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hyuckiefluff · 2 months ago

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MOONSTRUCK | p. jisung

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.

"Jisung, please," you whispered, half plea, half gasp. "You're scaring me."

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.

"Your rut," you whispered breathlessly, realization flooding you. "It's started, hasn't it?"

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

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tatzelbookwurm · 8 months ago

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A Round Door Like a Porthole, Lazarus Green Pt. 1 (you're here) Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4

Wayne Enterprises didn’t really need a small business specializing in “ecto-weapons” invented by self-purported ghost hunters, but S.T.A.R. Labs tipped Lucius Fox off that Lex Luthor was trying to buy an obscure little company in Illinois, and thwarting Luthor was always worthwhile. Now Tim just had to figure out what to do with all the equipment and the concerningly large arsenal of guns and things that looked like normal household items but seemed to have other, horrific purposes. He would have laughed at the way they slapped “Fenton” in front of every invention name (do ghost hunters really need a Fenton thermos? Won’t a normal thermos keep their coffee hot just as well? Are ghosts like trout, to be caught with a Fenton Ghost Fisher which just looks like a normal fishing rod but glow-in-the-dark. And what the fuck even is a Fenton Peeler!?), but he thought with some chagrin about the batarangs, batmobile, and everything else that had “bat” as a prefix in the batcave.

However, of all the things Tim hadn’t expected to find when he flew out to do an inventory of assets after they bought the business sight-unseen, a portal generating a Lazarus Pit in gaseous form was probably at the top of his list. He didn’t even know that Lazarus water could change states from a liquid to a gas like that. Maybe there actually was something to the whole ghost thing. He supposed that it made sense for ghosts to exist, after all Deadman was part of Justice League Dark. Speaking of. . . he should see if Bruce could call in someone from JLD to assess things. He was feeling decidedly out of his depth.

John Constantine did not like to consult for mega corporations like Wayne Enterprises, but Batman had specifically requested he go check something out and he figured, where's the harm?

There.

There’s the harm.

It turned out the “thing” he’d been called in to look at is a machine that can tear open a stable portal into the Infinite Realms. That is not something that should be possible. That is not something technology should be capable of achieving. That is definitely not something that should exist. Bloody hell, what had the Bats roped him into!?

This really should have been Zatana’s job. Or Deadman’s. Hell, Raven or Secret would be preferable. Because John would prefer not to be dealing with this. In fact, he would prefer to be back in literal Hell than deal with the crazy shit in the Infinite Realms. Could John handle demons, archangels, and even gods? Yeah. He can bind or exorcize most supernatural threats. Does that mean he relishes the idea of going toe to toe with heavy hitters from the Infinite Realms? Absolutely not.

Some beings who lived there were just little blob ghosts made from ectoplasm and emotion. Some were the restless undead who could not or would not cross over to their afterlives. And some were the embodiments of concepts like nature, destructive weather, and dreams. He wasn’t sure where Death fit into the Realms, whether she ruled or visited, or if it was actually just an extension of her, but he didn’t really want to find out. There were many things John could defeat. Death wasn’t one of them. And now he was looking at a portal into a realm where the living were not meant to be.

Danny hadn’t returned to Fenton Works since graduating high school. It turned out that he was less anxious when he was not living with people who fantasized about “tearing him apart molecule by molecule” and thought that discussing their plans to dissect him (although he maintained that it would be a vivisection since he’s only half dead) made for fascinating dinner conversation. Who would have thought that his constant stress, anxiety, and insomnia were caused by environmental factors? He’d been unpacking things with a very nice therapist his sister helped him find, and seen great improvements in his mental health. It really helped that she was dead too, and unlike Spectra she didn’t feed off the misery of her patients.

Danny hadn’t intended to ever return to Fenton Works, but when Jazz told him that Jack and Maddie sold their life's work to Wayne Enterprises and a multibillionaire playboy was about to have unfettered access to the Ghost Zone, he was. . . concerned. To say the least. And that was why he was in the middle of doing some light sabotage when Tim Drake-Wayne and a guy in a trenchcoat who reeked of cigarette smoke entered the basement lab. It’s why he was hiding under the Specter Speeder removing the ecto-engine, and there to overhear the conversation that followed.

“So, am I right in thinking that’s a Lazarus Pit?” Tim asked Constantine.

The older man stared at the portal, then at Tim, then at the portal for an uncomfortably long time. Then he pulled out a flask and drained half its contents before saying, “Yes and no. That is basically the same substance as the pits, but I think that this does something else entirely. It seems like this machine basically functions as a summoning circle, but instead of pulling one entity from one side to the other, this is just an open doorway that is perpetually pulling in anything or anyone who gets within its sphere of influence.”

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing, John.”

“It’s really not,”

“So what does that mean, is it like a blown hatch in space causing rapid depressurization?” Tim felt a little ill at the thought. “What is it even pulling into our world?”

“No, no. Nothing so dramatic as that. It’s more like, hm, so the way summoning circles work is they invite or compel a specific entity to manifest, by basically making a one-way magical portal for them. This portal is kinda like an invitational summoning, which entices, but doesn’t force anyone to enter. Usually a summoning will have a purpose though, and the being you summon will be offered a deal. If this is doing what I think it is and pulling citizens of the Infinite Realms through and leaving them on this side without a contract or direction, they’re probably getting pretty frustrated and causing havoc. It’s like offering someone a job in another country so they have to get a visa and uproot everything, only to get off the plane and find an empty office, no housing, and no paycheck.” John lit up a cigarette and took a drag.

Tim wrinkled his nose, but knew from long experience that it wasn’t worth it to argue about American tobacco restrictions in the workplace with Constantine, especially while the man was doing him a favor. Also, the man looked like he really needed either a cigarette or another drink, and he’d prefer second hand smoke to a drunk sorcerer. “So then why hasn’t this town been overrun by these beings from the Infinite Realms?”

“Good question kid, but what I really want to know is how is this portal staying open? Really, how was it opened in the first place is the most pressing issue.” John mused.

Tim had already located the blueprints for the portal while waiting for Constantine, but either the Fentons had intentionally falsified the documents to seem plausible just long enough to make off with the money, or he just didn’t understand enough of the interaction between physics and the occult to comprehend how the portal could possibly function.

He flipped back through the blueprints while the blond man sat cross legged in front of the swirling green portal and his low, distracted mutterings took on the cadence of a chant. The curl of smoke from his lit cigarette unfurled into some kind of spell array, and began to glow. Huh, maybe Tim shouldn't be too quick to judge him for tobacco misuse. Tim triple checked the flat file for any more information about the portal, and came up empty handed.

John, meanwhile, kept chanting as the magical array grew and spread to encompass the entire entrance to the portal. At last he stopped speaking and stood up, stepping back to double check his work. “Alright, Drake. You might wanna close your eyes for this one. It’s gonna be bright,” he said, popping his cigarette back between his lips. Then he stepped forward and blew a mouthful of smoke on the center of the array. The smoke caught against the softly glowing lines, pushing them until they floated back and collided with the nebulous green swirls and, despite Tim closing his eyes, flashed so incandescently white he could see them through his eyelids.

“OW! Fuck!!” John clutched his face, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “I’m doubling my consulting fee,” he grumbled under his breath.

“You alright?” Tim asked, blinking spots out of his vision.

“Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.” He too was blinking now. “That was not supposed to be so bright.”

“I’m assuming it worked though.”

“It had bloody well better ’ave worked.” The older man squinted at the slightly dimmer lines which still shone painfully bright against the green. “Oh. Yeah, that worked. Fuck. . .”

“What?” Tim looked on in alarm as Constantine pressed a hand over his mouth.

“Oh man. What wanker did you say created this portal?”

“Presumably Drs. Madeline and Jack Fenton. Why?” He drew the last syllable out skeptically.

“Because, they opened this portal with a child sacrifice, and bound his death and all the lost life potential to their bloody machine to create a perpetual gateway to the Infinite Realms.”

#danny phantom #danny fenton #dp x dc #dpxdc #dc x dp #timothy drake wayne #tim drake #tim drake wayne #red robin #john constantine #A Round Door Like a Porthole[comma] Lazarus Green #the whole thing is on Ao3 #but I figured I should post here too #because why not?#but I'm breaking it into a few posts #just to spread it out a little

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ahsokaismyqueen · 9 months ago

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Orange Juice Pairing - Tyler Owens x Female!Reader Summary - When it's time to interview a group of storm chasers for your new book, you get sent back to your hometown. You never would have guessed one of the people you'd be interviewing would be your ex boyfriend. And you might still be a little in love with him. Word Count - 13k my god I'm sorry Playlist Warnings - 18+ ONLY. Tyler Smut. Language

Everything looked the same, but somehow different.

You hadn’t stepped foot in this town in ten years, and you were nervous as hell to be here now. This town held a lot of memories and people that you hadn’t visited in a long time. If your agent had told you where you had been going before putting you on the plane, you probably would have asked if there was somewhere else, some other storm chaser group that wasn’t based in Arkansas you could interview. She believed that she was doing a nice thing, surprising you with a trip to your hometown.

You didn’t have the heart to tell her that it may be your hometown, but it also was home to your worst memory.

A sigh left your lips as you pulled up to a familiar gas station, and pushing the memories out of your mind, you put the car in park.

The Tornado Wranglers. That was the group of chasers you would be talking to. Your agent had insisted that they were the best of the best. Apparently they had a very large YouTube following, and their leader was, “charismatic and oozed charm”, according to your agent. He was also the hottest cowboy she’d ever seen.

Those words brought a faint smile to your face, and you pulled out your phone to text her.

Landed, and am currently waiting at the gas station.

A few moments later, a response came through. Any sign of hot cowboys yet?

You let out a laugh. Not yet, but I’ll keep you informed.

Your fingers settled on the door handle. There was no reason to put this off anymore. You were here, and you were going to have to face what was out there, for better or worse. You opened the door and climbed out of your car.

It smelled the same. The gas station had been updated to be more modern, but the faint scent of gasoline and rice from the farms remained. Walking inside, you found little had changed. There was an updated register, a few more products offered, but that was about it. When your eyes caught sight of your favorite candy, a grin spread across your face, and you found yourself reaching for them, even though you hadn’t had them in years.

You didn’t recognize the cashier, which you were grateful for. A part of you had almost expected everyone you knew to pop out of nowhere as soon as your feet touched the ground. Now you realized how ridiculous that was. In fact, you might go this whole trip without setting eyes on a single person from before. Thanking the cashier, you made your way back outside right on time to see a large red truck turning in followed by a camper that was blaring a Tanner Adell song. You couldn’t see the driver of the truck because of the cowboy hat and sunglasses that partially obscured his face, but the guy in the passenger seat recognized you at once. “Hey! That’s her!” You could hear him say it since his window was open.

The guy pulled to a stop, and the one in the passenger seat ran around the front of the car. His hair was dark and shoulder length, but covered with a baseball cap, and the bottom half of his face supported some facial hair. He was dressed much like you expected a tornado chaser to dress, shirt and shorts in different shades of dark green with a bandana around his neck. “Hey, I’m Boone.” He said, holding out his hand for you. “I gotta say, I’m a big fan.” He said the last part in an almost whisper, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear him.

Which, considering you wrote romance books, he probably didn’t. Not the first man to say something similar to you, you nodded with a sincere smile, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. You guys are the Tornado Wranglers I’m assuming?”

“Yeah, that’s Dexter and Dani.” He said pointing to two people that were exiting the camper behind them. “There’s Lily.” He said, pointing to a girl getting out of another car that you hadn’t even noticed. “And this is our fearless leader, Tyler.”

At that moment, the world around you slowed down. In fact, you were pretty sure all the air was sucked out of your lungs. It couldn’t be him. Out of every person in the world you could be working with, it couldn’t be the one . . . But he took off his cowboy hat, and even though it had been ten years, he was unmistakable. You would know that face anywhere, after all, you saw it all the time in your dreams.

For a moment, you thought he might not recognize you. It had been ten years, you’d both changed in that time, but the moment his eyes landed on you, he knew exactly who you were. He said your name, pure disbelief in his tone as he took a step forward.

You nodded, unsure of how to respond. The two of you hadn’t left on the best of terms, but there were so many years before that. So many beautiful memories that you’d never be able to forget. Half of you wanted to run and hide, the other half (okay maybe more like three fourths) wanted to run into his arms. How could you do that though when you were the one who left?

Tyler didn’t hesitate though. You watched as a slow grin formed on his face that turned into a bright smile, a smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, and the next moment he was hurrying towards you. Within seconds you were wrapped up in a hug so tight your feet weren’t even on the ground anymore.

God it felt good. You slid your arms around his neck, hugging him back just as tight, and let out a little laugh as he spun you around. Your eyes closed automatically, and you realized at that moment while you may have written about the way Tyler made you feel, it was nothing compared to the actual emotions. You remembered how his arms always felt like home, and it was no different now. They must have some sort of magic, because no matter how long it had been, they brought your mindset right back to the teenager who was crazy in love with her boyfriend.

After what was probably too long, Tyler put you back on the ground, slowly and a little too intimately for the strangers his team thought you were. In fact, he didn’t even fully let go of you, keeping his hands on your hips. You found yourself unable to let go of him too though, your hands resting on his forearms as he stared at you in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“I can’t believe you’re here.” You said, squeezing his arms. “You’re a storm chaser?” It made perfect sense when you thought about it. Tyler had always had such a good instinct for weather. You couldn’t count the amount of times during school when he told you football games were going to get canceled because it was going to storm. He was never wrong. You just never expected him to quit bull riding.

