#and started threatening him and insulting him

[vnfadinglight]

So, today is my not very great contribution to @azrisweek.

DAY 1: Creature Feature

It's a miniature piece of writing that probably can't be called a fic, because it has no plot 🤔

Took a very weird angle to this one.

Dual Nature

He heard whispers among the staff and guards of the Forest House the first time it happened.

Why would someone so vain shatter a mirror?

It was probably a wrinkle on his jacket. Or his gold wasn't shiny enough.

The second time, they joked that it was a piece of lint.

After the third, no one joked anymore.

It was almost a ritual—one Eris had cultivated for centuries.

After doing some absolutely disgusting job for his father, he would just stand there, whiskey in hand, and look.

Is telling an entire province that they and their children will be starving for the foreseeable future because Beron is throwing a banquet to celebrate their return from Under the Mountain enough to turn him into a monster?

But his tongue still hadn’t forked.

That was the first thing he checked.

Turning into a Naga would be oddly fitting for someone like him—a snake.

He wasn’t one. Not truly. Or at least, not yet.

His tongue hadn’t split in half. Scales hadn’t appeared on his body. He still had no tail.

The Viper of Autumn still looked Fae, at least.

It was like he’d inherited both: his father’s monstrous nature and his mother’s Fae looks.

Those who saw him as only a monster were wrong. Those who saw him as only Fae underestimated him.

In the end, he was something in between. A creature of both worlds—one he dared not name.

If someone were to skin him alive—he wondered, taking stock of his reflection inch by inch—what would they find?

Eris moved from the mirror and sat down in his low-backed armchair, pouring himself more of his favorite amber whiskey.

When he became High Lord, he was going to fuck someone so thoroughly during Calanmai that Autumn would rot from the overflowing harvest.

He felt a thread in his soul unravel when he sensed a familiar presence in the room.

How long had it been since he saw his mate? Six decades? Seven?

He walked over to his bar cabinet and picked up a second glass.

It was crystal—clean and see-through—but if you angled it just right, you could see the reflection of the Shadowsinger appearing from the shadows behind him on the second armchair.

“You survived.”

“You don’t have to try so hard to hide your disappointment,” Eris replied dryly, making his way back and setting the empty glass in front of his mate.

It would appear rude, for sure, but he wouldn’t risk serving food or drink to this male.

It had been like that for centuries.

Some evenings, every couple of years, the Shadowsinger would appear out of nowhere to threaten him, to check if he wasn’t planning something malicious, to remind him how awful and cruel Eris was.

Over time, those visits got longer—some of them less heated than others.

The heir of Autumn sat back in his armchair comfortably and grabbed his own glass.

They fell into companionable silence—or as close to it as they could get—their faces warmed and lit by the crackling flames of the fireplace in front of them.

Eris stared into the fire, having nothing to say.

He wasn’t in the mood to coax Shadowsinger into talking or demand he leave him alone.

After all these decades, he was happy just to see that the male was well.

And if they started talking, the usual threats and insults would fly, and his mate would disappear for Cauldron knows how long.

Silence was better.

“How was Under the Mountain?”

Eris slowly turned to face him. That was not the question he expected to break the spell.

“Ask your High Lord.”

“Rhysand doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Eris couldn’t—or didn’t want to—hold back the bitter laugh that escaped him.

"He doesn’t want to talk about it? I thought he’d be the first to brag about all he had done in Amarantha’s name. I swear, the audacity…" Eris stopped his tirade long enough to look into Shadowsinger’s cold, furious eyes before gazing back into the flames.

The underground levels of the Forest House and Under the Mountain weren’t really similar. And thank the Cauldron—he didn’t want a reminder of how it felt to be trapped down there.

The power they lost.

The games they had to play to survive.

How powerless and hopeless he felt when Lucien lost his eye.

The constant cruelty.

The torture.

Would Beron be inspired by some of Amarantha’s ideas?

He shuddered at the thought.

“Agonizing,” he answered truthfully. “Horrifying. Gruesome.”

Shadowsinger didn’t ask any more questions but didn’t move either.

It was amazing how still he could be—like a statue—only his shadows lazily rolling over his form. He didn’t look completely Fae either, Eris realized. Half Illyrian, half phantom. A specter spying on those worthy or significant enough to be haunted. A night apparition for those who fantasized about his midnight visits… A creature caught between dreams, nightmares, and the physical world alike.

Was that how his people saw him? Was that how he saw himself? Did he spend long evening looking into the mirror?

Maybe that’s why the Mother saw it fitting to bind their souls together.

Not because they were deserving. Not because they were evenly matched.

But because they could understand each other.

“You know,” Eris started, voice hoarse from the day’s weariness and the heat of the whiskey, “we are far more similar than you think.”

And just like that, with one sentence that probably should never have left his mouth, the spell was broken.

Shadowsinger lunged at him, grabbing his jaw and squeezing it painfully. Eris could feel the cold touch of Truth-Teller at his throat—as if his mate were wielding icy shards from his own eyes in his hand.

“We. Are. Nothing. Alike,” Shadowsinger hissed, enunciating each word through clenched teeth.

Eris could see his own reflection in that cold, furious gaze—and had to stop himself from placing his hands on the Illyrian’s waist. So close. So delightfully close.

“You’re a cruel snake. A venomous viper. A monster who—”

“And what are you, Shadowsinger?” Eris scoffed, fire boiling in his veins.

It ran cold the moment he recognized the hurt and confusion in the male’s eyes.

The bond pulled at him—to embrace, to soothe, to whisper assurances…

That’s when his mate’s fist connected with his face.

His vision went black for a second, warmth of his blood pooled on his upper lip. He didn’t see Shadowsinger leave—but he heard his parting words.

“You’re just like your father, Vanserra.”

Eris took his glass of whiskey and stepped toward the mirror.

[literallypyro]

Won't lie, I enjoyed reading your mercs headcanons

Say, are you willing to write something about Reader and Spy? Perhaps the reader surprises Spy with a short sentence in French. Like "I love you" or "You look handsome today". A simple compliment in his language.

How would he react to this? Would he chuckle or just sigh with a smile at how poor the reader pronunciation is

My readers shall get what they ask for! (◕▿◕)(´ ⌣ `ʃƪ)♡

I hope you enjoy!

Spy x reader

Des nuits d'amour à ne plus en finir

-Okay, first of all, he thinks it's sweet you want to learn french just to surprise him

-Honestly think it's adorable when you flub words and will gently correct you

-He would probably want to help teach you. Please let him teach you

-Laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, mentally kicking his feet. Is this how Americans feel when people speak French to them?

-If you would get easily embarrassed about messing up, he would be so casual when he corrects you. He probably wouldn't even look up from whatever he's doing

-Don't apologize for making mistakes

-"It's an entire language, mon cœur, not 3rd grade math. I don't expect you to get it right every time, and neither should you."

-If you make absolutely sure to have perfect pronunciation and know exactly what you're saying, he can't help the happy, excited feeling in his stomach. You know the one. The cold one that's similar to adrenaline

-If you learn french quickly, he will start having conversations with you. At first, it would be small ones to help you practice. Then it would slowly transform into casually having conversations in French. If he accidentally uses a word you haven't learned yet, he apologizes and teaches it to you

-Would absolutely talk with you in French around the team to make jokes and lighthearted insults about them

-You could totally blackmail him with it though

-If he steps too far out of line, just threaten to translate the things he said while the team was around

-"You knowing french is a blessing and a curse"

-Honestly kinda loves it though. Sneaky, smart little minx, you might just give him a run for his money

-"I'm starting to wonder if you're out for my heart or my job" he's joking, of course

[btsgirlypop]

THE BULLY EX

Pairing - JJK X Reader, Exboyfriend!Jungkook x Babymama!Reader, CEO!Jungkook x Maid!Reader, HardDom!Jungkook x Sub!Reader

Genre - Hardcore smut with maybe very little angst

TRIGGER WARNING(s) - NONCON, DUBCON,FORCED SEX, ROUGH SEX, DEGRADATION, HUMILIATION, POSSESIVE, CONTROLLING, POWERPLAY, FORCED PREGNANCY/BREEDING, SPIT KINK, PISS KINK, CHOCKING, DOMINANT/SUBMISSIVE, COERCION, BLACKMAILING. THIS DOES NOT REPRESENT BTS OR JUNGKOOK IN ANY WAY. BOTH OF YOU ARE LEGAL IN THIS.

CONTAINS DARK THEMES!!! VIEWER'S DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!

note - a surprise for my jungkook girlies.......our muscle bunny is finally backkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

ALSO not edited so kindly forgive me!!!!!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

BLURB – In College, Jungkook was the rich, popular guy. You were the quiet scholarship student, an orphan focused on studies and survival. It was the final year of your studies, when you started dating him, and for you, it felt like a dream, from strangers to friends to lovers. You were deeply in love with him, unaware it was all a bet to take your virginity. Being conservative, you never felt comfortable enough to sleep with him, so at one of his friend’s parties, he drugged and violated you. You had no memory of what happened, and Jungkook told you, while crying and apologizing continuously, that you both were drugged and to save you both, he slept with you. Because you loved him, you believed him, naively.

But one day, while delivering him lunch, you overheard him laughing with his friends, bragging about how easy it had been to take you that night. You stood there, heartbroken, and cried in front of him but he just laughed in your face—and from that day on, he started bullying you and let his friends insult and humiliate you. 2 weeks later, you found out you were pregnant. With no support and unable to keep your scholarship, you left quietly without telling him about yourself or the pregnancy and decided to raise the child on your own. But what you never knew was—he’d been obsessed with you since the beginning, and your disappearance only deepened it. You moved to another city and started working as a maid in a hotel, and gave birth to a beautiful baby boy.

1 year later, Jungkook saw you again at the hotel, during one of his business trips. He followed you to your apartment and saw you playing with a baby who looked exactly like him. Still obsessed and unwilling to let go, he showed up at your apartment one night—threatening to take your son if you didn’t come back to him.

“You know very well what I can do Y/n” he speaks

Scared you told him yes…..

“Then what are you waiting for? Strip!!! Slut” you start stripping as your eyes fill with tears.

His eyes widen with excitement as he swallows hard, staring intensely at your naked figure. "Fuckk... I’ll treat you like my dirty little slut. Choke you, spit on you, bend you over and rape that pretty pussy, just like I did before, right baby girl?" He grins wickedly.

You stay silent.

“Answer your master, baby”

“Yes, master” you say quietly, your voice flat, resigned. You stand there naked in the doorway, while he remains fully clothed—calm and in control.

He groans deeply at your words. "Fuck baby..." He grabs you by the throat and pushes you against the wall. "I'm gonna fucking destroy this disgusting worthless pussy. You have no idea how many nights I wanted to touch and fuck that bitchy cunt of yours." He kisses you roughly, biting your lips drawing blood as you hit his arms, trying to resist him.

“Mmm, you taste like a real slut." He grabs your hair roughly and pulls your head back, blood dripping down your chin. "I'm gonna stretch out that filthy little pussy so fucking wide that by the time I'm done with you, she will be gaping and sloppy, sloppy enough to fit two or even three of my cocks at once, my lovely cumslut." He pushes you down on your knees. "Open your mouth”

Pulling your tongue out with his fingers, he spits directly onto your tongue repeatedly, filling up your open mouth with his saliva. Some drips down your chin, some landing on your breasts. He unbuckles his belt, pulling his pants down and takes out his hard cock. "Swallow it, you desperate slut. Suck your master's cock like a greedy little whore. And remember, suck like your son's life depends on it, because it fucking does..." He presses the head against your spit-covered lips, slapping his hard dick on both your cheeks and forehead.  “Fuck, look at you, so pathetic and hesitant. You’re such a lucky girl, I’m giving you a chance at all. You should be thanking me for giving the opportunity to choke on my cock to a nasty fucking cockwhore like you...It's time for your first real taste of what your life is going to be like from now on.”

“Mmmm…..Mmmmm”. You shake your head, refusing to open your mouth. Jungkook lands a harsh slap on your right cheek and pushes his cock inside your mouth in one stroke. “Ahhh….fuckkk….fuck….this damn mouth pussy”

You gag on his thick, veiny dick as he holds your head in place and fucks your more roughly. "Choke on my dick, you dirty little cocksucker. Choke on it, you filthy cum-sucking bitch!!!" He forces your head down, his large hands pressing the back of your skull tightly, your nose touching his pelvis. At the same time, he bends forward, his hips rocking against your mouth brutally as he spanks your ass.

“Ahhhh…..fuck yes-ss, look at my lowly cumwhore. I know you love this, I know you love being used like a cock sleeve. God, you should be on your knees every day sucking cock..... That's all your useless mouth is good for, you fucking gutter whore" he grabs your head tighter and starts face-fucking you more roughly.

"Mmmm......Mmmmm".

he watches your face contort as you choke on his cock. Tears streaming down your face as you try to breathe through your nose. Your hands push weakly against his thighs as if trying to escape as he holds your face firmly. "Damn..... Even struggling, you look like a pathetic slut.....look at these pathetic tears rolling down your whore face!!!!You’re gonna please your master, right babyslut?"

"Mmmm...."

Suddenly with a grunt he pulls you off his cock, a thick string of saliva connecting your mouth to his cock. He spits on your face, his saliva dripping on your forehead and hair as he rubs his cock on your face lazily, smearing his precum and saliva on your face.

"Hmmm….. It’s been so long since I have tasted your cunt, baby. Go on tell me how blessed your pussy is to be raped by my big cock, you stupid little fuckwhore... TELL ME!!!"

“ Yes-s yes-s I'm blessed to be raped by your big cock, master” you choke out

He lets you catch your breath for only a second before pulling your nipples to make you stand. Grabbing your hair again, he pushes your body on the couch as he commands loudly while taking his clothes off. “That’s right, my love…. now turn around. I need to fuck my bitch from behind. C’mon now, spread your cheeks and show me your filthy holes, you dumb cunt". You reluctantly reach back, with shaking hands to spread apart your butt cheeks, exposing your most intimate area to his hungry eyes, feeling embarrassed, horny and disgusted with yourself, all at the same time.

His eyes darken with lust. "Fuck-kk, your holes are all mine!! ALL MINE!!! I can't wait to split that tight asshole open. And that tiny pink slutty pussy, already so wet and ready for a cock. Hmmm…..You really are a dirty, cock-hungry slut..." He pushes down on top of you roughly, making sure to press his naked body fully crushes you, your boobs squeezing painfully on the couch.

“Ahh….Ahh….no-oo, please-e stop-p, master”. Scared, you start thrashing as he cages you more tightly with his body "Shhh….shh…. don’t be scared, you dumb bitch. I'll fuck your asshole another day. Today I’m gonna crush your big mommy tits under me. Fuck-k… I’m gonna tear apart your slutty pussy and you’ll love every second of it, won't you, you nasty girl? You love being put in your place, being reminded of what you really are, don't you, baby whore?. Even used-up street whores have more dignity than you, Y/n".

“yes-sss…..yes maste-rr” With a chocked sob, you finally give in to the grim reality of your situation. You had no choice, sacrificing your dignity and self-respect was the only way to save your son from a lifetime of misery and abuse.

"Look at you, beneath me begging to be treated like shit." He grabs your throat tightly. "I should just cum on your face and leave you here choking, you worthless slut. Now, now...….don’t tell me you don’t love this, I can feel your slick running down your ass, whore. TELL ME!!!!" He grunts in your ear.

“Ahhh…. Ye-sss master, I love being treated lik-ee this-ss”

“That's right, just a cum dumpster. Tits too big, mouth too hungry for cock. Your pussy's so loose any fucker could use it. Is that why you left me? To be fucked like a lowly slut, begging men to rape your dirty, cock-starved fuckhole, you fucking skank?” he spits in your face again as he pushes his dick fully onto you, effectively pinning you down. "Fuck-kk yeah, such a nasty fucking hole”.

“Ahhhhh……..sto-pp, ple-easee”. You beg helplessly.

He starts pounding into you hard, his thick cock filling your pussy completely as you writhe under his heavy weight. “Stop fucking complaining!!! You know you love this shit!!”

“I’m gonna put my load inside this rotten pussy. Oh fuck-kk that would be perfect, wouldn’t it? My baby growing inside my little rape toy…..You’ll be tied to me forever then... Maybe I’ll keep fucking you until I get you pregnant again”.

“No-o…No-oo, please-ee let me go-oo” you resist but he pins you down more tightly, covering you mouth with his hands to muffle your cries.

He starts pounding into you, pulling his dick out briefly to slap your asscheeks, and again pushing it back in roughly “no means yes with you hoes….. I’m trying to get you pregnant again, you dumb bitch. I’m gonna knock you up again and then I’ll have you locked up in my house forever….Fuck yes.... you'll be my personal breeding machine”.

"Mmmm.....Mmmmm"

Your legs tremble violently as your walls tighten around his flesh, cumming violently as you squirt your juices on him and the couch, soaking his lower abdomen. Your walls try to push him back but he stays still, desperately trying to delay his own orgasm. “God-dd….. What a disgusting tight pussy!!!”

"Ahhh...... Fuck-kk" you yell incoherently under his hands as your body collapses on the couch.

