#Edit: HE CALLED ME ADORABLE

[kowwpow]

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN YOUR FRIEND IS FLIRTING AGGRESSIVELY WITH THE YOU BUT YOU DONT KNOW IF ITS PLATONIC OR NOT

[dawnbreakersgaze]

☆ "𝓖𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝓮, 𝓞 𝓡𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓼,

𝓖𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝓮, 𝓞 𝓛𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓽𝓼, 𝓽𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓴 𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓼" ☆

[goldensakuma]

idk it's been literal days and i still can't get over Shoppi calling Hikaru “Teru-nii” out of nowhere in his late-night inraibu like,,, wdym YOU'RE the senpai here????? 😭😭😭🩵💛

[lilianne-tarot]

PICK A CARD: How will your future spouse pursue you ⋆˙⟡

✧˚. How to Pick Your Pile: Take a deep breath, clear your mind, and look at the images above. Which one pulls you in the most? Trust your gut! Once you choose the image, The number below your chosen image is your pile. If more than one catches your eye, that just means there’s extra tea for you, go ahead and read both!

✧˚. If you enjoyed this reading, get your own personalized paid reading here!😊🦋

✧˚. For personalized 18+ readings, click here!

✧˚. My Ko-fi link: here 🫶🏻

✧˚. My Masterlist🫶🏻

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE I

Cards Pulled: king of swords, knight of cups reversed, king of pentacles, the sun, the tower, 2 of swords

Right off the bat, you’re gonna think this person is cold. PERIOD. I’m sorry, but King of Swords as the first card, this ain’t some gushy softie sliding into your DMs with heart emojis and “wyd baby.” Nah, theyre giving emotionally disciplined, calculating, and “I only let three people see the real me and you’re not on the list… yet. YET” they might come across lowkey intimidating at first, like, the kind of person who’s quiet in group settings but throws out that one sarcastic comment that’s so sharp it makes everyone laugh and feel personally attacked. 😭💀

BUT TRUST ME, they’re watching you. Like… a hawk. They’re the type who is taking mental notes on your coffee order, your laugh patterns, the way you furrow your brows when you’re deep in thought, stuff even you don’t know you do. But honesty love….. they’re into you from day one, but they plays it off like he’s unbothered. Classic King of Swords move. Strategic af. Theyre lowkey fighting himself. Like, internally they got this soft, romantic, borderline poetic thing brewing, he fantasizes about running into you by “accident,” planning the most aesthetic dates, imagining you in his hoodie😭but he’s actively repressing it. Because vulnerability? He’d rather eat glass, thanks. He doesn’t want to be obvious. He’s convinced if he lets on how deep he’s feeling this, he’ll lose the upper hand or get hurt. So what does he do instead? Weird passive-aggressive things. Acts uninterested one minute, then gives you eyes across the room like he’s trying to telepathically undress your soul the next. Sir. Pick a lane. He doesn’t chase, he builds. He slowly starts showing up for you in the most tangible, grounded ways. Need help with something? He’s already on it. Mentioned your favorite snack in passing? It just “randomly” appears next time. The way this man provides?? You’ll be SHOOK. He’s not flashy about it either. He’s like, “I got you” and means it. That’s when you start going: “Wait… are they… serious?” Because once this person is IN, he is IN. Like, no games, no pullbacks. Suddenly it’s "have you eaten?" and "text me when you get home" and "do you want me to fix that thing?." Husband mode activated. 

BUT THEN. Omg. THE TOWER. 😭 Baby this is where it goes OFF. Something will shift drastically. And honestly, You might be the one who triggers it, ofc we are talking about you here so. Like maybe you call him out for his hot-and-cold vibe, or you walk away ‘cause you’re done playing Guess Who: Feelings Edition. Whatever it is, it SHATTERS his cool-boy facade. The Tower is giving “omg I fumbled” realness. He suddenly realizes how much he could lose and spirals. Might even go quiet for a second, lick his wounds, have a whole emotional breakdown. But then… boom. THE SUN. This is where the magic happens. The pursuit becomes warm, honest, and loud. He stops hiding. He owns it. Like, “Yeah, I like you. Actually, I love you. Actually, I wanna grow old with you and argue about what brand of detergent we’re using.” You’ll feel seen, adored, and finally safe in this connection. It’s that post-breakdown glow-up. He starts expressing himself clearly, no longer scared to let you in.

But now. Girl. YOU are gonna be the one hesitating now 😭. That Tower moment hits you, too. You start overthinking: “Can I trust this sudden 180? Was he always this into me and just hiding it? Do I want someone who couldn’t be vulnerable from the start?” Like, your brain starts weighing everythings. And that’s valid! It’s hard to unsee someone’s walls once you’ve bumped into them. So how do you perceive him throughout this journey? At first, cold and confusing af. Then… weirdly magnetic. Then dependable and lowkey daddy-coded. Then chaotic and heartbreak-y. Then sunshine and deeply, deeply sincere. You’ll feel like you’re watching him peel back layer after layer, and each one gets softer, realer, and more him.

His hints would be subtle but intentional. He remembers small things. He lingers a bit longer in conversations than necessary. He suddenly shows interest in the things you love, even if they weren’t his vibe before. He gives you those “you’re the only person in this room I care about” eyes. He’ll NEVER say it first… until he breaks. And when he does? You’re done. Stick a fork in you. Soul snatched. Game over.

I am seeing like he might dream about you before things really pop off. He might tell you later like ,“I had this weird dream we were married lol” and laugh it off, but internall,y he’s BLUSHINGGG because the dream felt real. Also… idk why I’m seeing like… rain or some stormy weather being important??? Maybe the Tower moment literally happens during a stormy day and you both cry under the rain like a movie scene? (i mean…..idc… if i am getting me personal main character moment. It’s all part of the process, i guess💁🏻‍♀️).

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE II

Cards Pulled: the tower, king of wands, 5 of pentacles, queen of cups, 8 of pentacles, 10 of pentacles

PILE 2, Okay but… why does this feel like a well written kdrama with 16 episodes??? I mean i could literally make a movie out of this pile 😭 my reaction to the cards were literally: oh, OH, ahh , TF, Oh. My. GOD.😭 

The drama. The rawness. The "I didn’t see this coming, but now I literally can’t look away" energy is off the charts. And I’m already obsessed. So let’s talk about how this chaotic yet painfully magnetic future spouse of yours is about to come stomping into your world like they own the place, with all their trauma and broken broken parts and this weirdly hot charisma that shouldn’t be attractive but is. And somehow?? You fall for it. But like… respectfully 😭.

this person doesn’t approach you like your average person in love would do. No flowers and shy glances. Nope. It’s giving, "I just burnt my life down and now I’m rebuilding from scratch and oh look, you’re here too," vibes. Like you know when someone walks into a room and they don’t say much but their energy is SCREAMING "I’ve been through the trauma you couldn't even imagine"? That’s them. Tower card energy straight up. Something’s just collapsed in their life, could be a major breakup, a career flop, family drama, or literally an existential crisis. Honestly? Feels like all three, let’s not lie 💀. But instead of moping around, this person grabs that chaos and turns it into… ambition. Swagger. Power. This is someone who knows how to lead. They pursue you like they’re chasing their next purpose. With intention. With clarity. And this lowkey intimidating confidence that says “I know what I want, and it’s you.” But let’s not pretend it’s smooth sailing here. Bc 5 of Pentacles? Babe. This person has been abandoned, emotionally iced out, or felt major rejection in the past. Like it’s giving "I’ve loved and I’ve lost and now I trust NO ONE but my dog”. And because of that, Their way of pursuing you is… messy. Not in a manipulative way, but in that "I’m trying to be a lover while still patching up my own wounds" type of mess. So expect mixed signals. Hot and cold. Deep talks followed by withdrawal. And you’re gonna be like, “Sir?? Do you like me or do you need therapy??” honestly: it’s both 😭.

Queen of Cups as the next card is where things get interesting. You. Literally you. You're intuitive AF, emotionally intelligent, and probably catch onto their emotional damage in the first week and are like “Yup. You’re hurt. But I see the softie under all that wreckage.” And here's where it gets wild: they know you see it. That’s what makes them pursue harder. You’re the first person who doesn’t just want them for their outer confidence and King of Wands hotness, you want to know their soul. Their weird inner child. Their guilt. Their hidden sadness. And that?? That shakes them. In a good way. You start noticing little things. Like how they’ll work on themselves just to be better for you. They start showing up. Maybe it’s slow, but you’ll see them trying, healing their abandonment issues, learning to communicate, showing effort in tangible ways. Like planning little dates, asking how your day was (and ACTUALLY listening….woah rare, ngl), sharing parts of their past without you asking. They might even pick up new skills or hobbies because you like them. A little "if she likes books, I read books now" moment?? 😭😭 Despite how mature and scarred and big-boss they may appear, at their core, they’re a newbie when it comes to actual healthy love. Like yeah, they’ve loved before. But not YOU kind of love. Not “you see me even when I’m not performing” kind of love. And that humbles the hell out of them. They're awkward about it. Like, "I wanna give you the world but I also don’t know how to wrap a gift box correctly." 😭 It’s so endearing, you can’t help but melt. They pursue you like someone relearning love from scratch, and you become their soft place to land. They’ll stumble. They’ll overthink. But babe, they’ll try. And that’s what makes them fall harder. Because this ain’t about seduction. It’s about growth. They're not gonna outright confess their feels in the beginning. It’s gonna be hidden in acts of service. Like fixing your broken lamp. Or sending you a meme with a weird caption like, "reminds me of u" Or casually saying “I don’t talk to many people like I do with you,” and then acting like it wasn’t a full-on emotional proposal. Their love language is subtle till it’s not, okay?? But your intuitive self picks up on every damn sign, and you’ll know before they even open their mouth. That’s the connection here, psychic soulmate level. You’ll feel their love way before it’s said.

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⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ PILE III

Cards Pulled: king of wands, 3 of cups, knight of swords reversed, the devil, 8 of cups, the star

OKAY, PILE 3 is here and… GIRL this pile has such strong, “Dark romance” vibes and also that “enemies to lovers but we’re obsessed with each other” trope energy like NO OTHER 😮‍💨🔥. Your future spouse? It’s that person who shows up outta nowhere and instantly throws your life into disarray because the connection is too much, too fast, too real. They pursue you like they’ve waited lifetimes to find you and now that you’re finally here, they’re not gonna risk losing you, even if it means accidentally traumatizing you with their intensity first 😭.

So let’s start with the vibe of this person, okay? Immediately I’m seeing someone who is dominant AF in presence, the type of person where the second they walk into a room, your attention shifts without your permission. But they’re not all flash and no depth, this person has that charismatic, “traumatized but make it aesthetic” confidence LOL. Think: the guy who’s lowkey too cool for everyone but gets soft for you 🫠. But it’s not just charm. It's calculated. They choose to pursue you. Like, they spotted you from across the damn soul contract timeline and were like, “Yep. That one. Mine.” LMAO.

Here’s where it gets juicy though, this person doesn’t make their pursuit clean or safe. We’ve got the Knight of Swords reversed mixed with The Devil and 3 of Cups… BABY. I’m not gonna lie, their approach is gonna have you shook. This isn't some slow-burn "lemme get to know you" type of chase. Nah, it’s giving intoxicated obsession. Like they’re coming at you way too fast, might say things they haven’t thought through (hello chaotic confessions??), maybe even making moves when you’re like “Wait… tf is happening?!” . And I SWEAR this person gives off the vibe of someone who might try to "just be friends" first… but they absolutely fail at it. Like... you’re not slick, sir. The way they look at you? Not very "friendly." More like "I wanna pin you to the wall in a meaningful way." 😭 it’s like you look into their eyes once aand you are going inot their crib TONIGHT. 

BUT. Their pursuit of you isn’t just lusty and impulsive, it’s coming from a place of deep yearning and soul ache. You’re literally the star they’ve been trying to find after walking away from a bunch of superficial crap. I’m getting that they’ve already been through a lot emotionally, they’ve had to let go of people, addictions (literal or emotional), maybe even success that wasn’t fulfilling. So while their approach is messy and extra (like “sir pls chill”), it’s coming from a place of craving real healing, real light, REAL connection. And guess what? That’s what you are to them. Their fkn North Star. And trust me, they don't even realize it at first, like they’re thinking they’re chasing a thrill, but gets, spiritual awakening outta nowhere. Bestie… you’re gonna think they’re too much. 😂 Straight up. You’ll be like “This person is hot, sure……but wtf is this energy??” It’ll feel like you’re constantly trying to decide between “should I kiss them or block them?” Energy chaotic AF. You’ll clock them trying to play it cool, but their eyes? Screaming "I'm feral for you." It’s also possible they’ll show up when you’re trying to move on from someone/something else, and you’ll be hesitant because you’re finally healing, vibing, living in peace, and here comes this walking temptation in human form, knocking on your aura like “hey 😏.” i mean really this emoji is the perfect example of how i am imagining this person.  There’s definitely a karmic undertone here, like you two have danced this dance before in past lives but it was let uncompleted. So now, they're NOT playing around. And the way The Star closes the reading? OOF. After all the chaos, the push/pull, the temptation, and messy little love games… they want peace with you. You are the peace. The wish. The endgame. But it’s not gonna come pretty.

Okay so their hints are not actually hints. They’ll accidentally drop the biggest signs , forgetting they’re supposed to pretend. They’ll joke about being obsessed with you? Deadass. They’ll mention you in every convo “by accident.” They might post quotes on their stories or make weird comments like “If I ever fall in love, it’ll be someone like you” 🙄, SIR. STOP. WE SEE YOU.  The 3 of Cups energy is also giving “I’ll use mutual friends to get close to you,” like casually showing up at a party where you just happen to be?? Please.And listen, not everything will be smooth sailing. That Devil energy is LOUD. There will be moments where you’ll wonder if you’re drawn to them because it’s fated… or because it’s toxic. But that’s part of the growth arc. They’re not here to ruin your life, they’re here to crack your heart open with messy hands. And once they realize that they can’t control you? That’s when the real magic starts. That’s when they fall so damn hard, they start building a whole new version of themselves just to be worthy of your light.

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Thank you so much for reading all the way through! I hope my reading resonated with you and that you had a lovely time going through it. If you enjoyed it, please like and reblog, it really means a lot! Let me know which pile you chose; I absolutely love hearing your thoughts and feedback on my readings! If my reading resonated you, you may consider buying my paid reading as it would really help me out financially♡

Note: tarot cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not fixedly predict the future. this is a general reading so take what resonates!

[a-casxandra]

❝𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐌𝐞.❞

Actor Rafayel x you (non-mc) as his non-showbizz girlfriend. angst.

𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗶𝘀𝗻'𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗮𝗸. Especially if you’re not part of that dazzling, cutthroat world.

You never thought it’d be this hard. You told yourself love was love, and that behind the flashing cameras and glimmering premieres, he was just Rafayel—your Rafayel. Not the actor the world worshipped. Not the onscreen heartthrob. Just him. Just yours.

But lately, it doesn’t feel like he is.

You sat in the softly lit penthouse you both called home. Candles flickered on top of a small cake you picked up that morning, the wax slowly pooling as the minutes turned to hours. Your anniversary. Two years.

Your fingers trembled as you typed, “Rafayel, where are you? Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

It took him ten minutes to reply.

