#(and occasionally it happens I will never get to it at all. You have no idea how many posts in my queue are just like

[philosians]

ɪɴᴅᴜʟɢᴇɴᴄᴇ

a three week paid-vacation provided by your captain gave rise to the opportunity to finally show you the gift sylus had gotten you. and no, it isn’t the yacht you’re on—but he wouldn’t be opposed to giving you that either.

[ !! ] — mdni | established relationship, smut, breeding kink, pregnancy mention, fingering, oral (female receiving), praise kink, mating press, unprotected sex, sylus is soft in the bedroom okay now hush ;; alcohol mention (sylus drinks whiskey), fluff. oh did I mention soft! sylus?? uhhh maybe more tags than this idk there’s a lot going on lmao. unedited af I know that’s a warning. if y’all see cut sentences just know it’s a brain glitch >.< lol

a/n: Happy Valentine’s Day! phew i got this out before it ended hehe just in the nick of time. I do wanna forewarn everyone I don’t actively write smut so I deeply apologize for any sort of repetitiveness or just it being inaccurate and rushed overall, my apologies. but please enjoy reading! bc i wanna curl up and die and delete this after writing it actually lmao I’ll probably never write anything like this again haha

word count: roughly 4.8k

The starry expanse of sky moves quickly outside of the window of the car, nothing but a blur of cosmic colors. Where you’re going you’re not quite sure, with all the secrecy from Sylus and the twins. It’s something Sylus has clearly planned for awhile, from the way he wanted you to dress tonight, but you’re still unable to put your finger on it.

At the very least, you’re glad that Kieran is the one that’s driving instead of Luke.

“Are you two going to tell me where we’re going yet?”

“Afraid not, Miss,” Kieran replies. “That’d be against orders from Boss.”

“Are we at least almost there yet?” you ask.

“We have about ten more minutes,” Luke chirps. “Then you’ll finally get to see Boss, don’t worry.”

You’re stunned into a mild fluster and look at your hands in your lap. You heard the twins snicker and you can’t help but shake your head incredulously. Oh well. You’re almost to your destination anyway.

After the last two months of an increase in Wanderer appearances, you could most certainly use a break. It’s been nothing short of hectic, battles here and evacuations there and the occasional dumbass that doesn’t want to listen to the warnings given out that an area is too dangerous to go into.

You softly sigh. You really shouldn’t be thinking about work.

You tug the large coat on your shoulders over you further, closing your eyes and sinking into the warmth and the smell of the man it belonged to.

Whatever in the world Sylus had planned must be big, even so that he couldn’t be bothered to tell even the twins exactly what he had in store. All the three of you knew was that he had a surprise, and the two brothers were more than happy to have the opportunity to have the base to themselves.

You just wish you knew where you were going.

“Is this it?”

“I think so. Ah, there’s Boss.”

Oh, already?

True to word, you open your eyes and see a familiar patch of silver against the darkness of the world. And you also happen to see a very, very large yacht not far from him.

A marina? You blink incredulously. A private fucking marina. Good lord, how much money does this man really have?

Upon stopping, you watch as Sylus turns his head slightly to the car. Luke quickly jumps from the passenger side and opens the door for you, ushering his hand outward dramatically and says, “After you, Miss.”

The heel of your shoe clicks against pavement as you step out, holding Luke’s hand for stability until you find your balance.

“Thanks, Luke.”

“Not a problem! Enjoy the honey— Uh, vacation!”

Luke jumps back into the car, more than likely to save himself from your questioning eyes. You can’t help but shake your head and make your way toward Sylus and the man in uniform, more than likely the captain of the yacht.

“Ah, Mrs. Sylus,” greets the captain with a tilt of his hat. His eyes blink as he does a once-over on you and then laughs. “I was wondering what kind of woman would tie such a man down, and now I understand. Please, come aboard.”

Your brows raise at Sylus as the captain pivots and boards the yacht. “Care to explain that?”

Sylus, in all his audacity, simply shrugs and smiles. “Nothing to explain, sweetie. He came up with that himself after I told him my lady would be joining me.”

You scoff in disbelief, but can’t help the small smile that falls to your lips. You take Sylus’s arm, wrapped your hand in the crook of his elbow as he leads you onto the ship.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, gazing around as he takes you to the deck. And you could only imagine what it would be like when you went out to sea.

“I figured you would like it,” he murmurs. “Glad to see my instincts weren’t wrong.”

You don’t miss the way his red eyes look to you, knowing he’s waiting for your words of affirmation. You laugh behind your hand, because yeah, he’s right.

You hum, taking his hand in your own. “Thank you for considering me.”

You also don’t miss the way his large fingers eagerly twine with your own, nor the way his eyes soften and blend with devotion and affection.

“Always.”

Thirty minutes pass before the ship takes off into the open sea. You barely feel it until Sylus has you stand to take you back outside from the dining area.

“So, where are we going?” you ask, gazing up at him.

Sylus’s mouth twitches into a smirk. “It’s a surprise.”

You grumble, humoring the man. “Of course it is.”

Sylus’s coat never leaves your shoulders the couple hours you’re both out on the deck. He seems to enjoy that, too; you wearing his clothes sparks something behind his eyes that you’re all too familiar with. The thought itself has your cheeks warming and thighs pressing together.

He flicks his wrist to check his watch when a timer beeps twice. You can’t help it when your eyes linger on his hand. You’ve always had a fixation on his them—on how big and warm they are in comparison to yours, on how his long fingers stretch across your body, and how they gently wrap around you and pull you close like he’d die without touching you. Those hands that had once forced you to attempt to resonate with him for three days had become soft, remorseful and loving. And he’d more than earned your forgiveness.

“Dinner should be ready.”

You grin. “You brought your chef?”

“Just for this trip,” he retorts, standing to full height. “Come.” His hand outstretches to you and you take it without hesitation.

You don’t miss the way his eyes briefly light up at the way your fingers immediately interlace with his. It’s a small joy to you, but to him it means everything—a testament to how far the two of you have come.

Dinner, as always, is perfect. Dessert even more so. You’re not too full, but more than satisfied. You give your compliments to the chef, who in turn happily skips back to the kitchen like he’s on cloud nine. And you can’t help but look at Sylus and smile as he downs his whiskey like it’s water.

“You don’t compliment your chef enough,” you comment. “One sentence from me and he acts like he’s never heard praise.”

Sylus hums as his brows raise, humored. He chuckles with the whiskey in his mouth before swallowing it to retort, “He knows his cooking is excellent. I suppose I just have a limit to how many compliments I can give out in a day.”

You place your chin in your hand. “Oh, really? Then how many do I get to have in a day?”

Adoration fills his ruby orbs. “As many as you want, my beloved.”

His hand reaches for your left over the table. Sylus’s thumb rubs over your fingers, resting atop your ring finger.

“Have I told you that you look exquisite tonight?” he whispers.

“You haven’t,” you reply cheekily. “I think you owe me a few more, don’t you think?”

The soft music in the background dies as you begin to hear your heart thunder in your ears. You do hope that Sylus can’t hear it pounding away like you can.

“Seems like I do,” he says in an exhale, leaning back in his seat but not letting go of your hand. His eyes have changed—once filled with adoration, now filled with a fire that makes heat rise to your cheeks and desire burn between your legs. “I don’t think I’ve shown you the bedroom yet, have I?”

You grin. “You haven’t. I’d like to see it.”

But what you don’t anticipate is your man standing and abruptly lifting you into a one arm carry. Your sharply inhale in surprise, arms immediately weave around his neck for support, but you know he’d never drop you anyway.

You trail your nose under his jaw, pressing a long kiss to his skin by his ear. Your fingers dig into his shoulder, the subtle presser making him hasten his long strides.

“Sweetheart—” Sylus gulps as you press two fingers to his mouth to silence him.

You pepper slow kisses down his neck, nipping at the skin every other kiss. It’s when you reach his collarbone you hear the click of a door. And seconds later you find the plush fabric of blankets underneath you and Sylus’s firm hand cradling the back of your head as he tilts your head back to capture your lips with his.

Between each heated kiss you attempt to catch your breath, only for your lover to devour your mouth with his own again and again.

“Mmmh— Sylus, let me—” another kiss “—catch my breath.”

He has a hard time pulling away. Sylus rests on one knee at the edge of the bed, hands grasping at the back of your bare calves as he catches his own breath and tries to pull himself back to his senses before he finishes himself off early.

While you toss your head back and close your eyes, trying to let oxygen catch up to your brain, Sylus lifts his head to look at you. He drinks in your appearance—the starry night sky sewn into the strapless obsidian dress (one that he had specially made for you) accentuated your body exactly the way he envisioned.

As he watches your breasts rise and fall with every breath, he feels his pants tighten even more. He’s so painfully hard just from simply kissing you—a testament to what you do to him, how deeply you affect him.

He rests his head against the plush of your thigh. As he trails his hand down your leg, he realizes you still have your heels on.

Your head snaps up at the feeling of one heel coming off, then the other.

“Sylus, what— Oh, shit.”

The momentum of him lifting your body further up the bed and hiking your dress up catches you off guard. His mouth latches to your thighs, kissing and biting all the way up until he reaches the fabric of your panties—the only thing between him and what he wants.

“Such a dark red, darling,” he hums. “Was this for me?”

“It might’ve been,” you tease.

As his finger loops around the red fabric covering you, Evol ready to help rip it off, your hand makes its way into his hair and tugs, forcing his eyes to attention.

“Rip these, I’m okay with that. Rip the dress, and I’ll kill you,” you say, half-joking. But damn did you really like this dress.

He chuckles, eyes glazed with lust. “Understood.”

As soon as he tears them away and hikes your dress even further around your hips, Sylus’s mouth does nothing short of devour your pussy. You let out the loudest, wanton moan you’ve ever heard from yourself as his tongue buries itself in and against your folds. Your head falls back against the pillows, hands moving to grip the sheets beneath you to maintain some semblance of being grounded as Sylus eats you out like a starved man. Your legs are over his shoulders, allowing him the best access to your womanhood.

“Oh— Fuuuck, Sylus. Ohmygod, please don’t stop,” you beg, threading one hand through his hair again, grip tighter than earlier.

His reply comes in the form of him pushing his thick middle finger inside of you and mouth sucking on your clit. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth. His ring finger promptly follows, stretching your cunt and sinking deep inside of your walls. Tears of overstimulation line your eyes as you grasp at then pillow behind your head.

Both hands twine into his silver locks of hair, pressing him deeper into you. What you miss amidst your own haze of ecstasy is Sylus grinding himself against the mattress to find some sense of relief. His mind is at war, wanting nothing more than to cum right then and there versus wanting to watch his seed spill from your hole. It takes every ounce of self-control of his own body to not climax while he simultaneously loses his mind while his mouth is attached to your cunt.

“Don’t— Please— Sylus! Sylus, I’m gonna—”

Your back arches off of the bed, and you can’t help but press him further into you and grind against his face. Sylus’s arms wrap around your thighs, holding you steady. The deep groan of his satisfaction that leaves him only spurs you on further and further and further until your thighs clench around his head and you cum. Hard.

And Sylus more than enjoys sucking and licking away at your release as you climax, prolonging it as much as he can. He lifts your lower body into the air as he continues his onslaught of your pussy with his mouth and tongue, the pressure of your thighs on either side of his head making him dizzy. Your essence coats his chin and nose, your scent driving all his senses wild and pulls the remainder of his blood down to his cock.

He gains a free hand as you tighten your legs around his shoulders. He unbuckles his belt and slips it off with practiced ease before moving to unzip and unbutton his pants, tugging away at them.

When your hips stop shaking is when Sylus grabs your thighs with both hands and sets your body back down on the mattress. He hovers over you once again, taking in your disheveled appearance and partially-lidded eyes. His long fingers brush your skin and cradle your jaw.

“Still with me, sweetheart?” he asks.

You pant and gaze up at him. “Barely.” You swallow. “That tongue of yours is brutal.”

Sylus laughs. It’s almost enough to make him forget about the painful fact that his cock is straining against his pants. Until your knee brushes against it when you lift yourself from the bed and he groans.

You giggle as his head presses against your shoulder.

“You really shouldn’t neglect yourself like that,” you hum, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

Sylus’s lips meet your neck opposite of your arm wrapped around him and presses a long kiss to your sweaty skin, murmuring hotly into your ear, “There’s no one to blame but you, beloved. And I highly suggest you take responsibility.”

You moan and arch into him as his hands work on your dress, unzipping the back entirely and lowering it just below your breasts. You arch your back so he can undo the bra, and as soon as it’s on the floor, his mouth is on your chest. Sylus sucks and bites at your nipples, worshipping them and your breasts as he grinds his clothed erection into your bare pussy, soaking his dress pants in your juices.

You begin unbutton his shirt through the haze of your desire… before you slip your hands through the remaining buttons and fully rip his dress shirt apart, exposing his thick torso. You both chuckle at the sound of the buttons hitting the floor.

“Impatient?”

“Like you aren’t,” you remark.

Sylus shrugs off his shirt in a fluid motion and tosses it to the side from one arm. You manage to slide off your dress within a few moments, just as Sylus manages to get off his pants and briefs and… Oh…

You’d almost forgotten how big he is. Sure, the two of you have spent a couple more… sensual evenings together since you had him use your place as a safe house (and then him bringing you to his), but it always makes you shudder when your eyes land between the apex of his muscular thighs.

His tip weeps with precum, heavy cock red and flushed and—

Sylus’s breath is hot against your ear as he asks, “Like what you see, darling?”

—goddamn it you need it inside of you.

Your nails dig into his bicep, your other hand wrapping around his neck to pull him into a heated kiss, and Sylus is more than happy to oblige. His kiss is deep and reverent. A small moan escapes him as you two briefly pull apart for air before diving back into one another.

Everything is hot; your cheeks are flushed with the heat of desire and your pussy aches to have Sylus buried inside of you.

You pull him down on top of you with the arm around his neck, your other hand grasping his cock and positioning it at your entrance. Sylus hisses, hips bucking slightly as his fingers clench at his attempts at restraint.

“Fuck,” he pants. His red eyes clear for a moment, turning into a gentleness reserved for you as he asks, “You think you can take it?”

