#But it follows his pattern. He will give of himself without a second thought. He will accept consequences.

[stardustedknuckles]

Eh. Vax's rot feels less like a punishment from the Raven Queen and more like a byproduct of fucking with fate, by which I mean there's certainly something he can do about it. It'll probably bring him closer to the Matron.

If we hadn't seen downfall, if someone besides the cast were writing this show, I would be worried. But the Matron loves Vax for his impetuousness and the way he will take any risk for the ones he loves. As pike also pointed out, they're not supposed to serve blindly. To go against the will of the gods is to be mortal. If the Raven Queen is warning him, it's not because she's the one doling out punishments. She HAS to stick to her role and HAS to keep the sanctity of the transition from life to death. Vax violated that and knew he was doing it and that something would happen. He might think right now that he's being punished, that the Matron could or should have just let it happen, but she really, really couldn't (and honestly he's not even mad at her. He's accepted that something must happen. We don't even know if he blames her, but I don't think he does). The part of the Raven Queen who understands is alive and well in her. The part of her allowed to bend rules and defy the order of creation died the day she ascended. The gods do not have freedom in the same way as mortals. Power, yes. But that in and of itself binds them to their stations.

We have to remember that the Raven Queen in tlovm is in fact the same one we've met in the campaigns. She is cold, and she will play her part as she is bound to do. She has little in the way of grace to offer because the entire balance of the world depends on her upholding her station.

Anyway. That rot will either be reversed or it will play into the whole deal about Vax being able to help his friends when he should be dead for a final time. But I don't think hinting at revenant Vax is a punishment. It's a consequence. And Vax accepts it whether it comes from her or not.

[monamipencil]

— debauched | ft. stepbro! mingyu

⋆ pairings; mingyu x fem! reader ⋆ genre; smut ⋆ w.c; 4.5k+ ⋆ warnings; stepbrother! mingyu, gyu wears glasses (yes this is a warning), debauchery, oral (f.receiving), mate press, raw sex, creampie, dubcon, fucking while parents are in the room, fingering, handjob, pussy slapping, jealousy, mingyu is kinda toxic, panty stealing, somnophilia, spitting kink, exhibitionism, doggy, choking, public indecency, mentions of food ⋆ a/n; im so sorry for this monstrosity. i was possessed and i refuse to do damage control 😌 (thanks to @miabebe for assisting my lunacy and giving me ideas lol.)

“fuck, you can't do this to me.”

“i can't do what to you?” you question your step-brother as he follows you into the bathroom. you don't mind it and grab your toothbrush and the paste.

“this,” he gestures towards you, more specifically the nightwear you're wearing. a cute cropped tank top with a matching pair of underwear. it's patterned with little flower prints and lined with lace.

“i'm not doing anything. not my fault you're a horn dog.”

you don't entertain him any more and brush your teeth. and neither does he, opting to grind himself on you. his hard-on presses on your ass and his hands wander all over you, skating over your skin with experienced expertise.

you give into his wishes and bend over a bit while going on with your night routine. his calloused hands slip under your top, and squeeze your tits. your nipples pebble under his touch, complying to his wishes just the same. he pinches the buds with urgency, just the way his hips grind on yours.

without much reaction, you continue brushing. but your body is growing hot with every second, and the need to have him inside you is insatiable. you wish your dad never married his mom for various reasons, and this is one of them.

“y'smell so good.” he slurs, sniffing your neck like a hound dog. his tongue traces your jugular, tasting your sweet perspiration. one of his hands travel down south, toying with hem of your panty—

knock, knock.

mingyu throws himself off you, startled by whomever was on the outside.

“honey, are you in there?” your dad's voice resonates through the door and you give him a gargled ‘yes.’ he wishes you a good night and walks off.

mingyu takes it as a cue to use the other door, connected to his bedroom and enters it. through the closed door, you hear dad checking upon him before he walks away again.

with a sigh, you rinse your mouth. and an examination of your panty reveals a soaked patch staining it. with annoyance and longing in the mix, you discard the cloth into the laundry hamper.

[ ... ]

the creak of the floorboards stir you awake and your eyes fall on a figure standing in front of you. startled, you turn on the lights and scramble to protect yourself.

only to be met with the sight of mingyu, holding your panty to his nose as he squeezes himself through his grey sweatpants. the outline of his cock is visible through the cloth. your mouth salivates and your eyes snap up to his. his dark eyes look down at you through his glasses, the depravity of his thoughts seen through his gaze.

mingyu doesn't say anything and hooks his hand underneath your knees and pulls you to the edge of the bed. in one swift go, your panties are gone, causing you to yelp in surprise. feeling shy with the sudden exposure, you close your legs.

he moves to your wardrobe, quickly retrieving a tie from there.

“gyu, no.” you warn but he doesn't listen. despite your protests, he ties up your hands behind your back. you sigh in defeat, “but you should stop when i tell you to.”

“i know.” his deep voice sends a frenzy in your stomach and your legs part on their own.

he licks your lips, invading them with ease. his boner prods your thighs as he makes out with you. you cant your hips, chasing some of that delicious friction. mingyu tuts in response and looks down to where you're desperately grinding against him.

he descends down, skating his lips and teeth over the skin of your neck and torso. warm breath greets your sensitive skin that's coated with arousal. he kisses the plump flesh of your thighs, ghosting his canines over them.

he slowly reaches your core and gives it a kitten lick. you whine, and buck your hips up. flame licks your skin and the lewdness of the situation makes you desperate.

when his lips meet your cunt, it's unexpected. a loud gasp tears from your lips at the force of it. he places an open mouth kiss to your heat and his hands force your legs as apart as possible.

his tongue glides over your cunt, licking up your arousal. it's nothing soft or sweet, only rough and desperate. he sucks and slurps on your whole, sending waves of pleasure through your body. he shakes his head side to side, tongue prodding at your folds.

it's impossible to contain your moans but you try your best. the cold plastic of his glasses kiss your skin whenever you try to close your legs. he eats you out like a starved dog.

your hole clenches around nothing and mingyu fills it with his tongue. he pushes his tongue in and out of you, the wet sounds of which fills the room. the sensation causes your hips to buck up into his face.

“ah!” you moan, loudly. you just don't find it in yourself to care anymore when he thumbs your clit. he pulls away, a string of spit connecting his lips to your cunt. you look down to find him staring at you over his fogged up glasses. it slid down, letting you see his eyes uncovered.

he spits on your cunt, the warm glob drips down your folds as he maintains eye contact with you. he licks up a large stripe, savoring your taste on his tongue. his tongue prods at your hole again and he fills you up. but this time, it's slower.

your gummy walls clench around his tongue, overstimulated by his thumb on your clit. your moans echo through the room again and a knot builds in your stomach. mingyu picks up his pace, returning to slurping your cunt.

the knot gets tighter and tighter, till it breaks, leaving you a babbling and trembling mess. you black out from the intensity of the orgasm and your moans cease.

mingyu licks up your climax, not wasting a drop of it. with a final kiss to your clit, he pulls away. as much as he wants to split you open on his cock now, he can't. he respects your wishes but that doesn't stop him from leaving a present for you.

he pumps his twitching cock to the sight of you. it doesn't even take a minute till he's moaning your name and spilling his seed on your thighs and stomach. he wants to finish inside you and see his load spill out of your pretty lips but he decides it for another day.

squelch.

you shift.

more wet squelches resonate from beneath the blanket you're sharing with your stepbrother. your lips shudder as you release a sharp breath.

a family movie night. it was what it was supposed to be. that is, till your parents fell asleep and mingyu sneaked his hand inside your shorts as you both sit on the couch.

two of his fingers are buried up to the hilt in your cunt, slowly drilling in and out of you. but it isn't enough and you want more, need more. your hands venture to find his cock beneath his pants. he simply spares you a glance before focusing on the movie again.

with a cautious glance to your dad and his mom, you tilt your head, pressing small kisses to his neck. his adam's apple bobs when you lick the column of his throat.

your hand finds his hardness beneath his underwear. wrapping your hand around the base, you pump him slowly. when your hand glides up to his tip, you rub your thumb over it, smearing the pre cum all over. a low hiss fills your ear and you smirk as he bucks into your hand.

you continue to kiss and bite his tan skin. his breathing turns sporadic, abdomen clenching with restraint. you're caught off-guard when he picks up his pace and curls his fingers against your sweet spot. you gasp, and clench around him.

“look at the tv.” he teethes your earlobe, hot breath ghosting over your neck. goosebumps prickle all over your skin when his canines brush against your skin.

“you both still awake?” the voice startles you and you try to remove your hand from beneath his pants but mingyu stops you. he wraps his other hand over yours, and guides in pumping his cock.

“yeah, we're gonna finish it.” he answers his mom who searches for her glasses while mingyu adjusts the blanket. when she puts it on, everything seems fine and well. she smiles at you both and wakes up your father to move him to the bedroom.

all while mingyu's jerking himself off with your hand and curling his fingers against your sweet spot. she wishes a goodnight, and you respond in unison. the moment her bedroom door locks, he pulls the blanket off.

your clothes along with his joins the blanket on the couch. he relaxes on the couch and makes you straddle him. his cock pokes your cunt, twitching with need. his hands perch on your hips as he guides you slowly down his cock.

“fuck,” he groans, seeing his cock disappear into your cunt.

you take purchase on his shoulders while preparing to ride him. broken moans fall from his lips as you start to bounce. his hands slide down to your ass, and he gropes and massages them.

in a hope to tone down his moans, he connects his lips to yours. tongue meets tongue as your moans mix together, creating a lewd symphony. your thighs slap against his and your arousal drips down his cock to his balls.

his cock splits you open deliciously. the swollen tip hits all the right spots with precision. he fits perfectly with you, like two puzzle pieces. the kiss turns sloppy and messy. your tongue glides over his and your spit mixes with his. you taste his lewd noises on your tongue, a fuel to ride him with more energy.

your pulse beats in your cunt, and you're clenching around him in no time. mingyu does his best and meets your hips with urgency. his lips wrap around your pebbled nipple, sucking with a fervor.

soon, only his hips are moving as he holds you still against him. his strong arms wrap around you, hips drilling into yours every millisecond. but his thighs tremble, giving away his approaching orgasm.

his movements turn sloppy and his moans louder. awareness seeps into your mind when you realise you both could be caught easily. somehow, it only arouses you further. you move against him desperately, feeling his cock kiss all the right places.

you grind against him, chasing friction. sensing your neediness, he slips his hand between your bodies. his thumb circles your clit and he takes your nipple into his mouth again. your nerves fire up, overwhelmed by the attention on your body.

your cunt clenches around his twitching cock. he whines your name with more urgency and you do the same. “fuck, mingyu.”

the orgasm washes over you with an intensity that makes you quiver in his hold. with you wildly clenching around him, he meets his climax as well. he doesn't pull out and warm ribbons of cum spill inside you.

“mingyu!” you gasp in shock but he shushes you with a kiss. his tongue slips past your lips, eager to suck on yours. he holds you still and empties his load inside you. your initial protest melts away as lust seeps into your skin again.

you feel so dirty but so, so good.

mingyu shuts the tv off and picks up the clothes, all while staying inside you. a surprised gasp falls from your lips when he picks you up and walks to his room. there, you fall asleep in his arms with his cock still buried deep inside you.

mingyu's vision turns green when he sees you laughing and chatting with your guy ‘friend.’ since when did you invite your guy friends to dinners at home?

he makes sure that he does not like that guy. didn't even bother learning his name. a seat draws abruptly and four pairs of eyes settle on mingyu. “dessert anyone?”

all except your dad agrees. “wait, take your sister with you. i don't want any broken dishes tonight.”

he doesn't spare you a glance and walks to the pantry. you follow him to choose whatever fits your appetite. maybe, you should've known better than to stay in a room alone with mingyu.

the moment the pantry door is shut, he's all over you.

“mingyu—stop, others are out there.” you gasp, feeling him shift his entire weight on you.

a low scoff resonates from his chest, “you didn't care about others during our parent's wedding.”

the recall of the memory sets your nerves on fire. fuck. of course, he pulled that card.

there's no use in resisting him. especially when your body is screaming at you to submit to him. his hands itch to tear off the pretty dress you're wearing, but he decided against it.

instead, he lifts up your dress and yanks down your pretty matching underwear. a condescending chuckle resonates from his throat, “you sure you just brought him over for dinner?”

his eyes turn a shade deeper when a thought strikes him.

“or, did you already fuck him?”

his tone sends a wave of arousal through your body. you felt like a prey being cornered by a predator. his gaze is animalistic as he looks down at you, his glasses slipping off his nose once again.

“no, no! we didn't-i didn'—”

you're cut off when he slots his lips on yours. that alone is enough to elicit a moan from you. “good girl,”

he backs away from you but keeps his hand under your dress, slowly hiking it up further till your glistening pussy greets his eyes. a sadistic grin stretches on his lips as he watches arousal drip from your cunt.

he collects the fluid and smears them on your cheeks and lips, earning a whine from you.

“mingyu, they'll be suspicious if we're gone for too long.”

“and?”

a sharp sting shoots through your core. it takes some seconds for you to realise that he slapped your cunt. your jaw falls slack in shock but mingyu isn't deterred. he looks at you with hooded eyes as he delivers another slap to your cunt.

you're embarrassingly wet now and it drips down your thighs. mingyu licks his fingers before slapping your core again. a few more slaps has you whining and trembling. your cunt only gets more and more wet with each slap.

