#fluff and idiocy

[cirilee]

finally ... finally maru and me dont have to draw that sling anymore :')

READ THE FULL COMIC HERE :D

[skyloftian-nutcase]

A King's Admission (Imprisoning War)

The Festival of Colors was coming to an end.

A strange, ominous and somber energy filled Ganondorf’s mind. Perhaps it was because he was always sad when the beauty of the festival gave way to the dullness of what followed. He enjoyed pageantry, after all, and more than that, he loved the eventfulness of it – he was not one for monotonous things.

But perhaps this year, it was simply because he knew what was coming next.

The strike on Hyrule shouldn’t make him somber, though. He should be excited. He was excited, eager to finally obtain a sacred relic he’d dedicated his life to claiming.

But it meant this was coming to an end.

The Gerudo king watched Orik as the boy slept. After a little over a week in the desert with Hemisi, after being sick for several days, he looked a little different from the quiet, sweet, shy guard at the castle. The red face paint he wore was gone for now, mildly tanned face unblemished and browning with the exposure to the sun, placid in slumber. His light blonde hair, usually kept in a neat top knot, was spilling all over his face and the pillow. Ganondorf could faintly make out some stubble trying desperately to grow on innocent skin, a patchy effort fueled by raging hormones that only emphasized how young he was.

Honestly, Ganondorf was a little surprised he hadn’t seen it before. Orik had been dating Hemisi for well over a year now, and the entire time he’d thought the boy was at least sixteen, which was the Gerudo age of adulthood. After all, he’d been an independent soldier. Having just celebrated his twins’ fifteenth birthday yesterday, Ganondorf truly saw how old and young such an age was. It was unnerving.

And this one was fourteen.

There was a strange confliction of feelings in his heart. He himself had held a blade since adolescence, looked up to by his people, expected to rule and know what to do simply because he was a man. He’d stepped up and led them, of course – it was both his right and responsibility, and he’d wanted better for himself anyway. He’d planned on making the situation better for himself – why shouldn’t he claim what the world had to offer, when he was born with such privilege anyway? Why shouldn’t he deserve to have all the power when it was expected of him? Age had meant little to him back then, as a result. If one could fight, one could fight. Little children were obviously harmless, he’d assumed, until that one brat clad in green had proven otherwise.

But as a father, Ganondorf had found that his definition of children had evolved. He’d stepped up into the role an adult when he’d hit puberty, truly coming into his own when he was roughly sixteen. Now that he had two fifteen-year-olds, that prospect seemed insane. Perhaps it simply was a matter of circumstance – this desert was far different than the one he originated from (he refused to call that barren wasteland his own—this was his desert, his home). Perhaps it was that Ganondorf and Nabooru had ensured there was no reason for their children to have to step up as he had. He saw little reason in coddling them, teaching Merovar the art of manipulation for the last year, sending Hemisi on scouting missions since their first visit to Hyrule Castle so she could find weak points in their security… but even now, thinking of them getting involved in major fighting that might break out in the attempt to steal the Triforce made his stomach churn.

And this boy was no different in his musings.

Ganondorf had to admire him, honestly. He’d said he’d taken care of himself since he was twelve. It was an impressive feat… and explained why the boy was terrible at taking care of himself. It showed a fierce determination that he could appreciate, and it showed a frightening lack of development that he knew was supposed to be happening based on his twins.

It was no wonder he’d spent the first few months wondering if the kid even had feelings most days. He hadn’t trusted the docile, obedient façade until he’d realized that was simply how the boy actually was, and then discovered it was just what was expected of him when he had so much more fire to his heart and soul than that. This boy matched Hemisi’s chaotic energy in exploring and causing trouble, could fight her and even defeat her sometimes when no one else remotely close to their ages could, and had far more intelligence hidden behind those quiet eyes than he ever let on.

Blasted Sheikah. He could admire their dedication to their craft, their ability to fight, but goddesses they were asinine in their idiotic loyalty and dutybound culture. They were ruining this child. He wished he had more time before the strike, but they couldn’t just sit on the information they had – anything could change.

At the end of it all, Orik—Link—would have to choose. Ganondorf had a dark suspicion he knew what the boy would do, entrenched in his blind faith. But he still held out hope that once the dust settled, Hemisi would try to seek him out and perhaps he’d reciprocate once more. Only time would tell.

The thought of it made him want to distance himself from the child, honestly. But here he stood, watching as Orik stirred, scrunching his eyes and nose, sniffling and rubbing his face into the pillow a little in some kind of effort to wake up. Ganondorf didn’t bother moving, simply remaining in the shadows cast by the late morning light. He didn’t want to leave, didn’t want this chapter of his life to close quiet yet. The anticipation of everything coming together was starting to eat him alive, but just in this one, last quiet morning, he basked in the moment.

Orik stretched, rubbing his face sleepily, hand brushing against the stubble that had been trying to grow in his lack of grooming from the last few days. Ganondorf held back a chuckle at the boy’s disapproving grimace at the sensation, but his mirth faded into mild alarm when the teenager reached for a blade he’d placed on the nightstand. Sleepily, Orik ran his thumb across his cheek to trace the hair once more before getting ready to scrape a blade across his skin.

“What are you doing?” Ganondorf asked, both bewildered and concerned.

Link nearly jumped out of his skin, and the Gerudo hastily stepped forward to grab the boy’s wrist so he didn’t cut himself by accident. “L-Lord Ganondorf!”

Ganondorf yanked the knife out of the child’s hand, repeating his question. “What are you doing?”

Orik blinked, trying to center himself, eyes wide and innocent and startled. “I—I… sh-shaving?”

For Din’s sake. “Who taught you to shave like that?”

Orik shriveled a hair under his scrutiny, uncertainty etched in every fiber of his being. “…Me…?”

Ganondorf sighed heavily, dropping the boy’s wrist. He considered the teenager for a moment, exasperated, pointedly ignoring the thought in the back of his mind that whispered, I should just adopt this idiot already.

“Come on, child,” he ordered, walking for the door. Link obeyed silently, and Ganondorf guided him to the washroom, grabbing some supplies. He posted himself at a basin beside the one where he’d placed Link, and started to guide him through the process. As he instructed the boy to actually wash his face first, he asked, “You never explained why you lied to me.”

Orik froze, nearly inhaling the water in his hands as he hovered over it. “Sir?”

“Your name,” Ganondorf hummed, before smirking and slapping Link’s hands into his face, splashing the boy.

The teenager spluttered and coughed, and for a moment his red eyes twinkled with mischief and cheer as he was about to retaliate before he remembered who he was addressing. He sobered quickly, explaining, “I didn’t mean any deceit. I have two names.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about both, then?”

“I…” the boy shifted his weight uncertainly, looking anywhere but at Ganondorf. Distracting himself, he dipped his hands in the water basin once more, readying to wash his face again.

“Orik.” Ganondorf cut in sternly.

Orik bit his lip. “It was… suggested that I simply forego my Hylian name.”

“Who suggested it?”

His silence answered the question just fine. Ganondorf sighed. That girl… He backed down a little, asking calmly, “Is it custom for your people to have two names?”

“Not really,” Orik answered. “My parents wanted two different names for me.”

“But you go by Orik?”

“Yes, my lord. My mother wanted…” he paused, seeming to catch himself, and Ganondorf wondered why. He didn’t push initially, showing the boy some lotions to put on his face, lathering it up to help him shave.

As he watched Link carefuly and precisely move the blade, Ganondorf gently prompted, “What did your mother want?”

Orik halted his motions, eyes watching Ganondorf in the reflection of the mirror, and then he capitulated, saying, “She wanted me to be named Link. It’s… a special name. Sheikah respect it and find it… wrong to name a child that. It’s said to be imbued with the blessing of the goddesses, and many Hylians name their sons Link because of it. But the Sheikah consider it sacred. So my father named me Orik.”

Ganondorf watched him in silence, pondering the matter. He wondered if that was why that child from the forest was named Link as well. It gave him a strange feeling of relief, knowing that it was a common Hylian name, as if it further confirmed his reassurances that there was nothing wrong with this teenager. There would be no divine meddling – just bad breeding from the Sheikah.

“You introduced yourself as Link when you were sick and confused,” he noted. “I feel as if that would not be something automatic if you never use that name.”

The Sheikah boy sighed a little, glancing questioningly at Ganondorf as he had finished shaving. The Gerudo nodded towards the basin, indicating it was fine to rinse off. When he’d finished, Orik explained, “I like that name. I just can’t use it all that much. But I… prefer it over Orik. I have very little from my mother, even less connection to anything Hylian. I was raised in Kakariko, I was…”

When he trailed off, Ganondorf bit his tongue to give the boy time. Ganondorf was a man of action and saw little point in hesitation, but he knew some coaxing was needed for this boy sometimes. It was mildly frustrating, but he put up with it. His patience paid off when Link muttered, “I was raised entirely to be Sheikah. And I tried to be nothing but… and to be the best one so that…”

The silence became too stretched, and Ganondorf prompted, “So that what?”

Link jumped, started out of his musings and seeming to realize he’d said too much. “I—forgive me, I finished shaving, I don’t mean to waste your time.”

“You’re not remotely finished,” Ganondorf noted dully. “You still have to clean and moisturize your face.”

Link stared at him, baffled. “There’s more steps?”

The boy caught himself as soon as the words spilled out, and he bit his lips closed, making the Gerudo chuckle. Honestly. This boy needed to learn that it was okay to have an opinion. Nevertheless, the way the teenager watched his every move as if this were some life altering ritual was endearing. Ganondorf watched the boy massage some lotion in gently, even a little timidly over some tiny cuts, and the Gerudo rolled his eyes, stepping behind him and putting pressure over the boy’s hands, guiding them with his own to demonstrate how to properly do it.