“I think you ate me out enough earlier I’ll manage,” you joke. Then your nails dig into the meat of his back, the sensation making him softly hiss again. “But if you don’t I’ll be doing it for you then.”

Sylus chuckles, nose dipping to your collarbone.

“My beloved is always so greedy, isn’t she?”

There is no retort from you—only a loud moan as Sylus’s tip enters you fills the room. He stops after that though, and as you look up to him to ask him why he stopped, you’re stunned at the sight before you.

Sylus is flushed red, panting and sweating as his muscles flex.

“Sylus?”

“Don’t,” he warns, shaking his head. “Give me… a moment. You feel… too good.”

The implication is clear. Sylus’s head falls as he inches himself a little further, delighting in hearing you gasp as he sinks more and more inches of himself inside of you. It takes all he has not to just cum at the feel of you; every ounce of self-control he has is being tested. He’s never been harder in his life, and being inside of the woman he loves—who feels like heaven wrapped around his cock—only proceeds to spiral him into a deeper pit of pleasure.

“Sylus… Sylus, more, please,” you hears you beg.

He’s halfway in, trying to take his time and let the romance of the evening last. But at that, and the sensation of your nails digging into his back, he finds himself a goner and lets his hips fall into yours, sinking the remainder of his fat cock into the depths of your wet pussy. A deep shudder passes through him, bliss running through his body.

“Fuck. Fuck, you feel divine,” Sylus says in a deep exhale.

“You’re so big,” you gasp, eyes clouded with the haze of lust. “Oh, Sy, you feel so good.”

The praise goes to his head immediately. He drags his cock back out slowly and a whine escapes you, hating the emptiness. But when Sylus places your legs over his shoulders and leans over you, it’s over for you both.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as Sylus rolls his hips, sliding his full length back into the warm expanse of your pussy. His head falls back, and the pace he sets proceeds to bury you both alive underneath overwhelming ecstasy.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he pants, clenching his fist into the sheet. “How I feel every time I look at you? Utter perfection is all I see. Do you feel what you do to me, darling?”

All you can feel is Sylus’s weight on top of you and the feel of his heavy cock inside of you as he stretches you open on him, carving your pussy into the shape of his cock. His pelvis rubs against your clit deliciously, spurring you on further. As much as you want to drive your hips up to meet his thrusts, Sylus has you pinned down into a mating press and all you can do is take what he’s giving you.

The papping noises of your bodies meeting filled the room, sending your thoughts into an even dirtier place. He feels so good reaching so deep inside of you, tip rubbing against that special spot perfectly, like you’re made to be perfect for each other. You clench around Sylus at another thought and he inhales sharply.

“What’re you thinking about?” he questions.

You shake your head. “N-Nothing.”

His long fingers grab your jaw gently. “Tell me.”

And then he slows his pace. “No, Sylus—”

“Then tell me what my beloved is thinking in that pretty head of hers,” he murmurs into your ear. “Or else.”

“I was thinking… about… Uhm…” Sylus rolls his hips back into you, his heavy balls pressing against your ass as he awaits your answer.

“Well?”

“I, uh— A baby.”

At the word, you shy away into your arm. But Sylus doesn’t say anything, which makes you confused. After a couple seconds, you gaze back up at him. His eyes show how stunned he is, pupils blown as no doubt the word also revolves around his own mind.

“Sylus, I— Oh, fuucckk.”

His body weight presses your body into the mattress further, leaving you at his mercy as Sylus’s pace becomes brutal, like he’s let his base instincts take over. His big hand finds yours and twines your fingers together as he drives his cock into your pussy over and over and over again, the squelching noises only growing louder and louder in your ears.

“My kitten… wants a baby then?” He hums into your ear. “She wants me to cum inside of her and carry my baby, is that right?”

“It was… just a thought.”

He laughs as your pussy clenches around him more at his words.

“Seems like it’s more than just a thought.”

Sylus’s mouth meets yours in another kiss, powered by something more than just lust. Your brain turns fuzzy and hot, reality beginning to finally blur as another climax ascends from the depths of your core.

Your eyes shut as his mouth finds the sweet spot on your neck. He sucks and nips at the skin with his teeth and you’ve no doubt that there’ll be plenty of love bites scattered across your skin for days after tonight.

When he nips at your ear, you squeak and clench around him again. Sylus groans into your ear, “Do that again.”

You oblige, clenching down on him and making him piston himself in and out of you faster. Every thrust turns into one that pushes the air from your lungs. All you can see, all you can feel is Sylus—feel his body heat as he presses your body down with his; feel the thickness of his cock stretch you open and the weight of his balls as they slap against your ass.

And it feels so good. The shlick and pap noises are getting to you. The coil that’s been winding up all night finally feels like it’s about to burst. Your back arches off the bed, breasts pressing into Sylus’s firm chest.

“Ohmygod, Sy, gonna cum, gonna cum fuckfuckfuuucckkk!”

He nips at your earlobe, biting down on it gently before whispering into your ear, “Indulge, my love. Indulge and I’ll fulfill every single one of your desires tonight.”

At long last, the coil snaps. Euphoria pilots itself to your brain and all across your body. You shake from the intensity, having to wrap your arms around Sylus to ground yourself as you reach your high.

Your orgasm sends him over the edge. He thrusts a few more times before he finds himself pressing himself as deep as he can possibly go and releasing his seed inside of your pussy. It’s almost too much, even for him. He doesn’t think he’s ever cum harder than tonight.

Your bodies rock together as you both fall from the heights of cloud nine. Sylus peppers your sweaty skin with kisses, across the bruised love bites he’d left earlier.

It’s only when he feels himself soft enough to slip out of you does he ask, “A family?”

Sylus’s voice is soft. So soft in fact that you barely hear him. You take a moment to reply, only to find yourself being easily lifted from the bed and onto Sylus’s chest.

“It’s… Something that’s crossed my mind a few times,” you admit bashfully.

Silence fills the air for a moment before he asks again, in the same, quiet tone he’d just used.

“With me?”

Your smile stretches across your face instantly. Your lips meet his chest, right over his heart. Your eyes meet his—uncertainty meeting unconditional love.

“And no one else.”

The next three days after are filled with you and Sylus partaking in all the activities that his yacht has to offer (plus more intimate times across the boat and it’s other rooms). He’d told you at one point that he would’ve just used the one he sails on regularly. But due to him wanting to spend more time with you than anything, and for you to have fun during the trip, he’d bought another and hired the captain to ensure safe passage.

Tonight however, was the night that you both were supposed to be arriving at your destination. You tried to help the anxiety and giddiness inside of you, trying to flatten it under a cool demeanor but Sylus just saw right through you.

Of course he would.

“There’s no reason to be nervous. It’s not like I’m taking you into enemy territory,” he jokes, gaze flicking to you from the stars in the open sky.

“I know that. I just can’t help it,” you mutter.

You shiver from the cold breeze, and Sylus shrugs off his leather jacket and places it over your shoulders. He leans down and zips it partway, resting his chin atop your head.

“Those hunter instincts of yours need to settle down,” he hums.

“I wish they would— Sylus!”

A hearty chuckle leaves him as you bounce away from his hold. Your eyes narrow at his treachery.

“What? Did I do something wrong?”

“Don’t you try and tickle me,” you warn playfully. You slip your arms through the sleeves of his leather jacket, trying to pull the sleeves back from over your palms to point at him. “Or I’m gonna tickle you back.”

Sylus smirks and rubs his fingers together. “Is that a challenge?”

“Mr. Sylus, Mrs. Sylus,” greets a familiar voice.

Embarrassment makes you duck your head away from the captain for a brief moment before you look at him.

“Just thought I’d come and let you know we’ll be docking soon.” The captain takes his hat off and bows before you both. “Thank you for allowing me the chance to sail you both for the last three days.”

Sylus nods his head in acknowledgment “Thank you for giving us safe passage, Arthur.”

Arthur nods, reapplies his cap and heads back to steer the ship into the upcoming port.

You don’t get to watch as he disappears since Sylus wraps his arms around you, pulling your chin to his chest. He presses a sweet kiss to your temple and murmurs, “I do believe we’re here.”

The distraction of the captain was long enough that the scenery before you had changed into the moonlit sea into a large landmass illuminated by the full moon above.

Your jaw drops open at the sight, eyes lighting up as you get closer and closer to the port where the ship would dock.

“Sylus, where are we?” you ask quietly.

“It’s an island,” he states. “One that I bought awhile back and was making… renovations for.”

“Renovations? For what?”

He laughs softly and looks at you like you’re a goddess. “For whom, you mean.”

Your eyes widen into saucers. Is he…? Could he seriously mean…?

“Sylus, you bought me an island?” you inquire, utterly flabbergasted.

“I can’t exactly un-buy it, so I do hope you’ll like it,” he replies. To your ears and yours alone you can hear his wavering tone, like he’s awaiting your disappointment. You can’t have that.

You cup his cheeks and force him to look at you again.

“Sylus, I love it; even if it’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever been gifted, I love it. It’s just going to take me time to get used to it,” you tell him. Then you step on your tippy-toes and give him an eskimo kiss. “Thank you. I love you.”

You kiss him there at the front of the ship, wrapped in his warm, protective embrace, momentarily oblivious to the world and your surroundings.

What you’re also oblivious to, and have been since the start of the trip, is the fat diamond ring that’s been tucked away, hidden in Sylus’s bottom drawer to his dresser. And also to the fact of his other reason of being nervous.

To him hoping that you’ll say “yes” when he gets down on one knee to ask you to marry him.

But he’ll save that for later. Right now he intends to indulge and savor your lips on his and you being tucked into him, safe from the world to be loved and worshipped by him.

And hopefully, for the rest of this lifetime.

[evermoreness]

moonlight and mending | remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: since it's your seventh year at hogwarts, you have to choose a path for a future job, and you chose to be a healer and help madam pomfrey. you just didn't know remus lupin was a regular patient.

obs: i am thinking about turning this into a series, if you want to, please let me know

masterlist

The hospital wing was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the morning light filtering through the tall windows. You were already up, sleeves rolled to your elbows as you organized a tray of healing potions. You had been helping Madam Pomfrey for a while now, and despite the occasional sleepless night, you loved every second of it.

This was where you belonged.

Every student at Hogwarts had to choose their paths on future jobs by the seventh year. Some would go with the professors to learn a specific path, like aurors or politics and others would go with Hagrid (if they had interest in magical creatures). It was fun.

You would not spend all your days at the hospital wing, since there were other students helping around Madam Pomfrey. But sometimes you would ignore this fact and just stay around for more hours than needed.

You had just finished restocking the dittany when Madam Pomfrey entered, her expression tight with concern.

“Another patient?” you asked, reaching for a clean cloth and a basin of warm water.

She nodded, already moving toward one of the empty beds. “Yes, and he’s in rough shape. A regular of mine, unfortunately.”

Before you could ask what she meant, the doors swung open, and Madam Pomfrey levitated a limp figure onto the bed.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Remus Lupin.

He looked terrible—his school robes were torn, his face pale and slick with sweat. Bruises and scratches covered his arms, and there was a deep gash along his collarbone, seeping blood onto the sheets. His hair was messier than usual, strands sticking to his forehead.

You had seen Remus around, always in the company of his friends, always with a soft smile and warm eyes. He was quieter than the other Marauders, more reserved. But this—this was a side of him you had never seen before.

“Will he be alright?” you asked, stepping closer.

Madam Pomfrey sighed. “He always is.”

She glanced at you, her sharp eyes softening slightly. “I’ll leave you to clean his wounds. Be gentle with him.”

You nodded, rolling up your sleeves further as she walked away.

Gently, you dipped the cloth into the warm water and pressed it against a cut on his cheek, dabbing away the dried blood. He stirred, a soft groan escaping his lips.

“Remus?” you said gently. “Can you hear me?”

He let out a breathy sound before his amber eyes fluttered open. They were hazy with exhaustion, unfocused at first, but as he blinked, they found yours.

“You’re awake,” you said with a small smile, hoping to reassure him.

His brows furrowed slightly. “Where…?”

“The hospital wing,” you answered, still carefully cleaning the wound on his cheek. “Madam Pomfrey brought you in.”

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he huffed a weak chuckle. “Must be bad if I don’t even remember getting here.”

“You look like you got into a fight with a troll,” you teased lightly.

He smiled faintly. “Did I win?”

“Hard to say. The troll might be in better condition.”

That earned a soft laugh from him, though it ended in a wince.

“Stay still,” you scolded gently. “I need to clean these properly, and that won’t happen if you keep moving.”

“Alright,” he muttered with a small smile, but he did as you said.

You continued working in silence, carefully dabbing at the scratches along his arms. His body tensed slightly under your touch, but he didn’t complain.

Then, your gaze landed on the wound on his chest—a nasty gash running diagonally across his ribs, partially covered by his torn shirt. You hesitated before clearing your throat.

“Um… I need to get to the wound on your chest,” you said, a little hesitant. “Can you…?”

His tired eyes widened slightly as he realized what you meant. “Oh. Right.”

There was an awkward pause before he weakly reached for the buttons of his shirt, his fingers trembling slightly.

You quickly stopped him, your hands gently brushing his. “Here, let me.”

He stiffened under your touch but didn’t protest as you carefully undid the buttons of his bloodstained shirt. As you pushed the fabric aside, your breath hitched.

His torso was littered with scars, old and new, crisscrossing his skin like a map of past battles. The fresh wound along his ribs was deep, still oozing.

You swallowed hard, trying to push aside the questions burning in your mind. What had done this to him?

Instead of asking, you dipped the cloth in the warm water again and gently pressed it to the wound.

He hissed through his teeth.

“Sorry,” you murmured. “I know it stings.”

“It’s alright,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gentler than Pomfrey, at least.”

You smiled softly. “She believes in tough love.”

“That’s one way to put it,” he muttered, his voice slightly strained.

Wanting to distract him, you asked, “So, what do you usually do when you’re not getting yourself nearly killed?”

His lips twitched. “Read, mostly.”

You knew that the best way to distract the patients was by talking to them, about anything, so they could think about something else besides the pain.

“I could’ve guessed that,” you said with a small laugh. “Any favorites?”

He relaxed slightly at the question. “I like Defense Against the Dark Arts. And anything to do with magical creatures.”

