#;; its been bothering me for the past few days

[choerypetal]

The Prank / Harry Potter

summary: Being Draco Malfoy’s sister offers significant advantages in Slytherin, with strong platonic ties to Mattheo and Theodore and a protective brother. Consequently, Harry's chance to make an impact might rely on an unfavored prank, providing him an unconventional path to disrupt the existing dynamics.

ps; english ins't my first mother tongue language if any grammar error is seeing through the story, it will be eventually corrected by me. enjoy!

Harry was all too aware of the weight his last name carried. His fame, a double-edged sword, had shaped much of his life and interactions with others. Among his classmates, it was a constant presence, a reminder of his place in their world. But there was one person who had caught his interest in a way no one else had—someone who saw past the fame and into the person behind it. That person was you.

But somehow, just looking at you wasn’t enough for Harry. He had become utterly fascinated by you—by your values, your independence, and, most intriguingly, the stark contrast within your own family name. Being a Malfoy had brought its privileges, but you had carved out your own identity, distinct from the expectations of your lineage. With a fiercely protective brother and a mother who showered you with care, you were surrounded by the trappings of tradition. Yet, you had found a way to stand apart, to be your own person. It was this strength that drew Harry in, making him feel both intrigued and conflicted.

He almost felt ashamed for even entertaining the thought—seeing himself with a Malfoy. It was a notion that seemed impossible, yet it lingered in the back of his mind, impossible to ignore.

It was during a rainy day, early in autumn, when most students sought shelter either in the Astronomy Tower or, like you, found solace in the quiet of the library before lunch. The sound of rain pattering against the windows created a soft background noise as you browsed the shelves, hoping to steal a few moments of peace. Your brother, Draco, and his ever-loyal group of friends had been abuzz with excitement about their latest scheme to alleviate their boredom. 

And, of course, in typical Draco fashion, he was predictably drawn to stirring trouble with Harry Potter. His lack of originality when it came to tormenting the Gryffindor had become almost a routine, a familiar dance between the two. You, however, found yourself growing tired of the same old rivalry, even if it was expected in the Malfoy name. Today, more than ever, you felt disconnected from it all, your mind wandering elsewhere.

As you finally located the book you’d been searching for, Theodore Nott appeared in the hallway, offering you an escort to the cafeteria. It was a small but thoughtful gesture, especially considering that Draco hadn’t even bothered to come get you himself. You smiled at Theo’s presence, appreciating the effort despite your brother’s predictability.

“Theo, you know I can make my way there alone. My brother doesn’t—” you began, but Theo quickly shook his head, cutting you off with a knowing look. His expression suggested that Draco’s insistence had been genuine, or perhaps it was just convenient timing.

“I must indulge you on the matter, Y/N,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “But Draco insisted I pick you up. For subtle measures, of course. He wanted to make sure you weren’t... you know.” His words trailed off, but you knew exactly what he meant. Draco always had his protective streak, often imagining threats where there were none. Theo’s tone was light, but there was an underlying concern from Draco, no matter how overbearing it might seem.

Theodore didn’t need to sugarcoat it—the truth was clear. Draco didn’t want you crossing paths with Potter, and though you hadn’t, the underlying message was always there. “Fine,” you relented with a playful sigh. “And since you’re already here to escort me,” you added with a mischievous grin, “why don’t we intertwine arms and you can whisk me away to lunch? I can’t bear to hear my stomach rumble in protest again.”

Theo mirrored your grin, clearly amused by your sudden shift in tone. Without missing a beat, he extended his arm. “I shall, My Lady,” he said with exaggerated formality, linking his arm with yours as you both made your way to the cafeteria, the earlier tension dissipating into shared humor.

Harry had already been in the cafeteria for a while, arriving before Draco as he slumped at the Gryffindor table. His disheveled appearance and tired eyes were telltale signs that he hadn’t slept well—likely out on one of his late-night excursions around the school. He had probably lost Gryffindor a few points for his lack of subtlety, but the consequence didn’t seem to bother him much.

Just as he was about to respond to Ron’s incessant complaints, his eyes shifted naturally, almost instinctively, from his untouched plate to where you entered. He didn’t quite understand how or why it happened. Chosen or not, it felt like a curse. The sight of you—so effortlessly poised—gnawed at something deep inside him, making him feel unsettled, even sick to his stomach. You, a Malfoy, represented everything he should stay away from. Yet, somehow, you always drew his gaze, an unwelcome and persistent distraction that pained him more than he cared to admit.

And there you were, moving with effortless grace, your hair catching the cool autumn breeze that slipped in through the slightly open windows. It swept through the room in a comforting way, though it seemed to stir something far less peaceful in Harry. As you made your way toward the Slytherin table, Pansy’s voice called out, greeting you from afar, but Harry’s gaze had already found you—unbidden, magnetic.

Your eyes met his across the room, and for a brief moment, something like understanding passed between you. His heart clenched at the sight of your slight smile. It was nothing more than a fleeting, innocent gesture, but to him, it felt like a wound. Oh, how he longed to just stand up, walk over, and close the distance between you. Like Draco would. Like Theodore, or any of your friends, could without a second thought. But he couldn't. He was Harry Potter, the Gryffindor hero, and you were a Malfoy. The invisible line between you felt impossible to cross, even as every fiber of his being ached to do just that.

“Y/N,” Draco’s voice rang through the air, sharp and authoritative, instantly pulling you—and Harry—back to reality. Harry’s heart sank as he turned, catching the familiar sneer on Draco’s face. Your brother had a talent for making himself impossible to ignore, and judging by the look he shot Harry, it was clear he wasn’t just here to fetch you. He was delivering a warning.

“You look absolutely ridiculous sitting there,” Draco continued, his voice dripping with irritation as he strode up to you, arms crossed. “People will start to think there’s something going on between you and Potter, and you know what Father would say about that.”

His words carried the weight of the Malfoy legacy, a burden you had carried for as long as you could remember. The invisible chains of expectation wrapped around you, tightening as Draco’s cold eyes bore into yours. Harry clenched his fists under the table, resisting the urge to say something, do something. But he knew better—Draco was already spoiling for a fight, and Harry wasn’t about to give him an excuse. Not here. Not now. Even though his chest burned with frustration, he simply sat there, watching, waiting, and silently hoping you'd choose to defy your brother’s words.

“I know,” you murmured quietly, your words barely audible as you approached the table, your sigh lingering in the cold air. The weight of Draco’s presence pressed down on you, but as you sat, your gaze lingered on Harry for a fleeting moment, catching his eyes once more. It wasn’t just his gaze this time—both Ron and Hermione were watching too, their faces clouded with concern. They knew, just as well as you did, the unspoken rules of your world. A love like this, between you and Harry, was forbidden, as if the mere thought was destined for tragedy.

As you settled in, you caught Harry’s lips moving, his quiet whisper to Ron barely reaching you. "There’s no way I can. Just look at her brother. He wants me dead. I’m not worthy of her love.”

The words stabbed at you, even from across the room. You saw the doubt, the resignation in Harry’s eyes, and it mirrored your own inner turmoil. The weight of your family’s name, the constant scrutiny, and Draco’s looming presence—it all made the idea of being with Harry seem impossible. And yet, the connection between you both felt undeniable, as if the universe had pulled you together in defiance of the very forces trying to tear you apart.

"Not worthy." The words repeated in your mind like a slow, haunting echo. Even as your friends chattered loudly about their next cruel prank on Potter, you could barely register their voices. Your fork hovered over the plate, numbing your movements as your thoughts spiraled. You were barely present, your focus lingering on Harry, on his defeated gaze, on the hopelessness you read in his lips. That was until Draco’s voice slithered in, dripping with arrogance and disdain. “Sister,” he muttered as he leaned in beside you, fingers boldly stealing food from your plate. He didn’t care to mask his smugness as he licked the remnants of the sauce from his fingers, his eyes drifting towards Harry’s table, locking in for a brief moment. His gaze then slid back to you, sharp and accusing.

“A little bird told me it was wrong to stare,” Draco said, his voice taunting, as if daring you to deny it. His smirk deepened as though he had caught you in some hidden act of treason.You quickly turned your head, breaking the invisible connection between you and Harry. Your heart raced with the silent understanding that Draco had seen it—the shared glances, the tension neither you nor Harry could fully conceal.

Draco leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, “What’s going on, Y/N? Don’t tell me you've taken a liking to Potter. You know what Father would say. What I’d say.” His tone dripped with malice, a quiet threat laced in every word.

“Especially— when they stare back at us.” 

You rolled your eyes, fixing Draco with your signature glare. His snarky smirk only deepened, clearly enjoying the discomfort he was causing. “Don’t fret, Y/N,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. Theo’s voice cut in, carrying a darker edge. He held his glass with an almost possessive grip, his eyes never shifting towards Harry’s table. “It’s not as if it’s not obvious who he’s obsessed with,” Theo said, his voice filled with disdain. “I don’t like it one bit.”

Mattheo joined in, his presence bustling with energy as he, along with Blaise, added their two cents. He leaned in to peck your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin. “Tell me about it,” he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. “He’s been murmuring your name during Snape’s class. Creepy, if you ask me.”

Their words washed over you, adding to the already heavy tension you felt. You could almost feel the weight of their disapproval pressing down on you, mixing with your own swirling emotions. The combined voices of your friends were a harsh reminder of the precarious position you found yourself in—caught between the expectations of your family, the harsh judgments of your peers, and the undeniable pull you felt towards Harry.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself amidst the growing chaos. “I appreciate the concern,” you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “But can we focus on something else for now? I’d rather not have the entire cafeteria knowing my business.” The conversation shifted as your friends begrudgingly complied, their murmurs fading into the background. But the feeling of being scrutinized, of having your every move and emotion laid bare, lingered, reminding you of the impossible choices you faced.

The realization hit you like a jolt, a spark igniting your curiosity despite the swirling chaos around you. The way Harry’s gaze seemed to follow you with a mixture of longing and helplessness, even in the face of Draco’s and your friends’ disdain, piqued your interest further. His eyes, intense and unwavering, betrayed an emotion that went beyond mere admiration. 

The peck on your cheek from Mattheo, once a simple gesture of camaraderie, now felt like a stark contrast to Harry’s silent, persistent gaze. It was a reminder of the stark divide between what was expected and what was truly felt. The starkness of Harry’s unspoken affection contrasted sharply with the superficial gestures you were accustomed to, like Mattheo’s fleeting touch. You found yourself wrestling with conflicting thoughts. Could Harry’s feelings be genuine, despite the walls and barriers that surrounded both of you? Could he truly harbor something deeper than the casual affection you had seen from others, akin to what you had seen with Riddle’s more manipulative displays?

As the cafeteria noise buzzed around you, you forced yourself to refocus on the present. The day’s events had revealed more than you’d anticipated, challenging your assumptions and stirring a storm of emotions you’d rather not face. In the midst of the laughter and conversations, you felt a renewed determination to understand the depth of Harry’s feelings, and why, despite everything, he continued to look at you with such unwavering intensity. The path ahead was murky, filled with shadows and uncertainties, but you were now more resolved than ever to uncover the truth behind those haunted, hopeful eyes.

Hermione’s nudge seemed to snap Ron out of his distasteful reverie, his eyes shifting to her with a mix of confusion and curiosity. “What was that for?” he asked, his tone laced with irritation but tinged with curiosity.

Hermione, ever the mediator, shot Ron a look that was both reproachful and sympathetic. “It’s just that,” she began, choosing her words carefully, “Y/N’s been dealing with a lot lately. And,” she hesitated for a moment, glancing over at you, who were now engrossed in a quiet conversation with Theodore and Mattheo, “she might not show it, but it’s clear there’s more going on than meets the eye. Harry’s not the only one with feelings here.”

