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ppomumgranatum · 1 year ago

Text

the dance of love's sweet potion.

also available on Ao3

pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

tags: fluff, one shot, you POV, house-neutral reader, jealousy, protective

word count: 5.3k

Warnings: MAJOR HEADCANNON, the books and the potions are all in my head just for the sake of this story, characters are in their 7th year, I finally caved and wrote the cliche protective and jealous seb and i fucking love it

Summary: When a potion meant to repel backfired, it became a mishap that turned your world upside down.

Notes: I was craving some fluff, so a fluff was created ❤️

Revulsaroma is a powerful potion that demands careful handling and discretion. Designed for specific situations where deterring unwanted advances or repelling individuals is necessary, its potency requires utmost caution. Ingredients: • 3 drops of essence of skunk cabbage • 2 crushed doxy wings • 1 teaspoon of powdered Boomslang skin • 4 ounces of extract from a Devil's Snare vine • 1 pinch of powdered Basilisk fang • Hair from the person brewing the potion

You carefully traced your finger along the intricate words laid out in the book you had kept from your parents’ dusty collection on potion making and meticulously followed the instructions. Taking advantage of the quiet after hours, you used the station at potion class to get on with your mission.

You’re not a pro in potion making per se, but the way you precisely measure out ingredients, stirring the potion with such poise, you feel as skilled as Professor Sharp– if he was plagued with a horrible disease of a red-haired boy goes by the name of Leander Prewett.

For weeks, Leander had been following you around so relentlessly and constantly asking you out. It was cute at first but now it was starting to feel like pure harassment. Despite numerous rejection, it didn't seem like he’s the type of guy who understood the concept of boundaries and your patience was wearing extremely thin.

You remembered an old potion you once came across when you were younger– Revulsaroma, a repelling potion. You figured it was time to revisit those pages since you’re in a dire need for a solution.

You stirred the components inside of your cauldron with a pinch of determination, distress, and a lot of rage. The earthy and putrid notes filled the air and it was probably going to stick with you for a while but you surely hoped this was going to be worth it.

When the potion finally came to completion, you carefully transferred it to a pumpkin juice bottle to trick Leander into drinking it.

“Alright, that looks good.” You sighed in relief as you put the bottle down and stared at the securely stored dark liquid with pride, knowing that soon you’d be able to take a break from the unwanted attention. At least for a while just until you could figure out a permanent way to stop him,

You proceeded to clean up your station and returned some tools that you took from the inventory room, making sure that everything was back in its rightful spot. Because Merlin knew that you couldn’t take another chide from Professor Sharp about the importance of being responsible and organised.

Just when everything was about to be restored to its pristine state, you heard a loud retching coming from the other room. When you rushed outside, you saw your bestfriend, hands desperately grasping the edge of your station, body racked with violent gagging, and breath ragged in a grave attempt to gasp for air.

“Sebastian?” You exclaimed while rushing to his side, “Are you alright?”

“Came to—bleughh—look for you,” Sebastian managed to say in between his guttural heaves.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice trailed off when you saw your pumpkin juice bottle collapsed and empty. Right at that moment, your eyes widened at the realisation that Sebastian just drank your Revulsaroma. “No, no, no. You bloody, bloody idiot!”

Quickly, you summoned water from an empty jar that you found nearby and gave it to Sebastian who was still fighting the disgusting taste stuck in his throat.

Gulping down the entire water in a matter of milliseconds, Sebastian attempted to catch his breath, “Your pumpkin juice— is expired, by the way.”

“Oh my God, oh my God, Sebastian!” You ran your fingers through your hair in distress. What was already a pretty stressful situation just got a whole lot worse.

“What?” He was truly not getting your frustration. He gagged once more, recoiling whatever last bit of that disgusting liquid he's tasting.

“That’s not pumpkin juice!” You scowled and gestured abruptly.

“What is it, then? Poison?” Every muscle on his face seemed to tensed up, still.

“Why would you fucking drink that? It was meant for Leander.” You grunted.

His grimace was then taken over by disbelief for a moment, “Gods, killing Leander is a bit extreme, don’t you think? Even for me.”

“No—ugh,” You sighed heavily, feeling totally overwhelmed. Slumping on your station, you rested your head on it "This is bad. It's really bad."

“You're freaking me out. What is it?”

You lifted your head from the table, meeting his concerned gaze with a weary expression.

“It’s a potion called Revulsaroma. It is supposed to repel whoever drinks it.” You admitted.

Sebastian was still focused on getting the foul taste out of his tongue, but his eyes were quickly narrowed in the scrutiny of your last sentence, “And why exactly are you trying to repel Leander?”

Catching Sebastian's look, a twinge of guilt pricked at you. You winced inwardly, realising you'd never really spilled the beans to Sebastian about the whole Leander debacle. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the wrong idea and thinking that there was anything romantic going on between you and the Gryffindor boy.

The line on your relationship with Sebastian had always been blurry, if you could be honest. You’re obviously friends—best friends—but at the same time, the chemistry between the two of you would be such a waste to stay as friends.

You’d occasionally exchange innocent flirting, teasing each other and bantering in a way that felt more than platonic. You couldn't deny the butterflies in your stomach that fluttered every time he smiled at you and the way you felt when he complimented you.

Things had been going very well lately, and you'd like to think you had a shot to turn it into something more.

But now, he’s consumed the one thing that was going to seal the chance you have with him. Because whatever feeling he was going to feel, the potion was supposed to make him feel it so strongly.

The thought of losing Sebastian terrified you.

“That’s not what we’re supposed to be focusing on.” You diverted the topic and reached out to your book, checking for things to look out for. Your eyes trailed the ink that explains the detail of the potion.

You noticed Sebastian had shifted his weight from the corner of your eye, moving somewhat uncomfortable in his feet.

"But what does that mean for me?" he asked.

You sighed, trying to collect your thoughts. "According to the potion's effects, you're supposed to start feeling aversions towards me," you explained, gesturing towards the brewing cauldron with a frustrated gesture. "and I have no idea how to reverse it.”

Your voice was heavy with disappointment. The same emotion was written all over Sebastian's face. There was silence as you both processed the fact that there was no quick fix to this mess.

“So, I’m supposed to hate you? Just like that?”

“That’s kind of the whole point of the potion.”

Sebastian's eyes scanned the cluttered laboratory, a look of resignation settling over his features. "Well, this is just great," he muttered under his breath. Sebastian's complexion turned paler, a nauseous expression crossing his features, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Sebastian stood there, his hand pressed against his stomach, unsure if the wave of nausea washing over him was solely due to the potion's effects or the unsettling thought of hating you.

But then he felt his body teetering on the brink of collapse. You grappled his arm to provide support but his condition worsened in an instant and he started to fall backwards. Using every ounce of your strength, you were struggling to keep him upright because damn this boy was heavy. And when his weight eventually bore you down, you lowered him down gently.

There was no response even after you called out his name and shook his body. His breathing was laboured and you were panicking. You didn’t know the potion would be this strong.

Spotting a group of students who were passing by outside of the classroom, you called out to them for assistance. Sebastian was then taken to the infirmary and was given proper treatment by Nurse Blainey.

You had to awkwardly explain what caused the brunette to lose his consciousness. Given the fact that you were practising and using potions for non-study purposes, disciplinary action was necessary and you were required to attend detention tomorrow.

When you returned to your room that night, all you did was shift around in your bed. Spending the entire night thinking about Sebastian and how he will wake up in the morning hating you.

But for now, all you could do was wait.

When the sun rose, you were quick to get back on your feet and head towards the infirmary to check on Sebastian before breakfast started. But to your surprise, he was no longer there. Nurse Blainey said he woke up all energetic and there were no signs of any disturbance so she allowed him to get on with school.

You were slightly relieved to know that Sebastian was feeling better. Although the question of his feelings towards you remained unknown.

So you ventured on, heading to the Great Hall for breakfast. Moving along with a crowd of students who were also making their way to the venue you suddenly bumped into someone.

“Oh, sorry.” You glanced up to see it was no other than Sebastian, “Hey, I was looking for you.”

You’ve caused some traffic considering you abruptly stopped in the middle of a walkaway crowd. Some were bumping into you and muttered under their breaths in annoyance. It was a horrible time to be upsetting people—hungry and grumpy people.

So Sebastian dragged you away from the crowd. You were caught a little bit off guard at the sudden tug on your elbow. Your feet were almost stumbling around trying to catch up to Sebastian’s pace.

“Are you insane?” Was the first thing he said when you found a quiet little corner away from the bustling people.

Your stomach clenched.

This was it.

The memories you shared for the past two years dramatically flashed before your eyes— the adventures, the late night studies, the stupid unfunny jokes he made but you laughed at them anyway— fuck.

This was it.. he hated you.

“Why would you tell Nurse Blainey the truth about everything?” He sounded quite aggravated. Unexpectedly, it was not for the reason you thought it would be— albeit he should be angry towards you for no reason at all considering the potion.

Your mouth gaped open but you were struggling to find the words.

"You could've just said it was a bad batch for our assignment," He explained. "You didn't have to get detention for it."

“What?” You finally managed to sputter out.

“Blainey said she gave you detention.” He added, “I feel bad.”

You can’t feel bad for someone you hate unless they fall into lava and viciously die or something. Because to feel bad meant having empathy, and to feel empathy meant he cared, which meant he didn’t hate you and the potion never worked.

Right?

“So you don’t hate me?” You asked carefully.

His tensed brows gradually softened as realisation dawned on him. He was so focused on you that he never really thought of what the potion was supposed to make him feel.

“I don’t, actually.” He sounded relieved and as were you upon hearing his confirmation, “I guess the potion never worked after all.”

Relief washed over you like a cool breeze on a hot day. Though you started wondering if the potion didn’t work on Sebastian, it might’ve not worked on Leander either. Which meant you were back to square one, trying to figure out how to deal with his annoying arse.

But it was a problem you didn’t want to think about too much at the moment. You were just glad your friendship with Sebastian remained intact despite the unfortunate mishap.

“So what did Blainey assign you to do?”

“She said Scribner has been fussing over some organising issues.” You grumbled, “She told me to give her some assistance after classes.”

“Yikes.” Sebastian said, “I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry.” You retorted, “Are you really feeling alright?”

“As normal as I can be.” He smiled reassuringly, “Though, you still haven’t told me why you were trying to repel Leander.”

“He just..” You hesitated for a moment, annoys me.”

Technically, you didn’t lie. Leander’s entire antics had been nothing but annoying to you. Sebastian only pursed his lips and nodded. Be that as it may, his eyes were looking at you rather dubiously. But he didn’t pry further.

–

After breakfast, you had some time to kill before class started. You found yourself seeking solace in the quiet lounge area near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. With a book on Revulsaroma in hand, you sought answers in its pages that you might have missed. It explained further about its history and the past research on this potion. As you delved deeper, a particular section caught your eye that described a crucial detail—

The Revulsaroma potion's effectiveness in repelling a drinker is contingent upon the absence of strong positive emotions towards the potion-maker. If the drinker harbours genuine affection for the potion-maker, the potion's repelling properties may be nullified or significantly weakened. This phenomenon is attributed to the potent influence of positive emotions, which can act as a counterforce against the potion's intended repulsion.