“Magical creatures, huh?” You carefully applied the healing salve to his wound. “You don’t seem like the type to go wrestling with a dragon.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “No, definitely not. But I like learning about them.”

You smiled, tying off the last bandage. “Well, you’re all patched up. Try not to move too much.”

Remus let out a long breath, his eyelids growing heavy. “You’re… really kind,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

You brushed a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Get some rest, Remus.”

His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before they finally closed.

And as you sat beside him, watching over him as he slept, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more to Remus Lupin—something hidden beneath the scars and the quiet smiles.

You just didn’t know what it was yet.

The morning was long.

You didn't have any classes this morning, despite still being Tuesday.

You figured it was best to stay by his side.

At least, until lunch, because after that you would have some charms classes.

You sat beside Remus, watching over him as the hours crept by, the hospital wing bathed in moonlight and quiet. His breathing was shallow, his forehead damp with sweat. A fever had settled in not long after he had fallen asleep, and you had spent the past few hours placing cool cloths on his forehead, ensuring he didn’t overheat.

Madam Pomfrey had come in once to check on him, nodded approvingly at your dedication, and left you to it.

You didn’t mind.

There was something about watching over him—something that made you feel… protective. Maybe it was the way he had looked at you before drifting off, like he wasn’t used to someone being this kind to him.

Or maybe it was just that he seemed to carry too much weight for someone so young.

You sighed, dipping the cloth in cool water again and pressing it lightly to his forehead. He shifted slightly in his sleep, brow furrowing, but he didn’t wake.

A soft murmur left his lips—too quiet for you to catch.

You leaned closer. “Remus?”

He didn’t respond, just turned his head slightly, a faint crease between his brows. His fingers twitched where they rested by his side.

“Nightmare?” you whispered, watching his expression.

You wanted to reach for his hand, to soothe him, but you hesitated. Instead, you gently ran your fingers through his damp hair, hoping the touch might calm whatever dream he was trapped in.

Slowly, his features relaxed again.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

And so, you sat there, watching over him, making sure he didn’t shift too much in his sleep or try to tear off the bandages in unconscious discomfort.

You kept taking care of the other students there, it was almost lunch time when your eyes glanced toward Remus—only to find his amber eyes already on you.

You came closer, staying by his side on the bed. “You’re awake.”

His lips curled slightly. “Yeah, unfortunately” His voice was rough with sleep.

You gave him a small smile. “How do you feel?”

He hesitated, as if he was actually assessing himself. “Like I got into a fight with a brick wall and lost.”

You smiled. “Well, you look better than some hours ago”

His brows lifted slightly. “Was I that bad?”

You gave him a look. “You had a fever, you were shifting in your sleep, and I had to stop you from undoing your own bandages twice.”

His eyes widened slightly. “I… did that?”

You nodded. “You don’t remember?”

“Not at all.” He looked both embarrassed and surprised. His gaze flickered toward the bowl of water and the pile of damp cloths beside it. “You stayed all morning?”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s part of the job.”

He studied you for a moment before shaking his head. “No. Madam Pomfrey would’ve done it if it was just ‘part of the job.’ You chose to stay.”

You hesitated. “…I didn’t want you to be alone.”

His breath hitched slightly. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just looked at you as if trying to figure out how to respond.

Then, softly, “Thank you.”

Your heart warmed. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” he said, holding your gaze. “No one’s ever… done that for me before.”

The weight of his words settled between you.

You frowned slightly. “What about James? Sirius?”

“They’re great,” he said immediately, but then he hesitated. “…They don’t see this part of me. I don’t let them.”

Something in his voice made your chest tighten.

Carefully, you reached out, brushing your fingers over the bandage on his arm. “You don’t have to hide when you’re hurt, especially not from me or what else i won't know how to help.”

His breath caught, and for a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to say.

Finally, he smiled—small, but real. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You returned the smile. “Good. Now, do you think you can eat something, or do I need to force-feed you porridge?”

He chuckled. “I’ll eat. If only to avoid that fate.”

You grinned. “I’ll go get you something.”

As you walked away, you could still feel his gaze on you.

Remus was still staring at the doorway where you had disappeared when you returned, carrying a breakfast tray in both hands.

“Alright, hospital food isn’t exactly a feast, but it’s warm, and you need it,” you said as you placed the tray on his bedside table.

Remus sat up a little, wincing as he adjusted his position. He looked down at the tray—porridge, toast, and a steaming cup of tea.

You noticed his hesitation and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re picky.”

He smirked faintly. “No, just… hospital food isn’t usually something to look forward to.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just try a little bit, alright?”

With an amused chuckle, he picked up the spoon and took a tentative bite of the porridge. It wasn’t terrible, which was the best compliment he could give it.

As he ate, you had already moved on, fussing over the other students in the ward.

“Drink more water, Gabe, you’ll feel better faster.”

“Maggie, you’re supposed to rest, not reread your Transfiguration notes.”

“Barty, don’t poke at your stitches, I swear to Merlin—”

Remus found himself watching you, a faint smile playing on his lips.

You were different.

It wasn’t just that you were kind—you loved this. He could see it in the way you moved, the way you spoke to everyone, the way you cared. It was like second nature to you, tending to people, making sure they were comfortable.

And yet… you were also a normal student. That much was obvious.

It hit him suddenly—he’d seen you around before. Not just in passing, but in the places he liked best. The library, tucked away in the quietest corners, flipping through thick medical textbooks and advanced Potions guides. The Astronomy Tower, where the view was the clearest. The courtyard, always with a book in your hands.

You weren’t just here. You were everywhere.

How did you balance it all?

Remus was still lost in thought when a hand appeared in front of his face.

He blinked and looked up.

You were standing there, a familiar-looking chocolate bar in your hand.

“Madam Pomfrey sent this,” you said with a smile. “She said it would help you feel better.”

Something warm settled in his chest.

He took the chocolate from you, running his fingers over the wrapper before glancing up at you. “She actually let you give it to me instead of forcing it on me herself?”

“She’s busy,” you said, shrugging. “But I think she knows I’d make you eat it either way.”

Remus chuckled, unwrapping the chocolate and breaking off a piece. As soon as it melted on his tongue, he sighed.

“Better?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Much,” he admitted.

You smiled in satisfaction before sitting on the edge of his bed. “So… I have a question.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice like you were sharing a secret. “How do you do it?”

Remus blinked. “Do what?”

“Everything,” you said, gesturing vaguely. “I mean, you’re top of the class, always reading, and somehow, you still have time to get into whatever mischief your friends drag you into.”

Remus smirked. “I could ask you the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious.”

He considered you for a moment before shrugging. “I guess… I don’t really think about it. I just do what I need to do.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

There was a comfortable silence between you.

Then, Remus glanced down at the chocolate in his hand. “You know… I’ve never had someone take care of me like this before.”

You tilted your head, curious. “Not even your friends?”

He hesitated. “They try. But I don’t let them.”

“Why not?”

His fingers tightened slightly around the wrapper. “Because… I don’t want them to worry.”

You frowned. “That’s a terrible reason.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “Maybe.”

You would say something else, but some other patient called. You smiled before turning around and going around to help others.

Hours later, the hospital wing was quieter. Most of the students had left, and Remus, finally feeling somewhat human again, was sitting on the edge of his bed, stretching his sore limbs.

You stood in front of him, holding a neatly folded set of fresh Hogwarts robes.

“Well, you look better,” you observed. “Still a bit pale, though.”

“I’m always pale,” he said dryly, though he smirked.

“Fair point,” you said, handing him the uniform. “Come on, get changed. You can’t walk around looking like you just wrestled a hippogriff.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes playfully. “Just change, Lupin.”

He chuckled but stood, wincing slightly as he moved. You turned around, giving him privacy as he carefully removed the old ripped uniform he was using from earlier, and pulled on his new uniform. His movements were slow, careful not to aggravate his still-healing injuries.

After a few moments, he let out a small sigh. “Alright. You can turn around.”

You turned, scanning him critically before nodding in approval. “Much better.”

“You sound like Madam Pomfrey,” he said, amused.

You gasped in mock horror. “Take that back!”

“Never.”

You huffed but smiled, grabbing your bag from the chair. You had already changed into your uniform earlier, ready to head to class. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

Remus blinked in surprise. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” you said, giving him a pointed look. “But I want to.”

His lips parted slightly, but no argument came.

He liked your company.

So, instead of protesting, he simply nodded. “Alright then. Lead the way, healer”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname but walked beside him as you both left the hospital wing.

The corridors were bustling with students heading to their next classes. You and Remus walked side by side, keeping a comfortable pace.

“So,” you started, adjusting the strap of your bag, “what’s your favorite class?”

Remus hummed. “That’s an easy one—Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

You grinned. “I should’ve guessed. You do always get top marks in it.”

He shrugged. “It’s practical. Useful.”

“Okay, but what about for fun?” you asked, tilting your head. “Not just what’s useful—what do you enjoy?”

He hesitated, then said, “I like Charms.”

You brightened. “Me too! It’s so satisfying when you finally get a spell just right.”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding. “And you?”

“Besides Charms? I love Potions,” you said. “It’s precise, methodical… and it helps with Healing. I like that.”

Remus smiled. “That makes sense. You’re really good at it.”

You looked at him, surprised. “You noticed?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well… yeah. I mean, you’re always top of the class, and I have seen you brewing in the library before.”

You chuckled. “Guilty. I like experimenting.”

“What’s the best potion you’ve made?”

You thought for a moment. “Probably a modified Wiggenweld Potion. I adjusted it to work faster without causing side effects.”

Remus raised his eyebrows, impressed. “That’s incredible.”

You shrugged, but his praise made you warm inside.

“What about books?” you asked. “I know you’re a reader.”

He smirked. “What gave it away?”

You laughed. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that I always see you in the library with your nose buried in a book?”

He chuckled. “Fair enough. I like anything about magical creatures, honestly.”

You nodded. “I can see that. You seem like the type to befriend a werewolf or something.”

Remus nearly tripped.

You didn’t notice, continuing, “I love medical books, obviously. But for fun? I like Muggle literature.”

He recovered quickly, forcing himself to focus. “Muggle literature?”

“Yeah,” you said, grinning. “There’s this Muggle author—Stephen King. Have you heard of him?”

Remus’s eyes lit up. “I have! The shining is brilliant.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I grew up in a half-Muggle household. My mum had loads of Muggle books.”

“Oh, I love that,” you said excitedly. “Okay, tell me—what do you think of Jack Torrance?”

Remus chuckled. “Misunderstood, the man was literally being controlled by evil spirits”

You gasped dramatically. “Correct answer. I knew I liked you, Lupin.”

Remus blinked, caught off guard, but you just laughed, nudging him playfully.

He laughed too, shaking his head. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light.

Before he knew it, you had reached your classroom.

You stopped at the door, turning to face him. “Well, this is me.”

He nodded, suddenly wishing you had a further walk.

“Thanks for walking with me,” you said with a smile. “And take care of yourself, okay?”

Something about the way you said it made his chest tighten.

He nodded. “You too.”

With a final smile, you turned and disappeared into the classroom.

Remus stood there for a moment before shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

Then, with thoughts of you still swirling in his mind, he dragged himself to his own class, already looking forward to the next time he saw you.

Getting closer.

The days passed, and somehow, without either of you truly realizing it, you and Remus had begun to gravitate toward each other.

It wasn’t a conscious decision—at least, that’s what Remus told himself.

At first, it was small things.

You’d see each other in the library, sitting a few tables apart, until one of you would move closer—always under the excuse of needing a book the other was using.

You’d pass each other in the halls, exchanging small smiles, sometimes stopping for a brief chat about classes, assignments, or whatever book you were reading that week.

Remus, always more reserved, didn’t say much in the beginning. He would listen as you talked, and surprisingly, he never got tired of hearing you speak. You had this way of filling the silence without overwhelming it.

And what fascinated him the most?

You never got bored of him.

Most people—besides his closest friends—didn’t have the patience for his quiet nature, for his habit of getting lost in thought, for the way he preferred books over crowds. But you never seemed to mind.

If anything, you enjoyed talking to him.

And Remus liked listening to you.

Slowly but surely, Remus began seeking you out.

If he saw you in the Great Hall, he’d wave you over. If you passed each other in the corridors, he’d slow his steps so you could walk together. If he spotted you alone in the common room, he’d sit beside you, pulling out a book without a word.

And you? You found yourself looking for him, too.

One evening, you sat at your usual table in the library, a thick Potions book open in front of you. You were muttering ingredients under your breath, trying to memorize an antidote recipe, when a familiar figure slid into the seat across from you.

“You talk to your books a lot,” Remus observed, setting his own book down.

You looked up, smirking. “And yet, you still sit with me. What does that say about you?”

He chuckled. “That I’m patient?”

“Or that you secretly enjoy my rambling.”

He shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe.”

You grinned, flipping a page. “What are you reading?”

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” he said, holding up the book.

You raised an eyebrow. “Planning on running off to become a Magizoologist?”

“Not quite,” he said, amused. “I just like creatures.”

You hummed, tilting your head. “If you could be any magical creature, what would you be?”

He hesitated for a second. “A werewolf.”

You blinked, surprised. “A werewolf?”

He nodded slowly, studying your face. “Yeah. They’re misunderstood. People assume they’re just mindless monsters, but… they’re not.”

You frowned slightly, considering his words. “You’re right. They don’t choose to be that way.”

Remus swallowed hard, watching you carefully. “You don’t think they’re evil?”

You shook your head. “Of course not. I think… I think most of them are probably just scared. And lonely.”

Something in Remus’s chest ached. He had never heard anyone say that before.

“You’re… different,” he said softly.

You gave him a curious look. “Different how?”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You just… are.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “That’s a very vague answer, Lupin.”

He chuckled. “It’s the best you’re getting.”

You sighed dramatically. “Fine. But I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“I’m sure you will.”

You eyed him suspiciously but let it go. “Well, I’d be a phoenix.”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“They heal people,” you said simply. “And they always come back.”

He stared at you for a moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then, quietly, “That suits you.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

For a brief second, neither of you spoke.

Then, he cleared his throat, turning his attention back to his book. “You were mumbling potion ingredients earlier. Studying for something?”