“you,” slap,

“are,” slap,

“mine.” slap.

he pokes his cheek with his tongue when you don't respond. a tut from his lips brings you back from euphoria and you stare at him with wide eyes. he roughly yanks you closer, one hand on the small of your back while another squeezes your cheek together.

you whine, more needy than ever. he shushes you, brushing his thumb over your lip. “it's ok, i can forgi—”

“spit in my mouth.”

he takes a few seconds to decipher what you said, so you repeat it. with more desperation. “mingyuu, spit in my mouth. please!”

smugness fills his veins, and he's more than happy to oblige. he collects his saliva and spits it in your mouth when you push your tongue out with your eyes rolled back.

but your bliss is cut short when he places some dessert in your hand, nodding at you to go back. “and, i'm keeping this.” he pockets your panty and follows behind you.

your hand clasps the knob when he delivers a sharp slap to your ass. “fast. you wanna get caught or somethin’?”

you were more than confused when mingyu sent a text that your ‘guy friend’ was waiting at home for you. given that, it's been a week since that dinner incident and you haven't even spoken to your friend since then.

but, you're not confused anymore. not when mingyu has you on all fours, pounding your cunt as your ‘friend’ watches.

your wanton moans sync with the lewd skin slaps. his hands perch on your hips, maneuvering your body to his needs. heavy balls slap against your clit, providing you the utmost pleasure.

the fact that someone else is witnessing this debauchery doesn't bother you. in fact, it arouses you and floods your cunt with wetness. and because your parents are out of town, it gives you the freedom to be as loud as you can.

you arch your back, leaning into all of his touches. his hand ascends to your neck, fingers hooking into your hair. you yelp when he tugs on it, the sharp sting is delicious through your lust haze and you moan louder.

he releases his grip, opting for a painless grip—his fingers wrap around your nape. the other still perches on your hips as he continues to pound you into the next dimension.

much to mingyu's amusement and annoyance, that guy's pumping his cock to the scene in front of him. with a roll of his eyes, he fucks your harder, with more force in his thrusts.

his movements are fluid. anyone can tell that this isn't a first for you both, that you've fucked multiple times before. he lands a slap on your ass, groping and spreading your cheeks.

even though, he's been fucking you straight for the past twenty minutes, he doesn't feel his climax anywhere near. so he arches your back and puts you in a chokehold. his biceps tighten around your neck, veins visible and pulsing with adrenaline.

“fuck! fuck! mingyu, please—” loud, lewd moans fill his ears and he savors each syllable that falls from your lips. it pushes him to fuck you harder and harder, till you completely fall apart in his arms. till your mind melts, and all you can remember is him. only him.

you scream, the orgasm washing over you unexpectedly. you tremble in his hold, sensitive from your climax. but mingyu isn't done. he pushes you onto the mattress and you grip the duvet with the energy left in you.

mingyu abuses your hole, thrusting sharply as his orgasm creeps closer. his balls slap against your clit, aiding in your overstimulation. with another sharp thrust, he cums inside you. a loud groan rumbles from his chest, letting the voyeur in your room know that he's reached his climax.

he pulls out and with that, his load also spills out. mingyu falls on the bed next to you, heaving for breath. another moan resonates in the room, and he lifts his head to look at the guy with a raised eyebrow. ah, right.

with a grin, mingyu walks towards him. although he's smiling, it's anything but friendly.

“listen, if any of this gets out—”

their conversation falls out of your earshot when your stepbrother starts whispering into his ears. but it isn't a mystery that he's threatening him. you don't bother with it much and fall asleep, feeling more spent than ever.

a memory plays out in your dreams, one that feels much more like the latter than the former.

[THE DAY OF YOUR PARENT'S WEDDING]

you groan out of annoyance and scream into your hands. nothing seems to be working your way today.

the heater doesn't work. your dad is marrying someone else, just six months after the divorce. your cereals were soggy. and, now you can't zip your fucking bridesmaid dress.

a knock on the door refocuses your attention. through the mirror, you see mingyu standing near the door. embarrassment shoots through your veins but you feign a smile and turn to look at him. before both of you can exchange words, his mother comes up.

“hi dear! oh, you look absolutely lovely.” she smiles at you, a genuine one. but you don't feel it in you to reciprocate it. you muster up your best smile and thank her, telling her the same.

“aww, thank you. oh, right! mingyu here said that he wanted to speak with you.”

your heart drops down to your stomach. ah, how could you forget your soon-to-be step brother from your list of mishaps? he isn't exactly mean or nice. he just acts as if you don't exist. and it hurts, especially when you feel such an attraction towards him.

you see him protest back, spitting something along the lines of “i never said that,” it worsens your nerves. she snaps at him, giving him a glare and you a smile. your heart palpitates when his mother closes the door and locks it.

mingyu doesn't say anything, instead takes time to compose himself. meanwhile, you contemplate on how to zip up your dress without further embarra— “need help with the zipper?”

“huh? ye-yes.” well, shit.

he stalks towards you and you turn around, involuntarily. you move your hair out of the way for him. he places one of his hands on the exposed skin of your neck and the other zips up your dress, albeit slowly.

and you swear on god that he caresses your skin while doing so. but you sum it up to your horny brain playing tricks on you. “thank you,” you whisper, meeting his eyes through the mirror.

“you're welcome.” his deep timbre voice shoots arousal down to your core and your body raises in temperature.

he inhales sharply before muttering, “mom wants me to get along with you.”

“but i don't want to.”

it stings. more than you'd like to admit. he continues, not giving you a chance to respond. “i don't want them to marry. i suppose you don't either. and i certainly don't want to follow whatever fucking rules they say.”

his eyes are trained on you the entire time, and you maintain it. even though, your nerves are all over the place and you're trying really hard to focus on his eyes and not lips.

“we could be good friends,” he suddenly moves closer. much closer. his body presses against yours and his hands settle on your hips. his chin rests on your shoulder and he maintains eye contact through the mirror. “only, if you can obey somethings.”

that tingles your stomach and you're more than intrigued to know what he means.

“like what?”

he smirks and breaks eye contact to look at you, rather than your reflection. “like that i'd rather be your fuckbuddy than your stepbrother.”

mingyu's heart paces on its own and he prays to god that he didn't hallucinate the way you look at him sometimes. where your eyes drift and the emotion swirling behind them. his assumptions are affirmed true when you arch your back, pressing your ass against his crotch.

he tries to control his smile and maintain his image to you. which proves to be very hard when you whine so cutely, “oh, fuck me.”

the zipper he'd just done comes undone as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses all over your nape and the exposed skin of your back. he presses his hard-on against your ass, feeling his cock sink into the plush flesh of—

“you both have better made friends!”

he pushes away from you, but not before he zips your dress. he fixes his suit, and you pat down the perspiration on your face. she unlocks the door and smiles at you both.

“look at you both! aww,” she engulfs you both in a hug, and you pray to god she doesn't feel your palpitating heart.

[...]

the elevator dings open and whoever was on the other side lets out a surprised noise and scrambles away. but you don't give a fuck neither does mingyu.

his tongue glides over yours in a hot, deep kiss, such that your faces are obscured to anyone who can stumble upon you. the heat of his body seeps into you, driving you absolutely crazy.

the elevator dings again, the automated doors opening to the floor of your room. his hands are all over your body and so are his lips. he nibbles on your ear lobe and neck, licking the patches of red he leaves behind.

you swipe the key card with much effort and finally get in. mingyu pins you to the door as soon as you get in, grinding his hard on against your stomach. he reconnects his lips with yours, humming in content.

the bed creaks with each of his thrusts. surely, there would be complaints from the neighbors but could care less about everything else. your mind can only focus on mingyu's cock drilling in and out of you.

mingyu's addicted to the image of you writhing in pleasure, underneath him. and the bulge of his cock that appears whenever he thrusts does little to soothe aching desire.

his balls slap your ass with each heavy thrust. your breaths mingle together as he splits you open on his cock. his canines ghost over your neck, and he sinks them into your skin, wanting to see how it looks. how you'd look with his mark.

you look perfect, he thinks, absolutely drunk on the idea of making you his.

it pushes him to fuck you harder. he pushes your knees on either side of your head, drilling his cock inside you deeper and deeper. your moans turn into screams with the drive of his cock. his leaking cock is buried to the hilt, hitting your sweet, spongy spot now and then.

you lose the ability to form coherent sources. only babbles and whines fall from your lips, absolutely drunk by his cock. mingyu adds to it by reaching a hand down between your bodies to rub your clit. the delicious friction has you mewling and canting your hips.

your nails rake his back as he continues to pound your cunt with all of his strength. that combined with the clit stimulation makes you sob and squirm underneath him. your legs quiver and toes curl. your breathing turns rapid and the knot in your abdomen gets tighter.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

he presses your knees further down, fucking you with much ardour. tears stream down your face and broken sobs tear from your throat. mingyu licks your tears, and stares at you, drinking the sight beneath him. his cock twitches when you look up at him, “shit.”

your hips lift off the bed and legs tremble more than ever. you gasp loudly when you cum. the orgasm crashes over you, making your body a quivering mess. you see stars and you feel as if you're not on earth anymore, as if you're in heaven. mingyu brought heaven down to you.

you only realise that he pulled out when you feel his weight on your body. his body quivers just the same as yours, breathing rapidly and consciousness in another dimension. he rolls off you, lying on the spot next to you.

warm cum decorates your abdomen and it feels so right but so wrong.

“thanks,” you blurt out, regretting it immediately. he chuckles, “for what?”

[NOW]

“everything.” you mumble in your sleep and mingyu glances at you with confusion. you mutter more things and it causes him to chuckle. he pinches your cheek and kisses it.

his hand caresses your back as he cuddles you. it somehow feels right despite the moral restrictions. but he doesn't care, not when you look so peaceful, curled up on his side.

it may be debauched, but it sure as hell is his heaven.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hey! Saw your requests are open. If you havent been overwhelmed eith asks I have one for Yandere Shadow if you're interested, if not you're fine!!

What about a Yandere Shadow and Sonic with an S/O who's extremely affectionate and overprotective? BUT, as a twist, They're this way with everyone they care about. They just have a lot of love to give❤️

(Bonus headcanon that Eggman targets them first in fights because his robots literally cant get anywhere near anyone else due to how protective they can be of others. They focus on others so much they forget they might also be targetted)

A/n: idk how long this was in my inbox for

Yandere Shadow/Sonic x Overprotective, Affectionate Reader

Shadow:

Shadow isn't used to the kind of affection you give, not from anyone. He wasnt quite used to affection to mych at all. Not after Maria at least.

You're the type to wrap your arms around people in your life without a second thought, ruffle their hair, or reassure them with kind words whenever they’re feeling down.

At first, he thought this affection was only for him. The way you’d stand beside him in fights, ready to shield him from harm despite your lack of superhuman abilities, left him both confused and, strangely, touched.

But then, Shadow began to notice a pattern.

You weren't just protective of him. You were protective of everyone you cared about. Whether it was Sonic, Tails, Knuckles, or even strangers in trouble, you'd throw yourself into the way to ensure no one got hurt.

Your willingness to put others first was respectable, but it also infuriated Shadow.

Didn’t you realize how reckless it was? Did you think anyone else deserved your warmth and care the way he did?

Shadow tried to reason with himself. He knew your affection was genuine and that your overprotective tendencies came from a place of love.

Still, that jealousy in his chest clawed at him every time he watched you worry and fuss over someone else.

His thoughts turned darker as he began to wonder if maybe he needed to teach you to focus that energy solely on him...

It wasn’t unusual for Eggman to target the people Shadow cared about, but this time, Eggman targeted you first.

Shadow’s blood boiled when he realized why. Your protective nature made you an obstacle to Eggman’s plans, your sheer determination to shield others from harm meant that his robots couldn’t get anywhere near his intended targets. And worse, your focus on others left you vulnerable.

Shadow was livid. Not at you, but at the world. How dare anyone put you in danger?

You were so busy worrying about others that you forgot to worry about yourself. He decided right then and there that he'd do whatever it took to keep you safe, even if that meant keeping you away from everyone else.

In the days that followed, Shadow became even more possessive. He started hovering closer during battles, stepping in before you had the chance to protect someone else. If you tried to shield Sonic or Tails, Shadow would pull you back with a firm grip, glaring at whoever dared to draw your attention.

"You can't keep doing this," he’d say in a stern voice. "You're going to get yourself hurt. Let me handle it."

At home, Shadow became even clingier. He didn't like how much energy you gave to others, so he made it his mission to monopolize your time.

Every moment spent with him was another moment you couldn’t be out there, being with someone else.

Still, he couldn't completely suppress his jealousy. The way you’d light up when hugging someone else made his fists clench.

Your constant reassurances that you had enough love to go around only made him more determined to make you see that he deserved all of it.

"Why do you waste your time on people who can’t protect themselves? They donct deserve what you give them. I'm the one who'll keep you safe, not them"

Sonic:

Sonic's usually not the biggest fan on being the receiving end of affection, but when it comes to you, he loves it. In fact, he thrives on it.

You're always ready with a hug, a playful nudge, or words of encouragement that make his heart race faster than his feet.

At first, he thought you were just that way with him, and he basked in the attention.

But Sonic quickly realized that you didn’t just have love for him. You had love for everyone.

You'd throw yourself in front of Tails to block an incoming attack, fuss over Amy if she got a scratch, or rush to Knuckles aid whenever he bit off more than he could chew.

Your boundless compassion for others left Sonic respecting you even more, but it also left him feeling insecure.

As confident as Sonic was in his abilities, he couldn’t shake the fear that someone else might steal your affection.

He wanted to be the one you turned to, the one you prioritized above all else. But your overprotective tendencies meant that you focused on everyone equally, leaving Sonic craving more of your attention.

Then came the day Eggman decided to target you.

It wasn’t hard to see why. You were a force of nature in your own way, your determination to protect others made you a threat to Eggman’s plans. Sonic’s heart dropped when he realized that Eggman saw you as a liability.

The first time one of Eggman’s robots aimed directly for you, Sonic barely managed to stop the attack in time.

"Hey, what were you thinking?!" he scolded, his voice tinged with panic. "You can't keep throwing yourself in the line of fire like that!"

You brushed off his concerns, he did that stuff all the time, why was it any different?

Sonic wanted to argue, but he couldn't bring himself to. Still, he made a silent vow to protect you, even if it meant protecting you from yourself.

Sonic's jealousy is more subtle than Shadow’s, have to keep up the 'perfect hero' act. He'd crack jokes whenever you doted on someone else, masking his unease with humor. But if someone started to take over your time, Sonic wouldn’t hesitate to intervene, dragging you away with some flimsy excuse.

Despite his possessiveness, Sonic would never stop loving your affectionate nature. It's part of what makes you, you. But he’d do everything in his power to ensure that your love didn’t come at the cost of your safety, even if it meant keeping you closer than you’d like.

[lumosflairr]

HIIII

Can you pleaaaase write something about Harry x Slytherin reader?? I'll literally take anything PLEASE 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Green and Gold - harry j. potter

summary: when you, a sharp-witted Slytherin express interest in joining Dumbledores Army, you soon find yourself caught between not only house loyalty and what’s right - but an unexpected bond with Harry Potter.

This story contains: Slytherin! reader, enemies to lovers trope, slow burn, fluff. Um***dge.

