#things always get worse before they get better

[strang3lov3]

Throat Coat

Joel doesn’t make your sore throat feel better, but he does make it worse.

Tags - smut, one shot, dark daddy!joel, rough blow job, facefucking, deep throating, cum swallowing, kissing, hitting/swatting, abuse, dubcon, daddy kink, dd/lg dynamics, thick n girthy (legal + unspecified) age gap, controlling!joel, Joel is all mean and grumpy and short with you, sexy comforting father figure!Joel, Joel feels guilty for hurting you and cries a little, so he babies you and you milk it just a little. you deserve it. hurt/comfort, dark fluff, non-graphic descriptions of illness (sore throat + strep), tommy makes an appearance...planting some seeds here... ;) 3.6k words A/N - heddo! if you're sick rn I’m hugging you. And if you’re not sick, you will be and I’ll hug you then too. Wash your fuckin' hands ya beautiful freaks

“Set the table f’me, pumpkin.”

Joel’s voice is low as he watches you slowly get up from where you sit on the couch, pausing in place to no-doubt roll your eyes before shuffling toward the kitchen. You don’t look right - you’re dragging your feet and your eyes are droopy, there’s a big pout on your lips. Shoulders are slouched forward like you’ve been carrying the weight of the world upon them. Brows knit in some kind of upset as you move lazily, and Joel’s jaw ticks as you let the cabinets slam shut instead of closing them gently, like he’s asked you to do. 

After setting the plates and the forks down at yours and Joel’s respective seats at the dinner table, you fill two glasses with water, bumping into Joel and splashing him as you move through the kitchen. “Hey - watch where you’re goin’, kid,” he gruffs, shaking his head as he bites his inner cheek in frustration. He narrows his eyes at the way you don’t say anything. There’s no sorry, no excuse me. Joel makes a note of this. “Gonna be one of those nights, huh,” he grumbles. 

You’re sulking in your chair now, making no effort to even glance at Joel as he brings the hot dishes to the table. Arms crossed, eyes fixed on the wood grain. Joel serves you first, a large helping of green beans and potatoes, an even larger helping of chicken. “I can already tell just by lookin’ at ya that you ain’t eaten enough protein today,” he grumbles, eyeing you. “Gonna be a peach for me, aren’t ya?”

“Mm,” you hum, the noncommittal noise dripping with defiance. You hate when he reads you like this. His unique ability to pinpoint your mood or your attitude, your state of being. Uncovering the things you seek to hide. Joel knows you better than you know yourself in some ways, and it’s as infuriating as it is validating at times. He understands you, all of you, and he’s always there, filling in the gaps of what you don’t tell him. You can’t get anything past Joel.

Joel serves himself next and begins eating, shoveling bite after bite into his mouth. He’d worked up quite a fierce appetite today, spending his time shoveling snow and doing other arduous housework while you sneakily evaded your own chores. You poke a little at your food with your fork, scraping the metal along the porcelain while ultimately deciding that you don’t want to eat. You push your plate away and lay your head down in your arms on the table. 

Joel’s hand lands firmly on your bicep. “Nuh-uh. You sit up at the table. What’s the matter with you?”

You groan as you reluctantly pull your body up, head throbbing with the action like a heartbeat. You can feel blood pumping in your face, a pressure behind your eyes and nose and forehead so awful you feel like your face could melt right off. “M’not hungry,” you grumble, voice thick with discomfort. 

“Oh, I don’t believe that for a second. Yes, you fuckin’ are,” Joel says, spearing a green bean with his fork. “I know you are, so don’t even try it. You’re gonna eat, ‘cause I already know what’s gonna happen: s’gonna be bedtime and you’re gonna be whinin’ ‘bout how your stomach hurts ‘cause you didn’t eat enough at dinner and who’s gonna have to fix you somethin’?”

“No one,” you mutter.

“Me,” Joel corrects, without missing a beat as he shoots you a warning glare. “Now you get to it. An’ I wantcha eatin’ everything that’s green on that plate, do you understand me?”

“Fine,” you sigh, dragging your plate back towards you. You pick up your fork but instead of actually eating, you just maneuver the food around on the plate a little. The green beans are cut into smaller bites, potatoes shoveled into a neat little pile. The occasional scraping sound your fork makes against the porcelain makes you wince, but you ignore it. Just killing time. 

Joel serves himself a second plate of food, fork hovering over his plate when he pauses and notices that you’ve still not touched yours. “What’d I tell you? Or are ya waitin’ to eat it cold?”

You shrug, earning another cold look from Joel. He doesn’t like when you waste your food, and his patience is wearing thin. “I just don’t feel so good,” you tell him, sniffling softly. Your throat’s been scratchy all day, and you can’t breathe too well. You feel awful. 

Joel drops his fork and leans forward, chair creaking with his shifting weight. He presses a calloused hand against your forehead, and the added pressure actually soothes your throbbing pain, just for a moment. His fingers travel down your face and with practiced ease, he presses two fingers just under your jaw, feeling your lymph nodes. “Feel fine t’me,” he says, pulling back.

Not the response you were looking for. “Daddy…” you whine, elongating the word in a bid for his sympathy.

“Mhm,” Joel hums, a knowing lilt to his tone. You claim to be sick a lot when you’re simply dehydrated or attempting to get out of something. “Heard this one before,” he says, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. “You’re not pullin’ one over on me. I know you, pumpkin.”

“I’m serious,” you argue.

“So am I. Drink your water f’ya feel so bad. That’s your problem, sweetheart, you’re never drinkin’ enough water. I tell ya a hundred times a day to hydrate yourself.”

“B-”

“M’not havin’ this argument,” Joel cuts in, voice firm. He’s right, too. Nine times out of ten you’re poorly hydrated, which is usually the reason for when you feel like crap. Dehydration is certainly playing a role today, too, as much as you hate to admit it. “Drink.” He snaps and points to your glass, watching how you roll your eyes as you take it, just to needle him a little. “And adjust that fuckin’ attitude a’ yours, ‘fore I adjust it for you. S’that what you want?” 

“No,” you mumble into your glass. You drink about half the water, then set the glass down and stare at Joel pointedly. 

“Keep goin’. Drink it all, kiddo,” Joel urges gently, taking himself down a notch as his voice loses its edge. You obey him, finishing the glass. “Good girl.” You smile a little, just a momentary little curve of your lips. The praise feels good. For as stern as he can be, Joel is quick to let go of anger. Patient, to a point. But not always. “Bet you’re feelin better already, aren’t ya?”

“No,” you whine, though Joel is right that the water helped. Can’t let him have the satisfaction of knowing that, though. “I still feel like shit.” 

“Watch the language,” Joel scolds, anger renewed. “Y’feel like shit ‘cause you’re tired. Spendin’ too much time watchin’ that goddamn TV. And I know you’ve been sneakin’ down here to watch it after bedtime. Did it last night too, didn’t ya?”

“N-” 

“Don’t even try it,” Joel bites, his glare pinning you in place. A warning. 

“Yeah…I did,” you admit. He’s right again. “But I’m serious, Joel, I really don’t feel good.” 

“Tough,” he says, no sympathy in his tone. “Let it be a lesson to ya. Take care of yourself and you won’t feel so bad. Now you quit your cryin’, sit up straight, and eat your damn food, or so help me god I’ll shove somethin’ else down your throat of yours. S’your last warning,” he adds as he stares you down. Eyes still fixed on you, he raises his brow and points at you, “Don’t make this a bad night, now, pumpkin.” 

“You’re not f- you’re not listening,” you seethe, frustration bubbling over. You plant your elbows on the table and bury your head in your hands to stand your ground, refusing to back down. It’s his short temperedness to your stubbornness, your oppositional defiance. Things work out better for you when you listen to him, and you know this. But you can’t help yourself but to buck him anyway. Joel always tells you that he gives you an inch and you take a mile. 

“Oh, s’that’s how we’re doin’ this?” Joel snaps, and you’re in for it now. “Fine.” He grabs you by the forearm in a bruising grip and yanks you out of your chair, forcing you over the table. “Go ‘head, keep fuckin’ testing. Watch what happens.” He pulls down your pants and panties unceremoniously, giving you less than a moment’s notice before he smacks your ass, hard. His large hand on your head, pressing your face into the wood so hard that the pattern of the grain will be imprinted on your cheek. You cry out as he slaps your flesh, each hit worse than the last. He leaves you bruised and raw by the end of it, sniffling as the sting bites your skin. Usually he rubs you to soothe the ache... 

…But not tonight. Tonight, Joel pushes you to the ground, knees scraping on the hardwood floor as he drags you where he wants you. Eyes wide, mouth open as your bottom lip wobbles. Joel palms his growing erection, momentarily massaging himself over his jeans before unbuckling his belt. He tosses it on the ground, that metallic clanging sound piercing your ears. He unzips his jeans next and pushes them just enough down his thighs to free his cock, fully hardened now. He holds it menacingly between his thumb and his first two fingers, heavy balls sitting above the waistband of his boxers. 

Joel reaches forward and tangles a hand in your hair, looping his fingers around the strands to pull them tight. “Open,” he barks. You part your lips a little, and Joel fits the thick, blunt head of his cock between them. “That ain’t enough,” he says, slapping the tip against your bottom lip. “Wider. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

After you open your mouth wider for him, Joel begins sliding himself down your throat. He’s met with a little resistance as you pull back, wrapping your hand around the base of him in attempt to temper the force of which he fucks your mouth with. Joel slaps your cheek, “Don’t,” he warns, and pulls your hand away.

He forces himself down your throat entirely, the hand on the back of your head keeping you still even as you gag and choke on his cock. You’re panicked, pulling back but Joel holds you firmly, unwavering in his strength. “Stay,” he says. “You’re fine. Breathe through your nose.”

You open your jaw and your throat, surrendering to it as Joel begins fucking your mouth, drawing in and out of your mouth inch by inch. Tensing up makes it worse, makes it hit you harder. He tastes salty today, smells headier than usual. His graying patch of pubic hair scratches your nose, and if he fucks your face any harsher it’ll rub your skin raw.

Joel grunts loudly, growling your name and a series of words that he doesn’t let you say. None of it feels pleasant for you, not that you can vocalize that. His cock’s down your throat, further irritating what’s already scratchy and sore. You feel so…used. 

You’ve told Joel that before, that you feel used when he does things like this to you. He says he understands, but it’s not supposed to feel good. It’s a punishment. It’s discipline, and he disciplines you out of love. He loves you, pumpkin. 

Joel fucks your mouth with abandon, and you can’t control those choking, gurgling noises you make. Drooling all down his shaft, down his balls. Your eyes start to water before you cry freely, not that Joel cares. “Cry all ya want,” he grunts, and you whine in discomfort. Joel ignores that.

You have to hold his twitching, meaty thighs for stability as he moves your head back and forth on his cock repeatedly, clutching him tightly. Your jaw aches with the ferocity of how he moves, ferocity that borders on violence. 

“Look at me,” Joel pants. “Look at Daddy.” 

He strokes your cheek tenderly for a moment, a brief reminder that he loves you, even if it hurts sometimes. Still fucking your face, Joel reaches between his legs and cups his balls, squeezing them a little as your throat pulses around his length, tongue massaging that thick vein that climbs the underside of his cock. “Almost there, pumpkin. Be good for Daddy. Stay like that,” he groans, signaling release is near. 

You whimper as his cock twitches in your mouth, and with a few more hard, deep thrusts, Joel feels that warm, sticky feeling. His balls tighten, his muscles tense and release as he lets out a deep, guttural groan, pulling out of your throat to paint your tongue in his come. “Swallow it,” he instructs softly, pulling back the rest of the way. A bit of come spills down your lips and onto your chin. 

Joel’s chest heaves with heavy breaths, watching you swallow his load. Your cheeks are hot and sweaty, hairline damp with glittering sweat. Joel drops to his knees then, joints cracking while sinking to your level. He pushes his stray come past your swollen lips, “Lemme see,” he says. “Show me that tongue, pumpkin.” 

It’s routine. You always take what Joel gives you, always. You open your mouth and stick your tongue out, and that’s when Joel sees it. The angry redness, the swollenn tissue, the white sores on the back of your throat. His breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping him as his face softens in an instant. He whispers, voice thick with guilt, “Oh shit, kid. Fuck. You weren’t lyin’.”

“Told you, Daddy,” you reply, feeling both hurt and validated.

Joel nods, clenching his jaw as regret floods his face. “Yeah, you did,” he murmurs, guilt filling every corner of his mind. You really did tell him, and you told him multiple times. “Did I make it worse?” he whispers, holding your face in both of his hands, rough thumbs caressing your skin as his eyes search yours. Hesitant to answer, you pull away from his gaze. 

“You can tell the truth,” he urges, and his voice is both soft and insistent. “You won’t be in trouble. Cross my heart, baby girl.” 

You pause. Finally, you admit it. “...Yes,” you whisper. 

Joel’s face crumples. “Daddy’s so sorry, kiddo.” His voice cracks. “I really am. I shoulda listened to ya. C’mere, pumpkin.” His hands fall to your shoulders before he pulls you into a tight hug, and it takes you no time at all to hug him back just as tightly. This is all you wanted - his warmth, his comfort. 

After holding you there on the kitchen floor for a while, Joel sniffles and presses kisses to the top of your head, one after another. “With me,” he says, and his voice sounds thick. He doesn’t let you see the tears he wipes away as he leads you to the upstairs bathroom. 

Joel sits you down gently on the lidded toilet, opens the bathroom vanity and pulls out an old Walgreens thermometer, the once-bright red paint all but worn off. He washes it with soap and hot water, then brings it to your mouth. “Open up,” he says, cradling your jaw tenderly in his hand. “Goes under your tongue.” 

You open your mouth and lift your tongue, wincing when Joel slides the thermometer into place. “Ow,” you whine. “You poked me.” 

“I apologize. Was an accident, baby,” Joel murmurs, adjusting the thermometer. “Close your mouth and keep it there a minute.” 

You wait in silence as the device takes your temperature, and it makes a quiet, rhythmic beep when it’s done. Joel pulls it from your mouth and squints, jaw dropping a little as he reads the tiny number on the tiny screen. “Shit,” he mumbles. “Lemme see your throat again.” You open your mouth wide for Joel, and he tilts your head back and faces you toward the light so he can better see, a worried furrow in his brow. “Mmm…m’wonderin’ f’ya don’t have strep throat,” he says with concern. “We’ll keep an eye on it, though. You tell me if you start to feel worse, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” 

Joel eyes you, wondering how you could’ve caught something like this under his watch, especially when he’s not been sick lately. “How’d you get sick, huh? Been sneakin’ outta the house? Got yourself a boyfriend you ain’t tellin’ me about?”

“No,” you insist, and Joel doesn’t fight you hard on it. It was mostly a joke anyway. 

“Maybe Uncle Tommy brought it in when he stopped over to check on ya the other night,” Joel says. And he might be right. You don’t have a secret boyfriend you’ve been kissing, but…

Uncle Tommy did visit not so long ago. Joel was on an overnight patrol shift and had felt nervous leaving you home alone, as he so often does. He’d asked Tommy to swing by to check up on you. 

It was late when he entered through the back door, walking in on you curled up on the couch, a romance novel in your hands. Joel says he knows what goes on in those books and doesn’t like you reading them. You gasped, “Fuck, Uncle Tommy!”

Tommy wore that disarming smile of his. “Language,” he chastised, with no real anger in his tone. You scrambled to get back upstairs, but Tommy waved his hand. “Ain’t gonna rat you out,” he said, taking a seat next to you. His eyes twinkled as they dropped to your book, “Whatcha reading?”

“Nothing.” You shrunk under his curious gaze.

“Mm-hmm,” he smirked, taking the book out of your hands to inspect the cover. “This certainly ain’t nothin’.”

“I know, but–”

“You’re not in trouble.” 

Tommy smiled kindly at you, dark eyes sparkling and warm. You’ve always found him handsome, handsome like Joel. Pretty in the same ways, age softening his features. You like his freckles, his long, black hair. 

“M’just checkin’ in. Don’t get to see enough of ya, you know that?”

“I guess,” you said quietly, looking down at the pages of your book. You always have a hard time looking at him. He’s so…something about him feels like trouble. He makes you breathe funny, but not in a bad way. Not always. 

Tommy tilted your face up then, ran the back of his knuckle across your cheekbone. “Whatcha shy for?” 

You didn’t know what to say. Tommy knew the truth and chuckled, kissed your cheek to make you even more bashful. “S’okay f’ya got a crush,” he whispered, tracing your lips. Tommy kissed you then, just a small one. Just to hear you gasp and feel you squirm, that little moan you let slip as he stole the breath right from your lungs. 

“I’m not supposed to–”

“I know, I know. You ain’t supposed to do this, not supposed to do that. Your daddy’s got you on a tight fuckin’ leash, sweetheart,” Tommy said, caressing the side of your face. “But I ain’t gonna tell your old man nothin’. An’ you don’t need’a tell him nothin’ either, hm? Joel doesn’t need to know everything that goes on with you, honey. S’okay to keep things secret, sometimes.”

-

“I still want you eatin’ something tonight,” Joel tells you, tucking the thermometer away. “I’ll heat up some soup. Will you have a couple of bites?” 

You shake your head, pouting. “But I already said I’m not hungry.” 

“I know,” Joel replies softly. “But ya gotta eat. Please, kiddo? Bet it’ll make your throat feel better. Do it for me, pumpkin.” Joel pokes your face a little, flutters his fingers around your neck and chin, tickling you. Teasing. It makes you giggle. 

“Stop!” you laugh, pushing his hand away. “Fine. I’ll eat.” 

“Attagirl,” Joel says. 

He tells you to get changed into pajamas and downstairs, to get comfortable on the couch. Put on whatever dumb, girly movie or show you want on the TV. You follow orders, and Joel meets you downstairs with extra pillows and blankets clutched under his armpits. He makes you nice and cozy, then heads for the kitchen to clean up and prepare you that soup, which’ll be lighter on your stomach and easier on your throat. It’s just a matter of heating it up, as it’s jarred and ready to eat. Simple veggies and broth. 

Joel sits next to you on the couch and feeds you a spoonful, your favorite bowl in his hands. You love the little pattern on it, chili peppers dancing on the porcelain. You wince upon taking the first bite, “Too hot,” you complain.

“Then I’ll blow on it.” 

Joel blows on each bite of soup as he feeds you, the warm broth soothing your burning throat and clearing up your sinuses. “Thank you.”

“One more bite,” he tells you. “Last one.”

“You said that last time.” 

Joel smiles. “Think I’d remember sayin’ somethin’ like that, pumpkin. One more, now.” You finish the last bite of soup, then roll your eyes when Joel gives you a new glass of water to drink. “I know. Your old man’s the worst, ain’t he?”

“He is,” you mumble, but you take the drink anyway. Joel seems pleased, happy. He tells you that you can stay up late tonight so long as you rest tomorrow, but you don’t make it past 8:30, asleep in his lap as he strokes your hair and listens to your rhythmic breathing. 

-

more of this joel here

i hope you liked! if you enjoyed, please leave me a comment or send an ask. your words keep me motivated to write. thank you <3

[just-some-random-blogger]

I said I was going to reblog this when I woke up. That was today and now I'm sleepy and about to go to sleep but I REFUSSSE TO DO SO BECAUSE MY GOSSHHH THIS GOD MEEEEE SOMMEEEEEE TYPAAA WAYYYYY HELLO????????? 😫😫😫😫😫😫

Even if it was in a different way, you had a hard time refusing him when he used the same charm tactics as his twin brother.

I cannot put into words how this like... Changed my brain???? Like it's so beautiful and sensible and yah. That part. That would 100% happen if you were dating a twin like hello? Also idk the thought just makes me swoon ))))):

“Reckon we’re past that, hmm? Your problems are our problems, and all.”

JSJDJDJSJJSJSJSJJSHSHSHHSHA HES SO STUPID THIS IS WHY HES MY FAVE BB GIRL ARE YOU SINGLE IM TRYNA GET YOU PREGNANT AYO MY GUY WHAT DO YOU MEANNNNNNN WHEN YOU SAY THIS UR SO SILLY WTFFFFFF IM GIGGLING LIKE I GET PAID TO DO IT

“That’s a big deal.” He hummed, sympathizing with you to make you feel better. “Bloody inconsiderate, if you ask me.” But you weren’t asking him, and somehow his justification of your feelings only made you feel worse. “What? Not allowed to speak my mind?”

HE REALLY SAID SIS LOUDER AND

“If you’d rather, we can forget the elixir and grab dinner instead. I’m not Fred, but I’m pretty damn close.” He gave you a cheeky smile, earning an honest laugh from you.

NASJJSJSBSJJSJSB IM SO SORRY THE GEORGE GIRLIE IN ME WANTS SO GO HELL YEAH LETS MAKE THAT RAT FREDDIE RUE THE DAY HE WAS BORN 😫😈😈😈 HES JUST SO DARLING I LUV HIM HES SO SILLY AND STUPID FUCKKKK

“I was not getting sloshed, I was doing business.” He corrected, defensive over the fact. “S’pose you were hoping I’d take a little longer, yeah? Give you some more time to cozy up with my brother?”

“Blimey, Fred. If you took any longer, I’d imagine you’d have to move in with the lad.” George took your side on the matter. “At least she wouldn’t have to worry about you missing dinner again.”

👏THAT👏PART👏 RIP HIM TO SHREDS GEORGE. ANNIHILATE THAT GINGER GIT

“Yeah, right. What else did he fill in for, sweetheart? Anything you think I should know?”

“Yeah, but I bet you would’ve let him, right?”

EXCUSE ME

He grabbed your hand, spinning you back around to face him. He pulled you into him, his athletic build never leaving him even after he stopped playing quidditch.

.... WHAT ABOUT IT

“Bitching and moaning cause I couldn’t be home to take you to dinner… if you were so upset, why didn’t you come to me, princess? Tell me what was wrong?”

❓❓❓❓ DI BALE SANA NANDITO KA???? HELLO

(tr: NEVERMIND IF YOU WERE ACTUALLY HERE. and the pick is let's go stupid/idiot)

You could smell fire whiskey on his breath, feeling his chest heaving with anger against your own. As angry as you were, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of arousal run through you. The slight sneer on his face, the fire in his eyes, and the protective hold he had on you was sending your head spinning with thoughts much less pertinent to the topic at hand.

I fear I may be quaking in my boots... It's not the only thing quaking.

“See, Princess? She’ll always tell me the truth.”

NO CUZZZZ

His grin faded, slowly sinking into a scowl as your disobedience remained clear.

I love icarusing myself WHAT ABOUT IT WEASLEY

“So you don’t care who’s between your legs?” He continued, unrelenting as you stared him down. “Doesn’t matter who, as long as there’s a cock in you? As long as someone’s taking care of your pretty pussy?”

HES GOT SUCH A DIRTY MOUTH ON HIMMMMMMM FUCKKKK OFFF

“Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. When I’m done with you, I’ll be the only person you can think of. Surely then you won’t be able to forget who you belong to.”

Raw. Next twin.

“My little whore needs more?”

“Asking a lot from someone you aren’t being very good for.”

Brat tame me then 🙄✋ I dare you also

Silently, he sunk to his knees between your legs, pulling you to the edge of the table by your hips. He didn’t spare a single glance at your face before his tongue connected with your core, the warm wetness of his tongue even more pleasurable than the rough pad of his thumb.

VIOLENTLY SHAKING IM ILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

“Oh, god.” You gasped, your legs resting over his shoulders in attempt to stop the constant trembling of the lips. “I’m yours, Fred, fuck!” You exclaimed, a sheen layer of sweat forming over your forehead as the knot in your belly began to tighten. “Only you can make me feel this good. Nobody else.” You whined, your fingers tightening on the locks of hair as you began to tug at the strands. You could feel him smiling against you, happy to finally hear you admit the truth.

UghhhhhhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHH SO GOOD NEXT TWIN LMAO HAHAHAHHH

Green-Eyed Monster | F.W.

For the first time ever, Fred Weasley finds himself jealous over the only person in the world he needn’t worry a bit about.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x f!reader

Word count: 8k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, unprotected sex, oral + fingering (f!receiving, (lots of) dirty talk, name calling, praise/degradation, dom/sub dynamic, some nipple play, touch of a breeding kink, possessiveness/jealousy, some toxic themes, established relationship, swearing, drinking, arguing, angst, fluff, sorry if miss any!

first hp fic in a very long time! what better to post than this mess (jealous, possessive, sexy mess). basically pwp—let me know what you think! (Barely edited at all lmao my apologies)

You sat quietly at George’s desk, eyes focused on a piece of parchment as you both tried to break down the recipe George had scribbled down. There was a hiccup, a hitch in the plan of brewing a batch of Euphoria Elixir for the joke shop, and it was pushing back your plans to place them on the shelves this week. After a few hours of quiet deliberation on his lonesome, George decided to seek your help in hopes of speeding up the process.

So, the two of you put your heads together and re-read the ingredient list a million times, wondering how the hell it turned out murky green instead of sunshine-y yellow. The cauldron sat smoldering across the room, a rain cloud above it as the bubbly mixture spilled over the sides. Upon first glance, you had stated the absolute obvious.

“Isn’t that supposed to be a rainbow?” You raised an eyebrow, looking at your brother-in-law as he collapsed in his chair.

“Yes, you git.” George rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. You shot him a sharp look, warning him to be nice if he wanted your help. You knew George didn’t mean any of the insults—he was simply frustrated and maybe even a little embarrassed that he could not figure it out by himself. “Sorry, Y/N.” He conceded, realizing he came on a bit too strong.

“S’alright.” You assured him, stepping towards the desk where he sat. “Where’s the ingredient list? We’ll start there.” You offered, knowing you would help no matter how poor of a mood he was in. You loved George almost as much as you loved Fred, if you had to compare. Even if it was in a different way, you had a hard time refusing him when he used the same charm tactics as his twin brother.

After spending so many years in a relationship with Fred, it would be obscure for you not to have a bond with the closest person to him. Over the years, he’d surpassed a friend and had grown into your own brother. You were certain that no matter where life took you and Fred, George would always hold a special place in your heart. When the two opened their shop in Diagon Alley, you volunteered most of your free time to help them in any way you could, and whether it was tweaking new products or doing some of the dirty work, you never really minded.

That evening in specific, Fred was off on some ‘official business’, which really just meant meeting with a potential product buyer at The Leaky Cauldron. Last month, George took the burden of doing so, and they decided it was only fair for him to do it this time. Unfortunately for you, as much as you loved supporting them, it did interfere with your evening plans with him. So, sulking and trying your best to swallow it down, you distracted yourself with stocking shelves downstairs to prepare for another busy day ahead.

You were actually near grateful when George emerged from the office, calling out to you in desperation. It gave you a break from the monotonous back and forth, and someone to talk to. If it could not be Fred, you decided George was the next best.

“So, what’d’ya think it could be?” George asked, peeking over the cauldron that was still spitting back at him. He dodged out of the way, trying his best not to get any of the splashback on his new jumper.

“Well, from what you’ve told me, seems like you put all the right stuff in.” You deducted, pursing your lips slightly as you read over the list for what seemed like the millionth time. “Sad as it sounds, I doubt we can save it now, even if we figure out what happened.” You said, recalling your potions knowledge that Snape had relayed over the years.

“Right, but I’d like to know what’s wrong before I try again.” He explained, taking a moment to look over your sad expression. His eyebrows furrowed, his head cocking to the side as he tried to figure out where it was coming from. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Your eyes flickered upwards to meet his, your cheeks tinged red from the heat of the room. Your lips dipped into a frown as you shrugged your shoulders, brushing him off so you did not need to explain yourself. “I know you better than that. Come on, now.” He urged, placing his palms flat against the desk as he leaned towards you, a challenging look in his eye.

You narrowed your brows, keeping a stony expression as you met his gaze. “What’s it to you, Weasley?” You shot back, unsure of where your defensive nature was coming from. Perhaps you weren’t willing to discuss your relationship problems with your boyfriend’s twin brother, or maybe it was because you felt foolish for being upset at all.

“Reckon we’re past that, hmm? Your problems are our problems, and all.” He responded, also unsure of why you were being so reserved with your thoughts. Usually, you were an open book, especially with the two of them.

“My problems aren’t your problems, Georgie.” You shook your head, shutting down the ridiculous notion. “Let’s get back to the real problem, yeah?”

“No, I don’t think so.” George disagreed, his concern now over something completely different. “Is it about Fred?” At that, the tips of your ears began to burn and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. “Ah, I see.” A devious smile crossed his lips.

“It’s not a big deal.” You covered your tracks, tapping the ink-less quill against the worn parchment.

“I have a hard time believing you, considering you just lied to me.”

“Lied is a strong word,” you rolled your eyes, quickly realizing that there would be no escaping the conversation. “I didn’t lie about anything.”

“What’s he done?”

“Nothing!” You exclaimed, a dry laugh leaving your lips. “It’s just… I’m just being dramatic.” And it’s true, you were being dramatic. Well, maybe not fully, but that’s what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I just miss him, I suppose. I know you both have been busy, but I think maybe I underestimated how busy you would actually be.” You continued, knowing it was wrong to confide in his twin brother about your relationship issues. Still, it felt good to get it off your chest, to voice the concern and have someone shoot you down, just so you knew you were being irrational. “This is the third night in a row we’ve canceled our plans. I’ll get over it. It’s no big deal.”

“That’s a big deal.” He hummed, sympathizing with you to make you feel better. “Bloody inconsiderate, if you ask me.” But you weren’t asking him, and somehow his justification of your feelings only made you feel worse. “What? Not allowed to speak my mind?”

“No—“ you let out a defeated sigh, slumping down in your seat. “I know that, but I was hoping you would tell me I’ve gone mad, instead.”

“Blimey, Y/N, you’re allowed to be upset. We're busy, yeah, but you’re still his girlfriend.” George said, jumping slightly when the rain cloud above the cauldron let out a crack of thunder. “If you’d rather, we can forget the elixir and grab dinner instead. I’m not Fred, but I’m pretty damn close.” He gave you a cheeky smile, earning an honest laugh from you.

