yourself- from now on, you definitely fucking hated Patrick Zweig. You didn't need to justify yourself with a reason why. You just needed to hate him.

–

Avoiding Art got more and more difficult as the weeks went by- you skipped another Psych class and practically snuck around campus to go to your classes, paranoid that he would see you around. So you broke, and decided to talk to him. Well, not really talk to him about your 2-week avoidance. He didn’t have to know what was going on with you. So, you came up with the most bullshit excuse you could. You claimed you’d been sick, and coincidentally also your phone had been broken, and that’s why he didn’t see you and you also didn’t text him at all. Pneumonia was really going around this year, right? 

Somehow, you actually showed up to your next Psych class. You sat on the opposite side of the row as Art, burying your face in a novel and pretending to not even notice anyone around you, not even him. You stared at your notebook for the entirety of the lecture, obsessing over your notes that were definitely way too detailed, and made sure not to look over at Art. He couldn’t be mad at you if you simply just didn’t see him, right? And as soon as class ended, you dove back into your novel, not even looking up on your walk out.

You knew you were acting irrationally. But you’d been acting like this for so long that you knew you’d dug yourself into a hole with Art, and there was no use trying to crawl out and explain yourself. So you just let it continue. 

– 

However, your seemingly flawless avoidance plan (predictably) didn’t last very long. It only really ended up lasting until that same weekend, when of course, you had to cross paths with Art Donaldson on your walk back from your favorite, cute little bookstore. You had almost made it back to your dorm without bumping into anyone, and you almost forgot about all of your anxieties- 

Until you looked up and found yourself looking straight into Art Donaldson’s eyes, as he walked the opposite way as you, your eyes widening at the sight of him in his tennis uniform, with his giant racket bag slung over his shoulder. You instantly remembered: he always leaves for his Saturday tennis practices at this time. Fuck, you shoud’ve known not to be here at this time, but you just wanted to go to the bookstore so much that you had to forget literally everything else. 

So, here you were, face to face with Art Donaldson, after ghosting him completely for over two weeks, because… you threw up in front of him at a party. You stopped walking as you approached him, guilt flooding your mind as you realized that you had completely shut him out for… god, almost three weeks today. 

“Hey”, he said as he approached you, his voice soft, almost like he was testing the waters, as you froze in place, unable to look away from his eyes. “Where have you been? I haven’t heard from you since… like the day after midterms. You said you got pneumonia? And your phone broke?”

Your face flushed in embarrassment as you tried not to visibly cringe at how illogical your actions and excuses sounded in his words. 

“God, Art, I fucked up,” you blurted out, unable to filter yourself… and now that you’ve started talking, you knew you couldn’t stop… “I’m so sorry, Art” you said, trying to breathe and compose yourself, the shame for your actions threatening to swallow you whole. “I… Ok, I’ll just be honest. I felt so embarrassed after getting so drunk at that stupid frat party, that I started avoiding you, and then I guess I… Once I started, I couldn’t then go up to you and talk to you, so I let myself dig further and further into this hole and it just felt too bad to climb out and… Well, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I should have texted, and you did nothing wrong, I just was embarrassed-” You stopped yourself from rambling further, forcing yourself to take a breath and let Art respond. You looked down, as if you were trying to gaze straight though your shows and into the ground, as you braced yourself for the worst- you had been told a million times by people around you that you were too much to handle, so you pushed away and broke every relationship, and you knew that you had just done that again. And now you talked way too much, and he

“Listen… I get it” Art almost whispered- and when you looked up, you were met by a sympathetic smile and a worried stare that looked like it could read your mind. “I know how stressed you were because of midterms, and it definitely wasn’t a good idea for me to drag you out to a party right after we took them- and I’m sorry if I overwhelmed you by also introducing you to Patrick too, I know that he can be… a lot. And I’m not mad at you. But next time, just let me know if you’re not doing well. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, just… be in contact.”

You were almost taken aback by his words- you were expecting Art to give you icy stares and bring out words so sharp that they pierced straight through your skin, and you felt like you would have deserved it. But he actually thought about you, and apologized? You stood there for a moment, your mind still processing his response and unable to form words, when he spoke again, this time softer and more nervous:

“Just… try meeting Patrick one more time? You don’t have to anytime soon, but at some point, just get to know him a little. And then you can never talk to him again, but… this is important” he insisted, his tone anxious and almost a little awkward. He offered a comforting smile, still noticing some fear lingering in your eyes after the entire conversation. 

– 

Looking into your expression, Art’s mind went straight back to the one night in 10th grade at the academy, when he and Patrick had stolen a joint from their young guest tennis instructor’s bag, and decided it would be a great idea to try getting high together for the first time. It started fun, as Art and Patrick settled into a half-conscious recalling of embarrassing childhood memories, laughing at themselves and at old classmates, until they had somehow gone into talking about family memories, when Patrick broke down crying while confessing about how much he didn’t want to go home for the holidays. In the 5 years that Art had known Patrick before that, he never heard him talk like that. The two of them talked for a couple hours, eventually joking around and laughing too hard at everything, like high teenage boys would do, but something in Patrick had melted away- like some barrier that he had held up for so long that neither Patrick not Art even fully realized it was there the whole time- and Art suddenly saw a glimpse past Patrick’s self-centered persona, and say what was behind his loud words and bold actions. 

But, by the time Art woke up the next day, Patrick had realized how much he exposed himself the night before, and completely shut down. Of course, with this being Patrick, it didn’t last more than a week before he and Art started joking around again- but from then on, Art could see through Patrick’s actions a lot more. And even though Patrick never explicitly mentioned that night again, and he still probably wouldn’t, even years later, he did open up a little more after that: he started calling his parents when Art was in the room, and starting skipping his own family’s events to stay at Art’s grandma’s house during the winter holiday breaks- and although Patrick never showed this side to anyone else, he let Art see it; he had almost memorized the hurt in Patrick’s eyes after rough phone conversations with his parents, the loneliness that Patrick tried to cover up so desperately, and finally could see straight through Patrick’s words, when he pushed people away because he was afraid. And when he met you, despite the fact that you seemed cold and almost kind of mean, Art instantly recognized the distinct kind of sharpness in your voice, and the fear hiding behind your judgey stares. And since then, he couldn’t help but want to take care of you and protect you, the way that he wanted to protect Patrick- but even more than that, he could tell that Patrick would see straight through you too, and soften him up a little. Neither you nor Patrick seemed like the type to admit that you cared, but something about the two of you seemed intertwined, like there was some sort of invisible string between the two of you that was obvious to Art the moment he met you.

–

Stupidly enough, you had actually agreed with Art that you’d meet Patrick again. But maybe not yet. Art understood more than you thought he would, and didn't bother you about it as you warmed back up to a friendship with him. You stopped feeling like you had to sneak around campus and you went back to sitting with Art during Psychology class. And even though things still hurt, the weight that your family had left on your shoulders seemed to slowly get lighter, and you stopped missing home so much. Between Art, your other English major friends, and some kind professors, you have started to feel a bit more independent. However, even as you let yourself let go of home a little more, you could still feel the loneliness gnawing at you- you liked being independent, and you had gotten used to being independent- you had been independent your whole life, figuring out how to cope with things yourself and not letting yourself need anyone. However, even as you became more content with your college life, you still felt a desperate part of you wanting to feel a little cared for and wanted- maybe just someone to understand, to share the hurt sometimes. But you just blame that on your family issues, praying that the empty feeling would eventually fade away- it was better than trying to find someone to fill it, you couldn't let yourself trust anyone to stay. 

But in the meantime, you focused on yourself. At least you tried to. You tried to take care of yourself, you worked hard in classes, and you didn’t force yourself to call back home. You tried to be more social, actually attending some frat parties with your girl friends (and the nights didn’t end terribly for you anymore), but you still strictly maintained a lot of your coldness and quietness- you liked having friends, and you felt like you fit in, but you made sure to lock away any sign of neediness or pure vulnerability- you didn’t want to let your past drag you down, so you shut it out, and shut everyone away from that part of you. And you did a pretty good job- but of course, Art saw right through it. But he didn’t say anything, he just tried to help from the outside as much as he could without overwhelming you. He started bringing over coffee or dinner when he noticed that you were shutting yourself in your room, and quietly helping you out on the simpler things, like helping you out with laundry or helping you out with your desk clutter on the days that it was hard to get things done without some motivation. 

The next few months of the semester floated by, as you learned to balance your schoolwork with the rest of your life, and you buried your sadness deeper inside until it was almost invisible- although you could feel it tearing into you a little more. You felt it when you were alone, and even worse when you were in a group or a crowd, still feeling lost and like despite even being friends with all of the people around you, none of them actually could touch the pain inside of you- and you felt too guilty to tell them, not wanting to place your burdens onto them as well. 

You ended up staying at Stanford for thanksgiving, telling your family the excuse that it was just too far to fly all the way home for less than a week of vacation, and had dinner alone on the floor of your dorm, drinking through a bottle of wine and watching trashy reality tv. You didn’t tell anyone that you did this- you didn’t lie, but you also dodged any conversation about it. Although you told yourself that you loved the cozy nights alone, you couldn’t fully ignore the loneliness ripping you apart further. As much as you tried to cover it up with a quiet and guarded personality, you still found yourself in bed at night replaying the distant, fuzzy memories of Patrick Zweig on that one drunken night- and even though you tried to hate him during the day, you still found yourself curled up on late, anxious nights, letting yourself remember and cling onto a feeling that you felt for less than a second that night, finally allowing yourself just a brief moment to be weak, no longer holding onto your defenses, and for a silent moment letting your mind be cradled by that untouchable, unexplainable feeling that somehow, for some reason, someone had understood you. He understood you, and he saw straight through you, and he still held onto you. 

(But, by the morning, you had already pushed that idea so far back down, that you would have forgotten how real it felt, when you let yourself feel it. But, by the daytime, you were sure again that you were imagining these things about Patrick Zweig, and you allowed the familiar pull of loneliness tearing you apart just a little more, crying for something that didn’t exist. And inside, you kept a secret from yourself- that all of you was hoping for just one more night that you would let yourself be held by the memory again.)

–

You saw Patrick again in passing on the few times he came to visit Art. He always seemed to try and talk with you, despite you brushing him off every time. Once, much to your dismay, he came with you and Art to grab your usual coffees before your lecture together, and Art basically struggled to hold back his laughter at Patrick, whom he had always seen as the charmer who moved on from girls almost instantly, seemingly try his hardest to try and get you to break a little. And while Patrick respected your space, and left you alone when you brushed him off, he seemed like he was longing for some sort of conversation with you.

And the truth is, Art would’ve advised Patrick to fuck off a long time ago after you ignored him for the first time, if you had wanted him to leave… but Art knew you, and based on the way that you always blushed whenever Patrick’s name was brought up, and you always fidgeted with your jewelry and hair anxiously even as you openly ignored Patrick, Art knew you were just pushing him away. Art had seen you do it before, and while he allowed you to push Patrick away over and over again, part of him just loved to see how much Patrick actually let his guard down around you. For the first time in Art’s life, Patrick was really nervous about a girl. So nervous that his cocky, charming alter-ego completely fell when you were there. Because Patrick understood what Art had noticed in you- you were also hurt, and really really persistent in protecting yourself, hiding any vulnerability. And Patrick was the same- but something about you made him ok with showing that he cared. With you there, he couldn’t help it. 

Patrick visited Art a total of 3 times that semester (not that you were counting, definitely not), and for each visit, Patrick tried to approach you at least one time, wanting to really talk to you, but always giving you space whenever you signaled for it. He felt bad being so persistent, constantly trying to understand and follow any rules or boundaries you were setting, but it felt like you were being purposefully vague with him. So, he followed your lead as best he could.

And to be honest, you didn’t even know what you wanted either. Your mind told you that you needed to push him away. But you just couldn’t let him go completely either. But it just couldn’t work out. Everything was confusing, and nothing you could do felt right. You didn’t like him, you couldn’t. You didn’t. 

Unfortunately for the both of you, Art could easily tell that you and Patrick were both way too into each other- but there was just no way to get you to let your guard down in front of Patrick. You seemed terrified to let him care about you, even though Art could tell you had a soft spot for him, and how much you forced yourself to block him out. But every time you told Patrick to leave, he made sure to leave you alone and give you the space you wanted… but you always just ended up looking depressed whenever he left, no longer talking and shutting down even more than when he was there. And by the end of Patrick’s third visit, after you spent the whole time trying to push him away, but you then always stayed around Art’s dorms and tennis practices when Patrick was there. Always near him. Art couldn’t help but notice how you locked yourself in your room for a few days, and looked unusually and consistently sad every time he saw you for at least the next week. 

God, you two were absolutely, undeniably lovesick, and it was getting more obvious in every interaction. 

—

As you neared the last month of your first semester of college, you almost forgot about the yearly Stanford tradition that was inching closer and closer- family weekend. 

Well, actually you didn’t forget at all. How could you, when you got like at least twenty reminder emails in the past week, and saw the flyers for the activities that were planned for all of the students to do with their parents. You were fully aware that family weekend was nearing…

And you just didn’t tell your parents about it. You didn’t have to. And honestly, they were so focused on taking care of your older sister at her school, that they didn’t even keep up with any Stanford news. (and, even if they had seen one of the many emails that were sent, they didn’t mention it, because they ended up making plans to visit your sister over the weekend). And so, you were going to be alone on family weekend. 