Before you could dwell on it further, Leander plopped beside you out of nowhere and casually draped his arm around your shoulder, interrupting your thoughts.

“Good morning, beautiful.” He greeted you with a smile so charming if he wasn’t so pushy about it you could see yourself giving in to his cheesy escapades. You subtly shifted away from the sudden proximity, hoping he would take the hint some time.

“Good morning, Leander.” You replied politely.

He seemed to be undeterred by your subtle attempt because he leaned in closer, “So, I was thinking, with the weather getting nicer and all, let’s take a trip around the highlands.” He sounded so enthusiastic for a suggestion that’s so inappropriate, “We could explore the beautiful scenery. My family has this cosy little cottage just outside of Keenbridge that we can use. What do you think?”

You scrunched up your nose because it sounded bloody ridiculous, “A bit intimate, don’t you think?”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of intimacy?”

“Nothing wrong with it, of course. If you’re a couple.”

“Oh, come on. You’ll love it.” Leander’s enthusiasm didn’t waver, if anything he sounded even more excited.

“It’s too much—”

He interrupted you with a tone so persuasive, “Okay fine, how about just a simple Hogsmeade date, then?”

You sighed at his persistence. It’s really getting too much.

“Leander, it’s really sweet but—”

Suddenly, your conversation was interrupted by a looming shadow casted over the both of you. Glancing up, you saw Sebastian standing there with an uncharacteristically serious expression.

“I’m going to count to three, Prewett, and you are going to stand up and get your arse the fuck out of here.” He demanded.

“What are you going to do about it if I don’t?” He was annoyed by Sebastian's sudden intervention.

The brunette’s gaze was focused on the way Leander had his arms wrapped around your shoulder and the way his hand was caressing your arm at the same time. Then he stared dead into Leander's eyes, “You don’t want to find out.”

Somehow you found yourself caught in the middle of the sudden hostility.

“Sebastian.” You warned him softly.

“Ignore him.” Leander didn't care for the threat. But Sebastian wasn’t having it and when Leander was ready to ignore him and continue his conversation with you, Sebastian grabbed him by his collar that it forced Leander to stand up, and he dragged the red haired boy away and slammed his back into a nearby pillar.

“I told you to fucking stand up and get out of here.” Sebastian scowled.

“Get your filthy hands off of me.” Leander attempted to shrug off Sebastian’s grip but it only grew tighter.

“Then you better get yours away from her.” His voice was so low and menacing. You had no idea what possessed him, because as aggressive as Sebastian could get he wouldn’t be so quick to resort to anything so recklessly physical unless it’s necessary— at least not anymore.

“Are you both out of your minds?” You stood beside the conflicting boys, “Stop being children or you will get into trouble.” The confrontation was drawing more attention from onlookers, and you could sense the tension rising.

A crowd started gathering around to see what the fuss was about. Students nearby paused and turned their heads, curious about the commotion. Whispers and side conversations began to buzz through the group as they watched the confrontation unfold.

You felt a bit awkward with the sudden attention. The whole thing was getting more dramatic than you'd anticipated, and you just wanted to find a way to sort it out before it got worse.

“What is your problem, Sallow?”

“You are the problem, Prewett. Can’t you take the hint?”

“It’s none of your business.” The Gryffindor boy was defensive— as anyone would be if someone just randomly shoved you into the wall and told you what to do.

“It becomes my business when you decide to harass her.”

“You are making a scene. Stop it.” You warned them, hoping they would steer away from the conflict. But they were still too busy with each other.

“Trying to be a big hero, aren’t you? Protecting her?” Leander was clearly taunting him. Sebastian wouldn’t usually allow himself to be bothered by whatever nonsense Leander would do. But this time was different, “She doesn’t need you. She can make her own decision.”

“And she did, when she said no.” Sebastian retorted sharply, “So back off.”

“If you are so worried about me taking her out then you should’ve asked her first. Don’t come here and act all heroic because you missed your chance.” Leander fired back, “If you weren’t such a coward—-”

There went the last cell of Sebastian’s brain that allowed him to think rationally when he decided to punch Leander in the face, sending the red-haired boy stumbling and his nose bleeding.

“Sebastian!” You stepped in between them, trying to push Sebastian back behind the line he just crossed. His eyes were glaring and breaths were rather ragged from the anger, “What the fuck are you doing?”

After being punched unexpectedly, Leander's pride and dignity were hurt. He wouldn't tolerate being attacked without retaliating. He mustered all of his anger and frustration to punch Sebastian with all of his force.

But before he could, Sebastian struck again, landing a second punch on his face. Leander stumbled backwards again, but this time he was quicker to get back on his feet and lunged forward, swinging his fists wildly.

Sebastian was able to dodge a few of his blows, but Leander managed to land a couple of powerful punches on Sebastian's cheek.

Sebastian stepped back, his face red from pain and anger. Now the two of them had no choice but to fight, and you had no choice but to look for some help. Luckily, it wasn’t long for you to reach Professor Hecat, because when you returned to the brawl, Leander was already pinned to the floor with Sebastian on top of him, landing more punches.

Professor Hecat swiftly casted a spell that immediately shoved both of them away from each other.

The two boys stood there with battered faces and were later sent to the same detention as you.

You had no desire in conversing with idiots, so when the three of you shared the space on one of the library aisle, organising books, you gave all your might to ignore them, especially Sebastian.

You thought he’d left his impetuous behaviour back in the catacombs two years ago, but clearly you were wrong. The way you aggressively shoved books into places allowed Sebastian to notice that you were furious.

“I know you’re angry at me.” He said, breaking the silence.

“Oh really? Didn’t think you’d notice. I was being subtle.” You replied sarcastically.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know what had gotten into me.” His voice was soft but outright, “You know I don't fight muggle-style.”

You remained cold. There was nothing about his apology that made you feel better. So you continued to ignore him and he tried to speak up again.

“Can we talk?” He pleaded but you ignored him. You picked up a stack of books and moved to the next aisle to shelve them in their proper places.

Sebastian followed you behind, not backing down, “I’m really, really, sorry.”

He seemed genuinely apologetic, but you were reluctant to give in. After all, his actions had caused this entire mess and resulted in the two boys getting detention.

You didn’t want to argue with him, but you couldn’t resist making a point.

“Tell that to Leander and his broken nose.”

Sebastian let out a scoff, “I’m not sorry about that.”

“Seriously Sebastian? You hit him first. He just reacted.” You turned to face him this time.

"He was harassing you," Sebastian defended himself, "I had to do something."

"Did you have to punch him in the face? Repeatedly?”

“Why are you defending him?” His tone was rising, "What do you expect me to do? Just stand by and let him flirt with you?"

“What is so wrong with that?”

“Because—” Then he stopped himself. Eyes flustered and flicked between yours like he was trying to gather his own thoughts. Then he let out a frustrated sigh, “Leander is a self-oriented, self-indulgent, arrogant, selfish, insufferable jerk.”

You shook your head in disbelief and stared dead at him in the eye, “Well, right now it sounds like you were just describing yourself, Sebastian.”

Before you could say anything else, you left him alone in the aisle and this time he didn’t follow you.

—

It was Saturday morning, and while you had no classes to attend, you were still stuck with detention for a portion of the day. Not only did this eat into your weekend leisure time, but you also had to spend it without talking to Sebastian.

You sighed as you placed books somewhere in the corner of the library right where they belonged.

Couldn’t help but think that spending your weekend somewhere in the castle, perhaps the undercroft, reading books and being alone together with Sebastian was where you belonged.

Time sure felt lonely without his presence.

Then as if he could read your mind from miles away he showed up, “Do you like Leander?”

Shocked and confused by the sudden question you turned to find Sebastian standing at the end of the aisle.

His face was a patchwork of bruises and cuts, a visible reminder of the fight he had gotten into with Leander. A purplish bruise marred his cheek, and a small cut above his eyebrow was still fresh. Despite his battered appearance, his eyes were focused intently on you, filled with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“What?” You asked.

“I spent the entire night thinking about you. I thought maybe you like Leander, because why did you defend him so much yesterday?” He rambled.

You opened your mouth to say something but Sebastian wasn’t finished.

“But then I thought, if you liked him, why did you want to repel him with the potion?” He continued, “And why did you reject him when he asked you out? Five times, over the past month.”

You opened your mouth again, but this time every single word you have learned seemed to have fallen over your head because not a single thing came to your mind.

There were two things that surprised you.

One, Sebastian spent the entire night thinking about you.

Two, Sebastian knew that Leander had been asking you out.

And your brain did not know which one to stress about first.

“You knew about Leander?” You finally said.

“We share every class everyday. You don’t think I’d notice?” He replied with another question, “He wasn’t subtle about it either. Was I not supposed to know?”

You fell quiet, unsure of what to say next. The more you opened your mouth, the more you found yourself with nothing to say.

Sebastian waited for your response, but when it did not come, he continued, “Why did you keep rejecting him?”

You shrugged, slightly flustered, “Simply because I don’t want to go out with him.”

“Why did you not tell me about him, then?”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning,” you replied, avoiding his gaze.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Sebastian stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe your answer.

“It was pointless,” Your tone was rising slightly, “It’s not like I would ever date Leander. I wasn’t even giving him a second thought. So It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian was silent for a beat before he spoke again. “It matters to me.”

Your pulse raced, and the air suddenly felt tighter.

Sebastian was staring at you, his eyes intent and penetrating. The silence stretched on, and you had to force yourself to look him in the eye

“Everything about you matters to me. You’re my best friend. We’re supposed to share everything, right?” He added, “Isn’t that what best friends do?”

As you stood there, guilt was eating you inside out. Your decision to leave him in the dark unexpectedly hurt him more than you thought. The look in his eyes was so unfamiliar you couldn’t pinpoint his emotion.

He took a step closer.

“Why do you care so much? It’s just Leander.”

“Don’t you get it?” He said softly, “It’s not about Leander. It’s about the fact that he’s been asking you out, flirting with you relentlessly, being so close with you.. in a way that is supposed to be only for me.”

You stood there, stunned. His words hit you like a bolt of lightning, and you felt a mix of shock and confusion wash over you.

Sebastian took another step towards you, his gaze steady and unbreaking, and it was piercing through your soul.

“It’s supposed to be just for me” He repeated the phrase as if he was talking to himself. The look in his eyes was intense, and you could feel how important this was to him.

A moment passed until you realised that you should respond. The longer you stayed silent, the worse it felt. So you spoke up, “Are you jealous?”

“Yes.” He simply replied.

His response set your body ablaze. You could feel your heart pounding in your throat.

“I was supposed to hate you, but instead I woke up that morning in the infirmary and I couldn’t be more sure that I am utterly and completely in love with you.” His voice dropped, “And when I saw you with Leander and hearing all the things that he said, I meant it when I told you I had no idea what had gotten into me but all I knew was every single cell in my body was on fire.”

You thought for sure your heart would explode as all of this sunk in. You had expected anything but a confession. Your heart was beating so fast and hard that you had to concentrate on breathing, or else it felt like you couldn't breathe.

“I spent the entire night thinking about all of the time we've spent.” He added, “I can't stop thinking about the sound of your laughter. The way you'd still genuinely laugh at the most unfunny joke I would tell. Or how your usual bright eyes would fall into a deep immersion when you read. And the way your delicate finger hovers over the edge of a page, turning it over.”

