synopsis: you meet sanemi after battle, but he's no longer himself...
w/c: 1.5k
The night smells of smoke and blood.
You move through it like a prayer about to be broken. The forest is all whispers and fog, your blade warm against your palm, and your pulse like a drum beneath your ribs. You smell blood. Not just yours, but his, too.
And then you see him.
Sanemi Shinazugawa stands in the clearing as if carved from the wood of the trees and lit by the moon by no accident. His uniform hangs open, torn across all angles, pale scars glowing faintly against skin that shouldn’t gleam that way… The wind tangles his white hair, his eyes catch the light and hold it wrong… Too sharp. Too bright. Too green to be human.
You know what he is before he opens his mouth.
“Y/N,” he says.
Your name leaves him in a half snarl, half plea.
You tighten your grip on your sword. You should strike now. That’s what you were trained for. One breath, one clean motion. End it.
But your feet don’t move.
You’ve seen demons. You’ve striked them down. None of them wore their old uniform. None of them kept the same posture, the same defiant tilt of their chin.
None of them looked at you like this- like they remember.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you say.
“Neither should you.”
The air between you hums. Somewhere nearby, an owl breaks the silence and flies off.
He takes a step forward, cautious, testing. You copy him, blade raised, though your hands tremble.
“You’re a demon,” you whisper.
He nods once. “Guess I am.”
The moon paints his face in silver, shadows almost hiding the faint curve of fangs when he speaks again.
“Do you hate me for it?”
You want to. “I should.”
“But you don’t.”
You don’t answer. He shifts, the motion pulling the fabric from his shoulder. You see scars you once cleaned for him, now crossing into veins gone dark with corruption.
“Why are you here?” you ask.
His mouth twists into a humorless smile. “Why do you think?”
“You’re hunting…”
“For you,” he admits. “Though not how you think.”
Your pulse kicks hard enough that you’re sure he can hear it. Your mariachi blood, like his, both a curse and bait. Every demon can smell you for miles away, but you never imagined his voice would tremble because of it.
“You think you can control it?” you say.
He looks away. “I’m trying.”
“And if you fail?”
He meets your eyes again, and for a heartbeat you see the man he was- the reckless grin, the fury at the world, and the fierce devotion that frightened everyone but you.
“Then you’ll have to do what you came here to do,” he says softly.
He doesn’t move when you raise your blade. He doesn’t flinch when the tip presses right against his chest, over the scar you once traced with your fingers.
“Do it,” he murmurs. “Please.”
The plea is like a knife in your gut.
Your hand shakes. You can’t breathe.
You drop the sword. The sound rings through the clearing like a bell ringing for the both of you.
He stares at you. “Y/N…”
“Don’t ask me to kill you.”
“You think I want this?” His voice breaks. “You think I won’t wake up every night fighting the urge to find you, to-”
He cuts himself off, biting back the word that hangs between you. To feed.
You step closer, drawn by something you can’t name,
The smell of him- ash, steel, a trace of the old soap he used to use- wraps around you. You stop when you’re close enough to feel the heat that shouldn’t exist in a demon’s body.
“Sanemi,” you whisper, and the sound of his name seems to tear through him.
He reaches up, touches your jaw with a trembling hand. His skin is cold, but his thumb drags across your cheek as if soaking in your warmth.
“Don’t,” you breathe.
“I can’t not.”
The wind rises, scattering leaves around your feet. His torn haori flutters open, revealing the muscle and scar beneath, still human in shape despite its new nature. Your hands move before your mind can stop them, pushing the cloth the rest of the way off his shoulders. It slides to the ground, easily forgotten.
His breath catches. “Y/N…”
You rest your palm flat against your chest. The rhythm beneath your fingers isn’t steady- it’s too fast, too wild- but it is still there.
“I still feel it,” you say. “Your heart.”
He laughs quietly, brokenly. “You shouldn’t be touching me.”
“Then stop me.”
He doesn’t.
The forest holds its breath. You feel the night fold in on itself- the cold, the danger, the pull.
When he leans down, it’s hesitant, uncertain, as though waiting for you to pull away. You don’t The distance closes in the space of a heartbeat, and his lips brush yours.
The kiss is soft at first, too careful for what either of you are. You taste his sorrow but something almost sweet beneath it. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes bright and tormented.
“This is wrong,” he says.
“Then why get so close?”
He exhales, the sound shaking. He rests his forehead against yours. You can feel the faint tremor in his hands as he cups the back of your neck.
“Because this is the last part of me that remembers being human,” he whispers.
You close the space again. This time the kiss lingers- slow, deliberate, dangerous. His thumb traces against your cheek. For a moment, you feel the monster calm, his hunger retreating.
But only for a moment.
He pulls back abruptly, turning away with his fists clenched. The muscles in his shoulders knot as if he’s in pain. “You need to leave.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“You should be.” His voice drops to a growl, deeper, darker. “Your blood is killing me.”
You take a step forward. “Then fight harder.”
He turns, eyes bright with hunger and guilt. “You don’t understand. Every second I spend near you feel slike standing in the sunlight. It burns.”
“But you’re still here.”
“Because I can’t stay away.”
You stare at him, the demon who was once your comrade, the man who now stands on the edge of losing himself, and you know there’s no victory waiting at the end of the clearing.
He kneels suddenly, one hand clutching his chest, the other digging into the dirt. “Go.”
You kneel too, stubborn, reckless, close enough to touch him again. “Look at me.”
He does, eyes wide and wild.
“You’re still fighting,” you say.
He shakes his head. “Not for long.”
“Then I’ll fight for you,” you reply. Your words hang in the air, stupid and beautiful. You mean them.
He leans forward, and you meet him halfway. The kiss that follows isn’t gentle- it’s desperate, a clash of need and memory- but there’s still tenderness underneath, a human ache trying to survive in the dark.
His hand slides to the back of your head, holding you there, not to trap but to anchor. You taste the tears you didn’t know were yours. When you pull back, his eyes are closed, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath unsteady.
“I could never hurt you,” he whispers.
“But you could,” you reply. “That’s what makes this different.”
He laughs softly, bitter and fond all at once. “You always were insane.”
“Wonder where I got that from,” you grin.
He opens his eyes. The green is fading, replaced by something darker. The beast inside him is stirring again.
“Y/N… please.”
You slide your hand down, fingers brushing the hilt of your sword on the ground. “If you lose control, I’ll do what I have to.”
He nods once. “I know.”
The two of you stay there, breath against breath, waiting for something neither can name. The trees sway. The moon shifts.
For a fleeting moment, he looks human again- just a man in the remnants of a uniform, bathed in light he doesn’t deserve.
“You should remember me like this,” he says quietly.
“Alive,” you reply.
“Alive enough.”
He presses one last kiss to your forehead. “Do me one favor, will you?”
“Anything.”
“Tell that idiot brother of mine not to listen to anything I’ve ever said to him.”
You smile softly and give him a nod. When he pulls away, his eyes gleam with something final.
“Run,” he says.
You shake your head. “Not without you.”
“Then you’ll die.”
“It would be better than forgetting,” you lift your chin.
He stares at you for a long moment, then reaches out and brushes his knuckles along your cheek, a ghost of a touch. “You’re so stubborn.”
You smile faintly. “You liked that once.”
“I still do.”
He steps back. The moon catches his face, and you see it- the shift, the change under his skin, the hunger clawing free.
You grip your sword, tears blurring your sight. “Sanemi.”
“Go,” he says again, voice already roughening.
You turn. Take one step. Two.
Behind you comes the sound of something breaking- a growl, a gasp, a sound like could be a name or a roar. You don’t look back.
The forest swallows you whole as you run.
Maybe you’ll survive the night. Maybe you won’t.
Maybe one night, when the moon is right and the forest breathes again, you’ll smell blood- yours, his- and see him waiting.
synopsis: you 'hate' when jiji flirts with you. you roll your eyes. he says his girlfriend looks hot when she's mad. (you're not his girlfriend).
w/c: 750
You're halfway through your fries, Momo stealing the crispy ones while Okarun explains some new Yokai theory, his eyes shining behind his glasses. Jiji's across the table- well, he was. Now he's surrounded by two girls from another table, grinning like he invented flirting.
"God, he's exhausting," you mutter around your straw.
Momo sighs. "Don't blame me for you liking him."
You shoot her a look. "Do I?"
"You're jealous," she sings.
"I'm annoyed. Big difference."
Across the table, Okarun blinks. "Do you want me to go punch him?"
"I'm good," you say. And you mean it... mostly.
As if he overheard you talking about him, Jiji finally comes back, sliding into the seat beside you. Close. Too close. You scoot an inch away.
He notices. Of course he does.
"What?" he says, voice low, lazy. "Miss me?"
"Didn't even notice you were gone," you answer, shoving a fry in your mouth.
"You wound me," he grins. "And here I was about to offer you one of the donuts those girls gave me."
"Why don't you offer it to them? Maybe they'll feed it to you like a baby bird."
Okarun chokes on his drink.
Jiji leans in a little, resting his arm behind you. "You're hot when you're mean."
You ignore the cold chill running down your back and look up at him with a fake grin. "And you're dumb when you talk."
You hold up the dress in the mirror. Soft, fluttery, not something you thought Momo would pick out. But you decided to try it on anyway because she asked. And okay, it is cute.
But little did you know, it was Jiji who actually found it first.
"You look so good," Momo says to the mirror. "You have to wear this."
You hesitate, cheeks warming.
"Agreed," comes Jiji's voice from behind, where he should have been listening to whatever newest Yokai theory he's been trying to tell you about all day.
You turn to see him leaning by the dressing room entrance, watching you like you're wearing the moon and stars.
"Stop staring," you snap, trying to act like your pulse isn't slamming.
He smirks. "Hard not to."
Before you can shoot something back, someone else speaks.
"Hi there," says a new voice beside you. A guy. Tall, sharp cheekbones, cocky smile. "That dress... wow. You look incredible in it. Would you ever let me take you on a date in it?"
You blink. Jiji stiffens.
Momo instinctively slides beside you and wraps an arm around your shoulder like the cool best friend she is. "She just might."
You smile, half out of spite, half flattered. "Sure. Why not-"
"Tsk tsk."
Jiji steps forward. His grin is all mock-charm, but his eyes are not playing.
"I don't think my girlfriend should be cheating like this right in front of me," he says easily, like he says it every day.
The guy freezes.
You narrow your eyes. "Girlfriend?"
He steps closer. Way closer. His breath brushes your cheek. "Unless you'd rather break up right now, babe?"
Momo, wide-eyed, backs away slowly.
You glare at him for a moment before turning and walking back into the dressing room, dress swishing behind you before you close the curtain.
The tension could cut glass.
That night at her house, Momo makes tea in the kitchen, pretending she can't feel the static in he air.
You and Jiji are sitting on opposite sides of the couch, arms folded, energy crackling.
"Seriously?" you mutter. "Girlfriend?"
"What? You didn't say no," he says, stretching out, all smug.
"I didn't say yes."
"You looked incredible in that dress," he says, mocking the guy from before.
"You're unbelievable."
"And you love it."
"I tolerate you. Barely."
He leans in a bit, his voice dripping to that smug whisper. "But you wore the dress."
"Momo said it was cute," you glare.
"I picked it."
"Liar."
"Why would I?"
"I'd only wear it for Momo."
He grins, then reaches out like he's going to touch your hand but you yank it back.