Thank you for your request!! As a fellow Slytherin i enjoyed writing this💚

You found Gryffindor’s far too predictable.

They wear their emotions like their ties — loud, proud, and always slightly crooked. Especially Harry Potter.

You didn’t hate him, you hated how carried himself. How he fed into and entertained the “Chosen One” act. You hated how he eyed some of your fellow house members with disgust. You hated how teachers let him break rules without blinking. Especially when Dumbledore gave him more second chances than you’ve had detentions- and don’t even start with the house cup points for Gryffindor being handed out like it was candy on Halloween.

You didn’t like him. That much was certain.

And yet, somehow… you didn’t quite hate him either.

Which, in Slytherin, might be worse.

You were raised to see people like him as reckless, impulsive, dangerously idealistic. And honestly? He is. He breaks rules like they’re twigs and shouts back at professors who could end him with a look. He’s messy. He’s loud. He’s Gryffindor.

But lately he was far too quiet.

And in Slytherin, silence was never innocent.

You soon found yourself in the Slytherin Common Room plopped on a sofa with Blaise while Draco was on one of his many, many rants.

“I’m telling you,” he said, chin high, voice sharp, “Potter’s planning something. He disappears for hours. Granger’s been whispering with Lovegood. Weasley hasn’t shut up about practicing defensive spells. It’s not for class.”

You smirked at him while he spoke - letting out a snort yourself. “You sound obsessed with them.”

“It’s not obsession,” Draco snapped, letting out a huff.

Drama Queen Draco.

“It’s observation. He’s up to something. He’s got to be plotting on Umbridge and the Ministry- he can never keep his head up his own ass.”

You didn’t say anything else. In honesty, you were in zero support of what Umbridge has been doing to Hogwarts. You were shocked on why Draco would even like her, hell even practically work for her as some spy. maybe its something to do with his father and the Ministry, you thought, but you tossed it to the side. If anyone - even if it was some Gryffindor wanted to fight again the injustice you wanted in as well. For now, however - you stored the information in your brain and filed it.

You’ve always been good at patterns, but it seems Potter’s been breaking his.

——————————————————————————

It was late.

Too late for class. Too late for anyone to be slipping into unused rooms — unless they’re sneaking, hiding, or both. You walked through the corridors of hogwarts with ease, scanning every class you came across.

So when you spot a familiar messy head ducking through a side corridor, you follow.

Quiet as shadow. Curiosity sharper than caution.

And then you knew who it was.

Harry Potter. Shutting a door behind him. Tension in his shoulders, jaw set tight.

He doesn’t see you at first.

But you’re leaning against the stone wall when he turns. Arms crossed. A single brow raised.

“Potter.”

He gives you a scowl while he rolls eyes and narrows his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Bit defensive, aren’t we?” You smirk at him as you walk towards him, slowly. “Not used to being caught?”

He straightens up, clearly trying not to look flustered.

cute.

“I’m not hiding.”

“Mm, right. So that was just… a casual stroll out of an unused classroom with a pocket full of parchment and a face like someone just nicked a broomstick?”

His jaw clenches. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” you say as you finally come to a stop just about three feet away. “But I do enjoy a good mystery. And this school’s been very loud about one thing lately ‘Potter’s planning something.’”

You playfully raised an eyebrow at him as you awaited for him to reply.

“You sound like you’d rat me out.”

You cock your head. “Do I?”

“Yes.” he spoke with a sharp tone.

You frown at the sharpness in his tone, then lower your voice. “Relax. I’m not Malfoy, not quite like him either.”

You glance down the corridor, then let out a sigh. “Look. I’m not saying I like you. You’re arrogant. Impulsive. And you’ve got this whole ‘Chosen One’ complex going on.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters.

“But,” you continue, ignoring his comment. “you’re not wrong about Umbridge and how corrupt the Ministry has started to become. And people are scared. Not just Gryffindors.”

Harry studies you. Suspicious. Curious. “So what are you saying?”

You smile, something sharp and slightly amused. “I’m saying if you are planning something… maybe don’t assume every Slytherin’s dying to see you fail. I am far aware of the reputation we have earned from the other houses- but we aren’t villains. We’re not all Malfoy, Potter.”

He blinks. That clearly wasn’t what he expected.

“And if I was starting a group?” he asks, almost testing you.

“Then I’d probably already know about it.” You tap his cloak pocket where the parchment is still tucked away before walking past him. “You Gryffindor’s aren’t exactly subtle.”

“Wait—”

You pause, glancing back over your shoulder. “What?”

“…Why would you help?”

Your expression turns just a little softer. “Because some of us grew up being told not to ask questions. And I’m tired of that. ”

Harry gives you a look - a genuine one.

You spoke again as you begin walking back to your own common room as Harry loses sight of you. “Filch is probably lurking, so if i were you i’d be off.”

Harry stood there for a second, shocked - confused. You wanted to help? A witty, smart mouth Slytherin? He pondered for a minute, trying to process it all. Maybe he’s been wrong about all Slytherins being the root of all evil?

——————————————————————————-

Ron throws a Bertie Bott’s bean at the fireplace and misses. “What d’you mean she caught you?”

Harry drops into the chair across from him, eyes still narrowed from replaying the whole thing in his head. “She was just… there. Leaning against the wall like she’d been waiting.”

Hermione’s head lifts from her book. “And she didn’t tell Umbridge?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. She knew what I was doing, I don’t know how, but she knew. And then she said—” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “She said we’re not all Malfoy. That she knows when to pick the right side. That she wants to fight for good.”

Ron snorts. “That’s rich. Coming from someone who shares a dorm with Parkinson.”

Hermione doesn’t laugh. She’s thinking. “Maybe she meant it.”

Ron gapes. “You want her to come to the meetings now?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hermione replies carefully. “But if she already knows… it might be smarter to bring her in. Keep her close.”

Harry doesn’t say anything right away. His mind is still stuck on the way you’d looked at him. Calm. Calculated. Not scared. Not arrogant either.

Just… certain.

“She’s not like the rest of them,” he says quietly.

Hermione turns to him, surprised.

Ron groans. “Oh no. He’s got that look.”

“What look?” Harry frowns.

“The ‘maybe Slytherins aren’t all evil’ look,” Ron says, flopping back dramatically onto the couch. “Next thing we know, you’ll be offering her your seat in class and writing her name on your cauldron.”

Hermione rolls her eyes. “Honestly, Ronald.”

But Harry just stares into the fire, still thinking.

Of all the rotten luck.

“Potter. You’ll be partnered with…” Snape glances at the seating chart like it personally offends him. “Miss Y/L/N.”

Harry’s head jerks up. Across the room, you blink once, then slide your quill behind your ear and rise smoothly from your seat.

You don’t grin. But there’s a knowing look in your eyes as you settle beside him at the shared table, parchment already unrolled.

“Don’t worry,” you murmur without looking at him. “I promise not to poison you. Yet.”

Harry snorts under his breath. “Comforting.”

Across the room, Draco throws you both a look like he’s watching someone pet a wild Hippogriff and is just waiting for the mauling.

You ignore him.

The silence between you and Harry isn’t tense exactly — more like… charged. He hands you the ingredients while you measures out the powdered valerian root, careful and precise. At some point, your elbows start bumping. Neither of you moves away.

“You know,” you say lowly, as you stir, “for someone who acts like he hates all things Slytherin, you’re not half bad at teamwork.”

“Funny,” Harry mutters back, “I was just thinking the same about you.”

You glance up, eyes catching his. “So you do think.”

“Occasionally,” he says, smiling a little.

You look back at the potion, smirking. Across the room, Draco is practically craning his neck trying to eavesdrop.

You tapped Harry on his shoulder, keeping your head faced at the potion but eyes faced to him. He turned his head to you, then down to your hands as you slip him a piece of parchment folded. He cocked a brow up as he grabbed it from your grasps, fingers brushing.

Harry opened it hiding it from his side,

‘Draco says Umbridge is meeting with Filch every other evening now. They’re setting patrols for corridors near the Room of Requirement. She thinks someone’s hiding something behind one of the walls. She’s not stupid, just paranoid.

Filch has been checking the west hall on the third floor just past midnight. That’s his current favorite hunting ground.

I’ll keep watching. Act normal.’

Harry gives you a smile, a subtle thank you. You returned it and you both went back to your work as he stuffed it into his pocket in his robes.

——————————————————————————

For the next three days, Harry kept receiving these notes from you. He would write back a simple ‘thank you.” Except this time, where you planted it in his pocket yourself.

Harry didn’t notice until dinner that day when he fiddled in his pockets for something, then he felt the parchment.

He pulls it out from under the table, trying not to attract much attention to himself as his eyes flicker from yours across the Slytherin table.

‘Umbridge is trying to get the Inquisitorial Squad involved. Draco says she’s giving them free roam to catch anyone “plotting. I think she has more plans than what shes feeding Draco.”

Avoid the west wing after ten. Filch changed patrols again. He’s onto you.

Also — your handwriting is atrocious. Fix it before McGonagall sees your essays.’

Harry stares at it for a moment, eyebrows raised.

Then, without a word, he passes it to Hermione, who reads it once and immediately looks toward the Slytherin table. Her lips part in surprise.

Ron leans over to peek. “Wait - she gave you this?”

Harry nods. “She’s been slipping me notes for the past few days. Every time Filch changes where he’s patrolling. She knew about Umbridge’s plans before we did.”

Ron blinks. “You’re telling me a Slytherin has been protecting the DA?”

“She’s the reason we haven’t been caught,” Harry says. “She’s been feeding us what Draco’s telling their house — without raising any suspicion.”

Hermione leans in, her voice low. “I knew she wasn’t like the others… but this? She’s been risking everything.”

Harry glances again at the note, then tucks it into his Transfiguration book with quiet care.

“She’s on our side,” he says simply.

It’s quiet enough to hear the wind skimming along the stone parapets — moonlight casting pale silver across the flagstones. You’re standing with your arms folded, waiting, watching the shadows move.

You hear footsteps, and a familiar voice calls out softly:

“Y/N.”

You turn. Harry stands there, hands tucked in his pockets, and behind him — Hermione and Ron, watching warily but not unkindly.

He steps closer, his voice low. “You said Umbridge has plans. Real ones. Things even Malfoy doesn’t realize.”

You tilt your head, careful. “And you want me to tell them.”

“I trust you,” Harry says plainly. “I think they should too.”

You smile at his comment then glance at Hermione and Ron. Hermione gives the faintest nod. Ron still looks like he’s trying to puzzle you out.

You sigh lightly. “Okay..but I don’t repeat myself, so listen close.”

You step toward the low wall and lean your hands on the cool stone. The three of them follow.

“She’s trying to push Dumbledore out. Not just politically, structurally. She’s replacing staff, rewriting policy, spying on students. Filch is practically her personal bloodhound now. She wants full Ministry control over Hogwarts. No independence. No magic she can’t regulate.”

Hermione’s expression darkens. “That’s… way beyond anything we thought.”

“She’s been meeting with Ministry officials privately,” you continue. “Even tried to ban certain books in the library. She’s using Draco and the others to dig — anything suspicious, anything that smells like rebellion.”

Ron shifts uncomfortably. “So she’s turning Hogwarts into a bloody prison.”

“Pretty much.”

Harry doesn’t look surprised. Just angry. “How do you know all this?”

You meet his eyes. “Because I listen. And because Slytherins are excellent at being ignored when it matters most.”

There’s a pause. Then Hermione steps forward.

“You’ve been helping us. Risking a lot, actually. And you didn’t have to. That says more than your house ever could.”

“Well, a house doesn’t entirely define you.” You sighed as you looked around at the hogwarts grounds. “Frankly, theres a good amount of Slytherins who agree with what all four of us stand for. Some just follow Draco because of his parents i presume.” You turn back around to face them, sort of more specifically Ron.

“I’m not a bad person just because I was placed in Slytherin. Its a common misconception though. Suppose its because Voldemort was one and Salazar did place a Basalisk in a secret chamber.. and Dracos a proper pain.” You let out a little laugh at that last part and so did the four others.

Ron looks between you and Harry, and after a beat, says grudgingly, “Alright. You’re not like Malfoy. You’ve got a better spine, for starters. And i s’pose your right. I trust you if Harry and Hermione do.”

You smirk. “High praise.”

Hermione smiles a little, then glances at Harry. “She should come to the next meeting.”

“Definitely,” he says, already certain.

You raise an eyebrow. “You lot always recruit people in shadowy courtyards at midnight?”

Harry grins. “Only the interesting ones.”

You shake your head with a small laugh, and for the first time, the four of you stand there not as enemies or rivals because of a silly house fued -but as allies, friends.

The wall shimmers and opens like a secret only certain people are meant to know. You step inside cautiously, and the first thing that hits you isn’t the magic - it’s the heat of twenty pairs of eyes staring straight at you.

Gryffindors. Hufflepuffs. Ravenclaws.

No Slytherins. Except you.

You catch the flicker of confusion, a few students stiffen. One whispers something to another. Zacharias Smith audibly mutters, “What’s she doing here?”

You ignore it.

You always do.

Harry steps forward, casual but firm. “She’s here because she’s helped us. More than most of you even realize.”

Hermione follows suit. “She’s risked getting caught by Umbridge. She’s helped keep this a secret and she’s on our side.”

You gave a smile at their remarks, then glance at Ron, half-expecting him to stay silent. But he clears his throat.

“She’s alright.”

High praise from Weasley.

The room slowly relaxes. Suspicion simmers down to curiosity. And that’s something you can work with.

Harry starts the meeting like always — wand held in both hands, voice calm but sure. “We’re going to start with disarming spells. Partner up.”

There’s a brief shuffle. Hermione moves toward Neville. Ginny grabs Luna. Ron pairs with Seamus.

You’re still standing there when Harry turns to you.

“You’re with me.”

Of course you are.

You take your stance across from him, wand raised.

“Try not to embarrass yourself, Potter.”

He grins. “I was going to say the same.”

“Expelliarmus!” you fire first and he blocks, quick but not smug. Just sharp.

He counters. You dodge. The two of you trade spell after spell, the energy between you buzzing just slightly more than it should.

“You’ve been practicing,” he says, ducking a hex.

“I grew up in a house where survival’s kind of… expected.”

“Sounds familiar.”