You exhaled, shaking off the strange warmth in your chest. “Yes. Madam Pomfrey’s quizzing me tomorrow, and I cannot mix up the bezoar antidotes again.”

Remus smirked. “Do you want me to test you?”

Your eyes lit up. “Would you?”

He nodded, and for the next hour, he quizzed you, throwing in the occasional joke just to make you laugh.

The Marauders.

Of course, being friends with Remus meant that you were friends with the Marauders now.

One evening, you sat cross-legged on the Gryffindor common room floor, surrounded by parchment and books. Remus sat beside you, his own notes scattered around. Across from you, James Potter and Sirius Black were sprawled on the couch, watching you both with lazy amusement. Peter Pettigrew sat on the armrest, nibbling on a biscuit.

“So, let me get this straight,” James said, stretching his arms behind his head. “You spend your free time—voluntarily, I might add—working in the hospital wing?”

You looked up from your parchment, raising an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“And you enjoy it?”

“Yes.”

James exchanged a look with Sirius, who smirked. “Merlin’s beard, Moony, you’ve found your twin.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Because enjoying something that requires effort is such a crime?”

“No, but we just assumed no one else was as much of a workaholic as you,” Sirius teased.

You snorted. “I love what I do, thank you very much.”

Peter perked up. “Does that mean you’re good at Potions?”

“She’s brilliant,” Remus answered before you could, flipping a page in his book.

Sirius grinned. “Oh, that’s good to know.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why?”

James leaned forward, an eager look in his eyes. “Because we need a potioneer for our next prank.”

You stared at him. “You want me to help you prank people?”

“Yes,” Sirius said smoothly, “because you’re cool.”

Remus made a sound like he was choking on his own breath. “Cool?”

James ignored him. “Think about it. You brew us something—nothing harmful, just a little mischief—and we execute it.”

You tilted your head, considering. “Would this be used on everyone or just specific people?”

“Filch,” Peter answered immediately. “And Snivellus.”

You hummed. “No harm, no permanent damage?”

James put a hand over his heart. “On my honor.”

You smirked. “I could make an odorless dye potion that only reacts to moonlight.”

Sirius gasped in delight. “That’s genius.”

“Imagine Snape walking around, thinking nothing’s wrong, and then—BAM—his face turns green under the full moon,” James cackled.

You smiled sweetly. “You’ll owe me chocolate.”

Sirius clapped his hands together. “Deal.”

Remus sighed, looking at you with an exasperated but amused expression. “You do realize you’re enabling them?”

“Oh, I know,” you said innocently. “But it’s fun.”

James grinned. “She’s one of us now, Moony.”

Remus looked at you, then at them, then sighed again, rubbing his temple. “Merlin help us all.”

[goldfades]

Please more controversially young gf for sid🫶🏽🫶🏽

you ask, i deliver!! i hope u enjoy<3

You always joked about Sidney’s age.

Always chirped him about his back, his knees, the way he sometimes got up in the morning with a groan like he was a man twice his age. You teased him relentlessly, with little jabs like "Want me to grab your cane, Grandpa?" when he stretched too long after practice.

But when you saw him go down on the ice, nothing was funny.

Nothing at all.

You didn’t even register what had happened at first. One second, he was in the play, moving like he always did—fast, sharp, instinctual—and then the next, he was hit hard along the boards, his body crumbling in a way that was all wrong.

Your heart stopped. Literally stopped. Your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and suddenly, the crowd noise, the commentators, the sounds of skates slicing ice—it all faded into a dull, meaningless blur.

Because he wasn’t getting up.

Your hands clenched around the edge of your seat so tightly your knuckles ached. Time felt slow, unbearably so, like you were watching the worst moment of your life play out in slow motion. He was on his knees, then on his side, and there was a trainer already rushing out to him. But he wasn’t moving like he should be.

You felt sick. A tangible, horrible nausea that curled in your stomach and made your whole body feel cold.

Sidney was tough. Tougher than most. He had taken hits before, had gotten back up when no one else could. But this—this wasn’t right.

You barely noticed the people around you. Barely heard the fans murmuring, the worried whispers and sharp intakes of breath, the occasional muttered, "Shit, that looked bad."

All you knew was that your chest felt tight, too tight, like you couldn’t get a full breath in.

And then, finally, finally, he moved.

Slow. Careful. The kind of movement that told you it hurt like hell but he was too stubborn to let anyone see just how bad it was. He pressed his hand to the ice for support, his jaw clenched, his eyes set forward in that focused, determined way you knew so well.

It should have made you feel better. It didn’t.

Because you knew him.

You knew his pain tolerance was stupidly high, that if he wasn’t just popping up and skating back into the play, something was really, really wrong.

You didn’t even think before you moved. The second he was helped off the ice and down the tunnel, you were out of your seat, pushing through the rows, ignoring the way people turned to watch you. You didn’t care. Didn’t care that the cameras might catch you, didn’t care what social media would say, didn’t care about anything except getting to him.

Your pulse pounded in your ears as you made your way through the winding hallways of the arena, the path to the medical room too familiar by now. You had done this before, more times than you wanted to admit. But it never got easier.

The second you reached the room, you barely hesitated before pushing the door open.

And there he was.

Sidney sat on the exam table, gear still on, one skate unlaced, his posture stiff like he was bracing for bad news. His head snapped up the moment he saw you, and something in his face softened.

"You’re not supposed to be back here," he said, his voice rough but steady.

"Yeah, well," you exhaled, still trying to calm the pounding in your chest, "try and stop me."

And just like that, whatever resolve you had left crumbled.

You crossed the room in seconds, standing between his knees, your hands finding his face, tilting it up, searching. His helmet had been removed, his hair damp with sweat, his brow creased in quiet frustration.

"You scared the shit out of me," you admitted, your voice quiet, your thumbs tracing lightly over his cheekbones.

His lips twitched like he wanted to smile, but the pain in his eyes dulled it. "Didn’t mean to."

"You weren’t moving," you whispered. "I thought—I thought—"

Your throat closed up, and Sidney—ever steady, ever calm, even when he was the one hurt—reached for your wrist, grounding you with a squeeze.

"I’m okay," he murmured. "Just sore."

You didn’t believe him, not entirely, but he was looking at you like he needed you to, like he needed you to be steady for him.

So you nodded, exhaling shakily. "I’ll be the judge of that."

He let out a breath of amusement, the smallest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "That right?"

"Damn right," you said, shifting so you could press your forehead against his. "Now let me have my dramatic, emotionally charged moment, please."

Sidney huffed a soft laugh, closing his eyes for a second, letting you linger in the quiet. And when he finally spoke again, his voice was low, just for you.

"I’m glad you’re here."

And just like that, the tightness in your chest eased.

Because yeah, the world could speculate all it wanted. People could talk about the age gap, the controversy, the noise. But right now, in this small, fluorescent-lit medical room, none of it mattered.

Because you loved him.

And he loved you.

And at the end of the day, that was the only thing that ever would.

Sidney was not a good patient.

This was something you learned very quickly.

The second the team doctors gave him strict orders to rest, you knew it was only a matter of time before he started pushing it. Because he was Sidney Crosby—one of the most disciplined, regimented, "tough it out and get back on the ice" people to ever exist. He didn’t do rest. Didn’t do sitting still, didn’t do taking it easy.

Which meant you had to be the one to make him.

Lucky for him, you had absolutely no problem being a pain in his ass.

"Sit. Down."

You stood in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, staring Sidney down as he very slowly tried to get up from the couch. He was still in sweats, fresh from a shower, his damp hair slightly messy in a way that would’ve been distracting if you weren’t so focused on keeping him immobile.

"I was just—"

"—going to sit your ass back down like the doctors told you," you finished for him. "Good call."

Sid exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. "I’m fine."

"You have a bruised rib," you reminded him, walking toward him and shoving him back down with one finger on his chest. "Which means no skating, no lifting, no ‘I swear I’m just stretching’—and definitely no trying to prove how tough and manly you are by walking around like a fully functional human when we both know you are not."

He just looked at you, lips twitching, because he was definitely entertained by the way you were talking to him.

"You enjoy this, don’t you?" he asked, voice tinged with amusement.

You scoffed. "Oh, so much." You pointed at him again. "Now stay there while I get your meds."

Sid obeyed, but you could feel his eyes on you as you moved around the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and pulling his painkillers from the cabinet. You turned back to him, shaking two pills into your palm.

"Take these," you ordered, stepping back toward him.

He raised an eyebrow but took the pills from your hand. "I could do this myself, you know."

"Could you, though?" you mused, tilting your head. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re a very injured man who should probably stop arguing with his extremely generous, very beautiful, highly intelligent, and endlessly patient nurse."

Sid let out a slow, amused breath, shaking his head. "Highly patient, huh?"

You handed him the water, watching as he swallowed the meds, and then took the glass back when he was done. "Unbelievably patient," you confirmed. "Practically saintly."

Sid didn’t reply, just watched you with that look—the one where his lips curled slightly, his eyes softened, and you knew, knew, that if he weren’t injured, he’d be pulling you into his lap just to shut you up.

Instead, he settled for reaching out and grabbing your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. "Thanks for taking care of me."

You shrugged, sitting on the couch next to him, curling up so your legs tucked under you. "Someone has to make sure you don’t do anything stupid."

He hummed, shifting slightly to get comfortable. "Don’t I have trainers for that?"

"Yeah, but I’m meaner," you pointed out. "And I have better hair."

Sid chuckled, tilting his head toward you, his expression easy and fond. "Can’t argue with that."

You smirked, leaning your head against his shoulder, being careful not to press against the bruised side of his ribs. "Damn right you can’t."

And despite everything—despite his injury, despite the way you knew he hated being sidelined—Sidney relaxed. Because this? This was what made it all okay.

Even if you were bossy. Even if you were slightly unbearable in full nurse mode.

You were his. And that made every moment—every ridiculous, slightly bitchy, very loving moment—worth it.

[jaegahh]

plsss make mikasa headcannons 🙏🙏👨‍🍼🤾‍♂️🗑️

GIRLFRIEND MIKASA HEADCANONS ᯓᡣ𐭩

content: sfw, female! Reader, fluff, bit of smoking mentioned <3

Mikasa’s strong. Like, really, really strong. She’s effortlessly able to pick you up. The ease of doing so always leads to her swooping you up in her arms when you’re too tired to walk up the stairs of your shared loft. She adores how soft you look in her arms.

Mika’s obsessed with your cooking. OBSESSED. Coming home to a warm plate of food you fixed for her after a long hour at the gym is like coming home to heaven. She’ll definitely make sure you know it, too.

Also because she can’t cook to save her life.

She’s definitely the type to be up at the ass crack of dawn. I’m talking 5:30 am, going on a morning jog, heading to the gym, working on something hands-on.. or sometimes just for the sake of being up. She always makes sure to give you a kiss before she leaves, of course.

Her phone is filled with pictures of you. All 1,209 of ‘em. Her lock screen is her favorite one, where you’re smiling and so beautiful in the pretty beach dress you wore when she first asked to be your girlfriend. It was your senior year of high school, and ever since then you two have been inseparable.

You’ll say something about a new TikTok challenge or a new meme you found while scrolling on Instagram and she’ll nod at you without a clue. She’s a bit behind on pop culture references and things like that :(.. Probably because she’s always off doing something productive.

She’s big on games— especially storymodes, though she doesn’t mind the occasional online multiplayer ones. Any free time she’s got is gonna be spent on her PC playing video games. Usually Red Dead Redemption 2, The Last of Us, Life is Strange.. sometimes Fortnite (she’s definitely a chapter 1 season 1 player don’t play w herr). Every once in a while she’ll force you to play something together. Scary games in particular. God, she loves making you play horror games.

“Im scared! Miki where did that thing go? It was just—,” suddenly, the monster jump-scares you and you’re screaming— almost falling off your girlfriend’s chair. You stare at the screen with a pounding heart and furrowed eyebrows, noting the ‘respawn’ button as you were killed for the millionth time now. You huff in frustration.

“Bye! I am not playing this game no more.” You turn to face Mikasa, when you see her laughing.

You cross your arms. “What’s so funny!?” Mika tries to stop giggling, but the cheeky pout on your face only makes her laugh even harder.

“‘M sorry, you’re just too cute. We can play that roblox game now if you want.” Mikasa giggles, as she exits off the game for you. Pressing a sweet peck to your nape, she gestures for you to flip your position on her lap. Now straddling her waist, you sigh with relief as she rubs soft circles onto your back, thankful that horror is over.

With a calmer heart, you turn to log into your account on the computer. “Let’s play Dress to Impress?”

Giving your cheek a little kiss, she whispers, “Whatever you want, baby.”

She’s very easily flustered. You would tell her she looks pretty and she’s already turning red. It’s adorable how bashful she gets 😭

She’s very, very, veryyy protective. Sometimes even too much. Always has you plastered to her, with an arm around your waist or a possessive hand around your hip. She never leaves you out of sight, even if its a quick grocery run or a shopping day at the mall— you’ll be right in front of her, and she’ll be right behind you. She always has a glowering look on her face, and if her overwhelming body language didn’t scare away lingering stares, then the threatening look on her face sure did. She’d never want anything to happen to her precious girl :(

That also applies to her doing absolutely everything for you. Carrying a bag? She’s got it. Need to run a quick errand? Don’t worry, she’s already grabbed the keys. Too tired to walk up the stairs? She’ll carry you. Heading to book an appointment for a massage? Like hell she’s letting someone touch you. She’ll have the 5-star experience at home.

Her physique is sooo delicious. She’s got strong arms, toned legs, defined abs.. she’s just so fit. Always sends you pictures of her at the gym, all sweaty and pretty for you.

Whispering sweet nothings in your ear, gently caressing your back.. she lovess to feel you relax in her touch. Really, it’s cause she loves to always have her hands on you. You’re just too gorgeous.

Loves back hugs. There’s just something so sweet about being able to hold you so tenderly, pressing warm kisses to your neck. Definitely her favorite type of hug.

Has to have you sat on her lap. There’s just no other way. When you watch movies together, play video games, when you’re having a quick smoke sesh, when you’re kissing— she’s always gonna have you pulled right onto her. She loves seeing you sat so prettily on top of her

LOVES when you get a new set of nails. Bonus points if they’re long, charmed ones. They feel so good when they’re wrapped around her pretty neck when your making out.