"You're so annoying," you grumble.
He huffs a laugh. "Is that what it takes to get your attention?"
You turn toward him, eyes sharp. "You already have it, that's the problem."
His smirk falters. For half a second.
Then-
"You wanna kiss me so bad it's making you mean."
You throw a pillow at his face.
From the kitchen, Momo and Okarun exchange looks.
"I think they're gonna kill each other," Okarun whispers.
Momo sips her tea, eyes still on the couch. "Mm, they'll probably make out. And then kill each other."
synopsis: a collection of moments where adam overhears things you say and takes them entirely the wrong way- because sarcasm, flirting, and dramatic one-liners just arent part of his programming. (he's learning... slowly... and falling for you way faster than he should)
w/c: 1k
1. "I'd let you ruin my life."
w/c: 670
You're sitting on your knees on the floor of the medbay, sleeves rolled up, grease smudged across your cheek as you try to rewire one of the medbots Cosmo said went haywire after a power surge.
"Bet it's just a fried regulator," you mutter, wrist-deep in tangled wires. "Again."
Next to you, a stranger- tall, charming smile, definitely not from around here- is leaning against the wall, watching you work with an amused sort of interest.
"You always this good with your hands?" he asks.
You scoff without looking up. "Buy me dinner first."
He laughs, warm and easy, and it catches you off guard. "Sure thing."
You then glance up, and for a split second, he looks... intrigued. "You know, I might just let you ruin my life," you joke, teasingly. "Honestly, you've got the face for it."
It's stupid, lighthearted, the kind of thing people say when the work is boring and someone's flirting just enough to make the afternoon go by faster.
You don't mean it. Obviously.
But someone else hears it.
You don't notice Adam in the doorway until the other guy glances past you and stiffens slightly. You turn, wires still in hand, and see him standing there- quiet, golden, unreadable.
Your breath catches.
"Adam? You okay?"
He doesn't speak for a moment. But then he steps forward, a little too tense. "I was looking for you."
The stranger shifts, clearly picking up on the change in the air. "She's a bit busy, mate."
Adam's eyes flick to him briefly. "She's always busy... mate," he replies, too soft to be rude, but too pointed to be polite.
You hold back a laugh at his attempt of using the word 'mate'. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"
"I just needed to ask you someting," he says, but there's a strange undercurrent in his voice. "But I think I should wait. Since you're... making life decisions."
"Huh?"
He then looks at you, really looks. Like he's not just hearing the words you said but carrying them, weighing them, turning them over until they've become something way heavier than you had ever meant them to be.
"You said you'd let him ruin your life."
"Adam," you blink. "It was a joke."
"It didn't sound funny."
"People say stuff like that all the time," you say, setting the wires down and pushing yourself to your feet. "It's not serious. It doesn't mean anything."
He watches you carefully.
You sigh, brushing your hands on your pants. "It's just flirting."
"I see."
The stranger clearly feels the awkward tension and slips out with a quick "I'll come back later," leaving you and Adam alone in the medbay's quiet.
You look up at him. "You're not mad, are you?"
"No," he says. Then, after a moment, "I would never ruin your life... Just so you know."
You stare at him, your heart stalling a little.
"But if I did," he continues quietly, "it would be by accident. And I'd fix it."
You don't know what to say. The way he says it- it's not a pickup line. It's not a joke. It's not even flirtation.
It's a promise.
He stands there, golden and sincere, and you suddenly realize that the kind of love Adam offers isn't loud or messy or dramatic. It's quiet, carefully, steady. The kind of love that lingers in doorways and pays attention when no one else is looking.
You step closer.
"I wouldn't let anyone ruin my life," you say softly. "Unless it was you."
His brow creases. "But I just said-"
"I know," you interrupt gently. "And that's exactly why."
He exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing just a little.
You smile. "Hey, you wanna help me fix this bot?"
He blinks. "I might ruin it if I do."
You laugh, tugging him down to sit next to you.
"It'll be fine," you say. "But let's start with you just holding the flashlight."
He beams like it's the greatest honor in the galaxy.
And maybe, in some sort of way, it is.
2. "Buy me a drink and I'll love you forever."
w/c: 430
You say it so easily.
One hand on the bar, your chin resting in the other, grinning lazily at the guy beside you. Your voice lifts over the crowd and straight into Adam's ears like it belongs there.
"Buy me a drink and I'll love you forever."
Adam is startled.
He was walking by. That's all. Just passing through, minding his own business, and then bam- those words. That voice. You.
His chest goes tight.
You'll love him... forever? For buying you a drink?
He stops walking. Turns around. Eyes locked on you now. You're still talking to the guy, while the bartender laughs and says, "You always say that."
Adam's frown deepens. Always?
He walks over without thinking.
You see him out of the corner of your eye. "Oh, hey, Adam."
He's already reaching into his pocket.
"Do you want one?" you ask, gesturing to the bar. "I was just getting another-"
"I'll buy it," he says, placing a few Units on the counter. "What do you want?"
You blink. "You don't have to-"
You said if someone bought you a drink, you'll love them forever."
You choke on your own saliva.
"Wait, what?"
He looks down at the credits. "You said it. I heard you, that was the agreement."
"That wasn't an agreement, Adam. It was a joke."
He looks genuinely confused. "But... you said it out loud. In public. With conviction."
You try not to laugh because he's being so serious, and it's honestly kind of adorable.
"I was flirting," you admit softly. "Sort of. But it's just a thing people say when they want a free drink."
Adam tilts his head. "So you don't mean it?"
"Not literally, no."
He goes quiet for a second. "Would you... ever say it to me?"
You blink. "Would I try to get a free drink from you?"
He shrugs, suddenly shy. "Would you ever say that to me? Even if it is not true?"
Your heart stutters in your chest.
You glance at the glowing drink the bartender just set down in front of you. Then back up at Adam, golden and wide-eyed and way too genuine. You notice now that the guy you had been flirting with is long gone- moved on to someone else.
"Only if you let me buy you a drink back," you smile softly.
He immediately slides another handful of Units across the bar.
The bartender raises an eyebrow. "You already paid-"
Adam nods. "One for me as well," he says as he takes the seat beside you. You can't help but smile back.
3. "If I make out with you, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?"
w/c: 280
You're standing in line for boarding at a sketchy shuttle port on a backwater moon, dodging the attention of a very persistent ex who's just spotted you across the terminal.
"Crap. I told him I never wanted to see him again," you hiss under your breath as he waves from the other side of the checkpoint.
Adam looks between you and the guy. "Do you know him?"
"Ugh. Unfortunately." You glance around quickly, then turn to Adam. "Okay, I need a favor."
Adam perks up. "Of course."
"If I make out with you, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?"
He goes very still.
"You want to... create something with me?"
"What? No- make out. Like, kissing. A lot of it. Now."
He frowns. "I'm not quite sure I understand what's required of me, but- if it will help, yes."
You don't have time to explain. Your ex is coming closer. You grab Adam's face and press your mouth to his, and he makes the most surprised noise into your lips like you've just handed him a baby raccoon seeing his first spaceship.
But then-
He leans in, hands gently settling at your waist like he's afraid you might evaporate, and suddenly you're kissing Adam Warlock in a spaceport and he's very good at it for someone who doesn't even know what 'make out' means.
After a moment, he pulls back, blinking down at you. "So... this is pretending?"
"Yep," you say breathlessly, looking away to hide the flustered look on your face.
He pauses. "I don't think I liked that."
You stiffen. "Oh."
"I don't want it to be pretend," he clarifies, completely serious.
Oh.
And now you're the one who's afraid that you might evaporate.
3. "I was in love with you yesterday."
w/c: 320
You're brushing dust off your boots when Adam walks into the same room as you on the ship with his usual golden glow, fresh from some skirmish with the Guardians but not a scratch on him.
"Lookin' good, Warlock," you call, grinning.
He tilts his head. "I was wearing the same thing yesterday."
"Yeah, and I was in love with you yesterday, too. Consistency."
He stumbles over his next words. "You... were?"
You laugh, standing up and patting him on the shoulder. "Relax. I'm kidding. Kinda."
"Kinda?"
You shrug. "Look, I'd sell my soul to be like you."
Adam freezes. Like, full body stillness, eyes wide, soul leaving his own body kind of freeze.
"What?" he says, his voice in a whisper.
You pause, confused. "It's just a saying, Goldie."
"But why would you... give away something sacred? Something eternal? To be like me?"
You blink. "Because you're strong and nice and sweet and also ripped? I mean, come on."
He stares at you like you've just offered to hand him the sun.
"But your soul?" He says, completely shocked.
"Adam." You step closer. "It's not literal."
"Oh." He seems to process this for a moment, then. "Still. Don't say things like that. Not even as a joke."
You look at him softer. "Why not?"
"Because you don't have to give anything up. I'll always be with you. You don't have to trade your soul. I'd love you without you changing a thing. I already do."
Your heart skips like a scratched record. "You... do?"
He nods, eyes still wide and a little unsure. "I think so. And I don't want anything from you except you."
Your lips curve. "Well in that case, I'll keep my soul."
Adam smiles. "Good."
Then he adds, just a little shyly. "Though if you ever wanted to give me your heart, I would be honored."
You grin. "If that's allowed."
And just like that, you're ruined- in the best way.
synopsis: when gally shows up at the safe haven with injured gladers, you're the medic tasked with patching them up- including the charming minho whose flirting doesn't go unnoticed. but it's a late night visit from gally that leads to a moment of honesty and a kiss that changes everything.
w/c: 2.1k
The steady hum of voices in the safe haven is suddenly interrupted by a group of footsteps, urgent and heavy, followed by muffling shouts. The sound is enough to make your pulse quicken. You glance up, exchanging looks with a few others who are near. Without a word, you all rush toward the entrance where the noise grows louder.
As you reach the door, you see Gally, flanked by several others, guiding a ragged group of new arrivals into the shelter. The newcomers look battered, their faces a mix of exhaustion and pain. Some of them limp, others stumble, barely able to stand on their own.
Your heart sinks at the sight. You’ve seen enough wounds in your time to recognize when people are in serious trouble.
You quickly make your way to Gally’s side, your eyes scanning the group of strangers, already making a mental note of who needs immediate attention.
“What’s going on?” you ask, keeping your voice steady despite the rising anxiety in your chest. You’re used to the chaos but something about this feels different.
Gally glances over at you, his face tight with tension. His gaze is piercing as always but there’s something beneath it now that you haven’t seen before. You catch his eyes for a moment, but he quickly turns away, not wanting to linger on unnecessary details.
“They’re part of us now,” he says quickly, motioning to the injured group. “Gladers. Been through hell, so get to work. Tend to their wounds, okay?”
You nod without hesitation. You know your role here, know what’s expected and don’t question it. You follow Gally’s lead, your focus shifting to the woman closest to you- her face pale and the bloodstains on her clothes dark.
You step forward, offering her a gentle smile despite the knot of worry in your stomach. “Come with me,” you say softly, linking your arm around hers to steady her. “Let’s get you checked out.”
She seems to lean into your support, her eyes tired but grateful. You can feel the weight of her pain and it only makes you more determined to help.
Without another word, you guide her toward the medical area, Gally’s form still visible in the background, his eyes scanning the room, seemingly unsure of the patient you’ve decided to take in first.