Pulling his cock out suddenly, he pulls you by your hair, without letting your drowsy body rest a minute, and throws you on the floor. You try to sit up on your knees as his other hand slaps your cheek hard, your face moving to the side. You look at him, your cheek decorated with his red handprint as his gaze roams over your miserable naked form, like he's examining his pet who's waiting for it's food. Leaning down, he spits in your mouth before kissing you brutally. “Suck my fucking spit and bend over, bitch. Master’s tired, don’t you know you need to serve your master, please him? And here you are, laying like a dead fucking pig and want master to do everything. Still a lazy whore, just want to do nothing and bask in your own pleasure. Looks like you forgot your place, you low- class slutty maid."

Listening to his insults, tears fill in your eyes as you listen to him silently. "What the fuck are you waiting for, you lazy cunt? You're here to be my personal fuck toy, and that means being an obedient little fuckdoll for me.” he kicks your naked body while sitting on the couch, lightening a cigarette. You look up at him, trying to remember the innocent young boy who used to blush whenever you kissed his cheeks. “Was it all a lie?” You think.

“Yes master-rr” you try to stand, feeling your legs weak from brutal assault.

“Hurry up, whore!!!!” he screams, feeling guilty at your sad face but realizes he needs to do this or you won’t ever be in his life. “Did I say you could just fucking kneel there like a deadbeat whore? No, I fucking didn’t. Now bend over and fuck yourself on your master’s cock. And don’t you dare to let out your shameless whore-ish moans or I’ll fucking beat you with my belt. Understand, you low-class breeding slut?"

“Yes-ss, yes master” You reach your hand behind to put his dick in your pussy and try to move on his cock. He watches your struggles with a hint of amusement and pride as your inexperience causes his cock to slip out a few times.

“Fucking useless cockwhore!!!Don’t you know how to fuck” He starts spanking your ass hard as you let out a cry. You start bouncing on him slowly, fucking back at his cock, trying desperately to find a rhythm. “I know how to get desperate bitches like you to behave.” He puts out his almost over cigarette on your right butt cheek, putting a dot on the mark of his red handprint as you let out a silent scream, putting your hands on your mouth, trying to not wake your sleeping son.

“Good girl!!”Pulling both of your arms backward, he drops your head on the carpeted floor as he crushes your face with his foot, and starts thrusting harder and faster.

"Ahhhh......Ahhh....."

“Shut up and take it! God-d... you're like a bitch in heat. Tell me baby from now on every morning I'll wake up to this pretty mouth wrapped around my cock and every night I'll come home to find my little whore waiting naked on her knees. Am I right, my brainless bitch ?”

“Yes-ss yes-ss, ma-asterr” you breathe out.

He smirks darkly and pulls his cock out suddenly "Good. Because you're not my equal anymore. You're just my filthy fucktoy. My personal rape doll". He removes his foot from your head and hauls you up to stand with your back to his chest, still gripping your both hands tightly on your back with his one hand. "You'll sleep in the dog bed from now on. No more fancy pillowcases for a useless slut like you."

“Yes-ss master-rr” You choke out a breathless cry as more tears streak through your smudged makeup.

“Fuck yes, you don't have any authority at all. You're just a dirty cock sleeve, a place for me to dump my cum. I should fucking ruin your cunt, reshape it to fit my cock perfectly. That's all you're good for, you fucking skank.” He turns your face to the side and kisses you roughly, biting your lips. “I can fuck you anytime I want. In the kitchen, in the park, in front of my friends...And when our son's watching TV? When you fold laundry? When we're having dinner?" He slaps your right tit ruthlessly, laughing like a madman at your distressed face "Fuck-kkk….It doesn't fucking matter anymore - you're just a fuck hole now."

“ahhhh…. Ahhhh plea-see”

His cock twitches at your desperation as he squeezes your body harder "Fuck yeah I'll fuck you whenever I want because YOU ARE MY FUCKTOY!!! Especially while you're breastfeeding that little bastard. The same tits that feeds my son will also milk my cock. God-ddd, you're nothing but a worthless hole. You actually like being treated like this, don't you? Being used as a cumdump by me ? No wonder other men want to use you too. Stop fucking acting like you're worth something.....you cheap fleshlight"

"Open your fucking mouth, slut. Show me how dedicated you are to being used." He spits on your face and pulls your hair hard, stretching your neck backwards until you scream from painful tug.

“Ahhhh………fuck me please”

He spreads your legs wide with his legs and starts fucking you from behind brutally, his balls slapping against your pussy as he uses your hair to control you completely, grinning at your desperate plea.  “Fuck me, fuck me... all you care about is getting fucked, huh? You don't care about being a mom anymore, do you? You just want to be a fucking slut."

"yes-ss...yes-s"

He smirks darkly "Good. Because you won't be my equal anymore. You're just my filthy brainless freeuse whore." He suddenly grabs your throat.

“Ahhh…… pleas-see sto-pp, my son-n will wak-eee up-pp”---

“I don't give a fuck if he wakes up and sees his dad fucking his cockwhore mom on the living room floor. I'm fucking horny and I need this slutty little cunt bad." He pounds into you harder, spanking your ass repeatedly, leaving red marks.

“Ahhhhh….ahhhh”

Suddenly you hear your son’s crying from the baby monitor but Jungkook doesn't stop fucking you. Pushing his fingers painfully into your wrists, his grip tightens, as he spits on your hair and back coating it whole. "You're such a pathetic fucking whore. Your son's crying and you're still getting pounded like a horny slutty bitch”.

“Ahh-hh, pleas-eee leave me “

Pulling you upright by roughly holding your hair, he fucks you even harder “Fuck no, you dumb fucking bitch. You'll feed my son with this same mouth that's been stuffed with cock. I'm not finished using you yet. Your son can wait... Mommy's getting fucked."

“ No-oo noo ah… no”

You hear your son crying louder now. He cages your arms painfully behind your back as your head slumps forward from exhaustion while he continues pounding into your battered cunt like an animal. “See? Your own son needs you and you're too busy getting fucked to take care of him. Walking around like a bitch on heat, with daddy’s cock as a leash" He laughs cruelly and starts pulling you forcefully, cock still thrusting aggressively. " You're a fucking failure as a mom, Y/n"

"Ahhhh......Mmmm...."

He drags you into the nursery, still impaled on his cock. He throws you down on the crib, making you cry out in surprise and pain as he keeps pounding into you roughly. "Feed our son while I finish fucking his mommy."

“Ahh-hh no, pleas-eee, let me go.... at least let-tt me feed my son”

“Stop fucking begging. You love this dick, you whore. You're gonna cum on my dick while you feed our son... show him what a dirty whore mommy is. Fuck-kk….Gonna breed my cumslut again. You’re such a nasty mommy Y/n..... just a fuck hole for me now."

 “Ah-hhh no, no plea-see”

“You’re a filthy pervert Y/n, your son would be so ashamed of you. Look how you love getting fucked roughly in front of our baby". He reaches around and starts roughly playing with your clit while still pounding into you. "

“Ahhhh, save m-eee”

“There's no saving you now. You're mine to use and abuse as I please. Your only purpose is to service my cock and take care of our children." He starts fucking you even harder and faster, kneading and squeezing your tits harshly with both hands. "I'm going to fill you up, you little slut."

“Pleas-eee, lea-vvee my boobs, I need-d to feed my so-nnn”.

“Shut up and take it. I'm not done with these tits yet. You can feed him with the other one after I'm finished using this one." he moves one of his hands from your tits but squeezes your other breast mercilessly, pinching, twisting and pulling the nipple roughly. "Now feed our son with this one... while I keep fucking this one. God-dd… it’s fucking hot how I am raping your tiny little cunt again. Making your son suck on one clean tit while I use the other one for sex. My dirty little fuckwhore and baby feeder." He laughs darkly.

“Ahh….. I never wanted this” you beg pitifully, wondering why God was punishing you.

“That’s too fucking bad, slag. I wanted it... and now you're stuck being my dirty little milk cow." He keeps fucking you brutally while you try to feed your crying son with one breast. Your son latches onto one nipple while junkgook fists and kneads the other one cruelly.

“Ahhh…… no-oo”

He puts his face on your shoulder, thrusting slowly and deeper looking down at your son feeding, as he whispers gently in your ear “You're pathetic. A greedy cockslut who loves being used like this. You feel great being used like a cheap whore while our innocent son sucks on your tit? You're a dirty little slut, a cheap fucking disgusting hoe who gets off on being humiliated and degraded."

You start crying, feeling dirty by his cruel words. “You’re a bastard, Jungkook”

His face turns red with anger and he slaps your face hard, leaving a red mark “you called me a bastard, you nasty fucking cumrag. Yes, yes I am. A cruel bastard who knows exactly what his dick addicted future wife needs.” He pulls your tit roughly from your son’s mouth and smacks it hard. But surprisingly, he gives you a moment to put your son gently on his crib, his eyes becoming soft as he looks lovingly at his son’s sleeping form. His duality scaring you.

In just a second his face hardens as he looks at you. A cold, cruel glint present in his eyes. Pulling your head back harshly, he throws you on the floor, looking down at your defiled frame laying still, crying silently. A flicker of regret crosses his eyes before it disappears, he reminds himself that he needs to break you so you won’t leave him, EVER. "You wanted a gentle lover? Well, here's what you get instead - a fucking monster who uses your body like a cheap sex doll." he speaks as he gets on top of you, knees on either side of your head, slapping you hard on both cheeks.

“ pleas-sse I'm sorr-yy pleas-ee”

Locking his hands in the back of your head, he yanks your face towards his cock, forcing it in your mouth. You choke, feeling your throat burning and thrash your limbs under him. “You're mine, baby girl. My own personal cumrag. My baby-making machine. Take it all, you fuckwhore. This is what you deserve for leaving me. Mmmmm……yes, yes, suck your master's big cock like the good little cockslut you are.”

“Mmmm…” you start hitting and scratching his thighs weakly with your hands as you’re on the verge of unconsciousness, eyes rolled back and face red from lack of oxygen. “Fuck yes!!!!! Scratch me you little bitch! It just turns me on more. You can’t escape me, fucking slut….. I’ll break your feet if I have to!!!

He laughs manically as he looks down at your numb form, your eyes completely unfocused and dazed, as he pulls his cock off your mouth. You gasp loudly, drooling coughing as he reaches behind to slap your left tit coloring it red with his rough assault, while rubbing his dick on your nose and forehead. “You'd better not fucking pass out on me now, you stupid bitch. Open that dirty mouth”. You try to speak, trying to beg him to leave you alone, but before you could speak, he slaps you harshly and rubs his balls on your nose, blocking your breathing. "I said open that dirty mouth. WHORE!!!"

He slaps your face with his cock a few times, smearing the juices on his cock on your face and trying to put his precum in your nostrils, before forcing it into your mouth again. “Mmm, my perfect little cumslut.”

"Mmmmm.....Mmmmm....."

You moan, the vibrations making his cock twitch “God…. You feel so fucking good…..I’m gonna cum so hard…..You’re moaning, huh? Do you enjoy me fucking you like this? Do you want more? More of this brutal fucking, raping? Then beg….beg… for my piss." He starts thrusting brutally, looking down at you with a dark smile. “Beg master to piss on your face like the fucking animal you are." He grabs your hair tightly.

“ Ahh…… pleas-eee”

“You really are a pathetic piss slut, aren't you? Begging for my piss like it's fucking ambrosia." He spits in your hair and forehead, the saliva dripping down your eyes and cheeks. "You're not even worthy of licking my boots clean, you piece of shit."

He laughs darkly "Look at yourself - makeup running down that slutty face, tears streaming because you actually get off on being fucked forcefully by me. What a fucking whore you are." He spreads his legs wider, raping your mouth like a pussy with his cock "Do you even deserve to breathe without my cum in your stomach, my dumb rapeslut?"

“Mmmmm…..”

" fuck.... fuck-kk" He pulls his cock out suddenly, and stands up looking down at your ruined body while stroking his cock frantically with his own hand. “Such a stupid cunt…... Your pathetic pussy is addicted to my cock already so I'll fuck you whenever I want to and you can’t deny me, got it you used up fuckhole? But right now, I'm gonna piss and cum all over that pretty face and tits and mark you as MINE." He presses his foot on your stomach as he strokes his cock more desperately.

“no-oo, no please-e please-ee” you cry out in pain.

“Shut up!! Shut up!! Shut up!! You goddamn dumb little whore. You're just a filthy cunt who exists for one thing - taking big hard cocks. No wonder other men want to use you too. But now no one will even touch your disgusting fucked-up slutty holes, you’re mine FOREVER” He spits again, losing his mind over your fucked out face and the sight of your gaping red cunt as he kicks your side.

“Plea-see pleas-ee”

“Fuck... that's the kind of pathetic devotion I need from my future wife, my property, my slut." He groans as he watches your desperate, loving eyes. "You really are nothing without my dick, aren't you? I’ll never let you go…… I’ll keep raping you until I’m dead, baby" He starts cumming all over your face and chest, marking you. "Jesus Christ..."

“Now here comes my hot piss baby….right in my favorite whore’s mouth." He watches his thick streams of hot piss shooting into the air and landing in your open mouth and body. Some hits your cheeks, chin and breasts as he covers your whole body in his piss and cum. He bends down again and rubs his tip against your closed lips making you lick his head clean. "Swallow it all..." He wipes his cock on your face and neck as you lay exhausted, crying at your cruel fate, wondering whether if you’d be able to escape him in this life before closing your eyes.

A dark, possessive grin spreads across his face as he lifts your tired unconscious body and kisses your lips “I love you, baby girl. You’re mine now”.

[rosegoldrosieee]

The (Un)common Cold

(Tags: House/Wilson, domestic fluff, sexual/suggestive humor, sickfic, established relationship, clinic duty, references to wanting to get married)

Summary: It’s November, and hurricane season and flu season are in full swing. Afflicted with the commonest of colds, Wilson hasn’t been cuddling with House as much as he’d like. To remedy this distressing issue, House resorts to a method as unorthodox and selfish as his bedside manner.

(TL;DR: House turns off the heat in their condo. Set vaguely in the middle of S6, but Wilson has slightly longer hair?)

Read on AO3 (5k words)

It had only really started recently—House would wake up to Wilson facing away from him or his grumbling incoherently in the middle of the night and wriggling out of House’s grasp. Nothing as of recent could have annoyed Wilson to get the point of withdrawal, considering that being House's significant other required an inhuman amount of patience. House props himself onto his forearm.

Wilson stirs, curling in on himself, cheek pressed into the cool fabric of the pillow, facing House, hair mussed and features soft, unmarred by the usual array of worries he carried for two. He looks angelic, bathed in the scant moonlight filtered through the blinds—so much so that House merely lies there and observes, unwilling to ruin the lovely chiaroscuro sleeping beside him. 

He parsed his memory of the past few weeks: Wilson yelling at him to do the dishes (House ordered takeout for the next week to avoid it); Wilson complaining that House forgot to pick up their dry cleaning (which he promptly compensated for with good—no—incredible sex); Wilson preemptively buying an egregiously large pallet of Kleenex from Costco and creating a barricade at the foot of the bed. 

A wave of guilt threatens to wash over him. Yes, he was objectively a shitty boyfriend for losing sleep over some stranger’s nonsensical symptoms and not Wilson’s, however minor and trivial they were. No time like the present, then, to get on with it. The incentive was inherent — getting Wilson to snuggle with him again. 

House reaches out, gently sweeping Wilson’s tousled bangs aside, the back of his hand kissing his forehead. A feverish warmth inundates his skin, from his knuckles to the tips of his fingers. Wilson’s brows furrow, his face contorting imperceptibly into an expression of mild discomfort, before he quickly eases back into rest with a quiet sigh.

He etches LOW-GRADE FEVER onto his mental whiteboard in Expo chicken scratch. In his head, the marker’s a neon pink, fluorescent and glow-in-the-dark. Maybe he’d bother the fellows next week (or if they’d had enough, Wilson or Cuddy) to cover the expenses for a more colorful array of colors. He only had himself to parry with or throw insults at tonight, but it would have to suffice. 

Wilson’s nose is swollen; he’d find mottled red blooming at the apex, if he was cruel enough to turn on the lamp.SINUSITIS. He knows exactly what Wilson has, of course he does, but it’s more fun to gather all the constituent pieces of the jigsaw first. Maybe he’s just playing with his food. Either way, Wilson isn’t actively dying, so there’s no harm in placating his own boredom with a differential.

An unpleasant, scratchy hacking snaps House out of his reverie. Wilson settles again, sniffling and exhaling wearily through parted lips. He adds a messy, squiggly arrow underneath SINUSITIS: CONGESTION.

Poor thing.

House’s internal monologue uses two different inflections for those words. The first, a genuinely sympathetic lilt. Wilson was so infuriatingly pitiful when he was sick, blowing snot bubbles and flashing tired, pleading puppy-dog eyes to guilt trip House into doing his bidding. Even then, it couldn’t really be guilt tripping when it was merely giving House an impetus to stop evading his domestic responsibilities. 

The second, a mocking, derisive tone that was far more likely to come out of his mouth. In what sort of sick, perverted world does pretty privilege trump being a cripple in chronic pain? Still, House felt less sympathy for his terminal patients than he did for Wilson. 

“You’ve known me for how many years?” House murmurs softly, reaching over for a tissue and dabbing at Wilson’s nose. “Somehow, this is the first time you’ve managed to bore me. Congratulations. You have the most common of colds. Thank the aptly named rhinovirus.”