“S’alright, Georgie. Thank you, though.” You appreciated his kindness, but you were sure it would only make your predicament even worse, considering Fred’s recently acquired short-fuse when it came to you and George spending so much time together. It was odd for him to be so protective, so jealous of the one person in the world he needn’t worry about, but it seemed as though the new trait was permanent. Perhaps it came from the fact he was also missing you due to your busy schedules, and how it sometimes seemed you and George were most often left at the shop alone.

“You know, I have noticed that lately.” George continued, leaning against the desk as he reminisced over the last few weeks. “Always seems to be us stuck here together.”

“Mhm.” You mumbled, slowly realizing that you weren’t as insane as you previously thought if he was noticing all of the same things. “Let’s just figure this out so I can get home.”

So you did. A grueling hour spent recounting George’s every step in brewing the elixir left the two of you puzzled and even more frustrated. By that point in the night, you were hunched over the long list of his steps you had jotted down so you could (hopefully) discover what he missed.

“I dunno, Georgie.” You sighed. “Seems like you did everything—“ you cut yourself off, leaning closer to the page on the desk as you caught something you hadn’t seen before.

“What?” He asked, his head snapping towards you. “What is it?”

“You said when you let it simmer, it was turquoise.” You said, looking up at him.

“Yeah, so?” He replied, confused why it was such a big deal.

“It’s meant to be blue.” You explained, a grin on your face as you relayed the information to him.

“Turquoise… blue… same thing, innit?” He asked, standing and walking over to you.

“Maybe to you.” You giggled, pointing to the piece of paper where he missed the step. “After you add the shrivelfig, you have to stir it until it changes color.” He walked up behind you, placing one hand on your arm as he leaned over your opposite shoulder. He smelled of butterbeer, likely due to the one he’d been nursing the entire time you sat together. You immediately noticed the warmth of his body, how similar it felt to how Fred touched you, but how drastically different it was all the same.

“Blimey, you’re right!” He exclaimed, his voice still soft so he was not yelling in your ear. “What would I do without you?” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze, leaning closer and pressing the side of his face to yours in a makeshift hug. His hand dropped to your back, lingering there as the conversation continued.

“It’s nothing, really.” You smiled, closing your eyes to enjoy the warmth for a moment. “So now you know. You can do it again, but make sure to stir it until it’s blue. By tomorrow, we’ll have it bottled and on the shelves just like we planned.”

“Our number one girl, saving the day yet again.” He sighed in relief. “I better get to it—“

Before his thought could finish, the door to the office swung open, cutting him short. Your eyes turned upwards, landing on a slightly drunken version of the boyfriend who’d abandoned your evening plans. The gloss of his eyes and the goofy smile on his lips led you to believe so, and the redness on the apples of his cheeks only solidified it. Only his cheeky grin didn’t last too long when he processed the scene in front of him, how close the two of you were, how heavy George’s hand seemed on your back and how rosy your own cheeks were.

Quickly, his jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing as he tried to decipher the whole situation. His nostrils flared ever so slightly, and his arms raised to cross over his chest. Immediately, you knew what you’d be in for; a long, tiresome argument that changed absolutely nothing. Instead of fighting the silent accusations, defending yourself for no real reason at all, you watched him with the same intensity while you awaited a snide comment.

“So what’s all this, then?” Fred asked, his face clearly conveying all of his emotions.

“Helping Georgie make the elixir while you were off getting sloshed at The Leaky Cauldron.” You muttered, noticing George straighten himself up in hopes of avoiding any further damage.

“I was not getting sloshed, I was doing business.” He corrected, defensive over the fact. “S’pose you were hoping I’d take a little longer, yeah? Give you some more time to cozy up with my brother?”

“Blimey, Fred. If you took any longer, I’d imagine you’d have to move in with the lad.” George took your side on the matter. “At least she wouldn’t have to worry about you missing dinner again.” At that, Fred’s eyes cut to you, immediately understanding where the underlying tension was coming from.

“Is that right?” Fred’s voice was no louder than a whisper, all of the pieces clicking together in an instant. “I don’t suppose the two of you had dinner? Let him fill in for me while I was gone?”

“No, we did not.” You snipped, standing as you gathered the ingredients for George’s second attempt at the brew.

“Yeah, right. What else did he fill in for, sweetheart? Anything you think I should know?” At that, your eyes widened and your face turned red. Your entire body felt like it was engulfed in flames, appalled that he would even think such a thing.

“Piss off, Fred.” You muttered, stepping out from behind the desk as tears stung your eyes. George shot you a sympathetic look as you pushed past his brother and out into the stairwell. You trodded down to the main level, swiping fallen tears away from your cheeks as you rushed out the front entrance of the building.

The cool air of the night was nice, especially after spending so long cramped up in the tiny office space, but it was not as freeing as you might have hoped once you heard footsteps following behind you. Without acknowledging him, you pulled your keys from your pocket, hoping that maybe he forgot his own set and you wouldn’t have to deal with his drunken arguments tonight if you got inside before him.

Of course, you knew that was childish and cruel, because despite being upset with him, loving him was the only thing you knew how to do. You unlocked the front door, holding it open with your boot-clad foot as he stumbled his way behind you. As soon as he passed through the doorway, you continued on your journey to ignore him and tossed your keys on the counter.

“Hey,” Fred reached out, his warm hand landing on your arm, stopping you from running any further from him.

“What?” You snapped, immediately regretting the harshness of your tone. He recoiled at the sound, shocked that you spoke to him in such a way. Usually the two of you saw eye to eye on everything, and in your long standing relationship arguing had never been your thing. Until you left school, you were certain the two of you had never been angry at each other, ever.

“What the bloody hell was that about? I leave for a few hours, and the two of you get on like that? Does that happen every time I step out?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes again, wondering why this became such a problem in the few short months you’d been graduated.

“Merlin, Fred. You’re acting like you caught us in a broom closet.” You tried again to make your way to the bedroom, unwilling to argue a point he knew was blasphemous anyhow. “We were working, not fucking.”

“Yeah, but I bet you would’ve let him, right?” He grabbed your hand, spinning you back around to face him. He pulled you into him, his athletic build never leaving him even after he stopped playing quidditch. “Bitching and moaning cause I couldn’t be home to take you to dinner… if you were so upset, why didn’t you come to me, princess? Tell me what was wrong?” You could smell fire whiskey on his breath, feeling his chest heaving with anger against your own. As angry as you were, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of arousal run through you. The slight sneer on his face, the fire in his eyes, and the protective hold he had on you was sending your head spinning with thoughts much less pertinent to the topic at hand.

“Maybe I would have if you spared me the time of day.” You argued, finding yourself short of breath as you realized just how much he towered over you. “But, as it seems, you’ve been too damn busy to spare me a second glance.”

“Christ, when did you get so needy?” His rebuttal came easy, like he’d been waiting to have this fight for weeks. “Weren’t satisfied at home, so you thought my brother could do it for you?”

“Are you daft?” You hissed, feeling his fingers tighten on your hips. You hated that the feeling made you forget about your troubles, urging you to push the argument to the side and settle it in a better, more pleasurable way. “If that’s what I wanted, you think I’d be up here arguing with you?”

“That depends, sweetheart. Were you planning on getting caught?” He raised an eyebrow, the thud of his heart against his chest letting you know just how worked up he was. There was no way he truly believed you would do that to him, especially after all you had been through together. You wondered if maybe the lack of time spent with each other was getting to him, souring his thoughts because he missed you just as much as you missed him. “We may be identical, Princess, but he could never give you what I can.”

You hated to admit it, but for some strange reason, jealousy looked really good on him.

“What, a headache and a poor mood?” You decided to play his game if he wasn’t willing to listen to reason. If he wanted to fight, you could do it too. “I’m sure he could manage. In fact, he could probably do a hell of a lot more.” That seemed to strike a nerve in him, pushing him over the edge in an instant and changing the entire mood hanging heavy in the room. He no longer wanted to talk, but rather prove a point.

He took a step backwards, never easing his hold as he pushed you towards the kitchen table. He didn’t stop until your ass hit the edge, a mischievous look in his eye replacing the earlier annoyance. He had you locked in place, no intent to back down as he stared down at you over the bridge of his nose. Then, a small smirk turned the corner of his lips, leading you to believe he was also thinking of a much more simple way to solve your problems.

“Maybe you just need a reminder of who you belong to, yeah?” He asked, his voice quieter than it was before. You felt your mouth run dry, your eyes never leaving his as a dull ache between your legs began to pester you.

That would make you feel better, but he had pissed you off enough that you wanted to refuse him the satisfaction.

“Maybe we should get Georgie up here. According to you, he’d be the one to set me straight.” There was a slight venom in your tone letting him know you wouldn’t be letting anything go so easily. A low chuckle shook his shoulders, his eyes gleaming with a sinister look you weren’t sure you’d ever seen from him before that night. He shook his head ever so slightly, playing into you as he reached one arm behind you.

Your heart raced as you awaited a response, wondering if maybe you pushed him too far and crossed a boundary you could not double back on. You didn’t have to wonder long, because without a second thought, he cleared all of the items littering the table with one swift move of his arm. Papers scattered everywhere, floating through the air and landing all over the floor. Broken products and half finished merchandise for the shop tumbled off the edge, falling less than gracefully onto the tile below. Without ever breaking eye contact, he raised an eyebrow, daring you to say it again.

“You think he can fuck you better than I can?” He asked, giving you the opportunity to change your mind.

“Right now? Yeah.” You spat, wondering if he’d ever drop the act and get on with his day. “Seems like all you want to do is get on my nerves.”

“Yeah?” He challenged, his face so close to yours you could feel his breath on your skin. The tip of his nose grazed your own, his normally warm and comforting irises engulfed by his lust-blown pupils. Or perhaps it was anger that gave him the new look—you weren’t quite sure. “You’d rather go home with him at night? Wake up next to him every morning? Is that really what you want, princess?” He taunted, knowing very well that your heart was his, even if he found himself caught up in a few moments of doubt.

Still neglecting to give him any gratification, you nodded your head despite the sickening feeling that washed over you at the thought. As if he called your bluff before you ever said it aloud, he laughed at the certainty in your action, which only seemed to anger you further.

“If that’s the case, seems like I’ve got my work cut out for me tonight.” He responded, brushing the comment off as if it were nothing. If there was one thing Fred couldn’t ever turn down, it was a challenge, and since coming upstairs with you, it was only further proven to him that’s all this was. “Maybe I’ve gotten too comfortable, sweetheart. After so long, you think you’d know that you’re mine, huh?” Before he continued his tyrant, he used his hands on your hips to lift you onto the table with ease. The ache between your legs had grown stronger, more intense and impossible to ignore. You could feel the wetness soaking through your panties, and the thought of his strong arms lifting you so carelessly only made you spiral further. “Maybe I expect too much of you.” He theorized, recognizing the gleam in your eyes because he’d seen it a thousand times before.

He let his hands trail under the hem of your jumper, settling on the button of your jeans as he undid it with ease. You never let your eyes trail from his face, realizing that no matter how upset you were, it could never take away from how much you loved him. He was beautiful, his fiery red hair and the freckles splattered across his cheeks and nose creating a perfect picture. The softness of his complexion and the gentleness hidden deep in his expression assured you that whatever the two of you were doing was nothing more than an act. He knew you were his just as well as you did, but he knew the only way to settle the (admittedly, misguided) fear was to hear you say it aloud.

You helped him pull the fabric from your legs, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lifted your hips from the table. He discarded the clothing on the floor, paying no mind to it as he returned his hands to your bare legs. His eyes searched your face, carefully looking for any sign of discomfort. Instead, he was met with a pleading expression that only seemed to fuel his too large ego even further.

“No matter,” he disregarded his earlier rant, his eyes growing heavy as his hand fell between your legs. His fingertips grazed the thin fabric separating him from your core, a shiver running down his spine as he noticed the arousal that had soaked straight through. “I don’t mind having to show you. Least I’ll get to have my fun too, yeah?” He applied slight pressure to your aching clit, watching to see your reaction. Your eyebrows knitted together, your lips parting slightly as your hips moved forward into his hand, your body betraying your mind and begging him for something more.

At that, a grin encased his face, happy to see that he hadn’t lost his touch, even if your lives were vastly different and ever-changing by the day. He knew exactly how to make you feel good, and he took pride in it.

“See, Princess? She’ll always tell me the truth.” He taunted, his voice quiet as his eyes trailed down to his hand. You swallowed hard, knowing he had you in a stalemate. “Tell me again, who do you think knows how to make you feel good? Who does it best?” He was on a power trip, unwilling to slow down until he heard you admit it. Still, you stood your ground, pressing your lips tightly together so not a single sound could pass through. His grin faded, slowly sinking into a scowl as your disobedience remained clear.

He removed his finger from you, tracing the hem of your panties as he hooked his finger through the side of the fabric resting on your hip. He awaited an answer, giving you the opportunity to change your mind. When you kept your stoicism, he gave one, hard tug on the lacy fabric until it snapped in two. He used his other hand to do it to the opposite side, giving himself easy access to you without hearing a complaint on your end.

“So you don’t care who’s between your legs?” He continued, unrelenting as you stared him down. “Doesn’t matter who, as long as there’s a cock in you? As long as someone’s taking care of your pretty pussy?” Your cheeks flushed, your chest burning as the filthy words washed over you. “Doesn’t matter, sweetheart. When I’m done with you, I’ll be the only person you can think of. Surely then you won’t be able to forget who you belong to.”

His hand connected with your bare cunt, his fingers trailing through your arousal and settling over your clit as he began to trace slow circles into the sensitive area. Your legs trembled at the contact, finally feeling some relief from the nagging sensation that had been taking over.

“Fuck. Fred.” You whispered, giving yourself away immediately. He let out a low hum, pleased with the sound and knowing he was the reason for it. He had you where he wanted you, and now he just had to keep up the pace. You could feel his hardening length against your leg, distracting you completely from the pent up anger and frustration.

“That’s it.” He encouraged, his middle finger sinking inside of you as he let his thumb take over on your clit. “That’s my girl.” He made sure to accentuate the claim, never once letting you forget it. “All you needed was a little help remembering.” Slowly, he pumped his finger into you, keeping time with his thumb as he began to work you towards a climax. “You want to say it for me? Tell me what I already know?” Instead of responding, you let out a whine, your hips bucking forward into his hand. Although it wasn’t what he was looking for, it was just enough for him to keep going.

He curled his fingers as he pumped them into you, begging for a reaction as your hand wrapped around his bicep for support. You felt the tense of his muscles as he worked at you, only pushing you closer to insanity. You were his, undoubtedly and wholeheartedly, and you would be crazy to ever want anyone else.

“Stubborn little thing tonight.” He remarked, his eyes focused on the point in which his hand met with you, never breaking his stare as he watched his fingers disappear into you. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Need more, Freddie.” You replied, your eyes squeezed shut as you felt the pleasure pulsing under your skin. It had been a long time since you felt him this way, and your impatience was quite clear.

“My little whore needs more?” He teased, applying a little more pressure with his thumb. A gasp fell from your lips, sending your upper half leaning forward until your forehead rested against his. “Asking a lot from someone you aren’t being very good for.” He chastised you for your behavior despite being the one that caused the problem in the first place.

“M’sorry, my love. S-so sorry.” You rushed out, his fingers brushing against the sweet spot inside you only he knew how to find.

“That’s not what I want to hear sweetheart, and you know it.” His tone was firm, unrelenting as he continued his torment. You let out a groan of frustration, wishing he’d quicken the pace and give you what you wanted, even though you refused to give in to him.

He leaned forward, closing the gap between your mouths as he grew tired of waiting for the words he wanted to hear. He tasted like the whiskey that had been fuelling his poor mood, sweet and bitter all at once as his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You hated how easy it was for him to turn you into a mess, hated how easy it was for him to make you forget you were angry at all. You pulled him closer to you, holding his arm tightly so he would not pull away. You were stubborn, but despite that, you were showing him everything he wanted to see through your actions alone.

You broke from the kiss as a particularly intense wave of euphoria pulled your stomach. Your forehead continued to rest on his, holding you upright as he continued to give you just enough to keep you satisfied.

“Say it, princess.” His voice was low, raspy and laced with desire as he watched you turn into a mess below him. “Tell me you’re all mine. Tell me I’m the only one who can make you feel like this.” Instead, you connected your mouths again, letting a desperate moan out at the same time. He drank in the sound, his cock throbbing as his hips jutted forward into nothing. He was almost more desperate than you were, which only allowed for you to take him less seriously.

“G-gonna have to try harder than that.” You found a peculiar pleasure in leaving him on edge, giving him a taste of his own medicine as he continued to torture both of you at once. “Show me why I should say it, Freddie. Seems like you’re all t-talk.” You stuttered, tripping over your words as you tried to keep your composure.

He withdrew his hand from you, making you cry out in frustration from the loss of pleasure. Your eyes met his, desperation written all over your face as you protested his actions. Silently, he sunk to his knees between your legs, pulling you to the edge of the table by your hips. He didn’t spare a single glance at your face before his tongue connected with your core, the warm wetness of his tongue even more pleasurable than the rough pad of his thumb.

You laid back on the table, your hands sinking downwards and tangling in the soft locks of hair. Although you were denying him of the statement he wanted to hear, you could not deny that your last argument was wholly untrue. Fred was determined to prove a point, and he was doing it well.

You weren’t far off from an orgasm, his tongue making quick work at pushing you to the edge. The sounds falling from your lips were telling of your current state, and as delirium began to set in, your defenses began to break down.

He suctioned his lips around your clit, adding his fingers to the mix and returning to his earlier pace to torture you further. Every nerve in your body was ablaze with desire, need seeping from every pore as you realized just how badly you needed the release. Sick of the game, you finally broke in fear he would leave you hanging yet again.

“Oh, god.” You gasped, your legs resting over his shoulders in attempt to stop the constant trembling of the lips. “I’m yours, Fred, fuck!” You exclaimed, a sheen layer of sweat forming over your forehead as the knot in your belly began to tighten. “Only you can make me feel this good. Nobody else.” You whined, your fingers tightening on the locks of hair as you began to tug at the strands. You could feel him smiling against you, happy to finally hear you admit the truth.

Pleased with your confessions, he curled his fingers against your g-spot one last time, generously giving you the very thing you’d been pleading for. In a mess, your entire body tensed as the pleasure took hold. The orgasm washed over you, leaving your heart racing against your chest and your head swirling with filthy thoughts for the boy between your legs. A hum of approval let you know he was more than happy with your performance, and he kept his pace until he felt you relax against the table below you.

Once he knew he’d gotten the most out of you, he rose to his feet, towering over you as you laid below him. In the dim moonlight, you could see your orgasm glistening on his chin, only furthering his cockiness as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip so he did not waste a drop of it.

“Always taste so sweet, princess.” He whispered, using one hand to free himself from his pants and his boxers. “And it’s all for me.” He continued, slipping his shirt from his head. He used it to wipe his face clean before tossing it on the floor to join the growing pile of clothes. With shaky hands, you lifted your upper half from the table and pulled your own jumper over your head. “Isn’t that right?” He stepped toward, settling between your legs as his hands ghosted over your bare thighs.

You let out a whimper, his grip landing on your already sore hips as his eyes raked over your entire frame. Your gaze flickered to his cock, hard and aching for relief as he continued to tease you. His fingers tickled your stomach as he trailed his touch upwards, his palm landing flat against your breast as he gave it a gentle squeeze. He let the pad of his thumb brush over your hardened nipple, sending another wave of pleasure through you.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” He wasn’t playing anymore; he wanted to hear the words, and he was done with your obstinacy. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger,

“Yes,” you huffed, already forgetting the pleasure from your first climax as a whole new wave of need began to take over. “I’m yours, Fred. All yours.” You reiterated your earlier statement, now willing to do whatever he wanted of you to prove the point.

“Tell me how bad you want it.” He shot you a twisted little smile, almost as if he was getting off just from the thought of you begging for him.

“I need it, baby. Need to feel you, please.” You whined, reaching for his arms and pulling him closer. “Want you so bad, Fred. Been waiting all night for it.” You felt the tip of his cock connect with your cunt, his expression faltering as soon as he felt the wetness.

“God, you make it so hard to be upset with you.” He hissed the words through his teeth, using his hand to guide himself through your folds as he sucked in a sharp breath. He settled himself just over your already sensitive clit, pushing his hips forward ever so slightly to apply pressure to the spot. “Sound so pretty when you’re begging to be fucked.”

Slowly, he let his tip run back through your arousal, settling the head just at your entrance. He pushed himself forward, but just barely. You whimpered as you braced yourself for the feeling, only to be let down when he stopped himself from going any further.

“Fred,” you warned, catching his eye so he could see your desperate face. You hoped that if he did, he would stop being such a tease. “Please fuck me.”

“What was that?” He smirked, turning his head slightly so his ear was closer to you. “Didn’t quite catch it.”

“Fred, stop—“ you cut yourself off, letting out a huff of annoyance. You knew chastising him for his actions would only make him less likely to give in, even if it was incredibly hard to hold it back. “I need you to fuck me.” You repeated, clearer and louder in hopes of swaying his decision. “Can’t wait any longer, baby. Please.”

At that, he pushed forward the rest of the way, sending your entire body raising with goosebumps. The stretch as he filled you was exactly what you craved, and as he reached the hilt, his tip brushed against your g-spot so delicately that it almost made you come undone right then and there. Your eyelids grew heavy with satisfaction, focusing on how full you felt with him inside of you, knowing that he for certain would always be the one for you.

“That good enough for you, Princess? This is what you wanted?” He asked, letting himself rest inside you for a moment. He felt your walls flutter around him, pulling him even further and making it harder for him to resist you.

“Mhm,” you hummed, giving him a tired nod of agreement. You could feel him throbbing inside of, desperate for a release just like you had been moments before, but he was still trying to prove his point.

“Nobody else gets to have you like this, sweetheart. You’re mine.” He whispered, now sober from the alcohol but intoxicated by an even stronger, deadlier force; you. “He couldn’t fuck you like this, and you know it.” As he spoke, he withdrew his hips and slammed them forward into you again. The action stole the breath from your lungs, twisting your stomach with pleasure as your nails scratched over his skin.

He began at a pace, slower than normal but the force behind his movements making your head spin. You moaned quietly, lost within the feeling of being so close to him. He never failed to take your breath away, never failed to amaze you with his every move. You were so in love with him it sometimes felt like there was no room within your heart for anyone or anything else.

“Tell me, Y/N.” He ordered, his stare never wavering as he fucked into you. As much as he wanted to succumb to the sensation of you wrapped around him, he found it hard to push the thoughts of your earlier arguments out of his head. “You think he’d fuck you like this? You think he could make you feel this good?”

“No, Freddie.” You gasped, feeling the strength of his thrusts increase, sending the legs of the table wobbling. His fingers tightened on your hips, likely leaving behind angry red marks that would fade into reminders of him for days to come.

“That’s it, Princess.” He panted, his chest heaving as he tried to resist the pull of pleasure. “Don’t you think, not even for a second, that anyone can give you half of what I can.” You both knew this to be fact; nobody in the entire world could ever compare to him. “And why do you think that is?”

“‘C-cause I’m yours,” you managed to stutter out the response, watching him as the statement washed over. He brought his hand to your thigh, your legs wrapped tightly around you as he pulled you back on him with every thrust. His head fell back on his shoulders, the dim light of the room casting a beautiful hue over his already breathtaking features.

“That’s right,” he grunted, slamming his hips forward again. There was a thin layer of sweat sheen on his chest, the toned muscles of his abdomen flexing every time he moved. The exposed columns of his neck made your mouth water, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed back his own groans of pleasure. “Was that why you were mouthing off? You just needed someone to take care of you? Just needed me to fuck you?”

“God, yes.” You moaned, feeling the pressure in your belly begin to reach a peak.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? All over my cock?” He smiled, looking down at you so he could appreciate the view. “Come on now, making a fucking mess of it.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered, his words hitting you hard and causing the tightening knot in your belly to tense even further.

“That’s my pretty girl. Just like that.” He continued to encourage you, studying your expression as pleasure began to twist it.

It didn’t take much more for you to descend into another orgasm, your entire body quivering as you cried out for him, singing his name like a hymn and he was the god in which you prayed to. Your throat was raw, raspy from the constant string of moans passing your lips. You were tired, almost too fucked out to continue on, but he was having none of it. He didn’t slow his pace as you came down from the high, instead speeding up and ensuring that he pulled your entire body down on him as he fucked into you.

“Freddie, please.” You breathed, feeling the threat of overstimulation begin to creep in. He would have had sympathy had he known you couldn’t take it, but he was confident in your ability to keep up with him.

“What’s wrong, Princess? Wanted it so bad and now you can’t handle it?” He asked, his eyes glazed over with lust as he felt himself approaching his own orgasm. You frowned at his words, now on a quest to prove your own point as you tried to ignore the stinging beginning to set in.

“I can t-take it.” You huffed, a shiver running down your spine as he reached upwards and palmed your breast. He gave the supple flesh a gentle squeeze, his eyes closing in bliss as he let himself slip out of the persona he had created.

“Being so good for me—just a bit longer now.” He whispered, his voice far away as his eyes settled over your face once more. “Bloody hell, Y/N.” he groaned, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows furrowed together. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

He slipped his hand between your legs, his thumb landing atop your clit. He traced slow circles, knowing you were a bit further behind him and unwilling to climax without giving you at least one more. He could see how tired you were, but it did not deter him from his commitment to pleasing you.

“I love you, Fred.” You whispered, softened entirely by the sweet look in his eyes. All of his previous anger fled, leaving him just as the boy you’d fallen so hopelessly for.

“I love you, sweetheart.” He hummed, his hips stuttering and his stature faltering. “Give me one more, yeah? I know you can do it.” And he was right, your entire body was ablaze with another orgasm much more powerful than the last two.

“Together?” You gasped, reaching up and settling your palm on his cheek.

“Yeah? You want to cum with me?” He encouraged your train of thought. “Want me to fill that pretty cunt? Really show you who you belong to?”

“Fuck yes, please.” You cried, your fingertips tangling in the locks of hair hanging over his ears. Your walls clenched around him, drawing him in and effortlessly finishing what you had started.

You felt his hips stall, a low growl leaving his lips as he pulled you down on him one last time. He managed to whisper your name as he spilled his release into you, the feeling of him filling you completely sending you spiraling on your own accord. You let out a defeated sigh, the tail end of it turning into a whine as your body went rigid. Your nails scratched at the skin of his arm, your hand on him the only thing keeping you tied to earth instead of floating up and through the clouds.

The both of you rode the high together, euphoria infiltrating every nerve in both of your bodies as he leaned down towards you. Ever so gently, he laid his head on your chest, which was still heaving as you tried to catch up from the lack of oxygen. He placed a plethora of small kisses against the warm skin, his eyes fluttering closed as he appreciated the comfort that came with your company.

Silence hung heavy between you for a few moments, neither of you sure where to go from there. You were still strung out on bliss, barely remembering what got the two of you in the position until he spoke again.

“M’sorry, sweetheart.” His voice barely broke through the room, so timid and shy that you almost missed it completely. “I know you’d never do that. Just got in my head, I s’pose.”

“I… I get it.” You sighed, twisting a lock of his hair. “If I walked in on that, after us being so.. you know. I’d likely feel it too.” You confessed. “I was upset that we had to cancel dinner. I am upset, but not at you.” You tried your best to explain yourself despite exhaustion eating away at your mind. “I’m just upset because I miss you. You’re so busy now, and I’m happy for you, really, but I miss you too.”

“You think I was bloody happy about it?” Fred chuckled, the tip of his fingers tracing shapes into your skin. “I’d much rather be here, with you.” At that, you relaxed completely, understanding that you had gotten too far into your own head. “It’s my favorite place to be. Always has been.”

“Mine too, Fred.” You hummed, smiling softly at the thought.

“I reckon I was a bit jealous, ‘specially at the thought of you and George spending so much time with each other. Would rather it be me, you know, sitting at the shop and laughing with you all night… taking you out for dinner… loving you.” Another gentle kiss was placed to your chest, just before he looked up to meet your eyes. The soft, warm, familiar sight made you feel at ease. He was back to being your Fred, the one you missed all along.

“Darling, you have nothing to be jealous about.” You promised, smiling as he placed a quick peck on your lips. “Though, if it means we get to have brilliant sex like that, by all means do what you have to do.” You explained. “Bloody brilliant, at that.” Without any further words, the two of you descended into a fit of laughter and the clouds that previously hung above your head seemingly cleared in an instant, easily proving to him there was really never a need to worry at all.

[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[delulustateofmind]

"It's All Your Fault, Isn't It?"

Yan! SatoSugu x Reader Sum: You've had the chances, why didn't you take them. In the end you'll always just lose the purest of love. Last part of: Can my friend join?, This is Love, Right? ** Can be read as standalone fics** TW: Yandere Behaviors (Obsession, Manipulation, etc), Death of Child Character, Blood, Toxic Relationship Dynamics, Depression, Dubcon, Lactation, Pregnancy themes, SatoSugu, Angst No Comfort. MDNI WC: 7.7k

A/n: I got supperrr stuck in the loop of editing, so I am just gonna post it, I feel like rereading it after the tenth time. I almost just pressed delete lol. :) enjoy!

It’s all your fault, isn’t it?

You did this to yourself. You should have walked away when the chance was there, when the door was still open, even just a crack. You should have screamed, fought, run—anything to reclaim a sliver of your freedom.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Was it the security? The comfort of knowing you’d never struggle to pay bills or scramble to find work? Was it the way Satoru promised, over and over, that you’d never go unloved, never feel the ache of loneliness again?

Or was it something darker? Something you couldn’t quite admit to yourself?

You told yourself it was love. You told yourself you were lucky. How many women could say they had someone who’d give them the world? Someone who, with a flick of his wrist, could bend the rules of life itself to ensure you had everything you could ever need?

So, you stayed.

Even before Suguru became part of the equation, you stayed. You even stayed when Satoru would come home in the dead of night, his footsteps a faint echo through the silent halls before his hands found you. You’d stir from your sleep as he pulled your panties down with barely a word, his breath hot against your neck.