You take a steadying breath as you focus on Minho’s palm, carefully cleaning the cut. The room is quiet except for the soft sound of the medical supplies rustling in your hands and the occasional hums of conversation from the others in the shelter.
Minho, however, isn’t as quiet. He’s leaning back in the chair, casually draping one arm over the armrest, giving you a smile that makes his eyes twinkle with mischief.
“That feels so much better,” he says, watching you intently as you work. “But your hands feel way too soft for someone who’s been through what you have.”
You chuckle, glancing up at him as you finish cleaning the wound. “You’d be surprised,” you reply with a grin, your fingers moving to apply a bandage to his palm. “I’ve had my fair share of rough days.”
Minho’s gaze never wavers, his smirk widening. “I bet. That’s why I don’t usually let people get this close,” he adds, his tone light and teasing. “But… I gotta admit, I don’t mind when it’s you.”
A little laugh escapes you at the compliment, your fingers working faster now to wrap the bandage securely around his hand. “Lucky me, then,” you tease. “I’m pretty good at making people feel comfortable.”
He leans forward slightly, his pulse quickening under your touch, and you notice it- his heart rate elevating, maybe a little too much. You check his pulse, the rhythm of his heartbeat strangely quick beneath your fingers.
“I apologize if it’s high,” Minho says with a bit of a nervous chuckle. “You make me a bit nervous.”
You meet his eyes, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smile. “It’s okay. I heard from some of the others you’re fast at running but let’s hope you won’t be fast at landing yourself in trouble.” You give him a playful look, hoping to distract him a bit from the tension that was building in the air between you two.
Minho grins at that, the cockiness never leaving his voice. “I’d like to think I can keep myself in check. But seeing your face,” he says, his voice lowering just slightly, his gaze softer now, “definitely makes this whole thing a little more enjoyable.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes, even as the heat rushes to your cheeks. “Just my face, huh?” you tease, your eyes narrowing in mock suspicion.
He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Well, that smile helps too. But honestly?” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “I think I could get used to this.”
The words are soft, but there’s an unmistakable hint of sincerity in them that catches you off guard. It feels like an invitation- one you aren’t sure whether or not to accept.
Before you can answer, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching the door, and a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Though you don’t turn around to see who it is, Gally stands in the doorway, his posture stiff, his eyes flicking between you and Minho. He doesn’t say a word, but there’s a bit of something in his eyes before he quickly turns and walks back down the hall without a second glance.
You finish up the last of the bandaging, trying to regain a bit of composure. “All done,” you say, giving him a friendly smile. “Try not to get into trouble now.”
Minho gives you one last, teasing look before standing up. “I’ll try, but I make no promises. You know where to find me if you need someone to talk to.”
He shoots you a wink as he walks away, leaving you standing there with a mix of amusement and a hint of lingering curiosity.
The mess hell buzzes with the typical hum of voices, forks scraping plates, and the occasional outburst of laughter. You’re halfway through your food when the noise shifts- just slightly, but enough to catch your attention.
Your eyes flick toward the hallway just in time to see Gally emerging, walking quickly, shoulders tense, and your stomach drops to see a deep gash running down his forearm. Blood drips from his fingers, leaving a red trail behind.
You’re already on your feet when you see Teresa step out of the room behind him, her expression unreadable, lips pressed tight. Something had definitely happened.
“Gally!” you call, quickly making your way toward him. “What the hell happened?”
“I’m fine,” he mutters, brushing past you with a firm shoulder and a deeper scowl than usual.
“Yeah? Cause your arm says otherwise.” You move to catch up with him, trying to get a better look at the wound. “Let me see it.”
He stops only long enough to turn and give you a warning look. “I said I’m fine.”
You don’t push but you don’t let it go.
When he disappears into your medical room, you wait a few moments, then follow.
You find him standing by the counter, fumbling one ehanded with a roll of bandages, trying to clean and wrap the wound himself. But his hands are trembling just slightly- not from fear, but from frustration and anger. Maybe something deeper.
You linger in the doorway for a second. “You know that’s not how you do it, right?”
He looks up, jaw clenched, but doesn’t speak.
“Let me help.”
He doesn’t say yes. But he doesn’t stop you either.
You approach slowly, grabbing gauze, antiseptic, and a clean roll of wrap. Gally sits on the edge of the table, holding his arm out with a reluctant grunt.
You work in silence at first. The room feels charged, quiet minus the sound of your fingers unwrapping the bandages and the soft wince he tries to hide when you press into the wound to clean it.
“You want anything for the pain?” you ask gently, keeping your focus on his arm.
“No.”
Your brows furrow. “Something for stress then, maybe?”
He scoffs under his breath, his gaze fixed on a point across the room. “Don’t need anything.”
You don’t answer right away. Just wrap the bandage around his arm, firm but gently, your fingers brushing his skin in a way that feels like it matters more than it should. He doesn’t pull away this time.
There’s something in the way he looks at you, finally- something unspoken. A flicker of vulnerability, of things he can’t say, or maybe won’t let himself. You meet his eyes, sensing the weight behind them, like he’s holding the world on his back and can’t affort to let anyone help him carry it.
You smooth the last bit of bandage down and step back, giving him space. “There,” you say softly. “Done.”
For a moment, he doesn’t move.
Then he stands, flexes his bandaged arm once, and gives you a stiff nod. “Thanks,” he says quietly, almost too quietly.
And just like that, he turns and walks out.
Leaving you standing in the middle of the room, alone, the weight of everything unspoken still thick in the air.
The med room is quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes at night. You sit on your cot, brushing your hair out of your face as you stretch and sigh. Your pajamas- just worm left-overs from a supply rade- are a little too thin for the chill in the air, but it’s not like you are expecting visitors this late.
That is, until a knock echoes against the door.
You blink, confused. Then pad over and open it.
Gally stands there, his hair slightly messed like he’d run a hand through it too many times, his expression tired. His eyes dropped, just briefly, taking in your appearance- bare legs, tank top, loose hair- before flicking back up to your face. He doesn’t say anything at first.
“... What are you doing here?” you ask gently.
He hesitates, hands shoving deep into his pockets. “Can’t sleep.”
You sigh quietly but step aside. “Come in.”
He walks past you, slower than usual, less sure of himself. He doesn’t look at you- not really- and keeps his eyes on the floor as he sits on the edge of your small exam table.
You move toward the shelf, rummaging through your supplies until you find a small amber bottle. “Is it the stress?”
He nods once. “Yeah.”
You hand him the bottle. “Here. Take one each night. Helps you fall asleep, and wake up feeling a little less… well, it’ll take the edge off.”
As he reaches for it, your fingers brush- warm skin against warm skin- and you pause for a second too long. He doesn’t pull away. Neither do you.
You look at him then, really look. His shoulders still carry the weight of the world, but for the first time, he’s really letting you see. That means something.
“All that stress?” you say softly. “It’s no wonder you can’t sleep.You’re trying to carry it all on your own.”
His jaw tightens. “Someone’s got to.”
“Maybe,” you murmur, “but healing has to start somewhere. And sometimes… it starts with forgiveness.”
He scoffs, low and bitter, but it isn’t convincing. “Forgiveness, huh?”
You nod. “You’re not alone in this, Gally. They’re not bad people. The others- they’re not who you remember them to be.”
“They left me,” he says, his tone sharper now. “Left me for dead. Minho tried to…”
Your heart aches, but you smile anyway. “I didn’t,” you whisper. “And I don’t plan on steering you in the wrong direction anytime soon. I mean it, Gally, they’ve grown just like you have.”
You reach out without thinking and place a hand on his arm, warm and solid under your touch. He looks down at where your fingers rest, and back up again. That’s when you realize just how close you are.
His hand comes up slowly, brushing your cheek. You lean into it just slightly, breath catching.
“I’d be dead without you,” he says, like it’s the only truth he remembers.
You meet his gaze, unwavering. “I would be too. Without you.”
He doesn’t say anything else.
He just kisses you.
It’s tentative at first, but full of emotion- months of tension, unspoken words, and buried feelings spilling into this one moment. His hand cups your cheeks, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and time stands still.
When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours. Neither of you say anything.
synopsis: you nearly died on a supply run- until newt saves you. but he's not the same boy you remember, and the warmth in his eyes is long gone. still, you ask him to come with you, hoping there's something left to save in both of you.
w/c: 860
You should’ve turned back an hour ago.
The sky is getting heavy and storm gray while the alley you're creeping through smells like metal and rot. Your satchel’s heavier than it should be, full of tins, bandages, and whatever else you managed to scrape together. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.
You step over broken glass, quiet as you can.
Then-
A sound. Too close.
You spin, breath caught in your throat. A figure lunges from the shadows- fast, filthy, desperate. You barely register the flash of a makeshift blade before instinct takes over. You shove them off, elbow jabbing into ribs, but their hand catches your side and pain flares sharp and blinding.
You manage to break free, stumbling back, heart hammering against your ribs. No time to check on how bad the room is, you just run.
Your boots slam against the ground slick with old rain. The world narrows to your ragged breathing and the pounding of blood in your ears. You cut through alleyways and crumbling streets, dodging rusted-out cars and piles of debris.
The burning in your side gets worse. Every step sends another pulse of heat through your ribs.
You keep going.
One more block. One more corner. One more breath.
Your legs give out without warning.
You drop to your knees, hands scraping on concrete, the satchel falling beside you with a dull thud. You try to push yourself up, but your arms are trembling too hard.
Everything spins.
You hit the ground hard, cheek pressed to the cold earth, eyes blinking up at the flickering remains of the sky.
And then- darkness.
You come to slowly, the air around you warm although smelling faintly of dust and something herbal. Your eyes flutter open to a dimly lit room.
You shift beneath the weight of something and glance down. A thin blanket rests over you, pulled up to your chest. You push it aside and spot the bandage around your ribs- clean, tight, neat. The skin around it is raw, but not bleeding anymore.
You try to sit up, wincing at the pull in your side.
“Woah, woah,” someone says quickly, and before you can react, two steady hands press gently on your shoulders, pushing you back down.
Your heart stutters.
It’s him.
Newt.
He settles back into the chair next to your bed like he’s been sitting there for hours. His clothes are worn, hair longer and shaggier than you remember. He’s a bit taller now, too, and his eyes are harder.
He says your name, but there’s no softness in it, just a kind of restrained relief like he’s afraid letting it show might unravel him.
“You’re lucky I found you when I did,” he says roughly.
“Newt,” you breathe out his name like a prayer.
He doesn’t look at you. Just pours water into a chipped cup, adjusts your bandage with careful hands, and replaces the damp cloth on your forehead like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean everything.
You try to thank him.
He shrugs. “Didn’t do it for you. Just couldn’t leave you there to die.”
You don’t believe him.
“That’s not like you,” you say softly. “You’ve changed.”
He scoffs. “We all did.”
You search his face, trying to find the boy you used to know- the one who smiled without flinching, who smelled like sunlight and dirt and laughed too loud in the fields. “I remember how you used to be,” you whisper. “You were our light.”
He sits back down, jaw tight. “That version of me doesn’t exist anymore.”
You look at him for a long moment, then ask. “Then why did you save me? Really?”
He exhales, slow and uneven. “Because watching you die would have been worse than being alone.”
You go quiet. “So you’re alone here?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer.
You sit up, ignoring the ache in your ribs. “You shouldn’t be.”
