FADE INTO YOU | GAMIN YOON X F! READER

BOYFRIEND! JAE

A Christmas Gift | G.W.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

feat. George Weasley x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You go to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes to pick out a Christmas gift for your ailing little brother, who adored the shop (and the twins) before he became too ill to go. You find a gift and so much more than you ever dreamed of.

CW: this is really emotional, i’m sorry, but i pinky promise that it has a happyish ending. fred is dead, grief, hurt/comfort, hospital visits, sick sibling/children, some swearing, but also some fun and lightheartedness, plenty of christmasy fluff, first kisses

AN: last Christmas fic of the season!

The early morning snow buffeted at your back as you stepped into Weasely Wizard Wheezes. The store had just opened, you saw someone turn the sign as you finished your breakfast at the Three Broomsticks, but you wanted to beat the holiday rush so you could really take your time.

The smell of cinnamon and woodsmoke, plastic toys and what could only be described as joy, welcomed you inside. An enormous Christmas tree hung upside down from the ceiling, decorated in orange, purple, and gold, with handmade ornaments over every branch and popcorn strings strewn around it. Every shelf was stocked and festively decorated, and soft Christmas music played from the speakers.

You stopped in the doorway, tears welling in your eyes. Your brother would love this. You had hoped that he’d be having a good day today, that maybe, by some miracle, he’d be well enough to come with you. But he’d spiked a fever late last night, and was going in for some imaging today to ensure he hadn’t caught pneumonia…again.

“Morning,” a voice called to you, and you looked up, hastily wiping tears on your sleeve. George Weasley, a man you’d never met but would recognize anywhere, was halfway down the spiral staircase, a cup of coffee in hand. He was dressed in the iconic pinstripe suit, his copper hair a little longer than the last time you’d seen him two years prior, not that he’d remember.

The only reason you remembered was because of your brothers obsession with the Weasley twins. He’d asked to have his hair cut and dyed orange that same afternoon.

More tears welled up, and you cursed yourself, turning away to hide your face. “I’m sorry,” you sniffled, trying to take a deep breath. “I promise I’m not insane.”

You heard him move the rest of the way down the stairs, then approach you, his tall frame taking him across the store in a few strides. He had a bright purple handkerchief in his hand, the triple W embroidered on the corner.

“That’s okay, we like a little insanity around here. What’s your name?” he asked, his voice soft.

“Y/n.” You accepted the handkerchief with a watery smile and dabbed your eyes.

“George. Are you alright, y/n?” he asked.

You sighed, twisting the fabric in your hands. “The holiday’s are just hard.”

He nodded, his jaw flexing, eyes averting from your face to the floor. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rougher than it had been a moment before. You noticed then the dark circles under his eyes, the air of heaviness around his shoulders. “Can I help you find something?” he asked, pivoting quickly.

“Yes, actually. I’m, uh, looking for a gift for my little brother. But he—it has to be something he can play with in bed. Nothing too loud or messy.” Your heart ached as you said it, knowing he would actually love something loud, messy, destructive, as little boys do, but such things weren’t allowed at St. Mungo’s.

George raised an eyebrow. “Strict parents?”

You shook your head, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “He’s in hospital,” you murmured, hating saying the words aloud.

George’s face fell. “Oh—Merlin, I’m really sorry.”

A flicker of understanding passed between you, your broken hearts beating at the same rhythm for a moment. You knew about the death of his twin, Fred, everyone did, and now he knew your pain as well. That knowledge weaved an invisible string of connection between you, forged in empathy.

“We can absolutely find something for him,” George said, his voice painfully sincere. He offered you his arm and you accepted, needing a bit of steadiness. “What kind of things does he like?”

You started to walk through the store, looking around the towering shelves, at a bit of a loss. “Well, he loves Whizz-bangs, and your Pyrotechtrix.”

George smiled, chuckling to himself. “Fun, but not exactly suitable for a hospital.”

“Exactly. But honestly, anything you recommended, he’d absolutely adore, so long as I told him you recommended it.”

“Oh yeah?” George raised an eyebrow, glancing down at you.

Saints, he’s handsome.

“Yeah, he’s a big fan. He used to beg us to stop in every time we came to Diagon Alley so he could watch your demonstrations.”

George’s smile widened, a flush creeping up his neck. “Well, ah, that’s really—” he scratched the back of his head, clearly flustered by the revelation. “That’s very kind,” he managed with a breathy chuckle.

The door jingled as another customer came in and you tensed, George’s eye flicking towards the new customer, then back down to you.

You moved to slip your arm from his. “I can look around, you go ahead—”

“Oi, Ron!” George shouted, a hand cupped around his mouth, his arm tightening around yours so you stayed put.

“What? I’m sorting inventory!” Ron Weasley shouted back, appearing from the back of the store with arms full of boxes. His eyes quickly scanned over you, your joined arms, then back to George, who was nodding his head towards the door. “Welcome to Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes!” Ron turned greeted the customer, dropping the boxes where he stood.

You chuckled, leaning a bit closer to George, grateful that he didn’t abandon you.

“You’re my first priority today,” he murmured to you, close enough that you could smell his amber cologne, and you felt your anxiety unspool for the first time in weeks. For this one thing, this small, Christmas gift hunt, you weren’t alone.

You spent the rest of the morning with George, wandering through aisle after aisle as he talked you through every product you showed an interest in. At first, he seemed reluctant to talk about products with stories tied to Fred, like prodding a sore wound, but eventually he was telling story after story, grinning and laughing at the memories of their countless antics.

He encouraged you to share about your brother as well, and by the end, you were both in stitches from laughing, cheeks sore and eyes watery with tears. It warmed your heart to see him light up at the his brother’s memory, to see the love between them still very much burning, and soothed a bit of your fear.

No matter what happened, the love and the memories would remain.

You finally settled on an Aviatomobile and a few muggle magic tricks, nothing explosive, sticky, or illness-causing. George carried the items to the counter, setting them gently on surface, but hesitated when he reached for the register.

He turned, grabbing a gift box from beneath the counter. Carefully, he wrapped each item in branded tissue paper and nestled them into the box, then rearranged them once, then twice, before finally placing the lid and tying an orange bow around it. Then, he grabbed one of the paper ornaments from the counter, where kids could write little messages or drawings to hang on the gravity-defying Christmas tree, and scribbled something on it before securing it to the bow.

“There we go,” he said, pushing it towards you with a sheepish smile.

You reached for you wallet. “How much do I—”

He shook his head, waving you off. “It’s on me. Least I can do for an avid supporter.”

Tears burned behind your eyes again, caught off guard by his generosity. “George, I can’t—”

“Please, just—let me do this for your brother.” George’s eyes held yours, soft around the corners. “It’s what Fred would do.”

You nodded, unable to speak through the lump in your throat.

“Would you want to, uh, maybe get a drink later? Or coffee?” He asked, rubbing the back of his neck, freckled cheeks flushing pink.

You smiled, your heart flipping in your chest. “I’d love to. We could get ice cream at Fortescue's?” You offered.

He smiled back. “Perfect. 7 o’clock?”

“Perfect,” you repeated, fighting a nervous giggle. “I’ll see you later, then.” You hefted the box in your arms and waved goodbye, hurrying out before you said anything embarrassing, or melted into a puddle of goo on the floor.

Halfway down the street, you finally glanced at the paper ornament George attached to the gift.

Sorry, mate. No explosive’s. Sister’s orders. But I’ve got a stash in the back waiting for you when you’re ready. Merry Christmas. - GW

You were fizzing with excitement as you approached the ice cream shop, a soft flurry of snowflakes dancing int the twinkle lights strew across Diagon Alley. Vendors were at every corner, selling steaming beverages, candied nuts, and fried dough. Shoppers wandered from glowing door to glowing door, bundled in thick coats and arms laden with bags. A choir sang Christmas carols on the steps of Gringotts, toads wearing Santa hats cradled in their arms, and you paused to listen while they sang “Carol of the Bells”, trying to collect your scattered mind.

You hadn’t stopped thinking about George for a moment, so wound up that you started getting ready three hours early for a simple ice cream date. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so giddy, so hopeful.