Wilson snuffles and squirms only briefly before his body relaxes again. 

“Must feel good to breathe through your nose for a few seconds again, I know, but I can’t do this all night for you. Blow it yourself,” House quips, pressing a chaste kiss to a flushed cheek before reclining back, tucking the sheets over them both. “And while you’re at it, blow me.” 

***

Wilson wakes to a dark tundra.

Okay, fine. That’s a dramatic exaggeration, even for him.

It is, however, a dreary autumn morning, and Mother Nature weeps, her tears flooding the streets. The place is devastatingly cold, from the outside layer of the duvet to the edges of the pillow that Wilson’s fever couldn’t penetrate. He shivers, burrowing himself in the layers up to his nose. It’s 9 a.m., and Wilson’s bedside is vacant, save for the noticeable imprint of House’s frame in the valleys of rumpled sheets. When he rubs the sleep from his eyes, he sees the tail end of a crinkled Shoprite receipt tucked under House’s pillow. 

For a second, he thinks the worst, lethargy eclipsed by dread. Squinting, Wilson slides the thin slip out and orients it sideways, to decipher the tiny scrawl in the negative space between transactions and along the borders: 

THE COLD IS A BITCH 

SO IS MY PATIENT TODAY

BACK SOON I ♡ YOU

Wilson’s eyes soften, thumb smearing the red ink on the last three words. The heart is messily filled in, the sides a bit lopsided. House is scarcely up this early, so it must have been urgent. Or he’s screwing with him. 

His stomach does a strange little flip as he reads it. Then rereads it. Five, seven, five. A haiku and an explicit “I love you”? This early? Now he was sure—House had to be fucking with him. Trying to appease him for some nefarious reason that would be made crystal-clear very soon. 

Wilson had already called yesterday to let Cuddy know he wouldn’t be in for at least the next day or so, but the guilt was overwhelming. His patients needed him, if not as a doctor, as a friend, and not just that, but his assistants, too, that he promised—

You’re not a doormat. So don’t lie down and capitulate. 

Paraphrased, most likely, but House was right. 

Unfortunately, the cold seems to kill the rest of his thoughts as they swim across his psyche, slowing first before they atrophy and rupture. 

With a defeated sigh, Wilson finally stumbles out of bed, limbs stiff and head heavy as he staggers to the kitchen, beelining for the medicine cabinet, dragging the sheets along like a bridal train. 

***

Clinic duty is stupid. 

And the sky is blue. 

“Google celebrated its eleventh birthday last month,” he remarks, leveraging himself against the nurses’ station. The nurses mill about, doing what they do best: ignoring him. “You’d think people might try to use some of this newfangled technology before they came here.” 

Cuddy’s heels clack across the linoleum in a tiresome staccato. He doesn’t bother looking behind him, fidgeting with his cane idly. He swears his midback tingles like a sort of Spider-sense, feeling the file hovering just shy of his back in her outstretched hand. 

“House.” 

“Wait. Don’t tell me. Another terrifying rhinovirus that infects millions of people every year?” Reluctantly, he swivels around. “Boring.”

“The nurse’s station,” she chastises him, shoving the patient chart into his chest, “is not your soapbox. You have ten more hours to make up this week. Go.” 

He takes it, hobbling toward an exam room indignantly. “I’ll make up the other nine-and-three-quarters next week,” he snarks, holding the door with his cane. “My boyfriend is sick, and you want me to be Mother Theresa for well-off, sheltered white middle-class families and their snotty kids.” 

The door shuts with a creak. 

A wide-eyed, sniffly kid knocking his knees together on the exam table and his mother offer him matching blank stares. 

“Dr. House, his nose has just been running nonstop since this morning, and—"

House limps over to the blinds and draws them up with a flourish of his wrist. “See that across the street? It’s a CVS.” He enunciates each letter, drawing out the syllable condescendingly. 

“But how will I know—” 

House hobbles over to the door, fishing his phone out of his pocket and waving it on his way out. “Magic brick. Use it, lady. Thank Steve Jobs.” 

“But—” 

Slam. 

***

The door swings open at 3:48 p.m. 

A harsh draft whips at his skin as soon as he shuts it. He shakes his sneakers off and trudges toward the inert Wilson-shaped lump on their sofa, a patchwork nest of threadbare throw blankets, their bed’s duvet, and House’s heavy winter coat. 

He probes at the mound with the end of his cane as if it were a tumor, earning a disgruntled huff. “Stop it.” 

“Good to see you too, honey,” House says, eyes full of mirth. His cane topples to the ground as he drapes himself over the princess-and-the-pea-esque layers of fabric separating them, limbs akimbo. Wilson grumbles something unintelligible into the pillow in protest but doesn’t—can’t—move. “I clocked out early for you. Couldn’t you at least pretend to be happy to see me?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Wilson snaps, the force of his outburst blunted by his fatigue. “It’s just that it feels more like Siberia today than Jersey.” 

House raises his head briefly to sift through the layers, exposing Wilson’s turned head. “It still beats waking up to you soaking our sheets. Not in the good way.” 

Wilson doesn’t dignify the comment with a response, but he flushes.

“Anyways—our heat’s busted,” Wilson rasps nasally. “Call HVAC, or you’re a shitty boyfriend.” 

“Don’t pull that card on me,” House retorts, pinching his nose to mimic him. “It’s been raining and windy all day. We’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“House.” 

House rolls off him unceremoniously with a petulant groan. “Fine. I’ll call them later, if it so appeases you.” 

“Call them now.” He knows House’ll forget if he doesn’t enforce an ultimatum. 

House makes a show of it, taking out his phone and pointedly tapping the numbers on the keypad, letting the line ring as he fleetingly presses a kiss to Wilson’s exposed head and steps into the bedroom. He shuts the door, knowing that Wilson might construe it as a sweet, thoughtful gesture to give him some peace while he’s sick. 

His intentions are not at all that benevolent. “Hello, HVAC!” He says loudly, slouching against the door.

“House, you called me, it’s Ch—” 

“HVAC, when are you coming to fix my heat?” 

“I’m about to go into the O.R., can this wait?” Chase reminds him, as if it would make a difference. “Patient just coded.” 

“Not until next Monday? That’s a shame,” House laments. “Well, thanks anyway.” 

He hangs up quickly, appearing from the bedroom to bother Wilson again. “The HVAC guy said they’re backlogged until Monday.” 

Wilson is crestfallen when he breaks the news—eyes wet, thick brows knit in worry, the corners of those lovely, plush lips downturned—so much so House almost comes clean. Instead, he deflects. “You look like the poster child for a Victorian orphanage.”

“Go out and buy space heaters,” Wilson mumbles against the mountain of throws. “It’s for your own good, too.” 

“Or,” House looks up thoughtfully, as he digs Wilson out of the nest he’s swaddled in, only to better crush him under his weight, “you could hump my pant leg until you start a fire. They ripped that page out of your Boy Scout Handbook, didn’t they?” 

Wilson squirms, balling up to conserve heat, pulling whatever blankets he could scrabble at toward him. “No. You’ll get sick, and it’s already miserable taking care of you when you’re perfectly well. Go away.” 

“Just a suggestion.” House mutters, unable to resist kissing his cheeks. Wilson’s face scrunches up in irritation, eyes screwed shut, but the tips of his ears redden. A tell House had relied on for years. 

***

At night, it was far worse. 

It really was cold. And Wilson still swatted him away at some point, because his forearms were numb in the morning. He turns to his side, groaning, limbs struggling to resist rigor mortis. Covered with a few throw blankets that clearly weren’t doing much, Wilson is shivering in the fetal position, but his hair is matted with sweat, bangs plastered to his forehead. 

But his own legs are fine. Which is strange, because—oh. 

His legs are meticulously cocooned in their thickest comforter. Undoubtedly Wilson’s doing. 

House’s heart does a strange little swoop imagining Wilson, sick and trying not to drip snot all over their new premium down IKEA duvet, worrying about the state of his bad leg if left to rot in the cold for hours unattended.

Quietly, he unfurls his swaddled legs, tucking Wilson into the blanket. Like a plant to the sun, he folds into the warmth, the wretched shivering finally ceasing. House swipes the sweat off his skin with weathered hands. Wilson presses against his palm like a stray with a soft, sleepy whimper, lashes fluttering. 

On top of Wilson being his boyfriend (the word still soured in his mouth; he’d rather just start calling him his husband, anyhow), the years of venting to comatose patients had likely conditioned House to get all sappy in the moment. 

“You’re too sweet,” House whispers, an affirmation that he secretly hopes Wilson internalizes subliminally. The vulnerability frightens him. “I don’t deserve you.”

Don’t you? Wilson would say, if he were conscious, but House wouldn’t believe him. Or, at the very least, we deserve each other. We’re terrible for every woman we start a relationship with. 

Wow. He really did have to put a ring on it soon, if Wilson was supplanting the narration for House’s inner voice and hypothetical scenarios. He wanted to do it—after all, Wilson’s proposed four times but never proposed to. 

Soon, if he wasn’t such a coward about it. 

***

House returns from the hospital with Cuddy’s voice ringing in his ears like a bad case of tinnitus. Clinic hours, clinic hours, clinic-hours, clinichours… the syllables blurred together into a mess of haphazard phonics that had since lost their meaning. 

And it’s cold in the house, to make matters worse. Oh, and there’s a hurricane watch. 

Their latest case is a doozy: a 34-year-old man with schizophrenia who internally bleeds, but only when he’s sleeping. They can’t even piece together the borders of the puzzle yet. It doesn’t help that he’s uncooperative, or that the team has to painstakingly sift through his hallucinations to speculate about his other symptoms. 

He lets work drift into the darkest recesses of his mind as he saunters into the bedroom, shedding his jacket. Wilson is wearing their entire closet and then some. 

It also smells like someone sprayed every Bath and Body Works fragrance at once. Musk, jasmine, sandalwood, cherry blossom, and bergamot. It’s horrific. 

Breathing solely in and out of the mouth, House sidles up to him on the bed, gently knocking his knuckles against where he knows his ass is, by virtue of a well-used muscle memory. “Nice King Tut cosplay,” he deadpans, “I’d say the most realistic part is that his sarcophagus comprises a university sweatshirt and a dozen winter woolies.”

That earns a soft snort and coaxes Wilson to poke his head out. “Had to make do with all of those candles you impulse-bought at the mall.” 

“They’re not meaningfully contributing to the temperature,” House says, blowing them out with a short puff, shooing the tendrils of aromatic smoke away. “Now I’m cold and dizzy.” 

House limps over to the window, hand bracing his thigh, and pushes the window up with a quiet grunt. The wind whips at the curtains, rain pattering the windowsill and dampening House’s shirt. 

“House, there’s a hurricane!” Wilson shouts as best he can, scarcely louder than a croak. 

“Would it really kill Ida to enjoy some synthetic fragrances?” He yells louder. 

***

The candles are back where they should be, and House is lugging freshly washed and dried laundry back to the living room.

“Strip,” House orders, dropping the basket in front of the sofa. When Wilson doesn’t budge, glaring at him like he’d murdered his firstborn, he sighs, wearily, rolling his eyes. “C’mon. Humor me.”

Wilson reluctantly peels off each layer like a nested Russian doll, each article of clothing that dropped to the floor revealing a slightly less bulky item on his person. House watches him reverently, as if Wilson were giving a striptease in lingerie, arms slung over the back cushions of the sofa. 

“Stop it,” Wilson grits through his teeth, awkwardly angling away from House and the amused smirk he’s wearing, gesticulating wildly toward the flatscreen. “Just…watch the TV. There’s nothing remotely interesting about what I’m doing.” 

“Nothing remotely interesting,” House remarks dryly, cocking his head, “about you taking your clothes off?” 

Wilson shoots him a withering glare off-set by kind eyes, clothes strewn on the floor in a heap. “Remind me why I’m doing this, other than for your pleasure?” 

“Believe it or not, I am capable of altruism,” House pats the cushion beside him expectantly before digging for something in the laundry bin. Wilson beelines for the couch immediately, cursing his innate desire to please. “Knew you couldn’t stay away.” 

Head pounding from the sudden movement, Wilson slumps against House’s side with a defeated sigh, his eyes fluttering shut. Warmth and weight suddenly supplant pain, enveloping him head to toe. 

When he opens an eye to see what’s changed, he notices first that House’s boxers are tucked beneath his chin like a bib. All their laundry, in fact, is dumped on top of him like a landfill. 

Wilson grimaces, gingerly pinching the seam of the boxers and tossing them toward House. “Really?” 

“Yeah, really. It’s clean!” House exclaims in thinly veiled yet barely-there exasperation, rolling his eyes as he throws the underwear back into the basket. “Don’t be such a prude. Your temperature rises by point-five and suddenly you forget all the times you’ve gotten my dick wet through these.” 

Wilson’s cheeks pink. If his temperature were point-five Fahrenheit lower, he’d have an equally snide comment to make.

Softer, unrecognizably so, House tucks the warm bedsheet around them both and murmurs, “Is that any better?” 

Wilson nods, forehead nudging against the crest of House’s ribs. 

I win, is all House thinks, his hand hanging loosely around the softness of Wilson’s shoulder. Sort of.

***

Wilson’s fever breaks, miraculously, overnight. Whether or not the cold played a part, Wilson would never admit to. 

He was still achy and groggy — getting older meant he didn’t bounce back quite as easily. Come Monday he’d be back and ready to go — he had to be. 

The heat also must have come back sometime overnight. Consequently, Wilson woke up in a puddle of his own sweat, his shirt unbuttoned and pants discarded. 

House is nowhere to be found. There’s no note, and it’s Friday, and more than that, sunny, so there’s no way he went into work this early unless his team gave him one hell of a reason to. 

A distant sneeze confirms his suspicions. 

Wilson staggers out of the bedroom, yawning. The door to one of their closets in the hallway is open and there’s a muted click-click.

“House?” 

The man in question swivels around on his heel, and despite the blank, unreadable expression gracing his face, Wilson knows something’s off, other than the nascent signs of an emerging cold. “You’re up early.” 

Without missing a beat, House replies, “HVAC called me and told me to troubleshoot before they come tomorrow.” 

Wilson’s brows knit in confusion, hands coming to his hips. “I thought you said HVAC couldn’t come until Monday. Tomorrow’s Saturday.” 

“Your addled brain must’ve heard me wrong in the throes of your illness,” House deadpans, voice dripping with sarcasm. “They’re coming tomorrow, and—” 

“Wait,” Wilson puts up a hand to cease his rambling. House sniffles. “Okay, first of all—you’re trying to gaslight me, but that’s beside the point—what were you doing in our closet?! It’s seven-thirty in the morning!”

In response, House limps into the closet, shutting the door, then opens it with a dramatic flair, his delivery unwaveringly monotone: “I’m gay.” 

A wave of unwanted affection threatens to suffocate Wilson, who drags a hand down the length of his face to hide the minute upward curl of his lips. “I’m— I mean, well, that’s great, honey, but you didn’t answer my question.” 

House droops lazily against the door, feigning ignorance. “What was the question, again?” 

Wilson doesn’t entertain House’s antics any further, (gently) pushing House away from the closet door and going inside. There was nothing in it—just a few dust bunnies near the vent, and the circuit breaker. 

The circuit breaker. 

It suddenly clicks, like one of House’s epiphanies for all his seemingly impossible-to-crack cases. The prevaricating. The lack of urgency to fix the heat. The inexplicable sweetness that was otherwise unwarranted. The power trip alone is enough to sway Wilson toward switching departments. 

Wilson animatedly shoves his index finger against House’s chest, chuckling cockily as he shook his head in disbelief. “Oh-ho, you’re…you’re really—really something for doing this to me.” 

House’s poker face remains intact as he furrowed his brows in confusion. “Care to enlighten me?” 

Wilson gently nudges House aside, meeting little resistance, from the closed door to open it. The panel door to the circuit breaker was ajar, he notes, as he swings the panel 

His gaze pans to the labels they’d messily scrawled out to remind themselves which switch was which. All of them were toggled on, save for — wait for it — HVAC. 

Flicking it back on again with an incredulous scoff, Wilson turns around slowly to savor the look on House’s face, now that he’d got him cornered. How could he possibly defend such an action that—

Slam goes the closet door that shuts in Wilson’s face, the room dark apart from the thin slivers of sunlight seeping through the louvered door. He tries the doorknob; it holds fast, rattling uselessly. He opts to pound on the wood with his fists instead. 

“You’re an ass,” he shouts, the groan of the wood under his curled hand punctuating his words. “Why the hell would you turn off the heat when I was sick?!” 

House is strangely hesitant, his tone unfamiliar, and not because his voice was scratchy in the morning or because he was getting sick. The stint wasn’t even remotely close to the worst thing he’s done to Wilson. 

“I was trying to MacGyver it. Turning it off and on like IT does with our laptops after I give them all viruses.” 

Wilson’s incessant hammering ceases abruptly, as the gears turn in his head, which, as they both very well knew, was governed by the whims of his heart. He bends down, settling down on the floor to peek at House (more accurately, merely the latter half of his legs) through the slats. “You sound guilty, House. Why?”

A stagnant silence follows, barring the rickety hum of the heat kicking in again. House is rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet, favoring his good leg. No quick jabs or acerbic ribbing. For years, Wilson nagged House for a few seconds of peace and quiet, but now that he has it, he’s not so sure he even prefers it. 