Your hand moves without thinking, reaching for his. He flinches, a muscle tightening in his jaw, but he doesn’t pull completely away. Instead, he leaves his hand near yours, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin just short of touching.
You look at him, and he finally looks back. Even the room seems to hold its breath.
You could kiss him, just lean in and do it. You want to.
But you don’t.
Instead, you say, “Come with me.”
He doesn’t respond.
You grab your jacket from the edge of the bed, the one he must’ve clean and set there. You slip it on slowly.
“I’m leaving this place tomorrow,” you say as you stand. “If you want to come, you know where to find me.”
At the door, you turn back one last time. “Thank you… for saving me. Could’ve been real bad.”
You step outside into the fading light. The air is cooler now, the sky darkening.
You take three steps.
Then you hear the door open behind you.
You glance over your shoulder.
Newt stands there in the doorway, eyes shadowed but steady. “I’ve got no reason to stay here,” he says.
synopsis: you finally find sebastian after years of silence. he doesn't think he deserves to be found, but you remind him that it's not his decision to make. besides, you didn't come all this way just to say goodbye.
w/c: 1.3k
You wait in the alley, half-swallowed by shadows, the scent of damp stone clinging to the air like a curse that’ll never fully fade.
The war may be over, but some ghosts are more stubborn than others.
Footsteps echo behind you. Slow. Measured. You don’t turn.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” you say.
A pause. Then, a voice, low, gravelly, unmistakably amused. “I’m not in the habit of being summoned, but you’ve always had the persuasive streak.”
You glance over your shoulder. The hooded figure leans casually against the archway, face half-hidden beneath fabric and shadow. You can’t see their expression, but their familiarity feels dangerous.
“Is it true?” you ask. “That you’ve seen him?”
The figure hums softly. “Seen is a strong word. But I know where he’s hiding.”
Your breath catches. Three years. Three years of silence. Of unanswered letters, dead ends, rumors like whispers in dark corners of every room. Most days, you’ve convinced yourself that he was gone, buried under the weight of everything he’s done.
But you never really believed it, not deep down.
“Why not?” you ask. “Why give this to me?”
A gloved hand reaches into their dark cloak and produces a slip of parchment. “Let’s just say… I owe a debt.”
You take it slowly, careful not to touch them. The moment the paper leaves their hand, they begin to fade- no spell spoken or wand raised. Just a sudden, swirling cloud of black smoke and ash, unraveling them like thread into the night.
And then you’re alone, like nobody had ever been there at all.
Your fingers tighten around the parchment. You unfold it with hesitant hands.
North Feldcroft.
That’s all it says. No name. No directions. But it’s enough.
You stare at the ink, heart pounding loud in the silence and whisper to no one, “Sebastian…”
A chill wind rustles the edge of your cloak.
You’re going. Because no matter what you find- whether he’s a shadow of the boy you knew, or something else entirely- you need to see him.
You owe him that much.
And maybe he’ll still remember who he used to be when he looks at you.
You’ve knocked on a dozen doors by now, a basket in your hands and a fake smile on your face.
“Local herbs, charmed to help with sleep.”
“Wolfsbane-free, I promise.”
“Just trying to make an honest living.”
Most people are kind enough. Some slam the door before you finish your sentence. None of them are him.
Until one is.
You barely get a chance to knock. The door flies open like he’d been standing right behind it, waiting.
Sebastian.
His hair is longer, messier- half curling into his eyes, half tied back like he can’t decide how to wear it. There’s stubble on his jaw and dark circles beneath his eyes. The wand in his right hand is pointed straight at your chest.
He looks ready to kill.
Until he sees you.
His breath catches. His hand doesn’t lower right away, but you see the disbelief as it hits his face. Like his mind is scrambling to reject what his eyes are telling him.
“Sebastian,” you breathe.
The wand trembles slightly. Then drops limply to his side. “You shouldn’t have come.”
You swallow hard. “You knew I would.”
He glances over his shoulder, out the door, eyes scanning the empty street with paranoia. Then without warning, his hand grips your arm- not roughly, but urgently- and pulls you inside.
The door slams shut behind you. The locks click into place, one after the other with sharp little bursts of magic. He paces the room quickly, shutting every curtain, pulling thick old fabric across the window like even the sun can’t be trusted.
“Sebastian-”
“This town doesn’t know me,” he says sharply. “They think I’m a squib. Some poor muggle-born whose parents ran off. I keep it that way.”
You stay quiet, watching as he moves like a man who’s done this before too many times.
When he finally stops, you glance at the wand still in his hand. “Did you think you’d have to use that on me?”
He doesn’t answer. Just stares at it ofr a moment, then sets it down slowly on the wooden table, like it’s made of glass.
“When’s the last time you even used it?”
His voice is rough. “Eight, maybe nine months.”
You blink. “Why?”
He shrugs, but it’s hollow. His eyes never leave the wand. “I don’t trust myself to.”
You take a step closer. “You think you’re incapable of moving on?”
His jaw tightens. “I know I am. I deserve this. The quiet. The exile. I made my choice, Y/N, I became something I can’t undo.”
The air feels heavier now, dust and grief swirling between you.
You don’t speak right away. Just look at him, the slouch of his shoulders, the weight pressing down on him like the ceiling itself.
And then you say it. Quiet, fractured, but true. “You left.”
He doesn’t move.
“You let us think you were dead.”
Your voice catches now, the break sharp and bitter. “You let me think you were dead.”
He doesn’t say anything. Silence falls heavily between you, stretching with the weight of everything he won’t say.
You take a slow step forward and reach for his hand, but he pulls away before you can touch him.
“I don’t-” his voice wavers. “I don’t deserve that. Not from you.”
You don’t listen. You never really did when it came to him.
So you reach again- not for his hand this time, but just the edge of his sleeve, brushing your fingers against the fabric. It’s barely a touch. But it makes him flinch, just slightly, like your kindness burns worse than any curse.
And then he exhales, like he’s breaking.
“I went back,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Almost a year ago now. To the house. Anne wasn’t there.”
You feel your heart twist.
“She was gone,” he says. “Not just moved- gone. Like she never existed. That… that was the worst pain I’ve ever felt.”
You stay still, hand still against his arm.
He looks at you now, eyes tired and red. “But for years, worse than that- worse than anything- was losing you. Watching you walk away from me. Watching you choose to.”
You shake your head, your voice soft. “I never stopped, Sebastian. I never stopped waiting for you. I’ve spent so much time looking.”
His breath catches. “Then I don’t deserve you.”
You step in closer, right in front of him now. Your hand slips properly into his. “That’s not for you to decide, Sebastian. And if I didn’t care I wouldn’t be here.”
The words hit him harder than you expect.
His hand tightens around yours.
And for a moment, it feels like everything slows- the world pulling in on itself, the space between you charged and delicate. He leans in slightly, close enough that your breaths mix. You can feel it- how close he is to giving in. How close you are.
But neither of you move that final inch.
Instead, you whisper, “Come back with me.”
His eyes search yours like he’s still trying to decide if this is real.
“To what?” he asks, his voice rough.
“To yourself,” you say. “Or… whatever’s left.”
He doesn’t say yes.
But he doesn’t say no.
You reach for the wand on the table, and this time, you don’t hesitate. You place it gently in his hand.
Then you guide him toward the door. He doesn’t resist.
Outside, the sky is soft gray, the kind that blurs the line between night and day. Between endings and beginnings.
He stands just behind you, wand in hand, silence around him.
synopsis: when you begin spending more time with ominis, sebastian starts acting... odd. cold glares, dismissive comments, and that one moment in the undercroft where he finally snaps and says what he's been holding back for far too long.
w/c: 1.3k
For Sebastian, Defense Against the Dark Arts had never felt so long.
Students shuffle around the room as Professor Hecat paces between rows of dueling partners she’s assigned, yelling corrections in the voice of a professor who expects nothing short of perfection from each one of the students in her class. Her sharp voice slices through the air, each bit of criticism even more bitter than the last. She seems to be especially strick today, eyes like a hawk as she monitors each wand movement.
You’ve been paired with Ominis Gaunt- a solid choice for his competency, grace, and dueling abilities.
You mutter your incantation, your wind flicking just a bit too slow.
“You’re curling the end too much,” Ominis says quietly. His voice is kind, not condescending. “It should be a sharper flick. Like this.”
He adjusts his stance slightly and demonstrates the spell with such precision that you almost forgot he can’t see. It then dawns on you that he is stepping in to help- saving you from one of Hecat’s verbal lashings. Two students have already been yelled at for similar small mistakes.
You smile gratefully, nudging his arm. “Show-off.”
He smirks. “Only a little. I’m trying to save you from Hecat’s wrath. She’s in rare form today.”
Across the room, Sebastian Sallow stands frozen, his want loosely gripped in his hand. His brown eyes narrow in your direction, though he quickly looks away when Garreth Weasley leans over with his mischievous grin.
“Looks like Y/N’s traded in her favorite troublemaker,” Garreth teases, nodding toward Ominis. “That’s got to sting, mate.”
Sebastian scoffs, but doesn’t reply. Instead, he tightens his grip on his wand and sends a spell flying with a bit more force than necessary. Unfortunately, it results from his name being called by the Professor.
You look over when you hear his name, watching your friend be explained the basics of wand usage like he’s a first year. You can’t help but smile to yourself before looking away.
When class ends, you turn to look for Sebastian, hoping to share a smile and a joke about Hecat’s incredible diaphragm, but instead he brushes right past you without a word.
The next day comes with a long-awaited trip to Hogsmeade. You walk with a group of Slytherins- Ominis Imelda, and a quiet Sebastian linger in the back of the group.
You try not to notice his silence. Try even harder to ignore the ache it leaves behind while the others chatter excitedly.
At Honeydukes, Ominis hands you a Fizzing Whizzbee. “It’ll make you float,” he grins just as you pop it into your mouth. And once your feet start to lift off the ground, he reaches for your hand before you can get too far away. You smile, delighted from the free candy.
Outside Zonko’s that evening, you ask Ominis if he knows why Sebastian isn’t bothering to pull any of his usual stunts. He apologizes, says he truly doesn’t know in that sincere-as-always voice, but you can’t seem to get over the fact that something has to be wrong.
After your last stop at the Three Broomsticks, the sky has dimmed and the temperature has dropped. You rub your gloved hands together.
“It’s getting dark,” Ominis hums, head tilting toward you. “Let me walk you back.”
You blink. “Are you sure? I’m fine, Ominis. Really.”
He gives you a small, knowing smile. “Then humor me.”
Unbeknownst to either of you, Sebastian had been making his way toward you. He stops dead in his tracks, catching the tail end of your conversation.
“Okay then,” you smile casually as you link your arm with Ominis’s.
Sebastian’s mouth tightens into a line.
“Are you alright?” Imelda asks, noticing him standing nearby.
“Just fine,” he mutters, crossing his arms.
Imelda snorts. “Looks like someone’s got their panties in a twist. Probably hate seeing Y/N and Ominis acting like some sappy couple.”
Sebastian passes her a look before turning and storming off in the opposite direction.
Back in your dorm that night, you’re getting ready for bed when something slides under the door with a whoosh.
Sam, your roommate, is instantly on it. “Ooo, is that a letter? A secret admirer, perhaps?”
You groan as she walks over and retrieves the parchment.