A smile tugged on the corner of Sebastian's lips as he recalled every little detail about you that only he would care about. The beat of your heart went faster with each syllable that came out of his mouth and every nerve in your body was shaking.

“I always wonder how the touch of those fingertips would feel on my skin,” There were so many things he wanted to say to you. Every detail of you that made him so desperately in love, “and how perfect your fingers would be intertwining with mine.”

For a moment, you were one-hundred percent sure this was all a dream. Because everything around you seemed so blurry and all of the sudden everything felt surreal. But when Sebastian took another step closer, and another until he was close enough to grab your hands and intertwine your fingers together, the haze dissipated. The way his touch alerted every single nerve in your body, you knew that this was real— he was real and he was in love with you.

The two of you stood there, inches apart, staring at each other with your emotions overflowing.

“We belong together.” You could see that his intensity and raw emotion was getting the better of him. His words were coming out quick and sudden, “I should’ve asked you out long before Leander did. Just another stupid mistake I made.”

He inched closer and closer until you felt Sebastian's breath on your lips, and your body trembled in anticipation. You took a deep breath and let yourself fall into the moment.

“You could’ve been too late, you know?” You whispered.

“Am I?”

You shook your head and smiled against his lips, “No, you’re not. I’ve been stupidly waiting for you.”

Sebastian's voice was soft and tender as he spoke again, “I’m glad we’re both stupid enough, then. And for many other things that make me glad you're finally mine."

“Even the potion?” You smirked.

“Especially the damn potion.” A smile spread across Sebastian's face.

Your breaths were laced with desire, and your thoughts went to the first kiss between the two of you were going to share. It felt surreal to have arrived at this moment that you had both anticipated for so long.

Your lips were close enough to touch. Your hearts were beating so loudly. And in this moment, it felt like a moment out of time.

When his lips met yours, the world seemed to melt away and everything else faded into the background. It was everything it had built up to be—hot and passionate and exciting.

You kissed him deeply and all was right with the world. Sebastian's hands wrapped around your back, and yours around his neck.

Your senses were all focused on Sebastian, on the kiss and the way he made you feel. This was what you had been waiting for, and it was everything you dreamed of and more.

When you pulled away, your eyes were locked and you found yourselves smiling uncontrollably. There was nothing left to feel awkward or unsure of, and it felt as if a weight had been lifted.

Sebastian brushed his fingers through your hair. You were finally getting your happiness.

"I love you," He whispered against your lips.

“I love you, too.” you replied softly, brushing your noses together.

You spent the rest of the day making out in the deepest corner of the library, neglecting your detention. And when Madam Scribner found the two of you some time later, all dishevelled, you were granted another detention time.

But neither of you cared. Because it was all worth it.

In an extremely rare case, the Revulsaroma potion could have an unprecedented effect, completely opposite to its intended repelling nature. Rather than nullifying or weakening, the potion might paradoxically amplify and reinforce any existing strong positive feelings that the drinker harboured towards the potion-maker. Due to genuine and deep-seated love for the maker, the drinker might experience a surge of intense emotions that can be both overwhelming and consuming, such as, jealousy, protectiveness, and overwhelming affection.

#hogwarts legacy fandom #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fic #hogwarts legacy mc #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x mc #slytherin #gryffindor #fluff fic #sebastian x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fluff

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themoreclinics · 10 months ago

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acciofictionalmen · 4 months ago

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fallout in the snowfall ❆ part 3

james potter x female!reader

summary: when james kisses you on an adrenaline high, your friendship is in shambles as the true meaning of "just friends" becomes irreparably warped. you both desperately try to restore the platonic bond that you once shared, but at what cost...

warnings: strong language, sexual references

word count: 3.1k

series masterlist

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Excited chatter filled the room as people crowded around the centre, eager to hear their name called. You stood with your group of friends, chatting with Sirius and Remus whilst James talked to Lily. Mary was busy reassuring Peter, who looked disconcertingly pale.

Christmas break was quickly approaching and, much to the students’ chagrin, teachers began to set end-of-term tests. As it was your penultimate year at Hogwarts all tests were treated seriously. However, there was a different atmosphere surrounding the DADA test: a duel utilising the most advanced spells you’d been taught so far. It was assessed based on who disarmed their opponent first, the length of the duel and the range of spells used; everyone was anticipating it. Some were excited and had disarmed multiple first years that morning for practice, others (namely Peter), had vomited during breakfast.

You weren’t sure into which category you fell. Sure, you were confident in your knowledge, but duelling was different to scribbling information down on a piece of parchment: it was impulsive.

Not only that, your DADA teacher – Professor Halloway – had a reputation for being as harsh as she was skilled. Approaching her one hundredth birthday, she was wise, experienced and beautiful in a sharp manner, with thick black hair she kept stuffed beneath a black, pointed hat. Her face was drawn, tight, her brown eyes always critical. It wasn’t easy to score high grades in Halloway’s classes.

“You’ll do fine.” Remus smiled by your side, noticing your growing discomfort, “I’ve seen you practice. You’ve got this.”

“Yeah (Y/n),” Sirius squeezed your arm, “Just pretend they’re Snape.” Sirius’ eyes darkened as he spied the Slytherin on the opposite end of the room, speaking with the Professor, “I know I will be.”

“Thanks guys.” Your head tilted teasingly, “Try not to accidentally murder Snape then.”

Sirius gave you a concerningly non-committal look.

Whilst waiting, you noticed Remus clenching his fists- anxious to do well. An idea sprang to your mind.

“Wanna be my duelling partner?” You abruptly asked Remus, “Sirius will be desperate to duel Snape, unless James beats him to it.”

Remus gave you a thankful smile, “Yeah, thanks (Y/n). We’ll do that.”

“Of cour-“

“Potter. James Potter.”

The room went silent as all eyes flew to James.

In a manner that oozed confidence, he rolled his shoulders back and stepped into the centre of the room.

Professor Halloway looked disinterested, “Partner?”

On instinct, you turned to Snape. His sneer was more pronounced than usual, and you knew he was also waiting for his name to be called.

“Prewett.”

Your heart dropped. The impact of his name seemed to surge through the room as people turned around in surprise. In a few seconds, Gideon had pushed through the crowd until he stood directly in front of James. Both boys silently assessed each other, both the picture of self-assurance. There was one stark difference between them- James appeared unbothered, his posture relaxed. Gideon, on the other hand, was visibly tense; lacked the ease that had always come naturally to James.

Your heartbeat sped up as you held your breath, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest as the tension in the room mounted.

“Take your positions.” Professor Halloway dictated. The class fell silent once more to witness the interaction. Even Snape was unable to hide the shock from his face.

James stood on the left, closest to you, whilst Gideon stood opposite on the right.

Professor Halloway spoke cautiously, “Remember- this is solely to disarm. No other spells are to be used.” Both boys nodded. “Now, draw your wands and bow… Bow, Potter…”

The irritation on James’ face was almost comical as he sunk into a deeper bow, but you couldn’t laugh. You held your breath as both boys stepped away from each other.

“One… Two…”

You stared, unable to look away.

“Three.”

Lights flashed across the room as both cast spells at an alarmingly fast rate.

It quickly became clear who was faster.

Gideon’s casting visibly began to slow as his spells started to miss their target, his wand movements becoming sloppier against the onslaught of James’.

It wasn’t long before Gideon was on the floor, panting for air. But James wasn’t finished.

“FLIPENDO.” The word rung throughout the room and Gideon was flung backwards. He slammed into the wall with a sickening thud, dropping to the floor.

A hand flew to your mouth. The room erupted into shouts.

People were running over to Gideon, checking he was okay and attempting to lift him off the ground. Professor Halloway was viciously scolding James, his loyal best friends immediately supporting him and by his side. You stood there in the centre of it all, horrified, as people bustled around.

You couldn’t process what had just happened as you watched a Hufflepuff girl shaking Gideon frantically. There were too many people surrounding him to see if he had opened his eyes.

Your shock and confusion at James for taking it too far was quickly replaced by anger. He had recently seemed a little hostile towards Gideon, but you chalked it down to James’ anxiety for the Gryffindor team to do well. This- this was something else.

“He’s okay!” Someone declared. Gideon had stood up, somewhat off-balance, but seemed to be fine. You exhaled in relief, mentally noting to check on him later.

After giving Gideon a quick once-over and deeming him fit to stay in class, Professor Halloway continued her berating. “You got lucky, Potter. If this happens again you will not be welcome in this class. From today, you have a fortnight of detention and will automatically fail this test.”

There were some shouts of indignation from Sirius and some opposing yells that James’ punishment wasn’t enough, but Professor Halloway silenced them with a lethal look as she turned to face the rest of the class.

“Any more of this behaviour in my lessons, and you’ll find that you have no free time for a month.”

That shut everyone up.

She picked up her list and proceeded to call people up. Snape, much to James and Sirius’ horror, called Remus up. But they needn’t have feared: Remus won a decisive victory with a spurt of well-rehearsed spell combinations. You were slightly disappointed Remus wouldn’t be able to duel again now, but you knew Mary would be more than happy to partner up.

Following James’ scolding no more dangerous incidents occurred, and the duels blended seamlessly together. Before you knew it, Professor Halloway had called your name and you were stood by her side.

“Partner?” She asked curtly.

“Mary.” You said, grinning as your best friend made eye contact with you, already making her way up to the front.

“You must think me blind, Miss (L/n), if you think I haven’t noticed how close the two of you are. Duelling is about spontaneity, and I have no doubt you’ve practiced with Miss MacDonald many times.”

Mary froze, and you knew your face mirrored the disappointment on her own.

Professor Halloway continued, “Mulciber, please come up.”

Sirius swore loudly as you froze, feet glued to the floor. Your eyes went to your friends, who all looked worried. But it was James who made his indignation known.

“You can’t have him duel-”

“Silence!” Professor Halloway hissed, “Another disruption from you, Potter, and I’ll see your expulsion through personally.”

You shook your head at James as he fell silent, a frown etched into his face as he watched Mulciber approach you.

Your duelling partner took his place opposite, a sickening grin on his face as his lips curled wickedly.

Mulciber was a Slytherin notorious for his cruel, unforgiving nature, and a friend of Snape’s. He’d once had a brawl in the courtyard with Sirius, and both had left with considerable injuries that even Madam Pomfrey couldn’t heal overnight. He hated the Marauders, and their friends.

All eyes were on you as you bowed, your eyes narrowing at Mulciber as you assessed him. The look in his eyes was wild, one of unmistakeable hostility.

For a moment everyone seemed to hold their breath. You knew your duelling was strong enough to best Mulciber- you just had to stay collected.

“One.”

Your fingers tightened around your wand as you got into a duelling stance. Mulciber did the same.

“Two.”

Your arms went rigid to stop them shaking from the anticipation, the first spell already dancing on the tip of your tongue.

“Th-”

Mulciber blasted a spell your way.

People were already shouting, but you couldn’t listen.

Though he’d taken you by surprise, your blocks were precise. Mulciber’s voice rose in anger, but his spells still were unable to scrape past your unyielding shield.

