#though. this is his natural habitat

[a-lonely-dunedain]

Hey, do you like putting Rangers in Situations? Boy have a got a fun new toy for you!

SO! my discord gave me a great idea for a fic game of sorts! Basically, I have this wheel of Ranger names, and a wheel of bad things to happen to them <3

Spin the first wheel to get a Ranger, and the second wheel once (or twice if you're feeling adventurous) to get a whump prompt to put them in! Write a whole fic or just reblog and ramble with any ideas it inspires, whatever it is I wanna hear about it :D

⬇⬇⬇Put your Rangers here!⬇⬇⬇

Situations vary in severity and survivability, I take no legal responsibility for any character deaths or emotional damage that may or may not transpire as a result.

also BIG thanks to @hallothere @dunadaan @rohirric-hunter and @skip-the-clumsy-dragon for helping me put this together and lending their evil ideas!

[affluent-havoc]

the wealthy slug in a habitat

[age-of-moonknight]

“Pathfinder,” Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu (Vol. 2/2024), #3.

Writer: Jed MacKay; Penciler and Inker: Domenico Carbone; Colorist: Rachelle Rosenberg; Letterer: Cory Petit

[daily-kinitopet]

Day 25

More anthronito sorry guys

[tiny-critter-fool]

my little Q doodle got turned into a physical tangible thingy akgiwhdiqkd !!!!!

stashed him into my wallet, everything is as it should be

[commsroom]

reading your eiffel posts feels like you have access to another plane where you get to observe him and take notes to bring back to us. factually correct information with such detail that surely could only be gleaned after spending hours in his presence.

this is such a sweet and funny thing to say, thank you!! that is kinda how it feels sometimes. i wouldn't claim to speak for eiffel or to know his innermost thoughts beyond a shadow of a doubt, but he does feel like a person i know well enough to make an educated guess. so often i will see things online and think 'i should show that to eiffel' as if that's a reasonable, feasible thing, like, he just exists in the same part of my brain i use to think about real life people that i actually know. and that explains at least a few things that are wrong with me.

[demetriandelibinaryboyfriends]

It's getting concerning how often I do this to Demetri akdjhlukbfhu

woah this character is so cool i wish they were covered in blood their whole body trembling with a look of absolute horror on their face as theyre struggling to breathe in panic

[reasonsforhope]

"In Northern California, a Native American tribe is celebrating the return of ancestral lands in one of the largest such transfers in the nation’s history.

Through a Dept. of the Interior initiative aiming to bring indigenous knowledge back into land management, 76 square miles east of the central stretch of the Klamath River has been returned to the Yurok tribe.

Sandwiched between the newly-freed Klamath and forested hillsides of evergreens, redwoods, and cottonwoods, Blue Creek is considered the crown jewel of these lands, though if it were a jewel it wouldn’t be blue, it would be a giant colorless diamond, such is the clarity of the water.

Pictured: Blue Creek

It’s the most important cold-water tributary of the Klamath River, and critical habitat for coho and Chinook salmon. Fished and hunted on since time immemorial by the Yurok and their ancestors, the land was taken from them during the gold rush before eventually being bought by timber companies.

Barry McCovey Jr., director of the Yurok Tribal Fisheries Department, remembers slipping past gates and dodging security along Blue Creek just to fish up a steelhead, one of three game fish that populate the river and need it to spawn.

Profiled along with the efforts of his tribe to secure the land for themselves and their posterity, he spoke to AP about the experience of seeing plans, made a decade ago, come to fruition, and returning to the creek on which he formerly trespassed as a land and fisheries manager.

“To go from when I was a kid and 20 years ago even, from being afraid to go out there to having it be back in tribal hands … is incredible,” he said.

Part of the agreement is that the Yurok Tribe would manage the land to a state of maximum health and resilience, and for that the tribe has big plans, including restoring native prairie, using fire to control understory growth, removing invasive species, restoring native fish habitat, and undoing decades of land-use changes from the logging industry in the form of culverts and logging roads.

“And maybe all that’s not going to be done in my lifetime,” said McCovey. “But that’s fine, because I’m not doing this for myself.”

The Yurok Tribe were recently at the center of the nation’s largest dam removal, a two decades-long campaign to remove a series of four hydroelectric dams along the Klamath River. Once the West Coast’s third-largest salmon run, the Klamath dams substantially reduced salmon activity.

Completed last September, the before and after photographs are stunning to witness. By late November, salmon had already returned far upriver to spawn, proving that instinctual information had remained intact even after a century of disconnect.

Pictured; Klamath River flows freely, after Copco-2 dam was removed in California

“Seeing salmon spawning above the former dams fills my heart,” said Joseph L. James, chairman of the Yurok Tribe, the leaders of the dam removal campaign along with the Karuk and Klamath tribes.

“Our salmon are coming home. Klamath Basin tribes fought for decades to make this day a reality because our future generations deserve to inherit a healthier river from the headwaters to the sea.”

Last March, GNN reported that the Yurok Tribe had also become the first of America’s tribal nations to co-manage land with the National Park Service under a historic memorandum of understanding involving Redwoods National Park.

The nonprofit Save the Redwoods bought a piece of land adjacent to the park, which receives 1 million visitors annually and is a UNESCO Natural Heritage Site, and handed it over to the Yurok for stewardship.

The piece of land, which contained giant redwoods, recovered to such an extent that the NPS has incorporated it into the Redwoods trail network, and the two agencies will cooperate in ensuring mutual flourishing between two properties and one ecosystem.

Back at Blue Creek, AP reports that work has already begun clearing non-native conifer trees planted for lumber. The trunks will be used to create log jams in the creek for wildlife habitat.

Costing $56 million, the land was bought from the loggers by Western Rivers Conservancy, using a mixture of fundraising efforts including private capital, low interest loans, tax credits, public grants and carbon credit sales.

The sale was part of a movement called Land Back, which involves returning ownership of once-native lands of great importance to tribes for the sake of effective stewardship. [Note: This is a weirdly limited definition of Land Back. Land Back means RETURN STOLEN LAND, PERIOD.] Studies have shown around the tropics that indigenous-owned lands in protected areas have higher forest integrity and biodiversity than those owned by national governments.

Land Back has seen 4,700 square miles—equivalent to one and a half-times the size of Yellowstone National Park—returned to tribes through land buy-back agreements in 15 states." [Note: Since land buyback agreements aren't the only form of Land Back, the total is probably (hopefully) more than that.]

-via Good News Network, June 10, 2025

[bl00dyb4nd4ids]

when are people gonna start writing my bbg in his cannon home place ph needs to be home not in dbd

[grabby-smitten]

Concrete Jungle: King of the beasts

Summary: Buying a hybrid was not what you had in mind when you asked for independence. Sylus didn’t like humans but his owner was the exception.

Subjects: Albino lion Hybrid!Sylus x F!Reader

Word count: 4.1k+

Content Warnings: Hybrid AU, smut, owner reader, kissing, cunnilingus, P in V, breeding, cnc if u squint really hard, biting, textured tongue. Use of words like predator/prey, cunt, pussy, kitten. Not edited and no beta.

A.N: I learned that big cats can’t purr and I was so disappointed. Oh, well….ah! I might do one for each li. k bye 💋

“Are you sure, I need one?” You’ve asked your parents that question for the umpteenth time.

“Yes, a hybrid is a good caretaker and it would make us feel better knowing one is protecting you.” Your father answered with a tired smile, understanding your uneasiness but they weren’t going to change their mind.

Moving out and finally becoming independent was just one step away from happening. Your parents were against it at first. Coming from money means someone will always be after your trail, danger and they had overprotected you, their only daughter since… well, even before you were born. They weren’t able to have natural children so you were conceived through artificial methods. Which, according to your parents, was a whole ordeal and suffering. Details that you rather not know.

It was time, though, to deep your toes into a world of your own. You wanted freedom for once. No dozens of bodyguards, no tracking devices and no fear of the unknown.

The part of convincing your parents was hard. No, after no, after no. Until, the head of security, taking pity on you, suggested buying a hybrid for you. Not just any hybrid; one specially made to protect and serve.

Now it was your turn to profoundly refuse. Everyone had one and those who didn’t, desired one… like some kind of accessory. It sickened you and besides, you didn’t want another responsibility. You wanted your own life! Not taking care of some… dog? Cat? Fish?

In the end, you had no other choice but to agree and here you were, in some facility. Breeding facility? Training? You didn’t care enough to pay attention, honestly.

Walking behind your parents in an all-white hall, smelling like antiseptic and gagging at the chemical sensation in your throat, you started to notice how the white walls began to turn into cages. Placards hung in the walls near the tinted glass and steel bars of the cages with descriptions of the… hybrids?

Looking up from the labels, you finally realized you no longer were alone. Each cell was occupied by humanoid-shaped shadows. The tint of the reinforced glass obstructed your vision but it was clear they were there.

So lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a couple of strangers had joined your family. Paying a bit more attention to their chatter, you concluded they were doctors or scientists from this facility. They were explaining something about their products and that it was the best the market could offer. You frowned at their words. It was like you were buying a car… they even explained the insurance policy.

“And this specimen, right here, is our finest hybrid!” One of the men talking to your parents loudly explained.

You stepped closer to the placard and read the few words it contained. ‘Albino Lion Hybrid (Panthera leo Hybrid, large cat family Felidae). Apex predator (no natural enemy known). Renowned king of the beasts. More active at night. Preferable habitats: grassland, dense scrub, savanna, and open woodland. Nomadic male.’

Your eyes widened once your brain processed the information. This was no guard dog or house cat. Before you could utter a complaint about how obnoxious this all was, the tinted glass cleared and you were looking straight into a pair of scarlet eyes.

Sylus almost laughed at the face of the female standing outside his cell. The little mouse seemed in shock to see him there. What was she expecting? Where else would he be? If not caged and on display here— absurd, he thought. All humans that came here, came for one thing and one thing only; to purchase a wild species, a unique breed to flaunt to their peers. Sylus continuously thought about how weird these humans behaved in society. Their hierarchy dynamics were messed up and he despised that.

You felt his eyes mocking you, such deep red and the only thing you could feel was irritation. Frowning, you turned your head and left him. See how he likes grouching on his own.

Once you were a few steps away, the scientists or doctors stared at the red-eyed big cat hybrid with wonder and… respect? This place was bonkers, you thought to yourself.

“So this is the one?” Your mother asked and marveled at the sight of the lion hybrid. White-silver hair, large, powerful presence, and sharp features.

“Yes, ma’am. Our best subject. Well trained in all the aspects you requested and fairly knowledgeable which is hard to come by with these beats.”

Hearing all that gave you stomach reflux, the acidity burning your esophagus. Your dam was about to break and all your pent-up feelings would end up costing you your freedom if it wasn’t for the red-eyed hybrid. He knocked on the glass and you jumped, startled. You were surprised, he even beckoned you with a finger and again, surprised now with yourself, you automatically obeyed.

It was like a trance. A hypnotic daze of sorts. Both met face to face once again, only separated by the reinforced glass. For a moment you were distracted, the outburst you were about to have laid dormant in the back of your head.

What is this…? Sylus couldn’t help but feel a sense of familiarity. That’s why he was so close to the glass earlier too. He couldn’t see the other side a while ago but something was pulling him there. The whole day he felt restless and on guard as if something resonated within him.

Could this be—

“Ah! Marvelous! Look! They are already interested in each other! Sylus is not showing any signs of hostility or repulsion…” a different scientist exclaimed with eagerness, interrupting whatever connection you had with Sylus at that moment.

Not many words were needed to convince your parents after that show you and Sylus put up. Papers were signed, money transferred and a very confused Sylus was sedated and prepared for shipment.

The big city. Polluted air, noisy streets twenty-four hours a day, and hybrids everywhere. Most people carried one; a human with some animal characteristics, and now you were one of them too. Sylus was scheduled to arrive in a few minutes. All the things you would need to care for him were already in your apartment and even his paperwork. Name, birth, permits and you; listed as his owner.

The melodic tune of your ring bell announced the dreaded moment. You knew Sylus would be escorted here and that most of the traveling time he would have been sedated, but still the long distance between your new home and the facility he was kept in was almost six hours away. You feared a big grumpy cat.

Oh boy… grumpy was an understatement. He didn’t look happy. The moment he stepped foot in and all the straps holding him were taken off, he waited for the delivery people to disappear and he pounced. Surprisingly not on you. He went through all your stuff. According to the guide you received he was scenting. He went through your whole house; rubbing, scratching and overall making a mess.

“Stop! Hey, hmm… Sylus? You don’t have to scent my clothes.” You tried talking to him but he was not interested in your opinion, apparently. He just glanced at you and kept doing whatever he was doing before, like you were the one, not understanding. You had to snatch your underwear from his closed fist in a panic.

He went nonverbal for a week. A week! You were going insane. Yes, he obeyed. Yes, he was extremely independent and didn’t cause any more commotion besides the panty situation on the first day. But God… he was extremely quiet. It wasn’t until you commanded him to that you realized you should have read the manual until the last page; not only the summary.

“Sylus! Say something!” You demanded; going insane was not in your plans for the foreseeable future. They never told you he was mute or anything of that nature.

“Is there anything you need from me, my lady?” His deep and slow voice had your heart leaping out from your chest.

You just stood there, gaping and looking at him like you couldn’t believe he was able to make a sound. Yeah, not even his steps produced sounds. Sylus examined his human with a gleam of humor in his sapphire eyes. This face was a common one for her and he found it… almost endearing. It reminded him of the first time you two met.

“You can talk…” you whispered low and saw how his fluffy round, and white ears twitched. “You can talk!” Again, you exclaimed, pointing a finger at him in disbelief. “Why haven’t you said anything before?!”

“I wasn’t allowed to,” he calmly explained. That mischievous twinkle in his eyes never left, “my owner never requested me to do so until now.”

And that’s how you spend almost three days reading the darn manuals with a now very talkative feline.

You found that Sylus was more than just a pet. He could cook, clean and even force you to exercise which ended up backfiring. You couldn’t keep up with his supposedly healthy routine. A healthy lifestyle means a happy owner, and you would curse under your breath every time he repeated it.

In general, you were happy, he seemed happy and living with him was easier than you thought. Quickly, you two began to build a bond and it was a matter of time before he began to realize why it had been so easy to adapt to this human. His human which is how he referred to you.

Following the manual, you always made sure to have everything Sylus would need. Even his heats. At first, you tried to get him a heat partner and it was a mess. More like you were a mess. Even Sylus was surprised at how you ended up kicking out the poor rental gazelle hybrid in less than five minutes. You didn’t understand what took over you to be so… overprotective.

Oh, but Sylus was not complaining. Watching you almost declare war in his name gave him a deep satisfaction. So much so that he accepted to take suppressants for the time being.

