#somehow it keeps getting more complicated

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[wonwoosmagnetic]

No Saints Here | kmg

Pairing : bodyguard!mingyu x rich!reader

Genre : angst, romance, mystery

synopsis :

Some secrets are meant to stay buried. Some love stories were never meant to begin.

Evangeline Perez thought she buried the past along with her sister. But when whispers of the truth resurface, she finds herself tangled in a web of secrets, power, and deception—one that could cost her everything.

Mingyu is a complication she never asked for. Cold, relentless, and far too protective, he’s determined to keep her from chasing ghosts. But Eva has never been one to obey orders, and the deeper she digs, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension pulling them together.

Because some things refuse to stay in the dark.

And some hearts are doomed from the start.

CHAPTER ONE

You had spent your entire life performing.

The daughter of Rafael Perez didn’t get the luxury of being anything else. Every movement, every carefully measured smile, every moment of silence in a room like this—it all meant something. Tonight was no different.

The ballroom glittered under chandeliers, the golden light reflecting off silk gowns and polished shoes. Laughter drifted through the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses, but beneath the practiced pleasantries lay a current of power. Deals were being made, alliances solidified, and Eva, as always, was a pawn on the board.

You lifted a champagne flute to your lips, though she barely took a sip. The bubbles fizzed against your skin, but you weren't drinking. You never drank at these events. Staying sharp was a necessity, not a choice.

--

You sat on your bed, eyes fixed on the blank canvas before you. The brushes, untouched and coated in dust, sat idle on the windowsill. You used to be able to lose yourself in the colors, the strokes, the world you created. But now? Now, it all felt hollow, a reminder of the life you were supposed to want, but couldn’t seem to care about.

Every day felt like you were moving through a fog, playing a part in a show you didn’t audition for. The more the days passed, the more you felt lost. A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts, and before you could even respond, the door creaked open. Rafael Perez, your father, stepped inside with that cold, calculated look he always wore.

His presence was like an impenetrable wall, looming over your every move. “I see the canvas is still here.” he said, his voice devoid of emotion, but there was a clear disappointment in his words.

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond immediately. He’d been saying the same thing for months, as though avoiding painting would somehow fix everything in your life. You stood, brushing your hands together, as though trying to dust off your frustration.

“I told you, I’m not interested in your... ‘vision’ for me, Dad,” you replied, trying to keep your tone neutral, but there was a sharpness to it you couldn’t quite hide. Your father didn’t react to the anger in your voice, like he didn’t even hear it.

He just stepped further into the room, his gaze never leaving yours, and approached the canvas with that same critical look. “You’re wasting your time, Evangeline. You’re wasting your potential. You have a responsibility to the family, to the company, to everything we’ve built.”

You scoffed, folding your arms across your chest. “What about what I want? Does that even matter?” His eyes flickered to you briefly, the hint of irritation flashing in them, but he quickly masked it. “What you want doesn’t matter. What matters is what needs to be done.” He paused for a beat before adding, “I’ve arranged for you to attend an event tonight. Mingyu will be there to make sure you’re... presentable.”

The mention of Mingyu made your stomach twist. You'd almost forgotten about him—almost. That damn bodyguard was always around, like a shadow, looming over your every move. He wasn’t just your father’s watchful eye; he was the constant reminder that you weren't in control of your own life.

Your eyes narrowed. “Mingyu,” you muttered, trying not to let the frustration creep into your voice. “What a surprise.” Rafael turned toward the door, as if the conversation was over, but not before adding, “You should be grateful he’s here. He’s only doing his job. I trust you’ll behave.” Your teeth ground together.

“I’m always behaving, Dad,” you spat, sarcasm dripping from the words. Your father didn’t flinch. “I’ll see you later.” He gave you one last look, this time more piercing, before he left, the door closing behind him with a soft thud. You stood still for a moment, staring at the door, your chest tightening with frustration.

You could hear his footsteps fading down the hallway, but the suffocating feeling remained, heavy in the air. You hated how his presence seemed to fill every corner of your life, like you were never allowed to breathe without someone watching.

And Mingyu? He was just the physical embodiment of everything your father represented. The rules. The control. The expectations. You let out a shaky breath and glanced over at the window, the bright sunlight streaming in, but it felt like the room was closing in on her.

Every day felt the same—tethered to your father’s demands, suffocated by the people he surrounded you with, and watched over by Mingyu.

--

You tossed your phone onto the couch, frustration building in your chest. Another message from your dad about the upcoming event—the usual “you need to look perfect” reminder. You sighed deeply, your fingers dragging through your hair as you sat down beside Caro, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor flipping through a fashion magazine.

The two of you had spent the entire afternoon together, but your mind was miles away. “I hate these events,” you muttered, glancing down at your phone. “Everything’s always so perfect and expected. I feel like I can’t breathe.”

Caro stayed silent, a soft smile playing on her lips as she nodded. She was used to your rants, always ready to listen even though Caro’s own thoughts were a little more complicated when it came to these events. She didn’t have to attend them. She was always on the outside looking in.

You, completely oblivious to the weight of Caro’s thoughts, looked up, her eyes bright with determination. “I need your help. I have to look perfect tonight.” Caro blinked, not sure what to expect. “What do you mean?” Her voice was soft, but she couldn’t quite hide the curiosity.

You tossed her phone aside again and turned to Caro, her eyes lighting up. “I need a dress. Not just any dress—something that'll make a statement, you know? Something that says, ‘I’m here, and I’m not going to play by anyone’s rules’.” Caro’s heart skipped, the awkwardness creeping in as soon as she realized what this was about. She shifted uncomfortably, glancing at the floor.

She knew the drill—Your extravagant events, the expectations, the people. It wasn’t her world. She didn’t belong there. “I—I don’t know if I’m the right person to help with that,” Caro muttered, her voice faltering slightly.

She fiddled with the corner of the magazine, a nervous tick she always had when she was uncomfortable. You, however, didn’t seem to notice. She was already on a roll, thinking about all the details. “But you know fashion better than anyone, Caro. Please, just help me pick something out. I trust you. You always know how to make me look amazing.” Caro didn’t answer immediately.

She just nodded, forcing a small smile, even though the thought of stepping into that world made her feel out of place. She was just the friend—the one who didn't belong to the circle of high society, the one who had to watch it all from the sidelines.

Your excitement seemed to fill the room, making Caro’s discomfort that much more pronounced. You weren't just talking about a dress; you were talking about fitting in with your father’s world, about being the perfect image for all the people who would be watching. And Caro wasn’t even invited to those events.

When you suddenly brightened, your smile widening, Caro’s stomach twisted. “Oh! And you can come as my plus one. I mean, you’ve got nothing to do tonight, right?” Caro’s throat tightened. She stayed silent for a long moment, biting her lip as the awkwardness settled over her like a heavy blanket.

You were expecting her to say yes, but all Caro could think about was how out of place she’d feel surrounded by people who had everything she didn’t.  She forced herself to nod, her voice barely above a whisper. “I... yeah, I guess I can come. If you want me to.”

Your face lit up at her agreement. “Of course, I do! You’re my best friend. You’re going to help me pick out the perfect dress, and then we’ll go together. It’ll be so much fun.” Caro smiled weakly, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

She didn’t want to be the one to burst your bubble, but it was hard not to feel like a pawn in this whole thing. You had no idea how different their worlds were. No idea how uncomfortable it made Caro to be asked to be her “sidekick” in a world that would never accept her.

Instead of speaking up, Caro just nodded again, still feeling out of place. “Sounds fun,” she said quietly, her voice almost sounding distant. You, completely oblivious, bounced up from the couch, heading toward the door.

“Let’s go! We’ve got to find that dress, and then I’ll text Mingyu and tell him I’m all ready to go.” And as you dragged her out the door, Caro couldn’t shake the feeling that this night was going to be another reminder of just how different they truly were.

--

The venue was dazzling—golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over the sea of elegantly dressed guests. Laughter and the soft clinking of glasses filled the space, the air thick with the scent of expensive perfume and champagne.

Everywhere Caro looked, people moved effortlessly, slipping in and out of conversations like they belonged to some secret world she could never quite step into.

You, on the other hand, fit right in. The moment they arrived, you were swept up in a flurry of greetings—soft cheek kisses, perfectly rehearsed compliments, and warm, effortless smiles exchanged between people who had known each other since childhood.

You shined in the dress Caro helped you pick, a sleek midnight blue gown that hugged your form just right. Confidence radiated off you as she laughed, gesturing animatedly while talking to a group of perfectly put-together people.

Caro, however, stood off to the side, her fingers wrapped tightly around the stem of her untouched champagne glass. She shifted on her heels, her dress—borrowed from your closet—feeling a little too tight, a little too foreign.

The conversation around her moved like a fast-flowing river, and she was just a rock stuck on the bank, watching it all pass her by. You had promised they’d stick together, but within minutes, she was off mingling, seamlessly blending into the crowd.

Caro swallowed, her gaze flickering over the room. There was no one here she knew, no one who would even think to talk to her. And maybe that was the point—she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was just the friend. The outsider.

Caro swallowed, her gaze flickering over the room. There was no one here she knew, no one who would even think to talk to her. And maybe that was the point—she wasn’t supposed to be here. She was just the friend. The outsider.

"You know you have to say no to her someday, right?" The deep, measured voice made her flinch. She turned to find Seungcheol Perez- your brother, standing beside her, a crystal glass of whiskey in one hand.

His dark brown eyes, always sharp and unreadable, carried a hint of amusement as he glanced toward Eva, who was across the room, laughing with a group of perfectly polished socialites. Caro sighed. "Oh, is this where you deliver another one of your grand lectures?" He smirked, tilting his glass slightly.

"Not a lecture. Just an observation." He took a slow sip. "She drags you into this world like you belong here. But we both know you don’t." Caro scoffed, arms crossing over her chest. "Wow. Thanks for the vote of confidence." He chuckled lightly.

"I’m just saying, you let her pull you around like a shadow." There was teasing in his voice, but something else, too. Something heavier. "She’s my best friend," Caro muttered, glancing at you again. Seungcheol nodded. "I know."

His voice softened, just slightly. Then, after a pause, "But you don’t always have to say yes just because she asks." Caro hesitated, shifting on her feet. "Why do you even care?" He tilted his head slightly, considering her. "Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just enjoy watching you squirm." Caro huffed out a quiet laugh despite herself.

"You are the absolute worst."

"Mm." He smirked again. "And yet, here you are, still talking to me." She rolled her eyes, but the warmth between them was unmistakable. Seungcheol may have been blunt, but he wasn’t cruel. And despite everything, she knew he was right—you never saw how hard it was for her to be in this world. But Seungcheol did.

And for the first time that night, standing beside him, Caro didn’t feel so alone. “Come here to steal my best friend as well?” Your voice cut through the air, her words dripping with barely-contained irritation as she approached them. There was no warmth in her tone, only an edge of frustration. Her eyes narrowed as they settled on Seungcheol.

He didn’t react, his expression calm as always, though there was an underlying tension that was hard to ignore. He took a casual sip from his drink, his gaze steady on you as he replied, "I’m not stealing anyone, Evangeline. Just having a conversation." Your lips tightened into a thin line. You didn’t miss a beat.

"You should know better than to waste your time," you said coldly, your voice flat, like she was talking to a subordinate. “If you’re not here to work, I don’t know what you’re doing.” There was no affection in your words—just the distant, sharp edge of someone who had long ago put up walls. Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “I’m not here to waste anyone’s time,” he replied, his tone smooth, his posture professional.

Your gaze shifted to Caro for a split second, “you really think I need you to babysit her too?” Seungcheol glanced briefly at Caro, whose awkwardness was palpable, before responding in a level voice. "I’m not babysitting her, Evangeline. We’re just talking." You took a step closer, your heels clicking against the floor in a purposeful way. “It’s not your job to talk to her,” you said with a brittle smile, now aiming your words directly at him.

“So why don’t you go find something else to do?” Caro felt herself shrink a little, the tension in the air thickening with every word. She wasn’t sure what had caused the rift between them, but it was clear that whatever it was, it was deep—and it wasn’t about her. Seungcheol didn't flinch.

He met her sharp gaze with the same unflinching calm. "You really don’t need to control everything, Evangeline." Your eyes flashed for a moment, your jaw clenching as your fingers curled slightly around your drink. “And you don’t need to lecture me," you snapped back, your voice low but cutting.

“You’re not in charge here. Stay out of it.” There was a moment of silence before Seungcheol sighed, as if he was tired of this back-and-forth, but he didn't show it. "Fine," he said simply, his voice calm as always. "Enjoy your night." He says raising the glass in Caro's direction as he leaves. Caro watched as Seungcheol disappeared into the crowd, and for a moment, she felt an ache in her chest.

But before she could linger on it, your voice broke through. "I don’t know why he has to make such a scene everywhere he goes." Caro didn’t even look up at you. Instead, she took a slow sip from her drink, trying to steady the chaos in her mind.

"It’s not a scene," she replied quietly. Caro let out a soft breath, glancing over at you, who was clearly still fuming. She could feel the weight of the conversation, but at this point, she wasn’t going to let it ruin her night. Not when you had gone out of her way to make sure they were having fun tonight.

“We don’t like him, Caro. He’s is an asshole,” You said again, her voice steady, but there was a sharpness in it that made it clear you weren't backing down. Caro nodded, her eyes scanning the crowd for a moment, avoiding the topic. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “Yeah, of course. I was just—” “There is no ‘just,’ Caro. He is a fuck up, and I won’t let him ruin our night,” You cut in, more serious now, your expression set. Caro turned back to you, her voice a little quieter as she sighed. “Yeah, yeah obviously.”

There wasn’t much else she could add. She knew you were just looking out for her, but sometimes it felt like everyone had an opinion on Seungcheol. He was complicated, yes—hard to deal with, yes—but he was her friend, and that made things harder. She didn’t want to argue with you about it. Not now. Not tonight.

Caro let the music wash over her, the bass thudding beneath her feet as she tried to shake off the lingering tension. You, on the other hand, had already moved on, flagging down a server to order another round. “You need to stop letting him get under your skin,” Caro said, forcing a smile as she leaned against the bar beside her best friend. You scoffed, picking up your drink.

“I don’t. He’s just always in the way.” You tossed back a sip, your nails drumming against the glass. “It’s pathetic, honestly. He acts like he’s some kind of protector.” Caro hesitated, glancing down at her own drink. “Maybe he’s just—” “Don’t,” You cut in, her voice firm. “You don’t owe him the benefit of the doubt, Caro. Not him.”

Caro swallowed back her words. There was something unshakable in your voice, something that made arguing feel pointless. Maybe you were right. Maybe Seungcheol wasn’t worth defending. But if that were true, why did Caro feel the way she did? Before she could think too much about it, a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Ladies.” Caro turned, blinking as she took in the man who had appeared beside them. Sleek suit, charming smirk, an air of confidence that was just a little too polished. Elias Park. Your posture relaxed instantly, a slow smile curling at your lips. “Elias,” you greeted, tilting your head in interest.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.” “I could say the same,” he replied smoothly, his dark eyes flicking over to Caro for a second before returning to you. “But then again, you do have a habit of making any place worth being at.” You let out a quiet laugh, clearly enjoying the attention. Caro, however, just gave a small, polite smile before turning back to her drink.

Elias leaned a little closer, lowering his voice. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you.” You raised a brow, intrigued. “Oh?” “Yeah.” His eyes gleamed under the dim lighting. “There’s something I think you’d be very interested in.” Caro barely heard the rest of the conversation.

Her mind was elsewhere, her thoughts drifting back to Seungcheol. Something about the way he left—unbothered on the surface, but carrying something heavier underneath—stuck with her. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over.

[zwombiekochan341]

♡ YANDERE SUGURU GETO & YANDERE SATORU GOJO FIGHTING OVER YOU ♡

- Obsession & Rivalry -

Both Gojo and Geto fall hard for you, but their ways of expressing love are very different.

Gojo is openly possessive—he constantly flirts, invades your space, and makes it clear that he’s the only one you need.

Geto, on the other hand, is quietly obsessive—he watches you closely, subtly manipulating situations so that you rely on him.

They both see each other as the biggest obstacle standing between them and having you all to themselves.

- How They Treat You -

Gojo: Smothers you with affection, constantly teasing, touching, and making sure you never forget he’s around.

“C’mon, why would you even look at him when you have me?”

Geto: Plays the long game, making you feel safe with him, subtly convincing you that he’s the only one who truly understands you.

“Gojo treats this like a joke, but I actually care about you. You know that, don’t you?”

- Manipulation & Mind Games -

Both of them are master manipulators, and they use their skills to turn you against the other.

Gojo: Makes you feel like Geto is too serious, too controlling, and that you’d have more fun if you stayed with him.

“Why do you wanna hang out with him? He’s so boring! I’m way more fun, don’t you think?”

Geto: Makes you feel like Gojo is reckless, unreliable, and doesn’t truly care about you the way he does.

“Gojo only wants you because he can’t stand losing. I, on the other hand… I love you.”

In the end, they both mess with your mind so much that you don’t know who to trust.

- Extreme Possessiveness & Control -

If you try to distance yourself from one of them, the other immediately takes advantage of the situation.

Gojo might sweep you away, teleporting you to some unknown place, just to prove you belong with him.

“Aww, you’re upset? Here, let’s go somewhere far away where it’s just the two of us~”

Geto might subtly manipulate your life, making it impossible to function without his help.

“I warned you about Gojo, didn’t I? He’s reckless. But I’ll protect you.”

- How Far Would They Go? -

If one of them tries to take you away, the other wouldn’t let it slide.

Gojo would act like it’s all a game—until Geto actually succeeds in keeping you away. Then, he’d get dead serious.

“Okay, Suguru, that’s cute and all, but you know you’re not keeping them away from me, right?”

Geto would act like he’s in control, but deep down, he knows Gojo is the only person who can match him.

“You’re powerful, Satoru, but you’re reckless. You don’t deserve them.”

They would fight over you, but their shared history and twisted bond make it complicated. Neither wants to kill the other outright, but if it comes down to you, neither is above doing whatever it takes.

- Kidnapping & Endgame -

At some point, one (or both) would decide that you need to be taken away for good.

If Gojo wins, he whisks you away somewhere completely isolated. You’ll have everything you want—except freedom.

“Relax, babe~ You don’t need him. You’ve got me, and I’m never letting you go.”

If Geto wins, he makes sure you’re completely dependent on him, keeping you in a place where no one—not even Gojo—can reach you.

“Now that you’re finally safe with me, you’ll understand… You belong to me.”

But no matter who wins, the other will never stop looking for you.

- True Horror: A Shared Possession -

If they somehow come to an agreement, things get even worse. Instead of fighting over you, they decide that you belong to both of them.

Gojo keeps things lighthearted, acting as if this is all a fun game, while Geto enforces the idea that resisting is pointless.

“See? Now there’s no need to fight~ You’re ours. Forever.”

[izumkay]

~KNOTTED DESIRES~ |CH-4|

—SATORU GOJO

♡Pairing- SatoruGojo×Fem!Reader (main), Nanami×Reader.

♡Summary- As a new teacher, you step into the prestigious halls of a modern high school, ready to guide and inspire your students. But your plans take an unexpected turn when Satoru Gojo, a charismatic and self-assured senior, makes a move on you, challenging your boundaries and professional. What starts as a clash of personalities quickly evolves into a forbidden connection, leaving you both caught in a whirlwind of desires.