“Let me guess,” Sam says dramatically, holding it up like it’s a prophecy. “Ominis is finally growing a spine. Honestly, by the way you two have been acting this week? Stars in your eyes… It’s no wonder Sebastian’s been so mopey.
You laugh nervously. “Sebastian? Moping? He’s probably just tired.”
Margo wags her finger. “Yeah, tired of watching his best friend fall for his crush.”
You roll your eyes as you stand up and snatch the letter from her hand, only to freeze when you see your name written across the front.
And as you open it:
“Meet me in the Undercroft. Tonight. You know where. -S”
Your heart skips a beat.
Sam peeks over your shoulder. “Guess it wasn’t Ominis after all.”
You quickly fold the letter and stuff it in your drawer.
“Wait- what’s the Undercroft?” she then asks. “Sounds mysterious.”
You try to sound casual. “Uh, nothing. I don’t know. He probably just made it up to mess with me.”
She looks skeptical. “Mess with you? Girl, he wants to kiss you.”
You roll your eyes and smile softly. “I don’t know about that, but I better go find out what he wants. I’ll see you later.”
The Undercroft is quiet, dimly lit by the enchanted candles floating near the stone walls. You step inside, your heart pounding.
Sebastian stands in the center of the room, pacing. He turns the moment he hears your footsteps.
“Didn’t think you’d come,” he mutters.
“You asked me to. Why wouldn’t I?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Figured you’d be too busy with Ominis.”
You sigh. “Sebastian-”
“No, just- listen, alright?” He pauses, inhaling shakily. “I need to say something before I completely lose it.”
You step closer. “Then say it. Please.”
He looks away, jaw clenched. “You think I haven’t noticed? The way you laugh with him. How he always knows just what to say. The way you let him walk you home, like it’s his place-”
“He’s my friend, Sebastian.”
He turns sharply to face you. “And what am I, then? Just someone you practice spells on? Someone you smile at in passing? Because it feels like I’m watching you slip away.”
“You’re not,” you say softly.
His fists clench at his sides. “You don’t get it. I want to be the one beside you. The one you laugh with. I hate feeling like this- like I’m just the friend watching you from the corner.”
You move forward again, close enough now to heart the way his breath catches.
“You could’ve been,” you whisper. “All you had to do was say something.”
His eyes widen. “You mean…”
You nod. “I’d been hoping. Wondering if maybe…”
“We’re not just friends,” he finishes for you. “Not to me.”
He exhales, stepping even closer, voice lower now. “I know you, Y/N. I know how you trace your wand before casting. How you press your lips together when you’re trying not to laugh. How you can’t fall asleep without letting out a deep breath first. I see all of it. I see you. And I-”
He pauses, his heart visibly pounding. “I love you.”
You inhale sharply. “Sebastian…”
He winces. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have-”
But you close the distance and kiss him.
It is a messy, desperate, full of years of tension and quiet yearning. His hands grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, holding him there, grounding you both in the truth that had always been there, just beneath the surface.
When you finally pull back, breathless, his forehead rests against yours.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, “how long I’ve wanted that.”
synopsis: adam asks you to help him practice 'romance' after receiving one of quill's novels- and you think, just maybe, he's learning because of you. but when he almost kisses you, just to reveal it's for someone else, your heart cracks quietly in two. Bonus scene at end!!
w/c: 1k
The hallway is quiet- thankfully quiet enough for you to complete your mission. A dumb one. A petty one. A necessary one.
Zarg-nuts.
Drax keeps his stash hidden in the second drawer of the mess hall- like it’s sacred, like the whole galaxy would collapse if anyone else touched them. You don’t even like them that much. They taste like roasted battery acid. But today? You need the serotonin… and a break from all the arguing.
You creep toward the cabinet, glance left and right- the coast is clear. Your fingers curl around the drawer handle.
“Y/N.”
You jump. The voice is calm and polite.
And loud enough for Drax to get curious and walk into the room, catching you red-handed.
His eyes narrow like you just insulted his honor. You flash him an innocent grin as you slowly release the drawer handle.
“Well, nothing interesting in there!” you lie smoothly.
He grunts and walks away, muttering something about betrayal.
You sigh and turn around to the source of your unintended sabotage.
Adam Warlock sits on a bench by one of the corners of the room near a viewport, half-shadowed as his golden skin gleams even in low light. He holds a book in his lap. A romance book.
Of course he does.
You walk over, your curiosity outweighing your disappointment.
“Seriously, Adam?”
“Apologies,” he says sincerely, closing the book but not getting up. “You were attempting theft. I did not mean to disrupt you.”
You scoff. “Was it that obvious?”
He tilts his head, eyes scanning your face. You can feel the heat of his gaze- it’s not intense or creepy. Just… curious.
“I require assistance,” he says. “With something emotional.”
You raise an eyebrow and sit down on the bench next to him. “Alright, Goldilocks. Lay it on me.”
He lifts the book again. The cover is obnoxiously pink and you squint at the glittery title.
“Is that- Quill’s?”
He nods. “He said it would help me understand...” A pause. Then, he adds unsure, “romance.”
You blink. “Huh. So… what exactly do you need my help with?”
Adam sets the book down, visibly straightens his posture, then looks you square in the eyes. “May I practice something on you?”
You blink again. “Uh, sure.”
He hesitates, clearly nervous. His typically poised, invincible cosmic being is nervous. That alone makes your heart do something stupid in your chest.
“You… are… very symmetrical,” he says finally.
You bite the inside of your cheek. “Thanks?”
He frowns. “That did not land, did it?”
“Not quite.”
He tries again. “Your hair reminds me of the plasma flares over Xandar. Bright. Chaotic. Gravitationally impossible.”
You laugh, and he relaxes a little.
Then, without a warning, he reaches out and takes your hand.
It’s warm. Almost hot, but not sweaty. His fingers are careful, cradling yours like you’re made of something fragile. You stop breathing for a half second.
“Is this… right?” he asks.
Your voice catches in your throat. You manage a small nod. “Yeah. It’s right.”
He shifts a little closer, gaze never leaving yours. The space between you shrinks until you’re practically sharing air. His voice drops a little when he says, “Your presence is calming. I feel… lighter when you’re near. Like existing is easier.”
Your heart pounds.
Is this happening?
He leans in. Just a little. Enough that you can see the tiny constellations in his eyes, the flicker of uncertainty beneath all his golden confidence.
And for one brief, unguarded moment, you think- maybe. Maybe all those late night conversations, all those soft smiles, all those glances meant something. Then he says it.
“Thank you. I want to be prepared when I tell her how I feel.”
You blink.
A breath. A pause. A soft sting blooming in your chest like a delayed burn in your lungs.
You clear your throat and pull your hand back gently. You smile- because what else is there to do?
You laugh, light and harmless. “Wow, she’s a lucky woman.”
He beams at you, completely unaware of the way he just cracked your ribcage open. “I hope she thinks so, too.”
You sit there with him a little longer, watching the stars pass by through the viewport, trying not to think about the warmth stil lingering in your fingers.
Trying not to wonder why it always feels like you’re the back up, the test run.
Trying not to let it hurt.
But it does.
God, it does.
BONUS
Later that evening, you’re nowhere to be found when Adam wanders into the control room where Drax and Rocket are loitering- Rocket fiddling with some wires, Drax crunching away on Zarg-nuts.
Adam approaches the main console, eyes fixed on the AI interface Rocket rigged together months ago. The one with the soft, modulated voice and blinking lights.
“Hello, Computer,” Adam says way too formally.
Rocket pauses, tools halfway to the floor. “Oh no.”
Draz narrows his eyes. “Is he… flirting with the ship again?”
“He thinks he’s flirting,” Rocket replies, standing back to observe. “Let’s see where this goes.”
Adam leans a little closer, and says with utmost sincerity, “You are… as efficient as you are alluring.”
The AI beeps in confusion. “Command not recognized.”
synopsis: it's heart-wrenching, watching draco parade his perfect pureblood girlfriend through the halls of hogwarts, her hand in his and his eyes always- always- glancing back at you. you were once everything to each other, but bloodlines buried that love couldn't save. hellooooo angst
w/c: 1k
It started like a whisper.
“Did you hear? She’s been writing him love letters for months!”
You pause mid-step outside the Great Hall, your fingers tightening around the notebook in your hand. You don’t have to look to know who they’re talking about.
You.
And him.
Draco Malfoy passes by a second later with his arm wrapped lazily around her waist. Tall, elegant, perfectly composed- even in the chaos of the halls, she moves like she’s untouchable. The other Slytherins part like water around them.
She leans in and whispers something into his ear. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t smile. But his eyes flick to yours for a fraction of a second. Just long enough to cut open old wounds.
You look away first.
You always do.
He’s just come back from winter break with her. Introduced her to his parents like some new shiny piece of jewelry. Narcissa and Lucius approved. She stayed at Malfoy Manor. Of course, because she’s a pureblood.
She fits their mold. You never did.
You’re a Gryffindor. Muggleborn. And worst of all, he liked you anyway- once.
You don’t cry when she spills ink all over your Herbology notes. Or when your favorite book disappears after you left it unattended in the library for five minutes. You don’t make a scene when she says nasty comments about how some people don’t belong in wizarding society and Draco- standing right beside her- says nothing.
But that night, in the silence of your dorm, you sit by the window and let the tears fall.
You let yourself grieve the Slytherin who used to pull you into abandoned classrooms just to listen to you talk about your world. The one who once said your laugh made the castle feel warmer. The one who kissed you-just once- under the Quidditch stands in your fifth year.
The one who never looked back.
The Slytherin party is loud, lit with colorful green lights, and smells like smoke and spilled Firewhisky. You shouldn’t be here. But Ron said you needed a break (though you have a feeling he just wanted to prove to his older brothers he can hang), and Seamus somehow dragged you along after snagging invites for half your Gryffindor class.
The Slytherins weren’t exactly excited.
Especially her.
She corners you near the refreshments, all sharp smiles and sharper words.
“You’re brave,” she sneers, voice like a snake’s venom. “I’ll give you that, Gryffindor. Showing your face here.”
You set your cup down carefully. “I didn’t come for a fight.”
“No,” she says, tilting her head. “You came to sniff around something that doesn’t belong to you anymore.”
Your jaw clenches. “He was never mine to begin with.”
She laughs. “Glad we agree.”
You move to walk past her, but she steps in close, lowering her voice. “Just so we’re clear,” she whispers, “he never loved you. You were a distraction. A dirty little secret.”
She walks off before you can respond.
But Draco is watching from across the room. He always is.
He finds you later. Not in the party but outside on a balcony- staring up at the stars.
“I told her to stop,” he says. No greeting. No explanation. Just that.
You don’t turn to face him. “But you didn’t mean it.”
He sighs. “You shouldn’t have gone to a Slytherin party.”
You let out a bitter laugh. “Right. Sorry, I forgot I’m not allowed to exist where you can see me.”
“Y/N-”
“No.” You turn now. Finally. “Don’t say my name like that. Like it still means something to you.”
His eyes flicker. “It does.”
You shake your head. “Then why do you let her humiliate me in front of everyone? Why do you let her make me feel like I’m less than dirt?”
“Because I can’t protect you,” he says quietly. “Not anymore.”
You stare at him. “Draco, you never did.”
There’s silence then. The kind that crackles with things unsaid. Things buried in glances and half-finished sentences.
“I wanted to,” he admits. “I wanted to be brave. But I’m not.”
You laugh- hollow and sharp. “No. You’re not.”