You crafted a plan for this weekend nearly identical to the one you had for thanksgiving- ask for a couple bottles of wine from your sorority friends, order a shit ton of food to your dorm, and hide inside and pretend that nothing else exists from Friday to Monday. 

And that was the plan. Sure.

Until Art had a different idea.

“You know, since my grandma’s house is only like an hour away from here, and she’s gone for the weekend, I was just gonna stay there for the weekend. And I have spare bedrooms, and air mattresses in the basement, so like last minute now I’m hosting boys and girls tennis teams, and we’re partying all weekend. I guess a lot of tennis kids don’t care to see their folks this weekend either,” Art grinned at you excitedly, looking a little too excited to explain his plan. “And you know… you haven’t told me about what you’re doing, but on the off chance that you were free this weekend I saved a room for you in my house if you’d want to come. No pressure,” he says, and you definitely don’t miss the glimmer of excitement that flashes in his eyes when you nod your head, deciding to just let Art win and not try to put up a fight. To be honest, it’s not like you were doing anything good locked up in your dorm room, so you might as well go to Art’s house. Worst comes to worst, you’ll just hide and read your novels in the guest room there anyways. 

“By the way,” Art says, looking slightly nervous but also clearly holding back a smile, “Patrick’s gonna be there this weekend too, if that’s ok. You don’t have to talk to him at all, it's no pressure at all.” 

–

The rest of the week passed by you like a breeze, and by Friday morning you were packed for the weekend and ready to go. You had packed a combination of casual cute clothes and some sweats as well, since Art had claimed that this was all gonna be chill and casual. 

All of Art’s guests had to organize rides for themselves, but since you weren’t part of the tennis teams, Art had immediately offered you to go with him. Art was always weirdly good at identifying what was making you anxious, and trying to find a solution if he could. So, after an hour car ride of you blasting your favorite songs with the windows while Art drove you both down to his house, and you realized how much you missed obnoxiously loud music**** and speeding down highways while you were living at Stanford. 

****(Irrelevant author’s note: in my mind, I’m imagining listening to the Jeff Buckley songs Gunshot Glitter, Nightmares by the Sea, and What Will You Say, specifically the live version from the Theatre de Fourviére, Lyon, France. Yes, it being this specific exact live performance is very important to me! And for bonus points, the Radiohead songs Airbag, Just, and How To Disappear Completely (depressing but heavenly at full volume), and also for something fun and loud, the song Closet by Fleshwater. Trust me that song is so good omg. Ok thats it from me byee <3).

It seemed like no time at all until you and Art arrived at his (insanely oversized) house, and as you pulled into the smoothly paved driveway, you felt a breath of relief escape from your lips. You didn’t fully let yourself process just how much you were dreading the Stanford family weekend until you realized that you actually, officially escaped it, and the relief washes over you like a cold rainstorm finally breaking through a heat wave so long, you had forgotten that the burning feeling wasn’t normal. 

While the thought of your family not even noticing, or more likely not really caring about, the family visiting weekend burned in your chest, it at least felt good to get some physical distance from the festivities going on back at school. And even though you loved Stanford, and it started to feel like your true home, you knew it would do you good to be physically forced out and away from your beloved dorm room, after trapping yourself in it so much (which you had also been planning to do again this weekend). And besides, you knew that Art was going to set you up with a cool guest room, which, although you didn’t want to admit it, would definitely be way nicer than your cramped little single dorm and rock-hard twin bed that you had grown used to. (No hate to the dorm room from this story we still love u queen <333)

Walking through the front door of Art’s house felt like another sigh of relief, a pestering weight being lifted off of your shoulders, even if just for this weekend. Since you traveled with Art you two arrived a little before everyone else, so you two share a bottle over overly-expensive sparkling rosé (that is definitely too fancy to be consumed casually like this, but Art clearly doesn’t care), while the two of you hang around as people start to arrive and leave their stuff in their rooms.

It’s only like 7pm on Friday night when the party has already seemingly started, all of the guests having arrived and just too excited to wait to have fun until later that night. You find yourself more relaxed at this party than at the usual frats, sipping on some other expensive champagne that Art opened for you, actually savoring your countless glasses you’re drinking, instead of your usual chug of overly strong liquor-filled complete mind-escaping drinks. You queue up songs and walk around the ground floor, the kitchen, the living room, and the game room all filled with different groups of tennis kids playing games and hanging out. It feels a lot more low stakes than the usual frat rager, and you enjoy the slight warm and fuzzy feeling you're getting from the alcohol, instead of drinking until you stumble around and your head feels empty. 

You almost get surprised when a song that you’re sure you didn’t mean to queue up, Lover, You Should’ve Come Over by Jeff Buckley, the live from the Cabaret Metro in Chicago version (yes it being this live version is important to me) starts flooding the room. The song is definitely too gut-wrenching to be playing at a college party, you think to yourself, but you also don’t make any effort to skip the song or turn it off anytime soon. Hearing this song blasted over the speakers, surrounding you in its emotion and vulnerability, feels almost like a complete catharsis. And of course, as if in a queue, you spot him across the room…

Patrick. fucking. Zweig.

He looks up at the same time as you, the bridge of the Jeff Buckley song blaring and the timing feels too in point, like some sort of dumb set-up. And you almost want to roll your eyes, but you can’t move your stare away from his eyes, and without even trying you feel like you can read straight through his intense gaze, like you’ve both been hypnotized by each other’s expressions. And as you hold eye contact for far too long to be normal, you see a break in his expression. For a single moment he looks completely fragile, and his walls have broken straight through. And in his eyes, you see a glimmer of sweetness, and even though he’d tried approaching you several times before, he had never looked this lovesick and cute before. And though you’d only met a few times, and you tried to convince yourself you didn’t care, something in you broke down from the way he was looking at you… and for a passing moment, you could read the loneliness behind his expression, and you could feel it tearing him apart too, the same way it did to you. And for the first time you let yourself notice a concealed sadness in his eyes that felt so familiar, a thought crossed your mind that said that somehow, you must have known each other all your lives.

The moment only lasts until you blink, and you realize that you had fully stopped breathing for the past 39 seconds, looking at him. Your mind swells with a hailstorm of countell words, your thoughts connecting and swirling into tornados, and you couldn’t help but just sit there and feel them breaking down your strength and burning doubts through your memories. You felt as old memories started echoing through your body, and your mind was filled with alarms blaring, begging you to not let the past happen again, screaming at you to run or hide.

You tried to pay back attention to the music, which had moved from Jeff Buckley songs and was now playing some old SZA that Art must’ve cued up, and you tried to focus on the music, wishing that it would drown out the noise of the alarms that still tortured you, and your thoughts were so loud you thought they might overflow. Needing to get out, especially before Patrick saw you like this, you rushed over to Art, desperately needing to reach the nearest escape route.

“Hey Art, which guest room is mine?” you ask, trying to press a fake smile on your face, willing your face to look happy, but your voice chokes as you desperately hold into the tears threatening to stream down your cheeks. Everything is too overwhelming for a second, and while you try to focus just on the music, the random groups of friends hanging out around you start to feel like they’re closing in on you, and their drunken giggles and chatter start to sound like they must be talking about you. All of a sudden you feel suffocatingly claustrophobic, and you can’t help but choke on your breathing. Just praying to the tears and sobs you’re clinging onto can stay back for just one more minute, at least until you get to the stairs. 

Art looks over your face, almost worried but trying hard not to press into you and make you feel worse. “The stairs are through there”, he says, gesturing to a hallway on the right, “and your room is the third door on the left. There’s a little sticky note with your name on it up on the door, I put one on yours and Patrick’s rooms to reserve the best rooms for you guys,” he explains, trying to give you a comforting smile, trying to show his understanding without making you feel delicate, even though you look like you could break at any moment. He’s never seen you like this, so opened, and it’s like someone completely tore down the walls and guards you always keep around you. The coldness that usually sits in your eyes is gone, and while you may just look kind of upset to most people, Art can tell how unprotected you feel right now. He nods and guides you over to the hall that leads to the stairs, but he lets you walk up alone so that you don’t have to cry in front of him. Despite his instinct to comfort you, he knows that you want to be alone right now, so he lets you go. 

Your conversation with Art goes mainly unwatched and you sneak out of the party pretty successfully, as you’re finally out of sight from the crowded living room, stepping slowly up the soft beige carpet that drapes over the tall spiral staircase. Once you’re completely hidden from the party, you finally let yourself lose control over your spilling tears and silent sobs, rushing up the stairs and into the room that Art had labeled with your name. The guest room looked regal, an ornate white cabinet standing against the wall and a huge, soft bed sitting in the room, the towering white bed frame adorned with a transparent, light blue canopy that draped over the bed, turning the bed into a fantasy-like cove that looked like it belonged on a cloud, not in a spare bedroom of the Donaldson’s mansion. You somehow don’t even have the energy to change out of your jeans before you flip off the lightswitch and crawl straight into bed, letting yourself get swallowed up into the blankets as your tears and mascara silently stain one of several white pillows stacked around the bed. If you weren’t in the middle of crying you probably would’ve laughed at how extravagant and detailed the Donaldson’s guest rooms are, the whole mansion feeling like it should have been more out of Downton Abbey than the house of Art Donaldson. There were also somehow like 5 other bedrooms scattered around the house, and you didn’t even want to imagine what the rest of them looked like. 

Sniffling, you close your eyes and do your best to breathe, pushing away the thoughts that you feel eating at you, echoing around your mind, waiting for answers- what the fuck happened there with Patrick? You took one good look at him and wanted to cry, like what the fuck. 

The familiarity in his expression is haunting- you’ve spent so much time feeling alone and misunderstood, and you’d just figured that no one would really get how you feel, and that was ok… But he understood it. He understood the loneliness tearing you apart, and maybe somehow he felt it too. But why would some random, rich, popular tennis player kid understand you out of everyone? How could he understand feeling unwanted, when he looked like that? And the memory of his brash, cocky smile makes you want to cry even more, you can’t believe you’re getting attached to someone who clearly wouldn’t care about you. You had tried too hard to push him away, and not let yourself get close to him whenever he came to visit… but something about tonight made you feel completely powerless. What scared you the most was that during all of it, you could feel that all you’d really wanted in that moment was to be wrapped in his arms, and told that everything was ok. You just wanted to feel cared for- you didn’t want to feel the pain by yourself. And feeling like that was genuinely terrifying.

And as much as you hated the truth, you also felt so relieved to admit it. To maybe be ok with it, even though it seemed terrifying to trust someone like that again. But despite how much you hated the truth, it felt freeing to stop forcing yourself to deny it, even if it was just for a moment.

You let yourself sink into sleep, and despite the night being hard, it somehow felt necessary- and while you know that your guard won’t stay down forever, it at least felt good to let yourself past the walls for the first time in a while. 

–

The next day you woke up to an intense beam of sunlight pouring straight through the windows and onto your bed, and the tension that you’d been holding in your body doesn’t feel so tight anymore. 

As you climb out of the sunlit bed and step onto the cold wooden floor, you can’t help but cringe when you realize you slept in yesterday's clothes. And jeans. You really were completely drained, and you must have also been crazy tired yesterday- maybe that’s why everything felt so intense, and your little moment with Patrick was not as terrible as you thought, right?

You changed into a new outfit for the day, fixing your hair and redoing some makeup, and you went down to find an already populated kitchen. You ate breakfast and made small talk with some friendly tennis girls, checked in with Art, and curled up on a couch and read for a couple hours- you tried to not hide in your room, but you definitely were also not going to waste all of your energy before the night even began.

By the time you had gotten up that morning it was already past 10am, and the rest of the day seemed to just breeze past you, as you alternated between reading, hanging out in the backyard with Art and some of his teammates, and you even passed by Patrick a couple of times without psyching yourself out too much.

You were curled up on the couch the first time he walked through the living room, and he smiled at you when you looked up. But the proudness and obnoxious confidence that he usually bared in his smile was absent, his expression just kind of cute and soft, a stark difference from the usual intimidating mask he has on. He ends up just passing through the living room and going to the kitchen, but his smile sticks in your mind for a little longer, your slight surprise as the pure softness of his look still present in the back of your mind even as your mind wanders away from him and back into your reading.

You two pass by each other a couple more times that day, and you notice how even when he greets you in public, his guard falls for just a minute when he looks at you, his loud facade falling just for you. Art clearly notices too, and you can see the amusement on his face whenever Patrick looks over at you, stealing small glances at you when you don’t notice. He’s told both you and Patrick enough about each other that you two don’t seem like strangers despite this being your second time meeting. He can’t help but let out a laugh when he sees the way you look back at Patrick though- your stare back at him is cold, and even though Art knows that you’re not doing it on purpose, you never really smile back- you seem more focused on reading Patrick’s smile than focusing on your own face. And no matter what, you consistently look away from him first, and your cheeks burn a little red every time you look away.

You two continue your silent game for the rest of the day, and you let it happen. Patrick Zweig was pining. 

Even after your constant pushing and pulling, and avoidance, and dismissing of Patrick, he was still there. After fucking months. And for some reason, he understood you. And he fucking waited, he waited for you to open up, and he didn’t even know if you every would. And he cared for who you were. Even when you were really fucking embarrassing. And maybe, possibly, he isn’t just trying to hurt you, and, like, someone could actually care. And you wanted to let him. You did. 

But you stayed quiet.

-

By the time the sun had set, you had decided to accept your fate as completely hopeless. And you were completely exhausted. And you decided that you should just talk to Patrick and tell him it’s over, and you don’t want him. And you knew it would be a blatant lie, and he would know it was a lie, and even fucking Art would know it was a lie, and you didn’t know why you were doing it. 