After that incident, things began to change drastically. Sylus in return became a bit more aggressive towards any living creature that was in less than a mile radius of you. Growling, pushing, and even wrapping you with his tail and pulling you towards his body anytime he felt you were in danger. Yeah, you were in so much danger from the tube man… that air dancing balloon from the car wash a couple of blocks away.

“It can be that bad…” you took hold of his arm around your waist in a reassuring manner.

He’s been walking with you in his hold since you crossed paths with the inflatable dancing man.

“It has erratic movements. You never know what he might do next.”

Yeah, it was a recurring situation.

Yeah, he was prepared for everything and anything. Well, except one morning when his nose woke him up.

A sweet intoxicating scent traveled through his nostrils and shook him awake. He felt his mouth water, his canines aching, and his eyes turning into thin lines. The predator in him had been disturbed and its awakening meant trouble.

In all his years in captivity, he had never felt such hunger. Something was clawing in his chest, desperate to come out, each intake of air was pulling his sanity deeper and deeper while the monster surfaced.

Like any good hunter, he let his nose guide him through the house. Following such an intoxicating aroma took him to your door. There he stood—elaborated breathing, sharp fingers encrusted on his palms searching for restrain. You were inside; sleeping soundly in the early hours of the morning. He could hear your soft breathing mixing with his wildly beating heart. Knowing you weren’t aware of the predator outside your door sent a jolt of excitement through his body. Easy prey.

Was it you? Were you the one producing such… inebriant aroma? Why?

He took the handle with a death grip, his rational side fighting against instinct. He felt the urge to hunt, pursue, chase… this… this aroma and make it his own. With an internal battle raging inside him, Sylus felt the door weighed heavy on his palm, the handle burned, but he still stepped in.

His eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room, it made no difference to him that you slept in complete darkness; his ruby-red eyes could see just fine. Then, his gaze focused on your sleeping form, little movement from your steady breathing and you had no idea that a hungry predator stood at the foot of your bed.

But Sylus didn’t move, didn’t pounce on you like he wanted. Torn between instinct and duty, he was frozen in place, sweating and overwhelmed with indecision. Your scent was clouding his every sense, making it even more difficult to do the right thing. It was like time had stopped and the only thing on his mind was the palpitations in his groin for even letting his skin touch the hair surrounding you.

What was the right thing? He asked himself. Neck—cracking as his body suddenly shuddered in pain, Sylus was holding himself back by a fine thread.

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. You were not like his kind who would accept mating just because of a sudden heat. You were human and he had that fact ingrained into his mind. With a whimper of pain and trepidation, Sylus walked over to the side of your bed; every step was excruciating for the hybrid. Once he reached the edge, he did like every other night shared with you. Sylus, silently whining, laid beside you and wrapped his arms tightly, but this time he kept a generous distance between his hips and your back.

He was not a mindless beast. Not to you.

“Sylus… I can’t breathe…” you don’t know when, you don’t know how, but Sylus always ended up sleeping on top of you like a weighted blanket. “Sylus!”

“You don’t wanna know what I did to the last person who woke me up.” Each word came with a little slur at the end, he was barely waking up. No a second goes by and you felt his spiked tongue grooming the nape of your neck and soft growls shaking your whole body.

“Someone’s happy today, hmmm?” You asked in a short breath, reaching for his round and fluffy ear. As you scratched, you heard the deep grumbles of satisfaction increasing.

“Smells good…”

You felt him sniffing all over your chest, deeply inhaling, moving his head downwards. Sylus pulled your covers in a hasty manner and kept descending. Your eyes widened as you realized where he was going and your feet quickly stopped him; placing them on his shoulder and chest.

“Sy-Sylus! S-stop!” Your hands joined your legs and feet, placing your palms on his mouth and the rest of his face. “What do you—“

You stopped mid question as you felt a bit of moisture in between your legs. In a panic, your mind counted the weeks since you moved in and you have forgotten to make an appointment for your birth control replacement… which meant you must be ovulating. How could you forget? It’s been weeks! With everything happening after moving, getting Sylus and adapting to the new city. You had completely forgotten…

A muffled sound came from behind your palm and then a rough tongue pushed against your skin. You slowly retracted your arm, looking at him with apologetic eyes. It was your fault, after all.

“I was saying that you seem to be in need of assistance,” he uttered, arching an eyebrow at your saddened face.

His heavy body was pressing against the sole of your feet, your legs kept him at bay and it surprised you how… physically insistent he was being.

“What do you mean?” You quickly replied, feigning ignorance and he seemed to know your every trick because his first reaction was to give you one of those salacious smiles of his.

“You can’t exactly lie to my nose, kitten.” He almost growled every word, sending shivers through your body. “You’re fertile.”

Before you could even utter a word to contradict his truth, his hands brushed the back of your raised legs for then his fingers gently tapped your skin. You let out a squeak of surprise and swiftly moved your legs, thus giving him an opportunity to nestle in between your thighs.

“If you’re making fun of me, it’s not funny,” you rebuked, but even as you said that the pressure and sudden ache in your lower regions began to increase with the proximity and weight of Sylus.

“I’m not.” He chuckled and it reverberated down your tummy, sending deep palpitations through your core, “you didn’t read the whole manual yet, now did you?” His finger gently tugged your chin, making you stare right into his crimson orbs.

“No…” you sheepishly mumbled, embarrassed of being found again and your lack of knowledge about some stuff still in the encyclopedia-like book you were given.

“Give me the order and I will deliver, Kitten.” He whispered, eyes calling for your surrender. Sylus was pushing the right buttons by being so close, touching you, and having you cornered right where he wanted you.

“You mean…” voicing your hesitation didn’t deter him from destroying your inhibitions, brick by brick. His eyes were hypnotizing, he would give you anything you wanted and you knew you would be safe, right?

He had you caged between his body and the bed, your mind going a mile per second and your heart racing just as fast. No, he wasn’t moving an inch more and you knew he wouldn’t unless you said so.

“Okay…” you sighed finally removing a burden from your shoulders, “h-help me.” You wanted him to alleviate your aching.

“As you wish, Kitten.”

Not soon had those words left his lips, he was on you. You felt the heaviness of the impact of his lips on you. He had seemed calm while talking but his actions spoke differently. Sylus’ kiss was demanding, fiery even. His tongue took no time to slip in between your abused lips, delivering tentative licks to yours; as if tasting and enjoying you.

He kept his low throaty snarls flowing over your body, crushing you against the sheets. You could taste him too, wild, intense, so Sylus. Two bodies lay in the bed, limbs intertwined. Sylus hands traveled up your body, fingers gripping at anything he could find, your moans being greedily swallowed.

His tail kept a steady thumping behind him, lulling you deeper into his embrace. You would let him do anything, be anything if it meant this fire ignited in your chest would never cease to exist.

Sylus grasped the back of your head, fisting strands of your hair for him to pull back and expose your neck to his aching teeth. He felt euphoria ran through his veins as soon as his pearl whites connected with your tender skin. A growl and the stinging stab on your neck made you gasp, hands gripping his collar to bring him even closer as if that was possible.

In a hurry, his other hand began to tear away your pajamas as his teeth continued to gnaw almost painfully at your throat.

In a blink of an eye, you were lifted and bent. Your face harshly met the warmth of pillows. Gone were your clothes. In what moment exactly? You don’t recall and you didn’t really care at that moment.

“I knew it– fuck– the moment I saw you, I knew it.” Sylus rasped out, breath suddenly hitting your nude backside. “This was mine before you even knew it.”

He suddenly lifted your hips, exposing your dripping core to his crimson gaze. You whimpered as the cold hair hit you, hands gripping the bedsheets, and that’s all you could see. Your own fist and abundant white.

“Sy-Sylus!” You shrieked.

Your exposed pussy was invaded by his mouth, and a low vibrating sound joined. His bumpy tongue lapped eagerly, the texture making you mewl and tremble as you unconsciously tried to pull away. Now the chuffing sound changed to a growl of displeasure, his hands quickly moved to your lower tummy and pressed you back against his awaiting lips.

A mess, a wet and sloppy mess. That’s what Sylus was, still holding your body against his face. He couldn’t care less about anything other than your flavor and sounds overtaking his entire being. He slurped, nipped and spit back in just to repeat it all over again.

It took no time to have you trashing and shaking on his grip, cuming on his face, the chuffing sounds intensifying with your moaning.

Skin on skin, no clothes separating him from you, you didn’t register when he freed his body of them. Too lost to care, too much at once to have a sense of anything other than Sylus.

“You take me so well… My kitten—made for me…” he growled as he slipped every inch of him. Your warm walls protested at the intrusion as he mounted you.

Pinning you down, chest pressed against your back and your face shoved into your drool-stained pillows.

“If you keep struggling, kitten… I– fuck, fuck– you’re making it really hard to hold back” he groaned as his eyes zoomed in on your head trashing and shaking. The predator in him just looming around the corner, his female ready for the taking.

“It’s too big!” Your scream was muffled by the pillow. As your wailing reached his ears, his cock throbbed and released a few ropes of white.

“You’re being so good, kitten. Just a… bit longer…” Sylus sighed with pleasure as the creaminess made it easier to thrust into you. Incessantly, hitting that spongy spot, making you cry out as you felt more burning cum filling you up. Both breathless, both panting and an arrange of noises filled the room.

“I feel so full! Sylus! I can’t!” Tears streamed down your face at how bloated you felt, but he kept pushing and bursting inside you. One after the other; face down you had no other option but to take it.

“Not full enough— you need more…” hips slamming into you, the squelching sound of your insides consuming the silence— him bottoming out again and again. “My cunt… will only have my cubs…”

You’re not sure how long it was, you were in and out. Lost a daze, being shoved, pressed and pounded mercilessly… Sylus voice swirled through your mushy brain— satisfaction, and ecstasy running wild through both of your bodies.

Blinking once, twice. You felt heavy and your foggy vision wasn’t helping. You still felt the aftermath of it all. Legs sporadically spamming, lower tummy so heavy and sore.

“You… came so much…” you whispered in between breaths. His cum was dripping from your tender hole, rapidly pooling on the bed. “Why?”

He shrugged, as he caressed your cheek.

“A lion’s thing,” he mumbled softly, pulling you closer and gently holding you.

The rest of the day you were spent. Too exhausted to do anything else. Sylus bathed you, changed the bedding, brought you drinks and food, and gave you the darn manual to finish it for once.

“Sylus!” You slapped his naked chest with indignation. “Here,” you pointed to an article you highlighted, “it says that lion hybrids can copulate for two to three days? Two hundred times in succession? Are you insane?” That explains a lot.

“I am just waiting for you to rest, humans are more delicate than I thought. We’re not moving from this room.” He deadpanned.

Your expression fell as his eyes seemed to show how serious he was being.

“I read that lionesses bite the male’s ballsack when they are upset or something,” you grinned wickedly. “I will do that if you don’t behave!”

“I wouldn’t oppose, sweetie.” He goaded. Your smile slowly faded as your threat was not working as planned. “So… I see you are feeling more… energetic.”

You threw a pillow at him before he pounced on you.

Ah, yes… a gentle protector a trusted guardian, but a beast on the sheets.

[strawberrystepmom]

dante x f!reader. established relationship, fluff. | wc 807, reading time: less than 5 minutes.

“Oh shit!”

You exclaim too quickly as you walk into your kitchen after tossing your keys and bag aside and taking your shoes off. The wall between the entryway and the kitchen is a blind spot, leaving you unprepared to walk in on a towel clad, still dripping from the shower version of Dante who grins and points at you.

“Welcome ho-o-o-me.”

He sings his greeting while you press your hand against your chest, trying to catch your breath and slow your heart rate from the surprise of seeing him. It’s never that shocking that he makes his way into your apartment, he does know where the spare key is. A spare key that is just the one you had made for him he insisted that he couldn’t take so you hid it in a place you knew he’d find it.

Clearly it has been used.

You eye him up and down though it’s playful, folding your arms over your chest while approaching him.

“Let me guess. You used the good stuff in the shower and have finished off the last of the juice by now too, right?”

Dante shrugs in response, turning the shrug into a shimmy that gradually becomes something more frenetic, his whole body moving in response. The ends of his hair drip onto your floor yet it’s impossible to do much but smile sweetly at his rolling chest and shaking hips.

“Is this your version of a mating dance?” Whispering out of the corner of your mouth, you raise your brows while wrapping an arm around his moving hips. “I feel like a girl bird or something right now.”

“Dunno, is it working?”

Shaking your head, you grin up at him. Distraction successful, he notes to none but himself.

“Hi handsome,” the words are muffled while you press a kiss to his smiling mouth.

Dante’s hand naturally falls to the small of your back and he pulls you against him, chest to chest, and swaying softly in place with you. You look down to check on your feet, quickly returning them upward to glance at him. Those pretty blue eyes stare down at you, his lips curling into a fond smile when his eyes fall upon the crinkle of your nose.

You lean against his bicep, letting him rock you at a rhythm nobody but him can hear.

Copying the little sing-song in his voice from earlier, you raise your eyebrows expectantly while asking. “Seriously, what are you doing?”

He pulls you tighter against him and you place your feet atop his, letting him take full control of whatever is happening. A big hand slides from your lower back to your ass, cupping it gently. The damp towel over his thighs gets the front of you wet but whatever worry it causes fades away while you let him step you around, holding onto you and swinging you in a makeshift circle. He indicates he’s about to dip you and you giggle, bending backward over his arm and wrinkling your nose again while he leans in to collect a small kiss.

“Making myself at home just like you always tell me to.”

Grinning, another giggle springs out of you.

“You mean it this time?”

A stronger man would stick to his values and say no. He’d avoid this - the domesticity that makes a wild man tame and lazy. He’d decline the comfort of your shampoo and sheets, the fridge that’s always semi full, the pleasure of seeing the owner of his favorite pair of lips and hands and other things in her natural habitat.

A man is only as strong as his biggest weakness. Dante’s fortunate that his weakness possesses so much strength of her own, enough to keep pushing the issue until you knew he’d eventually give in.

He nods, his amused-at-your-surprise smile fading into something fond. A knowing smirk perhaps, always certain that you knew he’d end up giving in eventually. A simple bow of his head puts it just above yours.

“Yeah,” he kisses you and you greedily allow it, the dancing pausing while his towel slides a little lower on his hips. Both of you burst into a fit of childish giggles, the arm you have slung around his waist pinning the towel in place to keep him decent.

“Think I’d have to be an idiot to keep leaving such a good thing.”

His lips barely part from yours yet he continues to speak, the dancing paused in favor of touching, hand sliding across every still clothed part of you they can touch. Lost in the moment, you slide your arm upward and the towel wrapped around his hips falls to your feet.