There was no tenderness in those moments, no love—just need. A raw, consuming need he claimed you had to fulfill. And you let him, didn’t you? You let him push inside you with barely any preparation, your body yielding to him because he knew it so well.

Satoru knew the places that made you crumble, the spots where your body quivered, the way your breath hitched when his fingers grazed just right. He knew you better than you knew yourself, didn’t he? His movements were deliberate, practiced, the wet noises filling the room a cruel testament to how thoroughly he’d mastered you.

You’d given him permission. He reminded you of that often, didn’t he? That you’d said yes. That he worked so hard, carried so much, and that this was his right. That he had needs only you could meet.

And you understood. You always understood.

After all, he was the strongest, wasn’t he?

So, you let him use you.

Like a doll.

You’d lay there, staring at the ceiling, as he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his loud groans of release cutting through the stillness. A pathetic little whimper followed, muffled by the darkness, as he spilled himself inside you. And then, as if the act meant nothing, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, murmured something soft and indistinct, and rolled over to his side of the bed.

You stayed there, silent and unmoving, the lingering heat of his body beside you doing nothing to warm the cold ache between your thighs.

That’s when the thought would creep in. A sick, unwelcome whisper:

You didn’t even climax.

You hated yourself for thinking it. For letting it matter.

But still, you stayed.

Was it fear that held you there? Or was it hope—a desperate, foolish hope that one-day things would change? That one day, every day would feel like those rare, sweet moments when he pressed teasing kisses against your lips before dragging you out to get sweets. That he’d touch you with love, with the tenderness he so effortlessly showed to others—when he wasn’t breaking them apart piece by piece with that same teasing grin.

And now, looking back, you can’t decide what’s worse: that you didn’t leave when you had the chance…

Or that part of you still doesn’t want to.

You stayed, even when the small arguments started. The little spats about wanting him to open up more, to share pieces of his life with you, the pieces he always kept hidden. Perhaps it was selfish—maybe even naïve—but you wanted to know why he loved you.

Really, truly loved you.

But you never asked.

You saved that question, tucking it away deep into your heart, right alongside the cracks that had already started forming. You told yourself it wasn’t the right time. That maybe he wasn’t ready. That you shouldn’t push. Instead, you focused on the good times, clinging to them like lifelines.

Because they were good, weren’t they?

What other guy would give you the world like Satoru did? What other guy would bring you flowers every week—a different color each time, sometimes traditional, sometimes exotic, but always beautiful? What other guy would shower you with affection so openly, so shamelessly, pressing kisses to your skin, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as though you were the only thing keeping him grounded?

Satoru had told you he loved you. And maybe he did—in a way that wasn’t entirely built on desire, the need to keep you within his grasp, or the insatiable craving to hold you close for the rest of your days.

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

That’s why you stayed.

Even when Suguru came into the picture—when those dark, calculating eyes lingered on you just a moment too long when his quiet, honeyed words wove themselves into your life like threads binding you to a tapestry you couldn’t escape—you stayed.

You had the choice, didn’t you? You could have said no. You could have walked away.

But you didn’t.

You stayed, and now there was no one else to blame.

So, truly, it is all your fault.

However, your heart’s at fault too, isn’t it? For leaning into Suguru's touches, craving his warmth, even when you knew deep down that he was a cruel and awful man. A man who veiled his darkness in sweetness, wrapping it in gentle words and tender caresses that made you doubt your own truths. He was a master of contradiction—soft hands and sharp edges, honeyed lies hiding an iron grip.

You could have left.

You could have said no to the whole relationship, shut the door before it ever opened.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

You told yourself that maybe this was the best you could hope for, the best kind of love someone like you deserved. Because it was love, wasn’t it? They loved you. Even if it was conditional. Even if you had to give and give, piece after piece of yourself, just to receive a sliver in return.

Love comes in many forms, after all. And this was love.

Or so you continued to convince yourself.

This is what you deserve. That you should have listened to your gut, back when every touch felt too heavy, too lingering, too much. Back when their words seemed to wrap around you like chains instead of promises. You should have left before the walls around you closed in. Before you realized that leaving wasn’t just difficult—it was dangerous.

You had your chances, didn’t you? If only you’d taken them.

You knew Satoru would tear the world apart to find you if you ran. He’d find you, no matter where you went, no matter how far. But… would he really?

If you’d left early enough, maybe it wouldn’t have been like this. Maybe it would have been nothing more than a bad breakup, a lesson in heartbreak you’d recover from in time. Maybe, if you’d left after Suguru’s return, Satoru would have leaned on him instead of spiraling further into obsession.

But you didn’t leave.

You stayed.

Such a stupid, stupid girl.

And yet…

It was never just about them, was it?

Because you craved love too, just as much as they did. You wanted it desperately—so much that you ignored the warnings in your heart, the creeping dread in your chest. You wanted to be loved, to feel wanted, to belong to someone in a way that was absolute, undeniable, and unshakable.

And that’s exactly what they gave you.

But love like that—it came with a cost.

And you paid for it in silence, in submission, in the pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

So now, here you are, locked away in the beautiful Gojo estate. A place so grand it should feel like a palace, yet it suffocates you like a gilded cage. Every corner gleams with wealth and power, every surface reflects the life you’re supposed to be grateful for.

The maids don’t meet your eyes.

To them, you aren’t Satoru’s wife. You aren’t a partner. You’re something lesser.

A pet.

Because you aren’t the one ensuring the estate runs smoothly while Satoru is away on his endless missions. That responsibility doesn’t fall to you—it belongs to Suguru, doesn’t it? He’s the one in charge. He holds the reins, commanding the household with a quiet authority that leaves no room for question.

And you?

You remain.

The pet. The wife. The child-bearer.

Barefoot and pregnant, with a swollen belly to show for it, you shuffle through the estate like a ghost. Your body aches, weighed down not just by the child growing inside you, but by the chains of a life you can’t escape.

Suguru sees to it that the estate runs like a well-oiled machine, all while maintaining his title as the second strongest. His responsibilities never seem to tire him, never seem to dull his devotion. If anything, they only make him more overbearing.

He adores pampering you.

He drapes you in the softest blankets, ensuring you’re always warm. He dresses you in the finest clothes, silks and satins that cling to your growing belly, showcasing the proof of your usefulness. He loves the way your independence has been stripped away, loves the way you’ve been forced to rely on him for everything.

When did you become so dependent?

When did you start accepting his affection like a loyal dog, start leaning into the way his rough, calloused hands would trace the curve of your stomach? When did you start craving the way he’d gaze up at you with that lovesick smile, his voice low and honeyed as he murmured sweet words about the future?

“I hope the baby looks like Satoru,” he’d say, his eyes dark and soft as they met yours. Then, after a pause, “I hope it’s a girl.”

The words always made your chest tighten, made your stomach twist.

You know he must miss the twins.

It’s not just the weight of their absence—it’s the way he’s filled that void with this child, this unborn life. You can see it in the way he touches you, the way he watches you. He’s more excited about this pregnancy than you are.

And that’s the cruelest part, isn’t it?

Because to him, this isn’t just a child. It’s a legacy. A purpose.

To you?

It’s another chain.

And yet, you hate how loving he is. How he’s always there to hold your hair back when you’re bent over, heaving in the dead of night. How his large, warm hands find every knot in your aching limbs, massaging away the tension with a tenderness that makes your heartache.

It’s cruel, how gentle he can be. How he disarms you with care just when you think you might muster the strength to fight back.

There’s a constant mantra in your mind, a desperate hope that the baby won’t resemble either of them.

Because the thought of seeing their features reflected back at you stirs a fear too heavy to bear.

The thought of seeing their features reflected in those tiny, innocent eyes is terrifying. It brings the fear that every decision will feel like a mistake, that allowing any of this to happen will become an unbearable regret.

You tell yourself you hope, but it’s hard to ignore the possibility, isn’t it?

What if the child inherits Satoru’s piercing blue eyes—so crystalline they seem otherworldly, glowing even in the faintest light? The same eyes that burn and freeze you all at once, stripping you bare and exposing every secret, every hidden part of you.

Even his grin—boyish, sharp, too wide—lingers in your mind. A grin that could charm and cut in the same breath, leaving you unsure whether to lean closer or step away. What if that grin appeared on a smaller, softer face, just as devastating?

Or worse—what if the baby inherits Suguru’s gaze?

Those dark, soulful eyes that pull you in like the tide, gentle at first glance, inviting even, but hiding endless, churning storms beneath their surface. Eyes that promise escape is not an option. Unlike Satoru’s, Suguru’s smiles are quieter, softer—but no less dangerous. His smiles feel deliberate, like they’re slipping past every defense you didn’t even know you had.

Would the baby inherit Satoru’s arrogance? Suguru’s patience?

Or worse—would the child inherit both of their possessiveness?

The thought makes your skin crawl.

But the fear doesn’t end there.

Because it’s not just about the baby, is it?

It’s about you.

About how they’ve already carved themselves so deeply into your soul that you can’t even imagine a world without them. You hate that truth. Hate the way it festers inside you, a bitter root growing into every part of you.

You hate Satoru’s smirk when he strides into the estate after a mission, brushing off the exhaustion and blood as if it’s nothing. How he towers over you, his white hair catching the light in a way that seems almost ethereal, his fingers tilting your chin up with a mock tenderness that makes your breath catch.

You hate how he always knows exactly what to say to make you crumble, his voice dipping into that teasing lilt that makes your heart flutter in spite of yourself.

And Suguru—oh, you hate how he lingers. How his touch lingers. His hands are always warm, always deliberate, tracing paths across your skin as if he’s claiming you, piece by piece. Every stroke of his fingers feels like a silent reminder that you are his, that you belong to him. His voice, low and soothing, is a cruel contradiction—a balm against your nerves, even when his words are laced with quiet threats you pretend not to hear.

You hate them.

You hate the way they consume you, the way they’ve woven themselves into the fabric of your life so tightly that even your thoughts feel tangled in their presence.

And yet, as you sit in the vast, lonely expanse of the Gojo estate, the weight of your belly grounding you, you know the truth.

You’re not just afraid of the baby looking like them.

You’re afraid of what that child will mean.

Because if they look like Satoru, with his arrogance, his fire, his brilliance, how will you deny the pride swelling in your chest? How will you stop yourself from feeling that flicker of awe, even when you know you shouldn’t?

And if they look like Suguru, with his quiet strength, his steadfast devotion, how will you deny the love? How will you stop yourself from melting beneath those familiar eyes, from imagining them crinkling with joy or softening with affection?

You can’t.

And that's horrifying.

You won’t be able to ignore how Satoru has changed, how he’s become softer, more attentive in ways that make it harder to hold onto your resentment. How he lingers closer to you than he ever did before, as if the mere distance between you might undo something fragile inside him.

How he’s started resting his head in your lap as you sit together in the serene gardens, his white hair catching the sunlight like spun silk, almost ethereal. His long lashes cast soft shadows over his cheeks as his half-lidded gaze flickers up to meet yours, brimming with a tenderness you don’t know how to process.

He murmurs lazy words of affection, his voice low and warm, the kind of sweetness that drips like honey and sticks to your skin. His fingers trace absentminded circles on your thighs, soft patterns that feel far too intimate, far too easy.

And you hate how much you crave it.

You hate the way his presence soothes something raw inside you, even when you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

You hate how he’s begun helping you with the small, intimate things you wish you could keep to yourself. Like the unbearable ache in your swollen breasts, the pressure building so much it leaves you trembling, whimpering in pain. How he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t even ask.

The way Satoru's lips wrap around you with loud, deliberate suckles, the sound echoing in the quiet as he eases the pressure with almost clinical precision. He doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t falter. His hands grip your hips to steady you, his thumbs pressing reassuring circles into your skin.

You hate the sound.

You hate the warmth of his breath against your skin, the way it prickles, a constant reminder of just how close he always is—too close.

When he’s finished, he pulls back with a satisfied hum, his lips brushing against your collarbone with a lingering kiss. His voice low, almost tender, as he murmurs, “I love this version of you.”

The words settle into you like stones. His lips, still soft from the milk, press against yours, and the faint sweetness lingers, almost cloying. Satoru murmurs more words—gentle, saccharine things that would feel kind if not for the way his hands start to roam as they wrap around your waist.

“How nurturing you’ve become,” he whispers, his tone carrying a dangerous sort of reverence.

That’s what he loves. That’s what he says.

And the way he looks at you when he says it—those bright blue eyes glinting with something dark, something that sinks its claws into you—makes your skin crawl. Because you know exactly what he means.

He doesn’t love the nurturing in and of itself. He loves how it ties you to him. How it binds you to this role, this life, this carefully constructed world where you are his and only his.

The version of you he loves is one that has no room for defiance, no space for resistance—only the space to give, to sacrifice, to bend under the weight of his love.

And that’s what makes it so much worse.

Because even as you hate it, even as your stomach churns and your skin prickles, there’s a part of you that leans into his touch. A part of you that longs for the softness, for the fleeting moments when it feels like love instead of control.

And you hate yourself for that, too

Because you know how it goes. You’ve seen it now. Lived it.

How one pregnancy ends and another begins.

The cycle repeated itself after your firstborn, didn’t it? Barely a year after you gave birth, they had you pregnant again. You didn’t even have time to recover, to heal, before they decided it was time for another.

But they love you, don’t they?

Satoru’s affection is impossible to miss—the way he grins at you, almost childlike, as he cups your face with hands that can destroy worlds but hold you as though you’re the most delicate thing he’s ever touched. How he showers you with gifts, flowers in every shade imaginable, rare treasures that sparkle as brightly as his endless energy.

How many times has he told you, in his low, teasing voice, “You’re my world, you know that? I could do anything, have anything—but none of it would matter without you.”

It sounds like love, doesn’t it?

And Suguru—Suguru loves you too, in his quiet, steady way. You see it in the way he watches you, his dark eyes softening when you enter the room, the weight of his gaze feels suffocating. He’s the one who stays calm when you cry, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring, “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

And you believe him, don’t you?

They love you. That’s why they insist on keeping you close. Why Satoru kisses your forehead every morning, why Suguru runs his fingers through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings you’re too exhausted to resist. That’s why they ensure you’re taken care of, why they never let you lift a finger, why they promise they’ll always protect you.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Satoru once said, kissing your swollen belly as he grinned up at you. “Just stay here with us. That’s all we need.”

“It’s not just for us,” Suguru added, his voice softer, more measured. “It’s for you too. We want you to feel safe. Loved.”

And in moments like that, when the weight of their words settles in your chest like a lullaby, you almost believe them.

You tell yourself that no one else would love you this much. No one else would care for you so completely, so unconditionally—because this is love, isn’t it?

The maids barely acknowledged your struggles. Their gazes were cold, dismissive, even as your body ached and your mind screamed for reprieve. They would gently pry your child from your arms with hushed whispers.

“You need more rest,” they’d say, their voices soft but unyielding. “We’ll take care of them. Don’t worry.”

And what could you do? You’d watch helplessly as they carried your baby away, leaving you empty-handed, empty-hearted. As if you were nothing more than a vessel, an incubator meant to bear and birth heirs for the Gojo family.

Your firstborn was a boy.

A son.

An heir.

He looked just like Satoru.

Those piercing blue eyes stared back at you from his tiny, cherubic face, wide and curious, already holding a glint of brilliance and confidence you couldn’t deny. His hair was the same stark white, impossibly soft beneath your trembling fingers as you brushed it back, memorizing every perfect strand. Even the little smirk he gave in his sleep mirrored Satoru’s—a playful, almost mocking curl at the corners of his mouth that made your heart ache with emotions you couldn’t unravel.

You loved him.

You hated that you loved him.

And when Suguru would cradle him in his arms, his dark eyes soft and filled with a devotion that seemed to crack the carefully constructed walls around your heart, you couldn’t deny the warmth blooming in your chest. He’d whisper promises to the child—vows of protection and guidance.

When Satoru would swoop in, effortlessly spinning the boy around with an energy that filled the room with light, the sound of your son’s uncontrollable laughter echoing like music, that warmth would return. It would swell in your chest, suffocating and undeniable, a cruel reminder of the chains you wore willingly and unwillingly all at once.

This is what they wanted, wasn’t it?

This is what they’d planned all along.

And now, with another child growing inside you, you realize something that terrifies you more than anything else.

You’re not sure if you stayed because you had no choice.

Or because you wanted to.

Again, it’s all your fault.

For trying to run, again.

For thinking, just for a moment, that you could escape them.

You were far too pregnant. Belly too far swollen, body heavy and slow, every step a reminder of how deeply tethered you were to this vast estate. But the thought wouldn’t leave your mind. The desperate hope of freedom burned too brightly, too wildly, even as your body betrayed you.

Even as you were dragged back to that sickening place, back to the people that you convinced yourself—desperately, foolishly—that this was love.

You’d screamed at Suguru, the words spilling out like a torrent you couldn’t stop. You told him the child was yours too, that you had the right to hold them, to sleep in the same room, to be more than a vessel. Your voice cracked, raw with frustration and desperation, as you hurled your defiance at him.

You remember the way his gaze darkened.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t snap. That wasn’t Suguru’s way.

Instead, he stepped closer, his movements slow, calculated, as though he were approaching a frightened animal. He tilted his head, his expression calm, disarming, the warmth in his dark eyes a stark contrast to the undercurrent of control they held.

“You’re upset,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. His hand reached out to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears streaking your face. “And that’s okay. You’ve been through so much, haven’t you?”

The quiet warmth in Suguru's voice made it hard to breathe, made the frustration clawing at your throat turn to something else—something like shame.

“You need to calm down,” he continued, a warm calloused hand slipping down to cradle the side of your neck, his thumb pressing lightly against your pulse. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself. I don’t want you to hurt us.”

His words lingered, heavy with meaning, as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressing against yours.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “But I love you. We love you. Everything we do—everything I do—is for you.”

You wanted to push him away, to scream that it wasn’t love, that this wasn’t love. But as his arms wrapped around you, strong and unyielding, pulling you into his embrace as though Suguru could shield you from the very world they had trapped you in.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmured, soft lips brushing your temple. “Don’t you see that? You don’t need to run. You don’t need to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. I’ll always take care of you.”

A voice that was so tender, so achingly sincere, that it almost broke you. Suguru's words were enough to extinguish the fire of defiance burning in your chest, to leave you standing there, trembling and helpless in his arms.

The maids saw it, didn’t they? They whispered about you, their quiet voices slipping through the halls like ghosts. They called you ungrateful. Sick. They said you didn’t understand how fortunate you were.

“You should be enjoying this,” they murmured, their words laced with thinly veiled judgment. “No responsibilities, no struggles. A carefree life. Everything is taken care of for you. What more could you want?”

What more could you want?

No choices.

That’s what they meant, wasn’t it? No choices. No freedom. No you.

Was something wrong with you? Maybe.

Maybe there was something wrong with wanting more. For wanting to feel like a person again, instead of a vessel, a doll, a beautifully dressed incubator meant to carry their legacy.

It really is all your fault, isn’t it?

Because when labor came, it dragged you into hell.

Thirty-three grueling hours. Each contraction ripped through your body like a punishment, an unrelenting reminder of every fleeting thought of rebellion, of every moment you dared to imagine a life beyond them.

The emergency c-section was chaos—a flurry of hands, sterile lights, and voices rising above the incessant ringing in your ears. You were losing too much blood. Fever scorched your skin, your body trembling as the edges of the world blurred, your thoughts slipping between consciousness and darkness.

You couldn’t make sense of what was happening. You weren’t even sure whose tears streaked your skin as they fell—were they yours? Satoru’s? Suguru’s?

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know what happened after that.

All you remember are the words.

Suguru’s voice, low and steady, cutting through the haze. He leaned close, his hand resting on your clammy cheek with an almost painful tenderness. His dark eyes bore into yours, soft yet heavy with something that made your stomach twist.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. His tone was calm, soothing even, but the edge beneath it was sharp enough to draw blood. “Look at what you’ve done to yourself. You should’ve listened.”

And for a long time, you didn’t have the strength to argue.

The days that followed blurred together. Feeling like a ghost in your body, too weak to move, too tired to speak. Satoru and Suguru hovered, their gazes flickering between concern and something you couldn't quite place. The maids continued to whisper on with their rumors, their eyes darting to you with pity or disdain, as though you’d done this to yourself.

In their eyes, you were lucky.

Lucky to have survived. Lucky to have them.

And lucky, in their eyes, to not have another pregnancy until your first two boys turned five.

Five years of peace. Or something that resembled it.

Five years of watching your sons grow, of hearing their first words, of feeling their small, warm arms wrap around you as they giggled into into your neck. Five years where it was almost believable that this was normal, where you could almost convince yourself this was love.

Because it did feel like love, didn’t it?

Until the day you overheard Suguru speaking to them.

His voice was hushed, but not hushed enough.

“Mommy is sick,” he said, tone calm and soothing like he was explaining a simple fact of life. “Sometimes she says things she doesn’t mean. Sometimes she gets confused. But that’s okay. We love her, don’t we?”

A pang sent through your chest, breath catching as you froze in the hallway. Those cruel words lies carved like knives, each one slicing deeper than the last.

He was planting seeds, wasn’t he?

Teaching them to see you the way he wanted them to see you. Fragile. Dependent. Broken.

However with fists clenched, nails pressing into palms with a sting sharp enough to ground the swirling emotions within. The urge to scream hovered at the edge, to cry and storm into the room, demanding explanations with the desperation of a cornered animal. Words burned on the tip of the tongue—protests that it wasn’t true, that sickness and confusion weren’t the chains binding this existence.

But what would they believe?

Suguru’s steady, patient voice, rich and even, always laced with quiet authority? The father whose dark eyes always seemed to understand everything, who carried himself with calm, unshakable control, even when his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes?

Or you?

The mother who had tried to run, who had collapsed and bled and screamed, who had been scolded for her defiance. The one they saw as weak, frail, and ungrateful.

You wanted to run again. The thought burned in the back of your mind, relentless and wild.

But you didn’t.

You stayed.

Because, in the end, what choice did you really have?

But by the time your third child—a sweet boy who looked like a perfect blend of you and Suguru—turned three, the illusion of peace began to crack.

Suguru was already leaning close, his voice soft and coaxing as he murmured into your ear, “I think it’s time we try for a girl.”

Satoru, of course, was on board almost immediately.

After all, your third child was different. A nonsorcerer, just like you, showing none of the abilities your first two boys possessed. Those two had cried in the dead of night, their small voices trembling with fear as they described the horrors only they could see—things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

But that wasn’t why your husbands looked at Kiyoshi with quiet disapproval.

It wasn’t his lack of cursed energy that made them see him as an anomaly.

It was his heart.

From the moment Kiyoshi was placed in your arms, red-faced and wailing, he clung to you with a desperation that never faded. He didn’t want the maids to hold him, didn’t toddle after Suguru’s composed steps or reached for Satoru’s strong arms. He wanted you. Always you.

He was a mama’s boy through and through, and that was love.

A love so pure it felt like a lifeline in the suffocating world you’d been forced into.

While you loved your first two boys deeply—how could you not?—there was always a distance there, a reflection of the walls your husbands had built around you. The first two cuddled into your lap, their small hands clutching yours as they whispered things that broke you.

“Mommy, we want you to get better.” “We don’t like it when you yell at Daddy to let you leave.”

They were too young to understand, too innocent to see the chains tightening around you.

But Kiyoshi understood, in his own way. Even as a toddler, he refused to leave your side, refused to let the maids or his fathers pull him from your arms. He was always on your hip, his little hand clutching your clothes, his head resting against your chest.

“Kiyoshi,” Satoru had said once, his tone laced with false amusement, “means ‘pure sadness.’ Don’t you think that’s fitting?”

He smiled as if it were a joke, but you could hear the bitterness beneath it.

And maybe it was fitting.

Because Kiyoshi only stopped wailing when he was in your arms, as if he already knew the world outside of you was too cruel, too cold.

By the time he turned three, Kiyoshi would toddle after you in the gardens, small, sturdy legs working hard to keep up. His face—a blend of Suguru’s gentleness and your warmth—would brighten with the purest smile. When his eyes crinkled at the corners, just like yours, you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell.

“Look, Mommy!” he’d say, holding up a flower he’d plucked from the garden, his tiny fingers dirt-stained and clumsy. “For you!”

You’d crouch down, brushing his dark hair back as you took the flower, your voice soft and tender in a way you hadn’t heard in years.

“Thank you, my sweet boy.”

And for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Like you could breathe again.

But you knew better.

As the sound of approaching footsteps always shattered moments like these. Heavy and far too familiar. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Suguru.

His softspoken voice broke the fragile silence, calm and even, as always. “Kiyoshi,” he said, warm and affectionate, though laced with something you couldn’t quite name. “You’ve been keeping your mother all to yourself again, haven’t you?”

Kiyoshi stiffened at your side, the little hand tightening its grip on your kimono as he glanced nervously toward Suguru.

Suguru stepped closer and crouched down to Kiyoshi’s level, dark eyes softening as they met his son’s. “Come here, son,” he murmured, holding out a hand. His tone was gentle, coaxing, but there was an unspoken expectation beneath it. “Let Daddy hold you for a little while. I’ve missed you.”

But Kiyoshi didn’t move. His small fingers curled tighter into the fabric of your kimono, his face pressing into your side as though trying to make himself small, invisible.

Suguru’s gaze flicked to you, lips curling into a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “So shy,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of amused affection. “But you don’t have to be, Kiyoshi. Daddy just wants to hold you. You know that, don’t you?”

You felt your heart clench, torn between the instinct to shield him and the weight of Suguru’s presence. The tenderness in his tone, in the way his hand remained outstretched, made it all the harder to breathe.

“Kiyoshi,” Suguru said again, his voice dipping into a firmer edge, calm but unyielding. “Come.”

Reluctantly, your little boy let go of you, his steps slow and hesitant as he moved toward his father. Suguru’s smile widened, soft and reassuring, as he scooped Kiyoshi up effortlessly, cradling him with a gentleness that felt too deliberate, too controlled.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmured, brushing Kiyoshi’s hair back with careful fingers. His touch lingered, as though committing the texture to memory. “You love your mommy very much, don’t you?”

Kiyoshi nodded silently, his small face burying itself in Suguru’s shoulder.

Suguru’s gaze lifted to meet yours, a gentle smile, his tone almost playful. “You’ve spoiled him,” he said, a note of amusement threading through his words. “He’s too attached.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say something, but the words caught in your throat.

What could you say?

That you were the only warmth in a world that terrified him? That his attachment wasn’t a flaw, but a desperate grasp at something safe?

Satoru appeared not long after, his presence impossible to ignore as he strolled into the garden, hands in his pockets and a grin that seemed too bright for the moment. His eyes, however, betrayed something softer—something that lingered only when they landed on you.

“Kiyoshi giving you trouble again?” Satoru's voice came out light, tinged with curiosity.

“No trouble,” Suguru replied smoothly, a hand still resting on Kiyoshi’s small back. “Just a little too fond of his mother.”

Satoru chuckled, shaking his head as he moved closer. His cerulean gaze flicked briefly to Kiyoshi before returning to you, that playful grin softening as he moved to brush a kiss against your temple. “Well, can you blame him?” he murmured, his voice low, meant only for you. “You’re hard not to love.”

The warmth of his affection made your heart twist, and your stomach flutter. For a moment, it was easy to forget the way his words often carried double meanings, easy to believe he was simply being sweet.

He straightened, turning his attention back to Suguru with a teasing smile. “But we’ll fix that soon enough, won’t we?”

They didn’t mean to hurt him, you told yourself. They wouldn’t.

But you knew better.

Because Kiyoshi was different. He didn’t fit into their world the way your first two boys did. And in their eyes, difference was something to be controlled.

For now, they let him cling to you. They let him toddle after you in the garden, offering flowers and dirt-streaked smiles that made your heart ache with both love and dread. For now, they allowed him to stay close, to hold onto the warmth you gave him, to believe he was safe in your arms.

But you knew it was only a matter of time.

Because your sons didn’t belong to you. Not really. They never had.

And no matter how much you wanted to shield Kiyoshi, no matter how fiercely you loved him, you knew one simple, devastating truth:

They’d let you have this for now.

But they would take him, too.

Because, after all, it’s all your fault.

For fleeing in the middle of the night.

The day was supposed to be perfect—a rare moment where Satoru and Suguru had taken the older two boys to the school, their voices filled with excitement as they promised to teach them more about the world they were destined to inherit. Your sweet boys kissed you goodbye with a tenderness that felt almost cruel, leaving you behind with Kiyoshi in the quiet, sprawling estate.

You had been on your best behavior. Smiling more, laughing when Satoru teased you, letting Suguru hold you a little longer than usual. You’d made them believe you were finally settling, finally accepting your role in their carefully constructed world.

And it worked.

So when the sun set and the house fell silent, you made your move.

You bundled Kiyoshi up in the softest blanket you could find, the small body warm and sleepy against your chest. He stirred only slightly as you slipped out of the estate, his tiny hands clutching onto your clothes.

He didn’t cry.

He didn’t make a sound.

It was as if he understood. As if even at three years old, he knew that silence was the only thing keeping you safe.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, his soft breaths warm against your skin, and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

The highway stretched out before you, an endless black ribbon under the faint glow of the moon. The lights of the city sparkled in the distance, a beacon of hope, a promise of sanctuary.

You walked for miles, the cold night air biting at your skin, legs aching with every step. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t. Not with the faint echoes of paranoia whispering at the back of your mind.

Were they already looking for you? Did Satoru sense you slipping away even from miles away? Did Suguru wake in the middle of the night with the suffocating weight of intuition, already calling for their forces to track you down?

You didn’t know.

And you didn’t care.

The city limits were closer now, the glow of neon lights growing brighter, sharper. The faint hum of life and sound buzzed in the distance.

Kiyoshi stirred in your arms, his little head lifting just enough to peek out at the world around him. His dark eyes, so much like Suguru’s but filled with an innocence his father could no longer claim, glanced up at you with quiet curiosity.

“Mommy,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the soft hum of the wind.

You pressed a kiss to his forehead, your tears wetting his soft hair. “We’re almost there, my sweet boy,” you murmured, your voice trembling under the weight of hope and fear. “Just a little farther.”

Sanctuary was so close you could taste it.