Ron’s expression softened, though his brow remained furrowed. “You think we should—” “—I think we should be supportive,” Hermione cut him off gently. “We don’t know what’s really going on with Y/N and Harry. And honestly, with everything that’s happened, maybe it’s time we gave them the benefit of the doubt. Besides, the last thing we want is to make things worse by adding to the drama.”

Ron nodded, albeit reluctantly. “Alright, fine. But if things get out of hand—” Hermione cut him off again with a reassuring smile. “We’ll handle it. For now, let’s just be here for Y/N and not add more fuel to the fire.”  The conversation shifted as the two of them turned their attention back to their meal, while Hermione’s words lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the complexities of emotions and the importance of empathy in a world full of uncertainties.

Hermione’s recollection of the party was like a wave of nostalgia mixed with a hint of envy, and her eyes softened as she continued. “You were stunning that night, Y/N. The way the dress accentuated your every move, it was like you were meant to be the center of attention.”

Ron, still blushing, shifted awkwardly in his seat. “And what’s that got to do with anything?” Hermione gave him an understanding look. “Harry’s been thinking about you a lot, Ron. That night, especially. He couldn’t take his eyes off you. It was as if he was caught between admiration and frustration, because he couldn’t get close to you the way he wanted.”

Harry, who had been silently listening, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You don’t have to bring up the party, Hermione. It’s... embarrassing.” Hermione smiled gently, her tone soothing. “It’s not about making anyone uncomfortable. It’s about understanding that there’s more going on beneath the surface. Harry’s not just pining away; he’s been genuinely affected by you.”

Ron, still flushed but now a bit more thoughtful, glanced at Harry. “So, you really do care about her, huh?” Harry nodded, his gaze earnest. “Yeah, I do. I don’t know how to make it right, but I do care.” Hermione’s expression softened further, and she patted Ron’s arm reassuringly. “See? It’s not all about giving advice or judging. Sometimes it’s about recognizing when someone’s struggling and just being there for them.”

Ron nodded, a hint of understanding dawning on his face. “Alright, I get it. Maybe we should just let things play out and support Y/N, and Harry too.” Hermione gave him a grateful smile. “Exactly. Sometimes the best thing we can do is to just be there for each other and let things unfold naturally.” As the conversation drifted back to other topics, the air was lighter, and the underlying tension seemed to ease. For now, the focus was on navigating the complexities of emotions with a bit more empathy and understanding.

Hermione’s teasing tone was gentle but persistent. “She mentioned you often, Harry. It wasn’t just idle chatter. That night, she was so taken with you that she couldn’t stop talking about how you caught her attention. Even when she tried to play it cool, it was clear she was struggling with her feelings.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, but a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “Really? I didn’t realize I made that much of an impression.”Hermione nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “She tried to keep it hidden, but it was obvious. She spoke about how conflicted she felt, especially with Draco hovering around and her own feelings about the Malfoy name. It’s not just about admiration; it’s deeper than that. She was worried about what people would think, especially considering your past with Draco.”

Harry's eyes widened slightly, realizing the depth of your struggle. “So, she’s been dealing with a lot more than just—” Hermione interrupted gently, “Yes. It’s not just about you being ‘handsome’ or whatever. It’s about her own internal battles and the fear of being judged for her feelings. That night, she was quite a mess. And despite her attempts to hide it, her vulnerability was apparent.”

Harry felt a pang of regret and concern. “I wish I had known. Maybe I could have helped her through it.” Hermione placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “It’s never too late. Understanding what she’s been through is the first step. She needs to know that someone cares, without judgment. And right now, she needs to see that you’re not just someone she’s worried about but someone who genuinely wants to be there for her.”

Harry nodded, his resolve firming. “I’ll find a way to show her that. I don’t want her to feel like she’s alone in this.” As the conversation wrapped up, the mood shifted to one of mutual understanding and determination. Harry’s newfound clarity about your feelings and struggles gave him the motivation he needed to approach the situation with sensitivity and care.

Draco’s plan was set with his usual confidence, and though you felt a twinge of unease, you knew better than to question him openly. “Tonight at dawn, then,” you agreed, your voice soft but resolute. The instructions were clear, and Draco’s expression was one of satisfaction as he dismissed the others, leaving you with your thoughts and preparations.

As the evening approached, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of apprehension and resolve. Draco’s scheme was typical—using you as bait to catch Harry Potter in a moment of vulnerability. It wasn’t the first time you’d been used in one of Draco’s schemes, but the stakes felt higher this time. There was something more personal about this plan, especially considering how your feelings for Harry had been evolving.

The hours ticked by slowly, and as midnight approached, you found yourself pacing in your room. You had to remind yourself that your role was to lure Harry into a situation where Draco could confront him. It wasn’t about your own feelings or the growing empathy you felt for Harry. It was about following orders, maintaining your loyalty to your brother, and not causing any more trouble than necessary.

When the clock struck midnight, you slipped out of your room, carefully making your way to the library. The corridors were eerily quiet, the only sounds being the faint echoes of your footsteps and the distant creak of the castle. As you approached the library, you spotted Harry in the dimly lit space, hunched over a stack of books. He was absorbed in his reading, his focus evident. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for the task ahead. The plan was simple: engage Harry in conversation, lead him into a situation where Draco could confront him, and hope that everything would go according to plan. As you made your presence known, Harry looked up, his expression a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

Harry’s initial surprise quickly turned to curiosity as he looked up from the book he was studying. The dim light of the library cast a soft glow on your face, highlighting the delicate features and the genuine concern in your eyes. As you bumped into him, the contact was fleeting, but it left an impression—one that made Harry's heart race.

He looked at you, taking in the way you seemed genuinely apologetic, a stark contrast to the usual icy demeanor of your family. “It’s alright,” he said softly, his voice betraying the same mix of surprise and unease that you displayed. He took a step back, his hand lingering a moment longer on yours before he released it. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be here this late.”

The library was a place of refuge for him, a sanctuary away from the prying eyes and expectations of the outside world. Seeing you here, and in such an unexpected way, felt like a strange twist of fate. The vulnerability in your voice was palpable, and it drew him in, compelling him to stay longer than he might have otherwise. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was just... getting a few more books before heading back.”

Harry nodded, his gaze not leaving you. “No, it’s fine. I’ve been spending a lot of time here lately. It’s peaceful.” There was a pause, the silence between you filled with the distant hum of the library’s quiet atmosphere. Harry could see the way your eyes darted around, perhaps anxious or simply uncomfortable. The contrast between your nervousness and his own hesitation created a quiet tension, one that seemed to draw them closer.

“So,” Harry began, trying to break the ice, “What are you reading? Or... studying, I guess?” The question was simple, but it opened the door for conversation, allowing both of you to escape the awkwardness of the moment. He hoped that, perhaps, talking about something more neutral might help bridge the gap between you and him.

Harry’s breath hitched as you closed the gap between you, your hand brushing against his chest and your fingers lightly gripping his tie. The proximity was electrifying, and he could feel the warmth of your body against his, a stark contrast to the cool air of the library. His heart raced, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through him. Your voice, soft and almost seductive, drew him in further. “You know...” He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, trying to make sense of the sudden shift in your demeanor. “What... what do you mean?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. The library, once a haven of solitude, now seemed to pulse with a different kind of energy, one that was both thrilling and nerve-wracking.

The space between you was almost nonexistent, and Harry could feel the heat radiating from your body. His mind raced with questions and possibilities, unsure of what to expect but unable to pull away. The library’s shadows seemed to deepen, adding to the intensity of the moment. “What’s going on?” he managed to ask, his voice trembling slightly as he tried to keep his composure.

Harry’s eyes widened slightly at your confession, his mind racing to process your words. The pink flush on your cheeks was unmistakable, adding to the growing intensity between you. He could barely believe what he was hearing, especially considering the way you had approached him.

“I... I stare?” he managed to stammer, his voice cracking slightly with surprise. The vulnerability in your admission made his heart race even faster, and he struggled to find his voice amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

You could see the hesitation in his eyes, but also a glimmer of something deeper—a curiosity, perhaps, or a hint of hope. Your fingers, still lightly touching his tie, gently encouraged him to close the distance between you even further.

“Yes,” you said softly, your voice carrying a blend of shyness and determination. “I noticed. And honestly, I’ve been thinking about it. About you.” You took a deep breath, gathering the courage to continue. “It’s not just about the way you look at me. It’s more about how you make me feel when you do.” Harry’s gaze softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he took in your words. The library, with its quiet and secluded atmosphere, seemed to wrap around you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy.

“Y/N, I...” He paused, his eyes searching yours for any sign of pretense. “I didn’t know you felt that way. I’ve always admired you from a distance, but... I didn’t think you’d feel the same.”

The uncertainty in his voice was palpable, but there was also a flicker of hope and longing. Your confession had clearly affected him, and he seemed to be grappling with his own feelings as he looked at you. The library’s shadows seemed to deepen, heightening the emotional weight of the moment. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile connection between you. “Because... if you are, then maybe we should... talk about this more. Together.”

Until the sudden noise from the corridor startled both of you. The unmistakable sound of footsteps echoed through the library, breaking the intimate moment you were sharing. Harry’s hand froze beneath your chin, his eyes darting toward the source of the noise with a mix of concern and disappointment.

The library’s shadows seemed to dance around you as you both pulled away, the spell of the moment shattered by the intrusion. You exchanged a glance, your heart still racing, and Harry’s face reflected a blend of frustration and urgency. “We have to... we should—” Harry began, his voice hurried as he glanced back at the approaching footsteps. He reached for your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “We can’t be seen here.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the interrupted moment but also the lingering excitement of what had almost happened. You quickly gathered yourself, smoothing out your clothes and trying to regain composure. The footsteps grew louder, and you both knew it was time to make a swift exit. With one last meaningful look, Harry gave a small, almost apologetic smile before you both slipped away into the labyrinthine stacks of the library, seeking refuge from the unwelcome interruption.

As you parted ways to avoid detection, the promise of what might have been hung heavily in the air, leaving both of you with a mix of longing and anticipation for what the future might hold.

Harry’s fist collided with Draco’s face in a sudden burst of anger and defiance. The impact sent Draco stumbling backward, his surprise quickly morphing into a mix of pain and fury. The library’s atmosphere shifted from one of tense anticipation to chaotic confrontation.

Draco’s eyes blazed with indignation as he wiped the blood from his split lip. “How dare you!” he spat, his voice laced with rage. “You have no right to touch her!”

Theodore and Mattheo, momentarily stunned, quickly regained their composure. Theodore’s smirk faded as he stepped in front of Draco, his own anger boiling over. “You think you can just waltz in here and act like you own the place?” he sneered.

Mattheo, still holding a mocking grin, was quick to chime in. “Looks like Potter’s got a bit of a temper. How amusing.” You moved to stand between Harry and your brother, your voice trembling but determined. “Please, just let him go. This isn’t helping anyone.”

Draco, rubbing his jaw, shot a venomous glare at Harry. “You think this is over? You’ve just made things worse for yourself.” His voice was low and menacing, filled with the promise of retribution. Harry, breathing heavily, glared back at Draco. “I’m not afraid of you or your threats. Let’s settle this somewhere else, away from here.” You could see the frustration and desperation in Harry’s eyes, a reflection of your own turmoil. “Harry, please. Let’s just go before things get worse.”

The tension in the library was palpable, each of you caught in a complex web of emotions and conflicting loyalties. Draco, Theodore, and Mattheo seemed ready to pounce, but the realization that the situation was spiraling out of control was clear to all. With a final glance at you, Harry reluctantly stepped back, his anger still simmering but controlled. “Fine,” he said through gritted teeth. “Let’s go.”

As you and Harry made your way out of the library, your brother’s furious eyes followed you. The confrontation left a bitter taste, but it also solidified the resolve between you and Harry. The path forward was uncertain, but the bond between you had been tested and, despite the chaos, had grown stronger.