You smirked as he snarled, spells bouncing off your shield and rebounding across the room as people ducked to avoid his wrath. He neared you, his movements vaguely reminding you of a lion stalking its prey. Your determination intensified; between the two of you there was only one Gryffindor.

But the impact of his spells slamming relentlessly into your shield was beginning to drain your energy, and you knew that in order to win you had to go onto the offensive.

Within a second you dropped your shield and flung a spell at your opponent. He staggered back, surprised, his look of shock morphing into anger. You readied your wand but he was already hurling spells your way. You deflected them too late, stumbling slightly as you struggled to regain your balance.

Panic began to overwhelm your thoughts as your wand slipped in your hand. Your palms were slick with sweat; every time you had an opening to fire a spell Mulciber would easily deflect it, then hurl ten back. You were struggling to find an opening and feeling wearier by the second.

Mulciber’s face was red as you dodged spell after spell, and you faintly registered the loud yells around you. Whatever was said had him gritting his teeth, when he suddenly slammed you with a spell so vicious that you almost fell backwards.

A spell as violent as that can’t have been for disarming. The shouting in the room got louder.

You heard Professor Halloway reprimanding Mulciber, but you barely processed it as he continued to attack you with an onslaught of magic. By now you were clenching your wand tightly, your hands shaking from the strain.

Within seconds his spells seemed to gain a new intensity. You had to cast one final spell and end this. There was a moment, a millisecond, where Mulciber was preparing to attack again, and you momentarily let down your shield to hit him with the disarming charm.

He beat you to it.

The spell slammed into your chest as you choked on air, the impact making your lungs constrict painfully. Before you could properly register it, you were flying backwards. A blinding pain shot up your arm as you slammed onto the ground, a strangled sound escaping your throat.

There were screams, people rushing around you as you sat up quickly, vision slightly hazy. Cradling your arm, the tears in your eyes were a mixture of pain and sheer embarrassment. You felt so humiliated, hating the attention as people repeatedly asked if you were okay. Suddenly Professor Halloway’s pointed face appeared into view as she hauled you up and towards the exit of the room.

Within an instant a familiar voice was speaking up, rough and panicked, “Professor, let me take her to Madam Pomfrey, please.”

You realised with a start that it was James as he shoved people aside to get to you, his eyes wild.

Anger flooded your senses and, combined with not only the pain in your wrist but the humiliation of your defeat, it became rage, “Not him.” You spat, “Anyone but him.” You turned to Professor Halloway, ignoring James as she stared at you thoughtfully.

“Lupin!” She called, and Remus was instantly by your side.

Before you knew it you’d left the classroom. The door slammed shut on James, and the chaos inside.

──── ୨୧ ────

After a gruelling day, lessons were finally over. Curled up by the fire, you basked in the warmth and soft crackles that filled the common room. It was late, so most people had vacated the space to get ready for bed.

You chose to stay behind, in deep thought as you moved your now fully healed wrist.

The quiet didn’t last long as the Fat Lady portrait abruptly swung open. In came James, accompanied by Remus. You screwed your eyes shut, in disbelief that this was happening now of all times.

James hesitated at the sight of you, alone, and nodded to Remus, “I’ll be just a minute mate, go up without me.”

Remus lingered at the foot of the stairs, appearing uncertain, but headed up at the sound of the resolution in James’ voice. You didn’t speak, didn’t bother to face him as you continued to stare into the fire, orange floating in front of your eyes whenever you blinked.

James stood behind you.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, the words sliding out casually.

“Fine.” You didn’t bother to look up at him; your cold tone making it clear that you wanted to be left alone.

James shook his head in frustration. Turning to the staircase, his hand settled on the railing as the first step creaked. But then he stepped back down, turning around suddenly, “What’s the problem? Between us?” His words had a confrontational edge, prompting you to turn and face him as your brows furrowed.

“What?”

James took a step towards you, that stubbornness burning in his eyes as he stared you down, “What’s wrong with you? Why have you been acting like this?”

You stood up, unable to bear the way he was talking down to you and how vulnerable it made you feel. “How I’ve been acting? Did you not almost kill Gideon Prewett earlier after slamming him into a wall for no reason?”

“He would’ve survived worse. He’s annoyingly persistent like that.” His eyes were dark.

“He didn’t deserve it.”

His irritated expression suggested otherwise. James clenched his jaw, crossing his arms. His biceps bulged, briefly pulling your eyes away from his face.

“You’re unreasonable.” You spat; tone accusatory as you moved towards him.

James scoffed, the fire reflecting in his glasses, “And you aren’t? Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or am I expected to grovel at your feet and beg for an answer?”

You rolled your eyes, refusing to take the bait. This had to stop. “Don’t turn this on me, James.” You shook your head, laughing in disbelief, “You don��t get to do that.”

James stared you down, unspeaking. You hated the way he just stood there. You needed a reaction from him, needed to know your words hurt him as much as he had you.

You didn’t know when the conversation had turned away from Gideon, but it just did.

You maintained his gaze, refusing to look away. “Our friendship is ruined because you used me to satiate your- whatever- and then didn’t know what to do with me afterwards.” You swallowed harshly, stifling any emotion as you struggled to conceal how deeply affected you were by him.

His jaw clenched, “That’s what you think of me, is it?” His laugh was joyless as he took one final step, asserting himself over you. The height difference was pronounced as he looked down to speak, “You’re the one who made it awkward. You’re the one who made things different when they were just fine.”

“Maybe I didn’t want ‘just fine’.”

He hesitated.

“Merlin, James, do you ever think about what others want for a change?” You struck where you knew it would hurt.

James stopped you before you could get another hurtful word in. “Don’t act as though you didn’t pull away first, (Y/n). Don’t pretend this is all on me. It’s not my fault that my friendship wasn’t enough for you, that you weren’t satisfied. You don’t get to blame that on me.” His voice got louder as he rubbed his temples, “And what are you mad at me for, exactly? Kissing you?” He paused, waiting for you to respond. You didn’t. “Because if you didn’t like that, you’d be the first.” His voice was harsh, that familiar cockiness slipping out.

You froze, his words smacking you in the face.

Anger shone in the tears that pooled in your eyes. You shoved a hand against his chest, “Fuck you-”

James opened his mouth to speak. You didn’t let him. “-and your fucked up idea of friendship.”

You tried to turn away but his hand flew to your wrist, keeping your palm splayed against him.

You were close now, so close. The red glow of the flames danced on the rim of James’ glasses as you stood your ground, refusing to look away.

His eyes dropped to your lips, and your eyes begged to do the same. You couldn't do it. Wouldn't allow yourself to.

“Don’t you dare.” Your voice cracked, finally yielding under the tension. James’ eyes flicked up to yours again, his breathing heavy. The look he gave you was one of hurt and anger, and something else. “Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

Your words came out harsher than intended and James instantly dropped your wrist, stepping away. Your hand dropped to your side, fingers tingling.

The gap between you seemed to roar with everything unspoken.

“We’ve ruined this.”

James’ response was low, spiteful. “Then stop chasing it.”

“Stop, both of you!” A voice sliced through the tension, causing you to whip around. Mary stood at the foot of the stairs in pink pyjamas, arms crossed as she glared at James.

“We’re going to bed.” She went up to you and took your arm, dragging you away.

“You’ve got a date tomorrow (Y/n), focus on that.” Mary soothed as you disappeared up the stairs, her words intentionally loud so that James would hear.

Mary was James’ friend, sure- and maybe what she’d said was petty, but she could live with that. In Mary’s eyes you came first, and James had hurt you. Badly. He deserved to know that he was no longer a priority in your life.

James stood there; hands clenching and unclenching as his anger began to ebb away. Eventually, the lack of your presence caused the buzzing in his mind to settle.

He cursed, sinking into the armchair closest to the fire. So close, that he had to move his legs away from the flames- the heat bordering on painful. His head fell back, cushioned by the plush material. He hadn’t known why he’d done it, had lost control with his classmate. His teammate. Why he had seen him as a threat.

James watched the logs burn, until they were swallowed by the flames and the fire died out. He sat there, contemplating in the darkness, until the cinders were cool to the touch.

A/N

i really enjoyed writing this part! let me know what you thought i love to read your comments :)

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x-cellhealth · 7 months ago

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rejoicehairtransplantpune · 9 months ago

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gladiaralla · 3 months ago

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Supernovae

Mr. Fantastic - Reed Richards x fem!reader (Prof! x student)

I’m already obsessed with Pedro as Reed Richards so I made this. It’s just a one shot, nothing big. (For now)

Warning / Reminder: I'm not studying physics, but educational science and psychology. So I have no idea about this subject. Therefore I apologize in advance if it doesn’t make much sense.

“This interaction between highly energetic particles and the atmosphere is extremely complex, and accurate predictions require even greater complexity. They come from the sun, from supernovae, and from more indeterminate processes. Do you know which processes and mechanisms I’m talking about?”

Reed Richards stopped in the middle of his lecture, leaving the open question hanging in the room. He watched the flickering eyes and silent corners until one of the students began to speak up.

“The sun could produce such energy, right?”

A young man with large glasses and freckles covering his round face stared at Mr. Richards. He was standing before his large, scribbled blackboard, waiting for further pronouncements. He ran his fingers over the unused papers and crumpled the dust of the wooden-colored table beneath his sharp, rough fingertips. His other hand rested behind his back. He looked out over the sea of clueless, tense and young faces. Among them was a young woman who knew how to fight her way through the ambitious minds of the striving. (Y/N)

His scrutinizing gaze met her delicately raised hand and he lowered his head to grant her permission to speak.

“Mr. Richards, I believe that supernovae generate radiation through expanding shock waves.”

He smiled faintly, nodded and began slowly walking again in front of the staring mass.

“Faith is not a part of our science, Miss (L/N), but you do recognize the approach,” his gravelly voice began to fill the room, and young Ron Tugmann looked at the now-smiling (Y/N), who turned back to her sketch and continued to refine it with the smudged lead of her pencil.

“Gamma rays. Extreme explosions are released through their bursts. They accelerate these particles.”

The crowd gasped and winced at the description, whispering afterward about this procedure. “Imagine sitting in a dark room, and suddenly, a light explodes with such intensity, only for the darkness to return.”

The explanation resonated with most, though perhaps not with (Y/N). She didn’t clap at the end of the lecture and instead continued with her drawing.

“My physicist, will you accompany me?” teased the brown-haired classmate beside her, bowing mischievously in front of the young woman. “Don’t be silly, Ron,” she snapped, tucking her papers under her arm while he defensively raised his hands, a playful smirk on his face.

She padded down the stairs, and he followed her almost insistently, until he tapped her impatiently on the shoulder. She gasped, fuming, and turned to face him, showing her irritation at his manner. “I’m going to talk to Mr. Richards. Another time.”Her response was brief but accepted with tolerance from Ron as he raced up the stairs toward the exit of the restored building.

Reed Richards gathered his materials and files, along with his many foundations, and stored them in a cupboard. His white shirt clung tightly to his rather slender figure. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips, revealing the dark lines on his face, and the bones of his cheekbones seemed almost to want to cut through his skin. Above them, his eyes were glassy and accentuated by dark rings. It seemed as if he hadn’t found much sleep in recent days. The edges clung to the papers he embraced against his chest.

