#A HEAPING PILE OF LOVE

[larrydaleydaily]

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[rottenrottweiler]

S4ep15 sam and dean become ghosts to save the reaper. Dean of course has the urge to put his arm through Sam as soon as he realizes he is able to. Now he can say "I've been inside my brother"

Also I'm losing it at Dean calling him a prude when Sam tells him "get out of me".. I'm sure same has mixed feeling at the thought "my brothers been inside me" hahahaha

[3-aem]

I have also been playing botw for 6 hours straight instead of drawing. Solidarity.

omg a kindred spirit 🥺🥺🥺

[neverendingford]

.

[queenofnots]

I am 40 and have been here since 2009.

- OP 🫡

I was today years old when I learned the "main" in "horny on main" means main blog. I have gone all these years thinking it meant "main street" like just being unabashedly horny you'd do it on main street, just showin it off. I prefer my definition. Horny on main street, a porno spoof of a frank capra film.

[metaforth]

Cyberpunk 2077 is awful and I'm tired of people insisting it's not. I miss the bugs, they were fun, they made the game somewhat entertaining. Well, I shouldn't say I miss them. I've tried playing this garbage fire even after the release of Phantom Liberty I still haven't had an experience playing the game without some disruptive bug or glitch occurring. They aren't as all consuming anymore but it seems something at the very core of this digital rotten lasagna is fundamentally broken.

The story is shallow. Characters are introduced and die too fast and often for me to really give a shit. The best example is Jacky. Not only is he the earliest but he's clearly the one the game wants me to be the most upset about but why? Most of the character development between V and Jacky happens via montage and after that he's barely around until his insanely predictable death. He feels like a somehow more underwritten Fast and Furious character.

But who cares. A good game can survive a shallow and unintersting story. Is the gameplay fun? No.

Its trying to desperately to create the same sandbox experience as GTA without nearly the amount of variety that makes GTA fun to playa me explore. The world is empty, 99% of weapons all feel the same, the shallow gimmicks thrown into the weapon pool like tech guns or mantis blades hardly have any impact, there's not much reason to experiment with your load out. And with such a bare world there's not much reason to want to.

And the RPG mechanics... Calling them that feels like an insult to RPGs. They're somehow worthless and overpowered simultaneously. In regular gameplay you'll rarely if ever notice their presence, while in stealth they render the game downright trivial. You turn off people's fucking eyeballs in stealth, just turn them off. If you wanna play easy mode regardless of difficulty, just build into stealth.

The games messaging might just be the worst part. It's so backwards and inconsistent I can't tell if any message was actually intended at all. The game clearly wants you to believe it's making some statement but constantly tries to contradict itself. The game tells you cyberpsychosis can be treated and repeatedly reinforces to you the people experiencing it aren't in control of their own actions, but you still beat them to a pulp anyways. You basically kill them but nicer and without the game telling you their dead so despite the fact you shot bullets at them until they ragdolled don't worry it's different this time, they're FIIIIIIIIIIINE. No opportunity to de-escalate the situation, no trying to talk them through this, no anything one might actually do when trying to help someone experiencing a mental break.

But when fucking ROBOT CARS are going ballistic that's when you talk them down and a have a heart to heart? With fucking Cars? CARS?!

I wanted to like this game. I went into every gameplay session hoping to enjoy this game. I repeatedly open mindedly entered this game and made serious attempts to find something to enjoy about it. But I can't. Everyone endlessly praises this game as a masterpiece, I've seen it in so many "BEST [GAME GENRE] OF ALL TIME" lists, even from sources I actually respect the opinions of otherwise and it makes me feel like I'm taking crazy pills every time I boot up this irredeemably dog shit waste of gigabytes.

How in the hell does this game have such a good reputation when there doesn't seem to be even a single lone redeemable aspect of it. Even things I just don't have the energy to discuss, the boring design of the open world that feels like the most cookie cutter, by the numbers cyberpunk aesthetic I've ever seen, the characters designs that range from boring to characters like Adam Smashers who are such walking garbage piles it'd make a Micheal Bay cybertronian blush, it's just so unbelievably bad....

What an insult to the entire cyberpunk genre, both the game itself and the undeserved praise...

Edit: Haven't watched edgrunners, not going to

[kkusuka]

i would love to be john price's (141's) little bird.

(afab reader, you're lowkey a housewife, g/n pronouns, this was also a lot longer than i meant it to be-1.2k words- and i also wrote it entirely in class)

part 2

just the cute little thing he comes home to after long missions; ready to give him anything he needs to fully enjoy his time at home. barefoot and wide-eyed waiting for your bear of a husband to return from his long hard mission, keeping him fed and fucked as much as he needs. and he just loves you so much-- so much that he needs to show everyone how good you are for him.

it's not like he sets out to rub it in, but when his sergeant mentions not having anyone waiting for him at home-- john just can’t help but invite him over, you always talk about how much you love taking care of him, adding another man shouldn't be a problem! and what kind of captain would he be if he didn't take care of his subordinates?

and you aren't complaining! you love when john lets you see into his job! and gaz is just so sweet, saying please and thank you, offering to help clean the dishes, and politely refusing any leftovers even when you all know he has no food to go back to. so, you just have to keep inviting him over, night after night. and he's so good at conversations, even when he and your husband talk with all their military jargon, he makes sure you understand all of it; you just want to keep him in your house forever! so you kind of do…

you can't imagine making him go all the way home to his cold and dark apartment, it's so far and you know he's tired from his month of constant action-- so suddenly kyle has a bedroom set up right next to yours (close enough to hear how john thanks you for being so good to his sergeant, and just maybe a hand goes down below his waistband) a fully stocked bathroom and a place to put his shoes when you all come back your occasion dinners out. (they're dates, you don't think it but they do)

but kyle is not a man so stay silent about his blessings. you're too nice, too pretty to not tell soap about-- and trust john isn't going to complain, and he knows that you won’t either. 'the best roast i think i've ever had' and 'knows exactly how to make a man feel at home' and soap is not one to stray from his desires.

so you end up with your boys, and a bubbling scotsman in your dinning room with no warning. and you're upset, no one told you that you had to make more food and now there isn't enough to give everyone your usual heaping portion- and there is no way you're letting anyone go hungry in your home!

so you end up bouncing around the kitchen, trying to whip something up before the main course finishes in the oven and who but soap offers to help you out! he's got a hand on you at all times (two on your waist when you're chopping the onion, he just wouldn't know what to do with himself if you got hurt making him dinner. so he has to hold you steady, he has to run his hands over your hips keep you stabilized-- don't think too much into it, just stay focused on chopping bonnie)

and soap knows that he can talk for hours, but he can't help it when your eyes light up when he mentions his childhood in scotland and his missions around the world. and your small flinch and frown when he talks about getting hurt. their lass just can't help but worry about them. he just can't stay away from his captains sweet bird-- not when you send him off with a steaming pile of leftovers and a tight hug (pressed against him as hard as you can because you don’t want him to go)

johnny, a man to brag, never shuts up about how it took kyle three months to get a room but it only took him two. (sometimes when he comes back from the bathroom in the morning he can see into your room as you're getting ready. and he doesn't mean to do it but your panties are his favorite shade of blue and they look so amazing on you-- he wants to see them up close so bad.)

and so he tells ghost of all his troubles- unasked and randomly the next time they got sent out. and does ghost really care about johnny's playground crush on their captains bird? yes. how had he been left the only one not getting home cooked meals after being sent out? is he going to say anything about it?

not a chance.

so it takes a little while before the final place at your dinner table to be filled. but after a particularly grueling mission (and already wishing to come over), ghost is finally convinced he belongs with the rest of his team.

and you've never been happier to make extra food; you've been hearing for months about the illusive fourth man of your husband's battalion but having him stand in your kitchen with a cute little store bought dessert was certainly worth the wait. ( 'Ah didnae ken ye liked pink that much, lt' 'it was all they 'ad, can't show up empty 'anded, johnny')

and is he a little awkward and standoffish, of course-- years of military pressure will do that to a man!

and simon is just too sweet, even if he doesn't know it. he's pulling your chair out for you, and running out in the rain to collect the mail that you'd forgotten all about. he even lets you drag him to the grocery store during your weekly trips. (it's not dragging, he'd follow you into the pits of hell if you'd asked him too so the grocery store is really not a big deal.)

everything is just so perfect when all of your the boys are all in the house together!

and suddenly everything in life makes sense again. that plate that you can never reach on the highest shelf in the kitchen, a body is pressed against you as simon leans over you to grab it leaving you with a squeeze to your hip and red face. the gossip that your husband just never understood in the way he should is studently being told to kyle over coffee every morning as your other boys roll out of bed. the soap opera that you rope johnny into watching every thursday night becomes facemasks and wine time.

and john just loves it. he just loves you so much; loves the way you smile at kyles flirting, loves how you cuddle up to johnny on the couch, loves how you let simon hold you so close when you make his tea in the morning, and he just loves teasing you about it. (teasing? yes. making you face the fact that you want your husbands men to run a train on you like a whore. also yes.)

i wanna keep going but i have to let it end at some point

[icezansky]

it’s so fucking over

[carbonfiction]

First bloom

Summary: Frank has a moment of vulnerability as he gifts you flowers for the first time.

Happy valentines Besties!! <33

Warnings?: whole lotta fluff really. nothing much to add other than Frank giving reader flowers for the first time and being a little bashful about it. (M' a sucker for a big, gruff, kinda angry man being a sweetheart to the person he loves alright?) possible horrible writing- a girl be struggling..

Pretty obvious buuut with this im adding frankie to my 'will write for' list bc i am, at my very core and before most fixations i ever had, a frank castle girlie.. With that said my normal Logan stuff will remain!! but i thought I'd get this lil thing out while it feels good in my mind and before i make a million changes- writers block has got my ass again but asks are still open!

Masterlist. Words: 1.1k

Franks feet feel heavy in his boots, each step thudding on the concrete. The streets are quiet, winter air crisp and cool as he digs a hand in the pocket of his jeans as he goes. Keep one hand warm and the other? Well.. That one feels pretty cold and yet, strangely, a little clammy at the same time.

In Franks grasp rests a bunch of colourful flowers; lillies, roses, some little delicate buds he doesnt recall the name of for decoration. 'Oh those? Those are called Babys breath frank!' He hopes you'll tell him with a beam later.

The rose thorns prod at his palm, his grip on the bundle of stems tense, but he finds it doesn't hurt the longer he walks. They just.. Ground him slightly as he treads closer to home. Closer to you.

Theres a peace that settles within him in your presence, he finds; one that seems to dim the darkness that swirls in his heart. You ease the ache that so often sits inside him, Never erasing it, no one ever could but.. You lessen it. Always willing to take the weight from his broad shoulders, if only for a little.

And for that? Frank is greatful.

He knows he can be alot; his grumpiness piled almost as high as his baggage. But you dont ever seem to mind.

You embrace him on the days he needs it but cant find it in himself to ask and keep him at arms length when you see in his eyes that being loved feels stifling; its just how life is with him. Yet you do it all with that soft smile and gentle hand, the polar opposite to his rough lines and jagged edges. Keeping him sane on the days when he believes himself to be anything but.

The hand he dug into his pocket seems clammier now as he pulls out his set of keys, the lock clicking open moments later. Its just flowers castle, pull it together he thinks, stepping back into the warm embrace of your apartment. Given girls flowers before for christ sake.

"sweetheart?" he calls out, gruff voice booming through the hall.

You jump slightly at the sound, placing down the wooden spoon that you had been stirring the fragrant pot on the stove with. Voice calling back "in the kitchen!" with a significantly softer tone.

You wait with your body leaning against the counter, observing how the bulk of him rounds the corner. A large arm behind his back; still in his coat. A suspicious rustle of cellophane filling the kitchen as he shifts on his feet, but still you grin at the sight.

"Got everything you needed" he says, hand digging through his coat pocket with various clinks and russles. In his large hand he pulls out a collection of little packets and jars, placing them on the counter. refills of various spices, salts and even a little box of yeast pouches for bread making sit in a heap; things you were running low on earlier.

you beam that perfect smile at him, murmering softly as you step forward, leaning up on your toes to kiss his stubled cheek. "Perfect, thank you frankie"

He accepts the kiss with a soft hum, dipping his head for you to reach.

But still that arm remains behind his back. He almost hopes you dont notice.. But you do, he can tell.

"Uh Frank?.." you start a little cautiously with that same grin, however this time theres a little glint of confusion added as you step back just slightly. "What are you hiding?"

You stew in his silence for a moment, a crease wedging its way back between his brows. Handsome face suddenly filled with... trepidation?

"Frank.." you start again, a little more seriously as you step closer. By now you're fully expecting something bad; that someones been gunning for him again and hes hurt. That there must be blood soaking through his coat and thats why hes hiding.

But as quick as he paused, he sighs, broad shoulders falling just slightly. that same arm once hidden, now outstretched infront of you. The colourful bouquet at eye level as you take it in, a tiny gasp slipping past your lips.

"Frank castle did.." you begin, hand coming to join his on the delicate stems. Your voice is hushed and a little shakey as your eyes scan up and across his face. "Did you buy me flowers?"

His head moves in a little nod, chest puffing out just slightly as he releases his grip; completly surrendering both the flowers and himself.

"Yeah i, uh.." he gruffs, thinking outloud before he stops; practically looking everywhere but at you. The pot on the stove, the cups on the sink, even his boots. Its then he realises that he's almost afraid to see some semblance of rejection in your gaze; that he's missteped or you dont like them. That this sense of peace you wash over him is about to be swept away; wide eyes and incredulous tone not helping his state.