He says it lightly, but it lands heavier than expected. For a moment, there’s something almost reflective in the way he looks at you. Like he’s starting to see something beyond your crest, something shared.

Another spell flies. You catch it. Disarm him. His wand clatters to the floor, and a few heads turn.

“Oops,” you say, tilting your head innocently.

“You’ve got a mean streak.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

——————————————————————————

When the meeting wraps, people are smiling. Laughing. Even Zacharias looks begrudgingly impressed. The tension that followed you in is long gone.

Ginny Weasley nudges your arm with a grin, “You were wicked with that disarming charm. Might ask you to teach me how you do that wrist thing.”

You smirk, bumping her shoulder gently. “Only if you teach me how to hit a Bludger with that much attitude.”

Ginny laughs, full and unfiltered - and suddenly, it’s easy. Hermione joins the conversation next, tucking her hair behind her ear as she says, “That was impressive. You really are a good witch” You gave her a smile which she returned.

Then Luna walks up, wide-eyed and glowing in that distant way of hers. “You looked like you’d been practicing with wandless dueling fog spirits. They make you sharper, you know.”

You blink. “I… haven’t, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

For the first time, it feels like you actually belong here - not because you’ve earned it, but because they’ve decided you don’t have to.

Before you leave, Harry catches up to you at the door.

“You were great,” he says, quieter now. “Really.”

“You always this sentimental after disarming spells?” you ask, one brow raised.

He huffs a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Only when I nearly get my wand taken out by someone who says they don’t like me.”

You gave him a cheeky smile. “Who said I don’t like you?”

His cheeks heat up at your comment, clearing his throat.

“You’re hard to read,” he says honestly.

“Good. You’re not supposed to have me figured out yet.”

There’s a pause, but it isn’t awkward. It’s… something else. Something a little charged.

“I don’t think you’re like the others in your house,” he says quietly, stepping just a little closer.

“I know,” you reply, eyes lifting to meet his. “That’s what scares you, isn’t it?”

His smile quirks, half-impressed. “A little.”

You tilt your head toward the door. “You going to walk me back, or do Gryffindors only do chivalry when there’s a camera around?”

“Chivalry?” he echoes, pretending to scoff. “I was hoping you’d protect me from Filch.”

You laugh under your breath, turning to go. “Come on, Chosen One. Try to keep up.”

The halls are quieter than usual, even for after curfew. The kind of quiet that lets you hear the soft echo of your own steps… and Harry’s, just a little behind.

He falls into rhythm with you easily, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking toward the windows where moonlight spills in pale silver.

“You always sneak around this late?” he asks, voice low and casual.

You glance over at him. “Only when I’m walking Gryffindor royalty back to enemy territory.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Right. Because I’m so royal.”

“You said it, not me.”

You flash a teasing smile, and he catches it - holds your gaze a second too long before looking away like it caught him off guard.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The corridor bends into another stretch of silence - empty staircases, the distant groan of old pipes behind the walls. But it isn’t awkward. It’s something else.

Something settling in.

“I used to think I had you figured out,” Harry says suddenly.

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Slytherin. Sharp tongue. Friends with people who hate me.” He glances sideways at you. “But now you’re helping me. Protecting the people you’re supposed to hate like you’ve got something to prove.”

You shrug, half-smirking. “Maybe I do.”

He stops walking for a second, and so do you. His gaze lifts to meet yours fully now, serious but soft at the edges.

“I was wrong about you.”

You study him for a moment. His voice isn’t teasing anymore. It’s quiet. Honest.

And it hits a little harder than it should.

“You’re not the only one who’s been wrong,” you admit. “I thought you were all fame and ego and dramatic speeches.”

Harry laughs under his breath. “Dramatic speeches?”

“You literally have a fan club.”

“Unfortunately.”

You both laugh - but it lingers this time. Fades slower. And when it does, there’s something warmer in the space between you.

You tilt your head slightly. “You always this charming during illegal castle strolls?”

He steps a little closer, hands still in his pockets. “Only when I’m with someone who keeps catching me off guard.”

There’s a flicker of something between you then, subtle but unmistakable. Like gravity, like something pulling, even though neither of you move.

Finally, you take a slow step forward. “Come on, Potter.”

But when your shoulder brushes his again, it stays there a moment longer. And neither of you say a word about it.

The next morning, sunlight cuts through the narrow windows of the Slytherin dorms, pale and soft against the stone walls. The room is quiet, save for the occasional shuffle of someone getting ready for class. You’re halfway through buttoning your robes when you spot it:

A folded piece of parchment, tucked just beneath your Charms textbook at the foot of your bed.

No one’s said anything. No one’s around. But the moment you open the note, you know exactly who it’s from.

‘You were right.

You do keep me off guard.

Not sure what last night was exactly.

But I keep thinking about it.

If you ever want to walk the long way back again…

Let me know.

—H’

You stare at it for a long moment, thumb brushing over the edge of the parchment. There’s no joke. No awkward attempt to cover it with sarcasm or a fake nickname.

It’s just… honest.

And you can’t help it — your mouth lifts at the corner. The kind of smile you’d never let anyone else in your house see.

You fold the note once, then again, tucking it safely behind your potions essay.

You’ll see him again tonight at the next DA meeting.

And suddenly, the day feels just a little bit easier.

——————————————————————————

The DA meeting flies by faster than usual.

Tonight, Harry focuses on practicing defensive spells in pairs — steady, clean wandwork under pressure. He lets Hermione take charge of the demonstrations, which she does with sharp precision and only a few eye-rolls at Ron.

You’re paired with her. At first, it’s all business - counters, stances, corrections. But soon, she’s smiling when your spell knocks a practice dummy flat on its back. You laugh when she mutters something about how Parvati once nearly set her sleeve on fire trying that exact hex. It’s easy, surprisingly so. There’s no tension like there used to be in the library, no side-eyes because of your house. Just a natural rhythm. Respect.

By the time the meeting ends, she leans over and says quietly, “You’re really good, you know. I think we make a solid team.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did Hermione Granger just compliment a Slytherin?”

She smiles. “A certain one, maybe.”

When the last few spells are cast and the group starts packing up, you wander toward the tall enchanted mirror against the wall - the one that reflects everyone in the room with little golden sparks dancing faintly around them.

You’re not paying much attention, just scanning the blurred reflections, your expression soft with something almost wistful.

From across the room, Harry watches.

He’s barely moved since the meeting ended, wand still loosely in his hand. Ron notices first, then Hermione. Both glance between him and you, then share a quiet look.

“She’s different, a good different.” Ron says eventually.

Hermione doesn’t answer. She’s too busy watching the way Harry’s eyes trace your outline, like he’s seeing something he hadn’t allowed himself to before. or maybe something that’s been there all along, just waiting.

There’s a kind of quiet in him now. One that feels big. Unspoken.

“She’s good for him,” Hermione murmurs, so low only Ron hears.

Harry barely notices they’re watching. His eyes stay on you as you tilt your head and smile faintly at the mirror’s reflection. Not at yourself, but at the people around you. The ones you’ve slowly let in.

Hermione nudges Harry gently, “We’ll see you back in the common room, yeah?”

Harry blinks, barely registering her words. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll be up soon.”

They go, leaving him standing in the now-empty Room of Requirement - except for you, still near the mirror, fingers brushing the surface like it might reveal something more.

He walks toward you slowly.

“I’m not,” he says, and his voice has that familiar mix of nerves and honesty. “Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

Harry stops beside you, close enough to feel the quiet hum of magic still lingering in the room. “You looked happy earlier.”

You smiled. “Maybe i was”

“It’s nice seeing you like that.”

You turn to face him, arms folded loosely over your chest, smile growing wider. “That sounded dangerously close to a compliment, Potter. You sure you’re feeling alright?”

He laughs softly, but it’s quieter now, more real. “Maybe I’m just seeing things differently lately.”

“Like what?” you ask, stepping just a little closer. Your voice is teasing, but your heart is louder now, like it knows something’s about to shift.

“Like you.”

That makes your breath catch - not dramatically, but enough to feel it. Enough to know this is no longer just casual banter in the safety of dim candlelight.

“You’re not what I expected,” Harry says, eyes locked on yours. “You’re clever, and yeah, you’ve got that Slytherin sharpness, but maybe thats what attracts me to you more than it should. you care. You’ve risked a lot to help us. To help me.”

“Don’t get soft on me now,” you murmur, but there’s no bite to it. You’re soft, too. And vulnerable in a way that feels dangerous but true.

“I mean it.” He shifts, his fingers brushing yours - not quite holding your hand, but close enough to feel the warmth. “I used to think… I don’t know. That you saw me like everyone else does. Like I was just… the Chosen One. Some Gryffindor hero with a target on his back.”

Your lips twitch upward, but your eyes are steady. “I did.”

Harry blinks.

“I did think that,” you clarify, “for a long time. That you were arrogant, self-important. The kind of person who expected people to follow just because you’ve got a scar and a name.But then I started watching, and you weren’t any of those things. You’re loyal. Reckless, sure. But not because you want attention. You’re just… trying. Always trying. Even when no one sees it.”

He says nothing for a beat — just looks at you like he’s never heard anything like that before. Like he wants to believe it, and maybe does.

Your voices are hushed now, the quiet wrapping around you like a charm. The candles have dimmed, the fire low and golden, and the room seems to be listening.

And then, gently.. without warning - something begins to shimmer above you.

A flicker of enchanted magic gathers into shape: mistletoe, delicate and glowing, suspended just overhead. Harry glances up, then back to you. He looks almost surprised, like he’s not sure he deserves this kind of moment.

You smile again. “Mistletoe…”

Harry shifts closer, and this time, he does take your hand, fingers curling between yours like it’s instinct. Like it’s always meant to be that easy.

“Probably full of nargles, though.”

“Shut up and kiss me Harry.”

And then he does.

The kiss is soft at first - careful, like he’s still afraid he might ruin it , but you lean into him, and it deepens naturally, warmly. His hand finds your waist, yours tangled at the collar of his robes. It’s gentle, but not shy.. like both of you had been waiting, denying, until now.

You taste winter air and something like firewhisky on his breath. He smells like pine and old parchment and something unmistakably his - and when you finally part, just barely, your foreheads rest together, and you’re both smiling like fools.

“I can’t believe I thought you were insufferable,” you whisper.

“I can,” Harry murmurs, brushing a thumb along your cheek, “but I’m glad you stuck around anyway.”

[pyrodolls]

will you write more parts for the yandere!fan fic? 🫣

STALKER! YANDERE BOY X GN! READER (PART 2)

WARNINGS: stalking, mentions of murder, regular yandere tendencies, gender neutral reader

A/N: damn that first part did a lot better than i thought it would, thank you guys! so how about i bring in a second yandere… i’m naming this yandere victor, and the yandere in the first part is bayani. (btw the art below is by RIP2_)

part one (with bayani) right here! a third part is coming soon, featuring both bayani and victor when they realize they both are pining for you...

stalker! yandere boy that puts in more effort than superfan! yandere boy to catch your attention. bayani could never love you. he can barely even handle you looking at him, what makes you think he’s the right one for you? he’s just a lowly coward. victor is the one for you. he loves you so much. more than bayani.

stalker! yandere boy that doesn't care about your music. not one bit. because he loves you for you! who cares what your music sounds like? he doesn't care what genre it is, or if you even have a good voice or not. he'd be the best boyfriend for you because he treats you like an actual human, not just some singing machine. besides, he personally prefers metal. maybe he can listen to it with you when you get together! it sounds like a delightful date.

stalker! yandere boy that follows you around wherever you go. he tracks your travelling patterns, and visits whatever places you visit at the exact same time. whether you fly private, commercial, or even use a train or car. doesn't matter. he will follow you. where you go, he goes.

stalker! yandere boy that would go as far as to disguise himself as someone else in order to interact with you and gain your attention. you go eat at a restaurant? victor would kill a random waiter, steal their uniform, and take their place. you stay at a hotel? he's posing as room service and will steal your clothes and belongings tidy up your room! he'll even use the key to your room to walk in and watch you sleep at night. you just look so enchanting in your sleep, how can he resist? it's not wrong, he's just keeping you safe. he is the only one that can make sure you are happy and healthy. in victor's eyes, even the strongest bodyguard cannot keep you safe. you don't need anyone else. just him.

stalker! yandere boy that tries to catch your attention anytime he can. he needs you to notice him. he needs you to say something to him, talk to him, touch him, know him, acknowledge his existence. victor needs you to validate his existence in order to continue living. without you, what would he do? he cannot handle being away from you. he cannot handle being alone. don't leave him alone. don't leave him alone. don't leave him alone. he needs you.

stalker! yandere boy that gets jealous easily. you collab with another artist or you're seen holding hands with someone in public? he's spreading a fake rumor about whoever it is and ruining their life. you shouldn't be so stupid. why associate with someone else when you have him? why ditch him for someone else? he's right there. he can be better than them. who cares what they look or sound like? victor's so much better. he can show you how much better he is, if you give him a chance.

stalker! yandere boy that is so desperate for any kind of attention from you. it doesn't matter if it's positive or negative attention. he always plays it cool and acts all smug and calm when you notice him, but on the inside he is resisting the urge to grab you and run away from the world. all he wants is to have a peaceful, isolated life with you. away from the disgusting people in the world. you and victor can be happy together.

stalker! yandere boy that is incredibly clingy. you know you need him, right? he must be near you at all times. his presence keeps you alive and happy. you keep HIM happy. he needs you. you both need each other. if he can't see or feel your presence, he will go insane. that is why he travels anywhere you go. that is why he must go to each and every one of your concerts and meet-and-greets. you assumed he was just a big fan to be at every single event, but you just can't see that he loves you much more than just some fan.

stalker! yandere boy that just wants to be with you! let him be around you. let him completely obsess over you, touch you, love you, do whatever he wants to you. he won't hurt you! he just wants a little bit of freedom to say and do whatever he wants to you once you are together, so he can make sure you don't leave him. he will make you feel so good, so loved, so appreciated. nobody will ever love you more than he does.

but there may be someone that rivals his affections. a lowly, masochistic, scrawny pest that thinks he loves you more. victor will have to do something about it before your little superfan finally decides to man up and make a move on you.

