#hes off playing pranks and causing chaos

[marauroon]

𝟏 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟎𝟎 — 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐇 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑. (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬)

two boys send you a series of letters over the course of the school year. one, a sweet ravenclaw boy who wants to get to know you. The other, well— you don’t know, but he already knows you.

eventual james x fem!reader | 14.0k | series masterlist.

main masterlist.

CW | the marauders are… reasonable human beings? technically oc love interest for plot reasons, james is a yearner, girlhood in its truest form

The first morning back is crisp and golden—the sort of late summer day that makes Hogwarts look like something out of a painting. You’ve just arrived off the train, your trunk bouncing along behind you, and the air’s got that unmistakable scent of lakewater, freshly-polished wood, and the beginnings of autumn. You’d missed it. Even if you’d never admit that to anyone.

Lily walks beside you, chattering about her summer, about Petunia being an absolute nightmare (what else is new), and how she’s already dreading the mountain of work that NEWTs are supposed to be.

You hum along at the right places, nodding as if you’re paying attention, but you’re mostly distracted—scanning the crowd ahead, watching as students laugh and jostle their way toward the carriages. You can already see the back of Sirius’ head, black hair tied back with a ribbon someone must have dared him to wear, and James beside him—his usual mess of curls half-tamed under a Gryffindor scarf, even though it's hardly cold enough for it yet.

They’re not causing trouble.

And that’s… strange.

You don’t realise you’ve slowed down until Lily stops too, blinking at you.

“You alright?”

You shake your head, smiling faintly. “Yeah, yeah. Just… forgot how much taller everyone’s gotten. They look like seventh years,”

She snorts. “Speak for yourself. Potter still looks like a fifteen-year-old with too much energy and not enough shame,”

You glance back at the group of boys as they vanish into one of the thestral-drawn carriages. The usual suspects: James, Sirius, Remus, Peter. The ‘Marauders’—still the stupidest name you’ve ever heard. Though you have to admit (not aloud, obviously) that it suits them. Or… used to.

Because something’s changed.

It started at the end of last year, when James had pulled you and Lily aside—separately, mind you, in an unusual display of emotional intelligence���and apologised. Properly. Not with a joke, not with a smug smirk, but with sincerity so unsettling that it had rendered you both speechless for a good few moments. You’d shared looks with Lily afterward, both trying to decide if it was a prank, some elaborate ruse meant to throw you off-guard.

It wasn’t.

And he hasn’t gone back on it either.

Which is why you’re currently standing in the entrance hall of the castle, shoulder to shoulder with your friends, and you feel a little… off.

Because things are peaceful. For the first time in years, things are actually peaceful.

The Marauders aren’t hanging hexed signs on people’s backs, they aren’t enchanting staircases to flatten when someone climbs them, they haven’t even thrown water balloons from the Astronomy Tower. And sure, they’re still winding up Severus at every opportunity—but even that’s been reduced from full-scale ambushes to petty jibes and muttered comments in the corridors.

It’s quieter.

Less… annoying.

And that should be a good thing.

It is a good thing. Probably.

—

You settle into sixth year like slipping on an old jumper. The classes are harder, of course—double Potions is hell on earth, and Charms seems to have tripled its expectations overnight—but there’s a rhythm to it.

You get up, you go to class, you spend time in the common room with the girls, laughing and playing Exploding Snap or braiding Dorcas’ hair while Marlene does impressions of the professors.

There’s no chaos. No Marauder-related distractions. And no James Potter, appearing behind you to tug on your robes or ask if you’re sure you didn’t drop your dignity in the corridor somewhere.

It’s… peaceful.

But peace, you realise after the third week, is a little boring.

No one’s called out your name in a loud, humiliating spectacle at dinner. No one’s nicked your favourite quill only to return it days later enchanted to sing show tunes. No one’s bewitched your name onto the Prefect noticeboard with the title “Most Likely to Hex You for Breathing Too Loudly.”

And no one’s watching you anymore.

Not in that way.

Because even when it was annoying—especially when it was annoying—there was something almost flattering about it. That attention. That sense of being seen, even if it was by someone like James Bloody Potter. It made you feel... well, not special exactly. But noticed.

You’d never admit it out loud. Not to Lily, not to Marlene, not even to yourself if you could help it. But in the quiet moments—when the library’s too silent, or the common room too tame—you find yourself missing the noise.

It’s deeply inconvenient.

—

The girls are thriving, though. Lily’s top of every class (no surprise there), Marlene’s got half the Hufflepuff Quidditch team vying for her attention, and Dorcas has taken to sketching everyone in increasingly dramatic poses. She caught Sirius with his eyes closed in History of Magic and drew him like a fallen angel; he signed it and stuck it to the back of Peter’s chair.

Even that felt nostalgic.

Because back in the day—not even that long ago—Sirius and James would’ve been howling with laughter, probably doing impressions of Binns until the man floated out in exasperation. Now, they seem more subdued. Not boring exactly, but... more grown up. As if they’re slowly starting to realise the world doesn’t revolve around them.

Well. Not entirely.

You still catch James showing off in the corridors sometimes—trying to balance a stack of books on his head while walking backwards or charming Remus’ tie to change colours during class. But it’s gentler now. Less abrasive. Like he’s finally learning the difference between being funny and being cruel.

And the strange thing is: you think you might actually like this new version of him.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

—

You’re sitting by the window in the common room, watching the storm pelt against the glass, your Transfiguration notes spread across your lap and a blanket tucked round your legs. The others are upstairs—Lily’s doing prefect rounds, Dorcas is in the bath, and Marlene’s probably flirting with the Ravenclaw Beaters again.

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

You stare at your notes, then out the window. Somewhere down by the greenhouses, you think you can see Sirius running through the rain, jacket over his head. You squint, and sure enough, James follows a moment later, slipping slightly in the mud but catching himself with a laugh you can’t hear.

They’re soaked.

They’re laughing.

And they didn’t come bother you once today.

You look back at your notes. Your quill sits idle in your hand.

You’re being ridiculous. Pathetic, even. You hated when they bothered you. They drove you mad, especially James. The constant attention, the teasing, the half-jokes that toed the line between affection and annoyance—it was exhausting.

But it also made you feel like someone had your name in their mouth. Like someone saw you.

You press your lips together.

No. You’re being selfish.

You wanted peace, didn’t you? You got peace.

And now you’re here, sulking because a boy hasn’t thrown a dungbomb near you in three weeks.

Brilliant.

—

Lily finds you later, your notes long forgotten, the storm still raging outside.

“You look like someone drowned your owl,” she says lightly, collapsing onto the sofa beside you.

You blink. “Just tired,”

“Mm,” She eyes you. “You’ve been a bit… quiet lately,”

You shrug. “Just getting used to the workload,”

“You sure it’s not something else?”

You hesitate. Then: “Do you think James actually changed?”

She tilts her head. “Honestly? Yeah. I do,”

You weren’t expecting that. “Really?”

“Yeah,” She picks at a thread on the blanket. “He’s still a prat, obviously. Still immature and annoying and thinks the sun shines out of his arse, but… he’s not mean anymore. Not like he was,”

You nod slowly.

“And he apologised,” she adds. “That meant something to me. To you too, I think,”

It did. It still does.

You think back to that moment at the end of fifth year—James, red-faced and stammering, looking more like a boy than he ever had before. You remember how he wouldn’t meet your eyes at first, how he said your name like it mattered. And how for the first time, he didn’t laugh at the end. Didn’t wink. Just waited.

You’d told him it was fine. It wasn’t, but it was getting there.

Now, it might actually be.

But still.

“I kind of miss it,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Lily looks at you, confused. “Miss what?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. Just… never mind,”

She doesn’t press.

But later, when she goes upstairs and you’re alone again, you look back out the window. The rain’s slowed to a drizzle, the sky dark and drowsy. You think about James—how he used to be, how he is now. You think about how, somewhere in that strange in-between space, you stopped dreading his presence and started noticing his absence.

And the worst part is?

You’re not even sure when it happened.

—

It’s a dull, grey Thursday in early December, the kind that makes you want to burrow into your scarf and pretend the rest of the term doesn’t exist. You’re in the Great Hall for breakfast, half-asleep, cradling a mug of tea between your hands and trying to pretend that the mere idea of double Potions doesn’t make you want to fling yourself into the Black Lake.

Around you, the usual morning chaos unfolds: first-years bickering over toast, owls swooping in with letters and parcels, and Marlene arguing with Dorcas over who used the last of the strawberry jam. Lily’s scanning the Daily Prophet with her usual “this world is doomed” expression, and you’re debating whether or not to try and eat a banana when—

A piece of parchment glides gently through the air in front of you and lands, neatly, on your plate.

You blink. Then stare. Then blink again.

It’s folded perfectly, sealed with a little silver charm in the shape of a star, and it is absolutely not yours.

The table goes very still around you. Lily sets her paper down. Marlene pauses mid-swipe at the jam pot. Dorcas leans in with her eyebrows already raised.

You glance upward, half-expecting someone to shout “surprise!” or for Peeves to come crashing down from the ceiling, cackling. But there’s no sign of trickery. Just a few owls flapping overhead and a Ravenclaw table full of students minding their own business—or appearing to.

“Open it,” Dorcas hisses, eyes wide.

“I—what if it explodes?” you whisper back, only half-joking.

“It won’t,” Lily says. “Look at the charm. It’s a standard animation seal. Whoever sent it used proper magic,”

“That just makes it more suspicious,” you mutter, but your curiosity’s already gotten the better of you.

You peel the charm off and unfold the parchment.

The handwriting is careful, slanted slightly to the right, and clearly someone’s taken their time with it. The ink is deep blue and slightly shimmering at the edges—someone’s fancied this up a bit.

You begin to read.

Hi, sorry to send this in such a dramatic way, but I figured a floating letter was better than stammering at you in person and making a complete idiot of myself. I know this is kind of out of nowhere, but I’ve… well, I’ve noticed you. And I was wondering if you’d maybe want to write to me over the holidays? Just letters, nothing weird. Or, you know, more, if you’re up for that. No pressure though. I just think you’re kind, and funny, and I’d like to get to know you. From, Nick (Ravenclaw, sixth year, dark blond hair, sits near the windows in Charms—just so you can place me, if you want to).

You stare at the letter.

Then read it again.

And a third time, just to be sure it says what you think it says.

It does.

You make a noise somewhere between a squeak and a choke, and immediately try to stuff the letter under your plate, but Lily’s already yanking it out of your hand.

“Oh my god,” she breathes, skimming it with wide eyes. “This is the cutest thing I’ve ever read,”

“Wait, wait, let me see—” Marlene leans across the table, grabbing the other side. “‘Just letters, nothing weird’—what does that even mean? Is he worried about sounding like a creep? Oh, this is brilliant,”

Dorcas is fanning herself dramatically with her napkin. “Do you think he wrote a rough draft? This is totally a rehearsed letter,”

You hide your face in your hands, the heat of your cheeks threatening to set fire to your fringe. “Stop. Please stop,”

“I will not stop,” Lily grins. “You’ve got an admirer. An actual, charming, respectful admirer who wants to write to you like it’s the 1800s. That’s romantic,”

“It’s embarrassing,” you groan.

“It’s amazing,” Marlene corrects. “And you have to write back,”

“I don’t even know him!”

“That’s the point!” Dorcas says. “He wants to get to know you. He gave you a perfect way out, he’s not assuming anything, he’s just interested. That’s rare,”

They’re all smiling now, all leaning in, and you can’t help it—you laugh, a little helpless and a lot flattered.

Because it’s sweet. It is. And no matter how much your face is burning, there’s a fizzy, fluttery sort of feeling in your stomach you can’t quite ignore. You glance up again, eyes scanning the Ravenclaw table.

You spot him almost instantly.

Nick: dark blond hair, just as described, pale eyes, face mostly hidden behind a book, though he’s clearly not reading. He looks up. You look down. He looks away quickly, ears going pink.

You smile without meaning to.

“Right,” Lily says, dragging her bag into her lap. “We need paper. A quill. What colour ink should we use?”

“I’m not writing him back in the middle of breakfast,” you hiss.

“Why not?” Marlene’s already pulling a little bottle of silver ink from her satchel. “Strike while the iron’s hot! He’s probably dying of anxiety over there,”

You hesitate for a moment too long, and then the decision’s made for you—because Dorcas finds a clean piece of parchment, Lily’s already got your hand in hers, and Marlene is dictating a reply out loud while you splutter about how this isn’t how people normally handle these things.

You’re still trying to snatch the quill back when a voice drawls from behind you:

“What’s all the noise about, then? Secret girls-only plot to overthrow the Ministry?”

Sirius.

Of course.

You twist in your seat and find him lounging half on the bench, half on the table a few seats down, chin in hand, eyes glinting with nosy curiosity. He’s got toast in one hand and mischief in the other.

Lily lifts her chin and says, very primly, “None of your business,”

“Oh, now I have to know,” he says, kicking his legs up beside you.

You glance to your side—and there he is.

James.

Sitting quietly at the Gryffindor table, a few seats down, half a piece of toast hanging forgotten in his hand as he watches the scene with a blank expression.

It’s only a second, but you see it. That flicker of something behind his eyes.

Recognition.

Understanding.

And something sharp that he swallows before it can show too clearly.

Because James Potter knows what giggling girls and secret letters mean. He knows.

And it shouldn’t matter—it really shouldn’t. You’re barely even friends. Civil, maybe. Tentatively polite. But whatever it is between you now, it’s not enough to warrant the sudden, stiff way he turns back to his plate.

It shouldn’t sting.

But it does.

—

You finish the letter with the girls' help. It’s nothing dramatic—just a polite reply saying you’d be happy to exchange letters over the holidays, and that you appreciate his kindness. You keep it short and friendly and completely avoid saying anything that might sound too enthusiastic.

(Which is a lie. You’re a bit enthusiastic. But you don’t need them knowing that.)

Dorcas folds the reply with military precision, Lily reattaches the little star charm, and Marlene volunteers to deliver it on your behalf—“to spare you the embarrassment,” she says sweetly, already halfway across the hall.

You look down at your plate, appetite long forgotten.

“Alright?” Lily asks, nudging your shoulder.

You nod. “Yeah. I think so,”

“You’re allowed to be excited, you know,”

“I am excited. I’m just… surprised,”

She smiles. “It’s nice though, isn’t it?”

You glance again toward the Ravenclaw table. Nick’s looking at Marlene like she’s an incoming Howler, his whole face red to the ears as he takes the letter from her hand.

You smile again.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “It is,”

—

Across the table, James doesn’t look up.

He doesn’t need to.

Because he saw the whole thing. The letter, the blushing, the girls all but bouncing in their seats. He saw Marlene walk across the hall with that parchment and Nick take it with shaking hands.

And it’s stupid. Petty.

But it hurts.

Because it’s been nearly two years since he realised he might actually like you—properly, not just in the annoying-you-is-fun way, but in the way that meant he started watching you when you weren’t looking. Noticing when you got a haircut. Learning the way your nose scrunches when you’re trying not to laugh.

He apologised. He grew up. He’s trying.

And it still wasn’t enough.

You’ve got someone now. Or the beginnings of someone.

And he’s just James Potter, watching from afar with jam on his toast and something bitter on his tongue.

He shoves the toast in his mouth and doesn’t say another word for the rest of breakfast.

—

You don’t expect the first letter from Nick to come so quickly. It arrives the morning after you get home for the holidays, hand-delivered by a glossy, silver-feathered owl you don’t recognise. Your name is written in the same neat, slanting script, and it still makes your stomach flip just a bit.

The note is folded crisply, the parchment thick and expensive-feeling. You hesitate before opening it, standing by the kitchen window with snow dusting the garden outside, everything quiet.

First off, thank you for not laughing at me. I thought I’d regret sending that letter the second I did it, and I very nearly snatched it out the air mid-flight to get it back. But you were so... kind. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t kindness. So thank you. It feels a bit odd writing like this, doesn’t it? But I also kind of like it. There’s no pressure when it’s just words. I don’t trip over them this way. So, here’s me: I like Charms best. I once accidentally set my robes on fire in Herbology (don’t ask), I’m allergic to pineapple, and I think people who can fall asleep on trains are borderline magical. Tell me something about you? Anything. Something silly, or secret, or both. Yours (nervously), Nick

You smile like an idiot for a full five minutes before you even think about writing back.

And so it begins.

The letters come every few days, sometimes short and scrawled in rushed excitement, sometimes long and meandering with little sketches in the margins. He tells you about his mum’s failed attempt at decorating the tree with actual enchanted snow, and how it flooded the sitting room. You send back a drawing of a dog dressed in a Father Christmas hat (badly drawn, but Nick says it’s ‘profoundly moving’). He tells you he’s rereading Hogwarts: A History just for fun, and you reply with a list of reasons why that’s definitely unhinged behaviour.

Sometimes he signs off with ‘Yours, Nick.’

Sometimes with ‘Yours (hopefully).’

Once—‘Yours (unless the owl’s eaten this and you never see it).’

You find yourself checking the sky for owls more often than you care to admit.

It’s not dramatic. Not whirlwind, heart-racing, can’t-breathe kind of love. But it’s nice.

And after the year you’ve had, ‘nice’ feels revolutionary.

—

You return to Hogwarts with a small box of letters tucked at the bottom of your trunk, tied neatly with a silver ribbon courtesy of Dorcas, who insisted they deserved to be “presented like the delicate artefacts of flirtation they are,”.

The minute you’re back in the dorm, you’re swarmed.

“Show us everything,” Marlene demands, already bouncing on the edge of your bed.

“Yes, come on, let’s see what your secret Ravenclaw Casanova had to say for himself,” Lily adds, mock-prim, though she’s clearly grinning.

You hesitate only a moment before reaching into your trunk. The box feels warmer than it should, like it’s soaked up some of the good from the past few weeks.

You hand it over, and the girls descend like a pack of curious Kneazles.

“Oooh, look at this one—‘Yours (unless the owl eats it)’—alright, he’s cute,” Dorcas says approvingly, flopping onto her stomach with the letter held aloft.

“Is this a little sketch of a Thestral wearing a party hat?” Lily giggles. “He’s got your sense of humour. That’s weirdly adorable,”

Marlene sniffs, mock-serious. “I give it two weeks before they’re holding hands by the lake,”

“Two? You’re being generous,” Dorcas snorts. “I give it until Sunday,”

You hide your face in a pillow. “You’re all horrible,”

“Don’t change the subject,” Lily grins. “Have you written him since we got back?”

You nod, biting your lip. “Told him I’d meet him after lunch. Figured we could, I don’t know… actually talk in person,”

They cheer like you’ve just won the bloody House Cup.

—

You find Nick leaning awkwardly by the courtyard archway, his hands stuffed deep into his robe pockets, and his scarf trailing loosely over one shoulder. He looks up at the sound of your footsteps—and immediately fumbles to straighten up.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” you smile.

It’s quiet for a moment, but not the awkward kind. Just the sort of quiet where snow mutes everything, and your breath fogs the air between you, and the castle feels suspended in time.

“It’s nice to see your face,” Nick says finally. Then pauses. “I mean—obviously I’ve seen your face before. Loads. I’m not, like, suddenly surprised you have a face,”

You laugh.

“I know what you meant,”

He exhales, relieved. “Good. I wasn’t sure I’d manage to string two sentences together without turning purple,”

“You’re only a bit pink,” you tease. “That’s manageable,”

You end up walking the long way around the courtyard, snow crunching underfoot. It’s a bit stiff, at first—he trips over his words, you don’t know where to put your hands—but something about it feels... promising. Like maybe the letters weren’t just a fluke.

He makes you laugh. You make him stammer in a way that’s far too endearing. It’s not dramatic, and it’s not sweeping—but it feels nice.

And when he says, quietly, “I’m really glad I wrote to you,” you don’t hesitate before replying, “Me too.”

—

From then on, you start seeing him more often. You meet by the greenhouses for walks after Herbology. You sit beside each other in the library, sometimes talking, sometimes just reading in companionable silence. You laugh when he fumbles his words or stutters a bit too quickly, and he blushes when you compliment his handwriting.

It’s soft. Sweet. Easy.

And that ease is what James hates most.

He doesn’t mean to. Really, he doesn’t. But every time he sees you and Nick tucked away in a corner, talking with your heads bent close, something in his chest twists too tightly.

He tries not to look. He tries.

But he always does.

He catches glimpses of you in between lessons, notices the way your smile tilts differently when you’re with Nick, the way you lean in without thinking. He sees the way you laugh, just slightly quieter than with the girls, more private.

He sees all of it.

And it kills him.

Because Nick doesn’t look nervous anymore. Not like he did in December. He looks like he belongs next to you now, like he’s settled into a space James never even realised was open.

And James?

James is still stuck in the same place, staring from a distance and pretending he doesn’t feel like his lungs collapse a bit every time your eyes skim past him without stopping.

The worst part is that Nick’s not even unlikeable. He’s polite. Respectful. He doesn’t show off or brag. He’s never hexed someone. He’s the kind of boy you should be with.

Which makes James feel like even more of a twat for hating him.

But he can’t help it.