Outside the library, the cool night air felt like a welcome release, and Harry’s hand found yours again, offering a comforting squeeze. The events of the night had only intensified the feelings between you, leaving both of you with a mixture of relief and anticipation for what lay ahead. But not until Mattheo had the last words in your defense. 

Mattheo’s voice cut through the chaos, his frustration evident as he tried to intervene between Draco and Harry. “You’re such an asshole!” he shouted, his anger palpable. The library’s peaceful ambiance was now a battleground of shouts and clashing spells, and the situation seemed to escalate by the second.

Draco and Harry were locked in a heated struggle, their spells and curses lighting up the library like a chaotic light show. Theodore was trying to separate them, but his efforts were in vain as the two continued their relentless battle. The intensity of their fight was palpable, each movement fueled by a mix of personal vendettas and raw emotions.

Mattheo, seeing that his attempts to break up the fight were futile, resorted to threats. “I’ll tell Father about this!” he roared, his voice filled with menace. “You’ll regret this!”

Despite Mattheo’s threats, Harry and Draco were too caught up in their conflict to heed his warnings. The air crackled with magical energy, and the sounds of spellcasting and grunts of exertion echoed through the library’s aisles.

Amidst the commotion, you felt a mix of panic and determination. You stepped between the combatants, your voice rising above the din. “Enough! This has to stop!” you shouted, trying to grab their attention.

But your words were lost in the chaos. It was clear that neither Draco nor Harry was willing to back down easily. The library’s tranquility was shattered, and the once-serene study space was now a scene of conflict and anger.

Realizing that a more drastic approach was needed, you tried to summon your own magic, casting a powerful barrier between the two fighters. “Stop it now!” you commanded, your voice filled with authority. The barrier shimmered with a protective light, momentarily halting the duel and forcing both Harry and Draco to take a step back. The sudden ceasefire gave everyone a chance to catch their breath, but the tension was far from resolved.

Mattheo, still seething with anger, glared at you. “This isn’t over,” he warned, his voice dripping with venom. “I’ll make sure of it.” With a final, furious look at Draco and Harry, you turned to lead Harry away from the scene. “Come on,” you said urgently. “We need to get out of here before things get worse.”

Harry, still breathing heavily and with a look of determination in his eyes, followed you out of the library. As the two of you exited into the night, the cold air felt like a balm against the heated emotions of the confrontation. The events of the night had left a mark on both of you, but the bond between you had been tested and strengthened in the face of adversity. The path ahead was uncertain, but together you faced it with a renewed sense of resolve and connection.

The scene in the library had reached a fever pitch of chaos and confusion. Despite your desperate attempts to intervene, the fight between Draco and Harry had become almost uncontrollable. Each spell and curse seemed to add fuel to the fire, and even with your friends and Professor Snape now involved, the confrontation continued to spiral out of control.

Professor Snape's authoritative voice cut through the tumult, commanding the situation with a chilling firmness. “Hospital, now,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument. His presence brought a semblance of order to the chaotic scene, and he quickly took charge, guiding Draco and Harry toward the hospital wing.

You reached out to Harry, your voice trembling with concern as you tried to hold onto him. “Harry, please, let me help—” His response was strained but resolute. “Don’t,” he said, his voice edged with pain and exhaustion. He pushed your hand away gently but firmly, signaling his desire to deal with the aftermath on his own terms.

Feeling helpless, you watched as Snape and the others escorted Draco and Harry out of the library. The corridor’s dim light cast long shadows, and the tension hung heavy in the air as they moved toward the hospital wing. You were left standing alone, the aftermath of the confrontation weighing heavily on you. Your friends gathered around, their faces reflecting a mix of concern and confusion. Hermione’s hand found yours, squeezing it reassuringly. “We need to make sure they’re okay,” she said softly, her eyes full of empathy.

You nodded, though your mind was a storm of conflicting emotions. The fight had revealed deep-seated tensions and unresolved feelings, and now, all you could do was hope that the wounds—both physical and emotional—could be healed.  As you made your way toward the hospital wing, you couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled in your chest. The night had taken a turn that none of you had anticipated, and the road to resolution seemed fraught with challenges.

The hospital wing's door loomed ahead, and you braced yourself for what lay beyond. The events of the evening had left scars that would take time to heal, but you knew that facing them was the only way forward. With a deep breath, you steeled yourself and stepped into the unknown, ready to support those you cared about and navigate the complexities of the relationships that had been strained by the night’s events.

The next morning, you hadn’t slept a wink. Mattheo found you alone in the common room, your sleepless night evident in the dark circles beneath your eyes. “Didn’t sleep?” he asked gently. You didn’t respond, your whole demeanor blank and distant. He sighed, understanding why you were silent and why you hadn't spoken to Theodore, Blaise, or Enzo.

“Look,” he continued, “I tried to tell your brother it was a bad idea. Even Pansy would agree with me. We were all against it—knew how you felt about Potter. And though everyone might think otherwise...” He paused, waiting for you to meet his gaze. When you finally did, your eyes glassy and weary, he added, “I’m genuinely glad to be the first to hear that you and Potter are together.” His smile was warm, sincere, and offered a small beacon of comfort.

“But... what about Draco?” you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty. Mattheo raised an eyebrow, immediately understanding who you were referring to. “Draco? Forget him. We’ll figure something out. If we need to keep your relationship a secret, so be it. I just want you to be happy—me, Theodore, everyone else.” His words were sincere, and you hugged him tightly, your face pressed against his chest.

“Finally, the peepsqueak is awake,” Theodore’s voice cut through the moment, a smile on his lips. He looked relieved to see you up. “Where were you?” you asked, feeling a mix of exhaustion and curiosity. “In the hospital wing. Harry’s been given a day off. He wants to see you.” Despite Theodore’s attempts to sound upbeat, you could sense the undercurrent of concern in his tone. A sigh escaped you, unsure if you were ready to face Harry. But Mattheo’s reassuring squeeze and the silent nod of support convinced you to go.

Harry sat on the hospital bed, Hermione at his side while Draco slept nearby, his presence barely acknowledged. “I’m sure she wasn’t…” Hermione whispered, trying to keep her voice low as Draco shifted restlessly in his sleep. “From what you’ve told me, it seems more likely that he set her up. Regardless…”

Harry’s gaze shifted, and he noticed you standing there, looking even more fragile than the night before, a clear sign of the toll it had taken on you. Hermione, who had been speaking, fell silent as Harry’s eyes met yours. 

“If you want to see him, he’s here,” Harry said, his voice carrying a hint of threat. “It would be helpful if you picked him up.” Hermione’s reaction was swift; she slapped Harry gently on his wounded arm, her disapproval evident.  Although you appreciated the offer, you barely acknowledged it. Your focus remained on Harry. “Harry…”

His eyes closed tightly, a clear sign of his struggle to process your words. “Harry… please listen to me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling as you fought back tears. A choked sob slipped through your lips. “I didn’t know anything about it, not even the prank. My brother mentioned something about you, yes… But never in a thousand years would I have thought it would come to this, especially when I was about to confess my love for you…”

His eyelids softened as he listened, his anger wavering. “And the fight... After you were taken away by Snape, Mattheo—strange as it may seem—is on our side. He trusts you with his life, more than...” Your gaze shifted nervously from him to your brother. With a hint of disgust, you added, “More than him.”

Harry paused, a heavy silence settling between you. Hermione nudged him, silently urging him to speak. His brow arched in questioning, “You meant it?” His voice was filled with a mix of hope and disbelief. 

“Yes,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“Everything.” 

As you approached quietly, Harry flinched slightly at your sudden presence. Hermione took her cue and left, giving you a reassuring smile before exiting. You settled beside his bed, reaching out for his hand. Though he tried to pull away, the connection was too strong to resist. He loved you, despite everything.

"Harry James Potter," you said softly, using his full name as you leaned in, echoing the intimacy of the previous night. "I loved you from the very first moment. Will you accept this kiss?"

Harry's heart swelled with a mix of affection and relief. A gentle chuckle escaped him as he cupped your face, his smile tender and sincere. "You may, Y/N Malfoy." 

With that, he leaned in, meeting your lips with his, sealing the promise of his love.

[saiintofdiirt]

Summary: Ken walks into the aftermath of Parrot finding out Wifies is actually a clone. He should be given sainthood for how little he kills Parrot.

notes: this is so not edited lol i wrote this in like. 3 hours between tasks at work. rip. this is vaguely set in the most recent UU episode in that i needed a setting and also a reason for ken wifies and parrot to be in the same place at once. no spoilers for the episode its just alluded to being the setting. uhhhh. i think thats it. enjoy.