Gerne/Tags- Age difference(8 years), Student-Teacher relationship, Satoru is obsessed over you, high school setting, Love triangle, complicated relationship, happy ending.

Warnings!- MDNI. Explicit sexual content, angst, mentions of death, blood, fluff, strong language, hurt/comfort.

Wc- 9.1k

Previous chapter!

It was Friday afternoon, and the school library was quieter than usual, the only sound being the occasional rustle of pages turning or the soft tapping of keys from students finishing their assignments. You were seated at one of the long tables, your textbooks and notes spread out in front of you. Gojo sat across from you, a smug look on his face as he pretended to focus on the math problems you had written out for him.

"You know," you said, trying to keep your tone even, "you’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t at least try."

Gojo leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, that signature grin still plastered on his face. "I’m trying," he said, though his posture clearly suggested otherwise. "It’s just more fun watching you get frustrated."

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. It was always the same with him. No matter how much you tried to help, he always found a way to make it harder. His charm, his teasing—it was a constant distraction. You glanced at the clock, wondering how much longer this was going to take.

"You’re not taking this seriously," you said, shaking your head. "I don’t know why you even asked for tutoring if you’re not going to—"

Gojo interrupted you, leaning forward slightly. "I am serious. But you’ve got to admit, I’m kind of fun to be around, right?"

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. "That’s not the point."

"Sure it is," he said with a wink. "But we can get to that later."

You felt your face heat up slightly at his boldness, but you quickly dismissed it. He was always like this, pushing boundaries just to see how far he could go. It was infuriating, yet… somehow, you couldn’t help but feel a small part of you intrigued by it.

The tension in the air was palpable. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the math problems in front of you, but Gojo’s presence was impossible to escape. His gaze never left you, his eyes playful, almost daring you to look at him.

"Alright, Missy," he said, breaking the silence. "What’s next? I’m getting bored."

You shot him a pointed look, but before you could respond, Gojo leaned forward, his voice dropping low. "You know, you look cute when you’re frustrated."

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt a flutter in your chest, quickly squashing it down. You couldn’t let him get to you.

"Stop," you said, your voice a little firmer than you intended. "Focus, Gojo."

He didn’t seem phased, though. He just smiled, leaning even closer across the table, his breath warm against your skin.

"Come on, just one more round of problems. If I get them right, maybe we can call it a day," he teased, his voice low and smooth.

You couldn’t deny that the way he was acting, the way he was looking at you—it was starting to affect you. You shifted in your seat, trying to ignore the rising heat in your chest, the way your body responded to his proximity.

"Fine," you said, your voice a little shaky. "Let’s get through this, and then we’ll call it a day."

Gojo’s smile widened, and he leaned back in his chair again, but the playful glint in his eyes never disappeared. The tension was thick, and you couldn’t help but wonder how long you could keep pretending that everything was fine. How long you could keep resisting the pull he seemed to have on you.

Gojo stretched lazily, his arms reaching high above his head as he let out a dramatic sigh. "I’ve got all day, Missy. But I don’t know if you do." His voice was smooth, laced with a teasing undertone, and the way his eyes glinted only made your heart beat faster.

You ignored the flutter in your chest and turned your attention back to the math problems. "You can’t be serious. Focus."

But as you started to explain the next problem, you felt his eyes on you again, studying you in a way that made you self-conscious. His gaze never wavered, and you found it hard to concentrate on the numbers in front of you.

"I think you’re distracting me on purpose," you muttered, your voice almost too quiet.

Gojo chuckled, his smirk never fading. "What? Me? Distract you?" He leaned in closer, resting his chin on his hand as he stared directly at you. "I’m just here for the tutoring, Missy. Don’t flatter yourself."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your pulse quickening as the space between you seemed to shrink. The quiet tension in the air felt thick, almost suffocating. It was as if you were teetering on the edge of something, something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

Gojo, noticing your discomfort, leaned back again, but his eyes still held that same intensity. "I’m just messing with you," he said casually, though there was a playful edge to his words. "But seriously, you’re cute when you’re all flustered."

You tried to ignore him, focusing on the math again, but his words kept circling in your mind. Cute. Flustered.

Why was it so hard to focus when he was around?

"Okay, okay," Gojo said, his voice suddenly softer, though still playful. "Let’s actually get through this, then. I’m kind of curious to see if I can impress you."

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Impress me?"

He nodded, that smug grin never leaving his face. "Yeah. Let’s see if I can do this right. Then maybe you’ll finally stop giving me that look."

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. "What look?"

"The ‘I’m-so-done-with-you’ look," he said, his voice mocking but playful. "You know the one. It’s cute, but I’m sure I can change it to something else."

You bit your lip, trying to ignore the rising heat in your cheeks. Why does he always do this?

"Focus, Gojo," you said again, though your voice was quieter this time, more hesitant.

Gojo didn’t say anything for a moment. He just stared at you, his eyes searching yours as if trying to figure out what you were thinking.

And then, just as quickly, he leaned in once more, his lips just inches from your ear. "I can tell when you’re not focused, you know," he whispered, his voice low and teasing. "You’re thinking about something else. Something you don’t want to admit."

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing. Your heart raced, and your breath caught in your throat.

You tried to push him away, to keep some distance between you, but he was relentless. His presence was overwhelming, his words sinking deep under your skin.

Before you could respond, Gojo pulled back slightly, that damn smirk back in place. "I think I’ve made my point," he said with a wink.

You sat there, heart pounding, mind swirling. You wanted to say something, to scold him, to tell him off. But for some reason, the words just wouldn’t come. You were too caught up in the heat of the moment, the pull between you two growing stronger with each passing second.

You tried to focus on the math again, but your mind was a mess. His voice, his presence, it all lingered in the air around you. You could feel the heat from his body still radiating in the small space between you, and it was making it almost impossible to think clearly.

Gojo noticed the shift in your demeanor and, instead of continuing with the lesson, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze still fixed on you. "You know," he started, his tone casual, but there was an underlying seriousness in it, "you’re not like the others."

You glanced at him, unsure of where this was going. "What do you mean?"

He grinned, that trademark smirk playing on his lips. "You’re not easily distracted, and you actually care about your job. It’s kind of… impressive." His eyes softened for a brief moment, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time. "Most people would’ve given up on me by now."

You swallowed, feeling your heart beat faster at his words. "Well, I’m not like most people," you said, trying to maintain your professional composure.

Gojo chuckled softly, clearly enjoying the little back-and-forth. "No, you’re not. You’re different. But I’m not complaining."

The way he said it, the weight behind those words, made something shift in the air. It wasn’t just playful teasing anymore. There was a deeper undertone to it now, something more serious.

You looked away, feeling your cheeks flush despite yourself. Why does he have this effect on me?

"Alright," you said, clearing your throat, trying to focus again. "Let’s get back to the math. You want to impress me? Then do this problem."

You handed him a new sheet of problems, but Gojo didn’t even glance at it right away. Instead, he just watched you, his expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, almost suffocating, and you couldn’t help but feel the tension growing. You were hyper-aware of every little movement he made, every breath he took.

Then, Gojo finally spoke, his voice low and soft. "I could really get used to this, you know."

You blinked, confused. "Get used to what?"

He leaned forward again, closing the space between you two, his gaze intense. "Spending time with you. It’s… nice. Even if you’re driving me crazy."

You felt your breath hitch, and your mind went blank. "Gojo, we—"

He interrupted you with a smirk. "I’m not asking for anything serious, Missy. Just… some fun. But I’m not going to lie. You’re a little harder to crack than I thought."

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a second, you couldn’t speak. His words, his proximity, everything was overwhelming.

But before you could gather your thoughts, Gojo sat back in his chair, his smirk widening. "So, what’s it gonna be, Missy? Are you going to keep trying to ignore this thing between us, or are you gonna finally admit you’re at least a little curious?"

The challenge in his voice was unmistakable, and it made your pulse quicken. You wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop playing games. But you also couldn’t deny that part of you was intrigued.

The bell rang, signaling the end of your tutoring session. Gojo stood up, stretching again. "Well, I guess we’ll have to continue this next time, huh?"

You couldn’t even respond right away, still reeling from everything that had just happened. Gojo winked at you before walking out of the library, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

Gojo walked down the hallway, his mind racing with thoughts of how to get closer to you. Why won’t she just give in? He thought, irritation creeping into his mind. She’s so damn stubborn. But that stubbornness only made him more determined. After all, a bet was a bet, and he never lost.

He couldn’t help but replay the moments in the library, the way you looked when you were close to him, how your breath hitched when he spoke to you. There was something there, he knew it. You were just playing hard to get, but Gojo wasn’t about to let that stop him.

How could I make her crack? He leaned against a wall, tapping his fingers rhythmically. He thought back to his interactions with you, each one more charged than the last. You were always trying to maintain your professionalism, but he could see the way you’d get flustered, the little cracks in your armor.

A wicked smile spread across his face. I’ll just keep pushing. She’ll break sooner or later.

Gojo’s mind shifted to how he could escalate things, keep up the tension without crossing the line—at least not yet. Maybe another tutoring session… but this time, I’ll make it personal. I’ll get her alone again, get her thinking about me. He liked the idea of you being the one who couldn’t focus, who couldn’t stop thinking about him.

But there was still something about you that made him hesitate. He couldn’t put his finger on it. You weren’t like the others. He wasn’t used to feeling this uncertain, and that made it all the more exciting.

"Whatever," Gojo muttered to himself. "I’ll figure it out."

He pushed off the wall and walked toward the exit, a plan already forming in his mind. Tomorrow’s Saturday. I’ve got the whole weekend to figure out how to make her crack.

☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ☆ﾟ⁠.⁠*⁠･⁠｡ﾟ

The next morning, you stepped out of the shower, your skin still damp and warm from the water. You wrapped a towel around your body, wiping droplets from your hair as you moved to your bedside table. As you reached for your phone, it buzzed loudly, interrupting the quiet of your room.

You glanced at the screen, and of course, the name that popped up made your stomach twist. Gojo.

"Hey Missy," the message read. "Can you come over? I'm feeling pretty sick. Could really use your help."

Your eyes widened slightly. Was he really inviting you over? You couldn’t tell if it was a joke, another one of his games, or if he was actually serious this time. The words felt almost too casual, but the thought of him being genuinely unwell made your heart beat a little faster. What’s his game this time? you thought, feeling the familiar annoyance bubble up in your chest.

You hesitated, staring at the message for a moment. You know better than this, you told yourself. This could be another one of his tricks. He’s just playing around again. But despite your better judgment, a small part of you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he really did need help.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. Don’t fall for it. Not again.

But you couldn’t help it. The idea of going over there, of seeing Gojo in a different, vulnerable light, was tempting. Still, you needed to stay professional.

You took a deep breath, your fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond.

You stared at the screen for a long moment, the silence in your room only adding to the pressure of making a decision. Should I go? You knew it was a bad idea. You’re his teacher. You can’t just drop everything for him.

But Gojo was different. Always unpredictable, always teasing, always pushing you to your limits. And now, he was asking for your help? You couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or just trying to manipulate you once again.

Your fingers hovered over the screen, hesitating. What if he’s actually sick? The thought lingered in your mind, but you quickly shook it off. No. He’s playing a game.

You could feel your pulse quicken as your thoughts raced. Finally, with a sigh, you typed back:

"I’m not a nurse, Gojo. What do you need me for?"

The moment you sent it, you regretted it. It felt too cold, too professional, and you were sure Gojo would just tease you for it.

A few moments passed before his response pinged back.

"Just a little company, missy. You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you? I promise, I’m really sick. Could use a friendly face."

The message was casual, almost too casual, and yet the part about him being "sick" made your heart skip a beat. You tried to push that feeling away, focusing instead on how to keep things professional.

You took another breath, considering your options. The idea of going over there—seeing Gojo in his own space, vulnerable—made you uneasy, but part of you was curious. Was this just another game, or was there something else to it?

Finally, you typed out a response.

"Fine. I’ll stop by. But don’t expect anything more than that."

You hit send, not giving yourself a chance to second-guess. A moment later, Gojo’s reply came through, simple and teasing as ever.

"You’re the best, Missy. See you soon. ;)”

You put your phone down, feeling the weight of your decision settle over you. What the hell have I just agreed to?

You stood there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at the message as if willing it to change. But it didn’t. You had agreed.

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You quickly gathered yourself, forcing the nerves down, knowing you had to stay composed. You couldn’t let Gojo get the better of you again. After all, this was just a visit to check on him, right? Nothing more.

With a deep breath, you changed into something casual but still appropriate, grabbing your bag and heading out. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Gojo, imagining what his apartment might be like, how he would act now that it was just the two of you. You couldn’t help but feel that familiar mix of frustration and… something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

When you arrived at his place, the door was already slightly ajar. Gojo, ever the tease, was clearly expecting you. You knocked once, just in case, before pushing it open.

“Missy! You made it!” Gojo’s voice rang out, far too cheerful for someone who claimed to be sick. He was lounging on his couch, looking as laid-back as ever, a dramatic sigh escaping him as he laid a hand over his forehead, clearly pretending to be exhausted.

“Really?” You crossed your arms, eyebrow raised. “You’re ‘sick,’ and this is how you look?”

He flashed you a grin. “I’m very sick, Missy. You have to help me get better.” He winked playfully, clearly enjoying your annoyance.

You rolled your eyes, walking further into the apartment. “I don’t think I can help you with that,” you said, trying to sound firm. “What do you actually need?”

Gojo patted the spot next to him on the couch. “Well, for starters, some company wouldn’t hurt. Come sit with me. It’s lonely here without you.” His voice was smooth, almost coaxing, but there was something playful about it.

You hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down at the far end of the couch, keeping a comfortable distance between you. "You’re lucky I’m even here,” you muttered under your breath, but he heard it. Of course, he did.

“Lucky? No, Missy. You’re lucky I let you in,” he teased, sitting up and leaning toward you. “Besides, I think you enjoy being here with me. Don’t lie.”

You looked away, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air. He was right, in a way. Despite everything, despite how much he irritated you, there was a part of you that couldn’t ignore the pull. You shook your head, trying to clear the thoughts that had no business entering your mind.

“Well, what exactly am I supposed to do?” you asked, attempting to keep things light, but the words felt forced.

Gojo stretched lazily, still watching you with that smug, infuriating smirk. “For now? Just stay here. You can keep me company, maybe even make me some tea.” He paused. “But, I’ll let you know when I need something else.”

The double meaning hung in the air, and you could feel your heart race slightly. You didn’t know what to expect from Gojo anymore, and that was the problem. You couldn’t let your guard down.

You sat there, trying to remain calm, but Gojo's behavior was grating on your nerves. The audacity he had, acting as if you were there for his amusement. The playful tone, the teasing, it was all too much.

Was he seriously bossing you around like this?

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but the irritation built up too quickly. His casual, carefree demeanor only added to the frustration that had been bubbling inside you since the moment you agreed to come over.

"Can you show me some respect?" you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. You had held your composure for so long, but Gojo’s blatant disregard for your boundaries had crossed the line.

Gojo blinked, momentarily surprised by the sudden shift in your tone. He straightened up slightly, but his smirk never faltered. "What? I’m just having some fun with you, Missy."

You stood up from the couch, the tension thick in the air. "I’m not your personal servant, Gojo," you continued, your voice tight with frustration. "I thought you were really sick. I came here because I was worried. But here you are, perfectly fine, wasting my time."

His smirk faltered, but only for a second, before he leaned back casually. "Oh come on, I’m just messing with you. You really think I need a tutor when I’ve got this much charm?" His tone was light, but there was an underlying hint of something more.

"No, I don’t think you need a tutor," you said, your patience wearing thin. "But I thought, for once, you could take something seriously." You shook your head, feeling the anger rise in your chest. "I’ve already wasted enough of my time with you. You’ve disrespected me enough, Gojo. I’m leaving."

You turned to leave, but before you could make it to the door, Gojo’s voice stopped you.

“Hey, wait,” he said, sounding more serious than before. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to piss you off.”

You paused, your hand on the door handle, still seething with frustration. You wanted to leave, to get away from him and this ridiculous situation. But something about his tone, the slight change in his demeanor, made you hesitate.

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. “You can’t just apologize and expect everything to be okay, Gojo. This isn’t a joke to me.”

Gojo’s eyes softened slightly, the smirk still present, but there was a hint of sincerity behind it. “I know. I just… I don’t know how to handle you sometimes.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to make of his words. “Well, maybe you should start by showing some respect.”

He nodded, finally sitting up straighter, looking at you with something more than just playful teasing. “I’ll try,” he said, voice quieter now. “But you have to admit, it’s kinda fun to mess with you.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “I can’t believe I’m still here, listening to this.”

“I promise, I’ll be more serious next time,” he added, his voice now carrying a bit of the charm you had come to expect, but there was a hint of something else beneath it.

You were about to say something, but you stopped yourself. Maybe he was right—maybe you needed to learn to not take him so seriously. Or maybe he just needed to learn how to take you seriously.

With one last glance at him, you finally gave in. “Fine. But don’t ever pull something like this again. I don’t have time to waste on your games.”

Gojo flashed you that trademark smirk, the one that always made your heart race, but there was a quiet understanding in his eyes. "You have my word, Missy."

You walked out of his apartment, the air outside feeling strangely refreshing. Your heart was still pounding, but it wasn’t just from the frustration anymore. You couldn’t deny the pull, the way Gojo had managed to get under your skin, once again.

And now, you had to wonder… how much longer could you keep this up?

You stepped out into the cool air, feeling a strange mixture of relief and frustration. The confrontation with Gojo had left you with more questions than answers. What was it about him that made your heart race and your mind spin? Why couldn’t you shake the feeling that there was more to him than just his teasing persona?

As you walked down the hallway, you replayed the moments in his apartment. His nonchalance, his cocky smirk, the way he could make you feel both irritated and... something else. You were a teacher, a professional. You had boundaries, and Gojo had made it clear he was more than willing to test them.

But you couldn’t deny the pull. Despite your better judgment, there was something magnetic about him, something that made it hard to walk away and stay mad. Maybe it was his charm. Or maybe it was his confidence, his ability to make everything seem like a game, even when you knew it shouldn’t be.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts. You pulled it out, already knowing who it was.

"Sorry for messing with you. Don’t be mad, Missy. Let’s call it even, yeah?"

You stared at the message, biting your lip. It was simple. It was an apology, of sorts. But it felt like he was still playing his game, trying to reel you back in.

"You really think an apology makes everything okay?" You replied.

A few seconds later, his response came through.

"Maybe not. But I think we both know I’m hard to stay mad at."

You rolled your eyes, even though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. He had a way of getting under your skin, but somehow, he always knew how to smooth things over—just enough to keep you from walking away.

You didn’t reply immediately. Instead, you shoved your phone back into your pocket and tried to shake off the feeling of being pulled in by him. You needed to stay focused, keep your distance. After all, you were his teacher, and you couldn’t afford to get caught up in his games.

But as you made your way to your car, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you were already too deep. And maybe, just maybe, Gojo knew it too.

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Later that evening, as you settled into your routine at home, your phone buzzed again, already knowing who is it from.

"Just wanted to check in. I’m actually feeling kinda bad now. But I’m still hoping you’ll give me another chance to make it up to you. Dinner tomorrow?"

You stared at the message for a long time, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. You had already told yourself not to get involved, not to let Gojo’s charm and confidence lead you astray.

But something inside you hesitated. You had a choice. You could say no, stand your ground, and keep the professional distance you’d always promised yourself. Or you could say yes, let him continue to mess with your head, to make you feel like you were just another part of his game.