> “I’m with MC. We just finished shooting and the production team invited us to eat outside. So you don’t need to wait for me.”

You stared at the message. Read it. Reread it. It didn’t hurt because of what he said—it hurt because he didn’t even apologize. Like he’d forgotten. Like it didn’t matter.

You didn’t text back.

MC.

You knew her name before you ever met her. She was his first love—a part of his life from long before you arrived. He never hid that from you. He told you, once, that their story ended long ago. That what they had was over.

But now?

Now they were cast in the same drama. And the world, blind to you, started shipping them. Every interview. Every tweet. Every video edit, every comment and Rafayel never said a thing to deny it.

One week after your forgotten anniversary, you snapped.

You dressed simply. Jeans. Hoodie. Cap. And you went to the set. You knew where they were filming—of course you did. You’d helped him memorize lines, listened to him stress about this scene or that shot. And yet, he never once offered for you to visit. Never once asked if you’d come.

You stood behind the crowd near the monitors. Nobody noticed you. Just another fan in the sea of them. That was all you ever were, wasn’t it?

Then you saw him.

Rafayel stood across from her—MC—laughing softly. A sound you hadn’t heard from him in weeks. His hand rested on her back, gently. His eyes sparkled when he looked at her. You felt like a stranger, intruding on something real.

Then the scene started.

It was a confession. He looked at her with so much longing, you forgot it was acting. The way his voice broke on her name, the way his hands reached for hers. And when he kissed her… the world spun.

But you reminded yourself—it was a job. Just a script. Just a role.

Until the director yelled, "Cut!"

And Rafayel didn't pull away.

Their lips still touched. They were laughing. Flushed. Embarrassed by the cheers of the staff, by the teasing, but neither of them denied it. She tucked her hair behind her ear, he covered his smile—and you realized:

You never made him smile like that.

You couldn’t breathe.

Your legs took a step back. Then another. The voices faded. Your heart didn’t shatter all at once—it cracked, slowly. Silently.

You stood alone, surrounded by people who adored him. But none of them knew him. Not like you did. And maybe that’s why it hurt so much.

“Why is it her and not me?” Your voice trembled. “I’m his girlfriend… I stayed by his side longer than her… I supported him in his dreams… but I guess I’ll always remain a fan. Someone who cheers him on from the shadows… but never gets to stand beside him.”

You didn’t leave a note. You didn’t scream or cry. You just… left. The penthouse felt too big that night. You packed slowly. No drama. No chaos. Just… an end. Quiet and unseen, like you always were.

𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮. 𝙎𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩…

…𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜.

[manikas-whims]

THIS but the horny edition 🔞

Xavier is for the girls who like being edged over and over until they’re nothing but a sobbing mess. He’d take delight in your frustration and tearful eyes, call your dazed expression adorable. He’s a little sadistic like that.

Xavier is for the girls who enjoy getting overstimulated. You’re sobbing and screaming after orgasming and even squirting so many times but you let his fingers and tongue work you up just once more to see if you can handle it anymore or not. You’re a little masochistic like that.

Xavier is for the girls who enjoy rough and intense face riding. He likes it when you grab his head and let your cunt thrust back and forth against his face, moaning loudly every time the tip of his nose rubs along the sensitive folds. Sometimes he’s unable to breathe properly but the high of it all is too good for him to even care.

Xavier is for the girls who want to be treated like Queens but also wanna get fucked like common whores behind closed doors. You ask him to be as freaky as he wants to be, and he’ll flip the switch..his eyes will darken and then it’s from the bedroom to the balcony, against the wall, against the mirror, in the shower and on the floors..

Xavier is for the girls who like a soft-spoken, gentleman even in bed. He’ll talk you through your orgasms in his tender, soothing voice. He’ll tell you how pretty your flushed face looks, how pleasing it is to feel your walls clutching so tightly around his length, how good it feels when you gush around his cock.

i know posting this when Xavier’s branch is like a day away is a crime but I HAD TO 🤭

» MASTERLIST «

©️ Xavier divider is my own. Credit me if you use ♡

[saintobio]

the biker's book club, feat. l&ds sylus.

pairings. sylus, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, biker au, 18+ tags. petnames (kitten), unprotected sex, spitting, hair-pulling, consensual filming, creampie, dirty talk, possessiveness, violence, slight yandere themes, impregnation notes. ik he’s probably into cafe racers but the sportbike enthusiast in me thinks biker!sylus is the m*tthew w*ods of l&ds, booktok/biketok girlies iykyk

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who collects liter bikes like they’re toys; he’d usually get rid of them as soon as he gets bored, but his current favs are his black & red edition fireblade, m1000rr, and superleggera v4.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who got famous on booktok overnight after posting a video of him riding his bike through the tunnel with a half-buttoned shirt. the view offered a peek on his toned chest and abs, leaving the rest to an innocent girl’s imagination. the comments on that post are wild, and the views went up to 2 mil in a day.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who broke numerous girls’ hearts literally a day after that post, revealing that he already has a backpack (you) and that his sunset and midnight rides are exclusively booked for his girlfriend.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who eventually taught you how to ride your own bike, gifting you a white N400 on your birthday—a bike he calls “too slow” for him, but is actually fast enough for a beginner like you.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who once chased a car for nearly rear-ending you on a red-light. as soon as he saw how the car almost hit you from behind, the loud and chilling roar of his bike bolted you in surprise as he accelerated to chase after the car, breaking the asshole’s side mirror, and teaching him a ‘lesson’.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who always keeps a possessive eye on you, always riding within his acceptable distance because the last time he allowed you to ride ahead of him, some guy on a Ford 150 tried to ask for your number, calling you a hot biker girl he hopes to have a ‘good time’ with. that didn’t end well for the poor guy, because the interaction was cut short when sylus revved his bike, lane splitting between you and the car, and running over the guy’s outstretched arm along the way. he might’ve broken a bone or two, who knows?

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who owns a springfield .45 gun, and claims he has no problems shooting another guy’s head if they dared touch even a single strand of your hair. he’s a very territorial individual and would not think twice on committing a crime if it meant protecting what’s his.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who’s hated by his neighbors, both because of how loud his bike gets in the morning, and how loud his girl can get during the evening. he doesn’t care though, because the sound of your moans were actually music to his hears. he swears he has to hear them every night or he won’t be able to sleep well.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who gets very kissy and touchy whenever you two arrive at home, unable to keep his hands to himself while you’re still parking your bike beside his. his lips would go straight to your neck, placing feathered kisses on your skin, tickling you with his warm breath as he tells you, “you know you’re mine, right?” of course you’d say you’re his. and he always follows up with a reminder, “good, because i’d kill any son of a bitch who tries to steal you from me.”

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who loves to fuck you raw, rough, and fast. he always had you gripping on the sheets, or scratching his back, or screaming out his name in a salacious escape to release your earth-shattering, mind-blowing orgasm. he always had your legs shaking, your body twitching, your breasts bouncing with each slam as he doesn’t stop pounding into you even after you came. he adores the sight of your beautiful, begging face each time he buries his hardened cock inside of your sweet, sweet pussy. “my kitten’s being too needy, huh?” he’d whisper to your ear before meeting your hips with another satisfying thrust. “always a slut for me.”

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who likes to spit on your mouth, pull your hair, and slap your bum. they’re some of his many kinks, and he can get nastier if he wants to, but he’d often say he’d rather save the best on your wedding night.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who enjoys filming your extremely erotic moments together, claiming that he needed to revisit those videos for when he misses you. his favorite content seems to be when he’s cumming inside of you, shooting every drop of his thick seed straight through your womb. kitten, you’re so tight, he’d think to himself. he goes even crazier for the view whenever he pulls out and sees his own semen dripping out of your swollen entrance.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who makes you breakfast the next morning after a long, passionate night. he always seems to cook the perfect pancakes, like he had specifically mastered the skill after you told him that pancakes were your favorite choice for breakfast.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who proudly displays you on social media, and bluntly rejects every girl who’d leave thirsty comments on his posts. he gets a little too sassy for their liking, but he doesn’t really give a damn about hurting another girl’s feelings if it were to protect yours.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who lets you ‘break’ his masculine ego by allowing you to paint his nails, give him skin care, or place cute, tiny, heart-shaped clips all over his hair whenever you were in the mood to. he’d just stare at you the whole time, amused at how you’d treat him like your own ken doll.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus whose immediate response when you told him you’re pregnant was “do you think it’s a baby girl?” there was no ounce of surprise in his eyes, no scintilla of worry at the thought of being an unexpected father, clearly, because he should already see it coming especially with how sexually active you two are. he really wants a baby girl, too. and a boy next. so while you were nearly horrified at seeing your positive pregnancy test thinking he’d ask you to terminate it, his calm and loving reaction to your unexpected baby was what made you realize that there was nothing else you could ever want in a man.

𓆩♡𓆪 biker!sylus who, on the very next day, asked you to try and test start your bike because he thinks something’s ‘wrong’ with it. you hurried to check your bike, of course. little did you know, the keychain strapped onto your key had been replaced, now with a new, embroidered keychain bearing the words, “marry me?”

[dollopole]

Let’s take into consideration:

Arthur would rather waste precious time before an important council meeting to run around the entire castle and search for Merlin, who, in his very honest opinion is the worst servant of the entire kingdom or that he had ever known, than to call literally anyone else to help him dress (as if there wouldn’t be anyone ready to assist Arthur, their king, with clothes);

Arthur, and therefore Agravaine (which makes it all the more hilarious) knows every single place where Merlin could be, at that precise moment, or during that day in general; (EDIT: As someone pointed out in the comments, everyone and Agravaine included knows who is the “dollophead”)

The guards nod to Agravaine without asking anything, which only means that it is canon that everyone in Camelot knows Merlin by name; EDIT: It also means that the guards deal with this on a daily basis. They must be tired.

The aforementioned point implies that everyone knows how Merlin looks like, that also means Merlin is known to never leave Arthur’s side, even during council meetings;

Arthur is running around the castle in what today we would call a pyjama, just because Merlin didn’t wake him up with, “Rise and Shine”. And he’s barefoot. That’s right. The king of Camelot, everyone, has just walked barefoot in Merlin’s chambers, in the armoury, where other knights probably are, and in the bloody stables (yes, the ones where the horses and their dungs both are), without boots on, just to look for Merlin;

Arthur is more distressed in this scene than in the one where Morgana declares war in season five. He’s fretting like a mother hen. Not only he is without breath, which means he was just coming back from his checking around, but he is red in the face and almost yelling in desperation. “Does he expect me to dress myself?!” Because apparently, Arthur literally cannot do anything without Merlin by his side. The way he says, “No sign of him” to Agravaine is so endearing, and he shouldn’t be this adorable. Unfair, Arthur. Really unfair.

Arthur just yells, (and distressingly looks around) in hope that Merlin will come back to him, because he always does. *sounds of my heart breaking into millions of pieces*

And last but not least, Arthur shouts, “Last night!”, which means the actual reason he’s going around searching for Merlin, it’s because he’s worried his world will end without his quirky and clumsy servant by his side (and the love of his life). Merlin is currently out on a quest with Gwaine to look for Gaius, since he has been kidnapped, but the problem is that Arthur doesn’t know this. What he knows is that he has fought with Merlin the day before about Gaius in the council chambers, and believes Merlin is gone for good, this time, and solely for the fight they had. Arthur feels more than guilty that he can’t make it up to his best friend, the love of his life (Agravaine helped Morgana kidnap Gaius, and it explains the ending of the scene, where he understands where Merlin is.) Now Arthur is worried that his last words to Merlin were harsh. He had last seen him when he was done with his duties the night before, and then Merlin disappeared.

No wonder they deleted this scene.

[sunnami]

❝i am half-agony, half-hope. . . i have loved none but you.❞

summary: how the marauders loved you in their time. featuring harry potter the time-traveller and sixth-wheel.

pairing/s: poly!marauders + lily x reader.

tags: reader is referred to as she/her and a mother throughout the whole fic[!], reader is a violent gremlin who craves blood but the marauders love you for that, implied child abuse[!], mentions of blood and violence[!], disgustingly sappy poetic fluff, no angst, happy ending, not proofread we die like finnick odair, edited: very minor detail.

note: there is little plot, it’s just the marauders and their adoration for you. thank you all so much for your kind responses to my first marauders fic :(( ilysm! i hope you enjoy this one as well! because there are parts when i was writing that i ended up kicking my feet in the air and smiling to myself.

“MY NAME IS HARRY POTTER. I come from twenty-years in the future, you’re my mum — one of my ‘em, actually. It’s complicated. And you’re married to James Potter, Remus Lupin, and Sirius Black.” 

You blink. 

“Get the fuck out of my room!” 

Harry James Potter has dodged many things in his life. Killing curses, jinxes, girls, Draco Malfoy, and Dudley’s sloppy punches, but he’s never had to dodge his sixteen-year-old mother’s fuzzy slipper before. (Godric, that sounds weird, even in his head.) He doesn’t know precisely how he arrived here. In the Slytherin common room, to be exact, in your dorm. Harry remembers duelling with Death Eaters, Hermione calling his name, and a flash of light hitting him square in the chest, then he remembers waking up in the cold tiles of the snake dungeon. He nearly throws himself off the window when he meets your eyes, bleary from interrupted sleep — it’s not often he gets to meet [read: one of] his dead parents, after all, three had been brutally murdered by Voldemort, and one killed by his own loony cousin. He misses Sirius, though. A lot. And right about now, he could do with some of Hermione’s nagging and brilliant plan-making. 

At present — or past, Harry guesses — he watches you scramble out from your duvet, hand clumsily reaching for your wand as you snarl at him. He wonders if his mother knows that he’s encountered other creatures far more threatening than her. Oh shit, he realizes with all the forces of an angry Hermione Granger, isn’t this the last thing he’s supposed to do? But, well, Harry has given, and given, so much of himself all for the greater good — just this once, he’d like to see his parents alive and well. Even if they were currently trying to blast him into the walls. 

“If you’d just let me explain, mum—!” Harry pleads, nearly dropping his glasses after dodging one of your stinging hexes. Godric, you’re crazy. “Please!” 

“Stop calling me that!” You screech, eyes set ablaze.  Harry finds that you’re quite dynamic with your attacks. A hairbrush, followed by a stinging jinx, then a thick History of Magic textbook — which rudely hits him in the face, but he doesn’t dare complain because you’re his mother, and he’s respectful like that — and after you’ve exhausted your breath, running him into a corner, and your nostrils flare with the stubbornness of a lion, you point the tip of your wand at him. “If this is another one of the Prewett’s shitty pranks, I want you to leave! You are in the girls’ dormitory beyond midnight, and so help me, if you aren’t walking out that door in the next five seconds, I will kill you and string you up by your bottoms for everyone in school to see! Maybe all your stupid rumours of me being a Death-Eater might come true after all!” 

“You’re a Death-Eater?” Harry asks dumbly. 

You growl furiously, and Harry figures that was not the right thing to say. “I wonder what McGonagall would say if I delivered your head to her on a silver platter.” 

“Professor,” Harry corrects with a toothy grin. “Professor McGonagall.” 

You slam his head against the wall.

Definitely the wrong thing to say. 

Harry groans, little Dobby heads floating around his vision. Why was this so much harder than actually facing Voldemort? Quick, he needed to think of something, otherwise he’d end up eviscerated to ashes on your cold, stone floors. Harry is pretty sure you’d use his remains as decoration to send off a message to your enemies. 

