🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo & Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. “There’s a tether of fate between us, one that she can physically see in the waking world,” Wonwoo explains to Mingyu. “She knows we care about her, and she can correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like our little recruit wants two of her captains to fuck her brains out in a dream realm free of consequences.”
tw/cw. Unprotected dream realm sex, sub/dom themes, power imbalance/power play, semi-tyrant all-powerful dom!Wonwoo, threesome, foreplay, pussy eating, oral, deep throating, slight pain kink, nipple clamps, fingering, squirting, breast/body worship, multiple reader orgasms, hand job, cum/squirt kink, voyeurism, dirty talk, cumming on demand, praise, finger sucking, fingers and cock in pussy at the same time, stretching kink, etc… I pet names: (hers) baby. (Wonwoo’s) Captain. (Mingyu’s) Sir.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 10.1k
🍭 aus. Fantasy au, knight au, magic user au, polyamory au, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. “Quiet vice-captain Wonwoo, a sexual tyrant in his own dream world” I feel like most of the Mingyu/Wonwoo threesomes I write have Wonwoo being not the most vocal of participants, so I had a lot of fun with this one.
Prologue:
You can feel your heart practically beating out of your chest during your trials to get accepted onto a magic knight squad. With so many amazing teams to join, you hardly know what to expect. Will you be joining SKZ? Or perhaps ITZY? Or maybe even NCT?
No, NCT hasn’t recruited in years, but ITZY is a contender… if they choose you, that is.
You have no hopes of getting recruited by SVT. They’re the powerhouse squad. In fact, they’re so adept at magic that when their last Captain had stepped down, the young vice captains had created a whole new structure for the squad, with three teams focused on defence, offence, and dual-wield uses for power.
Seungcheol, the head Captain of SVT, stands regal on a platform looking down at the recruit arena. With him are Hoshi, the offensive captain, who wields an ability called animal instinct; he can communicate and even become animals at will, and Woozi, the regal defence team leader, who is as adept with plant healing magic as any of the top mages who provide the Capital with hospital assistance.
Behind the three head members of SVT are a few of the extra vice captains. You recognise Wonwoo and Mingyu, of the dual team, arguably the most dangerous of the three subgroups, as their magic can act as both defence and offence.
There are rumours about these men, about the power they wield. Wonwoo with his dream magic, the ability to trap enemies in a dreamscape that they can never leave, and Mingyu, with blood magic that can shake a man to his very core, incapacitating with one hand and healing with the other.
No, there’s no way you’ll make it onto SVT with your thread magic… and yet, their eyes are on you.
The power that radiates from their gazes alone makes you falter, but you adjust, intent on proving yourself.
You won’t mess this up, you can’t afford to.
You’re eighteen, and this is your first recruitment trial. Many of the people around you are fifteen-year-olds, having come to this event at the first opportunity, but not you. You haven’t lived a life with a silver spoon. Your family comes from the outskirts of the kingdom, where farming is a way of life and no one ever gets to join the royal guard. You have been working hard for three years to convince your parents to allow you to come to this, and you won’t waste the opportunity.
You suppose your thread magic has both offensive and defensive uses, but you’re more comfortable with your protection magic, so that’s what you showcase.
Fine black threads appear in the air, and they can be woven thick enough to create a barrier that blocks most magic. It’s not easy work to summon and weave at the same time, but you’re proud of yourself for what you’re able to accomplish, and when the trials are done, you wait patiently for a result, fingers crossed.
“We will take the girl with thread magic,” Seungcheol’s voice booms over the crowd. “She is our third pick today.”
None of the other Captains even bother to argue, because everyone knows that the right to join SVT is not easily won, and even harder to refuse.
You can’t believe your luck, but as you stare at these domineering magic users, you wonder if this is a good thing or not. ITZY is an all-female squad, and part of you had been hoping to join them… but you suppose that string of fate has spoken, and you must now walk the path in front of you.
SVT seems to be your destiny, and as a wielder of thread magic, which touches on fate itself, you’ll be damned if you resist.
One:
Wonwoo never sleeps, and at times, that can be tiring. As a dream magic user, when he closes his eyes, he’s transported into his own world, where he’s the king and in control of everything. He’s as awake in the dream world as in the real one, and there’s only so much he can do while ‘asleep’ to entertain himself.
So, Wonwoo often slips into the dreams of those around him. He knows it’s invasive, but he can’t help himself. The unconsciousness of others is something he can bear witness to, without the need to control or dictate.
Often, Wonwoo finds himself in Mingyu’s dreams; they seem to be the most entertaining.
Seungcheol dreams of battle and blood, Woozi dreams of science and plants, and Hoshi… well, his dreams are almost exclusively of himself in tiger form running through forests and giving in to his animal instincts.
Mingyu, on the other hand, is more creative in his subconscious. He enacts bizarre scenarios that always keep Wonwoo guessing. One time, he dreamt of fishing in a small boat on the coast. Then a tsunami hit, the waves a coppery orange colour. The ocean erupted with pretty mermaids who took Mingyu to shore, only for the mermaids to transform fully into disgusting, blubbering fish when they touched dry land. Mingyu had woken from that dream as if it were a nightmare, and Wonwoo had laughed about it discreetly to himself for weeks afterward.
Wonwoo generally makes it a rule only to enter the dreams of other vice captains. But even that is starting to get boring.
Wonwoo is just so bored.
He sighs as he walks down the dark corridors of the SVT headquarters. Everyone else is asleep, and he can sense the inkling of dreams as he walks past bedroom doors.
Soft echoes of screams and the sound of attack magic permeate from Seungcheol’s room, and Wonwoo lets out another deep breath. How can someone have such a one-track mind that their entire life is dedicated to battle?
Outside of Mingyu’s door, Wonwoo takes a peek into his best friend’s subconscious and finds Mingyu trekking up a mountain made of gold and diamonds, battling wind as the sky flares orange and purple behind him.
Climbing a mountain isn’t exactly enthralling today.
Wonwoo continues, seeing glimmers of dreamscapes as he passes each room, but then something catches his attention.
The colours are what stand out to him first. Moody purples, royal blues, flickers of crystalline light. Wonwoo licks his lips, temptation flaring over him as he stands outside your door. He knows it’s your room, and this isn’t the first time he’s been tempted to take a peek inside your mind.
You’re hard not to notice. It’s been a year since SVT recruited you, and in that time, you’ve been a star pupil. You follow commands with a determination Wonwoo has never seen, and you push yourself to be better every day. You’ve never caused any problems on expeditions or quests, and Wonwoo has always gotten a sense that, behind your quiet, rule-following demeanor, there’s more than what meets the eye.
His fingers twitch, and he aches to take a peek into your dream.
Then Wonwoo hears his own voice, a barked command, followed by a ‘Yes, Sir!’ that is unmistakably you.
So… you’re dreaming about him?
Well… It’s as if he’s being invited into your head.
It would be so easy for him to just… slip into the version of himself that you’re seeing in your unconscious mind’s eye.
So that’s exactly what he does. Wonwoo leans against the wall outside your door, and a moment later, he transports himself into your subconscious.
Two:
The first thing Wonwoo notices is that the location of your dreamscape appears to be inside a cave. But the walls are covered in glittering gems. He can see amethysts and lapiz lazuli, and the precious stones glow as if a light resides within their cores. The whole cavern is illuminated with these glittering, vivid colours.
It seems to be some kind of dungeon, the type that the squad has cleared before, except it’s the most beautiful dungeon he’s ever seen. Wonwoo’s power is all about creativity, but he’s not sure even he could have ever dreamt up a scene like this.
On a raised platform sits a massive treasure chest, and it seems to be made out of a sparkling crystal material that glitters even brighter than the gemstone walls.
“Sir!” Your voice captures his attention, and Wonwoo whips around to find you standing there. Your hands are raised, delicate black strings weaving through the air toward the ceiling of the cavern, which is when Wonwoo notices the bat-like creatures flying there.
With eyes like rubies that glint viciously, the circling enemies are thwarted by your magic, but Wonwoo can see you are struggling.
“Your dream magic!” you insist.
Wonwoo lifts a hand, ready to use his power to completely pacify the enemy- but then, he would be in control of this dream. He would take ownership as the creator, stripping your unconscious of the work it’s doing.
Another rule Wonwoo doesn’t like to break: tampering with the power one holds over their own subconscious.
“I can’t,” Wonwoo tells you, lowering his hand.
“You must!” you insist, your gaze shifting down, and that’s when Wonwoo notices Mingyu is lying at your feet, his throat bloodied as if from an animal bite. “I can’t hold them off on my own! And I can’t help Mingyu while fighting off this attack!”
So you dream of both him and Mingyu… that’s interesting.
Not another royal guard is in sight.
Wonwoo sighs; he can sense your panic and can see that this dream is swiftly becoming a nightmare with his inability to perform.
Rules are arbitrary anyway.
Wonwoo flourishes his wrist, and a moment later, every single bat creature comes crashing to the floor of the cave, incapacitated and seemingly asleep.
You sink to your knees, your hands finding Mingyu’s throat, where you weave your thread magic to stitch up the wound.
Wonwoo stands there awkwardly watching the way you cradle Mingyu against yourself. He suddenly feels as if he shouldn’t be here, as if he’s witnessing an extremely intimate moment. It’s rare to find himself in sexual or even sexually adjacent dreams, and Wonwoo can feel the tension radiating off of you even from underneath the cloud of concern.
But… the real Mingyu, the one dreaming about climbing mountains… he’s not in a relationship with you.
Wonwoo would know if his best friend were keeping secrets.
So this is an unrequited love, the kind of love you can only experience in your dreams like this.
“Mingyu, wake up,” you urge, staring down at the bloodied man.
With a twitch of his fingers, Wonwoo wills dream Mingyu to wake, and the man’s eyes flutter open.
Wonwoo turns, not wanting to see what happens next, and his gaze lands on the glowing treasure chest. He begins to walk toward it, tuning out the words exchanged between you and Dream Mingyu.
“Sir, wait!” you call. “There might be traps!”
As the words leave your mouth, Wonwoo steps on a stone, and a fire arrow shoots through the air toward him. Wonwoo lifts a hand, stopping the magic before it hits him.
He hears a gasp, and he turns around to see you holding Mingyu up, your gaze locked on him.
“You… you stopped the arrow,” you whisper.
At first, Wonwoo’s not sure what you mean, and then he realizes, in your dreams, he has the same powers he has in real life. He can put things to sleep, but he shouldn’t have been able to stop that arrow… except that you’re currently in a dream, so he can control anything he wants.
Surely there’s no way your slumbering mind can comprehend this, right?
Before Wonwoo can consider it further, the whole world goes black, and Wonwoo’s eyes snap open in the real world.
You’ve woken up in a panic, and he can hear your bedsheets shifting.
Without a second thought, Wonwoo quickly retreats down the corridor.
Three:
You’ve been a vivid dreamer for your whole life, but nothing has been more vivid than the final minutes of the dream you had last night. You can’t get it out of your head; the image of Wonwoo stopping an arrow with the wave of his hand.
With an analytical mind, you can always count on your dreams following logic. Sure, the locations might be fantastical, and the situations are sometimes not the most likely, but without fail, when you dream of your squad mates, they always have the same powers and personalities they do in real life.
So, how was Wonwoo, a user of sleep magic, able to stop an arrow in your dream like a man with telekinetic powers?
There seems to be only one true answer; the real Wonwoo was in your head last night.
You don’t want to believe it.
Has this happened before, or was this the first time?
How often does he go into the dreams of others?
Do other people allow him into their dreams?
What has he seen in your mind’s sleeping eye?
What secrets has he borne witness to?
What desires has he observed in your most private moments of slumber?
You sit at breakfast hunched over your meal, unable to look up to meet the gaze of anyone around you. But you can feel eyes on you, dark eyes, the eyes of the man who intruded in your subconscious last night.
There’s a connection between you now, a thread of fate that wasn’t there before.
In your time training, you’ve come to the understanding that you may weave threads and make them visible, but you can also see the invisible strings of fate that tie everyone together.
There’s been a tie between you and Mingyu for some months now, a thread that grows thicker week by week, building with every interaction, but you’ve hardly spoken to the silent vice-captain who wields dream magic.
There’s never been a thread with Wonwoo, and today, all of a sudden, there’s a string connecting you to Wonwoo that is as thick as the one between you and Mingyu.
You suppose the only question is, where do things go from here?
Four:
It’s been a week since Wonwoo has visited your dream, and every night, you go to bed with a tingle of anticipation, wondering if you’ll see him again.
In your waking hours, Wonwoo continues to play the part of regal, silent vice-captain. He doesn’t approach you, doesn’t say a word, but something tells you that when he does decide to visit your unconscious again, there might be movement in this whole debacle.
Tonight, you’re dreaming about Hoshi for some reason, except he’s in tiger form. You know it’s Hoshi because even as a tiger, he’s on his hind legs dancing, and it’s quite the spectacle.
Time is fuzzy when you’re asleep, and the vividity of your dreams comes and goes.
Something is making this scene very clear, and it only takes a few moments for you to realize what.
Standing across the field is a familiar man: Wonwoo.
He’s watching you, like he does every day in the mess hall and during training.
You force a wave and begin to approach him.
Wonwoo turns to leave.
“Wait! Please!” you call, your pace quickening. “I need to talk to you!”
Wonwoo pauses, and you see him release a sigh. “I just wanted to say I was sorry for invading your dream,” he tells you when you reach him.
“It’s okay,” you assure him. “I uh… is this something you do often?”
“Not with anyone but other captains,” he assures you.
“Why?”
“Because it’s intrusive.”
You consider his words. “So why did you come into my dream?”
Wonwoo stares at you. “The other captains get boring.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I don’t… I don’t get to sleep like you do. I’m awake every moment of my life. I can go into my own dream world and create what I want to see, but there are limits to my own imagination. It gets so very boring.” He pauses. “I saw the colours of your dream, and they drew me in. You have a sleeping world that’s different from any I’ve ever been in.”
His gaze shifts past you to tiger Hoshi, who is still dancing. “Don’t mind him,” you say, suddenly embarrassed.
Wonwoo laughs, and it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him smile.
God, he’s beautiful.
The string appears between your bodies, and Wonwoo’s laugh is cut short. He looks down at it.
“What’s this?”
“Oh, uh…” It feels like your throat is closing up. “I think it’s a string of fate.”
“You think?”
“It’s a new part of my power I unlocked a few months ago,” you try to explain.
“Do you see these when you’re awake?” Wonwoo reaches down and touches the string, marveling at the way it connects the two of you, heart to heart.
“Yes,” you admit.
“What does it mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure yet,” you confess. “I’ve read about soul ties, that sort of thing, but these appear gradually, and they build over time.”
“Hmm.” Wonwoo lets go of the string. “And are you tied to anyone else?”
Mingyu appears beside you, conjured by the suggestion Wonwoo has just sent to your subconscious. A matching thread connects you to the wielder of blood magic.
“I see.” Wonwoo nods. “Well, this is interesting.”
“It’s embarrassing,” you sigh, wrapping your arms around yourself.
“Why?”
“I have a fate thread tying me to two of my Captains; it’s not exactly ideal.”
The edges of Wonwoo’s lips quirk slightly, as if he finds the whole thing so very amusing.
“There are no rules prohibiting captains from… being with their subordinates,” Wonwoo points out. “If that’s what you’re hoping for.”
“Well, how am I supposed to know if you or Mingyu are even interested?” you blurt out.
“This string goes both ways,” he muses softly, tracing the thread with his index finger.
“Well… we’re always so busy…” you insist, not wanting to believe what your captain is saying.
“You forget, I control dreams. If this is something you wanted to explore, we could all explore it while you sleep, and no one would ever have to know.”
“How would that work?” you ask, your inhibitions practically nonexistent as your unbridled unconscious takes control.
“I can put people to sleep and draw them into my dream realm. I could bring you and Mingyu into my mind, and in my dream world, you can feel every touch, as if it were happening while awake.”
“Into your dream realm…” you repeat. “Where you control everything.”
“Yes.” He nods, assessing your every facial expression with watchful eyes.
“I…” you swallow thickly, overwhelmed with this information.
Could you really… explore this soul tie with both Wonwoo and Mingyu while in a dream realm?
What would the exploration look like?
“You don’t have to answer now,” Wonwoo tells you. “I’d prefer to hear your decision while you’re awake. In here, in your own dream… well, your primal instincts often take over while your civilized mind is at rest.”
“My primal instincts,” you whisper.
“Yes.” Wonwoo steps closer, leaning forward until his lips are almost ghosting over your own. “Let’s talk about this again soon.”
The world collapses around you, and you sit up in bed, breathing heavily, the anticipation of a kiss leaving tingles on your lips.
Five:
You’re walking back to the training yard after lunch when you realize someone is tailing you, and you turn to see Wonwoo. He makes a motion with his head, indicating toward a storage closet that will take you away from the prying eyes of other members of the guard.
Your heart is racing practically out of your chest as he follows you into the small space.
“So?” he says when he closes the door.
“So?” you repeat.
“So what are you thinking?”
God, he’s standing so close to you, and now that you’re wide awake, you can even feel his breath.
The invisible thread between you is practically pulsing with your proximity, and you swallow thickly. “I want to,” you tell him.
“Want to what?” he grins.
“I want to have a dream with you and Mingyu,” you clarify. “I want to explore this. Without having to sneak around and hide in closets.”
“I kind of like it in here,” he muses, leaning closer.
Your whole body is tingling with desperation. You’re not a virgin, but you haven’t had sex since you joined the guard; you’ve been too focused on training and tasks.
God, you really need to get fucked.
Something tells you Wonwoo does as well. All this man does is work, day and night.
Having your dreams to explore sexual fantasies in would be amazing. Hell, half of your life is spent asleep. You can’t even imagine what it will be like to be able to partake in Wonwoo’s dream realm any night you want, without it impeding on your rigorous waking schedule.
You can’t help yourself; you grab his shoulders, pulling him to you.
Your lips smash against his own, and his hands tug at your hips, pressing you firmly to his chest.
Wonwoo has always been extremely handsome, but he’s kept to himself. This whole dream invasion thing has opened a door you never thought would be unlocked, and now, you want to dive in headfirst.
He’s quiet, but domineering, and obviously considerate. Intelligent men have a certain appeal, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the inherent power both Wonwoo and Mingyu have over you as vice-captains.
Your entire body is tingling as you kiss each other, getting lost in the throes of passion, squished secretly together in a closet at the SVT headquarters like teenagers kissing in a confession booth at church.
You grab the nape of his neck, deepening the kiss and allowing his tongue into your mouth. Wonwoo groans, and it’s the most delightful sound you’ve ever heard. You can feel your panties sticking to your core-
Someone coughs loudly outside of the storage closet, and you pull apart quickly, your heart racing.
“Sorry guys, but uh, that’s a broom closet, and as a vice-captain, I have to suggest you move it elsewhere.” The voice is unmistakably Mingyu’s, and the realization flashes in Wonwoo’s eyes as you stare at each other.
All it takes is a moment, and you know through the way the invisible thread jolts that you’re thinking the same thing.
Wonwoo throws the door open, grabs Mingyu, and tugs him into the closet.
“What the fu- Wonwoo?” Mingyu gasps in shock. “Y/N? Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I just sensed rushing blood in here-”
“It’s okay,” Wonwoo assures him.
“Uh…” Mingyu swallows uncomfortably, pressing himself back against the wall of the closet. “So…”
“We all need to talk, but not here,” Wonwoo explains.
“Yeah, it’s kind of stuffy in here,” Mingyu notes. “Also… I’m not going to tell Cheol I saw the two of you in a closet.”
Wonwoo sighs, shaking his head at his friend. “That’s not what we need to talk about.”
“Is it something bad? God, I explained to Hoshi last month that my blood magic can’t be used as birth control-”
“What? No!” Wonwoo narrows his eyes at Mingyu. “That’s not-”
“You guys can talk it out, but Seungcheol is expecting me in the training yard. You two can be late, but I can’t,” you interject.
“Yeah, no one’s in the hallway,” Mingyu confirms, utilizing his blood sensing power.
“We’ll catch up to you,” Wonwoo assures you, opening the closet door so you can skitter out.
Your entire body is flooded with jittery energy as you run toward the training yard, anticipation a more intense drug than most.
Six:
You’re really not sure how this is going to work, so you wait patiently in your room. From what you understand, Wonwoo can enter dreams and take control, but for him to invite you into his own dream kingdom, he needs to put you to sleep, something that is easily done using his power.
It’s late when there’s a knock at your door, and you open it to allow Wonwoo to slip inside.
“I was worried you weren’t coming,” you confess.
“Had to make sure no one saw me come in here,” he explains. “Woozi patrols these halls like a guardsman.”
“I know we have no rules about fraternization, but Woozi definitely makes it seem like we do.”
“Yeah, that’s Jeonghan’s fault. He got one of our best recruits pregnant a few years back, and it took them both out of the game. He’s back now, but she decided to be a stay-at-home mom.”
“So pregnancy is a definite no,” you laugh awkwardly.
“I’m not planning on having kids anytime soon, are you?” he cocks a brow.
“Not even in my wildest dreams.”
“Good.” Wonwoo clears his throat. “Doing things this way, in a dream state, will protect us all from that nonsense; the only problem is, if I’m letting you into my dream world, I have to come and physically see you when we want to do this.”
“And then you put me to sleep?”
“Yes, and then I leave and join you in the dream world from my own room.”
“So there’s still an element of sneaking around,” you note.
Wonwoo shrugs. “I can be pretty quiet when I want to be.”
“Trust me, I’ve noticed. I thought you hated me this entire time.”
“I don’t hate you,” he laughs. “I’m just not as open about my feelings as Mingyu is.”
“Whatever the two of you feel for me, you’ve both done a very good job hiding it.”
“Well… we can’t have vice-captains making recruits feel uncomfortable if things are unrequited,” Wonwoo muses. “Could you imagine how horrible that would be?”
“It wouldn’t be the best,” you agree. “So how do we do this?”
“Lay down,” Wonwoo instructs. “Mingyu is already waiting for you.”
“Oh?”
“I figured you two should have a moment or two to talk privately before I get back to my own room. I know you and I are on the same page, but I probably didn’t do the best job explaining this to him in that storage closet.” Wonwoo laughs at himself, following you as you head to lie down.
“So… I’ll still be myself in the dream?” you ask.
“Yes. Unlike your dreams where I’m invading your subconscious, when you come into my dream world, it’s as if you’re completely awake just in a different realm. You will be able to touch, feel, taste… pretty much anything you can do in real life.”
“Except get pregnant.”
“Yes.”
You don’t want to bring it up with him, but you know the extra caveat he’s not mentioning; if you die in his dream world, you die in real life. That’s what makes Wonwoo so extremely powerful: he can wipe entire factions of enemies off the map just by trapping them in his dream world and summoning a tsunami, or a fireball, or anything he can imagine.
But you’re not afraid; you’re sure that wherever Wonwoo places you in his dream realm will be nice. After all, you’re going there to get secretly fucked stupid by two of your vice-captains.
Seven:
You find yourself transported to a large bedroom. The floor beneath your feet is dark marble, and large crystals jut out of it, their cores casting a glow around the room. It’s cavernous, almost, with what looks like a hot spring bubbling in one corner. And then your eyes find a massive bed, and your gaze meets Mingyu’s.
“Y/N!” he stands up abruptly.
“Hi,” you say awkwardly, not quite sure how to approach him given the circumstances.
“Can you explain what’s going on?”
Your words get caught in your throat, and you fight with yourself on how to do this, but you decide being honest is probably the best idea.
“Wonwoo invaded my dreams recently, and it caused a tether of fate to form between us, a tether that I’d only ever seen between you and me.”
“A tether of fate?” he repeats.
“Yes, like… a thread,” you try to explain. “From my heart to yours.”
“Oh.” You notice the way his cheeks turn a rosy pink. “Was I that obvious about liking you?”
“Without the tether, I may not have noticed. You and Wonwoo are both quite good at keeping your secrets.”
“We have to be; it wouldn’t be fair to put pressure on you like that.”
Both of these men truly are wonderful people. Here they are, vice-captains with an interest in you, but neither is willing to put you in a precarious situation due to the innate power imbalance that resides between you.
“I feel the same way, though. I’ve been interested in you both since the trials; I just never knew what to do about it,” you blurt out, then pause. “Is this weird for you that I like you both?”
“Not really,” Mingyu admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wonwoo and I grew up together; we’ve been best friends for as long as I can remember. When he jumps, I jump. I suppose it’s not the most surprising thing that we’d be interested in the same girl. And, well, sharing you is better than one of us being left out, I guess.”
Mingyu is adorable. This is a side to him you’ve never really seen.
Both men have always been quite reserved in speaking about personal feelings. All the Captains are strictly business, so it is nice to see Mingyu - and Wonwoo - in a new light.
“So… is this like a double date sort of thing? And by double, I mean, well, both of us with you,” Mingyu laughs awkwardly.
“I mean, it can be,” you tell him, embarrassment washing over you.
It’s clear you and Wonwoo have more sinful intentions, but you have never stopped to consider if Mingyu would want to take things slow.
“You two are cute,” comes Wonwoo’s voice, and you turn to see him standing by the bed. You’re not sure when he had appeared, but you’re happy he can handle this awkwardness now.
“Why are we cute?” Mingyu asks.
“We’re in a dream world,” Wonwoo responds casually. “We don’t have to take things slow here if we don’t want to. I understand you like to be a gentleman about these things, Mingyu, but y/n doesn’t want us to be. In fact, I’m pretty sure she’d prefer it if, while we’re in this realm, we behave the opposite.”
“Wait, so you’re saying…” Mingyu looks between you and his friend.
“There’s a tether of fate between us, one that she can physically see in the waking world,” Wonwoo explains to Mingyu. “She knows we care about her, and she can correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems like our little recruit wants two of her captains to fuck her brains out in a dream realm free of consequences.”
Both of their gazes shift to you, looking for confirmation, and you manage a nod. “He’s right,” you admit. “Listen, I know this sounds crazy, but as a weaver of thread magic who is learning about the fate aspect of my power, there’s something inside of me that innately trusts the string that connects us all. I can’t explain it, but I know the universe wouldn’t steer me wrong on this.”
“And we’re all pent up from being too good at our jobs when we’re awake,” Wonwoo points out. “This seems like the perfect fit.”
“I just… are you sure you don’t want us to buy you dinner first or something?” Mingyu laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
You sneak a peek at Wonwoo, and both of you can’t hide your laughter. “You’re very cute, Mingyu.”
“I just mean…” the tall man says, clearly flustered, “I don’t want you to think we’re taking advantage of you.”
“I think she’s taking advantage of us, actually,” Wonwoo grins. “Very naughty of her.”
God, Wonwoo can be so sexy when he wants to be. Your core throbs at his words, and you’re shocked at how you can feel it so vividly. So the word about Wonwoo’s dream realm was true; you’ll be able to feel everything they do to you.
“So are you in or out, Mingyu?” Wonwoo asks. “I can always allow you to wake up, take her to dinner on your own time, and miss out on this.”
Mingyu glares at his friend. “Don’t you dare.”
“So we’re in agreement,” Wonwoo concludes. “Dream sex now, a proper dinner later.”
“You guys don’t have to take me out for a proper dinner,” you laugh.
Wonwoo’s grin widens. “Mingyu seems dead set on it.”
“I am!”
Your giggling intensifies, but it dies down when you see the way the men are staring at you. “So, Wonwoo,” you clear your throat. “What now?”
“So if we’re all consenting, then we’re all consenting,” Wonwoo clarifies, earning nods from you and Mingyu. “Now, you let me work my magic,” Wonwoo concludes. “Starting with your outfit.”
He raises a hand, and you feel the brush of air across your skin. When you look down, you find yourself in a black nightdress. It’s short, with a silky fabric that brushes your mid-thigh, and the cool air of the room caresses your bare shoulders.
You know Wonwoo controls everything here, but the fact that he’s dressing you up like his own personal doll leaves you breathless.
“She’s beautiful,” Mingyu says.
“What do you think, baby?” Wonwoo asks, directing his question at you.
“I’m not sure,” you admit.
Another twitch of his fingers and a massive mirror appears in front of you, giving you a full view of the outfit he’s chosen. You marvel at yourself in the reflection, shocked by how well Wonwoo has chosen a nightie for you. Had he spent a long time considering this?
The mirror disappears, and you stare at the two men, unable to help but smile. “It looks good,” you confirm.
“Now for us,” Wonwoo turns his attention to Mingyu, and the next moment, the vice-captain is shirtless. Mingyu jumps from the sudden change, and Wonwoo grins. “I think this is probably up our baby’s alley.”
“I feel… exposed,” Mingyu admits, clearly unused to being a puppet whose world is controlled by a sinful master like Wonwoo.
“Tell him you like this,” Wonwoo says, turning to you.
“I do like it,” you admit, taking in Mingyu’s body with hungry relish. God, he’s so ripped, but you suppose you have quite a physical job. His skin is marred in a few places with old scars, but you think it adds to Mingyu’s beauty.
“Well, what about you?” Mingyu asks his friend.
“I think I’m good like this for now,” Wonwoo responds, looking down at the black knitted sweater and pants that hide his body from your view.
The dynamic between these men is certainly interesting. You could get used to the friendly bickering, and you can’t wait to explore them more.
Wonwoo’s gaze finds you again, and with the simple crook of his finger, he uses his power to tug you to his chest. You release a gasp, your hands finding his shoulders as you look up at him.
“So, how rough do you want it?” he asks, a sly grin appearing on his lips.
“Break me,” you whisper, skin tingling at the admittance of just how far you want to go tonight. “Don’t hold anything back.”
“Is there anything you don’t like?” Mingyu questions, stepping behind you, blocking you in against Wonwoo while his lips trail just millimeters from your throat.
“I…” you swallow thickly. “I’m not sure yet.”
Wonwoo stiffens. “Are you a virgin?”
“No,” you assure him. “Just not the most experienced, and I haven’t been touched in a very long time.”
“If you don’t like anything, just say so,” Mingyu tells you, his hand stroking your arm. “I don’t think we need a safe word; just communicate with us.”
“I will,” you promise.
Wonwoo looks at the man over your shoulder, and it’s clear they exchange a wordless agreement. This is a duo of best friends; you’re sure they have an idea of what will work with each other.
They move in tandem, Wonwoo cupping your cheek and drawing your lips to his while Mingyu presses a kiss to your throat, easily narrowing in on your sweet spot.
A moan escapes you, and your whole body melts like jelly, your arms wrapping around Wonwoo to stay standing while they begin to worship you.
Mingyu’s hands find your hips, helping to keep you steady while they slowly explore you. The kiss with Wonwoo is hot and fiery, picking up where you’d left off in the storage closet. You can practically taste his lust for you, and it makes your body surge with pleasure. Mingyu, meanwhile, is slightly more tentative, licking and sucking on your skin.
You press your chest to Wonwoo, arching your back so your ass can brush against Mingyu’s crotch, and the man behind you groans, his fingers digging into your hips.
You can feel his bulge beginning to press in his pants, and knowing that both men want you is a huge turn on. You’d never imagined you’d be engaging in a threesome, let alone a dream threesome with two insanely hot vice-captains of your squad.
Mingyu’s hand rises from your hip, and he massages your breast through the slinky nightie that adorns your body. You groan, breaking your kiss with Wonwoo so both men can hear your sounds of pleasure.
Wonwoo’s lips find your throat, and now both men are kissing your neck while their hands trail up your body.
Mingyu continues to touch your chest, but Wonwoo’s hand slips between your thighs. “You’re soaked, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve never seen such a cute, needy little recruit before.”
So he’s leaning into the power dynamic… you’ve never been this turned on in your entire life.
“I just want to be good for you, Captain,” you whimper.
“You’re being so good for us,” Mingyu assures you.
“Yes, Sir,” you groan when Wonwoo begins to stroke your core through the flimsy piece of fabric between your legs.
Mingyu responds by slowly lifting the nightie off of your body, exposing your torso to both men, then, in tandem, they turn you so your back is now to Wonwoo. Mingyu cups your face, drawing your lips to his while Wonwoo continues to play with your pussy. His hand slips under the fabric of your panties, deft fingers circling your aching clit.
Mingyu’s not holding back anymore, and his tongue invades your mouth deliciously. He takes your breath away, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, loving the way he’s already groaning softly.
Wonwoo applies more pressure to your clit, and you gasp, pulling at Mingyu’s hair. You break the kiss to throw your head back against Wonwoo’s shoulder, and Mingyu takes the opportunity to let his lips trail down your throat. His breath is warm against your exposed skin, and his mouth is hot when he sucks one of your nipples between his lips.
“Fuck,” you whimper, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second.
“Look at you,” Wonwoo grins. “Such a sensitive baby.”
“It feels so good,” you groan, wiggling your hips, looking for more stimulation.
Wonwoo slips two fingers into your soaked core, and you release a deep moan, eyes shutting as you focus on the pleasure both men are providing you.
“What a warm, wet pussy, baby,” Wonwoo muses. “Is this all for us?”
“Yes,” you whimper, loving the way he’s still using his palm to stimulate your clit.
Mingyu sucks harder on your nipple, pinching the other between two fingers.
“You’re dripping all over my hand,” Wonwoo continues. “How close are you?”
“So close,” you admit, muscles clenching with need.
“I guess we should give you what you need.” Wonwoo’s lips find your throat, and he sucks on your sweet spot, his fingers working you open while his palm applies rough pressure to your clit. Mingyu worships your chest, teasing your nipples until you’re aching.
Your whimpers and gasps fill the room, echoing off the cavernous walls. Both men focus entirely on getting you to the edge, and soon, your entire body is throbbing with hot pleasure as you cum hard.
Your core clenches around Wonwoo’s fingers, your screams uncensored as your orgasm overtakes you completely.
“That’s it,” Wonwoo praises you, nibbling on your ear while they work you through your high. “What a good girl for us.”
Mingyu pulls away from your chest, cupping your face so he can press his lips to yours. He eats up your sounds while Wonwoo finishes you off, and the moment your orgasm subsides, Mingyu picks you up.
The tall man carries you to the bed, his lips never leaving yours as he lays you down on the plush mattress before getting on top of you. His hips rock, his hard cock nudging your core through two layers of fabric.
“How about we make this fun for all of us?” Wonwoo’s voice cuts through your lust. “Mingyu, you’re not used to a situation like this; threesomes require a bit of creativity.”
“Huh?” Mingyu pulls away from you, turning to look over his shoulder at his friend.
“I’m not some cuck who’s going to stand and watch,” Wonwoo reiterates. “Lay her across the bed, her head hanging over one side; you can use her mouth, but I’m going to eat her pussy one way or another.”
You swear; his words could make you cum on the spot.
Dominant Wonwoo is a sight to behold, and it delights you that he has control like this, and the foresight to imagine scenarios where all three of you can be experiencing pleasure in tandem.
“Okay,” Mingyu swallows thickly. “Yeah.” One adjustment has you with your head cocked off the side of the bed, and Mingyu fumbles with his pants. “You okay with this?” he asks.
“Yes, I told you, don’t hold anything back.”
While Mingyu pulls his cock out, Wonwoo gets onto the bed between your thighs. One snap of his fingers has your panties disappearing, and he groans at the sight of your wet core.
“Messy baby,” he taunts, kissing your inner thigh.
“You made me this way, Captain,” you retort, earning a sharp slap to your leg.
“I’m cleaning up after myself, aren’t I?’ Wonwoo reminds you.
Your core throbs, and Wonwoo presses a kiss to your clit that makes your toes curl. He adjusts your legs over his shoulders, his strong hands grabbing your hips to pin you to the bed while he licks your core.
A squeal escapes you, and you writhe slightly against the bed, only for Mingyu to capture your attention.
“Open your mouth, pretty girl,” he prompts, stroking his massive cock and looking down at you.
“Yes, Sir,” you respond, licking your lips before tilting your head back and preparing yourself.
Mingyu brings his cock closer, not pressuring you to go too hard too fast, and you start by licking his shaft. You bring a hand up, grabbing his base to make it easier for you to tease him.
Wonwoo takes your clit into his mouth, sucking lewdly, and you groan, closing your eyes and doing your best to continue licking Mingyu while Wonwoo pleasures you.
His size is daunting, but you finally wrap your lips around the head of his cock.
“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, taking over as he slowly thrusts the tip in and out of your mouth. “This bed is a little low.”
Wonwoo doesn’t even bother to respond, but you feel the mattress raise, making your head level with Mingyu’s hips so he doesn’t have to bend down in an awkward squat to face fuck you.
Thank god for dream magic.
Mingyu pushes a little deeper into your mouth, and you do your best to relax. Your drool is acting as a lubricant, making it easy for Mingyu as he fucks into you.
You close your eyes, enjoying this position and all that it provides. Both men are groaning now, and the vibrations of Wonwoo’s mouth on your clit has your legs twitching.
Mingyu reaches down, pinching one of your nipples and making you whine around his cock.
“What a view,” he muses, pushing his cock even deeper into your mouth with each thrust.
It’s then that you realize you don’t have a gag reflex, and you surmise this must be another one of Wonwoo’s little dream magic quirks. There’s no uncomfortable feeling for you as Mingyu face fucks you with his gigantic cock, and it allows you to focus on your own pleasure.
Two fingers slip into your core, and Wonwoo continues sucking on your clit, crooking his digits up to stroke your g-spot.
You whine desperately around Mingyu’s cock, grabbing the bed sheets to try to anchor yourself while the pleasure builds.
God, nothing has ever felt this good.
You can hear your pussy squelching, and that turns you on even more as you hollow your cheeks around Mingyu. Wonwoo isn’t letting up on your clit, and the lewd slurping has your mind going fuzzy.
Finally, you can’t take any more; you push Mingyu’s thigh, and he backs away. With a loud gasp that turns into a desperate moan, you warn Wonwoo that you’re close.
He stares up at you with dark eyes, finger fucking you even harder.
Something breaks inside of you, all the pressure releases, and you cry out. “Fuck,” Wonwoo groans, pulling away from your clit while his fingers continue inside of you. “You’re squirting all over me, baby.”
“Holy shit,” Mingyu whispers, and you throw your head back to look up at the man stroking his cock above you.
“Just like that, baby, keeping squirting,” Wonwoo coaxes you, his motions unrelenting as he draws even more juice out of your core.
You grab the bedsheets, gripping them hard as you try to stay anchored in this dream reality wherein you’re having truly the most sinful, wet, delicious sex of your entire life.
Wonwoo slows down his pace, removing his fingers from your core to lick them clean before putting his tongue on your pussy again. He groans as he licks up every drop of your orgasm, sucking your clit into his mouth and making you scream from sensitivity.
“I think she’s ready for more,” Wonwoo says with a satisfied grin, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.
“Who do you want first?” Mingyu asks.
“I don’t care; I just need someone inside of me, or I might die,” you whimper, mind feeling fuzzy with desire.
“You can fuck her first, Gyu,” Wonwoo sighs. “You look like you’re about to pop.”
“Do we need protection?”
“You can’t get her pregnant in a dream,” Wonwoo explains.
“Oh, right, yeah.”
The two men help you up, and the bed sinks to a normal height again so Mingyu can climb on with you. Although Mingyu’s the one who’s about to fuck you, Wonwoo’s the one who takes the lead with positioning, and he adjusts you onto your knees facing him while your back is to Mingyu.
“Come here,” Wonwoo grins, pinching your chin to draw your lips to his while Mingyu’s mouth finds your throat. His free hand slips down your spine, and he prompts you to arch your back, pushing your butt toward Mingyu.
Wonwoo groans as you kiss, and you can taste yourself on his tongue. He pulls away, wordlessly tapping your cheek to make you turn and look over your shoulders, your lips meeting Mingyu’s.
The large man behind you moans lewdly, his hands wrapping around you so one can massage your breast and the other can slip down to rub your clit.
You tilt your pelvis and feel Mingyu’s cock prod your wet hole. Then you reach behind yourself, grabbing the base of his cock to hold it steady, which allows you to push back onto it.
The head of his cock stretches you out deliciously, and you both moan. It’s not the deepest position, but when Mingyu sinks down on his knees a little, he’s able to thrust up into you and fill you more.
Wonwoo, meanwhile, removes his shirt, and in a flash, he’s naked too. You can’t help but reach for his hard cock, and you break the kiss with Mingyu to focus on Wonwoo.
You’re sandwiched between these men, stroking off the one in front of you, while Mingyu ruts into you from behind.
Mingyu grabs your hips, anchoring you while he finds a good pace, and then something pinches hard on both of your nipples.
You gasp, your eyes flashing open to find Wonwoo has conjured a set of nipple clamps, connected by a beaded chain that he’s gently tugging, working both of your nipples simultaneously.
“How do you feel about a little pain?” he asks.
“I love it,” you groan, body tingling with pleasure.
“Yeah?” He reaches between your thighs, finding your clit so he can rub you while Mingyu fucks into you.
“Feels so good,” you confirm, biting your lip as the feeling washes over you.
Each gentle tug of the chain between the clamps sets your body on fire, and you love the way both men are worshipping your pussy together.
“So fucking wet,” Mingyu groans.
“I don’t even need to use my powers to make this pussy magic,” Wonwoo grins, leaning forward so his lips ghost over yours. “I can’t believe you were hiding this from us all this time.”
“I can’t believe neither of you wanted to make a move,” you retort, stroking his cock faster.
Wonwoo tugs on the clamps and you cry out. “What was that, recruit? Sounded like you were talking back to me.”
“I’m sorry, Captain,” you whimper, forcing your eyes open to look up at Wonwoo.
“And?” he tugs the chain again.
“Sorry, Sir, it won’t happen again.”
Mingyu clearly doesn’t give a fuck about this whole power play thing; he’s too busy railing into you to care, his moans filling the room.
“I wonder if you can fit more,” Wonwoo says, lifting a hand in front of your face. “Suck.”
You take two of his fingers into your mouth, meeting his eyes as you lewdly suck on them. With a groan, Wonwoo pulls his hand away, dropping it down to your core where Mingyu is entering you.
Your heart leaps with the realization of what he’s about to do, and Mingyu pauses to allow Wonwoo to push his two fingers inside of you, digits now snug along his best friend’s cock. Wonwoo crooks his fingers toward your g-spot, and you cry out, which is enough confirmation of pleasure for Mingyu to begin fucking into you again.
“I kind of like this view,” Wonwoo muses, tugging on the nipple clamps again. “Maybe one day you’ll be able to take both of us at the same time.”
The thought of having both of them stuffed inside of you makes you shiver, and you stroke his cock faster, panting with delight.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you, baby?” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You know, from what I’ve seen in his dreams, Mingyu is quite the ass man.”
“Fuck you,” Mingyu grunts, clearly unaware that Wonwoo’s taken a peek in his dreams before and witnessed his innermost sexual proclivities.
“There’s no shame in it,” Wonwoo insists. “In fact, it kind of works in our favour… just not tonight.”
The idea that Wonwoo’s planning future sexual experiences makes you tingle with anticipation.
“You know, I can take away pain in this realm, as I took away that gag reflex of yours,” Wonwoo continues. “So I can promise that if you want to try us both at once, you don’t have to be afraid of anything.”
“Yes, thank you, Captain, next time,” you assure him, unable to think properly as he continues to stoke your g-spot while Mingyu stretches you out with his cock.
“I think you’re pretty close, aren’t you, baby?” Wonwoo asks, tilting his head slightly.
“Yes,” you gasp when he presses his palm to your clit.
“You want to know what else I can do in this realm?” His smirk widens. “Squirt for us.”
All the tightness in your body releases at once, and an orgasm slams into you like a tsunami. You let out a scream as your core clamps down on both men, pushing them out of you so your juice can flood onto the bed.
“Holy shit!” Mingyu groans, immediately wrapping a hand around your body to rub your clit, which only makes you cum harder.
“Wonwoo!” you whimper, grabbing his shoulders to stay upright on your knees while your orgasm rages through you.
“I like it when you’re messy,” he smirks.
When your orgasm begins to subside, Mingyu slips back into you, and Wonwoo moves out of the way to allow Mingyu to fold you over into doggy position. Rough hands on your hips keep you anchored as Mingyu plows into you, chasing his own release like a madman.
“Shit,” Mingyu moans. “I’m gonna cum.”
His sounds get louder, his thrusts becoming erratic, and then, as he’s buried completely inside of you, you feel him explode. The groan that escapes him is one of the sexiest things you’ve ever heard, and your body twitches, core trying to milk him as he fills you up.
After what feels like a long orgasm, Mingyu finally pulls back, releasing an exhausted huff.
“That’s the most I’ve ever cum,” he admits.
“Yeah, I wonder why,” Wonwoo says sarcastically, helping you back onto your knees.
You can practically sense Mingyu’s jaw drop as the realization floods over you both. Just as Wonwoo can make you cum on command in this dream realm, it appears he can elongate Mingyu’s orgasm too.
“Messy messy,” Wonwoo tuts, flicking his wrist and sending Mingyu toppling down onto the pillows. Wonwoo places you between Mingyu’s legs, and you use his strong chest like a backrest as you get comfortable.
Wonwoo looks over your body, and you stare up at him, wondering what he’ll do next.
“I don’t think I need these anymore,” Wonwoo admits, making a small motion that causes the nipple clamps to disappear. Another twitch of his fingers draws Mingyu’s hands to your breasts, and the man behind you groans at being puppeteered. “I kind of want to make you squirt again.”
“Please, Captain,” you gasp, “I’m so tired already.”
“I can make that go away.”
“No, just… I want to feel you,” you insist. “I didn’t envision a sex marathon tonight.”
“Right.” Wonwoo swallows the lump in his throat, gaze trailing up your body until he meets your eyes. “Another time.”
He lies on top of you, and your legs immediately wrap around his hips. You draw his lips to yours, and he kisses you desperately. The head of his cock prods your entrance, and you wiggle your hips, eager for him to stuff you properly.
Wonwoo adjusts, pushing himself inside of you while you both groan.
Mingyu’s hands continue on your breasts, and you can feel his racing heart behind you as he watches his friend begin to fuck you.
You tangle your fingers in Wonwoo’s hair, kissing him hard as he rails into you.
“You feel better than I could have imagined,” Wonwoo admits. “I don’t need to change a thing.”
What’s interesting is: Wonwoo is kind of a nerd.
He’s the ruler of this whole realm, but… he’s a nerd about it… sexually.
He’s so endearing, and it makes your body pulse with pleasure as he fucks you, his lips moving to your throat where he bites marks into you that won’t be there when you wake up.
One adjustment has your leg over Wonwoo’s shoulder, and he thrusts deep inside of you, making you cry out.
That’s when you notice Mingyu beginning to get hard again, and you struggle to grab his cock, stroking it to earn yourself a moan from your male backrest.
“Come here,” Wonwoo prompts, pulling you down slightly so your head is level with Mingyu’s length. “Now you can suck on it.”
You don’t even need Wonwoo’s power to prompt you to take Mingyu into your mouth, and you close your eyes, loving the feeling of pleasuring two men at once.
“This is insane,” Mingyu says under his breath, pinching your nipple and making you cry out around him.
“Trust me, it could be a lot crazier,” Wonwoo chuckles, his pace getting even quicker.
You don’t even want to think about the sexual fantasies Wonwoo could create for you to play a starring role in. You’re sure you’ll live them one night soon enough.
“I’m pretty close, baby-” Wonwoo begins, and you just know he’s going to ask if you want him to magically hold off from busting, so you pull off of Mingyu’s cock.
“Please fill me up,” you interject. “I need it.”
“Yeah?” Wonwoo stares down at you, eyes clouded with lust.
“Uh huh,” you nod, biting your lip as your toes curl with pleasure.
He watches you for a few seconds, motions unrelenting. “Okay, well…” He swallows thickly, chasing his orgasm. “I guess we can all cum one last time.”
Before you or Mingyu can cut him off, an unexpected orgasm surges through you, making you cry out.
“Fucking fuck!” Mingyu gasps, his cock exploding next to you and coating his chest with spunk.
Wonwoo doesn’t miss a beat; he only grins as he pushes fully inside of you, painting your inner core with his seed. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, gasping as he rides out his long orgasm, stuffing you to the brim with cum while your core tries to swallow him up.
Wonwoo shivers, coming down slowly.
“That last group orgasm was uncalled for,” Mingyu muses, still trying to catch his breath.
“It was funny, though,” Wonwoo grins.
Who knew he had a comedic bone in his body?
“What now?” Mingyu asks.
“Now, we all go into the hot spring that I conjured just for this; I figured it’s aftercare or whatever.”
Aftercare or whatever.
“Come on,” Wonwoo declares, sitting up and grabbing you. He tugs you off of Mingyu, who is still struggling to recollect himself.
“What about all this cum? Won’t it pollute the water or something?” Mingyu asks, scrambling onto his knees.
“It’s just cum,” Wonwoo sighs. “And it’s not even real. Here.”
With one twitch of his fingers, all the fluid on Mingyu’s chest disappears, and you feel the cum that was dripping out of you suddenly vanish.
“It’s going to take a while to get used to this,” Mingyu groans, following you and Wonwoo to the hot spring in the corner of the room.
Wonwoo slowly lowers you into the warm water, and both men join you with sighs of pleasure. “It’s fun to use my power this way,” Wonwoo admits. “I never thought about using it to fuck the shit out of people.”
You laugh and shake your head.
Quiet vice-captain Wonwoo, a sexual tyrant in his own dream world- who would have thought?
“You both had fun though?” Wonwoo asks.
“It was amazing,” you admit, turning your gaze to Mingyu.
“Yeah, it was pretty good,” Mingyu says, shaking his head, “but the next time you make me cum with your powers, I’m giving you a blood stiffy while we’re at a Captain meeting with Seungcheol.”
“Noted,” Wonwoo nods with a grin. “So next time…”
“Next time, surprise me; I don’t want to be part of the planning process,” you interject.
“Are you sure?” Mingyu blinks at you.
“Yes. I have to focus on the real world when I’m awake; if I spend too much time thinking of sexual scenarios to act out here, my training will suffer.”
“Spoken like a true recruit,” Wonwoo nods. “You’re cute.”
“I have some ideas,” Mingyu admits.
Wonwoo grins. “Like getting her dinner?”
“Yes!” Mingyu glares. “But other things too.”
You drown out their bickering, and your mind drifts to the thread that ties you all together. Now you know why fate brought you to these men, and you know you were right to trust your intuition.
You’re not sure where things go from here, but you know that as long as the thread of fate connects the three of you, everything will turn out the way it should, sexual dream magic and all.
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I had so much fun with this one! I think I know I'm doing something right when my own fics make me laugh, so I hope you guys got a kick out of this one too :)
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🔮 preview. You will never get tired of their bickering, or Wonwoo’s nerdy little rules about the restrictions of his dream magic and the logical way in which a sex scene should play out within the parameters of his abilities.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 3.3k I teaser wc. 200
🌙 starring. Wonwoo & Mingyu x afab!Reader
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In Wonwoo’s dream realm, the only limit is your own imagination, and with three extremely horny adults who all have different kinks they want to play out, you never get bored.
You’ve lived what feels like a thousand different lifetimes in your dreams with Wonwoo and Mingyu, and leaning into roleplay has spiced up your life in a way you never could have even dreamed of on your own.
You’ve been a siren to two pirate captains who fuck you stupid in an underwater palace. You’ve embodied a priestess welcoming erotic worship from her most devout followers. You’ve played the part of squad captain disciplining her subordinates when you’ve wanted to explore being on the more dominant side of the exchange.
And now, you sit on the bed in Wonwoo’s marble palace, discussing what you want to explore tonight.
“I just think it would be fun if I was a werewolf,” Mingyu says for what feels like the fifth time.
Wonwoo sighs. “You do understand that I couldn’t just will your body to have werewolf traits; I’d have to physically command the base of your cock to swell so you can do your whole knotting kink thing when you cum.”
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Pairing: Avatar Aang x F Reader and Fire Lord Zuko x F Reader
Main storyline: Reader is an airbender. She had known of her airbending capabilities for a long time, but her parents forbade her to showcase or practise them. Being an airbender during the 100 year war was as close to a death sentence as one could get. When the Avatar and his friends traveled through her village in the Earth Kingdom, she joined them wanting to learn more about her capabilities and her heritage. Reader helps the team end the war and stays with the team to help them restore balance and peace, whilst also trying to find her own place in the world and being torn between the Fire Lord and the Avatar.
Warnings: this is a 18+ story, MDNI, angst, heartbreak, low self esteem, talk of starting family, yearning, physical fighting, bruises and cuts, smut, explicit smut, oral (both f and m receiving), m*sturbating, abductions, threats, betrayal, jealously, burns, being held against your will, mourning, mentions of being unalived, psychological warfare, serious injuries.
Chapter One: Breathing Through Goodbyes
Chapter Two: Burning Through the Silence
Chapter Three: The Bones of the Mountain
Chapter Four: The Ocean Between Us
Chapter Five: A Brewing Storm
Chapter Six: Burning Within
Chapter Seven: Rock Solid
Chapter Eight: Still Waters Run Deep
Chapter Nine: No Time to Breathe
Chapter Ten: When Everything Burned Down
Chapter Eleven: Beneath the Shattered Earth
Chapter Twelve: The Turning Tide
Chapter Thirteen: How to Breathe When There is No Air
❝like the grass wants to grow, i want to run anywhere that you go.❞
summary. 'a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today may lead to a devastating hurricane weeks from now.' or alternatively, it takes six lifetimes for you to find each other.
pairings. poly!marauders+lily x reader.
word count. 8.9k (i tried to keep it short. i really did T-T)
tags. hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, happy ending. reincarnated/regressor!reader. no specific gender described. not proofread, we die like lucerys velaryon.
cws. brief depictions of death and war, themes of mental health and trauma.
note: lmaoao, as per the poll, here is the time-traveler!reader fic! i didn't cry during the angsty parts so it's probably not that bad.
YOU WAKE UP to a familiar weathered stone ceiling, owls softly hooting beyond the curtained windows, sunken in the mattress of a canopy bed with low snoring on either side of you. There’s a wilting candle on your nightstand, alongside an unfastened leather journal—a whiff of spilt ink under your nose. In your limp embrace, is a plush capybara with a turtle attached to its head. The quilt blanket is entangled between your thighs, the early morning breeze flurrying past the exposed stretch of your belly where your oversized granny-square jumper has ridden up.
It’s only then, when you try curling your fingers and wiggling your toes, that you realize that your body feels as though it had been hit by a shrinking charm.
You sit upright instantly, heart skipping a beat from fright.
No.
You can’t have.
You reach for your brass handheld mirror, tucked away in the bedside drawers.
There is no way you are this unlucky.
Yet staring back at you, is your eleven-year-old self.
Naturally, you end up screaming in frustration—startling the robins idle on the windowsills and all but waking the entirety of the Gryffindor castle. Prefects burst inside the dormitory, wand at the ready and crust in their eyes, in search of a threat only to find you on the verge of hyperventilating.
Bloody hell.
Not again!
Merlin, Morgana and Arthur—you are not going through puberty a sixth time.
“Oh, fuck me,” you mumble defeatedly as you fall back onto the patchwork pillows. Your roommates are gawping at you in horror, the sound of heavy footfalls echoing in the halls outside.
Months ago, you had heard about the gruesome passing of Dorcas Meadowes—you weren’t necessarily close friends with the girl, despite being sorted in the same House, but you would grieve where grief is due.
YOUR FIRST LIFE came to an abrupt end at the age of nineteen, in a quaint coffeehouse where the owner knew your name and the baristas wore a sunlit grin everyday. That day, no one had expected for Death Eaters to wreak havoc in Diagon Alley—it could have been anticipated, if only the Ministry was competent during the onset of the war. But with the extensive list of Muggleborn and half-blood casualties after that incident, Ministry officials had no choice but to restrict certain areas and propose the ‘lesser-breeds’ go into hiding for their safety. This alluded to many families; most condemned to be blood-traitors.
(There had been fleeting whispers of her dying at the wand of Voldemort himself.)
Then, you’d woken up in the four walls of your dormitory. The sensation of being ever-so cruelly struck by the killing curse burning in your chest—a scorching fire, yet bitterly cold all the same. You had sobbed wretchedly, curled up in a shuddering ball of tears until your roommates had called for the prefects. It got worse when they tried to console you—you felt everything still. The panicked cries and screams of the wounded ceaselessly echoing in your head. You remembered the shards of glass sinking into your skin as you dove for cover, Unforgivables apathetically hurled in every direction.
It was not until Madam Pomfrey administered a Calming Draught and an elixir for dreamless sleep that you finally went out like a light extinguished.
Your second life was relatively longer—you had spent it under the supervision of mind healers at St. Mungo’s, after all. For the next thirty years, you’d been confined to a ward on the fourth floor. (Later, you would share this space with a couple who went by the names of Alice and Frank Longbottom.) Regardless of the bleak walls, it was not so bad. The quilts were warm and the assigned matron, Madam Strout, was kind and fussed over you regularly. While the healers had done everything they could, you continued to struggle with discerning what appeared to be your ‘first life.’ (Which one was your true reality? The first? Or the second?) Eventually, all the poking and prodding wore you down. Your fingertips had bruised and brittled. You could not look over your shoulder in fear of finding a Death Eater staring back at you. Night terrors plagued your dreams.
(Your parents who had always embraced you with loving arms—they could not look you in the eyes now.)
Memories bled into newer memories as the days went by. You haunted the corridors with a plagued stare, quickly becoming a woeful canard amongst the residents of the hospital. ‘The hysteric fortune teller,’ they called you. You who spoke of wars and rebellion at the age of twelve—but whose words nobody cared for when Voldemort began rising to power. You who’d gone mad and overwrought. In the end, you believed everyone else.
(See? It must have been all in your head—a wayward spell that unfortunately damaged your memories.)
You’re unsure of how you died, but perhaps, you were never even alive in the first place. There was only so much Draught of Peace you could take before you inevitably became a soulless, sleep-walking husk of a person.
You woke up in the Gryffindor tower once more—this time, you’re careful enough to smother your cries.
If you flinched every time Marlene McKinnon coarsely bellowed Dorcas’s name in the middle of the school hallways, or if you averted your gaze at the sight of Alice Fortescue and Frank Longbottom’s intertwined hands—it was nobody’s business but your own. In this life, you kept your head down, breezing through your homework and exams—although you had seen no purpose in it, at this point. Each morning that you woke up, you wondered if this was a favor from the Gods, or a relentless hell so meticulously-crafted for you.
(But what sins had you committed for them to spit on you as they had done? Surely, you would be granted peace after two deaths.)
You could not tell your family, nor could you ask anyone else in Hogwarts if they remembered fragments of their past lives—for the last time you had done that, you were met with vindictive laughter and cruel gazes.
(At that moment, you had understood Xenophilius Lovegood a little bit more. You never knew how many sought to trample on the wallflowers of the castle.)
And so, you’d kept your head down until the end of your time in the castle. You stayed away from Diagon Alley and surrounding areas, and you willed yourself to perfect the art of apparating—a skill you wished that you had learned earlier.
On the first of November 1981, witches and wizards had come to celebrate the fall of Lord Voldemort—which ultimately meant the death of James and Lily Potter. (You could not come to their funeral the first time around, seeing as you were chained to your hospital mattress that day, inebriated on the third dreamless sleep potion administered to you.)
Under the eyes of St. Jerome, you laid bouquets of white roses and dahlias on their tombstones.
“Wherever your souls are now, I hope you find each other and unearth peace,” you whispered to the two names engraved on the slate, hands clasped together as you rested on the grass. The winds had been cold and biting, a testament to the looming winter that would sweep away the tears on their graves. Like Dorcas Meadows, you did not interact much with James and Lily—but more than anyone, you knew how death was no easy enemy to conquer.
(You hoped their orphaned son would live a life that would not take him too early.)
A few months later, you met your demise to a werewolf named Fenrir Greyback.
As you bled out on the grassfields, you wished for Death to come and take you faster.
When you awakened, it was in the same bed and the same dusty ceiling.
There was nothing you could do but go back to sleep this time around.
After dying pathetically for a third time, a stubborn part of you wanted to fight back—so you did.
Unlike your previous lives, you joined the Dueling Club, supervised by Professor Flitwick himself. Your wand work was clumsy and you stumbled on your incantations. You could not lift your wand without remembering a coffee shop laid to ruin and wreckage or the hardened gaze of Greyback as he sank his teeth into your neck. The times were merciless, your dance with Death even more—but you would not die helplessly again.
As you lay in your bed, muscles aching from dueling practice, you had realized one thing.
You did not want to stain your hands with the blood of another—having grown tired of the Reaper and his antics. If the Gods would not let you rest, then you would not let them take anyone else.
After all, you had the stubbornness of a Gryffindor lion.
For the next six years or so, you devoured your textbooks on charms and healing spells, refining your spellwork until your tongue grew numb and your wrists became sore. When the time came, you followed James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, and many more, in joining the Order of the Phoenix. (Perhaps you should have realized earlier that you all were just wide-eyed children on both sides, forced to partake in a war that should have never been yours to fight.)
The First Wizarding War transfigured the years into a blur of mourning, surviving, and fighting in alleys now-bloodied. Even the sun hid behind the clouds, for brothers began turning on one another. You could only find solace in the fact you had kept Dorcas away from Voldemort’s clutches, volunteering to go in her stead during incursions, and Marlene McKinnon alive for another day to see her family.
But for how long could you cheat fate?
Hours before your death, you found yourself in a forest clearing. The campsite was filled with witches and wizards afflicted with severe hexes and curses—a few of Dumbledore’s best fighters screaming in agony from the Cruciatus.
There you found Remus Lupin, bruised and worse for wear, attempting to wrap a bandage around his shoulders in an empty tent.
“You look like you’ve seen better days,” you said in a soft greeting, stepping inside the tent with a forced smile, your collection of potions and jars of herbal pastes jostling in your leather satchel.
Remus chuckled tiredly. “Haven’t we all?”
You gently pried the bandage from his trembling hands and maneuvering yourself at his back. You stifled the urge to cry at the sight of his scars—so violently red against his pallid skin. Compared to your previous lives, you had developed a friendship with Remus and his group of bold marauders—a camaraderie as true as it could be in dire times. (And if providence had been kinder, you could have dared to want more than just friendship.) You poured drops of Dittany onto his shallower wounds, murmuring empty words of comfort as he flinched and hissed.
“It’s Peter,” he rasped, abruptly holding onto your wrist as you turned to leave. “He’s been missing for hours. Please. I don’t know what I’d. . . what I’d do if. . . if. . .”
You squeezed his hand. “I’ll find him, Remus. Don’t worry.”
True to your word, you had found Peter at sundown deep within the forest. There was an unsettling quietude that hung in the air as you trudged to his side. He was kneeling on the muddy ground, head hanging low. It’s only then that you noticed the body laying still in his arms. Violent chills slithered down your spine as you recognized the woman in his embrace.
“Mary!” you cried out, hurrying to them as fast as you could.
“What happened?” you asked frantically, hands in a desperate search for a pulse. When you were met with no answer, you pressed again more heatedly. “Peter! Look at me!” You gripped his chin, heart hammering in your chest. “You have to tell me what happened! I can’t. . . I can’t help her if I don’t know what hit her.” Droplets of tears fell from your eyes down to Mary’s pale cheeks. “I can’t. . . I need—please. . .”
Bloodshot eyes stared back at you. “I. . . I didn’t want to do it.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry,” he croaked, burying his head into the crook of Mary’s neck. “I was so, so scared.”
“Peter, what are you talking about?” You grimaced impatiently when Peter lifted his gaze—but he was not looking at you, rather behind you.
The answer to your question was a killing curse to the back.
An unseen rustle in the bushes that you should have paid attention to, a cloaked figure darker than any shadow; a Death Eater that’d come to ensnare you in a perfectly-laid trap.
(Damn it!)
(Damn it all to Hell!)
You awoke to the sound of your screaming and your limbs thrashing in the bed you’ve grown to despise. There was nary a remorse in your body as your roommates wailed at the sight of your nails drawing blood from your arms. Later that morning, the common room would be filled with talks of your faraway gaze and your scratched-up flesh.
You could not take it anymore.
In your fifth life, you had sought peace—or rather, the most beautiful mockery of it.
You decided to give up your magic to chase a semblance of normalcy. No more wands, no more moving portraits, no more jinxes and pranks, no more owls and wizard robes. Most of all, no more war. (‘But it did not work like that’, Death laughed.) In this life, you wanted what was denied of you in the previous ones.
A family.
A happy ending.
Bitterly enough, the Gods saw fit to give you only one of the two.
You married a Muggle, to your parents’ dismay. He was nice and compassionate—a distant contrast to the ongoing turmoil of the wizarding world. But you could not bring yourself to feel guilt. You had been stripped of everything, which included the privilege to die and lay your soul to rest in perpetuity.
(Who were you, if not a dead man walking?)
Over the years, you would have three children with your husband—three beautiful children born from love, in a world that would not actively seek to take them from you. You raised them all to adulthood, hoping they would not fault you for finding relief at the lack of magic in their veins. Their names were Kinsley, Piper, and Avery—and you had adored every inch of them, from their striking eyes to the tips of their stubby fingers.
On your deathbed, you were surrounded by your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren. An image you held close to your heart as your vision began to deteriorate.
Just this once, you prayed to all that would hear.
Let me die surrounded by my family.
At the age of ninety-one, you drew your final breath.
And when you opened your eyes, you were back in Hogwarts for the sixth time.
TO SIRIUS BLACK, you are a curious little wallflower, albeit a withering one—you who blend among the crowd, with a sad gaze in your eyes and the fretful twisting of your fingers. He doesn’t know why he’s particularly drawn to you—but perhaps he understands, more than anyone, the hesitance of taking up space in fear of punishment for one wrong move. But you look so lost, meandering along the corridors like the ghosts of the castle—but even the spirits seem more alive and colorful than you.
“What is it that they have taken from you?” Sirius wants to ask.
(What judgment has fate placed upon you so—for you to cry each morning?)
There is a raging urge in his veins to reach over and wipe your tears away, but what can he do as a stranger, if not watch powerlessly as you fade into the background?
His fingers feel like they might fall off if they do not entwine with yours. He wants to offer up his shoulders to carry the burdens that weigh down on a creature as lovely as you.
There are times when he and the other Gryffindors catch you crying at the long tables of the Great Hall.
“O-Oh, was I?” Your reply is quiet. Resigned. Sirius has never felt his heart break more than in that moment. You move to weakly swipe at your tears. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to. . .”
“It’s alright, really,” Lily says, her voice strained, the words lodged in her throat. Under the table, she seeks James’s hand for comfort. (How can someone appear to be so lonely and defeated?) “We all have those days.”
“Yes.” You blink away the fresh tears pricking at your eyes, mindlessly pulling at the threads of your woven bandages, a weary chuckle falling from the cracked skin of your lips. “Except, it seems the days never end for me.”
Lily stays silent.
Sirius shares a look with Remus from across the table, an unspoken question hanging between the animagus and the werewolf.
How do their voices call out to the one who so faithfully believes that the world has abandoned them?
But Sirius Black is determined and unyielding—what good of a prankster would he be if he could not bring a smile upon your beautiful face?
He gets his chance during Transfiguration class, when McGonagall instructs the class to pair-up for an activity in turning miniature statues into birds. Predictably, you don’t move a muscle, staring ever-so intently at the sights beyond the classroom windows that you don’t notice the professor observing you worriedly—her lips tightly pressed and her eyes wrinkled with concern. Sirius slams his buttocks onto the wooden chair next to you; the sound of chair legs screeching bounces off the cobblestone walls.
“Hullo, partner.” Sirius grins as he offers you an enthusiastic wave, his dark curls floundering with his energy. He feels the gazes of his best mates boring into his back, but decides to ignore it for now—Remus can live without him for one class. In his mind—a perfectly-reasonable logic for an eleven-year-old, mind you—he figures that you would find class more entertaining if you had the right company. And, Sirius is wonderful company.
You stare at him with furrowed brows and Sirius wishes nothing more than to bring fire to your eyes. “Partner?” you repeat, a tinge of confusion in your voice—a deafening cadence to his ears, as for once, it is not desolation that laces your words.
“Partner,” Sirius affirms with a nod of his head, barely paying heed to McGonagall’s directions at the front of the room—but noting the mention of a prize for the pair who would successfully cast the spell for longer than ten minutes. He takes your silence for uncertainty, and replies with a light-hearted scoff—finding the pout on your lips adorable. “I’ll have you know I’m a bloody master at Transfiguration. Not even James could match me in this class—okay, maybe he could, but that’s not important, is it? Point is, with me at your side, Minnie will have no choice but to give us a hundred points!”
From the frown on your lips, Sirius gathers that you’re unimpressed by him—a first, but not a total setback.
He seizes the small box of porcelain figurines before you can blink, a wry smile on his face as he wrangles a boastful laugh from his throat. “Ready to have your mind blown? I’ve been practicing this spell since last night. There’s no way I’m getting this wrong.”
“Oh, I’m Sirius Black, by the way—at your service.” He holds out his hand for you to shake, wondering what your palm would feel like in his. Cold? Warm to touch? Or, perhaps, a perfect fit—just as Lily’s hand feels laced with his?
He doesn’t find the answer to his question. Instead, you draw your wand from your robe pocket, and point the tip of the wood at the earthenware at Sirius’s grasp.
“Avifors,” you recite delicately—such a flawless incantation that Sirius hears Merlin himself weeping in the depths of his grave.
The figurine grows feathers and a beak—Sirius and the rest of the students can only watch as the weebill flutters its wings and soars through the roof.
He’s stupefied. Breathless, one might say. But not because of your little trick—rather, the growing smile on your lips as you watch the bird fly across the room. Your eyes flicker with mischief, and like a man on the edge of a cliff—what is Sirius Black to do, but fall?
THE END OF YOUR first-year at Hogwarts draws near, and so does the springtime—a coveted season for lily flowers to bloom. The April winds find you out by the lake edge, swinging your legs idly on a marble stone bench where the cypress vines grow along the cracks. Songbirds fly overhead as the daylight glistens on the surface of the Black Lake, a beech tree in the near distance, butterflies dancing past the gnarled trunk. Pollen floats like dust in a cupboard under a staircase. Ducklings waddle after their mother as riverine rabbits scurry on into the tall, purple nettles. On days like this, you find it easier to settle into your new life—but, perhaps, you have your friends to thank for that.
Yet, as you find yourself wanting to reach out to their outstretched hands, flashes of children with your hair, your eyes, cheekbones whittled to resemble your own, haunt you. Their pure and gentle temperaments, painfully akin to their father’s. You mourn them every day. Their names are forever inscribed in the locket of your soul. (You did not find it fair—you who live again, and they who disappear forever. An existence that would cease to be—all because you fear what awaits you in this life. Why must it be you who should walk this land with a body scarred by wounds no one else can see? Why must it be you who mourns the loss of your family, your friends, and all your loved ones—everyone murdered by the Gods who spit on the five graves with your name written on it? Why? Why?)
Do you dare to live a life without them? Is it fair to deprive them of a chance of being a family while you waste away on the Isles? You may have lived multiple lifetimes, but not once have you been given the answers you seek.
You will not find happiness without them; it is as you deserve.
(For why else would Death torment you so if you are seen as innocent in their eyes?)
“How did I know I’d find you here?” A sing-song voice emerges from the trees, and you’ve no need to turn your head—the sound of Lily’s bright cadence is one you’re familiar with. But, somehow, you’ve grown fond of her voice, more acquainted with her smile and laugh than you’ve ever been in the last five lives. (You have to wonder if this friendship is one you’re permitted to enjoy.) Her grin is blinding, more so than the afternoon sun behind her. Lily’s wavy hair falls over her shoulder as she plops down on the empty space beside you. “We didn’t see you at lunch today,” she says, looking ahead, the warmth of her hand inching closer to your own. “I figured you didn’t want a bunch of whiffy boys around.”
Then, she looks around, searching for any prying ears, a stream of giggles falling from her lips. “Although, I must warn you—their pockets are loaded with food stolen from the hall, saying they’d give it to you when you returned to the tower. But I think Minnie caught onto them.” She chortles, a fond gaze in her eyes.
You hum in thought, a smile unknowingly pulling at your lips. “Thank you, Lily. It’s sweet of you to come and find me.”
She harrumphs light-heartedly, snootily lifting up her nose. “Don’t get too used to it. We’re only just best friends, after all.”
A silence encompasses the two of you, sitting under the shade, pink fingers shyly intertwined. Lily allows the minutes to flow by like a breeze on the waters, until she stares at you with thick emotions flickering in her emerald eyes. She nibbles on her bottom lip, long lashes kissing her eyelids. “Are. . . Are you alright? Is it one of those days again?”
You grin at her question, impishly nudging her legs with yours. It’s a gesture you deeply appreciate—befriending you and growing closer to you in ways you imagine are never in your cards. But Lily is only eleven, and you will not act upon your selfishness. (But, maybe—just maybe—you are allowed to relish in their company until you are called once again to your deathbed. In the next life, they might not know your name as they do now, and the revelation frightens you immensely.)
“I’m okay,” you say, a gnawing lie that sounds unconvincing to even your own ears. You stare at the flock of swans diving in the lake. “I was just missing a few friends back home.” You remember the toddlers that you used to call your own—their spittled possessiveness toward anyone who dared to snatch your attention away from them. “I don’t know if they would be happy with me going off on my own adventure,” you say, sparing Lily a knowing look. “They are—erm—Muggles.”
“Oh.” Lily nods, mulling over your words. “Tuney. . . my sister. She sort of resents me ever since I left for Hogwarts. We live a world apart, and it barely helps that she ignores me during the holidays.” She sighs, averting her gaze elsewhere, a grimace pulling at her mouth. “Sometimes I wonder if all of this was never meant for me. That I was just a fluke. Why do I have magic and not her? Any day now, I expect for McGonagall to come and ask me to pack my bags and head straight home.”
“But,” says Lily, her eyes resolute and her fire unwavering, “until that day comes, I will enjoy every bit of this world as I can. Tuney will just have to deal with that.” She offers you a mellow smile—a likeness to a kind husband that you had once in a past lifetime. “Besides, I think those who truly love us will understand the paths we must take. Even if it means parting ways for a long time. Your friends will not blame you; they’ll want you to live truly and freely.”
Her words sink deep into your bones, and you can’t help but let out a hearty laugh. You simper at the confused tilt of her head. “Wise words, Lily Marie Evans. Are you sure you’re only twelve?”
Lily beams. “Mum likes to tune into the Sunday motivational-talk channels.”
(“The ones we love never really leave us, do they?” Sirius Black will tell you one day, when you’ve bared to him the truth of your lives, and he looks at you no differently than he has before—with all the adoration and fondness of his heart.)
Later, before you and Lily make your way back to the castle, you pick three flowers among the chicory weeds. She stays behind as you kneel by the riverside. For the children you have loved, and will continue to love for eternity. Droplets of tears fall onto the water, joining the floating blue petals. “I’m sorry that I cannot find you as you are,” you whisper, a heavy weight lifting from your shoulders. “But I hope that we meet again in this life, whichever names you may take.”
(After all, what love is stronger than one that perseveres across endless lifetimes?)
You carry them in your heart—letting cherished memories remain as such. Otherwise, you’ll be chasing what can never be again. It would be an injustice to their names to try and replicate a shallow imitation of them. They deserve more than that—to be treated like a pawn in Death’s game. They were alive and you will honor them befittingly.
You bid them goodbye and allow the tethers of their soul to untangle from your grasp.
It is the most difficult farewell—and yet, the easiest act of mercy you have ever carried out.
‘THE FLAP OF a butterfly’s wings can evoke a hurricane in the next world over.’
This is a phrase you’ve come to be familiar with over the span of your numerous lives. It has never been truer than the moment you step outside the infirmary to find a group of mismatched Gryffindors waiting for you in the halls. Their heads snap in attention at the sound of your footfalls. In an instant, you’re crowded with their questions and worries—but you find it endearing, the way your friends fuss over you. It’s certainly a welcome change from a past spent by your lonesome in the castle. (You only wonder what makes this life so different from the rest? Why is everything changing without you noticing? What will be taken from you for this deviation in time?)
“How did it go?” James asks, now seventeen and captain of the Quidditch team, wavy tendrils of brown hair swooping over his round glasses. The broad of his chest fills out his red and yellow jumper, crocheted by Lily over the yule break—the five of you, including Peter, Marlene, Mary, and Dorcas, have matching sweaters as well.
Except, you like to tease them with a jest that Lily made yours with the most love—as no one else had the pattern of a capybara with an apple on its head.
“Well enough,” you answer, patting his shoulder with a tired smile that reaches your eyes—for how could one not cheer up in the face of James Fleamont Potter? That would be saying the skies do not brighten in the company of the sun.
By incontestable decree of Poppy Pomfrey, the headstrong matron of the castle, you are required to meet with a mediwitch from St. Mungo’s twice a week, since the start of your fifth-year. Healer Robbins floos to Hogwarts on Wednesdays and Saturdays to check up on your health, physically and mentally. Of course, you don’t divulge anything about your time-traveling dilemmas, lest you end up confined to a hospital ward again for the rest of your years. But you do end up addressing—albeit, begrudgingly—the dried tear stains on your pillowcase every morning, your wayward habit of purposefully missing meals, or your tendency to withdraw yourself from your peers on certain days—which coincidentally happen to be the anniversary dates of your deaths. (If no one would grieve for you, then you’d do it alone.)
Who’d have thought that healing would be much more tortuous than hurting in the quietude of your room?
But one thing is for certain—this is a suffering you will endure with greed and hunger.
For today’s session, Healer Robbins suggests you proactively live in the present more—which is easier said than done.
“Although, she did tell me to stop slouching all the time,” you inform James, scrunching your nose in feigned offense, to which he replies with a hearty chuckle, pulling you into his embrace for a side hug. You burrow your nose in his scent of oakmoss and orris root, a lingering touch of broom polish as well—you feel the warmth of his hand splayed out on your back, and hide your grin into his chest.
“Well, someone had to tell you,” says Regulus Black with a scoff, arms crossed over his chest, yet no genuine heat in his trenchant eyes. He looks pleased that you return unharmed from your meeting with Healer Robbins. Funnily enough, you’ve no doubt that the famed Black temper would emerge should you utter so much as a single word against the mediwitch. (You like her, though. Some days, Robbins lovingly spiels about her clumsy-footed wife—and in return, you talk about your sad feelings. Eurgh. Talk about a fair exchange.)
Among the many divergences in this life, one of them is the unforeseen friendship you have forged with Regulus Arcturus Black. But that story begins with Xenophilius Lovegood, when you stumble upon him in the Forbidden Forest chasing after a family of bowtruckles with a fervid expression and a journal in one hand. You protect him from foul-mouthed Ravenclaws, and he allows you to tag along in his woodland escapades—including a lifelong access to the kitchens beyond curfew. His lack of regard for personal safety is both endearing and maddening, you realize early on. One stormy night, you chase Xenophilius into the forest—he is barefoot, following the Mooncalf hoofprints, as you spit out strings of expletives and mouthfuls of rain. That is where you find Regulus, groaning in pain and carrying a burden that is much too heavy for a fifteen-year-old.
Then, a year later, they decide to give you a heart-attack when you discover that Pandora and Xenophilius have taken Regulus under their wing—figuratively and literally. And, most of all, romantically.
You’re more speechless than Sirius had been when you catch him one fateful evening.
(“Don’t do it, Sirius Black,” you greet, startling the ebony-haired boy as you step out from the shadows. The common room is silent, save for the crackling embers in the fireplace. You stare at the sixteen-year-old with a vehement resolve, your hands curled into fists. If there is one fixed event you had to live through over and over again, it is the news of Severus Snape being nearly mauled to death by a creature so feared and gruesome. You will not let it happen in this life. His eyes flicker with shame amongst a sea of gray, and he knows that you know about his abhorrent idea of a ‘prank.’
You sigh, taking another step forward, hand coming to rest on his tense shoulder. “Let it go, Sirius. It’s not worth it. Bringing someone to harm is never worth it. If he dies, his blood will be on your hands—and you don’t want that, trust me. Be kind to him, Sirius—and even kinder to your brother. The two of you are all each other has.”
“Not true,” Sirius whispers back, almost afraid, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheeks. “I have you, Prongs, Lily, and Rem.”
“And Remus is exactly who we should be with right now,” you reply with a harsh glare. “Not in the common rooms trying to one-up Snape because of some childish rivalry.” With a long sigh and a shake of your head, you push back the dark curls from his face. “The times are cruel, Sirius. We must hold onto what we can.”
His forehead will fall onto your shoulder, and your shirt will be soaked with his tears, but you realize that you will hold him, and all those who’ve captured your heart, until Death himself pries you away from their embrace.)
But, it all pales in comparison to the horror in Sirius’s eyes when you point at Regulus and Peter, as you utter with absolute conviction, “They are my dearest friends.”
While Peter may have been a traitor in another life, a murderer with blood and guilt staining his hands—he is only a skittish boy in this one. A timid student who hides behind the shadows of his friends. You will not let him go down that path again. The Peter Pettigrew you currently know is a mousy little thing, pun intended, who sneaks in a pouch of sugared jelly worms in the library for you and him to enjoy whilst copying off each other’s Arithmancy homework—you two automatically get perfect marks, seeing as you’ve went through school multiple lifetimes already. Truthfully, when you see him tongue-tied before Mary Macdonald, you can’t envision anything else than a lifeless body and a man apologizing for his sins. But it is hardly fair to condemn Peter for the sins of a life he has not lived—and will never live through, if you have anything to say about.
A lion protects their pride, and that is what you shall do. Even if it tears you apart in the process. (Healer Robbins won’t be so pleased about that, though.)
But, perhaps, the most unexpected surprise you’ve received this year is—shockingly—not the news of Dorcas and Marlene dating, and neither is Alice and Frank’s relationship as you have already known that since your first life. It is James, Remus, Lily, and Sirius announcing to the world, with a poorly-written poem for a gnome to recite on Valentine’s Day—courtesy of James Potter himself—that the four of them are in love. In all five lives, that has never happened. Not even Lucius Malfoy can call into question the genuineness of their devotion to one another—and he will not dare to do so in your presence, otherwise he’d find himself at the mercy of you and Narcissa Black.
The four of them are happy as one, and you would die to ensure they stay together until the end of their time. Dark lords be damned.
An even bigger shock comes when their affection for each other unspokenly extends to you. Not in a manner that equals their rambunctious gestures—because the Marauders don’t do anything half-arsed. (And if they fall in love, they fall without fear.) But in a way that is quiet yet intense, ever-so mindful of your walls—with an intention to break them down slowly and only with your utmost permission. They leave you confused with each day that passes. (You fear that they think you pitiful for having not found a significant other.)
(For months now, your heart is set aflutter just by the sound of their voices—if they look at you as a token charity case, it would tear you apart.)
Forehead kisses, hand-holding in the corridors, late nights in the kitchen—tipsy on gillywater and the scathe of each other’s touch. Picnics by the lake, bodies intertwined where no one knows where they begin or end. Ventures in the library where not a soul is paying attention to the passages of their textbooks—hushed giggles turning into unrestrained laughter until Madam Pince rounds the corner and has you all thrown out. (How long has it been since you felt so free?) It’s the little things, like your fingers brushing against theirs as you walk side-by-side, or the soft glint in their eyes as they stare at you from across the room—as though you are a jewel to behold.
It is one thing to know that you are living a life after life—but it is another thing entirely to feel alive when they are nearby.
You are alive when Remus relaxes on the carpeted floor of the Gryffindor tower, and as you lay on the velvet couch, he draws protection runes on your palm with his finger. When he thinks you’re asleep, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand. When the nights are unbearably long and you find a safe haven in his embrace, and he in yours.
You are alive when James cages you in a bear hug after an intense Quidditch match against Slytherin, limp tendrils of hair clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, pressing a series of fervent kisses to the side of your head until his voice is louder than the cries of victory coming from the cheering stands.
(“Lay back down, James Fleamont Potter,” you command tersely as you push him onto the infirmary bed. You narrow your eyes at the bandages wrapped around his arms and neck, as though it’d personally wronged you. “Don’t even think about getting up,” you quickly add when you notice his droopy eyes staring at the doors—where Sirius, Remus, and Peter have gone off for a night of mischief. With an exaggerated sigh, James will roll his eyes before pulling you into the bed with him.)
You are alive when Lily scours the Great Hall in the mornings, hair fussed from sleep and her face bare, and when her eyes finally land on you—none misses the way she lights up blindingly, as if she were a poppy flower emerging from the forest floors and all her petals are curling towards the sun. She bounds over to you with a smile that draws everyone in the room to her. And your heart will have no choice but to swell three times its size when Lily falls asleep mid-meal, snoring with her neck bent and a spoon dangling from her mouth.
You are alive when Sirius dashes across the room to claim you as his Potions partner. He’ll spend the rest of the class with a triumphant grin on his face—sitting on a rickety chair as he lazily admires the view of your backside. And may the Gods help the poor soul who dares to question your work.
(“See that lovely creature over there?” Sirius will say with a dangerous lilt to his voice, pointing to you who’s quite busy squabbling with Severus and Barty Jr. over frog legs. “They will be the greatest apothecary to ever walk the wizarding world—so watch your tongue, mate.”)
They are your limbs, the blood in your veins—the ache in your heart. The fires of your soul. And when they are near, you are finally whole. (Healer Robbins certainly won’t like that, either—but this is a thought you shall selfishly keep for yourself.)
That is why you had come to a decision at the beginning of the year.
“I need to tell you all something,” you say, breaking out of your stupor and finally meeting everyone’s eyes. You meet Sirius’s gaze from where he leans against the wall, his attention on you—and only you. You reckon he notices the way you’re fidgeting nervously with your fingers, gnawing on your lip as you suck in a deep breath. It’s similar to the way he acted when he first told the group about his intentions to run away from his mother. Healer Robbins told you earlier to not dwell on the past—it’s only a thing that time-travelers do, she had said. You suppose there’s no better way to exercise honesty than to tell your loved ones about the secret you have been keeping for the last five lifetimes. You just hope they won’t look at you differently when all is said and done.
Marlene’s gaze worriedly flickers from you and to the infirmary doors. “Has the mediwitch said something?”
You shake your head. “There’s something you should know about me.”
Like a badly-written joke, a pack of lions, a snake, and a badger follows you into an empty classroom. They watch with furrowed brows as you cast a silencing charm over the room. You feel the weight of their curiosity as you take a seat in the center, drumming your nails on your lap as everyone moves to do the same. Remus wordlessly takes the seat next to you, as though being by your side is a natural phenomenon—like the shores never straying from the sand. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and you return his kindness with a weary smile. You look at the protective circle that’s somehow formed around you. Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Xenophilius, Regulus, Lily and the Marauders. (Since when did you gain a family like this in such a short time?)
“Where do I even begin?” you ask with a shuddery breath. “It might get a bit intense. . . and sad, and I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you. So it’s okay if you aren’t prepared to take this all in yet. I’d understand.”
“What one of us goes through, we all go through together,” Dorcas vows with her head high. “It’s not the first time we’ve done this, love,” she says, looking at everyone else in the room. “We’re here for you. Always have been. It’s what friends are for, aren’t they? You taught us that. Let us return the favor now.”
You laugh wetly, eyes crinkling with gratitude. “I suppose you’re right.”
There is no time like the present.
And if all goes awry, you probably might just jump out of a window and reset everything. (You wouldn’t, really. This life is precious to you more than anything in the world.)
You close your eyes and draw air into your lungs.
No time like the present.
“When I first died, I was only nineteen.” Despite the pinched expressions and soft gasps, you force the words out. You have to. Otherwise, the tale of your lives will be buried with you forever. This is the first time you have ever said the words aloud. It’s both exhilarating and terrifying. “Death Eaters came to Diagon Alley. It all happened so fast, next thing I knew the killing curse was cast straight at me.”
Regulus flinches, and you offer him an apologetic grimace.
“But that wasn’t the end,” you continue amidst their horrified wide-eyes—feeling Remus tighten his hold on your hand. You chuckle bitterly. “If it had been, maybe it all would’ve hurt less. When I woke up, I was back in the Gryffindor tower.”
“What?” Lily frowns as a shadow is cast over her eyes. “But how?”
“I wish I knew,” you reply with a lodge in your throat, eyes thick with incoming tears. “I really wish I knew. But I woke up back in Hogwarts. I was alive again. Somehow, someway, I was alive. But I was dying.” You shut your eyes, head craning to the ceilings as you swallow back a sob. “Have you felt what it’s like to be burnt alive? That’s what the killing curse is like. And I feel it everyday. When I told the nurses this, I was sent straight to St. Mungo’s. They could not heal what was not found in my body. They called me mad. And there was nothing I could do but believe them. It was like that until I died on an infirmary bed, leather straps around my wrists and legs, forbidden to leave the ward and feel even the sunlight on my face. I was deemed a threat to the others and myself.”
Lily beats you to the punch and cries into her hands—the harrowing sound torn from her throat. Mary, with her own stream of tears, pulls Lily into a hug.
“I-I told you it was ugly,” you say timidly, averting your gaze out of remorse. “We can stop here if you’d like.”
“We’re staying,” says Lily with a guttural edge to her words, eyes quickly growing red.
“Then, in my third life, I died by a. . . Greyback—it was Greyback who killed me.” You intertwine your fingers with Remus’s, who’s gone ashen from the reveal. “It’s alright.”
“The bloody hell do you mean it’s alright?” James bellows, running a hand through his hair as he tears himself from his seat, chest heaving up and down. “None of this is alright! How could you say that? We. . .We should tell Dumbledore or something—or anyone! This shouldn’t have happened to you—it’s just too cruel. . .”
“I know,” you acquiesce with a low hang of your head. “I know.”
Sirius exhales jaggedly. “Was that the last of it? Of your. . . your deaths?”
“No.” You stare at him with regret. “In my fourth life, I died in a Death Eater ambush.”
Xenophilius looks like he might faint any second.
“But in my fifth life, I met some people in the Muggle world,” you explain, remembering kind eyes and wide smiles, a family made in a home far away from magic and wars. “I loved them dearly. When I thought I was being punished by Gods, they gave me peace. They taught me unconditional love and I. . .” You let the tears drip onto your skirt. “I might never find them again, but I’ll never forget them for as long as I live. It was the only death given to me without pain.”
You watch as Lily’s doe-eyes flicker with realization. Three flowers in a watery grave.
“And here I am now. The end,” you say, forcing a crooked grin as you brush the dust off your school robes.
No one moves a muscle for the next few minutes.
You freeze in fear.
(Have you upset them? Do they see only a talking corpse now?)
The room is suffocatingly quiet and you can’t bear to see the pity or judgment in their eyes—so you run out of the room as though Death himself was hot on your heels.
They are right behind you—of course, they are. (Where a part of their soul goes, they will follow.)
“Are you angry?” You quietly ask, wrapping your arms around your waist—afraid to turn around and face them. “I would not blame you if you are.”
“No, not mad. Never.” Lily falls into place by your side, hovering but never stepping past your erected borders. “Maybe at the circumstances. It’s all so unfair. I’m. . . We’re just upset that you had to live through that all alone. To die over and over. I can’t imagine how much it must have hurt each time.”
You nod, swallowing the urge to crumble on the floor. “Then you’ll understand why. . . why you and I—all of us—I can’t be with you.”
Remus frowns, stepping forward to reach out to you. “What?”
“Don’t make this any harder than this has to be, please,” you beg, voice hoarse and hands trembling.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Sirius presses further, a bitter acid to his words. He looks frightened, almost—guilt instantly pools in your stomach.
“Don’t you see? Everything is changing!” You exclaim, grateful that you’ve chosen the abandoned corridors of the castle where no one dares to venture on a sunny day. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know what’s to happen next! I’d rather die again than let any of you get hurt.”
“Then don’t!” shouts James, veins straining against his neck, tears of his own glistening within his hazel eyes. “I would rather die than pretend none of what I feel—what we feel—for you isn’t real.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying, James,” you retort with a sharp scoff. “I’ve no need for a relationship that’s borne from pity or charity.”
“Pity?” Lily echoes incredulously. “You think I’ve confused love for pity? Is that how low you think of us? After all that we’ve been through?”
“Are you stupid?” Sirius bites back.
“Excuse me?” you shriek. “Must I spell it out for you? I’m trying to protect you! I am cursed!”
“Not anymore than I am!” Remus bellows with his fists tightly clenched, his canines laid bare and his cheeks lit ablaze. “If you’re cursed, I must be damned. Why can’t you allow yourself the same grace that you’ve given us?”
You wilt. “I can’t do it, Remus. I just can’t. If I die again, and everything resets—don’t you know how much it will kill me if we start as strangers again?”
Remus encases you in his warmth, an embrace that promises to keep you safe from all harm. (What good of a monster would he be if he can’t rip apart your fears for you?) “Then we will find you in that life. And every life after that. We’ll use a pensieve, or anything at all—just so we don’t forget.”
You melt in his arms, bathing in his scent of caraway and bergamot. You feel Remus placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “All these things I know. All these lives I’ve lived through. What if I ruin everything in this life?”
“Then do it,” Lily provokes stubbornly.
“Ruin me,” James pleads raspingly—a falter in his steps as though he’d get on his knees and beg in an instant just for you to stay with them. “Ruin me as much as you’d like. You would be the most beautiful devastation of my life.”
And so, you choose them.
For there was never any other option from the start.
YOU WAKE UP in the dead of the night, sunken in a mattress that is one too small for five people to fit in, leafy vines and fairy lights wrapped around the posters of the bed. Sometime during the night, Lily had thieved the wool blanket for herself. You rest in between her and Sirius, their snores echoing into your ears as the grasshoppers chirp outside. The potted plants will swing from the ceiling as the evening breeze passes by. (You’ll scold James in the morning for leaving the windows open again.) By your feet, is a fat Tabby cat with one eye named Tuna. (Full name: Tuna Belly.) There are moving pictures on the flower-plastered wall, a testament to the life you share—and the life you have fought hard for. Ruffled pillows are strewn across the carpeted floor. Parchments and notes lay askew on the desk table across the room—Remus’s jittery preparation for his first day next week as Hogwarts’s newest professor.
Remus will catch you wide awake and tuck you into his chest, murmuring, “Rest now. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow for Wormy’s wedding.”
You’ll hum and relinquish your thoughts for the night, holding onto James hand over Remus’s belly. “I love you,” you’ll whisper.
Remus will say it back without hesitation—and you know the others feel exactly the same.
Minutes later, the door will creak open and a tiny shadow will come crawling into the bed, knocking into everyone’s knees and stomach. It’s a little Harry who’s three years old now. He curls under your neck and you will hold him with all the love that six lifetimes can offer and more.
When you close your eyes, it is a comforting darkness that envelopes you.
(Somewhere in a castle beyond valleys and lakes, locked away in the dusty shelves of Dumbledore’s cupboards, sits a broken Time-Turner that finally stops ticking.)
a/n: i wrote the last 2k words like a woman posessed! LMAO. i have to be at training in 2 hours and i haven't prepared yet. tell me what you thought aaaaa!!!! and yes, your sixth life is your last life so u die happily and in peace mwah mwah. might continue this universe with drabbles, idk. if u spot any mistakes.. ignore it for a bit LMAO, i'll proofread this soon.
james potter x fem!hufflepuff!reader
7k
Summary : What started as pity turned into love. James Potter never meant to fall for the quiet Hufflepuff who asked him out on a whim, but when the truth comes out, it might be too late. Now Hogwarts’ golden boy will do anything—letters, apologies, even begging under the stars—to win her back. she fell first he fell harder
Warnings : Angst, miscommunication, overheard conversations, breakup, heartbreak, groveling, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending.
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The corridors of Hogwarts were always bustling, but today they felt like they were closing in on you. The stone walls seemed taller, the chatter of students louder, and every footstep echoed like the drum of your nerves. Your heart had been doing this strange, jittery dance since you woke up this morning, but now it was practically clawing at your ribcage, desperate to escape. You clutched the strap of your bag tighter, trying to steady your breathing.
This was stupid. Absolutely, horrendously stupid. Who in their right mind walked up to James Potter — James Potter, Quidditch captain, prankster extraordinaire, boy who had half the school trailing after him like he was the bloody North Star — and confessed to liking him? You. Apparently, you. Because your crush had been gnawing at you since third year, and it was fifth year now. Two years of stolen glances, of catching yourself smiling at his laugh across the Great Hall, of blushing whenever his hand brushed yours when passing a parchment in Charms.
Two years was too long. You couldn’t keep it bottled up anymore.
You spotted him at the end of the corridor, lounging against the wall with his gang — the Marauders. Sirius Black was telling a story with his hands waving wildly, Remus Lupin was pretending not to listen while clearly listening, and Peter Pettigrew was laughing a little too hard. And James… James was just there, all messy hair and bright eyes, twirling his wand between his fingers like he didn’t have a care in the world.
You should walk away. Run, even. But your feet kept carrying you forward, like some unseen force was pulling you closer. Your palms were sweaty. Your mouth dry. With every step, doubt gnawed deeper. What if he laughed? What if Sirius laughed? What if they all laughed? What if he said no in that casual, dismissive way James Potter was known for, and you had to carry that rejection like a scar forever?
But then he looked up. His hazel eyes flicked to you, a blink of recognition — you were the Hufflepuff he’d seen in Charms, right? The one who always smiled when someone asked you for help with notes. Not exactly on his radar, but not a stranger either.
“Uh—hi,” you managed, your voice trembling like a string about to snap. The Marauders stilled, turning to look at you, their pack-like attention unnerving.
James tilted his head, a polite smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. You’re—uh—y/l/n, right?”
Your heart swelled stupidly just because he remembered your surname. You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Right. That’s me. So, um…” You swallowed. The words lodged in your throat like stubborn stones. This was it — your point of no return. “I… I like you. Like—like like you. And I was wondering if maybe… you’d want to go out with me sometime?”
Silence.
Absolute silence. Even Sirius stopped mid-gesture. The air felt thick, heavy with expectation. Your stomach flipped so violently you thought you might be sick.
James blinked. Hard. Like his brain had blue-screened. What? His inner voice was a jumble of disbelief. He’d been confessed to plenty of times — it wasn’t new — but the way you said it, nervous and honest, it wasn’t coated in flirtation or games. Just… you. Sweet, straightforward, vulnerable. Cute, even.
But still. His first instinct screamed no. He didn’t know you. Not really. And James Potter didn’t go out with girls he didn’t know. He dated girls who were loud, dazzling, popular — not quiet Hufflepuffs who looked like they might cry if he so much as frowned.
Except there you were, cheeks flushed, eyes wide and hopeful, waiting like the world depended on his answer.
His smile faltered. He felt a twinge of something he didn’t expect: guilt. He didn’t like the idea of crushing that hopeful look. James Potter feeling bad for rejecting someone? What the hell.
So the word slipped out before he could stop it. “Yes.”
Your breath caught. Relief and joy rushed through you like sunlight after a storm. “Really? I—um—great. Maybe Hogsmeade this weekend? Ice cream? At Fortescue’s?”
“Yeah, sure,” James said, scratching the back of his neck, trying to play it casual. “Sounds fine.”
You grinned. A wide, radiant smile that made something warm stir in his chest, even though he’d meant the yes out of pity. “Okay! I’ll—I’ll see you then.”
You turned and hurried off before your nerves could collapse entirely, your heart still hammering but now with excitement instead of dread.
The second you were out of earshot, Sirius doubled over. “Merlin’s beard, Prongs, what the fuck was that?” His laugh was sharp and disbelieving. Remus was biting back a smile, Peter snorted into his sleeve.
James frowned. “What?”
“You just agreed to go on a date with her!” Sirius cackled. “You don’t even know her!”
“I didn’t want to crush her in front of everyone,” James defended, crossing his arms, but even as he said it, he sounded uncertain.
Remus arched a brow. “So your solution was to say yes?”
James shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
The weekend came faster than you expected. The crisp bite of autumn hung in the air as you made your way down to Hogsmeade. Leaves crunched under your boots, and you clutched your scarf closer to your neck. You were nervous again, but less so now — he’d said yes. That had to mean something. Maybe, just maybe, this could work.
James was already waiting outside Honeydukes, hands stuffed into his pockets, hair as messy as ever. He spotted you and gave a little wave, his smile easy but not quite warm.
“Hey,” you said, breath puffing white in the chilly air.
“Hey. Ready?”
You nodded, and together you walked toward Fortescue’s. Conversation stumbled at first. You filled the silence with small chatter — classes, professors, funny little things you’d noticed. James listened more than he spoke, tossing in comments now and then. He wasn’t cold, just… reserved. But you didn’t mind. You were talkative enough for both of you, and slowly, the tension eased.
Inside the ice cream parlour, you ordered something sweet and colorful, while James opted for a simple chocolate. You laughed when you got cream on your nose, and he chuckled softly, shaking his head as he handed you a napkin. That little moment lingered between you, unexpectedly gentle.
Afterward, you wandered the village. He bought butterbeer, and you insisted on paying him back, which made him grin for real. The two of you ended up walking back toward Hogwarts as the sky shifted into dusky shades of orange and purple, leaves swirling in the wind.
You talked about your favorite spots in the castle, about how autumn was the best season, about how you liked the quiet corners of the library because they smelled like parchment and ink. James listened, really listened, and found himself thinking you weren’t half bad company. Sweet. Kind. Easy to be around.
By the time you reached the castle gates, your nerves had melted into something softer. It hadn’t been a disaster. Far from it. You smiled at him, shy but genuine. “Thanks for today. I had a really nice time.”
James, to his own surprise, didn’t have to force his smile. “Yeah. Me too.”
And for the first time since he’d blurted out that impulsive ‘yes,’ he didn’t feel like it had been such a bad idea after all.
You still couldn’t believe it. Every time you walked into the Great Hall and James Potter’s hand found yours, every time he smiled that crooked grin and tugged you toward the Gryffindor table instead of letting you drift toward Hufflepuff’s, it felt unreal. You — quiet, bookish, never-in-the-spotlight you — dating James Potter, golden boy of Hogwarts. The whispers that followed you were proof enough. You caught the stares, the nudges, the murmurs: James Potter? With her? And every time, you felt a cocktail of nerves and giddy disbelief bubbling in your chest.
You tried not to let it show, but sometimes, when he leaned close to whisper a joke only you could hear, your smile betrayed you. You’d never imagined this, never dared hope beyond that reckless confession in the corridor. And yet, here you were.
James, though… James was struggling. Not that he let it slip easily. To you, he was the attentive boyfriend — not overwhelming, not overly sweet, but present. He held your hand when you walked together, he walked you down to the entrance of the Hufflepuff common room after late-night study sessions, he even nudged your pumpkin juice closer at breakfast like he’d always been looking out for you. It was enough to make your heart race.
But inside, James was a mess.
The thing was — he liked you. Against his own expectations. Not love, not the wild, star-scorched sort of affection he dreamed of giving someone someday, but a softness had crept in where he thought there’d be nothing. You were easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, easy to just… exist around. And that scared him more than it should have.
Sirius didn’t bother to hide his opinions. “You’ve got to tell her, mate. If you’re not serious, she deserves to know.”
Remus echoed the same, albeit quieter, gentler. “It’ll hurt less if you’re honest now than later.”
Even Peter muttered something like, “Yeah, feels wrong, James.”
But James couldn’t do it. Because every time you looked at him with those warm, hopeful eyes, the words lodged in his throat. He didn’t want to see them dim, didn’t want to hear your voice falter with disappointment. So he told himself lies that tasted like honey: he’d give it a month, see how it went, break it off gently if it didn’t work. No one would get hurt. Right?
He wanted to believe that.
Days slipped by in a haze of autumn gold. You sat with him at the Gryffindor table, feeling simultaneously out of place and exactly where you wanted to be. Gryffindors welcomed you in their own chaotic way — loud chatter, flying toast, Sirius cracking jokes across the table until you laughed so hard pumpkin juice nearly came out your nose. And through it all, James’s hand lingered on your knee under the table, grounding you.
At night, when he walked you down to the cozy entrance of the Hufflepuff basement, you could hardly believe the picture you made: James Potter, messy hair catching torchlight, grinning at you as though escorting you was the most natural thing in the world. You sometimes hesitated before slipping inside, half-expecting him to vanish into smoke when you blinked.
“Goodnight,” you whispered one evening, clutching your books to your chest. “Thank you for walking me.”
James shrugged, too casual, hiding the way his chest tightened. “Of course. Can’t have you getting ambushed by Peeves, can we?”
You laughed, the sound bright and genuine, and James found himself staring a moment too long. He liked that sound. More than he wanted to admit.
But when he crawled back into the Gryffindor dorms, Sirius was waiting. Arms crossed, smirk sharp. “You’re doomed, Prongs.”
James groaned, collapsing onto his bed. “I’m fine.”
“You like her.”
“I—no, I don’t. Not like that.” But the denial felt thin, weak. James rolled over, staring at the canopy. “She’s fine. Sweet. I’ll give it a month and if it's still like this then I’ll… I’ll break it off. Nicely.”
Remus’s voice drifted from the corner, quiet but firm. “It won’t be nice for her, James. You can’t make it painless.”
James shut his eyes. He knew they were right. But he also knew he couldn’t bring himself to tell you yet. Not when you were smiling at him like he was your entire world.