“Yeah, I think so too.” You whisper, lifting a foot to kick the towel aside while he reaches to grab your thigh and wrap your leg around his waist.

Never one to miss a signal, you hop up and wrap them both around him, resuming your giggling and kissing while being carried off to christen the couch like it hasn’t been done a thousand times before.

At least it’s a couch you technically share now.

[kathaelipwse]

Soft Drinks & Sharp Tongues | Y. Jeonghan

Pairing: Troublemaker!Yoon Jeonghan × Student Council President!Reader

Word Count: 7,974 words : Reading time: 29-ish mins

Trope: Enemies to lovers | Secret softie × Overworked achiever | Protective bad boy | Poor girl x rich school

Warnings: Bullying, classism, mild violence, strong language, emotional vulnerability, mentions of loss (death of a parent), angst with comfort, NO PROOF READING WAS DONE.

Synopsis: She was the school’s strict student council president with no time for nonsense—or feelings. He was the academy’s golden boy troublemaker who got under her skin like no one else. But when a cruel comment sparks a brutal fight and her secret life is exposed, she realizes that the boy who always pushed her buttons… was also the only one who ever truly saw her. In a world that judged her for being different, Jeonghan stood between her and the world—and maybe even her own walls.

-

The crisp autumn air of senior year did little to soothe the persistent thrumming behind your temples. "Another day, another disaster waiting to happen," you sighed, the weight of the student council head badge feeling less like an honor and more like a lead weight dragging you down. Just as you managed to organize the stack of permission slips threatening to topple off your desk, a familiar, infuriatingly casual voice echoed from the doorway.

"Well, well, if it isn't the iron-willed Prez in her natural habitat," Jeonghan drawled, leaning against the doorframe with an effortless swagger that somehow never failed to irritate you and make you lose your mind at the name 'prez' altogether. He pushed off the frame, sauntering into your small office with the confident air of someone who paid the university's exorbitant tuition fees ten times over, despite the crumpled pink detention slip dangling from his fingertips.

"Lost again, Han?" you retorted, your voice sharper than you intended, the exhaustion from last night's late shift at the café still clinging to you like a persistent shadow.

He chuckled, a light, airy sound that grated on your nerves. "Lost? Never, my dear Prez. Merely… exploring the less-traveled paths of disciplinary action." He flicked the detention slip onto your meticulously arranged desk, the corner bent and smudged. "Though, I must confess, your sanctuary of rules and regulations does possess a certain… stark appeal this morning." His eyes flickered around the small space, lingering for a moment on the wilting potted plant in the corner.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, the familiar headache intensifying. "Han, for the last time, gluing Mr. Kim's prized toupee to the rotating blades of the science lab's ceiling fan is not an act of artistic expression. It's disruptive, disrespectful, and frankly, the third time this month. Do you have a personal vendetta against follicularly challenged educators?"

He feigned an expression of wounded innocence, his usually sharp eyes widening in mock surprise. "A vendetta? My dear Prez, I'm wounded by the accusation! Perhaps the toupee simply yearned for a more… dynamic existence? A chance to experience the thrill of flight?"

"The thrill of flight that resulted in Mr. Kim nearly having a coronary," you countered dryly, already reaching for the detention log. "That earns you a solid hour of supervised detention. With me." The thought of spending an entire hour in forced proximity to him was hardly your idea of a productive afternoon, but rules were rules, even for the infuriatingly charming Jeonghan.

"Ah, but that's where the real intrigue lies, wouldn't you agree?" He leaned closer, resting his hands on the edge of your desk, a disarming smile spreading across his handsome face, a smile that you knew had melted the resolve of many a teacher. "Spending quality time in the hallowed halls of disciplinary action, under the watchful gaze of the student council head? A rare and undoubtedly enlightening experience."

You simply leveled him with a withering stare, the kind you'd perfected over countless student council meetings and rule infractions. "Don't even try, Han. This isn't a negotiation."

-

Later that afternoon, just as you were finally catching up on paperwork, your phone rang. It was a flustered Mrs. Lee, her voice bordering on panic. "He… he's gone, (Y/N)! He's just… vanished!"

You sighed, running a weary hand through your hair. "Let me guess. He charmed his way out of detention again?"

"He… he complimented my new scarf," Mrs. Lee stammered, a strange, almost dreamy quality entering her voice. "And then he offered to help me carry a rather heavy stack of textbooks to the library… I only turned my back for a moment…"

"Of course, he did," you muttered under your breath, hanging up the phone with a frustrated click. It was always the same infuriating pattern. His effortless charm, that disarming smile, the casual flirtation – it was a weapon he wielded with infuriating effectiveness.

What the perfectly coiffed and privileged student body, with their designer clothes and trust funds, remained blissfully unaware of was the quiet battle you fought every single day. The silence in your small, rented apartment after your mother left for her second job echoed the gaping absence left by your father's passing.

"Just trying to make ends meet, sweetheart," your mother would say, her shoulders slumped with a weariness that mirrored your own. To ease her burden, you pulled double shifts at a small, out-of-the-way café, the clatter of cheap cutlery and the pervasive smell of stale coffee a stark and unwelcome contrast to the hushed, hallowed halls of your elite university.

"Another lukewarm latte, another step closer to paying the electricity bill," you'd often think, the meager tips barely making a dent in the ever-growing pile of overdue notices.

Your no-nonsense approach as student council head had already earned you the thinly veiled disdain of those who considered rules mere suggestions. "She thinks she's so high and mighty just because she got in on a scholarship," you'd overheard a group of impeccably dressed girls whisper in the hallway, their eyes flicking over your slightly worn uniform.

"No mercy for anyone. Probably has something to prove." They saw you as rigid, unyielding, someone who had forgotten her place. Little did they know the constant tightrope walk you performed daily, the relentless pressure to maintain your perfect GPA and your scholarship, the gnawing anxiety that one wrong step could send your carefully constructed world crashing down.

Yet, amidst the predictable chaos that Han routinely unleashed upon the school, there were these… strange anomalies. One particularly draining Monday, after a particularly grueling weekend of juggling assignments and café shifts, you arrived at your desk to find a single can of your favorite soda, the obscure brand you rarely indulged in, sitting there as if it had materialized out of thin air.

No note, no explanation, just the cool, familiar weight of the aluminum in your hand. And then there were the days when the familiar, agonizing cramps of your period would leave you pale and trembling. On those mornings, a small, neatly wrapped bar of dark chocolate – the expensive, imported kind you usually only dreamed of – would be placed discreetly beside your planner, as if someone knew exactly what silent battle you were fighting.

One particularly frustrating afternoon, fueled by a potent cocktail of exhaustion and a nagging sense of unease, you finally decided to confront the enigma that was Jeonghan. He was leaning against a sun-drenched wall in the courtyard, effortlessly surrounded by a gaggle of giggling students, his usual magnetic charm in full effect. "Han," you called out, your voice cutting through the laughter, the authority of your position instinctively taking over.

He turned, that familiar, infuriatingly handsome smirk returning to his lips. "To what do I owe this unexpected honor, Prez?" he drawled, the title laced with a playful mockery that usually sent your temper flaring.

You gestured vaguely towards your office. "Those… things. The soda. The chocolate. Why?"

He simply shrugged, that characteristic air of nonchalance returning, his eyes flicking away as if the topic bored him. "Had extras." The casual dismissal was infuriatingly convincing, leaving you with a swirling mix of confusion and a strange, unsettling warmth that you couldn't quite decipher.

--

The fragile peace of the university courtyard, usually a backdrop for idle chatter, hurried footsteps, and the occasional strumming of a guitar, shattered with a sudden, brutal sound. A sharp crack, like bone meeting bone, ripped through the lunchtime murmur, silencing the surrounding conversations as abruptly as a slammed door. You, mid-sentence with the perpetually flustered treasurer, Sooyoung, about the logistics of the upcoming charity bake sale and the alarming rate at which the student body consumed red velvet cupcakes, whipped your head around, your meticulously organized clipboard scattering a flurry of sign-up sheets onto the paved ground. The scene that unfolded before you sent a shockwave of cold disbelief, followed by a surge of adrenaline, coursing through your veins.

Jeonghan, the ever-teasing, perpetually laid-back Han, the master of witty remarks and harmless pranks that somehow always skirted the edge of outright rule-breaking, was locked in a vicious, unrestrained fistfight. His usual playful expression, the one that could charm even the most jaded professors, was gone, replaced by a mask of raw, untamed fury that contorted his handsome features into something almost unrecognizable. His knuckles, already reddening, were white against the other student's increasingly bloodied face, his movements jerky and fueled by a rage you had never witnessed in him before. This wasn't the Han of stolen exam answers and strategically placed whoopee cushions; this was something primal, something dangerous, a side of him completely hidden beneath the layers of charm and nonchalance.

Instinct took over, overriding the shock that had momentarily rooted you to the spot. The student council head within you, the one who had to maintain order and uphold the university's (admittedly often ignored) code of conduct, kicked in.

You found yourself pushing through the stunned onlookers, a knot of fear tightening in your stomach, your voice surprisingly sharp and authoritative as you barked orders. "Break it up! Now! What in God's name do you think you're doing? Jeonghan! Stop!" It took the combined efforts of several bewildered students, their initial shock slowly giving way to a hesitant urgency, to finally separate the two combatants.

Han’s chest heaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his usually bright eyes now dark with a simmering anger, his knuckles bruised and bleeding. The other student, a usually boisterous jock named Minho, captain of the university's baseball team, was a mess of split lips, a rapidly swelling eye already turning a sickly shade of purple, and a trickle of blood snaking down his chin.

Later, the sterile air in your small, often overlooked student council office crackled with an unfamiliar tension. Minho, sporting an impressive ice pack that did little to soothe his bruised ego, had been escorted to the university infirmary by a concerned coach. Han sat opposite you, slumped in the uncomfortable plastic chair, unusually silent. His usual playful demeanor, the easy smile that could disarm even your sternest lectures, was completely absent, replaced by a brooding intensity. The knuckles of his right hand were already starting to swell, a stark and unsettling testament to the brutal violence you had just witnessed. You sat behind your desk, the scattered bake sale sign-up sheets a forgotten mess, your mind still reeling from the unexpected eruption of fury.

"Han," you began, your voice tight with a mixture of disbelief, lingering shock, and a growing sense of unease. "What… what was that? I have never, ever seen you… like that." Your words hung in the air, the silence amplifying the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.

He remained silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on his injured hand, turning it over as if it belonged to someone else. Finally, he looked up, his eyes dark and troubled, a stark contrast to their usual mischievous sparkle. "He deserved it," was all he said, his voice low and rough, devoid of its usual playful lilt.

"Deserved what?" you pressed, leaning forward, your elbows resting on the cluttered surface of your desk. "A brutal beating in the middle of the courtyard? What in God's name could possibly have happened to provoke something like that?"

He hesitated, his jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscle in his cheek twitching. He seemed to be wrestling with himself, his usual easygoing nature battling with the raw anger that still emanated from him. "It's nothing you need to worry about," he finally mumbled, his gaze flicking away from yours.

"Nothing I need to worry about?" you repeated, incredulously, your voice rising slightly. "Han, you just engaged in a full-blown fistfight! This is serious. There will be consequences. And frankly, I need to understand what happened. For the official report, if nothing else."

He finally met your gaze again, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something beyond his usual teasing or indifference. It was a raw protectiveness, a simmering anger that still seemed to vibrate beneath his skin, a fierce loyalty that surprised you. "He said some… things," he mumbled, his voice still rough, the words seemingly dragged from him.

"What kind of things, Han?" you persisted, a knot of unease tightening in your stomach. You had a bad feeling about this, a sense that whatever Minho had said had struck a nerve, a deep and volatile one.

He turned away again, his gaze fixed on the peeling paint of the opposite wall, as if the answers were hidden within its imperfections. "Just… garbage. The kind of crap guys like him spout all the time. It's not important."

But the university grapevine, as always, was relentless and remarkably efficient. The whispers started circulating almost immediately, fueled by the stunned witnesses and the sheer unexpectedness of Han's violent outburst. It wasn't long before the unsavory details, twisted and embellished with each retelling, began to reach you. However, the core of the incident remained consistent.

Apparently, Minho, emboldened by his usual entourage of jock friends and a misplaced sense of entitlement that seemed to cling to him like expensive cologne, had cornered you near the library earlier that day. His words, repeated with a sickening accuracy by those who had overheard and were still reeling from the audacity, echoed in your mind, sending a shiver of disgust and a prickle of humiliation down your spine:

"Hey, scholarship princess. Heard you're scrubbing floors at some dive to pay mommy's bills. With a body like yours, you could probably make way more than minimum wage if you actually tried. Maybe drop the goody-two-shoes act and use what you've got, huh?"

The blatant objectification, the crude insinuation about your body and your desperate financial situation, the sheer disrespect in his tone, made your blood run cold. It was a violation, a disgusting intrusion that left you feeling exposed and vulnerable, the carefully constructed walls around your private life crumbling under the weight of his vulgar assumptions.

--

Later that week, the memory of Minho's words still a bitter taste in your mouth, you found yourself alone with Han near the humming vending machines, the awkward silence between you thick and uncomfortable. You hesitated for a moment, the question weighing heavily on your tongue, then decided to broach the subject again. "Han," you began softly, your voice barely above a whisper, the humiliation still raw. "I… I heard what Minho said. About… about my body… and… everything." The words felt foreign and shameful, a stark reminder of the vulnerability you tried so hard to conceal.

He flinched, his eyes, which had been idly scanning the snack selection, snapped to yours, hardening into a dangerous glint. "Who told you?" His voice was low, almost a growl.

"It doesn't matter," you said quietly, meeting his intense gaze. "What matters is… why? Why did you…"

He cut you off, his voice surprisingly harsh, the raw protectiveness evident despite his dismissive words. "Why do you wanna know? He spouts shit, and you aren't all that… you know." He trailed off, his usual eloquence failing him, the memory of Minho's disgusting appraisal clearly still fueling his anger, a possessive fury that both surprised and slightly unnerved you.

You stared at him, a confusing mix of emotions swirling within you. Hurt at his dismissive tone, a flicker of something akin to gratitude for his defense, but also a strange, unsettling warmth blooming in your chest at the fierce, albeit violent, loyalty he had displayed.

The image of his enraged face, the sheer, uncharacteristic fury in his eyes, lingered in your mind, a stark contrast to his usual playful demeanor. It was then, amidst the lingering shock, the uncomfortable tension, and the unsettling protectiveness in his gaze, that the buried feelings you’d tried so diligently to ignore since your first year began to stir, their roots running deeper than you’d ever dared to acknowledge.

The line between irritation and something far more complex was beginning to blur, and the unexpected violence, ignited by those vile words about your body and your circumstances, had somehow shaken it all awake, leaving you questioning everything you thought you knew about Jeonghan.