Frank takes another breath, steeling himself; his walls building back up, before he simply settles on a shake of his head and a huff. "Doesn't matter, 's stupid alright"

"No, no its not stupid." you rush out, remaining close as you eye the flowers in your hand and then him again. "They're beautiful frank.."

"Saw em and they reminded me of you so..." he coughs, a large hand scratching at the back of his neck. "thought I'd get em.."

Frank shifts on his feet, stance widening as you suddenly throwing yourself into his arms and grip him tightly; the Boquet landing on the counter seconds before your impact to his chest. You hold him like that for a few quiet moments before you lean back, resting on your tip toes as you cup a rough cheek.

"Thank you.." you whisper softly, honesty pure in your words. A little bashful grin across your lips as you lean up a little higher. "I love them, really. They're perfect"

Frank gazes down at you gently, a finger of his own brushing over your skin as he leans in, kissing you with such unspoken emotion it could knock you off your feet- if he wasnt already keeping you up.

"Yeah sweetheart? Really think they are all that?" he murmers, forehead against yours, the air of unease beginning to slip from your reaction. Enjoying the endearing heat of your gaze.

Your lips meet his in another tender kiss as you press the words against him; though they hold a hidden, deeper meaning. "Yeah Frank.. I really do"

[flwrstqr]

( する ) : ETERNAL SUNSHINE ⟡​ ASKING FOR ANOTHER KISS

── 𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬 ⸝⸝ 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖺 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌

‎ ‎ ✶ 𝐀𝐂𝐓‎ ‎𝐈 : enhypen + fem!r 1OOOwc ⟡​ fluff oneshots headcanons ࿁ them being bad down for you, skinship, petnames. && 【 VOGUE 】

다니 : hehe i love bad down enhypen.. it always make me giggle TT

𝗟��𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗨𝗡𝗚 “please, baby,” he whines, his voice barely above a whisper, fingers tugging gently at the hem of your sweater like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. his big, doe-like eyes—those bambi eyes—are locked onto yours, wide and glossy with desperation, as if the world might end if you don’t give in. “just one kiss. one, yeah? promise i won’t ask for more.” but he’s lying—you know he is—because his gaze keeps flickering to your lips, and the way his hand slips to your waist betrays him completely. “you’re so mean,” he murmurs, his lips curling into the softest pout. “how can you look this pretty and still torture me like this? c’mon, angel. please, love, just one. i'll do anything,” the second your lips brush his, he melts—actually melts. his grip on your waist tightens, and a muffled, satisfied hum escapes him.

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗝𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗦𝗘𝗢𝗡𝗚 “angel, just one kiss,” jay pleads, his voice soft, eyes shimmering as he pushes a pile of shopping bags toward you. “here, all the dresses you glanced at when we went on our mall trip. i’ve been saving them for you.” you blink at the heap—every color, every fabric, exactly what you admired or some that you just glanced at for a split second. “baby, you didn’t have to get all this… just for one kiss,” you murmur. he leans closer, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “but i’d do anything for you, you know that.” you don’t know if he’s trying to spoil you or if he just really wanted a kiss from you. with a small laugh, you lean in, pressing a kiss to his lips. jay beams, smug but smitten, as if he’s won the world.

𝗦𝗜𝗠 𝗝𝗔𝗘𝗬𝗨𝗡 jake’s arm is draped lazily over your waist as he pulls you closer, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your back. the quiet hum of the tv fills the room, but he’s barely paying attention, his focus entirely on you. “you’re comfy,” he mumbles. he adds, “i think i like this spot.” you glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, a tiny smirk playing on his lips. before you can ask what he means, he leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss. he pulls back just enough to see your wide-eyed expression, his grin growing as he teases, “what? you looked like you wanted one.”

𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗞 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗛𝗢𝗢𝗡 sunghoon’s sitting across from you, chin propped on his hand, nodding occasionally as you ramble on about your day. at first, you think he’s being attentive, but something feels off, his responses short and quiet. when you finally glance at him, he’s not even meeting your eyes. his gaze is fixed on your lips, unwavering and far too obvious to ignore. your words falter, and the room falls silent, but he doesn’t look away. “were you even listening to me?” you ask, crossing your arms. he blinks, finally dragging his eyes back up to yours, but there’s no apology in them. you sigh, leaning forward, and he meets you halfway, his lips brushing yours like he’s been waiting forever. when he pulls back, his smirk says it all: it was worth the wait.

𝗞𝗜𝗠 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗢𝗢 sunoo sits beside you, arms crossed and lips slightly pursed, clearly unimpressed by how long you’re making him wait. “just give me a kiss already,” he says, no hesitation, his voice laced with playful impatience. you bite back a grin, deciding to tease him, because how could you not? “hmm, where do you want it? the cheek? the nose-” you ask. his eyes narrow, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give in to your teasing, but instead, he moves faster than you expect, closing the gap and pressing his lips to yours. he pulls back. “there,” he says with a satisfied smile, leaning back smugly. “exactly where i wanted it.” mission accomplished.

𝗬𝗔𝗡𝗚 𝗝𝗨𝗡𝗚𝗪𝗢𝗡 jungwon is folding laundry beside you. you glance at him, his focused expression almost too cute, and the words slip out before you can stop them. “kiss me.” he pauses mid-fold, looking at you like you’ve just handed him the most important task of his life. “okay,” he says simply, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your lips. but then he doesn’t stop. another kiss lands on the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then your forehead. giggles bubble out of you as he peppers your face with kisses, completely forgetting about the laundry. “jungwon!” you laugh, trying to push him away, but he just grins, pulling you closer. “you said kiss me,” he teases, planting one last kiss on your lips. “i’m just being thorough.”

𝗡𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗠𝗨𝗥𝗔 𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗜 you’re sitting across from riki when he starts tapping his fingers on the table, his eyes darting to your lips every five seconds. “what’s taking you so long?” he mutters. you raise a brow, amused. “taking me so long for what?" “nothing,” he grumbles, looking away. but then his impatience gets the best of him. “you’re so slow, y’know that? maybe if you weren’t so distracted, someone could be happy right now.” the teasing lilt in his voice only makes you laugh. “oh, so you want a kiss?” you ask, leaning closer. he scoffs, eyes narrowing. “who said i wanted one?” his ego crumbles when you press a quick kiss to his cheek. his ears turn red, but he smirks anyway. “finally. took you long enough.”

[mihii-i]

Toots ik you got a whole lot of requests but hear me out 🧏🏻‍♀️

Jealous Arlecchino oneshot with smut or suggestive ending🧎🏻‍♀️

Like her and her hot af wife (reader) going on a lil mission in a different nation and have to continuously speak with a woman who the Fatui has connections with to help them

And reader and said woman are getting along TOO good and while reader is thinking this is some cute girls-bonding-time the woman is literally drooling over her and trying to keep her away from Arlecchino

Arlecchino notices ofc 🤗

The rest is up to you, but please no degradation or like “you were enjoying her attention” type thing in the smut/suggestive part <3

vexations.

Pairings: arlecchino x fem!reader

CW: nsfw, female reader, afab reader, jealousy, fatui member reader (rank not specified), weird lady get tf away, uh moew, the sigma inside me is yearning for deck, lowkey the no degration part gave me an idea, strap on use, praise, small bit of marking, not proofread.

A/N: GIRL OMG lowkey I love that you kinda said no degradation or the attention relishing thing bc honestly I don’t like that kinda stuff either as u can see from like a lot of my work I avoid humiliation and stuffs I like fluffy sex SO YOURE SO REAL FOR THAT BC IT KINDA FEELS WEIRD YK anyway hope u like this yayayay 🕯️

“Arle hurry up! The negotiator won’t wait forever.”

A soft nudge brushed along the blade of your shoulder as you tilted your head over, noticing your wife leaning at your side upon catching up from behind you. Arlecchino breathed out a quiet hum in response, the crisp winds of the howling sky assaulting your skin in a cold fury. Usually, the weather in Fontaine wasn’t overtly cold as it was now, typically balanced between being fairly warm yet decently cool.

Usually, your time with your dear wife was cut short from the barrage of missions piled up one after another, shrouding her schedule immensely. Mission after mission led to Arlecchino trudging out of the house with her infamous fluffed harbinger coat hung loosely over her shoulders, deep eyes looking back to the opening in annoyance upon being unable to spend more time with you. She dreaded it. The prospect of leaving you all alone so early in the morning scrambling along the fluffed sheets for her touch, only to wake to an empty edge in disappointment.

Although you were in fact slotted in a position within the ranks of the Fatui, you never found yourself venturing out on an array of missions like Arlecchino was. Preferring to keep to yourself as you weren’t exactly the brightest when it came to negotiations. Each day, you found yourself lounged on the couch of your shared home, cheek squished against the flat of your palm in anticipation for the door to creak open to reveal your beloved herself. You could only sigh as the clock hand flicked over agonizingly slow, your eyes lowered as your muscles tensed to await her arrival.

However, things were quite different when it came to the Tsaritsa’s request for negotiations in Fontaine’s watchful eye of justice, as it drew caution to Arlecchino having to go alone. It was quite clear on how oddly strict and valued the Nation of Justice’s view on lawful order was, posing a threat to her if she were to even slip up in the slightest manner. Not to mention, the Fatui were in fact highly fixated on and monitored especially in the nation, meaning every waking step she took in the streets would be monitored carefully one way or another. Of course, as the wonderful spouse you were, you had decided to take up to mission alongside Arlecchino, stunning even the Tsaritsa herself at your assertion.

Arlecchino’s eyes traced the fluffed pale clouds heaped along the clear sky, gaze lowering to the heavy stone gate solidly rooted into Fontaine’s earth. The two of you continued to approach the domed gate to one of the nation’s renowned cities, bustling crowds rushing through every corner in a split second once you both step foot through the gate. You found yourself clinging to Arlecchino’s arm at the swarms of people closing in, fingers subtly squeezing the fabric in mild discomfort.

It wasn’t long before she took notice of your visibly cramped form and furrowed brows as you grasped her arm for support, her arm circling your waist closely as a response to the gesture. Pushing past the crowd, you both ended up before a fine establishment resembling a hotel towering above you in an uncountable height of stories above. You pulled out a slip of paper from your jacket pocket swiftly, hand scrambling in the heaps of fluff before letting out a triumphant sigh upon finding it. Carefully, you unfolded the tattered paper, examining the building and the address before shoving it back and nodding to Arlecchino in affirmation.

A hollow gold light spanning across the hotel greeted you upon entering, bouncing off the gold handles before the front desk. Whatever address you had received, the negotiator sure was quite lavish in her tastes. Faint clicks of heels reverberated in your ears, the sound drawing closer with each tap against the floor. An uneasy feeling rocked within you as you could hear them, a sense of deception circling the atmosphere. You only pressed your shoulder to your wife’s to ease yourself, attempting to remain professional upon the negotiator’s arrival.

The woman’s eyes squinted down at you, clearly observing every minute detail that painted your complexion from head to toe, hand rested on her hip in a gust of silence swallowing the air. Blinking in surprise upon her hand stretching out toward you, her expression was strangely amiable, gaze lit up as she seemed ecstatic to meet you. “Ah, hello! It would be a pleasure to negotiate with you!”

You mindlessly shook her hand, puzzled at the sudden shift in demeanor from the woman as she grasped your hand. She breathed out a sigh as she pulled her hand away, huffing in response to compose herself before turning to Arlecchino. Her expression before Arlecchino quickly grew stern, voice dropping to one rather cold and unenthusiastic as they silently shook hands. The interaction alone only made your stomach twist in uncertainty, the sparking contrast in behavior she showed between you two clearly throwing you off.

“I suppose that you are in fact the renowned negotiator with such a high reputation among the Fatui?” Arlecchino inquired, voice low. You could pick up on the fact in no time that she sensed something off about this woman. She only breathed out an unsatisfactory hum in response and nodded, gaze darting back to you in seconds as her face lit up. Within seconds, you couldn’t help but stiffen when her pointer finger traced the bottom of your jawline, experimentally running it along your skin.

Rather amused at your confused look, she only smiled once more, pursing her lips together as she pulled away. Arlecchino’s gaze only grew dark as she observed her movements against you, mind stinging with displeasure at the diplomat’s unusual proximity toward you. She could only shake off that numbing annoyance elusively, looking away from the sight of someone else getting handsy with her darling.

Pulling back, the woman cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of her as she seemed satisfied with your jumbled expression. “Well..shall we begin with the negotiations? How about over coffee?” She mused. You nodded in compliance, glancing over at Arlecchino to note any objections. To which, she hesitantly provided none. Yet, she could only feel her skin bristle at the sight of the woman’s arm snaked over the back of your neck as a way of ‘guiding’ you to the said coffee store. Arlecchino was only left trailing behind, a maelstrom of fury embedded below her usually unfeeling face.

—

“Mm…(Name), sweetie, do you like the coffee I bought for you?”

You breathed out a puff of steam, expression relaxed as you only grinned at her in response. Perhaps she was to be trusted, as the negotiator had been nothing but kind to you, only treating you with the highest degree of affection and respect. Her adoring actions only led you to ease up around her, growing fairly close with her as if you were speaking to someone you already knew for years. Despite the relief that she was friendly, you couldn’t help but being unable to shake off the same uneasiness that jabbed at the back of your brain at her initial arrival. Plus, paired with her dismissive treatment toward Arlecchino only served to throw you off, shrinking away from trusting her altogether.

“Ah. Yeah…you really know your stuff here don’t you?” You chuckled in response, occasionally glancing over at Arlecchino who was left unchecked throughout the entire course of your “negotiations.” Arlecchino noticed your eyes frequently darting over to her, causing her to sit up from her slight slouch and dismissively wave her hand toward you. Nodding, you turned back to the negotiatior, elbows propped up onto the table and palms on either side of her face as she pushed her shoulders forward.

