#and someone who is trying so so hard to be good at all times in a world where even he can't believe it of himself

[c-nstellati-ns]

APOLLO, GOD OF MUSIC ... — conquest x medic!superhero!m!reader prt.1

you were retired, for gods sake. why in the hell would everything go to shit exactly when you were on vacation? you struggled to even comprehend the fact that there were more than one invincibles flying around, and now the city was falling apart all around you? retired or not, there were people who needed help and that's what you planned to do, no matter how reluctant you were about it. ... so how the hell did you manage to get yourself wrapped up with the very alien who was turning this city into a fine dust?

> author's note — this is incredibly self-indulgent and the first time i've written in literal months LOL so sorry for being inactive for so long !! this was inspired by dj subatomic supernova from NSR, lucio from overwatch and luna snow from marvel rivals ... i love me a silly guy who makes music and heals people via that music :-) not that subatomic heals people ... more like ........ he tries to kill them via music and his planets ........ but whatever !!! this is irrelevant !!!!!! ( i was gonna have this be smut originally but i like where i ended off to continue into a part two soon ^_^ so sorry if anything is bad i am very rusty ... feel free to send me some thirsts in my inbox if you'd like! ) > word count — 1.6k > featuring — our fave viltrumite, conquest <3 > cw — intentional lower case, canon typical violence, unspoken death threats? nothing much really its mostly establishing how your relationship came to be before things get steamy LOL so sorry for the bait

MDNI. 18+ ACCOUNT, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

you had parted ways with the GDA some time ago, marking it off as a need for something new. you could only fight so long, for so much. you had been in the spotlight ever since your powers had finally developed, being someone who could virtually heal anything with the power of music. it was rather silly in your eyes but it made you and anyone you wanted to protect virtually invincible. any wounds or injuries would mend in seconds in your presence, people feeling safe around you, other heroes feeling energised to keep on fighting. at some point, you felt the same way until… you didn't. it had only been a matter of time, after all.

the GDA was desperate to keep you so you kept their number just in case things were to happen. that is, until something finally did happen. it was a random tuesday, you think. you had been on the way to your hotel in the city for your little vacation, you had been waiting for so long for it. tapping into your savings from working with the guardians to afford it. you were happy, life was good. you had a nice car, a nice place far from the city, a couple dogs, cats, and one snake that you loved dearly. you were single, not that you minded much actually.

so what exactly happened? how the hell did your car end up split in half by falling debris and cradling the lifeless body of some innocent civilian that got extremely unlucky? you could barely wrap your mind around it.

it was hard to try and keep your music up enough to keep yourself safe, but to try and sweep in and aid those who were helpless was something else entirely. you let out a loud groan of frustration as you carefully set the body down somewhere undisturbed, making a mental note to come back for it later. you had to keep up, getting as many people out of there as you could, but there was always the few that escaped your grasp, all falling victim to some horrible fate that no amount of healing nor music could help. you couldn't get distracted.

you were glad you had kept the equipment the GDA had made for you, even gladder to have kept it close. the music coming off of the holographic speakers around you was loud, a beacon of hope in the midst of the destruction around you, but it kept people safe and you kept playing. you kept far away from the fighting as much as you could, ushering innocents away from their very close deaths. of course, you were putting a big ole target on your head with how loud it all was, but you couldn't care less. sounds waves were blasting anything that came your way, cracking open asphalt that trapped some poor kid underneath it all. you could spot the blood pooling next to him, his mother probably. you grimaced and carried him away, making sure to heal whatever cuts and bruises he had. thankfully, unharmed physically. mentally… you wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy.

you were doing your job well, keeping things somewhat peaceful until you spotted a stray arm sticking out of some debris. you quickly flew over, pushing off any concrete that held this person down. your heart beating frantically in your chest, you dug as much as you could, hoping that they didn't die before you got there. you grabbed at their hand and pulled as much as you could, using your sound waves to blast at the concrete as you did so. you let out a sigh of relief as you felt the warm from their palm, squeezing it in reassurance. you passed your fingers over their wrist, trying to find their pulse but no dice. so you used your powers to heal whatever injuries they might've sustained, a soothing melody that has the person feeling mushy.

"hey, are you okay?!" you shouted over the chaos around you, hand reaching out to grip at their shoulder. you pulled as hard as you can, thinking to yourself, holy fuck this guy is heavy as hell. you were about to yell again until the hand grabbed at your own roughly, your joints creaking in protest as it did so.

"woah--" you couldn't even finish your sentence before a giant man emerged from the rubble in front of you. he was much, much taller than you, and built like a fucking tank. if you weren't scared shitless, you would have asked him where he worked out. your jaw dropped, staring at the stranger before you.

conquest was having fun with this. he was having fun with all of this! this planet's defences were as measly as he had imagined, so it wasn't a surprise when the creatures that inhabited it were squished by a simple rock to their soft spots. but he was pleasantly surprised by its defender. a halfbreed viltrumite, weak like all those other flesh bags, but much more resilient. the worm even got him to bleed, which was a surprise in itself.

so who was this, mending the little scrapes and bruises that his body has yet to heal? why did it feel… good? like a warm feeling throughout his body, a hum of a familiar tune that made him want to… sleep? what the hell was this? it feels odd, he feels light. lighter than he would when he's flying, it was something else entirely. the touch was soft, much unlike he's ever felt before. a gentle squeeze, a faint hold. it was a strange combination, nothing like he's felt before. he let out a rough grunt, grabbing at the hand that was given to him, rising from the rubble he was buried underneath.

conquest brought up the creature that had healed him by the arm, thick brows furrowed as he stared down at it. it was fearful, trying to wrestle out of his iron grip and escape. but the viltrumite was curious about it now, who exactly was this worm? and was it so stupid to not know its own enemy?

you were gonna throw up. of course, of course you healed the wrong person. just your luck that you had healed THE VERY FUCKING THING THAT WAS CAUSING ALL THIS DEATH AND DESTRUCTION IN THE FIRST PLACE. you let out a pained noise as his grip around your wrist tightened, trying to just get away. you could keep yourself safe when fighting anything but a viltrumite? this was something else entirely.

you were smarter than to try and use your offensive powers against him, so instead, you allowed yourself to play a somewhat scattered melody to heal the broken bones within your hand and wrist. he tilted his head to the side, examining you like a piece of meat. i suppose that was what you were now. a stupid, musical adept piece of meat for him to tear into.

closing your eyes, you couldn't believe this was the day you would die. you didn't even get to take your vacation.

… but nothing happens? it's been a couple minutes, he should've killed you by now. you crack your eye open and take a look at him, startled by his one eyed gaze. his pupils are slits, examining you like you were some foreign… thing. and then he smiles. it's an unsettling one, but he grabs you by the waist, a much gentler hold than what he had on your wrist.

"you're the foolish one who helped me, aren't you?" his deep voice rings out over your healing melody and the rumbling chaos around you both.

you're speechless for a moment before nodding frantically, looking around for anything, anyone. unfortunately, no dice. it was just you, him and the fuck metric ton of dead bodies that he caused around you.

"hmm…" conquest mutters to himself. it was a strange feeling, the closer you were to him, the more that strange warm feeling seeped deep into his bones. he couldn't help but let out a deep purr that rattled you silly. he was like a big cat to you, a big, murderous psychotic cat. with his arms around you, it was… comforting? in a really, really fucked up way. you swallowed thickly as you stared up at him as he smiled down at you, what the fuck is going on?

"what is your name, worm?" the stranger asked, examining your face closely as he spoke. your mouth was dry, gaping like a fish out of water. his arms was tightening around you the longer you took to answer him and you stammered out your full legal out of sheer nervousness. he didn't seem like a patient man at all.

he repeats it under his breath, it rolls off nicely on his tongue. his arms lighten around your waist, your ribs definitely bruised after all this. you let out a groan, brain too scattered to make a coherent melody to heal yourself. instead, you looked back to him as his grin widened. crooked teeth and a prominent scar, you would have called him handsome if you weren't actively in danger of being ripped apart by this alien.

"… perhaps lord thragg wouldn't mind if i kept a pet, hm?" conquest purrs, that metallic hand reaching up and tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "a healing songbird, doesn't that sound nice? my little songbird." you barely have enough time to speak before he takes off with you in his arms, away from the destruction and chaos that he caused.

mark was clueless as to why conquest had disappeared all of the sudden. in a blink of an eye, he was alone, beaten and bruised on the ground. it gave him time to breathe but it was nerve wracking to think about.

What the fuck just happened?

all works belong to c-nstellati-ns ⓒ 2025. do not steal, repost or feed into AI. ask before translating.

[lalunanymph]

💭 thinking about . . . . priest!caleb being seduced by succubus!mc

tw. priest!caleb, succubus!mc, wet dreams, heavy religious imagery, inspired by that one fleabag scene (iykyk), guilt, self-flagellation, blasphemy, body worship, mc is possessive over her hot priest

Pure and sure—Caleb, a man cut from the holy cloth, doesn’t entertain the entity in the corner who twirls her hair, licks her lips, trying to get his attention.

“You cannot ignore me for long,” your seductive purr would’ve made a weaker man succumb to your advances.

But, Caleb’s measured control is honed from the strongest blade of repressed self-hatred. He glances at your glistening lips, the silky black dress hugging your figure.

Something sparks in his lower body, but he quickly quenches the desire, focusing on the task at hand.

He picks up a Bible, and holding it over his head, he recites the incantation to banish you away. With every utterance in the ancient text leaving his lips, the bindings drawing you back to Hell grows tighter and you snarl, trying to lunge at him.

Inadvertently, he takes a step back, and he stutters. He falters, and it’s the opening you need.

Your arms wrap around his neck, your lips seeking his with an insatiable hunger. The moment your tongue slips into his mouth, he wakes up with a start.

Father Caleb shivers, sitting up in bed. The lust stirring in his groin is white-hot, his heart palpitating irregularly in his chest. 

Splashing cold water onto his face, the shock does little to stop his thoughts from wondering. Even a cold shower doesn’t help. He cannot get the image of you out of his head; this little minx who stepped into his holy sanctuary and tainted it with all her seductive glory. 

The next day, at mass, as he speaks to the congregation at large, his eyes cannot help but stray to you. 

Despite you looking so innocent—so sweet—in a paisley blue dress and a veil covering your hair, he cannot get the image of his dream out of his thoughts. But, his sharp mind stays on track, and by some miracle, he manages to finish his sermon on the dot. After church, as he wraps up the last of his farewells to the good Christian families around the neighbourhood, he notices a figure kneeling on the frontmost pew, her head bowed and pretty hands clasped together.

Like you two are telepathically connected together, you lift your head and catch his eye.

Quickly signing yourself, you stand and genuflect, before turning around to smile at him. “Apologies, Father. I was just about to leave.”

He maintains a respectful distance from you, and yet, his smile is welcoming and warm.

“No worries, there. You can stay as long as you want. Just make sure to close the door behind you.”

He says nothing else, about to walk away, but your soft voice stops him.

“Father… I know this is sudden, but… I have a confession to make.”

Caleb stops in his tracks. He’s already out of his chasuble, and it’s supposed to be lunch time. But, he swallows down the prick of annoyance and turns to you, smile never faltering.

“Sure. Let’s begin.”

You tell him of these… feelings… you’ve been having for years now. Of needing to be devoured. Taken. Overwhelmed. There are tears in your eyes, the picture of a loathing so deep and shameful, you could never tell your grandma. The sweet old woman would call you a fiend, or worse, ship you off to a nunnery if she found out your true desires. 

As much as Caleb tries to remain impartial, he can’t help the tightening coil in his belly at your words. 

Through the flimsy booth walls, he listens to you prattle on about how you can’t live life like this anymore—feeling so lost and untethered. That you want someone to choose for you, to tell you what to feel, what to wear, how to cheer for a football team—influence you to pick your favorite football team.

That existing as someone with autonomy in this world is hard when all you want is to be directed the way he directs his people—his congregation.

And when you’re done ranting, close to tears, all Caleb can say in this instance is a low, and commanding: 

“Kneel.”

You pause, unsure if you heard him right. “Wh—?”

“I said, kneel.”

Tension, thick and syrupy, coats the narrow space, fogging up the confessional booth with an inexplicable heat. You don’t know what to expect when you follow his command, slipping onto your knees in the middle of the confession booth. Time comes to a standstill, and you’re holding your breath. 

One… two…

“Are you kneeling?” 

You swallow hard. “Yes, Father.”

Silence. And, when you start to wonder if he’s pulling your leg, the confessional curtain is suddenly drawn open. Father Caleb looms over you, tall and formidable. You have never noticed how broad his shoulders are underneath his cassock, and when he kneels before you, his touch is tender on your cheeks, holding you like you’re some precious thing worthy of salvation.

His lips slam into yours, and it feels like a world only for two. This moment is made to break every rule in the book, and when his tongue slides into your mouth, you moan softly, like a penitent dissolving into a sea of sin. 

You’re losing yourself in his touch, and when he stands, he brings you along with him, pushing you against the cool stone walls of the church. The moment lasts for what feels like an eternity—only when he pulls away, a thin strand of saliva connecting to your lower lips, does it strike you what has conspired. It seems that Father Caleb, too, realises his mistake, and he drops his grip from your cheeks, as if the fires of Hell have begun to lick at his hands.

“I must go.”

He doesn’t spare you a second glance, hurrying out of the sanctuary and away, leaving you painfully wanting and needy for him.

The guilt eats away at him till the evening sun sets. Caleb cannot get the memory of your lips out of his mind, and the taste of your breath on his lips. 

God, forgive me… He picks up the flogger in the corner of his room and rips off his shirt, kneeling right at the altar where Saint Anthony stands, his beady eyes joining a cacophony of religious figures staring down at this broken man who is a lost cause. Every rip of the whip on his skin tears another chunk of his self-hatred, soothing the iron fires of his remorse to numb it with the pain. 

Driblets of red dot the floor and he’s breathing hard, mind white with pain. His hand trembles as he prepares for another hit onto his lower back, when he feels a presence behind him. 

“Caleb—stop…” 

Your sweet voice fills his mind like a fine mist. He squeezes his eyes closed and leans forward, gasping for breath.

“God,” he mumbles, “I’m hearing things.” But, someone grazes his shoulder, and for the first time in his life since walking the holy path, Caleb feels pure, unadulterated fear. A feminine touch caresses his bicep, and he tenses, frozen.

It cannot be. “Caleb,” your sweet voice slips through his consciousness, and your lips touch the open laceration on his back. “I’m here.”

A dark thrill shoots up his spine, and he opens his eyes. He feels a rush across his skin, losing control when he spins around to find you astride his bed, no longer looking so innocent but in that same dress from his wet dream last night. He knows what you are, says your name in his mind, and you entertain him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

“Succubus.”

“True,” you purr, movements slow and languid as you lay on his bed, slipping your hand down to your thighs, sensually tracing the outline of your body under his scrutinising gaze. Caught in your tide, Caleb feels like he’s drowning. But, he cannot surrender.

To give in would be to lose the holy light of his life. He tries to stay grounded, and yet, the sight of you threatens to make him break his composure. 

“You should leave.” 

The tremble in his voice makes your blood-red lips curl into a smile. “Is that really what you want?” 

Hypnotised, he finds his feet leading him right to the bed. As if out of control, he kneels right before your spread thighs, and you can taste his surrender right on the tip of your tongue. 

“Why?” He manages to ask. “Why are you tormenting me?” 

You reach out to play with the silver chain around his neck, tugging him up towards you with it. 

“Why not? Nothing gives me more pleasure than to watch a strong man crumble.”

And, crumble he does. 

He loses himself in your body, your taste, your touch. It’s the first time in a long time he feels a woman’s walls sucking him in, and yet, he inexplicably knows you’re not of this mortal realm. With every touch and caress, you claim a bit of his soul, straying him further and further away from the light. 

Caleb can’t stop himself from pressing kisses along your supple body, fully wrapped in this unforgivable sin. Like a dog, he pants right at your altar, your desire dripping in his mouth like the sweetest manna the skies could never offer. The word and his vows mean nothing, not when he’s pounding into you from above, grunting and groaning your name into the crook of your neck.

When he takes you from behind, he swears you give a new meaning to the word ‘religion’. From the arch of your back to the way your shoulder blades move under his ministrations, he finds himself dry-mouthed with ecstasy. 

Mea culpa… mea maxima culpa…

Under the watchful eyes of the saints and even God himself, he spills inside of you for the third time in the night, his life force seeping straight to your core, sustaining you while leaving him feeling emptier than ever. But, the high humming in his veins puts him on cloud nine. He is a man born anew, baptised by your body and lust.

When he falls asleep next to you, your fingers slowly run through his hair, and you make eye contact with the scowling portrait of Saint Anthony perched on his makeshift altar.

Softly, smugly, you whisper: “I win.”

♡ feedback and reblogs are appreciated

© all works belong to lalunanymph. do not copy, repost or claim as your own.

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari wasn't too surprised when she heard what Hawks said. She wasn't the best at hiding how she felt and she had picked up on Hawks being able to read people well. The child guessed that Hawks had to be at least pretty good at it to be doing his mission.

She sighed softly and focused on the screen as the count down started. She began to speak in a hushed tone, so only herself and her papa could hear. "It's kinda hard to... So much is going on cuz of me... Cuz I'm alive and cuz you found me and took me in." She muttered, choosing her words carefully incase Hawks didn't want to call her his daughter. She didn't want to put words into his mouth. She gave a bitter sweet chuckle at Hawks ruffling her hair. The race started and Kari was late to start her car, just by a moment but she sped up, trying to keep her car in the top 5 at least, but she was doing her best to get further up, reaching the car in 4th and keeping on its tail.

"I mean... So much has been going on. That whole thing with my family then well... you know THAT, with who I'm related with. It's all... it's all cuz of me and it's hard to ignore."

Kari's car hit an obstical and her car slid into 6th place. "It's not fair. I'm trying really hard not to think about it but I have to be on my guard. Anyone of the people here could be a villain or someone being controlled by my aunt or something. It sucks." Kari managed to get into 5th again, reaching 4th. "I wanna be a hero, I know I will be a hero, but sometimes I'm scared I won't be around to get that chance ya know. I mean, I know I won't starve and die alone on the street because of you. But... what if I'm taken again, what if... What if Maica manages to get me under her control again? It's all just too much to ignore."

Kari took a breath, rubbing her eye free from building tears. "I just... Hate being a problem for other people." She muttered as her car battled for 4th place. The child was getting visibly irritated as she reached 3rd place not long later and was creeping towards 2nd. She just poured her heart out about her worries in hushed whispers, her focus mostly on the game as a torrent of words escaped her mouth.