And Merlin help him — part of him didn’t want to let go.
Every moment with you was another thread tying him down. He found himself watching you more often — the way you furrowed your brows when concentrating in class, the way you always shared your notes with anyone who asked, the way your laughter came easily, without calculation. It wasn’t dazzling or dramatic, but it was real. And James was starting to realize he liked real more than he thought he did.
But beneath it all, the guilt festered. Every time you leaned into him in the common room, every time you brushed his arm with yours at breakfast, every time you kissed his cheek before ducking into class — James felt the weight of the truth he wasn’t telling you. He liked you, yes. But not in the way you deserved.
And yet, when you turned to him one evening under the autumn stars, whispering, “I can’t believe this is real,” he only smiled back and pulled you closer, even though his chest ached with the lie.
Three weeks slipped by like a dream. You had never known happiness could feel this simple — like sunlight spilling through autumn leaves, like laughter echoing across the Black Lake, like stolen glances that made your cheeks burn long after. Everything with James felt… amazing. Better than you ever dared to imagine. The stares, the whispers, the disbelief of others melted into nothing whenever his hand found yours. For once, you didn’t doubt yourself. For once, you allowed yourself to believe you were enough.
You thought things were going strong. And they were. Only stronger than you realized — because James Potter had fallen, hard.
It started quietly. At first, James told himself he was just indulging the sweetness of it, just giving you — and himself — time. But somewhere between the picnics by the lake and the butterbeer dates in Hogsmeade, he found himself grinning when you weren’t looking. He found himself replaying your laugh in his head when he was meant to be studying. He found himself reaching for you automatically, as though his body had decided it was no longer complete without you pressed against his side.
He was doomed. And he knew it.
The day it hit him hardest was the skating picnic.
The lake had frozen over early that year, the ice shimmering like glass under the pale winter sun. You’d brought a basket of food wrapped in cheerful yellow cloth, insisting on a picnic even in the cold. James teased you endlessly about it, but he carried the basket anyway, secretly delighted just to see you so determined.
After you ate, you’d both strapped on skates and ventured onto the ice. You wobbled almost immediately, clutching at his arm, and James laughed so hard he nearly toppled with you. “You’re hopeless,” he teased, but he didn’t let go. Not once. Every time you slipped, his hand was there, steady and sure.
“Stop laughing at me!” you squeaked, cheeks flushed from cold and embarrassment.
“I can’t,” James managed between chuckles. “You’re too cute when you fall.”
You swatted at him, but your grin gave you away. And then — without warning — your skate slid too far, your balance gave out, and you tumbled forward. James’s reflexes kicked in instantly. His hands shot out, gripping your waist, hauling you back against him before you could crash to the ice.
The world seemed to still.
Your palms pressed against his chest, his heartbeat pounding beneath your touch. His hands remained at your waist, fingers curling tighter, unwilling to let you go. The laughter faded from his lips as his hazel eyes locked on yours. Wide. Intense. Hungry.
And then he kissed you.
Not the hesitant brush of lips you’d sometimes imagined, not the tentative peck of teenagers figuring it out. No — this was James Potter, undone. He tilted his head and closed the gap with a desperation that startled you. His lips were warm against the winter chill, his kiss deep and claiming. One hand slid up your back, anchoring you to him, while the other tightened at your waist as though he feared you might vanish if he didn’t hold you close enough.
You melted into him, the shock giving way to something hotter, wilder. The ice beneath your skates, the laughter of distant students, the entire world blurred until there was nothing left but him. His mouth moved against yours like you were the only thing that mattered. Because to James, in that moment, you were.
When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, “Bloody hell.” His grin was dazed, his hair messier than ever, and his eyes shone like he’d just discovered a secret he wanted to keep forever.
You giggled softly, unable to find words. Instead, you leaned in and kissed him again, quick but certain, and James Potter knew he was gone for good.
Of course, the Marauders noticed.
Sirius caught James staring at you during breakfast, toast forgotten in his hand, and nearly spat out his pumpkin juice laughing. “Merlin’s balls, Prongs, you’re gone. Absolutely finished. Look at you — all heart eyes over there.”
James shoved him, scowling but blushing all the same. “Shut it, Padfoot.”
Remus only smiled knowingly over his book. “It suits you, James. She suits you.”
Even Peter piped up, grinning. “She makes you less annoying. We like her.”
And though they teased him relentlessly, none of them could deny the truth: you were good for him. Better than good. For once, James Potter wasn’t all bravado and antics. He was softer. Warmer. Happier.
And for once, you weren’t just the quiet Hufflepuff with her nose in a book. You were the girl James Potter couldn’t stop thinking about, the girl who’d stumbled into his orbit and made herself indispensable.
Three weeks in, you thought everything was perfect.
Three weeks in, James knew he was ruined.
And he couldn’t bring himself to mind one bit.
The walk back from the Quidditch pitch should’ve been nothing. A normal, golden afternoon — James changing after practice, you slipping away to fetch him water, the autumn sun still hanging low and warm. But instead, it became the day your chest hollowed out, the day you realized how foolishly you had believed in fairytales.
You hadn’t meant to overhear. You had rounded the corner with two chilled bottles in hand, only to catch the echo of laughter — Sirius’s sharp bark, Remus’s steadier murmur, Peter’s giggle threading through. Then James’s voice, low, defensive, fraying at the edges.
“She asked me out — what was I supposed to do? Say no to her face?”
And Sirius’s reply, “Prongs, you said yes out of pity. That’s rotten.”
Your breath stuck. The water felt heavy in your grip. Pity. The word burned into your ears, etched into the soft parts of you that had been glowing these last weeks. Pity. You waited, praying for a contradiction — for James to scoff, to say, No, that’s not it, I like her. But you didn’t stay long enough to hear the rest. You fled, water bottles still clutched tight, shame and disbelief dragging you down.
By the time you collapsed in your dorm that night, the bottles were nowhere near James. The water never reached him.
—
The next morning felt different. You sat at the Hufflepuff table for the first time since you’d begun dating. You felt their curious eyes, heard their whispered questions, but ignored them. James noticed instantly from across the Great Hall. His head jerked toward you, brows furrowing, confusion flickering like a candle flame. For weeks you’d been glued to his side, laughter spilling between you both. Now you didn’t even glance at him. He shifted, restless, picking at his toast, pretending to listen to Sirius.
Maybe she just wants to sit with her own friends today, he told himself. But the unease pooled in his stomach.
After breakfast, he caught you before you could vanish. “Hey—” his voice soft, uncertain, relief creeping in as he finally had you close. “I was looking for you last night. Where’d you go? You didn’t bring the—”
You cut him off. Your tone was sharp enough to slice him open. “Out of pity, right?”
James froze. The words hit him harder than any Bludger could. His heart tripped in his chest, his throat went dry. He blinked at you, panicked, uncomprehending. “What? No, I— how did you—”
You laughed, a sound brittle and cracked. “Doesn’t matter how. I heard enough.”
James felt everything tilting. He reached for you, desperation flooding his veins. “No, listen to me, it wasn’t— it isn’t— I never meant—”
“Don’t.” You stepped back before his hand could brush yours. Your stomach churned, your vision blurred. Anger at yourself sharpened your words. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve known this wasn’t real. James Potter doesn’t date Hufflepuff nobodies unless he feels sorry for them.”
The words gutted him. His mouth opened, but nothing came out at first — just the ache. Then, frantic, “That’s not true. I swear, it’s not what you think. Please—”
Your chest rose and fell, ragged. “Stop. Just stop. Whatever this was, it’s over.”
He shook his head violently, his voice cracking. “No, no, you don’t understand— I— I like you, I do—”
You laughed again, wetter this time, your throat thick. “Don’t lie now, James. Don’t make it worse.”
The finality in your tone shattered him. He stumbled closer, eyes wide, pleading. “I’m not lying. Please. Give me a chance to—”
But you cut him off again, your voice trembling. “We’re done. I don’t want to be the pity project anymore.”
The silence after hung heavy, unbearable. James’s hands hovered uselessly in the air, empty. His chest heaved like he’d run ten laps around the pitch. He wanted to scream, to grab time itself and rewind it, to make you hear the part you hadn’t stayed for: how the pity had burned away weeks ago, how he couldn’t stop thinking about you, how you had become his favorite part of every day.
But you were already turning away.
“Please,” he whispered hoarsely, one last time, like the word could anchor you to him. “Please, don’t—”
You didn’t look back. The corridor swallowed you whole, leaving him stranded, hollow.
James stood there until his knees buckled. He leaned against the stone wall, head dropping into his hands. His chest hurt like someone had hexed him open. The bottle of water you had meant to bring him — the simple gesture that should’ve been nothing — never left his thoughts.
He didn’t even notice when Sirius found him minutes later. “Prongs?”
James lifted his head, eyes red, jaw tight. For once, Sirius didn’t smirk or tease. He just clapped a hand on James’s shoulder, steady and silent, as if holding him up when he couldn’t stand on his own.
Because James Potter — golden boy, Quidditch captain, Marauder — had just lost the one person who made him feel more than all of that combined. And it was his fault.
James Potter had never known desperation like this.
It started small: letters. Neat at first, written late at night under the soft glow of his wand. Please, just let me explain. Please talk to me. By the third day, his handwriting had grown jagged, his quill blotting ink with every frantic word. He sent them with owls, slipped them into your bag, folded them between the pages of books he knew you’d borrow from the library. Every single one came back unopened — sometimes still sealed, sometimes crumpled, sometimes left on the floor outside the Hufflepuff common room for him to find like a reminder of your rejection.
He started waiting. First between classes, leaning casually against the stone walls, pretending he wasn’t searching for your face in every crowd. Then outside your common room, long after curfew, until his legs ached from standing. Sometimes he’d sit on the floor, running a hand through his hair until it stuck up worse than usual, hoping you’d appear. You never did.
The Marauders noticed. Of course they did. Sirius ribbed him at first, until James snapped so hard Sirius’s smirk dropped. Remus tried to soothe, told him he needed to give you space. Peter avoided his eyes. But James couldn’t stop. Every corridor without you felt hollow. Every meal you spent at the Hufflepuff table tore another piece of him away.
He cornered you once in the library. You slipped away before he even opened his mouth. Another time, he chased you down a hallway, calling your name until his voice broke, only to watch you vanish around the corner. Each rejection left him more frayed, more undone.
By the second week, James Potter — Quidditch captain, prankster king, golden boy of Gryffindor — looked wrecked. Shadows bruised the skin under his eyes. His laugh had vanished. He walked the castle like a ghost.
—
The Astronomy Tower was supposed to be your escape. Late at night, long after curfew, when the castle slept and the stars stretched endless above, you climbed the spiraling stairs to breathe. You wanted distance, a quiet place to unravel without being seen.
But when you pushed open the heavy door, you weren’t alone.
James stood at the railing, hunched, shoulders drawn tight like he was carrying something too heavy to set down. His broom-calloused hands gripped the stone ledge, knuckles white, and for a moment you thought about leaving, slipping back into the shadows before he noticed.
You turned on your heel. But you weren’t fast enough.
His hand shot out, closing around your wrist. The touch was hot, trembling. “Wait.”
“James—” you started, sharp, but he tugged gently, then harder, pulling you around until you faced him. The stars spilled silver across his face, highlighting the redness in his eyes, the raw ache carved into every line. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He looked broken.
Your stomach flipped. You tried to pull free. “Let go.”
He didn’t. His grip tightened, not hurting, but desperate, anchoring you in place. His other hand came up to your waist, hesitant at first, then clutching like he was afraid you’d disappear. Your body was nearly flush against his, your heart thudding wildly as he bent close, his forehead nearly brushing yours.
“No,” he rasped, voice shredded. “No, you’re going to hear me this time.”
You stiffened, anger rising with your panic. “James, I don’t want—”
His breath hitched, chest heaving against yours. “Please,” he broke in, the word hoarse, torn straight from his throat. “Please. I can’t— I can’t lose you without telling you everything.”
The rawness in his voice stole yours for a moment. He pressed on, eyes locked to yours, glassy and frantic.
“Yes, it started wrong. I was an idiot, a coward— I didn’t know what to do when you asked me out, and I said yes without thinking. I thought— Merlin, I thought it’d be a week, maybe two, and then I’d let you go gently so you wouldn’t get hurt. That’s what I told them. That’s what you heard. But that’s not— that’s not the end of it.”
You shook your head, trying to step back, but his grip on your wrist held. He leaned closer, voice cracking as it tumbled out faster, desperate.
“Because then you smiled at me. And you laughed with me. And you sat with me at every meal and walked me back to my tower like it was the most natural thing in the world. You— you listened. No one listens to me, not really, but you did. And suddenly it wasn’t pity, it wasn’t some bloody joke, it was everything. You were everything. I fell, harder than I’ve ever fallen for anything, and I don’t know how to do this without you.”
Your throat tightened, but you swallowed it down, shaking your head again. “James—”
“I’ve called for you in every stupid way I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking fully now. “Letters, hallways, waiting outside your common room like some lovesick fool. Do you know how many times I’ve stood there hoping you’d open the door? I would’ve stood there all night if it meant seeing you. I don’t care if it’s pathetic. I don’t care if I look like an idiot. I just— I can’t stand this silence. I can’t stand not having you.”
His forehead dropped against yours, his breath ragged. His hand on your waist clenched tighter, like he needed proof you were real. “I love you. I didn’t know it at first, but I do. And I’ll spend every bloody day proving it to you if you let me. Please. Please, if you can’t give me another chance, at least— at least forgive me.”
Your eyes burned. You hated the ache in your chest, the way his words cracked you open. You wanted to pull free, to run, to protect yourself. But his desperation held you rooted, trembling under the weight of everything he’d just confessed.
For the first time since you’d walked away, James Potter wasn’t the golden boy, the untouchable heartthrob. He was just a boy. A boy with tear-streaked cheeks, clutching you like you were air, begging you not to leave.
And Merlin help you, you couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked at you like that.
James’s forehead pressed to yours, his chest heaving, his voice trembling with the force of everything he had spilled. For a long moment, the only sound was his breathing — uneven, desperate — and the steady thud of your heart that seemed far too loud in the quiet tower.
Your throat burned. You hated him for breaking you, hated yourself for still feeling the pull of him even now. His hand was warm around your wrist, his grip at your waist almost painful in its need. He was shaking. James Potter, who never faltered, who shone so brightly that everyone else bent toward his orbit — was shaking.
“I love you,” he whispered again, quieter this time, like the words themselves were fragile. “Please. Don’t walk away.”
Tears pricked your eyes. You had imagined this moment a hundred times in the past weeks — what you would say if he tried, how strong you would be. But now, standing here with him undone before you, the edges of your anger softened into something else. Something raw. Something human.
Slowly, you lifted your free hand, hesitating before brushing your fingers against his jaw. His breath caught. His eyes, wide and red-rimmed, searched yours like he was terrified of what you’d say.
“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “A selfish, reckless idiot who should’ve told me the truth from the start.”
“I know.” His answer was immediate, fervent. “I know. I was a coward. I was wrong. I’ll never stop being sorry for it.”
Your chest ached. “You hurt me.”
He nodded, swallowing hard, his grip loosening just enough to let you pull back if you wanted. “I know. And if you never want me again, I’ll accept it. But I need you to know — there’s no pity anymore. Just you. Just… love.”
The last word cracked something inside you. Because even after all the pain, after the nights of doubt and the weeks of silence, you believed him. Not because he was James Potter, golden boy, but because he was James — tear-stained, broken, trembling — and he was laying himself bare.
You exhaled shakily, then leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I forgive you,” you whispered, and the weight in your chest eased for the first time in weeks. “But you’d better spend the rest of your life proving it.”
The laugh that broke from him was wet, choked, disbelieving. Relief washed over his face in waves, and before you could say another word, his lips were on yours. The kiss was desperate at first, then softer, reverent — like he was pouring every apology, every promise into it. His hand at your waist slid around to your back, holding you close like he never meant to let go again.
When you finally pulled away, his forehead stayed against yours, his grin small but luminous through the tears. “Deal,” he breathed. “Every day. For as long as you’ll let me.”
For the first time since the world had splintered, you let yourself smile. And in the quiet of the Astronomy Tower, beneath the vast stretch of stars, James Potter held you like he’d finally found his way home.
"Whatever version of us wakes up," he says, "They'll find their way. Just like we did."
Pairing. Mean!Renjun x f!reader ft Jeno
Synopsis. When you, a girl hopelessly obsessed with Jeno- suddenly swaps bodies with his sarcastic cynical best friend Renjun, things get messy fast. Thrown into each other's chaotic lives, they uncover hidden pain, unexpected truths, and a connection neither saw coming. Even after the swap ends and memories fade, something between them refuses to disappear… and it might just be 'love'.
Genre. Soft burn. Long shot. Angst. Romance. Body swap.
Trigger warning. Body/conscious swap.
(BACK TO THE FUTURE: CHILLER STORIES MASTERLIST)
PAST PRESENT YEAR: 2028
You didn't just graduate top of your class with honours and scores so high that every university you applied to said yes. But you also graduated out of being the 'smart girl,' the one nobody respected.
"So what? You're clever? A million other people are clever, have personality, achieve their bucket lists. What do you have? What have you done? Nothing." — your father once said.
Something changed in you that day… you wanted his validation more than anything. So when you stepped onto the campus of N.C.T. University (The National Centre for Technological Advancement University— the most prestigious university in the whole country) you knew this was your shot. A clean slate. In high school, you were the invisible overachiever, head down, unnoticed. But here, you wanted to be different. To be bold. Loud. Irresistible. And part of that transformation meant one thing: getting the attention of Lee Jeno.
He was the untouchable student-teacher back in high school. Brilliant, cool, older. You signed up for an advanced electronics module just to watch him from the back of the room. He never noticed you. But when you heard he was continuing his research at N.C.T., your path became clear.
He was now a fourth-year. You were a freshman. But you approached him.
And that's when the illusion broke. Your fathers words more clear…
This wasn't the polished Jeno from the classroom. At university, he was freer, louder, effortlessly popular and surrounded by geniuses who somehow made brilliance look cool. When you tried to join that world, you didn't just fail and not fit in… you became a joke. Your fathers words more clear…
Still, you couldn’t walk away. You wanted to be noticed. So, you changed. You dimmed your light. Bit your tongue. Dumbed yourself down. The world didn't want another 'clever girl'.
Six months in, and you were unraveling. Your once-perfect grades were slipping. Your life revolved around keeping up this version of yourself, the one built for admiration, not achievement.
The girl in the mirror wore thick eyeliner, overdrawn lips, and clothes that barely covered anything; short skirts, crop tops, anything that screamed confidence. You worked for the body, starved just enough to keep it. And for the first time, you had something real: friends. Chaerong and Eunjung — pretty, popular, and perfectly pastel and aesthetic. They taught you how to belong. Or at least, how to perform belonging. But beneath the surface, the cracks were growing… and the insecurity kept showing…
But… you still had to push. Jeno… would be in arms reach if you kept pushing.
At 13h23, you're sitting by the diner window, legs crossed just right, hair curled to perfection, you watched your reflection in the glass more than the world outside. You look cool and untouchable… the things you had to do to get to this post is all worth it, if it leads you to Jeno.
But for now, none of it mattered because he still hasn't noticed you.
"What do I have to do next for Lee Jeno to finally look my way and want me?" You frown, breaking your gaze from the reflection in the window and turning back to your friends at the table.
Chaerong bounces excitedly in her seat. Chaerong is a girls girl- always pumped in supporting or helping out in anyway that she can. "You could sign up for the cheering team. Basketball season’s coming up. If you make the team, you’ll have access to him all the time!"
Eunjung taps her chin thoughtfully before her eyes brighten. Eunjung loves the color blue - her style is always draped in it- so as she speaks, you wonder how she made blue light lipstick work. "How about we go to that party Mark’s hosting. When we find Jeno, we'll get you alone with him, and then you can fuck him and make him pussy drunk so hard that he simps on you.”
"Could work," Chaerong nods and then looks at you. "His party is this Friday. How's your body after being with Jaemin?"
You slump back in your seat, trying not to roll your eyes at their strategies. "Does everything have to be like, about sex? Jaemin was so rough, I don't think I can do another guy any time soon."
"Come on, you're a grown adult," Eunjung adds with a smirk. "If you can't handle Jaemin, how will you handle Jeno? I heard his huge."
"But I want him to like me without me having to get in his pants. Besides, that plan of going to Mark's party and getting Jeno alone with me, is already tough because I can't even get Jeno alone with me for more than 5 minutes. This isn't some high school drama where things just happen and he falls into my lap. Jeno is so hard to get." You grunt, leaning forward and poking at your olive and tomato salad.
Eunjung folds her arms, unimpressed. "If you know this isn't high school, then why are you chasing after him? Like, hello, he isn't the only hot senior here."
Chaerong's face lights up. "Yeah, and don't forget the first years are pretty hot too. Did you see that guy? What's his name—wait—" She snaps her fingers and closes her eyes, thinking hard. "Ah—Jisung!”
"Ew," you say with a frown, causing them both to laugh.
"Oh come on," Eunjung chimes in, sipping her milkshake. "He's on the basketball team. Have you seen Haechan? Jaehyun? Now those guys are lookers."
"Are you serious?" You stare at them in disbelief. "I pour out my broken soul and you're talking about other guys? You don't get it. I don't want those other soggy sweatpants guys who only think about basketball, parties, and drugs. I want him because he's hot and smart. He's Lee Jeno. The man who can do everything."
Chaerong pops a piece of bubble gum into her mouth and twirls a strand of her dark hair.
"Babes, you just have to accept that he's untouchable."
"Plus, he's older than you. A lot older. Practically in his sixties." Eunjung rolls her eyes.
You scowl, shutting down as you quietly munch on your salad, feeling disheartened. "You guys just, like… suck. Hardcore."
Chaerong and Eunjung exchange concerned looks. Chaerong places a comforting hand over yours. "Okay, how about this? Change your hair color to blonde. It's hot in America right now, I heard. Give yourself that Sabrina Carpenter vibe. Blue contact lenses, guys are into that. And you should take charge- come on, I have some wigs in my car."
Before you can say anything else, they're already getting up, skirts swishing, crop tops tight, leaving the diner without even finishing their food. You quickly get up following behind them. "Hold up-" Maybe this time, it'll work. You're so close to Jeno.
Across the room, Renjun rubs his temple in frustration as Chenle gets up from his seat opposite him and walks over to the empty table that was occupied by the girls. He picks something up, then returns with a sly grin. "They're so dumb. They didn't even notice the mic." Taking a seat across from Renjun, he removes his earpiece prompting Renjun to do the same handing it back to him. An earpiece which forced Renjun to eavesdrop on those girls. "What did you think? Better yet, how did it make you feel?"
"I should've been on a fucking island by now, sipping on dry martinis and peeling off bikinis, not listening to hopes and dreams of prostitutes." Renjun sarcastically lets out, wondering how on earth he was convinced to give up his 30-minute free time for this. "To be honest, I'm listing off ways to kill you Zhong Chenle."
Chenle is in instant chuckles causing Renjun to glare. They're complete polar opposites, with Chenle being a ray of sunshine, and Renjun's whole vibe being descended form hell. Chenle always laughing and smiling, Renjun frowning and sarcastic in everyway. "You didn't find that conversation interesting?" Chenle poses, zipping up his miniature microphone and earpiece back in his case. "What did you think?" he asks again.
"We were supposed to be reporting on wild storms in Japan." Renjun blankly answers, composing himself not to get violent with every chuckle that leaves Chenle's lips. "Did it not occur to you, that I don't want to document on people."
Chenle's lips stretch to his usual eminent smile as he motions for Renjun to calm down. "First of all this is a 'pairs project', lecturer said to make decisions 'together'. You chose that on your own. I at least involved you in the idea I have."
Renjun continues to rub his temple shutting his eyes, face panned downwards. If he could, he would hurt Chenle badly. But he can't, overwise he'd fail and that would suck.
"By the way, loved how you cut your hair short-"
"Shut up, let me think." Renjun barely raises his voice, still the words pierce into Chenle's ears. Intimidating, yet for Chenle, he always found the angry boy comical. Meanwhile Renjun 'meditates' on things that are pure, admirable and angelic- things that will get his mind off from thinking about killing Chenle. When he finally opens his eyes to the jubilant young man Chenle, the feelings of punching his face return. But he digresses. "I have questions." Renjun starts, already feeling hot and loathsome again. "Why on earth would you make us give up hail storms in Japan for these girls? Was there nothing else that you could've chosen for us to do? Do I look like I'm in the mood to eavesdrop on shit like this?"
"Wow-" Chenle holds in his fits of laughter. Renjun rolls his eyes getting up from his seat and heading out. "Where are you going?"
"My class is about to start, and I want to clear my head." Renjun exits the mini diner, pulling out his cigarette pack, immediately thrusting a single bud in between his lips grunting by the heat of the sun.
"You're one ironic bastard." Chenle follows beside him. "Talk about the safety of wildlife and you're out here pontificating it."
Renjun ignores Chenle, lighting up the tip of his bud covering it, protecting the wind that blows. Once it catches fire, Renjun's quick to inhale and exhale through his nose- the itching calming down, the irritations fades for a bit. "My afternoon dose of nicotine doesn't pollute the earth. Now tell me, why I should agree to this stupid project? Hailstorm in Japan had no people involved and was highly favorable by me. And what the hell where those girls even talking about?"
"Need I remind you this is a capstone collaborations class." Chenle states matter-of-factly. "You as the engineering student are required to take it to improve your communication. I on the other hand I'm a strong writer and a people's person and can help you achieve that. Which is why we should be reporting on these girls. See it like this, we are in a prestigious university specializing in media, society and technology. We've got standards to uphold. Now once in a while, the school surprises us with students like Y/n. I heard she graduated top of her class- but here, her grades are on life support. She's clearly dumb, thinking she's the shit, but what interests me is her pursuit of Jeno. In a communications class, we're always pressed to make headlines - so my suggestion is that we take the negative approach. It'll still make headlines and give us our marks even though it's dirty."
Despite the smirk on Chenle's face, Renjun is dumbfounded. Can the world get anymore darker? "You've picked your target- what's her name?"
Chenle says your name, and Renjun sighs. "Poor girl is the focus on this sick project. If I say I don't want to be a part of this, and you're free to do whatever you want, will you still allow me to put my name when you're submitting?"
Chenle grins proudly. "Of course, you needn't worry about dirty work. What I want you to do is get statistics about body counts of f-"
"What exactly are you up to?" Renjun exhales sharply, turning toward him. "From their conversation, I picked up they're first years. What business do you have with them? Seriously. I need to know—I’m not about to have my name tied to a criminal."
Chenle just shrugs, that usual playful grin tugging at his lips. "Nothing bad-"
Renjun rolls his eyes. "Whatever. You’ve got my email. Just send me my part of the work—I’ll finish it."
The truth is, Renjun hasn’t dropped Chenle as a partner because, despite his annoying attitude, he’s actually brilliant. He’s made headlines both inside and outside the university. Partnering with a golden student like him? That’s a guaranteed perfect score, and that's what Renjun likes to collect - especially for a class he was forced to join against his will.
"Injun! What’s up?" Renjun’s shoulder jerk slightly as someone bumps into him mid-walk. He doesn’t even have to look, he already knows. Lee Jeno.
Unlike Renjun, who’s almost always dressed in black and carries the energy of someone permanently irritated, Jeno is his complete opposite, bright, effortlessly charismatic, and annoyingly easy to like. He's popular not just for his sharp mind, but also for his physique and presence on the university basketball team. The guy’s a walking triple threat.
And unfortunately, he’s also Renjun’s best friend.
"You look pissed. What happened? I left you for two minutes and you were totally chill."
"Jeno, does it ever occur to you that the sun irritates my skin, and when I'm dressed in leather jackets - your arm should be kept away from me. I'm freaking burning—"
"The fuck, that's not my problem." Jeno laughs. "Yho listen, I've got training after classes. Basketball season has come forth. Coach might kill me, haven't worked out all this semester."
As they head to engineering theory, students greet Jeno left and right. He replies effortlessly, all charm and ease. No one greets Renjun. They just look away, or make room like he carries some contagious plague. That’s fine. He prefers it that way. The fewer interactions, the better.
Then he sees you… you're a literal bombshell. Eye candy… Blonde. Fake blonde. A dumb, desperate attempt to get Jeno’s attention. Rejun hears Jeno sigh. "Sucks to be cool." Renjun mutters.
"It doesn’t," Jeno replies. "Some people… suck. Hate this girl, she's so desperate-"
You stop Jeno in the hallway, blocking his path. "Hey, Jeno."
"Hi Y/n." Jeno against his will stops and greets you. Tiredly.
"I sent you a text, and you didn't text back. Why?" You ask, your tone flirtatious. He gives the usual excuse, practice, homework. He's still trying to be polite, but distant. You don't take the hint. "Couldn't you text that back? You left me on read."
Jeno rolls his head around his neck, trying to pass you. "You're not my girlfriend. I don't owe you that. Look, I've got class. See you later." Renjun watches as Jeno brushes past, annoyed. Jeno catches up with Renjun and furrows his brows. "I'm surprised you didn't leave," Jeno says.
"It was entertaining," Renjun replies, already removing his bag and handing it to Jeno. "Save me a seat. I'll be back."
"Liar. You just want to finish your cigarette." Jeno laughs and jogs off. Renjun then remembers he's still holding onto his cigarette. Renjun checks the time, yeah, they’re late, but his bud was still fresh and he needed to finish it, not to waste it. He turns back just in time to see you entering the co-ed bathroom.
He follows.
You don't notice him. When you step out of the stall, eyes red, wig clutched in your hand, he's already at the sink. You wash your hands, stuffing the wig into your bag like it might erase what just happened.
Renjun takes it out again.
"Hey-" you protest in shock of the sudden hand that reaches in your personal space. "Give that back-"
He holds it high, unimpressed. You look weak… pathetic. It's so pitiful that he tosses the wig back into your bag. "You weren’t always like this," he mutters.
You furrow your brows by his words. "You don’t know me. Go away." But then you stop. You blink, tears still drying. Your voice softens. "You're Jeno’s friend, right?"
Renjun lifts a brow.
"Maybe you could help me," you say. "Help him notice me. Please?"
He doesn't answer directly. "You are an idiot." With that, he turns and walks out. He remembers you…
Back in high school, he was a senior when you joined as a junior. Immediately recognized as a brilliant student. He never paid you much attention, just knew you as the quiet, nerdy type who always ended up sitting in his usual smoking spot. Alone.
Now here you are again. And somehow, he’s paired with Chenle to write a report about you. How unlucky.
So unlucky that he actually has a nightmare… Renjun’s nightmare… begins that night when he goes to bed as himself.
But in the morning he wakes up to a pink ceiling. He wakes up as you.
And it's so unlucky, because… it's not a nightmare. It's real.
8:49 AM - Tuesday
What the hell is going on?
You groan, twisting uncomfortably on a bed that doesn’t feel like yours. Your throat is parched, and your ears are bleeding from being blasted with rock music. You rip off the headphones…. headphones? And sit up slowly, dazed. The blanket wrapped around you is huge, grey, and smells like cigarettes. Gross. You try to stand, but the weight of the blanket trips you and you collapse to the floor. Then it hits you- grey carpet?
You glance around in confusion. Did you sleep with someone last night? The walls are dull, the curtains shut tight, and the air smells like stale smoke. This isn't your room. It doesn't even feel like your house. You stagger over to the curtains and yank them open. As light floods in, your eyes catch something that makes your blood freeze- a mirror. You step closer, slowly. Your reflection stares back at you- but it isn't yours. You blink. You squint. You touch your face.
What. The. Hell?
That's not your face. That's a guy's face. You stumble back, then rush toward the mirror again, heart pounding. "Am I a… man?"
No. Wait. This can't be real. You are a man.
Your chest rises and falls quickly as panic sinks in. You blink hard, slap yourself across the cheek. Still there. Still him. You cough from the dry air, waving a hand in front of your face as your eyes drift down to your body. And then you feel it. A shift. A twitch. A sudden, heavy presence in your pants. You freeze.
"No way," you whisper. You close your eyes, hesitate, then slowly slide a hand down your waistband. You cringe. Hair. Skin. Something thick and soft… Oh no. It's real. It’s yours. It's attached. It’s… twitching?
You rip your hand out like it burned you. "Where the hell is my vagina…" you mutter miserably, staring in horror at the mirror. No tears come out, even though you're about to collapse. You try screaming, but the voice that comes out is deep. Hoarse. Not yours. It terrifies you more than anything else. You cough hard, gripping the edge of the bed. This can't be real. You press your hands to your face, then look back at the mirror. You pull your- his short hair back.
Short. Black. Masculine.
You gasp. "Oh my god. I'm him. I'M HIM!"
You bolt to the door, fling it open, and run out into a bright hallway. The air smells fresh out here. It makes no sense, his room was a smoke-filled oven.
"Hello?" you call, voice echoing. "Is anybody here?"
You wander aimlessly, taking turns at random, trying to make sense of where you are. The house is big. Bigger than your dorm room. Definitely not a dorm. You're about to round a corner when someone nearly walks into you, a short woman with dark hair. You freeze. So does she.
"I-Is there a problem?" she asks, clearly startled.
Your brain stutters. "Uhm… good morning."
She blinks, then smiles faintly. "Oh. Good morning, my son. Are you okay? I heard you screaming and thought it might be another… well, never mind. I'm talking too much. You probably want me to leave.”
Son? This woman is his mom? She looks like she's trying not to upset you. Why does she seem afraid? But you don’t have time to unpack that now. "Ma'am… I mean mum… mother?" you blurt out, but by her confused face you stick to; mum. "Mum- I need you to tell me something."
She tilts her head, concerned.
"What's my name?" you ask breathlessly. "Like… my real, birth name?"
She looks confused but eventually answers, hesitantly. "Renjun. Huang Renjun?"
You blink. "I knew it." You turn to leave, but quickly spin back around. "Mum?"
She looks more confused than ever, a little unsure. "Y-Yes?"
"Could you, like… drop me off at school?" you ask, trying to soften your voice, though your throat still sounds dry and raspy. You cough- loud and rough. Ugh. Why does this body feel like it hasn't had water in days?
Her eyes widen. "You want me to drop you off at school?"
You nod, but she stares in disbelief. "My son… are you feeling okay? Did I do something wrong? Do you want to humiliate me again?"
Again? Oh no. That's right. You're in the body of Renjun- Jeno's friend but also known around campus as; number one misanthrope, full-time cynic, part-time emotional terrorist. Great.
You clutch your chest a little and lean down to hug the petite woman in front of you. She flinches at first, clearly not used to affection. If you had a mum like this, you'd be doing everything to make her proud. But your own mum's been gone for as long as you can remember… replaced by your father's idea of a half-naked new wife, who somehow counts as your stepmother. Not the best influence, but… you still want to be like her, so that your father can… acknowledge you.
"R-Renjun, dear?"
This woman is so gentle. You tighten the hug a little.
"Yes, Mum," you reply, though your voice still sounds like it needs a lung transplant. You cough out-
When you pull back, her eyes are misty. "You really want me to drop you off?"
"I'd love that," you smile, an actual, warm smile. It lights up her entire face as she wraps you in another hug, it's hesitant but she gives into it.
"I hope I’m not dreaming," she whispers with a chuckle. "Alright, my son. Go change. I'll make some tea. Do you… want some?"
"Yeah, def— I mean, definitely," you nod, mentally scolding yourself for slipping into slang. This dude's voice can't pull off 'def.' Back in Renjun’s room, you open the drawers and sigh. Black. More black. Grey. Dark grey. Is this a fashion statement or a mental breakdown? You pull out a pair of black shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. Basic. Boring. "Wow, this guy really said ‘depression, but make it wearable.’"
Still, it'll do. You need a shower. Wandering through the hallways, you finally find the bathroom. You take a deep breath. If you don't shower, you'll stink. If you do, well… you'll have to deal with everything… but it's not like you've never seen a penis before…
"Still could be a dream,” you mumble when feeling the cold floors of the bathroom. "Once I open the tap, I'll wake up." You turn the water on. Hot. Steamy. Real. You sigh. Clothes come off and you feel… naked. You step in. Nope. Still not dreaming. You force yourself to bathe. You've got this. A moment later you giggle swinging your hips side to side, liking the flap and smacking sounds it makes. You even attempt a helicopter. "Wow."
A while later, you're dressed and freshly showered. You step outside where Renjun's mum is waiting. You sit in the front seat, avoiding to speak as she plays music… proudly to avoid conversation as she still seems hesitant and nervous.
"Thanks, Mum," you say, stepping into the sunlight and out the car. "Have a good day."
"Oh- uh. Y-you too," she replies, looking genuinely happy.
You close the door behind you and head toward the school building, surrounded by other students. The courtyard is already buzzing with life. Your mind drifts.
If you're here and in his body… then he's in your body. Which means one SIMPLE YET HUGE PROBLEM — you swapped bodies….
"Why the hell are you so late? I've missed out on 2 classes waiting here for you!" You hear someone yell- clearly at you. So you spin around.
And there 'you' are. Short. Furious. Wearing the most tragic outfit in the history of first impressions: bright blue skinny jeans and an orange t-shirt. Your hair is pulled back in a limp, awkward ponytail. No makeup. No accessories. No effort. It's like looking at a mirror of yourself in highschool!
You gasp in horror. "What are you wearing?!"
She- he- Renjun -in-your-body glares daggers at you. You can only stare at your face… that's being controlled by Renjun. "Why are you so angry? You didn't even put on makeup?!" you try to yell, but the cough shows your weaknesses.
Before you can answer, he (in your short petite feminin body) punches you in the stomach.
You groan. "Ow!" Despite having a manly body, the impact is still so severe.
"Get a grip of yourself, you fool!" Then, with a death grip you know too well— because it's your own nails… well now on him… he grabs your arm and drags you behind him. Everyone’s watching. Oh god, everyone is watching you… well him in your body drag you like a scene straight out of a movie.
[A/n: Renjun in your body will still be referred to as 'he', and you in Renjun's body will be referred to as 'you'.]
He nearly slams open the door to the one building you've never entered in before. Engineering Theory. But today is no ordinary day- so you can only hope that all of this is a nightmare. The lecturer barely spares you a glance before shifting his eyes down to the furious girl stomping in, dragging you to the back of the class. The lecturer says nothing and resumes teaching, while the petite girl- Renjun in your body- throws a death glare at you.
"Bag. Now," he hisses, voice low and sharp. Making you wonder how on earth your tiny cute voice could ever sound like that. But since he's piloting your body- he's making you see yourself… in a new freaky way. You toss his bag at the table. While he yanks it open with such brute force causing a few students look back.
"Yho, Renjun, what's happening?"
You jump when someone nudges your shoulder. You turn and nearly melt in your seat when you see Jeno smiling at you… This really has to be a dream! Will you finally wake up if you hug him? Without thinking, you throw your arms around him, wanting to wake up! But at the same time you're truly hoping to never wake up from this dream. Especially if it means Lee Jeno is smiling at you. Well not you but Renjun- but who cares!
You're hugging Lee Jeno.
But it doesn't last. The grip on your shoulder is suddenly ripped away by an angry, very small, very scary girl—Renjun is actually making your body look so scary…. You stare at his own furious face now twisted into an expression you've never even seen in the mirror. Okay, your nails are deadly… But the face… Deadlier.
"Where. Are. My. Books." he growls, each word slicing through you like a blade.
You gulp and try to gently touch his shoulder, but he slams his hand onto the desk—hard. "Where are they?!"
"They were heavy!" You whisper yell, trying to calm him in your body down- your throat feeling so raspy and sore. "My back was sore—"
"Renjun and company." The lecturer finally voices out. "You're interrupting my class."
"Don't speak," Renjun in your body hisses out, barely containing himself. “Don't speak. Don't think. Don't touch anyone again. Listen. Learn. And don't even breathe."
You slump back in your chair, scared. You turn towards Jeno again, trying to recover. But Jeno leans away. "You're being odd."
You're frozen in your seat, not even paying attention to what is being taught, and you can bet that Renjun is also not paying attention, because he's rubbing his forehead. And after what feels like forever the class ends-
"I think I'll catch you later, bro… You're acting strange and hanging out with the weirdo. Later."
No! You panic. This is like a silver platter. Your one chance to hang out with Jeno. You attempt to follow him - "Ya! Y/n!" but Renjun calls you back. "If you use my mouth to say another dumb thing," Renjun whispers coldly, "I will break this body so badly, you'll need a wheelchair."
He gets up and walks ahead to the front, approaching the lecturer. You trail behind, shoulders sagging. Your throat still burns. You want to cry, but for some reason, this body won’t let you. It's like the muscles are too stubborn for tears.
"Mr. Huang," the lecturer sighs, "Care to explain why this girl is 'begging' for more time on your behalf?"
You freeze… because the thought of being in Renjun's body is still so bizarre and crazy. "Uh…"
Renjun however in your body, groans and facepalms, then steps in. "Because, Byung, 'Renjun' is an idiot who couldn't get out of bed this morning with his brain. But all pride aside, he tried to submit it yesterday, but you said no. So do us a favor and—"
Before Renjun can finish, you cup a hand over his mouth. Which is a mistake, because he immediately tries to claw at you, but thankfully in this body you're stronger.
"Sir," you begin, forcing your best polite tone, "I thought letting her speak would help, but clearly it's not. Look, it was an honest mistake. I think we both know I’m your top student. I take your work seriously."
Renjun stomps on your foot, but you shift to block it, still smiling. The lecturer looking at you confused. "Did you just call me 'sir'?
"Please… just one more day." You end up saying.
The lecturer eyes you suspiciously. "You have officially traumatized me Huang Renjun. Fine. Email it by tonight and hand in print copy tomorrow, or I'm giving your spot to someone else."
You let Renjun in your body go, and you breathe out. He's furious and stomps your foot. "Don't you dare ever 'manhandle' me again," he grunts from your body, voice low and sharp.
"Please leave my class." The lecturer says, obviously not in the mood to deal with the both of you any longer.
-
"Are you angry with me?" you cough out, looking his way. He doesn't answer, just bounces his foot rapidly on the ground, his expression tight.
You cough again, glancing down at your shorts, still adjusting to being in this unfamiliar body.
"I'm sorr—"
"Shut up." he groans out.
You're sitting behind the building facility on campus grounds, watching students stroll across the open field, some eating, some studying, others heading into the building. You've never been to this side of campus before. It feels completely foreign… but oddly, Renjun's brain seems to know exactly where everything is. Like there's a quiet GPS guiding you.
You try to keep your cough quiet- but it keeps coming out, causing you so much irritation.
"For crying out loud." Then suddenly, Renjun calls out; "Hey Mark. I need a lighter and cigarette."
You blink, startled, as one of the more popular guys, Mark, makes his way over, ditching two friends coming closer.
"Sup girly." Mark looks at Renjun up and down confused, and then turns to you. "Sup Renjun. This your girlfriend-"
"I will kill you if you touch me," Renjun growls stopping Mark from getting his hands around him, and it's so threatening you instinctively flinch where you sit. His tone in your voice comes out with terrifying sharpness. "Do you have a cigarette and lighter? Yes or no."
Mark laughs awkwardly but pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter that looks like a pen. He glances at you, confused. You quickly look away. But Mark comes to sit over next to you. "Yho, Renjun, you with this girl?" he whispers.
You glance over at your own body—Renjun, who looks visibly annoyed and pissed off, probably stunned at being ignored. You try to hold it together.
"Just give her what she wants," you mutter, your tone in Renjun's voice makes him sound whiney- to which Mark leans back and just stares. Oh no, even Renjun has his mouth wide open. "Before 'she' bites my head off. Please give it to him- I mean her."
Mark gives both of you a look, then hands over the pack. Renjun, takes one cigarette, lights it, and waves him away.
"Beat it."
"You've got a bad mouth, girly. See you, Renjun," Mark mutters, stuffing the pack and pen back into his pocket when Renjun gives him back his stuff. Mark walks off, not forgetting to throw one more strange look at the both of you. "Weird."
"Cool pen, by the way," you call after him. He smirks at you. "I like how it’s both a lighter and a pen."
"Yeah?" Mark starts walking back toward you, but Renjun immediately rises and steps in front of you, blocking his path.
"I said. Beat. It." He glowers. You feel like shrinking into the ground. He's embarrassing you so badly, it's not even funny.
"Dang, girl. You need to chill." Mark huffs and finally walks away for good.
Then Renjun turns to you, holding the cigarette out. "Here. Take it before the fire burns it all out."
You hesitate. "No, sorry, I don't smoke-"
"But I do. And right about now, I bet your lungs are burning. This'll stop the itching and coughs." Renjun narrows his eyes and adds, with the kind of venom only he's are capable of, "Take it or I'll force it down your throat." You hurriedly take the thin, scorching bud from him. "Inhale. Breathe it in. Exhale. Let it out."
You do as told, but immediately double over coughing as it's your first time smoking. The smoke scraping down your throat on all the wrong pipes. You feel like you're dying- actual tears begin to form- But that look he gives you… is worse than death, so you try again. This time, carefully sending the smoke down the right pipe, you inhale deeper. The heat stings all the way into your lungs. You exhale slowly, coughing only a little… bit it feels better.
"That was better," Renjun says calmly, now sitting beside you with his legs wide open. Come to think of it, you're sitting with your legs closed by habit. "Now let's get down to business."
You lean back, cigarette dangling from your fingers. "How long do I have to smoke this-"
"Shut up and focus. I sat up all morning trying to figure this out. I searched Google, AI for anything about body switches but came up empty."
You blink. "No wonder you look like crap in my body. I hate that you actually walked out the house like that- do you know embarrassing you look right now-" you add under your breath.
"For fuck sakes, I said shut up." He snaps his head toward you. "Listen. I'm not in mood." But the way he says it makes you nearly laugh.
"You think this is funny?"
"No," you reply, chuckling and then stopping instantly. "I just… I didn't know I could look so threatening, you know? I'm actually scared to sit next to myself right now."
Renjun sighs through. "Can you fucking focus? Why are we like this?"
"You know how they say words have power?" you offer. "Could be one of those things. I’ve seen this kind of stuff in movies. It usually starts with someone saying something they didn’t mean. Maybe you said you wanted to be me—"
"In what word would I want to be you? There's no way in hell those words left my mouth," he snaps. "A whole me being female? There's no such. And you of all people-"
"Harsh—"
"Harsh but true."
You exhale a plume of smoke, getting used to the rhythm. It's like your very own inhaler. "This has to be a dream."
Renjun rolls his eyes. "Clearly this isn't a dream," he mutters. "So maybe try using my brain to think for once."
You fold your arms and nod. But it's so hard to think of anything… especially since this is still so unbelievable. "I've got nothing. I just can't believe that this happened to me… This has to be a dream."
"Well you have to think of something before I lose my mind." he stresses.
You frown. "Why me? Why don't we join our brains together?"
Renjun snorts a sarcastic laugh. "Unfortunately we can't do that, because you don't have a brain. And I can prove that's true because I'm in your literal stupid body. You're dumb. Unable to think about anything else but 'Jeno'." Renjun says flatly.
"You don't have to be mean all the time. I didn't ask to be you either. I don't know why this is happening. And I don't like how you're acting like it's my fault." you timidly state, slowly being annoyed at how he's discarding you, your thoughts and body.
"Ugh, just shut up if you don't have anything 'intelligent' to say."
And that hurts. "Fine." You huff in his body and get up.
"And where the hell do you think you're going?"
"You're so toxic and mean and I don't appreciate it. I need space."
Renjun can only watch as his body—occupied by you—walks away. He's furious, tempted to pick up a stone and hurl it at you. But instead, he forces himself to calm down. "Hell this can't be happening," he mutters. "If she doesn't want to figure it out, I have to." Grabbing the bag he packed, Renjun heads to the student center, hoping to find some peace and quiet to think things through.
Meanwhile, you wander over to the mini diner you've always loved. Thankfully, your girls are already there.
"Hi, girls." You sadly greet. "I'm having the worst day ever," you say with a dramatic sigh.
Chaerong and Eunjung stare as 'Renjun' plops down in the seat you always sit in.
"Uhm… hi," Chaerong says, feeling the awkward silence that follows. "Can we help you?"
You exhale sharply, suddenly remembering, again, that you're in Renjun's body. You rub your face in frustration. "This can't be happening. He's so mean and rude. He thinks I only think of Jeno? He's out there ruining my image- he doesn't know how hard I work or pour out myself just to be the way I am. This has to be a dream." you slump forward… but the girls can only see Renjun and how he's moping around.
"Are you like… high or something?" Eunjung asks before she points with her perfectly long blue manicured nails to the reception area where's there's a mini bar. "The bar is that side,"
You sit up, and dry your tearless eyes. Renjun's body surely doesn't know how to cry. "Okay I'm sorry. You guys are like, probably confused, but I'm Y/n. I woke up in this body." They stare at you with eyes of bewilderment, before they look at each other.
Eunjung looks at you up and down, with a forced smirk. "Is this some joke? Again, the bar is there."
"No." You shake your head, sighing out. "I know this voice and appearance is confusing, but it really is me."
"You're being sarcastic right." This time Chaerong asks. "Is this some hidden camera prank? Or something? Why are you here?"
"I'm not even like, bluffing." You lean over the table. You just need the support of your friends- especially when you're in this body where the lungs are dry, tears refuse to manifest and worst of all you've got a groin that's itching and won't stay in one place. "I'll prove it."
"Hey this isn't funny, you're getting too comfortable. Please, disappear." You lock eyes with Eunjung, who's starting to look more uneasy by the second. "Evaporate or something,"
"It really is me, Y/n. I'm your best friend, remember?"
She rolls her eyes. "Please go away."
But you persist- something in you feels so nervous. You can hear your heart beating so fast, but you ignore it and try to get your friends attention. "Please just listen, it'll make sense if you listen. I know everything about you, like how your favourite colour is blue and how you dress light blue when you're happy and dark blue when you're upset. I know every single secret, like how you lied about being sick to skip that important test and went to the mall instead. I know every guy you slept just in the beginning of this year— not just the ones you brag about, but the ones you begged me to forget. Or-" You don’t stop, especially when she leans back in distraught and folds her arms with a suspicious brow. "I know about the time you spread rumors about the new girl just because you were jealous she got the lecturers attention. I know that you even had sex with him in his classroom when no one was around. I know you cheated on that last group project and got your parents to help you bribe the lecturer to forge your marks. You got hacked last semester causing all your nudes to be exposed-"
Something in you tells you to stop- but like word vomit, the words keeping coming out, because you just want for them to believe you. You’re panicking, feeling overwhelmed that the secrets keep pouring out against your will.
"And you once told me that you're jealous of me, and how all the guys want me, but I turn then down because I like Jeno and I respect our friendship, and you're grateful for that. Chicks before dicks remember? I know you tried to turn Chaerong against everyone else, stirring up drama just to keep people distracted from her big boobs- you even slept with her boyfriend-"
Eunjung’s eyes flash, disbelief turning to anger. Without warning, she grabs the glass beside her and hurls it toward you, water splashing everywhere. You jolt shielding yourself even though it's too late. You look down, your pants now being moist by the cold water… the lemon water. Eunjung glares, chest heaving. Her voice is low, venomous.
"Fuck you." she grumbles, voice low and bitter. "Did Y/n tell you all of that? What a fucking bitch-"
You quickly stand up and shake your head. "No- no- it's not like that- I'm Y/n-"
"You're sick!" She yells and steps closer, eyes locked onto yours, blazing with fury. "I don't know why she'd want to tear our friendship apart but since she put all my secrets on blast- tell her I understand why her father turned his back on her. Because she a conniving snitch." Her words hit like bricks. "She's a phony. A greedy motherfucker. A slut. A snake. A liar. A bitch. I don’t know what game you're playing- with her or with me, but you crossed the wrong one. This prank wasn't funny. She's so desperate for attention she even came to you? Oh fuck her."
The silence that follows is troubling, her words hanging in the air like smoke after a fire.
"It’s… not true, right?" Chaerong’s voice trembles, cracking through the tension. Eunjung scoffs, her chair screeches against the floor. She storms off and slams the door on her way out, hard enough to startle even the waiter, who turns toward your table with a glare.
"Sorry," Chaerong mumbles, shrinking under the weight of the moment. You glance at her, she’s biting her lip, trying not to look too hurt, but it shows. She lets out a sad, breathy chuckle. "I always knew Eunjung was a bitch. I just never understood why Y/N liked her so much." She looks at you. "Hey… did Y/n really say all that? Is it true?"
"I'm…" You're still stunned… still trying to process the fact that you were just humiliated, publicly drenched, and called every vile name under the sun. "Did she really say… that my father turned his back on me because I'm a liar and a snitch?"
Chaerong glances around, then back at you. She cautiously clears her throat. "Uhm. I think she meant for you to pass that on… to Y/n. So what's the deal? Why’d Y/n tell you that?"
You can only shake your head, dread pooling in your stomach. "I'm Y/n…" And you watch how Chaerong's gaze tries to look sympathetic but you can tell she's judging. You hate this body. You hate living like this. "I have to go-"
"No, stay." Chaerong reaches out and grabs your hand, her touch gentle. She slides into the seat beside you and picks up a napkin, carefully wiping the water from your face. "Okay fine… you're Y/n. I believe you."
"Really?" You ask sadly, even though you know she's just saying that, probably to find out what secrets 'Y/n told Renjun about her.' You're not a fool.
"Yeah," she nods, buying into her own lie, her arms nervously on her lap. "Now, I don't know what's going on, but please… tell me what Y/n… I mean what you… think about me…"
"I can't," you whisper, defeated. They don’t believe you- not really. They don’t see you as Y/n. Just Renjun, a guy who's now somehow wrecked your own reputation and you might just ruin his own too. "Chaerong… can you just tell her I was lying?" Your voice cracks… but in Renjun's tone, it just sounds like his throat his dry. You need a cigarette to stop this anxious nervous ticks you're suddenly getting. Is this what all smokers go through? "That I just… guessed those things. It's not true."
"You know my name?" She studies you for a long moment, searching your face. "Well, tell Y/n that was a low blow." Her voice hardens. "And that… she must've forget that we were always there for her. We never judged her for wanting to fit in with us. For her to go around telling our secrets to you… I don’t know what kind of game this is, but it’s not funny. It's like rude of her, disrespectful. Even if it's for a project." She shakes her head. "It just proves that she’s so desperate for attention that she'll do anything. Nobody actually likes her when she's like that. It's… giving serious daddy issues, lack of affection."
With nothing but shame left in you, you get up with your bag and head out the mini diner. You don't know where to go, but you try to keep your head down and look for some shade.
On the other side of the building, Renjun in your body sits slouched and typing rapidly, eyes glued to the computer screen in front of him. He's doing his assignment for his Engineering Theology class, because he fears that the worst is yet to come if he and you don't figure out how to swap back. He doesn't want to be trapped in your body.
Despite Renjun knowing you just as Jeno's obsessive stalker - you also have your own reputation around campus. You're pretty popular to get in bed with, and most guys on campus know you as the 'Tip Girl'. Apparently, anyone could tip you on information they had about Jeno and in return you'd do them a 'favour'.
So the shock on Renjun's face, when some random guy came up to him and told him that Jeno needs a tutor for a certain subject and after that, they guy expected Renjun… or your body to kiss him… Which was horrendous; "I will shove a knife down your throat if you ever touch me again." Renjun made it clear that today 'your body' would not be touched by anyone at all.
That was enough for the guy to call Renjun in your body a bitch and walk away.
While it was annoying being short, female, and 'well-known', he liked the perks of being aggressive and nobody would hit him because he's a girl. He groans lowly when suddenly the chair across from him is being pulled open, and someone greets him. He hears your name and sighs. However his eyebrows furrow for a bit when seeing the person. "Chenle?"
"So you remember my name today?" Chenle smirks, before licking his lips and giving you an interested up and down look. "You look… different today. May I take a seat?"
"No you may not, I'm busy. Go away." Renjun instantly shoots the offer down. He looks back to the computer, typing out a new paragraph hoping to gain back his focus. But it's too late, because Renjun doesn't intend to leave.
"What's with the attitude?" Chenle smirks. "I thought you want me."
"You?" Renjun scoffs and deadpans. "I want Jeno." he even feels so wrong saying that. "No homo."
"What?" Chenle squints his eyes, but Renjun shakes his head.
"Can you please go, you're disturbing my focus."
"But I've got news about Jeno-"
"Listen, if I tell you to leave one more time and you don't get off your behind and walk away, I will jump across this table and stab you with this keyboard, or strangle you with this wire mouse. So piss off." Renjun is so firm in his words, that loitering students peek at the altercation. Chenle surely isn't expecting that, as he snickers in annoyance before getting up.
"Bitch." Chenle mummers.
Yet, Renjun snaps his fingers and leans on the table, remembering something. "On second thought, sit, I want to ask you something."
"Are you on your periods-"
"Shut up and listen." Renjun rubs his temple before running his hand through his hair- however upon remembering that he's in your body and that your hair is long - his fingers get stuck in the ponytail, he untangles it. But then begins running his hand through your hair… loving it's texture. For a moment he gets sidetracked- but when seeing Chenle squint his eyes, Renjun gets back on track. "I heard you're writing a project about me."
Chenle is stunned for a split second, but composes himself. "As if."
"Don't lie to me." Renjun folds his arms, using your face to his own advantage to mimic a serious expression. "Renjun told me. He said you're obsessed with me. Aren't you a senior?"
Chenle is baffled and confused, he can only wonder what the hell is wrong with you today? "Y/n are you okay? What do you mean Renjun told you? Do you even know who Renjun is?"
"Yes. Today he's in my body and I'm in his body. So everything I'm saying is Renjun speaking through me." Renjun says it in the most sarcastic and unbelievable way, but still saying the truth, hoping to get Chenle's insight. "You want to humiliate me, but Renjun told me everything and that I should watch my back. So I'm going to be careful around you. Whatever relationship we had in the past, is over."
Chenle scoffs, getting up. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you smoked or slept with him. I'm leaving. You're weird today. See you later- when 'Renjun's not in your body'."
"But he is." Renjun goes on. "What would you make of that?"
"That you're high? Or bisexual, I don't know. You're having weird fantasies today."
"Just give me your input on that. Conscious swapping, or body swapping." Renjun pleads in a desperate tone, also playing with your vocal chords. You could be really whiny, and although it annoyed Renjun, he loved using your vocal chords. It was like a new superpower.
But to Chenle, he's just staring at 'you'… like you grew a third head. "Okay… what's in it for me, if I entertain your weird behaviour today?"
Renjun isn't so keen to find out what 'relationship' you have with him… especially since you're a 'tip girl'… but he does want an outsiders opinion. "I'll tell you what Renjun really said about you."
Chenle gives it a thought, before taking a seat again and folding his arms. "You'll tell me that and give me a kiss."
Renjun twists his face, but fakes a smile. The longer he stays in your body, the more he begins to feel uncomfortable at how… guys feel that they… can own you. "Okay." Renjun says tightly. Chenle taps 'your' chin - Renjun smacks his hand away. "Cheating."
"Fine. Swapping bodies and conscious… assuming this is for a project, did Renjun put you up to this? Did he tell you to 'act' and imitate him and his behavior and get responses of people from campus? Because now that we're on the topic, you're doing a pretty good job. Jeno said you stormed in his class earlier, and Renjun was also being… odd. Did you and Rejun speak about some project of your own to fool the campus or what? Wait maybe he's trying to come up with a better proposal then the one I offered to him."
Renjun sighs and rubs his head, imitating how he's heard you talk to your friends and Jeno. "Like, I asked you, a question. But you're like, not answering? What's up with that?" even though it's how Y/n talks, Chenle snickers when realizing it sounds forced.
Chenle pulls the chair back again, interested, he slouches into it, arms crossed, expression sharpening like he’s about to give a TED Talk. "This is interesting. I'll talk to him later. But fine. Conscious swapping…" he begins, slowly, thoughtfully. "I'd say it's like body hijacking."
Renjun furrows his brows. "Body… hijack?"
"Like mind transplant. Have you watched 'Freaky Friday' or like… 'Back to the future'? Those movies share similar concepts.” Chenle says with a small grin. "I'm actually impressed you got him in on the project- is this his project or yours? And what did you promise to give him afterwards? Some booty? Because heaven knows, that guy needs to get laid. I can't think of any reason why he'd willingly come to ask you a favour. It must be really good, otherwise you wouldn't be this committed to acting like him."
Renjun bites his lip in anger, fidgeting with his chin. While he's angry, Chenle is impressed at 'your' performance. Of course he's not going to buy the story that Renjun is in your body- he just thinks you're awfully good at mimicking the guy who's constantly stoned.
"So what what's the story you guys are selling?"
Renjun sighs. "You have deviated from the topic. What similar concepts do 'Back to the future' and 'Freaky Friday' have?"
"Oh, in 'Freaky Friday' the mother and daughter literally switch bodies, forcing them to live each other's lives. This creates some deep sense of empathy, they understand each other’s struggles, flaws, and pressures." Chenle explains the movie. "And in 'Back to the Future' Marty goes back in time and sees his parents as teenagers, giving him insight into their choices and personalities. He realizes his actions impact their future, and he begins to understand them as people, not just 'parents.'"
"I'm aware of the plot, you didn't have to explain it." Renjun grunts and adds sarcastically. "But gee since you did, why not make a whole video essay."
Chenle shakes his head, suddenly feeling oddly familiar. Your impressions of Renjun are spot on- is what he thinks. "All right, I'll play along. The shared concept is that understanding others requires walking in their shoes, literally or figuratively." Chenle says. "So while you're 'acting' like Renjun, what you should acually be doing is that Renjun in your body should actually be trying to understand you."
"That makes no fucking sense. Why would I want to under her? How about going back to my body?"
"Hey," Chenle shrugs with his arms up. "Makes sense to me. Renjun has to get in your mind, see you and how you actually are, not what people see. And hopefully you 'might' go back to your body. Hey, that's actually our project." Chenle snaps his fingers in though. "It's not the same angle but Renjun and I, aren't trying to trick you okay. I don't know what he told you, but I just want to understand why you're so hooked on Jeno. So, cut the acting, how did Renjun approach you?"
Renjun thinks back… "To be frank with you. I saw her having a breakdown in the bathroom about Jeno. I just watched her… And then I went my separate way, and then the next morning, today—bam. New body."
Chenle raises an eyebrow. "So what? You think it was a mix of emotional overload? That's oddly specific and completely vague," he says flatly, though something shifts behind his eyes. Curiosity? Recognition?
Renjun notices. "What?"
Chenle shrugs, but doesn’t meet his gaze. "Nothing. Just… thinking. Do you think if I go to Renjun he might…" Chenle snickers a little. "Talk like Y/n? That would be a sight to see."
"He will." Renjun stares. "Would I fake being in a girl’s body and walk around campus threatening people with keyboards for fun?"
Chenle sits back. "Renjun would. And if he's told you to do it to make it believable, I must say you're doing a good job. The whole no makeup, crazy fit is on point if Renjun was in your body. Plus he doesn't like being social. If this is a prank, it's the most elaborate one ever.”
Renjun watches him for a beat. "So you do believe me?"
Chenle holds up a finger. "Didn't say that. But I believe something messed up is going on. Especially if you tagged with Renjun. I'm curious as to what he told you?" He glances around and lowers his voice. "I'll go look for him? What time are you finishing class today, 4? 5?"
"Don't care. I'll go with you." Renjun saves his work in a file and sends it to his own account. He'll carry on later.
The first spot that Renjun and Chenle go to look for 'you' is at the diner that you're always at with your friends. However only one of your friends is there. She's seated quietly, spaced out, until Renjun takes initiative and walks over to her. "Hey."
Chaerong looks up in confusion and then shock. "Y/n?" Renjun rolls his eyes, remembering he's in your bodies. "Why do you look like that?"
Renjun sighs, not in the mood to socialize or even explain. "Have you seen Renjun?" He ignores your question.
"Yes actually." she folds her arms and stands up, literally being Renjun's height… and he remembers that you're short and he hates that. "He came in here, trying to pretend that he was you and spilled a whole of bunch of secrets. Are you sleeping with him?"
Chenle chuckles. "How big is this scale?"
Renjun sighs and thinks for a second. "So where did he go?"
"I don't know, but you should actually be worried about Eun-"
"Oh wait, I'll call myself." Renjun takes out your phone and sighs when remembering why he couldn't use your phone. He didn't know the password. "Chenle give me your phone." Once Chenle gives the phone, Renjun dials his number and puts it to his ear.
Thankfully after a few rings it connects. "Thank goodness. Hey, where are you? It's urgent."
"I'm not going to tell you where I am, I just want to wake up from this stupid dream."
Renjun is so surprised to hear his own voice… crying and sniffing out. "The fuck are you crying about? Meet me right now at that stupid diner you and your friends always at." and with that, he cuts the call and hands it back to Chenle. "And now we wait."
Chaerong is so confused, while Chenle is entertained. He thought his project was interesting, but this is another scale. "Did you actually boss Renjun here and he caved? How big is this scale?"
"Yeah, she's here." Renjun suddenly looks to Chaerong as she gets off the phone. "Eunjung is coming. She's really pissed off about what you told Renjun."
Renjun rolls his eyes and then massages his forehead. The hell are you doing in his body? "Do me a favour and just shut up."
Chaerong is surprised and Chenle laughs, being truly entertained.
-
You dust your pants from sitting on the ground against a tree, and then dry your eyes. You just want to wake up, this 'dream' is going on for too long, and you don't like how everyone has a conscious of they're on and you're swapped with Renjun. What could've even lead to this?
As you walk to the diner, your head begins thinking. Perhaps you and Renjun swapped because of some important lesson… You don't know what to learn from Renjun, you don't even know who he is. You've never met this guy or crossed paths with him before… wait. You remember him… you were in the same high school. He was a senior and you were a junior. Just like now. He was always with the stoner kids who smoked and got high, but sometimes he got high on his own. He liked going to the abandoned building, behind the school to smoke… and that's where you'd meet him. Never really interacted. He'd walk past you and to his own corner smoking while you did your work. Going down memory lane, you get saddened when thinking of yourself and how 'clever' you were. Renjun literally came to school today in your body looking like the 'high school' version of yourself and you hated that sight.
You can just hope that he isn't doing any more embarrassing things with your body-
Your eyes enlarge when walking on the campus grounds, and from a distance you see Renjun fighting with Eunjung! and a circle forming around them. The whole scene is chaotic- you watch Eunjung claw and grab hair- and Renjun in your body is fiercely balling his fists and punching Eunjung on the chest- kicking her stomach- it's horrendous. You see phones swiping out and recording- and all you can think about is how Renjun is ruining your image!
A while ago, in the diner, Eunjung entered all heated and annoyed. Renjun in your body, Chenle flirting with Chaerong all looked up- knowing that same type of drama was going to be unleashed. Chenle wasn't really interested, but when he saw how 'you' didn't look like you cared - he wondered really, how far you would go on to acting like Renjun.
"What the hell was that about? Spilling all my secrets to Renjun? Do I look like some type of project?" Eunjung grabbed Renjun by the hair- but neither was Renjun having it. He hated being touched. He hated it so much with a passion that he snaped and pulled his hair back and then planting the first slap.
"Don't touch me." he hissed.
Chaerong tried to stop it, seeing that something was not right with 'you' today. You actually slapped Eunjung. "Y/n that wasn't cool." But before it could escalate a waiter from the diner finally kicked all of you out. Renjun walked out first, but as stepped out the door Eunjung didn't hesitate to pull Renjun back by his long hair. Renjun fell on the ground- cursed your tiny body for being so fragile- but was already enraged from being touched that he lunged at Eunjung. His eyes widened and he didn't hold back either- normally this would be wrong. A guy hitting a girl- but right now, being in your body was advantageous. Two girls fighting and nobody stopping it.
Not even Chenle, who got out his phone and recorded with a laugh.
That's how the circle was formed- in your mind as you're running to the scene, you can only guess that Eunjung started the fight because of what you in Renjun's body said to her. So you're quick to separate her from Renjun- but Renjun only uses that as an opportunity to punch her in the gut.
"I dare you to hit me again!" he yells.
However that makes you mad, and you turn around rapidly giving Renjun a backhand slap in the face. "Stop hitting my friend! Stop being mean! You're ruining my reputation!"
With the amount of strength you used to hit Renjun, Renjun falls down. The cheers around stop only for a second before the crowd hypes up again. To you, you're just utilizing his own strength against him- but to the watchers around… they just witnessed a guy slapping a girl so hard that she fell.
Renjun is about to give you a piece of his mind- but he pauses when seeing Chaerong rush up to you and then give you such a hard slap. "How dare you touch my friend!? You stupid fuck!" Not just her, but Eunjung and even Chenle step in front of you… in Renjun's body. Not only them, a bunch of guys step forward pushing you back.
"Ya Renjun- you think you're cool hitting a girl?" They're now pushing you back- calling you names. You're surprised and feel so anxious- claustrophobic heart beating so fast. You recognize some of the guys as people you've slept with, but how they're looking at you now is terrifying- like they're going to beat you. "You don't hit women."
Renjun on the ground, can only watch in complete stun. Eunjung comes to him and helps him up- and that's when it hits him- that he's in your body and you slapped him, so everyone is thinking that a guy hit you publicly. "Are you okay? He's a jerk. Whatever he made you do, we'll get him back. Are you okay?"
But he removes his arm from her and walks through the crowd pushing until he sees you- his face is so pitiful and pathetic that he curses and grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling you away. "Piss off! He didn't really mean it." Renjun in your body ends up saying and drags you behind him away from the crowd that was so heavy and tension filled. While he's trying to get away - he doesn't notice that you're literally struggling to breathe. Even though you're following - forcing your legs to move- you're heart beat is literally over the roof.
Walking a bit faster and with you not resisting, Renjun is able to get away from the crowd and campus grounds, disappearing into an Engineering building and then to the co-ed bathroom.
Finally you guys are alone.
He turns around and sees you- himself struggling to breath. Automatically he searches his pockets for cigarettes - but remembers he's in your body and has nothing. He tries to look in your pockets and grunts that you didn't pack his pack. He sighs seeing you have some sort of panic attack and you're struggling to breath- being a crying mess. You burst into tears- and it shocks Renjun to see such a sight.
"Hey, hey, hey," he leans down beside you, as you're clutching your chest and wheezing out- he's so nervous watching you panic like that in his body. He can only guess the types of emotions surfacing and then holds onto your shoulders and looks at you in the eyes. "Calm down, and breath okay-"
But you're whaling, in his body and it's making him hesitant and agitated. "No! You're ruining my life and everyone is against me- and everyone hates me- I hate this dream! I hate myself! I hate myself so much- why can't I do things right! Why is this only happening to me? Why can't I even not be a laughing stock-"
"Hey," Renjun holds your head trying to look into your eyes… but it's painful when he's looking at himself like this. "No one hates you, just calm down and breath-" You try to resist him but he firmly speaks and holds your head and massages your hair. "Y/n look at me, look at me." his voice tries- he really tries to be tender and soft and sweet "Y/n it's okay-" but you don't want to listen.
You push his hands away trying to get up on your feet- with a weak form, shivering and trembling-you try to leave the bathroom - only to stop half way when seeing Jeno. Now you're hyperventilating. You step back- nearly falling down- But Jeno holds onto you.
Jeno watched the fight happen, but when he saw Renjun slap you, he couldn't help but try to catch up and try to speak to his friend who was acting unusual today. He lost track of you guys, but then headed in the co-ed bathroom, knowing it's the bathroom that people avoided because it's co-ed. That's probably where Renjun was. So to enter the bathroom and see 'Renjun' his best friend literally being swamped and drenched in tears, crying with you standing there in the back is really nerve wrecking and unyielding.
"Hey man, hey," Jeno pats his back. "What's going on? Renjun talk to me."
"She's having… I mean he's having a panic attack or something?" Renjun tries to provide insight on the little he gathered. Jeno then glares at you- but doesn't know that Renjun in your body is just as confused.
"What the fuck did you do?"
"Nothing." Renjun responds, but then remembers that Y/n likes Jeno. "Just hug her- I mean him. He's freaking out. Do something Jeno-"
Jeno, does as told. He doesn't even need to be told twice- his best friend looks like a mess right now. As he lays his arms around Renjun in a bro hug, trying to calm him down, he's surprised to feel 'Renjun' hug him back tighter and weeping out like his life depends on it. Something's really wrong. "Breathe man, breathe." He remembers how he once saw Renjun like this, a long time ago.
But when Jeno makes eye contact with 'you' - he scowls and then pats 'Renjun's' back. "Let's get out of here."
Renjun watches as Jeno drags you out of the bathroom. He didn't know he was holding in such a long breath until he's alone in. His fingers are still balled in a fist from the heavy tension of everything falling out of place. It's really hitting him in the face now that he actually swapped bodies with you. After you've calmed down, he needs to talk to you. Maybe Chenle's hypothesis was right. Swapping conscious literally means walking in the person's shoes. But Renjun… doesn't know if he's ready to do that.
By now he'd have the urge or desire to smoke, but being in a healthy body… he doesn't feel that urge. He's just hungry… he didn't even eat today. He begins walking out, head down, hands in his pocket- mind empty and blank. Until-
"Hey,"
He looks up. Two girls. Your friends. Eunjung and Chaerong. He wants to ignore and walk past, yet they speak. "Sorry about earlier…" the girl, Eunjung in blue clothes says. Her hands are fidgeting against each other and then she looks to Chaerong. "Chae said that today you weren't in a mood and you might have gotten yourself in some trouble with Renjun that's why you were so iffy and moody. I shouldn't have hit you. I'm so sorry."
Renjun looks down. The image of the fight, feels so far away from him now. He's about to apologize, yet he's surprised when the two girls go on either side of him, Chaerong on he left and Eunjung on the right. Chaerong now speaks. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He's tempted to swing his arms away… but when remembering you- and how you yelled that he ruined his reputation, he reconsiders and sighs. Eunjung then speaks. "If you don't want, it's okay. We can go to the mall, get some clothes, food, anything. Just talk to us, we can handle it. We're friends remember?"
"Yeah, and friends fight and make up." Chaerong adds. "I hate seeing you guys fight. Just as much as I hated seeing that fucker Renjun slap you. Who the hell does he think he is?"
"He's such a douche."
Renjun hears the insults and for once, he's not even irritated by it, so he simply follows along as these girls take him towards a car. This morning after waking up in your body- he was so enraged and put on whatever he found and rushed to school on foot- because you live in the dorms. It didn't really hit him hard that he was in you- all he knew was that he was late for his classes. This reality is actually dark… he was angry because all he wanted to do was get back inside his body. But now, after seeing how guys treat him in your body, how he's literally got your 2 friends supporting him… he can't help but actually dwell in how… 'comforting' it feels.
He takes a seat in the front seat and wonders how you're doing. Because that was truly a scary experience. "Don't you guys have class?"
Eunjung snorts a laugh. "Uhm, we finished at 12 today, I thought you wanted to try out of cheer practice?"
"Oh." Renjun mumbles and looks out the window just letting the music play and the two girls trying to brighten 'your' mood.
"Cheer up babes, 'cause we're gonna go-" Eunjung states with a smile and then both her and Chaerong yell out; "SHOPPING!"
He can only jolt and hold a forced smile. Great. He's got the whole afternoon with them.
-
Elsewhere in the schools around 14h00 pm, heavy running footsteps echo around the in-door gymnasium as you're seated on the bleachers in the far back, having full view of the basketball boys in their sweatpants and shorts running around and bouncing the ball around. The experience is so surreal. Having the basketball team boys be nice to you because you're in Renjun's body feels heavenly. Before practice Mark and Jeno get you some cigerrates and energizing drinks, and during practice the couch asks you what you think of the 'form of the boys' and you honestly don't know how Renjun would answer this, so you try to keep it subtle. After all, boys who shunned you, were now checking in on you.
Word around the basketball team is that Jeno's stalker aka you pushed Renjun to a limit. And because of that, your reputation around them has literally struck rock bottom. It's devastating but, you can hardly care about that (at least for now) because they're literally trying to make sure Renjun doesn't feel like shit. And what makes this moment more magical is that Jeno is the one who's making sure that you're well being is safe.
So you're happy when they finally have another 10 minute break and Jeno, Mark and Jaemin come up the benches and relax themselves around you. You're literally inside, and you feel happy… but you don't want to blow your cover or make Renjun look weirder… instead you just… allow yourself to be your… old self. Natural and smart. And the smart move right now is to act like Renjun. Jaemin and Jeno talk basket ball about how their couch is crazy for making them run crazy laps around the gym, and Mark is eating some chips while texting on his phone.
"Party at my house this Friday, 21h00 pm, are you guys in?" Mark asks.
"I'm down," Jeno says, finally taking his seat next to you. Jeno with a towel around his neck as well as water bottle in hand was standing on the bleachers looking down at you… observing how you were. And seeing you relaxed, he settles besides you.
"Heard you beat up that Y/n girl," Mark says when Jaemin states he'll be coming. "This morning you should've seen them, all cozy in the smokers area. She was throwing demands at him and threatened to stab me. Such a bitch, so what happened?"
All their attention is on you. You look around, and then your eyes land on Jeno. The way he looks at you… no, at Renjun like a friend who's literally dear to him, give you goosebumps. You look away and clear your throat. "Nothing."
"It wasn't nothing," Jeno shakes his head, he looks equally as upset. "You don't slap anyone without a reason. What did she do? I promise next time I see her, I'll give her a piece of my mind,"
"No please don't." You say, and then sigh out… you have to remember not to look desperate like yourself… you have to be Renjun. So you try to think of a fast excuse. "She just… triggered something in me. I didn't mean to slap her… I guess I was overwhelmed today." The excuse turns out to be half of the truth… and they believe it.
Jaemin asks a follow up question. "I noticed this morning you came with your mum. I take it that's where the trouble started?"
Renjun's mum was so nice… and you don't know the story of why Renjun's mean to his mum, so you just shrug. This time Mark bumps a fist on your knee. "Chill man. She's on thin ice now, we'll keep a watch on her. Yho, do you guys want some fries or something, I'm starving."
Jaemin gets up with a chortle. "When are you not, let's go get something before couch calls us back. Jeno, you want anything? Renjy?"
You shake your head and Jeno throws a thumbs up. "We're good,"
You're literally alone with Jeno, a moment you've truly always waited for… yet it's being blocked by the weighing fact that a second ago they literally ostracized you… again. "Can I ask you something?"
"Go for it."
"Why don't you like her?" the question comes out timid from your mouth. You can't even look at him. You just want to run, but you're feeling warm and just want to hear his answer.
"You know why. The fact that she made you act out, is another reason to add to my list." Jeno mumbles and then leans back on the bleacher, he then looks to you. The eye contact has you blushing and you quickly look away. "Are you good though?"
"I'm better." You mutter and clear your throat. "So, remind me again why you don't like her?"
Jeno doesn't say anything, wondering where this question is leading to, so he answers.
"She's… fake."
Jeno forces himself to think of you, which causes him to grunt.
"I hate when people wear masks. It's why I like you so much," Jeno motions to you… Renjun. "Your - neck slice cut throat- honesty makes me know that you'll never lie to me. Someone like her… who's slept with nearly all the basketball team members- speaking of which Jaemin told me he slept with her. Can you believe it?" Jeno shakes his head, disappointment over his face, and your shoulders sink in shame. "I feel like she's trying to leach onto me for my status and popularity, but I'm not gonna let that happen. I've got a future I want to maintain. I've got an internship offering me permanent placement and I can't let myself be distracted in her bs. I don't need that kind of drama from a crazy stalker bitch, I already have Kisum on my ass asking me why I'm not asking her to be my girlfriend. These girls just don't understand that I didn't come here to play, I came here to learn and study. I don't even know how she got in the school, but she's just bad news. And what she did to you, proves it. I'm not about to let myself be involved with that thing. Plastic and fake."
The embarrassment is overwhelming, you want to run and hide. You want to fold yourself in a ball and cry out because Jeno is… cruel. But honest. He doesn't even like you. It doesn't even sound like he respects you one bit. He called you a 'thing', 'plastic' and 'fake' who sleeps around… It's embarrassing. To be seen… but then not really be seen. He doesn't understand that you only did all that for him- because you thought it's what he wants. But… after hearing him. You're embarrassed.
Trying to bounce back and redeem yourself, you clear your throat and speak. "You know… she's actually smart."
Jeno snorts out a chuckle. "Okay and what?"
It's a jab to your heart. He's just like your father. Your father who said: 'So what? You're clever? A million other people are clever, have personality, achieve their bucket lists. What do you have? What have you done? Nothing.'
You can only gulp down and remain silent. No words to add. You don't want to hear what else he thinks of you. "And since when do you ask about her? Didn't she just piss you off?"
"Yeah she did. She pisses me off everyday. How she tries to please everyone but people take advantage of her. You won't even believe half the things she did. It's just been six months but she's changed herself completely and still, what does she have to show for it? Nothing. Sleeping around is even the tip of the ice-burg. Literally offering herself is desperate and pathetic, but she starves herself trying to fit in to society." You mumble… now talking about yourself. Venting out uncontrollably. Word vomit. Feeling nervous.
"No one's asking her to do that though," Jeno adds in, cutting in with distaste. "That's what I hate about girls sometimes. She's literally in the world's most prestigeous university, and she still choses to whore around wanting to fit in. This isn't high school anymore." Jeno shakes his head, using his towel to rub his hair.
And unintentionally you ask; "Do you think you'd give her a chance if she… become clever?"
Jeno's thoughts pause for a second. You hesitantly look at him, catching him in thought. Your heart drops when he shakes his head. "With everything you've just said, sounds like she's imature. I want stability right now. I'm not looking to build a relationship with someone who's still searching for themselves. That's not my forte. Sounds like a stressful relationship." Jeno shrugs her shoulders. "It actually sounds sad. Poor thing."
You're slumped in your seat, quiet. The space between you and Jeno is so close, but you know his heart is far away from you. He'll never feel the same way… and you don't know if you can make him change or feel for you the same way. Even though it feels like a slap to your face, the same way your father dismisses you… Jeno's still… kind. Lovable. Being in Renjun, has allowed you that privilege to know what's in Jeno's head. "You're actually… not so bad." you mutter shyly.
Jeno chuckles lowly and turns to you- you're surprised when he pinches your cheeks shaking it. "What's up with you today? Now I'm really curious at what she said to you to have you all soft and sentimental."
You nervously chuckle and blush. "What? You want me to threaten to stab you?"
"For once, I actually miss you saying that."
"Oh shut up." you say, you've heard Renjun say that so many times and you playfully flung Jeno's hands away from your face- even though it was soft. You're surprised to see him, actually have fun with you… he deeply cares for Renjun as a brother. "So tell me… I mean remind me. How'd we become friends?"
Jeno's brows furrow for a second, a longing smile comes on his face. "Throwing me down memory lane?"
"I mean… aren't you tired of me?" you ask, wondering how Renjun gets to be so lucky. "I'm mean, all the time."
"But you're real." Jeno smiles. "That's all I ask for. But to be honest, you're my best friend dude. We've known each other since the day your dad left. I mean, I don't say it much but you're like my brother."
Renjun's father left? You simply hum and look away, taking a deep breath and focusing on the court. "Thanks Jeno,"
"You're so soft today," you hear Jeno mumble before he gets up. "Didn't know how much I missed you being… human." he smiles and then jogs down the steps. "Are you gonna wait for me?"
"Uh…" you don't know what to do next, you don't know where to go. "I'll see."
"Ayt, cool."
-
These girls aren't Jeno, they're not the basketball team, and they're definitely not Chenle. They're just girls. Doing literal girl things. Renjun thought that coming here would help him clear his head, as well as 'restore' your image. But now, standing here at the mall in the middle of a clothes store, he hates every second of it. His legs ache from all the walking, and his ears are ringing from the endless chattering and giggling conversations that he'd rip his eardrums out than keep listening to. He can't even remember the last time he spent this much time around a girl. He's always been the type to dismiss anyone who tried to shoot their shot. But he's doing this. All of it. Just to 'fix' your image with your friends.
He’s never said this out loud, maybe not even to himself, but there’s a part of him he buried a long time ago. Shut it out. Forced himself to never cry, never feel. He was so sure he’d hardened himself enough to never break, to be numb. But seeing those tears spill out… from you… piloting his body… The memory of watching himself cry- really cry- is still sitting heavy in his mind.
And it hurt.
It shook him. That’s when he realized something serious: he never really healed. He just closed the door and pretended the room wasn't there. And now, he's scared. Scared that the longer you stay in his body, the more you'll tear down walls he's spent years building. And he doesn't want that.
"I hate my ass," Eunjung looks at the mirror after trying on a skirt. To Renjun it looks fine, but he's not about to voice his comment and cause discord amongst the girls who're trying to cheer him up… trying to cheer you up. He plays your role and stays quiet, folding his arms. Other times one of the two gets him something, saying it'll look cute. And just to keep the peace, Renjun tries it on. They comment, and he removes it and 'Ka-ching'- it's bought. They go from store to store doing the same things. It's never ending.
So to keep himself from losing his mind, he clears his throat. "How long… are we going to… like keep this up?" he hopes it comes off in a gentle tone, but judging from how they look at him, he knows he probably offended their 'lust to shop'. "Sorry." he ends up saying. "Forget I said anything."
Chaerong sighs and then raises her hand. "Foods on me. Let's go eat."
"Great." Renjun forces out. Not long after, they take a seat in a restaurant that's almost vacant. Afternoon rush isn't chaotic here. They're able to order and receive their food fast.
"Okay girl," Eunjung starts when they finally place Renjun's food down. Braised ribs, creamy pasta and a whole sliced Pizza.
Renjun begins to season his pizza, being so hungry, until he looks up at Eunjung. "What?"
"What's wrong with you today?" She asks. "You're dressed… funny. No makeup… Hanging out with Renjun. The whole fight and now this… are you not on a diet?"
Renjun pauses and then shrugs. "Stress eating."
"What're you stressed about?" Chaerong asks this time, and Renjun notices that both the girls only have salads on their plates. He holds his tongue back, from spitting out any sarcastic comment. He's already established that your friends can't handle sarcasm well.
He leans forward, deciding to be honest. Because that's his strong suite. Honesty being the best policy. "I… woke up on the wrong side of the bed, almost like my soul was swapped. Bumped into Renjun and I felt bitter ever since then. I'm fine now. Sorry again for the fight." he quickly says, dismissive and brushes everything under the rug like it was nothing. He just wants to finish eating and go away from here, preferable his home, to wait for you. He doesn't intend on being friends with your friends, he already knows he's got nothing in common with them. So there's no point wasting in talking to them.
Chaerong hums, taking a bite of her avocado salad. "That's almost like what Renjun said. He was like, I'm Y/n and I can prove it. And then… he started blasting out a bunch of Eunjung's secrets, it wasn't pretty."
"Of course she'd do that." Renjun chortles lowly, getting a glimpse of your thoughts. "I'm guessing it didn't play out well, which is why you fought with 'me'. Well, did you guys sort it out?" he looks between the two girls and eats his pizza.
"Sort what?" Eunjung asks drinking her maccha.
"I'm guessing 'Renjun' exposing secrets meant he said… something that made you angry."
Eunjung tries not to be upset, but with how her tongue is moving around the corners of her mouth, Renjun can tell that she's still upset. And then she speaks. "The problem is between you and me. Not Chaerong. So I've gotta ask… Why… why did you tell him all those things about me? I'm trying to understand, and like wrap my head around it. But honestly that wasn't cool. Even if you woke up on the wrong side of the bed, and felt like your conscious was swapped, you hurt my feelings."
"Sorry." Renjun says, continuing to eat on the pasta with hunger. Wanting to dismiss the topic, but Eunjung isn't having it.
"No you're not sorry-"
"Eunj-"
"No Chaerong, I have to say this." Eunjung cuts off and stares at Renjun. It's how on the outside when she's looking at 'Y/n's outer shell, she looks closed off'. "You're pushing us away again. Why? Come on Y/n, we always tell you everything, because we trust you. But you… you never open up to us. It sucks because you know all our secrets and we trust you with them, but you don't trust us with yours."
Renjun sighs inwardly… this suddenly turned confrontational, and he hated that. So out of habit he deflects. "I'm sorry I don't feel like opening up to you. I hope I can become better-"
Renjun refrains from rolling his eyes. It feels like it'll take long to eat, so he brushes his hair. "Look, honestly speaking I don't like to open up." he speaks as Renjun, himself instead of you. Because if you don't want to open up, it probably means you're in the same bought as him. "The last time I opened up, I was betrayed by the people who quote on quote love me. Opening up, and doing this whole 'trust me and I'll trust you' shit is so fucking wrong. You want me to be honest with you, but the truth is you'd probably never understand if I told you my thoughts. Opening up to people usually only leads or ends up to being hurt. Just like you. Do I look like I want to get hurt again? Think for a second. When you see 'Y/n' she looks needy and annoying - if she opened up you'd all probably be bored out of your fucking mind."
"Why do you always downgrade yourself like that?" Chaerong cuts Renjun. "It's not sexy to have doubts, and insecurities. And what do you mean we can't handle it if you told us your thoughts. We're not dumb, we see the world for what it is. Yes it's not perfect, and we'll end up hurting each other, but it's all part of the human package. You're speaking like someone who just got dumped-" and then her eyes widen. So do Eunjung…
"Did Jeno… say something to you? Hurt you? Betray you?"
Renjun rolls his eyes. "See what I mean? You guys think it's about Jeno, but I'm letting you know that I'm the one in pain from opening up, from trying to live in this human package. I just don't want to delude myself that people will always be there for me. And to top it of, with Jeno, I don't really think we'll remain friends once collage is over. He's just here now because we've always gone to the same school. After this, the line splits." he's so deep in his words, until he realizes that he's spoken too much and that the girls are flabbergasted. "I'm sorry. I meant, Jeno and I will never work out. He hates my guts. It's time Y/n… it's time that I see that. Anyway, thanks for the meal. I've lost my appetite. I'll order a ride home."
"Wait I'll drop you, we live together-" Eunjung looks at Renjun in confusion.
But Renjun beats her to it. "Oh another thing, do you guys know what my password is?" Renjun brings out your phone and shows it to them. "It's a pattern but I can't remember. And don't stress yourself I'm not going back to the dorms, I'm going home."
"To your father?" Chaerong raises her brows.
"Oh she's got a father? No." Renjun gets happy with Chaerong unlocks the phone with a simple 'J' pattern. "Let me guess, 'J' for 'Jeno'. Wow. Anyway, I'll see you guys later. Bye."
Renjun is out of the store leaving the two girls completely baffled and speechless. Unlike Eunjung who goes off on another rent, Chaerong feels like she's losing her mind. Because the thought that passes her is… not normal. "What… they're not lying."
"Who's not lying?" Eunjung asks.
"You mean to tell me that wasn't weird? Speaking in third person when talking about herself? Not interested in shopping? That's literally healing for all of us. Always saying sorry… and what about Renjun today… he…" Chaerong sounds dumb, but suddenly she remembers how you were. You… came with Chenle and then forcefully called Renjun… "Eunjung what if really they swapped bodies?"
Eunjung rolls her eyes. "You really are dumb."
Chaerong quietens down, before she quickly gets up packing up her bag. "I'll go too."
"What?"
"Yeah, I just don't think I'm ready to sit with you, when you think nothings wrong between us. According to what 'Y/n' said today, you slept with my boyfriend behind my back."
"That- wasn't true." Eunjung's eyes darken, but Chaerong rolls her eyes muttering a whatever before she leaves, trying to catch up to… 'you'. She quickly spots with your ugly outfit, and as she hurries over to you in her heels- she notices how you walk and the more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense. It's the only sense that makes sense- you guys really did swap. It sounds dumb, she's well aware, but then today that wasn't you. She's always wanted your validation- and when she thinks of how you… maybe in Renjun's body, how you tried to prove that it was you- she recalls how Renjun's voice even cracked. Heck, Renjun doesn't even know your name- and not once during this whole mall scene did Y/n call your name- which only proves that Renjun is in you, and you are in Renjun- she feels crazy. Her thoughts sounds crazy- but when she finally taps 'your' shoulder- she smiles.
"I actually believe you."
Renjun turns around being surprised that Chaerong chased after him. "Hey I told you I have to go."
"I know," she says and then motions for the way. "Let's walk together. I want to ask you something."
"Again?"
"You're Renjun." Chaerong cuts straight to it. Renjun pauses, and looks at her. He doesn't know what to say, but then something in him feels relieved in hearing his name. "This is just a test, but what is my name?"
Renjun blinks. "Wait. You believe I'm Renjun?"
"I have to." Chaerong looks at Renjun up and down. "I don't know what's going on- it sounds so crazy, but I want you to know that I believe you… and please also tell Y/n that I said that. Poor girl. All alone… and I slapped her. She's struggling on her own. So are you going to order that ride? You can do two stops."
-
The time is 19h00 when Renjun finally reaches his home. Not your dorm room, but his home. He pants out being out of breath. For someone so fit Renjun is disappointed in your cardio. "She can't be skinny and not run." he walks up a few stairs before taking a seat on the steps to his house. As long as he's home. Hopefully you're also inside. He keeps trying to catch his breath, but he can't help but smile. He was supposed to go straight home, but after the girl Chaerong confessed to believing him- he suddenly felt hungry again. Together they went to another restaurant. Renjun felt good actually talking as 'himself' - he asked questions…
"Why is Y/n a tip girl?" - "Do you know that she sleeps around a lot?" - "Why is she so obsessed with Jeno?"
All valuable questions. Only except Chaerong was equally shocked hearing the questions. Renjun explained his experience of being in your body, and how he had to fend of horny guys - and Chaerong admitted to feeling bad on never actually picking up on the cycle you gone down in. Renjun found himself feeling bad for you… and also for Chaerong. After eating, he made sure that she went home well. Even though being in a petite girl's body, he felt the need to make sure that Chaerong went home well safe. He could've ordered a ride home, because he knew the address and also the password to your phone… but he just wanted to walk home.
Which was a huge mistake- because by the time he realized that, your phone had powered off. Forcing him to walk. A few times some guys offered to give him a lift - but because he was in your body, he didn't want to take chances and then get you hurt… you've already been through a lot and Renjun didn't want to… hurt you.
In some way… you were like him. Only a little. Your experiences as a girl were way more advanced then himself being in his boy body. Nonetheless as he walked, he prepared his speech and tone - to ask you serious questions but not in a confrontational way, but in a way that would make sure you're alright. He really didn't want to see himself cry again. So after resting, he gets up and walks to the door knocking it, pressing the buzzer.
The door opens up and his eyes darken. Of course he knew that coming here would mean seeing 'her', but he was hoping you'd open the door. Not… her.
"Oh, hello dear? Are you lost?"
"I'm here for Y/n… I mean. Renjun." his tone darkens out of habit, and something in his mother tightens. She doesn't know why… but she felt… this strong emotional distate which resembled to how Renjun treated her. She's left at the door blinking for a while, before tightly smiling.
"I'll get him." In her head, all she can think about is how Renjun literally has friends who are probably like him. Walking up the stairs, he carefully knocks on the door. "Renjun? Someone's here for you."
The door opens- smoke wafting out. "Oh sorry." you smile and wave the air awkwardly. "Sorry about that. You said someone's here for me?" you're eyes widen when seeing… Renjun. "Renjun you're here-"
Renjun's mum jolts up in fear by the unknown presence beside her. "Oh sorry- oh dear you scared me."
Renjun can only glare at her. A glare so strong that even you can tell that it's full of… hate. You clear your throat, noticing that Renjun's mother also shrinks and looks at Renjun… with unease and fear. The same fear you saw on her this morning, is the same she has now. "It's okay mum, this is my friend. Don't mind her." you quickly grab Renjun's arm and pull him in the room. You're surprised by how light he is… how light you are. Once in the room, you shut the door and lock it. Finally being alone with Renjun. You wonder if he's going to be mad that you man-handled him, so you prepare for him to shout again.
Renjun coughs out- and walks to the curtains. He pulls it open allowing air to leave. "So this is what none smokers smell. Fuck, it's horrible." Renjun mummers to himself, feeling congested from the smoke stench. "Did you light one up just now?" Hearing no response from your end, Renjun turns his head.
In his dark room, only illuminated by the bed side lamp, he notices you near the door looking so stiff. The light casts a shadow against the other side of your face, showcasing that you've guarded yourself. Your fingers interlocked with each other, head down. Renjun calls out your name, but you nervously scratch the palm of your hands looking hesitant. He sighs… he didn't even do much and it looks like he's already scared you. His eyes simmer down the intensity into something… soft and then he turns to you again.
"I'm not gonna hurt you." he says, reassuringly. "I promise."
Your eyes examine and analyze his face. He looks authentic and honest. You manage a tight lipped smiled and nod. "Okay… so I guess you're here to… talk."
"We need to." Despite being in his room, and falling into the bean bag as comfort, being in your body - he looks towards you to make sure that you're also comfortable. But you look so uncomfortably guarded. "Hey feel free," Renjun ends up saying turning around on the bean bag. "Why don't you sit on the bed, or chair, where ever you want… and tell me how your day went?"
You sit down on the edge of the bed, facing away from him. "I tried to think of ways we can swap back and I found out-" your mouth begins to blurt, but Renjun shakes his head.
"That's not what I asked you…" Renjun interrupts softly, looking at your back. "Look Y/n… I'm…"
Renjun tries to find the words. For some reason, the only thing he can think of in his mind, is how sensitive you are and how you can't handle sarcasm, so he'll have to talk to you without any brute… to prevent you catching feelings or even having another panic attack. So he humbles down.
"I'm really sorry for what I did today. My own actions in your body… as well as my words. I… provoked you." Renjun scratches his head awkwardly and looks down. "I didn't mean to ruin your image, or make you cry. I'm sorry about that. It's not your fault that we're like this, and I understand that now. I shouldn't have been so mean. You've… gone through a lot, and it wasn't my place to assume thigs about you or take out my anger on you… uh, I made up with your friends. I tried with the girl who wears blue, but she's a dead end. But your friend Chaerong- I think that's her name, she forgave you, and also she really believes that we've swapped. Maybe the only person who believes that. She sincerely wanted you to know that to. And… all I'm trying to say that, I'm open to anything… in trying to… understand what's going on. So please… can we start again? I want to know about… your day and what you experienced in my body. Or if that's heavy… you can just tell me about you, and I'll listen. I won't be mean… I promise."
Your head turns to look at him, his eyes showing signs of tenderness as well as transparency. And honestly, seeing your face look like that, you can only think of Jeno and how he and everyone else sees you.
"Jeno hates me." you whisper, your throat feeling clogged. "Not just him, but everyone… I always told myself that if I can't be loved for being smart, then maybe I can be loved for being popular, sexy and cool. And I brainwashed myself into believing that when Jeno will finally want me for… being all those things… that I will finally be valuable, accepted… valid. However, today I realized that my entire effort to be liked, to change myself for Jeno… was futile and pathetic. He saw me the same way my father sees me. As nothing. Jeno called me a thing… plastic… fake… slut… the list went on."
Renjun watches how saddened your face gets, you can't even look up anymore. You hold your chest, recalling how that made you feel.
"There was nothing but distaste in his eyes for me. I just wanted to dig a whole and die… because no one likes me. Even in his tone, he said what I did was pathetic. The fear I had of being seen as on object has come true. Even worse? The man I so badly wanted to impress most didn't even see my humanity. Even when I try… I'm still not enough and I don't know what to do."
"He doesn't know you," Renjun mutters out quietly, you let out a soft painful laugh.
"I don't know me either." You sniff. "I'm a desperate whore. I seek attention. I try to be someone I'm not. And I fail. All the time. No one ever sees me- truly. They objectify me because I'm so eager to just be anything they want…"
Renjun shakes his head. "It's not sexy to put yourself down like that." Renjun is surprised to say a line that Chaerong said, even you look at him feeling familiarity to the words, but the words stand. "I saw the way you hugged him when you were having a panic attack. That wasn't a hug of a stalker or whore… that was a hug that… practically begged for affection… for love… a real life connection to somebody. I don't know if you'll find that in Jeno, but I hope you do. I don't know about your father either, but hearing you say all that…." Renjun pauses and tries not to sound judgemental. So he changes his approach. "Being in your body today… as I tried to fend for your sexuality, I noticed how… lonely you were. Despite all the guys, and your friends, and the attention, you're lonely. I'm not saying I've got the answers, I don't, but I want you to know that if you are just yourself you won't be alone."
You shake your head. "That's not true. It's why I changed. I was 'clever'. My mum nurtured my talents, encouraged me to study said that it would open doors for me, and I'll be loved. But I wasn't. I was invisible. I was myself but I was still so invisible. And when she died, my father told me that there's a million other clever people, and they've got personality." you hiccup and your voice cracks. "He said I've got nothing. Nothing. And he was right. When I stopped being myself, and started being what the world wants… what my dad wants… what Jeno wants… I got friends, popularity-" the tears shine brightly in your eyes. Tears that look like little stars that failed to shine.
"But none of that is real. And you're wrong, when you were clever, you number one supporter was your mother… It sounds like she cared enough to nurturer your gift. That must mean something…" Renjun speaks gently. "But now she's gone, and out of all your friends, how many of them really know you? Know that you get harassed by horny guys? How many of them really know that your father is a stupid jerk for not supporting you? How many of them have even held you, and assured you that everything is alright- even when it's not alright. You've built a shallow life, that's not connection, that's a cruel… there's no words I can say without being mean or sarcastic, but that's life squeezing back the lemonde on your face. You don't deserve that. You really don't. And I'm sure that, if you are yourself, it may not be the whole world, but they'll be even one person in your corner… it's no longer your mother, but being yourself allows you to have at least one real connection. Look at me, I'm mean and rude as hell, yet I've got someone like Jeno in my corner."
You wipe your eyes, hicup and try to compose yourself, breathing out. Renjun allows you to have that moment of silence, and when you finally speak, he's ready to give you advice as best as he can… he's even surprised of how open he's being. The words of 'wisdom' pour out of his mouth so effortlessly, hoping that you believe that. He can only imagine that you guys won't swap back if you remain in your insecurity. To swap back, perhaps something in your life has to change.
"You're so lucky. And in this moment, I'd kill to have your life." she chuckles, her words maing Renjun to focus back on her. "Jeno admires you, loves you. Your mother, even though you don't like her, she adores you and wants that connection. Even your lecturers respect you. You've got guys constantly checking on your mental health. You smoke but they don't judge you. Offering breath mints, suggesting remedies and syrups. I've never… seen guys be so kind the way they were. I coughed today and was so surprised to see how many people asked if you needed a cigarette or water. Small things like that broke me down… and I cried because I can't have that. When you fought in my body with my friend, no body even paid attention. They took videos and laughed and cheered us on… but I saw how, I in you body, when I slapped you- the way everyone reacted was different…. Even after I hit you- people looked at you and tried to stop you. That's some kind of support. Someone trying to pull you back in line, and remind you of morals. Your friends kept trying to assure you that you were fine and not in the wrong. I've never felt… like that today. When I allowed myself to be you and not think of me… there was brotherhood and friendships so pure. You don't realize how lucky you are."
Renjun is tongue tied, surprised by what you've said about him. And of course your words make sense, and he can visualize it. It's just… he's never really allowed himself to care. To notice all the things you noticed.
"Your life is so much better-"
"Shut u- I mean… It's not. My life is not better." Renjun shakes his head. Wanting to shut you down. He looks down, and that only fuels you.
"Yes it is. You just don't want to see that you have that connection, that you're telling me about. You're yourself and have so many people care about you. Why do you shut them out? And being with your mum today this whole afternoon… I just realized that you like to create your own problems, and threaten them, and push them away. All they want to do is love you, shower you with love. But your meanness and sarcasm, pushes people away."
"I push them all away, before they can get the chance to push me away first." Renjun snaps, but he reclaims his composure and breaks free of the spell of softness. He then folds his arms. Blocking your words that are now flying all over. He shakes his head. "They're all liars. Watching you in my body was a nightmare. You… cried in my body and unlocked emotions in me that I thought were locked forever. That's weakness that I don't want anybody seeing. Because if they do, they'll leave me. Take advantage. And what you're saying about Jeno? He'll leave me to. It's the circle of life, we're only here for now, our next stage of life won't involve the same people. It's just temporary and there's nothing deep about it."
"I feel like you're just being… ungrateful for all that you have." you find the courage to say, as you cross your legs. "You purposely try to destroy your lungs, you dress like you don't want affection from anybody - not even the sun. You move through your life with problems you've created for yourself."
Renjun gets his head down. Speechless, because he doesn't want to talk about it, or deal with it. In his silence, your shoulders sag and you also keep quiet. You don't know why you swapped places, but you actually feel good, talking like this… feeling free to speak with the one person who can hardly give 2 flying pigs, but still understand he's in the same boat as you.
"Maybe you're right." Renjun's voice fades back in, allowing the room to no longer be quiet. "I have it easy."
You shake your head… "It's not that you have it easy, it's how you don't have to fake anything. Although you hide yourself and cover up your weaknesses, you… don't want to actually feel connection. And that's what sad."