The relentless rhythm of university life continued, a predictable cycle of lectures, assignments, and the ever-present weight of your responsibilities as student council head.

But beneath this familiar surface, a new layer of anxiety had begun to fester. The memory of Minho's crude words, coupled with the unsettling protectiveness in Han's violent reaction, lingered like a persistent shadow. Adding to this growing unease was the constant, gnawing fear of your carefully guarded secret being exposed.

The chipped mugs and the weary smiles of your colleagues at the café had always been a world apart from the polished veneer of your university. It was a life you kept fiercely compartmentalized, a necessity born of your family's circumstances that you shielded with a quiet desperation from the judgmental eyes of your privileged classmates. The fear of that wall crumbling had always been there, a low hum of anxiety beneath the surface of your daily life.

Then, the inevitable happened. It started with a fleeting notification on your phone, a screenshot shared within a class group chat you rarely engaged with. A grainy, unflattering image flashed across the screen – undeniably you, in your slightly faded café uniform, a tray laden with steaming cups clutched in your hand, your hair pulled back haphazardly beneath a slightly stained hairnet. The caption, crude and mocking, stung more than you cared to admit: "Our esteemed S.C Head slumming it? Guess those scholarships don't cover everything." It had been taken during one of your late-night shifts, capturing a moment of weary concentration that was twisted into something pathetic and demeaning.

In a world where designer labels were practically a birthright and weekend discussions revolved around ski trips and yacht parties, the image was a stark, unwelcome intrusion. It ripped away the carefully constructed facade of the diligent, no-nonsense student council head, revealing the stark reality of your existence: the scholarship student working a dead-end job to keep her family afloat. The digital whispers began almost immediately, a low hum of curiosity quickly escalating into a deafening chorus of judgment and ridicule.

The fact that you had earned your place at this prestigious institution through sheer hard work and unwavering dedication, a testament to your intelligence and resilience, was conveniently ignored.

The narrative swiftly morphed. You, the seemingly unyielding and strict student council head, were now exposed, vulnerable, a target for the casual cruelty of those who had always resented your authority.

The air of respect your position once commanded seemed to evaporate, replaced by a palpable shift in the way people looked at you – a mixture of pity, disdain, and a smug sense of superiority.

Anonymous messages flooded your student council email. One particularly nasty one read: "So, S.C Head, when are you going to start serving coffee during student council meetings? Maybe you can earn some extra tips."

Graffiti, scrawled in hurried marker, appeared on the bathroom stalls. Underneath a crude drawing of someone vaguely resembling you holding a tray, someone had written: "From Council Head to Coffee Maid." The whispers followed you like a persistent shadow, echoing in the hallways. As you walked past a group of impeccably dressed girls, you heard one murmur, just loud enough for you to catch, "Well, look who it is. Fancy seeing her outside of a uniform." Another snickered in response.

You tried to ignore them, to keep your head down, to lose yourself in your studies, but the constant scrutiny, the thinly veiled contempt in the eyes of your peers, began to erode your carefully constructed composure. Even during lectures, you could feel their gazes on you, a silent, collective judgment that made your skin crawl.

One particularly cruel message, slipped into your locker, detailed fabricated stories about the supposed squalor of your "humble abode." "Heard the rats pay more rent than her family," it sneered, the implication clear that you were somehow an imposter, undeserving of being among them. The words, dripping with a disdain for a life you had no choice but to live, hit you with the force of a physical blow. A wave of shame, a feeling you had fought so hard to suppress, washed over you, leaving you feeling exposed and utterly humiliated.

You started avoiding eye contact, your shoulders hunching defensively as you navigated the crowded hallways. The snickers and muttered comments, though often just out of earshot, still stung, each one a tiny pinprick of cruelty chipping away at your carefully maintained stoicism.

The weight of your secret, once a private burden, was now a public spectacle, and the judgment felt suffocating, threatening to crush the very foundations of your hard-won place at the university. The unveiling of your other life had not brought understanding or empathy; it had brought only a fresh, stinging wave of disdain and isolation. You began to dread walking through the campus, the once familiar halls now feeling like a gauntlet of silent condemnation.

The cafeteria, once a bustling hub of student life, had transformed into a minefield for you. The clatter of trays and the boisterous chatter, once mundane background noise, now seemed to carry a sinister undercurrent, each laugh and whispered word potentially directed at you.

You had become a ghost in your own school, navigating the crowded tables with your gaze fixed firmly on the scuffed linoleum floor, a silent plea etched on your face to be rendered invisible. Lunchtime, once a brief respite, had become a daily exercise in forced solitude and silent endurance, each bite of your carefully packed lunch feeling like a leaden weight in your already burdened stomach.

Han’s usual raucous laughter and the easy, often insensitive, banter of his privileged entourage echoed across the vast space, a familiar sound that now struck a jarringly discordant note against the backdrop of your isolation. They seemed untouched by the subtle yet pervasive cruelty that clung to you like a persistent cloud, their world of inherited wealth and effortless comfort continuing its smooth, untroubled trajectory.

Yet, you had observed subtle shifts in Han’s demeanor in recent days. The ever-present smirk, his trademark expression, seemed to flicker less frequently, often replaced by a deep furrow in his brow, a restless energy in his movements, his gaze sweeping across the crowded tables with a searching, almost worried quality.

One particularly difficult afternoon, as you carefully maneuvered through the throng of students, clutching your worn lunch bag and desperately seeking the sanctuary of an unoccupied corner, you couldn't help but overhear fragments of their conversation. Jaehyu, Han’s loud and often tactless friend, was holding court, his voice booming with a cruel, self-satisfied edge.

"Did you see the comments under that photo? 'S.C Head serving the masses!' Hilarious! Looks like our perfect little scholarship student isn't so high and mighty now, wiping down sticky tables for a living." His cronies erupted in a chorus of boisterous laughter, the sound echoing through the cafeteria like a series of sharp, deliberate jabs. You flinched, your grip tightening on the brown paper bag, your cheeks flushing with a potent mix of shame and a simmering, impotent anger. You kept your gaze resolutely down, willing yourself to become one with the peeling paint on the nearby wall.

Finally, your eyes landed on a small, unoccupied table tucked away in a dimly lit corner near the overflowing recycling bins. It wasn't ideal, but it offered a semblance of privacy.

You hurried towards it, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, the whispered judgments feeling like physical shoves. You just wanted to eat your simple sandwich in quiet solitude, to find a brief, precious moment of escape from the suffocating weight of their disdain. But before you could even lower yourself onto the hard plastic chair, Jaehyu’s voice, laced with deliberate malice and amplified by a sudden lull in the surrounding noise, cut through the remaining lunchtime hum like a jagged shard of glass.

"Well, well, well," he drawled, his eyes locking onto yours with a smug, cruel satisfaction that made your stomach clench and a wave of nausea rise in your throat. "Look who it is. The queen of rule enforcement, the one who docked points from our club for being five minutes late. Maybe you should focus on clocking in on time at your real job, huh? Wouldn't want to get fired from your oh-so-glamorous career."

A fresh, brutal wave of cruel laughter rippled through his small group, the sound hitting you with the force of a physical shove, each guffaw a fresh wave of humiliation. Your breath hitched, and you instinctively lowered your head further, the familiar sting of tears pricking fiercely at the back of your eyes. You squeezed them shut, fiercely blinking them back. You wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing you break, of witnessing your pain. You had learned long ago to swallow the hurt, to build an invisible wall against their relentless cruelty.

But before you could retreat completely into your self-imposed invisibility, a sudden, sharp, and undeniably violent sound ripped through the remaining laughter, silencing the entire cafeteria as if an invisible hand had clamped down on the noise. A sickening thud, followed by a collective gasp and a sharp intake of breath from the stunned onlookers.

You looked up in stunned disbelief, your eyes widening in shock. Han stood over Jaehyu, his usually playful face contorted into a mask of thunderous, incandescent fury. Jaehyu lay sprawled on the sticky linoleum floor, clutching his jaw with a look of utter shock and dawning, agonizing pain contorting his features. The entire cafeteria fell into an eerie, absolute silence, the only sounds the scraping of overturned chairs and the hushed, disbelieving whispers rippling through the stunned crowd. A few brave (or perhaps foolishly curious) souls fumbled for their phones, their screens illuminating the unfolding drama with a cold, digital glow, capturing the unbelievable scene.

"Apologize to her," Han’s voice was low, dangerous, each syllable laced with a cold, hard steel you had never heard before, a stark contrast to his usual lighthearted tone. His eyes, blazing with a fierce, protective rage that seemed to emanate from his very core, were fixed on Jaehyu, who was slowly pushing himself up, his face a grotesque tableau of pain and utter bewilderment.

Jaehyu, clearly disoriented and not quite comprehending the sudden, brutal assault, stammered, "W-what? Why the hell would I apologize to her? She's the one who needs to apologize for being such a stuck-up-"

Han’s glare intensified, a silent, lethal threat that brooked no argument. The air around him seemed to crackle with barely suppressed violence. "Apologize. To. Her. Instantly, Jaehyu." His voice was a low growl, promising swift and unpleasant consequences for disobedience.

Jaehyu, despite his confusion and the throbbing agony in his jaw, seemed to recognize the raw, unadulterated fury in Han’s eyes, a primal anger that promised further pain if he dared to defy it. He mumbled a grudging, barely audible, "S-sorry," in your general direction, his gaze darting nervously between your stunned face and Han's menacing glare, his usual bravado completely evaporated, replaced by a palpable fear.

Confusion rippled through Han’s small group of friends. Seokhyun, usually the most jovial and easygoing of the bunch, stared at Han in utter disbelief, his mouth agape. "Yah, Jeonghan! What the actual hell was that? Why would you hit him? He was just joking! She needs to lighten up! She’s always acting like she’s better than everyone, lording her student council position over us."

Han’s head snapped towards Seokhyun, his eyes flashing with a raw, untamed rage that made Seokhyun visibly flinch, taking an involuntary step back, his usual easy smile nowhere to be seen. "Shut your damn mouth, Kim Seokhyun," Han spat, his voice dangerously low, each word dripping with contempt. "Making fun of someone for working hard to support their family isn't a 'joke.' It's pathetic, cruel, and reveals more about your rotten character than hers. Unlike some of us who waltzed in here on daddy's platinum card, she earned her place with a hundred percent scholarship. She's smarter, more hardworking, and possesses more integrity in her little finger than all of you entitled brats combined. And you want to tear her down for helping her mother? You want to make her feel ashamed of her strength and sacrifice? You'll have to go through me first, you understand?"

He turned abruptly, his gaze, still burning with a fierce protectiveness, locking onto yours across the stunned silence of the cafeteria. Without a word, he strode towards your table, his movements rough yet strangely determined, his eyes conveying a silent message of solidarity and unwavering support. He reached you, his hand closing around your arm, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the lingering tension radiating from him. He didn't say a word as he pulled you up from your chair, his eyes burning with an intensity you couldn't quite decipher, and began to lead you out of the stunned cafeteria, leaving behind a sea of bewildered faces, dropped trays, and the lingering echo of his unexpected, fierce, and utterly bewildering defense. As he guided you through the stunned crowd, you could hear whispers following in your wake, a mixture of shock, confusion, and a dawning, perhaps grudging, respect.

Han’s grip on your arm, though firm enough to guide you through the stunned and whispering crowd, possessed a surprising gentleness, a stark contrast to the raw fury he had displayed moments before. The whispers followed in your wake, a low, persistent hum of confusion, speculation, and perhaps even a grudging respect, but you barely registered them. Your mind was a whirlwind of disbelief, the unexpected outburst replaying in a loop, the fierce, almost possessive protectiveness Han had exhibited a stark and bewildering contrast to the carefree, infuriating troublemaker you thought you knew.

He didn’t speak as he steered you out of the bustling, judgmental atmosphere of the cafeteria and into the relative quiet and anonymity of a deserted hallway, the echoing silence amplifying the frantic beating of your own heart. The tension between you was thick, a palpable weight of unspoken questions, lingering shock, and a strange, burgeoning sense of… something you couldn't quite name. He finally stopped near a row of cold metal lockers, turning to face you, his hands still resting lightly but possessively on your arms, his touch sending a confusing mix of warmth and unease through you. His usual playful eyes, so often crinkled in amusement or mischief, were now dark, troubled, and filled with an uncharacteristic intensity that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Why?" he finally asked, his voice rough, the earlier, incandescent anger still simmering beneath the surface, a low growl in his tone. "Why didn't you say anything? Why did you just… stand there and take it? Why are you so… ashamed?" The question hung in the air between you, a direct accusation that pierced through the carefully constructed layers of your stoicism.

The dam you had so carefully, so painstakingly constructed over the past few weeks, the fragile barrier you had erected against the constant barrage of judgment, finally cracked. The carefully constructed walls you’d built around your deepest insecurities, your most vulnerable truths, crumbled under the unexpected weight of his fierce defense and his direct, probing question. The words tumbled out of you, a torrent of raw emotion you hadn’t even realized you were holding back, a desperate outpouring of the pain and exhaustion you had carried in silence for so long.

"Because…" your voice trembled, catching in your throat, thick with the unshed tears that had been threatening to spill over for weeks. "Because it's true, isn't it? They're right. I am the scholarship kid working a dead-end job. I do come from nothing. And every single day, I walk through these halls feeling like I don't belong, like I'm an imposter in a world that wasn't built for me. I work my ass off at the café after classes, come home late, help my mom with bills, with rent… I’m tired, Han. So incredibly tired of trying to pretend that I’m just like them, that their cruel words don't cut me to the bone, that their disdain doesn't leave me feeling hollowed out."

Your voice broke completely, the carefully held back tears finally breaching the surface, hot and stinging against your pale cheeks. You hated crying in front of anyone, the ingrained habit of appearing strong, self-sufficient, and in control too deeply ingrained in your very being. You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms, trying desperately to regain some semblance of composure, but the floodgates had opened, and the vulnerability was already out in the open, raw and exposed for him to see.

Without a word, Han’s expression underwent a profound shift. The lingering anger in his eyes softened, the hard edges melting away, replaced by a look of something akin to deep understanding, a surprising tenderness that made your breath catch in your throat and your heart clench with a confusing mix of emotions. He gently released your arms, his touch lingering for a fleeting moment, and with a hesitant, almost reverent movement, reached out and cupped your face in his surprisingly warm hands. His touch was a small, unexpected comfort in the overwhelming storm of your emotions, a silent acknowledgment of your pain.

He didn't say anything, just looked at you, his gaze searching, empathetic, as if he were trying to absorb the depth of your hurt. Then, in a move that completely took you by surprise, a gesture both unexpected and strangely comforting, he gently scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest as if you weighed nothing, his strong arms a surprising anchor in your turbulent sea of emotions. You gasped, a startled sound escaping your lips, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for support, your face buried in the soft fabric of his expensive-smelling shirt, the familiar scent oddly grounding.