Eventually Kari claimed 2nd place and was nearing Hawks, who was in 1st, and was getting closer. That spark slowly came back to her eyes as she saw she was getting closer and closer to 1st. Her words quieted, 99% of her focus on the game while the other 1% was on her worries in the back of her head. She tried to put all of her focus on the game but it was something she couldn't do right now since these were still such new worries to her. Her car was getting closer and closer to Hawks' car as time went on.

Hawks was good at reading people—body language, microexpressions, all that good stuff. And right now, his sharp eyes caught the way Kari’s face shifted. The way that spark of excitement flickered, even if just for a second.

He had a pretty good idea why, too.

Didn’t take a genius to know what kind of thoughts a kid like her might have after hearing whispers like secret child and Hawks’ daughter. He knew she worried too much for a kid her age—about his reputation, about being a target, about making things harder for him. But she didn’t have to.

Hawks leaned forward, draping an arm lazily over the back of his seat like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You sure about that, Shortstack?” he teased, smirking as he picked his own vehicle. “You got some storm clouds in your head. Can’t be the fastest if you’re distracted.”

He said it lightly, playfully, but his voice was laced with something a little softer.

Before she could brush it off, he nudged her gently with his elbow. “Listen, don’t go worrying about all that noise, alright? You and me, we do what we do best—flyin’ high, kickin’ butt, and making the bad guys sweat. The rest? We handle it as it comes.”

His smirk widened as the countdown for the race started. “And right now? You better focus up, ‘cause I’m about to smoke you in this race.”

The game started, and he shot forward, but not before ruffling her hair again for good measure.

[possesseddesiress]

Brother's Issues

CONTENT WARNING: This story includes themes of transformation and body control with a suggestive approach. If this type of narrative is not to your liking or you do not meet the recommended age, we suggest you do not continue. All images used (if any) belong to their respective owners. I claim no authorship over them and they are only used for illustrative purposes.

If you decide to go ahead, welcome to Possessed Desires, where mind and body are never completely under your control.

Brother's Issues (English Version)

My older brother was infuriating. A guy with more ego than brains, but who had such an enviable body that it further reinforced his smug attitude.

The fights in my house were constant, the idiot left his clothes all over the place and hardly showered! He was always bragging about his "man smell"; and of course, being the oldest, my parents let him do whatever he wanted. He always got away with it, and I could only die of envy.

Mark was the big brother while I just made do with the scraps, I don't think I'm unattractive, but when you compare a river to the sea, clearly the sea is going to win.

He always got everyone's attention: teachers, family, even my ex-boyfriends; even if he wasn't gay, they always ended up confessing to me that what they wanted was to be near him.

And I was fed up.

I had been lost on the Internet for at least two hours in the wee hours of the morning, not seeing anything interesting until an email seemed to arrive.

"Want to be someone else? Read this email."

The first thing I did was close the message. It was ridiculous, sure it was some kind of spam mail. But the more time passed, an extra curiosity began to tingle in me, until I couldn't take it anymore. I ended up opening it and reading it.

It had a series of instructions on how to prepare a concoction with rather curious ingredients, but that would cause two people to change their bodies when they drank it.

Again I thought it was all stupidity, when I heard something crashing again and again against my wall from my brother's room, and the excited screams of a girl who was probably his fling today, like almost every night.

I had reached my limit.

The next morning, I set about gathering all the ingredients, until I finally came up with the last one: the other person's sweat, I thought it would be difficult, but I remembered that my brother left his sweaty underwear everywhere in the house. That morning, he was out, so I thought it would be easy to sneak into his room to steal some boxers.

No sooner had I entered his room than I had filled my nostrils with a pungent odor, the whole stench of my brother was quite strong. It looked like he hadn't cleaned his room in years and it just smelled like sweat and his fluids, it stank...

I was going through his dirty clothes when I heard the thunder of the wood on his door, my skin crawled, expecting a knock. But my brother wasn't standing in the frame, but his best friend: Theo.

— What are you doing here, buddy?

Theo was a nice guy, I didn't know how he was friends with my brother. His blond hair was silky, his smile was bright...

And I'd had a crush on him for as long as I could remember.

I didn't know if it was because he treated me well, because he was a good person and kind, or all together. But gosh, he sure drove me crazy.

— N-nothing. I was about to pick up Mark's laundry.

— Is he making you do his laundry again?

I swallowed hard right then and there.

— Uh, yeah, yeah.

— Let me help you.

He came over to me to lift the basket and carry it to the laundry room, my heart was beating fast.

I didn't know if it was because I was afraid Mark would come in at any moment and notice the absence of his sweaty clothes, or if it was from being with Theo.

— Well, buddy, there's the laundry. I'll wait for your brother in his room, see you.

He waved his hands, disappearing. As soon as he left, I dived into the pile of stinky clothes, trying to find the freshest thing possible. I grabbed a pair of red underpants, they felt wet and smelly, I tried not to smell them but ended up stuffing them in my face. Soon that would be my smell...

I gathered the rest of the ingredients, prepared it in a jar and when I squeezed the sweat out of it, I swear I saw how it shined.

I let it sit until the next morning. I knew my brother was going out to work out as usual, so I always prepared his protein for the gym; before he went out, I opened the glass to pour half of the liquid and run back to my room.

The rest of the time passed slowly, I didn't know whether to drink the rest of the concoction, what if something went wrong, what if I ended up doing something bad to my brother?

Thousands of questions tormented me, but I caught a glimpse of my brother's body: Tall, stocky, with his stinky armpits, his strong legs, how his arms swelled or his big pecs. All that could be mine, at last not just the puny brother, I could be the big one.

I ended up drinking all the concoction, up to the last drop; for an instant I felt nothing, until suddenly I felt a cramp accompanied by an intense pain and dizziness, I fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, feeling my whole body trembling and my vision went black.

In less than a second, I could see light again. However, something felt strange from the moment I blinked. Maybe it was the aroma I was now emanating, the place where I was now or the noise of weights and sports machinery being used.

I looked down, noticing my tanned skin, my thick pecs and muscles, yes I was strong!

I couldn't help but let out an excited laugh and dropped the weights my brother was carrying moments before, I almost looked like a schoolgirl with emotions running high.

I immediately dropped everything, walking uncertainly towards the bathrooms or the locker room. As soon as I saw my new reflection, it was like feeling an adrenaline rush, I was seeing my brother's reflection! I flexed his arms, enjoying how my arms and chest were swelling up. Gosh, yes!

I lifted my armpit, beginning to lick and sniff, enjoying the aroma. I clutched my nose against my new hairy armpit, panting loudly as if unhinged.I caressed every inch of my new skin, bristling at the slightest touch. I smiled smugly.

— Oh yes, my name is Mark.... – I murmured, taking the opportunity to touch the relief of my brother's pecs, letting out a squeal from the sensitivity – I'm the star athlete of my high school, a real casanova – I was loving every second, seeing how what I was saying, my brother was making exact copy of it – I used to like girls but now.... I don't know, bro. I think I'll only like boys.

I was drunk with power. I ended up leaving the gym after finding my brother's stuff, I didn't even change, I enjoyed feeling how the wet clothes stuck against my skin, the stench my body gave off, even how other guys saw me.

I ended up getting home, I didn't hear any noise, everything was quiet. I knew my parents were at work, so I went upstairs, straight to my room.

I was scared to find my brother in my body, awake. My heart was pounding... but when I opened the door, I could see my old body lying on the floor, asleep.

I smiled, I couldn't help but scoff inwardly, I even moved him slightly to see if he would react.

—You're not so strong anymore, are you, little brother? – I said teasingly.

I simply turned around, closing the door to go to my brother's room. I lifted my armpit, smiling at the scent; now I understood why he was addicted to smelling that bad.

I started rummaging through his closet, beginning to try on all of his clothes. There was something exciting about it that made my skin crawl.

I put on everything I could get my hands on: Sport shirts, shorts, skinny jeans, leather jackets. It was fun, until I found something in a drawer that made my new member firm up instantly. It was a smelly sports spandex, it was my brother's wrestling uniform. I suddenly took off my clothes to put that on instead, I smiled as I saw it fit perfectly on my body, all in place.

My fat legs encased in the tight fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination. I sat in a chair my brother had in front of his mirror, leaning back.

Loving the way I looked, I picked up his phone to start taking pictures of myself, letting my strong muscles show, or my armpits, I even made the occasional silly face.

I was a brainless jock now, wasn't I?

I sniffed hard at my new masculinity, taking advantage of the friction to drive me crazy. I was waving my hand frantically when someone entered the room, it was Theo.

— Shit! – I muttered, covering myself. He just raised his eyebrow.

— What are you doing? - he asked without giving it much importance.

— Nothing, nothing. I wasn't expecting you – I mumbled, trying to avoid his gaze.

— I told you yesterday I'd come today, are you running out of brain cells from so much protein? – He joked. I felt a warm feeling in my stomach when I heard him laugh – What are you wearing?

— My wrestling uniform, what else? – I tried to diminish the strangeness of the moment, I had to be more like Mark – it drives girls crazy, don't you think? – I muttered, flexing my arms for him.

Theo let out a friendly laugh, nodding.

— Sure, dude.

We talked for a while, at first he caught me off guard but the more I talked to him, I felt my brother's knowledge and tastes seep in. Suddenly he was talking about his subjects, his other friends, video games that only he knew about, even what sports games were coming up.

— Mark, do you want to go play video games at my house? I bought something new and we can go try it out.

— Sure, bro – I felt natural with every step and every sentence. I changed my clothes so we could go without looking ridiculous, that would be for later – Let me let my annoying brother know.

I ended up walking to my old room, still lying my body on the floor. I went out with Theo, walking down the street and enjoying the sun.

— Sometimes you're too hard on him.

— With who? – I said a bit confused.

— With your younger brother, I remember when you used to get along with him.

I felt some guilt for what he made me remember, there was a time when Mark was protective of me, and I was always hanging out with him and Theo, until.... Wow, I don't know what happened.

— He's such a loser.

— I like him, he's really nice.

I smiled to myself to hear my crush say such a thing. We ended up arriving at his house, apparently no one was home. We went up to Theo's room where we played for at least two hours, the afternoon went by fast; we kept talking about trivial topics but I couldn't help looking at him from time to time.

I felt a connection with him, natural because of my brother's friendship with Theo, but there was something that also seeped out of me, that I liked. The way he laughed, or his hair falling on his forehead, his skin, fuck, fuck...

— Come on, dude. I'm kicking your ass! – I could see how my character ended up being defeated, I was silent, just listening to his laughter, which confused him, he turned to look at me. – Mark... Are you ok?

And I couldn't hold it in any longer.

I approached him to kiss him softly, I was afraid he wouldn't kiss me back, but he immediately started kissing me again.

It was a chaos of kisses, my hands wandering awkwardly through his hair.

— Jesus, Mark...

— Don't you love it?

— I love it, man...

We ended up kissing like crazy. There were a lot of questions in me, So Theo was gay? Did he always have feelings for Mark? Was this the relationship they had? What was going on here?

But the more kisses he gave me, the less I cared. In a matter of mere seconds again we were kissing intensely and passionately. I had everything I wanted, the body I deserved, the boy of my dreams? At last everything was in place.

Theo climbed on top of me, still kissing me, even tenderly.

— Do you want me to take good care of you, big guy?

He whispered in a tone I never thought I'd hear him speak. He caressed my chest and then my abs.

— Theo...

I murmured.

— Shh...

I immediately quieted down. And gosh... He sure knew how to use his mouth, my eyes rolled to white from just feeling how over and over again he acted greedily. I was lost in the sensation until I could feel my new phone vibrating like crazy, I preferred to ignore it, but I kept getting notifications.

I reluctantly picked up the phone, only to see notifications from my old number. Apparently my brother had already woken up, there were endless messages:

"What did you do, midget!? Where are you!?"

And more messages from him, completely hysterical, although there was one in particular that made me trace a wide smile on my face:

"Are you with Theo?! Stay away from my best friend!"

I immediately activated the camera to send him some pictures. Which infuriated him even more.

I was about to burst out laughing when I heard Theo's phone start ringing.

— Mfh... Wait a minute, buddy – he sat back up and picked up his phone to check who was calling – That's weird, your brother is calling me.

— Don't answer it - I tried to sound natural.

But Theo seemed to ignore me, he answered and not only that, he put it on speaker.

— Hello?

There was silence, until Mark finally exploded with my squeaky voice.

— Theo, it's Mark! My idiot brother did something and now I'm in his body! That asshole is using my body, you have to do something!

Theo looked at me strangely, scowling, I couldn't even hold his gaze.

— Didn't you hear, Theo?! That's not me that's with you! You have to do something!

I guess the luck had lasted only a few seconds, now Theo would reject me or even hate me.

— I know, Mark – I looked up quickly, I could see the boy of my dreams with a cold profile, but not for me exactly – And I like it that way.

My old voice sounded hysterical and annoyed over the speaker until Theo cut the call.

— So... You know?

— Yes, I do.

— Was I too obvious?

— A little, but it wasn't really about that.

Without warning he kissed me again.

— But Theo...

— Who do you think sent you the mail?

He let out a laugh to kiss me intensely, I had to restrain myself from kissing him for hours or putting my hands on his body.

— Why?

— Because I've seen you, buddy - he smiled, then I realized that I always use the nickname he used to call me - I know how you look at me, I know how much you liked it. And although I felt something similar, I couldn't reciprocate you, I saw you as my little brother, it felt... wrong. Your brother's body, though, I could certainly mess with it an infinite number of times.

He caressed my smooth abs.

— So you like that I'm Mark?

— I love it. The goofy jock look suits you.

He grabbed my pecs to weigh them, then without warning lunged against my armpits to lick and sniff like crazy.

After a few weeks, I ended up adapting to my brother's life perfectly. I continued playing his sports, improved his grades, got along with his friends... The only change was when “he” came out as openly gay, my parents had to accept it and my younger brother... Well, he has no choice but to watch me bring my cute boyfriend, formerly best friend, into my room every night.

---

I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you liked it, don't forget to follow it and share it so more people can discover it.

I'm always open to suggestions and ideas, so if you have any fantasy or scenario in mind, let me know in the comments or in messages.

This will be my new account, I hope you like the stories that are coming soon. See you in the next story... Who knows what body you will occupy this time?

---

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Imagine yet another scenario with the Player being a parental figure to Doey or specifically, the three kids that make up Doey ( Matthew, Kevin and Jack ). The Player just being an absolutely doting parent with as much affection and attention the kids want 🥹🫂

This ask reminds me of these drawings by leydraw. If you have the time, maybe check it out! Also, this takes place while the Player is still in the factory.

If you like my work, please consider commissioning me or leaving a tip on Ko-fi (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

Mathew, Kevin and Jack & parental Player

★ You want to give them all the hugs, so you do. Matthew might act like he’s too "grown-up" for being babied, but don't be fooled. He adores every moment of it. Kevis is shyer and still unsure of you, if you try to touch him, he might get upset. So good luck there. But Jack? He soaks up every bit of love the Player has.

★ He finds some scraps of food? "Oh, good job! It's very kind of you to think about others." You say. Patting Doey on the back for his efforts. Every little accomplishment is met with praise. Because sometimes It's the little things that matter.

★ The Player’s soft spot for Doey quickly grows into a bond. Over time, Doey’s guard lowers. Though he’s naturally self-reliant, he starts to see the Player as someone who he can ask for help. Each time you tell him you're there for him, he believes you a little more.

★ After seeing everything he does for the Safe Haven, you make the decision to step up and help. He shouldn't need to take care of everyone by himself. Not anymore. So, you start to clean up the rooms whenever Doey isn't looking.

★ He sees cleaning the Safe Haven as "his job" and feels guilty if you do it for him. If he catches the Player tidying up without him, he’s immediately defensive. “Hey, that’s my job! You don’t have to do that!” Panicking ever so slightly.

★ Jack loved you from the beginning. From the first time the Player showed him kindness, he was attached. And he’s not afraid to show his need for attention, saying things like, “Can I sit with you?” or “Look what I found! Isn’t it cool?” Whenever Jack feels scared, he holds your hand.

★ Whenever the player tells Jack about the world outside the factory, his imagination runs wild. Thinking about all the animals, food and places he has vague memories of. “I think... I remember the smell of pancakes, what real?” he asks softly. Unsure what memories are his.

★ Mathew warmed up to you after Jack. Even as Jack ran up to the Player with open arms, Matthew hangs back, watching from a distance. Still wondering if the Player’s kindness is genuine or just an act. Over time he begins to realize that you genuinely care. If you hadn't, why would you have stayed?

★ Despite acting older than he really is, Mathew still wants the Players attention. He tries very hard to present himself as the mature one. But you know better. A simple “Good job, Matthew!” can make his day, even if he just responds with “Oh! Um, thanks.”

★ Kevin is the last to accept you. He didn't like you at all, because you were an employee. But the more the care you show, the more Kevin lets down his guard. He doesn't even realize how much he likes you until he finds himself feeling jealous over Jack and Mathew.

★ “Maybe they’re not all bad,” he begrudgingly admits to himself. Kevin might not openly seek the Player’s attention, but his actions speak louder than words. He starts lingering nearby, pretending to focus on something else but clearly hoping they’ll include him.

★The first time Kevin lets the Player hug him, it's after a particularly rough day. He approached you looking for support. Grabbing onto your shirt and refusing to look in your eyes. Though he’s initially stiff, he slowly relaxes into the embrace. Finally, allowing himself to trust you.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hoii, absolutely love all the stories u written lol, have not left the master post for a few days now, I'm just wondering if you'll be continuing 'its all fun and games kids'? I rlly think Danny hitting on batman is hilarious and kinda feel bad for batman for having a twink of a man who looks as young as one of his kids hitting on him lmao

Danny had an afternoon off. He was bored out of his mind since he was trying to save money, and going somewhere free was only fun if he had someone with him. Sadly, every other adult he knows worked until five or later

He caught up with all his remote work. He watched every episode of his latest show. No chores needed doing. No errands to run. It's been a long time since he had some time off, and he had nothing to do.

He had put on an old movie that wasn't grabbing his attention, and now he lay on the couch staring mindlessly at the screen. If only something was entertaining to do.

His movie flickers from a scene of a child chasing some goats to a news anchor sitting behind a red line that reads Breaking News. Danny sits up a little when a box appears in the right-hand corner.

That box shows one of his favorite pastimes. Batman. He feels his lips curving into a mischievous smirk.

"Breaking news: Joker has launched an attack at city hall resulting in fifty hostages and one person harm. Their condition is unknown. Joker has released the statement that he will kill a hostage every thirty minutes. He made no demands, but Batman has arrived and is working on saving-"

Danny shifted into Phantom, flying out of his house towards city hall before the woman could finish explaining what was happening. He became invisible, feeling oddly giggly as he neared the scene. Piles of police cars were outside, various police officers in uniforms running around between tents, and a news crew was set about.