"No it's useless. You need that connection to satisfy your insecurities and fill yourself up. I'm fine. I closed that door to my emotions, because I've seen the darkness in humans. Even the 'good' humans that you're praising like my mother- you don't know that they also have a darkside. So when I close my heart, it's to them for who they really are. You don't get it." Renjun mummers, in anger. "I don't want for people to feel pity for me, and then laugh behind closed doors about me. I'd prefer to just be by my self. Because only I can understand what I've gone through. People are overrated. They hurt you… and you're still wanting to give them a chance?"
"Isn't that what you told me to do?"
Renjun scoffs with an annoyed chuckle. "That's because you deserve kindness. Man treat you like trash, kiss you, grope you, and think they can own you. But inside of you, you're presumably intelligent and could possibly go far. It pisses me off that I'm only finding this out now, I would've loved being inside of an intelligent young lady who knows that she's worth more. So what if there's a million other clever people - they're not you. You are unique, you could make a difference. And even if you don't, you can be someone's inspiration. I'm the way that I am, because you're right, I don't like or trust people, because they always hurt me, and they always leave me. If you are just yourself, no one is going to leave you- they'll ignore you yes, but those that will come- especially since you're a girl, they'll stay and try to help you reach your full potential. I on the other hand… I don't need that. I don't need people. I just want to live the course of my life, and until my bad luck catches up and I can finally die-"
"Don't say that." You whisper.
Renjun rolls his eyes, and he suddenly leans forward from the bean bag, legs apart, hands pressed together and head down. He can feel his heart beating in his throat at the thought of opening up. The doors he shut are opening up again, and he doesn't want to peak inside. He's nervous about speaking this story out loud… but it's necessary. Especially because there's nothing else they can do about this swap except tell each other stories about themselves and listen… You already did a good job of… being vulnerable. It's only fair he does the same. So with one lick over his lips he exhales.
"My father… beat me up. He used to beat me up. Not the casual beatings of when you're wrong, they were full on beatings of anything and everything. I looked at him too long once and he beat me up. I didn't react to being beaten- he beat me to a pulp again."
Hearing those words, your guard drops again. You fix your eyes on his being. It's like he got smaller… head down and hands shaking. You stay quiet, because you have no experience in this domain.
"I hated him so much. But I couldn't do anything about it. I was small, young and weak. And I grew up thinking that I deserved to be beat." Renjun shrugs his shoulders. "Every beating left a scare… you know our home was renovated but, I didn't want them to touch my room. These old carpets, dusty walls… heavy curtains are reminders everyday of what happened to me in this room. Every stain tells you a story of why I was beaten." Renjun looks up, his lips dry as he stares at a specific spot on the wall.
You turn your head to the wall, and you notice it. After getting back home from watching the basketball practice, you explored Renjun's room and tried to wonder what type of person he is. You didn't find anything aside from his pack of cigarettes and that loved darkness. But now, seeing this indent on the wall, your heart almost breaks thinking of Renjun being beaten… You get up and walk to it… you place your finger on it… and it feels so sensitive. Looking back to Renjun, you're not even surprised when seeing some tears escape his eyes. He tries to brush it off, wiping the tears and sniffing.
"I… never wanted to forget how I… called out to my mother. Cried out for her to help me. Everyday. But… she always watched. Never fought back. Never fought for me." Renjun points his chest and looks down. "Whenever she screamed- I would run to her, try and protect her… with my weak muscles. I took beatings for her, she… never did that for me. She only watched, and chose him all the time. And she's supposed to be my 'mum' right? My whole life in this house, I only learnt to hate my mother and father."
Your heart breaks as you lean on the wall.
Renjun gulps and punches his fist in his other hand, before agitatedly running a hand through his hair. "I… My father broke my body right before her eyes, and all she could do was watch, and worse, she wanted me to pretend I was okay when going to school. I never showed any weaknesses in class, because I didn't want for my father to find out and then beat me again. Back then I didn't want CPS to take away my father, in some twisted way I convinced myself that I needed him. My own father beat me up because I left a spoon in the sink, or dropped a battery on the ground- he… hit me, however I still thought that I needed him. Blood poured on these carpets and she never once stepped foot in my room to check on me. She always… picked him… Ran to him. Begged him to stay, to forgive us. Forgive us for being an ungrateful family. She… was evil." Renjun's lips tremble. "After my father bashed my head against that wall, I told myself that… if I make it out alive… I'll never forgive her. Never ever." he sighs. "And then… out of nowhere… another woman showed up to our door. A girlfriend that he had cheated on my mother with. She was pregnant. And she began staying with us. It was a slap to my mothers face to see a young woman make my father so 'affectionate'. It got to the point where my mother was a maid in the house. I was already a smoker, so they never wanted me around the girlfriend who had a child. Our lives were hell - I was still getting beat up for upsetting his precious mistress. And when she had a miscarriage, the hell my father poured down on this house…"
Renjun gulps and gets up, he walks to the curtains and pulls it back… hands trembling… your eyes pop out again, the wall cracked and broken, the carpet with dried visible blood patches. You turn your gaze to Renjun, he's got his eyes on the spot… and as you watch him, it looks like he's re-living the scene in his head. You end up getting up and shaking your head… you cover the wall and move Renjun away from the spot. You… you get him in a hug. Tightly feeling your heart pieces break. "Don't… don't do that to yourself Renjun. Don't hurt yourself all over again."
Renjun's tears fall out. "Why wasn't I enough to keep my family together? A son is supposed to be the pride and joy of the family, so why did I fail? I was a good kid. Got good grades. But they… hated me. Those were my thoughts. After that night, my father left for good. And I realized something about the world, about it's people." Renjun doesn't have to say what he realized, because you also realized it. "I've never seen him ever again. My mother was now alone. Broken. A mess. But I never wanted to help her. I stuck to my promise. Never forgave her. She wasn't there for me. Why should I be there for her? I will watch her suffer alone in this house- so that she knows what it's like to be alone even though someone is in the house."
"Renjun…" you whisper out, you pull him out of the hug and then place your hand over his face, wiping on his tear. It's weird because it's your face, crying, but it's his emotions overpouring. He doesn't look at you- he swats your hand away and then sits on the bed looking out to the window.
You take a seat on the bed, next to him… understanding washing over you. He's gone through a lot. And his personality suddenly makes sense. His smoking is a slow form of self punishment… almost like a ritual that reminds him of his father, but has twisted into… self-hate.
After a whole while of silence, you finally turn to Renjun. Something feels so familiar… you're looking down at him, and he looks like you… you're mother never failed to assure. So carefully, you wrap your arm around him, scoot closer and look out the window. "What do we do now?"
Renjun looks down… "I guess we wait for tomorrow." Renjun sighs and then taps your hand on your shoulder… trying to indicate that it's okay. He then gets up. "I'll be going back now. Oh yeah." Renjun turns and hands you your phone. "Sorry it's low battery."
"I charged yours." you laugh a little and exchange phones. He begins to request on his phone for a ride, but you're so awkward. After a heartfelt moment, you feel that you need to discuss swapping back. Yet he seems so ready to go home. "Uhm, wait." you courageously hold your hand out. "I… did you manage to hand in your project?"
Renjun shakes his head. "No. I'm hoping tomorrow we swap back, hopefully I can get back to my miserable life."
"You don't have to go now." you tell him, and get up from the bed. "Your laptop is here, you can just do the work now and save yourself the troubles of tomorrow."
Renjun walks to his laptop and puts it inside the bag he carried, but you stop him again. "Can you just stay?"
He thought you were just acting weird, now hearing you ask him to stay is confirmation that something else is on your mind. He then puts down the bag and goes back to the bean bag. "Say what you want to say," he mummers.
"I was thinking…" you say quickly, not wanting to waste his time, he already looks like he wants to bolt again. "We could watch some body-swap movies. Try to make sense of this. I even talked to ChatGPT and gemini and even asked your mum… what would she think. Anyway, in summary all their answers said we should explore all possible causes. At first, I thought it might've been the co-ed bathroom where we met up, but tons of people use that bathroom and don't swap."
You pause, watching his face. No reaction.
"We've never interacted before. All I really know is that you're Jeno’s friend and that we went to the same high school. I don't even know if you remember me…" You glance away, then back at him. "Anyway, after you're done with your assignment, I thought maybe we could watch some of those movies together. Just to see what they say about all this. Maybe this is just a glitch in reality. Maybe tomorrow we'll wake up back in our bodies, like nothing ever happened. But if not… at least the movies might give us some kind of clue. Or rules. I make a list."
There's a lot for Renjun to unpack in what you've said, and this time it looks like you've taken it seriously. You really analyzed that situation. So all he can do, is nod. Getting himself comfortable in his room, Renjun brings out his laptop, sits by his desk area and begins working, while you charge your phone and tell him that you're going to help out his mother in the kithen by preparing something for you. "And I won't… disrespect you and talk to your mum…"
"No it's okay." Renjun mumbles typing on his laptop. "Talk to her if you want."
You nod and leave. A couple of hours pass by and you're back in Renjun's room. He's laying flat on the bed with some sandwiches you made, while you're seated on the bean bag, both your attentions on the first movie that plays. Your Name (Kimi no Na wa). Renjun has always hated anime because to him it looks like a cartoon- but keeping his mouth quiet he just decides to watch for the sake of understanding their situation.
Renjun's perk up, hearing you laugh at some scenes… singing to some songs, looking peaceful. Seeing himself in that light, looking like all the stress has been lifted from his shoulders is… something that tugs at his heart. It's almost beautiful.
It's a whole movie marathon, with Freak Friday playing, The Butterfly Effect, Seoul Switch (K-drama web series), The Cobbler and even Back to the future, which reminds Renjun about what Chenle says. There's so many movies about this type of event, and Renjun really tries to pay attention to the messages, all similar, but one keeps him… fearful.
He looks at you again… are you his… soulmate? There's no way. He shakes his head - and you turn to him.
"What you don't think he's right?" you ask, refering to the movie and Renjun looks up seeing the characters having an intense argument. "I think he's right,"
"No sorry, I was just thinking,"
"Okay," you smile and look back to the screen. Yet Renjun continues to think in his thoughts and not watch the movie. If you're his soulmate… and nothing physically triggered your conscious to swap then…
"What if-" Renjun starts, when another movie finishes, he doesn't look at you, but remains fixed on the thought. "If Marty’s actions could change the entire course of his family’s lives, maybe our… future selves swapped us to fix something about ourselves… or each other…before it’s too late."
You think on his words, and glance up. "Future selves?"
"Yeah," Renjun crosses his legs and sits up on the bed. "This might be about making us better people, by forcing us to live the other's worst moments. I mean, you opened up about your father, and I opened up about my mother. Maybe… we're supposed to… overcome it."
You smile lightheartedly. "Then that's just cruel."
Renjun looks up. "C-cruel?"
You nod. "Life is about experiencing things and realizing our stupid mistakes at our own time. Like today after what happened with Jeno. I'm ready to move on… try and not… make myself a bigger fool. But for you… if your future self is forcing you to move on now, and forget… it's cruel. Because you're not ready…"
Renjun's head twists for a second. "What makes you think I'm not ready to let go?"
You open your mouth, but then shake your head and look away. "It's fine, let's just watch another movie,"
"No, wait. You don't think I want to be better?"
"I think…" you bite your lip. "That you want to die. That you don't want to live. You smoke, push people away because you don't want to get hurt… you're just moving through life with no clear aim to connect. You… purposely anchor yourself down. To me that's… not wanting to get better. And what's in that life? You alone…"
In that moment, Renjun's thoughts are as clear as ever. Seeing his face, and how throughout the movies you looked like all the weight was gone from your shoulders, and you laughed without a care, you were happy… Renjun makes a conscious choice that he'd like for his body to really be like that, he'd like for his emotions to serve and heal his body. "I don't know about trusting people again… but I want to… I want to be happy. I want to feel, like I wasn't burden of shame. I want to connect… to myself first before I let anyone in. I just… don't know how. And I don't want to be tricked."
You listen, and from your heart, you know your words are true when you speak. "As I'm in your body… I won't trick you. I've literally lost my self respect, but I'm not dumb enough to give up on life. I would… want us to connect. Because right now, we're the only ones experiencing this. So… if tomorrow we're still like this, I'll… show you how to connect to yourself."
Renjun sadly smiles, you're so thoughtful. "Don't you have to… worry about yourself and image?"
You smile and look away. "Nobody cares about me. And if… I take your advice about being myself… then I guess that tomorrow, you can dress my body however and I'll make the effort to hit the books again, and work hard to be 'clever'."
Renjun hums. It's a sweet moment between you both, and he doesn't want to ruin it. "Why do you use the word clever? Why not intelligent or smart, or… something else? I think if you want to change, you have to stop looking down on that word like it's an anchor of sorrow."
You bite the inside of your lip before agreeing. "Okay. And I think… if you want to change, you should… stop smoking- but it feels so good and," you pout, causing Renjun to chuckle.
"In your body, I have never felt more healthier in my life- speaking of which- how is it that you're skinny but can't run? We've gotta change that, you need to be healthy, and not just skinny. If I'm in your body tomorrow, I'll train it."
You chortle. "And teach me how to fight. I could never throw a punch the way you did… Is… can I ask? Is that why you don't like people touching you? You're afraid they might hit you… or beat you like your dad?"
Renjun shakes his head. "I don't like people touching me, because it makes me feel like I’m not in control. Like they can get too close before I even realize it…. why do you… sleep around? Was it only because of Jeno?"
You scoff and breathe out. "I guess you were right about that hug… I don't sleep around because I like sex. It's about proving that I was worth wanting. My step mum dresses like a hooker and my dad loves her. So, I dressed up like that…. and the way the guys would line up for me… made me feel wanted. And Jeno…. now that I think of it… it's like I was chasing rejection… because it feels familiar, you know. Just like how my father never saw me… Jeno never saw me and I just… if I can sleep with him then maybe I was never unworthy to begin with, was my thinking. Everyone but Jeno wanted to sleep with me, and it proves my father was right."
"Your father is a jerk." Renjun says. "Is he still alive?" Renjun smirks. "Then if I'm in your body tomorrow, I'll prove him wrong. That you are worthy."
You smile, and for moment you're both staring into each other's eyes. You look away and to the screen, realizing the time… it's already tomorrow, but you're still in his body. "Well… I guess we can go and sleep then. And we can start on fresh pages. I'll sleep on the bean bag,"
Renjun scoffs. "No, you can take the bed. You're literally a guest,"
"Idiot," you laugh. "Don't you see that you're in my body, my body needs fresh sleep and comfortable pillows. Your body can sleep on the bean bag and you'll be fine."
"That was… not even funny." Renjun says, and for some reason you laugh.
You carefully and awkwardly begin to move past each other, preparing to sleep. But before you sleep, you drag Renjun to the bathroom to wash up. You fetch some water and then finally. You're both in his room. Despite the sleeping arrangement, you sleep on one side of the bed while he sleeps on the opposite side.
-
"Okay remember." Renjun says when your shared ride approaches school. "Eyes down, voices low, we talk only to each other, not the world."
You nod. "Got it. Only speak if it's safe, only to each other. Today no one else matters."
"Yeah, we just need to blend in, breathe and try to bond. Stay away from the noise."
You laugh a little. "Yeah, stay away from Jeno, I got it. No slip-ups, no side chats, just us."
"Also if you can, stay away from Chenle. He's a creep." Renjun adds. "I told him we've swapped places, and he kept thinking it's a joke and project, most likely he'll want to see how you act like me. But our rules are simple, play the part, protect the secret."
"After classes we should go shopping. Your wardrobe needs to change." You tell Renjun as the car ride finally stops on campus grounds and you get out. "What's your favorite colour?"
Renjun in your body rolls his eyes. "Colours are so overrated." After giving him a tight look, he grunts out. "Fine… yellow." you smile. "Alright, see you after class."
You both part ways going to your respective classes.
This morning, you and Renjun had a talk about some rules and agreements. After you woke up, you showered and changed into black clothes, you then went on a ride with Renjun back to your dorm. He showered, and you picked out clothes for him. Nothing revealing, but at least fashionable. Eunjung was shocked seeing Renjun in the room, but you both ignored her.
Today at least Renjun looked cute. Black jeans and a simple pink t-shirt tucked in. You did his hair, braided it down, because Renjun didn't know how to deal with it, and you put on light makeup on his face. Nothing dramatic like you're used to, just lipstick and some mascara and a dab to your brows. "Cute." he murmured, making you feel happy. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself, and neither did Renjun. The plan was simple, go to school and instead of him attending your classes, he'd attend his own classes.
Which is why, as he's in your body, he doesn't follow Jeno to the backseat, but takes the front seat. Keeping it lowkey. The lecturer notices… but he doesn't pay mind.
And on the other side of the building, you attempt to stay away from your friends as you're in Renjun's body. You got to your classes, some people give you odd looks, but you focus on actually paying attention in class.
The mantra for today, for the both of you is: The less they see, the less they know.
You don't know what the day will bring, but at long as you and Renjun are on the same page today, you'll see how everything plays out.
And boy is it confusing to the rest of the world, your college campus. Renjun in your body avoids the male gaze and any guy who comes your way. He's cut throat in sarcasm to avoid any interactions. And you in his body - against your will avoid Jeno even though he tries to talk to you. When your classes are all done, you wait for Renjun by the smokers side. You bring out your cigarette and wonder about quitting for him. And finally around 2 pm he's finally done.
"There you are." he stops running in the opposite direction and walks to you. A smile on his face. "How'd it go?"
"Success," you smile and get up, blowing the smoke away from his face. "I didn't speak to anyone, even Jeno. I ran away from Chenle. Kept to myself and focused in my classes, and took notes." you point to your bag. "And you?"
Renjun nods. "Good. I stayed away from the girls and pushed away every guy."
"Perfect." You smile and hold your hand out. He looks around, and takes it. "Phase 1 is done, alienate the world. Phase 2, bonding."
"Renjun."
"Yes?" you and Renjun both say and turn to the side. A confused Jeno stands in confusion watching the both of you. You and Renjun both hesitate, stuttering and letting go of each other's hand. Before Renjun in your body nudges you and his head. "Oh, yeah. I'm Renjun. Yes?" You look to Jeno and then at Renjun and then lean in close to his ear. "Should we leave?"
Renjun wants to palm his face, but finds himself agreeing. "Sorry pal we're in a rush."
"Yeah, what she said." You tightly smile, and allow Renjun to grab your wrist and you both move away. Once you're away from Jeno, you breath out. "He just won't quite."
"Yeah that's Jeno. But that's not our priority." Renjun mentions and then folds his arms, as you're both walking to the exit of the school gates. "Where were we?"
"Shopping!" You let out in a sing song voice.
"Y/n?"
You and Renjun both snap to the side, seeing Chaerong. "Uhm, you guys are going shopping? I can come along,"
"It's okay, it's kind of a… date. Alone, together." Renjun says, trying to walk away with you following.
But Chaerong doesn't stop. "Are you guys still swapped? I haven't told anyone, not even Eunjung… pretty please can I tag along?" she clasps her hands together and instead of moving to Renjun, she moves to you. And calls your name. "Y/n pretty please? I will chip in, and help in anyway that I can…"
Your mouth is gapped open and you can only look at Renjun… but then you somberly turn to Chaerong. "I'm sorry Chae, as much as I'd love that… we… really need this time alone. Maybe next time?" She's sad, but Renjun pulls you away before you can even catch her face drop even lower. "That was so hard,"
"You handled that well," Renjun voices out well. "And besides, it's not like the world has ended. We'll see her tomorrow, today it's about us. And finding out about each other."
"Don't make it sound like forced bonding." You let him know, as he begins to request a ride to the mall. "We're going to have a good time, in getting to know each other. And we can do that… through shopping. Not only for clothes, but everything else."
Renjun fears being alone with you, on the quest to healing from his own trauma, as well as rebuilding emotional connections he abandoned, but he keeps reminding himself that this is all his idea. He's idea to try and move away from self-hatred to self-awareness for both of them. At the same time, making each other laugh and have fun away from the life that has kept them miserable.
Renjun lowers his phone slightly and exhales through his nose. He's scared not of the mall, not even of you but of what this day could mean. He's never really let anyone in. Not like this. Not voluntarily. But this whole thing was his idea, wasn't it? To stop hiding behind sarcasm and cigarettes. To face the mirror… even if that mirror was you. Especially because it was you.
In the car ride, you sit beside him and stare out the window. "Oh look, yellow roses," you say, pointing out. Then after a pause, you glance his way. "Why do you like the color yellow?"
He doesn't answer immediately. "Uhm… no reason," he finally mutters. "It looks bright."
You smile, not because the answer is funny, but because it's honest. You can hear it, the subtle longing behind the word bright. "In colour study, yellow represents joy, positivity, hope, creativity and intellect."
"That's nice to know," he smiles. "What's your favourite colour? Pink?" he points to his t-shirt.
"How did you know?" you answer sarcastically, before snickering. "I actually like green. I remember I loved nature and the colour just looked peaceful."
The mall is busy but not loud. Inside, your voices blend into the crowd but not your presence. Together, you somehow carve out a pocket of peace. In a small clothing store, you start pulling pieces for his body and you try it on. You hold up a soft yellow sweatshirt and squint at it. "This? Yes. This screams you."
Renjun groans dramatically. "I'll look like a banana."
"A happy banana," you say, tossing it into his arms. It's weird how he's in your body but he's less enthusiastic about shopping and you are. "I never knew boys clothes were so… casual. Do you like art? Like shirts with art styles and all that. Look at that one-" The shirt literally says: 'Mentally gone, physically here.'
"That's literally our situation." You both laugh.
Later, inside a tiny karaoke booth tucked in a corner of the arcade section, he begins messing around with the song queue, he loves to sing, but with your voice the notes land flatly. But when you suddenly pick up the mic and chose a song- your first note has you freezing… before Renjun sings for you- prompting you to carry on. You sing, with Renjun's voice. But it doesn’t sound like that. His voice is clean, heartfelt, and full of restraint - not like someone showing off, but like someone letting something out.
You freeze, then slowly smile. "Renjun… You can sing," you breathe, and he flushes a little. "Why didn't you tell me?"
He shrugs. "I thought everyone can… but I guess now after hearing you and your out of tune voice, I can sing…"
You keep singing, suddenly feeling in love with the voice. It's harmonic, melodic and peaceful. You sing your favourite songs. Renjun takes a seat and smiles watching you use his voice harmony, and his head turns to his phone. He picks it up and begins recording this moment. Especially when you do such a powerful highnote. "Wow… that's incredible." like he didn’t expect that either. For the next twenty minutes, it becomes a weird, spontaneous duet — your voice isn't that good, but Renjun still sings. One out of key the other in tune, but it sounds so beautiful.
Later, wandering through a quiet indoor art exhibit, the tone shifts again. It's dimly lit, the walls lined with local artists’ work. Renjun stops in front of one painting, a faceless figure reaching toward its reflection, only the reflection is smiling. "That's us," he whispers.
You hum in agreement beside him, arms crossed, eyes soft. He steps forward to another painting — tangled black lines over a hazy silhouette. "You like art…"
There's a pause. Then he says, quietly, "I draw. A bit."
You turn toward him sharply. "Really?"
He clears his throat. "I just don't show people."
You're quiet for a second. "I'd love to see it sometime. When I go back to your room I'll search for them,"
He doesn't say yes. But he doesn’t say no either. "Under the bed, you'll find a file with drawings,"
And by the time you're home, you check under the bed, and find it. Going through each drawing, you smile and snap some pictures before sending him a message.
Y/n: Literally a masterpiece
Renjun: Why aren't you sleeping, do you see the time?
thnx
Y/n: I'll sleep later, you're a night owl.
After searching through the pictures, you end up neatly folding the new clothes into the wardrobe. And just before you sleep, you put on the cigarette patch on your stomach, apparently this helps to reduce smoking habits.
The next day slips by with you and Renjun doing the same things, avoiding everyone but each other. Even going to the library to avoid anyone who wants to talk, both your friends and his friends.
"I don't mean to say it," Renjun starts. "But they're a bad influence. They mean well, but they're not good for you."
"I'm beginning to see that," you say after seeing the message that Eunjung sent you, saying that Mark allowed for you and Chaerong to come to his party. She got connections to the party by asking one guy to sleep with you- You type back a message telling her that you're not interested in the party any more. Especially since, your sight on Jeno has changed.
"Speaking of party," you look to him as he eats. "Don't you miss being with Jeno?"
"He asked me in a text last night, why I'm suddenly hanging out with you." Renjun mumbles and then shrugs. "I said you're fun, now he thinks I want to sleep with you."
You look at Renjun trying to read his expression. "He can think what he wants. Besides, this might not be forever, and hopefully then I can brush it under the mat,"
"You're breaking a rule," you let out in a singing way.
He chuckles when hearing you sing. "Yeah, but my friendship with Jeno is on hold for now. And I wasn't joking, you're fun to be around. Especially now that you're smart."
"Funny,"
"By the way, I like the sweater." Renjun points to what you're wearing on his body. It's the jersey you bought for him yesterday. A black jersey that has a happy face in yellow on it.
Evening comes and you're sitting in your dorm room with Renjun on the bed on his laptop. You didn't want to go home, you wanted to help him have a set of clothes for the week. But as you're doing your homework, your heart drops upon staring at an online pop quiz for one of your modules. "I'm going to mess this up," you mumble.
"No, you're not," Renjun simply says, even though he doesn't know what you're talking about. You tell him about how in one of your classes, a pop up quiz was given, and you needed to complete it in 30 minutes. But the problem is that, you haven't studied in so long - you recently picked up on the habit, and you haven't been all caught up. "Just stop second-guessing. Anything you remember, just tick it." Renjun encourages you, half-heartedly while doing his own assignment.
You glance up at him, something flickering in your eyes, seeing him in your body look so focused and doing his work, makes your spine straighter, preparing yourself. "I can do this." And then you do it, the quiz. You take your time, second-guess a few answers, but mostly… you're surprised that you know a lot of the answers. And when you're done the quiz that was out of 90, you wait for the results to appear. Anxiously you wait, while recalling some of the questions and going to check on the e-textbook.
"Renjun," you whisper when the results come in after almost 30 minutes of waiting. He's doing he's own project, typing out rapidly, yet when hearing you call him, he looks to you.
"What?"
You smile and turn your laptop screen to him. "I got ninety-two percent." you cheer in a whispering tone.
His stone face breaks into a smiles. Full, genuine, proud. "See? You're already one ticket away from flying to an island and building a rocket to the moon. Well done, I'm proud of you.”
It means more than it should, hearing that compliment from him in your body… Or maybe it means more because it's him.
Friday arrives too soon. Everyone's buzzing about Mark's party, flyers everywhere, whispers in the halls. You and Renjun are both well aware of the event. Renjun even gets a message from Jeno reminding him to show up. But over lunch time, Renjun puts his spoon down and looks at you across the table.
"Let's not go," he says.
You blink. "To the party?"
“Yeah. Let's just… get away. Go on a picnic or something."
"Picnic?" You smile. "I thought you're getting tired of hanging with me. You hardly say anything now…"
He tilts his head to the side. "I'm not bored, just don't have much to say. Plus it's comfortable being with you. I don't feel on guard anymore. Come on, just us. No noise. Just sun, grass, food… maybe music. I want quiet.”
You raise an eyebrow, but hum out in thought.
He shrugs. trying to appeal to your needs. "Didn't you say you love nature? We can go to a park. I'll buy with my card…"
You're quiet for a second, processing, but inside you've already said yes. It's just the silence and watching Renjun try to persuad you is entertaining. Then you smile. "Okay. A picnic."
It's simple, just the two of you, still swapped, lying on a checkered blanket in a small park just outside the city. "The amount of uber rides we've had alone in this week is crazy."
"I'm running low on cash." he mumbles.
"What do you even do?" you ask curiously. "I don't see you telling me to go to work or any side hustles."
Renjun hides a grin. "Oh actually, a bunch of your lover boys keep sending you money in your account. I haven't used it… but just letting you know. Anyway, I work remotly. Remember my lectuerer who told me I have to complete an assignment? Yeah well, he had a post open for an engineering research lab assistant. And I got it. So before I was just an intern. Now I'm full time."
"Nice." you clap. "So that's why you're always on your laptop. Does it pay daily, weekly or monthly?"
"Daily. So for every research essay I complete in a day, I get about 500."
For the picnic, Renjun brought snacks, a small speaker, and his sketchbook. The sunlight filters through the trees. Your voices are soft, you sing with his voice, as he draws. You're surprised that even though he's in your body, he's able to draw well. He draws the scenery, with the little people on the Friday afternoon relaxing around.
You lay on the ground with your eyes closed… you're singing faintly under your breath, not even aware of it at first. He glances over at you, and something about the way you tilt your head toward the sky makes him draw again. But… he wants to draw you, so he brings out his phone and opens the camera. Directing it on the selfie mood, he angles his head towards the sky, closing his eyes and he snaps a photo of himself, but getting lost while looking at the pictures in your eyes, he snaps a few more photos, being natural, and even smiling.
Being satisfied with the pictures… he draws this time, with more care. The phone is planted on the ground while he holds the pencil tightly in his hand, sketching.
After a while, you lean over. "Let me see."
He turns the sketchbook around, a proud smile on his face.
It's you. Without colour, different poses, but unmistakably you. Laughing, looking peaceful. Light.
"You drew me?" You sit up looking happy. Renjun is happy seeing a smile over his face. "You made me look… pretty. Even without makeup." you whisper.
"That's what I see," he replies.
You look at each other for a long moment. No jokes. No sarcasm. Just silence and sincerity.
And for once, neither of you feels the need to look away.
SATURDAY.
"Okay man, what's going on?"
Jeno bursts into your room. You jolt upright from under the covers… half-asleep, groggy, hair a mess, just awake enough to squint at him as he throws open your curtains, flooding the room with harsh light. He drops into the desk chair like he owns it, legs sprawled.
"Why didn't you come to the party?"
You blink, brows furrowing. "It's too early for this."
Jeno ignores the remark, pushing forward. "Injun, what"s going on with you?" His tone shifts, less friendly, more demanding. "You're avoiding me. You're hanging out with the weirdo. Dressing up, acting soft, like— like you're someone else. Don't tell me you two are getting close?"
You say nothing. You don't flinch, don't move, just look at him. Your brain tries to process his words. He really came here to… Complain to Renjun… You don't know how to handle this, so you just stay silent.
However that silence… it rattles him. Renjun doesn't stay silent… He's always one sarcastic comment away from being rude, but Jeno's jaw clutches when staring at Renjun and Renjun is dead silent. He leans forward, squinting like he's trying to dig the truth out of 'Renjun' with his eyes.
"She's not like you. You guys have nothing in common," Jeno continues, wondering if his friend is really falling in love with you or something. "She's messy, dude. Chaotic. Has all this… baggage of trouble. Probably has STDs. I don't get why you're wasting time. She's not your type— hell, no one's your type, you're not even like this. You’ve been acting weird."
You sit up fully now, planting your feet on the ground. Still, you don't respond. You let the silence linger, allowing him to keep speculating. He keeps going, and for the first time you actually wonder what you saw in this guy. He's so… Annoying.
"You two are what now? Dating? You're gonna what — fall for her and drop everything we built over some pretty face and broken past? Don't joke around with her, you don't want to involve yourself with someone like her. You're not like this."
You finally speak. "Why is it so bad to be with her?" Jeno pauses, being thrown off guard. You're not raising your voice. You're calm, steady and clear. "And why is that such a damn insult? You don't even know her." You look him in the eye, shoulders squared. "She's stupid for even liking someone like you- who only cares about himself. She's smart. Brave for putting herself through all of this, but still being able to make it out alive. Yeah, she's had a rough path. So what? All of us have. You act like you're some saint who's perfect. Like you haven't hurt people. Like you didn't ignore her all semester just because it was easier to act like you were better. Well guess what Jeno, you're not. So stop acting like it's the end of the world because I like her."
Jeno opens his mouth, but you don't let him speak.
"She's more than the version of you built in your head. And I'm more than whoever you think I was supposed to be. Maybe you should stop trying to control people and put them in boxes." Silence from him. He's just looking at you stubbed. Then you tilt your head, voice dry. "And for crying out loud, can you get the hell out of my room? It's Saturday and too early for this."
Jeno stares at you, no words, no comeback. Just disbelief flickering behind his eyes. Like he doesn't recognize this Renjun in front of him. And maybe he doesn't. He stands slowly, almost confused, brushing out of the room when watching Renjun get back on his bed. And right outside the bedroom door, he bumps into someone…
Renjun in your body who entered the house with the spare key, can only watch in shock as he sees Jeno. But Jeno only blinks. "What the hell?" Renjun freezes, his eyes flick from Jeno to the hallway, like he's considering walking away. Avoiding confrontation. He even gives a polite bow and tries to pass.
But Jeno steps in his way.
"You think this is funny?" Jeno scoffs. "First you start acting brand new, now you're walking around like you own the place? Stop playing games with my friend- I know what you're really after, and that's me. Get this through your thick skull- we are never going to be an item. So fucking stop messing around and sleeping around with all of my friends."
Renjun doesn't respond right away. His jaw tenses, but he holds back. Last time after speaking with you, Renjun knows that you're starting to see Jeno differently and that you're no longer interested in him. So Renjun can only wonder what Jeno thinks of you hanging around with him- Renjun. Still trying to keep things from escalating, Renjun just nods. He knows Jeno doesn't like you, and he wants to refrain from causing Jeno to say anything harsh to your face. Besides… if Jeno is here that means he must've spoken to you (in his body) already. So Renjun sidesteps again trying to walk away.
Yet Jeno pushes him. Not hard. But enough. "Ya- I'm talking to you." Enough to cross a line.
Renjun straightens, lifts his eyes, and finally speaks, voice sharp, low. "Don't touch me." Jeno blinks. "Can't you take a hint and just leave us alone? Not everything is about you. I'm here for Renjun not you,"
"You slut-" Jeno slams Renjun against the wall - but Renjun pushes him back with all the strength your little body can produce.
"Don't fucking call her that again or else I'll—"
"Stop." Renjun holds his speech when hearing your voice… you're standing outside the bedroom looking at them. "Jeno just leave "
Jeno scoffs in disbelief. "You can't be serious man. You're chasing me out, for this slut? You think she's worth it? She's nothing but a bitch-"
"Don't call her a bitch or a slut." Renjun shoves Jeno back- speaking up for you. But to Jeno it looks like you're talking about yourself in the third person.
Renjun has never fought with Jeno before, but hearing Jeno be so mean to 'you' right to your face doesn't sit right with him.
Jeno clenches his jaw, chest rising like he's about to shout- and worse he lifts up his hand to hit 'you' aka Renjun in your body- but he doesn't. He just stares deep into Renjun's eyes, stunned, and then without another word, he storms off down the hall, footsteps loud and uneven. Renjun exhales. He doesn't move for a moment. He just stands there still, quiet, fists relaxed at his sides.
"Don't listen to him. You're not a slut or bitch."
Then, slowly, he turns to you. A little smile coats your lips as you move towards him. You exchange a glance. Neither of you speaks, you only pat his back and then push him towards the room. "It's too early for communication, so let's go and sleep. At least an hour."
Renjun steps in, and you both let the door close behind him. You get on the bed, and Renjun removes his shoes joining you. Back to back… While he closes his eyes, trying to relax himself, you end up opening your eyes to watch him in your body. Renjun despite not being tired ends up falling asleep… You sink closer to him, smiling when realizing that… you stood up to Jeno… well Renjun in your body stood up to Jeno. He wasn't taking any disrespectful comment from his friend… and that makes you happy. A part of you feels respected and that he's helped you maintain your dignity.
"Thank you, Renjun."
-
A WEEK LATER.
You and Renjun walk together on campus, matching each other's pace. You roll your eyes when he stops to tie your shoelace his way, he says it's 'more efficient.' To others, when they see a girl going down to tie the male shoes, they wonder what's going on between the both of you. Flaunting… chemistry publicly on campus grounds. Avoiding Jeno and your friends and just indulging in each other's presence. You teach him how to do your eyeliner, and he ruins it halfway through, laughing while apologizing like it's some sort of high-stakes surgery.
At night, you both work in the same room, you prefer for him to come over and be with you in his room… Because you don't like being alone. Music hums low. You're hunched over your laptop doing one of your essays. He's sketching in his book using his hands. The silence isn't awkward anymore, it's full. Complete. A shared kind of peace. He's teaching you how to pace yourself, encourages you to use your talents and knowledge. You're reminding him how to breathe, trust without feeling like he'll be betrayed. It's not perfect, but it does get you guys closer.
Renjun in your body still forgets you have a chocolate allergy, and gets surprised when he eats it and suddenly your lips gets puffy. You still struggle to keep a straight face when telling Renjun how impressive his body is. You expose yourself and tell him that you always do the 'helicopter' whenever you bath. Renjun shamelessly admits that he usually masterbates in his body - but ever since the swap he's been holding himself back to not touch your body… but he failed as some point and masterbated. You laugh finding his embarrassed face - hilarious. You've never seen yourself look so embarrassed.
There's a rhythm now. A strange, beautiful rhythm. One night, while you're mid-laugh about some pictures you took of him wearing a yellow robe holding yellow balloon flowers, "I took a bunch of selfies." You comment upside down on Renjun's bed. "You know, you've actually got a beautiful face card."
Renjun smiles. "I get it from my mum," And it's little talks like this, where Renjun slowly admits that he's willing to forgive his mum… he just needs time. You tell him that his mother seems happier ever since you started talking more and more to her- plus his mother has also been doing some healing and has found her strength. She's trying and Renjun acknowledges that. Meanwhile in your path with your father, you just avoid him- as Renjun says it's the best type of revenge, you'll laugh in his face when you're successful. And you chose to believe that and work hard. By now, you guys have been in each other's bodies for 2 weeks.
Even at school, lectures take note of how your mark's have changed. Renjun tells you about how a lecturer stopped him to ask if he was interested in joining a learnership program on recommendation. Renjun has moments when he's so proud of who you've become.
However… Sometimes… It's not all sunshine… Under it all, Renjun starts to unravel. The truth sits like a stone in his chest. Each passing day is a reminder: 'What if we never go back? What if I'm just… trapped here?'
Renjun snaps one day. You're in his room doing an assignment and he's looking out the window. "I don't want to be stuck in your body." The words come out sharp. Colder than he means. He looks at you, you're stunned only for a moment, but then you shrink. The air tightens between you.
"It's not like I know how to go back… We've tried everything…" You mutter out, placing your pen down. You've avoided these thoughts, simply because you never knew what else to do. So for him to say it out loud and angrily… has you holding yourself together. Preparing for his mean words…
"I'm sorry," he mutters, avoiding the route to use violent words. "It's just… I can't handle being in your body anymore. Exams are coming and…"
The moment has already fallen apart. He storms off before you can respond. He's frustrated and confused. When will this end? It's not that he hates being in your body… He hates that he's developing feelings for you, but instead of experiencing it in his body, he's experiencing it in your body. This doesn't make sense. This isn't how love is supposed to be… and what if you don't feel the same way? What if…
They've been getting too comfortable in this position… and Renjun doesn't like it. Something has to change. And as he storms out of the house, he takes a breath of fresh air - letting all the air fill his lungs. He likes breathing, he likes living, he likes you… but he wants to experience it in his own body. He wants this change in his own body… "God if you're out there, please… Let us love each other properly. Swap us back." he lays on the ground… looking at the stars.
You watch him from the bedroom window and also looking up to the stairs. After a while, you go outside and carry him back in the room. He doesn't move, he's fast asleep.
-
The next morning Renjun wakes up with sunlight warming his face. His sheets smell familiar….
His room.
His bed.
His body—
But when he lifts the covers and sees the same frame, your frame and boobs— he groans out loud. With no energy to tackle the day, he drags himself out of bed and follows the faint clatter of dishes in to the kitchen. There, he sees you… sitting across from his mother, eating breakfast and chatting.
"We should do that some day," You laugh while eating the cereal. "Book an island, just us two and destress- reconcile and everything."
He tenses up when seeing his mother look up at him. He was just standing by the doorway, loving the sight of his mother and him… he can feel it now. He's ready to forgive her… "Oh… Good morning dear. I made some breakfast, are you hungry? Casual cereal but with a dash of some strawberries and pancakes…"
You look at Renjun with pleading eyes. But he simply nods, holding a little smile. "Smells nice. So, what were you guys talking about? Travelling?"
You laugh softly. "Mum here was telling me that forgiveness is a practice," you say, your voice careful, but warm. "You just try to understand someone's pain enough that you stop holding it against them. So then she told me about a resort in some island that actually just focuses on that. So instead of being there with a group, we were thinking just us two,"
His mother hums and looks grateful. "I'm really glad you… forgave me,” she says, smiling in your direction… and Renjun swallows hard. That word hits him, is this what it would look like to finally forgive his mother? "You've always been precious to me, and I promise that I will make things right. I won't hurt anymore."
He sits down without a word. Listens to the rest of breakfast with a new silence. And in that silence, he promises: 'When I get back… I’ll forgive her. For real. She deserves that.'
-
Sunday comes in, and you and Renjun are at a park, near a still pong, watching ducks skimming lazily across the water's surface.
"What if we never go back?" Renjun asks again, and you 'shhshh' him.
"No thinking Renjun," you quietly say. "Just enjoy the view."
The sky is soft, pale blue. Everything is quiet. You both sit side-by-side on the grass, knees almost touching. There's no rush, no noise, just the quiet hush of nature doing its thing. A third week has passed, but still you guys were in each other's bodies. No more movies could tell you guys what was wrong or how you could switch back, the reality was much more darker… having no idea what to do next but wait and see what the next day would bring. Either you swapped back, or you continued in each other's lives.
"You know, if I think of a movie… Titanic. Rose and Jack in their last breathes, thanked each other and encouraged each other a long life… maybe… this is all happening, just so we can look at each other… see each other grow… and then… forgive each other and say thank you."
Renjun thinks on your words… after a while with nothing left to lose, Renjun speaks, eyes fixed on the pond. "Thank you," he says. You turn to look at him. "For this. All of this. The swap. The chaos… I've learnt a lot… about you, about myself. I didn't expect that. I didn't know I needed it.”
You say nothing at first. Just nod, eyes tracing a duck gliding by. Then, you breathe out slowly. Heart beating fast. "I like you, a lot." It’s barely louder than a whisper, but it lands with weight.
Renjun turns to you, a small smile rising with a short chuckle he places his hand over yours. "I like you too. A lot more."
You smile at each other. That long, knowing smile that stretches all the way into your chests. And as the sun dips slightly lower, casting gold across the pond, Renjun leans in… and kisses you. It's gentle. Certain. A soft press of lips that says a lot of things…
"Well… even when we do wake up as ourselves next time… I promise I'll like you the same way."
You chortle. "No sarcasms?"
"Ah, that's my oxygen. Do you know how many comebacks have been blooming in my mind?" you laugh at his foolishness. "I've got sarcasm throwbacks for years now."
That night, in each others own room, sleep comes like a curtain after an ending of a show. You fall asleep deeply… and for the first time in weeks, you're both as peace. Darkness clouds your minds… drifting into a dream state so deep.
FUTURE PRESENT YEAR: 2058
You glance over at Renjun, who’s walking back to the seat beside you as he stares at the console and then goes onto typing on his laptop some codes. His crisp lab coat slightly rumpled, dark hair falling over his forehead. The years had been kind to him, his eyes still sharp, but softer now when they catch yours staring at him. His lip twitches slightly. "What?"
"You know, if you asked me, I wouldn't mind staying in your handsome body for the rest of my life. I loved the benefits that came with being you," you tease, folding your arms and grinning.
Renjun smirks, shaking his head. "If you'd stayed me forever, you would've missed out on everything life had in store for you. And let’s be honest, your glow-up was way hotter than mine,"
You laugh, the sound light and genuine. Your white floral dress sways as you swing your chair closer to him, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.
Renjun was a scientist at Dream Corp, where AI and time technology merged to explore consciousness. His team's latest breakthrough: cognitive transposition, aka the ethical, AI-guided swapping of minds across timelines. In one experiment, he swapped the consciousness of a boy and a girl from the past, each trapped in their own identity struggles. The goal wasn't just scientific curiosity, but to prove that identity could adapt, evolve, and even heal through different perspective.
Then Renjun made a personal choice, to swap consciousness with you. By then, you two were already in love, even married, and with your full consent, the swap began. He documented how both of you were lost in yourselves. The swap wasn't just data—it was a way to understand each other, and perhaps, finally, yourselves.
"So what are you doing now? You're going to make them swap back?"
Renjun nods his head. "Yep, as protocol. I can't leave them for another week, they'll mess up timelines. Besides, I think I now understood why I suddenly had feelings for you. The long dream played a huge part in that,"
"It sucks, because now when they go back they won't remember how much healing they went through…"
Renjun smiles. "That's the beauty of timelines. We think they won't remember, but in the present, they'll feel echoes. Little reminders. Sometimes people just wake up and want to change. That's what happened to us. That's why I chose to go back to that specific timeline, because it's in there, that change felt like it was only in the dream."
You both turn back to the hologram, watching the awkward, younger versions of yourselves still sleeping as the machine begins the consciousness swap. For a moment, it's silent. Just soft blinking lights and the quiet hum of something ending—and beginning again.
Renjun reaches over, gently takes your hand. "Whatever version of us wakes up," he says, "They'll find their way. Just like we did."
"I hope so," you chuckle as you lean in closer. "I don't want to go back to obsessing over Jeno."
Renjun gives your lips a peck.
On a screen nearby, a digital file is open: "Cognitive Empathy Simulation Project: Time-Locked Identity Transfer Protocol."
Renjun taps a few keys, eyes scanning the data. He turns to you. "We did it," he says. "They'll never know. Everything would've been just like a dream."
"Wow… so we sat here for 3 hours and watched events that happened within 3 weeks?" You smile, slipping your hand into his. "Best moments of my life happened in a dream? Well at least, I have this future to remember that it all happened."
As Renjun prepares the final sequence, you both glance at a nearby screen showing two younger versions finally being back in each other's bodies.
"Memory seal initiating," the system announces. "Swap protocol complete. All data locked. This experience will remain subconscious." You watch as the screens fade to black.
And then you turn to each other, smiling, and then you speak. "We should… tell Chenle to make a movie about this. It'll be a hit."
"I bet only 3 people will watch it." Renjun mummers. "You, me and him."
"It doesn't have to be popular." You laugh. "It's our experience, we make a movie about it and only we get to enjoy it."
Renjun smirks "Great. A $10 million budget for a private screening in our living room. Pure cinematic genius."
"This is why we can't have nice things." You shove his shoulders jokingly with a laugh.
You're married now. Partners in life, in research, in love. The swap, though long ago, built the foundation of everything you are now. Renjun leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
The machine hums gently. The lights dim. And the dream becomes a memory. Forever sealed.
PAST PRESENT YEAR: 2028 - TUESDAY 08h49 a.m. – THE DREAM ENDS
"What the hell is going on?" Renjun groans, twisting uncomfortably on a bed that doesn’t feel like… yours.
He yanks off the headphones blasting rock music… headphones? and sits up, dazed. The blanket is grey, heavy, and smells faintly like cigarettes. The floor beneath him is carpeted. Grey carpet. He stumbles to the mirror. And freezes. His face. His eyes. His voice.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. A stunned, disbelieving laugh escapes his lips. "I'm back—!"
But then he pauses, a pressure building in his chest and he frowns… The excitement dulls. He touches his face again, studies his eyes in the reflection.
"Why… why was I happy to be back?" he whispers. There's something… someone… his mind is reaching for. A face. A girl. A name that feels like something familiar disappearing from him… but the thought slips away the second he tries to grasp it.
"Jeno’s stalker?" he says aloud, blinking when the image of your face flashes in his mind. "No… that's not right."
A knock on the door pulls him from the haze. His mother pokes her head in. "Are you okay? I heard you shouting…"
Renjun turns to her, the anger that appeared from seeing her, quickly fades… And suddenly a lump in his throat grows. She looks… softer than he remembers. Like a woman who's tried her best.
"Sorry for entering…" she mumbles… hesitant and then retreats. But Renjun shakes his head.
"I… had the weirdest dream," he murmurs walking slowly towards the door. His heart aches, but he doesn’t know why. "What day is it?"
"It’s Tuesday."
He nods absently. Then, without thinking, he steps forward… and hugs her. She stiffens and is stunned. "I forgive you," he says quietly, not knowing why- but it feels like the heavy weight burden that was on him drops down, and he has no energy to fight with her anymore or be upset with her.
She doesn't respond right away. Her eyes water. "My son… are you okay?"
He doesn't know the answer.
-
Elsewhere in the female dormitory room you wake up gasping!
You immediately reach for your notebook and scribble down everything you can remember, even though your fingers are trembling badly. The dream was vivid, like you'd lived another life. A boy’s voice. His soft eyes. His laugh. The way he looked at you like you mattered… singing…
"Jeno?" Your pen scratches across the page- frantic. "No- it wasn't him." Your fingers tremble. The ink smudges as your tears fall… it feels like your heart is breaking at the thought of not being able to remember something so precious and dear to you. "He told me I was enough. That I was clever. That I mattered." You try to remember his name… as the face keeps escaping your head. "Re…" you whisper.
But just like that… it’s gone. The images fade. The words blur. A dull emptiness settles in your chest as the dream collapses like ash in your hands. You sit there, staring at your notebook. Confused.
"Why am I crying?"
Your eyes land on the messy handwriting: He’ll find me. He'll love me. He promised…
-
Things change quietly.
You stop dressing the way you used to, not because anyone told you to, but because something inside you shifted. Glasses rest on your nose. Your hair is tied up in a neat bun. You still love who you are, but now you let your mind speak louder than your appearance. You sternly chase guys away from you, you no longer sit with your old clique of girl friends- you enjoy sitting alone now. Waiting… for that… 'dream guy' to come. You keep holding in your heart that promise of someone coming…
You walk across campus with your books held close, headphones in, the world passing by in a blur. You don't chase Jeno anymore. The thought of him doesn't spark excitement… just pain… just nothingness. There's someone else… someone your soul is aching for. But you don’t know who.
-
"So Chenle had this project in mind whereby we follow your stalker and see why she's so fascinated by you." Renjun walks beside Jeno, expression unreadable.
Jeno hums. "Haven't seen her in a while," Jeno rambles. "It feels peaceful without her on my back. Have you seen her?"
Renjun shakes his head… "That's why we're scraping the project. Finding something else."
Jeno shrugs the topic off and goes on about some new party or some girl who's been texting him. Renjun is half-listening, nodding here and there, but his mind is elsewhere. Something's missing. He's laughed less this week. Felt heavier. Even the music in his headphones doesn't hit right anymore. His talks with Jeno sometimes feel shallow and Jeno has noticed that he's cut back on snarky remarks.
There's a hole inside of Renjun. And he's terrified he'll never know what, or who, once filled it. It couldn't just be a dream…
And then… as he and Jeno are walking towards the bleachers, where Mark and Jaemin are seated, you pass each other.
You're walking across the quad. He's coming from the opposite direction.
Eyes on your book. His gaze on the ground.
Then a glance. Just one glance for his eyes to widen. A moment.
Renjun's heart skips. His feet slow. The air around him thins.
You don't look familiar, not really.
But your eyes… those eyes are so familiar. He knows them.
You blink, lips parting slightly. Your feet stop too, just for a second. That ache in your chest flares. Something in you remembers something, someone.
But then… Renjun and Jeno pass you.
No words.
No recognition.
Just silence.
Until—
Your books slip from your hands in shock. Was Renjun the person you were thinking about? Has it always been him? You bend down quickly, cursing softly, trying to scoop everything up. No one stops. The world keeps walking.
Except for him. Renjun halts mid-step, far away now, but his chest tightens.
"What's up man?" Mark and Jaemin greet, Jeno returns the greeting and takes a seat. Yet Renjun turns around before he knows why. And then he sees you. On your knees, picking up your books.
He walks towards you.
No hesitation.
He drops beside you, hands helping without saying a word.
You look up… and there it is again.
That pause.
That feeling.
That missing piece. He doesn't look at you, and so you blush alone and pick up the remaining pencils.
Your fingers brush his accidentally when reaching for the same pen.
Your eyes meet, and after what feels like a long stare down, you both smile, softly. And then a little chuckle escapes your lips. Full of something you can't name.
"Have we… met before?" you ask.
He laughs lightly. "I don't know… but it feels like it, doesn't it?"
You nod slowly. "Yeah… it does."
You both stand. "Nice cover,"
He motions to one of your books that's yellow with white roses. And he knows that from this moment onwards, he'll only be thinking about you.
🔮 preview. “You don’t have to believe me when I say I want to defile you. I’ll prove it to you soon enough,” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You might be an angel, but angels aren’t impervious to sin. After all, demons were angels once, until they stopped lying to themselves and gave in to the carnal pleasures. We’ll get there, don’t worry. I might be a demon, but I can be patient.”
tw/cw. Mentions of porn and bdsm, unprotected sex, multiple sex positions, multiple reader orgasms, oral/pussy eating, praise, slight degradation, manhandling, fingering, overstimulation, foreplay, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, baby.
👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 7.6k
🍭 aus. Non idol au, angel & demon au, enemies to lovers, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. So think of it kind of like the Disney movie about emotions, Inside Out, where the demon and angel view Mingyu’s world through a viewing station and speak to him through his subconscious to guide him one way or the other. Also, please note: I’m not religious, so my interpretation of angel!y/n warring with herself over temptation is simply an interpretation and a fanfic.
Prologue:
You can remember the day you first saw Mingyu as if it were only this morning. He was the sweetest child, visiting church with his family at age four. There was something so adorable about his all-white outfit, the slacks and button-up with a vest. He looked very devoted and very determined as he stood up and sang the church songs with his whole little chest.
That was the day you asked to be his guardian angel, and for a time, nothing had ever been so easy.
Mingyu is pure of heart in a way most humans can never even dream of being. Some kids have a demon on their shoulder from an early age, a pest to be dealt with and chastised by both angel and parent, but not Mingyu. It was just you and him, for many, many years, and you delighted in the fact that you had one of the best boys you’d ever met as your ward.
Many late-blooming children gain a demon when they enter high school, when they first try marijuana or alcohol against their own better judgment - it’s the work of the demon on their shoulder - but again, not Mingyu.
It wasn’t until your good boy was sixteen that things started to shift. His friends were all having their first sexual encounters, and they began to tease your perfect church baby that he was a virgin. Mingyu tried to pretend their words didn’t hurt, but you knew differently. Although you tried to push him in the direction of spending more time with other church children, Mingyu continued to hang out with these raunchy boys, as they were on his high school basketball team.
He held off valiantly from the compulsions of the deadly sins, but one cold December night, your perfect golden boy finally snapped and gave in to temptation.
The demon known as Wonwoo appeared the moment Mingyu first typed the words ‘porn hub’ into his cellphone, and in the darkness of Mingyu’s room, you met the man who would be your antihero for as long as Mingyu would continue to live.
And Wonwoo is a demon with a reputation. Whereas you like to cherry-pick your wards as the kindhearted humans who are pure of soul, Wonwoo is known for his ability to sniff out those who are easily tempted by sin. His last human was a sexual fiend, and he got addicted to OnlyFans. he lost his relationship and all of his money due to Wonwoo’s coaxing of the addiction. The man died prematurely while drunk driving, which is something of a success story for the demon who collected his soul in the end.
So why was this demon in particular here with you and Mingyu?
What had seemed like an easy task had become more difficult than you ever signed up for, and Wonwoo seemed to relish in the knowledge that he was here to contradict your every musing in Mingyu’s ear.
One:
“I hope you have your popcorn ready, angel,” Wonwoo grins, as the two of you hover in your between-worlds guardian posting. It’s kind of like an apartment, with two sides, the good and the evil, with a massive monitor to watch what Mingyu is doing at any given time. There are speakers for you both to try to persuade him into things, and your voices are what Mingyu might classify as opposing sides of his subconscious.
“Frat parties can be positive,” you insist as you settle next to Wonwoo. “Last time, he saved that girl who blacked out.”
“Yeah, the wild goose chase,” Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “He should have been hitting on girls and slamming jello shots, but instead, you convinced him to track down the girl’s dorm room, carry her all the way home, and make sure she was okay when she woke up hours later. He even held her hair back while she puked. Yuck.”
When Wonwoo knows he’s lost to you, he generally fucks off, goes back into his demon side of the apartment, in his demon room, or leaves altogether to complete other tasks.
Demons don’t need sleep, and technically, angels don’t either, but you’re a self-identifying lazy girl, and you prefer to have rest when Mingyu sleeps, rather than be twenty-four seven working like Wonwoo is. You wonder if his packed schedule is what makes him such a dick, but you also have seen the joy he takes in doing bad deeds, and you can only assume that when he’s not here with you in Mingyu’s head, he’s off pillaging and causing mischief elsewhere.
Wonwoo looks through Mingyu’s eyes, and he leans toward the communicator where he can send his words to your ward. “Get a drink,” Wonwoo insists. “Something fun. Something fruity. Something with way too much alcohol that’s masked with sugar.”
You sigh, also leaning forward. “We should start slow with some water.”
You can sense Mingyu’s inner turmoil as he makes his way to the kitchen, and that’s where he bumps into Hoshi and Seungkwan, both of whom are ruled by their inner demon.
“Hey buddy, want a drink?” Hoshi grins, cheeks pink, eyes clouded with booze.
“Reject him,” you say.
“Accept,” Wonwoo pushes.
“Sure, why not?” Mingyu grins, taking the cup of purple liquid. He downs it easily, and you sigh. So tonight will be a more indulgent evening, and you hate the way Wonwoo sits back with a smile.
“Score one for me, angel,” Wonwoo muses.
“The night is still young,” you huff.
Wonwoo leans forward again. “You know what goes good with alcohol? Cocaine. Or ecstasy. Something fun. Maybe molly.”
You’re flabbergasted. “Mingyu has never-”
“Now is the night to start, he’s at a frat party, with friends, and we know Vernon always has a bong on hand. Maybe weed, something chill.”
You hate him, and you spend the next two hours battling Wonwoo for dominance of Mingyu. Wonwoo wins when it comes to alcohol, but your sweet boy isn’t interested in drugs, no matter how much the demon insists it’s the perfect night to dabble.
And that’s when Mingyu first lays eyes on Kimi.
She’s a year younger than him, someone he’s heard about and seen a few times, but never talked to. She looks gorgeous, in a flowy top and jeans that hug her just right. You can sense Mingyu’s heartbeat quickening, and in his drunkenness, he’s even more susceptible to Wonwoo, who leans forward. “You should fuck her tonight, there’s never a time to be a whore like the present.”
“No sex, you like her!” you argue back. “Talk to her, get her name, look for longevity.”
Wonwoo scoffs. “A one-night stand with a girl like that? Who could think of something better?”
“Uh, maybe a relationship?” you snap.
“We don’t know anything about her!” Wonwoo yells. “And we don’t need to know.”
You lean back from where Mingyu can hear your subconscious pushings, glaring at Wonwoo. “What’s with you and rough, anonymous sex?”
“It’s the best way to have it,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening. “I think our Mingyu boy would love to try some of the things he’s seen in the porn I’ve pushed him to watch. You know, bondage, tying a girl up, all the good shit.”
“Consentually, of course.”
“With you here, it would always have to be consensual,” Wonwoo scoffs.
“You’re despicable.”
“I’m a demon.”
“Even demons have their limits.”
Wonwoo shrugs. “Not really.”
“Well, my Mingyu is a good person. He’d never stoop to your level.”
“Well, he watches the porn I want to watch.”
You click your tongue. Wonwoo convincing Mingyu to watch porn is always the worst, and it’s when you leave the viewing station. The demon can be particularly convincing when it comes to observing sex acts on Mingyu’s phone, but you know your good boy would never go further than simply watching. He’s not the type to ever act on some of the more raunchy ideas Wonwoo forces into his head.
No matter how hard Wonwoo pushes, you know your Mingyu.
And you’re thankful that by the end of the night at the frat party, Mingyu agrees with you that he’s now too drunk, and he retires to bed.
The viewing station goes dark as Mingyu drifts to sleep, and you stand up with a sigh, glaring at Wonwoo.
“You know, one of these days, you’re going to admit that you kind of like the whole bondage sex thing,” Wonwoo sighs.
“What?” you gasp.
“You always leave the room when he and I watch porn.”
“Because I’m a pure being! Because porn and sex go against what I stand for!”
“Porn and lust might be ‘anti-angel’, but sex is natural; it’s God-created. Humans are like any other animal, and they’re meant to have sex, to procreate,” Wonwoo says simply. “I know you’re loose on your whole ‘celibate until marriage’ ideals. When Mingyu lost his virginity, you were happy because it was soft. You might be an angel, but you don’t follow a strict code, no matter how much you try to convince yourself that you follow the bible to the letter. I’m just curious how loose your morals really are. You might think I’m here to test Mingyu, but I’m really here to test you.”
“And who do you think you are to test me?” you glare.
Wonwoo shrugs. “Just a demon who specializes in lust, a demon who took one look at you on Mingyu’s shoulder and decided, ‘you know what, I’d fuck that angel.’”
“As if that’s a compliment.”
“It is, most angels have sticks up their asses the size of the Empire State Building. And don’t get me wrong, you have a stick up yours too, I’m just curious if you’d want something else up inside of you at the same time.”
“I can’t believe you,” you groan, hating the way your body reacts to his sinister smirk, the slight floodyness of his hair, and the regal way he stares at you.
“You don’t have to believe me when I say I want to defile you. I’ll prove it to you soon enough,” Wonwoo’s smirk widens. “You might be an angel, but angels aren’t impervious to sin. After all, demons were angels once, until they stopped lying to themselves and gave in to the carnal pleasures. We’ll get there, don’t worry. I might be a demon, but I can be patient.”
Two:
“Hold it, you’re not going anywhere,” Wonwoo grins, grabbing your arm as you’re about to leave the room, when Mingyu pulls up pornhub with Kimi on his mind.
“I’m not sitting here with you for this; it’s weird,” you insist, pulling yourself away from him, hating the way the cold of his touch lingers on your skin.
“Boys will be boys, let the man find some release,” Wonwoo tells you, his grin widening.
“Boys may be boys, but you were whispering in Mingyu’s ear all day that he should have a jack off session and think about ‘that chick from the frat party.’”
Wonwoo shrugs. “It wasn’t that hard to convince him.”
You let out a deep breath.
“Watch this,” Wonwoo leans forward so Mingyu can hear him. “Look up ‘rope BDSM.’”
“Oh my gosh!” You cover your eyes with your hands as Mingyu quickly follows through with Wonwoo’s suggestion.
“There’s something so sexy about having complete control of another person,” Wonwoo insists, leaning back and staring at you with dark eyes. “Admit it, you liked controlling Mingyu before I showed up.”
“It’s not remotely the same.”
“It is, sort of.” The demon shrugs. “You like control. I know you do. Because every time you don’t get your way, you have a little fit.”
“I do not!”
“Look at you, angel, you’re practically stomping your cute little foot right now.” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle, and you hate how attractive it is. “If you play your cards right, someday, I might let you have a little control over me.”
“What, like tie you up?” you scoff.
Wonwoo’s grin widens. “Does that excite you?”
“In your dreams,” you snap.
“Angel, we both know I don’t sleep. But I do imagine things, things about you…”
Your breath catches.
“I imagine what you sound like, what you taste like. I imagine the look in your eye when I have you immobilized and at my mercy. I imagine making you crack, making you finally admit that pleasure is exactly what it means in the dictionary; the feelings of delight, something you enjoy with every fiber of your being, something you’d beg for me to give you again and again.”
Your skin is heating with embarrassment, and it’s crazy to you that Wonwoo can say everything he just said with a completely straight face. He has zero shame in admitting the things he’s just admitted, and yet, you feel like the dirty one.
“I’m leaving,” you say again, more firmly this time.
“I won’t stop you; you have full control of yourself, and that’s what makes this interesting.” Wonwoo turns his attention back to the screen, where Mingyu is now in the throes of enjoying porn.
“You’re evil,” you snap.
“I’m a demon, it’s part of the job description,” Wonwoo says absentmindedly.
You fight the urge to stomp your foot, and with one last scoff of displeasure, you go back to your quarters, throwing yourself down onto your bed with a muffled scream.
Three:
It’s been a month of chaos. Wonwoo has become somehow even more dirty, and every time he whispers some sexual idea in Mingyu’s ear, his eyes are fixed on you.
You squirm when he mentions bondage, porn, rough sex, and more dirty things that are not for an angel’s ears.
And to make matters worse, you know that Wonwoo is imagining himself doing all of these dirty things to you. To be the object of sin and desire is new to you, and it brings an uncomfortable feeling to the pit of your stomach.
You grapple with yourself every night, unable to get Wonwoo’s voice out of your head.
The word ‘tantalizing’ has never had much merit for you, but now, you understand. Wonwoo oozes sex and intrigue; he makes your mind go to places it's never before visited; dark, lustful places that make your heart race and your skin tingle.
The little smirk that quirks onto his lips when he knows he’s irritated you has become burned into your mind's eye, and you can’t escape the shiny points of his canines, or the flash of black that overtakes his irises when he’s being demonic.
You can feel your resolve to stay true to your morals is slipping, and in its place is a growing need that’s threatening to overtake you, body and soul.
This is the power of a truly strong demon, and it both scares and excites you while you war with yourself.
Four:
After another long day of Wonwoo being raunchy, Mingyu finally goes to sleep. The viewer goes dark, and you stand up with a sigh. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this,” you muse, “but I’m thankful you didn’t push for more porn.”
“He’s on a streak, you know,” Wonwoo smirks. “But I figured I could let you off the hook for one night.”
“Let my pure boy off the hook, you mean.”
“No, I meant what I said. You’re the one who has a problem with it, not Mingyu. He’s just a hot-blooded man who’s hardly had any good sex in his life. A bit of porn can’t hurt.”
You roll your eyes. “Scientists who study the interaction between porn and erectile dysfunction would beg to differ.”
“Human scientists.” Wonwoo’s smirk widens.
“I’m not having an argument with you, I’m off the clock.”
“Off the clock,” the demon repeats with a chuckle.
“Yes, off the clock, which means I also don’t have to deal with you anymore.”
“You enjoy ‘dealing with me.’” Wonwoo insists.
You scoff loudly. “In what diluted world can you come to that conclusion?”
The demon steps closer to you. “The world where I’m a demon who can read sexual energy, and lately, it’s been wafting off your aura like smoke. And where there’s smoke, well, there’s fire.”
“I think you should get your eyes checked,” you fire at him, your arms crossing over your chest in an effort to keep that ‘sexual energy’ contained.
“You’re such a virgin that it’s almost laughable,” Wonwoo tells you, his voice lowering. “Most angels don’t have the kind of lustful energy you do, virginity and all, but every being that exists is plagued by at least one of the seven deadly sins, angels included. It seems to me that your carnal desire is sex, which isn’t anything to be ashamed of. I’ve worked with angels who are greedy, angels who have a sense of divine wrath, but pride is the main trait I’ve seen. One could argue that all three of those sins are more disgusting on an angel than that of simply wanting to be touched, to experience one’s form to the fullest.”
Your mouth feels dry, and you lick your lips, unsure of what to say.
“Don’t worry, angel, I don’t need a response, not really. But… I would never defile an angel without her wanting it, so when I ask you this next question, I’ll need at least an enthusiastic nod if not a verbal ‘yes.’”
“What do you need to ask me?” you whisper.
Wonwoo is close enough to touch you now, and he reaches for your hand, tracing his thumb against your palm. Your mind is telling you to pull away, but you can’t. His touch is cold, but there’s something so nice about it…
“Can I kiss you?” Wonwoo asks, his words hanging in the air like a heavy smog.
You try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it does little to help, and you stare at the beautiful demon. Your body is screaming yes, but your mind is still plagued with trepidation.
“It’s a sin.”
“A kiss isn’t a sin, and besides, you’re off the clock, remember?” His smirk is just so beautiful, and you have to remind yourself that even though he’s a demon, Wonwoo was crafted by God’s own hands. “I think you can forgive yourself for a small misdemeanor, after all, humans are forgiven for much worse.”
“I…” Your heart is hammering in your rib cage, and never in your long life have you felt a desire like this.
“Or… I could wait,” Wonwoo sighs. “I won’t pressure you. I’m a demon, but I’m not an asshole.”
The idea of waiting even longer makes your skin tingle, and you can feel a frown of dissatisfaction appearing on your face.
“You can kiss me,” you say, and the words feel foreign on your tongue.
“Even though you hate me?” Wonwoo grins, cocking a brow.
“Even though I hate you.”
The demon lets out a laugh, dropping your hand in favour of grabbing your hips. He pulls you toward him, being shockingly gentle for a man who’s so outspoken about his taste for rough sex.
“Nobody has to know about this,” Wonwoo whispers as he leans closer. “Even angels are allowed to have dirty little secrets.”
“Then this will be our little secret,” you breathe, swallowing thickly as your hands instinctively go to his shoulder, tugging the demon even closer.
He meets your gaze as he slowly leans in, giving you all the time in the world to change your mind. But you’re in too deep now, and there’s no going back.
His lips press against yours gently, and your whole body is flooded with what you can only describe as pleasure, like a cool breeze wafting over you on an extremely hot day. You want more, and Wonwoo tugs you closer by your hips, his tongue snaking out to rub your lower lip.
Your mouth opens a little, a whimper escaping you as the kiss deepens. Wonwoo releases a low growl, and butterflies erupt in the pit of your stomach from the sound.
Nothing in the world has ever made you feel this way, as if you’re glowing, and all because a dark being is tantalizing you toward sin.
With a gasp, you pull away, breathing heavily.
Wonwoo holds you, not pushing for more; he gives you mental space to analyze what’s just happened, while still keeping you physically close, like a protector.
It’s such an odd notion, the idea that a demon could be any sort of protection for an angel like you.
“I think…” You swallow thickly. “I think I need to have some time alone now.”
“I understand,” Wonwoo nods, his hands slipping away from your hips. “The ball is in your court, angel. Until you decide what you want to do, this is our little secret.”
“Our little secret,” you repeat like a mantra, but the words don’t do anything to help the anxiety building inside of you. It’s as if at any moment you could be struck down for impurity, except, even when you’re alone later, no hand of God comes to smite you.
You think carefully about what Wonwoo’s said, about all living things having their sinful, carnal desires, even angels.
Maybe this is natural, maybe this is okay… maybe.
Five:
You’ve been yearning for Wonwoo in a way you’ve never yearned for anything since your creation. It’s taking every ounce of your self-restraint to keep your distance from him, and Wonwoo’s not making any of it easy.
Every dirty whisper in Mingyu’s ear, every glance at you while he talks about sex, bondage, and porn…
It has your heart racing, your skin heating, and your core throbbing in a way that used to be foreign but is now becoming all too familiar.
“Should I push for more sin tonight?” Wonwoo asks as Mingyu gets ready for bed. “Or have you had enough?”
You groan, knowing that you’re wet from the day you’ve had. “Please.”
“Please, what?” He cocks a brow.
“I’m so tired of all of this.”
“Tired of fighting your own desires, you mean,” Wonwoo corrects, seeing right through you.
You hate that your ‘sexual aura’ is visible to him, hate that no matter how hard you try to fight it, Wonwoo will always know the truth.
And the truth is: you want this demon to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked. You want to get a taste of the sin he has to offer, the sin he claims other angels partake in secretly.
Why are you holding yourself back, holding yourself to a set of standards, if others in your angelic profession don’t?
“What are you thinking about?” Wonwoo asks, watching you carefully.
You release a deep breath. “Everything.”
“Sounds like a lot,” the demon chuckles.
“It is.”
“Too much for a sweet angel like you to carry on her own shoulders.”
You study his face, wondering if he’s being condescending or not.
“Being a demon is much easier. I don’t have to worry about anything,” Wonwoo continues, leaning back in his seat. “No rules, no standards, no fear. Just existence. Freedom.”
“I’m free,” you insist.
“Are you really?” Wonwoo grins. “Could have fooled me.”
“I am free! I’m an angel! I have the most freedom in the world!”
“Freedom to kiss who you want to kiss? To act on the desires that were literally built into you? Why would God have made you with the sin of lust if he did not intend for you to act on it? To torture you for your entire existence?” Wonwoo shakes his head.
“He bestowed temptation so his creations could rise above it and devote themselves to Him,” you insist. “It teaches spiritual strength and perseverance.”
“Whatever you say, little Miss Sunday School.”
You let out a deep sigh. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why not?” Wonwoo grins.
“Because.”
“Because why?”
“Because it makes me want you even more!” you scream. “For a reason I can not comprehend, I want you. I want you for the teasing, for the chastizing, for this disgusting ego that I would never condone on a human ward. I want it. I want all of you. And it’s killing me!”
Wonwoo stands up abruptly, and you mirror him, heart racing in your chest.
You can’t believe you’ve just admitted all of it, all of the deep dark things you’ve been thinking about for weeks.
“An ego can be sexy,” Wonwoo says finally. “Although I’d classify myself as more of a prideful being than an egotistical one.”
“Ugh!” You throw your hands up, hating that his smirk is the most handsome thing you’ve ever seen, hating that he’s right.
“Tell me you want this again,” Wonwoo urges you, stepping closer.
“I want you! You already heard me say it!” Your skin is hot with irritation, both sexual and emotional, and you can hardly think straight.
“No, tell me you want this.” Wonwoo grabs your hand, tugging you to his chest. He looks down at you, his lips almost ghosting over your own.
“I want this,” you whimper, feeling defeated and broken.
You can no longer hold yourself back, and part of you doesn’t want to.
“I’ll be gentle,” the demon promises, bringing his mouth down to your throat, where he presses soft kisses that take your breath away.
“I thought you liked it rough,” you say, releasing a chuckle that brings your anxiety down.
“I also like pleasure. I’m prideful, not a narcissist. Tonight, your pleasure will come first.”
Your skin tingles, and you swallow a lump in your throat. You can feel your fear dissipating. Part of you had imagined he’d want to try bondage with you right away, so it’s a relief that he’s going to meet you at your level, which is… well, nonexistent.
You are a free being. And tonight, you will lose your heavenly virginity of your own volition.
Wonwoo begins to suck on a spot just below your ear, and it makes you moan. You throw your arms around the demon, tugging him closer.
One of Wonwoo’s hands slips down to your bum, squeezing you through your white pants.
God, he feels so good, and you focus on the feeling, pushing aside your racing thoughts.
You draw his lips to yours, and Wonwoo groans with pleasure, tugging you so you’re flush to his body.
Kissing him is like magic, and you get lost in it easily. Your core is wet, and you can feel your panties getting sticky, which is a tantalizing thought.
“Bedroom,” Wonwoo says, breaking the kiss.
Without missing a beat, the demon reaches down and lifts you bridal style. You gasp, clutching onto his shoulders and blinking up at him.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Wonwoo laughs. “As if I was about to take your virginity in a living room.”
He heads toward your side of the apartment, and he pushes the door of your bedroom open.
Your room is all creams and minimalism, a true safe space, and he pauses to look at it for a moment. He’s never been in your room, nor you in his.
“What’s wrong?” you ask.
“Nothing, it’s just… very different from my side of the space.”
“No whips and chains hanging on the walls?” you tease.
“How about no black onyx floors or dark colours.”
“Well, I am an angel,” you point out as he gently sets you on the bed.
“Yes, baby, the best angel I’ve ever met.”
“Really?”
“Without a doubt. The most angelic.” Wonwoo climbs on top of you, and your legs spread instinctively as the demon looks down at you. “I’ve never met an angel who has never sinned. It’s endearing.”
“Will you still find me endearing after tonight?” you ask.
“I’ll find you endearing forever,” Wonwoo promises.
“Who knew such sweet words could come from a demon.”
Wonwoo laughs. “If anyone deserves sweet words from me, it’s you.”
“You’re just saying that to get me in bed.”
“We’re already in bed.”
“Good point.” You grab the nape of his neck, tugging his lips down to yours.
This verbal foreplay has become trite, and you’re ready for more, ready for all Wonwoo is about to give you.
For the first time, you taste desperation on his lips, and it excites you. He grinds gently down against you, and it’s the first time there’s been pressure on your core. Tingles of pleasure run through you as you tighten your legs around his hips, willing him to push harder.
Wonwoo groans, following through with your silent plea. He ruts hard as you kiss each other, stimulating your clit through your clothing.
One of his hands reaches up and grabs your breast through your white sweater, massaging you and making you gasp.
“Such pretty sounds,” Wonwoo whispers, biting your earlobe gently. “Can’t wait to hear you screaming my name.”
“Wonwoo,” you whimper, wiggling beneath him, eager for more.
He sits up, and with one tug, Wonwoo removes your sweater, leaving you in a cream bra.
“All white everything, huh?” he laughs.
“I’m an angel.”
“So you keep reminding me. You always wear such loose, modest clothing, but I imagined you’d be gorgeous under all these layers.” He licks his lips, his thumb teasing the lace of your bra. “Should I go slow?”
“Go medium,” you tell him.
Wonwoo lets out another chuckle. “That wasn’t one of the options.”
“Make it one of the options.”
He shakes his head at you, leaning down to press his lips to yours.
You thread your fingers through his raven black hair, mewling as he massages you through your bra. Your nipples are aching already, and there’s a sense of great relief when he finally takes your bra off.
“So pretty,” Wonwoo muses, kissing down from your throat to your breasts, where he captures one of your nipples in his mouth.
You whimper desperately, your entire body on fire with the pleasure.
“And so sensitive too,” the demon groans, gently dragging his teeth over your sensitive bud.
“Please,” you gasp.
“Please, what?” he looks up at you.
You let out a shuddery breath. “More.”
“Your wish is my command, angel,” Wonwoo teases, his hand gliding down your body. Deft fingers slip under the waistband of your pants, but he stays over your panties as he makes contact with your clit.
You writhe against the bedding, eyes clenched shut as foreign ecstasy washes over you.
He continues to suck on your nipple as he toys with your pussy.
“Soaking through your panties,” Wonwoo tuts. “My dirty girl.”
Your heart lurches in your chest, and you’re shocked that you like the way his words feel. It’s a sinful kind of praise, and it makes you dizzy as you watch him, anticipating what he’ll do next.
Wonwoo takes his time as he licks and sucks your nipples, playing with your pussy through drenched fabric.
It’s a relief when he finally tugs your pants down, leaving you in only panties.
Then, Wonwoo sits up, tugging his shirt off with one motion.
Your jaw drops at the view of his bare torso. He’s lean but muscled, and you wish you could trace the lines on his skin, but Wonwoo made it clear that tonight is about you.
“I’m going to eat you out now,” Wonwoo explains, as he sinks to the floor. “Bet you taste like nectar and sunshine.”
Talking about your ‘taste’ makes you shy, and you close your thighs, only for him to gently pry them open.
“Don’t be bashful, baby,” Wonwoo coos, pressing kisses to your skin.
“What if I don’t taste like nectar and sunshine?” you ask.
“I can already smell it on you,” Wonwoo promises, an attempt to be assuring, but now you’re talking about smell, and it makes you even more anxious. “You know what, let’s leave taste and smell out of this for now, okay?”
“Yes, please,” you nod, biting your bottom lip.
Wonwoo hooks his fingers in your panties, slowly dragging them down your legs.
The cool air of the room on your wet core makes you groan, back arching a little as you writhe against the bed.
Cold hands grab your thighs, confidently spreading you open.
“Just breathe,” Wonwoo reminds you as he leans forward and licks the entirety of your core lewdly.
“Shit!” you gasp, thighs quaking.
The demon chuckles. “That’s the first time you’ve ever swore.”
You slap a hand over your mouth, and he shakes his head at you, returning to his task.
Soon, you’re moaning through your fingers, and your other hand reaches down to grab at his hair, keeping his face buried between your thighs.
He eats you out like a starved man, ravaging your pussy with licks and sucks that have your head spinning in the best possible way.
And then Wonwoo begins to growl, and you’ve never heard anything so erotic.
Your own gasps and whimpers are filling the room, and you can feel something getting tighter and tighter in the pit of your stomach.
“Wonwoo,” you pant. “I think… I think I’m going to cum!”
He releases a groan, and the vibration of it on your clit makes your legs shake. All of your muscles are tense, waiting for that final push-
Then you look down, and your eyes lock with his. His pupils are blown, and he looks absolutely demonic, but there’s something so incredibly sexy about this powerful demon worshiping you with his mouth on your core-
You cum like an electric shock, your entire body jolting, muscles releasing only to clench again as the waves surge through you.
You scream, grabbing at the bed sheets like an anchor as your orgasm overtakes you.
Wonwoo is unrelenting on your core, groaning and eating you messily, and it only makes the whole situation more erotic.
You’ve been to Heaven, but nothing has ever felt like this.
“Wonwoo!” you scream when the pleasure begins to feel like it’s too much, like you can’t contain or sustain this type of ecstasy anymore.
The demon pulls away immediately, looking up at you.
“Angel,” he breathes, “you’re glowing.”
“What?”
“You’re glowing,” he repeats. Wonwoo grabs your hand from the bed, lifting it so you can see that your skin is literally aglow.
“Is this normal?” you gasp in panic.
“I’ve never seen it.”
“And you fuck a lot of angels?” you snap.
“Not really,” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “I find most of you to be too high-strung.”
“I’m high-strung.”
“But it’s endearing on you.” His thumb gently rubs your glit, and you jolt, releasing a gasp. “Glowing can’t be harmful.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure it’s just pent-up energy,” he muses. “Should I give you more?”
You take all of one second to consider his words before nodding. “More.”
Wonwoo nuzzles against your inner thigh with a laugh, and then he teases a digit between your pussy lips, gently sinking it into you.
You groan, your inner walls having never been touched before.
“So warm,” Wonwoo breathes. “So tight.”
He gently finger fucks you, teasing your hole open, and he brings his mouth to your clit again.
His pace is slow, and you know he’s letting you acclimate to the stimulus.
You can feel yourself dripping on his digit, and the slick is making it all too easy for him to work you open. Soon, he adds another finger, and you groan desperately, loving the slight stretch.
“Gonna make you cum on my fingers before I give you the real thing,” Wonwoo explains.
“Okay,” you whimper.
He returns to sucking on your clit, but he’s not being as gentle as he was before.
You can feel that tension building again, and with each slick sound of his fingers fucking into you, you know you’re getting closer to the edge.
Whimpers escape your lips, and you gasp when he crooks his fingers, hitting a spot that has your whole body coming alight with pleasure.
You’ve heard Wonwoo talk about the ‘g-spot’ before, and you’re pretty sure he just found yours.
Your toes are curling, muscles getting incredibly tight as his pace quickens.
“I’m close!” you cry out, grabbing the bed sheets again, your heart racing in your chest.
Wonwoo groans a sound of affirmation, and again, his noise of pleasure is what sends you over the edge.
Just like the first time, he works you through your orgasm, unrelenting, while the pleasure courses through you. You’re a throbbing, whimpering mess by the time Wonwoo pulls away, and you watch with shy delight as he licks his fingers clean, moaning at your taste.
“How did that one feel, angel?” he asks.
“So good,” you whimper.
Wonwoo stands up, looking down at your nude form.
“Ready for the real deal?”
“I’m scared,” you admit, seeing the outline of his cock through his pants.
“That’s natural,” Wonwoo breathes, undoing his belt. “And if you still want to change your mind…”
“No.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “Let’s do this.”
Wonwoo pulls his pants down, and suddenly, his cock is slapping up against his stomach.
Your jaw drops at the sight of him. He’s long… well, you’re pretty sure he’s long, not that you have much to compare it to.
“That’s going to fit inside of me?” you ask.
“Angel, your pussy is wetter than a slip and slide, it won’t be a problem,” Wonwoo laughs.
“Just… go slow.”
“Not medium?” he teases.
“Wonwoo…” you groan.
“I’ll go slow,” he promises, now fully nude as he climbs on top of you. “Don’t worry.”
Wonwoo presses his lips to yours, and you wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pouring all of your attention into the meeting of your mouths.
Wonwoo slowly begins to rut, teasing his cock through your wet pussy lips and bumping your clit. The grinding feels phenomenal, and soon you’re a moaning mess beneath him, your core aching to be filled.
As if he can read you, the demon reaches for the base of his cock, lining the tip up with your wet hole. His mouth moves to your throat, giving you space to speak if you need him to pause or slow down, but as his tip slips inside of you, you realize there will be no need for breaks.
Sure, the stretch is new, but it’s not bad.
In fact, your pussy is trying to swallow him up, and with each inch after inch, you feel more and more complete.
Wonwoo truly is your opposite, the yin to your yang, and it feels phenomenal to finally be connected like this.
“You okay?” Wonwoo asks, and you can see his muscles feathering, as if it’s taking every ounce of self-control for him not to let loose and fuck you stupid.
“Feels good,” you groan, wrapping your legs around his hips to pull him further into you.
Wonwoo moans deeply, and a moment later, he’s fully sheathed in your wet core.
You both release sounds of pleasure together, and your lips meet in a fiery kiss.
You love tangling your fingers in his hair, and it makes him kiss you harder. He’s still fully inside of you, unmoving as your walls adjust, but soon, your own hips are rocking, and he takes the cue to begin to thrust.
The first movement is shallow and slow, and you revel in the drag of his cock against your inner walls.
You cry out, throwing your head back, and Wonwoo latches onto your throat, sucking and nibbling.
Your pebbled nipples press against his chest, and each movement toys with them.
You can feel Wonwoo everywhere. He’s completely commanding every one of your senses, and not a single thought is going through your mind except for one word: more.
His pace is increasing, and you get the sense that he’s reacting to your sounds, figuring you out based on your whimpering and whining.
You pull Wonwoo away from your throat by his hair, and you open your eyes, looking up at him.
God, he truly is the most beautiful being you’ve ever seen.
He’s truly a vision, lust-blown pupils and all, his hair a mess from where you’re tugging on it.
You breathe in each other, lips almost meeting but just separate, and the teasing makes everything more seductive.
Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, flipping you onto your side. He moves behind you, a cold big spoon as he enters you again. His breath is hot on your shoulders, and he takes the opportunity to gently bite your neck, making you gasp. You reach behind yourself, grabbing his hair again, which earns you a groan of pleasure.
His hand is on your hip, and he fucks into you desperately, adjusting your body ever so slightly, opening your leg a little so he can hit deeper.
“Wonwoo!” you whimper when his hand slips from your hips to your core, his fingers teasing your clit.
“That’s it, scream my name,” he grins, biting your earlobe and making you shiver.
“Wonwoo!” you say it louder this time, unable to contain yourself as he works you closer and closer to the edge again.
“Gonna cum on my cock, huh, angel?” he chuckles.
“Yes, I’m so close,” you whimper, pussy tightening around him.
“Not yet.” Wonwoo pulls out of you suddenly, and you whine, only for him to adjust you.
Now you’re sitting on top of him, with Wonwoo propped against the headboard.
“Why am I on top?” you ask, confused.
“Oh angel,” he licks your nipple, “just because you’re on top doesn’t mean you’re the one who is in control.”
His hands are on your hips again, and he lifts you slightly, allowing him to plow up into you.
You cry out from how deep his cock is hitting you, from the way he’s using you like a ragdoll.
You throw your head back, and his mouth latches onto your nipple. Your hands fly to his hair, tangling in the dark curls as he fucks you stupid.
Each smack down of your core on his cock has pressure on your clit, and you can feel that orgasm bubbling again.
You feel drunk, or, what you think being drunk would feel like. It’s a pleasurable dizziness, a mind numbing euphoria and a tingling that flutters through your entire body.
Wonwoo growls, and you know it’s a sound of affirmation, a sound to push you toward the edge.
A few more rough thrusts have you tumbling into ecstasy, your entire core clamping down on Wonwoo’s cock. Your head falls forward, your lips making contact with the crown of Wonwoo’s head as he also groans. He pulls off of your nipple, panting desperately as he holds you down, his cock burried in your throbbing pussy.
You know he’s cumming too, and feel his muscles twitching, his shoulders tight with tension.
And his sounds… nothing in Heaven or on Earth sounds the way Wonwoo does when he’s wrapped in pleasure.
Your entire body sings with delight as the two of you hold onto each other, jolting with the aftershocks of your extreme highs.
The two of you hold each other, breathing in one another.
Wonwoo leans his face against your breasts, and you cradle him.
You’ve never felt this close to anyone.
For a moment you can forget that he’s a demon and you’re an angel.
None of that matters right now.
Finally, Wonwoo pulls away with a sigh. “This changes things.”
“It does,” you agree.
“We’re bound together for as long as Mingyu lives, so… you better not decide you hate me tomorrow.”
You laugh. “You irritate me, but I don’t hate you.”
“I’m not going to stop telling Mingyu to pursue his sexual desires.”
“I never expected you to,” you admit with a sigh.
“And you’re… okay with it now?”
“As long as it’s consensual, fine, he can be as dirty as he wants to be.”
Wonwoo laughs, cuddling close to your chest again. “See, in this day and age, some sins like premarital sex are outdated.”
“We could debate that,” you laugh, running your hands through his hair.
“I think I would like that.”
“I feel like it would be a case of unstoppable force meets immovable object.”
Wonwoo chuckles, and you love how beautiful he is when he smiles. “Sounds like us.”
“But we can’t let our sexual escapades get in the way of doing our job for Mingyu,” you declare.
“I wouldn’t dream of taking you away from your work,” Wonwoo groans. “You’d probably bite my cock off if I tried.”
“Consider yourself warned.”
“Consider yourself worshipped.”
“Huh?” you blink down at him.
“You’re still glowing, angel.” Wonwoo plays with a piece of your hair. “It’s been a long time since a demon like me has had anything to look up to.”
“You look up to me?”
“In some ways, but don’t make this more of an embarrassment than it already is.” Wonwoo lets out a sigh. “You’ve reformed me… slightly.”
“Don’t tell me it’s the power of good pussy.”
“Great pussy,” Wonwoo corrects. “And no. If I’m being honest, I think you’ve been changing me for the better for a while, bit by bit.”
“I’m happy to hear that.”
Wonwoo smiles. “And I’m just happy.”
“I can live with that.”
☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! this one was fun, it was a little late to be posted because my puppy has a tooth infection and it's been a hell of a week. reminder! Patreon charges on the FIRST of every month, so if you're going to get my Patreon, just be aware of that, or wait until June 2nd :)
🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below!
🔮 preview. Your core tingles as you test the bindings on your wrists. There is truly so much he can teach you about the darker side of sex, the pain that turns into pleasure, the freedom of being completely immobilized and at the mercy of someone you trust to take care of you.
cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, bdsm themes, wrist bondage, pleasure dom!Wonwoo, oral/pussy eating, wonwoo has powers in this… including a long demon tongue, overstimulation, finger fucking, body/breast worship, squirting, dacryphilia (arousal from tears/crying), dirty talk, praise, multiple reader orgasms, etc… I petnames. (hers) angel.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.6k I teaser wc. 140
🌙 starring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader
bonus
To your shock, Wonwoo isn’t pushy with you the way he’s pushy with Mingyu. He hasn’t said a word about the soft sex the two of you have continued to have for months now, and he hasn’t made you feel lesser than him for being vanilla either.
Wonwoo treats you very differently than he treats Mingyu, but you know that every time Wonwoo brings up rough sex in Mingyu’s ear, it’s because Wonwoo himself has an interest in it.
The demon has talked about being a sexual pleaser, and your need to please him has grown too. Can you really hold Wonwoo and yourself back from reaching another level by dabbling with the BDSM themes he’s so fond of?
Can you… condemn him to vanilla sex for as long as the two of you are connected through Mingyu?
☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.6k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here
👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here
🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list
I absolutely loved your last Dean story!! I was wondering if you would be able to write about a reader who has never been able to finish, with herself or anyone else, and dean helps her learn.
Beautiful writing!
I would've done that sober
Pairing: Dean Di Laurentis x childhood best friend!reader
⟡ Main Index | ⟡ Archive for Earth-66
a/n: Well that was long, but such a delight to write and soooo so sexy
Classification: Smut +18 | Talks of ex's and sexual dysfunction/insecurity, emotional vulnerability, recreational drug use (NOT DURING SEX), dry humping/grinding, getting caught, fingering, tension and arousal descriptions, orgasm, praise and partial undressing/lingerie.
Word count: 12k
Divider by me ;)
You sat across from the fire pit in the boys’ backyard, elbows resting on the armrests of your chair while the flames cracked softly in front of you both. The night air had turned colder hours ago, but neither of you had gone inside. Dean kept talking and you kept letting him or trying to.
Every time he opened his mouth, you exhaled slowly through your nose as if physically releasing air might stop you from interrupting him.
“He’s an arrogant son of a bitch,” Dean repeated for probably the fifth time that night. He took another drag from the blunt before passing it toward you, smoke curling past his lips as he leaned back deeper into the chair.
“That’s what pisses me off the most,” he continued, staring hard into the fire like your ex-boyfriend personally offended him. “He had no clue what he was doing in the relationship from day one and still had the confidence to ask you out.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Usually I respect delusion like that, but that guy’s a fucking disaster.”
You accepted the blunt with a quiet sigh.
Dean had been ranting for nearly a week straight now. Anyone overhearing him would’ve assumed he’d been the one publicly dumped in the cafeteria instead of you but he’d been there when it happened, front row seats to your ex fumbling through excuses while half your friends sat frozen around the table pretending not to listen. Maybe that was enough for Dean.
Now, instead of being out partying with the rest of the team, he sat outside with you night after night, sharing weed and acting personally victimized by your breakup.
“Dean,” you finally interrupted, tone firm.
He stopped talking immediately.
You inhaled slowly before looking over at him through the smoke, holding his gaze while you exhaled. “It’s okay.”
Dean’s expression flattened instantly. “We have very different definitions of okay.”
His eyes drifted back toward the fire for a second, replaying the memory again. You could practically see it happening behind his eyes, the cafeteria, your expression and your ex stumbling through his speech.
“You should’ve let me talk to him,” he muttered.
“What good would that have done?” You brought the blunt back to your lips, inhaling before handing it over again. “It’s not his fault.”
Dean’s head snapped toward you so fast he nearly dropped the thing. “The fuck does that mean?”
You almost rolled your eyes at the offense in his tone. Instead, you looked away toward the fire again, watching orange light flicker against the patio stones.
“I’m lost here,” he scoffed. “Is being wrapped around another girl at a party three hours after dumping you not a dick move now?”
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. “Dean,” you said gently, finally turning your head toward him again. “I think I’m the only person who wasn’t surprised by the breakup.”
His brows furrowed.
You shrugged one shoulder lightly. “He just beat me to it.”
“Oh.” The word left him quietly. Dean looked away immediately afterward, dragging a hand over his mouth while he gathered his thoughts before glancing back at you. “That’s the first time I’m hearing about that.”
He passed the blunt over again.
You took it carefully, staring down at it between your fingers for a second before answering.
“Yeah, well...” You inhaled deeply, smoke burning pleasantly in your lungs before you let it back out slowly. “You’ve got other business to worry about.”
Dean huffed out a laugh instantly. “You are my business.” The certainty in his voice made your lips curl before you could stop them. “So start talking.”
He always did that. Dean had this way of making honesty feel inevitable. The two of you talked about everything, always had. He knew things about you your closest friends didn’t. Hell, he’d bought condoms for you the first time you planned on sleeping with someone because you’d been too embarrassed to walk into the store yourself.
You moved deeper into the chair, pulling one leg beneath you while you searched carefully for the right words. “Um…” You inhaled again, then blurted it out before your brain could stop you. “I suck at the sex thing.”
Dean’s face twisted immediately in disagreement as you passed the blunt. “Bullshit.”
You laughed softly. “No, seriously. I do.” You rubbed awkwardly at your neck before continuing. “Turns out not being able to cum eventually becomes an issue when your partner realizes you never actually have with them.”
Dean’s expression changed instantly. Every conversation you’d ever had about sex clearly started replaying in his head at once because confusion hit him violently.
“But you told me–”
“I lied.” The words came out easier than expected. You shrugged lightly, though your stomach still tightened. “I’ve been lying for years...Faking it until I got tired of faking it and started bruising egos.” A humorless smile tugged briefly at your mouth. “Including mine.”
Dean stayed quiet now so you stared into the fire instead.
“I just…” You exhaled slowly. “I don’t think sex is really my thing.” Your shoulders lifted. “I like the idea of it. I enjoy parts of it…but everyone talks about this huge explosive ending and I just…” You shook your head. “Don’t get there…naturally people stop believing you when you say it was still good.”
Dean watched you carefully. “Was it?”
“The sex?” You let the silence drag for a second before shrugging again. “I think so.” Your lips twitched faintly. “It was good enough to build better stories around afterward.”
Dean stopped smoking entirely after that. The blunt burned slowly between his fingers while he stared down at it, suddenly looking far more sober than either of you probably were. He looked like he was trying to organize his thoughts before speaking again.
“How about alone?” The question came softly, carefully.
If you didn’t know him so well, you might’ve mistaken the look on his face for pity. Thankfully, you did know him, which meant you recognized concern immediately.
You shook your head slowly. “That’s why I’m saying it’s not his fault.”
“It’s not yours either,” Dean argued as he flicked the rest of the blunt into the fire pit before continuing. “It just hasn’t happened yet.” His voice softened further. “Doesn’t mean it never will.”
You let out a slow breath, eyes closing briefly as the weed finally started loosening the tension sitting on your shoulders. “It’s definitely not from lack of trying.”
You could feel him staring at you even with your eyes closed.
The silence stretched comfortably after your confession, softened by the crackling fire and the distant chorus of crickets surrounding the backyard. The flames had started dying down, wood collapsing inward with quiet snaps while smoke drifted lazily into the cold night air.
Dean still hadn’t looked away from you. “So what now?” he asked finally.
You swallowed slowly, still keeping your eyes shut. For a second or maybe an entire minute, Dean genuinely thought you’d fallen asleep mid-conversation.
Then your lips twitched. “Celibacy.”
The offended sound that tore out of him made your smile widen. You heard him trying to hold it back too, which honestly made it funnier but this was Dean. Subtle outrage had never once existed in his body.
“Think I’d look hot as a nun?” you asked lazily.
“You’d look hot in a banana costume wearing clown shoes six sizes too big,” he replied instantly. “And you’re absolutely not dropping out of Briar to become a nun. End of discussion.”
His tone came out firm enough to sound ridiculous considering he had absolutely no authority over your life whatsoever.
You finally peeled your eyes open to look at him. The weed had settled into your bones now, leaving you heavy and relaxed against the chair. Dean looked hazy too, hair falling perfectly while the firelight flickered warm across his face.
“You’re not giving up because some five-eleven idiot couldn’t be patient long enough to figure you out.”
You grinned. “He’s six-one.”
Dean scoffed. “He tried out for the Hawks freshman year. Trust me, he’s five-eleven.”
Your brows lifted. Dean kept going without needing encouragement, already slipping into that protective streak he pretended wasn’t there. He always collected information about people around you, quietly filing it away for future use whenever he deemed necessary.
“He was wearing lifts during tryouts,” Dean added smugly. “One bad pivot and the guy almost snapped an ankle.”
A laugh escaped you softly.
“If you wanna stop having sex altogether, God forbid–”
“You should become a priest,” you interrupted.
Dean barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. “Yeah,” he nodded. “It’d probably take a year and a half to cleanse my sins.” He pointed toward himself loosely. “And that’s assuming I don’t burst into flames the second I walk into a church.” His eyes drifted back to you. “Can I continue now?”
“Yes, Father,” you replied through a chuckle.
Dean shook his head, smiling despite himself before settling deeper into his chair again.
“If you really wanna do the celibacy thing, fine.” He shrugged dramatically. “I’ll support you. We’ll find support groups together and hold hands through the trauma.” His mouth twitched. “Though personally, I’d go through withdrawals first.”
“How solidary of you.”
He nodded solemnly. “Exactly. Plus I can probably add it to my extracurriculars somehow.”
You laughed harder at that, shoulders shaking slightly as you leaned back into the chair. “You’re so fucking stupid.”
Dean watched you carefully while you laughed. The sound came out lighter than anything he’d heard from you all week, chest rising and falling unevenly while your eyes squeezed shut again for a second and suddenly the conversation stopped feeling funny to him.
Because underneath the jokes, underneath the weed and the teasing, he kept thinking about what you’d actually said earlier. About you trying and nothing happening.
Dean loved sex. Everyone knew that much about him but you did too or at least you loved wanting it, loved feeling desired, loved the intimacy, the heat and everything wrapped around it and now all he could think about was how frustrating that must’ve been for you. Wanting something everyone else talked about so easily only for your body not to cooperate no matter how hard you tried.
The thought sat badly in his chest. Dean looked down at the dying fire for a second before his eyes lifted back to you.
“Use me,” he blurted out.
Your laughter faded gradually after his words, the smile still lingering at the corners of your mouth while your eyes settled back on him even more carefully this time.
“What do you mean?”
Dean didn’t even hesitate. “I’ll be your last resort,” he repeated easily, like he’d already thought this through far more than he probably had. “Aren’t you always telling me to make myself useful?”
You narrowed your eyes, blinking slowly through the haze settling heavier behind them.
“What exactly are you suggesting?” You rubbed at one eye with the heel of your hand. “Because I’m starting to think I hallucinated that sentence.”
“I hold my weed better than you,” he reminded you smugly.
That part, unfortunately, was true. Dean leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting against his knees now, all lazy amusement gone strangely sincere beneath the teasing.
“You wanna quit? Fine.” He shrugged. “Quit when you’re actually out of options.”
A quiet huff left you, somewhere between disbelief and laughter. “Didn’t realize Six Flags counted as an option.” Your lips twitched faintly. “I hate rollercoasters.”
Dean nodded decisively. “Then I’ll go out of business.”
“You’ll close the park?”
“I’ll shut the whole thing down,” he promised solemnly. “Just so you can ride the teacups.” The grin spreading across his face warned you half a second too late. “Remember when you threw up on the–”
“Yes,” you cut him off immediately, flat and horrified. “I remember.”
Dean laughed anyway. Full-bodied, warm and entirely too pleased with himself as he pointed at you. “You were crying,” he accused through the laughter. “You kept saying your stomach hated you–”
“I was fifteen.”
“And dramatic.” He added. “But so cute…less mouthy too.”
“You held my hair while I threw up into a trash can behind the funnel cake stand.”
Dean’s laughter softened slightly at that memory. Back then he’d been genuinely terrified something was wrong with you. He’d hovered beside you the entire night looking pale enough to pass out himself while you recovered on a bench wrapped in his sweatshirt. Now he just looked fond.
You glanced away first, eyes dropping back toward the dying fire while your thoughts started turning over his earlier suggestion again despite yourself.
It could go horribly. Actually, no, it would go horribly. There were at least seventeen reasons this crossed every boundary imaginable. You already hated rollercoasters, hated fast turns and hated giving up control over literally anything involving your body and Dean…Well, Dean was Dean.
Confident, experienced, annoyingly good-looking and unarguably good at sex if campus rumors counted for anything and unfortunately they definitely did. You hadn’t exactly conducted research firsthand but after years of hearing stories from girls around campus, the reviews were embarrassingly consistent.
“You really think that highly of your dick?” you asked finally.
Dean shrugged lazily against the chair. “Nobody said anything about using it.”
That made your eyes snap back to him fully. “And if nothing works?” you asked quieter this time.
The question slipped out more honestly than intended because suddenly you weren’t thinking about sex anymore. You were thinking about aftermaths, about what happened if this ruined things between you. Dean had woven himself into your life years ago so naturally that imagining him gone felt impossible now.
You genuinely didn’t know how you’d survive losing him too.
Dean studied you for a second and for once the confidence in his face softened into something steadier. “Then we fail,” he decided.
You swallowed.
His grin returned slowly afterward, softer around the edges. “Fail with me,” he corrected. “Fail better.” He pointed between you both lazily. “Fail together.”
A laugh escaped you despite every effort not to give him one.
You rolled your eyes hard enough to make him grin wider, shaking your head while the weed continued smoothing the sharp corners off your thoughts. The night air no longer felt cold against your skin and embarrassment had slowly stopped existing somewhere during the conversation. Maybe that was the dangerous part and not Dean’s suggestion but how easy it suddenly felt to consider it.
You didn’t bring it up again for the rest of the night and neither did Dean.
When the rest of the guys stumbled back into the house loud and half-drunk sometime after midnight, he changed back into normal so smoothly it almost irritated you. He made sure you had food, water, your charger and then bullied one of the sober freshmen into driving you home while standing outside by the car until you pulled away like he always did.
You slept absurdly well afterward.
A heavy sleep and dreamless night, the type that glued you to the mattress the next morning until sunlight was already cutting aggressively through your blinds. By the time you shuffled out with an oversized hoodie you were certain was your ex’s, your phone was buzzing with unread texts from Dean sent hours earlier, probably before morning practice.
You ignored every single one and it wasn’t because of regret. Embarrassment simply crawled into your chest somewhere between the first and third spoonful of cereal and decided to settle there permanently.
The entire conversation replayed so clearly now that you were sober. “Use me,” You nearly groaned into the bowl.
Three hours of class helped, at least temporarily. You sat near the back of the massive amphitheater classroom while your professor rambled enthusiastically about the new book he’d conveniently written himself and would definitely require students to purchase before midterms. You probably would’ve absorbed more information if you weren’t scrolling mindlessly through Instagram the entire lecture.