It’s so uncomfortable that Wilson breaks the quiet instantly. 

“I’m not mad at you, y’know that, right, House?” He murmurs, hoping that he’ll earn an offhanded insult by virtue of how tenderly he’s speaking to House, the same way he might coax a skittish stray to seek shelter.

He wants to see House’s face, those sharp, rugged features weathered by cynically furrowing his brows and wrinkling his forehead. Anything that would hint at a prevailing feeling threatening to break him down. 

The door unlocks with a quiet click as if somehow knew what he wanted, his eyes at once assaulted by bright daylight. He gets up, stumbling a bit, with a groan, leaning against the doorframe for support. 

House is staring at him, intensely and unwaveringly, but not in that menacing, derisive way that he reserved for, well, everyone else. Nor was it the lusty Kubrick stare that reconfigured the neurons in his brain to confuse fear for arousal. His eyes, rimmed red, lashes wet and eyes glossy. Wilson was reading into it too much—it could have been 

“Oh, Christ, House…” Wilson drawls, voice just as soft as the palm coming to rest on a stubbled cheek, thumb tracing the bone. His eyes crinkle faintly when House leans into it. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t’ve assumed you were screwing with it instead of trying to help—” 

“I wasn’t.” The syllables tumble out unevenly, blunt-edged, bypassing the whetstone that rendered all his words sharp enough to kill. 

Noting Wilson’s bewilderment, House says, voice clipped and averting his gaze, “I turned it off.” 

Wilson blinks, dumbly. “Why?”

“Why do you think?” 

Exasperated, he shrugs, searching House’s gaze. It wasn’t a prank—he knew that much because the lack of central heat was just as detrimental to House as it was to him. 

“Just—House, tell me.” 

An easy feat for the most emotionally constipated man that he knew. House’s gaze is distant, in the way it is when that brilliant mind of his pulverizes his emotions into cold, objective slop. Patience wasn’t a strong enough word for Wilson’s mental fortitude. 

“Am I doing something wrong?” House asks, trying so very hard to keep his voice level and unfeeling. 

“Other than you turning our condo into the Arctic, and potentially prolonging my symptoms?” Wilson inquires, tilting his head. “I have a laundry list of grievances, but none of them have bothered you until now.” 

“Not a good time to psychoanalyze me.” House hobbles over to the couch to sit, massaging his leg. Wilson follows like House has some sort of gravitational pull on him. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Not enough to jeopardize my secret stash,” He shoots back, face contorting into that practiced sneer, masking a wince as he plants his bad leg onto a pillow. “I carved a little crater into the wall at crotch height for it. Doubles as a glory hole, y’know. Thought I could indulge both our vices.” 

Although House was impressively talented at maintaining that lackadaisical, devil-may-care attitude, he had a tell like anyone else. Remorse manifested as physical pain for House, suppressed emotions funneling down to the only place he’d admit could feel something on a regular basis. Well, not the only place, clearly.

Wilson doesn’t entertain House’s crude quips. He lets House nestle his head in his lap, eyes shut, breathing steady. Sooner or later House will find the silence unnerving and say something fleetingly introspective. 

“You keep pulling away from me.” House says. 

The clue House gives is infuriatingly vague and no better than a trace of footprints that tapers off halfway through the woods. 

“House, I need you to be more specific,” Wilson groans. “Emotionally? Physically? When? Where?” 

“It was you, in the bedroom, with the candlestick.” 

That earns a frustrated scoff from Wilson, who is painstakingly trying to corroborate House’s vague clues and motives by racking his own memory of the past few days, stringing bits and pieces together on an imaginary corkboard with red twine. 

“I wish I chose a different career right about now,” Wilson grumbles. “Seriously, help me out here.” 

“Must I spell out everything for you?” House chimes, turning his head to rest his cheek on the softness of Wilson’s thigh. “I’ll cut you some slack since you were probably unconscious. You refused to remain comfortably entangled in my arms until morn.” 

“Are you serious?” Wilson queries, staring down at him incredulously, hand still gently carding through House’s short, cropped graying hair even in his anger. “I was sick and didn’t want to snuggle up with you for a few days. Forgive me for pushing you away—in my sleep—when…when I was fighting an infection!” 

House’s eyes narrow. “So you admit it.” 

He brings Wilson’s free hand to rest atop his own over his chest.

“What?! House—” 

“You’re a shittier boyfriend than me.” 

Wilson’s thumb brushes the back of House’s hand. 

“You pretended our heat was busted for the past week!” 

House brings Wilson’s knuckles to his lips, brushing over them tenderly. 

“Oh, please. Neither the cold nor your cold was even remotely close to being fatal.” 

Wilson glares at House with a weary fondness usually reserved for old married couples. 

Christ.

In this moment, Wilson wants this misanthropic, selfish, grumpy, crippled old man pushing fifty to be his “better” half. It’d be his fourth marriage and the final entry on a long list of lovers, yes, but House would also be his first and only husband; Wilson would be the same in relation to House. He understood 13-year-old girls who planned their weddings at sleepovers with their friends now. 

Wilson conveys all this daydreaming in a very House-ian manner: “You’re an idiot.” 

His hand migrates from House’s hair to the persistent wrinkles across his forehead, tracing over them before his palm settles on the curve of his cheek. “I can’t believe you did all that just to get me to cuddle with you. I was sick. I didn’t want to get you sick.” 

And Wilson had clearly failed, no thanks to House’s clinginess, because he was already sniffling and slightly feverish as he had been a few days ago. 

“A lesser man than I would have impeccably communicated my frustrations and resolved all of this within the hour,” House murmurs as he presses into Wilson’s palm, ungracefully smushing a stubbled cheek against it. “But that’s boring.” 

“If you wanted a dopamine rush, we could have just…” 

“Fucked?” House finishes for him. Wilson’s cheeks flush. “The thought of you dripping both snot and semen all over me istitillating.”

Wilson clamps his hand over House’s mouth. “Enough.”

But something warm and moist drags over the inside of his palm, and he jerks his hand back instinctively, wiping it on the side of House’s sweats. “What the hell?!”

House sits up with a grunt, orienting himself next to Wilson. “Works every time,” he says, nonchalantly. “Say, did you jerk off last night? This morning? I swear I can still taste–“

Wilson smothers him with a pillow, heat rushing to his face. “Shut up.”

He really hopes there’s a return policy on the ring.

[thecat620]

Glitches Mask True Insanity

It's interesting that both Adam and Lute's masks glitch out when their sanity has gone completely down the deep end. I know it could be argued it was just from being hit that they crack and start to break but let's dive into this for a second.

Let's start with Lute.

Lute is absolutely lost in the way Adam and possibly Sera treat sinners down in Hell. She was willing to fatally harm Vaggie for showing mercy to a child (whether he was a sinner or a hellborn is up in the air). She has very bigoted views about Vaggie dating a demon and is insulting to Charlie and her people. It's also implied that if Lucifer hadn't set up the pardon for hellborn demons, the exterminator angels would slaughter any demon, sinner or hellborn alike. Even when Adam is riling up his army, her threat to Vaggie even disturbs Adam.

And when Vaggie finally has Lute where she could end her, Lute almost threatens her to do it and Vaggie calls her out on being the true weak one and rather than showing her mercy and killing her, she lets her live knowing a "failure" let her live. She even pulls off her own arm to go after Vaggie showing she's not all there anymore.

Though was she really?

Now let's look at Adam.

Adam at first seems like a frat boy that has a vendetta against making sinners suffer because he lost Lilith to Lucifer and Eve took the apple which allowed sin into the world. I think being the first man and losing Abel (who I think he really did care about in all his jerkness) definitely caused a couple of screws to come loose.

And in his song he brings up how killing sinners is entertainment but how true is that for ALL the residents of Heaven? Sera and even Lute mentioned the exterminations are supposed to be kept secret and Emily is horrified when she learns the truth. Adam doesn't really care and gleefully encourages carnage. And when he fights Charlie, he doesn't hold back and is about ready to punch her face in while holding her by the throat, no doubt seeing Lilith in that moment.

When he says "this fight was cute and all but it's time to die with the rest of them" his voice goes all distorted and it isn't just his usual bravado in there. No there's something clearly insane going on with him and when his ranting and raving about how everyone should be worshipping him, he's completely gone at this point.

I know that he's not coming back as a sinner (but we never saw what happened with his body since only his halo was taken back) but I think this would've been his turning point to become a fallen angel.

Maybe a potential pawn for Roo?

[happyfeetfuryroad]

The saddest thing to me is seeing how many people (both in universe and out) buy into the narrative that Ed "went mad because Stede abandoned him" i.e. that Edward is this fickle hyperviolent guy who will snap and cause atrocities to cope with his pain

When Edward!! Was coping!! Wonderfully!! Before someone!! Decided to harrass him!! With the express purpose of making him snap!!

[aroaceleovaldez]

underappreciated Nico detail that I like - he seems to be an angry crier! very frequently he's angry when he cries and he cries when he's extremely angry. very AuDHD of him. emotional regulation sucks my guy and he's just going through it.

[perplexingly]

That whole quest when you finally face Istvan was absolutely wild (spoilers below)

[blanc-et-n0ir]

BRAIN BLAST ISAGI AND SHIDOU FAKE DATING

It starts because they wanted to get the attention of Rin and Sae, their crushes, and thought that hey why not be lovey dovey with other and see if that makes them jealous. It does, it makes the Itoshi brothers INCREDIBLY jealous especially since both RyuSagi are shameless in front of them in a desperate bid to catch their attention.

Before this whole schtick, RinSagi were on okay speaking terms while RyuSae were also on texting terms but that was it. RyuSagi also don't really know how to push the relationship further and confessing like normal people was below them so they didn't even try that route (the Itoshi brothers would iterate later on that they would've preferred that while RyuSagi would laugh in their face).

The thing was born because Isagi wondered what Rin was like jealous and Shidou jumped on that and went "hear me out" and it went downhill from there. They went on "dates" that was actually just them both talking about their respective crush and then talking about soccer. They play it up though when in front of Rin and Sae. Isagi lets Shidou kiss him on the cheek and vice versa but that's honestly the furthest they went for aside from hand holding.

The way they find out is like this. Rin finds out when he becomes an unwilling audience to seeing Shidou press the sloppiest kiss on Isagi's cheek while Isagi laughs. Rin was already halfway to screaming at Shidou while shoving him away from Isagi when Isagi literally presses a cute kiss back and his brain FREEZES. He just stands there, staring, unseeing because WHAT. Then, the jealousy hits and Rin is seething. He grabs Isagi and snarls at Shidou and drags Isagi away.

Sae finds out because he and Shidou are facetiming one time and mid call, Isagi pops up with food for Shidou. He grabs the back of Isagi's neck and they pretend to kiss but they're really just smirking at each other but well Sae is on a video call and he only really has one angle. He grips his phone tightly and then immediately books a flight for Japan because what. What is that. What.

There's a sprinkle of denial in the Itoshi brothers because of course there is but when it goes on for too long the jealousy is stronger. It gets to the point that Rin practically grabs Isagi and confronts him in his own room while Sae locks him and Shidou in a hotel together.

When they finally start dating Rin and Sae respectively, they share a high-five cause not only did it work but Rin and Sae were extremely hot while jealous.

[queerstudiesnatural]

i think being aroace has saved me from a lot of bad situations because i also am a people pleaser and an optimist about people's intentions and i've found myself in a number of pretty bad relationships that could have become a lot worse if i'd fallen for their advances instead of keeping them at arm's length and in the friend zone. i'm finally watching you and off the top of my head i can think of 3 men that i've been involved with in some way or other that were textbook joe goldbergs, and the only reason i didn't get in deeper with them is because i was "only" friends with them and never had any intention of dating them or sleeping with them, even when they clearly wanted to. and honestly being aroace is a struggle sometimes because you're so outside of society, but sometimes it's also a blessing. when i look back on some of the men i've been around i thank god that i don't date.

[cuntycassandra]

Already thinking about not having my older brother at my goodbye dinner

[low-battery-warniing]

hi in case you are wondering no cfmot side-channels content does not make any more sense with a grasp of the russian language i have no fucking clue what’s going on there and trying to explain the little of it that i understand is. Difficult to say the least

[fingertipsmp3]

I will never understand people who post tiktoks of them being mansplained to in the gym or someplace and they’re just nodding and smiling at the guy or being civil with him.. I’d end up being filmed by some bystander absolutely shrieking my head off as soon as the guy tells me I need to lose 50 pounds or that I’m doing the wrong workout

[lord-squiggletits]

Hostage not in the sense that he/Delphi were physically captured or held under duress, but more accurately described as blackmail: the deal with Tarn, according to Pharma, was explicitly that Pharma would deliver t-cogs and in return the DJD would allow Delphi and everyone in it to continue standing. So it was a literal "do it or we'll kill you" kind of danger that was even worse because Delphi is described as a 'small, obscure little facility on the edge of DJD territory.' So even if they attempted to weather a full on attack, it's unlikely that they would be able to hold off the DJD simply because Delphi is that small, under-supported, and forgotten. I mean, the entire medical staff is literally just three people to support a mine that supposedly has soldiers constantly fighting over it in a stalemate.

We can easily assume Pharma didn't want to do it given that the entire premise of the deal was "t-cogs or we kill all of you," and up until that point (only shown in flashbacks in later issues) Pharma was by all reasonable standards an ethical doctor, and an exceptionally genius one as well, AND was friends with Ratchet and next in line to be CMO. So in terms of personality, behavior, work ethic, skill, and connections, every single sign points to the fact that Pharma was a perfectly normal, non-violent and non-malpracticing doctor.

Canon doesn't really say that Pharma developed a mad doctor personality to cope with the trauma, but everyone in fandom takes that as canon pretty much because nothing else makes sense. Normal doctor -> T-cog deal happens -> Crazy doctor = We can assume that the blackmail deal of being forced to let patients die and then outright kill them probably had something to do with Pharma going fucking nuts. (Plus in fanon a lot of people point out that Pharma looks like he's displaying signs of mental illness, YMMV which one depending on the person.)

And yeah, Pharma does get labeled as a bad person for being a victim of blackmail and torture. It's not like the narrative doesn't establish how horrible the DJD are until later issues; literally in the same issues (4-5) that the Delphi arc happens, we hear gossip from the Autobots that say 1. Apparently just seeing the DJD kill someone can be incredibly traumatizing in the long-term 2. Decepticons would rather die of their wounds than be treated by an Autobot doctor out of fear of being labeled a traitor by the DJD and 3. After Pharma has his freak out moment and shoots/runs, Drift literally tells Ratchet that if Pharma is working with the DJD and they're coming, he wants Ratchet to kill him before they can get to him.

Not even getting into all the issues AFTER the Delphi arc where the DJD only get more and more obscene, overpowered, and terrifying, and every single other time the handiwork of the DJD attacking Autobots is shown, it's stuff like alt-Rewind being a whimpering mess and people going "shhh it's okay" to him or Skids going "the DJD are so powerful and sadistic, can you imagine what it would've been like to be here when this happened?"

But Pharma? No, he's just a mad doctor who made the t-cog deal because he's selfish and only wanted to spare his reputation 🙄 clearly the reason he got trapped in a do-or-die blackmail deal is because he was always secretly a bad person or had something mentally wrong with him (fanon). Or, in terms of canon, "Welp it sucks that Pharma went crazy and started killing patients, he used to be such a good doctor it's such a shame" (never once acknowledges that Pharma didn't just "go insane" randomly and what he did was a direct result of threats of torture/probably actually being tortured).

Unfriendly reminder that out of all the victims of the DJD Pharma is literally the only one who's victim-blamed for not fighting back/calling for help/running when it was obviously impossible for him to do so + is the only one whose traumatic behavior/symptoms are framed as a reason why he's evil and deserves abandonment/death. Because he's also the ONLY victim of the DJD whose trauma manifests as lashing out and behaving erratically/aggressively, because there's no easier way to victim-blame than to pick a victim whose trauma response is ugly and scary and creepy and not uwu tragic sad traumatized

[elikajinnie]

Forbidden Taste - L.H

P: Slytherin!Heeseung X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Teasing, Hurt/Comfort, Suggestive Content, Angst, Misunderstandings, Jealousy, Myung Jaehyun Cameo, Incorrect Use Of Amortenia.

Synopsis: You’re not popular at Hogwarts, so why is Lee Heeseung, Slytherin royalty, so intent on having you? You don’t know, and you don’t question it—until jealousy and a pink potion threaten everything.

a/n: WHAT A JOURNEY IT HAS BEEN! Thank you all <3 all the members are now completed! (i changed the plot for this so many times, its insane)

want to read the other members? -> masterlist

--

You weren’t massively popular at Hogwarts, but people knew you. Not in the way that they’d scream your name in the corridors or seek you out during mealtimes, but enough that when your name came up in conversation, there’d be nods of recognition. Oh, yeah. Decent flyer. Smart enough to keep up in classes, but not obnoxious about it. You built your reputation in small, deliberate ways—early on, too. By the time you hit your third year, you realized it wasn’t just about house points or grades. If you didn’t carve out your place here, Hogwarts could chew you up and spit you out.