But it’s all your fault, isn’t it?

Born a nonsorcerer.

Blind to the horrors that lurk unseen. Powerless to fight them off. Too weak to keep that sweet little boy safe.

You always imagined curses as massive, grotesque creatures—monsters so obvious that the very air would change in their presence. That the world would stop, that everything would smell of death and decay as they loomed closer.

But when a curse appears, nothing changes.

There’s no warning. No shift in the wind.

The only thing you feel is the sudden weight of your child going limp in your arms.

And then the blood.

And then the blood.

It coats the ground—dark and endless, pooling around your knees and seeping into the cracks of the earth. Sticky and warm, it clings to trembling hands, staining your kimono, your skin, your very soul.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe.

Your little boy—your Kiyoshi—lies limp in your arms, his small body growing colder with every agonizing second. Tiny fingers, once so eager to cling to you, now dangle lifelessly. His dark lashes rest softly against pale cheeks, unmoving.

He looks like he’s sleeping.

You tell yourself that, over and over, as if saying it enough times will somehow make it true. Shaking hands brush back his dark hair, trembling as you whisper his name. Softly at first, then louder, your voice splintering with every syllable.

“Kiyoshi… wake up, baby. Please.”

But nothing changes.

The world around you feels wrong—too quiet, too still. The city lights in the distance mock you, their glow a cruel reminder of the sanctuary you’d been so close to reaching. You’d promised him, hadn’t you? Promised that everything would be okay. That you’d make it there. That you’d keep him safe.

You lied.

“Kiyoshi,” you choke out again, pressing a desperate kiss to his cooling forehead. Hot tears streak down your face, wetting his soft hair as you clutch him tighter, as though you could anchor him to you—keep him here, with you.

A wail tears through the night, raw and broken, shattering the oppressive silence. The sound is unrecognizable, guttural and full of despair. It takes a moment before you realize it’s coming from you.

The blood stains everything—your hands, your clothes, the ground—but it’s the loss of his warmth that destroys you.

How did this happen?

Your mind races, replaying the moments in broken fragments. You’d been walking, your legs aching, his small body cradled against your chest. He’d been so quiet, so trusting, his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

You were almost there.

Then the air shifted—just slightly—a subtle wrongness you hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

You didn’t see it.

You didn’t even know it was there until his body jerked in your arms, a sharp, unnatural movement that stole his breath—and yours.

And then he went limp.

It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.

You rock him back and forth, tears falling freely, your voice hoarse as you beg him to wake up. Leaning to press your cheek against his, murmuring his name over and over, as if the sound alone could bring him back.

Because you failed him.

Because this is your fault.

Suguru’s arms wrap around you, their weight unbearable. His warmth presses against the chill of the night, suffocating in a way that makes the air harder to pull into your lungs. He cradles you like something precious, something fragile—like he cares, even as his words twist the knife deeper into your chest.

“We’ll take care of this, just like always,” he says, his voice soft, almost gentle. His lips brush against your hair, lingering, and the tenderness in the gesture makes your skin crawl. “You just need to stop fighting us. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

Satoru stood frozen, head bowed, white hair catching the faint glow of the city lights. Kiyoshi’s lifeless body was pressed tightly against him, his hands trembling ever so slightly as he held him close. For a moment, you thought you saw something crack in his expression—something raw, something human.

But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared.

When he finally turned his gaze to you, his blue eyes were as hollow as you’d ever seen them. “You shouldn’t have done this,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. “Why couldn’t you just stay?”

The question stabbed deeper than you thought possible, the shame and guilt coursing through you like poison.

Why couldn’t you just stay?

The image of Kiyoshi’s bright smile flashed, his tiny hands offering you flowers from the garden, his laugh ringing out like music in the suffocating silence of the estate. He’d been your light, your tether to something good.

And now he was gone.

Because of you.

You sagged further into Suguru’s hold, the fight draining out of you entirely. The tears wouldn’t stop, falling silently now, soaking into the front of Suguru’s shirt as he held you tighter.

“There, there,” he murmured, his hand stroking your hair in slow, deliberate motions. “That’s better. You don’t have to fight anymore. We’ll make it right.”

But there was no right in this.

The car waited nearby, its door open like an unspoken command. Suguru’s grip on you didn’t waver as he began guiding you toward it, his movements gentle but unrelenting. Satoru followed behind, cradling Kiyoshi’s small form like he was made of glass.

Your legs moved on instinct, numb and heavy, the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air.

The city lights grew fainter as the car doors shut behind you, locking you away from the world you’d been so close to reaching.

You told yourself you’d tried. That you’d done everything you could.

But deep down, you knew.

You’d never escape them.

And as Suguru’s fingers intertwined with yours, as Satoru’s empty gaze lingered on the horizon, you realized something that hollowed you out completely.

It wasn’t just that you had nothing left.

It was that you no longer cared to try.

It really was all your fault.

[plaidcowboy]

!cosy and rafe keeping themselves entertained when the power goes out

“bruce s’gonna be fine” rafe deadpanned as you gripped the bat jellycat’s wing. your eyebrows remained furrowed. “it’s crazy out there, he’s vulnerable to intense injury” you reasoned. the storm was getting worse by the minute. it spread quickly that another storm was hitting but that it was nothing to worry about. some may have a little power outage for a bit and possible strong enough winds to knock some things over. so.. yeah you were being dramatic. the storm was nothing.

rafe rolled his eyes. “i know you know it isn’t bad, so if this is to pull a reaction from me, i’m walking away now” he headed in the direction where some candles were stored. you huffed, letting go of the plushy bat wing. “fine.. but you’re fixing a broken bat wing if it happens”

“doubt it” he responded with the most uninterested tone.

you shrugged, going over to your phone to check on kie and sarah and see how they’re handling the storm. no internet. course.

your fluffy socked feet padded over to a cupboard. pulling the doors open, your eyes roamed over so many board games. seeing scramble, your eyes widened, hand already reaching out to pull the game from the shelf when it was suddenly pitch black. “who’s playing with the lights” you attempted to joke to the darkness. no laugh from rafe. course. he didn’t get it sometimes.

a candle appeared over your shoulder, startling you. “no one, we’re currently experiencing a storm that just took out the power. did you seriously think i was messing with the lights?”

you met rafe’s curious eyes over the flickering flame. he was serious.

“nevermind. i found scramble” you reached back inside the cupboard, spotting the game again with the help of the natural light. that was when you noticed it sat a little higher than what you thought, having barely seen it before the light went out.

rafe’s front pushed against your back, a veined arm angling across your vision to grab the game. what perks of having a tall boyfriend.

you shook with excitement, going to clap your hands, but thinking better of it when remembering you were holding a candle.

he handed the game to you from above. “why thank you, gentleman” you quickly scurried from the hand reaching to grab your waist. no time for lovey dovey. game time.

you plopped down cross legged on the floor, only about to settle the candle down when rafe’s deep voice spoke from above you. “up”

you looked back to see him holding a blanket. “oh”

you scurried back up, letting rafe place the blanket down for you two to sit yourselves and the game on. settling down, rafe placed his own candle beside himself, gaining you two more light.

you opened the lid of the game, dumping out the letters. mixing them around with your hands, rafe watched in amusement, quietly chuckling. you were passionate about scramble. when you two played, you usually formed the most words. would rafe avoid spelling out big words that required more letters so you could use them? ..yeah. did you need to know? neh.

“okay, go” you immediately began flipping over letters, forming little words and adding to them at different points of said words. rafe looked deep in thought like he always did when you two played. you of course didn’t know he was thinking of words that didn’t have too many letters that he could also get away with without you catching on that he was easing the game for you. not that you needed it. he just enjoyed the smile that bloomed on your face upon seeing your amount of words compared to his.

once the letters ran low and there were no more words to attach, you both looked at you two’s work.

huh. rafe had one more word than you. you slightly pouted. “you won” your pout quickly morphed to a smile, enjoying rafe’s win like it was your own.

rafe quickly looked down at his words. oh. there was one more word. he got ahead of himself. scanning the words, he picked a random one and pulled a letter out. “this one isn’t even a word”

he tossed the letter carelessly to his side.

you titled your head, assessing the gaping word. “rafe.. that spells simultaneously without the e. i can tell”

you looked up to see him scratching at his jaw with a furrowed brow, looking at the words as well. “ah.. no.. i think i made something up. you won that round” rafe nodded determinedly. like the word wasn’t staring at you.

you scrambled over to his side, looking at the word from his view. “yeah no.. that says simultaneously. it’s okay, you wo.. oof”

rafe knocked you down in a bear hug before you could let out the last word. shielding your head with his hand beneath your head, he looked down at you. you stared back up at him with wide eyes. “i have no clue what you’re trying to say. what should we play next?”

[asheepinfrance]

jewish patrick posting on main and I will not apologize. I don't really like this one but I wanted to write this because the idea's been swimming around my little jello brain since the holidays. still not proof read and banged out in like a half hour, so it's sloppy but i just want it out there. anyways, as always hope you enjoy this late chanukah fic because better late than never, and feel free to leave tips and such :) much love

Patrick can categorize his fond childhood memories into two categories: the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy (specifically the moments involving Art, girls, beer, or a combination of the three), and holidays. Not the fake holidays, like the massive Christmas party his parents threw each year for “networking” purposes with their primarily Catholic business associates, but the real ones. The ones he’s had to explain to his friends, and the ones he winces at when they horribly butcher the ‘ch’ sound in. 

He can vividly remember being scooped onto his father’s hip, a ball of high energy, wide smiles and a head of curls that grew upwards more than they did down, his mother steadying his hand as he lit the skinny candles stuck into place on the menorah, an heirloom from his paternal side. The fire would shine back in his warm, brown eyes and turn them a deep, rich amber, and he’d scurry off to find whatever incredibly extravagant gift he’d been bought. 

So when it’s finally the first few days before the big old First Night of Chanukah, within your equally big First Holiday Season together, and Patrick’s giddily propping up the menorah near a window, he can’t help but feel a little rush of excitement at getting to explain everything when you say, “Hey, is that the Chanukah thing?” He gives a quick nod, a grin he’s just barely holding back on his lips, as he continues putting everything in proper order. He had to make sure his mom would approve of the set up, whether or not she’d see it. If his mother would approve, meaning not be utterly horrified, that means it’s passable.“Mhm. Don’t you worry, I got you all these sweet-” 

“So it’s like Jew Christmas, right?”

He turns to you slowly, eyes wide and pained like you’d just admitted to cheating. No, actually, this is worse. “Baby… my love…”, he places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it softly, “Never say that shit to me again.” It’s not a genuine threat… mostly, but the comparison irks because, no, it’s not ‘Jew Christmas’. It’s Chanukah, and Chanukah’s Chanukah. So he makes a decision, then and there, to become your personal Chanukah guide. And he takes his position remarkably seriously.

When you return from work the next day, shoulders sore from your increasingly-heavy purse, all you really want to do so bury your face into Patrick’s lap and sleep there. He, though, has other plans, pulling you inside by the hand before you even have the shot to get your boots off. It smells like… hashbrowns?? The scent’s enough to get your mouth watering and your stomach seemingly clawing at your abdominal walls, but Patrick holds you in place. “Eyes closed,” he says with that stupid, gorgeous smirk that you will kiss off of his face later. Not right now, though. You’re too tired. “Patrick, really, can I just-” He presses a finger to your lips, a grin that’s just trying to goad you into doing as he said. You don’t comply though, so he reluctantly hands you a coin. “It’s a little chocolate coin. Go on, try it, they’re terrible.” You unwrap it gratefully, hands faltering when you stare down at the circular candy. “Patrick… why is it… dusty?” You gaze in mild horror at the mysteriously powdery, gray looking thing. That cannot be safe to eat. He shrugs, unphased, padding towards the kitchen. “Oh, they’ve all got this weird, mystery gray shit on them. Ignore that.” You choose to put it on the coffee table when he’s not looking. Just in case.

The rest of the night is just as uninformative as anything taught by Patrick ought to be. He explains the hashbrowns as latkes, and when you ask “What’s the difference?”, his apt reply came: “I dunno.” It’s sweet, though, that he made them for you (he hopes you don’t find the McDonald’s bags from which they came) and when you question, “Why no gafiltee fish?” he looks at you like you’re the most precious idiot he’s ever come across. You guess you know what he must feel like now. “You don’t eat that on Chanukah, babe. And that’s not how you say it, either?” I bite a hunk off a hashbrown, exasperatedly, “Then how do I say it, hm?” He thinks it over a moment with a hum and a tap of his chin. “Oh, you know.” Jackass.

He’s insistent you light the candles for him when the time’s come, but you wave him off. He takes it in stride, mumbling something that must be Hebrew under his breath as he lights them. He’s got a radiant energy to him like you’ve never seen before. One that’s letting that same little Patrick, with the wide smiles and curls that grow upwards, relive childhood just a moment. You think you get the appeal now, even if you’re still thoroughly uneducated, when you see the flickering flames light his eyes up that perfect shade of amber, and he smiles like he’s finally let some weight he’s been carrying for ages go. You wrap your arms around his stomach, chin propped on his shoulder, and you both stand and stare at the small fires flitting about like fireflies tied down by string. It’s perfect because Patrick’s perfect, and there’s still seven more nights of this to go. Gifts are given, accompanied with strings of “I love you”s in his direction and softly spoken “yeah, yeah… I know”s back in yours. But the knit sweater he gifts you is nothing in comparison to just a single kiss, and when he pulls back complaining with a scowl, and a “You taste like McDonald’s hashbrowns, babe”, you can’t even find it in yourself to be mad about them not having been homemade.

[futuremrscameron]

foxy!reader

content warnings: micro aggressions, mention of poverty, grief, drug abuse, sexual harassment, threats of violence, morally grey characters, sexual tension, guilt, manipulation (up to interpretation), daddy issues, implied stalking, misogyny, classism

foxy!reader is a prodigy. the first of her family to “make it out” feeds her ambition and drive to keep thriving so she can make her family proud and prove all her doubters wrong

no nonsense girl that is constantly on top of shit; it’s why ward hired her fresh out of law school

started as his intern, then became his personal assistant and finally his lawyer after she gave him better advice than his lawyer on how to handle a potential lawsuit with a client

her relationship with ward is the topic of many discussions and arguments in the cameron house. rose believes they’re too close and suspects that she’s trying to seduce ward, and rafe is jealous. of her or his father, no one knows

“i don’t want her knowing every single thing about the business.”

“she’s my lawyer, rose; it’s her job.”

“is it her job to cling to you like a stray cat?"

"she's a good kid, you know she's had a rough life. she didn't grow up with her father."

"i don't think it's a father she wants."

"i won't entertain your insecurities rose. drop it."

rafe’s constantly flirting with her, ignoring her blatant disinterest/annoyance that borders on disgust and loathing

he stops in his tracks, confusing kelce and topper before they follow his line of sight. “well, what have we here?” she’s on the patio, typing away on a laptop, most likely completing a task for his father.

topper shakes his head softly, “come on, man, leave her alone; she looks busy.”

“why don’t you focus on making sure your girlfriend doesn't get herself killed?” rafe waves him off as he confidently walks over to his prey.

he shuts her laptop. “hey foxy.”

she looks up from her laptop and glares, “fuck off, cameron.”

he smirks as she stomps away, laptop in hand. he confidently saunters back over to his friends. “she wants me so bad.” kelce chuckles, and topper shakes his head, fighting an amused smile.

rafe came up with the nickname foxy mostly because of her looks but her soft but raspy voice and sly tricks she uses to get ward (and his family) out of trouble plays a large role

isn’t afraid to tell rafe off even if he is her boss’s son not because she doesn’t care for her job but because she hates men like rafe and refuses to let him walk all over her. it’s the why he’s so enamored with her

foxy!reader is a thorn in the pogues’ side because she’s always three steps ahead of them. pope and her intellectually spar via chess when they’re not busy finding loopholes in the justice system or treasure hunting

has a mentor/mentee relationship with ward; he thinks she has a promising future and she wants to be a charismatic yet cutthroat professional like him, it’s why he anonymously paid for her schooling when she decided to get her master’s

she was livid when she found out and debated quitting, believing that her success was now tainted by blood money and wasn’t fully her own. it’s a whole thing that never truly gets resolved because ward dies

she’s crushed when ward dies, pissed that he’s just gone after literally changing her life for better and worse

tries to get ward’s affairs in order, as mentioned in his will, which rose finds suspicious, believing that she's trying to take their money or the gold for herself

rose has never liked foxy!reader, not in any stage of her time with ward. she’s supposed to believe that this pretty young thing hasn’t been squirming her way into her husband’s life? it doesn’t help that he seems to trust her with more information

rose paces back and forth as she rants, “i don’t like how she looks at him, and did you see the way she clung to his arm?”

“green is an ugly color on you, rose.” he mumbles into his third drink, poorly hiding his smirk.

very perceptive. the first one to realize ward’s faked his death after finding his first clue in his video will to his family

“how many times are you gonna watch that shit?” rafe’s slurred words snap her out of her daze. he’s poured himself another drink, you note.

she pauses the video to give him a once-over before turning back to her notes, “how many drinks have you had?”

“only five mom.” he giggles at his crass joke and swallows down the rest of his whiskey.

“i’m surprised you haven’t started nursing the bottle.”

he frowns. “oh my bad is- is my grief not very convenient for you? huh?” he pokes at her face.

she slaps his hand away and stands up. “you’re pathetic. your father is dead, and you’re acting like a child.”

“and how should i be acting? huh? like you!?” he drunkenly points at the computer screen, “looking for proof of life? searching for clues? huh, nancy drew!?” she doesn’t answer, just glares.

he scoffs, “and i’m pathetic. okay.” he shoulder-checks her on his way out, most likely headed back to the wine cellar, she notes.

foxy!reader quit smoking before the events of season 1 and eats a lot of gun and sweets to satiate her cravings. she picks it up again when ward fakes his death due to a combination of stress, grief, and hopelessness

she had considered the repercussions of falling back into the comforting arms of her former vice. truly. lungs deterioration, increased anxiety, all the hard work she put into ruined in a second, all the progress they made down the drain.

they? there’s no ‘they’ anymore, just her.

“sorry, ward.” she clicks the lighter, and like one last practical joke from the big man, nothing comes out.

she tries again; there’s barely a spark.

again. nothing.

again. still nothing

again and again and again and again and- “fuck!”

“thought you quit smoking.”

she doesn’t even have to turn around to know he’s sporting his signature lopsided smirk. “yeah.”

rafe raises an eyebrow, shocked and amused at her muted reaction. “yeah? that’s it? no snide remark or telling me to fuck off?”

“wouldn’t be very gauche of me to in your time of grief.”

he looks at her for a beat, searching for what she doesn't know. he sighs defeatedly and begins to dig around in his pockets. he stops after a couple seconds and pulls out a lighter cased in gold with a familiar engraving, 'W.C.' it makes her naseous.

"already staking your claims?" he follows her line of sight and chuckles, "the only thing of his that fits me."

he stares down at her beckoning her closer with his eyes. she complies and he lights her cigarette.

"thanks."

he shrugs, "you looked like you needed it."

everything comes to a head when she follows rose to the shipyard, where she finds ward hiding out. confronts him for lying to her and making her solve riddles just to find out he’s alive

rose whips her head around to see what’s soured ward’s expression. she glares when she finds the source, “did you follow me!?”

the younger woman's slow claps only infuriate her. “wow, beauty and brains.”

ward holds his hand up, stopping his wife from continuing the exchange, his eyes never once leaving the young girl. “please. just let me explain.”

“what’s there to explain? it was a 'need to know basis' and i didn’t need to know. i’m not family, right?” she hates how her voice breaks on the last word, giving the man a window into her emotional state.

his gaze softens, “that’s not true. i left clues i knew you would fine and you're here so i'm guessing you found them."

"oh of course, how could i forget the great case of the exploding millionaire." she dryly chuckles, "don't act like you did that for me. you just wanted me to get your shity ready for your third act reveal."

he says nothing, avoiding her eyes like a cheating parent caught in the act by their child. it's worse than a slap in the face. rage boils up in her stomach; how could she be so blind? so stupid? he doesn't owe her anything.

"rafe was right." this makes him look up. "you don't care about anyone but yourself."

"what are you gonna do?" it's so quiet she almost thinks she imagined it. it's so pathetic, so unlike him.

"you mean am i going to report you?" she catches rose's glare but behind the fury in her eyes there's fear. "don't worry i won't break up this happy home. i'll get your shit in order but after that i'm done."

"wait-"

"no. i'm done, i mean it."

"okay."

after quitting and creates a private practice and uses the money she gets from kooks to finance her pro-bono work for pogues. she helps out the pogues sometimes by giving them legal advice or acting as their lawyer when they’re arrested because she feels bad for the part she’s played in fucking them over

is less than thrilled when rafe returns to obx and wants nothing to do with him. rafe tells her she owes his father for everything he’s done for her which leads to a fight where he calls her a ‘traitor’ and she calls him an 'insecure little bitch' which angers him and

foxy!reader says she’s only helping rafe out because she owes his father but rafe’s not buying it

“tell yourself whatever you want.”

“you’re unbearable.”

“let’s be honest, you’re not doing this out of some imaginary debt to my dad. you wanna help me.”

“you think i’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart?”

“something like that.” he smirks. “come on, foxy, admit it, you like me.”

“do you actually have a business proposition, or did you invite me out here just so no one can hear my screams?”

he chuckles, “there's that charm i missed so much."

rejects rafe's business proposition because stealing form his own father is "the stupidest idea he's ever had after framing john b"

safe to say she's surprised when barry is actually able to steal the cross. and impressed that his plan worked but she would never tell him that

refuses to help rafe burn the cross of saint domingo and tells him she will never help him again if he does

rafe moves past her as he adds more covering to their makeshift furnace. “you know this high and mighty act of yours is getting real fucking old.” he gives her two piece suit a once-over, "you look good though. but next time i wouldn't wear that to this shithole, it screams "mug me."

"don't remember asking for fashion advice." she looks over his shoulder, meeting barry's eyes, "you okay with this?"

he raises his hands defensively, "i'm just tryna get paid."

“oh i'm sure. and let me guess you don't give a fuck who you hurt in the process?"

rafe grunts as he sets down another large scrap of metal. "you don't have to answer that barry."

"wasn't gonna." she looks between the two men appalled at their lack of care.

“i actually thought you changed.”

“so did i, but you're the same frigid bitch that walked around tanneyhill like it was yours".

barry frowns, "come on man."

"no she needs to hear this." he closes the distance, almost making her trip in her 4-inch pumps as she backs up. "still ungreatful, even after everything we’ve done for you."

"we? there was no 'we' rafe, it was all your father. he's the only one i owe anything to."

"yeah except you don't." he closes the distance between them. "still can't be honest even after months. can't say i'm surprised, the best lawyers can convince themselves of anything."

"tell me, when did you pick up this moral code was it before or after you you’re doing this for that pogue.”

there's a tingling sensation down her spine at the mention of pope. she knew. she knew that something was off all those times she gave those ragtag group of kids legal advice while in town. the feeling of eyes watching her that she dismissed as general anxiety from being in a public space, the sounds of camera clicks she reasoned as people taking picture of their surroundings, some sligthly moved office items she decided her assitant had forgot to move abck after using them. his total disregard for her privacy boils her blood.

"you've been fucking following me!?"

barry stands up from his seat. “woah."

rafe doesn't even look at her. "you think helping them out is gonna make them forgive you? forget everything you've done? you're the smartest person i know, don't be an idiot.”

her throat feels tight, as she wills herself not to cry over this stupid boy. “if you do this, we’re done.”

he stares her down, “there's no 'we'. remember?" he throws the lit match, setting the gold and its surorundings ablaze.

she doesn't stick around to watch his face glow under the fire's light.

tries her best to avoid rafe on the island and besides a few incidents she does. until ward's death which makes them find comfort in each other (as friends) and reconsider a business partnership

[stitchposts]

Heyo! Had two questions - one a little less relevant to your blog but I thought I'd shoot my shot :D

First off, do you have any experience with visible mending using embroidery techniques? Both my denim jacket and favorite sweater are getting worn out after years of constant wear, and I'm unsure how do deal with some of the holes. My main issue is that the very ends of the sleeves are simply... splitting open? Like the fabric got so thin from whatever stress I apparently put it under, it fecking disintegrated. It seems simple enough, straight line on an edge, but I'm worried about messing it up anyway.

And, speaking of my jacket, with it falling apart a little and me seeing more about battle vests and the like, I've been wondering about trying to embroider it, maybe make some patches... I have a bunch of cotton embroidery floss that was gifted to me years ago, but not only have I not embroidered much since learning it in school more than 15 years ago, this is also literally my only (wearable) jacket. The other two are a 10 year old fake leather coat that is peeling itself and also doesn't fit right, and a windbreaker in terrible colors that, if I remember correctly, is too badly damaged for me to know how to easily fix it. Meaning just going ham on it is a big risk. Do I try to find my first new jacket since 2019 and hope to stumble upon one satisfactory in both price and fit? Do I just pray and start fixing up my denim jacket? What else do I need anyway? I got thread and sewing needles big enough to fit it, but nothing else.

Help.

Thanks! <3

This post got kinda long even for me, sorry. First off, this is all embroidery related imo, this is still about stitching on fabric. A square is always a rectangle but a rectangle is not always a square. There's nuance under the umbrella of 'embroidery' here and this counts.

There does reach a point when clothing can't really be repaired anymore, and after that point, historically became rags, or the patches used to repair other clothing. You'll eventually need a new jacket, but if your choice is to immediately find one now or to repair your jacket and buy time to be able to locate one, it seems a bit obvious to me what the option to follow here is, especially if you like the look of visible mending.

This is the part where I wanted to add a cut, but tumblr is glitching out and refusing to add one. So I guess everyone is just subjected to this now. Sorry, and I'll try to have an actual pretty embroidery picture up for everyone to see this week since my furnace is no longer trying to blow up. So: visible mending is at the core applying mending techniques to clothing, and instead of trying to make them invisible repairs, using the stitches or extra material that reinforces the repair to creative visual interest and turn it into a design feature. The stitching itself is done to reinforce the fragile parts of your garment. Sometimes it can be darning, other times it's adhering new fabric to back/cover the fragile parts. It depends on the repair which to use, or even which method the mender prefers. It's not always clearcut and even then, sometimes we prefer doing the thing we know better more than a brand new technique and we bruteforce it to work. So, dealer's choice on darning or patching here, but I'll get to both of them. My opinion of your situation is that you have nothing to lose with trying to repair your jacket that fits you. It's already falling apart, and it's better to stabilize it before it gets worse before there are giant gaps in the fabric. Clean it gently by hand by letting it soak in a bucket or a tub with some ph neutral detergent - do a couple rinses of letting it soak, until the water runs clear and stops smelling foul. Then lay it flat to try on a towel, don't hang it up to dry as that will put more stress on the fabric, I find the shoulders are usually one of the first places to give out on my stuff but I am very broad shouldered. In my opinion, gaps in the fabric at high stress spots like the cuffs should have new backing fabric added to the weak spots, and then the visible mending can adhere that in place. If you were to make new embroidered cuffs you could just sew them on, and protect the integrity of the base fabric, the same way patches do. But you may prefer other options. For darning there's a few ways to go about it. Darning itself is using new threads to weave through the holes in fabric, and stabilizing it past the delicate thin edges of the base fabric. A dear friend of mine lives and dies by her Speedweve loom these days, and I've seen her work with it. She is one of the top 5 trusted fiber artists in my life so I vouch for these looms being cool as fuck and very functional without having used it myself. I also got her this particular book called Darned Easy, by Sally Simon, that I find interesting that has a lot of patterns in it for darning - I grabbed it at a used book store at some point. I messaged her before I made this point because she follows this blog and would know this part is about her. Hi bud. She's the only one who gets to see the rest of the interior of the book, because it was published in 1981 and I'd rather not use this blog to host scans of books that are that recently published.

You don't need a loom for darning if you know what patterns to follow to darn using your needle, and there are a lot of ways to make darning decorative in the manner you want for visible mending, just use your contrasting threads to stand out on the ground fabric. There's also other books available, a HUGE amount of them because darning's existed for millenia, but this is the resource I physically had on hand that I wanted to use as my example so it's the one you get pics of.

On the other end of repairs, you can applique on patches or reinforcing material, then quilt the material into place, with the quilting being the surface embroidery you are pushing through the layers of fabric in order to adhere them into place. Before anyone replies to this op telling them to fucking look up sashiko, please get off my post. I take umbrage with a lot of embroidery designs being referred to as 'sashiko.' This type of repair on existing clothing genuinely is one of the origins of sashiko as a necessity of life - it was that a pattern was laid down on the clothing or items that needed to be repaired or pieced together, and then quilted into place with running stitches that formed the design, which reinforced the clothing and allowed the fibers to be usable for longer. I really despise the words 'sashiko' 'wabisabi' and 'kintsugi' tossed around casually out of historical context by every fucking art blogger under the sun. Fabric was fucking expensive pre industrial revolution, so preserving clothing mattered a lot. Many different cultures have preferred methods (very often extremely regional even within a country) for mending in a manner that is similar to what we know of as quilting or applique today, but there's a certain obsession with anything Japanese in particular that bloggers love to describe as mysterious and wholesome when it's just a visually distinctive fucking way to repair a hole in a garment and quilt things together to make it warm and functional.

Anyway. My first vest I made, it did eventually disintegrate. I knew it would happen because fucking entropy of the universe and so I managed to find a new vest I could afford at the time when I happened across it, and kept it in a back closet till I was ready to transform it into my dragon vest. I repaired that first vest until almost every seam was paper thin and shredding. I loved it a lot. I wore it daily for years and years. I'm still sad I can't wear it anymore, even though I kept my back patch from it, and I still don't know what the fuck I am going to do with that patch. Eventually fabric is destroyed, after many many years of service and wear. Things die. You can't put resin on your embroidery and make it live forever. But when things finally do perish, you can use the base fabric that is still good to make new patches. You get to design and plan a new battle vest or projects you want to start. If you're not sure yet about how badly you'll be hit emotionally by seeing something you put hundreds of hours into disintegrate into nothingness, then hold off on making this particular jacket your battle jacket holding a lot of purchased patches and such, instead of as a test springboard for learning repairs. This is not me being facetious or jokey. It hits people pretty hard to lose, especially the first time this happens. We're humans that hold bonds with things we like, especially things with that much personal hand investment on it. It won't be a failure on your part if you decide to learn repair and extend the life of this jacket, when this jacket does finally bite the dust. It will happen. The accomplishment here is how much service and use you get out of the jacket past when you thought you'd have to throw it away far earlier than if you had learned to repair it.