“You’re not wasting my time,” he told him, letting his hands fall to the boy’s shoulders. “It’s… been a pleasure having you here, Link.”

The teenager was stiff under his palms, not seeming to know what to do with neither the gentle touch nor words. Instead of watching Ganondorf in the mirror, though, he glanced straight up to look at him, eyes sparkling with some sort of emotion, making him look so much smaller and younger than he was, and Ganondorf felt every fiber of his being scream to protect this child.

“You should stay,” he said abruptly, catching himself off guard. “Just a little while longer.”

Link’s eyes widened a little. “B-but—my lord, I only was granted leave to be here for the festival.”

“Hemisi and Merovar’s birthday celebrations extend such festivities,” Ganondorf lied. They did no such thing, honestly, but he’d already said the words and was kicking himself for it. Honestly, he just wanted the kid to stay here while they led their assault – it would spare Hemisi the pain of having to take him out of play (and consequently spare Ganondorf the headache and heartache of listening to her complain and be upset about it), and it would keep the boy out of the fighting altogether, perhaps even convince him to stay on Ganondorf’s side.

It wouldn’t matter either way – once he had the Triforce, the entire world would listen to him. Link would see reason soon enough. But if he could stay here, then it eliminated any possibility of a problem.

“Birthdays last multiple days?” Link asked, clearly completely confused.

“They… can.” This was just getting ridiculous. Redirecting, Ganondorf asked, “I never learned when yours was.”

“No one knows when mine is, my lord.”

Ganondorf blinked. Blinked again. “You… don’t know when your birthday is?”

“I do,” Link nodded, finally looking down again. “I mean no one else does.”

Wait a second. “When did you last celebrate your birthday?”

“When I came of age,” Link replied easily.

Oh. Well. That was ridiculous. Ganondorf didn’t care for all the traditions and silliness involved in birthdays, but recognizing one’s accomplishments over the past year was fairly important to him. Perhaps if the year had been an abysmal one there was no point in acknowledging it, but Link had plenty of reasons to look back on his last year alive on this world and be content with it.

Perhaps content wasn’t the right word. One shouldn’t simply be content with their life, they should always be seeking more. But Link had grown much in the last year. “When is your birthday, then?”

Link hesitated a moment before answering, “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow?!

“You’re staying here,” he immediately ordered, grip tightening on the boy’s shoulders.

“M-my lord—”

“Don’t argue. You’re staying.”

Link was supposed to leave tomorrow. The assault team would leave a day after. If Link stayed for his birthday, he’d depart at the same time as the warriors and it would be obvious.

He’d have to delay the attack if he did this.

He was too close for such delays over trifling matters. And the boy wouldn’t listen anyway.

Link was frozen in place, stiff and debating the matter. Ganondorf knew the automatic response that would come, the polite apology and inability to take orders from the Gerudo over his Sheikah mandated duties.

The boy let out a nervous sigh. “I… suppose I can wait a day, if you wish it so.”

Wait… what?

“D-do you… do you really want me to stay?” Link asked quietly. The words were held in a steady voice that tried to imply this was simply seeking confirmation from a king and not that this was a child desperately asking if he was wanted.

Damn it.

He almost said no. Because he shouldn’t have asked in the first place. Months of planning could be wasted if he delayed the assault too long.

One… one day wasn’t too long.

I can’t lose sight of my goal.

This wasn’t losing sight, though, it was simply modifying. Besides, what if he led the group out of the desert tomorrow night while Link slept safely in the capital? They could get the Triforce before the boy ever reached Castle Town.

He knew that wasn’t feasible, though. There was no way Nabooru would be prepared. He was rendezvousing with her en route, after all. He couldn’t change the timing of anything without doing so in a drastic manner.

So he either had to accept that his team would leave the same day as the boy, potentially compromising the mission, or he could tell Link he needed to leave.

Ganondorf swallowed. Bit his tongue. Cursed again.

Then he pat the boy on the back, heading towards the hallway. “I gave you an order, child. I expect you to obey. You’re going to be part of this family someday, aren’t you?”

Link blushed, hugging himself, and Ganondorf didn’t bother listening to his stammering reply. His heart thrummed in his chest, agitated and relieved, furious and terrified and hopeful.

He couldn’t let that happen again, though. That sweet, foolish boy would not be what prevented him from achieving everything he wanted.

But… he would make sure the boy’s birthday was the best one he’d had yet.

[zechiki]

Just some doodles I did of Crescent. Just been obsessed with him lately.

Him and Luna would be chaotic siblings hehe

Crescent belongs to @lunnar-chan

He is a lil dummy, lil dumb dumb. Teeny idiot, lil cry baby. He is my son, I love him

[freak-accident419]

posting this on friday, i believe :3

update: it’s out!!!! (click here)

[enjoythesilentworld]

sunday snippet!!

i may be out and about traveling, but i’m still finding little bits of time to write! i’m hoping and praying I can finish this next chapter to post on friday. fingers crossed!

for now, enjoy (another) glimpse of chapter 5 of just if for a minute:

When they reach the end of the aisle, they stand in silence, overlooking the calm lake before them.

“This is fucking insane,” Simon breathes through an exasperated laugh. “It’s literally perfect.”

“It is,” Wille agrees.

It’s now, of course, that the truth hits Wille, and all the excitement and awe and joy drain out of him.

The light from the sun peaking through the clouds above them is real. The grass under their feet is real. The choking and overwhelming love Wille feels in his chest is real. But this, this marriage they’re getting ready for, is not real.

Wille drops Simon’s hand and walks off to the left, pretending to inspect the plants along the water’s edge. Over his shoulder, though it comes out a little strained, he jokes, “Maybe if you come back, they’ll give you a repeater’s discount.”

“What?”

He can’t make himself look at Simon, not when he suddenly feels so sick, so he only turns halfway. “You know. When you get married for real.”

[doerrferr]

okok i really need to sleep but im being unnecessarily autistic thinking about

»crowley’s snake eyes can’t see the stars«

and what if aziraphale got them one of the nebula sensory lamps and miracled it more accessible so crowley could see them (and so that it showed their favourite nebulae)

[chsvok]

— The monster’s gone.

pairing: teen! gojo x fem!teen! reader

found family, fluff, little megumi! gojo basically adopted him. just big fluff!

To say you were surprised when your boyfriend, Satoru, came home with a kid was an understatement. You could only stare, your mouth agape as you heard your boyfriend rambling on and on with a smile on his face and introducing the 8 year-old boy that stood in front of you.

For the first few months, it was difficult having little Megumi open up to you both. He was rather closed off. Which, you were not surprised. He was staying with two teenagers. But still, it took plenty of time. Now, he barks lousy remarks at whatever idiocy Satoru does and says, and you can only laugh in return, earning a pout from the tall guy.

You and Satoru were in bed, ready to fall asleep any second now. You were snuggled up against his chest while his arm draped over your form tightly, rubbing small circles on your back soothingly. You both were slowly drifting off to sleep when a sudden knock on your bedroom door interrupted. You sat up on the bed, muttering a soft, “come in” before seeing Megumi’s tiny body appear slowly in the darkness.

At this, Satoru sat up on the bed as well. Eyeing Megumi with a tilt of his head.

Concern was etched on your face, your brows furrowed as you stared at the little boy trembling a few feet away. “What’s wrong, Megs?”

He tried to speak, his voice shaking.

"Nightmare?" You asked, a soft, knowing look plastered on your face. Little Megumi nodded, hugging his dog plush close to his chest tightly. Satoru patted his hand on the spot between the two of you, the other hand going through his hair tiredly. “Come here, bud.”

Little Gumi was reluctant at first, he felt like he was overstepping. However, it only took one soft smile from you and he was shuffling towards the bed. He climbed on, settling himself between you and Satoru comfortably.

You draped the fluffy blanket over his tiny body and ran your fingers through his dark raven hair, humming soothingly as his breathing slowed down and he fell into a sleep. Satoru could only watch with affection swirling in his stomach.

He felt so…lucky. So complete.

A few minutes went by and you, too, fell asleep. Satoru softly smiled, draping his arm over both of your figures, holding you both close as sleep consumed him.

© CHSVOK. please do not plagiarize, copy, or translate my work in any way, shape, or form.

reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[cirilee]

some things even a repair drone can't fix 🤷‍♀️

you can read the full story on webtoon or tapas^^

[iydiamartinx]

THIS MEANS WAR II

Dick Grayson x Reader x Jason Todd

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto word count: 4.8k synopsis: Gotham’s youngest neuroscience lecturer never planned to get tangled up with two of its most eligible bachelors. Both are determined to win her over—without revealing they know each other… or that they’re vigilantes. But when the Joker takes an interest in her, things get a whole lot more complicated. a/n: I did not expect the amount of love the first chapter got in such a short amount of time, thank you to everyone who took the time to read, reblog and like the story! warnings: sexual innuendos, milo, tooth rotting fluff

GOTHAM UNIVERSITY 

You definitely regretted drinking the moment you dragged yourself into the university the next morning. Every step toward the lecture hall felt like an uphill battle against the thumping in your skull and the dull ache behind your eyes—a painful souvenir from the night before with Milo and Anthony.

But the headache wasn’t the only thing off.

As you strolled through the halls, something felt… strange. Eyes followed you. Smiles lingered longer than usual—both from staff and students alike. A few even nodded in greeting, like you were a celebrity instead of a perpetually tired lecturer with a coffee addiction and zero patience for idiocy before 10 a.m.