And you could again feel yourself being ripped to shreds on the inside. And you knew it was your fault, and you were making it happen. And to be honest, all you could think about was how you wished he was holding you. And you wished for things to slow down, and for the constant alarms in your mind to quiet down, and you just wished that everything could just cease to exist for one moment, so maybe for once you could have a break. 

You and Art were the only ones left outside, surrounded in a total silence that was more vulnerable than anything you had ever said to him. And you tried to tell Art about how you really, truly, didn’t want Patrick. But the words just didn’t make sense. How could you end things with someone you had never even started with? How could you even explain to Patrick that, even though you had always rejected him, that you actually wanted him the whole time, and now you don't? And how could you even admit to Patrick that you wanted him in the first place? And how can you explain a feeling this complicated? 

“It’s fucking torture. Even just thinking about him is fucking torture,” you say, your words piercing the silence that had laid so comfortably over you before. 

You watched as Art turned his face, looking at you, but not saying anything.

You let out a shaky breath before continuing, “It’s just… I don’t even know anymore. I don’t understand why I can’t let myself be happy for once. For the first time, I feel like I’m just completely breaking. Like, I can’t protect myself anymore. It’s like I’m fucking killing myself keeping people away, and I feel like it’s what I need to do to protect myself, but I’m fucking dying maintaining this. And I don’t want to be like this. I want to be different.”

And you just… cry. 

And for the first time, you don’t hide, and you don’t try to run away. You sit there, and cry. And you just let it happen. 

You look over at Art and break a small smile- “Can we watch a movie?” You ask, your voice still a little shaky.

And, of course, Art grins and nods- “Yeah. of course. We can go to the little lounge upstairs,” he says, getting up alongside you as you both walk indoors.

Just like last night, the entire ground floor of Art’s house is filled with the tennis kids partying. But you don’t spot Patrick anywhere as you and Art cross through the living room and reach the stairs, and as you climb up, Art breaks the silence. 

“Patrick’s probably in his room,” Art says, looking straight at you, practically having read your mind.

You roll your eyes and let yourself smile, softly responding, “could you maybe invite him?”

Art nods, pointing to the TV lounge room, saying “there’s the lounge room. I’ll ask Patrick. Meet you there,”

The wooden floor planks make a slight creaking noise as you walk down the hallway, entering the little room that Art had pointed to. It’s just a little lounge room, with a sofa and an armchair facing a tv. You pick up the remote and start fiddling with it, sitting down on the big couch, sinking into the cushions. Your heart rate goes up a little as you hear footsteps coming near the door, and Patrick walks into the room, followed by a grinning Art. Patrick sits on the other side of the small couch, while Art snatches the remote from you and claims the armchair. 

“Any requests?” Art asks, flipping through the different streaming options. Neither you nor Patrick answer, so Art ends up flipping through the options before picking some random, terrible looking horror movie off Netflix. He turns off the room lights as the movie plays, and you curl into the couch. You can’t help but look over at Patrick, watching him stare at the screen, clearly deep in thought. 

You watch Patrick for a long moment, and although you can feels the alarms in your head waiting to go off, you just stay still. And you feel scared for a second, realizing just how unguarded you feel, and how easily you could just fall into Patrick’s hold. 

And for the second time that night, you cry. The tears stream silently down your face, and Patrick looks over as you wipe them off. And you just cry. You cry because you’re lonely, and you cry because it hurts that you just want to feel cared for so bad. And you cry because you wish you could’ve told Patrick or Art about your family, and you hate that you feel so damaged. You cry because you hate how Patrick and Art understand you so well, and you cry because you know that Patrick understands you because he feels it too. And you cry because you hate how much you’ve resisted Patrick, and that you didn’t let yourself even talk to him. And you cry because you regret pushing Patrick away so much, and you cry because you watched him open up for you, and you couldn’t do it for him. And you cry because you miss the way he touched you on that first night you met, and you cry because you feel dumb for crying.

And Patrick can’t help but just look over at you, your knees curled into your chest as you cry. And he doesn’t know what you’d want him to do. He’s never seen you cry like this, and he can tell how much it hurts to cry in front of him. “Hey,” he whispers, looking over at you, your face tucked into your knees, and for the first time, you seem so small. His gaze softens when you look up at him, letting him see your tear-stained face. And in that moment, the couch seems so big yet so small, and he just wants to hold you.

And Patrick can see Art out of the corner of his eye, observing the scene. And Art almost looks frozen in awe, looking at how his best friend looks at you, and how you look back at him. 

You and Patrick look at each other for a beat, when Patrick almost inaudibly whispers, “can I come closer?”

You nod, letting go of your knees pressed against your chest, and move closer to Patrick. And you can't help but meet his gaze again, as he leans in and scoops you up into his lap. And you’re curled up against him, your head his chest, as he wraps his arms around you and just holds you there. Patrick looks over to Art, who is now watching the movie intently, as he glances down at you, trying to make sure that you’re ok.

Art looks over at you two and can’t help but smile at the scene, seeing both Patrick’s tough act and your cold defenses just completely let down. But it’s really late, and he quietly gets up, whispering to both of you that he’s going to sleep and good night.

And wrapped up in Patrick’s arms, you let your eyes close and you nuzzle your face into the crook of his shoulder. And he holds you tighter. Patrick leaves a kiss on the top of your head, as you whisper, “Can we lie down? I’m tired”

Still refusing to let go of you, Patrick adjusts to lay across the couch, and you lay over him, as he holds you flush against his chest. As his arms wrap around you, he rubs circles across your back with one of his hands, and holds you tightly against the other. 

And you feel safe in his arms. And as you drift off to sleep, you feel that maybe, from now on, you won’t have to go through everything by yourself.

[planetpedri]

this is gonna make me sob into my pillow but #2 angst thingy with pedri 😣😣😣😣😣😣😣😣

Peace — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Breaking up after a a three year long relationship had hurt you tremendously, but when Pedri had texted you that he got injured and wanted you to come to the hospital… well you couldn’t say no.

Word count: 1.47k+

Disclaimer/s: Based off the prompt ‘Hold me, please?’ , angst to comfort / fluff.

A/N: hi im on an angst kick don’t expect much happiness coming out of bea’s blog.

You reread and reread Pedri’s text. Over and over and.. you get the gist. You couldn’t help the pity that built in your heart, but you also couldn’t help the anger that arose along with it.

It had only been a week, for God’s sake. You’d broken up a week ago and the wound was still fresh. Angry thoughts clouded your mind the whole drive to the hospital, all the way up the elevator, to the door, but the second it opened and your eyes landed on the man you had folded.

Every rage filled feeling disappeared, replaced by the overwhelming urge to comfort him. You hold back, cautiously poking your head through the door. “Uh, can I come in?”

At one side of the bed was Pedri’s mother, only furthering to the awkwardness of it all. Seeing your ex and his mother a week after you’d broken up was not something you imagined happening, yet, here you were.

María stood, her eyes darting between her son and the woman she’d grown to adore so dearly. She had to fight the smirk threatening her lips when she saw the tension in her son’s shoulders depleting.

“I’m going to the cafeteria to find your father.” She says, patting Pedri’s head, “it’s nice to see you again.” She offers you a kind smile before rushing out of the room.

“You too..” You begin, but she was already long gone. Left alone in the depressing hospital room, you find your gaze drifting to his leg. “Jesus..” You mumble.

Pedri doesn’t say anything, simply letting out a quiet hum of acknowledgment. He watches you carefully as you make your way to the side of his bed.

“I don’t.. I don’t really know what to, uhm—“ You were grasping at straws for something to say. Nothing came to mind, causing a flush to spread across your cheeks along with a nervous laugh.

The tan man couldn’t help the way his eyes softened and the small, barely noticeable smile of his lips. He’d missed you. Everything about you, he had missed. The breakup of course, was his fault. He been so stressed with football that he’d taken it out on you, saying things he didn’t mean but couldn’t take back.

“You don’t have to say anything.” He speaks, wearily. He wanted so badly for you to just look at him, he didn’t blame you for avoiding it, though.

“I feel like I probably should, I mean.. this is..” You were once again, at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry, this sucks.” Pathetic. That was pathetic.

Pedri was unfortunately, very injury prone. You’d been in this position many times, but this was different. You couldn’t rush to his side, you couldn’t shower him in apologetic kisses, you couldn’t do the things you used to. And those were the only ways you knew how to comfort him.

Your legs brushed against the hospital bedsheets, when you remember. “Oh! Shit, I almost forgot, I set them down outside the door because I wasn’t sure if they would be appropriate right now.. Wait, I’ll be right back.” And just like that, you were gone, leaving Pedri completely and utterly confused.

When you returned, you had a blanket and, what you’d called the ‘designated hospital hoodie’ in your hands. He recognized them instantly. Your favorite hoodie of his, and the blanket you’d used specifically on the nights he’d stay over and the two of you would fall asleep on the couch.

“I figured it would get cold in here, it always does.” You gingerly hand him the items, freezing when his fingers brushed against yours.

Pedri froze as well, his eyes snapping up to you. “Sorry, uhm, thank you. Seriously.”

“It’s no problem.” You cough, “so! How are you? How bad is it?”

Shaking his head with a tired sigh, Pedri winced as he scoots over on the bed, his jaw clenching as he does. “Joder. [fuck] ” He hisses in Spanish, taking a second to speak again, “you can.. sit down y’know?”

Hesitantly sitting onto the uncomfortable mattress, your eyebrows furrow, “you shouldn’t be moving so much.” You scold, easily slipping back into your old concerned girlfriend mode. “How many times do I have to remind you there are plenty of chairs I can sit on?”

“And how many times do I have to remind you, that I prefer you closer?” He rebutted, the both of you pausing when you realize you weren’t allowed to do this back and forth anything.

But, you shrug the feeling off. Despite how things had ended, you loved Pedri. You cared for him. He was hurting, and you were not about to make him hurt any more by opening up the wounds that were still fresh.

“Well, your comfort is a bit more important than your wants.” You crack a small grin, “how did surgery go?”

Pedri huffs through a painful exhale. “I don’t want to talk about medical shit anymore. I’ve had to deal with my families badgering all day…” He hesitates before continuing, “I know this is overstepping, but could you just.. lay down? You don’t have—“

“I’d lay down if you weren’t hogging all the pillows.” You tease, “move your big head.” Shifting around to a sitting position beside him, you wiggle around till the thin blankets were out from under you and on top of you.

He laughs, the sound sweet and welcoming to your ears. You turn your head to the side, meeting his eyes directly for the first time since you stepped into the room. “This is only mildly weird.”

“Yeah.” He agrees, taking the blanket you’d brought and spreading it out over the two of you. “Another boundary crossing question…?”

“I don’t see why not.” You swallow, not knowing what was about to come out of your ex’s mouth.

“Hold me?” He asks with the saddest eyes, “please?”

Listen, you were no fool. You knew your actions would have consequences. This simple act was going to either lead to your heart breaking even more, or potentially causing you to go against your morals and allow forgiveness.

You couldn’t get yourself to speak, instead, you lift your arm to wrap around the back of his neck and your hand came up to rest on his head. Pedri automatically relaxes against your shoulder, letting out a long breath of relief.

You stay like that for a while, your fingers threading through his soft hair while the other hand occupied on his cheek, it’s fingers rubbing smoothly back and forth along his cheekbone. It had always been the way you calmed him down when he was upset. The familiarity tugged at your heart strings and in that moment you didn’t care how badly this was going to hurt you, you only cared it would make him feel better.

Plus, he always told you how much peace he felt when he was in your arms, and thats all you wanted him to feel in the moment.

“Pedri?” You quietly beckon him to look at you, which he does. His eyes fluttered open and a small hum leaves his lips. “You know I can’t stay..”

He tries to hide his disappointment, but you knew him too well. “I understand. Sorry, I shouldn’t have even asked you to come, I know I hurt you.”

“Hurt is one way to put it.” You quirk an eyebrow, hiding the genuine words behind a teasing grin.

His eyes flicker around your face, noticing every crack in your expression. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean the things I said. I can do better, I will.”

“That’s not enough. The things you said.. Pedri, I can’t just forget them.” Exasperated and ready for the conversation to end, you tap his head. “Just lay back down.”

Pedri shakes his head, “no, we need to talk—I need to talk about this! I don’t want you to forget, just hold me accountable and give me another chance.” His tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “Please, cariño.”

That stupid, stupid, stupid pet name. The only one you ever really loved when it left his lips.

“Can we talk about this when you’re not suffering from an injury? Like, what, two months? When your head is clear, and i’ve had time to get over what you said.. you call me. Then, we can talk about it.” You push his head back onto your shoulder and rest yours against his hair.

“Okay. Two months?” Pedri’s hand that had wrapped around your waist, dips under your shirt, rubbing slow circles. “I can do that.”

Pressing a short kiss to his hair, you hum. “I’ll leave when your mom comes back. Don’t text me or contact me till those two months are up, got it?”

Pedri groaned, “nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes.

likes , comments , and reblog’s are all appreciated. lmk if you’d like to be tagged in any pedri posts.

DTS , @halfwayhearted @sakashq @hrts4havertz @joaoflms @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to !