Because you’re slipping further away with every shared smile and hushed conversation, and James Potter—Golden Boy, Quidditch Captain, supposed heartthrob—is left standing on the sidelines, too late and too cowardly to do anything about it.

Not that he deserves to.

Not really.

Not after everything he used to be.

—

There’s a quiet little path just past the edge of the Forbidden Forest, winding between thickets of tall grass and old stone walls from Merlin-knows-when. It’s not quite on the Marauder’s Map because it’s not technically a shortcut or a secret passage — it’s just peaceful. Removed. The kind of place couples start to frequent when they want to be left alone.

You and Nick have discovered it recently.

It’s become something of a habit, heading out there after classes with a thermos of tea or stolen pastries from the kitchens, bundled up in scarves and gloves, talking about everything and nothing as the winter wind rushes through the trees. It’s your space now, and it’s lovely. Safe. Uncomplicated.

You don’t notice the stag at first.

He’s standing far off at the treeline, half-hidden behind some low-hanging branches. Massive antlers, golden-brown fur, eyes sharp even from this distance. He looks almost surreal — like he belongs in some enchanted forest painting, too noble and elegant to be real.

Nick notices your distraction. “What is it?”

You tug his sleeve and point. “Look!”

His head turns, eyes following your finger. When he spots the stag, he startles slightly. “Blimey,”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you say, smiling. “It’s just a deer,”

“That’s not just a deer, that thing’s the size of a carriage,”

You laugh. “Don’t scare him off,”

You take a slow step forward, fascinated. The stag doesn’t move. Just watches you, eerily still.

There’s something oddly… familiar about him.

And James — because yes, of course it’s James — is having what could only be described as a full-scale emotional breakdown inside his stupid stag body.

He hadn’t meant for this to happen. Not exactly.

It had started out harmless enough — a little sulking, a bit of brooding, the usual staring-longingly-across-the-classroom-at-your-empty-chair sort of behaviour. And then Sirius had made some off-hand joke about how you and Nick probably had a “special little spot” by now, and James had laughed like he wasn’t actively dying inside.

Cue: terrible decisions.

Because obviously the most reasonable response to your blossoming teenage romance was to follow you in his Animagus form. Spy on you. Lurk.

Real mature.

But he couldn’t help himself.

There you were, sitting beside Nick, cheeks pink with cold, smiling in that soft way James remembered from last year when he made that ridiculous fireworks spell in Charms just to make you laugh. And Nick — bloody Nick — looked like he’d won the lottery.

It should’ve been him. He should be the one making you smile like that.

And then you turned, eyes catching the movement in the trees. James froze. For one horrible second he thought you recognised him, that somehow you could see straight through the fur and hooves and spot him for who he really was — awkward, lovesick, completely out of his depth.

But instead, you grinned.

Properly grinned. That wide, sparkly-eyed smile that had always made something in James’ chest flutter.

“You know stags are a sign of good luck,” he said, smiling softly at you.

You tilted your head. “Are they?”

“In some places, yeah. Seeing a stag’s supposed to mean… well, something sacred. Or new beginnings,”

James, still very much standing there like a massive idiot, nearly snorted.

New beginnings, his arse.

You took a step closer to Nick, hands fiddling with your scarf. “How fitting,”

Nick’s cheeks flushed red, even under the pale winter sun. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

James felt the moment before it happened.

There was a hush in the air, the kind that hangs between two people right before something changes. A kind of invisible pull. You leaned in—just slightly—and Nick moved at the same time, closing the space with a nervous sort of determination.

And then you were kissing.

It wasn’t a dramatic, spin-you-around kind of kiss. It was tentative. Careful. Sweet.

But it wrecked James all the same.

He wanted to close his eyes, but he felt as though he physically couldn’t. He wanted to disappear, but he was literally a giant animal. Instead, he stood there, paralysed, watching the girl he loved kiss another boy while he pretended to be a woodland creature.

You pulled away first.

Nick, ever the gentleman, looked nervous again.

“Sorry,” He muttered, hands fumbling. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I did, obviously, but I didn’t want to make it weird. Was that… alright?”

You stared at him for a moment, lips parted. “It was,”

Nick smiled, visibly relieved.

And James—full of repressed feelings and bad decisions—bolted.

He galloped full-tilt back through the trees, hooves skidding over frosty ground, lungs burning with the kind of emotion that didn’t make sense in this form.

When he finally transformed back, he nearly punched the wall.

—

He storms into the dormitory, robes askew, hair windswept and damp from snow.

Remus looks up from his book. “Alright there?”

“No.”

“Did you fall in the lake again?” Sirius asks from his bed, chewing a Sugar Quill and looking thoroughly unconcerned.

“No,” James grinds out, pacing the room. “Worse.”

Peter sits up. “Worse than the lake?”

“I watched her kiss him.”

There’s a pause.

Sirius, now mildly interested, swings his legs over the side of the bed. “You what?”

“In the forest,” James says, throwing his arms up. “I was— I don’t know—just following—walking—I didn’t mean to stay that long, but then I saw them and I couldn’t move, and then he kissed her.”

He collapses into the armchair with the weight of a man who’s just seen war.

“Mate,” Remus says gently, closing his book, “you followed her?”

James groans. “Don’t say it like that.”

“In Animagus form?”

“Don’t say it like that!”

Sirius is cackling now. “James, my boy, you absolute idiot,”

James throws a cushion at him. “Do you want me to cry?”

Peter’s eyebrows are high on his forehead. “So… you watched them snog and then what? Ran off crying in your stag form?”

“Yes, Pete, that’s exactly what happened, thank you for summing it up so eloquently,”

Remus sighs. “Look. I know this is hard. But what did you expect to happen? You’ve been watching them from afar for weeks, acting like you don’t care, and now you’re surprised that she’s moved on?”

James sulks deeper into the chair. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this,”

Sirius tosses a Bertie Bott’s bean at his head. “Then do something, mate,”

James blinks. “What?”

“Tell her,”

“I can’t,”

“Why?”

“Because!” James flails his arms. “She hates me,”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Remus says calmly. “She was just… wary. And to be fair, you earned that. But you’ve changed. She sees that,”

“Lily’s talking to you again,” Peter adds. “That’s a massive shift from last year,”

“She’s dating Nick,” James mutters.

“So?” Sirius shrugs. “Relationships end all the time. Especially school ones,”

Remus shoots him a look. “Not exactly the message we want to send right now Pads,”

“Sorry, Moony, but it’s true. James has been pining for her like a tragic protagonist in a bad romance novel for years. If he doesn’t say something soon, he’ll combust. Or do something even stupider than stalking her through the forest,”

James groans. “You’re making it sound so much worse,”

“You made it worse, mate. You literally watched her kiss another boy from the bushes,”

He buries his face in his hands. “What do I even say? ‘Hi, sorry I was a git to you for years, but now I fancy you and have no idea how to act like a person anymore’?”

“Honestly,” Remus says, “not a terrible start

James peeks up between his fingers. “I can’t just tell her,”

“Then write,” Peter suggests, surprisingly earnest. “You’re always better in writing,”

The room falls quiet.

James slowly lifts his head.

“…Do I have to sign it?”

Remus frowns. “You want to send it anonymously?”

Sirius leans forward, interested. “Like a secret admirer?”

“No, like… a vent. I get it all out with no risks,”

“You think she’d read it?” Peter asks.

James shrugs. “She might,”

Sirius leans back, chewing on his quill now. “Alright. An anonymous letter. Bit dramatic, but very you,”

“You think it’s stupid,”

“I think,” Sirius says, “it’s better than sitting here moping while she falls in love with someone else,”

James doesn’t reply.

Instead, he stands, walks to his trunk, and pulls out a piece of parchment.

And a very fancy quill.

Because if he’s going to tell you the truth—even secretly—he’s going to do it properly.

—

It arrives one cloudy morning at breakfast, right between a plate of toast and a half-soggy letter from your mum asking if you’ve remembered to send your Nan a Christmas thank-you.

You barely register it at first—the slip of parchment settling onto your plate with an elegant little flutter, the ink shimmering faintly as if kissed by starlight. You glance up, expecting to see an owl flapping off, but the air above the Gryffindor table is clear.

Weird.

You look down again. It’s not a scroll, not a Howler, not a folded scrap from Lily asking about Herbology notes. It’s stationery. Thick, cream-coloured parchment that feels almost too nice for Hogwarts post. The edges are trimmed with delicate gold foil. The writing, when you unfold it, gleams like the surface of the Black Lake at midnight.

And it is… a lot.

You don’t know me. Not properly, anyway. Maybe you think you do, and maybe that’s my fault, maybe I’ve made sure you didn’t want to. Maybe I got too used to being the kind of boy people only like in theory. I can be a bit of a twat, but if I’d ever had the courage to actually be honest with you, this is what I would’ve said: I notice everything. I notice the way you chew your lip when you're thinking. The way your handwriting changes when you’re writing something personal. I notice that you give away half your dessert even when you complain you’re starving, that you always carry extra hair ties in case your friends need one, that you hum when you’re nervous. I’ve noticed that you like thunderstorms more than sunshine, and that you pretend not to care when people don’t listen to you, but it bothers you. I wish it didn’t. You’re not just pretty, you’re brilliant. You’re clever in ways people overlook, and kind in ways that make them assume you’ve never been angry. But I’ve seen it. I’ve seen your temper flare and your spine straighten and I’ve wanted to be someone who could stand beside that, not against it. I used to think if I just waited long enough, you’d look at me the way you look at the pages of a good book — like something worth opening. But I don’t think you ever will. And I’m tired of pretending I’m fine with that. So this is me. Being honest. Finally. I hope you’re happy. Even if it’s not with me.

You read it three times before you even breathe.

It is—quite literally—the most intense thing anyone’s ever said to you. And they didn’t even say it. They wrote it. Anonymously. No name. No initials. Just… left it here like a bloody emotional bomb.

“Oh my God,” Marlene breathes, peering over your shoulder. “Who wrote that?”

You blink, still dazed. “I don’t know,”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Dorcas is already reaching for the paper. “Let me see,”

Lily sets down her tea. “That’s not Nick’s handwriting,”

You snatch the letter back instinctively, folding it like a guilty thing. “It’s not from Nick,”

“Oh hell no,” Marlene says, loud enough to turn heads from the other end of the table. “What kind of coward doesn’t sign their name to something like that?”

You flush, tucking the letter under your plate. “Can we not do this here?”

“No, sorry, we’re absolutely doing this,” she says, hands in her hair. “You just got the Hogwarts equivalent of a bloody sonnet and we’re supposed to ignore it?”

You shrug, trying for breezy but failing miserably. “It’s probably a joke,”

“It’s not a joke,” Lily says, eyebrows furrowed. “No one puts that much effort into a joke. That was… honest. Painfully so,”

Dorcas whistles low. “I can’t believe someone’s been carrying all that around. And didn’t even sign it,”

“They should’ve,” Marlene says. “You don’t get to say all that and then disappear. It’s manipulative,”

“It’s anonymous,” you say quietly. “Not manipulative,”

“They want something from you without saying who they are,”

You shrug. “I don’t care who they are,”

Which is, of course, an outright lie.

Because for the next two weeks, you read the letter every single night after the others have gone to sleep.

You tell yourself you’re just curious. That it’s like solving a puzzle, trying to piece together who might’ve written it based on the phrasing, the details. You go through every male voice in your head like a bloody index file: is it someone from your year? Another House? Is it someone who sees you more than you realised?

And worse: is it someone you’ve hurt without knowing?

Because how long has this boy—whoever he is—been noticing you? Caring about you from some hidden distance? How long has he been watching you laugh, cry, argue, love your friends… and stayed silent?

Because now that someone has said those things to you—someone who wants your laugh, your bad handwriting, your bloody spare hair ties—you’ve started comparing. And Nick, for all his sweetness and quiet charm, hasn’t said anything remotely like that.

Nick likes you. He likes your face, your smile, your laugh. He likes sitting next to you at lunch and holding your hand when you walk to class. He likes being liked.

But whoever wrote that letter doesn’t just like you. They see you. In this terrifying, intense, specific way that makes your stomach twist every time you reread it.

And that’s the problem, really.

Because now every interaction feels dimmer by comparison.

When Nick compliments you, it feels too rehearsed. When he kisses you, you wonder if he’s noticed the freckles on your shoulders, or if he’s just decided that kissing you is nice. You still like him. You do.

But you also can’t stop thinking about the letter.

—

Meanwhile, in the boys’ dormitory, James is slowly unraveling.

He hadn’t meant for the letter to actually get to you.

Well, he had, obviously. That was the plan. Fold it all up, pour his heart onto the page, let the Marauders deliver it like some weird emotional owl service. But he hadn’t expected it to work. He thought maybe you’d read it once and toss it in the bin.

But you didn’t.

You read it. And then you kept reading it.

James knows because he keeps watching you. Not stalking—definitely not stalking—just… observing. From across the common room. Or the Great Hall. Or occasionally (and he hates himself for this) while pretending to tie his shoelaces in corridors you happen to be walking through.

You’re thinking about it. He can tell.

You’ve gone quieter, more introspective. You still hang out with Nick, still smile when he tugs you along to some late lunch in the courtyard. But the spark in your eyes when you look at him doesn’t quite reach the edges like it did before. Not like it does when you’re reading.

James sees you in the library with it tucked into a Transfiguration book.

He sees you smiling at it in Charms when Flitwick isn’t looking.

And every time, it hurts.

Not because you know it’s from him—but because you don’t.

You’re holding a piece of his soul and you don’t even know it’s his.

The Marauders are no help.

“Just tell her,” Sirius keeps saying. “It’s not going to kill you,”

“Yes it will,” James mutters into his pillow. “Instant death. Right there. You’ll have to plan my funeral,”

“Moony can write the eulogy,” Peter suggests. “Something tragic,”

“I’m not writing him a eulogy,” Remus says dryly. “I’m writing him a howler if he doesn’t grow up,”

But James doesn’t want to grow up. He wants to hide.

Because this is worse than being rejected. This is watching you choose someone else while still holding onto the most vulnerable thing he’s ever written and having no idea it’s from the boy who used to trip over his words around you.

He thought writing it would help.

It hasn’t.

If anything, it’s made everything worse.

Because now he knows how close he got. And how far away he still is.

And you— well, you’ve got a letter folded fourteen times and stashed in your pillowcase like some embarrassing secret. You’ve got Nick waiting for you after class and your friends teasing you about mystery boys and you’ve got no idea that the person who sees you best is someone you’d written off two years ago.

But you’re starting to wonder.

Because whoever wrote that letter knew things even you hadn’t noticed about yourself.

They knew how you listen harder when people talk about books, how you write longer sentences when you're nervous, how you care more deeply than you let on. That kind of observation doesn’t happen overnight.

That kind of thing takes years.

—

There are times in relationships when it feels like the edges of your life blur together, and the lines that once separated who you were from who you are in someone else’s eyes start to fade. It’s a strange and subtle thing. At first, it feels like you’re merely adjusting — slipping a little to fit more comfortably into someone else’s world. But gradually, as time passes, the edges of that world begin to shape you. And in the process, you start to lose sight of where you end and they begin.

That’s what happened with Nick.

At first, you thought it was something gentle — a sweet, budding connection. After all, the letters had been lovely, hadn’t they? The way he wrote about things you’d never noticed, the way his words seemed to speak to you in places where you hadn’t realised you were waiting for someone to. He was kind, he was funny in his own way, and he tried his best to get close to you. Really close.

But the truth is— he tried too hard.

You hadn’t noticed it at first, or if you had, you dismissed it. After all, it was sweet, wasn’t it? The way he wanted to take you to Hogsmeade every weekend, the way he seemed to try to do all the right things, say all the right words. He’d bring you flowers—small, simple ones from the Greenhouse, wrapped in brown paper. You’d smile, thank him, and tuck them into a glass jar on your windowsill.

But soon it wasn’t just flowers. It was sudden plans to study together for hours, even when you weren’t sure if you really needed to. It was long conversations about everything and nothing, always turning into late-night talks that kept you tethered to him, even when your mind wandered to other things—or to other people.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the truth crept in. Little by little, things started to change. At first, it was just the fact that when you sat with Nick, it was easy to forget. You didn’t think about the boy who’d written you that anonymous letter, you thought maybe this was enough—that Nick was enough. But after a while, something started to feel… off.

It wasn’t his fault, not exactly. Nick was a genuinely good person. But somewhere along the way, he began to push harder than you could keep up with. And rather than reassuring you, that energy felt suffocating. The careful gestures, the predictability, the pressure to move things forward.

You began to realise that you weren’t sure if you wanted to move forward. Not with him. Not like this.

The shift became obvious one cold afternoon in the library, when Nick tried again—really tried—to kiss you. His hand brushed yours as he leaned in, but instead of feeling that warm flutter you’d always read about in romance novels, you felt yourself stiffen.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him. You did. But with each moment that passed, the picture you’d once thought was perfect started to crumble. In that space between the kiss and the hesitation, you saw what was missing. It was like the world suddenly tilted. You realised you’d been holding on to something that wasn’t quite real, a dream of what could be, rather than what was.

You pulled away.

“I think…” you started, the words heavy in your throat. “Maybe we need to talk,”

Nick paused, his expression flickering with concern. “Talk about what?”

“I think I’m not really sure what I want anymore,” you said quietly. It wasn’t easy. It never is. “I think I’ve been… confused. I don’t want to lead you on,”

He blinked, his lips parted as though he was about to speak but couldn’t quite find the words. “You’re saying this now?”

“I know. I’m sorry. I should’ve said something sooner,” You looked at him, trying to make it hurt less. “But I think maybe we both rushed into this, and now… I don’t know. I don’t think I’m ready for this. For us,”

There was a long silence, his face softening, eyes full of something like defeat. And then he spoke, his voice quiet but steady.

“I think I knew, somewhere in the back of my head,” he admitted. “I wanted to be the one to make you forget. To make you forget the other person. The one who… knows you. Like that letter,”

You froze at his words, staring at him. “What do you mean?”

Nick shifted uneasily, rubbing his neck, looking around as if he wanted to find some kind of answer in the shelves of books. “I mean…” he said slowly, “You were never really mine, were you? Not in the way I wanted. Not in the way I needed,”

A knot tightened in your chest. He was right, but it hurt to hear it. “You’re not wrong,” you murmured, your heart sinking. “I don’t know what I was looking for. But I don’t think it was this,”

Nick gave a soft, resigned chuckle. “Yeah, I think I figured that out a little too late,” He paused. “I tried. You know? I tried to make it work, tried to be what you needed. But I guess… you’re right. I couldn’t compete with someone who really knows you,”

“I’m sorry, Nick.” You said the words because they were true, because you did care about him, but you also knew that this wasn’t right anymore. You couldn’t force it to be something it wasn’t.

He nodded, his jaw tightening slightly. “I just… I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m okay with the idea of you still thinking about someone else. I’m not him, am I?”

You shook your head, swallowing hard. “No. You’re not,”

For a moment, you both sat there in the quiet of the library, the sounds of students working, the soft scratch of quills on parchment. It was a peaceful kind of sadness, though. Not dramatic or explosive — just two people who had tried, who had cared, and who were now realising that they had reached the end of the road.

Nick exhaled softly, meeting your eyes. “I just want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me,” he said quietly. “I think you need to find the person who really gets you. The person who sees all of you, like that bloody letter,”

You felt something tighten in your chest at his words. “I want you to be happy too. I’m sorry,”

He smiled faintly, his eyes soft. “Don’t be. It’s just… I think we both knew this wasn’t going to last, not like this. I care about you. I always will. But I can’t be the person who’s always second best. I can’t compete with someone who sees you the way you deserve to be seen,”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I get it,”

“Good luck,” Nick stood up, dusting off his robes. “I hope you find what you’re looking for. Even if it’s not me,”

And with that, he walked away.

—

It took a few weeks for the aftermath to settle in. You weren’t sure if you’d done the right thing. But as time passed, you started to understand. You’d never been in love with Nick. You’d never been in love with the idea of him, either. And even if you hadn’t fully understood what that letter meant—the one you’d read so many times, the one you’d kept hidden under your pillow—you were starting to.

You’d tried. You’d tried to make it work, to make Nick fit, to make everything make sense. But in the end, you couldn’t ignore the cracks that had formed the moment you started comparing his kindness to the depth of someone else’s words.

You hadn’t found it yet, whatever it was that you were looking for. But you knew you would. It wasn’t about finding someone who could match Nick’s sweetness, or someone who could take his place.

It was about finding someone who saw you.

—

The Marauders had a plan. A very misguided, very well-meaning plan. And, naturally, that plan revolved around James.

They were determined to fix him, to make him move on, to help him forget about the girl who had (without him knowing) already managed to ruin him. But, as usual, they hadn’t bothered to take into account the very real fact that James didn’t want to move on. At least, not in the way they thought he should.

Ever since his brief but very real heartbreak — the one that no one, especially you, knew anything about—James had been moody. His attempts at pretending he was fine fell flat. He acted like he was fine, smiled like he was fine, but everyone who knew him could see it in his eyes. He wasn’t fine. He was not fine.