“Y/N!” a voice called.

You turned to see one of the biology professors leaning against the doorframe of his lecture hall, his eyes scanning you with a little too much interest. “Can I just say—you look good today.”

You blinked, confused. “Uh. Thank you?” you replied, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. You gave a stiff nod and turned away, hurrying to your own classroom. What the hell was that about?

You hadn’t even dressed up. Just your usual—black slacks, a long-sleeved blouse tucked in neatly, sensible shoes. Your hair was pulled back into a taut bun, and despite your best efforts with concealer, the dark circles under your eyes were still winning the war. You looked worse than usual, if anything. Hungover. Sleep-deprived. Mildly irritated at the world.

And yet…

Your students were acting odd too. Whispering. Staring. One of them winked as he passed by your desk. You blinked at him, uncertain whether you were still drunk or hallucinating from lack of sleep.

The questions today were unusually… stupid. Even for a Thursday.

And then, at the end of class, one of your students—one who had never said more than five words to you before—lingered near your desk.

“Listen,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just gotta say, I am totally down… if you are, Doctor.”

You stared blankly. “Down? Are you catching something?”

His cheeks flushed red. “No—I meant, um—uh, if you’re looking to, like, go on a date—uh, never mind!” He turned on his heel and all but ran from the room, babbling something incoherent.

But you heard it. Just one word.

Dating site.

Your stomach dropped.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, heart skipping a beat as you snatched up your phone and hurried into the hallway, dialing Milo’s number with shaky fingers.

He answered on the third ring, voice groggy. “Hello?”

“What the fuck did you do, Milo?” you hissed into the phone.

There was a pause, then an easy drawl. “Well hello to you too.”

“Milo!”

“Relax,” he said. “I’m doing the Lord’s work. That pussy is growing cobwebs down there and you know it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Please—please do not tell me you did what I think you did.”

“Alright,” Milo said breezily. “I won’t tell you.”

Then the line went dead.

You let out a strangled sound of protest, halfway between a scream and a groan. Before you could redial, your phone vibrated. A message.

One link.

You clicked it—and froze.

“Oh my god.”

There it was. Your face. Your full name. And a profile on some godforsaken dating app with a bio you definitely hadn’t written.

Name: Y/N

Age: Mid-twenties

Occupation: Lecturer

Orientation: Bi-curious

About Me: Former gymnast. Skilled in oral communication. Open-minded, flexible, and always up for a challenge.

Looking for: Something serious… or seriously fun ;)

“Oh my god.” You felt your soul leave your body.

You called Milo again, barely waiting for him to pick up before snapping, “What the hell is wrong with you?! Bi-curious? Gymnastics? Skilled in oral communication?!”

“What?” he replied, completely unfazed. “I didn’t lie. You were a gymnast. And your current job is lecturer. You do communicate. Orally. Often.”

“Bi-curious?” you exclaimed, staring at the profile in horror. “I'm not sure that's even an official orientation!”

“It means you’re flexible, babe,” Milo said, absolutely unbothered. “And hey—you never know, it might be a woman who saves that pussy.”

You gaped at your phone. “Milo—”

“Then we can be one of those powerfully gay couples,” he went on dreamily, “with their iconic gay best friend. Four of us. Taking over brunch. Matching vacation fits. It’s giving legacy.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “This isn’t a Hallmark Pride Month special.”

“Not yet. But give it time.”

“I’m going to kill you,” you growled. “I’m going to end you, slowly.”

“How about thank you?”

You dragged a hand down your face. “You just made everyone I work with—and every guy in my lecture hall—think I’m down to be their naughty professor fantasy!”

“Okay, first of all,” he said, “you teach university, not high school. They’re all consenting adults. Secondly, that’s just good branding. It means you’re open to role play.”

You inhaled slowly. “I’m not sleeping with one of my students.”you snapped. “That’s not just unethical—it’s gross! Have you ever read a university policy?”

“yes, yes, heard it all before, I don’t need to read policy.” he sighed dramatically. “Look, I’m just trying to help you find your future husband—or at the very least, get laid. You’ve been walking around like a haunted Victorian widow.”

“I don’t think my future husband is going to take me seriously when you’ve basically made me sound like a bisexual stripper with a PhD,” you groaned, scrubbing a hand down your face. Your eyes dropped to the profile again—specifically to the picture of you clinging to a pole at Milo and Anthony’s joint bachelor party. You were laughing, clearly drunk, mid-spin.

He had made that the cover photo.

“Milo, I swear to God—”

But then you absently tapped the notifications.

New matches: 7

You scrolled… paused.

And there it was.

A face that made your breath catch.

Messy black hair. Stupidly handsome. Jaw carved by angels—or the devil, you weren’t sure. Those bright, glacier-blue eyes that had no business looking so damn good in a dating profile.

Your mouth went dry.

“Well,” you muttered faintly, “speaking of Dicks…”

“Ooh, I know that tone,” Milo crooned through the phone. “Girl, if you don’t swipe right on him—”

You bit your lip, torn between common sense and sheer thirst. “I don’t know…”

“Don’t what? That man looks like he bench-presses women for sport.” Milo stated, clearly having pulled up your profile from wherever he was lounging. “If you don’t swipe, I will do it for you. Right the fuck now. Don’t forget—I have admin privileges.”

You hesitated. Your thumb hovered.

Your eyes flicked to his profile again.

Dick Grayson.

He really was unfairly attractive. Possibly the hottest man you’d ever seen.

“…Fine!” you huffed. “I’ll go on one date. One. Only because this man looks like he could make me forget my own name.”

“That’s my girl!” Milo whooped like a proud pageant mom. “Thank me later—preferably while holding one of his babies.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Oh, and don’t forget—lingerie. And swallow, don’t—”

You hung up at that part, shaking your head—but you were grinning.

God help you.

DICK'S APARTMENT

Dick sighed, dragging a hand down his face. It had been almost ten hours since he and Jason made the discovery—and still, radio silence. No updates, no leads. Just a whole lot of waiting.

He’d given Jason the “don’t get too obsessed” speech, but the truth was, he was just as bad. Maybe worse. Their entire family had a toxic relationship with the word rest, especially when the Joker was involved. That clown had left more scars on them than anyone cared to admit.

Finally, unable to sit still, Dick pulled out his phone and hit call.

“Babs,” he said the moment she picked up, “any news on the case?”

Barbara sighed. “Nothing. Mancini was right about one thing—this guy who stole Joker’s formula? He’s a ghost. Even the Joker’s gone quiet. Bruce and Tim are still digging.”

“Great,” Dick muttered, jaw clenched.

“I know it sucks sitting around,” Barbara said gently. “But we still don’t have confirmation Mancini was telling the truth. You know that.”

“I know.” He rubbed at the tension building at the back of his neck.

There was a beat of silence before she asked, “Hey… when was the last time you actually went out?”

“I go out all the time,” he said defensively.

“Coming home to see your brothers doesn’t count. Neither does hanging out with the team. And don’t even try bringing up Wally.”

He huffed. “I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were,” she cut in, amused. “But seriously, Dick. When was the last time you did something for you? Had fun. Met someone.”

He exhaled slowly. “There’s no time for that. You know how this life works. It’s not exactly relationship-friendly.”

Barbara didn’t argue. It was the truth—and the reason they’d broken up in the first place. They might always be best friends, always care for each other, but the vigilante life was relentless. Demanding. Even with all their shared understanding, it hadn’t been enough to keep them together.

So Dick kept it casual. One night, rarely ever two. Just enough to feel human. Never enough to drag some poor unsuspecting person into his shit.

“But it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try,” Barbara said, voice soft but firm. “You don’t always have to be Nightwing. Or the responsible older brother. You’re allowed to just be Dick sometimes.”

He let out a low groan. “At this rate, I am going to end up like Bruce.”

“Exactly,” she sighed. “And that is not a compliment.”

“Take that back.” He barked a short laugh, though it lacked bite. “If I end up like Bruce, put me down.”

“Only if you do something about it.”

“I want to. I do. But I can’t.” His voice dipped lower, more tired than he meant it to sound. “There’s just… no time for that stuff.”

“Well, now you’ve got some,” Barbara said, and he didn’t need to see her face to hear the grin curling in her voice.

Dick froze. Suspicion creeping in. “…Babs. What did you do?”

“Well, with the others still working to verify Mancini’s story and both Gotham and Blüdhaven being surprisingly quiet for once,” Barbara said lightly, “you, my friend, are officially off-duty.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “And that means… what exactly?”

“It means,” she continued with that too sweet tone, “you’re free to go out.”

He frowned. “Go out?” He could sense there was more. “Barbara, what did you do?”

“Oh, nothing too scandalous,” she replied airily. “Just… made you a dating profile.”

“You what?!” he barked, half standing from his chair.

“A very tasteful one,” she added quickly, clearly anticipating his outrage. “No shirtless gym selfies, no cheesy pick-up lines. I even used that photo of you from the Wayne Foundation gala last year—black suit, hair slicked back, looking all suave and charming.”

“Barbara,” he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Relax! You look great. And I may or may not have… already swiped on someone for you.”

He rubbed at his temples, already feeling the headache forming. “Are you serious right now?”

“You said it yourself. There’s no time. So I’m helping speed along the process. Now you’ve got a reason to go out and be you. Besides, she’s very cute. And smart. You’ll like her.”

Dick groaned. “Babs, this is not—this isn’t—God.” He dropped his head into his hand. “You can’t just sign me up for this stuff.”

“I can and I did. You’re welcome.” 