[ya-zz]

Ramattra Drabble

"Oh, so now I'm the bad guy, Ramattra? Just because I tried to help you!?"

"You know nothing about what I am going through-"

"Then help me understand! Help me help you!"

He freezes for a moment, but his systems were too wrapped up in anger to let go. "You will only make matters worse and I cannot-"

"I'll make matters worse? Really? Is that how you think of me? You really think that I'm not capable of helping you!?"

The omnic watches the anger roll down your cheeks but all his words seem to get caught in his vocaliser.

"Every time I try to help, you shut me out! You accuse me of making things hard but I am trying to do what I can with what little I can offer. I'm sorry that I'm not some... some complex machine, who knows the answer to everything. I am fucking sorry that I can't be of use for you anymore than what I already am."

Ramattra just stares, optics glued to your teary eyes. The cracks in your voice, the pain behind your words, causes his own mechanical heart to begin shattering.

"You are right." He speaks slowly, almost as if he's trying to reason with himself, too. "You are trying. I have seen you try. I am sorry."

The tears don't stop falling as you stare at him with blurry vision. You want to speak, but the apology alone caught you off guard.

"I have been selfish, putting my needs before your own. I... I will be better. I am sorry for hurting you. Please, I do not wish for us to continue like this. I will let you in."

"I need your word because I can't keep doing this, Ramattra. I'm reaching my limit..."

"You have my word. I will not forsake you." He takes a step forward, a reassuring hand against your cheek. His thumb rubs against your cheek, soothing the heartache.

"I trust you."

"I know. You always have."

[artstennisracket]

Jealous/Possessive Patrick, Art tells him he slept with a guy, even though Patrick and Art aren’t dating. So Patrick fucks him saying things like “Was he better than me?”

i feel like this is something that would most definitely happen. considering Patrick’s ego. I always go for stanford era when idk what era to write in since it’s the easiest to write fics in (in my opinion). it did get really dirty really fast so lmk if the tone change is too drastic. (my mind really ran away from me LMAO)

cw: nsfw(18+), dom/sum undertones, dirty talk

They had just gotten back from the dining hall. The three of them, Patrick, Art, and Tashi, got lunch together using Art’s meal credits but Tashi had practice afterwards. So Art and Patrick headed back to Art’s dorm.

Once they’re settled in sitting next to each other on Art’s bed, Patrick turns the TV on to America’s Next Top Model.

“you actually watch this show? that’s so gay.” Art chuckles.

Patrick scoffs, “it’s 2009 babe, gay is not an insult anymore.”

“i know it’s just funny that you watch this show” Art shrugs.

“and you’re also not exactly the straightest guy I know.” Patrick smirks.

Art’s face turned beet red and he looks scared almost, “who told you?! tashi? it had to be tashi.”

Patrick scrunches his eyebrows together, very confused, “what did you finally come out of the closet? and you didn’t tell me?”

Art shakes his head no, he pulls the collar of his shirt up to cover his face. He answers Patrick, mumbling, “…i slept with a guy.”

Patrick is stunned. Somehow that revelation is so much worse. The thought of Art sleeping with a girl? Hot. The thought of Art sleeping a guy? That wasn’t him? Okay still hot but he wanted to be the one doing it. Scratch that, not hot. He’s the only guy that should be able to fuck Art. “you slept with a guy. you told my girlfriend. and didn’t tell me?”

“i mean i wanted to, but i was just kind of just, really embarrassed.” Art says letting his shirt fall back into place.

“why were you embarrassed?”

“because i was really drunk, like wasted. And i was at a party and we kissed. then one thing led to another and we were in his room and he fucked me.” Art says but Patrick can tell that Art’s hiding something else.

“and what else happened?” He asks.

Art responds, “no that was it.”

Patrick studied Art’s face and body language before he makes his move. He moves quickly, pinning Art to the bed, holding his hands above his head. Now in this position, Patrick is straddling Art. “tell me the truth.” Patrick whispers, leaving forward so their faces are almost touching.

Art starts to break a sweat, blush reappearing on his cheeks, “that’s it i swear.”

Patrick isn’t satisfied with that answer. “you can either tell me or i can tickle the answer out of you. your choice.”

“okay fine imoanedyournamebyaccidentmultipletimesthatnight” Art rushes out.

Patrick barely got any of that but he got the most important parts of “moan” and “your name”. He put two and two together, smirk reappearing on his face. “awe you moaned my name? That’s so cute, you really did miss me.” Patrick pauses before speaking up again, “you know, if you wanted me to fuck you all you have to do is ask.”

Art squirms under Patrick’s grasp. “that’s— that’s not-”

Patrick can feel Art start to grow hard under him so he cuts him off, “that’s not what? you don’t think i can do better than him?”

“i never said— but tashi-”

And what Patrick didn’t hear was a No, so he starts kissing down Art’s neck, still keeping his grip on Art’s wrist. Art lets his head fall back against his mattress. Patrick whispers right into Art’s ear, “i’ll show you better.”

Patrick wants to take his time taking Art apart because he is so going to enjoy this. He starts by moving down Art’s body and unzipping his shorts. He palms Art’s semi hardness, looking up to see the reaction on Art’s face. Art’s already squirming and Patrick’s barely begun. He pulls down Art’s briefs, wrapping his lips around Art’s tip. He hears a loud gasp from Art and continues. He’s swallowing down Art’s cock, letting it hit the back of his throat. Art is starting to moan like crazy, hands gripping the sheets below him.

Patrick pulls off Art’s cock and goes to pull off both Art’s shorts and briefs. He looks up at Art, “do you have any lube?”

Art nods sitting up on his elbows, grabbing some from his nightstand and passing it to Patrick. Patrick takes the lube applying it to his fingers as well as Art’s hole. Art gasps during the application from how cold it it. “relax babe, i’ll take care of you.”

Patrick slowly pushes his first finger in. It takes a minute for Art to adjust, but in no time he’s begging for a second. Patrick goes to add another finger but before he pushes in he asks, “did he have you begging like this too huh? like the desperate slut you are?”

Art could feel himself getting harder which he didn’t even know was possible. Art blinks a few times trying to regain his train of thought and remember but he honestly can’t, “n-no i don’t think so.”

“seeing how desperate you already are with one finger, i’m sure you did.” Patrick responds before he adds another finger in pumping his fingers in and out of Art’s hole. It’s not long before Patrick deems that Art is ready. He flips Art over so he is face down, ass up. He lines himself with Art’s entrance before he pushes in all at once.

“fuck” Art exclaims. He feels so full, Patrick is genuinely stretching him out right now.

“there you go baby, how’s that? does it feel good?” Patrick asks slowly going in and out. Art is still a bit tight around him.

“really really, good patrick fuck.” Art moans.

Patrick pulls all the way out and says “you’re still a little tight so you’re gonna have to hold yourself open for me okay?”

Art nods, moving his hands back towards his ass. He uses his hands to spread his cheeks, holding himself open for Patrick. Patrick almost finishes at that sight alone. He takes a mental picture before sliding back into Art. “holy fuck you’re still so tight.”

“your so fucking big patrick, fuck.”

“was his dick bigger than mine huh?” Patrick asks. He grips Art’s hips and starts drilling into him.

“ah, ah, oh- fuck, jesus fuck, no it wasn’t i swear.”

“does he fuck better than me? does he stretch out your fucking hole like I do?”

Art shakes his head no as best he could. He could start to feel his eyes watering up from the overwhelming amount of pleasure he was feeling as Patrick slammed into his prostate.

Patrick grabs Art’s hair, pulling his head up so Patrick could whisper in his ear. “i asked you a fucking question, use your words you dumb slut.”

Art is trying to remember how to formulate a sentence, he can’t even think straight while Patrick is still drilling into him. Art tries to shake his head no again, “…ah- n-no.”

“no what?”

“n-no he doesn’t fuck me better than you do.” Art responds as tears start to roll down his cheeks. Patrick lets go of Art’s hair causing him to fall back onto the bed. He pulls out for a second making Art whine at the loss. He turns Art to lay down on his back before pushing back inside of him.

“did he fuck you raw like this?” Patrick asks, he moves his hand so he can jerk Art off at the same time.

Art shakes his head before he remembers to verbalize his answer, “no he didn’t, wore a condom.” Art’s pupils are so blown out right now and he definitely looks a little spacey.

“maybe your not such a dumb cockslut after all.” Patrick smirks before he quickens his thrusts again.

“ah fuck, only for you.” Art moans. He doesn’t even really know what he’s saying at this point.

“that’s right baby, your mine. you’re my personal little fucktoy so you better not let anyone else fuck you like this ever again.”

Art doesn’t even know why that turned him on so much but he’s finishing all over Patrick’s fist before he knows it.

Patrick isn’t too far behind, finishing deep inside Art. He pulls out slowly, watching as it leaks right out of Art’s hole.

Maybe Patrick was being a little possessive but he didnt lie about anything he said. Art really does and will always belong to him, the same way that he will always belong to Art.

[legend-the-dumb-jock]

Felipe took and picture and sent it to the man online. “See. You just wish that I would sleep with you. Why else would be harassing me so much!” He was cocky and muscular. Always wanting to find a way to throw his good looks and charm in someone face. “Oh yeah! You’ll pay for leading me on. Just wait !” Felipe laughed at the man and blocked his number. Done with the game and bored with the man he was leading on for the past few weeks to make his own ego feel good.

Felipe continued on with his evening unaware of the events that had been put in motion. His stomach growled. And without him even being aware. The first change has been set in motion. Felipe made himself something to eat not even aware that his muscles had begun to get soft. Passing out on the couch his changed continues to take place. Over night his body wrapped itself in a hair. Like a permanent sweater he could never take off. He began to sweat more with all the excess body hair. His pits began to stink. A smell that would become a normal thing as the smell would stick to his hair follicles. His skin began to pale under the matted hair as his once tall frame began to shrink. Going from 6’2” to 5’8”. His feet didn’t change though. Still remaining the large size 13 wide they had had been only they began to get fat. And hairy. A thick double chin filled in his neck a thick white beard began to grow. His lips thickened and his nose became rounder. His back was quickly wrapped in the same hair that was covered every other inch of his body. But his head. All of which fell out on top leaving the sides. Giving him the distinct look of a man many years past his prime. Whit the horse shoe hair style and the excess white body hair he looked to be a man at the age of 65. As he slept another change took place. His stomach pooched out. Slow at first but by the end of the change, Felipe was stuck with a hard gut that would always stick out in front of him. Hindering his movements. Weighing him down.

The next morning. Felipe opened his eyes and screamed. Hair was everywhere. Blocking all skin. And a massive gut sit where his abs should have been.

Standing up He couldn’t see his feet past his massive hairy gut now. All he could see was white hair. His body was so sweaty and smelly.

Leaning forward with great effort he was able to see his feet. And he could clearly tell they were smelly as he was leaving wet foot print marks on the floor when he walked. All sweat.

Felipe was horrified. Looking in the mirror he seen an old man. Everything he did the old man followed. And there was so much hair. More than any human could ever possibly have on their body. And what’s worse was he notice his face looked dumber. It was like a fuse has blown in his brain making him look like a stupid old man. Thick lips that had drool dripping down there from the slack jaw. His eyes looked dull and stupid. And the thick double chin that made it all more obvious that he looked like he did nothing but eat all day. What could have caused this !

His phone began to buzz. It was the man from the night before. Somehow he managed to get his number outside of the app!!! “I hope you enjoy this new outlook. You want to like your better than everyone? Well let’s see you do that now. I’ve made you your worst nightmare. Fat. Hairy. Stupid. And ugly. And everyone will see how horrible you are now. Now that your inner ugly is now shown on the outside. They’ll have no choice ! Plus…it does come with a nice little catch!”

Felipe was so upset. Finding it harder and harder to read as more of the magic they did this too him too hold making him not only stupid looking but stupid in mind too. He opened his mouth to protest but when a scream of anger was trying to be made all that came out “I’m a stupid, fat, old, hairy cum man! Everything about me is stupid and hairy!” He hairy hands flew to his mouth. Shocked at what he just said. Fully unaware that he would be speaking of himself in such a manner from here on out. The spell would make him be the dumbest hairy man all the time. Craving cum. Craving the degradation from others.

[weirdocat83]

Canon divergence Arcane au!! Post-apocalypse AU!! (Ofc with a side of timebomb)

Based on the part of season 2 where Viktor is literally taking over the world and also the alternate universe where he literally succeeded.

I think it’d be interesting to see a jinx/ekko/jayce team up. Would they get along? Absolutely not. Jinx literally blew up the council room and Jayce created hextech which contributed to a loss of wealth for the undercity. Jinx and Jayce would kill each other if not for the fact that they’re probably the only people who have survived.

If you’re asking why jinx, Ekko and Jayce, it’s because Jinx and Ekko could conceivably avoid Viktor’s control (we literally see jinx avoid it and Ekko has the Z-drive) and Viktor straight up has a soft spot for Jayce and while the Viktor who is Actively Causing the apocalypse may not show it, AU Viktor could have shown him how to survive in the Apocalypse. Also Jinx and Ekko just have incentive to keep him alive considering he’s probably the one who would know how to kill Viktor best (considering the whole AU thing and being his partner for Years)

I think this kind of au would be an interesting way to dissect the darker parts of their characters.

We see a lot of that from jinx in the show and I do think she would struggle to find the will to Stay Alive when literally everyone else is gone. Tbh I think she’d mostly be there on spite and murderous intent for Viktor. She is in Survival Mode which, all things considered, isn’t a bad thing in the Apocalypse. To an extent, they all are. The apocalypse def made her crazy less strange and more helpful. The ability to make weaponry out of basically anything and a willingness to blow up anything that moves is useful all things considered.

Ekko is grappling with the fact that pretty much all the firelights are dead or won’t last long while also trying to keep Jinx and Jayce from killing each other (intentionally or not). He’s lost a lot of people in a short amount of time and is Not Coping Well. He’s always focusing on what’s in front of him but it’s all kind of really bad rn tbh. He’s more temperamental than usual and it matches up badly most of the time with Jinx. She knows this logically but also doesn’t really know what to do abt it. Sometimes to get their minds off everything they talk abt traveling far away from everything where Viktor hasn’t reached yet and living the rest of their lives peacefully. They know it’s practically a pipe dream but sometimes a dream can be all you need to hold out some hope. Ekko is usually the strategist, planning where they go and when. In battle/right before he can give brief warnings because of the Z-drive and has had to adapt to using more force than he’s used to in order kill Viktor’s minion things.

Jayce is… weird honestly. He just went through one apocalypse to get back to another which is arguably worse. He’s prepared and knows what this is like but sometimes the “rich kid” personality still shines through. Like, he’ll eat raw food and sleep on the floor but he’ll still complain abt how he misses his bed and the feasts the kirammans used to throw. I feel like he’d learn a lot abt the undercity from mostly Ekko but also jinx. Jayce being pretty useless without a proper lab would be pretty funny when Jinx and Ekko have always operated without one. Jayce is usually the one getting resources like food/shelter.

I think it’d be interesting to see them fight and interact together considering they’re all so different and we never really see them together in canon.

Ekko and Jinx spend a lot of time together in this au both out of necessity and because they know each other better than anyone. Sometimes their relationship reminds Jayce of his and Viktor’s ‘partnership’. Jayce would get closer to the two even if he’ll never truly understand them. I think Jayce and Jinx would go from “I am two seconds from murdering your ass” to a weird type of sibling-ish relationship. Meanwhile Jayce and Ekko would be bonding while planning what to do next. Also every time Jayce mentions Viktor, Jinx and Ekko both look at him in the “I Know What You Are” type of way. They know better than anyone that just because someone is your enemy, that doesn’t mean you stop loving them.

[enhasntty]

Sunshine And Scowls - YJW

pairing: yang jungwon x f!reader summary: A grumpy university student reluctantly bonds with her cheerful classmate, Jungwon, after he persistently tries to get close. From a group project, to a surprise party. As the two of you become closer, you slowly realize that despite your differences, you might just like him more than you'd care to admit. warnings: Reader calls jungwon a "pain in the ass", they kiss, reader is kind of rude to jungwon and make a lot of sarcastic comments, reader gets jealous, lmk if I forgot anything else genre: Fluff, Grumpy x sunshine word count: 17042 note: I kind of gave up on this so it might seem repetitive but I still wanted to post something today. Please like and reblog and follow!! They are very much appreciated.

Jungwon wasn’t sure what had possessed him to walk out of the library and take a detour to the back of the campus. But there you were, leaning against a brick wall. Your expression was the kind of miserable that made everyone else around you feel guilty for breathing. It was like you were daring the universe to make your day worse, and he, a walking ray of sunshine, had decided to stroll right into it.

He paused a few feet away. You didn’t seem to notice him at first, and for a moment, Jungwon considered turning around. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to deal with someone who looked like they wanted to throw a punch at the next person who spoke.

But no. He was Jungwon. Smiley, always-trying-to-help Jungwon. He had to do something.

He cleared his throat, stepping closer. “Hey, uh, is this seat taken?”

You looked up at him, eyes narrowing slightly, as if he were some kind of stray dog daring to approach. He wasn’t fazed; he had a smile for this kind of situation. He flashed it at you-big, bright, with his dimples poking out just a little, because he knew it was hard to resist.

You didn’t even flinch.

“Seriously, you're gonna try and talk to me now?”

Jungwon blinked. Was that… was that a challenge? He’d been hit with a lot of things before, but that tone? That was next level.

“Uh, yeah?” he said, trying to keep his cool. “I mean, it’s a free country, right?”

“Clearly.” “But I’m not sure ‘freedom’ includes being your therapist.”

He could’ve sworn he saw the ghost of a smile at the corner of your lips, but it was gone so fast he couldn’t be sure. Still, that didn’t stop him from being hopeful.

“Not a therapist,” Jungwon said, his grin widening. “Just a guy looking to not die of boredom on his way back to class.”

You stared at him for a moment. “Right. Because your best idea for curing boredom is me?”

Jungwon let out a small laugh, totally unfazed. “Yeah, I mean, you look like you’ve got a lot going on. Might be fun to… I don’t know… complain about school or something.”

You let out a dry laugh, a mix of sarcasm and bitterness. “Oh, absolutely. Let me tell you about my deeply meaningful relationship with procrastination and the crushing weight of my student loans.”

He chuckled, unable to resist. “Sounds like a good start to me.”

“Trust me,” you said, deadpan, “the only thing I’m invested in right now is my hatred for group projects.”

“That’s… pretty relatable,” Jungwon admitted, looking like he wanted to sit down but wasn’t sure how to breach your fortress of apathy. “But, hey, I’m Jungwon. I’m in the business of-”

“Smiling like an idiot?” you interrupted, your voice flat. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

He was taken aback, but only for a second. He laughed again, the dimples on his cheeks deepening as he grinned. You made it too easy.

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I admit, I might smile too much. But it’s better than being, I don’t know, a walking storm cloud.” He leaned against the wall beside you, pretending to adjust his backpack. “You look like you could use a little sunshine in your life.”

You gave him the most unimpressed look. “If I wanted sunshine, I would’ve gone to a beach. This is… campus.”

He squinted at the sky for a moment. “I mean, it’s technically sunny… somewhere, right?”

You shook your head and sighed dramatically. “You’re really persistent. I’ll give you that.”

“And that’s why I'm so amazing,” he teased, his grin stretching wider, clearly enjoying this.

You shot him a look that could’ve melted steel, but Jungwon wasn’t fazed. “Keep dreaming, sunshine,” you muttered. “I’m just here to get through the day without punching anyone.”

“Fair enough,” he said, giving you an exaggerated, overly cheery wave. “Catch you later, then.”

You didn’t even look at him as he walked away, still grinning to himself. The conversation had been weirdly… refreshing. Even if you did look like you wanted to strangle him half the time.

You were absolutely not going to let it bother you.

But as Jungwon disappeared into the distance, you couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take before that annoying, relentless sunshine found its way back to you.

Mornings had never been your thing. In fact, mornings were the embodiment of everything wrong in the universe-especially when you were forced to attend early lectures that made you question why you even bothered getting out of bed in the first place. The clock buzzed way too early, your bed felt way too warm, and the thought of dragging yourself through another day was almost enough to make you reconsider dropping out and living off instant noodles in your dorm room.

But that wasn’t an option. Not yet, anyway.

You stumbled out of bed, your eyes still blurry from the late-night studying (scrolling through tiktok on your phone) and the lack of sleep that seemed to follow you everywhere like an unavoidable cloud of doom. After an agonizingly slow attempt at making yourself somewhat presentable for class, you were finally out the door-barely. The only thing keeping you upright was the steaming cup of coffee in your hand and the hope that the caffeine would somehow revive your spirit.

Of course, fate had other plans.

You turned the corner of the campus quad, your shoes making a slap on the pavement, when a certain pair of dimples appeared in your peripheral vision.

Jungwon. Of course.

He was standing near the entrance of the library, just outside, the sun glinting off his messy hair as he grinned like he had won some sort of award. It was as though he had just been waiting for the perfect moment to talk to you, despite the fact that you had given him zero encouragement to do so in the past week.

You didn’t even try to hide the groan that escaped your lips as you turned away, pretending you hadn’t seen him. Maybe if you ignored him, he would go away.

But no. Jungwon was the type of person who never gave up. Ever.

“Hey! Good morning!” His voice rang through the air, too loud and way too cheery for your liking. His smile was practically blinding, and you could feel the force of his positivity barreling toward you, despite your best efforts to stay hidden.

You pressed your lips together and kept walking, slow and steady, pretending like you didn’t hear him. Maybe if you moved at a pace that made him think you were on a mission, he’d stop following you.

But no. There he was again, stepping in front of you in the most ridiculous way possible, like a puppy that had just learned how to walk and needed constant attention.

“Wait up! Come on, it’s just me,” Jungwon said, his voice laced with that infuriating optimism you could practically feel radiating off him. “You look like you need company today.”

“I look like I need sleep,” you muttered under your breath, hoping he wouldn’t hear you. But knowing him, he probably would.

He did.

“Sleep sounds pretty great,” he agreed, nodding enthusiastically like a little kid who had just gotten a candy bar for breakfast. “But you know what else sounds amazing?”

You were already bracing yourself. You knew this would be some random, probably absurd statement that made absolutely no sense to you, but you had to listen anyway. “What?” you asked flatly, your voice as uninterested as you could make it.

“Coffee!” He beamed at you like he had just come up with the world’s most profound logical answer. “I bet you need some! Want me to get you one from that place near the main building?”

You gave him a side-eye that could’ve sliced through steel. “I have my coffee right here,” you said, holding the cup up just slightly, hoping to make it clear that you didn’t need him to save you.

“But your coffee isn’t from that place,” Jungwon pointed out, raising an eyebrow as though he had caught you in some big lie. “You’ve got the basic stuff. It’s not the good stuff.”

“It’s not ‘basic.’ It’s… functional,” you grumbled, taking another sip to emphasize your point.

He tilted his head, squinting like you had just confused him with your logic. “What’s wrong with basic? I think ‘basic’ coffee is pretty great, too.” He laughed, clearly enjoying himself. “I just… you know, thought you might want something special today. You look like you need something special.”

Your eyes narrowed as you studied his smiling face. “I’m fine, Jungwon. Seriously.”

It was like you had spoken in a foreign language. He simply shrugged and continued his relentless pursuit. “Okay, okay, but you know what else sounds good? A nice, big breakfast. We could grab something from the cafeteria! Pancakes. Eggs. Bacon.” He dragged out the last word with such fervor that you almost believed he was a personal spokesperson for bacon.

But you weren’t in the mood for breakfast food. Or anything really. You just needed to survive this lecture and go back to sleep. “I’m not hungry,” you said again, your tone a little sharper this time.

He didn’t seem to take the hint.

“Are you sure?” Jungwon asked, his eyes sparkling with that unwavering positivity. “I’ve heard that the cafeteria has the best bacon today! And the pancakes-they’re seriously huge. You could probably eat like… five or six.”

That was enough.

You stopped walking, turned to face him fully, and glared. Your patience had worn thin, and it seemed like the coffee hadn’t quite done its magic just yet. “You’re honestly insufferable,” you said, barely keeping your voice down. “What makes you think I want to talk to you right now? Do you enjoy making people uncomfortable on purpose?”

Jungwon blinked, a little taken aback by your sudden sharpness. But, as always, he recovered quickly. His dimples deepened as he gave you that smile again, this time not so much innocent but more like he was genuinely amused by your lack of enthusiasm.

“I mean, you look like you could use someone to talk to,” he said cheerfully. “I’m just trying to help out! I get that mornings aren’t your thing, but hey, you don’t have to go through the day alone.” He beamed, clearly proud of his attempt to be the “good guy” here.

You could feel your eye twitching. “What makes you think I need help? I don’t need anything from you, Jungwon,” you said dryly. “Except maybe a little distance. I mean, seriously, can you just let me go to class in peace? I don’t have the mental energy to fight through whatever this is.”

You pointed to him, your finger jabbing the air as though you were physically trying to push him out of your way. “You’re like a walking sunbeam, and it’s too much for me right now.”

Jungwon’s grin only widened at the jab. He took a half step back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it,” he said, still laughing under his breath. “But hey, I’m just trying to make your day a little brighter, y’know?”

“Yeah,” you deadpanned. “Well, maybe you should try dimming it down a bit. You’re like a human lightbulb.”

His eyes twinkled at your sarcasm, and for a moment, you almost felt like he was enjoying being the target of your frustration. “I’ll take that as a compliment. If I’m a lightbulb, then I’m the energy-efficient kind, right? So I’m not too much.”

You exhaled deeply, your patience having completely evaporated as you stared at the bright-eyed idiot in front of you. “I’m going to class, Jungwon,” you said, your voice flat. “And you’re not coming with me.”

“But why?” he asked, looking almost genuinely puzzled by the idea that you might not want him tagging along.

“Because,” you said, turning your back on him with a sigh of finality, “I’d rather face a thousand group projects than have to listen to your chipper morning commentary.”

You heard a burst of laughter behind you, followed by the sound of footsteps trailing after you. “Fair enough! But hey, maybe I can catch you after class?”

“No,” you snapped, turning just enough to shoot him a glare over your shoulder.

But as Jungwon continued to follow you-his grin still there, like a damn puppy who had just been fed-he made one thing painfully clear: there was no escaping his relentless, absurdly cheerful presence.

And, for the first time in your life, you almost wished there was.

You weren’t sure if it was the universe’s cruel joke or just Jungwon’s unyielding persistence that landed him next to you in class. But there he was, sitting down beside you like he had some sort of permanent claim to your space. It wasn’t even the first time he had done this-he had a habit of showing up wherever you were, like an overenthusiastic puppy that had somehow learned to operate on your schedule. It was like a cursed game of hide and seek, except there were no winners.

You didn’t even try to hide the way you glared at him as he settled in next to you. It wasn’t personal, well, maybe it was a little, but you were just so damn tired. The last thing you wanted in your already draining lecture was the relentless force of sunshine that was Jungwon. Couldn’t he pick someone else to grace with his presence for once?

“Good morning!” he said, his voice annoyingly cheerful as he dropped his bag next to his seat.

You didn’t respond, hoping your silence would be enough to communicate your feelings. It wasn’t.

“Man, you really look tired,” he said, his gaze flicking to your slouched posture. He had no filter, not that you were surprised. “I mean, it’s not even halfway through the lecture yet and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

That was because you would rather be anywhere else. But instead of letting him see you crumble under the weight of another too-early class, you rolled your eyes and pulled your notes in front of you, trying your best to ignore him.

“Yeah, well, mornings are evil,” you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than to him.

Jungwon didn’t miss a beat. “Evil? That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” He smiled, wide and innocent, as though he had never seen a single evil thing in his life. You could almost hear the ‘naive sunshine’ soundtrack playing in the background.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, glaring at him. “Oh, I’m sorry, was that too much for your pure heart to handle?”

He chuckled, clearly unfazed by your sarcasm. “No, no, it’s just… I think I like your grumpiness. It’s… endearing.”

You snorted, making no attempt to hide your disbelief. “Endearing? Really? Are we in some weird romantic comedy, or did I just time travel to a parallel universe where sarcasm is considered cute?”

“Hey, I didn’t say it was adorable or anything,” he said, leaning a little closer as if sharing some deep, world-changing secret. “But I’m definitely entertained.”

“Great, I’m here for your amusement,” you shot back, your voice dripping with dry humor. “I’ll put that on my résumé.”

He didn’t even seem to register the sarcasm. Instead, he leaned back in his seat with that unrelenting, radiant smile. You could practically feel the warmth of his personality radiating in every direction. How was he this… constant?

You shook your head and tried to focus on the lecture, but of course, your mind kept drifting back to him. Jungwon, the human equivalent of a puppy, was sitting there beside you, his smile still wide, his eyes still sparkling, and the dimples on his cheeks were like little magnets, pulling your attention even when you tried to look away.

And it was annoying. God, it was so annoying.

“It’s your fault for being so cute,” he said suddenly, making your stomach lurch and your eyes narrow in irritation.

Your pen clattered loudly on the desk as you swiveled in your chair to face him. “Did you just call me cute? Are you for real right now?”

He nodded, completely unfazed. “I mean, you kind of are. Even when you’re all grumpy.”

You deadpanned, barely able to keep a straight face. “You have absolutely no idea what you’re saying, do you?”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” His grin stretched impossibly wider, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes once more. You couldn’t help it. How was it possible for someone to be so irritatingly cheerful? You were so tired, and he was just… there-and his constant optimism was like a slap in the face.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “You just don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?”

You crossed your arms, already feeling the familiar tension between you start to build. “You’re an absolute menace. I’m convinced that’s your only purpose in life-to annoy the hell out of me.”