[mingoner]

to observe ⋆˙⟡ s. mingi

in which mingi likes to watch you in your shared apartment. wc: 1.0k no warnings, maybe just a wooyoung appearance lol

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

from mingi's vantage point on the couch his eyes flit back and forth as he follows your form from the kitchen to the living room, briefly to your bedroom, and back to the kitchen again. a small smile forms unconsciously and is wiped off consciously just to form again.

patterns are created easily with you by his side. if mingi would have known seven months ago when he agreed to be your roommate at the recommendation of a mutual friend that love happened in quiet moments, he would have made sure your shared apartment was always filled with noise. in any case, his love has begun, grown, and cemented with you always moving from the kitchen, to the living room, to your bedroom, and back again.

it isn't a terrible thing, being in love, and yet mingi can't help but to think -

"are you hurt?", he hears being asked, silence interrupted.

he is almost able to reply confusedly before you continue, "thinking that hard - does it hurt?" you laugh to yourself at your own words and you have successfully pulled him out of his head.

"very funny, i'll write that one down in your book of best ones yet," he replies, cringing because it wasn't witty enough, funny enough, cool enou-

"you'll have to start a second volume, the first one should have already been published," you laugh again. "do you think this will be enough food? i know there's only five of us but i'm a little worried because i know you guys take down food like nothing else."

with practiced ease you pull him away from his self-disparaging thoughts and lead him to the only truth he knows: you are funny enough, cool enough, and witty enough for the both of you; so, even if something he says isn't, you'll still make it seem like it is.

"between the chicken and steak, the three sides, and four desserts i think we will all be well fed. even if we aren't i think that says more about us than your planning abilities," he assures you.

you laugh and smile at his words like the sun shines out of your face and he thinks he hears you reply but he is too busy observing how carefully you balance the pans on your shared, small cooktop and he's lost, so fully, yet again.

and he's not the only one.

you put in endless effort in attempts to satisfy a need rising in you to host the perfect dinner. seven months after meeting mingi for the first time, seven months after being charmed by his lopsided smile and the crinkle of his eyes, and only three months since coming to terms that feeling this way really isn't normal for a regular friendship, you have committed yourself to hosting a perfect dinner party for a few close friends.

in attendance is your best friend san, your and mingi's mutual friend and san's best friend wooyoung, as well as mingi's best friend yunho. a simple group that should come together to give a peaceful dinner without much chaos.

you get lost in thought about whether or not your desserts will be complicated enough to impress mingi, and all of your friends, but mostly mingi, when you hear a loud knock on the door, pulling you out of your head. you see mingi seemingly shaken awake from deep thought as well and wonder for a brief second what he was thinking of when you hear the screaming start.

"someone! please! let me in!" you hear wooyoung screeching from outside.

you can barely pull open the door before an out-of-breath wooyoung barrels through the door with a perpetually-sheepish san following in after him. san shoots you an apologetic smile before wooyoung drapes himself over your form, wallowing about how "san wouldn't break the speed limit so he could be with his friends faster" and "san wouldn't let him jump out of a moving car so he could get up to the apartment quicker" and "san added child locks on the passenger seat too".

with soothing affection you assuage the most dramatic and lovable man you've ever known and cheer him up by taking him through the menu. like a dramatic flower after getting a hint of water and sunlight, he perks right up and takes in the smells as well as the side eye he is getting from mingi on the couch. he rolls his eyes internally, mingi gets you all the time and wooyoung thinks of you like a sibling anyway, not that mingi cares much about semantics when it comes to you.

after plenty of compliments and comments about how good the food smells and looks, you successfully shoo the two boys out of the kitchen towards mingi's perch in the living room.

"you're so touchy," mingi remarks to wooyoung, unable to give up his moment of jealousy so easily.

"you could be too if you got your head out of your ass," wooyoung replied, semi-snarkily and semi-jokingly.

mingi just half heartedly rolled his eyes and they drifted back to you. it really was starting to get bad, just how much time he spends looking at you.

"when yunho gets here i'll have some backup," he muttered, knowing it wasn't true.

with mingi's spare key, yunho opens the door, completing the guest list for the night and signaling to you that dinner may officially be served.

you transfer the food to the table and thus begins a long night of laughing, food-throwing, yelling (from only one guest), and general amusement. after dinner the boys help you clear off the table and you settle into the couches to talk and watch a movie, and you can't help the smile that settles on your face.

one successful night of making mingi's friends like you one by one is finished, and you cannot help but think all the effort was worth it.

outside of your peripheral yunho smiles gently at mingi, happy knowing the roommate mingi has gone on and on about for six months and twenty nine days really is everything mingi has claimed.

⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

[hufflepuffsthunderdome]

Never There p. 2

Chef Luca x GN!reader Summary: Your boyfriend decides to go home for a while and leaves you totally confused and alone Warning: Angst, kinda ooc Luca, breakdown, crying, illusions to depression, anxiety A/N: Read part 1 here

It had been a weird few weeks. Luca's sudden return to work after his extended leave of absence has thrown your routine into chaos - he started repeating this cycle of working himself to the bone, of barely being home and when he was home, barely talking to you, to taking multiple days off suddenly, and still not talking to you. It was a confusing, disorienting pattern: long hours away, late nights when he wouldn’t come to bed until after you were asleep, followed by stretches where he was home but not present—physically beside you but mentally somewhere else, somewhere unreachable. It was starting to upset you, and most of all worry you.

At first, you tried to give him space. You knew he was struggling with something, though you still didn’t know exactly what. After your conversation on the balcony with him a few weeks ago, you felt like you were walking on eggshells. treading cautiously around him as though he were a wild animal about to spook at any second and run off never to be seen again. You weren't sure where you stood anymore, even as you continued to live together, and it made it all the harder to see him like this.

It was clear whatever he was going through was deeply affecting him, but he insisted on keeping you at arm's length, shutting down every attempt you made to spend time with him, or snapping at you when you would try to get him to open up. As much as part of you felt guilty for feeling this way, you were beginning to get angry at him for it. For just shutting down on you like this, after so long together.

You felt like he was building up to a breakup that he was too scared to commit to, trying to get you to be the one to pull the trigger so he wouldn't have to live with the guilt of breaking your heart. You didn't want to do that, obviously, despite all of this, you loved him to bits, and his recent actions were so out of character that they made you more concerned than they did make you want to leave him. A part of you didn't want to give him the satisfaction either, but you tried to ignore that bitter part, born far more out of hurt than any genuine feelings towards the man you loved.

So you waited. Patiently. Trying your best to get him to talk and spend time with you, dotting on him with a very genuine concern, though you were starting to think it made him feel worse, and hoped that in time he would open up and let you in, and you could fix whatever was going on. Because sometimes, just sometimes, there were glimmers of the old Luca. Fleeting but radiant moments: when he’d crawl into bed and wrap himself around you without a word, or when you’d find a cup of coffee waiting for you in the morning, or a tiny scribbled note on the fridge that read, love you. sorry. Those moments reminded you that he still cared. That somewhere in the mess of his mind, you still mattered.

Though these were getting further in between.

After a frankly shit day at work, the last thing you expected to hear when you got home was rustling from your bedroom. You thought the apartment would be empty. Luca had left before you this morning, silent as usual, and you assumed he’d be working late again.

Instead, you found him standing on tiptoes, dragging his suitcase down from the top of your shared wardrobe.

Your heart dropped.

He has a frankly random pile of clothes on the bed, shoes and socks, underwear, enough to last an extended period of time. Not everything he owned, but it made your stomach twist nonetheless. He doesn't hear you come in, stopping only when he loses his grasp on the suitcase and it goes clambering to the floor behind him, and you audibly gasp at the sound as you're pulled from your shock.

He turns and meets your gaze, staring at you wide-eyed like a deer in headlights as though he's been caught doing something he shouldn't have been. You both just stand for a while, him staring at you, you staring at the clothes on your bed as you feel a thick sadness rise in your throat.

You're home early, he murmurs, sounding almost scared as he makes no attempt to retrieve the suitcase he dropped.

“Are you… going somewhere?” you asked, though the answer was obvious. Your voice cracked as you said it, barely a whisper, thick with dread, unable to say the obvious words you so desperately want to ask.

It's only then that he moves, turning his back to you as he stands in front of the bed, not saying anything as he seems to take stock of the situation.

It only makes you feel worse. His lack of response is a clear confirmation of your worst fears, and tears flood your waterline. "Luca?" you asked again, more firmly this time.

He didn’t look at you as he began moving again, methodically placing clothes into the suitcase, almost on autopilot, "I have to go home for a bit."

His voice is so robotic it makes you flinch, "home? to London?"

He just nods.

"I didn't know you were going to London," you say, your voice softening slightly as you take a step forward, cautiously, "have you bought tickets yet? Maybe I can take some time off work and -"

"I'm going alone," the words were blunt. Final.

You froze. It was like he’d slapped you. It wasn’t just the words, it was the way he said them. Like the door had been slammed shut in your face. You stared at him, your mouth slightly open, unable to find words. The silence was deafening.

He seems to sense your heartbreak, and after putting the last of his things in his suitcase, he turns to you, just standing there as you both stare at each other.

Neither of you moves, a fragile silence settles over the room, and you both feel too scared to say anything, as if the slightest movement with totally shatter the last shred of home you have for your relationship.

He steps closer to you, standing in front of you now, nearly chest to chest and just stares at you, eyes scanning over your face, you can't tell if he's taking you in for the last time, or for the first time in months. He moves his hand gently up as if going to cup your face, before freezing, uncertain.

"Are we over?" you ask, in a whisper as you let him reach out for you, leaning towards him until his warm hands cup your cheeks as you let the tears spill over.

"I don't wanna be," he says back, voice cracking as he looks at you, looking so fragile and vulnerable as he watches your heart break because of him.

"That doesn't answer my question."

he swallows hard, fighting back his own tears as he begins to shake his head, "i just need some time."

You just nod as you both stare at each other, before the dam breaks.

He collapsed into you, arms wrapping around you with desperate force, finally letting out everything he's been holding back as he burries his head in your hair and bawls.

You hold him tight, trying to comfort him as your hands rub soothingly down his back as you let him find comfort in your presence, ignoring your own pain to allow him the space to finally get out everything he's been feeling.

"I'm sorry," he sobs, voice cracking as he struggles to breathe, "I'm sorry I've been doing this to you, I don't know what's wrong with me."

You try to shush him, try to tell him it's ok, but the apologies keep spilling from his lips, just as fast as the tears keep coming. He works himself into a panic, hyperventilating as he cries into your arms, as you both hold each other. It doesn't feel like a breakup, but you both know things are so deeply not ok. It feels like something less simple, less easy to fix. Despite having him in your arms, the closest you've been in over a month, you've never felt further away from your boyfriend.

He had promised he'd try to message you, though you're not sure you believe it. He would at least tell you when he gets there, you trust he'll keep his word on that. All you can do for now is lie here, waiting.

Every few seconds, you're reaching for your phone, convinced you've missed a notification in the few seconds since you put your phone down, the streams of tears never ending as you try to remind yourself he loved you - it was the last thing he said after all, before he left. You force yourself to believe it.

You can't help the burning pain coursing through you; sadness that it came to this, heartbreak that your boyfriend is struggling, loneliness as you watch him leave you, anger as you feel him abandon you. He gets to go home and be with family and friends and ignore life, while you're left in your shared bed, curled up with his pillow as you try to imagine he's here with you, reassuring you it'll all be ok.

Your phone lights up with a message, and immediately you're opening it, desperate and unashamed, hoping he'll lay out everything he's feeling and tell you he's getting on the first flight back.

"Got here safe. Thought about you the whole way here."

It doesn't help.

Your hands shake, almost violently as you try to type, deleting and retying messages over and over as you know he's watching the little speech bubble appear and disappear each time.

Eventually your ahnds shake too much to even try to type, the tears completely blurring your vision as you let the phone drop to the bed.

He sends one final text before your phone meets the floor, where you leave it fro the rest of the night as you sob yourself to sleep.

"I love you. I'm sorry."

Taglist: @gallyismylittlesilly @mcu-queen @k-pevensie28 @famousladyalpaca @vinecstasy @hrtsvivis @limensodaa @momattmoproblems @daydreamgirly1221 @knoxvilleshappytrail @smthgsmthgidk

[selenitesdawn]

Temperance (1/3)

pairing: wanda maximoff x female!reader plot: Your best friend Kate convinced you to do charity work in Sokovia with some of your old classmates, including your former bully Vision and his girlfriend Wanda Maximoff, who you inconveniently took too much of a liking in. warnings: 18+ !! minors dni. wanda is with vision... also, suggestive content I guess word count: 1115

Patience is a virtue. Patience is the solution. These have been your only thoughts for days now. From a self-imposed affirmation to a recurring echo in your head, this reminder is all you had to get through the situation at hand. What else could you do? Keep trying to ignore your desire? The craving that has kept you awake for days and nights?

The thing is, you may be able to trick your brain for a while. Convince yourself that the way her nose wrinkles when she grins doesn't do anything to you. That the way her middle and ring finger draw the same patterns over and over again on the pages of her book whenever she is deep in thought, doesn't stir something inside of you. That the muffled moans coming from her and Vision's room at night don't bother you. Your brain has managed to lie to itself for a long time, but you can no longer ignore what Wanda is doing to you. So instead of denying your feelings, you decided that you have to sit through them. Until you can finally leave this place.

You weren't planning on pining after your old classmate's girlfriend, but here you were. Miles away from home, locked up with the constant reminder that you can never be with Wanda the way you want to. Originally, the three months in Sokovia were supposed to fulfill you. You just wanted to take care of the local street dogs with your best friend Kate. Do something good. That was it.

“Come on y/n, you've always had a heart for street animals,” your best friend said to you at the time. Back then she turned up at your door without a warning and told you about this great trip Vision had planned.

“Kate, I barely got anything done last semester. I can't waste another one. Besides, my boss never gives me that long of a vacation.”

You knew Kate wouldn't leave your apartment until you said yes. You could tell by the way her eyes were gleaming. How she slightly bend over the table you were sitting at, her gaze not leaving you for one second. Of course, the whole thing is much easier for Kate. Her mother is filthy rich. Kate can basically do whatever she wants. She could disappear for one year, travel the world with money she didn't earn and wouldn't have to worry about her life back home for one moment. You don't have that luxury.