The doors behind you opened quietly midway through class.
You barely paid attention at first since nobody descended the stairs toward the lower rows and a second later the seat beside you groaned softly under someone’s weight.
You recognized the cologne immediately.
“How hard do you think you need to scrub for that scent to leave your skin?” you whispered without looking up.
Dean grinned beside you, leaning closer enough for warmth to brush your shoulder as his eyes dropped toward your phone screen.
You locked it quickly and finally looked at him. “You’re not in this class.”
“I see your phone works perfectly fine,” he replied.
The professor thankfully dismissed class early before you could answer, students immediately growing louder as backpacks zipped and people exited the space.
You stood quickly and started gathering your things. “Did you need something, Di Laurentis?” you asked flatly.
Dean remained seated on purpose, forcing you to awkwardly climb past him to leave the row. The asshole looked entirely too pleased with himself while you muttered under your breath and stepped over his legs.
The second you reached the aisle, he stood and followed.
You walked fast, actually, aggressively fast. Dean almost struggled to keep up at first, his legs clearly still wrecked from morning practice while you marched out of the building like escape itself was the objective. He finally caught you outside near the steps leading toward the quad.
“We need to talk.”
You slowed at last before turning toward him. “What we need is space,” you corrected, motioning firmly between your bodies.
Dean looked down between you both thoughtfully, then took exactly one step backward.
You almost laughed, especially because he looked unbearably smug afterward, standing there grinning in the middle of campus like he deserved a reward for basic listening skills.
“You’ve gone to New York with me enough times to know I don’t need more space,” he pointed out. “But fine.” His expression softened slightly afterward, amusement fading as he studied your face more carefully. “What’s going on?”
Of course, he was right. Dean practically crawled into people’s personal bubbles recreationally, so the fact he’d backed off at all made it harder to flee the conversation entirely.
You exhaled slowly. “We said stuff last night.”
He nodded once, blinking at the tension written all over your face. “Yeah. That’s usually how conversations work.”
“Stuff you might regret,” you clarified.
Dean’s brows lifted before a quiet laugh escaped him. “Regret?” He pointed toward himself loosely. “C’mon. It’s me.”
His voice gentled slightly after and the worst part was he looked relieved, because apparently the phrase ‘stuff you might regret’ translated in Dean’s brain to ‘good, she’s not upset’.
“I would’ve said that sober,” he assured you.
His eyes stayed fixed on yours while your attention darted briefly around campus before returning to him again exactly like he knew it would. Dean stepped closer instinctively, lowering his voice enough that the passing students around you blurred into background noise.
“You want me to repeat it?” he asked quietly. “Let me help you cum.”
Your stomach tightened at his tone of voice. “It might not work,” you reminded him softly.
You hoped your face conveyed the actual problem because this had never been about his ego. Dean could survive failure, he’d probably laugh through it, so that wasn’t what scared you.
Dean shrugged anyway, maddeningly calm. “What if it does?”
“And what if it doesn’t?” Frustration finally slipped into your voice. “Dean, I don’t want us to get weird.” You shook your head hard once. “I don’t need ‘optimistic Dean’ right now,” you muttered. “I need ‘realistic Dean’, so pull him out of your ass.”
“You already are weird,” Dean corrected easily, smiling down at you. “I accepted that years ago.” His grin widened then. “Actually, I encourage it.”
You rolled your eyes, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you.
“Let me try,” he insisted again, the confidence in his voice should’ve irritated you more than it did.
Instead, you found yourself studying him in silence, searching for something off in his expression. Some sign this was ego, curiosity or boredom disguised as concern but he just looked…earnest. Enthusiastic, sure, because he was Dean and apparently incapable of approaching anything halfway but not creepy about it and maybe this was partially your own fault.
You’d spent years talking openly with him about sex, relationships and attraction. About wanting something good someday instead of tolerable, about how when you were old and exhausted with kids running around, you still wanted a partner who looked at you and wanted you back because you were almost certain you’d still want them too.
Dean remembered everything you said…unfortunately.
You sighed heavily. “We need rules.”
“Fine.” He agreed so fast it almost startled you. Dean straightened afterward, nodding once with ridiculous seriousness like the two of you were entering business negotiations instead of whatever disaster this actually was.
You almost reconsidered your next words. Almost.
“No kissing.”
Dean’s shoulders visibly dropped. “Why?”
“Because!” you hissed. “And if we’re doing this, you don’t get to question the rules.”
His face twisted in disbelief. “We’ve kissed before.”
You crossed your arms tighter. “That was different.”
Dean scoffed softly. “We were literally each other’s first kiss.”
Again, he was right. You weren’t just each other’s first kiss either, a few firsts existed between you both scattered through years of friendship and growing up side by side, all except for sex. There was awkward teenage curiosity, truth or dare disasters and one regrettable spin-the-bottle incident Garrett still occasionally referenced against your will.
Which was exactly why kissing now felt dangerous. This couldn’t spiral into some ‘why didn’t we do this sooner’ conversation. It needed boundaries and structure, something detached enough that neither of you accidentally ruined the friendship orbiting underneath all this and selflessly, you also didn’t want the group dragged into the fallout if things exploded.
“We’re adults now,” you said firmly. “So no kissing.”
Dean stared at you for another second before exhaling dramatically.
“Okay,” he relented…Too easily, which immediately made you suspicious he’d already started planning arguments against it for later.
“I’ve also thought about what you said last night,” you continued carefully. “About Six Flags.”
Dean’s brows lifted.
“And shutting down the entire park feels unfair to you,” you explained. “Potentially devastating, honestly.” Your lips twitched slightly. “So you can still hook up with other people if you want. I genuinely don’t care.”
Dean actually looked offended. “Didn’t realize I needed permission.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, I don’t.” His voice sharpened for the first time since the conversation started. “But no thanks.” He shrugged once. “It makes this more exciting anyway.” A grin tugged briefly at his mouth again. “I’ve got one ride right now and that’s all I need.”
Your face scrunched at his words. “Does weed somehow make you an even bigger asshole?”
Dean ignored that completely. “I’m not doing anything with anyone else until we’re done here,” he repeated firmly. The teasing disappeared entirely from his voice that time and there was no smugness either, just certainty.
You quieted automatically when a group of students passed nearby, a few of them recognizing Dean instantly and greeting him as they crossed the quad. He responded absentmindedly without taking his eyes off you once.
The second they moved far enough away, you continued. “Why?”
Dean’s expression softened at the question. “Because I need you comfortable,” he answered simply. “And I need you to trust me more than you already do.”
You groaned. “Oh my God,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “You’re making this weird.”
He grinned at your reaction while you grabbed his sleeve and started pulling him further across campus before more people stopped to talk to him. Dean let you drag him along without resistance, looking far too entertained by the whole thing.
“We don’t even know how long this will take,” you pointed out.
“My fist works perfectly fine in the meantime,” Dean decided easily.
You looked up at him so fast your neck almost hurt.
Dean pressed his lips together, visibly trying not to laugh at the pure disbelief written across your face. His head tilted slightly, hair strands falling over his forehead while he watched you stare at him like he’d just confessed to tax fraud.
Your gaze dropped away first.
Contrary to what everyone on campus believed, Dean didn’t actually need constant hookups to survive. He liked the reputation, liked exaggerating it even more whenever it annoyed you enough to argue back or laugh at him but underneath all that, he could handle himself perfectly fine.
Unfortunately for you, he seemed almost smug about proving that now.
“Can I add rules too?” he asked.
You sighed dramatically. “Sure.”
The two of you kept walking through campus side by side, your pace slower now that the conversation had moved on from terrifying to merely humiliating.
“No scheduling things specifically for this,” Dean decided. “If it happens, it happens.”
You blinked once before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” Relief actually loosened something in your chest at that. “That’s good. I’ll stress less.”
Dean glanced sideways at you, probably pleased you agreed so quickly…Except his rule immediately created entirely new problems.
“Uh…” Your steps slowed slightly. “How do you…” You scratched awkwardly at your eyebrow. “Take it?”
Dean stopped walking altogether. “How do I take what?” he asked carefully. “My coffee?”
You groaned. “No.” Your hand motioned vaguely between the two of you in a series of gestures that explained absolutely nothing. “Like…how do you like it?”
Dean’s brows lifted as realization hit him almost visibly.
You looked away at once. “Fuck,” you muttered under your breath. “Do I need to be clean shaven constantly or not?” Your voice lowered progressively through the sentence while your eyes darted around campus to make sure nobody nearby overheard you discussing grooming preferences in broad daylight.
Dean stared at you for half a second too long before answering.
“Y/n.” The seriousness in his tone made your eyes flicker back toward him. “The day I tell you what to do with your body, you better knock me unconscious.”
Your mouth parted slightly.
“I’ll literally kneel for it if that makes it easier,” he continued firmly. “Do whatever makes you comfortable.”
And he meant it. Dean would enjoy it either way, obviously, but that wasn’t what mattered to him here. What mattered was getting you out of your own head long enough to actually enjoy yourself instead of performing comfort for someone else.
You blinked slowly at him because suddenly your ex’s comments replayed in your head with uncomfortable clarity. Little preferences disguised as jokes and suggestions repeated enough times to become expectations and judging by the expression tightening briefly across Dean’s face, he’d realized exactly where your question came from too.
That only made you feel worse somehow. Your attention drifted toward the students moving around campus nearby.
You suddenly wondered if people would notice eventually. The same way older women always claimed they somehow knew when girls became sexually active. Weird comments about posture and confidence, wider hips and glowing skin that sounded fake until suddenly you became the target of them too.
Your stomach tightened faintly. “What are we supposed to tell people?”
Dean barely hesitated. “To mind their own fucking business.”
You snorted softly.
He looked over at you again, entirely serious despite the amusement still lingering around his mouth. “Just like I’m doing mine.”
The rest of the week passed almost painfully normal.
There were parties, late-night food runs, afternoons sprawled around the boys’ house while someone yelled at a video game in the background and hockey games while Dean acted exactly the same as always. You spent time with Hannah and Allie between classes and after them, listened to Garrett complain dramatically about assignments he’d started twelve hours before they were due, watched Tucker cook enough food for six grown men while Logan disappeared upstairs with company more often than not.
Nothing changed.
Dean still touched your shoulder when he walked past you, still stole fries off your plate and still looked at you too long whenever you laughed at something stupid and somehow that made the entire thing worse because half the time you genuinely convinced yourself you’d imagined the whole conversation by the fire pit entirely.
Maybe the weed had made you both insane and none of it was real.
You sat curled up on the floor of the boys’ living room later that week with your knees tucked to your chest, a notebook balanced across your thighs while formulas blurred together across the page. Your back rested against the couch and the TV played quietly in the background though neither of you actually paid attention to it.
Dean sat opposite you in the armchair, long legs spread comfortably while he hunched over his own notebook with far more concentration than anyone would expect from him or maybe not because he took hockey so seriously. He took school seriously too, despite pretending otherwise whenever possible but unfortunately for you, he also looked unfairly good doing homework.
You tried focusing on your own work, tried hard. Instead, your eyes kept lifting toward him between equations, your brain repeatedly snagging on the memory of everything he’d said days earlier and the fact neither of you had taken any of it back…or done a single thing about it.
“What’d you get for number three?” Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts but still didn’t look up from his notebook.
You blinked down at your own page, trying to remember where your brain had abandoned the assignment entirely.
“C,” you answered eventually. “But I’m not confident about it.”
Dean hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve done the math twice and I keep getting B.”
You reread the problem slowly, trying to force your attention into place. “Then it’s probably B.”
Dean finally looked up at that, one brow lifting. “You’re admitting you’re wrong?”
You snorted softly. Honestly, it was extremely possible. Your brain hadn’t functioned properly all week because you kept thinking about him offering himself up like some absurdly confident science experiment.
“Don’t need to dig through my family tree to know I’m not descended from Isaac Newton.”
A smile tugged slowly across Dean’s mouth as he leaned back in the armchair. “If you are,” he said, eyes dragging over your face, “I’m glad the ugly recessive genes skipped you.”
Your nose scrunched instantly. “What kind of compliment is that?”
“The kind I’m hoping gets you over here to help me.” He motioned you closer lazily with his pointer and middle fingers.
You sighed before setting your notebook on the coffee table and padding across the room toward him. The house was quieter this late afternoon, though not empty. Hannah was upstairs with Garrett, Logan had disappeared into his room hours ago and Tucker was outside training.
“Let’s see,” you murmured.
You bent slightly over Dean and the notebook resting on the armrest, attention dropping fully to the equations scattered across the page. The movement loosened the collar of your shirt enough for cool air to brush your skin.
Dean noticed and his throat cleared quietly.
Your attention remained on the notebook while his eyes betrayed him completely, dropping for one dangerous second to the visible lace of your bra before forcing themselves back upward toward your face instead.
Dean had promised himself he’d take this slow and naturally because the second he acted weird about it, you would too. You’d overthink every movement, every look and accidental touch and unfortunately for him, you’d always been terrifyingly good at reading him.
He moved the notebook slightly farther from you as one hand settled carefully against your hip, guiding you.
You reached automatically for the notebook before he moved it entirely out of reach, successfully grabbing it just as he tugged you forward enough for your balance to tip. A second later you settled directly onto his lap, knees falling naturally to either side of his thighs.
You blinked once. “Smooth,” you muttered, adjusting yourself carefully without looking at him. “I’ll give you that.”
Dean grinned openly now. You balanced the notebook against his chest like it was a table and reached backward for the pen loosely held in his free hand. His fingers brushed yours before letting go.
“Should be a five,” you corrected while marking over the equation. “Not a seven.” Your brows furrowed slightly. “Your handwriting’s gotten worse over the years.”
“You still read it.”
“I’m not the one grading you.” Your eyes lifted straight into his.
You’d sat on Dean’s lap before, during packed car rides, group trips and random stupid moments over the years where proximity stopped mattering because he was just Dean. This didn’t feel like that, not even close.
“Not in math,” he said quietly.
Only one of his hands touched you still, resting warm and steady against your hip like he was making a conscious effort not to overwhelm you. Whether it was intentional or not, it worked. His eyes drifted downward slowly toward your mouth.
“You should be rating everything else though.” A grin ghosted briefly across his lips. “Pretty sure Six Flags has customer surveys.”
You shook your head once, slow enough that your hair brushed lightly against your cheek. “No ride, no survey.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. His legs spread slightly wider underneath you then, subtle enough that you still felt the change as the apex of your thighs aligned more directly with his. The hand on your hip tightened enough for you to notice. “Go on then,” he murmured.
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, down to the visible tent pressing insistently against the front of his sweats. Heat climbed your throat immediately.
“Interesting moment you picked,” you muttered softly, eyes flicking briefly toward the rest of the house.
You felt comfortable there. Comfortable enough to leave clothes behind, to wander into the kitchen without asking and to nap on the couch when you got tired during movie nights but knowing the others were still around somewhere made your pulse jump harder instead of calming it.
Dean noticed. “Just focus on me,” he instructed quietly.
Not ‘look at me’, just ‘focus’ which you could do.
You looked at him, seeing the genuine curiosity and lack of judgment in his eyes and for the first time, the wall you'd built around your sexuality felt more like a shield and less like a cage.
Slowly, tentatively, you moved as the gravity of the moment pulled you toward him. You settled your weight directly onto him, feeling the distinct, blunt shape of his cock through the layers of your clothes. He wasn't fully hard yet, just a semi-firm pressure against your clothed pussy but it didn't make you recoil. In fact, it sent a low thrum of anticipation through your nerves.
The air between you grew thick, charged with a tension that felt heavy enough to touch. You remembered your own rule: no kissing. So, you kept your face inches from his but you didn't close the gap. Instead, you focused on the sound of his breathing, which had hitched the moment you sat down. You could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your lips, a teasing, invisible touch that made your skin prickle.
Dean’s hand still hovered near your waist, trembling slightly but he didn't grip you. He seemed to be fighting every instinct to pull you closer, respecting the fragile boundary you had set.
"I'm gonna keep my hands off," he whispered, his voice strained and rough. "You just keep moving. Take whatever you're comfortable with."
He pulled his arms back, resting them flat against the seat beside him, leaving you in complete control. The sudden lack of physical contact made the friction between your pelvises feel even more intense. You knew what you were doing, you had enough experience to know how your body worked, even if the 'explosive ending' always eluded you. You began to rock, a slow, tentative grind that pressed your pussy firmly against the length of him as a sharp, jagged exhale escaped his lungs.
You felt him react instantly, the semi-firmness beneath you surged, his cock thickening and hardening rapidly against your center. You rolled your hips in a circular motion, aiming for the sweet spot, feeling the dampness beginning to soak into your underwear. You were getting wetter, the friction creating a sliding, sensual heat that radiated upward into your stomach.
"You still okay?" he breathed out, voice barely a murmur.
You simply nodded and tried to focus entirely on him, wanting to give him something perfect, something that would leave him breathless. You pushed down harder, grinding your clit against the hard ridge of his dick. You watched his face, head falling back against the headrest, leaving his throat exposed and pulsing but he forced his eyes to stay open. He wanted to see you. He wanted to witness the way your expression changed as you found a rhythm that worked.
The intimacy was suffocating in the best way. There was no kissing to distract you and no wandering hands to break the spell, just the raw, rhythmic pressure of friction. You could feel the heat radiating off his thighs, the way his chest heaved in time with your movements as your own breathing became ragged, mirroring his, the sound of your synchronized gasps filling the quiet space.
You felt a small, involuntary moan escape your throat, a soft sound of pleasure that made Dean’s hips jerk upward instinctively, trying to meet your descent. You pressed closer, your mind racing, trying to synchronize your pleasure with his but as the tension built, a familiar frustration began to creep in. You were so close to that peak, that elusive edge but the more you focused on his perfection, the more you felt yourself slipping away from your own. You wanted it, you wanted to break through the ceiling you'd lived under for years and the frustration made you grind harder, more desperately.
You were just beginning to lose yourself in the friction, your body humming with a desperate, electric need, when the spell was shattered.
The heavy thud of footsteps hit the wooden porch outside, then came muffled voices.
Tucker.
The sound slammed into you like ice water dumped straight down your spine.
You jolted backward instantly, panic snapping through your body so violently that your balance disappeared completely. The friction, the heat, the dizzy haze clouding your brain shattered in one humiliating second as you scrambled away from Dean in pure instinct.
Dean’s hands had actually stayed off, so when you lurched backward, there was nothing anchoring you in place, no arm catching your waist or grip steadying you. You slipped right off his lap in a graceless tangle of limbs and landed hard beside the chair with a muffled curse, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.
Dean moved at the same time you did. One hand grabbed the nearest couch pillow and yanked it straight into his lap while the other instinctively reached toward you, fingers brushing empty air because you were already halfway onto your feet.
The front door opened and you froze.
Your breathing came embarrassingly uneven as you tried forcing your body back under control, thighs trembling faintly from the abrupt stop, nerves buzzing so hard beneath your skin it almost hurt. Dean leaned back into the chair with his head tipped toward the ceiling for one brief second, chest rising sharply beneath his t-shirt while tortured frustration flashed openly across his face before he forced himself together enough to look toward the entryway.
Tucker walked in distractedly, phone pressed to his ear while he kicked the door shut behind him with his shoe.
“–No, because that’s not what I said,” he argued into the phone before finally glancing up.
Dean’s voice came out rough and annoyed. “Can't you knock?”
The irritation in it made your eyes widen and before thinking better of it, you reached over and smacked lightly at his arm which made him look offended for half a second.
Tucker’s brows pulled together slowly as his gaze moved between the two of you…You standing there awkwardly and Dean spread out in the armchair with a pillow aggressively covering his lap.
The TV was still playing, forgotten in the background too.
“Wait,” Tucker muttered into the phone, eyes narrowing slightly. “Hold on.” He lowered the phone away from his ear and motioned vaguely around the living room. “I live here,” he pointed out flatly. “If you two wanna study in complete silence maybe turn the TV down or go to the library.”
Your mouth pressed into a painfully tight smile.
“Hey, Y/n.” he greeted, much more gently.
“Hi,” you replied weakly with an awkward nod.
Tucker gave you one more lingering look before wandering toward the kitchen, already returning to his phone conversation while opening the fridge like absolutely nothing life-altering had just occurred in his living room.
The second he was no longer looking, your eyes snapped back toward Dean, his were already on you, wide and still dark with frustration and lingering heat and approximately ten other emotions you absolutely did not have time to unpack right now.
You hurried toward where you’d abandoned your bag near the couch and started shoving your things inside far too quickly.
Dean muttered a curse under his breath behind you as the fridge door opened again. “Wait, wait, wait,” he whispered urgently.
You ignored him completely, nearly dropping your belongings while trying to zip your bag shut.
“You don’t have to leave,” he continued quietly, unable to stand for reasons both of you were painfully aware of. The pillow remained trapped over his lap while he leaned forward slightly, voice dropping lower. “Stay for dinner.” Then louder, “Right, Tucker?”
From the kitchen, still mid-conversation, Tucker lifted a distracted thumbs up without even looking over. Of course you could stay, you were always welcome there and it somehow made this infinitely worse.
“Y/n, c’mon,” Dean tried again, even softer this time.
You finally looked at him, at his flushed face and the way he still looked wrecked from you despite the interruption.
Your stomach flipped painfully. “You can text me that survey of yours,” you muttered.
Dean groaned quietly at the reminder, watching as you grabbed your bag and headed straight for the front door before your embarrassment could physically consume you alive.
You didn’t say goodbye or looked back. You slipped outside into the cold early evening air and shut the door behind you, immediately dragging in one huge breath like you’d been underwater too long.
Fresh air hit your lungs sharply, cool and tensionless.
Your legs felt weird as you walked down the porch steps and somewhere beneath the embarrassment sat an even more irritating realization. You needed to change your panties and somehow, you still hadn’t come.
For the first time in your academic career, you were thankful exam week existed.
The chaos of midterms had given you and Dean something else to focus on besides the fact you’d nearly climbed him in the middle of his living room while Tucker casually walked through the front door. Between study sessions, essays, last-minute cramming and the general emotional collapse that overtook Briar every semester, things had settled back into something manageable.
You and Dean had talked afterward, though absolutely not alone.
He’d insisted on meeting in a crowded coffee shop near campus where old women typed aggressively on laptops and students cried quietly over textbooks in the corner booths. Dean had spent most of the conversation reassuring you Tucker didn’t know anything, swearing repeatedly that if Tucker had known, the entire hockey house would’ve heard about it within twelve minutes. More importantly, he’d made sure you still wanted this and despite the embarrassment, the frustration and how badly your body still reacted whenever he looked at you too long, you did.
“Are you seriously not coming?” Allie paced dramatically across the apartment while speaking, changing outfits for what had to be the fourth time in under an hour. Both you and Hannah tracked her movements from the couch like spectators at a tennis match while she disappeared into her room only to emerge seconds later wearing something slightly tighter each time.
Hannah finally peeled her attention away from Allie to look at you instead.
“She’s right,” she agreed. “Exams are over. Maybe partying would actually help.”
You smiled lazily from your spot curled into the couch cushions, blanket draped across your legs while exhaustion sat heavy behind your eyes.
“What’ll help me is eight uninterrupted hours of sleep,” you informed them. “Which I plan on pursuing aggressively the second both of you leave.” Your mouth twitched slightly. “Now see some boys and make questionable use of your mouths elsewhere.”
Allie barked out a laugh loud enough to echo while Hannah groaned.
“When are we finding your rebound?” Allie asked as she finally settled on an outfit and bent down to tug on her boots.
“It’s too soon,” you decided immediately.
“It is,” Hannah agreed with a firm nod. “She doesn’t wanna think about men right now and we’re respecting that.”
You pointed gratefully toward her. “See? Emotional maturity.”
“Sure,” Allie snorted. “I’m still passing your Instagram around tonight though.” She grinned wickedly while crossing toward the couch. “You can decide what to do with the options later.” Before you could answer, she leaned down and squeezed you tightly against her side. “Don’t wait up for us.”
You watched them drag out the goodbye process intentionally, moving toward the door with exaggerated slowness like they expected you to suddenly change your mind and throw on heels at the last second.
You sighed and stood from the couch, physically herding them toward the exit. “Just go,” you laughed while they protested loudly.
“We tried,” Hannah reminded you with a smile while Allie opened the apartment door. “We’ll send you the address anyway.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
“You say that now...”
You waved them off anyway and finally shut the door behind them once they disappeared down the hallway already talking excitedly about shots and music and whatever terrible decisions the night would inevitably produce.
Silence settled across the apartment immediately afterward.
You exhaled slowly…now what? You considered your options while wandering aimlessly through the living space. You could curl up on the couch with your laptop and a movie or crawl into bed and disappear beneath blankets for twelve straight hours like a Victorian woman with mysterious exhaustion. Or…Your thoughts drifted elsewhere automatically, toward your room and the drawer beside your bed.
You grimaced slightly. Maybe tonight was the night you tried again, actually committed to figuring yourself out instead of giving up midway through frustration like usual. You’d bought enough toys over the years based entirely on optimistic reviews and late-night curiosity alone.
Were they even charged? You were approximately two steps away from your bedroom when knocking sounded at the front door.
You groaned at the sound. “Did you guys forget your condoms again?” you called out while turning toward the entrance. Honestly, it happened often enough that the assumption came naturally now.
You unlocked the door and pulled it open. Then blinked at who you saw. “Dean.”
Dean stood casually in the hallway wearing a baseball cap and dark sunglasses despite the fact it was nighttime indoors, which might’ve worked better if he wasn’t also carrying an enormous black bag beside him.
“I always carry condoms,” he informed you smugly.
Your face scrunched instantly as his answer only emphasized how thin the apartment walls actually were. You narrowed your eyes at him while glancing suspiciously down the hallway.
“Why aren’t you at the party?”
Dean lowered the sunglasses enough to properly look at you over the frames.
You looked soft tonight, comfortable. Wearing sweatpants and an oversized shirt, hair messier than usual from lying around all day. The sight quickly made something warm settle low in his chest.
“Because I’m here with you.”
“No,” you corrected. “You wanted to be here with me.” You pointed vaguely toward campus. “Past tense…You should currently be at that party.”
“No can do.” Dean slipped smoothly past you before you could stop him, nudging the apartment door shut behind him with his foot.
Only then did you fully notice the bag. It was large, rectangular, black and rigid with no visible branding whatsoever. It completely ruined the whole incognito outfit.
Your eyes narrowed harder while Dean looked far too pleased with himself.
“I come bearing gifts,” he announced, then he walked straight toward your bedroom like he paid rent there.
“How did you know I didn’t go to the party?” you asked while following him toward your bedroom.
Dean set the bag carefully onto your bed before finally turning around, fingers hooking beneath the brim of his cap as he pulled it off. The sunglasses followed next, revealing eyes already fixed on you with far too much satisfaction.
“I have my sources.”
You grimaced again. “That sounds vaguely threatening.”
“Hannah asked me the other day to convince you to come out tonight.” He shrugged casually. “I didn’t.”
You crossed your arms. “Who says I would’ve agreed anyway?”
Dean smiled instantly. “Me.” The confidence in his answer came without hesitation. “I’m very persuasive.”
You rolled your eyes before your attention dragged back toward the massive black bag sitting suspiciously at the foot of your bed. “What is that?”
Dean glanced over his shoulder toward it. “Our entertainment for tonight.” His mouth twitched slightly. “Well…mine.”
You narrowed your eyes harder at him before stepping around him toward the bed. The bag gave nothing away from the outside, rigid and sleek and annoyingly mysterious.
Cautiously, you reached inside and your fingers brushed lace first. You blinked then slowly pulled the item free into the light between you both, pinching it delicately between two fingers like it might suddenly attack you.
“Lingerie?” you asked, genuinely confused.
Dean nodded once. “I had to get rid of the boxes,” he explained. “Turns out Agent Provocateur packaging isn’t exactly subtle.”
Your eyes widened immediately. “Agent Provocateur?” You stared at him in disbelief before looking back into the bag. “Are you insane?”
One by one, you started pulling more pieces out. Black lace…cream silk and tiny straps. Things so soft they barely felt real against your fingertips.
Dean watched your growing expression carefully and only then seemed to realize he may have gone slightly overboard. “I got lost on the website,” he admitted. “And then there was free shipping after a certain amount which felt financially irresponsible to ignore.”
You straightened slowly, still clutching one lace bodysuit in your hands while looking at him like he’d lost his damn mind.
“Explain to me,” you said carefully, “how exactly this counts as entertainment.”
“Besides the obvious?”
Your stare sharpened. Dean exhaled quietly before answering, his tone softening as the teasing faded from his expression.
“When you were on my lap the other day…” His eyes flickered briefly toward the floor before returning to you. “You stopped focusing on yourself after a while.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the lace.
“You started trying to get me there instead,” he continued gently. “Like you were more worried about proving something than actually feeling good.”
Heat crept onto the nape of your neck because he was right. Dean noticed everything.
“And I get it,” he added quickly, voice staying careful. “Probably instinct. You wanted me to enjoy it.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Which I definitely did, by the way. Don’t start doubting that part.”
You stayed quiet while watching him and actually listened instead of acting on your urge to flee.
“Tonight,” he said after a beat, nodding lightly toward the lingerie scattered across your bed, “the lingerie can be for me.” His eyes moved back to yours. “So the rest can just be yours.”
The room went quiet afterward. The plan had probably sounded more coherent in Dean’s head at one in the morning while online shopping half-awake with his laptop balanced on his stomach but somewhere beneath the absurdity of it, you understood what he meant.
Lingerie wasn’t only about someone else seeing you in it, women bought it for themselves too, to feel pretty, desired and confident. Sometimes just to stand in front of the mirror and reclaim something private but eventually, with partners, it often became performative too, something shared and visual. Dean was trying to remove that pressure from everything else.
Your gaze drifted slowly back down toward the pile of lace but you still weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You tried things on and then, what?
Your voice lowered slightly. “What kind of mind games are you playing?”
You hoped it didn’t sound accusing because it wasn’t meant to. You were just struggling to process the fact Dean had seen through you so clearly after one failed attempt, that he’d gone and actually thought about it, considered it and returned with something tangible instead of empty reassurance and blind confidence.
Dean shook his head immediately. “No games.” His voice stayed soft and patient, ready to leave the second you told him this was too much. “Let’s just give it a shot.”
Silence stretched again before you finally reached for a pair of panties instead. The lace slid smoothly through your fingers as you lifted the panties between you both for further inspection.
Dean’s eyes dropped instantly and despite himself, one very clear thought crossed his mind.
‘Yeah. Definitely one of my favorites.’
“How do you even know these will fit?” you asked honestly. The fabric looked expensive enough to disintegrate if handled incorrectly, soft lace brushing against your fingertips while you inspected the tiny details stitched into it.
Dean opened his mouth…closed it and opened it again. “I’m…observant?”
Even he sounded unsure of the answer.
Your lips twitched as you bit back a laugh while digging through the pile until you found the matching bra, then gathered both pieces in your hands.
“Observant and persuasive,” you mused while backing toward the bathroom. “Let me know when there’s something substantial to add to that list.”
Dean nodded solemnly like you’d given him serious criticism to reflect on. “Will do.”
The bathroom door clicked shut behind you and the second it did, Dean exhaled sharply and looked down at himself...for fuck’s sake.
He adjusted himself miserably through his pants while staring at your closed bathroom door in defeat. Lately everything about you affected him differently, your voice, your teasing and the way you looked at him for half a second too long depending on the day.
It was becoming genuinely embarrassing.
Dean barely moved from the spot you’d left him in.
He stayed planted near the foot of your bed, one hand dragging occasionally through his hair while his eyes remained fixed on the bathroom door like staring hard enough would somehow let him see through it. Every few seconds he twitched awkwardly in his pants, dealing unsuccessfully with the consequences of occasionally hearing your hums through the thin wall while knowing exactly what you were changing into behind it.
Inside the bathroom, you stood frozen in front of the mirror for far longer than necessary.
You tried very hard not to think about how closely Dean must’ve paid attention to you over the years to somehow get the sizing exactly right because it fit perfectly.
The lace sat snug against your skin without pinching anywhere, soft black patterns curling over your chest and hugging your hips beautifully. The bra lifted your breasts enough to make your posture straighten instinctively while the matching panties rested low against your hips, delicate enough to feel expensive but comfortable enough not to make you tug at them every two seconds.
You looked good, not just tolerable under dim lights or acceptable after strategic positioning and reassurance and maybe that was what scared you most because now you had to walk back out there and let someone else see it too.
With one last glance toward your reflection, you finally reached for the doorknob and stepped back into your room.
Dean looked up immediately, the reaction was almost embarrassing.
He stopped breathing for half a second entirely, eyes dragging over you slowly enough to make heat climb straight into your throat. He barely blinked while following your movement across the room as you drifted toward your full-length mirror, fingertips lightly tracing the lace resting over your shoulders before moving lower toward the small details connecting the cups together.
The silence stretched thickly.
You kept looking at yourself mostly because looking directly at him felt dangerous right now, even as he moved behind you slowly without touching. He was just standing there close enough for warmth to gather along your back while his eyes followed yours through the reflection. Wherever you looked, he looked too, until eventually your gazes met in the mirror.
You swallowed. “What do you think?”
Dean inhaled deeply through his nose. “I think,” he said slowly, “Six Flags might be going out of business soon.”
Your brows lifted immediately before a quiet laugh escaped you despite yourself.
You turned around to face him fully then, stepping closer until only inches separated you both. Your hands settled carefully against the center of his chest, fingertips brushing lightly against the fabric of his shirt while you looked up at him.
Dean held your gaze steadily, too steadily, sometimes it genuinely felt like he could read your thoughts if he stared long enough. “What do you think?” he echoed softly.
You hummed quietly, eyes flickering downward toward his mouth before lifting back up again.
“I think…” Your hands began sliding slowly down his chest, fingertips grazing over the hard planes beneath his shirt one inch at a time. “Maybe…” Your voice softened further as your palms drifted lower. “I could show you something I actually know how to do.”
Dean’s jaw tightened as your fingers brushed the bulge straining against his pants.
“With my mouth,” you finished quietly.
You didn’t move afterward and neither did he.
In your head, the logic made sense. Dean already thought you were beautiful, so you didn’t need him witnessing your frustration firsthand too. You could give him something good instead, something you knew how to control.
For one dangerous second, he looked like he was genuinely considering it. Then Dean exhaled sharply and turned you around instead, guiding you gently back toward the mirror until your back rested against his chest.
A startled breath caught in your throat as your ass pressed unintentionally against the hard outline of his erection.
Your eyes met his again through the reflection.
“I don’t doubt you can do those things,” he murmured near your ear. “All of them.”
One of his hands settled carefully against your waist while the other slid slowly downward, fingertips brushing beneath the waistband of your panties enough to make your stomach tighten.
His eyes never once left yours in the mirror. “So why do you?”
The reflection showed the two of you, a study in tension and longing. You could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he watched you not just with desire but with a focused, intentional kind of devotion.
His hand didn't push further, he stopped before his fingertips brushed the outer lips of your pussy, leaving a teasing spark of contact. He held himself there, gaze locking onto yours in the mirror, waiting. He wasn't going to take a single inch more without your explicit permission.
You felt your heart hammer against your ribs, chest heaving. You looked into his eyes and gave a small, shaky nod.
The moment you did, he slid deeper. His fingers glided through the slick already gathering between your thighs, parting you with a gentle pressure that could’ve made your toes curl. He didn't rush, he navigated the wet lips until his fingertip found the small, swollen bud of your clit. He began to circle it slowly with agonizingly steady rotations that sent ripples of electricity shooting straight to your core.
"Tell me what you see," he whispered, voice a low and gravelly vibration against your ear.
You swallowed hard, voice trembling as you focused on the reflection. "You...you touching me," you breathed.
As you spoke, you watched your own body react. Your breathing picked up, turning into shallow, jagged gasps. In the mirror, you saw your breasts heaving, the nipples peaking and hardening into tight, sensitive points through the lace of your bra. As if reading your thoughts, Dean’s other hand reached around, his fingers finding one breast and gripping it. He massaged the hardened peak, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger and you let out a sharp, involuntary swallow, head tilting back slightly.
"And what's at the end of me?" he asked, voice humming with a dark, sensual curiosity.
"Me," you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips.
"What else?" he pressed, fingers continuing that relentless, circling motion. He was forcing you to stay present, stripping away your ability to hide in your head or focus on his pleasure. He wanted you trapped in your own skin.
You stared at yourself, hyper-aware of every inch of your anatomy. "Beauty marks," you murmured, noticing the small moles on your thighs and torso that you usually ignored.
"And here?" he asked, his thumb flicking the tip of your nipple.
"Hardened nipples," you gasped, eyes fluttering.
"And on your skin..." he prompted, his fingers quickening their pace, the friction against your clit becoming more insistent and demanding.
"Goosebumps," you whimpered. You could see them breaking out across your shoulders and arms, a physical manifestation of the arousal peaking within you.
The sensory overload was dizzying. Every time you named a part of yourself, the pleasure seemed to intensify, as if acknowledging your own body was unlocking a door you'd kept bolted shut. Dean’s fingers were no longer just circling, they were fluttering, vibrating against your most sensitive spot with a precision that made your hips instinctively buck back against him. You felt the wetness flooding out of you and coating his fingers, making the sounds of his touch wet and explicit in the quiet room.
You tried desperately to keep your eyes locked on his in the mirror but as the pleasure climbed, the world began to blur. Your eyelids grew heavy, the edges of your vision darkening as the sensation centered entirely on the point where he was rubbing you. You started to moan, the sounds raw but still shy, escaping your throat without your permission. You pushed your backside harder against the rigid length of his erection, craving the friction, the completion.
The tension in your lower belly coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding up to the point of snapping. You were right there, on the precipice, the beginning of an orgasm shimmering just out of reach. Your breath became a series of broken sobs as your body trembled in anticipation. Was this it?
"I think...I–" you started, voice breaking as the first wave of a climax seemed to form but just before it solidified, just as you were about to believe it would, Dean abruptly pulled his hand away.
The sudden void was shocking. You gasped, body jolting from the abrupt loss of stimulation, the orgasm denied at the very last second of creation. You were left vibrating, aching and halfway undone but before you could process the frustration, he gripped your waist and turned you around in his arms so you were facing him.
Your eyes were wide, glazed with lust and confusion, chest heaving as you looked up at him.
"What the hell are you doing?" you asked, voice a breathless wreck.
Dean didn't answer immediately. He just looked at you, taking in the desperate hunger in your eyes. He gripped your hips firmly, knuckles white and began backing up toward the bed, pulling you with him.
"Trusting you to do it first," he murmured.
As the back of his knees hit the mattress, he let himself fall back, laying flat on his back and spreading his arms wide, leaving himself completely open and vulnerable to you.
You climbed over him, your movements determined, fueled by a desperate, humming need that had been wound tight in the mirror. You braced your knees against his sides, feeling the hard muscle of his thighs beneath you and planted one hand firmly on his chest. Beneath your palm, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic rhythm, a mirror to your own. With a renewed sense of determination, you slipped your other hand beneath the fabric of your panties, your fingers finding the slick, swollen heat of your pussy.
As you began to touch yourself, you closed your eyes for a moment, repeating the litany he had forced you to acknowledge in the mirror. You focused on the hyper-awareness he had instilled in you, turning that mental lens inward. You found your clit, already engorged and sensitive and began to circle it. Your breathing became ragged, each exhale a shaky shudder that vibrated through your entire frame.
You opened your eyes and looked down at your hand on his chest. You watched the way his pectorals heaved under your touch, his skin flushed and warm. Then, you felt his hands slide up your legs, his large palms gripping your thighs firmly. The sheer intensity of his gaze, the way he watched your every movement with a hunger that felt almost tangible, made a low moan escape your throat.
You had never reached this point before, never felt this close to the edge of something so profound. The pleasure was a rising tide, threatening to pull you under.
"Be patient," Dean breathed, his voice a low, grounding rumble that seemed to vibrate through the mattress and into your bones. "Listen to your body."
You nodded, eyes locked onto his and focused entirely on the sensation. You ignored the noise in your head, everything except the friction of your own fingers. You kept your hand working at a speed you liked, a steady, rhythmic pressure that built a coil of tension in your lower belly. You began to squirm, hips rocking in a slow, undulating motion against your own hand, chasing the spark.
In your haze of arousal, you shifted, pressing your soaking wet clothed cunt directly onto the rigid length of his erection through his pants. The sudden, blunt pressure against your clit sent a shockwave of pleasure through you and you let out a loud, uncontrolled moan. Dean groaned in response, a sound of pure, tortured restraint as he kept his hips from jerking upward to meet you.
You quickly lifted your hips again, holding them high in the air, body arching as you fought to maintain the rhythm.
“Holy fuck,” You were so close now, the world was narrowing down to the point where your fingers met your flesh.
"Attagirl. That's it," Dean whispered, voice thick with praise. "You're doing so good. Just like that...look at you, taking it all in. So fucking worth it."
His words were like fuel to the fire. The praise made you bolder and movements more frantic. You pressed harder, your fingers fluttering with an urgency that bordered on desperation until the tension reached a breaking point, a white-hot spark that suddenly ignited into a roaring flame.
The orgasm hit you like a physical blow. Your head snapped back, your spine arching as the first wave of pleasure crashed over you. Your lips parted and an unreal, unabashed sound, a high, keening cry of release slipped out of you, echoing through the room. It was your first time ever coming and the sensation was overwhelming. It didn't just peak and fade, it rolled through you in long, rhythmic pulses that seemed to last forever, shaking your entire body, leaving your muscles twitching and your mind a complete blank.
Dean didn't move. He looked at you, completely mesmerized, eyes wide and unblinking. He watched the way your throat worked as you gasped for air, the way your breasts heaved and the way your body shuddered under the aftershocks. Beneath you, his cock throbbed and twitched painfully against the constraint of his pants, a visible manifestation of the agony and ecstasy of watching you shatter.
As the waves finally subsided, leaving you limp and floating, you collapsed onto his chest with a sultry whine, skin damp with sweat and breathing heavy and synchronized with his as you caught your breath.
The silence of the room was thick, charged with the lingering electricity of the moment.
You swallowed hard while still catching your breath, voice a mere whisper against his skin. "Is it too soon to say that was the best orgasm I've ever had?"
Dean let out a heavy, uneven breath beneath you, the sound shuddering straight through his chest and into yours. Only then did his hands finally leave your thighs. Slowly, almost cautiously, they slid upward along your sides until his palms settled against your back.
Gone was the restraint that had kept his fingers tense and controlled earlier. Now he touched you lightly, almost reverently, fingertips drifting along the curve of your spine over the lace while he tried to steady his breathing. Every few seconds his hands flexed against you instinctively, like he still couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.
“Definitely the best one I’ve ever had,” he murmured.
His voice sounded wrecked, dizzy, like simply watching you come apart on top of him had pushed him somewhere dangerously close to losing it himself.
You lifted your head slowly from where it rested against his chest, pushing up enough to properly look at him.
Dean blinked up at you lazily, pupils completely blown.
You swallowed once. “Did you…?”
The question barely finished forming before Dean’s expression morphed into something sheepish and amused all at once. He swallowed too before nodding once against the mattress.
Your eyes widened slightly as his hand slid upward from your back, fingertips brushing softly along your jaw while he looked at you with an expression so openly fond it almost hurt to hold eye contact with him.
“Am I still not deserving of a kiss?” he asked quietly. Half joking, half absolutely not.
You hummed thoughtfully like you were genuinely considering it. “You want a cookie and a gold star too?”
Dean’s grin spread slowly across his face, matching yours instantly despite the pleasure still weighing down his features. “Better than the survey.”
You laughed softly through your nose before finally leaning down the rest of the way.
The kiss was warm, searing and long overdue.
Dean’s hand moved instantly to the back of your head, holding you in place like he’d been waiting weeks to finally do exactly this. It started slow for approximately two seconds, soft lips parting against yours carefully, almost disbelievingly, before weeks of tension snapped apart all at once.
You melted into him with a breathless sound as his mouth pressed harder against yours.
Dean kissed like he did everything else, thoroughly.
His thumb pushed lightly beneath your jaw, tilting your head back enough for him to deepen the kiss, tongue sliding against yours slow at first, exploratorily, before the restraint he’d been clinging to all night dissolved completely. The taste of him, the warmth of his mouth and the low groan that rumbled out of his chest when you kissed him back with equal desperation made your stomach tighten all over again.
The kiss quickly turned messy, hungry. You could barely catch your breath between them, mouths reconnecting instantly every time you pulled apart for air like neither of you could tolerate the distance anymore. Dean’s grip tightened on your hair as his other hand spread wide against your back, dragging you flush against him while his tongue swept against yours again, deeper this time, making heat rush straight through your body.
So much for rules.
Seems like Six Flags had just been privatised for a single Agent Provocateur wearer…indefinitely.
a/n: Comments, likes and reblogs really do mean the world and help more than you know! More stories will be added to the archive soon, so stay tuned for new content. Thank you so much for reading! 🤍
When time refuses to move forward, you are forced to confront your past, rewrite your present, and unexpectedly fall for the boy who keeps finding you in every version of the day.
Inspired by the book ‘The Do-over’ by Lynn Painter.
Warnings: witches, time loop
———————————————————————
You woke up to a sky the color of watered-down milk. The light leaking through your curtains was thin and gray, the kind that always made you want to pull the blanket over your head and stay there forever. But you didn’t. You never did.
You sat up, groaning softly, brushing a hand through your hair. The clock read 6:42. You swung your legs out of bed and stood. The air was cold, biting at your ankles. You crossed to your closet and stared at the rows of carefully curated outfits like you always did. It was a sea of soft colors and textures that could convince people you had your life together. That you weren’t just a weird girl in a weird family living in a slightly off-kilter house on the edge of Beacon Hills.
You reached for your cream-colored cardigan, the one with the little pearl buttons. It was delicate and warm, something that said put-together but approachable. Then came the pleated skirt in a pale plaid that matched the cardigan and made you look effortlessly polished, even though you’d spent ten minutes debating it.
The shoes took longer. You’d been saving your suede boots for the right day. They were real leather, soft as butter, and expensive enough that you still felt guilty wearing them. But you were tired of being overlooked, tired of Lydia Martin’s sharp little comments about ‘thrift chic’.
You wanted to look like someone who belonged. So you slipped into those boots, ignoring the whisper in your head about the muddy sidewalks and the cracked pavement. Image first.
You brushed your hair until it fell just right, slicked on mascara, a little gloss. You looked at yourself in the mirror. Cardigan, skirt, boots, a soft touch of perfume. Perfectly composed. Perfectly fake.
And then you smelled smoke. At first, it was faint. A whisper of something burnt, like toast forgotten in a toaster. But then it thickened, turned acrid and sharp, clinging to your throat. Your nose wrinkled.
“Aunt Mags?” you called, stepping into the hall.
No answer greeted you. Just the distant, unnatural crackle of flame.
You turned the corner into the living room and froze. The curtains were on fire. The rug was on fire. The entire wall beside the fireplace was breathing orange and black, and your aunt stood in the middle of it all, her black hair loose, using a hose she’d dragged in through the back door to put out the flames.
“Holy—”
“Language!” Maggie snapped automatically, before flicking her wrist and sending a rush of water toward the ceiling. The flames recoiled, shrinking, twisting inward as though sucked through an invisible drain. Within seconds, they were gone, leaving nothing but a bitter-smelling smoke hanging in the air and charred, blackened patches all over the walls.
You coughed, eyes watering. “What the hell was that?”
“Containment charm,” your aunt said briskly, examining the wall with her hands on her hips. “Worked better than last time I tried it. Well…mostly.”
You stared at her, trying to process the words. Containment charm. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.”
She looked at you over her shoulder, one eyebrow arched. “Would I joke about a house fire?”
“I…no, I meant the whole containment charm thing. You know you’re not actually a witch witch, right? Opening an apothecary doesn’t equate to who-doo voodoo.”
Her eyes softened. “Sweetheart, can you handle getting yourself to school today?”
You blinked. “The house almost burned down and you want me to just…go to school?”
“Life doesn’t stop for small disasters,” she said, already muttering under her breath as she waved her arms to try dissipate the thick cloud of smoke. “And besides, it’ll keep you out of the way while I get someone in to have a look at this.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but she gave you that look - the one that meant the conversation was already over. So you grabbed your bag and left, the smell of burnt wood clinging to your hair.
The air outside was damp, cool against your cheeks. You walked down the cracked sidewalk toward the bus stop, clutching your bag tighter as you texted Lydia a quick ‘running late lol, save me a seat in home room’, that you didn’t actually mean. You and Lydia weren’t really friends. Both of your boyfriends were on the Lacrosse team which meant you were friendly enough, though mostly through strained smiles.
Halfway there, you saw the construction signs, cones, a flashing orange barricade blocking the entire street.
You groaned out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The detour added an extra ten minutes to your route. You jogged, boots clicking sharply against the asphalt, heart hammering as the quieting roar of a bus engine made you push harder. You could see the yellow flash turning the corner.
“Wait!” you shouted, waving frantically as you sprinted the last block to catch up,
The driver met your eyes. You knew he saw you. But the bus didn’t slow. It turned down the next street, taillights fading into the mist.
“Unbelievable,” you muttered, panting, shoulders slumping.
You shoved your phone into your bag and started walking again, resigned. The wind picked up, biting through your cardigan. You tucked your arms around yourself, boots clicking against the damp road.
That was when you heard the clunky, familiar noises of the broken down price of shit Jeep that your lab partner owned. You turned your head just as the dusty blue car roared around the corner. You didn’t have time to move.
The front tire plowed straight through a puddle the size of a crater, and a tidal wave of freezing, muddy water hit you square in the chest. You gasped, stumbling back, soaked from head to toe. The cold was immediate, seeping into your socks, your skirt, your expensive suede boots.
“Oh my god,” you groaned. “My shoes!”
The Jeep screeched to a halt, then reversed. The door slammed open, and a familiar voice called, “Holy shit, are you okay?”
You closed your eyes. Of course it was him.
Stiles Stilinski jogged over, already grimacing. He wore his usual flannel layered over a graphic tee, a buzz of brown hair that he always ran both hands through about a hundred times per hour. His expression was all panic and guilt and, you suspected, a little amusement.
He was your lab partner for Harris’s class and he was completely and utterly useless. He always tried to contribute to class projects, but his erratic personality and inability to shut up meant he never got very far, leaving you to do most of the work. Not to mention, he was always getting in trouble, which meant Harris graded your joint assignments extra harshly. Chemistry was currently the only class of yours you didn’t have an A in, and you blamed that little fact on one incredibly irritating Stiles Stilinski.
“I didn’t even see you!” he said, hands raised in surrender. “Are you okay?”
“Do I look okay to you?” you snapped, gesturing to your drenched clothes.
He winced. “Okay, yeah, no, that’s fair. Totally my fault. You should probably, uh…get out of those.”
You glared. “Excuse me?”
“No! I mean, not right now! Just, later. When you’re not…oh god.” He rubbed a hand down his face. “Can I at least give you a ride to school. You shouldn’t have to walk like that. You’ll freeze.”
You hesitated. You could feel the cold biting into your skin already, the weight of wet fabric clinging to your legs. And you had no other options.
“Fine,” you muttered.
He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed in, trying not to think about the squelch of your skirt against the seat.
The heater blasted warm air, and he fiddled nervously with the radio. “Uh, sorry again. Really. For, you know, waterboarding you with Jeep runoff.”
You looked at him sideways. “You always this bad at driving?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Only before coffee.”
A small, unwilling laugh slipped out of you, and you hated yourself for it.
“So,” he said after a beat, glancing over as the Jeep rumbled down the road. “You like The Smiths?”
You blinked. “What?”
He nodded toward the radio, where a soft melancholy guitar riff was playing. “I’ve heard you humming it before in class. ‘There Is a Light That Never Goes Out,’ right?”
You stared at him, caught off guard. Was it a little creepy? Sure, maybe. But you’d seen and heard stranger things from Stiles. “You know that song?”
“Uh, yeah. I’m a tragic indie soul,” he said dryly. “Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”
You smirked despite yourself. “What reputation?”
“Ouch,” he said, mock-offended. “You wound me.”
“Call it payback,” you said, gesturing to your soaked knees.
“Okay, fair,” he said, smiling now. “But hey, I’m redeeming myself, right? Ride to school, premium heating, music taste that doesn’t suck.”
“You’re halfway to forgiveness.”
“Halfway,” he repeated, grinning wider. “I’ll take it.”
By the time you reached school, you’d almost forgotten the smoke, the fire, the missed bus. As it turned out, when Stile wasn’t distracting you with clicking pens or tapping pencils, he wasn’t too bad a person to talk to. But then Lydia saw you.
She was standing by her locker, all gloss and curls, eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. “Oh, wow,” she said, lips curving. “New look? Or did you wrestle a sewer pipe on your way here?”
You smiled tightly. “Funny.”
“Just saying,” she shrugged. “If you ever need my stylist’s number—”
“I’ll pass,” you said sweetly, and brushed past her. Seriously? How many teenage girls could say they had a personal stylist?
You fumed about your ruined designer boots - the boots that had taken you countless hours working at your aunt’s apocathery to pay off - for the entirety of home room and first period. Until you were pulled out of your thoughts by an announcement over the intercom calling you to the office.
Moderately confused, you wondered what it could possibly be about as you made your way over. The principal gestured for you to sit as soon as you walked in. His office smelled like coffee and disinfectant.
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. We received a complaint,” he said, folding his hands. “About your submission to the county art show.”
You blinked, you heart stuttering. You’d worked on your project for months and had been delighted when the head of the Beacon Hills High arts department asked you to submit it for the county gallery. “A complaint?”
“Yes. Some of the parents felt the imagery was…too dark for a student exhibition.”
You stared at him, heat crawling up your neck. “Too dark? It’s a charcoal collection. It’s literally shades of black and gray.”
He sighed. “It’s not the colors. It’s the…tone. The subject matter. Skulls, ravens, the, er, Latin text?”
“It’s a poem about grief,” you said flatly. “From the 1800s.”
“I’m sure it’s very meaningful,” he said, “but unfortunately, the board decided—”
You laughed once, sharp and humourless. They’d raised the matter with the school board? “This is ridiculous! It’s because my aunt reads tarot cards, isn’t it? Because people think my family are witches?”
His silence told you everything.
You pushed your chair back, voice trembling. “You know what? Fine. Let them have their little art show of sunflowers and smiling faces. I’m sure that’ll impress people.”
“Miss, do not walk out of this office,” he began, but you already had.
It was just the cherry on top of a crap pile of a day. You stormed into the hall, blinking fast to clear the tears that burned your eyes, and collided straight into someone’s chest. Strong hands caught your arms before you fell.
“Whoa, hey, are you trying to get me back for this morning or something?”
You looked up. Of course it was him. Again. “Stiles,” you said, exasperated.
He tilted his head, grin faltering as he saw your face. “Hey. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You sure? Because you look like you just lost a fight with a dumpster and a guidance counselor.”
Your voice cracked before you could stop it. “Just drop it, okay?”
He hesitated. Then quietly: “Okay. I’ll drop it. But…if you ever don’t want me to, I don’t know, pick it back up again, I’m here.”
You hated that it made your chest ache. You hated that he meant it. You turned away, blinking fast. “I just need air.”
You walked toward the lacrosse field with your jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The corridors behind you blurred into a hum of voices and slamming lockers, every sound dull and too bright at once. You needed space. Air.
Your boots squelched faintly with every step, the fabric of your skirt still damp, sticking to your thighs. You could feel the streaks of ash still woven into your hair from the morning’s fire. It felt like the entire day was mocking you with a collage of every tiny humiliation stitched together by fate itself.
The field stretched out ahead of you, bright under the early afternoon sun, empty except for a handful of seniors lingering about on their free period. The hum of laughter drifted on the breeze, a familiar voice among them.
Aaron. Your boyfriend. The two of you had been together since last year, and right now he felt like the only person who could make this shit storm of a day any better.
Your chest unclenched for the first time that day. You broke into a half-run, calling out before you even thought. “Aaron!”
He was at the far end of the bleachers, his back to you. The sound of your voice made him turn, startled, but he didn’t smile. He looked guilty. And that was when you saw her.
Erica Reyes stood beside him, blonde hair shining in the sunlight, her hand curled around his arm. She leaned in close, whispering something that made him laugh with that same soft, stupid laugh you loved so much.
You slowed, stomach twisting. You didn’t want to believe what you were seeing. It could’ve been nothing. Just a joke. Just two friends. The three of you had hung out before, after all. Back when Erica was still your best friend. Before Erica had a crazy glow up and a personality transplant and ditched you. But then her fingers slid up his chest, his hand came to her waist, and before your brain could catch up, her mouth was on his.
The world went quiet. For a moment, everything stopped: the rustle of leaves, the scrape of cleats on turf, the chatter of the other players. You could only hear your own breathing, which was far too sharp and too fast, and the faint bloodrush in your ears.
You took a step back, then another. Your chest ached so fiercely it felt like your ribs were cracking from the inside.
Erica broke the kiss first, her eyes flicking up and locking with yours. You saw the smirk falter just slightly, before she turned her face away, pretending not to see.
You turned, already sobbing, and walked off the field before either of them could say anything. You went straight to the nurse’s office and pretended to throw up until she agreed to let you leave school for the day.
The world blurred on the way home. You remembered the sound of your boots scraping pavement, the burn of wind against your cheeks, the way your phone buzzed in your pocket notifying you of texts you didn’t check, because what was the point?
When you finally pushed open the front door, the smell of burnt wood hit you again. The house looked worse now that the adrenaline was gone. The once-white ceiling above the living room was stained black, and a deep hole traced up the wall like a scar.
Your aunt was on her knees by the window, sketching runes into the sill with a piece of chalk, as though that might do anything. But you were used to her weird quirks by now. It had taken a while to get used to when she’d first moved in a few years back.
She looked up when you came in. “You’re home early.”
“Yeah,” you said hollowly. “Guess I didn’t feel like sticking around.”
Her eyes softened, though she didn’t ask. She always knew when to press and when to wait. “Bad day?”
You laughed, but it came out more like a breath. “That’s one word for it.”
“Want to talk about it?”
You dropped your bag on the couch and sank beside it, rubbing at your temples. “Where do I even start? The house almost burned down. I missed the bus. I got drenched by some idiot in a Jeep. I looked like hell all day. Lydia was her usual brand of delightful. Then the school decided to pull my art project from the show because apparently skulls are too scandalous for Beacon Hills, and—”
You stopped yourself before the last part came out.
Your aunt tilted her head. “And?”
You swallowed hard. “And Erica kissed Aaron.”
Her expression didn’t change at first. Just a quiet, measured stillness. Then she set the chalk down and walked over, kneeling in front of you.
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly.
You looked at her and felt your throat tighten. You’d been holding yourself together all day, duct-taping your insides with sarcasm and silence, but that simple sympathy broke you. The tears came hot and fast, spilling over before you could stop them.
You leaned forward, pressing your face into her shoulder. “I just, I don’t understand why everything went wrong today. Like the universe just decided to personally screw with me.”
Her hand moved gently through your hair, slow and steady. “Sometimes the universe tests us,” she murmured. “Sometimes it gives us a day so bad we think we’ll never get through it and then we do. And we know when the next one comes, we can survive it all over again.”
You sniffled, half-laughing. “That’s so annoyingly mystical.”
“Well,” she said with a faint smile, “I am a witch.”
You groaned. “You’re not a witch. You just have really expensive incense and a flair for dramatics.”
Her lips twitched. “If it helps you sleep to believe that, go ahead.”
You gave her a watery smile, even though your eyes still burned. “At least you sound like a witch.”
“Thank you,” she said, mock-proud. “I’ve always thought I had the hair for it.”
You laughed weakly, wiping your eyes.
The humor faded when she stood and looked toward the kitchen. “We can’t stay here tonight,” she said quietly. “The fire did more damage than I thought. Workers will be here in the morning to fix the damages.”
“Where are we supposed to go?”
“There’s a motel off the highway,” she said, already grabbing her keys. “It’s temporary. Just until the house gets fixed.”
You nodded numbly, too tired to argue despite the unease that rose in your stomach at the thought of leaving the house behind. You packed a small bag - pajamas, toothbrush, your favorite oversized hoodie - and followed her out the door.
The motel was exactly as depressing as you expected, with buzzing fluorescent lights, thin carpet, and a single faded painting of a mountain that looked suspiciously like a blob. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the dark window.
Your aunt handed you a steaming cup of tea, its scent warm and spicy. Probably cinnamon, honey, something faintly floral you couldn’t name.
“Drink,” she said softly. “It’ll help you rest.”
You took a sip. It was soothing, heavy, like it was pulling the weight from your limbs.
“I’m sorry about your day,” she said after a pause. “But maybe it’s not a curse. Maybe it’s a lesson.”
You let out a quiet snort. “A lesson in what? Humiliation? Cosmic bad luck?”
Her gaze flicked toward you, something unreadable in her eyes. “Maybe in how to change what you can, and accept what you can’t.”
You frowned. “You sound like one of those mindfulness podcasts you listen to.”
She chuckled. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.”
You nodded, finishing the tea, the warmth spreading through your chest like syrup.
You curled up under the stiff motel blanket, staring at the shadowed ceiling. Every part of you felt wrung out. Your body ached from running, your heart from everything else.
“I just want this day to be over,” you whispered into the dark.
Your aunt turned off the light. “Maybe tomorrow will surprise you,” she murmured.
But when sleep finally dragged you under, you dreamed of fire.
———————————————————————
You woke to smoke. The same sharp sting in your throat. You shot upright, heart thundering, lungs full of déjà vu.
“No,” you whispered, voice shaking when you saw the familiar surroundings of your bedroom rather than the old motel. Your posters. Your cluttered vanity. The cardigan draped over your chair exactly the way you left it yesterday morning. “No, no, no…”
You threw the blanket off, feet hitting the cold tile. The smell was identical, the faintest trace of cinnamon tea still on your lips, the distant noise of your aunt’s voice down the hall.
You stumbled out of bed and threw open your door. Smoke rolled in from the living room, thick and acrid. When you turned the corner into the living room, your aunt was already there, her arm raised, hose water flicking around her like a tornado.
Everything was exactly the same. Every. Single. Detail.
Your breath caught. “What…” you gasped. “What the hell is happening?”
For a moment, your brain refused to catch up. How were you even here? Didn’t you fall asleep at that gross old motel last night? How were you back here? Was this some vivid nightmare?
Your aunt didn’t look at you this time. She was already muttering under her breath, eyes closed. But when she did finally glance your way, there was something in her expression you didn’t recognise.
It had to be a nightmare. The fire was yesterday. You were in a motel. You’d seen the scorched ceiling with your own eyes, you’d packed your bag, you’d gone to bed…
Except when you pinched your arm you didn’t wake up. You couldn’t force yourself to rise, because you were indeed already awake.
The taste of panic turned metallic on your tongue. “No,” you whispered, heart hammering. “No, no, no.”
It was identical. Every spark, every plume of smoke, the same tendrils curling up toward the same burn mark on the ceiling.
You froze, dizzy. “This can’t be happening,” you breathed.
Your aunt glanced over, eyes shining faintly in the dim light. “Go back to your room,” she said, calm as ever. “It’s under control.”
You stared at her. “Under control? This…this happened yesterday!”
She didn’t answer. The water from the hose surged, the flames bending away like they were obeying her. When they finally vanished, the air crackled with leftover heat.
You could only stare at her. “You…you don’t remember anything about this? I swear, this happened yesterday!”
“Every morning feels the same to me,” she said vaguely, brushing soot from her hands. “Get ready for school. I’ll clean up.”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to shake her. But instead, you turned and stomped back to your room, pulse still thrumming in your ears.
Maybe yesterday had been the dream? Some kind of prophetic nightmare. It didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was today hadn’t happened yet.
You took twice as long getting ready, staring at your reflection like it might give you answers.
You picked a different outfit - a cropped white sweater with a plaid skirt and knee-high socks - something effortless, cool, not like you were trying too hard. You redid your eyeliner three times until both sides matched, swiped on lip gloss, and forced yourself to smile in the mirror.
You could do this. Whatever went wrong in your dream, you could fix it.
The fire? Too late. But everything after that, that was in your control. You’d make the bus, look composed, avoid Stiles’ stupid Jeep. You’d get to Aaron and warn him before Erica could get her claws in him.
You grabbed your bag and bolted for the door. This time, you took the shortcut behind the neighbor’s hedge which shaved off three minutes from your walk. You could hear the distant rumble of the bus down the hill and felt relief wash over you.
You broke into a jog and then the bus whooshed past at full speed.
“No!” you yelled, half-laughing in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
The driver didn’t even slow down for your stop.
You stood there, panting, bag sliding down your shoulder. “Okay. Fine. Walking again. Great. Love this.”
The sun was higher now, burning through thin clouds. You followed a different route, down Maple Street instead of Birch, avoiding the usual puddles. You even remembered the one by the intersection where Stiles’ Jeep splashed you.
You smiled to yourself, proud. See? It was just a stupid, slightly prophetic, nightmare. And then your foot hit something that wasn’t pavement, and the ground gave way.
You yelped as you sank knee-deep into freezing, muddy water. It sucked at your boots like quicksand, pulling you down until your skirt was soaked and grit clung to your hands.
“Oh my god,” you hissed, dragging yourself out. “Are you serious?”
Mud streaked your cardigan, your stockings, your bag. The sinkhole gurgled mockingly behind you.
When you heard the familiar clunking of Stiles’ Jeep you practically dove head first into a bush to avoid being seen and did not come out until the noise of tyres was gone.
By the time you made it to school, you were drenched, scraped, and freezing. And then, because the universe was clearly thriving on your misery, Lydia Martin turned the corner.
Her eyes swept over you once and her expression lit up with pity disguised as sweetness. “Oh, wow. Did you get caught in a flood or something?”
You glared. “Something like that.”
“Well, at least it’s on theme for you,” she said airily, brushing past. “Tragic chic.”
You muttered something impolite under your breath and stomped toward your locker.
You were still fumbling with the lock when a voice said, “You look like you fought a swamp and lost.”
You turned. Stiles Stilinski was leaning against the next locker, grinning.
“Wow,” you said flatly. “Thank you, poet laureate.”
He blinked. “Hey, no offense meant. I just…you’ve got, uh…” He gestured vaguely to your hair. “Twigs. Multiple twigs.”
You snapped. “Do you ever stop talking?” you shot back, slamming your locker shut. “Or do you just wake up every morning excited to irritate the entire town?”
His brows rose. “Whoa. Okay. I’m just saying you look—”
“Like hell? Yeah, thanks, I noticed.”
He blinked again, taken aback. “Rough morning?”
You laughed bitterly. “You have no idea.”
Something flickered in his expression - surprise, maybe sympathy - but you didn’t want it. You turned and walked off before he could say anything else.
You spent the entirely of home room and first period scanning the halls for Aaron. Every minute ticked by with unbearable slowness, and when you finally tried sneaking out of Econ to find him, you got caught.
“Detention,” Coach said curtly, scribbling your name on a clipboard. “After school. Don’t argue.”
You opened your mouth then shut it again. Great.
When you were called to the principals office halfway through second period. Surely it was another strange coincidence? But suddenly you weren’t too sure anymore. Instead of going to the principals office to find out, you slipped out of class and into the bathroom instead.
But as you were passing by the arts corridor to head back you just so happened to cross paths with the principal on his way out of the arts staff room.
“Oh, just the student I’ve been looking for.” He instantly saddled up to you. “Your art piece has been pulled from the student exhibition.”
Your heart sank as those words only solidified what was becoming jarringly obvious. Your whole dream was coming true. Or maybe it was never a dream in the first place.
You stared, clearing the shock from your throat. “Uh…Why?”
He cleared his throat. “There were…concerns. About the tone. The imagery was rather unsettling.”
“It’s a charcoal collection,” you said slowly. “Depicting motifs of loss and mourning.”
“With incredibly dark and gothic imagery,” he reminded you.
“It’s symbolic!” you argued. “About lingering grief, not witchcraft. Bloody hell!”
He winced. “Language.”
You threw your hands up. “You people see one skull and suddenly it’s The Craft.”
“Please lower your voice.”
But you were already storming out of the hallway. You had one last thing you needed to check before you finally admitted to yourself some strange anomalies was occurring right before your very eyes.
By the time you reached the field, your heart was pounding again.
You spotted Aaron sitting on the bleachers, just like before in your dream - or yesterday, whichever it was. Erica was beside him, her hair glinting gold in the sun.
You ran the last few steps, ready to yell, to stop it, to fix it. But then you froze, because this time, you saw it clearly.
She was flirting, sure - laughing, leaning in - but he moved first. His hand brushed her arm. His smile lingered. His gaze dropped to her lips. And when he kissed her, there was no hesitation, no trick. Just a choice. His choice.
The sound left your throat before you even realized it. It was a small, raw sound, half gasp, half sob. You turned and bolted before either of them saw you.
You made it around the side of the bleachers before colliding straight into someone.
“Whoa!” Stiles caught you by the shoulders. His eyes widened. “Hey, hey, you okay?”
Seriously? Why the hell was he suddenly everywhere?
You jerked out of his grip. “Fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, maybe that’s just my face,” you snapped.
His mouth opened, then shut. For a second, he looked almost wounded. Then he exhaled softly. “Okay. Just, if you need help or something, you can ask me.”
The kindness in his tone made your throat tighten. You wanted to say thank you but the words tangled up behind the ache in your chest. You turned and walked off, fast.
Detention that afternoon was torture. The clock’s second hand ticked loud enough to make your skin crawl. You kept your head down, sketching aimlessly in the margins of your notebook. And then a familiar scrape of chair legs made you look up.
Stiles dropped into the seat across from you, waving awkwardly. “Hey, swamp girl.”
You groaned. “Please don’t.”
He smirked faintly. “Sorry. Just…rough day?”
You hesitated, staring at him. His eyes were warm, too earnest.
“Yeah,” you said finally. “The worst one yet.”
He nodded, like he actually understood. “Those are my specialty. I can spot a cursed day from a mile away.”
You huffed a laugh. “Cursed is one word for it.”
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. For the first time all day, you felt a flicker of calm.
When detention ended, he followed you out. “You need a ride?”
You sighed. “You have a death wish? Everything I touch today falls apart.”
“I’ve had my fair share of insane days. Don’t worry, I can handle any bad juju you might run off on me.”
You smiled at that - a small, tired thing - and nodded in agreement.
The Jeep smelled faintly of old coffee and pine air freshener. Rain streaked the windshield, though the sky outside was clear.
You leaned against the seat, staring out the window. “I don’t even know how to explain the kind of day this was.”
“Try me,” he said.
You gave a humorless laugh. “It was like…déjà vu. Like I knew what was coming, but couldn’t stop it. Everything I tried to fix just got worse.”
He hummed thoughtfully and pointed up towards the heavens. “Sounds like someone up there’s got a grudge.”
“Yeah,” you murmured. “That makes two of us.”
When you got to the motel room, you were barely even bother explaining. You already knew the words your aunt would say, the way her expression would shift when you mentioned the fire.
And sure enough, when you whispered, “It happened again. The same awful day, the same fire…”
Maggie froze for a fraction of a second. Then her face smoothed into calm disbelief. “You’ve had a very stressful week,” she said gently. “Sometimes our minds play tricks when we’re overtired.”
You stared at her. “You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you’re scared,” she said softly. “That’s enough for now.”
She handed you the same cup of tea as before. It was warm, golden, faintly sweet. You drank it without a word, too exhausted to fight.
Later, as you curled beneath your blanket, the same thought echoed in your mind, a whisper you couldn’t drown out.
If tomorrow was today again - if this loop was real - then you might actually lose your mind.
———————————————————————
You woke to the filtering morning light again. For one heart-stopping second, you thought maybe you’d imagined it all - the fire, the déjà vu, the whole looping reality nightmare. Maybe you’d just had an unusually vivid dream.
But then you sat up and your eyes flicked to the digital clock on your bedside table. The same date read across the top. Fine. If you couldn’t stop the day, you’d find a way to beat it.
You scrambled out of bed, shoving your hair into a messy bun and skipping your whole outfit ritual this time. You didn’t need to impress anyone today. You needed to save your damn house.
You knew exactly where to go - the incense tray by the window. The one your aunt left smoldering every morning, the one that you found out had tipped over yesterday and caught the curtains.
You darted straight for it and grabbed the tray before it could fall. The ash was still smoking faintly.
“Ha!” you said, triumphant, holding it up like a trophy. “Not today.”
Your aunt appeared in the doorway, half-dressed in her robe, blinking. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Stopping the fire!” you said. “It started here! This stupid incense!”
Her expression flickered. “How did you—”
And then something popped in the kitchen. You froze. A tendril of smoke curled up from the toaster.
“Wait, no!”
Too late. The plug sparked, the cord caught, and within seconds the curtain above it went up in flames.
You stood there, jaw slack. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Your aunt ran past you and out the back door through the kitchen, pulling in the garden hose as the flames quickly spread
You just slumped against the counter, dizzy with disbelief. “This house hates me.”
That was the second failed loop. Then came the third. And the fourth.
By the fifth, you were a professional firefighter in pajamas. You unplugged every appliance, dumped out every candle, even shut off the breaker completely, and somehow, some way, something else always ignited.
Once, it was a fallen hairdryer. Another time, lightning struck a tree in the yard and the sparks blew through your open window. Another, faulty wiring in the ceiling. Once, the gas stove caused an explosion.
You screamed yourself hoarse. You cried. You laughed hysterically. Nothing changed.
Every loop unfolded in the same way. The smell of smoke, your aunt waving you off with her cryptic calm, and the knowledge that the universe was laughing its ass off at you.
That wasn’t the only event you couldn’t seem to change.
You tried leaving earlier for school, thinking maybe if you outran the timeline, you could catch the bus before everything went sideways.
But the bus was early one day. Late the next. Sometimes it just didn’t show up at all. You started taking new routes, determined to break the pattern.
The first detour led you down Oak Avenue, where a construction crew redirected you straight into a muddy trench. The second time, a truck sped by and drenched you from head to toe. The third, it started raining out of nowhere with fat, cold drops that soaked through your cardigan before you made it two blocks. The fourth, you thought you’d finally found a dry shortcut through the park, until the sprinklers went off like they’d been waiting for you.
You screamed at the sky. “I GET IT! I’M CURSED! THANK YOU!”
And somehow, always, always, he appeared.
Sometimes Stiles caught you right after the incident, like clockwork, his beat-up Jeep rolling up beside you with that half-sheepish, half-amused smile, offering you a ride.
Other times, he’d find you in the hall between classes, handing you a napkin or a paper towel or just cracking a joke that made you want to strangle him and laugh at the same time.
It was uncanny, like he was written into the day, an unshakable fixture no matter how you tried to dodge him.
And because you had no one else to talk to, you started…noticing things.
Like how he always had his sleeves rolled up unevenly, or how he hummed off-key to the songs on his iPod. How he had an entire playlist of chaotic indie bands you’d never heard of, and somehow every one of them was a banger.
He was still insufferable - loud, nosy, full of energy that made your head spin - but he was also funny. In a dorky, unintentional way.
You found yourself smiling once, genuinely, when he ranted about how Coach still didn’t know how to pronounce half the team’s names.
And then you remembered he was part of the loop, too - part of the script you were desperate to escape - and the guilt sank in like a stone.
Lydia’s insults stopped bothering you somewhere around loop seven.
By then, you’d heard every variation of her snide remarks, like ‘Oh, darling, puddle couture?’, and your brain just went numb.
You stopped reacting. You’d nod, smile faintly, and keep walking. It was oddly liberating.
Same with the art show.
You still got called into the office every time. Same lecture about ‘inappropriate themes’. Same condescending ‘we value your creativity, but…’ speech.
At first, you argued, then you begged, then you stopped caring. You’d stare at the principal, expression blank, and say, “Sure. Pull it. Why not.”
He’d blink, confused. “That’s…very mature of you.”
You’d smile sweetly. “Yeah. Totally mature.”
And then leave, biting back laughter that sounded a little too close to hysteria.
Aaron and Erica became background noise. Static you couldn’t mute. You found out about them in a dozen different ways.
Once, you saw them in the hallway, pressed too close together. Once, Lydia told you with fake sympathy, like she was delivering gossip instead of heartbreak. Once, his friends laughed about it within earshot. And once, you saw the photos - blurry, grainy, but unmistakable - plastered all over social media.
Each loop, it hurt a little less. The anger dulled, the betrayal faded, replaced by weary acceptance. You stopped trying to stop it. You stopped trying to change anything.
Every night, it ended the same way. You and your aunt in the motel room, the flickering neon light outside casting sickly colors across the wallpaper.
You ranting - voice hoarse, hair a mess - pacing like a caged animal.
“I stopped the fire! I unplugged everything! I left early, I took six different routes, and somehow, some way, I still end up soaking wet, still lose my stupid art spot, still find Aaron sucking face with Erica!”
Your aunt would just watch you quietly, stirring her tea.
“You think I’m losing my mind, don’t you?” you accused once, tears prickling your eyes.
Her lips curved faintly in that small, knowing smile that made you want to scream. “I think you’re learning.”
You huffed in frustration, barely listening. “Learning what?”
“Patience,” she said softly. “Perspective.”
You threw your hands up. “I’m learning I hate Tuesdays!”
But she just sipped her tea. “Drink yours before it gets cold.”
So you did. And every single time, you fell asleep with the taste of honeyed herbs on your tongue, vowing you’d fix it tomorrow.
———————————————————————
This was the morning you finally snapped.
No more panic, no more sprinting to save your doomed house, no more pretending to care about a day that clearly wanted to destroy you. The universe wanted to play games? Fine. You’d play right back.
When you woke at 6:45 a.m., you didn’t even move. You stared at the ceiling, feeling that same dull ache in your chest that came every time you realised you were still here. Still stuck in the same twenty-four-hour nightmare, doomed to repeat it again and again until the world decided you’d suffered enough.
You didn’t jump out of bed. You didn’t rush to find a cute, polished outfit. You didn’t even pretend to care about the faint scent of smoke you knew would soon thread through the air.
Instead, you sat up, raked a hand through your tangled hair, and muttered, “Fine. Burn, then.”
The house didn’t wait long to oblige.
From your spot on the bed, you could see the faint orange flicker under the door, hear the soft crackle that had once sent you into panic mode. You didn’t even blink. Just crossed one leg over the other and watched the light grow stronger, the way people might watch rain slide down a window. Somewhere in the house, your aunt shouted something and you almost smirked.
Your hands moved on autopilot, rifling through your wardrobe until you found something that felt right. Something that matched the black comedy of it all. You tugged out your long, flowy black skirt that brushed your ankles like storm clouds when you walked. A deep burgundy top with glass bead embroidery that shimmered faintly in the light. And your boldest lipstick - that deep, unapologetic blood-red.
You applied it carefully, slowly, watching the person in the mirror become someone new. Someone who didn’t chase buses or beg the world to notice her. Someone who let it all burn and looked beautiful while doing it.
You added rings - too many, silver and obsidian and one sharp enough to draw blood - and pulled on your old black boots. You left your hair loose, messy waves falling over your shoulders, and looked at yourself one last time.
You felt like yourself.
The air outside your room shimmered faintly with heat when you opened the door. The fire had spread. You could see the orange glow crawling up the wallpaper like veins of molten light. Your aunt’s voice carried from the kitchen, sharp and commanding.
You leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched as water erupted from the hose, dousing the flames. Steam hissed. Smoke rolled across the ceiling. You didn’t flinch.
“Kitchen fire again?” you called out.
Your aunt turned, wild-eyed and soot-streaked. “You’re not helping!”
“Wasn’t planning to,” you said casually, stepping over a smoldering rug on your way to the door.
She glared at you, broom clutched like a weapon. “You’re becoming far too calm about this.”
“Guess I’ve had practice.” You winked and stepped out into the cool morning air.
You didn’t even pretend to hurry. The bus was pointless. You could sprint, you could take shortcuts, you could leave early, but it always left without you. So you let your boots squelch through the damp ground, skirt swaying behind you, as the smoky taste of the morning drifted away.
You walked past the bus stop without looking at it. The group of kids waiting there stared like you were something out of a horror movie. You met their eyes and smiled faintly. Let them think what they wanted.
You were halfway down the road when the familiar squeal of tires sounded behind you. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was.
And when the powder blue Jeep pulled up beside you, you didn’t even turn your head before saying, “You’re late.”
“Uh, hi?” came Stiles’ voice, incredulous and amused. “You’re, uh, walking straight through puddles like you’re auditioning for a gothic perfume ad.”
You turned to him finally, meeting his raised eyebrows with a smirk. “What, you don’t like it?”
“Oh, I like it,” he said, leaning across the passenger seat to push the door open for you. “Just trying to figure out if I should be impressed or concerned.”
You shrugged. “Maybe both.”
He laughed, loudly, warmly, and far too genuine for this cold morning. “Get in. You look like you’re about to hex someone.”
“Tempting,” you muttered, but you slid into the seat anyway. The jeep smelled like old coffee, pine air freshener, and something you’d learned to recognise as donating Stiles - a woody cologne.
You rested your chin on your hand as he drove, your skirt pooling around you like a shadow.
“Let me guess,” you said, smirking. “You’re listening to your murder podcast again, aren’t you?”
His head whipped toward you. “How did you…?Wait, did I tell you that?”
You smiled cryptically. “Lucky guess.”
He shook his head, chuckling. “You’re weird.”
“Thank you,” you said sweetly.
The ride was easy. For once, you didn’t try to fill the silence or hide how much you liked the feeling of the wind threading through your hair. You even caught yourself laughing at one of his terrible jokes about the sheriff’s department.
The Jeep rattled a little, the heater blowing lukewarm air. You rested your elbow against the window, watching trees blur past. Stiles glanced at you.
“So,” he said after a beat, “what’s the soundtrack to your silent rebellion today?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
“Oh come on, you ditched the whole girl next door image, so clearly rebellion is on the agenda today. So what’s your poison? Is it, like, Florence and the Machine? Or more…My Chemical Romance?”
You snorted. “Wow, stereotyping much? You think because I suddenly wear black I cry-listen to emo anthems?”
“Do you?”
“…Maybe,” you admitted, smirking. “But I also like Arctic Monkeys, Fleetwood Mac, and Lana. Depends on the loop.”
“Loop?”
You froze for a split second, then recovered with a shrug. “You know. Routine.”
He looked amused. “You’re hard to figure out.”
“Good.”
By the time you reached school, you were almost disappointed the drive was over.
You could feel Lydia’s eyes before she even spoke. She looked you up and down like she always did, nose wrinkling slightly.
“Oh my god,” she said, voice dripping honey and venom. “Are you, like, auditioning for a vampire movie?”
You turned, smiling sweetly and eyeing her extremely low cut top and tight skirt. “You auditioning for the latest step-sister porno?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” you said brightly and brushed past her.
The collective gasp from her little group of followers was satisfying. You didn’t even look back. It felt good. Extremely good. And Aaron was next.
You didn’t hide from him this time. You’d spent too many loops crying in bathroom stalls, too many hours trying to protect him from Erica’s lips, from his own stupidity. You were done.
You’d planned this part carefully. The printer in the library lab whirred for almost an hour through lunch. Now, your bag was stuffed with your own particular flavour of justice - hundreds of grainy flyers with Aaron’s name splashed across them like a curse. Each one had some embarrassing photo, or a screenshot of a problematic text exchange. You’d even included one of those cringe-worthy selfies he’d taken with a duck face. And in bold red, across every sheet: CHEATER.
You started in the main hallway. One on the trophy case. One on the cafeteria door. One right next to the football team’s sign-up sheet. The more you pasted, the lighter you felt.
By the time the bell rang, whispers were already circling like vultures.
“Did you see what she…”
“Oh my god, is that?”
“No way, she actually…”
Then came the voice you’d been waiting for. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?”
You turned. Aaron was storming toward you, flyers crumpled in his fist. His face was an angry shade of pink. “Have you completely lost your mind?”
You tilted your head, innocent. “No, I think I finally found it.”
“Do you have any idea how—”
You quickly interrupted. “How satisfying this is? Yeah.”
He blinked, stunned. “You’re making a fool of yourself!”
“Funny,” you said. “I thought you already did that when you cheated on me.”
The hallway erupted in laughter. Someone actually whistled. Aaron’s jaw clenched as he looked around at the growing crowd, then back at you.
“This isn’t over,” he muttered.
“Oh, it’s so over,” you said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’re done, Aaron. Consider this my official breakup notice.”
And with that, you turned and walked away, your heart pounding, lips curved into a smirk.
You made it through half of Harris’s lecture about your behaviour before you had enough. The class tittered. Harris scowled. “You think this is funny? Detention. Today. After school.”
“Perfect,” you said, grabbing your bag.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Anywhere else.” You didn’t look back as you walked out the door, the sound of his angry shouting fading behind you.
You didn’t care anymore. Not about the fire. Not about the bus. Not about Aaron or Lydia or even the gossip that now followed you like a shadow.
Because for the first time in a hundred repeats, you weren’t surviving the day. You were living it.
———————————————————————
The clock ticked like it wanted to spite you. Every second dragged, a drip of slow poison. The desks were covered in doodles and initials carved by generations of bored kids who’d sat where you were sitting now in the back of the classroom, twirling a pen between your fingers, your mind flickering through loops of déjà vu. You could practically see every version of yourself who had sat here before - panicking, frustrated, crying. Now, though? You just felt done.
Mr. Harris was up at his desk, shuffling papers, his sharp, nasal voice slicing through the silence. “You will remain in absolute quiet for the remainder of the hour. I have better things to do than babysit teenagers who can’t control their impulses.”
There were only two of you in the room, you and Stiles. He sat diagonally in front of you, tapping his pencil in a rhythm that matched the twitch in your jaw. His leg bounced, his fingers drummed, and every few seconds he glanced at you with that lopsided smirk like he could sense the storm brewing inside your chest.
Finally, you whispered, “I’m bored.”
Stiles turned around in his seat, whispering back, “You? Bored? No way.”
You raised an eyebrow. “I’m serious. This sucks.”
“You’re in detention. It’s supposed to suck.”
You leaned forward, voice low. “Not if you make it interesting.”
He tilted his head, curious. “What do you have in mind?”
You smirked, eyes flicking toward the desk where Harris sat marking papers. “Something harmless. Maybe.”
His grin spread slow and dangerous. “You’re scaring me a little, but go on.”
“Remember that chemical reaction kit in the back cupboard?” you said softly. “The one he uses to demo basic exothermic reactions?”
Stiles blinked. “You’re suggesting we…?”
“Cause a tiny explosion?” you whispered. “Yeah. Just a little one. Enough to freak him out.”
He looked torn between terror and awe. “You are so going to get us expelled.”
For a second, he hesitated. Then he stood abruptly, stretching exaggeratedly. “Hey, Mr. Harris? You mind if I, uh, grab a tissue from the cupboard?”
Harris didn’t look up. “Sit down, Stilinski.”
“Cool, yeah, sure,” Stiles said, and immediately walked to the cupboard anyway.
You bit back a laugh as you joined him, opening the door with a squeak. Inside were rows of jars, labelled powders, a small burner, and one half-empty bottle of ethanol. Perfect. You exchanged a conspiratorial glance.
“This is insane,” Stiles muttered.
“Exactly,” you said.
It took less than a minute. You knew just enough chemistry to make a small puff of harmless smoke rise from the beaker. You slid it back into place, barely containing your laughter.
Thirty seconds later, it hissed and popped with a small bang.
Harris shot up like he’d been electrocuted. “WHO DID THAT?”
You and Stiles both pointed at each other immediately. “Not me!” you shouted in unison, bursting into laughter.
“You think this is funny?” Harris snapped, face turning red.
“Yes,” you said honestly, tears of laughter spilling down your cheeks. “God, yes.”
Stiles was laughing too hard to even breathe. “You have to admit, it was a pretty solid reaction!”
“That’s it,” Harris barked. “You’re both—”
But you were already out of your chair. “We’re leaving.”
“You can’t just walk out of detention!”
“Watch us,” you said, grabbing your bag.
And before he could finish his sentence, you and Stiles were sprinting out the door, laughter echoing down the hallway, sneakers slapping against the floors.
You didn’t stop running until you were outside. The late afternoon light painted everything gold and warm. You were breathless, dizzy, alive.
Stiles leaned against his Jeep, laughing. “You’re completely unhinged!”
“Maybe,” you said between breaths. “But tell me that wasn’t worth it.”
He grinned. “Okay, yeah, it was legendary.”
You stared at him for a long moment. At his messy hair, his stupidly bright smile, the way he looked at you with that soft expression. “Let’s not go home,” you said suddenly.
He blinked. “What?”
“Let’s not. I don’t want to go back to that house. Or that motel. I want to…I don’t know, do something crazy! Just for one night.”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Okay.”
You blinked. “Okay?”
“Yeah. Why not? You’ve already got me breaking school property. Might as well commit to the bit.”
You grinned. “Good answer.”
———————————————————————
The neon sign of Beacon Hills Liquor buzzed overhead. It looked like every bad decision made between the ages of 16 and 23 had passed through its door.
You pulled your fake IDs from your bag - one that Aaron had insisted Danny make for you to help practice using his machine. Stiles instantly gawked at it like it was a cursed artifact. “This looks fake.”
“It is fake.”
“No, no,” he gestured, flapping a hand. “I mean it looks fake in a spectacularly terrible way.”
“Relax.” You giggled, unable to even pretend you were nervous when you knew no matter how badly this went, you’d experience no consequences tomorrow when the loop reset.
“Relax?!” His voice cracks. “Relax?? Do you know what my dad would do if I got arrested for underage drinking? I’d never see the outside world again. I’d have to telepathically communicate with Scott from my room like some kind of suburban hostage.”
“Stiles.”
“What?”
“You’re not even coming with me.”
He tried to protest, but you were already walking into the store. He followed, mumbling his own eulogy as he stopped and waited outside with a very forced-casual pose.
The cashier - a bored man with ear gauges and a shirt that said ‘I Hate Everyone’ - barely glanced up.
You slid a bottle of cheap whiskey onto the counter. “Hi.”
The cashier lifted an eyebrow at you. “ID?”
You handed it over and he stared at it for a painfully long time. You could practically see Stiles’ eye twitching as he watched through the window.
The cashier hummed in acceptance. “Good enough. Anything else?”
You smiled calmly and handed over some cash. “That’s all.”
When he handed you your changed to grabbed the coins and the bottle and left. Out in the parking lot, Stiles fell into step beside you and stared with profound disbelief in his honey brown eyes. “I cannot believe that worked.”
You smiled nonchalantly. “Confidence.”
“No. Witchcraft. I’m convinced your aunt taught you witchcraft.”
“Maybe she did.”
He blinked. “…Really?”
You grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” His face did something complicated that made you laugh. “Now, you know anywhere that we can crack this open?” You lifted the bottle and the moonlight glinted off the glass.
“Yeah, I know a place,” he twirled his keys around his finger and walked around to open the passenger door for you. He held it open while you climbed in and the small gesture made your stomach flip.
———————————————————————
You and Stiles hiked way into the preserve until the trees swallowed the noise of town. The sky was turning indigo, the world growing quieter, like it was waiting to hide your secrets.
Stiles collapsed onto a fallen log when you finally arrived to a spot with a few rocks surrounding a pit out fire bin. You imagined that meant Stiles had been here before, and the sudden image of him bringing another girl here made something flare in your stomach. “Okay. Operation ‘Not-Sucky Night’ is a go. Step one, alcohol poisoning.”
You snorted, taking a swig from the bottle. It burned like fire. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”
“Right?” He held his hand out for the bottle and took a sip, recoiling dramatically. “Why does it taste like a war crime?”
You were still laughing when he nudged your knee gently with his and passed the bottle back to you. “All right, your turn. A shot a truth.”
You reached for the bottle. “Alcohol first.”
“Coward.”
You took another burning mouthful. Then you inhaled, feeling the liquid courage settling warm in your chest. “I feel like I’ve been stuck,” you say quietly, trying to word your situation in a way that sounded grounded in reality. “Like a…glitch. Like my life is just this repeating pattern of bad decisions and worse luck.”
Stiles was silent for a moment. Then he said, softer than you’ve ever heard him speak, “Yeah. I know that one.”
You glanced at him with surprise and doubt written on your face, but he was staring at the bottle, not you, so you passed it over.
“I spent years watching my dad fall apart,” he murmured. “After my mom…I had to be the adult most of the time. And now I just…I don’t know. I feel like I’m always one wrong turn away from ruining everything.”
His voice cracked and you handed him the bottle. You watched him as he took a long drink, wondering how you’d never considered that Stiles had lost a parent too. Sure, it was a bit different than losing both, as you had, but if anyone was able to understand you maybe it would be him.
You shifted closer, your knees brushing his.“Stiles,” you said gently, “You didn’t ruin anything.”
He laughed once, bitterly. “You don’t know that.”
“I do, because when I lost my parents I felt the same. Sometimes I still do,” You answered and his eyes meet yours - raw, unguarded.
Something warm twisted inside your chest, as you whispered, “Tell me something else.”
He exhaled shakily. “…I didn’t think you liked me.”
“I didn’t,” you admitted. “At first.”
His mouth quirked into a slight smile. “Wow. Thanks.”
“No, I mean…” You shook your head, trying again. “I had you wrong. You’re kind of great.”
He went silent, those amber eyes that you suddenly found entrancing gazing into yours like they could see straight through to your innermost pain.
“I think you’re great too.” He finally said and your heart stuttered.
You wondered, was one day of knowing someone too soon for him to start having that effect on you?
It was half past eight when you and Stiles wandered out of the preserve, whiskey warming your blood and the soft buzz of intimacy already threading between you. Instead of driving back home in the Jeep, you decided to walk around downtown, exchanging stories of your childhoods as you tried to keep your path straight across the pavement.
“There’s no way that’a true!” You laughed uninhibitedly as he recalled a story of him and Scott being chased by an angry old woman at the skate park.
“I kid you not, she chased us all the way to my house and we hid under my dad’s car in the driveway because we couldn’t get the front door to open.” Stiles recounted loudly.
When you spotted the tattoo shop, glowing with neon blue light and the OPEN sign flickering, you paused in your tracks.
Stiles stopped dead on the sidewalk beside you. “No. No no no. This is where I draw the line. I cannot explain this to my dad. He’ll think I joined a biker gang. Or a cult. Or a cult biker gang.”
You looped your arm through his. “Relax. I’m the one getting a tattoo.”
His jaw dropped open like a cartoon character and you laughed, starting to find the way he emoted so dramatically endearing. “What?! You…Wait, you’re serious?!”
You were already pulling open the door and the bell jingled over your heads as you walked in. Stiles followed, muttering nervously under his breath. Inside, the tattoo artist looked up from her desk.
“You kids got IDs?” The woman asked, the overhead light shining off her tattooed scalp.
You slid your fake ID onto the counter with a confidence that would make your aunt proud. “Sure do.”
Stiles watched you like you were a live grenade. The artist looked you over, squinted at the ID, and nodded. “What’re we doing tonight?”
You turned to flip through the folders of art available on the counter, grinning. “Something fine line. I’ve always wanted a celestial theme, maybe on my wrist.”
“How about a crescent moon?” the artist suggested and flipped to a page, showing a beautiful moon smattered with glittering stars around it.
You considered it for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. That.”
The woman - whose are you learned was Dawn - led you over to her station. You dropped down into a comfortable leather chair.
Stiles stood behind you the whole time, pacing so much the artist eventually snapped at him.“Dude. Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”
Stiles collapsed onto the stool beside you. “I’m sorry, I just…I get a bit squeamish.”
You rolled your eyes. “You can hold my hand if you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” He insisted, his face going pink. “I just get a bit grossed out and lightheaded and sometimes I faint.”
You offered him your hand that wasn’t getting tattooed, and he took it silently. He didn’t let go, not even after the needle started. You hissed at the first sting, and Stiles squeezed your hand tighter.
“Hey,” he murmured softly. “You’re okay. You got this.”
And something shifted there in that chair, with you breathing through the sting and Stiles’s hand in yours. You didn’t look at him, but you felt him - warm, nervous, somehow protective. When the artist finished, Stiles lets out a breath like he was the one under the needle.
“You’re insane,” he whispered.
“Maybe.” You admitted.
“But it looks good on you.” He complimented.
You finally tuned to face him and he was looking at the tattoo, then at you. For some reason, that same soft look behind his eyes made your heart beat just a little bit faster.
“I know where we should go next,” you said, a devious smirk already spreading across your lips.
“Oh no, I think that’s enough for tonight,” he chuckled and shook his head but your smile only widened. You knew there was no way you were going to end the night there.
———————————————————————
The club was loud, humid, and pulsing with bass. You slipped in past the bouncer while Stiles distracted him with a frantic, very unconvincing rant about parking violations.
Once the guard turned his back and you were both inside, Stiles’ hair windblown, his expression was one of astonishment. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“I can’t believe you managed to lie for thirty seconds,” you shot back.
“I can lie!” he retorted, insulted. “Okay, I can’t lie well. But I can lie.”
You grabbed his hand before he could ramble more and pulled him toward the dance floor. “Come on.”
“Wait, I don’t dance!” He tugged his arm back but you tightened your hold on him insistently.
You shouted over the music, “Yes you do!”
“No I don’t!” he shouted back.
But you were already pulling him into the lights. The beat thumped through the crowd and the two of you moved in an awkward, hilarious, strangely perfect rhythm. Stiles loosened up fast - maybe due to the music, maybe the whiskey, maybe the fact that you were laughing and leaning too close. The whole world felt far away.
At one point, he leaned in, breath warm against your ear. “You know…you’re kind of incredible.”
You blinked up at him, your heart skipping. “Where did that come from?”
“Dunno,” he said, grinning crookedly. “Alcohol. Adrenaline. Spending way too much time looking at your pretty face.”
You shoved his shoulder, laughing. He stumbled dramatically, arms windmilling and you grabbed his jacket, pulling him back toward you so he wouldn’t fall.
You were close. Too close. So close that his breath fanned across your lips. For half a second, you thought about crossing the distance. But then a shout echoed across the crowd.
“HEY! YOU TWO!”
You turned to see the security guard that you’d distracted to sneak in.
“Run!” you shouted,
You both sprinted out of the club, laughing uncontrollably as the bouncer chased you for half a block.
“That was close!” You squealed as you tossed yourself into the Jeep and pulled the door shut behind you.
“Too close!” Stiles jumped behind the wheel, breathing heavily as he shoved his keys into the ignition.
You were barely three minutes on the road when red-and-blue lights flashed behind you.
Stiles slammed his head against the steering wheel. “Of course! Of course this would happen.”
Stiles slowed the car and pulled over to the side as Sheriff Stilinski approached, his flashlight raised. He stopped at the car window and leaned in, pausing his flashlight on you when he saw you in the passenger seat. Then he sighed with fatherly disappointment so intense you almost shrivelled.
“Stiles.”
“Dad.”
“Why do you look sweaty?”
Stiles began sweating more. “Uh. Because…the weather?”
“It’s fifty-eight degrees.”
“Uh. Humidity?”
The Sheriff looked at you. “Are you okay?”
You nodded. “Perfect, Sheriff. Totally fine.”
He narrowed his eyes at Stiles again. “You weren’t drinking, were you?”
You subtly nudged the whiskey bottle deeper under the seat with your foot.
Sheriff Stilinski sighs. “Just…get home, okay? Both of you. It’s late.”
“Yes,” Stiles said quickly. “Immediately. Straight home.”
The Sheriff walked back to his cruiser and Stiles waited until the door shut. Then he whispered, “I’m. Going. To. Die.”
You burst into laughter and after a moment, he joined you too. “Let’s get out of here Stilinski. I’d say this was a pretty successful non-sucky night.”
“Yeah, it was pretty great.” He grinned and pulled back out onto the road.
Stiles followed your directions until he pulled into the driveway of your family home. The house was dark and you knew the inside was charred from the fire earlier. The sight gutted you all over again.
Stiles noticed. He seemed to do that quite often - see things others didn’t. “Hey,” he said softly. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.”
“No…I need to grab a few things.”
Inside, the air smelled like smoke. The living room was blackened, the wallpaper curled, the floor warped. It was the worst you’d seen it. It hits you harder than you expect. Your throat tightened.
Stiles stayed close but didn’t touch anything.“Take your time.” He said gently.
But you couldn’t. It was too much. The memories of the fire. The exhaustion of reliving this hellish day again and again. The sight of the place that held so many memories destroyed. Picture albums with your parents smiling faces inside lost to the flames.
You crumbled right there, next to the scorched sofa. And Stiles caught you. He wrapped his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you against his chest. “Hey, hey…I got you. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
You sobbed into his shoulder. All the stress, all the grief, all the fear of the loop never ending, everything you’d been holding inside finally boiled over.
“Why does everything keep going wrong?” you whispered into his jacket. “Why do I keep losing everything?”
His voice cracks. “I know that feeling.”
You pulled back slightly. “What…what do you mean?”
Stiles swallowed hard. “My mom,” he answered quietly. “Before she died…I kept trying to fix things. Be better. Be stronger. Be enough. But you can’t outrun life. You can’t stop everything bad from happening.” He shook his head, eyes shining. “But you’re not alone. At least, not tonight.”
You stared at him and the realisation hit, slow and warm. You’d never felt this understood before.
———————————————————————
On the way to the hotel, the Jeep was filled with soft music and even softer breaths. The night felt like it was folding around the two of you, cocooning you in something fragile and temporary and impossibly precious.
Stiles drummed lightly on the steering wheel. “Can I ask something?”
“Yeah.” You nodded. You’d learned to be transparent with him, and had spoken about all of the things you’d never told anyone before. You’d fallen into an oddly comfortable dynamic that you never would have expected to develop. Especially not with Stiles, of all people.
“Were you happy? With Aaron?” He asked.
You exhaled. “No. Not really. I think…I just liked the idea of not being alone.”
He nods slowly. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
“What about you?” you returned to question. “Anyone special?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “No. Just a crush. Entirely one-sided.”
You smiled gently, noticing a strange feeling once more in your stomach at the thought of Stiles spending a night like this with any other girl. It felt special now, what the two of you had shared. Almost sacred. “Who?”
He glanced at you for half a second too long. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
You looked out the window, your heart thudding. “Try me.”
He didn’t answer, just smiled to himself, soft and nervous.
When he pulled up to the hotel, you felt that ache. The bittersweet one that comes before something fantastic ends.
You unbuckled your belt, turned toward him, and blurted the truth, anxiety rising in your belly. “You won’t remember this tomorrow.”
He rolled his eyes at you, misunderstanding. “I’m not that wasted.”
You shook your head. “Just…trust me. You won’t.” The confusion on his face twisted your heart. “So,” you added quietly, “maybe I should just do something I’ve been wanting to do all night.”
“What’s that?”
You leaned across the console, your hands cupped his jaw, and you kissed him. It started soft. Just lips brushing lips. Testing. Asking. Then he exhaled with a tiny, broken sound, and kissed you back.
His hands slid to your waist, yours tangled in his hair. It wasn’t rushed. Wasn’t messy. Just…perfect. Desperate in a sweet way.
You broke apart only when your aunt shrill voice echoed through the parking lot. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING?!”
You jumped apart, turning to see aunt Maggie standing outside the Jeep, her arms crossed, furious and terrified and relieved all at once.
“Oh my god,” Stiles whimpered in panic. “She’s gonna hex me.”
“Shit,” You muttered and stepped out of the Jeep, your cheeks flushed.
Maggie launched into a tirade about worry and responsibility and disappearing for hours with no notice. Stiles watched you with soft eyes through the window.
Before you followed Maggie inside, you turned back to the open window and said. “Thank you. For everything. For tonight.”
He smiled shyly. “Yeah. Thank you too. For…everything.”
You stepped away and as you walked into the hotel room, exhausted and strangely happy, a heavy sadness hit you. Tomorrow would reset and he wouldn’t remember. But you would.
———————————————————————
You woke up expecting smoke. Your lungs braced for it before your eyes even opened. You were certain you’d be back in your bed, in your house, inhaling that thick, choking smell that always signalled the loop had reset. But when the air hit your throat, it was…clean.
Too clean. Hotel-clean.
Your eyes snapped open. The cheap patterned ceiling stared back at you, and your stomach dropped so violently you swore the mattress tilted.
You were still at the hotel.
Not in your bed.
Not in yesterday.
Not in the loop.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathed, sitting up so fast your head spun. Your arm flailed out, accidentally tipping the mug on your bedside table. The mug fell to the floor with a clatter and shattered, though thankfully no liquid sprayed anywhere because it was empty.
The tea.
The idea hit you like a punch to the throat. Every night you’d come to the motel, every night before the loop had reset, you’d drank the tea your aunt had made you. Except for last night.
The tea. It must have been. Perhaps aunt Maggie was a witch after all.
You clutched the blankets, your heart hammering against your ribs. The memories of yesterday flooded back like a tidal wave - Stiles, the club, the alcohol, the dancing, the tattoo, the makeout in the parking lot, your aunt’s face when she found you…And the flyers. The detention. The yelling. The absolute zero-fucks chaos that you left behind like scorched earth.