[millersfinest]

can u make some like generic dating ellie headcannons? (tlou universe preferably)

i love ur writing sm!!

dating ellie williams ��̈

cw: usual fluff, mentioned love languages, mention of joel’s death (i wanted to be as canon as possible), a little nsfw but nothing too crazy.

note: here are some semi-ooc ellie hc’s!! i feel like im so bad at headcanons, but here you go. thank you for enjoying my work, i hope you like this too pookie!

ellie! is a total introvert to her core, so no matter how she found out about you taking interest in her… she’d probably need some time to think about it.

ellie! would have you freaking tf out over it too. but she means well, she’s just a really bad over-thinker—never wanting to say the wrong thing. but she’d come around and never stop apologizing to you.

ellie! would take a little while to open up to you, if you weren’t friends first. she’s been through a lot in her life, and she fears that her trauma could scare people away.

now, if you were already friends (specifically close friends), you probably would’ve already known her deepest darkest secrets and feelings by the time you started dating. every traumatic event and every fixation she’s had since she was a child.

ellie! thoroughly believes in physical touch and quality time as a love language.

for physical touch: it doesn’t always have to be sexual (she doesn’t complain either way), she just likes to touch you—knowing you’re right there next to her. you could be doing the dishes and she’d come up behind you, leaning her head on your shoulder, with her hands delicately placed on your hips. or standing by the bar at the tipsy bison, with her fingers dipped into any of the pockets of your jeans. keeping you close.

for quality time: she does love her moments alone, but they’re always better with you somewhere near by. sometimes, when she would spend hours painting or drawing in her art room, she’d ask if you could come sit in. so you’d bring your book, or whatever you were doing, and read silently in the same room as her. while a smooth record played in the background. but sometimes, she doesn’t even ask. you could be doing the most boring thing ever, and she’d float around you like a curious bumblebee.

ellie! love, love, loves being babied—even though she’d never admit it. she has a reputation to uphold, of course. during the spring, due to the patrols and supply runs, her allergies would wreck havoc on her. that’s where you come in to nurture her back to health. she’d have tissue stuck up her nose, with her head lying in your lap on the couch. you rubbing your hand over her hair, soothingly.

“if you kiss me right now, i think my sinuses will re-open.”

“ellie, you just sneezed two minutes ago.”

“baby, pleaseeeee! i need it!” and she’d give the craziest puppy dog eyes known to man. and, of course, you’d give in. giving her the sweetest smooch ever. it didn’t open her sinuses, but she knew that. just know… she’s gonna convince you to give her another to be sure.

another scenario would be coming home after a long day at work (idk i feel like doing patrols would be like her main thing). she probably had a rough day with the lingering infected, and came back with a few injuries. the moment she stepped through the door, she’d be calling for you. wrapped in your arms, smelling like the outdoors, you’d slowly undress her and then run a bath. she loved when you’d cater to her in that way—cleaning her cuts, washing her skin from dried blood and dirt. after all that, you’d cuddle in bed, pillow-talking until her eyes shut before yours.

“goodnight, els.” smooch.

ellie! was a little iffy when it came to holidays, but when it came to your birthday it was a special affair. jackson was a healthy and happy little bubble, but because the idea of loss wasn’t foreign to her—celebrating her loved ones was very important to her.

if you didn’t like grand gestures, she’d keep it lowkey. maybe throwing a little surprise for the two of you at home; cooking you dinner, having a movie night, and giving you little trinkets she found on the road. or painting something for you in secret, then giving it to you as a gift.

speaking of cooking…

ellie! has thing for making good food. a part of me feels like joel put her on when she was young, and after he died (yeah, i’m sorry) she made an effort to keep it up. playing guitar was much harder for her since she only had two fingers and a thumb on her left hand—so she decided to pick up something else to stay close to him.

so every chance she can get, she cooks for you or both of you. when you would go on patrols, you’d make sure to pick up cook books from before the outbreak since she found them so fascinating. and you loved being her little food guinea pig. spoiler: she was a fast learner so her cooking skills were pretty good.

ellie! 100% taught you to play the song (that we all know and love) that joel taught her on the guitar. and whenever you knew she needed to hear it, you’d play it for her. and, i swear on everything, there’d be tears in her eyes every time.

and for some freaky stuff… (i won’t get into crazy detail but i just wanna be thorough ;D)

ellie! just loves loving you… making love to you—doing everything that she can to almost prove that you’re everything to her (not that she needs to but she does it anyway).

meaning: at the very best, she’s a service!top. however, i can get behind her being a switch/verse (or maybe i’m bias lmao).

ellie! probably wouldn’t strap as often as the fanfics show. especially being in this apocalyptic world—where would you get them?? if they weren’t hella old… and, i feel like she’d think they were a little silly (but if you wanted to try it, she’d oblige because what you say goes).

ellie! loves to watch the expressions of your features contort into visuals of pleasure. it’s how she knew she was being good for you—doing everything that you asked but better!

your first time: of course she was super awkward. not really knowing where to put her hands at first. but once the heat began to rise, and your bodies began to press together, her entire energy changed! she’s her most confident when she’s in service to someone (in some way)—so she makes it her prerogative to make you feel good and comfortable. you weren’t really expecting that from her, though. it only took one airy moan coming from your lips for her to completely flip the script.

her hands were firmly delicate, and she made sure to be very vocal in your ears and over your body.

overall, ellie williams is a very attentive lover. in many ways than just one.

[buckysfaveplum]

doomsday

summary: missions don't always go according to plan, sometimes you lose people- that's the job. bucky told you that himself.

pairing: bucky barnes x female reader

word count: 3k

warnings: violence, character death, um yea this one's sad. OH and Steve is dead in this (I mean he was like 90 something in endgame...)

a/n: GUYS omg i missed youuu i hope you remember me. its been like almost two years? i moved to ireland and started grad school! things are different. buttt here’s a new fic cause i’m back!!! ANGST omg im sorryyyy.... idk I wanted to right something that hurt okay okay bye (:

masterlist | send requests

You hated funerals. 

The suffocating smell of formaldehyde and roses wafted through the wake hall. The sounds of distant friends and relatives feigning grief, playing up small interactions with the deceased as more than just pleasantries while siblings and best friends' voices seem to be gone with a lack of words to express their suffering. The stale cookies and donuts in the hall, as if someone’s lover isn’t lying in a casket 50 feet away. All wrapped up in black dresses, suits, and handkerchiefs.

You hated funerals.

Today was no exception. An agent lost on a routine mission in Guam, taking out an arms dealer terrorizing a village. There were loose connections to Hydra, but just petty violence and shootouts for nothing. It shouldn’t have resulted in the loss of an agent. But sometimes things go wrong. A gun barrel stalls, someone trips, a civilian happens to be in the way. Sometimes people die. That’s how you ended up here.

Sarah was a good agent, a great one. She was top of her class at Westpoint, went straight to the FBI, and was recruited into SHIELD- all before 30. She was good- too good for a slip-up like this.

As speeches wrapped up, family and friends began to say their goodbyes. A line formed at the casket as people poured their hearts out for the redhead you once called a friend. You waited patiently at the back, making sure you were one of the last. You always did. Maybe out of respect, perhaps guilt? Who knows. You always felt guilt, even if there was nothing to be done. There was guilt.

Finally, as the small crowd left the room, flooding into the hall outside, you made your way to the front. Laid out before you, Sarah’s curly and wild hair was in two thick braids on each side of her head, a blue dress covering her as well as a soft cream cardigan. She looked beautiful and peaceful. But she was dead. Your friend was dead. No makeup or pretty clothes would lessen that blow. The plush velvet of the casket seemed to soften the prison that her body would rest in. At every funeral, you were reminded of how you wished to be cremated.

“I’ve never seen her hair so flat,” you turned to see Bucky standing beside you.

“You know, even wet her hair always seemed to spring up. Had a mind of its own,” you said, your gaze resting on him.

He was clad in a simple black suit, an older set you’d gotten him at a vintage shop. Something familiar. A simple cream button-down, no tie. It was simple, but that was him. What was most striking though was his serene demeanor. It never seemed to settle with you how unaffected by death he was. How easily he was able to gather himself and keep going. You couldn’t blame him though, 90 years of pain, death, torture, and violence will do that to you. You’d only seen him torn up once. And it was beyond devastating. Steve. “You okay, kid?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

He was your partner, in every sense of the word. In the field, as a friend, in life. He was everything. Your taut shoulders melted under the firm comfort of his vibranium arm. You could rest in its embrace a thousand times and never cease to crave its solace when away. He was your rock through every debriefing, call to family, black dress, and smeared mascara. Who knows what you would be without him?

You rested your head on his chest, breathing in the potent smell of his old cologne and something that was distinctly Bucky. 

“I hate funerals.”

——

“Do you ever think about dying?”

Bucky’s grip on you tightened slightly at your words. Wrapped in the soft linen of your duvet and the sunlight streaming in through your windows, his body lay around yours. His short choppy locks were tousled fresh from his slumber. The previous night’s sleep had yet to let go of his consciousness fully, still cozy and relaxed in your shared bed. His vibranium fingers continued to play with your hair as he considered your question.

“Not anymore,” he said.

Your face scrunched in confusion at his words. Your fingers traced gently over the thick scars on his left shoulder. They mangled and twisted, sprouting in angry red from the line where his skin met vibranium. Shuri had done her best to soften the tissue when replacing his arm, but only so much could be done.

“I did a lot when I was first drafted. I was scared of it then. And in those early days under Hydra. It was all-consuming. But at some point, I wasn’t scared of it, I embraced it- prayed for it,” your fingers froze at his words. It was nothing new to you, you had spent countless late nights and early mornings recounting the abuse of his days as the Winter Soldier. But hearing him say flat out how he wished to die. That was jarring. “After the Blip, I’ve just become a bit numb to it. I don’t really think about it if that makes sense. It could always happen.”

His hands danced down your spine as if his words were simple.

“You expect it?” You asked, propping yourself up on your elbow.

“It’s the job, Y/N. It comes with the territory. Sometimes you lose people. And it could always be you,” he said, giving you a soft look. “You know that, doll”.

“I just, I don’t expect it in the field you know?” you relaxed a bit, regretting the subject you forced upon him.

“Hey, maybe that wasn’t the best way to put it,” he said, giving you a ginger smile as he leaned close and cupped your cheeks in his hands. “Death has just followed me for a long time, doll. I mean I’m a 106. I’m just not scared of it anymore.”

You tucked yourself into his chest, his words soothing the fears swirling in your mind. You knew the job was dangerous. That any mission could be the last. You just hoped it would never be him.

“Why do you always pick the heaviest topics of discussion early in the morning?” he asked, his voice still groggy from sleep. He smiled as you chuckled against his chest. 

“Probably cause I’m hungry, Plum,” you said, turning to lay on your back as you smiled up at him. 

“Yea? What could we do about that, huh?” that devilish smirk of his could stop your heart anytime and you’d be grateful. “Pancakes? Clinton St?” 

You nodded eagerly at his suggestion before taking his hand and slipping from the bed.

——

The rumbling of the quinjet shot up your spine. Sam and Bucky’s relentless bickering filled the steel jet as you came closer to your destination. Your gloved hands worked at strapping your knives to your thighs as they quarreled over how best to stain wooden beams in Sam’s living room during your and Bucky’s next trip down to Louisiana.

“No! NO! Buck, that stain doesn’t go with the accent wood in the kitchen! I already told you,” Sam said as he fixed his shield to his back. You chuckled as you walked over to them. Your backup squad, full of agents fresh from SWORD’s training academy, snickered at the two men as Bucky rolled his eyes.

“The beams are in your living room, what does it matter?” He said. 

“I wouldn’t take any interior design advice from him, he wanted a purple couch in our living room,” you said, wrapping your arms around Bucky’s waist. Sam laughed as he turned to grab the mission report. The jet was drawing close, entering stealth mode and preparing for landing.

“It was a plum color,” Bucky grumbled, nuzzling his face into your hair. 

“Okay team, huddle up!” Sam said. “This is just a simple in and out. We gotta get these hostages out safely so no risky moves- I’m lookin’ at you, Buck.”

Bucky threw his hand up in defeat, scoffing jokingly under his breath. 

“I’ll swoop through and scout entrances, Squad Two you’ll be with me for direct combat. We’re clearing out the building. Squad One, you’ll be with Y/N and Bucky, you’re getting those hostages out. You bring them straight back here, got it? There’s four so it shouldn’t be too strenuous,” he said, closing up his report before slipping on his cowl. “Alright team, let’s show ‘em what we got.”

——

Fluorescent red light filtered across your face as you slipped through the hallways. Half the squad led ahead of you, banging on doors in search of the hostages. Bucky hung close behind you, the rest of your squad keeping your entrance open for your escape. His hand rested on the gun strapped to his hip as he kept an eye on your blind spots.

Watching your back on the field was second nature to him. Protecting you, be it on the subway or in an active battle zone, was something he felt born to do. A reason to survive all those years under Hydra.

After several doors, your team stopped; having heard the pleas for help on the other end of the steel doors, they backed up to allow room for an agent to blast the lock. You stumbled back into Bucky, tripping on your own feet. His arms caught you before you could even glance at the floor. You felt his fingers gripping your hips and fidgeting with the straps on your thighs as you straighten.

“Some reflexes you got,” you whispered to him.

“Can’t let my babydoll fall,” he said, kissing the back of your head before his focus shifted back to the lock, now falling to the floor.

The agents flooded into the room, pulling hostages out and bringing them back into the hall. As they streamed out, you realized something was wrong. You only counted 3.

“Where’s the fourth hostage?” you asked. 