“I like this song,” a familiar voice murmured in your ear and you looked up, finding George standing beside you watching the carolers, the lights reflecting in his brown eyes. He was dressed in a brown wool coat with a Gryffindor scarf around his neck, a white, cable knit sweater and jeans underneath, patches on the knees.

“Me too,” you replied, biting your lips to stop the grin threatening to rise. “How was your day?”

“Chaos. I left Ron to deal with the stragglers. We were supposed to close around six…” he trailed off, his eyes catching on a group of wizards. You followed his eye, and were appalled to find them muttering and pointing at him. And when you looked around, you noticed several groups were doing the same.

Instinctively, you moved closer to him, as if you could shield him somehow.

His fingers twined with yours, warm and calloused. “It’s alright,” he said, turning you to face him. “M’used to it.”

“It’s not alright,” you said, raising your voice and directing a pointed glare at the noisy folks. “It’s rude!”

He chuckled, tugging you away from the carolers. “Easy, love. It doesn’t bother me much anymore. Don’t give them any of your attention.”

You sighed, falling into step beside him, hands still clasped together. “I’m sorry they treat you like that,” you said, glaring daggers at anyone that even glanced in his direction while you walked towards Fortescue's.

“It was worse when we first reopened the shop.” His thumb swiped back and forth across yours, soothing the irritation itching under your skin. “They would come in just to get a look at me. Like my grief was some kind of spectator sport.”

“I can’t imagine having that kind of loss broadcast to the entire world,” you said, glancing at a newspaper stand plastered in the Daily Prophet.

“It’s inhumane,” he replied, stopping in front of the ice cream shop. “But, I’m grateful for it too.”

You raised an eyebrow, facing him in the warm glow of the window.

“Everyone knows how amazing he was,” he murmured, his voice thickening with emotion. He looked down at your joined hands, playing with your fingers. “He’s a hero.”

You squeezed his hand, prompting him to look up at you. “So are you, George," you said, inflecting as much sincerity as you could into your voice. "Y’know, I was there that day, when you and Fred left Hogwarts?”

His eyes widened. “You were?”

You nodded. “I was two years under you, we wouldn’t have crossed paths,” you said, trying to assuage the needless guilt that crossed his face. “But I’ll never forget that moment, watching you guys reclaim the magic that makes Hogwarts, well, Hogwarts. You inspired all of us left behind.”

He gave you a sad smile, his eyes shiny with unshed tears, and brought your knuckles to his lips, brushing a kiss across them. “Thank you for telling me that,” he whispered. “You didn’t get burned, did you?” He asked, worry suddenly creasing his brow.

You giggled. “No, no. No one was hurt besides Umbridge's ego.”

He exhaled, flashing a relieved smile. “Okay, good. Because that would have been a terrible first impression.” He opened the door to the ice cream shop, gesturing for you to step inside.

“My first impression was when you turned Ms. Norris purple during the Halloween feast,” you said, stepping past him and into line, the smell of waffle cones and caramel wafting over you.

George barked a laugh, his head falling back with the force of it, and you smiled. “Better, I suppose.”

“It’s not like I made a great first impression on you, weeping like a sap as soon as I stepped into your store,” you joked, too busy gazing up at his smiling face to notice the line move forward without you.

He shook his head, still chuckling. “No, it was a perfect first impression.”

You ordered your bowls of ice cream, Peppermint Marshmallow Mayhem for George and Gingerbread Dreams for you, and sat at a corner booth by the window, talking about nothing in particular for awhile while you ate.

“So, how’s your brother doing today? You mentioned he had some imaging this afternoon?” George asked, genuine concern creasing his brow.

“He’s doing well, actually. No pneumonia, by Godric’s grace, and his fever broke this afternoon. Still not sure what caused it, but hopefully nothing of concern,” you answered, you heart lifting at his relieved smile.

“Good, I’m really glad to hear that. Now, let me try your ice cream.” He waggled his spoon and you laughed, sliding it towards him. He took the tiniest spoonful, flipping it over to lick it off, and your cheeks warmed at the way his tongue caressed the curve of the spoon.

You knew you were caught when he smirked around the utensil, but he let it slide.

“Here, try mine.” He dug a spoonful out of his bowl, holding it out for you to take a bite with a borderline sinful look in his eye.

“George Weasley,” you teased, shaking your head. “You are such a flirt.”

“Can you blame me? I’m sitting across from my dream woman,” he replied, grinning.

Now your cheeks were really warming, and you leaned forward to take a small bite off the edge of his spoon. Sugary peppermint and creamy marshmallow coated your tongue, and you moaned.

“Good?” he asked, raising a brow.

“Delicious,” you giggled, watching as he ate the rest of the spoonful, and wondered how it would taste on his tongue.

After ice cream, you continued wandering around Diagon Alley, peeking in all the shop windows and sipping warm butter beer, until your noses were pink from the chill, your hair full of glittering snow.

You stopped outside of his shop, the sign flipped to ‘closed’ and only a few lights on inside along with the exterior holiday decor, presumably left on for George.

“I have a confession to make,” he said, stepping a little closer to you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a thrill of excitement pulsing through you. “What?” You asked, picking invisible lint of his lapel just to have something to do with your hands.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since I saw you watching the carolers,” he murmured, sliding his glove off and reaching out to cradle your face, his touch gentle, giving you every opportunity to pull away.

You leaned your head into his large palm, gazing up at him, freckled, flushed, and starry-eyed. You’d never seen someone look at you with adoration before, and it made your soul sing.

Instead of saying anything, you rose onto your toes and pressed your lips to his, a quick, airy peck. But when you went to move back, his hand held you in place, lips just barely touching.

“Again,” he breathed, his other hand coming around to rest on your lower back. “Please?”

You gave the tiniest nod, feeling like your heart might burst out of your chest, and his lips connected with yours again in a slow, languid kiss, the taste of ice cream and butter beer and him making your head go a little fuzzy, your right foot popping up behind you as you leaned into his embrace.

His tongue caressed the seam of your mouth, but he didn’t push further, just a small tease before winding the kiss down until it ended the way it started, with a few barely-there pecks in reluctant departure.

You sighed against him, lowering back onto flat feet, and he smiled, drawing you into his chest for hug. You slipped you arms under his coat, feeling the softness of his sweater and the warmth of his body envelop you.

“Thank you for this,” you murmured. “I really, really needed it.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tight around your body. “So did I. Can we do it again tomorrow? Breakfast? Sunrise picnic?”

You chuckled, tilting your chin up to rest on his sternum. “Breakfast sounds great.”

George beamed, dropping a warm kiss to the frozen tip of your nose. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”

“It’s a date.” You stole one last kiss before slipping away, practically skipping.

You and George saw each other every day for the next week, whether it was to wander around Diagon Alley, looking at the lights and festivities, or grabbing a quick cup of tea between busy shifts. Neither of you could stand being apart for more than a few hours at a time.

Tonight, George invited you to his flat for dinner and muggle Christmas films, and you were dressed in the ugliest Christmas sweater you could find. With a timid hand, you knocked on his door.

It opened under you fist, revealing George on the other side, wearing a maroon sweater with a giant ‘G’ on the front of it and a sauce splattered apron.

“Hey, love.” He tugged you inside, pressing an eager kiss to your lips before ushering you down the hall, his deft fingers unraveling your scarf from your neck and peeling the coat from your shoulders. You laughed at his haste, spinning and hopping as he removed your boots. He stopped only when he finally saw your sweater. “Oh, darling. You look ravishing.” His hands fell to your waist and he pulled you into his chest, a mischievous grin on his face. “Very fashion forward.”

“Thank you, baby,” you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. You hadn’t called him that before, but it just rolled right off your tongue, natural as breathing.

He loosed a pleased hum, leaning forward to capture your lips in another, slower kiss. “Like hearin’ you call me baby,” he mumbled against your mouth.

The oven beeped loudly, startling you both.

“Hungry?” He asked with a shy smile.

“Starved.”

He showed you to the dining room, a round table with a vase of flowers at the center, candles strewn on every surface. He pulled a chair out for you and you sat, accepting a kiss on the cheek before he dashed back into the kitchen.