He carried you out of the university building, the surprised and curious glances of the few students you passed in the hallway fading into a blurry, irrelevant background. He didn't say a word, just held you close, his steps steady and sure, his presence a silent promise of safety and understanding. He carefully settled you into the plush leather of the passenger seat of his sleek, impeccably maintained car, his eyes filled with a quiet concern and a depth of emotion you had never associated with the playful, often infuriating, Jeonghan.

"Let it out," he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his hand resting gently but firmly on your arm, his thumb stroking your skin in a small, comforting gesture. "Don't hold back. I won't turn around unless you tell me to." He was about to close the door, giving you the privacy you so desperately needed, when you reached out, your hand gripping his arm tightly, a silent plea for connection. You pulled him towards you, burying your face in his chest again, the sobs you had been fighting back for so long finally wracking your body, each one a release of pent-up pain and humiliation. The tears streamed down your face, hot and unrestrained, soaking into the soft fabric of his shirt, a physical manifestation of the emotional dam finally breaking. And the whole time, he just held you close, his arms a safe and unexpected harbor in the storm of your emotions, his presence a silent, unwavering promise of comfort, understanding, and something that felt suspiciously like… care.

The rhythmic sound of your sobs gradually subsided, each hiccuping breath leaving behind a raw ache in your chest and a damp, slightly embarrassing patch on the front of Han’s expensive-looking shirt. You finally pulled back, your face flushed and tear-streaked, your eyes swollen and red, reflecting the tumultuous emotions that had just poured forth. You felt utterly exposed, vulnerable in a way you hadn’t allowed yourself to be in years. The fact that it was Han, the very person who usually exasperated you with his antics and tested your patience to its limits, who had witnessed your complete emotional unraveling felt strangely disorienting, yet also… oddly comforting.

He didn’t say anything, just offered you a small, surprisingly gentle smile, a stark contrast to his usual mischievous grin, and a clean, subtly scented handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket. You took it with a shaky hand, dabbing at your wet cheeks and swollen eyelids, avoiding his direct gaze, a wave of self-consciousness washing over you. The silence in the car was thick, no longer charged with the earlier tension and unspoken shock, but with a fragile, almost sacred intimacy, a quiet understanding that had unexpectedly blossomed between you.

After a few moments of awkward but not entirely uncomfortable silence, you finally found your voice, still thick with the remnants of your sobs. "Thank you," you mumbled, your gaze fixed on your hands, which were clasped tightly in your lap, the knuckles white. "For… for everything. For today… and…" you trailed off, unsure how to articulate the confusing mix of gratitude and burgeoning realization swirling within you.

He just nodded slowly, his eyes still filled with that unfamiliar, tender concern that made your heart flutter in a way it never had before. "Are you… okay now?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a genuine worry that surprised you.

You took a deep breath, a shaky exhale that still hitched slightly. "I will be," you said, the words carrying a newfound lightness, as if releasing the pent-up tears had also released some of the immense weight you had been carrying for so long. You finally lifted your gaze to meet his, a question, a hesitant curiosity, forming in your eyes. "Han… why did you do all that? Back in the cafeteria. And… all those times before? The drinks… the chocolate… you always act like you can’t stand me, like I’m just a constant source of irritation."

Han shifted uncomfortably in his plush leather seat, finally breaking eye contact and staring intently out the front windshield, as if the answers to your questions were etched on the glass. A faint blush, starting at his ears, crept up his neck, a tell-tale sign of his rare discomfort. "I… well, that's not exactly true," he mumbled, his fingers fiddling nervously with the car keys dangling from the ignition.

"What isn't true?" you pressed gently, a hopeful tendril reaching out within you, a hesitant anticipation of something unexpected.

He finally turned back to you, his gaze earnest, almost vulnerable, the usual playful mask completely gone. "I never hated you, (Y/N). Not even a little bit. Annoyed? Maybe sometimes," he admitted with a small, sheepish grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. He hesitated, then took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for a plunge into unknown waters. "Actually… it's kind of the opposite."

Your eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise, your carefully guarded composure momentarily forgotten. "The opposite?" you echoed, a bewildered laugh escaping your lips.

He nodded, his cheeks now flushed a deeper shade of pink, his gaze darting between your eyes and his fidgeting hands. "Yeah. I… I liked being around you. Even when you were scolding me for some ridiculous prank. Your frown… it was kind of cute, actually," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of his usual teasing creeping back in, but tinged with a newfound sincerity. He avoided your gaze again, a nervous energy radiating from him. "And… well, I noticed things. You always looked so tired, those dark circles under your eyes… and I remembered you mentioning once, ages ago, how much you loved that specific brand of overly sweet soda. The chocolate… well, I just… I know how bad period cramps can be. My younger sister… she goes through it too."

Your heart skipped a surprised beat. He noticed? All this time, amidst his chaotic pranks and infuriating teasing, he had actually been paying attention to the small, insignificant details of your life?

"You knew… about my period cramps?" you asked, a surprised, slightly disbelieving laugh bubbling up despite the lingering sadness.

He nodded sheepishly, a small, endearing smile finally gracing his lips. "Yeah, well… you always seemed to reach for dark chocolate those days. It wasn't exactly rocket science, Sherlock." He finally met your eyes again, his gaze surprisingly direct and unwavering. "And I knew about your scholarship, about your family… from the very beginning. You have this quiet strength about you, (Y/N). It's hard not to notice."

Your breath hitched in your throat. He knew? All this time, he had known about your struggles, your carefully guarded secrets, and instead of judging you, he had… he had been leaving you small, anonymous tokens of comfort?

"You always seemed so… together," Han continued, his voice softer now, almost hesitant, the playful teasing completely gone. "So strong, carrying all that responsibility on your own, never asking for help. But I could see it sometimes, the weight you carried, the exhaustion in your eyes. I just… I wanted to do something. Anything small, just to… to let you know someone saw it. So you wouldn't have to carry it all alone." He looked away again, his ears now a delicate shade of pink. "I… I think… I’ve liked you… a lot… since first year." The confession hung in the air between you, fragile and unexpected.

He backed off slightly, a nervous energy radiating from him, his expression a mixture of hope and trepidation, unsure of your reaction, his long-held secret finally laid bare. To his utter surprise, you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they tangled in the soft strands of his dark hair. You gently tugged him closer, your eyes searching the depths of his earnest gaze. And then, without thinking, without analyzing, without allowing the years of exasperation and perceived animosity to cloud your judgment, you leaned in and kissed him. It was a tentative kiss at first, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected depth of his feelings, a soft exploration that spoke volumes. But it quickly deepened, a rush of long-suppressed emotions – gratitude, relief, and a powerful, undeniable affection – flooding through you, washing away the years of carefully constructed barriers. Your hands tightened in his hair as he instinctively pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist, a silent, comforting embrace that spoke of a connection you had never dared to imagine.

He mumbled a soft, heartfelt, "I love you," against your lips, the words echoing the long-held secret that had finally found its voice within your own heart. "I love you too, Han," you whispered back, the confession a sweet, liberating release, a fragile beginning to something entirely new.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes wide and luminous, reflecting the shock and the burgeoning, almost incandescent joy that had bloomed in his chest. "You… you really do?" he murmured, his voice thick with a raw emotion that mirrored your own, a hopeful tremor running through him like a live wire. The nervous energy that had been radiating off him just moments before seemed to dissipate entirely, replaced by an almost childlike wonder, a sense of disbelief that mingled beautifully with his happiness.

You nodded, a genuine, heartfelt smile finally breaking through the remnants of your tears, a radiant expression that mirrored the pure joy now illuminating his handsome face. The heavy, suffocating weight that had been pressing down on your chest for so long, the burden of your secrets and your struggles, seemed to have miraculously lifted, replaced by a lightness you hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity. In the small, intimate sanctuary of his luxurious car, tucked away from the judgmental eyes and cruel whispers of the university, the harsh realities and societal pressures of the world outside seemed to recede into a hazy background, the only tangible reality the unexpected, profound connection you had forged in the crucible of vulnerability and unexpected affection.

Han reached out, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he gently cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a feather-light, almost reverent touch. "So," he said, his voice soft, a tender whisper that resonated deep within you, a hint of his usual playful tone finally returning, but now imbued with a newfound depth of sincerity. "What… what exactly happens now, Head Girl?"

You leaned into his warm touch, a profound sense of peace settling over you, a feeling of finally being seen, truly seen, for the first time in a long time. The weight of your carefully constructed facade had finally been lifted, replaced by the liberating vulnerability of being completely yourself with someone who not only saw you but cherished you, flaws and all. "Now," you whispered, your eyes locking with his, a newfound resolve hardening your gaze, a quiet strength blossoming within you. "Now, we start over. Together." The word resonated with a profound sense of rightness, a solid promise of shared burdens, mutual support, and a future you no longer had to face alone.

A wide, unrestrained grin, the genuine, heart-melting kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and lit up his entire face, spread across his features, chasing away the last vestiges of nervousness and uncertainty. A familiar spark of mischief flickered back into his eyes, a hint of the playful troublemaker you knew, but this time, it was different. It was a shared secret, a conspiratorial glint that hinted at future adventures, a promise of unwavering support, shared laughter, and a deep, abiding affection that transcended the superficial barriers of your different worlds. He leaned in for another kiss, a slow, tender exploration that sealed your unexpected beginning, a silent vow to face whatever challenges lay ahead, hand in hand, heart to heart. The road ahead wouldn't be easy; the ingrained prejudices of your classmates wouldn't vanish overnight, and the stark realities of your different socioeconomic backgrounds still loomed. But for the first time in a long time, you didn't feel like you had to shoulder the weight of the world on your own. You had Han, your infuriating, surprisingly perceptive, fiercely protective, and now, undeniably loving Han, by your side. And somehow, in that precious moment, that realization made all the difference in the world, painting a hopeful hue over a future that had previously seemed so daunting. The persistent headache that had been your constant companion throughout the tumultuous senior year seemed to finally recede, replaced by a quiet, burgeoning warmth that spread through your chest, a tangible promise of brighter, shared days to come.

The End

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When they are your guardian/teacher figure

(This idea has been requested by several lovelies and anons who wished something along those lines. It was a long while back, so I apologize if I couldn’t tag or respond to one specific ask.) 

(Platonic, gn reader is a child. Short domestic satire)

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia (+ small Arlecchino bonus)

✧ Due to some mysterious circumstances that were too irrelevant to reiterate, Pierro was known to attend to all matters regarding your well-being. Though the Jester himself seldom graced the Palace of Snezhnaya, the sight of a diminutive, silent child was even rarer. That small, elusive child – was you.

“As your knowledge blossoms, so will you understand the merit of growth. The more hunger for knowledge you possess, the greater your intellectual progress shall become.” – The Jester spoke formally, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed off into the snowy horizon behind the window. “To withhold knowledge is to forsake power, and thus, you must wield it as a weapon.”

But when Pierro turns to face his audience, all he can see is your peering eyes barely peeking from the enormous desk. Sitting on the armchair that is way too big for you, your short legs barely touch the ground. And it doesn’t help that Pierro’s words are perhaps too… eloquent for someone your age. 

“That is to say, little one, I am telling you forgot to do your homework. Again.”  

You blinked.

“Little one,” – Pierro began carefully, his eyes narrowing. He knew your innocent silence was a cunning sign. Sensing his suspicion, you hopped off the armchair with agile speed and darted away. “Little one-! Return here at once!”

But your small form carried you off in the palace hallways, hopping under tables and chairs, you tested Pierro’s resilience as he chased you. Panting and screaming that you’ll “never succumb to the enemy” that is your homework; you refused your academic tasks and yearned to be what you truly are - a menace to the Jester’s sanity. 

Yet despite the countless times you ran away like a little criminal and the many times that the Harbinger caught you swiftly in his gloved arms, he could never raise his voice at you. His scoldings would be met with sulking. Your woeful expression always softened his sternness, leaving him with two outcomes: either you would tire him out by running, or he would tire you out by following you.

And as the night wore on, the result always remained the same. Both of you found yourselves dozing in an armchair, wrapped in a cozy blanket, and lulled into slumber by the crackling fireplace. Pierro nodded off gracefully, his head resting gently on his knuckles, while you, enveloped in sleep and warmth, lay cradled in his arms, protected from guilt in the peace of Pierro's private sanctuary. Running around does tire one out, after all. 

✧ Impressive in his ominous stature, Il Capitano towered above the smaller child. Despite your shy demeanor, you still stuck closely to Il Capitano's side, often hiding behind his coat; your hands clutching the fur as you shielded yourself from the intimidating Fatui troops working alongside him. 

Capitano, however, harbored reservations. The training grounds were no suitable habitat for a small one like you. He was hardly a natural caregiver and yet, he knelt beside you, his pitch-black visage peering straight down at your awestruck expression. He expected his unwelcoming helmet would frighten you off, yet all you did was place your tiny palms on his helmet and exclaim: “Capi!”

“This place is not for a child like you. You shouldn't wander around these parts, darling. They are dangerous and you're much too small for the many sharp weapons stored here.”

You smiled at him, curiously trying to reach for the golden chains around his helmet. It seems you weren't afraid of him.

“You may be a fearless little warrior, but you must stay on your guard. What if an enemy came to swoop you up, small one?” - Capitano lifted you high, his armored hands careful so as not to poke your smaller figure. You just emitted a small happy “wee!” in response.

How easy it is to crack a knight's exterior solely with a childlike smile. 

That's how you found yourself under his protective wing, never once heeding his warning as you continued to follow him diligently. Whenever the Harbinger was training, you watched. Whenever he did his usual warm-up push-ups, you tried to mimic. You obviously failed and quickly plopped onto the floor by the second push-up. 

“Easy there,” - Capitano offered you to sit cross-legged on his back while he continued his pushups. You were much smaller anyway, so whether you hung on his forearms whenever he lifted weights or did pushups, it barely posed a physical challenge. You, however, were beyond gleeful to be involved in his training, your face awash in wonder as he hoisted you up with ease while you perched serenely on his back. 

It's comical how this captain's reluctance turned him into now a caretaker of a small wee one; and an excellent one at that. He often carries you around, ensuring you are eating well after he is done with his morning training, and silently relishing your little yawns whenever you fall asleep by resting your head on his shoulder. 

✧ Il Dottore sat behind his desk, the solitary glow of the desk lamp casting long chiaroscuro shadows that slithered across the lab. It was another silent night, save for his swift scribbling over scientific reports. Suddenly, The Doctor felt a tug at his leg. Humming in response, he glanced down to find none other than you looking up at him with a small bundle of your favorite comforter clutched tightly in your tiny hands. 