“I’m beaming with gratitude,” Dick muttered dryly. “Look just cancel the stupid profile.”

“You can’t back out now,” she sing-songed. “It’s already confirmed. Six o’clock. At that bar you like—Brick & Ember.”

Dick let out a slow breath, already resigning himself to the inevitable. He wasn’t the type to ghost someone. Even if the date went south, he’d at least be polite. End things gently. No use in being a dick to some poor girl dragged into Barbara’s scheme.

“Well,” he muttered, “at least you picked a good place.”

“Actually,” Barbara said with a grin in her voice, “she suggested it.”

That made him pause. “…Oh.”

So she had good taste too.

“I haven’t even seen her profile.” He weakly argued.

“Well, maybe you should check your notifications.” Her tone dipped into that singsong territory that meant he had absolutely no escape.

Against his better judgment, Dick pulled his phone away and opened the app she’d clearly installed behind his back. There it was.

One new match.

He clicked it.

And then blinked.

Barbara smirked, already knowing. “Told you she’s cute.”

Dick stared at the profile, brows lifting slightly. She was cute. Striking, actually. Hair loose and open, a sharp jawline softened by a crooked smile in one picture, and in another—God, was she… dancing on a pole?

“What the hell is this photo?”

Barbara’s voice rang in his ear, smug and satisfied. “Told you. Thank me later.”

Before he could respond, the line clicked dead.

Dick sighed, but his eyes drifted back to your photo. His thumb hovered over your name. You were definitely his type. And for the first time in a long while, he actually curious to see how the night might go.

BRICK & EMBER

It was nearly six when Dick grabbed his jacket, heading for the door—only for his phone to buzz in his pocket. He checked the caller ID and sighed.

Jason.

He answered anyway. “What’s up, Little Wing?”

“Any updates?” Jason asked without preamble.

“None so far,” Dick replied, trying to keep his voice even. “I called Babs this morning. She promised to keep me posted.”

“How can you be so calm?” Jason snapped, frustration bleeding through the line. “The Joker is out there, and if what Mancini said is true, we cannot let him get his hands on that formula.”

Dick let out a slow breath. “I’m not as calm as you think, Jay. But until Bruce and Tim dig up something concrete, running around blind isn’t going to help.”

Jason wasn’t convinced. “We don’t have to sit on our asses. We could be out there now. Start shaking the tree. You know how this works. Someone always knows something—you just need to find the right branches to snap.”

“Give it one more day,” Dick said, his voice firm. “If Bruce and Tim don’t find anything by then, we’ll start digging too.”

The last thing he needed was Jason storming off on his own. Not with the Joker possibly in the wind. That wound was still raw—for Jason, for all of them. 

“Besides,” Dick added, “I can’t tonight.”

Jason paused. “Why not?”

“I have a date.”

There was a beat of silence.

“A date?” Jason said flatly. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Dick sighed, already regretting saying anything.

“There’s a chemical weapon on the loose, and the Clown Prince of Batshit is out there hunting God knows what—and you’re going out for tapas?”

“It’s not tapas—”

“You are the reason Bruce has high blood pressure,” Jason muttered darkly.

“First of all, that’s because of you and Damian,” Dick shot back. “And second—look, it’s one date. And if you want to point fingers, blame Barbara. She’s the one who signed me up for the damn dating site.”

Jason let out a short, incredulous snort. “Of course she did. That woman’s probably had a spreadsheet tracking your love life since college.”

“I wouldn’t be shocked if she wired me with a mic just to coach me through the date.”

Jason huffed—something between a laugh and a groan. “So who is it this time? Some socialite with a podcast? A yoga instructor with three divorces?”

Dick grinned. “Actually? She’s a doctor.”

Jason paused. “…Huh. You’re actually going out with someone smart and normal?”

“She teaches at Gotham U.”

“Damn. That’s hot.”

Dick chuckled. “See? You do support me.”

“I didn’t say I supported you,” Jason snapped. “I said she’s hot. Big difference.”

“Mhm,�� Dick hummed, smug.

There was a pause. The silence sat for a beat, a little more relaxed now.

Then Jason muttered, “Just… keep your comm on, alright? I’ll be your back up if she turns out to be a psycho.”

Dick laughed under his breath. “Thanks, but I think I can handle dinner with a woman who isn’t actively trying to kill me.”

A beat.

“…Though in Gotham, that might be asking too much.”

Jason chuckled, low and dry. “Exactly. You attract chaos, Grayson. Don’t act surprised if she pulls out a flamethrower over appetizers.”

“If she does, I’ll send you a selfie.”

“Better yet, send me her number.”

“Jay.” Dick said, laughing now.

Jason snorted something that sounded dangerously close to affection before hanging up.

Dick glanced at the time and cursed under his breath. Jason’s call had eaten through his buffer. Grabbing his jacket, he headed out in a rush, weaving through the evening crowd with practiced ease.

He was nearly at the bar when doubt started creeping in.

She sounded perfect. Too perfect. Jason might’ve been joking, but… what if she was a psycho? Or a catfish? Or worse—some bored cougar using decade-old filters and a killer photo angle?

God, if she turned out to be fifty and looking for a sugar baby, Jason would never let him live it down.

The closer he got, the more cautious his steps became. A part of him braced for the worst. There had to be a catch. There always was.

He exhaled and pushed the door open.

Warm light spilled out from within—amber glow, clinking glasses, low laughter threading through ambient music. His blue eyes swept the room, scanning past faces and tables, until they landed on you.

And just like that, the world stopped.

You weren’t a catfish. You weren’t a cougar. You weren’t fifty.

If anything, you were even more stunning in person—hair pulled back just enough to frame your face, posture relaxed but unmistakably poised, fingers curled around a glass you hadn’t touched in a while.

And as if you could feel him watching, you turned.

Your gaze met his. And then you smiled.

It hit him like a punch to the gut—warm, radiant, unexpected.

Yep.

There had to be a catch.

Because no one looked that good—not without hiding something.

He was five minutes late, and you were already beginning to regret letting Milo talk you into this ridiculous scheme. He could’ve been using fake pictures. He could’ve been an old man. Or a serial killer. Or, knowing your luck, both.

If your murder ended up on the evening news, you were going to haunt Milo’s ass for the rest of his damned life.

You were just about to talk yourself out of it—stand up, make a graceful exit, maybe fake a stomach bug—when the bar’s front door chimed open.

Instinctively, you turned.

And there he was.

Relief swept through you like a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Not a catfish. Not a creepy older man. Not a serial killer—probably. No, he looked exactly like his profile.

Actually… better.

You slid out of your seat as he approached.

He was taller than his profile made him seem—broad-shouldered in a fitted navy button-down, black jeans, and that kind of easy, confident walk that made it obvious he belonged anywhere he stepped. His dark hair was tousled just enough to look good without trying, and when his eyes met yours, he smiled.

Dimples. Of course he had dimples.

“You must be Y/N,” he said, voice warm, edged with something rougher—like he laughed often, but didn’t sleep enough.

You nodded, sliding your phone into your purse. “And you’re not secretly a 65-year-old retiree named Gerald. So we’re off to a good start.”

He grinned, quick and genuine. “Only on weekends.”

That earned a laugh from you—real, despite yourself. The bartender arrived, sliding two drinks across the bar, and you thanked him as you both began walking to take your seats.

“I was starting to think you weren’t going to show,” you said, tilting your glass toward him, teasing just enough to cover the fact that you’d almost bolted five minutes earlier.

“Traffic was a nightmare,” he replied smoothly, pulling out your chair before settling into his. “Also had to convince my brother I wasn’t walking straight into a potential kidnapping.”

You raised a brow, amused. “Protective, is he?”

He smirked. “Let’s just say he’s got trust issues. I think he genuinely expected you to be an arms dealer with a basement full of body bags.”

You sipped your drink. “So… not far off.”

That pulled a laugh from him.

You grinned. “Well, good to know I wasn’t the only one worried about that… wait—” you narrowed your eyes, leaning forward as if reconsidering, “you’re not a kidnapper, are you?”

He leaned back, one brow arched, eyes sparkling with amusement. “That depends. How do you feel about being lured into vans with puppies and free Wi-Fi?”

You snorted into your drink. “Honestly? That’s a tempting offer after the day I’ve had.”

“Noted,” he said with a mock-serious nod. “Next time, I’ll bring a golden retriever and a mobile hotspot.”

You shook your head, laughing. “You joke, but if you’d been five more minutes late, I was one panic spiral away from texting my best friend to start emotionally drafting my eulogy. He’s the reason I even have that damned profile, if we’re being fully transparent.”

“Well,” he said, lifting his glass slightly, “in the spirit of honesty—same. My best friend is also the reason I had a profile.”

You grinned. “Look at that. We already have more in common than I thought.”

“Mutual best friend peer pressure,” he said dryly. “Truly the bedrock of all great romances.”

You clinked your glass against his, smiling into the rim. “Still. I’m glad he pushed me. Even if I was convinced you were going to ghost me or try to sell me a timeshare.”

Dick smirked. “Oh, I considered it. But then I saw your profile and figured a neuroscientist would be smart enough to spot the pyramid scheme.”

“Smart enough, maybe,” you replied, eyes narrowing playfully. “But I stayed, didn’t I?”

His lips twitched. “Touché.”

He leaned forward just a little, forearms resting on the table, that easy charm sharpening slightly into curiosity. “So… how’s it going so far? On a scale from ‘tragic mistake’ to ‘might not fake an emergency text.’”

You made a show of considering it. “Hmm… somewhere between ‘free food is free food’ and ‘I might actually want to see how this ends.’”