“You hate your father,” Harry slurs through the pain, remembering Remus’s stories of how you were the gentlest magical being he’s ever had the privilege to love — now that Harry thinks about it, Remus was being extremely biased, nothing about you is gentle at all. “He’s forcing you to marry someone old enough to be your grandfather. You love to read Muggle literature but had to stop when your father burnt your whole collection of books. Your favorite novel is Persuasion by Jane Austen. It’s the one book you carry with you everywhere, you could never get tired of it.”  

Your grip on his shoulders falters, but the fury in your eyes crackles. “This isn’t funny.” 

“It’s not meant to be funny, mum,” Harry croaks, voice cracking pathetically — strange how this is the most he’s ever uttered the word, mum; it’s a peculiar string of letters, foreign on his tongue. “You have tremors in your left leg from when your father cast the Cruciatus curse on you. One of your dearest friends is a Hogwarts house-elf named Pipley. You cheated on your Transfiguration essay once, and—” 

“That’s enough!” You bark, eyes narrowed in dangerous slits. “I don’t know where you heard those from, you creepy, little stalker, but if you want to keep breathing, then I suggest you shut up.” 

Harry scoffs — you don’t understand. Everything he’s learned about you is from Sirius and Remus. They talk about you with whispered devotion, your name like a prayer on their lips, their eyes glazed with wistfulness as though they could see you reaching out for them — but you were dead in Harry’s time. Yet, you might as well have been alive with their tales of you. 

(“She’s a different kind of beautiful,” Sirius had said, a year after breaking out from Azkaban, sitting by the fire in Grimmauld Place, taking a swig of decade-old firewhiskey, “The kind of beautiful you don’t want to take your eyes off from because you’re afraid she’ll disappear from your eyes. But you won’t forget her, oh no, you’ll memorize the freckles and moles on her skin, the scars from her years, the light in her eyes, and the way she holds her head up high. You should have seen her, James, she. . . she was — is glorious.”) 

“I told you,” says Harry firmly — although he loves his mother very much, she’s beginning to wear him out, “My name is Harry James Potter, I come from twenty-years in the future. You are one of my parents.” A lightbulb flashes in his head. He squirms in your hold, reaching for his robe pocket until he finds the thing he’s looking for. Harry dangles the ring in front of you, grinning in success when your eyes flash in recognition. “It’s—” 

“A family heirloom,” You say breathlessly. The alexandrite winks under the light, a familiar gold band with the Latin inscription of your House words. “Where did you steal this from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You left it for me in my Gringotts vault. It’s my heirloom now. You have to believe me, there’s no way you can deny this.” 

You take a step backwards, nibbling on your lower lip, as you stagger to your bed — Harry nearly stumbling to catch you in case you fell; adjusting to the living proof of time travel was quite difficult, he, of all people, should know. He exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Magic, amirite?” 

You throw a pillow at him, which he catches gracefully thanks to his Seeker reflexes, as you plop down in the comforts of your quilts. “Sleep. The other girls won’t be back until the end of the holiday. We can deal with whatever this is in the morning. It’s way too early for me to process the idea of a future Potter spawn following me around.” 

Harry smiles. “Yes, mum.” 

ONE THING THAT his fathers failed to tell him about you, and that Harry had to learn himself, was that you took ages to get ready. You sat on the chair in front of your vanity mirror, the birch wood legs whittled with snakes, and it was as though you had a Sticking Charm on the cushion. Harry didn’t know there could be so many creams, oils, and serums, and powders one put on their face. He blanches when you turn to offer him a cream for his under eyes. (“Suit yourself.” You shrug, turning to brush your cheek with dusts of pink. “Just saying, those dark circles aren’t doing you any favors.”)

“What am I like in the future?” You ask, a kind lilt to your voice, much like a warm hug, much like home. 

Harry stiffens, shoving his hands in pockets of the robes that were twice his size — you had given him the garments of Lucius Malfoy to change in, which you apparently had stolen from his room. It’s come full circle, really, the Sorting Hat had once told him he would be great in Slytherin, and now here he was, looking fabulous in green — because he was about to hurl at the feel of the velvet on his skin, knowing slimy Lucius Malfoy had worn it. (“No son—” You pause with a tight purse in your lips, as if you still can’t accept the fact. Harry doesn’t blame you. “—no son of mine will be parading around in red of all colors, future or not.” And Harry finds that he really doesn’t care, so long as you call him your son.)  

“Loved,” replies Harry gruffly, avoiding your eyes in the reflection of your mirror — they were piercing. One look and Harry wanted to spill all of his deepest, darkest secrets. He remembers the photographs in his album, the one he’s stared at so many times as a child. It’s a moving photograph of the five of you, fresh out of Hogwarts, each wearing a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. Before Sirius and Remus, it was the only semblance of proof that Harry had — that you had once been alive. Remus is holding you by the waist in the picture, twirling you around as autumn leaves fell. You were — are — loved, and Harry thinks there’s no better description than that. 

(“I bloody hated her cat,” says Remus with a roguish quirk to his lips, regalling Harry with more talks of his parents. “Sirius, too. We just never got along with the little creature. But your mother loved it, and we would have done anything to make her happy. She deserved it, you see. She deserved more than what I had to offer her, but still she chose me anyway. And I am a selfish man, Harry, I crave glimpses of her and the whispers of her voice. She has made me a mad man whose only reprieve is her touch.”) 

You hum knowingly. “Stupid question, I guess. Since you aren’t allowed to reveal anything more about the future.” You sigh, gracefully threading your arms in the sleeves of your shirt, a green tie in the center of your collar. “Except, of course, when you gave me a heart attack in the middle of the night by telling me the last thing I want to become — no offense, I just don’t see how a relationship with those rowdy bunch would work. They get on my nerves far too much for me to ever feel anything other than disgust.” 

Harry doesn’t need a mirror to see that his expression has contorted in confusion; brows knitted and upper lip crinkled. By their memories of you, you all were madly in love in Hogwarts. Damn. This just made his trip to the past a lot harder. No maze seems to be ever just a maze. 

Luckily, you don’t notice him brewing a grand master plan to bring his parents together. Instead, you say, “But you don’t seem to be phased by any of this. If I had been thrown twenty years into the past, I would have puked my guts out twice at some point.” 

“Thanks for the image,” says Harry with a scowl. Truthfully, it had either been a present with a noseless Dark Lord to face, trauma to unpack but really never have the chance to, or a past where all of his parents were alive, and a chance to talk with them for however long he has. He knows where he’ll be staying, thank you very much. 

“Anytime,” You reply with an impish smile. 

Your heels pad across the floor as you walk over to him, mouth clicking as you pat the top of his head, full of wild, untameable Potter hair. “You need a trim soon,” You mutter, frowning, as you brush the thick strands away from his eyes, then you gasp — and Harry knows exactly what’s coming next. “Oh, you’ve got Evans’s eyes. That’s freaky.” 

“I know.” Harry grins. 

“Here’s the plan,” You say as you lead him out of your room, making sure no one saw him walking out of your door and getting the wrong impression — because that would be so wrong on many levels, but also, explaining to someone else that the person beside you was a time-traveller was just complicated in general. The Slytherin dungeon is unfamiliarly familiar, eerily quiet, as the two of you made your way out. “Just say you’re Potter’s distant relative, twice or thrice removed, and you’ve always been here. If you lie to their faces enough, they’ll believe it eventually.” 

“Will that work?” Harry doesn’t really mind — he needs a connection to James, his father, if he’s going to work out a connection between you and the others, because at the moment, it doesn’t seem like you’re too fond of them. There’s a tick on your jaw every time you mumble the word, Potter. Nevertheless, Harry decides he’s going to spend the duration of the holiday break trying to set you up with them — on the list of most insane things he’s ever done, living out the Parent Trap was high up the tally. 

You shrug. “They’ve fallen for less.” 

(“She’s got this adorable habit when she lies,” Sirius tells Harry, whipping up a stack of pancakes for their breakfast — Remus browsing through the morning paper. It’s the closest he’s ever been to a normal family. “It’s not obvious to her, of course, but I know her more than I know my own name. So we play along with it.” For a moment, he stops drizzling the maple syrup on the well-cooked batter, gazing at Remus fondly. “D’you remember that, Moony? She led us straight to one of her pranks, and we ended up covered in slug slime. She was so obvious — with her adorable fucking giggles. I need help with Charms, she said, and we knew right away it was a set-up. But it didn’t matter. I’d happily let her lead me to my ruin.”)  

The Great Hall is the same as Harry remembers. Now that most have returned home for the holidays, those who stay back mingle with students from other Houses, sharing meals under the bewitched ceiling, their low murmurs and hushed Christmas greetings bouncing off the walls. Harry scours the four tables to find a hint of blazing red hair, or the scent of impending trouble. Fortunately, he doesn’t have to search very far. As fate would have it, James Potter finds you — and where he is, Sirius Black is sure to follow. 

You’re barely seated when James comes bounding over to your table — more precisely, he struts, and Harry is horrified to ever be proven wrong by Snape, of all people. He ignores the roll of your eyes as he drags a leg over the bench, sitting to face you as Sirius occupies the space to your left before Harry can even sit down. He can’t even fathom how weird it is to see his parents as rambunctious teenagers. Lovesick, rambunctious teenagers. 

“Morning, dove.” James preens under your glare, stealing a grape from your bowl with a boyish smirk. His hair looks as though he’s ran his hand through it many times. “You look ravishing today.” 

“As always,” Sirius pipes in. “But that eyeshadow really isn’t complementing your skin tone, my darling.” 

You smile at him, right before your lips twist into a cutthroat sneer. “Piss off, Black.”

James stifles a laugh as he shovels a mass of potatoes on your plate, then pumpkin pasties, and slides a steaming cup of Dragon Well tea in front of you. 

“What the hell are you doing, Potter?” You reach over to smack his arm when he sprinkles apple slices and bacon on your breakfast. 

“What does it look like?” James smiles lopsidedly. “You need to eat more, honey.”

(In the future, Sirius will tell Harry, “It started off as a joke, a way to get on her nerves — but then, it just became this thing about taking care of her, making sure she got enough sleep before her tests, wondering if she had breakfast or dinner, staying with her in the library, walking her to the Slytherin common room, and sending her stupid notes just to make her laugh. You don’t get it, Harry. I’d give my every breath to ensure her life. We all would.” Harry doesn’t see Sirius any more during that evening, but he hears a bottle crashing against a wall, cracking into a million pieces, and the masked sound of Sirius sobbing, and Harry decides to leave him alone for the night.) 

Then, you tear your eyes away from James — he huffs, pushing your plate to you, mildly annoyed that you’ve deprived him of your eyes; they were his favorite part of you, you see, so expressive and full of life; James thinks you put the stars to shame — and thankfully, you remember that Harry still exists. You lightly smack Sirius’s leg until he gives Harry some room to sit. “Potter, meet other Potter. It’s the holidays, shouldn’t it be the perfect time to let go of House prejudices and spend time with family?” 

James looks at Harry up and down. “You must be from dad’s side of the family with all that hair.” 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. That was easy — way too easy. When he takes the vacant space in between you and Sirius, you dump all the available food on his plate, just as James had done for you. 

“Eat,” You say with a tone of finality. “You look like the wind could snap you in half.” 

“Yes, m—” Harry stops himself before he could finish his sentence, avoiding Sirius’s curious gaze. 

“Wow.” Sirius pokes Harry in the shoulder and in the cheek. “You really look like a mini-James, you’ve even got his terrible eyesight.” 

“Oi!” 

Your fork clatters against the silverware as you turn to Sirius with a shrill. “Not that I do enjoy your company — because, trust me, I do not want you here at all and would very much prefer if you got out of my sight — but why are you here? The Gryffindor table is over there. Unless your housemates finally got sick of you, Potter, which I can definitely see happening.” 

James chuckles, tossing another grape in his mouth without taking his eyes off you. “It’s as you said, isn’t it? It’s the time for putting aside House prejudices. And I think it’s a lovely day to enjoy a meal with my favorite snake.” 

“Drop dead,” You retort, digging into your chicken with a little more force than necessary. 

“Oh, dove.” James shakes his head, a teasing grin pulling at his lips. “It’s cute that you think death will keep me from you.” 

(Harry’s been told before, probably by Sirius, that this line had been wedged into his wedding vows for you. “A dramatic one, James was,” Sirius chuckles to himself one morning, Harry and Hermione listening intently, “He always said he’d rather die than ever hurt her. There was this time in seventh year, they had a fight — it was ugly — and she had ignored him for a week. James cried in Remus’s arms begging him to cut his heart out, saying that he didn’t deserve to keep on breathing, not after making you cry.”) 

“That is so creepy,” You say in disgust, scrunching your nose. Sirius chortles at your side. “I still wonder why Evans agreed to go out with you.” 

“It’s all part of the charm, dove.” James winks. “It’s all part of the charm.” 

Harry wants to barf, actually.

After breakfast, James then decides to introduce Harry to Lily, Remus, and Peter. (He’s gonna need the patience of a saint to not Avada Kedavra that rat on the spot.) Harry had spent the whole morning watching Sirius peel oranges and give them to you with a smitten look in his eyes — naturally, you gave whatever Sirius offered you to Harry, and each time Padfoot would visibly wilt. If he were in his Animagus form, Harry thinks he would be whining by now, tongue out and all. James and Sirius follow after you like lost puppies when you extricate yourself from the table.

“Where are you going?” James calls, hot on your heels as you leave the Great Hall.

“Away from you, Potter!” 

And James actually sighs when you turn the corner and disappear from their peripheral vision. Seconds later, he turns to Harry with a blinding smile, “She’s definitely charmed.”

Harry chortles.

“Well, come on then!” James guffaws as he wraps an arm around Harry’s neck — this is so, so strange. They begin walking in the opposite direction of where you went. “I still can’t believe we’ve got another Potter here and in Slytherin. I think I would have remembered Minnie calling your name during the Sorting Ceremony. What year are you in?” 

He’s supposed to start his sixth-year in a few weeks. “Fifth.” Technically. 

“We should ask Lily,” says Sirius, hands in his pockets and ebony ringlets tickling his nape. “She’s got the best memory out of all of us.”

It’s odd, Harry thinks, meeting the person who’s got his eyes — or the other way around, as people have told him. It’s like someone carved out the emeralds of Lily Evans’s eyes and bestowed it upon Harry for safekeeping. She sits beside Remus Lupin, head resting on his shoulder, hands clasped together, as they enjoy the shade. Nex to them, oblivious to their intimate conversation, is Peter Pettigrew — with his rosy, cherub cheeks and innocent blue eyes; not at all the image of a pathological, cowardly liar. Their heads snap in attention as James boisterously cries for their name. 

“Marauders — and Lily-pad — meet ickle Potter.” James lightheartedly whacks Harry on the back, to which Harry feels his lungs spill out from his mouth, he’s sure there’s an imprint of his father’s hand on his back now. 

“There’s two Potters in Hogwarts?” Sea-green eyes look at him in scrutiny as Lily knits her brows. “How even is the castle still standing?” 

James cackles like it’s the best joke he’s ever heard in his entire life, slapping his knee for dramatic effect. Oh, well, at least they’re buying Harry’s half-baked lie. At this point, it’s not even baked, it’s just wet, soggy, and poorly done. “Good one, Lily-pad!”