So, you made connections. Little alliances. You weren’t a name in bold letters, but you weren’t invisible either. A compliment here, a conversation there. Small, calculated acts of charm to ensure you weren’t just some shadow skulking through the hallways. Yet you never overdid it. Just enough to make sure you wouldn’t be forgotten.

And honestly, that was fine. You had your friends and housemates, the people who mattered to you most. The ones you could collapse with after a particularly grueling Potions lesson or laugh with over Butterbeer-flavored Bertie Bott’s Beans in the common room. It wasn’t the spotlight, but it was enough.

It’s weird how quickly that balance can shift, though. How one incident—one person—can flip everything upside down.

It really was funny—hilarious, even. You had no answer as to why he suddenly latched onto you, why he started pursuing you of all people. Lee fucking Heeseung. One of the most popular Slytherins in his year, practically Hogwarts royalty.

Usually, people would trip over their own feet for the chance to be seen with him. Heeseung had everything: pureblood lineage, one of the best Beaters Hogwarts had seen in years, a face straight out of Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Wizards list, and a charisma that could charm the scales off a dragon. He was smart, too—top of his classes in subjects he actually cared about—and everyone knew his family was filthy rich.

He was the kind of person others orbited around. Someone whose presence turned heads the moment he walked into a room. The kind of guy you were perfectly fine staying away from because people like him didn’t care about people like you. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he chose you.

All because you ran into him one day.

It wasn’t even that dramatic of an encounter. You were late for Transfiguration, books piled in your arms, hurrying down the corridor like your life depended on it. And then—bam. You’d slammed into what felt like a brick wall. Except brick walls didn’t have arms that steadied you as your books tumbled to the floor, and they definitely didn’t have sharp jawlines and a gaze that pinned you to the spot.

“Sorry!” you’d muttered, scrambling to pick up your books, too flustered to even look him in the eye. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t throw out the kind of snarky insult Slytherins were known for. He just… watched you. And when you dashed off down the corridor, cheeks burning with embarrassment, you thought that was the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

After that, Heeseung started showing up. Everywhere.

At first, it was subtle. A glance in the Great Hall that lingered too long to be coincidental. A smirk when you passed him in the corridors. Then it escalated. Sitting at your table in the library, asking casually about your Charms essay while his friends shot curious looks your way. Offering to walk you to class, claiming it was “on his way” even when it clearly wasn’t. Stealing a seat beside you in Herbology, leaning closer than necessary to peek at your notes.

It didn’t take long for people to notice. Whispers started following you wherever you went, growing louder with every interaction. Your friends pestered you for answers you didn’t have, and his admirers glared daggers at you from across the room.

And all you could think was, Why? Why you? Out of all the girls fawning over him—purebloods, Quidditch stars, girls far prettier and more polished than you—what on earth made Lee Heeseung decide you were worth his attention?

You tried convincing yourself that it was a joke. Some elaborate Slytherin prank that you’d accidentally wandered into. Any day now, you’d wake up to Heeseung laughing in your face, surrounded by his friends, as he revealed that all of this—every smirk, every casual wave, every time he leaned in close enough for you to catch a whiff of his expensive cologne—was just for his own entertainment.

But the days passed, and the teasing you braced yourself for never came. If anything, Heeseung’s attention only intensified.

“I could help you with that, you know,” he offered one day during a particularly grueling Potions class. You’d been furiously scribbling notes, trying to keep up with Professor Slughorn’s lecture. Heeseung was perched on the edge of your shared table, his hand propping up his chin as he watched you.

“With what?” you asked without looking up, determined not to let his lazy, amused tone fluster you.

“Your notes,” he said, gesturing at your parchment. “Your handwriting’s awful. What if you can’t read it later?”

You shot him a glare, but he just grinned. “I’ll manage,” you said, shoving your notes further away from him for good measure.

Moments like that became your new normal. Heeseung showing up uninvited, weaving himself into your day like he belonged there. Offering to help you study, sneaking your favorite dessert onto your plate in the Great Hall, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you were long-lost friends.

And yet, despite your initial resistance, you found yourself softening. Heeseung wasn’t as insufferable as you’d assumed he’d be. Sure, he was cocky—he wouldn’t be Lee Heeseung if he weren’t—but he also had this disarming charm about him. He listened when you spoke, remembered the little things you mentioned in passing, and had a way of making you laugh when you least expected it.

You acted normal around him—or at least, you tried to. You didn’t show how much he affected you, how your pulse quickened when he leaned in close, the playful smirk on his lips as he talked to you about some trivial thing. You didn’t let it show when he’d take your books without asking, holding them effortlessly with one hand as if they weighed nothing, and you definitely didn’t let him see how your cheeks burned when he casually brushed his fingers against yours as he handed them back.

You didn’t react when he helped you in Potions either, his voice low in your ear as he whispered which ingredients to add next, his breath warm against your skin. Even when your heart stuttered, you kept your face neutral, refusing to give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he got under your skin.

And Merlin, did he love to push.

He’d ditch his friends without a second thought, his usual crowd of Slytherins calling after him as he veered off to sit with you instead. You’d hear their muffled complaints from across the room, but Heeseung didn’t seem to care. He’d just flash them that infuriatingly perfect smile—the one that screamed, I know exactly what I’m doing,—and plop down next to you like he’d been there all along.

“Don’t you have other people to bother?” you’d mutter, barely glancing at him as he propped his chin on his hand, watching you with an intensity that made it impossible to focus on anything else.

“Why would I, when you’re so much more interesting?” he’d reply smoothly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a way that sent your stomach into an uninvited freefall.

But you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a blush or a flustered response. Instead, you’d roll your eyes and pretend to be annoyed, even as you caught yourself glancing at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

The truth was, Heeseung made it harder and harder to ignore him. He wasn’t just persistent—he was thoughtful in ways you didn’t expect. He remembered the tiniest details, like how you hated licorice wands or how you preferred studying in the library’s quieter corners. He went out of his way to make your day just a little easier, sliding your favorite pastries onto your plate at breakfast or swapping out your worn-out quills with brand-new ones from his bag.

It was infuriating. And endearing. And confusing.

Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know when you needed cheering up, or the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, or the way he looked at you—like you were the only person in the room that mattered.

But you weren’t ready to admit it. Not to yourself, and definitely not to him. So, you kept acting normal, pretending like he didn’t affect you as much as he did.

At this point, even your friends couldn’t keep quiet about it. Every time Heeseung walked into a room and made a beeline for you, their eyebrows would raise a little higher. When he’d flash you one of his trademark grins or casually sling an arm around your shoulders, their teasing smirks were impossible to miss.

“So, are you two a thing, or what?” one of your friends finally asked during a late-night study session in the common room.

“No,” you said quickly, maybe a little too quickly, and their skeptical look said it all.

“Well, he certainly thinks you are,” another chimed in, grinning as they flipped through their Charms textbook. “You do realize half the school thinks you’re secretly dating, right?”

You rolled your eyes, brushing it off. “He’s just… like that. It’s probably some sort of game to him.”

But even as you said it, you weren’t so sure. Because if this was a game, Heeseung was playing it far too convincingly.

And then he went and completely blindsided you.

It was after Defense Against the Dark Arts, a class you shared with him. You’d just finished stuffing your notes into your bag, about to make your way to the library, when he appeared beside you, his usual confident grin plastered across his face.

“So,” he started casually, leaning against your desk. “Want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?”

You froze, blinking at him like you hadn’t heard him properly. “What?”

“Hogsmeade,” he repeated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You. Me. A date.”

Your brain stuttered at the word. A date?

“You’re joking,” you said, though your voice sounded a little less confident than you would’ve liked.

“I’m not,” he said simply, tilting his head and watching you with that annoyingly earnest expression that made it impossible to tell if he was messing with you.

“I… I can’t,” you stammered, feeling your cheeks grow warm. “I mean, thank you, but I don’t think—”

“Don’t think too hard about it,” he interrupted smoothly, cutting off your attempt at a polite rejection. “I like you. You like me—don’t even try to deny it,” he added quickly, smirking when you opened your mouth to argue. “So why not give it a shot?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. “Heeseung, I—”

“Before you say no,” he said, leaning in closer, “think about this. What’s the worst that could happen? You have a good time with me? Sounds like a pretty low-risk situation, if you ask me.”

It was infuriating how he made it sound so simple, like agreeing to a date with him wasn’t the most intimidating thing in the world.

“I’m serious, Heeseung,” you said, trying to sound firm. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“And I’m serious,” he countered, his voice dropping slightly. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

The way he said it wasn’t pushy or aggressive—it was confident, certain, like he already knew you were going to say yes eventually. And maybe that’s what threw you off the most.

You glanced at him one last time before turning to leave the classroom, your lips pressed into a tight line.

And of course, he followed.

“Hey, wait!” he called, his voice echoing down the corridor as you walked ahead, refusing to look back.

“I said no, Heeseung,” you said over your shoulder, quickening your pace.

“And I said I’m not taking no for an answer,” he shot back, his footsteps ringing louder as he hurried to catch up with you. “You didn’t even give me a proper reason!”

“I don’t need to give you a reason!” you replied, exasperated, keeping your gaze fixed forward.

But he wasn’t giving up. He was persistent—too persistent. You could hear him muttering under his breath, probably running through a list of arguments to convince you, but before he could get another word out, you heard a loud, unmistakable yelp.

Pausing mid-step, you turned just in time to see Heeseung stumble over a loose stone jutting out of the floor, his arms flailing to keep his balance. He caught himself at the last second, straightening up and brushing off his robes like nothing happened.

“Smooth,” you said, unable to stop the amused quirk of your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he muttered, jogging a few steps to close the distance between you.

But the second he got close, you picked up your pace again, determined not to let him win.

He didn’t stop, though. Heeseung was like a particularly annoying shadow, trailing after you with single-minded determination. Except this shadow seemed to have the worst luck imaginable.

Not five steps later, you heard a startled “Hey, watch it!” from a much shorter Ravenclaw student as Heeseung nearly crashed into them.

“Yeah, yeah! Sorry!” he called over his shoulder, not even slowing down as he kept his focus on you.

You didn’t bother hiding your grin this time, though you kept walking.

And then, just as he was about to catch up again, you saw it—a ghost floating lazily through the corridor ahead.

“Heeseung,” you said without stopping, your tone almost warning.

“What?” he asked, completely oblivious, his gaze fixed on you instead of what was in front of him.

You didn’t answer. You just waited for it to happen.

Sure enough, he strode directly into the ghost—a particularly dramatic one, judging by the loud whoosh and Heeseung’s subsequent startled shiver as he stumbled back.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed, swiping at his robes as if it’d help.

“Maybe if you watched where you were going…” you said, finally stopping to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you raised an eyebrow.

He shook his head, his focus snapping back to you almost instantly. “I’ll watch where I’m going when you stop running away from me,” he said, his voice laced with determination.

You rolled your eyes, but before you could turn away again, he stepped closer, this time careful not to trip over anything or crash into anyone.

“Look,” he said, his tone softer now. “I know I’m being persistent. But it’s only because I really want you to say yes. Just one date. That’s all I’m asking. If you hate it, I’ll back off. But I think we’ll have a good time.”

For the first time, you hesitated. There was something about the way he looked at you—earnest, hopeful—that made it hard to brush him off like before. Heeseung wasn’t just being cocky now; he was being sincere. And it was that sincerity that made your resolve waver.

“One date,” he repeated, holding your gaze. “What do you say?”

You sighed, stopping long enough to turn and face him properly. His eyes were wide, his expression almost pleading but still holding that annoying confidence that made him, well, Heeseung.

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “One date. But if I don’t enjoy it, that’s it. No more asking, no more following me around, no more…” You gestured vaguely toward him, “…whatever this is.”

His face broke into a grin so smug and victorious that you instantly regretted agreeing.

“Deal,” he said without hesitation. “But don’t worry, you’re going to love it.”

“Don’t push your luck,” you muttered, but the way his grin grew wider told you he’d already won this round.

“Alright, then,” he said, taking a step closer. Too close. You could feel the faintest brush of his robes against yours as he leaned in. “This Saturday, Three Broomsticks. Noon. I’ll even buy you Butterbeer.”

“Wow, how generous of you,” you deadpanned, but your heart was doing that annoying fluttering thing again.

“You’ll see,” he said, his voice dropping lower, teasing. “I’m full of surprises.”

Before you could fire back a snarky response, his hands moved, one settling on your waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath hitched.

You weren’t sure what he was saying—something about how the Three Broomsticks had the best treacle tart, or maybe how he’d already booked a spot with Madam Rosmerta—but the words blurred in your head. All you could focus on was his hand, warm and firm, holding you in place. And his body, so close to yours that you could feel the faint heat radiating off him.

Your mind raced, trying to decide if you should pull away or just let him keep talking.

“…don’t tell me you’ve never tried the cinnamon hot chocolate there,” he said, his lips curving into another grin.

“What?” you blurted, blinking up at him, trying to drag your attention back to his actual words.

He chuckled, the sound low and soft, and you hated how it made your stomach flip.

“You weren’t even listening,” he teased, his thumb brushing lightly against your waist before he pulled back, giving you just enough space to breathe again.

“Maybe if you weren’t so close, I’d be able to concentrate,” you shot back, though your voice came out a little weaker than you’d intended.

Heeseung didn’t look fazed. If anything, he looked even more pleased with himself, like he knew exactly how flustered you were and wasn’t planning to let you forget it anytime soon.

“Guess I’ll have to tell you on our date, then,” he said, stepping back fully now, his smirk still firmly in place.

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned as you turned away, determined not to let him see just how much he was getting to you.

“Saturday,” he called after you as you started walking again, his tone light and cheerful. “Don’t forget!”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t need to. The truth was, no matter how much you tried to deny it, you knew you wouldn’t forget. Not with the way your heart was still racing.

Saturday came faster than you expected, and by the time you were standing in front of the Three Broomsticks, you were already second-guessing your decision. Why did you agree to this again? Oh, right—because Heeseung was annoyingly persistent, and some traitorous part of you was curious to see what a date with him would actually be like.

You adjusted your scarf, the chill of the winter air biting at your cheeks. The sound of chatter and clinking glasses spilled out of the tavern, and for a brief moment, you considered turning around and pretending you’d forgotten. But before you could so much as take a step back, a familiar voice called out behind you.

“You’re early.”

You turned to see Heeseung approaching, dressed in his usual green-and-silver scarf, his black coat tailored perfectly to him. His hair was slightly tousled from the wind, and he wore that same confident smile that made your stomach twist in ways you wished it wouldn’t.

“I’m on time,” you corrected, crossing your arms.

“Early, on time—same thing,” he said, coming to a stop in front of you. His eyes scanned you briefly, and for a second, you thought you saw something softer in his expression. “You look good.”

Your cheeks warmed, and you immediately regretted your decision to wear something classy. “Don’t start,” you muttered, brushing past him toward the door.

He laughed, catching up to you easily. “What? It’s a compliment!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You pushed open the door, grateful for the wave of warmth that greeted you as you stepped inside.

The Three Broomsticks was busy, as it always was on weekends, but Heeseung didn’t seem the least bit fazed. He waved to Madam Rosmerta, who greeted him like they were old friends, and led you to a small table near the window that had somehow been left open.

“See?” he said, pulling out a chair for you. “Perfect spot.”

You hesitated for a moment before sitting down, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks,” as he slid into the seat across from you.

For a few moments, it was quiet—well, as quiet as it could be in the bustling tavern. You busied yourself with looking out the window, watching as students milled about in the snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade.

“So,” Heeseung said, breaking the silence. “What’s your go-to order here?”

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you care?”

“Because,” he said with a grin, leaning forward slightly, “I want to make sure you actually enjoy this date. Remember? You said if you didn’t, I couldn’t ask again.”

“Still sticking to that, by the way,” you reminded him.

“Noted,” he said, looking far too amused for your liking. “But I’m confident you’ll have a good time.”

“Of course you are,” you muttered, but you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips.

You ended up ordering Butterbeer and treacle tart—not because you particularly wanted it, but because he wouldn’t stop raving about it earlier that week.

When the drinks and food arrived, the conversation started off slow, but much to your surprise, it wasn’t awkward. Heeseung had a way of keeping things light and entertaining.

And, annoyingly, he kept making you laugh.

After you finished at the Three Broomsticks, Heeseung didn’t let the day end there. Instead, he insisted on taking you around Hogsmeade, claiming it was his duty to make sure you had the full experience.

“This isn’t my first time here, you know,” you said as he led you down the cobblestone streets, passing shop after shop.

“Yeah, but it’s your first time here with me,” he countered, flashing you that same cocky grin that had you rolling your eyes for the tenth time that day.

Still, you didn’t protest when he pulled you into Honeydukes, pointing out his favorite candies and piling a small bag with sweets you hadn’t even asked for. “It’s on me,” he said when you tried to argue, waving you off like it was nothing.

Next, he dragged you to Zonko’s, where he spent far too much time marveling over the prank items and showing you his favorites with the enthusiasm of a first-year discovering the place for the first time. You couldn’t help but smile as he rattled off stories of the chaos he’d caused with them in the Slytherin common room.

And then, just as you were debating whether or not to call it a day, it started snowing.

Soft, delicate flakes drifted down from the sky, blanketing the streets and rooftops in a thin layer of white. The air grew quieter, the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade fading into the background as people paused to take in the sight.