He laughed, low and genuine. “I’ll take it. That’s progress.”

A beat passed. Not awkward. Just…Comfortable.

He leaned in slightly, the teasing softening in his voice. “You seem like someone who doesn’t usually do this kind of thing.”

Your smile faded just a touch, replaced by something quieter. “I don’t. Not really.”

“No horror date stories, then?”

Oh, I have one,” you said, arching a brow. “Three years of one.”

That surprised a laugh out of him, though the look in his eyes shifted—warm, attentive. “Oof. Long-term horror.”

“Yep,” you said, popping the ‘p’ lightly. “But it taught me a lot. Like how to spot a red flag… and never trust a man named Jake.”

Dick laughed, eyes glinting. “Jake, huh? Should I be worried?”

You narrowed your gaze playfully. “Not unless you’re hiding bleached hair and have an ego the size of Wayne Tower under that charm.”

He grinned. “Good news—definitely not blonde. And the ego?” He leaned in just a little, voice dipping playfully. “Mostly under control. Depends on the lighting.”

You laughed. “Ah, so it swells at golden hour. Noted.”

“Only if someone’s complimenting my jawline.”

“Oh, God,” you groaned, but you were smiling. “I walked into this, didn’t I?”

He raised his glass again, eyes glinting. “And now you can’t walk out. Social contract and all.”

You sipped your drink, still grinning. “You’re more charming than I expected.”

“Most people expect broody or boring,” he said with a shrug. “So I like to keep ‘mildly delightful’ in my back pocket.”

“Mildly delightful,” you echoed, amused. “That’s your official rating now.”

“I’ll take it,” he said with mock pride. “Could be worse. So…” He tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Tell me—what makes a brilliant, sharp, slightly intimidating neuroscientist swipe right on a guy with two pictures and a suspiciously short bio?”

You smiled, but this time it carried a note of honesty beneath the humor. “Because he didn’t try too hard. No gym selfies. No weird filters. And his first message actually had punctuation. That’s rare, you know.”

“High standards.”

“I work with brains,” you said simply. “I tried settling once. Never again.”

He gave a small nod, his smile thoughtful now. “A woman who knows what she wants—I respect that.”

It was your turn to tilt your head, curiosity glinting behind your grin. “Alright—your turn. What made you agree to this date? Because I saw the profile Milo made for me and—look, it was a disaster. For the record, I do not make a habit of dancing on poles. That was one time. At his bachelor party. Too many drinks. I got dared.”

He laughed, full and unguarded, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re telling me that wasn’t a career aspiration?”

“Shocking, I know,” you said dryly. “My dreams of becoming a neuroscientist-pole-dancer hybrid never quite took off.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.” He leaned in a little, expression mock-serious. “I was really banking on a lap dance over dessert.”

You nearly choked on your drink, snorting. “That's implying i stay long enough for dessert.”

“Then I guess I better make the main course memorable to convince you,” He smirked, leaning back just slightly, before the humor in his expression giving way to something softer. “But for the record?” A pause. “It was your eyes.”

That made you blink. “My eyes?”

He shrugged, but there was something sincere in his voice now. “Your eyes stood out. They were open. Genuine. Not guarded or jaded like most people in this city. That kind of thing’s basically extinct in Gotham.”

You blinked.

And okay, maybe the wine was hitting, or maybe it was the way he said it—casual but genuine—but your heart did something.

“Don’t ruin it now,” you said lightly, recovering with a smile. “That was dangerously close to poetic.”

“I have layers,” he said, lifting his glass in a lazy half-toast.

“Clearly.”

He smiled again—slower this time. Less of a flirt, more of a study. “I like people who don’t bullshit. You strike me as someone who cuts through it.”

You tapped your glass against the table lightly. “Only when I’m not too busy overanalyzing everything within a five-mile radius.”

“Perfect,” he said, finishing the last of his drink. “You overanalyze. I underreact. Balance.”

You raised your glass. “A healthy relationship dynamic if I’ve ever heard one.”

Dick was utterly smitten by the end of the night.

You were everything he wanted—and nothing he’d expected.

He’d known you were brilliant going in—your profile, however chaotic, couldn’t hide that—but what caught him off guard was everything else. The dry wit. The unapologetic honesty. The way you didn’t flinch from teasing him, even when he gave as good as he got.

You weren’t trying to impress him. You weren’t putting on a act like some of the socialites he’d went out with. You were just you—sharp, bold, genuine—and it was the most refreshing thing he’d felt in a long, long time.

Which was why, when the check had been paid and the last of the drinks were gone, he found himself reluctant to leave. Not literally dragging his feet—but close.

“I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed myself this much without having to dodge bullets,” he said as you both stepped out into the cool Gotham night.

You grinned, tugging your coat tighter. “Gotham’s highest standard for a good evening.”

He glanced at you, that crooked smile creeping in again. “I mean it. This was… really nice.”

You gave a softer smile this time. “Yeah. It was.”

A small beat of silence passed—once again not awkward, just content.

Then he cleared his throat. “So… I don’t usually say this on first dates—”

You smirked. “That sounds promising.”

“—but I want to see you again.”

You arched a brow. “That’s not scandalous, Dick.”

“I just mean—” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck, “usually I don’t care if there’s a second date. With you, I do.”

Your smile widened, but your voice stayed light. “Well, lucky for you… I don’t usually give second chances.”

He blinked, caught somewhere between amused and confused.

You took your phone out, holding it up between you. “But I’m willing to make an exception.”

He chuckled, pulling his own phone from his pocket and handing it over without hesitation. “You’re going to be trouble, aren’t you?”

You tilted your head. “Only if you’re lucky.”

Phones were exchanged, numbers saved. As he handed yours back, his fingers brushed yours—just briefly—but the moment lingered.

“I’ll text you,” he said, voice a shade lower now.

You hesitated just a second, like you were weighing something—then stepped forward.

Leaning up onto your toes, your lips brushed the edge of his jaw, featherlight.

You pulled back, biting your lip as if trying to hold back a smile.

“I hope you do,” you murmured.

← Previous Chapter ✯ Next Chapter →

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙉𝙤𝙩 𝘼𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙈𝙮 𝘼𝙨𝙨

summary: The bunny theory is debunked!

characters: bunny! reader, slytherin boys

warnings: none! just clingy bunny reader with her bf

word count: 699

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The Slytherin common room was relatively peaceful for once. A rare thing, considering the usual chaos that surrounded the boys like a storm cloud. But today, there was no bickering, no arguments over whose turn it was to copy Theo’s homework, and no Blaise sighing in disappointment at the sheer idiocy of his friends.

Instead, the only sound was the soft scratch of Enzo flipping through a book, Theo absentmindedly shuffling his deck of exploding snap cards, and Mattheo lounging on the couch-his head tilted back against the cushions, hand lazily stroking the tiny, fluffy bunny curled up on his chest.

Bunny, in her animagus form, was completely melted against him, her small body rising and falling with each of his breaths. If she moved at all, it was just to burrow deeper into Mattheo’s hoodie, as if trying to merge into him entirely.

“Hey,” Enzo suddenly snorted, breaking the silence. “This book says rabbits aren’t that affectionate.”

Theo, barely looking up from his cards, hummed. “What?”

Enzo tapped the page. “Says here that rabbits don’t like being held too much. They prefer their own space, aren’t clingy, and don’t need constant attention.”

There was a beat of silence before Mattheo let out the loudest, most unamused scoff.

“That’s bullshit.”

Enzo blinked up at him. “Mate, I’m literally reading it from a book-”

Mattheo gestured aggressively to the tiny ball of fur plastered against his chest like a heat-seeking missile.

“Does this look like an animal that ‘prefers their own space’ to you?”

As if to further prove his point, Bunny shifted, stretching her little paws before snuggling even deeper into Mattheo’s hoodie, her tiny nose twitching against the fabric.

Draco, amused, finally put his book down. “To be fair, she is kind of obsessed with you.”

Mattheo smirked, scratching behind her ears like it was second nature. “Damn right she is.”

Theo chuckled. “Face it, Enzo. Bunny’s an exception to every rule. That, or she imprinted on Mattheo like a baby duck.”

Blaise raised a brow. “Honestly, we should be more concerned about how often she’s with him. I can’t remember the last time I saw them apart.”

Enzo frowned. “Wait… yeah. When has she ever not been stuck to him?”

Draco smirked, leaning forward. “You should see them in class. Bunny always sits next to him. Always.”

Theo laughed. “That’s nothing. You should see her at meals-she eats off his plate more than her own.”

Enzo’s eyes widened. “Wait, I thought she just did that to annoy him?”

Mattheo snorted. “She steals my food. Every single time. And I let her.”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah, that’s love, mate.”

“Oh, oh!” Theo grinned. “What about how she clings to his arm when we’re walking? If he stops moving, she just stumbles into him because she refuses to let go.”

Enzo laughed. “And when she’s not holding onto him, she’s following behind him like a shadow.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, though the fond smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Yeah, and when I disappear for more than five minutes, she comes looking for me.”

“She actually did that last week,” Draco added. “You left the common room, and she got up after two minutes, like, ‘Where’s Mattheo?’”

Blaise smirked. “And if she’s not in her human form, she’s in his hoodie as a bunny.”

At this, everyone turned to look at the tiny ball of fluff currently nestled against Mattheo’s chest.

“Case in point,” Theo said, gesturing.

Enzo scoffed. “How does that not annoy you?”

Mattheo just shrugged, still stroking Bunny’s fur. “It’s warm. I think she likes hearing my heartbeat or something.”