A part of you wanted to crawl under the covers and die. Another part - smaller, but louder - grinned. Because of Stiles. Because the night you’d shared with him has been amazing. And the kiss…even more so.
You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering. “Okay. Okay, I can do this,” you whispered to yourself.
You pulled on the spare clothes you’d picked up last night with shaky hands. Then you walked to school, heading out before Maggie could wake but sending her a message so she’d know where you went.
Your stomach flipped with dread as you got closer and closer. The minute you walk through the doors, someone called out your name. You looked to your right to see none one than a very pissed-off-looking Harris himself.
“Office. Now.” He demanded coldly.
You closed your eyes and sighed. “Of course.”
Inside the office sat the principal, the deputy, and a stack of your flyers like a damning deck of cards. The top one showed Aaron mid-sneeze. Another had him wearing that hideous beanie he once insisted was ‘ironic’.
You winced.
The principal folded his hands. “I’m going to be honest. This is one of the most…enthusiastic displays of poor judgment I’ve seen in a long time.”
You rubbed the back of your neck. “Thank you?”
“That was not a compliment.”
“Oh. Right.”
He sighed, exhausted. “Given your spotless record, we’re assigning you a week of detention. And we strongly recommend a session with the guidance counselor.”
You nodded quickly, spine straightening as you realised your punishment would not be nearly as severe as you were expecting. “Yeah. I, uh, I’ll book that. Totally.”
They studied you with narrowed eyes like they were waiting for you to crack or lash out, but you didn’t. “Alright. You can go.”
You stood, grabbed your bag, and escaped before they could change their minds. You practically crept down the hall, terrified Lydia might be lurking, sharpening her claws and rehearsing insults to get you back for the day before.
When you finally saw her at her locker, your breath caught in your chest. She looked right at you. Paused. Tilted her head.
Then your jaw practically falls off when she says, “I like your skirt.”
You blinked. “What?”
Lydia shrugged lightly, closing her locker with a soft click. “It’s very…you. It’s for character, it’s intentional. You should wear it more often.”
You stared at her, stunned. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”
“And,” she added casually, “I’m having a party this weekend. You should come.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” She waved a hand at you as though you’re being dense.
You nod slowly. “Right. Okay, sure.”
Lydia smiled and walked away without a backward glance. You stood there, dazed, until you saw Aaron. He was at his locker, head down, alone. For the first time since you’d known him, he looked…small. He didn’t even glance at you when you finally walked past.
A weird, soft ache ran through you. Not for him, but for the version of yourself that let him waste her time.
You kept walking. You were almost to class when Erica stepped into your path, though not with the confident swagger you’d come to expect of her over the past weeks. Not with that smirk she’d been weaponising for months.
She stopped in front of you, her arms crossed tightly, eyes uncertain. “Hey,” she said quietly.
You stiffen. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry.” She blurted it out all at once, as though the words pained her to say. You stared, caught off-guard as Erica took a breath. “What I did with Aaron was shitty. Like, cheap, insecure mean-girl-shitty. And I know it.”
You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “I don’t care about him,” you finally answered. “I care that you just…changed. Overnight. And left me behind.”
Erica winced. “Yeah. I did.”
“Why?” You wondered aloud for the first time since it had happened.
She hesitated. “Because I was jealous of you.”
You froze. “Of me?”
She nodded slowly. “You were always so sure of yourself. I wasn’t. And then life changed and I changed too. Maybe too much.”
Your throat tightened because she was right. She had changed too much. Too much for you to still align yourself with her as her friend. “Are you happy now?” you asked softly. “With who you are.”
She thought about it for a moment. “Yeah. I think I am.”
“Then…I think we’re not really friends anymore.” You admitted.
Erica’s shoulders dropped, but she nodded back in understanding. “Yeah. I think so too.”
You both stepped aside and went on your way. It was a peaceful disbanding. A part of you stung at the loss of what your friendship once was, but you knew it was for the best. Besides, there was one other person you were anxious to talk to. Except, you hadn’t yet seen him.
Over the course of the day, you checked every hallway, every classroom, out every window. There was no sign of Stiles. Not even a glimpse of plaid or frantic hand gestures.
Your chest twisted painfully as a torrent of worried ran through your mind.
What if he regretted last night? What if he thought it was a mistake? What if he was avoiding you? What if the best part about that damn time loop didn’t want anything to do with you?
When the lunch bell rang and you still hand’s seen him, you pressed a hand to your stomach, trying not to be sick from the anxious storm raging in there.
“HEY! HEY, WAIT!” When you finally heard his voice echoing in the hallway relief filled you.
You turned just in time for Stiles to skid to a stop in front of you, gasping for breath. “Far out, don’t…move…so fast! I swear…I ran like…half the school, trying to find you!”
You stared at him, stunned.
“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he blurted. “I swear. I had this…thing. An important thing, that I had to do today. But the whole time I was just thinking about last night and how insane it was and how and how fun—”
“Stiles—” You tried to interrupt but he kept talking in a nervous race.
“—and how I really wanted to see you again and make sure you didn’t wake up and think it was a mistake because it wasn’t, not for me, and I just—”
You finally had enough of waiting, so you grabbed his face and kissed him. Right there. In the hallway.
His hands hovered for a second, shocked. Then he melted into it, fingers sliding to your waist, pulling you closer. You pulled back just enough to breathe, your forehead resting against his.
“You’re giving me a ride after school,” you said softly, breathless.
You’re Beacon Hills High’s golden girl. Popular, polished, besties with Lydia, and secretly obsessed with the one boy no one else sees the appeal of - Stiles Stilinski. When a biology partnership forces you together, your carefully hidden crush spirals. One night, one assignment, and one very overwhelmed Stiles later, you finally get exactly what you’ve been fantasising about.
Warnings: sexual references, smut, kind of fade to black
———————————————————————
You were halfway through telling Lydia about the absolute dumpster fire that was yesterday’s physics quiz when the sharp crash of textbooks slamming onto linoleum echoed down the hallway. Lydia didn’t even flinch, but you did. Your head snapped toward the lockers, and there he was.
Stiles Stilinski. In all his lanky, chaotic, flannel-wearing, graphic-tee-underneath, frazzled glory.
He was kneeling on the floor, scrambling after a rainstorm of books and loose papers that had spilled from his locker like it personally hated him. His backpack was half unzipped, one shoelace untied, and even his buzzed hair somehow looked messy. In other words, he looked perfect.
You felt that familiar, shameful little kick of attraction deep in your stomach. The one you never admitted out loud, not even to Lydia. Especially not to Lydia.
Lydia arched an eyebrow when she caught the direction you were staring. “God,” she muttered under her breath, “how is he still alive with motor skills like that?”
You tried to play it cool, texting something on your phone that you would absolutely not remember typing later. “He’s…uh. He’s fine.”
“Fine as in ‘not dying,’ sure,” she said. “Fine as in ‘hot’? Absolutely not.”
Your face heated. You prayed Lydia didn’t notice. Across the hall, Stiles shoved the pile of disaster into his locker, missed completely, and dropped everything all over again. He let out a frustrated noise, cheeks pink, mumbling to himself.
You quickly looked away. You weren’t supposed to think he was cute. Not when everyone else saw him as the weird, awkward loser who talked too fast and tripped over air. But you did. God, you did. And you hated how much you wanted him.
You cleared your throat, forcing your voice steady. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late.”
Lydia linked her arm with yours. “Lord help the soul that ever hooks up with Stilinski,” she said casually, “He’d probably shove it in the wrong place.”
You laughed like that idea was hilarious. Like hooking up with Stiles wasn’t something you fantasised about at night.
———————————————————————
You were barely listening when your teacher announced partners for the semester project. A couple names, some groans, flipping pages. You were scrolling through your phone under the desk while you waited for your name to be called.
“Stilinski…and Y/L/N.”
Your head shot up. Stiles froze in his seat two rows over, eyes wide like someone had pointed a gun at him. He looked at you, startled, almost apologetic, and completely unaware of the way your pulse jumped.
You sat up straighter, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like you didn’t care at all. Like your heart wasn’t slamming against your ribs. Lydia glanced at you from the next table. She was suspicious, and too perceptive for her own good.
You forced a shrug. “Ugh. Of course I get stuck with him.”
But inside? You were screaming. Absolutely thrilled.
Stiles awkwardly approached your table, nearly bumping into the chair behind him. “H-hey,” he said, voice cracking halfway through. “So…um. We’re partners.”
“Looks like it.” You crossed your legs slowly, pretending to be bored while you fought down a grin. “We’ll figure something out.”
His eyes flicked down to your legs, then up so fast you almost laughed. “Right. Yeah. Totally. I’m, uh, I’m good at biology. Well, not good. Medium. Like, average. But! I try hard.”
Lord help you, he was adorable. Too adorable. You smirked in amusement. “I’m sure we’ll make a great team.”
He visibly swallowed, and boy did you love the effect you had on him.
———————————————————————
At lunch, you spotted Stiles before he saw you. He was at his locker, muttering to himself as he rummaged through an avalanche of papers. His flannel was rumpled, his backpack was sliding off one shoulder, and he kept ruffling his buzzed hair in these nervous, distracted little motions that made you want to grab him by the collar and ruin him against the locker door.
This was perfect. You needed to get him alone, needed to get him into your room and on your bed and…Focus.
You walked straight up and touched his arm. He jumped like you’d tasered him.
“Shit! Oh, hi,” he sputtered, hand flying to his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t, uh, see…Hi.”
You slid your hand down his forearm slowly, casually, like you weren’t imagining how you’d be dragging it down his ribs later. “Relax,” you said gently, giving him your best smile. “You free to come over today? We should start the assignment.”
He blinked. Twice. Then a third time for good measure. “Today?” His voice cracked on the word. “At your house?”
You almost laughed. The way his brain short-circuited at the idea of being someplace as private as your bedroom? God, it made you want to drag him into the nearest storage cupboard and kiss him breathless.
He looked like someone had hit him with a frying pan. Like a very confused, startled, incredibly-cute, frying pan victim. You stepped closer. Close enough that he had to tilt his chin down just slightly to look at you. Close enough to let him know you were invading his personal space on purpose.
“Unless you’re busy,” you teased, voice dropping into something lower and sweeter. “But I figured getting a head start might be good.”
His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He was goldfish-ing. “No, no! Oh my God, no, I’m not busy,” he blurted. “I’m, uh, I’m free. I’m completely free. Totally free. Like…aggressively free.”
You had to bite your lip hard to hold yourself back. This boy was going to kill you. “Good,” you murmured, leaning in just a little bit more. “I like a guy who’s…available.”
His eyes widened. You could practically see the thoughts hitting him one after another, like dominos falling. Does she mean that? Is she joking? She smells really good. Why is she so close? Do NOT look at her lips. Oh god, I looked at her lips.
He did. He absolutely did. And you let him. You loved it. “So,” you said softly, letting your fingers trail up the sleeve of his flannel before pulling back, “come over at five?”
He swallowed so hard you saw his throat bob. “Y-yeah. Yes. Five. I can do five. I’m, uh, very punctual. I can be earlier if you want earlier I can—”
“Five,” you repeated with a slow smile. “I want five.”
His ears turned pink. Deep pink. The kind of pink that told you he was fully imagining it - imagining being in your house, in your room, alone with you. Good. That was the goal.
You stepped backward, walking away with deliberate sway in your hips, and he watched. He tried not to, but he absolutely failed. Just before you disappeared around the corner, you glanced back over your shoulder.
“Don’t be late, Stiles.” You called back to him, and he looked like he was about to faint at just the sound of you getting his name right. He stood frozen, locker still hanging open, looking like he had just been both blessed and attacked.
You couldn’t wait for five o’clock.
———————————————————————
You had spent the entire hour before five obsessively checking your hair, your outfit, your bed, your perfume, everything. It wasn’t nerves, it was strategy. You wanted Stiles walking into your room and short-circuiting so hard he forgot how to blink.
When the doorbell rang at exactly 4:59, you smiled. Of course he was early. Adorable. Your parents were out until late. Everything was ready.
You opened the door, leaning one shoulder against the frame, a picture of effortless confidence. Stiles stood there gripping his backpack like it was a parachute and he’d just been thrown out of a helicopter.
His eyes dragged over you and stopped. Hard. “Oh,” he breathed. “Wow. I mean, hi. Hi. Sorry. Hi.”
You smirked. “Come in, Stiles.”
He obeyed instantly, like you’d flipped some internal switch. You led him up the stairs at a slow pace. Slow enough that he had no choice but to look at your legs, your hips, the casual sway you added just for him. And boy, did he look. He tried not to. But he did.
You closed your bedroom door behind you and paused, waiting for him to walk further inside before you.
He set his backpack down, clearing his throat. “S-so! Uh. Chapter five. Cell division. Pretty riveting stuff.”
You sat on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs, letting your already-short skirt ride just a little higher. “We can start there…if you want.”
Stiles sat in your desk chair like he was afraid it would bite him. He tugged at the strings of his hoodie, eyes darting everywhere but at you. You tilted your head. God, he was nervous. It was intoxicating.
He fumbled with the textbook. “Right, so, um, mitosis…”
You stretched out luxuriously on your side, fluffing your hair as your camisole lifted just enough to show a hint of stomach. “Stiles.”
“Mm?” His voice squeaked.
“You don’t have to pretend you’re not looking.”
He swallowed. Hard. “I wasn’t! I mean, I was, but I wasn’t…Looking is…sometimes it’s involuntary, like blinking, and, ah fuck.”
You laughed softly and patted the bed beside you. “Come sit over here. We’ll work better side by side.”
He hesitated, then stood and crossed the room like a man approaching a dangerous animal aware he might be devoured, but unsure if he minded. He sat beside you, leaving a polite gap. You closed that gap immediately, sitting up and sliding your thigh against his. His breath stuttered.
“Comfortable?” you asked, pretending innocence.
“Not even a little,” he whispered before he could stop himself.
Your smile grew. Good. You leaned over him to grab a pen from your nightstand, intentionally brushing your chest against his arm. Stiles went absolutely still, like you’d pressed a freeze button on him. When you sat back, your faces were incredibly close.
“Stiles,” you murmured, “why are you so nervous?”
He blinked rapidly. “Because you’re…You’re you. And we’re…we’re on your bed, in your room, and you’re wearing that and looking like that, and I’m…I’m a normal human man with, uh…organs.”
You snorted. “Organs?”
He covered his face with both hands. “Oh my God.”
You gently pulled his hands away. “I like when you ramble.”
“You do?” he said, completely thrown.
You nodded, voice dropping lower. “I like a lot of things about you.”
His cheeks flamed. “Name one.”
You leaned close enough that your lips almost brushed his ear. “Your smile. Or maybe it’s just your mouth in general.”
He made a helpless sound that was half choke and half whimper. That noise ignited something deep and hungry in you. You pulled back, watching his pupils blow wide. He was so into you. So flustered. So unbelievably, deliciously out of his depth. It drove you insane.
“Stiles,” you said softly, “do you know I’m flirting with you?”
He stared. “I…had suspicions?”
You bit back a smile. “No. I mean I am aggressively flirting with you.”
“You…are?”
You sighed dramatically, swinging a leg over his lap in one smooth movement, settling onto him with slow, deliberate pressure. His breath punched out of him. His hands shot to your hips like instinct.
You looked down at him, pinning him with your gaze. “Let me make it very, very clear.” You braced your hands against his shoulders, leaning in. “I want you, Stiles.”
A beat passed and his mouth fell open. “You…you do?”
You rolled your hips once, watching his eyes roll back just a little. “Yes,” you breathed. “I’ve wanted you, for a while.”
Stiles made another strangled noise. “You…? You want to…? To—”
“Hook up with you?” you finished for him. “Yeah. I do.”
His hands tightened on your waist. “Oh my God.”
You kissed him before he could spiral further. It was firm, slow, wanting. He gasped into your mouth, surprised but instantly responding, grabbing at you like he was afraid you’d vanish. He tasted like spearmint gum and he kissed like he’d fantasised about this just as much as you had. You shifted closer and he pulled you tighter. You nipped at his bottom lip and he let out a soft, desperate sound you felt in your core.
You broke the kiss only long enough to breathe against his mouth. “Lie down.”
He did. Instantly. You loved how obedient and responsive he was. You crawled over him, hair falling around your face, watching him pant beneath you, eyes wide, chest rising quickly. He looked wrecked already. Overwhelmed. Turned on out of his mind. You kissed down his neck, slow and lingering.
He arched under you. “Oh God! Okay! Oh, wow, yes!”
You smiled against his skin. “Sensitive, huh?”
“N-not usually,” he managed, “but you…holy shit!”
You rolled your hips down onto his again, and his head thumped back against your pillow, a helpless moan slipping out before he could catch it. “You like that?” you whispered.
“Yes,” he breathed, hands gripping your thigh, your waist, your back, anywhere he could touch. “Yes, fuck, yes.”
You kissed him again, though this time it was messier, deeper, and hungrier. He kissed back with enthusiasm that made your stomach flip, his hands skimming under your shirt, trembling but eager. You tugged off his hoodie, then his shirt. He made a nervous little sound, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands now that his brain was soup. You guided them to your hips.
“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Touch me.”
He did. Carefully at first. Then less carefully when you gasped. “Stiles,” you whispered, “I want you.”
He swallowed, eyes blown black. “I—I want you too. So much. You have no idea.”
“Oh,” you murmured, grinding down deliberately, “trust me. I do.”
What happened next was a blur of heat and breathless laughter, of him whispering your name like it meant something, of you scraping your nails over his buzzed hair and watching him fall apart under you. He was needy and sweet and overwhelmed in a way that made your whole body thrum.
And when you finally pulled him fully beneath you, skin to skin, his voice broke on a sound that made your stomach drop into your knees. “God, you’re perfect.”
You kissed him breathless for that one.
———————————————————————
The room smelled like you, and Stiles, heat and sweat and something musky that made your whole body hum like a live wire. You lay on your back, sheets beneath you rumpled, hair a complete disaster across the pillow. Your breathing was slow and heavy, every nerve ending relaxed in a way you hadn’t felt in…a while. And fuck, you were satisfied. More than satisfied.
Stiles was lying beside you, flat on his back, hands still half-curled in the air like he hadn’t figured out what to do with them after using them so very well on you. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his face bright red, wide eyes even wider than usual. He looked wrecked. Adorably, completely, wrecked.
You rolled your head to look at him. He immediately jolted like he’d been caught committing tax fraud. “I swear I don’t usually do that, like that. I mean I don’t usually do anything, actually, I’ve literally never…Well, I mean, I have hands, obviously, so technically I’ve done things but not with a real person who’s, uh, alive. Oh my God, please tell me to shut up. Why aren’t I shutting up?”
You laughed softly, still breathless. “Stiles.” He shut his mouth instantly. You propped yourself on one elbow and let your eyes glide over him, slow and deliberate. His cheeks turned even redder. “I liked it.”
He blinked. “You…what?”
“I liked it,” you repeated, leaning closer. “A lot.”
Stiles sat up too fast. Way too fast. So fast that he immediately fell off the side of your bed with a loud thump.
You dissolved into laughter. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he wheezed from the floor. “Totally fine. Nothing damaged except my dignity. Actually no, that’s been gone for years.”
He scrambled upright as he tugged his pants back on, tripping over your backpack, then your laundry basket, then nearly launching your lamp off the nightstand trying to steady himself.
You watched him, chest warm, a stupid smile tugging your lips upward. He was so nervous. So messy. So wildly flustered. And you were obsessed with him. More than before. Way more than before. And honestly? You were impressed. Stiles Stilinski - anxious, fidgety, always-apologizing Stiles - had been extremely good with his hands. Not confident, exactly…but diligent. Intentional. Focused like he was trying to ace a final exam he’d studied for all year. You wanted more. Immediately, if possible.
Stiles was finally pulling on his shirt when you decided to test something. You slid a hand along his bare back, nails lightly dragging.
He choked on air. “You’re…uh…you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Literally. I’m gonna die.”
You smirked. “I’ll be gentle.”
“No, see, that doesn’t help—”
Before you could tease him further, you heard a door open downstairs. There was the echo of voices and keys hitting the kitchen counter. Your parents were home.
Stiles went white. “Oh! Oh God! Oh no! Nope! Nope, absolutely not. I cannot be here, I should not be here, your parents will shoot me, your mom will throw holy water at me. Where are my shoes?!”
“They’re right there,” you laughed, pointing.
He grabbed them, tripped over your rug, caught himself on your dresser, sent two perfume bottles toppling, caught those mid-air, looked proud, then hit his head on your open dresser drawer. “OH THE PAIN!” he whisper-screamed.
You buried your face in your pillow, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. He pulled his hoodie over his head and the zipper got stuck on his shirt, trapping him. You had to sit up to help him. He thanked you like you’d rescued him from a burning building.
Downstairs, your dad’s voice called, “Honey? We’re home!”
Stiles froze again. “I have to go. I have to go right now.”
You stepped close, fingers hooking the front of his hoodie, pulling him down into a slow, warm kiss. He melted instantly, grip tightening on your waist. When you pulled back, his lips were parted, eyes wide, breath shaky.
“I want to do this again,” you whispered.
Stiles stared like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “Y-you do?”
“Definitely.”
He made a soft, overwhelmed sound. “I…I’ll text you. Or you text me. Or we could, uh, coordinate schedules. God, I’m so sweaty! Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.”
“Stiles,” you whispered, amused, “go.”
He nodded vigorously, kissed you one more time - quick but desperate - and bolted for the stairs, trying to tiptoe but failing miserably.
Halfway down he whispered-shouted, “I LIKE YOU SO MUCH, THIS IS TERRIFYING.”
You smiled into your pillow again. Yeah, you needed more of him. Soon.
———————————————————————
You walked into school the next morning feeling different. Not outwardly different. You still looked like yourself, still had your perfect outfit and mascara and the confidence everyone expected from you. But inside? Inside you were warm. Glowing. Buzzing with the memory of the night before. Your body still hummed. Your brain still replayed his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.
And now, here he was. Stiles Stilinski, leaning against his locker, attempting (and failing) to open a granola bar without tearing it into shreds. His jacket was messier than usual, his hoodie slightly crooked, his shoelaces completely untied.
You couldn’t look away. Your eyes went straight to the faint red mark on his neck. The one you had put there. Heat curled through your stomach.
He spotted you before you could pretend you weren’t staring. His whole body froze like someone had hit the pause button. His eyes went wide, his face instantly flushed, and he accidentally crushed the granola bar in his hand. It exploded everywhere.
“Oh God, no! WHY? Why does food hate me,” he muttered, dropping to the floor trying to gather the crumbs.
Your lips curved into a smile you couldn’t hide. You walked toward him slowly, and he visibly panicked, eyes darting left-right-like he was calculating an escape route. “Morning,” you said, low and warm.
Stiles nearly fell backward. “M-morning. Hi. Hello. HOW are you?” He articulated each sound like he’d forgotten how English worked.
You bit back a laugh. “I’m fantastic.”
He swallowed, staring everywhere except at you. When he finally met your eyes, it lasted half a second before he looked away like you were the sun.
“See you around, Stiles.” You winked at him and started to walk away, making sure to add a sway into your hips that made your skirt rise.
He was freaking out, and you found it adorable. Dangerously adorable. You were still admiring him from your locker when Lydia suddenly appeared at your elbow like a stylish jump scare. “Why are you staring at Stilinski?”
You didn’t jump. You did not jump.
Lydia narrowed her eyes. “You flinched.”
Okay, maybe you flinched a little. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” she said. “And you’re staring at him.”
“I’m not,” you said too fast. Way too fast. “He’s just…being weird. As usual.”
She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Stiles glanced over and saw Lydia looking at him. He immediately dropped all his textbooks. All of them. It was like his body couldn’t handle being perceived by Lydia Martin.
Lydia frowned, confused. “What is with him today?”
You shrugged, trying to look disinterested when all you wanted to do was pull Stiles into an empty classroom and kiss him until he forgot his own name. “I have no idea,” you lied smoothly.
But Lydia wasn’t stupid. She followed your gaze back to Stiles, who was currently spinning in a circle because his backpack strap had gotten caught on his locker door and he didn’t realise it. “…something is off,” she muttered.
You forced a dramatic sigh. “Lydia, nothing’s off. He’s always like that.”
“Hm,” she hummed, unconvinced, and marched off.
Stiles looked relieved like he’d escaped a predator. You approached him again once Lydia was gone. He backed into his locker like you were cornering him. Like last night had short-circuited his entire nervous system.
“Oh shit,” he whispered, eyes flicking to your lips then away. “What are you doing? You’re still…you. And I’m still…me.”
You stepped closer, voice soft. “Is that a problem?”
Stiles made a noise that sounded like a dying kettle. “Not a problem. Just a…situation. A, uh, unique challenge.”
Your smile widened. “Stiles. Look at me.”
He did, for exactly one moment. And in that moment, his expression softened. It was almost reverent. Like he was remembering every second of last night. Like he wanted more but had no idea how to function now that he’d actually gotten you once.
Your chest tightened in a way you didn’t expect. But then you heard footsteps, and Stiles practically launched himself away from you like the hallway floor was lava.
“I CAN’T TALK TO PEOPLE RIGHT NOW,” he blurted, speed-walking down the hall.
You pressed your lips together to hide your grin. God, the way he panicked after hooking up with you was almost just as fun as the actual hooking up part.
———————————————————————
He didn’t look at you for the next two classes. Correction, he didn’t look at you directly. But he stared constantly. Through the gaps between books, around corners, over his shoulder, and in the reflection of classroom windows. Every time your eyes met his - accidentally - he spun away like a malfunctioning Roomba.
During lunch, Lydia kept watching the both of you suspiciously. After fourth period, you found Stiles at his locker again, pretending to look inside it even though it was almost empty. You walked past casually, brushing your fingers against his hand. Just a graze, lightning quick.
Stiles shivered. Full body. You slipped a folded piece of paper into his palm. He looked down at it like you’d handed him a live grenade. He unfolded it, then stared at it, swallowed hard, then looked up at you. He didn’t speak, he just nodded. And it wasn’t nervous. Not this time. This time it was hungry.
———————————————————————
You and Lydia sat on the bleachers like you always did, your skirts smoothed neatly beneath you, your bags dropped at your feet. Jackson and the rest of the team were running drills on the field, shouting, cursing, and sweating. It all should’ve had your attention. Jackson was objectively good to watch. Everyone knew that. But your eyes weren’t on Jackson. They were glued to Stiles.
There he was in full lacrosse gear that looked like it weighed more than his entire body. His helmet was slightly crooked, he kept adjusting his gloves like they were personally torturing him, and his stick handling was…well, abysmal.
“God,” Lydia scoffed, flipping her hair. “Stilinski and McCall are actual public embarrassments. I swear to God, watching them play is like watching baby giraffes try to walk for the first time.”
You snorted on instinct, but your eyes were glued to Stiles’ thighs as he sprinted. Jesus. Why were his legs that good? You followed the way the muscles in them tightened, how his jersey clung to his back, damp from sweat. At one point he pushed his helmet up to wipe his forehead, and you got a full view of his messy, sweat-mussed hair, cheeks flushed pink.
And all you could think of was how he’d looked the night before. Flushed. Breathless. Gorgeous. You crossed your legs tightly and tried to play it cool.
“Totally,” you said, even though your voice came out breathier than intended.
Lydia didn’t notice. She was too busy dissecting Jackson’s technique and muttering coaching tips he’d never hear. But you kept watching Stiles. Watching the way he stumbled and caught himself. Watching the way he laughed at something Scott said, chest heaving with exertion. Watching the way the uniform clung to places you’d had your hands on last night.
And all you could think was, God, I want him again. I want him pressed against me in that stupid uniform. I want him sweaty and breathless for an entirely different reason. He bent down to tie his shoe and you swallowed thickly. You were done for.
Lydia elbowed you lightly. “You’re zoning out. What are you even looking at?”
“Uh, Danny,” you lied quickly. “His…form.”
Lydia hummed. “Hm. Must be a new angle, because you are staring awfully far down the field.”
You forced a laugh, but your stomach twisted. You had to get out of here before she put anything together. When the coach finally blew the last whistle, the team started heading toward the locker rooms.
Lydia stood, brushing off her skirt. “Practice is over. Want a ride home?”
Your heart thumped. You heard yourself say, light and airy, “Oh, no, I’m gonna stay back and study.”
Lydia paused, her eyes narrowing into that terrifyingly observant Lydia Martin look. “With who?” she asked, voice sharp in that sweet way of hers.
You shrugged with practiced casualness. “Just by myself.”
Suspicion colored her whole face. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m acting completely normal,” you insisted. “You’re the one who’s been strange today.”
Thankfully she didn’t push further. She just gave you that look, like she’d circle back later, and grabbed her bag. “You better text me later,” she warned, heels clicking away down the bleachers.
You exhaled shakily as she disappeared. Then you grabbed your own bag and slid quietly beneath the bleachers, stepping into the shadowed space underneath. The air smelled like grass and dirt and old metal. The sound of the team laughing somewhere near the locker rooms drifted through the field.
You waited exactly where you’d told him to meet you in the note you’d slipped into his hand earlier. Your heart fluttered with anticipation, nerves, and excitement. He’d come. You knew he would.
You leaned against one of the beams, pulse picking up at the thought of seeing him again. Of what you might end up doing to him if he let you. You bit your lip. God, you hoped he’d let you.
———————————————————————
You heard the footsteps before you saw him. They were fast, uneven, like he’d jogged the whole way from the locker room. Then Stiles appeared through the shadows.
His hair was damp and sticking up in ridiculous directions, clearly from a rushed shower. A few droplets still clung to his temples. He wore low basketball shorts slung loose on his hips and his lacrosse jersey, the fabric stretching deliciously across his shoulders. His cheeks were pink from the heat of the shower, or nerves.
“Hey,” he said, stopping short like he’d run face-first into an invisible wall. “I got your note. Obviously. Because I’m here. Uh, hi.”
You didn’t bother answering. You stepped forward and grabbed the front of his jersey, yanking him under the bleachers fully, into the shadows.
His breath caught. “W-wait, are we…? Are we doing this again?” he stammered.
“You took too long,” you whispered, and before he could reply, you kissed him. Hard.
Stiles made a startled noise against your mouth, like his brain short-circuited in real time. But then his hands were on your waist, hesitant at first, then gripping tighter when you deepened the kiss. His lips were warm, soft, a little desperate (he was always desperate) and you loved it.
You pressed him back against one of the metal beams, kissing him again and again, biting his bottom lip just to hear the sound he made when you did.
Stiles exhaled shakily. “You…you can’t just…God!”
“You smell good,” you murmured against his throat. “Fresh out of the shower?”
He nodded, dazed. “I ran. I didn’t want you waiting and thinking I ditched you. I would never ditch you. I mean, unless you wanted me to ditch you. In which case I—”
“Stiles,” you breathed, “shut up.”
You kissed him again, deeper this time, and he made a soft, helpless sound that lit you on fire. Your hands slid under his jersey, over warm skin and tense muscle. Stiles jolted, inhaling sharply.
“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I think I’m gonna have a heart attack.”
“Not today.” You tugged him closer by his waistband, feeling his breath hitch, watching the way his eyes went wide and dizzy. You loved how every thought he had showed right on his face. Panic, want, awe, panic again.
“I’ve been thinking about this all practice,” you said, voice low. “About you. In this stupid uniform.”
Stiles swallowed like he physically had to work moisture into his mouth. “Yeah? Because I-I’ve been thinking about last night.”
That heat shot straight through you. He was so painfully honest. So bad at hiding what he felt. So good at making you feel wanted without even trying. You kissed him again, dragging him by the wrist as you started walking. “Come on.”
“Where are we—“
You anticipated his question before he could finish and cut him off in a hurry. “To your car.”
Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet. “My car? Like, now?”
“Unless you want to stay out here,” you teased, pulling him past the last metal pillar and into the open. The parking lot was empty, with just his powder blue Jeep sitting alone, a far distance from the nearest light pole.
Stiles stopped dead. “We’re…we’re not seriously…?”
You didn’t let him finish. You pushed him back against the passenger door and kissed him again, hard enough that he gasped slightly. He was warm and flustered and breathing too fast, hands hovering uselessly like he didn’t know where to put them.
Then he finally settled them, one on your hip, one at the back of your neck, and kissed you back with a sudden confidence that made your knees weaken. “Back seat,” you breathed.
Stiles fumbled with the door handle. Dropped his keys, picked them up, then dropped them again.
“Jesus, Stiles,” you laughed softly, “you’re adorable.”
“That’s not…I’m not trying to be. I’m just…you’re—” He made a vaguely strangled sound and finally yanked the door open.
You climbed in first, pulling him by the jersey until he practically fell into the Jeep on top of you, laughing breathlessly as the door slammed shut behind him. His hands were steadier this time. His kisses deeper, more sure. Still clumsy in the way that made your heart ache, but better. So much better.
“Last night probably wasn’t the best,” he murmured, almost embarrassed. “But I paid attention. I can do that. I like doing that. Paying attention to you.”
That spark shot straight through your spine. You kissed him again, and the rest unfolded in a tangled rush of heat, hands, breathless laughter, soft curses, and the kind of desperate closeness you’d been thinking about all day. The windows fogged. The Jeep rocked just a little.
And Stiles - sweet, frantic, unbelievably good Stiles - was even better than he’d been the night before.
———————————————————————
The world settled slowly around you. Your breathing, your heartbeat, and the soft hum of the Jeep’s engine cooling. The windows were fogged so heavily you could barely see the field outside, and the air inside was warm and sweet and full of the lingering adrenaline between you.
Stiles lay half on top of you, half beside you, one arm braced awkwardly near your head, the other somewhere on the seat because he genuinely didn’t seem to know where to put it. His buzzed hair was a mess again. His cheeks were flushed. His breathing was uneven in that adorable ‘trying to pull myself together’ way.
“Wow,” he said softly, blinking at the ceiling of the Jeep like it had personally changed his life.
You laughed, brushing your fingers gently over his forehead. “Yeah. Wow.”
He swallowed, his eyes darting anywhere but yours. To your face, the window, the car ceiling, your lips, and then immediately away from your lips like they were radioactive.
“You…you keep doing that,” he mumbled.
“Doing what?” you teased, tracing your fingertips down the side of his neck.
“That.” His voice cracked. “Being…like this.”
“Like what?”
“Like, into me.” He said it like it was a foreign language.
You felt your chest warm. “Stiles. I literally climbed into your car to have my way with you until your windows steamed up.”
“Yeah, but, like, on purpose.” He sat up slightly. “That’s wild.”
You gently pulled him down for a soft, slow kiss. It was sweet and unhurried. The kind that made your stomach flip in a different way. Stiles melted into it, then immediately shot up again like he remembered something embarrassing.
“Oh my God. My car, my jersey, I probably smell like…like locker room death!”
“Relax,” you laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “You smell good. And you look cute.”
He blushed all the way to his ears. “Cute?” He repeated it like it was a holy word.
“Very.”
He tried to get off the back seat gracefully. He failed spectacularly. His foot got caught in the strap of his duffel bag and he pitched sideways into the front seat console with a loud clunk.
“Ow, okay. No, I’m good, I’m good,” He scrambled up, knocking something else over. A water bottle rolled, hit the door, and fell onto the floor of the car.
You pressed a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. “You okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said quickly, rubbing his elbow. “Totally fine. Not in pain. Definitely not in pain. I’m…I’m gonna drive you home now.”
“Okay,” you giggled, sliding out of the back seat.
You climbed into the passenger seat, still a little breathless, still a little flushed. Stiles started the Jeep, cleared the fogged windshield with his sleeve (somehow making it worse), and finally got the wipers to do their job.
He was still nervous. But something in him had shifted. There was a warmth now. A glow of confidence under all the fluster. He tapped the radio on. Fleetwood Mac filled the Jeep - ‘Dreams’ drifting softly through the speakers.
You blinked. “You like Fleetwood Mac?”
Stiles glanced at you, surprised. “Uh, obviously. I’m not a monster.”
You grinned. “I love them.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah?”
“Especially their Rumours album.”
Stiles’ mouth slowly curved into a smile you hadn’t seen before. It was shy, but proud. “Okay hold on, wait, what else do you listen to?”
“Dad rock,” you admitted. “My parents raised me on classic rock and 80s hits.”
Stiles slapped the steering wheel lightly. “No. No way. I thought you were like, top forty hyperpop, or whatever Lydia listens to.”
“I mean I like that too,” you said. “But I love the old stuff.”
He turned down the music just a little. “Name your top three.”
“Bon Jovi, Nirvana, some Lana.”
Stiles’ jaw dropped. “Bon Jovi? You like Bon Jovi?”
You raised a brow. “You don’t?”
“Oh my god, this is insane!” he muttered, shaking his head dramatically. “You’re like a sleeper nerd.”
You burst out laughing. “A sleeper nerd?”
“Yes. A nerd hiding in a popular girl’s body. A stealth nerd.”
“I’m not a nerd,” you insisted, still laughing.
“Really?” Stiles shot you a sideways look. “Because that’s what they all say before I find out they know every line to Star Wars.”
You froze. Then raised a slow eyebrow. “Does it have to be every line?”
Stiles gasped. Loudly. “NO.”
You bit your lip. “Yes.”
He threw his head back against the headrest. “Oh my GOD. You like Star Wars! This is…this is huge! This is like discovering a new species.”
You shoved his shoulder playfully. “Shut up.”
“No, I mean it,” he grinned. “I had no idea you were secretly cool.”
“Secretly?”
“I mean, you’re hot,” he said immediately, then panicked. “I mean like, obviously, you know that. Everyone knows that. BUT you’re also secretly cool and kind of a nerd and it’s honestly messing with my brain.”
Your heart fluttered and you looked at him and for the first time, the crush in your chest didn’t feel like just lust. It felt like interest. Connection. Something warmer, deeper, and sweeter.
You smiled. “Maybe you just never bothered to get to know me.”
Stiles’ voice softened. “I’m getting to know you now.”
———————————————————————
Stiles practically burst through his front door when he got home.
“Hey son, how was prac—”
“CAN’T TALK, DAD!” he yelped, sprinting past Sheriff Stilinski like he was escaping a crime scene.
He bolted upstairs, slammed his bedroom door, and immediately collapsed face-first onto his bed with a loud, muffled groan. It was the groan of a man who had just gotten everything he ever wanted and had no clue how to emotionally process it.
He lay there for a good ten seconds, kicking his legs like an overwhelmed Victorian maiden, before ripping his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Scott and his best friend picked up on the third ring, sounding tired. “Dude, it’s almost nine. What’s up?”
Stiles inhaled like he needed fresh oxygen to speak. “SCOTT.”
“…Stiles?”
“SCOTT.”
“Why are you yelling?”
“She kissed me.”
There was a pause. “Who kissed you?”
“She kissed me.” Another pause.
“…Stiles, you need to use a name. Preferably a real one.”
Stiles sat up, eyes wide and wild as he told Scott your name. “You know, Lydia’s best friend. The girl who wears lip gloss that costs more than my monthly car insurance. The girl who sits two rows ahead of you in Econ. The girl who is - objectively - way too hot to be seen with someone who collects limited edition Star Wars socks.”
Scott blinked audibly through the phone. “She kissed you?”
“YES.”
Scott’s voice softened, warm and supportive. “That’s great, man!”
Stiles choked. “It…it gets better.”
“Oh.” Scott hesitated. “Uh, define ‘better.’”
“She kissed me under the bleachers.”
“Okay…”
“She dragged me to my car.”
“Uh-huh…”
“And then we…We…” He violently flailed one hand in the air, even though Scott couldn’t see him. “WE DID…THINGS, SCOTT.”
“Oh my God, Stiles.”
“WE DID THINGS TWICE. This was the second time it happened.”
Scott made a strangled noise. “STILES.”
Stiles threw himself backward onto his pillows, kicking his feet in the air like a flustered hamster. “And she likes Fleetwood Mac, Scott. Fleetwood. Freaking. Mac.”
“Okay, cool—”
“And STAR WARS.”
“Everyone likes Star Wars.”
“No, Scott. She knows the lines.” He sat up, deadly serious. “She’s a total sleeper nerd.”
Scott paused. “…Whoa.”
“RIGHT?” Stiles stood up, started pacing. “She’s, like, the hottest girl in school, and she’s secretly a nerd and she likes me and she keeps kissing me and I don’t…Scott, I don’t know what to do with ANY of this information.”
“Stiles, it sounds like she just…likes you.”
Stiles froze mid-pace. His brain short-circuited. “No,” he said immediately, too quickly, voice cracking. “I physically can’t deal with that. I’m not…nope. That’s not…I don’t—”
Scott sighed. “Dude. You’re gone.”
“Gone where?” Stiles asked, panicked.
“Gone. Like…crushing. Hard.”
Stiles’ mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I, no, I don’t…Okay, I like her but not like…I mean, okay, I do like her but that’s only because she smells really good and laughs at my jokes and is secretly a nerd and has really nice…well, everything.”
“Stiles,” Scott interrupted gently. “I can hear you blushing through the phone.”
“What if she wants to do this again? What if she wants it to be like a regular things?” Stiles collapsed back onto the bed again with a loud dramatic groan. “Oh my god, Scott. I’m going to die.”
“You’re not.”
“I am. I am catastrophically unprepared for this.”
“Just…talk to her,” Scott said. “Hang out. Be honest. You don’t have to freak out.”
“I DO have to freak out,” Stiles shot back, gripping his pillow like it was a flotation device. “Because she…Scott, she kissed me like she meant it.”
There was a smile in Scott’s voice when he answered. “Well…maybe she did.”
Stiles went silent, his heart thundering as eyes wide. “…Holy crap.”
———————————————————————
It happened slowly, then all at once. A pattern formed between you and Stiles. A rhythm. A secret life you lived only with him. What started as desperate kisses and rushed hookups - stolen moments after school, under bleachers, in dark corners - turned into something else entirely. It became routine. Comfortable. Addicting.
You started meeting up without even needing to plan it. You’d text ‘hey’, and he’d reply ‘on my way’, and within ten minutes he’d be at your doorstep, half-panicked, half-excited, always breathless.
Sometimes it was at your place, sneaking him up to your room while your parents were at work. Sometimes at his house, while his dad worked late and Stiles pretended to do homework. Other times it was the back seat of the Jeep on a back road off the highway, windows down, wind blowing through your hair while Stiles kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Once, it was on a blanket in the preserve under a sky full of stars - a moment that surprised both of you with how soft it felt, how slow, how unhurried.
And slowly, something shifted. Because it wasn’t always physical. There were days you two didn’t hook up at all. Days where you just…hung out. You watched movies together. Old ones he loved, new ones you made him watch. You talked for hours, lying upside down on his bed or sprawled on your carpet, laughing about the stupidest things.
You listened to music together, trading songs and arguing about which album was best. Little by little, you began to crave his presence, not just his touch. And he started relaxing around you. Getting funnier. Goofier. More Stiles. Before you even realised it, you and Stiles weren’t just sneaking around anymore. You were seeing each other. You were becoming something. Even if neither of you said it out loud.
The night it shifted fully, you were in the preserve again. You’d driven with him into the trees until the path grew narrow and the canopy blocked out most of the sky. The Jeep sat in the clearing, engine off, crickets humming around you. The two of you climbed into the back seat automatically, the same way you always did, but something felt different immediately.
Stiles looked at you like he was trying to memorise you. Not like he was nervous you’d disappear. Not like he was overwhelmed. Just…struck.
“You okay?” you whispered, brushing his hair back without thinking.
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I just…I like being here. With you.”
Your chest tightened in a way that scared you and thrilled you at the same time. You leaned in to kiss him, expecting the usual rush of heat, urgency, the frantic rhythm the two of you always fell into.
But Stiles kissed you slower. Softer. Like he had all the time in the world. His hand slid into your hair, fingertips brushing your scalp gently, sending a warm shiver down your spine. His other hand rested on your waist, steady and sure, guiding you closer instead of pulling frantically.
His lips moved with yours in perfect, tender sync. You melted. It wasn’t the familiar wildfire of wanting him. It was something deeper. You pulled back slightly, breath shaky, eyes meeting his in the dim light.
“Stiles…” you whispered, not even knowing what you were about to say.
He touched your cheek, thumb tracing along your jawline like he couldn’t help it. “I know,” he said softly. “Me too.”
You kissed him again, your fingers sliding into the hair at the base of his neck as he moved with you, warm and gentle and so heartbreakingly present. It felt less like hooking up. More like falling.
Your bodies found each other naturally, slowly, hands exploring with intention instead of urgency. His kisses trailed along your jaw, down your neck, and for once you didn’t feel rushed, or hidden, or like you had to stifle your breathing. You felt seen.
Stiles paused only to look at you again with the kind of look you usually avoided out of fear it would reveal too much. This time, you held it. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He covered your hand with his own, fingers lacing with yours without hesitation. You’d never held hands during…this. But now, it felt like the most intimate thing you’d ever done together.
Everything between you moved gently - warm breath, warm skin, warm hands - like you were synced without needing to talk. And when you came together, it wasn’t rushed or chaotic. It wasn’t about desperation or thrill anymore. It was emotional. Connected. Equal. It was the kind of closeness that made your eyes sting in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.
Stiles held you afterward, his arms wrapping around you, your cheek resting on his chest. His heart was still beating a little too fast, but steadier than usual. He stroked your back absentmindedly, like he was touching you just to reassure himself you were still there. You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how safe it felt.
He whispered, almost too softly to hear. “This…feels different, right?”
You nodded against him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It does.”
Stiles exhaled, shaky but hopeful, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Neither of you said the word for it. Neither of you dared to. But you both knew, it wasn’t just hooking up anymore. Not even close.
————————————————————
You didn’t even notice Lydia watching you at first. You were at your locker between classes, still a little dazed from the night before. The memory of Stiles’ hands on your waist in the back of the Jeep occupied the forefront of your mind - the slow, aching kisses that had made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for. You were smiling at your books like a complete idiot when a manicured hand slammed the locker door shut right in front of your face.
You jumped. Lydia stood there with her arms crossed, hip cocked, eyebrows raised like she had just solved a murder case.
“So,” she said. “You want to tell me why you smell like men’s deodorant? Specifically cheap men’s deodorant?”
Your heart stopped. “I…what? Lydia, I do not. That’s insane.”
She scoffed. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. You’ve been hooking up with someone, and I wanna know who. Spill the beans.”
“There’s no one, Lydia.” You insisted, shaking your head.
“I know there is, so why don’t you just tell me?” Lydia scoffed.
Your stomach flipped. You forced a laugh, tried to look casual. “Why would you even assume there is anyone.”
“Come on.” Lydia leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You disappeared for all of lunch last week and when you finally got to English, you had closet hair. I’ve never seen you going to the library to ‘study’ this much in your life. You never answer your phone late at night anymore, and you’re always busy but you’re never doing anything.”
You touched your hair automatically. Damn her. She missed nothing.
“So?” she continued to prod sharply, “Come on, it’s not like it’s Stilinski, right, so how bad can it be?”
You froze. Lydia watched your face, saw the reaction, and her eyes widened. “Oh. My god. No! Stilinski? You are!”
“Lydia—” you began.
“You’re hooking up with Stiles Stilinski?”
You looked away, cheeks burning, and that was answer enough.
Lydia blinked at you like you’d just told her you were dating a garden shovel. “Why? He’s…he’s Stiles.”
Something ugly twisted inside you. Embarrassment, yes, but anger too. Shame. And suddenly you were ashamed of being ashamed. You straightened slowly. “And what exactly is wrong with Stiles?”
Lydia opened her mouth. You didn’t let her. “No, seriously. Tell me. What’s wrong with liking someone who’s smart and funny and actually treats me like I matter?”
Lydia looked startled. “I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t care. “And I’m really tired of pretending I don’t care about him just because you and Jackson think he’s some kind of loser.”
Her face tightened. “I just…don’t want you to tank your social life for someone who—”
“Someone who what? Isn’t Jackson?” you shot back. “Newsflash, Lydia, I don’t want someone like Jackson.” She flinched. You felt the hit land but couldn’t stop now. “I like him,” you said, soft but firm. “I like Stiles and I’m not embarrassed about it. Not anymore.”
Lydia stared at you, but for once, she had no quick reply. You turned on your heel before she could form one.
Stiles was at the end of the hallway, rummaging in his backpack like he was fighting with it. Scott was beside him chatting. A few other students walked past. Normal scene. Totally ordinary. Except everything inside you was rushing and roaring. Stiles looked up and froze when he saw you marching straight toward him.
“Uh, hi?” he said, voice squeaking in that adorable Stiles way.
You didn’t even slow down. You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him full on the mouth right there in the crowded hallway. A wave of gasps rippled across the student body. Someone even dropped a binder with a loud BANG!
Stiles made a shocked little noise against your lips, then melted. Hands grasping your waist, pulling you closer, kissing you back like he’d been starved for days. When you finally pulled away, Stiles blinked rapidly, dazed and breathless.
“Wh—what? What is happening?” he whispered.
“I’m not hiding us anymore,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “If you still want this.”
His swallow was audible. His eyes were so wide and warm and stunned. “If I still want this?” He gave a helplessly smitten laugh. “I’ve been in, like, a constant state of cardiac arrest over you for weeks.”
You grinned, grabbed his hand. “Good,” you said softly. “Come on.”
Still in shock, Stiles let you drag him away down the hall, past the staring students, past Lydia frozen with her mouth slightly open, past everything. You didn’t look back. And Stiles didn’t stop smiling.
————————————————————
By the time the afternoon bell rang, the entire school knew. You and Stiles had kissed. Not just kissed, but kissed kissed, in full view of a hallway full of gossips and amateur Instagram detectives. Everywhere you walked, people whispered.
“Wait, her? And Stiles?”
“How did that even happen?”
“Well, good for him.”
“Did she lose a bet?”
“No way, I think she actually likes him.”
You squeezed Stiles’ hand tighter every time someone stared too long. He squeezed back, though his ears had been pink since third period.
“Are you okay?” you murmured as you walked toward the exit.
He inhaled sharply. “I’m either fine or I’m dying. Hard to tell. But I’m definitely holding your hand so that’s…winning.”
You bumped his shoulder with a smile. “You’re adorable.”
He made a little strangled sound but didn’t let go. You were two steps from the doors when someone grabbed your elbow and tugged you aside.
Lydia.
Stiles blinked, startled and wary. “Uh, I can wait over there? Or, like…pretend to be invisible? Which is my specialty.”
“It’s fine,” you said quickly, but Lydia’s expression was unreadable.
Stiles hesitated, then moved a few feet away. He was close enough to keep an eye on you, far enough to give you space. You turned to Lydia, already bracing.
“If you’re going to tell me how big of a mistake this is—”
“I’m not,” she cut in.
You froze. Lydia folded her arms, not defensive, just…small. “I’m here to apologize.”
That shut you up completely. Lydia looked down at her shoes before meeting your eyes again. “I was awful earlier. Judgmental and and honestly? Really rude.”
You blinked, thrown off balance. This was not the ambush you were prepared for.
She exhaled shakily. “I think I reacted that way because…I didn’t understand. And maybe because I’ve never seen you choose someone based on how he makes you feel, instead of how he makes you look.”
Your irritation softened a fraction.
“And Stiles…” Lydia shrugged helplessly. “He’s not what I imagined for you. But that doesn’t mean he’s wrong for you.”Her voice gentled. “I see the way he looks at you. Like you hung the moon. And I saw the way you looked at him today.” Lydia’s lips curved in a small, sad smile. “No one’s ever had you look that soft.”
Heat pricked the backs of your eyes unexpectedly.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, sincere and quiet.
You exhaled slowly, the tension leaving your shoulders. “I love you, Lydia. But you were being a bitch.”
Lydia nodded. “I know.”
“But,” you added, “I forgive you.”
That earned the faintest relieved smile. Lydia squeezed your hand. “Just…don’t get hurt, okay?”
“I won’t,” you said, and you meant it. You stepped away from her and walked back toward Stiles.
He perked up immediately, like a golden retriever waiting for permission to wag his tail. “Everything okay?” he asked softly.
“Yeah,” you said, threading your fingers through his again. “Everything’s perfect.”
His grin lit up his whole face as you pulled him with you out into the parking lot. The two of you no longer a secret, no longer hiding, and no longer pretending this was anything less than real.
genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 mark lee x fem!reader, spidermark, friends to lovers, high school au, spiderman!mark
word count 𝟅𝟈 11.2k
NOT PROOFREAD
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
High school wasn’t glamorous. It was 6:00 a.m. alarms, piles of homework, and gym class—a.k.a. your least favorite subject. So, when Coach called for volleyball that day, you sighed and shuffled towards the court like a prisoner headed for trial.
The gym smelled faintly of sweat and old rubber soles, the harsh lights making it hard to focus. You stood by the bleachers, tying your sneakers when Mark stumbled in, late as usual. His hair stuck up in odd places like he’d rolled out of bed and made a mad dash here. Classic.
“Lee!” Coach barked, tossing him a red jersey. “You’re on Team B. Let’s go!”
Mark jogged over, muttering apologies as he passed you. “Hey,” he said with a sheepish grin, his voice slightly breathless.
“Hey,” you replied, amused. “Rough morning?”
“You have no idea,” he mumbled, pulling the jersey over his head.
Mark was… Mark. Sweet, funny, always a little awkward. You’d known him since middle school, and while he wasn’t exactly the athletic type, you’d never really cared. You’d bonded over you bonded over your mutual interests, anyways, and volleyball was not on the list.
The game started, and you hung back like always, hoping to avoid the ball as much as possible. Mark, however, was front and center.
When the ball came his way, you winced, expecting it to bounce off his face or fly past him entirely. But instead, Mark jumped—higher than seemed possible—and spiked the ball with enough force to make it slam into the court.
Your jaw dropped.
“Whoa!” someone yelled.
Even Coach looked impressed. “Nice hit, Lee! Where’d you learn that?”
Mark shrugged, his face slightly flushed. “Lucky shot.”
As the game went on, Mark’s “luck” didn’t run out. He dove to the floor to save a ball, slid across the court with the grace of a pro, and even managed to block a spike that seemed way out of reach.
By the time the game ended, the entire class was buzzing.
“Did Mark join a secret volleyball league or something?”
You couldn’t help but grin, though your curiosity was starting to bubble over. Since when could he do any of this?
During a break, you found him leaning against the wall, gulping down water like he’d just run a marathon.
“Since when did you play volleyball like that?” you asked, crossing your arms and raising an eyebrow.
He nearly choked, coughing and spluttering as his face turned red. “I—uh, I’ve been practicing?”
“Practicing?” you echoed, unimpressed. “Mark, the last time we played volleyball, you tripped over the net and nearly took me down with you.”
He let out a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… things change?”
You squinted at him, unconvinced. There was something different about him lately—something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
Before you could press him further, Coach’s whistle blew, calling everyone back to the court. Mark shot you a quick smile before jogging off, leaving you standing there, your curiosity growing by the second.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
As the day went on, you started noticing more little things about him. In English class, he caught a pen mid-air without even looking, like he had eyes in the back of his head.
“Nice reflexes, Spidey,” you joked, nudging him.
Mark laughed nervously, shoving the pen into his bag. “Just got lucky,” he said quickly, avoiding your gaze.
Then, in chemistry, he managed to grab a beaker you almost knocked off the table before it shattered on the floor. His hand shot out so fast you barely saw it.
“Whoa,” you said, staring at him. “How’d you do that?”
Mark shrugged, his cheeks turning red. “I dunno, instincts?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could say anything, the teacher called for everyone’s attention.
By lunchtime, you were keeping a closer eye on him, trying to figure out what was going on. He seemed more jittery than usual, like he was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself but failing miserably.
When someone dropped their tray in the cafeteria, sending food flying, Mark’s head snapped toward the commotion before anyone else had even noticed. He looked like he was about to jump out of his seat before he caught himself and forced a laugh.
“You good?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah, totally,” he said, shoving a fry into his mouth. “Just… startled, that’s all.”
You didn’t believe him for a second, but you let it slide. For now.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of classes, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different about Mark. He’d clearly changed somehow, but you couldn’t put your finger on what exactly was different.
And as much as you wanted to ignore it, you couldn’t help but wonder: what was he hiding?
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
Your parents had been asleep for hours by the time Mark came over that night. It was one of those quiet, lazy Friday nights where the two of you didn’t need to talk much. Just snacks, a couple of blankets, and a well-worn stack of DVDs.
You weren’t supposed to have people over this late—especially not boys—but it was Mark. If your parents knew it was him, they’d probably be fine with it. Still, sneaking him in through your fire escape gave the night a little thrill.
The two of you were huddled on your bed, knees bumping each other as the movie played on the TV. It was some action flick Mark had picked out, but your attention was divided between the screen and him. He looked more relaxed now than he had at school, though every now and then, you caught him glancing toward the door, like he was expecting someone to barge in.
“You good?” you asked softly, nudging him with your elbow.
“Huh? Yeah, totally,” he said, flashing you a sheepish grin. “Just… didn’t expect him to survive that fall.”
You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “It’s a superhero movie, Mark. No one ever dies unless it’s to make the hero angsty.”
He chuckled at that, leaning back into the couch. “Fair point.”
As the movie went on, the two of you started whispering back and forth, your voices barely louder than the hum of the TV.
“Okay, that was so fake,” you said, gesturing at the screen as the hero miraculously dodged a bullet.
Mark smirked. “You’re telling me this is where you draw the line?”
“I have standards!”
He shook his head, stifling a laugh, when suddenly his posture stiffened. His head tilted slightly, and his hand reached out, brushing your arm.
“Hey,” he whispered, his tone urgent. “Be quiet for a second.”
You blinked at him, confused. “What?”
“Shh,” he insisted, sitting up straighter. His eyes darted toward the hallway, and he moved to hide on the ground next to the bed, out of view of your doorway.
“What’s your problem?” you asked, a little too loudly.
Before he could answer, the door creaked open, and your mom peeked in, her expression equal parts annoyed and groggy.
“Y/N,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s almost midnight. Keep it down, okay?”
Your eyes went wide. “Oh! Sorry, Mom. I’ll quiet down.”
She lingered for a moment, her gaze sweeping the room. You held your breath, praying she wouldn’t notice the second pair of sneakers tucked gently away next to your your bedside table. Thankfully, she just nodded and shuffled back down the hallway.
The second the coast was clear, you turned to Mark, your heart still racing.
“How the hell did you know she was coming?” you hissed, keeping your voice low this time.
Mark scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. “I, uh… I just… I don’t know, I guess I heard her footsteps?”
“Footsteps?” you repeated, narrowing your eyes at him. “Mark, I didn’t hear anything. How did you hear her through a closed door? And while we were talking, no less?”
He let out a nervous laugh, shrugging a little too casually. “Maybe I’ve just got good ears?”
“Good ears my ass,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “You’ve been weird all day. First in gym, then in class, and now this. What’s going on with you?”
Mark froze for a second, his expression flickering between panic and guilt. “Nothing! I swear, it’s—nothing. You’re imagining things.”
You raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Yeah, okay” you said sarcastically, not realizing how close you were to the truth.
Mark’s laugh came out a little too forced this time. “Anyways, we should probably finish the movie, it’s getting late.”
You didn’t push the issue—for now. But as the movie played on, you couldn’t help but glance at him, your curiosity growing stronger with every passing minute.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
After your slightly strange movie night, everything feels... normal. You’re at school with Mark again, cracking jokes about your teachers and helping each other survive the monotony of class.
After school, you walk home together as usual. Mark’s quiet, more so than usual, and you figure he’s just tired. He always seems tired these days.
"Are you okay?" you ask, nudging his arm.
He flinches slightly, then forces a smile. "Yeah, I’m good. Just didn’t sleep well last night."
You nod, though his answer doesn’t quite satisfy you.
Later that evening, you decide to take a quick walk to clear your head. The streets are quiet, the orange glow of the streetlights casting long shadows. You’re only a few blocks from your apartment when you hear shouting—a man yelling for help. Your heart pounds as you turn the corner and see a masked figure—Spider-Man—swinging into action.
It’s like watching a movie come to life. He moves with incredible speed and grace, disarming the attacker in seconds. The victim stumbles to safety, and Spider-Man barely pauses before disappearing into the night.
You stand frozen, your mind racing. Spider-Man isn’t supposed to be real—not in your world, not in your life. And yet, here he is, saving people in your neighborhood.
When you finally make it home, Mark texts you almost immediately:
Hey, you okay?
The timing feels weirdly coincidental.
Yeah... just saw something crazy on my walk. Spider-Man.
There’s a pause before he replies.
Mark: Whoa, no way. He’s around here?
You: Guess so. It was... surreal.
Mark: Sounds scary. You’re sure you’re okay?
Something about the way he asks makes you hesitate. He sounds so concerned, almost like he’s talking to himself.
You: Yeah. Are YOU okay?
Mark: Me? Of course. Just checking on you. I saw your location said you were outside.
You chastise yourself for not remembering he had your location. You’d have probably done the same thing if his location said he was outside in the middle of the night. Though, you’d never had the habit of checking his.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
Saturday nights are sacred.
Since middle school, you and Mark have had this unspoken rule: no matter what, Saturday nights are yours. Whether it’s binging your favorite show, building Legos, or debating which movie series is superior, it’s the highlight of your week.
You’ve been looking forward to tonight all day. After tossing a blanket over the couch and setting out snacks—chips for you, candy for him—you settle in, phone in hand, waiting for Mark’s familiar knock.
He’s usually punctual, arriving right when he says he will. But tonight, the minutes stretch into an hour, and he’s still not there.
You glance at your phone. No texts, no missed calls.
You: Where are you? I’m starting to think you forgot about me.
No response.
You frown but try not to overthink it. Maybe he got caught up with something. You wait another fifteen minutes, then send another text.
You: Mark?? You better not be ditching me for one of your dumb guy friends.
Still nothing. Anxiety begins to creep in, though you try to push it aside. He’s probably just running late.
An hour later, you’ve run out of chips and excuses for his absence.
You: I’m officially mad at you.
By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve all but given up. You leave one last text before tossing your phone onto the coffee table.
You: Hope you’re okay. Call me when you see this.
Sleep doesn’t come easily that night. Your mind races with possibilities—some silly, some serious. Is he okay? Did something happen? You brush them off as anxious thoughts running wild and try to fall asleep.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
The next morning, your phone buzzes with a message from Mark.
Mark: I’m so sorry, Y/N. I got sick out of nowhere last night. Took some medicine and completely passed out. I didn’t even see your texts until now.
You exhale, relieved but annoyed.
You: SICK? You ditched me because you were sick? I’m so offended.
Mark: I’m sorryyyyy. 😭 I’ll make it up to you, I swear.
You: You better be glad I didn’t watch our show without you.
Mark: You wouldn’t dare.
You: Guess you’ll never know.
His usual playfulness makes you smile, but the knot in your chest hasn’t completely loosened. You know it’s dumb, but a small part of you wonders if there’s more to the story. Mark never misses your hangouts. You’re always the first to know if something’s wrong. And as much as you want to believe his excuse, the insecurity that’s been gnawing at you for years whispers otherwise.
He’s your only real friend, and deep down, you’re terrified of losing him. You’re terrified that one day he’ll outgrow you, that he’ll find someone cooler, funnier, or just... better.
You shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. Mark said he was sick, and you believe him. There’s no reason to think otherwise. But as you put your phone down and get ready for the day, you can’t help but feel like something isn’t adding up.
You stare at your phone, willing it to buzz with a new message from Mark, but it stays silent. You’ve already texted him a few times this afternoon, and while he usually responds by now, today it’s been almost two hours since your last message. Your thumb hovers over your screen, ready to send something, but you stop yourself. Maybe he’s busy. It’s fine. It’s not like you need him to text you back right away, right?
But you can’t shake the growing discomfort in your chest.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
Ever since his message about getting sick a few weeks ago, he’s been a little off. Sure, he’d apologized for missing your hangout, but now, it’s like nothing has changed. During the day, he’s the same—always goofy, friendly, and acting normal when you see him at school. But by the time night falls, he’s almost always gone—his responses slow, often one-word answers, and sometimes, he doesn’t respond at all. And this has gone on for almost a month now.
The more time passes, the more you can’t help but feel like he’s distancing himself from you, like you’ve somehow become a burden on him. You try to tell yourself you’re overthinking it. He’s probably just busy, right? But deep down, there’s a voice whispering that maybe he’s just getting tired of you. You wish you could ignore it, but the insecurity festers, eating away at your confidence with every minute he doesn’t reply.
By the time midnight rolls around, you’ve already sent him two more texts, no response. You try to sleep, but your mind is spinning. Is he with someone else? You hate that thought, but it keeps creeping in. Maybe he’s found new people to hang out with. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore.
You throw your phone aside, frustrated with yourself, with him, and with the situation. Why do I care so much? You’ve never been the type to need constant validation from someone else, but with Mark? It’s different. You’ve always been there for each other, always shared your time. You didn’t need anything more from him, but now… it feels like you’re losing him.
Then, you get a message.
It's from Mark. Your heart jumps into your throat as you open it. “Hey, sorry. I got totally wrapped up in homework, we still on for tomorrow?”
You read it over and over, but something feels off. It’s a good excuse—too good, maybe. You want to believe him, but part of you wonders if he’s just avoiding you now. He was so there for you, always texting and hanging out after school. But now? It feels like he’s just gone, like a ghost. You don’t know what to believe.
“Can’t, sorry. I have plans with Giselle.”
There’s a pause before his reply comes through. You can almost hear the indifference in his words, even though you know you’re probably reading into it too much.
“Ah, alright. Have fun.”
The message feels too short, too casual. You frown at your phone, biting your lip. The nagging feeling in your chest grows stronger. Has he really just become that indifferent?
You text him back quickly, trying to keep things light, trying to ignore the hurt that lingers in your words. “Yeah sorry, we’ll definitely hang out later this week though, haha.”
But even as you send the message, a part of you wonders if this week is going to be just like the last—another week of him acting normal at school, you trying to text him all night, waiting for responses that don’t come, waiting for a friendship that doesn’t feel the same anymore.
You let out a sigh, toss your phone aside, and climb into bed, your angsty playlist drifting through your ears as you struggle to sleep.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
The bass from the music thumps through your chest as you step into the crowded living room. The lights are dim, the room filled with a haze of colored neon and swirling bodies moving to the rhythm. It’s your first real party in a long time, and the unfamiliar atmosphere is slightly overwhelming. You spot Giselle across the room, her blonde hair shining under the strobe lights as she waves you over.
You smile, grateful for her invitation. The group of people she’s hanging with seems friendly enough, laughing and chatting as they pass drinks around. Giselle introduces you to a few of her friends, and you slip into the crowd easily enough, trying to shake off the tension that’s been building in you ever since Mark stopped replying to your texts.
You’ve been pushing it down all night, focusing on the fun of the party, but it’s hard to ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind. Is he really busy with homework? Or is he avoiding me? You try not to dwell on it. After all, he’s always been a little unpredictable—he’s probably just caught up with his own stuff.
As the night wears on, you find yourself getting along with Giselle’s friends. You chat with a girl named Ningning who shares a class with you, and you laugh at her sarcastic humor. It’s nice. It feels good to be out and talking with people who aren’t just classmates or distant acquaintances. But still, in the back of your mind, you’re aware of the emptiness Mark’s absence has left. Every few minutes, you glance at your phone, hoping to see a message from him, but there’s nothing.
You tell yourself it’s fine—he’s just busy. But every time you check, you feel a little more disappointed.
The music pulses louder, and you take a deep breath, shaking off the thoughts of your best friend. Giselle is pulling you toward the makeshift dance floor, laughing as she drags you into the crowd. You let yourself get swept up in the fun for a while, your body moving to the beat, the drinks in your system giving you a comfortable, carefree buzz.
You laugh, enjoy yourself, and even manage to pull out a few impressive dance moves—at least according to Giselle, who’s cheering you on. The night seems to go by in a blur of music and people, the few drinks you’d had adding to the fuzziness of the night’s events.
But as the night winds down, you find yourself standing near the door, chatting with Ningning again. You glance down at your phone for what feels like the hundredth time, a little embarrassed that you’re still hoping for a text from him.
You frown when you see the time: it’s late, and you still haven’t heard from him. You were starting to wonder if you should text him, maybe check in, when Giselle appears beside you. “Hey, you okay?” she asks, her eyes narrowing with a knowing look. You smile, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just... thinking about stuff,” you say vaguely, slipping your phone back into your pocket.
She nods. “You know, it’s okay to have fun without him. Sometimes you gotta do your own thing, right?”
You nod along, but her words hit deeper than she probably intended. Why does it feel like I can’t? you think, but you don’t say it out loud. Instead, you force another smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Giselle offers to drive you home, but you shake your head. “I think I’ll walk. Get some fresh air. Plus, I’ve got pepper spray, just in case,” you joke, trying to ease the mood.
She laughs, but her eyes linger on you for a moment. “Alright, take care of yourself, okay?”
You wave her off as she heads toward the car with her friends. You linger by the door for a moment, a small hesitation gnawing at you, but then you push it aside. Walking will help clear your head.
As you step out into the cool night air, the city streets are alive with the usual hum of late-night activity. There’s a slight chill to the breeze, but you don’t mind it. You wrap your jacket tighter around your shoulders, feeling the effects of the alcohol beginning to wear off as the cold air helps sober you up. The walk is quiet, and for the first time tonight, you feel like you can breathe a little easier.
But even though the night is peaceful, your mind still drifts back to Mark. His silence feels like an anchor in your chest, something heavy and uncertain, and as you walk, you can’t stop wondering what’s going on. You’ve spent every Saturday night together for as long as you can remember. And now... now he’s just disappearing.
You try to shake off the feeling, telling yourself it's nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking. Again. But the more you walk, the more your thoughts spiral, until you hear the footsteps behind you.
Before you can even react, a hand grabs your wrist, spinning you around so quickly that your heart jumps into your throat. Your breath catches in your chest, and for a split second, you can’t even process what’s happening. The streetlights cast long shadows on the sidewalk, and for a brief, terrifying moment, you can’t make out the guy’s face. All you feel is the cold, tight grip on your wrist.
Your heart starts pounding in your chest, panic surging through you. You try to pull away, but his hand tightens, and a sickening, familiar feeling spreads through you.
"Hey! Let go of me!" you shout, your voice shaking.
“Quiet, bitch,” the man growls, his breath hot against your neck. You struggle, but his grip tightens, and your pulse quickens.
Just as the fear begins to settle over you, you hear a soft whoosh, followed by a thud that’s too heavy to be anything but a person.
Without warning, the man’s grip on you loosens, and before you can even react, you're yanked off the ground and pulled up a nearby fire escape ladder, higher and higher until you’re standing on a rooftop. Your heart pounds in your chest as you try to steady your breath. You glance around, completely disoriented, when the voice of the masker figure breaks the silence.
You let out a breath, in awe of the Spiderman being right in front of you.
But before you can say anything, he speaks.
“Stay here,” he orders, his tone sharp as he drops you onto a crate by the edge of the roof. “I’ll handle it. Don’t move.”
You don’t even have time to ask him what’s going on before he’s gone, leaving you sitting there alone in the dark, your mind spinning. What the hell just happened? Is this... real? You glance around, still trying to process the fact that Spiderman—the very same guy you’d heard about in the news, the one everyone in the city seems to talk about—just saved you from some creep.
Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear the sound of struggle below, muffled voices, and a distant thud as Spiderman confronts the man you were just seconds away from being attacked by. It’s all over within moments, and before you can fully grasp the situation, Spiderman returns, landing effortlessly on the roof beside you.
He glances at you, his mask giving nothing away, but you notice the way his chest rises and falls a little too fast for someone who should be used to fighting.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer now. You nod quickly, trying to push the terror away.
“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing hard. “Thanks for saving me.”
A long silence stretches between you before you, almost hesitantly, ask, “Did... did you... kill him?”
The question comes out before you can think better of it, but the moment you say it, his head whips toward you in complete shock.
“What?!” he exclaims, his voice full of disbelief. “No! I—no, I didn’t kill him! I just... I knocked him out. I’m not... I don’t... that’s not what I do.”
You blink, surprised at how horrified he sounds. Maybe you’ve underestimated him.
“Oh,” you murmur, feeling sheepish. “Sorry, I... I don’t know how these things work.”
Spiderman’s shoulders visibly relax, and he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s fine. Just... just stay safe, okay? I’ll get you home.”
You nod, your heart still beating erratically in your chest. Part of you is still processing everything, but another part of you is grateful. Grateful for Spiderman being here tonight, for protecting you when no one else would have been able to.
“Um, thank you again,” you say, your voice softer this time.
His eyes behind the mask seem to soften, but you’re not sure. “I can take you home,” he offers, voice low, almost too gentle, slightly familiar but you’re unable to place exactly where you’d heard it before.
You blink up at him, still in shock, and then remember where you are. “I’m almost home… I can walk the rest of the way.”
But the more you think about it, the more you realize you really don’t want to walk. Not after what just happened. Plus, his presence feels safe in a way you can’t explain.
Spiderman seems to notice the hesitation in your expression, and before you can change your mind, he’s already swooping down, his webbing attaching to a nearby building. “Hold on tight.”
Your breath catches in your throat as you barely process his words. Before you can question how he knows where you live, he shoots another web, pulling you along with him. Your feet leave the ground, and you’re soaring through the city. The wind rushes against your face, and everything is a blur of lights and rooftops.
The whole trip is a disorienting whirl, but it’s somehow comforting in its chaos. Spiderman moves like he’s done this a thousand times, his grip tight around your waist as he swings from one building to the next. The world below you is a distant hum, but your thoughts are still clouded with questions.
And then, as quickly as it began, you find yourself standing on the fire escape of your apartment building. Your legs are a little shaky, but it doesn’t matter. You’re safe.
“Here we are,” he says, glancing up at your window.
You stare at him, still slightly tipsy from the night’s events, but not questioning how he knows where you live. After all, it’s just one of those things that doesn’t make sense, and you don’t really care. All that matters is that you’re safe now.
“Thanks,” you say quietly, feeling oddly vulnerable under his watchful gaze.
He nods again, his hand slipping back to his side as he stands a little straighter. “Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t walk alone at night again. It’s... not safe. Especially for pretty girls like you.”
You nod, still too stunned to respond properly. You watch as he shoots a web up to the fire escape and swings back into the darkness. You stand there for a moment, your thoughts racing, wondering if the whole thing really just happened. It’s only when you step inside your apartment and hear the quiet of the night that it hits you. Spiderman just saved me, not only that but he’d called you pretty too.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
The next Monday morning at school, everything feels a little surreal. You’re walking through the hallways, mind still reeling from that night’s events. You still haven’t told anyone, and you feel like you’re about to burst. How in the world had Spiderman been so close to you? And you were actually talking to him, like... you know, a real conversation.
As you sit down next to Mark in homeroom, you can’t help but grin. You need to tell someone about the whole thing, and who better than your best friend? You tap his shoulder and lean in close, trying to act casual but failing miserably.
“Oh my God, Mark, you won’t believe what happened last night,” you blurt out, eyes wide with excitement.
He raises an eyebrow, a slight chuckle escaping him as he looks over at you. “What happened? You go to a party or something?”
You shake your head, not able to contain the grin that stretches across your face. “Worse. I got mugged.” You pause for dramatic effect, watching his eyes widen with concern. “But wait—before you freak out, I was saved. By Spiderman.”
Mark freezes for a second, blinking at you in disbelief. “Spiderman? You’re serious? Like, the Spiderman?”
You nod, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed as you recount the entire wild encounter, from the guy grabbing you to being yanked onto the roof and saved by Spiderman. You try to make it sound as casual as possible, but you can’t help but feel the thrill of telling someone about your personal brush with New York’s most famous hero.
“That’s insane,” Mark mutters, clearly processing the details. “Wait, so... what happened next?”
“Well, he saved me,” you say, leaning in like you’re sharing a secret. “But... I’m not gonna lie, Mark, he was lowkey hot.”
Mark splutters, his face twisting with confusion. “What? You don’t even know what he looks like.”
You shrug dramatically, twirling your pen between your fingers. “Doesn’t matter. It’s not about looks. It’s how he was so protective, you know? The way he grabbed me and made sure I was okay... it was hot.”
You watch Mark's face turn a shade of red as his expression shifts from surprise to something else entirely—discomfort, maybe? You can practically see the wheels turning in his head as he tries to hold it together.
“No way. You’re a freak, bro,” Mark says, shaking his head and trying to laugh it off. “Like, seriously? You’re crushing on a guy you don’t even know?”
You roll your eyes, letting out a short laugh. “I don’t judge your crushes, so don’t judge mine. It’s called appreciating someone for more than just their looks.”
Mark scowls, but there’s a nervous twitch in his eyes. “I’m not judging. But... I don’t know, it’s just a little weird. You’ve got a crush on Spiderman?”
You smile, feeling a little awkward. “I guess. He’s mysterious, heroic... and I mean, he was pretty hot for someone wearing a mask.” You nudge him playfully, watching the way he looks more and more flustered.
Mark shrugs, but you can see the slight hesitation in his eyes. “Whatever, man. You’re weird. But... I guess if he saved you... that’s... kinda cool.”
It’s hard to ignore the little spark of something else in his voice, even if he’s trying to mask it with humor. You grin to yourself, filing the moment away. You’re not sure why, but it feels like there’s a shift between you two—something you can’t quite put your finger on.
You press the issue no further, but the day goes on, and you can't stop thinking about Mark’s weird reaction. Sure, he’s your best friend, but the way he acted just now... it made you wonder. Could he possibly feel something more for you?
You find yourself entertaining the idea of Mark having a crush on you, before shaking your head and brushing the thought away. There’s no way Mark liked you, if he did, he would have told you.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
As the week drags on, you can't shake the thought of Spiderman. Sure, you were trying to move on, but it’s hard when you keep running into him every time you step out of the apartment at night. You’ll be walking home from the store, or maybe grabbing dinner with Giselle and Ninging, and bam—there he is, swinging between buildings or dropping down from some rooftop. It’s like he’s everywhere.
At first, you try to brush it off, telling yourself it’s just a coincidence. But then, it starts feeling a little too suspicious, almost like he’s... following you? Or looking out for you?
One night, you’re walking back from your favorite coffee shop, the crisp air of early fall making you hug your jacket tighter. You’ve been texting Mark, as usual, but his replies are slow—too slow. You roll your eyes at the screen, sighing. You swear, it’s like he’s avoiding you or something.
As you round the corner toward your apartment building, you feel that familiar shift in the air, that sensation of something just slightly off. You glance up and sure enough, you spot him—Spiderman—perched on a rooftop above you, his figure silhouetted against the dim streetlights.
You pause in your tracks, raising a brow. “Really? Again?”
Spiderman tilts his head, as if amused by your reaction. He crouches down and lands lightly in front of you, his movements fluid and graceful.
“You’re following me, huh?” you tease, crossing your arms over your chest. “I mean, I appreciate the protection and all, but you don’t have to babysit me.”
Spiderman straightens, a soft chuckle escaping from behind the mask. “I’m not babysitting,” he says with a playful edge. “Just making sure you don’t run into any... unsavory people.”
You roll your eyes, but there's a slight smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, well, I’m fine. Been walking these streets for years now.”
There’s a pause, as if he’s considering your words. “I’m still here. Just in case.” His voice is a little warmer than usual, though it’s hard to tell beneath the mask.
You feel a mix of amusement and frustration bubbling up. “You’re a real hero, huh?” you quip. “Just swinging in, saving the day. But honestly? I’m starting to get tired of it. I mean, you’re cute and all, but this whole ‘mysterious stranger’ act? It’s getting old.”
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them, and as soon as they do, you realize—you’ve just said that to Spiderman.
You quickly recover, trying to act casual. “It’s fine, I guess. I’m just getting a little tired of feeling like I’m in some weird superhero movie, you know?”
Spiderman doesn’t say anything at first. Instead, he steps a little closer, his posture still relaxed but with a certain intensity in his eyes—well, you imagine that’s what’s behind the mask.
“Maybe I should back off for a while then,” he says after a beat, his tone more thoughtful. “You’ve got it all under control, right?”
You scoff, crossing your arms in an attempt to cover up how your heart is suddenly beating a little faster. “Yeah, I’ve got it under control, obviously.”
“Really?” Spiderman says, his voice a little too calm for your liking. Before you can even process what’s happening, he webs your phone right out of your hand, and you gasp, stumbling back in surprise as it hovers in midair for a second before landing gently in his palm.
You blink up at him in disbelief, your mouth hanging open. “What the hell? Give that back!”
He shrugs, unfazed. “What if someone mugs you again? No offense, but your reflexes suck.”
Your jaw clenches at the jab, but you can’t help but laugh bitterly. “Thanks, I feel so much safer now. I wasn’t even worried about it.”
You reach for your phone, and he hands it back to you, but there’s a look in his eyes—concern, maybe? Or just frustration. “You might not worry, but I do. You seem like you’ve got your act together, but... I don’t know. Maybe I’m just looking out for you.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s no real heat in the gesture. "Fine," you say, a little too quickly. "I guess I can let you walk with me then. But just so you know, you’re not my personal bodyguard, alright?”
Spiderman grins behind his mask, a little triumphant, but he falls in step behind you. You try to ignore the way his presence feels different—more constant now, like it’s a part of the night itself. You walk for a few minutes, the quiet of the city streets pressing in on you. You try to focus on the rhythmic sound of your footsteps, but the weight of the past few days catches up with you, and you find your shoulders slumping a little more with each step.
Spiderman notices, of course. You can feel his eyes on your back, studying you, but he doesn’t say anything for a while.
Finally, he speaks up, his voice softer than usual. “You wanna talk about it? I mean, you’ve been acting a little... off tonight.”
You look over your shoulder at him, surprised that he even noticed. But you don’t hesitate. Maybe it’s the anonymity of the mask. Maybe it’s the strange comfort of having a stranger to vent to. But suddenly, you just want to unload.
“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand through your hair, “I mean, I’ve been dealing with some... stuff lately.”
You kick a rock along the sidewalk as you walk, the soft scrape of it filling the silence. “I’ve got this friend, Mark, right? We’ve been close for years—like, best friends. We have this thing where every Saturday, no exceptions, we hang out. Watch movies, talk... whatever. We’re just... us. But lately? He’s been acting weird. Like, really weird.”
Spiderman doesn’t interrupt. He just walks beside you, giving you the space to talk.
“It’s like he’s avoiding me,” you continue, your words gaining momentum. “I get that people get busy, but he’s never like this. He’s slow to reply, sometimes doesn’t even respond at all, and when he does, it’s like he doesn’t care anymore. I don’t even know what happened. It’s just... really frustrating. And I don’t even know if I should ask him about it, because I don’t want to come off as desperate or clingy.”
You kick another rock, your frustration spilling over, and for a second, you feel a little ridiculous. Here you are, talking about Mark to a guy you don’t even know, someone who wears a mask and swings from rooftops. But the words come tumbling out anyway, all of your insecurities and confusion finding a strange kind of release in the cool air of the city.
Spiderman stays quiet for a moment, processing. When he finally speaks, his voice is calm, like he’s trying to make sense of your ramblings. “Sounds like he’s pulling away for some reason,” he says thoughtfully. “But I’m sure there’s a reason. Maybe he’s just going through something, you know?”
You shrug, feeling the weight of the uncertainty settle in your chest. “I don’t know. I just... I want things Spiderman listens quietly, his footsteps matching yours as you walk. You don’t notice the way his posture shifts, or the way his mask seems to obscure any hint of emotion—though somehow, you feel like he’s really paying attention.
After a few beats of silence, he finally speaks again, his voice thoughtful and a little gentler than before. “You know, I think you should just talk to him. Mark, I mean.”
You stop in your tracks, looking over at him in surprise. “What?”
Spiderman shrugs, his tone almost casual, but his words don’t match the nonchalance. “I get it. You’re frustrated, and you don’t want to be the one to chase him down. But sometimes, people just need a nudge. If you really want things to go back to the way they were... maybe you should just be honest with him. Ask him what’s up.”
You frown, crossing your arms tightly over your chest, suddenly feeling a little vulnerable. “But what if I look desperate? Or, I don’t know... what if he doesn’t care?”
Spiderman stops walking too, his voice quiet but steady when he answers. “He cares. I’m sure of it.”
You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised by how certain he sounds. “How could you possibly know that? You don’t even know him.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t need to. I can tell from the way you talk about him. The way you light up when you mention him. You’re not the kind of person who just forgets someone you care about. And trust me, it’s obvious he doesn’t want to lose that either. Whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”
You let out a long sigh, leaning against the nearest streetlamp. His words stir something inside you—something you’ve been avoiding all week. The idea that Mark really does care makes your heart feel a little lighter, but the fear is still there. “But what if he doesn’t? What if I make things worse by trying to talk to him?”
Spiderman leans against the wall next to you, his posture relaxed. “Look, I’m not saying it’s going to be easy. But you know him. I’m sure you’ve been through rough patches before and you worked through them. You just need to give him the chance to explain himself. I think that’s all he needs—someone to really talk to. And if you don’t do it, you’ll always be wondering what could’ve happened.”
You chew on your lip, his words hanging in the air between you. There’s a weight to them, something that feels... true. Something that makes you want to listen to him, to take his advice. But still, there’s a stubborn part of you that wants to push it all aside. “I just... don’t want to get hurt. Again.”
Spiderman straightens up, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You won’t. Not if you’re honest. Trust me.”
You glance up at him, your gaze softening as you look into the mysterious eyes behind his mask. He sounds so sure of himself.
“Thanks,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him. “I’ll think about it.”
He nods once, giving you an almost encouraging smile beneath the mask. “I know you will.”
You both fall silent as you continue walking, but the weight in your chest doesn’t feel quite as heavy anymore. Maybe, just maybe, Spiderman is right. Maybe you do need to talk to Mark.
Maybe it won’t be as scary as you think.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
A few days after your conversation with Spiderman, things between you and Mark seem to settle down a bit. He’s still a little distant at times, but when he’s around, you notice he’s more present, his smiles more genuine, his conversations less distracted. It’s not the same as before—things can’t just magically go back to normal—but there’s something warmer there, something more honest.
One afternoon, as you’re sitting at your favorite spot in the courtyard, you catch him coming toward you, looking a little tired but still smiling like he’s actually glad to see you. You can’t help but feel a pang of relief. It’s been a while since you’ve had one of these simple, casual hangouts, and you’ve missed it more than you care to admit.
He sits beside you, just like old times, and you both start talking like you haven’t missed a beat. But the conversation isn’t just surface-level anymore. He seems more open, more real.
After a while, you can’t hold back anymore. The thought has been gnawing at the back of your mind for days, and it’s finally time to ask.
You clear your throat, trying to sound casual, though your heart is thumping in your chest. "Hey, Mark. Can I ask you something?"
He glances at you, his brow furrowing slightly, but he’s still listening. “Of course. What’s up?”
You take a deep breath, trying not to come off too confrontational. "Why did you ghost me before? I mean, I know you were busy, but... you weren’t even texting me back. I didn’t want to push, but it felt like you were avoiding me."
His expression hardens for just a moment, like he's bracing himself. He looks away for a second, running a hand through his hair. "I was... going through something. Something personal."
You wait, your heart rate picking up. The words hang between you two, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t.
You want to press him, ask for more details, but you don’t. There’s something about the way he said it—quiet, almost hesitant—that makes you feel like he’s not ready to share. You nod, leaning back against the bench. “Okay... But you know, you can always talk to me, right?”
Mark hesitates, eyes flicking back to you, a mix of gratitude and something else passing through his gaze. "I know," he says, his voice soft but firm. "But right now, I really can’t. I wish I could, but..." He lets out a sigh, his shoulders dropping. "It’s complicated, and I don’t want to drag you into it."
You feel the weight of his words, something about them striking you deeper than you expected. There’s an intensity there, a desperation almost, that you weren’t prepared for. You stare at him for a moment, your gaze softening as you consider his words.
"I trust you, Mark," you say quietly. "And I know you’re not lying to me. So... if you can’t tell me yet, it’s okay. Just know that I’m here, whenever you’re ready."
There’s a long pause as he looks at you, like he’s trying to read the sincerity in your eyes. Finally, he looks away, nodding slowly.
"Thanks. That... means a lot to me." His voice cracks a little, and you can tell how much he appreciates your understanding. "I really am sorry for pulling away, though. I never wanted to hurt you."
You smile softly, feeling the tension between you two finally start to ease. "I know you didn’t. But I’m here, okay? Just like you said—whenever you’re ready, I’m not going anywhere."
He gives a small, grateful smile, his eyes warmer than they’ve been in a while. "Thanks... I really mean it."
From that moment on, things slowly start to return to a sense of normalcy. Mark isn’t completely open with you yet—whatever is going on with him still seems like something he’s not ready to share—but there’s a shift. There’s no more distance. He’s trying, and you’re trying, and that’s enough for now.
And as you walk to class together the next day, you feel a little lighter. Maybe things aren’t perfect, and maybe they never will be, but you’re still here for each other. And somehow, that’s all you need for now.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
Things have started to settle into a new rhythm, one that’s almost comfortable. You and Mark are hanging out again, like before, laughing and joking and just enjoying each other’s company. But now, there's something different in the air—something lighter, maybe even flirtatious. It’s subtle, but it’s there. He'll tease you, throw out little compliments that make your heart race, and you’ve noticed the way he looks at you when you’re talking, his eyes softer than usual.
You can’t deny it—you’re starting to feel the spark again, that chemistry you thought you had maybe lost when things got weird. But you're also talking to Spiderman regularly now, and every time you do, you feel like you’re walking this tightrope between two worlds—one where everything feels so right with Mark, and one where he is a complete mystery. You don’t even realize it yet, but you're starting to fall for both of them in very different ways.
You hadn’t expected to run into him tonight, but here he is, perched on the fire escape across the street, casually leaning against the rail. It’s become a weird sort of routine lately—your nightly walks where you’d end up talking to Spiderman. It’s comforting in its own way, even if you still don’t know who’s behind the mask.
You slow your pace and look up at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re stalking me now?”
Spiderman chuckles, the sound muffled by the mask but still warm enough to make your chest flutter. “If I’m stalking you, then you’re stalking me, too,” he teases, swinging down lightly to land in front of you. “What’s up tonight?”
You shrug, adjusting the straps of your bag over your shoulder. “Not much. Just out to clear my head.”
The city feels quieter at night. The hum of the busy streets seems far away, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you standing there in the stillness. You’ve gotten used to his company in the past couple of weeks, and there’s a sense of comfort in the anonymity between you. A part of you almost wishes you could talk to him more. After everything with Mark, it’s nice to have someone to listen, someone who isn’t involved in the mess.
He notices the shift in your demeanor, and you can tell by the tilt of his head that he’s waiting for you to speak.
You let out a deep breath, gathering your courage. You hadn’t planned on telling him this, but somehow it just comes out. “I think I’m in love with Mark,” you say, voice quieter than usual, almost scared to even say it out loud.
His posture stiffens for a second, though you can’t see his expression under the mask. “Mark?” he repeats, sounding genuinely surprised. “Like, your best friend Mark?”
You nod, biting your lip. “Yeah. I mean... I don’t know. It’s confusing. We’ve been friends forever, and now it’s like I can’t get him out of my head. Lately, he’s been like flirting, I think?”
“Flirting?” he asks, his tone curious, almost teasing. “What do you mean?”
“Yeah,” you say, laughing nervously. “I don’t know, he’s just been way nicer lately? Texting me more, teasing me... It’s like he’s trying to get closer to me or something.”
You glance around, unsure of how to continue, suddenly feeling a little silly talking about your boy problems to Spiderman. You rub the back of your neck and look away, trying to gather your thoughts. “But I don’t know if I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading into things. I mean, we’ve been friends for so long. He’s always been nice to me, but now it’s... different. It’s making me crazy. I don’t know what to think.”
Spiderman watches you quietly, his posture still, though there’s something in the way he holds himself that makes you feel like he’s really paying attention. “You deserve an answer,” he says after a pause, his voice low but certain. “You deserve to know how he feels, one way or the other.”
You look up at him, surprised by his words. “You think so?”
He gives a slight nod. “Yeah. You can’t keep guessing forever. I mean, I’m not saying it’s easy to talk about feelings, but it’s the only way to know for sure.”
You bite your lip, nodding slowly. You want to believe him, you want to believe that talking to Mark is the right thing to do, but the idea of being rejected still stings. “Yeah... I guess you're right. I’ve been avoiding talking to him about it. I’m scared of what might happen if I do.”
Spiderman steps closer, his voice soft and reassuring. “If he’s your friend, he’ll understand. And if he doesn’t... then at least you’ll know where you stand.”
You sigh deeply, feeling the weight of his words. He’s right, of course. You’ve been avoiding the conversation with Mark because you’re afraid of what might happen, but maybe it’s time to face it.
“Thanks,” you say, feeling a little lighter. “I’m not sure I’d have the courage to do it if you hadn’t said something.”
“No problem,” he replies, a teasing note in his voice. “I mean, I’m just a friendly neighborhood Spiderman. Helping people is kind of my thing.”
You laugh a little, but it’s a mix of relief and gratitude. “You’re way too nice to be a superhero.”
He shrugs, though you can’t see it through the mask. “I do what I can. But seriously, take my advice. Talk to him. He’s probably just as confused as you are.”
You smile, feeling a little more confident now. “I will. I promise.”
Spiderman gives you a nod of approval before his posture shifts, signaling that it’s time to go. “Alright. Go get some sleep. You’ve got this.”
You watch as he swings up to the rooftops, disappearing into the night, and for the first time in a while, you feel like maybe—just maybe—you can start figuring things out with Mark.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
You don’t even see it coming.
One moment, you’re walking back from the corner store with a bag of snacks, minding your own business. The next, someone grabs you, and your heart leaps into your throat. A rough voice snarls in your ear, “Where’s your friend Spiderman?”
Panic overtakes you, and all you can manage is a confused stammer. You’re shoved into the back of a van, heart racing as you piece together what’s happening. Someone must’ve seen you with him that night, or maybe they’ve been watching for longer than you realized.
Your captors don’t wait long to make their demands clear. “You tell him to show up, or things get messy,” one says, holding up your phone. They want you to call him. The problem is, you have no idea how.
You stutter, trying to explain that you literally don’t have his phone number.
“Don’t play dumb,” the second man snaps, holding up your phone. “We’ve seen him with you. Call him.”
“I can’t—”
Your words are cut off as the van jerks to a halt. The two men exchange alarmed glances, and then you hear it: a thud on the roof.
“What the hell was that?” one mutters, pulling out a weapon.
The next sound is unmistakable—the sharp thwip of a web. The van rocks violently as the door is ripped clean off, light flooding the cramped space.
And there he is.
Spiderman is a blur of red and blue, launching himself into the van with an acrobatic flip. He webs the first man’s weapon before the guy can react, yanking it away and tossing it aside. The second man lunges at him with a crowbar, but Spiderman ducks, the crowbar smashing into the wall behind him with a deafening clang.
“Stay down,” Spiderman warns, his voice firm but calm.
The first guy doesn’t listen. He charges at Spiderman, only to get a web shot to the face. Spiderman kicks him backward, sending him sprawling onto the van’s floor.
“Are you okay?” Spiderman asks, glancing at you briefly.
You nod, too stunned to speak.
The second guy doesn’t go down as easily. He’s bigger, meaner, and surprisingly agile. He swings the crowbar again, catching Spiderman in the side. The sickening sound of metal against his ribs makes your stomach turn.
Spiderman grunts in pain, stumbling but recovering quickly. He blocks the next swing with his forearm, webbing the crowbar and yanking it from the man’s grasp. “You really don’t learn, do you?” he quips, his voice strained.
Before he can finish, the first guy is back on his feet, armed with a knife. He slashes at Spiderman, who dodges narrowly but takes a glancing cut to his arm.
“Two against one,” Spiderman mutters, “that’s not very fair.”
He shoots a web at the knife, disarming the man, then uses a second web to yank him forward. Spiderman spins, using the man’s momentum against him, and sends him crashing into the wall of the van.
The second guy charges, tackling Spiderman to the ground. They grapple, fists flying, and you can see Spiderman slowing down, his movements less precise. Blood stains his suit where the knife grazed him, and he’s holding his side—likely from the earlier hit.
Your breath catches as the second guy pins him, but Spiderman surprises you, using his legs to flip the man over his head. He’s back on his feet in an instant, delivering a punch that knocks the guy out cold.
Spiderman turns to you, his breathing heavy, his posture slouched. “You’re safe now,” he says, but his voice wavers.
“Safe? You’re bleeding!” you exclaim, rushing to his side.
“It’s fine,” he says, trying to wave you off, but his movements are sluggish, and he’s gripping his ribs tightly.
“It’s not fine,” you argue, your voice rising. “You’re hurt. You need help. Come on, let’s go to my place.”
He hesitates, but when he stumbles slightly, he lets you guide him out of the van.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
You practically drag Spiderman up the fire escape to your bedroom. He’s limping, trying to downplay the extent of his injuries, but you can see the pain etched into his body language—even through the mask.
“Sit,” you order the moment you’re inside, gesturing to your bed. He hesitates, scanning the windows and doors like he’s expecting someone to burst in.
“Relax,” you add. “Nobody followed us.”
With a reluctant nod, he sinks into the couch, groaning softly. You rush to grab your first-aid kit, returning to find him still gripping his side, his masked head tilted back against the cushions.
“Alright,” you say, kneeling beside him. “I need to check your injuries. You’re gonna have to take off the mask.”
He tenses immediately, shaking his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Spiderman,” you say firmly, “you can’t breathe properly. I need to check if you’re okay. I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”
“No,” he says again, his voice edged with frustration. “I can’t. It’s... complicated.”
You sit back on your heels, crossing your arms. “Complicated? You just saved my life, and now I’m trying to save yours. What’s complicated about that?”
He looks at you for a long moment, the lenses of his mask narrowing slightly. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I’ll be fine. I’ve been through worse.”
You huff, annoyed. “Fine. At least let me patch up what I can see.”
He allows you to clean the cut on his arm, wincing slightly as you dab antiseptic on it. You notice how quiet he’s gotten, his usual witty banter replaced by a tense silence.
“You don’t have to do this alone, you know,” you say softly, glancing up at him.
“I do,” he replies immediately, his tone clipped.
The words hit harder than you expect. You lean back, giving him space, and he stands, wobbling slightly.
“Thanks for the help,” he says, moving toward the window.
“Wait—”
“I’ll be fine,” he cuts you off, stepping onto the ledge. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
And then he’s gone, leaving you staring at the empty space where he’d been, your chest tight with frustration and worry.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
It’s been days since you last saw Spiderman. Days of walking home late at night and feeling the eerie absence of the one person who always made you feel safe. You tell yourself it’s fine. That he’s busy saving the city or maybe just giving you space. But deep down, you feel the sting of being shut out.
Mark’s been acting strange too. Not like before, when he outright ignored you, but there’s something guarded about him again—like he’s keeping secrets. You don’t know how much more of this you can take.
One evening, as you’re walking home, the silence feels unbearable. The air feels colder, heavier, without the usual sense of someone watching your back. By the time you reach your apartment, your chest feels tight with frustration. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent conversations.
Nothing from Spiderman.
Mark’s last text was a brief, “Can’t hang tonight, sorry.”
You shove your phone in your pocket and head straight to Mark’s apartment
When Mark opens the door, he looks surprised—and maybe a little nervous—to see you.
“Hey, what’s up?” he asks, trying for casual, but there’s a stiffness in his tone.
“Are you avoiding me again?” you blurt out, crossing your arms.
He blinks, clearly caught off guard. “What? No. Why would I—”
“Don’t lie to me, Mark,” you cut him off. “You’ve been weird. You’re barely texting back, and when you do, it’s like you’re walking on eggshells. What’s going on with you?”
He runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze. “I’m just... dealing with stuff, okay? It’s nothing to do with you.”
You step closer, lowering your voice. “You told me to trust you. To believe that you care about me. And I do, Mark. But it feels like you’re shutting me out again, and I can’t take that.”
He lets out a long sigh, leaning against the doorframe. “It’s not that simple.”
“Then make it simple!” you exclaim. “You’re my best friend, Mark. You don’t have to do everything alone.”
For a moment, he looks like he’s about to say something—something big. But then he stops himself, his jaw tightening.
“I can’t,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper.
You stare at him, heart sinking. “Why not?”
“Because if you knew...” He pauses, swallowing hard. “It would change everything. And I can’t risk that.”
Your mind races, frustration boiling over. “Do you even realize how hard it is for me to feel like I can’t talk to anyone? To feel like I’m losing you and—” You stop yourself, clenching your fists. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll stop asking.”
“Y/N...”
“No,” you say firmly, stepping back. “When you’re ready to actually be honest with me, let me know.”
Before he can respond, you turn and walk away, leaving him standing in the doorway, his expression conflicted.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
Mark can’t stop replaying the look on your face as you walked away. The hurt in your voice, the weight of your words—it gnaws at him. For the first time in his life, he’s truly afraid he might lose you.
He paces his room, running a hand through his hair. Every excuse he’s made to keep his identity a secret feels hollow now. You deserve the truth. And if it costs him everything? At least you’ll know how much you mean to him.
Grabbing a small bouquet of flowers—ones he spotted on the way home earlier—he suits up and swings toward your apartment. The city rushes by beneath him, but for once, he doesn’t revel in the thrill of it. His heart pounds in his chest as he lands on your fire escape, crouching just outside your bedroom window.
With a deep breath, he knocks.
You look up, confused at first, but then your heart skips a beat when you see the familiar figure crouched on the fire escape. Spiderman.
You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should even let him in after how things ended the last time. But then you sigh, walking over and unlocking the window.
“What are you doing here?” you ask flatly, crossing your arms as he steps inside.
He straightens, holding out the small bouquet of slightly squished flowers. “I, uh... I messed up,” he says, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “And I needed to make it right.”
You glance at the flowers, then back at him, skeptical. “You think flowers are gonna fix everything?”
“No,” he admits quickly, shaking his head. “Not at all. But I’m here because... I need to tell you the truth. The whole truth.”
You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. “You’re finally ready to take off the mask?”
“Yes,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “But only if you promise not to freak out.”
“Why would I freak out?” you mutter, but your curiosity is piqued.
“Just—close your eyes,” he says, a nervous edge to his voice.
You hesitate for a second but do as he asks. You hear the faint rustle of fabric, the sound of him taking off his mask. Then, gently, he takes your hands in his and places them on his face. His skin is warm under your fingertips, and you can feel the slight tremor of his nerves.
“Okay,” he says softly. “Open your eyes.”
You do—and your breath catches in your throat.
“Mark?”
He winces, giving you a sheepish smile. “Surprise?”
Your hands fall from his face as you take a step back, staring at him in utter disbelief. “What the actual hell?! Mark, you’re Spiderman?!”
“Yeah...” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wanted to tell you, I really did. But I couldn’t. Not until now.”
You blink at him, processing. Suddenly, all the weird behavior, the ditching, the injuries—it all makes sense. “You’ve been lying to me this whole time,” you say, your voice shaking slightly.
“I wasn’t lying,” he says quickly. “I was just... protecting you. I didn’t want you to get hurt because of me.”
You open your mouth to argue, but then you stop, taking a deep breath. “Why now, then? Why tell me now?”
“Because I couldn’t lose you,” he says, his voice raw with sincerity. “I know I’ve messed up a lot, and I’ve hurt you, and I hate myself for that. But you’re the most important person in my life, and if being honest is the only way to fix this, then... here I am. No more secrets.”
Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his words. You take a step closer, searching his face. “You’re an idiot,” you say quietly.
He nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I know.”
“But I guess... I can forgive you,” you add, your voice softening. “Eventually.”
The tension in his shoulders eases, and he lets out a breath of relief. “Thank you.”
There’s a pause, the air between you heavy with unspoken feelings.
“So...” you say, tilting your head. “What now?”
“Well,” he says, his smile growing, “I was kinda hoping we could start over. But, like, as more than friends this time.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now too. “I guess saving me from a mugger earns you some points.”
“Good,” he says, stepping closer. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you, Y/N.”
Your heart skips a beat, and you meet his gaze, the truth in his eyes making your knees feel weak.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “I think I’m in love with you too.”
Before either of you can overthink it, you close the distance between you, pulling him into a kiss that feels like it’s been years in the making. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and for once, everything feels right.
Maybe for once Spiderman can have a happy ending.
🕸️🕷✮⋆˙
author's note 𝟅𝟈 this was a bitch to finish i'm ngl but i think i'm pretty happy with how it turned out so yay! i love spiderman sm so yk i love spidermark too. anyways leave suggestions for fics in the comments or my inbox pls.
𝜗𝜚 welcome to the dream fraternity! seven dreamy boys, seven absolutely cheesy love stories where you’re the main character! warning: you might hate yourself during the process…but what’s love without a little chaos?
contains 18+ content
I. STUPID CUPID
pairing: fuckboy! na jaemin x secret identity! reader
synopsis -> mr. cupid — anonymous radio host. running the #1 most popular radio show on campus. famous for his thoughtful advice and classified as a true hopeless romantic. na jaemin — photography major, the sweet fuck-boy. described to be affectionate and gentle…but don’t fall for his tactics! once he’s done with you, he’s gone with the wind. your best friend unfortunately happened to be on the receiving end of this. what happens when you find out that the anonymous radio host is none other than na jaemin himself? sweet revenge.