Sirius ruffles Remus’s shaggy blonde hair, canines bared in a wide grin. “This one here’s Moony, uptight prefect in the morning and absolute beast in the evening.” 

Harry blanches. Surely he was talking about his furry problem, right? Right? 

Remus doesn’t even flinch, just peels off Sirius’s hand from him and extends his hand out to Harry. “Please do not mind him. Remus Lupin, nice to meet you. Although, I can’t believe this is the first time we’ve met. We would have definitely remembered if we had another Potter in our midst.” 

“It’s true, we Potters are just hard to forget,” says James, smiling cheekily. 

Harry pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Mum didn’t take the Potter name. I’m part Dursley. Muggle.” 

Lily hums, toying at the ends of her bright hair. “Dursley, huh? What a familiar name.” 

“It’s a common one,” Harry assures her — not at all the names of the people who would take him in after they died. And make his life miserable. 

“I suppose you’re right,” says Lily, unconvinced. 

“And this is Peter.” James introduces the boy eagerly, pride in his voice — as though this isn’t the person who literally allies himself with Voldemort. As if Peter won’t betray his friends all because of fear. 

“N–Nice to meet you,” Peter stammers with a nervous fidget, “Any family of James is a friend of ours.” 

Harry’s eye twitches. 

IT IS ALMOST COMICAL — the way their eyes land on your figure, bursting through the courtyard from the corridors, winter cloak swishing with every step, tendrils of hair swaying in the crisp wind, and head held up high, thick books under your arms. You pause in front of the Marauders, face blank, then you turn to Peter, greeting him with a: “Hello, only Gryffindor I can tolerate.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn a saccharine hue of pink. Oh, no, no, no — absolutely not — Harry will not stand for a little crush Peter Pettigrew has on his mother. He needs James to act now. “Hi,” Peter replies shyly. 

Lily quirks her lips. “Hello, princess, see your score for the Astronomy test yet?”

You scowl. “Zip it, Evans.” 

The sound of Lily’s laughter fills the atmosphere — it’s the sort of melody that makes flowers bloom in deserts. “Had a bit of difficulty with the star charts?” 

Sirius pinches your cheek — Harry thinks you’re going to murder him on the spot. “Difficulty? I think this one just slept through the whole thing.” 

James snickers. “Must have been one hell of a nap, princess. You were drooling on my jumper.” 

“I most certainly do not drool!” You gasp, appalled, eyes wide as you step away from Sirius.

Sirius rolls his eyes. “What? Is drooling too barbaric for the pretty, little pure-blooded princess now? Newsflash, pet, you’re just as human as we are.” 

“Oh, you horrible, loathsome, infuriating—” You whip around to beat his chest with the course book in your grasp — it’s the kind of book Hermione would consider for light reading. 

“Irresistibly attractive—?” Sirius supplies for you, grin widening with as he captures your wrist with his hands. 

“In your dreams!” You shrill. 

You exhale slowly, eyes closing, chest rising when you take a sharp inhale. You open your eyes and stare straight at Harry — for a moment he fears that you’ll bite his head off. “Harry, dear, will you accompany me to the library? I think I’ve found something important regarding your situation.” 

Harry nods. “Is it time already?” 

“Yes,” You say firmly. “And time is of the essence. Come on.” 

“Wait!” Lily calls out to you as you turn to head back to the castle, Harry in tow — he tries to avoid the way James is glaring at your linked arms. “Hogsmeade next week?” 

Your jaw falls to the ground — this must have been unrehearsed, if the others’ reactions were anything to go by; Remus had dropped his book in shock, Sirius looked like he couldn’t decide between applauding Lily’s bravery or shaking her, and James was somehow frozen in time. “Excuse me?” 

“You’re excused, princess,” says Lily, dimples poking out of her cheek as she takes another step towards you. “You, me, Hogsmeade. A date. I’m sure you’ve gone on one of those before.” 

Harry elbows your stomach as you stare at Lily in shock. It takes a few moments to break you out of your stupor. “A–And what makes you think I’ll just go with you?” 

Lily shrugs. “I’m fit. Aren’t I, Remus?” 

“The fittest,” says Remus without missing a beat. 

You laugh incredulously. “Do you just expect me to go along with this? You’re mad, Evans.” 

Harry glares at you. You need to go along with this. 

“Are you scared, princess?” Lily’s face is inches away from yours, noses almost touching — Harry doesn’t know if he should keep watching this painful way of flirting — as she grins at you, happiness barely contained within her eyes. 

To your credit, you don’t back down. (Harry has to say this for the masses: he saw your gaze flitter down to Lily’s lips for a split second.) “Stop calling me that, Evans.” 

“One date, then.” 

You growl in exasperation, eyes flickering to the boys behind her back — pretending not to hear their conversation. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with them as well?” 

Lily beams and Harry swears sunflowers could grow in her direction. “We’re a package deal.” 

“Unfortunately,” You utter — but Harry notices it, the lack of venom in your voice. You straighten your posture, nose lifted haughtily, “I choose where we’re going.” 

“Done.” The sun peeks out from the cloud just as Lily smiles at you. 

“And I want to—” 

“Done,” Remus interjects raspily, peering up at you from underneath his lashes. “Anything you want, it’s yours.” 

You fight a growing smile, but continue, “If we’re going out in public, you’re going to have to wear—” 

“Done,” says James giddily, he looks as though he could kiss you in front of everyone without a care in the world.  

“You can’t just agree to anything I say!” You flap your arms in frustration. 

“Yes, dear,” Sirius teases. 

“Do you know how much you piss me off, Black?” You squawk. “Because you are this close to—”

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Sirius confesses, every pretense shed raw from his skin, sincerity pouring from his words. 

“I—” You falter, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’ve gone mad.” 

“It’s your fault, dove,” says James, eyes twinkling like crescent moons as he smiles. “You best take accountability for this.” 

“You’re incorrigible — all of you,” You say as you avoid their gazes.

(But they were yours. Past, present, and future. They loved you so much that their soul was no longer their own — it was yours; yours to keep, yours to break, and yours to love. It would be unjust to ask them why they loved you. Do we ask why the sun rises each day without rest? Do we ask a daisy to stop blooming, or a tree to stop growing after it has endured storms and floods? After all, we do not ask why humans follow the light in a tunnel shrouded in darkness.) 

“Come on, Harry, let’s go.” You reach for his hand, he notices immediately that the tips of your ears are pink, and your palms are warm with sweat. He barely sees Peter wave goodbye before you tug him in the direction of the castle entrance. 

“Wait up!” Remus catches up to you two in quick strides, offering to carry your books for you — not that you agree, stubborn Slytherin that you are. “I’ll walk you to the library.” 

“There’s no need for that, Lupin, thank you.” You dodge his eyes, lips tightly pressed together, nails slightly digging into Harry’s arm. 

“Remus,” He says with a twinkle. “Call me Remus.” 

“Alright.” You pause. “Remus.” 

(In that moment, Remus wonders if you remember decking Lucius Malfoy in the face to defend him in your fourth year. He didn’t think he deserved to even breathe in the same air as you — the pure-blooded princess, dressed in clothing worth more than his life, adorned in jewelry he could only dream to afford, raised to believe she was better than everyone else. Then, you beat up Evan Rosier the next month in the courtyard, eyes ablaze, extravagant silk marred with grass stains and mud, and knuckles split open. You spit blood on the ground, looking at Lily then back at Rosier. “Red,” You say, kicking him one last time in the stomach, unafraid of McGonagall’s wrath growing louder and louder. “Just like everyone else. Like those Muggleborns you fear. We’ve all got dirty blood, Rosier. Suck it up.” 

“I’ll tell your father about this!” Rosier bellows through bloody teeth. 

“Tell him!” You grab his neck and slam your forehead against his. “Tell him that I decide my own future now!”

Remus doesn’t even have to think about it. 

He falls in love.) 

FUNNILY ENOUGH, IT’S LILY who gives you her heart first, before anyone else does. It’s the last month of her first year at Hogwarts — it still hasn’t quite sunk in yet that she was a witch. Her, not Petunia, but her — Lily Evans, the witch. Apparently, some people can’t believe it either. A girl from Ravenclaw calls her this foul word, she’s heard it a few times now but it always hurts the same. James and Sirius get into a fight for her honor, now faced with detention later this evening. But she can’t help but wonder, what if they were right? What if she really didn’t belong in this world? It was too good to be true, anyway. Perhaps she’ll just run a flower boutique with Petunia.

“Oi.” 

The sound of your voice startles her, and she nearly topples over in the Great Lake. Lily catches sight of your Slytherin colors and resigns herself to another round of name-calling. “What do you want?” 

“They’re wrong, you know,” You tell her, ignoring Lily’s question. You look down on her with your nose raised arrogantly — she wishes she could be like you. Born to be magic. “You’ve got a terrifying brain locked up in your head there, Evans. And they know it, too. They’re scared.” 

Lily scoffs. “I’m just a Mudblood to them. There’s nothing to be intimidated by.” 

You sneer. “Don’t say that word. You’re more than that. More than them. They’ve got long ways to go to prove they have a place in this world. But you — you’ve defied the odds and you were destined to become magic. You don’t have to prove anything. You have the right to be in the wizarding world and no one can take that away from you.” 

Then, you pivot on your heels, not bothering to hear her reply. “You’re my rival now, Evans. Do keep up. We’ve got an Astronomy test tomorrow. I look forward to seeing how you do then.” 

Lily just gapes. She’s certain there’s butterflies in her stomach. Her heart thumps wildly against her ribcage. Lily raises her hands to feel her blushing cheeks. There’s a light unfamiliar sensation in her stomach — like the urge to kick her legs and scream into a pillow, or more precisely, chase after you and hold your hand.

She stiffens.

Oh.

part two

[aeyumicore]

hey I love your stories (I live on them). Can I make a request? Can you write a Zayne Fic where the Zayne is tired and she is giving him a massage but that massage escalates into a full blown love making. But Zayne is letting her top him, he let's her take control while he sits back and enjoy the so called massage. Squeezing his chest and then teasing him by squeezing his thigh muscles and maybe his *cakes* too...hehehe

know better

━ .ᐟ✧ PAIRING: zayne x female reader (afab)

━ ✧.˖ WORD COUNT: 2.2k unedited | ao3

━ .ᐟ✧ WARNINGS: mdni, explicit sexual content, massage m!receiving, reader tops zayne, spanking, unprotected seggs, butt fondling m!receiving

━ ✧.˖ A/N: in honor of zayne's main story branch <3 again i don't typically take requests but i may start doing shorter scenarios like this! so feel free to send them :) hope everyone is having a good zayne day!! i haven't done the new story yet, but plan to soon! i don't mind spoilers so feel free to yap in my messages or inbox. this is not edited.

THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL NEVER POST MY FICS ON OTHER TUMBLR BLOGS. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND ON AO3.

✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖ nsfw | minors dni | 18+ only | minors dni | nsfw ✦ . ˖ ✧ .ᐟ ˖

“Let me take care of you.”

Zayne should have known better than to trust those angelically unassuming words, his devilish little minx. But the thought of your delicate fingers kneading into his tense bundles of muscles, after he’d been on his feet for a 10 hour surgery, was too heavenly to give up.

He should’ve known you were up to something when you straddled him in just your panties, claiming you didn’t want to get your shorts greasy with the self-heating massage oil.

“Sweetheart…” he’d warned as your hands danced down the arch of his lower back, hissing as your nails grazed the contours of his back muscles. The feeling of your bare thighs sitting against the sensitive skin of the underside of his ass was enough to have him growing harder by the second.

He definitely should’ve known you were up to no good when your fingers cupped his rear, digging in so perfectly that he couldn’t help the sinful groan that escaped his lips. 

He tensed so adorably that you couldn’t help but continue to rub soothing circles into the plush mound of his ass. His strong glute muscles would squeeze every time you came close to the edges of his cheeks, daring yourself to go further. 

“I should’ve known you were up to no good,” Zayne moaned, his words muffled as his face pressed into the towel you had laid out on your shared mattress. 

You giggle, using your nails to gently rake up and down his rear, biting your lip as you can visibly see the goosebumps form on his pale skin. You bend down to press a kiss into his waist, dangerously close to unchartered territory.

Luckily for him, you save that for another night. Though it wasn’t necessarily something Zayne was opposed to, he was far too exhausted tonight to indulge in such unfamiliar endeavors. For tonight, he just wanted to submit to the pleasures of comforting intimacy. 

Though he couldn’t deny, the idea of exploring new heights of pleasure with you left him flustered and excited, evident by the way his now painfully hard cock was pressed into the bed as you straddled him. 

You begin to kiss up his spine, pressing your lips into his shoulder blades as you whisper into his neck.

“Does it not feel good?”

Zayne groans at your feigned innocence, his face turning to the side to try and catch your lips as they breathe into his sensitive neck. Your presence was having the opposite effect on him. With you around, he was more pent up than ever. 

But to his dismay, you pull back with an adorable grin on your face, returning your attention to the task at hand. 

You get off his thighs, “Turn over, please.”

Zayne hesitates, but knows better than to deny you. You had him wound so tightly around your fingers that there’d be no point to try and hide from you. Hide the way he was very much…pent up.

So when he finally does turn over, he doesn’t even try to cover his angrily erect cock. It stands so proud against his stomach, demanding attention. 

Zayne sits up on his elbows, his abdomen quivering as he breathes heavily. His eyes, intense and smoldering, watch you carefully, anticipating your next move. Glistening beads of pre drip down his cock like a melting popsicle, as if daring you for more. 

“Well? Will you take care of me, my love?”

And that was a request you could absolutely never refuse. 

-

Zayne’s skin is slick against yours, creating the most filthy clapping of skin against skin as you bounce on his lap. His face is buried in your chest, teeth capturing your poor and abused nippeles as he holds you tight, his thick forearms wrapped around your waist. 

He fights to keep his thighs still, wanting to let you “take care of him” like you so desperately asked to do. Though you have a paced rhythm, he wishes you’d go harder. 

Zayne leans back against the headboard of the bed, relinquishing your sweet and tender skin from his lips. His eyes can’t help but wander south, watching your thighs quiver as they bounce eagerly on his own bulging muscles. 

“You’re doing so well, beautiful,” he praises with starstruck eyes, hypnotized by the ripples of your thighs against his cleanly shaven pelvis. Your body never failed to amazon him, even as a physician and surgeon. The way your perfect taut walls could take all of him in; it was nothing short of mind-blowing. 

“Y-Yeah?” you whine, body tightening at the surgeon’s praises, “Does it feel good, Zayne?” Your hips roll furiously against him, eyes falling into your skull when his curved cock strokes against your spongy g-spot.

“Ah – You’re just what I needed,” Zayne grunts, eyes now watching the way your beautiful breasts bounce, right in front of his face like a damn taunt, “You’re dangerous.”

Your hips stutter at the guttural growl in his tone, his throat bobbing as he watches you, “What do you – ahngh – mean?”

Zayne grips your chin to steady your dreary head, watching with an amused glint in his hazel eyes as you start to lose yourself to the please, your rhythm faltering.

“I don’t expect people to be accepting of the idea that their surgeon is thinking about this,” Zayne grabs your clit, his hand slipping between your oiled bodies, “When he’s treating them.”