You stopped walking, tilting your head back slightly to watch the snow fall. For a moment, you forgot about Heeseung entirely, your mind quieting as you focused on the tiny snowflakes melting against your skin.

When you finally looked back at him, he was staring at you.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He didn’t answer right away, his eyes soft as they searched your face. Finally, he said, “You.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What about me?”

“You’re just…” He trailed off, taking a step closer. His voice was quieter now, more serious. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could even think of how to respond, he closed the space between you, his hand gently reaching for your scarf.

You stood frozen as he adjusted it carefully, his fingers brushing against your neck as he tightened it slightly to block out the cold. His touch was warm, his movements unhurried, and when he was finished, his hands lingered for just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said softly, his gaze meeting yours again. “Wouldn’t want you catching a cold.”

You felt your cheeks grow warm, and it wasn’t from the weather. “You’re ridiculous,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual bite.

“And yet, you’re still here with me,” he teased, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You didn’t respond, turning your gaze back to the falling snow. But as Heeseung slipped his hand into yours, giving it a gentle squeeze, you didn’t pull away, cause you didn’t feel the need to fight him.

The rest of the walk through Hogsmeade passed in a comfortable silence, your hands still entwined as the snow continued to fall around you. You didn’t know how Heeseung managed to make it feel so… easy. Like holding hands with him was something you’d been doing for years. Like the tension that had built between you over the past weeks had melted away as quickly as the snowflakes on his coat.

He led you to the outskirts of the village, where the streets grew quieter, and the noise of other students faded into the background. The path was lined with trees dusted in white, their bare branches glistening under the faint light of the afternoon sun.

“It’s nice out here,” you murmured, your breath visible in the crisp air.

“Yeah,” Heeseung said, but when you glanced at him, you realized he wasn’t looking at the trees or the snow-covered landscape. He was looking at you again.

“What?” you asked, your voice softer now, a little less defensive.

He shrugged, his lips curling into that small, genuine smile you were starting to recognize—the one he didn’t use often, the one that wasn’t for show. “Nothing. Just… you seem different today.”

“Different?”

“Yeah,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly against the back of your hand. “Less scary.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. “I’m not scary.”

“Tell that to everyone else who’s too afraid to talk to you.”

“Maybe I just don’t like wasting my time,” you said, smirking up at him.

“Well, lucky me, then,” he replied, his tone teasing. “You must think I’m worth it.”

Before you could say anything, though, he stopped walking, turning to face you fully. His free hand reached up to brush a stray snowflake from your hair, and you froze at the tenderness of the gesture.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said, his voice low, his gaze steady on yours.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “You keep saying things like that,” you mumbled, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Because I mean it,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And then, before you could overthink it, he leaned in—not too fast, not too slow. Just enough to give you time to pull away if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

The kiss was soft, warm, and fleeting, like a snowflake landing on your lips and melting before you could fully feel it. When he pulled back, his face was close enough that you could still feel his breath against your skin.

“I’ll take that as a yes to a second date,” he murmured, his tone teasing but his eyes holding that same sincerity that had caught you off guard from the start.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just rolled your eyes and tugged him along, back toward the village.

But the small smile on your face told him everything he needed to know.

As you and Heeseung continued down the snowy path, oblivious to everything else around you, neither of you noticed the three figures hidden just out of sight, watching your every move. They stood together, concealed by the shadow of the trees, their eyes trained on the way you and Heeseung interacted, the way your hands fit together so naturally.

It didn’t take long for the bitterness to fester. One of them, a girl with dark brown hair and a scowl that could cut glass, clenched her fists at her sides, watching the way Heeseung smiled at you, how easily he made you laugh.

"Of course she’s with him," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with venom. "She always has to go after what’s not hers."

Beside her, another figure—taller, with blonde hair—narrowed her eyes at the scene. "We’ve all been trying for years. Why her? What makes her so special?" Her voice was low, barely controlled, and her gaze burned with resentment.

The third figure, a quieter one, with sharp eyes and a calculating expression, stood back, observing the situation silently. She was still for a moment before she spoke, her voice calm but filled with hidden malice. "Maybe it's time we remind him who belongs by his side."

The girl with the dark hair stepped forward, fists still clenched, the fire in her eyes growing. "Let’s see if we can’t change his mind."

They lingered in the shadows, watching as Heeseung pulled you closer, speaking in soft tones that made your smile widen. The sight of the two of you together twisted in their hearts, their jealousy and rage bubbling over. They knew that this wasn’t over—not by a long shot.

None of you could have predicted what would happen next.

--

The next few days were a blur of contentment. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been this happy, or this at ease. Heeseung had truly surpassed every expectation you’d set for him. He was everything you didn’t know you needed in a boyfriend—gentle when you were stressed, confident when you were unsure, and always there to make you smile, even on your worst days.

When you studied together in the library, he’d always find ways to make learning feel less like a chore. Whether it was cracking jokes during boring Potions readings or helping you with Transfiguration, his presence made even the most tedious subjects bearable. And when you were working on homework together in the common room, you’d catch him looking over at you, that amused glint in his eye as if he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have you.

You’d even gone to his Quidditch match that weekend, which turned into one of the most exciting games you’d ever watched. Heeseung had played brilliantly, his focus unshakable as he zoomed around the pitch, expertly dodging Bludgers and scoring goal after goal.

When the match ended, with Slytherin emerging victorious, Heeseung found you in the stands, grinning widely as he jogged over to you.

“Good game?” you teased, unable to contain the excitement in your voice.

Heeseung shrugged, feigning modesty. "You know, I couldn’t have done it without my good luck charm."

Your heart fluttered as he slipped his Slytherin Quidditch jersey over your head, his hands lingering on your shoulders just a little longer than necessary. "This is for you," he said, his voice low but playful. “You made me win.”

You blinked, looking down at the jersey, which was too big for you but somehow made you feel like you were wearing a piece of him. “I didn’t do anything—”

“Yeah, but you were there," he interrupted, his fingers lightly brushing your cheek as he grinned. “That’s all I needed.”

But Heeseung had one problem—he never knew when to stop kissing. An innocent kiss shared with you would quickly turn into something far more passionate, the kind of kiss that left you breathless, with your heart racing in your chest. His lips would press against yours, and before you knew it, he’d pull you even closer, deepening the kiss with a soft but urgent intensity.

His hands would find their way to your waist, tugging gently as he pulled you closer, and you couldn’t help but melt into him. His kisses weren’t just kisses—they were all-consuming, leaving you dizzy.

It wasn’t long before his hair would become messy, stray locks falling into his eyes as he kissed you with that playful but determined energy. By the time you pulled apart, your lips would be sore, swollen from his insistence. And your neck? Covered with small, dark marks—hickeys left behind as reminders of every moment he couldn’t quite control himself around you.

But the world wasn’t fair to you.

One day, everything changed. You had walked up to Heeseung, as you did every day, eager to see him after class, to share a laugh, maybe steal a quick kiss. But when you rounded the corner, you froze.

There, in the hallway, Heeseung was kissing a Slytherin girl—her hands tangled in his hair, his arms wrapped around her in a way that was so familiar, so intimate, that it felt like a punch to your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat, your body frozen in place, as you watched the scene unfold in front of you. The warmth of his kisses, the tenderness you thought was reserved for you, was now being given to someone else.

And when Heeseung finally pulled away from her, noticing you standing there, your heart shattered.

He didn’t even look surprised to see you. His eyes met yours, cold and indifferent. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice flat.

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t breathe. You felt as though the ground had been ripped from beneath you, leaving you dangling in the air, completely lost.

Then, the words you never expected to hear came tumbling from his mouth.

“I never had feelings for you,” he said, his tone casual, almost dismissive. “I never loved you.”

Your world tilted. The person you had trusted, the one who had made you feel special, had never felt the same. All those moments meant nothing. They were nothing but lies.

The pain surged through you like a tidal wave. You felt your chest constrict, your eyes stinging with the heat of unshed tears. Your voice broke as you screamed at him, “How could you? After everything?!”

But it didn’t matter. He didn’t care.

The girl with him—her smirk stretched wide, malicious and triumphant—stepped closer to Heeseung, hanging off his arm like she had every right to be there. Her eyes flicked to you, cold and triumphant, as if she reveled in your pain.

You didn’t even recognize the version of Heeseung standing before you. The boy you thought you knew—the one who had held you like you were everything to him—was gone. In his place was someone who didn’t care at all.

You turned on your heel, running away before the tears could spill. Your heart was breaking with every step, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, at them. You didn’t want to see the cruel smirk on her face, or the emptiness in his eyes.

You were heartbroken, yes, but beneath the sorrow was a rising tide of anger—burning, raw, and uncontrollable. How could Heeseung break your heart like that? After everything, after acting like you were the only woman in his life, like you were the one he couldn’t live without?

The memories played on a loop in your mind, tormenting you. The way he would pull you close and whisper that you were perfect for him. The way he’d laugh at your jokes, even the bad ones, and say that you made his days better.

It had all been a lie.

You paced the empty corridor, your thoughts spiraling into a storm of hurt and rage. Your fists clenched at your sides as tears streaked down your face. You wanted to scream, to cry, to find him and demand answers. How could someone who seemed so perfect turn out to be so cruel?

The image of him kissing that girl was seared into your mind, taunting you. The way she had smirked at you, so smug and triumphant, like she’d won some twisted game. The way Heeseung had looked at you—not with the warmth and love you were used to, but with indifference, as if you had been nothing but a fleeting amusement.

The days after that were some of the hardest you’d ever endured. You refused to let Heeseung see how much he had broken you, refused to let him or anyone else know how deeply his betrayal had cut. Instead, you buried your pain beneath a carefully crafted mask. You laughed with your friends, answered questions in class, and even managed to pull off smiles in the Great Hall. To everyone else, it was like nothing had happened.

But when you were alone, the mask slipped, and the weight of it all came crashing down. The nights were the worst, when you lay in bed replaying the moment over and over, like a cruel, inescapable nightmare. The sound of his words—I never loved you—echoed in your mind, shredding your heart all over again.

One afternoon, during Potions class, the pain overwhelmed you. Heeseung had walked in, all casual as if nothing had happened. He didn’t look your way—not even once—but that didn’t stop the memory of his betrayal from stabbing at your chest.

Your hands shook as you measured out ingredients for your potion, your vision blurring as hot tears threatened to spill. You couldn’t take it anymore. Quietly excusing yourself, you fled the classroom, muttering something about needing the restroom before anyone could stop you.

The moment you stepped into the dimly lit bathroom, the tears you’d been holding back came rushing out. You leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly as sobs wracked your body.

You didn’t even notice Moaning Myrtle until her soft voice broke through your cries.

“Rough day?”

Startled, you looked up, your tear-streaked face meeting the ghost’s translucent figure. She was floating by one of the sinks, her usual pout replaced with something almost... sympathetic.

You sniffled, quickly wiping your face. “Sorry, Myrtle. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Myrtle shook her head, hovering closer. “You’re not disturbing me,” she said quietly. “I know what it’s like to cry in here. To feel... forgotten.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. For once, she wasn’t mocking you or complaining about her own misfortunes. She was just... there, watching you with a sadness in her ghostly eyes that mirrored your own pain.

“I just don’t get it,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “How could someone say they cared and then... and then throw it all away like it meant nothing?”

Myrtle tilted her head, her gaze softening even more. “Boys are awful,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone holding a mix of understanding and bitterness. “They make you feel special, and then they break you."

You let out a shaky laugh, though it was more bitter than anything else. “Yeah, well, he’s the worst of them.”

Myrtle floated closer, hovering just beside you as you leaned over the sink, your tears falling freely now,and she stayed there, silently watching as you poured your heart out in the empty bathroom.

When you finally wiped your face and straightened up, Myrtle gave you a small, sad smile. “He’s not worth it,” she said softly.

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak, and with a final glance at your tear-streaked reflection, you left the bathroom.

--

You kept watching hopelessly as Heeseung changed right before your eyes. Despite being a Slytherin, he’d always been different—sharp, confident, but never cruel. He treated others with respect, even when it wasn’t expected of him, and it was one of the reasons people gravitated toward him so easily.

But now… now he wasn’t the same.

You started noticing it in small things at first. He’d snap at younger students who accidentally got in his way, barking out insults that made their faces crumple in embarrassment. He’d push past others in the corridors with an air of arrogance that felt alien, not sparing them a glance or apology.

Then, it became more deliberate. In Potions, you overheard him taunting a Gryffindor girl for botching her assignment, his words dripping with disdain. During Quidditch practice, he shouted at his teammates with a venom you’d never seen before, his frustration palpable even from the stands.

It didn’t just confuse you—it confused everyone.

Heeseung had always been popular, not just because of his looks or his Quidditch skills, but because he was charismatic. He had a way of making others feel comfortable, seen, and valued, even if they weren’t in his social circle. But now, that warmth was gone.

You overheard students whispering about him. “What’s gotten into Heeseung?” one Ravenclaw asked her friend as they passed you in the hallway. “He’s acting like a total git lately.”

“I know,” her friend agreed. “He’s not like this. It’s so weird.”

And it was weird. Heeseung wasn’t like this. He wasn’t the type to knock books out of a first-year’s hands and keep walking, or to purposely humiliate someone in front of their peers just to get a laugh. But that was exactly what he was doing now, and every time you saw it, you felt that ache in your chest grow deeper.

What had changed?

You wanted to convince yourself it didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t your problem. He had made that clear when he kissed someone else and shattered your heart in the process. But as much as you tried to turn a blind eye, you couldn’t.

This wasn’t just about you anymore.

Heeseung’s behavior was affecting everyone, and the boy who had once made you laugh until your sides hurt was now someone you barely recognized. Watching him spiral like this hurt more than you cared to admit.

But the question remained: why? What had turned him into this unknown version of himself?

The answer to that question was revealed to you one day, completely by accident.

You were on your way to your common room, distracted as you dug through your bag, mentally ticking off the homework you still had to finish. You weren’t paying attention to your surroundings, not until someone grabbed your arm and yanked you into an empty classroom.

You yelped, stumbling as you turned to face your captor. “What the—”

A Slytherin girl stood before you, her wide eyes darting nervously toward the door, as though she was afraid of being followed or heard. She placed a finger to her lips, hushing you before you could finish your sentence.

“What is your problem?” you hissed, yanking your arm out of her grip.

“Shh!” she insisted, glancing toward the corridor one last time before shutting the door behind her. Her actions were suspicious, like she was about to do something she wasn’t supposed to.

You crossed your arms, glaring at her. “Care to explain why you just dragged me in here?”

She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “You’re Heeseung`s girlfriend.”

The mention of his name immediately sent a pang through your chest, but you held your ground. “Was,” you corrected sharply. “Not anymore.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Look, I don’t have a lot of time, so just listen. Heeseung’s not himself.”

You frowned, your skepticism evident. “I’m aware of that. Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”

“No, you don’t get it.” She leaned in, her expression serious. “He’s not himself because he’s under the influence of Amortentia.”

The words hit you like a slap, leaving you momentarily speechless. “What?”

She nodded, her voice urgent now. “That girl—Yoonhee—she’s been dosing him with Amortentia for weeks. That’s why he’s been acting so different.”

Your heart raced as you processed her words, disbelief swirling in your mind. “You’re lying,” you said, your voice trembling. “Why would she do that?”

The Slytherin girl let out a humorless laugh. “Why do you think? She wanted him, and she didn’t care how she got him. But it’s not just about making him fall for her. She’s using the potion to influence him, to turn him into someone else. She’s controlling him, and you’ve seen the result.”

Your mind reeled as the pieces began to fall into place. The sudden change in Heeseung’s personality, the cruelty, the way he’d dismissed you so coldly—all of it made a sick kind of sense now.

“She’s dangerous,” the girl continued. “And if someone doesn’t stop her, Heeseung’s going to be completely lost.”

You stared at her, your emotions a whirlwind of anger, confusion, and disbelief. “Why are you telling me this?”

She hesitated, guilt flashing in her eyes. “Because it’s wrong. I thought about staying out of it, but Heeseung doesn’t deserve this. And... neither do you.”

Your fists clenched at your sides as rage surged through you. The betrayal you had felt from Heeseung was now redirected toward Yoonhee, the girl who had manipulated him, stolen his free will, and shattered your heart in the process.

If this was true, then Yoonhee had taken everything from you—and from him.

You took a deep breath, meeting the girl’s gaze. “How do I stop her?”

The Slytherin girl’s lips pressed into a thin line before she said, “I’ll help you, but we have to act fast. The longer she keeps him under her control, the harder it’ll be to break him free.”

You suddenly narrowed your eyes, crossing your arms. “And how do I know I can trust you?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration. “Look, I get why you’d be suspicious, but I don’t have anything to gain from this. I’m only telling you because…” She hesitated, looking almost embarrassed before continuing. “Because I’ve seen how Heeseung was with you. And then I’ve seen him with Yoonhee. And it’s not the same.”

Her voice softened as she spoke, her gaze meeting yours. “What you and Heeseung had—it was real. It was... cute, even. He was different when he was with you. Like he couldn’t stop looking at you, like you were the only thing that mattered. I swear, he practically had hearts in his eyes whenever you were around.”

Your heart clenched at her words, the image of Heeseung’s affectionate smile flashing in your mind.