word count for the curious: 2678. allegedly.

~~~~

Ken arrives in the meeting room with a hop in his step. He’s been looking for Wifies everywhere, but Dean let him know that Wifies was talking with Parrot, and now Ken can finally show him the little tricky trap he’s been working on! He’s proud of himself. It’s a really good design! So he’s hopping into the room like a rabbit instead of a cat.

Parrot stands alone at the head of the table, back to the door. Just Parrot.

Bleh.

“Yo,” Ken greets even though he still feels the urge to whack Parrot across the head occasionally. “I thought Wifies was here?”

“Did you know?” Parrot asks.

Ken can feel every single part of his body prickle with discomfort. He’s glad that Parrot isn’t looking at him, so he has a chance to lower his shoulders, and tail, and ears. And attitude. He knows, somehow, what exactly Parrot means by knowing. Ken shuts the door silently.

“Know what?” Ken asks, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Don’t play dumb Ken. Did you know about Wifies being a clone?”

Ken breathes in slowly. He pulls his comm out and checks the playerlist. Wifies is gone. He was here only a few minutes ago when Ken last checked, which means that whatever happened, just happened.

“Did he tell you that?” Ken asks, opening Wifies’s chat.

[_Kenadian_]: where are you?

“You know, I was so confused,” Parrot turns around, eyes distant and face blank. “When I first met him, he was such a fucking asshole. Entirely full of himself. Still the smartest guy I’d ever met, though, so when all this stuff started happening on the server, I couldn’t help but think of him. I thought I was gonna regret inviting him, yet he was so quiet and nice now.”

[_Kenadian_]: wifies

[_Kenadian_]: seriously where are you

“He was always reserved, even before, but all these little things started coming up— he couldn’t remember things well, he’d talk about weird things in his sleep, things like that. And I couldn’t even. . . I didn’t know how to piece it together, and he wouldn’t talk to me!”

[_Kenadian_]: wato

[Wato1876]: Hey!

[_Kenadian_]: have you heard from wifies

[Wato1876]: No?

[Wato1876]: Isn’t he on unstable w/ you right now?

[_Kenadian_]: he left and isnt answering my messages

[_Kenadian_]: parrot found out, idk how, and now wifies is /gone/

[Wato1876]: ok I’ll check around for him

[_Kenadian_]: thx

“Are you even listening?” Parrot asks, and Ken finally looks up at him. His expression is one of desperation. It disgusts Ken.

“No,” Ken says, voice bone dry. “You yelled at him didn’t you? God Parrot, and I was just starting to respect you.”

“He lied to me this whole time!” Parrot explodes, eyes wild as he leans his hand on the table. “From the start, he hid this from me, and I only found out by— by sheer coincidence! He was talking to someone on his comm, and said something about being a clone, and I just—”

“Wait, who was he talking to?” Ken interrupts with a frown.

“I— I don’t know, they had a deep voice, talked really particularly?”

“Must’ve been Retro. . . Retro knows?” Ken mutters to himself.

The shame Wifies stews in every day because of his clone status is something Ken hasn’t been able to push past; Wifies always says he owes his life to Ken, but rarely does he bother to share his burdens with him either. Which means at least Retro seems to be getting through to him. . . It stings a little, but Ken has bigger fish to fry.

“So you did know!”

“Parrot, why do you care!” Ken snaps, turning back to his comm and searching for Retro’s contact information. Shit. He should’ve nabbed it off of Wifies earlier. “You drove him off! He’s not your fucking problem now, shouldn’t you be happy?! There! You cleaned your friends list of liars! Aren’t you satisfied with your work?!”

“I just wanted to know the truth, I didn’t want to drive him off! He's not a problem to get rid of!”

“Well great fucking job, man, go kick rocks or something. Fuck, where did he go?!”

[Wato1876]: Found him. He’s at the factory.

[Wato1876]: Ken, his comm is cracked right in half. He’s stuck here again.

Ken feels everything in him rear like a lion. He closes his comm and tucks it into his pocket. Slowly, oh so slowly, he stalks around the table towards Parrot, holding the hilt of his sword in a loose grip. Parrot follows his path with his eyes, feathers puffing out and fists clenched.

“Did you break his comm, Parrot?” Ken asks casually.

“No,” Parrot replies.

“Parrot. Tell me the truth. Did you break Wifies’s comm? Even by mistake?” Ken’s gums ache. He’ll dig his teeth into Parrot’s thin throat. He’ll rip his flimsy little esophagus out.

“No, no. I didn’t. I didn’t touch him. I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t know if you wouldn’t, Parrot, but I swear to everything you hold dear, if I find out it was you who broke his comm, you are going to wish I had just killed you instead,” Ken hisses out.

“His comm is broken?” Parrot echoes faintly, and it’s like gravity returns to his world, his feet landing back in reality.

“I don’t think you deserve an answer, Parrot, but yes.”

Ken tries to breathe through his anger. He’s going to believe Parrot for now.

[_Kenadian_]: ill be there soon

[Wato1876]: Bring a replacement comm?

“I was mad,” Parrot sounds wretched. “But not— I don’t care that he’s a clone Ken. I just felt like he didn’t trust me.”

Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder. Killing Parrot would make Wifies even sadder.

“I never trusted you, Parrot, not once, not for a single moment, but you made Wifies happy. I don’t know what he sees in you, but he was happy playing second fiddle to your stupid little orchestra on here, y’know? So I tried very hard to get along with you, so Wifies could stay happy,” Ken lets go of the hilt of his sword to press a sharp nail into Parrot’s chest. “You don’t understand the state I found him in before he came here, before you roped him into your stupid little games. He—”

Ken’s voice cracks and he curses, indistinct and abstract. He hates this. Leave it to Parrot to fuck everything up, just like Ken always knew he would with his lack of foresight and planning and brain. Parrot snaps up to grab Ken’s hand in a tight grip.

“Ken, I didn’t want him to leave me,” Parrot chokes out. “I just wanted to know, I just—”

“And look at where your wanting got him!” Ken spits out, yanking his hand away. “You want, and want, and want, Parrot do you even care what your wanting costs the rest of the world? What it costs Wifies?”

“He never says anything to me, he never—”

“Do you ever ask?! God Parrot, get out of your head for a minute!”

Ken runs a hand through his hair. Where is he gonna find a replacement comm? He might have something in one of the prison servers he frequents, but his head is scrambled, he can’t quite sort through his inventory in his head to figure out what he has right now. He may have one in his escape kits. . .

“Ken,” Parrot breathes. He finally realized what he’s done, it seems. Ken wants to stab him in the stomach. “Ken, I care about Wifies more than anyone else. You know that right? He knows that right?”

Ken pulls at his roots.

“I don’t know anything about Wifies right now,” Ken finally says, exhaustion creeping into him as his adrenaline runs dry. “I can’t contact him right now. He gets. . . bad, when it comes to the clone stuff. God, Parrot, what the hell have you done?”

Ken doesn’t wait for an answer. He leaves the server and lands in his solo world, scrambling around his storage before finding a dusty old comm he hasn’t used since he customized his current one. Landing near the factory is always a displeasure, but he pushes his feelings aside and enters. It takes a little searching, but he finds Wifies and Wato in the office, laid out on the floor next to each other.

“Wifies,” Ken says, more to say something than having anything to say, and he sits next to Wifies.

“Sorry for scaring you,” Wifies says. His voice is hoarse, and his eyes are bloodshot. “My comm broke. I dropped it while it was open, and I fell on it.”

“I brought you an old one I had laying around,” Ken says, bringing a hand up and running his fingers through Wifies’s curls slowly. Wifies closes his eyes. “What happened?”

Wifies doesn’t answer at first, just breathes evenly and relaxes each part of his body. He's so tense. Ken wishes he had killed Parrot.

“Parrot found out,” Wifies whispers. “I was talking to Retro. He’s been. . . helping me decipher some stuff from the notes. It was important. And I called him, and Parrot heard, and he was livid. That I hadn’t told him. That he couldn’t trust me. So I left.”

“He’s an asshole,” Wato says, and both Wifies and Ken turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

“Wato, there’s a reason why we’re such good friends,” Ken says with a grin. “Because I, too, believe Parrot is an absolute asshole.”

“You guys always knew, but I lied to him,” Wifies says. “I don’t know if he’s an asshole for being upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Yes he is,” Ken and Wato say together.

“There’s no reason to defend him out here,” Ken scolds, scratching Wifies’s scalp lightly.

“I don’t hate him, Ken,” Wifies lets out a deep, winding sigh before sitting up slowly. “Can I have the comm? I need to message Retro. Tell him everything’s okay.”

“Fine.”

Ken hands over the comm and Wifies thanks him faintly. As he boots it up and logs in, Wato sits up and gives Ken a look. Ken returns the look. Before they can descend upon Wifies and force him to talk about his feelings, the comm begins pinging wildly, messages flooding in and not stopping. Peeking over Wifies’s shoulder, Ken makes a disgusted expression at Parrot’s chat being at the top of Wifies’s DMs. Parrot is absolutely spamming Wifies’s inbox. Ken’s going to eat him for dinner.

“Ah,” Wifies says. He then proceeds to ignore Parrot to text Retro. Good. Fuck that guy.

“What does he want?” Ken asks, not because he really cares but because if Parrot pisses him off again, he can justify going at him with an axe.

“Maybe. . . Maybe not right now,” Wifies’s voice is weak.

The messages roll to a stop. Good! And then Ken’s comm starts ringing off like shots. Goddamn it. Ken pulls out his comm. It is Parrot. Awful. Now Wifies and Wato move to peek over his shoulder as his inbox becomes utterly unusable.

[Parrotx2]: Ken

[Parrotx2]: I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: not to you

[Parrotx2]: well I can be sorry to you too but I’m sorry that I reacted like that to Wifies

[Parrotx2]: and I just need him to know that I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and I know you hate my guts

[Parrotx2]: but you said he was happy right? I made him happy

[Parrotx2]: I don’t think I’ve ever made someone happy by just existing

[Parrotx2]: cause fuck, it’s not like I’ve done anything for him

[Parrotx2]: Ken what the fuck did I do

[Parrotx2]: please just let him know I’m sorry

[Parrotx2]: and that I didn’t mean to blow up

[Parrotx2]: you’d think I’d be used to betrayal but with him, it felt so much worse than betrayal

[Parrotx2]: like I had failed to be trustworthy

[Parrotx2]: the reveal was a lot, but I felt more hurt than disgusted or scared

[Parrotx2]: I don’t care if he’s a clone

[Parrotx2]: I mean I care if he wants me to care. I want him to want me to care about him.

[Parrotx2]: I care about him in general

[Parrotx2]: plus whoever the guy before him was was a bitch

[Parrotx2]: he’s like so much better in a million ways

[Parrotx2]: not the point

[Parrotx2]: the point is my caring of him is not reliant on his clone status

[Parrotx2]: I can tell he’s got a comm now cause my messages are showing up as received

[Parrotx2]: does he hate me now?

[Parrotx2]: he has every right

[Parrotx2]: I can’t even pretend that he shouldn’t hate me

[Parrotx2]: Ken I don’t want him to hate me

[Parrotx2]: I don’t know if I can live with that

[Parrotx2]: I fucked up so badly

[Parrotx2]: the worst part is I trust him

[Parrotx2]: I made this whole fuss about trust and I still trust him

[Parrotx2]: of course I do, he’s the single most trustworthy person I’ve ever met

[Parrotx2]: I’ve slept in the same room as him for months and I never even worried

[Parrotx2]: he could’ve left or betrayed me or killed me literally at any point

[Parrotx2]: and he never did! even if it would’ve made his life easier

[Parrotx2]: what the fuck was I thinking?

“Ugh. Do you wanna talk to him right now?” Ken asks, turning his head towards Wifies. He gets a face full of sweet smelling curly hair.

“. . . I don’t know,” Wifies says, resting his chin snuggly onto Ken’s shoulder.

[_Kenadian_]: can you shut up. jesus.

[Parrotx2]: sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yes he has a comm now

[_Kenadian_]: he’ll talk to you when he talks to you

[_Kenadian_]: you made him cry yknow

“Ken!” Wifies hisses, cheek warming up where it’s now pressed to the side of Ken’s throat. “Why did you tell him that?”

[Parrotx2]: fuck I’m sorry

[_Kenadian_]: yeah he knows

[_Kenadian_]: just

[_Kenadian_]: give him some space

[_Kenadian_]: also dont text me like that whats wrong with you

[_Kenadian_]: i want you so dead its not even funny

[_Kenadian_]: this is the SECOND time you make him cry

“Ken!!”

[Parrotx2]: I

[Parrotx2]: what?

[_Kenadian_]: wouldnt you like to know bird boy

[Parrotx2]: why would you tell me that

[_Kenadian_]: you need to understand the consequences of what you do

[_Kenadian_]: wifies never lets you see but i do and i think you should writhe

[_Kenadian_]: you care so much? lets see.

[_Kenadian_]: writhe bird boy writhe

“That’s mean,” Wifies says as Ken closes his comm, but he doesn’t move a single muscle.

“You should’ve made it worse,” Wato says. “Should’ve told him Wifies was comatose or something.”

“Jeez, since when are you so vicious?” Wifies asks, but Ken is almost certain he and Wato are holding hands behind Ken’s back.

“I approve,” Ken says, bumping his head into Wato’s lightly. “Anyway, take as long as you want to ignore Parrot. Forever, even. I’d also approve of forever.”

Wato hums in agreement. Wifies sighs again, much lighter than before.

“Just a little while,” he says to Ken’s vast displeasure. “Just until I can stomach it. I shouldn’t have run away.”

“You’re allowed to do whatever you want, actually. Forever.”

Wifies giggles, and Ken finally feels himself relax a little. If Wifies is laughing, then it’ll be okay. He still feels anger pulsing within him like a second heartbeat, but it softens when Wifies bumps the top of his head into Ken's cheek. Not gone, never gone, but quietened enough to let Wifies speak for himself.

Ken trusts Wifies despite his own opinion. So he'll keep true and hold Wifies close no matter what.

“We still gotta talk about your feelings,” Wato says, and Wifies whines, trying to hide his face further into Ken's shoulder. 

“It's so embarrassing,” he murmurs.

“I'd be embarrassed too if I cried over Parrot of all people,” Ken deadpans. 

Wifies groans. Ken won't let him get away this time.

[no-light-left-on]

"Fuck you."