Suddenly, your wife couldn’t hold back her words for the sake of something so silly intruding on your original mission, leaning forward as she spoke up. “About the negotiations-“

The woman only shot the harbinger a sharp glare, cutting her off with a frown. Yet, it was plain obvious that Arlecchino wasn’t the meek type, a stir of hatred boiling within her for this sudden diplomat who came to snatch you out of nowhere. She held her tongue, yet not out of submission, but rather out of restraint—afraid she would be unable to keep her composure and snap at the high authority figure to quit her rather hands on approach toward you.

Throughout the course of the uncomfortably drawn out conversation, consisting of downright lewd hints thrown out from the negotiator toward you only felt like an eternity of malaise tainting the atmosphere. An annoyed scoff from Arlecchino finally caught your attention as she stood up, the silverware and glass rattling against the table from the sheer force of her palms planted onto the table for support to raise her to her feet. She huffed out once more, shoulders hunched over in order to retain her emotions boiling up within her.

Fangs of jealousy sunk into Arlecchino as she walked away from the table without a word leaving her lips, the bitter taste seeping into her mouth only pushing her further into a deep annoyance. She typically didn’t show any sort of emotion that would come close to nearly eliciting this type of anger from her, yet perhaps her sole affection toward you only fueled her otherwise closed off heart. Her guarded heart that only beat for you.

—

“A-Arle- mm..please..”

You lay helpless below her touch, soft gasps sharply rushing past your lungs as her lips glided along yours in a slow, passionate rhythm. Her darkened hands only curled around your wrists to hold you down, continuing her flaming kisses burning against your tongue as your eyebrows raised with that needy expression she loved oh so much. Quiet pants echoed in your ears as Arlecchino pulled away, eyes glossed over as the woman hovering above you looked foggy from your slightly blurred vision.

You couldn’t help but relish in the feeling of her sharp nails dragging along the protruding veins of your wrist in slow circles, crimson lipstick smeared across a new area of your throat every time you looked down. Arlecchino only hummed in satisfaction against your flushed skin, her own body weight along yours locking you down in place as the strap fastened around her waist pressed down onto your lower abdomen.

Muffling through your endless barrage of whimpers, you managed to breathe out through her relentless assault on your body. “I- ah- m’sorry Arle..I- didn’t realize she- mm..was doing that..I promise I didn’t enjoy-!” Your voice resembled that of a choked back sob, immediately hushed by Arlecchino’s soothing voice vibrating from her throat.

“Shh. It’s okay, darling. I would never think so lowly of you, and I know you aren’t that kind of person. The woman I fell in love with is below me, only desiring my actions in this moment, right?” She assured, lips stretching in a gentle smile as her pointer finger dragged down your chest all the way to your stomach.

You only heaved a sigh of joy, which was almost immediately cut off by a high pitched moan upon feeling her middle finger trace your slit. Your panting came out in shallow breaths as her x-marked eyes bore into you, gleaming red like that of a blood moon shone brightly to illuminate your complexion. Her touch was all that you craved in this moment, feeling a wash of affection overtake you at your wife’s calming presence soothing you in even your greatest moment of uncertainty.

Underwear nearly dropped down to your ankles, Arlecchino only seemed entranced by your slick glistening along your folds as such a gorgeous sight to behold. Her eyes darted back up to you once more, gaze meeting yours.

“May I continue?”

To which you only nooded eagerly, eyes flickering to her silicone cock pressed along your stomach. The second you felt the tip intruding along your walls, you immediately gnawed on your lower lip defensively, suppressing your inevitable noises.

Her lips pushed against yours once more, capturing you in a deep, languid kiss as her hips rolled against yours in circular motions, length fully pushing into you with each thrust. Your walls clamped around her faux cock like a vice, moans bouncing off the walls as her cock continued to massage that one spot within you. Everything was absolutely intoxicating. Arlecchino’s scent, her praises, her body pressed to yours, the way she was buried inside you. It was all as if she was so deeply connected to you that she never wanted to let go—as if it went to show how much she loved you with everything she had.

“Just like that. Archons, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

It didn’t take long for the sensation bundling up within you to finally snap, your walls tightening around Arlecchino’s cock to make sure she couldn’t pull back. Your juices coated the strap all over, the messy fashion of it dampening the sheets below you as she let out a satisfactory breath in response. Slowly, Arlecchino waited for you to come down from your high to loosen your grasp around her dick, her palm pressed to your face gently as she thumbed at your cheek in a reassuring manner to take your time,

Before long, you were strewn out on the bed, exhausted as Arlecchino’s arm was draped over you protectively. Her face was nuzzled into the crook of your neck, taking in your warmth as her nerves eased up. As she law curled up beside you, protecting you in her arms as you slumbered, it was as if all her vexations had disappeared from earlier today, her mind was finally put at ease.

That you were hers. And hers only.

—

The next morning, you met up with the negotiator once more, with her face twisted in confusion and mild hint of disappointment at the sight of Arlecchino holding you up to help you walk. Surely your legs weren’t functioning well enough after the previous night. The woman only tapped her chin with an unintelligible grumble, eyes darting away as you let out an awkward chuckle.

“I- ah..ahem..shall we discuss the negotiations..?”

Funny how quickly she had switched up the second she realized that you wouldn’t even think about leaving Arlecchino’s side. You loved her far too much to detach yourself from her arm even. You nodded toward her as you leaned your head onto Arlecchino’s shoulder, eyes dreamy and filled with a sort of solace tinged into your soul as you gazed up at her.

She stared back down at you with the same affection that she would only reserve for the likes of you, hand tightening into your protectively once more.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

A/N: WOOOO DID THIS ON A SCHOOL NIGHT IT IS 12:43 AM I THINK IM FUCKED BUT THATS OKAY 🔥🔥🔥

FINISHED MY PHYSICS LAB FEELING GOOD I LOVE EATING THE WALL I AM HORRIFIED TO SLEEP CAUSE I JUST WATCHED SMILE 2 AND HOLY SHIT THEY WERENT WRONG ABOUT NOT WATCHING THE MOVIE IF YOU WERENT IN THE BEST PLACE MENTALLY BUT THATS OKAY BC IT WAS GOOD AND I LOVE NAOMI SCOTT. I’m still fucking scared of the curse and the stupid entity tho

Why am I dumping this what this was a long ass a/n rant probably bc I’m traumatized from the movie lol I don’t wanna step foot in my hallway in the dark.

Anyway please enjoy dinner is served and back to school but break is soon so we’re good

monker

[yourauthorjen]

| YOURS | — joaquin torres

(requests open)

masterlist

| synopsis: | a family was something you never thought could be a possible, but after joaquin torres you seemed to think differently.

| includes: | husband!joaquin x reader, a bunch of fluff, children, and chaos

| word count: | 1.6k

| a/n: | this was from this lovely request! thank you so much for your idea! the main headcanons i focused on were morning chaos and supportive husband and dad. also i feel like joaquin would be such a girl dad.

THE IDEA OF having a family always made you shiver.

Whether it was because of the stress from the children or the bone chilling possibility of not being good enough, you never wanted to consider that idea.

That was until Joaquin walked into your life, bright eyed and charming, stubborn but absolutely heart aching in a way that you could never forget. And ever since you two had been together, every night was spent with him mapping out the possibilities of the future. He'd lace his fingers with yours and he'd ramble on about all the different lives you could have together.

He'd tell you about the a house with a picket fence or maybe an apartment filled with toys and two small children with your eyes and his crooked grin.

The first time he had brought it up you listened to him in silence, heart thundering, and slightly terrified. You didn't know if you deserved all that but he made sure he believed enough for both of you. Joaquin never pressured you, he just smiled and held your hand tighter every time you wavered.

It took another three, four years before you agreed, and somewhere along the way — between sleepy kisses in the kitchen and long car rides where he sang off-key just to make you laugh — you stopped being afraid.

When you first felt your oldest stirring inside of you, you were consumed with cold terror and sleepless nights. It was always a string of "what-ifs" and "am I making the wrong choice?"

But Joaquin was always there, to kiss your knuckles when you couldn't sleep, or doing your share of chores when you were too exhausted to keep yourself awake.

Sam was there to help you as well, dropping by ever so often with Sarah who had made frozen dishes or to take you out shopping while Sam just teased you, joking about how you better hope that the baby didn't snore like Joaquin did.

Obviously, Joaquin's family came over too. The crowd of aunts and uncles as well as his mom all came over to gush about your new child while also bringing in enough diapers and baby food to last an entire apocalypse. They offered home cooked meals, clothing and obviously a long string of baby names, which was a whole other story.

It was bittersweet seeing his family squished into your apartment when your own deadbeat father couldn't even bother shooting you a text, but still, it was heartwarming having such a loving family in a way you always longed for.

And now, your life was different.

Shoes and toys littered the house, lying in every unoccupied corner of the house. Drawings full of crayoned scribbled were plastered across the fridge, taped to the wall and piled atop the coffee counters, all with stick figured drawings of the four of you, standing beside a house with a triangle for the roof.

This morning was no different than other mornings, you woke up to the soft scent of soap and cinnamon as soft kisses brushed your cheek then up to your forehead, before a chorus of sleepy giggles and hushed whispers barged into your room scrambling onto your bed as Joaquin groaned into your hair, his arm tightening lazily around your waist like he thought he could shield you from the onslaught.

But your oldest was determined, climbing right up onto the bed and tugging insistently at the blanket. Your youngest followed, less coordinated but no less enthusiastic, tripping over her own feet and landing in a heap at the foot of the bed, giggling uncontrollably.

"Get up," they both sang in sync as they bounced on the mattress eagerly.

Without loosening his grip on you, Joaquin turned slightly, catching your mouth in a slow, unhurried kiss. You could feel him smiling against your lips, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hip, completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you.

"Your breath stinks," you snickered pulling away from him as the kids continued dancing around the bed— one trying to climb onto Joaquin’s back, the other flopping dramatically onto the pillows, narrowly missing your head.

He let out a chuckle as he rubbed his eyes, "I haven't brushed my teeth yet."

You rolled your eyes, "Really, Sherlock?"

"Who's Sherlock?" your youngest asked wriggling between the two of you, eyes wide and dark hair a mess. She was like a copy and paste of Joaquin, unrelentless energy and big innocent eyes with a headful of curls. Meanwhile your oldest had your eyes, but less energetic than your second, still she piled on top of her younger sister trying to squish between the three of you, determined to snuggle into your arms.

"Sherlock," Joaquin said, "Is my only chance for a few more minutes of sleep." He shifted slightly, trying to nestle back against you, but the kids were having none of it.

"Noooo!" your oldest protested, her hands pushing against his chest as she wriggled closer. "We want pancakes!"

"Pancakes!" echoed your youngest, her little face lighting up at the mention of food, her hands tugging at the hem of your shirt, demanding your attention.

Joaquin looked at you for help, but you just shrugged as if to say this is on you.

"You three have no mercy," Joaquin muttered. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out how to wrangle them back into some semblance of order.

You laughed, head tipping backwards as you hoisted yourself out of bed. "Okay then, I guess we're making pancakes today."

Joaquin groaned as you gently pulled yourself out of his grasp, his lips forming a pout as you picked up your youngest, placing her on your hip. "Traitor," he muttered under his breath, though the sparkle in his eyes gave him away.

You grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead as you shifted your daughter higher on your hip. "Suck it up, soldier. You're on kitchen duty."

Joaquin groaned even louder as your oldest tried to pull him up. "C'mon dad, we can do them together."

"That's the spirit," you cheered making your way into the kitchen. The morning light had spilled onto the wooden tile of the floor casting a soft glow as you set your daughter down onto one of the stools, Joaquin and your oldest trailing behind you. Both looked as sleepy as the other but a wide smile was still stretched across their faces.

"Okay team," Joaquin yawned, "You're gonna get the pancake mix—" he pointed to your youngest then to your oldest, "You go get the eggs and you—" he paused staring at you his eyes entranced as you leaned against the counter, sunlight kissing your face as you tossed your hair into a bun.

"What do I do?" you teased, cinching your apron tighter around your waist as his jaw went slack.

He cleared his throat, "You," he said, pointing the spatula at you like a sword, "are on official supervision duty. And looking way too good while doing it."

You snorted, reaching over to flick a little bit of flour from the counter at him, laughing when he pretended to stagger back in pain.

Your youngest clapped her hands in glee, while your oldest rolled her eyes like she was already ten years older than she really was. "Dad's being weird again," she whispered loudly to her sister, who giggled into her hands.

"Hey, weird is a Torres family tradition," Joaquin defended, setting a bowl down on the counter with a clatter. "You're just lucky you inherited it, too."

Weird was correct, because not even ten minutes later the kitchen was already a mess. Your youngest insisted on stirring the batter, which mostly resulted in flour puffing up into a cloud around her and your oldest took her self-assigned job of "egg cracker" very seriously— which meant you fished out a few too many shells from the mixing bowl.

"Okay," you said briskly, "Now that that's done, Dad’s in charge of flipping, but he’s banned from stepping a foot away from the stove."

"It was one time," he whined, "I didn't mean it."

"Joaquin, you burned an entire batch of pancakes," you deadpanned, "In front of your own mother."

"It was an accident," he sputtered.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face, "Hey, eyes on the stove soldier, we are not setting the fire alarm off again."

He laughed while your youngest sang a made-up pancake song under her breath, swinging her legs from the stool, while your oldest stood proudly at Joaquin’s side, offering enthusiastic and very loud coaching advice on when to flip the pancake.

You didn't even realize you were smiling until Joaquin caught your eye across the stove, flipping a perfect pancake with a flourish just to make you laugh. His smile— soft but full of so much love it ached was aimed right at you, like it always had been.

