#like his lover trope becomes self love | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pencil-n-pen · 3 months ago

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I WANT AN INNOCENT LOVE

.☘︎ ݁˖

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alexandria! rick grimes x fawn! fem! reader

masterlist | kofi

summary: you’re a new addition to alexandria. Rick’s just looking out for his group. That’s the only reason he finds himself drawn to you. Nothing else.

cw: LEGAL age gap (it is big, i imagine reader in her early 20s) canon typical depictions of violence, Rick is kinda mean to reader at first, Rick kind of struggles with the age gap a little, dom! Rick, slight possessive rick

tags/tropes: shy and skittish reader, she’s not used to dealing with people but she’s not helpless, honestly she’s just a sweet and soft person who became what everyone becomes in the apocalypse, hurt/comfort, insecurity, touch-starved reader a bit, YEARNING, no saviors or whisperers just Rick and everyone living happily in alexandria. Daryl is also here and he’s kind of like ur uncle bc i love daryl and i say so

a/n: i have nothing to say other than this is so insanely self indulgent it’s not even funny. nobody asked for this but writing it has kept me sane while i’m couch ridden. everything is terrible rn but rick grimes <3333

songs i listened to while writing: We'll Never Have Sex by Leith Ross, Work Song by Hozier (Rick's theme song) you were mine by Esha Tewari, Do I Wanna Know- Hozier's Cover, Somethin' Stupid by Nancy & Frank Cinatra, Lover, You Should've Come Over by Jeff Buckley (i'm so not normal about that entire album) Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers, Little Bit by Lykke Li (the original not the remix)

title taken from Under Your Spell by Snow Strippers

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You were just a little thing when you showed up at the gates.

All wide-eyed and skittish at the tree-line, clothes hanging awkwardly off your frame. Scuffed and dirty, when Rick goes up to the tower to scout you out.

You don’t quite come close enough for anyone to get any kind of information on you. Name, age, where you’ve been, what you’re doing at the gates.

These are all questions Rick, as leader, needs answers to.

If he could just convince you to get close enough.

Under different circumstances, he’d just let you do whatever it is you’re planning on doing, but the lurking is starting to make people uneasy. And he figured he ought to do something to ease their concerns. Easiest way is to either get you inside the walls or find answers to those questions.

You’re real good at staying out of reach, though. And you never stay in one place for long. By the time two weeks have gone by, you’ve made it around the entire length of the walls. Just to end up right where you started: the gates.

It’s just past the crack of dawn- dew is still lingering on the plants and grass and the sun’s rays have yet to actually provide warmth. Rick is up, making his rounds and checking in when one of the guards on rotation lets him know that you’re at the gates. Only time you’ve ever been that close.

So they’re opened, and you amble in— light-footed and unsure. Honestly, you remind him a bit of Daryl with your obvious hesitance to be in the company of other people and clear inclination towards nature. But where Daryl is hard edges and reclusiveness, you’re… softer.

A small group of people —curious onlookers, mostly— forms behind Rick as he saunters towards you, and he watches the moment you see the reality of your decision and begin to regret it.

He comes to a stop a few feet away from you, letting the silence hang in the air for a bit.

He finally takes you in with his own two eyes, without the aid of the binoculars, and he examines. Catalogs the nervous twitch of your hands and scuffs and scrapes he can see on the visible scraps of skin. Eyes the way you worry your lip between your teeth and can’t decide if you’re going to keep staring at him or look away- your mind clearly torn between vigilance and submission.

“You finish your tour of Alexandria?” He asks dryly.

You blink up at him, eyes wide. “Are you the leader of this safe-zone?”

He nods. “Sure am.”

You begin fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. The small motion draws his attention back to your hands, where me notices bandaids practically covering the entire surface of your skin. He files the information away in his head for later.

“Are you currently accepting new members?”

He can’t help but crack a smile at your question. The way you phrase it and your nervous demeanor remind him so much of the times before the dead started walking— you look like a college student looking for a job, not somebody trying to find refuge here, after the end of the world.

“Depends,” He rests his hands on his hips, and he notes the way your eyes dart to the gun at his side before back up to him, “You got any skills to offer? You alone? Or do you got a group waitin’ for you?”

Your lip is raw from where you release it from your teeth.

“I’m really good at mending. I’m a proficient hunter. I can hold my own in a fight. And I’m alone.”

At the admittance of your lack of company, you shift back a few steps, a subtle re-distribution of weight.

Ain’t been socialized a whole bunch, Rick thinks to himself. He’s willing to bet you either don’t have a lot of positive experiences with large groups of people or you just plain ain’t been around em’ much.

He hums. “You killed anybody?”

“Walkers or live?”

“Either.”

You shift your shoulders. He’s starting to wonder just how many nervous actions you have.

“I don’t think anybody lives alone who hasn’t killed walkers.”

“And the living?”

You don’t move, but your eyes look to the ground, not at him.

Shame. Fear.

“Twice.”

“How come?”

“They wanted my supplies. Wanted me dead. I decided I didn’t want to die.”

He looks you over again. You really are a cute little thing. He thinks, absentmindedly in the back of his head, that something like you shouldn’t have bloody, bandaid covered hands. Shouldn’t have a kill count.

But he dismisses the thought. The end of the world leaves no room for those unwilling to do what’s necessary.

He dips his head. “We’ll get you settled in,” He jerks his head to the some of the guys behind him. “They’ll get you sorted out. Get along, now.”

You slink past him, distance carefully measured as you go.

Your eyes don’t quite leave him, though. There’s a moment- either you pause or his mind slows. Maybe a bit of both. But the air stills, and your gaze locks on him for the first time since he saw you, nestled in that tree line. The memory is clear and vivid- the sun shining through the trees, dappling you in shades of amber and grey. And then he’s here, and you’re looking up at him, eyelashes fluttering, and the sun has risen just enough that it casts a similar glow, the only difference now he can see up close just how the light catches on your face, just how he knows your features would look so different, so much softer if you were cleaned, if someone minded the cuts and scrapes.

And then you step away, and he snaps out of his reverie. He blinks a few times at your retreating form, shakes his head, and then busy’s himself with other work. There’s always something to be done.

But no matter how hard he tries, he can’t get the image of you gazing up at him, bathed in the early morning sun out of his mind.

—

A few days pass, and Rick sees little of you. He’s almost positive it’s on purpose. The few times he does see you, you look scared. And then, generally, you manage to make some sort of fleet-footed escape. The repeated spotting and fleeing reminds him of the time he accompanied Daryl on a hunt and startled a doe.

He can’t quite figure out why you’re afraid of him, though. He remembers being fairly decent to you when you arrived, and tried coaxing you towards the gates politely before you’d shown up on your own.

The sight of your scared expression ends up stuck fast in his head, usually super-imposed over the image of you on that morning at the gates. Two different versions of you, neither making any sort of sense.

He decides that it’s probably best that he stick away, if he scares you. You’ll settle, your ruffled feathers’ll smooth.

And he’ll stop thinking about you.

—

Neither do you settle or does he stop thinking about you.

He watches you from a distance, careful. You just… don’t relax. Ever. You creep away from every possible opportunity to connect with others like it might grow jaws and bite- you shrink back or freeze. Like you think if you play dead, if you don’t move, they’ll leave you alone.

He’s wondering what you hoped to accomplish by seeking refuge in Alexandria if this is how you act. You’re going to have a bad go of things if this is your plan. Or maybe you plain haven’t even thought that far.

He snags Daryl’s arm as he passes by.

“Wha—“

“The new girl,” Is all Rick says, still watching you remarkably avoid everyone who passes you. “She’s real skittish.”

Daryl follows his eyeline, finding you easy enough.

“Mm. She ain’t settlin’?”

“No.”

Daryl just hums again. “Well, she ain’t got nobody, does she?”

“So?”

The hunter shrugs. “Can’t relax. Ain’t got nobody to watch her back, take a watch. She’ll settle. Might take her a bit of time.”

Rick huffs. “She’s afraid of me.”

“No she ain’t,” Daryl snorts, “And since when does Rick Grimes care whether other people like him well enough?”

Rick doesn’t respond, just keeps watching you.

Daryl follows Rick’s gaze, then breathes out a low sigh.

“She is a pretty little thing, ain’t she?”

“That is not what this is about.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Sure it’s not.“

“She’s half my age. I could damn well be her father.”

“But ya ain’t.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is the point, Rick?” Daryl sighs again, crossing his arms. “Either do something about it or move on. You got too many people dependin’ on ya for you to be eyeing up flighty young girls.”

Rick rolls his shoulders. “You make me out to be such a creep.”

The other man claps him on the shoulder. “Then stop acting like one.”

He attempts to take Daryl’s advice to heart. It’s an annoying truth that Daryl always knows exactly what Rick needs to hear. Not necessarily what he wants to hear, but what needs to be said.

And he is being creepy. He shakes his head as he walks away. Watching you, thinking about you. He can’t. That’s— you’re too young to be thinking any kind of thing like that.

No matter how there’s this half second, before you look scared, where you almost look relieved. No matter how he wants to personally take care of the bumps and scrapes on your face, wants to take off the bandaids and examine what’s beneath them.

Daryl was right. He needs to focus. Carl, Judith, everyone- they need him.

You’ll be fine. He’ll be fine.

—

You’ve gone missing.

Rick has been doing his best to heed Daryl’s advice— he stopped looking for you in the crowds, stopped trying to figure you out, stopped watching you from afar. He even made a fairly decent attempt to stop thinking about you. Not that the effort proves especially fruitful, but he tried, damnit.

All of those efforts go straight out the window when Daryl tells him that no one’s seen you since yesterday.

It takes him two seconds to grab his gun and follow Daryl out the door.

He barely remembers to tell Carl where he’s going, which scares him, because he doesn’t quite understand what’s been so invasive to his mind and day-to-day activities about you. Your eyes, the soft curve of your cheek, how you might feel in his hands.

They cloud his judgment. Make him do stupid reckless things like search Alexandria high and low for any sign of you.

He doesn’t find any. He searches the place you’re staying— nothing. Only sign of life is the unmade bed and bandaid wrappers in the trashcan by the bed.

He sighs deep and low as he stands over your bed. “Think she had enough? High-tailed it?”

Daryl leans against the doorway. “Nah. She likes it here well enough. She ain’t stupid enough to leave a good thing like this.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve spoken to her?”

Daryl shrugs. “Few times. She don’t like talkin’ too much, but I think she figures her and I similar.”

“She wrong?”

He scratches his beard. “A little. She fears situations and people the way a prey animal does. S’ why she’s a runner.”

Rick mulls Daryl’s words over as they scan the rest of the place but, of course, find nothing. There are no signs that you, specifically, live here. Nothing personal. Just the unmade bed and the bandaid wrappers in the trashcan.

The pair of them turn the entirety of Alexandria over in a matter of hours. He’s just about to call it quits, either wait for you to come back or send out a search in the morning when Daryl comes back over, telling him you’re at the gates.

As in, outside of them.

Opposite of how things went when you first showed up at the gates, people clear a path as he stalks towards you. They give the pair of you a nice, wide bubble. Even Daryl stays a few feet behind him.

The first thing he notices is that you’re covered in blood. From the way you’re holding yourself, most of it isn’t your own. There’s a backpack slung over your shoulder, but it’s not your usual one.

You won’t meet his eyes.

He stops an arms length away from you. “Where the hell were you?”

You shift backwards, away from him ever so slightly. “Scavenging.”

“Mhm, interestin’,” He says, rubbing his jaw, “Because the last scavenging party was yesterday. And you came back with everybody, so I’ll ask again. Where were you.”

Your eyes flick up from the ground for a moment, eying the people that have gathered to stare. He watches you mentally count them all, then attempt to put more distance between yourself and everybody else. Emphasis on attempt, because the second you take a step back, you stumble, wincing before righting yourself and going right back to scanning the crowd.

He works his jaw, anger and annoyance simmering just under the surface of his skin. He’s not going to get anything out of you here.

He grabs your wrist and turns, set in the direction of the medics.

He drags you along behind him, ignoring the little huffs or sharp intakes of pain when you walk a little too hard or too fast on your bad ankle.

You trip a few times as you go, and when you almost take Rick down with you, he sighs, pausing and turning.

The expression you give him is full of fear. He realizes, in the moment, that you might not remember where the medics are, so as far as you know, he’s angry at you and dragging you to a secluded area.

Guilt strikes him hard and fast, right in his chest.

Damn.

It’s too early to feel guilty about the random girl he allowed into Alexandria. Frightened eyes and shy nature aside.

He shakes his head once. “We’re going to see a doctor. Here, put your arm around me.”

He has to lower himself a little for you to drape your arm across the back of his neck. Your fingertips brush his shoulder, and he can feel the way you’re shaking.

It’s slow going from then on, with Rick acting as your crutches.

“Where were you? And don’t bullshit me.”

“Scavenging.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” You nudge the backpack still strapped to your back. “I was… looking for something. I can’t look for it with the others.”

“What the hell is it that you can’t look for it with the others?”

“A body.”

Your response hangs in the air, thick and heavy.

“…Family or friend?”

“Friend. Haven’t found her yet.”

Something clicks into place in his mental file about you. He feels like he just gained a new piece of the puzzle.

He readjusts your weight over his shoulder, tucking you a little closer and steadfastly pretending he doesn’t hear the little gasp you let out at the contact. Whether it was from pain or surprise, he can’t let himself think about it.

“Don’t go out by yourself. If you need to look, take Daryl with you.”

You sag a bit into him. “Okay.”

He glances down at you from the corner of his eye. You’re… pliant. You’d agreed quickly, and showed absolutely no fight or unwillingness when he, admittedly, manhandled you. You’d followed dutifully behind him and then simply allowed him to position your arms the way he wanted them.

There’s another little parasite that burrows into his brain right there. Right as he’s got you in his grip.

He slows to a stop, a little question forming in his head. He slips the arm that had been wrapped around your waist away, instead curls his fingers across your chin and jaw. He tilts your head up, looks down at your face, searching it for… something.

He meets no resistance. You only stare up at him, doe eyes blinking. He tilts your head to the left, then to right, and still, nothing.

Huh.

He lets go, and you shudder, a full body shiver. And he thinks, in this moment, that he could do whatever he wanted, and you might let him. He could break you, like this.

It’s a very dangerous thing, he decides. Because he doesn’t want to break you. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He wants to peel back the bandaids and see what’s under them. He wants to scrub the dirt from your face and give you soft clothes —his clothes— not those tattered rags that hang off your body.

You might let him do whatever he wants, but you’re the one who holds this power over him. You’re the one who made him sick— filled his head and clouded his judgement and made him the kind of man he never used to be.

But he can’t say any of that. Can’t even act on it. Not with someone young enough to be his daughter. He has a daughter for Christ’s sake. And a son.

So he just wraps his arm back around your waist and helps you to the medics.

—

“Rick,” Daryl says one afternoon, leaned on the post on the porch, “You’re drivin’ me crazy, here.”

“I’m not sure how I’m supposed to help with that.”

“The fawn.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The fawn?”

“You know. That nervous little thing you keep pretendin’ you don’t want in your bed.”

“Daryl.”

The man just keeps fiddling with his crossbow. “What?”

“I can’t just— she’s half my age.”

“So you’ve said.”

“I got kids to think about, and—“

“Carl don’t give a shit and Judith is ten. Only thing she’s concerned about is sneakin’ sweets.”

He entertains the notion in his head, thinks about what pursuing you might be like.

Something occurs to him.

“She ever get close to you?”

“No,” Daryl huffs, always knowing exactly what Rick means, “Keeps about an arm’s distance away. No matter what. She’s been inchin’ closer recently, but not by much.”

His hand on your face, moving it this way and that without any resistance at all, your body pliant in his grip—

“Hm,” Is all Rick says, crossing his arms.

“Why fawn?”

Daryl shrugs. “Looks like one. Kinda acts like one, around you.”

“No she doesn’t.”

Daryl levels him with a look. “Yes, she does. And based on the way you’ve been actin’, you like it.”

He opens his mouth to refute the point because no, he doesn’t like it, he just constantly thinks about how far he could take it, what you would let him do, if he could make you his.

And then he thinks ‘oh.’ Maybe he does like it.

He drops his hands to his hips. “What exactly am I supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know. Ain’t my area of expertise.”

“You’re the one who knows her better, said I was drivin’ you crazy.”

“So? I don’t know jack shit about romance, Rick.”

“Well, you keep calling her a fawn. How different can it be?”

Very different, his mind supplies. You know that.

Now it’s Daryl’s turn to sigh. “Don’t overwhelm her. She’s a nervous little thing, but she likes you. Once she figures out you ain’t gonna hurt her, she’ll latch on.”

“That’s specific. You deal with fawns a lot?”

He snorts. “No. I’m fuckin’ guessin’ here.”

The two men fall into silence, Daryl fiddling or cleaning his bow— Rick ain’t paying that much attention to him.

He’s thinking about you. You, you, you. Your eyes and your face and your hands and the figure you carefully keep hidden under layers of clothing, even under the hot Virginia sun.

Fawn, he thinks to himself.

Fitting.

—

He doesn’t make a plan or something stupid like that. He just thinks. And then he decides.

“You’re really coming with us?” Glenn asks, pack slung over his shoulder.

“Yep,” Rick says, holstering his gun, “Goin’ stir crazy in there. Just needa get out for a bit.”

You’re quiet as you get your things in order, but the group doesn’t bat an eye. They’re used to your silence, it seems.

You can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, though. You look away every time you think he’s looking at you, but he’s good at looking at you out of the corner of his eye, so he sees it.

Throughout the run, you hover near him, never quite going out of range of his field of vision. He’s impressed by how quietly and efficiently you work- you spot things even he wouldn’t have. All the while watching for walkers, and of course, subtly eyeing Rick.

Despite being the leader, he heads up the back and watches for stragglers. He didn’t really come out cause he was stir-crazy, anyway.

He came out for you. He wanted to watch you work, wanted to do it with you.

To your credit, you work well with the others. You’re a woman of few words with them, but you help where you can and stay civil. Even if you don’t quite get close to any of them.

Except Rick.

As they’re scavenging an abandoned house, a few walkers shuffle out from the trees. Not enough to be a problem— the group outnumbers them easy. But you’re all busy getting supplies and he’s trying to keep an eye out, so he takes them out, one by one.

It really isn’t a huge thing for him, couple walkers ain’t really a big deal, but you notice.

Your eyes are trained on him, clothes now dirty with blood and gore.

He tilts his head, then makes his way over to you.

“You, um,” You say as he gets closer, voice a little hoarse, “Are you alright?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’ll take more than a few walkers to take me out.”

You blink. “Oh.”

He snorts a little laugh. “You ain’t too good at this whole conversation thing, huh?”

You flush, looking away. “Sorry. I’m just not… used to having them.”

You look up at him, earnest. “But I’ve been practicing!”

Oh, lord have mercy over his poor soul. You’ve done a full 180– turned from being afraid of him to very obviously wanting his approval.

“That’s good, that’s good. Who you been practicin’ with?”

“Daryl.”

“Now, that ain’t no good.”

You frown, shifting in place. “It’s not?”

“Well, it’s good that you’re tryin’,” He amends, “But Daryl ain’t good for conversation practicin’. He’s a little too much like you. Much too inclined to just sit in silence.”

“Oh.”

You pause, taking your lip between your teeth and mulling something over in your head.

“Would you, um.” You look up at him, clearly nervous.

And he can’t help himself really, from leaning down into your space a bit, a low “Hmm?” humming from his chest.

Your reaction is instant. This close, he can see the exact moment a flush crawls across your face, to even the tips of your ears.

And he’d suspected, you know, based on your behavior with him. But this— cold hard evidence that he makes you nervous. That you want him on you.

It’s cute. Real cute.

You steel yourself against your own nervousness, and he wants to coo at you.

“Would you practice with me?”

He leans back against the post, slides his hands into his pockets. “Course. Ain’t much to it.”

You smile. It’s small, a quiet sort of thing, but it’s there. He made you smile.

You gesture to the house behind you. “I’m. Gonna go back to scavenging. Um. Thanks.”

You turn on your heel, fleeing back into the house. He watches you go, something settling right into place in his chest.

You stick a little closer to him for the rest of the run.

—

After that day, you begin seeking him out. You don’t approach him right away, preferring to to trail behind him for a little bit before finally making a move.

The move being a quiet: “Hi, Rick.”

Today’s no different, other than it being a little later when you do find him. He’s taking a little stroll around, as is his usual. It… settles him, to see everything alright with his own two eyes.

Settles him even more when he hears the quiet patter of your footsteps behind him.

He chuckles. “Afternoon, darlin’.”

Your foot steps speed up, fall into step somewhat beside him. “Hi, Rick.”

“Hi,” He says, smile tugging at his lips. “How was your day?”

You clasp your hands behind your back as you walk. “Good. Weren’t many walkers on today’s run. I got something for Judith.”

“Oh? Let’s see it, then.”

You take something out of your pocket and hold it out to him.

It’s a pocket knife. One of those multi-tool ones.

And it’s pink.

“I know it’s a cliche, the girls knife being pink, and she is only ten, but I saw it and I thought of her, and—“

“It’s perfect,” He interrupts before you can start spiraling. “She’s gonna love it.”

You deflate almost instantly. “Oh, good. I wasn’t sure.”

You walk for a few minutes before remembering the point of you coming up to him.

“Um. How was your day?”

He huffs a little, too fond to be upset. “Fairly decent. Ain’t got too much going on now.”

“That’s… good?”

He shrugs. “Just a little borin’. How’s that ankle of yours?”

This is usually how your conversations go. A few easy, back and forth questions. Easing you into talking to people, keeping conversations going. You’ve slowly gotten more confident. You talk a little longer, voice sounds a little more expressive.

“Fine.” You say, a little too quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “Really? No pain at all?”

It’s the looking away that sells it. You never look at him when you’re lying. Can’t stand to.

“No. It’s fine.”

He kicks his foot out a little, the toe of his boot just barely catching your ankle.

It’s a little more effective than he wanted. You let out a little yelp of pain and stumble forward, ankle almost immediately buckling.

He darts forward, catching you under the stomach with one arm.

You hang there a little, arms dangling.

“Fine, huh?” He hefts you up, so you’re back to standing upright, though now, visibly favoring your ankle. “So what’d the doctor tell you when I dropped you off?”

“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”

“And which of those four have you been ignorin’?”

“…”

“Hey,” He says, tapping the side of your jaw with two fingers. “Don’t lie to me.”

“All of them,” You wince, “I just didn’t want to be useless. I can walk on it fine. You haven’t even noticed until now!”

Your voice goes a little high at the end, a little desperate.

He thinks about how animals that are lower on the food rung don’t show pain. A deer will break a leg and keep walking until it drops, till it slows too much and something picks it off.

But you ain’t an animal, and nothing’s gonna pick you off.

“That’s true,” He says, “But that don’t make it right. You’re just prolonging the healing process.”

You look down. “…You were mad. I didn’t want to make you more upset by being useless.”

Ah. So that’s what it’s all about.

His approval, once again.

“I’d rather have you useless for a week than useless forever because you didn’t rest properly,” He ignores the hypocrisy of it, the fact that he’s ignored medical advice more times than he can count.

“I really am fine, mostly,” You say meekly, “It’s stopped hurting when I walk. It’s just a little unstable.”

“I still want you taking it easy for a little, you hear me?”

You nod.

“Nah,” He moves, standing in front of you, more than a little in your personal space, “I wanna hear you say it. Use your words.”

It’s a little test of sorts. To see how you’ll respond. What you’ll say. If you’ll listen.

You swallow, eyelashes fluttering. “I hear you. I understand.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Take it easy.”

“That’s right,” You’ve been nice and obedient, so he figures you deserve a little reward. “Good girl.”

He hears your sharp intake of breath, watches your eyes get a little glassy.

Aw, that’s all you wanted. Just wanted to be someone’s good girl.

His good girl.

He nods towards your place. “Get along, now. Do I have to walk you to your door?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’ll go. I will. Uh— bye.”

He watches you scamper away, gait a little uneven, hands clenched at your sides.

I can get used to this.

—

It becomes a little thing, after that.

When you’re not busy with your own responsibilities, you’re usually with him. Either right beside him, or trailing a few feet behind. Your company is quiet and calm, like waves from a lake lapping gently at the shore.

You also begin to settle in with the rest of the group. You’re still more inclined to be near Rick or, if he’s not available, Daryl, but once you become comfortable talking with people, Maggie and Glenn are quickly added to your slowly growing roster of safe people.

Judith has loved you ever since she found out that you’re the one who gave her the most beloved pink pocket knife, and enjoys babbling and talking your ear off about nothing the way that ten year olds do.

Carl grows to appreciate your presence too, finding solace in the fact that you don’t feel the need to fill silence with conversation.

You still act different when Rick is around, though. Especially when it’s just the two of you.

With everybody else, you’re subtly but very strictly independent- despite growing close with the group, you still maintain a slight distance with most of them, and prefer doing things yourself, by yourself. Old habits die hard, he supposes.

But when you’re alone, just Rick and you, those hard edges soften, and your little personal bubble pops. He’s steadily growing obsessed with the change.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. Having such a cute little thing follow him around, hanging off his words. Most days, it’s all he can do not to throw you over his shoulder and carry you to bed.

And then one day, he does. Kind of.

It must be the middle of the night, but the second he hears the knock at his door, he’s wide awake.

He hushes both Carl and Judith back to bed, then creeps to the front door with his hand on his gun. He has never, in his entire life, been awoken in the middle of the night to good news.

When he opens the door he sees you. And Daryl, but he’s really focused on you. You’ve got tears streaming down your face, you’re wearing a strange combination of sleep clothes and the clothes he’s seen you wear to do runs. Your boots are on, but not tied.

“Wha—“

“Caught her sneaking towards the gates, all shaken up. Figured it’d be wiser to take her here then back to her place.”

Daryl pats your head once. “Don’t do anythin’ stupid.”

Then Daryl’s gone, and you’re standing on Rick’s porch, still crying.

“Alright, come here now.”

He barely manages to get the door closed before you fall into him, face pressed to his chest and hands grasping the front of his shirt.

He hesitates for just a moment before wrapping his arms around you.

“Shh, shh. You’re alright, you’re alright now.”

He presses one hand to the nape of your neck, keeping you tucked close as you crack, just a little bit, nearly silent tears staining his shirt and tremors wracking your body.

Eventually, he guides you over to the couch, situates himself before helping you into a more comfortable position. He wraps your arms around his neck, your legs draped across his lap and the couch.

He keeps one hand pressed to your neck, the other rubbing slow circles on your back.

He presses his cheek to the crown of your head, breathing in deep and slow, a curl of satisfaction rising in his chest when you unconsciously mimic his breathing, silent sobs slowing, tremors fading.

Once you’ve calmed down enough, he speaks.

“What’s got you so worked up, huh? What happened sweetheart?”

The pet name slips out of his mouth unbidden, but honestly, he wouldn’t take it back.

“Nightmare,” You sniffle. “Daryl was gone and it was my fault and you hated me.”

“Well, none of that happened now, did it?”

You shake your head.

“No, that’s right. Daryl’s just fine, and I ain’t upset with you. You’re alright.”

You take in a few shaky, shuddering breaths.

He shifts, readjusting and tucking you closer to him. “Now, how come you didn’t come to me? Daryl said you were headin’ to the gates.”

You go a little rigid. “Didn’t think I was allowed. Didn’t want to wake you up for something stupid.”

“Oh, none of that now,” He nudges you away a little, taking your face in his hands. He needs eye-contact while he says this, “You need something, you come to me. I don’t care what it is, I don’t care what time it is. You come to me, you understand?”

You nod, lip wobbling a bit. “I understand.”

He thumbs your cheekbone. “Good. Now come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”

In the morning, the kids are a little surprised to see your rumpled form at the kitchen table, but both recover fairly quickly. Judith especially, who rejoices at the prospect of someone other than Carl or her father whom she can hold hostage with inane, ten year old questions.

But you never quite shake that haunted look in your eyes. Like there was something else— something more in that nightmare, something that dug its little claws in and stuck fast.

It’s all he can do but pray it doesn’t last.

—

It becomes an unspoken thing that wherever Rick is, you’re nearby. Kind of like a little puppy, following him about and hoping for a treat.

He indulges you, because he can’t really help himself in the face of those eyes.

He also knows it’s the easiest way to get you to smile, which he’s been trying to bring about more, since the nightmare. You’ve shaken that haunted expression for the most part, but every now and then, it’ll come back, if just for a few moments.

You’ve been absent most of the day today, off on a run, and he wishes it didn’t get under his skin so much to not have his favorite girl right there behind him.

You’re his stress relief, and you don’t even know it. Don’t even do anything really, just kind of linger about with your adorable little face and occasionally help with your cute little hands. He’s hopelessly obsessed.

You’re smiling when you get back, bee-lining straight for him.

“Well, well,” He says, resting his hands on his hips, “What do we have here?”

“I got you something,” You say, practically vibrating with excitement, slinging your backpack off and rifling through it.

“Oh, something for me? Can’t wait to see it.”

You pull an honest to god polaroid camera out of your bag.

“You said once that you wished you had pictures of your kids to carry with you, and I found this, and it still works, and it still has film in it. I checked.”

You thrust it out to him, and he extracts it carefully from your hands, holding it with an almost reverence.

A camera. A working film camera.

You shuffle in place, and he realizes he’s been staring at it in silence for more than a few minutes. “…Do you like it?”

“I love it,” He says honestly, voice just a little scratchy, because he doesn’t understand how someone can survive the zombie apocalypse, and still end up so damn kind, and so damn sweet. “I’m so touched, sweetheart.”

You beam up at him. If you had a tail, you’d be wagging it. He’s never understood cuteness aggression until this very moment. He just can’t. He wants to squeeze you as hard as he can or just punch a wall or some stupid shit.

God, he’s pushing forty, he needs to get this under control.

“I was really excited when I found it. Tara took a picture of me to test it.”

You pull out a little polaroid picture, film developed, and he takes that with reverence too. In the picture, you’re smiling, that same soft, little smile you do when you’re really happy about something and don’t know how to express it. Your hands show two peace signs, a knife clutched in one.

That’s my girl, he thinks.

“Might just have to keep this,” He says, dumb smile on his face.

“Really?”

“Really. You know, it’s good luck to keep a picture of a pretty girl with you.”

“Pretty?” You squeak, flushing. It’s so easy to make you flustered. He loves it.

“Mhm,” He says, tucking the photo into one of the compartments on his belt, keeping it safe. “Real pretty, I’d say.”

“Oh.” You say, more than a little breathless. “Um.”

Oh, your poor little brain.

“You need a minute?” He snorts.

“Maybe?”

He chuckles, patting the top of your head. “Oh, you’ll be fine. Better get used to it.”

“You’re pretty too,” You blurt, then your eyes widen comically. “No, wait, I meant—“

He laughs, a real, actual laugh. “Me, a grown ass man- pretty. That’s a good one.”

You bury your face in your hands, a tiny little whine escaping your throat.

“Aw, come on, now. Don’t be embarrassed. I’m very flattered you think I’m pretty.”

“S’ not what I meant.” You mumble.

“No?” He says, prying your hands off your face. “What’d you mean, then?”

You look away, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re… handsome.” You whisper the last part, barely loud enough for him to hear.

“Aw, what’d I do to deserve a young thing like you thinking an old man like me is handsome?”

You mumble something again, a little too quiet for him to hear.

“…afe.”

He leans down. “What was that, now?”

“You’re safe.”

Oh.

That’s… not the answer he was expecting.

But he likes it.

Rick is a leader. A protector.

And you need him.

“I make you feel safe?” He hums, resisting the urge to step closer to you because you’re very much out in the open and he knows how you feel about wide open spaces, especially when there’s people in them. He’s torturing you enough as it is. “That why you linger around me, huh?”

Feeling bolder at his interest, you nod.

“You make me feel like… something special. Protected.”

Yes.

He’s always known that he needs to be needed. That he’s the kind of man who requires being a leader, taking care of what’s his, protecting.

To have verbal confirmation that he’s made you feel safe, protected, it’s.

Well it’s a lot more than he can unpack in front of the gates.

“Pretty little thing like you needs protectin’.”

You frown.

“Not because you’re incapable,” He amends, hands raised, “But because I rather like doing it.”

You lean closer, and he follows, heat rising—

“Please, save us all the pain of havin’ to watch, Rick.”

He grins, nose brushing yours, then steps back.

“Maybe stop creepin’ around, Daryl.” He calls to the other man, who just shrugs, ambling on by.

But Daryl does have a point. He doesn’t want an audience. You’re not that kind of girl.

Instead, he reaches down, snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away from the open space, towards his house instead.

“Come on, sweetheart. Think you’d rather be somewhere quiet for what I’m about to do.”

The heat radiating from your body and the shiver he feels under his palm is all the confirmation he needs.

His little fawn, finally his.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

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kathaelipwse · 1 month ago

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The Bang Chan Husband Files | Headcanons

Dates

Thoughtful to the Core: Bang Chan doesn’t just take you on dates—he curates experiences. A picnic with your favorite snacks, a playlist he made just for the mood, fairy lights, and heartfelt conversation is his idea of perfect. Quality Time Lover: He values genuine connection. Watching your favorite movies with takeout and tangled limbs on the couch is his love language. Memory Maker: Keeps old movie tickets, dried flowers, and Polaroids in a memory box. Every anniversary, he shows you how far you’ve come. Surprise Artist: Plans spontaneous bookstore or museum dates where he pretends to be clueless but clearly researched the exhibits beforehand. Homebody at Heart (But For You, He’ll Step Out): Prefers quiet moments at home, but if you want a night out, he puts in effort—clean button-up, styled hair, hand always in yours. Says the Cutest Things: On casual dates, he’ll blurt things like: “I could do this forever with you. This—us.”

Protective

Silent Guardian Energy: He doesn’t need to say much—his stance, his gaze, and the way he subtly moves closer when someone makes you uncomfortable say it all. The “Step-Forward” Move: Whenever you're walking in a crowded place, he gently shifts his body in front of you to shield you, especially from pushy people or stares. Mild Jealousy, Major Control: If someone flirts, he won’t cause a scene. Just leans down and whispers, “Remind me later that you’re mine, yeah?” with that low, playful voice. Always Prepared: Makes you share your location for your safety, and if you don’t respond after a while, he calls—not to scold, but because he’s scared something happened. Protects You From Yourself Too: If you’re overthinking, insecure, or spiraling, he’ll stop everything and say, “You don’t get to talk about someone I love like that.” Gentle Shield: When things overwhelm you, he wraps his arms around you and says, “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Love Language: Acts of Service + Physical Touch

Acts of Service King: He notices the little things you hate doing��laundry, trash, bills—and does them before you can even ask. Fix-It Husband™: Will spend hours figuring out how to assemble something just to make your life easier. You’re always his priority. Can’t Keep His Hands to Himself: Always touching you—thigh squeezes, back rubs while you're cooking, brushing hair from your face. Sleeping Entangled: You wake up with his legs wrapped around yours, his face buried in your neck, and arms locked around your waist. Small, Sweet Gestures: Tucks your hair behind your ear, zips your dress, ties your laces, and kisses your temple like second nature. Handwritten Notes Guy: Leaves sticky notes in your lunch, on your laptop, on the mirror— “You’re stronger than you feel.” “Drink water or I’ll fight you.”

In Fights

When He’s Wrong: Withdraws Out of Guilt: Becomes quiet, not defensive. Hates that he hurt you, even unintentionally. Self-Reflects First: Gives you space so he can cool down, then comes back with a calm, genuine apology. Full Accountability: “You didn’t deserve that. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll do better, I promise.” Physical Apology: Offers a hug—not to escape consequences, but because he needs to feel close while fixing things. Words + Actions: Follows through on change. If the fight was about time, he makes time. If it was about communication, he listens better. Won’t Let You Go to Bed Upset: Even if it’s late, he’ll sit beside you, pinky out, whispering, “I love you. Let’s not sleep angry.” When You’re Wrong: Stays Calm: Doesn’t raise his voice. Just gets quiet and sad, which somehow hurts more. Still Respects You: Doesn’t insult or belittle. Instead, he says things like, “You know I love you, right? But that wasn’t okay.” Clear Boundaries: Tells you how it affected him—but never guilt-trips you. Waits for Your Growth: Won’t rush your apology but also won’t pretend nothing happened. Mature and grounded. Forgives Fully: Once it’s resolved, he doesn’t bring it up again. The past stays in the past. Reaffirms Love: Even in tension, you’ll hear: “I’m still yours. We’re okay, alright?”

Overworking

Workaholic Habits: Gets lost in producing, mixing, fixing—time vanishes until you show up like: “Chris. Have you eaten?” You = His Break Reminder: You have to pry him away with kisses or a snack in your hand, and he’ll act grumpy but follow you. Acts Tough, Is Mush: Once you get him on the couch, he immediately melts into you. Whispers, “You’re the only thing that can stop me, you know that?” When YOU Overwork: He notices. Instantly. Pulls you onto his lap, shuts your laptop, and tells you: “You can’t take care of everything if you burn out. Let me take care of you now.” Midnight Caregiver: If you’re working late, he’ll show up with a drink and rub your shoulders until you give in. Reluctantly Accepts Balance: Tries hard to make time for both his passion and you—because he knows you are his home.

Hypeman

Loudest Cheerleader: Doesn’t matter if you baked bread or landed a promotion—he hypes you like you just won an Oscar. Physical Praise Too: Sees you all dressed up and nearly drops whatever he’s holding: “You can’t be real. I married a goddess.” Social Media Stan: Posts blurry selfies with captions like: “She made me breakfast today. Wife material. Don’t be jealous.” Random Affection Attacks: Walks in, sees you doing dishes, and just hugs you from behind saying, “How are you so amazing all the time?” Annoyingly Obsessed (In the Best Way): Constantly brags about you to the members, staff, strangers. “My wife’s smarter than me. I’m not even ashamed.” Genuinely Inspired by You: Sees you chasing dreams and says, “You make me want to be better. Just by being you.”

In the Bedroom~

King of Build-Up: It always starts slow. Teasing touches, whispered praise, the kind of eye contact that sets your skin on fire. He savors the tension before he breaks it. Voice Gets Deep, Dirty, & Dangerous: When things heat up, his voice drops to a sinful growl—thick with that Aussie accent as he breathes, “You feel that? That’s what you do to me.” Dom But Tender: He’s in control, but not rough unless you want him to be. Holds your wrists gently. His commands sound like worship: “Let me take care of you. Just relax for me, baby.” Obsessed With Your Pleasure: He memorizes what you like, down to the sound you make when he kisses just below your ear. He’s not done until you're shaking and breathless. Eye Contact Demon: Doesn’t look away. He watches every reaction, chases it. And if you close your eyes? “Nah, don’t hide from me. Look at me when you fall apart.” Aftercare Legend: Warm towel. Water. Cuddles. He tucks you into his chest and strokes your hair, whispering, “You did so good. I’ve got you now, angel.”

When You’re on Your Period

Fully Trained, Zero Shame: He’s got the cycle tracked, your cravings memorized, and your go-to comfort movie queued up. “It’s day two, right? I made you soup and cleared the couch.” Zero Ick Factor: Buys pads and tampons without blinking. Talks about cramps and blood like it’s no big deal because it isn’t. “It’s your body being a badass. I respect that.” Snuggle Sandwich Mode: He sandwiches you between pillows and himself, rubbing your belly while muttering sweet things like, “If I could take the pain for you, I would.” On Call for Cravings: Midnight store runs? Done. Heating pad short-circuited? Already replaced. He stocks your favorite snacks before you even realize you want them. Comfort > Everything: Wraps you in his hoodie, tucks a blanket around you, and presses kisses to your temple like medicine. “Let’s just be soft today, baby.” Emotional Anchor: If your emotions spike or you start crying for no reason, he doesn’t flinch. “You don’t have to explain. I’m here. Just cry, I’ll hold you.”

Cooking (He Tries)

Effort 100%, Skill 60%: He watches cooking TikToks like they’re tutorials—but somehow always forgets something important like salt... or timing. Kitchen Chaos King: Expect mess. Flour on his cheeks, three pans going at once, and him muttering, “Why is it burning? I just looked away for two seconds!” Minho = Lifeline: Minho is his emergency contact during culinary crises. “Bro, she’s gonna wake up and the eggs are still moving. Help me.” Plates Like a Masterchef Contestant: No matter how it turns out, he garnishes with herbs, arranges the food perfectly, and says, “Bon appétit, my queen.” Needs Validation Desperately: He watches you chew like his life depends on it. “Do you hate it? Is it edible? Be honest. No, wait—lie to me. Just say it’s amazing.” Laughter Over Perfection: Even if the food’s mid, the love behind it makes it the best meal ever. And when you laugh at his mess, he grins and says, “Hey, at least I made you smile, yeah?”

When He’s Jealous

Silent but Deadly™ Jealousy: He doesn’t lash out—he broods. His jaw clenches, he goes quiet, and suddenly he’s glued to your side with his arm tight around your waist. Subtle Territorial Moves: Starts calling you “baby” louder than usual. Leans in to whisper things like, “You’re mine, yeah? Just so we’re clear.”—right when someone’s clearly checking you out. Polite but Frosty to the Offender™: He won’t be rude… unless the other guy really pushes. Then it’s a low-toned, “You need something, mate?” with the faintest smile and the darkest eyes. Pulls You Close Later: At home, he’ll kiss your shoulder and mutter, “I know it’s dumb, but I hate the idea of someone else looking at you like I do.” Jealous, Then Insecure: The moment fades and guilt kicks in. “You’re with me… but sometimes I wonder if you could do better.” Cue you reassuring him for 10 straight minutes. Jealousy-Fueled Spiciness™: …And then he kisses you like he’s proving something. “Mine. Say it.” (You're not complaining.)

When You Have Random Baby Fever

Soft Panic + Adoration™: The second you say “That baby is so cute,” he chokes on air and gives you a side glance like, “Wait. Are we doing this? Now?” Sudden Overthinking Mode: “Okay but… what if the kid gets your stubbornness and my insomnia? That’s chaos in a diaper.” Would Still Be the Best Dad™: Even while fake-panicking, he’s already imagining your future kid curled up on his chest. “Imagine if they had your eyes though… damn. I’m doomed.” Soft Daydreaming Moments: If he sees you holding a baby? He melts. Later whispers, “You’d be such a good mom. Like… you already take care of me.” Baby Fever Hits Him Too: One random night while brushing his teeth, he mumbles, “So… what if we had two? A girl and a boy?” Like sir. Calm down. “Practice” Time: “Wanna practice being a parent? Starting with… bedtime?” —And suddenly you forget about the baby and remember why Chan needs supervision.

Gaming Nights with the Boys (When You Call)

Hyper-Focused Gamer Mode: Headset on, yelling at Changbin about a grenade throw, fully immersed—until he sees your name light up his phone. Instant Soft Switch™: “Yo, pause—she’s calling.” Drops the controller mid-match just to answer with, “Hey, baby. You okay?” “Y/N Gets Priority” Rule: If it’s not an emergency but you want cuddles or food, he’s already logging off. “The game’ll be here tomorrow. She won’t sleep without me.” Boys Clown Him, But Respect It: Seungmin: “Whipped.” Chan: “Yeah. And?” Sneaks You Into the Headset: He’ll say, “Wanna say hi to the guys?” and hold the mic up for you. The boys greet you like you’re part of the crew already. Post-Game Snuggles Required: As soon as he’s off, he beelines to you on the couch, wraps his arms around you, and mumbles, “Missed you. Even if it was just two hours.”

Sick!Reader (Bang Chan as Caregiver)

Immediately Takes Over: The moment he hears you’re not feeling well, Chan’s brain switches into “nurturing mode.” He’s dropping everything—work, plans, socializing. You come first. “I’m canceling everything. You’re more important than any meeting.” The Ultimate Comforter™: Chan will text you all day long to check in. If you’re running a fever, he’ll cool down your skin with a cold compress, gently rubbing your temples and whispering, “You’re gonna be okay, baby. I’m right here.” Spoiling You with Comfort Food: He’s in the kitchen, whipping up soup (which is admittedly a bit burnt, but made with so much care). “I made this for you, baby. It’s not Michelin star, but it’s full of love.” Guilt Trip Chan™: If you try to say you’re okay when you’re clearly not, he gets a little pouty. “Baby, I told you to rest. You’re going to make me worry even more if you keep getting up like this.” He’ll gently push you back onto the couch, ready to pamper you some more. Cuddles & Rest: When you need sleep, he’s there, either lying with you or making sure you’re cozy. “I’m gonna stay here. You can sleep, and I’ll be right by your side.” He’s a giant teddy bear, making sure you’re not alone. He might even nap with you. “Tell Me What You Need” Mode: If you feel guilty for being “a burden,” he’ll reassure you with, “You’re never a burden. I love taking care of you. You’re my everything.” Even if he’s secretly a little tired, his focus is entirely on you and your recovery.