“Yeah, got a meteorology degree from U of A and everything.” Tyler said, and your breath caught in your throat. Not just because his thumbs had started stroking your hips, but because of his words too.

Tyler had done it. He had done what you had always known he was beyond capable of doing. The shy smile on his face, the love, care, and pride you still, and always would have for him rushed to the surface. Overwhelmed with emotions from the past, you felt tears fill up your eyes as you looked at him. “I’m so proud of you, Ty.” You told him, and you meant every word.

There was no other way to describe it. He was beaming, and god you had forgotten how beautiful that smile was. It was like the sun, almost too bright to look at.

“I get the feeling you two know each other?”

You had forgotten that little aspect of being with Tyler. How everything else would disappear the moment he looked into your eyes. You took a step back from him, letting go of his arms even though every part of your body wanted you to keep touching him. His hands lingered on you for a moment, but then he let go as well. “I guess you could say that.” Tyler said, “this is the girl that broke my heart ten years ago.”

“Wait,” one of the girls, you were pretty sure it was Lily, stepped forward. “I thought that girl’s name was-”

They knew your name. Tyler had talked about you enough that they knew who you were. “That is my name. My writing name is a pseudonym.” You admitted. Heat rushed to your skin, but there was no malice in Tyler’s voice or face. He was just looking at you with a fond smile, as if lost in the same memories you found swirling around in your mind.

“So, you’re a big time writer now, huh? You always did tell the best stories.” Tyler said.

“Man, you should read them. In fact, now that I think about it, one of the main guys kinda reminds me of-” Boone started to say, but you cut him off.

There was no way you were ready for that conversation. “So, um, where did you guys want to talk?” You spoke up, trying to change the subject as subtly as you could.

The look Tyler gave you said he saw right through your bullshit, but he didn’t comment on it, just grinned mischievously at you. “How about Frankie’s?”

Of course he would suggest Frankie’s. It was the bar that the two of you used to go to all the time after rodeos. There were a lot of memories of playing pool, laughing with friends and dancing to whatever band was playing there. While you weren’t sure you were ready for all those memories to hit again, the draw of going back there with Tyler was too much. “Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll meet you guys- ”

“No need for that. You can ride with me.” Tyler said, patting the large red truck.

Being in an enclosed space with your ex boyfriend definitely didn’t seem like a good idea. “Oh, that’s not-”

“It’s really cool. You’ll want to take a peek. He customized it all himself and everything. This baby can drive straight into a tornado.” Boone said while Tyler continued to grin at you.

“Research is what you’re here for right?” Tyler asked you.

Yes. That was a good reminder for yourself. You were here to learn about the essentials of storm chasing for your next book, not to spend all your time thinking about how good Tyler looked after ten years. “Right,” you agreed, and then watched as Tyler walked all the way over to the passenger seat and held it open for you.

“Well, in that case, right this way ma’am.”

————————

To your slight surprise, Tyler kept everything professional in the truck. He showed you all the features, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it all. It was impressive, not only what he had thought of, but had attached himself. “Is this normal? I mean do a lot of storm chasers have vehicles they’ve rigged up?”

“Nothing like this.” He said with pride in his voice as he grinned over at you. “I spent years putting this thing together.”

“When you do something, you always go big.” You teased, smirking at him. “Remember that time in high school when we just wanted to fill the principal's office with ducks, and instead you said we should fill the whole school?”

Tyler scoffed. “Of course I do. I got a month of detention for that because Belinda ratted me out.”

“You did stand her up for a date.” You reminded him.

“Yeah well,” Tyler glanced over at you again. “You needed me.”

Your cheeks heated as the memories of that night flooded your mind. It hadn’t been long after your Dad had passed. You had gotten stupid drunk at a party that he hadn’t wanted to go to. You had been walking home, stumbling home really, when a familiar truck pulled up beside you. It turned out that Tyler had been waiting nearby for at least an hour after feeling like something was off.

He held you in his arms in that truck for hours while you cried, letting out emotions you’d been holding back for months. Then he took you home and snuck into your bedroom to hold you some more. The next morning you told him you didn’t want to be just friends anymore. He told you he hadn’t wanted to be just friends for a long time.

The two of you were inseparable from that moment until the day you left. Almost as if he could sense where your mind was, a palpable tension filled the truck.

You weren’t ready to talk about it though.

Thankfully you were saved from any further discussion as your phone went off with a text. It was from your agent, checking in again.

“Boyfriend?” Tyler asked.

You shot him a look, trying to bite back a smile. “That’s not very subtle of you.”

He sent you a look right back. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Agent.” You answered, choosing to ignore his response. “Who I now have to awkwardly tell that the ‘hottest cowboy she’s ever seen’ is actually my ex-boyfriend.”

“So you really had no idea?” Tyler asked.

You shook your head. “Not a clue. I didn’t even know where I was going until I got to the airport and she sent my travel information.”

“Gotta say . . . I’m surprised. I never thought you’d step foot in the town again.” He said, pulling into the small parking lot.

Glancing up at the building, you bit your bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure I would either.”

Frankie’s was exactly what you would picture when you hear the words, “small town bar”, but as soon as you walked in, you couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity. It was big for a small town bar, featuring bars on both sides of the room, plenty of tables, as well as a couple of pool tables, and a stage with a small dancing space in front of it. Most of the furniture was wooden and looking a little rough, but they kept the lighting dim enough that it wasn’t very noticeable. There weren’t a whole lot of people, but there was no band playing, and it was a weekday night. It put you a little more at ease.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit.” You said, looking around.

Tyler shook his head in agreement. “That’s why I love it so much. Feel like I’m right back into my early twenties when I walk back in here.”

“That was a long time ago for you.” You teased.

He clutched his chest, scrunching his eyes at you and giving you a wounded look, but there was a playful edge to it. “Ouch. So you do still have some bite to you.”

You smirked at him. “You bring it out in me.”

Tyler’s frown turned to a grin as he placed his hand on the small of your back, sending chills down your spine. “Let’s grab a booth for everybody.”

The next several hours consisted of you asking the Tornado Wranglers crew every question you wrote down as well as thought of. They not only answered honestly, but never talked down to you like you were stupid for not knowing something either. You loved the relationship that they clearly had with each other. They treated each other like family, with their own strengths and weaknesses that the other members of the team either supported or built upon. You knew immediately it was something you were going to want to include in your book. Not only that, but they were hilarious, and since they knew who you were, they seemed to be ribbing Tyler extra hard.

“All right, you know damn well that was an accident.” Tyler said, pointing a finger at Dexter who was laughing hysterically along with the rest of the table.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t sound like an accident to me Tyler.” You said, raising your eyebrows at the man sitting next to you.

Tyler narrowed his eyes at you and bumped your knee with his under the table. “Now don’t you start.”

“Hey, don’t be rude to our guest.” Dani said.

“Too late for that. He hasn’t even gotten her a drink yet.” Lily spoke up, shaking her head at him in disappointment.

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

Tyler shook his head. “No, they’re right.” He started sliding out of the booth. His hand reached up and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I’ve got you.”

“I notice he didn’t ask you what you wanted to drink.” Dexter said with a little grin after Tyler made his way to the bar.

You bit your bottom lip. You hoped he remembered. “We’ve known each other a long time.”

“Okay, now that he’s gone.” Boone leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. “One Last Rodeo. Theo. He’s based on Tyler isn’t he?”

Heat rushed to your face. So Boone definitely had read your books. Looking back on it, it was pretty obvious that your first book had been based on Tyler. You were heartbroken, and trying to find a way to get it out on the page. The book was your way of coping with your breakup and how you wished it would have ended instead of the way that it did. By the time someone wanted to actually publish it, you realized how obvious the similarities were, and it was one of the reasons you wanted to write under a fake name. Since Boone had read your book, and now knew that Tyler was your ex . . . It couldn’t have been hard to put together. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it outloud. “A writer never tells her secrets.” You said.

They were all grinning at you though. “Oh, look how flushed her face is.” Dani said.

“It’s definitely about him.” Lily said.

You opened your mouth to deny it, even though it seemed pointless, but before you could you were interrupted. “Here you go,” he said, sliding back into the booth and putting a glass filled with an orange drink in front of you.

“What is that?” Boone asked, “some kind of tropical-”

“Orange juice.” You answered, smiling over at Tyler. “You did remember.”

Tyler gave you a look of disbelief, like he was insulted. “Of course I did.” When he saw the confused looks of his friends he explained, “she doesn’t drink.”

“Twelve years sober.” You said. “Not something I’m against anyone else doing, it’s just not for me.” Tyler slung his arm over the back side of the booth closest to you, and you had to fight the immediate urge to lean back into his embrace. The rest of the team was smirking at you, and you lifted the glass to your lips to take a sip. “So I’ve just got one more question for you guys.” You said trying to change the subject.

“Fire away.” Dani said.

“Why do you guys do it?” That was what you really wanted to know. “I grew up here. I know how dangerous, how scary these things can be. Why do you guys willingly risk your life for something that seems to have no real reward?”

There was silence around the table for a moment, and you made sure to avoid Tyler’s face. When you had written these questions, you had no clue he was one of the ones you’d be asking, and this question hit a little too close to the reason for your breakup. You didn’t think you could look at him if he answered.

“We like to help.” Lily said. “That’s a factor. We sell these shirts, and we use the money to get people stuff like food and water.”

“Then there’s just the beauty of it. Yes, it’s dangerous and destructive, but there’s also something incredible about it as well. There’s so many factors to tornados we don’t understand. Seeing them come together in person is . . . Indescribable.” Dexter added, while they all nodded their heads in agreement.

“There’s the adrenaline too.” Boone spoke up with a grin. “I’ve never felt more alive than when we’re chasing.”

Your body tensed at his words, memories of your last argument with Tyler trying to invade your mind. Once again, you felt sure he could sense what you were thinking as you felt his gaze on the side of your face.

“It’s hard to put into words without actually seeing it.” Tyler said. “You should come on a chase.”

That made you look at him, your eyes wide in shock that he would even suggest it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” Tyler leaned towards you. “Scared?” He asked with a smirk.

“Yes.” You answered honestly.

“Ah, you’d be perfectly safe with Tyler. He’s got a knack for these things.” Boone said, and you looked over at him to find him grinning at the two of you. “You’d barely be in any danger at all.”

You didn’t doubt that, but heading straight into something that could be so destructive had never been your thing. Hell, you hadn’t even gotten on a horse until Tyler talked you into it. “Still, any danger is too much danger for me.”

Tyler shrugged. “The offer is there if you change your mind.” Tyler said, and you knew him well enough to see the flash of disappointment on his face.

Weirdly, you felt a little disappointed in yourself too.

————————

For the past hour, you’d been pacing around your motel room. Tyler had driven you back to your car, then followed you to the motel that funnily enough, him and the rest of the Wranglers were staying at as well. It was the only motel in your hometown, but knowing that Tyler was a few doors down from you made you anxious.

God, seeing him again had been your worst nightmare and best daydream all rolled into one. It was so easy to think that after ten years you were over someone. Then you see them again, and everything comes flooding back. All the beautiful memories and all the mistakes you wish you could take back, and there were a lot of mistakes you wished you could take back with Tyler. You’d never loved anyone the way you loved him, and you didn’t think you ever would. Seeing him again had reminded you of that.

Letting out a sad sigh, you sat down on your bed. Then there was Tyler’s invitation and disappointment. You hated disappointing him almost as much as you hated disappointing yourself. It had taken several years of therapy and hard work to not be so scared of ending up with the same fate as your father. You had grown though. You had learned about yourself and the things that caused those reactions. While getting close to a tornado was definitely dangerous, you knew that Tyler would take care of you. You also knew that you didn’t want to miss out on any more experiences in your life because you were afraid.

You stood up, not allowing yourself another moment to try and talk yourself out of it, and left your room, knocking at the one three doors down.

Tyler answered, clad in his white t-shirt and jeans, and smiled when he realized it was you. “Hey, what’s up?”

Good lord was there ever a moment when this man didn’t look incredible? You swallowed, then nodded. “I changed my mind.”

He leaned against the doorway, eyebrows raised in confusion. “About what?”

You took a deep breath. “I wanna go on a chase.”

Tyler beamed.

————————

It took three days for a storm to come through that Tyler felt good about. They had done some chasing in that time, but Tyler hadn’t brought you along because he said they hadn’t been the “right one”. The wait made you anxious, but you trusted Tyler’s instincts, and every night they were back at the motel ready to tell you about their day. You thought that they might eventually get bored of all your questions, but they were not only great, but amazing storytellers as well. You could see why their YouTube channel was so popular.

Not that you spent a whole day watching it while they were gone or anything.

Finally though, the day arrived and you found yourself standing outside by Tyler’s truck waiting for the team to join you, your heart pumping a little faster than normal. “Morning!” A voice called, pulling your attention away from inspecting Tyler’s truck again, and you saw the man in question heading towards you with a paper sack in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. “Haven’t talked yourself out of this yet?”

You shook your head. “Nope. I’m doing this.” You smiled as Tyler handed you the coffee and bag. “Did you seriously get-?”