This was the future Joaquin had spent his nights rambling on about, and somehow, against all odds, it was yours too. You wrapped your arms around Joaquin's waist, hugging him tightly as he hummed under his breath, then leaned down to press a kiss to your hair.

"See," he murmured, voice warm and low just for you. "Told you you'd make something good."

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing him in— sweet and clean and that unmistakable feeling of home you never thought you'd have. His arms tightened around you briefly before he pulled away just enough to resume flipping pancakes, your oldest still enthusiastically coaching him from the sidelines.

Your youngest started singing her song even louder, and off-key, leading Joaquin to joining in with a off-tune harmony that made both kids dissolve into giggles.

You leaned back against the counter, watching the the three people you cherished so much bubbling around the kitchen. You had made something good. It was painstakingly beautiful, and you loved it. It was something that you would do everything to protect, and it was something you wouldn't trade for the world.

[colouredbyd]

The Secret Life Of Pets (Hogwarts edition)

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: After a transformation gone wrong, Flicker is trapped in red panda form for a week. The Marauders pass her off as their pet, but curious hands and lingering eyes make staying hidden far more complicated.

warnings: fluff, animagus secrecy, fluffy moments, stuck in animagi, mention of animal torture a few times? also mentions of being displayed and coming from a zoo? technically part of a blurb series but can be read alone

w/c: 7k (im not sorry)

a/n: i absolutely adore this oh my god </3

part of my mini blurb series Flicker's Secret Adventures

masterlist

You never thought you would end up like this, tangled in the strange magic of your own making, a flicker of crimson fur and wide eyes peering up at the towering figures of your three Marauder boyfriends. 

One moment, you were caught in the chaotic swell of transformation—magic thrumming hot and wild through your veins—and the next, you were stuck, bound in the soft body of your Animagus form, the world towering and unfamiliar. 

It was James who first noticed, sharp-eyed and impossibly intuitive despite the chaos that always seemed to linger around him like a second skin. He had been the one to throw a piece of parchment at you as you scuttled across the common room floor, your tiny paws stumbling over the worn wood, claws clicking helplessly against it. 

He watched with brows knit together as you stumbled, tripping gracelessly before collapsing into a heap of plush fur, your tail flicking in embarrassment. He knelt down beside you, the smile he wore warm and familiar, but his eyes gave him away—there was panic there, a thread of worry woven deep.

"Alright, love," he started gently, voice coaxing, his thumb brushing soothingly over your head like it was second nature. 

"Enough playing around. Time to come back, yeah? We promised a proper cuddle pile tonight, remember?" He made a little gesture with his hands, as if that would draw you out of your Animagus form like a conjuring spell.

You blinked up at him, round eyes wide and glimmering with something you couldn’t quite voice. You willed the magic to reverse, to flood back through your veins and pull you upright, human and steady. 

But nothing happened. Your heart thudded heavy in your tiny chest, and you shuffled back slightly, paws scrabbling against the floor as a flicker of panic seized you.

James frowned, glancing over his shoulder. "Oi, Moony, is she...is she stuck?"

Remus was already rifling through the scattered parchment on the table, lips pressed thin as he skimmed the text. "It shouldn’t be possible," he murmured, flipping through the spellwork with a focused intensity. 

His eyes softened when he looked up, offering you the kind of smile that always made you feel like everything would be alright. "You’ve done it a hundred times before, darling."

"Well," Sirius drawled from the edge of the sofa, one brow arched as he twirled his wand between long fingers, "seems like she’s a bit more attached to the fur than she thought. Maybe she just wants to be spoiled."

"Wouldn’t blame her," James chuckled, his hand still cradling you gently, fingers brushing through the soft fur on your back. "She knows we’re all absolute suckers for her."

You huffed indignantly, your tiny form shivering with the effort of it, and Sirius just laughed harder, throwing his head back as the sound filled the room. 

"Look! She’s got attitude even now," he cackled, and you darted towards him, tiny paws skittering across the floor as you leapt onto his boot with a defiant squeak. He leaned down, scooping you up with surprising gentleness, his hands firm but soft against your fur. "Alright, alright, I get it," he murmured, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head before passing you back to James. "Can’t help herself."

James chuckled, though the edge of concern hadn’t quite left his eyes. He reached down, scooping you up gently until you were cradled in his hands, your tiny claws pricking slightly against his palms. "Come on, Flicker. Try again. Give it a go, just for us." His voice softened, thumb brushing over your ears. "I know you can do it, love."

You closed your eyes, focusing as hard as you could, willing the magic to turn like a tide—but again, you remained right there, soft and curled up in James’s hands, your ears flicking in frustration.

Remus looked up from the parchment, his eyes sharp with realization. "Wait," he began slowly, his voice dropping to a hush, "I think...I think I found something."

Sirius perked up instantly, leaning forward, boots hitting the floor with a solid thud. "Go on, then. Spill it, Moony."

Remus’s fingers traced over the ink, his brow furrowing. "There’s a note here...something about prolonged Animagus form in times of heightened emotion. If the caster experiences..." he squinted, bringing the paper closer. "—if they experience emotional distress during transformation, it can...lock them in place."

James’s eyes shot back to you, still curled in his hands. "Well, that would’ve been nice to know..." he muttered, brushing a thumb over your head. "Alright, Flicker. What’s got you all tied up, then?"

Sirius leaned back, arms stretched behind his head, his grin lazy and amused. "Maybe she’s just desperate for all the attention." They all laughed thinking what Remus said was just some joke.

But then the whole day had slipped by, melting into hours of failed attempts and frustrated huffs, the clock ticking away with no change, and you were still stuck, a permanent fixture of fur and twitching ears in their lives. 

Remus had read over the spellwork a hundred times, murmuring incantations under his breath while you tried—again and again—to shift back. When it became clear that you weren’t going to change anytime soon, they devised a plan.

"We’ll just tell everyone you went home," James said confidently, lounging back on the common room couch. "Emergency family business. Your brother’s sick or something."

"And the red panda?" Remus asked, arching a brow.

Sirius smirked. "She’s our pet now. I’ll get her a collar and everything."

You growled, ears flattening, but Sirius only chuckled, leaning down to scratch your head. "Oh, come on, love. You’ll be the most spoiled pet in all of Hogwarts."

"Absolutely," Remus replied dryly, sitting back and watching you with his usual quiet amusement. He glanced at the other Marauders. "We can’t exactly have her wandering around the castle like this, can we? People are going to notice."

And so, it was on that crisp morning, with the first rays of sunlight streaming weakly through the ancient windows of Hogwarts, that you found yourself tucked away inside the magical bag James had conjured for you. 

It was a rather unconventional hiding spot, to say the least, yet it was the kind of place no one would think to look. After all, who would expect a mischievous red panda to be snugly nestled inside the confines of a student's seemingly ordinary backpack? 

Yet, despite the secrecy of your hiding place, you were far from being quiet or still. Every so often, you would stir within the bag, your little paws batting at the fabric in an attempt to make your presence known. It was as though you couldn't resist the pull of the chaos unfolding outside, the energy of the bustling hallways of Hogwarts spilling into your cramped sanctuary.

You poked your head out from beneath the folds, watching, curious, as the swirl of students passed by, their hurried footsteps and muffled voices blending into a symphony of uncertainty. 

The air around the entrance to the Great Hall felt thick with tension, the kind that only comes with the unexpected—something was happening, though you couldn’t quite make sense of it. From your hidden position, the sights and sounds made it impossible for you to remain still for too long.

"Shh, Flicker," came James's voice, low and urgent, as he gently pressed you further into the bag, his hands cool against your fur. "No one can see you. You need to stay hidden."

You weren’t sure if James had truly grasped the depths of your mischief, or if it was the sheer amount of chaos that had taken root in the hallways that made him think a red panda could remain unnoticed for long. Either way, you weren’t inclined to cooperate because why would you when you were a panda? 

You wriggled, your small body twisting inside the bag as you tried to free yourself from its confines. A determined paw snaked out from the edges, batting at his fingers, your silent protest unmistakable.

"Hey, Jamie," came Sirius's familiar drawl from somewhere above you, lazy and dripping with amusement. "You torturing the poor thing in there? Flicker deserves better than your clumsy handling, don't you, darling?"

"Clumsy?!" James shot back, sounding almost wounded as he gave the bag an indignant shake—enough to make you squeak in protest. 

"I’m keeping her from getting caught, which is more than I can say for your brilliant ideas. Remember last week? With the broom closet and the Filibuster Fireworks? Nearly had her tail singed off."

You shoved your little paws through the gap, reaching for the space outside, your claws scraping lightly against the soft edges of the bag as you sought freedom. 

Sirius chuckled, the sound low and warm, and you could hear the shift of his footsteps as he came closer. "C'mon then, give her here. You’re going to smother her with all your hovering."

There was a brief shuffle before you felt the bag open slightly, the light pouring in bright and blinding for a moment before you blinked up and saw Sirius grinning down at you.

"Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes," he murmured, his hands reaching in and scooping you up with surprising gentleness. The moment you were free, you leaped instinctively, scrambling up his arm and curling up in his embrace, your fur brushing against the soft wool of his sweater as you buried your head against his chest.

"You spoil her," James muttered, crossing his arms with a huff as Sirius cradled you like something precious. "One of these days, she’s going to run straight past me and head right for you."

"Already does," Sirius replied with a smirk, settling down onto the nearest bench and letting you curl up in his lap. His fingers scratched idly behind your ears, and you couldn’t help the little chirrup of delight that escaped you. "She knows quality when she sees it. Right, Flicker?"

"I think you mean reckless idiocy," came Remus’s soft voice from behind you, his presence as familiar as sunlight. He slipped onto the bench beside Sirius, his gaze flickering to you with a fondness that made your heart squeeze. "Honestly, I’m surprised she even tolerates the two of you."

"That’s because you bribe her with chocolate," James quipped, dropping into the seat across from them and kicking his feet up onto the table with a satisfied sigh. "I saw you slipping her some last week. Traitorous, really."

"Not traitorous if she’s mine," Remus replied smoothly, reaching over to give you a gentle scratch under the chin. "You always come back to me, don’t you, sweetheart?"

You chirped in response, stretching out your paws to brush against his hand, and he chuckled softly. Sirius snorted, leaning back and watching with a grin. "Alright, alright, no need to start a custody battle over Flicker. We all know she prefers me."

"Oh, do we?" James raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with a grin. "I think it’s about time we test that theory."

Sirius's grin widened, a spark of mischief lighting his eyes. "What do you say, Flicker? Should we make this interesting?" His fingers danced along your back, and you leaned into the touch instinctively. "Winner gets you for the whole weekend. No interruptions. No distractions. Just us."

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "Merlin help us," he muttered, but there was a smile tugging at his lips, a rare softness that lingered in his eyes as he watched you snuggle deeper into Sirius's lap. "Just don’t blame me when she leaves you both behind and comes straight back to me."

"Dream on, Moony," Sirius drawled, his fingers brushing through your fur in soft, gentle strokes. "She’s ours, and she knows it."

And with that, you settled comfortably into Sirius's arms, soothed by the gentle rhythm of his breathing, the sound of their banter a lullaby in the chaotic world of Hogwarts. For a moment, the rest of the castle faded away, and it was just the four of you—tangled in playful arguments and whispered promises, hidden away from the madness of it all.

It was only a few moments later when the familiar swish of footsteps signaled Lily’s approach, her confident stride cutting through the lingering haze of morning chatter. 

She walked past with the kind of purposeful elegance only she seemed to possess, her crimson hair catching the light like flames against the stone walls of the Great Hall. But then she stopped, her gaze snagging on the peculiar sight before her—Sirius lounging on the bench with you curled up cozily in his lap, Remus settled comfortably beside him, and James looking far too pleased with himself across the table.

Lily raised an eyebrow, her emerald eyes sharp with curiosity as they flickered to you, nestled snugly in Sirius's arms. "What," she began slowly, her tone hovering somewhere between disbelief and faint amusement, "is that?"

Sirius barely flinched, his grin widening as he lifted you up slightly, your tiny, fuzzy form wriggling a bit in his hands as you blinked up at her. 

"Oh, this?" he replied smoothly, as if he had been waiting for the question all morning. "Just our new class mascot. Her name’s Flicker." He cradled you a bit closer, his fingers brushing gently over your fur as if to demonstrate just how harmless and adorable you were.

Lily's eyes narrowed, suspicion flaring in their depths as she crossed her arms over her chest. "A red panda?" she repeated, voice laden with disbelief. "Since when does Hogwarts allow exotic animals as mascots?"

"Since we decided it," James cut in cheerfully, leaning forward with a grin that was just shy of conspiratorial. His elbow hit the table with a soft thud as he propped his chin on his hand, completely unbothered by Lily's incredulity. "You know how it is, Evans. We like to keep things interesting around here."

"Interesting?" she echoed, glancing between the three of them as if waiting for one to crack. "Is that what you’re calling it now? And what exactly are you planning to do if McGonagall finds out?"

Sirius waved a hand dismissively, the motion causing you to bounce slightly in his lap, though he steadied you almost immediately with a gentle pat. "Oh, come on, Lil. When has McGonagall ever caught us doing anything before?" His grin was wolfish, all sharp teeth and reckless confidence. "Flicker here is very well-behaved, don’t worry. You won’t even know she’s around."

Lily's gaze lingered on you, her eyes tracing the soft tuft of fur on your head, the flick of your tail, the way your paws settled so comfortably against Sirius's arm. "Very well-behaved?" she questioned, her voice softening just slightly, almost as if she were addressing you rather than them. "You lot can barely keep yourselves out of trouble. What makes you think you can manage...this?"