Draco let out a chuckle. “Honestly, I don’t know how you deal with it.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened as he scratched behind Bunny’s ears, watching as she gave a sleepy twitch. “I don’t deal with it. I enjoy it.”

Theo and Enzo groaned.

Blaise rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

Mattheo just smirked. “You’re all just jealous.”

Enzo huffed. “I’m not jealous-I just don’t understand how a bunny can be this clingy.”

Theo smirked. “That means the whole ‘rabbits aren’t affectionate’ thing is officially debunked.”

Mattheo just smirked, running a gentle hand down Bunny’s back. “Not affectionate, my ass.”

[sparsilees]

Harry is a clever and competent wizard

A recurring theme in fandom I find endlessly tiresome and disappointing is the portrayal of Harry as an academically struggling student who’s lamentably hopeless at Potions and middling in all other subjects aside from DADA, and who, alongside Ron, is in constant need of Hermione’s guidance. It’s present almost everywhere. It’s reinvented canon. And it’s shoved down new readers and non-fans’ throats alike. Please, there’s an HP wiki available for your perusal. Don’t go about consulting popular fics and the Hermione-biased movie director’s visions to draw your ideas of Harry and Ron’s psyche!

It’s doubly aggravating when this depiction is used to highlight Hermione, Draco, or so-and-so classmate’s magical Einstein-levels of genius and reinforce the false narrative that Harry’s singular claim to brilliance lies in Quidditch, and that he’s got nothing more than fluff and snitches between his ears on top of being oblivious to the point of idiocy. That apart from excelling in Defence, he doesn’t have much upstairs... (And even then a minority of the fandom portray DADA as akin to gym class where it’s all honing muscles, muscle memory, and reflexes, with Harry framed as an archetypical gymbro on top being a himbo. What?!)

So we’re just going to overlook his devastatingly biting wit and clever asides? Or brush aside how he repeatedly demonstrates his ability to perform well under pressure? His keen intuition and how he carefully retains seemingly insignificant, misfit puzzle pieces until the eureka moment strikes and he seamlessly integrates them into the bigger picture?

Take these two examples from Philosopher’s Stone with an intrepid tiny Harry:

Harry was quite sure the unsettled feeling didn’t have anything to do with work, though. He watched an owl flutter toward the school across the bright blue sky, a note clamped in its mouth. Hagrid was the only one who ever sent him letters. Hagrid would never betray Dumbledore. Hagrid would never tell anyone how to get past Fluffy . . . never . . . but — Harry suddenly jumped to his feet. “Where’re you going?” said Ron sleepily. “I’ve just thought of something,” said Harry. He had turned white. “We’ve got to go and see Hagrid, now.” “Why?” panted Hermione, hurrying to keep up. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd,” said Harry, scrambling up the grassy slope, “that what Hagrid wants more than anything else is a dragon, and a stranger turns up who just happens to have an egg in his pocket? How many people wander around with dragon eggs if it’s against wizard law? Lucky they found Hagrid, don’t you think? Why didn’t I see it before?”

Quirrell cursed under his breath. “I don’t understand . . . is the Stone inside the mirror? Should I break it?” Harry’s mind was racing. What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment, he thought, is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it — which means I’ll see where it’s hidden! But how can I look without Quirrell realizing what I’m up to? He tried to edge to the left, to get in front of the glass without Quirrell noticing, but the ropes around his ankles were too tight: he tripped and fell over. Quirrell ignored him. He was still talking to himself. “What does this mirror do? How does it work? Help me, Master!” And to Harry’s horror, a voice answered, and the voice seemed to come from Quirrell himself. “Use the boy . . . Use the boy . . .” Quirrell rounded on Harry. “Yes — Potter — come here.” He clapped his hands once, and the ropes binding Harry fell off. Harry got slowly to his feet. “Come here,” Quirrell repeated. “Look in the mirror and tell me what you see.” Harry walked toward him. I must lie, he thought desperately. I must look and lie about what I see, that’s all.

Bravery alone wasn’t enough to overcome his troubled upbringing with the Dursleys, or Quirrelmort, or Diary Tommy, or the final leg of the Horcrux hunt — it required a combination of mental agility, resourcefulness, and cunning to evaluate the situation, outsmart his opponents, and tip the odds in his favour. Harry needed to survive. To survive, he needed something other than mere guts. Harry’s ability to think on his feet and leverage his intelligence to gain the upper hand in challenging scenarios remains a testament to his brilliance and his remarkable presence of mind. He isn’t the foolhardy, impulsive Gryffindor who leaps into danger headlong without prior planning everytime.

(For that matter, Gryffindor are more than their “bravery” which has somehow been twisted into being synonymous with “reckless” — Sirius being a prime example of this, when in GOF he was urging Harry caution in their communications, despite the fandom conveniently only zeroing in on the depressed, cooped up version of him in OOTP, sigh. Bravery is fortitude, pluck, tenacity, strength of moral fibre, resilience, and heart as well.)

Some other less-mentioned examples of his quick mind: Harry wondering about Snape and Karkaroff being on a first-name basis; remembering Nicholas Flamel just from a long-ago glance, and again, Stan Shunpike despite their single encounter; Harry coaxing out Slughorn’s secret (no, it wasn’t all the Felix Felicis); Harry putting himself in Voldemort’s shoes, and Ron and Hermione deferring to his superior, albeit scary, knowledge; and Harry frightening Ollivander with his deductions about the wands. (It wasn’t solely Hermione’s brains that enabled their chances of survival in DH, let’s ditch that false narrative.)

The most laughably contrived bit in fanon is the unfounded notion that Hermione lets the boys cheat off her work to coast by in class. Fanon is wrong on both counts. Hermione would sooner report the boys for cheating than allow them to copy off her, and Harry isn’t anywhere close to scraping the bottom of the barrel in class, and neither is Ron. The handful of instances in canon where she looks over their assignments and helps correct mistakes isn’t cheating. Her input is akin to getting a second pair of eyes or a beta reader to ensure their work is up to snuff — heaven forbid a student help out a friend by suggesting some tips and tweaks. (Or attend tuition or retain a personal tutor or three.)

The ‘that’s why Harry isn’t a Ravenclaw’ jokes get pretty stale once you realise a large portion of the fandom genuinely think he isn’t a smart kid or has never read a book of his own volition/interest in his life. But Harry enjoyed reading his new books late into the night before starting Hogwarts (he found Hedwig’s name in A History of Magic, after all). Admittedly, studying is a feat in and of itself when you have zero access to books, but some cunning can turn around your luck!

Nevertheless, Sirius had been of some help to Harry, even if he couldn’t be with him. It was due to Sirius that Harry now had all his school things in his bedroom with him. The Dursleys had never allowed this before; their general wish of keeping Harry as miserable as possible, coupled with their fear of his powers, had led them to lock his school trunk in the cupboard under the stairs every summer prior to this. But their attitude had changed since they had found out that Harry had a dangerous murderer for a godfather — for Harry had conveniently forgotten to tell them that Sirius was innocent.

‘Oh, Potter can’t differentiate between a salamander and newt’s eyes.’

‘Asking him to skin shrivelfigs is a tall order since he can’t wield a dagger properly.’

‘He used shredded jobberknoll feathers when the recipe called for a fine powder. Poor Hermione will have to take over yet again to save his stupid arse.’

It’s these many variations and renditions of Harry’s alleged, often exaggerated, ineptitude in fandom content and making a monkey out of him, which I come across more often than not, that are an instant turn-off.

The widespread idea that Harry’s success in the subject can be attributed solely to the Prince’s book is misguided and further undermines his intelligence — and this jaundiced belief that’s crystallised itself as canon, of Harry and Ron putting on a double act as stupid slouches in class and therefore deserving of Snape’s derision and the Slytherin’s put-downs, is a far cry from the truth. Snape’s opinion of Harry’s intelligence or ability should be taken with a grain of salt, given that Harry has been described as a bright and talented child since his first year, by the Professors, Dumbledore, and the Sorting Hat. Even the resident megalomaniac described him as “not unintelligent”. You know what’s actually canon?

1) Snape’s biased approach towards Harry and Neville caused them to have an unwarranted fear of failure and reprimands. The Potions classroom was a hostile and unwelcoming learning environment for these two boys.

2) Harry is pretty confident when left to his own devices in class in OoTP before Snape flushed his effort down the gutter.

Exhibit 1:

Snape, meanwhile, seemed to have decided to act as though Harry were invisible. Harry was, of course, well used to this tactic, as it was one of Uncle Vernon’s favourites, and on the whole was grateful he had to suffer nothing worse. In fact, compared to what he usually had to endure from Snape in the way of taunts and snide remarks, he found the new approach something of an improvement and was pleased to find that when left well alone, he was able to concoct an Invigoration Draught quite easily. At the end of the lesson he scooped some of the potion into a flask, corked it, and took it up to Snape’s desk for marking, feeling that he might at last have scraped an E. He had just turned away when he heard a smashing noise; Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter. Harry whipped around again. His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor, and Snape was watching him with a look of gloating pleasure. “Whoops,” he said softly. “Another zero, then, Potter . . .” Harry was too incensed to speak. He strode back to his cauldron, intending to fill another flask and force Snape to mark it, but saw to his horror that the rest of the contents had vanished. “I’m sorry!” said Hermione with her hands over her mouth. “I’m really sorry, Harry, I thought you’d finished, so I cleared up!”

Exhibit 2:

“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying good-bye.” His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.