“Your breakfast sandwich and coffee? Yes, you need fuel for the road.” Tyler used his now free hands to open the door for you. “Hop on in, and let’s get going.”

“Wait,” you said, glancing around. “Is everyone else meeting us there?”

Tyler leaned against the door, and you watched as he looked at the sky behind you, then turned his gaze back to you. “Nah, I gave them the day off. I didn’t want you to have to deal with pressure from them if we get there and you decide not to do this.”

You bit your lip. He was always so thoughtful. Back when he knew you, he would have had to drag you to this truck kicking and screaming, which he never would, and the fact that he wanted to save you some embarrassment in case you decided not to do this was just like him. Unable to help yourself, you reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you.” You said sincerely.

“Well,” you inhaled sharply as Tyler took a little step closer to you. “I’ve got to admit, getting you alone for the day also played a factor.”

Your eyes widened and a shy smile formed on your face even while your mind was spinning. Over the past few days there had been brief moments where you thought Tyler might have been flirting with you, but you talked yourself out of it. Now though . . . Was there actually a chance this man still wanted you? He couldn’t. Not after how you had treated him. It didn’t make sense. “You might end up regretting that, you know?” You told him.

Tyler reached up, and your whole body froze as he brushed some hair behind your ear. “I’ve never regretted a moment I’ve been with you.”

His response took the breath from your lungs. “Ty . . .” You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating so fast it hurt. How could he possibly not regret that night? The night that you broke his heart?

“I’ve missed you calling me that, you know?” He smiled at you, and then took a step back. “Come on, let’s get going.”

Once again, you wanted to say something, but what? Nothing sounded right in your mind. So instead you hopped up in the truck and watched as he closed the door behind you.

————————

“Can I be honest?” You asked him several hours later.

“I didn’t realize you ever weren’t.” Tyler joked, sending you a smirk.

You swatted at him playfully. “I didn’t expect all the waiting. What happens if nothing comes?”

“Oh, something’s gonna happen.” He insisted, looking at some clouds in the distance. “Don’t you have any faith in me?”

While he was kidding, you didn’t stop the serious words that slipped past your lips. “You know I have all the faith in the world in you.”

Ty’s smile turned from something joking to something genuine. “Even after all these years?”

You smiled at him. “It never stopped. I always knew you were destined for great things.” You admitted, and it was the truth. In fact, you’d never been more sure of anything in your life.

“Just not riding on the back of a bull.” He replied, and though he winked at you, the mention of one of the reasons from your breakup filled the air with tension.

Then the question that you had been dying to ask since you first saw him burst from your lips. “Why did you quit?”

Tyler looked at you then, and you knew that look well. He was reading your expression, your eyes, your body language. He’d always been able to tell what you were thinking simply by looking at you, and this time was no different. “It wasn’t because of you.” He said, reaching over to place his hand on top of yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I mean, you were part of the reason, but it was more about me realizing you were right, and I could do more with my life.”

He knew you had been carrying that guilt of wondering if you were the reason he quit something that he had loved so much. He told you that you weren’t, but you still frowned, looking out at the darkening sky miles away. “I wish I’d said it differently.”

There was silence for a moment as you two watched the storm, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more reflective, and your thoughts were only confirmed when he spoke up. “Do you ever wonder where we’d be now? If you’d stayed?”

If only he knew . . . “I guess that depends.” You bumped your shoulder against his. “Would you have proposed by now?” You teased, but a part of you wanted to know the answer.

Tyler grinned at you, an adoring look on his face. “Oh definitely.”

A flush heated up your face as a pleased smile fell on your lips. “Then I guess we’d be married and driving each other crazy.”

“Not to mention being driven crazy by the kids.” Tyler added.

You let out a laugh. “After ten years, you still want three kids?”

“Three is a good number.” He defended.

You rolled your eyes. “You know I have this friend now. She just had her fourth. Going over to her house almost makes me not want any at all.”

“That’s because she has four. Three, perfect number.” Tyler said, holding up three fingers. “Four?” He added a finger. “Now that’s just asking for trouble.”

“Especially if they were your kids.” You added, grinning over at him.

“Ah, we could handle them.” Tyler said with a wink in your direction.

A vision formed in your mind of what he was describing. Three kids, all of varying ages, but in your mind it was two boys and one girl. The boys would be almost an exact copy of Tyler, blonde hair and blue-green eyes, dimples and charming smiles. Troublemakers, but also sweethearts who cared deeply and loved life to the fullest. Then the little girl. She definitely had a majority of your features but with Tyler’s smile. She would have Tyler so wrapped around her finger it would almost be embarrassing. Then there’d be Tyler and you, watching all the craziness unfold from your back porch with a glass of sweet tea in your hands. You were happy. You were loved, and you were home.

At that moment, you realized you never wanted anything so badly in your life. You wanted it so badly your chest literally ached with it. Looking over at Tyler made it hurt worse. You thought being away from him would make the love you had fade, but it turned out, the opposite had occurred. In fact, seeing him watch the sky with a content smile and talking about what could have been made you realize you loved him more now. You had loved him in high school, you’d loved him in his early twenties, but this was different. You were different and so was he.

The question was . . . Would he take you back if you tried? You knew you didn’t deserve it. You were the reason the two of you broke up. If you were in his shoes, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. Tyler had always been a better person than you though.

Was it worth a shot trying?

“Hey,” Tyler pulled you out of your thoughts, lifting your hand and pointing it to something in the distance. “Do you see those clouds?”

You looked out to where he was pointing your hand and frowned. Those definitely looked dark, and they were . . . “Are those spinning?”

“That’s the updraft, and it’s cycling.” He told you.

“And that means . . .”

“That means-” Tyler stood up, put his baseball cap back on his head, and held out his hand to help you off the bed of his truck. “We’ve got a winner.”

————————

You were going to throw up. At least it felt like you were. Not five minutes after you guys reached the storm did a tornado touchdown. Tyler said it was rated for an EF1, so it would be safe to drive into. Well, as safe as driving into a tornado could be. As fast as your heart was pounding, and as sick as you felt you might be, you leaned forward to get a better look out the window. You couldn’t deny the beauty in it. “I’ve never seen something so amazing and scary at the same time.” You admitted.

“It’s incredible isn’t it?”

As nervous as you were, the look on Tyler’s face made you smile. God you hadn’t seen him this excited since he had been on the back of a bull. “It is. Especially when it doesn’t look like it’s going to kill me.”

Tyler laughed, and he pulled to a stop. “Nah, this is just an EF 1. This and the truck are going to keep you completely safe.” Tyler said, reaching to tug at the harness he had secured so tightly to your body that you felt like you couldn’t take a deep breath.

As you watched the tornado race forward, you felt your heart rate start to kick back up and took a deep breath. “And you too right?” You asked, biting your bottom lip.

He parked the truck and faced you, a rare serious expression crossing his face. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

At that moment, you realized you did. Tyler would never willingly put you in danger. He cared about you too much. If he said it was safe, it was. “I do.” You agreed, taking a deep breath, well, as much as you could in this harness. “Let’s do this.”

The grin came back to his face full force as he started pressing buttons on his truck, anchoring it down into the ground as the tornado got closer and closer. “You’re gonna love this.”

”Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Even though you knew you were safe, there was nothing quite like a tornado heading straight towards you while you’re stuck in place. “Tyler . . . This is crazy.”

It was getting closer and closer. Only yards away, and your heart was pounding harder and harder in your chest. You didn’t even think. Your hand reached for his, gripping it tightly as the tornado hit the truck.

Tyler gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, “look up.” He called over the wind, and you did as he asked, leaning towards your side of the car to see out the window.

It was the most incredible thing you’d ever seen. You could see all the way up the funnel to the clouds above as the vortex passed over you. You’d never seen anything like it in your life, and a laugh of disbelief left your lips as you watched it pass over you. When it was done you looked over at Tyler, shock all over your face. “Was that real? Did that actually just happen? Did I just see inside a damn tornado?!”

Letting out a chuckle at your questions, Tyler nodded. “You sure as hell did.”

You let out another laugh yourself and started unbuckling all of your straps. You needed one last look to convince yourself that you had done it. Once you were free, you hopped out of the truck, running around the back to watch it keep going through the field behind you. You heard the truck door close again, but you didn’t turn around, still mesmerized, until you felt Tyler’s hand on your shoulder.

“So, how do you feel?” He asked.

His question was loaded for so many reasons. Years ago, he never would have gotten you close enough to even see a tornado, much less let it speed over you. You were so proud of yourself for doing this, but also sad. How many other life experiences had you missed because of how your father’s life choices had traumatized you? There was no good way to answer his question, so you just did what you wanted to. You jumped up, latching your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist.

Of course he caught you easily, laughing as he spun you around and held you close. One of his hands rested on your back, while the other cradled your head against his shoulder. After a moment, he let out a content sigh. “I’m so proud of you.”

You clutched tighter to him. He had no idea how much those words meant coming from him. Tyler had seen you at your absolute worst, when you had no one but him. You had clung to him then, leaning on him more than was healthy until you knew that you couldn’t anymore. It made you want to cry, knowing how far you had come and that Tyler could see it. You pulled back to look at him so he could see your watery smile too. “I’m proud of myself.”

The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults as he looked at you. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you felt his arm muscles tense against your back. There was tension in the air, no doubt about it, and you found your eyes drawn to those familiar soft lips. You wanted to kiss him. A part of you wondered if it would be the same, or even better because you both were older. You weren’t sure, but either way, you wanted to find out. When you saw his eyes glance at your lips too, you knew he was thinking the same thing. Unable to help yourself, you let your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling yourself the slightest bit closer to him until your noses were brushing.

Then his phone rang.

Whatever spell the two of you had been under broke. Tyler slowly let you down to the ground, but reached for your hand, tangling your fingers with his and keeping you close. “Hey, Boone, what’s up?”

You glanced down at your hands with a soft smile. Tyler’s hands were big and calloused from work and bulls, but they felt nice. You brushed your thumb on the outside of his palm, and he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Yeah, we got one. She handled it like a pro.” Tyler told him, grinning over at you. There was a bit of silence for a moment as the phone conversation continued. “Let me ask her, and I’ll let you know? All right, sounds good. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and tugged you a little closer again. “Feel like celebrating seeing inside your first tornado?” Tyler asked.

————————

Three hours later you found yourself in new clothes, freshly showered, line dancing between Dani and Boone. You were almost crying from laughing so hard, and your face hurt from smiling so much. It blew your mind that two weeks ago you were sitting in your apartment in South Carolina feeling alone and stuck with writer's block. Now you were back in your hometown, having a blast, writing faster than you had in years, and desperate to get back together with the man who was watching you from the booth, an adorable smile on his face. Feeling a little bold after your almost kiss, you sent him a wink as Boone spun you around, causing his smile to widen.

“You guys are disgustingly cute.” Dani said as the song slowed down and the three of you started to exit the floor.

Heat rushed to your face, and you found yourself asking the question you’d been wanting to ask for days. “Why have you guys been so nice to me anyway? Tyler’s your best friend, and I’m his ex. I broke his heart, but you’ve been nothing but kind to me since the start.”

Boone and Dani exchanged a look. “Yeah, you’re right. If it had been another one of Tyler’s exes we probably would hate you.” Boone said, shrugging his shoulders.

“But you were the one who got away for Tyler, and he’s never said anything but great things about you. Plus,” Dani reached out and patted your shoulder. “It's kinda obvious the two of you are still in love with each other.”

The words hit you like a truck, and then you felt stupid for not realizing it before. You looked at the man sitting at the booth again. This time he was talking to Dexter, his expression animated, and his hands moving wildly with his words. Of course you still loved him. You never stopped. You buried it, hid from it so you could try to better yourself. When you left, you knew you weren’t good enough for him, you probably still weren’t, but now you knew you could love him like you were supposed to. If he was open to it. Boone and Dani made it seem like he was. He had given you signs that he was at least interested . . . The only question was how could you show him that you wanted it too?

An idea hit, and a small smile formed on your face. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute okay?” You said to their confused faces and headed to the DJ stand. You gave him twenty bucks, which he gladly took, and promised your song would be next. By the time you’d made it back to the booth where everyone was seated, Never Leave by Bailey Zimmerman was playing.

You approached Tyler, who was looking at you curiously as you held your hand out to him. “Dance with me?” You said, biting your bottom lip.

A surprised, but happy smile formed on his face. “Yes ma’am.”

It was not your and Tyler’s first dance. Probably wasn’t even your hundredth, and dancing with him was as effortless as remembering how to ride a bike. One of his hands rested on the small of your back while the other took yours. You placed your hand on his bicep, giving his arm a squeeze. You didn’t want to say anything. The lyrics of the song could do all the talking for you. Tyler led you around the floor with ease, and as the song went on, you could see the moment the words started to sink in. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against yours, and he whispered your name so reverently it made you close your eyes.

“Just listen,” you said softly, tightening your grip on his hand, letting the song say the words you wanted to. Tyler’s arm pulled you even closer until it was almost hard to dance, your bodies pressed against each other. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, but you didn’t care anymore. You were laying it all out there now.

As the song ended, you felt Tyler’s lips against your forehead, soft and lingering. Warmth exploded throughout your body, and you pulled back to look up at him.