He flew right over them into the building. It wasn't hard to find the hostages. He followed the loud laughter to the last floor in the latest conference room.

They were all tied to chairs, laughing with crazed smiles cut onto their faces. Danny was momentarily thrown from the horrific sight until he remembered the rule.

He could cure them if they were injected with a poison within the last thirty minutes. Joker venom usually only gives victims about ten minutes before death or permanent damage.

Danny wasted only five seconds on each guard. He flew at them as fast as he could and landed in a tackle, knocking out most of them. The rest of the guards only saw everyone falling to the ground aggressively, so they couldn't call it in.

Then it just left Danny with crazed, laughing civilians. He became visible long enough to gather healing ice and smiled at the staring hostages, laughing but crying.

____________________________________________________________

Batman burst into the room an hour later. He was worse for wear, with fresh bruises along his jar and some cuts in his costume.

He just finished taking down the Joker, and whatever dumb goons thought they could put up a good fight against him. Despite the mask, Danny could tell he was preparing himself

He obviously wasn't expecting to find fifty people passed out with clear signs of having someone treated them. A side effect of this particular joker venom had them clawing at their arms until they drew blood. Danny had snuck away some first-aid boxes to grab their bandages.

"Batman! You've come to rescue me!" Danny swoons from the rolling chair he tied himself into. He wiggles his feet against the floor and approaches the still form in the doorway. "I knew you would save me!"

"Oh," Batman sighs. "You again."

This was better than daytime TV.

[mourndust]

18+ mdni, age gap (cait’s 25 and reader is 37), dom!cait x sub!afab reader who’s cassandra’s protegeé in the council, mean!cait, based on a anon request, vaginal tribbing, mutual masturbation.

you have said no to her flirting multiple times — but caitlyn's a fucking brat, and hearing no for an answer seems to be something she don't usually understand well, something she don’t experience at all.

her little show has all the ingredients to become a disaster. now that you began to hang out with cassandra as a new addition to the council and cait’s twenty five just getting into the basic functions of being an adult, it's clear she has no fucking idea of what she's getting into when she flirted with a woman that was ten years older than her, when she makes you blush from mentioning something about the nice outfit you pull out for council meetings or your makeup.

she makes you sure you notice she's looking at you when she goes out with her friends and gets drunk cause she's celebrating being the best of her class, graduating with astonishing grades in her generation and simply staring at you before leaving. if cassandra knew, hell, if she only knew how turned on you are by her only daughter, you'd be ten feet away from any political discussion, removed from your comfortable chair in the council with the good amount of power you’ve worked hard for.

so you try to keep your distance, problem is, caitlyn just loves to make you a disaster. loves to notice how you fluster for a comment, how you are free to say something insanely inappropriate and unable to take compliments without getting all shy and nervous — she always had things her way, the spoiled rich girl from piltover who has everything in the palm of her hand, so she expects you to well, follow.

it seems common for her to be constantly teasing her luck, like she’s waiting for the moment you'll admit you are all over her too, that you don't care about your political image, not when most of the council did similar things beneath closed doors.

"you know i'm older than you, cait. workin’ with your mother" you say, yet's impossible to ignore her when she's texting you in the night, asking if you could give her a ride home since she's too drunk to go on a car by her own: little liar. “i have duties to fulfill. can’t be distracted right now.”

she just love the idea of being your younger girlfriend, you’re what? thirty seven? six? doesn’t really matter how old exactly when you’re attractive to her. she's older now, and caitlyn wants a woman with her life already solved, someone interesting that will keep up on her conversations and needs, and in reality, she just wanted you plain and simple, does not matter if you've been hanging out with her mother lately or how important you are for the council. you.

that's why she's seated there anyway, in the passenger seat of your car, mentioning something about being an awful night even when it's just midnight. and you're offering to drop her back home safe and sound cause you have work to do tomorrow morning, but she's whining about cassandra and how annoying she is whenever she goes out with her friends, excuse after excuse.

"can i stay with you?" caitlyn asks after a while as you drive—. "just for tonight. i'll leave early."

your first mistake would be accepting, letting her invade your space so easily, but it's too late when caitlyn's taking her heels off in the entrance after a long day, and you're doing nothing but making her feel like home, shoving your hands on the black suit you wear after been working all day.

"you take my bed, i'll sleep on the couch"

"we can sleep together, i mean. you'll take care of me, i trust you-" you're blushing again cause she's not drunk, not even remotely touched by the drink she had before in the club with her friends, but she's acting up like she needs help, like she needs to sleep next to you. "sofa's uncomfortable."

"you already know what will happen if we sleep together, caitlyn."

she don't seem to care, not when she's standing in front of you, dressed in her satin navy blue dress, hands crossed over her chest as you have the audacity of look at her cleavage cause it's there and to be honest, it's pleasing to look at.

"my eyes are up here," cait replies, holding you by the jaw only to pull it upwards, making you look at her eyes instead of her chest. "wouldn't be so bad if we fucked either way, you're in the council not because of my mother, you don't owe her loyalty."

it's a good point, cause you're not really close to cassandra or the kiramman house until recently, and she's pointing it out with a satisfied smirk when cait can smell your doubt in the air — "this is between you and me, understand? no one else."

so she has it all: best grades in her generation, cool job, friends and you wrapped around her finger, expensive clothes that fitted so damn well, a nice rich family, a cozy place for herself in a good zone in piltover and your whole damn attention.

"i don't need nobody's permission to be here with you," she continues, and suddenly the air is hot cause she's cornering you, taking advantage of being taller as her voice soothe every nerve "neither do you, love."

she deserves your kisses after, almost like a treat as her mouth finds yours. she's quickly to demand as she swallows an almost unnoticeable moan, makes you a victim 'cause caitlyn's kisses are so embarrassingly good you're already wet from the act of it, how she's not afraid of angling your face up to adjust it how she needs it to be, manicured nails digging in your skin when her tongue is sliding in and she's just breathing against you, heavy breathing as she makes your hair to the side only to bare the column of your throat to her lips.

“where’s your room,” she asks marking you cause she wants to know what shitty excuse you'll say tomorrow in work, the face you'll make when someone asks you what happened.

she wants to be in your sheets, be in every space you own until she's part of you and your life, so you let her pull you to the dimly lit hallway, the warm lights shinning against her skin and the satin fabric of her dress as she guides you — as if's not your house already, to your own room.

and caitlyn kiramman is a dream. should be a product of your imagination as she slips off the thin shoulder strap of her dress, the dress now pooling on the ground as she enters your room, turning on the lights cause she desires to be seen, be heard and worshipped as her hands finds the jacket of your suit, letting it fall close to her dress; your white shirt follows after, your black pants and it's everything you want.

fuck it if it's not heaven on earth, cause it feels just like it when she's crawling on top of you, pushing you to the bed to give you the most interesting view. the air is hot as you seem to forgot how to breathe, the toned muscles of her back and her already pebbled nipples rubbing against yours as she leans to kiss you.

fuck it if it's not heaven on earth.

caitlyn settles between your legs and she's wearing this sinful underwear that barely count as one as you can see her cunt from over the fabric, spreading your legs cause the friction — the damn friction of the lingerie against your black undies already dampening is unbearing, making you needy to have her closer.

she looks gorgeous from there. looking down at you with a smirk of winning, gripping on your thigh only be able to ride you at her own pace, cruelly cause from over the fabric you crave nothing but the direct contact.

the white cloth seems to cling into caitlyn's sex, her arousal already smeared against the transparent fabric as she holds her moans in, straight hair cascading against the sharp angles of her face, and the sight of her is enough to make you ache, she's bitting her lower lip as wet sounds fill the air, barely holding her sounds in as she moves against you.

“gonna make you part of my very own soul, do you hear me?" she says as her fingers pull on your underwear to the side — "so even my ghost is tangled with yours."

you're creaming your underwear and its embarrassing as white traces of your arousal still fresh sticks to caitlyn's underwear, soaked folds as she moves enough so her cunt rubs against yours.

"take that shit off," you whine, pulling on the string of the blue haired panties. "please cait, take it off."

"there you are," her words slur together as she speaks, cheeks blushed, lips parted, a damn view — "now you speak huh? be louder, i need to hear you councillor. make your demands clear."

"i said take your panties off, cait" you say, prompting yourself over your elbows — "let me feel you."

must be the look you give, the commanding undertone in your voice, but she's finally getting rid of her underwear and you're welcomed, instead, with her soaked pussy now grinding at a perfect pace on top of you. parted legs, her weight pushes you down against the mattress and it's oh so good; caitlyn's arousal dampens her thighs and it's messy, downright filthy, those meetings where you know you'll need a damn shower after but she craves it, the wet sound you two make with each undulated movement of her hips, the fucked out expression in your face.

it takes a moment to get you there: her skin is dampening with sweat, her tits bounce with each movement and she's so fucking sensitive at this point cait's mumbling erratic praising words, using her hands to spread you open and slowly use a couple of fingers to rub against your clit.

and her moans are delicious, oversensitive as you she finally cums on top of you, shaking when your fingers reach her clit, making a mess on your bed right before you follow through, moving your own hips against her pussy cause you're greedy, greedy and you'll take anything you can get as you ride your orgasm, creamy white mixing up in caitlyn's swollen cunt.

and her breathing's not yet controlled as she's hugging you, taking care of you as she presses soft kisses on your back cause she likes being like that, the temperature of your body against her, the burnt sensation as she keeps you against her in the bliss high of pleasure, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat.

how they say? piltover royalty needs to have it all.

you must known it would be stupid after to accept an invitation to have tea and discuss political agenda with cassandra kiramman when her only daughter is visiting her again out of nowhere, giving you that damn look you are now well aware of.

are you going to let me ruin you again?

[argumate]

transgenderer said: very confused by your characterization of TV as beneficial and social media as harmful. either position seems plausible, but not both at once. id consider TV as more harmful than social media, as someone who spent a lot of time watching tv in my childhood and a lot of time on social media in my teens

for TV you have to compare it with the cultural environment pre-1950 and the effect it may have had on why society got so much nicer post-1950.

now of course there were many dramatic changes going on at the same time: child mortality plummeted so we weren't surrounded by tiny skeletons all the time, birthrates slowed and family sizes dropped, we got much richer and ate more food and suffered less disease, lifespans lengthened, everyone learned to read and children started spending more time in school and less time in factories and on farms, etc.

but it's noteworthy that everyone also started spending a couple of hours a day watching television, a giant experiment in mass media (one of many giant experiments we ran on society post-1950).

now, many people assert that it had a negative effect (television shows feature sex, violence, and commercials!) but few people say it had no effect (humans gonna human) and hardly anyone seems to claim it had a positive effect, and I find that a little strange when you think about what television typically shows: highly moralistic narratives that both reflect social norms but also shape them by modeling what we consider to be good behaviour, good relationships, and idealised families, in a context that almost everyone shares, inflected by new elite ideas about psychiatry and psychoanalysis that were obviously very clumsy but a huge leap on what came before.

compare what a child in the '60s or '70s or '80s will learn about what it means to be a child and how adults should act and parents should engage with children and with each other and how the world works compared with a child in the '20s or '30s or '40s; I think the kid raised by television may well have a better baseline in many ways!

this is all anecdotal -- maybe some enterprising academic could do a study where they try to correlate the spread of television with some metrics of social health and disentangle it from the spread of leaded petrol lol -- but there are innumerable examples of the way television is loaded with positive messages, from The Brady Bunch to The Simpsons, even television that was often viewed as antisocial or subversive or potentially harmful at the time.

I mean I was just watching the first few episodes of SVU the other day and amongst all the hard-boiled detective shenanigans and the sensationalism it basically consists of authority figures saying "people do bad things to each other, and even worse sometimes society is unkind to the victim; also rape is a serious issue and women can be cops btw" -- even as copaganda it's a progressive show for the time.

an argument that television is harmful on net needs to account for where the harm is coming from and how it influences people; there are clearly things that would be much better than television as practiced in the 20th century but it seems like a significant improvement on the culture and media environment that preceded it, whether that was vaudeville or public executions.

social media on the other hand is more complicated to analyse because there are so many disparate unrelated things happening on there, it's individualised more like the telephone network or email than broadcast television, even if some general trends are evident.

and social media obviously contains many positive elements -- I love it myself -- but the negative elements are equally obvious; whether it ends up negative on net depends on how you account for them, but it's looking like a much more complicated story than television.

some factors to consider:

the way social media selects for viral spread leads to content that is far more inflammatory than television

"doomscrolling" makes the nightly news broadcast look tame

social media creates an explicit status/attention hierarchy for the world and puts almost everyone at the bottom of it; if the message of television was "you're special" then the message of social media is "you're nothing"

social media permits mob harassment in a way that makes old shows like Jerry Springer look good by comparison

social media appears to be having effects on politics which are not necessarily positive, I would say

social media appears to be damaging gender relations for young people in ways we're still figuring out

youth suicide rates appear to correlate with social media usage

anyway, I think as a society we will develop better cultural antibodies to the worst aspects of social media over time, but so far I think AI in the form of chat bots appears to be more like television (good) and less like social media (bad).

[lovelybucky1]

A character of your choice from the Go Greek! Universe reacting to the sweetheart getting back with an ex (or thinking about it) and it ends with smut, showing-you-what-you’re-missing kind of thing 🤭 I’m loving this series so much! Xoxo

i love this so much!!! here’s headcanons about steve, bucky and joaquin in this situation. // go greek! masterlist // 18+ minors dni

Steve would be so against it. That guy was a piece of shit and everyone knows it. He isn’t good for you and you deserve so much better, so why would you even think about going back to him? He would lecture you, going on and on about how terrible he was until you finally snap.

“You keep saying I deserve better but I haven’t found it! How do you know there’s anyone better for me?”

Steve clenches his jaw and you see determination in his eyes. “I’m better.”

Your eyes widen and you find yourself at a loss for words. Before either of you could say anything else, Steve steps into your space and ducks down to kiss you. He holds you tightly, not even giving you an inch of room as he claims your mouth. You melt into the kiss and you’re lucky that he is supporting you, because you might collapse to the floor.

When the kiss breaks, he pulls away but remains close. His nose is almost brushing against yours and he looks into your eyes, seeing the desire in them.

“Let me show you how much better I can be.”

Bucky, unsurprisingly, would proposition you right then and there.

“If you need someone to fuck, fuck me,” he says as casually as telling you the weather.

“What?”

“Your ex was an asshole. You said it yourself, the only thing good about him was his dick. If you need good dick, I’m right here, baby.”

He sits down next to you and pulls you into his lap with ease. Bucky always takes what he wants. You look down at him, at his light blue eyes, plush lips, and the stubble on his face.

“I’m way hotter than he is, too,” he says. Just as humble too.

“I don’t know, Bucky. What if it makes things weird between us?”

Bucky laughs as shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve been dyin’ to fuck you since the day we met. Do us both a favor and let me. I promise I’ll make you cum so hard you’ll forget that asshole’s name.” His hands slide from your waist down to your ass, greedily squeezing it. “We’ll do it however you want. Fast, slow, nice, mean, missionary, doggy-”

“That’s enough,” you stop him, giggling as you slap his chest.

“Are you gonna make me beg? Pretty please let me fuck you, sweetheart,” he says with a smirk.

“Fine,” you huff. Your reluctance is for show. You can’t let him think you were jumping at the chance to fuck him.

Joaquin would be so sweet and try to convince you that you don’t need him.

“We can watch movies together. I’ll make you breakfast in bed and take you shopping. I’ll take you out to dinner and I’ll pay the whole bill. He always asked you to split it!”

“But you’re not my boyfriend, Joaquin,” you say, hands on your hips as you look at him.

“I don’t need to be your boyfriend to do all those things. I still care about you and I know you deserve better than that guy.”

You sigh. “There are things I want that you can’t give me because you’re not my boyfriend.”

Joaquin mimics your stance, cocking his head as he stares back at you. “Like what?”

“Like sex!” you exclaim. You get that Joaquin wants what’s best for you, but you have needs. At least this time you know what you’re signing up for with your ex.

That seems to catch Joaquin off guard, like he wasn’t expecting you, who’s always so sweet and perfect, to like sex.

“I can do that too!” he comes back with.

You furrow your brows. “No you can’t, Joaquin. We’re friends.”

“Ever heard of friends with benefits? I promise it won’t be weird. I can give you everything you want and you never have to see that loser again.”

You consider it. Joaquin is hot and he treats you way better than you ex ever did. You suppose just once wouldn’t hurt, and if it didn’t workout, Joaquin seems like the type to let it go and not allow it to ruin the relationship you have.

“Fine, but this stays between us, okay?”

“You want me to be your dirty little secret?” he asks, teasing.

“Shut up,” you huff.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

You step close to him and grab his face. You lean in for a kiss and he eagerly reciprocates. Once he gets the idea, you allow him to take control of the pace. His hands gently trail over your body, clearly hesitant to touch you.

“If we’re gonna do this, we’ll gonna do it right,” you say after you break the kiss. You place his hands on your ass and he takes the hint, squeezing firmly.

“I’ve never seen this side of you,” he chuckles.

“We’ve never done this before.”

[alicentsgf]

I think sometimes people misunderstand Shaunas relationship to violence and butchery. I've said before I dont think Shauna enjoys the violence of it and people have pushed back on that and I get why but I just want to explain what I mean.

I think the important aspect to remember is Shaunas attraction is primarily to power and control. She has always wanted to control and manipulate, she just doesnt know how to achieve it half the time, so when Coach Ben hands her the knife to butcher the stag she does get a thrill from it. Dead things cant fight back, she has power here, i guess in that way she enjoys the violence in it. Its also the fact she suddenly has a skill the others dont. Something to feel wanted and important in. Heres something she can manipulate physically the way she feels jackie manipulates her mentally. Its an outlet. Its fulfilling. And its not really the violence and blood she enjoys, its the security of having a domain thats hers to control.

Then, slowly but surely, it becomes a burden. She has to ration the food and as the winter goes on every week the rations get smaller and smaller. Now shes not so much the "badass" feeding them like Jackie dubbed her, shes the person disappointing them as she hands them some dried up, meager strips of bear meat.

What comes next is even worse. The most fucking awful burden, and theres no sense of control anymore at all. Butchering javi doesnt make her feel powerful, she's shaking, tear tracks down her cheeks, absolutely helpless. This is pure desperation, they're all depending on her. She feels compelled to do this because they need it and she has always wanted to be needed. Maybe even looked at like a hero or a martyr. To be admired. She shoulders the burden because shes the only one who can and she hopes when this over they'll look at her and see what shes sacrificed for them. Then maybe she'll regain that brief sense of control she once felt.