I've been re-reading What Lies Between Sorrow and Longing and since I am unwell about this entire fic I drew a scene from Chapter 4

[everysongineverykey]

as much as i love stardew valley i really don't like the emphasis it places on marriage and kids. it's just something about the way that you HAVE to add a nursery to your house in order to complete the house upgrade achievement (and of course you need all achievements to achieve 100% completion), the way having kids is an achievement in itself. the way that when your spouse asks you if you want to have kids your options are "yes" and "not now". i'm genuinely really thankful for the option to turn your kids into doves. the way the DAY after you become best friends with someone single you get a letter in the mail telling you how to ask someone out, the way there's ANOTHER achievement for dating ten people (well. it's really for reaching a ten-heart friendship level with like eight people but there are only so many people you can do that with without dating them). the way the mayor says at your wedding ceremony that "from this day onward, [name] is going to be just as much a part of the community as anyone else" implying that you weren't a part of the community until you got married. the way the eight heart events are supposed to just be you becoming best friends with that person but at least three people's events involve them secretly being in love with you during that supposedly platonic cutscene. i personally love getting married in stardew valley but not everybody wants that and the pressure the game puts on you to settle down and have a nice little family with 2.5 kids kind of puts a damper on the fun.

[uravityxo]

hello friends,, i just coming here to say smth !! im feeling a bit anxious rn about everything and i wanted to say some stuff and then add some of it to my pinned post too :3,, putting this below cut as its a bit negative !! so warning for that <3

first thing ; i am autistic and have adhd,, i find social cues a bit confusing and sometimes i just miss them,, i can also misread things or interpret them the wrong way !! i am also a very enthusiatic rp partner <33 i like to talk lots and i message people i think are happy with me and dont mind my rambles !! however ,, if ive ever got the vibes wrong and my messages are TOO MUCH - please, please, please let me know,, i never want to bother anyone or anything !!! i am just a super happy gal who likes to yap yap yap away. if i ever say anything that upsets you or anything, let me know! its never my intention to hurt anyone, i can just be a bit silly sometimes,, !! sometimes i just need brutal (or maybe polite) honesty !!

second thing ; i am overwhelmed right now by what to do on this blog, i know i've made lots of posts and i know this is for fun ,, but theres so much in my drafts i am struggling to even write as i see the number in my drafts and shut down :(( i am trying though ( i really am!) !! today is izukus birthday so im going to focus on writing that stuff today,, but yea,, i am really struggling to deal with stuff </3 so im sorry i am posting one reply every few days,, i wish i could do more !! but yes,, anyways !!

third thing ; i can be a bit forgetful!! when it comes to blog rules, interactions and dnis and stuff,, so if i ever mess up a rule or get something wrong i apologise SO much !! i wanna get things right and i do check rules often for blogs to remind myself but i may slip up and that stresses me sometimes :((

fourth thing (sorta) ; please let me know when i fuck up!! im just a lil dude trying to get by in life,, i just like having friends and stuff but sometimes i do wrong !! and whilst it isnt intentional its still smth which is important to apologise about and talk it through !! if i ever do you wrong ,, just know your feelings are valid and its okay to be mad and get angry at me !! just let me know what i did so i can improve on things in the future <33 :3

[icewindandboringhorror]

[atsu-i]

.

[ratgingi]

oh yea also uh very gentle request but please do not compare my ocs to canon characters thank u /srs /nm

[francy-sketches]

Hope you’re ok btw ❤️

yea im ok dw <3 just kinda bummed out by the whole thing but whateverrr we move on twitter doesn't matter anyway ^_^

also idk if you sent me another ask or if that was a different anon but. I'm not gonna answer it bc I don't wanna create more drama (and also I'm trying to resolve it in dms rn so. don't wanna ruin that by being petty) but thanks for the support same goes for the other anons 🫶

[lilacline001]

Guys, gals, nonbinary pals, please expect the next chapter of Nocturne on 1/23/2023. If it is not out by then, please feel free to harass me.

[zenyuu]

theres mice crawling around the kitchen and i cant study properly bc they keep running by and i keep having to yell at them so they dont grab shit. my grandparents seem so unbothered by it its genuinely pissing me off

[verystressedcollegestudent]

if there's one thing i hate more than slackers in group projects its goddamn hypocrites

[tender-rosiey]

plsss would u do sukuna taking care of his pregnant wife? like noticing his robes keep disappearing, only to figure out its his wife. or more dad!kuna 🙏🏾

robes — ryomen sukuna x f!reader

a/n: me👰‍♀️ ➕ 👹heianera!sukuna

sukuna is a deeply preceptive man.

it’s something he prides himself over, and since he is observant, he quickly notices that his robes start going missing.

in the beginning, he thinks that it’s probably the increased number of bloodied robes because he has been going on a higher number of rampages the past couple of days.

so, he goes to uraume to inquire about why the delivery of his robes has been later than usual.

uraume quickly responds that they have been personally delivering the clean robes to his chambers and ensuring that they are placed where he can clearly see them.

the revelation makes sukuna annoyed because that means that someone has been stealing his robes directly from his chambers.

he is presented with two courses of actions—excluding the option of saving himself the trouble and just killing all the servants: sending uraume to spy on the whole ordeal or investigate it himself.

considering how he has been pretty bored the past couple of days, he decides on the latter. the past few rampages have given a clear warning to the rest of the villages surrounding his castle.

so, with nothing else to do, sukuna takes it upon himself to monitor the main entrance of his chambers to see whether anybody enters the room after uraume places the robes in the room.

so, he situates himself near the room but far away so that they can’t catch him.

he stays there for a good couple of hours, yet he sees no one, not even in the darkness of the night: the supposed prime time for a thief.

perhaps the thief has been made aware of sukuna’s inspection? but that would mean that the robes would still be in the chambers. so, sukuna enters his room in search of his robes, but, to his surprise, he doesn’t find them.

that immediately leads him to concluding that whoever is stealing his robes is someone who has access to the hidden door of his room.

and no one knows about that door except—

“y/n.”

you yelp and slowly turn to your husband. he is standing there, arms crossed, brows furrowed, and an everlasting frown on his face. you have been caught and are in some big trouble.

you don’t falter immediately though. you try to act normal. you smile nervously, “yes, my love? is something bothering you?”

keyword: try.

he repeats your name lowly, and you quickly crumble. you visibly deflate and lower your head as you murmur, “yes…”

he nods in satisfaction before asking the awaited question, “where are my robes?”

your hands rest on your lap, and you fidget with your fingers.

you still can’t figure out what his reaction will be. so far, he is just gathering information. he is giving you nothing to work with, so you have no other option but to comply and just keep answering him.

sighing, you answer him, “my closet.”

he quirks an eyebrow and sits in front of you. his hand is placed on your head, and he raises your head, so you’re looking him in the eyes. it’s something that you have noticed only being done to you.

you had absentmindedly asked your head servant about it, and said servant, uraume, had told you that it’s because he views you as an equal and does not take pleasure in your fear and acting inferior to him.

and in the end, sukuna only does what pleases him. if it doesn’t please him then why do it?

he hums as if in thought before egging you on, “and why are my robes in your closet? in fact—” he smirks, eyes observing your frame, “why are you currently wearing my robes?”

you pull the robes tighter around yourself, and you purse your lips. sukuna wants an answer right now, and while he is enjoying your ‘suffering’, he also wants to know what’s wrong.

if there is anything that he hates then it’s not knowing, especially if it’s something about you, his very pregnant wife.

his hand travels to your jaw, and he grips it lightly.

“so?” he says as he tilts your head to the slide slightly.

“you…have been gone for longer than usual lately, and I have been missing you,” you admit softly as you try your best to maintain eye contact, but you end up looking away.

he is still silent, so you continue laying out your reasoning, “and for some reason, the robes alleviate the pregnancy pain. I couldn’t find any logical or scientific reason, but I think—

—it’s because the robes are filled with your cursed energy, maybe acting as a kind of assurance to the baby that you are beside us even if you aren’t.”

he doesn’t grace you with any reaction nor reply for quite a while, and it makes you think that he is probably thinking about how foolish the entire scenario is.

so, you add hesitantly, “or something like that…”

after a moment, though, he sighs and simply says, “you could’ve just asked me, you foolish woman.”

you blink confused, “and you, my ‘no one takes what’s mine’ husband, would’ve allowed that?”

“you, idiot, are mine, so my belongings are yours anyway,” he states, and his hands rest on your stomach, “this is mine too, so you have to take good care of it.”

a smile takes over your face, and you nod happily, “of course, I will!”

you pause for a second, and it has sukuna confused.

you frown and you point your finger at him while reprimanding him, “and don’t call me an idiot, mister! I am your wife, and I am blessed with a good name.”

a pinch is delivered to your butt which makes you shriek. you jump away from your husband and start rubbing the spot in attempt to soothe it.

sukuna smiles wickedly before suggesting, “how about I help you with that?”

“no! keep your hands off of me, you brute!”

he chuckles, and it echoes throughout the room. it’s kind of creepy. you always said that you wanted to add more furniture to avoid that situation.

you start thinking about the new design for the room when your husband speaks up, “and regarding my absence the past few of days.”

you turn your head to him, and he continues, “I will be putting my plans on pause for a while, so you don’t have to resort to the robes for the time.”

he turns his back to you before announcing, “I am expecting you at dinner and later in my chamber. is that clear?”

you feel giddiness fill you up, and you reply enthusiastically, “yes, my king!”

“good,” he smirks.

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[d1stalker]

The Feeling's Mutual | Part One

[Logan Howlett x Mutant!Reader]

Summary: If somebody told you a week ago that you were a mutant, being stalked, and would be teaming up with an annoying, grumbly bastard, you probably would have laughed in their face. Too bad that was last week, because here you are, in that very situation, wondering how in the world things escalated so quickly.

PART TWO PART THREE FINAL PART

Warnings: fem!reader, canon-level violence, reluctant alliance, bickering, not exactly enemies-to-lovers but they don't rly get along, it's gonna be a slow burn y'all WC: 5.7k - MASTERLIST - A/N: If you saw me post this earlier, no you didn't 🤫 i added more hehe

You’ve never been so confused in your entire life.

It all started last week—when you were walking to the grocery store. Just an ordinary day, nothing special about it. You had a list in your hand, some cash in your pocket, and thoughts of what to cook for dinner running through your mind. The route you took had you winding down the usual streets of your neighbourhood, and that’s when you noticed him.

Something about him was different, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on what it was that made you think that. Perhaps it was the way his eyes followed you, stalking you, like a predator its prey.

At first, you thought it might be a coincidence. Maybe he was just another person going about his day, heading in the same direction as you. People share paths all the time; there was no reason to suspect anything sinister, right? But as you continued walking, a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach told you something was off. You decided to test it, making a sudden turn down a side street, one you usually never take.

The street was quieter, less foot traffic, and the late afternoon shadows were starting to stretch across the pavement. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was, still a few steps behind, his gaze remaining locked onto you with a focus that sent a shiver down your spine. Quickening your pace, you felt an almost paralyzing fear.

This wasn’t just a shared route. 

The more you turned, the more you weaved through unfamiliar streets, the more persistent he became. He never faltered, never hesitated, always keeping just close enough to let you know he was there.

Finally, you reached the store, breathing in short, panicked gasps, your eyes flitting around. You ducked inside, hiding the fluorescent lights and bustling aisles. You tried to calm yourself, telling yourself it was nothing, that you were being paranoid. After all, what were the odds? Maybe he’d walk past, maybe he wasn’t even following you. You spent longer than usual picking up items you didn’t need, giving him time to disappear. 

But when you walked back outside, bags in hand, you saw him again. He wasn’t right at the door, but still, close enough—across the street, half-hidden in the shadow of another building, watching. His eyes locked with yours once more, and you froze, the plastic handles of the grocery bags digging into your palms as your grip tightened in fear. He didn’t move, didn’t smile or sneer, just stood there, silent.

You rushed home, not even bothering to see if he was tracking you down, too scared to find out the answer. Your mind was racing with a million thoughts. Who was he? What did he want? You didn’t sleep much that night, jumping at every creak and groan the apartment made, the image of that man’s cold stare burned into your mind.

The next day, you told yourself it was nothing, a one-time thing, just some creep who had too much time on his hands. A pervert, possibly. 