“Think about it. First of all, you do something that fulfills you. Besides, I know you y/n. You haven't wanted to work in that rancid bakery for months. We'll find something new for you afterwards. Not to mention that volunteering to help street dogs for three months looks great on your CV. Plus: I heard Vision rented a mansion”

Vision. The name alone triggered something in you. Vision is not only the son of the famous billionaire Tony Stark, but also a giant asshole. Before Vision knew you were friends with Kate, he took every opportunity to trigger you in some way. Like standing in front of your locker with his group of followers for no reason, just so you couldn't get to it. The worst thing he ever did was probably when he stole your notebook and read out loud in class what you had written about your former classmate Natasha. Some cheesy and cringe poem you managed to suppress from your memories. From that day on, it wasn't just the whole school that knew you liked women. You also were never able to look Natasha in the eye again. But Vision somehow always managed to come out of it okay. His reputation was disgustingly squeaky clean.

“It's so weird imagining Vision doing something voluntarily that doesn't serve only himself. Are you sure he isn't just joking?,” you had asked back then.

“I think he has really changed since high school. Besides, his girlfriend is originally from Sokovia and I think it was her idea? I don't know for sure. But please, y/n, join me. I'd do anything to spend more than an hour a week with my best friend. And this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Vision specifically asked if you want to join.”

You've never been able to deny Kate a wish. But also, it's never led you into such a miserable situation before. So this is where you were. In a villa far too grand for it to feel like a prison. Besides Vision, Wanda and Kate, there were two other old classmates; Steve and Bucky. Living together turned out to be easier than you thought, especially considering the fact that Vision was there. But your feelings for Wanda kept causing you problems. Whenever the redhead came near you, you started to stumble over your words. One long look alone could throw you completely off balance. But it was even worse when she smiled at you. When she listened to you and her head slightly tilted at the same time. Or when you were cooking and she suddenly appeared behind you, her hand softly placed around your waist and her head set down on your shoulder.

“What are you blessing us with this evening?,” she inquired with an almost teasing tone in her voice.

Before you were able to even articulate anything, she took her free hand, slid it along your arm and took the wooden spoon out of your hand.

“May I?,” her voice dangerously low, as she already moved the spoon towards her mouth, looking straight at you. You just gulped and managed a small nod as Wanda put the spoon in her mouth, her gaze never leaving you as she sucked it clean. Her green eyes were barely visible as her dilated pupils covered them almost completely. A soft moan escaped from her lips as she handed the spoon back to you.

“You're so good at this y/n,” Wanda groans, her hand which still holds onto your waist making its way to your lower back, smoothly slipping under your loose t-shirt. The cold rings on her fingers on your warm skin immediately sent shivers down your spine. Her pinky slightly slipped under the waistband of your sweatpants before she left you standing alone in the kitchen.

She must do this on purpose. There is no other way.

You thought to yourself. But what was the use? Either you are right and she does it on purpose or you are wrong and project your fantasies onto her. In both cases, it is best to simply stay away from Wanda. Because there is no way you don't end up completely fucked. Right?

: Part 2

[xcaffeineandcuddlesx]

ominis, self-assured but wary of relationships no matter the extent of his admiration.

he’s internally battling himself on the daily, torn between his lover’s sweet nothings of reassurance and the detrimental ideals and feelings of inadequacy his family tried to instill in his youth.

he doesn’t care about blood status, in fact, he would prefer someone that isn’t a pureblood just to stick it to his family.

he wants nothing more than to be committed entirely to each other, wishing he only had a last name he was proud to give to you, a name he would be proud to prolong with a family of his own.

he holds so dearly your attention and endearment, but keeps distance for the first few months of your relationship, wanting it not to ruin him if you decided a gaunt wasn’t worth entertaining.

he’s getting better with learning how valued he is, but cannot help the nagging thoughts of insecurity. he understands how different it must be to adjust both a romantic and casual life to accommodate a lover with one less sense. you think him foolish to believe you ever cared.

ominis can’t say he struggles with blindness, only that he wishes for your sake he had sight.

to take you to your favorite museums and experience them to the fullest, to watch the sunset with you - he hears it’s beautiful but would say it almost certainly pales in comparison to you if anyone mentioned them, to see the love that fills your eyes when you look at him.

oh, the things he would give to see your smile instead of settling to hear it in your voice.

neither of you require grand gestures to feel appreciated, so your love is made apparent through actions, though not lacking in words.

his heart melts when you started replacing your typical paints with textured ones. he was infatuated, running his fingers over your detailed works and following the stoke patterns so often it began to wear.

he would commission matching jewelry, imprints of your fingerprints onto a pendant. he loves the tactile reminder that you’ve entrusted him with a piece of your identity, and his with you.

should you want a pomegranate, he would be ever eager to peel one, uncaring of how long the task would be. he would let his admiration show for you with the stains of garnet on the pads of his fingers and beneath his nails. he doesn’t know of it, of course, but you find comfort in the fact that he carries his passion for you on his own skin; such a form of intimacy.

not without practice, he learned several styles of braids so that he had a place in your daily routine, beaming when you tell him he would make a wonderful father to a little girl.

his clothing in need of mending? it began as a one time thing, he found you practicing fonts with your threads and asked you to embroider your name so he could feel it. now, every time you fix a piece for him, he soothes himself on his worst days, caressing his fingers along the inside of his button down’s cuff where your name resides.

he would memorize the notes of your favorite songs, practicing endlessly in private to be able to fill your shared space with piano instrumentals.

in a modern world, you would surprise him with a personally made audiobook of his favorite novel. he listens to it as though it contained the secrets of the universe.

you two would roam the isles of a craft store, searching for the best textures to make matching dual-sided, no-sew throw blankets from. he revels in the peace of mind knowing that when it’s not your arms around him, he can still sleep with your warm embrace.

never letting you run cold, even if he had to hide his reddened fingertips in his pockets, his coat would be more yours than his at this point.

he would always replenish your favorite perfume once you ran low, secretly buying a second vial to use on his pillows and bedding when you’re away.

he would let you stand on his toes while you danced if you didn’t know how, any excuse to keep you held close.

ominis is such a kind lover, endlessly devoted.

[cozymochi]

nyoka is always very professional in the way he interacts with people, he's the perfect model of what the scion of an important family looks like in my mind! do you think he would have been this solemn even if he wasn't the wadjet heir, or is his personality influenced by his background? would he disapprove of the way kalim conducts himself, as someone in a similar position? also, does he take pride in the idea of becoming the next head of his family, or are thoughts like those too juvenile for him?

(Thank u ❤️. Sorry for the incoming wall of text under the read-more cut.)

Do you think he would have been this solemn even if he wasn't the Wadjet heir, or is his personality influenced by his background?

ERMMMM… little of column A, little of column B. I think likely would still be relatively the same. He’s a cobra beastman. I’m going to go on a meta tangent really quick but bear with me— 🦁🍩🐺

From what I can tell, TWST in general tends to give the Beastmen characters shared traits with their (IRL) animal counterparts. As a treat.

There’s course in-universe rational explanations and factors, but as a rule of thumb if the IRL animal has a behavioral characteristic or some kind of common cultural depiction, or stereotype— beastmen in TWST will share them in some regard.

Ex. Male Lions sleep a lot, so Leona sleeps a lot.

Hyenas are scavengers, so Ruggie is a scavenger.

Wolves are the subject in the “lone wolf” term, so Jack embodies that trope.

^Extremely simplistic pitches and I am doing a disservice to the layers involved, but the point is being made.

And all three of those above IRL animals have hierarchal social systems within their own groups. So it gets deeper.

Ex. IRL Wolves are actually more strict about their pack hierarchy, so Jack is more strict about how he perceives the one in Savanaclaw;

Clear leader, clear second-in-command, etc. etc. and he has already imposed a role on himself beneath those tiers with very little desire to impose, even if everyone else sees it as more “survival of the fittest—” which! For lion Leona and hyena Ruggie, makes more sense because their animal counterpart hierarchies do operate like that. (And Savanaclaw in general, but, y’know. Specifics.)

That whole pattern of using whatever the IRL traits the source animals have for informing characterization is still present for Nyoka. At least, that what I wanted to try following.

…In a meta sense, anyway. All of the above is just meta stuff with only occasional references in-text.

So with all that squared away—

Egyotian cobras, or at the very basic level, cobras are an entirely different ballpark than the above predators.

Cobras are completely solitary. Unlike all the social animals above, they want nothing to do with other creatures and will try to avoid confrontation. They aren’t mean exactly, but will warn you if they feel threatened. They’re considered “shy” and just want to be left alone. These things are completely different from the social mammals above who, despite everything, absolutely thrive in groups.

It becomes a matter of bringing those characteristics back in.

Having Nyoka be more of an “academic” type within a more sport-oriented dorm was just one way of immediate differentiation. (That and just me wanting to diversify the pool of the dorm students a little bit since we don’t see that treatment much for Savanaclaw. Mobs are usually portrayed as antagonistic bruisers and as diverse as NRC is I would like to believe there are a few more outliers beyond the core cast.)

And, for consideration, cobras also can’t make facial expressions. So having Nyoka mostly be stoic or subdued in how he presents himself seemed like a decent callback to that.

(He has his eccentricities… as a treat)

Stoicness can be viewed as dignified and ideal behavior. Nobody likes a complainer who doesn’t do as they’re told. Nyoka just does what he’s told without complaint or fuss. It’s a means of avoiding confrontation. Nyoka has a pattern of that regardless of the situations severity, if at all.

So, even if he wasn’t a scion to a noble family with an image to uphold or what have you, he likely would still be rather closed-off.

He doesn’t follow the “pack” in Savanaclaw exactly, it’s not really in his personality to do so. He’s not a contrarian by any means (mind, cobras might be solitary but it is survival of the fittest out there + hey, he’s a Leona glazer with the best of them /hj), but it’s just not in him to engage with others or make a scene. He was brought up to be prudent for the most part and very wary of his surroundings.

He just wants to be left alone and go with the motions. Within his dorm especially his behavior is more on the “stay out of the way/defensive” side.

He’s a “reptile” surrounded by a bunch of rambunctious mammals who always get into beef with each other. He is not into being eaten, so to speak.

If he’s caught alone, he’s a little more biting in how he speaks. (Pun entirely intended.)

I do not think his personal affairs would shift his behavior too considerably with all of the above in mind. Meta or otherwise.

And that’s not even addressing the animated counterparts. Woof.

Would he disapprove of the way kalim conducts himself, as someone in a similar position?

He finds Kalim’s manners and decorum less-than something to be desired. Unless he were in a position where giving his opinion can occur and is permitted, he will otherwise keep that to himself.

(Granted, to be fair, he thinks nearly everyone’s manners are bad in some capacity. If his first peeve is being bothered, his second one is bad manners.)

Besides, their families do business together. He is likely going to communicate with this person in the foreseeable future, so being compatible to the public is more of a priority than personal peeves.

Does he take pride in the idea of becoming the next head of his family, or are thoughts like those too juvenile for him?

It’s less of a “pride” thing, and more of a duty thing. He’s going to be the next head not matter what, so he should treat it with dignity. He has no intense personal feelings towards it since it’s something he has to do. At least, not outwardly so.

His answer will never change if asked about it and won’t hint at any personal feelings.

But he is under quite a deal of pressure, but he would never let those cracks show on the surface.

Imagine being in a position where you are and will be the face of your entire clam of people- whom— btw are already very misunderstood and full of pre-conceived assumptions by outsiders, and whatever you do or say will reflect on how everybody else is potentially perceived——

And all that coming off the heels of some event years prior that did quite a bit of interpersonal damage that wasn’t even your fault, but you do often wonder how different things would be if it didn’t happen and it wasn’t you who had to carry all of this. What would you even be doing?

So that’s there! As a treat.

He will remain obstinate on being seen as composed, compatible and dignified at all times. It’s not his place to insert personal feelings.

[xichilie]

More!!!! More Brant x Siren!reader please please please please please please please please please please please please please please

Do one where siren brings Brant gifts from the ocean (like pearls, which they finds out aren't gross clam gall bladder stones to humans) and Brant has a mental breakdown thinking of what to give them cuz........what is he supposed to give a non-human being as a gift?

Honestly, that's a good question. What would you gift a siren, jewelry, or gold? Useless to her, they're probably shipwrecks of it down there. Food? Does she even eat human food?. Clothes? She can't really wear them. Flowers? What's she supposed to do with them?

So I was thinking, something personal that suits brant, and gives him the excuse to continue to see her..

Brant x (fem)siren reader

The Siren’s Offering

Brant had learned to expect the unexpected when it came to Y/N.

She wasn’t predictable—not in the way most people were. Humans followed patterns, even when they thought they didn’t. But Y/N? She moved like the tide. Unrushed, unknowable, drawn to him for reasons neither of them fully understood.

And yet, she always returned. That was enough.

Tonight, when she surfaced, there was something different about her. A quiet certainty in her expression. He noticed it right away, even before she spoke.

Then, without preamble, she lifted something from the water and held it out to him.

"For you."

Brant blinked. His first instinct was to smile—he always smiled when he saw her—but his expression faltered when he caught sight of what she was offering.

Nestled in her palm was a pearl. Large, round, flawless. The kind of thing that would make the greediest noble drool.

Brant had seen treasures before, stolen and displayed in velvet-lined boxes, but this? This was rare. This was a fortune.

And she was holding it like it was nothing.

"Where did you find this?" he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

Y/N tilted her head, puzzled by the question. "I picked it up from a clam."

Brant inhaled, slow and measured. "You… picked it up."

She nodded. "It’s just a clam’s gallbladder stone."

Brant closed his eyes for a second, pressing his lips together like he was physically holding back a reaction.

Then, carefully, he reopened them. "A clam’s—" He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Love, that’s not—" He stopped himself, shaking his head before trying again. "That’s not what humans call them."

Y/N frowned slightly. "Then what do you call them?"

"Pearls. And they’re—" He gestured vaguely, searching for the right words. "They’re valuable."

"Why?"

Brant stared at her.

For a moment, he truly had no idea what to say.

He looked down at the pearl in her hand, then back at her face, utterly uncomprehending. Finally, he let out a quiet, breathy laugh—one of disbelief, not mockery. "You really don’t know, do you?"

Y/N blinked at him, confused. "Why would I?"

Brant shook his head, a small, fond smile pulling at his lips. Of course. Of course she wouldn’t. To her, this wasn’t treasure. It was just something the ocean made—something commonplace, unremarkable.

And yet, she had brought it to him.

"Well," he murmured, taking the pearl from her palm with careful fingers, "I suppose it doesn’t matter, does it?"