"Because she loves us," James interjected confidently, leaning back in his chair with a smug expression plastered across his face. "We’ve got it all figured out. Flicker’s part of the family now, aren’t you, darling?"

You chirped softly, nuzzling further into Sirius's lap as if in agreement, and he chuckled, his hand resting warmly on your back. "See? Practically domesticated," he added with a grin, scratching just behind your ears. "And if you must know, I’m a very responsible pet owner."

Remus snorted softly, turning the page of the book in his lap with a flick of his wrist. "Responsible isn’t exactly the word I’d use," he murmured under his breath, though his eyes were alight with amusement.

Sirius feigned offense, his hand clutching dramatically at his chest. "Moony, you wound me. I’m an excellent caretaker." He glanced down at you, eyebrows raised as if prompting you to confirm his statement.

You looked up at him, blinking innocently before pressing your head against his hand, and he beamed with triumph. "See? She agrees."

Lily sighed, though you could see the smile threatening to break free at the edges of her mouth. "You three are absolutely ridiculous," she said finally, shaking her head as though she could hardly believe the scene before her. "I hope you know that."

"And yet," Remus said mildly, his eyes not leaving his book, "you still show up every morning to watch the show."

Her cheeks flushed just slightly, and she glanced away. "Only because someone has to make sure you don’t blow up the Great Hall."

Sirius smirked, leaning back against the bench and stretching his legs out comfortably. "Admit it, Evans. You’d miss us if we weren’t around to cause a bit of chaos."

Lily rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. "Right. Just try not to get her caught," she said finally, casting one last look at you, her expression softening just slightly. "She’s...cute."

"She’s perfect," Sirius replied, and his voice held just the faintest hint of affection as he gave you a gentle scratch behind the ears. "Don’t worry. We’ll keep her safe."

You chirped again, nestling deeper into his lap, and the three of them fell into easy banter, voices overlapping in the kind of harmony only they seemed to possess.

Breakfast was winding down, students rising from their seats in clusters, the dull roar of chatter punctuated by bursts of laughter. You were still nestled comfortably in Sirius’s lap, his hands absently scratching behind your ears as if you were a particularly affectionate house cat. 

Remus was pouring over the Daily Prophet, brow furrowed in concentration, while James had taken to balancing toast crusts on his wand tip, much to the annoyance of a few first-years watching with wide eyes.

It was almost peaceful—until the heavy oak doors swung open with a theatrical flair, and Professor Slughorn strode in like he owned the place.

"My, my, my!" his voice boomed, catching not just your attention but the entirety of the Great Hall’s. Heads turned, whispers sparked like kindling, and you instinctively curled tighter against Sirius, your tiny paws gripping his robes with desperate urgency. He just chuckled, patting your side. "Easy there, Flicker. It’s just Sluggy. Probably heard about our little secret."

James muttered under his breath, "If he did, we’re finished. Think he knows about the fireworks last week?"

Remus didn’t look up from his paper. "If he did, we’d be scrubbing cauldrons for Filch by now."

Slughorn approached with that characteristic bounce in his step, velvet robes swishing dramatically behind him. His eyes locked onto you with the kind of delight usually reserved for crystallized pineapple or rare potions ingredients. 

"A red panda?" he exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Marvelous! Simply marvelous!" He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing off the stone walls. "Tell me, boys—where did you get such an exotic creature?"

You could feel the collective freeze of the Marauders, like time itself had stopped to watch them scramble for an answer. Your heart thudded painfully in your tiny chest, eyes darting wildly between their faces, as if silently begging them to think of something—anything—to explain your presence.

But Sirius, ever the performer, broke into a grin so wide it was almost dazzling. "Ah, Professor," he began smoothly, lifting you up a little, your paws dangling over his arm. "This is Flicker. Our new mascot."

You squeaked. Actually squeaked. Sirius’s hands were firm beneath your belly, holding you up as if you were some sort of prize he’d won at the fair, and you could feel the rush of blood pounding in your ears. Mascot? You twisted slightly, little paws swatting at Sirius’s fingers in protest, but he held fast, his grin never faltering.

James nearly choked on his pumpkin juice. "Our what?" he hissed out of the corner of his mouth, but Sirius ignored him, flashing Slughorn that perfect Black family smile, all charm and effortless grace.

Slughorn’s eyes widened with delight, his hands clapping together again. "Wonderful! Absolutely wonderful!" he exclaimed, leaning in so close you could smell the sharp tang of peppermint on his breath.

 "I’ve always said that Hogwarts could use more practical demonstrations. And what better way to teach students about magical creatures than by introducing a live one to them? A red panda! I’ve never seen one in person—oh, Kettleburn will be thrilled! I’ll send word immediately!"

Your tiny heart skipped several beats, panic creeping in like ice water down your spine. Kettleburn? you thought frantically, memories of his wild-eyed enthusiasm for anything remotely dangerous flickering in your mind. 

You squirmed harder, your claws catching on the soft wool of Sirius’s robe, but he just chuckled under his breath, patting your head. "Settle down, Flicker," he whispered, too low for Slughorn to hear. "We’ll sort this out."

But his eyes told a different story. There was a glimmer of worry there, barely masked by the confidence in his grin.

"Professor," Remus interjected gently, folding his newspaper and setting it aside. "She’s... well, she’s not exactly trained for... public appearances." He shot you a pointed look as if trying to convey something reassuring, but all you could think of was the horror of being paraded in front of a crowd of wide-eyed students, poking and prodding at you with eager hands.

You whimpered. The sound was soft, barely audible, but Sirius’s grip tightened just slightly in response. His hand rubbed soothing circles into your fur, but it did nothing to still the trembling in your tiny frame.

"Nonsense!" Slughorn exclaimed, waving a hand dismissively. "What better way to teach the students about magical creatures than by introducing a live one to them? A bit of hands-on experience! Why, I bet Hagrid would love to assist!" His eyes sparkled even more.

"I’ll have word sent to Kettleburn today! We’ll feature her by next week’s lesson—oh, just imagine the students’ faces!"

Your ears flattened, and you shoved your little head into Sirius’s chest, burrowing as deep as you could. His hand cupped around you protectively, but the panic was setting in fast, thoughts racing through your mind faster than you could grasp them. 

What if they find out? What if I can’t change back? What if I get stuck in some sort of magical creature sanctuary, away from all of them—away from—

Sirius’s voice rumbled through his chest, grounding you just a little. "Professor," he started, his voice uncharacteristically firm, "I’m afraid Flicker’s a bit... delicate. Not really suited for large crowds."

Slughorn chuckled heartily. "That’s what lessons are for, Mr. Black! Handling delicate creatures with care and understanding. I’ll speak with Kettleburn—oh, it’s going to be marvelous!" He clapped Sirius on the shoulder before turning on his heel, humming some sort of jovial tune as he strode out of the Great Hall, velvet robes swishing grandly behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Finally, James broke it. "We’re doomed," he said flatly, leaning back in his chair with a look of pure resignation.

Remus ran a hand down his face. "Paraded in front of the entire school. Kettleburn. Hagrid. Merlin knows who else. This is a disaster."

You whimpered again, burrowing deeper into Sirius’s lap, and his hands came up to cradle you instinctively. "Shh, shh," he whispered, voice softer now, soothing. "We’ll fix it. Won’t we, Prongs?"

James straightened, though his expression was still somewhere between disbelief and reluctant determination. "We have to. If Slughorn sends word to Kettleburn... we’re out of options."

You peeked out from the crook of his arm, eyes wide and unblinking, searching their faces for something—anything—that resembled a plan. But there was only grim silence and the occasional fidget of hands nervously tapping against the table.

Remus met your gaze, his eyes softening. "We won’t let anything happen to you, Flicker. I promise."

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But the echo of Slughorn’s cheerful humming still lingered in the air, and all you could think about was Kettleburn’s wild grin as he prepared the next "practical lesson."

As the day stretched on, time seemed to move both too quickly and impossibly slow, each tick of the clock echoing louder in your ears. It wasn’t long before you were being passed around like some kind of peculiar trinket, hidden beneath folds of cloaks and tucked carefully into backpacks. 

When Sirius had you, you were draped across his lap, his long fingers running absently through your fur as if you were merely a luxurious accessory, a living piece of velvet that purred and nestled against his hands. He would lean back in his chair during Transfiguration, feet kicked up on the desk, and idly scratch behind your ears as McGonagall’s voice droned on about advanced transformation techniques.

"Comfortable, Flicker?" he’d whisper, voice low enough that only you could hear. His grin would spread slow and lazy, eyes glimmering with mischief. "Not a bad life, is it? Carried around by the handsomest bloke in school, pampered and adored... could be worse."

You would huff in response, pawing at his chest in protest, though you had to admit there was some comfort in the warmth of his lap and the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your paws. 

Sirius would chuckle at your weak protests, smoothing his hand down your back as if to coax the tension from your little frame. "There, there," he’d murmur. "You’re safe with me."

But when classes changed and the halls began to flood with students, you were hastily scooped up and deposited into James's arms. He’d cradle you close, barely breaking stride as he navigated the bustling corridors with effortless confidence. 

His arms were strong and sure, and you had to admit there was something oddly reassuring about the way he held you—like you were something precious, something that needed protecting.

"All right there, Flicker?" he’d ask with a grin, glancing down at you nestled against his chest. You’d blink up at him, wide-eyed and a little dazed from the constant shuffling, and he’d laugh, that bright, boyish sound that echoed down the stone hallways. "Didn’t think you’d be having such an eventful week, did you?"

You wanted to snort, to roll your eyes, but the movement would draw attention, so instead, you nestled deeper into his arms, hiding your face beneath your tiny paws. He just chuckled, reaching up to brush a thumb along your head. "I know, I know," he murmured. "Just a little longer. Promise."

And so it went. Hour by hour, class by class, you were shuffled between them like some bizarre game of pass-the-parcel. In Charms, Remus would tuck you neatly into his satchel, a flap left carefully open so you could poke your head out and watch Flitwick wave his wand with enthusiastic little bursts of sparks. 

You would feel the rumble of Remus’s voice as he answered questions with that effortless intelligence of his, and every so often, his hand would dip into the bag to scratch behind your ears absentmindedly.

"Don’t worry," he’d whisper to you when Flitwick’s back was turned. "We won’t let anyone see. You’re safe." His eyes would soften, the kind of warmth there that made your tiny heart stutter.

But the worst was yet to come.

The days passed in a blur of stolen glances and whispered reassurances, the Marauders seamlessly passing you between them with the kind of practiced ease that made it almost feel natural. 

You were hidden in the folds of Sirius’s cloak during Transfiguration, nestled in Remus's satchel during Charms, and cradled against James’s chest as he barreled through the hallways with his usual reckless enthusiasm. It was strange, existing as something fragile and small, something to be protected—but it was safe, and for now, that was enough.

By the third day, you had almost begun to relax, lulled into a fragile sense of security by their careful handling and the way they always seemed to know just where to tuck you away from prying eyes. They joked and laughed like it was all a grand adventure, and for fleeting moments, you almost believed it too.

But the fourth day—the fourth day came with a sense of foreboding that settled in your bones the moment the morning sun filtered through the high windows of the common room. You woke curled up in Sirius’s lap, his hands gently combing through your fur as he murmured nonsense to you, the flicker of the fire casting warm shadows across his face.

“Big day today, Flicker,” he whispered, his voice too soft, too careful. He was trying to hide it, the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers faltered just slightly as they traced gentle circles behind your ears. You poked your head up, blinking sleepily at him, and he gave you a grin that was just a little too wide. “Slughorn’s got a bit of a surprise for us.”

James snorted from across the room, lacing up his shoes with quick, efficient movements. “More like a surprise for you, Pads. You’re the one who decided to parade her around like a trophy.”

Sirius shot him a look, one hand curling protectively around your back. “Oh, come off it. It’s not like I planned for him to catch sight of her.” He glanced back down at you, his grin softening. “Besides, Flicker here’s tougher than she looks. Right, love?”

You squeaked in response, pressing your paws against his chest as if to say I am most definitely not tougher than I look. Remus chuckled from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed and expression wry. “Pretty sure she just called you a liar, Pads.”

“Oh, she’s always dramatic.” Sirius leaned back, letting you nestle into the crook of his arm. “She’ll be fine. We’ll be right there with her.”

But his words did little to ease the gnawing pit of anxiety growing in your stomach. You tried to curl up tighter, burying your head beneath your paws, but Sirius only scooped you up and set you gently into James’s waiting hands. “C’mon, Flicker. Time to be brave.”

You weren’t sure if bravery was something you could muster, but you had no choice. They bundled you up carefully, wrapped in Sirius’s scarf and tucked against James’s chest as they made their way through the winding corridors of the castle. 

Students bustled past, chattering and laughing, completely oblivious to the small red panda being smuggled through the halls. For a moment, you almost wished you were one of them—unbothered, unaware, living in blissful ignorance of the chaos waiting just beyond the classroom door.

But when the heavy wooden doors to the Care of Magical Creatures classroom creaked open, all that false security crumbled into dust.

By the time Thursday morning rolled around, the anxiety had settled deep in your bones. You'd been shuffled from one Marauder to the next all week, crammed into bags, hidden under cloaks, and even smuggled into the dorms when Filch wasn't looking. But none of that compared to what awaited you in Care of Magical Creatures.

Slughorn was practically vibrating with excitement as students gathered around. He stood at the front of the room, his arms spread wide as if he were introducing a royal guest.

"Alright, class!" he bellowed, clapping his hands together with a flourish. "Today is a rather special occasion! We have a guest!"