Your body convulses against Zayne’s expertly twisting fingers, as you nearly double over at his lewd confessions, “N-No! Let me.”

Zayne chuckles, knowing you want to be the one to take care of him. 

Reluctantly, he removes his fingers, settling his palms on your waist instead, looking up at you with all the wondrous adoration in the world reflected in his eyes. 

“Show me, sweetheart. Show me how you want to take care of me.”

His demanding purr fuels you with a need to prove yourself, your hips moving with renewed eagerness. With every roll of your pelvis, you clit brushes against the forming stubble on his crotch, sending sparks of pain singed euphoria straight into your core. It fizzles all throughout your body, making your fingertips numb with a pleasure you’re all too familiar with,

A pleasure Zayne has brought upon your body too many times to count.

Zayne groans at the feeling of your slick smearing messily against him, your bodies so slippery and sweaty with torrid pleasure. Though he wished he could take control, show you how badly he needed to pound against your cervix, force his way into your womb, watching you so prettily sob as you bounced atop him was nearly just as blissful. 

Your soft skin shines so beautifully before him, a heavenly light reflected against your resplendent curves. Zayne is so suddenly consumed with the need to feel your plush flesh against his itching fingers.

He takes two fistfulls of your ass, biting the inside of his cheek as he watches you with hooded lids. The sounds of your moans in response to his possessive hold ignites him with the need for more. 

So as you rock onto his thick manhood for all he’s worth, his palm comes down onto your ass with a force that makes your entire body quake. His hand comes down so strongly against the globes of your rear that the massage oil on your skin splashes, creating darkened splatters on the fabric of Zayne’s expensive comforter.

You’re so surprised by his actions that your bounces flutter to a halt, your throat eliciting a choked squeal of surprise and arousal. Your fingers dig into Zayne’s shoulders, the sting of his hand spider webbing from your ass, spreading all the way up to your spine. 

Zayne nearly cums right then and there, feeling just how excited and tight your cunt coiled against his cock, from him spanking you. But he bites his cheek, fighting the way his manhood fights to release inside you and the way his fingers itch with the need to spank you again.

“So tight,” he chokes out, cock lurching inside you, fighting against how fucking good you feel against him, how tightly you’re wound by him spanking you, “Hah – do you like it when I do that, sweetheart?”

Zayne had never been aroused by the idea of inflicting pain on you, even during sex. He’d never had the urge to spank you, never really saw the appeal in it. The most sadistic tendencies he had when making love to you was to grab your throat, squeezing just barely enough to make you whine. 

But now as you tighten in excitement in response to him smacking the soft fat of your ass, nodding so damn eagerly, as if you want him to spank you more…it’s enough to turn Zayne into a sadist.

So when you falter, nearly coming undone by the surprise of his demanding palm, Zayne’s hand comes down on you again. On impact, his fingers dig in, grabbing two handfuls of your luscious skin, forcing you to rock onto him. He helps you up and down, fingers soothing circles into the stinging skin that he’d struck. 

At this point you’re no longer doing any of the work, Zayne’s strong hands jostle you up and down, fucking you onto his cock like his precious little doll. Your body is far too gone, far too delirious from your newfound obsession with the way Zayne can blend pain and pleasure. You’re only capable of fucked out sobs, your head coming to lean against Zayne’s muscled chest as you come ever so close to your release. 

As Zayne rubs soothing circles into your prickling skin, he whispers huskily into your ear.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs, voice tinged with his own desperate need to release, “I’m always thinking about the next time I get to be inside you.”

“But I want to take care of you,” he pleads, giving your ass one last gentle smack, as if he can’t hold his hands back from the feeling of your delicious skin, “Will you let me do that?”

Zayne lifts your chin to look at him, his golden green eyes shiny with a fervent desperation, expecting you to answer him even though you were clearly in no state to speak.

When your mouth flaps open and shut, Zayne chuckles, pressing your head back into his warm chest, cradling you so gently as if he wasn’t actively rearranging your guts. He buries his face into the top of your head, enjoying the way your pheromones invade his senses and fill him with the animalistic need to mark you with his cum. 

“I’m going to fill you up, okay?” he breathes into your hair, “Don’t waste any of it.”

You nod vigorously, relieved you can finally let your orgasm take over. 

“I-I can take it all!” you squeal as he bounces you harder, desperate to cum himself, “I’ll be good Zayne, please!”

A growl rips from Zayne’s throat as a deafening smack! reverberates as he spanks you one last time, “Yes you can, that’s my girl.”

As the sting ripples out from your ass, you come so violently undone all over Zayne’s lap, the wet paps of his continued movements making your release smear everywhere.

Between that and the massage oil, it’s a slippery and moist mess of unfiltered heat. Zayne doesn’t take long to follow behind, pressing his lips to yours hungrily as he shoots inside of you. He’s so eager that his teeth knock into yours, but you barely notice, only focussed on the way his seed fills you, his cum so contrastingly hot compared to the icy feel of his skin against yours.

Zayne squeezes you so tightly against his body as he comes undone, making it nearly impossible for you to breathe. His moans are choked, strangled as if he himself is struggling to breathe. His hands slowly come to a stop, cock stilling as it spurts its very last drop.

Your bodies heave against one another, Zayne’s breath hot against your ear. He presses a languid kiss into your pulse, sighing in bliss. 

With the last of your strength, you use your fingers to dig gently into Zayne’s back, trying to smooth out the remaining knots in his muscles. Your head is still propped against Zayne’s pecs, your thighs caging his, and your cunt still snugly wrapped around him. 

Zayne groans at the feeling, “What are you doing?”

You mumble tiredly against his heartbeat, “Need t’finish your massage.”

Zayne curses, grabbing a hold of your wrists in his long and slender fingers. You look at him in surprise, eyes wide in question.

“I’ve had back to back surgeries every night this week.”

“I know,” you tilt your head in confusion, “That’s why I want to finish your massage.”

Zayne sighs in frustration, before leaning into your neck, your wrists still captured by his grasp. 

“Do you have any idea how…starved I am? You’re provoking a ravenous animal right now.”

The realization of just how touch-starved Zayne has become this last week sinks in. How even the innocent touch of your hands against his back has him alert and ready inside you. Your stomach flutters.

“Then…let me take care of you.”

And even though Zayne should have known better, he can’t help but once again give into the whims of the woman who had him utterly and completely wrapped around her finger.

© aeyumicore 2024.

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST ON THIS ACCOUNT AND AO3. i am not @/aeyumicores or @/aeyumiicore or any variations of my blog name.

✧.˖ i do not permit translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or others. please do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own.

[aurynsia]

Hellooo, so I am obsessed with the James Potter fic and can’t help but think of how James would react if he caught Harry writing a letter for Ginny the same way he did for reader? Or maybe his daughter received a letter from someone?

Like Father, Like Son

Dad!James Potter x Reader

Summary: James discovers Harry has inherited his lover boy gene…

Warnings: Mum!Reader x Dad!James, reader is referred to as Harry’s mother with she/her pronouns, not edited.

Word Count: 1K

Masterlist

A/N: I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! Thank you so much for the request! This acts as a sequel to this series, but feel free to read it as a stand alone one shot <3

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

“Dear Ginny,

there have been three occasions in my life when I’ve known what love is.

The first was watching my parents fall in love more and more everyday, reminiscing on their years spent as high school sweethearts. My dad had confessed to my mum in a series of love letters, initially anonymous before she found him out. They’ve been together ever since, and I long for a love like theirs.

The second time I knew love, it was platonic. My best friends mean the world to me, and they’ve shown me more love in these past few years of school than I’d ever known before. I can trust them with my deepest, darkest secrets, and for that I am truely grateful.

The third time was brought on by you. Ginny Weasley, I’m in love with-“

“Need any help with that holiday homework, love?”

James peaked his ever messy head of hair around the young Potter’s door, balancing a plate of his various house husband specialties in his hand.

Harry flushed with a wide-eyed shock, frozen in place as James pushed further into the room and placed the food on his desk.

“N-no, thanks dad! It’s uh…it’s not hard!” Harry managed to stutter out in reply after a beat, eyeing James curiously as he dotted around the room.

“What do you have there? Is that potions?” James lit up, scurrying over to Harry’s desk, “You know, your mother and I excelled in potions in seventh year! I was head over heels-“

He paused, glancing between the letter on Harry’s desk and his son’s sheepish grin, his eyebrows furrowed in the guilt of being caught.

“My boy…” James began, “Is that a love letter?” Harry looked away, worry clouding his features as he often sought to avoid conversations about love with his dad - he didn’t want to make a fool of himself.

“You really are my son!” James exclaimed, running on the spot to release some pent up energy, “Oh, this is great! Who’s it for? Have I met her? Or him! You know I’d never judge-“

“It’s for Ginny, dad,” Harry groaned, interrupting the man who was behaving like a fourteen year old boy. “The Weasley girl?” James paused as Harry winced. “I know she’s my best friend’s sister, but-“

“She’s lovely! Oh, this is perfect! Yes, what a sweet girl - such a welcoming family, her parents are such a treat-“ James rambled as he paced his son’s room, ignoring the way Harry released the breath he held as he broke the news to his dad.

Harry always prayed his parents would never succumb to the expectations of blood status, marrying him off to some pretentious pure blood girl when he’d rather be with the quick witted red head who stole his heart.

Today, it seemed, those prayers had been answered.

“C’mon, son, let me help! I’m good at this, you know, swept your mother right off of her feet! A poet, she had called me, yes! What have you written so far?”

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You pressed your key into the lock of your front door, twisting and turning to release the latch and enter the warmth of your home.

Letting out a shuddering breath from the frost that hit your neck in the street, you plunged into your hallway, throwing off your coat, bag and shoes before shuffling to the living room fireplace.

“Jamie,” you breathed, smiling with adoration at your husband’s perked up expression, anticipating your approach to the couch like an excited puppy after hearing the door slam.

“My lovely girl, welcome home! How was work? Are you hungry? There’s dinner on the stove,” he rattled off in a string of ecstatic exclamations, jumping off of the couch to wrap you in his strong arms.

You softened at his touch, humming in the warmth of his chest as you told him about your day and asked for late dinner.

“That sounds exhausting, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he mused, pulling you to his chest on the couch after guiding you to the plush cushions with a bowl of food in your hands. “We had quite the eventful day here, too,” he started, bright eyed and reeling, “I’m sure it’ll cheer you up!”

“Tell me all about it, Jamie,” you murmured, cuddling into his chest like it was moulded perfectly for your head. “Harry’s written a love letter, a good one,” he began enthusiastically, “for that lovely little Ginny Weasley he’s been so infatuated with recently!”

He practically squealed at the confession, adding pressure to your waist out of unconscious joy. You grinned in surprise, eyebrows reaching for your hairline as you spun around to face James. “Well, he really is his father’s son, hmm?”

James bounced you on his lap in glee, describing the letter that Harry planned to take back to Hogwarts with him. “And then he’ll slip it under her door! Oh, love, it’s perfect!”

You smiled sleepily at his explanation, rolling your head across his chest to stare up at him dreamily. “He deserves a love like ours,” you mused, “I remember that night, I was so enamoured by your beautiful writing…Harry’s got your big heart.”

“And your beautiful brain,” he kissed your forehead, “and your gorgeous eyes,” another kiss, “and your stunning smile,” one kiss more. You giggled at his touch, leaning impossibly closer to him on the couch.

“If all goes as planned, I suppose we should have the Weasleys over for Christmas,” you mumbled with a sleepy smile, closing your eyes and tightening your grip on James’ arms that captured your waist. “Oh! I’ll make dinner! We can have a big party!”

James Potter, the big, strong man with an even bigger heart who just had to make you fall for his hopeless romantics.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

[forlix]

· . ˚ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞

— the little mannerisms you pick up from the members of stray kids over the course of your relationship.

words・3.7k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / genres・fluff, humor, borderline crack, intentional lowercase, established relationship(s) / warnings・minsung’s are suggestive, touch of anxiety in felix's, jeongin's is lowkey gross LMFAO

a/n・massive shoutout to @/http.dwaekkii on tiktok for their edits about the boys' habits, which i consulted for chan, changbin, seungmin, and jeongin (and to @astraystayyh for beta reading hehe. what would i do without u). these were sooooo fun to write, hope u guys enjoy (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )

chan + getting shy easily. poor thing gets embarrassed so quickly as it is. throw you into the mix and it’s just critical hit after critical hit. defense lowered. no health potions left. he folds like a lawn chair with a massive smile and a whiny “stooooop” every time you say something even remotely affectionate. the habit is adorable, and you love it to pieces.

but you like poking fun at it even more. “god forbid i find my literal underwear model of a boyfriend attractive,” you’d say, or something along those lines, which of course only triples his embarrassment and on more than one occasion results in him starfishing on your kitchen floor, his hood pulled over his face.

fast forward however many months. he’s still the worst compliment-receiver you know, but you discover one arbitrary afternoon that it’s rubbed off on you.

the two of you are cuddled together on the living room couch in your usual fashion, your legs thrown over his thighs and his hands tracing absently over your shins as you relay to him something you overheard on the subway. the conversation is painfully normal. you’re almost bored. you pause to take a breath, and he murmurs, out of nowhere, in the dreamiest tone: “so damn beautiful.”

“wha—huh? what is?”

“you. your voice, your face, everything. i‘m lucky.”

your expression of bewilderment persists for around ten seconds, and then slowly, so slowly, you begin to sandwich your head between your knees, balling yourself up like a spooked armadillo. chan wonders if he should call an ambulance.

“love?” no response. “what, uh, what’s happening right now, exactly?”

no response. no response. then, hoarsely, “you can’t...say shit like that…randomly.”

he notices two things after that. one, your skin is burning hot enough to fry something upon, and two, you’ve formed a fist in the fabric of his hoodie, which you only do when you’re pretending to be annoyed at him. the puzzle pieces fall into place, and he starts grinning like a madman.

“you’re…embarrassed?”

the guttural groan you emit is more than enough of an answer, and the cute aggression that overcomes chan is fucking debilitating. he wraps his arms around you and hauls you entirely off the couch and onto his lap, littering kisses over your face until it finally resigns into a matching smile. all intent to continue feigning grumpiness erased with the drop of a hat. you drape an arm over his neck.

“you’re so good to me, channie,” you sigh helplessly. “i love you.”

“love you more, baby.” he imprints these words directly upon your lips, then pulls away, giggles. “that was very me of you, by the way.”

“i know, right? i was just about to say.”

minho + butt touching. it’s quite simple, really. if lee minho is within proximity of someone’s buttocks, he will, as he lives and breathes, make it known. will it be a coy little swat or a yelp-eliciting, full-bodied grab? nobody ever knows, not even him. the unpredictability is what makes it exciting.

but it takes a while before this starts applying to you, because the way minho touches you is…different. doting. there’s no other way to describe how he always holds the nape of your neck while kissing you, how he rests a hand against the small of your back whenever he leads you somewhere, how during the nights you can’t sleep he guides you to the place on his chest where he knows his heartbeat is loudest. he even drags you into his trademark headlocks the same way one would hold an invaluable treasure. he’s so obsessed with all of you that he never thinks to pay just your butt special attention (though it is, indeed, a special butt).

you take it into your own hands. literally.

you don’t know what prompts it—maybe you’ve simply seen minho slap his members’ asses one too many times, or maybe you’re still thinking of the specific time minho slapped changbin’s ass in passing and it fucking echoed, or maybe minho just looks especially fine in this practice outfit, a skintight tee and washed sweatpants that hug him in all the right places—but you feel a new urge today as your boyfriend swings his duffel over his shoulder, circles around the kitchen counter.

he puckers up as he nears you, silently requesting his goodbye; you give it to him, relishing for a moment in the familiar, soft plush of his lips beneath yours. then he pulls away and turns to leave, and your hand acquires its target.