“Well,” Jungwon said thoughtfully, glancing around the classroom, “if that’s true, then I’m definitely succeeding.” He looked back at you with that same, ever-present smile. “But you’re kind of fun to mess with.”

“Fun?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. “Are you kidding me? I’m the human equivalent of a bad mood, and you want to mess with me?”

He shrugged as though this wasn’t news to him. “Yeah, but that’s why it’s fun. You’re like… a grumpy cat.” He poked your shoulder lightly, making your body stiffen involuntarily.

“Do not call me a cat,” you growled under your breath. “I’m not cute. I’m not soft. I don’t even like cats.”

Jungwon’s face lit up like he had just won a prize. “See? There’s that fire! I love it.” He leaned back, clearly proud of himself. “I’m not giving up on you, you know.”

You stared at him, dead-eyed. “I wish you would.”

“Not gonna happen,” he said cheerfully, tapping his fingers rhythmically on his notebook. “I mean, you need me. You just don’t know it yet.”

“Yeah, because that’s exactly what I need-more of your… sunshine in my life,” you grumbled, sinking into your seat as though it could absorb all your frustration. You couldn’t even tell if you were genuinely annoyed anymore or if it was just a reflex at this point.

“I don’t know about you,” Jungwon said, suddenly serious, “but I think you’d be a lot less grumpy if you didn’t fight the sunshine so much. You need to take a step back and enjoy life a little more.”

The words hit you in a way that made you freeze. You didn’t expect him to say something like that. Not after all the teasing, the relentless optimism. But there it was-his absurdly sincere comment, like he’d been thinking about it all day.

You blinked, trying to cover up the sudden flutter of irritation mixed with something else. You weren’t sure what it was, but you weren’t about to admit that Jungwon had somehow managed to get under your skin in a way no one else had.

“Whatever, Jungwon,” you muttered, turning your attention back to the front of the class. “Just focus on whatever ridiculously happy thought you’re thinking right now.”

“Okay, okay,” he said with exaggerated seriousness. “But just know, I’m here for you. In case you ever need someone to drag you out of your grumpy little cave.”

“God, you are relentless,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Jungwon chuckled under his breath, probably feeling like he had just won the world’s hardest battle. “If it makes you feel better, I think I might just be the only person who could handle your sarcasm.”

You turned to glare at him once more, but this time, there was something different in his expression. His smile wasn’t as bright or as teasing as before. It was softer, a little more sincere, though still laced with the kind of charm that made it impossible for you to stay mad at him for long.

And maybe that was the problem. Because even when you tried to hate him, it was hard to ignore the way your heart gave a little flutter when he smiled. Or the way you felt just a tiny bit lighter in his presence.

But you weren’t going to admit any of that. Not today. Not when the day was already too long and the lecture was only just beginning.

You didn’t know how it happened. One minute, you were minding your own business, trying to ignore the fact that you had an insane amount of work piling up for the week. The next, you were standing next to Jungwon, trying to suppress the overwhelming urge to knock your head against the desk in front of you.

“Guess we’re partners for the project,” Jungwon said, a grin spreading across his face like he had just won the lottery. “Isn’t that awesome?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, the tiny flutter of dread in your stomach slowly growing into full-blown anxiety. You could already feel your energy being drained just by his presence. You had been hoping for a solo project, but here you were-stuck with the human embodiment of a golden retriever on a caffeine high.

“Yeah,” you said flatly, “I’m absolutely thrilled.”

Jungwon chuckled, his eyes sparkling with that unrelenting positivity. “I knew you’d say that! You’re just so easy to predict, y’know?”

“Am I?” You crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair. “Well, let me guess, you’re going to make terrible jokes while I do all the work, right?”

“Hey!” He said with mock offense. “I’m a great partner. I can help lighten the mood, okay? I’m good at that. You’re just… stressed out. That’s all.” He gave you a small, encouraging smile that, for the thousandth time, didn’t quite help ease the anxiety you were feeling.

You deadpanned. “You’re a walking headache.”

His grin didn’t falter. In fact, it seemed to only widen, those dimples of his becoming deeper and more pronounced as he laughed. “Hey, I try to be funny, alright? I’m just here to make your day a little less boring.”

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you stared at your laptop screen, trying to force yourself to focus on the research in front of you. But Jungwon wouldn’t stop. Not even for a second.

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye as he fiddled with his phone, clearly not doing anything remotely related to the project. He had that look-the one that said, “I’m here for moral support,” but you knew better. The last thing he was contributing to this project was anything remotely useful.

“You know,” Jungwon said after a brief pause, “I’ve always thought group projects would be better if there was a built-in joke timer. Like every five minutes, someone has to tell a joke or make everyone laugh.”

“Oh, yeah, great idea,” you muttered sarcastically. “Because the last thing we need right now is a comedy break while I’m drowning in work.”

“I mean,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “we could always take a break. A quick one. Just for a couple minutes. You know, to get our creative juices flowing.”

You stared at him blankly. “The only thing flowing right now is my blood pressure. And the only thing I need to do is finish this project before I implode.”

“You’re so dramatic,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s honestly kind of cute. Like, you’re mad, but you’re still, you know, adorable.”

“Adorable?” You glared at him, completely unimpressed. “Did you just call me adorable?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant that you’ve got that… tough exterior, but it’s clear you’ve got a soft side somewhere. It’s just buried under all that sarcasm.”

“Jungwon,” you growled, your patience wearing thin, “I’m not ‘adorable,’ and I don’t have a ‘soft side.’ I’m just trying to survive this project with my sanity intact.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You really need to take a deep breath, okay? Maybe try a few stretches or something. I can show you some yoga moves. They really help relieve stress.”

The thought of Jungwon doing yoga with his annoyingly good-natured attitude sent a strange wave of disbelief through you. “Do you ever shut up?” you asked, staring at him with wide eyes. “You’re like a chatterbox on caffeine.”

His dimples deepened as he laughed again. “I just can’t help it. You’re too fun to mess with.”

You rubbed your temples, the headache beginning to form in earnest. “I think you’re the one who needs a time-out, not me.”

“Yeah, but time-outs are for people who aren’t fun,” he said, completely ignoring the sarcasm in your tone. “And I’m having way too much fun right now. It’s not my fault you’re a workaholic, you know. I mean, I’m just here trying to keep things light.”

Your gaze flicked back to your laptop, where you had barely managed to type a few lines of your report. The words were blurring together, and all you could hear was Jungwon’s relentless banter.

“You’re honestly a disaster,” you said, unable to hold back your frustration. “I could’ve done this project in half the time without you distracting me.”

“Aw, come on,” he said, flashing that infectious smile of his again. “It’s not that bad. We’re making memories! Think of it as character development. And besides, you’re definitely going to miss me when it’s over.”

“Yeah, no. I’ll be happy to never see you again after this project is done.”

Jungwon’s smile softened. He leaned closer, his voice taking on a more serious tone-well, as serious as Jungwon could get. “You know, you really don’t give yourself enough credit. I’m telling you, you’re doing great. And hey, I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got me stuck for the rest of this project.”

Your eyes narrowed in warning. “Don’t remind me.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, raising his hands defensively. “I’ll give you space to do your thing. But when this is over, I’m taking you out for something good. Food, coffee, whatever you want. I’m getting you something to reward your hard work.”

You exhaled, dragging your hand through your hair as you let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t need rewards. I need peace.”

Jungwon grinned, leaning back in his chair like a contented cat. “Well, you know where I’ll be when you change your mind.”

You slumped in your chair, staring at the screen, all the while wishing you could just somehow disappear from this situation. But as much as you hated to admit it, there was a strange comfort in the way Jungwon wouldn’t stop. He was like an annoying, cheerful force of nature, and despite the exhaustion and frustration building inside you, part of you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter when he was around.

The problem was, you didn’t want to admit that. Not yet. Not when you were still drowning in work.

The group presentation had been a disaster, as expected.

It wasn’t that Jungwon hadn’t tried-he had, in his own overly cheerful, mildly chaotic way. But he’d been so busy cracking jokes and trying to keep the energy light that he had completely fumbled the key points you’d painstakingly outlined. By the time the professor dismissed the class, you were practically vibrating with barely contained frustration.

“Seriously, Jungwon?” you said as soon as you both stepped out of the lecture hall. The words spilled out, sharp and cutting. “I gave you two things to do. Two. And you still managed to mess it up.”

He winced, scratching the back of his neck. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. I just got… nervous, I guess.”

“Nervous?” you repeated, incredulous. “You’re never nervous. You’re like a walking embodiment of confidence. How does someone like you even get nervous?”

“I don’t know!” he said defensively, his dimples making an appearance despite his flustered state. “It’s not like I planned to screw up, okay?”

You groaned, “Unbelievable.”

Jungwon trailed after you as you headed toward the courtyard, his footsteps quick and purposeful. “Hey, come on. Cut me some slack, would you?”

“Cut you slack?” you repeated, rounding on him. “You’re the reason we probably just tanked our grade! Do you even care about this class?”

“Of course I care!” he said, his voice rising slightly. His usually sunny expression was replaced with something more serious, though the dimples didn’t entirely disappear. “And I care about you, too!”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and unshakable.

You froze, your eyes narrowing as you stared at him. “What?”

Jungwon looked like he wanted to disappear into the ground. His ears turned bright red, and he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. “I-uh… I said I care about you,” he repeated, quieter this time.

You took a long pause. “What’s your point?”

“My point is…” He faltered, running a hand through his hair. “I like you, okay? Like, really like you.”

You stared at him, your face unreadable. Then you let out a short, dry laugh. “You’re joking, right?”

“I’m not joking,” he said, his voice steady despite the obvious nerves in his expression. “I’ve liked you for a while now.”

“Wow,” you said flatly. “You sure know how to pick your moments, don’t you?”

“I couldn’t hold it in anymore!” he said, throwing his hands up. “You’re always so… so you. And I like that, even if you drive me insane sometimes.”

“Great. So now you’re in love with your biggest critic.”

Jungwon sighed, running both hands through his hair in frustration. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“Because that’s who I am,” you replied, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you wanted easy, you should’ve fallen for someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else,” he said, stepping closer. “I want you. Even when you’re mad at me. Even when you make me feel like I’m the dumbest person alive. I still want you.”

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard by his intensity. For once, he wasn’t smiling, and his dimples were nowhere in sight. It was unnerving.

“Look,” you said, finally breaking the silence. “I don’t know what you expect me to say to that. I’m not exactly girlfriend material, Jungwon. I’m… complicated.”

“So what?” he said, his voice softening. “I like complicated.”

You stared at him, trying to find some trace of insincerity in his face. But he was Jungwon-annoyingly earnest, painfully sweet, and completely sincere.

“You’re an idiot,” you said, but there was no real bite to your words.

“Maybe,” he said, his dimples reappearing as his lips curved into a small smile. “But I’m your idiot.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you muttered, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at your lips.

And for the first time that day, the tension in your chest began to ease.

It started as a drizzle during your last lecture of the day. By the time you were shoving your books into your bag and stomping out of the building, the rain had graduated to a steady downpour. Great. Just great. Because, of course, life wasn’t content to leave you with the mess of the group project disaster earlier-it had to soak you to the bone on your way home too.

You pulled your hoodie over your head, muttering curses under your breath as the rain instantly began to seep through the fabric. The sidewalks were slick, puddles forming in every dip and crevice, and the wind cut through your damp clothes like it had a personal vendetta.

As you rounded the corner toward the library to make the miserable walk back to your apartment, you spotted him. Jungwon, standing under the overhang of the library entrance, holding an umbrella that looked far too small for anyone’s actual use.

“Hey!” he called out, waving with his free hand, that familiar grin spreading across his face. Even from a distance, you could see the dimples making their inevitable appearance. He jogged toward you, somehow managing not to slip on the wet pavement.

You groaned inwardly. “What are you doing here?”

“Walking you home,” he said cheerfully, falling into step beside you.

You stopped dead in your tracks, staring at him like he’d just offered to carry you on his back. “Why?”

“Because it’s raining,” he said matter-of-factly, as though that explained everything.

“Wow, thanks for the weather report,” you deadpanned. “But I’m fine. I don’t need an escort.”

“Maybe you don’t,” he said, tilting his head with that infuriatingly bright smile still plastered on his face. “But I do. What if I go home and find out tomorrow that you got struck by lightning or slipped and fell into a storm drain? I’d feel awful.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hoodie tighter around you. “I’d feel awful for whoever had to drag me out of the storm drain.”

Jungwon laughed, his dimples deepening. “See? This is why I’m here-to make sure none of that happens. Now, come on.”

He held the umbrella over you, but it barely covered your head and left half of him exposed to the rain. You gave him a withering look. “That thing’s useless.”

“It’s better than nothing,” he said, completely unfazed. “And besides, this way, at least one of us stays kind of dry.”

“Guess which one of us that won’t be,” you muttered, glancing at his soaked sleeve and the rain dripping from his hair.

“I’m fine,” he said breezily, as though he hadn’t just been doused in freezing water. “Come on, let’s go.”

You reluctantly started walking, muttering under your breath about how stupid this all was. The umbrella wasn’t helping much, and within minutes, your jeans were clinging uncomfortably to your legs, and your sneakers squelched with every step.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked after a few minutes of silence, your voice louder than necessary to be heard over the rain.

“Doing what?”

“Walking me home. Getting soaked. Being… you.”

Jungwon shrugged, shifting the umbrella to try (and fail) to cover you both better. “Because I want to. And because it feels right.”

You snorted. “You’re a walking Hallmark card, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your Hallmark card,” he said, flashing you another grin that somehow managed to look just as bright in the rain as it did in the sun.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you grumbled, though your cheeks warmed despite the cold rain.

The walk stretched on, and though you continued to complain about the rain, about your wet clothes, about the puddles that seemed to appear just in time for you to step in them, you couldn’t help but notice how Jungwon didn’t stop smiling. Even when he stumbled into a particularly deep puddle, soaking his shoes completely, he just laughed and shook it off.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, shaking your head as he tried (and failed) to wring out the edge of his sleeve while still holding the umbrella.

“Ridiculously charming?” he offered.

“Ridiculously annoying.”

“Same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at your lips that you were pretty sure he didn’t miss.

By the time you reached your apartment, both of you were thoroughly soaked, the umbrella abandoned somewhere along the way after a gust of wind turned it inside out. You paused under the awning of your building, your teeth chattering slightly as you reached into your bag for your keys.

“Well,” Jungwon said, running a hand through his dripping hair. “That was fun, huh?”

“If by ‘fun,’ you mean ‘miserable,’ then sure,” you replied, unlocking the door.

“You’re welcome for the company, by the way,” he said, those dimples making another maddening appearance.

You sighed, leaning against the doorway and giving him an exasperated look. “Why do you keep doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Being… you,” you said, gesturing vaguely at him. “Showing up. Sticking around. Putting up with me.”

“Because I like you,” he said simply, his smile softening but never faltering. “And because even when you’re grumpy and mean and complain about everything, I’d rather be here with you than anywhere else.”

You stared at him for a long moment, unsure how to respond. Finally, you rolled your eyes and stepped inside. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re worth it,” he called after you, that infuriating smile still plastered on his face.

You didn’t slam the door in his face like you probably should have. Instead, you lingered in the doorway for a moment, watching as he turned and jogged back into the rain, his hair already plastered to his forehead.

You sighed, shaking your head as you closed the door behind you. “Idiot,” you muttered, though your lips curved into a small, reluctant smile.

It started with a joke. A stupid joke.

You were sitting under the usual tree in the courtyard, nursing a fresh cup of coffee and enjoying the rare moment of peace. The rain from the other day had cleared, leaving behind that annoyingly perfect, crisp autumn air that made everyone else on campus insufferably cheerful. Naturally, that included Jungwon.

“Good morning!” he chirped, appearing out of nowhere like a golden retriever with boundless energy. He plopped down next to you, entirely uninvited, holding two chocolate croissants in a paper bag.

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”

“Breakfast,” he said, handing you one.

You took it begrudgingly. “If this is an apology for the group presentation, I’m not forgiving you.”

“Noted,” he said, biting into his croissant like he hadn’t just made a complete fool of himself in front of your entire class last week. “But no, it’s not an apology. I just figured you’d skip breakfast again, and I couldn’t let you starve.”

You rolled your eyes, but you still took a bite. It was annoyingly good. “What are you, my mom?”

“No,” Jungwon said with a grin, his dimples on full display. “But I am your boyfriend, so…”

You choked on your croissant, coughing loudly as you waved him off. “What?”

He blinked innocently. “You said we were dating, remember?”

You froze, your mind racing back to that stupid, stupid joke you’d made the other day after he’d walked you home in the rain.

“You’re so clingy, we might as well be dating,” you’d said, half-laughing, half-exasperated. At the time, it had felt like a throwaway comment. Something sarcastic, just to mess with him. You hadn’t thought he’d actually believe it.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “You seriously took that seriously?”

“Well, yeah,” Jungwon said, his voice light and casual, like this was the most normal conversation in the world. “You said it, so I figured you meant it.”

You stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “You… thought we were actually dating? Like, for real?”

“Why not?” he said, shrugging as his dimples deepened. “I mean, we spend a lot of time together, you’re always yelling at me like an old married couple, and I do like you, so it just… made sense.”

You were at a complete loss for words. What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

“Jungwon,” you began slowly, trying to keep your tone even. “We’re not actually dating. I was joking.”

“Oh,” he said, his expression faltering slightly. Then, as if on cue, his smile returned, brighter than ever. “Well, we could date for real, if you want.”

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “I don’t even know what to do with you.”

“Accept my love and devotion?” he offered, leaning back on his hands and grinning at you.

“I didn’t know we were in a relationship,” you teased, smirking as you took another bite of the croissant.

“You didn’t know? Huh. I must’ve forgotten to propose,” he said, his tone laced with faux seriousness.

“Do it now and see how fast I run,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Noted,” he said again, but his dimples stayed put, and his gaze didn’t waver.

That should’ve been the end of it. But, of course, it wasn’t.

Over the next few days, Jungwon leaned way too far into the “boyfriend” joke. He started holding doors open for you everywhere, pulling out chairs in the cafeteria, and even carrying your bag when he saw you struggling under the weight of your books.

“Seriously?” you said one afternoon as he grabbed your bag off your shoulder without so much as a warning. “What are you, my personal porter now?”

“Just being a good boyfriend,” he said cheerfully, slinging the bag over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

You sighed. “We are not dating.”

“Tell that to your heart,” he teased, earning himself a sharp glare.

The worst part was how unbothered he looked through all of it. Whether you scowled at him, rolled your eyes, or outright told him to stop, Jungwon just smiled back at you, those damn dimples deepening with every interaction.

One day, after class, he even showed up with a coffee in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other.

“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing the flowers like they might attack you.

“Just thought you deserved something nice,” he said, holding them out. “Boyfriend duties, you know?”

You took the flowers begrudgingly, feeling both flattered and incredibly annoyed. “You’re exhausting.”

“And you’re worth it,” he replied without missing a beat.

You hated how warm his words made you feel.

Later that night, as you sat on your bed staring at the flowers in their makeshift vase (a coffee mug you’d forgotten to wash), you found yourself smiling.

You didn’t like birthdays.

It wasn’t that you hated the idea of celebrating a year passing or anything, but it was the attention. The forced smiles, the awkward small talk, the need to pretend to be thrilled when someone handed you a gift you’d never use. It was always a mess of half-forced excitement and too many expectations for something that should’ve just been an ordinary day.

So, naturally, when Jungwon mentioned “surprising you with something special” for your birthday, you’d assumed it was a joke.

“I don’t want anything, really,” you told him, waving off his persistent inquiries. “I’m not big on birthdays.”

“Okay, okay,” he’d said with a grin, his dimples making a rare but welcome appearance. “I won’t go overboard. I promise.”

Of course, you should’ve known better than to trust Jungwon. When does he ever go small?

The day of your birthday, you arrived home from class to find a single text from him: “Be at my place at 7. No excuses!”

You frowned, sitting down on your bed, trying to figure out what this was about. Your first thought was that it might just be dinner. A small hangout with just him, an idea you didn’t entirely mind. After all, he’d become kind of a constant presence in your life, whether you wanted him there or not.

But at 7 p.m., you knocked on Jungwon’s apartment door, your arms crossed defensively and an eyebrow quirked, expecting the usual antics. What you weren’t expecting was the chorus of “SURPRISE!” that greeted you as the door swung open.

Jungwon stood there, his grin wider than ever, dimples shining through with his enthusiasm. Behind him, you could see a group of people-some familiar faces from class, others complete strangers. All of them had birthday hats on, holding drinks or snacks, and looking entirely too cheerful for your liking.

Your stomach dropped.

“Surprise!” Jungwon repeated, practically bouncing on his heels. “I told you it’d be a party!”

“I-” You blinked, caught completely off guard. “What is this? Why is everyone here?”

Jungwon shrugged, still grinning like the sunshine he was. “It’s your birthday! You have to have a party. I couldn’t let you just spend it alone. That’s not how this works.”

You stared at him for a long moment. “I told you I didn’t want anything.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to give you something special,” he said, stepping aside to let you in. “Trust me, I’ll make sure it’s not too much.”

You tried to suppress a groan but failed miserably as you stepped into the apartment, your eyes scanning the crowd of unfamiliar faces. You weren’t sure if you should be annoyed or impressed by how much effort Jungwon had put into this. The streamers were too bright, the music too loud, and the smell of overcooked pizza filled the air. But despite all of that, something about it made you feel… almost warm.

“Okay, fine,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else. “I’m here. Happy now?”

“Very happy!” Jungwon said, his smile practically blinding as he led you toward the middle of the room. “I got cake, snacks, and everything you could need to have the best birthday ever. Everyone’s been talking about how excited they are to meet you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meet me? We’re barely even friends.”

“Well,” Jungwon said, his voice dropping in that teasing way that made you half-annoyed and half-amused, “I think you underestimate how many people want to be around you.”

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered, but your gaze softened when you saw the way he was looking at you. Jungwon was too damn cute, his dimples practically begging you to forgive him for throwing this entire thing together without asking you first.

A few minutes later, after an awkward round of hellos to people you barely knew, you were sitting in the corner with Jungwon, a plate of pizza in your hands and a suspiciously large piece of cake in front of you. You tried to look annoyed, but it was hard with Jungwon sitting next to you, still practically glowing with excitement.

“This isn’t exactly what I had in mind for a birthday,” you admitted, biting into a slice of pizza. “But I guess I can’t be mad when you’re this cute about it.”

He grinned, dimples deepening. “So, you’re saying I’m cute?”

“Ugh, don’t make me say it again,” you muttered, but you were smiling now, despite yourself.

“Deal!” Jungwon said happily, leaning back in his chair. “I’m just glad you’re here. And I know you’re pretending to hate this, but you’re secretly loving it, right?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that slipped out. “I’m not loving it. But it’s… tolerable.”

He let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Well, that’s all I need to hear.”

As the night went on, Jungwon kept hovering around you, offering to refill your drink, dragging you into random conversations with his friends, and making sure you were never left alone for too long. You could tell he was trying to gauge how you were feeling, how much you were enjoying yourself. And, much to your own frustration, you realized you were actually starting to enjoy it.

You weren’t thrilled about the party itself, but you were warmed by how much effort he’d put in just to make sure you weren’t left to sulk by yourself. Jungwon wasn’t your type, not by a long shot but he was undeniably kind. And somewhere between the laughter and the weirdly bad karaoke (courtesy of some overenthusiastic freshman), you found yourself appreciating him a little more than you’d like to admit.

Later, as the party started winding down, Jungwon pulled you aside. “Hey,” he said quietly, looking almost shy for the first time all night. “I really hope you had a good time. I know this wasn’t exactly what you expected, but I just wanted to make sure your day was special.”

You looked at him, suddenly realizing how genuinely happy he was to see you here, despite all your grumbling. His dimples were in full force, and for a second, you were at a complete loss for words.

“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your voice lacked any real bite.

“Ridiculously charming?” he asked, his tone hopeful.

You rolled your eyes, but your heart wasn’t quite in it. “Sure, whatever. Just… don’t ever do this again without asking first.”

Jungwon smiled, that grin of his practically reaching his ears. “I’ll take it. I’m just glad you’re here, even if it was a surprise.”

You didn’t say anything back. Instead, you just stood there for a moment, letting the warmth of the room-and the inexplicable warmth you felt toward him-sink in.

The night had dragged on forever. The endless clacking of your keyboard felt like a constant drumbeat in the back of your mind, driving you closer to insanity with each passing minute. Jungwon had been sitting across from you in the library for hours now, his presence a mix of distraction and comfort as you both struggled through the assignment that loomed over you.

“Can you stop tapping your pen?” you finally snapped, glaring over the top of your laptop. “I swear you’ve been doing that for the last fifteen minutes.”

Jungwon blinked at you innocently. “Sorry! Just thinking.” He immediately stopped the pen tapping, but you could tell from the way he was looking at you that he was far from focused on the assignment.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “We’re never going to finish this if you keep making weird noises.”

“Sorry, I’m trying.” He grinned, his dimples deepening with the smile. It was almost impossible to stay mad at him when he looked like that, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

The clock ticked on, and the library started to empty. One by one, students packed up their things and left, leaving you and Jungwon alone in the quiet, dimly lit room. The only sounds now were the occasional rustle of paper and the quiet hum of the air conditioning.

You glanced at the clock. It was nearly 3 AM. You had barely written a full page. Your eyes were starting to blur from exhaustion, and the task at hand felt like an insurmountable mountain.

“Want to take a break?” Jungwon asked, his voice unusually soft.

You shot him a look, a mixture of disbelief and irritation. “We can’t take a break. We’re so far behind.”

“I know, I know,” he said with a sigh, leaning back in his chair. “But I’m starting to think that this assignment was created just to make us miserable. There’s no way it’s this difficult for everyone else.”

“It’s definitely designed to crush our spirits,” you muttered, running a hand through your hair. “And I’m pretty sure you’re part of the problem.”

“Hey!” He laughed, but it was a little strained, his usual cheerfulness slipping just slightly. “I’m just trying to keep you company, that’s all.”

You groaned, turning back to your laptop. “Company? That’s what we’re calling it now?”

“Yep,” Jungwon said, his tone suddenly more serious. The shift was subtle, but it caught your attention. “I’m really glad you’re here, actually. I know you don’t think so, but I enjoy spending time with you, even when you’re yelling at me about my pen tapping.”

You snorted. “Yell at you? Please. I’m just trying to stay sane.”

“I don’t mind it,” he said quietly. “Really.”

You paused, finally looking up from your screen, meeting his gaze. His smile was gone, replaced with that look of earnestness that you rarely saw from him. Jungwon was usually so full of energy, always joking around, always so bright. But right now, the dimples weren’t enough to mask the vulnerability in his eyes.

“What?” you asked, voice much softer now, a little suspicious.

“I… I like you,” Jungwon said, his words coming out faster than he probably intended. “Like, a lot. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I don’t think I can just keep it to myself anymore.”

Your breath caught in your throat. This was so typical of him-so sudden, so earnest, with no warning at all. But the way he was looking at you made it hard to ignore. You had to admit, somewhere deep down, you did like him too, but the idea of admitting it out loud… that felt like a huge leap.

“So… you’ve been pining for me in the background this whole time?” you asked, trying to keep your tone light despite the sudden knot in your stomach.

“Yeah,” he said, almost shy now, his dimples barely visible. “Pretty much.”

You stared at him for a long time, trying to figure out if this was some weird joke or if he was actually serious. But there was no way he could be joking-his expression said everything. He wasn’t playing around. He really liked you.

And, for some reason, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to laugh it off.

You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair again. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

Jungwon’s face fell just a little, as though he wasn’t sure whether to take you seriously or not. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you can’t just… say things like that and expect me to just… go along with it.” You paused, glancing down at your screen, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not that simple, Jungwon.”

“I know,” he said softly, his voice full of understanding. “I just thought maybe I should tell you. Because I really do like you. I can’t help it.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, gathering your thoughts, before finally speaking again. “Fine,” you muttered, voice almost too quiet for him to hear. “I guess I like you too.”

Jungwon blinked, surprised, as though he hadn’t expected that at all. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” you said, offering him a small, reluctant smile. “I guess I do. But don’t get any ideas. You’re still annoying as hell.”

Jungwon let out a soft, disbelieving laugh, his dimples showing again, though this time there was a warmth in his expression that you couldn’t quite ignore. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, even if you won’t admit you like me.”

You shook your head, suddenly feeling too self-aware under his gaze. “I did admit it. You just don’t get to be all smug about it.”

“I wasn’t smug, just… relieved,” he said, his tone soft but still that familiar mix of excitement and hopefulness. “I thought you’d tell me I was crazy or something.”

You snorted. “You are crazy, but… I guess I can deal with it. For now.”

Jungwon smiled again, the tension from before evaporating as he shifted back into his usual chipper mood. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. I’m going to be here through all your grumbling and complaining.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered, though you found yourself feeling oddly content with his answer.

And maybe, just maybe, you liked it that way.

It was supposed to be a quiet escape.

The two of you had been suffocating under the weight of endless assignments, overbearing professors, and a class that was about as exciting as watching paint dry. So, naturally, you came to the brilliant conclusion that skipping class was the only reasonable solution. It wasn’t like you wanted to fail or anything, but you really, really needed a break.

Jungwon, of course, was all in. He was always ready for an adventure, especially one that didn’t involve textbooks or note-taking.

“I’m telling you, it’s the perfect plan,” you said, half whispering as you two crept out of the building. “We just go grab coffee, chill for a couple of hours, and act like today never happened.”

Jungwon grinned, his dimples making a rare but welcome appearance. “I’m with you. Let’s live on the edge. We deserve it.”

You exchanged a glance, both of you grinning like a couple of troublemakers about to commit the greatest heist known to mankind.

But, of course, the universe had other plans.

As you rounded the corner, heading toward the exit of the building, you heard the unmistakable sound of someone’s footsteps behind you. The voice that followed immediately made your heart sink.

“Jungwon. Y/N.”

It was Professor Lee.