But happened again. A different man this time, but with the same unnerving intensity. He followed you the same way, mute and relentless, through the streets, to the store, and back home.

Then the day after that, and that, and that. They didn’t approach you directly, just followed, watched, waited. It was like a game, one that you didn’t know the rules to, and the stakes felt like they were getting higher and higher and more time passed. Whenever you stepped outside, you felt their eyes on you, felt their presence lurking just out of sight. It was terrifying.

The fear gnawed at you, growing with each passing day, until it became impossible to ignore. You started taking different routes, avoiding your usual stores, changing your routine as much as you could. Still, no matter what you did, they always found you.

Soon it changed—no longer just silent stalking. One night, as you were walking home, one of the men stepped out from the shadows and blocked your path. His presence was oppressive, the way he stood there, so still, so certain of his power over you. You had no idea what he wanted, but you knew it whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“Why are you following me?” you demanded, trying to muster up all the courage you could, voice shaking slightly despite your attempt to sound strong.

“Because we were told to,” the man said, his voice cold and emotionless. There was no malice, no pleasure in his words, just a chilling matter-of-factness. “You’re coming with us.”

Panic surged through you, a primal instinct to run, to fight, to do anything but comply. You refused to show it, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you spat back, hoping your defiance would be enough to make him reconsider.

His eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint flashing in them, and before you could react, he lunged at you, his fist swinging with brutal intent. Time seemed to slow as you saw the blow coming, your mind racing, but your body moving almost on instinct. You raised your arms to defend yourself, bracing for the crushing impact that would follow.

You couldn’t explain what happened next. When his fist connected with your arm, the force that should have sent you to the ground, left you unscathed. Instead, it was the man who staggered back, a look of shock and pain twisting his features. He clutched his hand, wincing as if he had struck something far harder than just flesh and bone.

You stared at him, bewildered, before glancing down at your own arm in disbelief. There was no pain, no bruise, nothing to indicate that you’d just been hit. It was as if his attack had bounced off of you, like you were made of steel.

Had you really just blocked that hit? And why did it feel like… nothing?

Before you could process what had happened, before the realization could fully take root, another man appeared out of nowhere, moving with a speed that blurred the edges of his form. Mutant. He was faster than the first, more determined, and this time, you felt your heart stop as he came at you from behind, his hands outstretched to grab you.

But something in you reacted faster than your fear. You twisted out of his grip with lightning speed, with movements so fluid and precise, it was as if your body knew exactly what to do, even if your brain was struggling to keep up. You sidestepped his attack, narrowly avoiding his grasp, and found yourself behind him, safe for the moment.

“What the hell?” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest. How did you move like that? How had you known where to go, how to dodge?

There was no time to dwell on it. The fight intensified in an instant, the two men coming at you one after another, relentless in their assault. They weren’t holding back, and suddenly neither were you. You moved like a force of nature, dodging their attacks, striking back when you could. Each punch you threw landed with a power that surprised even you. You watched in stunned disbelief as one of the men crumpled to the ground after a single blow, his eyes rolling back as if he’d been hit by a truck.

You are not a gym regular. In fact, you hadn’t worked out in weeks. You weren’t strong, not like this. So how was it possible that your punches were so devastating, that each one seemed to carry a weight far beyond what you’d ever imagined?

Then, with a flick of his wrist, the first mutant, conjured a ball of fire in his hand, the flames crackling and roaring, craving something to burn. He hurled it at you, the fireball spinning through the air with only one target in mind. 

You barely had time to scream as the flames engulfed your arm, the searing heat burning through your skin. The pain was unbearable, a white-hot agony that made you gasp and stumble back. You expected to see your skin blackened, blistered, ruined.

And it was.

For a minute. 

To your shock—or horror—you looked down, breath catching in your throat as you watched the burn heal right before your eyes. The charred skin knitted back together in seconds, smooth and unblemished, as if nothing had happened at all.

What the fuck? 

It was in that moment that the truth hit you, like a thunderclap in your mind. You weren’t just an ordinary person caught in a nightmare. You were a mutant, with powers that had only now revealed themselves, right when you needed them most.

The men kept coming, but now you fought with a new understanding. Each punch, each dodge, each rapid movement felt more controlled, more intentional, your gym class self-defence courses coming in clutch. You were strong, faster than you’d ever been, and you could heal—regenerate from injuries that would have left others incapacitated.

Finally, the two men laid groaning on the ground, defeated. You stood there, panting, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of it all. Super strength, super speed, regeneration… these powers, they were yours. And they had just saved your life.

But as the adrenaline began to fade, confusion set in. What did these men want with you? Why had they gone to such lengths to provoke you? To make you discover what you were capable of? 

All you knew was that one thing was clear: this was far from over. Whoever had sent these men wouldn’t stop here. They knew what you were now, and that meant they’d come after you again. You weren’t just an ordinary person anymore. You were something else, something powerful. And that put a target on your back. 

Whatever was coming next, you needed to be ready.

----

That’s how you found yourself here, one week later, crouched on the apartment rooftop, the cold wind nipping at your exposed skin. The dark streets below are eerily silent, save for the distant hum of traffic. You sense them before you see them—another group of male mutants, closing in on your position. You grip the hilt of your knife tighter, feeling the now-familiar twinge of anger and frustration settle in your chest. This is the fifth group tonight. They’ve been hunting you in groups for days now, their numbers increasing as each one goes by, and you’re tired of it. 

You’ve started to get used to your new powers—testing your limits, pushing yourself harder with each confrontation. What started as simple self-defence, a punch here, a dodge there, has escalated into something far more lethal.

You didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to by use your sharpest kitchen knife (your only kitchen knife) as a weapon, but as the attacks became more violent, you found yourself with little to no choice. 

These mutants weren’t holding back, and neither could you.

Within a week, you went from the most average person in the world to what some people might call a vigilante—except you're really only trying to save your own skin.

Leaping off the roof, you land silently behind them. The speed at which you move is almost dizzying, your body a blur as you close the distance in the blink of an eye. 

“Looking for someone?” you call out sarcastically.

They turn, eyes widening in surprise, but you’re already moving. Your blade sings through the air, striking true, as you move like a shadow, taking them down one by one. It’s not easy—these guys are tough—but you’ve become tougher. With each strike, you can feel your strength surging, far beyond what should be possible. One of the mutants tries to block you, creating a forcefield, but you grab the edges before it can fully form, and break through it, the temporary pain vanishing as quick as it came. A solid kick to his face, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious before he even realizes it.

“Is this what you wanted?!” you shout, your voice echoing through the empty street as the last attacker falls to the ground, groaning in pain. “Is this what you came for?!”

The answer doesn’t come from them. Rather, it comes from a low growl behind you. 

You whirl around, heart racing, and there he is—Logan Howlett—the Wolverine himself. The man you’ve read about in every article, every piece of mutant-related news you could get your hands on since discovering your own abilities. He’s infamous, pretty much a legend, and the stories about him are as terrifying as they are fascinating.

Standing there with that scowl on his face, he looks every bit the dangerous figure you’ve imagined. His eyes are blank, calculating, and you can feel the weight of his gaze as it sizes you up. There’s a tension in the air, thick and suffocating, as he takes a step closer.

“So, you’re the one causing all this trouble,” Logan states gruffly, irritation coating his tongue. He unsheathes his claws, the adamantium glimmering under the streetlights. The sound is unmistakable, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Heard you’ve been killin’ off mutants left and right.”

You narrow your eyes, instinctively stepping back into a defensive stance. Your heart is pounding, but you can't show any weakness. 

“Funny, I thought the same about you, Wolverine. What’s the matter? Run out of bad guys to play hero with?”

Without warning, he charges at you, claws outstretched, but you’re ready. You dart to the side, your speed giving you an edge as his claws slice through the air where you’d been standing, making a woosh sound. You counter with a swift kick to his ribs, putting your enhanced strength into the blow. He grunts, stumbling slightly, but quickly regains his balance. The momentary advantage you gained is gone as he storms toward you once more.

You meet his attacks head-on, your blade clashing with his claws in a shower of sparks. The force of each impact reverberates through your arms, but you hold your ground, refusing to back down. His attacks are ferocious, a whirlwind of claws and fury. He's fast, but you’re faster, dodging and weaving with a precision that keeps you just out of reach.

“Look, sweetheart,” he growls between strikes, his frustration evident. “You can make this easy or hard. I don’t care which, but I’m not lettin’ you hurt anyone else.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you deflect another swipe of his claws. “Oh, please. You think I’m the bad guy here? These jerks have been coming after me for days. I’m just defending myself.”

Logan doesn’t look convinced, and that pisses you off more than anything. “Right. And I’m supposed to believe you, why? You’re leavin’ a trail of bodies behind you.”

You narrow your eyes, feeling the anger boil over. “Because I’m not the one who started this! They did! But of course, you wouldn’t know that, would you? You just show up, swinging your claws around like you’re the big savior.”

“You got a mouth on you, don’t ya?” He retorts, snarling as he charges at you again, faster this time. You barely have time to block his attack, the force of his blow sending you skidding back several feet. But you dig your heels in, refusing to give an inch as he continues plows forward. Your speed kicks in, allowing you to duck under his next swing and land a punch to his jaw.

He staggers, but quickly recovers, swiping at you with renewed fury. You're a bit sloppy compared to him, not as much of a seasoned fighter. His claws swipe at your arm, cutting deep and drawing blood, but the wound heals almost instantly, the skin closing up as if it had never been cut. You see the flicker of surprise in his eyes, but it doesn’t slow him down. He lunges again, becoming a blur of motion as he ups the ante.

You parry with your knife, but this time, you’re on the offensive. You launch a rapid series of attacks, your speed and strength managing to drive him back. In the rush of movement, you're able to see an opening, grasping his shoulder and shoving him hard, sending him crashing into a nearby wall. The impact is enough to crack the brick, but Logan just shakes it off, pushing himself back to his feet.

“Gotta say,” you huff, panting slightly from the exertion, “I’m a little disappointed. I expected more from the you, after all I’ve heard.”

Logan grunts, clearly fed up with the banter. “I'm done talking.”

He lunges at you again, and this time, it’s a battle of wills as much as it is of skill. You don't back down, your knife clashing with his claws in a series of rapid, brutal strikes. The alleyway becomes a blur of movement, metal against metal, strength against strength. Each time his claws find their mark, your regenerative abilities kick in, healing the wounds almost as quickly as they’re made. 

And for a moment, you wonder if you’ll have to kill him too, just to survive. But then something shifts. Maybe it’s the way your attacks grow weaker, less lethal. Or maybe it’s the way Logan’s eyes narrow in realization when he notices your hesitance.

“Wait a damn minute,” Logan says, stepping back just out of your reach, wiping his mouth, then spitting on the ground. He’s breathing hard, just like you. “You’re holdin’ back.”

He pauses, his eyes narrowing as they flick down to the knife you’ve been holding, and then back up to you. His expression shifts, a mix of disbelief and exasperation crossing his face. “And is that a kitchen knife?”

You glance down at the knife in your hand, realizing how absurd it must look in the middle of this intense fight. It’s not exactly standard combat gear, but it’s all you had when this started. You can’t help the smirk that pulls at your lips as you meet his gaze again.

“It gets the job done,” you quip, shrugging slightly.

He shakes his head, clearly not impressed. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I'm choosing to take that as a compliment,” The sarcasm is practically oozing off of you.

He eyes you warily, his posture still tense. “You’re not makin’ this easy, you know. You got me here thinkin’ you’re some crazed mutant killer, but you’re just a girl wavin’ around a kitchen knife like you’re in a bad horror movie.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I didn’t exactly have time to hit up a weapons store. Besides, I didn’t ask for any of this. These guys came after me first.”

Logan studies you. “So you say. But you’re killing dozens of mutants. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘innocent.’”

“Trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be doing this–fighting… killing–at all. Hell, I didn’t even know I was a mutant until some guy swung his fist at me a week ago.” You meet his gaze, challenging him. “And what about you? You’re not exactly known for playing nice.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well, most of my casualties are from the missions I go on, so I'd say it's justified.”

Your eyes narrow, catching the implication in his words. “Oh, am I your mission now? How long have you been tracking me?”

Logan’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a slight shift in his posture, a subtle acknowledgment that you’ve hit on something. “Long enough to know you’re not just some innocent bystander caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“So, what? You’ve been watching me, waiting for me to screw up so you could take me down?” you demand, the frustration clear in your voice.

“Something like that,” he replies gruffly, “But from what I’ve seen, you’re more reactive than proactive," he looks you up and down. "I can’t seem figure out if you’re the real threat here, or just someone caught in the middle of a bigger mess.”

You let out a slow breath, trying to calm the fiery anger rising within you. “I told you, I didn’t start this. They did. I’m just trying to survive.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, teeth grinding as he considers your words. You can see the gears turning in his head, trying to piece together whether you’re telling the truth or just playing him. He takes a step closer, his claws still out but not as threatening as before.

Finally, he asks, “You got a name?”

You roll your eyes, exasperated. “No shit I have a name.”

Logan huffs, unimpressed by your attitude. “Well, if you’re not gonna tell me, I’m just gonna have to call you somethin’… How 'bout Knifey?”

You stare at him, half-expecting him to crack a smile, but he’s dead serious. “Knifey? Really?”

Logan shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he eyes your weapon of choice again. “Fits, don’t you think?”

“Fine. I’ll tell you my name, alright? Anything but Knifey.” You say, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“... Gotta say, Knifey sounds a little better”

“Shut the fuck up, Wolverine”

“It’s Logan, actually.”

You release a deep sigh. “I know, and I don’t care. I’m telling you I am not the one you need to be going after.”

Logan scoffs, crossing his arms. “I’ve been around a long time. Seen my fair share of people who think they’re doin’ the right thing and end up doin’ a hell of a lot of damage. So, forgive me if I’m a little skeptical.”

“You would know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” The words come out of your mouth before you had time to think about them, and you regret it immediately. You can see the mutant in front of you’s face darken to a degree bordering murderous, and you think you’ve crossed a line you can’t come back from. Whatever playful banter existed before this is gone.

“Careful,” He growls menacingly, “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

You swallow hard. The Wolverine is infamous for a reason, and you just poked at the beast beneath the surface. You briefly consider backing down, but your pride refuses to let you.

“Maybe I don’t,” you admit, “But I do know what it’s like to be hunted, to have no choice but to fight back. So yeah, maybe we’re more alike than you think.”

Logan’s glare softens just a fraction, and he lets out a long, frustrated breath. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do ya?”

“Not when I’m trying to make a point,” you retort.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just stares at you, as if he’s trying to decide whether to continue this conversation or end it with his claws. Ultimately, he shakes his head, the anger in his eyes dimming, replaced by something more akin to weary resignation.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Maybe you’re not the one I should be takin’ down. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna start trustin’ you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” you reply, feeling a bit of relief that the situation isn’t about to escalate into another fight. “But I swear, there’s someone else out there pulling the strings. And I’m not sticking around to be their puppet.”

He nods slowly, crossing his arms again. “We’ll find out who’s behind this, but I’m callin’ the shots. You step outta line, and we’re gonna have a problem.”

You smirk, a little of your bravado returning. “I’ll try not to disappoint you, Logan.”

You can tell he doesn't appreciate your attitude, but he lets it slide. “Let’s get one thing straight. This ain’t a partnership. I’m doin’ this to figure out what the hell’s goin’ on, not because I like you.”

“Trust me, the feeling’s mutual,” you shoot back, though there’s no real heat behind your words.

Logan turns abruptly, not even bothering to beckon you with him.

It makes you roll your eyes but you fall in step beside him anyway, knowing that despite the rocky start, this uneasy alliance might be the only thing keeping you alive. 

“…So… where exactly are we going?”

He sends you a sidelong glance. "Who said I’m takin’ you anywhere?"

You throw your hands up, exasperated. "Well, if you don’t, these mutants are going to keep hunting me, and I’m going to keep killing them…” you shoot him a look, batting your eyelashes innocently. “You wouldn't want that, would you?"

“Fuck off”

"Well, too late for that now."

He grumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but it sounds a lot like cursing his bad luck.

"We’re headin’ to my place. It’s the safest spot right now."

----

Turn’s out, it’s not really his place. Or at least, it’s what you’d thought it’d be. It’s more of an abandoned warehouse that he just decided to seek refuge in one day, doing the bare minimum to make it feel at the very least, home-y. The heavy metal doors creak open, revealing a chaotic interior cluttered with garbage, old newspapers, and a few scattered items. In the corner, a single bed and a sagging couch that look like they’ve definitely seen better days.

Your nose wrinkles in disgust as you take in the mess. "Seriously?" you mutter, your voice tinged with disbelief. "This is where you've been hiding out? It looks like a tornado hit a thrift store."

Logan, who had been trailing behind you, lets out a low grunt as he shuffles past, not bothering to respond to your jab. His heavy footsteps echo in the otherwise silent space, the sound bouncing off the bare, cold walls. He heads straight for a small, battered table that looks like it's one sharp nudge away from collapsing. On it lies a worn notebook, its pages yellowed and curling at the edges, evidence of extensive use. Without a word, he picks it up and starts flipping through the pages, his expression unreadable.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step closer, peering over his shoulder. "What's this?" you ask, reaching out to take the notebook from him. He hesitates for a brief moment before relinquishing it into your hands. As you flip through the pages, your eyes widen in shock. The notes are detailed, almost obsessively so, listing the names of various mutants, their abilities, and the exact locations where their bodies were found. 

"Oh, great," you say with a sarcastic, half-hearted laugh. "You've been keeping tabs on me. What kind of creepy stalker are you?”

He rolls his eyes and snatches the notebook back, his voice dripping with irritation. "I wasn’t exactly tracking you. I was trying to track whoever’s been killing all those damn mutants."

Logan’s jaw tightens as you just continue to stare, and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "And don’t act all innocent. I needed to know who was causing all the chaos."

Scoffing, you continue to look through the notebook, stopping when you come across a particularly detailed entry. "Wow... 26 kills? Not too shabby for an amateur mutant, huh?"

“Is your mouth unable to stay shut?” he questions, though you know better than to answer that. 

The notebook flops back onto the table with a casual flick of your wrist. "Hey, don’t be mad just because I’m doing a better job than you expected."

He crosses his arms over his chest, his muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. "I’m not mad," he snaps. "I’m annoyed that you’re making light of this. It’s not exactly a high score to brag about."

"Oh, come on. You’re the one who turned this place into a shrine to my success” you smirk.

"It’s not a shrine," Logan growls, his patience wearing thin. "It’s a record. If you’d been paying more attention to what’s going on, you’d know that."

The playfulness fades from your face as his words hit home. He’s right, but you’re not about to admit it. Instead, you deflect. "Yeah, and if you’d bothered to talk to me instead of playing detective, maybe we’d have figured this out sooner."

"You think you’re the only one who’s had a rough time? This whole situation is a mess, and we’re both caught in it." His eyes narrow.

You cross your arms, mirroring his defensive posture. "You didn’t have to get involved, you know. Unless...what if you’re the bad guy here?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. "Using all these mutants to lure me into your dungeon under the pretense of trying to ‘stop’ me?"

His response is immediate. "I’m way too lazy to think of doing all that."

You can’t help but believe him, especially given the state of the warehouse. He clearly lacks the energy—or the interest—to tidy up his living space, let alone mastermind a complex plot. You let out a sigh and walk over to the sagging couch in the corner. The fabric is threadbare, and the springs groan in protest as you flop down onto it.

"Fine, fine... I trust you," you concede, though your tone is far from serious. "Did you notice anything specific amongst these mutants?"

"Yeah, I’ve noticed somethin’,” Logan says, dragging a hand down his face, now looking more tired than ever. “They’re all pretty low-key. Not exactly top-tier in the mutant rankings. Never caused any trouble before, yadda yadda. If anything, they’re usually on the weaker side."

You furrow your brows, intrigued. "So they’re not a serious threat."

"Exactly," Logan confirms with a nod. "It’s weird. These mutants aren’t the type to just go around being fuckin’ annoying like they have been. Someone—or something—must be pushing them into this."

"You think they’re all being controlled somehow?" you muse, the pieces slowly falling into place. "And that’s why they’re suddenly acting out of character?"

"Seems like it," He replies, rubbing his temples. "Must be powerful if they’re all falling in line like this. We’re going to have to dig deeper to find the source of it.

He moves to sit next to you on the couch, the worn fabric sinking even further under his weight. "Tell me everything you know," Logan says quietly, his voice a tinge softer now, almost coaxing. "Everything that’s happened to you."

You sigh and lean back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you start to recount your experience. "It all began about a week ago. Just a normal day, I was walking to the grocery store, then I noticed this guy following me. At first, I thought it was a coincidence. But no matter where I went, he was always a few steps behind."

His attention sharpens, his gaze locking onto yours. "And?"

"It started as just stalking," you continue, your voice growing quieter as the memories flood back. "Nothing violent. But then, it started happening with different people. Each time, they were more persistent, more intimidating. It became clear that something was off."

You can feel Logan’s gaze burning into you, his concern evident in the way he leans closer, listening intently. "Eventually, they started getting aggressive," you say. "One night, one of them blocked my path and tried to grab me. I managed to fight him off, but when he hit me, it didn’t hurt. I mean, it should have, he looked pretty strong, but my arm felt fine. That’s when I realized I had powers—some form of super strength, super speed, and healing abilities."

"And you figured that out just from fighting them off?" he questions, somewhat impressed.

You nod, rubbing your arms as if to ward off a lingering chill. "Yeah. I didn’t really have a choice. They kept coming, and I had to use whatever I had to protect myself—including my damn kitchen knife. The more I fought, the more I understood what I could do.”

Logan pauses, his expression unreadable as he processes everything you’ve said. The dim light from the single bulb casts long shadows across the room, emphasizing the lines of fatigue etched into his face. Finally, he stands up, his movements slow and deliberate. "So, here’s the plan," he starts, his voice rough and tired. "We need to figure out exactly where these mutants are coming from. There’s gotta be a main location where they’re getting their orders or some central hub for this control."

You hum in agreement, though a part of you is reluctant to jump back into action so soon. "Alright, so how do we start tracking that down?"

His lips press into a thin line as he thinks it over. "We’ll stake out the rooftops. From up there, we can get a clear view of their movements and see if they’re converging somewhere specific. Maybe spot a pattern."

You stretch, stifling a yawn as you glance around the shabby room. "Okay, but are we doing that tonight? I’m pretty beat."

“Seriously? You want to put this off?" he accuses, face twisting in irritation.

"I’m up for it, but I’d be more effective if I’m not running on fumes. Plus, you look pretty tired yourself," you shrug. 

He lets out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. We’ll do it tomorrow."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you sense his reluctance to agree. "So you agree with me," you state, not really feeling any real pride, but just wanting to push his buttons.

Logan grumbles under his breath as he starts to clear a space on the threadbare couch, which creaks loudly under even the slightest pressure. "Do you ever shut up? I’m letting you crash in my bed, aren’t I?"

You chuckle softly, watching him arrange a tattered blanket on the couch with exaggerated care. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Goodnight, old man."

"Watch it, Knifey," he mutters, settling onto the couch with a groan as the springs protest under his weight.

You roll your eyes at his choice of nickname, and with a sigh, you make your way over to the bed, which is small and far from luxurious, but it’s better than nothing. The mattress dips slightly as you climb in, and the covers are thin, barely providing any warmth. Still, exhaustion pulls at you, and you barely have time to think about what the covers smell like before sleep overtakes you.

----

pls comment or message me if you'd like to be added to the series taglist!

[mrsbarnesblog]

the "it" couple

masterlist

requests are open

summary: you and Rafe being the hottest couple on the island

word count: 1.3k.