Kissing you is her favorite thing; if it’s on your lips, on your cheekbone, on the spot right in between your eyebrows, anywhere on your body— but she especially loves to kiss your neck. Always before going to sleep, she’ll make sure to snuggle up real close and litter you with kisses all over your face and neck before letting you rest. she just loves you too much

Mika always makes you feel loved. Whether that’s through sweet gifts she spoils you with, thoughtful gestures, passionate kisses, or loving words. She’s just perfect.

A/N: HI BABIES!!! I apologize for the fat text coming up. it’s been one hell of a 2 years. this was just rotting up in my drafts, along with countless other works i haven’t had the time nor motivation to finish. so so sorry for the late response nonnie. this isn’t proofread, and unfortunately isn’t too organized either. the writing and characterization might also suck.. as it’s been quiteee a long time 😅. also, i didn’t use the “Girlfriend!Mikasa who (..)” start.. but i think i might for other works in the future?? would you like that? lmk! I feel like tumblr has moved on from the usual bullet point nd dump haha. sorry again sweetheart! hope this was alright for uuu <3 i will try my hardest to be more active for u guys soon!! MWA💋💋

[princessrazzledazzle]

What Twst Wonderland Characters Would Do For Valentine’s Day

Riddle: Never really celebrated Valentine’s day back home because of his mom, but always dreamed of it. At NRC, he throws a extra special unbirthday party with pink and red hearts everywhere. He also makes sure to be nicer and less strict, he even gives his dormmates little cards, and personalized ones for his closer friends.

Trey: Always loved Valentine’s day because of all the cute pastries he and his family would make. At NRC, he does the exact same, baking for the unbirthday party and some special treats for his close friends.

Cater: Posts things like “Who tryna be my valentine” on magicam while trying to look as cute as possible he never gets a valentine . He wears only red and pink whenever he’s not in uniform and he’ll give out little cards to people he likes.

Ace: Always thought the holiday was pointless and corny, but loves free candy, so he never complained…well he does complain about the cringey couples and make fun of them. He’d give one of those heart shaped lollipops to his friends.

Deuce: Only really likes the holiday for the candy, makes sure to at least write his mom a card, even if he has to send it by mail. He also gives little cards to his friends with heart shaped lollipops.

Leona: Couldn’t care less about Valentine’s day. He’ll eat a couple candies and a few cookies, but that’s it.

Ruggie: Also couldn’t care less about Valentine’s day, but always makes sure to get his grandma something, always a handwritten card and some flowers.

Jack: Pretends not to care about the holiday, but always get something for his family and close friends, then denies the fact he actually likes Valentine’s day.

Azul: Used to hate it when he was younger because he would be the only person not to get a valentine, but after he met Floyd and Jade, they do something special together every year I might talk about that later Ever since he started running the Monstro Lounge, he puts all sorts of Valentine’s day specials and deals on the menu.

Jade: Doesn’t really care for it, only celebrates it with his brother and Azul because he secretly doesn’t want to see Azul all sad and lonely ever again. Always plans out what they’ll do for the holiday.

Floyd: Actually loves Valentine’s day for all the wrong reasons. He’s the type of person to tell couples to switch their phones. He also loves all the heart shaped treats, always having liked festive foods. Always makes sure Azul is having a blast doing whatever it is they’re doing with Jade. In charge of decorating the Monstro Lounge and does a pretty decent job.

Kalim: LOVES Valentine’s day. Goes all out, giving cards to any person who just so happens to make eye contact with him. Makes special cards for his dormmates and friends. Dresses in only red, pink, and white the whole day.

Jamil: Doesn’t like the holiday, never really celebrated it unless you count Kalim forcing him to dress up with him a form of celebration.

Vil: Enjoys the holiday. Does yearly Valentine’s day posts on magicam and also only dresses in red, pink, and white and makes the entirety of Pomefiore to do the same. Gives expensive gifts to those he cares about, though some of his presents are passive aggressive.

Rook: Probably one of his favorite times of the year. Thinks of it as a celebration of all kinds of love, platonic to romantic. Literally only speaks in poetry the entire day and will give handwritten poems to people he likes to stalk.

Epel: Hates it. Thinks the holiday is for girls and refuses to participate…except for some cards and cookies for his grandparents.

Idia: Never really celebrates it unless you call playing otome games all day as a celebration. Occasionally he’ll look at his surveillance cameras and make fun of the cringey couples, then gets sad because no one has ever loved him like that. Gets something for Ortho that he’ll like.

Ortho: Finds the holiday cute and enjoyable. Gives little cards and candies to his friends and a special present for Idia.

Malleus: Doesn’t celebrate the holiday in Briar valley, but finds it interesting that there’s a day dedicated to all different types of love. Wants to make it a official holiday in Briar Valley when he becomes king.

Lilia: Also didn’t celebrate Valentine’s day, but finds the couples both amusing and oddly adorable. Gets something for Malleus, Silver, and Sebek.

Silver: Only knew about Valentine’s day because of the story books Lilia would read to him. Finds it interesting and hopes to have a romantic partner one day.

Sebek: Does care for the holiday and also only knew of its existence through story books. At NRC sure to get something very extra and unnecessary for Malleus, so the whole school can see how loved his Waka Sama is and how he is his best knight.

[creature-wizard]

Found some stories from people who realized their SRA/repressed memory therapists were a bunch of quacks. Lots of CWs for talk of severe abuse and some occasional disturbing activities. If you can stomach it, it's worth a read because it shows just how bad these therapists could get with malpractice and quackery. If you don't want to read the whole thing, here's some key takeaways:

Many therapists just decided their patients had repressed memories. The patients were not allowed to question or disagree with this. The therapists basically flexed their professional authority and told them they were just in denial. Former patient Deborah David described her own experience as being like constantly told that she had once seen a bear climbing a candy cane, told that other people had seen bears on candy canes, and constantly being asked leading questions about her experiences with bears on candy canes, and told that she was in denial if she said she'd never seen one.

Not all patients appear to have been put under hypnosis, but the therapists' insistence that terrible things must have happened to them and their insistence that the only way to heal was to "remember" all of it basically had a number of patients just imagining up all the horrible scenarios they could think of. Former patient Laura Pasley realized after getting out that a number of her "memories" actually came from the book Sybil, the movie Deranged, and from a story she'd written when she was seventeen.

(Worth noting here that a study showed that people who believe they have past lives are more likely to forget where they learned information. It would make a lot of sense if many people who "remembered" SRA under therapists like these have the same issue.)

Many patients were told that their bodies stored memory of this alleged repressed trauma, and any physical sensation they felt was a "body memory" surfacing. So for a hypothetical example, someone who experienced an aching ankle might be told that this is their body "remembering" parental abuse. A patient might imagine a scenario where a parent broke their ankle, and the therapist would treat this as a "recovered" memory.

A number of patients were diagnosed with MPD (as it was called at the time) regardless of whether they initially showed any symptoms. Patients were pushed into "uncovering" these alters that allegedly remembered all the abuse. One patient (Robert Wilson) actually began acting out the alters his therapist told him he had outside of the therapist's office, in some very harmful and destructive ways. (CW for prostitution and animal death if you want to read his story.)

Another patient (Nell Charette) said that while her therapy was ongoing, she had "eight different people telling [her] what to do."

Another patient (Susan) reports:

I mapped an elaborate system, virtually every emotional state or conflicting world view was an alter, plus the male protector and little girl and little boy that went with it. There were sets of 12 for every ego state, complete with names. In the end, I had about 200 "alters." ... Now along with all these alters is the question of how did they get here? Now, we've all heard the story that you can't be this way without severe, repeated, sexual or physical trauma from before you were 5. I'm really pissed about this part, because look how they did this: 1. Your symptoms mean you have MPD, the first step to getting better is to admit this. There is no other thing this could be; if it walks like a duck it's a duck. 2. Since you have MPD, you had to have been sexually/physically/ritually abused. There is no other way you could have this, so you need to admit it to get better. 3. You have to bring these "memories" forward to get better.

This confirms exactly what I've been saying for months: that the mythology of SRA and Project Monarch-type alter programming permits any uncomfortable feeling, any unwanted impulse, and any conflicting beliefs to be attributed to an alter, and therefore to trauma-based mind control, extreme abuse, or whatever you want to call it.

Robert's unfortunate case also confirms that if you go telling a sufficiently unstable person that they have certain alters that do certain things, they will effectively develop them. (This is why convincing a child that they might have a prostitute alter is not only unethical, but also incredibly dangerous!)

If you try and make yourself uncover certain alters, or if someone convinces you that you have them, you will almost certainly "find" them. The simple act of imagining an alter can be enough to make your brain start generating one, or at least something that resembles one close enough to convince people like these therapists.

Many of these former patients describe their mental health deteriorating as their "therapy" progressed. Many who came in without severe issues were completely dysfunctional by the time they left, and if they did have issues when they started, they were exacerbated. This was treated as a part of the healing process, with patients being told that "you have to get worse before you get better" and "the only way out is through."

As retractor Stephanie Krauss put it:

They get hold of this impressive-sounding theory and it goes through some metamorphosis in their minds and is transformed into fact. Then they go treat patients with this new information that only causes more havoc in the lives of persons with normal problems. They have this zeal to treat a disorder that doesn't even exist-at least, not until after treatment starts, and that's when the suffering really begins.

I know brainwashing techniques, and what these people experienced was 100% brainwashing. Each patient had their very sense of self torn apart and each was led to believe that they couldn't trust their own minds. They were led to believe that they had a serious problem that only the therapist - the one with all the power - could fix. They were only "healing" when they complied with the therapist's desires. They were told to cut off anyone who challenged the therapist's narrative.

In other words, the real programmers, the real practitioners of mind control, were the therapists.

[soundop-central]

the megasoundopstarshock polycule exists for a reason

I need to know everything you HC with them stat

ive made two posts about them!! the initial introduction and the cuddle puddle

General Headcanons

The Soundwave Chaos Polycule (also known as the Soundwave Harem) exists less to explore Soundwave's relationships with each member, and more to explore the dynamics that each of the members have with each other

I think its very funny to make it that Soundwave is aware of literally everything that goes on between his partners (spymaster goes brrrr). He's like a scientist watching his ant colony interact. He's watching the bacteria grow in a petri dish. He's a wildlife conservationist studying a pack of wolves.

I cannot stress how much Shockwave hates Optimus and how much Optimus just wants to be his friend. Optimus will find him outside of work (he knows better than to disturb him in their home lab), sit next to him, and start yapping. OP yaps about anything and everything, usually about whatever archivist project he's working on. Shockwave could not be less interested. Sometimes, OP will start a friendly debate with Shockwave because that's the only way he can get him to conversate. Shockwave immediately tries to shut him down, but it never really works. They are in an eternal struggle.

Optimus is super monogamous. He supports Soundwave whole heartedly and is secure in their relationship. Still, he can't help but get a little jealous when Soundwave chooses to spend the night in someone else's berth when its his turn to have the 'Wave. It doesn't happen often, but sometimes Soundwave has a rough day and needs to sleep next to his fellow weird cryptid scientist. The next morning, Soundwave always makes it up to OP though through gestures like bringing him extra energon, giving him the Cybertronian equivalent of a massage, or with a morning frag. It's really up to Optimus as to what he gets. Soundwave is more than happy to do whatever he wants him to. What matters is that Optimus feels reassured, which he always does.

Megatron and Shockwave are very good...uh. its complicated? They honestly don't know either. Both of them are too weird about feelings to be able to put a label on their relationship. But they enjoy each other's company in all contexts. The tenderness that Megatron is capable of is not saved for Soundwave only. He often shares it with Shockwave; gentle touches, soft spoken praise, showing a genuine interest in his work. Shockwave, likewise, will give to Megatron in his own way. He occasionally will invite him into his lab for "intellectually stimulating exercises" in which really he just enlists Megatron to be his lab assistant for the day. He teaches Megatron about science and engineering, and Megatron high key loves it. He loves that Shockwave recognizes his intellect beyond his military prowess and poetic craftsmanship.

Starscream, on the other hand, has a strained relationship with both of them. Because it's Starscream. Starscream, quite frankly, thinks its funny to annoy them at this point. He will pull pranks on Shockwave, like breaking into his lab at night and moving everything slightly to the right, or hiding an inconspicuous tool. Shockwave doesn't even know about the latter until he actually needs the instrument, and then all hell breaks loose. Starscream will walk in a couple hours later, ask what's wrong, pretend to look for about ten minutes before magically finding whatever it Shockwave is looking for. Shockwave suspects him HEAVILY, but never has enough empirical data to accuse him.

Star is a little seductress too, so when he's feeling especially spicy, he will try to egg Shockwave on in all the right ways. They've spent so long doing this dance that Starscream knows exactly the right buttons and when to push them to get Shockwave in his berth. Though, usually, it's Starscream sitting on a lab table with Shockwave between his legs.

Star and Shockwave are also lab "partners". I use that term very loosely. It's more that they have separate labs that are adjoined by a small hallway and they occasionally run into each other. Sometimes they collaborate on projects. Star proves to actually be quite skilled at being professional, something that surprises Shockwave. 

Starscream and Megatron are...they sure are!! They still fight like cats and dogs, but there is a sexual tension there now (as if it wasn't always there). Starscream doesn't really prank Megatron like he does Shockwave. But, he also doesn't try to kill him anymore which is a megastar W. Soundwave insisted that they go to therapy before they were allowed to move in, and after a few years (human years, i like to think human years are like months to Cybertronians) they managed to work out the Major Issues between them. Still, there is no fixing their clash of personalities.

Still, Starscream and Megatron are charming, and a lot of times their fights look like a battle of wits. Whoever loses gets to top. I cannot stress this enough: they solve their problems by fucking.

Still, there are strangely sweet moments between them too. It feels wrong for everyone involved, but it happens.

Starscream and Optimus are BESTIES. They love going out on the town and doing things together. They'll grab brunch and go shopping. They'll go to the library. They'll go to parks and people watch. They do literally everything together. Optimus is a secret gossip, and Starscream LOVES tea, so during their brunches Optimus talks about office drama and Starscream punctuates with gasps and "oh no she didn't!"s accordingly.