Bucky commed Sam, hoping he’d scanned the place and found a lead. As he spoke, you gathered the agents, giving them an order. Lead them through the building, get out to the other half of the squad, and get them into the jet. You’d meet them on the other side. You and Bucky would find the last hostage. The agents fled, leaving you and Bucky alone in the dark hallway. 

“Where are they?” you asked. Bucky sighed, as he grabbed a knife from his hip.

“In the lab in the basement, must’ve been the first to get taken,” he said.

The hostages weren’t nobodies. Prisoners were taken from SWORD on a mission to squash a newly established radical group. A group that seemed to resonate with the ideas of Hydra. This mission was all too familiar to Bucky, and all the more upsetting. You gave his free hand a firm squeeze before you turned and bolted to the lab.

You could feel the heaviness of the lab as soon as you entered the basement. The looming presence of the sterile room filled the hallways as you stalked toward it. Bucky was unusually quiet as he covered you from behind. You knew this was triggering, it had to be. He would always tell you he was beyond triggered episodes, having gotten a firm grasp on his PTSD. But you knew better. The subtle tremor in his brow told you so.

As you reached the eerie room, you stilled. Bucky came up behind you, resting a hand on your waist as you assessed the space. Metal shelves lined the walls full of jars, syringes, and test tubes. Sleek steel tables with rags soaked in blood, white grimy cabinets full of scalpels and needles, and an operating table at the center. The floors were coated in grot, each crack in the tile stained brown. Your mind couldn’t help but wonder if this condition was what Bucky was used to for all those decades.

Realizing the area was clear, you entered. Quickly, you spotted the hostage. Strapped to a chair in the corner with an IV jabbed into his arm. Bucky squeezed your arm as he headed over, slipping his knife back on his hip. 

You felt a pit growing in your stomach. You pulled your gun gently. This hostage didn’t look familiar, you thought Sam said he was a brunette, not blonde.

Bucky began to break the straps holding the man down. Slipping the IV gently from his arms, Bucky eased him up into a sitting position. He spoke to the man calmly, explaining to him who you were and that he was here to get him out. He seemed off, but Bucky just assumed it was the experimentation. He was wrong.

“Do you know who we are?” Bucky asked, helping the man up.

“I know who you are, Soldat,” the man said.

A chill ran through your legs, almost toppling you over. You reached for your gun, but the man was quicker. He was able to log four bullets into Bucky’s chest before you could get one in his skull. 

Shots rang out in the room, flooding your ears. As soon as you pulled the trigger, the man fell to the ground. Your bullet nestled into the side of his head. Your hands were shaky as the gun fell from your grasp, clattering across the floor and sending echoes through the rotting room. Of course it was a trap. The rubber of your boots squeaked as you sprinted your way over to your lover. He stumbled back against the filthy wall, his hands pressing firmly on the holes scattered across his chest.

As soon as you reached him, his legs seemed to give out. Everything in you tried to keep him up, your hands gripping the straps of his suit to keep him from surrendering to the floor. But he was too heavy. You followed him down, gathering him in your arms and holding him close. His breathing was labored and rough. Squeaks and coughs escaping from his punctured lungs haunted your ears, taunting you as you desperately tried to get him to stand.

“Baby, baby come on… you gotta get up, love,” you said, pulling him as you tried to get his attention.

His eyes were fixed on the mess in his chest. Blood bloomed across the fabric of his blue suit like a watercolor painting. His hands slipped from their place over the wounds and grasped yours. 

“Y/N…” he said. You froze at his voice. It was weak and unsteady. His grip on your hand was tight, too tight. He was always so gentle with you. As if you were glass under his hands and he was afraid you cracked. Now, he gripped you so hard you were afraid your bones would fracture.

“Bucky, you gotta get up. You’re gonna be okay,” you said as you tried to stay calm, but your voice failed you. You commed Sam, “Sam, Sam! Bucky’s down, I need help please!” 

You tried your best to stop the bleeding, tearing fabric from your pants to stuff the wound and slow the blood. But it didn’t seem to help. Bucky’s vibranium hand rose to your cheek, holding you steady. You mumbled to yourself, beginning to panic as blood spilled onto your hand; it stained the groves in your knuckles and cakes in your fingertips. Bucky’s coughing finally brought you out of your spiral. Blood began to trickle from his mouth.

“Doll…I can’t- I can’t breathe,” he said, his voice hoarse from the blood filling his throat.

“Bucky, hang on for me okay, please,” you said, your hands grasping his face and pulling yourself closer. You pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. When you pulled back, you could see it in his eyes.

“Y/N, I’m scared…” you felt bile rise in your throat at his words. The reality of the situation began to set in. Sam’s glitchy voice rang through your coms but you barely registered it.

“You’re okay, plum. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re gonna be okay,” you said. Your voice was frantic and distraught. The need to reassure him he would make it was overwhelming. But was it for him or you? Perhaps if you kept repeating it, doomsday would stay at bay.

His hands returned to yours, grabbing them and pulling you close as another cough racked his body. Blood speckled across your hands. You were white in the face, all the color drained.

“I…I love you, kid,” he said, his grip loosening. 

“No, baby, you’re gonna be okay. Sam’s on the way, it’s-”

“Y/N, I love you,” your hands gripped his tighter, wishing the firm hold he had minutes ago would return as his hands became limp in yours.

“… I love you, Buck,” you said softly, resting your forehead on his.

You pulled him close, kissing his lips one last time. You felt his breathing slow, his lips still. You didn’t pull back, you couldn’t. You knew what would await. A thick sob slipped through your chest. 

You tucked yourself further into his body, pulling him close and wrapping your arms around him. His head rested tucked into the crook of your neck, your hand tangled into his hair. You closed your eyes as you pressed your face into his hair, your free hand stroking his back and you rocked his now limp body. And you waited for Sam.

——

The smell of formaldehyde was the same, but no roses- Bucky preferred lilacs. You didn’t want the standard service, but SWORD insisted. No speeches, except for the pastor leading the service. You didn’t want any speeches, you knew Bucky would agree. 

You sat in the back, behind the small crowd of agents, friends, and the team you had come to consider family. Sam kept looking over his shoulder, keeping an arm behind him and resting on your knee. Perhaps he was trying to stop its shaking through the service or just to bring you comfort.

The service was simple, it was quiet. It was small. But it didn’t change anything. 

You hated funerals.

**taglist has been reset! let me know if you'd like to be added**

[starfxkrinc]

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jj said you spooked him sometimes. not ever on purpose, but you were so quiet. moving around the house swiftly on the tips of your toes to the point he never heard you coming.

“keep spookin the shit outta me and im gettin you a bell.” he laughed when he said it, pinching your cheek with a goofy grin before we turned back to the table he was setting up. so you didn’t think twice about it, not when he jumped out of his skin when you brushed past him in the kitchen or when he let out a yelp when you appeared in his vision as he worked on your car.

but you could sense his growing frustrating—his laughs turned to scoffs and his smile was tight when you gave a half hearted apology. it wasn’t your fault, you’d always been quiet.

you guess the last straw was the other night. jj woke up at 2am to you not in bed, so he searched for you, you weren’t in the bathroom and you weren’t in the kitchen, chugging a jug of strawberry milk. his heart raced, you had to be there somewhere and it wasn’t like you to disappear like this. by the time he checked outside to still not get a glimpse of you he was panicking and breathing so hard his vision tunneled.

only for him to let out a loud “fuck!” when he got back to your room and there you were, buried under the pillow, asleep again. the next morning you told him you walked right behind him, standing in the doorway and you figured he just needed fresh air.

it took him an hour to settle his heartrate enough to sleep. and in that hour he made a decision.

jj had to get it right, so he snatched one of your necklaces off the counter, tucking it in his pocket as he made his way to the general pet store, nose crinkling at the familiar pet smell. it didn’t take him long, finding a collar with a little bell on it, small enough to sit in the base of your throat, the actual collar was just big enough to be comfortable.

when he took it to the cashier, she made a comment, “didn’t know you got a cat jj. i always took you for a dog guy.”

jj shrugged, “little bitch snuck up on me what can i say.” and with a pop of his gum the conversation was over. he ignored how uncomfortable she looked after that.

getting you in it was another story—he looked too smug, hovering over where you sat on the couch reading.

“got you something.”

you eyed him warily, “got me what…”

he produced the offending item from his pocket, and your stomach churned as hill smile got wider.

“so you stop creepin around the house like some…creep.”

“no…no i dont wanna wear it.” you shook your head fast, your body tensing up to bolt, “jj you’re a dick this ain’t funny.”

“who’s laughin?”

you make it about 3 strides before he catches you, knocking you to the ground and locking your hands to your sides with his knees as you both struggle.

“c’mon, stop fightin you know i’ma win, just relax and let me. put it. on!”

you were wild—biting and scratching in an attempt to push him away, but he’s gotten stronger and he’s gotten meaner so all it takes is a palm against your face, pressing you hard into the floor for him to get it on you.

“fuck! bit the fuck outta me damn, i’m just tryna make shit easy on both of us.” jj bends the plastic of the fastener, knowing the second he gives you an inch you’ll rush to take it off.

and you do, tears of anger and frustration sliding down your face as you beg him to let you go, “just take it off please, i wasn’t trying to worry you i promise but i can’t walk around like this.”

jj’s flushed red, his face damp and sweaty with welts rising on his cheek and arm from where you scratched him, “tough titty kid, it’s for your own good.”

in a split second you go from begging to anger, cursing and swinging on him again.

“you’re a fucking piece of shit. fucking scumbag i’m not a goddamn animal i should kick your fuckin ass.”

rolling his eyes he gets up and shrugs, “you can try. at least this time i’ll hear you.”

after that you become real ornery, dodging kisses and sticking pillows between you while you slept to keep him away. jj could hear you all the time now—a soft jingle punctuated by a growl of frustration or a series of manic curses. and he looked pleased. of course he did. because he found a way to get over on you. and the scissors couldn’t cut through the thick fabric of the collar and when he caught you with the knife to your neck trying to saw it off he basically attached his carabiner to your belt loops to keep you close.

you were officially collared and leashed.

and jj could only stand the fighting so long.

“i know you’re mad at me, but you can’t stay mad.” jj muttered in between kisses to your face, his calloused hand cradling the other one to keep you close—this was as close as you’ve let him get in days, and it was only because he caught you after a shower all soft and languid. he knew he was playing a dangerous game letting his thumb rub against your bottom lip.

“fuckin watch me—stop!” he bit you. hard. right on the soft apple of your cheek before soothing it with a gentle suck.

“nope, no ya can’t. you don’t get to.” the kisses get lower, trailing down your neck as he slips his thumb in your mouth, “you’re all mine pussycat, i can do what i want.” he punctuates that with another bite, right to your clavicle and he continues to litter you in bites and harsh sucking kisses until your covered in bruises.

that makes you bristle, "no i'm not."

"no?"

"fuck you, i'm not."

gripping your thighs he pulls you closer, and he smirks when he spreads you open. even in the low light he can see the dewy pout of your cunt.

"right."

you barely even fight when he pushes in, all rough and claiming like he has something to prove. maybe he does. because your squeezed tight around him in a way that makes him feel crazy, like you don't wanna let him go. because he's just as much yours as you are his. because you're just as desperate as he is. you missed him. kissing him with sharp teeth and clawing him closer until your pressed so tight you can't tell you you end and he begins.

the room quickly becomes a cacophony of sex-- filled with the wet squelch of your pussy and strangled moans from the back of jj's throat. even when he presses against your stomach to make you whine, even as he grunts into your neck with his teeth bared and his tongue laving over your throbbing pulse point.

nothing's louder than the little bell jingling at the hollow of your throat.

[silaslich]

May I make a request for a sequel to "In A Grave so we feel safe"? Something about it scratches an itch in my brain just right. Idk why, I think I just like it when you make 'im mean. 🫣🫣

Our skin starts to rot

Simon “Ghost” Riley x afab!reader

Summary - following from this. Simon hangs around despite the way he treats you like he can’t stand you. The feeling is mutual- to a point.

Wc - 3.8k

Cw - 18+, MDNI, GHOST IS NOT NICE, reader also is not nice, vomiting/purging, referenced/implied drug+alcohol abuse, coercive behaviour, mention of past trauma, smut, fingering, oral (r!receiving), kinda better dynamic toward the end but not really

Your fingernails scrape harshly over the roof of your mouth, and when you look into the bowl of the toilet- you see red.

You gather what’s left of the bile and blood in your mouth with your tongue and spit. Wanting rid of it. Needing to be rid of every last bit of it. All the shame and the guilt and the anxiety, it’s all churned up in your stomach, bought back up with whatever you’d managed to eat last night. Tears sting your eyes from the force and effort of purging, your spine bowed as you grip the white porcelain. Everything hurts. Your body aches. There’s a headache that is pounding like a drum behind your eyes.

The weight of his stare falls over you and so does the shame. You hear him sneer.

“You’re not pregnant are you?” He doesn’t sound as concerned as he should be considering the subject of his question.

There’s a broken laugh that’s hiccuped from your lungs as you wipe your nose with the back of your hand.

“Would it matter to you if I was?” There isn’t anything he can say to make this okay, you’d be happier if he didn’t answer at all. It doesn’t even take him a second to think.

“No” it’s clipped. There’s no emotion there.

You nod to yourself but you don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. There never is. Holding a conversation with him is futile. It’s a waste of fucking breath.