warnings: established relationship, mentions of sex, mentions of nude pictures, Rafe is reader's first everything, you're both lovesick

a/n: my obsession with soft and painfully in love Rafe is not curable at this point. but like could you imagine having him all to yourself?? ughhh the things i'd let him do to me😩

Everyone knew that there are couples that, at first glance, give you the impression that they just have really good sex. Like they are so hot and perfectly compliment each other, with a certain vibe oozing out of them, especially when they are together. 

You and Rafe were that couple. 

Before you started dating, no one ever considered that two polar opposites like you might even coexist. You were a kook, but still completely different from Rafe and his little gang. You were pretty, but more on the quiet side, never showing off or bothering anybody.

Rafe, on the other hand, was mean and sarcastic to everyone and everything. It was a good thing that you put him in his place the first time he talked to you, making it clear that you are not having his shit. And also making Rafe instantly interested and following you like a puppy.

You were annoyingly teasing and flirting with each other, and everyone tried not to get involved in whatever was going on. It was your first experience with a guy, because before that, nobody was really making their shots, or, at least, you never paid enough attention to notice it, choosing to focus on yourself. But with Rafe, it felt fun and so damn easy. 

Your first kiss set everything in its place because you finally gave in to your hidden emotions. It made sense why you were always arguing and pestering each other—you simply craved attention from one another and it was the easiest way to get it. 

Surprisingly, Rafe’s rough edges softened, especially around you, and he was so affectionate and craved you around him 24/7. Though, knowing that you’ve never been in relationships before, he never pushed you to do anything, just following your pace. 

But after your first time happened in the third month of dating, after the ice melted and your insecurities fully disappeared, Rafe almost got another version of his girlfriend. 

If he thought that you couldn’t be better, then he was wrong. 

He never understood his friends who said that they had to almost beg their girlfriends to have sex, mostly because Rafe had never been in actual relationships before. But it made even less sense for him because you, seemingly, had the same energy and high sex drive as him. 

The first few times may have been slightly awkward with you still learning and trying to understand your own body, but once you got confident, you became unstoppable. 

Whether it was early morning, the middle of the day, or way past your bedtime, you were ready to have sex right away, straddling Rafe's legs or luring him into a kiss while your hands slipped under his pants.  

It was crazy how much you both wanted each other. It was a perfect fucking match to have someone with exactly the same needs. You probably have been bent over every single flat surface in the house and not a single room was safe from the two of you. He wanted you all to himself and he could go hours just worshiping your body and fucking you into bliss. 

You were almost glued together, never coming to an event alone. Rafe was so obsessed with the way you looked, with your smell, and with the feeling of your skin on his, so he always had to touch you one way or another. His friends teased him that he was absolutely pussy whipped for you and he had never denied it. They also started calling you Mrs. Cameron because you acted like a married couple and neither of you were against that nickname.

To say more, the idea of that made Rafe so feral for you, so he didn’t let you get out of bed the following day. Not that you complained, though.

Rafe loved sneaking out with you. Whenever you two had to visit a gala with your families, he always snatched you from the main room to drag you to the bathroom or another hidden place to have a quickie or to burry his head under your dress because you were too hot to resist. Yeah, maybe other people noticed it, giving you their usual politely awkward smiles, but neither of you care. 

On his birthday, you gave him the best fucking gift, which was a stack of your naked polaroid pictures. You were really nervous to do that, thinking that Rafe might react differently, but he reminded you once again why he was your perfect match. After looking through the photos several times, he literally attacked you, throwing you back on the bed and giving you the best orgasms of your life. 

Since that day, one of the less explicit pictures of your ass has been placed in his wallet.

You were officially the “it” couple on the island, with everyone either admiring or being jealous of that spark, which never seemed to diminish. Everyone saw the way the Rafe Cameron gave you heart eyes, soft smiles and gentle kisses. The way he held you close to himself, protecting you, taking care of you, and treating you like a queen.

Some people told you that it was only the excitement of a new relationship, but after a few years of dating, with a promise ring on your finger, it was still there. You still craved each other's touch; you still craved being together whenever it was possible, always going on dates and trips, attending all of Kook’s events, but mostly spending lazy days in your shared house. Sex was even better than before—more passionate, fun, hot and full of unconditional love.

Despite the gossip on the island, Rafe didn't get “bored” of you. No, over time, he became addicted to you because you felt like home, and there was nothing better than being with you. 

He didn't need any other women. And he still couldn't grasp the idea of cheating. If he had you, then why on earth would he do that? Every time he came home, the best person in the world and the best sex of his life were in that exact location, so he never complained about anything.

You were his afrodisiac and whether you were in full glam, in a bikini on the beach or in his old t-shirt with messy hair, he couldn’t just keep his hands to himself and not kiss the air out of you. 

He liked how you stayed at home, doing whatever you wanted and treating yourself while he worked. You always greeted him with homemade food, but more importantly, you acted as if you had not seen him in months.

You were waiting on the porch or finishing up in the kitchen, but when you saw him, you ran and jumped into his arms and pulled him into a kiss. It always melted Rafe’s worries and bad mood away, as his shoulders sagged in relief from being in your arms again. 

You always ended up in your bedroom, with you on or under him, while your hands were tugging at each other’s closes. Rafe knew that it would eventually end up with him finally putting a baby in you—something that more and more flooded his mind—but for the foreseeable future, he first had to officially make you his Mrs. Cameron.

And the red box with the big ass diamond ring, which was currently sitting in the drawer, was just waiting for the perfect moment.  

[ickadori]

++ 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

[summary] wrio missed his wife, and she missed him just as much. two simps in love.

[cws] fluff. fem reader -> wriothesley’s wife. reader is a mondstadt native. kissing.

Wriothesley’s cup of tea pauses halfway to his mouth as there’s a knock at his office door. His fingers tighten unconsciously around the handle, that incessant throbbing at his temples that had been dying out suddenly tapping into its nth life.

He contemplates ignoring it; pretending he didn’t hear it and indulging in his fresh brew, but he’s never been one to shirk off his work, no matter how inconsequential the task.

He sets the cup down rougher than necessary, and the legs of his chair scrape loudly against the floor as he pushes it back from his desk and stands to his feet. Someone better be dead or on the verge.

It was an unspoken rule that Wriothesley wasn’t to be bothered at this time -a quarter after five until six- because it was official tea time, a very, very important time in his day that let the inhabitants in Meropide see his most agreeable side… although he had heard talk from a few gossipy guards and prisoners that his ‘pissy attitude’ this past month had nothing to do with his interrupted tea times, but rather that his wife had gone back to Mondstadt to visit family.

“You know how he gets when he doesn’t see her after a while—downright scary. I’ve never seen a man look so enraged and distraught at the same time.”

“He put me on pipe restoration duty —don’t laugh, it isn’t funny! Worst job in the whole place, I swear— for the next six months all because my wife dropped by with a bento on my break. Apparently no one can be happy when his missus is away.”

“I caught him staring at her picture the other day, y’know the one he keeps in that chain around his neck, and sighing like some schoolgirl. I nearly thought my daughter had somehow gotten herself arrested and thrown down here when I heard all those lovesick sighs.”

It was all hearsay and speculation, of course. Wriothesley could manage just fine with you away - he was a grown man, a weathered man, a man who could function fully without the company of his wife.

That’s right, he thinks to himself. He’s been doing just fine in your absence, a bit quicker to anger than usual, but with the looming threat of being turned into a big, sopping puddle right below his feet, could you really blame him?

The door is wrenched open, strands of black and gray flying back from where they rested against his forehead due to the strong gust of wind he created.

“What is it now?” He nearly hisses out, but he manages to get a reign on it last minute, the words coming out a bit strained instead. He eyes the guard standing in front of him, their eyes flitting between the crease between his brows and the floor. “Spit it out before I—”

He stops abruptly when he hears a voice that he knows intimately well, and had he possessed any shame when it came publicly displaying the love he harbored for you, he would have been a touch embarrassed at the speed of which his frown smoothed out and the throbbing in his head disappeared, a sparkle in his eyes as his shoulders lose a bit of their tension.

“Oh? He has? Thank you for telling me, Sigewinne. I’ll get right on that.” You come rounding the corner with the small doctor at your side, a knapsack in your hands, and had Wriothesley been any less sane, he would have swore that he could feel the rays of the sunshine beaming down on his skin and fresh air filtering into his lungs when you turned your gaze to him, scornful as it was.

You’re fitted in a dress that’s customary for the women in your homeland to wear, and flowers are weaved into your hair, and the ring on your finger seems to shine a bit brighter.

“Wriothesley.” You march up to him, eyebrows knitted together, and push your finger against his chest. “What is this I hear about you acting like a tyrant?”

“You look beautiful.” He breathes out.

“And going to the Pankration ring? You know those poor people don’t stand a chance against you. That’s just bullying.”

“Let me take your bag, it looks heavy.”

“And you haven’t been eating right, either! Look at your face — you’ve lost weight!” He transfers the bag from your hands to his, and when his fingers brush against yours, he finally lets a smile bloom on his face, being met with a huff. “Don’t smile at me. I’m mad at you.”

“Can’t help it, happy to see you.” You falter a bit, corners of your lips twitching, but you hold strong, choosing to save face in front of the onlookers—always put up a good fight, especially when others are looking, is what he had told you once upon a time. “I’ve missed you so much.” It comes out in a low murmur, eyes locked onto yours and refusing to stray, even when you decide that his gaze is a bit too heavy for the setting and avert your own.

“I-well-you…just get inside your office.”

He’s nice enough to hold back a chuckle, instead stepping to the side so that you can shuffle past him and inside. Before he shuts the door, his gaze turns icy and his smile thins out as he lets his eyes sweep over everyone present. A resounding groan is heard, the unspoken promise loud and clear, and then he’s pushing the door shut and turning on his heel.

You’re on him in a second, arms wrapped around his waist as you bury your face into his chest. He returns the hug just as quick, thick, burly arms circling around your shoulders as his head dips down so he can stuff his nose into your hair and breathe your scent in.

Your voice comes out muffled as you try to speak, and he loosens his hold on you a bit, allowing you to pop your head up so you can look up at him. There’s a halfhearted pout on your lips, and his response is a reflex as he leans down to give you a peck once, twice, three times before moving on to place one on the tip of your nose.

“You were supposed to let me scold you out there, birdie. Now everyone’s gonna know that I let you off easy.”

“Let me off easy? I’d say this is the meanest you’ve ever been to me,” he gives an exaggerated expression of hurt. “You haven’t even told me you missed me, or that you’re happy to see me, or that you’ll never leave again because you couldn’t stand being away from me.”

“You’re so dramatic.” You smile despite yourself, and he kisses you again, scarred hands moving to cradle your cheeks. You part with a gasp for air, and its his turn to smile when you stretch up to reconnect your lips, the lack of air not deterring you in the slightest.

“Breathe, sweetheart…” He rasps against your lips, and you suck in a breath, eyes slowly blinking as you tug at the material of his shirt. There’s a rush of emotions that washes over him at the unspoken confirmation that you missed him just as much as he had missed you, and he lets his hands wander down to settle on your waist, fingers flexing as they squeeze at the flesh there through the material of your dress.

“Well, well, well,” he starts, and you blink out of your stupor to don a guilty expression. “Looks like you haven’t been eating right, either, hypocrite.” He lightly pinches at your side, and you squeal out a laugh as you lightly bat at his hand.

“Have I told you that I missed you, and that I’m sooo happy to see you, and that I’ll never, ever leave again because I can’t stand being away from you?” You flutter your lashes up at him, direct that heart-stopping smile up at him, and for a split second he thinks that the primordial sea has broken the seal and reduced him to nothing but a puddle at your feet.

“Careful now, words like that are liable to kill a man, and this place isn’t fitting for a sweet girl like you.”

“Oh? Then maybe I should leave earlier than I intended t—” He quiets you with a kiss, and you laugh into it, earning a gentle nip on your bottom lip. Your teasing smile settles into something sweeter, tender, vulnerable, and it mirrors him perfectly.

You both speak your next words in unison.

“I missed you.”