He steps forward, his hand reaches out for yours until you take a step back. Then, he retreats. “I loved you.”
The words hang in the air between you like frost.
“Then why would you let me go?” you whisper.
He looks away. “Because I had to choose. And I have to choose the version of me they can accept.”
You swallow hard. “And she fits that version.”
He nods once. “She does.”
You nod too. Slow. Steady. Like maybe if you move carefully enough, you won’t shatter.
“I used to think if I was enough, you’d pick me,” you say. “I used to believe that if I just waited, you’d come back.”
His gaze is on the ground now.
“I stopped waiting.”
You step closer- just one step.
“You kissed me once,” you continue. “You said it felt like magic.”
“It did,” he says hoarsely.
“Then why are you here with her?”
He looks up at last. “I already told you.”
You don’t say anything. You just look at him, and you feel all the things you’ll never get to say settle heavy in your chest.
“Would it have been worth it?” he asks suddenly. “If I’d chosen you?”
Your eyes sting. “Yes, I think so.”
He closes his eyes like that answer hurts more than anything else.
You move past him, back toward the door. But just before you disappear, you stop.
You don’t turn around.
You just say, “I loved you too.”
You don’t speak again after that night.
The whispers don’t stop. His girlfriend keeps her distance, but her glares are colder now. Draco avoids your gaze in the halls. Pretends you’re just another face in the crowd.
And maybe you are.
But sometimes, when you’re alone- too tired to lie to yourself- you think about what you buried.
A love that never got a chance to live.
A boy who could never be brave enough.
And a girl who finally learned that some things are worth letting go of- even if it breaks you to do it.
content warning: NSFW sexual themes! (please remember all my characters are aged 18+ ALWAYS unless otherwise stated).
synopsis: in the neon lights of the last city's underground club, gally finds himself drawn to a stranger who moves like she owns the place. what starts as stolen glances quickly escalates into something reckless and electric, pulling him into the kind of heat he hasn't known before.
w/c: 1.3k
The club is pure sensory overload- strobe lights flickering like they’re about to short-circuit, bass so deep it rattles in Gally’s chest. He was led to this bar, told to wait, so that’s what he is set on doing. But he can’t help the way his eyes flicker around the room. He’s not drinking. Not really doing anything except existing in this neon-lit chaos and wondering if it’s really appropriate for the Last City to have a club like this.
Then, he sees you.
You, and two other girls, all dressed up and grinning like you own the place, throwing back shots in perfect sync. You wince at the burn, laughing, leaning into each other like this is just another Wednesday night. He’s never seen anything like it. The ease, the confidence, the way you move like you belong here. It’s different from the survival-driven life he grew up with in the maze. This is something else entirely.
And then, you turn.
Eyes locking on to his, like you already knew he was watching. Your lips curl into a knowing smirk.
“Where did they go?” Thomas asks no one in particular, exasperated. “Who knows how long we’ll be stuck waiting for them.”
“Chill out,” Newt mutters, leaning against the bar. “We’re lucky they’re even helping us.”
Gally barely hears them. His attention flickers back to you, tracing the curve of your legs, the tiny skirt that’s no bigger than a belt. And then-
“Do you always stare at girls this much, so am I just lucky?”
Your voice is teasing, effortlessly smooth as your friend waves down the bartender again.
He blinks. Words stall in his throat. And you take that in, amusement growing in your eyes.
“Or… is it just me?”
He exhales through his nose, shakes his head like he’s trying to clear it. “Didn’t expect you to down those drinks like you did,” he lies.
You hum, picking up your fresh drink. “You should see me dance.”
You hold up the small glass to him before tilting your chin up and downing the drink. And with that, you’re gone, slipping back into the crowd, swallowed by the flashing lights and other bodies moving in sync with the beat.
But he waches. Of course he does.
You move like the music is yours, like it belongs to you and not the other way around. Your friends are just as magnetic, but his attention stays locked on you. The way your skirt barely qualifies as clothing. The way your hands slide into your hair as you move.
Minho elbows him, snapping him out of it. And when he looks over, he’s standing up with another beautiful girl. “Don’t wait up.”
Before Gally can really process it, the girl grabs Minho’s hand and leans in close, whispering just loud enough for Gally to hear. “I need someone hung to come dance with me,” she purrs.
Minho grins. “I have no idea what that means, but count me in.” He winks at Gally before getting dragged onto the dance floor.
Gally shakes his head, amused despite himself. But then- your hand. He sees you reaching out.
His breath hitches. His fingers tighten into fists. He looks around- his other friends are getting picked off one by one, too, dragged into the crowd. Lost in their own nights. No one is watching him.
He moves. Weaving through the waves of people, pushing past heat and bodies until his fingers slip into yours. Your hand curls around his, tugging him in.
The second he’s close enough, your back presses to his chest, and the heat of you makes his pulse quicken. Your hands drag up his arms, fingers brushing the back of his neck as you roll your hips against him. He exhales sharply, nervous hands finding your waist, grip tightening as the bass thumps through his ribs.
It’s intoxicating- you’re intoxicating.
Then you turn in his arms, eyes meeting his, and whatever is brewing between you both snaps. You grin, then grab his hand and pull him toward the stairs leading down into the dark.
He lets you.
Down the stairs, through the pounding music, past a hallway with flickering neon lights, you push open the bathroom door and drag him into a stall.
“You’re not used to being around girls, are you?” you tease, your eyes locking onto his.
“What makes you think that?” he hums, caging you between him and the door.
“The way you keep staring,” you grin.
He smirks, his gaze drifting down to your lips for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Maybe I’m just admiring the view.”
“You don’t have to admit it,” you whisper, “but it’s cute.”
Your hands find his, guiding them to your hips, then lower to the curve of your ass.
“Cute, huh? I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult.”
“You’re doing great,” you whisper, your lips brushing against his.
His breath hitches as you lips touch his. He closes the remaining distance between you, his hand gripping tighter on your ass. “Is that so?” he whispers back.
“Mmm,” you answer softly before deepening the kiss, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth as you get pulled even closer to him.
But it’s also you who breaks the kiss. “Touch me,” you tell him, whispering in his ear. “Feel how wet I am for you.”
He shutters at your words, his hands moving to the soft skin of your thighs, and sliding up under your skirt. You hum softly, encouraging him. “That’s it. Keep going.”
“Fuck,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. You certainly weren’t lying.
Listening to your moans as encouragement, he slides his fingers under your panties, finding your warmth beneath.
“This is driving me insane, you know that?” he groans, his fingers moving in slow circles on your sensitive spot.
“Mmm, well don’t stop now. Finger me.”
Gally complies, sliding one finger inside you. You gasp and your hips buck against his hand. “Mmm, just like that. Now add another.”
He obeys, adding a second finger and thrusting them in and out of you at a faster pace. He watches your face, watching the way you keep your eyes on him, the way you bite your lip to prevent yourself from being too loud.
“Fuck me with your fingers,” you whisper, your voice laced with desire. “Make me come.”
His fingers curl inside you as he pushes them deeper, hitting your sweet spot over and over again, his thumb finding your clit and circling it gently. God, for a guy who must have little to no experience, he does a pretty damn good job.
“Yes, just like that,” your breath hitches as he picks up his pace. “Don’t stop. Make me come.”
Your hands on his back dig into his shoulders. He hisses at the pain, but continues to finger you relentlessly.
“Right there, right there,” you pant as your body tenses, nearing the edge.
You wrap your arms around his neck tight and bury your head into the crook of his neck as your orgasm rips through you. Gally holds you tightly, his fingers still moving gently within you as you ride out your pleasure.
As your breathing returns to normal, you look up at him with wide eyes. “That was… unexpected.”
He chuckles, his fingers still inside you, but he stops moving them. “Unexpected, huh? You really didn’t have high hopes for me.”
“What can I say,” I grin softly. “Guess I was wrong.”
He smirks and pulls his fingers out, licking them clean. “Yeah, you were. You should never doubt me again.”
You look at him more intently now. “Do we know each other? I swear I’ve never seen you before.”
He raises an eyebrow as he pulls away slightly. “You’ve never seen me before, no,” he tells you before patting the top of your head with his clean hand. Then, he makes sure you’re fixed and presentable before stepping out of the stall.
You can’t help but stare as he walks off as though none of this just happened. How odd, he didn’t even ask for anything in return…
synopsis: you weren't supposed to find him there, hands shaken, eyes haunted. but now that you have, neither of you can pretend this thing between you doesn't exist.
w/c: 800
The Room of Requirement shouldn’t be open.
At this late hour, the halls of Hogwarts are silent, the castle breathing softly under the weight of another tense night. You aren’t supposed to even be here- just heading back from a late patrol when the door appeared, shifting into existence as if calling for you.
That’s when you hear it.
A sharp intake of breath.
You step inside cautiously, already knowing who you’ll find. You’ve been warned.
Draco Malfoy.
He stands in the center of the room, his back to you, his shoulders tight. His hands tremble at his sides. His wand is clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white.
The air is thick as you enter. The room has given him exactly what he needs- a cave-like space with walls lined with forgotten relics of the past. Old books, shattered furniture, discarded artifacts. A graveyard of Hogwarts’ secrets.
And in the middle of it all is him.
Draco breathes out slowly, lifting his wand toward a cabinet at the far end of the room. His hands shake.
You step forward, your voice softer than usual. “Malfoy.”
He spins around, wand raised in an instant, panic flashing across his face before he realizes it’s you.
For a moment, neither of you speak.
He looks… wrecked. The sharp angles of his face are more pronounced from the dim light of the room, dark circles settling under his eyes. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks.
Your stomach twists.
You’ve known Draco for years. Not just as a rival, not just as some snarky pureblood prince, but as… something else. Something more complicated- fragile.
Maybe even something close to a genuine friend.
But this? You’ve never seen him like this.
You fold your arms, keeping your voice light. “Didn’t take you for the dramatic, late-night brooding type.”
Draco doesn’t lower his wand. “Get out.”
You tilt your head, doing your best to remain calm. “See, I would, but you look like you’re about to collapse. Would be a shame if the great Draco Malfoy just-” you gesture vaguely to him, “died of self-pity or something.”
His lip twitches, like he wants to roll his eyes but doesn’t have the energy. It’s almost familiar. Natural.
Almost.
Draco exhales, running a hand over his face. Finally, he lowers his wand.
“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?”
You shrug. “Not when it comes to you. Plus, I could argue you’re the same way.”
His fingers flex at his sides. You shouldn’t be able to see it- the way his hands are still trembling. The way his breath hitches, just slightly.
And suddenly, it clicks.
The way he’s been acting this year- withdrawn, hollow-eyed, disappearing for hours at a time.
You knew the rumors. The whisper of some ‘task’. But now, it’s real.
Your throat tightens. “Draco.”
He flinches.
You step forward, voice quieter now. Gentler. “You’re in trouble…”
He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Brilliant deduction. Ten points to Gryffindor.”
You ignore the jab. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
Draco stills. His fingers twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for something- but doesn’t.
Then, barely above a whisper, he answers. “Yes, I do.”
Your chest aches. “No, you don’t.”
Silence.
Then- his voice breaks. “You need to go. If you know the truth, everything changes.”
Your breath catches.
He looks at you then. Really looks at you.
And it’s not just fear in his eyes- it’s something else. Something unguarded. Something he’s never shown you before.