You felt Sirius’s hand tighten around you as you sat curled up in his arms. “Alright, Star of the Show,” he murmured with a grin. “Ready to steal the spotlight?”

James leaned over, barely hiding his excitement. “She’s gonna make history. Hogwarts’ first red panda mascot.”

Remus sighed, rubbing his temples. “Or Hogwarts’ first red panda incident. Either way, it’s going to be memorable.”

Slughorn gestured grandly to where you were very much not trying to escape Sirius's grip. "Everyone, gather 'round! Today, we are honored—absolutely honored—to be introduced to Flicker, the Marauders' very own red panda!"

A ripple of whispers spread through the class, heads craning and eyes widening as Sirius, looking like he’d just won the lottery, sauntered forward and placed you on the front desk. You immediately flattened yourself against the surface, eyes darting nervously as dozens of faces leaned in.

“Blimey,” Marlene whispered, nudging Mary. “Did they actually steal it from a zoo?”

Sirius smirked. “Rescued. We like to think of it as a noble cause.”

James nodded solemnly. “She was in dire need of Marauder protection. A proper adoption, really.”

Lily raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “And what exactly does a red panda need protecting from?”

“Everything,” Remus replied dryly. “Including this class, apparently.”

Slughorn looked positively enchanted, his eyes practically twinkling as he leaned down to inspect you. “Marvelous! Simply marvelous! Such an exotic creature! And so tame! Have you named her?”

“Flicker,” Sirius announced proudly.

“Flicker,” Slughorn repeated, beaming. “How charming! I must say, I’ve never seen one so calm in captivity before.”

James bit back a laugh. “Calm. Right. Definitely calm.”

Slughorn, oblivious to the chaos that usually followed you, straightened up and addressed the class. “Now, students, let’s observe her behavior. Does anyone know what red pandas usually eat?”

Sirius shot a sly look at James. “Mostly biscuits and James’s Transfiguration notes.”

James looked affronted. “Oi! That was one time!”

Remus cleared his throat. “Twice. She ate your notes on Animagus transformations too.”

Slughorn clapped his hands again. “Well, we certainly don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Let’s see how she behaves if we give her some space. Mr. Black, would you mind setting her on the floor?”

You tensed immediately, looking up at Sirius in pure betrayal. Set you down? In a classroom full of curious students?

Sirius patted your head gently. “It’s alright, love. Go on, show them how well-behaved you are.”

He placed you carefully on the floor, and immediately, you froze, unsure whether to bolt or hide. The entire class was watching you expectantly, and you could feel your little heart pounding.

“Well...go on, then!” Slughorn encouraged. “Let’s see her move around!”

Marlene whispered, “Is she supposed to do something?”

Sirius leaned back, all confidence. “She’s planning. A strategic genius, our Flicker. You’ll see.”

James nodded sagely. “Yeah, you have to give her a minute to assess her surroundings. Very methodical.”

Remus hid a smile. “Or she’s just terrified of Slughorn’s cologne.”

Finally, you took a cautious step forward, sniffing the air. A girl giggled. “She’s so tiny! I didn’t know red pandas were this small.”

Sirius shot her a wink. “She’s compact. Portable chaos.”

Just then, Slughorn leaned down a bit too close for comfort, and you did the only reasonable thing for a red panda—darted between his legs and made a break for the nearest table.

“Oh!” Slughorn exclaimed, nearly toppling over. “Quick! Someone—”

James casually leaned against the desk. “Nah, she’s fine. Probably just checking for treats.”

Lily couldn’t help but snort. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

You finally settled under one of the desks, peeking out from behind a leg as if daring anyone to come closer. Sirius just grinned proudly. “Look at her. Master of stealth.”

Slughorn, now slightly disheveled, composed himself. “Well! It appears she’s rather spirited indeed! Perhaps we can use this opportunity to discuss animal behavior and instincts.”

James raised his hand, overly enthusiastic. “Oh, I know! She’s exhibiting classic...uh...panda instincts. You know, finding small, enclosed spaces to...strategize.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “James, that’s not a thing.”

Sirius was already heading over to coax you out, crouching down with a biscuit in his hand. “Alright, Flicker. C’mon. Don’t leave me hanging here. Be a good girl.”

With a huff, you slowly edged forward, cautiously nibbling on the offered treat while keeping a wary eye on Slughorn.

Slughorn seemed satisfied, nodding wisely. “A fascinating creature, indeed. I shall have to look into care instructions for next week. Perhaps even arrange a guest lecture with Professor Kettleburn!”

You froze mid-chew, and Sirius shot James a look of pure panic. “Next week?”

James mouthed back, You deal with it.

Remus just sighed, already making mental notes on how to stage a panda disappearance before the next class.

By the time Friday evening rolled around, the entire castle seemed to sigh with relief. You had survived a week of smuggling, hiding, and narrowly avoiding catastrophe as a very chaotic red panda, and now the Marauders had one final mission: turning you back.

The Room of Requirement was dimly lit with soft, golden light, the enchanted ceiling glittering with stars that twinkled like distant, gentle promises. 

You sat in the center of the room, curled up comfortably on a cushion Sirius had insisted you have. Around you, the boys were gathered—James with his wand out, Sirius cross-legged and practically vibrating with anticipation, and Remus standing just in front of you, wand poised but gaze soft and steady.

“Well,” Sirius began, drumming his fingers against his knees, “It’s been a good run, Flicker. I daresay you’re the best-looking red panda Hogwarts has ever seen.”

James snorted, flicking a stray leaf out of your fur. “I mean, she’s also the only red panda Hogwarts has ever seen.” He paused, grinning. “But still. You wore it well.”

Remus crouched down to meet your eyes, his expression gentle. “You ready?” he asked softly, his hand coming to rest on the top of your head. His touch was soothing, his palm warm against your fur.

You stared up at him, your little heart beating just a bit faster, and then you nodded—or, well, you thought you nodded. Sirius gasped. “Did you see that? She nodded! Merlin, she’s even cute when she’s agreeing to get zapped.”

James elbowed him. “It’s not zapping, Padfoot. It’s reversing. There’s a difference.”

“Both involve magic and potential explosions,” Sirius replied cheerfully.

“Enough,” Remus said, shaking his head with a fond smile. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

You held your breath as he raised his wand, his voice steady and clear. “Reverto Corpus.”

A warm, glowing light shot from the tip of his wand, enveloping you in a shimmering haze. It wasn’t like the last time—this time, it was gentle, like sunlight filtering through autumn leaves. You could feel the shift, your bones stretching, your fur retreating, and for a moment, everything was weightless and light.

When the magic faded, you were there, back to your human form, sitting in the center of the cushion with your hair tousled and your eyes wide with surprise. 

You blinked once, twice—then looked down at your hands, flexing your fingers as if you couldn’t quite believe they were back.

For a heartbeat, the room was silent, the boys staring at you as if you were some sort of mirage. And then, all at once—

“Y/N!” they shouted in unison, voices overlapping with pure, unrestrained joy.

Before you could even catch your breath, you were pulled to your feet and swallowed in a blur of arms and warmth. James reached you first, nearly lifting you off your feet as he wrapped you in a bear hug, squeezing so tightly you almost forgot how to breathe. “You’re back!” he exclaimed, voice muffled against your hair. “Properly back! Merlin, I missed your stupid face.”

“You missed my face?” you wheezed, squished against his chest. “I missed my hands! You have no idea how annoying it is to eat with paws!”

James laughed, pulling back just enough to beam down at you, his glasses slightly askew and eyes bright with happiness. “You did look pretty adorable, though. All fuzzy and helpless.”

“Helpless?” you echoed, incredulous. “I bit Sirius twice!”

“And I still have the scar,” Sirius announced proudly, shoving James aside with a dramatic flourish. His hands cupped your face, eyes raking over you like he was memorizing every feature. “There she is,” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “There’s my favorite troublemaker.”

You grinned up at him, reaching up to tug at his hair. “Missed me, huh? You only wanted me back so I wouldn’t chew up your shoes again.”

“Hey!” Sirius scoffed, lips curving into a grin. “That was one time, and they were brand new!”

You laughed, bright and unrestrained, and Sirius leaned down without warning to press a loud, smacking kiss to your forehead. “There,” he said, his grin widening. “Just in case you missed those too.”

“Absolutely didn’t,” you replied, wiping your forehead dramatically. “Ugh, now I’m probably cursed.”

“Oi!” he laughed, shoving you gently. “I’ll have you know I’m very hygienic.”

“Right,” you teased. “That’s why Remus has to confiscate your cologne every week.”

Sirius gasped, clutching his chest. “Et tu, Flicker?”

Remus was next, his approach softer, his eyes searching yours with a kind of disbelief. He stepped forward slowly, like you might disappear if he moved too fast. 

His hands came up to cradle your face gently, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re alright?” he murmured, voice just above a whisper. “No lingering side effects? No sudden urges to climb trees?”

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I make no promises about the trees.”

His smile grew wider, and before you could say another word, his arms were around you, pulling you close. His chin rested on your shoulder, and his voice was softer, just for you. “Missed you so so much, dovey” he murmured, his voice rough with sincerity.

You held him just as tightly, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathed him in. “I missed you too, Remmy” you whispered. “Even if you did laugh when I fell off the bookshelf.”

“That was objectively funny,” he murmured against your hair, and you could feel him smiling.

You swatted his shoulder playfully as you pulled back. “Next time I’m a red panda, I’m clawing your jumper.”

James clapped his hands together, practically bouncing on his feet. “Alright, I say we celebrate! Three butterbeers, on me!”

“You mean on my tab,” Sirius corrected, raising an eyebrow.

James waved him off. “Details.”

You laughed, the sound filling the room and spilling into the walls like sunlight. You hadn’t realized how much you missed your own voice until it was back. Until they were all here, crowding around you with so much love and warmth you almost couldn’t breathe.

Sirius draped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side like you belonged there. “Well, now that you’re back, I guess we have to start sneaking you properly into the common room again.”

“Please don’t suggest a disguise,” Remus groaned. “I’m not turning her back into a panda just so you can live out your fantasy of owning an exotic pet.”

Sirius grinned, entirely unbothered. “Admit it, you miss her climbing into your lap.”

Remus’s cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn’t deny it.

James raised his hands dramatically. “A toast! To Flicker—who lives on forever in our hearts, even though she was rubbish at staying hidden.”

“Hey!” you cried, laughing. “I was stealthy! You lot just dragged me everywhere!”

“Semantics,” Sirius said with a wink.

And as they led you out of the Room of Requirement, arms draped around your shoulders and laughter filling the halls, you couldn’t help but think—there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

[honeyblackberries]

The world you left behind

Sylus died but what about the people left to miss him? What of the boy who’ll never know what lies beyond the shadow of his father’s wings?

sylus x reader (reader referred to as mother but no pronouns) 1.8k

cw: angst with a (maybe) happy ending, hurt with (maybe) comfort, mentions of blood and physical injuries, lore inaccurate, unnamed son pov.

basically a 'what if' au where mc/reader has sylus's kid after he dies in their dragon myth times. *sylus's son and the transformation scene was inspired by this art by @/napanewt (whole thread makes me sob) | also on ao3

The first time your son wished for his father happened when he was just a child.

He was born hearing tales of great dragons, of love in bloodshed, of kindred spirits and souls bound together for all eternity. Legends whispered throughout the cities were his bedtime stories, a requiem for the deceased was his lullaby.

Oh how exciting it all was to a young boy. What incredible adventures you’ve had! He wished to know more, desired to always hear of the man who's name stoked the flames of Tarus city.

“When can I meet him?” He’d asked you one night as you lay beside him in bed.

He was seven summers old, practically grown up. He would like to meet his father soon. Sylus was familiar yet completely unknown to him. A fiend that strikes fear into the hearts of the strongest warriors. Yet someone his mother speaks of so fondly, with a voice always gentle.

“I’m sorry love, your father has gone far away,” the words were ones he’d grow used to hearing. Ones he would come to resent.

But not yet.

Your son wondered if he looked the same as Sylus, as he stared at his own reflection in a chalice atop one of the many piles of treasure in your cave. You’d told him that regardless of how much he might look like you now, his silver hair and ruby red eyes come from his father.

“What about the horns?” he asked while pointing to his head. Where yours are and where his own should be. “And the tail, and… wings?”

“I hope you never grow them.” Those words confused him.

“Why?”

“Because they are a curse.”

Back then he didn’t understand what you meant. They would make him stronger, fiercer, more dragon-like. They would make him the same as the man he caught glimpses of in the shadows on the wall. The same as the man he saw in the twinkle of your eyes..

“Well, I hope I do.”

And hope he did, wished and prayed to every shining star. Desperate to be even half the man his father is. He had to be since Sylus was gone.

How else could he protect you from those who wanted to do you harm; fight off all the monsters that curse your existence and hunt you down. Men with wicked intentions and venom on their tongues. How else could he get rid of the sadness that would creep into your gaze when you think he isn’t looking. Stop the heartache that would overcome you sometimes, when you reminisce on the dragon who left you behind.

Your son was stuck with Sylus’s stories and nothing more.

The second time your son wished for his father was when the transformation started. It came suddenly and it tore him apart all at once.

The scream of pain he let out as something began to grow through the bone of his skull, tearing delicate skin. The way his own blood thickly trickled into his eyes from the open wounds. The sickening wet sounds of his body unwillingly shifting in ways it wasn't used to.

That’s how you found him. Curled up in a heap on the floor, body convulsing as if it didn’t know what to do with itself. Crimson staining everything around him.

“Mama—” he sobbed, something he hadn’t called you in years.

His voice sounded broken to his own ears, but he no longer cared about being weak. Not when it hurt so much that he wished death would save him. What a foolish child he had been to dream of this. And what a cruel father Sylus must be to let it happen. How could a father who didn’t even know him curse him so—give him what he so desperately wanted but at such a horrible cost.