Exhibit 3:

Ron found it quite easy to ignore as they spent most of Saturday and Sunday studying for Potions on Monday, the exam to which Harry was looking forward least and which he was sure would be the one that would be the downfall of his ambitions to become an Auror. Sure enough, he found the written exam difficult, though he thought he might have got full marks on the question about Polyjuice Potion: He could describe its effects extremely accurately, having taken it illegally in his second year. The afternoon practical was not as dreadful as he had expected it to be. With Snape absent from the proceedings he found that he was much more relaxed than he usually was while making potions. Neville, who was sitting very near Harry, also looked happier than Harry had ever seen him during a Potions class. When Professor Marchbanks said, “Step away from your cauldrons, please, the examination is over,” Harry corked his sample flask feeling that he might not have achieved a good grade but that he had, with luck, avoided a fail.

Whereas in Ch 15 of OoTP, Snape had marked Harry’s essay on moonstones as Dreadful and claimed it to be a realistic expectation of OWL grading:

“I have awarded you the grades you would have received if you presented this work in your O.W.L.,” said Snape with a smirk, as he swept among them, passing back their homework. “This should give you a realistic idea of what to expect in your examination.” Snape reached the front of the class and turned to face them. “The general standard of this homework was abysmal. Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week’s essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get D’s.” He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, “Some people got D’s? Ha!”

And yet, Harry did very well on his OWLs before he even got a whiff of the Prince’s book.

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures EE

Charms EE

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology EE

History of Magic D

Potions EE

Transfiguration EE

Harry and Ron studied (!) both days of the weekend before Potions OWLs (!) without Hermione (!), and still Harry wasn’t sure he’d secure a good grade yet ended up scoring an EE. Exceeds Expectations, which y’know translates to: Surpasses Expectations, So Much Better than Expected, Rather Brilliant.

Unless you believe that anything less than the top percentiles is rubbish, Harry is not a ‘certifiable dunce’. There’s no denying he’s a competent and clever wizard and easily punches above his weight when he’s properly motivated and applies himself. Intelligence is a genetic trait, and Harry comes from nerdstock.

If he could achieve those grades whilst serving 7-hour torture sessions with Umbridge, suffering from Voldemort and Snape tearing into his mind, and putting up with the government slandering him in his second most important school year, running on fumes and sheer will (constantly disruspted sleep routine? Ugh!), then yeah, remove all those crutches, and he’d be raking in straight Os for most of those subjects. (It sort of sounds like ‘excuse our mental health and and anxiety’ for us if we perform poorly in exams, but not for Harry ‘he’s an idiot throwing teen tantrums’. Someone give me a hammer.)

“You’d need top grades for that,” said Professor McGonagall, extracting a small, dark leaflet from under the mass on her desk and opening it. “They ask for a minimum of five N.E.W.T.s, and nothing under ‘Exceeds Expectations’ grade, I see. Then you would be required to undergo a stringent series of character and aptitude tests at the Auror office. It’s a difficult career path, Potter; they only take the best. In fact, I don’t think anybody has been taken on in the last three years.”

Did he earn the grades? Yes. The Auror program ran aptitude tests, too, and only took the best, yes? Not because he’s a hothead with a daredevil streak and impulse issues, yes? Not because his dream was to be an Auror since his third year, or that he was only exceptional at fighting, or some such nonsense. After all, Barty Crouch Jr, he of the impeccable OWLs record, saw something worthy of Auror material in Harry and planted the seed in his mind. (Reminder: Barty also said Hermione should consider joining the Aurors too because her “mind works the right way”.)

And Moody thought he, Harry, ought to be an Auror! Interesting idea . . . but somehow, Harry thought, as he got quietly into his four-poster ten minutes later, the egg and the Cloak now safely back in his trunk, he thought he’d like to check how scarred the rest of them were before he chose it as a career.

If Harry was incapable of telling up from down in Potions, the Prince’s annotations would have been like casting pearls before swine. Worse still, Harry’s supposed lack of know-how would have caused more harm than good. The book only helped to refine the skills and knowledge he had cultivated over five years of study. Having a comfortable learning environment, an encouraging teacher, and superior instructions allowed Harry to maximise his potential and excel in class. (This phenomenon of underachiever-to-star pupil can happen in real life and is not unique to Harry. It happens with neurodivergent students with slightly different needs, students who require a more personal teaching style, and students stunted by an unhealthy learning environment. When their needs are met and supported, they tend to thrive and reach their potential.)

To put it into perspective, imagine taking an average kid whose expertise in cooking extends to making beans on toast and putting them in a professional kitchen. Imagine asking this kid to fillet a salmon and very finely slice lemons for garnish, tasks that require careful hands, finesse, and patience. If the kid can’t distinguish between a paring knife and a boning knife, they don’t stand half a chance. They’re liable to mess up the fish from the get-go. They might use a petty knife for everything and present a terribly executed dish; or they might cleverly choose a smaller knife but misuse it, not knowing that the flexibility and sharpness of a blade vary depending on their purpose, and end up seriously hurting themselves. Either way, filleting a fish is best left to seasoned home cooks and the pros.

In contrast, Harry is identical to a proficient home cook who knows the ropes but lacks some finesse and the fancy carving and plating skills of a trained culinary student. He has a firm grasp of the necessary theory and techniques and knows how to prep ingredients correctly, but may fumble the ideal application of said techniques, lacks an inborn zeal for the craft that lends to creativity, and overlook the finer details, particularly when he’s weighed down by fear of censure and humiliation. His level of success hinges on variables such as his confidence, familiarity with a recipe or method, and the type of environment he’s in. Talent is like a little seed; when nurtured, it will flourish.

Slughorn’s NEWT class was small, admitting twelve students out of a fortyish-student batch. No Gryffindor apart from the Golden Trio made the cut, and they were joined by the lone Hufflepuff, four Ravenclaws, and four Slytherins. Essentially, only a dozen students achieved an EE or O to qualify for NEWT Potions. Fanon will tell you most of the Slytherins have been tinkering with cauldrons in their diapers, but canon shows that only two other Slytherins, besides Draco and Blaise, made the grade. So, how are we still perpetuating this incorrect interpretation that Ron and Harry were barely keeping up academically when they’re more adept than half their year?

Harry and Ron aren’t academically inclined or driven by an obsessive urge to pore over books most hours of the day for fun, so what? Let them joke around and play chess and cards and broom race in the rain without bringing their brains and academics into the equation. Let Harry be a proper child/teen when he’s not busy hunting clues and crushing evil plots. Stop making the sum of HJP be “Powerful Himbo” or “Saviour Complex and Running on Luck”, which is pretty disrespectful towards a character who has shown himself to be so, so competent and well-rounded.

It’s such a huge thorn in my side that both Harry and Sirius (of all people, when he’s twinning with James as the insultingly effortless mavens during their time at Hogwarts!) habitually have their intelligence questioned and maliciously devaluated, or blown off entirely. So I had to sit and get this chaotically demonstrative commentary off my chest. Thank you, if you’ve read till the end!

[johnnysuhbmarine]

On the Same Page ♡ Masterlist

Pairing: Haechan x reader Description: Knowing a change of scenery was what your mental health needed, you transferred to where your brother, Mark, goes to college. The good news is, he’s not too cool for his younger sister, so he lets you join his friend group immediately. The bad news is, Haechan is in that friend group, and a brief encounter four years ago was enough for you to understand he does NOT like you. Even worse news, he’s a lot hotter than he was four years ago…

Genre: smau (some written parts), college au, crack, some angst, some fluff, "enemies" but more so strangers to lovers, brother's best friend, so many (2) ups and downs, general idiocy when it comes to feelings Content Warnings: swearing, death jokes, mentions of depression and anxiety, mentions of bullying, a few punches thrown here and there (reader is not involved)

A/n: Please know I do not take the above subjects lightly and do not intend for it to come across that way at any point in this smau. As someone who struggles with this stuff, I guess I was kind of writing what I needed to hear sometimes (so forgive me for some self-indulgence)...and as a comm major who did an entire research paper around the impact of friends/social support on one's depression, I felt okay addressing those topics here - I promise I’m not uninformed and just trying to add plot points. As always, take care of yourself first. I love you.

Status: completed! Started: October 27, 2024 Ended: December 14, 2024 Taglist closed

[Intro: SM University Besties] [Intro: NCIT Crew] [Chapter One: Female intuition]

[Chapter Two: A SISTER?!?!]

[Chapter Three: why he kinda...]

[Chapter Four: It must be a sibling thing]

[Chapter Five: Chat, am I jealous?]

[Chapter Six: Normal person? No can do.]

[Chapter Seven: a pretty good guess]

[Chapter Eight: mono boy]

[Chapter Nine: He's a sleazebag]

[Chapter Ten: What is a star party?]

[Chapter Eleven: on the way]

[Chapter Twelve: my sister's favorite movie]

[Chapter Thirteen: You’re pretty cool, too]

[Chapter Fourteen: It’s a little bit funny]

[Chapter Fifteen: I'll just ask Mark] (partly written)

[Chapter Sixteen: smol bear] (partly written)

[Chapter Seventeen: doing a great job]

[Chapter Eighteen: locking in]

[Chapter Nineteen: scheiße]

[Chapter Twenty: not as cute as Mark]

[Chapter Twenty-One: Mr. Snippy]

[Chapter Twenty-Two: Take a break]

[Chapter Twenty-Three: couldn't keep my promise]

[Chapter Twenty-Four: The men in y/n's life]

[Chapter Twenty-Five: Halloween]

[Chapter Twenty-Six: A little birdie]

[Chapter Twenty-Seven: I don't need your protection]

[Chapter Twenty-Eight: butterflies in her stomach]

[Chapter Twenty-Nine: EMERGENCY]

[Chapter Thirty: We're so back] (partly written)

[Chapter Thirty-One: lunch dates]

[Chapter Thirty-Two: pretty girl] (partly written)

[Epilogue: three months later...]