I honestly dont have a lot of thoughts about the megop angle (im not a megop shipper), but i think its really funny if Megatron pined after Optimus and optimus acts oblivious. he knows that Megs is pining. He does not care. He has all he needs with Soundwave.

TL;DR theyre all gay, your honor

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Does anyone actually say that Ladybug and Adrien are fake somehow?

Yeah, people absolutely have that take. It's what spawned the original post. One too many fics and shipping poles that treated Marinette and Chat Noir as somehow wrong for their crushes. (I apparently read fast. My ML fic's read count is in the thousands at this point. It's enough to let me notice trends that bug me whereas one fic would just be a shrug and move on thing.) On the Adreinette side you get, "Chat Noir is the true Adrien! Civilian Adrien is just a mask! Marinette only loves the fake Adrien so she doesn't deserve him!"

Chat Noir gets less flak, but I've seen it enough to know it's very much a thing. There's a reason Marichat wins out over Ladynoir in almost every poll. If you ever see one, read the comments for the logic and you'll see what I mean. People with this view seem to think things like, "Chat Noir doesn't really love Marinette because Ladybug isn't stuttery and awkward around him! He has to love her when she's a mess!"

This kind of thing is so popular that I had to stop reading fics that paired Marinette with other people because the "Marinette is the true version" thing showed up all the freaking time. So many of these fics felt less like shipping stories and more like Adrien bashing where he was punished for liking Ladybug and not Marinette. It was draining. Even my favorite one has a scene to make sure Adrien feels bad for missing what he could have had and it's a freaking no powers AU!

I actually had a really lovely conversation about this topic when the blog was young because this is one that gets under my skin whenever I come across it and I occasionally need to vent a bit. The kind person who indulged my annoyance straight up said that they used to think that the square "have to fall in love as Marichat bc that's when they can be real with each other." Which was not a stance that was unique to them by any means. They were just validating my first-hand observations of the way SOME people view the ship/characters.

There is a version of the true selves stuff that's genuinely sweet though. It's the version you basically summed up where it's less about these two being the "true" versions and more about Marichat letting the two get to know each other without the pressure of the crushes complicating things. After all, the canon square is only a few hours removed from love at first sight which certainly adds pressure that Marichat removes. The existence of this version that means I don't hate Marichat or even the words "true self", I'm just warry when I see them as I never know what I'm about to see.

While I get why canon's near insta love and subsequent writing issues would draw a person to Marichat, I'll also once again argue that the issue at hand isn't the various ship dynamics, it's canon's writing as the awkward Marichat arc shows. Even though the crushes only flipped after four whole season, canon Marichat doesn't feel any deeper than canon Adrienette or canon Ladynoir. It's played incredibly superficial and doesn't even bother to acknowledge that Chat Noir and Marinette have a functional friendship as established in episodes like Evillustrator, Glaciator, and Glaciator 2. Elation writes Marichat as if they've never interacted before and Chat Noir is just going on a date with a fan he's never officially met. Passion writes Ladynoir as awkwardly as Adrienette always was. Ladybug's months of platonic partnership did nothing to change how she acts when she has a crush or how successful she is at confessing.

In a better show, canon's Marichat arc would be used to set up Adrienette as a more solid couple. Marichat would allow Adrien to see that Marinette loves him even when he's being goofy, but they'd agree to not date because a hero and a civilian dating is too risky. Then Adrienette would happen and, oh look, Adrien can occasionally crack jokes and be silly because he knows Marinette can love him even when he's at his most Chat Noir in addition to being his most Adrien. Marinette is a little surprised, but fine with it. Canon doesn't go there though. As far as the show is concerned, Marichat essentially never happened. It was a one-off fever dream both characters completely forgot. Canon Adrienette has Adrien playing the perfect flawless boyfriend who never annoys Marinette with his jokes.

In summary, that post wasn't about saying that Marichat is bad or unhealthy or that there's no version of the true selves thing that's cute. It was me venting a bit after seeing one too many instances of people acting like Ladrien, Ladynoir, and Adrienette could never be healthy because friends to lovers is some sort of golden standard when it's absolutely not. It's a neutral preference. Each side is fine. What matters is how you write it.

Why the "True Selves" Theory is Insulting

Image for a second that you have a friend who's a bit of a ditz. She's also fun, creative, and sweet. You enjoy being around her, but you've never seen her as more than a friend. Then, one day, a fire breaks out at an event that you and your friend are attending. Your lives are suddenly in mortal peril and the same goes for everyone around you because you can't find the exit. You think that you're going to die.

Then, suddenly, your friend transforms. Not in a magical way, it's just a personality shift, but it might as well be magical because it's like nothing you've ever seen! The ditziness is gone, replaced by laser focus and a take-charge attitude that has everyone following your friend without question. When all is said and done, everyone lives because of you friend. As it turns out, her tendency to get easily distracted means that she's a fantastic in-the-moment problem solver.

Going through that completely changes how you see this girl. You no longer just like her, no, you're now deeply in love with her. You tell a mutual friend about this and they laugh at you, then say, "Don't be silly, that wasn't really her! Her true self isn't that brave girl who saved your life! That was special circumstances that don't count. All that counts is the way she acts when there isn't a crisis going on. It doesn't matter that you've always liked her and enjoyed her company, if you didn't fall in love with based solely on her ditzy self, then you don't really love her."

Most people would call this mutual friend insane because of course going through crazy experiences changes the way we view people! Imagine if you had an allergic reaction and your significant other's reaction was to panic and run away, leaving you to die. You only live because you manage to grab your phone and call '911.' That would understandably lead many people to reassess if this is the person they want to spend their life with just like the opposite experience might make you see a person as a good life partner.

Marinette is Ladybug. She gets full credit for everything she's done in the suit and it's perfectly fine for Adrien to become attracted to her after he sees her in action. It doesn't mean that he only values her Ladybug side. He quite clearly cares for Marinette, he just hasn't seen her in the right light for him to fall in love. (And, if we're being frank, Marinette acts like Ladybug all the time when he's not around or when he is around, but a crisis is going on. She's really not that different from her alter ego.)

Along similar lines, Marinette isn't wrong for being drawn to Adrien's sweeter side more than his over-the-top jokey side. There's a reason why Glaciator ended with her blushing. Compare the end of Glaciator to the end of Origins and, yeah, same energy because - in that moment - Chat Noir was letting his Adrien side out by being more sincere and vulnerable, which are the things that Marinette values most in a romance and the things that he rarely shows while in the mask. It doesn't mean that she hates his jokey side, it's just not going to win her heart when Adrien's right there being sweet and sincere while Chat Noir hides his feelings behind a smile and a laugh.

In fact, it's pretty insulting to Adrien to say that someone shouldn't be attracted to his more vulnerable side. That his sincerity is worth less than his jokes. Almost as insulting as telling Marinette that her Ladybug side doesn't count and she should get no credit for being brave as that's not really her. Loving her only counts if a person falls in love while she's behaving in her most over-the-top, cringe, embarrassing way.

I don't know about you, but I would never want someone to hold me to that standard nor would I hold my significant other to that standard! It's perfectly normal to have things that you don't love about your significant other. In fact, I'd argue that part of the magic of a real, lasting romance is having someone who loves you even though you're not perfect. If you are looking for a partner who never annoys you or does something wrong, then you will never find happiness because that person does not exist.

Now that I've said all of that, I want to add that I do think that marichat, "love both sides" stories can be cute. It's just not One True Path to Real Love. It's totally fine if the square starts dating based on the things that they find attractive about each other and then just continue to be in love as they learn about the other side. If anything, that's normal. Learning about a person is what dating is all about! A good relationship is no different than a good friendship, you just get some bonus perks if you're into that kind of thing.

I'll also note that I'm not criticizing stories where Marinette feels like she's the "real" version and Ladybug is the fake because that's a really understandable thing to be nervous about. Tikki saying that shit? Hard no. Terrible mentoring.

[melancholy-of-nadia]

behind hidden pages (m) | jjk

title: behind hidden pages  pairing: art student!jungkook x writer!reader(f)  rating/genre: m(18+) ; fluff, smut ; the canon idol au summary: after being ghosted by your boyfriend with him disappearing off to a different country, it's not an understatement to say that it really crushed your heart and eagerness to ever be in a relationship again. well, good thing is that it leads to your first ever bestselling novel and peacefully working at your best friend jimin's cafe! however, someone appears out nowhere to disturb your simple little life. enter: jungkook, a handsome young man with a hidden side to him who suddenly moves into the studio below you. when your paths collide and your heart is shaken by him, what more lies underneath the surface which will lead to more emotional turmoil?! warnings: no actual warnings for this pilot as it's very tame, but if I continue it, there will be: eventual smut (which you won't have to wait too long for it to happen), a lot of s*xual tension, a lot of smut, caught masturb*ting, dom! jk, jungkook's clingyness 50x, jungkook body worshiping reader heavily, exhibitionism, pwp, potential threesome, cheating (not jungkook or reader), best friend! jimin, ex boyfriend! seokjin, everyone's traits are slightly exaggerated/a bit out of character, a bit of angst note: loosely based on the korean novel and webtoon, trash's circumstance, i read it and thought this would make an interesting (and very messy, drama-filled) BTS AU but changed some aspects. i decided to write one chapter of it to see what you all think as a "pilot", and based on your response, I'll probably continue it. total word count: 5.3k drop date: February 16th, 2025 5pm pst ao3 link –

"A tenant will be moving into the basement today," Jimin says, his voice casual as he starts on an espresso order. The hiss of the steaming wand fills the air.

"The basement?" You glance up from your clipboard, where you've been noting inventory. Your fingers hover over the bags of coffee beans before you start counting them out loud.

"Yeah, so get rid of all your stuff down there," he continues. "It's all trash."

You pause mid-count, narrowing your eyes at him. "You do know there's one box that belongs to Kim Seokjin."

"I know," he says, unfazed, tamping the espresso with practiced ease. "So just clean it up."

"Because he's my ex?"

"Obviously."

"Rude." Jimin smirks, entirely unbothered, before his expression shifts into something borderline angelic. With a practiced smile, he slides a cup across the counter. "Your espresso is ready! And here's a cookie—on the house!" he says, voice suddenly dripping with warmth as he hands it to the customer.

The customer beams, thanking him before heading to their table, completely unaware of the menace lurking beneath that sweet façade. You, however, know better. Jimin has always been like this—blunt, sweet, and on occasion, bordering on heartless, but never without good intentions. You’ve known him since college, back when you were just another over-caffeinated lit student drowning in deadlines, and he was the pre-law major guy who somehow had everything together. He was charming in that effortless way—always quick with a teasing remark, but also the kind of friend who showed up when you needed him, no questions asked.

After graduating, while you floundered between odd jobs and your dream of becoming a writer, Jimin went ahead and made something of himself after working at a law firm. He opened this café, built a life around it, and when you were struggling, he gave you a place to stay. Rent-free, no strings attached—except for the occasional demand that you work the counter when he was understaffed, which, honestly, was often.

And now, apparently, he's renting out the basement. You roll your eyes, which Jimin catches immediately. "Y/N, stop spacing out and take out the trash," he chides, already moving on to his next order.

With an exaggerated sigh, you grab the garbage bags and push through the back door. The moment you step outside, the heat wraps around you like an oppressive blanket. Cicadas drone endlessly, their hum rising and falling in waves, amplifying the stillness of the afternoon.

As you toss the trash into the bin, your gaze drifts toward the basement windows. The glass is smudged with dust, the interior barely visible through the faint reflections of the street. The idea of someone actually living down there feels… strange. 

For the past three years, the basement has been nothing but a forgotten space, cluttered with boxes, old café equipment, and—most importantly—traces of Kim Seokjin.

It’s at this moment that Jimin’s words echo in your mind: Get rid of all your stuff.

He wants you to clean it out, but just the thought of it exhausts you. Maybe he needs the extra rent money, though it’s hard to imagine him struggling financially.

Still, why now? Why suddenly rent out a place that’s been abandoned for so long?

That space has been nothing more than a storage room—a place where things go to be forgotten, including the remnants of your past with Seokjin.

You met Seokjin when he was fresh out of college, preparing for his master’s in literature. He had this quiet confidence, the kind that made people naturally gravitate toward him. Handsome, soft-spoken, kind—someone everyone admired. And somehow, for reasons you still don’t fully understand, he chose you.

Not that you were insecure. You weren’t clingy, and he was always faithful. Your relationship was easy, steady—comfortable in a way that made you believe it would last at least three years of quiet stability.

Until one day, without warning, he left.

Jimin had dismissed it as a submersible breakup—a term he coined for relationships that sink silently, without a fight or a final word. Which felt, exactly like that.

It was during that time, while you were drowning in the wreckage, that Jimin, with all the money he’d stacked up working as a top-notch lawyer, decided to buy this building.

A quiet place in a calm residential neighborhood of Seoul.

This building which ended up becoming your home.

The second floor, where you lived.

The first floor, where the ”Butterfly by Jimin” cafe was born.

And the basement, once a roasting room and a storage space—now, supposedly, someone’s future studio.

Jimin had called it financial therapy.

"A new home, a new job," he’d said. "There's nothing like financial therapy to heal the wounds of a heart broken person."

You scoff, because he wasn’t even the one who was experiencing one of the worse lows of their life.

But a new home?

A new job?

It had actually worked. Maybe that, and the book you wrote in the aftermath—Falling Moon Under the Bridge—becoming a surprise bestseller had been enough to pull you forward.

You’ve come so far, running in the opposite direction of your past. And yet, the weight of it lingers, like dust unsettled in the basement.

With a deep breath, you turn back toward the café, deciding that you’ll clean it out later. Since your shift ended, you head upstairs to get changed before you meet with your publisher later that afternoon for your audiobook’s recording session. 

But just as you step inside, the bell above the door chimes.

A waft of something mild drifts through the air.

Fabric softener?

You glance toward the entrance just as a man walks in, catching only the back of him before looking away.

"I love the fabric softener scent, but it doesn’t mix well with the humid summer heat."

You arrive at the recording studio in the late afternoon, the faint hum of music equipment and muffled voices filtering through the hallway as you find the right room. This is where you’re meeting with your publisher, Kim Taehyung. 