Your pulse pounds faster.
You don’t think, don’t hesitate- you reach out.
Your fingers graze his wrist, and he startles like you’ve burnt him.
But he doesn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to tell me,” you hum. “But you can’t pretend forever.”
Draco’s jaw clenches. You can see the war inside of him- the battle between what he wants and what he’s been told he has to be.
Then, suddenly- he moves.
Not away. Closer.
Your breath catches as he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers against your cheek. His touch is warm, gentle in a way that makes your stomach flip.
Your heart stutters. “Draco…”
His name is barely a whisper.
His thumb grazes your cheekbone, slow, deliberate. He’s so close now- so close you can feel his breath on your lips.
Your head spins.
Your fingers tighten around his wrist. You don’t pull away. You don’t want to.
His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a moment.
It would be so easy. So easy to just-
But he stops. Pulls away.
The warmth of his touch vanishes like it was never there.
He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t smirk, doesn’t glare at you either. He just turns and walks away.
You stare after him, breathless. Something in your heart aches.
As Draco walks away- as fast as he can- his heart pounds.
He doesn’t look back. If he does, he knows he won’t be able to leave.
He can still feel the warmth of your skin against his fingertips, the ghost of your breath against his lips.
He wanted to kiss you.
But he can’t. He won’t.
Because if he lets himself have this- have you… It will destroy you both.
synopsis: minho's always in control- always calling the shots. but when a teasing comment turns into a challenge, you realize he's always been thinking ten steps of you all along.
w/c: 1.1k
The mapping room is filled with laughter more than the scratching of pencils against paper. You sit cross-legged on the floor, maps scattered everywhere, while Dan, Hank, and Ben sit nearby, exchanging lighthearted jabs about each other’s running styles.
“You run like you’ve got a Griever on your ass 24/7,” Hank scoffs and Dan, who rolls his eyes in response.
“Well maybe if you moved faster, we wouldn’t have to double-check your routes,” Dan fires back with a smirk.
You laugh, leaning back on your hands. “Honestly, I can vouch for Dan. He does commit. Hank, I swear you hesitate like you’re debating philosophy every time we hit a turn.”
Ben laughs, but Hank just shakes his head. The teasing continues until the conversation shifts toward Minho.
“I mean, he’s got the whole ‘leader’ thing down,” Ben hums, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “Barks orders like he’s getting paid.”
You smirk, stretching one of your legs out. “Yeah, but he’s always giving orders. I bet he wouldn’t know what to do if someone flipped the script on him.”
The guys chuckle, but then the air shifts. A presence looms behind you, and a slow, sarcastic voice cuts in.
“Oh yeah?”
Your stomach drops.
You twist around and find Minho standing there, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly unreadable way of his. His expression is neutral, but there’s something sharp in his eyes.
Dan coughs into his fist, trying and failing to suppress a laugh. Ben and Hank suddenly find the maps in front of them very interesting.
You clear your throat. “Minho. Didn’t see you there.”
Minho tilts his head. “Didn’t seem like you were looking.”
You can’t tell if he’s actually annoyed or just messing with you. With Minho, it’s impossible to tell.
He lets the moment hang before clicking his tongue. “Better keep up tomorrow, smart mouth.”
And with that, he walks off, leaving you feeling oddly unsettled.
The next morning you and Dan are paired up as usual, racing through the twisting walls of the Maze. Your comment from last night lingers in your mind, and eventually, curiosity gets the better of you.
“Hey, you think Minho was actually mad last night? He hasn’t said anything to me since.”
Dan doesn’t slow down, but he glances at you with a raised brow. “Hard to tell. You know he’s got that whole ‘mysterious’ thing going on. Why? You care?”
You groan. “It’s annoying.”
Dan smirks. “You could always talk to him and find out.”
“Hell no.”
Dan laughs. “Your funeral.”
At dinner that night, you get halfway through your meal before Ben plops down beside you and Dan.
“Hey,” he nods casually. “Dan, you’re with me and Hank tomorrow.”
You pause mid-bite, blinking at him. “What?”
“Yeah. Minho switched things up.”
Dan exchanges a look with you, then shrugs. “Guess I’m with Ben and Hank then.”
Confusion knots your stomach. You always run with Dan.
You push back from the table and make a beeline for Minho. He’s talking to Newt, completely ignoring your presence even when you stop right next to him.
“Hey Y/N-” Newt begins, before you cut him off.
“Minho.”
No response.
“Minho,” you repeat, more firmly.
Still nothing. He just keeps talking to Newt like you’re invisible. And Newt, awkwardly answers back while looking between the two of you.
“God, you’re impossible!” you finally burst as frustration boils over. You turn on your heel and storm off.
Newt watches you go, then looks at Minho, who finally bites into his food, eyes now following you.
Newt hums. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.”
Newt snorts. “Right. Whatever it is, hope it’s worth it.”
Minho only smirks. “Oh, it will be.”
The sun barely shows over the Maze as the runners split up. Dan, Hank, and Ben disappear down a different route, leaving just you and Minho standing in the clearing.
He tilts his head. “Let’s go.”
You fall into step beside him, jogging. “Why’d you switch things up?”
“Didn’t know I had to explain my decisions to you.”
You huff. “Minho.”
He doesn’t answer, just speeds up.
You scowl but follow, trying to shake the uneasy feeling creeping into your chest.
A few minutes into your run, Minho pulls ahead when you stop for a sip of water. He vanishes around a corner. You hurry to catch up, but he’s gone.
Then-
A hand snatches your wrist.
You barely have time to gasp before you’re yanked into a narrow space between two walls. A warm hand covers your mouth, pressing you against solid muscle. Your heart slams in your chest.
Minho’s voice is low, teasing. “Hey, not so fast, Y/N. Gotta teach you a lesson about running your mouth.”
Your breath stutters as he leans in, his lips ghosting over your ear. “You think I wouldn’t know what to do if I wasn’t in charge? But I promise you, Y/N, I’m thinking so far ahead, that wouldn’t even be an option.”
His fingers trail down your arm, sending electricity through your veins. “Now I’m going to prove my point.”
Your pulse pounds as he tilts your chin up, his dark eyes locking onto yours. And then-
He kisses you.
It’s not hesitant or unsure. It’s confident, firm- like he truly is proving something. His hand slides to your waist, anchoring you as his lips move against yours with frustratingly perfect skill.
Your head spins, knees weak, fingers curling into his shirt before you even realize what you’re doing- kissing him back.
And just as suddenly as it started, he pulls back, leaving you breathless and dazed.
Minho smirks, thumb brushing your cheek before he pulls back. “You got any more complaints you need to air out?”
With your lips tingling and your mind racing with thoughts of what just happened, you don’t answer him back.
He turns, walking off like nothing happened. “Let’s go. Getting late.”
You stay frozen for a moment, heart still racing.
Then, snapping out of it, you push off the wall and chase after him. “Hey, wait a minute!”
Minho glances over his shoulder, smirking. “Finally thought of something, huh? God, Y/N, keep up.”
You frown, still out of breath. “You- how’d you know I’d kiss you back? You didn’t even ask.”
Minho shrugs, grin widening. “Well, Dan told me you can’t keep my name out of your mouth.”
Your jaw drops. “He- he what?!”
Minho just laughs, stepping over a root in his path. “Relax, Y/N. I already knew. Just needed confirmation.”
You scoff. “Unbelievable. Some partner.”
He bumps his shoulder into yours. “You’ll live.”
You narrow your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips despite yourself.
Minho nudges you again, and this time, you nudge him back.
The two of you keep running- together.
And this time, for once, you don’t mind following his lead. In fact, you’re happy to.
synopsis: sneaking into the restricted section with sebastian is supposed to be about finding some book- but when you're forced to hide, pressed against each other, you realize this was never about books at all.
w/c: 700
The library is nearly totally silent at this hour, except for the distant soft crackling of torches against stone. You know you shouldn't be here- especially not at this hour, not with him- but Sebastian Sallow has a way of making bad ideas sound like the best ones you've ever had.
"You're positive we won't get caught?" you whisper, following him through the towering bookshelves in the Restricted Section. The forbidden books seem to close the space around you, their worn spines holding secrets you know no student should meddle with.
Sebastian casts you a look over his shoulder, his grin sharp and far too confident. “Have I ever let you down before?”
You sigh. “That’s not really an answer.”
He chuckles under his breath, leading you deeper in the dimly lit section of the library. The two of you have done plenty of reckless things together, but this feels different. The secrecy- he hadn’t even told Ominis about this- the stolen glances, and his insistence… Something about tonight is heavier, charged in a way you can’t quite put your finger on yet.
“You still haven’t told me what we’re looking for yet,” you say, watching him scan the shelves as if the answer might be spelled out in the books. “A book of dark secrets? A spell to make Ominis finally laugh?”
Sebastian chuckles under his breath. “Something like that.”
You continue forward, only half convinced, until a sound makes you both freeze- footsteps.
Panic surges through you as you whip your head around. “Sallow, we’re going to get caught,” you whisper.
Sebastian grabs your wrist, tugging you sharply behind a massive bookshelf. You barely have time to react before he’s pressing close, his breath warm against your cheek, his body caging you between him and the wall. Every nerve in your body lights a fire from the proximity, the way his fingers flex slightly on your hip as if he’s considering something.
“Maybe I just needed an excuse to get you alone.”
You lift your eyebrow, lips curling in amusement. “Oh, is that so?” Your voice is steady, teasing. “You couldn’t think of anything better than dragging me into a restricted part of the castle? Bit unoriginal, don’t you think?”
Sebastian’s smirk deepens, his hand on your hip tightening ever so slightly. “I don’t know… Seems to be working rather well, don’t you think?”
You tilt your head, your confidence holding up despite the heat pooling in your stomach. “Oh, absolutely. I’ve always dreamed of a romantic getaway next to cursed books and an unhinged librarian.” Your voice drops into something softer, more challenging. “You’ll have to do better than this, Sallow.”
His gaze flickers to your lips, darkening in a way that sends a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he lifts his free hand to your chin, thumb dragging across the soft skin of your bottom lip. His touch is light, his gaze never straying from the movement. You can feel your cheeks warming, the heat between the two of you reaching a breaking point, and yet, you stay exactly where you are.
"Sebastian, why are we here, really?" you murmur.
His fingers tighten slightly on your hip. “Shh,” he hushes, barely parting his lips to form the sound.
The silence stretches as your eyes meet, as if the air itself is charged with something more than just avoiding getting caught. Then, before you can think- before you can even breathe- he crashes his lips against yours.
The kiss is searing, all heat and desperation, like he’s been holding back for far too long. His fingers slide to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
You don’t resist- not when he taste like something forbidden, something intoxicating. Your hands find his robes, gripping tightly to steady yourself as he presses you further into the wall, molding against you like he never wants to let go.
Time fails to exist. There is only Sebastian, only the way he is kissing you like he needs you to breathe. Your head spins, your lungs burn, but you don’t care.
When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, your lips tingling, your body still caged beneath his. He takes in your dazed expression, a smirk growing on his lips.
“That,” he hums, his voice low, “is why we’re here.”