“But with Yoonhee?” she continued, her tone sharp. “It’s fake. Everything about it feels wrong. He doesn’t look at her the way he looked at you. There’s no warmth, no care. It’s like... like he’s just going through the motions, like a puppet on strings. And the way she parades him around, acting like she owns him—it’s sick.”

Her voice grew quieter, tinged with guilt. “I should have said something sooner. I should’ve stopped it when I first realized what she was doing. But I didn’t, and now things have gone too far. I just... I couldn’t keep watching it anymore.”

You studied her face, searching for any sign of deception, but all you saw was genuine regret.

“You really think what we had was real?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

She nodded firmly. “I know it was. Anyone with eyes could see it. Heeseung doesn’t look at anyone the way he looked at you. And if you still care about him, even after everything, then you need to help him. Because what Yoonhee’s doing? It’s not love. It’s control. And it’s destroying him.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded. “Okay. I’ll help. But if this turns out to be some kind of trick…”

“It’s not,” she said quickly, her eyes steady and resolute. “I promise.”

“Good,” you said, squaring your shoulders. “Because if she thinks she can get away with this, she’s dead wrong.”

After speaking with Hyejin who had revealed everything—you went straight to the library, your mind set on one thing: finding an antidote to Amortentia.

You scoured the shelves, your fingers brushing over the spines of dusty Potions books, each title longer and more complicated than the last. "Advanced Alchemical Properties of Magical Infusions," "The Elusive Art of Potionmaking," "Rare Remedies and Their Applications"—none of them seemed to promise the straightforward answers you were hoping for.

Potions had never been your strong suit, and as you flipped through yet another heavy tome filled with convoluted instructions and obscure ingredients, you groaned in frustration.

Why did Potions have to be so complicated? Couldn’t it be more like Herbology—straightforward, clear, and easy to follow? You were confident you could have whipped up a solution in no time if that were the case. But instead, you were drowning in endless jargon about precise stirring techniques, moon phase timings, and ingredient substitutions.

And the worst part? Heeseung had always been the one to help you when Potions overwhelmed you. His natural skill in the subject had been your saving grace more times than you could count, and the irony wasn’t lost on you that now, when you needed help the most, he was the one you were trying to save.

After what felt like hours of fruitless searching, you let out another groan, slamming the book in front of you shut. “Why are there so many books on Potions?” you muttered under your breath. “Why can’t this be simple? Just a page with ‘Amortentia antidote’ in big bold letters—how hard would that be?”

You stared at the pile of books in front of you, exhaustion creeping in as you realized just how out of your depth you were. You needed help, and you needed it fast. But who could you turn to? Heeseung was out of the question, and you didn’t trust Hyejin enough to rely on her completely.

You racked your brain, thinking of anyone who might have the skill and knowledge to guide you. Your mind flashed to someone unexpected—someone you hadn’t considered at first but who might be your best shot.

Professor Slughorn.

He wasn’t exactly your favorite teacher, but he was an expert in Potions, and if anyone could point you in the right direction, it was him. The problem was convincing him to help without spilling the entire truth. After all, you couldn’t exactly admit that a student was brewing and using Amortentia without risking expulsion for everyone involved.

Still, you didn’t have many options. If you couldn’t find the answer here, then you’d have to take the risk and ask for guidance.

You were just about to leave the library, your mind still swirling with frustration, when you collided with someone. The impact sent you stumbling back a step, your bag nearly slipping from your shoulder.

“Oh! Sorry about that!” you said quickly, steadying yourself.

“No, no, it’s my fault,” the other person replied, their voice warm and apologetic.

When you looked up, you were surprised to find yourself face-to-face with Myung Jaehyun, a Gryffindor student. You didn’t know him particularly well, but you knew of him—he had a reputation for excelling in Potions, often earning praise from Professor Slughorn.

The proverbial light bulb practically lit up over your head as an idea struck you. Jaehyun could help.

You smiled, stepping closer to him, which made Jaehyun’s cheeks flush slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze for a moment. “Um... something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” you said, your tone light and friendly. “Actually, I was just thinking... you’re good at Potions, right?”

He nodded. “I guess? I mean, yeah, I’ve always done well in class. Why?”

“Well,” you said slowly, leaning in slightly, “I was wondering if you could help me with something. It’s just a tiny matter, really.”

Jaehyun blinked, clearly intrigued. “Uh, sure. What do you need?”

“I’m looking for a book,” you explained. “One that has information about antidotes for Amortentia.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Amortentia?”

You nodded, trying to keep your expression casual. “Yeah. I, uh... just need to look up something for a project.”

Jaehyun seemed to consider this for a moment before his face lit up. “Oh! I know exactly what you need.” He walked over to a nearby shelf, scanning the rows of books with practiced ease before pulling one out. He handed it to you, flipping it open to the right chapter. “Here. Chapter 14, page 237. It has a detailed section on love potions.”

You took the book from him, relief flooding through you. “Thank you so much, Jaehyun. This is exactly what I needed.”

Jaehyun hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat. “If you want... I could help you with the brewing process. It’s tricky, and, well, I’ve done similar antidotes before.”

You practically jumped at the offer, your enthusiasm catching him off guard. “Really? You’d help me?”

“Of course,” he said, smiling shyly. “When do you want to start?”

“As soon as possible,” you said quickly. “This is kind of... urgent.”

“Alright,” Jaehyun agreed, his smile growing more confident. “Let’s meet in the Potions classroom after dinner. I’ll bring the ingredients we’ll need.”

You nodded, clutching the book tightly. “Thank you, Jaehyun. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”

He rubbed the back of his neck again, his blush returning. “It’s no problem. I’m happy to help.”

With a grateful smile, you hurried out of the library. You finally had a plan—and someone to help you execute it.

After dinner, you made your way to the Potions classroom, your nerves buzzing. As you stepped inside, you saw Jaehyun already at one of the workbenches, his sleeves rolled up and his hands deftly working.

When he noticed you, he offered a small smile and gestured for you to sit next to him.

“You’re early,” you said, setting your bag down on the bench.

“Wanted to get a head start,” Jaehyun replied, his voice warm. “I figured the quicker we get this done, the better.”

You nodded, settling into the chair beside him. As you looked around the dimly lit classroom, a thought occurred to you. “Is it even okay for us to be here after class hours?”

Jaehyun chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Don’t worry. Professor Slughorn lets me stay after hours pretty often. He says it’s good-spirited of me to practice brewing and experiment.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Good-spirited, huh? That’s... surprisingly nice of him.”

Jaehyun shrugged, still focused on grinding the ingredients in front of him. “He’s not so bad. As long as you don’t blow up the classroom, he’s pretty lenient.”

You laughed lightly at that, feeling a bit of the tension in your chest ease. As Jaehyun began measuring out a vial of liquid and carefully adding it to the cauldron, you watched him work.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked, not wanting to just sit idly.

He glanced at you, his eyes crinkling slightly in a smile. “Sure. Can you chop those gurdyroots? They need to be sliced thinly—about this size.” He held up a perfectly cut piece as an example.

“Got it,” you said, grabbing a knife and the roots. You carefully started cutting, doing your best to match the size Jaehyun had shown you.

Occasionally, Jaehyun would give you instructions or correct something you were doing, his tone always patient and encouraging.

“You’re doing great,” he said at one point, glancing over at your neatly sliced gurdyroots. “I might have to recruit you as my brewing partner from now on.”

You snorted. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Potions and I have a... complicated relationship.”

Jaehyun laughed, his warm, boyish chuckle filling the room. “Well, you’re doing fine tonight. Just keep that up.”

The antidote was slowly coming together, the cauldron emitting a faint shimmer as the ingredients combined.

“Do you think this will work?” you asked softly after a while, watching the potion swirl in the cauldron.

Jaehyun looked at you, his expression serious yet kind. “If we follow the instructions exactly, it should. Potions like this are tricky, but I’m confident we can pull it off. And if something goes wrong, we’ll try again.”

His reassurance eased some of your worry, and you nodded. “Thank you, Jaehyun. I mean it. You didn’t have to help me, but you are.”

He shrugged modestly, his cheeks tinged pink. “It’s nothing. Besides, it’s kind of nice working on something like this with someone else for a change.”

You smiled at that, feeling a bit lighter for the first time in days.

After some time the potion was finally done. The cauldron shimmered with a silvery glow, and Jaehyun carefully ladled some of the antidote into a small flask. He corked it tightly and handed it to you, his smile warm but cautious.

“Here,” he said, placing it gently in your hands.

You stared at the flask, relief flooding through you. “Thank you, Jaehyun,” you said, looking up at him with a grateful smile. Without thinking, you leaned in and hugged him tightly.

Jaehyun stiffened for a moment, clearly caught off guard, but quickly relaxed and awkwardly patted your back. “You don’t have to thank me. Really.”

“I do,” you said, pulling back and clutching the flask to your chest. “I owe you one. Big time.”

Before he could respond, you turned and hurried out of the classroom, determination burning in your chest.

The Great Hall was buzzing with the usual hum of students talking and studying. You scanned the room until your eyes landed on Hyejin, sitting at a corner table with books and parchment spread out in front of her. She looked like she was drowning in notes, a quill tucked behind her ear as she scribbled furiously.

You approached her, sliding into the seat across from her. She glanced up, her brow furrowed in confusion until she saw the flask in your hand.

“You’ve got it?” she asked, her eyes widening slightly.

You nodded, setting the flask on the table between you. “I’ve got the solution. Literally.”

Hyejin’s tense expression softened, and she let out a small sigh of relief. “That’s good. Really good.”

You noticed her Herbology textbook then, along with her chaotic notes. The scribbled diagrams of plants and ingredients were barely legible, and she had several crossed-out answers on her parchment. She caught you looking and groaned, slumping back in her chair.

“Don’t judge me. Herbology is not my strong suit,” she muttered, rubbing her temples.

“Do you need help?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hyejin gave a humorless laugh. “Desperately. Professor Sprout’s quizzes are impossible, and if I don’t pass the next one, I’m doomed.”

Smiling, you reached into your bag and pulled out your own Herbology notes. “Here. These might help.”

Her eyes widened as she saw the neat, color-coded pages you laid in front of her. “Oh my God, you’re an angel,” she said dramatically, grabbing them like they were a lifeline.

You laughed, leaning over to point out some of the key points. “Okay, this section on Venomous Tentacula—just remember that its sap is only dangerous when exposed to direct sunlight. Write that down.”

“Thank you,” Hyejin said softly after a while, looking up from her notes. “For this. And... for everything else.”

“You’ve already done plenty to help me,” you replied with a small smile. “It’s the least I can do.”

--

The next day, you sat on your bed, nervously fiddling with the hem of your robes. The weight of what was about to happen pressed heavily on your chest. You had given the antidote to Hyejin that morning, entrusting her with the task of breaking the spell that had bound Heeseung to Yoonhee. She’d reassured you with a confident smile that she could slip the potion into his drink during lunch, all without raising suspicion.

You could have been there yourself to witness it. You could have stood nearby, watching from the shadows to make sure everything went as planned. But the truth was, you were scared—terrified, even.

You couldn’t face Heeseung. Not now. Not after everything that had happened. What if the antidote didn’t work? What if he still didn’t feel anything for you, even after the spell was broken? What if... what if he hated you?

The thoughts spiraled in your mind as you sat there, staring at the wall of your dormitory. You felt ridiculous for being so anxious, but the idea of seeing him again, of looking into his eyes and not knowing what you’d find there, was almost too much to bear.

So you’d chosen to wait. To stay here, in the safety of your room, and let Hyejin handle it. She’d promised to relay everything to you afterward, and you trusted her.

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your thoughts.

“It’s just me,” your roommate said, poking her head inside. “You okay? You’ve been in here all morning.”

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “Yeah, just... not feeling great today. I think I’ll skip lunch.”

She gave you a sympathetic look before leaving, and you sighed in relief once the door closed again.

The waiting was unbearable. Minutes felt like hours as you sat there, your mind playing out every possible scenario. You tried to distract yourself by flipping through a book, but the words blurred together on the page.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, there was a knock at the door again—this time more urgent.

You jumped up, your heart racing as you opened it to find Hyejin standing there, slightly out of breath.

“It’s done,” she said simply, stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

You stared at her, your throat suddenly dry. “And? Did it work?”

Hyejin nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “It worked. I saw it in his eyes the moment the potion broke. Heeseung... he looked so confused at first, like he didn’t know where he was or what was happening. But then Yoonhee tried to cling to him, and he pushed her away.”

Your breath hitched. “He did?”

“Yeah. And he asked her what she’d done to him. She tried to play innocent, but you could tell she was panicking. I don’t think anyone else noticed—it wasn’t exactly a scene—but Heeseung wasn’t buying her act. He left pretty quickly after that, though. I think he needed time to process everything.”

You sank back onto your bed, your mind reeling. Relief, hope, and dread all swirled together in your chest. Heeseung was free. He was finally free.

But now what?

Hyejin sat beside you, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “Give him some time,” she said softly, as if reading your thoughts. “He’s going to come looking for you. I’m sure of it.”

You nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you gripped the edge of your bed. All you could do now was wait—and hope that when Heeseung finally found you, the boy you’d fallen for was still there, waiting for you too.

You didn’t leave your room for days. The sick, uncomfortable feeling in your body refused to go away. It was as if the weight of everything—your heartbreak, the fear—had finally caught up to you, pinning you to your bed and draining you of energy.

Your housemates noticed. They brought you food, their class notes, and even small trinkets to cheer you up, but nothing seemed to work. You mumbled thanks to them, forced weak smiles when they tried to joke, but the truth was, you felt numb.

Hyejin came by often, sitting on the edge of your bed and filling you in on everything happening outside the confines of your room.

“Yoonhee got caught,” she said one afternoon, her tone tinged with satisfaction. “Slughorn found out she’d been brewing Amortentia, and she’s been given detention for weeks. There’s even talk about revoking her Hogsmeade privileges for the rest of the year.”

You managed a faint smile at that. “Good. She deserves it.”

Hyejin nodded firmly. “She does. And honestly, people are starting to avoid her now. Her little group of friends isn’t as tight as it used to be. Guess that’s what happens when everyone finds out you’ve been manipulating someone with a love potion.”

Your smile faded as the conversation shifted to Heeseung.

“And... Heeseung,” Hyejin started carefully, watching your reaction. “He’s been... different.”

You stiffened slightly but said nothing, letting her continue.

“He’s been asking about you. Like, constantly. He’s desperate to find you. I think he’s even checked the library three times in one day,” she said with a small laugh, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “He’s back to being... well, himself. But he looks miserable, and honestly, he’s really worried about you.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to feel relieved, but instead, the sick feeling only deepened. You hated how much you still cared, how even hearing about Heeseung made your heart twist painfully.

“I don’t know, Hyejin,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “I just… I can’t see him right now.”

Hyejin sighed softly, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “I get it. I do. Take all the time you need. Just... don’t shut yourself out completely, okay?”

You didn’t respond, simply looking down at your blanket as Hyejin stayed with you a little longer.

It wasn’t until one evening, when the common room was quiet and your dorm was empty, that you finally let yourself cry. The frustration, the sadness, the guilt—it all poured out of you in heavy, silent sobs as you clutched your pillow.

You were happy Yoonhee had faced punishment. You were relieved that Heeseung was free from her influence. But you were also scared—scared of facing him, scared of what he would say, and scared of how much you still loved him, even after everything.

Before you knew it, the day of the annual Christmas Ball at Hogwarts had arrived. Normally, you would’ve been excited. Your mother had even sent you a beautiful golden gown, one that shimmered like sunlight when you first pulled it out of the box. You’d twirled in front of the mirror, imagining how the soft fabric would float around you as you danced.

But now? Now you had lost all reason to go.

The thought of attending made your stomach churn. The idea of walking into that grand hall, of possibly running into him—it was too much.

Unfortunately, your housemates had other plans. They weren’t about to let you stay locked up in your dorm forever, wallowing in shame and fear. After days of patient encouragement, they finally pulled you out of bed, insisting you at least attend a few classes. Begrudgingly, you relented, figuring it would stop their nagging if nothing else.

The morning started off easy enough. You didn’t have any classes with Heeseung today, which gave you some peace of mind. Still, you couldn’t shake the paranoia that he might show up out of nowhere.

And, honestly, that paranoia wasn’t entirely unfounded.

It was as if Heeseung had a built-in radar for you. More than once, you caught a glimpse of his dark hair in the corridors, his eyes scanning the crowds as if he were searching for someone. For you.

Every time, you ducked behind corners or slipped into empty classrooms to avoid him. It was harder than you expected, given his persistence. You had to wonder if he’d memorized your schedule or something.

By the time your last class ended, you were exhausted—not from the lessons, but from all the hiding and running. You slumped into your seat at dinner, barely touching your food as your housemates chattered excitedly about the ball.

“You’re still coming tonight, right?” one of them asked, nudging your shoulder.

You hesitated. “I don’t know...”

“Oh, come on,” another chimed in. “Your mom sent you that gorgeous dress! You have to go.”

You sighed, poking at the mashed potatoes on your plate. “I’ll think about it.”

But even as you said it, you doubted you’d actually go.

As the evening drew closer, you found yourself back in your dorm, staring at the golden gown hanging from your wardrobe. It truly was stunning, the kind of dress you’d dreamed of wearing to an event like this.

For a moment, you almost let yourself imagine it—dancing under the enchanted ceiling, laughter and music filling the air.