He blacked out not long after, cradled in your shaking arms.

You told him later on that the same thing had happened to Sylus when he was still a young dragon and your son wondered if it would have been less scary with him around. If his father would have held him through it like you did, if he would have known what to say to make it hurt less.

He can almost imagine it.

‘Bite down on a cloth so you don’t bite your tongue.’

‘Slow your breathing, don’t panic. The adrenaline will only make it happen faster.’

‘It'll be over soon.’

‘I’m here for you.’

The next few years were hard on your son. Having to learn how to exist within his new body. He always moved wrong. Would trip over his own tail as he walked, cut his mouth with his fangs, tear flesh with his talons.

But all of that paled in comparison to the challenge that was his wings. To the humbling experience of learning to fly.

A part of him yearned for the skies yet he was wet behind the ears with the way his wings would allow him to rise for only a moment, before plummeting to the ground. Always two steps behind spring’s baby birds who could soar past him.

He learned a lot about himself during this time. That he was impatient, easy to anger, easier to lose common sense. It’s good he supposes, looking back on it. The way he was forced to prematurely clip the hubris that was growing within him. Lest he fall just as bad as Icarus.

It was during each failure—in the moment just before the crash—where he would find himself wondering if his father would hold his hands as he taught him how to take flight. Show him how to follow the wind above mountain peaks and along the edge of the horizon. Go with him to the edge of the sea beyond where the datura flowers bloom.

He remembers you asking him once, years later, if he regretted wishing to be like Sylus. If after what had to be done for it to happen, he could still want to be like him.

His answer then is the same as it would be today.

Even if the pain was once unbearable and the struggle seemingly never-ending, it chipped away at his rough edges. Honed him like a blade. He could now fight his own battles; win against those who started ones against you. He could hear the joy in your laugh as he picked you up and flew off towards the dawn. Could see the look of pride on your face.

You were proud of the man he grew to be.

It was worth it to get a step closer to his father.

The last time your son wished for his father was on the day you left him. Dragons live long but not forever and you only had half the soul of one.

It had been lifetimes since he was a boy but he felt more helpless than ever before. He could do nothing for the mother who kissed his bruises and loved him twice as much to make up for the absence of his father.

He could only lay you to rest in the field of flowers you cherished. Could only fix your hair and cover you in the softest fabric as he buried you. Lay by your grave as long as his body would let him. Through tears he cursed the heavens, cursed whatever deemed it fit to take you away. Cursed the father who was never there.

Where was he when you needed him?

…

He wondered for the last time what Sylus was like. Not as a myth or a father, but as a man.

A man beloved enough to have a son with. A man you hoped to see again in the next life.

A man you'd to turn yourself into a monster for.

Your son never came back to visit you. Never came back to the home that held nothing except bittersweet memories. He left for the farthest corners of the world and still sought to go further.

Without the father he never knew and the mother who was his everything, he was truly alone.

Centuries passed but your son never forgot you. Everywhere he went the wind and the wings of birds carried your presence. In the people he met he saw your kindness. But time was a gentle mistress to him. It healed wounds, altered him in ways never expected.

He was different. Changed to fit the new life he was living—one with towers that reached beyond the clouds, new monsters, and so many people. There was a maturity to him now. A quiet patience. Gone was the boy who would dream of dragons.

Actually, he hadn't been him for a long time.

Then it happened one day.

He was out in the city centre—waiting in line for a new cafe—when he saw you. It was only in passing but he knew it was really you. Knew it in that innate way one can recognise their mother.

Feet moved on their own and he was following behind you before he even realised. You were younger, closer to how he remembered you looking when he was a child. And where were you going? Home? Or to meet up with friends, maybe even a lover?

He just wants to watch you for a bit; won't approach you. You were different, you wouldn’t remember him and that’s okay.

You cross the street and stop, seeming to reach your destination.

He watches curiously as you sneak up behind a man with his back facing the two of you. Sees you throw yourself onto him, hugging his neck. The man turns suddenly and lets out a deep laugh, arms wrap around your waist and he leans down to smile at you.

His breath catches when he sees the stranger's face.

This man is someone he'd recognise from the very marrow of his bones. Hair silvery white like the flash of light that would hit his eyes when he used to fly too close to the sun. Eyes like the rubies that littered the floor of the cave he once called home, a perfect twin to his. And his gaze is fixed on you, much like his own. But there’s something there, a depth of love and longing he’s never seen.

“Hey!” a voice calls out to your son.

“Where are you running off too?” his lover chides out of breath, as they run up to him.  “You just suddenly disappeared, I thought you were waiting for me.”

“Sorry,” he smiles apologetically. “It’s nothing. I just… I thought I saw someone familiar.”

They talk his ear off and drag him back to the main street, but the warm feeling bubbling in his chest stops him from hearing any of it. What are the chances that his wish would finally come true. He got to see his father. On top of that, he can tell from the way he holds you that the man loves you with depths beyond time.

Across the street Sylus watches the retreating figure of a man. His gaze drawn to him with a pull he can’t quite explain.

“Sy, you know him?” you ask as you tilt your head to see who he’s looking at.

“No,” it’s true, and yet—

“He just seems familiar.”

a/n: this only exists because i was listening to epic and had sons never knowing their fathers on the brain. also tysm for 200 followers! kissing each of you on the forehead *muah*

[parfaitblogs]

never grow up ❀ s. reid x reader

in which you are at the age you never thought you'd live to. 

genre: hurt/comfort + fluff! tags: established relationship. (very brief) mentions of r not eating. depression. non sexual nudity. mention of a past suicide attempt. reader is codependent on spencer #anxiousattachment!! mini argument not really because he loves you a lot!!! please know your triggers ♡  word count: 2.2k a/n: this was a vent write. LOL! i think i switch tenses a lot in this? i tried to fix it. this is why we don't write fanfiction while we're crying!!! i love u i love u i love u and i am so so glad you are the age that you are!! continue to grow please!! life will become beautiful!!!

Depression is a funny thing.

Sometimes you are forgetting there has ever been a version of you out there that fantasised about death and longed for an escape from this world you deemed so cruel, so invasive. Other times, you are sat naked on the cold floor of your bathroom rocking back and forth, clawing at your skin and ripping hair out of your scalp because you are sobbing so ferociously. The world spinning around you and your cries, so violent, are making you lightheaded and you wonder if you pass out here if anyone will ever find you. 

Clearly, tonight, you are the latter.

It started as a small pit in your stomach that morning, that you braved through and ignored to the best of your ability, even as you said gentle 'no thank you's' to food offered by your co-workers and forced your brain to focus on work and not the never-ending abyss of dread in your abdomen. Then, it became a tear or two on your way home, that you vehemently wiped away and pretended was never there because it couldn't be. 

Then you were showering to get your mind off things — a stupid decision, really. For your brain was latching on to every awful emotion it had felt thus far today, and you were stepping out of the shower with an even heavier heart, and your hands were wrapping around your now goosebump riddled body, as you were sinking to the floor in a ball.

And maybe hours passed by you. Maybe days — it certainly felt that way. Maybe it was only a mere five minutes. But your loud sobs felt like they took an achingly long time to slow and quiet down, until they were falling into ugly sniffles of the snot on your face, and a raging headache behind your eyes. 

Loud sobs — scream sobs, really — had a lot of disadvantages. The aftermath feeling of embarrassment of screaming at your brain that refused to simply shut up, the scratch at your throat from every sound you ripped from it. The audio block it gave you from the rest of the world. For you truly were in your own universe when you were howling alone in the comfort of your bathroom walls.

So much so, that the familiar sound of a door opening and closing, and a bag being placed down by the side of it, went entirely unnoticed to you. Footsteps against your apartment's wooden flooring weren't picked up, nor were the first two knocks on your bathroom door. By the third, you were blubbering through saliva and snot, and you had heard it. Followed by a very gentle calling of your name, that had your heart clenching within your chest for a new reason. 

He had said he was coming home tomorrow. Which almost always meant he wouldn't be home for another three days, and so, in your mind, you thought bawling that night could be a secret kept between you and your tiles. 

Apparently not. 

He called your name again when you didn't reply, an added hint of desperation in his voice. Trembling, you stood, your limbs feeling as though they were creaking while you straightened them out. And you didn't bother about the towel sitting in a crumpled heap on the floor, nor the pile of your clean clothes sitting on the countertop. In fact, you didn't bother about anything as a shaking hand twisted the doorknob and pulled it open.

In an instant, his worried frown deepened, and eyes that might usually drink in the sight of your naked body beautifully, now didn't wander further than the scarlet scratch marks along your neck — blood vessels risen to the surface from how fragile that part of you was. He exhaled, and took a hesitating step towards you. One you welcomed by remaining planted in your spot — you didn't know if you could move, though. 

"Can I ask what's wrong, or do you simply want a hug?" 

Both, you wanted to say. Both, but also neither. 

You didn’t say that. Instead, you said, "Hug."

He hardly took a second to register what you'd said before his arms were wrapping around you. If he found the slightly damp state of your skin annoying, he didn't comment on it. He didn't say much at all, as he enveloped you into his body, a hand securing itself on the back of your head, and his chin resting atop your head. 

Water dripped uncomfortably to the floor, splattering on the tiles and his shoes, being the only sound aside from your irregular hiccups and sniffles. His button-up was wet from your tears and your body, and you could almost hear his complaints about it, if this were any other day. 

Minutes passed, and even though you didn't want to, you pulled back, feeling his hands slip around to your waist and hold you benevolently. Your own hands reached up to your face to wipe away tears, an embarrassed laugh escaping your lips. 

"This is pathetic," you said, fingers digging into the corners of your stinging eyes. 

"How?" he asked you.

"I didn't think you'd be home to see me having a mental breakdown."

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes appeared on his lips. "Well, I am." Fingers squeezed your waist reassuringly. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

You shrugged, wordlessly, your eyes dropping from his face to the damp spot on his chest from where your face had once been, heart stuttering. 

"We don't have to, honey," he said. "But it might help."

"I know it might," you muttered. 

He was silent, as were you. A few more beats passed between you two, before you were turning around to pick up clothes you had left for yourself on the counter. You didn't really feel any different under his watchful gaze as you dressed yourself. Accustomed to the act, or simply too overwhelmed with another emotion, you didn't know. 

He followed you into the living room when you walked out there, and he sat down next to you on the couch you curled up on. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and he lifted his head on each intake of breath you had, as if about to say something. But you never did. 

So, he took over.

"Did something happen today?" You shook your head, and he nodded his own. "Okay. This past week?" You shook your head again, because other than missing him while he had been stuck in Texas for a case, nothing had actually happened. 

You wished it had. Truly, you wished you had experienced a murder on your way to work, or a distant family member had passed away so you could blame this feeling on something other than memories simply resurfacing. 

You sniffled again. "You know," you began, voice thick and wobbly from the lump lodged in your throat. "When I was fourteen, I didn't think I'd ever be this old."

Your gaze lifted from your lap to look at him, and you let a helpless tear fall from one of your eyes when you locked eyes with him. He was confused, unsurprisingly so.

So, you continued. "I tried to kill myself. When I was fourteen."

He readjusted his posture, eyebrows falling into a more concerned state, and he was silent for so long you wondered if this was when he decided you were too much and too complicated for him to deal with. 

He didn't. "I didn't know," he said, instead. 

"I don't exactly advertise it," you replied, and even if it was an attempt at being light hearted, it fell flat. "I just realised I never thought I'd be this age," you continued when he hardly reacted, "and I've been really anxious and down all week, so I think that realisation kind of sent me over the edge."

"Are you happy you're at this age?" 

Hesitantly, but surely, you nodded your head. "I got to meet you."

His lips twitched, but a smile never crossed his face. "You should be happy for reasons more than just me."

"You are my reason for being happy," you argued. 

"And I'm glad to hear I make you happy, but I cannot be your only reason."

"Why not?"

"Because that's dependency." 

You short-circuited, and he sighed upon realising the way you were taking his words — maybe not the smartest thing he could've said to his still tear-stricken-faced girlfriend. 

"What I mean is you should have other areas in your life that make you happy. Not just me."

"I like my job," you mumbled, gaze relocating to your lap. "And my friends."

"Great," he said, and you could feel his weight shifting on the couch as he nudged closer to you. "As long as I'm not your reason for living."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "You've been my reason for living since we started dating. Why is it different now?"

"I didn't know I was your reason for living until now."

"So if you are, then what? You leave me?" 

"No," his response was so immediate you were sure you could feel the whiplash, and he ran a hand down his face with an exasperated sigh. "I don't want to fight with you when you're like this."

"I don't want to fight with you either," you agreed, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. "I'm sorry I'm co-dependent."

He didn't respond for a while, mulling everything you two had shared and now, your apology, over in his head. You sat, anxiously, as minutes ticked by until he was puffing his cheeks to let out air, and standing up from the couch. 

He turned to you. "I love you, you know that," he began, and even before he had a chance to finish, you were already drowning him out, world crumbling around you as tears welled back up in your eyes. Maybe if you weren't as emotional as you were that night, your vision wouldn't have already gone blurry, and your heart wouldn't be shattering in your chest already. 

"But?" you countered, a sob escaping you at the end of the word.

He froze at the sound of it, his eyebrows turning in to each other, "Sorry?"

"You love me, but?"

"I don't understand."

"I'm sitting here, sobbing really violently and I look hideous, and you've just discovered I'm co-dependent, and you don't like that about me, so now you're telling me that you love me, but this isn't going to work out, and I need to work on myself before I get into another relationship, and you hope I can find happiness, and—"

"—What are you talking about?" he cut your ranting off, blinking a few times, confused. 