But the Marauders, being the Marauders, had an answer. They were going to find him someone to kiss, someone to distract him from you.

James had tried to shrug it off. He had told his friends, repeatedly, that he wasn’t interested in anyone else. He didn’t want to be fixed, and he certainly didn’t want to forget you, not when he couldn’t forget that letter, not when every little thing about you still echoed in his head.

But the Marauders were insistent.

“Mate, you’ve got to move on,” Sirius said one evening, sprawled across the couch in the Gryffindor common room. He was half-teasing, but there was a seriousness to his voice that James couldn’t ignore. “You’ve never kissed anyone else. Never shagged anyone. How do you know you don’t like it, huh?”

James shot Sirius a dry look. “I don’t need to shag anyone to know I’m not interested in anyone else,” he muttered. He had been hoping to avoid the topic altogether, but Sirius, as always, was relentless.

“You don’t know that until you try, Prongs,” Sirius said, winking as he nudged James in the side. “Besides, you can’t just pine over her forever. You’ll drive yourself mad,”

James clenched his jaw, his fingers curling into fists. “I’m not pining,” he growled. “I’m just… not interested in anyone else. It’s that simple,”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “If you say so,” He flashed a grin. “But you’re coming to the Quidditch after-party tonight, right? I’ve got a plan to fix this. You need to at least try,”

And that was how James ended up, several hours later, at the Gryffindor Quidditch after-party, reluctantly swept into the chaos of his friends’ scheming. There was no getting out of it. Sirius had insisted. Remus had given him a knowing look. Peter had simply nodded along, looking vaguely terrified of being left out of the plan.

James had been forced to accept that the Marauders weren’t going to leave him alone until he did something. So, with as much reluctance as he could muster, he gave in.

The party was rowdy, with a thrumming energy that could only come from a Gryffindor Quidditch victory. It didn’t take long before Sirius had dragged James into a conversation with a fifth-year Gryffindor girl, a girl James vaguely recognised from the common room. She was nice enough, but James wasn’t interested. Still, he followed through because, well, Sirius had already set it all up.

"Just give it a try, mate," Sirius whispered, giving him an enthusiastic thumbs-up from across the room. “You might actually enjoy it,”

James barely suppressed a groan. He couldn’t explain it, but the thought of kissing anyone but you felt wrong. There was a tightness in his chest every time he tried to think about being with someone else.

He didn’t know what it meant, whether it was the letter, or the way you had slipped so easily into his thoughts, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be here. That he wasn’t supposed to be kissing someone else.

Nevertheless, after some awkward small talk, the girl leaned in, and there it was. His first real kiss, forced and strange, under the loud cheer of the party around them. It lasted barely ten seconds before he pulled away, completely baffled by the sensation. She smiled at him, clearly pleased with herself, but it didn’t feel right. The kiss, the girl, the situation, none of it.

It wasn’t until Sirius erupted from across the room, clapping and cheering loudly, that the full weight of the absurdity of the situation hit James. Sirius, always the showman, made it a scene—announcing loudly that James had officially kissed his first girl, and proudly pointing at James with a triumphant grin as if it was some massive accomplishment. It was a joke, sure, but it made James cringe.

You were standing near the punch bowl with Marlene and Dorcas at that very moment, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as the whole situation unfolded in front of you.

There was something about the way Sirius made a spectacle of it that rubbed you the wrong way. The obnoxious cheering, the over-the-top comments, the way everyone turned to look at James and the girl like they were stars on a stage.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint why it bothered you so much. Maybe it was the sheer lack of subtlety. Maybe it was the fact that James didn’t seem to care much for the girl at all, or that he was only doing this to prove something. You couldn’t quite place it, but something about it left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You found yourself staring a little too long, a little too intently, at the scene. Maybe it was the stupid party. Maybe it was the fact that James had always been so full of himself. But whatever it was, it didn’t sit right with you.

Your friends noticed. Marlene raised an eyebrow and smirked. “You okay?”

You blinked, startled by the question. “Yeah, of course,” you said quickly, though your voice was a little too sharp to sound convincing. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

She didn’t buy it, but she didn’t push further. Instead, she and Dorcas exchanged a knowing look, and you felt a flush of embarrassment rise up your neck.

You glanced back at James, still awkwardly standing with the girl, still the centre of the attention. You looked away, the feeling in your chest growing uncomfortable. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way this felt, or the way it made you feel. And yet, you couldn’t deny the slight tug of something — something more complicated than you were willing to admit.

After the party, James felt it too. The awkwardness. The discomfort. The wrongness. He sat with the Marauders, and despite the fact that they were celebrating his “success,” James couldn’t shake the feeling that it had all been for nothing.

“I don’t know what I expected,” James admitted, dropping his head into his hands as they all sat around in their dorm. “It didn’t feel right. I didn’t… I didn’t enjoy it,”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, an almost sympathetic look crossing his face. “You didn’t enjoy it?”

“No,” James muttered, running a hand through his hair. “It just felt wrong. It wasn’t the same,”

The Marauders exchanged glances, the air thick with unspoken understanding. Of course it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be the same. Not when his mind was still filled with someone else. Not when James wasn’t ready to let go.

“Well, mate,” Remus said softly, “I think we all know what’s really going on here,”

James shot him a look of frustration. “I’m not interested in anyone else. I don’t want to be with anyone else,”

“Alright,” Sirius said, his voice suddenly serious, “If you’re really not ready then we’ll leave you to it,”

James sighed, rubbing his eyes in defeat. “I don’t want anyone else. I just… I don’t know what to do about it,”

The Marauders fell into a thoughtful silence, each of them looking at James with a mixture of sympathy and exasperation. There was nothing they could do for him, not unless he was ready to confront the real reason he was so stuck.

And, for now, James was content to wallow. He didn’t want to move on, and he wasn’t about to let anyone push him into it.

—

There was a strange sort of silence to James’ heartbreak. It didn’t roar like his laughter or crackle like his temper. It didn’t come out in jokes or pranks or the boisterous chaos that usually followed him around like a second shadow.

No, this was something different. Something quieter. Quieter than anyone had ever expected of him. There was a whiteness to it, an absence, a stillness—a kind of stillness that looked out of place on him.

He didn't speak to anyone about it anymore. The Marauders had tried—Sirius, mostly, with his not-so-subtle nudges and jabs—but James had stopped responding. He didn’t mope, exactly. He just grew more introspective. Not solemn, not angry, just… somewhere in between. And every time someone mentioned your name, something behind his eyes would flicker and then dim again.

It wasn’t until he overheard you, Marlene, and Lily chatting in the corridor near the library that everything shifted again.

You were trying to be quiet—your voice low, tone calm, your words slightly hesitant. But James had always been good at picking you out from a crowd. It was something he hadn’t even realised he’d trained himself to do until recently. So when he passed by that corridor and caught your voice, he paused. And then he heard it.

“Well, it wasn’t like Nick did anything wrong. He’s sweet. I just…” You sighed. “I don’t know. It stopped feeling like it was about me, you know? He was chasing something, not necessarily me. And after that letter turned up, it just made it worse,”

James stopped breathing. That letter.

“You still don’t know who it’s from?” Lily asked, a note of intrigue in her voice.

You huffed out a laugh. “No. And it’s driving me mad. I feel like… whoever wrote it knows me better than I know myself. And I don't even know his name,”

Marlene scoffed. “If he knew you that well, he’d grow a spine and tell you who he is,”

“He’s probably scared,” Lily offered gently. “Those letters aren’t just passing notes. They’re—intimate,”

James ducked into an empty classroom before they could spot him, heart pounding. His palms were damp. His whole body felt too hot, too aware. You'd broken up with Nick. Because of him. Not that you knew it was him, but still. His words had changed something.

He had told himself, after that first letter, that it was a one-time thing. A catharsis. An exorcism of all the things he couldn’t say to you out loud. But after his revelation. He found himself itching to write another. And another.

The second letter had come days after he saw you in the courtyard laughing at something Dorcas had said, your head thrown back in a way that made his chest ache. He’d gone back to the dorm, heart full and throat tight, and written about it—how he wished he could be the one making you laugh like that. How he’d never seen anything brighter than the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

Then came the third letter, and the fourth. And soon, it had become a habit. A ritual, almost.

When he couldn’t sleep, he wrote.

When he saw you in class and wanted to say something but couldn’t find the nerve, he wrote.

When you passed him in the corridor and gave him a polite, almost friendly smile, he wrote.

And the letters changed. They weren’t just emotional ramblings anymore—they were layered with observations, with memories, with confessions he had never let himself say aloud.

You wore your hair different in Potions today. I liked it. But I think I would’ve liked it even if it looked awful, which is… probably not a great thing to admit, is it? You’ve got this little crease between your brows when you’re concentrating—it only appears when you’re really focused. I don’t think you know you do it. When you walk down the corridor, I can tell what kind of mood you’re in before I even see your face. It’s in the sound of your steps. In the rhythm of it. Happy-you walks different than annoyed-you.

You never responded. You couldn’t. There was never a return address, never any way to send anything back. But James didn’t care. He didn’t need a reply. Just writing to you—being able to express it, even anonymously—felt like enough.

Sort of.

Because the truth was, as much as it helped to write the words down, it also hurt. Every letter was a reminder of everything he wanted and couldn’t have. Everything he’d spent years pretending not to feel—buried beneath jokes and hexes and all the noise of adolescence.

And you? You kept every single one.

You didn’t tell the girls about it. Not really. Not after the second letter. You pretended it was over, that it had been some sweet, silly little mystery. But in truth, you’d hidden them. All of them. In a little shoebox under your bed, wrapped in an old jumper. Some were creased from how often you unfolded and re-folded them. Some had the faintest smudge in the corner from where you’d cried, unexpectedly, at something you hadn’t realised you needed to hear.

You didn’t know what to do with them. You weren’t over Nick—not really. That kind of closeness doesn’t disappear overnight. But it was impossible to keep pretending that he had understood you like this anonymous writer did.

Whoever he was, he had seen you. Not just the version of you that most people acknowledged—the smart, sharp, sometimes-sarcastic girl who was always one step ahead of a comeback. No, this person had paid attention to the margins of you, the unnoticed edges. The things you didn’t even know were there until he wrote them down.

I think I started liking you back in fourth year. You were defending someone in the corridor—some little second-year who’d dropped their books, and some Slytherins were laughing at him. You didn’t even hesitate. You stepped right in like it was the most obvious thing in the world. That’s when I knew. Only I’m not sure if I just like you anymore. It’s something more. Something I don’t know how to name. Is it pathetic to say that I hear your voice before I see you? That I can pick you out of a room before I even look up? I don’t mean to. It’s just—it’s like my ears are tuned to you. Like a frequency I can’t ignore.

You lay awake most nights now, reading the letters again after the others were asleep. You tried to analyse the handwriting. You wondered if it was someone in your year. You made a list of suspects in your head and crossed off half of them, even though it didn’t bring you any closer.

Sometimes, when you caught James looking at you from across the room, you’d wonder. But then you’d scoff at yourself, because James Potter? Really? He was… well, James. All swagger and messy hair and cocky grins. You’d made peace with the fact that he wasn’t half as insufferable anymore, but he was still James.

And yet…

The letters were not the work of someone who didn’t care. They weren’t careless. They were intimate in a way that left you breathless. Each one revealed a little more—each sentence brushing up against truths you hadn’t admitted even to yourself.

They came like clockwork now—one every week, always arriving in the oddest of places. Slipped inside your Arithmancy book. Folded neatly on your dinner plate. Once, even tucked inside your scarf in the common room, which really freaked you out because it meant he was closer than you thought.

It was terrifying and exhilarating. And the worst part? You were beginning to need them. Crave them, even. His words had become a constant, something you looked forward to with equal parts dread and hope.

The box under your bed grew heavier by the week.

And James? He was slowly losing his mind. Every time he saw you reading a letter—head tilted, eyes flicking across the page, your expression soft and unreadable—it hurt in the best and worst way. You liked them. He knew you did. But the longer he went without saying anything, the more impossible it felt to tell you the truth.

Because what if knowing ruined it? What if it stopped being magical the second his name was attached?

He was a coward. Marlene had said so, loudly, and James knew it was true. He could face down a rogue Bludger, duel a seventh-year, prank Filch and escape with a grin—but he couldn’t tell you he was the one who had been writing to you.

And yet, he couldn’t stop.

He poured his soul into those margins. Into those pages that would never carry his name. Because it was the only way he could tell you the truth and survive it.

And maybe that was enough.

Or maybe, eventually, it wouldn’t be.

—

You didn’t mean to tell them. Honestly, you had every intention of keeping the whole thing a secret forever. But Marlene had a sixth sense for drama, and Dorcas had a sharper nose for mystery than a trained bloodhound. So when your bed-curtains had rustled suspiciously in the middle of the night and Marlene had caught a glimpse of shimmering ink through the crack of your open trunk, it was game over.

You’d barely managed to shove the letter beneath your pillow before she pounced.

“Aha!” she whispered in triumph, yanking back your curtains with no regard for your sleep schedule. “I knew you were hiding something!”

“Marlene, go away,” you groaned, but Lily was already sitting up, blinking owlishly, and Dorcas was dragging her own blanket across to your bed.

“Nope,” Dorcas said brightly, sliding in beside you with terrifying ease. “Spill it. Is it more letters?”

You were betrayed by the silence. The way your face didn’t even have time to arrange into a proper lie before the truth fell across your cheeks.

“Oh my god,” Lily whispered. “There’s more?”

“There’s loads more,” Marlene said, shoving aside your blankets and finding the shoebox tucked beneath your bed like a woman possessed. “Holy hell, you’ve got a whole bloody collection.”

You didn’t fight it. Not properly. Not after the fourth letter was unfolded and read aloud in a reverent hush, the girls falling completely silent around you—save for the occasional sniff or soft exhale of disbelief.

“He watched you drop your quill and memorised how you tucked your hair behind your ear,” Dorcas said, practically vibrating. “I thought blokes only noticed when girls breathed near them,”

“It’s beautiful,” Lily whispered. “It’s like something out of a novel,”

“Romantic,” Dorcas agreed.

“Terrifying,” Marlene added. “I mean, what if it’s Mulciber or something?”

You almost choked. “Please don’t even joke about that,”

Thus began the unofficial—and entirely chaotic—formation of The Girls’ Detective Agency. It wasn’t your name for it, obviously, but once Marlene had made badges (from parchment, glitter, and sheer manic determination), you didn’t have much choice in the matter.

The mission was clear: uncover the identity of your mysterious letter-writer.

Their methods, however, were… questionable.

They started with handwriting analysis. Marlene attempted to casually wander through the library, requesting to borrow ink samples from boys “just out of curiosity,” and Lily spent an afternoon in the common room “helping” people with their Transfiguration essays so she could examine their penmanship. Dorcas, who had stolen your Divination notes under the pretext of “astrological clarity,” tried to match the emotional tone of the letters to various star signs.

“I’m telling you,” she said one night with complete certainty, “this is a Cancer Sun, maybe a Pisces Moon. This is water sign poetry,”

You didn't know what a Pisces Moon was meant to mean, but Dorcas said it like gospel, so you just nodded.

Meanwhile, Marlene was not subtle. At all.

“What if it’s Remus?” she hissed once across the common room, loud enough for three people to turn around. “He’s broody. And he reads so much poetry,”

You swore you saw Remus twitch.

But you shook your head. “No. It’s not him,”

You were sure about that. Remus was clever, kind, thoughtful—but the letters didn’t sound like him. His voice was steadier, more deliberate. The person writing to you was something else entirely—someone who struggled with the weight of what he felt, who was reckless with his emotions in a way that wasn’t controlled or clean. Someone who wrote like he was bleeding onto the page.

There were flashes—little things—that made you wonder if maybe, maybe, it could be James.

But every time the thought flitted across your mind, you swatted it away.

James Potter didn’t write letters like this. James Potter was a menace with a Quidditch obsession and a lopsided grin. James Potter, who had only recently evolved into someone tolerable, wasn’t exactly someone you pictured lying awake at night, pouring his soul into parchment.

Sure, he wasn’t as obnoxious as he used to be. And sure, there was something softer in the way he looked at you lately—but you’d chalked that up to the fragile peace you’d made after last year’s chaos. There was no way he was the one leaving notes beneath your scarf.

Besides, if he’d written something this vulnerable, he would’ve shoved it into your hand and dared you to read it aloud just to watch you squirm. Right?

So, no. Not James.

You were wrong, obviously.

But that wasn’t the point.

—

The final week of term came faster than expected. sunlight glittered on the edges of everything—floating house flags outside the Great Hall doors, open windows letting in a soft breeze, a warmth that seeped into your bones. Everything felt a little too warm, a little too bright.

And still, the letters kept coming.

The last one arrived on the morning of the train home.

It was simpler than the others. A small square of parchment, no shimmering ink this time. Just words. Words that didn’t try to be anything other than honest.

I don’t know if I’ll write again. I think I might be running out of ways to say it. I miss things I’ve never had with you, and that’s a strange kind of grief. Have a nice holiday. Try not to overthink things. I know that’s rich coming from me. Yours, always— even if you never know who.

That was it.

You folded the letter carefully, hands trembling, and slid it into the shoebox with the others. And then you stared at it for what felt like hours, until Lily touched your arm gently and said, “We’ll miss the train,”

And that was that.

—

James watched you leave through the frost-smeared train window, his heart quieter than it had been in months. The Marauders were deep into a loud game of Exploding Snap, Sirius laughing at every blast, Peter shouting protests, Remus rolling his eyes fondly.

None of them knew he’d written another one.

James had stopped telling them after the fifth or sixth. It felt private. Sacred, almost. Sharing it would have made it real in a way he wasn’t sure he could handle. So he kept it to himself—his stupid little secret. His confession scrawled across parchment instead of spoken out loud.

He knew he was being a coward. That had become obvious. But he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Not when he saw the way you read them, all curled up with your bottom lip caught between your teeth. Not when he noticed the way your hand trembled slightly on the paper. You felt something. He was sure of it.

But he also knew that eventually, you’d want more. And he couldn’t keep offering faceless intimacy forever. So he wrote the last one. Said goodbye. Sort of.

And then he sat on the train with his forehead pressed to the glass, pretending he didn’t care that you hadn’t figured it out. That you were probably leaving for the summer thinking about someone else entirely. That maybe, despite everything, he’d never actually be enough.

—

Back at home, the days grew longer. The pace slowed. The house was warm, the food good, the sleep long and uninterrupted. And yet every night, without fail, you found yourself at the window.

The box of letters came out the first night you returned. You told yourself it was for closure.

It wasn’t.

You read them again—each one from the beginning. Chronologically. Like chapters in a book. You traced the handwriting with your fingers, letting the words sink into you slowly.

He loved you. That was the truth of it.

Maybe he hadn’t said it directly. Maybe he hadn’t signed his name. But no one wrote like that without meaning it. No one watched you so closely, noticed so many tiny things, remembered throwaway moments from years ago unless they’d been in love with you for a long, long time.

And you were still no closer to knowing who he was.

That was the worst part.

How could someone be so close and still so invisible?

You stared out the window into the night, watching your breath fog up the glass. The snow fell softly outside, blanketing the world in silence. Somewhere out there was someone who had seen all of you—really seen you—and hadn’t asked for anything in return.

And you missed him. Terribly.

Not Nick. Not the quiet comfort of that easy romance.

But him. The one who knew the cadence of your footsteps. Who listened for your voice before he saw your face. Who remembered fourth year like it was yesterday and noticed how your hands trembled when you were angry.

You missed someone you didn’t know. And it felt like the loneliest thing in the world.

—

I know I said I wouldn’t write you anymore, but I’m afraid I can’t help myself. The truth is, I’ve been terrified of saying it out loud, of giving you something you don’t need or want. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve loved you for so long, in ways that I can’t even put into words. I’ve watched you, really watched you, every day, and I’ve noticed things about you that no one else ever could. The way you bite your lip when you’re thinking, the way you hum softly to yourself when you’re studying, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. I’ve memorised the way your voice sounds when you laugh, the way you wrinkle your nose when you’re annoyed, the way you frown when you’re trying to figure something out. And I’ve done all of this because I care about you. So much more than I should. I’ve tried to get over you, to forget you. I’ve tried to date other people, to move on. But none of them were you. None of them could be. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this. I don’t even know if I’ll ever send it. But I need you to know that I’ve been here, always here, loving you in the quietest ways, the most secret ways. Maybe this is selfish. Maybe it’s unfair of me to ask you to care about someone who has never had the guts to say this to your face. But I don’t know what else to do anymore. I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t matter to me. Because it does. You matter to me, more than I can say. I’ve always been here, waiting, in the margins of your life. Maybe that’s where I belong. But if you ever look up, I’ll be there, still waiting. —James F. Potter

He stopped writing. Blinked down at the words like they might rearrange themselves into something less terrifying.

His hand hovered over the signature. It looked too sharp, too obvious. Too final.

He stared at it for a long time.

Folded the letter in half.

Then unfolded it.

Folded it again.