Except thats not how it happens. The burden she takes on is so heavy, piled on top of everything else shes lost, and it crushes her. Now none of the others can even bear to look at her. Shes something ugly now. They cant acknowledge what she did without acknowledging the part they played too. Shauna gifted them that ability to look away, and now they're trampling all over her grief and pain, thanking the wilderness for the sacrifices shes made; Jackie, Javi, her baby. Now the job that once made her feel powerful makes her feel weak at best and sickens her at worst, makes her feel worthless, so she lashes out at Nat. Nat who Shauna sees as always getting the glory of the kill without the hard work of the butchering. Its irrational but thats always been Shauna. In her misplaced hatred she wants to tear Nat down so badly. She needs to see Nat, so steadfast in her goodness, broken like this too so she can stop feeling so guilty about what shes become. Desperate to not feel so alone in it. She needs someone who will look her in the eyes and understand her, even if they don't like what they see.

So its never been the actual blood and guts Shauna finds enjoyment in. She doesn't jump at the chance to commit violence herself unless its an impulse, lashing out in rage or desperation. She gets far more enjoyment from coercing others; trying to manipulate Nat into shooting Coach Ben, handing the knife to Melissa to cut his tendon, punishing Nat by forcing her to be the butcher. Shauna hands off these roles easily because the more visceral side of violence is just a means to an end for her. What she really enjoys is power, control, manipulating others into violence because she feels so deeply isolated being the only one who had to feel Javis freezing skin and cold blood under her fingertips.

As an adult she kills the rabbit in the garden and yet again this is out of a need for control, frustrated by it damaging her flowers, frustrated by the lack of control she feels in her own home with her own family. So unseen and underappreciated once again. Its a messed up coping mechanism she just cant shake. But then she cries when Lottie tells her she doesnt have to kill the goat. Theres nothing to gain from it, and shes so tired of killing innocent things. Violence for violences sake is not who she is, it never was, shes just forever grasping desperately at power because deep down she feels so utterly helpless. Everything shes ever wanted she seems to come so close to having when it slides through her fingers; Jackie, her baby boy, an ivy league education, a relationship with her daughter, a way of reliving her lost youth. But no matter how hard she tries to control the situation, to control herself, she never can. She is all impulse, self-destruction and repression. What she wants most has always been the very antithesis of who she is.

So its always been about control for Shauna because shes never truly had it. Its more important to her than anything, especially in the teen timeline. The wilderness is not a place she can afford to be helpless in. Jackie was helpless, Javi was helpless, her baby was helpless. Its why we see her choosing to be angry and cruel. She has to choose it, because if she doesnt she will feel it anyway, and if she fights against the rage and pain and it wins (which it would), then shes not in control at all.

[insidekatmind]

Lose game~Alejandro Garnacho

Wearning: +18,smut

Request: yes!

It’s a cold evening in Manchester and the rain is pounding against the windows. You’re in the living room, wrapped in a soft blanket as you wait for Alejandro to return from the game. You know it didn’t go well; you saw it on TV, and the result was a bitter defeat.

Finally you hear the door open. Alejandro walks in, his face tense and his eyes dark with frustration. He doesn’t say a word as he takes off his jacket and lets his bag fall to the floor with a tired gesture.

“Hey,” you say softly, moving closer to him. But he doesn’t look at you, staring at the floor as if he’s trying to will his bad mood away.

Alejandro's gaze snaps up to meet yours, his eyes flashing with anger and frustration. "What?" he snaps, his voice sharp and biting. "What do you want, huh? Come to rub salt in the wound?"

He takes a step closer, his tall frame looming over you. "You saw the game, didn't you? You saw how badly we lost. How I fucked up." His hands clench into fists at his sides. "So go ahead, say it. Tell me what a disappointment I am."

His chest heaves with each breath, his face flushed with rage and embarrassment. "Or maybe you'd rather just leave. Find someone else who can actually win a fucking match."

You look at him softly and take his hand. “Love” you whispered softly.

Alejandro's anger falters for a moment at the gentle touch and soft word. He looks down at your hand in his, his grip tightening possessively. "Don't," he growls, but there's less heat behind it now. "Don't try to comfort me. I don't deserve it."

He pulls you closer, his other hand coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are still dark, but now there's a hint of vulnerability in their depths. "You should hate me," he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "I let you down. I let the team down. I'm useless."

His grip on your chin tightens, his face inches from yours. "Tell me you hate me," he demands, his voice low and rough. "Shout at me, slap me, something. Anything but this...this pity."

"I don't hate you and you haven't let me down" you said softly, caressing his cheek. "And you haven't let your team down either, everyone can have a bad time" you said softly.

Alejandro's eyes widen at your words, a flicker of surprise and something softer passing through them. His grip on your chin loosens, his hand sliding down to cup your cheek instead. "You're too good to me," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "Too kind."

He leans into your touch, his forehead resting against yours. "I don't deserve you," he whispers, his breath warm against your lips. "But fuck, I need you. I need you so badly right now."

His other hand slides down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You can feel the heat of his body, the tension in his muscles. "Let me forget," he pleads, his lips brushing against yours. "Let me lose myself in you. Please."

You smiled and kissed him. Alejandro responds to your kiss with a desperate intensity, his lips moving against yours hungrily. He kisses you like a man starved, pouring all his frustration, his anger, his need into the kiss. His hands roam your body, gripping and squeezing as if trying to anchor himself to you.

He breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. "You taste so fucking good," he groans against your throat. "So perfect."

His hands slip under your shirt, his calloused fingers leaving trails of fire on your skin. He pushes you back towards the couch, his intentions clear. "I'm going to fuck you," he murmurs darkly. "I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your own name. You'll only remember mine."

He pulls your shirt over your head, tossing it aside carelessly. His eyes burn with lust as he takes in the sight of you.

“Yes love, use me to take out your frustration” you said touching his chest.

Alejandro's eyes darken at your words, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Oh, I'll use you alright," he promises, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll use every inch of you."

He pushes you down onto the couch, covering your body with his own. His hands are everywhere, tugging at your clothes, caressing your skin. "You're mine," he growls possessively. "Mine to fuck, mine to claim, mine to use."

He tears off his own shirt, revealing his sculpted chest and abs. You can see the tension in his muscles, the way he's barely holding himself back. "Tell me you're mine," he demands, his hand sliding up your thigh. "Say it."

"Yours baby, only yours," you say.

Alejandro's eyes flash with primal satisfaction at your declaration. "Fuck yes, you are," he growls, his hand slipping between your legs. "And I'm going to remind you of that. Every. Single. Inch."

He tears off your pants and underwear in one swift motion, leaving you bare and exposed beneath him. His fingers find your center, stroking and teasing. "So wet already," he murmurs approvingly. "You love this, don't you? Love being used, being fucked hard."

He unbuckles his belt with his free hand, shoving his pants down just enough to free his hard, throbbing erection. "Beg for it," he commands, his fingers circling your entrance but not yet entering. "Beg me to fuck you."

You moaned. “Please baby, fuck me,” you murmured, touching his chest.

Alejandro's eyes gleam with triumph at your plea. "Good girl," he praises darkly, rewarding you by pushing two fingers inside you. "So tight. So perfect."

He pumps his fingers in and out, his thumb circling your clit. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll be feeling me for days," he promises, his voice thick with lust. "I'll fill you up, mark you, claim you as mine."

He removes his fingers, bringing them to his mouth to suck your juices off. "Delicious," he murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, without warning, he thrusts into you, burying himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke.

You moaned and brought your hands to his back scratching it. "Alejandro" you moaned.

Alejandro groans at the feeling of your nails digging into his back, the slight pain only fueling his desire. "Fuck, say my name again," he demands, pulling out only to slam back into you. "I want to hear you scream it."

He sets a brutal pace, his hips snapping forward with each thrust. The couch creaks beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans and his grunts. "You feel so fucking good," he pants, his face buried in your neck. "So tight, so wet. Like you were made for me."

“Alejandro,” you moaned again, stroking his hair and kissing him.

Alejandro kisses you back fiercely, his tongue dominating yours. He swallows your moans, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he nears his peak. "Come for me," he orders, his hand sliding between your bodies to rub your clit. "Come on my cock like a good little slut."

He bites down on your neck, marking you, claiming you. "I'm going to fill you up," he growls against your skin. "I'm going to pump you full of my cum and make sure everyone knows you're mine."

His words, his touch, his brutal pace push you over the edge. You scream his name as you come, your inner walls clamping down around him. Alejandro follows soon after, burying himself deep as he spills inside you, marking you from the inside out.

You pull him into a hug while Alejandro is still buried inside you.

Alejandro melts into your embrace, his body relaxing as the adrenaline and frustration of the day drain away. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice soft and sincere. "I needed that. I needed you."

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours. "I'm sorry for being such an asshole earlier," he admits, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "I just...I hate losing. I hate feeling like I've let everyone down."

You kiss his jaw as you stroke his hair. “Win or lose, you’re still my champion,” you whisper softly.

Alejandro's eyes soften at your words, a rare vulnerability flashing across his face. He captures your lips in a tender kiss, pouring all his gratitude and affection into it. "And you're my rock," he murmurs against your mouth. "My safe haven. I don't know what I'd do without you."

He pulls you closer, holding you tightly as if afraid you might disappear. "I love you," he whispers, the words a precious gift. "So fucking much. You make everything better."

He sighs contentedly, his body relaxing further as he stays buried inside you. "Let's stay like this," he suggests, his voice muffled against your skin. "Just you and me, no football, no pressure. Just us."

You nodded and stroked his back as you felt how his cock was buried inside you.

Alejandro hums happily at your touch, his eyes drifting shut as he savors the feeling of being inside you, of being held by you. "Perfect," he murmurs, his lips brushing against your neck. "You're always so perfect."

He shifts slightly, his hips rolling gently against yours. Even though he's spent, his body responds to your closeness, to the warmth of your embrace. "I could stay like this forever," he says dreamily, his voice heavy with contentment.

His hand slides down to your hip, gripping it possessively. "Mine," he whispers, the word a soft growl. "You're all mine." He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips, marking you with gentle touches. "My love, my heart, my everything."

[rotagnus]

Messages From God & The Universe <3

happy wednesday babies! i hope all of you are doing well. here is a little pac with guidance for all of you. if you guys are wondering why i am posting so much, i have a lot of free time on my hands and am trying to grow my intuition and my faith. i hope you guys enjoy this reading!! much love <3

pile 1.

the signs have been pouring in for you, and this is your permission to take them into your heart. a lot of you are hesitant, and do not want to believe that what you've seen is a sign, specifically the sign that's been lingering in your thoughts more than most. i am hear to tell you that this is what you think it is. a lot of you also seem to feel like you're always watching the happiness go by due to your own morals...many of the people you know have been experiencing joys lately that you have not given yourself access to.

don't worry. God has a plan for you, the universe, whatever you hold belief in. a lot of you have been finding joys in putting all of yourself into activities...maybe over-training, studying too hard, et cetera. take a break. i know you don't want to focus on these things that have been bothering you, but you should. the answer is right there. you'll be glowing, soon. your happiness will return to you, and it'll be visible; your skin might clear up, you might look better, you know what i mean? i love you, the universe/God does, and i assure you that you can take a deep breath and trust, trust that you will be okay.

pile 2.

a lot of you have experienced a heartbreak recently. this will uplift you, and it is not a sign that God/the universe has left you. sometimes, when everything is breaking; it's a sign that it's all coming together. everything will clear up soon. sometimes, you are meant to go on a journey alone; but you are never alone. your ancestors, guardian angels, higher beings...they're all with you. things have been going out of your life for a reason; bad ones permanently, good ones temporarily. but you must not focus on those right now. uplift your heart. you're powerful because you have a strong sense of compassion and kindness. utilize that. understand that not everyone wants to hurt you.

there are a pair of eyes on you, watching you. be wary of people, and be observant. your power lies in your heart, in your ability to forgive others. with the two of hearts, here, this may signify a union between you and something else, or someone else. you are divinely protected, and you need to have more trust in what is going to happen. it'll happen to better you. the universe is telling me to tell you that it's got you covered, on its own timing. so relax. also, the sense of discomfort you have will be uplifted.

pile 3.

there is a sense of vagueness and mystery in your life. cycles are ending, and you've come out glowing and strong. you've been reborn into a burning phoenix. this change has been for the better; think of who you were, particularly in the winter of 2024, the early months (november, december). you were most likely miserable; if not, this pile isn't for you, darling. you were closed off emotionally and you lost so many parts of yourself you believed that soon you would be nothing but empty space.

God/the universe is telling you to open your heart up. you have so many wants...so many desires, but you feel as if you'll lose this new you if you even dare to open up again. you're sensitive, easily hurt, and with this new change, it's hard for you to navigate this path. you're a lamb. the most important advice here is to be able to open up, but follow your judgements with people. trust the little voice in your ear. be vulnerable, be you, but with the right people. discernment is crucial. you will be tested to see if you've learned; so be prepared. but this new cycle is good. you needed this new start.

[sdmnpact]

Enchanted.

Wroetoshaw x Reader angst

[] requested by @sundarksposts 💕

[] Harry, your long time friend goes on a date making your true feelings for him hard to fight.

♪ Now Playing: Enchanted by Taylor Swift ♪

I was enchanted to meet you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you Please don't be in love with someone else Please don't have somebody waiting on you

~~~

I was invited over to dinner by one of my best friend's Talia. I was on my way over there when I recieved a text.

Talia: ooh, I guess Simon invited Josh and Frey, do you still wanna come over? 😭

Me: it's fine, I don't hate being a fifth wheel 😚

Talia: if anything Josh and Simon are gonna be the fourth and fifth wheels babes 😘

Me: True, I'm omw!! 🥰

>>>

"Hey!!" I greeted as Talia hugged me after opening the door. "Hey!! It's been too long since we've seen eachother in person!" Talia said leading me towards the kitchen.

"You guys act like a week is a year." Simon said standing by the counter eating something. "Leave that!" Talia said smacking his hand away from the salad bowl. I chuckled at how adorable they are together.

"So, since it's basically a couples night featuring you, should we invite Harry!?" Talia said raising her eyebrows at me. Simon 'ood' like a little school boy causing my cheeks to get hot. "Stop it- no, Harry texted me he was gonna be busy tonight." I responded grabbing the salad bowl taking it to the dining table as Talia followed with another plate.

"What's he doing tonight?" She asked. "I have no clue, he wouldn't tell. He just said it was something important and I shouldn't worry." I actually didn't know what he was doing tonight. We had just hung out yesterday and he was acting weird all day. He's one of my best mates and we share so much with eachother. It kind of felt like he was holding a secret.

"Si, do you know what Harry's up to tonight?" Talia asked as Simon sat at the table. "You don't know?" He asked looking towards me. Now I was very confused. I shook my head as he let out a sigh and a worried expression filled his face.

"Harry's out on a date." My heart sunk.

Like I said, Harry and I were really good mates so it's not like we were dating but we've know eachother for almost a decade now and well, I guess I caught feeling for the man. I didn't want to admit it but I've longed for him for a couple years now. I didn't fancy him when we first met but one night, I was drunk- very drunk and I was with Harry. I don't remember much from that night but I have the most vivid memory of the way he treated me.

He didn't try to take advantage of me, quite the opposite. We were with a couple friends, many males and he became so protective. He wouldn't let me out of his sight. At the end of the night, he took me to my flat and put me in bed. He sat with me until I fell asleep stroking my hair. I found him so enchanting. He was such a gentleman. I fell in love with him after that and I've been pining after him since. I never wanted to try anything with him because I love him too much as a friend to lose him.

Hearing this news was earth shattering though. I know he has one night stands occasionally but this was an actual date. He never goes on dates unless he likes the girl and this hasn't happened in years. I fear, I'll lose him this time. I'll never get my chance, not that I would've tried. I should have, who knows how he felt about me-

"Y/n? Are you okay love?" Talia said wiping at my cheek. Tears had been streaming down my face and I didn't realize. "Oh, uh yeah, just, I've gotta use the toliet." I said making my way towards the bathroom. I felt like throwing up, I felt like my heart hurt, I just wanted to cry. I didn't realize I felt this way about him. I thought it was a simple crush.

I sat on the toliet seat letting the tears just fall down my face. I looked at myself in the mirror, my makeup was a huge mess. Maybe I should just head home before Josh and Freya get here.

Just as that thought left my head, I heard the front door open and Josh's voice boom throughout the house. He was always quite loud and made sure to make his presence known. I chuckled as he made a little joke.

I know I have to leave the bathroom but I also don't want them to see me like this. I tried fixing my makeup as best as I could and walked out. I saw all of them standing nearby staring at me.

"Awww my girl are you okay?" Freya said as she extended her arms hugging me with Talia joining in. This honestly made me cry more.

"I'm alright, but I think I should go home, I don't wanna ruin the evening." I said as I pulled away, wiping at my face. "No, don't even think about it. Let's have a little night in instead, why don't we eat a bit then, the three of us can go watch movies in my room." Talia said wrapping an arm around me. I looked over to the boys who had sympathetic looks on their face.

"Okay... sorry boys." I said still sniffling a bit. "Don't worry about it Y/n, we're just glad you'll stay here and won't be alone." Josh said as Simon nodded. "You guys are too sweet, I love you all." I said through tears. "We love you too!" Freya said as they hugged me again.

>>>

《 Harry's Pov 》

"So, you like golf?" I asked. I was on a date with this girl I met on tinder. She's quite fit and I really like her personality but she's kinda giving me nothing. Maybe it's me, I don't know why I just don't feel much for her. I was really excited for this date but actually being here is quite- strange.

"Not really, it's so boring." She said taking a small forkful of her salad. I don't think this is gonna work out to be honest. She's missing something, I just don't know what.

I felt my phone buzz and I didn't wanna pull it out in front of her but the conversation was so dead, I really wanted to check who it was. "I'm gonna head to the toliet." I told her as she nodded. I walked towards the men's room, immediately pulling out my phone, looking at the notification.

Simon: Harry, how's the date going?

Harry: oh mate, it's fucking awful. She's giving me nothing here.

Simon: well, I think you should come to my place soon then.

Harry: ??

Simon: Y/n is in shambles over here, I don't know if I should tell you why but I think she'd benefit from seeing you.

Harry: already on the way

Holy fuck. I hope she's okay. I sped walked out of the toliet getting lots of odd looks as I reached the table.

"Hey, um there's an emergency and I've really gotta go!" I told her. "Oh my god, is everything okay?" She asked with wide eyes about to get up. "Yeah, it's just something I gotta take care of. Here's for dinner, order whatever else you'd like and I'll text you soon." I said placing two hundred pounds on the table.

"Oh- um I'd really rather if you wouldnt actually." She said quietly. "Oh... okay then. Well I guess I'll see you then." I said awkwardly as I got my jacket and left. I quickly called over the first cab I saw and headed towards Simon's house.

>>>

《 Y/n's Pov 》

Talia and Freya are so great. I don't know what I did to deserve such amazing friends. They really eased my suffering as we watched 'The Proposal' while we ate snacks and had some wine.

We heard some shuffling coming from the living room and Talia went to check it out as we continued watching the movie.

"Hey Y/n? Someone's here for you." Talia said with a smile on her face. That's weird. I wonder who it is. I gave her a confused look and she just gestured for me to go. I got up and walked towards the living room.

I saw Harry standing by the door in his date outfit. I know because he only wears sweatshirts and shorts but right now he had on some slacks and a turtleneck. He looked very handsome actually. But why is he here?

"Y/n are you okay?" He asked the second he saw me coming over and wrapping his arms around me.

"Um, yeah, I'm alright. What are you doing here? Don't you have a date tonight?" I asked and he let me go and gave Simon a little annoyed look. Simon shrugged as he walked to another room leaving just us two in the living room.

"Yeah. I did. Sorry I didn't tell you, I don't know why I didn't want you to know. I just... I don't know. But- what happened to you!?! Is everything alright? It looks like you've been crying." He said pulling me towards the couch. We sat down and I just looked towards my hands, feeling the tears well up again. Why am I still crying, I shouldn't be this emotional.

"It's nothing really, just hormones I think. I'm alright now. You didn't have to come. I don't even know how you knew, you should've enjoyed your date!" I said wiping at my eye.

"Well for one, that date was fucking horrendous." He said with a breathy laugh. "The girl didn't even like me in the end and she was just not it for me either. She wasn't the girl I need to be with." He continued. "Also Simon texted me that you were upset and I knew I needed to be over here instead." He said reaching for my hand. I looked towards him, as he had been staring at me intensely.

"Seriously are you okay? You're crying again." He said wiping at my cheek. "Fuck Harry." I said now fully bawling.

"I think I like you." I said unable to hold my feelings in. Like I said, he's always so tender with me and I just love him so much. He's always so sweet and maybe I'm just being dumb and falling for any man who shows me an ounce of niceness.

"You think? Or you know?" He said as I furrowed my brows towards him. "Y/n. I've liked you for fucking ages!!" He said. My heart immediately started pounding so hard. "I know how I've felt about you since the moment we met. All these years I've always had something for you. You're amazing, the way you make me laugh like no one else, the way you aren't afraid to be yourself, the way you eat like a dog and aren't shy around me." He said with a little laugh.

"Tonight was me trying to get over you. We've know eachother for such a long time and we've never had anything together. It's been hard trying not to hug or kiss you whenever I want. I needed to find a distraction from you. All you do is cloud my mind." He said sitting closer.

"I didn't know you felt this way." I said smiling. "It's always been you, Y/n. I never wanted anyone else but you." He finished.

"Kiss kiss kiss" we heard faint voices say. I laughed at this as I looked towards him. He shrugged and leaned into me, planting his lips on mine. As cliché as it sounds, I truly had butterflies in my stomach and I felt extremely happy in this moment. After a couple seconds, we pulled away.

"I'm so glad you came."

"I am too."