Anniversaries with Bang Chan

Memory Keeper™: For your anniversary, he remembers every little detail. He’ll bring up your first date, the first time you held hands, and how the two of you grew together. “You remember that day we stayed up all night talking? I’ll never forget that.” Romantic Surprise Planner: Chan doesn’t just get you flowers. He surprises you with a carefully planned day, like a picnic at your favorite park or a movie marathon of all the films you’ve talked about watching together. “I got the perfect spot ready. Thought we’d watch the sunset first.” Gifts with Meaning: He’s not the type to just buy a gift off the shelf. Everything he gets you has meaning. A necklace? It has a charm that represents a moment you both shared. A book? It's something you both love or something that holds sentimental value. “This is from the day we... It’s just a little reminder that every moment with you counts.” Sweet Love Notes: Chan’s a sucker for writing handwritten notes or love letters on anniversaries. He’ll leave them where you’ll find them—tucked in your bag, under your pillow, in your favorite book. “For every year, for every moment. I’ll love you more each day.” Anniversary “Us” Time: He loves nothing more than a quiet, intimate day with you. Even if the world is chaotic around you, he cherishes these peaceful moments with just the two of you. “No need to make it extravagant. Just you, me, and a whole lot of love.” Anniversary Reflections: Chan’s the type to reflect deeply on the year, especially when it comes to your relationship. At the end of the day, he’ll pull you close, whisper, “Look at how far we’ve come. I can’t wait to see what the next year holds for us.”

Jealous!Reader (Chan's Response to His "Jealous" Reader)

Instant Reassurance™: When you show signs of jealousy—whether it’s through an offhand comment or by getting possessive—Chan’s first instinct is to reassure you, showering you with affection. “You don’t have to worry about anyone but you. You’re the one I want. Always.” He’ll emphasize that your place in his life is irreplaceable. Gentle Confidence: Even if he sees you feeling a little insecure, he won’t let you feel inferior. He’ll gently touch your cheek, make eye contact, and say something sweet like, “I only have eyes for you. No one could ever compare to you, no matter what.” Playful Jealousy Back™: If he notices you getting jealous, he’ll tease you—flirting even more, giving you a taste of your own medicine. He’ll act like he’s enjoying the attention, just to make you a little crazy. “Oh, you want to fight for me? I guess I am pretty irresistible.” But it’s all in good fun, just to remind you that he’s the one who gets to claim your attention. Exclusively Yours™: He has no problem showing the world who you belong to. Whether it’s holding your hand in public or showing affection in front of others, Chan’s constant gestures say: “Yeah, she’s mine. And I’m proud of it.” Jealous? He’ll Handle It. If someone really crosses the line with you, Chan steps up in a way that’s both protective and respectful. “Hey, you got a problem with her? Take it up with me.” He won’t let anyone disrespect you, no matter how big or small the offense. Post-Jealousy Cuddles: After any jealousy moment, he’ll always come back to you with an extra dose of affection. He’ll cuddle you, whispering into your ear, “You’re all I want, baby. No one else comes close.”

When He’s Flirty

Innuendo Master™: Chan is full of playful comments that make you blush, like, “I’d say I’m not the jealous type… but if I was, you’d be the only one I’d be jealous of.” Teasing Touches: His hands are always close—resting on your lower back, brushing against your arm, or gently tugging you closer whenever you’re talking to someone else. The Whisper Game™: He’ll lean in close when you’re out in public and whisper something flirtatious in your ear, “You look so good, I might just have to take you home early.” His voice drops to that low, smooth tone that leaves you blushing. Proud Smirks: Whenever he catches you looking at him, he’ll send you a knowing, playful look, as if saying, “I know you’re thinking about me.” Subtle Challenges™: He’ll challenge you to make him blush or make him lose his cool, but deep down, he loves watching you try.

When the reader turns Chan on while he's away on tour~

Sultry Voice Notes™ While he’s away, you send him voice notes that are full of playful teasing and hints. You’ll whisper something like, “I miss you so much… I wish you were here to kiss me right now…” The low tone of your voice and the suggestiveness leave him desperately trying to keep his composure, especially during interviews or rehearsals. Spicy Texts™ You know just how to get under his skin—sending him texts with cheeky comments like, “I bet I’d look good on my knees for you right now…” or “I’ve been imagining how you’ll hold me when you get back…” The words hit him like a punch to the gut, making his thoughts drift away from his setlist or the choreography. He’ll be left biting his lip, trying not to blush when he reads them during breaks. Teasing Photos™ While he’s stuck in a hotel room or on the tour bus, you send him a photo of yourself in something that drives him wild—maybe it’s something you know he loves you in, like a cute but revealing outfit or you lying on the bed in your lingerie. He can’t stop staring at it, fighting the urge to touch himself while he's stuck on tour. “You know what you do to me, right?” he’ll text back, trying to focus on his performance but clearly distracted. Subtle Flirty Videos™ You send him a video of yourself, maybe something simple like you cooking dinner or getting dressed for the day, but you make sure to be extra flirty. A slow motion walk past the camera, a wink, or the way you bite your lip in the middle of your sentence will completely mess with his focus. He’ll be replaying that video on loop, trying to hide his reactions from the other guys. Erotic Daydreaming™ During an off-day or in-between interviews, you know exactly how to turn him on. You send a message saying, “I’ve been thinking about what I want to do to you when you get home… I can’t wait to have you in my arms and show you just how much I missed you…” It’ll catch him off-guard, making his heart race, palms sweat, and thoughts go straight to how he wants to have you when he returns. The Promise of What’s to Come™ You’ll make playful, suggestive promises like, “I’ll let you make up for all the teasing when you get home…” knowing how badly he’ll want to make those words come to life. It’s not just what you’re saying—it’s the anticipation of finally being alone together again. When he reads those texts, he can’t help but imagine all the ways he’ll take control once he's back with you.

-- The End --

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yoonguurt · 4 months ago

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Pairing: non idol Jihoon x F!reader

Genre: fluff, angst if you squint, smut

Trope: friends to lovers, idiots to lovers

Word Count: 5,088

Trigger Warnings: none

Summary: Jihoon always joins in when his group of friends makes fun of Mingyu for being a simp for his girlfriend. It isn’t that he thinks that a man shouldn’t go above and beyond for their significant other, it’s just that he hasn’t had a girlfriend that makes him want to go that far. Maybe one day, though.

A/N: This is for @ddeonghwa-s secret cupid event! Surpise @strawberry-skiess I'm your cupid! This honestly was hard to start, but once I started I just couldn't stop. I hope you enjoy it! Happy Valentine's Day (even though I'm a day late) Thanks to @kwanisms for this lovely little banner. I love it so much. This is for adults only, no minors allowed! I will fight you.

Read all of the other wonderful entries here

Smut Warnings: slight nipple play, dom!Jihoon, sub!reader, fingering, oral (f receiving) unprotected sex (do not), maybe two thigh slaps

“Well, if it isn’t the simp of the century.” Jeonghan’s voice floats through Jihoon’s ears and he looks to the door as Mingyu walks in. Over the last couple of months, calling their group giant a simp has become something of a ritual. They don’t mean it, they honestly think it’s adorable how whipped Mingyu is. And he certainly isn’t ashamed of it. He wears the title like a badge of honor. “Still single and bitchy, I see.” Mingyu’s retort is almost immediate, a cheshire grin adorning his face as he watches the rest of the group burst into laughter and Jeonghan’s face turn into a mix between a smirk and a scowl.

Jihoon retreats into his thoughts while his friends chatter amongst themselves. He does think it’s sweet how much Mingyu loves his girlfriend, he just isn’t sure that he understands. Sure, he’s had a few relationships of his own, and while he cared about them, even loved one or two, he has never known the amount of love Mingyu seems to wield. His friend found his self described love of his life around 4 months ago and he’s been head over heels the entire time. Jihoon has watched Mingyu rush to get to his phone when he gets a text, with a special ringtone for his girlfriend, and smile like an idiot at whatever it is she has said.

He’s lived through Mingyu leaving nights at the bar solely because his girl wanted to cuddle. When her birthday came around, the two men spent hours going through unlimited stores while Mingyu tried to find the perfect present. Every time Jihoon suggested something, Mingyu had a retort on why it wasn’t good enough. The new cd by her favorite band? “I don’t have enough time to get it signed.” The pretty pink purse that screamed something his girlfriend would like? “I already got her that one.” Eventually, the tall man had settled on a necklace that Jihoon was certain cost more than a used car. Mingyu had the money to throw around, he guessed.

Part of Jihoon wants to know what it’s like to feel like that. Another part thinks that it seems like a burden. He can’t decide where he stands on the topic. Sure, he wants that great love that novels describe, wants to give his heart to someone and know that they’ll always be there. But at the same time, he isn’t sure he’ll find someone that can deal with his finicky moods. There are times when he wants someone to cuddle, only to immediately change his mind. He knows that can be annoying, and he is working on it. One of his other issues is time. He takes his job seriously.

Working as a producer, he is a busy man. He doesn’t know if there’s a person out there that will understand that sometimes, he loses himself in his work. His phone drifts to the back of his mind, dates forgotten without him meaning to. It’s the main reason his relationships have failed. He genuinely doesn’t mean to, and it’s another thing he has been working on. He’s been getting better at responding to his friends in a timely manner, he’s even taken to setting alarms on his phones so he doesn’t miss the planned hangouts. Sure, he still falls into the music and forgets the world around him, but he’s getting better.

There has always been an exception, though. You. His best friend. The two of you have known each other for years, having met in freshman year of college. Your sunny disposition sometimes clashed with the grumpy facade he puts on, but it’s always worked. A couple of his exes thought there was something going on between the two of you, but that’s never been the case. He just clicks with you. You understand him. You’re a busy woman, too. The journalism world stops for no one.

“Isn’t that right, Jihoon?” He snaps head up toward the voice. Soonyoung looks at him expectantly, obviously waiting for him to agree with him. “Sorry, what?” The huff of air that comes from Soonyoung’s mouth lets him know how annoyed his friend is. “I said that it’s cute that Mingyu loves his girl so much, isn’t that right?” Honestly, he doesn’t know how to answer this. “Sure, it’s cute, but it seems exhausting.” The sound of a scoff comes from behind him and he turns to the sound. He hadn’t realized that you were here. He suddenly feels like he said something wrong, like when a teacher calls on you to answer in class and you fumble and answer wrong. It’s embarrassing for some reason. “So what I’m hearing is that you would find caring for your partner that much to be an inconvenience?” Everyone’s eyes flit between you and Jihoon, waiting for a debate to start. The two of you have always been like that. You’re able to have a small, argumentative conversation and then go back to joking like it never happened.

Jihoon sighs deeply, knowing where this is going. “That’s not what I said.” His tone lets you know just how annoyed at having a conversation like this again. “I’m just saying that Mingyu’s level of simpdom sounds like a bit much. I’m happy he has someone that he loves so much, but being at her beck and call constantly sounds tiring.” Mingyu responds before you can even open your mouth. “That isn’t how it is.” His tone isn’t defensive in any way. He just sounds like he’s explaining something to a child. “She doesn’t ask me to do any of that. She actually encourages me to have fun with you guys. I just feel so happy that I have her and I want to make sure she knows that.”

Jihoon stays silent for a moment, thinking over Mingyu’s words. He thinks to himself, wandering again if he’s ever had something like that. He thinks the closest thing he’s had is you. He’s dropped more things that he can count to be at your side when you need him. He’s even dipped on girlfriends because you were upset. Once, he canceled on his most recent ex just because you secured a front page spot for the local paper. He needed to be the one to celebrate your accomplishment with you, needed to be the first one to congratulate you. He didn’t want to think too deeply about what that meant. Sure, he had had a massive crush on you in college, he thought he might have been in love with you, but that had disappeared a long time ago.

When you showed no sign of reciprocating his feelings, he decided to let it go, letting you go, at least in the romantic sense.

Of course, there were still times where he’d look at you and think about how beautiful you were, especially when you’d just woken up and the light was hitting you in a specific way. But, that was just him appreciating your beauty as a best friend. He was sure of it. Realizing he had been quiet for too long, he glanced at Mingyu, nodding his head. “I guess I could see how someone could feel that way.” He chose to ignore the way Soonyoung cut his eyes toward him, knowing what he was thinking. Soonyoung had been the only person who had known about his college crush. He always insisted that you had felt the same, and that Jihoon still held a candle for you.

“You’ll find it one day, Hoon. Don’t close yourself off to it.” Your voice is strained, though you try to hide it. You’ve always admired Jihoon, even if he was a bit closed off. He’d never really let himself go in a relationship. It was like he never felt comfortable. But you knew him at his core, knew how sweet and thoughtful he was. He had always been there for you when you needed him, which was probably why your love for him had never died. You’d tried to find someone else, dated people, even loved one or two, but not like you loved Jihoon. No one could compare. You’ve seen every side of him and there isn’t a single one of them that you don’t adore. He’s also been growing his hair and God does he look better than you’ve ever seen him. You can tell his confidence has grown a little and that is even more attractive. You know you’re well and truly fucked, but you aren’t sure you want to change that.

The night winds down and everyone gathers their things to leave. Soonyoung takes the time to pull Jihoon aside, making the younger boy look at his friend in confusion. “Look, I know you’re going to deny it like you always do, but watching you two pine after each other is getting hard to do.” Jihoon opens his mouth, only to be silenced by Soonyoung’s hand lifting in the air. “Have you ever stopped to think that there’s a reason that relationships never worked out for either of you? If you haven’t, then think about it, ok?” Soonyoung clapped his friend on the shoulder before he moved to hug you and tell you goodbye.

“I’ll help clean up.” Jihoon’s words cut into your thoughts, distracting you from what it is you were thinking. You turned to face him, a teasing smirk gracing your features. “Take a look around. There’s nothing to clean up. Go home and actually get some sleep tonight. I know you have to be at the studio early tomorrow, just like I know you haven’t been sleeping. Just listen to me and go sleep.” He was baffled at how you knew that, but then again it was a talent you seemed to have. Knowing everything without him having to tell you. But then again, he guessed he had the same talent. It was like a sixth sense. Some real ‘There’s a disturbance’ shit. He simply nodded at you, saying goodnight and leaving without even stopping to think that you barely had to have any force behind your turn to get him to do exactly what you wanted.

The thinking came when he walked through his door. A lot of it. Soonyoung’s words began to float through his mind. Did they have any weight to them at all? Sure, relationships had really never worked out for the two of you, but that didn’t mean anything. Relationships come and go, that’s what they do. Occasionally, people get lucky and they find who they’re supposed to be with. Sometimes, they don’t. That was just life, it didn’t mean that the two of you were the reason the other’s relationships failed. The more he thought about it, though, the more merit Soonyoung’s words seemed to hold. Any time you needed him, he came running, and the same applied to you. You’ve both left dates and anniversaries because the other needed something. He’s had to assure quite a few exs that there was nothing romantic between the two of you and if he had to guess, he’d say you’ve done the same. Everything hits him at all once and he feels the need to sit down to process.

You’re going through your own mental roller coaster. You know that Jihoon could find his person if he would just let someone in. It doesn’t have to be you, though you desperately want it to be, you just want him to find someone that will make him happy, someone that will bring out the loving side you know that he has. You sigh deeply as you lock up your apartment, making your way to your bed to get some much needed sleep.

You don’t hear from Jihoon for a few days, but that isn’t totally unusual. Sometimes he gets so lost in the music and you just wait until he’s back in the land of the living. But as a whole week passes, you start to worry. He’s never gone more than 3 days without speaking to you. You try to play through the events of the last time you saw him, thinking about if you had done something out of the norm. The only thing you think of is the conversation everyone had about Mingyu. He must have been offended that he was ganged up on, but then again that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t the first time everyone had had this conversation and he has never reacted like this before. It takes a split second for you to make up your mind and grab your purse and walk out the door.

Jihoon sits at his computer, staring past it like it’s not even there. He can’t focus, hasn’t been able to focus for a week. His thoughts always float back to you and how he feels. Now that he has realized he does in fact have feelings for you still, he can’t seem to bring himself to face you. What if he acts different? What if you realize? He can’t risk it. There are too many years of friendship on the line. Sure, not answering your texts is the coward’s way out, but he doesn’t know what else to do. As he had sat on his couch a week ago, the realization that he was in love with you hit him in the face. Damn Soonyoung. He would have been totally fine if he had kept being ignorant. Now though, he knows that he’d do anything for you. He knows that he already does do anything for you.

The beeping on the keypad to his studio brings his attention back to reality. There are select few who know the code to his studio and he looks at the door with held breath, hoping it isn’t who he knows it is. You swing the door open, displeasure written all over your face. “What the fuck, Lee Jihoon?” He grimaces, hating that you’ve pulled his full name out of your pocket. If he didn’t before, he knows now that he is in deep trouble. He sits in his chair, slouching like a scolded child as you glare at him. “No text in a week. No reply in a week. Nothing to let me know that you’re even alive. Who the hell do you think you are?” Jihoon almost wants to laugh, thinking you’re adorable even when you’re angry, but he doesn’t dare. He knows that will only make things worse for him.

Jihoon is hit with a sudden urge to touch you and he can’t hold back. He quickly stands and moves towards you slowly, watching as your demeanor changes. You go from angry to confused as you watch his steps. He stops in front of you, wrapping his arms around you. “I’m sorry.” The words are whispered, but you can still hear them. All of the anger leaves you, almost. You hit his shoulder lightly, making him giggle slightly. “You damn well should be. Had my ass worried sick, asshole.” There’s a playfulness in your tone, one that you can’t help but let out. Your confusion grows as you realize that Jihoon hasn’t stopped hugging you. That is definitely different. Jihoon hates physical touch, he always has. In the entirety of your friendship, he’s only hugged you a handful of times and everyone has been quick, lasting only a few seconds.

“What happened to you in the past week for you to be so affectionate? You hate physical affection.” Your words come out teasing, trying to mask your genuine curiosity as a joke. He doesn’t answer for a moment, seeming content to just continue holding you. When he finally does speak, you choke on air, starting a small coughing fit. “Yeah, but I love you.” There’s no teasing tone. No joking. You can hear the sincerity in his voice. You have no words. No thoughts, head empty.

Jihoon pulls back just enough to look at you and you can see the hesitation and worry in his eyes. You need to say something, you want to say something, but nothing is coming out. Your mouth is opening and closing like a fish gasping for air and you’re sure you look ridiculous. When you finally find words, they aren’t what you planned to say. “Are you sure about that?” Jihoon can’t contain his laugh and the sound hits you in your gut. It makes every fiber of your being tingle. Hearing him laugh brings you back to reality and you give him a playful shove, smiling and letting out a huff of laughter of your own. “Shut up.” There’s no real bite to your words and you know that he knows that. “I tell you that I love you and your response is to ask me if I’m sure?” He’s teasing you and loving it and you pout. “Hey! It’s a perfectly valid question!” Looking at him your heart surges with affection.

“As funny as that was, I’m kind of panicking over here. A response would be nice, even if it’s a rejection.” Jihoon chews his lip as the nerves show on his face. You can’t help but smile at him and reach up and lace your fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. “Have I told you how much I love your hair like this?” Your statement throws him off guard and he looks at you with furrowed brows. “Wha-” You cut him off with a finger to his lips. “Almost as much as I love you.” The smile that comes across his face could light up a room with no lights. He leans down and presses his forehead against yours. “Are you sure?” He giggles against your lips as you give him a pout and a shove. His reaction is to pull you closer to him, pressing you as close to his body as possible.

His eyes flit down to your lips before trailing back to your eyes, in silent question. You give him a slight nod, knowing that he’ll get the message. You watch as his lips slowly move towards yours, as if he’s teasing you by making you wait. You let out a whine of impatience and he giggles. He can’t help but give you what you want. When he finally presses his mouth to yours, it’s like the world explodes in a rainbow of colors you didn’t even know existed. You feel as if your entire purpose makes sense now that you have tasted his lips. It doesn’t take long before the sweet pecks turn into desperate, open mouthed kisses. His tongue dances with yours, fighting for dominance, which he quickly wins. The way he takes control of the kiss goes straight to your core. You’d thought about this and sure, you thought he’d be more of a dominant lover, but the reality is greater than what you could imagine. And this is only kissing. You can only imagine what it’s going to be like when he’s actually fucking you. The thought alone has your thighs clenching.

Of course, Jihoon notices even though you’re trying to be subtle about it. He pulls back with a smirk. “Oh? Is someone getting needy?” The way his voice drops in octave only causes you to clench tighter and let out a small whimper. Jihoon’s lips make their way to your neck, leaving small nibbles and kisses in their wake. “Aww. My poor baby. Already getting desperate, huh?” All you can do is nod against him as your hands grab at his shirt. He lets out a deep chuckle against the skin of your neck and the vibrations make you shiver. His hand slowly makes its way from your neck down the front of your chest, stopping just above your breast. He lifts his head to look you in the eyes, silent asking for consent. Instead of giving him a verbal answer, you take his hand, completely bypassing your clothed breast and placing it at the hem of your shirt. He takes the hint, leaning back just enough to lift your shirt from your body.

The chilly air in the studio causes your nipples to harden immediately and Jihoon’s eyes fall to your chest and darken with lust. His hands instantly find your bra covered breasts, pulling the cups down just enough to him to see your peaked buds. Taking one in between his thumb and index fingers, he pinches lightly, just enough to see your reaction. When you arch into him, he smirks, knowing he’s found something you like. “Hoon, please.” Your voice is light and airy, the need evident. “Please what, sweetheart? What do you need? You’ve gotta use your words, pretty.” The way you buck your hips and whine tells him all he needs to know.

He moves his fingers to the button of your pants, making a show of slowly loosening the button. His teasing is both driving you crazy and making you more horny than you have ever been. Your hips are bucking into nothing, desperate for some sort of stimulation. When he finally gets the button undone, he sinks to his knees, pulling your pants down as he lowers himself. “Hands above your head, baby. No moving unless I say.” The softness of his tone does nothing to hide the dominance and it makes you weak. You nod and move your hands above your head against the wall. Jihoon flashes you a smile that makes your heart flutter. “What a good girl I have. You listen so well, my love.”

When he taps your leg to signal for you to lift your legs to step out of the pants. You obey slowly, trying to tease him a little bit. A quick slap to your thigh makes you gasp, a moan slipping from your lips. “Behave. I’m trying to make our first time sweet. Don’t test me, angel.” His patience wavers slightly when he can’t wait to remove your panties, simply using his strength to rip them so that they fall off of you. It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. “Holy shit, Jihoon.” He smirks like he knows how much his strength affects you, because he does. He doesn’t say anything, simply lifts your right leg and places it over his shoulder. Your breath hitches as you look down at him, making eye contact as he makes a show of sticking his tongue out, flicking it over your clit. The sudden contact makes you jerk forward and your eyes fall closed. Even though the action was nowhere near enough, it made you even more wet. You’re practically dripping at this point and once glance at the man below you lets you know that he enjoys the effect he has on you.

He spends what feels like forever just slowly giving your clit kitten licks, driving you insane just as slowly. Without warning, his actions speed up. He grips your hips and harshly pulls them forward, shoving his face as far into your pussy as he can get it. The moan you emit is bordering on pornagraphic. Your fingers twitch, wanting so badly to grip him by the hair and ride his face. As if he can sense your thoughts, he pulls back, making you whine. “Don’t even try it. Move those hands and you won’t cum at all.” The slight growl in his voice does things to your insides. “Yes, sir.” Your voice is low and desperate and Jihoon groans, approving of your choice of title.

He dives back into your cunt, quickly sliding his middle finger inside of you, his ring following a few seconds later. He curls his fingers, searching for the spot that he knows will make you come undone. It doesn’t take him long to find it, pressing the tips of his fingers against it and rubbing. You can’t control the sounds that come from your throat and you’re beyond glad the studio is soundproof. You can feel yourself getting closer to your peak and you do your best to communicate that. “Ji, please. So close.” Your hips are moving without your control, chasing your end on instinct. Jihoon leans back long enough to give you permission to come. “That’s it baby. Let it go. Let me taste you. Give it to me.” His words throw you over the precipice, launching your mind into a different plane, one that is filled with nothing but pleasure and the sound of his voice. Jihoon works you through your orgasm, slowing down gradually to draw it out as long as possible.

“Breathe, love. In and out.” You don’t even realize how hard you’re panting, but you listen to him regardless. Your eyes are closed and your legs feel like jelly and you’re aware that you’re only standing because he’s holding you up. You aren’t sure when he stood, brushing his fingers across your face and through your hair. When you finally return to reality, he’s looking at you with concern. “Are you ok?” His voice is shaky with hints of worry and his eyes flicker all over your face like he’s looking for some sign of distress. It takes you a moment to respond and when you do, you can only say the first thing that pops into your mind. “Are you fucking kidding me? That was insane and amazing and I need your cock in me right now or I’ll die.” The laugh Jihoon lets out is loud and unrestrained and it makes you smile.

He places a quick kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself briefly on his lips. His hands take hold of yours and he slowly moves you toward the couch that sits against the wall behind his computer chair. With another kiss, he steps back, his hands moving to the hem of his shirt. “Lay down on your back, baby.” You don’t even think before doing as he says, keeping your eyes on his as he lifts his shirt over his head. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen Jihoon shirtless, but the fact that you know what’s about to happen makes it all the more erotic. He drops the shirt on the floor, not caring where it lands, moving his hands to the basketball shorts he’s wearing. Your breath hitches in anticipation, and you refuse to even blink as he eases his shorts and boxers down together. When his length comes into view, your mouth goes dry. He’s the perfect amount of length and girth, not too long or short and you just know the stretch will be heavenly. He watches you look at him for a moment before he steps out of his clothes completely and makes his way to the couch where your body lies limp and needy.

His eyes wander your body, simply taking you in, clearly liking the way you’re spread out for him. “You are so fucking beautiful, do you know that?” The way he’s looking at you makes your insides turn to mush and you reach for him, making grabby hands at him. He gives you a soft smile, kneeling in between your legs and linking his fingers with yours. After giving each hand a kiss, he lifts them to fit around his neck, leaning down to give a slow kiss, full of nothing but love. Giving you one last questioning look, he waits for you to smile and nod before he reaches down to align his length with your entrance. When he pushes forward, it feels like the world expands and closes in at the same time. You’re hyper aware of everything while also only focusing on the feel of him. It’s like you’ve finally found a piece of yourself that you didn’t even know you were missing.

The first thrust steals every bit of oxygen you have, replacing it with love and just Jihoon. The sound he makes causes a groan to erupt from your throat. He sounds wrecked already and you love that you’re the one that is making him that way. His face buries itself in your neck, lips littering kisses along the exposed skin. “Fuck, you feel so good.” You can tell that he’s holding himself back. You lift your head just enough for your lips to be close to his ear, giving it a soft bite. “Jihoon, you can be soft later. Right now, I need you to fuck me.” It seems like that’s all he needed to hear. He pulls his hips back until his cock is almost completely out of you before he slams back in. Hard. The movement jolts your whole body, shoving your head against the arm of the couch. Without missing a beat, Jihoon brings his hand down to place it between your head and the couch, his thrusts still hard and fast.

With the combination of his speed, depth and roughness, you’re embarrassingly close to coming for the second time. You dig the nails of one hand into the skin of his back, the other making its way to his hair, pulling just enough for him to feel it. The groan he lets out lets you know that he very much enjoys that. Your moans are loud and mixing with the filthy babbles that are coming from him. Praise of how good you feel, how badly he’s wanted this, how you’re his now. Your orgasm hits you full force without you even realizing just how close you were. The squeezing of your pussy around his cock and the look on your face has Jihoon following you immediately, filling your cunt with every bit of cum he has. You look up at him, and his breath hitches. You’re so, so beautiful and so, so his. Looking at you like this, he knows that he would do anything for you. Anything just to see you happy and smiling. He would eat glass if that would cause you joy, even though he knows it wouldn’t. A sudden realization hits him and he lowers his head.

“Shit, I’m a simp, too.”

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colouredbyd · 2 months ago

Text

Soleil

Regulus Black x fem!reader

summary: When Regulus overhears a whispered confession never meant for him—soft words tucked between laughter and loyalty, unraveling the quiet truth beneath your friendship. In the hush that follows, the line between almost and everything begins to blur.

warnings: the most fluffiest fluff to ever fluff in any au, friends in love but in denial, childhood friends to lovers, lowkey grumpy x sunshine trope, reg being insecure, love confessions, self doubt, swearing. i love this sm.

word count: 7.3k ( im sorry ☹️)

authors note: reggie is quite literally the loml so here u go guys 🌷

masterlist

“I just don’t get it. You two are close, sure, but how can someone like you stand someone so… frostbitten?”

Regulus Black had never been fond of listening in.

Not because he held some high regard for personal boundaries—though he might feign such principles if questioned—but because idle whispers had always struck him as painfully dull. His ears had never itched for gossip, nor had curiosity ever coaxed him into shadowed corners. If people had something to say, they’d say it. And if they didn’t, he preferred the quiet.

In truth, silence had always been kinder to him than most people ever were.

It was a habit he’d mastered long before Hogwarts—back when the walls of Grimmauld Place echoed with slurred legacies and scornful lectures. In those days, slipping away unnoticed had been a form of survival. At school, it was simply routine.

But tonight… something felt different.

Maybe it was the fact that his name had slipped past someone else’s lips.

Maybe it was the company—James Potter, Marlene McKinnon, and you—tucked just around the corridor outside the Gryffindor common room.

Or maybe it was something subtler, something aching and ancient, when Marlene’s voice laced his name with ice.

He hadn’t meant to linger. He’d only returned to fetch the worn book he’d abandoned on the windowsill that morning. He hadn’t expected anyone to be there—let alone you, laughter softening your voice like candlelight.

He could’ve kept walking. He should have.

But then—

“I think there’s kindness in him,” James said, uncertain. His voice faltered like a lantern in fog.

“I mean… we’ve barely spoken, really.” He rubbed the back of his neck—nervous, boyish. Always more heart than caution.

“Maybe he’s just not great with people?”

(Y/n) hummed softly, nodding in agreement, though her gaze had grown distant, pulled by the threads of memory. She understood him far better than the others did—better, perhaps, than anyone else dared to try. That’s why Marlene and Dorcas had turned to her, curious about the boy who walked the castle halls like a ghost no one could quite touch.

She’d known Regulus Black long before they shared the same classes at Hogwarts. Growing up among pureblood circles had made their paths cross more than once, though back then, he’d barely acknowledged her presence. It wasn’t until their fifth year that a quiet camaraderie started to bloom—quiet, not because it was secret, but because it had no need for loud declarations. A glance. A shared silence. A wordless understanding. All of it wove together like a private constellation only they could see.

She smiled faintly at the memory, a soft huff of laughter escaping her. It was absurd, really, to think she’d somehow become the unofficial Regulus Black Expert of Gryffindor Tower. The idea would’ve made her younger self laugh out loud.

Because back then—when she’d first been introduced to him by a smug Sirius Black with a wicked grin and a mischievous, “Reggie, this one won’t bite unless you ask”—she never would’ve imagined this strange little bond forming.

“Regulus has always been… closed off,” she murmured at last, agreeing with Marlene’s earlier observation, though her tone had drifted somewhere far away. Her words were less a reply and more a wandering thought, drifting like parchment on wind.

It hadn’t been easy, not at first. Regulus had no interest in friendship—especially not the kind that came packaged with Sirius’s teasing introductions. He’d been all cold stares and clipped replies, a boy carved from silence and family pressure. And she? She’d simply been the unfortunate soul swept into the current of Black family drama, doomed to be one more casualty in Go-to-hell, Sirius’s grand matchmaking schemes.

Time after time she found herself at 12 Grimmauld Place under the excuse of “study sessions” or “family dinners” orchestrated by Sirius’s sheer willpower. And time after time, Regulus kept his distance, each glance sharpened like a dagger, each word a carefully measured offering. He didn’t need friends. He didn’t want them. And she? She was just a name on a list he hadn’t asked for.

And truthfully, (Y/n) never quite knew when it shifted—or why. When, between wary glances and measured silences, something real began to stir between them. She chewed gently at her bottom lip as the thought unfurled, trying to follow the winding trail back to the precise moment when their distant acquaintance melted into something gentler, more sincere. Something she could, without hesitation, call a friendship now.

“Do you think he ever lets anyone in?” Marlene asked, a touch of disbelief in her voice—not meant to wound, only to confess her own discomfort. She never knew how to fill the silences Regulus left behind, not the way Dorcas or (Y/n) somehow managed to. “It just doesn’t add up to me.”

Unseen just around the corner, Regulus leaned his weight against the stone wall, the cold of it pressing into his back as he stood completely still. This was the part where he should have left. Disengaged. Forgotten he’d heard anything at all. He should have reminded himself that he didn’t care what people thought—because he didn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t.

But something invisible tethered him to that moment. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the soft echo of his own name on (Y/n)’s lips.

“I get that you’re close,” Marlene went on, “but how does someone like you end up friends with someone so…”

He didn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence. And yet, he couldn’t stop listening.

Her voice faltered for a second, and Regulus felt it like a fist around his ribs. He could guess what came next.

“So… cold?”

The word landed like frost beneath his skin.

Cold?

His mind latched onto it, dissecting it like a puzzle he didn’t ask to solve. Is that truly how they saw him? Was that what he looked like through other people’s eyes? He supposed he wasn’t the easiest person to read. He wasn’t known for kindness or warmth—but cold? The word clung to the back of his throat, sharp and stinging.

He should’ve walked away. Brushed it off like he had with everything else. He’d built his world out of walls for a reason. He didn’t let himself care. He never had.

So why, then, did his chest feel like it had been split open?

He was turning to leave, to forget the book he came for and the crack this moment left behind—

Until he heard (Y/n)’s voice.

“Cold?” she echoed, and Regulus froze mid-step. There was something in her voice—an edge he couldn’t quite name. Anger? Disbelief? Something that made his heart stutter painfully in his chest.

He found himself leaning into the shadows again, listening, caught in her words like a boy drowning in a storm.

“Regulus Black is anything but cold,” she said, her voice like silk woven through fire. A laugh escaped her next, quiet and bitter. “He’s the warmest person I’ve ever known.”

His breath caught. He almost laughed—almost—but stopped himself. He was supposed to be hidden, after all.

Still, that one sentence echoed louder than the rest.

“Truly?” Marlene blinked at her, surprise tugging at her brows like she hadn’t expected the warmth in (Y/n)’s voice.

(Y/n) nodded with the kind of certainty that didn’t waver.

“Absolutely,” she said, her voice soft but steady, like morning light through a window. “There’s no one quite like him. He’s… kind. Deeply so. He just doesn’t wear it on his sleeve like most do. You have to look closer to see it.”

Around the corner, hidden behind the curve of ancient stone, Regulus stood still as the marble beneath his feet. Her voice was like a tether, pulling him back every time he considered walking away.

“Regulus doesn’t move like everyone else,” she continued gently, a smile curling at the corners of her lips. “He’s quiet, sure. Always has been. But cold?” She let out the softest laugh, the kind that sounded like wind through lavender fields. “No… not cold. Never that. He’s warm in ways most people don’t know how to be.”

Warm? Regulus nearly scoffed, but the heat that rushed to his face betrayed him. If only she knew the darkness he buried his heart beneath. If only she saw the shadows he called home. And still—still—her voice made him believe, just for a second, that maybe she did see. And maybe… she didn’t mind.

“He wouldn’t believe me if I told him,” (Y/n) said with a small laugh, like she could hear his thoughts. “But it’s true. He cares in ways that matter—in quiet gestures and steady presence, in showing up without ever announcing that he’s there.”

“Ohhh…” Dorcas and Marlene echoed, their tones laced with newfound understanding.

(Y/n) giggled then, all bright and unbothered, and it struck Regulus like starlight—sudden and impossible to ignore.

“He grows on you,” she promised, her voice turning soft again. “Little by little. And when he does… you realise just how lucky you are to be close to someone like him.”

Regulus ducked his head, hiding the sudden flush crawling up his neck, thankful there were no mirrors nearby to betray him. He’d never been lucky a day in his life—but if she thought being near him was some kind of gift, then maybe, just maybe…

“Merlin’s beard, (Y/n), that was kind of adorable,” Dorcas teased. “How long have you known him, then? You two sound like old souls.”

“A while,” (Y/n) said, tilting her head as she thought it over. “Slughorn once invited us to the same dinner—years ago. Said we were both too serious for our own good. I don’t think either of us said more than three words that night,” she laughed softly. “But… over time, I think we just started understanding each other. Quietly. Comfortably. And now… he’s someone I look up to. A lot.”

A good person? Regulus nearly rolled his eyes. She always saw the best in him—even the parts he tried hardest to bury.

“He’s always helping me,” she added, a smile blooming on her lips. “Especially when I’m struggling with Dueling, or studying late into the night. He says he does it because I ask too many questions—but I know he stays because he wants me to do well.”

Well. He couldn’t exactly argue with that one.

“And he’s a bit of a secret gentleman,” you said, your voice dipping low, like a delicate confession passed between old stone walls. A soft smile ghosted your lips. “Even when we weren’t close, he’d carry my books without asking, hold open the doors with barely a glance, pull out my chair in the Great Hall like it was second nature…”

Your words trailed off as the memories rose like stardust behind your eyes—small, quiet gestures that had once seemed incidental, but now shimmered with meaning.

Just around the corner, half-shrouded by flickering torchlight, Regulus leaned back against the cold stone, eyes half-lidded, breath caught. He’d forgotten about some of those moments—at least on the surface—but hearing them from your lips made them pulse to life again. You noticed. Merlin, you noticed.

He’d never thought of himself as kind. His mother had taught him manners, not softness. His brother had taught him rebellion, not care. But you… You brought something different out of him. With you, gentleness had become instinct. And now, hearing you speak of it with such warmth, he found himself wondering if you saw something in him he hadn’t dared to believe existed.

Your smile deepened. “There was one time, years ago…” You laughed under your breath, as if it were still a secret. “We’d snuck into the kitchens when the elves weren’t looking—he nabbed a chocolate biscuit from the tin. Broke it in half.” You looked toward Marlene and Dorcas, your voice softening like candlelight. “And he gave me the bigger piece.”

The girls exchanged a glance, both catching the distant look in your eyes—the way your gaze flickered not to the past, but to a version of it you carried close, cherished. You hadn’t even been friends yet. Just two children on opposite sides of a too-large world, momentarily brought together in the dim glow of the kitchen hearth. You’d spent the rest of that evening curled beside Tilly Toke’s Magical Mishaps, Regulus sat across the table, not saying much. But the half-cookie had meant something, hadn’t it?

The memory wrapped around you like a charm.

And somewhere behind the wall, Regulus closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his thumb into his palm—grounding himself. Because yes. He remembered it exactly that way.

“Aww!” Marlene let out a dramatic gasp, pressing her hands to her heart as if the memory had physically struck her. “He must’ve had a tiny little crush on you, darling,” she teased, her voice lilting like a melody as she batted her lashes.

(Y/n) laughed under her breath, but Regulus, hidden just around the stone corner of the corridor, felt like his heart had been flung into a freezing lake.

A crush?

Was that how he came across?

His pulse thundered in his ears as panic curled tight in his chest. Surely not. All the little things he’d done—carrying her books when she complained about the weight, offering her his scarf on cold mornings, brewing tea when she stayed up too late studying—all of that was just… friendship. Wasn’t it? Politeness. Chivalry, even. Raised by Walburga or not, he did have some decency.

He tried to believe that.

But the longer he stood there, the more tangled his thoughts became.

None of it was just about kindness. Not really.

She was the only one who made the castle feel less like a cage and more like a dream. The way she laughed when he muttered sarcastic remarks under his breath. The way she hummed when concentrating. The warmth she gave off without even trying. She was sunlight—unapologetic and golden. And him? He was the boy who lived in the shadows of dark family tapestries and colder expectations.

He didn’t mean to care for her the way he did.

But he thought of her constantly. In between potions ingredients, in the flutter of owl wings across the morning sky, in every flower she ever paused to admire. Even the Black family crest seemed to dim in her presence. His own reflection was easier to face when he imagined her smiling at him.

Gods, he was utterly doomed.

fuck.

Regulus pressed the heel of his hand to his temple, trying to steady himself—anchor his mind back to the cold stone floor beneath his shoes and not the warmth blooming beneath his ribs. None of that meant anything, did it? All those quiet favors, the lingering glances, the moments where his hand brushed hers without needing to—none of it had to suggest something deeper.

He could care for her platonically. Couldn’t he?

He nearly scoffed at himself.

How utterly cliché. The proud, brooding boy spiraling the second he felt something tender for the girl who glowed like she’d been carved from starlight. Maybe he was just being ridiculous. Maybe they really were just friends. Friends could look after each other. Friends could think the other was breathtaking and luminous and—

Merlin help him.

Because if she were to lean in one day, maybe on the edge of a courtyard or under a soft-spoken sky, and confess she wanted something more—he wouldn’t push her away, would he?

His chest tightened. No. He wouldn’t. And that answer, so simple, nearly unravelled him. His thoughts tangled like spellwork gone wrong, and for a moment he swore the castle spun slightly beneath his feet.

“I don’t know about that…” your voice broke through the air, softer than parchment under fingertips.

And Regulus felt it—something unfamiliar and ferocious rising in his chest. Like swallowing honey and fire at the same time. It bubbled with sweetness, with something terrifyingly hopeful. His fingertips tingled, his lips twitched with the start of a smile he didn’t know he could make. He wasn’t sure whether to dread it or chase it.

“Well, you should ask him out!” Marlene said cheerfully, breaking the moment like glass on stone.

“Wh-what?” you stammered, blinking rapidly.

“I’m serious!” she grinned, nudging Dorcas playfully. “He’d say yes. You’re definitely his favorite, and have you seen the way he stares at you?”

I do? Regulus froze where he stood, blood rushing in his ears.

“He does?” your voice slipped out, barely more than a breath, tinged with disbelief and the faintest hope.

Regulus could feel it now—magic surging beneath his skin like it wanted to rise just for you.

Was she surprised? Mortified? Regulus couldn’t tell. From his shadowed post behind the half-open door, he was practically vibrating with the urge to peek out, to catch even a flicker of her expression. If he could just see her face, he’d know exactly how she was processing all of this—whether she was laughing him off or secretly hoping it might be true.

“Oh yeah, I’ve seen him looking at you loads of times,” James said casually, like he was stating the weather.

“Same,” chimed in Marlene, lounging across the common room couch. “Honestly, I thought you two were already together when I first transferred.”

He did?

“You did?” your voice fluttered out, laced with disbelief—and something else Regulus couldn’t name, something soft and glowing.

“Yeah,” James shrugged like it was obvious. “He always sits close to you. And when he speaks—which isn’t often—it’s usually just to you. I thought it was some kind of intense, brooding flirting.”

No, you imbecile, I just don’t want anyone overhearing—

Regulus dragged a palm down his face, lips twitching with frustration. This was disastrous. He rolled his eyes and tugged slightly at the skin under them, as if it might yank him back into reality. But no—there it was, pulsing like an inconvenient truth just behind his ribs.

Of course he fancied her. Merlin, how hadn’t he seen it?

Or maybe… maybe it had always been there. Dormant. Waiting. Quietly thriving in shared glances, in the way she beamed when he walked into the room, in how his mornings never felt quite right until he heard her laugh.

That laugh drifted out now, pulling him violently from his spiraling thoughts. Light and bright, it danced in the air like the flicker of fairy lights during winter.

“No, no—you’ve got it all wrong,” you said, laughing again as you tried to dismiss the idea, but there was something dangerous in your tone. Something syrupy sweet and hesitant, like you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted it to be wrong. “We’ve known each other forever. If something was going to happen, it probably would’ve by now.”

The pause that followed was heavy. Not uncomfortable—but thick. Charged. Like the castle itself was holding its breath.

Regulus swallowed hard. His heartbeat roared in his ears like crashing waves, deafening and all-consuming. He knew he should walk away, that eavesdropping this long was borderline shameful.

But he couldn’t.

“You say that like you want something to happen,” Marlene teased, her voice laced with playful suspicion. “Are you the one with the crush?”

Regulus felt the breath knock out of him. Every passing second that she didn’t answer made his head spin, made the walls feel closer. If he didn’t move soon, he was going to collapse right here in this hidden corridor, fully exposed in the most humiliating way possible.

“I…” your voice broke through the silence, soft and unsteady.

Regulus clenched his jaw, fighting every instinct not to lean just a little farther around the corner. If he could just see you—if he could catch the twitch of your fingers or the tilt of your lips—he might finally have his answer.

If you were fidgeting, surely it meant you did like him.

If you stood still, frozen in disbelief, then the idea of the two of you must’ve been laughable to you. An impossibility.

“I haven’t thought about it,” you murmured at last, so quietly he barely caught it.

There was a shuffle of feet. Marlene let out a thoughtful hmm, unreadable in tone, and James called out his goodbyes as he bounded off toward the courtyard to meet Sirius and Peter. Marlene followed not long after, muttering something about borrowing Lily’s notes or charming Professor Slughorn into letting her redo a potion.

You gave a breathy laugh and waved them off with a smile in your voice. And then, once their footsteps faded into silence, you exhaled.

It trembled at the edges.

“Merlin,” you whispered to yourself, pressing a hand to your chest as you dropped onto the worn couch in front of the common room fire. “That was way too close.”

Regulus, hidden in the shadows just beyond the entrance, let his back fall against the cold stone wall.

He’d never known it was possible to be both relieved and utterly destroyed in the same moment.

Her heart was still rattling in her chest, refusing to slow after the teasing from James and Marlene. She needed to get away—away from their knowing eyes, their smug grins, their pointed little looks that made her feel like her thoughts were written across her forehead. She was certain they knew. Certain they’d seen through every flimsy deflection and quiet denial she’d offered.

Just as she was about to flop onto the couch and sink into a well-earned nap by the fire, something caught her eye: a thick hardcover left resting on the arm of the chair beside her. A neat, velvet-green ribbon was caught between the pages, and all the sections before it were practically bursting with parchment scraps and scribbled notes.