You looked around, having been too caught up in his frantic greeting to take in the space. The rest of the flat was sparsely decorated, purely functional, besides a sagging bookshelf in the living room, and a few photos along the hallway. Not a Christmas decoration was in sight.

George returned with two glasses of wine, the bottle tucked under his arm. “Here we go, a little Pinot Noir for my gorgeous girl.” He set the glasses down then finally sat down in his chair.

“Thank you, baby,” you teased, and he smirked, withdrawing his wand from his apron and waving it towards the kitchen. A moment later, a giant bowl full of pasta, a basket of bread, a salad bowl, and two plates came hovering out of the kitchen, arranging themselves neatly on the table.

“Bon appetite.” He raised his wine glass, a shy little smile on his face, and you raised yours to cheers, so charmed you could cry.

Two hours later, you were curled up on George’s couch, half enjoying Home Alone, half enjoying the feel of each other’s skin under your sweaters, the rich taste of wine on each other’s tongues.

“How come you haven't decorated for Christmas?” You mumbled between languid pecks, his soft lips moving to trail over your jaw.

“Didn't much feel like celebrating this year,” he replied, kissing down your neck, his tongue tracing your pulse.

“And yet here we are, watching corny holiday films,” you chuckled and felt him smile against your neck.

“Things changed.” He lifted his head, capturing your lips in a heavy, open-mouthed kiss that made your blood warm, your heart beat a little quicker in your chest.

Suddenly, something slammed against the window, a frantic scrabbling against glass that had George springing up like something electrocuted him.

“Errol?” George moved toward the window. “No, what the fuck—”

“Oh my god, what are you doing here?!” You cried, jumping up and throwing open the window. Your family owl flew in, landing on the back of the couch. Fear pumped through you and you snatched the letter from his beak, rougher than the poor bird deserved in your panic.

“What is it?” George rested his hands on your hips as you tore it open.

The words on the card made your heart stop.

Mungo’s now, Mum

“George,” you whimpered, sagging against him as terror rocked through you.

He took the letter from your hand and skimmed it. “Go get your coat on, I’ll take you.”

“I—” You were frozen, darkness pulsing at the edges of your vision.

His hands came up to hold your face, shaking you gently. “Honey, we have to go. I’m going to be right here with you, okay? We’re going together. But we have to move now.”

You nodded, clawing through the sludge of fear and clinging to the thread of stability he offered. He helped you into your coat and shooed the owl out, not even bothering to lock up before he was ushering you into his chest.

“Hold onto me,” he ordered, and you did, and suddenly the world was sucked away, a dizzying, horrible tornado of space, and then it spit you back out on the front steps of St. Mungo’s.

“Holy shit,” you gagged, clutching onto George and he held you upright.

“Sorry, love. Never apparated before?” He asked, rubbing your back.

You shook your head.

“Y/n!”

George stiffened, his hands tightening on you, and you looked up.

“Mum!” You cried, rushing to her.

“Oh, hun. I’m sorry to frighten you, he’s okay. Just a scare. I’m so sorry, darling,” she cried, clinging to you.

“Sh, no, it’s alright. I should be here,” you soothed, squeezing your eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. “What happened?”

“He couldn’t breathe, his lungs—pneumonia again,” your mom hiccuped, wiping at her cheeks. “Who’s that?” She asked, looking over your shoulder.

George was were you had left him, hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes bouncing from you and your mom to the strangers mingling on the sidewalk. You could tell his hackles were raised, some protective instinct roused when he’d been startled by the owl.

You waved him over. “Mum, this is George Weasley. George, this is my mum.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” George said, offering her a hand and a shy smile.

She clutched his hand hard and you both winced. “I-you-Weasley—The George Weasley?” She gasped.

“Just George is fine,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

“Oh my, I just can't believe—”

“Mum, can we go see him now?” You interrupted, anxious to see that he was well yourself. “I promise you'll have a proper introduction later.”

“Yes, of course. This way.” She released George and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards the hospital.

George hesitated, until you reached your hand out to him. He immediately threaded your fingers together, falling into step with your frantic mother.

A few moments later, you rushed into your brother's room, finding him upright and smiling, some new tubes in his little nose, but all together looking well.

“Mum, I said to leave her alone!” He argued, crossing his arms over his reindeer pj's.

“Hush you,” you scolded lightly, wrapping him up in a hug and kissing his forehead, noting his lingering fever. “How are you feeling, darling?” You asked, pulling back to hold his face.

“M'okay. They let me have some ice lollies earlier!” He chirped, sticking out his neon blue tongue.

You grinned. “I see, that's excellent.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but then you saw his eyes widen, mouth falling open in shock. You turned to see what he was looking at and realized it was George, who was loitering in the doorway.

“Is that—” your brother started, and George looked up. “Wizard—Wizard Wheezes!”

George’s solemn expression shattered into a wide smile as he stepped into the room, his energy shifting instantly. “Hello, mate! I’m George. Heard your not feeling so good?” George reached out to shake his little hand, and he took it, his fingers dwarfed by George's palm.

“No, no. I'm fine!” Your brother replied, shock melting into excitement. “What are you doing here?”

George glanced down at you. “Your sister has been telling me all about you, and how strong you've been lately,” he said, crouching down beside the bed. “She loves you a lot, y’know?”

You stepped out of the way, tears starting to burn behind your eyes. Your mother slipped her hand into yours, watching the interaction with a hand pressed to her mouth.

“I know, but she worries too much,” your brother answered, and George burst out laughing.

“That's what happens when you love someone,” George replied, smiling. “You want to protect them from anything that might hurt them, even if you know you can't.”

“I’m big like you, I don't need protecting!” He argued.

George nodded, pressing a hand to his chest apologetically. “I can tell. But that doesn't mean they don't want to try anyways. And big guys like us have to protect them in return, yeah?”

Your brother nodded, puffing up his chest. “I'll never let anything happen to my sister. I promise!”

You blew him a kiss, and George gave him a high five.

“That's my buddy. Now, let's see if I've got anything special for heroes like you.” George fished around in his pocket, making dramatic faces while he rummaged in what you thought was an empty pocket.

But then he withdrew what appeared to be a toy airplane that would in no way, shape, or form fit in that pocket without magic. Your brothers face lit up when George threw it in the air and it started to fly, ducking and whizzing around the room.

“Hm, that wasn't what I was looking for,” George said with a dramatic frown, and you giggled. He glanced over his shoulder at you, breaking his frown to smirk at your reaction, and started fishing around in his pockets again.

He pulled out a bouncing ball, then a rubber chicken, a set of chattering teeth, a stuffed teddy bear. Item after item came out of his pockets until your brothers bed was covered in toys and gag items, and a dozen nurses were watching in amazement from the hallway. You and your mom were fighting through silent tears, your heart so big you felt it might explode out of your chest.

Most importantly, your brother was ecstatic, playing with this and that and chattering away at George about the different products and teaching him how to do magic tricks George himself had invented.

But half an hour later, your brother’s nurse came in to administer some of his medication and get him ready for bed. He tried to protest, but his new best friend, George, managed to talk him into not only compliance, but eager acceptance of his medicine.

You stole George away into the now quiet hall, Christmas lights illuminating the dark corridor, and threw your arms around his shoulders, burying your face into his neck, needing to feel him close, to ground you through the onslaught of emotions.

He wrapped his arms around you, his head turning to kiss your temple. “Need some air?” He murmured, and you shook your head no.

“Just need you,” you whispered, holding him tighter.

He let you cry into his shoulder, rubbing soothing circles onto your back and murmuring reassurances into your hair. When you'd exhausted yourself, you pulled back and he reached up to hold your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“Thank you for doing that,” you sniffled, sliding your hands down his chest, his sweater soft beneath your palms.

“It was my pleasure, love,” he replied, looking you in the eye. “You—him—this, I needed this. Needed you,” he breathed, voice tightening. “I forgot why we did it all, what all the sacrifices were for, and you reminded me. He reminded me.”

You rose on your toes to press a kiss to his lips, not knowing how else to express how you were feeling that wasn't, well, insanely soon.

He kissed you back, passionate enough to steal your breath, but released you when the door to your brother's room opened.