𝜗𝜚
II. FLYING KISS
pairing: childhood best friend! lee jeno x nerd! reader
synopsis -> you and lee jeno go way back, as in diapers and all that. before he was known as the chill fuckboy, he was an all time nerd! just like you! tired of being a loser who can’t even get the guy you wanted, you badly needed tips and a makeover. who’s better to ask for help than your childhood best friend, who has proven that a nerd can be sexy?
𝜗𝜚
III. SORRY, HEART
pairing: friends with benefits! mark lee x tutor! reader
synopsis -> sex helps him focus. focus he needs for your tutoring sessions. it was a win-win for mark lee when you proposed to add a stress-relief session to the schedule. the favorite fuckboy and the girl who doesn’t believe in love equals the ultimate friends with benefits set-up. it’s the perfect dream team! but uh oh…it seems like mark has been shot by cupid’s arrow. will mark survive all of your attempts at pushing him away?
𝜗𝜚
IV. IRREPLACEABLE
pairing: enemy! lee haechan x ex bff! reader
synopsis -> lee haechan, theatre major, absolutely hated your guts. you felt the same exact way. the only girl in this whole university that hasn’t fallen for the most popular fuckboy’s charms. which is why it sucks that you have both landed the main roles in the theater’s upcoming play, romeo and juliet. what was that saying about love and hate being a thin line?
𝜗𝜚
V. MY FIRST AND LAST
pairing: bff! zhong chenle x fake gf! reader
synopsis -> zhong chenle, the lowkey fuckboy, captain of the basketball team, doesn’t believe in romance. flowers? chocolates? handwritten letters? ew. too cheesy. but he can’t seem to shake this crazy girl off of him so he goes to you, his best friend, cheerleading captain, for help. will you be his fake girlfriend? sure. the catch? it has to be believable so for the first time in his life he buys the flowers and the chocolate and writes the handwritten letters.
𝜗𝜚
VI. BREATHING
pairing: fuckboy! jisung x convenient gf! reader
synopsis -> park jisung has sworn off love after being cheated on. he’s been doing a really great job breaking hearts and not looking back. the boys are worried that they’ve taken fuckboy101 too seriously and have now created the ultimate fuckboy. this conversation was heard by your group of friends who never backs away from a challenge. and so the bets are on: get the ultimate fuckboy to fall in love with you and you’ll get $125 from each friend. deal?
𝜗𝜚
VII. I HATE FRUITS
pairing: fake bf! renjun x best friend’s gf! reader
synopsis -> huang renjun, the fuckboy by association, couldn’t care less about romantic relationships. he’s perfectly fine with being single — prefers it, actually. when he accidentally drops a box on your head and you wake up with temporary amnesia, he’s forced to finally take care of a person other than his own self. what’s worse? you think he’s your boyfriend.
authors note: this is a work of fiction only and should not be taken seriously. the way the dream boys are portrayed in these stories are obviously not a representation of who they are in real life. thank you and have fun reading!
⏦ﾟ♡︎ likes, reblogs and comments are not required but is very appreciated ⏦ﾟ♡︎
if you enjoyed this series and would like to show extra love and support, my ko-fi is open <3
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Read on aO3!✦
✦summary: you can't stand bucky barnes. despite all your attempts to get rid of him, he's always somewhere in your orbit. you say you hate it. hate him. but you're also a very good liar.✦
✦warnings/tags: bucky barnes x female!reader, college!au, frat!bucky, no use of y/n, mutual pining, rivals to lovers but the rivalry is one-sided, no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, bucky being a yearner, plot to earn porn, feral level smut, (teasing, stripping, nipple play, praise kink and degradation kink, soft dom!bucky, mean bucky but you're into it, possiveness, dacryphila, pussy spanking, brat!reader, fingering, manhandling, doggy style, dumbification, big dick bucky, p in v sex, creampie), soft!bucky outside of smut✦
✦wc: 9.2k✦
✦Author's Note: one day I'll just write porn without plot. today is not that day. we earn the horny. Enjoy!✦
You’ve gotten used to him. He’s like a fly that lives in your kitchen, and after a while you stop trying to kill it and just give it a name. It buzzes past your head and you swat at it, but it also sits on the window and you pretend it isn’t there.
Bucky Barnes laughs loudly from the table over, and you turn up the music in your headphones.
Telling him to be quiet never works in your favor. He smirks and tries to flirt with you. All his friends oooooo, like you’re still in middle school, then cause even more noise after you reject Barnes and they jump him like a pack of animals.
If you were smarter, you’d sit all the way in the corners of the cafeteria. Where there wouldn’t be a table big enough to fit all of them.
Something tells you they’d find a way to invade your space anyway. It’s one of their traits.
Pissing you off.
You’ve studied them. The little pack—or maybe pride—of frat boys that Barnes belongs to. It’s a good exercise. Field studying a microculture. You have a whole corner of your mind that’s devoted just to how they behave.
How Barnes behaves, with his pride. If his behavior changes. How it effects his values and actions.
You tell yourself that’s why you tolerate him. He interests you.
A very shiny fly.
You’d been in the same freshman orientation group. Barnes had been one of those boys that you’d long written off—since about middle school, when they’re started cropping up—with his styled hair, proud smile, and natural ease that flowed through the whole room. You don’t remember much from the actual group—the leader had pissed you off by talking like you were a kindergartener, but most people pissed you off—but at the time, you thought you wouldn’t have to.
It hadn’t seemed unreasonable to think that you’d never see these people again. The girls who you were nice to, but didn’t have anything in common with. The lanky boy who’d tried hitting on all of you, and struck out every time. The… others.
And Barnes.
He’d been charm personified. A sweet cake made out of chivalry and smooth words. You’d walked into the room and thought he was pretty. You’d walked out and thought he was gorgeous.
But that had been fine. Because you’d thought you’d never see him again.
And he hasn’t stopped buzzing around you since.
You’re in separate majors, separate lives, but every single GenEd class you take, Barnes is there. Freshman semester it had been your philosophy class, and you’d had to give a presentation together. You’d done most of the work. Barnes had tried to help, but he was bad at it, so he’d mostly just sat there flirting with you and looking pretty.
“I think man is inherently evil.” He said, grinning at you from the library table.
You snorted. “Of course you do.”
“Yeah, that’s- Is that not what our presentation is about?”
Barnes leaned over you, peering at the computer. His body radiated warmth. You hadn’t touched anyone in a while. You’d almost leaned in him, and he never had to know that.
“Nature versus nurture.” He read from the screen. His tongue flicked over his lips. “Uh- I thought we were supposed to be talkin’ about good versus evil, doll.”
“This is good versus evil.” You muttered. “I’m arguing that all people are good until taught to be otherwise.”
“But- You don’t actually believe that-“
“Yes, I do.”
Barnes snorted. “Yeah. You think everyone is good.”
That made you look up. His attention—so close and heated—made you feel all strangely fuzzy.
You ignored it.
You were going to get very good at that.
“I do think everyone is good.” You snapped.
“You hate everyone-“
“I do not hate everyone. I-“ Your face burned, as he’d just kept staring at you “I don’t.”
Barnes smirked, looking you up and down like you were some kind of fuzzy bunny. “Alright.”
“You’re still looking at me-“
“I gotta look at you to talk to you-“
“Not like that-“
“Like what?”
“Like you- You don’t believe me.”
He shrugged, his smirk widening. You thought about punching him in his smug, beautiful face, but decided that wouldn’t help your case.
“Whatever.” You turned back to your computer with a scowl.
Barnes leaned forward, saying your name far too gently. “Hey, I was just joking-“
“Really? I hadn’t been able to tell.”
He sighed. “If this- If it’s important to you that I believe you-“
“It’s not.”
It had been. For some reason, Bucky thinking that you really hated everyone had itched. You slept poorly that night. Stared at the ceiling with thoughts that tumbled and ripped over each other like a river.
He got under your skin. He’s always gotten under your skin.
After philosophy was theology. He sat next to you in every class, bugging you and trying to invite you to study.
“We work well together-“
“No we don’t.”
“C’mon, doll, we got that A before-“
“I got that A.” You shot him glare. “You stood there like a pretty statue, and bumped us down to an A-.”
Barnes wasn’t been fazed. You remember thinking he’d gotten hotter over winter break. Something in his eyes had started to shine, and he might’ve gotten a new product for his hair. It had smelled like thick, spicy fruit. He still wore it today.
It made you want to throttle him more.
“You think I’m pretty?”
He leaned forward, and that smell had flooded your senses. It was like a second hand high.
Barnes licked his lips. He looked down to yours.
You had to rip your gaze away.
“Shut up.”
He laughed. It sounded more like a sigh.
When he turned back to his own notes, you took a deep breath through your nose.
He always smelled so good.
And he was always so handsome. And charming. If you didn’t have your wits, you would’ve been dragged into his little den a long time ago. If you weren’t so careful with every place you stepped, you would’ve stumbled into his chest and let him sweep you off your feet like some damsel in distress.
He’s there for Spanish, both semesters of Sophomore year.
The first one, you saw a girl drop him off in class and watched them make out in the doorway. It was sloppy and loud. A few of Bucky’s little pride members had whooped when he walked inside, smirking and wiping his mouth.
You felt sick, and didn’t let yourself think about why.
The second one had been Spanish and arts. A painting class, where he’d made you a butterfly off of your spirit.
“Look.” He showed it to you with a proud grin. “It’s got your eyes.”
You squinted at it. It did. In an almost shocking resemblance.
“I didn’t know you could paint.” You muttered.
Barnes shrugged. “My best friend is in art school. We’ve known each other forever, I picked up a few things. Nothing big.”
You nodded, looking down at your own—relatively shit—butterfly. It had been more of a bat. You’ll dump it in the trash and start over in hour later.
“Stevie,” you mumbled absentmindedly.
“I- Yeah. How’d you know that.”
“You told me.” You glared at him under your eyelashes. “I listen.”
Barnes stared at you as if you’d just told him he was destined to be a king. It made you a little dizzy.
“And it’s good.” You muttered, against your will.
When Bucky looked at you, a lot of coherent thoughts tended to… Become lacking.
“Yeah.” He breathed, his ears turning red. “It- It is.”
You blinked. “Well, go turn it in, then.”
“What?”
“The butterfly.”
“The-“ He sat a little taller, his fingers curling on the paper. “Oh. Right.”
“Right.” You frowned. “What were you talking about-“
“Nothing. It’s- Nothing.” He stared at his butterfly with an odd expression, smoothing the edges with careful fingers.
Bucky always moved his fingers so carefully. Like everything he touched was glass. It makes you wonder how he’d touch a soft body below him, though he never gets to know that.
“You want this?”
“The-“
“I’m not turnin’ it in.” He held out the butterfly. “It’s for you.”
You stared at the butterfly. At Bucky.
An image of him wiping his mouth and laughing with his pride flashed through your head. It seared some kind of hole in your heart.
“I don’t think your girlfriend would like you giving drawings to other girls.” You muttered. The words had tasted bitter.
Barnes hadn’t seemed able to tell.
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He said, giving you another strange look. “I’ve never had a girlfriend.”
You scoffed. “Please-“
“I have fun.” Barnes cut you off, lips twitching. “You know, doll. Fun?”
“I know fun.”
“Uh huh-“
“Stop doing that, I do-“
“Never seen you have it.”
“That’s- I don’t have it with you.”
You spat the words, and Bucky flinched back like you’d flung acid. He blinked, and you swallowed. You hadn’t meant for it to be so loud. To sound so harsh.
“James-“
“It’s fine.” He muttered, looking back to his paper. “I just- If you ever-“
He cut himself off, glaring down at nothing. He shook his head, nostrils flaring slightly.
You’d never seen him look like that before. You hadn’t liked it.
“Whatever.” He sighed. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
And you nodded weakly. To this day you’re not sure what happened.
But you know Bucky had left the butterfly out on the table, after class.
You know it’s still in your bag, folded neatly and tucked safely. You pull it out sometimes to stare at it.
It’s better, really. Not to think about why.
Junior year was the community internship. Again, you and Bucky were in the same class. He bothered you, same as always, but always seemed to have some girl sticking to his side. They barely even seemed to see you.
All you could ever see was them. Running their hands over his broad chest and kissing the stubble he’d been growing. One bit his nose and your hands curled into fists.
You wondered if he made any of them butterflies.
You decide that he doesn’t. He’s only known them a handful of weeks, and he knew you for years.
“We gotta go down the library tomorrow,” he told you. You shrugged.
“I can go myself.”
Barnes frowned. “It’s not in a good part of town, you shouldn’t go alone.”
“I carry pepper spray-“
“That’s not enough.”
You sighed, giving him an exasperated look. “Fine. I’ll bring Brock.”
Barnes stiffened. You’d never seen him stand so tall. “Who’s Brock.”
“He’s in our class? He has been, all semester-“
“You talkin’ about Rumlow?”
You nodded. Barnes worked his jaw, looking off the side and huffing a low laugh.
“What-“
“You’re not goin’ with Rumlow.”
Your mouth fell open. “You don’t get to tell me that-“
“I know.” Barnes crossed his arms. “But I am.”
That had made you feel all gooey, in a very low part of you tummy. You’d gotten good at making sure Bucky didn’t see it.
“Fuck you, James-“
“He’s a dick.” Barnes didn’t waver. “He got kicked out of the frat, you know how big a piece of shit you gotta be for that to happen?”
You paused.
Fuck, that was a good point.
You hated it when he made good points.
“Fine.” You grumble, looking down to your phone. “You got with Natasha.”
Natasha. She’d managed to stick to Bucky longer than the others. She was gorgeous, and smart. You wished she was a bitch, too. It would make her a lot easier to hate.
You thought Bucky would jump at the chance to get one on one with her. They could fuck in the car after, and before, and you could drink yourself to sleep imagining it.
“No. I’m goin’ with you.”
You stick out your tongue. “Well, I’m not going with you.”
“Huh. Guess no one’s going then.”
You’d looked up with a glower. Barnes had raised his brows in challenge. He knew you’d cave. Knew you wouldn’t just let something slip through the cracks because of a petty fight.
He knew you.
You hated him.
“Fuck you.”
“You said that already.” He muttered. “And I’m not holding my breath.”
You blinked. “Wha-“
“I’ll pick you up at noon tomorrow.”
He walked away. You didn’t remember how to move for five minutes.
He asked you about Brock the next day. Like he was checking on you. Like he cared.
You don’t let yourself think he does. You’ve reminded yourself of that over and over, since Freshman year.
Bucky doesn’t care about you, so you’re allowed not to care about him. It’s necessary. Important to survival.
Because you’ve studied his kind. You’ve studied him.
Frat boys. In their natural habitat—the college campus—they’re apex predators. They’re loud because they don’t have to worry about being quiet. Most of them are here on athletics scholarships, so they care about that more than their actual classes. The ones who aren’t are rich, and never learned to worry about anything.
They have a lot of sex. They get girlfriends, then cheat on them. Your roommate Wanda knows a lot of people—she’s in a lot of clubs—so you’ve heard all the stories. Seen a few firsthand, or overheard crying in bathrooms. Everyone keeps dating and fucking them because they’re hot and athletic and rich, and you’re all young and stupid.
“It’s fun to make bad choices.” Wanda’s told you. “While we’re still young enough that it doesn’t matter.”
But you don’t make bad choices.
Ever.
You don’t understand that philosophy at all. Why make a bad choice when you could make a good one. Why risk someone curb stomping your heart when you could just… not.
Second semester of junior year, you take a public speaking class with Bucky. He comes up to you in the cafeteria, his pride just as loud as always.
“Hey,” he says your name, standing at the other end of the table. You don’t look up from your computer.
“Hi.”
“You got the homework for public speaking?”
“Yes.”
Barnes clears his throat, drumming his fingers. “You gonna share it with me?”
“It’s online, James.”
He’s silent for a moment, and you look up.
He’s staring at you, the expression on his face unreadable. You almost ask if he’s okay.
“I know that.” He says, rubbing the back of his neck.
You cross your arms. “Did you.”
“Yeah.” He throws you that charming grin. You hate that it still makes you think he’s beautiful. “I was asking if you wanted help with it.”
“If I wanted… Help?”
Barnes didn’t read the quiet, bubbling fury in your tone. He never does.
“Yeah, I was thinking you could come over, practice on me, you know. I’m a very good audience.”
You narrowed your eyes. Barnes kept grinning, and you wonder if he actually thought this was going to work.
“I don’t need your help.”
He deflated slightly. But he didn’t give up.
You’ve never known him to before. You shouldn’t have expected that he would now.
“Maybe I need your help?”
“You always need my help.”
Bucky snorted. “Yeah, you got no idea.”
“What’s that supposed to mean-“
“You wanna come over Thursday?”
“No.”
“Alright, I’ll go to you-“
“I’m working Thursday.”
Bucky paused. “You got a job?”
You nodded. He frowned.
“Where?”
“Corner store.”
His frown deepened. “That’s not safe.”
You scoffed. “Okay, dad-“
“You’re working late, it’s not-“
“I’ve been fine.”
“But what about when you’re not-“
“But I am-“
“I know you are now, but-“ He ran a hand over his face, his voice dropping with frustration.
It always went right to your core, when that happened. You wished it didn’t.
“What about when you’re not?” He demanded. “We live in a city, what about when someone does a holdup and you’re the cashier-“
“Why do you care.”
Bucky went still. He opened his mouth closed it, and gave that tight shake of his head that you know means something, but can never figure out what.
“What corner store.” He grunts.
“Fifth and twenty, why-“
“We’re studying while you work.”
Your mouth fell open. “No-“
“Yeah. Or- I’m studying. There.”
“I can kick you out-“
“You won’t.”
He walked away. And you hate him. You hate that you know he’s sleeping with Natasha—and who knows who else—and that makes you want to sink your teeth into his neck like some kind of claim. You hate that you are going to let him. You hate that he knows you so well he starts fucking things in the homework up on purpose, just so you stop pretending not to pay attention and study with him.
You hate how warm he is sitting next to you.
You hate that you don’t shove him away, and you feel colder when he’s gone.
He came over to work every night for the rest of the semester. You’re sure he had better things to do, but he doesn’t do them.
Bucky sat its behind the counter with you, and does homework. He did funny voices while practicing his speeches, and brushed his hand over the back of your knee whenever he stood up.
You shivered every time. A smug look flashed over his face.
He made you giggle.
You hate him for that, too.
And Wanda’s told you to make the bad choice.
Everyone tells you to make the bad choice.
Wanda had became good friends with Natasha. You try not to feel any way about it—Natasha, who’s touched what you’ve never allowed yourself to reach for—but then Wanda asks if she can move in, and you get sick.
You say yes. You won’t be one of those girls who holds those kinds of grudges.
Natasha moves in when summer vacation starts. And she’s lovely. You hate that she’s lovely. She’s cool and interesting and has pretty hair.
You wonder if Bucky liked running his fingers through it. You lie on the floor of the bathroom and refuse to cry about it, just staring up at the ceiling.
For the first time, you don’t have a class with him. It’s making you choke on clean air, because there’s this spicy, intoxicating fruit smell that’s supposed to be there, and it’s not, and you’re detoxing on a drug you never even got to take.
“My boyfriends coming over tonight.” Natasha tells you and Wanda one night.
Black spots dance in front of your vision. Faraway, you hear yourself say that’s fine.
It is not fine.
Bucky’s going to be here, and he’s going to be kissing Natasha in front of you, and that shouldn’t matter but it does, it does, it does.
But when Natasha’s boyfriend comes over, it’s not Bucky.
It’s Sam.
You know Sam. He’s one of the nice members of Bucky’s pride. He and Bucky are close. He’s always lingering in the background, laughing while you verbally impale Bucky and clapping his friend on the back when he walks it off. He and Bucky shared a room sophomore year. They go to baseball games together and eat five hotdogs every time.
You can’t think of any facts about Sam that aren’t related to Bucky.
And Sam kissed Natasha. And you stood there stupidly, certain that you really must have missed something.
“Oh,” Sam said when he saw you. “You’re Bucky’s girl.”
You stammered. Said a lot of babbling words you don’t really remember, while Sam gave Natasha an amused look. Natasha shrugged, light dancing behind her eyes.
Neither of them feel like elaborating that. No one ever does. There are just passive comments that make you more confused, like Wanda casually mentioning how you really should try going after Barnes and Natasha telling you that Sam asked her out after she and Bucky fizzled.
“We never really got started, though.” She mused. “His heart wasn’t in it. He even told me that, but-“ She laughed breathily. “You know. You think you’re going to be the girl that makes them settle, then you wake up and realize that you’re better with someone who actually wants that. With you.”
You blinked at her. You did not know how it was. You’ve had… affections for one person your entire college career, and you’ve known that he’d never settle with you.
There’s no point in telling Natasha that. With the glint in her eyes, you’re sure she already knows.
“He talked about you all the time,” she told you casually on another day. “God, it was so annoying, but-“ She looked you up and down. It always made you flush. “I get it.”
And people had been doing that a lot, lately. Telling you how much Bucky talks about you. Making little comments you think you’re supposed to understand, but you don’t.
Sam invites Bucky to go out with you guys, because Nat invited him. No one asked for your approval. They probably knew you would never have given it.
“You look nice.” Bucky muttered in the car.
Your thighs were pressed together, your shoulder bumped whenever the car rattled, and you had to keep yourself locked up to not melt into him.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” He sighed. “It’s, uh- weird, right? Us not having a class together.”
You hummed. It was. It made the whole world tilt off it’s axis. Bucky didn’t get to know that.
“You know, I still got homework.”
You frowned up at him. “Okay.”
Bucky cleared his throat, and rubbed the back of his neck. “And, uh- I don’t have a study partner anymore.”
“You’ll find one.” You grumbled. There’s that acid again, stinging on your tongue.
He will. He’s Bucky. There will be a line of people clamoring to have his attention, because you’ve been stealing it for far too long and everyone wants a taste of that spicey, calming fruit-
“I’m still free most nights.” He said, looking straight ahead. “You still work at the corner store?”
You blinked.
Oh.
“Yeah. I do.”
Bucky nodded. His lips twitched. “Okay.”
And sure enough, he’s there on Monday. It’s strange talking about classes you’re not taking, but it makes you want to strangle him less.
Although you haven’t wanted to strangle him in a while. You’ve mostly wanted his hand around your throat, pinning you below him, touching you until everything is just floating light.
“You look tired.” He said. Something in his voice was too casual. Like he was weighing every word.
“I am tired.”
“You been eating enough?”
“I’m eating right now-“
“I brought you food.” He fixed you with a stern glare.
It made you feel all kinds of breathless and gooey.
That night you’ll lie in bed with your fingers between your legs. They’re not thick enough, slipping right in and out of your pussy with no relief. Bucky’s fingers would be bigger.
“I would’ve eaten anyway.” You grumbled, watching some teenagers move around the drink aisle.
Bucky chuckled. “Sure, doll.”
Your cheeks heated. You went over when the teenagers started shouting about the store not having the right drinks, but you had to stand on wobbly knees.
Bucky hasn’t called you doll in years.
It felt different now. It felt like it matters.
You’re not going to do the stupid thing. It didn’t matter how much Wanda pushed you into it, or how many comments Nat made about Bucky not sleeping around anymore. You’ve gotten this far. You graduate in the spring. And Bucky will just always be a warm memory you worship between your legs.
He left his folder at the store last night. You thought about giving it to him next time he dropped in, but then Natasha said she was going to his place for some party and you figured you could hitch a ride.
Not because you wanted to see him sooner. Nat made a comment about that, that teasing smirk over her lips.
You ignored her. You’re very good at it now.
The party is raging, when you arrive. It’s loud, so loud. You’ve stepped into the frat boy den, and it aligns with your every study. Hot, sweaty bodies grinding into each other, music you can feel in your ribs, drinks being poured and clicked open. So much noise. So many people.
“Go find Bucky!” Nat whispers in your ear, and you swallow.
“Where do you think he is- Nat-“
She’s already gone. You have to go find Bucky alone.
You think it’s going to be an impossible quest. There are so many people you’re sure it’s a fire hazard, you don’t know anyone but Sam and Nat—who are sucking face in the corner and no fucking help at all—and if you ask someone random to help you find Bucky, you’re going to get mocked about it.
Weird girl was asking for you, Barnes. Knew you wouldn’t care.
You bite the inside of your cheek, spinning around for any possible direction that might take you to Bucky.
He finds you first.
“You’re here!” Bucky calls your name, and you almost jump out of your skin. “Thought you’d never be here!”
You stumble a little as he collapses over you. He’s heavy, his eyes glossy and unfocused, and you’ve never seen him smiling so wide. He stops you from falling with an arm around your waist, and your breath catches.
“I’m here.” You whisper. “I- I have your folder-“
“Shhh.” Bucky drops his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Don’t talk ‘bout my school.”
“I-“
“You can talk about your school.” He presses further over you. Backing you against the counter, his fingers digging into your hips. “Love it when you talk about stuff. ‘S smart.”
“Thanks.” You look off to the side, trying to see if anyone is watching.
Bucky grabs your jaw and turns it back. You almost whimper at the intensity in his gaze. You’ve never seen it so great, and you’ve seen it a lot.
“You’re here.” He mumbles. “In m’ house.”
“I needed to drop something off.”
Your voice is soft, but Bucky’s whole face falls.
“You’re not stayin’?”
“I- I don’t-“
You stumble, and realize you’ve grabbed the collar of his shirt. You’re already trying to stop him from moving away, even thought you know you shouldn’t.
“There’s a lot people.” You breathe. “I don’t like crowds.”
Bucky blinks. You could swear his eyes clear slightly, even if his grip on you tightens.
“Alright.” He gives that strange little nod. “C’mon.”
“Come- James-“
You squeal as he picks you up. Scoops you into his arms like you weigh nothing. And you knew he was strong, but you’ve never felt it.
Feeling it is dangerous. It makes you want that strength everywhere. Pinning you down and slamming into you, making your head nice and empty as you feel him everywhere.
“You’re drunk, be careful-“
“’M not that drunk.”
“You’re slurring-“
“I’m buzzed.” He says the words more clearly. Like he wants you to hear that he can. “Not drunk. I won’t drop you.”
You grunt, wrapping your arms tight around his neck. He gives you a tiny smile.
“You’re here.”
He says it like he can’t believe it. Like it’s the most beautiful thing in the world. He’s beaming like he adores you.
You can’t help yourself from smiling in return.
“Yeah. I am.”
Bucky’s grin gets impossibly wider. He kisses your cheek, messy and quick.
It’s like being shocked by lightning. Your heart does a flip in your chest, and you hold onto him a little tighter.
“James-“
“Y’know, you’re the only person I let call me James.” He reaches the top of the stairs, the music dulled by the distance.
The only drum left in your chest is your heartbeat. You wish he’d stop looking at you like that. It’s dangerous.
“You- You never told me you didn’t want me to.”
He hums. “You ever hear anyone else call me that?”
“I- Um-“
“One time a girl tried.” He pulls open a door. “Made me more into it, she got real excited.”
There it is. That toxic curl of jealousy in your gut.
“James-“
“Then I called your name with my dick inside her. Think that ruined it.”
Bucky says it lazily. Like it doesn’t change your whole life.
“What?” You squeak.
He just grins, slowly lowering you down his body.
“I call your name when I have sex.”
“I- I- Why-“
“’Cause I love you.”
“James-“ Your voice cracks, and tears are burning at your eyes.
You’re confused. So confused. You came over with a folder and a mission to be in and out. Your walls had been just as spiked and guarded as always, and maybe Bucky’s been able to slip through a few times, but you’ve learned how to not let that matter. Because it didn’t matter to him.
But now he’s saying this.
And you’re in what has to be his room, sitting on his mattress. If you weren’t so drunk on whatever’s happening, you’d be scanning around. You’d be studying how Bucky keeps his own space, because it’s another thing you’d get to have about him.
Instead, all you can see it Bucky kneeling in front of you. The impossible softness on his face. The lips that he’s licking again. The thick arms, keeping you sitting on the edge of his bed.
You say the only thing you can think of. The only thing that gets you out of here with your heart intact.
“You don’t mean it.”
Bucky doesn’t even flinch.
“I do.”
“You’re drunk-“
“I’m uninhibited.” His eyes shine. “You taught me that word.”
“James-“
“Hmm.”
He leans forward, tilting his head slightly. Your breath catches. You can feel the heat of his breath over your face. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.
“Freshman year.” He murmurs. He won’t stop staring at you, that soft smile on his lips. “You were so bossy and mean to me.”
You flush deeper. “You- You were annoying-“
“I liked workin’ you up.”
“That’s mean.”
“Got me your attention.” He mumbles. “Otherwise you woulda just ignored me.”
You swallow. “I still tried to ignore you.”
“I know.” He shrugs. “But you didn’t. You’re not as mean as you wanna be. ‘S why I love you.”
Tears burn behind your eyes. “Please stop saying that-“
“But I mean it.”
“You can’t mean it.” Your voice cracks slightly. “It- It’s not fair if you mean it now.”
He frowns again. It’s adorable. Like he’s really worried about you. “What’d you mean, now?”
“I- I mean you won’t mean it in the morning.” You whisper. “And that won’t be fair.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
It’s all you can say. You haven’t even been able to tell yourself the reason, you’re certainly not telling Bucky first.
“’Cause why?” Bucky’s lips twitch. He leans forward until your noses bump. “Why do you care?”
You blink. And you can see it in his eyes.
The challenge.
Why do you care.
Of course you fucking care. You always care. It’s Bucky, it doesn’t matter how hard you tried, you’ve never been able to not care, and now you’re in his room, on his bed, and he’s saying things and looking at you like- Looking at you like-
Your brain short circuits, and it sparks in your core.
Your body moves.
Bucky grunts when you grab his face and drag him into a kiss. It’s quick and rough. A sudden slam of mouths together with no plan or real fire. He doesn’t kiss you back.
When you pull back, you’re sure you’re going to cry. You’re panting, your lips wobbling, and Bucky’s just staring at you.
“I- I’m sorry.” You shrink back. He can’t see you cry. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’ll go-“
Bucky almost lurches. He dives over you like an animal, and before you know what’s happening, you’re kissing again.
Really kissing.
The way you’d always pictured it, in the greatest privacy of your mind and room. Hidden under the covers so no one could see the shame of how deeply you imagined it.
Bucky’s lips moving against yours. That tongue flicking over your lips before he nips on your lower lip, and grins at your moan.
This is that, and better. Because he’s really here. He tastes a little like liquor, but mostly like mint and something that’s purely Bucky. You’re being pressed backwards into the mattress, Bucky moving up until he’s caging you to the mattress. His knees braced over your waist, his chest pushed against yours, his hands wandering and grabbing every bit of you that he can reach.
Rough fingers slip under your shirt, teasing your sides. You gasp into his mouth, and Bucky groans.
“Ja- James-“
“I know.” He mumbles. “Wanna take care of you, doll.”
“Mhmm.” You whine in a half protest. It’s hard to think with one massive hand mapping every curve of your body, and the other sliding up to grab your neck.
Bucky tips your head back, and hums in satisfaction, when you willingly open your mouth to deepen the kiss.
“Please lemme take care of you.” He rasps. He sounds like a man wrecked.
And who are you to tell him no?
“Oh- Okay- Oh!”
Bucky doesn’t waste time. He pulls back with something like clarity in his eyes, licks his lips, and runs a large hand fully up your side. You arch into the touch with a soft gasp, eyes fluttering shut. He wraps around your breast, groaning as his thumb flicks over your perked nipple.
“No bra, hm?”
“Didn’t- Didn’t think I’d be here for more than five minutes-“
“Or you were hopin’ you’d be here.” He teases, smirking down at you. “Right here.”
He pinches your nipple, rolling it between expert fingers. You toss your head back with a moan. Bucky chuckles.
“Yeah, that’s right. This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it doll.”
“N- No-“
Your words fall off into a whine as Bucky yanks his hand away. You grab his wrist, trying to drag it back, but he’s too strong.
“Wha- What’re you doing-“
“If you’re gonna tell me you don’t want this.” He shrugs, soothing the edge of your shirt like it’s a blanket. “I’m not gonna do it.”
“But- But I do want it.” You squeeze his wrist, pouting as tears start to gather in your eyes.
Bucky clicks his tongue. He’s moved on to soothing out your hair.
“Bucky, please-“
“Please what?”
He grabs your cheek, forcing your gaze onto his. Heat floods your core at the possessive motion, and your legs fall open. Bucky’s attention flicks down, but he doesn’t waver.
“You gonna spend the whole time pretending you don’t want me?” He demands, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “Or are you going to be a good girl and let me have you how I want?”
And you realize what that glint in his eyes means. He’s giving you a choice, for how you want this to go. Soft and sweet, or what he wants to do.
What you want him to do.
You might be drooling. Your grip on his wrist tightens, and you feel a little faint. Every fantasy you’ve ever had is above you. You just have to grab it.
“I didn’t come here tonight for this.” You breathe out, testing the waters.
Bucky’s nostrils flare. His plants a hand on your hip, pinning you down to the mattress.
“You didn’t, huh.”
You shake your head. Bucky’s tongue flicks over his lips.
“You need me to show you what you want?” He’s using a low tone that rushes right to your pussy.
You nod, slowly trying to press your thighs back together. There’s too much pressure, you need a way to relieve it.
Bucky grabs your knee and shoves it back open, and you squeak in elated surprise.
“I’ll be good to you, doll.” He mutters, rubbing the inside of your thigh. His knuckles brush near your pussy, and you clench around nothing. “Show you exactly what you need.”
“You- You don’t know what I need-“
Bucky crashes back down, kissing you into the mattress with brutal, unrelenting force. Your arms fly around his neck and he groans, dropping his hips down over yours.
“Yeah, I do.” He says against your lips, rutting down. Forcing you to feel the push of his bulge against your clothed core. “And you fuckin’ know it.”
God, you do. You don’t have a single question of it.
Bucky pulls away, and you grumble in protest, trying to reach up and drag him back far another kiss. Just that is enough for you to feel like you’re in Heaven.
But Bucky swats your hands away, giving you a stern look.
“No touching.”
He starts to pull you shirt over your head, and you scowl.
“You’re touching-“
“I,” Bucky leans down to kiss over the valley of your breasts, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Can do whatever the hell I want to you. Isn’t that right, babydoll.”
He must be putting a spell over you. You nod dazedly, and Bucky laughs. His lips wrap around your nipple, sucking and flicking the little bud like it’s candy. The sensation makes you restlessly needy, the heat between your legs only building and building.
“Buh- Bucky- Oooh-“
There’s an extra, strong little flick that only makes you think of what his mouth is going to be able to down where you need him.
“Fuck- James-“
Bucky groans, biting down softly. Your hips buck with delight, and your whine when he shoves them back down.
“C’mon.” He mutters, slowly kissing back to the other breast. “Keep still.”
You make an incoherent noise, but you try. You really do try.
Bucky wiggles down your pants and underwear without taking his mouth from your breasts, and you force yourself to keep still. Cold air doesn’t even hit your cunt, because he’s so folded over you. Trapping all the frictionless heat between your bodies, letting his covered cock drag against your core whenever he moans and ruts, but never offering anything else.
“More.” You breathe, eyes squeezed shut in frustration. “James, I- I need more-“
You moan as Bucky bites your breast again. He kisses over the hurt, humming lazily.
“Thought you didn’t know what you need.”
You shake your head, legs falling further open. “I- I need you- Bucky I need you-“
“Where’d you need me.” He kisses just under your breast. “’Cause I’m here. Touchin’ you.”
He grabs your thigh, rubbing it slowly back and forth. You try to arch off the bed, but you can’t get an inch out from under him.
“Touch- Touch me more.” You gasp out. “I need you to touch me more, I- I don’t care how, just- Touch me-“
You cry out, as Bucky brushes his thumb over your clit. He repeats the featherlight motion once more, then twice. It’s too much and not nearly enough. Your pussy is weeping, but Bucky just grazes you clit like he’s wiping something off your cheek.
“What a needy girl.” He coos against your skin, kissing along the side of your breast. Up to your neck. “You’re even more reactive than I thought you’d be, sweetheart. And I thought,” he presses his thumb down hard, and you scream.“You’d be plenty reactive.”
Tears push at your eyes, from frustration and humiliation. You’re being pathetic, you’ve dogwalked him the whole time you’ve known him and suddenly you’re a flushed, begging disaster below him.
Bucky sucks a dark spot on your neck, and you moan. His thumb drags between the lips of your pussy and teases over your hole. It’s gone as soon as it gets there, and the sound you make is downright undignified.
“You want to swallow me, don’t you.” Bucky nips at your ear. “Dirty fuckin’ slut.”
Oh, no. That shouldn’t turn you on so much.
“I- I’m not-“
“Yes, you are.” Bucky kisses along your jaw. “Say it, doll.”
You shake your head. Bucky repeats the slow drag, this time swapping for his middle finger, and pushing slightly into your cunt.
“Bucky- Fuck-“
Your arms fly up to grab him. Bucky leans up and fixes you with a stern glare.
“No touching.”
You whimper, but pull back away. You fist the sheets, splaying your body out in the hope it’ll make him you faster.
And it almost works. Bucky’s brow works and he slowly traces up the curve of your waist. Your breathing shutters, as he traces the outline of a love bite on your breast. His finger twists, and the pad of it presses right into the entrance of your pussy.
Bucky meets your glossy eyes, and his jaw clenches. There are big, fat tears welling up.
His voice drops to something soft. “Are you still-“
“Yes.” You push your chest up, trying to give him a better view of your breasts. “Please.”
Bucky nods to himself. He leans fully over you, searching your gaze, and slowly starts to push his finger into your pussy.
Your breath catches. Your eyes flutter, and Bucky grabs your cheeks.
“Eyes stay on me.”
He’s not asking. You don’t want him to. You moan and nod weakly, watching him under tear stained lashes. He slowly pulls his finger out, then drives it back in a little faster. He’s a lot bigger than your own hand is. Everything about him is bigger. You’re worried you’re going to die on his cock.
“You like that,” Bucky coos, squeezing your cheeks slightly. “Look at you, gettin’ so worked up over just a finger.”
You give him a pleading look, and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your puckered lips.
“You get two when you tell me you’re my dirty little slut.”
You clench down around him, and Bucky groans, pushing in a little deeper.
He finds the spongey spot that makes your vision go all blurry. Your mouth falls open in a long moan, and bucky raises his brows.
“There it is. That’s what a wanna see.”
He pushes harder against it. You squeeze around him again, breath coming in pants.
“Who’s owning this pussy, baby, huh?” Bucky’s eyes bore into yours, and the hot shame pricks more and more over your skin.
You think a waterfall might be coming out of your cunt. The wet sounds as Bucky finger fucks you certainly seem like proof.
You can’t form a full answer. You gape at him, rolling your hips in tiny movements to try and chase a little bit more.
Buckly yanks his finger out of your pussy, lands a harsh smack on your clit, then shoves them right back in. It’s an overwhelming, electric feeling. The tears burst from your eyes, and you almost reach for him.
“That’s a girl.” He kisses your cheek so sweetly, pumping his finger deep into your soaked cunt. “Keep cryin’ for me, babydoll. Let it out.”
You pull at the sheets, a low hum of pleasure building in your lower stomach. Your head tries to roll to the side, but Bucky keeps it up. His staring just makes everything worse and better.
The deep affection in his eyes as he watches you right on the edge. Trying to claw your way to an orgasm while he keeps you from letting go. There’s no attention being given to your clit, only his finger bumping your g-spot. It’s throbbing from his spanking. You want him to do it again.
“Buh- Bucky-“
“Ah.” He pauses, and you almost scream. “Try again.”
“James.” You whimper, giving him your most pleading eyes.
A smile curves on his lips. “Yeah, babydoll?”
“Do it again.”
It’s less than a whisper. Part of you doesn’t even want him to hear it.
But he does. Of course he does. Surprise flashes over his face for the briefest second, and you think about running away. You shouldn’t have asked. He’s going to say no, it’s going to humiliate you more, and then that’s going to make you cum on his hand and he’ll never look at you again-
“What?” His voice dropped. You’re screwed. “This?”
Bucky pulls back and spanks your pussy again. You sob, nodding as the shock rushing through you again. Bucky licks his lips, leaning back to watch you. He does it again, and you seize up.
“Jesus, you’re spilling everywhere.” He traces two fingers through your pussy, and you clench around nothing. “Messy girl, bet you’re going to fucking squirt on my cock.”
You whimper, and Bucky chuckles.
“I know, sweetheart. But you’re gonna love it, aren’t you.”
He spanks your pussy again. Any thought to protest is drained from your head.
“Ye- Yes.” You cry out.
Bucky smirks, prowling back over your body.
“And?”
You blink at him through the tears. “And?”
“What are you?”
Your breath hitches. Bucky holds up his shiny hand, making a gun motion.
“Two fingers.” He reminds you.
And just like that, you cave.
“I- I’m your dirty-“ You hiccup a little, the tears starting to free flow again. “I’m-“
“Look at me.” He reminds sternly. “Come on, be good-“
“I’m your dirty slut.” You push out, grinding your hips up into Bucky’s knee. “James, I’m yours, I’m your cockslut, please-“
Bucky makes a feral sound from his chest, and you sob in relief when he shoves those two fingers into you cunt. You shudder, eyes rolling back and hips grinding down. Bucky doesn’t try to stop you this time, just groaning as he finger fucks you into oblivion.
“That’s it, that’s my fuckin’ girl.” He scissors his fingers, and you writhe in the sheets. “So pretty on my fingers, bet you’ll look even better when I’m fuckin’ you stupid on my cock.”
You moan. “Yes, oh- Oh my god- “
Bucky twists his wrist and starts to pummel your g-spot, right as his thumb finds your clit. He rubs it tight circles in time with his thrusts, and presses his lips back over yours. You almost can’t breathe, between the pleasure he’s pulling from you and the demand of his mouth. Your body starts to twitch and go all tight.
“I- I’m gonna- James, I think-“
“I know.” He kisses the corner of your mouth, then your upper lip. “Show me what you’ve got, baby, come on.”
Your orgasm rushes through you, staring in your tummy and leaking down Bucky’s fingers and through your whole system. He pulls out immediately, landing a few more spanks on your weeping cunt. In the post-orgasm sensitivity, it’s almost too much to take.
You spread your legs and beg for it anyway.
“Demanding, aren’t you.” Bucky mocks. “Want to feel me tomorrow, when you walk around all cool and collected, pretending you weren’t callin’ yourself my cockslut a few hours ago.”
You shake your head, shivering as Bucky rubs your pussy back and forth. “I- I won’t-“
“Won’t what? Keep it a dirty little secret. You want me to spell my fucking name on your face, so everyone knows who this tight little pussy belongs to?”
“Nuh- No-“
“You think you won’t feel me? Doll,” Bucky takes his hand away, and you almost start to cry again before he pushes two thick fingers between your lips.
“Mmmm-“
“That’s right.” He mutters to himself, and you can feel his attention as you clean your own release off his fingers. “Gonna ruin you for everyone else, doll, you won’t be able to fuck anyone without wishin’ it was me.”
You pull him away by his wrist, risking the punishment to give him your best, sexiest doe-eyes.
“Don’t want anyone else.” You say, and Bucky blinks. “Won’t pretend I wasn’t with you. Want everyone to know.”
Bucky’s nostrils flare. He stares, shoulders heaving, and you think he’s going to do the thing again. The one where he pounces over you and makes you beg.
Instead he grabs your hips like he’s steadying himself, and stares at you like you’re the moon.
“Flip over.” He grunts.
You frown. “Wha-“
“Over. Just-“
Bucky flips you onto your stomach like you weight nothing, then drags your ass high in the air. You squeal, grabbing at the sheets and trying to look at him over your shoulder.
A massive hand presses you back into the sheets by your shoulder blades. Probably for the best. Your knees were shaking too much to be steady.
“Stay there.” There’s a clink of metal behind you. He’s taking off his belt. “Need to be inside you. Now.”
“James-“
“Please.”
His voice cracks.
You’re far, far past trying to tell him no.
You flop obediently, and it earns you a soothing stoke over the curve of your ass.
“So pretty.” He says it so soft, you’re not actually sure you’re supposed to hear. “Wanted this for so fuckin’ long, ‘s even better than I imagined.”
Bucky rubs his cock between your pussy lips and you moan, melting into the sheets. Your knees almost drop down. Bucky wraps an arms around your waist and drags you back up.
“I’ve gotcha. There we go.”
He keeps rubbing it, gathering your arousal to make the entrance easier. There’s plenty of it. Even more when his fat head presses against your clit, and you wiggle.
“Done so good for me, babydoll.” His praise shoots straight to your already burning pussy. You try to push yourself higher with a whine. “Already nice and stupid for me, just gotta- Fuuuuck-“
Bucky pushes himself in slowly, and you cry out.
“Oh- Oh my god-“
It’s good he didn’t let you see him before. He’s big. Stupidly big. You can feel every thick vein, every pulse as you squeeze around him, every inch of Bucky dragging through your tight channel. You sob into the sheets, pushing back to try and take more. You have to take more. You need to take all of him, so when he fucks you he can drive every single fucking thought from your head.
“That’s it.” Bucky groans, pressing his face into the curve of your neck as he bottoms out.
He’s folded over you, fully buried in your pussy, breath hot and heavy. You whimper, trying to adjust to the size of him. Bucky’s arm snakes around you, rubbing your clit lightly. Trying to help you relax.
“You’re so tight, baby.” He rasps, kissing behind your ear. “Best pussy I’ve ever fuckin’ felt.”
“Mmmm.” You tip your head, pressing your cheek into the mattress. “You’re so big.”
“I know. But you’re gonna take it, aren’t you?”
You whimper, and Bucky chuckles. The sound vibrates between your legs, not helping anyone at all.
“Yeah. You are.”
And if Bucky says you are, you are.
He starts by pulling almost fully out, then rolling slowly back in. It goes easier than the first time, but still knocks the air from your lungs. Your eyes roll back. A strangled sound leaves your throat, and Bucky laughs.
“Look at you, silly girl. We’ve barely even started.”
“’S- ‘S a lot-“
“But it’s your my fuckin’ cockslut.” Bucky slams his hips forward, and you scream in pleasure. “You’re the one who said it, remember. My. Fucking. Cockslut.”
He emphasizes each word with another thrust, and soft, caring Bucky is gone. The hot, demanding version is back, and he brought your tears with him.
Bucky fucks into your like an animal, pushing you down into the mattress and forcing an impossibly deep angle. You’re sensitive. So sensitive it almost hurts in the best fucking way.
“Can see your pussy taking me, doll.” Bucky groans, his fingers digging into your hips. “Fucking gorgeous, greedy little thing swallowing this cock whole. Pussy made for me to fuck it.”
You keen, and Bucky laughs.
“Jesus, might tie you up and keep you just like this for me. Crying like a brat when you begged for it, can’t ever figure out what you want without my help, huh?”
You can’t form a strong enough thought to respond. Bucky’s drilling into you, and rubbing over your g-spot with every thrust and filling you up until there’s no space for things like words.
“No mouthy little comebacks?” He mocks. “My smart doll can’t even tell me to go fuck myself?”
“I- Jaaames-“
“Yeah, that’s right.” Bucky almost growls. “I own this pussy now, sweetheart. Gonna cum inside and make you walk around with it dripping out of your cunt, make you scream my name so loud everyone hears.”
You babble, clenching down on his cock. Bucky’s hips stutter slightly.
“Oh you love that. Love the idea of everyone knowing that I just made you my stupid little cockdrunk slut. Fuck-“
Bucky wraps an arm around your waist, hauling you back against his chest. You toss your head onto his shoulder, writhing in his arms as he keeps thrusting up into your pussy. God, you hope the music downstairs is loud enough that they can’t hear, but you also don’t know how they could hear anything else. The whole room is filled with Bucky’s groans and your open sobs.
“Still crying, babydoll?” He kisses over your neck, and you whimper, grabbing at his forearms.
“Can’t- Can’t take it-“
“Yeah, you can.”
You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “Mh- I’m gonna cum-“
Bucky spanks your clit, and you shriek, arching into his hand.
“Fuckin’ cum, dirty girl, soak this dick like a good girl-“
You scream with this orgasm, thrashing in Bucky’s arms as it completely overtakes your senses. There’s a familiar wet feeling coming out of your pussy and slicking over your ass and thighs. Bucky groans, bending over to kiss you as he keeps your impaled on his cock. He thrusting sharply, chasing his own release. You try to grind down to help him, and he moans right into your ear.
“Wh- Where-“
“In.” You whimper. “In, James, wanna feel you, fuck-“
Bucky groans shamelessly as his cock starts to spurt hot cum over your gooey walls. The sound as he keeps fucking up into you is obscene, his lips over glued over yours as you both ride it out.
You’ve never been so ruined before. You think you might smell of cum and sweat for the rest of your life, and you can’t even bring yourself to mind.
And part of you worries that Bucky’s going to vanish. Kick you out of his room now that he got what he wanted, and break the heart you’d just offered him with shaking hands.
Instead, he kisses you before he pulls out, mumbling that he’ll be right back. He draws a bath and cleans you up, gets you water and wipes the dried tears on your cheeks.
“Too much?” He asks softly, and you can see the real worry in his eyes.
You shake your head, and offer him a tiny smile.
“Perfect.”
His eyes light up. “Really?”
You giggle. “Yeah.”
Bucky kisses your nose, and you hum happily.
“You’re were perfect too.”
“Thanks.” You breathe.
He pulls back, running a hand through your hair. His eyes soften.
“You still want me to take it back?”
And you almost laugh. Why would you ever possibly want to go back.
“No, thank you.”
Bucky chuckles. “So polite. Think I fucked some manners into you-“
“I had manners-“
“Yeah, but you’re gonna be nice to me now-“
“Don’t hold your breath-“
He shuts you up with a deep kiss. You could get used to it.
“Let me take you out.” He breathes when he’s done, looking at you with unending hope in his eyes. “For real.”
And you wonder.
If it had really been there, the whole time.
“Okay.”
✦End note: i love being so self indulgent with my horniness.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
pairing: mark!haechan x fem. reader
genre: college au, smut, rivals to fwbs
wc: 12k+
summary: mark and haechan can't stand each other's guts, but they want the same girl... and maybe she wants them both, too.
content warnings: unprotected sex, threesome, oral (f+m receiving), semi-public sex, multiple orgasms, sex tape, jealousy, marking, hand job, fingering, multiple orgasms (like a lot!!), double penetration, a little bit of mahae action (couldn’t help myself), orgasm denial, aftercare.
a/n: all i’m gonna say is that this was completely self-indulgent. i just haven't been the same since 82+ pressin came out and this is the result. i don’t think i’ve ever written so much smut for a single fic before omg. it's rlly a lot i apologize in advance. ps: stream 82+ pressin, 1999 and the aoty aka the firstfruit.
all your life, people let you get away with things. maybe it was your soft face, your sweet smile, or the way you tilted your head when you lied. they thought you were innocent.
but anyone who actually knew you, knew better.
you were full of fire, tucked neatly into a deceptively small frame. and by fire, you meant you were horny. always had been. sex wasn’t your entire personality, you just liked it—frequently and with whoever could keep up. so when two gorgeous boys started fighting over you, you didn’t think twice. even if those boys hated each other’s guts.
you were just stepping into the cafeteria when a low whistle caught your attention. you glanced over your shoulder and saw haechan strolling in.
you rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched at the corners.
“can’t stay away from me, huh?” you said when he finally caught up, his arm sliding over your shoulders easily.
“you know i can’t, pretty” he murmured, voice close enough to your ear to make you shiver. “you coming over tonight?”
you fold your arms across your chest, purposefully pressing your cleavage together. his eyes dropped right on cue. you knew he loved this shirt. or rather... he loved your tits in this shirt.
“i was there last night, hae. i can’t play favorites, it makes the other boys in my roster jealous,” you said sweetly, brushing a kiss to his cheek and stepping ahead.
“there’s no roster,” he said with a cocky grin, catching up easily. “i know that.”
“oh, don’t be so sure.” you waved at someone in the distance. haechan’s head turned just in time to catch mark lee smiling at you from across the room.
his face soured immediately. “mark lee? really?” he scoffed. “you can do better than that idiot.”
you looked at him, catching the slight twitch in his jaw. you smirked. their little rivalry was so amusing to you.
“remind me again why you hate him so much?” you ask as you drop into your seat. haechan slid in beside you, tugging your chair closer without effort.
“because he’s a manipulative dickhead who pretends to be some righteous good guy,” he muttered, fingers playing with the strap of your tank top.
“so... like half your friends?” you arched a brow.
“why are we even talking about him? let’s talk about us” he groaned, leaning in to kiss you but you dodged, making his lips brush your neck instead.
“since when is there an us?” you laughed, pushing him off half-heartedly.
“since you let me fuck you against every surface in my dorm,” he said smugly.
“don’t think that makes you special,” you replied, patting his chest.
your hand lingered there a second longer, reminding you how toned he actually was. easy to forget with that sweet face and mouthy attitude.
“i’m definitely your favorite though,” haechan grinned, leaning in again and this time, you let him kiss you. his mouth moving slowly but greedily against yours.
across the room, mark was stabbing his lunch violently. his plastic knife bent halfway through his sandwich.
“okay, you’re scaring me,” jaemin said, side-eyeing him. “who’re you trying to murder with your eyes?”
“no one,” mark muttered, dragging his eyes away.
jaemin followed his gaze and snorted. “ohhh, is that your girl?”
“she’s not my girl,” mark grunted. “we’ve just been… talking.”
“yeah? well, looks like that’s all you’re gonna be doing,” chenle chuckled next to him, biting into his sandwich.
“fuck off” mark said, chucking a crumpled napkin at chenle’s face.
“i’m pretty sure she was with jay last semester,” jaemin added, watching mark’s reaction with barely concealed amusement.
“and wonbin,” chenle said through a mouthful of food.
mark’s jaw ticked. “what exactly are you guys trying to say?”
“relax,” chenle raised both hands, smirking. “we’re just saying she’s clearly not into exclusivity.”
“whatever,” mark muttered, pushing his chair back. “like i said, we’re just talking.”
“uh-huh, sure” jaemin said with a knowing grin. “play with fire if you want… just don’t act surprised when you get burned.”
┈─★
mark couldn’t stop thinking about what the guys had said. it wasn’t even like he wanted anything serious with you. but still, the way you clung to haechan, only to turn around and flirt with him like your eyes hadn’t just been heart-shaped for the biggest dumbass on earth… yeah, it was starting to piss him off.
he was stewing in that frustration, gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary on the way to the store, when he spotted your car on the side of the road.
he pulled up behind you without thinking.
your face lit up the second you saw him. you were sweaty and flushed from the heat, but still so damn pretty it made something sharp twist in his chest.
“mark!” you said his name with so much relief he had to glance away, suddenly shy.
“hey,” he said, climbing out of the car. “need help?”
“please… i don’t know what happened. it just died on me” you pouted, arms crossed under your chest. “i barely made it off the road."
mark blinked, trying not to focus on your lips—the same lips that had kissed all over his neck last week at that party.
“okay, let’s take a look,” he muttered, walking over to the hood you’d already popped open.
he leaned over the car and tried to focus, to remember what he even knew about engines. he wasn’t a mechanic, but he knew enough not to look stupid in front of you.
you stood beside him, your shoulder kept brushing against his arm every time you leaned in to “check” what he was doing.
“you think it’s serious?” you asked, biting your lip .
mark glanced at you from the corner of his eye. “hard to tell. your battery might’ve just died.”
“ugh, great,” you groaned dramatically, flopping against the side of the car. “this day already sucked.”
“you’re lucky i was driving by,” he said, wiping his palms on his shorts. “you could’ve been stuck here for a while.”
you smiled at him sweetly, reaching for his hair and playing with it. “thank you for rescuing me, my knight in shining armor.”
mark froze for half a second.
“don’t do that,” he said quietly, eyes still focused under the hood.
“do what?” your voice was all fake innocence, and when he finally looked at you properly, you were leaning back just enough for your shirt to ride up and show the barest strip of your waist.
“you know what” he muttered.
you tilted your head, teasing. “we’re just talking, mark.”
he exhaled sharply. “yeah, well... i’ve had enough of that.”
you blinked at him, not catching the double entendre fast enough. before you could say anything, he stepped closer. not touching you but close enough that his chest brushed yours.
“you keep looking at me like that, saying things like that and then you go and let haechan put his tongue down your throat in front of everyone,” he said, voice low and raspy. “and don’t say it doesn’t mean anything.”
you stared at him, heat curling in your stomach.
“i wasn't gonna say that”
mark gave you a dry laugh, shaking his head. “then stop playing with me.”
you smiled, slow and wicked. “maybe i want both of you.”
mark’s jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to your lips as he licked his own, and for a moment, you thought he might actually kiss you right then and there—hot, frustrated, angry.
instead, he took a step back.
“your battery’s dead,” he said, eyes still burning. “i’ll get mine and jump it.”
and just like that, he walked back to his car, leaving you breathless and grinning like a devil in the sun.
he popped the hood of his car and grabbed the jumper cables, avoiding your eyes the whole time. you watched him work with brows furrowed, arms flexing every time he connected something or reached for a clamp. he was mad.
and you loved it.
“okay, try turning it on now,” he called out, stepping aside.
you slid into the driver’s seat, turned the key, and the engine coughed before finally coming back to life.
“yay!” you grinned, hopping out. “mark, you’re a lifesaver.”
“don’t mention it,” he said, closing your hood.
you stepped out and leaned against the car again. “what would i do without you?”
he walked over slowly, wiping his hands on his shorts. “probably flash your pouty lips at some other poor guy and get him to do it for you.”
you raised an eyebrow. “are you calling me manipulative?”
“if the shoe fits.”
you took a step toward him. “you didn’t seem to mind when i was kissing you last week.”
“didn’t say i minded,” he said, voice low again. “but i’m not interested in being one of your toys.”
“aw,” you pouted the way you knew he couldn't resist. “but you play so well.”
mark’s mouth twitched.
“get in your car,” he said instead, walking away again.
“got tired of me already?” you called after him, teasing.
“no. i’m telling you to leave before i do something i’ll regret.”
you didn’t move. “like what?”
mark stopped and sighed, you giggled to yourself thinking you’d successfully managed to frustrate him. but then suddenly he turned back and stopped right in front of you, so close that your back was nearly pressed against the car.
“like remind you exactly what you’d be missing if you pick haechan,” he said, eyes flickering down to your lips.
you swallowed a smirk. this was so much more interesting than you thought it’d be.
you tried to lean into him, but he immediately backed up.
“drive safe,” he said, heading to his own car without looking back.
you stood there, heart racing, staring after him and thinking how you’d get both of them alone in a room without them trying to rip each other’s throats.
┈─★
you figured if you were ever going to bring up your little fantasy to life, mark needed to be wrapped around your finger first. haechan would be easy to convince—he was practically already halfway there. one breathy moan from you and he’d be on his knees.
mark, on the other hand… he needed more work. not because he wasn’t into you, but because he had that whole gentleman with a moral compass thing going on. sweet. respectful. frustratingly hard to seduce without making it feel like you were the one being played.
in other words, you had to lock in.
so instead of texting or sliding into his dms like usual, you started showing up where you knew he’d be. but this turned out to be more difficult since the guy was literally everywhere and nowhere at once. you found out from a mutual friend that he worked two jobs, volunteered for three different campus orgs, was part of the baseball team and somehow still managed to keep a spotless GPA.
you went to every place he frequented, including the music store where he part-timed at, but he wasn’t there, “you just missed him” the other workers said.
you almost gave up for the day until something caught your eye past the chainlink fence by the baseball field. someone was pitching solo.
and there he was, mark lee in all his sweaty glory.
“hey there, slugger,” you called out, leaning your arms on the fence as he straightened up and turned around, wiping sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. it lifted just enough to show the cut of his abs.
he blinked at you in confusion for a second before recognition hit and his mouth tugged into a crooked little smile. “yo… what are you doing here?”
“you looked lonely,” you said, pushing the gate open and walking toward him, “mind if i keep you company?”
he shifted, catching the ball in his glove, clearly trying to be nonchalant but his eyes didn’t lie—they dragged over you like he hadn’t seen a girl in weeks. you were wearing a tank top you knew made your tits look phenomenal, and you were sure he noticed.
“sure,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “i’m just messing around, anyway.”
“well, i like messing around,” you replied, tone smooth as honey, letting the double meaning land.
mark chuckled nervously. he was flustered, a cute little blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. you were definitely getting to him.
“you want a turn?” he asked, gesturing to the bat.
you raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. “are we still talking baseball?”
his lips twitched. “depends… what are you talking about?”
you reached for the bat, letting your hand graze his fingers. “guess you’ll have to find out.”
“you ever even held one of these before?”
you took it, pretending to examine it seriously. “i mean, i’ve seen a league of their own like… twice.”
mark laughed, the sound bright and easy. “that’s a start.”
he showed you how to stand and the proper way to hold the bat, stepping in behind you with a respectful distance—no unnecessary touching or cheap moves. you could feel his warmth at your back, his voice in your ear as he adjusted your grip.
“okay, just swing through when the ball comes in. don’t overthink it.”
“easy for you to say, coach.” you glanced over your shoulder and caught his eyes on yours.
for a second, neither of you moved. you realized how pretty his eyes were from this close, they were round and bright looking at you.
then he stepped back and toward the pitching mound with a sheepish little smile.
“alright, give it a shot.”
your first swing was absolutely tragic.
mark laughed again, clapping once. “okay, that was adorable but we should review the basics.”
the next twenty minutes passed like that—him showing you how to swing properly, you pretending to take it seriously just to mess with him. you both ended up out of breath from laughing more than anything else. and by the end of it, you were glowing in the sun, hair a mess, tank top slightly clinging to your skin.
“okay, okay,” you finally said, wiping sweat from your brow, “i need a break.”
mark nodded, picking up the scattered balls. “dugout’s over there. i’ll grab us some water.”
you ducked into the dugout, the shade instantly soothing your sun-warmed skin. your legs were a little shaky from all the running around, but your heart wasn’t only thudding because of the exercise. you watched mark jog over to the cooler, shirt sticking to his back, his hair damp and curling at the edges. he looked so good it was unfair.
he came back with two bottles of water and handed you one, settling beside you on the bench. his thigh brushed against yours briefly before he shifted away to give you some space.
“not bad out there,” he said, twisting open his bottle. “your form’s a little weak, but you’ve got potential.”
“mm, and here i was trying to impress you,” you said, sipping. “guess i’ll have to try harder.”
he huffed a soft laugh and glanced sideways at you. “you’re doing fine, just… need a little discipline.”
“are you volunteering for the job?” you tilted your head.
mark stayed silent for a second. he was watching the field now, fingers drumming lightly on the bottle in his hand. “i know what you're doing”
you raised a brow. “oh yeah?”
“you don’t need someone messing around with your head. or your body. you deserve more than some dumb fling.”
you leaned back on your hands, letting your knees fall slightly open, enough to test him. “you ever think maybe i don’t want more?”
his jaw tensed. he didn’t look at you right away, he was trying really hard to keep his eyes anywhere but your legs. “you don’t mean that.”
“i do,” you said simply. “you think i don’t know what i want?”
he finally looked at you and the way his eyes moved over your face—it wasn’t lust. it was frustration. like he wanted to do something but had spent his whole life learning to hold back.
you leaned in, your voice softer now. “you keep talking like i’m some sweet girl who needs protecting, mark. but i don’t want that from you.”
he swallowed hard. “what do you want, then?”
you smiled, slow and a little dangerous. “i want you to stop pretending like you don’t want this too.”
he blinked, then he exhaled and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, laughing under his breath like he couldn’t believe what he was about to do.
“this is a bad idea,” he murmured.
“maybe,” you said, leaning just a little closer. “but i promise it’ll feel good”
mark didn’t answer but his eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there. he looked like he was working through every possible reason to pull away, but none were winning.
“you should probably leave,” he said after a beat, voice rough. “before i forget how to be a good guy.”
you leaned in so your leg was now on top of his. “i’m not asking you to be a good guy, mark.”
he closed his eyes and shook his head. “don’t say that.”
“why not?”
“because if i touch you like i want to,” his eyes opened again, darker now. “i won’t be able to stop.”
“good,” you said, voice low. “i don’t want you to.”
he turned toward you, one hand gripping the bench behind you.
“you’re not making this easy,” he said.
“i know, but you can trust me”
his gaze flicked to your lips again. then your neck. then back to your eyes.
“you’re serious?”
you nodded, slow. “you think i’d be here if i wasn’t?”
mark let out a breath through his nose. “fuck.”
you watched his knuckles flex on the bench, how he was clearly using every ounce of willpower to stay still. his shoulders were angled toward you now. his jaw was tight, eyes darting like he was thinking ten steps ahead and still getting stuck on you.
you reached out, brushing your fingers over his forearm. “if you’re gonna kiss me, just do it already.”
he didn’t move right away but when he did, it was careful. one hand slid behind your neck, thumb brushing just under your ear as he leaned in. his lips touched yours softly.
but you didn’t want soft.
you pushed in, lips parting just enough to deepen the kiss, and that was when his restraint cracked. his other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you into the bench. he kissed you harder this time, all that tension finally bleeding through.
you smiled against his mouth, whispering, “see? doesn’t that feel better than being good?”
his answer was a low groan against your lips, his hand slid up, fingertips grazing the bare skin where your top had ridden up. he paused there, like he was waiting for you to stop him.
you didn’t.
instead, you moved into him, straddling his lap without breaking the kiss. his breath hitched the moment your hips settled against his, and that tiny reaction was all the confirmation you needed. he wanted this as much as you did. even if part of him was still trying to talk himself out of it.
“touch me more,” you said, tilting your head to nip at his jaw.
his hands finally slid under your shirt, splaying across your back, pulling you flush against him. your body molded to his like it had always belonged there, and his lips found yours again.
your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned low in his throat. his hips bucked up before he could stop himself, and your breath caught when you felt how hard he already was under you.
his hands moved lower over your ass, gripping tight as he shifted you against him again. it was getting hotter in the dugout, clothes sticking to skin, breaths growing uneven. your lips were swollen, your thighs shaking just slightly from the tension. he kissed down your neck, tongue brushing a spot that made your spine arch.
“fuck,” he whispered, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “you drive me crazy.”
you rolled your hips again and mark’s head dropped back with a groan. his hands moved higher under your shirt, fingers brushing the band of your bra before hesitating.
you tugged your shirt up a little more for him, eyes locked on his. “you don’t have to ask.”
his gaze flicked up to yours and then he pulled your shirt off in one smooth motion, his mouth going straight to your collarbone, trailing heat down your neck. one of his hands cradled the back of your head while the other held your waist steady as you started grinding down against him again, both of you breathing harder now.
his fingers found the clasp of your bra behind you, fumbling only once before it came loose. the second it did, his mouth was on you, leaving open-mouthed kisses across your chest as your hips rolled harder.
you dipped your head, kissed the top of his ear, and whispered, “mark.”
it came out breathy, almost reverent. the sound of his name from your lips snapped whatever restraint he had left. his hands gripped your thighs, and in one quick movement, he stood—lifting you effortlessly as you clung to him, legs tightening around his waist.
your back hit the dugout wall with a soft thud, and he was on you again. teeth grazing your neck now, nipping and licking and kissing like he wanted to mark every inch of your skin.
you gasped, hips rolling against the hard press of him through his jeans. he hissed through his teeth, grinding back.
“mark, more please.” you moaned, eyes locked on his.
he growled something filthy and wrecked and then his hands were tugging at your waistband, fingers slipping beneath to palm the curve of your ass again, rougher this time. you arched into him, head tipping back as he pressed hot kisses along your throat, sucking hard enough to bruise.
your shorts ended up somewhere on the floor along with your shirt. and mark—sweet, tortured, trying-to-be-good mark—was rutting against you like he’d lost his damn mind.
“tell me what you want,” he said into your skin, breath hot and shaky.
you leaned in, lips at his ear. “everything.”
he groaned like the word punched him in the gut. his hand teased over the edge of your panties, fingers just barely brushing where you were soaked for him. he inhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder, and you could feel his restraint fracturing all over again.
“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “we shouldn't be doing this here.”
he barely registered the sound of your breathless laugh before you dropped to your knees, eyes locked on his as your hands slid up his thighs. he looked down at you like he couldn’t believe what was happening.
“let me give you what you need,” you murmured, undoing the button on his jeans with practiced ease.
“fuck,” mark breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your fingers brushed over him through the fabric of his boxers. he was so hard it looked like it hurt. you smiled seeing his reaction as you traced the outline of his cock.
he looked like he wanted to say something—some last-minute plea for control—but then you tugged his boxers down and wrapped your hand around him.
his knees nearly buckled.
you leaned in, lips brushing the flushed tip, tongue teasing just enough to make him choke on a groan. he gripped the edge of the dugout bench behind him to keep himself from falling over.
“shit—fuck, baby, please—” his voice cracked as you took him in deeper, mouth hot and wet and so fucking perfect. his hand found your hair, fingers trembling as he tried to resist the urge to thrust into your mouth.
you wanted him to lose it. wanted him unhinged.
you bobbed your head slowly at first, letting him feel every inch of your tongue, your lips, the way your throat clenched around him. when you moaned, his hips jerked and he cried out.
“jesus, i’m not—fuck, i’m not gonna last.”
you pulled off with a slick pop. “it’s okay, cum for me markie.”
before you could take him backs into your mouth again, he hauled you up, lips crashing into yours roughly. his hands found your ass again, lifting you onto the bench like you weighed nothing. your panties were gone in seconds and then he was pressed against you, panting against your mouth.
“you’re sure?” he whispered, voice shredded
you stared into his eyes, wrapped your legs around his waist, and said, “mark. fuck me already.”
not a second after, he was slamming into you with a guttural groan, burying himself to the hilt in one desperate thrust. the air was knocked from your lungs, nails scraping down his back as your bodies locked together in the filthiest kind of synchronicity.
his rhythm was brutal from the start, hips crashing into yours like he’d waited years for this. like every time he'd looked at you, every time he’d jerked off with your name on his lips, had been leading to this exact moment.
“you feel so fucking good,” he panted against your neck. “i can’t—I’m gonna—fuck, you’re perfect.”
you were both sweating, panting, lost in each other. the dugout echoed with obscene sounds of skin slapping skin and your moans mixing with his broken groans.
“i’m close,” he whispered, forehead pressed to yours, voice wrecked. “tell me where you want it. please, baby—tell me.”
your fingers gripped his jaw, lips brushing his. “inside. fill me up.”
he moaned your name—screamed it, even—as he came, body shaking, strong arms locked around you. he held you through every wave, and didn’t stop fucking you until you came seconds after.
when it was over, when your bodies were spent and trembling, he collapsed against you, breathing hard, mouth still pressed to your neck.
“that was fucking amazing,” he whispered, laughing breathlessly.
you kissed the side of his head and smiled, knowing that you had him exactly where you wanted him.
┈─★
the rest of your week was spent with mark, who– slowly and against his better judgment– was developing a full-blown addiction to you.
but you couldn’t neglect the other half of your fantasy.
which is why you were now outside haechan’s dorm. he’d been ignoring your messages for days, which wasnt like him at all. and you were almost sure it had to do with how often you'd been with mark lately.
you walked in without knocking and found him in front of his pc, hand stuffed into his sweats, fist working himself slow to some filthy porn on the screen.
he didn’t even notice you walking in at first due to his headphones. but he must've felt you behind him because he jolted, yanked his hand out, and scrambled to close the tab like you hadn’t already seen everything.
he spun around in his chair, cheeks flaming, trying to hide the clear tent in his pants.
“ever heard of knocking?” his voice came out annoyed but strained.
you crossed your arms, amused. “is this what you’ve been ignoring me for? gooning in your room all day?”
he didn’t answer, just looked anywhere but at you.
you stepped in closer and looped your arms around his neck.
“don’t be mad,” you whispered, brushing your lips close to his ear. “i came here because i missed you.”
“really?” he finally muttered, still not looking at you. “what happened to your new boy toy?”
“don’t tell me you’re jealous,” you said with a little smile. “mark’s not the first guy i’ve been with since our arrangement. i thought you were fine with that.”
he scoffed. “yeah, well… the other guys weren’t fucking idiots.” his eyes finally flicked to yours, dark and sharp. “plus, i doubt he makes you feel as good as i do.”
“then do something about it,” you whispered, dragging your nails along the nape of his neck. “remind me why i started fucking you in the first place.”
his hands were on you in a flash.
he grabbed your waist and hauled you onto his lap. the second you straddled him, he bit your bottom lip before kissing you deep.
“you want a reminder?” he growled “fine, but you’re gonna take what i give you”
you ground down against him and felt how hard he still was. this wasn’t some casual rebound fuck to him—this was territory. there was rage and lust and twisted affection in every move he made.
his fingers tugged your shirt up, mouth trailing fire along your neck, teeth scraping and marking.
“bet he doesn’t know how to touch you like this,” he murmured, slipping a hand under your waistband and cupping your already wet pussy. “bet he doesn’t even know what you like.”
“he’s learning,” you teased, smirking just to provoke him.
he scoffed and shoved your panties aside, pushing two fingers into you at once, hard enough to make your hips jerk.
“not like this,” he whispered darkly. “he can’t make you this wet with just his fingers, can he?”
you gasped, clutching at his shoulders as he curled his fingers deeper.
“god, you’re such a little slut for attention,” he chuckled “running to him just because he’s nice? is that what you want? a nice little boy?”
you could barely breathe now, body rocking into his hand with every word.
“you don’t want nice,” he hissed. “you want me. you want the one who knows how to break you and put you back together with a single fuck.”
your moan came out broken and sharp, your hips grinding down faster now. he was watching you fall apart, biting his lip like it was the only thing keeping him from slamming you down on the floor and reminding the entire dorm who you belonged to.
“say it,” he demanded. “say i’m the one you want. say his name doesn’t mean shit to you when you’re dripping for me like this.”
“you are,” you choked out. “you’re the only one i want, hae.”
he shoved his chair back with a grunt, stood with you still wrapped around him, and carried you to the bed. dropping you onto the mattress with a promise in his eyes, already yanking his sweats down.
“gonna fuck you so hard you forget what his voice even sounds like,” he muttered.
and from the look in his eyes—you knew he meant it.
he crawled over you, and with a quick peck to your lips, he slid his cock into you. you were so familiar with his size after so many fucks that it didn't take long for you to adjust and for him to start moving.
he switched your positions quickly, knowing how much you liked riding him. his mouth was on your chest, spit-slick and possessive, and his hips snapped up in a brutal rhythm from below you. he’d been talking the entire time— filthy words laced with jealousy and obsession.
“so fucking wet for me,” he groaned into your skin. “he could never get you like this.”
you moaned louder at that, clenching around him.
haechan reached over without breaking his rhythm, grabbing your phone from the desk behind him. you barely noticed at first, lost in the sensation of him buried so deep inside you, but then you heard the soft ding.
he pointed the camera down, letting it capture the view between your thighs, where you were split open and soaked, riding his cock like your life depended on it.
“what are you doing?” you gasped, half-laughing, half-panting.
“just making something for your little boyfriend,” haechan said with a smirk, his voice syrup-thick and mean. “he probably wants to know what you’ve been up to.”
he angled the camera to get your face, your tits, your hips grinding down as he fucked up into you. his hand slid up your stomach, fingers wrapping around your throat just enough to make your pulse jump under his thumb.
“look at the camera, baby,” he purred. “let’s show mark how you really beg.”
you bit your lip but obeyed, dragging your gaze to the lens. your expression was wrecked—eyes glassy, mouth open, cheeks flushed.
“that’s it,” he growled, snapping his hips up even harder. “show him who you belong to.”
the hand not holding the phone slid down your spine, grabbed your ass, and slammed you down onto him with a force that made the bed frame groan.
“you hear that, mark?” haechan muttered into the mic, his voice suddenly colder. “this is what your little good girl sounds like when someone actually knows how to use her.”
you whimpered shamelessly, as his cock dragged right against that spot inside you that made your vision spark white.
“she’s squeezing me like she’s never been fucked before,” haechan kept going, still holding the phone. “you ever get her like this, huh? you ever make her cum just from your cock and a few mean words?”
he thrust into you hard and deep, so deep you cried out, fingers scrabbling at his shoulders.
“oh, that’s so much better,” he grunted, pulling back and slamming in again. “bet he doesn’t hit that spot, hm? bet he doesn’t know how deep you like it.”
you moaned loudly, the sound echoing against the dorm walls. he held the phone steady with one hand and gripped your jaw with the other, turning your face to the lens.
“tell him who makes you cum.”
you gasped. “haechan—fuck—you, you do—”
he grinned like the devil.
“good girl.”
the sound of skin slapping, the way your body arched into every thrust, the sweet, broken whines he pulled out of you—it was all being captured. and he made sure of it. shifting the angle, filming your tits bouncing, your fingers clawing at his shoulders, your lips mouthing please, more without even realizing it.
“gonna send this to him,” he muttered darkly, “maybe i’ll wait ‘til he’s all alone at night, thinking about you and then—bam.” he snapped his hips harder, making you gasp. “he’ll see you stuffed full of my cock.”
you clenched around him and he hissed.
“yeah, you like that. you love being filmed, dirty little thing.”
you were shaking now, pleasure boiling up in your gut as he kept fucking into you with brutal precision. all while recording you. all while imagining mark’s face when he saw you like this.
your thighs were already trembling from how many times you’d rolled your hips over him, the coil in your lower stomach drawn so tight you could scream.
haechan’s hands gripped your waist, keeping you just barely in rhythm as you rode him, the slow drag of his cock inside you leaving you teetering at the edge. your hands braced against his chest, fingernails digging into his sweaty skin. you were so close you could taste it.
“that’s it,” he murmured, voice gone low and raspy. “fuck yourself on me. let mark see how desperate you get.”
“haechan—fuck, please—i’m gonna cum—”
suddenly, his hands snapped up to your hips and stopped you. his cock still twitching inside you but he wasn't moving anymore.
“no, you’re not,” he said, eyes dark. “not yet.”
your head fell forward, lips parted in disbelief. “what?”
he leaned in closer, lips brushing your throat. “you wanna cum?” he asked, and you nodded, hips instinctively trying to grind down again.
he didn’t let you.
“then beg for it. look into the camera and beg for me.”
you shuddered. his voice wasn’t teasing anymore. it was burning hot with jealousy and the need to have control over you.
“tell mark you’re not allowed to come unless i say so. tell him you’re mine.”
you stared at him, wide-eyed, chest heaving, and then turned your head to the camera. your voice shook as you whispered, “please… please let me come. i need it. i can’t take it, hae, i—”
his hand slid up your back, grabbing your hair and tugging gently so your neck arched. he bit along your jaw, voice low and sharp against your ear.
“say it like you mean it. say it loud. i want him to hear what a needy little slut you turn into when you don’t get what you want.”
you swallowed, lips trembling. “please…please, hae, i’ll do anything…just let me come—”
“nah,” he muttered, tightening his grip and slamming up into you once. once. just enough to make you cry out and chase the friction, but not enough to give you what you needed.
“you don’t get to cum until i say so. and i’m not saying shit until you look into that camera and tell mark whose cock you fucking love.”
your body was on fire, everything inside you begging for release, but you obeyed. because your orgasm lived in his hands now.
“it’s yours,” you gasped, eyes flicking to the lens. “it’s always been yours. not his. he can’t fuck me like you do.” you lied.
“mmm, now that’s the energy,” he grinned, hand trailing down between your legs to barely graze your clit. “feel that? you want it, don’t you?”
“yes, yes, please—i need it—”
“you’ll take every fucking inch, keep grinding that soaked little pussy on me slow, and i’ll think about letting you come.”
you did as he said. he made you ride him in slow, teasing circles. every drag was torturous, your body screaming for a release you weren’t allowed to have. tears prickled in your lashes, your mouth open in a string of whispered begs.
“look how perfect you are when you’re desperate,” he murmured, finally rubbing slow circles over your clit. “this is what he needs to see. you fucking breaking apart on my cock.”
you whimpered something incoherent, your entire body trembling when he finally granted it.
“cum for me, baby. show him what he’ll never fucking have.”
you shattered instantly, mouth open in a silent scream, grinding down on him with a rhythm you couldn’t even control anymore. and he filmed all of it. the high-pitched moans, the tears, the way you collapsed against his chest completely undone. and when his orgasm hit soon after, he captured his cum dripping out of your used cunt.
when your breathing slowed and your thighs stopped shaking, he clicked off the recording and kissed your temple.
“that should keep him up at night.”
┈─★
the next time you saw mark, it was at a party hosted by one of the student organizations. haechan was there too, for your pleasure, and you knew tonight was going to be the night you finally brought your twisted fantasy to life.
the plan was simple. get both of them to your apartment.
and it was all going well until haechan yanked you into the bathroom, and before you could even think, you were on your knees, taking him in your mouth.
by the time you left the bathroom, your makeup was a mess. the lipstick smeared across your face was a dead giveaway of what youd been doing. haechan went off to get a drink, and you quietly retreated to the living room, sitting in front of a mirror to fix your face.
mark was talking to his friends across the room, but his eyes never left you. he hadn’t spoken to you in a week after receiving the video. he was pissed, sure, but it wasn’t as though he was surprised. he knew you had some kind of relationship with haechan. but to film it and send it to him? that shit crossed a line.
what bothered him most was that he couldn’t bring himself to delete the video. every night, he ended up jerking off to it, his mind filled with the image of you begging for that jerk’s cock.
he noticed haechan walk by, nodding to a few people along the way. when their eyes met, he smirked and started walking toward him.
mark’s lip curled into a scowl as the younger boy stopped in front of him, leaning casually against the wall.
“what’s up, lee?” haechan’s voice was light, almost too fucking smug. he slapped mark’s back with exaggerated force. jaemin and chenle exchanged glances and walked off when they caught the tension.
“did you get my video?” haechan asked, his eyes still glinting behind his cup, the stupid little grin never fading.
“i did,” mark replied coldly. his voice was almost a growl, thick with disgust. “what kind of man records a lady during sex?”
haechan chuckled. “if you watched the video, you’d know she was very much into it.”
mark’s jaw clenched “whatever. you don’t fucking deserve her,” he spat, his words dripping with venom.
“and you do?” haechan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “please, she’s not into the whole gentleman act.”
mark’s smirk was all teeth now “then why does she keep coming back to me?”
haechan’s eyes narrowed, but the grin never left his face. “her lip gloss is still all over my cock, so i’d say there’s really no competition here…”
mark’s hand shot out, slapping the drink from haechan’s grip. he grabbed the younger boy by the collar, yanking him in close. everyone around them hushed and someone muttered oh shit.
that’s when you stood up and pushed your way through the crowd. when you reached them, you shoved them apart with a force that surprised even you.
“what do you two think you’re doing?”
your voice cut through the room like a whip—sharp enough to make a few of the partygoers flinch. mark’s fist was still clenched in haechan’s shirt, and haechan didn’t look even the slightest bit bothered. in fact, the smug bastard looked like he was thriving in the chaos, like he’d been waiting for this moment all goddamn week.
mark let go first, reluctantly, his eyes still locked on haechan’s. “he started it,” he muttered like a sulking schoolboy who’d just been caught throwing punches behind the gym.
“bullshit,” haechan scoffed, brushing off where mark had touched him. “he’s just mad he’s not the one you were sucking off ten minutes ago.”
you grabbed mark’s wrist before he could swing. “enough.” you looked at both of them. “you’re both acting like idiots. are we seriously doing this now? at a party?”
“he's talking about you like you’re some kind of trophy.” mark growled.
haechan scoffed. “oh, please”
you could feel the eyes of half the party watching the drama with beers in hand. you tilted your head, walking up between them.
“you two are being childish.”
mark’s eyes dipped down to your lips, shiny from the fresh coat of gloss. a hint of it still smeared down your chin as a confirmation of everything haechan just said. he hated that no matter how pissed he was, he still wanted to grab you, shove you against the wall, and remind you how good he could make you feel.
“so, how about you stop wasting time on this pathetic pissing contest…” you continued, circling behind them slowly, “and come dance with me.”
you walked straight toward the dance floor, the bass vibrating through your heels and into your spine. you didn’t even turn to see if they were behind you. you already knew they were.
you stepped into the crowd, backlit by strobes, and then turned around slowly, one hand held out toward mark. his brows knit together at first, unsure. then he stepped in, hand sliding into yours.
your other hand reached for haechan, and that cocky smile curled across his lips before he grabbed your waist instead, pulling himself flush against your side.
“what’s this, baby?” haechan murmured against your ear.
you just smiled and rolled your hips into him at the rhythm of the music.
mark stood closer now, his chest brushing yours with every beat. his hands hovered like he didn’t know where he was allowed to touch, until you guided one to your hip.
you tipped your head up and kissed him first. your fingers fisted in his shirt as your lips dragged across his—tongue sliding against his until he forgot why he was mad in the first place.
but then you pulled away and turned, grabbing haechan by the jaw and kissing him too. open-mouthed. filthy.
you felt mark tense behind you. you could almost hear his breath hitch as he watched.
but you didn’t stop.
your hand reached behind you, pulling mark closer until he was pressed against your back. your lips were still on haechan’s when your other arm looped around mark’s neck, forcing them both into your orbit.
in the chaos, in the rhythm and push and pull of bodies, your head tilted just enough to make room, and their mouths brushed.
they didn’t even realize at first. your body was between them, but it was hard to see whose hands were where, whose breath was in whose lungs. they were kissing each other before they even registered it. and when they did?
there was a second of stunned silence between them, and they both froze.
“fuck,” haechan muttered.
mark stared at him like something short-circuited behind his eyes. and then he kissed him again, rougher this time.
you looked at them with a victorious smile on your lips.
when they pulled away, lips swollen and chests heaving, you saw the look on both their faces—equal parts frustration and lust. and you knew… this was the moment you had been waiting for.
you didn’t even wait for the song to end.
your hand shot out, fingers latching onto the front of mark’s jacket, then you grabbed haechan’s wrist and tugged them both forward.
“we’re leaving,” you said, voice low but commanding.
mark looked like he wanted to argue but you didn’t give him the chance.
you turned on your heel and walked out.
and like the two moths they were, they followed the flame.
┈─★
your apartment door slammed shut behind them, the tension snapping into something feral the second the lock clicked.
“you—” mark started, but you cut him off with a kiss. filthy, fast, and impatient. his hands went straight to your waist, pressing you back against the wall as his mouth opened under yours. he tasted like alcohol and haechan.
the later boy soon stepped behind you.
his hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin, and his mouth was right by your ear. “so you really want both of us, huh?” he whispered, “you’re that fucking greedy.”
you reached back blindly, curling your fingers into his hair as you pulled away from mark.
“i want to figure out who deserves me more.”
haechan shoved mark backward—not hard, but enough to reclaim space. and mark let it happen for a second, jaw tight, watching as haechan spun you to face him and kissed you deep, tongue fucking into your mouth.
but then mark was there again. his hands on your hips, his chest flush with your back, and this time, he kissed haechan.
really kissed him. it wasn’t an accident or in heat-of-the-moment.
mark leaned around you, lips capturing haechan’s mid-moan, his fingers curling into your waistband as their mouths crashed. it was clumsy at first and then it turned hungry.
the three of you moved together, a mess of hands and mouths and breathless gasps. clothing peeled away between kisses, bodies pressing against each other with no room left for shame. by the time you hit the couch, you were half-naked and drenched in anticipation.
you shoved mark down first, straddling his lap, grinding against him as haechan knelt beside you.
“who gets to fuck you first?” haechan asked, his voice hoarse and teasing.
you smiled, biting your lip as you looked down at mark.
mark's breath hitched beneath you, his eyes flicked up and then down to where your soaked panties were rubbing against the thick outline of his cock through his jeans.
"fuck," he muttered, head tipping back against the couch as you rolled your hips again, just to watch him squirm.
haechan had one hand running up your thigh, the other palming the bulge in mark’s jeans with a wicked little grin. his own erection poking through his boxers
"you're both hard already," you whispered, your voice sweet and venomous. you leaned forward, brushing your lips against mark's ear. "and i haven’t even gotten naked yet."
"then fucking do it," mark growled.
"ask nicer," you cooed.
haechan laughed, low and breathy. then he kissed your inner thigh, right above where the fabric was sticking to your soaked cunt, and said, "i’ll ask for him—take it off, baby."
you stood up and pulled your shirt over your head. no bra. both of their eyes dropped to your chest in an almost comical way. you hooked your thumbs into your panties and slid them down. by the time you were naked, both boys looked like they were seconds from breaking.
you dropped to your knees between them and unzipped mark’s jeans first, pulling his cock free and stroking him slowly, twisting your wrist the way you knew made his eyes roll back. he groaned, head falling forward to watch you.
then, without warning, you leaned sideways and took haechan into your mouth instead.
mark cursed under his breath. haechan let out a deep, shaky breath, hand immediately tangling in your hair. you sucked him slow, wet, deep, letting the mess coat your lips as you kept stroking mark at the same time.
you pulled off with a filthy pop, a string of spit connecting your lips to the head of his cock. "you like watching, mark?" you asked, turning your head just enough to meet his eyes as you jerked them both off side by side. "you like seeing how good i take his cock?"
mark's nostrils flared. then his hand was in your hair too, tugging you toward him, and you let him push into your mouth—let him fuck into your throat until you gagged, until your eyes watered, until his cock was slick with spit.
“jesus christ,” he muttered, voice ragged.
haechan reached over and grabbed mark’s jaw, turning his face toward him to kiss him.
their mouths crashed messily. they kissed like they hated each other for how much they wanted this.
you sat back, breathless, watching their lips collide with yours on both their cocks, and you moaned—because this was it. this was your fantasy.
they broke apart with a gasp, and you grinned.
"let’s go to my room," you said.
but you barely made it down the hall before haechan spun you around and pressed you to the wall, his mouth crashing into yours. he kissed like he wanted to bruise you. hands groping, lips biting, tongue deep and fast and hungry.
mark’s hand was already sliding up under your thigh, lifting your leg so he could step in behind you. his breath ghosted over your neck, and his voice was a low growl against your skin.
“you like letting him touch you like that?” he asked, pressing his hips into your ass so you could feel exactly what he meant. “you gonna let me fuck you after he’s had his way with you?”
you moaned, letting your head fall back onto mark’s shoulder as haechan’s hand slid down your front and cupped your pussy, two fingers slipping through the mess between your legs.
“she’s soaked,” haechan smirked. “god, you’re such a filthy little thing.”
“fucking ours,” mark said, and even haechan didn’t argue with that.
they walked you to the bed like wolves with prey between their teeth. when you climbed onto the mattress, you didn’t even get time to settle because mark grabbed your hips and flipped you onto your stomach, pulling your ass up and spreading you wide.
haechan knelt in front of you, his cock already leaking. “open that pretty mouth again, baby.”
you did. obedient, dripping, desperate.
mark’s fingers slid into you from behind as haechan pushed into your mouth. your moan vibrated around his cock, and he cursed under his breath, thrusting deeper. mark’s pace picked up, his fingers curling just right—fucking you open, getting you ready.
"you’re gonna take us both,” mark said, and it wasn’t a question.
he lined up behind you just as haechan pulled back, breath ragged, stroking himself as he watched your ass push back toward mark instinctively. mark slid in slowly, inch by inch until you were full.
"fuck—" mark’s voice cracked. "you feel s’good."
haechan grabbed your chin to tilt your face up. “look at me while he fucks you,” he said, voice thick with lust. “wanna see your face when you cum all over his cock”
mark started thrusting harder, faster. your hands clawed at the sheets, moans falling from your lips in broken little gasps as your body rocked between them. haechan was watching every twitch of your face mesmerized.
and then he kissed you again, teeth dragging your lower lip before he shoved his cock back into your mouth.
it was obscene.
mark pounding into you, cock hitting the deepest spot inside your gummy walls, while you choked around haechan’s cock, spit dripping down your chin and onto the sheets. both of them moaning and touching you like they didn’t care if they left bruises so long as you kept begging for more.
“fuck—” haechan’s voice cracked, hips twitching as your mouth kept taking him, sloppy and hungry. “gonna cum on your tongue, baby. don’t even think about stopping. take it. take it.”
behind you, mark’s breath was a rough growl against your ear, his grip digging harshly into your hips as he drove into you desperately.
“you feel this?” he hissed, voice shaking. “tight little cunt, soaked and squeezing the fuck out of me. you like being used like this, don’t you?”
you moaned so hard it came out as a choke around haechan’s cock, spit and precum leaking from the corners of your mouth.
your orgasm ripped through you like a scream you couldn’t voice, your thighs shaking, core clenching so hard around mark he nearly lost it.
“fuckfuckfuck—” he groaned, ramming into you until his hips stuttered and he came deep inside you, cursing through gritted teeth as you milked every drop from him.
haechan didn’t stop. even after mark collapsed forward against your back, he kept thrusting into your mouth, hips slapping your cheeks as he muttered incoherently, “fucking angel like this… ruined slut… fuck—”
your eyes rolled back, drool spilling past your lips as he came with a loud moan. his cum flooded your mouth so fast you gagged on it. he didn’t even pull out right away but just held your head there, watching your throat work as you tried to swallow around the mess.
mark looked down, chest still heaving. “jesus,” he muttered, watching the cum drip off your chin, pooling under you. “she looks fucking destroyed.”
your body collapsed face-down across the sheets, arms trembling, legs still spread and twitching. your skin burned from the heat of them, from their hands, their mouths. and still—they weren’t done.
mark sat up slowly, eyes locked on the cum leaking down your thighs. he reached down without a word, dragged two fingers through it, and spread it back up into you.
“don’t waste it,” he muttered, his voice low, hoarse. “not after you begged for it.”
haechan was still in front of you, watching the whole thing with a lazy grin. he leaned in, wiped the mess from your chin with his thumb, and smeared it back across your lips. “open.”
you did.
he shoved his thumb in, and you sucked weakly.
“god, look at you,” he whispered, thumb still in your mouth. “so fucking pretty like this. dumb and dripping with our cum.”
mark pushed in two fingers next, fucking it deeper into the mess between your thighs. “she’s still clenching,” he said. “greedy even now.”
you whimpered into haechan’s hand, your thighs shaking again. the overstimulation was biting at the edges of your spine like static.
“she can take another,” haechan said. “can’t you, sweetheart?”
you didn’t reply fast enough so mark grabbed your jaw and turned your head. “you want us to stop?”
you blinked, dazed.
“…no.”
“then say it.”
“don’t stop,” you whispered. “please…”
haechan was behind you before you could think, spreading your ass with both hands like he was admiring a ruined piece of art. he bent down, spit pooling from his mouth and landing right on your hole before he dragged two fingers through the mess of mark’s cum still leaking out of you.
“look at this,” he muttered, spreading you wider, thumb rubbing slow circles. “she’s dripping with you, mark. you gonna let me fuck her like that?”
mark didn’t answer. he just sat back with his legs spread, cock half-hard and twitching back to life as he watched you squirm.
“she said not to stop,” mark said finally, voice like gravel and heat. “so don’t.”
haechan lined himself up and slid in slowly until you were choking on your own moan, fingers clawing the sheets again. your body was trembling from the overstimulation but he didn’t care. not even a little. he gripped your hips and started fucking you in hard, rough strokes that made the whole bed creak.
“every sound you make is fucking delicious,” he grunted. “i'm gonna hear you when i jack off for a week straight.”
you cried out, and mark moved toward your head, grabbing your chin and lifting it.
“open your mouth,” he said.
you did and he spit into it. it hit your tongue, thick and warm, and he didn’t even wait for you to swallow before he slid his cock between your lips.
“don’t you dare stop sucking.”
your throat was sore from taking haechan earlier and your pussy was raw from how hard you’d already been fucked—but none of that mattered. not when they were both moaning. not when mark was muttering how pretty you looked drooling around his cock. not when haechan was rutting into you like he had something to prove.
“she’s not even thinking anymore,” haechan gasped. “just moaning and crying for us—fuck, she’s perfect.”
you didn’t realize your second orgasm was coming until it hit you harder and meaner than the previous one, tearing through your overstimulated nerves until your body convulsed and your throat released a garbled cry around mark’s cock.
mark came first this time, groaning as he pulled out just in time to jerk himself off all over your face until his cum painted your cheeks, your lips, your tongue.
“look at you,” he breathed. “fuck.”
haechan came right after, buried to the hilt inside you, hips stuttering as he flooded you again. his cum mixing with mark’s cum.
you were twitching against mark’s thighs, completely fucked out.
but they didn’t even leave you alone then.
mark pulled you up so you were fully on top of his chest, and ran a thumb over your ruined lips while his other hand slid between your thighs again, fingers stroking the mess they’d made.
“you’re not done,” he whispered.
haechan leaned in from behind, kissing your neck, biting your shoulder. “we’re gonna clean you up from the inside.”
your limbs trembled, your thighs were soaked, your throat ached but your moans still came out soft and needy, like begging had become your first language.
mark’s hand moved between your legs, fingers slipping back inside you with zero mercy. your pussy twitched around him, hypersensitive, every motion making your whole body flinch—but fuck if it didn’t feel good.
“you’re gonna cum again,” he said, more command than promise. “and again. and again. until we say you’re done.”
haechan moved on top of you, curling around you like a possessive snake.
“you hear that, baby?” he whispered “you wanted both of us… this is what that means.”
his hand snuck between your thighs, meeting mark’s fingers. two sets of fingers working inside you, scissoring, curling, fucking you through the wreckage of your last orgasm and dragging you right into the next.
you were crying now, quiet tears streaming down your cheeks as your body betrayed how good it felt. your hips rocking against their hands, head thrown against mark’s shoulder.
“good fucking girl,” mark breathed, watching your face with that reverent hunger. “look at her, haechan. she’s crying and still begging for more.”
“she’s ours,” haechan said simply, dragging his tongue along your neck, tasting the salt of your tears. “no one else gets her like this.”
and then—as if coordinated—they both moved faster.
your moans cracked into a sob, and you grabbed for mark’s arms as you came again. hard. your body shaking against his, your vision going white around the edges.
“one more,” mark muttered, watching your pussy clench and flutter around his fingers. “you can give us one more, can’t you?”
“she can,” haechan said, now sucking a bruise into your shoulder. “she’s such a good little toy.”
you couldn’t even speak. just gasps, sobs, a whimper of please—though none of you were really sure if it meant please stop or please keep going.
“we’ll stop when you can’t remember your name,” mark whispered, fingers still deep inside you.
he pulled his fingers out of you with one last deep curl, just to watch the way your hips jerked from the sudden loss.
haechan crawled down, hand on your thighs, pressing you into the mattress as he dropped to his stomach in front of your core
"be still," he licked his lips and then his tongue was on you.
licking up everything—all of it—his spit mixing with their cum, slow and messy, like he was trying to taste every second of what they'd done to you. he groaned against your cunt, burying his face between your legs as you sobbed, so overstimulated you couldn’t decide whether you were moaning or crying.
mark brushed your hair out of your face with a hand that was far too gentle for how he’d just destroyed you. he leaned down, kissed your tear-slick cheek, and whispered, “you’re doing so good, baby. letting us use you like this.”
his voice dropped lower, mouth brushing your ear now. “you’re ours. you know that, right? nothing left for anyone else. ”
you nodded. your throat too raw, and lips too bruised to speak.
“she’s clenching again,” haechan called from between your thighs, laughing, breath hot against you. “she’s about to fucking cum on my tongue.”
and fuck—you did.
your whole body jolted violently, and mark had to kiss you to keep you from screaming out. you cried into his mouth, so wet, so wrecked, and still grinding back against haechan’s mouth.
“fuck,” haechan groaned, pulling back just enough to kiss the inside of your thigh. “you taste like a dream.”
“i need to fuck you again” mark said, shifting back behind you. “slow this time. deep. so you remember my cock after tonight.”
haechan didn’t argue.
he just moved, lips dragging up your thighs as mark pulled your hips back up.
he slid into you again and you whimpered.
"breathe, baby," he whispered. "you're okay. i've got you."
haechan curled up in front of you, kissing your mouth now, slow and messy. his hand found your throat and he squeezed softly.
you looked up at him, saw his gaze flicker over your shoulder to where mark was moving behind you. and fuck if that look wasn’t hungry.
"you two gonna keep pretending this isn’t about more than me?" you whispered, voice raw but daring. “you’ve been dying to touch each other. do it.”
mark froze, cock still buried deep. haechan didn’t blink.
you rolled your hips enough to make mark gasp—and then you turned your head and said it again.
“touch him.”
haechan’s hand slid down slowly, fingers ghosting over your thigh first… then lower… until he reached between your legs and brushed mark’s cock where it was buried inside you.
"fuck," mark grunted, voice cracking slightly.
haechan smirked, leaned over your shoulder and whispered in mark’s ears, “do you like it, lee?”
he curled his fingers around mark’s cock, still moving in and out of you, and started stroking him. touching you and him in the same stroke. mark groaned into your skin, grip on your hips tightening.
“don’t stop,” mark gasped, voice lower than you'd ever heard it. “fuck—don’t stop.”
you moaned too, completely overwhelmed now watching the two of them break for each other.
"who knew you were this needy?" haechan taunted.
"shut up" mark groaned, hips faltering.
haechan leaned forward again, brushing his lips against mark’s jaw.
“shut me up,” he said, soft and dangerous.
mark hesitated for a second and then their mouths crashed together.
it was brutal and desperate. they kissed over your back like they were fighting for dominance, like they were starving for it.
mark kept fucking into you as they kissed, pace getting rougher now, hips snapping with every gasp. haechan kept stroking you both, his fingers moving between your clit and mark’s cock, never giving either of you a break.
haechan broke the kiss first, panting, lips swollen. “she’s gonna come again,” he muttered, fingers rubbing harder. “fuck, she’s squeezing you so tight.”
“i’m close, too” mark groaned “i’m gonna—”
you came first, clenching around both haechan’s hand and mark’s cock. your whole body spasming as the orgasm slammed through you.
mark came soon after with a gasp, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you again. he only pulled out
haechan didn’t stop touching you. didn’t stop kissing mark. until he’d wrung every drop out of both of you.
it was quiet for a moment.
both boys still half-tangled with you, one on either side. haechan’s mouth trailed down your body, licking over bruises he’d left earlier, until he settled between your thighs again. he kissed your inner thigh, then the other, lips dragging against sensitive skin, breathing in the scent of your ruined cunt like it was perfume.
“she’s still fucking soaked,” he muttered. “how are you still this wet?”
“because she knows what’s coming,” mark said, taking your hand and guiding it to his mouth. he kissed your fingers. then your wrist. then up your arm, slow and careful.
then he sat up and lifted your upper body into his lap, turning you around and cradling you against his chest as haechan started licking long, slow strokes up your pussy again.
your legs trembled, your hands dug into mark’s thighs. you weren’t just being eaten out, you were being devoured.
“you’re gonna take us both this time,” mark grunted into your ear. “not one at a time. both.”
haechan looked up, eyes gleaming.
“ever been filled in both holes, baby?”
your breath hitched. you couldn’t speak but your body said yes.
mark shifted behind you again, this time lining himself up lower. haechan moved between your legs, stroking himself slow, teasing the head of his cock through your slick folds.
“you ready?” haechan asked, breath hot against your mouth.
you nodded.
and then they were both pushing in at the same time.
one in your pussy, one in your ass.
and fuck—you lost your mind.
your mouth dropped open in a scream you didn’t even hear. you were full in the truest, filthiest sense of the word.
they groaned in unison, both of them stilling once they were fully buried inside you.
“holy fuck,” mark gasped. “she’s so tight like this—”
but you did move. you rolled your hips, whimpering, desperate for more friction. and then they started thrusting.
together.
deep, slow, alternating, syncing like they were choreographing the destruction of your sanity.
your body jolted between them with every stroke. you were moaning, begging, babbling things you couldn’t understand. their hands were all over you—mark’s on your breasts, haechan’s on your throat, their mouths kissing every inch of you they could reach.
“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” mark growled. “us… fucking you together.”
“she was made to take us like this.” haechan breathed, watching your eyes roll back.
you didn’t just come this time. you broke. sobbing and clenching down on both of them as your orgasm hit like a bus. they didn’t even stop, they fucked you through it, fucked you through the twitching and the tears and the oversensitive spasms until you were just a mess of yesyesyes and pleasepleaseplease.
they came together. mark first, biting your shoulder, thrusts deep and hard. then haechan, with a strangled moan, spilling inside you with one final snap of his hips.
you didn’t know how long you were out—could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. the world felt muted. like your body had been peeled open and left raw in the best way. your limbs wouldn’t move right. your skin was still tingling. your chest rising slowly like every breath was relearned.
mark was the first to move. he didn’t speak, just rolled you onto your side gently, cradling your body lgently. he reached for the sheets, wiped between your thighs with careful strokes, even as your legs twitched and your whole body flinched at the contact.
“you alive?” mark asked softly.
you hummed. barely.
“good,” haechan said. “because imagine explaining this to the paramedics.” he kissed your shoulder, tongue dragging over the sweat there.
you laughed—more like a broken giggle—and they both chuckled too.
mark leaned in, brushed your hair back from your face. “you okay?”
you nodded, and when you whispered “yeah,” he kissed your temple.
“you need water, or—?”