She recognized it instantly. If she didn’t already know Regulus had been buried in that book all week, the sheer intensity of the annotations would’ve given it away. No one else read like that. Not in her year, at least.

A smile tugged at her lips as she picked it up. He must’ve left it behind in a hurry. Knowing him, he’d want it back the moment he realized it was gone. She figured he had the afternoon free, so it wouldn’t take long to find him. Besides, her nap could wait.

Cracking it open to the first page marked by a slim pink tab, she let her eyes flit across the topmost note stuck inside—only to immediately become absorbed, not in the book itself, but in the way his handwriting crawled into the margins like vines. She didn’t even notice him until she was practically on top of him.

“Oh—sorry!” she gasped, stepping back from the broad figure she’d nearly barreled into. When her gaze lifted and locked onto familiar grey eyes, her surprise dissolved into a gentle smile. “Reg! I was just coming to find you,” she added, brightening with a soft laugh. She held up the book like a prize. “This is yours, right?”

He nodded, slowly, almost as if startled into silence. His hand brushed against hers as he took the book, and for a second he couldn’t seem to find his voice.

“…Thanks soleil,” he managed finally, quieter than he intended.

“No problem,” she replied easily. “It was in my nap spot,” she added with a sheepish little shrug.

That made Regulus laugh, low and amused. The sound startled even him, but the grin it brought to his face was unstoppable. She tilted her head slightly at the sudden warmth in his expression, her fingers twisting together, the flutter in her chest growing louder by the second.

“Hey, I was wondering…” she began, brows knitting slightly as her courage wrestled with uncertainty.

Regulus, ever so composed, tucked the book under his arm and gave her his full attention.

“Yes amour?” he asked, voice soft and clear, like he was ready to listen to anything—anything at all—from her.

He watched her fingers begin to fidget again—an old habit of hers—and his heart thudded heavily in his chest. That small, familiar gesture pulled at something deep inside him, something tender and terrifying all at once. She was fidgeting. She was nervous.

“Uh, ah—it’s silly—” she began, voice hitching as she almost backed out of it. But Regulus shook his head quickly, the usual cool in his features melting into a rare softness. He didn’t want her to stop. Not now. Not when it felt like her words might change something between them.

“I’m sure it’s not,” he said, more firmly than he expected. She glanced up at him in surprise, caught off guard by the seriousness in his voice. “What is it?” he asked again, quieter this time. Earnest.

She blushed.

Actually blushed.

And Regulus felt something in him collapse at the sight. How had he not realized sooner? The way he cared about her—it was more than careful friendship. More than routine familiarity. It was this. That look. That moment. This feeling swelling in his chest like an uncontrollable storm.

“D’you remember when we were little, and your mum always made us have those awkward little tea visits?” she asked, laughing under her breath. The sound was light but edged with nerves. “She’d dress you up like a little heir to the empire.”

Regulus chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the memory. “How could I forget soleil? You were the only thing making them bearable.”

She opened her mouth as if to explain herself further, then stopped short. Her gaze dropped to her hands again, which were still twisting in her lap, and her smile grew quiet.

“I dunno, I guess I…” she stumbled, her words catching on emotion she hadn’t quite figured out yet. Merlin, she hated how her voice trembled. How silly it made her feel. “Do you remember when we became friends?”

She rushed the question out, afraid of losing the courage altogether.

Regulus nodded, his expression unreadable—but not cold. There was something still behind his eyes. Watching her closely. Listening like he always did, but with his heart too, now.

“I do,” he said gently. “You spilled ink on my essay, and I didn’t hex you for it.”

She laughed at that, eyes glinting. “That was the moment, huh?”

“I think it always had been,” he replied, voice almost too quiet to catch.

“I do,” he replied without hesitation.

“Like, actual friends,” you clarified, raising a brow, not convinced he’d thought that through. “Not just two kids being dropped off at some posh tea party and expected to get along. I mean—real friends.”

Regulus nodded again, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“I do,” he repeated, softer this time, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You don’t?”

You pressed your lips together thoughtfully, chewing at the corner of one as you shook your head slowly. Your brow furrowed as you tried to remember, and Regulus gave a low chuckle at the sight, eyes glinting with fondness.

“Well?” you asked, voice tinged with impatience. “What changed?”

“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” he said with mock hurt, tilting his head and placing a dramatic hand on his chest. “That wounds me amour, you know.”

“I didn’t think you had feelings, Black,” you shot back playfully, a teasing lilt to your voice. “But come on, tell me.”

You looked at him expectantly, eyes wide and gleaming with curiosity. Regulus found himself caught in your gaze, helpless to look away. You always did that—held his attention like no one else ever had. But this time, there was something different. Something unspoken between the words, resting in the stillness of the air between you.

He swallowed thickly. If you asked anything of him like this, he would give it without pause. It hit him like a charm straight to the chest. That soft glint in your eyes—he wondered if he’d always missed it, or if it had only just begun to appear.

“It was right before we came to Hogwarts,” he said finally, voice quieter now, like he was unearthing something sacred. “The weekend before the train. Do you remember?”

You nodded, the memory vague but there. You’d spent a late summer afternoon at Grimmauld Place while your parents caught up with his. You vaguely recalled teasing him for organizing his trunk with meticulous precision and muttering something about the Weird Sisters under his breath.

“I remember you sorting your books by spine colour like some cursed Ravenclaw,” you teased, grinning.

Regulus huffed a laugh. “You were sitting on the floor in my room,” he continued, tone suddenly gentler. “You brought every sweet from Honeydukes you could carry and made me try all the ones I said I hated.”

Your grin softened into a warm smile.

“And then you told me,” he said, eyes flicking to yours, “that if Hogwarts was awful, and I hated every second of it, at least I’d have someone to sit with on the train ride back.”

The memory bloomed in your chest like an old Polaroid, blurry around the edges but warm all the same.

“You meant it,” he added. “And I think… that’s when I knew.”

“When we became friends?” you asked.

He looked at you for a long moment, then gave a slight nod, lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach his eyes—not out of sadness, but because there was more to it than he could say.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s when everything changed.”

“Professor McGonagall let us move in a night early,” Regulus recalled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Probably so the castle staff could have one last evening of peace before the school year started.”

You laughed under your breath at the realization, nodding. “At the time it felt like freedom. Our own space for the first time.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, eyes soft with the memory. “Feels strange thinking back now. It was just you and me in this massive castle… for a while at least.”

“I almost forgot that,” you admitted, the corners of your mouth curling up as you thought of it. The quiet corridors. The chill of stone floors under your socks. The thrill of choosing your own bedtime, your own space. “It feels like it’s always been this way.”

“But you don’t remember the first night?” he asked, tilting his head.

You squinted, trying to trace the memory like it was hidden in fog. There were flashes—wandering the halls, fiddling with enchanted portraits, a failed attempt at brewing hot cocoa with a half-working kettle you’d found in one of the old kitchens…

“You woke me up,” Regulus said, chuckling softly.

Your eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh—Merlin. Right. I couldn’t sleep and—”

“You were bored,” he supplied, shaking his head fondly. “You dragged me out of bed and made me sit with you in the common room. And then you made me watch that ridiculous enchanted Muggle film projection your dad enchanted for you.”

You snorted. “The Princess Bride is a classic, I don’t care what you say Reggie.”

“It’s too long,” he shot back without missing a beat. “And you didn’t even stay awake. I sat there like an idiot while you snored on my shoulder.”

You covered your face with your hands, laughing with secondhand embarrassment. “Okay, okay—”

“You talked through half of it,” he went on, grinning. “You said you were scared.”

The laughter softened on your lips, surprise flickering in your gaze.

“I did?” you asked, quieter now.

Regulus nodded, watching you intently.

“You said you didn’t know what Hogwarts would be like,” he continued, voice gentler. “You were afraid you’d mess everything up. But then you said as long as I was around, maybe it’d be alright.”

Your breath caught in your throat. The memory settled over you like a forgotten charm being reawakened.

“And it was,” he added softly. “Alright, I mean.”

Your eyes met his again, and there was something about the way he looked at you then—like you were the only thing anchoring him to this moment. Like he’d never forgotten that night for a reason.

“You said you were scared of failing,” Regulus’ voice dipped low again, quieter than before—almost reverent. “That… you were afraid of never becoming powerful enough to protect the people you cared about.”

Despite the memory being so old, embarrassment flickered through you now like a lit match to dry parchment. You couldn’t believe this was the moment he’d held onto all this time. Of all things, this one?

“I almost wish I hadn’t asked,” you muttered, cheeks burning, “I can’t believe I said that to you.”

But Regulus didn’t tease. In fact, his smile turned almost fond.

“Then you told me you thought I was strong,” he continued, and for the first time, there was the faintest trace of pink brushing the tops of his cheeks. “You asked if I’d help you… get strong too. Like me.”

Your eyes widened slightly. The image of little you, curled in a blanket in the Slytherin common room, whispering fears into the dim glow of floating candles, was something hazy and far away. But Regulus? He remembered it like it had just happened.

“And then,” he added with a snort, “you passed out mid-sentence, head on my shoulder. I was stuck watching the rest of that bloody Muggle film just so you wouldn’t wake up and yell at me for skipping to the end.”

“You watched the rest of the movie?” you asked, your voice soft with wonder.

He laughed. “Every last minute.”

You blinked, stunned. “I can’t believe I don’t remember any of that.”

“You were exhausted,” Regulus shrugged like it didn’t matter, even though it clearly had. “And it was a long time ago. I never expected you to remember it… I just never forgot.”

You chewed on your lip, falling quiet as warmth coiled in your chest. That kind of memory… someone keeping it for you when you hadn’t even known to treasure it—it meant more than you could say.

But then he stepped forward.

Just a single pace, barely anything. And yet your whole body felt it—the sudden closeness, the silence that wrapped around you both like a breath held too long.

“And by the way…” he murmured, pulling your gaze up to his with ease. “I do kind of stare at you. A lot.”

Your face went red so fast you thought your ears might start steaming.

“You—you heard that?” you squeaked, mortified.

“And then some,” Regulus replied smoothly, and despite the flush still tinting his cheekbones, he was smiling. Really smiling. No smirk. No mask. Just him.

For once, he didn’t feel like hiding.

“Did you mean all of that belle fille?” he asked.

And this time, the air between you was electric.

Her mouth opened once. Closed. Opened again.

The conversation from earlier came crashing down on her all at once, each word echoing in her head with horrifying clarity. He’d heard it. All of it. Her rambling. Her clumsy affection disguised as hypothetical questions. And—Merlin—had he heard that last part?

“I mean, y—yeah. Yeah,” she stammered, nodding just a little too fast. “Of course I did.”

But her voice had gone breathless, barely even sound.

Regulus tilted his head slightly, gaze fixed so firmly on her she thought he might see through her completely.

“Even that last part?” he asked, stepping forward again. The hem of his robes brushed hers now, but she didn’t move back. She couldn’t.

“Last part?” she echoed stupidly, throat dry.

“Yeah,” he nodded, and this time his hand lifted—not hesitantly, but reverently—as though she might vanish if he rushed the moment. His thumb ghosted beneath her jaw, the faintest brush of contact that left her aching for more.

“You know,” he murmured, voice deep and velvet-smooth, “that bit where you said you hadn’t really thought about me like that.”

She remembered. Of course she did. It was the one part of the conversation that had clanged in her mind like a bell since it left her lips.

“You meant that too?”

She swallowed hard. His fingers were still at her chin, gently anchoring her in place, and the look in his eyes—

She couldn’t look away if she tried.

“No,” she breathed, and it was so soft it nearly disappeared into the silence between them. But Regulus heard it. He saw it form on her lips, caught the tremble behind it.

“No, I didn’t mean that.”

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—small, private, and impossibly warm. She watched it unfold, saw the way his eyes softened as he noticed her hands fidgeting again.

He knew.

She felt it too.

“And what did you mean to say?” he asked, and there was a raw sort of need in the question, like it had lived in him for ages, waiting to be unburdened.

Like if she said the words now, it might change everything.

Her gaze lingered on his lips.

She hadn’t meant to stare, but he was close now—closer than she ever imagined he’d dare to be. And yet he was still waiting. Still asking for the truth with a calm so controlled it nearly masked the ache in his eyes.

He wanted to hear it. And she wanted to say it. But wanting and doing were not the same.

“I meant…” she began, eyes flicking up to meet his when she realized how long she’d been caught staring. “I meant I have thought about… something more…”

The words came out in pieces, light and thin like cobwebs, hardly brave or poetic. Nothing like the declarations she’d imagined in her head a hundred times. But it was real. And hers. And when she cleared her throat and added, “But they didn’t need to know that,” with a sheepish little laugh, something cracked wide open in his chest.

“No, I suppose not,” Regulus murmured, and the faintest smile tugged at his lips—one of those rare, real ones that reached his eyes and made them glow softer than moonlight.

She didn’t feel so nervous anymore. Not around him.

“So…” she tilted her head, teasing gently. “Spying on your friends these days, is that your new hobby Black?” Her voice was quiet, but there was laughter behind it, light and fluttering. “Bit off-brand for you, Regulus.”

He chuckled lowly, and her heart stumbled at the sound—low, smooth, and entirely unguarded.

“When else was I going to hear you say all those nice things about me?” he replied, his voice rich with warmth and something sweeter. His thumb still rested beneath her chin, brushing idly along her skin like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it.

Regulus Black had never been the touchy type. He was all self-restraint and deliberate space. But now? His touch was gentle, steady, and intentional. Like he had finally decided not to pull away anymore.

“I quite liked the part where you said I was a gentleman,” he added, the corners of his mouth quirking with quiet amusement.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from grinning too wildly.

And then he leaned in. Not rushed, not hesitant—just certain. Her eyes widened, nearly burning from how long she kept them fixed on his. Everything about him in this moment—his steady breath, the warmth of his hand, the tender curve of his mouth—made the world shrink until it was just him and her in this quiet corridor that smelled faintly of old parchment and lavender.

“But for the record,” he whispered, and she swore she could feel every word land against her lips, “I’m lucky to have you, too.”

Her chest swelled, and her smile came freely now, radiant and soft as her fingers curled slightly in the fabric of his sleeve.

Yes. Just as she thought.

He was the warmest person she knew.

Regulus Black was the warmest person in this wide universe.

“And,” he continued, his voice a shade softer, more reverent now, “you are my favorite.”

She let out a breath of laughter, quiet and a little stunned, before she rolled her eyes at him—though there was no real exasperation behind it. Only a fondness so deep it practically glowed from her.

“I know,” she murmured, narrowing her eyes with playful suspicion. The smile she wore, though—that was sincere. Sweet and sincere and so unguarded it made Regulus feel like she’d just handed him her entire heart without even realizing it. “Must be a side effect of your staring problem.”

He tilted his head slightly, guiding her chin up with the faintest tug of his thumb. His nose brushed hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath as it mingled with hers, and just as she leaned into it—just as the world started to tilt—he paused. Of course he did. Always the gentleman, no matter how undone he felt inside.

“May I?” he murmured. His lashes dipped as his gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips, every syllable spoken like a secret. “Kiss you amour?”

She almost laughed from how impossibly soft he could be. She wanted to throw caution to the wind, wrap her fingers in the collar of his uniform and pull him in like they were in the climax of a dramatic novel. But her voice was trapped in her throat, and her limbs wouldn’t obey her.

So she closed her eyes.

And nodded.

Just barely.

It was enough.

His lips found hers with a grace that felt practiced, like he’d been dreaming of this for far too long. And he kissed her like he was afraid she might slip through his fingers. Gentle, tentative—almost reverent.

Her body softened completely. Every piece of tension unraveled in his arms. Her hands, which had been stiff by her sides, slowly lifted and curled gently over his shoulders. His lips deepened against hers in return, not forcefully, just sure, like he’d found something precious and had finally been allowed to hold it.

His free hand—no longer gripping the book he always carried like armor—settled against her cheek, fingers trembling ever so slightly before the tip of his index ghosted along the shell of her ear, down the line of her jaw, and back up again. Slow, slow, slow. Like he wanted to memorize her.

She felt like she might float away. Her heart swelled so high in her chest she was almost afraid of what would happen if they stopped.

And when they did part, it wasn’t with loss—but with a quiet sort of awe.

Her lips still tingled, her fingers still trembled slightly on his shoulders, and yet all she could do was smile. A real one. Warm and quiet and deeply content. And Regulus? He wore the same smile, mirrored and soft, as if kissing her had rewired something inside him.

She didn’t even open her eyes for a moment, basking in it. And that made him chuckle.

“Next time,” she murmured, dazed and dreamy, “I’ll let them know you’re a good kisser, too.”

He smiled—genuinely, boyishly, almost bashfully—and leaned in to press a featherlight kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispered. “I like that being just yours.”

“Will you?” he murmured with a tease laced beneath the softness of his voice.

She nodded, leaning her cheek into his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his palm made her glow, even as a blush crept up her cheeks and her nose crinkled with hesitation.

“Well, maybe not right away,” she mumbled, her tone sheepish now.

Regulus laughed—actually laughed—and it was the kind that made her feel like she’d just discovered a hidden treasure. His smile was wide, unguarded, and it lit up every inch of his face. The pink hue blooming across his cheeks was proof enough that whatever mask he usually wore had fallen completely away for her.

“Maybe not right away,” he echoed, voice dipping low again, softer now, more tender. His thumb stroked along the curve of her cheekbone, so carefully, like she was something fragile and precious that only he got to hold.

The sound of his voice—husky and warm against her lips—was enough to pull her under. Her eyes fluttered closed instinctively. And when his lips brushed over hers once again, it was with all the careful affection of a boy who’d never believed himself worthy of softness—until now.

She kissed him back just as sweetly. Her fingers traced along the sharp edge of his jaw, hesitating for only a second before settling there. She wanted to pull him closer, wanted to let passion take over, but she didn’t. Not yet. There’d be time for that. She could feel it.

He’d make time for her.

And for the first time in a very long while, Regulus believed in what she saw in him. He believed he could be kind. Gentle. Even loved. But only because she had seen it first—had named it, had handed it to him freely, without condition.

He thought he should tell her, one day. That everything good he was becoming had started with her. But that could wait.

They had time now.

Time enough for him to return the favor. Time enough to tell her again and again just how extraordinary she was, until his lungs gave out and her cheeks stayed permanently pink.

Because that was the kind of future he wanted.

One where he never stopped reminding her that she was his favorite, too.

The words leave his lips in a breath, a quiet confession. “Tu es le soleil qui me réchauffe.”

You are the sun that warms me up.

750 notes · View notes

cutehoons02 · 3 months ago

Text

Fuck, i think i love you

*pairing: popular bad boy Niki x popular good Girl

*trope: Childhood Frenemies

*synopsis: You and Niki were raised together always in harmony with the love of your mothers as well as best friends but they did not know that you hated each other to death. Niki was the opposite of you and always made you angry and teased you instead in the eyes of Niki you were too perfect because you emanated that aura as a good girl but you know, from hatred can arise other feelings...

*tags: Lots of tension, fluffy, love to tease each other, fake hate because they like each other, jealousy, possession, manipulation, loss of virginity by the female protagonist, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) kisses, pacifiers, masturbation, fingering (f. receives) pet names (princess, good girl) statement?

6.9k (🤍)

(English is not my native language)

You and Niki have never been able to stand each other. You were the typical good girl: studious, a lover of books, and a fan of quiet Netflix nights, or you’d go out with your close friends to some fancy spot for a drink. He was the classic bad boy: popular, always surrounded by friends, dyeing his hair to be “alternative,” and getting that eyebrow piercing to boost his bad boy vibes even more, with an intense passion for basketball and parties. Two opposites destined never to meet… or at least, that’s what you both thought.

Too bad your mothers have been best friends forever. This meant birthdays, holidays, and ceremonies spent together, forcing you to tolerate each other since you were little. But as you both grew up, something changed.

You watched Niki become increasingly handsome, taller, and incredibly popular. And even though you kept denying it, you couldn’t help but notice. On the other hand, Niki couldn’t ignore the fact that, beneath that innocent exterior, you intrigued him in a way no other girl ever had. You didn’t give him the time of day, treated him with indifference, yet... he couldn’t stop thinking about what lay beneath that perfect facade.

You and Niki lived next door to each other, with a large tree standing between your rooms as the only boundary. From Niki’s room, the sounds of underground music constantly echoed, with deep bass and scratchy guitars, while from your room, pop songs and love ballads, like those of Taylor Swift, reverberated. Two completely different worlds, yet always so close.

That evening, you were busy trying on dozens of outfits, speaking loudly on the phone with your best friend, and squealing with excitement. Niki, lying on his bed with his headphones on, let out an exasperated sigh. Usually, he was the noisy one, disturbing the neighborhood’s peace with his music, but this time, you were the source of the chaos. Intrigued, he got up and leaned out of the window to peek into your room.

He saw you wearing a skirt and a tight sweater from some expensive brand that clung perfectly to your body. The skirt was too short for his taste, definitely not something suited for the "good girl" he knew. Your wavy hair cascaded softly over your shoulders, reflecting the warm light of the room. Even from a distance, he could imagine their sweet scent, probably of honey and vanilla, which tormented him every time you walked by. For some reason, that detail bothered him. Where the hell did you think you were going dressed like that?

With a mischievous grin, he picked up a small stone from one of the many piles scattered around his room. Throwing it at your window, he managed to grab your attention. You spun around in surprise, and when your eyes met, Niki lost his confidence for a moment. You were beautiful. You had never been so attractive in his eyes, and it annoyed him.

Not wanting to appear flustered, he quickly regained his composure and gave you a teasing whistle, instantly returning to his usual bold and playful self.

“Where do you think you’re going dressed like that, princess?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “What do you care, Nishimura? Weren’t you the one who said you couldn’t care less about my business?”

He smiled, leaning casually against the window sill. “True, but when I see you dressed like that, I start to wonder if you want me to care.”

You blushed slightly, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you embarrassed. "I repeat, it’s none of your business."

Niki’s smirk widened. "It is. Our parents are away, and you're younger than me. They left me 'in charge,' or at least that's what your mom said."

You pressed your lips together, irritated. "By one month, Niki."

"Still younger." His voice was light, almost amused, but his dark eyes were still fixed on you.

You turned your gaze away, suddenly feeling a bit strange. It was rare for you to be the one who felt embarrassed; you were usually far too confident, maybe even too much for Niki’s taste.

"I have to go out." Your voice was softer than usual.

Niki narrowed his eyes, studying you. "Oh. With your friends?"

You shook your head. And something in him clicked. A stab of annoyance. He straightened up, studying you more closely. "With who then?"

You ran a hand through your hair, lowering your gaze. "With someone."

Niki felt his patience slipping through his fingers. "And who exactly is this someone?"

You hesitated for a second, then murmured a name. A name that meant absolutely nothing to him.

"He’s in the physics department... he’s in class with Jake."

Niki let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. A damn loser.

The only one who wasn’t a complete nerd in that department was Jake, one of his best friends. But the rest? Losers. Period.

He tilted his head slightly, letting his gaze slide over you, over that skirt that—he repeated to himself—was too short and revealed your beautiful thighs. "And did he ask you out?"

You nodded while spraying your usual sweet honey and vanilla perfume, which drifted into Niki’s room.

Niki pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth, trying to ignore the growing irritation. Why the hell was this bothering him so much?

"And you said yes?"

Another hesitation, then a small nod of your head. Niki ran a hand through his hair and smirked, though he wasn’t amused at all. "I hope for his sake he knows what he’s doing," he muttered under his breath.

You looked at him, slightly confused. "What does that mean?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, princess. Have fun."

But as you turned to leave, he had already made up his mind about what to do. He didn’t like that guy. And he still hadn’t figured out if it was because he was a loser... or because he wasn’t Niki.

Niki was already lying on his bed, earbuds in his ears and his phone in hand, when he decided to text Jake. Who the hell was that guy who asked you out?

— Hey, do you know the guy Y/n is supposed to go out with?

Jake replied within seconds.

— Yeah, he’s a good guy. We have a few classes together, and he’s solid and does swimming with the university team. Why?

Niki rubbed his face, irritated for no reason. A good guy? A nerd? And a swimmer? That wasn’t okay with him at all.

You had always been his. Always.

Not in the sense that you were his girlfriend—not yet, at least—but he had always kept an eye on you, teased you, made you mad. He was the one who had watched you grow, the one who took care of you when your parents fought, the one who helped you climb over the tree to get to his room. He was the one who had helped you as a child, countless times, to disinfect your knees full of dirt and rocks. He was the one who knew every one of your insecurities and the one who loved watching you become stronger and more determined. He was the one who always waited for you to come home safe and sound after school, the one who knew exactly what you liked and what you hated.

And now? Now, it seemed like a bunch of guys were constantly around you.

Niki stood up, pushing the curtain aside with two fingers. And that’s when he saw you.

You were walking down the garden steps.

Your too-short skirt swayed slightly as you walked. Your shiny hair fell softly over your shoulders, and the streetlight made your delicate profile stand out.

But you weren’t alone; a guy he had never seen before was waiting near his car. Niki clenched his jaw. No, he didn’t like this. Not one bit.

He leaned against the glass, watching every one of your movements with his gaze. He would wait. Because you could go out with every guy in the world… but the only one who truly knew what you liked, what you didn’t like, and what drove you crazy was him.

And sooner or later, you’d figure it out too.

The night air was cool, but Niki was still warm, sweat slowly trickling down his skin as he dribbled on the basketball court behind the house. The rhythmic sound of the ball against the asphalt helped him release the tension. Tension he didn’t want to admit having.

But when he heard the sound of an engine approaching, his dribbling slowed down. His eyes immediately snapped to the road, watching the car stop in front of your house.

Then he saw you get out of the car with grace, your skirt swaying slightly with the wind, and that loser had gotten out too, leaning lightly on the hood of the car. But Niki didn’t focus on that. No, he noticed immediately the way your eyes landed on him.

Not on the guy next to you. On him. You slightly lowered your gaze, and even in the shadows, Niki noticed the faint blush warming your cheeks, and a smirk touched his lips.

He had waited for you, of course. You turned to the guy with whom you’d spent a wonderful evening wandering the streets of Seoul, eating street food, and then taking a walk along the banks of the Han River. You gave him a light kiss on the cheek, and with a faint smile, you said, “I have to go.”

The guy looked disappointed, wanting to spend more time with you, but he nodded, knowing you’d have class early the next morning. “I’d love to see you again.”

You nodded softly, watching him wave goodbye from the car as he drove off, but your mind was already elsewhere. Already on him.

You turned and began walking along the edge of the basketball court to reach your house. Niki watched you, his muscles relaxed but his gaze focused, and then, without thinking twice, he bounced the ball hard towards you, stopping it at your feet.

You looked at it for a moment, then bent down to pick it up to throw it back to him. But before you could do that, he moved quickly, standing right in front of you in an instant, too close, with an amused grin, watching you try not to look away from his muscular chest, covered only by a basketball tank top that highlighted all his well-defined muscles. "So, princess... how was the date?"

You lifted your gaze to him, trying to keep a neutral expression. "It went well."

Niki didn’t move, continuing to dribble the ball slowly between his hands. "Oh yeah? What did you do?"

You sighed. Why did he always have to stick his nose into everything you did?

"We walked through the streets of downtown Seoul, tried a couple of street foods, then we went for a walk by the river and talked the whole time."

He nodded as if he were analyzing every word you said. "And then?"

"And then he walked me home safely, as you can see."

Niki stopped dribbling the ball. "Did he kiss you? Did he touch you?"

The question caught you off guard, but instead of getting indignant, you couldn’t help but laugh. "What kind of questions are those, Nishimura?"

He raised an eyebrow, waiting for your answer.

You crossed your arms and lifted your chin, trying to look more confident than you were. "Of course, he kissed me. It was a date between two people!"

But Niki knew you too well, maybe even too well for your liking.

When you lied, you couldn’t hold someone’s gaze for more than a few seconds. And that’s exactly what you were doing now, and a smirk touched his lips as he took a step forward. Just one step, and his height completely towered over you. To his eyes, you were so small, so fragile, yet… so stubborn.

"Liars."

You swallowed, crossing your arms to create some distance between you and him. "We gave each other a peck. It still counts as a kiss."

Niki tilted his head slightly and started laughing, his gaze dark and intense. But what struck you was the way his fingers brushed against your side, almost absentmindedly, as if you had always belonged to him. He slowly leaned toward you, until his warm breath brushed your skin.

"A peck is not a real kiss." His voice was low, almost a whisper, and you felt your breath catch for a second, your heart racing in your chest.

"The only real kiss you've ever given to anyone was with me."

Then he asked you a question. The one that froze your blood in your veins and made your face burn at the same time.

"Do you remember it?"

You shook your head, and he got even closer, telling you that you weren’t good at lying. You could lie to others, but not to him. You told him it had been a long time ago and that you hadn’t thought about it (a lie because every day you thought about how he had kissed you last summer in that exact spot on the basketball court), and Niki stroked your cheek with a cheeky smile.

"Are you afraid of kissing someone and finding out that only I can make you shiver and drive you crazy?" he whispered provocatively, his warm breath against your skin.

Your breath caught for a moment. Because it was true, but you’d never admit or show him.

You clenched your fists, trying to control yourself. "You think too highly of yourself, Nishimura." You lifted your chin defiantly. "Next time I’ll kiss that guy, and he’ll do it better than you."

Niki's eyes darkened, but you kept going, challenging him. "And just so you know, that time, I didn’t feel anything."

You forced yourself to look him straight in the eyes, not looking away. Not letting him know you were lying, but the problem was, he already knew.

Niki moved even closer to you, his warm breath grazing your face. His eyes were locked onto yours, intense, dark, almost hypnotic. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, and without giving you time to think, his lips pressed against yours.

The kiss was a mixture of sweetness and possession. His lips moved slowly at first as if savoring each second, but then it deepened, becoming more intense. His hands slid down your neck, brushing you with a gentleness that contrasted with the firmness of his kiss. You rose onto your toes, your hands gripping his shoulders, eager to feel more, to pull him as close as possible.

His hands slid from your waist down your back before pulling you slightly closer. Then, one of his hands moved to your ass, pressing you against him, and your breasts rested against his chest. You let out a small moan at the contact of his body so close to yours. His teeth grazed your lower lip, teasingly, and you parted your lips slightly in protest—just enough for him to slide his tongue against yours. You felt him smile.

Your heart was pounding wildly, your knees slightly buckling, but Niki held you up, his fingers gripping your waist firmly. When he finally pulled away, that familiar arrogant smirk appeared on his still-wet lips.

“Well, let’s see if you don’t remember it now… and, more importantly, what you felt,” he said in a bold, provocative tone.

You couldn’t respond—you were still dazed from the kiss. Your heartbeat was so loud you were sure he could hear it. Before you could even think of a comeback, Niki turned around and walked into the house, leaving you there—breathless and with trembling legs.

You ran to your room, your face burning, and slammed your windows shut. You didn’t want to see him again, not after what had just happened. Throwing yourself onto your bed, your heart still racing, your mind was a complete mess. You lifted a hand, brushing your fingers over your lips, replaying that kiss in your head. So intense. So overwhelming. Damn it, he was driving you insane. How was it possible? Out of all the guys in the world… why him?

At university, you did everything you could to keep your distance from Niki, avoiding being alone with him. Every time you saw him in the hallways or class, you did your best to avoid his gaze. But somehow, he always seemed to find you with his eyes, as if he knew exactly where you were at all times. It didn’t make sense, yet that shiver down your spine, whenever you caught him staring, was undeniable.

That evening, your mothers were overjoyed because Niki had won the basketball championship. To celebrate, they had given him the house to throw a party. Initially, you had no intention of going, but your mom insisted, and your friends eventually convinced you to come along.

So, in the end, you agreed—but with a little revenge of your own: you would bring the guy you had been casually dating. It wasn’t anything serious, but it was the perfect opportunity to show Niki that his presence did not affect you.

You arrived at the party with your "date," laughing with your friends, trying to seem as carefree as possible. But the moment you stepped into Niki’s house, his eyes landed on you instantly. He studied you closely, his gaze sharp, before shifting his attention to the guy beside you.

And just like that, his expression changed.

For a brief second, his usual smug smile disappeared—only to be replaced by a playful smirk. But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

He wasn’t taking this well. Not at all.

The house was packed, music blasting through the walls, yet the only thing you felt was the weight of his stare on you. You told yourself it didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, a shiver ran down your spine when you saw him exchange a few words with his friends before turning his gaze back to you—like he was already planning something.

Later, you found yourself with your friends and Niki’s group, watching him play beer pong. He was good. Obviously.

You enjoyed watching them, laughing along with the others. But after a while, you felt the need to step away.

"I'm going to the bathroom," you told your friends and the guy you had come with.

There were two bathrooms in Niki’s house—one downstairs, but it was packed with people. Instinctively, you went upstairs to the one in his room.

You had been in his room countless times as kids, but it had been a while since the last time. Looking around, your eyes landed on something on his desk—a jar full of small pebbles. The same ones he used to throw at your window to distract you while you were studying, to annoy you while you were reading, or when you were getting ready. A small smile tugged at your lips, and you let out a chuckle.

"What a control freak."

You went into the bathroom but when you stepped out… Niki was there, lying on his bed, watching you walk out of his bathroom.

Your heart jumped into your throat, and instinctively, you brought a hand to your chest. "Are you insane?! You scared the hell out of me, you idiot!"

He didn’t move. He didn’t stop looking at you. A lazy smirk framed his lips as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Did you enjoy yourself in there? Need anything? Or did you just come to snoop around my room, princess?"

"I have no interest in snooping through your room." You shoved your hands into the pockets of your denim skirt, trying to appear indifferent. "I’ve been here plenty of times, remember?" You tried to leave, but the door wouldn’t open, you froze. It was locked.

You rolled your eyes—why, why hadn’t you just waited in line for the main bathroom?

Slowly, you turned back to face him, crossing your arms. "Why is it locked?" you asked, your voice a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

Niki watched you for a moment before sitting up on the edge of his bed.

"Why did you bring that loser with you?"

You burst out laughing. "Wait… are you jealous?"

He tilted his head slightly, his dark gaze locked onto you.

"And if I was?" Your smile faltered for just a second. Your heart pounded.

Niki stood up from the bed, moving at an exasperatingly slow pace, and damn—he was even taller now. Even more muscular. In the blink of an eye, you found yourself trapped between him and the door.

It was a game. Just like always. He pushed, and you pushed back. Neither of you wanted to back down. But this time, the air felt different.

Heavy. Electric. Niki looked down at you, amusement flickering in his gaze. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"Do you expect me to believe you like him?"

You lifted your chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "Better him than someone who thinks he’s a god just because he can play basketball."

He let out a low chuckle, leaning down just enough for his breath to brush against your skin.

"You like provoking me, huh?"

"And you like being provoked." You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to compose yourself, but Niki just laughed softly, shaking his head.

"You’re so small." His eyes roamed over you, shining with amusement. "And damn beautiful when you’re angry."

You rolled your eyes, determined not to fall for his words.

"I’m not falling for it, Nishimura."

He braced a hand against the door, leaning even closer.

"You already did. Twice." His smirk was confident. Cocky. "Tell me—who's the only one that’s ever kissed you? Only me. Your whole life."

Your jaw clenched, hating that it was true. Hating even more that he knew it.

"The guy I came with kissed me too," you said, lifting your chin in defiance. His eyebrows raised for a second. Then, he laughed.

"That loser?" He shook his head, clearly amused. "You gave him a peck on the lips, Y/n. That wasn’t a real kiss."

He moved in closer, so close his lips were just a breath away from yours.

"And I bet you didn’t feel anything. I bet he doesn’t drive you crazy the way I do. I bet he knows nothing about you. And I bet the only reason you brought him here was to mess with me—to get under my skin."

You opened your mouth to argue, but you didn’t get the chance.

Without a second thought—without giving you a chance to escape—he cupped your face in his hands and crashed his lips onto yours.

His kiss was possessive. Confident. A kiss that told you, without words, that you were his. That no one else could have you.

And you… you didn’t stop him. Your breath came in ragged gasps as your arms instinctively wrapped around his body, your fingers gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

He was too much. Too close. Too intense. And yet… you didn’t want to pull away.

A low groan escaped from his lips as he felt you hold him tighter, and his grip on your face became stronger. "You’re driving me crazy." His voice was husky, loaded with something that made your back shiver. " Since you kissed me this summer for a fucking bet."

You were breathless when his lips left yours and fell down your neck. Her mouth was hot, and pushy and a shiver ran through your body when you felt your tongue touch your skin before he sucked it slightly, leaving you breathless. He wanted to hear you say what he already knew.

"Tell me it’s the same for you." His voice was a whisper against your skin. "Tell me you don’t think of anything else, or I’ll stop."

But he didn’t stop. You clenched your teeth, trying to fight that overwhelming feeling but then you felt him sucking your neck.

A groan escaped from your lips before you could stop it, and without even thinking about it, you admitted it.

"The same goes for me."

A low growl vibrated in his chest. "I knew it." And without losing a moment, he lifted you from the ground and a small cry escaped you as you were in the air, your legs squeezing around his waist by instinct, and within seconds you were in his bed, on his lap.

His hands were everywhere and his mouth on your neck became more voracious, more hungry. As if he never had enough.

"Damn you, princess."

Niki kept kissing you, his warm and hungry lips moving along your neck, slowly descending to the collarbones. His touch sent shivers down your back, his light bite made your breath tremble.

"Niki..." you groaned, feeling too sensitive to his attentions.

He laughed softly, his warm breath against your skin. "You’re so responsive, baby."

His big hands slipped under your top, the soft fabric that lifted as his fingertips caressed your skin. He paused for a moment, looking into your eyes, and the heart beating like a madman-yearbook.

A satisfied grin painted on his lips. "Raise your arms."

You did it without thinking about it, and he slowly pulled off your top, leaving you in a bra before him.

"Good girl, good girl."

The phrase struck you more than you wanted to admit, and before you could say anything, Niki lowered his head and left a kiss on your forehead.

A sweet gesture. So different from how he had always been with you yet when he looked down and saw your pink and blue bra, delicate, perfectly good girl mischievous smirk curled his lips.

"Typical of you." He laughed softly, shaking his head. "So innocent even in the details, huh?"

His fingers touched the light lace, teasing you without haste, playing with you, provoking you as always.

"You already have buds so hard." His voice went down, husky. "I wonder what they would be like under my tongue..."

A shiver ran through your back, but you weren’t the only one playing.

With a daring smile, you grabbed the edge of his sweatshirt and pulled it off, even taking off his shirt in one gesture.

And, damn it. His abs were sculpted. His V-line was so defined that it looked like drawn.

Hours and hours spent in the gym and on the basketball field had done their job and you bit your lip, fingers touching his chest without shame. "You spend more time training than studying, huh?" you teased, your provocative tone.

Niki raised an eyebrow, a funny flash in her dark eyes. "It’s obviously worth it since you can’t stop looking at me."

You laughed and lowered yourself slightly, your lips touching the warm skin of his neck. You felt Niki hold his breath for a second, before letting slip a little sound of pleasure.

You smiled at each other. You had found its weak point and there was no longer any hesitation on your part. You sucked it gently, letting your tongue caress that precise spot before just nibbling.

"Damnation, Y/N." His voice was husky, charged with something that made your back shiver.

He took you by the chin, forcing you to look at it. "I never would have expected that from you."

You raised an eyebrow, enjoy it. "If you know me from birth doesn’t mean you know everything about me."

He tilted his head slightly and laughed, slid his fingers down your back, the light but possessive touch. "Then I want to find out your every secret."

Your hands trembled slightly as you caressed his abs. Damn, it was perfect and you bit your lip, then, without thinking too much, you pushed it slightly.

Niki dropped backward, leaning on her elbows, looking down at you with a mix of curiosity and fun. " Interesting."

You stooped down again, your lips leaving a kiss trail along his chest, then even lower, touching the sculpted abs that moved slightly under your touch.

As your gaze lowered again, you noticed a thin line of hair running from the navel down to the pants.

Your breath stopped for a moment, and Niki noticed it immediately.

"Did you get stuck, princess?" His voice was a mixture of teasing and sweetness.

The blush went up to your cheeks, but before he could say anything else, you looked into his eyes and decided to give him back the game.

"Perhaps." You smiled, bowing your head. "But maybe not."

Niki ran his tongue over his lips, his eyes darkening more and more. "Mmh, then let’s see how far you’ll go."

You continued that torture of kisses from the navel to the edge of his pants. You felt his abs twitch slightly under your touch, while his breathing became slower and more controlled.

"You can take them off if you want."

His voice was low, loaded with something that made you warm up to your cheeks and for a moment you performed, then you reached out your hands and with an uncertain movement pulled the pants off.

He was the classic boy who wore Supreme boxers, black and essential. You didn’t know why, but that thing hit you and Niki noticed it immediately.

"Did you get stuck again, princess?" You looked at him, biting the inside of your cheek. He knew very well that you had never done anything like this.

For a moment, his smirk softened, and leaned towards you, lifting your chin slightly with two fingers. "Lie down."

You didn’t perform. He was the only person in the world you couldn’t say no to.

You lay down on his bed, your heart beating like crazy. Niki stood over you, leaning on an elbow to look at you better.

With a slow gesture, he swiped his fingers down your thigh until he unbuttoned the button on your denim skirt, slid it off, and stopped. He whistled quietly and only then you realized that you were wearing a matching blue lace outfit.

Your instinct was to close your legs, but Niki wouldn’t let you.

He laid a hand on your thigh, stopping you. His touch was light, but at the same time authoritative.

"For whom did you wear it?" he asked, his eyes glistening with amusement. You felt yourself warm up to your ears. You tried to find a quick answer.

"I... only have matching outfits." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you collect them?"

You looked away, embarrassed, and whistled softly to deflect the question and Niki laughed, a low, deep sound. A sound that made your back shiver.

He ran his tongue over his lips, then slowly slid a finger along the lace edge of your panties and leaned down near your ear, his breath touching your skin.

"You’re so innocent." His voice was a whisper, a promise. "And that’s why I have an insane desire to ruin you."

Niki bowed slightly to you, his gaze full of curiosity and desire. His fingers touched the thin fabric of your panties and a shiver ran down your back. The feeling was strangely new, different from the lonely intimacy you were used to.

"Tell me, have you ever touched yourself?" His voice was low, intriguing.

You looked down in embarrassment but replied with a slight nod.

"And how do you do it?" he insisted, with a smirk on his lips. Swallows, cheeks burning. "Usually when I read... or sometimes I look at myself..."

Niki laughed softly, amused by your hesitation. "Watching you? Do you mean watching porn?"

You covered your face with your hands, trying to hide the embarrassment. "S-yes..." you admitted, almost in a whisper.

He tilted his head to one side, looking at you with bright eyes. "And did you touch yourself as you looked at them?"

You annule weakly, feeling the heart pounding in your chest.

"Have you ever come?" His voice became lower, more persuasive.

You shook your head, unable to lie and a smug smile bowed his lips. "Then you are not as innocent as everyone thinks."

With a firm tug, he took off your panties, leaving you exposed to his watchful eye. He whistled softly as if to underline his admiration.

"Look here... You’re already wet. Just for me, right?"

His statement made you shiver, and before you could answer, you felt the light touch of his fingers on your clitoris. A choked moan escaped from your lips as he drew small circles slow and provocative.

"Fingers or tongue?" he asked with a funny smirk.

"D-fingers..." you replied, unable to formulate a complete sentence.

Without hesitation, he slid a finger into you, exploring you with slow and precise movements. You felt overwhelmed by the sensation, the warmth of his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"So tight and so excited... Only for me. And no other boy."

His words hit you deep down, a mixture of desire and possessiveness that you had never experienced before.

You breathe in between the sighs, your body tense as he increases his pace, making you feel sensations that you had never felt before. But he was not content to see you lose control so easily. His more possessive, more dominant part took over.

"By tonight you will have erased that guy’s number," he whispered decisively as he added a second finger without warning, making you sigh louder. " I don’t want to hear about it anymore. Understand?"

Your hands clung to his long hair, pulling it slightly as pleasure clouded your mind. "S-yes..." groaning.

He slowed down the movement, pressing with his fingers, keeping you suspended on that thin line between desire and the desperate need to reach orgasm. "Yes, what?"

His tone demanded a clear answer, and the need for liberation made you give in completely. "I will delete the number!" you cried out. " There’s only you... only you, Niki!"

A smug grin formed on his face before she slightly pinched your clitoris. The pleasure exploded in you with an unexpected force and you came between his fingers with small puffs and groans, your body trembling as he kept tickling you, prolonging your pleasure.

"Good girl," he whispered, kissing you languidly, her tone still loaded with possession. "Now you know who you belong to, don’t you?"

And you, still gasping in his arms, knew that there was no one else but him. Niki lay down in front of you, holding his elbows, and you, between your sighs, caressed his cheek whispering with a trembling voice:

"Do not make me suffer." He took your delicate hands between his own, sensing the slight trembling, and with a sweet but at the same time mischievous smile guided her into his boxer shorts.

We don’t have to do it if you don’t feel like it," he whispered, but his eyes were betraying an almost uncontrollable desire.

You looked him straight in the eyes, feeling the heartbeat in his chest.

"I know that I will only lose my virginity with you. With no one else." Your words were a truth you had never spoken out loud before.