“Mate, you’re torturing yourself,” came a groggy voice from across the room. Sirius, of course. “Just send it to her already,”

James looked up. “She won’t want it,”

“You don’t know that,”

“She might hate me,”

Sirius yawned and flopped back down onto his pillow. “She definitely won’t hate you. That’s the worst-case scenario you’ve built up in that tragically romantic brain of yours. And even if she did… so what? At least you’d know,”

James looked down at the folded parchment.

He could send it. He could sneak into the Owlery now, under his Invisibility Cloak, and you’d get it tomorrow. And then you’d know. Everything.

But then you’d know.

He imagined your face when you opened it. The surprise. The disbelief. The way you’d go back and read every single letter again, this time with the truth laid bare. Would it be relief? Would it be disappointment?

Or worse—would you already know, and just not want to face it?

James tucked the letter into his pillowcase and lay back down.

His heart was racing.

He didn’t sleep.

He didn’t send the letter, either.

Not yet.

Maybe never.

—next part.

[dark-l-angel]

A/N : You know what? I adore this request. It’s playful, it’s layered, and it’s begging for that “behind-closed-doors” tenderness.

Now be a good girl and sit back.. let me spoil you with this.. I'll do all four batboys, because you deserve the full banquet, not just the appetizer. Cuz

Batfam x silent, shy mischaracterized reader

Dick grayson - Jason todd - Tim Drake - Damian Wayne

Dick Grayson :

Dick is the kind of man who sees through the mask. People might call you "cold" or "weird," but the first time he sees your eyes soften just a bit when you think no one's looking? Hooked. Absolutely gone.

He'll be the sunshine to your clouded day.. always teasing you gently in public, trying to coax out even the smallest smile, but never pushing.

The first time you finally let loose in private and start talking a mile a minute about something random? He just stares at you with the stupidest, most lovestruck grin.

"Oh my god, babe, this is what you were hiding? I'm the luckiest man alive."

He keeps your wild side a sacred secret. He adores that it’s his privilege alone.

He’ll even tease you about it when you're out: leans in and whispers "Careful, angel. Don't let them see how fun you are, they'll all want a piece of you."

And behind closed doors? He's either the loudest participant in your chaos, or he’s watching you go off with heart eyes, nodding like a dork.

Jason Todd :

Oh, Jason gets it. People call him intimidating too. He notices you straight away because your quiet is not absence.. it’s presence.

People whisper about you, call you scary or “odd,” and Jason internally rolls his eyes like, amateurs. They don’t know brilliance when it’s right in front of them.

The first time you finally talk his ear off in private? He melts. He doesn’t say anything at first, just listens with that soft, crooked smirk that means he’s head over heels.

He’ll tease you about your "silent assassin" public image, claiming you’re his partner in crime.

"Yeah, she doesn’t say much. But if she does? Better listen, ‘cause it’s probably the most interesting thing you'll hear all day."

In private, he loves instigating your chaotic side: random debates over silly things, sneaky pranks, or just wild storytelling sessions where you’re the main character and he’s your loyal audience.

Protective and proud. He loves that only he gets to see your untamed side.

Tim Drake :

Oh, you had this detective hooked at "mysterious."

Tim sees the layers immediately. He’s intrigued by your quietness, and while others get uncomfortable, he feels right at home.

When you finally open up in private, his brain short-circuits.. in the best way possible.

He'll obsess (lovingly) over the way you light up talking about your interests. Expect soft smiles and attentive listening, like you’re explaining the secrets of the universe.

He also gets very soft when you get animated. He low-key records little audio memos when you go off on your rambles, not to share, just to listen to later when he’s working late at the tower.

"People think you’re quiet, but honestly? You’re louder than my thoughts, and that’s saying something."

He encourages your chaotic side gently, always ready to dive deep into your interests with you.

Bonus: If anyone dares mischaracterize you in front of him, he’ll subtly but savagely correct them with facts that leave them blinking.

Damian Wayne :

Damian adores the fact that others misunderstand you.. it means they’re too simple to deserve your energy.

He respects your silence like a fellow warrior respects the sharpness of a hidden blade.

The first time you explode with excitement in private? He’s stunned, but deeply honored.

He won’t say it out loud (he has pride, after all), but internally? Finally. She trusts me.

"Your restraint in public is admirable," he'll say with a proud little smirk, "but I prefer you like this."

He loves your chaotic side.. he calls it your "fire beneath the ice." He’ll even play along with your madness, acting all serious, but secretly enjoying every second.

Damian will cut anyone down with words if they dare to misread you. He does not tolerate disrespect towards you.

Also? He deeply respects that you only let your true self show to a chosen few. That exclusivity is something he understands all too well.

Anyway.. they are obsessed with the fact that the world sees you as an enigma, but they get the backstage access to your beautiful, chaotic soul. You’re their favorite contradiction.

To everyone else? Silent stormcloud.

To them? Thunder and lightning, baby. Loud, wild, glorious, and full of life.

A/N : my dear, you just described a dream dynamic.. truly.. and I hope you feel a little seen in this. Actually, I’ll tell you something bold: your "resting bitch face" and quiet aura? It's a power. The real fun is knowing not everyone deserves to see your wild heart. But the ones who do? Oh, they’ll never get enough of you.

[antinousletmehit]

hii, could I ask for something about Hermes being silly and playful with Reader? If possible, could it be something romantic and sweet? Thank you!

୨୧┇Pairing: Hermes x reader

୨୧┇Note: I hope you enjoy!! I don’t really know how to write for Hermes but he’s quite popular in my inbox.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the skies of Mount Olympus with hues of orange and pink. You were lounging on the steps of Hermes’ temple, waiting for him to finish one of his endless errands. The winged god was always flying here and there, delivering messages, playing tricks, or just causing general chaos.

“Finally!” you exclaimed when you saw him zip toward you, the little wings on his sandals fluttering furiously. He landed with a dramatic flourish, arms spread wide.

“Did you miss me darling?” Hermes asked, a mischievous grin plastered across his face.

“Maybe. But I definitely didn’t miss the noise your sandals make,” you teased, leaning back on your hands.

Hermes gasped, clutching his chest as though you’d mortally wounded him. “You wound me, my dear! These sandals are iconic. Legendary! A gift from the gods themselves!”

“Uh-huh, and yet they sound like a flock of angry pigeons” you shot back with a smirk.

He dropped down beside you, his grin softening. “You know, if anyone else said that, I’d have to prank them into oblivion. But you… you get a pass.”

“How lucky for me,” you replied, rolling your eyes. Hermes leaned closer, his golden eyes sparkling with mischief. “Oh, you’re more than lucky. You’ve caught the attention of the god of wit, charm, and devilish good looks. Some might say you’re blessed.” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Blessed? Sounds more like a curse with how much trouble you bring.”

“Oh, really?” he challenged, standing up abruptly. Before you could protest, he scooped you up in one swift motion, cradling you in his arms.

“Hermes!” you shrieked, laughing as he spun you around.

“Let’s see how much trouble I can really cause!” he declared, taking off into the air. The wind rushed past as he carried you effortlessly, his laughter ringing in your ears. “Put me down!” you cried, but your laughter betrayed you. “Say you missed me first,” he teased, holding you tighter as he flew through the air. “Fine, I missed you! Now put me down before I throw up on your legendary sandals!”

Hermes chuckles before quickly gliding down “There. Happy now?” he asked, his voice softer than before. You looked up at him, your heart still racing from the ride and the way he was gazing at you. “I guess I am… as long as you don’t take off like that again.”

“No promises,” he said, but his grin was tender now, more sincere. He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers warm against your skin. “You know, you’re the only person who makes me want to slow down. To just… stay in one place for a while.” Your cheeks flushed, and you swatted his chest lightly. “That’s probably the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Well, don’t get used to it,” Hermes teased, though the way he leaned in and pressed a feather-light kiss to your forehead told you otherwise.

For a moment, the god of mischief was quiet, the world around you still. And for once, you didn’t mind waiting for him to come back. In his arms was exactly where you wanted to be.

[ohmy-gojo]

(pt.1 )

it was another typical day at the cat adoption center you worked at. the sato-sugu duo causing chaos, sukuna bullying poor choso, kento ignoring everyone's existence and you questioning your life choices. a very normal day until it wasnt.

the doorbell of the shop rang indicating a human's presence, because cats cant ring bells (or so you tell yourself). you went to open the door, but not before tripping on chosos tail once again (seriously poor choso), to find— no humans. not a single soul in sight. you looked around to see if there were any kids around who could be pranking but didnt find any. and just when you were about to leave, you heard a small meow. you looked down and saw him. him being a cat, who was now staring at you with unblinking green colored eyes

"uhhh hello there, how may i help you mister?" you asked him, after a long staring contest

the cat deadpanned at you. you giggled before crouching to his level and patting his head

"sorry sorry. i was just kidding, no need to show attitude now little fella." you mused

he scrunched his nose indicating he didnt like being called a little fella. oops. you noticed he has a scar running over his lips, and wondered how he got that. you run your fingers over his wound which made him purr lightly before quickly composing himself, which made you giggle once again at his soft side

outside, you could hear the clouds rumbling, meaning it was gonna start raining anytime soon. not wanting to leave this little cutie in the rain, you invite him inside your humble abode– err cat adoption center. he readily struts inside as if he owns this place. you raised your eyebrow at that, ive played these games before

once he steps in front of the counter, you take him in your arms and introduce him to your kitty family

"uhu uhu," you coughed to get their attention. everyone seized whatever they were doing after realizing they had an intruder here, intruder who was right now chilling in your arms. they blinked at you and you continued, "everyone, heres a new friend! unfortunately he is only here for awhile because its raining outside, but nonetheless say hello and give him a warm welcome!"

as expected, cats cant give warm welcomes or say hello, but oh well, its the thought that counts. you put little fella down in front of his supposed friends who greeted him alright

satoru and suguru simultaneously scrunched his nose at him. satoru meowed at him angrily as if asking who the hell was he and how dare he climb your arms. little fella responded by yawning, which pissed both of them off. not wanting to to make you mad and risk losing nickname privileges, they left without making ruckus, complaining about the 'annoying new kid' all the while

on the other hand, kento could care less about him. he blinked at him as if that was enough of a greeting and went to his corner of the room. too much social interaction today he sighed.

choso being the only cat to greet him somewhat properly. he gave a small meow and quickly hid behind your legs. this shy kitty

which left the last but not the least member of your cat family, sukuna, to greet him. sukuna sized him up with his eyes and frowned 'another damned stray'. he meowed at him loudly which made little fella furrow his brows and meow back. they both stared at each other unblinking, asserting dominance. despite being cats, they now officially have beef with each other

meanwhile you were seeing this meeting happen in front of your eyes and cooing. you were feeling like a proud mother watching her babies make new friends. they grow up so fast you thought, brushing an imaginary tear. not realizing how much of a havoc you created by letting in another kitty, whos gonna be fighting for your attention, headpats and belly rubs with other kitties. for them, this is a matter of life and death, the equivalent of a war, which none of them intend to lose. at all.

[aurynsia]

Unrequited, Terrifying Chapter 7

James Potter x Reader

Summary: Your secret admirer finally gets the girl…

Warnings: HARD LAUNCH! Use of flashbacks, extremely fluffy, nervous!james x shy!reader, idiots in love, lovesick!james, no use of Y/N, OC!friends, reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, quiet!reader, NOT EDITED!

Word Count: 1.2K

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Platform 9¾ was bursting with energy as the new group of first years clambered onto the Hogwarts Express. James had tucked himself in between Remus, Sirius, and Peter, practically jumping in his seat as he introduced himself to his new friends.

The four boys had excitedly rambled back and forth about their prospects at the exciting school of witchcraft and wizardry, only settling down when the train finally began to move as they waved goodbye to their families through the window.

The door slid open with an awkward creak, alerting the young Marauders to a small girl standing in the doorway. “Hi, um- can I sit here? The other cabins are full…” you spoke softly, twisting your feet in an anxious habit and biting your bottom lip.

James’ breath hitched, innocent eyes growing wide as he took you in. He nervously pushed up his glasses as his friends ushered you inside, moving food wrappers off of a seat to make room for your form.

You introduced yourself with a shy smile, promising not to bother them as you shoved your nose in a book for the rest of the journey.

James couldn’t help but ogle at your soft expressions, reacting to the exciting fantasy unfolding in between the pages of your novel. He gulped as his face grew visibly warmer, pushing up his glasses once more before turning back to his new entourage of mischief makers, already planning what would be their first of many pranks.

The Great Hall swarmed with chaos as students filtered in through gaping doors. The Sorting Hat had played in James’ favour, allowing all of his new friends into the house of brave hearted heroes.

He laughed with his friends as they stumbled to the Gryffindor Table, only distracted once again by the girl with the hat on her head. “Gryffindor!” The hat exclaimed, your eyes thrown wide with surprise as you tediously moved towards the four boys.

James grinned at you as you nodded in his direction, choosing to sit on the far end of the table with two girls who shared that stunned expression. When his attention returned to his three friends, he was met with a round of teasing coos and knowing smirks, causing him to sink down in his chair with a blush painted across his cheeks. The Sorting Hat really had answered all of his prayers.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

You stood tentatively in the crowd of red and gold, etched between Charlie and Hope in the stands as your eyes curiously followed Gryffindor’s seeker.

The Quidditch pitch was filled with adrenaline as Slytherin rocked and tumbled against the force of the lion. James Potter was speeding through the mass of players, a joyful laugh permanently plastered on his face as he wove through the commotion.

Your red sweater was proudly on display in the stands, disguised as your warmest clothing when asked why you were in house colours. You didn’t dare tell your roommates about your newfound support for the team after the introduction of their newest fourth year seeker, but they slowly caught on as your blush began to match your clothing every time the boy flew purposefully close.

His laugh faltered with a gasp when he caught your eye in the stands, glancing at your attire that you failed to cover with your hands. Your eyes met for another brief moment before Gryffindor’s golden boy was soaring once again with newfound vigour.

Your gaze followed his figure in the air, a soft smile evident on your lips. Charlie and Hope leaned forward slightly to pass a knowing smile across your stiff form, only returning their gaze to the field as their house won the match.

The walk back to the common room was quiet, a soft hum of nature surrounding the three of you as you marched along the path. That was until Charlie’s curiosity got the better of her.

“So…Potter looked quite dashing up there, don’t you think, Hope?” She pretended to ponder, gaze to the night sky. “Why, he was really something! That speed made his hair quite an endearing mess, right, love?” Hope turned to you with a teasing smirk, patiently awaiting your flustered answer.

“Uh- yeah! Yeah, he was good, you know, for an egomaniac…” you kept your eyes fixed on the path ahead of you, praying to Merlin that your blush wasn’t visible in the darkness.

“Mhmm…he seemed quite taken by this little number of yours,” Hope gestured up and down your body, “maybe you want to fuel that pretty little ego of his, hmm?” You were surrounded by a chorus of amused chuckles from your friends as your face burned under the interrogation.

“No! Well, maybe…he looked cute in the uniform, that’s all! Nothing to write home about…” You pouted with furrowed brows, kicking a pebble in your path as your friends broke out in teasing cheers.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

The Gryffindor table was filtered with soft morning light as your group eagerly grasped at any food they could get their hands on. James tucked himself securely into your side, a smug grin plastered on his face as you grumbled words of frustration, brows dipped and lips pouting at the lack of opportunity to serve yourself.

Sirius cheerfully loaded food onto his plate before passing the bowl to James, dodging your outstretched hands. Your look of frustration was about to shift to anger before the sweet boy beside you began scraping the leftovers in his grasp onto your empty plate. You turned to him with a grateful smile that he could stare at for hours, squeezing him around his middle in thanks before diving into your meal.

James continued to pile food in front of you, planting kisses across your cheeks between servings and spoonfuls before draping an arm across your shoulders. “Not so grumpy anymore, are you love?” James chuckled, “Maybe a certain boyfriend has lifted your spirits?”

You swallowed your mouthful as you nodded eagerly, looking up at him with wide eyes that melted his heart. “I think I’m finally getting this Gryffindor pride thing,” you mumbled as you reached for another spoonful of food, “Dating the captain of the Quidditch team is certainly an ego boost.”

James grinned at you, brushing his nose against your cheek with a mischievous expression. He was finally beginning to fall into a comforting routine with you, brushing aside any nerves your soft smile might ignite in him.

The others looked at the sweet pair with satisfaction, sharing looks of relief after you announced yourselves as an official couple.

“Merlin, it’s about time!” Sirius exclaimed, hitting the table hard enough to lift plates in the air at contact. The group laughed with amusement as James leant into your warmth, arms enclosed around your torso as he sighed into your skin.

The overbearing dread of unrequited, terrifying love that clouded his logic had melted away with your simple touch. This will be his year. The year he shares with you.

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

A/N: I hope everyone enjoyed this little series! While this is the official end to the story, feel free to request some blurbs based on these two characters in my asks! Thank you to everyone who patiently stuck with me while I worked on this, I’m eternally grateful for all your support <3

——————— ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ ———————

Taglist: @1-queenofpotatoes-1 @caspiankingofnarnia @thesuitelifeofafangirl @moonydoodlez @fionnalopez @kawaiiarbitervoid @kc2sstuff @rafeyswrd @mads12043 @spicybearnaise @ch3rry-vine @probabydeadbynow @ilovejamespottersomuch @mqg125 @sofiacblair @valenftcrush @revesephemeres @louweenier @the-lavender-girl @empath-bunny @bmyva1entine

[bettelaboure]

⊹Backstage⊹ | Choi Seung-Hyun

⊹Pairing: Choi Seung-Hyun x The Reader

⊹Summary: amid the chaotic final show of a world tour, a stylist and K-pop idol finally surrender to the slow-burning desire that’s been simmering between them for months, caught between professionalism and passion

⊹Warnings: sexual tension, emotionally charged interactions, and adult themes involving consensual but suggestive physical intimacy in a professional setting

⊹Author's note: hello, i'm alive <3 it's gonna be a 3 part short series that i hope you'll like

⊹⊹⊹⊹⊹

The dressing room is alive with its usual controlled chaos. Makeup cases, racks of glittering outfits, half-finished iced americanos, and a Bluetooth speaker blasting something vintage and funky — probably picked by Daesung. You're weaving between scattered costume bags, a hair curler in one hand and a lint roller in the other, trying to find the godforsaken studded jacket Young-bae insisted he needed before soundcheck.

From across the room, loud laughter erupts — unmistakably Seung-Hyun’s rich, bassy voice, deep and unrestrained. You look up just in time to see a shirtless Young-bae scream something in Korean before hurling a towel at Seung-Hyun, who is cackling like the devil himself. Of course, he’s pulled another prank — probably turned off the hot water mid-shower again.

You sigh. “You’re incorrigible,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“I’m what?” Seung-Hyun calls out, eyes gleaming like a misbehaving cat who’s proud of the destruction he’s caused.

“In-cor-ri-gi-ble,” you say louder, enunciating each syllable. “Look it up.”

“Oh, I will.” He winks. “I always like learning new words from my favorite firecracker.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. “If I’m a firecracker, then you’re a Roman candle—loud, obnoxious, and you burn out fast.”

He places a hand on his chest in mock offense, sauntering over dramatically. “Ouch. And here I was, just admiring how fierce you look today. That ponytail’s doing dangerous things to my heart.”

You blink up at him, heat crawling up your neck before you can stop it. “You're full of it, Choi.”

He smirks. “Full of charm. Admit it.”

“Full of crap,” you retort, poking a finger at his bare chest. You’re painfully aware of the way your finger bounces off taut skin. God help you, he doesn’t even flinch. Instead, he leans down, bringing his face comically close to yours.

“You know what else you’re full of?” he whispers with that deep timbre that always gives you goosebumps.

You lift a brow, refusing to back down. “Enlighten me.”

“Full-sized attitude, fun-sized frame.”

You swat at him, and he jumps back, laughing. “You’re not still on that?”

“You know I can’t help it. You’re the only person here who can glare up at me and still make me nervous.”

“I’m not short,” you reply automatically, hands on your hips. “I’m concentrated awesome.”

“And I keep telling you—” He points at you, eyes twinkling. “Fun size. Like those candies that pretend to be small, but one bite and your whole day’s wrecked.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re lucky you’re charming.”

“I know I’m charming.” He grins. “You keep me around for that and the wardrobe critiques.”

You snort and turn your attention back to the garment rack, brushing past him. But he follows, of course. You can feel his presence behind you, warm and teasing. He’s always like this — like gravity. You’re used to his orbit by now.

“I saw how you fixed my collar during rehearsal,” he says, voice lower now, like it’s not meant for the room full of people. “You always get this little crease between your brows when you’re focused.”

You pause. “Observant today, are we?”

He leans in, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Always observant when it comes to you.”

Your breath catches. This isn’t part of the usual banter.

“You flirt like it’s a competitive sport,” you murmur, trying to play it off, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“And you sass like it’s your survival instinct,” he replies, eyes not leaving yours. “But I see you.”

The chaos of the dressing room fades, somehow. Young-bae is grumbling to Daesung about shampoo, and Jiyong is yelling about someone stealing his eyeliner — but none of that matters. Not when Seung-Hyun is looking at you like that.