“go get ‘em, tiger.” thwack!

minho jumps a foot into the air. clutches his pearls and his left butt cheek. becomes the splitting image of that perplexed blonde lady surrounded by geometry.

but when he turns around to stare at you, the smirk melting across his face betrays how he really feels about what you’ve just done. good. really good.

you, meanwhile, look genuinely confused. “it’s like it moved on its own.”

minho beams. steps towards you daintily, intentionally, like a cat catching sight of a laser beam. brings a hand to your hip, murmurs, “that’s what we’re doing now?” kisses you again, for longer this time.

you fully foresee his fingers wandering to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze, but you reach up to cuff his shoulder when it happens anyways, and his laugh vibrates against your mouth. it seems you’ll be reaping what you’ve sown from now on.

(good luck.)

changbin + the Cackle™. yes, you said something exceptionally funny. yes, you expected changbin to find it funny too. but you couldn’t expect the godforsaken noise that left his mouth as he threw himself straight into the tree planter behind you.

your mind spun with frantic questions as you helped him out of the dirt. had the spirit of spongebob just usurped his vocal cords? were you on a date with the wicked witch of the west? most importantly—

“are you well?” you sputtered, which only made him laugh harder and his laugh so much crazier, so you started laughing, too. and you were goners, falling over each other until you’d been reduced to watery eyes and sore cheeks, your giggling interrupted only by the sound of you slapping his thigh every so often, heartily enough to reverberate around the little park in which you concluded your second date.

that’s how you fall for seo changbin: laughing. with a reckless, breathless abandon you didn’t think possible. stumbling across empty sidewalks, spitting noodles across dining tables, begging for mercy on studio couches. wrestling under tear-stained comforters, starting (and re-starting) silly stories, huffing into beaming kisses. the list goes on.

you never quite get used to that chortle of his, too busy enjoying its insanity to notice how your own chuckles grow shorter and shriller, how they gradually develop an edge like the chittering of a forest dweller.

you complete your transformation on your ninety-eighth date. 

no, changbin doesn’t say anything exceptionally funny. no, he doesn’t expect you to find it exceptionally funny, either. he expects least of all for you to fold over the kitchen island and start cackling like cruella de vil on helium.

jisung turns around from his seat on the couch. chan’s footsteps come to a halt as he emerges from the bathroom. both of them have fear in their eyes as they witness your undoing.

the only thing on changbin’s face, though, is unfettered delight.

“b-baby,” he sputters with a growing smile. “are you—”

you lift your face off the marble surface and turn to face him. the entirety of your forehead and the point of your nose is covered in flour. you blow a cloud of the stuff out of your mouth like a dragon awoken from slumber.

he loses it.

the two of you make your way onto the floor in slow motion, ending in a tangled heap against the side of the counter. changbin tries to clean off the flour and smears it all over your cheeks instead. you are zero help whatsoever, smacking his bicep like that’ll help you catch your breath. your synchronized, diabolical laughter reaches every corner of the apartment. your happiness reaches every nerve ending.

chan and jisung look at each other and sigh. jisung takes a video.

hyunjin + side-eyeing. this man is so god awful at controlling his face, bless him…and DAMN HIM.

on one hand, you love how in tune with his emotions he is, how confidently he puts them on display. and you love your synergy. you come closer to believing in soulmates every time you glance his way and discover your exact feelings written all over his features; it’s a special type of happiness, sharing a brain with your favorite person in the world.

on the other hand, you think there’s a time and place for candor, and he tends, well, not to think at all. during many a precarious situation, you’ll catch him wearing an expression so transparent that he might as well arrange the words THIS IS STUPID AND I HATE ALL OF YOU over his head in neon lights. cue a dig of your heel into his toe, a hiss of pain cut short by your piercing glare. if you’d known ahead of time that dating hwang hyunjin would have you doing so much damage control…you’d still date him, let’s be real. but you do get stressed at times.

the night the tables turn, you’re at a celebratory dinner for your coworker’s birthday. small caveat: you can’t stand her. she’s the type to spontaneously combust if she goes two minutes without talking about herself. certainly doesn’t help that she’s downing champagne like water, and her lips are looser than ever.

hyunjin comes with you, fortunately. or not. he spends the whole evening trying so hard not to laugh: snorting into his bread, excusing himself to “cough.” you think he actually starts doing breathing exercises at some point. you’re so, so grateful that he’s here, but you’re also deathly afraid that he’s gonna bring out those neon lights in front of your entire office.

then, she flirts with him.

from the opposite end of the table. perfectly wasted but still knowing perfectly well that he’s yours. the whole patio goes silent. hyunjin’s jaw hits the table.

your fork clatters to your plate.

FUCK time and place.

the side-eye you give her is devastating. truly masterful. your brow furrows. your eyes turn to slits. your gaze does the up-down-up of unadulterated incredulity. hyunjin recognizes the motions straightaway and starts smiling so hard his whole face hurts.

you take your boyfriend’s wrist and stand up. he follows suit. you don’t say a thing as you leave the restaurant, and you don’t have to. the intensity of your disdain was more than enough; anything more and she might’ve started crying.

once you’re on the curb outside, hyunjin pulls on your interlocked hands, brings you close. his lips brush against the shell of your ear. you hear laughter and his smirk in his voice: “you might be the sexiest person on earth."

jisung + how he applies lip balm. that han jisung is the pioneer of modern day babygirlism is the worst kept secret in the world. that han jisung applies lip balm the riveting way he does, however, is unknown even to you. until one morning.

you pop into the bathroom and make your usual beeline for your toothbrush, only to end up motionless in front of the sink, staring. jisung is a bit off to the side, hair pinned back by a cinnamoroll headband, eyes glued to his phone, hand holding a tube of chapstick that you can actually see getting shorter in real time. he looks so pensive, so concentrated. how long has it been since he last blinked? you’ve half a mind to pull out a stopwatch.

finally, he rubs his lips together, recaps the chapstick, and makes eye contact with you in the mirror. a smile crosses his face, equal parts confused and amused.

“baby, your mouth is open.”

you close it. then you open it again, and your words come out in a barely-contained laugh: “what on earth did you just do?”

“what do you mean?”

“the—” you point at his mouth, then do your best impression of an elementary schooler trying to color inside the lines. “—that.”

jisung looks aghast. “that was LIP BALM.”

“no, i know what it—you’re so—i meant, why do you apply it like that?”

jisung continues to look aghast. “like what?”

“like you’re one of socrates’ prized pupils and the answer to the universe’s formation lies at the bottom of—” you step in close, reach into the pocket of his sweatpants. “—this tube!”

it might be the craziest thing you’ve ever said to him. he bursts into laughter, the kind that leaves him no recollection of what he does with his limbs, and when he can see straight again he discovers he’s pressed you gently against the counter. his fingers latched around the hem of your top, his grin inches away from yours. can’t stay away from you to save his life, this one.

“do i actually?”

“yes! holy shit, it’s so cute.” your arms circle around his neck, also without an ounce of thought, also through a fit of giggles. “no way you’ve always done that, right?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it.” a pause. a tilt of his head, with purpose. “am i…doing it wrong?”

the question is a trap and you realize it too late. your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips—a ray of sunlight glistens off the pink plush like a paid actor—then back to his eyes. let’s find out.

you lean in. so does he. and his mouth tastes and feels like melted fucking sugar. it’s such a pleasant surprise that you actually moan, and he chuckles against you. lifts you onto the edge of the sink. your mind really goes empty after that, save for one thought. i have to start doing that.

felix + checking his own pulse. you saw it from afar, the first time.

he stood by the stage’s entrance just before curtain up, pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of his neck. eyelids sealed closed, chest heaving. you tilted your head, puzzled. worried. then the concert began, and you pushed the image to the back of your mind.

it returned to the forefront right before bed.

“you do it when you’re nervous?”

“yeah. forces me to ground myself. turns off the world for a bit.” the hand rubbing circles into your back paused. “wanna give it a go?”

“what, checking my pulse?”

“mine.”

you lifted your head off the pillow. felix took your hand from where it sat upon his ribs, isolating two fingers and nestling them over his jugular. his quickened heartbeat pressed into your skin like the world’s gentlest tattoo.

the sixty seconds began and concluded in total silence.

“well?” he whispered.

“ninety-three,” you answered, lightheaded from the sheer intimacy of it all. “you’re nervous right now?”

“something like that,” he hummed. pulled you down, kissed you deeply. there were no more words exchanged that night.

the habit surfaced more than you knew. while driving to visit your parents. after a stupid argument with a bouquet of flowers tucked beneath his free arm. you started doing it for him in the times he couldn’t, and he’d cover your hand with his own and kiss the top of your head silently, gratefully.

two years have passed since, and you’ve vanished from the dinner table.

felix asks the nearest waiter for directions to the restrooms. you don’t notice when the door swings open, unmoving in your spot over the sink, your pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of your neck. 

his hand finds your hip. you let him turn you around and bring you to his chest; he glances at the crystalline droplets studding your lashes and falling from your cheeks. his eyes convey what his mouth doesn’t need to, not anymore.

let me.

you do.

his fingers replace yours the moment you drop them from under your jaw, the movement like clockwork. he counts your every heartbeat with unblinking concentration, his heart growing heavier the higher the number climbs.

the sixty seconds begin and conclude in total silence. 

“well?” you whisper.

“hundred and six,” he answers. to his confusion, a smile pulls at your lips. 

he wonders if it’s a trick of the bathroom lights when he sees the tiny box you pluck from your pocket, but there’s no mistaking the reality of the diamond ring that sits behind its open lid.

the earth slants under his feet.

“crazy.” you giggle through your tears, run your thumb over his cheekbone. “that’s how many years i want with you.”

seungmin + poking eyes(?) he’s hardly touched puppym when your voice is slicing through the living room air like a fucking beyblade. 

“KIM SEUNGMIN, UNHAND HIM THIS INSTANT.”

do you have a sixth sense just for this? he throws his hands up in exasperation. “he’s literally me. i’m allowed to do whatever i want with me.”

“he’s not you, he’s our son.” you pop out of nowhere to swipe the plushie from over your boyfriend’s shoulder. “my son, if you keep this up.”

“just say you hate me and my preferred avenues of self expression.”

upside-down, he watches you dust off puppym’s face and smooch his forehead with a tenderness that makes seungmin unhappier than he lets on. you then tuck him into your jacket pocket. the little shit’s expression looks strangely smug poking out of its cotton capsule.

“i’m asking you to not gauge his eyes out, not to deliver me the holy grail,” you say. “you’ll survive.”

but then he feels your hands on either side of his face, and you lean over him like the mj to his peter, leave a kiss on the space between his eyes, too. he has zero say in the bashful smile this brings to his face.

“but why do you do that, seriously?” you mutter.

“i have no idea,” he replies. “but it’s fun. try it.”

“i’ll think about it.” you lean in again, and he nearly forgets what you were talking about in the first place when you kiss him on the lips this time. “okay, i’ve thought about it. no.”

“hate you,” he says despite the literal hearts in his eyes, and then you’re off to work.

puppym takes strikingly after his father. they have the same bangs. the same compulsively squeezable quality. the same little :3 that can only allude to sinister plottings. you’d be loath to admit that you sort of comprehend seungmin’s poking predisposition.

one night, seungmin falls asleep before you even finish your nighttime routine, and you spot in his peaceful, upturned face an opportunity.

you lie belly-down on your side of the bed. your fingers splay into a peace-sign in the air. your smile stretches further into a cheshire grin the closer you bring your hand. you’re just about to reach the ends of his eyelashes when—

“I KNEW IT!”

you almost catapult into the ceiling. then you try to make a mad dash for the bathroom. but seungmin shoots a hand around your wrist like he’s actually peter parker and pins you down before you so much as take a step. your only remaining option is to sulk about your foiled plans. (and blush, because, well, you’re under him.)

“amateur,” he tsks. “you gotta test my breathing to make sure i’m asleep first. shit’s foolproof.”

you blink at him for a few seconds. his words finally click.

now you almost catapult him into the ceiling.

“HOW MANY TIMES?”

jeongin + eating food in one bite. so you might be an instigator.

“hwuck,” he grumbles around the whole ice cream cone in his mouth, face scrunched up in a brain-freeze-induced wince. “ayee ith waz a bah iyeah.” (translation: fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.)

“you got this. just take it slow,” you urge, except he’s stopped moving and speaking and closed his eyes as if he’s descending into a deep sleep. you’re actually concerned for about two seconds, and then his jaw begins to oscillate leisurely like an elderly cow in his favorite pasture. false alarm.

after some time, he swallows, beams. “so am i the fucking best or what.”

“yeah you are,” you echo, and he swings an arm over your shoulder, plants a chocolatey kiss on your temple. the two of you celebrate his daesangs with less enthusiasm.

“when are you doing that with me, by the way?”

“the one-bite thing?” he nods. “mmm, coaches don’t play.”

“mmm, this one will.”

“doubtful.”

fast forward a few weeks and you, jeongin, and his younger brother are sitting cross-legged on the porch in his backyard. three full-sized oranges rest in the center of your makeshift circle. damn is yoon hard to say no to. (runs in the family.)

“the rules!” he declares. “eat the orange whole! first to swallow it wins! you can’t spit it out!”

you wait. “is that it?”

“yes!”

why was the delivery so grand?

jeongin places a fond hand atop his brother’s head. “i’ve brought you a new loser, yoonie. get excited.”

you feign an indifferent scoff, but jeongin spots the fire that ignites behind your eyes like that of an anime protagonist, the resolute grip with which you palm your orange. he smirks. he’s never known you to take trash talk sitting down. or sitting cross-legged on his porch.

yoon counts you off. “ready…”

“good luck, coach,” jeongin sings.

“shut up, pipsqueak.”

“set…GO!”

in amusing unison, you and yoon try and fail to fasten your teeth around even half of the fruit. jeongin, meanwhile, fits the whole thing into his black hole of an oral cavity and launches into that dumb cow impression again.

desperate times call for desperate measures.

you rip the orange from your lips. “yoon! your brother’s ticklish, right?”

both yang siblings’ eyes widen—the younger’s in growing delight, the older’s in impending horror.

the latter reacts first. “ay, ay, ay, ah ahes eh ooles!” (translation: wait, wait, wait, that’s against the rules!)

but the former moves first, and you’re right behind him.

jeongin weakens when the younger boy assaults his sides, crumples when you target the back of his neck, the sounds leaving his mouth getting progressively louder and somehow even less intelligible.

he eventually has to spit out the orange to avoid death by pulp going down the wrong pipe and spins around in indignation, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. but his annoyance—

you’re back on the floor, gnawing hopelessly at the the orange again. “ih ih eawahin, ooh.” (translation: this is embarrassing, yoon.)

yoon replies, “huh?” (translation: huh?)