You closed your eyes, took a deep breath, and typed your response.

"Fine. But no more games, Gojo. Dinner, and then we’re done. Got it?"

The reply came almost instantly.

"Deal. You’ll see, I’m better at this than you think."

You sighed, putting your phone down. You knew you should have said no, should have ended this before it even started. But you also knew, deep down, that it was already too late.

After a few seconds, you immediately regretted your decision.

Fuck, you thought to yourself, your heart sinking. What am I doing? You were his teacher, for God’s sake. How could you be so impulsive? You had just agreed to go out to dinner with him—just like that. What were you thinking?

You ran a hand through your hair, pacing around your apartment. You were feeling a mix of frustration and guilt. You couldn’t let yourself get tangled up in whatever game Gojo was playing. He was charming, yes, and had this knack for making you feel things you didn’t want to feel, but you couldn’t forget who you were—who you were supposed to be.

You sat down on your couch, taking a deep breath and trying to compose yourself. You’d made your choice, and now you had to face the consequences. You weren’t sure what exactly Gojo wanted from you, but you couldn’t ignore the feeling that you were walking into dangerous territory.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up your phone and looked at the message again. His words were casual, easy—like this was nothing. Like he didn’t have any idea what kind of trouble he was causing. Or maybe he did, and that was part of the thrill for him.

You stared at your screen for a while, your thumb hovering over the keyboard, before you finally set the phone down and decided to sleep on it. There was no point in overthinking it now. Whatever this was, you would have to face it tomorrow. And for now, you needed rest.

But as you lay in bed, you couldn’t help but feel that knot in your stomach, knowing that tomorrow night would be anything but ordinary.

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The next evening, you stood in front of your mirror, trying to decide what to wear. You hadn’t expected things to spiral into this when you agreed to help Gojo with his math. The thought of dinner with him made your stomach twist. You had a strong feeling he wasn’t just interested in food or math, but you had to follow through now.

Focus, you told yourself, It’s just dinner. It’s not like anything will happen. You’re just going to eat and go home. Professional.

You finally settled on a simple outfit—nothing too revealing, but enough to keep things professional. You didn’t want to give Gojo the wrong impression, but at the same time, you didn’t want to look too stiff.

As you arrived at the restaurant, you couldn’t shake the nerves building up in your chest. The place was quiet, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air. Gojo was already there, casually leaning against the table, looking like he owned the entire place. He spotted you immediately, of course, and flashed that same infuriating smirk.

"Missy, you actually showed up," he said, voice light, teasing. "I was starting to think you’d bail on me."

You gave him a tight smile, trying to maintain composure. "I don’t back out of promises," you said, sitting down across from him. "Let’s just get this over with."

Gojo raised an eyebrow but didn’t push the issue. He sat down and waved the waiter over, his easy charm apparent as he made small talk with the staff. You couldn’t help but notice how effortless it was for him to slip into that carefree attitude. He had a way of making everything seem so simple.

As the dinner continued, you tried to focus on the conversation. He spoke about school, about his plans for the future, but you couldn’t stop yourself from being distracted. Every now and then, you’d catch him glancing at you, his gaze lingering just a bit longer than it should.

"Are you gonna keep staring at me like that?" you finally asked, your voice a little sharper than you intended.

Gojo leaned back in his chair, his smirk widening. "You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I can see how you look at me," he said, his voice dropping slightly, almost teasing. "I think you’re enjoying this a little more than you want to admit."

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, you simply stared at him, your heart beating a little faster. He had a way of disarming you, making you question your own feelings. But you had to stay in control. You couldn’t let him get the better of you.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Gojo’s gaze was still on you, his smirk never wavering, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. You weren’t used to being in this kind of situation—alone with a student, especially one like him.

"You really think you have me all figured out, don’t you?" you finally said, trying to break the tension. You couldn’t just sit there, letting him toy with you. You had to stay professional.

Gojo leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table as he looked at you with a more serious expression. "I know more than you think," he said softly. "You can pretend all you want, but I can see through you."

Your pulse quickened. Why is he doing this?

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, your mind racing. "What exactly do you want from me, Gojo?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question had been on your mind all evening, and you needed an answer. This wasn’t just about tutoring anymore. There was something else at play here, and you couldn’t ignore it.

Gojo didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just studied you, his eyes darkening slightly as he took in your expression. "I don’t think you’re as innocent as you act," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I know what you’re thinking."

Your heart skipped a beat. You couldn’t deny the attraction that had been building between you two. But that didn’t mean you could just give in to it. You were his teacher, and that line couldn’t be crossed.

"You’re crossing a line, Gojo," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You need to stop."

But Gojo only smiled wider, that confident, unshakable smirk of his never leaving his face. "I don’t think I am," he said, his voice now tinged with amusement. "I’m just having a little fun. Don’t worry, Missy, I’m not going to do anything you don’t want."

You clenched your fists under the table, trying to suppress the frustration building inside you. He was playing with fire, and you couldn’t tell if he even realized it.

"Let’s just finish this dinner," you said, your voice sharp now. "We’re not going to talk about this anymore."

Gojo seemed to sense your shift in mood, his smirk fading slightly. He leaned back in his chair, looking at you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something unreadable.

"Alright, Missy," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "We’ll talk about it later, then."

The rest of the evening passed in relative silence. The tension between you both was thick, but neither of you acknowledged it directly. As the dinner came to an end, Gojo stood up and gave you a look that made your stomach flip.

"Same time next week?" he asked, his voice light again, as if nothing had happened.

You hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond. "I’ll let you know," you said, standing up and grabbing your things. "Good night, Gojo."

"Good night, Missy," he said, his voice smooth and almost too casual. "Sleep well."

You walked out of the restaurant, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. What had just happened? What was this strange connection you had with him? You didn’t know, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over.

As you walked away from the restaurant, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his gaze lingering on you. Your thoughts were clouded, your heart still racing from the tension of the evening. You were trying to push it all out of your mind, but you couldn’t ignore how easily he got under your skin. It wasn’t supposed to be this way—he wasn’t supposed to have this much of an effect on you.

Apologies for the misunderstanding! Here’s the continuation, incorporating your feedback:

But just as you turned the corner to head home, you heard hurried footsteps behind you. You barely had time to react before a familiar voice called out.

"Wait!"

You stopped in your tracks, turning to see Gojo catching up to you. His breath was slightly ragged, but his expression was as carefree as ever. He flashed that signature smirk of his, the one that always seemed to make you feel like you were in the palm of his hand.

"I shouldn’t let a pretty lady like you walk home alone," he said, his tone light but his eyes gleaming with something more intense beneath the surface.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. What was he playing at now?

"Didn’t know you could be a gentleman too," you said, the words laced with slight mocking amusement, though you couldn’t entirely mask the smile that tugged at your lips. It was almost impossible to resist his charm.

Gojo chuckled, the sound deep and rich. "I have my moments," he said with a wink. "But I like to think of myself as a man of many talents."

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth spreading in your chest. "You’re impossible," you muttered under your breath, but you couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"I’m serious, though," Gojo continued, his tone now more genuine. "It’s late, and I don’t want you to be out here alone. Let me walk you home, at least."

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn him down, tell him to leave you be. But the other part, the part that had been affected by him all night, found it hard to say no. He wasn’t like any student you’d ever dealt with before. He was bold, confident, and—damn it—charming.

"Fine," you said after a beat, giving in despite yourself. "But just don’t try anything funny, Gojo."

He laughed again, the sound light and carefree. "Wouldn’t dream of it," he said, matching your pace as you began walking down the street together.

The walk was mostly silent, but the air between you two was thick with unspoken words. You could feel his presence beside you, the tension palpable even in the quiet moments. And despite your better judgment, you found yourself drawn to him more than you cared to admit.

As you neared your apartment, Gojo slowed his pace, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "You know," he began, his voice softer now, "I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier."

You shot him a look. "Which part?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The part where you said I should show more respect," he said, his voice almost teasing but with an edge of sincerity. "I’m sorry, alright? I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable."

For a moment, you were caught off guard by his unexpected sincerity. You hadn’t expected him to apologize, let alone admit he might have crossed a line.

"It’s fine," you said after a beat, trying to brush it off. "Just... remember your boundaries, Gojo."

He nodded, his expression turning serious for a moment before that familiar smirk returned. "I’ll try, Missy. But I make no promises."

You stopped in front of your apartment building, your heart racing for reasons you didn’t want to admit. "Good night, Gojo," you said, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

"Night, Missy," he replied, his voice softer than before. He stood there for a moment, watching you, before turning to leave.

You couldn’t help but watch him walk away, the lingering thoughts of the evening swirling in your mind. You’d agreed to dinner with him, and now this? What was happening between you two?

You didn’t have the answers, but you knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over.

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It was a quiet Monday morning at school, and Gojo and Geto were walking through the halls with no real destination in mind. The buzz of students filled the air, but the two of them were lost in their own conversation, as usual.

"So, did she become your girlfriend?" Geto asked, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "Or are you ready to accept your defeat?"

Gojo’s response came quicker than Geto expected. He had expected Gojo to brush it off or joke about it, but what he heard next caught him off guard.

"Oh... umm, no," Gojo said with a casual shrug, "but does a dinner date count?"

Geto stopped in his tracks, eyes widening slightly as he processed what Gojo had just said. Dinner date? He hadn’t really thought Gojo was serious about it. Sure, Gojo was always full of confidence and loved to flirt, but this felt... different. He was actually pursuing something.

"You’re telling me you went out with her?" Geto asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He was in disbelief. He hadn’t expected Gojo to get so serious about his bet. Not with their teacher.

Gojo’s smirk didn’t falter. "Yeah, I did," he replied nonchalantly. "I mean, I told you I was gonna win, didn’t I? It’s all part of the plan."

Geto stared at him for a moment, trying to process this new information. He had always thought Gojo’s antics were just part of his usual game, but now? It seemed like Gojo was actually invested in something—someone.

"Bro, you’re fucking serious?" Geto asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You went out with her? Our fucking teacher?"

Gojo grinned, leaning back against the lockers with his usual cocky attitude. "What can I say? I like a challenge," he said, his voice dripping with confidence. "And she’s not as untouchable as you think. I’ll have her wrapped around my finger in no time."

Geto couldn’t help but let out a frustrated sigh, shaking his head. "You really are something else, Gojo. You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. But you’re playing with fire, you know that?"

Gojo just chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Fire’s my middle name."

Geto rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn’t be able to talk sense into Gojo. Once his mind was set on something, there was no changing it.

"You’re crazy, man," Geto muttered, but there was a slight hint of admiration in his voice. "But I guess if anyone could pull it off, it’d be you."

Gojo shot him a wink. "Damn right," he said, before turning and walking down the hall, clearly satisfied with himself.

Geto watched him go, a mixture of concern and curiosity gnawing at him. He had no idea what Gojo was playing at, but one thing was for sure: things were about to get interesting.

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Later that evening, you were curled up on your couch, the soft glow of the TV illuminating your living room as you relaxed. Your favorite show was playing in the background, but your mind kept wandering. It had been a long week, and the tension between you and Gojo had only grown stronger.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your thoughts. You glanced at the screen, and of course, it was from him.

"Heyyyy missyyyy, can you come over? I miss you sm😔"

You stared at the message, the words feeling like a punch to your chest. How could he always talk to you like that? So casual, so... carefree. It was almost as if he didn’t realize the line he was crossing, or maybe he just didn’t care.

You sighed, feeling your pulse quicken. Your first instinct was to say no. You knew it was wrong, that this whole thing was a terrible idea. But then, there was that feeling—the one that kept pulling you in every time you thought about him. That nagging curiosity, that unexplainable desire to see him again.

You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. No, I shouldn’t do this. You couldn’t afford to give in. You were his teacher, and he was... well, Gojo. The last thing you needed was to get tangled up in whatever game he was playing.

But your fingers hovered over the screen, and before you knew it, you found yourself typing a reply.

"I can’t just drop everything and come over, Gojo. What’s going on?"

You stared at the message, biting your lip. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but part of you knew he wouldn’t make this easy. A few seconds later, your phone buzzed again.

"Oh come on, missy, I just wanna hang out! Besides, you know you want to see me :p"

You rolled your eyes at his confidence. He was relentless, and yet, there was something about his charm that always seemed to pull you back in. You set your phone down for a moment, taking a deep breath. You had to focus. You couldn’t let him get to you.

But then the next message popped up.

"Fine, don’t come if you don’t want to. But I’ll be here waiting... :D"

The smug tone in his words made your stomach flip. It was like he knew exactly how to get under your skin. You didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you did want to see him.

You stood up, pacing around your living room as you thought it over. Why is this so hard? You had to admit to yourself—he had gotten under your skin. You were a professional, you knew better than this. But that damn smirk, those teasing words... they kept running through your mind.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, your fingers were already typing.

"I’ll be there in 20 minutes."

You hit send, and as soon as the message left your phone, you regretted it. What am I doing?

But you couldn’t back out now. You quickly got up and grabbed your things, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety. As you headed out the door, your heart was pounding. You were doing something you knew you shouldn’t, but it felt like there was no turning back now.

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You arrived at Gojo's place after what felt like the longest 20 minutes of your life. You parked your car and took a deep breath before stepping out. Your mind was racing with thoughts, but you tried to push them aside. You’re just going to hang out. Nothing more.

As you walked up to his door, your heart was pounding in your chest. You rang the doorbell, and within seconds, the door swung open. Gojo stood there, wearing a casual hoodie and sweatpants, his trademark smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, well, look who showed up,” he said, his voice smooth and playful, as if he knew he had you exactly where he wanted.

You tried to maintain your composure, crossing your arms as you stepped inside. “I hope you have a good reason for dragging me all the way over here.”

Gojo just chuckled, stepping aside to let you in. “Of course, missy. I’ve got plenty of reasons.” He shut the door behind you, locking it with a casual flick of his wrist. “But for now, just relax. I thought we could hang out and get to know each other better.”

You didn’t trust him, but there was no turning back now. You glanced around his apartment—modern, minimalist, and somehow very much what you expected from someone like him. He led you to the living room, where a couple of drinks and snacks were already laid out on the coffee table.

“Have a seat,” Gojo said, flopping onto the couch and patting the space next to him.

You hesitated for a moment, before sitting down on the opposite side of the couch. Your nerves were still buzzing, but you tried to ignore them. “So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

Gojo leaned back, his eyes never leaving you. “I don’t know… maybe just how things are going. You’ve been really busy with school lately, huh? I thought you could use a little break.”

You crossed your arms, trying to stay calm, but the way he was looking at you made it hard to focus. “I’m fine, Gojo. I can handle my job just fine.”

He grinned, shifting a little closer to you. “Yeah, I know you can. You’re pretty impressive, Missy.”

His voice was low, teasing, and it made you feel both flattered and frustrated. You didn’t know how to respond to him anymore—every time you thought you had him figured out, he just threw you off balance again.

Gojo’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he leaned in closer. “But I have to admit… I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. You’ve been on my mind.”

You froze, your heart racing. Was he serious?

“I’m not sure if that’s a good thing,” you said, trying to sound composed.

Gojo just chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes. “I think it’s a very good thing.” He leaned back again, giving you some space, but you could still feel the tension between you two growing thicker by the second.

The silence stretched on for a few moments before Gojo broke it again. “Tell me, why did you listened to me and came here..?”

You swallowed, feeling your throat dry. “uh—...” you didn't know what to say.

Gojo smirked again, clearly not buying it. “I think there’s more to it. You came over because you wanted to see me too. Don’t lie.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was he right? Were you just fooling yourself?

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “Maybe.”

Gojo’s smirk widened as he moved closer again, this time brushing his hand lightly against yours. The contact sent a jolt through your body, and you immediately pulled your hand away, but Gojo didn’t miss it. “I knew it,” he said, voice dripping with satisfaction.

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain control. “You don’t have to make this weird, Gojo.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore. He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “I’m not making it weird, Missy. I’m just making it fun.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was exactly what you had been trying to avoid, and now you were right here, in his apartment, with him so close you could feel the heat of his body.

You had no idea what was going to happen next, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t just a friendly hangout anymore.

[jesterkoops]

Well it looks like I am back with a new obsession!

I would like to introduce my poor followers, who started following me for Jaime/Brienne content and then got dragged against their will through Better Call Saul-induced anxiety to...

HELLY/HELENA: my new problematic fave.

(Obviously, spoilers for Severance 2x04 below - Gods help me for getting into such a mindfuck of a show).

I feel the reveal that it was Helena on the severed floor all along this season was such a big deal that people are grasping to attribute way more nefarious and convoluted reasons for her to be there than there actually probably were. I think the reason is actually quite simple: the whole point of the team going back was to give Mark what he wants so he finishes Cold Harbor, but Helly being aware of who she was on the outside would have been too much of a liability. So of course the only option was for Helena to go there as herself and be in control of the situation. And once she was given the opportunity to "play" Helly, she took a chance to get a taste of that life she glimpsed in that security footage. Under the guise of "pretending" she might have given in to desires and thoughts she could not normally voice, such as making fun of the Kier lore or even how she might feel about herself (I feel like there was literally no reason at all for her to tell Mark she didn't like who she was on the outside at that point). She might have started to play with this idea of who she could be if she didn't have her family baggage to carry around. I think this is more consistent with what's been said in interviews/post-ep commentary than just "Helena was acting and manipulating" (and more interesting too; also many who think she was watching the video over and over just to imitate Helly seem to forget she was watching the video long BEFORE it was decided she would have to go back on the floor).

To me what's more complicated is understanding how the different pieces of what was going on on that floor while Helena was there fit together. Is Lumon aware that Helena was trying to help Mark find his wife and that was part of the plan, or was this something she kept to herself? Was she genuinely helping or hindering? Does she know Ms Casey is not there anymore and that's why it doesn't matter if she goes along with it or not? We actually know very little of who Helena truly is on the outside and her motivations (and which ones are actually true), because we have only witnessed her in the presence of other people towards whom she has to keep up the Eagan persona (Cobel, Milchick, Natalie, her father). So just knowing it was her on that floor actually doesn't solve as many questions as one might think.

And this is when it gets so messy, because it could go in so many directions from here on out. Now that the game is up, what's going to happen to Helly? On the one hand, she was allegedly necessary for Mark to finish Cold Harbor. On the other hand, now they all know who she is, and Irving is gone, so that is the end of the team as we know it. This will probably impact Cold Harbor (as will a reintegrated Mark, most likely). They switched off Glasgow to save Helena when Irving was drowning her, but now that that threat to her life is gone, what would be the motive to keep Helly on the floor? I think this could go one of two ways depending on whether Helena is on a redemption arc or not.

If she's not, it's kind of inevitable that Mark will want to save Helly. But saving Helly is essentially the opposite of saving Gemma: Gemma has to get out*** (more on Gemma below), but Helly has to stay in to exist. But Lumon of course has plenty of power to ensure Helly never goes on the severed floor again. Mark could blackmail them with the threat not to finish Cold Harbor if Helly isn't with him, but then he'd be running against time because how long could he reasonably drag that out for? Could he somehow force a reintegration on Helena to get Helly out of Lumon and "save her"? Or use some other technology to have her continue to be severed outside Lumon, like a reverse Glasgow (or like the senator's wife seemed to be?).