Taehyung, like Jimin, is an upperclassman friend from college. Since you were both in the literature department, you worked on a bunch of projects together as literary apprentices under your old mentor, Professor Jeon. He was brutal, and pushed you both hard during undergrad. But looking back, you know it was worth it. His strict guidance and high standards helped shaped your writing today.

After graduating, Taehyung started working as an intern at a publishing company, and now, well, he's one of the head publishers there. It’s crazy to think about how far he’s come, but honestly, it’s not surprising. He always had this sharp eye for detail and a way with words that made his work stand out.

After locating the room, you step inside and are immediately greeted by Taehyung, his signature easygoing smile lighting up his face as he holds out a familiar yellow carton of banana milk.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice, Y/N," he says, his voice warm and appreciative as he presses the cold carton into your hands. "I really needed your insight on this. You always have such a unique perspective, and I didn’t want to make any big decisions without running it by you first."

You smile, accepting the drink and taking a seat in one of the plush chairs near the recording booth. Slipping the straw through the foil, you take a sip, savoring the familiar cold, sweet taste of the banana milk. "No worries at all," you reply, leaning back comfortably. "I’m actually really glad to be here. I’ve never sat in on an audiobook recording before. When does it start?"

Taehyung glances at his watch, his expression brightening. "Just in a bit! I’m having a friend of mine handle the narration. He’s got this incredible voice, and honestly, he was highly recommended by Professor Jeon. I think he’s going to bring something really special to the project."

As Taehyung speaks, you flip through the script he handed you earlier, scanning the highlighted passages and margin notes. Your best-selling book’s first half is from the point of view of a man named Haneul, who has a near-death experience and begins seeing a specific woman, Seo Yul in his dreams every night. Determined to find her in real life, he embarks on a journey that blurs the lines between reality and illusion.

You’ve always had a vague image of Haneul in your mind—his mannerisms, his voice, the way he carries himself. But could there actually be someone out there to fit his voice. The door to the recording studio opens with a soft click, pulling you from your thoughts. The sound of footsteps shuffles into the room, accompanied by the faint rustle of fabric and the clink of ice in a cup. A cool breeze from the hallway briefly sweeps in before the door closes again.

"Sorry I’m late, hyung," a deep, smooth voice says, tinged with a hint of apology but also a casual ease.

"That’s okay! Did you get here alright? It’s pretty hot out there," Taehyung replies, his tone light and forgiving.

"I drove and picked up an iced Americano on the way, so it wasn’t too bad," the voice responds, and you can hear the smile in his words.

At the sound of the unfamiliar voice, you finally look up from the script.

And that’s when you see him.

He’s tall, with an effortlessly handsome presence that immediately draws your attention. His plain white t-shirt hugs his frame just right, paired with medium-wash jeans that look like they’ve been worn a hundred times but still fit perfectly. A silver lip ring sits on the corner of his mouth, catching the studio lights and glinting subtly as he speaks. His dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he’d run a hand through it on his way in, and there’s a relaxed confidence in the way he carries himself.

But what stands out the most isn’t his appearance—it’s his voice. Deep and smooth, it carries effortlessly in the room, each word deliberate and weighted with a natural lilt that makes everything he says sound intentional, almost melodic. It’s the kind of voice that could make even the most mundane sentence sound captivating.

You consider greeting him, but he’s already caught up in conversation with Taehyung and a few others in the room—people who seem to know him well.

You decide not to bother. It’s a hassle to talk to and befriend new people anyway. You’ve never been one to insert yourself into situations where you might feel out of place, and right now, it’s easier to just stay in your corner.

But then, a shadow approaches, lingering just beside you. You glance up, your pen pausing mid-scribble.

"Hello, Sunbae."

Sunbae?

The word catches you off guard. You blink at him, your mind racing. How old is he? You quickly do the math in your head, trying to figure out if he’s younger or if he’s just being overly polite. Either way, the title feels a little too formal, especially in this setting.

"Oh hi there, I’m L/N F/N, the author of this book," you say, offering a polite smile. Your voice is steady, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in your tone. You’re not used to being called sunbae—it’s been a while since you graduated, and you’ve always preferred a more casual approach to these things.

"Kim Jungkook," he introduces himself, holding out a hand. His grip is firm, warm, and there’s a confidence in the way he meets your gaze. "I heard you graduated from the school I’m attending. I’m an art major there. I’m looking forward to working with you."

You shake his hand, nodding slowly as you process his words. An art major? That explains the effortless style, the subtle edge to his appearance. But more than that, it’s the way he carries himself—like he’s comfortable in his own skin, unbothered by the weight of first impressions.

"Ah, it’s been a while since I graduated," you reply, your tone light. "And we weren’t in the same department, so just call me by my name." You try to brush off the formality, hoping to ease into a more relaxed dynamic. Titles always feel so distant, and you’d rather not have that kind of barrier between you, especially when you’re about to collaborate on something as personal as your book.

But Jungkook shakes his head, his lips quirking slightly into a small, almost teasing smile. "No, I can’t do that, Sunbae—" he says, his voice low but firm, leaving the sentence hanging as the audio engineer calls him over to enter the recording booth. He gives you a polite nod before heading inside, slipping on the headphones.

As Jungkook walks away, you glance down at your hand, flexing your fingers absentmindedly. The warmth of his grip still lingers, a faint echo that feels oddly significant.

Odd. That interaction felt strangely familiar, like a déjà vu you can’t quite place.

You’re certain you’ve never met Jungkook before—his looks alone aren’t easy to forget. The sharp jawline, the lip ring, the way his eyes seem to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts—it’s all too distinctive to slip your memory. And yet, there’s something about him, something that tugs at the edges of your mind, like a half-remembered dream you can’t quite piece together.

Your gaze drifts toward his plastic coffee cup resting on the table. The cup sleeve catches your eye, and you lean in slightly to get a better look.

Butterfly by Jimin Café.

Jimin’s café?

Wait—hold on.

Your breath stills for a second as realization dawns. The scent of fabric softener from earlier today, the fleeting brush of someone’s shoulder against yours in the crowded café, the low murmur of a voice apologizing as they passed by. It all comes rushing back.

Your eyes widen.

You lift your head, and across the studio, Jungkook is watching you.

With a smirk.

There’s something unreadable in his expression, something knowing, as if he’s been waiting for this moment, waiting for you to connect the dots that you do not know of. His lips curve slightly, and his eyes lock onto yours, holding your gaze for a beat too long.

Shit.

You quickly look away, pretending to be absorbed in the script. Your heart pounds in your chest, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. You flip a page, your fingers trembling just slightly, hoping no one notices the way your composure has slipped.

The recording session begins, and Jungkook’s voice fills the space, steady and rich, effortlessly slipping into the role of the narrator.

["From the brief meetings we shared, I found that she was a woman who walked on eggshells, carefully maintaining her image for the public, despite the wounds buried beneath layers of fabric, skin, and deep within her heart. The dead of winter held no meaning for her—it was merely a reminder of those who had already left..."]

You sit there, struck still.

His voice is captivating. Deep, intimate, carrying the weight of every word with precise control. It’s like he’s not just reading the lines…he’s living them, breathing life into Haneul in a way that feels almost too real. The room seems to shrink, the world narrowing down to the sound of his voice and the way it wraps around you, pulling you into your own story all over again.

The staff murmurs amongst themselves, impressed.

"His tone fits the male lead perfectly," someone comments.

"He’s got that quiet intensity," another agrees.

Next to you, Taehyung leans in, grinning. "Isn’t he good?"

You nod slowly, but as Jungkook’s voice continues to flow through the speakers—deep, smooth, and effortlessly intense—you feel a rush of warmth creep up your neck, spreading across your cheeks.

Shit.

You force yourself to look away, fixing your gaze on the script in your lap as if it holds the secrets of the universe. But the heat lingers, stubborn and undeniable, prickling at your skin. You swallow, praying that no one notices—especially not him.

After the recording ends at 7:30 PM, you, Taehyung, and the studio crew spill out into the warm evening air, the city lights casting a golden glow over the streets. The group makes its way to a nearby restaurant, a cozy but lively spot with wooden tables and the comforting aroma of sizzling food. The hum of conversations mixes with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter, creating a warm, inviting atmosphere.

Plates of food quickly fill the table—crispy fried chicken, steaming bowls of tteokbokki, and an assortment of banchan that everyone eagerly digs into. Pitchers of beer are poured freely, and the mood is light, the kind of easy camaraderie that comes after a long but successful day of work.

Taehyung, always in his element when surrounded by people, is mid-story, waving an onion ring around as he speaks. His cheeks are slightly flushed, and his gestures are more animated than usual, a sure sign that he’s had a drink or two.

“The narration was amazing, right?” he exclaims, dunking the onion ring into a pool of ketchup with enthusiasm. “I mean, Jungkook just nailed it. Didn’t he?”

Mid-sip of your beer, you hum noncommittally, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah… well.”

Taehyung squints at you, his grin turning sly. “That doesn’t sound convincing.”

You set your glass down, shrugging a little too casually. “I mean, it was really good,” you admit, your voice a little too even, a little too careful. You’re not sure why you’re downplaying it, but something about admitting how much Jungkook’s performance affected you feels… dangerous.

Taehyung leans back in his chair, clearly not buying it. “I’ve been working with a lot of student interns at the university, and they say he’s ridiculously multitalented. It’s crazy that he’s not just looks,” he continues, his tone teasing. 

You give a small nod, but your thoughts are already straying.

Back to the recording session.

Back to Jungkook’s voice.

It had been deep, smooth, and filled the space in a way that was almost too good. Every syllable had weight, sinking into your bones like warmth on a cold day. Soft yet sultry. Intimate in a way that felt excessive.

Hold on. Do you have some kind of… voice fetish?

Shit.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your glass. The thought alone makes your face burn. You swore off dating—hell, you swore off men—and now here you are, sitting at a bar, spiraling over some junior you just met. This is bad.

Taehyung must notice the way your expression shifts because he suddenly grins. “So, Bookworm, what have you been up to lately?”

The nickname makes you blink. It’s been ages since he called you that. He’s definitely tipsy.

“Just writing, working at Jimin’s café, and sometimes I travel,” you say, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“You’ve clearly won at life!” Taehyung announces, lifting his glass like he’s toasting you.

“Won?” You laugh, shaking your head. “I just live a simple life, day by day. Lethargic and exhausted by passion.”

The words come out more honest than you intend, but Taehyung doesn’t seem to catch on.

But someone else does.

Jungkook.

You feel it before you see it—his gaze. When your eyes finally flick over, sure enough, he’s looking at you.

Not glancing. Not idly observing.

Looking.

Something about it makes your skin prickle. Not in a bad way. Not in a way you know how to name.

And yet, instead of breaking away, he holds it.

Your breath hitches.

You quickly turn back to Taehyung, willing your cheeks to cool, forcing your expression into something neutral. Jimin once told you that your eyes tend to wander when you’re deep in thought, but this is different. Why does Jungkook keep meeting them?

Is he curious about you? Just polite? Or worse—does he know?

Does he see how you’re reacting to him?

You shake the thought away, burying it under more beer.

It doesn’t matter.

You’ve been through enough to know that people like Jungkook—ones with easy smiles and a natural charm that makes everyone in the room lean in—are dangerous.

Because you’ve met someone like that before.

And it nearly destroyed you.

The alcohol isn’t helping now. It’s loosening your thoughts, making it harder to keep your guard up. You rub your temple, exhaling sharply, just as your phone buzzes in your pocket. You’re relieved for a distraction, until you see the name on the screen.

Jimin.

Of course.

You quickly stand, finger nearing to answer the call. “Hey, Taehyung, I’m gonna take this call.”

Taehyung raises a brow, his grin turning mischievous. “Jimin again? Man, you guys are always together. Are you dating or something?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “Honestly, it’s more like family. He’s an annoying older brother.”

Taehyung laughs, nodding. “That checks out.”

You step away from the table, the noise of the restaurant fading slightly as you press your phone to your ear. “Hey, what do you want—”

“Why didn’t you clean the basement yet?!” Jimin’s voice is sharp, cutting through the buzz in your head.

“Oh, fuck.” Your stomach drops. “Completely forgot. I’m at a work dinner.”

“The tenant’s stuff is coming in the morning,” Jimin says, his tone exasperated but laced with concern. “Where are you? I’ll drive and pick you up.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. “The Tavern Grill, near the recording studio.”

“I know where that is,” Jimin replies quickly. “Just come outside so I find you more easily when I wait for you on the curb. I’m on my way.”

“Fine, fine. Let me say goodbye first,” you mutter, already heading toward the door. 

As you weave through the tables, you can’t help but glance back at the group. Taehyung is laughing at something someone said, his arm slung over the back of his chair.

When you return, Taehyung gives you an exaggerated pout. “Jimin coming to drag you home now?”

“Something like that.” You roll your eyes, already grabbing your things. “He said he’ll pick me up.”

Taehyung laughs, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “Tell him we need to grab a drink sometime. My treat.”

You grin, saying your goodbyes to the others—some casual, some playful.

Then, just as you’re about to leave, you glance over—

And Jungkook is still watching.

His fingers drum idly against his glass. He doesn’t move, doesn’t call out. But his gaze lingers, like there’s something he wants to say but won’t.

Your stomach twists.

You don’t know what it means. And you don’t want to find out.

So you turn away, stepping out into the night.

Whatever it is, it’s not your problem.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

Jimin walks ahead of you as you both descend the stairs to the basement. The air gets cooler with each step, but something else lingers—an acrid, stale scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

You frown. “Did you smoke before picking me up?”

Jimin lets out a soft chuckle, barely glancing back. “Wow, you really have a sharp nose, Y/N.” Then, without warning, he reaches over and fluffs your hair, like you’re some small puppy that just sniffed out the right answer.

You groan, swatting his hand away. “You know I hate the smell of cigarettes, Jimin.”

“I know, I know. Just… let it slide for today,” he mutters, tone quieter now. “Had a bad day.”

You don’t push. Not yet, at least.

The basement door groans on its hinges as you step inside. The air is heavier down here, tinged with dust and disuse. Jimin reaches for the light switch and flicks it—

Nothing.

He sighs. “Great. Power’s probably cut off for this room since we barely use it. I’ll go check the breaker.”

You pull out your phone, switching on the flashlight. “I’ll start looking through things in the meantime.”