Y/N watched him, curious. "So, do you like it?"

Brant turned the pearl over in his fingers, letting it catch the moonlight. He had spent years learning the ways of performance, the art of words, but for a moment, none of that mattered.

He looked back at her, his smile softer now. "I do."

She gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied. "Good."

Brant chuckled under his breath, tucking the pearl safely into his coat. "But you do realize what this means, don’t you?"

Y/N arched a brow. "What?"

"It means I owe you a gift in return."

She frowned slightly. "That’s not necessary."

"Oh, but it is," he countered, grinning now. "A gift freely given is a gift freely returned. It’s only fair."

Y/N hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t argue further.

Brant, on the other hand, was already thinking. Because really—what did one give to a siren?

Jewels meant nothing to her. Gold was useless beneath the waves. She had no need for food or shelter, no interest in human possessions.

For the first time in a long time, Brant found himself at a loss.

But as he glanced at her again, watching the way she studied him with quiet curiosity, an idea started to take shape.

He didn’t need to give her something valuable. He needed to give her something meaningful.

Something only he could give.

Brant had faced many challenges in his life—escaping from Ragunna, surviving the Pilgrimage, faking his own death more times than he could count—but this?

This was impossible.

He lay flat on his back atop a stack of worn crates, staring at the sky as if the answer might drop from the heavens. The Fool’s Troupe was busy setting up for their next performance, voices and laughter filling the air, but Brant heard none of it. His mind was occupied with one singular, infuriating thought:

What in the name of all things dramatic do you gift a siren?

Gold? Useless. She lived in the sea—she had shipwrecks full of it at her disposal.

Food? Even more useless. She didn’t eat human food, and he wasn’t about to bring her a raw fish like some kind of well-dressed seagull.

Music? No, she had an entire ocean to sing with.

Brant groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "This is ridiculous."

"You’re ridiculous," one of the Troupe members called out, balancing on a nearby barrel. "Why are you sighing like a lovesick noble in a tragic romance?"

Brant peeked through his fingers, expression flat. "Because I am one, obviously."

The Troupe member snorted. "Who’s the unfortunate soul?"

Brant waved a dismissive hand. "No one you’d know. Or understand. Or—" He sat up abruptly, running both hands through his hair. "You know what? Forget it. This is impossible."

"What is?"

Brant turned to see one of the older Fools, a woman named Selka, watching him with an amused expression. She had seen Brant through all his wild schemes, all his ridiculous plans, and yet this—this seemed to be the thing that truly entertained her.

Brant huffed, dramatic as ever. "Finding a gift."

Selka raised a brow. "For who?"

Brant opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. The Troupe knew of his mysterious "songbird," but he wasn’t about to explain the specifics. Not when he was already spiraling into full theatrical despair.

Instead, he waved vaguely. "Someone. Hypothetically."

Selka smirked. "And what’s wrong with flowers?"

Brant scoffed. "Too simple."

"A trinket?"

"Too meaningless."

"A song?"

Brant paused.

Selka’s smirk widened. "Ah. There it is."

Brant frowned. "No, no, no—that’s not—it’s too obvious."

"Is it?"

Brant groaned again, flopping back onto the crates. "It has to be perfect. Something meaningful, something she’ll actually want, something—"

"Something only you can give?"

Brant stilled.

Selka chuckled, shaking her head. "You’re overthinking it, boy. Gifts aren’t about value. They’re about sentiment." She nudged his boot with her own. "You of all people should know that."

Brant sat up slowly, fingers drumming against his knee.

Something only he could give.

His own words from the night before echoed in his head, and suddenly, everything clicked.

Brant’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. "I have an idea."

Selka snorted. "Of course you do."

Brant leapt to his feet, his usual dramatic energy returning full force. "I need ink. And paper. And maybe a bit of magic."

Selka sighed, already regretting her involvement. "I’m not helping you if this ends with another arrest."

Brant grinned, already halfway out of sight. "No promises!"

This? This would be perfect.

The waves lapped gently against the rocks as Brant approached the familiar shoreline. The Fool’s Troupe had set up camp just beyond the cliffs, but Brant had slipped away unnoticed, heart drumming with something between excitement and nerves.

Tonight, he would not leave empty-handed.

“Little songbird,” he called, voice light, teasing. “I do hope you haven’t grown tired of me.”

Silence.

Brant smirked. “No dramatic entrance today? No waves parting for my arrival? Truly, I’m hurt.”

Then, the water rippled.

Brant stilled as she appeared—just enough for the moonlight to catch the gleam of her skin, the slight tilt of her head. Her gaze, curious as ever, met his.

“You always come back,” she murmured.

Brant’s smirk softened. “And yet, you’re still surprised.”

She didn’t answer, just studied him, her eyes flickering toward the small bundle in his hands.

Brant grinned. “Curious, are we?” He crouched at the water’s edge, unwrapping the cloth with an exaggerated flourish. “I brought you something.”

Y/N blinked, tilting her head. “A gift?”

“A thank-you, actually,” Brant corrected. “For the lovely—” he held up the rare, valuable, eye-wateringly expensive pearl she had gifted him last time, “—clam gall bladder stone.”

Y/N made a face. “I still don’t understand why humans want those.”

Brant chuckled. “That makes two of us.”

He carefully unfolded the cloth, revealing a book. Handmade, bound in rich blue fabric with silver-threaded details. It wasn’t large—just enough to fit in his palm—but it was clear it had been made with care.

Y/N stared at it. “What is that?”

Brant’s smile turned just a little nervous, but he hid it well. “A story.”

She blinked.

Brant cleared his throat, shifting slightly. “I wasn’t sure what to give you—turns out, sirens are rather difficult to shop for.” He gave a mock sigh, placing a hand over his heart. “Tragic, really.”

Y/N huffed, amused despite herself.

Brant continued, flipping open the first page. His own handwriting filled the parchment, neat but expressive. “So I thought… why not give you something only I can? A story—your story.” He tilted his head, smirking. “Or at least, the start of it.”

Y/N hesitated, then swam just a little closer, peering at the book as if it might vanish. “You wrote this?”

Brant nodded. “Well, you inspire quite the tale, love.”

She reached out, trailing a careful finger along the edge of the pages. The sea had never given her anything she could keep. Songs disappeared into the waves. Voices faded. Even the stars above seemed to shift, never the same from one night to the next.

But this?

This was hers.

Brant watched her closely, noting the way she lingered on the pages. “You don’t have to like it,” he added, voice softer. “I just… wanted you to have something. Something real.”

Y/N looked up at him then, expression unreadable.

Brant, for once, waited in silence.

Then—

“I like it,” she murmured.

Brant let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Good.”

Y/N’s fingers curled gently around the book, holding it close. “You always come back,” she whispered again, though this time…

This time, there was something different in her voice.

Brant’s smile softened. He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand.

“Of course I do,” he said. “I have a story to finish, don’t I?”

[erwinsvow]

there is nothing in this world that rafe cameron loves more than a sundress.

correction—that used to be the case. there's nothing in this world that rafe loves more than you in a sundress.

what had started off as a small preference, usually just joked about and then forgotten until the next sundress season started, had now turned into a full-blown obsession.

rafe stares, though he really shouldn't—mostly because he looks like a complete creep with his gaze locked on you all the time. even when you're just a few feet away, his eyes are burning holes through your body, especially when you're in one of those dresses.

he stares at the hem, how it floats around your thighs when you walk and brushes gently against your skin. doesn't that bother you? he thinks to himself, fully knowing how sensitive that part of you is because usually he's the one touching you there. you squirm when his fingers trace behind your knee and up your thighs, but the dress doesn't seem to do anything like that.

he stares at thin straps, sometimes hastily tied into a bow resting on the top of your shoulders, other times skinny little things that he thinks he could rip off with a little tug. he wouldn't even have to put much strength into it, it would probably tear away from your dress at the first pull. he can't—of course—you love your precious dresses too much for that and he's thinking these thoughts at the dinner table in front of a whole restaurant, but the thought still lingers.

other times it's the way the straps have slid off your shoulder, resting around your arm until you bring your fingers to lift it again. and even then, it just falls again at the next jostle of your body.

like now, when you're shopping for something new and rafe's following right behind you. there's a shopping bag in one hand that you won't let him hold, and your purse on the other arm, and everytime you try to browse through a rack, the strap falls down.

you give up after the next few times, letting your bare shoulder face rafe while you try to find a new pair of jeans from the options in front of you. when you pick up a pair and turn to rafe, you find he's already staring.

"rafe?" you ask, not sure exactly what he's looking at you so keenly for. "do you like these?"

you hold the jeans out to him for an opinion, though you know what'll he say—that all of the ones on the rack look the same to him.

but he doesn't say anything. still staring at you with an intensity you don't understand, your boyfriend's eyes briefly flick from the jeans back to you, and then to your shoulder. he reaches out, fingers brushing your skin, and your head turns to follow. he picks up the fallen strap from your arm and brings it up around the curve of your shoulder until it's secured once again.

"oh," you say, turning to rafe with a smile. your face feels surprisingly hot. "thank you."

"yeah," rafe mutters, looking back at you while you turn—a little confused—back to the jeans on the rack.

it's not just the straps, either, it's all of it. the pretty colors that make your skin glow, some of the floral patterns he's engrained into his memory from looking at for far too long, even the way the dress sits on your body.

but more than that, it's because he knows exactly what's underneath these dresses and what's waiting for him.

he knows all of it—miles of smooth skin, curves that are made for his touch, the places where the two of you fit together like pieces of a puzzle. staring at you now, mindlessly sifting through the clothes without a second thought or even an understanding of what exactly is running through your boyfriend's mind, you wander over to other dresses.

there's more of the same—skinny straps and short, flowy skirts. each one you hold up paints a vivid picture in his head—how easily he could lift it up to your hips, how the fabric would look bunched around your stomach while he holds you in place.

he does that a lot—keep you in your little dresses while he fucks you, sometimes out of impatience, sometimes out of the sheer desire to watch your body sweat and strain inside the material until he eventually gives in and rips it up.

yes, rafe loves your sundresses.

"pink.." you say, holding up one dress with another sweet smile, snapping him out of his thoughts instantly. "or white?"

both look similar—the pink is smaller, maybe a little more snug on you, which is an appealing thought. the white is looser, but with the little straps he likes so much, the ones he can untie with one tug and reveal your tits in one go.

"hm," rafe says, as though he's actually considering it. he leans in a little, and you keep smiling, eyes a little big, waiting for an answer. but you don't get one, just rafe taking both hangers out of your hand.

"no, i didn't mean-"

"i know. c'mon, kid, let's get outta here."

"rafe, i just want one-"

"well you're gettin' both."

a little pout takes over your features—you don't really mean it, he knows, since two dresses instead of one is nothing to complain about. instead he knows you feel bad about it. but to you, rafe is nothing if not generous. he turns back, clutching both of your new dresses way too tightly in his fist.

"how 'bout.. you get both, and you thank me at home? huh?" your pout replaced with a smile, you nod at rafe while you lead him to the check out counter.

he stares at the back of your dress while you walk away. too distracted again, he stays in place, watching.

"rafe? are you coming?"

"yeah, kid. comin'."

[spookytragedyshark]

Part two of this one of my Ghoap x f!reader idea. Writers can take it and run; just remember to tell me where to find your work.

MDNI 18+ ONLY.

Also debating on a name so feel free to share some ideas

So, after the spectacular incident that had ghost drooling on himself, Soap is included in most everything you guys do. Problem Y/N is not as good at communicating as Ghost gives her credit for.

Soap firmly believes that he is around for fun. After all, he still sleeps in the guest bedroom some nights. You were just giving him space in case you and Ghost became too much at once. Sure his stuff is all over the apartment, mixing in just as well as Ghosts. Yes, he has been with you two every break except… he hasn't been asked for the holidays. You two spend holidays with your (family/friends). You never asked because you do not want to make him choose between his family and your relationship, and are not sure how his family would take a polycule.

So the boys go back to base. Soap fools himself into believing that was that, and he should be grateful for the few weeks he had in your home. Still, he can't help sleeping with the collar on every night, or that it brings him comfort. He only begins to question this when you text him two weeks in. It is a simple text, asking his preference on some random recipe you want to cook for him, but Soap honestly starts crying. After that, he gets texts from you every few days.

At the first news of a break, Ghost once again appears in his room, packing Soap a bag, "birdie said home." Within hours, Soap is sandwiched between you watching a movie in onesies. Soap is just eating up the attention. All too soon, they have to return.

Soap feels like he has no right to be upset that he and Ghost do not have moments on base. Ghost is just unsure how to approach the subject without his bird. But you are both so good to him on leave.

Then he gets injured, it's minor, but it could have been so much worse. Ghost drags him to his room. Soap is expecting a lecture instead he is thrown on the bed. The bounce of the mattress reboots his brain. Next thing he knows, he is blissed out, sweaty, collared, and covered in love bites with Ghost asleep on his chest. Ghost thought Soap was going to die and freaked out, needing to feel and hear Soap. Following that, after particularly rough missions, Ghosts visits him at night.

One break, you get some temporary tattoo pins and go nuts doodling on them. They are covered in colorful designs when they return to base. While they are home, you take an imprint of their mouths. Soap doesn't think anything of it, given that he once saw you wearing tooth earrings and knows you get creative.

At least he doesn't till the moment he realizes he might actually be married to you two in every way but on paper. He and Simon come home exhausted to find you in the kitchen with the counters covered in different desserts. Stress baking... the two of them are by your side, checking on you. "What has Birdie worked up?" You are evasive at first. Only Soap notices you flinch when he touches your back. The shirt is off in seconds, them checking for injury, only to find a fresh tattoo. Suddenly, you are a blushing mess. "Do you like it? It took some effort to design it right." It takes the boys a minute to catch on, to process what they are seeing. Spanning across your shoulder blade are their bite imprints simplified and shrunk down to create a wave pattern with little penguins in it.

This is the moment Soap decides to buy Y/N, and Simon rings because you two clearly are incapable of just saying what you want. You are also in for a wild night.

[bumpen-underbeds]

He had smirked and thought it cute how you watched him, and then he panicked as he watched you pull away. You had looked like you loved him, but he could count the minutes as they ticked by, each one telling of more and more distance between the two of you.

Uno-reverse time, YOU were the one obsessed and then began pulling away, driving the naga you had pursued up the wall and over the edge into his own obsession.