You froze in place, slowly turning to face him, and saw Jungwon’s face go pale as he immediately began to stammer out an apology. “Professor, uh, we… we just… need a little… break, y’know?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before Professor Lee’s stern gaze fell on you both. He raised an eyebrow, then sighed dramatically. “And where exactly do you think you’re going?”

Jungwon’s eyes widened, and you could see him mentally scrambling for some kind of excuse. “Just… just getting some fresh air. Right, Y/N?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re dragging me down with you, aren’t you?”

Jungwon, ever the optimist, gave you a sheepish grin. “I’m just offering a chance for you to be spontaneous.”

Professor Lee’s glare was sharp, and you could practically see the disappointment radiating off of him. “The two of you need to get back to class. Now.”

And that’s when everything went downhill.

In a move that could only be described as a perfectly timed tragedy, Professor Lee reached out and grabbed Jungwon by the arm, pulling him toward the door. Jungwon stumbled slightly, looking back at you with wide eyes as though you were his only hope of escape.

You stood there, frozen, watching him being dragged away like a criminal. Jungwon’s eyes locked with yours, a look of mock betrayal on his face, his dimples on full display. “You left me!” he cried out dramatically, even as he was being dragged down the hallway. “I thought we were a team!”

You couldn’t help it. The laughter bubbled up from deep inside you, and before you knew it, you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe. The scene was just too absurd. There was Jungwon-usually the one getting people to laugh, but right now, looking like a puppy who’d been abandoned in the rain.

Professor Lee wasn’t amused. “This is not funny, Y/N. Get back to class.”

You waved a hand dismissively, still chuckling as Jungwon shot you a glare over his shoulder. “You’re cruel,” he muttered. “I thought we had something special.”

“That’s what you get for trying to skip class with me,” you replied, still grinning. “You’re lucky I didn’t bail on you sooner.”

“Traitor,” Jungwon said, though there was no malice in his voice. He looked at you one more time, and you could see the hint of a smile fighting its way to his lips despite the whole situation.

Finally, after what felt like a dramatic eternity, Professor Lee gave you both a final, disapproving look and gestured for you to follow him. You gave Jungwon one last playful grin as you walked back toward class, his mock expression of betrayal fading into a reluctant smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he muttered, clearly still a little embarrassed. “I really thought we had a chance at freedom.”

“You’re an idiot,” you said, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “But you’ve got those cute dimples, so I guess I’ll forgive you.”

“You’re just saying that because you left me to face the wrath of Professor Lee alone,” he said, his tone light but with a hint of playful irritation.

“Sure,” you agreed, “but it’s still true.”

Jungwon sighed dramatically as you both entered the classroom, the door closing behind you. “I’m never skipping class with you again.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Says the guy who begged me to do it in the first place.”

He shot you a sideways glance, a smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “Fine. But if we’re skipping again, I’m leading the charge.”

You rolled your eyes. “Only if you promise not to get caught next time.”

Jungwon just winked. “I make no promises.”

You chuckled, the warmth of his smile lingering in the air. You’d never admit it to him, but in that moment, even the ridiculousness of the situation made you feel just a little bit more… alive.

You didn’t want to go. Honestly, you didn’t. But when your friends practically begged you to go on a double date with them-“Just for fun! You need to get out more!”-you couldn’t find a way to decline without looking like a total buzzkill.

So, naturally, you decided to bring Jungwon.

You didn’t really think he would take it seriously. You never did when it came to anything involving you and Jungwon. Sure, he was full of smiles and charm, but you always assumed it was just his way of making life a little less boring. So when you casually mentioned that you were “bringing someone along” for the date, you thought it was obvious that it was a joke.

But Jungwon, being Jungwon, took it way too literally.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he said, his eyes practically glowing with excitement when you told him about the double date. “You want me to come with you? For real?”

You stared at him, a little taken aback. “Yeah, I mean, if you’re up for it.” You paused, trying to suppress a grin. “It’s a joke though, Jungwon. Just to mess with them.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “So, like, you want me to pretend to be your date, or are we actually going on a date?”

You leaned back in your chair, trying to figure out how to explain it to him without overcomplicating things. “I’m not going to pretend, but-”

Jungwon’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I’m in! This is going to be so fun!”

You stared at him, blinking in disbelief. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Yes!” He practically bounced in his seat. “I’ve never been on a double date before. This is going to be awesome. I promise I won’t embarrass you. Well, I mean, I might, but only in the best way!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. There was no stopping him now, though, so you just rolled with it.

The night of the double date arrived, and you were already regretting everything. The restaurant was nice enough-fancy, even but you felt out of place, sitting there with your friends, nervously picking at your food. Jungwon, on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life. His dimples were on full display as he grinned like a kid in a candy store.

“Okay, okay,” Jungwon said. “This is a real date, huh? So, what do we do? Do I hold your hand now?” He was clearly teasing, but his excitement made it impossible to tell if he was joking or not.

You shot him a flat look. “Don’t even think about it. I’m already regretting this.”

He winked at you, unfazed. “Too late. We’re in it now!”

Meanwhile, your friends were watching the two of you with wide eyes, clearly impressed by Jungwon’s apparent enthusiasm. They were under the assumption that you and he were actually dating, and that made the situation even funnier.

“You two are so cute together,” one of your friends, Mia, said, clearly trying to be supportive. “You should do this more often!”

You shot her a glare. “I’m not dating him. This is a joke. A joke that’s getting way out of hand.”

Jungwon, oblivious to your discomfort, smiled even wider. “Yeah, but I mean, if we were dating, I’d totally get you dessert. I’d get you all the desserts.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so ridiculous. Please don’t say that out loud.”

Jungwon just laughed, seemingly unfazed by your embarrassment. “But seriously, though, what’s your favorite dessert? I need to know for future reference.”

“Don’t you dare,” you warned, but he just looked at you like you were the cutest thing in the world, his dimples practically making a debut of their own.

Your friends, sensing that you weren’t taking this seriously enough, decided to take it one step further. They started making suggestions about how the date could go. “Why don’t you two take a cute picture together?” Mia suggested. “You know, for instagram?’”

You groaned, resting your head on the table. “This is a disaster.”

But Jungwon, being Jungwon, took this opportunity to pose dramatically, as if he was some kind of romance movie hero. “You want a picture? I’m your guy,” he said with a wink. “Smile, Y/N.”

You sighed but, much to your dismay, gave in. You weren’t going to ruin his fun, even though the whole thing was spiraling into madness.

When the waiter arrived to take the picture, Jungwon grabbed your hand out of nowhere and pulled you close, his dimples deepening as he beamed at the camera. You froze, unsure of how to react, but then-bam-the flash went off, and you were left blinking at the photo of you and Jungwon looking like an actual couple.

“You have to send that to me later,” your friend Mia said, completely unaware of your inner turmoil. “You two look so cute!”

Jungwon, on the other hand, was absolutely thrilled. “I told you we were a perfect match!”

The rest of the night was a blur of awkwardness and laughter. Every time you tried to steer the conversation away from the whole “fake date” scenario, Jungwon would burst in with his pure, unfiltered energy, saying something so ridiculous it made you laugh despite yourself.

At one point, he even tried to impress everyone by ordering an entire dessert platter, dramatically pushing it toward you. “For my date,” he said, his voice so sincere that it made everyone at the table pause. “I’m only doing this because you deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I try,” he said with a grin. 

The night ended with the two of you standing outside the restaurant, your friends still holding onto the illusion that you and Jungwon were an actual couple, while you both shared an awkward but genuine laugh about the chaos that had just unfolded.

“Well,” Jungwon said with a shrug, his voice full of playful sincerity, “if this was a real date, I’d say it went pretty well.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, trying not to laugh too loudly. “Except for the part where you were way too excited and we ended up eating like, five desserts.”

He grinned. “But hey, it was worth it. I made it fun, didn’t I?”

You couldn’t deny that. Jungwon’s energy had turned what could have been an awkward, uncomfortable night into something that was, well, bearable-even enjoyable.

“Fine,” you muttered, “I’ll give you that. You made it way better than it had any right to be.”

Jungwon’s grin widened. “That’s all I aim for.”

And as you walked away from the restaurant, you found yourself secretly grateful for his relentless positivity. 

It was an assignment from hell.

That’s how you’d been feeling about your latest project from the very moment it was announced in class. Another group project, another excuse for you to do all the work while your partners barely lifted a finger. You were already bracing for the usual frustration, the annoyance, the feeling that you could’ve done this better on your own.

And then, of course, you found out who your partner was.

Jungwon.

You groaned inwardly. If you weren’t already annoyed about the project, the thought of being paired with Jungwon was almost enough to make you throw in the towel. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him-he was fine, you guessed-but he was a whirlwind of energy and positivity, which was the exact opposite of what you needed. You were going to need every ounce of your patience to get through this.

When you met him at the library to start working on the project, Jungwon was already sitting at a table.

“Y/N! You ready to crush this?” he greeted you, practically jumping up to pull out a chair for you.

You set your stuff down, giving him a tired look. “You know this is a project, right? Not a ‘let’s have fun’ time?”

He tilted his head, the cheer in his eyes not fading one bit. “Yeah, I know! But we can have fun while we work, right?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m optimistic, not impossible,” he corrected with that trademark grin of his.

You resisted the urge to laugh at his ridiculousness. Why do you have to be so damn charming?

“Okay, so… what’s the plan?” you asked, trying to get the project underway, determined not to let Jungwon’s energy throw you off course.

Jungwon immediately opened his laptop and started listing ideas, his enthusiasm palpable as he rattled off suggestions. Normally, you’d be irritated by someone who couldn’t focus, who got distracted every few minutes, but for some reason, today felt different.

Maybe it was the way Jungwon’s excitement was contagious, or maybe it was because you’d been so stressed with school that his carefree attitude felt like a breath of fresh air. Whatever it was, you found yourself actually getting into the project.

“We could do this… or maybe add this idea? I think it could work, right?” Jungwon said, his voice bright with hope as he gestured at the screen.

You glanced at his work, surprised to see it was actually pretty decent. He wasn’t slacking off like you’d expected.

You nodded, genuinely impressed. “Not bad. Actually, I think that would work well.”

“Really?” Jungwon beamed, his dimples flashing. “I knew it! I knew you’d think it was a good idea!”

You tried to hide your smile, but you couldn’t help it. His enthusiasm was infectious, and despite your initial hesitation, you were starting to enjoy yourself. The work flowed smoothly, and for once, you didn’t feel like you were carrying the whole weight of the project on your shoulders.

There was something oddly comforting about working with Jungwon. His presence, though relentlessly cheerful, didn’t feel as grating as it usually did. In fact, it was kind of… nice. You found yourself laughing at his jokes, even when they were awful, and feeling oddly grateful that he was by your side, keeping things light when they could have easily turned stressful.

By the time you reached the end of the day, you realized you’d spent hours working with him, but it hadn’t felt like work at all. The project was done, the ideas were all sorted out, and you were left with a feeling you hadn’t expected: satisfaction.

“Well, that was… actually fun,” you admitted, feeling a little surprised at how well the day had gone. “I didn’t think we’d get through this without killing each other, but we did.”

Jungwon laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Of course we did! We make a great team. See? I told you, you just have to trust my process!”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Your ‘process’? Is that what you’re calling it?”

He winked. “You don’t like it? I think it’s pretty effective.”

You shook your head, though you couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at your lips. You hadn’t thought it was possible, but after spending the whole day working together, you couldn’t help but feel… something.

Something warm. Something that was definitely more than just friendship.

You were starting to realize that the attraction you had towards Jungwon wasn’t just a passing thing. It wasn’t just his smiles or his dimples that were making your heart do flips. It was the way he made everything feel lighter, the way he made you feel like maybe, just maybe, things didn’t have to be so serious all the time.

And you couldn’t ignore the feeling that the more time you spent with him, the more that attraction grew.

“I guess you’re not so bad after all,” you said, pushing away from the table.

Jungwon’s eyes lit up, and his grin grew impossibly wider.

He laughed, the sound easy and carefree. “See? I knew we’d get along.”

As you packed up your things, you found yourself glancing over at Jungwon, trying to figure out what had changed. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but you knew something was different. Maybe it was the way he made everything feel easier. Or maybe it was the way he smiled at you, those dimples softening the edges of your usual grumpy mood.

Whatever it was, you were starting to realize that your feelings for him were changing. Slowly, but surely. And as much as you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t ignore the way your heart skipped a beat every time he flashed that irresistible smile.

“See you later, Y/N,” Jungwon said as he slung his bag over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with that familiar energy. “Next time, we can take over the world together.”

You snorted, trying not to grin. “We’ll see, Jungwon. We’ll see.”

But as you walked out of the library, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, your world was already starting to change in ways you didn’t expect.

And maybe it had something to do with a certain cheerful, dimply guy you’d been paired with.

It was a quiet day, the kind where you’re just trying to survive the hours before the weekend. You had spent most of the morning in a half-daze, taking notes during class, trying to push through the pile of assignments you’d been avoiding.

Jungwon had been his usual cheerful self, cracking jokes during every lull in the lecture. You, of course, had rolled your eyes, but even you had to admit that there was something almost comforting about his constant, unrelenting positivity.

But today, something was off.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it at first. You were sitting at the back of the lecture hall, arms folded, half-listening to the professor drone on about whatever boring topic they’d decided to assign this week. And then you saw it.

Jungwon was talking to one of your classmates, someone you didn’t know too well-Soojin, a girl who was always a little too bubbly, even for your taste. She was leaning in close to him, laughing at something he said. You could hear her high-pitched laugh from where you were sitting, and for some reason, it grated on you more than usual.

You watched as Jungwon, completely unaware of the growing discomfort in your chest, flashed her one of his bright, perfect smiles. The kind of smile that always made you weak in the knees. The kind of smile he’d given you countless times, only now, it was directed at her.

You clenched your fists under the desk, trying to ignore the sensation of something off. It wasn’t jealousy. No, absolutely not. Why would you care if Jungwon was talking to someone else? He was friendly with everyone, and it was totally normal. You were just being ridiculous.

But still…

You couldn’t focus on the lecture. Your mind kept wandering back to the sight of Jungwon leaning closer to Soojin, laughing and smiling like he always did with you. But this time, something about it felt different. You weren’t used to seeing him so at ease with someone else.

It was irrational. It wasn’t like you had any claim on him, after all. But still, the feeling gnawed at you.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of class. You grabbed your stuff, not making eye contact with either Jungwon or Soojin, and headed for the door. You could hear Jungwon calling your name from behind, but you didn’t stop. You needed a second to breathe, to shake off the weirdness that had started to settle in your chest.

“Hey, wait up!” Jungwon caught up to you in the hallway, looking as cheerful as always, though there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “What’s up? You okay?”

You shrugged, pretending to be too focused on checking your phone to look at him. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired. You know, class stuff.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He paused for a second, and then, as if he’d caught onto something, he smirked. “You know, I saw you in class. You seemed a little… off.” He leaned closer, his eyes glinting with mischievous energy. “Are you jealous?”

Your heart skipped. What?

You shot him a glare, your face turning a little hotter than you would’ve liked. “Shut up,” you muttered, walking a little faster, trying to escape the awkwardness you were suddenly drowning in.

Jungwon’s grin widened, and you could hear his footsteps quickening to match yours. “Come on, admit it. I saw the way you were looking at Soojin. Don’t try to hide it.”

“I said shut up,” you repeated, feeling like your face might combust from the heat. Why was this so hard to talk about? It was ridiculous. It’s not jealousy, you told yourself, it’s just… annoyance.

But Jungwon wasn’t letting it go. “You know, if you are jealous, it’s totally fine,” he said, his voice light but with a teasing undertone. “It just means you care. And I mean, who wouldn’t care about this?” He motioned to himself dramatically, grinning like a total dork. “Look at me. Hard to resist, right?”

You couldn’t help but snort, despite the awkward tension in the air. “You’re such an idiot.”

Jungwon laughed, clearly pleased that he had managed to get under your skin, even if it was just a little. “I’m serious, though. If you’re jealous, you should just tell me. No shame in it.”

“Jungwon,” you said in a low, flat voice, looking at him with a deadpan stare. “I’m not jealous. At all.”

He tilted his head, his dimples popping as he smiled at you. “Okay, okay. If you say so. But I’ll make it easy for you: I’m not interested in Soojin, alright? You’re my favorite person, and I like hanging out with you.”

You tried to suppress the weird feeling that fluttered in your stomach at his words. You could have sworn you felt the slightest bit of relief, but you weren’t going to admit that. You refused to.

“Good,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady. “Just don’t get all buddy-buddy with her too much. We have a project to work on, remember?”

Jungwon raised his hands in mock surrender. “Of course! But hey, if you’re still worried, you can always just spend more time with me. I’ll make it up to you.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your usual grumpy exterior, but deep down, you felt a flutter of warmth at the thought of him wanting to spend more time with you. “You’re impossible.”

“You know it,” he said with a wink, his dimples deepening in that infuriatingly cute way. “But you like me anyway, right?”

You shot him an exasperated look but said nothing. You didn’t trust your voice not to betray you. So instead, you just kept walking, silently acknowledging the strange, messy tangle of feelings that were starting to form in your chest.

And maybe, just maybe, you’d admit to yourself later that you didn’t mind being a little possessive over someone who had become far more important to you than you were willing to admit.

It started off as one of those perfectly ordinary days. The kind that drags on but doesn’t feel too bad. You’d woken up late-thanks to your terrible habit of hitting snooze about five times too many-and had rushed to class, not even bothering with breakfast. As usual, you were already mentally prepared to be irritated by the day’s trivialities.

But there was one thing that made today just a little less unbearable.

Jungwon.

You weren’t sure when it had started, but lately, you’d noticed something odd happening whenever he was around. The way his dimples appeared every time he smiled, the way his easy laughter seemed to cut through your grumpiness, and how you-for some strange reason-had started to smile back.

It was subtle at first. A little half-smile when he cracked a stupid joke, a slight curve of your lips when he mimicked something you’d said with that playful glint in his eye. It was all very unremarkable, except for the fact that you were smiling at all.

But today? Today, you caught yourself smiling for real.

You were both standing outside campus, Jungwon had been talking-about some new movie he wanted to see-and you were half-listening.

The next thing you knew, you were laughing at something he said. 

It wasn’t the usual forced, sarcastic laugh you gave him. No, this time, it was a genuine chuckle.

And then you realized something.

You’d smiled. Actually smiled. At something he’d said. Not because it was funny in a sarcastic way or because you were humoring him. No, you’d smiled because for the first time in a while, something he said made you feel… happy.

You didn’t want to think about it too hard, but your chest felt weird. That fluttery, stupid feeling you tried so hard to avoid.

Jungwon noticed, of course. He always did. He had this ridiculous ability to pick up on the smallest things about you-things you hadn’t even noticed about yourself.

“You smiled,” he said, eyes wide with mock surprise.

You immediately tried to cover it up, shifting uncomfortably. “I didn’t,” you muttered. “You’re imagining things.”

“Nope,” Jungwon replied with that teasing grin of his, his dimples deepening. “I saw it. I think… I think you actually like me.”

You froze for a second. That ridiculous fluttering feeling flared up again, and you immediately started to feel the heat rise in your cheeks. “What are you talking about?” you snapped, trying to play it cool. But your heart was beating a little faster than normal, and you could practically feel the awkwardness rising between you two.

“You know, like-like like me,” Jungwon pressed, his eyes glinting with mischievous light. “You’re all smiley when I’m around. Don’t worry, it’s totally fine. I won’t bite.”

You felt like you were dying a little inside. “I don’t like you. At all.”

It wasn’t that you were lying, exactly. But, well… maybe you were lying just a little. Or at least stretching the truth.

Jungwon leaned against the wall next to you, completely unfazed by your obvious discomfort. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure I saw you smile again just now.” He gave you a cheeky look, clearly enjoying your obvious inner turmoil.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You’re insufferable.”

He laughed, and it was like music to your ears. “That’s what I like about you, though,” he teased, his voice full of that energy that never seemed to run out. “You’re so grumpy, but I know you secretly like me.”

“God, you’re impossible,” you muttered, trying to mask the way your heart was speeding up.

Jungwon was watching you closely, his grin widening as he studied your flushed face. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. But it’s cute, you know? You don’t have to hide it.”

You were silent for a moment, avoiding his gaze, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing to you. Your mind was racing, trying to figure out what to say, but the words just wouldn’t come out. You weren’t supposed to like him, you told yourself, especially not like this.

But somehow, you couldn’t keep it up. Not anymore.

“Fine,” you finally muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think I might actually like you.”

Jungwon blinked at you for a moment, clearly surprised. Then, he broke into a wide grin, dimples on full display.

“See?” he said with mock triumph. “I knew it!”

You let out a strangled laugh. “Shut up, Jungwon. I hate you.”

He just grinned even wider, if that was possible. “Sure, you do. But you’re smiling, so I know you don’t.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to look anywhere but at him. “You’re really something, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, his voice softening slightly. “I think you’re pretty great, too.”

And for a moment, the teasing stopped. The air between you two shifted just a little bit, and you suddenly felt… nervous. But you didn’t want to deal with that right now. You weren’t ready to think about it.

Instead, you muttered under your breath, “You’re lucky I like you too, you dork.”

Jungwon’s eyes softened, his smile turning genuinely warm. “I’m not so lucky. I’m just glad I finally got you to admit it.”

You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to. Because, somehow, it felt like everything had just changed. And you weren’t sure where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, you didn’t really mind.

You hadn’t been feeling great all day, but you didn’t think much of it. Just a little headache, a scratchy throat, maybe a bit of fatigue. You’d been pushing through it because, well, what else was new? You didn’t have time to get sick. There were assignments piling up, friends texting you about plans, and the general chaos that came with university life.

But by the time the evening hit, you were definitely regretting that stubborn “I’m fine” attitude. Your head was pounding, your nose was stuffy, and you could barely keep your eyes open. You’d barely managed to crawl into bed, curled up under the covers, and tried to ignore the fact that you were now a full-fledged mess of sniffles and fatigue.

But of course, that was when you heard someone knock on the door.

You groaned into your pillow, annoyed at the thought of anyone bothering you right now. It was probably just one of your roommates, or someone looking to “check in.”

You’d been a little less friendly with your friends recently, not out of any real malice, but more because you weren’t exactly in the mood for company. You’re fine, you told yourself. No one needs to see you like this.

You’d barely made it to the door before you heard a familiar, cheerful voice call your name.

“Hey! You home?”

You blinked a few times, trying to clear your blurry vision. Of course it was Jungwon. Who else would it be?

You reluctantly opened the door, rubbing your face, feeling a mix of annoyance and exhaustion. Jungwon stood there, holding a plastic bag in one hand, looking a little too bright and sunny for the current situation.  

You leaned against the doorframe, glaring at him. “What do you want, Jungwon? It’s like… seven o’clock. Why are you here?”

“I came to take care of you,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You look like you’re dying, so I thought I’d help out.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine,” you muttered, even though your voice was hoarse. “I just need some sleep. You should go back to whatever you were doing.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow at you, clearly not buying it. He pushed past you into the apartment, walking straight toward the kitchen without waiting for an invitation.

“Nope,” he said, turning around with that annoying grin still plastered on his face. “I’m staying. You need soup, medicine, and someone to make sure you don’t turn into a zombie.” He pulled a container of soup out of the bag. “I brought chicken noodle, your favorite. And medicine!” He waved the little bottles in the air like some kind of triumphant hero. “I’m basically a professional nurse now, so don’t worry. I’ve got it all covered.”

You gave him a flat stare, but despite the irritation bubbling in your chest, there was an odd warmth at the edges of your annoyance. You were so not in the mood to deal with this right now, but part of you couldn’t deny the fact that Jungwon being here, in his usual sunshine-y way, was actually kind of nice.

You sighed. “You really don’t have to do this. I can take care of myself.”

Jungwon just smiled wider, like that was exactly what he’d expected you to say. He plopped down on the couch and kicked his shoes off, as if he’d settled in for the long haul.

“I’m not leaving you to suffer alone,” he said casually, opening the soup. “Besides, I’m probably the only person who would be willing to come over and make you feel better, right?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but then stopped. He wasn’t wrong. Everyone else in your life would’ve probably texted you a “get well soon” message and gone on with their day. But Jungwon… well, he was different. He cared in a way that, despite your annoyance, you couldn’t quite push away.

“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, leaning back against the doorframe and crossing your arms.

Jungwon just laughed and pulled a spoon out of his bag. “You say that now, but wait until you taste my world-famous chicken noodle soup.”

“You didn’t make it,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Did you just pick that up from the convenience store?”

“I may have,” he said, not at all ashamed. “But I promise it’s still delicious. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you let him serve you a bowl of soup, setting it down on the coffee table in front of you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, watching him sit down beside you, eyes sparkling with pride.

“I’m just doing what any decent human would do.” Jungwon replied with a shrug.

You couldn’t help but chuckle despite yourself. “A decent human would’ve let me be, though. Not show up with soup and medicine and insist on taking care of me.”

Jungwon tilted his head, the dimples appearing as his smile softened. “Well, if I’m being honest… I kind of like taking care of you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice, but you immediately masked it with a scoff. “You’re such a weirdo.”

Jungwon just shrugged again, looking entirely unbothered by your sarcasm. “Maybe. But you like me anyway.”

You didn’t respond immediately, not trusting yourself to say anything that wouldn’t sound too revealing. Instead, you took a spoonful of the soup, secretly enjoying how warm and comforting it felt-both the soup and the unexpected care.

“You’re lucky I’m sick, or I’d be kicking you out right now,” you grumbled, trying to sound more irritated than you actually felt.

Jungwon grinned. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But you’re not kicking me out. I’m your personal nurse now. I’m here to stay until you feel better.”

You sighed but didn’t argue. The truth was, part of you secretly appreciated it-the fact that Jungwon cared enough to show up like this, no matter how annoying he could be.

“I’m still mad at you for this,” you muttered under your breath, taking another bite of soup.

Jungwon just grinned and leaned back on the couch, clearly pleased with himself. “Sure, keep pretending you’re mad. I know the truth.”

For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you two. You didn’t want to admit it, but there was something oddly soothing about having him here. His presence,, his warmth… it made you feel less alone in this miserable state.

And even though you’d never admit it to his face, you were kind of glad he’d shown up.

It was late. Later than you’d normally stay out, but there was something about the night air that made everything feel a little more bearable. The kind of crisp, cool air that wrapped itself around you like a blanket, making the world seem quieter, softer. The city lights blurred in the distance, but here, on the side streets, everything felt peaceful.

You and Jungwon had been walking for a while now, your footsteps the only sound breaking the silence. It was almost funny-this whole thing. A walk at night, no real reason for it, just the two of you strolling through the empty streets, talking about everything and nothing.

The weird part? You didn’t mind. It wasn’t weird to have him beside you. It wasn’t weird to share the kind of silence that felt comfortable, not awkward.

Jungwon was talking about his dreams-what he wanted to do after university, how he imagined his future-and you listened, like you always did, half-paying attention while still being invested. You couldn’t help but smile a little when he talked about things he was passionate about. His excitement was infectious, even if you weren’t always as enthusiastic as he was.

“I think… I think I’d want to work with kids,” he said, his voice steady but a little shy, like he wasn’t sure if it was a stupid dream to have. “Or maybe something with education. I don’t know, just something where I can make a difference.” He looked at you, his eyes wide with that familiar innocence. “I know it sounds cliché, but I want to help.”

You nodded, your heart feeling a little lighter. “You’re not wrong,” you said, a small smirk on your lips. “It sounds like a good dream.”

Jungwon chuckled, glancing at you. “I know it’s cheesy, but hey, if I’m going to do something, I want it to matter. I want it to mean something.”

You glanced up at the stars, feeling a strange sense of calm. The night felt endless, like it could go on forever, and for a moment, you didn’t mind the thought of being out here with him. Just the two of you. No pressure, no expectations.

“You know,” you said, your voice softer than usual, “I get it. I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do too. Sometimes it’s hard to figure it out, though, right?”

Jungwon nodded, but there was a quiet, almost unsure look in his eyes as he glanced at you. “Yeah, I know. It’s scary, thinking about the future. But…” He trailed off, taking a breath before continuing, “I think I’m starting to realize that maybe I’ve known what I want for a while now. It’s just… I didn’t want to admit it.”

You raised an eyebrow, looking at him. “What’s that?”

He paused, then took a few steps closer, his eyes locking onto yours, a quiet seriousness taking over his expression. “I know it’s kind of unexpected, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. And… well, I think I’ve been in love with you for a while.”

You stopped walking, your chest tightening, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you. Your heart skipped a beat, and you found yourself staring at him in complete silence. Jungwon’s expression was vulnerable, his usual teasing smile gone, replaced with something real. Something genuine.

You should’ve said something. You should’ve joked, laughed it off, but the truth was, the words didn’t sound as surprising as they should have. Because somewhere deep down, you already knew. You’d known for a while now, hadn’t you?

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched between you two, thick and fragile, like the world was holding its breath.

And then you took a step closer, closing the distance between you two. You didn’t know why, but something about the way he looked at you made it impossible not to.

“Jungwon,” you said, voice barely above a whisper, “I… I think I love you too.”

His eyes widened slightly, as if he hadn’t expected that, but then that familiar, dazzling smile spread across his face. The dimples appeared, and your heart seemed to beat faster just at the sight of them.

“You-really?” His voice was full of disbelief, but there was a warmth there, a joy you could feel radiating from him.

You nodded slowly, a small, shy smile forming on your lips. “Yeah. Really. I told you already.”

And then, before you could overthink it, before you could question everything, Jungwon stepped forward, his hand brushing against yours. It felt like time slowed down as you both closed the space between you, and suddenly, it was just the two of you under the night sky, with no more words needed.

He leaned in first, just slightly, as if waiting for you to pull away, but you didn’t. Instead, you closed your eyes and let him. The kiss was soft at first-tentative, like he wasn’t sure if it was okay. But then something in both of you clicked. It deepened, slowly but with the kind of intensity you hadn’t expected. His lips were warm, gentle, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself completely give in to the moment.

When you pulled away, you didn’t know how to react. Your heart was still racing, and Jungwon was standing there, looking at you like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“You kissed me,” he said, his voice almost breathless.