—dissipates, immediately.

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[hexescore]

my husband is the best husband ever, just so you know~

♡ ◞ includes: ekko, jayce, loris, silco, vander, viktor.

♡ ◞ summary: calling them your husband, despite the fact you two aren't married yet.

♡ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. mentions of marriage/calling them 'husband'. not proofread hehe. the women of arcane edition will be coming.

EKKO

Ekko had started it actually, accidentally referring to you as his spouse. He was so embarrassed at his little slip up he locked himself up in his lab and tried to avoid you for the rest of the day. You, of course, wouldn't let this slide.

"Ekko? Let me in." He couldn't stay in there all day, you knew it, he knew it, everyone knew it. Ekko had responsibilities he'd have to get to eventually, and you'd take advantage of that knowledge by camping outside his lab all day and night if you had too.

"No." You frown at his single, but unwavering, answer.

"My husband is so mean to me~" You whine, faking a pout. It's quiet for a moment, and then the door opens and you fall backwards.

"You're very annoying." He says, and you roll your eyes as you pick yourself up off the ground.

"Yeah, but you love me, don't you... Husband?" Ekko glares at you, but it has no bite. Instead there's something soft in his gaze, almost adoring. He grumbles about letting you in, as long as you don't utter the 'h'-word again.

"Fine, fine, I won't say it again... if you show me what you were working on?" Ekko hesitates.

"Maybe another time." He fiddles with the ring in his pocket, the ring he had been tinkering on before he begrudgingly let you in. You'll see it eventually.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

JAYCE TALIS

Your friends had told you about the little pranks they had played on their spouses, some of them pouting at the lack of reaction, some questioning their relationship at the bad reactions, and some giggling at the excited reactions they had gotten. It made you wonder how Jayce would react to such a prank.

Deep in thought, you made your way back to your shared apartment, only to find Jayce still home. You smile, body relaxing at the sight of him. Perhaps you'd try out this little prank yourself.

"I'm home," You call out, and Jayce perks up at the sound of your voice. "Did my husband miss me?" You ask, and within seconds you wish you could take it back because Jayce freezes in place. "Ah, uhm... Jayce, I didn't-"

"No, hold on," He comes back to reality, "I'm husband."

"Huh?"

"You said- you can't take it back. I'm only to respond to husband now." He says, puffing his chest out a little, almost smug at the term. You bite back a laugh, grinning.

"Okay... Husband~" Jayce practically melts at the word, slinking his way over to you and falling into you, grinning and peppering kiss all over your face.

"Again."

"Husband~"

"Again," more kisses to your face.

"Husba-" You can't get the word out between giggles and kisses, trying to pull away but Jayce isn't letting up anytime soon— with a single word you've rendered him a lovesick fool all over again. Be sure, this title will become an official one soon enough.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

LORIS

Loris is a man of few words, even fewer expressions. Try as you might, its hard to get him to show much of a reaction to anything. "Mm, husband~" You call one morning, hoping that the earliness would make his groggy mind forget to put up a barrier to his reactions.

"... My darling husband? Shall we get something to eat?" He still doesn't react, doesn't even so much as blink at you. Instead he scratches his stomach like he does most mornings and lets out a yawn.

"Sounds good." He says, and you watch in mild annoyance as he gets ready for the day. Okay, perhaps a different approach? So later, as you're at the cafe you adore with Loris, you smile at the cashier a little too brightly.

"My husband, yes, him," you latch an arm around his large bicep, "my husband, would like a muffin." Loris glances at you, seemingly confused by your emphasis- despite it not being the reaction you wanted it, it was a reaction nonetheless. You continue your order in a defeated manner.

"You really are good at hiding your reactions," You say with a small pout, taking your usual sitting spot in the corner with Loris. "Didn't even blush," You really wish you could've seen it!

"It's not that strange," He begins, deep voice capturing your attention, "Since I call you my spouse all the time." He takes a few bites of his muffin, leaving you to sputter and short-circuit at his words. Had you been a little less mystified by his confession, you'd have notice the small blush on his ears.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

SILCO

"I'm sorry, but my husband has had a long day- perhaps you should come back another time." You said with a forced smile, closing the door on yet another crime boss with a 'proposal' for your husband. You let out a sigh as you lock the door and turn to look at said man.

Silco simply has a brow raised, amused at your words. Husband? That was a new term, but not one he necessarily hated. Instead he brushed over it, as if not to spook you from saying it again.

"Thank you, darling." He hums, slinking a little deeper into his seat. "What would I do without you?" As you walk closer to him, Silco wastes no time in trailing a hand around your thigh, pulling you closer to him.

"Hmm, probably be stuck in endless meetings, I suppose. Thankfully you have me, husband~" He chuckles lowly this time. This was likely one of your many attempts at a 'prank' to see his reaction.

"Yes, I'm ever so gracious to have such a loving spouse." He points, slight sarcasm on his tongue. "Perhaps we should make this title more permanent, since you seem to like it so much- what do you think?" and well, how could you possibly disagree?

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VANDER

Vander was busy at the counter, so you decided to help collect the most recent shipment. It just so happens, as you're finishing up, he goes to find you. "Mm, thank you so much- my husband will be very happy with these." He's got a shit-eating grin, waiting for the other man to leave before speaking up.

"Husband, huh?" You nearly jump out of your skin, whipping around to spot Vander, leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, looking much too handsome.

"D- Don't sneak up on me like that." Vander bites back a laugh, eyeing you.

"Didn't answer me." He says, "You tellin' everyone 'm your husband?" You open your mouth, but close it just as quickly. His plans to fluster you are definitely working, but you'll be damned if he knows that.

"It's a recent development." You say, as monotone and briefly as you can. Vander can't help but let out a laugh now, tears in his eyes at your sudden shy behavior. He knows he'll have to get back to the floor soon, but first...

"Well, I like it. Hope you don't mind if I return the favor though," his words trail into a whisper as he gets closer to you, sharing a quiet kiss before he has to return to his business.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

VIKTOR

"Oh, my husband isn't a big fan of these events." You had come to the gala that evening alone, so imagine your surprise when it's pointed out that Viktor actually right behind you. Turning to face him, your ears begin to grow hot in embarrassment. He's got a smirk toying on his lips, trying hard not to laugh at your flusteredness.

"Husband, hm?" He teases, and you groan. You had hoped to keep that little term of endearment to yourself. You take the lead, guiding Viktor away from the public before he can embarrass you further.

"If you... If you don't like it, I won't say it again." You finally say, unable to look him in the eye. You two now reside in a small study, far away from the party. Viktor haves his hand dismissively, a smile on his lips.

"I never said I didn't like it," he tries to catch your eye, "quite the contrary, actually." He admits, his own cheeks begin to warm. He feels a little foolish, getting so worked up over a single term, yet he can't deny the warmth in his chest is a nice feeling.

"You do?" You blink, surprised. You were sure he'd scold you- if only to tease you at the very least. Instead he looks earnest in his admission.

"Very much," it's rare to see this side of him, especially outside the comfort of your shared home. "Though I think it would be best to hold off on the 'h'-word for now. I'd like to earn the title properly." You nod, agreeing to his terms.

"Alright- but don't make me wait too long."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He murmurs, taking your hand and pressing a sweet kiss to it. "Now, shall we join the party?"

[clockwayswrites]

The Haunting of Danny Fenton

Chapter 6, Part 1

masterpost (please no editing, head hurt, throat hurt, words hard)

“Danny, no,” Dick said, again.

“Danny, yes,” Danny said back, again.

Gar leaned over to Wally and whispered loudly, “You like the stubborn ones, don’t you?”

Wally sighed and buried his face in his hands. That would have worked better if his hands weren’t still slightly transparent.

“Black hair and blue eyes too,” Victor added.

“What an observation, you’re a real genius,” Donna said with a roll of her eyes.

“Uh, yeah, I actually am a genius,” Victor pointed out.

“Inappropriately positive,” Kori said with a tilt of her head as she watched Dick and Danny argue.

Gar blinked at her. “What?”

“Like… they are positive even when they should not be positive about the situation. They are… no, they pretend to be optimists,” Kori explained.

The rest of the gathered Titans looked at Dick and Danny thoughtfully.

“Yeah, no, you’re right. Inappropriately positive,” Gar agreed.

“Recklessly self sacrificing,” Raven added, to agreeing nods and murmurs.

“So smart they’re stupid.” The Titans turned to look at Mina, who just gave a little shrug. “It’s true.”

“So true. Can we keep you?” Gar asked.

Mina laughed and shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not hero material, I’m just an oracle. But if you ever need a reading, you just have to give me a call!”

Gar perked up like a puppy even without transforming. “Oh! Can you do one while you’re here?”

“Focus, Gar,” Raven said.

“Ugh. ‘Focus’, as if there’s anything we can do while they argue!” Gar said with a gesture towards Wally’s boyfriends.

“Who do you think will win?” Donna asked.

“Danny,” Wally answered. He pulled his face out of his hands and shrugged when his team (plus Mina) all looked at him. “At the end of it, they both want me back. Either Dick gives in now, or he gives in when things feel hopeless, but he’ll give in.”

“But at the risk of Danny?” Kori asked.

Wally bit back comment about how she didn’t know Dick, not like she thought she did, but that would have just been lashing out with his own frustrations. Dick and Kori’s breakup was ages ago, and Dick’s wounds had long scarred over. Besides, he never did let Wally fight for him, even when he needed it most.

“Danny’s been a hero. Rules are different for heroes,” Wally explained. “At the end of the day, Dick will trust that Danny understands the risk. He’ll let Danny make the final call.”

Raven gave a little nod. “And he will hate himself for it the whole time.”

“Yeah,” Wally agreed with a sigh. “Danny?”

The argument cut off with both of them turning to blink at Wally. It would be adorable, the way they moved in sync, if things weren’t so serious.

“Give me the over under on this,” Wally said. “Treat it like you’re proposing an experiment. What the risk something happens to you? What’s the risk we can’t undo it? And what’s the risk if we don’t do it?”

Danny set his hands stubbornly on his hips. “The risk is you never get back!”

“To you, Danny, what’s the risk to you,” Wally said, almost pleaded.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah? What yeah?” Gar asked, unable to help himself.

“The yeah is, that I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone that being Wally’s anchor is effecting my health,” Danny said. He crossed his arms. He looked smaller for it. “Is my plan putting myself at risk? Sure. I would say about an eighty percent chance that something serious is going to happen to me.”

“Which is too high,” Dick pleaded.

Danny sighed. “But Wally’s point is, if we do nothing? It’s a hundred percent chance that something serious happens to me. This isn’t sustainable.”

“Oh…” Dick said after a beat. “Yeah, that’s an oh.”

“Yeah,” Danny agreed. He took a breath and turned back meet Dick head on. “I guess I wasn’t making that part clear enough. This is a risk, I know that, but we can do it as safely as possible. I can be surrounded by heroes in a state of the art medical facility. Sure, I’m already weaker than I was, but I’m still strong enough to do this. I’ve bounced back from worse; I believe in my chances. And at the end of the day, it’s my risk. So please, believe in me too?”

Dick was silent for a long moment, searching Danny’s gaze, but Wally already knew what Dick was doing to say. He wasn’t surprised at all when Dick sighed with a slight slump.

“I believe in you,” Dick said, “but there will be precautions and fail safes in place first, so we’re not doing it right this instant.”

“That’s fine,” Danny agreed quickly.

“And we’re bringing in some of the Justice league.”

“Sure, not a problem.”

Dick snorted. “You say that, but you haven’t met Constantine yet.”

“Who?”

--

AN: Wally loves his stubborn idiots and he's going to try to protect Dick from his own guilt if he can. Danny... he's just trying to trust Danny.

(While I love Kori as a character, I hate how that whole event was written and the victim blaming of it. So sometimes I have to let myself be a little salty about it.)

[fandomfablesunleashed]

Period relief

Zayne x reader

Summary: When your period hits unexpectedly, leaving you stranded with only one pad and no energy to even go to the store, the last thing you expect is for your plans with Zayne to suddenly fall into place.

Words: 2k

Notes: I wrote it while I was dying on my period (shocking, isn't it, given the theme?), and edited it when I was able to think. I'm still dealing with the consequences of being a woman, so it might not be perfect, but I tried.

Let’s hope a cute doctor can help you too during those tough times.

English is not my first language

Masterlist

You groaned. Great. Your last pad.  Perfect timing.

You had planned to go out tonight to restock—not just pads, but all the other necessities you'd need for your period, which, according to your calculations, should start tomorrow. Not fucking today.

Just as you were cursing internally and debating whether you could manage a trip to the store now, your phone buzzed with a new text:

My surgery took shorter than expected, so I can see you tonight if you're still free.

Right. You’d originally asked Zayne to hang out today, but he had to decline. Now, suddenly, he was available. Under normal circumstances, you would’ve been thrilled. But at the moment? You felt like dying.

It wasn’t just the cramps, fatigue, and general misery of your period arriving earlier than expected. It was also the fact that your relationship with Zayne was still fairly new. And while you liked him—a lot—you weren’t quite sure how you felt about him seeing you like this.

You sighed, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you finally typed:

I’d love to see you, but I just got my period and currently feel like rotting on my couch… after I force myself to go out and buy some necessities.

Immediately, your phone started ringing.

You grumbled but answered, moving weakly to curl up on the couch in a fetal position as you pressed the phone to your ear.

“Hi,” you managed to say.

“What do you need?”

“Huh?”

“I'm leaving the hospital soon. I'll get you what you need,” Zayne said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The familiarity of his voice made you feel safe, but also… vulnerable. He always found ways to take care of you, even when you didn’t ask, and sometimes it made you feel guilty. 

“No, no need. I just took a painkiller. I should be able to go and get something myself soon. I don’t want to trouble you.” You hated how weak you sounded, even if you were doing your best to brush it off. You hated feeling like a burden.

“If it were trouble for me, I wouldn’t be offering.”

His words, simple as they were, immediately softened the knot in your chest. It was the truth, and you knew it.

And just like that, you were reminded why you adored that man so much.

“So, what do you need?”

“Pads,” you admitted.

“Alright. The ones you usually use?”

“Wait… how do you know what I use?” you asked, surprised. You’d never told him, had you?

A teasing lilt came through his voice. “They're in your cabinets. The one you told me to put my stuff in too, remember?”

“Right, right. Of course. Didn’t think you’d remember.”

“I try to remember things about you. So those?” He sounded so amused, and you couldn’t help but feel a little flustered. Of course, he remembered. He always did. It was one of the things you appreciated in him.

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

You hesitated, not wanting to bother him more.

“If you don’t tell me, I won’t be able to get it,” he pointed out.

“Right. Um… mint tea?” you offered, unsure if it was too much.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

You expected him to hang up as you heard more shuffling over his end of the phone call. Yet, he wasn’t done with the conversation.

“Have you eaten?”

You winced. You really didn’t want to admit how bad you’d been about that.

“Umm… you’re not gonna like the answer.” You avoided the question with a pathetic attempt at humor, hoping he wouldn’t push.

“Don’t tell me you took painkillers on an empty stomach,” he said, his voice adopting that doctor-like tone—the one you recognized all too well. 

“I know, I know,” you interrupted quickly. “I forced myself to eat some yogurt and crackers before taking it.”