~~~

A/n

I'm actually in love with this one! It's so adorable, I hope you enjoyed it!! Also I melt every single time he wears those turtle neck tops- he looks incredible!!

[aetherraeys]

bloodmoon pt2

(part 1)

remus lupid x vampire!reader ⊹ 11.9k

cw ⟢ swearing, harrassment, men being vile, blood, detailed description of pain, friends to lovers, slowish burn, biting, suggestive at the end

a/n: not proofread x SORRY THIS ACTUALLY TOOK DAYS IVE BEEN TRYING TO MAKE IT LESS THAT 12WC!! i hope you enjoy ,,, slightly obsessed with vampire!reader now.

“Finally realised she’s not the devil incarnate, have you, Moony?”

Its as though Sirius just physically couldn’t stop himself, everyone else had been ignoring it for weeks—the skeptically raised eyebrows changing into almost knowing looks. They’d all been silently watching.

Him and you, you and him.

How essentially overnight, Remus had become one of the people he used to openly scoff at, roll his eyes as if they’d fallen into some sort of trap that was only obvious to him. To his friends shock and relief, their dear old Moony, was not as immune to you as he’d made out to be.

Now, if anything, it seemed that he was more affected than anyone else, walking you from the slytherin common room, to the great hall, and back again—visiting you multiple times a day when you were working in the hospital wing. The complete 180 in the way he reacts to you, a sigh of relief when he sees you enter the room, rather than the erking gut reaction he had before.

And even as discrete as Remus has tried to be, he was unable to escape Lily’s watchful eye—having caught glimpses of a few Bloodsuckers rolling a round in the bottom of his bag.

It literally wasn’t even as secret as this point.

But, apparently unbeknownst to Sirius and Sirius alone, there had been an unspoken agreement: do not acknowledge it. Which explained why, the moment the words left his mouth, the entire table fell into a stunned silence.

A silence Sirius was still exactly one beat behind.

The ghost of a smirk still playing on his lips, Sirius barely had time to register James’ foot swinging under the table before—

“Ow! Bloody—fuck—” He doubled over, forehead colliding with the hard wood of the table.

By the time he pried his eyes open from the sharp sting of pain, everyone was staring at him with identical looks of disbelief, as if he were the idiot in the situation.

Raising his hands in surrender, he huffed, utterly perplexed by the turn of events.

“What?! So we’re all just supposed to act like it’s normal that one minute he hates her and the next he’s so far up her arse he could whisper in her ear?!”

At the very least, Sirius expected someone to back him up. James, maybe, because he was always on about Remus being a hypocrite. Or Marlene , who at least had the good sense to find humor in all of this.

But no.

Instead, James pinched the bridge of his nose like he was battling a migraine, Marlene muttered something that sounded suspiciously like for Merlin’s sake, Black, and Lily was just avoiding eye contact altogether, suddenly very interested in buttering her toast.

And Remus—Remus just sighed. That slow, patient sigh that meant he was this close to losing his temper, but he was doing that thing where he convinced himself he was above it.

“Pads,” he said, voice clipped, “I swear to God—”

“No, no, sorry,” Sirius cut in, straightening up despite the throbbing ache in his shin. “Am I the only one who remembers how you used to look at her like she’d burst into flames if you kept staring? How you’d turn green when she walked in the room?”

Across from him, James let out a sharp, incredulous breath. “Are you actually daft?”

Sirius just ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

He looked to Lily, hoping for a shred of backup, but the traitor was still focused on her toast. He turned to Marlene, but she just gave him a wide-eyed look that screamed drop it, Black.

He turned back to Remus, who was now very pointedly stirring his tea, as though pretending he wasn’t the center of attention would make Sirius forget the absolute insanity happening right in front of him.

“I hated her?” Remus repeated blandly, finally looking up. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

Sirius let out a laugh. Loud, disbelieving, scandalized.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he mocked. “What would you call it, then? Casual disdain? Deep-rooted, undiagnosed allergic reaction? Because I distinctly remember you not being able to stand within a three-foot radius of her without looking like you were about to be sick.”

At that, Remus’ jaw ticked. It was barely there, the kind of reaction only someone who knew him well would notice. But Sirius did notice, and so did James, and it was definitely why James suddenly went stiff beside him.

A beat of silence.

Before he could go off—before the tightness in his jaw and the twitch in his fingers could escalate into something actual. Just as the inevitable explosion was about to happen, Sirius bracing himself for the verbal annihilation that was surely coming—there was a sudden shift in the room.

You walked into the Great Hall, oblivious to the absolute war zone you were unknowingly interrupting.

Just barely brushing past him as you made your way to your seat, as always, Pandora on one arm, lolly in your mouth—as normal as ever.

It was nothing. Just a fleeting moment. The soft whoosh of your robes as you passed behind Remus, your fingers lightly skimming the back of his chair in a casual, absentminded way. Barely even a touch.

But it was immediate.

Remus’ shoulders relaxed. His hand, which had been clenched into a tight fist against his thigh, uncurled. The sharpness in his jaw eased, the tension around his mouth smoothing into something effortless.

He didn’t even turn his head. Didn’t watch as you crossed the hall to your usual table, settling in without a second thought.

But Sirius saw it all.

He saw the way Remus exhaled, slow and steady. Saw the way his fingers twitched slightly—like maybe they wanted to follow where you’d been. Saw the way, without even realizing it, Remus tracked your presence out of the corner of his eye before returning to his tea like nothing had happened.

Sirius gawked.

“You have got to be kidding me.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but the disbelief in it was palpable.

James cleared his throat, poorly disguising a smirk as he reached for the pumpkin juice.

“Pads,” he said, in a tone that was dangerously close to condescending, “I’d drop it if I were you.”

Sirius snapped his head toward him, scandalized.

“Did you see that?” Voice whispered, eyes gesturing wildly at Remus, who was now painfully composed, stirring his tea with the patience of a saint. “She brushed past him, and suddenly he’s a bloody monk! He was about to rip my head off, and now look at him—he’s practically floating.”

James just shrugged, taking a sip from his goblet. “Yeah, mate,” he whispered still, far too amused. Only mouthing his next words, in hopes to not break the peace—“We know.”

Remus quite literally looked as though he’d reached enlightenment, comfortable in letting himself ignore everything else around him.

He didn’t think it was weird how, as of late, his mind often wondered to you.

It seemed only natural really, you were more affected by him because of his condition, and he was more affected by you. Guessing that this was how everyone felt this whole time, drawn to you all the time—presence undeniably addicting.

Yeah. It made sense to him. A perfectly reasonable explanation.

That’s why he felt absolutely no way about having found himself in the hospital wing, yet again. Clearly once he’d been sucked into your orbit, there was no escaping—completely unavoidable, not that Remus was complaining.

You could smell him from a mile away, not even turning away from your station—

"Hello, Remus," you mused, setting down a tray of fresh bandages. "What is it this time?"

Remus hummed, glancing down at his hands like he needed to double-check. "Not sure yet. Give me a moment, I'll think of something."

Even during the hustle and bustle of the hospital wing, multitasking as he perched on the edge of an empty bed, silently observing your movements.

You were good company.

That was all the reason he needed.

All that mattered was the way the steady hum of your presence started to settled something deep in his bones, the way the corners of your mouth twitched in quiet amusement whenever your eyes caught his—half-exasperated, half-knowing.

Rolling your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. "You do know this isn’t a common room, right?"

Remus exhaled a slow breath, something curling warm and weightless in his chest. "Strange," he said, tilting his head. "Feels like one."

You gave him a look, but he could tell from the slight twitch of your lips that you were trying not to smile. "Unbelievable," you muttered, shaking your head. "Well, since you're so comfortable, you might as well make yourself useful."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

You turned away, reaching for the large pile of freshly folded bedding, before handing it to him. “Put these on top of the cabinet in the corner, since you’re clearly in no rush to leave."

He took the pile without hesitation, fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent something sharp and fleeting through him—odd, but not unpleasant. Not anything worth thinking about.

"Mm. Of course." Using his height to his advantage, placing them with ease. As much as he wanted to trail after you as you moved around the ward, he’d already been told—several times—that if he wished to stay, he needed to stay out of the way.

Even if he wanted to help it, he couldn’t. There was a pull to you, a presence that drew in attention in ways both subtle and impossible to ignore.

As much as it was special—it’s not something unique to him, at least. You had that effect on everyone.

Rather unfortunately actually.

Not everyone who was drawn to you, was quite as pleasant as Remus. You had a feeling he would come, saunter in—unbelievable high and mighty, friends trailing behind him.

Remus was still sitting on the empty bed, reading, as you packed up the last few things—only fifteen minutes left before the end of your shift. That’s why he was waiting, having fallen into the habit of walking you back to the common room—supposedly because ‘company wouldn’t hurt’.

The sharp inhale that left your lips had him sitting up straight immediately—alert.

“You okay?” Already walking over to where you stood, face twisted into an expression of concern, you simply shook your head—mumbling “Yes”.

Still training your gaze downwards, eyes almost twitching and lips pressed into a thin line. Then he heard them, not too far from the entrance—obnoxiously loud, howling laughter accompanying.

A clear grimance was stuck on your face now, placing a hand on his chest as you finally raised your eyes from the tray of empty vials you’d been sorting.

“Let me handle this, okay?” Voice suddenly hushed, hand lightly pushing him to sit in the far corner, out of sight. He didn’t protest, walking backwards in the direction you motioned him, despite the look of confusion, only asking—

“What? What’s the matter—“

You cut him off completely, practically pleading while you backed away to close him into the bay, brows knit high.

“Just promise you’ll stay here? Please?”

When he finally nodded, you shut the curtains behind you, taking in a final deep breath before plastering the most polite smile you could muster on your face.

It made you want to physically shrink into yourself, the arrogant, smug smirk his lips curled into when he saw you—as jarring as ever.

Avery.

Closely followed by Malfoy and Mulciber. Pathetic really, the lot of them. Walking around as if they were Heaven’s gift to earth, like they graced the presence of everyone they’d met. Fragile, weak men, who so clearly took pleasure in the discomfort they caused others.

So self-important and big headed that they can’t fathom the idea of rejection.

Because you had, in fact, rejected him.

But Avery was relentless—so used to being the one doing the discarding, so accustomed to having others scramble for his approval—he’d not taken it well.

You had tried patience. You had tried politeness. But it was becoming increasingly clear that neither would get you very far.

He leaned against the nearest bedframe, all mock ease and arrogance, his lips twisting into a grin that sent a fresh wave of repulsion through your stomach, setting uncomfortably beneath your ribs.

"Merlin, love," he drawled, letting his gaze drag down your figure, lingering far too long in places that made the surface of your skin crawl. "You really shouldn't be wasting your time in a place like this." He tutted, shaking his head in exaggerated pity. "What a shame—a pretty thing like you, running around cleaning up after other people's messes. Bet you could be doing something much more...suitable for a girl like you."

Malfoy and Mulciber chuckled under their breath, the former nudging Avery's shoulder as if egging him on.

"Shame she's not taking any applicants," Mulciber added with a grin. "Not officially, anyway."

Spine becoming taut, you didn’t even try hide the way your expression visibly distorted into disgusted frown.

Avery’s grin widened, his tone dropping into something lower, more vile. "Come on, sweetheart. I know you’ve got better things to do than play nursemaid to a bunch of useless sods," he said, stepping forward. "That uniform—" He whistled, dragging his eyes over you like you were something to be had. "Merlin—makes a man wonder, doesn't it?"

Roughly dropping the empty vial he’d been fiddling with back into the tray—"Bet you'd be a real treat with a bit less of it on."

The pressure in your jaw from the clench sent sharp pangs through your skull, stomach twisting.

"Shame, though," Avery continued, completely ignoring your stiffened posture, "a bird like you, wasting away in a place like this when you could be spending your time with someone who can show you a good one, a real man."

"Yeah?" you deadpanned. "Where would I find one of those?"

Mulciber let out an obnoxious bark of laughter, while Avery's smirk wavered for the briefest moment before he recovered.

"Feisty," he mused, tilting his head, eyes glinting with something nasty and superior. "I like that."

Knuckles white, fingers numb—you were sure your nails had drawn blood from their harsh digging into your palms.

"But let’s be honest, love," Avery continued, stepping even closer, his voice taking a somewhat conspiratorial cadance. "A girl like you—" He clicked his tongue. "I know what you really are. You act all high and mighty, like you’re better than us. But I reckon if I just—" He reached out toward you, fingers brushing against the fabric of your sleeve. "Pushed a little, you’d fold like the rest of them."

That was it.

"Right," you said, voice cold and even. "If you haven't got anything wrong with you, feel free to leave. I've already given you my answer." Snatching your arm away from him as though he was something filthy—purposefully dusting off where his fingers had been with a loud, “ugh,”

It was painfully silent, and for a moment Avery didn’t move.

His smirk vanished.

Its replacing expression, something ugly, almost unhinged—filled with malice, his nostrils flared as your words, your viseral reaction set in.

"Right," he sneered, stepping even closer, until there was barely a breath between you. "Of course. Because you think you're too good for me, don’t you?"

You stood your ground, not moving an inch—but the fury radiating from him was palpable.

"Don’t you?" he repeated, louder this time, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, puffed out as if to make you cower before him.

A dramatic sigh passed your lips, head rolling over your shoulders—when you looked back at him, an almost devious smirk played on your lips and with a condescending, feigned sympathetic coo, you responded.

“Yeah…I do.”

And that’s what really did it.

Avery’s lips curled into something vicious, eyes narrowing.

"It would be real unfortunate if something happened to that pretty little face of yours," he murmured, voice mockingly sweet but dripping with spite, his finger suddenly reaching up—so light, so deceptively gentle as he brushed a loose strand of hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. You began physically recoling away from his touch, but his fingers gripped the bottom of your jaw—holding you in place, "Seeing as that’s all you really have."

A hand clamped down over his wrist.

It happened so fast—one moment, Avery was inches from you, the next, he was yanked back, spun around so fast that his head barely caught up before he was staring at the broad chest of someone towering over him.

Remus.

He wasn’t angry.

No—anger was too simple, too small.

He was seething.

His grip on Avery’s wrist was bruising, his knuckles white with the pressure. His expression, usually so composed, so calm, was something terrifyingly unreadable.

"You’re a sick bastard, you know that?" Remus finally said, voice eerily smooth—so quiet it sent a shiver of something primal down everyone’s spine.

“Pestering a girl who’s already rejected you, and when that doesn’t work, you threaten her? Because your fragile ego couldn’t stomach the idea of her not wanting you?”

Avery sneered, yanking his arm, but Remus didn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightened.

“You’re a sick little boy with nothing to offer,” Remus continued, slow and deliberate, his voice dripping with disgust.

“I mean, it’s no wonder no one wants you—you’re a pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Avery’s face turned red—not just with fury, but humiliation. His eyes flickered to Malfoy and Mulciber, both of whom had stepped back ever so slightly, watching with careful amusement, not stepping in. The muscles in Avery’s jaw ticked. His free hand twitched, curling into a fist.

Remus didn’t so much as blink.

The cracking, whining sound of the hospital wing doors is all that was heard.

“What on earth is all this commotion?!”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp voice cut through the ward, almost bouncing—echoing violently off the walls, her stern expression making even Malfoy stand a little straighter. She narrowed her eyes, gaze flicking between each of you before they landed on Avery.

Yanking his arm from Remus’ grasp, stepping back with a sneer.