You had made time for him every morning, eight to eight thirty was the half hour you would trail behind him, ten paces behind the end of his tail, following him into the university grounds and towards his class, the room across from yours. Thirty minutes of endless pining and longing gazes that never when anywhere in the beginning of your little obsession with him, and that was fine, he had plenty of admirers, men and women alike, drawn to him by the vibrant patterns of his scales or the striking yellow of his eyes.

But you were the most persistent.

Fifteen minutes between his first lecture and your second one for the day, leaning against the wall next to the door of the hall, trying to seem sneaky as you snapped pictures of him passing by, it was simply convenient that you had a friend in his class, they likely sent you more pictures of him during the lectures, oh how full your camera roll must be with pictures of him.

Forty-five for lunch, eaten in a different spot every day, but you were there every time, so close but still far enough away to not be obvious, or he thinks you hope it's not obvious. Smiling to himself as he finished his food and glided past you, giving you that glimpse of closeness that would keep you up at night, it was pathetic how easy it is to keep you admiring him, like a pet that he has to feed occasionally with close brushes and half-seen glances at you.

He saw how you chewed your nails hard, the days he came close or actually decided to speak with you, hiding the smirk behind a polite smile as he laughed softly as you stumbled over your words.

A whole hour for the way you follow him back to his dorm, the friends with him oblivious to the extra shadow that follows him home day after day, that stands half hidden behind one of the pillars of the dorm, watching to the very last second as he disappears upstairs.

That was your routine: you followed him, you watched him, you admired him, likely stole his used napkins or plastic utensils like the little creep you were, and then you changed.

The walk from his dorm to the lecture halls lacked the soft patter of your cheap sneakers on the sidewalk. Maybe you were sick today, what's one day without his shadow? Bliss, that's what, he relaxed throughout the day, never having to do little teasing performances or displays to amuse himself with feeding your little stalker tendency.

But one day without you became two, then three, then it had been two weeks without those interactions, without the stalking, and watching, the lingering, the time you had given to watching him was gone. It should have relieved him, but you had become part of his day; he could almost tell the time by how you followed him. Where were you? Did you get hurt? Were you gravely ill? He'd asked your friend in his lecture about your absence from the halls, and they looked at him, confused and told him that you had been seeing some guy from your own course.

You had found someone new.

Fifteen, forty-five, an hour, he could see it now, catch you in the corner of his eye when he thought you wouldn't catch him, you were laughing and clinging to some random guy, scrawny, uncoloured, and bland.

Thats what had taken your interest from him? A random boring, stumbling fool? You had given up on him for that? He knew you had issues, but this... this was infuriating.

You were his little shadow adn stalker, not this fuck up in thick framed glasses, the most patterning he had was the freckles that covered his face and arms, how was that better than the sleek and enticing red and yellow bands? Did you suddenly go blind? get- get knocked over the head and forget who you had dedicated your time to? He was practically a god compared to this nobody!

It made rage simmer under his scales, his friends seeing the fury and giving him space, thinking it something trivial that had gotten their friend so worked up, only the days of irritation and barely there tension kept building. Friends pulled away as he snapped at them, his shed was messy, and late, having to awkwardly shift around in his dorm to get the old skin off as soon as possible, he couldn't lose any more time!

You were pulling away! Had pulled away, but a fresh shed and a good sun bake to help his colour and you'd come back to him, be his shadow, his little follower from a distance that he baited on day after day.

He cornered you in the hall, more put together than he had been in days, smirking as he flicks his long red locks and asks a meaningless question, face cracking as you barely look at him, eyes dull and uninterested, voice steady and sure as you give him the answer before rushing off after that plain human nobody he has seen you with for the last few weeks.

Fifteen, forty-five, an hour, the time he began putting aside to be near you, to try and pull you back into his orbit, back into infatuation with him. The same step you used to make for him, he stumbled through for you, the need for you to recognise him now boiling under his skin, the separation making him shaky and wild.

The only difference between you and him, you were just some human, but he was a thing of glory, his venom something to be praised for its effects, and perhaps it was time to make you acquainted with it. Not enough to harm, no, but just enough that he could keep you tucked away for a few days, if you wouldn't come back to him naturally, he'd bring you back with a little bit of force.

Fifteen, forty-five, an hour, time didn't matter when he was so close to having everything back to how it should be.

[isaacarellanesismyhusband]

the hp boys help you calm down

pair: Harry Potter x reader | Ron Weasley x reader | Draco Malfoy x reader | Neville Longbottom x reader | Cedric Diggory x reader | Fred Weasley x reader | George Weasley x reader | Oliver Wood x reader

summery: the hp boys find y/n (she/her) crying/hipper ventilating

mastelist | navigation

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Harry Potter

Harry finds you on the floor of an empty classroom, gasping for breath, and his heart drops. He immediately kneels beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder. His voice is soft, full of concern. "Just breathe with me, okay?" he says, his green eyes locking with yours. You nod, though tears still threaten to spill. He takes slow, deep breaths, showing you the rhythm to follow. "In... and out. Nice and easy." You focus on his calm presence, mirroring his breaths. Harry doesn’t rush you or overwhelm you with questions; he just stays there, offering his steady support until your breathing evens out and the panic fades.

Ron Weasley

Ron isn’t used to seeing you like this, panicked and struggling for breath. It makes his stomach twist, but he doesn’t hesitate. He crouches down, his voice uncharacteristically soft, trying to ground you. "Hey, hey, I’m here. Just breathe with me, okay?" Your fingers clutch his sleeve, and he holds onto your hand, offering a solid anchor. Ron starts breathing deeply, exaggerated and slow so you can follow along. "That’s it. We’ve got this." Though he's a bit nervous himself, Ron stays focused on you, never letting go of your hand until he sees the tension ease from your face and your breathing return to normal.

Draco Malfoy

Draco’s face pales when he finds you hyperventilating in the hallway, but he doesn’t let fear take over. He sits beside you on the cold floor, one arm wrapping around your shoulders. "Look at me. Just breathe with me, okay?" His tone is firm but gentle, trying to guide you through it. You nod shakily, your breaths still uneven. Draco starts to breathe slowly, leaning in close so you can feel his calm rhythm. "You’re safe. I’m right here." He keeps his voice low and soothing, staying with you until your breathing begins to mimic his, the weight of the panic lifting.

Neville Longbottom

Neville finds you on the floor of the greenhouse, your breaths coming too fast, and it breaks his heart to see you like this. Without a second thought, he kneels down and gently takes your hands in his. "Just breathe with me, okay?" he whispers, his voice full of concern but steady. You meet his eyes, and even though panic still grips your chest, his presence is calming. He breathes slowly, guiding you through the rhythm. "In and out, just like that. You’re doing great." Neville’s calm energy helps ground you, and soon, the tightness in your chest begins to loosen, your breaths syncing with his.

Fred Weasley

Fred’s usual playfulness is gone the moment he finds you in distress, your breath coming too fast. Without hesitation, he crouches down beside you, placing a hand on your back. "Hey, love, just breathe with me, okay?" His voice is soft but filled with determination. You nod, clutching his sleeve as if it’s a lifeline. Fred begins to take exaggerated, slow breaths, his eyes never leaving yours. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. You’ve got this." His steady presence and the warmth of his hand help calm you, and before long, your breathing slows, the panic fading away with Fred right beside you.

George Weasley

George's heart clenches when he finds you sitting on the floor, struggling to catch your breath. He kneels down immediately, brushing your hair back gently. "Hey, love, just breathe with me, okay?" His voice is soft but clear, trying to cut through the haze of panic. You give him a shaky nod, your hand trembling as it reaches for his. George holds it tightly, starting to breathe in slow, deliberate patterns. "In... and out. Nice and slow." With his calm reassurance and his thumb gently rubbing your hand, you start to focus on his rhythm, your breathing finally slowing to match his.

Cedric Diggory

Cedric’s heart skips a beat when he finds you in the corridor, panicked and hyperventilating. He doesn’t hesitate, kneeling beside you and cupping your face gently. "Hey, look at me. Just breathe with me, okay?" His voice is calm and steady, his touch soft. You manage a nod, though the panic still grips you. Cedric begins to breathe slowly, showing you the rhythm to follow. "In through the nose, out through the mouth. That’s it. You’re doing great." His unwavering patience and soft encouragement keep you grounded, and soon, the tension in your chest starts to release as your breathing calms in time with his.

Oliver Wood

Oliver feels his chest tighten when he finds you on the floor of the Quidditch stands, gasping for breath. Without hesitation, he kneels down beside you, his voice gentle but firm. "Hey, breathe with me, okay? Just focus on me." You nod shakily, eyes wide with panic, and Oliver takes your hand in his, grounding you. He starts breathing slowly and deeply, making sure you can see and feel his calm presence. "In... and out. Nice and easy." His strength and steady encouragement help guide you back, your breathing slowing as you mirror his calm rhythm. Oliver stays by your side, reassuring you until the panic fully subsides.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Part 2 of this

👑⚔️ king Steven x knight William ⚔️👑

***

The mysterious knight does not provide any further information about his background. William only says that he himself remains hoping that one day memory will serve him better and he will be able to shed more light on where he comes from and why he was found dying on king Steven's land.

The king finds it odd, but everything is odd about the knight clad in dark armour,

Who is bathed in sunshine, whenever he loses the iron of his warlike suit.

And Steven finds the strangeness even more beguiling.

The most uncanny thing is the king's fervent desire which consumes his whole being when Steven finds himself close to the knight, or when he finds himself far from him —

The distance does not really matter. If they happen to be apart for several hours, Steven gets lost in sweetest elation — he dreams of the moment when he will see the knight again — his gaze turning hazy and thoughts unfocused. The dire necessity to always be near William, not lose a single grain of time that can be spent together, baffles the king for he has never felt anything alike.

The constant craving makes his body ache for the knight's closeness and attention, salivate in anticipation of possible pleasures.

At first, it is unclear where William stands regarding the king's intentions, for one second Steven catches the knight looking at him, desperate to hide the deep-lying longing in his abysmal eyes — and failing to do so,

The king's gaze mirrors the yearning, the two tides violently clash

However, seconds pass, and the handsome barbarian puts distance between them, as though forcing himself to do it, forcing himself to fall back to chivalrous conduct.

The king keeps the knight always by his side, they get carried away by lengthy conversations, take long walks on the sea shore and in the woods, they feast and indulge themselves in intellectual pleasures, listening to musicians and reading poetry to one another. As soon as William's wounds have healed, the two young men compete in archery and swordplay, and the virtuous king often seeks advice from knight William regarding kingdom affairs.

Eventually, neither of them — they are destined to be lovers — can escape the current. A chaste kiss brings them to heaven, and is followed by a rough and at the same time inexplicably tender embrace which turns them both to molten steel, soft and pliant,

Yet unbreakable and oh so hot to the touch.

They share the bed, and Steven ascends to wuthering heights every time he lays his hands on the knight's silk like skin. Once the dam has been broken, there is nothing chaste in the way they touch each other.

The king is blinded by passion, and so is the knight, who whispers

Tracing his fingertips over Steve's face, following the pattern of his scars

"My king, your beauty is utterly entrancing. You have spellbound me, put me to my knees."

The king cannot spend a single night without his knight, and after they satisfy their mutual hunger, he nestles his head against William's strong shoulder and slides into blissful sleep.

Needless to say, king Steven's previous engagement to princess Nancy from the neighbouring kingdom is scandalously broken off.

***

One day the king finds William in the garden looking troubled

"I must leave you for an uncertain amount of time since I have urgent business. I need to free my sister. There is a place in the mountains — a passage to the underworld where she is being held against her will by terrifying creatures."

"Your sister? .. Have you remembered your past?"

"Not all of it." The evasiveness of the knight's answer eludes king Steven. "I have been having dreams. She is calling for me."

"Then I shall accompany you in your difficult quest."

The knight wants to protest

"If I may, your majesty, this is too dangerous .."

But the king doesn't give him a chance to finish the sentence pressing his lips to William's.

Steven knows the place he is talking about — years ago he fought a creature there, the demogorgon, as people have called it.

However, the crack is now closed and there is no way to get to the underworld.

"Do not fall into despair. I know who might help us." Says Steven.

They go to the woods to pay a visit to a young witch who does not talk and leads a solitary life.

"My people wanted to banish her from the kingdom, but I insisted that she stay. However, she lives alone in the woods, only occasionally coming to Sunday market in town square."

The witch helps the two men to open the gate to the underworld.

They stand back to back, fighting with a bloodthirsty horde of strange creatures that look like dogs, and although the king is an experienced fighter, he does not fail to notice how on several occasions William bravely rushes to protect him with his shield, or sword, or his own body.

It takes a massacre to free a young woman with noble features and hair fiery like dancing flames. Her name sounds outlandish

Maxine, her brother calls her.

Steven offers her rooms in his castle, the sister and brother spend time together, and Maxine also starts to frequent the witch who lives in the woods.

One day she addresses king Steven

"There is no measure for my brother's and my own gratitude for saving first him, then me. Your heart is good and pure and .. my brother's heart is good as well. However, I feel it is my obligation to warn you. Not necessarily wishing to bring it upon your head, he still might do you harm for .. for he is haunted, haunted by .."

She wants to say more but the sound of the opening door stops words from leaving her mouth.

"I have been looking for you, king. The weather is gorgeous. The horses are ready. Should you agree, we could go for a ride in the blooming meadow." The knight suggests.

..

They make love laying amidst the tall grass and flowers which sough gently in the warm breeze sweeping over the honey meadow, and Steven forgets all that William's sister has told him.

..

In the morning when the king wakes up, he sees William sitting beside him, head down, hair cascading around his slouched shoulders.

A dark shadow runs over his impeccably handsome face as he lifts his head up, avoiding direct eye contact

"Forgive me, my lover, for my intentions, unlike my passion for you, have indeed not been entirely pure." The knight looks as if he is in physical pain, and his voice falters

With one swift motion, William puts the heavy shakles around the king's wrists.

At the same time Steven hears voices coming from the outside, the frightened cries of women and the unusual commotion.

King Steven's eyes are full of disbelief, searching William's distraught face.

Soldiers wearing black have invaded the streets of his town.

Someone must have opened the gates at night.

Betrayal.

"Why .. my love, why would you ..?"

***

Part 3

The witch in the woods is Eleven.