“Come back to the hotel with me?” You asked, your thumb caressing his arm, almost pleading with your voice.

Tyler’s hand reached up to cup your cheek, and you immediately leaned into his touch, your whole body craving it. “Are you sure?” He asked.

You nodded. There was nothing you were more sure about right now.

He took a step back from you, grabbing your hand and tugging you back to the booth where everybody else was sitting with knowing eyes. He told them that the two of you were leaving. You tried to ignore them, but you couldn’t help but grin when you saw them giving you a thumbs up or silently cheering as Tyler had his back turned.

The ride was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was more filled with tension, and the two of you kept glancing at each other and smiling. He never let go of your hand either until he parked at the motel and came around to open your door. Before you could get down though, he stopped you. “This is what you want right? I don’t want to misinterpret what I think is happening here or pressure you in any way-”

You placed your hands on his face and leaned closer, interrupting him with your first kiss in ten years.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. It was clear you had surprised him, but then his hands gripped your hips, and he was kissing you back.

It was even better than you remembered. It had been good back in late high school and your early twenties, there was no doubt about it. Something about now was different though. Maybe it was because you were older, maybe it was because it had been so long, or maybe it was because you felt healed. Whatever it was, kissing Tyler now blew every kiss you’d had before out of the water.

It was a short kiss, chaste, just to reassure him that you did want him, but when you pulled away the two of you were still breathless. “Am I crazy or was that incredible?” You asked, your hands sliding down his face to his chest.

Tyler laughed, but nodded, his own hands dragging down your thighs and resting on your knees. “It was,” he replied, but then a smirk fell on his lips, “but we can do better.”

Not one minute later, you were trying to open the door to your room, Tyler’s large hand low on your stomach as his lips left soft kisses on your neck from behind. You could barely concentrate as heat pooled where his hand rested, and you could not get the key in the door as he kissed a certain spot on your neck. “Ty,” you said through an exasperated laugh. “If you keep doing that I’ll never get us in this room.”

He took the key from your hand, but didn’t stop kissing your neck. You closed your eyes in pleasure as he did, letting him take over the door situation, and in a frustratingly short amount of time, you heard the door knob turn. Your eyes snapped open, turning in Tyler’s arms to find him smirking at you again.

“How the hell did you do that so easily?” You asked, weaving your arms around his neck as he carefully backed you into the room.

He shrugged, shutting the door behind him. “Guess you were just too distracted to focus.”

You playfully glared at him, “I was not-” but you let out a gasp as he suddenly spun you around, pinning you to the door with his body.

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just smiling at you as his hands rested on your hips, his thumbs brushing under your shirt to touch heated skin. “You were, but it’s okay. I liked it.”

Well he had certainly become more confident in the years apart. Not that he ever wasn’t, but you could definitely tell a difference. However, you had gained a little bit of confidence too, and you smirked at him. “Oh, I can tell.” You replied, pushing your hips forward to press against the hardness you felt.

Tyler bit his lip at your movements, his hands gripping your hips harder. “We don’t have to do anything. I want you to know that.”

It drove you crazy, how he could go from being sexy and confident to sweet and respectful within a minute. You slid your arms up his chest and around his neck, tugging his head down to yours. “I want to.” You told him. “Do you?”

He let out a breathless chuckle, “You have no idea how badly I want to.” Tyler said, “I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw you at that gas station.” He told you, his nose brushing against yours.

Tyler had been wanting to get together with you for that long? Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest, and you let out a sigh as his warm hand slipped up the back of your shirt pressing you against him. “You know, I don’t look the same as I did ten years ago.” You admitted, a little bit of insecurity leaking out as you thought about the last time the two of you were together.

He shook his head, and his hands left a trail of heat as they slid down your back to grip your thighs. “You look better.”

Your hands slipped into his soft hair. “Now, I know that’s not true.”

You let out a nose of surprise as Tyler used his grip on your thighs to lift you into the air with his body, smirking up at you. “I think you’re forgetting . . .” His lips found a spot on your neck that he had always kissed, a spot that made chills explode over your body and made a soft moan leave your lips. “I know this body better than anyone.” He whispered in your ear.

Tyler was right. He had been with you more than anyone else, seen every part of you bare. So what if you didn’t look the same as you did in high school. You were sure he didn’t either. Based on what you felt against your body though, you didn’t think that was a bad thing. You let your hands trail from his hair down his neck and to his chest, noting how his body flexed under your touch. “I think I might need a refresher on yours.” You teased, biting your lip as you played with the buttons on his shirt.

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk on his lips. “Oh, is that what you need?”

With fingers that were much steadier than what you felt, you unbuttoned a couple of the top buttons from his shirt. It wasn’t much, but enough to slip your hands into and touch his heated skin. It was the first time you had touched him, really touched him, in so long, and it made you ache for so much more. You pressed your forehead against his, “Right now I need everything you’re willing to give me.” You admitted honestly.

“Well then,” Tyler’s hands slid down to your ass, holding you close as he started carrying you to the bed. “It’s a good thing I’m willing to give you everything.” He said as he placed you gently on the bed.

His words made your heart stop for a second and a huge swell of affection for him filled your heart. You wanted to tell him that you still loved him then. That you wanted to give him everything too. The words wouldn’t come though. Not yet anyway.

So instead, you tried to say them with a kiss. You sat up, grabbing his face in your hands, and tugged him down to meet your lips. The first time you had surprised him, and it took him a moment to respond. That was not the case this time. He kissed you back at once, moving your lips in a dance the two of you knew well. While the first kiss had been sweet, this one was full of passion and tenderness. You let out a little sigh when his lips parted and attempted to pull him closer. It had been so long since you had gotten to really touch him, and you didn’t want to waste another second not doing it.

He complied, climbing into the bed on top of you, settling between your thighs and letting out a strangled groan as you pushed your hips up into him. He pressed his own against yours and you let out your own moan at the delicious friction.

The sound made him pull away however, and you frowned, since that was the opposite of what you wanted right now. You watched him as he sat up, his gaze traveling over your body with such intensity you could feel your face heating up. Tyler’s hands rested on your stomach finally, tugging up your tank top so slowly it made you want to just yank it off yourself so his hands could be all over you. Waiting turned out to be worth it though, because as soon as your shirt was off, he started kissing down your neck. Your eyes closed as his lips went lower, and you arched your chest against his mouth as he got closer to one of the spots you wanted his mouth the most.

“Have you been with other guys?”

That made your eyes snap open. Those were not the words you expected to come out of his mouth when he was about two seconds away from putting his mouth around you. “W-What?” You said breathlessly.

But he didn’t seem upset or anything, just genuinely curious. In fact he was grinning at you, his hands resting on your bare hips. “It’s been ten years. You have, right?”

“Is now really the time for the, ‘how many people have you slept with since me?’ conversation?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him.

Tyler leaned down, pressing his lower body against yours again as his lips hovered over yours. “I don’t care about the number.” He said, shaking his head. “I just want you to know I’m about to kiss the memory of anyone else from your body.”

His words took your breath from your lungs, but you tried not to let him see how much they affected you. Your arms slipped around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. “You’re talking a lot of game for someone who hasn’t initiated a single kiss.” You teased.

He chuckled,close enough that his lips brushed yours for the briefest moment. “Isn’t it better if you have to wait for it?”

A soft smile fell on your face then as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Ty, you haven’t kissed me in ten years. Haven’t we waited long enough?”

He leaned back so he could look at your face, smiling at the look you were giving him. “Yeah. I think we have.”

Finally, he leaned forward and kissed you, setting your whole body on fire with the intensity of it. Your lips parted almost immediately, and his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring you thoroughly. His hands did the same, heat trailing after them everywhere he touched.

You knew then, as the two of you kissed and your body, and heart, felt close to combustion, that this was it for you. You had been with other men in your time apart, and none of them had ever come close to making you feel like this. Back when you and Tyler had first started dating, you thought he might have been the one, but now you were sure. So no matter what happened tomorrow, or even after that, you knew that Tyler Owens was going to be it for you.

To your shock and surprise, you didn’t find that scary at all.

A breathless sigh left your lips as he slowly pulled away, and he smiled down at you, brushing some hair out of your face. “God you’re beautiful.”

You had always remembered what he was like in bed, how sweet he could be, but hearing it again was a different story. He had always made you feel so comfortable and sexy, you were so glad to know that none of that had changed. “I missed you.” You blurted out, heat rushing to your face at the confession.

But his smile just widened, leaning down to press a kiss against your jaw. “You’ve got no idea . . .” He started kissing down your neck again. “How much I’ve missed you,” he said, and you couldn’t help but squirm a little as he kissed down your stomach, your breath coming a little faster as his kisses got lower and lower. Your hands tangled into his hair, biting your bottom lip and arching up into his hand as he started unbuttoning your jeans.

You lifted your hips as he slid your jeans and underwear down the rest of your body, casting them aside somewhere in the room. You didn’t really care where. Tyler kissed back up your body, pausing for a moment on your bra, the last article of clothing you were wearing. After giving him an encouraging nod, he unclasped it, tossing it somewhere too, leaving you completely naked.

He stared at you, and you felt heat following everywhere his gaze went. His gaze didn’t make you uncomfortable though, it made you feel . . . Desirable. While his eyes looked you over, your eyes watched his face, biting your lip as your hands slid up and down his arms. “You know you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Tyler grinned down at you. “You wanna help with that?”

You sat up then, returning his smile. “I would love to.” You took your time, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and taking in every bit of skin that was revealed. Tyler had been fit when the two of you were dating, but now? He looked like he’d come straight out of a magazine. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, you let your hands trail down his chest as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his neck. You felt his whole body relax as your hands slid back up his hard muscles to push his shirt off him, and you trailed your lips across his shoulder and down his arm.

As soon as his shirt was off him, you made your way back up his arm, pressing gentle kisses every few inches until you reached his face again. He was smiling at you, and you couldn’t help but press a peck against his lips, then another until he had his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against his warm chest. Letting out a sigh, you kept your forehead against his for a second, soaking the moment in.

“I never thought we’d be here again.” Tyler said, shaking his head as his hand dragged up and down your bare back.

“Me either.” You admitted, letting one of your hands comb through his soft blonde hair, “but I’m glad we are.”

Tyler didn’t say anything, but leaned forward to meet you in a kiss that said everything he needed to. It told you how much he missed you, the familiarity of his lips moving in rhythm with yours. It told you how badly he wanted you when his tongue slipped into your mouth to caress your own. Then his lips weren’t the only thing showing how much he cared as he gently laid you down on the bed, never letting your lips disconnect.

It was illogical, but you hoped his lips never left you again. You were drowning, no, floating in him, submerged but safe in the warmth of him as his body laid on top of yours. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips, and a moan left your lips as the two of you came into contact.

Tyler pulled away then, but he didn’t go far, leaving kisses down your chin and neck. “You keep making noises like that, and this is not going to last as long as I want it to.”

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging at his hair. “The noises are your fault, Owens. You’re the one with no-” you let out a gasp as his lips found your breast, pleasure burning straight to your core. “-Self control.” You panted.

He gave your nipple a gentle bite, causing you to whimper, before he pulled away to look up at you. “Sorry, what was that about self control?” Tyler asked with a smirk playing on his lips.

“That you have none.” You said, arching your hips up to rub against him for a moment, making him groan against your skin. “But I don’t think I have any either when it comes to you.”

His smirk turned into a smile, and his lips found your breast again, immediately shooting even more pleasure through your body.

Nobody really talks about what it’s like to have sex with someone you used to date years ago. Tyler knew your body so well, he knew exactly how you liked to be touched, and what spots would drive you crazy. It was so easy to fall back into it. On top of that though, the two of you had been with other people in the last few years, and you had more experience and confidence than the kids you used to be.

There was no hesitation in Tyler’s hands as they explored your body, and none in yours as one dragged down his back and the other tangled in his hair, holding him against you. You let out another moan as his hand moved from your inner thigh and a finger slid inside of you.

He let out another groan as he discovered how wet you were, and leaned up to press his forehead against yours as he added a second finger in. “Are you already ready for me, sweetheart?”

You nodded, bumping your nose against his. “Do you have a condom? I wasn’t anticipating-”

“Having sex with your ex-boyfriend in a motel room?” Tyler grinned as he reached into the back pocket of the jeans you forget he was still wearing and pulled out his wallet, reaching in to take out a condom. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m always prepared.” He said with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but secretly you’d never been more thankful. If the two of you had to stop now to run out and buy condoms, you might’ve lost your mind. You slid your hands down his well defined chest, biting your lip at the muscles you felt there before stopping to rest on the belt of his jeans. “You’re still wearing too many clothes though.” You reminded him.

“Weren’t you supposed to be helping me with that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

Narrowing your eyes at him, you started undoing his belt. “It’s not my fault you distracted me with how hot you are.”

He laughed, moving your hands out of the way to get his jeans off faster. “Why do you think I got your clothes off so fast? Can’t get distracted if they’re already off.”

“Guess I’ll just have to remember that for next time.” You teased, sliding your hands back up his chest to rest on his shoulders. It was only when his body froze that you realized what you said. The two of you stared at each other, and you had no clue what to say about your implication of a next time. You didn’t even know if he’d want a next time . . .

Tyler didn’t let the moment linger though. He shoved the rest of his clothes off and leaned down to kiss you, hard, and all consuming in a way that erased every thought from your head except how much you needed him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you let out a gasp as your hips came into contact.