Like you're not just the stylist. Like you're something... more.

You break eye contact, your voice a whisper now. “Don’t look at me like that, Choi.”

“Like what?”

“Like you mean it.”

He steps in closer. You don’t step back.

“What if I do?”

You blink up at him. That damn height difference again. His tone is playful, but the look in his eyes—steady, serious, almost reverent—tells another story.

“You always joke,” you say. “I never know when you’re actually being real.”

He reaches out, fingertips grazing your wrist. “Then let me make it real.”

Your heart is doing cartwheels, and your brain is throwing red flags, but your body’s betraying you—leaning ever so slightly toward him.

“I don’t date idols,” you say, voice trembling.

“Good,” he murmurs. “I’m not asking you to date an idol. I’m asking you to take a chance on the guy who’s been looking at you like you hung the moon since Tokyo.”

You stare at him, stunned into silence. He’s never said that. Not once.

“What about the others?” you manage.

He chuckles. “They already think we’re secretly in love. Have you seen the way Jiyong watches us? That boy’s practically writing fanfiction.”

You laugh, the tension easing slightly, but your heart still pounds like a drum.

“Okay,” you say finally, letting out a breath. “One coffee. After the show. That’s all.”

His grin is slow and bright and full of triumph. “Make it two, and I’ll let you win the next height joke battle.”

“You’ll let me win?” you scoff.

“Let you think you won,” he corrects with a wink. “There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, fighting a smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re perfect.”

You don’t answer that. But the flush in your cheeks and the tiny smile you can’t quite hide?

That’s answer enough.

The show ends in a blur of lights, sweat, and thunderous applause. You barely remember how you got backstage — one moment you’re zipping up a pair of black leather pants on a frantic Daesung, the next, you’re dodging a shirt Young-bae throws at you with a wink and a “Noona, tell me I was sexy!”

And then there’s him.

Seung-Hyun.

Leaning against the wall by the mini fridge, a towel draped around his neck, hair damp and curling slightly at the edges. He’s watching you.

Not obviously — that’s never his style — but in that quiet, sideways way he always does. You’ve learned to recognize the weight of it. The warmth of it.

He takes his time strolling over, every step somehow deliberate, but casual. Like he has nowhere better to be. Like you’re exactly where he wants to end up.

“Guess I owe you that coffee,” he says, voice low, smooth. A thread of mischief still tucked in there somewhere.

You glance up. “Technically, you owe me a jacket first. I nearly froze to death during that encore outfit change.”

He grins, tugging the towel off his shoulders and tossing it at you. It smells like shampoo and cologne and sweat and him. “There. Vintage Seung-Hyun. Limited edition.”

You wrinkle your nose but don’t throw it back. “Gross.”

“And yet,” he says, slowly lowering himself onto the couch beside you, “you’re still holding it.”

“Only because it’s warmer than your personality.”

“See? There she is.” He nudges your knee with his. “Concentrated awesome, in all her post-show glory.”

You can’t help the small smile that curves your lips. He has that effect on you — like he knows exactly where to poke to pull out a grin, a groan, a glare. And somehow, it always feels like flirting, even when it shouldn’t.

“You’re unusually calm tonight,” you note, sipping your coffee. “No water bombs. No fake spiders. No traumatizing the staff.”

“I used all my pranks on Young-bae,” he says. “I’m rationing my chaos now. Becoming mature. Sophisticated.”

“Choi Seung-Hyun? Sophisticated?” you say, feigning disbelief. “What’s next? Emotional vulnerability?”

He hums, quiet for a moment, like the joke didn’t quite land. Or maybe it did — too well.

Then, with a small shrug, he says, “I’m saving that for someone worth it.”

You freeze.

Not obviously. You keep your posture relaxed, eyes on your cup. But your pulse kicks just slightly.

You glance sideways at him. “Are we still joking?”

He meets your eyes — not smiling now. Just... watching.

“Depends,” he says softly. “Are you still deflecting?”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, the air between you both feels heavier than it should.

“I’m not deflecting,” you say after a beat, your voice quieter. “I just know how this goes. Idol flirts with stylist. Stylist doesn’t take the bait. Life moves on.”

“Except I’m not trying to bait you.”

“No?” you ask, lifting a brow. “Then what are you doing?”

He exhales a laugh, almost sheepish, and looks down at his hands for a moment. He taps a rhythm on his coffee lid. When he looks back up, his voice is careful — not hesitant, just... intentional.

“Trying to have a real conversation with the only person on this tour who actually talks to me like I’m a human and not a brand.”

That hits harder than it should.

You study him — really study him. The slight slump in his shoulders now that the performance is over. The raw edge still left in his voice. The way his walls are down, but only just.

It strikes you how much effort it must take for him to always be “T.O.P.” out there, when all he wants in here is to be Seung-Hyun.

“You have a way of surprising me,” you say finally.

He turns to you, lips quirking. “Good surprises or bad ones?”

You hesitate.

“Confusing ones,” you admit. “You throw out all this charm, all these lines, but then you say things like that and... it feels different.”

He nods, slowly. “It is different.”

You glance down, then back up, your voice careful. “I don’t know what to do with different.”

He smiles again — not teasing this time, but gentle. Understanding.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he says. “Not yet.”

The word yet lingers in the space between you like a dare, soft and waiting.

You nod once, more to yourself than to him.

He leans back on the couch, stretching, his arm brushing behind you without actually touching. His fingers hover just a little too close to your shoulder. And you feel it — that tension. That humming buzz of something just barely held back.

But neither of you cross it.

Not tonight.

“You ever think about how weird it is,” he murmurs suddenly, “that in rooms full of thousands, some people still make you feel the most seen?”

You glance over. He’s not looking at you now, but you know the words are meant for you.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a little rough. “I think about that a lot.”

And even though the room is still buzzing around you — voices, movement, life — you both sit in that silence, in that almost-touch, in that slow-burn space where something real is beginning to smolder.

Another night, the bass from the stage still pulses through the walls like a second heartbeat. The lights back here are dimmer, buzzing faintly above you, casting long, narrow shadows. The energy after a performance is always strange — raw and electric — but tonight, it’s different. He’s different.

You’re crouched near a rack of performance coats, checking for a loose button on Daesung’s backup jacket when you feel him before you hear him.

Seung-Hyun.

He doesn’t walk so much as glide — lazy, quiet steps in those custom boots that cost more than your entire wardrobe. His shirt’s half-unbuttoned, collarbone damp from sweat, and his hair’s messy in that deliberate, sinfully sexy way that makes him look like he just walked off a runway and into your peripheral vision like a problem you didn’t ask for.

“Need a hand?” he asks, voice like velvet and cigarette smoke, low enough that it’s meant for your ears only.

You don’t look up right away. “Only if your hands come with a tailoring certification.”

He crouches beside you anyway, far too close for backstage propriety. His knee presses against yours — casual, unbothered — but it steals your breath just the same.

“You always get like this after shows?” he asks, watching you work. “All focused and bossy?”

You finally meet his eyes. They’re dark with something that flickers between curiosity and something else. Something thicker.

You smirk. “Someone’s got to keep you boys from looking like bedazzled clowns.”

“Is that what I am?” he murmurs, tilting his head. “A clown in your hands?”

Your breath hitches.

“No,” you say, voice lower now, the energy shifting between you. “You’re a problem.”

“And you like problems.”

“I like solving problems.”

His eyes drop to your mouth, linger, then flick back up.

“So solve me.”

There it is — the moment. The flick of the switch.

You should laugh. You should deflect. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean just slightly closer, fingers pausing on the jacket’s seam. You speak barely above a whisper. “You really think I haven’t already figured you out?”

His gaze sharpens, playful, but taut — like a wire pulled tight.

“I think you’re still trying,” he says, his hand brushing yours — just a graze, but deliberate. “And I think... you want to keep trying.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, and you’re suddenly painfully aware of how narrow the space is between the two of you. The hallway is empty. The others are still changing, laughing somewhere down the corridor.

It’s just the two of you here.

Breath and heat and too many things left unsaid.

He shifts slightly, not closer — just enough that you feel the pull, the gravitational tug of his presence.

You narrow your eyes. “You think you can flirt your way into getting your jacket fixed faster?”

“I think I could flirt my way into worse decisions,” he says, his voice a rasp now.

“Like what?” you challenge.

He’s quiet for a beat. Then:

“Like kissing you in this hallway and not caring who walks by.”

The silence cracks between you.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The tension coils tight — breath, heartbeat, heat — until it’s almost unbearable.

Then he leans in, so close his mouth is a ghost along your ear, and whispers:

“But not tonight.”

You swallow, hard.

He pulls back slowly, eyes lingering on you like he’s memorizing every piece, every flicker of restraint.

Then he stands, adjusts his shirt, and offers a hand — not teasing this time, just there, solid.

You take it. Of course you do.

And when you rise, brushing imaginary dust off your thighs to avoid meeting his eyes, he smirks — that slow, dangerous kind.

“Soon, though,” he murmurs. “Very soon.”

Then he walks away, leaving you there — pulse racing, knees weak, and absolutely ruined for anything else.

Final night, the corridors hum with energy, staff and crew zipping past in a controlled frenzy. It’s the final show — Seoul — the one that means everything. Emotions are high. Nerves tighter than usual. Your clipboard is tucked under your arm, headset pulled off one ear as you pace the hallway with practiced focus. That is, until a hand grabs your wrist.

A familiar hand.

Before you can protest, you're tugged through a door and pulled into a private dressing room — his dressing room. The door shuts behind you with a decisive click. You barely have time to breathe before you're pressed gently but firmly back against it.

Seung-Hyun stands in front of you, tall and radiating heat, his stage outfit half-on — jacket unzipped, black shirt clinging to his chest, jaw sharp and set. His eyes are molten.

"We need to talk," he says.

Your brows shoot up. "Now? You go on in twenty."

He leans in, close enough that his scent — leather, musk, and something inherently him — curls around your senses. "Exactly. Twenty minutes, and then I’m on stage pretending I’m not losing my mind thinking about you."

You laugh, breathless. "You’ve been dramatic since Tokyo."

His lips brush your ear. "And you’ve been running since Berlin."

The room is too quiet. The air between you is charged, hot. He doesn’t touch you — not really — but the space between your bodies is thin enough to feel the burn.

You meet his eyes. “So what, this is your grand confession?”

“No,” he says, voice low. “This is me losing patience.”

He leans in — not kissing, not touching — just hovering. The tip of his nose brushes yours. His breath is warm on your mouth.

“I think about you every night,” he murmurs. “I hear your voice when I’m alone. I taste your name every time I’m quiet too long.”

Your pulse slams against your ribs. “Seung-Hyun—”

He groans your name like it’s already been sinfully whispered in his bed. His hand lifts, fingers tracing your jaw, soft and slow. He’s still not kissing you. And somehow, it’s worse.

You breathe out. “Do it, or let me go.”

His eyes flash, that dangerous, beautiful glint. “You think I won’t?”

“No,” you whisper. “I think you will. And I think I’ll like it too much.”

His lips press just below your jaw, a kiss so soft it barely registers — but it unravels everything. Your hands fist the front of his jacket, tugging him closer without meaning to. He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“I want you,” he says. “But not in a way I can rush. Not like a backstage fling.”

You blink, breath catching.

“I want to know what makes you lose control,” he says. “What makes you loud. What makes you shake.”

You exhale, shaky. “We’re running out of time.”

He smirks. “Then you’d better tell me what to do. Or walk away now.”

You don’t walk away.

Instead, you push off the door and into him, your mouth barely brushing his. He growls low, hands gripping your waist, body tight with restraint. You can feel it in him — the tension, the way he’s holding himself back by the thinnest thread.

His mouth finds yours. At first tentative, then deeper — hungry, warm, desperate. You gasp against his lips, and he takes the sound into him like a man starved. His hands skim down your back, pulling you flush against him.

Every inch of your body buzzes. Your hands are in his hair, tugging, needing. He presses you harder into the wall, mouth hot at your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make your knees wobble.

"You drive me insane," he murmurs. "Every look, every smart little comment. You know exactly what you do to me."

You whisper his name like a plea.

His hands are everywhere — at your waist, your hips, your thighs. He lifts you slightly, your back thudding softly against the door, his mouth tracing fire down your neck.

"Tell me to stop," he pants against your skin.

You don’t.

Instead, you kiss him again — deep, open-mouthed, messy — and he groans into it, his restraint starting to fray. One hand cradles the back of your head, the other still gripping your hip, grounding you both.

He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

"If we start this," he breathes, "I won’t stop until I know everything. How you taste. How you sound. How you fall apart."

Your answer is simple.

You pull him back in.

And then — a knock. A voice. “Hyung! Two minutes!”

This time, he doesn’t move. His chest rises and falls against yours, rapid.

"Damn it," he mutters.

You close your eyes. You’re both trembling slightly.

He finally pulls back, smoothing your hair, brushing a kiss to your temple. "This isn't over. It never was."

You nod, lips swollen, breath shaky.

He smiles — dark and promising — then turns and disappears down the hall, toward the stage.

You let the door close, your back against it again, heart thudding. Tonight might be the final show.

But something between you and Seung-Hyun is just beginning.

And it’s not waiting much longer.

Taglist: @petersasteria @redhoodedtoad @mirahyun @sherrayyyyy @sherxoo @dilfismz @breakmeoff @janie-osuih @forevervibezzzz1 @kuinnoa @juliskopf @maskedcrawford @szonyix6277@ldydeath

[dollyswishingwell]

Hiiii cutieeeee i am back with another idea 😈

So what if mama reader and baby go shopping and lads card declines (it can be a prank done by both mum and baby to see their reaction or maybe it happened due to an error and she pays via her own money) and the lads full on panicking for not being able to provide even for a second

🪼

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ Mama’s Princess P.15

𝒲𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 ˙⋆✮ Rafayel, Zayne, Xavier, Sylus, Caleb

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ˙⋆✮ this is such a funny idea, im trying headcanons again, i missed you pookie wookie

> ࣪𖤐.ᐟ You and your babygirl decide to prank daddy

Masterlist

𝙍𝙖𝙛𝙖𝙮𝙚𝙡 °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

- You and your baby girl are in a pastel boutique buying matching sea princess dresses, and the card declines with a cheery “Please try again!”

- You frown. Your baby frowns. You both go, “…Rafayel.”

- You call him and go, “Baby, your card was declined…”

- He gasps like you told him someone died.

“WHAT? No. That card is a symbol of my devotion. How could she do this to you???”

- You hear him running. He’s literally sprinting barefoot across the estate.

- “Don’t move. Don’t spend your money. Not one cent. That’s not what pretty hands are for!”

- He bursts in dramatically, hair windblown, and drops to his knees.

“Have I… failed my beloved?”

- Meanwhile your baby is clapping, enjoying the chaos, and you’re giggling cause you paid already.

- You reveal it was a prank and he immediately scoops both of you up.

“That was a CRUEL performance but you played your roles so well… now we go home and you get pampered until your dignity is restored.”

𝙕𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚 ⋆꙳•❅‧*₊⋆☃︎ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

- You’re out shopping for matching mother-daughter spa robes and silk pajamas when the cashier politely informs you, “I’m sorry, this card has been declined.”

- You raise an eyebrow, then lean down to your chubby babygirl with her two pigtails and whisper, “Let’s see how Daddy reacts when we tell him.”

- You FaceTime him from the store, all sweet and innocent. “Zaynie… your card declined. I didn’t want to use mine but—”

- His eyes flash with horror. “Declined? Are you safe? Where are you? Did you try another register? That’s impossible. I just, wait, don’t touch your wallet, I’m coming right now.”

- Leaves mid-surgery consultation, throws off his coat, barking at a nurse to call the bank.

- You try to calm him down like “Baby, it’s okay, we didn’t die,” but he’s already speed walking through the hospital, muttering, “Unacceptable. She shouldn’t have to lift a finger, ever.”

- when he bursts into the store 15 minutes later, out of breath and in scrubs, and sees you already paid, he looks at your card like it personally betrayed him.

- You finally crack and tell him it was a prank and he stares you down, then looks at his daughter and says:

“You’re in on this too, aren’t you? You’re just like your mother… dangerous.”

𝙓𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙚𝙧 ⋆⭒˚.⋆🪐 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

- You and babygirl are buying another absurdly expensive stroller (because why not?) when the platinum card is declined.

- You’re like, “Hmm, that’s weird…” and your baby (who’s sitting in her sparkly shoes chewing on your Chanel brooch) goes, “Uh oh.”

- You casually text Xavier: “Hey, baby. Did you forget to pay the bank?”

- He replies:

“Impossible. The card pulls from an intergalactic fund account with 37 digits.”

“I’m on my way.”

- He walks in 10 minutes later looking like a sleepy mafia prince, hands in his coat pockets, hair tousled from a nap.

- “Who told my wife no?” he murmurs with dead eyes.

- The poor cashier is shaking. You’re trying not to laugh because you and your babygirl plotted this whole thing, and she’s now pretending to pout, clinging to you like she’s destitute.

- You break the act and say it was a prank. He just stares. Long silence. Then:

“Fine. But you’re both banned from plotting against me until I finish this nap.”

𝙎𝙮𝙡𝙪𝙨 ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𓅨⋆｡°✩

- You’re in a private luxury showroom trying on a custom “Mama & Mini” power suit set, when they swipe his black card and the system says “declined.”

- You raise your brow and go, “Oh no. Is Daddy… poor?”

- Your baby girl looks up from her pile of tiaras and repeats, “Dada poor?”

- You call him on speaker. “Hey babe. We had a little… issue.”

- Instant silence. Then Sylus goes cold.

“What kind of issue? Where are you? Send me location. Did someone touch you?”

- You explain the card declined and you’re gonna just use your personal card, he snaps:

“Absolutely not. You don’t pay for anything. Ever.”

- Logs into 12 bank accounts, calls his finance officer, freezes the card just to be petty, then sends a guard and a suitcase of cash.

- Shows up later with baby’s favorite macarons, glaring at your bag.

- You confess it was a prank and he just breathes out slowly.

“You think you’re funny? Cute. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when I buy out the store and rename it after you.”

𝘾𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙗 ⋆｡ ‧˚ʚ🍎ɞ˚‧｡ ⋆

- You’re shopping in Skyhaven’s exclusive aviation-themed baby boutique (of course), and your husband’s military card declines mid-purchase of a custom ride-on baby plane.

- The baby is sitting on it going “VRRRMMMM” and you’re like “Oh no… we’ve been cut off.”

- You text Caleb and he replies with a 👍 and then calls you 3 seconds later like:

“What do you mean declined. Is someone threatening my family’s access to comfort?”

- He calls Skyhaven Command. Has the tech team reviewing all card activity, like you’ve just been hacked by a deep space terrorist.

- “Do not spend your money. Stay there. I’m sending my aide with an override chip.”

- Meanwhile, your baby girl is dramatically sighing and saying “Daddy fix it,” and you’re like holding back giggles.

- He bursts in 20 minutes later in full uniform, serious as ever, asks you quietly:

“…Did I fail to provide?”

And you just MELT cause this man really thinks he failed you for 15 minutes.

- When you tell him it was a prank, he chuckles a little but is like:

“Don’t joke like that… my heart’s still racing. I thought I lost my privileges as your provider.”

[odileeclipse]

April Fools’ Special: “The Great Prank War of Blueberry Yogurt Academy” Crack-filled spinoff…Non-canon. No logic. Just glitter and emotional whiplash.

The day begins with a single, ominous announcement echoing through the Academy’s ancient halls

“To all students and faculty: April 1st shall henceforth be known as the Day of Arcane Fools. The Hall of Enlightenment bears no responsibility for what is to come. Proceed with chaos.”

You wake up to find your shoes replaced with jelly slimes that scream “THE TRUTH IS A LIE” with every step. Chai Latte Cookie bursts in moments later, giggling uncontrollably.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she says, deadpan. “Hazelnut dared me. Besides, you do look good in slime shoes.”

Earl Grey Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie have barricaded the dining hall, claiming it's under quarantine due to "rogue custard spirits." They’re dressed in full alchemical hazmat robes, enforcing ridiculous entry rites like reciting the entire history of blueberry cultivation.

And then oh, then comes Shadow Milk Cookie. He enters the dining hall by materializing from a burst of stardust and scrolls, grand cloak billowing behind him, voice echoing with noble gravitas.

“BEHOLD. I HAVE FORESEEN THE GREATEST FOOLERY IN THE STARS. AND I yes, I, the Sage of Truth SHALL JOIN THIS GLORIOUS NONSENSE.”

He’s wearing sunglasses shaped like ancient runes, and his Soul Jam is flickering with rainbow disco light. Chai Latte Cookie collapses into laughter. “I knew he’d crack eventually,” she whispers, nudging you. “Is it weird that I find this version of him kinda... charming?”

Shadow Milk Cookie has declared a Prank War Tournament structured, of course. He conjures scrolls of rules that are 73 pages long and somehow signed by “The Ghost Council.” No one remembers such a council existing before today.