"Is that not what's happening?" 

"No?"

"Oh."

You stared at him, and he stared at you, and you felt your heart slowly pick itself back up from the pits of your stomach, each piece mending itself back together. He wasn't breaking up with you.

"I wasn't going to say that at all. Please don't put words in my mouth."

"Sorry," you said, though it wasn't very sincere. He crouched down in front of you, hands finding your fidgeting ones to hold them.

"Can I finish what I'm going to say before you cut me off this time?" Wordlessly, you nodded your head, and so he continued. "I love you, and you know that, and I don't want you to think I'm upset or mad at you for being codependent. You're allowed to not know how to navigate a relationship. But—"

"—There it is—" he glared with no real heat at you, and your lips twitched "—Sorry."

"But I need you to communicate with me. I'm going to inevitably do things that upset you, because you're co-dependent. We need to figure those things out, because a lot of the time you will respond unhealthily, and knowing what I know now, I don't want to be a trigger in any way."

"You won't be a trigger," you mumbled, and he shot you a pointed look, and your shoulders deflated. "I just feel stupid communicating things like that. Like, oh, I'm sad because my boyfriend is out of state for work and he's super busy and not responding to my messages so I think he might hate me."

"That isn't stupid."

"Yes it is!"

He said your name, eyebrows risen, and he shook his head. "You're upset about something. That isn't a stupid thing at all."

"It feels stupid."

"Okay, well, how about the next time I'm away on a case and not replying and you miss me, which is what that crazy, sad, completely reasonable phenomenon is called, by the way, you communicate that with me, and you see how I respond?"

"What if you tell me to go fuck myself?" 

He didn't even need to verbally deny your words for you to know that that response was completely out of character for him. All it took was one simple look, and you were diffidently smiling and averting your gaze, mumbling a quiet, "Okay."

And yes, the next time he was out of the state and you missed him, as he so kindly put it, you told him. And he spent three hours on the phone that night with you, reassuringly expressing how much he loved you, and how little he hated you.

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated ♡

[moon-ttokki-x]

‧₊ a little bit sweeter - (roommate!han jisung x reader) ˚‧

pairing: college roommate!han jisung x reader

summary: jisung realises that he feels something more for his roommate who loves to bake.

genre: college!au, mentions of eating and drinking, slightly suggestive ? kissing, jisung being a whole simp for reader, one sus joke, making cookies (bc i'm craving them so bad rn)

a/n: hihi~ inspired by this post, so i'm tagging @butteredsushi and @jisunggy thanks for the fic inspo guys <3 div by @kodaswrld

skz masterlist

"Whatcha doing?"

You look up just as Jisung, your roommate, enters the kitchen, no doubt drawn by the clattering noises that you've filled the flat with. He hops up on the counter, peeking behind you in interest, where you've set a heap of bowls and pans onto the countertop.

"Just wanted to make something," you exhale, poking his cheek before moving to find the bowl you're looking for. Jisung hums and sits back on the counter, leaning on his hands as he watches you clumsily sift through the pile, muttering to yourself.

"Do I get to eat whatever it is that you're making?" He asks carefully, secretly crossing his fingers in a hope you'll say yes.

You huff and stand up from where you've been bending and peering into the cabinets. "Ji, we literally live together."

"Yeah, but like, were you planning to eat it all by yourself?"

You laugh, gesturing for him to open the cupboard directly below his feet, which he does. "Maybe, but we both know you would have eaten most of it. Do you want to eat something specific?"

"Cookies," he says instantly, not hesitating. His cheeks flush pink.

You roll your eyes, taking out a spoon. "Should've known."

Jisung throws his hands up defensively. "What? They're good for days like this, with the weather how it is right now. Be for real."

He has a point, you think as you look out the window.

It's drizzling in a fine swell over what you can see of the city, a heavy, almost blue fog casting itself like a blanket over the buildings. Classes ended early today, and you'd wanted nothing more to rush back to your dorm and rid yourself of the soaked, cold clothes you'd had to be in all morning.

To say the least, it had been extremely unpleasant weather, and it had taken at least an hour standing under the steaming water of the shower to try and bring your body's temperature up again.

You shiver as your eyes flicker over to the door, your still-wet shoes leaking droplets of storm water onto the plastic bag you'd set them upon in an attempt to keep the floor dry. Jisung was already back from his lecture by the time you got in, and he hadn't even looked up as you'd rushed into your room and slammed the door, soaking wet and chattering as you turned the water on.

At least, you think he hadn't looked up at you. In reality, he'd been waiting for the moment the door would open and you would come in.

But you didn't notice. You never do.

You set two more bowls onto the counter, missing the way Jisung's eyes follow yours as you move across the floor, gaze fixed on the way your hair is still drying, hanging in little damp clusters over your ears and nape. Your cheeks are flushed, most likely from the boiling water you shower in, and your figure is swamped in an oversized hoodie and a pair of grey sweats. His heart jolts as he looks you up and down, trying to fight that warm feeling that seems to rise in his chest every time he meets your gaze.

I have a hoodie that looks almost the same... it looks like you're wearing my clothes. That'd be so hot...

"...and then I had to rush all the way back here because it was so cold and rainy outside. You have a point, to be honest; I was thinking about eating something warm and delicious when I got back, but I wanted something a little bit sweeter- Ji. Ji, are you listening?"

"H-huh?" He shakes his head, thoughts of you in his clothes hastily evaporating. "Uh, yeah."

You point a measuring cup at him cheekily. "Liar. What's wrong? Are you too hot? I can turn the thermostat down if you want... I turned it up super high when I got back because it was so cold-"

"N-no, it's okay," he interrupts. "Sorry. Just a long morning. Classes and all that."

You shoot him a sympathetic look, opening a packet of self-raising flour. "Yeah, I get that. Poor you... And all this rain, too... not really ideal for all the walking we have to do nowadays."

Jisung can't help but smile softly at your rambling, holding the edge of the bowl as you almost knock it off the countertop. Your measuring spoon gets bumped in the process and a small puff of flour spills onto Jisung's knee, dusting the loose, black denim.

"Oops," you say sheepishly, setting the cup down. "Sorry."

He's about to reply and tell you it's okay before his gaze flits down to your hand, which is gently brushing off his knee. And suddenly, he can't seem to focus on anything but your touch. It's warm, even through the thick fabric, and he finds himself wishing you'd bumped the measuring cup a little harder so you could be brushing off all the flour for longer, your fingers gentle against his leg.

He doesn't even mind that there's a subtle white patch on the denim where it spilt.

You scratch the back of your head. "Hang on, let me get a paper towel-"

"No, don't worry," he blurts out. "I-it's fine."

You look up in surprise, tapping another cupful of flour into the bowl before adding a haphazard mix of baking soda, salt, and cornstarch over it. "Are you sure? I'm gonna make a mess in this place. I don't want your clothes to get dirty..."

"It's fine," he says again, a little more confidently. "I can just take them off."

You splutter, sending a puff of flour into the air, making both of you cough as Jisung waves his hands frantically, cheeks scarlet.

"I-i didn't mean it like that," he coughs, flustered. "I meant-"

"I know what you meant," you say, fighting a grin as you turn away to open the fridge. "Honestly, Ji."

He drops his face into his hands just as you crack two eggs into another bowl, heading back to the fridge for the stick of half-finished butter on the top shelf. You've learnt to buy more butter than you think you need; your roommate has a habit of using far too much butter than necessary on his toast. Not that your topping habits are much better; the Nutella jar is usually empty after a day.

Anyways.

Placing the rest of the butter in a small glass bowl, you set the microwave timer for 30 seconds before closing the door. Jisung's eyes follow the bowl spinning round and round inside, the butter seeping and melting into an oily mess against the glass edges.

His fingers tap against the countertop as you move your bowls over to where he's sitting, your shoulder brushing his arm as you busy yourself with tipping brown and granulated sugar into yet another bowl. Jisung cheekily dips his finger into the mixture and brings it to his mouth as you smack his hand away, relishing the raw, saccharine taste of the grains.

"You have to stop doing that.. Ew, Ji!"

He wipes his finger nonchalantly on your arm, much to your disgust. Ignoring your groans, he hums to himself as you take the melted butter from the microwave, slamming the door shut again.

"Stop doing what?" He says innocently.

"Dipping your little thieving paws into the bowls... you'll contaminate it. And wiping said paws on my arm..."

"So?" He says, grinning, ears still red from his earlier comment. "It's not like anyone else but you and me are eating the stuff you make."

You huff and tip the butter into the bowl, spilling half of it in the process. "I'm gonna put raisins in these if you keep provoking me."

"No!"

"Shut up and stop bothering me then," you huff, one hand coming up to matter-of-factly wipe a tiny speckle of sugar from the corner of his lip.

He's about to make a comment, but he goes silent; his face turns the colour of the cherry tomatoes in the fridge crisper as you whisk the butter into the sugar mixture. You don't even notice how quiet he's gone, and as a habit, begin to ramble.

"I can't believe the mixer broke," you say absentmindedly. "I had to search for ages and ages for a recipe that didn't need a mixer for the process. It's actually so much easier to melt the butter too... last time I did this, I didn't mix it all in properly so the cookies tasted horrible after- not that you cared, of course, because I came back to the glass dish where I put them in a day before and they were all gone- Ji, you're not listening again."

"Yes I am," he says, strained. His face is red.

"No you're not. Anyways, I had to find substitutes for most of the ingredients until I could get to the store last week.."

You run off on yet another tangent about the recipe and different methods of baking and flavours, but all Jisung can focus on is the fact that you just touched his lip, wiped away whatever it was that what on his mouth, without so much as blinking. Like it was nothing... He finds himself beginning to panic a little; his face still feels all hot and tingly.

They just wiped my mouth for me... Wait, isn't that what couples do in the movies?? Does that mean.. no, it doesn't, because they didn't even blink when they did it. There's no way they feel the way I do right now, like this- is it hot in here? My face feels so warm...

He's about to lift the neckline of his hoodie to try and fan some air into his body, but not before something sweet-smelling and textured lands on the apple of his cheekbone.

He freezes, watching as you dip a finger into a bowl full of white paste. Frosting.

You know Jisung likes frosting on his cookies; it's a fact he hasn't even told you, but you know from the way he always secretly opens the tub of ready-made icing in the fridge that he likes them to be eaten that way. You always make a bowl of it whenever you bake now, just for him. Currently, you can't get over the look on his face; shocked, and almost distant, like he was distracted by something.

You managed to crack the eggs, mix all the ingredients together, add chocolate chips to the mixture, form the dough into balls, and put it all into the oven without him making so much as a comment. And then slightly warm up the icing too. He's never been this quiet.

Like, ever.

"Are you okay?" You smile. "You look a million miles away."

He gulps and watches as you dip a different finger into the icing, some of it remaining on your lip as you lick your fingertip clean. He can feel the tiny dollop of frosting you've dotted on his cheek. It's probably melting with how hot his face feels.

His gaze never leaves your mouth, and his eyes flit to the mess you've made of the counter; there's not a single ingredient you haven't managed to spill a quantity of. Most of it is staining your clothes too, not that you seem to care.

Y/n...

"Ji?" You wave a hand in front of his face, trying to rid him of the glazed look in his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Silence. Then-

"You look so beautiful," he murmurs.

It slips out so unexpectedly that he can't even bring himself to be surprised or regretful about it; if he never tells you, you'll never know how stunning you look in the moment, all damp hair and flour-smeared cheeks.

And maybe you don't look lovely to anyone else, but to Jisung, he's never seen anything more beautiful. And in a moment of instant clarity, he knows he's regret it forever if he doesn't tell you how he's felt for so long. Or worse, if someone else decides to tell you the same thing, and he never gets his chance...

You blink at the unexpected sentiment, not thinking much of it. "Thanks."

Turning away, you pick up a bowl and deposit it in the sink before Jisung pulls you back by the shoulder, you tumbling between his legs from where he's still sitting on the counter.

You don't even get a moment to process what's happening before his mouth is pressed gently against yours, tasting of sweet icing and brown sugar.

You mold yourself immediately into his embrace as his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you a little closer as his head tilts to the left. You're pretty sure he's almost breaking his neck, kissing you like this, but you couldn't care less, and it seems, neither can he.

"Jisung," you exhale against his lips, almost gasping.

"Sorry," he whispers, though there's a hint of cheekiness behind it that he can't quite disguise. "Should've asked to kiss you..."

You giggle and pull him in again, your hands finding their way to his nape, playing with the tiny, soft hairs there before he pulls back to gaze at you. "It's okay."

He looks too far gone now; his hair is deliciously rumpled from you running your fingers every which way through it, his cheeks still stained pink. The frosting on his cheek is smeared, a long, pale streak against the perfect planes of his skin.

You're about to pull him in again, and his mouth eagerly moves towards yours, but he only gets a light brush against your lips before the oven timer rudely interrupts, beeping and echoing in the silence of the flat. He groans as you turn away and reach across to switch it off.

You hear Jisung laugh breathlessly behind you as you peer through the oven glass; the cookies, once round and perfect, have now spread into a chocolatey mess across the baking tray, and you can see several small bits of dough beginning to burn dark against the hot surface of the oven grilles.

"Shit," you mumble as Jisung pulls you back into him, peppering kisses over your face. "I forgot to chill the dough before I put them in..."

"Screw that," he sighs against you. "We should chill instead. Just us, hmm? Cancel whatever plans you had..."

"Done," you whisper. "But what about the cookies-"

Jisung pulls you impossibly closer, his breath a warm fan across your cheeks and neck.

"Forget that," he murmurs. "I have something sweeter."

a/n: i forgot how fun writing jisung is >< asks open !

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