He moves away, you can tell by the sound of his feet scuffing across the floor. Finally- you’re left alone. Allowed out of his sight. Not because he’s concerned, or because he cares. It’s because he wants the control. He knows that you like your own space. He knows that you don’t appreciate it when he lurks over you like a shadow. That’s exactly why he does it. It’s a tactic, like everything else he does, it’s calculated. He smarter than he looks- you’ll give him that.

He’s smart enough to know that, no, you aren’t pregnant. And there’s a very low chance of you being able to fall pregnant. You’ve had an IUD placed for as long as you’ve known him. He’s questioned you enough times about it before. Pinching the device under your skin, smirking when you wince at the pain. He’s asking to embarrass you, begging you to ask the question of what would happen between the two of you if you were in-fact pregnant with his child. He wants you to know that he wouldn’t change. That it wouldn’t make him step up or start to think about his actions.

He’s exhausting to be around, frankly, it’s a living nightmare. You thought you’d miss him. After Price had sent you packing there was a tiny part of you that really thought that you’d miss having Simon near. He’s different here than he used to be back on base or out of country. Maybe that’s because he had the others there, perhaps he didn’t want to let his true colours show for all to see. He clearly thinks very little of you, that and your opinion of him. He couldn’t care less about how you see him, how you perceive him. That does sting, just a little bit.

The water cools your skin as you wash your face, scrubbing the sleep from your eyes and brushing your teeth until your gums feel sore. This is the routine now. When he’s here at least, walking on eggshells in your own home, pretending that he doesn’t bother you as much as he does. You’re lying to yourself, and doesn’t he know it.

You emerge from your bathroom and tread back to your room to get ready for work. In the few months since he’d come crashing back into your life you’d managed to get somewhat of a hold on it again. It’s rubbish money and the hours are even worse but it helps in its own ways. You’re back to some sort of normalcy, outside of Simon and his whole existence within your life. It’s good, you hate to admit, your colleagues are nice enough and the job itself isn’t hard at all. It’s stable. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Stacking tins and organising pasta on shelves hadn’t been a career aspiration of yours- but you’re alive.

The need for relief is better managed, if you can say that. It’s not always pretty. Some nights are better than others. Your drinking is controllable and the painkillers no longer have a death-like grip on your mind and needs. Sometimes it’s hard to stay afloat, to resist the urge to drink yourself to the point you can’t stand upright or crush tablets between your teeth and rub them into your gums with your tongue. It’s a slippery slope. You can only climb so high before a strong enough wind blows you back down, but growth is growth in your eyes. There’s a noticeable pattern too, it’s always worse when he’s around. He hardly helps the issue. He raids your cupboards and empties your work bag onto the floor every night to make sure you don’t have anything he deems as contraband. As if you’re a child.

The ironic thing is, that he wouldn’t care if it killed you, not really. Not deep down. It might inconvenience him, sure, but it wouldn’t affect him in his daily life. He’d move on to the next unfortunate soul. Hell, you’re probably not the only one he’s seeing, he’s probably already got someone else on the back burner for when you do eventually fuck your liver to the point of no return. It wouldn’t surprise you at all. Not from him.

You get ready and dress for work and head to the hallway that leads to the front door to grab your bag, you’ll sort lunch out at work, because you can hear him in the kitchen. It’s as your key slides into the lock that you hear him still in whatever he’s doing, you bite your tongue.

“I’m off to work” your voice sounds so foreign in your own ears.

There’s a few seconds of drawn out silence and you take that as your cue to leave. Then his voice cuts in again-

“Come ‘ere” it’s rough from his throat. Not yet warmed up since he’d awoken.

You grip the door handle, you could walk out so easily, pretend you haven’t heard him, but it’s hardly worth the aggravation. You leave your key abandoned in the lock and turn to make your way through the living room and toward the kitchen. It’s there that you find him leaning his hip against the counter, a mug of coffee steaming away in his hand, he’s looking right at you as you enter the space.

“Everything okay?” You ask, a brow raised. You’ll be late if he isn’t quick with whatever he wants. He raises a brow back at you.

“I said come ‘ere” he tilts his chin, eyeing up the space directly in front of him.

You blink long and hard to hide the way your eyes want to roll in your skull. You’ll definitely be late at this rate. You do as he wants, nevertheless, stepping right up to him and stopping when you feel the steam from his coffee under your nose. Practically black, as he always has it, barely a drop of milk and no sugar. He’s looking at you in that way that always manages to make you feel so small. Not physically, because that’s already a given. But small in the way that he sees you as inferior to him in every single way. You likely are, but he doesn’t have to make it so obvious to you.

“What is it?” Your temper shortens, just slightly.

His eyes narrow, he notices the shift. His free hand lifts to the side of your face, running a rough thumb over the apple of your cheek, it’s a tender gesture. On the surface level.

“Come and see Price” his voice has softened, just that little bit, the way it does when he wants you to do something he knows you won’t want to.

He wants you to believe he’s on your side. It’s immediate the way you shake your head, he hadn’t even finished speaking.

“Simon- we’ve already talked about this” your patience is thinned to almost nothing. He could have said something earlier, long before you’re walking out the door to catch the next bus.

“Yeah, and you’re not seeing it from my perspective” he eyes you from over his nose, again, making you feel small. There’s a sour taste at the back of your throat.

“When do you ever try to see things from my perspective?” You raise your chin, if he wants an argument over this, you worry he’ll get what he’s after.

He brings his mug to his lips, staring at you from over the lip of it.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever stooped low enough to see things from your point of view, sweetheart” you can’t see his lips but you’re convinced you’d see a smirk there if you could. Your fists clench at your sides.

“I find that very hard to believe” you know little of Simon’s past, but you know enough to know that he is indeed lying. It’s another tactic, another way to get under your skin and piss you off. For his own pure enjoyment.

“Yeah? Try me” he lowers his mug and places it on the counter. His full attention on you. He folds his arms over his bare chest, his tattoos right in your line of sight.

There’s only so low that you’re willing to go, but whatever you say- you know that Simon will have something worse to say about you. That’s just a given with him.

“No no you’re right” you wave him off, stepping out of his space and turning to face the windows across the living room.

A beat of silence.

“Tommy was the druggie, right? Not you”

It’s audible, the way his jaw clicks. You don’t move.

“That’s right” his voice is flat, but you know him well enough to know that he’s annoyed, pissed beyond belief. Maybe not at what you’ve said, but that you’ve dared to say anything at all.

“Means I know a lost cause when I see one” you hear his body shift, the way his right shoulder clicks. Adjusting his stance.

You nod, silently. That’s his perception of you. It hardly rings true, a few months ago? Maybe. Now? You give yourself enough credit to know that you’re doing the right thing. Keeping this job. Not crawling back to Price. It settles the nagging feeling in your chest. You’re trying, at least. Making an effort.

“Why are you still here?” Still- you don’t turn to face him.

You keep your eyes glued to the way the world ticks by outside the window, there’s satisfaction in knowing he can’t see just how unbothered you are at his words. Before, you would have given him what he wanted and cried. Would have screamed and shouted in his face. An accusing finger pressed into his chest. You’d spat at him, once. Then he’d grab you and pull you close, pressing your snotty tear-stained face into the flesh of his chest and make a spectacle of soothing you. Telling you how he forgives you, how he knows it’s the booze and drugs talking- not you. He’d say that you’ll feel better in the morning and tug you into bed or towards the nearest waist-level surface and fuck you raw and slow and everlasting until you’re a puddle of nothing. Dumb and boneless- everything he already believes you to be.

He makes a noise. One that if it were translated into English, it would sound like ‘what the fuck are you on about?’

“I asked you why you’re here”

“Yeah, I heard you” his tone stiffens, it’s clear he doesn’t have an answer for you, therefore- he won’t answer.

There’s a few moments where the silence tells. There’s the sound of a car horn blaring outside and the birds that live in the gutter above your window chirp and sing, it’s the way life just keeps humming away- despite everything. Despite it all.

Simon moves and you stay stood still. You turn your head, watching out the corner of your eye as he walks toward you, he doesn’t look you in the eye. Instead looking out of the window as you had been. You follow his line of sight, watching the same cyclist ride past as he does.

“You treat me like shit y’know” you don’t know why you’ve said it. The thought had just been there, at the front of your mind and the tip of your tongue.

He turns his head, just slightly, to look at you. You feel his eyes- they burn.

“I treat everyone like shit” he returns his gaze to the glass, hands slid into the pockets of his trackie bottoms.

You laugh. It breezes past your lips so easily, so freely. You turn your gaze to him, noticing the way his jaw hardens when you do.

“No you don’t” you don’t take your eyes away from his face. You can’t.

For a moment you remember who he is- what he is. And in that moment you find yourself feeling sorry for him. Maybe he deserves more credit, because he could treat you a lot worse, realistically. It’s the one thing you tell yourself when he’s around, that he could be so much worse. It’s not a defence, no, it’s a lifeline. He’s suffered as you have and maybe that’s why you let him treat you the way he does, because that’s what you think you’re worth. Rough hands and sharp words and glaring eyes. It rolls off your back better these days, it’s easier to shrug off.

Simon hums, he’s caught out and he knows it.

“No- no I don’t” he rolls his shoulders until the right one cracks- again.

You bite the tip of your tongue. There’s so much you need to say to him and it’s never the right time or circumstance. You walk on eggshells around him because you can’t deal with the consequences of his temper and his irrationality. For someone who commands a platoon and leads so naturally, he’s the most pig-headed man you’ve ever met. He doesn’t want to hear your opinion or listen to you explain your point, even if he knows you’re right and he’s wrong.

“Why are you really here?” You’re still looking at him and your chest squeezes when he casts his eyes to the side, barely eyeing you. You’ve always loved his eyes.

They soften, if only slightly, it shows he’s considering the question. That he might not shrug it off like he does everything else.

“I don’t know” Simon’s voice carries that lilt to it, the one that reminds you of the man you’d first welcomed into your home- into your bed. Soft voice and attentive hands. Like he could actually stand being near you.

For a few seconds, it’s as if the world outside stops. The birds aren’t chirping and the traffic has cleared. Even the breeze stills, there’s nothing but the sounds of the both of you breathing. Out of sync. Always.

There’s a weight that dislodges from your chest. You didn’t realise you’d been carrying it for so long. Ultimately burdened by it. You haven’t got any answers, none that would clear away the ache in your heart when he looks at you in that knowing way. But somehow, there’s a satisfaction to knowing that he’s as lost as you are, the same way that you don’t understand why you let him stay- he doesn’t know why he stays either.

He stiffens slightly when he feels you at his side. Head and left shoulder pressed into his ribs and arm respectively. He quickly slackens his muscles, leaning into you slightly.

“We’re as bad as each other” the words are a little incoherent, your cheek smushed against his arm.

You’re not bothered if he hears it or not at this point. It wouldn’t matter. You only know he’s heard you by the way he sighs, craning his neck to lean the side of his head against the top of yours.

“I’m afraid I’m worse” he says it matter-of-factly. It’s the truth, to him.

“Much worse” his voice dies away, slightly. Not as though he’s embarrassed by the words, but perhaps because he knows you’re acutely aware.

You’re fully aware that he’s worse than you, in every sense of the fucking word. You’ve been sugar coating things, telling him what he wants to hear instead of what he needs to hear. He can appreciate that to a point. But he doesn’t need it. He doesn’t need the softness. That sentiment had been beaten out of him long ago, long before the Army sank its claws into him too. He knows what’s right and what’s wrong, it’s as if he doesn’t have the ability to physically stop himself from doing and saying things he doesn’t mean. In a military setting he can be loud and brash and rude; it’s his job. He spends his days as someone else’s superior, telling them when they can and can’t piss, telling them where and when they will die- essentially.

It’s hard for him to kick that habit when he’s out of that setting. When lives aren’t on the line. Yet, you’re right; he doesn’t treat Price or Gaz or Johnny that way. He can’t explain why, and that’s worse than if he could. He’s just a bad person, that’s what it ultimately boils down to at the end of the day.

It’s all he can think of as he takes you by the hand, watching your wide eyes watch him; pushing you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the sofa. Somehow, it’s different, for reasons he can’t think of. Simon Riley has never been a religious man-

Is this what repenting feels like?

He handles you differently, in his own way. The way he thinks he knows how. When he removes your clothes he’s no longer chasing something, that deep-dark spot in his vision that blurs his rationality is gone.

It’s too late for redemption- to prove that he can be something he’s not; because he can’t. He’d be lying and you know that, so you won’t ask that of him, you wouldn’t expect it either.

He holds your gaze as he presses his lips to the mound of your pussy. He watches how your chest heaves, sucking in air through your mouth, like a deer in headlights. This is so foreign from him, the tenderness, the gentleness of his hands and his mouth. No gnashing teeth or bruising fingers. There’s only featherlight touches- to begin with.

Simon warms you up the way he should. Sliding his tongue through the lips of your pussy, gathering the wetness he finds already there- he hasn’t even started with you yet, not really. There’s a slight smile that creeps up the side of his mouth at that. You tell him how much you hate him, but he has this effect on you; that in itself calls your bluff.

He listens to the way your breath stutters, feeling the way your hips cant into the wait of his mouth when he slows down or stops completely. Your juices are smeared across his lips and down his chin, he rubs his face into your pussy, slathering himself in your wetness. He wants to smell you on his skin tomorrow when he leaves, because he will leave, if you really want him to.

“Oh- oh fuck” he plucks these sounds out of you so easily.

He curls two thick fingers into the tightness of your cunt, reeling at how easy your pussy sucks him in. So needy. So eager for anything he’ll give. He watches his digits disappear, barely wanting to take his eyes off of yours but needing to visualise the feeling of your tight hole sucking him in, clamping like a vice around his fingers as he fucks them deeper inside of you.