He stared at her, waiting for the clearing of her throat, which still lingered on her tongue.

“Can I help you, Miss (L/N)?” he asked in a soothing, quiet voice, which barely reached her. She turned her attention to the white chalk writings on the blackboard until he turned as well. “I hope I haven’t frightened you with my theories,” he said with a somewhat amused smile, though (Y/N) shook her head, keeping her posture straight to hide the many questions she had.

“No, I just wanted to inquire about the work I submitted to you.”

He raised his eyebrows, and the sharp, rigid features of his face fell upon the pile of papers in front of him. “Indeed. I’ve had to read through them all night and I was quite surprised by your phrasing,” he began, leaning against the edge of his desk as his gaze fell through the black strands of his hair. He didn’t show any emotions until the girl started clearing her throat. “In what way were you surprised?” She tightened her grip on her papers, stepping back as he crossed his legs in front of her, his hands intertwining in the pockets of his black pants. She could almost hear the rhythmic ticking of his watch against his thin wrist in the ensuing, suffocating silence.

“Your theories are… interesting, but only in theory,” he remarked roughly, tilting his head to study her features.

“Is that good or bad in your eyes? I know it’s madness… probably unthinkable…” her voice trailed off as she tried to continue. The laugh he gave her now revealed his sharp teeth before it faded.

“If thinking the unthinkable is madness, then I’m the craziest thinker there has ever been.” She lowered her head, and with hollow cheeks, she gazed at the smooth floor beneath her feet. She could barely suppress the urge to smile. He tilted his head, briefly stroked his beard beneath his nose, and clicked his tongue. “You seem to have many questions, don’t you? I often see you alone with all those books on campus,” he coughed lightly and smiled at the girl in front of him.

She shrugged, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yes, I like to retreat and read,” she explained, but she couldn’t get any more words out. He raised his hand and shook his head. “Those who don’t read, don’t learn,” he replied almost seriously, taking a step closer to (Y/N).

As he noticed that she couldn’t find any words, he broke the silence. “When I was a student, I didn’t know people, only every book in the library.”

(Y/N) smiled, recognizing herself in his story, and pressed her papers against her chest as if to hide the fluttering inside. He reached forward, extended his arm and pulled the paper down to see what it contained. It wasn’t formulas, but a drawing. He tilted his head, and the corner of his mouth twitched. Immediately, she wanted to justify herself.

He smiled and looked her deep in the eyes. (Y/N) swallowed and didn’t know where to look. Her cheeks turned a deep red. Reed Richards slowly released the paper, but his gaze lingered for a moment before he straightened up. The faint smile on his lips remained, but his gaze became critical, almost as if searching for an explanation on her face.

“You have an unusual talent, Miss (L/N),” he said finally, crossing his arms over his chest.(Y/N) gently pulled the drawing back and let her gaze briefly drift to the side. “It’s just a habit. I understand things better when I visualize them.”

He nodded slowly, as if considering this thought. “Most of my students think in formulas, not in pictures.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment, Professor?”

A soft laugh escaped his throat. “Call it what you want.”

For a moment, they stood there, and Richards continued to observe her until he broke the silence again.

“Back to your work.”

(Y/N) quickly nodded and straightened up.

He leaned lightly against his desk again, his shirt tightening across his shoulders as he picked up one of his notes. “It’s not criticizable. Just… hypothetical. Your idea that cosmic radiation might be influenced by previously unknown interactions is fascinating. But we lack evidence. You’re operating in the realm of speculation.”

“Every theory was once speculation,” (Y/N) replied. Again, that amused gleam appeared in his otherwise tired eyes. “I knew you’d say that.”

A warm feeling spread in her chest, but she hid it behind a neutral nod.

"Am I that predictable, Professor?" (Y/N) asked and took a small step forward.

She smelled the expensive perfume he had put on and swallowed hard. She was so enthusiastic about him and his work. He always knew what he was saying, what impact it had and he always knew the answers to all the questions students asked. He was a role model, probably even more. She would at least have liked to see more in him, but she knew that reality would not allow it. If anyone was aware of reality, it was the scientists. She realized that she had been lost in her thoughts for a long time and shook her head. He hadn't said anything. Not a word. He had only observed her. She didn't know what he was thinking, but he was well aware of what she was thinking.

"Miss (L/N), I think you still have a lecture, don't you?" he broke the strange spell and she remained silent. She knew what he wanted. Distance. What had she expected?

"Of course," (Y/N) replied dryly and walked past him, out the door.

#marvel #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x y/n #fanfic #oneshot #fantastic four #mr. fantastic #reed richards #reed richards x reader #professor x reader #joseph quinn #mcu fandom #mcu fantastic four #mcu fanfiction #i’m obsessed #I need him already

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456-is-the-way · 1 year ago

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HELLO. i see you're one of the only people who writes for jinshi on this site :') could i request a jinshi x fem or gn reader who is like his personal handmaiden, but also close friends with him ?? just an idea 🤡

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A/N: OMG YESS JINSHI!! I love this man!! Your wish is my command !! Always request this man lmao. I am willing to do anything haha.

Pairing: Jinshi x gn reader

Prompt: Could I request a jinshi x fem or gn reader who is like his personal handmaiden, but also close friends with him ?? just an idea 🤡.

Warning: None

You have been friends with Jinish for a few years now. Despite his over-flirtatious behavior, you managed to push it aside not falling for his seductive technique. Perhaps that is a reason why he took an interest in you. Men and Women both would fawn over Jinshi's every word and are easily seduced by his beauty. There is no denying just how perfect Jinshin is, with exotic eyes, hair, and tongue like silver able to seduce just about anyone

He took a liking to you because you denied any advances. The behavior was intriguing so he had to find out more about you. Once the young male set his eyes on you it was not long before you were promoted to his personal maid. What other young men and women would do to have such a job. You did simple tasks for Jinish, cooking, cleaning, preparing his list of duties, and dressed him accordingly. At times the job was difficult with his endless flirtation, but deep inside, you could catch a glimpse of the act Jinish played. All the drunk nights he would embrace you and cry. This friendship was like none other you have ever experienced. He was not the only one to show a soft side. Jinshi became the man you depended on.

Right now you and Jinshi were in the carriage heading back to his estate in the Outer Court. You both attended the garden party and spoke to many officials. It became apparent that Jinshi was frustrated. His purple eyes narrow at you, his right leg bouncing, as his other hand taps his leg. He then glanced away pouting heavily. A profound sigh left your lips knowing by his complexion Jinshi yearned for you to ask why he was bitter at you.

"Master Jinshi, have I done something to upset you?" You asked rather curiously. He shot you a look those violet eyes shimmering with...jealousy?

"As if you do not know the severity of your betrayal." Jinshi put a hand on his forehead dramatically. This only made you furious. He was your best friend yet Jinshi accused you of betrayal?!

"What are you talking about?! I have done nothing that would have been deemed as betraying you!" You meet his voice with equal if not more aggravation.

"Then why do you have Lihaku's hairpin? I bestowed you mine!" Jinshi reached forward and snatched the hairpin of another mans. You sat there starting at your friend who is like a child over a hairpin. "Do you know what this means?!" He asked and snarled at the hairpin. "Do you think him better than I?"

You chuckled which only riled Jinshi up more. "Why on earth- Look I was not going to deny him. I got more than just his. I know what it means. I am not that stupid Jinshi! So before you get jealous and accuse me of stuff, reevaluate our situation. I have been loyal to you since I became your personal maid. You are my best friend. Why would I ever ruin that?"

Jinshi looked at your eyes shimmer which threaten tears. "(Y/n), I am sorry I-" However the young male couldn't get another word out as the carriage came to a stop and you got up leaving. "(Y/n) Stop! Please! Stop walking." Jinshi pleaded following you desperately no matter his begging you would not stop. Jinshi had to restore to desperate measures. "I order you to stop!" He yelled breathing heavily. That's when you stopped being unable to disobey a direct order.

"I did not mean... please forgive me. I just had the idea of losing my best friend. I couldn't bear to think... You with another man...being so close to another man...You are everything to me." Jinshi turns you around. That look he gave you could make anyone fall to their knees. For the first time you couldn't think. Jinshi blush a rose tent. Those beautiful plump lips quiver begging you not to leave. God he knew how to beg. "Forgive me." He whispers.

"You should know my loyalty is with you. No matter the hairpins I collect or who is calling for me. Master Jinshi I am with you. My one and only friend. I couldn't throw away that" You assured him. The next response you did not expect. Jinshi leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. That's when you knew this friendship was so much more.

"I love you." Jinshi whispers.

#jinshi x reader #the apothecary diaries #jinshi x you #jinshi x y/n #jinshi the apothecary diaries #The apothecary diaries x reader #anime x reader #Jinshi image

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earthlybeam · 3 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/earthlybeam/773181417454731264/could-i-request-how-glorfindel-celebrimbor-and?source=share

Please Thranduil, Gil galad and Adar version.🙏🏻

How would Thranduil, Gil-Galad, Adar react to a reader who possesses magical healing powers similar to Rapunzel in Tangled?

The you the reader’s long as (your own hair colour) but turns golden and glows when you sing a special song, releasing healing magic that can heal wounds, cure sickness, and even restore life. Their magic, known as “Healing Magic” or “Sun Magic,” is connected to the power of the sun and can even reverse aging.

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

The battlefield was chaos incarnate, a cacophony of screams and the relentless clash of steel against steel. The once-pristine forest now bore the scars of war—trees felled and splintered, their ancient roots charred by fire; the earth trampled and soaked in blood. Smoke hung low over the field, thick and suffocating, carrying with it the acrid stench of burning flesh. Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, stood at the heart of the fray, a vision of deadly grace. His twin swords gleamed silver, moving with an elegance that belied their lethality. Each stroke was precise, each step deliberate, his cloak of rich green and gold billowing as he cut through the oncoming horde of orcs. He was a storm given form, the light of his kingdom’s ancient glory flickering amidst the dark tide of death.

His every movement was a dance, his swords singing as they found their mark in one foe after another. The king’s fair face was streaked with ash and blood, his long platinum hair pulled back and gleaming even in the dim, smoke-streaked light. But even he, for all his centuries of skill, could not outpace every shadow on the battlefield. It happened too quickly. A hulking orc, its monstrous figure obscured in the gloom, stepped into view behind him. Its mace—a jagged, cruel thing bristling with spikes—rose high into the air. Thranduil sensed it a moment too late, the looming presence casting a shadow that fell across him like a shroud. He turned, his blades already lifting to counter, but the swing came faster. The weapon descended with brutal force, slamming into his side.

The sound was awful: a wet, crunching thud as the spikes of the mace punctured his armor, rending both metal and flesh. The impact sent him flying, his body twisting through the air before he hit the ground with bone-jarring force. Pain exploded in his ribs, sharp and unrelenting, spreading through him like wildfire. His breath left him in a choked gasp, the coppery taste of blood rising in his throat. For a moment, the world tilted, the edges of his vision darkening as the cacophony of battle grew muffled. Thranduil’s silver and leafed crown, once a proud emblem of his majesty, was knocked from his head, tumbling into the dirt and disappearing amidst the debris of war. The blood pouring from his side stained the fine emerald and gold embroidery of his robes, the fabric now torn and clinging to his trembling frame. He lay there for a moment, his hands clutching at the earth beneath him as he fought to draw breath. The air felt thick, heavy with smoke and the weight of his wounds.