And what would a reintegrated Helena/Helly look like? Given how much Helly HATES Helena and will do so even more now, would those conflicting feelings within the same person implode her? Or would it be a trigger for a redemption arc? I think an important thing to note is that while Helena is aware of who she/Helly is inside Lumon and the choices she makes in that context, this is very much the awareness of an external observer. She has no idea what Helly actually FEELS. Similarly, Helly has even less of a clue about Helena's outside life since she only saw two videos of her and embodied her for half an hour or so and probably made up a whole list of assumptions about her as a consequence of that context (just like we did). So if the two merged, would Helena integrate Helly's feelings and, at the same time, would Helly get more empathy for Helena's reasons for doing what she did?

And this is why I lean more towards a redemption arc for Helena, besides the fact that Helly = good/Helena = bad seems simplistic and would give no opportunity for the character(s) to grow and develop. I think either Helena gets more and more drawn towards Helly's life because that becomes preferable to her than her life as Helena, and therefore might insist to have Helly on the floor, or a reintegration at some point will set her on that path. I think the ultimate message is not that these are completely and radically different people, but just people shaped differently based on their experiences and memories or lack thereof. And once you integrate innies memories with outies memories, you do not just give the outies knowledge of the inside or viceversa (which is more what happens with the OTC), but you literally create a new person out of combining their innies feelings and experiences with those of their outies.

I also have to admit that there are convincing hints that this might be going down the route of Helena/Helly now being pregnant with Mark's baby and how that might mess up the whole situation on so many levels. I don't know how to feel about it, because if, on one hand, it's in keeping with some of the themes we've seen so far, I also find this obsession with women as unwilling incubators in scifi thrillers to be frankly tiresome and cringe so I want to say "thanks, but no thanks".

---

***Gemma: perhaps unpopular opinion (?), but I don't think we are supposed to get invested in her relationship with Mark or in her as a character? Unless that changes in future episodes, it seems to me like this is essentially just a plot device. A crucial one, that underpins a lot of character motivation, but a plot device nonetheless. She doesn't really have a personality or compelling background other than everyone telling us how perfect she was (which is already a sign of a character with nowhere to go). I've read some interesting and convincing interpretations about the whole Orpheus/Eurydice parallels that could foreshadow where this is going, and there's also that "there will be no honeymoon ending for you, Mark" line from Cobel which makes me feel like Gemma is doomed no matter what and I doubt we will see more of her as a properly fleshed out character? Maybe I'm wrong though and her time is yet to come.

[itsnesss]

𝐚 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐧 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

OO1. OO2. OO3.

summary | after the intense moments between you and minho, you try to keep your emotions under control but are pulled back into a complicated situation when Kitty shows you a video involving stella. as you struggle to manage your feelings, you're forced to confront the complexities of your relationship with minho while dealing with new tensions that arise

warnings | emotional angst, jealousy, misunderstandings, deceptive behavior

word count | 3.0 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The days since that conversation with Min Ho passed slowly. You forced yourself to maintain an indifferent façade, as if what had happened between you two was nothing more than a mere slip-up. But it wasn't. Every time you saw him, whether in the group of friends or in class, you felt a tightness in your chest. You ignored it, tried not to look at him, but you knew he felt it. Min Ho wasn’t stupid.

It was hard to move on, you knew he was there, but now more than ever, you felt the need to distance yourself. Somehow, you had broken something that you didn’t even fully understand, and you didn’t want to fall back into the temptation of thinking that things could be different. Not when you had already lost him.

One day, as you sat in the living room with Kitty, she wouldn’t stop looking at you, as if waiting for you to say something. Finally, after an uncomfortable silence, she approached.

" I know you too well," she said in a low but firm voice. " What's going on with Min Ho?"

You sighed. You didn’t know how to explain it. Kitty always noticed. Always.

" Nothing, Kitty," you lied, unable to look her in the eyes.

But she didn’t seem convinced. She paused, then pulled out her phone and placed it in front of you. On the screen was a video that looked familiar. The title read: Esther from Ohio sings on Sr. Moon's program.

You stared at it, confused.

" What is this?" you asked, not wanting to see what you already suspected.

" What you think it is," Kitty said, taking a sip of her drink. " It's a video of Stella. And I know the page where things were leaked... probably belongs to her too."

Your heart stopped for a second, and a wave of disbelief washed over you.

" Stella?"

Kitty looked at you with a smile that wasn’t exactly one of joy.

" The page where they posted the gossip about Min Ho's dad. I’ve been investigating, and something smells fishy. And that video…" she asked, furrowing her brow. " It looks like her, singing on that show."

You watched the video, unable to avoid it. The woman on the screen was Stella, though you would have never guessed it. Her tone of voice, her presence, everything matched what you knew about her, except her appearance. In the background, a sense of distrust began to cloud your thoughts.

" I don't know what this means," you whispered, barely believable, " but I don’t like it."

Kitty leaned back on the couch, crossing her arms.

" Why don't you tell Min Ho? He needs to know what's going on."

You stayed silent, biting your lip. Did you really want to get involved in something like this? After everything you had told him… But at the same time, something told you that you couldn’t just sit back and do nothing.

That same day, you went to the city. Maybe, somehow, something in all of this would give you clarity. You walked the streets, between the bright lights of the buildings, until you reached a store where, among other things, you could buy some clothes you needed. But before you entered the store, something caught your attention.

There she was.

Stella, coming out of an internet café, her phone in her hands. Her hair blew in the wind, but there was something about her expression that unsettled you. You stood still for a few seconds, watching her from a distance, before making a decision.

You knew you needed to talk to Min Ho. But should you show him what Kitty had shown you? Should you tell him what you had seen, what you suspected? Maybe he would deny it. Maybe, in his mind, it would make everything more complicated. But the worst part was that you didn’t know whether to trust her, or if Stella was really behind all of this.

You decided to return to the school, with the weight of uncertainty on your shoulders, and an hour later, you went to find him.

His gaze, although still warm, seemed to have a new hardness to it. He looked at you in silence, as if waiting for you to speak first.

" What's going on?" he asked, a slight irritation in his voice.

With trembling hands, you took out your phone and showed him the video of Stella, the same one Kitty had shown you. Min Ho stared at it intently, without showing any emotion.

" What's this?" he asked, his voice cold.

" This... is Stella," you said, trying to stay calm.

Min Ho sighed and ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated.

" I can't believe you're showing me this, seriously?"

" How can you not believe it?" you responded, feeling frustrated. " Why would I be lying to you? This is important!"

" Do you really want to talk about this?" he said, his voice harsh. " After everything that happened between us, everything you said? Now you’re bringing me this, telling me Stella is a liar... what, so I’ll come back to you?"

His words hit you hard, and although you knew you couldn’t do anything to make him understand your position, you couldn’t help but feel like your heart was breaking a little more.

" It’s not that, Min Ho. I just want you to know the truth. I’m not trying to separate you from her. I just want to take care of you."

Min Ho looked at you intently, his face now completely serious. There was a heavy silence between you both, as his eyes searched yours. Something you couldn’t find.

" I can’t believe it," he said finally, disappointment evident in his voice. " You told me that what happened between us didn’t mean anything, that you didn’t want to keep going... and now you bring me lies about Stella just because you don’t want to let me go."

Before you could reply, he stepped back, his face tense.

" This is too much. It’s not fair."

And, without saying another word, he turned and walked away, disappearing from your view, leaving you there, empty and with a sense of defeat in your stomach.

You felt empty, as if everything you had tried to build with Min Ho had crumbled in an instant. After everything that happened, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. Maybe you shouldn’t have shown him the video. Maybe, just maybe, you should have waited for more evidence before speaking. But the damage was already done.

Min Ho ignored you completely for days. He didn’t answer your messages, and every time you crossed paths in the hallways, his gaze immediately averted. That indifference, that coldness… it hurt more than you imagined.

Kitty looked at you with pity, knowing what you had done and how you were feeling. One afternoon, as you sat together in the dorm room, Kitty sighed, the air heavy with guilt.

" I’m sorry," she said, biting her lip. " Seriously, I’m sorry. This is all my fault."

You shook your head, surprised by her apology.

" It’s not your fault, Kitty," you quickly responded, without looking at her. " I was the one who decided to follow that video, my suspicions. If only I had waited… Maybe I wouldn’t have ruined everything. Maybe… maybe Min Ho would still trust me."

Kitty watched you for a moment, then sighed and shrugged.

" It’s just that… I know how hard it is for you to see all of this with him."

You couldn’t look at her, you couldn’t face what you had caused. You wished you could turn back time, tell Min Ho that you were wrong, that it wasn’t that serious. But, for some reason, something inside you told you that you couldn’t go back.

The next day at school, as you walked down the hallways, an odd sense of nervousness ran through you. Something made you stop in your tracks. There he was: Min Ho, standing in one of the Kiss hallways, dressed in a perfectly fitted pink suit, holding a bouquet of roses, standing in front of a decorated wall as if waiting for someone.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. Every detail seemed straight out of a romantic movie, and the mere sight of him there, with a serious but hopeful expression, made your stomach twist. Everything in you wanted to approach him, but you stayed still, watching from a distance.

In that moment, Stella appeared beside you, walking quickly past your shoulder. You couldn’t help but notice her, how she walked with a confident and assured smile. When she reached Min Ho, he looked up, and with pure determination, he extended the bouquet of roses to her.

"Stella, do you want to go to the dance with me?" he asked, and the way his voice sounded so sincere made you twist inside.

You felt a wave of jealousy invade you, but what hurt the most was how easy it seemed for him to be so open, so honest. You hated yourself for telling him that you couldn't be anything more after the kiss in the cabin, for pulling away from him so quickly, without giving him the chance to explore what you both truly wanted.

With a sigh, you turned away, unable to watch any longer. You walked with your head down, the weight of confusion and insecurity heavy on your shoulders.

That night, in the dorm, Kitty looked at you with a concerned expression.

"Are you really not going to the dance?" she asked softly.

You shook your head without hesitation.

"No, I don't want to go. I don't have a date, and I don't want to see Min Ho being happy with Stella. I couldn’t handle it. I don't want him to see me suffering from my own embarrassment."

Kitty looked at you silently, then sighed.

You knew that Stella wasn’t all bad. Kitty told you that she only went to the cyber café to talk to her ex-colleagues from Ohio. She didn't have bad intentions, really.

You shrugged, the pain in your chest almost unbearable.

"It doesn’t matter. I don’t get it, Kitty. I can't handle it. I feel stupid for all of this. Maybe it’s best to just step away from everything and let him be happy with someone else. After all, that's what I asked for from the start."

Kitty didn’t say anything more, but you could see the concern in her gaze. She knew how you felt. She knew it was harder for you than you could express.

Finally, you lay down in bed, turning your back on everything you had experienced with Min Ho, trying to forget it, even though you knew it wouldn’t be that easy. The decisions had already been made, and all that was left was to watch everything fall apart in front of you.

...

Min Ho no longer showed up to the meetings with Q, Dae, Yuri, Kitty, and you. No one knew exactly why, but everyone noticed. At first, you thought maybe it was your fault. You had seen Stella's behavior, and Min Ho's distance seemed related to everything that had happened, but maybe you had misinterpreted it.

One afternoon, while you were all in Q and Dae's dorm, the topic inevitably came up: Min Ho.

"Have you noticed how strange he's been lately?" Dae asked, crossing his arms.

Q nodded.

"Yeah, I’ve noticed too. And not just that... it’s like he's avoiding us, like he doesn’t want to be around us."

Dae furrowed his brow.

"I don’t think it’s about us. Something’s going on. Sorry, but it does seem a little strange."

Just as they were finishing their conversation about him, the door opened suddenly, and there was Min Ho, with Stella by his side. They walked in together, without making much noise, but what caught everyone’s attention was that Stella didn’t take off her shoes upon entering, which, in local culture, was considered a very inappropriate gesture. Min Ho, on the other hand, didn’t say a word, something he normally would have commented on, as he was meticulous about such details. And that was what surprised you the most.

Q looked at Dae, then at Kitty and you, with a knowing look.

"See? Definitely something’s going on. Stella didn’t take off her shoes, and he ignores her collagen water, just like one of Q’s energy drinks. This isn’t right."

Dae furrowed his brow and nudged Kitty.

"I don’t want to make things worse, but... her skin looks like Edward Cullen’s, but not in a sexy way, you know? It’s... weird. Really weird."

"Do you think it’s because of the suspicions about her?" Kitty asked, lowering her gaze to the phone she had left on the table.

Q sighed.

"I don’t know, but what I do know is that something’s happening. Stella isn’t right. I don’t want to judge her without proof, but something doesn’t add up."

Kitty nodded, a little worried.

"I know. But I was wrong before. Maybe I’m just seeing it from the wrong perspective."

You decided to ignore it all until the day of the singing competition. Things didn’t make sense, but you needed to focus on what was right in front of you. On the day of the competition, Dae called you and Kitty and, without hesitation, delivered the news.

"Stella’s going to compete in the contest, and Min Ho is going to support her," he said, with a serious tone.

Kitty couldn’t help but let out a nervous laugh.

"That’s impossible. How can that be? There’s no way he’s helping her."

Dae nodded, but his expression was grave.

"Mr. Moon introduced her as his great story of resilience. She... she’s involved in something bigger than we thought."

Kitty fell silent for a moment, processing the information.

"That... explains a lot about Min Ho’s behavior," she murmured, her face tense. "But why didn’t he tell us?"

What hurt the most was that, once again, Min Ho had chosen not to trust you, not even when the most important thing was for both of you to face the truth together.

You felt a renewed determination. You couldn’t just sit still. You had to do something. You needed to know the truth. So, while Kitty and Dae were preparing for the concert, you decided to go find Min Ho.

You headed to the stage where they were rehearsing, and once there, you found him alone, distancing himself from the crowd. You walked towards him without thinking, your heart in your throat.

"Min Ho," you called, with a mix of doubt and bravery. "I need to know what's going on. What's going on with Stella? Does she have you trapped or is that not true?"

Min Ho looked up, and in his eyes, there was a deep sadness. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the situation were crushing him.

"You're right," he replied with a sigh. "Stella is a psychopath. I don’t know how she found out my brother got his dancer pregnant, and now she’s threatening to tell the press unless she wins this contest."

Your heart raced, and you quickly stepped closer to him.

"We have to do something," you said, desperate. "We can’t let this go on. We have to stop her."

Min Ho nodded, but before you could say anything more, he slowly approached you and looked you in the eyes.

"I’m sorry... I’m so sorry," he said, his voice breaking, almost as if the pain he felt in his chest was as real as yours. "I should’ve never pushed you away, I should’ve never made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I don’t know what happened, I just... I got carried away. I failed you."

His words hit you in the heart, and for a moment, you felt completely vulnerable. You had been so focused on your suspicions, on what Stella represented in the equation, that you had forgotten the most important thing: Min Ho was also going through all of this in his own way. And, no matter how much you hated him for pulling away, you also knew that the situation wasn’t that simple. The world you both moved in was complicated, and decisions weren’t always easy.

You slowly moved closer, trying to find a way to comfort him, to let him know that it wasn’t all lost, that there was still time to set things right.

"Min Ho..." you said softly, taking his face in your hands. "I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have pushed you away, but I didn’t want to ruin what you had with Stella, well, before I found out she was a bitch."

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were absorbing every word you said.

"I know I messed up, and I feel horrible for not believing you when you needed me most. But when I found out what Stella was doing, everything changed. I realized how blind I was, how easy it was for her to manipulate me. What hurts the most is that you were there, trying to warn me, and I ignored you."

You couldn’t help but feel that his regret was genuine.

Without saying anything more, he hugged you, and in an instant, his lips found yours, in a kiss filled with everything that hadn’t been said before. A mix of regret, desire, and love that overflowed between the two of you.

You pulled away, feeling your heart pounding.

"We need to fix all of this first," you said, knowing that what mattered now was stopping Stella and putting things right before it was too late.

And as you prepared for what was to come, you realized that maybe things between you and Min Ho weren’t lost after all.

tags | @msromanreigns2023 @imagineme2you @yuwaimo @cassiewritessalot @lavnderluv

[spotaus]

Late Night quick thing (New Age Sillies)

Bad news: That joke post about including Reset + Orchid is definitely not canon. (I legit got sad thinking about Reset being in a universe where Orchid isn't- because their stories are so so intertwined- but Nightmare 100% would NOT risk the whole twins exploding Error's soul thing.)

Good news: This means I COULD include Kane (Reset's older brother who usually dies in timelines where Reset is born) and use it to develope his character a bit more! Also! Perhaps a Blue × Dream kiddo is finally in the stars for me to design?

[heckhellstuff]

My AUs ? Incomprehensible

Here's a doodle dump of bestie Guide Ranging from few days to 6+ months old

I have so so so much more But my dumb little AU went off the rails so badly i have no idea if anyone would listen to my insanity- Guide mentioning she used to lead an Inquisition gave me terminal brainrot and whatever this is crawled out

[azaracyy]

today, cupimon prays for your happiness too.

[cherry-treelane]

everytime i feel bad and stressed about my life i remember that i might be in a troubling situation and having a bad time but im not season 4 fiona gallagher in the clink after leaving crack on the counter which my 3 year old baby brother happened to ingest resulting in a fatal near-death experience thats wracked me with never-ending guilt and forever altered my life

[mariocki]

Pathfinders to Venus (ABC, 1961)

"What a paradise this place is. The way Earth must have been before man spoiled it with sprawling towns and filthy machines."

"If it hadn't been for man's filthy machines we wouldn't be here."

"That's true. And the pity of it is that after us will come rocket after rocket to ravage this planet. They'll gouge the minerals out of the earth, destroy the forests and eventually they'll go to war over it."

[snowthornes]

@yuuugay tagged me to do a Thing 🦖 thank you for the tag, it was fun!!! As usual, I spent way too much time on this shdgjsd

Tagging @hampsdesu @amyreads and @snail-of-fire — I'm curious about your trope preferences, but no need to do it if you'd prefer not to 🥰💐

[running-in-the-dark]

the most infuriating thing in a book is when there's someone who's constantly lying about things they said to the main character, things that happened and stuff like that, and it causes problems. and yet the main character doesn't at any point think to use their fucking smartphone (that they definitely own because it has been mentioned several times) to record any conversations they have.

like I'm sorry but that's just ridiculous. at least write in a reason why they can't do that (phone is broken and they can't get a new one for some reason, the other person keeps surprising them in some way that makes it impossible to start recording, they can't find their phone because the other person hid it, etc.) or that the recordings are gone when they want to use them as proof (phone gets destroyed later, other person deletes recordings, etc.) or literally any reason why they don't think to do it.

security cameras are also a thing that I'm pretty sure everyone knows you can just buy for your own home at this point. they're not expensive. they're not hard to get.

honestly if this happens for let's say the fifth time and it's causing you massive problems, maybe... just maybe... you're a bit of an idiot for not at least trying to get some sort of proof.

[raeathnos]

.

[deathsbecome]

ok as i ponder some verse updates. poll.

*it would be significant enough where pre existing dynamics would probably need to be

[elikajinnie]

Soulmarked Rivalry - Y.J

P: Slytherin!Jungwon X Fem!Reader

Requested by @bamguetismee <3 (i hope i got ur vision :3)

Warnings: Teasing, Forced Proximity, Soulmarks/Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Tension, Rivalry, Fluff, Confessions, Jealousy, Soobin Cameo (love triangle??), Peeves being a menace.