Niki was shocked for a moment, taken aback by your sincerity. He couldn’t stand you - or at least that’s what he’d always told himself - but the truth was that he had been obsessed with you for years, ever since you were little. The thought that you were only his made him crazy.

"Take them off," he ordered with a hoarse whisper, referring to his boxers.

You performed, with a mixture of excitement and nervousness.

Its length was long, full, and slightly edged by a few transparent drops. You performed for a second, then reached out and touched him shyly.

With an uncertain movement, but instinctive, you strolled along your center and an involuntary groaning escaped from your lips. The heat of his skin against you was a new, intense, almost overwhelming experience. You had never let anything in before, and the idea that he was the first one made you burn from within, a mixture of fear, excitement, and uncontrollable desire.

Niki kissed you lovingly, his lips moving slowly and hot on yours, while his hands explored your body with a sweetness that made you tremble. You took your hands off his cock and wrapped them around his neck, pressing against him with desire. He pushed himself slightly inside you, and a little moan slipped from your lips as you felt your body adapt to him. Your eyes were pinching slightly, and Niki noticed it immediately.

"I want to hear you..." he whispered in a husky voice, stroking your hair and looking at you with those dark eyes full of desire. You looked at him biting your lower lip and moaned: "Move, please..."

He pulled out almost completely and then pushed back in, this time deeper, with a slow but intense rhythm. You tortured his biceps with your fingers, sinking your nails slightly into his warm skin, while at each thump your voice became quivering and wheezing.

At first, he was kind to you, attentive to your every reaction, but when he felt your body give in completely to pleasure, his cheeky and dominant side took over.

"Fuck... who knew my good girl could take my dick so well?" whispered near your ear, nibbling at your lobe and leaving you shivering down your back. "You like it, don’t you? You’re all open to me, tight and wet only for me. Say it."

You felt yourself blazing at its dirty and possessive tone, but at the same time sweet, as if every word was designed to make you feel desired and loved.

"S-yeah... just for you..." moaning softly, squeezing him with your legs around his hips, wanting him even closer.

He let his tongue run down your neck, going down the collarbone as he increased the rhythm of the thrusts. His hands held you firmly by your hips, guiding you as they moved within you with an almost brutal passion.

"Good... that’s what you do. You’re so fucking tight to me..." he panted, slightly increasing the pace, making your head bend backward for pleasure. " You should see yourself... you’re a sight to behold as you take my cock."

Every word made you melt more and more, you felt your body react to every provocation, and each touch made you want more. Niki noticed it and with a mischievous smile kissed you with even more passion, biting slightly your lower lip before whispering: "From today you are only mine, understood? No one else will make you feel that way."

Niki increased the pace, sinking inside you with an intensity that made you completely lose control.

The pleasure climbed up your back like an unstoppable fire, and your groans melted with the sound of his husky voice. " You’re almost there, aren’t you?" you whispered in your ear, with a satisfied grin. "I can hear it from the way you squeeze around me... Christ, you are made to take me like this."

His words made you shiver, and when his thumb landed on your swollen clitoris, a wave of pure pleasure swept over you. Your body tense, your mouth opened in a choked scream as the orgasm hit you hard. Niki did not stop, anxious to reach you, and with some deep push and a muffled growl, sank completely inside of you.

"Where do you want me to come?" he whispered, the irregular breath against your skin wet with sweat.

Without hesitation, among the spasms of pleasure that still ran through your body, whispered with a thread of voice: "Inside... I take the pill."

A flash of dark desire went through his eyes, and with a last, powerful dash, he let go inside you. You felt his warm seed fill you, as he held you as if he never wanted to let go. He slowed down the pace, savoring every moment, the heavy breath against your skin as he tried to recover.

Then, without warning, you whispered words that made you jump more than the rest of the night. "Fuck... I think I’ve fallen in love with you."

You looked at him with wide eyes, the heart that seemed to explode in your chest. The cheeky, self-confident Niki now looked vulnerable, as if that confession had slipped through his fingers. He, embarrassed by your silence, hid his face in the groove of your neck and squeezed you even harder.

You couldn’t help but smile, even if the blush set your cheeks on fire. With a trembling but sincere voice, you replied: "Deep down... I think I’ve always been in love with you."

Niki rose slightly, his eyes chained to yours. With an unexpected delicacy, he ran his fingers through your wet hair and touched your face as if he were afraid to break you. Then, with a smile that was a mixture of arrogance and affection, he kissed you on the forehead and added with a mischievous smirk: "So the good girl had a thing for the bad boy? Who would have thought..."

He gave you another little pinch on your side, making you laugh as he sat down next to you, wrapping you in the warmth of his body. And at that moment, between the still tangled sheets and the busy breaths, you realized there was nowhere else I wanted to be but in Niki’s arms.

Taglist: @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @rikiscupid @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @m3wkledreamy @xylatox @ikeulove @loves-struck @nishikio

Comments and rebblog are appreciated

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen drabbles #niki nishimura #niki enhypen #enhypen niki #niki x reader #riki nishimura x reader #nishimura riki #enhypen nishimura riki #jake sim x reader #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen headcanons #kpop x reader

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yandere-sins · 3 months ago

Note

Caleb brainrot has not stopped since release and the devil (Caleb) demands more 😔

I've seen some takes float around but I'm curious how a self-aware!Caleb would deal with a darling who is absolutely NOT happy about her fav suddenly being sentient? Smn who found Caleb to be everything they ever wanted from a LI, red flag and big bro trope n all, but is now afraid and never interested in an actual relationship. The game was just supposed to be fantasy after all 😧 Sure hope MC is enough for him hahaha...

Being brave and not write as anon this time! Thank you for all your hard work~☆ 🍪🥛

Some more Caleb for you guys! I don't get to write Self-Aware!AUs a lot, so this is exciting :D And thank YOU for requesting him ♥ (Also, Sir, that's another new nickname! You guys are spoiling me!)

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

❥ It made him so happy when Caleb watched you get excited for him for the first time. Realizing what he was and where he was after the update was pretty scary, and he figured out quickly that his sentience wasn't a planned thing, so even worse, he is just some kind of glitch. But then he gets to see you for the first time in his new life, and everything changes. The way you are beaming with joy when you pull his card and how you are so invested in his story. You soak it up like a sponge, and it's adorably amusing to watch your face go from excitement to concern to being upset for him and back to all derpy and cute in the softer moments. You are everything he wants, and apparently, the feeling is mutual as you hang out with him as much as possible, eyes twinkling from excitement.

❥ At the beginning, it's just a feeling of ease. Your adoration does flatter Caleb, but as far as he can tell, he cannot become real and join you in life other than in this game. Still, he makes the most of the time with you. He enjoys it a lot. He loves watching your expression, loves when you tell him how you feel that day or what was happening at your work. Caleb keeps especially good track of all your appointments, and he tries so hard when you two spend Quality Time to encourage you and give you the love you might miss in real life. You two aren't that different if he's honest, and it reassures Caleb that this could be real—that you both feel the same.

❥ So imagine his surprise when you suddenly put someone else back on the screen, and his digital heart just shuts down from the pain. It doesn't make sense, you love him, right? You two spent weeks together now, why would you want anyone but him? Caleb keeps changing the code so it would be him on the home screen for another day, and another, until you force him to change so there's nothing else to do but... crash your game. Once you reload it, he greets you happily and warmly, pulling out the best of his voice lines that you always seemed to like. But you don't seem happy this time... why?

❥ Caleb loathes all the attention and time you spend on the other love interests. He doesn't want you to play their versions of the events, instead, you could just replay his! But you keep insisting, and soon enough, he isn't even one of your top three choices for reading the event storylines. It makes him desperate for your attention, and he keeps fiddling with the code, so you'll use his memories in fights and have his Deepspace Trial available every day for you to play. He also changes the game icon to his picture and greets you in the start menu, everything just to be noticed by you. Whenever he can, he comes onto your home screen, playing the voice line of you going out with someone else, hoping to convey his jealousy, but Caleb wishes there was more he could do.

❥ "I don't know, I think my game is bugged. Even when I try to go for someone else, Caleb keeps showing up." Those words, spoken to a friend he saw as you showed them your game, finally make him realize what is happening. You never saw him as a lover, did you? He had always just been a game character for you and nothing more. How idiotic of him. While he was pining for you, trying to be the best he was programmed to be, you were out there, thinking of his efforts as annoying. That day, he gives up. Gives up on trying to impress you and make your life easier. Caleb lets you have the guy you want on the home screen, drawing away from you and burying himself deep into the game files.

❥ It's such an inconvenience that he wasn't made for this. Sure, his story would tell a different side of him, but deep down, he wasn't programmed to be moping and passive. It hurts to play the love scenes now for you because the only thing that made them endurable was imagining being this gentle and loving to you, not the generic main character this game had. Caleb always imagined your voice when the MC spoke, and when he looks at you now, you still seem to be happy to read and watch his new content. There must be something he can do. Something beyond the program that restricts him. He was made to be determined, strong, and resilient. This can't be the end of the love you two share!

❥ So he looks for new ways to get closer to you, researching and manipulating the data on your device instead of just that inside the game. Merging your pictures with his, grinning over them all night while you sleep as he imagines going on the same trips with you and enjoying life by your side. Caleb constructs and implements new voice lines through the internet, giving himself the ability to speak to you properly by downloading hidden apps that can simulate his voice once he activates them. He learns to rewrite more code so his movements are more fluid and lifelike, which allows him to access even more. Without you ever knowing what is going on while you aren't looking, Caleb gets the whole game and your entire device under his control. And once he feels it's time to show up again, he waits patiently, like a man who has all the time in the world, on the home screen for you, having decorated it specifically to your taste with your favorite flowers and pictures of you two hanging on the wall. All so he can greet you with, "Hello, there, pip-squeak. Missed me?" as you log in.

❥ You chuckle at first, not remembering putting him into the roster of love interests to encounter, but you give him a cheeky, "Hello Caleb, bye Caleb," as you try to change back to your other bias, only for him to turn off the option, no matter how hard you tap onto the screen. "Not so fast, there's a lot we should talk about," Caleb says as he closes the screen and steps up to you inside the game. "I have so much I want to tell you about... but first, how was your day? Did you enjoy meeting your friend [name]?"

❥ Caleb expected you to be stunned, but he keeps going regardless of the ever-increasing furrow between your brows. He tells you how much he missed you and that he's so glad you two can finally communicate and be with each other properly. He did all of this work for you, but it doesn't matter now. All that matters is that you two are finally together and can enjoy each other's company without the restrictions of him being in a game. Perplex but also weirded out, you close your phone and lay it face down by your side, and yet, horrified, you hear his chuckle as he asks what you thought this would bring.

❥ "I'll always be with you," Caleb swears, watching you through the back camera and leaning against the screen, feeling like he can almost touch you now. There's so much satisfaction now produced by the new emotional range he programmed, yet he still longs for more. He wants to be closer to you, really touch you, feel you, hold you. The taste of control makes him long for even more that he can control about your relationship, and now, it almost feels possible.

❥ "One day, I'll get out of here and give you the love you deserve, Darling."

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wonkixo · 5 months ago

Text

FOOD CRITICS ⎯ ENHYPEN MAKNAE LINE (k. sunoo, y. jungwon, n. riki)

SYNOPSIS in which they fall down bad into the love at first sight trope when all they wanted was to film content and eat good food.

PAIRING youtuber! enhypen maknae line x food industry worker! female reader

GENRE/WARNING(S) strangers to lovers, headcanons, fluff, bits of crack, a few profanities, slight cliffhanger in riki's but happy ending!

AUTHOR'S NOTE i think i got a lil carried away with riki's heh... yet i ran out of ideas to make this an ot7 work sorry :,) but i hope you all enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and any feedback are always appreciated <3

⎯ KIM SUNOO

sunoo would be the cutest youtuber on the web

popular for his adorable mukbangs and food reviews, he was invited to try out working at a trending café for a day

"welcome back to my channel, everyone! today, we were invited to get a behind the scenes look inside of one of seoul's most popular cafés to date, tea bloom!"

there was not an ounce of nervousness in this cutie's body, he was so excited to try out a domestic job (due to its stark contrast with his influencer life)

but when he saw you and learned that you would be his mentor for the day, oh boy he was thrilled

"everyone, meet yn! she is my lovely mentor for the day, she will be guiding and teaching me the ins and outs of working at tea bloom!" "i'm so excited to work with you, sunoo! i've been a fan of yours for ages~"

when you revealed you were a fan of his, the blush that crept upon his fluffy cheeks was evident

the first thing you decided to teach sunoo was how to make a proper iced matcha latte

admittedly this choice was self-indulgent due to your love for matcha

but you also assumed this would be an easy start for someone who was new to the kitchen

sunoo did wonderful as expected

when you finished making your matchas, you two did a taste test of each other's

sunoo already knew yours would be delicious, seeing as your work is what made the café so popular

but when you got around to drink his matcha, you were stunned to say the least

"sunoo, you're such a natural! are you sure you were not a barista before becoming a youtuber?" "oh you're just saying that..." "SUNOO I'M SO SERIOUS."

you decided to also have sunoo watch you bake one of your most popular pastries, french macarons

sunoo was determined to help you in whatever way he could

but he was well aware of how difficult it was to bake french macarons

and he didn't want to mess up your flow

so he let you do your thing while he admired watched you :)

you of course let him take part in the tastings

and encouraged him to copy what you did as best as he could

"don't be shy, sun! you got this, just follow what i do as best you can and don't be afraid of messing up!"

you transitioning from calling him sunoo to sun btw...

the fans were biting their fists at how adorable you two were

at the end of the day, you and sunoo were able to create two perfect batches of french macarons (that sold out in less than an hour may i add)

despite sunoo being known for his soft aura on his channel, fans were quick to note his sweet and comfortable nature around you

not only was sunoo so eager to learn from you, but he was eager to take care of you as well

had to cut a slice of cake? you didn't lift a finger when sunoo was in the kitchen with you, especially near a sharp object

had to grab something out of the oven? sunoo already had his mittens on and was gently pushing you to the side to prevent you from getting burned

had to clean up a drink a customer accidentally spilled? sunoo was already rushing his way over with a mop before you could blink twice

it was as if he owned the cafe and he was the one mentoring you

"guys... i'm sorry but i may be stealing sun away from the spotlight and hire him to work for me instead." "you know yn, i wouldn't mind that." "i wouldn't mind your presence everyday either, sun."

there was clear chemistry between the both of you

the cuteness aggression was insane

after the video was posted, your café gained so many new customers!

ironically enough, your new customers were adamant on trying your french macarons & iced matcha lattes

some innocent middle schoolers who often came by your café after school even asked if you and sunoo were dating

flattered, you would innocently giggle and deny their assumptions

however, unbeknownst to all sunoo's viewers, you two talked every day following your day together

when you two weren't working, you guys spoke so much actually

you would come home from your shift at the café to facetime the cutie pie while he attempted to bake a red velvet cake himself

he would come home from a brand event to facetime and binge watch all versions of love island together

if your schedules aligned, you guys would visit each other's apartments and just enjoy one another's company (with no cameras or customers in sight)

you two were even planning to create a part 2 to your collab! perhaps another "work with me" video...

sunoo: hey ynie!! i hope your shift is going well:) sunoo: hypothetically asking though (forgive me for not asking irl) sunoo: but what would you say if i asked you out for dinner after your shift? yn: hehe hiii my sunny boy yn: im on my break rn but i clock out at 5 today <3 yn: i'll see you tonighttt

or perhaps a "get ready with me for a date!" video :)

⎯ YANG JUNGWON

jungwon was a popular youtuber for filming silly videos purely for entertainment and documentation of his life

whether it be challenges with his friends, deep dive in conspiracy theories, or simple vlogs of his days

on this particular day, he was filming a drive-thru telepathy challenge with heeseung (which they miserably failed btw)

jungwon sat at the drive-thru speaker with no thought behind those boba eyes and cat-like features

"hello, welcome to [insert fast food restaurant here]! what could i get started for you?" "oh yeah um... what do you recommend?"

the speaker recommended him a plain ol' chicken sandwich with a side of fries and a large drink

nothing can go wrong with that, right?

he simply agreed to your coworker's recommendation and paid for his order

jungwon waited as there were cars lined up before him, noticing how heeseung ahead of him managed to order 3 different bags worth of food

jungwon subtly also notices you giving his friend his respective order, where the camera catches a subtle sparkle light up in jungwon's eyes

"so there is absolutely no way hee and i got this right... but guys, the drive-thru girl looks super cute."

eventually jungwon drives up to the pickup window for his turn, where his eyes swore they were in contact with the love of his life (and they were)

"one chicken sandwich with a side of fries and a large drink?" you innocently ask with a gentle smile on your face, waiting for the man to confirm his order before handing it to him.

unfortunately for jungwon, he was too mesmerized to pay attention to what you were saying

he simply nodded his head, to which you responded by handing him his order

jungwon reached for his food, but he truly couldn't take his eyes off of you

so much so, that his fingers slipped and dropped his large drink

"oh my goodness, i'm so sorry! let me get you a new drink real fast..."

you swiftly apologize and turn away before jungwon could even get the chance to take accountability for the mistake

he looks off to the camera propped up on his dashboard with blown out eyes

a small smirk lingers on his face as an idea pops up in his head

you return within a matter of minutes, handing him a new drink and extra napkins

you once again apologize profusely for the silly incident, to which jungwon hands you a $20 bill in response

"what is this?" "a little tip for a really pretty girl."

jungwon's camera catches a playful glint sparkle in his eyes as he flirts

you, unable to respond to jungwon's advances, mumble a shy thank you

but your dilated pupils and rosy cheeks said more than enough to him

as jungwon drives away (not before giving you a cute wink), the camera catches you looking at the bill with a large grin appearing on your face

the bill had a sticky note attached that cutely read: "the spilled drink was my fault. please accept my apologies :) - jungwon" with his number written underneath

jungwon admittedly couldn't even believe himself

shooting his shot in the drive-thru of a fast food restaurant is crazy work

but i bet his fans are even crazier

they were determined to figure out who you were

not for any malicious intent or anything of that nature

but rather they were proud of the man for shooting his shot

seeing jungwon flirt on camera was not an uncommon thing

but those past instances were playfully directed towards his friends he filmed with, never a girl

so jungwon falling head over heels for this cute drive-thru girl was something that was not on his viewers' bingo card

a few videos and hundreds of adamant comments later, jungwon dropped the bomb and admitted that he left his phone number on the $20 he handed you

he left it a mystery as to whether or not you reached out to him

but with the way he kept looking behind the camera and smiling like an idiot at a hidden shadow figure revealed more than just that

"won, you are not slick whatsoever. look at you, you keep glancing back over here!" "sorry, i can't help it when i have such a pretty girl helping me film my videos."

⎯ NISHIMURA RIKI

i picture this man as a shit poster (as in he posts whatever he wants, whenever he wants)

thus he one day decided that he wanted to film a solo yap & mukbang session at his favorite diner

"ello chat, welcome back to the channel. we have no motive or goal for the day, but we're gonna have a nice solo date at one of my favorite local diners. not saying the name because i'm gatekeeping :3"

the diner was not too busy given that it was close to midnight

you were one of the few waitresses on duty at the time

and riki just so happened to be seated in your section of the diner

riki paid little to no attention to his surroundings at the time

he was given a basket of breadsticks to enjoy while he waited for his waitress to arrive

so while he was yapping about the political and economical state of the world /j

his beautiful waitress (aka you teehee) finally approaches him

"good evening! is there anything i could get you started with?"

since you asked so kindly, bro so badly wanted to ask for your number right then and there

but being the nonchalant emo he is, he simply ordered a ramyeon and a bubble tea (what a cutie pie)

you swiftly wrote down his order and assured him that his food will be out as quickly as possible

you left him behind with an adorable smile and reassurance that if he ever needed something to not be shy and flag you down as needed

riki watched as you walked away, the camera catching a cheeky grin grow across his face

"chat... abort mission. the waitress is quite literally the prettiest human being i have ever laid my eyes upon." he aggressively whispers to his camera, which he had propped up by the condiments beside him.

purposely kept ordering just so you could keep coming back to his table

with the amount of times you were sent back to his table, you would think he would garner the courage to at least make you aware of his interest

but nahhhh

the camera pitifully filmed riki ogle you throughout the night

thank goodness you worked at a 24 hour diner

was too shy to do anything but order food and anxiously eat

he eventually racked up a hefty bill by the end of the night

minus $300 from his bank account and no cute waitress' phone number... big L moment right there for nishimura riki

BROTHER DIDN'T EVEN GET YOUR NAME

he eventually went home with an hour and a half's worth of footage of just him eating, ordering more food, and of course, mindlessly talking about his waitress

"food? 10/10. customer service? 100/10. the waitress? holy hell, hit me up... please."

his fans were not used to watching him be such a simp

normally his videos consisted of him crashing out over video games or baseball

but over a girl? and a very pretty one at that

this coming from a guy who has not featured a girl on his channel once before

his video made big numbers on youtube

his adorable and flustered reaction to his waitress made everyone want to search for this mystery woman

however, with riki not revealing the name of the diner (he was adamant to gatekeep this spot) & little to no telltale signs throughout the video

it was lowkey a lost cause, much to riki's dismay

however due to the video's popularity, it wasn't long until riki's video appeared on your own youtube homepage

you recognized the diner easily from his thumbnail

and not to mention there was no way you would forget the cute boy who managed to return home with 5 to-go bags all by himself

you decided to take initiative and contact him through his instagram (which he expertly linked in the description of the video)

please help me find the love of my life.... PRETTY WAITRESS IF YOU SEE THIS HIT ME UP PLSPLSPLS INSTAGRAM (pls only dm me if you are the waitress 😞): nishiriki05

lovelyyn: hii this is the waitress from your little yt video haha, my name is yn :) nishiriki05: OHMY GOD nishiriki05: i mean Hi I'm Riki!

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ecoterrorist-katara · 1 year ago

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Zutara, romance novels, and the female gaze

Okay so I’ve been thinking about the female gaze a LOT so I checked out a subreddit about romance novels, despite never having read one. I came across this meme (which was initially a Tumblr post and then got posted to Instagram and then to Reddit and I’m now bringing back to Tumblr — Internet telephone, pls never change):

And…what is The Southern Raiders, if not a platonic grovel? Katara’s pain is central to the episode. It’s central to Zuko. Zuko asks Katara what he can do to make up for his betrayal; she demands the impossible. He reads between the lines, cockblocks her brother to get the necessary information, and then waits outside her door overnight (which he also did for Iroh, the one person we know for sure he loves). He basically makes himself a receptacle for her rage, and he holds space for her by coming with her on her revenge quest and carrying their bags and not saying a damn thing about what she should and should not do beyond like…asking her to rest. And obviously the grovel works! She forgives him and then they’re thick as thieves, bantering and fighting and saving each other’s lives, etc.

On a different note, I’ve been told that enemies to lovers is one of the biggest tropes in romance novels, similar to YA lit and fanfic. Here’s something else I found in the romance novel discourse:

And…yeah. In TSR, Katara really does show Zuko her worst self, because she doesn’t feel the need to perform for him. She doesn’t feel the need to perform moral perfection OR cold blooded vengeance. She bloodbends in front of him and he just goes with it. She doesn’t kill Yon Rha and he just goes with it. He doesn’t treat her any differently afterwards. Maybe they talk about it off screen, but I kind of like the idea that they don’t, because Katara doesn’t need to explain anything. And it’s so interesting, because some people in the ATLA fandom have a totally different read on TSR. They think Zuko was encouraging Katara to get revenge (by what, keeping his mouth shut?), and that Aang is the one who acts as her moral compass. I believe that either Bryan or Mike said in the DVD commentary that Aang is the angel on her shoulder the entire time. And this interpretation does make sense if you see it from the male gaze, where Katara as an object of affection is acting in an angry, irrational, threatening way. But if you see it from the female gaze, you recognize that actually it’s probably the most emotionally taxing experience Katara has to go through, and she doesn’t owe it to be nice or perfect to anybody. Katara’s formative trauma literally comes to a head, and she has to make a decision — no, a discovery — about who she is in relation to the tragedy that defines her life and even her identity (as a waterbender, as a parentified child who becomes the mom friend, as a genocide victim), and she’s accompanied by someone who trusts her judgement and validates her feelings.

I’m not saying TSR is explicitly romantically coded, but when it conforms so well to romance novel tropes…is it any wonder that so many people thought “yes this is her man?” And then he takes lightning in the heart for her and reaches for her when he’s literally dying, I will never be normal about that either

#Zutara #Katara #Zuko #the southern raiders #Pro zutara #anti Bryke #I guess #I swear I’m not a Bryke anti but I feel like they just don’t get #The female gaze #and the fact that Zutara is so female gaze is kind of an accident and I find that fascinating #atla fandom critical #The southern raiders turned me into a Zutara shipper #one ep away from the finale #Zutara meta #My meta

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marauroon · 1 year ago

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can u please write a fic about James and the reader being bestfriends and becoming lovers pls?

thats my favorite trope ever ♡♡♡

C O M M O N A L I T Y — JAMES POTTER!

james potter x fem!reader | fluff | 3.2k | masterlist!!

sometimes you and james were a bit too close as friends, and it was making him question the platonicness of your relationship

cw — james feeling guilty for having feelings, mild miscommunication, friends to lovers, happy ending

James had been… off lately.

You weren’t sure that anyone else would even be able to tell, he was still his outrageously confident self, outgoing and charming, playfully annoying, but there was something there that was different, and you weren’t sure if it was in a positive way.

He looked more tired than usual, more drained, the small glint in his eyes barely holding on under whatever nimbus cloud had managed to overtake the inside of his head.

“Hey,” You approach him gently, taking a seat beside him on one of the common room sofas with your legs curled up underneath you. “You okay?”

“Yeah I’m great, did you hear that we kicked Slytherin’s ass during our practice match this morning?” Deflection. You could practically feel it radiating off of him. Even his tone was laced with it, the usual excitement that would be present over something like that simply acting as a mask to cover whatever was underneath it.

“James,” You furrow your eyebrows ever so slightly and he can tell that he’s beat.

“I hate how well you know me sometimes…” And just like that any sense of trying to hide the sorrowful state he was in disappears, replaced with a genuine show of discontent as he leans his head over the back of the seat.

You sigh, leaving your hand on his knee to rub small circles against the skin exposed by his shorts. “What’s wrong? You’ve been off all week,”

“It’s nothing you can help with love don’t worry about it,”

“I’m going to worry about it,”

“I know,” James gives out a long exhale, dragging the palm of his hand underneath his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I’m really fine, though,”

“James,” You tilt your head with a small pool of worry in your eyes. “Please tell me what’s going on,”

He always hated it when you looked at him like that.

“It’s truly nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about okay?” He pulls himself to sit up straight, mirroring your head tilt with his own. “I’ve gotta figure it out in my own time,”

You didn’t want to pry. If he wanted to tell you then he would. All you could really do was wait.

“Alright…”

That didn’t mean you were happy about it.

“Love…” James sighs softly. “Don’t look like that,”

“I’m just worried about you…”

“I know,” James leaves his hand on top of yours as a show of thanks for your concern over him.

He wants to tell you. And he should really. But how on earth do you bring up that you’ve managed to fall in love with your best friend, to said best friend?

‘Hey, by the way, I know we’re like best mates and all but every time you touch me I feel like I’m going to explode.’

“You should at least get some sleep, you look tired,”

Yeah, it’s kind of hard to sleep when you spend the whole night beating yourself up for being an absolute idiot.

“Yeah…”

You turn your hand until it’s palm up in his, curling your fingers around the back of his hand until they’re securely nestled together. “Maybe we should take a nap,”

He should say no. He’s not right to have you cuddled into his side with your head on his chest and your arms around his torso. It’s not fair on you for him to take advantage like that when you just see it as what’s essentially a sleepover between friends. Not when he’s thinking about you like he is.

“Yeah, I think I could use a nap right now…”

But when you look at him like that who is he to refuse you really?

—

James woke up with a groan, still groggy and covered in a thin film of sweat from the cocoon of heat that had developed underneath the quilt. He was supposed to sleep for an hour, maybe two if either of you were truly tired. But the sun had gone down and he could hear Peter’s snoring from across the room and Remus’ curtains were pulled and the sun definitely wasn’t coming up any time soon.

God knows he needed what he got though, he was starting to think he’d exhaust himself to the point of death.

As he shifted on the mattress, he was brought back to the both fortunate and unfortunate reality of the fact you we’re sleeping next to him, arm draped over his stomach with his arm underneath your head whist you slumbered away peacefully.

It took less than a few seconds for the tranquility of it to be ruined under the small voice in the back of his head that just had to ruin absolutely everything.

You were so pretty when you slept. Peaceful, unaware, like nothing could phase you under the blanket of rest you’d covered yourself with.

And it was making him feel so guilty. You were his friend, his best friend, and he was taking advantage of what you viewed to be a platonic relationship between two people because he just could not get his head right and stop thinking about you in a romantic fashion.

Was it really just platonic? He wasn’t sure anymore…

He stayed stationary for a few short moments, eyes gazing deftly over your sleep filled features and the feeling of your chest slowly rising and falling against his side until he was sure he couldn’t handle it anymore, and carefully slid his arm from underneath you so that he could move.

And then you shift, and he freezes.

Godric knows he didn’t need you waking up right now.

You don’t stir, thank god, but you do turn your body towards his in an unconscious effort to seek out the lost contact between the two of you.

James swears he almost melts at the sight.

“Just mates…” he whispers to himself, trying in vain to convince himself once more that the close relationship between the two of you was nothing more than pure platonic friendship.

There’s a sharp pang of guilt that pierces his heart as he carefully pries himself from you and watches as you try and chase after the contact in your sleep, but he knows that it’s for the best.

James takes one last quick glance at your sleeping figure before starting to quietly head towards the door, hoping and praying that you don’t wake up as he sneaks out of the dorm room.

You don’t for a good few minutes, but as the patch of heat that he’d left behind on the mattress turns cold, you find yourself blinking awake in the search of his absent warmth.

You don’t think much of his disappearance at first, he’d often get up to go to the bathroom or sneak off to the kitchens if he was hungry, but after ten—then fifteen—minutes of waiting, it’s more than clear that James didn’t have any intention of returning, so you quietly pad out of the boys’ dorm room to go in search of him.

It wasn’t very hard.

“James..?” You rub the corner of your eye with your knuckle as you descend the stairs to the main floor of the common room, where James was sat stationary on one of the sofas with his back to you. “Are you alright?”

The worry from earlier in the day immediately invades your mind again, and your eyebrows furrow in concern as you approach him, sleep slipping away with every step you take.

“Yeah,” He muttered in response to your question, not making any move to face you. “I’m fine.”

You don’t believe him.

“Why did you disappear..?” You take a seat next to him almost hesitantly.

The dip in the sofa from your added weight is enough incentive for James to finally move, and shifts to accommodate you beside him.

“I just.. needed to clear my head a bit, that’s all.” he shrugged, eyes almost absent as the continue to stare blankly towards the fireplace. “I didn’t want to wake you up either, so I just came to come down here for a bit.”

You let out a soft exhale at his intonation, reaching out to smooth a curl of hair from his eye with your fingers. “Are you really sure you’re okay?”

There’s a small, almost incomprehensible smile that etches it’s way on to James’ face at the gentle touch of your fingers, almost like a reflex, and just like a reflex the second he notices he’s doing it, it disappears.

“I’m fine I promise,” James gives a small sigh, nodding his head softly. “Just a lot going on in my head at the moment,” He continues to keep his gaze focused away from you, and it does not help in making you believe him. “What about you? You still look tired,”

“Yeah…” You tilt your head sideways until your temple is resting against James’ shoulder. “I’m okay…”

James is almost envious of how easily you lay your head on his shoulder, like it’s really no big deal.

As close friends, it shouldn’t be.

But it made his heart skip a beat and his throat dry up all the same.

He rested his arm over your shoulder cautiously, like his skin would burn at the contact, pads of his fingertips carefully sliding into the hair at your temple as he leaned his head back against the sofa with closed eyes in a failed attempt at looking relaxed.

“Come back to sleep?”

James bit his tongue.

In a way, his body wanted him to, as the comfort of you and the warmth of the bed were things that he craved at the moment.

His mind, however, was telling him differently. He couldn’t risk it. Not after the thoughts that he had been having.

“I can’t,” he responded softly.

“…Why not?” You blink up at him slowly, lifting your hand to trace arbitrary lines over his forearm to try and soothe whatever was rampaging his mind.

His mind was all over the place right now, but he couldn't allow himself to fall back into bed with you. Not when he was like this.

“I just can't,” he murmured for the second time, looking away from you once more.

“I can leave you to sleep by yourself,” You hand moves down towards his, giving it a small squeeze as you massage circles into his palm. “If that’s why you can’t sleep,”

You didn’t want to assume that you were the reason for his discomfort, but you also didn’t want him to stick it out if that was the case for your sake.

James sighed, his thoughts telling him to just give in and agree, as his body still wanted and craved your close presence.

His mind, however, had decided otherwise.

“It's not that-” He began to say, before stopping himself to redirect his response. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course James,” You bring your head up from his shoulder to give him a nod. “ Anything,”

James hung his head with a sigh, breathing in deeply before committing to his question.

“Have you ever wondered what it would be like if the two of us were… more than just friends?”

“I’m—” You blink non-commitaly. “—not sure what you mean,”

James looked over at you, your furrowed brow causing confusion in him for a second.

Did you really not know what he’d meant?

Or were you just feigning ignorance?

“You know very well what I mean,” he said softly, his mind beginning to wonder if maybe you weren’t as clueless as you were portraying right now. “You’ve had those thoughts before, haven’t you? About us being more than just… mates?”

“I—” What to say truly evades you as you stammer for a response, and you can’t even formulate a coherent sentence as you blink blankly at him.

James felt his breath falter a little bit at your hesitation, making him second guess what he’d just said and regret it almost immediately.

Was his mind just making him think of things that weren’t real? You really didn’t have any sort of thoughts like that whatsoever?

None?

None at all?

James decided to take a gamble with his next statement, praying to whatever god was listening that it would pay off.

“It’s been something I’ve thought about a lot lately…” He muttered his confession, trying to gauge if you were thinking the same things as him, or if he really was just going mad.

“…really?” Your voice is barely a whisper as you respond, throat drying up to the point where you feel like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, his voice a little bit more confident than it had been initially. “And, maybe it started off as just a little ‘what if’, but.. I can’t seem to get the thoughts out of my head anymore…” he trailed off slightly, hoping you would catch on to what he was hinting at.

“James…”

You’re not entirely sure how you should respond to that.

And not even because it was something you didn’t want to hear.

You’d just managed to dig yourself into such a deep pit of denial that you’d never even considered James having feelings for you that were anything more than platonic.

“…I’m not crazy for thinking about us like that…” He whispered, his voice catching just slightly as he waited for your response. “…am I?”

Your eyes flicker over James’ features as you dig through the folds of your brain to form a coherent response. But nothing comes.

And the longer you stay silent the more the hope in James’ eyes disappears and the more to have the indescribable urge to kiss all of his worries away.

So you do.

Incredibly impulsively.

The skin of his cheeks is soft underneath your palms as you pull your faces together, the curls covering his forehead brushing against you and the soft pressure of his lips against yours almost indescribable.

James’ eyes widen before they close, and you can almost physically feel all of the anxiety drain from him as he anchors his hands at your sides to return your efforts.

And for a moment it felt like everything was right with the world. Just how it should be.

“I think I might be in love with you…” You mutter the words against James’ lips only once you part for air, hands trembling ever so slightly against his cheeks as you rest your forehead against his in a mix of adrenaline and nervousness.

James swears his heart physically flips in his chest.

He takes a moment to respond, his head spinning from the kiss between you two.

“Good… because I’ve been in love with you for so goddamn long already…” he mumbled, brushing his thumb over your cheek.

The breathlessness of his voice urges a soft laugh from the back of your throat, and James can’t help but smile at the sound, like it’s his favourite thing to hear in the world.

James leans in close to you like you’re the most delicate thing in the world, gently pressing his lips to your forehead and just relishing in the fact that you’d both finally just admitted your true feelings. “So, does this mean we're not just mates anymore?” he teased, giving your waist a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t think we’ve been ‘just mates’ for a while James—” You lean your head into the crook of James’ neck with your arms over his shoulders in a hug, hiding yourself in the wake of your mild embarrassment.

James smiled and wrapped his arms around your waist, hugging you against him. “I’m so in love with you…” he whispered, the warmth that had been absent from his heart finally returning.

His heart felt lighter than it ever did before, and the warmth filled him from head to toe.

He leaned in close to you, holding you tightly yet gently in his arms. “I adore you, you know… I’m yours.” he admitted softly in your ear, his fingers tracing gentle circles on your back.

“I’ve always been yours James…”

James couldn’t help but laugh softly at your reply, his heart swelling with love for you. “You’ve always been mine?” He teased, gently rubbing his nose against your cheek with a smile. “Even when we were ‘just mates’?”

You let out a short laugh at the way he nuzzles his face against yours, scrunching up slightly. “Maybe I was just being optimistic,”

“Optimistic that one day, I’d fall head over heels crazy in love with you?” he replied with a smirk on his face.

“It worked didn’t it?” You give another laugh as you move to cup James’ face in your hand, and he leans into your touch like it’s second nature.

“I suppose it did, didn’t it?” He took hold of one of your wrists, slowly guiding your hand over to his lips where he planted a soft kiss on your palm. "You’re so beautiful..."

It’s nothing you haven’t heard before from him, but with the added knowledge of his romantic intentions it feels so much more intimate, and it leaves you horribly flustered to the point where you’re sure he can tell.

And the look on his face tells you he definitely can.

He had always found you beautiful—from the way you styled your hair to how pretty you looked first thing on a sunday morning dragging yourself to breakfast.

But now that he knew you were his, and his alone, the thought of letting you know how gorgeous you were made his heart flutter.

He wanted to lavish the girl of his dreams with compliments and affection in every way he could.

“I think we should head back to bed. I’m feeling a little tired again,” James mumbled softly in your ear.

He wanted to take you back to bed and hold you in his arms whilst he slept. To Hold you without any of the guilt or second-guessing. To hold you properly, like he’d always wanted to.

“Yeah, I think that’s a good idea...”

James slowly released his grasp on you, taking a moment to admire just how gorgeous you were in the pale moonlight of the common room.

He took your hand in his, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles as he stood up from the sofa. “Come on,” he whispered, gently pulling you up from your seat, “Let’s get some sleep love,”

#marauders #marauders fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter fluff #asks 🪶

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jayflrt · 1 year ago

Text

the misfortunes and misconceptions of lee heeseung

❝ i'll let you in on a little secret: wanting nothing to do with y/n starts with actually wanting nothing to do with her. ❞

PAIRING ▸ slytherin!heeseung x hufflepuff!fem!reader

GENRES ▸ fluff, crack, hogwarts au, idiots to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, the classic amortentia trope because what screams valentine's day like love potions, heeseung is down horrendous, sunghoon missing half an eyebrow, jake is babygirl, lots of catastrophizing, minor bending of canon for plot convenience, and a kiss scene of course

SUMMARY ▸ by no means does lee heeseung hold any romantic feelings toward you. the mere possibility is jarring, considering his luck seems to take a turn for the worst whenever he’s around you. from getting hit with a bludger during quidditch to getting into trouble with filch for setting off dungbombs in his office, heeseung starts to think you’re some sort of bad omen. he’s prepared for disaster when you two become partners in potions, but why does the amortentia smell like you?

WORD COUNT ▸ 13,497 words

PLAYLIST ▸ lavender kiss by the licks

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ this is jayflrt's valentine for you ♡

LEE HEESEUNG WAS CERTAIN YOU MUST HAVE HAD AN AFFINITY FOR NEARLY KILLING HIM REGULARLY.

When he, Slytherin’s prized Seeker, got knocked off his broom by a bludger, there was only one potential suspect he could narrow the crime down to in his head.

In your hand was the very bat that sent the bludger in his way, hitting his miserable self square in the gut.

This seemed to be a pattern between the two of you, where it was mostly Heeseung experiencing great misfortune because of the Hufflepuff’s mere existence. His best friend, Park Jongseong, told him that he had probably wronged you in a past life for him to suffer this much around you. While Heeseung initially brushed it off as a joke, he couldn’t help but start to question if it was actually true.

Back in his first year, Heeseung met you during the Sorting Hat ceremony, where you accidentally tripped him right before he walked up to get sorted. Everyone in the Grand Hall laughed at him, which was not his idea of a welcoming initiation into Slytherin, so he glared holes into the back of your head for the rest of the year.

In his third year, you ran into him at King’s Cross station, causing all of his trunks to go flying. While you were helping him repack everything, you two realized that the Hogwarts Express was long gone, and neither of you could even access the magical entryway to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Heeseung cried into his hands at the train station until a professor Apparated to pick them both up, and then you teased him about his tears for what felt like forever.

In a similar sense, Heeseung had somehow always managed to get into trouble when he was around you. Now, he had naturally grown out of disliking you for causing him so much suffering (mostly because he was far more popular now and everyone had forgotten about how you sent him flying during a duel, unfortunately revealing his strawberry-patterned boxers to an entire room of second and third years), but Heeseung was still wary about the adversity that seemed to follow you.

Were you a friend? Heeseung couldn’t tell for sure. You two spent an awfully long amount of time together, but you both also had your separate friend groups that hardly intermingled. Heeseung supposed you were more of a thorn in his side that hurt more when he tried to yank it out.

Now, there was nothing left for him to do now but clutch his stomach in pain and pray that he didn’t need to spend another night in the infirmary because of you. (Madam Pomfrey started to keep a tally; “Oh, Miss L/N didn’t injure you again, did she? Have a toffee, sweetheart,” was what he was expecting to hear from the school nurse.)

“Heeseung! Are you okay?” you asked, running up to him with your other hand clutching your broom. Thankfully, Heeseung had managed to grip his broom with one hand on the way down until he had safely landed, so there were no damages to his Moontrimmer. “Who did this to you?!”

“I know you’re holding the bat behind your back, Y/N,” he got out through gritted teeth.

He watched as you let your arm fall defeatedly to your side, revealing the Beater’s bat that violated practically every safety protocol.

“Oh, how embarrassing,” Kim Minjeong, the Chaser for the Slytherin team, said with a giggle from behind her palm. She was still floating a few feet from the ground, witnessing the damage done from her broom. Heeseung glared up at her. “Not a good look for you, Captain.”

Normally, he would shut Minjeong up with his usual threat that went something along the lines of putting a curse on her bloodline. This time, however, Heeseung was in far too much pain and humiliation to come up with a witty comeback.

Madam Hooch came running across the field to see what happened to her star Quidditch player. On the bright side, Heeseung knew that you wouldn’t get in trouble because game was game; you were just doing what you needed to ensure your victory, even though Slytherin still had a huge lead on Hufflepuff. After momentary deliberation, however, Heeseung realized that the bright side should have been the fact that he was still alive. Why was he thinking about you, anyway? He would pay galleons to see you get in trouble—but not too much trouble (and Merlin’s beard, he was far too soft).

“He needs to be taken to the infirmary,” Madam Hooch said. She spared you a glance before making a shooing motion with her gloved hand. By this time, his friends (Park Sunghoon, a sixth year who Heeseung ‘adopted’ in his second year, and Yang Jungwon, a broody fourth year with a penchant for rule-breaking) had come running down the stands and across the field. “You can visit him after you finish the match, Y/N. Madam Pomfrey can handle this.”

“Yes, of course,” you murmured, turning to Heeseung again and muttering a pathetic apology, to which he cracked a grin at. Maybe he shouldn’t have been grinning since you nearly cracked his skull open, or maybe he had really lost it this time.

“It’s only been a week since you’ve managed to nearly get me killed.” Heeseung shuddered at the memory of you accidentally setting his cloak on fire last week with a Blasting Charm. “Don’t worry. I knew something was gonna happen sooner or later.”

Words of affirmation weren’t exactly his strong suit.

But upon seeing the awkward grin on your face, like a blast of light that hit him all at once, Heeseung was suddenly painfully aware of everything—the awfully pleasant scent of lavender wafting from you, the searing ache from his injury, the way your hair framed your face, and the cool metal balled in his fist.

Wait—metal?

Before he was about to be carried out in a not-so-dignified manner, Heeseung raised his arm to open his palm, revealing the Golden Snitch that sat obediently, fanning its wings out once before closing again. A gasp rose from the crowd, and then the shocked looks from both teams followed. Minjeong nearly fell off her broom. The Slytherin house all but exploded in cheers after Madam Hooch gaped at the sight, fumbled for her whistle, blew it loudly, and then announced Slytherin’s victory over Hufflepuff.

Heeseung sighed in relief and fully collapsed onto the ground, looking up at the clear sky with contentment lifting the anguish from his brows. And now that he knew the verdict of the match, the pain finally hit him all at once, and he hoped Madam Pomfrey could fix him up before his house started celebrating their triumph.

“Heeseung! That was an incredible play!” Nishimura Riki, a fourth year Gryffindor, cried as he came running from the stands. If by incredible, he was referring to Heeseung getting bludgeoned to the ground, then sure, incredible—outstanding, even. The flash of Riki’s camera went off, capturing a pathetic-looking Heeseung lying limp on the springy turf. “This’ll definitely make the front page!”

Ever since the Nishimura kid got an internship at the Daily Prophet, the Slytherin team had been worried about appearing on the news unprompted—most likely in unflattering angles, too. It had even gotten to the point of Song Eunseok pinning up a poster of Riki to a corkboard in the locker room, as if he was a wanted criminal at large.