“i need to feel you again,” you said.
he blinked, then smiled fondly.
haechan slid a hand up your stomach, resting between your breasts. “she’s addicted,” he whispered, and you could feel the grin in his voice. “she’s not even cleaned up and she’s already asking for more.”
you turned your head slightly. “so stop teasing me and touch me.”
mark’s fingers were already trailing back down your side. “not to fuck you again,” he said, “not yet.”
he looked at you softly, but serious. “we’re gonna clean you up.”
haechan slipped out of bed and disappeared for a second, then came back with a warm cloth. mark took it, and the two of them cleaned your body. wiping gently between your legs, kissing the insides of your knees. haechans tongue licked along your hip just because he wanted to.
“look at this mess,” he murmured, dragging the cloth through the mixture of their cum and yours. “we fucked you so good. you’re still dripping.”
you whimpered.
mark kissed your thigh. “we’ll fill you up again,” he promised. “after you rest. after we take care of you.”
“and when you wake up,” haechan added, crawling up beside you, “you’re getting marked again, so no one even thinks about touching you.”
┈─★
the first thing you felt the next morning was heat. not the kind that fades when the blankets shift. no, this was body heat. the weight of someone’s thigh tangled with yours. the press of a chest at your back. the warm exhale of breath across your neck.
your eyes blinked open slowly.
and both of them were still in your bed.
mark was behind you, arm slung over your waist, breath warm against your shoulder. haechan was in the front, legs tangled with yours and one hand resting against the underside of your breast like he’d fallen asleep mid-grope.
mark stirred first, pressing a slow kiss to the back of your shoulder. “morning,” he mumbled, voice deep and sleep-rough.
you hummed. “you stayed.”
“of course,” he said like it was obvious.
haechan groaned, stretching. his hand slid higher and squeezed your tit without even opening his eyes. “if i’d left, i would’ve had to jerk off in the dorm thinking about this,” he muttered. “no thanks.”
you laughed softly, body curling between them. “are you always this charming in the morning?”
mark chuckled. “only when we wake up next to a gorgeous girl.”
“mm,” haechan hummed, finally opening his eyes. “speaking of…”
he pushed the blanket back and looked you over like he was unwrapping a gift.
“what?” you asked, even though you knew exactly what.
mark leaned up on one elbow, gaze sweeping from your face to the marks on your neck, down to the faint bruises on your hips. his hand brushed them lightly, almost in awe.
“we did a number on you,” he murmured.
“yeah,” you said, voice light. “you gonna apologize?”
they both smirked.
“no,” haechan said, already moving to kiss down your chest. “we’re gonna do it again.”
pairing: werewolf!hufflepuff! jisung x hufflepuff!fem. reader
genre: best friends to lovers, hogwarts/supernatural au, angst, smut.
wc: 18.3k+
summary: after a cruel prank leaves jisung cursed, he withdraws from everyone—including you, his closest friend. but secrets can't stay hidden forever, and when a full moon pulls you into the darkness he's tried so desperately to conceal, there's no going back.
content warnings: werewolf lore & transformation, drug usage, rut/mating behavior, rough sex, biting/marking, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, bulge kink, mentions of bruising & blood, mild body horror, brief medical talk (contraceptive), aftercare. lmk if i missed any!
a/n: nearly a month in the making and i can finally say i’m satisfied enough to post this lol. i’m actually really happy with how it turned out—and i finally got to write about werewolves, which has been on my list forever. canonically, werewolves in the HP universe (and most lore tbh) are dangerous nocturnal creatures and primarily bloodthirsty. but for this fic, i took a step away from that and leaned into the rut aspect instead because why not ;) pls don’t judge the cover, i had picsart and a dream lol. btw moonstruck by enhypen and nda by billie eilish are two songs u should listen to while reading this!
ps: i don’t know why i was under the assumption that everyone knows hp terms but i realized that is not the case after my mark fic 😭 so even though i didn’t use too many obscure ones here, here’s a little reference guide just in case:
legilimens– someone who can read minds or emotions
squib– a non-magical person born into a magical family (in this fic, it’s thrown around more like calling someone useless/coward)
wolfsbane– a potion that allows werewolves to keep their mind during a full moon; in hp lore they still transform, but in this fic it's not a full transformation.
feel free to message me if anything else was confusing! happy reading<3
You didn’t expect your seventh year at Hogwarts to feel like grieving someone who was still alive.
Three months ago, Park Jisung was still your best friend. Now, he can’t even stand being near you.
The suddenness of this change was something you couldn’t wrap around your head. But things don’t always fall apart all at once. Sometimes they drift until you’re left staring across a room at someone who used to know everything about you and wondering when they became a stranger.
He was the very first friend you made at Hogwarts. You remember how he barely spoke to anyone, and you sat next to him in Transfiguration class just because there was an empty seat. You charmed your quill into a frog that wouldn’t stop croaking, and when he finally cracked a smile, it felt like you’d won something important.
He was awkward and soft-spoken, unsure of himself in the way most boys are before they grow into their limbs. But you liked him instantly. Probably because he liked the same books as you, or because he never made fun of you for being nervous on a broom.
He even held your hand during your first flying lesson, hovering near you the whole time so you wouldn’t be scared. Years later, you found out he was just as scared of heights as you were and only pretended not to be to make you feel safe.
By fifth year, you spent so much time together that you could finish each other’s sentences. By sixth, you were bringing blankets to the highest tower in the castle and naming stars until you both fell asleep mid conversation. There wasn’t a single version of your life in Hogwarts that didn’t include him.
You thought seventh year would be just like that….
You were wrong.
After a summer of sending each other daily letters, pages and pages of thoughts, jokes, and half-sincere promises to never grow up, you returned to school thinking nothing could change.
And at first, it didn’t.
You walked to classes together, fell asleep with your legs tangled on the same couch, pretending not to hear the way people whispered about it the next morning, and snuck out of the common room after curfew not caring that you’d get caught.
The Astronomy Tower was your favorite place, you discovered how pretty it looked at night in your third year.
It was quiet that evening, the wind tugging at your robes as you leaned over the battlement. Jisung set down the little paper packet he’d smuggled from the kitchens—honey biscuits, still warm—and nudged it toward you.
“Payment for helping with my Potions homework,” he said, trying to be casual, though the tips of his ears were already pink.
You laughed and took one, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’d owe me a whole bakery if this were the price.”
He smiled softly. The moonlight caught in his hair, and for a second you forgot the chill entirely.
“Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.
You arched an eyebrow but obeyed. Something light, wool‑soft, was placed around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find a black‑and‑yellow scarf wrapped there, smelling faintly of cedarwood soap and parchment ink—purely, unmistakably Jisung.
“Did you make this?” you asked, caressing the soft fabric.
“Erm… yeah, you lost yours and it’s starting to get cold outside.” He mumbled, eyes on his shoes. “I couldn’t have my star‑chart partner freeze.”
You swallowed a reply that felt too big, and instead reached for his hand where it rested on the stone ledge. Your fingers threaded with his, easy as blinking. He stiffened for a second then squeezed back. When you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you, wide and bright, as though the whole sky were reflected there instead of above your heads.
Neither of you moved for a long while. Orion wheeled overhead, the biscuits cooled, and the castle bells tolled curfew far below. But the only thing you really noticed was the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way your heart tripped every time he glanced your way and smiled shyly.
You learned just how soft‑hearted Jisung was that day on the Astronomy Tower.
Which is why, a few weeks into seventh year, it struck you as utterly wrong when rumors reached you that he’d been seen tagging along behind Lee Seungmin. Seungmin was everything Jisung wasn’t—loud, sharp‑tongued, the sort of Slytherin who thought shoving first‑years into suits of armor was a hobby and swapping curse ingredients under the table was a joke. He hexed quills to peck at classmates and bragged about detentions like they were trophies.
Jisung, by contrast, apologized when he bumped into someone and brought extra quills for anyone who forgot theirs. He flinched at raised voices and fed the barn owls after hours because he worried they were lonely.
So hearing his name linked with Seungmin’s felt like hearing that rain was falling upward. At first you laughed it off, because surely someone must have mixed him up with another quiet Hufflepuff. But then Jisung started arriving late to meals, dodging your study sessions, mumbling vague excuses you’d never heard from him before.
That was when you realized the rumor wasn’t a mistake—and that something was very, very wrong.
Seventh Year
September settled over the castle in a bright rush of golden leaves and new parchment, and for a while everything felt the way it always had. You and Jisung were crossing the courtyard—still laughing about his theory that Professor Lockhart polished his hair with Mrs. Skower’s Extra‑Shine—when a voice cut through the chatter behind you.
“Oi, Park!”
You both turned. Lee Seungmin jogged toward you, grinning widelys. You didn’t bother hiding your sigh.
“Still on for tonight?” he asked, dropping his voice as he leaned in toward Jisung.
“I’m not sure. I’ve got a Potions essay to finish.” Jisung shifted akwardly.
Seungmin smacked him on the back, too hard to be friendly. “Come on, you’ve bailed twice already.”
You stepped forward, folding your arms. “Don’t you have that same essay, Seungmin? It’s half the term grade.”
He turned, as if noticing you for the first time and smirked “Why bother? Snape’s going to fail me anyway.”
“Typical,” you muttered.
“I’ll let you know later,” Jisung said quickly, cutting between you before another jab could leave your mouth.
Seungmin’s gaze lingered on you, faintly mocking, before he turned away with a humorless laugh. “Sure thing, Park.”
The moment he was out of earshot you exhaled. “Since when are you and Seungmin… close?”
“We’re not,” Jisung said, scratching at the back of his neck. “He just hangs around sometimes.”
You searched his face. “You two have nothing in common.”
“It isn’t a big deal,” he insisted, but the laugh that followed sounded fake.
“It is if you’re sneaking off with someone like him,” you said, sharper than you meant to, but the worry was too much to hide.
Jisung’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”
You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked the rest of the way to class in silence with a sense of unease settling on your chest.
That was when the distance began to show.
First, he started seating two rows over in Charms, smiling apologetically whenever you glanced his way but never moving back. He stopped leaving crooked little jokes on the margins of your Transfiguration notes or looking at you and trying not to laugh whenever Professor Lockhart messed up a spell.
He still spoke to you, yet every conversation felt stitched together, as if he were acting out a script. One afternoon you finally asked, “Are we all right?” He nodded so quickly you had a hard time believing it.
The next time you saw him with Seungmin it was well past curfew.
You had just left the library after wrestling Arithmancy proofs and stopped short as soon as you rounded the corner near the dungeon stairs. There was Seungmin leaning against the wall and Jisung half‑turned away, both speaking in low murmurs. You caught only fragments of Seungmin’s lazy drawl and Jisung’s tight replies. Then Seungmin laughed sharply, and your best friend flinched as though struck.
Your loud footsteps made both of their heads snap up.
“Y/N,” Jisung blurted, striding toward you as if to block your view. “Why are you out so late?”
“I could ask you the same.” You said arching a brow.
Behind him, Seungmin offered a thin grin before slipping down the stairs into the darkness of the dungeons.
Jisung pressed a hand to his eyes. “I was heading back to the dorm.”
“What did he want?”
“He—” Jisung’s voice faltered and for a heartbeat you saw the words gather behind his lips but he swallowed them down. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Your voice cracked on the word. “Come on, Ji.”
“I’m just tired,” he whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”
Silence pooled between you, at last you forced a smile neither of you believed. “All right. Tomorrow.”
But tomorrow never arrived—at least, not the kind where he told you what was wrong.
Because the next day Jisung never came to class at all.
Two whole days slid by without a glimpse of him and you were so on edge you kept glancing over your shoulder, half‑expecting his soft voice behind you. Or hoping he might walk into the library with that shy lopsided smile, asking if you had spare parchment which he always ran out of because his handwriting was too big and messy.
But he wasn’t anywhere, and no one seemed willing to notice besides you.
By lunch on the second day you couldn’t keep silent. Renjun was halfway through a Honeydukes bar, mumbling that chocolate boosted cognitive function, when you leaned across the table and murmured, “Do you know what’s going on with Jisung?”
He froze mid‑bite. “What?”
“Renjun,” you said, low and tight, “you know he hasn’t been to class, or in the common room. He isn’t anywhere.”
“I thought he was sick,” Renjun offered with a shrug that felt rehearsed.
“He isn’t in the hospital wing, and he hasn’t answered any of my owls.”
A flicker of something, maybe guilt, crossed his face. “Maybe he just… needs space?”
Your gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”
“No,” he blurted too fast. “No, not that I know of.”
“Renjun.”
“I swear, I don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. That was answer enough, but you let it drop for now.
That evening, heading back from a prefect meeting, you passed the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and heard voices up the corridor.
You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—until one word snapped you still.
“Jisung.”
“Snape got to him before—”
“—thought he was going to die, mate—”
“—Seungmin won’t shut up, keeps saying it wasn’t meant to go that far—”
A rush of blood pounded in your ears as you picked up bits of the hushed conversation. You edged closer and caught sight of Jay and Niki—Seungmin’s friends—half hidden in the shadows, whispering behind cupped hands.
Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Your thoughts finally being confirmed; Something happened to Jisung and Seungmin was at the heart of it.
You didn’t sleep a minute that night. Every time you shut your eyes, the conversation replayed in your head until dawn bled through the curtains and you were already out of bed, fury keeping you upright.
You found Seungmin loitering outside the Great Hall, laughing too loudly at something Jay and Niki had said. You crossed the marble floor without a second thought.
“Where is he?”
The smile slipped from Seungmin’s face. He cocked his head, all polite confusion. “Sorry, where’s who?”
“Drop the act,” you said, stepping close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep eye contact. “I heard your lackeys talking last night. Where’s Jisung?”
Jay and Niki exchanged a look but said nothing..
Seungmin gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You’re hearing ghosts, sweetheart. Why would I bother with Park?”
“A better question,” you started, voice cold, “is why you’ve been so attached to him lately. You don’t exactly run in the same circles, so what did you talk him into?”
Something sharpened in Seungmin’s eyes and he leaned in by a fraction. “Careful with what you’re accusing me of.”
“Or what?” You didn’t move. “You’ll do to me what you did to him?”
For a heartbeat his mask slipped, just long enough to confirm you’d scored a direct hit.
“I didn’t touch him,” he said, almost gently. “Whatever mess Park’s in? He walked into it himself”
“Liar.”
He dipped his head, a mock‑sympathetic smile curling at his mouth. “You think you know him so well, huh? Ever think that maybe he finally got tired of you shadowing him like a needy bitc—”
Your wand was at his throat before the last word finished leaving his lips. The corridor went silent except for your breathing.
“You know nothing about us,” you said, voice shaking with contained fury. “If he’s hurt, I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly whose fault it is.”
Seungmin’s gaze flicked to the tip of your wand, then back to your face. A slow, poisonous smile spread. “Ask too many questions, Y/N, and you might choke on the answers.”
He stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, and strolled away. Jay and Niki followed in uneasy silence. You lowered your wand, fingers trembling with adrenaline.
His parting smile told you everything about his involvement. But you still didn’t have clear answers.
So you went to seek the other person allegedly involved. Snape.
When you descended into the dungeons, the silence was immediate and unnatural. No one ever came this far during free periods; only Professor Snape’s office existed at the end of this corridor, buried deep in the coldest, most isolated part of the castle.
Faint green flames floated midair along the walls, suspended in enchanted sconces that made no sound and cast no warmth. They pulsed gently, like breathing, and their glow warped the stone around them, making the shadows twist in ways that defied logic.
You hated it down here. Even now, in your seventh year, walking this corridor alone made your heart thud against your ribs like it wanted you to turn back.
But you were desperate.
Snape looked up slowly when you stepped into his office without knocking, his quill pausing mid-sentence on the parchment. His expression went from mildly irritated to coldly displeased in an instant.
“Is knocking a forgotten concept these days?” he said dryly.
“Professor,” you began quickly, not even trying to hide the urgency in your voice. “I need to talk to you.”
Snape set down his quill, arching a single eyebrow. “Then I suggest you start talking, and make it quick.”
You swallowed. “It’s about Jisung… Park Jisung. He’s been missing for days, and no one seems to know anything. Or at least, they’re pretending they don’t.”
His gaze sharpened and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of caution behind his eyes before he quickly masked it.
“I fail to see why you’re bringing this to me,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Missing students are a matter for the headmaster.”
“Don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you pressed forward anyway. “I overheard some students talking. They mentioned your name…said you found Jisung somewhere. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”
Snape’s eyes flashed briefly. “And you believe the idle gossip of students because…?”
“Jisung wouldn’t just disappear on his own like that. I know something happened to him,” you shot back, voice shaking. “And I believe you know exactly what.”
He watched you silently for a moment. You could feel him weighing something behind his guarded stare. Finally, he exhaled sharply.
“Miss Y/N,” he began slowly, voice heavy with thinly veiled warning, “there are things within these castle walls and beyond them that you are better off not knowing.”
“That’s not your choice to make,” you said immediately.
“On the contrary,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely my choice. And you will do well to remember that.”
Your fists clenched at your sides, frustration prickling hot behind your eyes. “Professor, please. Jisung’s my best friend. If he’s hurt… if something’s happened… I need to know.”
Something shifted in Snape’s expression at your words, almost looked like regret. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle, which frightened you more than his scorn.
“Sometimes the worst harm you can do to someone is to keep prying.”
He paused, holding your gaze steadily. “Park is alive. That is all you need to know. Now leave.”
You stood frozen for a second, his words sinking in painfully. Jisung was alive—yet somehow, that felt worse. It meant something had happened… Something terrible.
Your jaw tightened. “You can’t keep this hidden forever,” you whispered fiercely.
He leaned forward, eyes piercing yours in the darkness of the room.
“We’ll see.”
You turned away, storming from his office without looking back. Snape hadn’t denied anything which meant there’d definitely been an incident and it was serious enough that Jisung couldn’t be seen right now. He was alive, but he was hurt, and whatever happened to him was being deliberately hidden.
A few days later
The day started like any other.
You pushed cold eggs across your plate, half listening to Renjun’s gentle attempts at conversation while the Great Hall hummed as if a student hadn’t been missing for a week. But suddenly, a hush rolled through the room.
You felt Renjun touch your arm.
“Y/N.”
You looked up, and followed his gaze toward the doors. The breath caught in your throat.
Jisung was standing just inside the oak doors.
He was bent at the shoulders, eyes flicking over the Hall as if he didn’t remember ever being there before. His robes hung wrinkled and loose and there were red scratches carved along his neck and cheek. He was paler than before and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look years older than when you’d last seen him.
Without greeting anyone, he drifted to the far end of the Hufflepuff table nowhere near his usual seat beside you.
You were on your feet before the thought finished forming.
Renjun caught your wrist. “Y/N, maybe wait—”
You shook him off and crossed the hall, every step echoing in the sudden quiet.
“Jisung?”
He flinched but kept his gaze on the empty plate. “Not now, Y/N.”
“You’ve been gone a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I was so worried—”
“I said not now.” The snap in his voice was sharp enough to cut. He glanced up and the terror in his eyes chilled you to the bone.
You reached for him, but he stood so abruptly your balance faltered. Without another word he strode the length of the hall and disappeared through the doors, leaving a silence that seemed to bend the rafters.
You stood frozen, heat flushing your face as dozens of eyes slid away. Renjun appeared at your elbow and talked softly. “Let him breathe.”
You nodded, though the emptiness in your chest insisted otherwise.
Jisung returned to lessons, but only in body. He answered professors in one‑word murmurs and offered classmates strained smiles that meant please don’t talk to me. At meals he sat alone, two yards of empty bench marking the space where laughter used to live.
He moved faster when he saw you in the corridors. He no longer waited outside classrooms or drifted toward your chair in the library. His robes hung loose as if he’d lost weight along with sleep, and his hands shook whenever he raised his wand. Sometimes you caught him staring through stone walls at something only he could see.
You tried with soft hellos in the common room, and owls folded with careful questions but every attempt slid off the wall he’d built overnight. The harder you reached, the farther he retreated, until all that remained between you was silence and the memory of how easily you’d once shared the same breath.
2 days later
Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his shaking hands. His palms were marked with crescent-shaped indentations from how hard he was clenching his fists.
He kept hearing it.
The snap of branches in pitch-black darkness. The sickening crunch of claws sinking into damp earth. The guttural snarl vibrating through his bones moments before razor-sharp teeth pierced his shoulder. The thick warmth of blood soaking through his robes.
Sometimes it came to him in dreams. Other times, he’d be awake, in class, or walking down the corridor. A sound, or a smell and he was back in the forest.
Snape had said the wolfsbane would help and it had in a way. At least, it kept the full transformation at bay. But it didn’t stop the memories, it didn’t quiet the noise in his head.
His senses were too sharp now, every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle of parchment felt louder. Sometimes he thought he could hear people’s heartbeats, smell their sweat before they entered a room. His insides constantly felt overwhelmed with unbearable energy. He felt trapped in his own skin, moments away from tearing free of himself. Sometimes he felt too much, and other times… he felt nothing at all.
Worst of all, though, was you.
He couldn't stand to be near you anymore. Not because he didn't want to, but because your scent now stirred something dangerous within him. It made his chest ache unbearably, tightened his throat with longing and thirst.
A part of him urged him to get far away from you. But another darker, more primal part whispered the opposite… to scent you, to sink into you, to lose control entirely. But he refused to drag you into his nightmare. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much it tore at him.
He could remember most of what led him into the forest, up to a certain point.
He remembers Seungmin saying he wanted to hang out and they met near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where one of the slytherins handed out something called shadeleaf. It was an iridescent petal folded into itself like a capsule. Illegal, of course. Banned by the ministry for its hallucinogenic properties and its tendency to react differently based on magical affinity.
Jisung didn't even know why he was there. This wasn’t his scene at all. The guys were drinking something out of a flask that smelled like burnt sugar and smoke. Jay was lighting up a rolled spell-scroll with charmed embers. Niki already looked half out of it, eyes glazed.
When Seungmin started showing an interest in him a few weeks ago, Jisung had been flattered. He'd only ever made two close friends at Hogwarts, so someone new noticing him felt good. That was the only reason he went along with him. He wanted to be accepted.
“Is it safe?” Jisung asked nervously.
“Come on, park,” Niki chuckled, placing a shimmering petal on his tongue. “Don’t be a Squib.”
“What's the worst that could happen?” Seungmin grinned, handing one to him. “You trip a bit? See some weird shit? Wake up with a headache?”
Jisung hesitated, staring at the thing in his palm. It pulsed faintly with a color he didn’t have a name for.
He didn't want to do it, but they were all watching him. So he took it.
The effects hit almost instantly. His vision went fuzzy first; he could only see edges warping and light bending at impossible angles. Then his tongue tingled and throbbed, and his body felt too hot.
“Shit, this is strong,” Jay laughed.
“It’s not that bad,” Seungmin said, puffing from the smoldering scroll between his fingers.
None of them looked as affected as Jisung.
"Come on, Park," Seungmin said, draping an arm casually yet firmly around Jisung’s shoulders. "There’s a spot a little deeper in. We hang out there all the time."
Jisung couldn’t hear properly anymore, everything sounded underwater. He followed anyway.
He couldn’t say how long they walked. It felt like hours, though in reality it was probably mere minutes before his knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold forest floor. His head spun violently, vision fractured.
He tried to speak, to call out but his voice didn't work, the forest blurring darker and darker until only silence and blackness swallowed him whole. He didn’t know when they left him. Just that at some point, he was alone.
The last thing he remembers was seeing bright, yellow eyes and feeling immense pain…
He woke up choking on his own blood.
His body jerked violently, lungs burning as he struggled to take in air. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him upright with urgency. Through blurry, half-open eyes, he caught the outline of a wand glowing faintly in the dark. He barely recognized the familiar cadence of Professor Snape’s voice echoing through the haze.
“Park… Can you hear me?” Snape’s voice was clipped, edged with tension he’d never heard before.
Jisung managed only a strangled groan. He couldn’t speak, his throat was raw, filled with the metallic tang of blood. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp shallow and painful, as if his lungs were full of lead. He felt wetness soaking through his clothes and pooling beneath him. He didn't know if it was sweat or blood. Probably both, his clouded mind whispered darkly.
He was certain of only one thing—he was going to die here.
“You’ve been attacked,” Snape explained urgently, casting quick charms that rippled warmly across Jisung’s battered body. “I need you to remain as still as possible while I attempt to slow the bleeding.”
The word attacked echoed faintly in Jisung’s mind. Attacked by what? His thoughts swirled sluggishly. He couldn’t focus enough to piece anything together.
Snape pressed a small vial to his lips. The Hufflepuff hesitated, eyes flickering up weakly, his question dying soundlessly on cracked lips.
Snape seemed to understand instantly. “It’s Wolfsbane.”
The word crashed over Jisung with crushing weight, his mind snapping painfully back to clarity. Wolfsbane. A potion for…
His stomach twisted violently, nausea gripping him as realization cut sharply through the fog in his mind.
He’d been attacked by a werewolf.
It felt impossible. He wanted to deny it, wanted to believe it was just some twisted nightmare brought on by the drugs he’d foolishly taken. But the pain burning through his shoulder and the dark, grim expression on Snape’s face all made denial impossible.
With trembling lips, Jisung allowed Snape to tip the bitter potion into his mouth, grimacing weakly as he forced himself to swallow it down. It tasted vile but he had no energy left to protest.
He collapsed back against the cold forest floor, limbs heavy, vision fading once more as Snape continued muttering charms, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness.
“Stay with me, Park,” Snape’s voice commanded, sharp but oddly comforting. “You’re not going to die tonight.”
But Jisung wasn’t sure he believed him.
The darkness rushed back in, heavy and thick, pulling him under again as Snape’s frantic movements blurred and faded away.
His memory is fuzzy from then on.
One moment he was lying in the dirt, blood soaking the ground beneath him. The next, he was being levitated through narrow hallways, his body wrapped in magic and warding charms.
The room was dark, except for a wandlight hovering near the ceiling. He was placed on a dusty mattress on the floor. His skin felt stiff with blood, every muscle felt like it had been peeled apart and sewn back together with barbed wire.
He recognized the Shrieking Shack from an article he’d read once about the most haunted places on Earth. That’s where they were right now.
The shack was colder than he imagined. This was the place they used to tell ghost stories about in the common room. The place kids dared each other to peek into on Hogsmeade weekends. It smelled like old wood and dust. Snape moved through it like he’d been here before—like this was routine.
He cast a dozen silent spells before even speaking. Layers of enchantments wrapped around the rotting floorboards, the shattered furniture, the warped windows.
“You must take this Wolfsbane every day,” Snape said curtly, setting a tray on the floor beside the creaking mattress. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”
Jisung didn’t answer. Snape paused, studying him with that unreadable stare.
“You’ll stay here until the full moon passes,” he said. “You’ll say nothing when you return.”
Jisung blinked slowly, the weight of it sinking into his bones. ‘When you return… or If’.
Then Snape turned to go but he stopped in the doorway.
“You are not the first,” he said, voice low. “It will be painful but you’ll survive.”
And with that, he was gone.
The silence was the most unbearable part of being in the Shack. Not even the pain or the way Jisung’s bones ached like they were preparing to snap apart. It was the silence that made him feel like he’d go crazy any minute.
He tried to sleep, but whenever he tried he’d blink awake to phantom sensations of fur brushing his skin, fangs pushing against his teeth, and a sweet scent of honey curling through the cracks in the floorboards.
It wasn’t the full moon yet but his body was already responding to it. The Wolfsbane kept him from changing completely, but it didn’t stop everything. His skin itched as if it was being stretched and he realized he’d grown a few inches taller overnight. His eyes were also becoming sensitive to even the faintest flickers of light, and they were a dark shade of yellow that glowed whenever the moonlight hit them.
It might’ve been on the second night or the third, he couldn’t remember well, but Snape came in and told him that the full moon would be at its peak and he would feel the effects more despite the potion.
Jisung lasted about two hours before the pain began. It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like frostbite, numbing his fingers first. Then his wrists and his legs. He thought maybe this was it—maybe he’d just fade out before anything happened. Then it spread up his spine and into his skull, where it bloomed behind his eyes like fire.
The pain was so much bigger than his body. It burned and it shredded him, as if his bones were being broken and rebuilt at the same time, like his skin wasn’t big enough to hold him anymore. He scratched at his own arms until his nails cracked and bled. It got so unbearable he slammed his head against the wall hoping he would knock himself out but he couldn’t.
He clawed at the walls, tore at the floorboards and bit into the wood until his mouth filled with splinters and blood. He howled until his throat tore raw. And still, it didn’t stop
He lost count of how many times his limbs broke and reformed. His jaw cracked open so wide he thought it might dislocate, teeth pushing through bloody gums. He was sobbing or at least, he thought he was. It was hard to tell over the sound of his own growling.
The transformation stopped halfway and started again the next day. He never fully transformed but he felt the pain of his body trying to fight against it every single time.
He stopped counting days after that.
Hunger and exhaustion tangled with grief and fear until all that was left was the throb of his body and the steady hum of magic in his blood. He didn’t think about the pain anymore. Or the bite. Or Seungmin. Or the forest.
Mostly, he thought about you.
He tried not to, but you wouldn’t leave him. Your face, your laugh, your voice, it all circled him like the moonlight through the slats in the wall.
The way the thought of you made his body burn now.The way your honeyed scent used to be comforting but now made his lungs tighten and his mouth water. He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way.
On the seventh day he woke up soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The moon had passed. He could feel it in the way the ache in his bones was retreating and his mind was clearer.
Snape arrived at dawn.
He said nothing about the mess of blood and broken furniture in the room. He just studied Jisung who was sitting slumped against the wall. He pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells over his body.
“You’ll return to class tomorrow,” he said. “If anyone asks, you were ill.”
Jisung didn’t move.
Snape continued impassively. “You are not to mention the Wolfsbane, the forest, or what you’ve become. Do you understand?”
Jisung finally looked at him, barely able to lift his head properly. “That’s it? Just… go back like nothing happened?” His voice came out hoarse.
Snape’s eyes narrowed faintly. “No. That is not it.”
He stepped closer.
“You will take your potion every cycle, no matter what. And you will not seek out the other boys involved, nor will you retaliate.”
Jisung’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to rip Seungmin’s throat apart, but he knew that was just the wolf thinking.
“And most importantly, you will stay away from her.” Snape said, his voice dropping at the last word.
Jisung sat up sharply, knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Why?”
The professor’s expression didn’t soften. “Because the wolf doesn’t care that she’s your friend. It doesn’t care about boundaries or guilt or decency. It responds to need.”
Jisung’s chest tightened, throat dry.
“The first few transformations are the worst,” Snape continued, pacing slowly now. “Your body hasn’t adjusted. Your instincts haven’t aligned with your mind. You will feel urges…violent, territorial, carnal urges that you can’t control. Those urges will turn into fixations... Especially for someone you already had feelings for”
“I don’t–” Jisung started.
“You don’t need to lie, Mr. Park.” Snape cut him off, “I am a very skilled Legilimens, you know? I can see your mind and I see how it’s filled with thoughts of her.”
Jisung looked away, jaw trembling slightly. Snape stopped in front of him.
“Her scent” he said quietly. “It already triggers you, doesn’t it?”
Jisung didn’t answer. That sweet scent of honey and parchment that he kept smelling through the rotting floors and the dried blood, he figured out it was you. It reminded him of that night at the Astronomy tower.The Shrieking Shack might be a few miles away from Hogwarts castle but he could still somehow smell you.
“You feel it in your chest, in your teeth, in your gut” Snape said, voice like a scalpel. “You want her.”
Jisung’s breathing picked up.
“That is the beginning of your rut.”
“Rut?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.
Snape nodded. “It’s a biological response. Wolves enter a heightened state after the full moon cycle. Some experience it more than others, especially younger ones who’ve recently turned”
Jisung’s heart was pounding now, nauseatingly fast.
“You may feel sudden impulses or worse you might want to act on those impulses.”
He felt sick. “I’m not— I would never hurt her.”
“I’m not concerned about your intentions,” Snape said coldly. “I’m concerned about your self control. A werewolf’s instincts are hard to resist and if you lose control, Mr. Park… She will pay the price.”
“So stay away from her,” Snape said with finality. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe.”
Jisung sat there shaking, the weight of what he’d become pressing down on his spine like a second body.
He couldn’t go back. Not like this.
“I’m not ready,” he said hoarsely.
Snape didn’t turn. He stood by the window, watching the last of the night dissolve into grey morning.
“You won’t ever be,” he said simply.
Jisung clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see her. Or anyone. I—I can’t trust myself.”
“You must learn to live with your current situation.”
“Why can’t I just… stay here?”
Snape turned at that. His eyes were cold and calculating.
“Because people are already asking questions,” he said. “Students, staff. Your friend.”
Jisung’s heart stuttered at that.
“She’s worried,” Snape continued. “Rightfully so. You disappeared without warning. She’s been to my office several times. She’s even confronted the student who got you into this predicament, pulled out a wand at him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her from endangering herself trying to find you.”
Jisung lowered his head, guilt flooding every nerve.
“Rumors are spreading, too.” Snape added. “A few students are saying they saw you with Mr. Lee that night. Some think you were injured, others that you’re in trouble. You’ve already been gone too long.”
Jisung swallowed hard. “So I just walk into the Great Hall acting like I’m normal?”
Snape didn’t blink. “Yes.”
His stomach turned. “And if someone sees the scars?”
“You’ll say you had an accident in the forest.”
“And you’ll back me up?” he asked bitterly.
“If I must.”
Jisung exhaled shakily. “And Y/N? We—we’re always together, she’ll find it weird if I suddenly cut her off”
“You’ll keep your distance regardless. If she asks questions, you deflect. If she pushes, you walk away. You’re not safe around her”
He bit his lip hard, so hard it almost bled. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”
“Then hope she’s smart enough not to get too close.”
The doors to the Great Hall had never felt so heavy. Jisung stood in front of them for nearly five minutes, staring at the carved wood. Behind them, he heard laughter, casual conversation, normalcy.
He wasn’t ready.
But Snape’s words echoed in his skull.
"You’ve already been gone too long."
He took a breath and pushed them open.
All the noise overcame him like a wave, the plates clinking, voices overlapping, owls fluttering through the rafters. It all felt loud in a way it hadn’t before, as if someone had turned the world’s volume up just to punish him.
He kept his head low and his pace steady. One foot in front of the other. Just like Snape said. Act like nothing happened.
He could feel all eyes on him almost instantly. First years stopping mid-bite and a few seventh-years whispering across the Gryffindor table. Someone, he thought maybe Jay, froze with a goblet halfway to his lips.
And then you. He didn’t have to loo, he felt the second your eyes landed on him, making something twist deep in his chest. That same unbearable tightness he’d felt in the shack whenever he let himself think about you. About your laugh echoing across the common room. About your fingers brushing his when you passed him a quill and how it used to mean nothing, and now it meant everything.
He knew you’d notice the hollow look in his eyes, the bruises blooming like violets on his neck and the bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. You’d find it weird that he didn’t sit near you, didn’t even glance your way. But he tried to ignore those thoughts and just focus on the plate in front of him even though his stomach turned at the smell of food.
You stared at him from your seat. It took you several long, painful seconds to process what you were seeing.
Jisung—your best friend, who’d been missing a week without a word—just walked into breakfast looking like he’d seen hell and barely made it back out.
His robes were loose like he’d lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, exhaustion written clearly in every line of his face. There were cuts visible, thin red marks down his jaw, a deeper scar stretching beneath his collar, fading bruises on the backs of his hands. His hair was tangled, his posture painfully tense.
You felt a sick sense of relief after seeing him, despite his appearance. But most of all you felt angry. You felt everything all at once, a hot rush of emotions almost too intense to handle.
Jisung avoided your gaze completely. He picked at the food in front of him, not really eating, just pushing it around his plate.
He felt you approaching before you spoke. Your scent hit him first, warm and familiar, yet unbearably intense. His jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He didn’t look up even when you stood near him. He simply couldn’t trust himself to see your face and not fall apart.
You called his name quietly and he almost cried at the sound of your voice. But he didn’t move, not even when you stepped closer.
Slowly, he raised his head, gaze finally meeting yours You went still, eyes widening just slightly. He knew instantly what you saw—the darkness in his stare, the shadowed bruises, the fresh scars. The way he looked wrong.
He couldn’t bear your pained eyes, so he snapped at you. Something he’d never do before, but Snape told him to deflect. So he yelled and walked away, trying to ignore how hurt you looked.
This was what Snape meant. You’re not safe around her.
You couldn’t eat after that. Not with the way he’d looked at you.
Jisung had always been soft-spoken, a little awkward, a little shy—but never cold. And you didn’t need a Healer to tell you that whatever he’d gone through wasn’t some stomach bug or routine cold. You weren’t stupid.
You saw the tremble in his fingers when he reached for his fork. You saw the way he flinched when someone behind him dropped their goblet. You saw the bruises just under his collar and the bandages.
Something happened to him.
You sat back down but your heart was still up at the other end of the table with him.
“I need to know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Renjun.
He sighed. “Y/N…”
“Don’t say it,” you snapped quietly. “Don’t say I should give him time. Don’t say he’ll come around. I know him, Renjun. He’s scared. You don’t just disappear for a week and come back with claw marks on you neck.”
Renjun went quiet.
That silence told you more than anything else.
“Okay, I’m tired of this… You know something, don’t you?”
He avoided your gaze. “It’s not my place to say.”
That hurt. “Is it mine to not know?”
You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “If no one’s going to tell me the truth, I’ll figure it out myself.”
Over the next few days, you tried to get close to Jisung in every way you could think of. You waited for him outside the greenhouses after Herbology, hoping to catch him alone. You switched seats in Charms just to be nearer, and sometimes you even loitered in the corridor after Potions, telling yourself you’d walk him back to the common room.
Despite your best efforts, he continually slipped away.
He offered awkward excuses about having somewhere to be, or sometimes said nothing at all and just walked past. Most of the time, he barely managed to look at you, as if doing so caused him physical pain. This wasn’t an icy kind of avoidance, nor was it tinged with anger. It felt worse than either of those possibilities—it was as though he found everything about you unbearable, but still couldn’t muster the energy to explain why.
Once, you nearly cornered him after lunch. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside the Great Hall, head tipped back, looking utterly exhausted. In that unguarded moment, your eyes met his, and you thought you glimpsed your old friend beneath the tension he carried. Summoning the nerve you’d been collecting all day, you stepped forward.
“Can we talk?” you asked softly.
For a split second, it seemed like he might say yes. His mouth opened as though he wanted to form the words but then Professor Snape’s voice echoed from behind you.
“Miss Y/N.”
You turned around to find Snape standing there, unruffled as always, robes hanging in sharp lines. He inclined his head in an almost polite manner yet still carried the weight of an order.
“I need you to come to the dungeons,” he said in a measured tone. “There are ingredients that require sorting. I trust your handwriting is still legible.”
You tried to protest, but as soon as you turned back, Jisung had vanished. From that moment on, it became a pattern: every time you got too close to him, Snape appeared with some new task for you—an extended office hour to discuss a mistake in an essay, a request to reorganize outdated potions, or a perfectly timed interruption just as you were about to speak with Jisung privately.
On a rational level, you knew it was ridiculous to think Snape was orchestrating this on purpose; however, it was impossible to ignore how consistently he managed to swoop in whenever you finally had a chance to approach Jisung alone. You didn’t know why your professor was so intent on calling you away, and truthfully it wasn’t the main issue gripping your mind.
All you could focus on was Jisung.
He looked so different—worn down, scared, ashamed, like he was carrying a secret that weighed on his shoulders every moment of the day. Every time you tried to reach him, he withdrew further. It broke your heart, because you weren’t trying to fix him or make him talk if he didn’t want to. You just wanted to be there, to stand by him instead of watching from a distance.
Yet no matter how hard you tried, the boy who used to seek you out for study breaks and late-night jokes now seemed determined to avoid you. And the more distance he forced, the more you wanted to find out what had really happened, because this Jisung—the one who flinched when you spoke and looked away when you caught his eye—felt like a stranger wearing your best friend’s face.
It was late, far too late for anyone else to be out of bed. So when you heard commotion up in the Astronomy Tower during one of your prefect rounds, you instinctively climbed the stairs to inspect, your wand held loosely in your fingertips.
The castle had felt too quiet lately. Ever since Jisung came back, everything had been off balance. You’d even taken extra patrols just to keep your mind busy. You weren’t expecting to find anything up there except maybe a few rowdy owls.
But when you pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Astronomy Tower, you froze at the sight.
Jisung was there, hunched against the railing, his robes half-open, hands gripping the stone balustrade so tightly you saw his knuckles pale even from across the room.
"Jisung?" you said softly, hesitant.
His head snapped up instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.
His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, irises shimmering unnaturally gold beneath the moonlight. Sweat gleamed across his pale forehead, his hair was messy and damp, sticking to his face. His breathing came harsh and fast, almost feral.
You took a cautious step forward. "Jisung, are you okay?"
"Stay back," he choked out, voice strained and rough. "Don't come closer."
But you saw the tremble in his arms, the feverish brightness in his eyes. He looked sick. He looked scared.
"What’s wrong? Let me help—"
"No." He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as if fighting himself. "You can't—I'm not—"
He trailed off, stumbling forward as if pulled by some invisible force toward you. He was breathing heavily, lips parted as he seemed to taste the air between you.
"Jisung—"
Your voice cut off as his gaze snapped sharply to yours again, something raw and dangerous flaring in his eyes. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you instinctively backed away half a step.
"Leave," he hissed, the word barely recognizable through his clenched teeth. His whole body seemed rigid with tension. "Please, leave before—"
He broke off with a gasp, doubling over as though a wave of pain had just wracked through him.
You rushed forward instinctively, panic clouding your caution. "Jisung!"
He moved faster than your eyes could track. One moment he was curled into himself and the next he had you pinned against the cold stone floor, wrists pressed tightly beside your head, his face inches from yours, breath hot and erratic against your neck.
"Ji—" Your voice cracked. "What are you—"
He inhaled deeply against your throat, his body trembling against yours. "God, you smell so—" His voice was ragged and broken, almost a sob. "I can't—I can't stop it, I—"
He pressed closer instinctively, hips pinning you hard against the floor. His lips grazed roughly against your neck, sharp teeth skimming dangerously along your pulse point. Your heart slammed against your ribs, fear tangled confusingly with something hot in your lower belly.
Those words seemed to pierce through whatever haze had overtaken him. He jerked back, eyes wide, suddenly horrified at himself. His gaze flicked down to your wrists, already bruising beneath his grip, and he stumbled away as if burned.
"No," he whispered, horror and guilt bleeding openly into his expression. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"
You stayed frozen on the floor, chest heaving as you watched the agony twist across his face.
"What’s happening to you?" you breathed, sitting up slowly.
He stared at you, anguished, hands still trembling at his sides.
"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I—I'm so sorry."
Before you could say another word, he turned sharply and bolted down the stairs, leaving you alone, shaking, and terrified.
The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when you walked in. Most students had gone to bed, but Renjun sat alone on the couch.
You didn’t give him a chance to pretend he didn’t see you coming.
“You’re going to tell me what happened.”
Renjun sighed, not looking away from the fire. “Y/N…”
“No,” you said, standing in front of him. “No more deflecting. You’ve known something since the day he came back.”
He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know the whole story.”
“Then tell me what you know.”
Silence.
You crossed your arms. “Do you really think I’m going to stop asking? You’ve seen him. You know he’s not okay. And no one’s saying anything, and I’m losing my mind because—” your voice cracked, just slightly— “because that’s my best friend.”
Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he aged ten years in a second.
“Seungmin and his friends... they planned something,” he said quietly.
Your chest went still.
“I only heard a conversation between Professor Sprout and Professor Snape,” he continued. “But apparently they were hanging out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Seungmin gave Jisung something. A potion or… some kind of enchanted hallucinogen.”
Renjun looked up at you, guilt heavy in his eyes even though he hadn’t been there. “They led him into the forest, Y/N… And something attacked him.”
You stared at him, voice thick with dread. “Something?”
Renjun hesitated. “Snape... Snape was the one who found him.”
You felt cold all over. “What was it?”
He looked away.
“Renjun. What was it.”
His voice dropped to a whisper.
“A werewolf.”
A gasp got stuck in your throat.
“I don’t know how bad it was,” Renjun said softly. “But apparently Professor Snape had to lock him up for a week while he went through the transformation.”
Tears stung behind your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to believe it myself….”
You sank into the chair across from him, everything too heavy to stand.
“A werewolf,” you whispered.
He nodded and suddenly, so many things clicked at once. Suddenly it all made sense.
After Renjun told you, you couldn’t sleep.
You sat in your bed staring at the ceiling until the sun started bleeding through the windows, and then you slipped out of the dorms without a word. You went straight to the library and stayed there all morning.
Madam Pince gave you a curious glance when you asked to go into the Restricted Section after looking through every other possible book in the regular shelves and finding nothing of value. You dropped Professor Babbling’s name as your excuse—said you were doing independent research for an Arithmancy paper. She didn’t ask further, just handed you a list of approved titles and waved you through.
You didn’t touch a single one of them. Instead, you searched for everything you could find on werewolves.
They were mostly old, dusty books with creaking spines and brittle pages. Most seemed to be more folklore than facts but you found a text buried near the bottom of a shelf, half its title burned off the spine.
Lycanthropy and Lunar Madness: A Clinical Compendium.
The chapters were brutal. You read about the first changes, the muscle pain, the sensory overload. The way magic in the blood would flare, fight back, burn from the inside out. You read about the violence, how the mind slips away when the full moon peaks, how instincts override everything else.
But what caught your atention the most was this:
“In cases of recent infection, the afflicted may experience an attraction fixation, often triggered by proximity to a familiar person. This response is especially common in individuals whose first transformation occurs during adolescence or early adulthood.
The instinct is not always sexual, but it is always possessive. The werewolf’s senses recognize the person as a source of comfort or danger. When comfort, the fixation can lead to obsessive behavior, rut-like symptoms, and irrational aggression if the person is perceived as threatened or unattainable. When danger, it can lead to avoidance or attack. Scent is the most common anchor. Once imprinted, it is nearly impossible for the werewolf to ignore.”
Your throat tightened. You re-read the paragraph five times.
It made sense, too much sense. His distance, his flinching, the way he couldn’t look at you anymore.
Your scent.
You remembered how he looked at you that morning in the Great Hall. How he barely breathed when you stood too close and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you asked what happened. And last night in the Atronomy Tower, he said you smelled good and it looked like he wanted to eat you alive.
You closed the book with shaky hands and then checked out four more. You didn’t stop reading until your eyes blurred. You didn’t eat or go to class.
By the time the sky outside the window started darkening, you were sitting at a corner table, surrounded by open tomes and loose parchment covered in frantic notes—everything you could find about Wolfsbane, Snape’s potion-making reputation, the legal status of werewolves in magical Britain, and every known case of student infection in the last fifty years.
You turned the page again.
Magical Intervention
“Wolfsbane Potion, taken daily during the week of the full moon, prevents transformation but does not erase the instinctual response. It is crucial that young werewolves are supervised during their first year of turning, especially if they experience early signs of rut.
If left unmonitored, the werewolf may become a threat not only to others—but to themselves.”
You found another book next. Not on lycanthropy, but on magical trauma. It mentioned Professor Snape by name.
“A known expert in dark creatures and cursed bloodlines, Professor Severus Snape has played a role in the treatment and monitoring of several underage werewolf cases, particularly after the war.”
You sat there for a long time, staring at the page, your mind buzzing. Snape knew, he was involved and he wasn’t just keeping the secret, he was managing it.
Which meant whatever happened to Jisung—Snape had seen it before. And he’d chosen not to tell you a thing.
You sat there in silence, your hands numb on the table. Snape had told him to stay away from you, that much was obvious now. But no one had told you what being near him could do.
You weren’t afraid of him. But for the first time, you understood why he was of you.
You left the library as the sky was starting to pale with early morning light, the forbidden books still echoing in your thoughts. You didn’t bother going to class again. You went directly to Snape’s office instead and waited there. When he finally arrived, he paused mid-step at the sight of you.
“Miss Y/N,” he said flatly. “You are not scheduled to meet with me.”
“No,” you said, stepping forward. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth, sir.”
His eyes narrowed. “I beg your par—”
“Did you know?” you cut in, voice trembling with restrained rage. “Did you know what would happen to him?”
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”
“I know that Jisung got attacked by a werewolf.”
Snape stilled.
“I went to the restricted section,” you continued. “I know what werewolves go through. I know about the rut cycle. The way someone can trigger it just by being close… Did you know it would be me?”
He didn’t speak, and that silence was an answer.
You took another step toward him. “You told him to stay away, didn’t you?”
Still silent.
You laughed bitterly. “What, were you going to wait until I ended up on the courtyard floor with his teeth in my neck before you decided to warn me?”
“Lower your voice,” Snape said sharply, eyes flicking toward the empty corridor.
“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do now when you left me in the dark about everything.”
“He is alive and you’re safe because of me,” he said sharply. “Do not mistake silence for neglect.”
“He’s barely alive,” you fired back. “He’s walking around like a ghost and you expect me to believe that’s your idea of help?”
“You think you want the truth but the truth is messy and dangerous. And the truth, Miss Y/N…” he stalked closer to you, almost menacingly “… is that your friend is not who he was anymore.”
“I know that!” you shouted, voice cracking. “But you made him think he was dangerous.”
“He is.”
“No,” you said fiercely. “He’s just scared and you’re feeding it.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what a werewolf in rut is capable of.”
“I do now.” You stepped closer again, voice trembling. “I’m not stupid or fragile. And I’m not going to stay away just because you think it’s better that way.”
“Miss Y/N—”
“No,” you snapped. “You can’t “protect me” by locking him away like some creature. He’s not a danger to me. What’s dangerous is isolating him, making him ashamed of something he didn’t choose.”
Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
“And what will you do, then?” he asked. “If he loses control?”
“I’ll help him.” You exhaled, hands trembling. “I’m not afraid of him and he needs someone who isn’t.”
There was a long pause. Snape looked at you with something like pitty. Then he spoke, carefully.
“Then you’d better learn how to handle what’s coming.”
Knowing about Jisung’s condition didn’t bring the relief you thought it would. If anything, it made everything worse. Because now you understood that there was almost nothing you could do to save him from himself. And, like Professor Snape said, the safest option was to stay far away.
And you tried, but it was so hard.
You'd find yourself turning to complain about Professor Binns's endless lectures, only to realize it wasn't Jisung beside you, but Renjun—quiet, studious Renjun who never dared utter a complaint in class.
Or when you walked toward the kitchens out of habit, thinking maybe you'd sweet-talk the elves into some pumpkin tarts, only to remember it was Jisung who always did the charming.
Or when the night sky looked especially clear and you found yourself wanting to stargaze but realizing no one else knew how to trace constellations on your palm with their fingertip. And you couldn’t even remember their names without Jisung pointing them out to you.
Renjun tried. He filled the empty seat at meals, nodded at the right moments when you rambled, even agreed to sneak out once or twice. But he wasn’t Jisung. He didn’t know your weird inside jokes, didn’t lean his head on your shoulder when he got sleepy, didn’t touch your wrist when you got nervous.
You missed him so deeply it ached.
So, when you saw him slipping out of the common room one night you followed him without a second thought.
He moved quickly across the grounds, his hooded shape skimming the moonlit grass. You jogged to keep up, keeping low behind hedges and statues until he stopped beside the Whomping Willow. Your breath caught as he pressed a knot at the roots and the tree froze mid‑sway, its branches locking in eerie stillness. Then, an entrance yawned open.
You hesitated. Every instinct screamed that going after him was a terrible idea. But the thought of him hurting or worse, hurting alone was too much to bear.
So you followed.
The tunnel led you into the Shrieking Shack. A chill raced down your spine the moment you stepped inside. Rot and mildew clung to the walls, the floorboards seemed like they would give way with each step, and it smelled like old nightmares in there. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from gagging but you kept going, following the sounds of his ragged breathing upstairs into a dusty room.
You opened the door cautiously, barely an inch—but before you could fully register what was happening, Jisung lunged. He grabbed your arm, yanking you roughly inside and pinning you to the sagging mattress with a strength that startled you.
"Jisung—!" you gasped.
He loomed over you, eyes wild, glowing gold in the darkness. His expression was pained, almost feral.
"What—are you doing here?" he growled through gritted teeth. His voice was deep and barely recognizable.
You stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I—I was worried. You missed all your classes…”
Something dark flared in his gaze, and he dropped his head, panting harshly against your throat. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he pressed closer instinctively. Your breath hitched sharply, your body reacting involuntarily to his closeness.
"You shouldn't have come," he whispered brokenly, hands trembling where they gripped your wrists.
You swallowed, feeling his hips press involuntarily against yours and realizing exactly what was happening.
A helpless whimper slid from his throat as his hips rocked against you once more, his erection pressing unmistakably through his trousers. The desperate sound he made sent heat pooling in your stomach, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside you.
“You smell so fucking… good” He let out another ragged noise, and you reached out instinctively, resting a trembling hand against his cheek. His skin burned under your palm. He looked almost delirious, golden eyes flickering between human fear and something more feral.
You’d spent the past week reading about werewolves and their ruts, absorbing every detail you could from hidden texts and restricted tomes. You knew that once the rut hit, the urge for physical intimacy would become nearly unbearable. You also knew it was dangerous for you to be near him like this.
But as you stared at your best friend, trembling and half-broken with need, your heart clenched. You couldn’t just walk away.
“Jisung,” you said carefully, your voice shaking. “Did you take the Wolfsbane?”
He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know… I think I didn’t—” He broke off, a pained groan tearing from his throat as he rocked forward, hips searching for contact.
Swallowing hard, you remembered the passage in the book. How an afflicted werewolf needed a trusted partner to help ease the rut’s consuming effects.
It felt like your heart was in your mouth.
“You—” he gasped, voice faint. “You can’t stay. I—if I hurt you—”
You cupped his other cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “You won’t,” you promised, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure.
“Y/N,” he groaned, hips rutting forward again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now, I swear—”
“I want to help you,” you said softly. “Please let me.”
His pupils dilated immediately and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming but despite your own hammering pulse, you didn’t draw away.
Because somewhere deep inside, you knew this was the only way to help him.
His grip on your waist was bruising, claws just barely retracted. His body was sweat-slicked and trembling, panting through gritted teeth as he pressed himself flush against you.
“I warned you,” he growled, voice shaky with restraint. “I told you to leave.”
You pulled him closer up and felt how he shook under your touch. “You can have me”
He didn’t wait another second. Your clothes were suddenly nothing, the fabric ripped under his desperate hands. Your skin was bare before you had time to register the sound of seams tearing. His mouth found your throat instinctively, tongue tasting your pulse before he bit.
You winced at the pain and his hips rutted against your thigh, hard and frantic, his cock felt thick and straining through his trousers. He was whining soft, broken sounds between gritted teeth, like each second without you wrapped around him was tearing him open from the inside.
“You smell—fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped into your skin, humping against you harder. “I need—i need to be inside, I need—”
You spread your legs, breathless, head spinning from the force of it all. “I’m here, Sungie.”
He didn’t prep you, didn’t pause for a second—just spit on his fingers and shoved them inside you hard and fast. Stretching you wide while whispering obscenities you couldn’t even make sense of.
“So fucking tight—fuck—gonna ruin you—fill you up, knot you, make sure no one else ever gets to—”
You didn’t even realize he’d taken his cock out until you felt him line himself up with shaking hands, barely getting the tip in before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.
You cried out and Jisung growled, slamming his hand beside your head, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes glazed over.
“Mine,” he gasped. “Fuck… Mine. Mine. Mine—”
Suddenly, he shoved your knees up, pressing them tightly to your chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and desperate. You cried out sharply, feeling stretched too wide, overwhelmed by the rawness of him filling you again and again. His teeth dragged harshly against your throat, marking you repeatedly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone mistaking you for anything but his.
You sobbed beneath him, your body caught between pain and a pleasure that blurred into something unbearable. Part of you wondered numbly if it would have changed anything if you'd told Jisung it was your first time—if it would've made him pause, slow down, be gentler. But you knew it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't fully himself, and even if some part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't.
You felt it then, the swelling at his base. His knot beginning to expand, stretching your entrance wider with every punishing thrust. Panic mixed with need, your mind spinning as your walls spasmed around him.
“Gonna knot you,” he panted desperately, voice breaking as he slammed into you harder. “Can’t stop—fuck, you feel so perfect—gonna keep you like this forever—”
He thrust deeply one last time and locked himself inside, his knot catching and sealing him within you. You screamed, body jolting at the sudden fullness, the pressure almost too much. He shuddered violently above you, his cum flooding hot and deep, twitching through aftershocks that made your thighs quake and your vision blur.
You barely had time to gasp a breath before his knot began to soften, still pulsing faintly inside you. But Jisung didn’t stop, not even for a moment.
Before you could recover, he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, the mattress creaking sharply beneath you. He pressed into you again slowly, his breathing ragged and hot against your sweat-damp back. You trembled uncontrollably beneath him, arms shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright.
“Jisung, wait—” your voice broke, a thin plea lost beneath the rasp of his breath.
But he didn’t acknowledge your begging. One hand pinned your hip firmly, the other flattened between your shoulders, forcing you down into the sheets until you couldn’t move. You felt the ache building again as he pushed inside you once more, pushing mercilessly against your walls. Your thighs burned, your body instinctively arching to escape the overstimulation, but he wouldn’t allow you to shift away.
The moment he felt how wet and open you still were, the last shred of his restraint shattered. His rhythm turned frantic, his hips slamming into yours so fiercely the air was knocked from your lungs with every brutal stroke.
You moaned helplessly into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as your body surrendered. He wasn’t speaking now, wasn’t asking if you were okay—all you heard were harsh, ragged sounds torn from his throat, desperate noises so primal and raw they made your skin burn hot with shameful need.
His movements grew rougher, your bodies locked in a rhythm that erased any remaining thought from your mind. Your senses narrowed until all you knew was the brutal heat between your thighs and the ache of him stretching you. You took every thrust, helpless to stop, unable to do anything but accept the ruthless force of his body on yours.
His teeth bit sharply into the back of your shoulder, fangs scraping against your skin until you gasped in pain. His grip tightened, fingers bruising your hips as he pounded into you without mercy, branding you with every brutal snap of his hips.
With one final thrust, he buried himself impossibly deep, and you felt the knot swell again—filling you, stretching you beyond limits as he locked himself inside with a guttural growl.
His whole body jerked, cock throbbing violently as he spilled into you again. It was so much cum it leaked around the thick swell of his knot, your walls clenching tight, helpless to hold it all in. He held still, panting, hands trembling as he stayed buried in you, locked and pulsing.
He stayed inside you for what felt like forever, body trembling from release, your muscles fluttering weakly around him. His breath came in uneven bursts against your skin.
But even then, you could feel that he wasn’t finished.
He rutted again and let out a feral sound low in his throat, one that sounded more like a growl than a moan. And then he was moving just enough to slip free with a wet sound that made both of you shiver.
His hands moved to your waist, lifting you. He dragged you onto your back again, spread your thighs wide, and settled between them with a single-minded hunger that made your whole body pulse with anticipation.
His gaze dropped the moment he pushed back in and he groaned, eyes locked between your legs with an obsessive intensity. Your walls clenched around him as his cock slid in with zero resistance. His breath hitched, and he stopped for just a second.
His mouth parted when he saw the shape of him pushing inside you, deep enough to press against your belly, the bulge rising with every brutal thrust. He pressed his palm against it and let out a wrecked moan. The sight of his cock inside your belly driving him halfway mad.
“Fuck,” he choked. “That's me? inside you?”
You tried to answer, but all that came out was a gasp as he rocked into you harder.
He watched your stomach move with every stroke, how your cunt took all of him, again and again, walls fluttering around his cock like your body was desperate to keep him.
He was mesmerized. Staring with wide, hungry eyes as hips snapped forward with more force. One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other pressing to your lower belly as he kept thrusting, rougher this time, watching the bulge disappear and return with every movement.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “you’re made for this—fuck—you’re made to take me like this—”
You could feel the knot swelling again, dragging harder against your soaked, overstretched entrance, until your legs started to shake. He braced both hands on either side of your hips, growled deep in his chest, and slammed forward. The knot forced its way in with a brutal stretch that made your eyes roll back.
His whole body jerked, head falling forward as a strangled moan left his lips. His cock twitched violently, knot fully buried, and you felt the rush of his cum flooding you again, deeper this time, deeper than anything had ever been.
His eyes were still locked on your lower stomach, wide and blown out with awe. The bulge in your belly pulsed with each twitch of his knot, round and taut with the sheer amount he’d pumped into you
“Look at that,” he whispered, almost dazed. “Look what I did to you.”
He reached out again, fingertips brushing against your stomach and the possessiveness in his voice made your body clench all over again.
“I'm inside you.”
He blinked, his eyes flickering to your face as he really looked at you for the first time.
You were trembling, bruised, and barely able to keep your legs from shaking. Your eyes were glassy, your body completely spent beneath him. And something in him seemed to return.
His hands gentled against your skin as he eased out of you slowly, knot slipping free with an aching stretch that made you whimper. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, but he didn’t leave you long. He kissed your thigh once, softly, as if in apology, and then lowered himself between your legs.
You barely had the strength to lift your head. “Ji—what are you doing…”
But he didn’t answer. Just held your thighs gently in his hands, spreading them open again but this time with reverence, not greed.
Then he licked a single, languid drag of his tongue that made your hips twitch weakly. He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you.
You whimpered, the oversensitivity almost unbearable but his hands kept you grounded. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, mouth moving with an aching kind of care. He sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking in slow passes, easing the pain into something warmer.
You threaded trembling fingers through his hair, tugging gently.
His mouth grew more desperate by the second, tongue dipping lower and teasing at your entrance where his cum was still leaking out. He groaned at the taste, sucking softly, messy and slow, like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.
He buried himself there with his nose pressed into your skin, mouth drinking you. You let out a soft cry, hips twitching against his face, and his grip tightened just enough to hold you still as he circled your clit again, tender but insistent.
“I need to make it better,” he murmured into your skin, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let me—please…”
You didn’t answer but the way your legs shook around his head told him everything. So he stayed there—worshipping the mess he made, tongue moving slow and devoted, lips soft and endless. He lost himself in you.
The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pain.
It was deep and dull at first, but the moment you shifted, it sharpened—radiating through your thighs, your lower back, your hips. Your skin felt hot, stretched too thin in some places, sore in others. You winced as you tried to sit up, limbs trembling slightly from the effort.
Jisung was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, his robes wrapped tightly around him. His shoulders were stiff.
You swallowed through the dryness in your throat. “Ji?”
He stood up without looking at you.
You watched him move across the room, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He picked up your clothes from the floor—torn in multiple places, seams ripped from how desperately he’d removed them the night before—and with a flick of his wand, the fabric mended itself slowly in the air.
“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll help you get back to the hospital wing.”
You blinked. “Back to the—what?”
He turned then, just slightly, just enough to look at you briefly. His eyes were guilt-ridden.
“You’re hurt,” he said. “I can see it.”
Your mouth opened, but no words came out.
“And I’m going to Snape later,” he continued. “I’m going to ask him to relocate me during the next cycle. Somewhere far from here.”
You stared at him, stunned. “Jisung, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured toward you, his voice colder now. “This shouldn’t have happened.”
Your heart twisted.
“I told you to stay away,” he said. “And I didn’t mean that to sound cruel. I meant it because I knew I’d lose control. And I did… and now look at you.”
He walked toward the cracked mirror, stopped a few feet in front of it, and gestured for you to come closer.
You hesitated.
“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just… come here.”
You stood slowly, legs shaking slightly under your weight. You wrapped yourself in the blanket and stepped toward the mirror.
Your reflection made your breath hitch.
There were bruises on your neck, angry bite marks along your collarbone and shoulder. Finger-shaped welts on your hips and thighs. Your lips were still swollen from where he’d kissed you too hard. Some of the marks looked deep. Others looked like they might last days, if not longer.
“I didn’t know I was capable of this,” Jisung said behind you, voice cracking.
You looked at him through the mirror. His face was pale, jaw tight.
“I’d rather suffer the worst pain a rut could ever give me than ever touch you like that again.”
“Jisung—”
“No,” he cut you off. “You don’t understand. I didn’t even care if I was hurting you. I couldn’t think. You could’ve cried, begged, screamed, and I still would’ve—”
He stopped himself, breathing hard.
“I’m not going to let this happen again. I’ll talk to Snape. I’ll take whatever dose he gives me. I’ll lock myself somewhere no one can find me.”
You stepped forward, reaching for him, but he flinched when your fingers brushed his sleeve.
He turned his face away. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Please.”
There was nothing else to say.
He handed you your clothes without looking at you again. When you were dressed, he silently moved to support your weight down the stairs and back toward the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.
Your legs ached with every step. Jisung’s arm was around your waist, holding you upright as you moved slowly down the path back to the castle, your freshly repaired clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable against your bruised skin.
You hadn’t said a word since leaving the Shrieking Shack. Neither had he.
His touch wasn’t warm, or comforting. It was careful and detached. Like he was holding you not out of care, but out of obligation.
Your heart hurt more than your body. You two had been close for so long. Even after he’d changed, after he came back cold, distant, guarded you still felt more warmth than right now. Like he was reaching for you even when he didn’t realize it. So seeing him acting like this was almost unbearable.
You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t rejection or shame. That he was just protecting you, trying to keep you safe. But it still felt like being left behind.
You didn’t even realize how close you were to the castle until the path curved and the first archway of the courtyard came into view.
“Park.”
Professor Snape stood just beyond the arch, his arms crossed over his chest, black robes billowing faintly in the wind. His gaze flicked over the two of you quickly. His eyes dropped to the way you leaned into Jisung, to your limp. And then he saw the bruises. Even with your collar pulled tight, they peeked out, the edges of bite marks and the faint discoloration just beneath the skin.
Snape’s eyes narrowed.
“Come here,” he said, voice cold.
Jisung didn’t move.
Snape stepped forward. “Now.”
You felt the panic rise in your chest immediately.
“Professor, wait. It’s not—he didn’t—” You reached for his sleeve. “He didn’t force me.”
Snape’s eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you almost stepped back. His expression didn’t change, but something in it darkened like your words had confirmed what he already suspected.
“I didn’t ask what he did,” he said sharply. “I asked him to come with me.”
Jisung’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He didn’t say a word, just let go of you carefully.
You nearly stumbled from the sudden absence of support.
“I can explain—” you tried again, but Snape raised a hand.
“This is not your responsibility,” he said, more quietly this time. “And you are in no condition to be standing here arguing.”
He turned to Jisung once more.
“Park. Now.”
And without looking back at you, Jisung walked toward him.
You stood there trembling, arms wrapped around yourself, the chill settling deeper into your bones now that he was gone.
Jisung stood in the doorway of Snape’s office with his head hung low. The potions master had stepped away to ensure you made it safely to the hospital wing and to explain the delicate situation to the healers. Minutes stretched on endlessly until finally, he heard the sharp clack of Snape's shoes approaching.
“Go in,” Snape ordered coldly, gesturing toward the open door. The Hufflepuff obeyed silently.
Snape shut the office door behind them with a flick of his wand. The room smelled of ash and damp parchment, but Jisung could still smell your scent stronger than anything else; it clung to him, saturated his senses.
“Sit,” Snape instructed curtly.
Jisung lowered himself into the hard chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes.
“How is she?” he asked softly, voice raw.
“She’ll live,” Snape replied coolly, summoning a few vials and herbs onto his desk. “Madam Pomfrey is treating the bruising you saw fit to decorate her with.”
Jisung’s head snapped up, panic clear in his gaze. “I—I bit her. More than once.” The admission spilled out before he could stop himself, heavy with guilt and shame. “Does that mean—”
“No,” Snape interjected sharply. “The curse passes only when the biter is fully transformed under the full moon. You were saturated with Wolfsbane, half-shifted but not contagious.”
Jisung exhaled sharply, gripping the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Relief flooded him, but Snape wasn't done.
“However,” Snape continued, voice lowering dangerously, “do not delude yourself into believing she was truly safe. Had you missed even one additional dose, or had the moon been at its peak, she would already share your curse, and that responsibility would lie entirely with you.”
Jisung flinched. “I know. I—I keep hurting her. I keep losing control, and no matter how much I try to stay away, something just…pulls me back. I don’t know how to stop it.”
Snape regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking, voice softer but still edged with steel. “That’s because it is no longer a matter of mere control. You've complicated things significantly, Park.”
Jisung looked up slowly, eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?”
Snape folded his hands on the desk, expression severe yet composed. “By marking her during your rut, you've effectively chosen Miss Y/N as your mate.”
Jisung’s breath caught, his throat tightening painfully. "Mate? I—what does that mean?”
“It means,” Snape explained, calm and clinical, “that your wolf has identified her specifically as an anchor. Such mate-bonds occur most commonly during adolescence, particularly around a first transformation. It's why you find yourself physically unable to stay away for long.”
Jisung swallowed, panic bubbling up again. “Is it dangerous? Will I hurt her more?”
“Not inherently,” Snape said evenly. “But the bond is permanent, Park. Your wolf will always crave her presence—most intensely near the full moon or during rut. Ignoring it will only worsen your aggression.”
“Then…what can I do?” Jisung asked desperately. “How do I keep her safe?”
“You must never skip your Wolfsbane. Take it every evening at sundown and report to me regularly so we can adjust dosage accordingly. Furthermore, and pay attention to this, you must manage your bond carefully. You cannot fight it entirely so stay close to her but with awareness, not indulgence. ”
Jisung flushed deeply. “But… after everything I've done, how can I risk being close to her again?”
Snape leaned forward slightly. “The greater risk lies in distance, your instincts will spiral. Proximity is crucial but do not confuse instinct for entitlement.”
Jisung nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling heavily onto his shoulders. “Does she…know?”
“She soon will,” Snape replied quietly. “But it is essential she hears it clearly from you. Be honest and thorough. Do you understand me, Park?”
“Yes, sir,” Jisung whispered. “I won't fail her again.”
Snape regarded him a moment longer, then produced a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, setting it decisively on the desk. “Good. Now leave before I decide silence is insufficient punishment.”
Jisung rose unsteadily, clutching the vial to his chest. He walked slowly to the threshold, feeling every step heavy with responsibility. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.
“Park, if you truly care for the girl, learn how to live with the wolf without letting it consume her.”
The door sealed shut behind him, and Jisung stood for a long moment in the corridor, the potion trembling slightly in his grip.
You lay on one of the hospital wing beds, half-covered by a sterile white blanket, the curtains drawn tightly around you. The air was too quiet, every sound outside muted by the silencing charm Madam Pomfrey had casted when she left you there.
You picked at your cuticles absently, barely noticing the sting where skin peeled back. Your hospital gown gaped at the shoulders, revealing the bruises along your arms in the shape of fingers. Jisung’s fingers. You should’ve been horrified and maybe you were a little bit but there was something strangely comforting about them. His hands had held you through something painful, but they had held you. It made you feel... needed. Like you mattered to him again.
Your thoughts scattered when the curtain parted and Madam Pomfrey stepped through, her face tight with concern. Behind her came Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. And just before the curtain fell shut again, you caught the edge of black robes retreating down the ward—Snape. He’d definitely told them everything.
You bit your lip and dropped your gaze.
“Hello, dear,” Pomfrey said gently. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “To begin with, I’d like to offer you a calming draught for the pain.”
“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though your whole body ached. You didn’t want to take anything that would fog your thoughts. You needed to stay alert to explain the situation.
“Well…” she murmured, unconvinced. “Then I’ll start with the surface wounds.”
She gestured toward the scratches and crescent-shaped bites along your shoulders and collarbone. You stayed still while she worked.
Professor Sprout stepped closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Miss Y/LN,” she began carefully. “There’s no need to be guarded with us. We’re not here to punish you… but there are a few matters that need to be addressed.”
You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bedsheet.
“Madam Pomfrey will heal what she can,” she continued. “But the bite marks will take several days to fade. Magical injuries of this nature are… stubborn.”
“I understand,” you murmured. The marks didn’t bother you.
Professor Sprout hesitated, color rising faintly in her cheeks. “We also understand that Mr. Park was… in a heightened state when you were intimate.”
You saw her flinch slightly at her own words and you almost pitied her. There was no elegant way to discuss something like this. You nodded once.
“Am I correct to assume no contraceptive charms were cast beforehand?”
Your brows pulled together. You’d never studied contraceptive spells properly. You knew they were meant to be used before any intimacy though and given how everything had happened there hadn’t been time for anything like that. You shook your head slowly.
Professor Sprout exchanged a brief look with Pomfrey before exhaling slowly. “Very well. Madam Pomfrey will now perform a diagnostic charm to ensure no unintended consequences arise from your… encounter.”
You nodded again, tending slight when Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and murmured a spell. A pale lavender glow swept across your lower abdomen then faded without a flicker.
“No conception,” she announced softly. “Everything is normal.”
A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out and you noticed Professor Sprout’s shoulders ease a fraction.
Pomfrey lowered her wand, relief softening the stern set of her mouth. Then she hesitated, studying you over the rims of her spectacles.
“Dear, may I give you some practical advice?”
You nodded, cheeks still furiously warm.
She lifted her wand again. “There are several reliable contraceptive charms you can use. The simplest is Praeventa Conceptum. It’s quick, painless, and lasts a whole day.”
Professor Sprout cleared her throat delicately but said nothing.
Pomfrey demonstrated. She pointed her wand at her own midsection. “Circle once, clockwise, like so.” A pale halo of light traced the motion. “Then speak Prae‑ven‑ta Con‑cep‑tum. Stress on the second syllable of each word. The charm settles just beneath the skin and it’s a mild warming sensation, nothing more.”
You mimicked the motion in the air, whispering the incantation under your breath. A faint peach‑colored glow sparked at your wand tip and faded.
“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. “Remember, the charm must be renewed daily, and it is far more reliable when cast prior to any sexual activity.”
“Thank you,” you murmured, both grateful and faintly embarrassed.
Professor Sprout offered a small, reassuring nod. “Better to learn here than under far less ideal circumstances.”
Pomfrey tucked her wand away. “Knowledge is its own protection.”
“Again, you are not at fault for any of this,” Sprout added, voice firm. “Last night’s events were influenced by circumstances far beyond your control.”
“Is he okay?” you asked softly.
A shadow crossed the professor’s eyes. “Mr. Park is with Professor Snape now, discussing the seriousness of missing future doses of Wolfsbane.” Her tone suggested ‘discussion’ meant something closer to a dressing‑down. “He’ll be monitored closely.”
“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, fingers worrying the edge of the sheet. “I followed him there, fully aware of the consequences. I just wanted to help… and I don’t regret it.”
Madam Pomfrey’s brows knit, but it was Professor Sprout who spoke first. “Miss Y/L/N, no one here is assigning blame. What matters now is that both of you are safe, and that Mr. Park remains diligent with his potion.” Her gaze softened. “Your loyalty is commendable, but your well‑being is equally important.”
You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “I know.”
Pomfrey dabbed a final line of salve across the deepest bite mark. “You’ll be sore,” she said gently, “but you’ll heal. Rest here tonight, at least until breakfast.”
The curtain swayed gently as they left you alone, and you stared ahead thinking only of the warmth of his breath, the panic in his voice, and the way he’d whispered “you shouldn’t have come” like it had broken him to see you there.
But you would do it all again.
Madam Pomfrey cleared you for release just after sunrise. You dressed in silence, fingers brushing over the gauze she’d left on the deepest bite. She offered one last vial of bruise balm and a faint smile before sending you off.
It was Saturday, thank Merlin. There were no classes so most students were still sleeping. You were relieved as you stepped out of the hospital wing, and saw nothing but an empty corridor.
Though still a strange, hollow pressure settled in your chest. You missed Jisung.
You weren’t sure if it was the residual ache in your muscles, or the fading imprints he’d left on your body, but you felt the absence of him like it was stitched into your skin. You needed to see him.
And then, as if your thoughts conjured him, he appeared.
Jisung was standing at the other end of the hallway, just beyond the shaft of sunlight spilling in from the tall windows. He looked stunned to see you, like he hadn’t meant to be here, like his feet had brought him without his permission.
You hesitated.
Snape had surely warned him again—more strictly this time—to stay away from you. But still, Jisung took a step forward and you followed.
You met in the middle of the hallway, stopping close enough that your chests nearly touched. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that you realized how much he’d changed. He was taller now, just slightly, but it was enough to notice. His shoulders were broader, his presence heavier, like the wolf was still there beneath the surface.
He stared at the bruises along your collarbone, what little was visible through the open neck of your shirt. You saw the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered with guilt.
“Are you—?”
“I’m okay, Ji,” you cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “Perfectly fine.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He exhaled shakily, and his hand reached for yours tentatively. You almost gasped at the contact. It had been so long since he touched you first. His fingers threaded through yours like they were remembering how easily he did this all the time before.
“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Your other hand rose instinctively, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.
“Did Snape scold you too badly?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.
Jisung cracked a smile. “Yeah, I have to clean the Quidditch stands every day this winter without magic.”
Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”
He laughed. “I’m joking.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “Though honestly… I think I deserved one.”
You squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve been punished enough.”
He didn’t respond, just looked at you like he was still trying to figure out if this moment was real.
The corridor felt suddenly too small, so without speaking, you guided Jisung toward the nearest side door that opened onto the courtyard. The November air was sharp, but sunlight spilled across damp flagstones and carried the faint scent of wet leaves.
You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then. After a long stretch of silence, Jisung spoke in a quiet voice. “Do you remember fifth year… when we hid in Greenhouse Three during that thunderstorm?”
You smiled. “And you spent the whole time pretending not to be scared of lightning.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “I kept thinking about that last night. How you held my hand and told me storms always pass.” He glanced at you, guilt and wonder warring in his eyes. “I wanted to go there initially. But then I smelled you, and I went to the Shack instead, thinking you wouldn’t follow me into a place like that.” He laughed bitterly. “I should’ve known better.”
The admission loosened something tight inside you. “Storms pass, Ji,” you said. “Even the ones inside us.”
He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Does this one? Because I can still feel it.” His gaze flicked to your neck where a bruise peeked above your collar. “I feel every mark I left on you like they’re on my body, too.”
You lifted a hand to his chest, just over his heartbeat. “You didn’t hurt me.”
He looked at you, like he almost believed it, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. “Snape told me… the biting… it wasn’t random.” he dropped his gaze and bit his lip nervously “I… marked you.”
Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.
“He said you’re my mate now,” he said quietly. “That the wolf chose you. That’s why I can’t stay away. Why I can’t stop smelling you, hearing you even when you’re not around. Why it feels like something’s ripping open in my chest when I try to stay away.”
You stood still, eyes locked on his.
“He said I shouldn’t fight it. That if I try to pretend the bond doesn’t exist, it’ll make it worse. That I just have to be… careful and gentle with it. With you.” He exhaled, voice tight. “He said if I really want to protect you, I have to learn how to live with the wolf, not push it down.”
“What did you say?” you finally asked.
“I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Jisung said. “And I meant it.”
You reached for his hand and he let you take it, though his fingers twitched.
“The bond… is that why you came to the Hospital Wing corridor?”
He nodded, shame creasing his brow. “I woke up and… I was already walking there. I didn’t think.”
“Then next time, think and tell me,” you said. “We’ll handle the need together. On our terms.”
He swallowed. “Snape says if I miss a potion… you’ll be in danger first.”
“Then you won’t miss it.” Your tone brooked no argument. “Even if I have to brew it myself.”
A faint smile ghosted his lips. “You’d sit through that smell?”
“I’d sit through worse.” Your thumb stroked over his knuckles.
He exhaled shakily, some of the tension easing, though the gold still flickered behind his eyes like embers. “I’m not safe yet,” he warned.
“That’s okay,” you answered, stepping close until your foreheads touched. “I’m not scared.”
For a while you simply stood in the sunlight, listening to the distant chatter of students who knew nothing about storms or wolves or the way a heartbeat could echo in someone else’s chest. His hand tightened around yours, and instinctively you looked up, meeting his gaze.
His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation clear in the tense line of his jaw. Before he could withdraw, before he could overthink it, you stepped on your tippy toes and pressed your mouth gently to his.
It began softly, a cautious brush of lips but it escalated quickly. His mouth opened hungrily, tongue sliding against your teeth, and you gave in with a low sigh. His hand found your waist first, pulling you closer, then slid up to cup the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangled through his messy hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively until you were pinned softly against the rough stone wall.
“I can’t lose control again,” he murmured urgently against your lips but still he kissed you harder, as if he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.
“You won’t,” you promised breathlessly. “This is fine.”
His hips snapped forward again, pressing you tighter to the stone behind you. You knew you were out in the open—anyone could pass by and see—but caution melted beneath the heat of his mouth trailing down your neck. The dull soreness from the previous night faded to a faint pulse, replaced by something hungrier, as he sucked gently at your throat.
“Ji—” your voice shook softly, hands gripping his robes tighter. “You’re… you’re not still in rut, right?”
He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “No. No, I don’t think so,” he panted roughly, almost like he was convincing himself too. “It doesn’t feel the same as last night, but—” He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours “I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad—I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”
A helpless moan escaped you at the raw admission, your pulse quickening under his mouth when he kissed you again—softer now, more controlled, as if he was proving to himself he could do this without falling apart.
“I won’t let myself hurt you again,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between each whispered word. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much”
You shook your head slightly, pulling him closer still, holding him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “Ji, nothing’s ever too much with you. Just stay here… stay with me.”
He shivered, his breath hitching as he kissed you again, trying to ground himself in the feeling of you rather than the wild instinct still whispering beneath his skin.
Someone laughed nearby, close enough to remind you exactly where you were.
Jisung froze against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft groan. “We need to move,” he muttered “If anyone sees—”
“Then come on,” you said grabbing his hand.
He followed without another word.
You tugged him along a narrow side-corridor, the secret path behind the Herbology wing that only upper years and rule-breakers bothered with. Past the old broom cupboard, beyond the faded tapestry of a witch laughing drunkenly into her wine goblet, your footsteps were quiet, your pulse anything but. It hammered through your veins, in your fingertips, your throat—everywhere Jisung’s hand stayed locked in yours.
Soon you stood outside Greenhouse Three, abandoned since the storm in your fifth year shattered half its glass panes. Now, ivy and moss crawled along the cracked glass walls, and no one had bothered to repair it, leaving the space forgotten and overgrown.
You slipped through the splintered wooden door, pulling him gently behind you.
Inside, sunlight spilled across broken tables and tangled greenery. Plants had grown wild, illing the air with the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet. You felt your chest tighten from the memory of your younger selves hiding here together.
Jisung remembered it too, you could see it in the softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. He caught your lips again, slow at first, but deepening fast, pulling a moan from your throat. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in until you tasted him fully.
“I want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth, fingers trembling as you tugged at his clothes again.
He groaned softly, forehead pressing to yours. “Say it again.”
Your breath shuddered. “I want you to fuck me, Ji. Right now.”
He kissed you once more, messy and desperate, before stepping back just enough to undo his belt. His hands shook slightly, desire evident as he freed his cock—already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip as he positioned himself between your thighs. You lay back on one of the old greenhouse tables, cool beneath your skin but sturdy enough for this.
Jisung dragged the head of his cock through your folds, groaning openly at how wet you were, coating him perfectly. He pressed gently against your entrance, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, thumb stroking tenderly.
He met your gaze, eyes filled with heated care. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice thick with want but edged with concern.
You cupped his cheek softly, eyes locked on his. “It’s perfect. It’s always perfect with you…Just fuck me, Ji.”
And he did.
The first thrust was slow, a deep stretch that pulled a gasp straight from your lungs. His cock slid in inch by inch until he bottomed out, and then he just held there, buried inside, groaning like he’d finally found home.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight, you feel so—shit—you feel like you were made for me.”
You clenched around him involuntarily and he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder as he fought the urge to move too fast.
But control didn’t last long. His hips started to roll into yours, picking up a rhythm that got harder with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the glass, mixed with your breathy moans and the desperate groans breaking in his throat.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper.
“Yes, yes—right there—don’t stop,” you gasped.
“I won’t,” he growled. “I can’t.”
He drove into you harder, the table creaking beneath you as he pounded into your soaked cunt like he was trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You arched under him, nails raking down his back through his shirt, gasping every time he bottomed out and hit that spot that made your toes curl.
He pulled out just enough to watch his cock slide back in.
“Look at this,” he breathed, one hand dragging down to your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone. “Can feel myself right here.”
You could tell Jisung was obsessed with seeing himself inside you, it made his thrusts hit deeper just so he could feel himself in your lower belly. You moaned brokenly, the pressure making it worse, the angle driving you insane.
“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” you choked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”
“I want to feel it,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”
Your body clamped down around him, walls spasming hard enough to make Jisung curse violently. He fucked you through it, rough thrusts stuttering until his own orgasm took him.
With a strangled groan, he slammed into you one last time and came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he filled you again with thick spurts that made your pussy slicker than before.
He collapsed over you, forehead buried in your neck, both of you panting like you’d run for miles. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with aftershocks.
You dragged your fingers through his hair gently, voice hoarse. “That didn’t feel like your rut.”
He laughed, breathless. “No. That was just me.”
“Are you okay?” he whispered into your neck, voice raw and reverent. “Did I hurt you?”
You shook your head slowly. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”
He sighed against your skin, relief loosening his shoulders. Then, gently—so, so gently—he pulled out, groaning as his cock slipped free from your cunt. The mess between your legs was immediate, warmth spilling down your thighs, and you whimpered at the sensitivity.
“I got you,” he murmured, already reaching for his wand.
He muttered a quiet cleaning charm, careful not to touch you until you nodded. His hand brushed your knee, then your thigh, his fingers trembling as he whispered the incantation again and wiped away the rest with his robe sleeve.
When he was finished, he kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your stomach like it was part of some silent apology only your skin could understand.
“I’m gonna help you down,” he said, voice soft.
You nodded, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slowly from the table and holding you close while your legs adjusted. You swayed once, but he caught you instantly.
“You’re shaky,” he murmured.
“You fucked my legs numb, Park,” you whispered, trying to smile, and he let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck.
“I’m never letting you go again,” he mumbled. “Not even if Snape drags me out of your bed himself.”
You held onto him tighter, forehead pressed to his collarbone. “You better keep that promise.”
He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.
“I will,” he said. “Forever.”
He helped you sit on the edge of the table while he redressed—pulling his trousers back up, refastening his belt with one hand while the other stayed on your knee like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. When he was done, he reached for your discarded panties, blushing faintly as he held them out to you.
“I should’ve asked first,” he said quietly. “Back then. In the shack.”
You looked up at him, heart aching. “You couldn’t. And I already told you… I don’t regret it.”
He nodded, but the guilt lingered behind his eyes. So you took his hand and laced your fingers through his again.
“We’ll be okay,” you said. “You and me.”
“We will,” he whispered.
You dressed in silence together, stealing soft glances and touches, letting the heat cool but not disappear. And when you finally stepped out of the greenhouse, blinking into the pale afternoon light, Jisung’s arm was already around your shoulders holding you close and as steady as the heartbeat you’d heard pounding through his chest not long ago.
And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet and certain.
Like a promise kept.
eeeeek feedback is greatly appreciated! i love reading ur comments and anons <3
pairing: slytherin! na jaemin x gryffindor! fem. reader
genre: hogwarts au, fake dating (hell yeah!), fluff, smut, angst
wc: 34k (full fic)
summary: It's a simple deal: fake date the Slytherin golden boy to dodge his arranged marriage. Easy. Except patrols turn into makeouts, a Quidditch win ends in a very steamy contract violation, and suddenly your N.E.W.T.s feel like the least of your problems. After one badly timed confession, it’s clear he’s not acting anymore—and neither are you.
content warnings: slow burn, explicit sexual content (2nd part), miscommunication!!!, emotional hurt/comfort, cursing, alcohol consumption, reader is self conscious/bit anxious, heavy hogwarts canon themes obvs, slytherin/gryffindor dynamics, jaemin is lowkgenuinely manipulative at the beginning, mean slytherin stereotypes, avoidance as a coping mechanism. lmk if i missed anything!
a/n: ok this is gonna be a long a/n so bear with me. this fic genuinely almost killed me. i don’t think i’ve ever struggled so much to finish something in my life and it’s 100% my fault for being too ambitious. you’ll notice i tried to weave in more hogwarts details and brit lingo to make it feel more authentic, but as you may have guessed… i am not british 😭 so that meant a lot of googling, rewatching, and rereading some of my fav hp fics just to make sure i wasn’t embarrassing myself. i did my best okay (shoutout to every hp fic writer before me, yall are the blueprint). also: yes, you may catch a hint of draco malfoy in jaemin’s character and that’s very much intentional. i am, at my core, a draco apologist and i don’t see myself changing. anyways. i really hope you enjoy reading this as much as i suffered writing it. please let me know what you think w ur comments, anons, reblogs. everything is appreciated more than you know 🖤
“I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.”
— F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby
Hogwarts had always held a certain allure, with its ancient stone walls and magic that seemed to permeate every nook and cranny. For six and a half years, you'd wandered those hallowed halls, immersing yourself in a world so far removed from the mundane that at times it hardly seemed real.
Yet, for all its wonder and mystique, Hogwarts was not without its dangers.
There were cursed objects that lurked in shadowy corridors, waiting for an unsuspecting student to stumble upon them. Staircases that shifted without warning, leaving the unwary stranded or, worse, deposited in some unknown part of the castle. The Whomping Willow that stood sentinel on the grounds, its gnarled branches poised to strike at any who ventured too close. Even Peeves the Poltergeist roamed the halls, cackling with malicious glee as he wreaked havoc and sowed chaos in his wake.
In the face of such peril, you had thus far emerged unscathed, a feat that was nothing short of remarkable given the castle's rather alarming mortality rate. You attributed your survival to a simple yet effective strategy: be invisible, be boring, and for the love of Merlin, stay away from anyone interesting.
Interesting people, you had learned, were magnets for trouble. They ended up in the hospital wing with alarming regularity, usually victims of rogue hexes or potions experiments gone awry. They attracted drama the way honey attracted flies, their lives a constant whirlwind of rumor and intrigue. Interesting people had complicated social lives, with networks of friends and enemies and romantic entanglements that required constant upkeep.
You, on the other hand, were perfectly content with your quiet, unassuming existence. You had one close friend, one beloved cat, and a comfortable routine that rarely demanded more of you than attending classes and avoiding human interaction as much as possible. It wasn't a particularly exciting life, but it was safe and predictable and suited you just fine.
At least, it had until this particular moment, when your sole friend had apparently taken complete leave of her senses.
"Are you having some sort of episode?" You peered at Jo over the top of your book, brow furrowed in concern. "Should I fetch Madam Pomfrey? Is this what happens when you inhale too many potion fumes?"
Jo rolled her eyes with an exaggerated huff. "Please!" she wheedled, her voice climbing to that particular pitch that never boded well. "Please please please, I swear on Merlin's saggy ba—"
You held up a finger, cutting her off before she could complete that thought. "I'm going to stop you right there..."
"I'll never ask you for anything ever again!" She pleaded, clasping her hands together. "I'll do your Potions essays for a month! I'll clean Whiskers' litter box! I'll—"
"I don't think you heard me the first time," you interrupted, fixing her with a pointed stare. "Are. You. Mental?"
The Gryffindor common room was mercifully empty save for the portrait of a tongue-less lady, who watched your exchange with rapt attention. Having gotten her tongue cut out in 1642 for "seditious gossip", the painted woman had developed a keen appreciation for drama in all its forms. Judging by the way she clutched at her pearls, this was the most excitement she'd witnessed in decades. Whiskers was curled up in your lap, observing your best friend with as much judgement as you probably were.
"Come ooon," Jo cajoled, undeterred by your apparent lack of enthusiasm. "When do I ever do things like this? You're always telling me to try new things!"
"I meant take up knitting! Join the Gobstones Club! I did not mean sneak out of the castle in the middle of the night to meet some potentially lycanthropic stranger you've been corresponding with!"
"He's not a stranger, I've been writing to him for months—"
"Which is exactly what every person who's ever been murdered by a pen pal has said—"
"And he's not a werewolf, he's perfectly lovely! I saw him in Hogsmeade last month, I just couldn't say hello because McGonagall was watching me like a hawk."
"Seeing someone from a distance hardly counts as a proper introduction," you argued, pulling your blanket tighter around yourself as if to punctuate your point.
This was the problem with having just one close friend. You knew Jo too well, could read her every expression and intonation better than anyone else. That gleam in her eye, the set of her chin, the way she twisted her fingers in her lap - you recognized the signs of a course already plotted, a decision already made. She would go through with this mad scheme with or without your help, and if you refused, she'd likely end up dead in a ditch somewhere and you'd be left to drown in guilt for the rest of your days.
Guilt, you thought grimly, was a most effective motivator.
With a weary sigh, you closed your book and met Jo's hopeful gaze. "Fine. Fine. What exactly do you need me to do?"
Jo's answering grin could have lit up the entirety of the Great Hall. "Just swap patrol shifts with Sophie Crockett tomorrow night? She's an absolute nightmare, and if she catches me out after curfew she'll go straight to McGonagall."
You could feel a headache blooming behind your eyes. "And when Sophie asks why I'm suddenly so eager to take on the worst patrol slot in existence?"
"Just make something up! She's not going to turn down a chance to skive off for an evening, is she?"
Rubbing your temples, you silently cursed the fickle twists of fate that had led you to this moment. "And the other prefects? I'll still have to deal with them, you know."
Jo waved a hand dismissively. "Nah, you're all right. The only other one scheduled is Na Jaemin, and everyone knows he never actually patrols. Just goes and snogs girls in the library all night, doesn't he?"
You raised an incredulous eyebrow. "How would you know that?"
"Everyone knows," Jo said with a shrug. "It's common knowledge."
"Well, I didn't know."
"That's because you never pay attention to gossip," Jo pointed out, flopping down beside you on the couch. "Honestly, you're missing out on prime entertainment. Anyway, I'm sure Jaemin's got better things to do than patrol corridors. You'll probably have the place to yourself.”
You made a noncommittal sound, trying not to think too hard about Na Jaemin and his extracurricular activities.
It was funny, really. Or rather more like cosmically ironic. First and second year, Jaemin had been an absolute pest. Always lurking around corners, waiting to charm your bag so your books would spill everywhere, or jinx your quill during tests so it would only write rude limericks. He’d found you endlessly amusing, apparently, a never-ending source of entertainment. You’d gone to bed countless nights fuming, plotting revenge you’d never actually carry out, wishing he’d just leave you alone.
And then, somewhere around third year, he just stopped. He stopped seeking you out, or looking at you entirely. As if you’d ceased to exist the moment you stopped being fun to torment.
By fourth year, he’d transformed into a whole different person entirely. Suddenly he was all smoldering glances and that insufferable “playboy” swagger, a different girl on his arm every week. Too cool for pranks and too sophisticated for something as juvenile as tormenting students. He’d become exactly the sort of person you’d made it your mission to avoid: interesting, magnetic, drowning in attention and drama.
You supposed you should have been relieved. You’d wanted him to leave you alone, after all. But there was something particularly galling about being so thoroughly dismissed, about going from his favorite target to utterly beneath his notice. At least when he’d been pulling pranks, you’d existed to him.
Now you were just… nobody. Which was exactly what you’d wanted, you reminded yourself firmly. Exactly what you’d worked so hard to achieve.
“You’re probably right,” you said to Jo, pushing thoughts of Jaemin firmly out of your mind. “I’ll probably have the whole patrol to myself.”
Privately, you rather doubted that. In your experience, the universe had a way of placing you in the path of people and situations you'd much rather avoid. Still, Jo was clearly determined to see her plan through, and short of physically restraining her (a tempting prospect, but ultimately impractical), you saw no way to dissuade her.
"Fine," you said again. "I'll take Sophie's patrol. But if this goes sideways, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so' in the loudest, most obnoxious voice I can muster."
"You're the best." Jo pulled you into a rib-cracking hug, her hair tickling your nose. "Seriously, I owe you one."
"You owe me several," you grumbled, but you returned the hug all the same.
Later that night, as you lay in bed listening to the soft snores of your dormmates, you tried to ignore the sense of foreboding curling in your gut. Rationally, you knew the odds of anything truly catastrophic happening were slim. It was just one night, one patrol, one tiny favor for your best friend. Surely the universe wouldn't be so cruel as to upend your careful, boring routine over something so trivial.
But then, you thought wryly, life did seem to have a twisted sense of humor where you were concerned.
With a sigh, you rolled over and buried your face in your pillow, willing sleep to come. Tomorrow would bring what it would. For now, all you could do was hope that, just this once, the cosmic forces that governed your life would decide to give you a break.
Poorly planned rule-breaking never worked out the way you expected it to.
There was the first year incident, for instance, involving a misplaced curiosity about the Restricted Section and a borrowed invisibility cloak that was, crucially, not yours. You’d lasted exactly twelve minutes before knocking over a stack of cursed folios and alerting Madam Pince.
Second year had been defined by an ill-advised attempt to brew Pepper-Up Potion in a bathroom sink, resulting in steam, screaming, and a week-long ban from practical spellwork. Jo still insisted it would have worked if you’d stirred clockwise instead of counterclockwise. You maintained that the problem was attempting potion-making in plumbing never designed for magic.
After those things, you'd like to say you saw the impending disaster coming from a mile away, but honestly? You were too preoccupied with figuring out how to convince Sophie Crockett to swap shifts without making her suspicious.
As it turned out, Sophie was pathetically easy to persuade. You caught her after Charms, mentioned something vague about "wanting to study for the Divination exam in the morning" (there was no Divination exam, but Sophie didn't take Divination, so she was none the wiser), and she agreed immediately, no questions asked. Just a breezy "Oh, thank Merlin, I've got an Astronomy essay I haven't even started" and that was that.
In hindsight, that should have been your first warning sign. When things fell into place too smoothly, it usually meant the universe was just winding up for a truly spectacular cosmic sucker punch.
At nine sharp on Saturday you pinned your prefect badge to your robes and made your way down to the Entrance Hall, silently cursing your inability to say no to Jo's puppy dog eyes.
The castle took on a different character at night. Not peaceful, exactly. More... haunting. The portraits whispered conspiratorially as you passed, and the shadows in the corners seemed to stretch and deepen weirdly. You'd walked these corridors countless times before, but they never quite lost their eerie quality after dark.
You were supposed to meet Jaemin at the main staircase to divvy up patrol routes. But in theory, if the rumors about his extracurricular activities were true, you'd never actually know have to interact with him at all.
That was the theory, anyway.
The reality was that when you arrived at the designated meeting spot, Na Jaemin was already there, leaning against the banister and looking distinctly un-snog-ready.
Jaemin was the sort of boy who looked like he was born in moonlight and named by a poet. Even in the sallow torchlight, his hair glowed, silver-gold and a little too long for regulation. There was always something quietly triumphant in the angle of his jaw, the tilt of his smile, as if every corridor was a stage and every passing student a captive audience.
You stopped short, your feet suddenly rooted to the spot. Some ancient, reflexive part of your brain was screaming at you to turn around, to flee, to avoid him the way you’d been so carefully avoiding him for the past four years. The last time you’d been alone with Na Jaemin you’d been twelve years old and he’d been too entertained by your mortification to let you escape.
Now you were seventeen, and he was looking at you with an expression that was completely different and all too intense. He was supposed to be off in some secluded corner of the library, doing unspeakable things with whatever girl was lucky enough to be on his arm that week. He was absolutely not supposed to be here, looking alert and purposeful and like he was actually planning to do his job.
Even more concerning, he looked annoyed.
"You're the Gryffindor prefect," he said, and it sounded more like an accusation than a question.
"...Yes?" Really, what else could you say?
"Where's Crockett?"
"We swapped shifts."
His eyes, a rather striking shade of dark brown that you'd never had occasion to notice before, narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"
"Does it matter?"
He closed his eyes briefly, and you got the distinct impression he was counting to ten in his head. When he opened them again, he fixed you with a look that could have flash-frozen a cup of tea. "I needed Crockett on duty tonight."
Well. That was... odd. Extremely odd. Highly, suspiciously odd. Why would Na Jaemin, Slytherin prince and general too-cool-for-this-nonsense type, care which prefect was patrolling with him?
"Well," you said, channeling every ounce of polite defiance you possessed, "we've already swapped, so I'm afraid you're stuck with me. Unless you've got a Time-Turner hidden somewhere, which would be highly illegal, so I'm going to assume you don't."
Jaemin's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. "This is—" He stopped himself, visibly recalibrating. "Fine. Right. You take floors three through five then. I'll handle the lower levels and the grounds."
And that's when your brain, which had been operating at half capacity due to stress and sleep deprivation, finally caught up with the situation.
The grounds.
Jaemin wanted to patrol the grounds.
The same grounds where, at this very moment, your best friend was likely rendezvousing with her mystery man.
Oh no.
"Actually," you heard yourself say, the words tumbling out in a slightly manic rush, "I was rather hoping to get some fresh air tonight. Bit stuffy in the castle, you know. Mind if we swap? You take the upper floors, I'll do the grounds."
His expression shuttered faster than a shop window in Knockturn Alley. "No."
"No?"
"No."
"Well, that's not very cooperative of you," you said, mentally calculating how quickly you could sprint to the grounds to warn Jo. "Aren't prefects supposed to work as a team?"
Jaemin raised one perfectly arched brow. "Why so keen on the grounds all of a sudden?"
"No reason." Your voice came out at least an octave higher than usual. "Just thought it would be nice to get some air. Lovely night for a stroll, don't you think?"
"You're an atrocious liar," he informed you, taking a step closer. You were suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that he was quite a bit taller than you, and that the height difference was doing absolutely nothing to bolster your confidence in this situation. "What's going on?"
"Nothing's going on."
"Of course not. And I suppose you just happened to swap shifts with Crockett tonight for no particular reason, and now you're coincidentally desperate to patrol the grounds."
Okay. This was getting out of control. You needed him. away from the grounds, away from Jo, away from this entire situation. And there was only one thing you could think of that might actually work.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “What?”
“You know.” You waved a hand vaguely, heat creeping up your neck. “It’s Saturday night. I just thought you might have… plans.”
“Plans,” he repeated flatly.
“Yeah, well… You don’t actually patrol on Saturdays.” The words came out in a rush, ungraceful and desperate. “So if you want to go do whatever it is you usually do, I can handle this. Really. You don’t have to—”
“Whatever it is I usually do,” Jaemin said, his lips twitching. “And what exactly do you think that is?”
Oh god. Why had you started this?
“I don’t know. I don’t keep track of your schedule.”
“Clearly not, or you wouldn’t be standing here trying to… what? Give me permission to skive off?” He was definitely smiling now, the bastard. “How thoughtful of you.”
“I’m just saying, if you have other commitments—”
He laughed, short and sharp. “Is that what we’re calling it? Commitments?”
Your face was absolutely burning now. “Look, what you do with your time is none of my business.”
“You’re the one who brought it up.”
“Because I’m trying to be helpful!” You gestured wildly at the empty entrance hall. “The library’s right there. I’m sure whoever you’re supposed to meet would appreciate you actually showing up—”
“Ah.” Jaemin’s grin widened, showing teeth. “You think I’m supposed to meet someone in the library.”
“That’s what people say,” you muttered, unable to meet his eyes.
“People say a lot of things.” He leaned back against the banister, looking thoroughly entertained now. “And you believe all of them?”
“That’s not the point—”
“Tell me, what else does everyone say about me? I’m curious.”
This was a disaster. A complete and utter disaster. “Forget I said anything.”
“Oh no, I don’t think so.” He pushed off the banister, taking a step closer. “You started it. Come on, don’t be shy now. What exactly are these Saturday night activities I’m supposedly abandoning patrol for?”
You wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. “You already know what people say.”
“I do. But I want to hear you say it.” His eyes were dancing with so much glee. “Go on. Don’t spare my delicate sensibilities.”
“This is ridiculous—”
“Go on.”
You took a breath, lifted your chin, and forced the words out with as much dignity as you could muster. “Fine. People say you spend your patrol shifts in the library doing…things.”
“I really don’t. You’ll have to be more specific.”
He was enjoying this far too much, the absolute prat. “They say you… meet girls there.”
“Meet girls,” he said thoughtfully. “Like a book club?”
“Not like a book club,” you gritted out.
“Then what?”
You threw your hands up. “They say you snog girls in the library instead of doing your prefect duties! There! Are you happy?”
Jaemin laughed. “Merlin’s beard, is that it?”
“That’s what everyone says.”
“And you believed it?” He shook his head, still grinning. “That’s adorable, really.”
“Don’t call me that,” you snapped.
“Well, you are when you’re trying to delicately inform me about my own scandalous reputation.” His eyes glittered with delight. “How very considerate, giving me an out like that. ‘Oh Jaemin, don’t let me keep you from your library assignations.’”
He said it in a high pitched tone, clearly trying for a very inaccurate impression of you.
“I was only trying to be nice.” You huffed.
“You’re trying to get rid of me,” he corrected, but he didn’t sound annoyed about it. If anything, he seemed more intrigued. “Which brings us back to the question of why you’re so desperate for me to not patrol the grounds tonight.”