Synopsis: As a model student and prefect, your future at Hogwarts seems set—but Yang Jungwon, a Slytherin prefect, likes getting under your skin. To make things more complicated, he's your soulmate. Should you embrace fate or resist?

a/n: HELLO?? 500 FOLLOWERS?? WAHH!! THANK YOU GUYSS! <3

masterlist

--

You had always worked hard as a student. That’s what the teachers at Hogwarts liked seeing—hardworking students with the ability to excel both in a team and on their own. And you fit perfectly. You were a model student with good marks, excellent control over your magic, and a natural ability to care for others, whether they were in your house or not. It wasn’t a surprise when you were named a prefect in your fifth year.

You carried that badge with pride. You loved being a prefect—patrolling the corridors, helping younger students, and upholding the rules that kept Hogwarts running. You loved Hogwarts, period.

Well, all except for one thing.

Yang Jungwon.

The Slytherin prefect who, despite his innocent face and disarmingly sweet smile, seemed to make it his life’s mission to drive you completely insane.

It wasn’t the usual kind of rivalry either. Sure, Slytherins clashed with other houses from time to time, but this wasn’t just about house pride. No, this was personal. It was in the way he smirked whenever he caught you on patrol, somehow managing to be just a little too late to help out when you were swamped with first-years who couldn’t find their common room. It was in the way he’d charm his way out of detentions, even when he’d been the one sneaking enchanted fireworks into the Great Hall during breakfast.

Worst of all, it was in the way he made you feel like you were the one always losing control, like you were the one who couldn’t keep your composure when he was around.

“You missed a spot,” he drawled one evening, leaning against the corridor wall as you adjusted the Ravenclaw notice board. His voice was light, teasing, like he had nothing better to do than stand there and watch you work. “Top corner. Might want to straighten it out before McGonagall sees it.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “Don’t you have patrols to be on?”

He shrugged, the emerald trim of his robes catching the light. “I could say the same to you, Miss Perfect.”

Your jaw tightened. That nickname.

You turned back to the board, determined to ignore him, even as you felt the heat rising to your cheeks.

But of course, Jungwon didn’t leave. He never did.

Yang Jungwon had a way of getting under your skin like no one else could. He was frustratingly clever, sharp-tongued in a way that wasn’t outright cruel but always cut just enough to make you grit your teeth. It wasn’t what you’d expected from a Slytherin prefect. No, on paper, Jungwon was everything you were: a model student with stellar marks, impeccable spellwork, and a spotless disciplinary record.

And that’s what made him so infuriating.

Because no matter how much he teased, no matter how many snarky remarks he threw your way, Jungwon had an uncanny ability to slip through the cracks of authority unscathed. He always masked his mischief with that disarming smile, that soft-spoken charm that even the professors fell for.

“Honestly, Professor Flitwick,” he’d say with wide, innocent eyes after you’d caught him charming the suits of armor to sing off-key Christmas carols in the corridors, “I was just practicing for the Yule Ball choir audition. I had no idea they’d move on their own!”

And Flitwick, much to your disbelief, had waved it off as “creative magic.” Creative magic!

But when it came to you, he didn’t even bother to pretend.

Take the time he’d enchanted a batch of parchment birds to follow you around the library, each one whispering “Miss Perfect” in soft, sing-song voices. You’d stormed over to him in the Potions section, where he sat with his feet casually propped up on the table, looking as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Seriously, Jungwon?” you hissed, holding up one of the parchment birds, which was now fluttering around your head like an annoyingly persistent fly.

He’d looked up from his book with that infuriatingly serene smile. “Oh? Are they bothering you? I must’ve used the wrong spell. They were supposed to cheer you up.”

“They’re driving me insane,” you snapped.

“Well, that’s not very cheerful of them,” he mused, flicking his wand with a practiced ease that made the birds disappear. Then, without missing a beat, he leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “But I’ll admit, it’s kind of cute how flustered you get when you’re mad.”

Your face burned at that, and you’d stomped away, leaving him chuckling softly behind you.

And yet, despite his constant antics, you couldn’t really catch him doing anything blatantly wrong. That was his specialty. His mischief always danced just on the edge of trouble—never enough to get him punished, but always enough to make you want to hex that smirk off his face.

Like during joint prefect meetings. While you were diligently taking notes on the patrol schedules, he’d lean just a little too close, peering over your parchment.

“Wow, your handwriting is so neat,” he’d whisper, just loud enough to catch your attention. “Did you learn calligraphy in secret? Or is this just natural talent?”

“Jungwon, do you mind?” you’d mutter, trying to shift your parchment out of his view.

“Not at all,” he’d reply, his tone maddeningly light. “In fact, I think I’ll start sitting next to you every meeting. You’re so good at organizing things—it’s inspiring.”

You’d glare at him, but he’d only give you a saccharine smile before turning his attention back to the meeting, his quill poised as if he’d been paying rapt attention the entire time.

It was moments like these that made you want to scream. How could someone so irritating also be so annoyingly good at everything? How could he act like he had all the time in the world to bother you and still keep up his reputation as one of the best students in the school?

But perhaps the most frustrating part wasn’t the teasing itself. It was the way he always seemed to know just how to get under your skin, just how to push you to the edge of losing your cool. And no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, Jungwon always found a way to make sure you noticed him.

So why, out of all the people in the world, did he have to be your soulmate?

When you first got your soulmark, a delicate little outline of a cat, you’d been ecstatic. A cat felt dignified, graceful—everything you imagined your soulmate would be. You’d hoped for someone respectable, someone who would balance your ambitious nature and match your unwavering dedication. Someone… well, not Jungwon.

But no. Of course, your soulmate had to be the one person who spent more time ruffling your feathers than anyone else.

You discovered the truth entirely by accident, during an otherwise routine Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in your sixth year. The professor had asked everyone to practice conjuring a patronus, and when Jungwon stepped forward to demonstrate, a sleek, silver cat had leapt from the tip of his wand.

Your stomach had dropped. Your quill slipped from your fingers.

It didn’t take much to put two and two together. How else could you explain the way your heart raced every time he got too close to you? Or the way your pulse quickened whenever his teasing voice whispered in your ear? You’d always chalked it up to frustration, but now you weren’t so sure.

You hadn’t realized you were staring until Jungwon caught your eye, that damn smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What?” he’d asked, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “Impressed?”

You’d quickly snapped your head down, pretending to write something in your notebook. “Hardly,” you muttered, but your shaky grip on your quill betrayed you.

After that, you went out of your way to keep your distance from him whenever patronuses came up in class. You’d never cast yours in front of him, and you planned to keep it that way. The last thing you wanted was for him to connect the dots—your dots.

Because if Jungwon found out? If he knew that every teasing remark, every sly grin, every infuriatingly perfect move he made was destined to tug at the invisible string that tied your souls together? You were certain you’d never hear the end of it.

You could already imagine the smug grin on his face.

“Oh, Miss Perfect,” he’d drawl. “I always knew you had a soft spot for me.”

No. That would not happen. As far as you were concerned, he could live his life blissfully unaware. And you’d do the same, no matter how much it gnawed at you to keep the secret.

At least this way, you could hold onto the tiny shred of dignity you had left. Even if that dignity felt a little more fragile every time he leaned in close, his voice a low hum in your ear, and your heart betrayed you all over again.

For months, you buried the truth deep down, pretending like the invisible string between you and Jungwon didn’t exist. You carried on with your duties as a prefect, kept your head high, and worked tirelessly to ignore the way your heart betrayed you whenever he was near.

But it was getting harder.

He was everywhere. Patrols, prefect meetings, the library, even the hallways—you couldn’t escape him. It was like fate itself was conspiring to push you together. And the worst part? He wasn’t making it any easier with his constant teasing.

Like the time he caught you nodding off during a late-night patrol. It had been a long day, and you were leaning against a cold stone wall in the fourth-floor corridor, struggling to keep your eyes open.

“Falling asleep on the job, Miss Perfect?” His voice came out of nowhere, soft and playful, making you jolt upright.

You glared at him, cheeks burning. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Sure you weren’t.” He stepped closer, his emerald tie slightly askew, his expression amused. “If you need a break, I could always cover for you. I mean, I am the more capable prefect.”

You scoffed. “Capable? Says the one who nearly let Peeves set off an entire box of Dungbombs in the Great Hall last week.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. “Touché. But in my defense, Peeves likes me better than you.”

“Because you encourage him,” you shot back, crossing your arms.

Jungwon just chuckled, leaning against the wall beside you. His shoulder brushed yours, and you tensed at the sudden proximity. It was a casual touch, nothing out of the ordinary, but it sent your heart racing all the same.

“Relax,” he murmured, his tone softer now. “You work too hard, you know.”

And there it was again—the part of him that left you confused. The Jungwon who teased you relentlessly, but then turned around and said things like that, catching you completely off guard.

You didn’t respond, afraid your voice might crack. Instead, you stepped away, mumbling something about needing to finish your patrol. But as you walked off, you swore you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he knew something you didn’t.

You descended the staircase as quickly as you could without breaking into a run, your heart pounding harder with every step. It wasn’t just from the way his gaze lingered or the softness in his voice—it was the growing fear that maybe he did know something you didn’t.

You tried to push the thought away, shaking your head as you patrolled the quiet corridors. The castle was calm tonight, the flickering torches casting long shadows on the walls. It was peaceful, the perfect atmosphere to collect your thoughts and shove down the gnawing feelings Jungwon always seemed to drag to the surface.

But of course, peace didn’t last long when it came to him.

“Hey, wait up!” His voice echoed down the corridor, and you inwardly groaned.

You stopped, turning slowly as Jungwon jogged to catch up with you, his prefect badge glinting in the dim light. His hair was slightly messy from the wind on the Astronomy Tower, but he didn’t seem to care. In fact, he looked downright smug, like chasing you down had been his plan all along.

“What do you want, Jungwon?” you asked, crossing your arms in an attempt to seem unaffected.

He came to a stop in front of you, hands in his pockets as he tilted his head. “What’s with the rush? We’re on the same patrol route, you know.”

“I prefer working alone,” you replied curtly, turning to walk away again.

But he sidestepped, blocking your path with an infuriatingly easy grin. “That’s no way to treat your partner, Miss Perfect. We’re supposed to be a team.”

“Team?” you scoffed, narrowing your eyes. “Last time we worked as a ‘team,’ you disappeared halfway through and left me to deal with Peeves in the trophy room.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and it sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “That’s because you’re better at dealing with him. He listens to you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you snapped, pushing past him. “He threw a whole stack of awards at my head.”

“Well, you’re still alive,” Jungwon called after you, his teasing tone making your blood boil. “So I’d say you handled it pretty well.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, instead quickening your pace down the corridor. But Jungwon, being Jungwon, didn’t take the hint. He fell into step beside you, his hands still casually tucked into his robe pockets as if this was all some leisurely stroll.

“Why do you always run away?” he asked suddenly, his voice quieter now.

You froze mid-step, your breath catching in your throat. Slowly, you turned to face him, finding his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your heart skip.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended.

“You know what I’m talking about.” He stepped closer, and you hated the way your body instinctively leaned back against the wall as if you needed the extra support. “Every time I get too close—every time we talk like this—you find an excuse to leave.”

“That’s because you’re annoying,” you said quickly, but even to your own ears, it sounded weak.

His lips quirked into a small, almost triumphant smile. “Am I? Or is it something else?”

Your throat felt dry, and you didn’t trust yourself to speak. He was too close now, close enough that you could see the faint freckles dusted across his nose, close enough to catch the light scent of parchment and peppermint on him.

“Why do you care?” you finally managed, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his eyes searching yours as if trying to unearth a secret you didn’t want to give away. Then, he took a step back, his expression shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable.

“Because I think there’s something you’re not telling me,” he said quietly.

You opened your mouth, but no words came. Because he was right, and you hated it. You hated that he could read you so easily, hated the way he seemed to see through every wall you put up around yourself.

But most of all, you hated that part of you didn’t want to keep running anymore.

“Goodnight, Jungwon,” you said finally, your voice steadier than you felt. Then, before he could say anything else, you turned on your heel and walked away, this time determined not to look back.

--

It started as a simple enough task: cleaning up the mess left behind by a pair of second-year Ravenclaws who had apparently thought it would be a brilliant idea to practice Summoning Charms in the Trophy Room. Broken glass, scattered awards, and stray parchments were strewn everywhere, and the professor who caught them had, of course, decided that this was a job for the prefects.

“Character-building,” Professor McGonagall had said. “It’ll teach you both responsibility.”

Both? At the time, you hadn’t asked who the “both” referred to, foolishly assuming you’d be able to handle it alone. After all, you preferred it that way. The less you had to deal with anyone—especially him—the better.

You arrived at the Trophy Room late in the evening, wand in hand, ready to sort out the chaos quickly and efficiently. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of the enchanted banners overhead. For a moment, you allowed yourself to relax. No distractions, no interruptions. Just you and the task at hand.

Or so you thought.

“You know,” came a familiar voice from behind you, smooth and laced with amusement, “you’d think they’d give us a thank-you note for cleaning up after them.”

You froze, your wand nearly slipping from your fingers. Turning slowly, you found Jungwon leaning casually against the doorframe, his prefect badge glinting in the torchlight. His tie was slightly loosened, his hair tousled in that infuriatingly perfect way that made it seem like he hadn’t even tried.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, unable to keep the irritation out of your voice.

“Same thing you are,” he replied, pushing off the doorframe and strolling into the room like he owned it. “Apparently, the professors think I’m responsible enough to help clean up messes now. Who knew?”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath, turning back to the mess in front of you. “Just don’t get in my way.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Perfect,” he said, his tone dripping with mock sincerity. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You ignored him, focusing on the task at hand. With a flick of your wand, you began repairing a shattered glass case, the shards floating back into place with a soft ping. But of course, Jungwon wasn’t content to let you work in peace.

“You missed a spot,” he said, pointing to a stray shard on the floor.

“I see it,” you snapped, flicking your wand again to send the shard to its rightful place.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a grin, crouching down to pick up a fallen plaque. As he straightened, he tilted his head, examining the inscription. “Huh. ‘Most Promising First-Year, 1983.’ Wonder what they did to earn that.”

“Why do you care?” you asked, not bothering to look at him.

“I don’t,” he replied, placing the plaque back on its stand. “But if I have to be here, I might as well make conversation.”

“Well, don’t. I’m busy.”

“Oh, I can see that.” He leaned against one of the display cases, watching you with a lazy smirk. “You’re very good at this, by the way. It’s almost like you’ve done it before.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on a particularly stubborn spell that refused to reattach a decorative plate to its stand. “If you’re not going to help, at least stay quiet.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence beside you. “Come on, Miss Perfect, lighten up. It’s just the Trophy Room. It’s not like we’re scrubbing cauldrons in the dungeons.”

You ignored him, muttering the spell under your breath again. The plate finally clicked into place, and you let out a small sigh of relief. But before you could move on to the next task, Jungwon reached over, plucking a stray ribbon from the pile of debris.

“Do you think this would suit me?” he asked, holding it up to his chest with a mock-serious expression.

You glanced at him, exasperated. “It’s a participation ribbon for a broomstick-polishing contest.”

“So?” He pinned it to his robes with a flourish. “I think it adds character.”

You couldn’t help it—a small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. The moment you realized what you’d done, you quickly turned away, hoping he hadn’t noticed.

But of course, he had.

“Was that a laugh?” he asked, his tone triumphant. “Did I just get the oh-so-serious prefect to crack a smile?”

“No,” you said quickly, focusing on another broken display case. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You know, if you let yourself relax more often, you might actually enjoy my company.”

You turned to glare at him, only to find that he was much closer than you’d realized. Close enough that you could see the faint sparkle in his dark eyes, the way his smirk softened into something almost genuine.

“Highly unlikely,” you said, your voice quieter now.

Jungwon tilted his head, studying you like he was trying to figure out a particularly tricky potion. “You know,” he said, his voice softer than usual, “you’re kind of fun to mess with.”

“Glad I can be your entertainment,” you muttered, stepping back to put some much-needed distance between you.

But as you turned away, you couldn’t help but feel his gaze lingering on you again, that same unsettling mix of mischief and something deeper that always left your heart racing.

The worst part? You weren’t entirely sure you hated it.

You busied yourself with repairing another shattered trophy case, desperately trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. Jungwon always knew exactly how to push your buttons, and worse, he seemed to enjoy it.

As you flicked your wand, mumbling an incantation to reattach the intricate golden handles to the glass case, you could still feel his presence behind you. Not doing anything—just standing there, watching you.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you actually going to help?” you snapped, not bothering to look over your shoulder.

“Oh, I’m helping,” he said, and you could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You turned, narrowing your eyes at him. “Really? How, exactly?”

Jungwon held up a dusty trophy he’d picked off the floor. “Moral support.” He grinned, wiping the plaque halfheartedly with the sleeve of his robe. “You’re doing great, by the way. Truly inspiring.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, turning back to your work.

But before you could even begin the next spell, Jungwon’s voice interrupted again.

“Hey, you’ve got a little…” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to your face.

You frowned, brushing your cheek self-consciously. “What?”

“Here.” He stepped closer—too close—and reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your face. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. His touch was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“There,” he said softly, pulling his hand back to reveal a speck of dust on his fingertips. “Got it.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. He was looking at you now, his teasing smile replaced with something softer, something that made your breath catch.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you blurted, taking a step back to put some distance between you.

“Like what?” he asked, his voice low, almost curious.

“Like—like that!” You waved your hand vaguely, refusing to meet his eyes. “Like you’re… plotting something.”

His smile returned, softer this time but no less infuriating. “Who says I’m plotting anything?”

“Because you’re always plotting something,” you shot back, turning away from him and focusing on the pile of broken trophies again. “It’s practically your personality.”

“Harsh,” he said with a mock wince, though his tone was still playful. “You wound me, Miss Perfect.”

You rolled your eyes, determined to ignore him as you began repairing the next trophy. But Jungwon wasn’t done.

“You know,” he said after a moment, his voice taking on that familiar teasing lilt, “for someone who claims to hate me, you sure spend a lot of time thinking about me.”

Your wand slipped, sending a crack straight through the trophy you were trying to fix. You cursed under your breath, quickly repairing the damage before whirling around to face him.

“I don’t think about you,” you said firmly, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“Really?” Jungwon leaned casually against the nearest display case, his arms crossed as he regarded you with that maddeningly smug expression. “Because you’re looking a little flustered right now.”

“I’m not flustered,” you snapped, crossing your arms defensively.

He stepped closer again, his grin widening as he leaned in, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said quickly, though your voice came out shakier than you’d intended.

For a moment, neither of you moved. His dark eyes were locked on yours, and for once, there was no teasing glint in them—just an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“Jungwon,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “You’re standing too close.”

He tilted his head, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Am I?”

“Yes,” you said again, though you made no move to step away.

For a brief, terrifying moment, you thought he might say something—something that would shatter the delicate balance between you. But instead, he stepped back, the teasing smile returning to his face like nothing had happened.

“Alright, alright,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll give you some space.”

You exhaled, not realizing until that moment that you’d been holding your breath.

“Good,” you muttered, turning back to the trophies.

"Do you think the founders ever argued over who got the biggest house common room?" Jungwon asked as you muttered a spell to repair another shattered trophy.

You sighed, not even glancing at him. "I don’t know. Maybe."

He hummed thoughtfully, as though your answer was the most profound thing he’d ever heard. "Do you think Salazar Slytherin was the type to hog all the butterbeer at parties?"

You flicked your wand sharply, fixing another display case. "Probably."

"And what about Godric Gryffindor? I bet he couldn’t resist showing off in duels."