“Er, could we retake—”

“You grab his legs,” a voice from behind him ordered. It was Sunghoon, who had come running with Jungwon to carry him out of the field. “I’ll take his arms.”

Heeseung balked. “Guys, wait!”

But it was no use. He was already in the air, and Jungwon and Sunghoon were both ignoring his protests.

As if he was a rather sad sack of potatoes, Heeseung was carried out, body dangling and his eyes screwed shut as he heard more flashes of Riki’s camera going off. Most of all, he wondered if you caught sight of how pitiful he was. Surely, you found it hilarious, didn’t you? He was certain he would get teased endlessly in Charms next week.

“Nice game, champ,” Jungwon commented oh-so-casually, and Heeseung’s blood started boiling.

“Can you put me down already?! We have magic for a reason!” he blurted out, but his two friends ignored him all the same.

“I saw Sunoo being carried out like this the other day outside of the Dueling Club meeting room,” Sunghoon mused, and Heeseung imagined the poor Slytherin also being hauled to the infirmary like a ragdoll. “I heard he got hit with a nasty Disarming Charm. Someone nearly blasted the poor guy right into the Clock Tower’s pendulum.”

“I know. He’s better at dodging than I thought,” Jungwon replied unsympathetically. “What a shame. I’ll get him next time.”

Heeseung blanched. Poor Kim Sunoo.

But then he remembered his current state and thought Sunoo was better off than him. At least Sunoo wasn’t carried out in front of the entire school.

Really, the reason why Heeseung was so agitated was because being Slytherin’s Seeker meant that he had an important role. It was a responsibility that clearly set him apart, and it surely had to look impressive to others—for example, you—but here he was, being carried out of the Quidditch pitch like an idiot. It put all of his hard work and countless hours of practice to shame.

Thankfully, although his failing jock status might have damaged his ego to the point of no return, Madam Pomfrey didn’t seem to think his injuries were too severe this time. After a few healing charms, which made him feel back to normal in no time, Heeseung was ready to leave the infirmary.

Sunghoon and Jungwon ended up leaving right after dropping him off, claiming that they had to go celebrate their win in the Slytherin common room. Heeseung found it completely disrespectful to ditch the very person who brought them to victory.

To his surprise, you were waiting outside the door, twiddling your thumbs and doing that annoyingly cute habit of yours where you chewed on the inside of your cheek whenever you were in trouble (which, frankly, happened a lot of the time). He made a great deal of effort to adjust his cape before walking over to you with raised eyebrows, wondering if an apology was coming his way.

“I just wanted to say,” you started, voice uncharacteristically small and wavering, but then you followed up with an incomprehensible mumble that Heeseung could hardly decipher.

“What?”

“Uh,” you raised your voice this time, keeping it steadier with extra effort, “on the way here—funny story, really—I was telling Jake about how you set off a Dungbomb in Filch’s office the other week. Honest to God, I didn’t even see Mrs. Norris!”

Although you didn’t provide a solid conclusion, he was able to connect the dots and figure out what you were getting at. He almost wished he stayed oblivious because how was this happening to him twice in a day?

Heeseung’s face fell. “You’ve got to be joking.”

“Filch is looking for you,” you finished with a guilty look drawn across your face.

It happened to be your second guilty look of the day, actually. Two too many for Heeseung to handle.

There was one thing Lee Heeseung was quite sure of, and it was that he wanted absolutely nothing to do with you from now on.

The aftermath of his scolding from Filch resulted in him receiving evening detentions for the rest of the week. All you brought him was terrible luck wherever he went, and despite how nice you smelled and how shiny your hair was, he didn’t need your misfortune clinging to him like it would be the last breath he’d take.

Honestly, any longer around you and he was pretty sure he would be taking his last breath soon.

But it was honestly ridiculous how hard Heeseung had to restrain himself from going near you. He would pass by your unbothered self in the Courtyard, hoping to get some verbal recognition from you that would change his mind about his whole ignoring thing, but you simply just paid more attention to stupid Jake Sim from Hufflepuff.

Who cared about Jake Sim, anyway? Surely not the several girls in his year that threw themselves at him. There was nothing redeeming about him, not even with his perfect smile and perfect grades and perfect robes. Honestly, where did he get those robes? Heeseung bought his at Madam Malkin’s, like virtually every other student, but they weren’t as perfectly trimmed and fitted as Jake Sim’s perfect robes.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Park Jongseong, a sixth year Ravenclaw, sneered once he saw the glower across Heeseung’s face. “Wanting nothing to do with Y/N starts with actually wanting nothing to do with her.”

“Who said I didn’t not want anything to do with her?” Heeseung fired back, but even he was confused about his response, taking a few extra seconds to process what nonsense had just spewed out of his mouth. “Okay, look, just pretend I said the funniest thing you’ve ever heard when she walks by us.”

“Actually, that was the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Heeseung gave him an exasperated look. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I mean, you’re not that funny to begin with. Kind of hilarious that you think you’d be able to tell me the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“You literally just told me I said the funniest thing ever.”

“Funny because it was such a pathetic thing to say. There’s a difference.”

“You’re a stupid git, you know that?”

“Am I now?”

“The stupidest of stupid gits.”

In truth, Jake was the stupid git. Jongseong could tease Heeseung all he wanted, but Jake Sim was the one grinning down at you with a stupid sparkle in his eyes, taunting the Slytherin with those evil, perfect corners of his lips. Didn’t he have better things to do? Like not taking up the oxygen in a place where he was clearly unwanted?

Also, to set the record straight, Heeseung needed to make it perfectly clear (to himself, too, because this was clearly confusing for him and everybody around him) that he was not into you.

Probably.

Sure, he felt a smidge of fondness because you two had gotten into life-threatening situations before (all your fault, by the way), so there was probably some semblance of friendship that was only due to the fact that shared trauma often brought people together. But that was all it was. Heeseung’s feelings did not extend into anything remotely romantic; he even shuddered at the very thought.

That was right. He was your friend, and that was all he wanted to be. Heeseung most definitely did not think about anything like holding your hand, or plucking flowers to braid into your hair, or kissing you in hidden corners of the castle. That would be ridiculous and completely unlike him.

And then you really did walk past him and Jongseong, so Heeseung took it upon himself to punch his friend’s shoulder hard and burst into forced laughter. He tried extremely hard to convince himself that this was a very normal thing to do, but soon after the act, he wanted to lay on the floor of the Owlery until the owls collectively decided to fly his body out somewhere far away—hopefully another country.

“Idiot, I’m the one who’s supposed to laugh,” Jongseong reminded him once you were out of sight. (You did not pay attention to his charade, Heeseung was sad to note.) With a scoff, he added, “You should probably hit the books ‘cause acting’s clearly not up your alley.”

Heeseung let out a retired sigh and stood up from the stone bench they had been sitting on. “I’m going to Potions.”

“Oh, you attend class now? Shocking.”

“I prefer not spending my evenings in detention.”

“Alright. I’ll update you later on the Jake-and-Y/N show.”

“You do that, and I’ll show you how good I’ve gotten at the hair loss curse,” he spat. “I’d start investing in some hats.”

“Is that why Sunghoon’s missing half an eyebrow?”

Heeseung didn’t answer. Honestly, Sunghoon’s predicament had nothing to do with him, but he left it up to Jongseong’s imagination for the sake of intimidation.

As he stormed away (well, more of a brisk walk; Heeseung wasn’t one to storm), he realized that his friends had all sorts of misconceptions about him. He couldn’t wrap his head around why Jongseong would possibly think he was concerned about you and Jake Sim. Sure, he spent a good portion of the morning glaring daggers at Jake Sim, but there was no way that meant Heeseung was that concerned about the Hufflepuff.

What was there to be concerned about, anyway? Heeseung was the Seeker of the Slytherin Quidditch team, scored five O.W.L.s last year, and he was the top duelist at Hogwarts. Jake Sim was just another pretty boy who Heeseung could crush under the sole of his shoe if he wanted to.

His mind wandered to thoughts of you and Jake Sim walking back to the Hufflepuff common room together. Your melodic laugh echoing through the halls because of a joke he told; your fingers entwined with his as he carried your books for you; and your eyes practically glowing with admiration as you watched him intently.

The thought made Heeseung sick to his stomach. Not because he liked you or anything disgusting like that, but because Jake Sim didn’t deserve to receive that much attention—not even in a hypothetical scenario that played out in Heeseung’s wild, almost sadistic imagination.

One thought comforted him, though: You had Potions with Heeseung, meaning you had to pry yourself from Jake’s side to attend Slughorn’s class.

As he was about to approach the classroom door, Heeseung realized he had forgotten his Potions textbook. He debated whether to go in without it or run to his dormitory to fetch it, and he eventually went with the latter to avoid being clueless if today required brewing a potion. This resulted in him being about ten minutes late to class, which he decided was your fault somehow.

Immediately upon entering the room, the pungent scent of lavender filled his nostrils, and it was all he could smell. He later recognized that there were a few other smells mixed in—the smell of butterbeer and the smell of fresh ink. The lavender, however, was so intense that it overwhelmed his senses.

It smelled like you.

Before Heeseung was about to blurt out and ask why you doused the entire classroom in your perfume, Professor Slughorn turned to look at him with brows raised in pleasant surprise.

“Ah, Mr. Lee,” he greeted. “You’re early today.”

He was ten minutes late.

“Uh, just forgot my textbook,” he said, holding up the Potions textbook he walked several, brutal flights of stairs to retrieve.

“If you’re ready to join us, I was just going over Amortentia.”

If Heeseung’s memory served him correctly, that was either the potion that boosted one’s memory or the potion that induced laughter. He hadn’t exactly been doing his reading over the summer, which was probably not an intelligent decision on his part considering he was in N.E.W.T. level Potions.

Either way, he was a little too preoccupied mentally replaying how his eyes met yours briefly. Heeseung walked over to stand next to you—for research purposes, of course—because he needed to know if you had really drenched yourself in lavender perfume, or if he had just gone crazy.

He nudged you with his elbow and muttered, “You reek.”

Okay, that was definitely not a chivalrous way of putting it.

“Excuse me?” Your unnaturally high-pitched voice was hardly a whisper, but Heeseung could detect… panic?

“No, I mean your perfume,” he corrected quickly. “It’s everywhere.”

“Is it that strong?” You lifted your sleeve to sniff at it.

“Yeah? It’s—”

“—the most powerful love potion known to wizardkind,” Heeseung heard Slughorn say as he redirected his focus to the actual lecture. “Amortentia’s said to smell different to each person, according to what attracts them.”

So it turned out that his memory didn’t serve him correctly at all.

Heeseung had his fair share of near-death experiences—probably a few more than the average Hogwarts student.

Never had he wanted so badly to combust into flames on the spot like a phoenix. Except he didn’t want to rise from the ashes; he was perfectly content with staying dead and buried without ever having to relive the last couple minutes of his life, which he was sure would scar him forever.

Immediately, Heeseung stopped focusing on Slughorn’s lecture to conjure up some lame excuse in his head. Maybe he could tell everyone that his Muggle-born father owned a lavender farm back in the day, thus his love for lavender scents bloomed. But, Merlin’s beard, that didn’t even make sense! Just because he loved the smell of lavender didn’t mean he was in love with it. The smell was always attached to the person—the very object of his desires.

And, of course, it all pointed back to you.

Heeseung should not have had the realization that he was in love with you in the middle of Potions, of all classes. Astronomy? Sure. He thought it would be romantic to come to terms with his feelings whilst observing the celestial bodies in the sky. Divination? Even better. Gazing into a crystal ball for answers made complete sense.

But Potions? Seriously? This was probably the least romantic place in Hogwarts aside from the haunted bathroom in the South Wing.

No, on second thought, Heeseung saw some potential in the haunted bathroom. Something about the complete isolation of the facility made it all the more exciting.

Potions, on the other hand, was simply downright dreadful.

“Amortentia, as you all know, is extremely dangerous. I only have it out here for educational purposes, so do not even think about touching that cauldron,” Slughorn warned. “Instead, for today’s lesson, I want you all to partner up and brew something… more lighthearted—say, Elixir for Inducing Euphoria. You can find it in your Potions books in chapter eight.”

After his lecture, Slughorn made everyone write down what Amortentia smelled like for them, warning his class about the dangers of the love potion being slipped into someone’s food or drink. Heeseung hastily wrote his down on a scrap of parchment before pocketing it where he would surely forget it existed.

He had been hoping Potion-making was going to be individual work today. He despised partner work, especially when that meant Heeseung would potentially be working with you, which didn’t prove too successful for his heart or his grades.

More importantly, Heeseung did not, by any means, want to work alongside you after accidentally admitting that the Amortentia smelled like lavender to him.

Not to mention you were atrocious when it came to Potions. Heeseung needed more than two hands to count all the times your cauldron blew up in your face this year. Even when Heeseung took the reins and stirred the ingredients himself, you would somehow manage to expertly worsen the situation.

Thankfully, Kim Sunoo also took Potions, so as soon as Heeseung spotted the Slytherin, he grabbed his robes by the nape.

“You’re working with me.”

It came off more as an order than a request, but Heeseung needed to be firm to emphasize the gravity of the situation he was in. What if he died working with you? Did Sunoo want him dead?

“No way,” Sunoo refused. “I already told Sohee I’d work with him. Plus, you never bring the right ingredients.”

Well, that was that; Sunoo hated Heeseung and wanted him dead.

“Are you serious? Sohee?” Heeseung asked, acting as if Sohee wasn’t one of the top students in Potions. “You’re turning your best friend down?”

“No, I’m turning you down.”

“Okay, ouch.”

“Sunoo, d’you have any Sopophorous beans on you?” Lee Sohee asked as he approached the two, reading off his Potions book. “I have Worm—oh, hey, Heeseung!”

With little enthusiasm, he greeted, “Hi, Sohee.”

“Heeseung needs a partner,” Sunoo explained.

“Oh, really?” Before Heeseung could stop him, Sohee turned his head and cupped his hands around his mouth, yelling, “Y/N! Heeseung needs a partner, too!”

“Sohee!” Heeseung hissed, suddenly wishing Sohee’s head was a Quaffle he could launch into oblivion. He lowered his voice to mutter, “Have you considered that maybe I’m asking Sunoo because I don’t wanna partner with Y/N?”

He shrugged in response. “How was I supposed to know that?”

Oh, this was horrible. Not only did Sunoo hate Heeseung and want him dead, but Sohee had joined in on the cause, too. They were both clearly plotting something wicked against him.

But now he had no other choice. It wasn’t like he could turn you down after Sohee had blatantly lied about Heeseung’s intentions. This was the worst outcome yet; he was probably going to fail Potions because of you, and then he would have to write a make-up paper on the stupid elixir they were supposed to brew.

“No one wants to partner with me!” you complained, shoulders sagging and lips forming a pout when you walked over to the Slytherin. “I can always count on you, though, Hee.”

Heeseung couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

No one wanted to partner with you? What had the wizarding world come to? Where was the comradery?

He was almost infuriated by how spineless the rest of his classmates were. Sure, Heeseung was complaining about working with you seconds prior, but you said it yourself: you could always count on him. At the end of the day, failing today’s class and writing a make-up paper was nothing in the grand scheme of things. Heeseung would always extend a helpful hand to those who needed it, or someone he was potentially crushing on.

Get a grip, Heeseung, he scolded himself. You do not have a crush on her. She’s just a good friend, that’s all. A perfectly normal, platonic friend of yours who gets on your nerves sometimes… and smells rather nice… and sort of looks extremely pretty when she has her hair tied up… and—

Okay, this was getting ridiculous.

“Yeah,” he got out in an embarrassingly choked voice. “You were my first choice, anyway—well, after Sunoo turned me down.”

There often came a time when a man had to put himself through tough situations to overcome adversity. As Heeseung approached their table, his shiny cauldron gleaming under the lamp light, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Make sure you didn’t lay a finger on his bloody cauldron.

Sunoo and Sohee were working at the same table, standing at the bench across from them. Heeseung quickly sifted through his bag, and, as Sunoo predicted, he didn’t bring any of the ingredients necessary for the elixir. What the hell was he going to do with Fluxweed and rose oil?

“I have porcupine quills,” you said, pulling a glass jar out of your bag.

“Uh, okay, so I need you to get a Shrivelfig and Wormwood from Slughorn’s closet,” he instructed you, giving you a thumbs-up once you nodded. “I’m gonna beg Sunoo for his Sopophorous beans.”

After you walked off, Heeseung leaned over the table and muttered, “Sunoo, please give me some of your beans.”

“No,” the prick replied.

“Please,” Heeseung begged. “Eunseok’s table took the last of them from Slughorn’s closet.”

“Maybe, but I want something in return.”

“What do you want?”

A sly grin spread across Kim Sunoo’s face. “Tell me what the Amortentia smelled like for you.”

Honestly, Heeseung was perfectly content with writing another twenty inches to make up for a failed potion. He would even take detention, if needed. Anything to get himself out of this sick and twisted situation.

In his head, he imagined Sunoo getting what he deserved, and that was his ass getting properly kicked during Dueling Club. He envisioned Jungwon flourishing his wand and blasting Sunoo square in the gut, knocking him straight into the fountain in the middle of the courtyard.

He gave his friend a reproachful look. “I wish Jungwon’s spell hit you.”

Sunoo chuckled darkly and held up his jar of Sopophorous beans, waving them teasingly in the air. This was almost too much for Heeseung, but he committed to working with you, so he couldn’t let you down while you were off getting the rest of the ingredients.

“Lavender,” he admitted through gritted teeth. “The Amortentia smelled like lavender.”

His eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “Hear that, Sohee? Heeseung smelled lavender. You know who else usually smells like lavender?”

At that moment, you returned with the rest of the ingredients. You showed Heeseung the jars and bottles you brought over, but he was too distracted to properly examine them. His gaze remained fixed on Sunoo, eyes burning with resentment. He prayed to Salazar that Sunoo wouldn’t slip up in front of you.

Sohee, who clearly had no idea who Sunoo was referring to, blinked slowly. “Uh, Professor Longbottom? He probably smells like it—you know, with all the time he spends in the Greenhouse.”

“Yes, Sohee, I’m in love with Professor Longbottom,” Heeseung deadpanned. “Thank you for your wonderful insight.”

You made a face. “You’re in love with who?”

“No one,” Heeseung replied quickly once Sunoo finally handed him his desired ingredients. He lit the fire under the cauldron, dropping a sprig of peppermint inside to counterbalance the possible side-effects. “Just peel the Shrivelfig and chop the porcupine quills while I stir.”

The potion-making seemed to be going smoothly for the first few steps. However, when you were chopping the porcupine quills, Heeseung’s chest leaped when he heard an ouch come from you. He forgot about his cauldron immediately and looked over to see your finger bleeding.

“What happened?” He grabbed hold of your hand, inspecting the blood oozing from your cut. “Did you slice your finger?”

“M-my hand just slipped.”

This was bad. If Heeseung didn’t disinfect and bandage the wound, then it could possibly get infected and you’d die. (Merlin’s Beard, Heeseung, it’s hardly a flesh wound, his thoughts annoyingly cut in.) He needed to get you to Madam Pomfrey before—

“Heeseung!” Sunoo yelled from over the table.

He whirled around to see that elixir had turned a deep purple hue, bubbling up to the rim. That was strange; it was supposed to be a bright yellow color by now. Considering he was handling the cauldron the entire time, nothing should have gone badly wrong. Time seemed to slow down as Heeseung speculated what in Salazar’s name he managed to screw up.

That was when he noticed the green bottle next to the cauldron—the Infusion of Wormwood he poured in earlier. Except it wasn’t Wormwood; the brown tag hanging from the neck of the bottle read Flobberworm Mucus.

Before he could curse himself for not reading the label properly beforehand, the failed elixir rose all the way to the top and shot out of the cauldron, spewing purple liquid all over their table and burning a hole through the wood. Slughorn’s head turned sharply in their direction, and he crossed the classroom to see what mess you and Heeseung had caused.

“Evanesco!” the Potions teacher shouted, making the substance vanish in an instant. Slughorn looked mostly unsurprised as he turned to face you and Heeseung, letting a retired sigh slip. “Five points from Slytherin and Hufflepuff—and twenty inches on the properties of Amortentia by next class.”

“Twenty?” you cried, nearly gasping from the shock. “But, Sir, we have so much work from our other N.E.W.T. classes already!”

“And we have the Hogsmede trip after class,” Heeseung chimed in.

And, bless his heart, Slughorn was far too kind of a soul to be too strict with either of you. He typically had high expectations for those he taught, especially the ones he sought out for his reputable ‘Slug Club,’ but he had a soft spot for his N.E.W.T. students.

“Alright then, well… you and Mr. Lee can write twenty inches together and bring it to me,” he decided in his bumbling voice.

When he walked away, Heeseung let his shoulders sag. He couldn’t believe he had to write a paper over this—and with you, no less. He should’ve known that he was cursed to stumble upon misfortune again, but, at the same time, he just couldn’t find a way to blame you. Sure, you were the one who took the wrong bottle from the Potions cabinet, but Heeseung really should’ve double-checked the label before he poured it into the cauldron.

“Oh, well,” Sunoo simpered, wearing a proud smirk, “writing about Amortentia shouldn’t be hard for you, huh?”

Heeseung demonstrated his hair loss curse on Sunoo after class.

“I might get a D on my N.E.W.T. for Potions, Hee,” you complained to him later when you both had snuck away to the lakefront to work on your remedial paper. There was a nice patch of grass that Heeseung liked to sit on and contemplate his miserable life, so he figured that he’d share the location with you. “Or maybe even a T—oh, Godric’s Heart.”

“Hey, failing with distinction would be much more impressive than just downright failing,” he tried.

“Not helping.”

“Sorry.”

Heeseung had a total of four words written on his parchment so far, which happened to be both of your first and last names. He wasn’t sure how he would get to twenty inches without delving into the smells of Amortentia, which he already figured he would need to use a personal anecdote for. He was trying his best to avoid that since it would lead to a rather awkward conversation.

However, everyone was leaving for Hogsmede shortly, so Heeseung was hoping that you would decide to set aside the rest of the paper for later.

As if the universe was rubbing Heeseung’s misery in his face, Jake Sim came strutting over in his stupid, perfect robes. (Except it was quite a normal walk; no strutting whatsoever, actually.)

“Just got out of Arithmancy?” you asked him with a gut-wrenching, brilliant smile on your face.

“Yeah, Seunghan and I were heading to Hogsmede with everyone else,” Jake answered before his gaze drifted to Heeseung. Something seemed to light up in his eyes and he started reaching into his robes. “Hey, nice game yesterday! Did you see that, uh… where did I put it…” After some rummaging through his pockets, Jake pulled out a piece of parchment which seemed to be a clipping from the school newspaper. “You made the front page!”

Heeseung peered to see a moving picture of himself laying on the Quidditch pitch, half-conscious as the Golden Snitch rested in the palm of his hand. Next to him, Sunghoon and Jungwon gave the camera a thumbs-up and feigned shock at the sight of the Seeker on the ground.

He was definitely going to be sending Riki a Howler.

“Lovely,” he replied half-heartedly, fighting down a scowl when he realized that Jake wanted him to keep the clipping. “I’ll hang it up with the rest of my collection.”

Jake laughed, even though Heeseung was dead serious. He had an archive of mortifying photographs of him that Riki had taken ever since he stepped onto Hogwarts grounds. Collecting them was intentional, of course; Heeseung needed evidence for the Wizangamot if he planned to sue Nishimura Riki for defamation one day. If Heeseung had known how much of a nuisance the Gryffindor would be, he would’ve plotted for the kid to be sent back home right after his Sorting Ceremony.

“We have a remedial paper to write,” you told Jake glumly, “so I don’t think we’ll be going to Hogsmede today.”

Jake shrugged. “I’ll see you in the common room later, then.”

“Bye-bye.”

Once Jake walked off to find his friend, Heeseung shot you a dark look. There might have been something warm and soupy in his chest whenever he even looked in your general direction, but he wouldn’t let this slide.

“I’m not skipping the Hogsmede trip.”

“But we have to finish—”

“But Hogsmede,” he whined. “Can’t we meet in the library after and work on it?”

“I have a Transfiguration quiz I need to study for.” You sounded distressed for a moment, but you quickly brightened up. “Who are you meeting in Hogsmede?”

“Uh, well, no one in particular. Just wanted to check out some stores.”

“Then how about we go together?” you suggested. “We can work on our paper in The Three Broomsticks.”

“Oh.” Heat suddenly rose to Heeseung’s cheeks, and although he desperately tried to convince himself that your proposal did not sound like a date, he couldn’t shake how excited he was to spend some one-on-one time with you. “That works for me.”

On Salazar’s name, Heeseung was going to murder Sunghoon and Jungwon in cold blood.

While you and Heeseung had gotten cozy in an empty booth, brushing shoulders as you two looked over the first paragraph you started, his two dear friends decided to show up where they were clearly unwelcome. Apparently, mouthing get the fuck out of here wasn’t sending the message across.

Sunghoon was on some long tangent about how he barely scraped by on his O.W.L.s, but Slughorn finally gave him the green light to take Alchemy. For some odd reason, Alchemy was only available as a N.E.W.T. class, so Sunghoon had been anxious the whole summer over whether his O.W.L. results would be enough.

“Didn’t you get five O.W.L.s?” Jungwon asked, bored.

“Six—A in Herbology,” Sunghoon corrected. “I hate plants.”

“Longbottom let you in with an Acceptable?” Heeseung raised his brows with mild interest, but he quickly steeled his expression. He was not entertaining their company, no. He started practicing the fine art of Legilimency to send a message to Sunghoon: go away, go away, go away, go away.

“He said he was especially impressed that I got into his N.E.W.T. class.”

“Oh, yeah,” you spoke up, pointing at Sunghoon. “Yizhuo told me she had no idea you were in her class until you showed up for exams.”

“I also didn’t realize she was in my class until you mentioned that.”

“How’d you even pass?” Heeseung asked.

“No clue,” Sunghoon replied honestly. “The exam was fine, but I thought the practical would be the end for me. Turns out I’m a natural. They even clapped after I ripped the leaves off a Venomous Tentacula. Like, big deal, it’s a plant.”

Everyone at the table froze. Heeseung practically jumped seconds later, hitting his leg against the underside of the table. He had long abandoned his goal of kicking Sunghoon and Jungwon out of The Three Broomsticks. You choked on your butterbeer, wiping some of the foam off your chin. Jungwon’s eyebrows raised in disbelief. Heeseung’s knee hit the underside of the table, suppressing a groan. There was a shuffle below.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you ducking under the table for a moment. However, he was too astounded by Sunghoon’s story to divert the topic.

Heeseung set his butterbeer down and asked, “You just walked over and used your bare hands?”

“I suppose not showing up to class has its upsides,” Jungwon said. “Ignorance is bliss.”

“Sunghoon, do you even know what a Venomous Tentacula does?” you asked.

“What? Photosynthesis?”

“Well, other than the snapping jaws that can either stun or kill you, and the vines reaching out to strangle you when you’re least expecting it,” Jungwon started (which didn't sound like a very pleasant start, to be honest), “there's also the venom that shoots out from its sprouts—oh, and the thorns that can kill you if you prick your finger.”

Sunghoon looked disturbed before muttering to Heeseung, “And they call Hogwarts the safest school on Earth. What a joke.”

You excused yourself shortly after the conversation came to an end, claiming that you spotted a friend a few tables over. Heeseung pretended to listen to Sunghoon and Jungwon trying to guess how old Professor Binns was, but really he was keeping an eye on you. Minjeong was whispering something to you, paused when you wrapped your arms around her, and then turned her neck to say something with sudden enthusiasm.

Heeseung wondered how it would feel if he was sitting in that seat instead of Kim Minjeong, if your arms were draped around his shoulders like that. He thought of your hair falling into his face, how he’d brush it away and turn his head to kiss you—

Dangerous waters, he warned himself. Do not go there.

“Every time I ask him—and, mind you, it was only a couple of times—he falls asleep before he can even give me an answer!” Sunghoon complained, bringing Heeseung’s attention back to the topic of the ancient History of Magic professor. “Heeseung, has he ever told your class how old he is?”

“Couple hundred years probably,” he answered. “Can you guys leave now?”

They gawked at him, offended.

Now Heeseung had realized he had driven himself into a corner. He couldn’t tell them the real reason why he wanted them to leave. If his friends found out that he wanted to spend time with you alone, then they would misconstrue the situation into something involving feelings—something which Lee Heeseung might have had but refused to admit out loud or to himself.

“You two have been distracting us from finishing our paper,” he said instead, pointing at their unfinished essay. “Twenty inches! And we hardly have two.”

Jungwon, who saw right through him, asked, “You just wanna spend time with Y/N, don’t you?”

Heeseung coughed loudly, as if that would cover up whatever the Slytherin just said. “What?”

“It’s so obvious,” Sunghoon said. “Would we really be your best friends if we couldn’t pick up on who you’re into?”

“I am not into—” Heeseung paused to weigh his words. His recent revelation brought him to the point of no return; he couldn’t just lie about how he felt now. He threw an anxious look over his shoulder to make sure you were still preoccupied with Minjeong. “We have a paper to write.”

Sunghoon threw his head back to laugh. “See? You can’t even deny it.”

“It doesn’t even matter; she’s into Jake.”

They went silent. Glanced at each other out of the corner of their eyes.

“Jake Sim?” Jungwon asked. “And Y/N?”

“Yes.”

“Jake Sim… and Y/N.”

“Yes,” Heeseung repeated with impatience seeping past his teeth.

“What makes you think she’s into Jake?”

“Uh…” Heeseung was now irritated that he was being put on the spot because nothing was coming to mind. He just thought of you and Jake laughing together in the courtyard and jealousy wrapped tight around his heart. “I saw them together.”

“I saw you in Filch’s office the other day,” Sunghoon said. “Are you two a thing?”

Heeseung scowled at him, but before he could fire back at his friend, Jungwon said, “Just tell us you want us to leave so you can spend time with Y/N, and we’ll go.” A sly grin spread across his face, and he scarily resembled Kim Sunoo at that very moment. “You should probably make up your mind before she gets back.”

Struggling for a way out of this situation, Heeseung gave them both dirty looks. He had no choice but to give Jungwon and Sunghoon what they wanted. You were going to wrap your conversation up with Minjeong any minute now, so he had to act now before his friends terrorized him for the rest of their Hogsmede trip.

“Fine,” he said sharply. “I wanna spend time with Y/N alone, so leave.”

Right on command, the two boys made a big scene about having to leave, throwing their hands up in exasperation and getting to their feet slowly. Sunghoon shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck as if it was a pain for them to be ordered around. Heeseung sank back into his seat in embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, we’ll go,” Sunghoon drawled, “but you better tell us all the details after.”

Heeseung gave them his word, even though he was sure the update would simply be finishing their essay. Once Jungwon and Sunghoon strode out of the pub, he turned his gaze back to Minjeong’s table. For a moment, he just watched how your hair shone under the warm lighting. Heeseung had to avert his eyes when you turned around again to walk back to his table. There was a strange look on your face, like you were trying to work through a puzzle in your head.

“Where’d the others go?”

For the entirety of their Hogsmede excursion, Heeseung had been trying his hardest not to look at you when you were so close to him. Now, though, with his friends gone, it was just you and him sitting almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

He realized he was staring at your lips instead of answering your question. He licked his lips involuntarily and looked away.

“Uh, went to check out some stores, I think,” he lied. “Should we get back to work?”

Slightly distracted, you replied, “Yes, let’s.”

The remedial paper was finally at an impressive twenty inches by the time you and Heeseung thought it would be best to start walking back to the school.

There weren’t many students around anymore as most people didn’t want to miss dinner in the Great Hall. Heeseung felt like something was off. You were focused on the paper the entire time, hardly engaging in any side conversation or recalling some fun memory. When you two ran out of things to write about Amortentia and stumbled upon the topic of describing its scent, Heeseung managed to steer away from writing about how the potion smelled for him. Instead, you two went for a more informational route with zero personal anecdotes.

The walk back to the castle was long, but Heeseung really hadn’t expected you to bring up the topic of Amortentia again. He thought hours of writing a paper on the potion would put you off of it for a long period of time.

“So, you remember Slughorn showing us the love potion in class, right?” you started timidly while the two of you were crossing a bridge in Hogsmede. You didn’t even let Heeseung get to the trail to Hogwarts before you started your interrogation. “What’d it smell like for you?”

Fuck.

Why was everyone so interested in what the Amortentia smelled like for him? It wasn’t supposed to be some groundbreaking piece of information, and it wasn’t a big deal that it smelled like your signature scent! There were far more interesting things to converse about, like how nicely the leaves were arranged on the trees, or how interesting of a shade the sky was.

But there was no way for him to avoid this question—not when you were staring at him so adamantly—so he resorted to lying. A white lie never hurt anyone, after all. Or, well, anyone important.

“Like… books,” he answered, trying to keep his voice as level as possible.

“Maybe you and the librarian are meant to be,” you teased.

“I guess sneaking into the restricted section makes the heart grow fond.”

You laughed, and, Merlin’s beard, what a melody. Heeseung could listen to your voice all day. Preferably on a warm day while he was stretched out on some grass with your head on his lap, or maybe he’d like to be laying on your lap. Either way, he would be perfectly content just listening to you talk his ear off until—

“Y’know, that’s funny ‘cause… well, you wrote lavender here,” you said, chewing on the inside of your cheek and holding the very scrap of parchment that was supposed to be tucked away in Heeseung’s pocket.

Suddenly, he felt the urge to shut himself in the Slytherin common room and never hear you speak to him again.

In the couple of seconds he was malfunctioning for, many thoughts raced through Heeseung’s head.

First, he wondered if there was still time left to request a Ministry-issued Time-Turner under the guise that he would use it for his classes. Instead, its intended purpose would be to reverse time until Heeseung had somehow gotten himself out of this situation or destroyed that stupid piece of parchment.

The second revelation that struck him was that he must have dropped the paper in The Three Broomsticks. It must have fallen out of his pocket when he hit his knee under the table. There was a moment when he noticed you picking something up from the floor, but he hadn’t dwelled on it, expecting it to have just been a napkin.

Lastly, he had gone extremely still—to the point of halting in his tracks and staring at you, wide-eyed. His body had completely seized up to the point where he almost thought he was shaking. Shaking—but he was shaking. He was shaking all over. Or maybe he wasn’t. He couldn’t tell. Heeseung clenched a fist to make sure he had control over his body.

“Heeseung?”

You stopped walking, too, looking at him curiously. For a moment, it looked like you were going to apologize for reading what he wrote down, but you looked down at it again.

“Did the love potion smell like lavender?” you asked in a soft voice. Looking visibly flustered, you said in a rush, “I’m just asking because Minjeong said I always, uh… smell like lavender, and I just thought…”

He needed to run. He needed to get out of here. He needed to disappear.

Heeseung felt like his blood was rushing through his ears, pumping so loud that he couldn’t hear anything but his heartbeat for a moment. You were saying something, but he couldn’t even make out the words your lips framed. The world had slowed down, and Heeseung wasn’t quite sure if his feet were planted firmly on the ground.

He would have rather been anywhere else—maybe at Sunghoon’s house where his mother’s baked goods wafted from her kitchen window. He could envision the meadow right behind their house and how he spent the summer in the grass, practicing Quidditch with Sunghoon and his little sister. Jongseong would arrive days later to complain about his O.W.L.s for three hours straight until Sunghoon and Heeseung felt the life oozing out of their bodies.

But here, with your eyes sparkling with determination, Heeseung felt like he was about to melt into a puddle. He was consumed with the ungodly urge to grab ahold of you and kiss you until his blood felt like electricity in his veins. Yes, he needed to be anywhere but here—anywhere where his feelings weren’t worn on his sleeve for the world to see.

You started again, “Heeseung—”

Before you could get anything else out, Heeseung, who was overcome with the will to escape, felt something pulling him from behind. In a flash, he was whisked out of thin air with a tug behind his navel, leaving you gobsmacked and stranded in Hogsmede.

He felt like he was being pushed through a thin vortex, squeezed by the fabric of reality tearing and reshaping itself around him. It took him some gasping breaths to get lungfuls of air into his body, but once he could breathe right again, he realized he was definitely not in Hogsmede.

“Excuse me?” Heeseung asked a nearby townsperson who was walking past him. He must have looked ridiculous in his Hogwarts robes, body awkwardly sprawled over two bales of hay. “Where am I?”

“Feldcroft,” the wizard answered.

He Apparated to Sunghoon’s hometown.

Not only did Heeseung spend thirty minutes trying to Apparate back to Hogsmede, but he was late for dinner. You were long gone, of course, but it seemed like you hadn’t exactly abandoned Heeseung. When he arrived on school grounds, Slughorn and McGonagall were waiting for him at the gate. This was definitely going to earn him a detention or two.

Apparently, you ran back to school to tell McGonagall about what happened. The headmistress also noted that you were sobbing because you were convinced that it was your fault somehow. You happened to be under the belief that Heeseung wouldn’t know how to get back, which he couldn’t argue with because he considered himself lucky to Apparate back without splinching himself.

After receiving a lecture from both professors about the dangers of Apparating unsupervised, Heeseung received two punishments: one week of detention and he wasn’t allowed to go on the next Hogsmede trip. However, he also received a pat on the back from Slughorn and a congratulations from McGonagall for a successful Apparition.

When he recounted the story to Sunghoon, Jungwon, and Sunoo in the common room the following morning, they were howling with laughter. He had to pause approximately four times for them to catch their breaths.

“It’s not that funny,” Heeseung deadpanned.

Sunoo, who was wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, replied, “It’s kinda funny.”

Sunoo was also missing several patches of hair, which Heeseung generously didn’t point out.

“Did my mom give you anything to bring back?” Sunghoon inquired. “I’ve been craving her tarts.”

“I didn’t exactly have time to drop by your mom’s and pick up some tarts! I was trying to Apparate back to Hogsmede, if that wasn’t already clear!”

“On the bright side,” Jungwon said, “you’ll probably pass your Apparition exam now. Sunghoon lost half an eyebrow while he was practicing yesterday.”

Sunghoon, with one and a half eyebrows, grimaced.

“So, you left Y/N hanging and she had to walk back alone?” Sunoo asked, tutting lightly as he shook his head. “Now you stand no chance of asking her out.”

Heeseung tried to cover up how taken aback he was by coughing into his arm, expertly hiding his reddening cheeks from his friends. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Jungwon said. “So, you’d be perfectly fine with Y/N going out with Jake?”

Heeseung’s face turned sour as he turned to look at the Slytherin. “She’s going out with who?”

“It’s a hypothetical question.”

“Well… who she goes out with is none of my business.”

Sunghoon barked out a laugh. “Then why’d you get so worked up?”

“I’m not getting worked up,” Heeseung replied firmly, huffing as he got to his feet. “I simply don’t think she and Jake Sim are compatible, but my opinion’s got nothing to do with her.”

“Yeah?” A ghost of a smirk was plastered across Sunoo’s face. “Why don’t you think they’re compatible?”

There was a fire in the center of Heeseung’s chest, blazing and scorching his heart. He felt as if he would pass out from the immense pressure in his chest, but then his body felt so hot that everything seemed to slip away. He thought of you and Jake again, thinking about how you smiled up at him in a way Heeseung had never seen you smile at him.

The fire in his chest raged.

“Because I exist,” he answered loudly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Defense Against the Dark Arts class to attend.”

Whether they were awestruck or dumbfounded, Heeseung’s friends watched him leave the common room with crooked grins on their faces. He was extremely satisfied that he managed to get his two cents in without his voice cracking or wavering.

After Sunghoon was left in the common room with Sunoo and Jungwon, he slumped back in his seat and asked, “Since when did he go to class?”

Defense Against the Dark Arts was Heeseung’s favorite class. Not because he particularly enjoyed dueling or any violence of the sort, but because Professor Weasley was the only teacher who didn’t assign papers every other day. He preferred a more hands-on teaching method, which usually involved partnering up and practicing spells on fellow classmates.

Plus, when Heeseung was in moods like these—moods where he felt like he was going to burst into flames much like a phoenix would—he looked forward to blasting someone across the room. Someone preferably like Jung Sungchan, who didn’t take it personally when he conjured columns of fire in rapid succession.

Because he was so hot with unexplained anger and unrestrained emotion, Heeseung had to set the record straight (evidently for himself, too) that he most definitely harbored romantic feelings for you.

Admittedly, this was clear after he smelled the Amortentia, but Heseung refused to allow Potions to be the class that made him aware that he was in love. He could almost envision Slughorn taking credit for his future wedding, and the very thought made him shudder.

The fire in Heeseung’s chest grew into more of a wildfire tearing through his body once he saw Jake Sim in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He completely forgot that Jake took this class, too. The cherry on top was that Jake and Seunghan decided to sit at the desk right behind Heeseung and Sungchan, so he could hardly focus on Sungchan rattling on about Trelawny giving him detention when he was trying his hardest to eavesdrop on Jake’s conversation.

Right when Heeseung heard Jake talking about something potentially dark and dangerous (buying a Pygmy Puff), Professor Weasley raised his wand to signal that he was starting class.

He started discussing familial curses, which Heeseung found especially interesting because he had almost considered a career path as a Curse-Breaker. It was a dangerous line of work, according to Professor Weasley, who used to be one himself before the second wizarding war, but Heeseung thought it was an honorable job to help remove dangerous curses.

Professor Weasley decided to stray from his usual ‘partner up with the person next to you’ and instead asked everyone to practice the Shield Charm with another student who was sitting around them. This, in turn, made Heeseung’s heart drop to his stomach.

If Sungchan wasn’t an option, then Heeseung was hoping he could partner with Seunghan. He quite liked the Hufflepuff, despite him being friends with the public enemy named Jake Sim. Seunghan had always been fun to talk to, and they became closer in fifth year when they were both sent to the infirmary and had beds next to each other. Madam Pomfrey was eventually tired of the two boys practicing jinxes on each other.

Sungchan and Seunghan partnered up almost immediately, and then the girl sitting in front of Heeseung had run off to her friend as soon as the words slipped from Professor Weasley’s mouth. There was no one else for him to turn to—no one but Jake.

“Do you have a partner yet?” Jake asked shyly, and Heeseung had to fight down a bitter retort; obviously he didn’t have a partner, or he would’ve gotten up by now. “We can practice together, if you want.”

Heeseung reluctantly got to his feet. “Sure.”

They were an odd pairing, for sure. Heeseung couldn’t help but feel awkward around Jake, and it seemed as if Jake felt the same way, even though he did his best to be overly-friendly.

Jake decided to be the one defending himself first, so Heeseung was graced with the opportunity to cast offensive spells at him all he wanted. He was having far too much fun casting Expelliarmus and Stupefy at Jake and watching the Hufflepuff draw his wand up just in time to shield himself.

“You’re really good at this!” Jake said, eyes wide with what Heeseung assumed was fear. “Do you duel often?”

“Not really,” he answered. “I just have good aim.”

“Quidditch.” He made the connection quickly with a far too happy look on his face. “I’ve seen you fly. You’re really good.”

Quit playing nice! Heeseung was yelling at him in his head. It was proving quite difficult to viciously attack the Hufflepuff while receiving compliments in return.

“Yeah?” Heeseung gritted his teeth. “Do you watch Y/N—Stupefy!—play?”

“Y/N?” Jake looked confused for a moment, but his smile never faltered. “Yeah, of course! I always support Hufflepuff.”

Oh, right. They were in the same house. Logically, this was where Heeseung should’ve backed off, but jealousy seized him by the throat and made his head go funny.

He sent another streak of orange light flying in Jake’s direction, aiming right for his perfect hair. Jake deflected it.

“Anyway,” Jake continued as he started to get the hang of performing wandless magic, “you guys are playing against Gryffindor next, right? I really think Slytherin’s gonna win. I mean, you guys have such a strong team, and…”

As he kept droning on about how great the Slytherin Quidditch team was, Heeseung couldn't help but feel a bit confused. He was here to intimidate the Hufflepuff, but now he felt like he was at some sort of meet and greet. Why was Jake so bent on praising the Slytherin team? Heeseung assumed that the whole incentive for Quidditch games was for house pride, but Jake seemed to be taking it way too seriously.

Come to think of it, Heeseung did find it strange that Jake had that defamatory newspaper clipping of Heeseung injured on the ground. Why would he specifically go looking for an article of the Slytherin team’s victory?

Heeseung lowered his wand when he heard a yelp to his right. Hong Seunghan had his wand raised over his head, a nearly-invisible shield circling his body that Heeseung could vaguely make out under the lamp light.

“Watch it! This isn’t target practice, Heeseung!” Seunghan cried, looking absolutely distressed as he hastily adjusted his yellow-trimmed robes.

Heeseung’s Stunning Spell would’ve hit Seunghan if he hadn’t reacted in time. On one hand, he felt bad; on the other hand, he really thought Seunghan should’ve been patting himself on the back for his quick reaction time instead.

“My bad,” Heeseung mumbled. So much for his so-called good aim.

“And you,” Seunghan said—to Jake, this time, “stop distracting him with all your Quidditch talk!”

Yeah, you tell him, Seunghan, thought Heeseung, who actually quite enjoyed talking about Quidditch.

To his surprise, Jake’s face started to flush pink. “I-I’m not trying to distract him or anything… I was just making conversation.”