You had forgotten how big he was.

Almost as if sensing your thoughts, he pulled away slowly from your lips, barely leaving a centimeter between them as his finger trailed up and down your slit for a moment. “You can take it. You’ve done it before.” He whispered, and then slipped three fingers inside of you. The sudden intrusion sent your nails digging into his shoulders and heat exploding across your body. “If you can take that, you can take me.” He assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

He was going to ruin you. Part of you thought he already had, since every other time you’d had sex, he was always on your mind, but now you were sure of it. Nobody was ever going to get you more turned on than Tyler Owens. You nodded, because it seemed like he was waiting for an acknowledgment, and attempted to pull him closer with your legs when his fingers slid out of you. “It’s just - it’s been a while.” You admitted.

Tyler gave you a gentle smile. “For me too.”

His words shocked you for a second, but then you realized they shouldn’t have. Tyler had never been a one night stand kinda guy. As confident as he was, even before the two of you had started dating, he’d only ever dated girls he felt a genuine connection with. The fact that he still felt that with you enough to want to do this had emotions clogging up your throat. You let your hands trail down his body again, taking the condom from his hand and slipping it on him, your gaze never leaving his face as you enjoyed the sight of his reaction to you touching him. “Then let’s not wait anymore.” You said, guiding him towards you.

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He pressed forward, and you let out a sigh as he slipped inside of you, your head falling back against the pillow. It was a tight fit, there was no doubt, but he moved slowly, showing, once again, how well he knew your body. Any time you tensed up, he paused, though you could feel by how tense his muscles were how much he was holding back. “That’s right,” he would tell you when your breath started to come faster. “Remember how well you take me?”

Oh God you did. He fit inside of you like no one else. Even years later he filled you up just enough to not be painful, but more than enough to be satisfying. Another gasp of air left your lips as he pushed more inside of you, and you could tell he was almost completely in.

“You’re doing such a good job.” Tyler said, leaving another kiss against your skin. “Made just for me.” And while his voice was soft, it was also strained from effort.

You opened your eyes as you felt him push forward again, and dug your nails into where they had rested on his shoulders once more as he pushed completely inside of you, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he did.

There was nothing like this. Absolutely nothing. You moved your eyes from the ceiling to find him looking at you like you’d just hung each star in the sky for him alone. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He said breathlessly.

Did he really expect you to be able to think right now? You couldn’t think enough to have a filter if you opened your mouth, and you knew that was partially what he wanted. So you let the words slip from your lips. “I’m thinking about how no ones ever felt as good as you do.” He rewarded your words with a little thrust of his hips that had you gasping. “I’m thinking about how you’ve ruined me for anyone else.” Another thrust, this one harder, and you tightened your legs around him. “And I’m thinking about how much I missed you, Ty.” You said softly, letting out a whimper as his hand slid up to your breast, cupping it and letting his thumb caress your nipple.

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just watching as your hips jerked against his, desperate for the pleasure only he could provide, his eyes locked on your face as if he was committing it to memory. “Would you believe me if I told you I was thinking about all those things too?”

You didn’t have to think about it. You nodded, moving your hands from his shoulders to tangle in his hair. “I know.”

Tyler leaned down to meet your lips in a bruising kiss as he thrust inside of you, starting a slow and steady pace that continued to pick up speed with every passing minute until you couldn’t keep up the kiss any longer. Your head fell back against the pillows, and your eyes closed in pleasure as his warm, calloused hand traveled down your body to where the two of you met. “Eyes on me sweetheart.” He said, and pressed his thumb against your clit.

“Fuck, Ty!” Your eyes snapped open and your chest arched into his, tugging on his hair at the overstimulating sensation. His hips stuttered for a moment as you felt yourself clench around him, but he kept up the movement of his thumb, tracing circles around it. The pleasure was almost too much. You could feel it building inside of you, desperate for release, and you clung tightly to him. “I can’t- I’m-” You couldn’t even get the words out, too overwhelmed with feelings.

“It’s okay, you can let go.” He said, “I’ve got you.” He assured you, never ceasing his pace or his finger.

His words triggered your release, almost as if you’d been waiting for permission and you moaned out his name as it washed over you. You clung to him like he was a liferaft, holding you in above water as you clenched around him. You heard him groan your name, saying how good you were, and within seconds you felt his body tense, falling over the edge with you.

As the pleasure faded from your body to satisfaction, you didn’t want to let him go and groaned in discontent when he pulled back and out of you. He chuckled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

You sighed, opening your eyes as you watched him head into the bathroom, unable to believe that you had just had sex with such an attractive man, even if he was your ex. He was more than an attractive man though, or just your ex. He was Tyler. The boy you gave your heart to ten years ago who never gave it back. A tender smile was on your lips as he came back to you with a damp washcloth and started gently cleaning you up.

“You okay?” He asked, the hand that wasn’t cleaning you up resting on your thigh and rubbing the skin there.

“I will be once you get back in bed.” You replied, and your smile widened at the pleased expression on his face. You let out a laugh as he tossed the washcloth aside and hurriedly climbed into bed, spooning you against his back.

He nuzzled into your neck, leaving kisses against your skin as he made himself comfortable against you, and shivers exploded across your body as his hand rested on your stomach. “Comfortable?” Tyler asked, pressing another kiss to your cheek.

Being in his arms again? Comfortable didn’t even begin to describe it. As cliche and embarrassing as it sounded, for the first time since you’d come to your hometown, you actually felt like you were home. “Perfect,” you replied, scooting back even more into him.

And you meant it.

————————

You woke up cold, but oh so satisfied. Part of you wondered if last night had been a dream, but you knew that your body couldn’t lie like that. You definitely had the post sex ache. You stretched your limbs out and rolled over, wanting to curl back into Tyler and maybe sleep for a few more hours, but you were met with nothing but sheets.

Frowning, you opened your eyes, letting your fingers drag across the fabric. It was cool, so he’d been gone for a while. It was only when your eyes drifted up to the pillow did you notice the scrap of paper.

Stay.

It was written quickly, almost as if an afterthought, and you frowned at it. Did he really think that he had to ask? You got out of bed, and found a tshirt in the floor. Slipping on your underwear and the tshirt, you sat down at the small table and grabbed your laptop. You’d been writing like crazy lately on a new book, and you’d definitely woken up feeling inspired this morning.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there typing. It was a great distraction from your thoughts, and when you got into the zone, it could be hours before you realized you hadn’t stood up from your chair. You weren’t so in the zone though that you didn’t hear the doorknob start to turn.

Tyler entered, once again looking entirely too good in his dark brown button down, jeans and cowboy hat. He carried a familiar brown bag and cup of iced coffee in his hand and held a cautious smile as he looked at you. “Brought you some breakfast.”

You held out your hands to take it from him, eagerly sipping at the iced coffee as he sat down at the seat across from you. “Thank you, I needed this.” You said, leaning back against your chair. He was watching you, that cautious look still on his face making you nervous. Was he regretting last night? Was he trying to figure out the polite way to tell you it had all been a mistake?

“What are you thinking?” He asked, and the sudden question threw you off, you didn’t even have the chance to think about throwing up a filter.

“I’m thinking that I hope you’re not regretting last night. I’m also thinking that you’re too far away.” You admitted, frowning at the distance between the two of you.

His whole body seemed to relax at your words and the smile that you knew and loved fell back onto his face. He held out his hand to you, and without hesitation you took it, returning his smile as he tugged you out of your chair to sit sideways across his lap. You buried your face in his neck, letting out a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you, and held you close. “Better?” Tyler asked, one of his hands tracing up and down your outer thigh.

You nodded, tightening your arms around him. “Much better.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. You knew the conversation that needed to be had, but you had no clue how to even begin to start it. Should you blurt out how you feel? Should you ask him how he was feeling? Tyler beat you to the punch though with a statement that stopped your mind in its tracks.

“I read your book.”

Your body froze as your brain took a moment to process his words. Once they did, heat rushed to your face, and you pulled away to look at him. “How did you even-”

“Boone. He gave me a copy pretty much right after you showed up.” He said, and his hand gave your thigh a squeeze. “I noticed some . . . Similarities.”

You bet he did. More than enough to be embarrassing. You bit your lip, knowing the question that he wanted to ask, and decided to go ahead and give him the option to ask it anyway. “What do you want to know?” You finally said.

For a moment it wasn’t the new Tyler that you’d been getting to know over the past couple of weeks that was looking at you. The confident, caring, intelligent tornado wrangler. It was young Tyler, the bull rider who wanted nothing more than to ride his fears and bring you along for it. “I guess I’m just wondering why they got their happy ending, and we didn’t.”

Just because you anticipated it, doesn’t mean it hurt any less. “Ty . . .” You placed your hand on top of his, gripping it in yours. “I wrote that book two years after our breakup. I wasn’t ready to be her then. There were . . .” You took a deep breath. “A lot of things I was still holding onto.”

“But if I had quit when you asked me to-”

You were shaking your head before he could even finish his sentence. “I never should have asked you to do that.” You let go of his hand to take his face in your hands to encourage him to keep his eyes on you. “Tyler, our breakup had absolutely everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you.” This confession had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for years now, and you finally had the courage to say it. “I looked at you, riding those bulls, and all I could see was my dad. It scared me.” You admitted, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “Drunk, constantly concussed, and soon to be dead either from one or the other. I know that’s not you now, and I should’ve known it back then, but I was too damaged.”

Tyler looked sad, his hand still caressing your skin. “I would have fought for you.”

“I know.” You said, and you did. You knew that Tyler would have fought to stay by your side until the end if you hadn’t pushed him away.

“You were everything to me back then.”

God it hurt. Remembering the look on his face when you had walked out that door. You still had nightmares about it, but like you had struggled to learn, there was nothing you could do about it now. The two of you sat there for a moment before you finally got the courage to ask the question you’d been wanting to. “What about now?” You asked. “Think we can make it?”

A small, disbelieving smile formed on his face. “Is that an option?”

You nodded. “At least I hope it is. That ball’s in your court Tyler Owens. I’m the one that broke your heart.” You said, sliding a hand down to rest over his heart. “So . . . is that an option?” You asked, biting your lip as your heart started thumping heavily against your chest. God what if you’d just said all that and spent the best night of your life with him for Tyler to say it wasn’t worth the risk? That’d you’d done damage beyond repair?

Tyler didn’t give you time for your thoughts to get any more out of control. “Oh, it’s definitely an option.” He said, and his bright smile had your heart fluttering. “In fact, I’d say it’s my preferred option.”

You could barely believe it, even after last night. “You really want to give me a second chance?” You asked in disbelief.

His smile turned soft, and his hand covered your own on his chest. “Sweetheart, I’d give you all the chances in the world.”

And then, because you didn’t know what else to say, you leaned forward and kissed him.

Once again, everything was the same, but somehow different. A better different.

#tyler owens #tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens imagine #twisters imagine

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green-butterfly-writes · 5 months ago

Text

Little Thief (Part 2)

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4

Summary: Red Hood has a new informant, and nobody likes it. Two of the bats meet them. It’s not what they expected.

Trigger Warning for starvation and animal/child abuse. Read at your own risk.

Also, there is angst, but I promise it will get better soon 💚

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely to happen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Red Hood had a new informant. One he would not name. And nobody liked it. This mystery individual had given him the location of Cobblepot’s new scheme a month ago, a warning about a big bank robbery two weeks later, and a tip to look into what the Black Mask was doing five days ago. It was good information, but Batman (being paranoid as he was) didn’t trust it, and neither did anyone else. It was likely a trap, but Jason protected his informant with such passion that nobody could get anything out of him. At least, not until today.