“Darling—oh, I'm sorry. Darling, would you like to come get a cup of coffee with me?” Your mother asked, clearly fighting a grin at discovering you.

“Sure, mum,” you exhaled, reluctantly stepping away from George. “You okay for a minute?”

“Absolutely, I'll keep an eye on him.” He pressed a kiss to your knuckles before releasing you to your mother, a soft smile on his face.

When you returned twenty minutes later, you found George stretched out in the arm chair pulled up right next to your brother’s bed, Rudolph on the television.

“—Fred managed to get the deer into the kitchen with some carrots and loaf of banana bread, and kept him distracted while I tied bells and ornaments—mom’s favorite’s, of course—to it’s antlers.”

Your brother was giggling, curled up with the stuffed bear George conjured earlier, his eyes heavy as he fought to stay awake to hear the story.

“But then we ran out of banana bread and Fred tried to give it some cookies, but by then the deer had discovered the Christmas tree in the corner, with the popcorn strings and cranberries and salt dough ornaments, y’know? So the deer started eating the bloody Christmas tree and we cannot get it out of the house now. It’s found the best sodding snack on earth. So by the time my mom get’s home, half the tree is gone, there’s shi—dirt all over the house, dishes are broken, holes in the walls—”

“What did she do?” Your mom asked, laughing. “I would have sent you out to live with the deer and it’s family.”

George grinned. “We ate nothing but carrots and banana bread for a week. Even for Christmas dinner. It was torture,” he chuckled, turning back to your brother, only to find him sound asleep. “That boring, huh?” He joked, rising from the chair so your mom could take it. But instead, she pulled him in for a hug, surprising him.

“Thank you for doing this, and I’m so sorry about your brother. But I know he’d be so proud of you today,” she murmured, and you saw George’s eyes well, his jaw flexing as he tried to fight it. Your mom pulled back, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then smoothing away her lipstick with her thumb. “You’re a wonderful, wonderful man, George Weasley. And I’m so glad you’re here.”

He nodded, a tear streaking down his face. “Thank you, ma’am. That’s very k-kind.”

Your mother passed him to you, his hand gripping your tightly as he fought to keep his composure. “Goodnight, mum. I’ll see you in the morning?”

Your mother nodded, waving you away while she kissed your brothers cheek.

You led George out of the room and down the hall, finding an empty room to slip into. As soon as the door closed behind you, he sank to his knees, great, heaving sobs wracking his body. You lowered yourself to the ground with him, pulling his head into your shoulder and rocking him back and forth, his tears soaking through your sweater and shaking your whole body.

“I miss him,” George gasped like he was in pain, his grip almost bruising around your body.

“I know, baby. I know you do,” you said into his hair, holding his head against your chest. Your own tears began to spill then, for him, for you, for your family, and his, and you clung to one another as the overwhelming grief took it’s pound of flesh.

Slowly, he began to settle, breathing labored, but his tears subsiding. He lifted his head, looking at you through tear-brightened eyes, his lashes dark and spiked with moisture. You leaned forward, kissing away the droplets on his cheeks and jaw, until you felt him start to smile.

“I-it’s been so long since I—” he cleared his throat, reaching up to cup your face, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “I was numb for awhile, so long I sort of forgot what anything else felt like. I meant what I said earlier, you reminded me of what I’d lost, but in the best way.” Tears welled up again, but he smiled through them. “He would have been so fucking jealous that I got you. But Merlin, he would have loved you so much.”

You huffed a laugh, lower lip trembling as your heart soared. “George,” was all you could manage, and he leaned forward to kiss you, rising onto his knees and pulling into into his chest.

Then, that wild spinning sensation enveloped you again, and in a blink you were back on his couch, exactly as you were before, the credits to the movie rolling on the screen, your glasses of wine exactly where you left them.

“Stay with me tonight,” he asked, trailing kisses down your neck as you reoriented yourself. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve, we could spend it together.” He lifted his head to look you in the eyes, and you nodded eagerly.

“Yeah,” you said, laughing as he rained kisses over your face. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you have the most wonderful holiday season and start of the new year <3

The Tortured Poets Department is the most Taylor Swift album she’s ever put out. It’s the culmination of everything she’s ever done. It’s the teenage petulance of debut. It’s the hope and naïveté of fearless. It’s the lack of filter of speak now. It’s the emotional rollercoaster of red. It’s the pride of 1989. It’s the angst and the rebirth of reputation. It’s the hopeless romanticism of lover. It’s the storytelling and literary allusions of folklore and evermore. It’s the dark reminiscence of midnights. Which is why I think it’s resonating more with those who have been here the whole time and can see the echoes of each era in this album.

KID

Summary : You discover that you're pregnant while on a mission on a completely different planet in another galaxy, and the father is your captain, Han Yun Jae.

Pairing: Captain!Han Yun Jae x reader

Warnings : suggestive, age gap, pregnancy, enemies to lovers

You placed the blood sample into the self-analysis machine and pressed the button to start the process. Your eyes darted around the room as you anxiously checked for any signs of someone approaching while the machine worked. 

It’s been about three months since you left Earth, bound for another planet to explore, test, and determine if it could sustain human life. Every two years, teams like yours are sent on eight-month missions to scout new worlds. The organization dispatches countless teams across the galaxy to increase humanity’s chances of finding a suitable home. 

The machine beeped, signaling that the results were ready. It started printing, the faint sound of ink being laid on the paper filling the room. Nervously, you bit your thumbnail, your eyes flickering around as you waited. The moment it finished, you snatched the sheet, your hands trembling as you scanned the results frantically. 

beta-hCG hormone: 11,233 mIU/mL. 

Fuck. 

You see, the beta-hCG hormone determines if a woman is pregnant. Levels below 5 mIU/mL indicate no pregnancy, but anything above that confirms it. Beta-hCG levels double every 48 to 72 hours, which also helps estimate how far along the pregnancy is. 

You are roughly three months pregnant. 

How had you missed the signs for three whole months? you kept blaming the vomiting, mood swings, headaches, missed periods, and cravings on the stress of being in space. It all seemed so obvious now. 

You pulled out your vitals smartwatch to update your status, indicating your pregnancy so it wouldn’t send you period reminders. As you filled out the prompts, answering the usual medical questions, you froze at the final one. 

What date do you think you became pregnant? 

The words stared back at you, and you stopped breathing. Slowly, you navigated to the calendar and selected the date—the night you made a huge mistake. The night you slept with your captain, Han Yun Jae. The man you couldn’t stand. And who couldn’t stand you. 

It happened the night before the mission began. The team had decided to drink together in his office as a farewell to Earth. you had a few drinks, and soon enough, you was blurting out stupid things. 

Everyone else had already left. you was the only one still there, struggling to stay upright. you tried to push yourself to your feet but ended up leaning heavily against the wall for support as you made your way to the door. Yun Jae, meanwhile, was tidying up, collecting the empty bottles when he turned and noticed you crash to the floor. 

He laughed. 

Groaning against the cold, hard surface, you muttered, “Ajhussi, it’s not funny. Why are you laughing?” you tried to push yourself up but barely managed to lift your upper half. 

“I give up,” you mumbled, flopping onto your back. “I’m sleeping here.” Covering your eyes with your arm to block the soft ceiling light, you got ready to pass out on the floor. 

“No, you’re not,” Yun Jae said, clearly unimpressed as he continued cleaning his desk. 

“Pretty sure I am,” you retorted, your words slurring. “Could you pass me a blanket? That would be so sweet of you—for once.” 

You heard his footsteps approach and felt his shadow fall over you. 

“Y/N, get up,” he ordered, his tone exasperated. 

“You had a chance to be sweet, and you blew it,” you said, stubbornly refusing to move. 

He crouched down beside you. “Y/N, get up,” he repeated, but you ignored him, lying there defiantly. 

“Maybe that’s why you’re still single at fifty,” you muttered, shooting him a smug grin. 

“I’m thirty-nine,” he snapped. 

“Same thing. You’re old,” you teased, earning a heavy sigh of frustration from him. 

“Y/N,” he said again, his voice taking on an edge of irritation. 