"If you’re not sick, you’ve got no business being here," she snapped. "Out—the lot of you!"

Avery was still enraged, but he knew better than to argue.

"Disgraceful," Madam Pomfrey muttered under her breath as she turned to you, her hand coming onto you shoulder with a soft pat. "You’re dismissed for the evening, dear. Go on and get some rest."

You exhaled slowly through your nose, lips still pursed into a thin line, nodding.

But just as you turned to leave, Avery leaned in just close enough for only you to hear, voice low and dark.

"You’ll regret this," he murmured.

Then, with one last glare at Remus, he turned on his heel and stalked out, Malfoy and Mulciber following close behind.

You still hadn’t moved from behind your station, lost in deep thought, goosebumps still raised on your neck from Avery’s vile touch—the blood beneath your skin felt warm, too warm and buzzing with something you’d only describe as fury.

Gaze still fixed on an unimportant spot of the floor, the agitation seemed to only swell, invasive—inevitable, its just that you couldn’t believe it.

The audacity, the nerve, and on top of that; you let him get to you, knowing he relishes in the rise, knowing—

Warmth and a gentle hand, ghosting over your spine is what broke your chain of thought, you could still feel the skin of your cheeks internally burning. If it was anyone else, you would have flinched away, but, it was Remus.

He didn’t say anything at first, just let his hand settle lightly against the small of your back, grounding. You finally took the steps to remove your dressings, hanging them by the doors—still warmed by the heat radiating from his palm.

A silent question, a quiet offering of comfort.

You exhaled, long and slow, willing away the leftover tension still coiled in your muscles. It didn’t work. Barely having made it half way through the walk to the common room, almost trudging to a stop—footsteps getting heavier the further you walked.

“That was—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head as a humorless huff left your lips. “Unbelievable.”

Remus’ fingers twitched against your back, the only sign of the anger still simmering beneath his composed exterior.

“I’m sorry you had to deal with that, you didn’t deserve it,” His voice was even, comforting but still slightly strained, turning the last corner before reaching the dungeon, he pressed further—“You know that, right?”

Pausing outside the common room door, you nodded, rolling your shoulders as if that would shake off the lingering filth Avery had left in his wake.

“I know,” you muttered. “Doesn’t make it feel any less disgusting.”

Remus didn’t respond right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with words. Instead, his hand slipped from its place on your back, pulling you in lightly by your wrists towards him. Engulfing you completely, arms firmly wrapped out you, anchoring—when you lifted your head to look at him, he was already looking down at you. Eyes swimming with sympathy and unspoken words of compassion that just escaped him.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured, searching his face. “Step in like that.”

The way his brows furrowed made it seem as though the thought had never even occurred to him.

“Of course, I did.” The answer was simple, final, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And to him, it was.

You studied his face for a little while longer, the look in his eyes so unbareably fond, it had the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end—you forced yourself to look away shaking your head, the ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of your lips.

Just the glimpse of your smile had a small twinge of pride blooming in Remus’ chest—unable to avoid the way his lips mirrored yours, forming a crooked one. Having felt the tension in your shoulders melt away, the way you comfortably tilted your head up at him again—a soft, sincere “Thank you,” resting in the air between you, he allowed himself to relax.

Ever so slowly, reluctantly, you were putting space between you, arm trailing down his as you walked backwards towards to door, drawing out the seconds so you could absorb his warmth just that bit longer.

“You don’t have to thank me,”

Still basking in the lasting grip of his hand on yours, arms stretching out and away from both your bodies, inching painstakingly back—”I know,”—the words were soft, airy—fingertips just barely connecting now, eyes locked with his.

The heavy sound and creeking of the door, is all that hung between you for a few long moments, both still savouring the last whisps of skin on skin—until your back was pressed against the door, a lazy smile spread across you lips, breathing out—”Goodnight, Remus,” before finally disappearing behind the cold metal.

Not even moments after you were out of his sight, he sighed, almost dreamily—fingertips still buzzing from your touch, he ran a hand through his already messy hair, letting it drag down the side of his face. Settling on his lips, still stretched into a cheesy grin as he started his walk back to his common room.

After that day, Remus somehow found a way to make sure you were rarely alone, always with you on your shifts, putting imperative effort into essentially escorting you around the castle—its not that he thought you couldn’t handle yourself.

It was that Avery was notoriously cruel and twisted on his own, but with the added encouragement of his entourage, and the burning desire Remus knew he had to defend his bruised ego.

It felt necessary to him.

He’d been so thorough, that even as the full moon came and went—Lily had coincidentally taken the time to join you before the end of your shift, grabbing dinner in the great hall every night that Remus was away. You were almost never alone.

Almost.

To and from classes, it became a bit harder to ensure you had company. But quite frankly you weren’t convinced it was necessary at all. It’s not just that you weren’t particularly fond of people taking time out of their day to get you from point A to point B.

It’s that you didn’t even believe Avery was actually going to do anything, it had been almost two weeks and he still had yet to utter a single word to you. Apart from the occassional glare from across the great hall—Avery’s little threat had been relatively harmless.

You didn’t even grant him the satisfaction of acknowledgement as you walked by him and his friends while they sat on a bench in the courtyard. And even as another snide and vulgar remark reached your ears, you continued to where you needed to—completely unfazed.

Though, it did make the grip you had on your textbooks, that tad bit tighter. Taking in a deep breath, you told yourself—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

It seemed that Avery was a bit of an opportunist, waiting for the right time to jab at you, waiting until you were alone.

One after the other, they hopped off the bench—trailing after you, the scuff of boots against the dry ground, the low murmurs of laughter that sent a wave of irritation down your spine. It was calculated—deliberate, the sun was low, casting long shadows across the courtyard—students milled about in the distance, not too many, just enough.

“Going somewhere, sweetheart?” Avery’s voice was deceptively light, laced with the same condescension that it dripped the last time. “You’ve been awfully rude, you know. Ignoring me like that.”

You sighed through your nose, forcing your steps to remain even—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

A presence at your side. Another just behind. You were surrounded, their shadows stretching long under the fading sunlight.

“I’m busy, Avery—don’t you have a stone to kick or something.”

His smirk twitched, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw his fingers flex like he was resisting the urge to grab you. “You know,” he said, voice all mock thoughtfulness, “I wasn’t going to let you get away with what happened in the hospital wing.”

That made you stop.

The words dug under your skin, prickling, burning, unrelenting—you turned sharply, finally looking him in the eye.

Avery smiled, slow and victorious, relishing in the reaction.

“That’s more like it,” he murmured, taking a deliberate step closer.

The urge to wipe that smug, entitled look off his face clawed at your insides.

“Oh, so that’s what this is about?” you said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think you’re being gracious, do you? Letting me ‘get away with it’? What, so I’m supposed to thank you for your mercy?”

Avery’s smirk twisted.

“Wouldn’t kill you to show a little gratitude,” he mused, eyes flicking down your body with a slow, assessing gaze had you fighting every urge to not simply swing at him. “You’ve been walking around here like you’re above people. You ought to be taught a lesson.”

He took a step closer, a sick, dread beginning to pool in the pits of your stomach, fingers twitching for your wand—you’re above it, you’re better than them.

“That uniform of yours,” he murmured, tilting his head like he was considering something. “You have to know what it does, don’t you? Little skirt, all dolled up like you’re just begging for attention.”

Eyes darkened with something vile.

“Though I suppose you’re already getting plenty of attention, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Flitting around in that little thing, acting all innocent, when we both know what you are.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough to make it invasive.

“Lupin have you playing nurse, is that it? Bet he just loves having you at his bedside, don’t you, sweetheart?” His voice dropped lower. “Bet you wouldn’t even have to ask to get on your knees for him.”

You’d finally had enough, completely disgarding your textbooks to the floor as your shoved him back aggressively. The heated argument erupting in no time—vexed and roaring, “All this bitching because one girl doesn’t want you—pathetic!” You almost didn’t recognise your own voice, shrill, abrupt, nasty.

Words violent and clashing against his, boiling and sharp, insults spewing, slicing through the once peaceful air of the courtyard. A few heads turned, a few onlookers slowing their steps as the tension grew thick, simmering with something electric, something dangerous.

It was the principle, you refused to back down.

Refused to let him win.

And when the venom on your tongue reached its peak, when you could no longer stand the sight of his smug, entitled face—taking a step back, face twisted and scrunched into a look a revolt, while you surveyed him. Eyes scanning from head to toe, you let out a loud, bellowing incredulous laugh before spitting, “You’re not even worth it, Avery. Infact, you’re a waste of time and good air,”

Then you turned away.

Disregarding—dismissed him like he was nothing.

The sharp crack of an insult, a curse from Avery’s lips, venomous and unchecked.

And that was when it happened.

You heard the whisper of fabric, the flick of a wrist—the fizzling hiss of magic.

The moment was barely a fraction of a second, having put just enough space between you, there was time—you’d be quick enough to deflect it—the hex. Every instinct, every reflex kicking and screaming to do so, to move, fight back before it hit you.

But—there were just too many people.

Too many bodies standing in your proximity, too many possible targets, too much risk of having someone else caught in the crossfire. Enough time to deflect, not enough to redirect—you’d have no control over where it would go, you didn’t even hear the curse he muttered, no chance of knowing what it could do, no control of who it could hit.

So you made a choice, bracing yourself, every muscle of your being constricting, becoming taut.

You took it—biting into your lip as the awful, searing burn of the spell made contact with your back, the impact making you seize up even further, hurtling forwards, upwards.

The world around you blurred, spun—then—

Stone.

A sickening crack as the side of your body collided with the hard stone of the courtyard walls, ribs taking the brunt of the impact, before you bounced off it, gravity pulling you down. Slamming against the firm ground with a dull thud.

At some point, Regulus has caught sight of the commotion and was already running to the great hall in search for his brother—who would without a doubt be with Remus.

Pain exploded through your side, agonising, blooming mercilessly with every breath, every slight movement. The sharp stinging throb of your ribs, your lungs burning as the weight of every inhale pressed against the bones—each one more of a struggle than the last.

Curling in to yourself, hand desperately clutching at your side—eyes squeezed shut, the world sounded so distant, muffled, the first thing you register was the silence—all you could feel was the small shards of grass brushing against the side of your cheek with each shaking tremble of your body.

Then, a second later—murmurs. A ripple of shocked voices.

A small crowd had formed, hesitant, concerned, a voice was so close but so far away you wouldn’t make it out over the gurgling, rushing sound that floated between your ears—instictively raising a hand, a signal—stay away.

Barely hearing the sharp gasp from somewhere in the distance—the sound of loud panicked footsteps—running. Unsure of how much time you’d spent laying there—only disturbed by the way the footsteps made your body shake as they got closer, you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge the desperate calls of what you thought might have been your name.

Hand coming into contact with something hard and hot—trying to push it away, it was all too much and you were still—the pain of movement so overbearing. Pushing through the crowd, his heart rested firmly in the pits of his stomach at the sight of you—fragile, just a small mass of robes, folded into yourself.

Eerily similar to that morning two moons ago.

He scooped you up quickly, despite the weak and pitiful protest that left your lips, the heartbeat that was now pressed close to your ear was mildly soothing—familiar.

Remus.

Each one of his rushed jolting strides made the stabbing pain in your side more noticeable, and though the voices blurred and blended into eachother, you could make out three, maybe four other sets of rushed footsteps behind you.

A mild, faintly sweet smell of anti-bacterial filled your nostrils, the hospital wing. Even in his panic, you could recognise the overly catious, gentle way Remus set you down on bed—still pained whimpers spilled from your lips, once again curling in on yourself.

Pomfrey’s voice was sharp and alarmed, bringing you ever so slighty back into the room, she was telling, no asking something, and Regulus’ voice chimed in.

“It was Avery, he hexed her while her back was turned—coward.”

You could feel the heat of Remus’ hand on your back, trying to sooth you, calm the injured groans that you couldn’t hold in. And as Pomfrey’s gentle hand came to move yours from their desperate grasp on your side, you squirmed away—cracking an eye open as another wave a pain radiated through your body.

She shushed you, voiced becoming more tender and quiet—”You have to let me see, dear,”

Slowly, reluctantly, you withdrew your hands, breaths becoming more shallow with each moment, and as she lifted the hem of your shirt, revealing your skin, a chorus of horrified gasps sounded around you.

Your side adorned with dark splotches of red and black and blue surrounding the area, streaking up your side in cruel, uneven smears. The skin was swollen, raised in places where the bone had set *wrong—*a clear distorted, raised bump peaking at the side. Flinching sharply at the prodding touch Pomfrey pressed into you, hands gripping the sides of the bed in restraint.

“Oh dear,” The grave tone in which she spoke did not give Remus the sense of comfort he was looking for, brows knit high on his forehead, and like the others, gaze transfixed on the huge blossoming mark on your side.

She turned in a flurry of motion, disappearing behind the curtain only to reappear moments later, her expression unreadable but urgent.

They waited anxiously to be in the know. Barely minutes had passes since your arrival, and a sobering silence had already hung in the ward, the only audible sound was you.

The laboured, heaves and cries you struggled to contain.

No one spoke.

Lily and James stood stiffly at the foot of the bed, their worried eyes darting between you and Pomfrey. Regulus was deathly still, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Finally, after multiple rounds to and from the cabinet Pomfrey, took the first of three vials and put a few drops of the cloudy white liquid under your tongue, doing the same with a few more drops from a vial with green liquid—it must have been foul tasting from the way your body stiffened with a small retch. With a deep breath, she announced to them—

"This is nasty business," she said, voice low, steady. "I’ll need you to hold her down."

Remus’ head snapped up.

"What?"

His hand had come up to your head, stoking the hair that had stuck to your face away—sweat prickling at your hairline.

Pomfrey didn’t hesitate.

“She has a broke rib, it’s healing in the wrong position,” her hands her already moving to press against the swelling at your side, even as you twisted in agony, she continued,

“I need to re-break the bone.”

Eyes nearly popped out of his head, heartbeat ringing loud in his ears—though still not loud enough to drown out the constant shallowed, wheezes that left you, littered with moans of distress that got weaker as the seconds passed—your lungs struggled to fill with enough air to support your voice.

Re-break the bone.

It sounded so clinical, so matter-of-fact, so detached from the reality of what it actually meant.

Your breaths were coming too shallow, too fast, your vision slightly spotting at the edges. The sharp, stabbing ache in your ribs with each inhale made it impossible to breathe properly. Every tiny movement sent daggers through your body, the weight of it all crushing.

“But she’s still awake,” James whispered mostly to himself, soft, quiet—but everyone still heard.

The words rattled around in your skull, sinking past layers of pain and exhaustion, now, you were panicking, hand frantically clawing up Remus’ forearm.

“We don’t have time to wait for a sleeping potion to work, it’s already healing as we speak.”

Your vision was blurry, but you could feel Remus’ hand against your forehead, could hear the barely restrained emotion in his voice.

“Shhh, it’ll be over soon,” What else could he have said?

There was nothing he could do.

Nothing anyone could do but hold you down and watch.

It needed to be done, you understood that, but it didn’t make your next words any easier to say, every syllable a struggle against your fractured ribs, “Do it now—,”

Pomfrey nodded.

James and Regulus hesitated for only a second before stepping forward, grim-faced, exchanging silent glances before reaching for you.

James’ hands found your shoulders, firm but careful, his grip like iron. Regulus settled by your legs, a single hand pressed against your thigh, his face etched with a deep frown—your pain so clear, so raw he couldn’t look at you. Lily hovered just beside him, her fingers twitching at her sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for you herself.

And then there was Remus.

His hands were steady, one gripping yours tightly, the other resting against your head, his thumb brushing against your temple in slow, comforting strokes, feeling truly tormented—harsh wrinkles between his brows as he winced with you. Dreading the idea that you will now know of a pain so awful and familiar to him.

Pomfrey took a deep breath—"On three."

Your own breath caught by the lump in your throat.

"One.”

Gripping on Remus tighter, gaze fearful as it fell on him.

"Two."

Your body tensed, finally screwing your eyes shut, forcing the brewing tears out the corners, instinctively bracing—

"Three."

The crack was sickening.

But the sound that followed was much much worse.

Your jaw slacked releasing a truly blood-curdling, tortured, harrowing, an ear-splitting scream—it ripped through your throat, hoarse and choked, resonating through the ward with an echo.

A pain unlike anything you’d ever known exploded through your side, hot and sharp, rattling up your spine and everywhere. It felt like being torn in half, deep and intense. Your body tried to arch away, escape the splittering agony that set every nerve on fire, but James held you down, gritting his teeth as you thrashed weakly against him.

Only able to focus on the reorganising of bones at your side, the low grinding and shifting sound you heard from within yourself.

A fresh wave of agony struck—white-hot and blinding—and suddenly, you weren’t sure how much longer you could stay awake, head lolling in clear delirium, vision blurring, blackening at the edges, sob ridden whimpers and hiccups still tumbling out between wheezes, your grasp on Remus faltering.

Your vision tunneled, black at the edges, fading—

"Stay with me, y/n,” he **whispered, voice raw—wrecked, laced with something aching. "You’re okay."

You didn’t believe him.

The slow and gentle soothing, lulling stroke of his palms over your hair matched the pattern his fingertips ghosted over your hand, fingers intertwined—he held your hand close, pressed to his chest as if letting you go would mean losing you completely.

Still reeling from the pain, nerve endings on fire, all you could muster the strength to produce was one word, weak and unsteady—”Remus?”

Pomfrey worked quickly again, pressing another vial to your lips, the taste barely registering past the burning in your chest—applying a large bandage coated in medicinal ointment to your side. Remus took the small towel by the bedside, softly dabbing off the beads of sweat that remained on your forehead—

"Breathe, love," he murmured, voice soft as silk, but no less urgent. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

Your lungs shuddered—staggering at the effort, the air thick, heavy, impossible to take in. But you tried. The worst of it dwindled away, not gone, not by a long shot—but enough for the unbearable pressure to settle into something dull, something that no longer consumed everything.

Your body went slack.

Regulus let out a long, slow breath.

James loosened his grip, rubbing a hand over his face.

And Remus—His legs almost gave out beneath him, barely able to swallow the lump in his throat as he took a deep breath for the first time in what felt like forever, and he leaned in closer—the idea of continued space between you was basphemous.

No one spoke.

For a long moment, the only sound in the ward was the shallow, uneven rhythm of your breaths.

"It will heal properly now," she said, her voice more gentle than before, but edged with a small tinge of relief, “I slowed her healing, so the pain will linger for a few days. She’ll need rest.”

Then she was gone, disappearing behind the curtain, leaving the rest of them standing around your bed, and Remus—he only stared at you, his thumb still absentmindedly tracing the back of your hand, eyes running over your exhausted figure, eyes clearly heavy with the grueling after effects of your ordeal.