The teams are set Team Moonmilk  consists of You, Shadow Milk, and Chai Latte. Team Chaos Custard consists of Hazelnut, Earl Grey, and a very confused first-year student who thought this was a study group.

The war includes

Potion Ping-Pong don’t drink the wrong one; some give you wings, others uncontrollable hiccup spells.

Scroll Charades, where mispronunciation can summon temporary illusions (Earl Grey accidentally conjures a herd of tiny squealing sheep. No one knows why.)

and Hide-and-Seek through the Nightmare Archive, where all the books whisper dad jokes to throw you off.

At one point, Shadow Milk Cookie corners you in a corridor, gently smirking behind his rune-glasses.

“You’ve played quite cleverly today. I daresay I underestimated you, my starlit assistant in tomfoolery.”

You blink at him. “You just enchanted the custodian's mop to sing opera. Doesn’t that count as clever?”

He gasps. “That mop had dreams!” Later, during a breather in the botanical gardens where prank pollen causes uncontrollable giggling fits Chai Latte sits beside you and hands you a cup of your favorite drink…which now sparkles for some reason. She leans her head on your shoulder with a soft sigh.

“Even if the world’s falling into prank-fueled chaos,” she murmurs, “I’m glad I get to be by your side. Just like always.” Before you can answer, Shadow Milk calls across the courtyard, waving what appears to be a glitter bomb shaped like a moonstone.

“Come, my dear trickster! We must seal our victory with The Grand Finale of Truth Confetti!”

You glance between your two companions, the sage gleaming with wild delight, and your friend glowing with gentle fondness. And you think 

Maybe this is what truth feels like too. Not just in knowledge... But in joy. In being seen. And in letting yourself laugh.

Operation: Confess or Confuzzle

You are minding your business. Simply existing. Enjoying a perfectly normal snack in the courtyard after surviving the Prank Tournament. The sun is gentle. The air smells like a mix of lemon balm and unidentifiable magical residue. Peaceful. Then Hazelnut Biscotti approaches with a shifty look in his eyes. “Just so you know,” he says, “something’s about to happen. I tried stopping them. I really did.” You don’t even have time to ask before

“DEAREST SCHOLAR OF MY HEART!”

Shadow Milk Cookie descends. From the sky. Cloak trailing behind him, arms wide, like a meteor of romantic drama. He lands on one knee before you, holding up a scroll with your name written in sparkly calligraphy.

Chai Latte Cookie is behind him, barely holding in her laughter. She gives you a wink and mouths, Just play along.

“For far too long,” Shadow Milk intones, “I have resisted these truths buried within me. But nay, I can hide no longer. On this sacred day of cosmic jest, I confess my soul yearns not just for truth... but for you.”

The entire courtyard goes silent. Several upper scholars drop their scrolls. One of them screams. Your jaw drops. You open your mouth to ask what in the moon-blessed realms is going on, but Shadow Milk continues.

“I seek not merely academic clarity, but the clarity of your gaze. Grant me thy hand, thy snack, and perhaps even thy study notes.”

He holds out a macaroon. You’re about to respond with something resembling a sound when…

“I OBJECT!”

Chai Latte Cookie storms forward in full theatrical fury, knocking over a chair for effect. “You can’t just confess on April Fools’ Day, Sage. That’s breaking the Ancient Rules of Trickery. Which means by Article 7, Clause Chaotic I have the right to duel you for their heart.”

You blink. “What.”

Shadow Milk narrows his eyes. “So be it. Let this duel commence.”

The Duel for Your Affection: “Truth vs Tea”

Location: The Courtyard of Possibly Cursed Flowers Judges: Earl Grey, Hazelnut, and the Opera Mop Weapons: Pranks only. Winner is whoever makes you laugh harder.

ROUND ONE: Prank Poetry

Chai Latte: Delivers a fake love poem that starts beautiful and ends in a recipe for lemon muffins. You tear up. Until she pulls a muffin from your pocket and yells, “Checkmate!”

Shadow Milk: Opens an ancient tome that releases a recording of him dramatically confessing his love to a potted plant...your potted plant. From three weeks ago. How did he even???

Point goes to Shadow Milk Cookie, for historical commitment.

ROUND TWO: The Embarrassing Memory Spell

They each cast a minor illusion spell that reveals a shared memory.

Chai Latte: Shows a moment when you fell asleep studying drooling and all, hairs out of place and she gently covered you with her scarf, staring at you like you were the only Cookie in the world.

Shadow Milk: Accidentally shows you calling him “Shmilk” in a dream. Out loud. In a crowded library.

You scream. Your face flushing. They both look smug. Point goes to Chai Latte, for psychological warfare. Wasn't the point of this to make you laugh?...

FINAL ROUND: Personal Confession Bomb

Each gets one final statement to “convince” you.

Chai Latte Cookie: She steps forward, all teasing gone from her face. Voice soft.  “If I only get to make you laugh today… that’s enough for me. But if there ever comes a day you want to know how I really feel…”  She presses a tiny folded note into your hand. “You’ll find me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie: He clears his throat, awkwardly solemn for once.  “It may have begun as a jest, but in trying to make you laugh, I uncovered a... truth I hadn’t prepared for. I would like to continue being the reason you smile even if it's as a fool.”  He bows. “Though I must admit... I rather like it when you blushed.”

The courtyard erupts.

Earl Grey: “I CALL IT A TIE.” Hazelnut: “I vote for the mop.” The Mop: operatic screeching intensifies

Epilogue:

You’re left on the grass, heart pounding, surrounded by absurdity and affection. A note in one hand. A glitter scroll in the other. And two very different Cookies one warm like tea, the other burning like a comet watching you with soft smiles.

And even though it’s all a joke...

...why does it feel so real?

Post-Credits Scene: The mop lands a solo in the Academy spring recital. No one questions it.

A/N I made this not weeks ago but maybe a week and a half ago waiting for today...<3

It's just silly and non-canon

[ffleurist]

💌 #one love letter mix-up.

you lived a perfectly ordinary life—until one day, you accidentally sent a love letter to Itoshi Rin, the guy everyone thought you had a crush on his older brother, when in reality, it was rin you were in love with all along.

wc 2.9k

you didn’t mean for it to happen. you were only trying to get the letter to your sister, studying abroad in the UK. but somewhere along the chaos of your thoughts, the letters got mixed up, and somehow it ended up in the hands of itoshi rin instead. to make it worse, that was a love letter you wrote for rin back in middle school. now, standing infront of you, itoshi rin, as he tried to make sense of your mistake—one that would change everything.

you first met rin when you were just 4 years old. you remember him as the small boy always trailing behind his older brother, the two of them standing awkwardly at the edge of your yard. they were the only neighbors your age, and your parents, seeing you bored and your older sister busy with her middle school activities, thought it would be cute to set up a playdate. you didn’t know it then, but that moment would mark the beginning of something far more complicated than you ever could’ve imagined.

"aren't you a little too old to be playing a prank on me? or did you think i was sae?" he said, his voice dripping with anger and confusion clutching the letter in hand. 

confused, that was when it hit you—when you started middle school, everyone thought you had a crush on itoshi sae. sure, he was cute, independent, and exceptionally skilled at soccer at such a young age. but you never once corrected them, even though it was the younger itoshi who had truly caught your heart. you don’t blame him for thinking you still had a crush on his brother, but he didn’t have to be so rude about it.

the way he looked at you felt like you had just insulted him and it stung more than expected. you could feel your cheeks burn under the sun as the silence stretched between you and rin.

“look, rin," you started, your voice softer now, "it wasn’t a joke but it was a mistake. i didn’t mean for you to find out like this."

he crossed his arms, still not buying it, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite read. was it hurt? or maybe confusion? you couldn’t tell.

letting out a frustrated sigh, stepping back slightly. "you know, everyone thought i liked sae. but the truth is, i always—" you stopped yourself. saying it out loud felt like an open invitation for everything to unravel.

"whatever. sae’s not here, in case you didn’t notice. you’re just wasting both your time and mine." he said, his voice laced with contempt, turning and walking away toward the school field.

you let rin walk away while you lost yourself in your thoughts. if only you could go back and tell the 4 year old itoshi rin that the way he was now—unapproachable and cold, wasn't the way it was supposed to be. you liked to think that it was sae’s departure to Spain that had caused him to turn out this way. rin, who had always depended on his older brother, suddenly found himself alone. after sae left, rin pushed you away and buried himself in soccer, determined to become the #1 striker in all of Japan.

it was hard to imagine that boy you once knew, the one who was always by sae's side, now so distant and driven by something else. you couldn't help but wonder if he ever thought about the old days, about how things used to be. and if he did, did he ever regret pushing everyone especially you away?

stunned at his behavior, you almost stormed off. then, a shrill squeal echoed from nearby, and you froze. it was the unmistakable sound of a group of girls giggling like seagulls in a movie scene. at the center of it all stood otoya eita, effortlessly basking in the attention, a cocky grin plastered on his face. famous amongst the ladies, always flirting, always playing around—and once upon a time, you had been the girl hanging on his every word but not anymore. as you almost turned away, you saw it. a pink letter, raised high in the air by one of the girls, fluttering in the breeze. your stomach dropped. the letter was unmistakable yours. it looked just like the one rin had been holding earlier.

No. No. No. No. No. you didn’t possibly send it to him too, did you?

a wave of panic surged through you as you stood frozen, watching the girls pass the letter around, unaware of the chaos it was about to cause. your mind raced, trying to remember every detail of your frantic letter mix-up. how many others had you accidentally sent your heart out to?

you couldn’t bear the thought of having a second letter out there—especially to someone like otoya. he was the last person you wanted involved in this mess.

without another thought, you spun around and ran straight toward rin. your heart pounded in your chest, your breath quickening as you passed through the crowd of students. the girls surrounding otoya, oblivious to the chaos, were nothing but a blur in your peripheral vision. 

when you finally spotted rin, standing by the gates with his back turned to you, something inside you snapped. you didn’t have time to think. the words you wanted to say were stuck in your throat, tangled with everything you felt for him. instead, you reached up and pulled him toward you, closing the distance in one swift movement.

you kissed him. you kissed rin.

the kiss was impulsive, fierce, maybe even a little desperate. rin’s body went rigid at first, shocked by your sudden action, but before you could pull away, his lips began softening against yours. for a moment, everything else faded. the letter, the chaos, the confusion, it all melted away as you stood there, just the two of you. 

maybe your feelings for him had been tangled in the kiss, woven into the way your fingers clutched his uniform, into the way your heart pounded against your ribs. maybe, deep down, you had been waiting for this moment for longer than you realized.

but the moment didn’t last forever.

a sharp gasp from somewhere nearby shattered the illusion. you barely had time to process it before he pulled back, his breath uneven, his eyes wide with something unreadable, shock, confusion, maybe even something deeper. 

“what the hell was that?” he muttered, his voice lower than usual, rough at the edges.

you swallowed hard, hands trembling as you took a step back. “that, that’s why i sent the letter,” you whispered, the words heavy as they left your lips. “it wasn’t for sae. it was always for you.”

rin stared at you, lips still slightly parted, as if he was trying to process what you had just said. you braced yourself for his reaction, for the inevitable storm of emotions that would follow. before he could say anything and before you could even breathe properly, otoya’s voice cut through the air.

“well, well,” he drawled, amusement laced in his tone. “that was quite the show.”

your stomach dropped. you had almost forgotten. he was still holding the other letter and now, judging by the smirk on his face, things were about to get even more complicated.

“fuck off, otoya,” you hissed, attempting to shoo him away like some annoying pest. but, as always, he didn’t know when to quit.

“aw, how could i, when i received such a heartfelt letter? i mean, i’m flattered," otoya drawled, leaning in with that same infuriating smirk. "but after how we ended things, i didn’t think you still cared."

his words were casual, but the implication hit harder than you’d like. of course he’d twist the knife like he always did. he teased, holding up the pink envelope between his fingers like a trophy. then, with that signature smirk, he bent down, his lips brushing the back of your hand in an exaggerated display.

“that letter doesn’t mean anything,” you said through clenched teeth.

he chuckled, tilting his head. “oh? that’s not what’s in the letter.” he mused, waving the letter slightly. “or should i read it out loud? i’m sure rin would love to hear all about it.”

your stomach twisted.

rin.

you had almost forgotten he was still standing there, watching the interaction unfold. you risked a glance in his direction, and what you saw made your heart clench. his expression was stoic, yet his eyes flickered with something darker.

annoyance? anger? jealousy?

you had no idea, but you weren’t about to let him push this any further.

taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders, looking at him dead in the eyes. “you can do whatever you want with that letter, but i don’t care,” you lied, voice steady. “because it’s old. that was the past.”

otoya raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but not entirely convinced. “then wh—”

before he could finish, a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you in close. your breath hitched, your mind barely able to process what was happening before rin’s voice cut through the air— steady, unwavering, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

“stop bothering my girlfriend,” he said, his tone sharp and unwavering. “she said it was in the past. let it go.”

your brain short-circuited. girlfriend?

otoya blinked, his smirk faltering for just a second before he let out a low whistle. “girlfriend, huh?” he looked between the two of you, amusement flickering in his eyes. “since when?”

rin didn’t hesitate. “since now,” he said flatly.

you snapped your head toward him, eyes wide. since now?!

“girlfriend, huh?” otoya drawled, but the amusement in his voice didn’t fully mask something sharper. “guess you like to recycle, huh? first me, now him?”

rin’s lips were pressed into a thin line, his gaze locked on the pink envelope. "if you’re done wasting time, we’re leaving." 

"alright, alright. i’ll back off for now," otoya said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. he took a step back, but not before flashing you a knowing grin. "just don’t come running back when he leaves you hanging. again."

with that, he turned on his heel and strolled off, whistling low under his breath like he hadn’t just cracked open something you wanted to keep buried.

the moment he was gone, you turned to rin, still trying to wrap your head around what had just happened. “what the hell was that?!” you whisper shouted, staring at him in disbelief.

rin barely moved. he just clicked his tongue, removing his hands from your waist, shoving it into his pockets, his expression unreadable. “are you seriously asking me that?”

“yes!”

he exhaled sharply, like this was the dumbest conversation he’d ever had. “you kissed me, genius,” he muttered, his tone flat, almost bored. “i just went along with it.”

your face burned. “but you can’t just call me your girlfriend!”

rin gave you a dry look, head tilting slightly. “then don’t act like one.”

your breath hitched, more out of frustration than anything else. he was so—ugh, asshole.

“you’d rather deal with otoya?” he asked, cocking a brow like he already knew the answer.

you opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught in your throat. he had a point. and judging by the smug flicker in his eyes, he knew it.

satisfied, rin pulled out his phone, checked something, then slid it back into his pocket. “meet me here after school.”

you blinked. “for what?”

his gaze flicked to you, disinterested. “figure your shit out.”

and then, just like that, he turned and walked away. not even a glance back. like none of this had mattered at all.

great. not only had you accidentally sent love letters to two different guys, kissed one of them in a panic, and somehow ended up being rin’s girlfriend, but now you had to explain the entire disaster to him after school.

the rest of the day passed in a blur. by the time the final bell rang, your stomach was in knots. you had no choice but to face him.

sure enough, he was leaning against the school gates, hands in his pockets, waiting. his gaze flicked toward you. “you’re late.”

you crossed your arms. “i considered running away.”

rin scoffed. “yeah? and how’d that work out?”

you sighed. “not well.”

“figured.” he pushed off the gate, nodding toward the sidewalk. “come on. talk.”

you clutched your bag to your chest as you walked beside him. the silence was heavy, almost suffocating. but rin didn’t have patience for hesitation.

“well?” he pressed, side-eyeing you. “i’m waiting.”

you exhaled sharply. “okay, look. it was a mistake, alright? i was trying to send a letter to my sister in the UK, and somehow, my old letters got mixed in.” you gritted your teeth. “i didn’t mean for you to get it.”

he scoffed. “right. and i’m supposed to believe you just accidentally sent a love letter to me and otoya?”

you groaned, kicking at a loose rock on the pavement. “yes! i know how ridiculous it sounds, but it’s the truth.”

he didn’t respond right away. his silence was unnerving.

“that letter. middle school?”

you nodded hesitantly. “yeah.”

“no wonder there were so many spelling mistakes.” rin mocked.

“excuse me!”

another pause. then, in a voice so cold and monster-like, it made your stomach twist, he asked, “was it real?”

you stopped in your tracks.

rin turned slightly, waiting for your answer.

was it real? fuck yes. the feelings you poured into that letter, the words you had written with all the sincerity your younger self could muster—were they real?

the truth was, they were. back then, you liked rin so much it hurt. but as the years passed, rin had changed.

you bit your lip, choosing your words carefully. “it was real. back then.”

something flickered across his face, gone before you could catch it. he gave a slow nod. “i see.”

for some reason, his reaction made your chest feel tight.

before you could dwell on it, rin clicked his tongue. “so you kissed me over otoya?”

your face burned. “what, no! i mean—” you struggled to find an excuse, but nothing came.

rin tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “desperate move.”

“so, what are we doing about this girlfriend thing?” you asked, arms crossed.

rin barely spared you a glance, his voice dry and uninterested. “oh, yeah i’m breaking up with you.”

you blinked. “excuse me?”

he let out a slow exhale, shoving his hands in his pockets. “what? you thought i was being serious? you’re not my type.”

your jaw clenched. “then why the hell did you say it in the first place?”

“because it was the fastest way to shut otoya up,” then he shrugged. “and it worked.”

“you’re unbelievable.”

“yeah, well.” he glanced down at his phone, clearly done with the conversation. “good luck with your mess.” he turned on his heel, already walking away.

panic surged through you. no, no, no. if rin backed out now, it would be even worse than before. people had already seen you together. otoya definitely wasn’t going to let this go. and worst of all, rin had been the one to say it first. if he suddenly acted like it was a joke, you’d look desperate.

“wait.” the word left your lips before you could stop it.

rin slowed but didn’t turn around.

you swallowed your pride and forced the words out. “please. just… just go along with it. just for a little while.”

rin finally turned, raising an eyebrow. “you want me to fake date you?” he let out a short, humourless laugh. “that’s pathetic.”

your face burned. “it’s your fault in the first place!”

he gave you a blank stare. “and?”

god, he was insufferable. you inhaled sharply, trying not to let your frustration show. “it won’t be for long. just enough for otoya to back off.”

rin tilted his head slightly, considering. then, with the most obnoxious smile, he said, “beg for it.”

your stomach dropped. “what?”

“you heard me.” his voice was smooth, infuriatingly calm. “you want me to waste my time playing pretend? make it worth my while.”

your hands clenched into fists at your sides. this was humiliating. you hated him. absolutely hated him.

but you needed this.

“…please.” the word tasted bitter.

rin’s smirk deepened. “not good enough.”

your nails dug into your palms. “rin, please. just help me out.”

“why do you care about what otoya thinks?” rin asked, voice unusually quiet.

you hesitated. “because once… i did. and it hurt.”

he studied you for a long moment, like he was weighing whether this was worth his time. then he let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine.”

relief crashed into you.

“but,” he continued, stepping closer, “you listen to me. no whining, no complaining. and when i say it’s over, it’s over.”

you swallowed, nodding.

rin gave you one last amused look. “see you.”

and just like that, he walked off, leaving you standing there, hating every single decision that had led you to this moment.

notes from lily ❦⋆ : i wrote this on the day i made this fic so i have no idea what i wrote

accidentally yours

taglist: @levihanmyotp @antennaed-kenzy @mixolya @yuukiririix @sindulgent666 @captainshindo @nomyimi @megumismyhusband @kyutiipie @wonubby @anqelkoz @nevvynev @kaz-0e @mochiii-sama @p1z-d0n7jud6em3 @x3nafix @elliehenry24 @bubybubsters @feliwnni @sfwrin @morgyyyyyyy @sapph1r3x @rreporterbby @kaidostwin @saeflrt @etherealrin @suksatoru @rinniebinniebay @yvieliny @ravenbc @luvrrin @dangerousluv1 @lily-isalittlegirl @kaemaybae @suguruscumslut @xumeikyu [tell me if i missed out ur names]

© ffleurist 2025 do not plagiarise, translate, or rewrite my writings without my permission

[nephalem-da]

Headcanons for Life with a Chaotic Triangle

(Bill Cipher x Gn!Reader)

Warning: My version of Bill includes; Soft!Bill Cipher, OOC, lots of fluff moments, no use of Y/n. Reader is not mentioned to be human or not.

△ This version of Bill Cipher is a master of chaos, always one step ahead of everyone else. He loves playing pranks, bending reality, and causing mischief. But when it comes to you, he's surprisingly sweet—most of the time. He enjoys teasing you, but there’s always a line he won’t cross. It’s like he has two sides: the one the world fears and the one who melts whenever you’re around.

△ Date nights with Bill are anything but ordinary. He’ll take you to different dimensions, create dreamscapes that defy logic, or whisk you away to see the stars up close. No two dates are ever the same. One moment, you’re having dinner at the bottom of the ocean, and the next, you’re dancing on the rings of Saturn. He delights in seeing your reactions to his world, and he loves showing off his powers just to impress you.