“Hm? Can't sleep?”

You nodded. 

With great care, Dottore lifted you to his chair and placed you beside him. One hand resumed its task, grasping his pen to scrawl his intricate research calculations, while the other rested securely on your back, ensuring you were steady on his lap. With a sleepy haze, you observed his writing - so many big words and different numbers. You pointed at one and inquired:

“Dottie… what is this word?” 

“This is pronounced ‘metamorphosis’. To describe a transformation or change from one form to another, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly.”

“Meta-fofis…” - you imitated to the best of your comprehension.

"Meta-morph-o-sis."

You parroted in a murmur, to which The Doctor rewarded you with a hair ruffle. While his reports were nearly complete, he paused, pointing to another word on the page: “And this, little one, how do you pronounce it, remember?” 

“Um, axono-trophy.” 

“Indeed, well done. And what is the meaning of Axonotrophy?”

“A condition where axons are destroyed due to disease.” 

A prideful gleam graced Il Dottore's features. Your answers reflected not only a keen absorption of the various biological terminology but also his own success in mentoring you. Perhaps for regular children, such tedious topics are far from entertaining, yet The Harbinger saw the way your eyes beamed with curiosity at the many tomes of books, reports, and vials. And he would never forbid your curiosity like his homeland once did.

“A brilliant scholar in the making, little one. Excellent job,” - he patted your hair, letting you comfortably settle on his lap to rest. You hugged your comforter as he continued to work, a big yawn escaping you. Unaware of when you succumbed to the lulls of sleep, you drifted off, cocooned in warmth and security while Dottore silently finished his reports. 

✧ Scaramouche released a vexed sigh, his patience being tested. He wasn't on a Fatui mission by any kind, yet his solitude began to wane as a smaller figure kept following him around in a less inconspicuous manner. 

“You know you're not being sneaky, right? Stop following me around, kid.”

You flinched. The Harbinger turned to glare at you and you felt even smaller as he scolded you. You hid the item you brought behind your back, trying to conceal your bruised knees and scratched little fingers.

“I’m… I'm not following around, mister,” - you defend meekly, but Scaramouche only crossed his arms. “I made you a gift!” 

What sort of present could a child even muster for a Fatui Harbinger, Scaramouche mused to himself. You looked so unkept, hair tangled, and dirt stuck to your sandals as if you stumbled somewhere around a grassy hill. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow but reluctantly obliged. He kneeled before you – “Spit it out, kid. What do you want?”

You stepped closer and with naïve determination - you handed him a crocheted little toy. It was far from a professional mastery, with some knots uneven, but the vision was clear. This little toy resembled Scaramouche, with short dark hair and a funny flat hat. 

“I made this for you! Mister looks very pretty, like a doll! So I tried… to make one.” 

Scaramouche stared silently, his lips parted. The black buttons of the round doll stared back at him. A brush of a certain memory swept him like the gentle breeze of early autumn; your bright determination, so radiant while you were so small, left him frozen. He saw all this before when he donned a different name, a different time. And although he wished to scowl and say ‘Why the hell would I want a doll?’ - he never dared to. 

Instead, he held it up carefully and muttered – “Hm, I suppose it looks like me. Not bad. You did this all on your own?” 

You nodded eagerly. The Harbinger decisively offered his hand, your smaller one clutching onto him as if he were an older sibling.

“Come on, kid. Let's get you cleaned up and tidied. Goodness knows when you last had a good meal, too.” 

✧ What a jubilant day it was for Pantalone. He has just returned from a shopping venture; his servants aiding him with bags of newly ordered accessories and state-of-the-art attires. Little you sat plopped on a soft cushion, yet even to someone as minute as you comprehend the Harbinger's energetic pacing. It was one of those days when the 9th would go on some tangent about Mora. Again. 

“You see dear, Mora is the true physical leyline of the human world,” - he stood behind you, busying himself with styling your hair delicately while you sat in front of a dresser. “It is what ensues power, gaining influence of the world's machinations.”

You watched as he proudly brushed and styled your hair, spending more time picking up the newly brought ties and accessories than actually styling.

“But there is more to it!” – Once satisfied with your tidy appearance, the Regrator picked you up in his arms, lifting you to his level. “I am not speaking about monetary gain, my little gem. I am speaking of what you value most in your life. 

With one arm securing you, his second arm reaches for various items. He sets out some precious jewelry on one side, their shiny gemstones gleaming with pristine silver. Then he set down some soft plushies. Even the Fontainian toys he purchases are of foreign mastership with unique designs. And on the other side of the dresser, the last item he placed was stacks of your favorite books and pencils. 

“Say, little one. Of all these things, which is most important for a young gem like you?” 

Pantalone held you securely in his arms, a thoughtful look on his expression as you blinked in wonder. It seems he tried to give you some sort of speech about the difference between monetary gain, hedonistic lifestyle, and the value of work. Shiny riches, toys, or books. He waited patiently for you to choose, hoping that the simple representation of items would convey the seriousness of his questions. 

You, however, simply blinked and peered at those jumbles of items. Instead, you turned to inspect him and decided on a straightforward answer: “Pantalone!”

So you just wrapped your arms around him. 

The Harbinger tried not to weep. He never considered himself an option when comparing his value to Mora. He embraced you tightly in response, you were already wiser than him in many regards.

 ✧ the 11th of The Fatui Harbingers, Tartaglia, was no more. Now there is only the Greatest Toy Salesman in Snezhnaya. Or so would be his title if it was a synonym for beating bad monsters because you believed it most earnestly. 

Eagerly, you followed whenever Childe was training, thinking that the shiny big weapons were something of joyous intrigue. The young harbinger would drop everything at once and swoop you in a hurry before you touch the sharp blades. 

Interesting gauntlets worn by Anemoboxer Vanguards? Touch. 

Interesting pyro-infused rifles held by Pyroslinger Bracers? Touch. 

Dual blades gleaming whenever Pyro Agents tossed them? Also must touch.

All that and more were followed by Tartaglia’s hurried ‘No!’ as he rushed to your side. You were a small bundle of energy. And suddenly Childe realized how much of a nuisance he must've been to his dad when he was younger.

“Kid, how many times have I told you,” - he sighed, pulling you up over his shoulder. “Touching is a no-no if something is sharp!”

Hence, to put your curiosity into use, Childe made a miniature wooden bow for you, your new toy. Decisive in teaching you the baby steps of handling a bow, Tartaglia considered himself to be well off in the art of shooting lately; his posture even became better when aiming the weapon. This will be a good start to mentor you.

You were ecstatic, even if your arrows would plummet to the ground or way behind the shooting range. After all, similar to your curiosity, Ajax was also once a restless child like you. 

✧ You stared up at the red crossed-out pupils boring into your soul. The tall lady stared back, her gaze locked into a cold narrowed shape. Arlecchino regarded you carefully, seeing your hesitation when you noticed her ashen black hands. Was it your child-like curiosity or fear that struck you to freeze still? Because the 4th of Fatui Harbingers knew the scent of gullible reticence.

“Go on now. Why the hesitation, child? Something struck your curiosity or is it fear?”

You stayed still, mustered up your courage, and stated: “Eyes… pretty! Red and black.” 

Father’s narrowed gaze falters. It seems she misjudged you, you weren’t skittish like the usual little youngsters. A spirit of curiosity at such a young age must be nurtured. Thus, The Knave offered her hand, and your smaller one eagerly held onto it, inspecting the unique markings on her fingers. 

“Hm, if it's a curiosity of the unknown you are displaying, then you must be a brave little one. But if it's flattery you’re trying to achieve, then know that it will get you nowhere.”

You obediently picked up the pace, walking alongside her, hand in hand, while Arlecchino’s heels clacked against the floor. Her shadow cast upon your smaller one, enveloping you like an unassailable eclipse against the world. 

(as always, thank you everyone for the kind words and messages! Dw I see and read your asks❣)

[shy9-29]

Can i request a fic where reader finally says " i love you " to bf Jay after 4 months of dating and it feels as if he hit the jackpot and he's just so ecstatic to the point he can't stop kissing you and telling you how grateful and lucky he is to be yours and to be loved by you

OMG OFC this is so cute jay is such a cutie and I feel like this fits him so much. Im in love 😻 also happy birthday jay!!!

synopsis: after 4 months of dating jay, you finally muster up the courage to tell him you love him. Ever since, he’s been stuck to you like glue. ✉️ wc. 2.7k

You were lying on the couch, legs lazily draped over Jay’s lap as he scrolled through his phone, completely unaware of the way the golden hour light spilled across his face. He looked too perfect to ignore, so you reached for your phone and angled it just right, switching to the 0.5 lens and snapping a photo without warning.

Jay stretched an arm behind your head, pulling you closer until your cheek rested on his chest. “You’re always taking pictures of me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “You gonna run out of storage at this rate.”

He blinked up at the sound, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “Did you just take a 0.5 photo of me?” he asked, squinting playfully as he tried to snatch your phone.

You giggled, pulling it out of his reach. “Caught you in your natural habitat.”

“Looking flawless?” he teased, leaning back with a smug grin.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you took another shot—this time catching him mid-laugh. That one, you knew you’d save forever.

“I’ll just buy more,” you said softly, your fingers drawing lazy patterns on the back of his hand.

He didn’t respond for a moment, just traced little circles on your arm with his thumb. Then he whispered, almost like a secret, “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy before.”

Your heart thudded once—loud and sudden—but you stayed quiet, just let the warmth of him, the moment, sink in.

Jay looked down at you, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “You always look at me like that,” he said with a grin.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something big.”

You swallowed, feeling the words rise up your throat, right there on the tip of your tongue. But instead, you smiled. “Maybe I am.”

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to,” he whispered. “I already know.”

And from that day forward, he was always closer, always touching—his arm around your waist in the kitchen, his fingers laced with yours on the train, his lips brushing your temple when he thought no one was looking.

You hadn’t said it yet. But somehow, he already acted like you did.

Jay was supposed to be at your place thirty minutes ago, but the minutes kept ticking by with no sign of him. You tried not to worry, tried to tell yourself that maybe he just stopped to grab something or took a longer route—but when your phone stayed silent, your anxiety crept in little by little. Finally, you gave in and called him, thumb hovering over the screen until he picked up on FaceTime.

The screen lit up with his familiar face, a little flushed from the heat and frustration, one hand on the wheel. “Hey, babe,” he said, glancing between the road and the camera, his brows slightly furrowed. “Sorry, traffic’s a nightmare. I’m like crawling at 5km an hour.”

You exhaled in relief, though your eyes widened. “Jay, you’re driving—should you really be FaceTiming me right now?”

He chuckled, the sound already easing your nerves. “I know, I know. But I had to let you know I wasn’t ditching you.”

You smiled, even though your voice came out a little scolding. “Oh, then I should probably hang up. I don’t want you to get distracted.”

But he shook his head, his expression softening as he looked at you again. “No, it’s okay. I insist. Hearing your voice actually makes me more focused.”

Your heart melted at that—warmth blooming in your chest at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He meant it.

“Okay,” you murmured, the corners of your lips turning up. “But keep your eyes on the road, Mr. Romantic.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, and you stayed on the line, talking about nothing and everything while the city lights passed by slowly behind him.

It was nearly dark when Jay finally arrived, and you heard his familiar footsteps jogging up the stairs before the door flung open with dramatic flair. You barely had time to get up from the couch before he stepped inside with his arms completely full—three large bags swinging from his wrists, a drink tray balanced carefully in one hand, and… was that—?

“Movie night!” he declared in a sing-song voice, holding everything up like a proud delivery man who had just completed the world’s most romantic DoorDash run.

You blinked, your mouth slightly open. “Jay…”

“Wait, wait,” he said, carefully setting the bags down one by one with exaggerated care. “One—your favorite takeout. Two—those weird fizzy grape sodas you love even though they taste like cough syrup. And three—”

He reached into the last bag with a flourish, his grin practically splitting his face in two. “The Jellycat sheep you’ve been dropping hints about for, like, three months.”

He held it out proudly, and you gasped, recognizing the soft, round, floppy plush immediately. “No way.”

“Yes way,” he said, handing it over like it was made of gold. “She’s all yours. I had to fight off a grandma for her, but worth it.”

Your face was already burning with affection and secondhand embarrassment as you reached for the plush, but not before giving his arm a half-hearted smack. “You’re so embarrassing.”

Jay just laughed, brushing your hair gently behind your ear. “But you love it.”

You clutched the plush sheep to your chest, still unable to hide your smile. “Yeah,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I love you.”

His face stilled for a moment, the teasing energy shifting into something warmer, deeper. He stepped forward, hands now free, and cupped your cheeks like you were something precious.

“I love you too,” he whispered, eyes searching yours. “So much.”

You thought he’d kiss you right then—but instead, he pulled you into the tightest hug, rocking you back and forth like he needed to feel every part of you against him.

“I missed you today,” he murmured into your hair. “Traffic sucked. But thinking about coming here, seeing you—made it worth it.”

You hugged him back just as tightly, heart full to the brim. “You’re ridiculous,” you whispered. “You brought enough food to feed a village.”

“A very lucky village,” he quipped, pulling back just enough to look at you again. “C’mon. Let’s pick a movie. I’m voting rom-com. I earned it.”

You rolled your eyes and tugged him toward the couch, Jellycat in one hand, his fingers laced with yours in the other.

And as the night went on—blankets tangled around your legs, the sound of the movie playing softly in the background, and Jay stealing kisses every time you looked away—you realized that this wasn’t just a good night.

It was one of the nights you’d remember forever.

The atmosphere between you and Jay had shifted into something a little more intimate, though neither of you had really said it out loud. You were curled up on the couch, his arms around you, legs tangled in the blanket. Jay looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and before you knew it, he was pulling you into his lap, his hands settling on your waist as he shifted you comfortably on him.

“Jay—” you started to protest, but the words got stuck when he began to kiss your neck, his lips trailing down to your collarbone. The heat from his body was almost overwhelming, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to pull away.

He chuckled softly against your skin. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” he whispered, his breath warm and teasing.

You squirmed a little, trying to focus on the movie, but his attention was relentless. His hands slid up your sides, gently pulling your shirt over your head. You blinked, caught off guard, but before you could say anything, he was already taking off his own sweater with swift movements, revealing a white tank top underneath.

You were about to protest, to tell him to stop, but then he draped the sweater over your shoulders. “Here,” he said, his voice a little deeper now. “Wear this. You look cold.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you took the sweater, letting him help you pull it on. It smelled like him, warm and comforting, and suddenly you felt like you could stay in it forever. But that didn’t stop him from continuing his onslaught of soft kisses along your jawline, his hands now tracing circles on your back through the fabric of the sweater.