A long silence stretched between you.

Letting out a slow, jagged, painful inhale, tongue darting out to wet your dry lips to no avail—it was hushed and raw, “Water,”

Remus all but scrambled to get the small metal cup by the bedside, gently slipping a hand under your neck to tilt your head forward—helping you take a few sips. The others all just watch the scene unfolding infront of them, the comfortable way you leaned into Remus’ touch, the unnecessarily fond and tender look in his eyes as he instinctively dotes on you. How his hand trailed back to yours, drawn in to it like a magnet.

Lily couldn’t help the small knowing smile that twitched onto her lips.

Then, the heavy wooden doors of the hospital wing slammed open abrupty with a force that rattled the glass vials on Pomfrey’s shelves.

Everyone’s heads snapped up.

Sirius stood in the entrance, his chest rising and falling with sharp, heavy breaths, his knuckles raw and split. His robes were disheveled, streaked with dirt and something darker, something red. And in his grasp, dragged by the scruff of his collar, was none other than Avery.

Or, at least, what was left of him.

Avery was battered—face swollen, a deep gash running from his cheekbone down to his jaw, lip split so severely that blood had seeped into his teeth. His robes were torn, dirt and grime smeared across the fabric, and his wand—his precious, useless wand—was nowhere to be seen.

Sirius took a few steps forward, his grip tight on Avery’s collar, until they were just a few paces away from your cot.

And with a sharp jerk, he threw Avery to the floor.

The Slytherin crumpled like a ragdoll, landing in a heap at the foot of your bed, groaning as his battered body hit the stone.

Pomfrey gasped, hand flying to her chest.

"What on earth—"

But Sirius wasn’t listening.

He stood over Avery, hands curling into fists at his sides, his entire body still taut with adrenaline. For a long, stretched-out moment, he simply stared at the boy on the ground, nostrils flaring with every furious breath, as if daring him to move. Then, voice low and seething, Sirius asked,

"Haven’t you have something to say?"

The room was silent.

Avery coughed, his body shuddering with the effort.

Straining yourself to move further up the bed—you watched with everyone, every breath rattling in your lungs, eyes dark and cold.

Avery hesitated for a second too long, and Sirius moved—a single, sharp step forward, hands twitching, still ready to rip him apart.

"Alright!" Avery wheezed, flinching back. "Alright!"

The silence stretched thick.

"I did it—I hexed her!"

The words came out weak, broken, almost panicked—pathetic.

Sirius said nothing, only raised a brow, unimpressed.

Avery swallowed hard, shifting painfully on the floor.

"I’m sorry."

There it was.

Sirius still didn’t speak, just watched him, waiting—the digust dripping off of the scrowl that sat on his face.

"He—" Avery’s voice cracked, shaking violently as he forced himself to continue, "—he didn’t do anything to me. I just…" His throat bobbed, his entire face twisted in humiliation. "I just walked into the Whomping Willow."

James was grinning now, shaking his head in mock pity. "Wow. That’s just—" he let out a low whistle, "—real unlucky, mate."

Sirius smirked, slow and dangerous.

But Remus wasn’t smiling.

He was staring at Avery, his face unreadable, his grip on your hand still firm but not tight. He hadn’t said a single word since Sirius arrived, hadn’t moved a muscle—just watching.

Sirius took a deep breath, exhaling sharply as he rolled out his shoulders, like he was only just calming down from whatever happened before he’d stormed into the ward.

Then, crouching down so he was eye level with Avery, he grinned.

"You should consider yourself lucky," he mused, voice dangerously casual, "because if it were up to him?" He tilted his head, nodding over to Remus, smile sharp and positively wolfish. "You wouldn’t be conscious right now."

Avery’s entire body shuddered.

Sirius only chuckled darkly, clapping him on the shoulder—hard enough to make him flinch.

“Off with you now, before Remus decides to be less forgiving,”

Avery swallowed thickly, glancing toward the matron—who, while still clearly appalled, had her arms rigidly crossed but was making no move to defend him. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself off the floor, every movement making him wince. And then—without another word—he turned and limped toward the exit, humiliated beyond belief.

The moment the doors shut behind him, a collective breath was released.

Remus turned his attention back to you, the anger that previously blazed in his eyes melting away in seconds, another smaller, more comfortable silence lulled over the ward. Sirius turning, and as he took the last few steps toward your bed, looking you up and down, taking in the way you were still clutching weakly at your ribs, holding onto Remus, he let out a breath, asking—

"You alright?"

The very corners of your lips curled, twitching up every so slightly as you huffed out a choked snicker, and though it was cut off by a sharp hiss—you were clearly amused. Letting your head fall back tiredly with—”I’m alright, much better now,”

Pomfrey slipped through the curtains again, and while she changed the small now sweat ridden towel by your bed, refilling the water, she said—

"I assume I don’t need to tell any of you to let her sleep."

She eyed the group pointedly.

James had the decency to look sheepish. Lily nodded. Regulus said nothing, but his arms were crossed, as Sirius rested his elbow on his shoulder—the usual indifference returning.

But Remus, he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand away—you looked so tired, probably wanted some rest, but he was frozen in place, stuck by your side.

Pomfrey sighed.

"Fine," she muttered, almost to herself, "just don’t let me catch you keeping her awake."

He let out a sigh of relief as she left, the others slowly filtering out, Lily giving your hand a comforting tight squeeze as she left. Remus pulled his chair up closer, allowing his body to lean slightly on the bed, just watching you eyes full of worry.

It was slowly and shaky, but you brought your free hand up to him—he stayed still, watching expectantly for your next movements. Your fingertips threading slightly through his hair in a gentle stroke, pushing it away from his face—mirroring his from before.

But yours slipped down and settled at the base of his neck, fingers still curling around the strands—touch too tender. Eyes scanning his face just as much as his were scanning yours.

“You don’t need to stay here—I’ll be fine for the night,” It came out heavy and mumbled, less convincing than you’d hoped. His face flashed slightly with an almost offended expression, the idea clearly never having crossed his mind.

“I want to stay,”

His words were plain, honest—left little room for protest on your end, but you still tried. And even as your eyes got heavier, sleep weighing heavy on your body—”But you can’t sleep on that chair all night, you’ll break your back,”

A huffed laugh came through his nose, typical crooked smile playing on his lips—”I’ll be fine—”

“Come up here,”

Yours words cut him off, light and simple, and you shuffled over onto your side—lips pursed to hold in a wince, making space for him before he could protest. His eyes just darted between you and the now open space, trying and failing miserably to stutter out an excuse—but the sleepy bored look in your eyes, accompanied with the light pats on the bed made him relent.

Slipping into the bed, careful not to knock you and keeping a safe, meticulous distance from you, you couldn’t help yourself, eyes rolling with a dramatic sigh—”I’m not made of glass, y’know,”

Watching as his form relaxed a bit, taking up more space, you slowly curled into the gap he’d left, drapping the thin cover over you both, humming as you finally closed your eyes. He watched you settle carefully, hesitating before bring an arm around to softly pull you in slightly closer to him, the smile twitched onto his face, when you unconsciously burrowed into him—allowing sleep to over come him too.

The change between you wasn’t instantaneous, nor was it something either of you consciously acknowledged. It was slow, creeping, like ink bleeding through parchment—gradual, yet utterly inescapable.

Because it wasn’t just that night you spent in each other’s comfortable and content company, and though it started with the nights, this was the first of many.

Somewhere along the way, your post-shift routine had shifted. You never really meant to end up in Remus’ dorm every night—it had just happened. One moment, you were finishing up in the library, the next, you were in his bed, limbs tangled lazily, a book forgotten between you as you talked in hushed voices about anything and everything. His sheets smelled faintly of parchment and something woodsy, and without fail, your shoulders, your knees, your arms would brush, a constant, grounding touch that neither of you ever pulled away from.

At some point, you both stopped pretending this was something normal friends did.

Maybe it was the way his fingers always lingered on your wrist when he passed you something, or the way he never failed to have a Bloodsucker rolling around at the bottom of his bag.

It had started as a small thing—insignificant, really. You hadn’t even noticed it at first, not until the third or fourth time it happened.

The first time, it was after a particularly long shift, your legs aching from standing too long, your mind buzzing with exhaustion. You’d barely slumped into your usual seat beside Remus in his common room when he wordlessly reached into his pocket and pulled something out. A small, wrapped sweet.

You had blinked at it, then at him.

“What’s this?”

He shrugged, as if it was nothing. “Thought you could use one.”

Then again between classes, during late-night study sessions, in the middle of a quiet walk back to the dorms—whenever you reached for one absentmindedly, he had one ready, handing it to you without a second thought. He never even looked like he thought about it, just pulled it from his pocket like it was as natural as breathing.

The realization hit one afternoon, sitting across from him in the library, books scattered between you. He passed you a piece of parchment, and along with it, he slid a familiar, wrapped sweet across the table.

You narrowed your eyes at him, picking it up. “Okay, you definitely don’t carry these around for yourself.”

He barely looked up from his book, but the ghost of a smirk played on his lips. “Maybe I just like being prepared.”

“For what?”

Remus finally glanced up, a single brow raised. “For you, obviously.”

Maybe it was the projects—you always ended up partners. Whether it was a conscious decision or just something unspoken between you, you gravitated toward one another like it was inevitable. Like it was meant to be. The others barely batted an eye anymore, rolling their eyes as you took your usual seats together, heads ducked in close as you whispered back and forth, scribbling notes in the margins of each other’s parchment.

Or maybe it was the bookstore.

That trip to Hogsmeade was different. You’d both walked through the cobbled streets, the wind crisp but pleasant, your arms brushing as you made your way toward the small, tucked-away shop Remus had offhandedly mentioned once before. It was his place—somewhere quiet, somewhere his. And yet, he’d brought you.

He watched as your fingers trailed the spines, his own hand brushing over yours as he pointed out his favorites. There was a certain weight in the air, a quiet understanding you both wordlessly acknowledge—both so easily able to find solace in each other, a unspoken harmony—solidarity.

And then there were his nights.

Pomfrey was very understanding when you began to ask to have the days after the full moon off.

You had entered his dorm without knocking—because, by now, you never had to. You expected him to be curled up in bed, exhausted and aching, maybe reading, maybe just resting. Instead, the moment you sat down beside him, he shifted—eyes heavy-lidded, body sluggish, but his arm curled loosely around your waist, his face nudging into the fabric of your jumper.

You barely even hesitated before your fingers found his hair, carding through it with a softness you didn’t even have to think about.

You were there every morning after, pulling the duvet up over his shoulders, murmuring softly as he pressed closer, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sleeve like he needed to feel you near.

And somehow, somehow, the nights you stayed over became less about exhaustion and more about something else.

You weren’t sure when you stopped leaving.

There was no more, “I should go,” no more, “It’s getting late.”

One day, you simply didn’t.

It just took one moment—you were dozing beside him, your legs tucked between his, your cheek pressed into his pillow. The next, you were waking up, his arm draped heavily over your waist, your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. His scent clung to you, warm and familiar, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the soft warmth of him against your back.

It was inevitable.

The stolen glances, the lingering touches—each one more obvious than the last. The shift had been slow, careful, but now it felt like a rope being pulled taut, a thread stretched thin between the two of you, waiting to snap.

The day it did, was so ordinary.

Nothing out of the daily routine for you and Remus—you’d made your way over to his dorm, to keep him company, of course—James and Sirius were off at quidditch practise, leaving just the two of you. Both lying on your backs, sprawled across the bed.

The light music of one of Remus’ records droning on in the back as you listened to the low and steady melody of his voice—reading outloud, you’d have to admit, you weren’t paying as much attention to what he was saying as you were to the light vibrations his words sent through the matress beneath you.

Taking a few moments of near silence for you to realise he’d stopped reading, mumbling out quietly, “Why’d you stop?”, as you turned to look at him—but he was already looking at you. The sudden intensity of his gaze made your breath catch in your throat, but his voice as casual as ever in your ears—”You were falling asleep, that’s why,”

The ghost of a pout reached your lips, lightly defending yourself in feigned offence, “No I wasn’t.”

He huffed out a light scoff, shifting onto his stomach, somehow impossibly closer to you—the breath of his words brushing over the curve of your cheek. One of those crooked smiles that made your chest bloom with an undeniably fuzzy feeling etched onto his face, “If you weren’t falling asleep what did I just say?”

Your lips parted, sucking an inhale as if you were about to answer, but all that came out were stammered stutters of half started words, before you huffed out in defeat—he was already laughing at you. And it shook the bed, making you bounce slightly up and and down in sync with him, it made you giggle—joining and mixing in with his as it echoed off the walls of his dorm.

When it finally quieten down, lazy grins still stretch out on both of your faces, he couldn’t help it—it was second nature at this point, he leaned in closer, fingertips rushing the hair lightly away from your face with a low content hum.

It didn’t make sense, the familiarness of his touch was the same as always, and yet today, it made your mouth so incredibly dry—swallowing thickly as he inched closer and closer. The space between you barely a fingers width.

The sun shone in lightly through the window behind him, giving a small spotlight to the golden brown whisps of curls that framed his face—his eyes were scanning your face, for reluctance, hesitation—anything.

But your expression was calm, matching his movement—eyes darting around his, catalogueing his features, the way his eyelashes became slightly straighter towards the ends of his eyes, and the extra freckles by the edges of his eyebrows. Involuntarily, you sucked in a small sharp breath as he closed in, when there was just a slither of space left between you.

He paused, eyes flicking between yours and your lips, words so shockingly tender, barely above a whisper—”Do you want me to stop?”

You couldn’t trust your voice to not break under the pressure of his gaze—so warm, so fond. Instead you just shook your head, fingers twitching up to his arm, he was so close—but hesitant still. Catious.

Even as he leaned down towards you, he paused again, just as the tips of your nose brushed against each other—eyes still searching for even a drop of doubt in yours. Shifting to hover over you lightly, fingertips coming to just lightly trace along the line from the bottom of his jaw, to the drip in his neck.

His lips brushed against yours.

It was soft at first, testing, but the moment your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, he pressed closer, Remus abandoned all his reserved. Melting against your touch with a low sigh, dropping the weight he held on his forearms and pressing into you, deepening the kiss. Something that was once gentle and timid, bloomed into more feverish, wanting touches and grasps.

His hands gripping almost roughly at the curve of your hips, rolling you over and onto him—erupting in giggles against his lips—the sound muffled between the spaces where your mouths met, soft and breathless.

His laughter mixed with yours, a quiet, husky sound that sent warmth curling deep in your stomach. His hands slid over your waist, fingers splayed against the thin fabric of your shirt, his touch firm, but reserved—like he wasn’t sure if he should be holding you like this but couldn’t bring himself to stop.

You didn’t want him to.

Both hands sliding to his neck, exploring, travelling up and down—carding through his hair one moment, holding desperately onto his jaw the next, pulling him closer as if to fall into him—become one. His touch leaving the surface beneath your skin, warm and craving.

Muffled groans and whimpers sounded through the room, the pads of his fingers pressing slightly harder into the rounds of your hips—leaning up into you, into the kiss, breathless and greedy. Sitting himself up straight—allowing his hands to wander, trailing down your spine—spending jolting shivers through you, pawing at your thighs.

Indulging in the first taste of you, the pent up desire set free in the form of unrestrained, frenzied kisses. Relishing in the contact, the cooling sensation of your cold body against his—touches becoming rushed and eager as he drank in every gasp of his name that passed from your lips onto his.

It wasn’t until his hands, once again, found purchase on your hips—grasp almost bruising, causing your to rock helplessly against him, did you pull away suddenly with a sharp gasp. Burying your face into the curve of his neck, chest heaving. A string of apologies immediately tumbled from his mouth, “fuck m’ sorry, I didn’t mean to—y/n,”

He leaned back, trying to catch a glimpse of your face, but you’d brought your hands up to cover it, barely loud enough to hear, squeaking out, “It’s fine—just don’t look at me,” It was a bit late for that, he could already see them—the small dark veins that pulsed and protuded from the base of your neck stretching further up.

“Y/N,”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not yet, not like this—hands still stuck firmly to your face—chest still rising and falling in quick succession, just as breathless as him. He pressed again, voice low and soft, comforting—”Lemme see,”

“Just gimme a minute,” Voice panicked and muffled by your palms.

He didn’t wait, just taking your wrists lightly, and pulling them away—your head hung low in shame, avoiding his gaze, still trying to catch your breath. Letting go of your wrists, they fell to your sides, and his hands came up to your face, compelling your gaze to meet his.

“Why are you hiding from me?”

Eyes as warm and sincere as ever, he let his hands trail down your neck, ghosting over you shoulders—gently tracing the curve of your spine, forcing a soft gasp from your lips as a shiver ran through you.

His touch was delicate, reverent, as though he feared you might break beneath his fingers. His thumbs brushed just beneath your jaw, tracing slow, featherlight circles against your skin—where the veins pulsed dark and traitorous against the curve of your throat.

“Y/N,” he murmured again, softer this time, like he was afraid to startle you. “It’s alright.”

Leaning down, peppering slow, calming kisses to the exposed skin of your collarbones, the goosebumps raising in their wake impossible to ignore—hands finding their way to grasp at the fabric of his jumper.

His hands now rested low on your waist, making your breath hitch as he nipped lightly at the skin of your neck, trailing his soft pecks up and down from your neck to your jaw. Humming as you leaned into them, melting.

Becoming putty in his hands, once again.

Light gasps slipping through your lips when he brought the thin skin behind your ear in between his teeth—the lightest of bites and bruises littered between his words; “Did you have your potion last week?”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, just barely tugging at the soft brown tufts, panting out, breathless; “Forgot,”

He only hummed back again in acknowledgment, bringing his lips back to yours, swallowing the whines of his name the your couldn’t contain. “So pretty,” he mumbled against your lips. Touch worshipping each piece of skin it passed, fingertips inching up the underside of your shirt—leaving light feathering touches across your skin before residing in the dip of your waist.

Kisses slipping away from your lips as you shuddered against him—lips pressing firm against the curve of your jaw he whispered, “Want a bite?”

The drag of your fingertips against the skin at the nape of his neck forced a groan from his lips, as he continued his assault on the sensitive skin by the dip in your neck. You almost didn’t notice what he said, brain warm and fuzzy from the hot kisses—eventually mumbling out, “Not funny, Rem,”

Your words came out breathy and distracted, less convicted than you’d like, sighing dreamily against his touch. You could feel the way he smiled against your skin—“Mmm not laughing,” so close you could feel each rumbling vibration of his words in your chest the warmth radiating off him mind numbing.