△ Bill isn’t exactly the cuddly type, but he shows affection in his own unique ways. He’ll wrap you in an aura of warmth when you’re cold, create tiny versions of himself to keep you company when he’s away, or even manipulate time just so you can have a few more minutes in bed together. When he’s feeling particularly sentimental, he’ll let you catch glimpses of his true feelings through his eye, where you can see the affection and care he holds for you.

△ Bill is fiercely protective of you, though he rarely shows it in obvious ways. If anyone dares to mess with you, they’ll find themselves lost in a never-ending maze of madness, courtesy of your triangle boyfriend. But he’s also proud of your ability to hold your own, and he loves watching you handle yourself in tricky situations. He might even orchestrate a challenge or two just to see how you’ll overcome it.

△ Despite his chaotic nature, Bill is incredibly attuned to your emotions. He’ll go out of his way to make you smile, even if it means toning down his usual antics for a bit. He has a knack for knowing exactly what you need, whether it’s a moment of peace or a whirlwind of excitement. Your happiness is his top priority, and he’ll move mountains (literally) to ensure you’re content.

△ Life with Bill is never boring, especially when it comes to intellectual debates. He loves a good argument, especially when you challenge him. You’ve learned that he respects you even more when you stand your ground, and he enjoys the mental sparring. These debates often end with him grinning in admiration at your wit and intelligence, sometimes even conceding a point or two—though he’ll never admit it out loud.

△ There are rare moments when Bill lets his guard down completely, showing you a side of him that no one else ever sees. He might reveal a bit of his past, his fears, or even his doubts. During these times, he’s more open and honest, allowing you to see the depth of his character. These moments strengthen your bond and remind you that beneath all the chaos, there’s a being who deeply cares for you.

△ Holidays and special occasions are wild affairs with Bill. Expect the unexpected—like a birthday party where the cake sings or a Halloween where the haunted house you visit is an actual haunted dimension. He takes joy in making these moments memorable, with his unique brand of fun, making sure you’ll never forget the time you spend together.

△ Despite his wild personality, Bill is incredibly loyal to you. He may flirt with chaos and cause trouble everywhere else, but when it comes to you, he’s fully committed. He cherishes your relationship and takes pride in being your partner. Bill sees you as his equal, and he’s always eager to share his world—and his heart—with you.

△ In the end, Bill sees your relationship as something beyond the limits of time and space. He’s in it for the long haul, and he’s ready to keep things interesting for eternity. He’ll never let your love grow stale, always finding new ways to surprise you, challenge you, and make you laugh. To him, you’re the one thing in the multiverse that’s truly worth holding onto.

△ But let's say you’re close friends with the Pines family, having grown up around them or met them during your adventures in Gravity Falls. You’ve become like family to them, often getting involved in their strange and supernatural escapades. Dipper admires your bravery and quick thinking, Mabel adores your creativity and fun-loving nature, and Stan enjoys your wit and loyalty. You’ve spent countless summer nights with them, stargazing, exploring the mysteries of the town, and fighting off strange creatures.

△ When Weirdmageddon strikes, your relationship with Bill complicates things. The Pines family doesn’t initially know about your connection to Bill, but as the chaos unfolds, they start to notice his odd behavior around you. He’s less hostile when you’re present, and you seem to have an influence on him that no one else does. The Pines are torn between trusting you and their deep-seated fear of Bill. However, they recognize that you’re not under his control; instead, you’re someone he genuinely cares for.

△ During Weirdmageddon, you find yourself torn between helping the Pines and dealing with Bill’s chaotic reign. You try to convince Bill to tone down the destruction, using your influence to protect the people of Gravity Falls. It’s a tough balance, but Bill surprisingly listens to you, albeit reluctantly. He may not completely stop his plans, but he finds ways to bend the rules or give you subtle warnings to keep you and the Pines family safe.

△ Eventually, the Pines family learns about your relationship with Bill. They’re initially shocked, especially Dipper, who’s skeptical and worried about how this could affect their battle against Bill. Mabel, ever the optimist, tries to see the good in your relationship, and even Stan has to admit that Bill seems to care for you in his own twisted way. Over time, they come to realize that your bond with Bill might be the key to saving the town—or at least keeping things from getting worse.

△ Bill’s affection for you becomes even more apparent during Weirdmageddon. He may be the lord of chaos, but when it comes to you, he’s softer and more considerate. He’s still his mischievous self, but there’s a noticeable change in how he treats you compared to everyone else. He’ll create safe spaces amidst the madness, allowing you moments of calm and peace. The Pines notice how he goes out of his way to make sure you’re unharmed, even if it means delaying his plans or redirecting his chaos.

△ During the final battle against Bill, your presence becomes crucial. The Pines rely on you to get through to him, to find a way to reach whatever humanity—or triangleity—Bill has left. Your connection with Bill makes the difference, giving the Pines an edge in the fight. You manage to appeal to his better side, convincing him to spare the town or at least leave you and the Pines alone. It’s a tense moment, but your love for Bill and his love for you ultimately help sway the outcome.

△ After Weirdmageddon ends, the Pines family’s view of Bill softens, if only slightly, because of you. While they may never fully trust him, they acknowledge that your influence kept things from getting even worse. Your relationship with the Pines is forever changed, but it’s stronger for having gone through the chaos together. Bill, on the other hand, may still be the master of mischief, but he’s more careful about how his actions affect you and your loved ones.

[mya-valentine]

Headcanons for how the League Of Villains act when drunk?.. and Would they do stupid things while drunk? P.S: I love your writing

Headcanon: How The League of Villains Act When Drunk

A/N: Thank you☺️ I'm so glad you enjoy my work. Sorry if this took long, I've been very busy

Tomura Shigaraki

Shigaraki would be the moody type when drunk. He’d probably go from brooding in a corner, muttering about heroes, to suddenly ranting loudly about his disdain for All Might or Deku.

His usual “don’t touch me” attitude would flip. He might get oddly clingy, pulling people into bear hugs, much to everyone’s confusion and discomfort.

Shigaraki’s coordination would be all over the place, and his decay quirk would activate accidentally, leaving things crumbling everywhere—tables, chairs, even door handles, all turning to dust without him meaning to.

Dabi

Dabi would get even more sarcastic than usual, throwing snarky comments left and right. He’d probably flirt with everyone in the room, completely deadpan, even with people who have no interest. “Oh, Toga, you look so sharp today. Literally.”

In his drunken state, he’d accidentally set small things on fire—couches, curtains, even the occasional bottle of alcohol in his hand—just because he’s too distracted or careless to control his quirk properly.

He’d probably start stupid dares, like challenging Shigaraki to see who can destroy more things or asking Toga to "cut shapes" into walls with her knife.

Himiko Toga

Toga would become super giggly and affectionate, trying to hug and nuzzle everyone, especially the people she has a crush on. She might even start poking fun at people for how “cute” their blood would taste.

She’d playfully challenge others to knife games, laughing hysterically when she almost cuts herself or others, not caring about the danger.

She’d drink some blood, attempt to transform into someone else, and then forget halfway through who she was supposed to be. This would lead to hilarious transformations where she’s stuck as a weird mix of multiple people.

Twice

Twice would become even more chaotic when drunk, with his split personality going haywire. He’d swing from being super confident and boastful to panicking about trivial things like, "What if I’ve already drunk too much and cloned myself and don’t even know it!?"

In his confusion, he’d start cloning himself uncontrollably, leading to dozens of Twice clones running around, all with different levels of drunkenness and confusion, some trying to clean up while others make even more of a mess.

He’d constantly get into weird, loud arguments with his clones, debating who’s the “real” Twice, which would escalate into drunken wrestling matches with himself.

Toga and Twice would absolutely team up in their drunken state, pulling pranks on everyone. Twice would clone himself to create distractions while Toga sneaks up behind others, surprising them with her knives or transforming into random League members just to freak everyone out.

Spinner

Spinner would get very philosophical when drunk, going on long rants about Stain’s ideology, questioning the morality of their actions, and asking deep questions like, "Are we truly villains, or just misunderstood heroes?"

He’d probably unsheath his sword and start swinging it around clumsily, knocking things over, and hitting furniture while trying to show off his "heroic" skills, only to trip over his tail.

At some point, he’d drunkenly start insisting everyone play an old video game with him, like Tetris or Street Fighter, getting overly competitive and emotional about it.

Mr. Compress

Mr. Compress would turn into an exaggerated version of himself when drunk, speaking in grand, dramatic gestures, like he’s performing a show. He’d likely challenge others to card tricks or sleight-of-hand games, only to drop the cards everywhere.

He’d start compressing random items in the room—bottles, plates, even Twice’s clones—without much thought, laughing about the chaos it causes.

He’d try to tell elaborate, fantastical stories about his past or the League’s adventures, getting increasingly nonsensical and confusing as he rambles on, leaving everyone unsure of what he’s talking about.

Kurogiri

Kurogiri would try to stay responsible at first, keeping an eye on the others and making sure no one gets hurt. But after a few drinks, even he’d loosen up a bit, though he’d never fully lose his calm demeanor.

As he gets drunk, Kurogiri might accidentally start teleporting people or objects to random places, sending Dabi across the room or making Twice reappear in the kitchen without meaning to.

He’d start talking in circles about the importance of balance and order, even as he drunkenly sends half the room into his portals, much to everyone’s frustration.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[effietrinket1619]

On the subject of Jess having a TikTok account dedicated to content produced by dint of her having the weirdest family anyone on the internet has ever seen (this is the true reason they are beating the Waynes for popularity), and Kyle finding that makeup is way more fun than expected:

-Simon being into cars and Hal being into planes. Does this cause conflicts? Who knows but they definitely both have multiple 'infodump about special interest' segments

-Kyle with makeup strikes again, multiple times (they even get John to sit for it, with a face of exasperated indulgence) which then devolves into 'everyone walks in heels challenge' and listen it's been a while since Hal was young enough to steal Carol's shoes for the hell of it but the muscle memory is still there so he's rusty but he's not Guy (cannot go five steps without tripping but he plays it off nicely). This is how everyone learns that Kyle can already walk in heels. He refuses to tell them how or why he knows this.

-also on the Kyle with makeup: does Jess get him into stage makeup and does he then try to make someone look like Kilowog.

-I want Hal to wear a dress at some point (with a good twirly skirt), possibly as another challenge Jess talks everyone into, because I think he'd enjoy it a lot more than he expected to. Guy spends the whole thing exaggeratedly emulating one of the PTA moms he knew back in the day and it's all fun and games until Kyle says 'yknow with dramatics like that you wouldn't be a half bad drag queen' and then Guy gets that specific demonic glint in his eye that means 'I have discovered a new way to cause chaos' and Kyle realizes immediately that he's all but signed himself up as the makeup artist for this. Hal is completely ignoring them in favor of looking at himself in the mirror and twirling in the twirly skirt and periodically hyping Kyle's makeup skills and the shopping skills of whoever picked the dress because "I was honestly expecting a repeat of that time I dressed in drag and sang ABBA at midnight on the tarmac because I lost a bet but you actually made me look nice!"

(Hal will drop anecdotes like that and then never elaborate or bring them up again. He does it specifically to drive Jess insane. She is aware of this.)

-at least one FMK of the Justice League, which about half the actual League watches, chaos ensues as a good quarter of the senior Leaguers pointedly flirt with Hal in Batman's line of sight specifically to make Bruce's eye twitch.

-vlog saga of a trip to an air and space museum, Hal geeks out the whole time, it's adorable.

-one video that's just Jess silently recording the dumpster fire of a trip that is Hal and Guy trying to buy groceries. It is captioned 'this is why John won't let us shop without him'.

-the One Time Jess got John to pop off about architecture

-Simon's litany of extremely helpful car advice.

-Kyle complaining about having art block because he gets so creative when he bitches about it.

-Jess replaces the sugar with salt and half the video is just her fucking booking it away from the rest of the Lanterns.

-yknow those prank videos where one party goes 'I trapped a mouse under the dish I'm too scared to touch it' and it's a computer mouse but you don't find out until the other party has moved it outside? Those fail absolutely in the Lantern house but they fail in such absolutely batshit ways she posts them anyway. Everyone's reactions to 'help there's a mouse/huge bug/etc under it' are just... so fucking weird. Jess tells John there's a big tarantula under that paper cup and he leaves and comes back with a mallet and that's the most normal reaction out of all of them.

-moves all the furniture three inches to the left. Compilation of creative swearing as toes are stubbed.

-rearranges the dishes while everyone's asleep, ensuing '....why are the plates in the bowl cabinet?????' Except Jess obviously can't stop there so one morning everyone wakes up and every cabinet and drawer in their kitchen has been emptied and filled with Legos. John turns the house upside down and he cannot find ANY of their dishes or cooking utensils and the only appliance left is the microwave which has been unplugged and filled with Legos. Kyle, Guy, and Hal immediately sit on the kitchen floor to start playing with the Legos, which is periodically interrupted by John's increasingly furious search for a SINGLE ONE of their dishes or utensils. He'll take finding a single chopstick at this point.

-compilation of having the family try weird foods except all of these people are so used to alien cuisine or the godawful space rations that they just... don't... react... she has Hal eat a carolina reaper the day after he gets back from a several month long mission in space and he's so used to space rations that he's just like 'oh thank god. Flavor.' And that's his only reaction. Like how all food is the best food ever when breakfast was ten hours ago and you've been hiking for eight of them.

-shdhgbsbd Jess does one of those horror movie prank challenges but it's the Lanterns so their reactions are.... not the expected. (Hal wakes up to see some horrific Halloween decoration staring him in the face. He gives it a once over, rolls over, and goes back to sleep).

these are absolutely FRYING me so i'll add on wherever i can

i'd like to make it so clear that jess never, at any given point, actually states the nature of her relationship to these people. they're all from different states, they all have wildly different cultural, religious and employment backgrounds. every time someone's brave enough to ask if [insert lantern] is her partner or parent, jess flat out ignores it and goes on with her day.

there's also the fact that guy and john, who crucially do not have secret identities, appear regularly and seem to live in this house with her? this is equally perplexing as jess apparently just casually knows two whole green lanterns. one person asks if the entire family is made up of green lanterns and jess makes a minute long response video that's just her laughing her ass off. no words at all. that puts the theories to rest for a while.

kyle's dabbled mildly in face painting but make up is a whole different game entirely. there's so much more. like, a lot of creative expression and more products and powders and paints he gets to figure out how to use as well as a whole new array of brushes. he cannot believe it took him this long to try.

john being the next victim is entirely fitting. he's silent and visibly fighting a smile so he looks as stoic as possible while kyle goes to town on him and gives him the cleanest cut crease anyone's ever seen. does this end up boosting john stewarts popularity publicly? yes. jess would tell you she had very little to do with it.

hal and his anecdotes give jess genuine aneurysms. as she films and helps kyle stencil in butterflies over his cheeks and forehead, he drops that he kinda wishes he went all out like this on his wedding day. kyle drops his brush and jess chokes audibly as they talk over each other to ask hal if he's actually married?? hal's response? a grin, a wink and a, "You never asked." horrifying.

kyle does end up getting really good with the state makeup and this spirals into a video where jess walks around looking like she got half of her face torn off (it's surprisingly realistic for makeup) and it scares the shit out of simon and guy.

the way hal is able to sashay in a dress and high heels has everyone deeply suspicious. jess also feels like john in particular is hiding something from them as they watch hal check himself out in a full length mirror. keli's, hidden behind the camera, is the one who asks hal if he's done this before. hal shrugs and says his airforce days were kinda wild. this will be keeping jess and her audience up at night.

anyway, john rocks an evening gown, guy is absolutely thrilled in a vintage, tea length dress that's very reminiscent of the forties housewife style, kyle gets a nice sundress with sunflowers printed all over it and simon has found a wedding dress (no one knows where he got it) and is twirling around in it. truly the video ever. jess has them do a whole catwalk and everything and hal in his heels and makeup really does steal the show.

no one knowing hal is a green lantern makes the FMK so much funnier. when asked for a reason as to why he'd kill batman in literally every single one of these, he has to come up with an answer that doesn't give away his history with bruce. what does he come up with instead? the first and only time he went to gotham, batman knocked his hotdog out of his hands and hal never went back. this gets #justiceforhaljordan and #batmanvshaljordan trending for a week straight. bruce is livid.

hal and guy at the supermarket goes viral because they get into an argument over the flavour of yoghurt keli likes best. it's banana vs chocolate when jess knows keli likes neither of these flavours. she says nothing. the argument lasts for thirty minutes and they end up not buying any yoghurt at all. hal and guy go to the next aisle over and start bickering again over chip flavours. jess's sigh rattles through her very bones.

jess purposefully strides up to simon and tells him that hal's considering getting a cybertruck (he isn't) and the audience gets to see simon's face go from shock to horror to disgust to pure and unadulterated rage. he then storms into hal's room (jess is still filming) and goes on this massive and impassioned rant about why cybertrucks are the single worst investment he could make and if hal bought one, simon would be ripping it apart immediately. hal is. so confused.

john is tipsy when jess brings up architecture and then everyone present, audience included, get an extended house tour where he proudly and deliberately points out every single design feature he included and the reasons for it (ofc john designed the house they're in, what the hell did you expect from me?). it's sweet, it's impassioned and it's clear it was all a labour of love.

the salt prank gets jo first. the others are either too exhausted or jaded to even really notice when they starts stirring salt into their coffee. but jo? she dumps a whole two teaspoons in and jess manages to keep a straight face until jo literally chokes on it and nearly starts drowning right then and there as tea goes everywhere. jess barely makes it out of there with her life preserved.

the mouse prank? yeah hal produces a fuckoff huge flamethrower from nowhere and jess is forced to reveal the prank before he actually burns the house down. jess takes her eyes off kyle for about five minutes and he's already rigged a very elaborate trap that absolutely will not work. jo takes one look at upturned dish and grabs a machete. about a billion viewers fall in love with her almost immediately. guy goes and finds a mouse cage so he can keep it and is devastated to see that it's a computer mouse. jess almost feels bad for him.

keli gets to participate in moving all of the furniture. kyle, eternally stuck in his own head, stubs his toes a million times and looks like he's on the verge of tears by the time he manages to navigate his way into his own room. when the door slams shut, jess and keli do hear another muffled yelp and they consider this a job well done. john eventually asks them to please move the furniture back before guy trips and gives himself more brain damage.

where did jess put the utensils and plates? she's not saying shit. but she does keep coming out with a bowl full of food and it's driving john genuinely nuts as he tries to figure out where the hell she's keeping this stuff. hal, kyle, guy and simon are entirely useless. they've been useless since the legos came out. jo absolutely knows something john doesn't and keli is thrilled that they get to have takeout the entire day. john is rethinking every decision that got him here as he combs through the house for the umpteenth time.

a lot of people find it incredibly attractive that hal, one of two white men in this fuckass family, can handle the heat of a carolina reaper. hal, of course, has been aided by oliver queen's chili recipe which he's consumed over the course of years. most of them have a pretty decent spice tolerance actually, so the challenge is less them feeling pain and more them being relieved that they're back on earth and they can actually eat food with flavour.

as a side note, i wanna make it so clear that the reason hal gets popular originally is because he's hot but after that point? he's just so fucking weird but also kind??? like he's possibly the weirdest guy anyone's ever seen cos he'll read hate comments and huff and go, "I watched my dad burn to death in front of me so this is not my biggest problem right now" and then never elaborate?? an enigma. he is also super cute when he geeks out. that helps.

hal's best friend is kilowog so there's virtually nothing that actually shakes him. jess positions a skeleton on the ceiling over hal's bed (supernatural style) and he doesn't even blink at it when he wakes up. no one does. not even with those enormous spiders that jump off the wall. jess's little pranks here are less about the comedy of her family getting scared and more about just showcasing how fucking weird they all are. it's infuriating and incredibly endearing all at once.

anyway this is so fun thank you for the ask <3

[d3lly1000]

Zack & Lilly The Hedgehog - The Gremlins Twins!

I was trying to hold off on them until I finished Skyler's redesign, but I couldn't.

I had mentioned some time ago that I wanted to give Sonic and Amy chaotic twins because I can totally see them causing trouble and getting into a lot of mischief, and well: Here they are!

Some facts about them in my AU:

When Amy was pregnant, she constantly felt tremors in her body and headaches. These effects were caused by the abilities they were naturally born with – the Supersonic Scream.

Zack was born seconds before Lilly.

When they were babies, they couldn’t control their abilities, which is why there were constantly broken windows around the house. They would even get scared by the sound of their own 'super-cries' when they were in the crib, which occasionally led to some hearing impairments.

Lilly is the thinker of the duo. She always comes up with foolproof plans and strategies to start a chaos zone. Zack has a more innocent mind, but still, he loves causing trouble too.

Lilly has a shorter temper, with assertiveness, leadership, and perfectionism. She likes it when everything is going as planned, and when things don’t go as expected, she knows how to play the 'helpless girl' to avoid facing the consequences. She dreams of not only dominate the world but also becoming a famous actress.