You gave him a playful, teasing smile. “Yeah, I did.” You leaned in, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “You should probably return the favor.”

Jungwon didn’t need to be told twice. His lips found yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation. No distance between you two. It was messy and real and, honestly, a little bit cheesy. But in that moment, it was everything.

And when you finally pulled away, you both stood there, grinning like idiots in the middle of the night, the weight of everything unspoken suddenly feeling like it had all fallen into place.

“You really are the worst,” you muttered, your voice still a little shaky from the kiss, but your smile genuine.

Jungwon laughed, his dimples deepening, his eyes full of something new. “I know. But I think you like it.”

You didn’t answer, but the truth was, you did. You really did.

It was one of those rare moments where everything just fell into place.

The day had been long-filled with classes, assignments, and the usual chaos that came with being a university student-but now, as the evening crept in and the air grew cooler, everything around you seemed to settle. You and Jungwon had retreated to your favorite spot on campus, a little bench under a large tree near the library, far enough from the usual student hustle to give you both some peace.

The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving a soft golden light that made everything look a little more serene. Jungwon had his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his usual smile softened, and there was a comfortable silence between the two of you. It was the kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled with words, but somehow still felt full.

You glanced at him, watching the way his dimples appeared when he smiled, the familiar twinkle in his eyes as he caught you looking. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft, the kind of tone that seemed to match the evening around you.

You shrugged, but the gesture felt less grumpy than it normally would have. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Jungwon nodded, his gaze drifting out toward the campus as well. “About what?”

You could’ve said a lot of things-how everything had felt a little chaotic lately, how much you had to juggle as a student, or how you sometimes felt like you didn’t belong in the middle of it all. But instead, you said something simpler, something that felt right.

“I think… I think I’m okay,” you murmured, staring out at the dimming light. “Like, really okay. With everything. With… you.”

Jungwon turned to look at you, his smile growing wider, his dimples deepening with each passing second. “You mean that, huh?”

You nodded, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest. “Yeah, I do. I never thought I’d say it, but… you’re not so bad. You, uh… balance me out.”

He leaned back on the bench, his eyes warm with affection. “I’ve always thought you balanced me out too. You make me more… grounded.”

It was the first time, in a long while, that you truly felt it-that quiet, steady connection between you two. You weren’t the same, not even close. But there was something in the way you fit together that just made sense. Jungwon, with his sunshine attitude and infectious energy, had a way of pulling you out of your shell, making you laugh when you least expected it. And you? You had a way of keeping him on his toes, of showing him that life wasn’t always as simple as it seemed, but sometimes that was okay.

The silence lingered for a while longer, comfortable and content.

Then, as the sky darkened completely, you looked at Jungwon and sighed. “You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?”

Jungwon grinned, the usual mischief dancing in his eyes. “And you’re the best part of my day.”

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew it was true. There were still things about him that irritated you-like the way he folded blankets or how he couldn’t stand to be quiet for more than five minutes-but that was part of it. The part you didn’t mind. Because in the end, it was those little differences that made you both… better.

And for once, you were okay with that.

You turned to face him, catching his gaze for a brief moment before nudging him with your elbow. “Don’t get used to this, though.”

He laughed, the sound as light and carefree as ever, and for a split second, you realized that it wasn’t the perfection of the moment that made it special-it was the messy, imperfect, and sometimes chaotic pieces that fit together so well.

“You’re still my grumpy cat,” Jungwon said, leaning back against the bench with that familiar smile on his face. “But I like you that way.”

You didn’t need to respond. The way you both sat there, side by side, under the quiet sky, was enough. And in that moment, you realized that despite your differences, despite the ways you both clashed, you made each other better. And that, perhaps, was the most real thing of all.

For once, you were okay with that.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

(Evan)

⚠️content warning, this story deals with domestic abuse⚠️

Adam met Evan not long after he fell. Adam was performing at a bar to make money when after he got paid he was approached by an Envy demon. There was something mesmerizing about the aquatic appearance of the man who was colored in deep purples and greens. His eyes a soft pink color.

Evan: That was amazing, I don’t see many singers as talented as you are, especially when they are as handsome as you are. My name is Evan.

Adam: My name is Adam, I am glad you liked my songs.

Adam wasn’t surprised he got so much attention, after he fell the lamb like features he gained made him quite unique in Hell. They went and started having drinks together and one thing led to another and they ended up in Evan’s home in the Envy Ring making out. Since Adam was a fallen angel and not a Sinner he could travel through the other Rings outside of the Pride Ring. Evan took Adam to his bed and they had sex. Adam who wasn’t used to being on the bottom wondered if it was meant to be this rough and painful, but he went along with it because he didn’t want to seem weak. Afterwards they were relaxing on the balcony Adam looking down as cum leaked out of him. Part of falling made it so he had a dick and a pussy.

Evan: I didn’t know that this was your first time being the bottom, I probably shouldn’t have been as rough.

Adam: It’s alright.

Adam noticed that Evan didn’t apologize and just shrugged it off, he was nice in every other way.

Evan: I like you a lot Adam and I would like you for my boyfriend.

Adam blushed, before he had just been given a wife and told to make babies with her. He also had one night stands in Heaven, but he was the one to approach the person. It was nice to be approached for a change.

Adam: I would like to be your boyfriend.

Evan: Good, I would like to show you around the beach tomorrow.

Adam: That sounds nice.

What Adam didn’t know was that soon this with Evan would slowly take a dark turn.

Six Months Later

Evan growled and threw the plate at Adam, narrowly missing his head as it shattered into a million pieces.

Evan: Damn it Adam! How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to do that!? Are you this fucking stupid or are ignoring me!?

Adam blinked back tears, he didn't want to cry again and make Evan more angry. That always seemed to make things worse.

Adam: I-I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!

Evan: For someone who "didn't mean to" you sure as shit do it a lot. This shit better be clean by the time I get back from work or else you'll really fucking get it.

He grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him making Adam burst into tears. He didn't know how this happened, Evan could be so sweet but sometimes he would flip a switch and just be verbally nasty to him.

And now he's throwing things......

Adam wiped his face and grabbed the broom, he needed to clean this up.

When he was done he cleaned himself up and got ready for his own job. Adam left and as he walked down the sidewalk the tvs in a store came to life.

Charlie: Are you a sinner looking for redemption to go to heaven to be with your loved ones? Well look no further! Here at the Hazbin Hotel we -

Adam listened for a moment and he thought about home in heaven, his son, everyone. He missed them.

Maybe..... Maybe he could give it a try? He obviously needs a little space from Evan and this would provide that.

After work, he'll go. If they will have him.

[ravennaortiz]

Hello my lovey!!! I’ve come on my knees asking if you could please write for our beautiful Juice with the prompts from Fluff #44 and one from Angst #11? I’d love one from them all but I’ll start with those 😊 Thank you!!

Confiding

Summary: After picking up Juice from the police station. You demand to know what is happening with him. A fix it fic! As always 18+

Neither of you spoke as Juice slid into the passenger seat of your car. This was the fourth time this week you had been called to the police station to pick him up. Each time he looked more and more beaten down. You glanced at him as you put the car into drive but he quickly turned to look out the window. You frowned because as quick as he had been you had still seen the shine of unshed tears. You tapped your fingers nervously on the steering wheel as you waited to turn out of the parking lot. Words stuck in your throat. Desperately wanting to beg him to tell you what was happening.

Between the random phones calls and messages, the caginess about his phone. Disappearing for hours sometimes days. Coming back bruised and beaten with no explanation. On top of the issues with the club with missing drugs and dead members. Things were starting to feel too intense even for you. Which is why you had been making plans to get you both out of Charming. You at first had been pleased with Juices distracted mind. It had allowed you to do what you needed to guarantee both of yours safety.

But now. Now you needed to know what was happening. You couldn’t risk Juice being locked up before you both could leave. Which is why without any warning you whipped your car across oncoming traffic. Horns blared, wheels screeched and Juice was screaming as you skirted off onto a side road only you and the local cops knew about. It used to be your brothers favorite sot to run radar at before he was gunned down at a SAMCRO funeral a few months ago.

“What the fuck babe?” demanded Juice as he stared at you wide eyed. Arms paltered to the door to keep from hitting his head, chest rising rapidly as he tried to calm down.

“You tell me” you demanded annoyance in your voice as you slammed the car into park.

“I can’t “started Juice as he shook his head before you cut him off

“You can and you will. Now Juice” you shouted making him flinch as you slammed your fist down onto the center console. You felt bad but pushed on. “I have been the picture of good Old Lady. I’ve let this shit go for a bit. Trusting you. Now I need you to show me that you trust me and tell me what the fuck is happening. Tell me if I’m going to lose you. I deserve that much”

Juice turned to the window his own fists balled up as he tried to fight back the emotions that were ready to burst from him. He leaned forward as his chest tightened. “I ….I… baby please” he sobbed out as he reached for you.

“I’m here. I’m always here, never going anywhere” you soothed as you undid your seatbelt and moved to hold him. Squeezing his hand as he cried. “Please just tell me Juice” you begged as your own tears fell onto him.

Once he had calmed down he told you everything. From Roosevelt pushing up on him and threatening to tell the club about his dad. Then to stealing the coke and shooting miles and a slew of other things. “I didn’t want to tell you because I was scared of you getting hurt. Clay wouldn’t hesitate to have you killed and neither would Roosevelt. Are you ashamed of me? For being a coward and traitor?” he asked softly as his brown eyes met yours.

You shook your head as you smiled softly and rubbed his head before leaning down to kiss him. “No. No baby I’m not ashamed of you and you are neither of those things. I meant it when I said for better or worse Juice. We will get through this. You trust me right?” you replied as you continued to rub his shoulders and back.

A Few Days Later

Clay, Jax, Chibs,and Tig stood behind the yellow caution tape. Trails of smoke still curling into the air as cops and firefighters shifted through the debris of what was once a house.

“Sorry Clay. No survivors.  Don’t think they even knew what happened, looks like they were asleep on the couch when the explosion happened.” Stated Unser as he and Roosevelt walked over to the group.

“Accident or no?” inquired Clay as he rubbed his face.

“Unclear at this time. But seems to be a freak accident” replied Unser as Chibs phone went off.

-Safe. Thanks-

Chibs deleted the message before coming back to the group

“Thanks Angel” you called as you and Juice stood on the porch of your new house as one of your new employers drove off waving good bye.

“We are going to need to have a discussion about the company you keep” chuckled Juice as he shook his head. Never had he thought he would be getting smuggled into Mexico nor that his wife would end up having ties to the Mayans and Cartel.

[milkymolle]

i'm at the point where i'm writing transformers fanfiction. it's dratchet and it's very self indulgent sci fi headcanons. so if you're interested here's the link, and the whole fic is under the read more!

Some patients like to watch Ratchet's hands while he works, curious how he'll fix them up. Sometimes they just glance about the room, quiet or making idle conversation. Ratchet's gotten used to that stuff; he can chat while he works, or not, either way he's wholly focused on the task. But apparently there is something that can distract him--if his patient is silently boring a hole in his head with their staring.

"Can I help you?" Ratchet grumbles. He's already pretty pissed at Drift's general lack of self preservation, manifesting very obviously in the many repair jobs he's neglected on himself. He saw Drift's limp and demanded he sit down to look at it. Having Drift try to melt Ratchet's face with his bright yellow eyes doesn't improve his mood.

"Sorry," Drift replies. Ratchet can see a smile twitch onto his face from his periphery. "I'm looking at your aura."

Ratchet pulls back to make an aggrieved noise. "Great." He leans back over to finish soldering the wires in Drift's knee, in order to keep his own mouth shut.

"I'm serious!" says Drift, though he has laughter in his voice. "You have a really lovely aura. I think it comes across to your patients, even if they don't realize it."

"Uh-huh," Ratchet says, to keep himself from saying something mean. He came all this way, so he ought to at least try to be nice to Drift. "What's it look like?"

Drift's quiet for a moment, still scrutinizing with those damn eyes, like he has to really consider it. "Well, there are layers to auras, but I don't wanna make your head explode. Basically, you always have earthy tones surrounding you, but when you work on someone, pinks and blues come out. Energon and spark colors." Ratchet glances up to see the smile on Drift's face. "You're a healer to your very core."

Drift often says disarming things like this to rile Ratchet up, and what's worse is that he usually truly means what he says. So the statement that Ratchet is a natural doctor is not affecting really, it's something he's heard many times before, but when Drift says it in his way and he smiles so genuinely, it does get to Ratchet. Annoyingly.

Trying to save face, he replies, "Yeah, 'cause Primus made me that way."

"That's what I've been saying!"

Ratchet scoffs and Drift snickers.

They get into trouble again soon, and as much as Ratchet would like to blame Drift as a magnet for these things, he's at least self-aware enough to know he's no better. He only wishes less Decepticons had decided to continue evil-doing in damn near every corner of the galaxy.

The rig they are currently trying to flee is stupidly labyrinthine, and the blaring alarms don't help Ratchet's focus. He shoots out another security camera and shouts, "Are you sure we aren't going in circles?"

"Let me think," Drift shouts back. He's just standing there--granted, with his swords drawn--scrutinizing further down the hallway. Ratchet can't see anything identifying where they are, where they're going. It's all dark gunmetal walls and floors and ceilings.

Ratchet darts his eyes around, checking their six. A door to the left slides open, and as soon as the con's head pokes through Ratchet blasts a hole through it. (Once again, he feels a sick gratitude towards Pharma's hands.)

They'll be more soon. "Drift--"

"This way." He's running off, and Ratchet has to scramble after him. They take a series of purposeful turns, like Drift's been possessed and Ratchet has no better ideas than to follow him. Drift punches open a heavy door, revealing a room with two cons. Drift doesn't hesitate lopping the head off one, so Ratchet guns down the other. Only after they're dead does Ratchet realize they are somehow in the escape pod housing.

"How did you know where this was?" Ratchet asks as Drift wrenches one open.

"You wouldn't believe me," he gruffs, and grabs Ratchet's collar to chuck him inside. He only stumbles a little.

"Were you seriously just guessing?" Ratchet shouts as he finds the controls and frantically works them out.

"I sensed it." The ignition kicks, and they're shooting out from the Decepticon ship. Ratchet opens his mouth and Drift continues, "We'll argue about it later, if we don't get shot out of the sky."

Some part of Ratchet is still loath to agree with Drift, especially right now when he feels morally obligated to argue against the ability to "sense" some escape pods, but he really doesn't want to get blown up so he grits his teeth and gets them the hell away from that stupid rig.

Drift's pretty quiet back on their ship. Apparently the promise to continue the argument was empty. Ratchet's not sure if it's a PTSD thing he's going through, being back on a Decepticon ship, or maybe the fact that news of their last location will get to the DJD sooner rather than later. He doesn't have the nerve to ask, just to watch Drift sitting against the wall with his greatsword laid out in his lap.

Ratchet does sit next to him, though. "Y'know," he says, "I was thinking about it back on the con's ship, and I realized I don't think I ever thanked you for it. For Pharma's hands."

Drift looks at him somewhat bewildered, like he'd never considered it himself. "You don't need to thank me for that. But you're welcome."

They sit quietly for a bit. Ratchet maps out all the rivets on the wall across from them. Then Drift says, "They're not his hands anymore, you know. They're yours."

Ratchet smiles a bit grimly. "Yeah. Though honestly, it doesn't feel great. Carrying around a dead person's hands. An old friend's, even." He holds his hand out to look at it, the miniscule differences in Pharma's fingers and wrist from Ratchet's old ones, the ones he had for millions of years. "It doesn't feel great using them, knowing what they did before."

Drift catches Ratchet's hand from the air. He holds it firm while being careful, like it was a precious thing. Ratchet blinks at him.

Drift stares back with intent. "They're yours," he insists. "Because I gave them to you."

Ratchet's not quite sure what he means--though maybe some part of him does, some implicit understanding, but he can't think about that right now. He sees how serious Drift is, so he concedes, "Alright."

After he's sure, Drift lets go.

They spend a lot of time getting far away from that quadrant of space. They also don't head back to the Lost Light, to avoid bringing trouble with them. This little shuttle is so much quieter, just the hum of a space vessel and occasionally a strange creaking. He leaves Drift alone for a bit, or perhaps he wants to be alone himself. He reads, like he usually does when he's not working, and he finds some texts about Spectralism and energy reading that make him pretty angry but he tries to read it anyway. It makes some attempt to connect with reality, citing properties of light and electromagnetism that aren't incorrect, though it always circles back to the soul and to God. It makes it difficult for Ratchet to not mentally construct an argument against religious doctrine that was written many years ago.

There's a knock at the door and Ratchet hides the article away like he's been caught. "Yeah?"

The door slides open, and Drift peers up at Ratchet like he wished he could stay hidden behind it. "Hey. You busy?"

Ratchet laughs a bit; he's currently lounging on his berth. "Nope."

"You bored?"

"I think it's pretty hard not to be."

Drift walks in like that was permission. "If we're going to be stuck in a crappy little shuttle for the next 78 hours, we should probably find something to do."

Ratchet feels very self-conscious on his berth suddenly, and he wishes this conversation wasn't happening in his little room. He meant it when he said to himself he didn't have time to think about this. He lurches to sit at the side of the berth, trying for some scrap of respectability. "Like what?"

Drift stands in front of him with his impeccable posture, looking strong for someone covered in dents and scratches. "Could I teach you some hand?"

For some reason this surprises Ratchet, though it is a pretty good idea. Drift rushes on before Ratchet can reply: "There are situations where it could be useful. It's the only way of communicating possible without being able to hear, speak, or see. I mean, I don't know exactly what would happen to leave us like that, but--it just seems like a good backup."

"Yeah, it does." Ratchet gives a little smile, and Drift smiles back, relieved and beaming. Then he hops up onto the berth, sitting cross-legged next from Ratchet. He holds his hands up expectantly.

"Right now?"

"Were you not just saying how impossibly bored you are?"

Ratchet huffs and moves to mirror Drift, sitting across from him and raising his hands. His hands, the ones Drift gave him. Drift takes them by just barely lacing their fingertips together; Drift's hands are slightly bigger, scuffed, but they feel clever in Ratchet's own. His touch is not firm like it was before, it's something shy but eager. Ratchet briefly squeezes them.

Drift's still smiling. The lesson he gives then is precise and confident, like he'd planned it all out beforehand. Ratchet privately enjoys the thought.

There's a lively port they deem far enough away that they decide to dock at. It's good-sized moon with an atmosphere that supports organic life, and Drift assures Ratchet that the DJD avoid organic space as much as possible. (Apparently, the pleasure they take in murdering non-mechanical life is outweighed by their pure disgust.)

They stock up the shuttle and take a moment to sit on a bench to rest, and to enjoy the life around them. It reminds him of the Lost Light in a way, feeling like a very small piece in a large, loud world. It's something of a comfort.

Drift is rather impassive when Ratchet takes peeks at him. He briefly, mortifyingly, wishes he could sees people's emotions the way Drift claims to. It's such an absurd and sudden thought that he can't help but linger on it.

"Hey." Ratchet points out someone in the crowd. "Can you see their aura?"

Drift gives him an absolutely disbelieving look. "What, is this a joke?"

"No, seriously, I wanna know."

Drift still scowls at him, but he does turn to look at the person Ratchet pointed out. Then he gets that focused look. "Hm. They're getting old. They give off deep colors, like someone who carries a lot with them."

"What kinds of colors?"

Drift tilts his head. "Deep, purply colors. It's harder to define than just the color wheel."

Ratchet stares at the person, a wide mechanical that puffs out steam from their vents every half minute or so. He can't see anything other than the off-white of the smoke.

An organic person walks up on two pairs of legs to speak with the mech. Ratchet jerks his head. "What about them?"

"It's harder for me to read organics, I'm not as used to it." He studies them. "Hmm, they're warmer, sort of green? They remind me a bit of you."

Ratchet huffs. "I thought I was pink and blue or whatever."

"You are, sometimes. Auras change constantly. But something about them...it reminds me of you when--we first met."

Ratchet watches the organic quietly. Drift thinks about that time a lot; he's admitted as much. Most of them probably think of the days before the war, for many different reasons. Ratchet spent a lot of his life thinking of it, thinking of what could be different, of what he should've done. Like there's some way he could've saved more lives. Eventually he'd learned that it was a useless endeavor, trying to calculate the right decisions for things that were long dead. He tries to let go of his regrets now.

He thinks of the day he met Drift a lot, too. There was a time where he'd thought of what would happen if Drift had died; how many Autobots would still be alive? He'd operated on soldiers that had been shot by Deadlock, or he tried to. But like he'd realized, it's a useless type of math. He doesn't regret saving anyone's life, not a single person.

He's been staring at that couple for a long time, and when they finally notice him he glances down to his feet. "Guess I was greener back then," he says.

Somehow he can feel Drift rolling his eyes. "Uh huh. So are you asking this to make fun of me or what?"

"No, I'm just curious. I'd like to know how it works for you."

Ratchet turns to see Drift making yet another face at him. "Did something happen back on the Lost Light that made you less of an ass?"

Ratchet flicks at his finial.

The only windows on the shuttle are in the cockpit, and occasionally Ratchet would sit in there just to observe the space outside. He'd honestly seen enough of space at this point in his life, mostly flat black dotted with pinpricks. Though sometimes they pass a nebula, or sail over the ring of some planet, and those are things Ratchet can still appreciate.

Drift spends a lot of time in the cockpit. He seems to just stare out at unmoving stars with intent focus; it may be his way of meditating, though his eyes are searching. A lot of Cybertronians are drawn to the stars, and it doesn't surprise Ratchet that Drift is one of them.

"Are you one of those people that think stars are alive?" Ratchet asks him, startling Drift from his reverie.

"Aren't they?" he asks.

Ratchet sighs. "Well, a lot of people argue that they meet the qualifications of being 'alive.' There's a lot of things you could argue are alive, if you broaden the definition enough--they're similar enough to sparks. I guess I meant if you think of them as...people."

"Ah." Drift turns back to the window. The cockpit is dim except for a green light emitted by the HUD. "They're alive, but I'm not sure they're 'people.' They don't have the aura of something sentient. I know some people think they're the souls of the departed, sparks reformed far off. I think there's merit to thinking that our sparks are reformed somehow--when they fade, it's just the energy scattering, and it could go any number of places, become anything really. But...the soul isn't something material, something you can see. It's held in our spark, and when the spark dissapates, it's freed."

Ratchet's quiet, and Drift glances at him with something like discomfort on his face. Before he can continue, probably to defend himself, Ratchet says, "No, I think it's...interesting. How you think of things. There's a logic to it, if you believe in things like souls. It's just...how do you believe in something that you can't see, or can't be proven?"

Drift gives a small smile at that. "It can't be proven in the scientific sense, but it can definitely be experienced. I have." He pats at the greatsword laid in his lap. "I feel Wing with me, always. It's like another sense, and you can't really understand it until you identify even having that sense. Like...you won't know what 'tasting' is until you put something in your mouth."

Such a strange way of putting it. There's a knee-jerk reaction Ratchet has to things like that, things so esoteric they border on nonsensical, but when he thinks on it he can sort of understand what Drift's trying to say. But he can't help but ask, "Is that how you 'sensed' those stupid escape pods?"

"That was Primus' guidance."

"Right." Ratchet sits in the copilot seat and shuts up, for his own sake.

When they're not practicing chirolinguistics, and there's no more frivolous repairs for Ratchet to work on, he demands regular check-ups on Drift. He reasons that he needs to keep up his practice and that Drift is far overdue for extensive repairs. They both really need an overhaul, if they can scrape the money together. For now, he resorts to rote examinations to make himself feel useful.

He examines the jagged scar on Drift's spark chamber. Of all the Decepticons' stupid beliefs, forging their badges from their own metal, ripped from the most vital organ of their bodies, is one of the more irritating. There's any number of conditions that can arise from the practice, if not an almost instant death that can come from a botched surgery.

"I can practically smell you judging me," Drift says from above. He sounds hauty for someone with his chest wide open.

Ratchet huffs and pulls back a little from his scrutinizing--all the scans came back fine, anyway. "You know, I'm just annoyed because--"

"--you worry. I know." Drift smiles at him. Ratchet still doesn't like having his sentences finished, but he lets it go with just a scowl.

"What did you even do with your badge? I know some defectors have it smelted down and reattached."

"It's long gone--I didn't want it anymore." Ratchet pushes his chair away from the examination table, and Drift shifts his chest plates back. "For a while I regretted it, but I think it's good that the scar is there. It's not something I want to burnish over and forget."

Ratchet remounts the scanner into its port, and his gaze feels distant. "Yeah, I get that." He swivels back around with his penlight out, reaching for Drift's face. He places his chin in the hand, and Ratchet maneuvers it to get a good look at Drift's eye.

The last time he'd looked at them like this, they'd been leaking rust. They're clear now, healthy, though they certainly have some wear. The light sensor at the back of the eye seems standard, a CMOS with a few dozen gold wires. Ratchet counts six lenses instead of five, which isn't unusual and makes sense for someone who was a sharpshooter. Ratchet frowns as he moves to the other eye.

"I didn't ask you what you think of the stars," Drift says suddenly.

Ratchet thought they'd moved past that. "They're giant balls of gas formed by gravity and nuclear fusion."

Ratchet decides to be satisfied with his exam, so he shuts the light off and frees Drift. Drift's smiling and says, "I figured you didn't have a very romantic view of them."

"The similarity to sparks is interesting," Ratchet says. "I agree with the theory that stars are our ancestors; Vector Sigma is likely a small neuron star that evolved to carry code. But no, I don't think of them as gods or souls or anything. They're natural phenomenon that, in incredibly rare cases like with Cybertron, learned to reproduce as small bundles of positrons and code that formed a protective shell around them that we call our bodies."

Drift puts his chin in his hand as Ratchet speaks. "You know, that seems far more miraculous than a higher being granting life to a planet."

"Something I've learned after all this time--especially on the Lost Light, is that the universe is far, far more vast and old and unknown than we like to imagine. Things that seem unbelievable can find a way given enough time and the right circumstances. I think it cheapens the grandeur of the universe just say a god made it all and stop questioning how and why things are."

Drift nods. "Religion doesn't negate the need for scientific inquiry, I think. There's nothing wrong with trying to understand and finding answers for yourself--we know what it's like to have those in charge tell us what to believe without explanation. But don't you think all this is the way it is, that anything exists at all because the universe itself has a will--many wills, even--that make the shape of everything?"

"That's stupid."

Drift laughs. "That's more like it."

They take time getting back to the Lost Light. More than necessary, but things always seem to get out of hand. They need to get the shuttle repaired and they need to find a place that supplies energon, and then there's a stop Drift wants to make nearby, and somehow they'll end up being chased out of that town and onto the next. They are currently stowing away in cargo that's being shipped back to the station they left the shuttle at to be fixed. It's cramped and humid and dark, huddled together behind large metal drums that rattle as the ship fires its thrusters. It's not so bad though. It gives Ratchet time to think, to piece things together in his head like he's had so little time (or will) to do.

Drift's hand finds his. Ratchet turns it over appeasingly without thinking. Then Drift does something with his fingers, and Ratchet realizes it's chirolinguistics. Drift does it again so Ratchet can catch it:

Are you okay?

Ratchet has to make the translation in his mind. Fine.

You seem happy.

Drift has that pleased little smile on his face. It used to grind Ratchet's gears, but now it feels like a good-natured tease that he needs to return. Somehow, talking in hand has a layer of removal that makes talking about things like this a little easier.

Yeah. Weird, he signs back. Drift grins.

Drift's refueling when Ratchet puts down a stack of pads on the table before him. "Hey," he says, and he doesn't bother sitting or letting Drift reply before he continues: "I've been reading and thinking and it's possible you have very mild outlier abilities. Being able to see an energy field--if that's what 'auras' are--says to me that you're processing light in a more advanced way than average Cybertronians. It's possible you have general enhanced senses, like how you're able to do so much crazy shit with your swords, but by just looking at your frame there's nothing suggesting any unique hardware helping you run like this. So I can only guess that there's something in your CNA that developed a unique code for how you process stimuli. There's really no way to know without looking directly at the code in your brain, but that's leaning way too far into mnemosurgery than is comfortable, in my opinion. I think the theory is sound, though. I'll ask First Aid to read what I've written when we get back.

Drift's staring at him. Ratchet suddenlt desperately wishes he hadn't run out of things to say. Somehow he thought if he just talked enough he could bowl over the awkwardness of the conversation. He debates opening a datapad and showing the research he'd gone over when Drift speaks: "You believe me?"

"Hm?"

"You think I--that I can really see auras?"

Ratchet huffs. "Well, obviously you're seeing something. I don't think it's emissions from your soul or whatever, so I'm trying to figure out what. If...you wanna read what I wrote, maybe it'd help..."

Everything becomes increasingly embarrassing as it stays quiet. Ratchet feels very, very exposed, standing before Drift and being honest, being thoughtful. He then realizes that he's not quite sure what he hoped to accomplish with this; Drift is more than satisfied thinking that he can read people's auras and doesn't need a scientific explanation for his beliefs. This was an entirely self-serving affair that he has dropped before Drift and expected a response.

As Ratchet is thinking through an escape strategy, Drift stands up and takes Ratchet's head in his hands and leans forward to kiss him right on the mouth. It effectively stops every process in Ratchet's brain, so he's just standing there with his hands half raised and his eyes open. He can see the pretty color of the metal on Drift's face, a mild color that looks like a rich grey but has the warmth of lavender in it.

Drift pulls back pretty quickly--the whole kiss lasted maybe a second. Drift's still staring at him with his eyes brighter than Ratchet ever remembers seeing them. Implausibly, he sounds out of breath as he says, "Thanks."

Ratchet doesn't say anything so Drift drops his eyes and his hands to scoop up the pads Ratchet had brought. "I will read these. If that's alright."

Ratchet replies, "Yeah. Great."

Drift walks right out the door. Ratchet watches as it closes and he stands there and wonders if he'd secretly hoped something like this would happen, if his own mind betrayed him into being vulnerable so Drift could take him and do whatever he wanted with him. It's very, incredibly possible, so Ratchet stops thinking on it and makes his own hasty retreat from an empty room.