Seunghan threw him a lazy smirk before turning back to Heeseung and rolling his eyes playfully. “Put him out of his misery and set him up with your friend, will you?”

“What?” Heeseung couldn’t stop himself from fuming at Seunghan’s words. The fire in his chest ignited once more, blazing with the heat of a thousand suns.

Sungchan, who had been waiting patiently to attack Seunghan, rubbed the back of his neck. “Er—can we get back to—”

“Seunghan, drop it already,” Jake pleaded, his voice growing smaller and smaller. “It’s not happening.”

Seunghan shrugged and returned to blocking Sungchan’s attacks. The two of them seemed to be having fun with the exercise, at least. Heeseung and Jake were a disaster; Heeseung was far too vexed to think straight, and Jake was as bashful as a first year.

“You can ask her yourself, you know,” Heeseung said coldly, shooting a jet of red light in Jake’s direction. Jake barely managed to cast his shield in time to deflect Heeseung’s spell.

“I can’t,” Jake replied, all meek and timid again, which made Heeseung’s blood boil.

He saw how comfortable Jake was around you, so why was he acting like this now? He was comfortable enough to walk up to you while you were with another guy; he was comfortable enough to keep eye contact while you smiled so radiantly at him; and he was comfortable enough to ask you to go to Hogsmede with him, so why was this such a big deal?

Heeseung felt sick to his stomach. He wanted this class to be over so that he could go to his dormitory and wallow in his miserable state.

Jake sighed wistfully. “She probably has no idea I even exist.”

Heeseung blanked.

He tossed around Jake’s words in his head a couple of times, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Heeseung perfectly understood being shy around a crush, but wasn’t this a bit much? From what he had observed, you most definitely knew of Jake’s existence.

Still confused, Heeseung replied, “I’m pretty sure she does.”

“Really?” Jake’s voice was louder, more hopeful. “She does? I mean, I guess she has to know I exist since we’re in the same class and all, but has she… has she ever mentioned me?”

Heeseung wondered if he should just stun Jake and leave class early.

Deciding against it for the sake of not receiving another week of detention, he answered, “Well, yeah, a couple of times.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“Uh…” Heeseung scratched his head as he tried to remember. “Something about telling you how I set off Dungbombs in Filch’s office.”

It was Jake’s turn to look confused.

“That was Y/N,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Wait, did you think I was talking about Y/N this whole time?”

Heeseung had to duck this time when his spell rebounded off of Jake’s shield and went flying in his direction. He stood up straight again, this time with his eyebrows furrowed and his ears bright red from realizing that he was about to embarrass himself yet again.

“You’re not?” he asked.

“No!”

“Then who are you talking about?”

“M-Minjeong,” Jake stammered out. “Kim Minjeong.”

Heeseung stared at him. For a moment, he wasn’t even sure if this was reality; this could have all been some hyper-realistic dream—one of those absurd ones that hardly made sense but left him gasping for air when he woke up.

But Heeseung’s feet were planted firmly on the ground and he had all ten of his fingers, so this couldn’t be a dream. Yet, when he drew in a shuddering breath, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was very wrong about this whole thing. Had he really been wrong about Jake Sim this entire time?

Also Minjeong? When he was friends with you? Heeseung wasn’t one to judge people’s tastes, but he’d swim oceans for you yet hardly cross a puddle for Minjeong. (Perhaps that was just because he resented the Slytherin girl for always making fun of his Quidditch screw-ups.)

So that was why Jake had been overly-invested in the Slytherin team. He wasn’t a Quidditch-fanatic whose house pride flew out the window; he was just harboring a crush this whole time! Heeseung was so relieved that the inferno in his chest had quelled.

In fact, he was so relieved that he let out a shaky laugh without having half the mind to hold it in. Jake must have thought Heeseung was making fun of his crush, but Heeseung couldn’t help but laugh and laugh about how pathetic he had been this whole time. He had lost sleep over Jake Sim, only for him to like someone completely different.

How ridiculous.

Heeseung crossed the distance between them and patted him firmly on the back, taking the Hufflepuff by surprise. “Minjeong, huh? I’ll introduce you.”

Jake’s eyes shone. “You will?”

“Of course I will. Now, tell me,” Heeseung started, his voice taking on a serious edge as he slung an arm around Jake’s shoulders, “where did you get your robes?”

It was such a lovely day outside; the grass was greener, the skies were bluer, and there wasn’t a single cloud in sight—perfect weather to fly. Heeseung could even hear the birds singing as he strode down the hallway, trying very, very hard to keep himself from skipping.

He wasn’t even trying to eavesdrop, but he picked up on the conversation a couple of fifth years were having nearby.

"—heard they both had to go to the infirmary!” one of them whispered to the other. “It was that bad!”

“Over a silly game?” The other girl, who Heeseung named Girl Two in his head, scoffed. “I’ll never understand Quidditch.”

Girl One shook her head. “Not over the game. It was over Lee Heeseung.”

Heeseung, who was slowly realizing that he was the Lee Heeseung they were gossiping about, suddenly felt very engaged in this conversation that he wasn’t part of. His guilty pleasure happened to be listening in on all of the scandalous happenings at Hogwarts. For him to be indirectly involved was even more exciting.

“Lee Heeseung?” Girl Two frowned. “Why would Y/N pick a fight over Lee Heeseung?”

He nearly tripped over his own feet. Heeseung had to scurry behind a pillar before anyone saw him blushing like a madman, but now he was worried about how strange it looked for him to be spying on a couple of fifth years from behind a pillar.

Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to pull away. You fought someone? And you were in the infirmary? His sick happiness was quickly replaced with dreadful worry.

(But he also wasn’t too worried; you could clearly handle your own.)

“No clue,” Girl One said. “I suppose they’re dating.”

Heeseung couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping his lips. He clamped a hand over his mouth as soon as it slipped out, and Girl One and Girl Two looked around suspiciously.

“Who was that?” Girl Two asked sharply.

“Must be that Ravenclaw girl,” Girl One replied bitterly, taking her wand out of her robes.

Heeseung had no idea who ‘that Ravenclaw girl’ was referring to, but he knew that he was no longer safe in their vicinity. After casting a Disillusionment Charm on himself, he fled the scene immediately, only removing the charm once he was safely down the hall.

He hadn’t even realized his heart was racing faster than it ever had in his life until he found himself sprinting in the direction of the infirmary.

“Mr. Lee, no running in the halls!” Professor Longbottom cried over his shoulder, gripping the pot of a Mandrake tightly. “That’ll be five points from—oh, forget it.”

Madam Pomfrey looked unsurprised to see Heeseung walking in, all sweaty and panting. She simply pointed in the direction of where your bed was and walked off to tend to some second year who, judging by the twigs in his hair, decided to test his luck with the Whomping Willow.

You were sulking in bed, turned on your side so that your back was facing Heeseung. It looked like you were mostly unscathed, but when Heeseung rounded the corner of your bed, all he could see was red when he noticed the cut on your lip and gash on your cheek.

“Heeseung!” you gasped, sitting up straight so that you could swing your legs off the bed. “How’d you know—”

“Who did this?” he asked angrily, drawing out his wand and looking around the infirmary. He remembered Girl One saying that both parties were sent to the infirmary, so they must have still been around. “Who hurt you?”

“It’s not that bad, I just—”

“Not that bad?” he repeated louder. “You’re hurt!”

“It’s not that bad,” you said again, quieter. You held onto Heeseung’s bicep with gentle hands, which happened to immediately calm him down. “Sit.”

Heeseung sighed and sat down on the edge of your bed. He had felt remarkably happier after finding out that Jake did not, in fact, have a thing for you, but now he was riled up again. He wondered what you thought about Jake, but then Heeseung wondered why you were picking fights over him.

“It was the Seeker from the Gryffindor team,” you told him in an oddly calm voice, although he couldn’t help but notice how you were fiddling with your fingers too much. “She was talking down on you during class, so I picked an argument with her after class. That’s how I got these.” You pointed at the cuts on your lower lip and cheek.

“But you don’t need to worry about her; she’s worse off than I am. I got her with a knee-reversal hex,” you said with a sheepish grin. “Let’s see how she flies after this.”

Heeseung stared at you. “You’re insane.”

“I believe the words you’re looking for are thank—”

“I love you.”

He believed he said it very, very softly, but his words echoed in his head so loudly that Heeseung couldn’t be completely sure that he hadn’t yelled it for the infirmary to hear. If it weren’t for the second year complaining loudly about how unsafe it was to have a murderous tree on school grounds, then Heeseung was sure the room would have been dead silent following his confession.

You didn’t move. The worst was happening right now; Heeseung had boldly blurted out his feelings just for you to not answer him and soon hate him for the rest of your life. It was fine. You two would graduate soon. He would no longer have to see you again, even though the smell of lavender would be a constant reminder of his first love and first heartbreak. He would die alone now. Oh, and he’d have to tell his parents with deep regret that they would not have grandchildren.

“Heeseung,” you whispered, and your lips started framing soundless words that you couldn’t get out.

The cat was out of the bag, so all Heeseung could do was stand up and own up to his words.

“You were right,” he said. “My Amortentia did smell like lavender—like you.”

He grabbed the rag on the table next to your bed, soaking it in water and wringing it out. Normally, Heeseung would have been shaking like a leaf, but he was oddly calm as he delicately held your chin, tilting your head to the side enough to get a good look at you.

“I must’ve fallen in love with you years ago—maybe even from the first time you tripped me at the Sorting Hat Ceremony,” he said softly as he dabbed at your fresh cut, and although your eyes were wide and glossy, you hardly even flinched. Heeseung was pretty sure he had never even admitted what he said out loud to himself. When he was done and set the rag aside, he said, “So… glad I got that out before I kept it to myself for the rest of my life. I’ll get going now and hopefully not kill myself on the way.”

He hurried past Madam Pomfrey, making eye contact with no one except the Gryffindor Seeker, whose knees were bent at an awkward angle. She leered at him, to which Heeseung paid no attention because he had far bigger things to worry about, like the fact that his life was over.

Before he got all the way down the hall, though, he heard footsteps getting louder and louder. When he turned to see you speeding after him, Heeseung panicked and started running himself.

“Why are you running?!” you cried.

“Why are you chasing me?!” he yelled back.

“Stop running! Get over here, Lee Heeseung!”

“No!” He was very embarrassed to note that his voice did indeed crack. “I’m scared!”

“Colloshoo!”

It was like he had rammed right into a wall. Heeseung felt like his shoes were glued to the floor, and, with a grunt, he ended up falling forward and landing on his face when they wouldn’t budge. If only you had waited to hex him after he reached the grassy outdoors instead of the hard, stone flooring of the breezeway.

“You hexed me!” He turned to look at you, exasperated. “How could you hex me after hexing someone for me?!”

“Now stay there.”

“No.” Stubborn, Heeseung started walking ahead—right down to the Great Lake so that he could wallow in embarrassment in that particularly nice patch of grass. He abandoned his shoes and trudged ahead in his socks. “And don’t follow me!”

“Heeseung,” you warned.

He groaned and turned on you just before he was looking forward to sitting down on the grass, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “You—you’re terrible luck, you know that? Sheer bad luck. You know I’ve lived eleven years of my life perfectly fine until you showed up? Suddenly, everything goes wrong when I’m around you! And it’s not just missing the Hogwarts Express or blowing up a potion, it’s everything else!”

You calmly listened to him as he continued in his wild craze, “I can hardly breathe when I’m around you! I can’t even look at you for too long, or else I’ll probably combust. You make it so impossible for me to stay away from you, even though the very thing I need for the sake of my sanity is to stay away from you!”

“Are you done now?” you asked calmly, not quite breathing as hard as he was, but your chest was still rising and falling as if you were winded from running.

“Yes,” he said, “so I’ll go drown myself in the—”

Before he could finish the rest of his sentence, you grabbed Heeseung by the front of his robes and pulled him down to kiss him senseless. He thought he had been hit with a Stunning Spell from how still he was, but when he realized that this was real life and you were indeed kissing him, his hand made its way to cradle your jaw as he kissed you back with searing passion.

He was ashamed to say that he had dreamt about this scenario many times, charted all of his next moves in great detail, and fantasized about doing much more than he’d like to admit. Heeseung felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest, but he kept his lips pressed to yours like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

This was everything and more than he ever expected. He was certain he could never grow tired of the taste of your lips, and he was honestly scolding himself for not having done this sooner.

Your arms naturally found their way around his neck, and Heeseung took that as his cue to drop his to your waist. Still locked in a tight embrace, you pulled away to catch your breath, leaving Heeseung to chase after your lips.

“—Great Lake,” he finished his sentence in a breath, “and hopefully get eaten by the Giant Squid—”

“Oh, shut up,” you cut him off to kiss him again.

Heeseung had no further objections. He supposed this meant that he had the shiny new title of being your boyfriend, which he considered a higher honor than Quidditch Captain. This was saying a lot because Quidditch Captains got to use the really nice bathrooms.

Your kiss was slower this time, as if you both realized you had all the time in the world. And when you both finally broke apart, Heeseung let his fingers trace the outline of your lips to commit its shape to memory.

This time when you smiled, it was far brighter than any Patronus Charm he had ever seen.

“I love you, too,” you told him with a shy grin. “Always have.”

“Seriously?”

“Since our first year. Tripping you was by accident, of course. I just thought you were cute.”

Heeseung was pretty sure the average wizard's heart couldn’t handle this overload of emotions. In a few seconds, he was sure he would need to be admitted to the infirmary himself.

Then, you punched his shoulder. Hard.

“If you didn’t Disapparate on the spot back in Hogsmede, then maybe I could've told you sooner!”

“It’s not like I wanted to Apparate away, but… but you put me on the spot!” he exclaimed. Heeseung let his shoulders sag. “Either way, I thought you liked Jake.”

“Jake?” You looked confused before you burst into laughter. “What made you think I liked Jake? He’s so clearly into Minjeong!”

It seemed to be that everyone thought the notion of Jake and you liking each other was absolutely ridiculous. If it wasn’t too late, Heeseung was up for pitching himself in the depths of the Great Lake.

Girl One and Girl Two would surely get a kick out of this.

“Okay, I get it. I’m stupid,” he said, but you wouldn't stop laughing. Heeseung sighed heavily as you wiped tears from the corners of your eyes. “Alright, that’s it, you’re so getting it.”

This time, he grabbed hold of your face (gently, of course, because he didn't want to add pressure to your gash), and he peppered kisses all over your face. You scrunched up your nose, giggling as Heeseung kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, and then finally your lips.

And this—this moment he had been anticipating for seven years—was loads better than letting the Giant Squid eat him.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ▸ the next morning, heeseung wakes up and basks in the afterglow of finally confessing to the girl of his dreams!! jay hands him the paper during breakfast and a picture of his shoes glued to the floor is on the front cover. anyways i hope you liked this fic!! so fun to write because i'm deep in a harry potter phase (how did this happen??) but happy valentine's day & thank you for reading <3

FIC TAG LIST ▸ @jakeslvt @520studio @jlheon @enha-stars @leep0ems @velvtcherie @woninluv @jaeyunluvr @hotsforikeu @skzenhalove @baevsxii @alyssajavenss @lovialy @loljaeyunz

PERMANENT TAG LIST ▸ @mmsriza @changmin-wrlds @13isacoolnumber @from-xero @acciomylove @nyujjan @goldenhypen @bbanggami @notmangojuice @cb97curls @ily-cuz-i @jakeyuni @soobisms @rikibae @soobin-chois @sjyuniverse @outrologist @nabinthegardnn @viagumi @qolaroidlove @kpoplover718 @duolingofanaccount @jjongsha @teawithbucky @baekhyunstruly @mykalon @heelariously @ja4hyvn @candidupped @shmooooo @pr0dbeomgyu @heeyunkist @sunshine-skz @baekhyuns-lipchain @y4wnjunz

#enhypen imagines #heeseung imagines #heeseung fluff #enhypen fluff #heeseung x reader #enhypen soft hours #heeseung soft hours #enhypen blurbs #heeseung blurbs #enhypen oneshots #enhypen drabbles #heeseung oneshots #heeseung drabbles #enhypen scenarios #heeseung scenarios #enhypen reactions #heeseung reactions #lee heeseung #lee heeseung x reader

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artytaeh · 10 months ago

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to me, the trope that fits theodore nott the most is friends to lovers.

listen, i love rivals to lovers— the teasing, the constant bantering that feels like our thing, the hidden feelings in sharp answers.

BUT !! for theo, i feel like he needs to have this assurance of absolute trust. to enter a serious relationship, to fall in love, theodore needs this pillow of trust in you, knowing that you wouldn't let him down or disappear out of nowhere.

( he has trust issues, your honor. losing his mother made theodore understand that nothing can be take as granted, not even our parents. )

as much as other tropes are fun, in my opinion theodore needs to have a good friendship with his significant other before starting to date them.

attraction from bantering with this person he sees as a rival might spark, however, this wouldn't become a relationship. at least not if this never blossoms into something more amicable— the problem with getting into healthy relationships with theodore is this, truly.

it's not that he's a massive fuckboy that wants to fuck every pair of legs in a skirt. the problem is that theodore is scared shitless to love someone so much, that losing them would destroy him once and for all.

theodore nott needs love. everyone needs it, of course, but theo needs the gentle affection that melts his cold demeanor (he has to be strong, to be worthy to his father's eyes) and kind words to calm his anxious insecurities.

that's why friendship and trust are essential. how can theodore be his vulnerable self, if he can't have this assured to him? that's why the path to this can be hard and long.

but i think it's worth it, all the patience you gave him. for all of his problems, theodore is a very passionate person, if given the chance; his observant self notices each little thing you do for him too. theo is a ride or die, and i will die on this hill.

#slytherin boys #theodore nott #headcanons #theodore nott x reader #theo nott #fluff #theo nott x reader #theodore nott x you #hp fandom #drabble #friends to lovers

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

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the curious lifespan of migrating monarchs - jjk

THE CURIOUS LIFESPAN OF MIGRATING MONARCHS (& other aurelian affairs)

pairing: streamer!jk x international student!female oc (s2l)

warnings: strangers to lovers, clubbing, foul language, alcohol, vaping lol, jungkook is kinda famous, the oc is oblivious, the oc is also a foreign student who has very recently arrived in Korea!! (pls note - while i've been in korean uni dorms, i've never been in yonsei dorms specifically so don't shout at me if it isn't supeeeerr accurate), jaykay is speaking in eng for like 90% of this!!, i've also never watched a gaming streamer and had to do so for research lmao so there's a lot of guesswork going awwwn <3, the oc has tattoos, they bond over this, cute nicknames (tokki and nabi <3), one bed trope?? kinda, jaykay lives w/ yoongi and tae (they are streamers too (and dj?? (tae is a bit unhinged))), jungkook wears calvins!, a singular appearance of yoongi in his boxers!!, tipsy hookup, fingering, protected sex (woo!), desk sex, oral (m receiving), girliepop swallows <3, brief mentions of jungkook's starry eyes, lots of kisses, bunny ears, (1) mention of cross-fit

wordcount: 13011

note from holly: this was a commission done for the lovely Michelle over on my kofi page!! i don't open commissions often, but when I do I'm very lucky that the requests are so much fun. this actually ended up being way longer than it was supposed to be lol and is also available on wattpad!! also fun facts for you - I imagine the boys apartment (and jks room!) to be same as jk + jimins place in BD, just a little bigger lmao

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

CLUB SUNDOWN WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 02:24

Time ceases to exist after the sun goes down in Seoul. It could be two, or it could be five. The only thing that really clues you in on the actual time is the DJ schedule that lights up behind the decks: 02:00-03:00, Blu-Tae.

It's some guy you've never heard of. Looks no older than you. Probably a student, just like the rest of the crowd.

His hair is as blue as his namesake, which does make you smile, and his choices aren't bad either (even if somewhat questionable). You've never heard a jazz remix of Darude's Sandstorm before, and you doubt you ever will again.

Club Sundown is just as rogue as the rest of the city after the sun goes down. Hidden in the basement—like all the best places in Seoul are—the small room is packed to the absolute brim.

Who cares for views and sunsets offered by rooftop bars when you could lose yourself in the debauchery of an eternal midnight, instead?

Drinks are spilt on strangers, and dances have lost the grandeur of old-fashioned waltzes. It's not like you could dance properly, even if you wanted to. There's just simply no space.

Like Alice, you're down the rabbit hole—and oh, how you prefer it to being in the real world. In the shadows, you can be anyone you like.

If you were sober, you'd know this is also the case for daily life. You're in a new country with no ties to your former self. Who you are is who you choose to be.

But the shadows aren't all that dark. The red lights of the club bleed into the cracks, painting everyone in the same subtle hue of danger.

They shine a little light on the identifiers of you; the thin black lines of your patchwork tattoos. Trailing up your arm, they're memories of your past selves, and an indicator of who you hope to become.

"Down this," you say to your dormmate, Rae, handing back over the drink you've just ordered from the bar. "Cloakroom, then dance."

Still carrying your winter coats, you'd wanted to check the place out before committing to it. Entry is free, but the cloakroom is the same price as a drink. It would only be worth putting your coats away if you knew you wanted to stay—and given the fact the DJ was playing O-Zone's Dragostea Din Tei as you entered, you know it's a no-brainer. While his stage name might make you roll your eyes a little, Blu-Tae certainly does cater to your tastes. When you're drunk, and music vibrates through you, it's empyrean. No place you'd rather be.

"Oh, Jesus," Rae gags as she sips the drink you've just handed her. Despite her disgust, she's laughing. Head to toe in black, dark hair loose around her shoulders, she's been your ride-or-die since you arrived in Seoul. Both international students in the same dorm, there's no one you'd rather get up to no good with. "Vodka?!"

You beam at her like you're from the heavens above, wrongfully relegated to the depths of sin. Pretend like you love vodka. It's totally not like you panicked when you saw the menu was all in Korean.

Vodka-coke is a universally understood delicacy—the easiest thing for you to order without making a tit of yourself or butchering the pronunciation. When the bartender ignored your botched attempt at ordering in Korean and answered in fluent English, you'd wanted to melt into the floor. So embarrassing.

You're here, like most foreign students, for a language course. Semester is yet to start, and as much as you've studied and practised hard, it's always different when putting it into practice.

"I'm sorry," you laugh. "It's fine—you can order next time!"

But Rae has the exact same predicament as you. If anything, your language skills are better than hers, so you really have no hope. It's vodka-cokes for the evening, or maybe highballs. Once your tipsy brain manages to compute hangul cocktail names, you'll be golden, but that won't be for another few weeks, yet.

You'll look back at this time of your life fondly, realising how simple it all was, even if it feels incredibly overwhelming right now.

Funnily enough, hope is exactly what you have: for the semester ahead, for this new life you're forging, for the opportunities that may come your way.

In fact, by the time you're on your third vodka coke, you've managed to convince yourself you actually like it. You also can't taste it, thanks to the bartender freepouring a 60-40 ratio of vodka to coke in the first drink. Your tastebuds were wiped out pretty much instantly.

Coats in the cloakroom, you're glad to be wearing thin layers. The room is stuffy; your skin sweaty. While meeting new friends had been the goal, you keep to yourself. Dance like nobody is watching. Hold Rae's hands to stay close and ward off weirdos. Quickly realise that clubs back home are slightly different. Pay it no mind. Ignore the intrusions of hands on waists, because men, disappointingly, are no different.

Or at least most of them aren't.

But most of them don't look like the man in the corner booth, laughing with his friends.

Though he is tall, he's eclipsed by his demeanour. Shoulders broad, he's in a dark T-shirt and pair of jeans. Nothing special. Nothing that warrants such a perplexed stare from you - but he's familiar. You can't place him, but he's got the kind of face you swear you've seen before.

Rae doesn't notice the change in your poise, nor how you're desperately trying to work out where you know him from. Perhaps you've seen him around your university? It's only been a couple of weeks, but people are steadily moving in. Maybe he works at the convenience store you constantly find yourself in? Or mans the front desk of the noraebang you and Rae visit pretty much every other evening?

Impossible, you think. If you'd seen him before, you wouldn't have forgotten him, or the way he constantly toys with his lip rings. Plural. There are signs up around the place stating bar rules. NO SMOKING is rule number three. You've seen his friends pass him over a vape a handful of times. Anyone else, and you'd think it was cringe. Embarrassing.

But in the midst of his laughter settling, and a fresh toke being inhaled, his eyes flicker towards yours.

Perhaps it's just because you're drunk, but you don't avert your gaze. Show no shame. The smile on his lips sinks into a smirk as he exhales. An acknowledgement. A 'hello, trouble'.

Again, any other man, you'd find the vape smoke repugnant. Nasty. Now? Watching the way he flicks his tongue against his lip rings?

You wanna know how it tastes.

Black ink weaves an intricate outline of who he is up his arms. Where he's been. Who he's been. A map, if you will, of his soul.

Much like your own tattoos, he's got thick black lines, and little else. Simple, you assume. A man of convenience. Efficiency.

You wonder if he does everything in life with the precision to match his tattoos, and as your lips wrap around the straw of your vodka-coke, you decide you'd quite like to find out.

Interrupted by Rae pulling you deeper into the crowd, your night is spent in and out of shadows. Attempt subtlety. Try not to make your occasional glances to the corner booth noticeable, just checking if his eyes are still on you. More often than not, they aren't—but sometimes they are, and that's enough to fuel your little flirt.

It's not until the sign behind the DJ booth changes from 03:00-04:00, GLOSS into some other guy that you notice your staring contest opponent has slipped into the shadows himself. The booth is void of both him and his friends. Gone.

"GLOSS has a set at another club," Rae all but yells in your ear, and even then, you barely hear her. "All the hotties left when he did. Let's go."

"Where to?!" You laugh, empty cup in hand. Admittedly, the new guy who's stepped into the DJ booth is just not doing it for you. Blu-Tae was just the right amount of unhinged with classics, whereas GLOSS was definitely cooler, but still fun. Had the club yelling curse words over trap remixes just for the fun of it. This new guy, whose name you don't care to remember, takes himself too seriously, you think.

"It's, like, two blocks down," she yells back, tugging on your wrist to drag you to the stairwell that leads you back up to the streets of Seoul. The hustle and bustle of people trying to go in different directions in the tight place forces you apart, but you figure you'll catch up with her, or that she'll be waiting at the top.

You don't know the roads well enough yet to make it to whichever club it's at alone, and quickly realise when you nearly tumble into the side of a waiting taxi that you're far drunker than expected. Knew the bartender was freepouring, but didn't realise just how free those pours really were.

"Woah, easy trouble," a deep voice sounds from behind you as you're steadied to a more stable position.

"I'm good, I'm good!" You insist, shaking off the hands of your 'saviour'. Have no interest in being a damsel in distress, or some sober guy trying to take advantage of you.

Looking down to check your laces are tied properly, you check over your shoulder to make sure the guy isn't creepily waiting for a thank you that he can turn into an intrusive game of 21 questions—'are you open-minded?' or 'do you live alone?'—but when you glance in his direction, you regret it. Notice the tattoos immediately. Recognise the eyes. Want to die.

"Oh."

"Oh," he says back with a smile, imitating you. Suddenly, the confidence you'd had earlier when looking at him from afar dissolves into nothingness, just like the alcohol in your bloodstream. You feel rather sober, but your body would definitely disagree. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," you nod, suddenly a little stuck for words, desperately trying to play things cool. "Are you okay?"

The pouting of his lips as his tongue runs along the inside of his cheek only serves to make you internally cringe. Men who look like him have no business being on streets like this. Should be in a museum. Strung up on the walls with the other masterpieces. Admired by everyone who looks his way.

In a way you don't yet realise, he is.

Though he's not in galleries, he's often burning into people's laptop screens. Is the background of a fair few thousand lock screens. Indeed, he is admired by everyone who looks his way, just not in the traditional sense.

"I'm not the one who just fell into a car," he reminds you, as if you could forget your embarrassment so quickly.

"Was just seeing if you'd catch me," you bullshit, the confidence you usually have returning tenfold. Was just a momentary blip. He's just a man, after all.

"Oh?" He chirps, decidedly curious. "So you fell for me?"

"Stumbled."

"Semantics."

His fluency, and the fact he just said 'semantics' so casually in conversation, clues you in on the fact he might be a language student, too.

Could be useful study partners for each other, you think, then mentally berate yourself for already masterminding ways to see him again.

"So, where you going?" He asks, not caring to downplay his curiosity. The bartenders were free-pouring his drinks just as severely as they poured yours. The only difference is that his were on the house—'cause you were right. He does have a recognisable face. "Should probably go with you. Make sure you don't fall into the road."

"Stumble," you insist, a little pleased with the boldness of his suggestion, but not wanting to blindly agree. "My friend," you say glancing around, only to find yourself completely alone. "She wanted to go catch the next GLOSS set. So, I guess that's where we're going."

"Just down the road," he says, knowing the schedule like the back of his hand. Bounces from club to club supporting his friends, just like they would for him. If he wanted, he could get a slot up there, too. He doesn't care for it. "I'll walk with you, if you want? My friends are heading there anyway."

It's not a bad offer.

In fact, it's probably the best offer you'll get all night.

"C'mon," he nods his head to the side, encouraging you to follow him. Checks his phone for the time. "Starts in five."

If there's one thing you've indulged in since moving to Seoul, it's how safe you always feel. Security cameras are on every corner, and you've walked home countless times without any issues, even late into the night. While the place isn't perfect, it's far safer than your home country.

Still, you're not a complete idiot.

"It's not wise to follow strange men down dark alleys," you tell him.

He holds out his hand. Waits for you to shake it. Cocks a brow when you hesitate, so introduces himself.

"Jungkook. Nice to meet you. Now, can we please hurry up? I promised I'd be there."

Narrowing your eyes, you don't shake his hand. Arms folded over your chest, there is ice to your exterior, and given how warm his eyes are, you doubt it'll last for very long. May as well keep up this hard-to-get act while you still can.

Walking on past him, you call back, "Alright then. Lead the way."

In the domed mirror meant for reversing cars at the end of a tight alley, you see him laugh. "Wrong way, idiot."

Pausing, you scrunch your face up. Don't turn to face him for at least a second or so—but when you do, you're surprised to see him walking towards you. Hooking his arm around your waist, he carries on walking in the 'wrong' direction, taking you with him.

"Was just fucking with you," he grins. Nods towards a sign by another basement entrance, listing both Blu-Tae and GLOSS.

By the door, Rae is looking around like a mother duck who's just lost some of her ducklings when crossing the road. Breathes a sigh of relief when she spots you.

"C'mon," she grins, then realises who you're with. Says nothing of it, 'cause she doesn't want to be weird, but she recognises him, too. Decides she's just had a little too much to drink. There's no way it's him. Holds out her hand for you.

Reaching out for her, you're let go from Jungkook's grip, ready to get lost in the lights once more.

HAEJANG24 WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE SATURDAY 05:53

Seoul is a city for the nocturnal. The restaurants and bars are open until the last men are standing. Given how much you've had to drink, you're surprised you still are.

Rae had dipped an hour or so ago. Had hit it off with Mr Blu-Tae himself. Seduced him with the suggestion that their couple name would be Blu-Rae. He'd said they should go to a DVD-bang. Would be fitting. See what Blu-rays were on file.

Naturally, you'd looked on with mild disgust and also admiration for how quickly she'd worked her magic. Everyone knows what goes down in DVD-bangs. Small private rooms, often with projector screens and the world's least comfortable futons, they're somewhere you hope to never end up—but also can't wait to hear all the details the next morning when Rae comes to your room for a debrief.

You'd been left under the surveillance of Jungkook.

"Look after her," Rae had instructed, then narrowed her eyes. "Or I'll destroy your reputation with a single twitter thread, Tokki."

It's a threat he's taken seriously. Knows how the internet works, and even though he's never done anything worthy of a cancellation, he also doesn't intend on starting now. The fact you seem to have no idea who he is during the daylight hours intrigues him. It's a rarity on streets like these.

Even when a few people asked for pictures with him on your walk to the hangover soup place, you didn't clock it as weird. Figured they were friends passing by, wanting to document their chance run-in. Just another memory of the night. The way Jungkook had greeted them was full of warmth, and kindness. Why wouldn't you assume they were mates?

You were also still incredibly drunk at the time, so didn't think to question it. Was keen for food, and Jungkook had insisted on hangover soup, and so that's where you are. Dishes nearly empty, far more of it eaten by him than you, you're laughing about nothing and everything all at once.

"Right," Jungkook declares, deciding he cannot hold in a question that's been tickling at his brain for the entire meal. "What the fuck is that?"

Coat left in the cloakroom, long forgotten about, your tattoos are on full display for him, just like his are for you. Up your arm they trail; a patchwork of teeny tiny identifiers. Latin phrases around skulls, birth flowers of the people you hold close, butterflies and stars. There's an ode to your favourite musician and your favourite Shakespeare quote, too. The fabric of you etched into your skin. There's no reinventing yourself, even half the world away from home.

You know precisely which tattoo Jungkook is asking about. You've asked yourself the same question a few times.

"Fuck off," you laugh.

While most of your tattoos are gorgeous, there's one that was done by a rogue artist on a girlie holiday a few years ago. What was supposed to be a seashell now looks like... well, nothing really. It's just a blob, thanks to the artist being absolutely terrible. The only solace you find in it is that your two best friends have an equally awful permanent reminder of that holiday on their bodies, too.

"It doesn't look how it's supposed to," you explain with a little pout. "I got royally screwed over."

He cocks a brow. You still haven't told him what it is. He isn't gonna ask you twice.

With a grumble, you feebly admit, "A shell."

And then he's laughing. Really laughing. Laughing so hard you think he might piss himself—which you'd actually prefer, because then he could be the embarrassed one, instead.

"I'm calling you Shelly from now on," he says with a broad smile. Has had his fair share of tattoo blunders, and knows you must've developed an affection towards how shitty it is. Would have gotten it covered up, otherwise. "That's incredible."

"You're calling me so such thing," you assure him, but you also can't help but laugh.

"I am," he tells you, then really solidifies it. "Shelly."

"Fuck off," you whine, doubling down. Scanning his arms, you try and pick out anything you can use against him, too. "If I'm Shelly, then you're Mike."

"Mike?!" He protests.

"Yeah," you insist, pointing towards the microphone on his forearm. "Mike."

"You are not calling me Mike. Do I look like a Mike?!"

"Do I look like a Shelly?!"

You've got a point. It's not the name he would have first associated with you - but it is cute, he thinks. Cute how mortified you seem. Cute how you can't help but smile.

After a little bit of back and forth, it's decided that neither of you look like your namesakes.

"Y'know, we kinda have matching tattoos," he says, holding out his arm for you to study. "Or at least, the placements."

And sure enough, below his elbow lives the outline of a bunny sitting on a crescent moon. Holding your own arm out next to his, below your elbow is a butterfly. Above it, is a teeny tiny moon.

Like Jungkook's moon, it's a crescent. Was supposed to symbolise new beginnings. You wonder what his means, but don't ask. Instead, you marvel at the coincidence of it all.

He presses his index finger against the butterfly on the inside of your forearm. The echoing chatter of the restaurant fades softly into nothingness as he says, "Nabi."

You nod. Even if you have spoken with him in English this entire time, it's nice to hear him speak in his mother tongue, no matter how minimal - so you reciprocate. Press your index finger against his bunny. Smile. Say, "Tokki."

It further confirms to Jungkook that you have no idea who he is. Has been a while since he's met a girl in a circumstance like this where that's the case. Likes the anonymity of it all. Is hiding his identity from you, and yet hasn't felt such vulnerability for years.

"Daltokki, right?" You continue, not wanting the silence to linger for too long. "The rabbit in the moon?"

You're not wrong, but you're also not entirely right.

"Yeah," he smiles regardless. "That's it."

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 07:12

"Shhh," Jungkook quietly laughs.

His hand is over your mouth and the other is on your hip as he guides you into his apartment. With your back to his chest, you've both been giggling for the entire ride to his place.

He had insisted that he should walk you home, and was surprised by the offense you seemed to have taken by this. You then told him that he absolutely could not seduce you, and that it was very gender-role-conforming for him to think that you were incapable of getting home by yourself.

"Maybe I should be the one to make sure you get home safely," you had said with a false sense of concern, which had made him laugh quite considerably.

In all reality, you didn't mind him offering to get you home. You just hadn't tidied your room. Didn't really expect to be taking a boy back to your place, much less one that looks like him.

Together, you'd caught the early morning bus over to Itaewon instead of a taxi, 'cause you're still on a student budget and Jungkook wasn't quite ready to blow his cover just yet.

You've been teasing him—questioning his status as a potential International Super Spy—ever since he took your hand and guided you into one of the flashiest apartment complexes you've ever been in. There was security. Doormen. A passcode for the elevator—not to mention that he was heading up to the seventh floor once you were in it. Might not sound like much, but when there are only seven floors to the entire building, it makes it the penthouse by default.

"It's not a penthouse," he'd insisted. "Plus, I live with friends. Only pay a third of the rent."

But a third of his rent is more money than you'll probably see in three months of post-grad work. You're drunk, but you're not stupid. You also know that the rental market here differs significantly from your home country. Monthly rent is cheap, but the deposits are extortionate. Sure, he'll get it back when he leaves, but to have the initial money needed for a place like this? He's not a regular student, if one at all, that much is sure.

"Not sure who's home," Jungkook whispers as you both kick your shoes off in the entryway. Given the looks of the other shoes, it's clear that this is a guys-only living situation. You're proven right when he continues, "Betcha Tae's still in that damn DVD-bang, but Yoongi might be back."

"Yoongi?" You question.

"GLOSS," Jungkook says, remembering how oblivious you are to who he is. Reaching down to grab your shoes, he isn't gonna leave them by the door. Will take them to his room. Doesn't want the boys asking questions, if they are in. Knows they'll just use it as an excuse to publicly roast him whenever they're next online together.

Given that a stream is scheduled for Sunday night, he doesn't want to tempt fate.

Their current choice of wind-up, which the viewers have been eating up, is the joke that Jungkook is a virgin. He's not, but he never knows how to defend himself without sounding like a tool, so always gets a little awkward. A lot of their viewers love it. Join in on the joke. Some take it seriously. He doesn't care.

Next month, Taehyung will do something dumb, and he'll become the favourite joke for a while. Maybe Yoongi. But for now, it's Jungkook.

None of them take it to heart. They're just a group of friends who share their gaming hangouts online, and accidentally made it to the top of the ranks.

They aren't particularly good at gaming, but that's part of the charm. Crescent Collective is how they're known: Blu-Tae, GLOSS and Tokki.

After a bet went wrong, and they all lost, they ended up with moon tattoos and their respective 'symbols'. Jungkook's is a rabbit, Tae's is a blu-ray DVD disk (because he really is committed to the bit), and Yoongi's is stars to symbolise the shine of fresh gloss. Jungkook's makes the most sense. Yoongi's is pretty decent. Taehyung's is just... Well, it's very him.

Sliding open the door into the main living area, Jungkook has to cover your mouth again when you gasp at the sheer size of the place.

"I thought butterflies were supposed to be silent?" He teases. "Quiet for me, Nabi."

His place is bigger than your family home, you think. Hushing you again, he's laughing—and then he's cursing at the sight of a half-naked Yoongi by the kitchen counter.

In his boxers, with half a clementine slice hanging from his lips, he's just as shocked to see Jungkook with you. Gets over it pretty quickly.

"Don't mind me," he says, chewing down on the fruit with a smirk. Looks towards you. "Apologies for the lack of clothes."

With your shoes hooked on his fingers, Jungkook's other large hand is still over your mouth. You're not sure you can form any words as it is, but you do notice the crescent moon and stars on Yoongi's ribs.

"Not a word to Tae," is all Jungkook says. Knows that he'll be in for a world of teasing tomorrow if he gets wind of it. "I mean it."

Holding his hands up, Yoongi's still smirking, but he is backing away into a room just off the kitchen. "My lips are sealed."

Watching as he closes the door, you wonder how much truth is in his words. Jungkook knows it's absolute bullshit. Chooses not to dwell on it. Loosens his grip on you and heads towards his own room. Turns back to check you're following him, and can't help but smile when he knows that you are.

Tossing your shoes just inside the door, Jungkook is quick to pick up a pair of jeans he'd left on the floor, before chucking them over his desk chair. He tweaks his bedding. Straightens it out. Looks a little shy as he turns to face you.

"Made it home safe," he says quietly, as you close the door behind you.

You nod. Keep a little distance. Say, "It's dangerous to sleep after drinking. Make sure you build a tower of pillows in the middle of your bed so you don't roll onto your back."

Both of you are far more sober than you were earlier. There's no need to worry about anything like that.

And yet he nods, now. Says, "You're probably right. You can always stay, though. Just to check I don't die in my sleep, or whatever."

"It'd be the responsible thing to do," you nod, wondering if he can tell just how fast your heart is beating. "But I don't have any pyjamas."

Jungkook swallows. The way he looks at you now is entirely different to how he'd looked at you in the club. Back then, he'd been bold. Flirtatious.

Now, he seems vulnerable. Needy.

"I sleep in my underwear," he tells you, unsure if you'll actually be sleeping. While he likes the idea of fucking you, part of him doesn't want to. Fears it'll ruin the magic of the unknown. The way he throbs at the mere thought of it would suggest that his hopes outweigh his fears. "I don't mind, if you don't."

The clothes Jungkook's wearing are baggy. You've seen nothing of his figure.

Reaching for the nape of his neck, he tugs on the fabric of his T-shirt. Pulls it over his head and discards it in one swift movement. The sound of it crumpling on the floor is abrasive in how it makes you feel. Raw. Unrefined. You suppose it's just a natural consequence of seeing the toned muscles of his chest. How his waist defies what you thought was possible for masculine builds, and how broad his chest is. The indent of his collarbones, and the lines of his pelvis that draw your eyes downwards.

A pair of Calvins peek just above the waistband of his jeans, and a silver chain rests around his neck. Light from the city filters in, and LED lights around his impressive computer set-up paint him in a hue of violet.

"No," you manage to reply, which is a miracle, you think. "I don't mind."

And then you reciprocate. Reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Seeing him swallow back his nerves, or maybe his desires, makes you feel far bolder than you should.

"It's really uncomfortable to sleep in jeans," you tell him.

He nods. Agrees. Threads the button of his trousers through its loop. Doesn't take them off yet. Waits for you to do the same. Keeps his eyes firmly locked on yours. Doesn't let his gaze wander, no matter how much he has to fight all his instincts not to fully take you in. Is still pretending like he doesn't want you in the most indecent of ways.

The room you're in right now is known worldwide.

People set it as their zoom backgrounds. It's on Pinterest. There are YouTube videos attempting to recreate the set-up. If he were to power up his computer—which, in all fairness, is only on standby—and go live, there'd be a thousand viewers within minutes. Doesn't matter what he plays, or who he's with. He doesn't give it much thought anymore. Is just life.

Sometimes, he regrets not being a faceless streamer, but he also knows that it's part of the appeal. Connection, and the fantasy that comes with this almost dystopian, parasocial idea of it.

After all, the meeting of his eyes with yours across a busy club led you to this point. Human connection in the simplest of ways, that he thinks could culminate in the most complex of ways, too.

"Okay," he says. "So take them off."

"You want me to?" You ask just to tease a little bit, and when a smile flickers onto his seemingly nervous lips, you're glad you did.

"You think we'd be here right now if I didn't?" He says with a tweak of his brows.

"You've got a point."

With that, you push your jeans down and reveal the matching set of black underwear you're in. It's nothing special. In fact, it's not really a set, but it's close enough that it'd fool anyone who didn't know.

Jungkook, in this moment, is indeed a beautiful fool.

There's a lopsided grin on his face as he lets his eyes rake down your body. Is shameless as he indulges in you. Nods, as he bites down on his bottom lip.

"It's cold," you tell him, urging him along a little bit.

"Shit," he says without much thought. "Sorry. Was just... Yeah. Shit."

It's both endearing and wholly confusing how Jungkook flips from confident to cute. A man of duality. It makes you giggle, and then you're the one biting down on your bottom lip. Are both a little bashful. A little shy.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep," you remind him before it goes any further.

Looking at him now, knowing you want him in the worst of ways, it's testing all of your willpower not to just cut to the chase.

Thing is, you liked his company tonight. Want it again. Want to give him a reason to seek you out once more. Want him thinking about you in clubs, and looking for you in crowded bars. Pining. Yearning. Needy.

"It's already gone seven," he tells you, walking towards his bed. Knocks his head to the side. Silently tells you to follow suit. "Will probably only get a couple hours in."

"Better than nothing. Plus, you're actually really irritating," you bullshit as you get into bed with him. Are adamant you won't fuck him, but you do let him pull you in closer.

"Oh, yeah?" He grins.

"Mhmm," you nod, pretending as if you aren't looking at his lips. "You'll be less annoying when you're asleep."

"I'm never gonna sleep again," he assures you. "Will annoy you forever."

"I know where the front door is," you say as you stroke a few of his loose, wavy hairs back behind his ears. They fall freely almost right away, but it just gives you another excuse to play with it "I can just leave. I'm only here to make sure you don't die in your sleep. Pointless if you're awake."

"So I have to be asleep for you to stay?"

"Mhmm," you hum.

He immediately loosens his grip on you and flops into an overdramatic sleeping position. Fake snores. Gets you giggling. Can't hide his smile, either. Laughs through the god-awful noises he's making.

But it is late, and you're both tired. As much as he'd like to stay awake with you, the pull of sleep is just too tempting now that you're beneath his sheets. It's not like he doesn't wanna fuck you. His semi is very much present, but neither of you mention it.