A gasps catching in your throat as he tightened his grip on you, anchoring—punctuating his words with the small nibbles and pecks, “Been thinking about it…for a while,” it was so hard to focus on what he was saying with the way the pads of his fingers dug into flesh at your side—as if it were possible to pull you any closer than you already were, “—trust you,”

He leaned back slightly, taking a look at your hazy expression—lips swollen and glistening, half lidded and breathless. Absolutely bewitching. He looked just as tempting, tops of his cheekbones reddened matching the deep red of his parted lips. Just barely brushing his nose against yours, sighing almost dreamily at the contact—his thumbs stroking slowly back and forth over the flesh of your hips.

Whispering so softly, “Only if you want to,” a pressure-less offer.

Instead of responding, you just leaned into him further, reconnecting your lips making him sigh contently. Eventually, trailing cautiously light, ghosting kisses down his jaw, mirroring his own nipping and sucking pattern. Fingers twiddling and intertwining with the small curls at the base of his scalp.

Testing, contemplating his offer when you found yourself hovering over the junction by his neck, his heartbeat joining yours in its loud thumping rhythm that rung in your ears. Ever so slightly craning his neck, baring the skin to you—soothing your hesitation with simple words, “It’s okay,”

The air almost stilling, his voice so delicate even as he felt the small sharp, piercing of your teeth into his skin. He’d thought it would hurt more, be more uncomfortable—unpleasant. But he just felt a rush in his head, jaw slacking slightly permitting the prettiest groan you’d ever heard. Hips stuttering against yours, eyes almost rolling as he flooded all your senses, unconsciously grasping onto him tighter.

A hot buzzing filling him entirely—surprisingly euphoric, intoxicating. Your body shuddered against his, muffled delicate whimpers passing through you, licking lightly at the broken skin as you withdrew—it was short, barely ten seconds of connection. All nerve endings in your body set alight, looking back at pupils blown.

Drunk on him.

Exhaling with almost a honeyed purr, he lifted his thumb wiping gently at the corners of your mouth. Planting a kiss just by where is thumbs had been, letting them trail again down your jaw—slower than before, less fevered, more lax. Smirking against you when he bit over a mark he’d already made—earning a sweet gasp from your lips.

“Better?”

His voice took an almost smug cadence, and when you hummed back shy and lazy, lips still parted, satisfied sighs spilling for you. Remus couldn’t help the bubble of light laughter that rumbled in his chest—shaking you on his lap. Messily kissing back up to your lips, smiling against you. Savouring each and second of your moment.

When lunch struck and you strolled into the great hall, hand in hand—you shrunk slightly at the quiet murmurs that sounded as you walked between the benches. It wasn’t that you were together, no, that was normal.

It was the trail of red and pink bruises and hickeys that adorned both your necks—failing miserably to cover it with the collar of your shirt. Remus on the other hand, walked in as confident as ever—squeezing your intertwined fingers reassurance. Wearing his marks like a badge of honour—leaning down to your ear, whispering in a teasing tone,

“At least we’re matching,”

And when you sat down at the table with him, rather than your usual spot two tables across, lolly in hand—after Remus silently shot a look at Sirius that said you better not start. He settled beside you, hands interlocked under the table, his warmth against you, your cold against him, comfortable. Blissfully ignoring the way Sirius muttered “About time,” under his breath.

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 48

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Minors DNI. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘 (Thank you Scarlett for uploading the beautiful don John gifs, you're so amazing!! ❤❤❤)

48.  hostile takeover

You find yourself stuck in the middle of a fuck ton of drawn weapons, both crime syndicates distrustful of the other. The paranoia of the group is surely only made worse by the party tray that made its way around the circle, and you sense the room is one wrong twitch away from erupting. 

“What the fuck was that?” demands don Juan, clearly expecting a double cross. The drug kingpin has his arm around your neck, using you as a human shield with a gold plated gun gripped in his other hand. 

“I could ask you the same question?” demands Dante, clearly shaken by the explosion, his eyes saucer-wide. 

“You think I blew up my own boat? When were you going to tell me you pulled the tail of the fucking Baba Yaga?” snarls Juan beside you, fierce as a cornered jaguar. “You took his woman? Are you loco?”

“It wasn't your business,” Dante insists, and the lie so infuriates Juan that he squeezes you in his strong hand, hard enough to bruise. 

“Ow, hey, watch it motherfucker,” you protest through gritted teeth. 

“Shut up, puta,” snaps the jefe. “Or I'll do worse.”

That's when Juan’s head explodes beside you, and the room erupts into chaos, broken glass showering all around.

Everyone's first instinct is to dive for cover. Splashed in blood and you fear, bits of Juan’s brain matter, you snatch up the golden gun and do the same. Unclear on what is transpiring, the two organizations start shooting at each other. Under a hail of bullets, you keep your head down, and fire at anyone who presents you with a target. 

John’s here. 

You believe it to the marrow of your bones. He's out there somewhere in the darkness, maybe even on the boat. If you could just get outside…

Can you make a run for it? Ironically, you think that maybe this was the best fucking timing to try a lil’ Columbian bam bam–if your heart doesn’t explode first. You have plenty of energy, so much that it's hard to sit still and wait, even if deep down you know your survival depends on perfect timing.

Somehow, you have to make it all the way across the lounge, past several heavily armed trigger-happy people, to the door outside–or the broken window–or the staircase that will take you down a level. 

The good thing is: you feel invincible. 

The bad thing is: you feel invincible. 

Fuck.

One of Dante’s thugs sticks out his head and you fire off a round, only clipping him, your aim fucked by shaking hands. He retreats with a string of curses and a trail of blood. Someone tries firing over the couches at you, and it’s your turn to use every blistering bad word you’ve ever known, plastering yourself to the floor, trying to make yourself as small a target as possible. You hear it when their gun clicks empty, and you hope it's your chance. You slip off your ridiculous shoes so you can run, and you make to scramble past. 

Someone tackles you to the floor, knocking your gun from your hand. Your training with Mariko finally kicks in, and you fight to hurt, throwing your head back in a vicious headbutt as hard as you can. You feel his nose crunch against the back of your head. “You little bitch!” 

You realize it's Luca again, and you fight twice as hard, biting his arm that he tries to get around your throat. You grapple on the floor, and a wildness rises in you like nothing you’ve ever known, fueled by drugs and all your pent up rage. Not even when Dante’s commandos raided John’s cabin, did you feel this feral determination to survive at any cost. 

All you can think is that John is out there, and you want to see him again.    

You manage to get on Luca’s back like a spider-monkey, your arm latched around his throat and your legs locked around his middle, squeezing as hard as you can. He’s bigger than you, so much stronger, and in a ditch attempt to dislodge you he stands up. 

One of the cartel soldiers sees a target, and puts three bullets in his torso. Somehow the bullets miss you–at least you think they do–and Luca collapses back to the ground. Your gun is in reach, and you grasp for it. When he tries to prevent you with a hand on your ankle you twist to put a bullet in his head. 

As horrified as you are relieved, you hunker down to catch your breath, your heart racing.

That's when you see him. 

Through the bank of floor to ceiling windows, you watch the man you love mow through mafiosi like blades of grass on the outer deck. He is savage poetry in motion, shooting, kicking, striking–he blocks a punch, uses the momentum to turn to get off a shot, uses the first attacker as a human shield, before moving on to the next. One by one, they all fall down. 

Mesmerized, you watch, unable to look away from the carnage. You witness him commit murder, again and again, and your heart is filled with nothing but unadulterated love for that man. He is your monster, and now these fuckers get to feel his wrath. 

Unfortunately, you’re not the only one watching him through the windows. Someone opens fire with some kind of submachine gun, and John throws himself over the side in a quick bid for cover. 

“John!” 

He doesn’t climb back up, and all you can think is the worst. Was he hit? Did he fall to the deck below? Or even into the ocean? You have to get to the lower deck, and without any more thinking you run for the aft staircase, laying down cover fire as you go. Bullets rain all around, but somehow none find you. 

A cartel man is just making his way up the stairs, and you launch yourself with two feet forward and a battle cry, knocking him down and landing on his ribs with all your weight. You’re both stunned upon landing, but you get your wits first, and you empty the rest of your clip into him. 

You take his gun before running to your next point of cover. 

In your manic state you almost feel like you are stuck in a video game, as you duck around corners and shoot at Dante’s men, hyper-focused on your task. How many fucking bodyguards did he bring on this yacht? 

He definitely broke the twelve passenger rule. 

Pinned down behind a bar, you trade fire with someone ahead. You’ve lost count of how many bullets they fired. Your mind feels like a tilt-a-whirl, hopped up on cocaine and adrenaline. They let off another salvo of shots, and you scream as loud as you can, going very still in hope of baiting them into leaving their cover. You wait…and you wait, your heartbeat like a snare drumroll in your ears.  

Finally, you hear footsteps crunching broken glass, and you prepare to fight again. 

You hear a squelching sound, and the thump of a body hitting the ground. 

Confused, you watch the puddle of blood seep across the floor, fixated on the spreading pool of crimson. Then, you see a foot cased in shining black patent leather. Your gaze travels up a long suit-clad leg, and by the time your eyes reach his face they are filled with tears. 

“John!” 

He seizes you, dragging you into his lap behind the cover of the bar, his arms like bands of steel around you and his ravenous mouth on yours. He kisses you like you are the oxygen he needs to live, licking into your mouth, eating you, consuming you. Gladly you take the fury of his passion, even as your lips become sore and your teeth clash and he grips you so hard it hurts. 

This is the truth of your love with John Wick. It is pain, and pleasure, not always in equal parts, but you know more than ever that you would pay any price to have him, and maybe you wouldn’t even change a thing. 

Every fire you have walked through to get to this moment has tempered your love into something hard, sharp, and unbreakable. This man is your alpha and your omega. 

He is the reason you breathe.  

“Are you alright? I saw that fucker hit you,” he demands when at last he surfaces for air, holding your face in his blood-stained hands. His thumb traces the spatter on your cheek, all that’s left of don Juan’s head. 

Crying and laughing, you nod rapidly, your words spouting like automatic fire. “I’m fine. Everything is fine now. I knew you’d find me. Jesus Christ I missed you!” 

Through the shadow of his chagrin he seems amused by the delivery of this tirade. “Not as much as I missed you.” Then his eyes narrow, looking at you in a way that has never failed to make your tummy flutter. “Young lady, you are in so much trouble.” 

Once, this might have scared the piss out of you. 

Now? You’re not sure if it’s the drugs or the pure elation of being reunited with him, but all you can do is laugh. “Am I?” 

“Yes. I should bend you over my knee right here.” His big hand caresses your bare thigh, up to trace the high high hemline of your sparkly blood-spattered dress. He glares down at it with a fixation that could start a wildfire. “What the hell are you wearing?” 

“I think it’s a bedazzled napkin.” 

“Hmm,” he growls, unable to stop himself from groping your ass under the dress. “Somehow I hate it and like it too much.” 

You whine, clutching his lapels desperately as the tips of his fingers drift towards your center, his lips on your neck. On a scale from one to ten, how bad an idea would it be to fuck during a firefight? You’re having a hard time talking yourself out of it as his middle finger tests your aching hole, finding you wet and wanting. 

“Fuck, baby.” He forces himself to draw back to look at you, his eyes blown midnight dark with desire. From this close he studies you again, sweeping over your features, your eyes, to your mouth, to your eyes again. You're not the only one having trouble remembering where you are. “Your pupils are huge. What are you on?” 

“They made me do a line of cocaine to test the product and I’ve never tried it before,” you say quickly, unable to stop yourself. Your heart is a neutron star, spinning, spinning, burning bright. Now that John’s here, you’re not half as scared as you should be. 

John lifts his eyebrows, smiling wryly at you, the source of your high-energy revealed. 

“It probably won’t last much longer. You’re going to be fine, honey. Where’s your necklace?”

“They took it. But I swallowed the tracker. How long has it been? I’ve barely eaten anything in days, I was afraid to.” 

“My clever girl. It’s been over a week.” He continues to inspect you as you talk. When his search reaches your hand he frowns, regarding the damage with an excruciating regret shining in his dark eyes. “Kitten, I am so sorry.” 

However, you just shrug tearfully, buzzing inside like a happy hive of bees. You didn’t know it was possible to feel so happy, as you do reunited with John. You don’t think it’s just the cocaine that’s making you feel like you’re made of pure dopamine.

 “I’m ok. I’ve got nine more.” This wins you a huff of laughter that is a balm for your soul.

“I brought you something.” He reaches into his breast pocket again, producing something small and shining. 

Your ring. 

“Oh John…” More tears spring up in your eyes, clouding your vision as you offer him your right hand, knowing it won't fit any other fingers in your left. He slides it on, and maybe it's silly, but it does feel like a crucial piece of yourself has been restored again. “Thank you.”

Again, he holds your face in his hands. You know you must look like a wild creature, wide-eyed, wind-blown, spattered in the blood of your enemies. And yet he still looks at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. 

“God, I love you.”

You feel like the richest woman in the world. 

“I love you too. Can we go home now?” 

The corner of his mouth pulls in that rueful smile, and he nods. “Yeah.” 

Naturally, that’s when a fresh wave of combatants arrive, someone shooting your way from the corridor whence you came. “Go,” says John, draping you with his kevlar-lined suit jacket, pointing towards the front of the boat. “I’ll be right there. If you see a Chinese man in a suit killing gangsters, don’t shoot him, he’s with me.” 

“What?” 

“Caine. He’s on our side. Go. You’ve done so good, baby. It’s almost over. Go.”  

You don’t really have time to think about what he’s told you. He shoves you in the right direction, and you run, ducking low, trusting John to cover you. When the enemy starts shooting at you he picks them off ruthlessly with deadly precision. You don’t see the aftermath, because you make it down a hallway and then out to the deck again. 

The chaos feels more distant there. You hear people shouting in Spanish and Italian, fighting over the other smaller boats that arrived with Juan’s flotilla. You hope John has his own secreted away somewhere on the dark ocean. You creep along, not really knowing where you should go, waiting for John to catch up to you. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You hear fighting around the curve of the deck ahead. Gripping your gun, you move forward to get a look, ready at this point to mow down any mobsters or narcos who might get in your way. 

But someone’s beating you to the punch. A Chinese man in a suit, as John so aptly described him, is making mincemeat of five men [attempting] to stand against him. His deadly movements are poetry in motion. He has a gun, but he barely uses it, opting for the lethal grace of a sword cane instead. As you watch him you realize he is pulling this off blind, and your amazement skyrockets. 

You cannot look away from the carnage, and this proves to be a very big mistake for you. 

You feel something hard poke you in the back. “You stupid puttana.” 

You recognize Dante’s voice as one of Caine’s opponents falls at his feet. 

As you try to turn he shoves the barrel of the gun into your ribs again. “Don’t fucking move.”

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all chapters *loco - crazy *puttana - bitch, whore

[random-blurbs]

Hi I just found your blog and omg love your writing!! 10/10!! Would it be ok if I hear your thoughts or hcs on Mark but how do you think he would treat his darling if there were different species ? (Like human , mega human or an alien ?) (I’m fine with female or gn reader ^^) please 🙏

A/n: Aww thanks I appreciate reading that!! ╰(⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)╯

In my very professional and correct opinion - I really don’t think Mark gives a fuck if that makes sense. Like if he’s interested in you and you got a solid personality man is willing to be your #1 cheerleader. Human or not man is just happy to be there, if anything he would be mad curious wanting to know every detail about you. Which can be good for late night talks lol

So have my headcannons!! Never done those before so hopefully it’s good.

Mark x Alien!Reader

- “Wait is that like regular you, or your costume?” He apologizes every time he remembers his first words to you when he thought he was fighting a villain recognizing how he might need to check his words from now on.

- “You didn’t know Mark it’s fine.” Even after all the apologies he always takes you out for a sweet treat every time he remembers wanting to see a smile on your face, and not hate him for his words. (Which you can never do)

- If you ever want to win an argument you always pull that card, effectively making him shut up and get on his knees to apologize.

- Without you knowing he has made a list of all your little quirks in his note apps, never wanting to forget something that can make you feel out of place with your time on Earth.

- He was always so curious where you came from, as he admired the gold lines streaking your body, it was a delicate set of patterns that glow when you’re feeling too much of one emotion. And the singular twirly antenna sprout you have on the top of your head made it hard for him to not fall for you, weirdly so. All of this effectively made you stick out when you’re walking down the streets as you’re usually beaming, a walking star practically.

-It hurts his eyes, like really bad (he’ll never tell you this) so by the end of the day he’s squinting at his mom trying to recall the moments he had good vision

- Everytime people give him the solution of sunglasses he shoots it down, wanting to embrace every part of you… even if it blinds him

- You forced him to wear sunglasses ever since you saw his trash piled with eye drops

- “How do you not find them cute?” He asked shocked, looking up at you with a scooped up kitten in his arms. “These ‘things’ are demons on my planet practically.” You say bluntly, shivering at the cat-infested home you remembered you left. Misinterpreting your words as 100% truth; whenever there’s a cat nearby he scoops you up with so much panic you always assume you’re being under attacked. But in fact it was just him throwing you over his shoulder and hauling ass away from the cat.

- He likes feeling the difference between your skin, and the gold plates practically etched onto your body feeling the difference in texture. He likes hearing the noise when he taps on it hearing a clank every time making him chuckle.

-If we’re being honest he can keep himself entertained for a good hour just doing that with every part of your body.

-He still loves and cherishes it didn’t matter what you are. He loves the crinkle your eyes do whenever you smile, the way you wear your emotions free for everyone to see never ashamed of who you were.

- You being so in tune with your emotions, you always help him understand his own considering everything he goes through, glad you’re by him through it all.

- It was a burning question every time he sees your antenna bouncing around. He needs to ask. But would he offend? He doesn’t want to. But the curiosity is killing him.

- It took him a year to ask you.

- “If like…… someone cuts your antenna do you die?”

- You couldn’t help but give him massive side-eye as you try to see if he’s holding an unknown pair of scissors. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

- “It’s not like I was going to cut it!”

- “You said it so suspiciously can you blame me!”

- You don’t die if it’s cut. (Much to your own relief whenever you see Mark holding scissors)

- He’s glad that you never joined the hero scene much to Cecil’s dismay considering he knows what’s going to happen if you do.

-Everyone is going to love you, see how beautiful you are, fall in love and there’s never going to be enough time to be one another, and you’ll leave him to rot. And he really wouldn’t want to resort to locking you in his closet so he’s grateful you’re all his.

-That’s what he says atleast as you gave him an unimpressed look at his dramatics.

- “That wouldn’t happen.”

- “You don’t know that.”

- He adores and practically kisses the floor you walk on, never feeling luckier to be called your boyfriend.

- If you get Mark to love you human or not he would do anything in his power to make you the happiest person in the planet.