Although he causes trouble too, Zack is more soft-hearted. He tends to be more affectionate and empathetic, with a strong sense of protection and courage. He would love to have the chance to perform a heroic act like his father someday.

Zack loves stories of romance and fantasy. Every night before bed, he would ask his father to tell the story of King Arthur, where Sonic would give so many details that it made him wonder if he had been there when the story happened.

Lilly has a great taste for mystical and magical things – thanks to her mother's Tarot cards. She eventually discovers that she can cast some spells, but only when she's an adult.

Both have the ability to summon weapons. However, Lilly has always chosen to design a cute umbrella that could help her glide and be more defensive, while her brother, who dreams of protecting others and being a great knight, opts for a sword.

Lilly and Zack will rarely be seen apart; she is the shield to his attacks. They highly honor their own sibling code.

Zack doesn't have super speed like his father, but his Uncle Tails designed technologies that use his movements as energy, making him faster.

Both love playing pranks on their older sister – Skyler. This always irritates her, as she usually ends up having to fix the problems they cause.

They are 6 years younger than Skyler - If something happened to her siblings, she would feel guilty.

In Amy's view, the twins are angels. They always pretend nothing is happening, because if she finds out, they’ll be in serious trouble. Sonic knows they cause a lot of mischief, so he scolds them without involving Amy, advising them and giving them moral lessons so they don’t do it again – which always happens.

Lilly is daddy's little girl, Zack is mommy's little boy.

Zack eats a lot, which gives him a more robust body when he’s an adult.

Both are extremely dramatic. They like to think they’re acting in an anime, saying impactful lines and making exaggerated gestures.

They are very close friends with their cousin - Tails and Zooey's daughter.

Their biggest goal is to dominate the world. However, when they become adults, this plan fades from Zack's path, as he wants to follow in his father's footsteps as a hero, but Lilly still has the desire to rule it in an evil way.

Zack has spikes similar to Sonic's deceased parents, while Lilly has bangs-like spikes similar to Amy's mother.

Conclusion...

For now, that's it. Some of the characters mentioned aren't finished yet, but as soon as I finish, I’ll be posting new information!

[hoonieyun]

it's scooby doo time

pairing: sim jaeyun x reader x park sunghoon

warnings: mentions of death, murder, blood, profanity, stalking, like overall slasher movie vibes, 18+ not proofread

this chapter is written and all chapters moving forward will be as well

wc: 2685

your breath quickens at the text message notifications on your phone. the streets were still bustling with students enjoying their weekend and people finding something to do on their days off but it was all drowned out by the ringing in your ears. you felt like you were going to be sick as you read the text messages over and over again, like it was a giant slap in the face to everything you and your friends have survived the last few months. 

like it was all a joke and the killer knew what games to play to get you all to drop your guards. 

“yn? everything ok, you look like you saw a ghost. what’s on that phone of yours that’s got you so spooked?” jay asks, garnering everyone’s attention as they all avert their gaze over to you who had fallen behind as they all walked forward. sunghoon walks over to you, reaching for your hand as he reads the worry in your face. “ yn? whats wrong?” he asks, taking your phone from your hand to see whats got you frozen in fear. 

sunghoon’s face instantly drops as he reads the texts on your phone; turning towards the group with a deadpan face– worry transferring to them as sunghoon’s expression mimics yours. they all huddle over to see what the cause was and soon worry washes over the street. like once bustling streets on a busy saturday night has suddenly turned into darkness, leaving all of you as the only people left out there. 

“is this some fucking joke?” daniella asks, frustration in her voice as she releases an aggravated sigh. none of you could believe this was happening, just a month ago detective taeyong and irene had told you all that gong ilhan has been arrested and charged for the murder of your friends and attempted murder; it seems that the nightmare has not come to an end– but was just dormant. 

“we need to tell detective taeyong and irene– no! shouldn’t we wait until something happens? what if this is just a prank?” heeseung interjects. everyone staring at him and waiting for an explanation. 

“think about it– what if this is just a prank? ilhan is still in jail right? there’s no way he could’ve sent that.” 

everyone processes heeseungs words and although it makes sense, what if ilhan was just a red herring; and in fact, not the killer. “what if its not a prank and he’s just been waiting for us?” sunghoon’s words hang heavily amongst you and soon your friends have begun to theorize any possibilities, arguments and bickering erupt as they all talk over one another– no one listening to what the other has to say as panic disrupts the once peaceful and joyful night you were all having. 

“babe, are you ok?” sunghoon whispers, pulling you aside from the group as they continue to argue amonst themselves. this is exactly what the killer wants, chaos. he wants all of you to disagree and argue so that you don’t stand united– falling apart– to make it easier to pick the rest of you guys off one by one. 

and you weren’t going to let that happen. 

“enough!” you shout, your voice ripping through the empty streets of the night– causing everyone to fall silent. “if this fucker wants to come get us so bad– that we’ll give it to him.” you mutter, everyone’s gaze glued onto you as they all try to figure out what you’ve got planned. 

“here’s what we’re going to do..” 

your plan seemed outrageous but everyone followed along quite well– you wanted to make sure that if the killer was going to come back– that it would be the last time. 

“we’ll meet at jay and heeseung’s new place, since it’s the biggest, it'll give us enough space for all of us to camp out there. it’s also the only one that’s not an apartment– we don’t want to have to involve any of the other residents and put them in danger.. 

if the killer is going to come after us, which we know he is, if we’re all at the same place at the same time then it’ll be easy for all of us to fight him off– whoever it is. 

we can take turns sleeping in shifts just in case he doesn’t attack right away, keep each other safe and accountable to ensure that we survive.” 

“how do we know he’s going to show up?” heeseung asks. 

“we don’t.. but i’ll make sure he does.” you mutter and heeseung just asks why but you tell him that it’s nothing to worry about and that you’ll take care of it. “all you guys need to do is to show up… and live.” you left it at that and soon you all parted ways. heading back to your new homes as you all prepare for that night. 

“baby, slow down. talk to me, where is this all coming from?” sunghoon asks, jogging up to you as you speed walked away back to his car. “yn, slow down.” he huffs. “i can’t! i can’t, okay? this i has to end..” you were on the verge of tears and sunghoon could tell this was affecting you greatly– even more than it used to. 

“everything will be fine.” he says, pulling you into his arms as he softly hushes you. you weren’t sure if it was going to be fine but you were going to try your damndest to make sure you and your friends survived. 

during the ride home, sunghoon asks how you came up with that plan of yours on the fly, to which you explained that it wasn’t on a whim and that you had planned it before they had arrested ilhan. you explained that if there was one way to identify the killer and have him fall into your trap– it would be to gather as a group somewhere private: one of your homes. and spend the night together, leaving you all vulnerable. 

it was too big of an opportunity for the killer not to take and even though you were taking a risk by only assuming that the killer will show up without full certainty, there was a feeling inside of you that just said he would. 

“where are you going?” sunghoon asks as you step out of his car and walk to yours when he arrives back at your new home. “i need to go do something– okay i’ll come with.” he interjects but you decline. telling him that you needed to do this alone and that you’ll be fine. 

“it’ll only take 15 minutes, trust me, ok?” sunghoon is reluctant to just let you go out alone in the middle of the night but he eventually agrees– watching you speed out of the parking lot and trudging his way back to your new apartment. 

later that night, when you returned you found sunghoon sitting in the living room with all of the lights on, waiting for you. you sat next to him as he waves you over to the empty spot beside him on the couch; “where’d you go?” he asks and you tell him that it wasn’t anything to worry and that you just needed to do something really quickly but that wasn’t enough for him. 

“you can’t hide stuff from me, especially now– when we know the killer is still out there? yn, come on..” he probes and as much as you wanted to tell him and as guilty as you felt from looking into his eyes and all you could see was love and longing– you knew that you couldn’t tell him. at least not yet. 

“do you trust me?” you ask and sunghoon immediately nods his head, turning his body so that he was fully facing you. “of course i trust you, do you trust me?” he retorts and your mind suddenly goes back to the day at the hospital, when you were attacked when visiting jay after he woke up and sunghoon miraculously appeared as if he had been there the whole time– claiming he was just attacked the same way you were. 

you wanted to trust me with every fiber in your body but you couldn’t tell him that there was a tiny sliver of disbelief inside of you because you knew that the small doubt could create the biggest rift between the two of you. so– instead of answering him, you pull him into a hug paired with a small peck onto his cheeks and you could feel sunghoon relax instantly. relief washing over you as you realize your avoidant response was enough. 

“come on, let’s go to bed.” you say, standing up and pulling him into your now shared bedroom. sunghoon must’ve been more exhausted from the day than you were because he instantly falls asleep while you’re left to wonder if you’re currently lying in the bed with the very man that has been a terror on your life since the beginning of the school year. 

college was barely even any of your focus these days, your grades were doing just fine enough to sail by and although nothing had happened for the last month, you’re constantly on edge; as if there was a looming danger just hiding in the shadows for the perfect opportunity to pounce. 

🗡

“hey! you made it!” heeseung greets as he opens the door, revealing you and sunghoon who are seemingly the last two to arrive. “well yeah, i kind of did plan this whole thing.” and sunghoon just laughs while heeseung nods in realization, a shy smile on his face. heeseung grabs your bags and sets it into one of the closets in the hallway, “i can take that too.” he says, referring to your bag that was slung across your body. you recoil when he reaches for it, causing everyone to notice your reaction. “woah–” 

“sorry, uhm– its fine. i’ll hold onto it. thanks.” you say, taking a seat in the living room next to daniella, sunghoon telling heeseung that it’s cool and not to worry, “she’s just been a bit on edge.” heeseung nods as he sets your bags down into the closet. 

“alright, so now what?” jay asks, emerging from his room with extra blankets and pillows for everyone. 

“we wait.” you simply respond and again, they question your plan; “is this even going to work? i mean– what if he doesn’t show up.” daniella utters and you can’t help but sigh because you weren’t sure that he would and all you could do was hope. obviously the killer showing up would lead to bloodshed one way or another, but doing it like this ensures that you’re all together meaning you could keep each other safe. 

when the sun dips below the horizon and the only thing providing light in the dark night was the moon, your friends have begun to fall asleep. heeseung and jay sleeping in their respective rooms while daniella slept soundly on the couch in the living room. you and sunghoon were currently outside on the balcony, it was your turn to stand watch but sunghoon didn’t feel comfortable leaving you alone so he was by your side. 

“do you think he’s coming?” sunghoon asks, voice just above a whisper. you shook your head with a shrug, “is this stupid? what if they’re right? and he doesn’t show up? then we’d just be sitting ducks for the rest of our lives! i just–” sunghoon cuts you off with a kiss on the lips. 

the once uneasy atmosphere soon dissipated as your lips connect, the tenderness swelling inside of your chest as sunghoon’s hands find the curvature of your body, pulling you closer to his body but you’re soon interrupted when you hear daniella scream from inside of the house. 

you and sunghoon instantly pull yourselves off of one another and run inside, afraid that in your moment of vulnerability that daniella was attacked; worry and guilt building inside of you as you run inside only to find daniella standing in the middle of the living room, with all of the lights on and no killer in sight. 

“what the fuck? what happened?” you ask, out of breath with sunghoon trailing behind you. 

“i thought i felt a bug crawling on me..” daniella explains shyly and although you were annoyed, you were glad that she was fine. lights emerge from the other side of the house as jay appears, eyes half shut, “what’s going on? who yelled?” he asks, rubbing one of his eyes. 

“nothing, dani just thought there was a bug on her.” to which he groans, clearly upset that his sleep was interrupted. 

just before you’re all about to return to what you were doing; the lights in the house suddenly go out and you’re left in the darkness, prompting daniella to now scream with actual purpose while sunghoon instantly reaches out and pulls you closer to him. 

“fuck– he’s here.” you breathe out, “jay, go check on heeseung.” sunghoon instructs him and the two twin brothers bicker for a moment as jay is too frightened to go alone and eventually does what he’s told. 

“dani? where are you?” you ask, trying to call out to her but there’s no response; like she had just vanished with the light that once filled the room. “hoon, where did she go?” you ask, panic laced in your voice. sunghoon does his best to calm you down but it only works momentarily as you soon realize the bag you once had wrapped around you was gone. 

you tried to recall your steps and figure out when you could’ve taken it off but your mind was filled with too much worry and panic that you could barely think straight. “he’s gone! heeseung isn’t in his room and his window is wide open.” jay announces. 

two of your friends have gone missing in the last five minutes and now you were all left in the dark. to make matters worse, only one of you could find your phone to use as a light but in the midst of the chaos, you had forgotten to charge it. “fuck, what do we do?” jay says, carefully finding his way over to you and sunghoon who are positioned in the far side of the room. 

“we need to split up..” you whisper and sunghoon is quick to shoot your idea down. “baby, i love you but that’s a terrible idea..” explaining that he doesn’t want to leave you alone, “bro what about me?” jay gasps in offense. 

“you’re a man, you’ll be fine.” sunghoon retorts but you cut them off before their argument goes any further. “baby, look at me.” you say, holding sunghoon’s face parallel to yours, the small sliver of light coming from the moon was enough for you to look into one another’s eyes. 

fear instilled in the both of you but all you could do was mask it with courage. 

“we need to split it, find heeseung and daniella and meet back here, ok?” sunghoon nods, a sigh of defeat leaving his body as you turn to where you assume jay is standing. “jay, you know this house better than us, go look for heeseung and i’ll look for daniella. 

hoon, stay here just in case one of them comes back. just shout if you’re in trouble but try not to make any noise in the process, we don’t know where the killer could be lurking..” 

“i mean– i’ve only lived here like 2 weeks so i barely know the layout of the house– ow!” jay exclaims, sunghoon had punched him in the arm during his ramble, cutting him off from making excuses. 

“okay, okay! i’ll go..” he says with a pout. you tell jay that you’ll take the upstairs while he takes the main floor since it’s a bigger space. before you could leave, sunghoon pulls you by the wrist and gives you one last kiss before letting you go, leaving you with just a simple phrase. 

“don’t die.”

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detective's notes: our final five are left to their own devices as y/n's plan comes into action. her assumption that putting herself and her friends in one place to lure in the killer seems to have worked as they now find themselves navigating in the darkness; hoping to see the next light of day.

copyright 2025 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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[scribbledghost]

Hey! I love your polyvessels headcannons, they always cheer me up! I noticed our boy III needs some love though so if you've got time could you write about him and reader causing mischief around the Manor? If any of the other vessels also want to get in on the shenanigans I'm down!

III absolutely needs more love and I adore the idea of joining him in his shenanigans.

It's a bit difficult to play pranks on the other vessels, purely because the whole "telepathic connection" ruins most of them before III can spring his trap. Sometimes he can conceal his thoughts well enough to hide his plans, but even then, the others have adopted an "it's quiet. Too quiet" sense of where it's going when they can't immediately tell what he's thinking. It's even harder for you to join in and prank them, just because you're not as well-versed on disguising your thoughts as III is.

If you do play pranks, it has to be largely spontaneous - little thought or planning, just going based on vibes. Sometimes it pays off, other times it doesn't. It's about 50/50.

But that doesn't mean you can't get into plenty of trouble otherwise.

One of III's favorite games to play with you is "showing you places you've never seen before", i.e. grabbing you and stretching his arms to hoist you up to the taller parts of the manor. Top of the bookshelf, the outside of the second story window, that sort of thing. The "outside of the window" bit has caused more than one fright to any of the others that happen to be in the room he's got you peering into, because he encourages you to tap on the window when they're not looking. And naturally, he's prone to just sitting you somewhere tall then stretching to come join you.

The problem with that last part is that sometimes he has a bit of difficulty getting back down. (He got tangled in the chandelier once. Look, he thought it'd be funny, and he wanted to see you laugh. Not his fault he got a little twisted around his own legs). Usually when this happens, a handful of vines will come to your rescue. Other times, you'll have to ask really nicely for one of the other vessels to grab you a ladder.

Sometimes he can convince you to just... creep around the manor aimlessly with him, waiting for one of the others to stumble upon you and freak out for a second. They may have lived with III for a couple hundred years now, but that doesn't mean they're immune to getting a fright when they're suddenly presented with a gangly monster creature and a random human out of nowhere.

There was also the time when you and he managed to humanely capture a bunch of frogs and crickets and set them loose inside the manor. II about had your heads for that one, considering he's not a huge fan of bugs. This was one of the rare times Sleep actually joined in the mischief; it could have easily escorted the critters back outside, but decided to let them linger a little while just to sow a little chaos (don't worry, they all escaped unharmed).

Sometimes one or more of the others will join in on whatever games you're playing, with mixed amounts of success. The day you introduced them to the concept of water balloons and water guns was... interesting, to say the least. Though it was quite entertaining to see III look like a stretchy, wet cat. Then there was the time you and IV got into a slap-fight, each grabbing one of III's hands as he allowed you to stretch out his arms to smack each other like you were using those sticky-hand toys they used to sell everywhere.

[broidobe]

𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔩𝔦𝔭𝔨𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯𝔰 𝔴𝔬𝔲𝔩𝔡 𝔦𝔫𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔡𝔢

requested! reader is dating ALL OF THEM AT ONCE!

⁎⁺˳✧༚nu metal masterlist

okay soooo

this is gonna be…long

cause i mean NINE FUCKING BOYFRIENDS??

WHEW

I COULD NEVER

each member has their unique way of looking out for you, from joey’s quiet, observant care to shawn’s more intimidating "don’t mess with them" stance.

group outings are pure chaos—picture nine masked men vying for your attention at once. it’s loud, messy, and hilarious, but you secretly love it.

no matter how intimidating they might seem onstage, they all have moments of softness reserved just for you—whether it’s paul writing you a heartfelt note or craig letting you play with his gear.

they’re a loud and chaotic family, but they all respect your boundaries and each other’s space when it comes to your time and affection.

you’re their grounding force, the one who can diffuse tensions when things get heated and make even their darkest days brighter.

there are pretty specific interactions with each of them

joey: joey’s the romantic one, slipping you mixtapes with songs that remind him of you. he’s also fiercely loyal, often standing up for you during any disagreements among the group.

corey: corey’s the go-to for deep conversations and random adventures. he writes lyrics inspired by your connection, though he pretends they’re not about you when asked.

shawn (clown): shawn’s all about making you laugh. he loves pulling pranks with your help, but if someone crosses you, he switches to dad mode instantly.

paul: paul’s the quiet but affectionate type. he’s the one who’ll make sure you’ve eaten and bring you coffee during late nights.

jim: jim’s surprisingly shy but shows his affection in subtle ways, like tuning your guitar or sharing his favorite riffs with you.

chris: chris is the one who’s always up for silly jokes and lighthearted fun. he’ll do anything to make you smile, even if it means making a fool of himself.

sid: sid’s energy is unmatched, and he often drags you into his wild stunts. he also has a habit of surprising you with random gifts, like cool masks or rare vinyl records.

craig: craig doesn’t say much, but his actions speak louder than words. he’ll always make sure you’re comfortable and safe, even in the craziest of situations.

mick: mick might seem aloof, but he has a tender side that only comes out around you. he loves teaching you about his music gear and will fiercely defend you against any negativity.

they make sure you’re front and center for each show

and they ALL make sure to do something to impress you

now i don't know if you’ve seen THAT video of sid

where his finger are moving SO FUCKING FAST on that record

and his spit is DRIPPING

BUT HE WOULD TOTALLY DO THAT WHILE STARING RIGHT AT YOU

there’s a constant (but playful) competition to impress you. whether it’s mick playing the most insane guitar solo or joey showing off his double-bass drumming, you always end up cheering for all of them.

cause i mean how could you not?

corey loves dedicating shit to you

THIS ONE’S FOR Y/N, LOVE YOUR FAVOURITE BOYFRIEND!

mornings are WILD

waking up with nine band members around is… an experience.

sid is bouncing off the walls with energy, joey is groggy and in desperate need of coffee, and mick just grunts at everyone until he’s fully awake.

you’ve learned to navigate this chaos like a pro.

by sitting on the couch and doing really nothing about it

i mean you’ll get dragged into SOMETHING by sid

when fans recognize you, the guys are split between playfully teasing you about your “fame” and keeping a protective eye on the interaction.

everything okay here?

let me know if you need me

sid once pretended to be your bodyguard when a fan got a little too enthusiastic.

he wore sunglasses and kept saying, “no photos, please,” even though no one asked.

when someone once flirted with you, corey leaned over and said,

oh yeah, she’s totally into you. that’s why she’s hanging out with nine masked maniacs instead of you.

and if you don’t make it on tour (which is very rare)

they rotate who gets to call you. sid always insists on doing something wild to make you laugh.

they send you care packages filled with notes, trinkets, and random souvenirs they’ve picked up along the way. paul’s gifts are thoughtful, while sid’s are borderline ridiculous.

corey and jim send you postcards from every city, each one scribbled with inside jokes or sweet messages. mick signs them with a simple “wish you were here.”

they plan spontaneous road trips to random places, like a quiet beach or a weird roadside attraction, just to see you smile

they all contribute to a scrapbook filled with photos, ticket stubs, and little notes from their time with you. craig, surprisingly, is the one who organizes it all perfectly.