“There?” He asks, curling his fingers, watching you nod your head wildly.

“So wet f’me” his voice drags, drunk on your pussy.

It’s like electricity hits his bones when he presses his mouth to you again, lapping at your clit while he continues to pump his fingers into you. Matching rhythm. Swirling his tongue, beckoning you with the wet muscle in his mouth, luring you to the edge. When you curl your fingers into the length of hair at the top of his head, that’s when he’s really spurred on. Letting you rub your pussy all over his face, burying his nose in the mound of flesh there, nipping teeth when you get too bold for his liking- because he’s still in charge here.

“Soo desperate” he tries to be cruel with his tone but it goes right over your head.

He feels the way your walls clamp around his fingers. The way your breathing grows ragged, sloppy thrusts of your hips against his mouth and tongue, pushing yourself closer and closer to the edge as Simon fights to pull you there.

“Oh- a-a fuck Si” you’re a stuttering mess. “M’close-”

You’re practically gushing when you cum. He laps at you like he hasn’t before, listening to cries of his own name that bounce off the walls. The sounds of your pussy oozing against his mouth make his cock leak in his boxers. Hard and untouched. He stutters his hips, seeking any kind of friction.

There isn’t any; but watching and feeling you squirm under him like this is a new found thing. He’s had you on your back more times than he can think to count. Yet, none have felt like this- not even in the early days when things were right between the two of you.

Maybe it’s because things have indeed shifted, that maybe you’ve solidified your belief that you deserve better - that this might be it for him.

Even when you almost pull his hair from the roots, riding his nose as he rides you through your orgasm. Your spine arching off the sofa cushion, needing more despite the fact that he’s given you everything.

“Oh -Simon” it’s hissed through your teeth. He’s doing too much now, clamping his fingers into your thighs, not wanting to let go.

It’s the greediness in him. He wants too much of everything, he has no control. There isn’t that little voice in his head that tells him he’s had enough, that he’s done enough. Not that he would listen to it.

He finally lets up, leaning back on his heels, still knelt between your thighs. Eyes watching yours, you’re staring up at the ceiling. Eyes hooded, lips agape, breath ragged- he can’t help but think you look beautiful.

So why has he never said it before?

He leans his cheek against your thigh, eyes still watching your face, then you feel them- feel his gaze. Your eyes snap to his and for a moment, you look remorseful. Then you open your mouth to speak-

“We’re still not friends”

[lobveyun]

lost in the melody | sjy

pairing: student!jake x student!reader | genre: fluff, romance, emotional(?)

synopsis: “lost in the melody" follows the journey of two souls brought together by music. when you stumble upon the quiet, talented jake sim in the school music room, a bond begins to from as he lets you into his world of melodies, secrets and dreams. together, you navigate the ups and downs of young love, face challenges, and support each other's aspirations, even when it means facing separation. through distance and time, your connection endures, creating a love story that, like music, is timeless and ever resonant.

! no cw !

[notes] hi guys okay so im doing this jake story and right now im working on a sunghoon story too so pls stay tuned! ive been very busy for the past months so this is like kind of a surprise post . anyways yea , go read

divider by @dollywons

jake sim was the first guy everyone noticed but few knew. tall with messy black hair that fell into his eyes, he often had a guitar case slung over his shoulders and headphones that seemed permanently attached to his ears. he drifted through the halls like a spector, his presence both magnetic and elusive.

you first truly saw him play one afternoon when curiosity led you to the music room after class. the door was slightly ajar, and a soft sound wafted out, pulling you in. inside, the late afternoon sun cast a golden glow around jake as he sat by the window, his fingers moving expertly over the strings. each note filled the room with a haunting melody that sent shivers down your spine.

he hadn’t noticed you at first; his eyes were closed, a serene smile gracing his lips as if he was in another world. you felt like an intruder, a momentary eavesdropper on something deeply personal personal but the music was intoxicating, and you couldn’t tear yourself away.

when he finally stopped, you clapped softly, unable to hold back your admiration.

jake’s eyes flew open, startled, “I didn’t know… I didn’t know anyone was here,” he stammered, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of pink as he scrambled to put his guitar down.

“I’m sorry,” you replied, a little embarrassed but genuinely impressed. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. you play beautifully.”

his shoulders relaxed slightly, though he still looked shy. “thank you. I… I just play to unwind. it’s nothing special.”

“no way, it’s amazing,” you insisted, feeling an unexpected rush of courage. you introduced yourself, and after a moment, he offered a small smile in return, “i’m jake.”

as the bell rang, an awkward silence settled between you. “well, I guess I should go,” you said, shuffling your feet.

“yeah, me too,” he replied, his eyes darting away. but just before leaving, he glanced back at you, a flicker of hope in his gaze. it was as if he wanted to see you again.

in the weeks that followed, you found yourself crossing paths with jake more often. some days, you’d catch him in the music room, and he’d invite you in to listen. other times, you’d pass each other in the hall, exchanging shy smiles that made your heart flutter.

one afternoon, as you walked past the library, you noticed him sitting alone by the window, his head buried in a notebook. curiosity piqued, you stepped closer, but he noticed and quickly closed it, looking flustered.

“sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” you said, feeling slightly guilty for intruding. “no, it’s fine,” he replied, glancing down at his notebook as if it held all his secrets. “I was just… writing.”

“writing what?” you asked, unable to hide your curiosity.

he hesitated, biting his lip. after a moment, he sighed and opened the notebook to reveal a page filled with scribbled lines and music notes. “lyrics. it’s kind of personal. but, uh, it helps me sort out my thoughts.”

you leaned in closer, captivated. “they look beautiful. I’d love to hear some of it sometime.”

jake’s eyes softened, a shy smile forming on his lips, “maybe one day. when it’s finished.”

from that moment, you two grew closer. you often met after school in the music room, discussing everything from your favourite bands to your dreams. jake began to share more of himself, his guarded nature slowly breaking down.

as the school festival approached, jake surprised you by asking for your help with his band’s performance. “I could use someone I can trust,” he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice. “you know, to help organise things.”

excited, you agreed without hesitation. during rehearsals, you watched jake transform from the shy boy you knew into a confident musician. his presence on stage was electric; the way he commanded the audience’s attention left you breathless.

finally, the night of the festival arrived. the auditorium buzzed with energy, the scent of popcorn filling the air as students mingled, chatting excitedly. after a successful performance, where jake had poured his heart into every note, he suggested escaping the noise to the rooftop.

under a blanket of stars, jake took a deep breath, his expression serious yet vulnerable. “there’s… something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he said, his voice almost lost in the night breeze. he fidgeted, glancing away, clearly struggling with words.

encouraging him gently, you said, “you can tell me anything, jake. I promise.”

he looked at you, his eyes searching yours. “I’m not great at talking about my feelings. but being around you feels different. you make me feel like I can be myself.”

a lump formed in your throat as he continued, “I like you. more than I’ve liked anyone. you’ve been my inspiration for so many songs… would you give us a chance?”

you felt your heart race, your mind swirling with emotions. “jake, I feel the same way,” you confessed, your voice steady. “I’d love nothing more.”

a relieved smile broke across his face, his eyes lighting up with joy. “really?” he asked, disbelief mingling with hope.

jake invited you to his favourite spot by a secluded lake, a hidden gem he frequented to find peace. the two of you sat on a grassy hill, the sun setting in vibrant hues of orange and pink. as the cool breeze brushed against your skin, you shared childhood stories and dreams, feeling a sense of comfort wash over you.

“what’s it like to play music?” you asked, glancing at him as he gazed thoughtfully over the water.

“it’s like… he paused, searching for the right words. “it’s like being able to say things that I can’t cope with words. music allows me to show parts of myself that I keep hidden.”

you watched him, captivated. “and what about when you’re with me?”

he turned to you, his gaze softening. “but with you, I don’t feel like I need to hide.” he hesitated before adding, “you make me feel free.”

in that moment, your heart swelled with affection. without thinking, you leaned your head on his shoulder. jake tensed for a moment, then relaxed as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer.

as the sun dipped below the horizon, pointing the sky in deep purples, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and belonging.

as the months passed, your relationship with jake blossomed. you spent lunch together, swapping secrets and laughter. he often brought his guitar to your study sessions, playing soft tunes that filled the air with warmth. “you’re my muse,” he’d tease, making you blush, but you knew he meant it.

for the school’s end-of-year showcase, jake nervously asked you to sing with him. “I wrote a song for us,” he confessed, his cheeks turning a shade darker. “it’s everything I feel about you. I’d love it if we could sing it together.”

the night of the showcase was electric with anticipation. as you stood on stage, fingers intertwined with jake’s, the spotlight felt both exhilarating and terrifying. he began to play, his fingers dancing over the strings with a passion that took your breath away.

as he sang, his voice resonated through the auditorium, filled with emotion that stirred your heart. you joined in, your voices blending harmoniously, weaving a narrative of love and connection that captivated the audience.

when the last note lingered in the air, silence enveloped the room for a heartbeat before the crowd erupted into applause. jake turned to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and love. “thank you,” he whispered, brushing his fingers against yours. “for being the song I never knew I needed.”

tears of joy filled your eyes as you leaned in, meeting him halfway for a soft, tender kiss. the crowd faded away, leaving just the two of you in your own world, a melody playing that only you could hear.

but as your relationship deepened, the challenges began to surface. jake had a habit of retreating into himself whenever stress crept in, especially concerning his music. you noticed the change after a long rehearsal for the upcoming talent show; he seemed distant, his laughter replaced by silence.

“jake, is something bothering you?” you asked one afternoon, lightly touching his shoulder, concern etched on your face.

he looked up, frustration flickering in his eyes. “I… I just need some space right now,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze. “it’s hard to explain.”

you nodded, heart heavy with worry. “okay, just… let me know if you need anything.”

days turned into weeks, and you felt him slipping away, a ghost of the boy you had grown to love. you decided you couldn’t stay silent any longer. after class one day, you confronted him, your heart racing. “jake, if there’s something wrong, you can talk to me. I’m here for you.”

his expression softened, but the conflict in his eyes was clear. “I’m scared,” he admitted quietly. “scared that I won’t be good enough for you, for the band… for anything. I don’t want to let you down.”

“jake, you’re not just good enough. you’re incredible,” you replied, determination lacing your voice. “you’ve always been enough for me. please, don’t shut me out.”

he looked at you, uncertainty lingering. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“but you already are,” you whispered, feeling the tears well up in your eyes. “please, let me in.”

after a long pause, jake finally nodded, his shoulders slumping as he exhaled deeply. “I’ll try. I promise.”

with open communication, the two of you began to navigate the rough patches together. slowly, jake opened up about his fears, his insecurities, and the pressure he felt to succeed. you listened, providing support and encouragement without judgment.

one sunny afternoon, while sitting in the park, jake surprised you with a small gift: a handwritten song. “it’s not perfect, but it’s for you,” he said, handing it over with a shy smile.

as you read the lyrics, your heart swelled with emotion. it spoke of love, vulnerability, and the beauty of sharing one’s soul with someone.

“jake, this is beautiful!” you exclaimed, feeling the tears of joy spill down your cheeks. “I love it!”

he grinned, the warmth of his smile lighting up your world. “I wanted to create something that captured how I feel about you.”

with renewed determination, you both decided to work on a song together for the talent show. you spent countless hours crafting the melody, laughter spilling from your lips as you struggled to hit the right notes, your bond growing stronger with each chord played.

on the night of the talent show, excitement filled the air as students and teachers gathered, eager to witness the performances. as you and jake took the stage, the world outside faded away. the moment felt surreal; the spotlight was bright, but the connection between you two was brighter.

you exchanged glances, and he nodded, a silent promise of support. as the music began, you poured your hearts into the performance, each note resonating with passion and emotion. the audience was captivated, swept away by the magic you created together.

when the final chord rang out, the room erupted in applause, and you could hardly believe the joy that filled your heart. jake turned to you, eyes wide with disbelief. “we did it!”

you laughed, breathless, and pulled him into a tight embrace. “that was incredible!”

as you stepped off the stage, adrenaline coursing through your veins, you realized how far you had come together. the challenges only deepened your connection, forging a bond that felt unbreakable.

in the weeks that followed, your relationship continued to grow, solidified by the trust you had built. you faced challenges together, celebrating victories and comforting each other in moments of doubt.

jake often played the song you wrote together, filling your days with music that felt like a promise of forever. “I can’t imagine my life without you,” he said one evening, strumming softly in the dim light of the music room.

“and I can’t imagine my life without your music,” you replied, a smile lighting up your face. “It’s our melody now.”

as graduation approached, the future felt uncertain yet thrilling. “whatever happens, we’ll face it together,” jake vowed, his eyes filled with determination.

“together,” you echoed, heart swelling with love. with each note you played, each lyric you sang, you knew that no matter where life took you, your hearts would always be in tune.

if u liked this , pls reblog and like since its hard to make my work known . i hope u enjoyed this !

[sharpth1ng]

Can we have a sneak of chapter 6? Don’t push urself btw, breaks are incredibly important

Thank youu🖤 ngl I hate taking breaks but unfortunately im only human.

Anyway, here's a snack, enjoy:

“What, so you’re fucking her again?” Billy spits, ripping his jacket off and shoving it at Stu’s chest.

He’s so jealous.