"Sounds likely," you replied curtly, focusing on levitating a stack of plaques back into their proper places.

Jungwon leaned casually against a nearby display, his hands in his pockets, watching you with barely contained amusement. "Alright, last one—do you think Helga Hufflepuff secretly kept a stash of snacks in her robes?"

At that, you paused, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "Definitely," you said, surprising yourself with a small smile.

Jungwon grinned like he’d won a prize, clearly pleased that he’d managed to drag more than a one-word answer out of you. "See? I knew you had a sense of humor buried under all that seriousness."

You rolled your eyes, quickly turning your attention back to the mess. The sooner you finished, the sooner you could get out of here and away from him. The room felt warmer than it should have, in a way that made it hard to breathe. You could feel Jungwon’s presence behind you, close enough that your skin tingled, your soulmark on your arm warming pleasantly every time he leaned just a little too close.

You tried to ignore it, brushing the feeling aside as nothing more than nerves, but it was impossible. It was suffocating and exhilarating all at once, and you hated how much it affected you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you placed the last trophy back in its case and lowered your wand.

“There. Done,” you said, your voice tight.

“Impressive work, Miss Perfect,” Jungwon said, clapping his hands lightly. “You really are a perfectionist.”

Ignoring him, you grabbed your bag and headed for the door, desperate to escape before the room—and him—got the better of you.

But just as you reached the threshold, Jungwon’s voice stopped you.

“Leaving so soon?” he called, his tone laced with amusement. “I was starting to enjoy our little bonding session.”

You didn’t turn around, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. "We’re done here. Go bother someone else, Jungwon."

You stepped out into the corridor, the cool air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. But even as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the lingering warmth on your arm, the way your soulmark had come alive just from being near him.

You hated it.

And yet, deep down, you knew it wasn’t hate at all.

The cool air of the corridor did little to ease the warmth in your chest. You tightened your grip on the strap of your bag, walking briskly to put as much distance between yourself and Jungwon as possible.

“Hey!” a familiar voice called from further down the hall. You looked up to see your Slytherin friend, Minji, striding toward you. Her dark robes swished behind her, and her usual confident smirk lit up her face. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. What happened?”

You sighed, falling into step beside her as she turned to walk with you. “Trophy Room duty. With Jungwon.”

Her eyebrows shot up, and she gave you a knowing grin. “Ah, the infamous Yang Jungwon. What did he do this time?”

“Same as always,” you muttered, your tone clipped. “Teased me, asked a million pointless questions, and stood way too close for comfort.”

Minji laughed, the sound echoing softly in the empty hallway. “Well, that sounds about right. He’s got that whole charming nuisance thing down to an art.”

You shot her a glare, but it lacked any real bite. “It’s not charming. It’s infuriating.”

“Sure, sure,” Minji said, waving her hand dismissively. “But you’re still blushing.”

You froze mid-step, your hand flying to your face. “I am not!”

“You so are,” she said with a smug grin, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Come on, just admit it—he gets under your skin, doesn’t he?”

You groaned, resuming your pace and trying to ignore the warmth creeping back into your cheeks. “That’s not the same thing as liking him.”

“Hmm,” Minji hummed, her smirk widening. “If you say so.”

The two of you turned a corner, the dimly lit hallway now empty except for the faint flicker of torches on the walls. Minji glanced at you, her expression softening slightly. “But seriously, are you okay? You seem… tense.”

You hesitated, your fingers brushing over the strap of your bag. “It’s just—being around him is exhausting. He’s so... persistent. And—and the way he looks at me sometimes—”

You cut yourself off, realizing you’d said too much.

Minji stopped walking, grabbing your arm to make you face her. “Wait. What way does he look at you?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to dismiss it. “Forget I said that. It’s nothing.”

“Oh no, no, no.” Minji’s eyes sparkled with mischief now. “You’re telling me that Jungwon—Jungwon—might actually like you? This just keeps getting better.”

You felt your stomach twist at her words, a mix of denial and something far more complicated. “He doesn’t like me,” you said firmly, though your voice faltered slightly. “He just likes messing with me.”

“Uh-huh,” Minji said, clearly unconvinced. “And what about you? Do you like him?”

“No!” you said quickly, too quickly.

Minji raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “Why am I even friends with you?”

“Because I’m the only one who’s brave enough to call you out on your nonsense,” she said with a grin, pulling your hands away from your face. “Listen, if you ask me—which, by the way, you should—I think you and Jungwon would be kind of perfect together.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, but you shook your head furiously. “Not happening. Ever.”

“Alright, alright,” Minji said, holding up her hands in surrender. “But for the record, if he ever stops teasing you, you’ll know you’re in trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, but a small part of you couldn’t help but wonder if she was right.

The days that followed were nothing short of exhausting. It had become a routine of sorts—this competition between you and Jungwon to see who could outshine the other as a prefect. Both of you were model students, but being better than him was a point of pride you weren’t willing to give up.

Unfortunately, Jungwon seemed to have the exact same idea.

“Let’s see who finishes the patrol of the East Wing faster tonight,” Jungwon said casually one evening, walking just a step ahead of you as the two of you began your rounds.

You glared at the back of his head. “It’s not a race, Jungwon. The goal is to thoroughly patrol the area, not sprint through it like a Quidditch match.”

He turned his head slightly, flashing you that insufferable smirk. “Oh, but you’re just saying that because you know I’d win.”

You scoffed, quickening your pace to walk beside him. “You wouldn’t win. You’d probably miss half the patrol spots because you’re too busy smirking at yourself in the reflection of the windows.”

Jungwon placed a hand over his chest, feigning hurt. “You wound me. But, for the record, I don’t smirk at myself. I save those exclusively for you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and turned your face away to hide it. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, ignoring the way your soulmark tingled faintly at his words.

“Ridiculous, but efficient,” he countered, his tone light and teasing. “Unlike some people, I don’t waste time lecturing first-years about being out past curfew. I just send them back to their dorms and call it a night.”

“That’s because you let them off too easy,” you shot back, stopping to peer into an empty classroom. “A good prefect sets an example. You’re supposed to be teaching them, not coddling them.”

“And you’re supposed to be having fun,” Jungwon replied, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Merlin forbid you loosen up for five seconds.”

You gave him a withering glare, but it only seemed to fuel his amusement. He pushed off the doorframe and strolled past you, hands in his pockets, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Tell you what,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll handle the rest of this hallway. You can take the next one. We’ll see who finds more troublemakers by the end of the night.”

“Fine,” you said sharply, determined to beat him. “But don’t go cutting corners like you always do.”

Jungwon turned back to you with an exaggerated look of shock. “Cut corners? Me? Never.”

You rolled your eyes, muttering under your breath as he sauntered away.

The rest of the night passed in much the same way—him teasing you, you firing back with sharp retorts, and both of you secretly trying to outdo the other in your duties. By the time patrol ended, you were both walking back to the common areas, still exchanging jabs.

“So, how many rule-breakers did you catch tonight?” Jungwon asked, his tone casual but his smirk betraying his competitive streak.

“Three,” you said smugly. “And you?”

“Four,” he replied, his grin widening when you scowled.

“Liar,” you accused, narrowing your eyes at him.

Jungwon gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Miss Perfect. Are you saying I’d lie about something so serious?”

“Yes,” you said flatly, though you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth from twitching upward.

“Well, believe what you want,” he said with a shrug, walking ahead of you toward the main staircase. “But next time, maybe you’ll think twice before underestimating me.”

You watched him go, shaking your head in exasperation. No matter how infuriating he was, there was a strange comfort in the back-and-forth banter between you. It was almost... fun, in its own twisted way.

But as you turned to head toward your dormitory, you caught yourself smiling and quickly wiped it off your face. Jungwon didn’t need to know that, for all his teasing and smug remarks, he made your prefect duties just a little less tedious—and a lot more complicated.

--

The air in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was cool, the steady drone of the professor’s voice filling the room as they explained the intricacies of Dementors. You should have been paying attention, but the lesson was one you had mastered ages ago. Instead, your thoughts wandered, your quill idly twirling between your fingers as you gazed out the window.

That was until a small folded piece of parchment fluttered directly in front of your face. You blinked in surprise, catching it before it fell onto your desk. Frowning, you carefully unfolded it, unsure of what to expect.

Inside was a drawing—a portrait of you. The lines were soft, delicate, and surprisingly skilled. It captured you in a way that made your breath hitch for a moment. You looked… pretty.

Your cheeks warmed as you glanced around the room, searching for the culprit. Your eyes landed on a tall Gryffindor boy sitting a few desks away. His face turned bright red the moment your eyes met his, and he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on his notes.

You couldn’t help but smile, a small, amused laugh escaping your lips.

When class ended and everyone began filing out, you gathered your things and stepped into the corridor. Before you could get far, a voice called out behind you.

“Uh, excuse me?”

You turned to see the same Gryffindor boy standing there, his hands nervously clutching the strap of his bag. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with soft eyes and a shy smile that revealed dimples.

“Yes?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

He cleared his throat, his face still tinged with embarrassment. “I, um, I was wondering if—if you don’t have any more classes today—maybe you’d like to study together? In the library, I mean.”

He was cute—really cute. And as luck would have it, he was a prefect, too, which made him even more appealing in your eyes. His nervousness was endearing, and you found yourself smiling softly.

“Sure,” you said, much to his visible relief. “I don’t have any other classes.”

The two of you walked to the library together, falling into an easy conversation. He introduced himself as Choi Soobin, and you quickly discovered he was funny, charming, and incredibly sweet. By the time you reached the library, you were already at ease in his presence.

The two of you sat down at a quiet table near the back, pulling out your books and parchment. At first, you tried to focus on your work, but Soobin`s quiet jokes and playful commentary kept pulling your attention away. Before long, you were laughing softly, your hand covering your mouth to stifle the sound as Madam Pince shot you both a stern look.

Unbeknownst to you, someone else had entered the library.

Jungwon strolled in, his usual confident smirk on his face as he made his way to the front desk to offer Madam Pince some assistance. He had volunteered to help her organize the new shipments of books—a task he didn’t particularly enjoy but knew would score him some house points.

But as he approached the desk, a sound stopped him in his tracks.

A laugh.

His head turned instinctively toward the source, his gaze landing on you. You were sitting at a table near the back, your head tilted slightly as you giggled at something the Gryffindor boy across from you had said. Soobin.

Jungwon’s chest tightened at the sight.

The Gryffindor was leaning closer to you, his dimples on full display as he smiled down at you, clearly pleased to have made you laugh. And you—Jungwon had never seen you so at ease, so… radiant.

His grip on the stack of books in his hands tightened as an ugly, unfamiliar feeling began to bubble in his chest. Jealousy.

Why were you laughing like that with Soobin? Why were you sitting so close to him, looking at him with such bright, open eyes? Jungwon had seen that smile before, but it had never been directed at him. And the realization made something in him twist painfully.

He tore his gaze away, his happy demeanor now replaced with a sour expression. He tried to focus on the task at hand, stacking books onto shelves and sorting parchment, but his eyes kept wandering back to you.

Every time Soobin leaned closer, every time you laughed softly, it was like a needle pricking at his chest.

You were supposed to be bickering with him, not smiling at some dimply Gryffindor prefect.

And worse, you didn’t even notice him. For the first time, it felt like you were completely out of his orbit, and it made his jealousy burn even brighter.

By the time he finished his chores, he couldn’t take it anymore. He shot one last glare in Soobin`s direction—though the Gryffindor was oblivious—and left the library, the ugly green feeling sitting heavy in his chest.

As he stalked through the corridors, his thoughts raced. He didn’t know what was worse: the fact that he was jealous, or the fact that he had no idea what to do about it.

The days that followed were... different. Soobin, with his warm smile and easygoing demeanor, seemed to find every excuse to be around you. Whether it was walking with you between classes, sharing a table in the library, or even just stopping to chat in the halls, he was always there.

And to your surprise, you didn’t mind. He had a way of making you laugh without even trying, his gentle humor and wide-eyed innocence making it hard to resist smiling.

“Do you always study this much?” Soobin asked one evening, leaning slightly over your shoulder as the two of you sat in the library.

“It’s called being responsible,” you teased, not looking up from your parchment.

“Well, if responsibility looks this good on you, maybe I should try it,” he joked, his dimples flashing.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Good luck with that.”

Moments like these had become the norm, and while you enjoyed his company, you couldn’t ignore the way Jungwon seemed to be watching your every move lately.

Every time you and Soobin crossed paths with him, Jungwon’s eyes would narrow, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. It was subtle—no one else seemed to notice—but you did. And you couldn’t ignore the way his usual smirk seemed to vanish whenever Soobin was around.

It didn’t help that Soobin, in his blissful obliviousness, seemed entirely focused on you.

“Do you think he’s going to explode one day?” Yuna, one of your closest friends, whispered to you during lunch, nodding subtly toward Jungwon, who was sitting a few tables away. His eyes were fixed on you and Soobin, his expression unreadable but intense.

You followed her gaze, your stomach flipping slightly when your eyes met Jungwon’s. He didn’t look away, and for a moment, it felt like he was daring you to do something—anything.

“He’s just... annoyed,” you muttered, breaking the eye contact and focusing back on your plate.

“Annoyed?” Yuna raised an eyebrow, a sly smile creeping onto her face. “That boy looks like he’s ready to hex Soobin into next week.”

You didn’t respond, mostly because you couldn’t deny it. Jungwon’s glares had grown sharper with each passing day, and it didn’t help that you’d somehow ended up with more patrols and prefect duties with Soobin lately.

At first, you’d chalked it up to coincidence, but now it was starting to feel deliberate. Maybe the professors had noticed how well you worked together, or maybe Soobin had requested it. Either way, it only seemed to worsen the already fragile balance between you and Jungwon.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed the way your soulmark had been acting up, either. The once-pleasant tingling had turned into an uncomfortable burn, a constant reminder of the growing rift between you and Jungwon.

It was ironic, really. For years, your “rivalry” with him had been the one constant in your life at Hogwarts. From the moment you’d both become prefects, it had been a steady back-and-forth of playful banter and one-upping each other. But now, things felt... different.

This was the first time since first year that you and Jungwon weren’t entirely in sync. And as much as you wanted to ignore it, to push down the guilt that came with the thought, it stung.

One evening, during yet another patrol with Soobin, you caught yourself lost in thought as he talked animatedly about something—a story about his younger siblings, if you remembered correctly. His voice was soft and warm, but it faded into the background as your mind wandered.

You couldn’t help but wonder what Jungwon was doing right now. Would he be patrolling the opposite side of the castle? Sitting in the common room with his friends, glaring at the fire in frustration?

“You okay?” Soobin’s voice pulled you back to the present, his kind eyes filled with concern.

You nodded quickly, offering him a small smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” he said gently, his concern only making your chest tighten.

You forced yourself to refocus, to push away the thoughts of Jungwon. But as you walked beside Soobin, his voice filling the quiet corridors, you couldn’t ignore the way your soulmark burned faintly against your skin, like it was trying to remind you of something you weren’t ready to face.

--

It had been an exhausting day. Between classes, your prefect duties, and Soobin’s persistent presence, you were feeling utterly drained. Tonight’s patrol was supposed to be simple—just a quick check of the corridors before returning to your common room.

But, as always, trouble had a way of finding you.

The moment you stepped into the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, you knew something was off.

A group of younger students was gathered at the far end, laughing nervously and huddling close together. As you got closer, you noticed a faint shimmer in the air, followed by a creeping chill that made your skin prickle.

A Dementor.

Or rather, a Boggart pretending to be one, you realized quickly. But the younger students didn’t know that. Their faces were pale with fear, their breaths coming out in short gasps as they stumbled back against the cold stone wall.

Without thinking, you acted on instinct.

“Stay back!” you called to the students, pulling out your wand.

The Boggart shifted its attention to you, gliding forward with a slow, deliberate menace. Even knowing it wasn’t real, you felt a spike of unease as the air grew colder.

You raised your wand, your voice steady. “Expecto Patronum!”

A bright, silvery light burst forth from your wand, taking shape in the form of an animal. Its figure moved with an elegant agility, leaping forward and sending the Boggart scuttling back into the shadows. The students gasped in awe, their fear melting into relief as the warmth of your Patronus filled the room.

It wasn’t until the Boggart disappeared completely, retreating into a chest, that you realized you weren’t alone.

From the corner of your eye, you caught movement. Turning your head, your stomach dropped.

Jungwon stood at the entrance, his dark eyes wide and locked onto your Patronus. The silver light of the animal reflected in his gaze, his expression shifting from shock to something deeper—something you couldn’t quite place.

Your Patronus lingered for a moment longer before fading, its light dissolving into the cold air. The students quickly scrambled past Jungwon, murmuring their thanks as they made their way back to their dorms. But you barely noticed them leave.

It was just you and Jungwon now.

He didn’t say anything, but you could see it—the moment of realization dawning on his face. His eyes flicked to your arm, the same spot where your soulmark had always rested, hidden beneath your sleeve. And then, almost involuntarily, his hand moved to his own arm.

Right where his soulmark would be.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Jungwon—” you started, but your voice caught in your throat.

He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was piecing everything together in real time. His hand remained pressed against his arm, his fingers curling slightly as if he could feel the truth burning beneath his skin.

“Your Patronus,” he said softly, his voice steady but quiet.

You swallowed hard, unable to meet his gaze. “It’s not—”

“It’s the same...." he interrupted, his tone carefully controlled, but you could see his jaw clench. “The same as my soulmark.”

Your breath hitched. You knew there was no use denying it—not when the evidence was staring him right in the face.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just a coincidence, Jungwon. That’s all.”

He let out a soft, humorless laugh, and when you finally looked up, you were startled by the look in his eyes. It wasn’t anger, like you expected. It wasn’t even annoyance.

It was hurt.

“A coincidence?” he repeated, his voice low. His hand finally dropped from his arm, hanging limply at his side. “You think a Patronus matching my soulmark is just a coincidence?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The burning sensation in your arm flared up, as if your soulmark itself was scolding you for trying to deny the truth.

Jungwon took another step closer, his gaze searching your face. “How long have you known?”

“Jungwon, I—”

“How long?” he pressed, his voice breaking slightly.

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. There was no point in lying now. “Since last year,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His jaw clenched, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Last year,” he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “You’ve known this whole time, and you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I didn’t know how!” you shot back, your voice rising despite yourself. “What was I supposed to say, Jungwon? ‘Hey, by the way, we’re soulmates’? You would have laughed in my face!”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. “Is that what you think of me?”

“No,” you said quickly, the word rushing out before you could stop it. “No, I don’t think that. I just—” You let out a shaky breath, rubbing at your arm as if that would ease the burning sensation. “I didn’t want to ruin everything. We’ve been—whatever we are—for so long, and I didn’t want to mess that up.”

Jungwon was silent for a long moment, his gaze dropping to the ground. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but no less firm.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said. “But lying to me—hiding this from me—it hurt. It hurts.”

Your throat tightened, guilt twisting in your chest.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you said quietly.

He looked up at you, his dark eyes filled with a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite untangle. For the first time, he looked vulnerable, the walls he always kept so carefully in place beginning to crack.

“I don’t know what this means,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I think we owe it to ourselves to figure it out. Don’t you?”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice.

After that night in the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, you found yourself plagued by questions and uncertainty. Jungwon’s quiet hurt echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing on the edge of something you didn’t fully understand. Soulmates. The idea had always seemed so distant to you, something that other people talked about with a dreamy look in their eyes. But now that it was your reality, it felt different—complicated, messy, and, honestly, terrifying.