But Thranduil was no ordinary elf. Pain did not cow him; it only sharpened the fire that burned in his heart. With a groan that turned into a snarl, he forced himself onto his knees, though every movement sent searing agony through his battered body. His twin swords, once extensions of his will, now lay discarded in the dirt mere feet away. He reached for them, but his hand faltered, trembling as his strength waned. Blood dripped from his fingers, mingling with the darkened earth. His vision swam, but he refused to fall further. Raising his head, he cast his gaze upon the enemy advancing toward him. His ice-blue eyes, piercing and unyielding, burned with a fury that not even the weight of his injuries could extinguish. His face, marred by streaks of blood and ash, was a portrait of defiance—a king who would not bow, not even at the edge of death. His lips curled in a snarl, sharp and regal, a promise of retribution to all who dared cross him.

The orcs closed in, their grotesque laughter and guttural snarls filling the air as they saw the king of the Woodland Realm kneeling, vulnerable yet unbroken. His breath hitched, each intake shallow and ragged, but his eyes never left them. He would not beg. He would not surrender. He would face them as he always had—unyielding, even if the next moment would claim him. The ground beneath him was stained with his blood, but it would not claim his spirit. For even in his pain, Thranduil was a king, and his defiance was eternal.

But then, through the din of battle, a sound reached him—faint at first, like a thread of light breaking through a storm. It grew louder, clearer, cutting through the oppressive haze of pain clouding his mind. “Thranduil!” It was your voice. Desperate, raw, and filled with something that pierced deeper than any blade. His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, opened just enough to see you. You were a vision amidst the chaos, a beacon of light in a world consumed by darkness.

Your hair, flowing behind you like a cascade of starlight, caught the faintest glimmers of light from the fires raging around you. You ran toward him, the edges of your robes sweeping over the blood-soaked ground, heedless of the danger that surrounded you. “No,” he rasped, his voice barely audible over the chaos. The word tore from his throat, hoarse and pained. “Stay back… it’s not safe.” His chest heaved with the effort, the agony radiating from his wounds threatening to pull him back into darkness. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t falter. His warning fell on deaf ears as you reached his side, dropping to your knees with a grace that seemed incongruous amidst the destruction around you.

The sight of him—the proud Elvenking brought so low—struck you like a dagger to the heart. His once-pristine armor was battered and streaked with blood, rents in the metal exposing pale skin that now glistened with sweat and the crimson stains of his own lifeblood. His hair, always so immaculate, was matted with ash and dirt, tangled around his face. His ice-blue eyes, usually so sharp and commanding, were dulled by pain, their focus flickering. And yet, even in his broken state, there was a defiant beauty to him—a majesty that the battlefield could not entirely strip away.

You bit back a sob, your hands trembling as they reached out to him. Gently, you cupped his face, your fingers brushing away streaks of dirt and blood. His skin was unnaturally cold beneath your touch, and the realization sent a jolt of fear through you. “Thranduil,” you whispered, your voice breaking with the weight of your emotions. “Hold on. I can save you.” His brows furrowed faintly at your words, his expression softening into something almost apologetic. He tried to shake his head, but the effort was weak, a mere twitch against your hand. “Futile,” he murmured, his voice rough, a shadow of the commanding tone it once held. “You cannot—”

“You can’t tell me that,” you interrupted, your voice fierce despite the tears that threatened to spill. “Don’t you dare give up on me, Thranduil.” Your fingers moved to your hair, trembling but determined, brushing through the silken strands as if seeking something. “Trust me,” you whispered, your tone laced with an urgency that left no room for doubt. For a moment, he looked at you—truly looked at you, as though seeing you for the first time. He wanted to argue, to demand that you leave him, that you save yourself and let him face whatever fate awaited him alone. But there was something in your eyes, a conviction so powerful that it stilled the words on his tongue. He exhaled shakily, his gaze softening, the fight leaving him as he closed his eyes. “Do… what you must,” he whispered, his voice so faint that it was almost lost to the cacophony of the battle raging around you. His head fell forward slightly, resting against your hand, as though surrendering to the only hope left to him—you.

You pressed a section of your hair to his wound, your hands trembling as the silky strands turned dark with his blood. The sight of it—the contrast between the glowing silver of your hair and the deep crimson staining it—was almost too much to bear, but you steeled yourself. Your heart thundered in your chest as you leaned closer, your lips parting to release a melody that seemed to rise from the very depths of your soul. The words were ancient, a song of healing passed down through countless generations, yet it felt as though they were yours alone in that moment. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your powers shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates’ design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine, What once was mine…”

As the melody spilled from your lips, it seemed to weave itself into the very air around you, a thread of light in the darkness. The battlefield, filled with the clamor of swords and the screams of the wounded, seemed to fade away, drowned out by the power of your voice. The air shimmered, bending to the ancient magic that laced your words. Your hair began to glow, softly at first, then brighter, golden and radiant as though a thousand stars had descended to touch the earth. The light spread from the strands touching his wound, rippling outward in waves that illuminated the battlefield in a warm, otherworldly glow. It wrapped around Thranduil like a cocoon, the edges of the light flickering and pulsing in rhythm with your song.

Thranduil gasped softly, the sound almost imperceptible beneath your melody. His breathing hitched as the warmth of your magic seeped into him, driving out the icy chill that had begun to spread through his body. He could feel it—the jagged edges of his wound knitting together, the sharp agony replaced by a gentle tingling warmth. It was unlike anything he had ever known, this power—ancient, unyielding, yet impossibly tender. It felt as though it carried not just magic, but the essence of you: your love, your hope, your determination. You continued to sing, your voice unwavering even as tears slipped down your cheeks. Each word carried a piece of your heart, the raw emotion of your plea saturating the melody. The light around him grew brighter, until it was as if the darkness of the battlefield had been banished entirely.

When your voice finally faltered, the last notes of the song lingering in the air like a soft sigh, you opened your eyes. Tears blurred your vision, but you blinked them away, desperate to see him. The sight before you stole your breath. Thranduil lay still for a moment, but the deathly pallor of his skin was gone, replaced by a healthy, luminous glow. His face, once twisted with pain, was now calm, his breathing steady and deep. The terrible wound that had marred his side was no longer there; in its place was smooth, unbroken skin, as if the injury had never existed.

He stirred, his body shifting slightly as a soft groan escaped his lips. Slowly, his lashes fluttered, lifting to reveal the piercing blue of his gaze—those sharp, icy eyes that you had feared you’d never see open again. His gaze locked onto yours, and for a moment, the world stilled. The chaos of the battlefield, the distant cries of war, the acrid stench of smoke—all of it melted away. There was only him, alive and breathing, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion that made your heart ache. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence between you heavy with unspoken feelings. Then, tentatively, his hand lifted. His fingers, long and elegant despite the strength they carried, brushed against your glowing hair. There was a reverence in his touch, a gentleness that seemed to belie the fierce warrior you knew him to be. His fingers lingered, tracing the silken strands that still shimmered faintly with the remnants of your magic.

“This power,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and heavy with wonder. “It is… beautiful.” His gaze softened as his fingers continued to brush through your hair. “You are beautiful.” The sincerity in his voice broke something inside you. A laugh, shaky and raw, escaped your lips, but it was edged with the sob you were desperately holding back. “You scared me,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I thought I’d lost you.”

He exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. “You saved me,” he said, his tone soft but filled with a gravity that left no room for doubt. “You brought me back from the edge.” His hand moved from your hair to cover your own, where it rested against his chest. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you in a way nothing else could. “You are a light in this dark world,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. “A gift unlike any other.” The intensity of his words stole your breath. His gaze held yours, unflinching and full of a gratitude so profound it felt almost sacred. For a moment, the battlefield felt like a distant memory. It was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of your magic and the bond that had grown between you—stronger now, forged in the crucible of pain and salvation.

With a quiet groan, Thranduil began to sit up, his movements slow but steady as his strength returned. You instinctively reached out to steady him, your hand brushing his arm, but he managed to rise on his own. Once upright, he turned to you, his face inches from yours, and cupped your cheek in his hand. His palm was warm against your skin, the touch as tender as it was deliberate. “I owe you my life,” he said, his voice low but resolute, the words carrying the weight of a vow. “And I do not give my loyalty lightly.” His thumb brushed gently against your cheek, the gesture almost reverent. “Whatever happens next, know this—you will always have my gratitude…” He hesitated, the pause laden with emotion. “And my heart.”

The breath hitched in your throat, his words wrapping around you like a promise. Your lips parted to respond, but no words came. What could you possibly say to match the depth of what he had just given you? Before you could find your voice, the distant clash of swords and the roar of battle intruded, reminding you both that the world outside this moment still burned with chaos. Thranduil’s gaze shifted briefly toward the horizon, his expression hardening as he returned to the present. He rose to his feet fully now, the regal air of the Elvenking settling over him once more. Reaching down, he retrieved his twin swords, the blades gleaming wickedly in the faint light. Yet even as he turned his attention to the battle, there was a tenderness in his movements—a lingering connection that tethered him to you.

He looked back at you, his expression fierce but softened by the depth of feeling in his eyes. “Stay close to me,” he commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a king but tempered with a warmth reserved only for you. “We will finish this together.” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you rose to your feet. The faint glow of your magic still clung to you, casting a soft light around the both of you as you prepared to rejoin the fray. As he turned and led you back into the chaos, his steps sure and steady, you knew this moment had irrevocably changed everything. Thranduil, the proud and unyielding Elvenking, now carried a piece of your light within him. And as you followed him into the darkness, you knew that bond—born in pain and sealed in magic—would endure, unbroken, through whatever trials lay ahead.

🏵️𝓖𝓲𝓵-𝓰𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓭

The battlefield sprawled endlessly, a bleak wasteland of shattered bodies and broken steel, shrouded in a choking veil of smoke that turned the midday sun into a faint, amber glow. The acrid stench of blood mingled with the sharp tang of burnt wood and ash, thickening the air with the weight of destruction. The earth beneath your feet was churned and uneven, soaked with the lifeblood of countless warriors. Broken banners lay tangled in the debris, their colors dulled and meaningless amidst the carnage. The distant clash of swords, the guttural cries of orcs, and the anguished screams of the wounded faded into a dull, unrelenting roar, like the heartbeat of the dying world itself. Yet none of it mattered.

Your eyes locked on the crumpled figure just ahead, half-hidden in the shadows cast by a shattered marble column. The remnants of the once-proud structure jutted into the ashen sky, stark against the ruin, a silent testament to the fury of the battle that had raged here. And there, slumped against its jagged base, was Gil-galad. His silver armor, which had once gleamed like starlight, was a grim ruin. Deep rents marred its surface, the intricate etchings of elven craftsmanship obscured by the soot and blood that coated every inch. The flowing blue of his cloak was torn and blackened, clinging limply to his frame, weighted down by dirt and gore. His once-proud form, so commanding and unyielding in the heat of battle, now seemed small and vulnerable, as though the world itself had turned against him.