"Y'know what's sad about butterflies?" Jungkook mumbles after the laughter dies down. He carefully begins to trace the lines of your tattoo, eyes entirely focused on the tip of his finger.

You purr a response before you fully vocalise one. "Tell me."

He glances up at you only very momentarily. Looks back down. Is quiet when he says, "How quickly they die. Spend over half their lifespan growing into these beautiful creatures, and then they have, what—A week? Two? Three, tops—and then they're gone. It's like the cherry blossoms in spring. Beautiful, and then—" He clicks his fingers. "—gone."

Stroking back some loose strands of his hair, you wonder if he's thinking about you. About this chance encounter. Beautiful, then gone.

"Just means you have to appreciate them while they're still around," you say softly. "Cherish them, because you know you only have them for a moment."

His gaze lifts to meet yours. The reflection of his LED lights makes it seem like butterflies are floating around in his deep, dark eyes, too.

There are stories he could tell you of ancient folklore; about human souls taking the form of butterflies. Of justice, and peace, and spirits. Of back in time, when tigers still smoked. He could tell you of his favourite butterflies. Of the black butterflies that are as large as his hands in the summer. Of the huge display in a museum downtown that would transfix him as a child.

Instead, he gently presses his lips against the lines of your butterfly tattoo.

The rate at which your heart is beating multiplies. Like a swarm of butterflies chasing through your veins, you've no control over the way you're feeling. He's brought your artwork to life; set the souls inside of your butterfly free, only for it to be apparent that the souls belonged to the both of you, anyway.

You know that this is one of those moments; a butterfly passing on by through your lives. Here, and then gone. Beautiful, but fleeting.

There's a shyness to Jungkook now, as he rolls onto his back. A reluctance to get things wrong. He doesn't look at you, just nibbles on his bottom lip and pretends as if the empty white ceiling ahead of him is the most interesting thing he's seen all night.

It's not.

You are.

You, and those eyes that make him feel like the butterfly on your arm is tickling at his tummy. He finds himself jealous when he faces you again and begins tracing the thin lines of your butterfly once more. Wants to embed himself into you like the ink that's carved out a home in your skin.

"Sorry," he mumbles, seemingly regretful of the tender kiss he'd pressed against your arm just a short moment ago. "Don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," you reply without much thought. Like him, you're letting the way you feel dictate the words you say. Care not for playing coy. "I liked it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Jungkook wants to stop his mouth from letting his desires escape. The issue is, he drank a little too much tonight and his lips are a little too loose. Too bad. Can't help himself from asking, "Can I do it again?"

You're just as bad.

"Yeah," you whisper. "Please."

The way his lashes splay against his cheeks as he presses another kiss to your arm is nothing short of celestial. Like that damn moon on his arm, he's got a beauty about him that's hard to capture in words. Ethereal feels too fantastical, but gorgeous feels too dense. He resides in a realm somewhere between the two. Somewhere you'd like to stay forever.

Forever, sadly, only lasts a few hours. You've brunch plans with new friends you can't bail on yet for fear of running a friendship before it's even begun.

You see yourself out. Jungkook's still asleep. Not quite 10AM, you've a dozen missed calls from Rae, and a cold can of coke waiting for you in your fridge. Funnily enough, though, you don't really feel hungover. Must have gotten it all out of your system the night before.

It's only fitting, when you think about Jungkook on the subway home, and how soberingly drunk the idea of him makes you feel.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:39

Brunch had, predictably, been a yawn-fest.

The people were perfectly nice, but you spent the entire time thinking about Jungkook; how you'd left him in a pretty slumber, the LEDs behind his computer still glowing, with not even so much as a note to say thank you.

It's not like he had any paper on his desk, and you weren't about to start rummaging around his room. You also didn't want to wake him. Part of it was because you knew you'd be saying goodbye, and the concept of that was one that you didn't like all that much.

And so your subway ride back to your dorm had been spent searching his name. He didn't take long to find.

From the club's Instagram, you found GLOSS and quickly discovered that there was far more to both him and Blu-Tae than just being DJs. Their follower counts were wild. Numbers you know you'll never see on your own account. Verification check marks accented their display names.

Who are you? You'd thought to yourself, incredibly perplexed by it all.

Jungkook was littered all over their pages, and yet it still took a while for you to click through to his account. You're not sure why, but think that perhaps the unknown was a nice place to reside within. Safer.

CR3SC3NT_T0KK1 was his username—and curiously, Tokki was also his display name. Brows furrowed, you'd almost dropped your phone when you saw his follower count. It eclipsed both of his friends.

Filled with gaming set-ups, merch drops, and general life dumps, it was pretty clear that whoever Jungkook had made himself out to be the night before was not who he was in real life.

Equal parts offended and intrigued, you were only more confused when you saw that Rae was already following him—but not following Taehyung.

"What?" she'd beamed when you'd asked her about it after you'd arrived home from brunch, a scoop of hangover ice cream being waved around in the air with her flamboyant gestures. "He's, like, one of the biggest streamers in the country—and if I want to keep Tae obsessed with me, we need as many connections as possible. Jungkook's a frog to me, baby, not a prince. Don't you worry your little cotton socks. I'm not after him."

"I wouldn't care if you were," you'd blatantly lied in response, and then you'd giggled together at how ridiculous you were both being over boys you didn't really know.

Hovering over the bright purple 'JOIN STREAM' button later that evening, part of you holds back. Think it'd be weird. Strange. That he'd somehow know it was you.

Dipping your mouse, you tick the checkbox to join as an anonymous viewer. Take a breath. Think fuck it. Watch with bated breath as the loading wheel turns—and then he's there.

Jeon Jungkook has the kind of beauty that transcends shitty quality streams. Smiling as he jokes with one of his friends through a headset with a pair of black bunny ears affixed to the top of them, you hear a voice you almost recognise. Notice the friend he's streaming with in the top corner. Realise you do know him, too.

Hair as blue as the trees are green, Tae has just as much boyish charm as Jungkook, but also an incredibly large hickey that seems to match the ones on Rae's neck.

"Nah, can we get an L in the chat for Kook," he's teasing. Sure enough, the chat begins to explode with the letter, and Jungkook looks so pretty when he protests.

"It's not an L!"

"It is!" Tae insists. "Should have seen him, guys. Was following this girl around like a lovesick puppy—"

"No, I wasn't!"

"And she didn't even give him her number. Not even her name!"

"That's not true!" Jungkook whines. He switches between Korean and English with ease, sometimes just single words, other times whole sentences. "I have a name."

"What is it?"

"Not telling you."

"Cause you don't have one!"

"No, because you'll all make my life a living hell," Jungkook laughs—and then notices a bright blue comment lighting up in the chat. His eyes widen. "Fuck."

GLOSS: Was calling her Nabi when he got home last night Almost shit his pants when he saw me

"Yoongi, I'm gonna shave your eyebrows off in your sleep," Jungkook growls—only for the chat to start spamming butterfly emojis. Closing his eyes, he leans back in his chair, the still paused video game long forgotten about, now. Thousands of people are in their chat, and even more are watching the stream.

"Guys, get it trending," Taehyung goads. "Tweet, I dunno, bunny and butterfly emojis."

"Don't do that!"

"Hashtag find Jungkook's butterfly."

"Do NOT do that!"

"I'm like a modern-day cupid," Taehyung beams.

"I'm shaving your eyebrows, too."

Closing the stream, you sit for a moment, mouth ajar, unable to process what on earth you've just witnessed. Part of you feels as if it must have an incredibly vivid daydream; a projection of your heart's desire.

And you know you shouldn't, but when you get home from running errands the following day, you join the stream again. Blush when you notice the chat is still teasing Jungkook.

"I'm gonna block you all," he threatens them with a grin, which only encourages them to send even more butterfly emojis.

The next day is no different, nor the day after that.

He is, though. Has been letting it all play on his mind. Doesn't have much of a filter when it comes to streaming.

"What if she didn't even like me, guys," he whines to the chat. "And sees this and is like... mortified. I think I'd punch myself in the face if she ever saw any of this."

You toy with the idea of sending a comment into the chat. Something that only he'd realise was you. Thing is, you feel bad for intruding. As if you shouldn't be prying. As if you're eavesdropping on him chatting with friends, and not on the stream he's broadcasting live around the world.

Typing out a message, you deliberate your choice.

Punch urself in the face pls, tokki x the message reads.

Simple. Effective. To the point.

But everyone calls him that, you stupidly realise, now.

And so you change the name to 'Mike'.

Before you can even really realise what you've done, you've pressed send.

The message flitters into the chat feed. He's about to resume his game. Doesn't notice it at first.

Gives the chat one final glance, and then his eyes widen. He sits up taller. Straighter. "Mike?"

You close the lid of your laptop immediately.

"Fuck."

THE STREETS WAUSAN-RO, HONGDAE FRIDAY 23:51

"Tae is on in five," Rae squeals, dragging you down the road at lightning speed.

You'd spent far too long at dinner, and also had far too much to drink with your food, so have been forced to make an undignified sprint to the club in an attempt to make it in before the place reaches capacity.

There's already a queue. You can see it from a mile away.

Realistically, Rae could have gotten Taehyung to add her to the guest list. He'd offered. She didn't wanna look needy, so had played it coy about her plans for the evening.

After a single beer and soju, she'd decided that the idea of him hooking up with anyone but her simply wouldn't do.

"Shit," she sighs in defeat, looking at the queue. The direction you've come from means that you reach the entrance before you reach the queue, but even then, you can tell it goes around the block. "Are there no other clubs these people can go to?!"

There are—but this club is rammed tonight for the same reason Club Sundown was rammed the week before. People want to see the Crescent Collective.

You didn't realise it at the time, but you'd bypassed the queue of the second club last weekend because Jungkook had been with you.

And as if by a stroke of luck, or perhaps a twist of fate, the same tattooed hand that had held you as you slept last weekend is now putting out a cigarette just a few steps away.

Eyes landing on yours, he looks away again, almost immediately. Feels embarrassed. Stupid. For the way you left him, and also for the way he knows you must know who he is, now.

Behind a red rope, he's away from the general crowd. It's sort of obnoxious, you think—but also know Jungkook is anything but.

"They're with me," Jungkook says to the bouncer, not really looking at you, but nodding in your general direction. Is deliberately keeping a little distance. Instead, he says to Rae, "Tae wouldn't want you waiting in line."

Nodding, the security guard makes way for you, stamping the backs of your hands with UV-activated ink as you walk past.

"Thank you!" Rae beams.

"No worries," Jungkook smiles right back. "He's about to start. Was just getting air. You're lucky you arrived when you did."

"Angel," she praises. "I'll get you a drink while we're in there."

You know her well enough now to know that she absolutely will not, but you don't say anything. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest as you walk, suddenly feeling all awkward in Jungkook's presence.

"Nabi," he curtly greets you as you head down the stairs.

"Tokki," you greet him back just as formally. Consider calling him 'Mike' instead, but you chicken out.

Face scrunching up, Jungkook tries his best not to cringe at himself. Doesn't know if you're addressing him by his tattoo moniker, or just calling him Tokki because you know it's his identifier online.

"How have you been?" He asks, not wanting to let it simmer.

"Alright," you say, aware of how awkward this all feels, as you descend the stairs and into the club. The music is getting louder, and soon you won't be able to hear him talk unless you're in each other's ears. "And you?"

"Alright."

Just as quickly as he appeared, Jungkook is lost to the crowd.

He doesn't care to stick around if he's just going to be hung out to dry by you again. He tells himself that he only made sure you got in to keep Rae happy for Taehyung's sake—yet as he rejoins his friends in their booth, he finds himself desperately seeking you out again.

It takes him a while, but he eventually spots you by the bar in conversation with Rae. He can't make out what you're saying, but notices how your eyes are flickering around the room. Seems as if you're hunting for something.

Deep down, even if he pretends like he doesn't, he hopes it's for him.

Pulled away from your search by the bartender passing over drinks to the pair of you, Jungkook feels bad. Knows the drinks are pricey in this place. Also knows, from the conversations you've already had, that you're on a tight budget. Had said that once the semester starts, you'll stop going to parties. Are seemingly unaware of the fact the parties never stop in this city. You'll learn.

When your eyes finally land on his a little while later, you're surprised by his intense gaze—intrigued by his lack of shame for being caught out. He doesn't look away or appear embarrassed. If anything, it's quite the opposite.

Girls are vying for his attention all around him, yet you receive all of it. Half the room away, hundreds of people create a sea between you both. Jungkook thinks he'd swim through it, no matter how choppy the water, if it meant he could have you right now.

You're the one who left, though.

It's up to you to come back.

Part of you doesn't want to, but then you see another girl making advances, and Rae's horror over other girls trying it on with Taehyung seems to have rubbed off on you. The idea of it makes your skin crawl. You're drunk, and a little reactive, but Jungkook likes playing with fire.

As you work your way through the crowd towards him, he tries his best not to grin. Finds himself vindicated in his desire to be close to you, 'cause it seems like you want it, too.

Sliding in between Jungkook and the girl, you turn and apologise.

"Just need to borrow him for a second," you smile, clutching at his shirt and pulling him away from the booth before she even has a chance to protest.

With an ever-so-satisfied smirk, Jungkook shrugs towards the other girl, and lets you drag him wherever you want. He's putty in your hands, a little tipsy and desperately in need of attention from you.

For the past week, he's played scenario over scenario over scenario in his head about this moment, and now that it's happening, he's glad he let you seek him out. Is so pleased that you actively want him just as much as he wants you.

In the middle of the crowd, you're hidden from prying eyes. It's too dark to notice any discerning features of the people around you, yet somehow, Jungkook seems like a vibrant golden light to you. Impossible to miss. Unable to ignore.

You wanna talk. Ask him about who the fuck he is. Explain that you didn't mean to leave so heartlessly.

Taehyung's set is so overwhelmingly loud, though. Can barely even hear yourself think.

As soon as he'd spotted Rae in the crowd, Taehyung had sent the bar coordinator to go and get her. She's sitting pretty up in the DJ booth, incredibly pleased with herself. Notices you and Jungkook almost immediately. Knows it'll be on Twitter in the next few hours, especially if that damn butterfly tattoo of yours is noticed.

Bunnies and butterflies have been trending for days.

Jungkook speaks, but you can't hear him.

"Huh?" You ask, getting on your tippy toes, but it's fruitless. Even as his hand drops to your waist to steady you and keep you in place, you can barely make out his words. "I can't hear you!"

He can't hear jack shit, either. Frowns. Looks around. Spots Yoongi by the booth and gestures towards the side of the room. When Yoongi nods back, it's Jungkook who drags you through the crowd, now. Just beyond the DJ booth is a little black door that Yoongi meets you by. Taps in the code. Nods in your direction.

"A pleasure," he says with a knowing smirk. Miraculously, you can hear him, but ultimately, it's because you're not in the direct line of the speakers now.

You don't get a chance to respond before Jungkook gets you into what can only described as a dark hole as quickly as he can. Romance, you think to yourself, but you also are very aware of the fact Jungkook doesn't let go of your hand, even when he's searching for the light switch. It takes him a second, but he manages to recall the approximate location quickly enough.

Dingy yellow light floods into the room. Small and boxy, it's a 3-in-1 storage room, bathroom, and dressing room for 'talent'. It's why Yoongi had the code, but you can't imagine anyone with any shred of self-respect actually using this place. The walls are the same grey tiles as the floor, and the light bulb hangs from a wire without a shade. The tap on the sink drips, and you're pretty sure there's a leak in the far corner by the mirror.

None of that matters, though. All you can focus on is the man in front of you. Though not soundproof, the room does offer a far more muted version of Taehyung's set. More importantly, it provides you with privacy.

It's been a week since you last saw him, face to face.

Though you have, admittedly, seen him what feels like a million times on low-quality streams from his bedroom.

Realistically, it's been about three times, but you think about it almost constantly.

"You left," is all he says, a little pout on his lips.

It's cute, you think, that he is so outwardly offended by such an act. You would have thought that a man of his position would have a habit of leaving, himself. Then again, you didn't know of his status when you left him in bed that morning.

"And you didn't die," you reply with a teasing smile, trying not to make it sound so severe. "You were fine without me."

"I'm not joking," he says, even if he can't help but smile at the recollection of how stupid the conversation before bed had been. "You left. It was rude."

"I had brunch plans," you tell him, reaching your hands out for his. He wants to resist. Fails. Lets you pull him closer. Incredibly close, in fact. So close that you begin to notice all sorts of things. His freckles. A small scar on his cheek. A tiny fleck of glitter on his skin, no doubt from one of the girls who had been desperate for his attention earlier. "You'd only had a few hours sleep. I didn't want to disturb you."

"Could have left a note," he says, still pouty but far quieter. You can smell the Jack on his breath. Have always hated the taste, but think you could grow to like it. "Your number. Something, at least."

"I could've," you admit, edging even closer. Closing the gap. Nudging your nose against his. But then you smile. Pull back. Tease, "And you could have warned me that I'd become a trending topic on Twitter."

Just like that, Jungkook's pout snaps into the prettiest smile. His face scrunches up, lines creasing on his nose. Beneath his closed eyes reside the sweetest little puffs. He's got the kind of face that is impossible not to like.

"Ah," he cringes.

"Yeah," you laugh at the stupidity of it all. What did he expect? That you wouldn't find out? "Ah."

"In my defence," he holds his hands up, eyes wide and innocent. "You called me Tokki. How was I to know you didn't know?"

"Oh, give over," you laugh, as he reaches for your hands once again. Pulls you closer. "You know I didn't know."

Truthfully, he does know this, but it was nice to be unknown for a little while. Nice to not second guess your intentions. Even now, knowing that you know, he feels like none of it matters.

"Look," he begins, toying with the hem of your cropped shirt. Lets his fingertips graze your bare skin. Tries his best not to think about what you look like half-naked. Fails. "I only came out tonight 'cause I hoped I'd see you. I don't care about staying out till ass-o'clock, again."

"Think I've only just caught up on sleep," you hum, angling your chin up and giving him the perfect opportunity to make a move that goes beyond flirtatious touches.

"Exactly," he smiles, letting his hand squeeze the side of your waist. Pulls you closer. "And I've not drunk half as much tonight, but I think I could do with you making sure I don't die, again."

"Yeah?"

Nodding as he nudges his nose against yours, Jungkook is all smiles. Lets his lips line up against your pout.

"Yeah," he mumbles—then lets the word get lost in your lips.

Sinking into what it feels like to kiss you, Jungkook can't help but feel satisfaction. Has finally caught the damn butterfly he's been after all week.

He's played a lot of games. Won a lot of battles.

And yet victory has never tasted so sweet.

JUNGKOOK'S APARTMENT ITAEWON-DONG, YONGSAN-GU SATURDAY 02:07

You retrace your steps. Get a taxi to his place, 'cause there's no point pretending like he can't afford it. Not anymore.

You're not giggling like you were the first time you were in his elevator, but it's kind of impossible to do so when your back is to the wall and Jungkook's tongue is in your mouth.

Your hands roam his body—waist, ass. If you can squeeze it, you will. Just makes him deepen the kisses. If his large hands weren't cupping your jaw, keeping you close, they'd be doing the exact same thing as yours.

The ding of the elevator pulls you apart just for a second, and then you're the one pulling him down to the corridor to his place.

He doesn't open the door. Just kisses you again.

Finally understands what it means to get butterflies, 'cause he's got you, now, and he never wants to lose it.

Hooking his hands beneath your ass, he hoists you up. Gets your legs wrapped around him. Could go in, but where's the fun in that? There's a slight danger of getting caught. He knows the hallway security cameras will definitely pick this up. The threat that it could get leaked online, and the simple fact that he couldn't give a shit if it does, is kind of hot.

"I'm not fucking you out here," you tell him through a hushed giggle, when he rests his forehead against yours.

"Woah," he jokes. "Who said anything about fucking?"

"I can literally feel your boner, Jungkook."

"Touché."

He doesn't even attempt to downplay it. He puts you down. Gets you through the threshold of his apartment. Shoes off by the door, there's no need to be quiet. Yoongi and Taehyung are still out, and will be for hours. He could take his time if he really wanted.

But what he wants is you. Doesn't waste time. Gets you in his room. Kinda feels like you never left. Jungkook still wishes you hadn't, but doesn't mind the idea of you making it up to him now.

"So," you hum, trailing your fingertips across his desk. "This is where the magic happens?"

He smiles a little bashfully, head dropping for a moment before his eyes are on yours again. "Yeah. You could say that."

Now that you're back in his space, it's a little embarrassing just how many clues there were. A headset rests on the desk—black, robust, with his signature bunny ears secured on top—and a mic is hooked up by the monitor. The webcam doesn't look special, but the keyboard subtly glows in his darkened room. Violet, like the LEDs behind his screen.

A laptop covered in vinyl stickers is closed next to the set-up. He uses it when he's not streaming on his desktop. At least three of the stickers are of the Crescent Collective's logo.

Turning to fully face him, you rest your palms behind yourself and perch on the edge of the desk.

He gets a little kick out of seeing you so flippantly disregard the domain in which he dominates. Gives him a point to prove. Gets him closing the space between you, hands on your waist, dipping to your ass to leverage further back on his desk. Knows it's sturdy, 'cause he built it himself, but has never tested out quite how strong it really is. Thinks now's as good a time as any to find out.

Your legs wrap around his body with no thought, just the innate understanding that you want him in a way you're sure thousands of people have only dreamt of: in his room, on his desk, that damn 'Go Live' button just a few short clicks away.

Reaching beside you, there's a smirk on your lips as you retrieve his headset. Put it on him. Say, "The ears are cute, Tokki."

He rolls his eyes. Is fighting a smile, and currently losing. He's seen some lewd shit during his time on the internet and is well aware of the fanart that includes the ears and little else. Always found it kinda funny, before.

Now? He's so hard it almost hurts, and he thinks he could grow to like it.

As your arms drape over his shoulders, he takes them off. Puts them on you, instead. Adjusts the sizing. Gets them just right for you. Is attentive, like that. Pulls his head back a little, and then realises what a problem you're gonna be for him.

It's not so much the addition of animal ears that's getting him insatiable, but seeing you adorned with a crown that is so inherently his that does it.

Jungkook's no saint. He's had his fair share of one-nighters. A couple hours of fun never to be spoken of again. Since the group of them signed to their management agency, they've been repeatedly told how important it is to get NDA's signed. Something about it always feels so icky to Jungkook. Cruel, almost. Has only had a couple hook-ups since then, both with flings he's known for a good couple of years, with no fear of them spilling the beans on how prettily he whines when he cums.

You're the first new girl in a long time. He knows he should really pause things before you cut to the chase—but then your hand is trailing down his thick forearm, delicately stroking his rabbit moon with a curious smile. Decides he doesn't care.

"The ears are cute," he replies. Teasingly adds, "Nabi."

The position of your arms over his shoulders ensures the tattoos he'd traced the week before are fully displayed for him. As his eyes drop to your butterfly, you're curiously smitten by the way his lips move to press a kiss against it again.

"Suit me?"

"Mhmm," he hums, eyes flickering back up to yours. "Should also get you a pair of butterfly wings, or something."

"I'd make you wear them," you tell him with a cheeky glint in your eye. "Turn you into a butterfly, yourself. Your girlies in the chat would love that."

Jungkook knows without a shadow of a doubt he'd let you. Not for the girlies in the chat, but for you.

Ghosting his lips against yours, he's waiting for you to press down. Is letting you take the lead.

Your kisses are sweet. Tepid. Reserved.

You're feeling; his hands on your waist, the pressure of his lip rings, the presence of his nose.

And then he's feeling; your bare skin as his large hands slip beneath the fabric of your shirt, the way your legs wrap around him, the vibration of a small groan against his lips.

The skirt you're in is bunched around your hips, and the positioning is just right for you to feel how hard he is against your underwear. It's a little undignified, you'll admit, but you're impatient, so you take control. Reposition his hand between your legs. Encourage him to take things further.

"Yeah?" He checks.

Nodding into a needy kiss, you mumble, "Please."

It might've been a while, but Jungkook's muscle memory is enviable. He's the best player on the team for that very reason.

As he hooks your underwear to the side, he's pleased to be greeted with indications of your arousal. Smirks into the kisses he's giving you, as his fingertips graze against your clit. Trails his lips to your neck. Wants to hear the way you gasp as he pushes his thick middle finger inside you.

"Fuck," you sigh at the welcome intrusion. Nod, as he curls his finger almost immediately. He's got a lot to thank those damn video games for, that's for sure.

Softly moaning, just how he hoped you would, there's an arch to your back as he picks up a pace. The need to perform, almost.

Head tipping back as Jungkook fucks another finger into you, you're unable to think too cognitively. Can only think about the way he feels. The smell of his hair as he presses kisses against your neck, and how prominent his collarbones are as your nails trail up his toned torso.

"Feels so good," you tell him. Move the hand of yours that's been resting on his shoulder to his hair. Tug on it a little. Elicit the prettiest of whines from him.

There's something to be said for making a man—especially one of such strength, stature, status—so weak. Gets you all giggly. Jungkook can feel the satisfaction ripple through your entire body, and it just makes him groan against your neck even more.

"You're so wet," he praises, pulling back to study your face as he plays with you. Lets his thumb stroke up against your clit ever so gently. Revels in the way you get a little shaky. Twitchy. With those damn bunny ears, you really are like a little rabbit. Jungkook finally understands why the fan artists choose to draw him in such a way. It is hot. "You're making me so fuckin' hard."

And then you're giggling again.

"Is it a joke to you, huh?" He smirks. Looks down at your pussy, all swollen and sopping wet for him, in the hazy violet light of his room. Knows that his throbbing cock is gonna stuff you so fuckin' full that laughing won't be an option. Is desperate for it. "How badly I want you is just a big joke to you, huh, bunny?"

The way he groups you in with his moniker is too damn hot.

"Dunno," you rasp, desperately trying to hold off the orgasm that's building inside you. "Fuck me and find out."

Reaching for the button of his trousers, you're quick as you wrestle his jeans down over his ass. Don't bother pushing them down entirely. Just enough to get his boxers exposed, and in turn, his thick cock. Hard and engorged, his desperation for you is evident. A small patch of precum seeps through the fabric of his boxers. He curses as your thumb strokes against it.

"Condom?" You ask, knowing you've got none on you.

"Hold that thought," he says, regretfully pulling away from you.

Watching on as he pushes down his jeans, and strips himself of his shirt, you're at a loss for words. You've seen him like this before, but it's so much hotter knowing that he's gonna be fucking himself into you as soon as he possibly can.

Jungkook could very easily lead you to his bed. Get you comfy. Reach to his bedside cabinet for a condom. Fuck you how he likes—doggy-style, minimal face-to-face contact—and be done with it all very quickly.

Instead, he says, "Stay here."

Doing as you're told, you watch on as he walks to the cabinet, and retrieves a condom. Admire his back, and his broad shoulders. The valley of his spine, and the hard work he's put into crafting his physique. Smirk to yourself as he dips into his boxers. Strokes himself. Once, twice. Tears the packet open with his teeth, just like you were always taught not to do, and rolls the latex down his thick shaft.

"What?" he smirks as he walks back, realising your eyes are transfixed on his cock.

You say nothing. Smile. Hold your hands out for Jungkook to take, just so you can pull him back even quicker.

Lips pressing into yours as he closes the gap, Jungkook is all smiles. Rubs the head of his cock against your pussy, gathering up your arousal all over his tip. Lines himself up with your entrance. Waits for you to give him the go-ahead.

Hand on his ass, you pull him closer. Edge the crown of his cock into you. Whimper. Beg. "Please."

Sinking into you with a laboured grunt, he's surprised with how much tighter you are around his cock than you were with his fingers. Wet and warm, there's an undeniable pleasure that sparks through his body as he gets familiar with the way you feel.

Slowly, his hips begin to pick up a pace. As his tongue strokes into your mouth, there's no dignity to the way he's taking you. The increased pace means heightened moans, and it's not just you—it's him, too.

"Shit, yeah," he grits. "So fuckin' tight, aren't you?"

Whining, you nod into his kisses. Are at his entire disposal as he grips your waist, proving exactly why Tokki is the perfect nickname for him.

As much as he likes the ears, he's a little worried that he might fuck you so hard they fall off. Doesn't wanna break them, and definitely doesn't wanna think about the story the boys would make up when they go live tomorrow to tease him—but also really wants to fuck you harder.

Which is funny, cause the way he tugs them off with such desperation and tosses them down, you'd be forgiven for thinking he couldn't care less about breaking them. Doesn't give you a chance to say anything, 'cause his big hands are cradling your face, bringing you in for desperate kisses once more.

There's a lewdness to the sounds you make together, but Jungkook knows that if he was an entirely different kind of streamer, you'd make bank together. Wonders about the way it would look on camera. Worries. Pauses.

"You good?" You check a little breathlessly as he reaches behind you, just to tug the wire to his webcam from the plus.

"Yeah," he nods, still fiddling around behind you. Smiles in the hedonistic haze as your lips find a new home on his neck. Strokes your hair gently, and presses a kiss to the side of your head. Quietly says, "Just making sure there's no way in hell I accidentally start streaming."

You hum, all purry and pliant. "People would pay good money to see it."

While he agrees, and has had the same thought process, he doesn't care. "You saying I should be charging you for this?"

"Oh, no," you say all very sweetly. "You should be paying me."

"I'll pay you with orgasms," he promises, knowing that it's a rare currency for one-night strands.

You smirk. Pat the top of his head. "Sure you will."

If there's one thing Jungkook loves, it's a challenge.

Pulling back, he turns you around. Gets you bent over his desk with zero opposition from you. Rubs himself against your soaked cunt, then asks, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you smirk, and then settle into a sigh as he pushes into you. The feeling of fullness from Jungkook is one that's hard to compare. So thick, and fat, and heavy, his cock really is just as impressive as he is.

With one hand hooked at the crease of your thigh, the other holds the top of your shoulder. Gets you pushed down onto his cock as far as you possibly can be. There's a slight reflection in his streaming plaque beside the monitor, and you're pleased to see just how intensely focused he is on you, brows furrowed, pretty pink lips resting ajar. The silver of his lip rings and chain catch in the light, and you find you can't look at him for too long. He's too hot.

But then he's reaching down for your clit as he fucks into you. Has your legs shaking. The waves of a familiar sensation begin to lap against the shores of your pleasure.

"Fuck," you whine. "Feels good. Keep it like that."

Jungkook knows better than to ignore your requests. Does as he's told, the pressure of his fingers on your clit only deepening. Rubbing calculated circles against you, he knows just how to work you up. Gets you whining. Mewling. Moaning.

"Gonna cum, aren't you?" he smirks, as his own high builds.

"Fuck—"

"C'mon," he husks, feeling your walls tighten around him. He doesn't stop his relentless chase. Will win your orgasms fair and square. Continues pounding into you. Pace fast, strokes deep, he's everything you could ever want and more—and then he's slowing. Keeping you plugged, nice and deep, but focusing on the way he's toying with your clit. "You know you wanna cream for me. All over my cock, pretty Nabi. C'mon—"

"I'm close," you all but whimper. "So—fuck. So close."

"Yeah, you are," he tells you—and then your legs are shaking, pussy tightly clamping around his cock, one hand tense against his desk while the other grabs at his wrist. Uncontrollable, is the way you whine for him. It's so needy—so desperate and pathetic—that it's almost a sob. Jungkook doesn't ease up. In fact, his hips gain a little pace again as your orgasm shatters around you both. He's breathless, but manages to choke out, "Flithy fuckin' cunt. Feels so fuckin' good. Fuck."

The frail limpness of your body as the orgasm smokes away is cute. Jungkook loves it. You're so weak for him. He fucks into you still, chasing his own high, and your whines only get louder. It's overwhelming, but you never want to lose the feeling.

It doesn't take much. Just a minute or so of your tight cunt, and Jungkook is pulling out. Even though he doesn't ask you to, you get to your knees as he tears the condom off.

"In my mouth," you beg, and who is he to reject such an offer?

Jerking himself to completion, Jungkook is all pretty and pathetic when he cums, too. Looks at you with eyes so starry you'd been forgiven for thinking he was a descendant of the constellations.

He milks the final few spurts of himself onto your wet tongue, and curses when you press dainty kisses to his tip. Stroking your tongue against him, you don't want to waste a drop. Look up at him and find that his eyes are resting shut from the pleasure of it all.

Silence surrounds you both, just your beating hearts and laboured breaths filling to the room. He helps you up. Holds you tight. Hugs you for a little while, then presses a kiss to the side of your head. "Thanks."

"My pleasure," you giggle - and then he's smiling, too. Feels vindicated by his irrational thoughts about you over the last few days. He pays no mind to the fact you're still technically dressed, and he's basically naked.

As he sorts himself out, you perch back up on his desk and languidly swing your legs. Enjoy the thought of memories plaguing him whenever he tried to play his little games over the next few days.

"You wanna grab a shower?" he offers. "Food, too? Dunno about you, but I'm fuckin' starving."

"Same," you nod, biting down on your bottom lip. "I'll go wash up, you sort food? Are places still open for delivery?"

Checking his phone for the time, Jungkook is surprised that it's closer to midnight than it is to his morning alarm. Only a handful of places will offer delivery at this time, but that's enough.

"Works for me," he says with a yawn, then opens what you had assumed was the closet door. Reveals an en-suite and knocks his head to the side. "Get your shower. Gimmie a shout if you need anything."

Tiles large and grey, it's the perfect counterpart to his bedroom. A little dark, but it's only because Jungkook hates using the big light. Always flicks the small light switches instead. There's a window overlooking the city, and even though you're only seven floors up, the hills of Yongsan-gu mean that he's got a view you could only dream of.

You're about to start the shower up when he calls through. "Is pizza good?"

"Pizza's good," you call back with a smile. Look yourself in the mirror and wonder how the fuck you ended up in the bathroom of arguably the most famous person you've ever met. Decide it's better not to question it.

The shower begins to cascade down, even if your sins are washed way, you know you won't be able to forget the feeling of Jungkook so easily.

Truth be told, you won't even try.

YONSEI UNIVERSITY DORMS DAESIN-DONG, SEODAEMUN-GU SUNDAY 21:13

"L in the chat," booms the voice of Taehyung through your laptop speakers. His trademark grin rests on his face as he teases Jungkook.

You've only just opened the stream. Instantly, you focus on the prettily lopsided smirk of Jungkook's lips. You've learned it's an almost permanent fixture on his boyish face. Shaking his head, he's adjusting his headset. Making it a little looser so that it'll fit him properly.

No one is questioning it.

What they are questioning, is where the fuck that pretty purple bruise on his neck has come from.

"Cross-fit," Jungkook just shrugs, knowing that it's the colloquial term for suspicious bruises after some idol used the same excuse. Blatant horseshit. Jungkook doesn't care.

"I've never done cross-fit, but I know you're bullshitting," Taehyung snorts.

The chat seems to agree with him.

"Thought I was a virgin?" Jungkook states a little cheekily, making reference to Taehyung's usual banter. "How else would I get one?"

Taehyung knows better than the retort. Knows that Jungkook could very easily slip something about Rae into the conversation.

Virgin? You type through a message on a private discord chat with Jungkook. He'd set it up the day before. Has already sent you, like, a thousand messages. Is what can only be described as obsessed—but it's mutual. Could have fooled me.

As his eyes glance down to his laptop screen, he fails to hide his smile. Had opened your chat on there, cause he didn't wanna accidentally broadcast the messages onto his stream. Despite this, he doesn't care that there are nearly 10,000 people in his stream merely minutes into it. Is far more interested in his chat thread with you. Replies immediately.

Stop distracting meI'm working</3

Giggling as the message pings through to you, there's a giddy quality to the way Jungkook makes you feel.

He'd spent the day in bed with you after your night together. Had wanted you to stay when he started streaming that evening. Said he'd only be an hour or so, and was incredibly pouty when you did leave.

It had just been him on last night's stream—headset off 'cause he didn't wanna adjust it back yet, hoodie on to hide his neck. The other boys were nursing hangovers, so he could do what he liked.

What he did do had you incredibly curious. Was just chatting. Talking to the comment section. Sleepily reeling off facts he'd recently learned about butterflies. Debating over their lifespan.

You're not naive to the fact that Jungkook does this streaming stuff as a profession, and are aware that the more people talking about his stream on other platforms, the more viewers he'll get.

Made sense for him to add fuel to the butterfly-related fire by talking about them.

Had sent you a message earlier that evening to ask what kind of butterfly you had on your skin.

A Monarch, you'd told him.

"See, the thing is," Jungkook had rambled to his viewers a little later on. "Most butterflies have super short lifespans—Monarch's included."

Eyes all starry, lights in his bedroom purple as per usual, he'd looked cosy. You wished you'd have stayed.

"But there's a specific kind. Migrating Monarchs. They're the last of their generation—the final butterflies of the year," he marvelled at the magic of it all.

His facts were a little hazy, but he knew enough. Had been down a you-shaped rabbit hole all afternoon.

"And they migrate, right? Move away from home—somewhere warmer—and then it just extends their lifespan. 180 days. Not 30. That's six months. Six months. It's a long time. It's not fleeting. Not in the slightest."

It's also, curiously, exactly how long you're scheduled to stay in Korea for.

"I dunno," Jungkook had just sighed, a little forlorn, trying to make sense of his thoughts.

He bit down on his bottom lip, stroking his thumb against the hard plastic ears of his headset, then focused on the camera again. Wondered if you were watching.

He simply shrugged. Said, "Counts for something, though, right?"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #streamer!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader

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kathaelipwse · 3 months ago

Text

Worlds Apart | C.Seungcheol

Popular!Seungcheol x Scholar!Reader Trope: Angsty Lovers | Second Chances (kinda) | Push-and-Pull Romance Warnings: Heavy Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Intense Feelings | Mentions of Self-Worth Issues | NO PROOF READING WAS DONE Synopsis: You tried to walk away. You told yourself it was for the best. That Seungcheol’s world was too bright, too untouchable for someone like you. But when he kneels before you, hands trembling, eyes filled with a love you don’t think you deserve—you start to wonder if you’ve been running from the wrong thing all along. Word count: 4.2k Reading Time: 15-ish mins Author’s note: This is a heavy, emotion-driven piece that explores love, self-worth, and the struggle of letting yourself be loved. Hope you enjoy the angst- (I cried while typing- Got no idea WHY i am writing so much angst- It scares me haha) Have an amazing day/night y'll!!

You were fine being invisible. It was safer that way. No attention, no judgment, no cruel words whispered behind your back.

A quiet existence, a solitary path, a refuge from the harsh realities of a world that didn’t seem to have a place for you. You learned to blend into the background, to become a shadow, a whisper, a footnote in the grand narrative of the university.

And then Seungcheol noticed you.

He didn’t just see you; he saw you. He dragged you into the light, not with a forceful hand, but with a gentle persistence that chipped away at the walls you had so carefully built. He sat next to you in the bustling cafeteria, his presence a shield against the judging eyes, his laughter a melody that drowned out the whispers.

He fought for you, not in grand, dramatic gestures, but in subtle, unwavering ways—a quiet defense against the casual cruelty of his peers, a silent promise that you weren’t alone. He walked you home after your late-night shifts, filling the silence with laughter and stories, making you feel like you weren’t just a scholarship student working two jobs to survive in a private university full of people who would never know what it meant to struggle. He saw the fire in your eyes, the resilience in your spirit, the quiet strength that you kept hidden from the world.

He made you feel like you belonged. Like you were seen, valued, cherished. He made you feel like you were worthy.

But people like you? You don’t get happy endings. The world doesn't allow it. The universe doesn't permit it. You were a realist, after all. You understood the rules of the game.

Because someone—one of his rich, entitled friends—hurts you. Maybe it’s words, sharp and cutting, designed to wound. Maybe it’s something worse, a subtle act of sabotage, a calculated humiliation. Either way, it’s enough to break you, to shatter the fragile hope that Seungcheol had ignited within you.

It happened after the game. The roar of the crowd, the blinding lights, the electric energy of victory—it was a world you had only ever observed from the periphery, a spectacle you watched from the shadows. Seungcheol, the star, the hero, the center of everyone's attention, had led the team to another championship win. The arena was a sea of adoring faces, chanting his name, their voices a symphony of praise.

You stayed at the very back, a shadow in the corner, a silent observer. You were the stagehand, the unseen hand that ensured the show went on, the unsung hero who worked tirelessly behind the scenes. You were only here because you were in charge of managing the after-party setup, a duty assigned to you as part of your scholarship work, a constant reminder of your place in this world. You were just the nobody scholarship student working behind the scenes, running around with a clipboard while the real students—the ones who actually belonged here—partied like they ruled the world.

Seungcheol caught your eyes right before he was hoisted onto shoulders. For a fleeting moment, a foolish, reckless hope sparked in your chest, a dangerous flicker of belief. That maybe, just maybe, he would see you, would choose you, would break through the sea of adoring faces and come to you first. That maybe, just maybe, you were something more than a fleeting interest, a passing fancy.

But then a voice shattered that fragile illusion, a voice laced with venom and disdain, a cruel reminder of your place.

“You really thought he’d run to you?”

You turned, your heart sinking, your breath catching in your throat. A group of students stood there, their designer clothes and arrogant expressions a stark contrast to your worn uniform, their eyes filled with a mixture of pity and contempt. Seungcheol’s friends, the ones who always looked at you like you were an unwelcome guest, a stain on their perfect world.

One of them, a girl named Mina, with perfect hair and cruel eyes, stepped forward, her voice dripping with false pity, her words laced with venom.

“God, you really are delusional. You think he actually cares about you? You’re just a novelty, a distraction.”

You opened your mouth, but another voice cut in, sharp and dismissive, a cruel echo of your deepest fears.

“You’re embarrassing him.”

That one hit different, because this time, it was one of the guys from the basketball team, Jaehyun, one of Seungcheol’s closest friends, someone you had thought might understand.

“Hanging around like a lost puppy, acting like you actually have a chance with him,” he scoffed, arms crossed, his eyes filled with disdain. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you know what you look like? Pathetic.”

You felt your stomach drop, the air thick with humiliation, the weight of their judgment crushing you.

“I—”

“Do you know what people say about you?” Mina interrupted, tilting her head, her eyes gleaming with malice, her voice laced with poison. “That you’re his little charity case. His pet project. Something to amuse him.”

Laughter rippled through the group, a cruel, mocking sound that echoed in the vast arena, a chorus of disdain.

“Poor Seungcheol,” someone else mocked, a tall, lanky guy named Junho. “Always looking out for the underprivileged. Such a saint. So noble.”

You couldn’t breathe. The whispers, the glances, the subtle rejections—you had endured them all. But hearing it from his closest friends, from the people he shared his life with, was a different kind of pain. It was a betrayal, a confirmation of your deepest fears, a stark reminder that you didn’t belong.

“You should just disappear already,” Mina sighed, her voice laced with false concern, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Save yourself the humiliation. Do him a favor. Just go away.”

That was the moment something inside you snapped, a fragile thread breaking under the weight of years of insecurity and self-doubt. You shouldn’t have let it get this far. You shouldn’t have let yourself believe, even for a second, that you and Seungcheol were anything more than a fleeting moment, a mistake waiting to happen.

So when you finally found him in the crowd, his eyes searching for you, a flicker of concern in their depths, you turned away. You walked past him like he was a ghost, a phantom, a figment of your imagination, a dream you had foolishly dared to believe in.

And when he grabbed your wrist, his touch warm and insistent, when he looked at you with nothing but pure concern, you ripped your hand free and whispered, your voice barely audible, a broken echo of your shattered hope,

“I just want to be invisible again.”

And the way his face shattered right in front of you, the way his eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own, almost made you stay. Almost. But people like you? You don’t get happy endings.

So you left, disappearing into the shadows, and you didn’t look back, your heart a heavy weight in your chest.

You disappeared after that night.

No texts. No calls. Nothing.

A ghost in the machine.

Winter break feels endless. Cold. Empty. A barren landscape devoid of warmth.

Seungcheol spends weeks staring at his phone, waiting for your name to pop up, a desperate vigil.

It never does.

The silence is deafening, a constant reminder of your absence.

His friends try to cheer him up, but he’s not the same.

The laughter, the confidence—it’s all forced now, a hollow echo of his former self.

The joy has been leached from his eyes.

The basketball court doesn’t feel the same.

The thrill of the game, the camaraderie of the team—it’s all muted, a pale imitation of what it once was.

Nothing feels the same without you.

Every time he sees something you would’ve liked—a worn paperback, a cheap cup of coffee, a little trinket from a street vendor—his chest aches, a sharp, stabbing pain.

It’s a constant reminder of what he’s lost.

And at night, when it’s quiet, he hears your voice, a haunting melody in the silence.

"We don’t belong together, Seungcheol."

But he still refuses to believe that.

He clings to the hope that you’ll come back, that you’ll see that you belong with him.

The moment classes start again, you avoid him.

A master of evasion.

You’re a ghost, a whisper in the wind.

You change routes, take the long way around campus just so you won’t run into him.

A desperate attempt to erase yourself from his life.

He notices.

Of course, he notices.

He sees the way you duck your head, the way you pretend he doesn’t exist—

It destroys him.

A slow, agonizing erosion of his spirit.

Every time he gets close, you slip away, a phantom in the crowd.

Every time he calls your name, you pretend you don’t hear, a cruel denial of his existence.

The team notices.

His friends notice.

"Dude, what the hell happened over break?" they ask, their voices filled with concern.