For the next few days, you threw yourself into researching everything you could about soulmates. You spent hours in the library, digging through old books and scrolls, hoping to find some concrete answers. You wanted to know more about the connection, the rules—or lack thereof—that came with having a soulmate. Was there a timeline to follow? Did you have to accept it? What did it mean for your future?

You also started asking your friends about their own experiences, although you were careful not to reveal too much. Yujin was the first to notice your sudden interest in the subject. You’d pulled her aside one evening, after class, and asked about her soulmark.

“Oh,” Yujin had said, glancing at you with a knowing smile, “it’s a small bird, right here.” She pointed to her wrist. “It was weird at first, but once we met, everything just clicked. It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders. My soulmate’s a Hufflepuff, actually.”

You nodded thoughtfully, trying to hide the way your heart twisted at the thought of your own situation. “And do you feel different? I mean, with him?”

She hesitated, then smiled softly. “Yeah. It’s like we’ve known each other for ages. I don’t know how to explain it, but you just know.”

You didn’t ask more, knowing you couldn’t handle hearing too much about the ease with which others seemed to fall into their soulmate connections. You wanted to learn, but you weren’t ready to hear about how it all just worked for others.

The next day, you sought out Jeongin, hoping for a more analytical approach. You had always admired how level-headed he was, and you figured he’d give you a more logical perspective. After all, he’d been pretty matter-of-fact about everything, including his own soulmark.

“I don’t think it means anything special,” he said, leaning back against the wall in the common room. “It’s just a way of knowing who’s yours. You’re connected in ways you can’t explain, but don’t overthink it. It’s not some kind of fate that’s pulling you together. It’s more like... a bond, I guess.”

You nodded again, relieved that he seemed to have a more grounded view of the connection. But something in his words unsettled you. “So, it’s not destiny?”

Jeongin chuckled. “Not for me. Maybe it`s just destiny for someone.”

His words sent a jolt through you, and you quickly brushed off the discomfort with a half-laugh. “I’m not sure I believe in destiny,” you muttered, hoping he wouldn’t pry further.

He gave you a long, measuring look but didn’t push. “Well, whatever it is, you’ve got to figure it out, yeah?”

You agreed, even though you weren’t entirely sure how to figure it out.

Meanwhile, your interactions with Soobin had taken on a new complexity. He seemed determined to win your attention, constantly seeking ways to make you smile, to make you laugh. He was sweet and caring in his own way, and you couldn’t deny that you liked being around him. But every time he called you “cute” or flashed that charming grin of his, something in you tightened—because you knew Jungwon was still watching, and you could feel the way his gaze lingered on you from across the room.

You had decided to keep the soulmate connection to yourself, at least for now. You didn’t want to hurt Soobin, especially when he seemed so genuinely happy to be with you. You liked him, you really did. But something about Jungwon’s presence, the pull between the two of you, was undeniable. You couldn’t ignore it any longer, even if you tried.

Jungwon, however, didn’t seem to share your same restraint. You noticed him more and more—his gaze following you and Soobin whenever the two of you were talking. His posture was stiff, his mouth set in a firm line whenever Soobin made you laugh, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly when you exchanged playful glances.

It wasn’t until one afternoon in the courtyard, when Soobin had made another attempt to charm you with one of his witty remarks, that you saw it.

Jungwon was standing near the entrance to the courtyard, watching the two of you from a distance. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze was dark. You felt a flicker of unease. You’d always known there was a rivalry between you and Jungwon, but this was insane.

When Soobin noticed your hesitation, he smiled brightly and nudged you playfully. “What’s wrong? Did I say something weird?”

You shook your head quickly, forcing a smile. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just... distracted.”

“By Jungwon?” he teased, his eyes glancing over your shoulder. “You know, he doesn’t look too happy with us.”

You followed his gaze and found Jungwon standing there, looking like he was about to storm off. His eyes flicked to you and Soobin, then quickly away, but not before you saw that flicker of something—you weren’t sure what it was. But it didn’t look friendly.

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned back to Soobin. “Maybe we should head inside,” you suggested, trying to ignore the discomfort gnawing at you.

“Sure,” Soobin agreed, still oblivious to the tension you could feel. “Let’s go study, yeah?”

Studying with Soobin in the library was, for the most part, uneventful. He was focused, eager to discuss theories and share notes. But despite his attempts to make the session lively, your attention kept drifting, pulled by something you couldn’t explain. Every few minutes, you found yourself glancing up from your textbook, only to find Jungwon walking past your table again.

It was subtle at first. A quick, casual stroll down the aisle between the shelves, as if he were simply helping Madam Pince organize some books. But as the minutes ticked by, it became increasingly obvious that he was lingering near your corner. His footsteps were quieter now, and you could feel the weight of his gaze on you, even when he didn’t look directly at you.

Soobin, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. He was too busy scribbling notes on his parchment, talking about a spell he’d just learned in class. But you could feel the heat creeping up your neck, a strange tension building in the space between you and Jungwon, even though you were doing your best to ignore it.

"Do you think I should try this spell in the next class?" Soobin asked, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I feel like it could be fun, don’t you?"

You blinked, forcing your focus back onto him. "Uh, yeah. I think you’ll do great with it. You’ve got the precision down."

But even as you spoke, your gaze drifted over to Jungwon again. This time, he was standing just a few feet away, pretending to adjust a stack of books on the shelf directly across from your table. You could feel his presence, his eyes lingering on you from the corner of your vision. His movements were slow, deliberate, and each time he walked past, he seemed to be just a bit too close for comfort.

Your stomach tightened, and your heart started to race, the familiar unease creeping up again. You couldn’t help it. The bond that had ignited between you and Jungwon—the one you had been trying to ignore, to push down—was becoming harder and harder to control.

Soobin, oblivious to your inner turmoil, continued speaking. "I was thinking we could practice it in the courtyard later today. Maybe you could come with me? You know, as my study partner."

Before you could respond, Jungwon’s figure appeared again, now walking past your table on the far side of the library. He glanced in your direction as he passed, and for a split second, your eyes locked. It was brief, but you could see the flicker of something in his gaze—something that made your chest tighten. His eyes dropped quickly, and without another word, he kept walking, the sound of his boots echoing faintly on the stone floors.

You felt the burn of your soulmark pulse against your skin.

Soobin didn’t seem to notice the shift in the air, his voice continuing without interruption. "What do you think? Should I go ahead and try the spell? I mean, I know we’ve got a lot to study, but—"

"Yeah," you interrupted, trying to shake off the lingering unease. "That sounds great. But, uh... I think I’m done for today. I’ve got some stuff to take care of."

You closed your textbook with a soft snap, feeling the sudden urge to leave. You stood up quickly, gathering your things, but before you could say goodbye, Soobin was looking at you with a puzzled expression.

"Already?" he asked. "I thought we were doing great."

"Yeah," you said, offering him a strained smile. "But I really do need to go. I’ll, uh... catch up with you later."

Soobin nodded, his dimples showing as he smiled. "Alright. I’ll see you later, then. Maybe we can talk more about that spell."

You quickly walked away, making your way toward the exit of the library. But as you passed through the aisles, you could feel it—the subtle shift in the air as Jungwon followed behind, his presence heavy and undeniable.

You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t. But your heart was pounding, and as you exited the library, you heard his footsteps fall into sync behind you. He was following you.

When you stepped into the hallway, trying to calm your thoughts. Before you could even think to react, a hand gripped your wrist, pulling you gently but firmly into a small, dimly lit room just off the main corridor. The door clicked shut behind you, and you found yourself pressed against the cold stone wall, with no clear way out.

Your breath hitched, and you instinctively looked down, avoiding the sharp intensity of Jungwon’s gaze. The silence between you both hung heavy, almost suffocating. You could hear the faint beat of your own heart, louder in your ears than the soft rustling of his clothes as he moved closer.

“Look at me,” Jungwon’s voice cut through the silence, low and demanding.

You hesitated, a part of you afraid of what you might see in his eyes. Slowly, you lifted your gaze, finding his face inches from yours. His dark eyes searched your expression, his jaw tense as if he was trying to contain something—something he didn’t know how to put into words.

“You’re avoiding me,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words press down on you. Your mind raced, but the only thing you could focus on was the distance that had grown between you two lately. Not just physically, but emotionally. “I’m not avoiding you,” you replied quietly, but the words didn’t sound convincing, even to yourself.

“Yes, you are,” Jungwon said, stepping closer, his proximity making your pulse spike. “I see it in the way you look at me now. The way you look away when I’m near.” His hand hovered near your face, but he didn’t touch you—not yet. “You’ve been different ever since you’ve been spending so much time with Soobin.”

Your chest tightened at the mention of his name, and for a moment, you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t—” You stopped yourself. The last thing you wanted was to cause a scene, or worse, make it clear how much it hurt to see Jungwon’s jealousy, to see how much it bothered him that you were spending time with Soobin.

Jungwon wasn’t having any of it. “You didn’t think it would affect me?” His voice was firm, but there was something in it—an edge, a vulnerability you hadn’t heard before. “You didn’t think I’d notice?”

You felt a knot twist in your stomach. “Jungwon, I don’t—"

“Don’t lie to me,” he cut in sharply, his eyes intense. “I can’t stand it. I can’t stand you pretending like this isn’t happening.”

His words hit you like a wave, and suddenly everything you’d been trying to keep bottled up came rushing to the surface. Your chest was tight, and the burning sensation from your soulmark flared again, reminding you of the connection that you could no longer ignore.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” you whispered, finally finding the courage to speak the truth. Your voice shook slightly, but you pushed through. “I didn’t want to hurt anyone, but it’s not easy, Jungwon. It’s not easy to just… admit that everything is changing. That we’re changing.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression softening slightly. But even as his gaze softened, the intensity never quite left his eyes. “You think I haven’t felt that, too?” he murmured. “You think it’s been easy for me, either? Watching you with him, knowing you’re spending time with Soobin because you’re not sure about us? Not sure about me?”

The words stung, and you averted your gaze again, your heart aching at the raw honesty in his voice. “It’s not like that,” you said weakly. “Soobin’s just... a friend.”

Jungwon’s lips tightened at the word. “A friend, huh?”

You nodded, but it felt hollow. You weren’t sure if it was true anymore—not when Soobin made you laugh so easily, not when he made your heart feel lighter in ways that Jungwon didn’t seem to. But the truth was, you couldn’t let yourself go down that path. You couldn’t let yourself hurt Soobin, not when you still cared about him. And you did care about him, in a way that you weren’t sure how to explain.

“I’m sorry,” you said, almost instinctively, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like that. I just... I don’t know what I’m doing, Jungwon. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His hand finally reached up, cupping your chin gently to tilt your face so that you were looking at him once more. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheek.

“You don’t have to fix anything,” Jungwon said, his voice quieter now. “But you can’t keep pushing me away. Not when we’re already this far into this.” He paused, searching your eyes as if trying to read the truth between the lines. “If you’re my soulmate, then I don’t want to keep pretending like it doesn’t mean anything.”

You blinked, the weight of his words sinking in. You didn’t know how to respond—not when the truth was so complicated, not when everything felt like it was teetering on the edge of something you weren’t ready to face.

“I don’t know how this works,” you admitted quietly. “But I can’t just ignore it either. I—” You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone in the process, either.”

Jungwon’s expression softened, the intensity in his gaze giving way to something gentler. “Then let’s figure it out,” he said quietly. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now. But we can’t keep running away from it.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

Just as the air between you and Jungwon began to settle, and you were both preparing to leave the small room, a sudden, unmistakable sound echoed through the hallway outside. The telltale cackle of Peeves reached your ears.

"Oi, what's this? A little lover's quarrel?" Peeves' voice was high-pitched and mocking, and you could hear the sound of him shuffling on the other side of the door.

Before either of you could react, the door locked with an audible click, trapping you both inside. You and Jungwon exchanged a quick glance, both of you already understanding what had just happened.

"Peeves, open this door!" you called out, your voice sharp with irritation. "This isn’t funny!"

But instead of an answer, the only thing you heard was Peeves’ signature cackling, growing fainter as he moved down the hall. "Not so fast! You two have got plenty to talk about! Have fun!" His voice echoed as it faded into the distance.

Jungwon let out a frustrated sigh, stepping forward and trying the door, but it didn't budge. He pressed his palm against the wood, his frown deepening.

"Great," he muttered, the annoyance evident in his voice. "We’re stuck here now."

You crossed your arms, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks at the awkwardness of the situation. Of course, Peeves had to pick the exact moment when things were finally starting to make sense between you and Jungwon to lock you both in a room together.

"I guess we should sit down and wait for the magic to wear off," you said dryly, trying to lighten the mood. You were half expecting Jungwon to make a sarcastic comment in return, but when you looked up, you found him watching you, his expression softened, though still a little tense.

"Not exactly how I pictured this," he said with a half-smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he shifted his focus elsewhere, like he was trying to process everything that had just happened.

"Yeah, well, Peeves does have a knack for timing," you muttered, your own smile faltering. You both took a step back, leaning against opposite walls, leaving some space between you.

You couldn’t help but steal a glance at Jungwon, your chest tightening a little at how the room felt smaller now, despite the fact that the walls were the same. The quiet between you two had changed, from tense silence to something that felt heavier, like something important had shifted and you were still trying to figure out exactly what it was.

"So, uh...," you said, breaking the silence. "This is fun, huh?"

Jungwon chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "I’m trying not to think about it. Honestly, I just... I don’t know what I’m supposed to say now. We’re soulmates, but I can’t just expect you to drop everything and choose me, especially with everything that’s been going on with Soobin."

You blinked, feeling a mix of emotions flood you—guilt, confusion, and a strange sense of relief that he was being honest with you. "I never expected you to just—" You cut yourself off. What had you expected? Had you been expecting Jungwon to just accept that you’d be together because of your soulmark? Was that fair to either of you?

"It’s not easy, Jungwon," you said finally. "I care about Soobin. I do. He’s been there for me in ways I didn’t think anyone else would be."

Jungwon’s eyes flickered toward the door, then back to you, and he let out a long breath. "I know you do. And I’m not trying to tell you to stop spending time with him. I just... I don’t want you to think that I’m going to disappear because you’re with him." His voice softened, and he looked at you. "I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words. Jungwon's vulnerability was something new, something raw that you weren’t used to seeing from him, especially like this.

You both fell into silence, the weight of the room pressing down on you, heavier than the stone walls surrounding you. Neither of you spoke.

You shifted your position, feeling the warmth of Jungwon’s body too close to your own. Every time you tried to step away, your back brushed against the cold wall, and the small room only seemed to shrink around you. You knew you had to do something to get some space, but the proximity felt... different than it had before. It wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, but it was undeniably intimate in a way that made your heart beat faster.

"Jungwon..." you whispered, shifting slightly, trying to create some distance between you two. But with your movement, his hand instinctively reached out, grabbing your waist and pulling you back toward him.

“Don’t,” he murmured softly, his voice strained, almost as though he were trying to convince himself as much as you. His face was flushed, his breath shallow. His gaze flickered down for a moment before he quickly looked away, a slight embarrassment coloring his features.

“I—uh...” He cleared his throat, still not meeting your eyes. "I think it’s better if we don’t move too much. We’re stuck in here for now, so..."

His words trailed off as you both stood there, your chest pressed against his, the quiet intensity of the moment thick between you. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the faintest tremor in his hand still holding onto your waist, keeping you there with him.

You felt a twinge of awkwardness, but there was also a flutter in your stomach, something you couldn’t quite identify. Jungwon wasn’t acting like the confident, teasing prefect you were used to. He seemed almost... shy now. He avoided your gaze, and you could see his cheeks were flushed.

“Jungwon,” you repeated, your voice a little softer this time. You weren’t sure if you were trying to calm him down or if you were trying to ease the tension between the two of you. “You’re really close.”

He winced, as if he hadn't realized just how close you both were until you said it. "Sorry," he muttered quickly, but he didn’t let go of your waist. Instead, he awkwardly shifted to give you a little more space, though it wasn’t much.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the absurdity of the situation. Here you were, trapped in a small room, with Jungwon.

A sudden noise broke the tension though —footsteps, echoing from the hall outside. Jungwon straightened, eyes narrowing, before he turned to you.

"Someone’s coming," he said, his tone a little more hopeful. "Let’s see if we can get out of here before Peeves realizes we’re not giving him the satisfaction of getting angry."

You nodded, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Sounds like a plan."

Jungwon gave a quick nod and moved toward the door, banging on it with the flat of his palm. You joined him, calling out through the thick wood. “Hey! Is anyone out there? We’re locked in here!”

For a few moments, there was nothing but silence. Then, faintly, the sound of approaching footsteps reached your ears. Your heart leapt. Someone had heard you!

“Keep banging,” Jungwon said, his tone lighter now, and you both resumed your effort.

Finally, the footsteps stopped just outside the door. There was a brief pause before a familiar voice called out, “What’s going on in there?”

“Minji?” you called, recognizing the voice of your fellow prefect. Relief flooded through you. “It’s me! Unlock the door!”

There was a muffled sound—probably Minji sighing in exasperation—before you heard her mutter a quick unlocking spell. The door clicked open, and before either of you could adjust, it swung outward, leaving you and Jungwon stumbling forward into the hall.

You nearly tripped over your own feet, but Jungwon’s hand shot out, gripping your arm to steady you.

Minji stood there, her eyes wide as she took in the sight of you and Jungwon emerging together, slightly disheveled and far too close for comfort. Her gaze flickered from you to Jungwon and back again, her eyebrows arching in silent question.

“What—?” she started, but you cut her off quickly, desperate to explain before her imagination ran wild.

“Peeves locked us in,” you blurted out, gesturing toward the now-open door. “He thought it’d be funny to trap us in that tiny room and leave us there.”

Minji’s eyes narrowed slightly, her expression skeptical. “Right,” she said slowly, her tone clearly implying she wasn’t entirely convinced.

You glanced at Jungwon, hoping he’d back you up, but the sight of him made your words falter. His face was still slightly flushed, a sheen of sweat glistening on his forehead. His usually composed demeanor was cracked just enough to reveal how flustered he was. And worse, he was still standing far too close to you, his hand lingering on your arm as if he’d forgotten to let go.

“Uh, right?” you prompted him, your voice a little too high-pitched.

“Yeah,” Jungwon said quickly, finally releasing your arm and taking a small step back. His voice was steady, but you noticed how his eyes avoided Minji’s and instead flicked toward the floor. “It was just Peeves being Peeves. Nothing more.”

Minji crossed her arms, her lips twitching upward in a knowing smirk. “Uh-huh. Nothing more.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you quickly turned the conversation back to the situation at hand. “Anyway, thanks for letting us out,” you said, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “We were starting to think we’d be stuck in there all night.”

“Anytime,” Minji replied, her smirk deepening. Her gaze lingered on the both of you for a moment longer, and you could practically see the gears turning in her head.

“Well,” she said finally, taking a step back, “I’ll leave you two to... whatever it is you’re doing. Try not to get locked in another room together, yeah?”

“Minji!” you protested, but she was already walking away, her laughter echoing down the hall.

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Great. Now she’s never going to let this go.”

Jungwon chuckled softly beside you, and you turned to look at him. His usual teasing expression was back, but there was something softer in his eyes now, something almost... fond.

“Well,” he said, his voice light, “at least we’ve got a good story to tell, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto your face. “Sure. A great story.”