A jagged gash tore across his chest, the edges of the wound raw and angry. Blood pooled beneath him in dark, viscous streaks, soaking into the dirt and spreading like an ominous shadow. Each shallow rise and fall of his chest was an agonizing labor, his breath coming in uneven, rasping gasps that rattled through his body. His head, once held high with the regal bearing of a king, rested limply against the column, his hair—normally as radiant as molten silver—now clinging to his face in damp, matted strands streaked with grime. “Ereinion!” you cried, your voice breaking as you rushed toward him, your heart pounding with a desperate urgency. Dropping to your knees beside him, the impact sent a jolt through your body, but you hardly noticed. Your hands hovered over him, trembling, as you struggled to comprehend the sight before you. The image of him—majestic and unshakable—was seared into your mind, making the frailty before you all the more unbearable.

His head lolled weakly toward the sound of your voice, the faint motion almost imperceptible. The once-brilliant light of his eyes, so piercing and filled with unyielding resolve, was dulled and unfocused, shadowed with pain. His gaze flickered, struggling to find you through the haze that clouded his vision. “You…” he rasped, his voice faint and broken, barely louder than the rustle of the wind through the battlefield. “You shouldn’t… be here.”

Each word was a laborious effort, his breath hitching between syllables, as if even the act of speaking threatened to drain the last reserves of his strength. His lips, cracked and pale, trembled as he tried to form more words, but the effort was too much. He winced, a low, pained sound escaping him as his body sagged further against the column, his armor groaning faintly with the movement. “It’s… not safe,” he managed at last, his voice no more than a whisper. His eyes met yours for a fleeting moment, and in their depths, you saw a desperate mixture of fear and defiance—a king still trying to protect his people, even as he lay broken and bleeding on the battlefield.

Tears stung your eyes, blurring the devastation around you, but you refused to let them fall. Shaking your head fiercely, you denied the weight of his words, even as they pressed down on your heart like a stone. “I couldn’t leave you,” you whispered, your voice trembling but steady, a quiet plea wrapped in defiance. The quiver of emotion was undeniable, yet behind it burned the resolve of someone who would not—could not—abandon him. “Not like this,” you added, your fingers curling into fists at your sides.

For a fleeting moment, a faint, shadowed expression crossed his features. Was it a smile? Or a grimace of pain twisted by fading humor? It was impossible to tell, and yet it brought a flicker of warmth to the icy fear that gripped you. His lips, pale and bloodied, twitched faintly. “Stubborn,” he murmured, his voice rasping and soft, as if the word cost him more strength than he could afford to lose. There was a glimmer in his dimmed gaze—a whisper of the man you knew so well—but it was fleeting, almost drowned beneath the sheer effort of staying conscious. His hand moved, a barely perceptible twitch at first, his gauntleted fingers trembling as they struggled to lift from the bloodstained ground. The motion was agonizingly slow, faltering and weak, but it was unmistakable—he was reaching for you. The gesture, though small, carried with it the weight of his unspoken thoughts: a need to hold on, to connect, to find something in you that could anchor him to the rapidly slipping thread of life. Yet his strength failed him, and his hand fell limply to his side with a soft, metallic clink, his breath hitching as the motion sent a fresh jolt of pain through his body.

For Gil-galad, each breath was a battle, a desperate effort to push against the darkness that loomed closer with every passing moment. The gash across his chest throbbed with unrelenting fire, the raw edges tearing at his resolve with every shallow rise and fall of his lungs. The world around him felt distant now, muted and slow, the roaring of the battlefield reduced to a dull hum in his ears. Even the smoke-filled air seemed to press down on him like a suffocating weight. Yet through the haze of pain and weakness, there was you. Your voice, tremulous but determined, broke through the fog, and it grounded him, calling him back from the brink. He wanted to tell you not to waste yourself on him, not to sacrifice anything for a life that was already slipping through his fingers. But even as he tried to speak, his chest tightened, the words caught somewhere between his heart and his throat, where they burned unspoken.

He felt the warmth of your presence, the way your trembling hands hovered near him with desperate purpose. It cut through the cold spreading through his limbs, a fragile thread of comfort in the encroaching void. He couldn’t see clearly anymore; his vision blurred with pain and fatigue, but he thought he caught the golden shimmer of your hair, bright even in the smoky gloom. And then, a strange sensation stirred within him as you began to move, deliberate and measured, as if you were preparing for something monumental. Through the fog of his thoughts, he felt the lightest brush of your fingers against his chest, the silken strands of your hair brushing the edges of his torn armor. It was a delicate touch, gentle but unyielding, and somewhere deep within him, the faintest flicker of hope awoke—a fragile thing, like a single spark in a vast, dark void.

For Gil-galad, it was a strange mixture of sensations a deepening awareness of his own fragility, the oppressive weight of his injuries, and yet, beneath it all, the soft hum of your power stirring against his skin. It was faint at first, like the distant rush of water in a still forest, but it began to grow—a steady, rhythmic pulse that reached into him, seeking out the places where he was broken and fragile. He wanted to speak again, to ask what you were doing, to tell you it wasn’t worth it. But even as he opened his mouth, the words faltered. Instead, he let himself drift into the sensation—the warmth of your gift pushing back the cold, the hum of life within your golden strands, and the steadying presence of your will. For the first time since he had fallen, the pain seemed to recede, just slightly, and in its place was the faintest whisper of hope. It was fragile, precarious, but it was there.

Closing your eyes, you drew in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing your emotions to settle into stillness. The noise of the battlefield, the lingering cries of the wounded, and the acrid scent of smoke and blood faded into the background as you turned your focus inward. And then, without thought or effort, a melody welled up within you, rising like the dawn. It was ancient and familiar, as though it had been etched into your very soul, waiting for this one moment to emerge.

Your voice, soft and hesitant at first, trembled on the first note, the words tumbling forth like a fragile stream. But with each passing breath, it grew, steadied, and strengthened, carrying with it all the love, hope, and fierce determination that burned within you. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine. Heal what has been hurt, Change the Fates’ design. Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine… What once was mine.” The melody swirled around you, weaving itself into the air like a living thing, delicate and ethereal yet unyielding in its purpose. As the song poured from your lips, the very world around you seemed to hold its breath. The clash of swords and the distant cries grew faint, the weight of the battlefield retreating, as though time itself had slowed to honor your plea.

A faint, golden light began to bloom, first from the tips of your hair, then spreading outward like the first rays of sunlight piercing a heavy fog. It was warm and luminous, chasing away the gloom and shadows that clung to the edges of the ruined field. The glow radiated through each strand, spilling down to your hands where they hovered over Gil-galad’s broken body. The light wrapped around him, tendrils of golden radiance curling and twisting, seeking the places where his wounds ran deepest. Slowly, the glow seeped into the jagged tear across his chest, its soft, unyielding warmth mending torn flesh and shattered bone with a gentle but deliberate grace. It wasn’t harsh or sudden—it was like the steady growth of a tree, natural and full of purpose, filling the spaces where death had begun to creep.

As the magic coursed through him, you felt his body stir beneath your hands. A low, pained groan escaped his lips, weak but unmistakably alive. The tension in his frame, once so taut with pain, began to ease as the warmth suffused him, chasing the chill from his limbs. His breathing, shallow and labored only moments before, grew deeper and steadier, each breath less of a struggle. Color returned to his pallid face, faint at first but spreading with every moment, a soft flush blooming in his cheeks. The harsh lines of anguish etched into his features began to soften, his expression relaxing as the weight of his injuries faded. And then, slowly, his eyelids fluttered open, revealing silver-grey eyes that shone brighter than you had dared to hope.

His gaze found yours almost instantly, locking onto you with an intensity that sent a tremor through your chest. There was clarity in his expression now, a sharpness that had been dulled by pain and exhaustion before. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the world around you forgotten. His eyes, still lined with the echoes of his ordeal, held a silent question, a mixture of awe, gratitude, and something far deeper. You didn’t need to answer him—not with words. The glow that lingered in the air around you spoke for itself, as did the steady hum of life now coursing through his body. He was whole again. He was alive. And for the first time, you dared to believe he would stay that way.

“What…?” His voice, though hoarse and still faint, carried a steady strength now, a grounding quality that hadn’t been there moments before. He struggled to lift his head, his gaze trailing over the glowing strands of your hair, then settling back on your face with a look that made your heart ache. “Your light…” he murmured, awe thickening his tone. “It is like the Silmarils… like the Trees of old.” His voice faltered, not from pain but from reverence, as though he were speaking of something sacred. The wonder in his eyes was enough to take your breath away.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, unchecked, a mix of relief and the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume you. The fear, the helplessness, the agonizing moments where you thought you would lose him—all of it fell away, replaced by the quiet, profound joy of seeing him alive. “You’re safe now,” you managed, your voice breaking and trembling under the weight of your relief. “You’re going to be alright.” For a moment, he simply stared at you, as if trying to reconcile the miracle of what had just happened. Then, slowly, his trembling hand lifted. Though the movement was unsteady, it was deliberate, his fingers brushing gently against the strands of your hair. The light still lingered there, soft and radiant, casting a warm golden glow over his pale skin. His touch was barely there, reverent, as if he feared disturbing the fragile magic that had just saved his life.

“You…” His voice broke, thick with emotion. He swallowed hard, his silver-grey eyes never leaving yours. “You are a miracle,” he said finally, his tone raw, each word weighted with meaning. “I thought I was lost. I thought I had fallen too far. But you…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line as though words could never fully express the depth of his gratitude, or the wonder you had awakened in him. Your hand found his, stilling its trembling with your touch as you brought it to rest between you. “You owe me nothing,” you said softly, the sincerity in your voice unwavering. Your other hand still rested over his chest, where the wound had been, as if grounding yourself in the knowledge that he was whole once more.

“Just stay with me. That’s all I ask.” His eyes searched yours, deep pools of emotion swirling in their depths. There was pain there, yes, but also resolve and something else—something fierce and unbreakable. “I will,” he promised, his voice quiet but filled with a steadfast determination. “For as long as I draw breath, I will stay by your side.” The words settled into your heart like a vow, binding in their simplicity and power. Around you, the battlefield remained—a grim tapestry of ruin—but in this moment, it felt as though the world had stilled. All the pain, the chaos, the shadows of despair fell away, leaving only the connection between the two of you.

The golden glow of your hair began to fade slowly, retreating into the silken strands until it was just a memory of warmth and light. Yet even as the light dimmed, its presence lingered—soft, radiant, and unforgettable. Gil-galad’s hand tightened slightly over yours, his strength returning, a silent reassurance that he was still with you, that he would not leave. You gazed at him, the bond between you forged anew, stronger now than it had ever been. It felt eternal, a connection born not just of love, but of trust, of sacrifice, and of something neither of you could fully name but both understood. You knew, with every beat of your heart, that this bond would endure, unyielding even in the face of the storms that lay ahead.

🔥𝓐𝓭𝓪𝓻

Adar was not one to show weakness easily. His centuries of life had been filled with war, loss, and burdens that would break lesser beings. He had carried the weight of kings and battles, the anguish of personal sacrifice, and the scars of old wars. Yet, now, as he staggered back from the sharp blow that had struck him, a gnawing realization crept through him—the inevitable truth that perhaps this time, his strength might not be enough. The gash across his side was deep, the jagged edge of the wound still bleeding freely, crimson staining his armor and the ground beneath him. It was a pain unlike any he had known before, not just from the physical injury, but from the suffocating weight of something far more pressing—the slow, creeping sensation of his life force ebbing away with every labored breath. His body, usually a pillar of endurance, now felt fragile, betraying him in a way he could not ignore.