[letsbangts]

umbrella || jjk

⤷ summary: when rain pours more into your life instead of washing things away

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader

⟶ word count: 2k+

⟶ genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, established relationship au

⟶ content: boyfriend!jk, college au, kook is a flirty tease, mainly just a fluffy couple in love with a barely there argument because of a protective jk

⟶ warnings: explicit language

↬ a/n: so this is a very old piece I polished up a bit. it was inspired by a narration in a scene from the drama ‘goblin’, so that tells you how old it is haha. hope you enjoy & let me know what you think! angel xoxo

masterlist ˚.⋆˚.⋆˚.⋆ join my taglist

on this rainy night, what is your umbrella?

You stood under the awning outside the building, which you were supposed to be far from as of 2 o’clock. Your other classmates were long gone, having made their way off campus through the rain by running to their cars with the protection of a coat or umbrella. None of the things you have because you continue not to be an adult and watch the news, missing the weather report that everyone else was aware of. Watching the heavy raindrops smack against the pavement, you contemplate how you’re getting home.

Should you make a run for it? A run for 30 minutes? Yeah, that’s not happening. You could call a taxi. But you’re not going to pay for that so no.

“Fuck, I’m such an idiot,” you say quietly to yourself, or so you thought.

“Jeez, that’s a little harsh don’t you think,” a beautiful deep voice says.

Startled you turn your head quickly to be met with what you could have sworn was a literal angel in disguise as a twenty-something-year-old boy. The tall boy looks away from the rain and towards you. He gives you a quick look over and sees your empty hands and smiles.

“Ah! You don’t have an umbrella. You didn’t watch the news?” he asks. You shake your head to answer him.

He smirks and nods his head while looking back out at the downpour.

“Maybe you are an idiot,” he says all too casually while shrugging, clearly teasing you.

“Hey!” you scoff out with a laugh, finally speaking.

“I mean, today is one of the worst days we are supposed to get this year! How can you not have an umbrella or at least a hood?” he laughs out loud, gesturing his hand at you from head to toe.

His laugh and your current predicament both cause you to join in. Once you both settle down the dark-haired boy looks at you with round eyes still slightly crinkled from laughter although nothing but kindness is present in them.

“How far do you live from here?” he asks with a melodic voice and an endearing head tilt to match it.

Upon first look, he may seem like someone with an edge to them; dark-coloured clothes, piercings and some tattoos. But it is ever present that there is an apparent softness to him, one that accompanied by his calm demeanour is pouring a level of comfort over you that you can not explain.

“30 minutes that way,” you point out the way to your home, “Pretty close to Bam's House Cafe.”

“Hmm, I’m headed the same way, so it looks like you're a lucky idiot,” he says shooting you a wink while opening his umbrella held in his tattooed hand.

“Gee thanks, but I’d feel more lucky if you’d stop rubbing my idiocy in my face,” you chuckle.

“I would call you by name if you told me it,” he says with a slight, dare you say flirtatious smirk that causes your breath to get stuck in your throat.

“It’s Y/N.”

“Well Y/N, I’m Jungkook. The handsome, well-prepared gentleman escorting you through this storm today,” he sends you a beaming smile that almost sends you to your grave.

He holds out the clear vinyl plastic for you to stand under it. You do just that and as you step close to him, arms brushing you’re hit with his clean fresh scent.

“Thank you again, Jungkook," you reply looking down to hide your sudden blush.

"Shall we get going?” he asks flicking his head out to the direction you earlier pointed out, and with a nod of your head, you both step out starting on the journey to your home. And so much more.  

the voice that responds when you call.

The ringing in your ears finally stops when you hear the voice on the other end of the phone say, “Hello?”

But it is no surprise to you, knowing he would answer because Jungkook always did. You knew once he saw your name flash across his screen he would not hesitate to slide to answer.

“Hey,” your voice is small when you reply.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately concerned, because just like how Jungkook always answers, he always knows. He knows you.

“I just miss you, I wanted to hear your voice.”

“I know I miss you too. But I’ll be back in two days.”

“Ugh! That’s going to feel like forever,” a whiny sadness to your tone.

“Hey, I told you you could come with me. My mom is still upset I didn’t bring you,” he chuckles.

“Yeah, I know but taking a trip to Busan is not an option with work right now,” you sigh.

You hear him sigh as well and there is a long pause between you two.

“Then quit your job,” he states in an all too serious tone.

“What? Jungkook have you lost your mind? You know I can’t qu-“

“Sure you can! I’ll quit my own too! Then we can move out here and buy a house. We can live by the water and have a bunch of kids, it will be perfect,” his tone gets more excited as he hears your giggles pleased with your happiness.

“So what do you say, babe? Sounds good right?” he asks still joking.

“Sounds perfect,” you reply with a content smile.

And just like that you were no longer sad because Jungkook knew how to make you happy. Jungkook always knew.

the memories of seeing the same thing at the same time.

It was Monday, and although you were not as fond of it as any other person towards that day of the week, you had one thing to look forward to on Mondays. That was the one day of the week Jungkook would meet you at work and you would walk home together.

So here the two of you are walking through the park, which was a shortcut to your shared home. Your hand in his, fingers interlocked this being the beckon of light at the end of your work day. You feel him rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand and you glance at him to see him just looking off into the distance. Your usually chatty boyfriend is now just quietly at your side. You use your free hand and pull him by the elbow holding him close to your side, gaining his attention eyebrows raised in question.

“Rough day?” you ask looking up at him.

He breathes out an airy laugh through his nose.

“Yeah you know, just one of those days,” he glances back at you with a small shrug then continues.

“It was one of those days I wished I was just with you at home, just had you beside me,” he squeezes your hand, “Only me and you, the rest of the world blocked out.”

He looks down at you and softly smiles that eye smile you could never fall out of love with.

“I wish for that every day,” you reply returning the squeeze to his hand while smiling up at him.

While you share this moment you notice small white flakes landing on his raven-coloured hair. He must have taken notice too as you both look up.

You are met with flurries quickly floating down all around you two making their way to the ground.

“The first snowfall,” he states almost in a whisper.

“It's so pretty,” you say fascinated and fully entranced with the beauty of Mother Nature.

You feel his gaze on your face and turn to make eye contact. He has the most delicate look, eyes filled with adoration.

“I may not have had you by my side all day, but I’m glad I have you here right now,” he says lovingly.

And at that moment, witnessing the beginning of a new season with your love and sharing this memory, you could have sworn the rest of the world was blocked out and it was just you two.

the first time you matched each other’s pace.

Angry.

No, that’s not even the right word, enraged. Yes, enraged that is what you are feeling right now. And why were you so mad? Your boyfriend seemed to think that a guy having a friendly conversation with you, albeit a drunken one on his part but innocent, was the perfect reason to cause a huge scene in the middle of a party with all your friends and more to see.

So now here you are walking home furious with one another because you think he overreacted while he thinks you underreacted. Not only are you annoyed with him for how he acted but now you’re annoyed with yourself for wearing heels knowing you would have to walk home after a whole night in them.

Your pace starts to get slower because your feet start killing you and it suddenly feels like Jungkook is running a marathon instead of walking home. You glance up and see the distance between his back and you getting bigger and bigger. You focus on trying to ignore the pain soaring through your feet and as you continue walking with your head down staring at the shoes you have come to despise you suddenly bump into a shoulder.

You look up to your side and notice the man that was ahead of you seconds ago now right beside you.

“If you can’t keep up just say so,” he grumbles, the first words you hear from him since leaving the party.

You notice how he starts walking slower for you and does not move an inch further from your side. You continue your struggle to walk, feet pulsing more with every step.

“Ah fuck it,” you mumble to yourself as you take off your heels.

Jungkook halts and turns towards you once he notices you stopped walking. Once you start to continue you feel your heels being ripped out of your hands, as you’re about to ask what he’s doing he kneels in front of you, wordlessly telling me to get on his back.

“Kook, you don’t-“

“Get on,” he quietly demands.

You don’t argue because your feet yell at you not to. You get on his back, arms around his neck and he tucks his hands under your knees immediately standing up with ease and continues the journey home.

“I told you not to wear those damn shoes,” he says after a couple of minutes.

For some reason that comment brings a slight smile to you, as you realize that your anger has disappeared without you even being aware.

“Thank you,” you say into his neck as you tighten your arms and lock your ankles around his torso hugging him closer to you.

He adjusts his hands to your thighs as you pull your bodies closer together.

“For what?” he questions taking a peek at you.

“For trying to take care of me before and still taking care of me now,” you answer giving his neck a peck.

“You know I’ll always do that, it’s my job too. A little fight won’t stop that, taking care of you comes naturally to me now.”

“I mean it kind of has to look at our situation right now,” he continues with a breathy laugh as he squeezes your thighs to emphasize his statement.

You giggle at his response knowing the truth behind it. Jungkook has always taken care of you. You have always looked out for each other. You have always matched ourselves to each other.

did someone come to mind?

You hear the lock of the front door opening and the jingling of keys, followed by some rustling around, most likely the removal of outerwear. A few seconds later you see the handsome tattooed man you call your boyfriend walking into the living room. He smiles as he sits beside you on the couch wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your head. You look up at him head on his shoulder and begin to stare unconsciously as thoughts run around your mind.

“What?” he asks you with a confused chuckle.

You smile at him, “I love you.”

He gives you that butterfly-inducing eye smile and kisses you on the lips.

 “I love you too.”

yes, that’s the person.