For a moment, the hallway was silent. You stood there, staring at Jungwon, and he stared back. His dark eyes seemed to search yours, like he was trying to figure out what to say—or maybe he was waiting for you to say something first.

The weight of his gaze made your stomach twist, and your cheeks grew warm under the tension that hung in the air. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—to break it, but the words wouldn’t come.

Jungwon shifted slightly, leaning against the wall. His expression softened, the usual teasing edge gone, replaced by something gentler. “Hey,” he started, his voice low and almost hesitant.

It was too much.

“Goodbye!” you blurted, your voice louder than you intended.

Jungwon blinked, startled, but before he could respond, you were already turning on your heel, speeding off down the hallway like a first-year trying not to miss the train to Hogwarts.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, and your soulmark tingled faintly under your sleeve, but you refused to look back. You didn’t trust yourself to face him—not after everything that had just happened.

What was wrong with you? Why did he always make you feel this way? It wasn’t fair.

“Goodbye?” Jungwon called after you, his tone incredulous but amused. You could hear the faint chuckle in his voice, and it only made you pick up your pace.

You turned the corner and pressed your back against the wall, out of his line of sight. Your hand flew to your chest as if that would calm the rapid thumping of your heart.

What was that? Why did it feel like every time you were near him, the air grew thinner, the world smaller?

You groaned softly, covering your face with your hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jungwon was your rival—your frustrating, irritating rival who lived to tease you and get under your skin.

So why did it feel like he was becoming so much more?

--

The crisp autumn air carried the comforting scent of butterbeer and roasted chestnuts as you strolled through the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. It was your first free weekend in what felt like forever, and you were determined to enjoy it. You’d already picked up a few books from Scrivenshaft's, a bag of Honeydukes' finest chocolates nestled in your arms, and had plans to end the afternoon with a warm mug of butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.

It was supposed to be a peaceful day.

That is, until you heard the familiar sound of raised voices near the outskirts of the village.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Arguments weren’t uncommon in Hogsmeade, especially with so many students running around. But as you drew closer, a nagging feeling began to creep up your spine.

You froze when you recognized the voices.

Jungwon and Soobin.

Heart pounding, you hurried toward the commotion, weaving through a small cluster of curious onlookers. The scene that greeted you was enough to make your jaw drop.

Jungwon and Soobin stood face-to-face, their wands clenched tightly in their hands. The tension between them crackled in the air like static electricity, and neither seemed willing to back down.

“I’m saying,” Jungwon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass, “you’re wasting her time. If you actually cared about her, you’d stop pretending you have a chance and leave her alone.”

Soobin’s jaw clenched, his usually soft demeanor hardening into something unrecognizable. “And what makes you think you have any right to decide that? You don’t own her, Jungwon. She’s not some prize for you to claim.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

They were arguing… about you?

You took an instinctive step forward, but neither of them noticed you. Their focus was entirely on each other, the frustration and unspoken emotions they’d been holding back for weeks finally spilling out into the open.

“She deserves better than someone who doesn’t even know what she wants,” Jungwon hissed, his knuckles white around his wand. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“And what do you know, Jungwon?” Soobin shot back, his voice rising. “That you’ve been dragging this on for years, pretending you don’t care, only to step in the moment she starts looking at someone else? You’re just jealous.”

Jealous? Jungwon’s expression darkened at the word, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Jealous? Don’t flatter yourself, Soobin. This has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me when you keep butting in!” Soobin snapped, his dimples deepening as his grip on his wand tightened. “For once, stop acting like the world revolves around you and let her decide what she wants!”

The words hit like a lightning strike, and for a moment, Jungwon faltered.

“Enough!”

Your voice rang out before you even realized you’d spoken, startling both boys. They turned to you in unison, their expressions shifting from anger to surprise—and then something close to guilt.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” you demanded, crossing your arms as you stared them down. “Are you seriously fighting over me? In the middle of Hogsmeade?”

Neither of them responded, their silence only fueling your frustration.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you two,” you continued, your tone firm, “but I’m not some object for you to argue about. I don’t need either of you deciding what’s best for me or who I should spend my time with.”

Soobin looked away, his shoulders slumping slightly, while Jungwon’s gaze remained locked on yours. There was something in his eyes—something vulnerable—that made your stomach twist, but you refused to let it distract you.

“If you can’t act like the grown wizards you’re supposed to be, then maybe I don’t want to spend time with either of you,” you said, your voice softening but still laced with disappointment.

You turned on your heel, clutching your bag of sweets tightly as you marched back toward the village square. The crowd of onlookers quickly dispersed, whispering amongst themselves as they returned to their shopping.

Behind you, you heard Soobin let out a frustrated sigh.

“This isn’t over,” Jungwon muttered, his voice low enough that he probably thought you wouldn’t hear.

But you did.

For days after the argument in Hogsmeade, you stuck to your plan. You avoided both Jungwon and Soobin with a steadfast determination, pouring all your energy into your studies and prefect duties. It wasn’t easy, not when they seemed to pop up everywhere you went, their longing glances and hesitant attempts to talk to you a constant reminder of the rift between you all.

But you were determined to teach them a lesson.

You didn’t stop to acknowledge Soobin when you passed him in the halls, even when his usual cheerful greeting was replaced with a soft, “Hey…” that trailed off when you didn’t respond. You ignored the way his shoulders slumped, or how his dimples didn’t show as much when he smiled at others.

And Jungwon? You didn’t even glance his way during patrols, even when you could feel the weight of his gaze following your every move. You ignored the way your soulmark burned faintly whenever he was near.

It was torture.

Not just for them, but for you too.

You told yourself it was necessary. That they needed to understand how their actions affected you. But that didn’t stop the ache in your chest when you caught Soobin sitting alone at the Gryffindor table during meals, his usually lively voice replaced by silence. It didn’t stop the pang of guilt when you walked into the library and found Jungwon there, staring blankly at an open book, his jaw clenched tightly as he pretended not to notice you.

It hurt.

It hurt to see Soobin’s dimples fade, to watch Jungwon’s confident smirk replaced by a quiet stillness. And it hurt to know that you were the reason for it.

But you didn’t stop.

Every time your resolve wavered, you reminded yourself of that day in Hogsmeade. Of the argument you’d walked in on, the way they’d fought over you like you were some prize to be claimed. You reminded yourself that they needed to learn that you weren’t theirs to argue over.

Still, the distance weighed on you.

There were moments when you almost caved. When Soobin would pass you a small note in class, his handwriting shaky but hopeful, asking if you’d like to meet in the library. When Jungwon would linger after patrols, his expression softening as he quietly said your name, only for you to turn away.

Each time, you swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed forward, ignoring the way your chest tightened and your soulmark burned.

But the worst moment came one evening during dinner.

You were sitting with your friends, trying to focus on the conversation, when you glanced toward the Slytherin table. Jungwon sat at the far end, his head resting on one hand as he absently pushed food around on his plate. His usual liveliness was gone, replaced by a quiet, almost defeated air that made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

Your gaze flickered to the Gryffindor table, where Soobin was seated with a group of his housemates. He was laughing, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His dimples appeared faintly, but they lacked the warmth you’d grown so fond of.

For a moment, you considered getting up. Walking over to them, breaking the silence you’d forced upon yourself and them.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you stayed rooted to your seat, gripping your fork tightly as you forced yourself to look away.

You told yourself this was for the best. That they needed to understand how much their actions had hurt you. But as you sat there, ignoring the ache in your chest and the burn of your soulmark, you couldn’t help but wonder if you were hurting yourself just as much as you were hurting them.

You questioned if this was worth it.

You spent the next few days lost in thought, unable to focus on anything except the whirlwind of confusion inside your mind. The more you thought, the more questions piled up, each one more pressing than the last.

Did Soobin like you enough to consider it love? You could feel the tenderness in his eyes, the way he always seemed to know when you needed a laugh or when your mood shifted. His affection felt genuine, but was it love? Or was it just his natural warmth and kindness? You wanted to believe he cared for you deeply, but could you really be sure?

And Jungwon… You ran your fingers over your soulmark absentmindedly, tracing the faint burn that seemed to pulse with his presence. Was he drawn to you because of the bond you shared, or was there more to it? Did he really like you as a person, or was he just following the pull of fate, following the path that had been set for him? His actions made it hard to tell, and every time you caught a glimpse of his conflicted expression, you only felt more lost.

You sat in your room that evening, a blanket wrapped tightly around you as the cool air from the window brushed against your cheeks. You stared blankly at the wall, the weight of your thoughts pressing down on you. You’d never been one to let yourself get overwhelmed by emotions, but right now, it was impossible not to.

What am I supposed to do? You couldn’t keep ignoring them, couldn’t keep pretending that it didn’t matter how they were affected by your silence. But you also couldn’t let yourself be pushed into a corner, forced to choose between them just because of some soulmark. You were so much more than that, weren’t you?

The tears started without warning—hot, bitter drops that slid down your face as the realization hit. You had no answers. You had no idea what you were doing, what the right choice even was.

The room felt too small, the weight of everything around you closing in. You buried your face in your hands, trying to stifle the sobs that wracked your body. You were exhausted from holding everything in, from pretending that the pain of making this decision didn’t tear you apart.

Why is this so hard? You thought bitterly, as the tears continued to fall, your vision blurring with each passing second. You hated this feeling. You hated that you could hurt both Soobin and Jungwon by simply existing between them, by trying to find your own way without causing pain.

You wanted to be strong, to find clarity, but all you felt now was the sting of uncertainty and the emptiness of not knowing where to turn.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your heart still ached, the silent cry you had been holding in for so long now finally spilling over.

How had everything gotten so complicated?

--

You had tried to go about your day as best as you could, despite the storm of emotions brewing inside of you. You needed a distraction, something to pull you out of your spiraling thoughts. But of course, the universe had other plans.

As you walked down one of the quieter hallways, lost in your own thoughts, you failed to notice the telltale signs of Peeves’ latest prank: a small, harmless-looking puddle of water on the floor. Or, what you thought was harmless. As your foot landed in it, the floor suddenly gave way beneath you, and before you could even react, a burst of confetti and loud horns went off above your head.

The water splashed up around you, and your foot slipped, sending you sprawling to the ground with a sharp thud. The confetti rained down on you, a mocking reminder of Peeves’ relentless mischief.

You groaned, pushing yourself up with shaky hands, the sharp pain in your ankle telling you that this wasn’t just an embarrassing fall. You forced yourself to stand, wincing with each movement. It took everything in you to push through the pain, but you knew you couldn’t stay there. You had to get to the hospital wing.

It felt like an eternity as you limped through the halls, your leg throbbing in protest with every step. But eventually, you made it. Madam Pomfrey immediately ushered you onto a bed and began checking you over. You winced as she poked and prodded at your ankle, muttering under her breath.

You had never been one to ask for attention, but it was clear you couldn’t hide the injury, not when it was as obvious as it was. After Madam Pomfrey wrapped up your ankle and began to administer a pain-relieving potion, you closed your eyes, trying to relax. You really just wanted a moment of peace, to recover from everything.

But peace didn’t seem to be on the menu that day.

The door to the hospital wing creaked open, and you opened your eyes to see both Soobin and Jungwon stepping inside. Their eyes locked on you instantly, their expressions unreadable. Soobin was the first to speak, his voice warm but laced with concern.

“Hey… Are you alright?” he asked softly, taking a few steps forward.

You nodded, trying to smile, but the discomfort from your ankle made it difficult to do so. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little… well, you know, Peeves. Same old story.”

Jungwon, who had been standing a bit further away, finally moved closer. His gaze flicked from you to Soobin, then back to you, his jaw clenching just slightly. "You’re really lucky you didn’t hurt yourself worse," he said, his tone more curt than usual.

You didn’t miss the tension between the two of them. The way Soobin hovered near you, his eyes full of concern, and Jungwon’s more guarded expression. The air between them felt thick, like the two of them were both trying to control the emotions they didn’t want to express.

Soobin, sensing the silence hanging between them, cleared his throat and gave you a soft smile. “I’ll make sure you’re okay. We can talk later, right? After you rest a bit.”

You nodded again, grateful for his kindness. “Yeah, thanks, Soobin.”

Jungwon was still standing off to the side, looking like he was holding back a thousand thoughts he didn’t want to share. He glanced at Soobin once more, before finally turning back to you, his expression softening—just a little.

“You should rest,” he murmured, his voice almost hesitant.

You met his gaze, but before you could say anything, both of them stepped back.

After they left, the tension between them still lingered in the air. You could see it in the way they avoided eye contact, in the short, clipped exchanges they had with each other.

--

Your ankle had finally healed, and you found yourself walking through the hallways, your steps purposefully quick, but your mind racing even faster. You had spent days trying to sort through your feelings, to understand everything that had been happening. Now, you knew exactly who you needed to talk to.

You spotted him from a distance — standing by one of the doorways, lost in thought. It was as if everything else around you faded into the background. Your heart started to beat a little faster, and before you could second-guess yourself, you crossed the hallway and grabbed him by the arm, pulling him with you toward an empty classroom.

He stumbled for a moment, clearly caught off guard by your sudden action. "Hey, what’s—" he started, but you didn’t let him finish. You pulled him all the way inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, your breath quickening in your chest. The room was dim, the sunlight filtering through the tall windows casting long shadows on the stone floor.

When you let go of his arm, you stepped back, eyes not leaving his face. He blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to something more guarded, almost unsure. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You took a deep breath, your heart pounding as you finally asked the question that had been eating at you for so long. "Jungwon," you began, your voice steady but laced with uncertainty. "What do you feel about me?"

His eyes softened, and for a moment, he didn’t speak. The silence between you stretched, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. He seemed to gather himself, his gaze never wavering from yours, before he finally answered.

"I..." Jungwon hesitated, running a hand through his hair, and you saw the vulnerability in his eyes. "From the very first time I saw you, sitting there, waiting to be sorted into a house... I knew I wanted to get to know you. Even if it meant teasing you at first, I just... I wanted to be around you."

You could feel your chest tightening, the words he was saying hitting you harder than you expected.

He took a step closer, his voice softer now, almost like a confession. "But as the years passed, my feelings for you... they grew stronger. It was more than just wanting to know you, it was about needing to be with you." He paused, as if the weight of the truth was difficult to say. "Every time I saw you, my heart would beat faster. My palms would get sweaty. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And when I saw your Patronus... and I realized you were my soulmate, I was so happy. I thought everything was perfect." Jungwon’s gaze dropped for a moment, his voice turning quiet. "But then I found out you were hiding it from me. You kept it from me, and it hurt, more than I can explain."

You wanted to say something, to tell him that you were sorry, but you waited.

"As much as it hurt, my love for you didn’t change. It only made me want to be with you even more, to be the one who gets to be with you. But..." He glanced away briefly, as if gathering his thoughts before looking back at you with a pained expression. "When I saw you with Soobin, when I saw you laughing and being so close with him... it hurt. I couldn’t help but feel jealous. I wanted that to be me, not him. I wanted to be the one making you smile like that."

The words hung in the air, thick with emotion, and you felt your heart twist. The truth was out.

You took a shaky breath, your mind spinning with everything he had just said. "Jungwon..." you whispered, not sure what else to say.

His gaze softened, and for a brief moment, he looked like the person you had always known—the one who had been by your side all these years, even when you didn’t realize it. "I just want to be with you."

Your heart raced, the weight of his words sinking deep inside you. It was a confession that you had been waiting to hear.

Jungwon took a step closer, his hand reaching out slightly, as if unsure whether to close the distance between you.

You reached up without thinking, your hand trembling slightly as you cupped his cheek, your fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. The contact sent a wave of emotions crashing over you—uncertainty, longing, but also an overwhelming sense of rightness. For a brief moment, the whole world seemed to pause, leaving just the two of you standing there in the quiet room, hearts racing in sync.

Jungwon’s eyes searched yours, his breath coming in shallow bursts. You could feel his pulse beneath your fingers, and something deep inside you whispered that this was the moment. No more hesitations, no more confusion.

Before you could second guess yourself, you leaned in. His breath caught in his throat, and for the briefest second, it felt like time stood still.

Then your lips met, soft and hesitant at first, but it didn’t take long for the kiss to deepen. It was as if the world around you melted away, leaving only the connection between the two of you. Jungwon’s hands moved quickly, finding their way around your waist, pulling you closer against him, the warmth of his embrace a comforting anchor.

You responded in kind, your arms sliding up to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself even closer. The kiss was both gentle and urgent, a mixture of emotions that neither of you had fully expressed until now.

Your soulmark burned to life beneath your skin, the familiar warmth spreading through you in a wave, almost like a gentle hum.

You broke the kiss just enough to look at him, your foreheads resting together as you caught your breath. Jungwon’s eyes were dark with emotion, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss. He was staring at you as if he had just found something he had been searching for all this time.

"I never thought it would be like this," you whispered, your voice thick with the emotions you couldn’t quite put into words.

"Neither did I," he replied softly, his hand gently cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. "But it feels... right. Doesn’t it?"

You nodded, your heart fluttering in your chest as you leaned back in, your lips meeting his again. The kiss started softly, a gentle exploration of each other's mouths, but soon it grew more intense.

Jungwon's breaths became heavier, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he held you close, your hands entwined in his hair.

Suddenly, with a surge of strength, Jungwon lifted you up, his arms around your waist, and set you gently on the desk behind you.

As you landed on the desk, your arms instinctively went underneath Jungwon's Slytherin robe, your hands finding the warmth of his skin. You could feel the muscles of his back as he held you in place.

Jungwon's kisses became more urgent, his tongue teasing and exploring, as if he couldn't get enough of you.

You, feeling the intensity of Jungwon's kisses, decided to playfully pull back, your lips curving into a mischievous smile. As you withdrew, Jungwon's lips followed, his eyes sparkling with a hint of surprise.

"You like that, do you?" you teased, your voice soft and filled with amusement. "Can't get enough of me, huh?"

Jungwon's lips curled into a grin, a smile of mischief. "I could kiss you all day," he replied, his voice low. "Your lips are like a drug, and I'm addicted."

You giggled, a sound that was both playful and inviting. "Well, you better not overdose then," you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Or we might have a problem."

Jungwon's grin widened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours gently. "I'll take that risk," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. "Because being with you is worth any risk."

You melted into his embrace, your arms slipping around his neck, inviting him to continue the dance of kisses. Jungwon's hands, which had been roaming your body with a possessive touch, now caressed your cheeks, his thumbs tracing the curve of your lips.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice filled with admiration and adoration. "And your kisses... they drive me wild."

His touch was gentle but insistent, like he couldn't quite get enough of you, and honestly, neither could you. Every kiss, every caress sent a thrill through you.

His lips trailed to your jaw, then to the sensitive spot behind your ear, making you shiver involuntarily. "I never thought it would feel like this," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Like... everything I’ve been waiting for, all at once."

You smiled softly, your hands sliding down to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, matching your own. "I never thought it would happen, either," you whispered back. "But I’m so glad it did."

Jungwon pulled back slightly, looking at you with eyes full of wonder, as if seeing you for the first time. "You make everything feel right," he said, his voice a tender confession. "Like I’m where I’m supposed to be."

Your heart swelled at his words, and you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I feel the same way," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think I always have."

For a moment, you both just stayed there, caught in the magic of the moment, the silence between you full of understanding and comfort.

Then, with a soft laugh, Jungwon pulled you closer again, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. "I think we’re going to be just fine, don’t you?" he said, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Yeah," you whispered, your voice filled with certainty. "We’re going to be more than fine."

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