You finally lifted your arm from your eyes and glanced at him with a smirk. “Ajhussi~,” you sang in a playful, whining tone. 

“Last warning,” he growled. 

“You sound like my dad,” you said with a laugh, enjoying his growing frustration. 

“Maybe that’s because you’re acting like a child,” he shot back sharply. 

The smile fell from your face, replaced by a frown. “Stop calling me a kid,” you said firmly, your brows furrowing. “I’m almost thirty. I’m not a kid anymore.” 

“Then get up,” he challenged. 

You stubbornly turned your head away from him. “I can’t,” you mumbled, your voice tinged with something almost pitiful. 

For a moment, there was silence. Then, without warning, you felt his arm slide beneath your knees and another under your back. 

“What are you doing?” you asked as he lifted you effortlessly off the floor. 

“Taking you to your room,” he replied gruffly. 

You didn’t argue. you let him carry you down the hallway, though he nearly dropped you a couple of times—he was drunk too. When you reached your room, he set you down so you could unlock the door. you fumbled for your keys, but your vision blurred. Bending down to meet the lock’s height, you tried again, only for the key to fall from your shaking hand. 

“Fuck,” you muttered, straightening up too quickly. The dizziness hit you like a wave, and you swayed, trying to regain your balance. 

Yun Jae sighed, picked up the keys, and opened the door himself. He tossed the keys onto the counter inside, then stood there, holding the door open with an irritated expression. He was clearly eager to get this over with and go to bed. 

“Thank you very much, ajhussi,” you said sarcastically, bowing in mock gratitude. 

As you bent forward, you nearly lost your balance again, pitching toward the floor. Yun Jae caught you at the last second, groaning in frustration. 

“What a dumb woman,” he muttered, hauling you upright by my forearm and steadying you with a hand on you waist. 

He guided you toward the bed, but just as he was about to set you down, you tripped over an empty sample container. Instinctively, you grabbed onto him for support—and dragged him down with you. 

He falls on top of you. 

He's heavy, but not unbearable. His face is only inches away from mine, close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath. For a moment, neither of you moves. It’s like time itself has frozen, holding you in this strange, uncomfortable limbo. 

“Y/N,” he mutters, his voice low and strained, though whether it’s from anger or something else, you can’t tell. 

“What?” you whispered back, my voice barely audible. 

His eyes lock onto mine, sharp and focused despite the haze of alcohol clouding both your senses. you can’t bring yourself to look away, even though your heart is racing, pounding so hard that you are sure he can hear it. 

“You… are such a pain in the ass,” he says, his tone half-annoyed, half-something-else. 

“And you’re—” My retort dies in my throat as his gaze drops to my lips. 

The air between you shifts, suddenly thick with tension. My breathing quickens as you realize he hasn’t moved away yet. Instead, he’s still hovering over you, his weight pressing you slightly into the bed. 

“You should get off you,” you manage to say, though my voice lacks conviction. 

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, his lips twitch, almost like he’s fighting some internal battle. “You’re right,” he finally says, but he doesn’t move. His voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. “I should.” 

But he doesn’t. 

Instead, his hand, still gripping your arm for balance, softens its hold. His thumb brushes against your skin, sending a jolt through your entire body. you hate the way your stomach flips at the contact, hate the way your heart seems to betray you by beating even faster. 

“Yun Jae,” you say, but it comes out weaker than you intend. 

And then, before you can say anything else, his lips crash into mine. 

It’s not soft or tentative; it’s desperate, rough, and filled with the kind of frustration that’s been building between you for months. you freeze for a second, your brain scrambling to catch up with what’s happening. But then, without thinking, you kiss him back. 

The alcohol has dulled your inhibitions, but it’s not just that. There’s something raw and undeniable about this moment, about him. All the bickering, all the glares and sharp words, it all feels like it’s been leading to this. 

His hand moves to your waist, gripping tightly as if to ground himself. you find yourself pulling him closer, fingers tangling in his shirt as the kiss deepens. For once, we’re not fighting—at least, not with words. 

The night blurs after that. The tension, the anger, the alcohol—it all swirls together, igniting something we’ve both been too stubborn to acknowledge. 

You stare at the screen in front of you, your vitals smartwatch blinking its persistent question: 

What date do you think you became pregnant? 

Your fingers hover over the calendar, hesitating as the memories rush back. That night, so long ago but still so vivid. The way his lips pressed against mine, the heat of his hands against your skin, the way you gave in to something you both swore you hated. 

You press the date, and the screen logs it with an impersonal beep. The action feels like a release, but it only brings more questions, more weight. 

Do you wish to notify the captain? 

You let out a hollow laugh, though there's nothing remotely funny about it. Notify the captain. As if that wouldn’t open a floodgate of complications. How could you possibly tell him that one moment of weakness has brought you to this point? 

My hand hovers over the screen, your mind racing with indecision. But before you can decide, the sound of approaching footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. My heart lurches, and you quickly shove the device into your pocket, forcing a calm expression as the door slides open. 

There he is—Han Yun Jae. Cold, unapproachable, and as sharp as ever. His eyes meet mine, and you wonder, just for a fleeting moment, if he can see it in your face, if he can tell what’s between us. 

"Y/N," he says curtly. "We’re heading out for another exploration." 

You nod, trying to suppress the flutter in your chest. "Of course." 

He steps closer, his presence dominating the room. The tension from that night still hangs thick in the air, unspoken, unresolved. And though he doesn’t know it yet, you can’t shake the fear that everything is about to change. 

“We need to leave soon,” he continues, his tone impassive, his eyes scanning the equipment scattered around the room. you envy his ability to keep his composure, his ability to seem unaffected. You feel like you are on the edge of breaking, but you can’t let him see it. Not now. 

"Right," you say, trying to steady my voice. "I’ll be ready in a minute." 

You grab your gear, moving quickly, gathering the essentials for today’s exploration. We’re on a breathable planet, so you don’t need much—just the basics: a scanner, sample containers, a few tools for analysis. It should be a straightforward mission. But everything feels off today. 

As you adjust your pack, you feel the familiar nausea begin to churn in your stomach again. It’s not as intense as it could be, but it’s enough to make your head spin. A wave of dizziness threatens to knock you off balance, but you keep moving. you can’t afford to look weak. 

We head out to begin the survey of the planet. The bright sun glints off the barren landscape, but you can barely focus on the view. Yun Jae leads the way, as always, with his confident stride and cold, calculating gaze. 

You follow, but every step feels heavier today. My thoughts keep drifting back to the life growing inside you, the life that you still haven’t told him about. you won’t—not like this. Not when the tension between you is still so thick, so unresolved. 

The exploration continues, though it’s more difficult than usual. You are exhausted—physically, mentally. My body feels like it’s betraying you. you keep trying to hide it, but the pallor of your skin, the way your movements seem slower, doesn’t go unnoticed. 

“Y/N, you’re okay?” Ha-neul, one of the engineers, asks as she glances at you. 

You offer another tight smile, masking the fatigue and nausea swirling inside you. “I’m fine.” 

But Ha-neul doesn’t buy it. She knows you too well. 

We continue, and as you near the edge of a cliff to take a sample from a distant ridge, Yun Jae pauses and turns to you, his eyes glinting with that familiar authoritative gleam. 

“We need to get a sample from that ridge,” he says, pointing to the jagged rocky formation. 

“Yeah, on it,” you reply, starting to walk toward it. But before you take more than a few steps, you catch him watching me—his gaze lingering on my face, his expression tight with what looks like worry. 

He holds up a hand, stopping you in your tracks. “Wait. You stay here and keep an eye on the equipment.” 

You clench your teeth, holding back the sharp retort that rises to your lips. “Why do you always assume you can’t handle it?” 

He doesn’t look at you but responds in that cold, condescending tone that always sends a rush of heat to your face. 

“Because you still act like a kid who doesn’t know how to do anything. You get distracted, and you can’t afford to babysit you.” that was just an excuse covering the fact that he was worry at you state just by one look at your face but you didn’t need to know that. 

My heart lurches, and before you can stop myself, the words spill out. 