Jason was out of commission for a week, and Gotham was in deep trouble. The Joker had broken out of Arkham and despite thoroughly examining every inch of every abandoned or rundown theme park, amusement center, and playground in Gotham, they hadn’t found a trace. It took a mix of bribery, black mail, threat of bodily harm and a significant amount of painkillers for Jason to agree to give them instructions on how to get the information they wanted. Which is how they ended up on a random rooftop with a bag of fast food.

~~~

Two figures made an unwelcome arrival at your designated meeting place. Instead of a single pair of feet softly falling on to the roof, and the air being filled with the familiar scent of sweat, gunpowder, and campfire cologne mixing with deep fried chicken, the wind sent a wave of overpowering floral detergent, mint shampoo, and citrus no-tear soap to assault your senses. The sounds of two individuals landing harshly on the roof stabbed at your sensitive ears, and even though the moonlight glowing from behind them obscured their appearances, you could price together who had intruded upon your night.

They both scanned the roof from their vantage point, and you crouched closer to the ground and leaned against the brick box that functioned as an access point to the roof, hoping the shadows would hide you long enough to make an escape plan.

After seeming to confirm there was no human in sight, the taller of the two figures turned to examine the surrounding buildings, and the smaller crossed his arm over his chest and huffed.

“I don’t trust this,” the smaller one petulantly mumbled, quite enough you weren’t sure the man behind him could have heard, “Everything about this is suspicious, the secrecy, the location, the set up… who trades information for a burger of all things.”

“I heard you the first seven times Robin,” the taller of the two answered, dropping a familiar looking paper bag on the ground before arching into a handstand, “but this is the best — and currently the only — shot we got.” The words hung in the air for a moment before he added, “and it’s not a burger, Jay was very particular about that”

The boy huffed in frustration and looked ready to lose his temper, but with the cargo confirmed as food, your plans of a quick quiet escape were all but abandoned. Even with the smaller one — Robin — facing away momentarily to glare at his upside down companion, the temptation of food was just too strong. You hadn’t seen Red Hood in three days, nor had you eaten in just as many, and your stomach ached with need. Under better circumstances you could have dove between the two and stolen away with the food, but the past several days had been brutal, and every movement hurt. You opted to stay where you were, in hopes a better opening may present itself.

The taller of the two righted himself to his feet, and looked around at the surrounding building again, before lifting one hand to his ear, “you sure we got the right place? I don’t see anyone… no I checked, I’m sure. What do you want us to do, just wait around? For what?! Yes… Yes! I understand that, but is this really — no, I promise. And who’s fault is that?…” he spoke heredity and harshly, and with all the standard Gotham street noise closer than it could be, it took you a moment to register the mumbling of another voice. You scooted closer in hopes of hearing the other side of the conversation, but due to a mix of pain and exhaustion, you stumbled, disturbing some of the debris around you, and while the taller of the two remained seemingly oblivious to your presence, Robin’s piercing eyes locked on you your location, still obscured in the shadows.

He grabbed hold of the sword on his back, and confidently stepped forward. You hesitated for a moment, before carefully extracting yourself from the dark, staying close to the ground in hopes of seeming as small as possible. Robin froze for a moment upon first impression, though his face was unreadable. He slowly sheathed his sword, and in turn you rose from the ground to stand. He took a soft step forwards, and you did not back away. He took another slow step towards you, lowering himself slightly, trying to appear less frightening, and in turn you made a small shuffle forward. By this point Nightwing had fallen silent, watching your careful dance with his companion. A delicate back and forth until you were three feet apart.

“What are you doing here thalabun?” he asked softly, more rhetorical than anything. You weren't sure how to answer the boy, how to explain your relationship with crime ally's guardian, so you stayed there, looking at him, examining is spiky hair and soft skin, familiarizing yourself with the citrusy smell that wafted off him, listening to his faint, controlled, rithmic breaths.

“Give me the bag,” his voice was sharp and stern again, head aimed at his elder.

“No way,” came a swift response, “we need it for the informant, remember?”

“I'll only take a little, look at it!” Robin exclaimed gesturing to you, “plus we've been here for almost twenty minutes. I don’t think they’re coming.”

Nightwing seemed to mull it over, carefully examining you, before picking up the bag and launching it at a waiting Robin. Robin unwrapped the chicken sandwich, and pulled off a piece of the patty, tossing it at your feet, where you quickly lapped it up. Nightwing wandered over to where his partner was sitting on the ground and dropped beside him.

“Ok Robin. What's next? The informant is a no-show, and we still need to find the joker. Where else could he be?” they both sat in silence considering the question, pondering what — or rather where — they missed. A small, strangled ‘yip’ echoed into the damp cold of the night, and both vigilanties snapped their attention back to the fox. It yipped again, tail wagging, as if to say ask me.

“You wouldn't happen to know where the joker is, would you?” Nightwing asked, almost sarcastically. He got a yip in response, and a head bob that resembled a nod. That made him pause…

“You do?” he repeated, beginning to doubt his vision and sanity. But as if to assure him of both, the creature repeated the gesture. “Could you show us?”

That… was a bit more difficult. Your body hurt and you were tired, three days of no food, little sleep, and constant harassment from kids, store owners, and wild animals alike had taken a toll. But you wanted to help. To be useful. At least to pay back the kind souls for feeding you, but also because doing good felt nice. And very little seemed to feel nice these days. So you summoned what strength you had, and launched yourself at them, leaping between, and landing on the hard floor with surprising grace. You pushed all your energy, all your hope, and strength, and thankfulness, into your legs so that they would go, go, GO!

You made it just short of the edge of the roof before your legs gave out and you were consumed. By darkens. By pain. Your back hurt, burning with every cut and bruise you had ever received. Your legs stung and ached. Your stomach clawed at your flesh begging to be filled or released from its prison. You were surrounded by darkness. Deep and unending, it was cold and quiet, yet all too loud, swallowing you, leaving you with nothing but pain. Everything hurt. So, so much. And you were alone, with no one to treat your wounds or hug your suffering heart. There was no warmth to reach for, no soft blankets or squishy stuffed animals. Just you, alone, cold, and in pain.

Two small, steady hands buried themselves beneath you, before carefully leaning you against something soft and sturdy. A kind hand shifted to run from the top of your head to the base of your tail, before repeating the motion. It was soothing, inside and out. Slowly the pain alleviated, and your breathing evened out. The dizzy feeling lifted, and you summoned all of your will power to crack open your eyes just a bit. You were met with the soft concern of Robin, worry visible even though the mask he wore. Robin’s steady breathing softly lifted you ever so slightly, and you focused to match his breathing: in and out, in and out. He smelled clean and strongly of oranges. It reminded you of the girls home you had lived in for six months before it was shut down for feeding the kids expired food. It was not a good place, but it was kinder than many others. You had missed the smell.

“How about I carry you and you point to where we need to go?” he recommended softly, still running his hand down your spine. You basked in his warmth and soft touch for a moment longer, trying to regain your strength, before shifting in his hold and pointing at Gotham’s skyline.

“That way?” You briefly nodded in confirmation, and both boys launched themselves off the roof and into the night air.

You had never seen Gotham from this perspective. Sure you climbed up fire escapes, and sat atop many buildings, but it was nothing like this. Nothing like soaring through the air, skyscrapers flying by. The way the wind licked freely at your hair reminded you for a moment of a trip you had taken with your mother long ago. She was driving on an empty dirt road, heading to the beach. The air was sunny and warm, the breeze swayed the trees in a methodical way, and your mother had let you stick your whole upper torso out the window. Distant street noises brought you back to reality, and looking down you saw the cars and people, they reminded you of Mr. Knox’s toy train display, the one that nobody but him was ever allowed to touch. They all looked so small from here.

Eventually you all landed outside a junkyard with a broken front gate. You led them inside, between piles of broken cars and rubbish, around the sharp metal and spilled oil, all the way to a faded, rusty, ice cream truck. Its hood was dented, the paint was chipped, and it was missing its two back tires, but a distinctive, infuriating, familiar laugh radiated from the inside.

The two vigilantes exchanged a look, before Nightwing turned to you and held out a crinkled paper bag.

“I guess you were Hood's little informant,” he breathed out. You gladly accepted the payment, and retraced your steps out of the junkyard and into the concrete jungle of Gotham.

Once you were long out of view, and hidden in a grimy abandoned back alley, you softly plopped the bag on the ground. Your food was in a bag and wrapped in foil, you’d need thumbs to get it out. You didn’t like being in human form, not right now. You were skinny in both forms, but without the fur coat being a fox provided, the wind and cold seemed to sink right into your bones. It didn’t help that your small amount of clothing had definitely seen better days. But food is more important than momentary discomfort, so you shift, trading your tail and matted fur for arms and skin.

You unwrap your chicken sandwich and sink in your teeth. The bread gives way softly, and a delicious crunch sounds as the lettuce brakes away into your mouth. The tomato bleeds its sweet juices onto your tongue, and as your mouth finally closes around the first bite of food you’ve had in days, you realize that by some miracle, despite the hour weight and cold conditions, the center of your crispy, chewy chicken patty was still warm. You barely finish chewing the first mouthful before taking a second, desperate for food and warmth.

You wonder if Red Hood is ok.

Thank you all so much for reading! Let me know what you think 💚

Notes:

Nightwing and Robin intentionally landed loader than they normally would in hopes of alerting the informant they had arrived, since they were expecting a human.

Jason, on the other hand, always tries to be especially quiet when coming to meet you because he knows your ears are sensitive.

'thalabun' is fox in Arabic according to google translate. if this wrong please, please let me know, as I intend to use it with some consistency moving forward.

ALSO!! Illustration

tag list:

@4rachn3

Let me know if you want to be added 💚

#yandere batfam #platonic batfam #platonic yandere #yandere damian wayne #yandere damian #yandere jason todd #batfam x reader #yandere batfam x reader #batfamily #yandere batboys #yandere batfamily #soft yandere #batfamily x reader

991 notes · View notes

dollishmehrayan · 7 months ago

Text

BATBOYS GENERAL HCS DURING DATING ── .✦

a/n: my posts are barely getting engagement so it would be nice to reblog + like + cmmt tysm! Also

I’m so tired because I don’t know what I want to do with myself when like writing because I don’t have much ideas yk, (I do have a lottt of ideas just don’t want to like spam and idk how to like execute it correctly so ya) but I’m so grateful I’m back!

(Tags: batboys general hcs + fem!reader)

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Compliments: Dick will compliment you constantly, but they’re the slightly extra kind. “You look like you just walked off the cover of a magazine… Or like you’re about to rob a bank with your style, and I’m here for it.”

Date Nights: Dick is a hopeless romantic mixed a romantic flirty person. He'll plan elaborate date nights that are almost too perfect. You're having a candlelit dinner on a rooftop... until a mosquito swoops by, and you both spend 20 minutes trying to catch it.

Awkwardly Adorable: Dick tries so hard to be smooth, but when it’s just the two of you, he ends up tripping over his words, saying things like “I love you… like… in a non-creepy way… I mean, I know that sounds creepy but—“, “you know dick, you could’ve just told me you loved me no need for all that extra yapping.”

Sharing Food: He can’t resist sharing his food with you but will dramatically defend his fries. “No, you can't have any. This is the last one. You’ll be fine. It’s called 'the sacrifice of love.'”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Grumpy But Cute: Jason might be brooding and grumpy on the outside, but once he gets comfortable with you, he’s a sucker for giving you the best hugs. They’re just not as soft as you expect, because, well, he’s Red Hood and that’s not very 'soft' in his book.

Love Language: He definitely has a love language of throwing sarcastic remarks at you to show affection. “I’m just saying, you look so good, I might actually let you live longer than five minutes without me.”

Meme Sharing: Jason will share the funniest memes with you, and he will laugh harder than anyone else when you send him a reaction meme. You two could spend hours going through meme after meme while ignoring his patrol responsibilities.

Late Night Conversations: He’s always the first to text at 3 am just to say, “I’m not okay. Also, I think I might’ve made pasta in the Batcave, but it’s 80% burnt and half of the 20% is missing on the ground in other words, it’s fully burnt. You in?”

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Puns & Dad Jokes: Tim is the king of puns. You might be mid-sentence talking about something serious, and he’ll sneak in, “Well, that’s egg-sactly what I was thinking.”

Organizing Everything: Tim will have a notebook just for your relationship. He organizes things like "future plans," "annoying habits to change," and “how we can both pretend to be normal in public.”

Overthinking: Tim might send you long, thoughtful texts about nothing and everything, then panic and delete them. Later, you get a short text that says, “Hey, I like you. It’s cool. Let’s go save Gotham.”

Netflix & Research: On date nights, Tim is all about watching a documentary on some obscure topic. You wanted to watch a rom-com? Nope. Tim says, “Let’s learn about the history of ancient pizza ovens.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Fiercely Protective: Damian will go full boss mode in a relationship. If someone even looks at you wrong, he’s ready to challenge them to a duel. You’ve never seen someone challenge a guy at the coffee shop to a sword fight over a latte until you met him.

Literally Shakespeare: He has this bizarre habit of reciting random Shakespeare quotes when trying to express his feelings. “My love for you is like a tempest, crashing and relentless. Also, I think you forgot to add sugar in my coffee.”

Jealousy: He’ll get jealous of even the smallest things. That random guy who offered to help you with your grocery bags? Damian’s glaring at them from across the parking lot, preparing his “You’re not worthy” speech.

Tenderness: Don’t be fooled by his brooding exterior. Damian will get you flowers (in his own way) — like a very dramatic single red rose that he purchased with the least amount of emotion possible, but you know he spent an hour picking the perfect one.