Jimin eyes you skeptically. “You’re really gonna be able to see anything with just that?”

You give him a pointed look. “That should be the least of your worries. I just don’t want to be cleaning all night.”

He shrugs. “Suit yourself. I’ll be back.” With that, he heads back upstairs, leaving you alone with the stillness of the basement.

The dim beam of your flashlight sweeps over the space. Piles of forgotten things are stacked haphazardly—old college notebooks, loose papers, manuscripts half-finished and never revisited.

And then—

Your stomach tightens.

That box.

It’s been shoved far away from the rest, as if even in storage, you wanted it out of sight. But it’s still here. A silent, patient thing.

You step closer. Your fingers hesitate over the worn edges of the lid.

Then, with a quiet breath, you open it. Inside, time folds in on itself.

Your fingers graze the first thing on top—a faded movie ticket stub. The edges are soft, curling, worn from being thumbed over too many times in the past. You remember this night. Your night. Seokjin had held your hand through the entire movie, whispering sarcastic commentary in your ear, making you laugh so hard the people in front turned around to glare. You’d buried your face in his shoulder, giggling, and he had just smiled like you were the best thing to ever happen to him.

Your throat tightens.

Beneath it, a polaroid. The two of you at some festival, Seokjin holding up a peace sign while you kissed his cheek. The colors have faded slightly, but you can still see how bright his eyes were, how effortlessly happy you had looked. You weren’t even thinking about the camera—just him.

You swallow hard.

All of these things mean something to you, or at least, they once did. But the longer you stare at them—the trinkets, the letters, the pieces of Seokjin woven into your past—the more you wonder if they ever meant anything to him. If he could leave so easily, so cleanly, then what were these memories even worth?

Can you really throw all of this away?

Your fingers hesitate over the box when you hear footsteps behind you.

Figuring it’s Jimin, you sigh, still lost in thought. “Hey, why didn’t you turn the lights back on? Is there something wrong with the breaker—?”

Before you can finish, you’re shoved, your back colliding against the wall with a thud. A strong grip pins you in place, pressing into your shoulders.

Your pulse surges.

“What the fuck!? Who are you—”

“Why are you rummaging through someone else’s shit, you thief?”

The voice is sharp, accusatory. And absolutely not Jimin’s.

Your breath catches.

And then, the lights flick on.

Your vision adjusts, and when you see who exactly has you caged against the wall, your stomach flips.

Jungkook.

Wait. Jungkook?

His dark eyes widen the second he recognizes you, hands retreating from your shoulders like he’s been burned. “Oh, fuck.” His voice drops into sheer panic. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t know it was you!”

You blink, still trying to process what just happened.

He looks mortified, hands hovering near you like he wants to check for injuries but doesn’t dare touch you again. “Shit, I didn’t hurt you, did I? Are you okay?”

You exhale, still slightly dazed. “Ah… it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupts, eyes flickering with concern. His fingers ghost over your arms, searching for any sign that he might’ve been too rough. His hold, once bruising, is now careful. Deliberate. “I grabbed you way too hard. Are you sure you’re fine, Sunbae?”

You look at him properly now, still catching your breath. Damn.

His face is stupidly attractive up close, his brows knitted in pure remorse. His scent—clean, like fresh laundry mixed with something slightly musky—hits you all at once, making your stomach do something annoying.

He’s exactly your type.

And that realization makes this moment so much worse.

“You’re Kim Jungkook, right?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Jungkook straightens, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Wait… you don’t remember me?”

He sounds almost offended, tilting his head slightly.

You furrow your brows. “Sorry, I’m not good at remembering names or people for that matter.”

He blinks, then lets out a scoff—part amused, part incredulous. “Seriously? I recognized you the second the lights came on, but you forgot about me?”

Your lips twitch. Is he really pouting?

Whatever. You’re still processing the fact that you just got manhandled by this guy. He needs to take about five steps back.

You cross your arms, clearing your throat. “What are you even doing here, anyway?”

“Oh.” Jungkook’s expression shifts, his stance relaxing as he rubs the back of his neck. “This is my studio now.”

Your stomach drops.

“…What?” Your mind stutters over his words.

His studio?

Your eyes drift over the scattered boxes, the dust-lined shelves, the scent of old paper and forgotten memories lingering in the air. When Jimin had mentioned a tenant renting the basement, you’d barely paid attention, brushing it off as another small change in your life. But standing here now—with Jungkook, of all people—the reality sinks in with an unsettling twist in your gut.

This is his space now?

Before you can fully process the implications, footsteps echo from the stairwell, followed by Jimin’s familiar voice.

“All right, the power’s back on—” He stops mid-step as he takes in the scene, his gaze flicking between you and Jungkook. His brows furrow slightly, his usual easygoing expression dimming with curiosity.

“Oh, you two have met,” he says, a little slower than usual. “Y/N, this is Jungkook—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, still distracted by the realization. “We met earlier today during the recording session.”

Jimin’s brows lift. “Oh?”

“But what are you doing here, sunbae?” Jungkook asks, his tone shifting to something lighter, more casual. “Do you live nearby?”

“I’m cleaning out some of my stuff down here for… well, you, apparently.” You exhale, motioning vaguely to the clutter around you. “I live upstairs.”

Jungkook blinks. “Wait, seriously?”

Jimin, however, is less surprised. He crosses his arms, fixing Jungkook with a sharp look. “But, dear tenant, what are you doing here?” His voice dips into something more pointed. “Didn’t you say you’d be here tomorrow at noon?”

Jungkook barely flinches under the scrutiny. “I had something to check on.”

Jimin eyes him for a moment before sighing and letting go of whatever was on his mind.

“Do you want any help?” Jungkook asks, turning back to you.

Your pulse spikes. Oh, God.

The last thing you need is him digging through your things—especially the one box tucked carefully behind you. The one filled with Seokjin’s remnants.

“No!” you blurt out, too quickly. His brows raise, but you force a casual shrug. “I’m good. I’m just going to throw it all away anyway.”

Jungkook hums, glancing at the mess. But then, his eyes catch on something.

A photograph peeks from the top of one of your boxes, slightly askew. Before you can move to block it, his gaze sharpens, lips curling into something almost unreadable.

“Then I can throw it all away for you,” he says, voice smooth but laced with something just a little too amused. He meets your eyes with a slow tilt of his head. “You don’t need it, after all. This place is mine now.”

Something about the way he says it—the lazy drawl, the faint glint in his gaze—rubs you the wrong way.

Your stomach tightens.

Just hours ago, he’d been nothing but polite, apologetic even. But now? There’s something else beneath the surface. A hint of something sharper, something laced with an unspoken edge.

Is this actually his true nature?

This doesn't sit right—yet, at the same time, you can’t shake the curiosity gnawing at the back of your mind. You know better than to let your guard down, but part of you is pulled in, drawn to the enigma that is Kim Jungkook.

And so, without knowing how or why, you find yourself standing at the beginning of something unexpected.

This is how your story with Jungkook begins.

– TBC?

a/n: if you decided to check out this story, thank you so much! feel free to give me your thoughts, questions, theories (yes, kim jungkook is intentional in this story and you'll know why if i continue this series hehe). jungkook is also the same age as reader but still in college (because he started college a bit late due to enlistment). also happy belated valentine's day. i meant to upload on valentine's day, but i got caught up in trying to make this more detailed.

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[fawnsmagicalisland]

heyy 🫦 can i request nerd joojoo x bully reader 🔥

hello berry love :) thank you for this ask! <3

warnings: smut, mdni!, sub!ej x dom!reader, sex in public space (restroom), handjob (m receiving), degradation, use of nickname (juju), gn!reader

wc: 639

“s-stop it,” euijoo’s voice came out higher than usual, a fact he’d be embarrassed about if this were any other circumstance. 

you pressed his face closer to the glass with one hand and continued to jerk him off with the other. “don’t whine.”

euijoo stared at your reflection in the mirror through half-lidded eyes, his body quivering under your touch. he let out a strangled moan, using one hand to grab your shirt sleeve. 

“that’s better.” you swiped your thumb over the tip of his dick, gathering the pre-cum. “so leaky today. what’s got you all worked up, juju?” you nipped at the sensitive area of his neck, causing him to whimper. “is it ‘cause you were so excited to tell people about getting your dick wet?”

“n-no.” he bucked his hips as you brought your hand down his shaft. “y/n, please, i d-didn’t mean to.”

“mm, i doubt that. you broke a ground rule. remember? remember the rule?” you asked, placing a light slap against his thigh causing him to jump. he nodded frantically and you sighed with disappointment. “say it.” 

“‘d-don’t tell anyone–mmph–about u-us.” euijoo’s voice came out a bit shaky, his whole body shivering under your touch. you had just started, but he was already so sensitive. 

“that’s right. and what’d you do?”

“i’m sorry.” the words came out as a plea, but you were having none of it.

“no, but you will be. fucking slut. look at yourself.”

euijoo immediately looked up, his cheeks flushing with shame as he stared at his half-naked body compared to you being fully clothed. he bit his lip, the skin raw. “p-please, y/n. i’ve been so good… need to cum.” 

“fine.” 

“wait, really?” euijoo’s momentary hope was extinguished when he saw the dark look in your eyes and you slowly nodded.

“oh, sure.” you let go of his dick and stepped back. “might wanna get to work.” 

“n-no, y/n, please i need you.”

“too bad. you need to learn your lesson.” you leaned against one of the stalls, making eye contact with euijoo’s reflection. “you never even stopped to think how you could affect my reputation. not that it entirely matters, though. nobody could ever believe a loser like you would be fucked by me.” 

humiliated, euijoo’s eyes burned with the threat of tears as he wrapped a hand around his cock. “i-it won’t happen again.” 

“oh, i know it won’t. after all, you do like being good for me. don’t you?”

euijoo nodded, rubbing his dick that was now an angry red. his gaze was fully on your reflection behind him, his eyes occasionally squeezing shut from the pleasure. “i’m close…” 

“already? are you really getting off on all of this?” you approached him from behind to grab a handful of his hair. he hissed with the sudden sharp pain but continued looking at your reflection. “very well. give me a good show, juju. let me see you cum.” 

after a few more pumps of his dick, spurts of cum shot out as he moaned. he kept jerking himself off as he came, specs of cum hitting the cold glass of the restroom mirror. after a few moments, you let go of his hair and he blinked several times to bring your reflection back into focus. “need you, y/n… please?”

“you’ve already cum. what more could you want?” 

“i apologized.” he said weakly as his dick started getting hard again. “you always make me feel so good…” 

you scoffed and rolled your eyes, heading for the restroom door. you unlocked it before turning back toward him. “don’t do that again, or next time you won’t get to cum at all.”

“y/n–” before euijoo could finish his plea, you pushed open the door and exited the restroom, leaving him alone with another throbbing hard-on.

a/n: lowkey rlly struggled w this for some reason 😭 hope you enjoyed, berry <3

[antianakin]

Happy fix-it AU where Padme leaves Anakin anyway because she realizes how bad he is for her, and she ends up retiring because she REALLY doesn't want to be a Senator anymore (it was also maybe encouraged by her Queen after her secret marriage to a Jedi was discovered) and she goes back to Naboo to be with her family. She's left behind her responsibilities but she doesn't know what to do now, she's just... adrift, sort-of in limbo and mourning her relationship with Anakin. She has to keep convincing herself not to go back to him because she KNOWS she doesn't want that anymore, she KNOWS she doesn't want to be the person she was with him again, but the thrill of the secret marriage to someone who was so passionate about being with her is also sort-of like a drug.

Her parents both offer to let her come help them in their respective jobs, but she doesn't really have the energy for that right now. She DOES like helping Sola with her nieces because their energy and innocence seems to be a balm for her heart. One day, Sola asks if Padme can take the kids to a local festival in Theed one day while she and her husband go do something else, and Padme agrees. The girls are old enough and Theed is safe enough that they can wander off on their own away from Padme as long as they know not to go TOO far and come back to her after a little while. As she peruses the different artwork on her own, one artist's work stands to her more than anyone else's, it just hits at the core of her and she's not even sure why. She stands in front of a painting of a bird in flight for what seems like hours, though it can't be more than a minute or two, before the artist himself comes over to speak to her.

He addresses her as Senator Amidala, and she quickly tells him that she's not a Senator anymore and she doesn't really want to go by the name Amidala either, she prefers just Padme these days. He agrees, and something about him, maybe his eyes, seems familiar but she can't quite put her finger on it. They talk about his art for a while and everything he says about his inspiration feels like it's speaking directly to her. Eventually, Pooja and Ryoo come up to her and start pulling at her hands, demanding that she come see something with them. Before she leaves, she finally realizes she didn't even know his name and asks him.

It's Palo. The first boy she'd ever loved. The last time she'd seen him she'd been twelve in the Legislative Youth Program. She knew he'd left politics to become an artist instead, but she'd never actually seen any of his art before or ever tried to get back in contact with him. Now she wishes she had. Pooja and Ryoo are still pulling her away so she doesn't have time to really get over her shock at this revelation before she has to leave him behind and someone else comes up to ask him a question in her place.

He shows up at her parents' door the next day with the painting of the bird she'd so adored, and offers it to her as a gift. He refuses to accept any payment for it no matter how much she insists, but asks if she'd be willing to take a walk with him instead. She agrees. They end up spending the whole day together, just talking. For the first time, Padme doesn't feel like she's drowning in her own feelings or floating with no direction. She feels a lot like she's finally come home.

[obsessedoverwater]

Becoming a Knuxadow fan truly feels like I'm eating moldy bread and sometimes I occasionally get a piece that's only stale. If I'm lucky maybe it'll be mildew instead.

[forcebookish]

OH WE ARE SO BACK

[welcometogrouchland]

Noticing that TV and film will often have a character either have had an abortion in the past that isn't showcased on screen (and just used as part of the character's ~fucked up and twisted backstory~) OR contemplate getting an abortion in the present day but not to through with it. Just once I want to see someone delete that fetus within the events of the plot and not be like. Extremely majorly punished for it and/or be in the wrong

[lynxfrost13]

Maybe I’ll finally Wanze post soon

[kyouka-supremacy]

Why are you tagging posts with dates from last year? Did you queue them last year?

… I did.