“I’m not a kid!” you snapped, my voice sharper and louder than you intended. The words hung in the air, heavy with frustration and unspoken meaning. “I’m twenty-eight, for God’s sake! Stop treating me like some helpless child.” 

You turned to face him fully, your glare unwavering as you continued. “you get that being ancient must make you think everyone younger than you need to be babysat, but guess what? you don’t. I’m capable, and I’ve been handling things on your own for a long time now.” 

You noticed the silence that followed your outburst, the kind that was too heavy to ignore. Slowly, your eyes drifted past Han Yun Jae to the rest of the crew standing a few feet away. Their faces were pressed with a mix of concern and curiosity, clearly having heard every word. 

Some of them exchanged awkward glances, unsure whether to intervene or pretend they hadn’t just witnessed you snap. Others avoided eye contact entirely, their focus suddenly absorbed by the dirt beneath their boots. 

Heat rushed to your face as you realized the spectacle I’d just created. My hands clenched at your sides, embarrassment and anger bubbling together. you turned away from Yun Jae and the crew, your voice quieter but no less firm as you muttered, “This conversation is over.” 

Without another word, you walked off, ignoring the weight of their stares as you walked to get the samples. 

My footsteps crunch over the rocky terrain as you make your way toward the ridge, your breath shallow and uneven. you feel the weight of their eyes on your back—on both Yun Jae and you. But you don’t care. you can’t care anymore. 

You are not a kid. You are not the same person you was when you first met him, when you used to argue over everything like it was your only language. He might still see you as that naive child, but you are not. you won’t let him define you anymore. 

The harsh wind stings your skin as you reach the base of the ridge, your hands shaking as you adjust the sample container. you glance over your shoulder briefly, your mind still tangled with everything that’s happened. And, of course, Yun Jae is standing there, watching you with that cold, calculating gaze, his posture rigid as if waiting for you to make a mistake. 

You can’t stand it. 

You remember the first time you met him. you was just a kid—barely out of childhood, if I’m being honest—and he was always there. Always around because of your father. Han Yun Jae wasn’t just your father’s protégé; he was almost like a shadow. Quiet, intense, and seemingly perfect in everything he did. 

My father had always insisted that Yun Jae was a brilliant mind, someone who could shape the future of your father’s work, someone who deserved the respect of everyone around him. But you never saw him that way. 

To you, he was just your father’s trainee who treated you like you was beneath him. He never smiled, never showed anything that resembled warmth, and he always treated you like an inconvenience. A distraction. 

You hated that. you hated the way he looked at you with cold indifference, as if you was just a little girl who didn’t understand the world around you. He’d always brush you off, belittle your attempts to prove myself. At first, it was almost funny—his condescension was so obvious—but as you got older, it started to gnaw at you. you wanted to prove him wrong. you wanted to show him that you was more than just a child, that you could handle things on your own. 

But every time you tried, he pushed you further away. His icy demeanor only seemed to grow colder, and his words became sharper. 

“Don’t be so naive, Y/N,” he’d say, his voice always so cold and clipped. “You’ll never be able to understand. Stay out of it.” 

And you listened to him. you listened because he was older, because he had always been the smart one, the disciplined one. you was just the spoiled little girl of his mentor. 

But something changed after you hit your late teens. The more you pushed back, the more things began to shift. What started as petty bickering turned into real animosity. The tension between you grew, and your arguments became sharper, more cutting. There was no longer any pretense of camaraderie between us. you hated him. And somewhere, buried deep within his cold, emotionless exterior, you began to feel like he hated you too. 

It wasn’t just the typical friction of youth anymore. It became personal. It was as if he saw you as nothing more than an obstacle—a nuisance to be dealt with, nothing more.  

And as you continue collecting the sample, you can feel the weight of his presence behind you, but it doesn’t feel quite as suffocating as before. 

A few days later, after hours spent scanning and collecting samples, your head was spinning, and your body felt like it was on the verge of shutting down. Exhaustion and nausea clawed at you, and you wasn’t sure how much longer you could keep pretending you were fine. Because you weren't. 

You silently prayed you could hold on until you reached the base. Pressing a hand to your stomach, you tried to steady the roiling turmoil inside you. 

“You look like you’re about to collapse,” Ha-neul said, her voice cutting through the haze clouding my thoughts. “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked as you finally stepped through the base doors. 

You waved her off, forcing a smile. “I’m fine, just a little tired. I’ll rest soon.” 

You made your way to your quarters, your stomach churning with every step. As soon as you were inside, you rushed to the small bathroom. The door clicked shut behind you, and you barely had time to close your eyes before the nausea hit full force. 

You kneeled in front of the toilet, your body jerking with each wave of sickness. My stomach emptied itself, the bitter taste of bile rising in your throat. you couldn't stop it. It felt like it went on forever. 

After what felt like an eternity, you finally pulled yourself together enough to sit back on your heels, your mouth dry and your face pale. you took a few shallow breaths, trying to steady myself. Your mind was spinning—sick, tired, and overwhelmed by the weight of everything that had happened, everything that was happening. 

You stood, hands shaking, and rinsed your mouth with water, trying to rid yourself of the horrible taste. Reaching for your toothbrush and toothpaste, you began brushing your teeth automatically, trying to focus on something, anything, other than the racing thoughts in your head. 

It was then that you saw him. 

He was standing in the doorway behind you, his arms crossed, watching you through the mirror. you froze for a split second, your breath catching in your throat. you hadn’t heard him approach, hadn’t noticed him at all. He looked so out of place, his cold stare boring into you even as you tried to keep your composure. 

But you couldn’t. Your heart was pounding. Still, you refused to look at him directly. you kept your eyes on the mirror, focusing on the task at hand—brushing your teeth, pretending he wasn’t there. 

You felt the pressure of his gaze, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say anything. you just… kept brushing, as if you could make everything go away. 

Just as you was about to spit and rinse your mouth, his voice broke the silence. 

“Are you pregnant?” 

His words hit like a thunderclap, shocking you into stillness. you didn’t respond, not immediately. Your hand froze mid-rinse, and you had to fight to steady myself, your thoughts racing. 

He was right. Something was off. But you couldn’t let him know that. 

You finished rinsing, washing your mouth quickly as you replaced the toothpaste and toothbrush. 

The silence between you thickened. He was still standing there, his posture unchanged, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze never wavered, and you could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck. 

You turned slowly to face him, forcing a neutral expression, but inside, you were panicking. He was so close now. Too close. Your chest tightened with the sudden proximity. 

“What makes you think that?” you asked, trying to keep your tone casual, even though your heart was hammering in your chest. 

His eyes flickered with a slight, cold amusement. “You’ve been acting strange lately. More tired, more nauseous. The way you keep your distance when food comes around… You’ve been avoiding things, avoiding people. And the way you pale when you're on your feet too long—it all points in one direction." 

you laughed—too sharply, too quickly. “I’m just tired. You know, long missions and all that.” 

He raised an eyebrow, his expression unwavering. “And the fact that your periods haven’t come for 3 months? That’s just… coincidence?” 

You froze, your breath catching in your throat. you couldn’t hide the shock in your eyes fast enough. “How do you know that?” you said, your voice betraying you with a slight quiver. 

Yun Jae’s gaze hardened, but he didn’t break eye contact. “I have your ways.” 

You backed away slightly, your heart racing, your mouth suddenly dry. "That's creepy," you muttered, trying to brush past him. you just needed to get out of there, away from his scrutiny. 

But before you could even turn the door handle, his voice stopped you in your tracks. “You didn’t respond.” you look at him but you turned back to the door, your hand on the handle, but before you could open it fully, he stepped forward, blocking your way. you didn’t look up at him, but his presence was suffocating. 

He leaned in, his voice lower now, the sharp edge gone. “You didn’t answer me.” he repeated in an irritated tone. 

You didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore. Your body was exhausted, your mind overwhelmed, and you just wanted to escape—escape this situation, escape him, escape the uncertainty swirling inside you. 

You met his eyes, standing tall despite the shakiness you felt inside. “You already know the answer,”the words coming out colder than you intended. 

Yun Jae’s gaze softened just a fraction, but the icy wall was still there, still firmly in place. He didn’t respond, but his silence spoke volumes. 