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

Grumpy But Loyal: Bruce is that partner who takes a long time to warm up to things, but once he’s in, he’s in 100%. He’ll still be grumpy, though. If you show up in a bat-themed shirt, you’ll get a raised eyebrow and a grunt that could probably level an entire building.

Affectionate In His Own Way: Bruce will bring you your favorite coffee without asking because he’s been paying attention to your usual order for the past six months. But if you say anything about it, he’ll act like he’s annoyed. “I’m Batman. I don’t do things for people.”

Overprotective: He’ll put the Batcomputer between the two of you if he’s feeling protective, even if it’s completely unnecessary. Someone bumps into you? Bruce is already three steps ahead, tracking their life history and figuring out their deepest secrets, just in case.

Romantic, But Quiet About It: Bruce can’t show his love through words, but the way he gives you his jacket when it’s cold speaks volumes. Of course, he acts like it was an accident. “I didn’t want you to catch a cold, that’s all. I’m not a softy, don’t read into it.”

GENERAL TRAITS FOUND IN THEM ── .✦

Matching Outfits: They’ll all pretend like they’re too cool for matching outfits, but one day they’ll catch themselves accidentally twinning with you, and neither of you can ever act normal again.

In Public: They’ll all act like they don’t care if you hold their hand in public, but if anyone tries to grab your hand instead, they’ll give them a glare that could freeze a person in place.

Batman’s Turtleneck: Every Batboy secretly loves when Bruce wears his iconic black turtleneck and glasses. They all think Bruce looks like a mysterious intellectual, and they might just start commenting on it to mess with him. Bruce is too focused on Gotham to care.

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cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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So High School

Pairing: Andrea Kimi Antonelli x Chiara Battista (Original Character)

Summary: Chiara prints his worksheets. Kimi pretends to forget formulas just to talk to her.

It was all working—until she stopped helping, and he realized he might’ve already lost her.

Notes: It's Italian Grand Prix Week! I kinda felt like a cradle robber while writing this, because Kimi is a few years younger than me, but YA was and always will be my first love, so I felt like this was very much in my wheel house.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

The school library was nearly empty that afternoon—just the low hum of fluorescent lights overhead and the steady scratch of pen against paper. Golden hour filtered through tall windows, softening the sterile white walls into something nearly warm. A lazy beam of light slanted across the long wooden table where Chiara Battista sat curled at the end, headphones in, highlighters fanned out beside her like a painter’s palette.

She was halfway through annotating a dense reading for their ethics seminar, blonde hair pulled back in a pencil-stabbed bun that had begun to lean to the left. She didn’t notice.

What she did notice was the sudden bang of the door slamming open.

She didn’t have to look up.

Only one person in their school had ever treated the library like a pit lane instead of a sacred hall of silence.

Kimi Antonelli.

She heard the sharp rush of his breath first—half-running, half-skipping steps echoing too loudly against the tile floor. He jogged toward her, slightly out of breath, sun-kissed and windblown from whatever race weekend he’d just flown back from. His backpack was hanging half-open over one shoulder, and there was a visible crease in the corner of his collar that said he’d either changed in the car or not at all.

“Hey,” he said, voice hushed but warm as he slid into her orbit like he belonged there. “Did we get that grammar packet? The one Mr. Rossi said he’d email?”

She didn’t even blink. “Printed you a copy,” she said, already reaching into her folder. “Figured you’d forget.”

He blinked, like he genuinely hadn’t expected that. “You’re actually a lifesaver.”

Chiara gave a small smile, sliding the neat stack of papers across the table. She didn’t say, I’ve been keeping a folder labeled “A.K.A.” for the last six months because you never remember anything and I never seem to mind. She just handed him the packet and returned to underlining a particularly obscure sentence about moral relativism.

Kimi didn’t move right away.

He stood there for a beat, fingers grazing the edge of the worksheet like it might slip out of his hands if he didn’t hold it gently. Like maybe he wanted to say something else, but couldn’t quite find the words.

Chiara glanced up from her notes.

“Did you win?” she asked, tone light, like this was all completely normal—like she didn’t secretly refresh live race trackers when she was supposed to be studying, heart pounding every time his name moved up the leaderboard.

“Huh? Oh—no.” He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “P6. But it was a decent drive. I think my engineer aged five years, though.”

Chiara smiled under her breath. “Poor man.”

“Yeah,” Kimi agreed, then added with mock gravity, “Pray for Bono.”

She laughed, and he lit up. Just for a second, like sunshine breaking through clouds.

“Thanks again,” he said after a moment, lifting the paper like a white flag. “You always think of stuff I forget.”

“You forget everything,” she teased, not unkindly.

His grin was all teeth, crooked and warm and just a little shy. “That’s true. But you don’t.”

There was something about the way he said it—soft and offhand but sincere—that made her glance up again. And suddenly they were just looking at each other.

It wasn’t new. But it was dangerous.

Because sometimes he looked at her like she was something steady. Something rare. And it made Chiara’s lungs feel too small for her chest.

She glanced back down, pretending to arrange her pens.

“Okay, I should—go,” he said, not moving. “Before Madame Ferragni starts hunting me down for Math homework I didn’t do.”

“You didn’t do it?”

Kimi immediately looked guilty. “I was a little busy driving a car at 300 kilometers an hour.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You had a week.”

“I was in Jeddah!”

“So was my cousin. She managed to post ten TikToks and finish the assignment.”

He laughed, short and surprised. “Right. Okay. I deserved that.”

She sighed but slid another annotated sheet across the table anyway.

He stared at it like it was a gift. “You even highlighted—”

“Don’t act surprised. You always forget the formulas.”

“I don’t forget. I just... deprioritize.”

“You forgot,” she said flatly.

“I forgot,” he agreed, holding up both hands. “But you didn’t.”

“You should go,” she said, more softly this time. “Library closes in ten.”

“Right.”

But he lingered.

“You coming to class tomorrow?” he asked, like he didn’t already know the answer.

“Unlike some people, I don’t fly around the world on weekends.”

He smiled again, that same quiet, unguarded thing he only gave her in empty hallways and between classes. The kind of smile that made her wish she could stop the moment and study it.

Then he nodded, tapping the edge of the worksheet against the table like a nervous tic.

“Thanks again, Chiara,” he said, voice low and sincere. “You’re kind of amazing.”

And before she could find anything to say—before she could ask him why he always came to her, why he always smiled like that but never acted on it—he turned and left.

The door shut softly behind him.

Chiara sat frozen for a moment, staring at her scattered notes, at the place he’d been standing. Then she exhaled slowly and picked up her pen again.

***

The courtyard buzzed with low conversation, the kind that floated lazily through the warm spring air alongside the scent of blooming wisteria and the occasional hum of a passing bee. A group of boys tossed a football across the far lawn. Someone played soft music from a cracked phone speaker. Birds chirped from the trees that arched over the stone pathways, as if even they were tired of studying.

Chiara Battista sat on the low stone wall near the edge of the flowerbeds, legs crossed at the ankles, sunlight warming the tops of her shoulders through her linen blouse. Her physics binder was open in her lap, pages fluttering in the breeze, her green highlighter spinning idly between her fingers like a coin she wasn’t sure whether to flip.

She wasn’t really studying.

Not in the focused, efficient way she usually did. Her eyes were on the formulas, but her mind kept wandering—to Miami, to engines, to a crooked smile and a hoodie that always smelled faintly like jet fuel and cinnamon gum.

Across from her, Giulia sat with her back against the wall, peeling a clementine with the kind of exaggerated slowness that said she wanted attention but was pretending not to.

The citrus smell was sharp in the air.

“So,” Giulia said after a beat, voice lilting and light in that deceptively gentle tone she always used when she was about to say something awful, “how long are you planning on being Kimi Antonelli’s personal secretary?”

Chiara blinked. “What?”

Giulia gave her a long, unreadable look, then popped a slice of clementine into her mouth with flourish. “Come on. You print out his notes. You remind him about tests. You keep spare pens for him like you’re part of his pit crew. It's kind of adorable. If it wasn’t so tragic.”

“I don’t—” Chiara began, heat creeping up her neck.

“You do,” Giulia interrupted, voice light and sing-song. “Which is fine. Really. He’s cute. I get it. He’s got the floppy hair, the whole baby-Mercedes-prodigy thing, the eyes. Honestly, I’d probably let him copy off my notes if he smiled at me the way he smiles at you.”

Chiara looked down at her highlighter, still gripped between her fingers, the green plastic suddenly too bright in the sun.

Giulia took another slow bite of orange and chewed, watching Chiara too carefully.

“But you’re smart,” she continued. “Like actually smart. You’ve got a shot at med school. Or engineering. Or politics, if you ever get over your allergy to speaking in public. And you’re wasting your time babysitting a boy who’s probably never even seen your handwriting on his own.”

Chiara’s fingers stilled. The highlighter slipped and hit her knee with a soft thud before rolling into the folds of her skirt. The green cap glinted in the sunlight.

Giulia leaned her head back, eyes squinting up at the sky like this was all just a mildly interesting observation, nothing personal.

“I’m just saying,” she added, quieter now, “he’s got his group. Enrico, Luca, all of them. You really think he’d still talk to you if you stopped printing out his worksheets?

Chiara’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her throat felt dry.

It wasn’t that the comment was harsh. Giulia wasn’t sneering or mocking her. That would’ve been easier to dismiss. No—this was worse. This was delivered like a kindness. Like honesty, served cold and sharp and gently poisonous.

The sun glinted off the green cap of the highlighter like it was mocking her. Chiara felt her fingers tense around it, her knuckles pale.

“I’m just saying,” Giulia said with a shrug, “I think he’s using you. Not, like, in a malicious way. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. But he is.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

They slid in quietly. Like they were meant to stay. Like they belonged somewhere deep inside her chest, where they could unspool later in the quiet hours.

Chiara didn’t say anything. She didn’t argue. There wasn’t a scene. She just shut her binder with a soft snap and reached down to tuck it under her arm.

Her smile came a second later—small, brittle at the edges, and practiced.

She stood.

“Where are you going?” Giulia asked, frowning.

“Inside,” Chiara said, without turning around. “I forgot something.”

She didn’t.

She just couldn’t sit there anymore. Not with the heat of the sun on her shoulders and those words seeping into her skin like ink.

She walked steadily, not fast enough to show she was upset, not slow enough to linger. Her shoes crunched over gravel, and her binder dug into her ribs with every step.

By the time she reached the hallway, her throat felt tight.

Because now all she could think about were the times he smiled like he meant it. The way he lingered at her desk like he wanted to stay. The way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking back.

And how stupid she must’ve been to think it meant anything at all.

***

It started small.

Kimi Antonelli wasn’t the most observant person when it came to school—he could memorize track layouts and sector splits like his life depended on it (because sometimes it did), but remembering whether ethics class was in Room 2B or 2C? Not his specialty.

But he noticed people.

And he definitely noticed Chiara Battista.

At first, he thought she was just tired. Exams were creeping closer, and she had that furrow between her brows that usually meant she was deep in study mode. But then she stopped handing him things before he even asked. No more worksheets quietly left on his desk. No more “Hey, by the way, Mr. Russo moved the deadline” in the hallway.

Nothing.

She wasn’t cold, exactly. Just… distant. Like she’d taken a step back and pulled some invisible curtain between them.

And he didn’t know why.

Kimi sat in class and stared at the side of her face while she took notes, neat and precise, a different-colored pen for every category. He used to tease her about it. She used to roll her eyes and pretend she wasn’t smiling.

Now she barely looked at him.

She hadn’t sat next to him during ethics the day before. She’d slipped into a seat near the window before he arrived. And when he’d caught up with her after class, breathless from literally jogging across campus to ask about the project, she’d answered his question with the same tone she used when telling the barista her name for a coffee order.

Polite. Blank. Forgettable.

And maybe that’s what scared him the most—that she seemed totally fine.

Kimi fumbled with the strap of his backpack as he walked across the courtyard, barely noticing when Enrico shouted his name from the steps. He waved vaguely in response, but his mind was somewhere else entirely.

Had he said something wrong?

Had she overheard him joking with the others and taken it the wrong way?

He ran through every conversation they’d had in the last two weeks like it was onboard footage. Looking for a mistake. A missed flag. Something he could fix.

But all he found was silence.

His stomach twisted the way it sometimes did before a wet qualifying session—the anticipation, the nerves, the uncertainty. Only this time, there wasn’t a helmet to hide behind or a lap time to chase. Just Chiara, sitting under a tree across the courtyard, her nose buried in a book he didn’t recognize.

And for once, he didn’t know if he was allowed to walk over.

He used to just know. That invisible thread between them used to feel real. Reliable. Like she’d catch his eye from across the room and there’d be a look—a shared joke, a spark, something warm.

Now, she didn’t even glance up.

He pulled out his phone and opened their messages. The last few were short. Blunt. He scrolled higher, to when they used to send stupid memes or homework reminders with four exclamation points. Her little typing bubbles had always come fast and familiar.

Now they didn’t come at all.

Kimi sat down on the edge of a low wall and stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard like it might offer some kind of answer.

Then, impulsively, he typed:

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

He watched the “Delivered” stamp appear.

Then… nothing.

No typing bubble. No reply.

Just the quiet weight of not knowing what he’d done, and the uncomfortable realization that, for all the times he’d texted her for help, he might have never really said the things that mattered.

The things he meant.

And now it might be too late.

***

Chiara told herself it didn’t matter. She told herself it didn’t hurt.

That it was fine, really. Normal. Temporary. That people grew out of things like school crushes and imagined connections. That Giulia hadn’t said anything cruel—just honest.

Blunt, yes. But not wrong.

Because when she thought about it, stripped down past the little moments she’d been hoarding like secrets, what did she really have? A handful of library smiles. A few text messages. Some inside jokes about French grammar and his inability to remember his own locker code.