“Jay, please,” you whimpered, pulling away just slightly to look at him, your hands pressing against his chest. “We have to watch the movie. Can we, like… actually watch it?”

But he only grinned, eyes filled with affection and a touch of playful mischief. “Who needs a movie when I have you right here?” he whispered, his lips brushing against yours as if he couldn’t stop himself.

You gave in to the kiss, your hands curling into his shirt as you melted into him, the movie completely forgotten for the moment. But then, as if on cue, you broke away, breathless.

“Jay!” you laughed, though it was more out of frustration and desire than anything else. “I’m serious, we need to at least pretend we’re watching this thing!”

He groaned in mock annoyance, but you could tell he was only halfheartedly giving up. “Fine, fine,” he said with a resigned sigh, though his hands were still lightly resting on your hips. “We’ll watch the movie. But I’m not making any promises that I won’t kiss you during it.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. You didn’t really mind. Not at all.

You settled back into his lap, adjusting the oversized sweater around you as Jay wrapped his arms securely around your waist. His chin came to rest on your shoulder, and he pressed one last, lingering kiss to your cheek before whispering, “Okay. Movie mode. I’m locked in.”

You picked up the remote and hit play, the screen lighting up with the familiar opening scene. For a solid five minutes, things were normal. His arms stayed still, his breath warm against your neck, and for once, he was actually watching. Or so you thought.

“Wait, what just happened?” he asked suddenly, blinking at the screen.

You turned slightly, suspicious. “Seriously? Jay, that was like the most important part.”

“I was distracted,” he mumbled, nuzzling into your neck again. “You keep wiggling around, what am I supposed to do?”

You tried to stay firm, but the way he pouted made it impossible. “I’m trying to watch, not wiggle.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, then leaned in to kiss your neck again. “Can’t help it. You’re warm. And soft. And in my sweater.”

You bit back a laugh, your heart fluttering all over again. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re in denial,” he whispered, sneaking a kiss behind your ear. “You love how obsessed I am with you.”

You turned your head, catching his lips in a quick kiss before he could sneak in another. “I do,” you whispered, barely above a breath. “I really do.”

Jay’s eyes lit up with that boyish sparkle you adored, and he kissed you again—slowly this time, like he wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth.

You let yourself melt for a second, but when he made a move to deepen it, you pulled away with a giggle, smushing his face gently with your palm.

“Movie,” you reminded him, trying not to laugh as he groaned dramatically.

“Fine. Movie,” he repeated, resting his head back on your shoulder with a sigh.

And even though he finally quieted down, his arms never left you, his fingers gently tracing little shapes on your thigh, his lips brushing your temple every now and then like he just couldn’t help himself.

You never thought movie night would feel like this. Like home. Like love. Like everything.

Halfway through the movie, you felt the growing urge to pee and finally sighed, untangling yourself from Jay’s hold. He immediately sat up with you, as if he was about to follow you into battle.

You blinked at him. “Jay… I’m just going to the bathroom.”

“I know,” he said, already trailing behind you like a very clingy, very tall shadow.

You laughed under your breath, reaching for the bathroom door. “Go watch the movie. I’ll be like—two minutes.”

But he didn’t stop. Instead, he stepped right inside the bathroom with you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You turned around, eyebrows raised. “Jay.”

He blinked innocently. “What?”

“Just wait outside,” you said, trying to nudge him back out with a hand to his chest.

He let out the softest, most dramatic pout, stepping back with slumped shoulders like you’d just rejected him on national television. “Fine,” he grumbled, dragging his feet as he stepped out. “But I’m waiting right here.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and shut the door, trying not to laugh at how ridiculous he was being.

When you came out a moment later, he was standing right outside like a loyal puppy, arms crossed and eyes lighting up the second he saw you.

“I survived,” he said solemnly. “Barely.”

“You’re insane,” you giggled, giving his hand a playful squeeze as you walked past him. “I’m just grabbing some water.”

But of course, Jay followed you into the kitchen, right on your heels. You could feel his presence hovering behind you, not even giving you a few inches of space.

As you reached up to grab a glass from the cabinet, his arms slid around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest.

You let out a surprised little laugh. “Jay!”

“What?” he murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I missed you.”

“I was literally gone for two minutes.”

“That’s two minutes too long.” His voice was soft, almost sleepy, and his arms tightened around you just a bit. “Let me be clingy. I’m in love.”

Your heart fluttered again, like it always did with him. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, smiling to yourself as you filled your glass.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Be clingy.”

And he didn’t let go, not even when you finished drinking your water. He just walked you back to the couch, arms still looped around your waist like you were his favorite person in the whole world—which, judging by the way he looked at you… you were.

The credits were rolling by the time Jay finally stopped kissing the side of your face and let you actually focus on the screen. The movie ended in a soft silence, the only sounds in the room the faint hum of the TV and your steady breathing as you leaned into his chest, your head tucked right beneath his chin.

Jay didn’t say anything right away. He just held you close, arms around you like he never wanted to let go, his thumb gently stroking circles against your arm. The weight of the moment seemed to settle in his chest all at once—the quiet, the warmth, the feeling of you so close, so comfortable, so his.

“I feel like I hit the jackpot,” he whispered suddenly, barely above a breath.

You tilted your head to glance up at him, eyes curious. “Hmm?”

He looked down at you, eyes soft and sincere, no teasing, no grin—just pure honesty. “Being yours. Being loved by you. I don’t think I’ve ever been this lucky.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you blinked, completely disarmed by how serious he sounded.

“I mean it,” he continued, brushing his fingers through your hair. “You’re everything, you know that? You make everything feel lighter. Better. Just being near you feels like… like home.”

You stared at him, speechless for a second, heart swelling in your chest until it felt too full to contain.

“I never thought I’d have something like this,” he murmured, voice almost cracking as he rested his forehead gently against yours. “Someone like you.”

You cupped his cheek with one hand, your thumb grazing his skin. “You do,” you whispered. “You have me.”

And Jay smiled then—not his usual cocky grin, but something softer. Something real.

“Forever?”

You nodded, barely able to speak past the lump in your throat. “Forever.”

He kissed you again—slowly, gently, like a silent promise. And when he pulled you into his chest, holding you like a secret he never wanted to share, you both knew neither of you would ever stop feeling lucky.

[kleptokure]

Shifty Sheep .☘︎ ݁˖

Shadow Milk Cookie x GN!Reader

A/N: request served for anon! (づ ´ ˘ `)づ

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The Bear Jelly Balloon plants on the ground. You find yourself a bit too giddy to get off the means of transportation. While you might have bribed another to board the balloon in the first place, you choose to ignore that. Focusing on the happier fact, you're in Beast-Yeast!

That fact seems more depressing to others, but they just have goals far too serious. Your goals? Well, you plan to explore every nook and cranny here. Not for any reason, but to spot out all the animals.

You cannot truly deem yourself the top animal admirer if you stay within the bounds of Crispia. With a curious mind, you plan to write about each new friend you come across.

There have to be mammals you never even imagined that take habitat here, and you long to see how wild sights can get. Also, the thought that sweet, loving creatures here have never received a cuddle in their lives completely shatters you. No matter, as you are here and plan to change that for your upcoming companions.

Stepping off of the balloon, you find yourself in a forest. Of course, that was on purpose. Your first guess on where critters would reside is no other than a place surrounded by trees.

Wandering down a pathway that was almost covered by foliage, you look both ways, awaiting your eyes to set sights on anything moving.

You are smart enough to know making any loud noises would be a bad decision. While there are friends, there are also foes, and you would like to attract only one of those two.

Speaking of friends, it seems like you found one, fortunately. The creature seems interested, taking the move to approach you.

Floating a few feet in front of you, an illuminated green being holds a derpy smile. The creature has green circles stemming from his being, rather than hands or legs. How unique.

The being appears as interested in you as you are in them, hovering around you as if conducting an inspection.

You are boring, the harmless thing concludes. With that, it meanders away, not daring to grace you with a chance to touch its skin. Unlucky, but you understand. Your elated emotions might have scared it off.

Without expecting reciprocation, you send the spore a wave off. Nonetheless, you are left happy. A cute critter is bound to cause happiness, despite no touch being involved.

Continuing on, you examine the vegetation. The trees are darker compared to those in the kingdom you reside in. Along with the feat of being tall, towering over everything around. It fails to scare you since judging is not a big part of your personality.

Moving on, the bushes here hold their own features as well. Looking closer, the rectangular hedges come along with red flowers. Not roses, but with the appearance of dice. How neat, you'll pluck a few to take home. Hopefully nature can excuse it.

Though, once you stroll your way towards the bushes, you find the shrubs separate the trail from the darker parts of the forest. Regardless, with the help of the light shining down from the cloudy sky, you are able to spot a wooly creature.

A sheep, you can tell with ease. Its appearance does not look out of the ordinary, but that lands as irrelevant. Either way, you were going to envelop them in love.

Hopping over the bush, you witness another surprise. There are plenty of sheep around, ten if your eyes gazed over correctly.

Some are resting in their place, others are munching on the dry grass. They all seem unbothered by your presence; therefore, you choose not to bother them. Rather, you watch, taking joy in all of the happy mammals around. Maybe all was well for them, even without love from a cookie's touch.

Coming prepared, you remove a camera from your satchel. The moment seems so serene, tempting you into taking a picture. A time resembling this, you could almost believe Beast-Yeast was a place of tranquility.

Your cookie camera in hand, you snap several pictures of the sheep. Settling your jitters of excitement, you place your camera back into its place. Afterwards, you notice the item might have caused a disturbance to the lot of sheep. They run away in their herd, leaving you behind.

Catching your eye, you notice a sheep that remained behind, its back turned away from you. Surely it did not miss the rest of their group walking off.

If that was the case, you step to its side, squatting to the wooly animal's height. That marks the moment the lone sheep turns to look at you, curious eyes staring into your own.

Wow, now those are some striking eyes. The sheep owns one cyan eye color; the other one is cerulean. Even the pupils are opposite in color, elevating your interest. Perhaps their herd owned the same eyes as your friend here, and you were too caught up in gawking to notice.

As much as you would like to snap a picture of the sight, it would have a chance to hurt its conflicting-colored eyes with the sudden flash.

"Hi there," you started off, offering a soft tone. "Are you lost, little guy?" Although it cannot speak words, you deem yourself capable of understanding animal speech. Placing your hand on its head, you await an answer.

"Baa," the sheep responded with an expected response, which you chuckle at. It was adorable all the same, causing you to pat their head. Even though it realizes it's merely the two of you around, the singular sheep seems uncaring of their friends' disappearance. You find no strong need to return it to its group.

"Aren't you just the cutest thing?" you expressed, now squishing the sheep's cheeks. It seems not to mind, noticing their wagging tail. You're happy to see it enjoys this as much as you do.

Inviting you in for further affection, the sheep lies on their side, allowing their fluffy stomach to show. Without a second thought, you accept the offer, now rubbing the wool, which was surprisingly well-kept, attached to their belly.

You could see yourself doing this forever, and if your companion here could talk, you're sure they'd agree. Maybe taking them along with you would be the better option. Leaving the sheep by themselves fails to appeal to you.

Reluctantly, you pull your hands away from the fluff in order to gain the cream sheep's attention.

"How about you come along with me? I promise it'll be fun," you suggested, and the sheep appeared to be interested, their ears tilting up a smidge. A second after, your friend rises to their feet, looking at you expectantly. It took little to convince them, which plays in your favor.

"I knew you would agree! C’mon, little gu—" You pause, realization hitting you in the face.

"Huh, I can't just call you little guy, now can I? You deserve a name..." Trailing off, you begin to ponder. Your unnamed friend looks entertained.

"I got it! I'll call you Cotton Puff. You’re just as soft as cotton, anyways. Smart, right?" Although you adored the label, Cotton Puff does not look so amused. Well, you never said you were good at reading animal expressions. Besides, that could be their happy face.

Cotton Puff lets out a huff. Pushing their head against your legs, the cream sheep nudges you to go forward. Deciding to not leave them waiting for much longer, you turn back towards the entrance here. Of course, you help Cotton Puff over the bush, hopping over afterwards.

You commence a light jog along the pathway since the pit stop here already took up some of your time, which you do not regret. After all, you got yourself a sidekick here.

A few minutes pass by, and you run into another resident of Beast-Yeast. If you were looking elsewhere, your eyes would have skimmed over the many translucent butterflies. The fluttering wings caught your eye, making you pause in your jog.

Instead of a pace towards the group on your end, the butterflies move to fly over you and your pet, just as the spore from before. The blue butterflies carry a floral scent, drifting through the air and making the experience all the more pleasant. One in the group chose to land on Cotton Puff's nose, which you found silly.

Cotton Puff found something to be funnier, and that something was to chomp down on the harmless butterfly, swallowing it down right after.

You stare at the sheep, who looks all innocent now. Cotton Puff stares in return, then allows a sweet baa to come from their mouth, as if what you witnessed never happened.

That was unhinged, to say the least. There was no way for you to predict that, so you decided to rid it from your mind. Not much you can do now.

As one might expect, all of the pretty butterflies fluttered away due to Cotton Puff's behavior. You fail to blame them, and you also hold no blame for Cotton Puff, somehow. Their chubby face is too hard to hate.

Even so, you should probably offer him a piece of your hearty rye, or maybe the whole roll. You would like to prevent another incident from occurring.

Like a cat, Cotton Puff circles around your legs, the soft wool rubbing against you. Might it be an apology, you believe you’re not the one to receive it.

Nonetheless, the lover in you returns his little cuddle, ruffling Cotton Puff's wool. Again, the sheep appreciates it, and you can hear the slightest rumble erupting from their throat.

While that's adorable, you also do not want to waste the rest of the day smothering Cotton Puff in affection, even though it is tempting. You must spare some for your future friends.

With a quiet whistle, you bring Cotton Puff back into focus on your small trip. They was one step in front of you, as they already started up their trot. You follow along, not too far behind your unpredictable friend.

This time around, it takes a bit longer for you and your pet to find another wildlife. Perhaps choosing left on the split path you came across earlier was not the best choice, as the vegetation lessens with each step, and the trees grow tapered around you. You prefer the livelier setting of flowers and shrubs.

Laying at the end of the path, you spot another life form. Thankfully, selecting this trail wasn't for naught.

At first, you would guess it is simply another sheep, but as you and Cotton Puff shorten the distance, you notice this "sheep" is noticeably larger. Other traits stick out, such as the pointed ears and longer tail.

Since you are well educated on the topic of animals, you could tell this anomaly was a wolf, who was too busy munching on grub to notice their two watchers.

Yet a conveniently placed branch snaps under your foot, alerting the wolf in sheep's clothing of your placement.