You shook your head, turning away from the dress. You weren’t ready for that.

Just as you were about to crawl back into bed, however, your dormitory door burst open, and your housemates barged in with determined looks.

“Nope, we’re not letting you sit this one out,” one of them declared, grabbing your arm and pulling you to your feet.

“What are you—”

“Listen,” another interrupted, “you don’t have to stay the whole night. Just come for a little bit. Wear the dress, take a few pictures, and if you’re really miserable, you can leave. Deal?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the hopeful, pleading looks on their faces stopped you. They just wanted you to have fun, to feel normal again, even if only for a little while.

“...Fine,” you muttered, earning cheers from the group.

Before you knew it, they were helping you into the golden gown, fixing your hair and makeup, and hyping you up like you were royalty.

“You look amazing,” one of them said, beaming as they adjusted the final curl in your hair.

You didn’t feel amazing, but you forced a small smile.

Your housemates dragged you down the corridors toward the grand hall, their excitement became contagious. Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself starting to feel... a little excited, too.

When you finally stepped into the grand hall, your breath hitched. The space was utterly transformed, shimmering with holiday magic. Snowflakes drifted lazily from the enchanted ceiling, disappearing just before they touched the ground. The chandeliers sparkled like stars, and the tables were adorned with golden centerpieces. Everything looked like it had been plucked from a dream.

But then you saw him.

Heeseung.

He was standing near one of the refreshment tables, laughing softly at something a fellow Slytherin said. Emerald green suit, tailored to perfection. His hair, slicked back, revealed his sharp jawline and those intense eyes. But as your gaze lingered on him, you noticed something else—he looked tired.

It wasn’t until he glanced your way and his eyes locked onto yours that you realized you’d been staring.

Your heart jumped in your chest, and before you could even think about turning away, he was moving. Heeseung’s long strides cut through the crowd like a magnet pulled him toward you.

“Oh no,” you squeaked, panic bubbling in your chest.

You instinctively turned to your friends for help, but all you saw were their grinning faces and two very obvious thumbs up.

Ah, so they planned this.

You shot them a silent glare, but before you could even consider fleeing, a firm hand grabbed yours. Heeseung’s grip was gentle but insistent as he pulled you away.

“H-Heeseung—!” you started, but he wasn’t listening.

He didn’t stop until he’d guided you to a quiet corner of the hall, away from the prying eyes of your fellow students. The noise of the ball faded into the background as he turned to face you, his hands still holding yours.

Your breath caught.

Up close, he looked even more handsome, but those tired eyes, paired with the slight downturn of his lips, made your chest ache. He looked... vulnerable.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. He just stared at you, taking in every detail—the golden gown that hugged your figure, the way your hair framed your face, the faint shimmer of your lips.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly, his voice hoarse, almost as if he hadn’t used it in days.

You blinked, momentarily stunned. You weren’t sure how to respond, your thoughts still scrambling to catch up with the fact that he was here, holding your hands, looking at you like that.

Finally, you managed to mumble, “You look... good too.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up into a small, tired smile. “Thanks,” he said, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

Heeseung’s gaze softened as he opened his mouth to speak. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. For—”

You cut him off, shaking your head. “No, Heeseung. Stop. It wasn’t your fault. It was Yoonhee’s. You didn’t ask for any of this.”

He blinked, stunned by your words, but his expression quickly shifted to one of concern. “Then... why?” he asked softly, his voice trembling. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

You looked down, biting your lip, unable to meet his gaze. But he wasn’t having it.

Gently, he tilted your chin up with his fingers, forcing your eyes to lock with his. His touch was soft but firm, his eyes desperate. “Please,” he murmured, his voice low and pleading. “Please look at me, Y/N. I need to see you. All of you. I need to understand.”

You swallowed hard, his intensity making it difficult to breathe. Your heart pounded in your chest as you searched for the right words.

“I...” You hesitated, but his unwavering gaze gave you the courage to continue. “I was scared, Heeseung. Scared that... you wouldn’t like me anymore. That whatever we had before was gone. And it hurt. It hurt so much that I didn’t know how to face you. I felt so... drained. So tired. I had no energy for anything. It was like everything good was just gone.”

He listened intently, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek as tears spilled from your eyes. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to justify anything. He just... listened. Like he always did.

When you finally finished, a silence hung between you, heavy.

And then, without warning, Heeseung wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

You froze for a moment, startled, before slowly relaxing into his embrace. His scent—familiar and comforting—washed over you, and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Baby...” he whispered into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I would have waited forever for you to feel okay again. Because you’re the only woman I love in this world. The only one I’ve ever loved. And nothing—nothing—is ever going to change that.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, the sincerity in his tone breaking down the walls you’d built around your heart.

“I want a future with you,” he continued, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hands framed your face, his thumbs gently wiping away the tears that had fallen. “I don’t care about anyone else. I never did. It’s always been you. Always.”

His words left you speechless, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“I love you,” he said, his voice steady and sure. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you if I have to.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you nodded, a shaky smile breaking through. “I love you too, Heeseung,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Heeseung’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes glistening with relief and adoration. Without another word, he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you wanted. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the gap between you, meeting him halfway as his lips pressed against yours in a kiss.

Your heart raced as your hands instinctively reaching up to grip the front of his emerald green suit. His arms wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you closer, like he was afraid to let you go. The kiss was slow, deliberate, as if he was reassuring you that this was real, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathless, his forehead rested against yours. Heeseung’s smile widened, his thumbs gently rubbing circles against your sides.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with affection. “And I’ll never stop, as long as you let me.”

You laughed softly, your cheeks warming as you looked up at him. “You’re so dramatic,” you teased, though your tone held no malice.

“Maybe,” he admitted with a playful smirk, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.

But before either of you could say anything more, a loud burst of laughter echoed from the main hall, reminding you both that you weren’t exactly in a private setting.

Heeseung chuckled, glancing over his shoulder before looking back at you. “Come on,” he said, grabbing your hand. “Let’s go somewhere quieter. I’m not done with you yet.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips quirking up. “Oh? And where exactly are we going?”

He grinned mischievously, tugging you gently along. “You’ll see,” he said, his tone light and teasing.

Heeseung led you through the dimly lit corridors, weaving between tapestries and statues until you reached a secluded alcove. It was quiet, away from the bustling energy of the Great Hall, and the faint sound of music and laughter felt like it was miles away.

Leaning casually against the stone wall, Heeseung tugged you closer by your hand, his other arm snaking around your waist as he grinned down at you. “Now this,” he murmured, “is more like it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, feeling a bit giddy as he twirled a strand of your hair between his fingers. The way he looked at you, like you were the only person who mattered, sent your heart racing.

Before you could respond, you found yourself leaning up, your lips brushing against his in a kiss that was soft at first, but quickly deepened. His hand tightened on your hip as he pulled you flush against him, and you reached up, tangling your fingers into his perfectly styled hair, making it deliciously messy.

Heeseung groaned softly against your lips, the sound sending a thrill through you as his hand slid to the small of your back, holding you steady. The kiss was everything—intense, like he was making up for all the lost time, for all the days you’d been apart.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless and slightly disheveled, he let out a low chuckle. “There goes my hair,” he teased, his voice husky as he glanced at you, his lips still red from your kiss.

You smirked, smoothing down the strands you’d mussed up. “I think it looks better this way,” you quipped, earning a playful roll of his eyes.

“Yeah?” he said, leaning in to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Well, if it makes you happy, I guess I’ll allow it.”

Heeseung's playful nature shone through as he leaned in, his nose brushing against yours, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I could get used to this," he whispered, his breath warm and tickling against your skin. "You looking all beautiful and mussed up."

You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement at his words. "Well, if you like it, I might just keep it this way," you replied, a hint of challenge in your voice. "Although, I think I might enjoy seeing the look on your face if I went back to being perfectly put together."

With a playful roll of his eyes, Heeseung leaned in again, his lips meeting yours in a gentle kiss. But this time, his hands went to your dress, his fingers trailing along the neckline, subtly revealing more of your skin.

You giggled into the kiss, a sound of both pleasure and surprise. "Naughty boy," you teased, trying to hit his hand away, but Heeseung was unmoved, his focus solely on you and the kiss.

His hands continued to tease, gently tugging at the fabric of your dress, revealing more of your shoulders and collarbone.

"You know I can't resist you," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and seductive. "Especially when you look like this."

"I know you can't," you replied, your voice soft and filled with affection. "And I'm glad I have this effect on you." You could feel his fingers trace the curve of your waist.

Heeseung's eyes lit up as he saw the skin that had been revealed. With a smile that held both mischief and anticipation, he leaned in, his lips grazing the newly exposed skin.

He started with soft kisses, his lips brushing against your neck, his breath warm and enticing, a gentle tease, tracing the curve of your collarbone.

"You smell so good," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Like honey and spice."

His hands rested gently on your waist, his touch firm, as if you were something delicate he couldn’t risk breaking.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper as his lips pressed a lingering kiss to the base of your neck. “Do you know that?”

His words made your cheeks flush, and you shook your head slightly, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he interrupted, his tone so sure that it silenced any protest you could muster. His lips returned to your skin, brushing over your shoulder where the fabric of your gown had slipped just slightly.

“I could do this forever,” he whispered against your skin, his voice carrying a hint of a smile. “Just... adore you.”

You shivered at his words, warmth pooling in your chest as you gazed at him. There was nothing rushed or impatient about him—just pure affection, as though he was savoring every moment with you.

“You’re impossible,” you mumbled, but the smile on your face betrayed the teasing edge in your voice.

Heeseung looked at you then, his dark eyes filled with so much love it made your breath catch. “And yet, here I am, completely yours,” he said with a boyish grin, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose, making you laugh softly.

A sudden scream sliced through the moment, making you both freeze. You turned to find Yoonhee standing in the hallway, her eyes blazing with rage, her hands clenched into fists at her sides, hatred radiating from every inch of her.

You quickly adjusted the straps of your dress, feeling a flush of embarrassment but finding comfort in the way Heeseung immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close.

"Yoonhee," Heeseung said, his voice calm but firm, his body still shielding you. "What are you doing here?"

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor as she walked toward you. "You," she spat, her voice seething with venom. "You ruined everything. You always ruin everything."

The words stung more than you expected, and you felt yourself shrinking back, but Heeseung’s grip tightened around you, giving you strength.

"If you didn`t exist," she continued, her voice rising. "Everything would have been perfect. Heeseung would have been mine. I would have had everything I wanted."

You shook your head, unable to comprehend the depth of her bitterness. "Yoonhee, What are—"

But she wasn’t listening. Her gaze never left you, her eyes full of hatred as she took another step toward you. "You don't deserve him. You’re not good enough. You’re nothing compared to me."

Heeseung, his expression hardening, finally stepped in to talk. "Enough, Yoonhee."

Her glare shifted to him, but there was no remorse in her eyes. Instead, she let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, really? You think you can just shut me up?" She turned back to you, her face twisted with anger. "You think you can steal him from me and everything will be fine? You don’t know him like I do."

You swallowed, your throat tightening at her words, but Heeseung’s presence kept you steady. His voice, low and firm, cut through her words. "You’re wrong, Yoonhee. You’ve always been wrong. This isn’t about you, and it never was. I’m with her because I want to be. You’re the one who needs to let go."

For a moment, there was silence, the tension thick between the three of you. Yoonhee stood there, fuming, but Heeseung didn’t flinch.

"You can’t do this, Heeseung," she hissed, her voice full of desperation now. "You don’t even know what you’re giving up. You think she cares about you? She’s just playing you like everyone else. She’s not even worthy of you."

Heeseung’s expression softened, but there was no uncertainty in his eyes. "You’re wrong, Yoonhee. She’s everything to me, and I’m not walking away from her."

Yoonhee’s shrill scream filled the room, and before anyone could react, she lunged at you. Her hands shot out, grabbing your arm and yanking you away from Heeseung with surprising strength. You stumbled back, her nails digging into your skin as she tried to shove you down. Her eyes were wild with fury, and for a moment, you froze, too stunned by the violence of her attack to respond.

But then, something inside you snapped. All the weeks of anger, hurt, and confusion flooded back. The betrayal, the humiliation, the endless nights of crying and wondering what went wrong—it all surged up at once. This was the girl who had stolen Heeseung right out of your life. The one who had used Amortentia to control him, to warp his feelings, to hurt you. The one who had made you feel small and insignificant.

No, you wouldn’t let her do this anymore.

With a fierce yell, you shoved her off, your fist flying instinctively. The punch connected with her cheek with a satisfying thud, the force sending her staggering backward. Her eyes widened in shock, hand flying to her face as she stumbled and almost fell to the ground.

Yoonhee gaped at you, her breath coming in short, furious gasps. "You... You bitch!" she snarled, voice shaking with rage.

But you stood your ground, heart racing, every ounce of your being wanting to scream and lash out. You felt the heat of your own anger, the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You weren’t backing down anymore. "No," you said, your voice trembling but fierce, "you don't get to do this. You don't get to ruin everything for me and Heeseung. You don’t get to play with people’s feelings."

Yoonhee glared at you, hands trembling with fury. "You think you’ve won, don’t you?" Her voice was a low hiss. "You really think he’s yours? He’s not. He’ll always come back to me."

Heeseung stepped forward, voice cutting through the tension. "You’re done. I’ve told you before. I’m with her, not you."

Yoonhee looked between the two of you, her face flushing red with humiliation. The silence that followed was deafening. She was seething, but there was no more fight left in her. She stood there for a moment, glaring at you, and then, with a final look of disdain, she turned on her heel and stormed away.

You let out a breath, feeling your body go limp, the tension draining from your limbs. Heeseung moved towards you immediately, his arms wrapping around you as he pulled you close.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his voice soft and concerned.

You nodded slowly, though your heart was still racing from the confrontation. "I’m okay," you whispered, your voice hoarse. "I just... I don’t know what came over me."

Heeseung pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his hands and looking into your eyes. "You did what you had to do," he said gently. "You’ve been through so much because of her."

"And besides I like seeing that side of you," he said, his voice warm and genuine. "The way you stood up for yourself."

You smiled, feeling a rush of warmth fill your chest at his words.

"I’m proud of you," he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

You held him tighter, feeling grateful for everything that had brought you to this point. "I love you," you whispered.

"I love you too," he replied.

a/n: i feel emotional now

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[shidoglazer]

a productive day

rin itoshi fluff loverboy rin ＠shidoglazer

rin itoshi would be the softest boyfriend ever.

to everyones surprise, despite his cold demeanour, he’s basically a pile of wool in front of you. so he makes it his life mission to never let anyone else find out about it, more specifically, his teammates.

in public, he tries to put on his usual cold act. a simple hand around your waist to pull you closer to him, glare at every man that stares into your direction — just the usual boyfriend stuff, right?

but in private, he’ll be clinging onto you like you’re his lifeline (which you kind of are,) being whiny whenever you have to leave for even just a few seconds, inhale your scent whenever he can because he’s just like that! i mean, who are we kidding? its itoshi rin. do you think he’ll be with someone he can’t be vulnerable with?

this man loves you from the other universes and back. his knees almost give out each time you compliment him, tease him or even just give him a mere peck on the cheek. which is quite the contrast to how he is with his teammates, or anyone else, really.

he’ll whisper cheesy things into your ear when he’s just a little too sleepy to process anything, or maybe when he’s too lazy to reach to your ear, he’ll just mumble into your neck, sending vibrations throughout your whole body from how raspy his morning voice is. “i love you s’much.. cute lil angel, all f’me, mm?” he’ll lazily say before nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

rin is so sweet! which is why you’re completely terrified as you watch your boyfriend scold his teammates on the field mid-training for being too slow, too lukewarm, too mediocre, too naive, too gullible— literally every insult that could be used to describe them. you’re standing there at the entrance of the practice stadium awkwardly, holding rins lunch in hand that he forgot to take before leaving the house.

it doesn’t take long for rin to notice you, as he turns his back to his teammates and he’s immediately met with you standing there like a pure, innocent, scared angel- his angel. he doesn’t wait for another heartbeat to immediately start jogging towards you in concern.

“love- what’s wrong? did you get hurt?” he speaks in a low voice to avoid being heard by his teammates, stopping his tracks when he’s directly in front of you, starting to check every part of your body while basically resisting the urge to start physically checking your body for any injuries, to hug you, to touch you in any way possible

you quickly reassure him with a warm smile. the muscles in his body immediately relax as you hand him his lunchbox, “i’m okay rinnie, you forgot this at home, so i just brought it here for you.” the corners of his lips threatened to twitch upwards as he takes the lunchbox from your hands.

“you didn’t have to. i would’ve been okay.” he yet again, resists to reach out to caress your cheek.

“i wouldn’t have been okay knowing my boyfriend had an empty stomach during his training.” his self restraint is very, obviously gone as he grips the lunchbox in one hand as the other trails to your jaw, bringing you in for a quick peck before pulling away, hoping that no one saw. “thank you. i love you. i’ll bring you out for dinner tonight, okay?” to which you nod before leaving his training grounds.

apparently, almost everyone had heard the interaction between you two. out of 21 people, 17 heard it, 10 teased him about it and 7 ended up on the floor with a bruised body part, and 1 ended up in the detention centre while eating the lunch his girlfriend packed him. a productive day indeed.

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