And with that, you pushed past him, opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, the cool metal of the ship offering no comfort anymore. you couldn’t let him get to you. Not now. Not when everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. 

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get a whole lot more complicated. 

Days turned into weeks, and you avoided Yun Jae like the plague. you couldn’t face him—not after that conversation. Every meal became a calculated maneuver to dodge him. you either skipped eating entirely, braving the gnawing hunger, or grabbed your plate and retreated to your room or the lab. The smells of food only worsened the nausea, and you didn’t want him—or anyone else—noticing your discomfort. 

But no matter how much you tried to act like nothing was wrong, you could feel the truth pressing against you, literally. Your body was changing. Your bump was small but undeniable now, a subtle curve that you could no longer ignore. you started wearing baggier clothes, anything to keep it hidden. Yet you knew this wasn’t a problem you could cover up forever. 

Late at night, when you was alone in your quarters, the weight of it all would crush you. You would sit on the edge of your bed, your hands trembling as they rested on your growing belly. A part of you wanted to reject it, deny what was happening. But the fluttering beneath your fingers was impossible to ignore. A tiny life was growing inside you, and it terrified you. 

You found yourself crying more often than you cared to admit. Silent, muffled sobs into your pillow as you thought about everything you would imagined for your first child. You'd always pictured being married, having a partner by your side, someone you could lean on when things got tough. you thought about warm nurseries, family gatherings, and laughter. Not this—being stranded on a distant planet, surrounded by cold metal walls, with the father of your child barely able to tolerate you. 

The thought of Yun Jae made the tears come harder. you didn’t want to admit it, but a part of you had always cared about his opinion, even when you claimed to hate him. And now, the idea of raising this child alone, of carrying this weight by myself, was unbearable 

The days blurred together, and you kept your distance from Yun Jae. you didn’t start conversations—not with him. When he spoke to you, it was only about the mission. 

When it came to meals, you continued your routine of avoidance. The smells in the mess hall used to turn your stomach, but now that you was in your second trimester, your nausea had finally eased. you started enjoying food again—more than you ever had before. you were eating everything in sight. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to sit with the crew. You’d grab your plate and retreat to your room or the lab. It was better than facing Yun Jae’s gaze, which had changed in ways you couldn’t understand. 

You’d catch him looking at you, his dark eyes fixed on you from across the room. It wasn’t the usual cold glare. There was something else there—concern, maybe. Worry? you wasn’t sure. All you knew was that it made your skin crawl. It made you feel exposed, like he could see everything you were trying so hard to hide. 

The lab was eerily quiet after everyone left. you worked in silence, the hum of machinery and the occasional beep from the scanner your only companions. It was better this way—being alone. you could focus on your work without the weight of their stares or the hushed conversations that sometimes carried your name when they thought you weren't listening. 

Before leaving, Ha-neul had paused by your workstation, her gaze lingering with concern. 

“Y/N, do you want me to bring you a plate?” she asked, her voice gentle but persistent. 

“I’m not hungry,” you replied curtly, not looking up from my work. 

She hesitated but eventually nodded, joining the others as they filed out of the lab. The door hissed shut behind them, and you sighed, grateful for the solitude. 

Minutes passed, maybe longer. you was deep in analysis, your hands deftly adjusting the settings on the equipment, when the door opened again. you ignored it, assuming someone had forgotten something. 

It wasn’t until a plate slid onto the desk beside you that you stopped. 

You blinked at it, the steam from the food curling up in delicate tendrils. Slowly, you lifted your head, your eyes meeting Yun Jae’s. He stood there, his expression unreadable, though there was a flicker of worry in his usually sharp features. In his other hand, he held a second plate—his own, you assumed. 

“Eat,” he said simply, his tone firm but not unkind. 

“I’m not hungry,” you shot back, your voice colder than you intended. You turned my attention back to my work, determined to ignore him. 

But then, as if on cue, your stomach betrayed you with a loud, unmistakable growl. 

You froze, heat creeping up your neck. 

When you glanced back at him, he was smirking faintly, the corner of his mouth tugged up in amusement. Without a word, he sat down beside you, placing his own plate on the desk and beginning to eat, his movements unhurried. 

“Eat,” he repeated, pushing your plate closer to you. 

You scowled, reluctant but too hungry to argue with your body. Picking up a fork, you took a small bite, chewing slowly as you tried to focus back on your work. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked after a moment, your tone flat as you glanced at him. 

“I want to talk,” he replied, his focus seemingly on his food. 

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said, taking another small bite, though your eyes never left the screen in front of you. 

He didn’t respond immediately, and for a while, the only sound between you was the scrape of utensils against plates. But you could feel his gaze on you, studying you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. 

“Why are you avoiding me?” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less direct. 

You didn’t answer, refusing to look at him. 

“Why do you keep acting like this?” he pressed, his tone teetering between frustration and concern. 

“I’m not acting like anything,” you snapped, dropping your fork onto the plate with a clatter. “I’m working, Yun Jae. If you’re done eating, you can leave.” 

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, you thought he might argue, but instead, he reached out and pushed his plate closer to mine, his movements slow and deliberate. 

“Eat,” he said again, his voice quieter now, almost gentle, as if he knew how close you were to snapping but didn’t want to push you further. 

Then, without another word, he stood and left the lab, the door hissing shut behind him. The sound lingered in the air, leaving an emptiness you couldn’t shake. 

You stared at the two plates of food in front of you, your appetite wavering despite the persistent gnawing in your stomach. His plate sat there, untouched except for the few bites he’d taken, a silent gesture that felt heavier than it should have. 

For a moment, you felt the weight of it all press down on me—the loneliness, the tension between you, the secret you were carrying that was slowly changing everything. My fingers tightened around the fork as you fought back the emotion rising in your chest. 

The food blurred in front of you, and you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe. you hated this—hated how he always seemed to know when to show up, hated the way he lingered in your thoughts even when you wanted to forget him. Most of all, you hated the way his quiet actions, like leaving his plate behind, managed to make you feel so unsteady. 

Finally, you forced yourself to take another bite, chewing slowly as you tried to focus on the work in front of you. But no matter how much you tried to ignore it, the two plates beside each other felt like a conversation left unfinished, one that you wasn’t sure you was ready to have. 

The kitchen was dimly lit, the soft hum of the ship's systems the only sound in the background. you shuffled quietly, rubbing your eyes and trying not to make too much noise. Hunger clawed at you, relentless and impossible to ignore. Sleep wasn’t going to come until you satisfied it. 

After searching through the shelves, you finally found something that looked promising—a container of fruit, sealed tightly with a stubborn lid. you gripped it with both hands, bracing it against your body as you twisted, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustration built with each attempt, the hunger making your movements clumsier. 

Unbeknownst to you, Yun Jae had been there the whole time, leaning casually against the counter with his hands in his pockets. He watched silently as you struggled, his cold, observant gaze fixed on you. 

“Do you want some help?” his voice cut through the silence suddenly, calm and steady as always. 

The sound startled you so badly that the container slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a loud clatter. My heart jumped, and you spun around to glare at him. 

“God, Yun Jae!” you hissed, clutching my chest as if that could steady my racing heart. 

He didn’t flinch, didn’t apologize for startling you. He just stood there, his expression unreadable as his eyes shifted briefly to the container on the floor. 

You stayed quiet, refusing to look at him directly. Instead, you bent down, picking up the container with shaky hands. Your face burned with embarrassment, but you ignored it, turning your back to him and trying once again to open the lid. 

It was no use. No matter how hard you tried, the lid wouldn’t move. And then, without realizing it, you felt the tears start to fall. 

At first, you didn’t notice them, too focused on your stubborn attempts to twist the lid. But soon, the drops blurred your vision, slipping down your cheeks faster than you could wipe them away. Your hands trembled as you tried to compose myself, but the harder you fought, the more the tears came. 

It wasn’t the lid. It wasn’t even the hunger. It was everything. The pregnancy, the isolation, the weight of being stranded on this alien planet. The fact that you were carrying this alone, with no one to lean on. 

Before you could spiral further, you felt strong arms wrap around you from behind, firm yet gentle. 