Turning with a stare and quick to start up a growl, the wolf seems defensive of its findings. By all means, you were not here to steal food. You are far more interested in the fact that an idiom in Crispia is no longer such in Beast-Yeast.

In spite of your wishes, the chance is snatched away, as Cotton Puff took the bold decision of biting the snout of their newfound enemy. You were unaware their little legs allowed them to jump so high.

Going against its intimidating front, the wolf releases a whine and wastes no time to dash away. Cotton Puff watches, then returns to your side with his guiltless smile.

Maybe it would be optimal for the both of you to rest now. You can only pray that a nap can remove Cotton Puff's tendencies to bite other creatures.

You choose to retrace your steps, going after the location you found Cotton Puff in the first place. It's probable that being away from their natural environment stirs up odd reactions. Or that is just what you tell yourself, since you cannot come to believe that such a docile animal can be so naturally violent.

At last, you've come across a suitable spot to rest. A clear area surrounding a tree, along with a few bushes taking place nearby.

Sitting against the tree, you put your satchel to the side. Cotton Puff makes ease of placing themselves right on your lap, a perfect spot for them to nap.

Giving them one more good petting, scritching their round head to ensure a good doze, you find your eyes closing. Anyone would be tired after such a trip, so you allow your eyes to shut, falling into a light snooze.

Your eyes twitch open, slowly awakening due to the sun peeking through the branches and onto your face. The light stands as your first sign that, perhaps, you slept through the night, your nap shifting into a full-on slumber.

On an unrelated topic, your lap feels unusually heavy. You're quick to correct yourself, as you remember Cotton Puff taking place there before you fell asleep. Nonetheless, you go to look at them.

Huh, when did Cotton Puff grow so... blue? Not to mention, why does your former fluffy friend now appear as a cookie? You cannot be remembering wrong; you're sure Cotton Puff was a sheep. Then who is this?

An unknown cookie rests their head on your lap. Of course, you plan to wake them. As kind as you are, this is uncalled for. Even so, you intend to wake them nicely.

"Uh, hey?" You tugged on their shoulder. While you expected them to stir, you did not anticipate them to stare dead in your eyes once they turned.

"...Hello," you whispered, far too unsettled to say much else. The wide smile the blue cookie holds does little to comfort you.

Instead of a verbal reply, the cookie rises, giggles falling out of his mouth one after one. Was this some sort of prank? If it was, you start up your own awkward laugh, even though you failed to catch on to the topic.

"Well hello to you too!" The man returns your greeting with an eager one, pushing his cheek to your own in order to nuzzle your face. He's quite affectionate, that much you know.

"Who are you?" Pushing through his warmth, you managed to squeeze out your question. This cookie seems more acquainted with you than you are with him.

Pausing his tenderness, the cookie tilts his head when eyeing you.

"What could you ever mean? You know me!" That fell short in answering your inquiry, also playing a part in your confusion increasing.

"C’mon, take a reeeeal good look at me. Here's a hint: you love me very, very much." This cannot be a cookie from your kingdom, as you associate more with animals than others back home.

Since he offered, you take a good look at him. His clothes were... something, in short. Taking a look at his hair, it was unexpectedly staring back at you. You'll skip past that.

His face has a scar across his eye. Speaking of his eyes, which are next in line for inspection, you spend little time examining the pair.

"Cotton Puff?" His larger grin tells you your answer, but you are still dumbfounded. A cookie that possesses the ability to turn into a sheep. Since when? This is not what you meant by wanting to meet diverse animals.

"BINGO! Maybe the hint gave away too much, hm?" The real hint was his eyes, which, in truth, you should have noticed earlier. Though, looking at his eyes was the least of your worries in the moment. He was a stranger sleeping on your lap, and that stood out much more.

"But now you have met the real me! You should be thankful, really. Many don’t see this form, and if they do, well, they don’t live for much longer, ha ha!" That took a dark turn, and you recall that pattern in Cotton Puff, too. You feel inclined to believe him now.

"Allow me to give a proper introduction." You watch as the cookie removes himself from your lap, now hovering a few feet in front of you. He clears his throat to begin.

"It is I, Shadow Milk Cookie! Or, y'know, the Beast of Deceit, the true holder of a Soul Jam, the notorious jeste—"

Truthfully, you did not listen to anything else after that. The words "Beast of Deceit" caught your focus, and you feel dread engulf your being.

Was it true? The fables of the all-powerful Beasts were real all along? It just seems like anything and everything exists in Beast-Yeast. And to think you, a merely curious cookie, were cuddling him?! That had to offend him greatly. Could he find it within himself to forgive you?

"I’m sorry," you shouted, now on your knees in a sorrowful position. Your entire act caught Shadow Milk Cookie off guard, interrupting him in the middle of his ramble, while also bewildering him.

His jester hat in hand, he stares at you with a raised eyebrow. Shadow Milk is knowledgeable, so he can tell why you switched up so quickly. It's adorable if you were to ask him.

"Ooooh, someone knows me, don'tcha?" He did not bargain for that, but it makes this all the more fun. Shadow Milk Cookie is not beyond taking a thing or two for his advantage.

Your eyes dashing towards your bag, you lay your hands inside, rustling for an item. Shadow Milk Cookie watches with interest. Not exactly what one does when they find themselves within the presence of his might, but whatever. He could tell you were an odd one from the start anyway.

You pull out a... castella? Wow, you really know how to shock the crowd. Instead of shock, Shadow Milk Cookie would say confuse.

"Could you forgive me?" That look on you really is cute, the Beast thinks. Now you lie as the one appearing as a little lamb.

Besides that, if you had anything to apologize for, it's the stupid name you gave him. Cotton Puff, for a sheep? Too cliché. But you make up for it with all the cuddles you gave him.

"Hm," Shadow Milk Cookie hums in thought, grabbing your gift. "Boring!" He throws the castella elsewhere, and your expression deflates. He dislikes that look, but what else did you expect with a castella? What is he going to do with cake? Eating is not a requirement for him like it is for you. You’re so ditzy, and it's stupid how that attracts him.

"I have something else!" Quickly, you search your bag, as if there was anything else that could be of worth to a Beast. He has to have everything he could ever want by now.

"Ah, ah, ah!" "Cotton Puff" stops you in your tracks, which you find unfortunate. Is he going to end you now? Without mercy?

"I know just the thing I want," he states, leaving you on edge. Please let it be something other than crumbling you.

"I spy my little eye on..." Shadow Milk Cookie trails off, leaving you with suspense. He could soak up your face forever, but he gets to the point.

"[Name] Cookie!" Immediately, your face alters into a look of horror, and Shadow Milk Cookie does not favor that in the slightest. You did not even give him a chance! Whatever stupid cookie told you about him gave you the completely wrong idea. No worries; he can show you how benevolent he is.

"I’m... I'm sorry," is all you manage to speak in a shaky tone. From that alone, Shadow Milk Cookie can tell that you have got this all mixed up. He refuses to hurt you, so cheer up already. Did you think you could get away after showing him such tenderness?

The jester decides that love is the best medicine, charging towards you to embrace you in a tight hug. To accentuate it all, he lifts the two of you above ground, twirling you around in his arms.

"Oh, stop your silly apologies already. I chose to grace you with forgiveness," he's decided, speaking in a high and mighty tone.

"Really?"

"Nope." Well, that's one way to diminish all hope you had left.

"If you really are sorry, then come to my abode, like the good cookie you are," Shadow Milk requests, though it comes off as more of a demand since there is not much of a choice for you here.

"It's decided. YOU, my little lamb, belong to ME!" Shadow Milk is overly giddy to announce his claim over you when you didn't even respond. Though it goes as easy to guess what you would have said anyway.

And with that, the two of you poof away to your new home. You can bid your old friends here farewell. Actually, bid all of your friends farewell. You would be crazy to believe you'll be seeing Crispia anytime soon.

A brush in hand, you find your current situation more pleasant than you anticipated. You were transported to a realm that belonged to the deceitful cookie. Tricks, cards, and puppet shows resided everywhere in the mass of pitch black.

Right now, Shadow Milk Cookie created a comfortable bed for the two of you to sit atop. The Beast lays his head on your lap, similar to before, to let you brush his unusual hair. Not living up to your expectations, the brush does not harm the eyes taking place in his icing.

Legs swinging in the air, Shadow Milk Cookie enjoys being tended to more than he thought. He could still live without it, duh. Although that's what he tells himself. The trickster refuses to grow vulnerable with you this early on. You have to work for it.

Shadow Milk Cookie plans to keep you for a while. He would like to see how tender your relationship could become. Also because you pamper him in affection all too well. He might be strong, but not strong enough to turn you down. His pampering puppet, he titles you.

Besides, you seem so willing now. All it took on his side was saying your view of him was a "big misunderstanding," that the liar was not all that bad. He would never crumble another cookie!

He wonders how you fell for that.

"Sooo, my star! How did ya end up here in the first place? Runnin' from someone? Huntin' someone down?" Shadow Milk Cookie is educated, but he does not know everything. He was busy escaping those faeries and all that, so he fumbles in knowing why you came here.

"I wanted to explore what types of creatures reside here," you explained, and in return, he laughs. Shadow Milk should have foreseen a reason like that would be yours.

It is shocking you have not suffered any injuries throughout your journey. It would have happened soon enough if he had denied accompanying you, so you should be grateful for him, he thinks.

"Awwwh, well then! I'll show you ALL the animals you desire." That excites you quite a bit.

"Just kiddin!" he settles on. Shadow Milk Cookie is not fond of you sharing your endearment with other beings. You should have learned that he lives as a fickle cookie.

"After all, I'm the only animal you need." Instead of a cookie, there rests Cotton Puff on your lower section. The sight is familiar, bringing you warmth, even though you realize the sheep was not what they seemed.

This time, you bring Cotton Puff into a hug, feeling his coat brush against your cheek. It could be that Shadow Milk Cookie was right, that the cream sheep could be your one and only pet.

Cotton Puff licks your cheek, and you deem that a sign of reciprocation. It doesn't sound so bad staying here a while.

Without a doubt, Shadow Milk Cookie would agree. Just turn a while into forever. Where else could his little lamb have to go when he's right here?

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

A/N: Sorry for being inactive for a bit. I had several assessments, was under the weather, and burned my fingers. I believe it is the curse of being a writer coming to strike me. (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hello! It's me the one who requested reader sleepwalking. Can I be sleepwalk anon?

Sorry I didn't know you were overwhelmed by my request yesterday, I was reading the rules carefully and I was like— "ah ok so meaning they can write 4 or more characters, imma request!"

You can do the main sss hedgehog boys for sleepwalking reader or just sonic and shadow, is that makes you comfortable.

Again, sorry for making you overwhelmed!

A/n: yeah, sorry, it's my fault for not making it clear to begin with.

Triple S x reader who sleepwalks

Sonic:

Sonic has a habit of staying up late, so it’s no surprise he’s awake when you begin your sleepwalking. He’s lounging on the couch, watching a movie, when you shuffle out of your room, arms slightly outstretched, your face completely blank.

At first, Sonic thinks you’re just messing with him. Talking to you as if any other normal day. But you don’t respond. Instead, you march straight past him and bump into the coffee table.

Sonic’s grin falters when you mutter something incoherent under your breath, rubbing your knee absently before walking into the wall.

“Wait… are you sleepwalking?” Sonic whispers to himself.

He jumps up and jogs over to you. "Uh, Y/N? You good there, buddy?" He waves a hand in front of your face, but you only mutter again, turning sharply and walking toward the kitchen.

"Alright, this is either going to be really funny or a disaster waiting to happen," though hes not gonna stop you now as hes genuinely curious, so he just continues following you.

He watches in silent amusement as you open the fridge, stare at its contents for a solid thirty seconds, then grab an apple, only to drop it immediately and shuffle away. You make a beeline for the sink, turn on the faucet, and start washing the counter.

"Okay, yeah, this is gold," Sonic mutters, pulling out his phone to record the scene.

When you bump into the kitchen table, mutter again, and sit down in the middle of the floor like it’s the most natural thing in the world, Sonic finally intervenes. He gently steers you back to your room, all the while stifling laughter.

The next morning, you wake up to sonic all up next to you, shoving his phone in your face as you groggily watch the video of yourself sleepwalking, complete with Sonic’s commentary.

"And here we have the rare Sleepwalking Y/N in their natural habitat. Truly majestic. Ten out of ten entertainment."

Silver:

Silver is a light sleeper, so when he hears footsteps at three in the morning, he immediately bolts upright. He’s halfway to activating his psychokinesis when he realizes it’s just you, wandering around aimlessly.

At first, he’s worried. Very worried. Did you have a nightmare? Are you okay? But then he notices your vacant expression and the way you keep bumping into furniture without reacting.

"Wait… are they sleepwalking?"

He watches as you stumble toward the bookshelf, run your hand along it like you’re looking for something, and then pull out a random book. You open it, flip a few pages, and then hold it upside down, muttering something under your breath.

Silver doesn’t know whether to laugh or try to wake you up. Instead, he decides to quietly follow you, just to make sure you don’t hurt yourself. He uses his powers to move objects out of your way as you shuffle around the room. When you trip over your own feet and fall onto the couch, Silver gently places a pillow under your head with his powers, smiling softly.

"You’re so weird," he mutters, sitting down to keep watch.

When you eventually get up and start wandering again, Silver patiently just follows you around the house. Waking up to Silvers sheepish explanation on what happened.

"You were, uh, walking around and muttering stuff," he says. "I didn’t want to wake you up, so I just made sure you didn’t, you know, fall down the stairs or something."

Shadow:

Shadow is not amused. He’s a heavy sleeper, but even he can’t ignore the sound of you knocking over a lamp at three in the morning. He storms out of his room, fully prepared to scold whoever’s causing the commotion, only to freeze when he sees you standing in the middle of the hallway, staring at the floor like it personally offended you.

"Y/N," he says sharply, but you don’t respond. Instead, you turn and start walking toward him, your steps uneven and your expression blank.

"Y/N?" he tries again, still no answer.

You brush past him, muttering something incoherent, and head straight for the couch. You sit down, pick up a throw pillow, and hug it like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Shadow, upon peicing together your sleep walking, stares at you for a long moment, his arms crossed. He debates whether or not to wake you up but ultimately decides against it. Instead, he sits down in a nearby chair and watches you closely, making sure you don’t do anything dangerous.

When you eventually get up and start wandering again, Shadow follows you with a deep scowl. When you try to open the front door, he steps in front of you, his arms crossed.

"You’re not going outside," he says firmly, even though he knows you can’t hear him.

The next morning, he confronts you over breakfast.

"Do you have any idea how much noise you made last night?" he asks, glaring daggers at you.

When you look at him in confusion, he sighs and explains. "You were sleepwalking. You almost walked straight out the door at three in the morning."

In short terms bro is done with you /j