Damn it. You’d played right into his hands. “I’m not—”
“You just tried to use my supposed promiscuity as an excuse to get me to leave.” He tilted his head, studying you. “So either you’re deeply concerned about my social life, or there’s something on the grounds you don’t want me to find.”
Your heart was hammering again. He’d out-maneuvered you completely, turning your own attempt at manipulation back on you.
“Well?” he prompted. “Which is it?”
“The first one,” you lied weakly. “I’m very concerned about your social life.”
“Right.” His smile was sharper now, more predatory. “In that case, you’ll be delighted to know I’m completely free tonight. I have no library dates or clandestine meetings. Just a nice, thorough patrol of the grounds.” He paused. “With you, apparently, since you seem so determined to tag along.”
You rolled your eyes. “You are so irritating.”
“There’s the Gryffindor honesty I remember,” he said cheerfully. “Come on then. Let’s go catch whoever it is you’re trying to protect.”
Wait. What?
“I’m not—there’s no one—”
But he was already turning toward the entrance hall, and panic clawed at your throat. You needed to try something else, anything to keep him from the grounds.
“Look,” you said, a note of genuine desperation creeping into your voice, “patrolling the grounds is easily twice the work of the upper floors. I’m offering to take on the extra effort here. What’s the problem?”
He paused, glancing back at you with an expression of exaggerated surprise. “You? Volunteering for extra work?” He pressed a hand to his chest in shock. “I’m sorry, have we met? I’m Na Jaemin, and you’re the girl who once hid in a broom cupboard for twenty minutes to avoid helping set up for the Yule Ball.”
“I did not—” You stopped, because you absolutely had done that, and he somehow knew about it. “That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it though?” He was grinning again, clearly enjoying himself. “Come on, admit it. You’ve spent six years perfecting the art of doing the absolute bare minimum. I’ve seen you let third years wander the corridors after curfew as long as they promised to go straight to bed.”
Your face burned. “I was tired that night—”
“You’re always tired.” He tilted his head. “So forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical about this sudden burst of civic responsibility. It’s very out of character for you.”
The sheer audacity. The unmitigated gall. To accuse you of apathy and then dismiss you without so much as a backward glance? An ember of indignation flared to life and burned away the last vestiges of your tattered patience. He had no right. No right to stand there and act like he understood anything about you when he was the reason you’d learned to make yourself invisible in the first place.
And now here he was, cataloging your flaws with that same amused smile, like you were still just entertainment to him.
“Fine,” you bit out. “Don’t take my offer. See if I care.”
“Oh, I won’t.” He turned back toward the entrance hall, waving a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “I’m patrolling the grounds. You can join me or check the upper floors. Your choice.”
“Why do you just get to decide that on your own? The grounds aren’t even part of the standard patrol route!”
"They are tonight," he tossed over his shoulder, not even bothering to turn around.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
And with that spectacularly unhelpful explanation, he walked out the front doors, leaving you standing slack-jawed and sputtering in his wake.
This was it. The moment of truth. You had approximately five seconds to make a decision that would either save your best friend from expulsion or doom her to a fate worse than death.
Option one: let Jaemin go off on his own. He'd catch Jo, she'd be expelled, and you'd spend the rest of your life weighed down by the guilt of your inaction.
Option two: follow him, try to run interference, and most likely fail spectacularly but hey, at least you could say you tried.
In the end, your choice was clear. The reckless, devil-may-care loyalty that had landed you in Gryffindor in the first place reared its noble head, and before you quite knew what you were doing, you were hurrying out the doors after Jaemin, resignation and foreboding dogging your every step.
"I'm coming!" you called after him.
Jaemin spun around, one eyebrow quirked in a way that suggested he'd interpreted your words in a decidedly less innocent manner.
"To the grounds," you clarified hastily, feeling your face heat up. "To patrol. With you."
“I gathered that much,” he said, his tone dripping with amusement. “Though I appreciate the clarification. Wouldn’t want any misunderstandings.”
You glared at him, but he’d already turned back around, that damned smirk still visible in profile.
Beyond the castle corridors, the night grounds felt twice as ominous. Shadows stretched from the Forbidden Forest, where twisted branches reached toward the sky like gnarled fingers against the dark. Nearby, the Black Lake remained a silent mirror, its surface only occasionally broken by ripples that hinted at the heavy, mysterious life lurking in the depths.
Jaemin had conjured a floating orb of soft white light to guide your path, which was considerate yet irritating, as it seemed to delight in hovering mere inches from your face and nearly blinding you. He walked with an easy grace, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like this was just a casual evening stroll and not a patently absurd situation that could land you both in a world of trouble.
You, on the other hand, were so tense you could practically feel your muscles vibrating. Your mind raced as you tried to remember what Jo had told you about her planned rendezvous.
They’d be in the grounds, obviously, but beyond that? Hogwarts' grounds spanned nearly a thousand acres and included everything from dense forest to rolling hills to a literal giant-squid-infested lake. If you were going to have any hope of intercepting Jo before Jaemin did, you needed a clearer idea of where exactly to look.
And you needed to keep him distracted.
“So,” Jaemin said, his voice cutting through your rising panic, “care to tell me what’s really going on here?”
“We’re patrolling,” you said, keeping your eyes fixed firmly ahead. “That’s what’s going on.”
“And I suppose you always volunteer for extra patrols on Saturday nights, do you? Just for the exercise?”
“Maybe I do. Fresh air is good for you.”
“Right.” He didn’t sound like he believed you for a second. “And here I thought you preferred to spend your evenings in the Restricted Section, avoiding human interaction as much as possible.”
You shot him a sideways glance. “Have you been spying on me?”
“It’s called being observant,” he said lightly. “You should try it sometime. Although I suppose that would require you to take an interest in something beyond your very busy schedule of going through the motions and avoiding anything that might resemble effort.”
There it was again, that annoying assessment of your character, delivered with a smile that made it impossible to tell if he was genuinely criticizing you or just winding you up for his own amusement.
Bristling, you planted your hands on your hips and glared up at him. "I put in effort when it matters."
"And I'm sure swapping shifts with Crockett was a matter of utmost importance, then?" His lips curved into a smirk that made you want to hex it right off his unfairly symmetrical face. "Go on. What’s so crucial about tonight? Did you lose a bet? Secret passion for night-time groundskeeping?”
“Why do you care so much?”
“Because you’re terrible at being subtle, and watching you try is genuinely entertaining.” He grinned at your affronted expression. “Plus, I’m curious. You’ve spent the better part of six years being aggressively unremarkable, and now here you are, practically begging to patrol the grounds with me. It’s very out of character.”
“Stop acting like you know everything about me.”
“I might not know everything about you,” he said, his voice taking on a knowing tone, “But I know you’re trying to protect someone.”
Your heart skipped. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The floating light cast strange shadows across his features, making his expression harder to read. “Here’s what I think is happening. There’s someone out here meeting someone they shouldn’t be meeting. You agreed to swap with Crockett to cover for that person, expecting me to skip patrol like I apparently always do. But I didn’t, so now you’re stuck trying to run interference while pretending this is all perfectly normal.”
You stared at him, your mouth going dry. He’d worked it out. As expected, Na Jaemin might be annoying and smug and entirely too pleased with himself, but he’d never been stupid.
“That’s…” you started, but your voice came out weak. “That’s a very creative theory.”
“You’ve gone red again.” He tilted his head, studying you. “Dead giveaway.”
You opened your mouth to retort, but closed it again, floundering. There was absolutely no way to explain your actions without either incriminating Jo or making yourself look even more suspicious. You were well and truly cornered, and the triumphant gleam in Jaemin's eyes told you he knew it.
But before you could cobble together a halfway coherent response, a sound drifted through the night air that made you stop cold.
Laughter.
More specifically, Jo's laughter, bright and carefree and coming from somewhere worryingly close by.
Jaemin froze too, his eyes narrowing. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" you asked, feigning ignorance even as your heart threatened to beat its way out of your ribcage. "I didn't hear anything. Probably just the wind. It howls around the turrets sometimes..."
"That wasn't the wind." He was already moving again, long legs eating up the ground as he strode purposefully toward the source of the sound. "That was a person, maybe two, from the sounds of it"
"What? No, that's—I really think it was just the wind. Or maybe Peeves playing a prank. You know what a menace he is, always causing trouble, we should probably go back inside and—"
But he wasn't listening. Because he'd caught the scent of rule-breaking, and Merlin forbid he let it go in favor of the much more appealing option of minding his own damn business.
You had no choice. You were either going to have to physically stop him (a laughable notion - he had a good six inches and probably thirty pounds of muscle on you), or you were going to have to get to Jo first.
The words were out of your mouth before you could think better of them. "Wait!"
Miraculously, he actually stopped walking and turned to look at you, one eyebrow arched expectantly.
"I—" Your mind raced, grasping for any excuse, any diversion, anything to keep him from taking another step. "I think I saw something. Over there." You pointed vaguely off to your left, in the opposite direction of Jo's laughter. "We should go check it out."
Jaemin regarded you with exasperation. "You know, for someone who's spent the better part of six years avoiding attention, you're shockingly bad at subterfuge."
"I–I'm just being cautious. It's dark out here, and there could be...things. Dangerous things. Like snargaluffs, or...or a moke on the loose."
"A moke," he repeated flatly. "An invisible lizard the size of a mouse. You think I should be worried about a moke ambushing me.”
“They can be vicious!”
“They’re ten inches tall.”
“Size isn’t everything,” you shot back, then immediately regretted it as his grin widened into something positively wicked.
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” he said smoothly, and you felt your face flame.
“That’s not—I didn’t mean—oh, for Merlin’s sake.” You covered your face with your hands, wondering if it was possible to die of embarrassment. “Can we please just check the trees?”
“Why?” He took a step closer, and you had to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “What are you so afraid I’m going to find if we keep going this way?”
You hesitated, weighing your options. On the one hand, the truth was unthinkable. You couldn't just throw Jo to the wolves like that, not after you'd promised to cover for her. On the other hand, you were rapidly running out of plausible lies, and Jaemin clearly wasn't buying any of them.
“Nothing,” you said, but it came out weak and unconvincing even to your own ears.
“Nothing,” he echoed. “Right. So you won’t mind if I just—”
He made to move past you, toward where Jo’s laughter had come from, and you did the only thing you could think of.
You grabbed his arm.
The moment your fingers closed around his sleeve, you realized what a monumentally stupid mistake you’d made. You could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric and the solid muscle beneath. He stilled instantly, his gaze dropping to where your hand clutched at him, then slowly lifting to meet your eyes.
“Please,” you said quietly, all pretense abandoned. “Don’t go over there. Just—just forget you heard anything, and I’ll explain later. I promise.”
He studied you for a long moment. You were acutely aware of how close you were standing, of the way his eyes seemed to catch every flicker of emotion that crossed your face.
"So you are covering for someone," he said at last. "A friend, I'm guessing. The one you're always with? The loud one, with the"—he gestured vaguely—"the hair?"
"Her hair is perfectly normal, thank you very much, and I don't see how that's any of your business."
"It absolutely is my business, seeing as there are students out of bed and I'm a prefect. I'm supposed to report this sort of thing, you know."
"Yes, well, I'm also a prefect, and I'm asking you not to." Desperation bled into your voice, and you hated it, hated that you were practically begging him for something that you had no right to ask for. “Please, Jaemin. Can't you just...look the other way? Just this once?"
He was silent for a long moment, and you braced yourself for the inevitable. For the sneer, the cutting remark, the gleeful reminder that he was a Slytherin and Slytherins didn't do favors without expecting something in return.
But when he finally spoke, his voice was surprisingly soft. "You really care about her, don't you? Your friend."
You swallowed hard, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. "She's my best friend. I'd do anything for her."
"Even lie to a fellow prefect and risk getting in trouble yourself."
"Yes." You met his gaze squarely, unflinching. "Even that."
Another long silence, and then he sighed. "All right, fine."
You blinked. "Fine?"
"Fine, I won't report her. But"—he held up a hand as you opened your mouth to thank him—"I want something in return."
There it was. You should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Slytherins always had an angle, and Jaemin was Slytherin to the core.
Wariness crept into your voice as you asked, "What sort of something?"
His lips curved into a smile that could only be described as predatory. "A favor. One favor, to be determined by me, at a time of my choosing. Do this, and I'll conveniently forget I heard anything tonight."
Your stomach dropped. A favor. An open-ended, unspecified, could-be-anything favor, owed to Na Jaemin. Well. This was how you died, not in a blaze of glory like a true Gryffindor, but in the thrall of a serpent's forked tongue and devastating jawline.
But what choice did you have? If you refused, Jo would be caught for sure. And then she'd be expelled, and it would be all your fault, and you'd have to live with the guilt for the rest of your life. A life which, frankly, was looking shorter and shorter with each passing minute as Jaemin stared you down, waiting for your answer.
"Fine," you said through gritted teeth. "One favor. But nothing illegal or dangerous or humiliating."
His smile widened, showing far too many teeth for your comfort. "Look at that. You’re negotiating. Will wonders never cease?"
"Those are my terms. Take them or leave them."
"Oh, I'll take them." He held out a hand, long fingers uncurling in an inviting gesture. "Shall we shake on it?"
You glared at his hand like it might bite you (and really, with Jaemin, who knew?) but reluctantly reached out and grasped it. His skin was warm, his grip firm, and you tried very hard not to think about how nice his hand felt in yours.
"Pleasure doing business with you," he murmured, and was it your imagination or did his thumb just stroke across your knuckles?
You snatched your hand back like you'd been burned, face flushing. "Yes, well. You'd better hold up your end of the bargain."
"I'm a man of my word." He sketched a mocking little bow. "Your friend's secret is safe with me for now."
The words 'for now' hung there as a silent threat, and you suppressed a shiver. What had you just agreed to? What price would you have to pay for your loyalty?
As if reading your thoughts, Jaemin's smile turned sly. "Don't look so worried. I promise I won't ask for anything too dreadful. Probably."
"Probably," you repeated faintly.
"Probably," he confirmed, and then he turned on his heel and started back toward the castle, leaving you to trail after him in a daze.
The rest of the patrol passed in a blur. You walked in silence, Jaemin seemingly content to let you stew in your own anxiety, and by the time you returned to the Entrance Hall, you were a nervous wreck. You kept imagining all the horrible things he might ask for—doing his homework for the rest of the term, being his personal servant, confessing to McGonagall that you were the one who'd let those nifflers loose in the staff room last year (even though that had been entirely Jo's doing and you'd just been an unwilling accomplice).
At the foot of the stairs, Jaemin paused and turned to face you. In the dim light of the entrance hall, his eyes were pools of shadow, unreadable and fathomless.
"I'll be in touch," he said, his voice low and full of dark promise. "Sweet dreams."
And then he was gone, melting into the shadows like he'd been born from them, leaving you with a racing heart and the sinking certainty that your life was about to become a lot more complicated.
The next morning, you cornered Jo in the common room before breakfast, pulling her into the corner by the window where no one could overhear.
“Tell me everything went okay last night,” you demanded without preamble. “Please tell me you didn’t do something insane—”
“Whoa, whoa!” Jo held up her hands, her eyes wide. “I’m fine! Everything went perfectly. Well, mostly perfectly. There was a weird moment where I thought I heard someone coming, but then nothing happened, so…” She trailed off, then grabbed your shoulders. “Wait. What happened to you? You look like you haven’t slept.”
“That’s because I haven’t.” You started pacing anxiously. “Jo. I think I might have done something really, really stupid.”
Her expression changed from concern to dread in the span of a second. “What kind of stupid?”
“The kind that involves Na Jaemin and a debt to repay.”
“Oh no.” Jo’s face went pale. “Tell me you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.” You tugged at your hair, feeling the full weight of last night’s decision crushing down on you. “He wanted to patrol the grounds, Jo. He would have found you. I couldn’t let that happen, so I… I made a deal with him.”
Jo stared at you like you'd just confessed to murdering the Minister of Magic. "You made a deal with Na Jaemin. The boy who once convinced half the school that Professor Flitwick was secretly a goblin in disguise."
"To be fair, he has a dash of goblin blood..."
"Not the point!" She grabbed your shoulders, forcing you to stop pacing. "What kind of deal are we talking about here? What did you promise him?"
You took a deep breath. "A favor."
"A favor," she repeated slowly. "What kind of favor?"
“The unspecified kind. The ‘to be determined at a later date’ kind. The ‘I now owe Na Jaemin a debt that he can collect on whenever he wants’ kind.”
She looked about two seconds away from fainting. “You didn’t.”
“I panicked!” you wailed, not caring that you were probably drawing attention from the other early risers scattered around the common room. “It was either agree to the favor or let him catch you with Mr. Mysterious! What was I supposed to do?”
“Not sell your soul to a Slytherin, for starters!” She released you and began pacing, chewing on her thumbnail in that way she only did when she was truly stressed. “This is bad. This is really, really bad. Na Jaemin with a favor from you? He could ask for anything. Anything.”
“You think I don’t know that?” You dropped your head into your hands. “I’ve been up all night imagining the horrible things he might ask for. What if he wants me to do something illegal? What if he wants me to sabotage someone? What if he wants me to—” You shuddered. “—publicly humiliate myself somehow?”
Jo stopped pacing, her expression shifting from panic to determination. “Okay. Okay, we’re not going to catastrophize. Yes, this is bad. Yes, owing Jaemin a favor is potentially disastrous. But it’s not the end of the world.”
“Isn’t it though?”
“No.” She sat down beside you, taking your hand. “Listen to me. You did this to protect me. You put yourself on the line because you’re a good friend, the best friend, and I’m not going to let you face this alone. Whatever Jaemin asks for, we’ll figure it out together. Okay?”
You wanted to take comfort in her words, in the fierce loyalty shining in her eyes. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you’d just made a deal with the devil, and the bill would come due sooner rather than later.
“Okay,” you said quietly, squeezing her hand. “Together.”
“Together,” she confirmed. Then her expression turned mischievous. “Besides, who knows? Maybe he’ll ask for something simple. Like help with his Potions essay or something.”
You snorted despite yourself. “Jaemin doesn’t need help with Potions. He’s annoyingly good at everything.”
“Well then maybe he’ll ask you to—I don’t know—organize his sock drawer? Polish his prefect badge?”
“Jo.”
“I’m just saying, it might not be as bad as you think!”
But even as you tried to let her optimism buoy you, you couldn't shake the feeling that your life had just changed irrevocably. That in agreeing to owe Jaemin a favor, you'd set into motion a chain of events that you couldn't possibly predict or control.
Whatever he wanted from you, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be something as simple as organizing his socks.
A haze of anxiety and paranoia defined the following week, one that had you reaching a level of vigilance that would have impressed even Mad-Eye Moody.
You jumped at every sudden noise, flinched every time a Slytherin so much as glanced in your direction, and spent an inordinate amount of time scanning the Great Hall for any sign of Jaemin’s blonde head bent in whispered conversation with his housemates, plotting your doom.
To avoid him, you mapped out convoluted routes to class, opting for deserted corridors even when they made you late. Mealtimes were rescheduled to avoid the rush—breakfast at dawn, lunch in the late afternoon, and dinner only when the Hall had emptied to a few stragglers. In Potions, which was the one class you shared with him, you positioned yourself as far from his usual spot as physically possible, practically pressed against the dungeon wall, and refused to so much as breathe in his direction.
Not that it mattered… Because he didn’t approach you at all.
He just watched you.
From across the courtyard, his gaze would find you through a flurry of Slytherin green. Other times, your eyes would drift upward in Potions only to find him already staring, head propped lazily in his palm. He looked for all the world as if you were far more entertaining than any lecture Professor Slughorn could provide.
You started second-guessing everything. The way you sat, the way you spoke, the way you tugged at your sleeve or tucked your hair behind your ear when nervous. You found yourself becoming a caricature of yourself: rigid, overly cautious, desperate to give nothing away.
By the end of the week, you were a nervous wreck. You’d bitten your nails down to the quick. Developed a stress-induced rash on your neck that no amount of Essence of Dittany could soothe. And even started having vivid nightmares about Jaemin cornering you in increasingly absurd locations like the Prefects’ bathroom, or memorably in the middle of a Quidditch match where he’d swooped down on a broom to demand you juggle puffapods while the entire school watched.
“You need to sleep,” Jo said on Friday night, eyeing the bags under your eyes with concern. “This is getting ridiculous. You look like you’ve been hit with a Confundus Charm.”
“I can’t sleep,” you muttered, your third cup of coffee cooling forgotten beside your Transfiguration essay. “Every time I close my eyes, I just see his face. That stupid, smug, infuriatingly perfect face.”
Jo’s eyebrows shot up. “Perfect?”
“Putrid,” you corrected hastily, feeling your face heat. “I meant putrid. The point is, I can’t relax knowing that at any moment, he could just… appear and demand whatever horrific thing he’s been planning.”
“Maybe he’s forgotten about it,” Jo suggested, though she didn’t sound convinced. “Maybe he was just messing with you, and he never actually intended to collect.”
You wanted to believe that. You really did. But you’d seen the satisfied glint in Jaemin’s eyes when you’d shaken hands.
No. He hadn’t forgotten. He was just biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The weekend dragged on with NEWTs studying, failed naps and increasingly creative avoidance techniques. By Sunday morning, you were so on edge that when an owl swooped down at breakfast and dropped a letter directly onto your plate, you actually screamed.
Half the Gryffindor table turned to stare.
“It’s just the post,” Jo said soothingly, though she was eyeing the letter with nearly as much suspicion as you were. “Probably from your mother.”
Your hands shook as you picked up the envelope. The handwriting was your mother’s, thank Merlin, and you sagged with relief as you broke the seal.
“See?” Jo said. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Can you blame me?” you muttered, scanning your mother’s cheerful recounting of your aunt’s latest garden gnome infestation. “It’s been a week, Jo. A whole week of nothing. It’s unnatural.”
“Psychological warfare, that’s what this is. Classic Slytherin mind games. He’s letting you stew, letting the anticipation build, until you’re so wound up that you’ll agree to anything just to put yourself out of your misery.”
“Thank you, Jo,” you said through gritted teeth, stabbing your sausage with enough force to make your fork screech against the plate. “That’s incredibly comforting.”
“I’m just saying, it’s textbook manipulation.” She reached for the marmalade, unbothered by your glare. “My cousin Fergus dated a girl from that house once, and she used to—”
But you never found out what Jo's cousin's Slytherin ex-girlfriend did, because at that moment, a hush fell over the Great Hall. You looked up, already knowing what you'd see, and felt your stomach drop straight through the floor.
Jaemin was walking toward the Gryffindor table with purpose and intent, his long strides eating up the distance between the Slytherin table and yours. His eyes were fixed on you with such singular focus that you couldn’t have looked away if you tried.
There was a small satisfied smile playing on his lips.
He was enjoying this, the utter bastard. Enjoying the way every eye in the hall was now fixed on you, the way whispers erupted in his wake like the hissing of a hundred snakes.
He came to a stop directly across from you, and you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes. They were dancing with amusement, and you had the sudden, wild urge to tip your pumpkin juice into his lap.
"Good morning," he said, for all the world as if this were a perfectly normal interaction and not a blatant violation of the unwritten rules that governed breakfast seating arrangements. "Sleep well?"
You gaped at him, too stunned to formulate a response. Beside you, Jo made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort hastily disguised as a cough.
Jaemin’s smile widened, showing a flash of teeth. “I’ll take that as a no.” His gaze swept over you, taking in the bags under your eyes, the coffee stains on your robes, the general air of sleep-deprived panic you’d been cultivating all week. “Have you been avoiding me?”
The question was delivered lightly, almost teasingly, but there was an undercurrent to it. A knowing edge that said he was perfectly aware of every corridor you’d ducked down, every meal you’d skipped, every desperate attempt you’d made to stay out of his path.
“Avoiding you?” you repeated with a nervous laugh. “Of course not. I’ve been—I’ve been busy. Studying and stuff.”
“Mm.” He didn’t sound remotely convinced. “Well, you’re not busy now, are you? I need to talk to you.” He paused, letting his gaze sweep meaningfully across the rapt faces surrounding you. “Privately.”
Oh no. Oh no no no.
"Huh?" you said eloquently.
"Talk. Privately," he repeated, enunciating each syllable as if you were a particularly slow-witted troll.
“I’m eating breakfast,” you said weakly, gesturing at your plate where your eggs had gone cold and congealed.
“You can eat later.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “Come on. This won’t take long.”
Every fiber of your being wanted to plant yourself in your seat and force him to either leave or make a scene. But you could feel the weight of the entire school’s attention pressing down on you.
You glanced around, taking in the avid stares, the blatant eavesdropping, the gleeful anticipation on every face. Even the staff table looked uncommonly interested, with Professor McGonagall peering at you over her spectacles and Flitwick not even pretending not to listen in.
"Fine," you bit out, shoving back from the table with enough force to make the dishes rattle. "Lead the way."
Jaemin inclined his head, that infuriating smile still playing about his lips, and turned to walk out of the hall. You followed, determinedly ignoring the explosion of chatter that erupted in your wake.
He led you out of the castle, across the dew-damp lawn, all the way to the edge of the lake where a lone beech tree stretched its branches over the water. It was, you noted sourly, an incredibly picturesque spot for a clandestine meeting. Almost as if he'd planned it that way.
"All right," you said, crossing your arms and fixing him with your best glare. "What do you want?"
He leaned against the tree trunk, the picture of nonchalance, and regarded you with a calculating expression. "I think you know."
"The favor," you said flatly.
"The favor," he agreed. "Time to pay up, I'm afraid."
Your heart began to race at this, palms turning clammy as every horrible scenario you'd imagined over the past week came rushing back.
You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. "Fine. What is it? What do you want me to do?"
Jaemin pushed off the tree and took a few steps toward you until he was so close you could see the individual flecks of gold in his dark eyes.
He looked down at you, his expression turning serious, almost solemn. "I need you," he said softly, "to be my girlfriend."
What the fuck.
You stared at him dumbly. Surely he'd said something else—"be my guard friend" or literally anything that made more sense than what you thought you'd heard. But after several seconds of awkward silence he simply stood there, staring back.
"I'm sorry," you said at last. "I must have misheard you. It sounded like you just said—"
"Be my girlfriend," he repeated, enunciating each word carefully. "That's the favor I'm asking."
You searched his face for any sign that this was a prank, or at the very least a bizarre figment of your overtired and overstressed imagination.
But he looked deadly serious, his eyes never leaving yours, his jaw set in a way that suggested he was bracing himself for your reaction.
"Right," you said slowly. "Okay. So you've clearly been hit with a Bludger recently. Or maybe you inhaled some dodgy spores from the Forest?" You peered at him more closely, genuinely concerned now. "I think you might be having some sort of mental episode—"
"I'm not having a mental episode."
You started backing away slowly, hands raised placatingly. “Just stay there, I'm going to go get help. Maybe Madam Pomfrey has an antidote for whatever's happened to your brain—"
"My brain is fine," Jaemin said, and he actually had the audacity to look amused. "I'm completely serious."
"That's even more concerning!" You threw your hands up. "Jaemin, you can't just—I mean, we barely even—we're not even friends! You spent two years torturing me and then four years pretending I didn't exist! And now you want me to be your girlfriend?"
"Fake girlfriend," he corrected.
"Oh, well, that changes everything," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "Fake girlfriend. Of course. How silly of me. That makes perfect sense."
"It does, actually, if you'd let me explain—"
"No. Absolutely not. This is—this is insane. You've lost your mind. Gone completely round the bend." You started pacing frantically. "You could have literally any girl in this school. Any girl! I’m sure there’s probably a waiting list even. And you want me to pretend to date you?"
"Yes."
"Why?!"
"Because you're perfect for this," he said with a shrug.
You let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "I'm what now?"
"Perfect," he repeated, and there wasn't a trace of humor in his voice now. "Think about it. You're a half-blood—"
"Oh don’t start with that blood purity crap—"
"No, I mean that it works perfectly because you're not involved in pureblood politics. You're not part of my usual social circle. You have no reason to want anything from me or my family beyond this one favor." He was ticking points off on his fingers now. "If we start dating, it'll be believable precisely because it's so unexpected."
"You think people will just believe that we're dating. You and me."
"Why not?"
"Because—" You gestured wildly between the two of you. "—because look at us! You're you, and I'm—I'm me! I spend my free time reading in corners and avoiding human interaction! You spend yours being disgustingly popular and having your pick of the female population! We have nothing in common! We don't even like each other!"
"All excellent points for why no one will suspect it's fake," he said smoothly. "If I were trying to stage a relationship, I’d pick someone more obvious. Someone from my house, someone I'm already friendly with. The fact that it's you makes it more authentic."
You stared at him, your brain struggling to process this absolute madness. "Have you been Imperisued or something? Seriously, I'm genuinely worried about you right now."
"I appreciate your concern," he said dryly. "But I assure you, I'm thinking perfectly clearly."
"Then explain it to me," you demanded, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "Because from where I'm standing, this makes about as much sense as trying to teach a troll how to read. Why on earth would you need a fake girlfriend? You're Na Jaemin! Half the school is in love with you! If you wanted a real girlfriend, you could probably just point at someone and they'd swoon into your arms!"
"That's actually part of the problem," he muttered, and was that... was that a hint of frustration in his voice?
You blinked. "What?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There's a girl. Yuna. Her family and mine... they move in the same circles. Have for generations. Old pureblood families, lots of money, all that tedious rubbish."
"Okay...?"
"And lately, she's gotten it into her head that we're meant to be together. That it's our destiny to unite our families, carry on the pureblood tradition, produce the next generation of perfectly bred wizarding heirs." His voice was slightly tinged with disgust. "She won't take no for an answer."
Despite yourself, despite the absolute insanity of this entire situation, you felt a bit of sympathy. "And you don't want that."
"I'd rather wrestle a Hungarian Horntail," he said flatly. "But she's not listening. Every time I tell her I'm not interested, she just smiles and says I'm playing hard to get. That I'll come around eventually."
"That's..." You searched for the appropriate words. "That's actually kind of disturbing."
"It's extremely disturbing," he agreed. "And I can't just tell her to fuck off, because our families... it's complicated. There's business deals, social connections, generations of intertwined pureblood nonsense. If I publicly reject her, it could cause all sorts of problems."
"So you need a girlfriend," you said slowly, finally starting to understand. "A visible reason why you can't be with her."
"Exactly." He gave you a hopeful look. "Someone who won't get caught up in the drama and then can walk away clean when it's over. Someone like you."
You covered your face with your hands and sighed. "This is still insane."
"Is it though?"
"Yes! Completely, utterly, absolutely insane!" You started pacing again. "Jaemin, in case it's escaped your notice, we can barely stand each other! We've barely had a conversation longer than five minutes that didn't involve you annoying me or me wanting to hex you! How exactly do you propose we convince anyone we're madly in love?"
"We don't have to be madly in love," he said. "Just... dating. You know, just act like a regular couple, sit together at meals, go to Hogsmeade on weekends. People see us together, word gets back to Yuna, she backs off. Simple."
"Simple?” you repeated incredulously. "You think any part of this is simple?"
"More simple than the alternative." His expression turned serious. "Look, I wouldn't ask if I had any other choice. But I'm running out of options here, and you're—" He paused. "You're the only person I can trust with this."
That brought you up short. “You barely know me."
"I know enough," he said quietly. "I know you're loyal. I know you'd do anything for your friends, you proved that when you made our deal. I know you're not interested in status or popularity or any of the things most people want from me. And I know that when this is over, you'll keep your word and walk away."
The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. This wasn't the smug, teasing Jaemin from the patrol or the cold, dismissive one from your earlier years. This was someone... genuine. Vulnerable, even.
"I think I need to sit down," you said faintly.
There was a convenient rock nearby and you sank down onto it, your head spinning.
"So just let me make sure I got it right," you said, staring out at the lake. "You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend. To protect you from an obsessive pureblood heiress who won't take no for an answer and so you won’t get trapped into a marriage of convenience.”
"That's the gist of it, yes."
"For how long?"
"A month? Maybe two at most."
"Two months?!" You whipped around to stare at him. "You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend for two months? Are you completely off your rocker?!"
“Come on, two months isn’t even that long—"
"Two months is eight weeks! Sixty days! Over a thousand hours of my life spent pretending to be in love with you!" You were nearly hyperventilating now. You shot to your feet, pacing again.
“Again, no need to be madly in love—"
"And have you thought about the logistics of this?" You spun to face him. "Every girl in this castle is going to hate me! They already probably think we're shagging or something after your little breakfast stunt, and that was two minutes! Imagine two months of that! I'll need to go into witness protection!"
“I think that’s a bit of an overreaction.”
"Jaemin, people will actually want to murder me. There will be attempts on my life. I'll have to taste-test all my food for poison. Sleep with one eye open. Practice a good shield charm—"
"Nobody's going to try to murder you."
"You don’t know that!"
“And we wouldn't even be together the entire time," he continued as if you hadn't spoken. "Just... in public. Where people can see us. The rest of the time you can go back to pretending I don't exist."
You let out a laugh that bordered on hysteria. "Oh, well, that makes it so much better. Thank you for that generous concession."
"Are you finished panicking?" he asked mildly.
You glared at him. "No. No, I'm not finished. I'm just getting started. Do you have any idea how exhausting this sounds? How mortifying? I've spent six years perfecting the art of being invisible, and now you want me to voluntarily become the center of attention? The subject of gossip and speculation? Do you know what that will do to me?"
“Come on, it won’t be that bad.”
He seemed too casual about all this. It made you wonder if he did this sort of thing often. Not that it would be surprising, purebloods had weird customs that you could never begin to understand.
"Okay," you said slowly after a few seconds of gathering what little patience you had. "Okay. Let's say—and I'm not agreeing to anything—but let's say I did this. Don't you think people would find it a bit suspicious? Us dating out of nowhere? We've barely spoken in years. We're not friends or even friendly. People aren't stupid, Jaemin."
"We'll say we've been keeping it quiet," he said, like he'd already thought this through. "We didn’t want the attention, wanted to make sure it was real before we went public. No one will question it if we sell it right."
"And how exactly do you propose we do that?" You fixed him with a glare.
“Easy. We make it look like we can't keep our hands off each other. You know, hold hands, and that sort of thing. Make it look convincing."
“You want me to hold your hand?”
"Among other things."
"What does that even mean…?”
"Well, we'd have to play it convincingly," he said reasonably. "Couples don't just hold hands. They sit close. They touch. They..." He paused, his eyes glinting with amusement. "They kiss occasionally."
"KISS?!" The word came out as a strangled shriek. "You want me to kiss you?!"
"I mean, not right now necessarily—"
“Oh, you’re barking mad if you think I will kiss you!”
"Come on, y/n. It's just a bit of acting. Surely a clever girl like you can manage that?" His voice dropped, turning silky and persuasive.
You bristled slightly at the blatant flattery even as some traitorous part of you warmed at the compliment. "And what's in it for me? Besides the joy of being glared at by every girl in this castle and kissing your dumb face?"
"The fact that I won’t tell McGonagall about your little friend’s nocturnal escapade isn’t enough for you?” he reminded you.
You froze, shoulders tensing. "You're really going to hold me to that? For something this insane?"
"A deal's a deal. I helped you and nowI need your help."
"I don't know," you said slowly. "This is...it's a lot to ask."
"I know." He took another step closer, his eyes intent on yours. "But I'm asking anyway. I need your help, y/n. Please."
You had agreed to this. You had shaken his hand, accepted his help, promised him a favor. And now he was calling it in.
"This is blackmail," you said weakly.
"It's really not."
You stared at him, at his stupidly handsome face and his infuriating certainty, and felt the trap closing around you. You still could refuse, tell him to shove his favor and walk away. But then he could—would—tell McGonagall about Jo. And Jo would be expelled. And it would be all your fault.
"Fuck," you groaned.
"Is that a yes then? he said.
You truly hated everything about this.
Still, you heard yourself say, "Two months. That's it. And we need to set ground rules, boundaries. I'm not going to do anything that makes me uncomfortable."
Relief flashed across his face, there and gone so quickly you might have imagined it. "Okay, that’s fair."
"And when it's over, we go back to normal. No hard feelings. We just... end it and move on."
"Agreed." He held out a hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "So. Do we have a deal?"
You hesitated for a long moment, your heart pounding so hard you were certain he must be able to hear it. This was, without question, the most insane thing you had ever considered doing. It was reckless and impulsive and had the potential to blow up in your face in a truly spectacular fashion.
But looking up into Jaemin's eyes, seeing something that might have been hope or desperation or both, you found yourself reaching out and taking his hand anyway.
"Deal," you said, and sealed your fate for the second time in a week.
"Excellent." His smile was pure satisfaction. "I'll pick you up for breakfast tomorrow. Try to look a little pleased to see me and not like you want to murder me."
"I make no promises," you muttered.
As you walked back toward the castle, your mind whirling with the absolute insanity of what you'd just agreed to, one thought kept circling back:
Na Jaemin, Slytherin prince and general menace to your sanity, wanted you to be his fake girlfriend.
Jo was never going to believe this.
A waking nightmare—that was the only way to describe the days following the grand revelation of your supposed relationship.
It felt as though Hogwarts had contracted a plague, a virulent strain of "Y/N-and-Jaemin" fever that consumed everyone from the dungeons to the astronomy tower. No one could quite wrap their heads around the unlikely pairing of a Gryffindor nobody and the Slytherin prince, and that confusion turned into a collective obsession.
Everywhere you went, eyes followed. First-years openly gawked as you passed. Third-years whispered behind their hands, their eyes following your every move with ravenous curiosity. Even the portraits seemed more interested in your comings and goings, their painted heads swiveling to track your progress through the corridors.
Horrible as the attention was, the rumors were worse. Wild, baseless theories seemed to spawn from thin air, multiplying with the rapid, disgusting speed of Horklumps in a garden.
“They've been secretly dating since third year,” one voice hissed in the corridor, “before he was even popular, I heard.”
The theories only grew more ridiculous from there. According to a Ravenclaw, you had saved his life during a Quidditch match—or perhaps from a rogue curse. One Hufflepuff swore on her life she’d seen the two of you kissing in the Astronomy Tower a year ago. Most sinister of all were the whispers of blackmail or pranks, culminating in the one theory that nearly made you choke on your pumpkin juice: “Oh Merlin, do you think she’s pregnant?”
The attention was suffocating, oppressive, like being trapped in a greenhouse in the middle of summer with no windows and too many people pressing their faces against the glass. You couldn't breathe without someone noting it, vouldn't eat without a dozen pairs of eyes watching every bite, and couldn't so much as sneeze without someone speculating about whether Jaemin would find it endearing.
And as if the whole thing wasn’t a nightmare already, there was Jaemin himself. Whatever level of insufferable he had occupied before was nothing compared to this new persona: the devoted boyfriend that was attentive, affectionate, and clearly determined to make the charade as mortifying as humanly possible.
He'd materialize at your elbow between classes, his arrival heralded by the subtle scent of broom polish that never quite left his robes and that you were beginning to recognize with Pavlovian dread. He'd fall into step beside you with that athletic grace of his, his hand finding the small of your back with proprietary confidence.
“There you are,” he’d say, his voice carrying an affected breathlessness as if he’d been searching the entire castle rather than simply memorizing your schedule. “I was looking for you.”
“Were you,” came your flat reply, as you struggled to ignore the sudden weight of a hundred curious stares pinning you to the spot.
“Mm.” Without an ounce of hesitation, his hand would slide around your waist, hauling you firmly against his side. “Missed you in Charms. You disappeared before I could catch you.”
“I was in a rush,” you’d mutter, omitting the fact that the rush was specifically to escape him.
“I know.” His smile would be warm and intimate, a masterpiece of conviction. “Let’s walk together next time. I can’t stand being away from my princess for too long.”
A collective swoon would ripple through the nearby students at the display.
Mealtimes offered no reprieve. He'd bypass his usual spot at the Slytherin table entirely, crossing the Great Hall with long strides to slide onto the bench beside you at Gryffindor. The first time he'd done it, the entire Hall had gone silent, hundreds of heads swiveling to watch as Na Jaemin—too cool for cross-house fraternization—planted himself among the lions.
“Morning, princess,” he’d announce, his voice projecting just far enough for half the table to catch. A casual kiss to your temple followed, delivered with such affection that you nearly lost your balance on the bench.
A sharp kick from Jo connected with your shin under the table. Smile, her wide-eyed expression screamed. You’re supposed to be in love with him, remember?
Obediently, you’d attempt a smile. Though it likely looked more like a pained grimace, Jaemin seemed satisfied enough. His arm draped across your shoulders as he reached for the orange juice, acting as if this were the most natural routine in the world.
Every meal followed the same suffocating pattern. He was always there, a solid line of warmth pressed against your side. Beneath the table, his thigh would brush against yours, making you hyperaware of his every shift. Often, his hand would rest on your knee, his thumb tracing absent patterns that felt far too intimate for public consumtion. Occasionally he’d lean in, murmuring something pointless like “Pass the salt” or “Your hair looks nice today” into your ear—but to the rest of the room, it looked like he was whispering sweet nothings.
The Great Hall devoured every crumb of the spectacle.
But while the general student body watched with wide-eyed fascination, you were forced to contend with a far more dangerous audience: the inner circle.
Jaemin’s friends were not merely students; they were the closest thing Hogwarts had to a royal court. To exist within the castle walls was to know them by reputation—a collection of wealthy, beautiful purebloods who navigated the drafty corridors with the effortless entitlement of aristocrats. Yet, observing them from the safety of the Gryffindor table was entirely different from being the direct target of their scrutiny.
Giselle led the first offensive.
She didn't walk so much as glide, approaching the Gryffindor table like an elegant snake. Everything about her was designed to intimidate, from the lethal sharpness of her cheekbones to the glossy waves of hair that fell perfectly down her back. Even her uniform defied the rules; her tie was knotted into an oversized, rebellious bow that no prefect would ever have the courage to cite as a dress-code violation.
“Jaemin,” she purred, ignoring your existence entirely as she draped herself against the table. “We’ve missed you at breakfast. The Slytherin table is positively bereft without your presence.”
“I’m sure you’re all managing,” Jaemin replied, his tone conversational and mild. He didn't move his arm from its proprietary position across your shoulders.
“Barely.” Only then did her eyes slide toward you in a slow, assessing sweep that made you feel like a piece of furniture being appraised for auction. “And this must be the famous girlfriend. Y/N, was it?”
“Yes,” you managed, forced to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat to keep your voice from cracking.
“Mm.” Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass. “How… unexpected. I don’t think we’ve ever spoken before, have we? What house are you in again?”
The question was a blatant insult, considering you were currently sitting at the Gryffindor table draped in scarlet and gold.
“Gryffindor,” you ground out through gritted teeth.
“Oh, right. Of course.” She paused to examine her dark green nails. “I always have trouble keeping track of the… quieter students. You must be one of those studious types. The ones who hide in the library all day.”
Boring. Forgettable. Beneath notice. The implication was clear. Beside you, Jo’s hand whitened as her grip tightened around her fork.
“I suppose so,” you said, choosing caution over a confrontation you weren't prepared to win.
“Cute.” Giselle’s smile widened, though it never reached her eyes. “Jaemin’s never been much for books, have you, Jaem? More of a... social creature. Though I’m sure you two have found something in common to keep things interesting.”
Beside you, Jaemin remained a statue of calm, taking a slow sip of his tea as if he were watching a particularly dull play rather than a verbal execution.
The pressure didn't let up as the days went on. A few days later, Changmin intercepted the two of you in the crowded corridor between Ancient Runes and Arithmancy. Towering and broad-shouldered, he possessed the rugged, athletic build of a seasoned Beater. He didn't need words to dominate the space; his presence alone caused younger students to scatter like leaves. When he looked at you, his smile was so predatory and sharp it made you think of a wolf finally closing in on a scent it had been tracking for miles.
"So this is her," Changmin said, his eyes traveling over you with clinical detachment. "Have to say, mate, when you said you were seeing someone, I pictured… I don't know. Someone different."
Jaemin’s voice remained light, though his eyes turned piercing. "What do you mean?"
"Just… different." A shrug followed, along with a dismissive flick of his gaze. "No offense, of course."
"Of course," you echoed through a tight jaw.
"It’s just surprising, is all." Changmin gestured vaguely with one hand. "You’ve always gone for a certain type, and she’s… well, not that."
Not pretty enough, you knew he meant.
Jaemin’s arm hooked around you, pulling you into his side. "She’s exactly my type," he countered. "Perfect, actually."
His words were meant to be reassuring but they'd just made you feel more like a prop in whatever game he was playing.
A shift in strategy occurred by the following week. The subtle snubs evolved into a coordinated siege as Changmin and Giselle began appearing together, a united front of immaculate hair, expensive robes, and thinly veiled hostility.
They seemed to materialize in every common space you frequented, armed with false smiles and poisonous pleasantries. Every interaction was a minefield; every question was a calculated probe designed to expose the fraying seams in your story.
Their interrogation didn't stop at the legitimacy of your relationship. They began taking aim at the very fabric of your life... Quite literally.
"Those robes," Giselle remarked during a chance encounter in the corridor, her eyes sweeping over your silhouette with a look of practiced pity. "Are they... vintage? They have that distinctive, worn quality. That 'hand-me-down' aesthetic."
The fabric felt suddenly heavy and scratchy against your skin. They had been your mother's, mended with care and kept clean through sheer effort, but they lacked the shimmer of new silk. Heat flooded your face, a hot prickle of shame you hated yourself for feeling.
"They're fine," you muttered, clutching your books tighter to your chest.
"Oh, I'm sure they're perfectly serviceable," she added, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Not everyone has the luxury of replacing their wardrobe every season, after all."
Changmin leaned across the table, his expression open and conversational, though his eyes remained predatory.
"So, what does your father do for work?" he asked, swirling the pumpkin juice in his goblet as if it were a fine vintage. "My father sits on the Wizengamot, of course. And Giselle’s family runs one of the largest potions corporations in Europe. It's always so interesting to hear what other families do."
"He works for the Ministry," you said shortly, keeping your eyes fixed on your plate.
"Oh? How prestigious. Which department? International Magical Cooperation? The Auror Office?"
"Magical Maintenance."
The silence that followed was heavy enough to suffocate. You didn't need to look up to feel the shockwave of silent communication passing between them. You could practically hear the click of the mental locks falling into place: the suppressed smirks, the shared glances, and the smug, knowing silence that broadcast exactly what they thought of your family’s status. You weren't just the 'wrong type' for Jaemin; in their eyes, you were a glitch in the social order.
"Very honest work, I’m sure," Giselle added finally, her voice carrying just enough to be heard at the neighboring tables. "Someone has to keep the toilets functioning."
Jo who'd been next to you the whole time, bolted upright, her face flushed a dangerous shade of scarlet. You moved instinctively, grabbing her arm and hauling her back into her seat before she could cause a scene.
The real ambush, however, didn't come until Friday evening.
You'd been in the library trying to calculate the magical decay of a complex curse for your Arithmancy assignment. Beside you, Jaemin had been hovering for the better part of an hour, his presence a persistent distraction.
"If you carry the nine there," he whispered, his long finger hovering over your string of equations, "doesn't the probability of a backfire increase by 12%?"
"No, Jaemin," you huffed, rubbing your temples where a dull ache was beginning to bloom. "This isn't Divination. You cannot simply guess your way through Arithmancy. Seven is a powerful magical prime, but in an inverted sequence, its weight is halved. I am trying to ensure you don't accidentally liquefy your own bones during the NEWTs."
"Right, right. Half the weight, double the trouble," he murmured. He wasn't even pretending to look at the numbers anymore; his gaze was fixed on the way you were biting your lip in concentration. "Explain the Pythagorean bridge to me again? That was very sexy."
A sharp retort about his lack of focus was halfway up your throat when the shadows fell over the table.
Giselle and Changmin. They were flanked by Sungchan, another Quidditch type you vaguely recognized, and a fourth person whose presence made the air leave your lungs in a rush.
Yuna.
She stood there, ice-blonde and perfectly beautiful. You felt Jaemin’s posture stiffen beside you. You hadn't known. He’d never mentioned she was part of his circle, that she was this close to the people he spent every waking hour with. The "fake" part of your relationship suddenly felt dangerously flimsy.
"Study date?" Giselle asked, sliding into the seat directly across from you. "I’m sorry, is that a textbook, Jaemin? I thought you used those as coasters."
Jaemin didn't look up from your parchment. "We're just working."
"It’s Friday night," Sungchan cut in, leaning heavily against a nearby bookshelf. "The guys are sneaking kegs of firewhisky into the common room as we speak. There’s a party starting in ten minutes, mate. We’ve been looking for you for an hour."
Yuna stepped forward, her dark eyes narrowing as she focused on you for the first time.
"Y/N, right?" she said, her voice a soft, melodic contrast to the tension. "What exactly have you done to him? Jaemin hasn't missed a Friday night since third year. And yet, here he is, looking at... what is that? Arithmancy?"
"It’s important for the exams," you said, your voice sounding steadier than you felt. "And he's actually quite good at it when he tries."
A snort of pure skepticism escaped Yuna. "Since when is calculating the weight of a hex more entertaining than a party?"
"Since I realized I was failing," Jaemin interjected smoothly, reaching out to lace his fingers with yours atop the table. You knew it was a calculated move, a public display for the one person who mattered. "Y/N pointed out that if I don't pass the Arithmancy boards, I won't be able to take the advanced Theo-Magic track next year. She's very persuasive when she wants to be."
"Persuasive, huh?" Giselle repeated, though her eyes flicked toward Yuna to gauge her reaction. “I can only imagine the things she can do, if she’s managed to make you skip every single party since you started dating.”
Giselle’s implication was blatant, dripping with enough tawdry subtext to make your cheeks flame. You looked at Jaemin, waiting for him to shred her with his notorious silver tongue. Instead, he remained maddeningly static. Only the slight tightening of his jaw betrayed his irritation.
“Did you know there’s actually a betting pool regarding how long youll two last?” Yuna asked, her tone conversational, as if she were discussing the Quidditch scores than your social execution. “The smart money says two weeks. That is, if the novelty doesn’t wear off by Tuesday.”
The news hit your stomach with a cold, hollow thud. “There’s a what?”
“Don’t look so scandalized.” she waved a hand, her emerald ring catching the light. “It’s nothing personal, darling. People adore a spectacle, and this is a bewildering one. Jaemin has spent years as the prize everyone was chasing, and then he suddenly chooses...”
She trailed off. Her silence was more eloquent than any insult.
"The weird girl who hides in corners," Sungchan supplied helpfully. "No offense."
"Loads taken," you snapped before you could stop yourself.
“So defensive.” Yuna chuckled cruelly.
“That’s enough,” Jaemin said. His voice lost its playful lilt, replaced by a low edge. It was the sound of a predator deciding a conversation had reached its conclusion.
“We’re just teasing, Jaem. Don’t be so sensitive.” Giselle stood, smoothing her robes. “If Y/N is going to be part of our inner circle, she’ll need a thicker skin. We aren't known for our gentleness.”
“I am dating Jaemin,” you said, your voice finally steady. “Not applying to be your friend.”
The temperature at the table dropped approximately ten degrees.
“Well,” Yuna said, her delicate features arranging themselves into an expression of theatrical, wide-eyed surprise. “It seems the little bird has claws after all."
They had successfully poked at the seams of your composure and were now departing before the scene became truly messy.
"A little parting advice, Y/N," Giselle said, pausing as she turned. "The more defensive you become, the more it appears as though you’re hiding something. And in this school, secrets are the only currency that matters."
Then they were gone. The only sound left was the rustle of their expensive robes fading into the library stacks. You sat there, shaking, while Jaemin’s fingers remained locked with yours.
“They’re foul,” you muttered, the sharp thud of your textbook echoing too loudly against the mahogany table. “Your friends are actually vipers, Jaemin.”
“I know.” His reply was flat, lacking any of the heat you were looking for. “Look, I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” You yanked your hand away from his, suddenly angry at him. “Because you just sat there like a statue. You let them say all that, and you didn't even blink.”
“And what did you want me to do? Start a row in the middle of the library?”
“Oh, I don’t know—maybe defend me!” The words burst out, earning a sharp, hawk-like “Shh!” from Madam Pince.
You leaned in, dropping your voice to a fierce whisper. “Tell them they’re being cruel. Tell them to sod off! But you just sat there looking like you were enjoying the show.”
Jaemin didn't answer right away. He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking as he studied you with those dark, unreadable eyes.
“If I get too defensive, they’ll know something’s up,” he said eventually. “You heard Giselle, she's looking for a reaction. That’s what they’re all doing. They're looking for proof that we’re lying. The more I protest, the more suspicious they get.”
“So I’m just supposed to sit there and take it?” You felt a hot sting behind your eyes and hated yourself for it. “I have to let them slag me off and talk rubbish about my family, all to keep your precious cover story alive?”
“Just for a bit,” he insisted. “Once they’re convinced it’s real, they’ll back off. But right now, they’re testing us. They’re testing you. And if we want this to work, you have to pass.”
“I’m trying to pass the bloody test!” you hissed, your voice rising again.
“Trying, yeah.” He leaned forward, his shadow falling over your parchment. “But you’re not being very convincing, Y/N.”
Your face flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you always look uncomfortable.” He ran a hand through his hair, his composure finally fraying. “You look miserable, Y/N. Constantly. Like being near me is a form of torture.”
“Well, it isn’t exactly a holiday,” you shot back.
“I know this isn’t ideal,” he continued, ignoring the jab. “I know you didn't want this. But we made a deal, and if you keep acting like I’m a Dementor every time I come within a foot of you, no one is going to believe this.”
“So what? You want me to swoon? Hang off your arm like a mindless doll?”
“I want you to look like you can at least tolerate me,” he cut in, his tone sharpening. “I want you to stop flinching when I hold your hand. Lean into me instead of going rigid as a board. Smile, Y/N. A real one, not that grimace you do when people are watching.”
“That’s the best I can do.”
“Well, your best isn’t good enough.” He looked at the library door, then back at you. “Giselle asked me why you’re so tense all the time. I told her you were shy about public affection, but that excuse only works for so long.”
You stared at him, your chest tight with a cocktail of fury.
“Maybe you should’ve picked someone who actually wanted to be your girlfriend.”
“I picked you because I thought you were smart enough to pull this off, but if you can't... ” He trailed off, shaking his head. "If you can’t even manage to stay in the same room as me without looking like you’d rather be drowning in the lake, the whole thing falls apart.”
"So will you be satisfied if I start kissing the floor you walk on? " you asked bitterly.
“It’d be a start,” he said simply. “Look, I know they’re awful. But you need to try harder. Stop pulling away. Stop acting like my touch is burning you.”
“It is burning me,” you muttered. You didn't mean to say it out loud, and you immediately wished you could swallow the words back down.
Jaemin’s eyes widened slightly. “What?”
“Nothing.” You stood up abruptly, gathering your things with fumbling hands. “Forget it. I’ll try harder, alright? I’ll be more convincing. I’ll smile and lean in and act like I’m absolutely mad about you. Is that what you want?”
“Y/N, wait—”
“I’m going back to the common room.” You slung your bag over your shoulder, refusing to look at him. “I’ll see you at breakfast. I’ll be sure to put on a proper show.”
“That’s not what I—”
But you didn’t stay to hear the rest. You turned and walked away, your vision blurring slightly as you navigated between the towering bookshelves, Madam Pince's disapproving glare following you all the way to the exit.
Behind you, you heard Jaemin sigh, but he didn’t call after you.
Just as well. You needed to be anywhere but near him.
Expectations of a smooth public performance next morning were shattered the moment Jaemin actually appeared. You had braced yourself for the usual, the effortless slide onto the bench, the heavy weight of his arm claiming your space, and that charming attitude that suggested your library row had been nothing more than a minor blip.
Instead, the Jaemin who approached the table looked like he’d gone several rounds with a rogue Bludger. His tie was a shambles, hanging loose around his collar, and his hair was a chaotic nest of blonde strands as if he’d spent the early hours of the morning dragging his hands through it in frustration. He didn't sit, but lingered at the edge of the bench with a strange, jittery energy.
"Can we talk?"
The question was a mere breath under the noise of clattering plates and the morning owl post.
You looked back down at your porridge. "About what?"
"Yesterday." He sounded nervous, not the polished Pureblood prince, but a boy who was genuinely out of his depth. "Please?"
Jo delivered a sharp kick to your shin under the table. Why did she keep doing that?! You winced, the sting jolting you out of your stubborn trance. Against your better judgment, you found yourself nodding.
"Fine. Where?"
"Third floor. The corridor by the one-eyed witch statue." He checked his watch, his fingers drumming a frantic rhythm against the wood of the table. "Ten o'clock?"
"That’s oddly specific," you muttered, finally meeting his eyes.
"Just—trust me on this. Please?"
There was that word again. Please. It was a far cry from the boy who had told you your best wasn't good enough yesterday. And because you were apparently a glutton for punishment, you felt your resolve crumble.
"Ten o'clock," you agreed.
He didn't offer a smirk or a wink for the benefit of the watching Great Hall. He simply gave a tight nod and sat down, keeping a conspicuous gap between your shoulder and his.
Stone walls and guttering torches made the third floor just as drab as the rest of the castle. A few portraits dozed in their frames, and the statue of the one-eyed witch stood sentinel at the far end, her painted eyes seeming to follow your every move with an almost unsettling intensity.
Five minutes of waiting had already passed, which was roughly four minutes and fifty seconds longer than it took to start feeling like a total idiot.
Just as the urge to bolt back to the safety of the common room became overwhelming, the rhythmic scuff of boots echoed against the flagstones. Jaemin rounded the corner, his usual swagger replaced by a stiff gait. You drew a breath, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove this clandestine little meeting, but he hoisted a hand to silence you.
"Before you lay into me," he started, coming to a halt just out of arm’s reach, "I want to apologize. Properly. For yesterday."
The anger you’d been carefully stoking for the last twelve hours flickered and died, leaving you feeling strangely hollow. "Oh."
"I was frustrated, and I took it out on you. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right." He dragged a hand through his hair, a sign of genuine nerves that made him more like a tired teenager. "You’re right. This situation is mental. My friends are absolute vultures, and I’ve been asking you to stand in the middle of the pack without giving you a single bit of support."
"I mean... yeah." You leaned against the cold stone wall, trying to hide how much that small bit of validation actually mattered. "That has been the arrangement so far, hasn't it?"
"Well, it’s a rubbish arrangement." He stepped into your personal space, his eyes searching yours with an earnestness that felt far too real. "I want to make this bearable for you. But for that to happen, I think we need to... practice."
"Practice?"
"At being comfortable," he explained, as if he were simply suggesting a bit of extra Quidditch drills. "You said my touching burns. Not literally, I hope, but—" He gestured between the two of you. "There’s this tension. This massive wall between us. People can see it, Y/N. It’s written all over you."
"Right. So your grand plan is..."
"Exposure therapy," he said. "We need to get accustomed to one another. And we need to do it without an audience watching your every flinch."
A snort almost escaped you as you processed the sheer absurdity of the suggestion. It felt like a scene ripped straight from one of those tawdry novels Jo kept hidden in her trunk, the ones with titles like The Warlock’s Wicked Whim.
But beneath the embarrassment sat a cold, hard logic you couldn't ignore. Every time his skin brushed yours, your heart panicked. You went rigid, your breath hitched, and your pulse became a frantic drumbeat in your ears. If you could feel that visceral wrongness vibrating through your bones, then vipers like Giselle and Yuna could definitely tell too.
"And you want to do this here?" A wary glance down the drafty corridor followed, half-expecting a gaggle of students to peek around the corner, eager for a glimpse of the castle's most talked-about couple. "What if someone comes by?"
"They won't." Jaemin started walking again, gesturing for you to follow. "That’s the whole point of meeting on this floor."
Confusion was about to mount into another argument when he came to a sudden halt in front of a completely unremarkable stretch of stone wall. Without a word, he began to pace. Back and forth, back and forth, his brow furrowed in a look of intense concentration.
For a moment, you just watched him, convinced that he'd finally cracked under the pressure and that this whole fake relationship scheme had driven him round the bend. You were seconds away from suggesting a firm dose of Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey when the masonry began to ripple.
Solid stone blurred and shimmered like the surface of the Black Lake under a midday sun. Then, with a low, tectonic grind, an ornate wooden door bled into existence.
Your mouth fell open. You'd heard of this, of course. Read about it in 'Hogwarts: A History'. But reading about something and seeing it happen right in front of your eyes were two very different things.
"The Room of Requirement," you breathed, awe temporarily overriding your general state of irritation.
"The Room of Requirement," Jaemin confirmed, and there was a note of satisfaction in his voice. "I figured if we're going to do this, we should do it somewhere we won't be interrupted."
"Unless you don't want to?" he asked, and there was a carefulness to the question, an unspoken offer of an out. "I know this is... I know it's a lot to ask. But I really think it'll help. I do."
You stared at the door, your mind whirling. This was insane. Completely, utterly, certifiably insane. Practicing feeling comfortable with Na Jaemin in a magical room that appeared out of thin air? This was your life now? This was what your Hogwarts experience had come to?
But what was the alternative? Continue on as you had been, flinching and grimacing your way through this charade until even the most gullible Hufflepuff could see right through you? Let Jaemin's awful friends pick and prod at you until you broke?
No. No, as much as it pained you to admit it, Jaemin was right. If you were going to make it through this with your dignity remotely intact, you had to stop being the weak link. You needed to become a better liar.
And if that meant subjecting yourself to Merlin knows what kind of 'practice' in a secret magic room... well. So be it.
“I swear if this is some kind of prank…”
"It's not." He pushed open the door, warm, inviting light spilling out into the corridor. "I promise."
The moment you crossed the threshold, you felt a strange sensation wash over you. Like stepping into a warm bath after a long, cold day. The room was...not at all what you expected. It was smaller, cozier. There was a plush sofa against one wall, a few cushy armchairs arranged around a low coffee table. The lighting was soft, emanating from no discernible source, and the air smelled faintly of vanilla and old books. It felt safe, somehow. Comforting. Which only served to put you more on edge.
"So," you said, crossing your arms over your chest as the door swung shut behind you with a soft, final-sounding click. "You brought me here to practice. Practice what, exactly?"
Jaemin had the grace to look slightly abashed. "Intimacy."
"I'm sorry, what?”
"Not—not like that," he said quickly, and was that a hint of a flush on his cheeks? Surely not. Na Jaemin didn't get flustered. It must be a trick of the light. "I mean... being close.. and comfortable enough to casually touch each other. You know, the things couples do in public that you keep shying away from."
"You make it sound so simple," you muttered, feeling a blush rise to your own cheeks despite your best efforts.
"It’s not that big of a deal." He gestured to the sofa. "Look, we're going to have to spend the next two months being physically affectionate in front of the entire school. And right now, every time I so much as brush against you, you look like you'd rather be facing a herd of centaurs. So we need to practice. To make it feel normal."
Normal. What a ludicrous concept. There was nothing normal about this. But you bit back the sharp retort on the tip of your tongue. You’d agreed to this madness, and backing out now would only make you look more pathetic.
"Right. So you want me to get used to you pawing at me."
"I do not paw—" He cut himself off, taking a visible breath to steady himself. "I want you to get used to me touching you in a completely respectful, non-pawing way.
You stared at him and he stared back. You could practically hear the seconds ticking by, feel the weight of the impasse settling over the room.
"Fine," you said at last, the word feeling like it was being dragged out of you with fish hooks. "Fine. What do you want me to do?"
His shoulders relaxed, the tension in his jaw easing just a fraction. "Just… come sit with me. We'll start slow."
He settled onto the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. You approached warily, lowering yourself onto the opposite end and putting as much distance between your bodies as physically possible. Jaemin looked at the three-foot chasm of empty space and raised an eyebrow.
"You're going to have to get closer than that."
"This is close."
"You’re barely sitting on the couch."
"Baby steps," you muttered.
"We don't have time for baby steps." But his voice was gentle, coaxing. "Come on. I don't bite."
That remains to be seen, you thought. But despite every instinct screaming at you to run, you scooted closer. Then a bit closer still. You stopped in the middle of the sofa, a foot of space still separating you, but closer than you'd ever voluntarily been to him outside of your mandated public displays.
"Better," Jaemin said, and the soft, approving lilt in his voice sent a traitorous flutter through your stomach. "Now, I'm going to put my arm around you. Like I do at meals. And I want you to try not to tense up. Okay?"
You nodded, not trusting your voice not to shake.
Slowly, broadcasting his movements like he was approaching a skittish animal, he lifted his arm, draping it across the back of the sofa. His hand came to rest on your shoulder, the weight of it startling in its warmth, its solidity.
Instantly, you felt your entire body go rigid, your muscles locking up like you'd been hit with a full body bind curse. Every nerve ending was suddenly alight, hyper-aware of the exact dimensions of his palm, the precise pressure of each individual finger.
"You’re doing it again," he murmured. His voice was much closer than you’d expected. "Tensing up."
"I know," you gritted out. "I’m trying."
"Here." His other hand hovered just shy of your arm, hesitant. "Just breathe. Focus on that."
Breathe. Right. You could manage that.
You sucked in a breath, held it for a count of three, and forced it out. You repeated the cycle until the iron bands of your muscles began to slacken, slowly adjusting to the foreign sensation of him.
"Good," Jaemin whispered. "See? Not so terrible."
"It’s weird," you countered. It was unsettling and entirely too much. "You’re weird. This whole thing is mental."
"Noted." There was a definite streak of amusement in his tone now. "But you aren't flinching. That’s progress."
He was right. The initial shock of the contact was fading, replaced by a strange sort of...not comfort, exactly. Awareness, maybe. You were intensely conscious of the weight of his arm, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed next to you.
The feeling wasn't the searing, blistering heat you'd stupidly mentioned yesterday in a moment of unthinking frustration. But it was a lot. Intimate in a way you weren't at all prepared for, in a way that made your heart thud traitorously against your rib cage.
"Okay," Jaemin said after the silence had stretched out just long enough to teeter on the edge of uncomfortable. "Next step. I'm going to pull you a bit closer. Like I do when we're walking to class."
"Do you really need to narrate every little thing?" You couldn't help the note of exasperation that crept into your voice.
"I'm trying not to spook you."
"I'm not a skittish woodland creature."
"Could've fooled me," he muttered, but there was no real bite to it.
Before you could formulate a properly scathing response, he drew you firmly into his side. Your instinct was to lock up again, but you fought it. This close, the scent of him was overwhelming—clean linen, and a subtle hint of broomstick polish.
It was disorienting. Overwhelming. But...not entirely unpleasant, if you were being honest with yourself. Which you absolutely were not going to be, because that way lay madness.
"Are you okay?" Jaemin asked, and his voice lacked his usual arrogance, sounding instead like he was actually concerned about your boundaries.
For a dizzying second, you wondered if there was more to him than the unflappable, silver-tongued Slytherin. Was this just as strange and unsettling for him? You pushed the thought away immediately. Thinking of Jaemin as a real person with real nerves was a one-way trip to jagged rocks and shark-infested waters. He was a means to an end. A necessary evil.
"It's fine," you said, and if your voice came out a little breathier than usual, a little less steady, well. That was nobody's business but your own. “Not terrible, I suppose."
"High praise, coming from you," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice, could practically feel the curve of his lips where they brushed against your hair.
You chose to ignore that, focusing instead on keeping your breathing steady and your heartbeat under control.
Time passed, seconds or minutes or hours, you couldn't quite tell. The room had narrowed down to the weight of Jaemin's arm around you, the heat of his body pressed against yours, the soft sounds of your breathing intermingling in the quiet room.
The whole thing was almost peaceful, provided you let yourself forget exactly who he was and why you were here.
“How much longer do we have to do this?” you asked eventually, when the silence and the sensation started to feel like too much.
Jaemin shrugged, the movement jostling you slightly. “Until it feels normal, I guess. Or at least not horribly awkward.”
You let out a long sigh. “We’re going to be here a while, then.”
He laughed, the sound warm and resonant in the small room. “Probably. But look on the bright side—at least the couch is comfortable, right?”
You made a noncommittal noise, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of an agreement.
“Just think,” he continued, a teasing lilt returning to his voice, “a few more of these sessions and we’ll be the most convincing couple Hogwarts has ever seen. We’ll put the real ones to shame.”
“Be still my beating heart,” you deadpanned. “What a glittering future.”
“We’ll practice the basics for now. Then we’ll work our way up.”
“Work our way up to what, exactly?” You regretted the question the moment it left your lips. His arm tightened slightly, and his voice took on a silkier quality.
“Well,” he said, “eventually, we’re going to have to practice kissing.”
You practically launched yourself off the cushions at that. You scrambled to the very edge of the sofa, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The distance between you was back to a yawning three feet in a matter of seconds.
He’d mentioned kissing when he proposed this mad arrangement in the first place but you genuinely thought he’d been trying to ruffle you. The prospect of actually kissing Na Jaemin was so far outside your comfort zone it felt like another planet.
“Absolutely not!” you gasped, your eyes wide with genuine alarm. “Not happening. Not in this lifetime.”
Jaemin stared at you, his arm still draped over the empty space where your shoulder had been a moment ago. He looked startled by your sudden flight, but it only took a second for that lazy amusement to crawl back onto his face.
“It’s going to come up, Y/N,” he said, dropping his arm and leaning back comfortably, as if he hadn't just suggested something world-ending. “Couples kiss. Especially 'new' couples who are supposedly mad about each other. If the first time I kiss you is in front of the entire Great Hall and you look like you’re about to be sick, the game is up.”
“I get it,” you snapped, your face feeling like it was being held over a Bunsen burner. “I get it. But we’re not—I mean, we don’t need to do that. It’s way too much.”
“We don’t have to do it today,” he agreed, his voice surprisingly gentle as he watched you vibrate with nerves at the end of the sofa. “We’ll work up to it slowly. Baby steps, remember?”
“I hate this,” you mumbled, slowly sinking back into the upholstery, though you stayed firmly out of arm's reach.
“I know,” he said, his eyes tracking you with a look that was far too observant for your liking. “But you’re getting much better at pretending you don't.”
The witching hour, that eerie stretch of night when all respectable souls should be tucked safely in their beds, found you instead padding down the darkened corridors of Hogwarts, your dressing gown pulled tight around you and your wand tip illuminating the way.
It was a terrible idea, really, wandering the castle at this hour. You were a prefect, for Merlin's sake. You knew the rules better than most. Out of bed after curfew, risking detention or worse, all for what? A craving for something sweet that couldn't wait until the civilized hours of morning?
But sleep had proven elusive, your mind refusing to quiet, insisting instead on replaying the events of the past week in excruciatingly vivid detail. The practice sessions with Jaemin in the Room of Requirement featured most prominently, of course. The steadily shrinking distance between your bodies, the way his touch was beginning to feel almost... familiar.
You were making progress. Which was precisely the problem.
So now, at an absolutely unreasonable hour, you found yourself seeking solace in the kitchens. If you were going to be awake anyway, you might as well have a biscuit to keep you company.
You reached the portrait of the fruit bowl, tucked away in a corridor no one ever noticed, and tickled the pear. It squirmed and giggled, as it always did, before transforming into a door handle.
The kitchens were a welcome oasis of warmth, the vaulted ceilings echoing with the industrious sounds of house-elves going about their nightly duties—kneading dough for the morning's bread, organizing the pantry, scrubbing the massive cauldrons until they shone. They looked up as you entered, surprise evident on their wrinkled little faces.
"Miss!" squeaked a particularly diminutive elf, hurrying over to you, her tea towel toga flapping about her knees. "Miss should be in bed! Is Miss hungry? Was something not to Miss's liking at dinner?"
"No, no," you assured her quickly, crouching down to her level with a smile. "Dinner was wonderful, as always. I just couldn't sleep and thought a little something sweet might help."
The elf's large eyes widened further, a delighted smile stretching her mouth. "Oh yes, yes! Dipsy can help! We has treacle tart left over from dinner, and chocolate biscuits, and Dipsy can bring fresh cream for Miss's tea—"
"Just a biscuit or two would be lovely," you said. "And maybe a bit of that apple tart, if there's any left? I don't want to make extra work for you."
"Is no work at all!" Dipsy insisted, already scurrying off toward the enormous cooling racks that lined one wall. "Is Dipsy's pleasure to serve! Miss sit, sit! Dipsy will bring tea!"
And so you found yourself perched on a stool at one of the long preparation tables, watching with a mix of amusement and awe as Dipsy and two other elves fluttered about, assembling a plate of biscuits and tart and a pot of fragrant, steaming tea.
"Thank you," you said sincerely as they presented you with your midnight feast. "This is exactly what I needed."
Dipsy beamed, her bat-like ears quivering with pleasure. "Miss is always so kind, so polite! Not like some students, so rude and demanding they is. But Miss is a good student, yes she is!"
You felt a pang at that, remembering all the times you'd seen your classmates treating the house-elves like mere servants. "You work so hard," you told her. "The least I can do is be polite."
The ancient elf in the tea towel toga shuffled up then, setting a small pot of jam next to your plate. "Special raspberry preserves," he croaked. "Made 'em myself. Good for what ails you, they is."
"That's very kind, thank you," you said, touched by the gesture.
You passed the next quarter hour in the warm bustle of the kitchens, savoring your illicit snack while the elves worked around you, peppering you with questions—did you need anything else, what did you think of the new recipe they'd tried at lunch, would you like to take some extra tarts back to your dormitory? It was soothing, the cheerful chatter and clatter, so different from the brooding silence of your room.
By the time you'd drained your teacup and consumed a frankly inadvisable number of biscuits, you were feeling considerably more yourself.
"Thank you," you said again as you rose to leave. "I feel much better."
"Miss is welcome anytime!" Dipsy assured you earnestly. "Dipsy is always here if Miss needs a little pick-me-up!"
You left with a smile and a promise to visit again, slipping back out into the dark and drafty corridor.
It was deserted, as you'd expected. Or so you thought, until a voice emerged from the shadows some twenty feet ahead, stopping you in your tracks.
"Out for a midnight stroll?"
You nearly leapt out of your skin, your wand raised defensively before you'd even fully registered the words. But then a familiar figure stepped into a pool of torchlight, and your racing heart stuttered for an entirely different reason.
Jaemin. Even in the middle of the bloody night, he managed to look put together, his school robes immaculate and his prefect badge gleaming. His hands were tucked casually in his pockets, and there was a glint in his eye that might have been amusement.
"Merlin's beard, Jaemin," you hissed, lowering your wand. "Are you trying to get hexed? You can't just lurk in the dark like some sort of—villain!"
"I'm not lurking, I'm patrolling," he countered. "It's my job to accost students out of bed after hours. Which, need I remind you, you currently are."
"I’m a prefect too," you shot back, though you were painfully aware that your current attire—dressing gown, fluffy slippers, and basically a bird's next on your head—didn’t exactly command authority.
"A prefect who's very much off duty," Jaemin pointed out, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made you acutely conscious of your bare legs and messy hair. "And wandering the castle at two in the morning, no less."
You crossed your arms, trying to salvage some shred of dignity. "I couldn't sleep. Not that it's any of your business, but if you must know, I was hungry. I went to the kitchens."
"The kitchens," he repeated slowly.
"Yes, the kitchens. You're familiar with the concept, I assume? Big room, lots of elves, food comes from there?"
Jaemin, looking awfully like he was trying not to smile, said again, "You went to the kitchens. At two a.m. In your dressing gown."
You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt a little. "Yes, that's what I just said. Is there an echo here I'm not aware of?"
"Y/n y/l/n, prefect and notorious rule-follower, snuck out of bed and all the way down to the kitchens in the dead of night...for a biscuit?"
"What, like you've never had a late-night snack craving?"
"No, I can't say I have." He was definitely fighting a smile now. "I'm just surprised. I didn't take you for the type."
"Yes, well, there's a lot you don't know about me," you muttered, brushing past him to continue your trek back to Gryffindor tower. To your great chagrin, Jaemin fell into step beside you, long legs eating up the distance effortlessly.
"And here I was thinking I had you all figured out... Now I come to find you have a dark side. Late-night wanderings, clandestine trips to the kitchen...so scandalous. Merlin only knows what other secrets you're hiding behind that prim prefect exterior."
"Oh, yes," you agreed dryly. "I'm a woman of endless mysteries. Careful, Na, or I'll file you away in my mental 'too curious for his own good' cabinet with all my other deep, dark secrets."
It was possibly the most ridiculous thing you'd ever said, made all the more absurd by the fact that you were padding through the halls in slippers, being relentlessly followed by the boy you were supposed to be pretending to date. Who was going to write your biography one day? They'd have a field day with this.
"So why are you lurking about in the dark, anyway?" you asked, feeling the need to shift focus away from your own nocturnal misadventures. "Isn't this usually when you abscond to the grounds to catch hapless rule-breakers?"
"Wasn't in the mood," Jaemin said with a shrug. "Thought I'd switch it up tonight. Catch hapless biscuit thieves instead."
You shot him a withering look. "I'm not a thief. The elves gave me those biscuits fair and square. And anyway, you're one to talk about avoiding the grounds. What, did our last excursion awaken a sudden fear of the dark?"
"Hardly." A pause. "Just wasn't the same without my favorite patrol partner, I suppose."
Your steps faltered a bit at that, and you hoped desperately that the darkness was enough to hide the flush you could feel creeping up your neck. Favorite patrol partner. He had to be mocking you. Nevermind that he'd said it almost...softly. Sincerely, even. A trick of the acoustics in this drafty old castle, no doubt.
“I’m flattered,” you managed, arranging your face into an expression of arch disdain. "Though I think we both know I'm likely the only patrol partner you’ve terrorized on the grounds. Bit of a low bar, as far as favoritism goes."
“I'm grading on a curve," Jaemin said with a smirk. "Bumping you to the head of a class of one."
"How magnanimous of you."
"I'm choosing to take that as a compliment."
A slow shake of the head was the only response you could muster. Between the amusement and the sheer exasperation, it was hard to keep track of your own feelings. This boy. This ridiculous, irritating, unfairly handsome boy. How had your life come to revolve around verbally sparring with him in darkened hallways in the middle of the night?
You'd reached the stairs leading up toward Gryffindor Tower, and you paused at the base, turning to face Jaemin. He was looking at you intently, as if he wanted to say something.
"You've been better this week," he said abruptly.
You blinked, caught off guard by the change in topic. "What?"
"At pretending," he clarified. "You don't flinch anymore when I touch you. That thing you did yesterday, with your hand on my chest when you were laughing at Jo's joke - that was good. Natural."
Heat crept up your neck at the memory. You'd surprised yourself with that gesture, the easy intimacy of it. It had just...happened. No thought, no awkwardness. For a moment, it had felt real.
"Oh," you said eloquently. "Um. Thanks?"
Jaemin nodded. "I can tell the practice is helping. People are buying it. Even Giselle's backed off a bit."
"Only a bit," you muttered. Jaemin's prickly best friend had been keeping a hawkish eye on you. She'd cornered you just yesterday, demanding to know Jaemin's favorite Quidditch team. You'd guessed the Falmouth Falcons, only to be informed with a triumphant sneer that he was actually a die-hard Montrose Magpies supporter, had been since childhood, and really, what kind of girlfriend doesn't know that?
"She's protective," Jaemin said, as if reading your thoughts. "But she's coming around. Slowly."
"Hooray for small mercies," you said dryly.
Jaemin's lips twitched. "Anyway, I didn't just track you down to compliment your acting skills."
"So why did you track me down, then?" You folded your arms, trying to ignore the way your pulse had picked up at his words. "Other than to save me from death by biscuit overindulgence, of course."
"Next weekend is a Hogsmeade weekend," he said.
You nodded slowly. "I'm aware."
"It's also Valentine's Day."
"Oh." You blinked. "Right." Somehow, in the midst of all the fake dating drama and NEWTs prep, you'd completely forgotten about the most romantic day of the year. "That's...a thing."
"A thing we should probably do together," Jaemin said. "I mean, it would look weird if we didn't, wouldn't it? The whole school will be there, all the couples will be out in force..."
Suddenly your hands felt clammy. He was right, of course. If you were really dating, you'd be all over each other on Valentine's Day. Holding hands, sharing butterbeer, probably snogging in some corner of Madam Puddifoot's like every other disgustingly happy couple.
But you weren't really dating. And the thought of upping the ante on this charade you were already barely keeping up with...it made you feel a bit sick.
Jaemin must have seen some of this on your face, because he quickly added, "We don't have to make a big deal of it. Just walk around together, maybe get lunch at the Three Broomsticks. I could buy you some chocolate from Honeydukes, let people see me being a good boyfriend. That's all."
"Right," you said faintly. "Sounds...great."
He studied you for a moment. "I mean, if you had other plans, or if you think it's too much—"
"No," you said, more firmly than you felt. "No, you're right. We should go together. For appearances' sake, if nothing else."
His eyes flickered at your words, a brief shadow passing over them before he straightened up. "Great," he said briskly. "It's a date then."
You took a step back, suddenly desperate for the safety of your dormitory. "I should go. It’s late."
Jaemin nodded. "Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll see you in Potions."
"Can't wait." You started up the stairs, but paused at the landing to look back. "Goodnight, Jaemin."
"Goodnight." He waited a beat, his voice dropping to a low, melodic murmur. "Sweet dreams, baby."
You huffed a laugh to hide your skyrocketing pulse and hurried up the stairs, feeling his gaze on your back until you turned the corner.
Valentine’s Day with Jaemin. It was just another scene in the play. You could handle it.
Right?
But as you climbed the stairs to your bed, you had the sinking feeling that 'sweet' dreams were the last thing you were going to get.
The Hogsmeade trip came around quicker than expected. It had barely stopped raining for weeks, but on Saturday the sun was a weak golden disk behind a scrim of clouds, and every student with even a shred of romantic aspiration was queued up to be let out the gates, Gryffindor and Slytherin and the rest all jostling close, careful to keep up appearances for whatever audience they believed themselves to have.
You, on the other hand, spent the first half of the walk pretending that the clumps of snow along the path were of great zoological interest, then the next half pretending you couldn’t feel Jaemin’s hand cradling your elbow, like you were some frail Victorian damsel and the uneven ground posed a mortal peril.
“This is a bit much, isn’t it?” you muttered, as you reached the crest of the hill and saw the town below.
Every shop window had been transformed into a shrine for Valentine’s Day: Sugar quaffles in the shape of anatomically correct hearts, boxes of chocolates spelled to whisper eternal devotion when opened, bargain bouquets of roses that swatted at you if you tried to walk by without paying them a compliment. Even the cobblestone streets seemed to have been scrubbed up for the occasion, each puddle reflecting a film of pink and red banners strung overhead.
Jaemin grinned at your side, unbothered by the spectacle. “You’re nervous.”
“I’m not nervous,” you insisted, though you eyed the brightly colored display tray warily. “I just don’t want to accidentally eat one of those chocolates that makes you recite poetry. Last time Jo had one, she spoke in haikus for three hours. It was a nightmare.”
“That sounds amazing, actually,” Jaemin said, a devilish glint in his eye. He veered off the main path, his long coat swishing around his ankles as he approached the sugar-dusted worker hawking the tray. “Let’s see if we get Lord Byron or... Byron-but-make-it-sexy.”
“Those are the same thing, Jaemin.”
He snagged two samples before you could protest, pressing a heart-shaped truffle into your gloved palm. The chocolate was dark, dusted with shimmering pink edible glitter. “Go on. What’s the worst that could happen? A little rhyming couplet never killed anyone.”
You rolled your eyes, but the smell of rich cocoa was overpowering your common sense. You took a tentative bite.
The chocolate was velvety, melting instantly over your tongue with notes of dark cherry and espresso. For a second, you thought you were safe. Then, a strange warmth bloomed in your diaphragm. It wasn't the heat of the candy, but more like a physical compulsion, like a marionette string tugging at your vocal cords.
Your lips parted against your will. You tried to say ‘It’s good,’ but your voice, suddenly projecting with a nasal, theatrical vibrato that echoed off the cobblestones, intoned:
“Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove!”
Jaemin doubled over, nearly dropping his own sweet, his laughter bright and loud in the crisp air. “Oh, brilliant! Shakespeare it is! Give it some more feeling, come on!”
“Shut up!” you tried to hiss, but the magic ignored your intent completely. Instead, you threw a dramatic hand over your heart, your eyes fluttering shut as you bellowed, “O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken!”
You slapped a hand over your mouth, mortified, as a group of Ravenclaws walked by, giggling. The spell finally sputtered out, leaving you breathless and flushed.
“I hate you,” you mumbled into your palm, though the lingering taste of cherry was admittedly delicious. You looked up at him, realizing something didn’t add up. “Wait. How do you even know that was Shakespeare? Or who Lord Byron is?”
Jaemin finally straightened up, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye. He popped his own truffle into his mouth, looking entirely unbothered.
“We have a library at the Manor that rivals the one at Hogwarts,” he said casually, chewing with a thoughtful expression. “My parents… well, they’re traditionalists, obviously. But my mother has always insisted that a true wizarding education is incomplete without understanding the ‘arts of the common man.’”
He swallowed, and for a second, his eyes went wide. You braced yourself for a poem, but he just cleared his throat and smirked. A dud candy. Typical luck.
“She thinks Muggles are tragically fascinating,” he continued, offering you his arm. “She insisted I read the classics. ‘If you are to rule the world, son, or simply live in it, you must understand how the other half feels.’ Or something like that.”
You stared at him in slight awe. You had never really considered that wizards from old, sacred twenty-eight families cared much about the Muggle world, other than to look down on it. As a half-blood who spent most of your childhood navigating the regular world and reading paperbacks, you assumed Jaemin’s world was entirely insulated.
“I’m just glad they’re using good material this year,” he finished, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “Sonnet 116? ‘It is the star to every wandering bark’? Very romantic choice, Y/N. Is there something you’re trying to tell me?”
You tried to glare at him, to maintain your annoyance at being made a public spectacle, but his smile was so wide, so full of genuine delight, that your irritation evaporated like breath on glass.
“I’m telling you that you’re paying for these sweets,” you said, linking your arm through his.
“Fair enough,” he hummed. “Where to next?
Before you could answer, a shrill voice cut through the chatter of the crowd. "Jaemin! Yoo-hoo, over here!"
You turned to see Yuna Bae waving at you from the doorway of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. She was resplendent in robes of pale pink, her dark hair arranged in perfect curls. Beside her, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else, was a Ravenclaw you recognized from your Charms class. Taehyun, you thought his name was.
Jaemin's grip on your arm tightened imperceptibly. "Yuna," he said, his smile never wavering. "Fancy seeing you here."
"Oh, you know me," Yuna trilled, her eyes raking over you dismissively. "I never miss a Hogsmeade weekend. Taehyun was just treating me to tea. Why don't you join us? I'm sure we could squeeze you in."
The way she said that made it clear she was referring solely to Jaemin. You might as well have been a Flobberworm for all the attention she gave you.
“Y/N and I were just heading to Tomes and Scrolls. She’s been telling me about the new research into the Goblin Wars that just arrived and you know I can never resist a good history tome.”
Well, that was a blatant lie. You’d mentioned the book in passing a week ago, but Jaemin would rather drink Bubotuber pus than read a dry history text. Still, you appreciated the save. Yuna’s smile dimmed a fraction, her eyes flicking to the modest storefront of the bookstore as if it were a contagious ward at St. Mungo’s.
“Is this what you’re prioritizing now, Jaemin? This… little excursion into the mundane?”
Her eyes raked over your clothes down to your scuffed shoes. “I’m simply fascinated, Jawm. Your family has spent generations cultivating a certain standard, and you're playing the role of the benevolent saint. Taking pity on the less fortunate is a fine hobby, but surely you’re bored of the charity work by now?”
You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You started to speak, but Jaemin’s voice cut through first.
“Yuna.” The word was a warning, low and dangerous. “Watch yourself.”
“I’m being perfectly transparent,” she snapped, her feline eyes flashing. “It’s embarrassing, Jaemin. People are laughing. They’re wondering how long this little ‘experiment’ has to last before you regain your senses and return to your own kind. You’re a Na. Act like it.”
“I am a Na,” Jaemin said flatly, his arm sliding from your elbow to wrap firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. “And Y/N is my girlfriend. She isn't an experiment, and she isn't someone you get to talk down to. If you can’t show her the respect she’s earned, then you and I have nothing left to discuss.”
Yuna’s jaw tightened, her composure finally cracking into a mask of pure venom. “Earned? She’s a nameless Gryffindor with nothing to her name but a few decent marks and a tragic wardrobe. Don’t think for a second this won't reach your father, Jaemin. He won't be as ‘charmed’ by your rebellion as you are.”
“Send the owl tonight if you like,” Jaemin countered, his voice steady. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Yuna’s eyes flicked to you one last time. “Enjoy your biscuits while you can, darling. The higher you climb, the harder the fall.”
You simply smiled, though your chest was tight with fury.
"Oh, I’ll keep that in mind. Do enjoy your tea, Yuna. I hear the service is wonderfully… swift today.”
As she turned on her heel to sweep into the tea shop, you kept your hands tucked inside your coat pockets, your fingers curling around the smooth wood of your wand. With a sharp, silent flick of your wrist and a jagged thought of Ventus, you sent a precise jinx whistling through the air.
The effect was instantaneous.
Just as Yuna reached for the heavy brass handle of the shop door, an invisible, violent gust of wind caught the hem of her pristine pink robes. They billowed up like a startled peacock’s tail, tangling around her head and blinding her just as she stepped forward.
Thwack.
She walked straight into the doorframe with a dull thud. Her scream of outrage was muffled by her own silk skirts, and as she scrambled to untangle herself, her designer boots skidded on a patch of black ice you’d surreptitiously greased with a bit of Glacius. She performed a frantic, uncoordinated flailing dance that sent her expensive handbag flying into a nearby slush pile.
Taehyun made a strangled noise that was either a cough or a repressed sob of laughter.
Jaemin stood perfectly still beside you, watching as a disheveled Yuna finally managed to shove her way inside the shop, her perfect curls now looking like a bird's nest and her dignity in tatters. He slowly turned his head to look at you, his eyes wide delight.
"Did you just…?"
"The wind in the Highlands is so unpredictable this time of year," you said, keeping your gaze fixed on the shop window as Yuna frantically tried to wipe slush off her bag. "It’s a real hazard for those who aren't used to the climate."
"You're terrifying," Jaemin whispered, a grin breaking across his face. Absolutely terrifying. I love it."
"I told you," you said, finally meeting his gaze with a defiant spark in your eyes. "I'm a woman of endless mysteries. And I really, really hate being called a charity case."
"Fair point," he laughed, steering you away before she could recover enough to look back. "Come on, Shakespeare. Let's check out the books."
Tomes and Scrolls was blessedly quiet, the heavy wooden door acting as a silencer against the bustle of the High Street. You inhaled deeply, loving the smell of aged parchment, beeswax, and the faint, ozone-like spark of old magic trapped in ink. This was your happy place.
You moved instinctively toward the back, trailing your fingers along the spines. Some books hummed under your touch; others, like the Compendium of Common Curses, seemed to shy away.
“There,” you whispered, spotting a thick, midnight-blue spine with silver embossing The Iron Quill: Unfiltered Testimonies of the 1612 Rebellions.
You pulled it from the shelf, cradling it like it was made of glass. “I’ve been waiting for this for months, Jaemin. It’s based on the personal journals of Ug the Unreliable that were found in a sealed vault in Gringotts last summer.”
You opened it to a random page, your eyes lighting up. “Look at the diagrams! Everyone thinks the rebellion started because of the wand-ban, but these letters suggest a secret trade embargo on silver-threaded lace. It could completely rewrite the seventh-year curriculum. If the economic tension preceded the legislative one, it changes the entire motive of the Goblin liaisons!”
You turned a page, your voice gaining speed and volume as the academic thrill took over. “And look at the footnotes! There’s a cross-reference to The Tales of Beedle the Bard that suggests the ‘Warlock’s Hairy Heart’ was actually a coded political allegory for the Minister of Magic at the time. It’s brilliant. It’s... it's...”
You broke off, suddenly aware of the silence. Jaemin wasn't looking at the book. He was leaning against the mahogany shelf, watching you with with interest.
“Sorry,” you mumbled, the heat rushing to your cheeks. You started to close the book. “I’m boring you to death, aren't I? You probably want to go look at the Quidditch supplies or–”
“No,” Jaemin said softly. He stepped closer and reached out, not to take the book, but to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Not at all. I like seeing you like this. Passionate. A little bit nerdy. It’s... it's really cute, Y/N.”
You froze, the heavy tome suddenly feeling very light compared to the way your heart was thudding against your ribs. You looked down, pretending to be intensely interested in a footnote about goblin-wrought armor, trying to ignore the way his thumb lingered near your temple.
“It’s just history,” you whispered, though your pulse was racing fast enough to win a broom race.
“But you love it,” he countered, his voice dropping an octave. “And that’s why I like listening.”
You didn’t quite know what to say to that so you busied yourself with the book, pretending to be engrossed in the table of contents, trying to ignore the way your pulse was racing.
It was just an act, you reminded yourself. A show for the onlookers. Jaemin was a good actor, that was all. There was no real feeling behind his words or his looks.
You lingered by the history section for a moment longer before a small, unassuming sign caught your eye toward the very back of the shop, nestled under a low, sloping ceiling: "Non-Magical Curiosities & Literature."
“Wait,” you said walking towards it. “I didn’t know they kept a Muggle section here.”
Jaemin followed as you navigated the narrowing aisles. This corner of the shop was more cramped, the books bound in plain cloth or faded dust jackets rather than dragon-hide or shimmering silk.
You scanned the titles until your eyes snagged on a familiar, battered spine. You pulled out a well-loved copy of Wuthering Heights.
“Since you’re so well-versed in Byron and Shakespeare,” you said, holding the book out so he could see the cover, “did your mother ever make you read the Brontës?”
Jaemin took the book, his long fingers tracing the silhouette of the moors on the cover. “I don’t think this one made the library list. Is it another tragedy?”
“The best kind of tragedy,” you sighed as you leaned back against the shelf. “It’s about a love so intense it’s practically a curse. Heathcliff and Cathy... they’re terrible for each other, really. They’re vengeful and cruel, but they’re also part of the same soul. There’s this one line—” you paused, closing your eyes for a second to recall the words that had lived in your head since you were twelve. “‘I am Heathcliff. He’s always, always in my mind: not as a pleasure, any more than I am always a pleasure to myself, but as my own being.’”
When you opened your eyes, Jaemin was staring at you with an intensity that made the air in the cramped corner feel suddenly very thin. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by something much more sincere.
“That’s a bit more intense than a Honeydukes poem,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the edge of the pages.
“Muggles don’t have magic to fix their problems,” you explained, feeling a rush of that deep-seated passion again. “They don’t have Amortentia to force a feeling or Cheering Charms to dull a heartbreak. They just have words. They have to build these massive, sweeping worlds of emotion just to explain how it feels to be alive. I think… I think sometimes that’s more powerful than any spell we’re taught.”
Jaemin looked from the book back to you, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You talk about them like they’re the ones with the real power.”
“In a way, they are,” you whispered.
He handed the book back to you, but as your fingers met on the cover, he didn't pull away. “Well, if it’s that good, I suppose I should read it. But only if you promise to highlight the best parts for me. I want to see the world the way you see it.”
His words caught you off guard. You looked down at your joined hands, the scent of old paper and Jaemin’s expensive, woody cologne swirling around you.
“I can do that,” you promised softly.
The afternoon bled away as you drifted from one storefront to the next. It was…nice. More than nice, actually. Despite yourself, you found yourself relaxing and enjoying the banter.
Despite the frantic warnings screaming in the back of your mind, you found the armor around your heart beginning to flake away. You were relaxing, leaning into the sharp cadence of his banter and the way his shoulder occasionally brushed yours
As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of pink and gold, Jaemin suggested one last stop.
“Three Broomsticks?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t that a bit cliché?”
Jaemin shrugged, a smile playing about his lips. “It’s tradition, isn’t it? Can’t come to Hogsmeade and not have a Butterbeer.”
He had a point. The warmth of the pub sounded inviting after the chill of the February air. “Lead on, then.”
The place was packed to the brim with students crowding every table, their cheeks flushed from the cold and the Butterbeer. You wove your way through the throng, Jaemin’s hand at the small of your back.
“Y/N! Jaemin! Over here!”
You turned to see Jo waving at you from a table in the back. Beside her, was a handsome boy you vaguely recognized as a seventh year Hufflepuff. Won-something?
“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Jo said as you approached, her eyes bright. “Y/N, this is Wonbin. Wonbin, this is my best friend, Y/N. And her boyfriend, Jaemin.”
Wonbin smiled at you. “Nice to finally meet you, Y/N. Jo’s told me a lot about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” you said, sliding into the seat across from them. Jaemin settled beside you, his thigh pressing against yours under the table.
“Oh, definitely,” Wonbin said, grinning. “Though she did mention something about an incident with a Niffler and a bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion…”
You groaned, shooting Jo a look. “That was one time! And it wasn’t my fault the Niffler got loose, I maintain that to this day.”
Jo laughed, leaning into Wonbin’s side. They looked so comfortable together, so at ease.
Not for the first time since you arrived at Hogsmeade and finding yourself surrounded by dozens of loving couples, you felt a pang of something that might have been envy. What must it be like, to have that? To not have to question every look, every touch, every flutter of your heart?
You glanced at Jaemin, only to find him already looking at you. His eyes were the color of dark mahogany in the firelight.
If this were a real date, he would lean in. If you were a real girlfriend, you would let him.
The thought of his lips on yours, not as a tactical maneuver to thwart Yuna, but as an answer to the restless, poetic ache that had started in the bookstore, sent a shiver through you that was violent in its intensity. You wondered if his mouth would taste like the dark chocolate he’d eaten earlier, or the butterbear he was having now.
Your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs, a drumbeat of "what if" that threatened to drown out your common sense. You looked away quickly, grabbing your Butterbeer and taking a long swig to hide the sudden heat in your cheeks.
The conversation kept flowing around you, but you found it hard to concentrate. Everywhere you looked, couples were leaning into each other, hands entwined, heads bent close. All you could hear around you was the sound of laughter and the soft smack of lips meeting in chaste kisses.
Suddenly, your skin itched with a restless sort of energy. You were hyperaware of Jaemin beside you, the solid warmth of him, his hand on yours on the table.
This was supposed to be a date. A fake date, yes, but a date nonetheless. And what did couples do on dates?
They kissed.
The thought was terrifying and… exciting. Kissing Jaemin, how would that feel? Putting your mouth on his mouth in front of all these people.
“Y/N?” Jaemin’s voice was barely audible over the din, but it vibrated through your very bones. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear, his scent of cedar and winter air enveloping you. “You’ve gone very quiet. Where did you go?”
You took another gulp of Butterbeer, trying to drown the sudden dryness in your throat. There was no need to get so worked up about it, really. It was all part of the act. Just one more scene to play, one more line to deliver.
You could do this.
Setting your tankard down with a thunk, you turned to Jaemin, determination surging through you. His eyes widened slightly as you leaned in, your hand coming up to rest on his chest.
“Y/N,” he said carefully. “What are you doing?”
“Improvising,” you murmured, and kissed him.
For a moment, he was utterly still beneath your lips. Then, just as you were about to pull away feeling completely humiliated, he came to life, his hand cupping your cheek, his mouth slanting over yours.
It was…Merlin. It was everything. His lips were soft and warm but still demanding, the scrape of his calluses against your skin sending goosebumps down your arms. You melted into him, your fingers curling into the soft wool of his sweater, anchoring yourself lest you float away entirely.
Someone wolf-whistled, probably Jo, and you jerked back to reality, breaking the kiss with a gasp. Jaemin looked as dazed as you felt, his eyes dark, his lips kissed-red.
“Well,” he said, his voice rough. “That was…something.”
“Um… yeah,” you said weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Gotta be convincing, right?”
Jaemin’s pupils were more dilated than before. “Right,” he said. “Of course.”
He turned back to his drink, and you did the same, trying to ignore the way your lips were tingling, the way your heart was doing a complicated tap-dance against your ribs.
That wasn't real, you reminded yourself as you gulped down the rest of your Butterbeer, the alcohol doing little to steady your nerves. None of it was real.
Jo was grinning at you across the table, her eyes knowing. You glared at her, silently daring her to say something. Wisely, she didn’t, but her smile spoke volumes.
As the evening wore on and the empty tankards accumulated, you found your tongue loosening, your inhibitions lowering. The pub seemed overly warm, the laughter too loud, the press of bodies too close. You needed air, needed space. You needed…
“I need to pee,” you announced loudly, lurching to your feet. The room swayed around you, and you grabbed the edge of the table to steady yourself. “I’ll be…I’ll be back.”
You wove your way through the crowd, ignoring Jo’s concerned call of your name and the way Jaemin slightly rose from his seat, his hand outstretched as if to stop you.
You didn’t need his help or anyone’s help. You were fine. You were absolutely, totally fine.
Outside, the night air was a blessed slap of cold. You took in great lungfuls of it. Merlin’s beard, how much had you had to drink? The empty tankards swam before your eyes in a hazy blur. Three? Four? More? It was hard to keep track when the Butterbeer had been so sweet and the pub so warm and Jaemin’s lips so soft against yours…
Oh no. Oh no no no. You’d actually kissed him, right there in front of everyone. What were you thinking?
Well, it didn’t matter now. What mattered was getting away, finding a quiet place where you could think. Somewhere without Jaemin’s eyes on you.
You picked a direction at random and started walking with unsteady steps. The high street was nearly deserted now, the lovebirds gone home to their castles and their common rooms and their cozy little romances.
Leaving you alone with your thoughts and your too-fast heartbeat and the sinking realization that you were, perhaps, a bit drunker than you’d initially thought.
“Y/N!”
You closed your eyes briefly, both thrilled and terrified by the sound of his voice.
“I’m fiiiiine,” you slurred without turning around. “I just need a minute.”
Jaemin caught up to you in two long strides, his face tight with concern as he reached out to steady your swaying frame. "You're completely blasted. Please, just stand still for a second before you fall into a ditch."
"I am not blasted," you informed him with great dignity, though you tripped over your own feet and ended up slumped against his chest. You looked up at him, your eyes unfocused but swimming with a sudden honesty. "You're the one who’s blasted— Blasted with... with your perfect hair and your Byron talk."
“Let’s just get you back first, okay?”
“I can get there by myself, thank you very much.” You slurred, starting to walk in the opposite direction of the castle.
“I’m sure you can. But I'd rather help you get there in one piece.” He said, sliding his arm around your waist and gently veering you in the right direction.
You tried to pull away, a whine building in your throat. “Don’t wanna. M’having fun.”
“I think you’ve had quite enough fun for one night,” he replied, his voice dripping with that dry, aristocratic patience that made you want to kick his shins.
“Are you mad at me…” You said softly after a second. “Because of the kiss? I—I didn’t mean—”
Your eyes smarted. Tears, sudden and hot, pooled and fell freely. You felt mortified and ridiculous and very impervious at once. The laugh you tried to force came out more like a sob.
“M’sorry,” you hiccuped. “What was I thinking? I’m awful.”
He stopped walking and turned to face you. For a moment, he was quietly furious and perhaps even a little bewildered, which made him look achingly human.
“Don’t say that,” he breathed. He did not sound like someone who believed in platitudes. “You’re not awful. You’re just tired and you’ve had too much to drink.”
“M’drunk, not dumb. I know I shouldn’t have kissed you. Jus’ got…got lost in the moment.”
“Let’s just go back to the castle first” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “We can talk about this tomorrow, when you’re sober.”
You sniffled weakly, wiped at your face with the back of your hand, and let him shepherd you back toward the castle.
By the time you reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, you were barely keeping your eyes open, your body growing heavier with each step.
“Password?” the Fat Lady trilled, eyeing Jaemin suspiciously.
You tried to form the word ‘Flibbertigibbet,’ but your tongue felt like a thick piece of wet paper and it came out as something closer to "Flub-a-dub". The Fat Lady, mercifully, just sighed and allowed you access anyway.
“I’ll help you,” Jaemin murmured, his arm tightening around your waist to keep you upright as the portrait swung open.
But as he made to step over the threshold, you planted a hand firmly on his chest.
“You can’t come in,” you said, shaking your head slow and wide.
He raised an elegant eyebrow. “And why’s that?”
“Cause you’re a snake,” you told him seriously. “And the Fat Lady… She doesn’t like snakes. Nope! No snakes ‘llowed in the lion house. S’the rules.”
You dissolved into giggles, finding this logic unbearably funny. The look on Jaemin’s face only made you laugh harder, a snorting, hiccupping thing that had you clutching at the portrait frame for support.
“Right. God forbid I upset the natural order,” he said, a reluctant, lopsided smile finally tugging at his lips.
He reached out, gently tucking a messy strand of hair behind your ear. “I think that’s quite enough out of you. Go on, get to bed.”
You sketched a salute, barely avoiding smacking yourself in the face. “Aye aye, cap’n,”
And with that, you let the portrait swing shut, cutting off the sound of Jaemin’s laughter. You made your way up to your dormitory on unsteady legs, collapsing into bed fully clothed.
As sleep claimed you, dragging you down into dreamless oblivion, one last thought chased itself around your fuzzy brain.
No snakes in the lion’s den. Not even pretty ones with soft lips and warm hands.
It was a good rule, you decided muzzily. A very good rule indeed.