You froze, your breath hitching as Yun Jae carefully took the container from your hands and placed it on the counter nearby. Then, without a word, he pulled you closer, his arms circling you in a quiet but steady embrace. 

The warmth of his presence broke something in you. you let out a shuddering sob, your body trembling as the floodgates opened completely. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and calm as his hand came up to gently rub your arm. “Let it out.” 

His tone wasn’t soft or warm—he wasn’t the type—but there was something in his voice, a quiet steadiness, that made you feel like you didn’t have to hold everything together for once. 

He turned you around slowly, guiding you until your forehead was pressed against his chest. His hand slid to the small of your back, holding you close, while his other hand rested lightly on the back of your head, his fingers brushing through your hair. 

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his words deliberate, almost hesitant. 

You didn’t respond, couldn’t. you just stayed there, your face buried in his chest as the tears came harder. 

He held you through it all, his hand moving gently along your back in a soothing rhythm. “Calm down,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. It’s going to be okay.” 

Minutes passed like this—his steady presence anchoring you as you slowly began to calm down. The tears slowed, your breathing evened out. you realized, almost absently, that your arms had wrapped around his torso, holding onto him without even thinking about it. 

When you finally pulled away, he let you go, though his hands lingered for a moment as if making sure you was steady. His eyes met mine, and for the first time, you saw something different in them—something softer, more vulnerable. 

“You’ve been holding this in for too long,” he said, his tone still calm but edged with something you couldn’t quite place. 

You wiped at your face, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t need your pity,” you muttered under your breath. 

“Gosh, Y/N, this isn’t pity,” he said, his tone calm but firm. “Why do you always have to be in denial?” 

Silence stretched between you before he broke it. 

“For twenty years, I’ve kept my distance,” he began, his voice quieter now. “Your father—he was the closest thing I had to a hero. He taught me everything, and when you joined the organization, I told myself I’d protect you. For him.” 

You glanced up at him, startled by the admission. He looked away briefly, as if uncomfortable with saying it aloud. 

“But I didn’t know how,” he continued, his voice steady again. “You were reckless, stubborn—always throwing yourself into danger without thinking.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off. 

“And I—” He hesitated, his jaw tightening. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Or you. You weren’t just some kid anymore. Not to me.” 

My breath caught, but you stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. 

“You were twenty when I started noticing,” he said, his tone cool but deliberate. “But you were too young, and I couldn’t—” He shook his head. “I couldn’t let myself feel that way. So I kept my distance. I thought it was better that way.” 

Confused by his words, you frowned. “Wait, you don’t understand. What are you trying to say?” 

He hesitated for a moment, looking away as if gathering his courage. When his eyes finally met yours again, they were filled with an intensity that made your breath catch. “I have feelings for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice low but steady. 

You froze, completely shocked by the confession. He continued, his words tumbling out as if they’d been bottled up for too long. “I started falling for you when you joined the organization. At first, it felt wrong—I thought I shouldn’t feel that way. So I tried to keep your distance, to be cold with you. You’re your mentor’s daughter, and you’re so much younger than me. I mean—I'm ancient, as you call me.” He chuckled softly, and despite myself, you found the corners of your mouth twitching upward. 

“And it’s true,” he added, his tone gentler now. “At times, I thought of you like a kid. I felt like I owed your father everything, and protecting you was my way of honoring him.” 

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle before he continued. “But you’re not a kid anymore.” His gaze held mine, steady and unflinching. “You’re a woman. And now…” His eyes flickered briefly to your stomach, his expression softening. “Now, you’re carrying a life.” 

Before you could respond, he turned, grabbed the container from the counter, and opened it effortlessly. He handed it back to you without a word, his expression unreadable. 

You took it, your back turning to him as you started eating quietly, savoring the fruit. But then, you felt his arms wrap around you again, this time from behind. 

His hand moved to rest gently on your belly, his fingers brushing against the curve. “It’s gotten big,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “How the hell have you been hiding this?” 

You laughed softly despite myself, shaking your head. “Baggy clothes.” 

His hand moved in slow, soothing circles, and for the first time, you let yourself relax into his touch. You stayed like that for a while, the silence between you comfortable and unspoken. Once you were done eating, and since neither of you could sleep, you wandered to the balcony. 

We sat there until sunrise, talking about everything—the baby, potential names, your relationship.  

For the first time, you didn’t feel like he was treating you like a kid. 

Lotta-Latte? Lotta Love!

ᝰ.ᐟ synopsis — getting hired at your favorite coffee spot is one thing, but managing to survive being trained by your barista crush turned coworker is another...

ᝰ.ᐟpairing — manager!sohee x new!barista!reader ᝰ.ᐟ genre — smau, barista au, non idol au, coworkers to lovers, comedy, fluff, angst  ᝰ.ᐟ warnings — swearing, use of pet names, coworker relationships, playful bickering between friends, eunseok does NOT like yn at all, mutual pining if you squint

💬 — barista sohee you'll always be famous!! i love barista aus so much i hope it showed here... also, shotaro's part is next hehe! | divider creds: @/enchanthings-a

© gyumibear 2024. all rights reserved! kindly do not repost on any social media sites, translate or modify my works without my permission. please don't plagiarize, it's okay to use my works as inspo as long as you credit me!

Long Distance - Blurb

Gojo x Reader: Fluff

Little draft, might continue this another time.

You stared at the ended Discord call on your screen.

12 hrs and 8 min

You just spent over twelve hours talking to some random guy in Japan. Broken English. Broken Japanese.

Those two semesters of Japanese you took in college for your world language credit? Guess they were finally paying off—all because you decided to join a random Minecraft server at three in the morning. Of course, that meant it was daytime in Japan, a neat little twelve-hour time difference.

You tried not to dwell too much on the call: how he’d invited you to join his town on the server, how quick-witted and surprisingly charming he’d been.

No, no.

This was just a fleeting crush. A reaction to being showered with attention. A temporary burst of dopamine. You were not falling for someone halfway across the world. Absolutely not.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a Discord notification.

青眼の白龍:“Switch? Animal Crossing…?”

A second message followed right after: “Your voice…cute!”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you stared at the screen in disbelief.

What the hell.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, and then you typed a response:

“I have a Switch! :) Play tomorrow? It’s night here.”

The reply didn’t come immediately. You watched the typing bubbles appear and disappear a few times, as though he kept rephrasing whatever he wanted to say.

Finally, it came through.

“Yes. Call. Tomorrow! 💙”

You sighed, shutting down your PC before heading to bed. Your heart thumped a little too loudly in your chest. It’s just a simple little crush, right?

Sunday arrived—a bittersweet reminder that it was your last free day before the work week began. The timezone difference weighed on your mind; realistically, you wouldn’t have time to chat much with him during the weekdays.

As you booted up your Switch, the familiar Discord ringtone chimed, startling you. Crap, you didn’t have online membership to visit other islands! You scrambled to enter your credit card information, fingers fumbling slightly from your nerves.

Then, his voice came through.

“Moshi-moshi!”

Light, chipper, and laced with a soft giggle, his greeting made your heart flutter. “Hello, y/n!”

You froze for a second, gripping your Switch tighter as your chest went pitter-patter. You didn’t even know what he looked like. Most of your conversation last night was surface-level: basic introductions, Minecraft plans, and a few scattered questions about each other’s lives.

Yet, here you were, feeling your cheeks warm like you were talking to someone you’d known for years.

“Hello…Satoru,” you said, testing his name carefully. Then a moment of panic hit. “Wait—is that okay? Or do you prefer Gojo?”

His laughter came again, soft and easy.

“I like Satoru,” he said, a playful edge creeping into his tone. You could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “Let’s…play?”

There was a hint of hesitation in his words, the careful pauses betraying his uncertainty in English. It mirrored how awkward and foreign speaking Japanese felt for you. But his effort was impressive—he handled basic conversation with surprising ease.

You smiled to yourself, settling onto the couch with your Switch. “Yeah, let’s play.”

no one asked but i love nct

TAYLOR SWIFT toasting KENDRICK LAMAR The 67th Annual Grammy Awards

gojo fans, we must embrace our roots.