It wasn’t a relationship. It wasn’t even friendship, not really.

It was habit.

And maybe it was better to know now, before she got in any deeper. Before she built something out of glances and half-grins and the way he said her name when he was tired. Before she mistook kindness for something more.

So she stopped being proactive.

No more reminders. No more extras printed and labeled in neat folders with his name in the corner. No more nudging him in the hallway to say, You missed this, or, He changed the deadline. She didn’t ignore him—Chiara wasn’t cruel—but she was quiet.

Polite. Distant.

Unmistakably different.

And of course, that was when Kimi Antonelli started texting her more than ever.

Kimi A.: hey, did Mr. Russo say what the final project deadline is?

Chiara B.: Next Thursday.

Kimi A.: right. thanksKimi A.: do you know if we’re supposed to use the same groups as before?

Chiara B.: No, new groups. He said so in class.

Kimi A.: oh. I wasn’t there lol

Chiara B.: I know.

The “Read” receipt sat on the screen like a silent accusation. Four minutes passed.

She didn’t move. Just sat at her desk in her bedroom, textbooks spread in front of her, phone in hand, the quiet pressing in too tightly.

She should’ve been used to this by now—the ghosting, the silence, the slow burn of realizing someone was thinking about you less than you were thinking about them. But this was Kimi.

And Kimi was different.

Wasn’t he?

Her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: are you mad at me?

Chiara stared at the message until the screen dimmed and locked. Then she pressed the side button and brought it back again, as if the words might have changed in the dark.

Am I mad at him?

She wasn’t even sure.

Not exactly.

It wasn’t like he had done anything. He hadn’t broken her heart. He hadn’t stood her up or lied or made a promise he didn’t keep.

But he also hadn’t stayed.

He hadn’t noticed how much she gave. How quietly she rearranged her life around his chaos. How she’d memorized his schedule, his absences, his patterns.

He hadn’t noticed when she stopped.

And maybe that hurt more than anything else.

Not the rejection—but the realization that she was so easy to replace that he didn’t even notice when she disappeared.

Chiara glanced around her desk, at the binders and notebooks and that one stupid green highlighter he’d returned to her months ago after she dropped it in the hallway. It still had a faint smudge of oil on the cap. She still used it.

And every time she did, her heart did that annoying stutter.

She thumbed a reply.

Chiara B.: No. Just busy.

It wasn’t exactly true. But it wasn’t a lie either.

Final exams loomed. Graduation was a red circle on the calendar. Everything was ending—school, schedules, this weird little tether between them. And she had other things to worry about. College. Her future. Finding somewhere she belonged that didn’t hinge on how well she organized someone else’s life.

She had to stop wasting time wondering if every “you always think of stuff I forget” actually meant something.

She set her phone face down and tried to get back to her reading. But the words swam, rearranged themselves, refused to sit still.

The next morning, just after first period, her phone buzzed again.

Kimi A.: can I be in your project group?

Chiara read it. And read it again.

She should’ve said no.

She knew she should’ve said no.

But some part of her still ached to believe in him. Still wanted the version of Kimi who lingered after handing her a worksheet. The one who smiled like she was the only thing in the room worth looking at.

So she typed slowly.

Chiara B.: If you actually show up this time.

His response came faster this time. Too fast, like he’d been waiting.

Kimi A.: I will. Promise.

She stared at the screen.

Then locked her phone before she could respond.

Because even now, even after everything, even with doubt wrapped tight around her ribs—

Part of her still wanted to believe him.

And that part?

That was the most dangerous of all.

***

Kimi Antonelli was supposed to be having lunch.

Instead, he was having a crisis.

“She’s not mad,” he muttered, arms crossed, pacing back and forth behind the table like he was walking a qualifying line he couldn’t quite stick. “She just… shut down. Like—quiet. Polite. It’s worse than yelling. She doesn’t even send me emojis anymore.”

Ollie Bearman, lounging like the human embodiment of ‘this is not my problem’, was leaned so far back in his chair he was practically horizontal, chewing absently on a pen cap. His Haas polo was wrinkled, and there were granola bar crumbs clinging to his collar, but he looked entirely unbothered by Kimi’s spiraling.

“You mean,” Ollie said, “she’s treating you like a classmate and not a potential boyfriend?”

“Exactly!” Kimi threw his hands up. “She used to send me PDFs with color-coded annotations. Now it’s just… black text. Periods. Not even an exclamation point! She used to remind me about class changes. Now she lets me walk into the wrong room and doesn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, no, that’s horrifying,” Ollie deadpanned. “Have you tried talking to her like a normal person?”

“I am talking to her,” Kimi snapped. “She’s just only replying about school stuff. Like, cold. Precise. Linguistically devastating. I asked if we could work on the physics project together and she just said, ‘if you actually show up this time’. That’s lethal.”

Ollie winced, cringing like he’d been personally struck. “Oof. That’s—yeah. That’s girl-code for ‘you’re on thin ice, bucko.’”

Kimi dropped into the chair next to him, slumped dramatically with his face buried in his hands. “This is hell. Actual hell.”

There was a pause, long enough for Ollie to sip from a sports bottle with exaggerated slowness.

“I still don’t get why you haven’t told her you like her,” he said, not for the first time.

Kimi looked up, hair flopping into his eyes. “Because she’s smarter than me. Because she has beautiful handwriting and perfect grades and probably thinks I’m just an idiot in fireproof overalls who forgets his own password and uses ‘vibes’ to explain physics.”

“You punched her ex-boyfriend for cheating on her,” Ollie pointed out.

Kimi groaned. “That was your idea!”

“My idea was defend her honor, not uppercut the guy into next week!”

“You said, ‘make it clear he can’t treat her like that.’”

“Yeah! With words, not fists!”

“I panicked!”

“You panicked,” Ollie echoed, nodding like a therapist scribbling on a clipboard. “Because you’re in love with her.”

“Exactly!”

“I said to say something,” Ollie continued, exasperated, “not commit assault outside chemistry class.”

“I didn’t assault him! It was one punch!”

“One punch that required ice and a parental meeting!”

“I panicked!”

“You keep saying that like it’s a defense and not a personality trait!”

Kimi let out a strangled sound. “I don’t know how to do this! I know how to defend in Turn 1. I know how to nail a flying lap. I don’t know how to tell a girl that I remember her favorite pen color and I highlight things in green just because she does and I save her texts even when they’re about grammar exercises.”

There was a beat.

Then a voice cut through the chaos, dry and mildly horrified.

“…I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Both boys froze.

They turned simultaneously.

Toto Wolff stood in the doorway of the Mercedes junior debriefing room, espresso in one hand, jacket draped over his other arm, and the expression of a man who had walked into a live-action soap opera during what was supposed to be a technical meeting.

Kimi immediately sat up straighter, trying to brush his hair out of his face. “Hi, Toto.”

“Hello, Kimi.” A nod. Then: “Bearman.”

“Sir,” Ollie said, suddenly very upright, as if his posture might erase the incriminating conversation still echoing in the air.

Toto took a long sip of his espresso and closed his eyes like it might give him patience.

“Alright,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose with the kind of weariness that only came from mentoring teenage boys with fast cars and faster hearts. “First: no more punching. You are supposed to be a functioning adult, not an F1-themed vigilante.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Second…” Toto looked between the two of them, gaze settling on Kimi. “Tell her how you feel.”

Kimi blinked. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“But what if she—”

“If she doesn’t feel the same,” Toto interrupted coolly, “you’ll survive. It will hurt. But you’ll get over it.”

Kimi swallowed. “And if she does?”

Toto raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll stop spending engineering meetings texting her instead of listening to race strategy. Win-win.”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it. Looked mildly betrayed by logic.

Toto gave him a long look. “You’re not the first young man to like someone smart and good and feel like you didn’t know how to deserve her. Tell her. Before someone else does.”

He pointed at Ollie without even looking. “And don’t take advice from him.”

Ollie gasped like he’d been personally wounded. “I’ve been offended by a team principal. That’s going in my memoir.”

Toto turned to leave. Then paused in the doorway and added, without turning around:

“And if you must punch someone, do it off school property. Less paperwork.”

Kimi gaped. Ollie choked on laughter.

“I’m joking,” Toto said flatly.

(He was mostly joking.)

As he walked away, they heard him mutter to himself:

“I manage race strategy, investor relations, and now teenage hormones. God help me.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence.

Then Kimi looked at Ollie. “…Did Toto Wolff just tell me to ask out Chiara?”

“I think you just got father-figure pep-talked.”

“That was terrifying.”

“Yeah,” Ollie nodded. “He’s weirdly good at it.”

Then, a beat later, Ollie grinned.

“So… are you gonna tell her?”

Kimi stared at the wall, like he might find the courage in the pattern of the plaster. “…I might actually die.”

“You might actually kiss her.”

“…I might throw up.”

“You’ve driven Eau Rouge in the wet.”

“That was less terrifying.”

Ollie grinned and clapped him on the back. “C’mon, lover boy. Time to make Toto proud.”

***

They met at her house.

Neutral ground.

Safe ground.

Her mother answered the door in an apron dusted with flour, squinted at Kimi for all of three seconds, then said, “Is this the racing boy?” with a bright, knowing smile.

Before Kimi could respond—still half in his jacket and caught between alarm and confusion—she turned and disappeared into the kitchen with the ease of someone who had already decided she liked him. “There’s biscotti on the tray. Help yourselves.”

The scent of lemon zest and almonds lingered in the hallway like some kind of warm welcome Kimi wasn’t entirely sure he deserved.

They settled in her room—Chiara cross-legged on the carpet, laptop propped on a cushion, and Kimi sprawled beside her, shoulders brushing the edge of her desk, legs half-folded like he couldn’t quite figure out how to sit in one place for more than five minutes.

They’d been working for over an hour.

On paper, it looked productive. Slides moved. Notes typed. Bullet points organized.

But it wasn’t real.

A few awkward comments about font sizes and slide transitions. Some neutral territory filler like “do we need another diagram?” or “can you move that image left a bit?”

Nothing real. Nothing honest.

And it was unbearable.

Chiara had always been good at pretending—smiling through awkward dinners, nodding during group projects, making herself useful. But this was different. This was him. And the quiet between them wasn’t peaceful. It buzzed. Sharp and heavy, like static before a storm.

So, eventually, she broke.

“You know,” she said, still typing, not daring to look at him, “you don’t have to keep pretending.”

Kimi paused, glancing up from his phone. “Pretending?”

“That this matters to you.” Her voice was steady, but it was too practiced. Too careful. “The project. School. Me. You don’t have to keep texting. Or asking me for things. I’m not going to print your homework anymore.”

She said it like it didn’t cost her something. Like her throat wasn’t tightening and her chest didn’t feel like it was caving in around her words.

He blinked. His whole body went still.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she finished, and even though she tried to sound nonchalant, her fingers curled tighter around her laptop, like she needed something to hold her together.

Kimi’s brow furrowed, confusion washing across his face. “Chiara—”

“I’m serious.” She finally looked at him, and the effort it took not to let her voice shake made her jaw clench. “It’s fine. I get it. I was convenient. You needed someone to keep you afloat while you were flying around the world winning races. I was just… useful.”

The words hung there.

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It rang. It roared in her ears.

Kimi sat up slowly, eyes wide, his whole body shifting like she’d hit him in the chest with something he hadn’t seen coming.

“You really think that?” he asked, and his voice was quiet, but not soft. It was stunned. Raw.

Chiara held his gaze even though it hurt. “What else am I supposed to think?”

Kimi leaned forward, disbelief written all over him. “I never used you.”

“You say that now—”

“I never used you,” he repeated, louder this time. The desperation in his voice cracked something inside her. “You are the only part of school I like! The only reason I didn’t drop out three months ago.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Because I printed things for you—”

“Because I like you,” he said. It burst out of him like a snapped chord. Breathless. Raw. Unpolished and real.

“Because I look for you in every hallway. Because I come to class after red-eye flights and brutal back-to-backs just hoping maybe you’d say hi. Because I have no idea how to talk to you without sounding like a complete idiot! So I asked about worksheets. I pretended I don’t understand physics! Because that was the only way I could keep talking to you without blowing it.”

He kept going, voice lower now. “Because I saved every worksheet you gave me, even the ones I didn’t need. Because I still have the dumb green highlighter you let me borrow that one time. Because I thought maybe if I asked you enough questions, you’d start to like me too.”

Chiara froze.

Then she stared at him. Not blinking. Not breathing.

Kimi ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky laugh, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually said it. “I thought if I said anything real, you’d look at me and realize I’m just… some guy who memorizes apex speeds better than grammar rules. That you’d stop talking to me completely.”

She stared at him.

Then blinked.

Then said—very softly, very brokenly—

“…Then why didn’t you ever say something?” she asked. Her voice wasn’t angry anymore. Just small. Frayed at the edges. “Why did you let me believe I didn’t matter?”

Kimi opened his mouth. Closed it again. Looked so impossibly helpless it nearly broke her.

And then—he didn’t answer.

And Kimi—stunned, frustrated, helpless in the way only a teenage boy in love can be—did the one thing he could think of.

He kissed her.

No warning. No hesitation. Just leaned in and kissed her like she was the finish line and he’d been chasing her all season.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t practiced. It was a little clumsy, a little off-center, his hand curling into the fabric of her sleeve like he was afraid she’d pull away.

Chiara didn’t.

Her heart stuttered, brain blank. And then—melted.

She froze, breath caught—then melted into him.

Her fingers curled into the hem of his hoodie before she even realized what she was doing. Her other hand slid to his cheek.

He kissed her like he was terrified she’d disappear the second he pulled back. Like she was something he’d been waiting to find and never thought he’d get to hold.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his. They were both breathing too fast.

Chiara blinked, dazed. Her voice came out smaller than she meant.

“…That was new.”

Kimi gave a short, nervous laugh, cheeks flushed pink. “Yeah. Sorry. I panicked.”

She stared at him for a beat longer.

Then smiled—soft, surprised, and entirely real. “Do it again.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice.

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