There’s a muscle jumping in his jaw and he’s clenching his fists hard enough to pop the veins on the backs of his hands, so basically he looks like pure sex. Stu's biting his lip now, it's not voluntary but it's also not defusing the situation at all because Billy’s lip is somehow curling further into his scowl.

“Tammy? Nah. Why’re you mad though?” Stu’s trying not to laugh openly as he hangs Billy’s jacket. He hasn’t seen him so bad since Casey and this is definitely worse. "You don’t want me, remember?”

“I’m. Not. Mad!” Billy’s yelling until he seems to catch himself, but even then he only brings it down to a snarl. “I don’t give a shit, I just thought you had higher standards but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d give it up to whatever desperate whore is willing to fuck you in the ass!" That's the sentence that cracks Stu, so now the laughter is bursting up through his chest and pouring out of him. “-The hell are you laughing about??”

“I- Ha, shit-” He’s trying to say something, he really is but he can’t quite get it out and Billy responds by slamming one of his boots down on Stu’s socked foot. “FUCK!” It’s almost more startling than it is painful but it also does fucking hurt, enough to have his toes curling and his eyes scrunching shut when it hits.

“Tammy fucking Beckett??” Billy roars, cartoonishly red in the face. There might as well be steam coming of his ears.

“Yeah you really don’t sound mad screaming about her like that-” Billy stomps on his foot again, and fuck he should have seen that coming, right? He dropping down this time, clutching at his foot as the pain radiates up through his leg, so mind-numbing that he knows it’s only a matter of seconds before the warm-horny-fuzzies set in. Billy should know better by now. “Fuck, man I’m telling the truth, I’m not banging Tammy.”

“Then why was she here?” Billy sounds like he's auditioning for an interrogation scene.

“I mean, she’s kinda my best friend right now.” Its honest, but Billy visibly flinches when he says it.

“Best friend.” There’s something fragile about his voice as he says this and Stu feels bad for him almost as much as he thinks Billy might actually deserve a little hurt right now. “She’s your best friend?”

[naomijoestar]

hello sweets! I have been reading your works for few weeks now and i must say they are amazing!! (you are so talented🥰) I know your request box is now closed and im sorry for putting more things on your plate.. 😨💕 BUT i hope if you could write some amazing headcanons about:

Bucci gang having a significant other who is/ has been clinging on to them because they have been missing their bucci member. 😭❤️

Maybe he’s/or she’s(trish👀) been busy because of work !! or they have just been too tired to spend some time with their significant other and just instantly going to bed after work. And after few days/or weeks.. later they finally start to show some signs of being neglected.. (for example: not letting them leave the bed for work). 😧💕

ANYWAYS SO SORRY FOR MAKING THIS SO LONG !! feel free to ignore my rambling 😅

Thank you for your time and effort love !! 🙏❤️

have a nice day or night!!

Masterlist here <3

Hello ml! This is such a cute request, now I wanted to admit that while reading your request I didn’t notice that you requested headcanons and wrote this as a scenario instead🥲 I really hope you don’t mind and if you do I will gladly re-write this for you!

Sorry for the late reply and I hope you enjoy this 💞

(Trish Una included!)

Bucci gang with their s/o clinging onto them because they miss them

Pannacotta Fugo

Fugo had been working late nights, diving headfirst into planning and strategy. It wasn’t intentional, but his sharp focus on his tasks left you feeling invisible. At first, you thought you could handle it, but after weeks of stolen moments and fleeting kisses, the weight of his absence became too much.

This morning, as he swung his legs over the bed to get ready, you reached out and grabbed his wrist. “Fugo, stay.”

He turned, startled by the tremor in your voice. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his brows knitting together in concern.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your emotions in check. “I just miss you,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re always gone. Even when you’re here, you’re… not really here.”

Fugo froze, guilt washing over him in an instant. He’d been so absorbed in his responsibilities that he hadn’t realized how much he was neglecting you. He sat back down, pulling your hands into his. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice unusually tender. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.”

You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes. “I just… I need you right now.”

Without hesitation, Fugo climbed back into bed, wrapping his arms tightly around you. “I’ll stay,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “I’ve been a fool, but I’ll make it up to you. Today, I’m yours. Completely.”

You let out a soft, relieved sigh, burying your face in his chest. His heartbeat, steady and strong, was a comfort you’d been missing. For the rest of the day, Fugo didn’t touch a single work-related item, devoting every moment to showing you how deeply he cared.

Bruno Bucciarati

Bruno had always been devoted to his work, but lately, it felt like he was consumed by it. Late nights, endless meetings, and responsibilities left him coming home too exhausted to even share a proper conversation with you. He’d kiss your forehead, mumble an apology, and fall asleep almost instantly.

At first, you told yourself it was temporary, that things would calm down eventually. But as the days stretched into weeks, the loneliness began to weigh on you. This morning, when Bruno stirred to get out of bed, you instinctively reached for him, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“Stay,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm.

Bruno paused, his movements freezing. “Amore, I have—”

“No,” you interrupted, your face pressed against his back. “You don’t. Not today.”

The quiet in your voice struck a chord in him. He turned to look at you, his dark eyes filled with guilt as he took in the sight of your teary gaze and trembling lip. “You’ve been so busy,” you whispered, your hands clutching his shirt. “I know it’s important, but… I miss you, Bruno. I miss us.”

He exhaled deeply, guilt evident in every line of his face. Without a word, he slid back into bed, pulling you into his arms. “I’m so sorry, tesoro,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize how much I was neglecting you. You’re the most important thing in my life, and I’ve been taking you for granted.”

You nuzzled into his chest, your fingers clutching his shirt like he might disappear again. “Don’t leave today,” you pleaded softly. “Just… stay with me.”

Bruno kissed the crown of your head, his lips lingering there as if to seal a promise. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered, cradling you close. “Today, I’m yours, completely. I’ll make this right—I swear.”

For the rest of the day, he didn’t even glance at his phone. He was fully present, holding you, listening to you, and reminding you with every kiss and tender word just how much you meant to him.

Giorno Giovanna

Giorno had always carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, but lately, it felt like he was drowning in it. Long hours at meetings, late nights poring over plans—it had all left him coming home too exhausted to notice the growing sadness in your eyes. You’d tried to be patient, understanding the importance of his work, but the ache of missing him only grew stronger.

This morning, as he sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning his shirt, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. Reaching out, you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, resting your head on his back. “Giorno… don’t go today,” you said softly, your voice trembling.

He stilled, his hands falling to his lap. “Amore?” he asked, his tone gentle but confused. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, your grip tightening. “I miss you,” you admitted, your voice cracking as tears began to well up. “You’re always working, and I understand, but… I feel like I haven’t had you to myself in weeks.”

Giorno turned to face you, his golden hair catching the soft morning light. His emerald eyes widened as they met yours, glistening with unshed tears. He reached out, cupping your face in his hands. “Oh, my love,” he whispered, his voice full of regret. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve been neglecting you.”

You leaned into his touch, your tears slipping free. “I just… I need you. Even if it’s just for today.”

Giorno’s heart clenched, guilt washing over him. He kissed your forehead tenderly before pulling you into his lap. “You shouldn’t have to ask for my attention,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “I’ve been a fool, but I’ll make it right. I promise.”

He lay back down, holding you close as if letting you go would break him. “I’m yours today,” he murmured, his fingers gently brushing through your hair. “No meetings, no calls. Just us.”

For the rest of the day, Giorno stayed true to his word. He didn’t glance at a single document or answer a single call. Instead, he spent every moment with you—holding you, laughing with you, and reminding you just how deeply he loved you.

Leone Abbacchio

Leone had never been one to sugarcoat things. When work needed to be done, he threw himself into it with everything he had. But lately, it felt like his everything was all going to work, leaving you with scraps of his time and energy. At first, you’d tried to be understanding—it was just his way. But as the days turned into weeks of him coming home too tired to do anything but collapse into bed, the loneliness became harder to ignore.

This morning, as he swung his legs over the side of the bed to get ready, you grabbed his hand. “Don’t go,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Leone stopped, his brow furrowing as he glanced back at you. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gruff but laced with concern.

You didn’t let go, your grip tightening. “I miss you,” you admitted, looking down at the sheets. “You’ve been so busy, and I feel like… like I don’t have you anymore.”

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I’ve been a crap partner, haven’t I?” he muttered, more to himself than to you. He turned fully, taking in the tears brimming in your eyes. It hit him harder than he expected.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel this way,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just… I thought you understood.”

“I do,” you said quickly, your voice trembling. “But understanding doesn’t make it hurt less. I need you, Leone.”

Something in his chest cracked at the way you said his name. Without another word, he climbed back into bed, pulling you against him. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his lips pressing gently to your forehead. “I’ve been too wrapped up in work, but I’ll make it right. I’ll stay.”

You blinked up at him, surprised. “You mean it?”

Leone smirked faintly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I’m not going anywhere today,” he promised. “You’ve been patient with me for too long. It’s my turn to give you what you need.”

For the rest of the day, he stayed true to his word. He held you close, kissed you like he hadn’t in weeks, and spent the day reminding you why he was worth missing in the first place.

Narancia Ghirga

Narancia was always full of energy, constantly running off on missions or getting caught up in one task or another. At first, you found his busy nature endearing, but as the days went by and he barely had time to sit down and talk to you, you started to feel the sting of his absence.

One morning, as he tried to slip out of bed to get ready for another mission, you reached out and grabbed his arm. “Narancia… don’t go,” you said softly, your voice cracking just enough to make him pause.

He turned to look at you, his eyes wide with surprise. “What’s wrong, babe?” he asked, kneeling back on the bed.

You sat up, clutching the sheets tightly. “I miss you,” you admitted, your gaze dropping to your lap. “You’re always running off somewhere, and I feel like I barely see you anymore.”

Narancia blinked, your words hitting him like a punch to the gut. “Oh no! no no,” he said quickly, scooting closer to you. “I didn’t realize you were feeling like this.”

You let out a shaky sigh. “I know your work is important, but… I just need you right now.”

Without hesitation, Narancia threw himself back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down with him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice firm. “Today, I’m all yours. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his determination. “Really?”

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your nose. “Really. I’ve been so stupid, haven’t I? I should’ve noticed you were feeling this way. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

For the rest of the day, Narancia didn’t leave your side. Whether it was lying in bed talking, cooking together in the kitchen, or dancing to music in the living room, he made sure you felt loved and cherished with every smile, laugh, and touch. By the end of the day, the ache of missing him was replaced by the warmth of knowing just how much he cared.

Guido Mista

Mista was always easygoing, but lately, his carefree nature had been replaced by exhaustion. Missions, meetings, and late nights had drained him so much that he barely had time for you. He’d stumble into bed, mutter a quick “Good night,” and be out like a light before you could even tell him how much you missed him.

This morning, as he got up to get ready, you decided enough was enough. You grabbed his hand and tugged him back onto the bed. “Guido, no,” you said firmly, wrapping your arms around his waist to keep him in place.

He blinked, caught off guard. “What’s this about, babe?” he asked with a half-laugh, though his voice softened when he saw the pout on your lips.

“You’re always leaving,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “I know you’re busy, but I barely see you anymore. I miss you, Mista. A lot.”

His playful grin faltered, replaced by a look of guilt. “Ah, damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t realize I was making you feel this way.”

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy. “I just… I need you here today. Please.”

Mista’s heart sank. Without another word, he kicked off his shoes and climbed back into bed, pulling you into his arms. “I’m sorry, babe,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’re right. I’ve been so caught up in everything else that I’ve been ignoring the most important person in my life.”

You buried your face in his chest, your fingers clutching at his shirt. “Just stay with me,” you whispered.

He tilted your chin up, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Today’s all about you. I don’t care if the boss himself calls me—I’m staying right here.”

For the rest of the day, Mista made sure to pamper you with all the love and attention you’d been missing. Whether it was cuddling under a blanket, sharing your favorite snacks, or laughing together over silly stories, he reminded you exactly why you’d fallen for him in the first place.

Trish Una

Trish had always been meticulous with her time—balancing her work, appearances, and responsibilities left little room for flexibility. Lately, though, it seemed like every spare second of hers was being devoured by her career. You understood how much she had on her plate, but the ache of her absence had begun to weigh heavily on you.

This morning, as she reached for her planner to prepare for another busy day, you grabbed her wrist gently. “Trish,” you murmured, your voice tinged with vulnerability. “Can you stay today?”

She turned to you, her perfectly lined eyes widening in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I miss you,” you admitted, lowering your gaze. “You’ve been so busy, and I know it’s important, but I feel like I haven’t had you to myself in ages.”

Her expression softened immediately, her glossy lips parting as guilt flickered across her face. “I… didn’t realize it had been that bad,” she said, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

You bit your lip, shrugging slightly. “I didn’t want to make you feel bad. But… I just need you today. Just this once.”

Trish hesitated for only a moment before snapping her planner shut and tossing it onto the bedside table. “You’re right,” she said firmly. “I’ve been too wrapped up in everything else. That stops now.”

“Really?” you asked, looking up at her with wide eyes.

She cupped your face in her hands, her touch soft but certain. “Really,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “Today is yours. Whatever you want—name it, and it’s yours. I’ll cancel everything.”

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as she leaned in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. The rest of the day was pure bliss: long cuddles, indulgent meals, and quiet moments where she reminded you, again and again, that no amount of work would ever mean more to her than you did.

I hope you don’t mind me forgetting to make these headcanons, that was totally my fault and if you do mind you can always text me and tell me if you’d like me to make a hc version!

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!