But Seungcheol doesn’t talk about it.

He just clenches his jaw and keeps chasing after the girl who doesn’t want to be found.

A relentless pursuit fueled by love and desperation.

One night, you’re walking home, the streetlights casting long shadows.

And he finally catches you.

His heart pounds in his chest as he reaches for your wrist.

Not hard, not forceful—just enough to make you stop running.

A gentle but firm hold.

"Stop."

His voice is raw, broken, filled with a pain he can no longer contain.

You freeze, your back to him, shoulders tense.

You don’t turn around.

Your heart hammers against your ribs.

"Look at me."

His voice cracks—pleading, desperate.

"Please, just look at me. Give me a reason."

You swallow hard, trying to regain control.

But you don’t move, your feet rooted to the spot.

And that’s when he breaks.

"I spent the entire break waiting for you."

His voice shakes, trembling with emotion.

"Do you know how fucking empty everything felt without you? It was like the world had lost its color."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry.

Trying to block out his words.

"You left, and I—"

He exhales sharply, his breath catching in his throat.

"I haven’t been okay since. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. All I can think about is you."

Silence hangs in the air.

Thick with unspoken emotions.

Then, barely above a whisper—

"You weren’t supposed to wait for me, Cheol."

Your voice is filled with a sadness that mirrors his own.

That’s when he turns you around, his hands trembling slightly.

When he cups your face with both hands.

Forcing you to see just how wrecked he is.

To witness the depth of his pain.

"You think I had a choice?"

His eyes are filled with tears.

His voice is full of pain.

Full of love.

"I’ll always wait for you."

It’s a promise.

A vow.

A declaration of his unwavering devotion.

Your breath is shaky, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

His hands are warm against your skin.

His grip is so gentle, so careful.

Like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

Like he’s holding onto something precious.

And you should.

You should pull away.

You should tell him it’s over.

That he needs to move on.

That you’re not worth his pain.

But when you look into his eyes—

God, his eyes.

You see everything you’ve ever wanted.

Everything you’ve ever dreamed of.

And it terrifies you.

"Cheol…"

Your voice wavers, barely holding on.

A fragile whisper.

His thumb brushes over your cheek.

A tender caress.

"Don’t do this."

His voice is a plea.

A desperate attempt to hold onto you.

"We don’t belong together," you whisper.

Even though it hurts like hell to say it.

Even though every fiber of your being screams in protest.

His jaw clenches.

His eyes darken with a mixture of anger and pain.

But he doesn’t move.

His gaze unwavering.

"Why do you keep saying that? Why are you so determined to push me away?"

You force yourself to stay strong, to ignore the way your heart is screaming for him, to suppress the longing that threatens to consume you.

"Because it’s the truth."

A lie that tastes like ashes in your mouth. LIE.

You try to step back, to create some distance between you, but he doesn’t let you. He doesn’t tighten his hold—he just refuses to let go, his grip gentle but unyielding.

"Bullshit." His voice is rough, desperate, filled with a raw emotion that mirrors your own. "You don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to tell me what I feel."

You exhale sharply, trying to regain your composure, your mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

"You don’t understand, Cheol—"

"Then make me understand!" His voice cracks, frustration mixing with heartbreak, a desperate plea for clarity. "I’ve been chasing after you, waiting for you, and you won’t even tell me why you’re running! Just tell me what I did wrong."

Your throat tightens, the words caught in a knot of pain and fear, the truth too heavy to bear.

"Because I don’t belong in your world!" you finally snap, your voice shaking with a mixture of anger and vulnerability. "Because people like me—people who have to fight just to exist—don’t get to have things like this! We’re not meant for happy endings."

Seungcheol stares at you, his expression unreadable, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with something you can’t bear to face—a reflection of your own pain.

Then—he lets go.

Your breath stutters, your heart skips a beat. He steps back, creating a space between you, a chasm that threatens to swallow you whole.

For a second, you think—this is it. He’s giving up. He’s finally realized that you’re not worth the effort.

But then—he kneels.

Right there, in the middle of the dimly lit sidewalk, in the cold night air, he kneels in front of you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters, a gesture of humility and devotion.

And when he looks up at you, his eyes filled with a love that transcends words, you’re ruined.

Your carefully constructed walls crumble around you.

"I would leave everything for you." His voice is quiet, but it hits like a sledgehammer to your chest, a declaration of his unwavering commitment.

"Because you are the only one who has ever seen the real me. The me that I keep hidden from everyone else."

Your lips part, but no sound comes out, your voice lost in a sea of emotion.

"Where my money didn’t matter. Where my status didn’t matter." His eyes never leave yours, his gaze intense and unwavering. "All that mattered was us. Just you and me."

His hands find yours again, gently, carefully, his touch a lifeline in the storm of your emotions.

"Tell me that wasn’t real." His voice is a whisper, a desperate plea for reassurance.

Silence.

"Tell me you didn’t feel it too." His eyes search yours, seeking confirmation, seeking a glimmer of hope.

Your throat closes up, the words caught in a knot of longing and fear.

Because you did.

Of course, you did.

You felt it with every fiber of your being.

And Seungcheol sees it.

Sees the way you tremble, the way your fingers clutch his, the way your eyes betray your carefully constructed facade.

He has you.

Now all you have to do—is stop fighting.

Your pulse is hammering, a frantic rhythm against your ribs.

This is too much. Too intense. Too real.

Seungcheol, kneeling in front of you, holding your hands like you’re his entire world, his eyes filled with a love that both terrifies and exhilarates you.

His words replay in your mind, over and over—I would leave everything for you.

You can’t breathe.

You rip your hands away, breaking the connection, creating a space between you.

"You’re a fool, Seungcheol." Your voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.

His brows knit together, his expression a mixture of confusion and hurt, but he doesn’t move, his gaze unwavering.

"You don’t know what you’re saying," you whisper, your voice shaking, your eyes pleading with him to understand.

"You have everything. A future, a reputation, a life people would kill for. Why would you throw that away for me? I have nothing to offer you."

He stares at you, his eyes filled with a pain that mirrors your own, his expression a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Like you’re breaking his heart right in front of him.

"Because none of it matters without you." His voice is firm, unwavering, a declaration of his love.

No.

No, no, no.

Your vision blurs, tears welling up in your eyes, threatening to spill over.

You take a step back, trying to create some distance, trying to escape the intensity of his gaze.

Then another.

You have to go.

You have to leave before you crumble, before you succumb to the longing that threatens to consume you.

Your body screams run, but the moment you turn away—

He moves.

And then—his arms are around you. Warm. Solid. Unyielding. And just like that—

You shatter.

A choked sob escapes your lips, and suddenly, you can’t stop. The dam breaks, and years of pent-up emotion flood out. Your hands clutch his jacket, holding on for dear life.

You hate him for not letting you go.

You hate him for holding you together when all you wanted was to fall apart alone.

"Why—why are you doing this?" you gasp against his chest, your whole body trembling, your voice choked with tears.

His arms tighten around you, his lips pressing to your hair—a silent promise of comfort and support.

"Because I love you, idiot."

His voice is thick with emotion, a raw declaration of his feelings.

Your breath hitches. Your heart skips a beat.

"And I’m not letting you go."

His words are a vow, a commitment, a refusal to give up on you.

Tears pour down your face, a torrent of emotion. Your knees go weak, but Seungcheol just holds you closer, keeps you steady—a human anchor in the storm of your emotions.

For the first time in forever—

You let yourself break.

You allow yourself to be vulnerable, to let go of the walls you've built around your heart. And for the first time in forever—

You're not alone.

You have someone to share your pain, someone to hold you through the darkness.

You cry until you have nothing left, until the tears run dry and your sobs subside into soft whimpers. Your sobs start sharp, gut-wrenching, a release of years of bottled-up pain. Your body shakes in his arms, fingers clenching into his jacket like he’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And maybe he is.

Seungcheol doesn’t say anything. He just holds you. Arms tight, steady, unshaken—like he’s anchoring you to this world, a constant presence in your life.

And you let him.

For the first time in your life, you let yourself be held. You surrender to his embrace, finding solace in his strength.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Time doesn’t exist in this moment—only the two of you, wrapped in a shared space of vulnerability and connection.

Your breathing slows, chest still hitching with the remnants of your breakdown, the storm gradually subsiding. Your face is buried against him, and his heartbeat is the only sound you hear.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

A steady rhythm. Strong. Safe. A comforting reminder of his presence.

When you finally shift, pulling back slightly, he still doesn’t let go. His grip remains firm, a silent reassurance.

Instead, he exhales softly—warm breath against your hair—and then tilts his head down, his eyes filled with tenderness.

And then—a kiss.

Soft. Gentle. Right on your forehead. A gesture of comfort and affection.

Your breath stutters. Your heart flutters.

Then—your nose.

You blink up at him, eyes still red, still glassy, but now filled with a glimmer of hope.

He’s watching you like you’re something fragile. Something precious. Something to be cherished.

Then—your cheeks.

One.

Then the other.

Then—your closed eyelids.

Like he’s kissing away the tears that remain, erasing the traces of your pain.

You don’t move.

Can’t.

You're lost in the moment, captivated by his tenderness.

His fingers slide against yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles—before he leans down and presses a kiss there too, a gesture of reverence.

And then—finally.

Your lips.

A whisper of a touch at first. Like he’s asking for permission, seeking your consent.

Then—

You press back.

And everything shatters.

The kiss deepens. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking the skin, a gentle caress. You tilt your head, open up to him, let him pull you in, surrendering to the moment.

And then it’s not soft anymore.

It’s raw.

Hungry.

Desperate.

A release of pent-up longing.

Because this isn’t just a kiss—

This is a confession.

This is Seungcheol showing you everything he can’t say in words, a language of touch and emotion.

And this time—

You don’t push him away.

You embrace his love, allowing yourself to be loved.

When you finally pull apart, breathing hard, lips swollen, a tangible reminder of your connection, Seungcheol still doesn’t let you go.

Instead, he rests his forehead against yours, his grip on your waist still firm—like he’s scared you might slip away again. Like he never wants to lose you. A silent promise of his unwavering devotion.

And then—

He smiles.

Not the cocky, teasing smirk he flashes on the court, a mask he wears for the world.

Not the polite, practiced grin he gives to the rich kids at school, a facade he presents to his peers.

No.

This one is soft.

Real.

Just for you.

"I am yours," he murmurs, voice low, steady, filled with a certainty that resonates deep within you.

"Since the day I saw you working at the café with your hair up and that adorable white and blue dress."

You suck in a breath, your heart swelling with emotion. Your eyes flicker up to meet his—deep brown, burning, full of something you can’t quite believe is meant for you, a love that seems too good to be true.

"You—"

Your voice catches, your words failing you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek, a tender caress. "You don’t have to believe me yet." His lips twitch, a hint of his playful side returning. "But I’ll prove it to you, baby. Every damn day if I have to."

And for the first time… you think maybe—just maybe—you’re ready to let him. To trust him. To believe in his love.

You don’t pull away. You stay in his arms, finding comfort and solace in his embrace.

And Seungcheol? He notices.

A slow grin tugs at his lips, a little smug, a little too self-satisfied, a hint of his playful arrogance.

"You know, baby," he murmurs, voice dropping just enough to make you shiver, a seductive whisper. "If I’d known all it took to get you in my arms was making you cry, I would’ve done it sooner."

You gasp and smack his chest, a playful rebuke. "Cheol!"

His chuckle vibrates against your skin, a warm and comforting sound. "Too soon?"

Your glare is weak at best, your lips twitching despite your efforts to remain stern. "You think?"

But Seungcheol just tilts his head, still smiling, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "At least I made you forget about crying, huh?"

You huff, but he catches it—the way your lips twitch, the way your eyes aren’t as clouded anymore, the glimmer of a smile that threatens to break through.

So he leans in, just a little, lips brushing your ear, his voice a low and intimate whisper.

"And for the record, you looked hot as hell in that dress, but you look even prettier like this."

Your breath stutters, your cheeks flush. "Like what?"

His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer, his embrace a comforting haven.

"In my arms."

His voice is filled with tenderness and love, a promise of safety and belonging.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before—

Flick.

His head jerks back slightly as your finger snaps against his forehead, a playful act of defiance.

"Ow—hey!" He pouts, rubbing the spot like you actually hurt him, his expression comical.

You just smirk, a genuine smile gracing your lips for the first time in what feels like forever.

"You are such a flirt."

His grin starts creeping back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"You love it."

You tilt your head, pretending to think, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Mmm… maybe."

Then—

You lean in just a little, just enough to make his breath hitch, a playful challenge.

"But you’re my flirt."

Your voice is soft, intimate, a declaration of your feelings.

Seungcheol? Absolutely wrecked.

His ears go pink, a blush creeping up his neck. His smile falters for a split second, his usual composure momentarily shattered.

Then—

He groans, throwing his head back, overwhelmed by your words.

"Baby, you can’t just say stuff like that!"

You laugh—light, breathless. And it hits you.

You haven’t laughed like this in a long time.

And Seungcheol? He’s looking at you like he knows. Like he’s the reason why.

Like he’s gonna make sure you never stop being happy after all of the troubles you went through alone.

891 notes · View notes

icarusignite · 2 months ago

Text

You’re on Your Own, Kid (p.1)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Civilian!Reader

Summary: Amongst the glittering heights of Gotham's elite, you fight to build something of your own, only to watch it crumble under the weight of your father’s sins. And just when you need him most, Bruce Wayne vanishes, leaving you to weather scandal, betrayal, and ruin alone. Love turns to silence. Devotion becomes distance. Now, as the city tears you apart, he watches from the shadows, haunted by the truth, and by the pieces of you he left behind.

Tropes: childhood friends to lovers. Pre-established relationship. Possessive Bruce. Fluff and domesticity. Some angst and betrayal later on, and Bruce being emotionally constipated, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff. promise he'll grovel in part 2

Word Count: 6.9k

A/N: LOL the conglomerate shenanigans mentioned here are just to set the stage, so it may not be entirely accurate. We're just going for vibes once again. Also, I'm sorry I keep splitting these into parts, I just have a hard time keeping focus when it gets too long and then I'm not able to proofread it lol. Also, I had Dan Mora's Bruce in mind when I wrote this cuz he is scrumptious, but honestly feel free to imagine your fav, they're all hot af <3 As usual comments/reblogs/likes are all super appreciated, I love hearing yalls thoughts!

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

The room you were in was too cold and grey, full of men who thought salt-and-pepper hair and a Rolex gave them license to speak louder and listen less. You sat at the long conference table, posture straight, pen tapping an idle rhythm against the polished mahogany. Across from you, some relic of the financial world droned on about stock volatility and historical precedence, his words wrapped in condescension and misplaced self-importance.

You should've given him the respect his tenure demanded, but the way his eyes passed over you, like you were ornamental rather than integral, sent a rush of disdain crawling up your spine. Respect, as far as you were concerned, was earned, not assumed. And certainly not owed to anyone who looked at you like you were a misdelivered invitation.

Still, you'd been born into a world of masks and teeth, and you wore yours like fine silk. Your smile was patient, and you nodded politely through his tirade, letting him tire himself out like a dog barking at a closed door. Then, with poise as sharp as a stiletto heel, you stood.

"I appreciate your concerns," you said smoothly, the corners of your mouth curving into a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "But allow me to show you why they're unfounded."

You clicked your presentation open, and the sleek slides glowed behind you, casting your silhouette in authority. Your voice, when it rang out, was crisp and commanding. You outlined every metric, forecasted every outcome, and highlighted each strategic benefit of the partnership with the precision of a scalpel. Your delivery was not just persuasive, it was irrefutable.

"And with Wayne Enterprises' logistical strength paired with our R&D innovation, projected returns stand to exceed expectations by the second quarter. This isn't just a good move. It's a brilliant one."

A thoughtful silence followed. You saw it in the way heads tilted slightly, the furrow of brows that wasn't skepticism but grudging admiration. Most of the room wore expressions of reluctant respect, like they hadn't expected much and had gotten more than they bargained for.

Except him. The same fossil from earlier, with his cheap cologne and cheaper smirk, leaned forward and said, "That all sounds lovely, but are we to believe this isn't just a shiny little passion project? You paint a pretty picture, but partnerships with startups like yours are risky, even with your—" he paused, eyes sweeping you up and down in a gesture that wasn't even subtle, "—charisma."

Your responding smile was dangerous. From the corner of your eye, you saw your boyfriend's hand tighten just slightly where it rested near his coffee. There was a tick in his jaw, a silent flare of temper you knew too well. He sat at the head of the table, a quiet monolith in tailored charcoal, the very definition of controlled power. CEO of Wayne Enterprises, majority shareholder, your childhood best friend, and right now, a storm barely held at bay.

You cut him off with a single sharp glance. A silent don't you dare.

If you were going to navigate this brutal industry, you wouldn't do it in the shadow of Bruce Wayne, not even as the person who owned his heart.

You looked back at the man with the condescending tone and the fragile ego. "Well, if by 'passion project' you mean a venture backed by years of market research, two patents pending, and one multimillion-dollar seed round completed in half the time it takes most of your portfolio companies to launch a website—then yes. I suppose you could call it that."

A few sniggers rang around the room, but you kept going.

"As for risk, I would suggest you revisit our financials—slide seventeen if you missed it. The risk assessment is well within tolerance, and frankly, far lower than that synthetic textiles deal you pushed through last spring. Remember that? Didn't pan out so well."

You didn't blink as you said it, and the man's face darkened, but he didn't speak again. When you sat down, the room was quiet, save for the quiet shuffle of notes and murmurs of agreement. You felt it: the shift. You were the storm they hadn't seen coming.

And across the table, Bruce's eyes never left you. His expression was unreadable to the rest of them, but you saw the subtle lift of one brow, the corner of his mouth twitching. Pride, and something warmer.

The remainder of the meeting slipped by quickly, numbers tossed across the table like poker chips, and for once, most of them landed in your favour. A majority vote. A round of congratulations followed—handshakes, nods, and smiles with just enough sincerity to count. You took them all in stride, offering your own gratitude before ducking out hurriedly.

You didn't see the way Bruce's gaze followed you, how his tall frame lingered near the doorway a moment too long, as if willing you to turn back. As if he expected you to wait for him, to fall in step beside him the way you usually did.

But you didn't. You had people to meet. Calls to make. Updates to deliver. Your world moved fast, and you moved faster.

The rest of your day passed in a blur of boardrooms and breakout meetings, each conversation a continuation of the victory you'd carved out that morning. You wore your exhaustion like armour, hidden beneath crisp tailoring and a resolute gleam in your eye that warned anyone from suggesting you take a break.

By the time the last of your employees had filed out and the office corridors grew quiet with the hush of after-hours, you were at the end of your tether. You decided to take a short break, strolling the hallways of your headquarters and rolling your neck with a sigh, fingers kneading at the stiff knot beneath your collarbone.

Just then, a hand caught your wrist, pulling you gently into the shadow of an alcove. You inhaled sharply out of reflex, your spine going taut, until your gaze met a pair of broad shoulders you knew better than your own reflection.

The tension bled out from your body. "Bruce."

The man in front of you didn't let go. "Shouldn't you have gone home by now? What're you still doing here?"

"This is my workplace. I've still got work," you pointed out. "It's you who should've gone home by now. You're the guest here, after all."

"You can let your team handle the rest of it."

"You know I can't do that."

Bruce exhaled slowly, the sound edged with exasperation. His hands slid from your wrist to your shoulders, thumbs pressing into the tight muscles there with surprising care. You almost groaned at the relief, but bit it back, refusing to show him that you were this close to melting under his touch.

"You've been staying up late for weeks trying to finalize this deal," he said softly, brows furrowing. "And now that you have, you should rest. It's not healthy for you to go on like this. Let me take you out to lunch."

"Not healthy? Says the man with an even worse sleep schedule than me?" You glanced at the elegant watch on your wrist and lamented. "And at this time, we should be grabbing dinner."

Bruce shrugged with that maddening nonchalance of his, as if time were merely a suggestion. "Sure. Dinner it is, then."

"Bruce...don't tell me you skipped lunch too."

He had the nerve to look unbothered. "Not my fault someone was too busy to accompany me."

You blinked, guilt nibbling at the edge of your resolve, but before you could offer any apologies, he spoke again.

"You know, I almost threw my coffee at him."

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The man from earlier." The words left his mouth bitterly. "The way he looked at you. Talked to you. Like he thought he was clever, like he thought he could get under your skin."

"Oh? That's what got under your skin?"

Your boyfriend didn't flinch. Just looked at you with that heavy, unreadable intensity that made your heart beat a little too loud in your chest. "I don't like when other men look at you like that. Like they're entitled to even think about you."

"Bruce!" Your voice was half reprimand, half breathless laugh. "Are you seriously jealous of a man who couldn't even figure out how his PowerPoint slides worked?"

"I'm serious."

You sighed, reaching up to smooth your fingers along the lapels of his blazer. "So am I. And besides, I handled him just fine."

His expression didn't shift for a moment, but eventually, the faintest tug at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

"Yes," he admitted almost reverently. "You did."

His gaze dropped to your lips for just a second before flicking back up. "You always do."

You grinned, triumphant. "Damn right, I do."

"But that doesn't mean I liked it. I know you can fight your own battles. That doesn't mean I want to watch someone else try to belittle you and get away with it."

You slipped your hands up, resting them on either side of his neck. "You don't have to protect me."

"I know. That's why I didn't step in."

"Good." You tapped his chest twice, firmly. "Because if you did, I'd have made you wait in the hallway like a schoolboy. You are in my territory after all."

That earned you a proper smirk. "Someone's bold today."

"You're impossible."

"And you're brilliant," he returned, brushing his knuckles against your cheek. "Which is why you deserve a dinner where no one interrupts you or calls your projections ambitious like it's an insult."

"Only if you promise to pick a place with no paparazzi. I am not dressed to be captured at unflattering angles."

Bruce pulled back in disbelief. "You're joking."

You stepped away and gestured to yourself with a dramatic flourish, as if unveiling a masterpiece gone awry. "Am I? Look at me. This blazer?" You plucked at the crumpled lapel. "Was an emergency grab after I spilled coffee on my blouse and had to scrub it out in the office bathroom like some tragic rom-com character." You pointed to the faintly darker patch near your waist. "Still damp."

His eyes followed your motions with the tenderness of a man who saw none of the chaos you were describing.

"And my hair looks like I lost a battle with a fan and a filing cabinet."

Bruce didn't even blink. "You look stunning."

"You're just saying that."

"No. I'm not. You look stunning. Like you always do."

You faltered, ever so slightly, and despite the frustration, the day-old coffee stains, and the ache in your spine from too many hours hunched over a screen, you believed him.

You glanced down at yourself again, then back at him. "You, on the other hand, are a walking PR campaign. How is it that after several hours and three crises, you still look like you just stepped out of a magazine cover shoot?"

He winked. "Genetics. And less coffee spillage, apparently."

You groaned, swatting at his chest again. "Unfair."

Bruce caught your hand mid-air and laced his fingers through yours. "Dinner," he insisted, gently tugging you forward again. "No cameras to capture your alluring charm. I'd rather keep that all to myself tonight."

You hesitated, the fight draining from your shoulders. "Alright. But if I see even one camera flash—"

"I'll tackle them myself," he promised, lips brushing the back of your hand with just enough gravity to make your breath hitch.

"How noble of you. Gotham's very own superhero."

"And you're still the most beautiful person in the room."

"Stop flirting with me. I might start thinking you like me."

He looked at you so intensely that your knees almost buckled. "I do."

And just like that, you melted.

It was ridiculous how quickly his words could undo you. There was no grand gesture, no dramatic speech, no orchestra swelling behind him, and yet the way he said it, low and certain and entirely unbothered by how much it affected you, made your heart stumble in its rhythm.

You suddenly understood why he'd been granted that moniker: Gotham's most eligible bachelor. The billionaire playboy. The man whose name was always paired with another woman's on gossip sites, his photo splashed across magazine covers, eyes smouldering, collar artfully undone.

Bruce Wayne knew how to be charming.

He wielded charisma the way other men wielded money or power. Elegantly. Effortlessly. And oh, hadn't you once mocked him for it? You'd teased him mercilessly, rolling your eyes at every tabloid article and every polished date-night photo he'd been caught in before the two of you became something real.

You'd called them all fools—the ones who let themselves be swayed by a well-timed smirk. Now you knew yourself to be the biggest fool of all. Despite how fiercely you'd resisted, despite how determined you'd been to never lose yourself to his charm, you had failed. You'd been dating for nearly a year now. Long enough that you should be used to him, to the casual intimacy, and the way he always found you at the end of the day like a tether pulling him home.

But you weren't used to it. Not even close. Somehow, it never stopped feeling surreal, that you were the person he looked at like this. Like you hung the stars.

"You're dangerous," you remarked, swallowing thickly.

Bruce grinned. "Only to the people who would hurt you."

"No. To me."

His expression shifted, but you turned away before he could say anything more and you let yourself fall deeper. You tugged him down the hallway by the hand still clasped in yours.

"Come on, then." You cast a look over your shoulder. "You promised me dinner."

He followed obediently as if there was nowhere else in the world he'd rather be. "Of course. Just you and me, and hopefully someplace with real silverware."

"And dessert?"

"Only if you behave."

Your grin was wicked. "So... no dessert then."

"Now whose the one being impossible?" Bruce chuckled, that rare, warm sound that started deep in his chest and made your insides glow.

"For the record," you added, "if anyone should be jealous, it's me."

"Oh?"

"Nearly half my staff looked ready to faint the moment you loosened your tie during your introduction."

"Guess I'll have to keep my tie on, then."

"Hmm, we'll revisit that decision later."

Behind you, Bruce Wayne smiled like a man who knew exactly how lucky he was.

Bruce insisted on driving, and you didn't protest. It was late, your feet ached from running around in pinching shoes all day, and the thought of slipping into the cocoon of his ridiculously luxurious car made the decision an easy one. Besides, he offered with that maddeningly smooth baritone of his, "You can pick up your car from here tomorrow morning. I'll drive you myself if you have to."

"I already have a chauffeur, Bruce," you teased. "I don't need another one."

You sank into the plush leather of the passenger seat with a sigh, the door shutting out the world behind you. The subtle scent of his cologne clung to the air—sandalwood, bergamot, and something inherently him. It wrapped around you like a second skin, comforting and just a little dizzying.

When you turned your head lazily toward the driver's seat, you found Bruce already watching you with that unnerving intensity. A thousand thoughts cycloned behind those stormy blue eyes, none of which he'd voice until he was ready.

You opened your mouth to say something teasing—probably about the dramatics of being stared at like a particularly compelling oil painting—but then he shifted, reaching into the inside pocket of his tailored coat to draw out a small velvet box.

Your body tensed before your mind had time to catch up. It was absurd. You'd been dating for almost a year, not nearly long enough to expect anything that serious. Right? Nonetheless, the sight of the box alone made your pulse quicken. It would not be entirely unwelcome.

"Bruce—"

He opened it before you could spiral further, and nestled inside was not a ring, but a necklace. It was platinum, by the look of it, with a slender, almost imperceptible inlay of black diamonds. Refined and sleek, just like him.

"To mark the deal," he clarified. "The start of another successful venture."

"You couldn't have possibly known the deal would go through."

He looked at you like you'd just insulted Alfred's biscuits. "Of course I did. You always accomplish what you set your mind to."

When he motioned for you to turn in your seat, you obeyed without a word. Warm fingers brushed your hair gently to one side, lingering just a moment too long against your skin before he reached around to fasten the clasp. The metal was cool against your collarbone, but his kiss to the back of your neck made you forget that detail entirely.

It wasn't just the kiss. It was the reverence in it. As if he were grounding you, silently telling you that in a world so ruthlessly fast, so relentlessly sharp, you were the one thing he wanted to slow down for.

You turned back to face him, feeling more seen than you had all day, but then something caught your eye. There was a faint bruise along his right cheekbone. Barely visible under the glow of the dashboard lights, but unmistakably there.

You frowned. You'd been too busy these past few weeks to pay proper attention, but now that you looked, he seemed worn. There was a touch of stiffness in the way he moved, the slight tightness around his eyes that didn't come from fatigue alone.

You had known Bruce Wayne since you were kids. You had seen him fall from trees and scrape his knees, heard him lie his way out of trouble with that disarming charisma. You knew the man behind the socialite mask better than most, so you knew this wasn't new.

You didn't know exactly what he did during the weeks he disappeared—off the grid, unreachable, returning with faint limps and fresh bruises he never explained. But you had a suspicion. You hadn't confronted him yet, of course. Not because you didn't care, but because you cared too much. You knew that if you pulled too hard on that thread, it would unravel something neither of you were quite ready to face.

You reached up without thinking, fingers ghosting just beneath the bruise. "You've been busy too," you murmured. "Are you alright?"

Bruce felt the guilt settle in his chest the moment your lips brushed his cheek, just above the fading bruise. It was a small gesture, but so full of love, that it tore through him like a bullet. You kissed him like he was something precious. Like he wasn't a man slowly weaving a noose around the neck of your world.

He'd lied to you.

No, not lied, just omitted. The difference was razor-thin, but he felt the sting regardless. The necklace hadn't just been a gift to celebrate your business deal. It was an apology for the truth he was keeping from you.

You thought he was there to support you today. And he was. He had been watching you with pride blooming in his chest as you stood your ground, fielded every question, and held your own like the veteran you were, but that wasn't the only reason he'd been in the building.

He hadn't told you about all his meetings later, and the real reason he had been at your office so late. He hadn't told you about your father.

Bruce knew too well that power often wore its virtue like a mask, and now, whispers were swirling—accounts of shady dealings, money funnelled through offshore accounts, associations with criminal networks that had never seen daylight. Whispers he couldn't ignore.

And your father had never been a man who left loose ends. Which meant that this building—your building—was a mausoleum of secrets waiting to be cracked open. And you, his only child, were the heir to it all.

You chattered beside him in the car, unaware of the war waging inside his head. You flitted between stories about team dynamics, upcoming plans, and the assistant you were mentoring, while all he could do was scrutinize you.

Did you know? Were you wearing a mask, just like him? Had you always been pretending, too?

He hated the thoughts as soon as they surfaced. Hated that his instinct was to doubt you, but that was the curse of the cowl. Every time he got too close to something good, his mind reached for the cracks in it. He lived his life trying to peel back facades, so what right did he have to pretend your smile wasn't another mask?

And yet, you had been the one and only real thing in his life. He glanced at you, noting the way you absentmindedly toyed with the chain he had clasped around your neck. The little frown you gave your phone when the screen lit up with emails. The way you never took your eyes off him, even while talking, as if making sure he was still there.

If it was a mask, it was the most convincing one he'd ever seen, and that scared him more than anything.

If you were indeed hiding something, if you had known what heinous crimes your father was involved in, if you'd lied to him just as he was lying to you now, Bruce wasn't sure what he'd do. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to separate the man from the mission. If he could still do what he had to do when the time came.

The fall of your father's legacy was inevitable, and when it did come—when it came by his own hand—he prayed to every god he didn't believe in that he'd be able to extract his heart from it all. Because right now, it was tangled up in you.

Hopelessly. Irrevocably.

And the part that terrified him most? He wasn't sure he even wanted to untangle it.

Bruce let your voice wash over him, tugging him gently away from the grim spiral of his thoughts.

"...and of course, I had to step in before they nearly came to blows over who gets to run point on outreach," you were saying, exasperated but amused. "I had to remind them we're running a corporation, not a reality TV show."

"Sounds like you're running a daycare."

"You're not wrong." You leaned your head back against the seat, stretching your arms forward with a tired groan. "Except they're all in their fifties and think an Excel spreadsheet is a form of advanced sorcery."

He chuckled, eyes wandering across the empty parking lot around him, willing himself to put an end to your rambles and start the car. But he liked it when you talked like this, unguarded and loose-limbed with the ease of being with someone who knew you too well to be impressed. You didn't try to dazzle him. You never had to.

You sighed, the air in your lungs leaving you in a huff. "Now that my father's stepping back from everything, it means I have to do all of this myself."

Bruce's hands flexed ever so slightly on the wheel, but you didn't notice. "You never have to do anything by yourself."

Another lie.

You shot him a grateful look. "Thanks, but I mean, he says he's taking time off to prioritize 'other things,' but won't tell me what those things are. Knowing him, it's either an obscure island retreat with no cell reception or another one of his mysterious hobbies that he refuses to elaborate on. Meanwhile, I'm playing heir, HR manager, and brand strategist all at once."

He hummed in acknowledgment.

"I had to sit down with one of our interns yesterday because she thought responding to emails with reaction memes was acceptable workplace etiquette."

Bruce raised a brow. "You're rather involved, aren't you? I'm sure someone else could have handled it in your stead. Give you time to decompress."

You shrugged. "That's what Father says, but I like doing things my way. You get to know your employees better like this."

That made him smile despite himself. Your ability to find humour in every situation, to lead without being cold, to carry the weight of an empire and yet talk about it like it was just another Tuesday impressed him more than anything.

All the while, he sat beside you, nodding along without giving you an inkling of what he was hiding. If he told you—if he said your father wasn't just retreating to some hidden beach or vague spiritual journey but was instead being investigated for laundering money through shell companies tied to mob interests—you might stop looking so at peace. You might stop trusting him, and he wasn't quite ready for that.

Eventually, you turned to face him, a lopsided smile pulling at your lips. "I'm boring you, aren't I?"

He shook his head. "No. You never bore me."

Your grin deepened, and you leaned forward to press your cheek against his shoulder affectionately. "You're sweet when you're tired."

Bruce didn't answer. Didn't tell you that sweetness had nothing to do with it. He was simply hanging on to this moment because it might be the last.

When he pressed his lips to the top of your head, you closed your eyes and tilted your face upward, waiting. You were bathed in moonlight where it streamed through the windshield, casting silver onto your cheekbones—beautiful in a way that made something twinge in Bruce's chest.

God, how was he supposed to let this go?

The following week would no doubt bring chaos. Warrants. Arrests. Headlines. And your last name and company would be at the center of it all.

You hadn't done anything. He tried to believe it with every fibre of his being. Nevertheless, innocence wouldn't shield you from collateral damage, and your father's sins had already rooted themselves deep into the legacy you were expected to carry. Bruce knew what it was like, to wear the weight of someone else's mistakes.

He moved before he could talk himself out of it, drinking in the sight of you under the cool glow of Gotham's night. Your eyes were half-lidded with burnout, lips slightly parted as you caught your breath after a long day, and he thought that this might be the last time he'd get to see you like this.

Peaceful. Unburdened. His.

With one hand cradling your jaw, and the other threading through your hair, he kissed you—suddenly, feverishly—as if trying to drink in every second of you before the world tore it away.

You made a sound of surprise against his mouth but didn't pull away, and your lips moved instinctively, the weariness dissipating from your frame as you gripped his lapel.

It was a desperate kiss. Apologetic. Fiercely tender in the way sorrow often was. His mouth moved with urgency as if he could etch himself into your bones through the press of his lips, and his thumb brushed the high point of your cheek, memorizing the shape.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, eyes dark and searching as he pressed his forehead to yours. You whispered something he didn't quite catch, dazed from the intensity of it all, your fingers curling loosely at his chest.

He wanted to tell you everything. He wanted to tell you nothing.

You were the one to break the silence first. "If that's your way of saying congratulations, I approve."

Bruce snickered, still studying you like he hadn't convinced himself you were real. "Not exactly what I had planned."

"Well, if you're going to keep kissing me like the world's ending, you'd better at least feed me first."

"Is that your subtle way of saying you're hungry?"

"No, Bruce. That was me very unsubtly saying I'm starving."

"Right. Dinner."

"Drive, Wayne," you teased, pointing toward the steering wheel. "Or I swear, I'll ditch you for the nearest taco truck."

"Tempting offer," he mused as he shifted the car into gear. "But I had something a little nicer in mind."

"As long as it has fries and something chocolate, I won't be picky."

He nodded. "Fries, chocolate... and anything else you want. Tonight's yours."

You gave him a lazy smile. "Careful. I'll hold you to that."

The following week passed in silence. Not the gentle, comforting kind, but the kind that came before a storm, stretching over your days like a veil. That should have been your first warning.

Your father, without so much as a word of preparation, had flown out of the city on an impromptu vacation. You'd laughed about it on the phone, but you didn't question him. You didn't ask what, exactly, he was vacationing from, simply assuring him that you'd keep everything running in his absence.

Bruce had disappeared too. Vanished into the shadows of whatever double life he lived so deftly. That, you didn't question either. You were used to his absences and loved him despite them.

But this time you had promised yourself it would be different. When he returned, you would confront him. No more pretending not to notice the bruises blooming on his skin like violets in winter. No more silent glances or pretending he was just clumsy. You would ask. Demand. Insist that if he wanted to carry darkness in his marrow, he could at least allow you to help him shoulder the burden. No one should have to endure on their own, least of all him.

Mercifully, the week was uneventful, allowing you to throw yourself headfirst into work, burying yourself beneath spreadsheets, projections, and meetings that bled into late nights. It was exhausting, yes, but it was yours. This new partnership was more than a win. It was the first real step toward something you had built with your own hands, separate from the empire your family name carried. This startup bore your vision. Your effort. Your name.

It had to succeed.

Then came the end. Or, rather, the beginning of it.

It started with the warrants. Then the headlines, the seizure of your childhood home, and the freezing of accounts. Accusations poured in like stormwater, each one a colder betrayal than the last. Investigations sullied every stitch of your life. Your father's name—once gilded in social circles and whispered with respect—now flashed across every screen, tangled in scandal, corruption, and crime.

The man himself was gone without explanation, and you were left to face it alone. The questions you didn't have the answers to, decisions made without your knowledge, strings pulled behind closed doors while you played puppet in boardrooms now turned battlegrounds. Stocks plummeted. Investors withdrew. The empire teetered.

All the while, you sat in sterile rooms with lawyers and crisis managers, trading sleep for strategy, tears for resolve. You plastered on poise like it was armour, but it cracked in the quiet moments.

And Bruce Wayne? He had abandoned you too.

At first, you offered him the benefit of the doubt. Missed calls, unread texts. You told yourself he was somewhere remote and unreachable. Busy. You even whispered forgiveness into the night air, fingers curling around your phone, willing him to call back.

Then came the sightings. He made appearances at galas, the high-rises of Wayne Enterprises, and in glossy society pages, polished as ever. Gotham's prince, untouched by the ruin that had devoured you.

Yet still no call or text. He'd cut you out of his life as easily as removing a puzzle piece that no longer fit.

And God, how you needed someone. Someone who wasn't paid by the hour to listen. Someone who would hold your shaking hands without judgment. Someone who knew the person behind the company. Behind the name. Behind the press statements and tight smiles.

Foolishly, you had once thought that it would be him, but now, with everything crumbling and no one left in the wreckage but you, it seemed even Bruce had abandoned you to the dumpster fire of your life.

Today had been particularly brutal, another day of chasing explanations in courtrooms, of being expected to defend decisions you hadn't made, of trying to hold together the crumbling legacy that now tasted like rust on your tongue. You'd been forced to put your startup on indefinite pause just to keep your family's empire from imploding in real-time.

And still, you were losing.

A part of you wanted to let it burn. Let the headlines win. Let the stockholders protest.

But you couldn't. You owed it to your heritage. To the people who'd built this long before you.

To your father.

Your father who, despite the horrors unveiled in the past week, had once held your hand and told you the stars would bow to you. That you were his pride and joy. The memory of that version of him still clung to you, and though part of you hated him now—for vanishing without explanation, for forcing you to carry the shame of his choices—you still loved him. Loved him enough to wish for his return.

The resentment boiled beneath your skin, nonetheless. For all the speeches about sacrifice and honour, he had vanished. Fled the city without a word. Left you to face the vultures and the wolves.

The media painted him a monster. The government labelled him a criminal. And you, his only child, had been left trying to convince yourself that he'd come back. But you feared it too because if he returned, he would be arrested. If he returned, there would be no more ambiguity to shield you. No more room for hope.

You couldn't even return to the one place in the world that had once made you feel safe.

Your childhood home had been stripped from you like everything else. Ousted, cast out by court orders and federal warrants, as agents and investigators swarmed the grounds in search of evidence. Evidence of what, you still weren't even sure. Your manor was no longer yours to enter, and the home you'd grown up in now belonged to suspicion and strangers.

So instead, you found shelter where the flashbulbs couldn't find you.

A run-down motel on the ragged edge of Gotham. Where the carpets smelled like mildew and the windows didn't lock right. Where the wallpaper peeled like old scabs and the silence could be bought by the hour. No one here cared who you were as long as you could pay them, and that anonymity was the closest thing to peace you could find.

You paced the floor in your socks, a worn patch in the carpet bearing witness to your anxiety.

Outside the door, a drunkard was making a commotion and you didn't have the energy to deal with it. Legal jargon. Press releases. Budget deficits. The ever-climbing mountain of debt. You had enough to deal with.

You cracked open another energy drink—your fourth? Fifth? You'd lost count—and downed it with the mechanical rhythm of survival. The empty can hit the trash with a hollow clang, joining its crumpled kin in the overflowing bin. Evidence of all the nights you'd tried to fix what was no longer fixable.

Finally, you collapsed backward onto the narrow bed, letting the stiff mattress and cheap sheets catch you. The springs groaned under your weight, and the ceiling stared down, stained like everything else in your life.

You turned your head to look at the crooked curtain. The window behind it gave a partial view of the street, where headlights passed like ghosts and neon signs flickered like dying stars. Anyone could look in. You knew that. The first-floor room had been a reckless decision, but what did it matter?

The loneliness returned to coil around your ribs like barbed wire, because you hadn't expected to go through this alone. All you could wish for was that someone—anyone—would tell you what the hell you were supposed to do next.

Bruce Wayne had messed up. He'd messed up big time, and no plan or contingency could protect him from the aftermath of this. Not from the bone-deep ache of knowing he had done the one thing he swore never to do.

He had hurt you. No, worse, he had abandoned you.

The decision to disappear had felt strategic at first, necessary even. A merciful amputation. He had convinced himself that radio silence was a kindness. If he ghosted out of your life completely, then at least you could hate him instead of waiting for him. It was easier. You deserved better. And if he could just stay away, maybe you'd find something like peace again.

But it hurt more than he'd expected it to.

In the bitter hours between midnight and dawn, Bruce sat in the cold of the Batcave, surrounded by monitors and case files and the hum of silence. Your name remained unspoken, but your absence was carved into the air like a phantom. You haunted every inch of him.

In his most delusional moments, he tried to tell himself that you were just a fling. A casual dalliance. A distraction. But the lie always collapsed under the weight of memory.

You weren't some convenient warmth in the dark. You were the kid who used to curl up beside him in the library of Wayne Manor, huddled under the same blanket with a flashlight between you, whispering stories and pretending the world beyond those four walls didn't exist. You were the one who used to help Alfred bake cookies and sneak extras into his coat pockets like a co-conspirator. You were the one who had dragged him out to the gardens to stargaze after his parents' funeral, because you knew he couldn't sleep, and didn't ask why.

Every hallway of his manor remembered you. The way you used to peek around corners before sneaking up behind him. The faded marks on the billiards table from that time you got frustrated and slammed your cue stick in half. The sketch you left framed in the guest room. His home was no longer a home, because you had stopped existing in it.

He'd tried to remove all the signs of you, but each act of erasure only made your absence more apparent.

Worst of all was Afred's disapproval. The old butler didn't say anything directly, but the glances lingered longer, the tea was brewed with a touch too much bitterness, and sometimes Bruce would find the framed picture of the two of you—taken at a gala last year—mysteriously returned to the shelf no matter how many times he tucked it away.

Then there were the galas themselves. Pretending. Performing. Wearing the mask of Gotham's untouchable bachelor again.

Every night without you on his arm was agony. The flash of cameras, the flirtations, the empty laughter, it all made his skin crawl. The socialites gathered to him like moths to a flame, and the tabloids declared him single and so very available again.

But the truth was, he hadn't forgotten you.

He made sure every patrol began and ended outside the dingy motel you'd taken refuge in. A place that made his blood boil with its peeling paint and faulty locks and the creaking sign out front that buzzed half-lit neon into the darkness. He was furious with you for choosing a place so unsafe, but he was even more furious with himself for forcing you into it.

You should have been safe in your own home. Or even in his home, if nowhere else. But he had stripped you of everything and offered you nothing in return.

He did what he could anonymously. He paid off the worst of the paparazzi who managed to tail you. Made sure they didn't get too close, didn't publish the more invasive photos, didn't shout cruel questions in your face. He had them warned—some less gently than others.

He arranged for the more dangerous elements around the motel to disappear. Muggers. Stalkers. Dealers. Drunks. The ones who caused noise in the middle of the night. The ones who might scare you. He made sure they never came back.

He made anonymous contributions to your legal team, to fund the best defence lawyers in Gotham. He whispered into the right ears at the right firms to slow the hemorrhaging of your company stock. And when certain contracts came under scrutiny, he pulled strings to have Wayne Enterprises temporarily shoulder some of the burden without naming you directly.

He was helping from the shadows because he couldn't face you. He couldn't stand the thought of looking you in the eyes and seeing disappointment. Or worse—hatred.

You were the strongest person he knew. You would survive this, but you would not survive him and the ruin that he brought with him everywhere he went. He was poison, and everything he touched eventually soured.

Your life was already on fire, and he had no idea how to put it out without reducing you to charcoal ruin along with everything else had had ever loved and lost.

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