His hand, once steady and resolute, trembled as he pressed it to the wound. His fingers, slick with blood, failed to staunch the flow. Each pulse of his heart sent a sharp pain through him, as though his very veins were protesting. He could feel the coldness creeping up his spine, seeping into his bones, and it was as if every fiber of his being was being pulled toward the ground, toward something darker, something final. His breath grew ragged, his chest heaving in shallow gasps, as though he were trying to hold on to something that was slipping further out of reach with each passing moment.

The battlefield around him—once so vivid, filled with the sounds of clashing steel, shouts of victory and defeat, and the sharp cries of the fallen—now seemed distant, muffled, like the echoes of a dream fading with the dawn. The smoke, thick and choking, hung in the air, curling around him like tendrils, making the edges of his vision blur and shift. The screams of the dying seemed far away, as though they were happening on another plane, not here where he stood. His world was narrowing, his mind sinking into a fog as the weight of his years and the exhaustion of the battle pressed down on him. For the first time in centuries, Adar felt the unmistakable pull of mortality—of being human again. In his long life, he had endured so much, but this wound, this agony, seemed different. The sensation of his life slipping from him wasn’t just physical—it was spiritual, as though he were being drawn into the shadows, away from the living, from the war, from everything he had fought for.

He staggered slightly, trying to hold himself upright, his knees buckling as the world around him seemed to tilt. His once-proud stature faltered, and he could feel the weight of all his choices pressing down on him, the ghosts of his past whispering in his ears. Yet he fought to hold on, to remain anchored to the world he had fought so hard to protect. But the cold was relentless now, and his vision—already clouded by the growing darkness—began to fade. His body felt heavy, as if it were made of stone, and every movement, every breath, seemed like a struggle against an inevitable force. For the first time, Adar wasn’t sure he could fight it.

But then, like a beacon cutting through the storm, you appeared. Through the haze of blood and exhaustion, Adar’s bleary eyes strained to make sense of what he was seeing. His body was failing him, but still, there you were—moving toward him with a grace that seemed to defy the chaos of the battlefield. Your presence pierced the dissonance around him, a light that cut through the crushing darkness, a warmth he hadn’t known he still longed for. His heart, which had long since learned to steel itself against all emotions, gave a weak flutter at the sight of you. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to pull you close and shield you from the brutality that had consumed him, but his body refused to obey. The gash on his side burned with a ferocity that seemed to steal what little strength remained in him, and the darkness, relentless in its grasp, began to creep back over his vision.

Through the fog, he heard your voice—a sound like the calm before a storm, full of resolve and something else he couldn’t quite place. It was a lifeline, a tether pulling him toward the last remnants of himself. “Adar!” you called again, your voice edged with fear, but not for him. No, it was the fear of what was to come, the fear of losing him. He tried to speak, to reassure you, to tell you that this burden was not yours to bear. But the words, the familiar comfort of his own voice, refused to come. His throat felt like dry stone, his breath shallow and ragged. Instead, he could only manage a faint sigh, a sound that conveyed the weight of everything he couldn’t say. His body was failing him in ways he had never imagined, yet in that fleeting moment, as he lay there before you, there was something else—a flicker of hope sparked within him, kindled by your unrelenting presence.

You didn’t hesitate. There was no fear in your gaze, no hesitation in the way you moved toward him with such purpose. It was as though nothing else in the world mattered except reaching him, saving him. And there was something else there too—something deep in the way you looked at him. Something ancient, something far beyond the mortal realm. In that moment, the pain of his wound faded into the background, overtaken by the force of that unspoken connection between you.

You knelt beside him, your hands steady despite the storm of emotion swirling in your eyes. Your touch, gentle but firm, brushed against his bloodied side. Adar’s breath hitched at the contact. The tenderness of your touch sent a shiver down his spine, and for a brief moment, he forgot the battlefield, forgot the war, and forgot the agony wracking his body. It was as if you had reached into the very core of him, grounding him, reminding him of what it felt like to be human again, to be cared for, to be seen. “Hold on,” you whispered, the words soft but filled with a power that seemed to resonate with something far beyond your years. Your voice was a balm, and despite the dark tide pulling him under, he felt a warmth spreading from the place where your hand rested on him, steadying him in ways that no blade could ever do.

His heart raced, a desperate echo of life, fighting against the pull of oblivion. But with you there, with your gaze unwavering and your touch so sure, he felt the stirrings of something—something more than hope. It was as if, in that moment, he was no longer alone. And though he could not move, though his vision blurred and the cold crept in, he found a new strength rising in him, a quiet defiance against the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. It wasn’t just a flicker anymore. It was a spark. And that spark, ignited by your presence, was enough to keep him tethered to this world—at least for a little while longer.

You reached for his injury with the care of someone who had touched the very fabric of life itself. Your hand brushed lightly against his bloodied side, and the sensation of your touch sent a tremor through his body, a shiver that wasn’t born from cold but from the sheer force of the energy you radiated. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was imagining it—the way the light seemed to gather around you, how the very space around you seemed to hum with something beyond him, beyond anything he had ever known. His breath stilled in his chest as he watched, wide-eyed, as your long, (your hair colour)—once lifeless and heavy—began to shimmer. The strands of it caught the dim light of the battlefield, then glowed with an ethereal radiance, soft and vibrant like starlight reflecting on the still surface of a deep lake. The glow pulsated gently, almost as if it had a life of its own, curling in the air around you like an extension of your being.

With a steady, graceful motion, you leaned closer, the light from your hair wrapping around his wound like a warm, shimmering ribbon. It was as though your hair itself had become an extension of your will, an instrument of healing—its glow bathing him in a tender warmth, coaxing his body to respond, to fight against the ravages of injury. Your voice broke through the chaos, a soft yet powerful melody that seemed to echo in his very soul. “Flower, gleam and glow, Let your powers shine, Make the clock reverse, Bring back what once was mine, Heal what has been hurt, Change the fates’ design, Save what has been lost, Bring back what once was mine, What once was mine.” The words, unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting, seemed to wrap around his heart, wrapping him in an embrace that transcended the physical realm. As you sang, he could feel the magic pouring through him, like a river of light and warmth filling every corner of his being. The wound on his side, deep and cruel, began to respond to the energy surrounding him. The jagged edges of his torn flesh smoothed themselves, the bleeding slowing and then ceasing altogether. It was as if time itself bent to your will, erasing the pain, erasing the damage, and with each passing second, the agony that had once clung to him began to fade away. The blood-soaked fabric of his tunic no longer clung to his skin, the crimson stain receding as though it had never been.

Adar could feel the weight lifting from his body, the exhaustion that had pulled at him for so long beginning to ease. His breath, which had been shallow and labored, slowly began to even out, the tightness in his chest loosening with the soothing magic you invoked. The light from your hair wrapped around him like a blanket, gentle but insistent, coaxing the wound closed, mending what had been broken. Each pulse of the glow seemed to pull him further from the edge of darkness, and though he could barely grasp the magnitude of what was happening, he felt the healing begin to take root in him.

The gash that had once seemed so insurmountable was now no more than a faint line across his side, the skin already knitting itself back together, leaving only a trace of the injury behind. His body, once heavy and unresponsive, now felt lighter, as though the burden of the battle had been lifted from his shoulders. And though the pain still lingered at the edges of his awareness, it was no longer the consuming force it had once been. Instead, there was a quiet calm that settled over him, a peace that only deepened as the last notes of your song faded into the air. His breath, once ragged and strained, grew more steady and assured with each passing moment. Slowly, the fog of exhaustion began to clear, replaced by a sharpness that he hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever. The clarity in his mind came as a surprising relief—like the mists parting to reveal a sky he thought he’d never see again. Adar blinked, feeling the weight of his body ease, but he was still weak, still trembling slightly from the ordeal. And yet, he could now focus, his eyes locking onto yours.

The glow from your hair bathed you in an ethereal light, casting a soft radiance that made everything around you appear to fade into insignificance. It was as though you were not entirely of this world, something more, something beyond. In that moment, as he looked at you, there were no words that could encompass the depth of his feelings. He had lived a life filled with loss, pain, and the burdens of responsibility, but in this instant, before him, was something he had long ago abandoned—a flicker of something beautiful, something sacred. Something that made the world seem just a little more bearable.

“You…” His voice came out hoarse, weak from the strain of the battle and his body’s fragile state. He cleared his throat, trying again, but the words felt too small, too inadequate for what he was experiencing. “What are you?” It was a question born from awe, from confusion, and from something deeper—something that had stirred in him the moment your magic had touched him.

You smiled softly, your lips curving into something gentle, something reassuring. Your hair, still glowing faintly, pulsed in time with your heartbeat—a rhythm that somehow felt like a promise. “I am just someone who won’t let you fall.” The sincerity in your words struck him with the force of a thunderclap, and something in his chest clenched painfully. The raw, unguarded emotion in your voice—how it came from a place of such quiet strength—made his heart ache in ways he had long forgotten how to feel. In all his years, he had seen many faces of suffering, many moments of hopelessness, but never had he encountered something so purely selfless. The magic you wielded, the way it flowed from you with such ease, was beyond anything he could comprehend. It was not just a force of nature—it was a gift. A gift so rare that it seemed as though it had no place in the broken world they lived in.

Adar’s trembling hand reached out instinctively, as if drawn to you, as though he needed to touch you to make sure you weren’t some fleeting illusion. His fingers brushed against the soft strands of your hair, and a strange sensation washed over him, as if by touching you, he was touching something far older than even himself. It was as though the very fabric of the world itself had passed through him in that brief connection.

“I owe you my life,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion—rare, raw, and unguarded. The words felt foreign on his tongue, yet they were the truest he had ever spoken. He had always been one to carry his burdens alone, to face the storm without ever asking for shelter, but now, in the wake of your magic, there was no denying it. He owed you more than he could ever express. You shook your head, a soft, almost imperceptible motion, and gently, your hand closed around his. “No,” you murmured, your voice tender and firm. “You owe me nothing. Just live, Adar. That’s enough for me.” The weight of your words settled into his chest, heavier than anything else, and for a moment, the world seemed to still around him. In that quiet space between the past and the future, he felt the enormity of what you were offering him—not just life, but the chance to live without the burden of guilt, without the crushing weight of a world that had never been kind.

He couldn’t speak at first. The words that hovered on his tongue felt too insignificant to capture the depth of what he felt in that moment. But when they came, they were a whisper, barely audible yet clear in their sincerity. “I will stay, for as long as you’ll have me.” And in that moment, surrounded by the ruins of a battle, amid the wreckage of war, there was a warmth that seemed to push back the cold shadows that had once threatened to consume him. The light of your hair, still glowing softly in the aftermath of your magic, seemed to envelop them both. The world outside seemed distant, almost irrelevant, as the promise in your eyes shone brighter than any star could. Whatever came next, whatever storms the world would throw at them, it no longer seemed like an insurmountable challenge. Not with you by his side.

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