A disappointed sigh came through the receiver. “Better than nothing, I guess. I’m going to grab us some dinner too, then. Anything you're craving?”

You weren’t really hungry, but you should eat something. Then again, Zayne probably wasn’t going to approve of what you wanted.

“Fries.”

“Fries?”

“Yes. And chicken wings. Preferably spicy.” You knew it wasn’t the best idea, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about nutrition right now.

A pause. You could feel the judgment through the phone.

“That’s not the most nutritious food, especially now when you should be eating things rich in—”

“I know,” you cut him off, hoping to end the lecture before it started. As much as you liked him talking about just anything, you were not in the mood to listen to what you should be eating or doing. “Just get whatever then.” You were glad he was not seeing you right now because you were for sure pouting like a small child, and he would for sure tease you about it.

“Alright. I’ll be there soon.”

And then it hit you. He was going to be here soon.

You groaned, pulling the blanket over your face. You missed him, and the thought of not having to drag yourself to the store was nice, but… you also didn’t want him to see you like this.

“What is it?” Zayne asked, clearly sensing your hesitation.

“I… um.” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain it.

“You don’t want to see me?” His voice softened. “I wanted to take care of you, but if you’d rather not, I can just drop off the stuff and go.”

“No, it’s not that… it’s just…” you mumbled, “I look like shit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I just… I don’t look good.”  It felt silly to admit, but there it was. You didn’t want him to see you like this, and you certainly didn’t feel like pulling yourself together.

There was a beat of silence, and then—

Laughter.

“Zayne, don’t laugh at me!”

“I apologize,” he said, still clearly amused. “You’re in pain. You’re allowed to not look your best. Besides, I can assure you—no matter how you feel, you’re still gonna be beautiful to me.”

You could hear the sincerity in his voice. As always. You knew he meant it, but still, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed.

You swallowed thickly, heart lodging itself in your throat. “If you keep talking like that, I might actually cry.”

“I’ll grab some tissues too, then,” he responded playfully. “I’ll see you soon, dear.”

Not long after, the doorbell rang.

You groaned, barely able to muster the energy to move. Every part of you ached, the weight of exhaustion pressing down on your body as you forced yourself off the couch. You shuffled toward the door, each step feeling like a small victory, but the effort it took left you feeling hollow. With a sigh, you finally managed to pull the door open.

“Hi.” you said, your voice sounding far weaker than you intended.

“Hey.” His hand brushed against your cheek, and then he pressed a tender kiss there. A gentle touch, a simple gesture, yet it felt like everything you needed in that moment.

“I was right,” he murmured, eyes scanning your face with quiet admiration. “You're definitely still beautiful.”

You felt warmth rushing to your face, your heart fluttering in your chest. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you beautiful, yet each time it still made you feel bashful. It wasn’t just the compliment that made you flustered. It was the sincerity in his voice, the way he looked at you like you were something precious, something worth seeing. Even in your state right now.

Then you noticed it—his own cheeks tinged with a soft flush. You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was.

Zayne gently nudged you toward the couch. “Go lay down.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he simply raised a finger. “Ah. No arguing. I'm making you tea, and then we’ll eat.”

You huffed but obeyed, shuffling back to your spot and curling up again. Just as you were about to close your eyes, you called out, “Can you heat more water? For my hot-water bottle?”

“Of course.”

You heard Zayne moving around your kitchen effortlessly, the soft clinking of mugs and utensils blending with the steady rhythm of his steps. The way he navigated your space made something stir deep inside you. The way he cared for you so willingly, with no sign of wanting anything in return, made you feel safe, secure in a way that you hadn't known in a long time.

Before long, he returned, balancing a tray with tea, food, your heated pad and tissues. So he was not joking about that then.

“Sit up,” he instructed gently. “You need to eat something. But don’t force yourself if you don’t feel like it.”

You pushed yourself up and accepted the tea first, inhaling the soothing scent before murmuring, “Thank you.”

You were about to take a sip when your gaze landed on the takeout bag in his hand.  “Oh, you actually got me fries and chicken wings!” You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you looked at the comfort food you’d craved. It was exactly what you wanted.

Zayne smirked. “And they’re spicy. Just like you wanted.”

You raised a brow. “What happened to having a proper diet?” You’d been so focused on the comfort of the meal that you’d almost forgotten about the usual back-and-forth he always brought up when it came to nutrition.

He shrugged. “It’s better to eat something than nothing. And it’s perfectly fine to satisfy a craving now and then. That said, I did get you something more nutritious as well. I hope you’ll eat it later.”

A fond smile tugged at your lips at his thoughtfulness as you took a bite of a fry. “Thank you, Doctor Zayne.”

Zayne just smiled back, his gaze soft as he settled in beside you. You pulled the hot-water bottle closer, the soothing warmth a welcome relief against your pain, and continued eating. Zayne began eating his portion as well, the two of you slipping into a comfortable silence.

The moment you finished, you let out a deep sigh.

Zayne glanced at you, his brow furrowing just slightly in concern. “Did it not satisfy your craving?”

“It did,” you acknowledged. “But now I feel like eating something sweet.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head fondly as he stood up, gathering the dishes. Before you could even think about getting up to help, he disappeared into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned—with your favorite chocolate.

Your eyes lit up as you immediately reached for it. “You’re the best!”

He chuckled, a warm smile spreading across his face as he sank back into the seat beside you. “I just want to make your day feel better.”

You unwrapped the chocolate, grinning like crazy. “It already is… since you got here.”

“I’m glad.” 

His lips curled into that familiar, gentle smile, The kind that always made you feel seen, like you mattered. You almost forgot about the chocolate in your hand as you lost yourself in that moment, wondering if he knew just how much his presence had truly transformed your day. The simple truth was, with him near, everything always felt better. Apparently, even your period.

You brushed the thought away and held out a piece to him. “Now eat it with me, sweet tooth.”

You knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to that. Sure enough, he took a piece, and you munched on the chocolate together.

After a few moments, he tilted his head. “Anything else I can do to make you feel better?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t often you let yourself be vulnerable like this, but with him, it felt natural. You murmured softly, almost shyly, “Maybe just… cuddle with me?”

Without a second thought, he moved closer. “I can do that.”

And he did.

You nestled into him, his arms warm and secure around you. The steady rhythm of his breathing was a lullaby in itself, soothing and calming. You hadn’t even realized when sleep crept up on you.

The last thought you had before drifting off was just how lucky you were—to have the cutest, most caring doctor by your side.

[nvrngl]

˚ · .˚ ༘ 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒖𝒔

synopsis. it's the middle of the night and jungkook stumbles ( yet again ) through your window, wounded, sheepish, irresistably adorable.

pairing. bts ﹢ spiderman!jungkook x mj!reader ﹢ fluff

wordcount. 1.6k

warnings. minor injuries, blood, language, shameless flirting, spiderkook

notes. to the one that loves jungkook like no other and is now falling back down the marvel blackhole, happy birthday c. 💚

You don’t look up when you hear the thud.

It’s followed by a sharp metallic creak on the fire escape and a muffled ow, which means Jeon Jungkook has once again flung himself into your life — bruised, dramatic, and ten seconds from bleeding out on your floor like it’s part of his nightly routine.

You flip a page in your book.

“I’m dying,” comes his voice through the window screen. He sounds like a Victorian ghost. It’s kind of impressive.

“You said that last week,” you call back, still not looking.

“This time it’s for real,” he groans. “I think I got shot. Or stabbed. Possibly both.”

You sigh and slide open the window. Jungkook slumps through it with the grace of a wounded cat, mask pushed up, suit half-ripped, curls wild, and an actual trail of blood following him like glitter.

“My carpet,” you say flatly.

“Hi to you too.” He grins, teeth and all. There's a cut on his lip. He looks like trouble. He always looks like trouble. And God does it make you feel something.

“Let me guess,” you say, grabbing the first-aid kit. “Drug bust gone wrong? Gang of mutant pigeons? You finally picked a fight with someone taller than you?”

“Bold of you to assume anyone is taller than me when I’m upside down,” he mutters, flopping onto your bed without asking.

You ignore the chaos, kneel next to him, and dab at the gash on his temple.

“Stop moving. I don’t want your blood on my comforter. It’s expensive.”

“I’m expensive,” he mumbles. “Limited edition. Real collector’s item.”

“More like ‘slightly used with minor damage.’”

He laughs — a warm, boyish sound that makes your hand freeze for half a second. You pretend it didn’t happen.

“You know,” Jungkook says, eyes flicking up to yours, “most people would be flattered Spider-Man keeps showing up at their window.”

“You’re not Spider-Man,” you say. “You’re Jungkook in spandex who can’t stay upright for more than fifteen minutes.”

“I got pushed, thank you very much.”

You snort. “By what? A toddler?”

“I’ll have you know she was twelve and vicious.”

You press a bandage to his forehead a little harder than necessary.

He hisses. “Ow. I’m telling your mom you abuse superheroes.”

“She already thinks you’re my boyfriend.”

Jungkook blinks. “Wait, what?”

You shrug. “You come over injured. You sleep here sometimes. You call me at 2 a.m. like we’re in a situationship.”

“That’s slander,” he says, looking far too smug for someone who might be concussed. “I only call you after midnight if I’m emotionally stable.”

“That has never happened.”

“Okay, true.”

You roll your eyes, dropping the bloody gauze in the trash. “Why do you even come here? Don’t you have, like, a nurse sidekick or a secret spider cave or something?”

“I have all that,” he says, hand flapping mid-hair like he's all that. “but none of them smell like your vanilla shampoo.”

You blink. “You are literally injured and flirting with me.”

“Multitasking. I’m gifted.”

“You’re gonna bleed out.”

“Then kiss me before I go.”

You stare at him.

He stares back, shameless, like this is normal behavior. Like he didn’t just crawl through your window half-dead and immediately start being a menace.

God, he’s cute. Unfortunately.

“Not tonight, web boy.”

“So you’re saying there will be a night?”

You pause. Blink. Your brain reboots.

“No. Nope. Totally not what I said.” But your speech is a little too fast. It's giving it away, and Jungkook saw it a million miles back.

“You paused. That was a pause.”

You shove the ice pack into his hand. “Shut up and hold this.”

He grins and does what he’s told.

You lean back against your desk chair, arms crossed, trying not to look at the way his jaw flexes or how his shirt is riding up slightly, revealing the tiniest sliver of abs. You’re not looking. You’re definitely not looking.

“Thanks for patching me up,” he says after a beat.

You glance at him. He’s watching you again — but this time it’s not loud or teasing. Just kind of soft. The kind of soft that makes your stomach do something it shouldn’t.

You flick your eyes away.

“Yeah, well. Don’t die. I’d have to clean up your body and that sounds annoying.”

He smiles like that was the most romantic thing he’s ever heard.

He ends up staying.

Which, of course, he always does.

You sit cross-legged on the floor beside your bed, sipping from a lukewarm energy drink and pretending not to care that Jeon Jungkook is currently stretched across your pillows like he pays rent here. He doesn’t. But you’re pretty sure he has a toothbrush in your bathroom.

He’s in his undersuit now — black and sleeveless and clinging in ways you absolutely do not think about. His arm’s bandaged, his curls are still damp from the wet cloth you made him use, and there’s a tiny smudge of blood drying at the corner of his mouth. He looks like a mess.

An unfairly hot mess.

“So,” you say, gaze fixed on a chipped spot of polish on your thumbnail, “what happened out there?”

Jungkook lets out a breath and stares up at the ceiling like it personally offended him. “Some idiot tried to rob a tech truck three blocks from Oscorp. Had, like, actual alien weapons. Not even subtle.”

Your eyes flick to him despite yourself. “Alien-alien or just suspiciously shiny?”

“Alien-alien. Chitauri plasma rifles. The one with the glowy blue veins? You know the type.”

You hum, casually. As if you don’t know. As if you haven’t watched every Avengers briefing leaked online.

“They really let just anyone steal those now, huh?”

“Apparently,” he mutters. “Anyway, I swing in — like, mid-getaway — and try to web the tires. But these guys had shields. And a drone. A full drone, MJ. Like, Stark-level AI.”

“That explains the new hole in your suit.”

He groans. “Do not remind me. This one was limited edition.”

You rest your chin on your knees, quietly watching him. He talks with his hands a lot when he gets going, all excited energy and half-formed gestures. It’s like he forgets how tired he is. Or how much he’s bleeding. Or that it’s 2:37 in the morning and you’re literally just some girl he keeps crashing into.

Still. You could listen to him forever.

“You should call for help more,” you mutter. “You’re not invincible.”

He glances at you. And for a moment, something flickers behind his eyes. He grins lazily. “You worried about me, MJ?”

“I just don’t want alien blood staining my sheets,” you shoot back. “We both have standards.”

Before he can respond with something equally stupid and flirty, his watch makes a sharp beep. He groans again — louder, more dramatic.

“Ugh, nooo. Not now.”

“What is it?”

He presses the face of the watch and a pixelated message glows to life:

DISTRESS CALLAVENGERS TOWER — LEVEL 4 SECURITY THREAT

Your breath hitches. “Avengers?”

“Yeah. I, uh... I help out sometimes.”

You blink up at him. “You never said you worked with them.”

Jungkook shrugs like it’s no big deal. Like Tony Stark didn’t probably give him that suit. “It’s casual. I swing by. Save a cat. Fight a god. Eat snacks.”

You scoff, but your stomach flips a little. He’s joking — but not really. He’s one of them. You’ve always known he was more than the “neighborhood” part of Spider-Man, but still. Hearing it out loud makes something sharp and weird twist behind your ribs.

Jungkook slides off your bed and stands, tugging his top layer back on. His movements are quick now, practiced, but he’s still limping slightly.

You stay seated on the floor, staring up at him. You don’t say it, but your jaw tenses.

He glances at you, then smiles — that annoying, infuriatingly charming smile that makes your heart stutter when you’re not careful.

“Hey,” he says lightly. “Don’t I even get a good luck kiss?”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

He leans down a little, eyes glinting. “What if I don’t make it back? This could be our last moment. Don’t you want to make it cinematic?”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’re gonna guilt-trip me into kissing you before fighting an alien or whatever?”

He pouts. “You’re literally my emotional support girl. This is part of the job.”

“Then you should’ve unionized.”

He laughs — full-on, head-thrown-back giggle — and it does something catastrophic to your insides.

You roll your eyes and stand, slowly. “Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. Close your eyes.”

Jungkook lights up, immediately obedient.

You lean in close.

...and flick his forehead.

“Ow!” he yelps, stumbling back. “Rude!”

You smirk. “That’s for bleeding on my floor.”

He presses a hand to his chest like he’s wounded. “Cold. So cold.”

You cross your arms and shrug, even as your heart thrums traitorously. “Now go save the world or whatever. I’ve got a chem test tomorrow.”

Jungkook backs toward the window, already lifting his mask into place. His curls are wild again, his eyes bright with adrenaline.

But before he climbs out, he pauses — just long enough to glance back at you, one hand resting on the sill.

“You know,” he says, voice muffled through the fabric, “I’m gonna get that kiss one day.”

You roll your eyes. “You keep saying that.”

“And you keep letting me in.”

With that, he winks — actually winks — and dives out the window like gravity is just a suggestion.

You stand there for a second too long.

Then you sigh, turn off the light, and climb into your bed, pulling the blankets over the spot where he left his warmth behind.

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