And, Merlin help you, you think you might just let him take you anywhere.
synopsis: forced to work with Malfoy on a fundraiser, you spend the week arguing and absolutely refusing to acknowledge the tension between you- until he dares you to say you feel nothing, and you can't.
w/c: 2.7k
Professor McGonagall stands in front of the classroom, her gaze sweeping across her students as she begins pairing them off for the upcoming “Endangered Magical Creatures Fundraiser”. You anxiously tap your fingers against your wooden desk, mentally preparing for whoever you’ll be stuck with- anyone but him.
But the universe hates you.
“Miss L/N and Mr. Malfoy,” she says clearly as she looks over her glasses, her voice leaving no room for you to protest.
But you do anyway.
“What?” you blurt out at the same time Draco groans, “You’ve got to be kidding, Professor.”
McGonagall turns to both of you, unamused. “Is there a problem?”
“Honestly, Professor,” you say, crossing your arms. “I think I’d be more productive working with someone who isn’t a walking embodiment of a bad decision.”
Draco scoffs. “And I’d prefer someone whose voice doesn’t make my ears bleed, but here we are.”
McGonagall exhales slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose like she regrets ever taking this job. “You will work together,” she says firmly. “Or you will both receive detention. And if I hear so much as a whisper of unnecessary conflict, I will personally assign you additional hours cleaning the owlery. Together. Am I understood?”
You open your mouth to argue, but her pointed stare makes you swallow it back.
Draco slouches in his seat. “Crystal,” he drawls, though his tone makes it clear he’s anything but pleased.
McGonagall moves on, calling out the next pair, and you sigh, already dreading this entire thing.
Once class ends, you grab your things and walk in front of Draco’s seat to leave. However, he quickly steps in front of you, blocking your exit.
“Guess you’re stuck with me, L/N,” he grins, his voice thick with amusement. “Try not to fall in love, yeah?”
You meet his smug expression with a glare. “Try not to fall on a sharp object, yeah?”
He chuckles. “You hurt me, truly.”
“Not yet,” you mutter.
Draco shifts closer, clearly enjoying himself. “So, what do you reckon we’ll be doing for this little fundraiser? Selling overpriced crap to bleeding-heart Gryffindors?”
You shrug. “It if means saving creatures from being turned into the next set of your father’s boots, I’d say it’s worth it.”
His smirk falters for just a second before he recovers. “Careful, darling. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you actually care about me.”
You scoff. “Oh, absolutely. Right up there with my fondness for flesh-eating slugs.”
Draco shakes his head. “You know, if you’d just admit it, you’d save us both so much time.”
Your laugh is sharp. “You’re delusional.”
“And you’re obsessed,” he counters smoothly.
You roll your eyes. “If obsessing over you means actively plotting your untimely demise, then sure.”
Draco watches as you shove past him, that always-present smirk still plastered across his face. “Merlin, I love it when you talk dirty.”
You walk off before you can hex him on the spot.
The classroom hums with low chatter as each pair is assigned to discuss the fundraiser. You sit across from Draco at a table in the back, arms crossed, already regretting the next hour of your life.
“I’m telling you, this setup makes sense,” you insist, gesturing to your rough sketch. “We need a donation box in the center so they can see it.”
Draco snorts. “Oh, right, because everyone loves being harassed for money before they even know what it’s for.”
“It’s a fundraiser, Malfoy.”
“Right, and people actually need to know why they’re donating. Maybe don’t scare them off immediately?”
You glare. “It’s called efficiency.”
“It’s called being annoying. You should know.”
The bickering may have continued forever if another student in your class didn’t step forward with a stack of papers in her hands. She glances between you and Draco, raising an eyebrow before offering a polite smile.
“Here are the event guidelines,” she says. Then, she grins. “And by the way, you two make a cute couple.”
Your brain malfunctions. “What? No-”
Draco leans back in his chair, completely unfazed. “Oh, I know.”
You whip your head toward him, eyes wide. He’s playing along.
Before you can protest, he effortlessly plucks the paper from your classmate’s hands. “Thanks,” he says smoothly. “We’ll review this together later, won’t we, darling?”
Your jaw drops.
The girl beams. “See you guys in class!” she says happily before disappearing.
The moment she’s out of earshot, you snatch the paper from Draco’s hands. “A person with a normal-sized brain should read this.”
Draco, completely unbothered, leans in. Smirking. “Then why are you.”
Your fingers curl into fists. “I hate you.”
His smirk only deepens. He whispers, “What’s the matter? Scared people will think you actually like me?”
You scoff. “Yeah. Because I don’t want to be associated with the name Draco Malfoy at all.”
Draco clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers against the table. “Tragic. Can’t imagine why you’d deny something so obvious.”
You ignore him, flipping through the event guidelines. “Whatever. We need to pick a magical creature to focus on.”
He doesn’t even hesitate. “The Antipodean Opaleye.”
You blink. “...Huh.”
It’s actually not a bad suggestion. The Opaleye is one of the rarest dragon breeds with pearlescent scales and a reputation for being one of the most peaceful dragons- despite its scarcity from poaching.
Draco watches your expression shift. “Told you I’m brilliant.”
You sigh, relenting- slightly. “I’ll do some research and get back to you.”
Draco grins, tilting his head. “Careful. If you keep agreeing with me, people might actually think you enjoy my company.”
You gather your things and stand, tossing him a mock-sweet smile. “I’ll take my chances.”
Draco watches as you walk away, and you swear you can feel him smirking the entire time.
The library is quiet as you sit down at a large wooden table, flipping through an old book about Antipodean Opaleyes. Very little is written about them beyond their gentle natures, scales, and the fact that their eggs are highly sought after in illegal trades.
Frustrated, you sigh and rub your temples. This is useless.
“What a fascinating creature,” a familiar, smug voice drawls behind you.
Before you can react, an arm drapes around your shoulders.
You stiffen immediately. “Malfoy, what are you doing here?”
Draco leans down, far too close, his breath warm against your ear. “Relax, darling,” he murmurs. “I was just wondering what’s got you so enthralled.”
He plucks the book from your hands, skimming through the pages as if he actually cares.
You scowl, standing up to yank it back. “I’m researching. You should try it sometime.”
Draco scoffs, lips twitching with amusement. “And yet, you’re the one reading rubbish.”
You narrow your eyes. “Excuse me?”
He smirks and pulls out a different book from under his arm, setting it on the table. The title says:
“Rare and Vanishing Beasts: A Closer Look”
You glance at the pages, skimming through actual recorded encounters with Opaleyes- far more details than the book you had.
Damn.
You begrudgingly sigh as you glance up at him. “...Okay, fine. This is better.”
Draco leans in even closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear. “I know,” he whispers.
Before you can shove him away, a voice interrupts.
“Y/N?... What’s going on here?”
You look up to see one of your friends a few feet away with a shocked expression. Your eyes widen, and you immediately try to shrug Draco off- but he tightens his grip around your shoulders.
“Nothing-”
“Oh, don’t be shy, love.” Draco interrupts smoothly, his smirk downright evil. “Tell her how grateful you are for my help.”
Your friend blinks between the two of you. “Oh. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”
Your entire soul leaves your body. “I don’t-”
Draco cuts you off again. “She’s shy about it,” he says, his voice dripping with amusement.
Your friend raises an eyebrow, clearly suspicious but decides not to press further. “Right. Well… see you later, Y/N. I’m heading back.”
You don’t even get a chance to correct her before she walks off, leaving you to whirl on Draco. Then, you grab the book and smack him with it.
He laughs, rubbing his arm. “Was that really necessary?”
“You’re insufferable!”
“You shouldn’t complain. Our project is coming along wonderfully.”
You take a deep breath, fake a sweet smile, and set the book down. “You’re right.”
Draco looks at you suspiciously. “Is that right?”
You step closer to him. Before he can react, you grab his tie, pulling him so close your noses nearly brush.
Draco’s smirk falters- just slightly.
You lean in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, your voice dropping into a syrupy-sweet sound.
“Maybe I should be thanking you, Draco,” you whisper.
His breath hitches.
Then, just as he starts to lean in, you pull his tie harder and add.
“Choke on it.”
And before he can recover, you shove the book into his chest and storm off.
Behind you, you can feel his grin. He’s not pissed. If anything, he’s enjoying this.
The corridor outside your Potions class is filled with students filing out of the room as you chat with Blaise.
“Wait- so you’re seriously telling me that a single drop of Draught of Living Death could knock someone out for days?”
Blaise smirks. “If brewed correctly, yes. But judging by how you nearly blew up your cauldron last week, I’d say you’re in trouble.”
You laugh as you narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, please. That was so not my fault! Longbottom was next to me!”
Blaise chuckles, about to respond, when a very familiar arm suddenly drapes over your shoulders.
“Sorry, mate. This one’s spoken for. Didn’t she tell you?”
Your entire body tenses as you glance up to see Draco Malfoy standing there, his smirk just a little too tight, his grip a little too firm.
Blaise, to his credit, looks amused. “Oh? She didn’t mention that. Guess I should be more careful next time,” he says, his eyes shining mischievously.
You shrove Draco’s arm off. “Get off.”
Draco lets you go, but his smirk stays firmly in place- though there’s something behind it now, something unsaid.
Blaise, entirely unbothered, leans against the wall with his arms crossed. “You know, Draco, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you wish that was true.”
Draco scoffs, but you catch the way his jaw tightens just slightly.
“Anyways,” Blaise says, standing up straight, clearly enjoying this. “I’ll catch you guys later. Y/N, good luck on that test next week.”
You smile as he walks off. “Thanks. You too.”
The second he’s gone, you turn on Draco and shove him again- harder this time. “Merlin, you are so annoying!”
Draco barely stumbles, just tilts his head, grinning. “Didn’t know you had a thing for Zabini.”
You groan. “I don’t! What do you want, Draco?”
Draco shrugs, feigning innocence. “We’ve got to set up soon. I came to get you.”
You cross your arms. “You seriously don’t trust me to show up for our graded project?”
He tilts his head, eyes still dancing with amusement. “Yeah, well…” He leans in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your breath hitch. “Maybe I wanted to come get you.”
Your stomach flips before you can stop it.
You scoff, letting your shoulder brush against him as you walk past. “You’re ridiculous.”
Draco just laughs, falling into step beside you.
As the event in the Great Hall begins, students, professors, and donors move from table to table, listening to each of the presentations. The decorations at your table- a carefully drawn banner of the Antipodean Opaleye, along with various enchanted models- look impressive, but none of that matters because Draco Malfoy is insufferable.
“This is entirely your fault,” you hiss, straightening the display.
Draco scoffs, leaning against the table with that permanent smirk. “Oh, really? Because I’m fairly certain it was your idea to put the donation box in the center, and now it’s blocking the nameplate.”
“Fine, but that’s only because the nameplate is too small, Malfoy!”
“It’s called elegant, you uncultered-”
“I’m second away from hexing you.”
Draco steps closer, too close, eyes shining with challenge. “Go on, then. Let’s see if you can even focus when I’m this close.”
Your wand hand twitches. You’re so wrapped up in the argument that neither of you notices the presence approaching your table.
Until-
“Ahem.”
You both freeze.
Professor McGonagall stands before you, arms crossed, eyebrows raised high with thinly veiled displeasure.
“How lovely to see the two of you getting along,” she says dryly.
Draco, without missing a beat, straightens up and smiles. “Honestly, Professor, we have.”
You blink.
What?
Before you can call him out, Draco effortlessly launches into the presentation.
“The Antipodean Opaleye is considered one of the most beautiful dragons, known for its pearlescent scales and sapphire eyes,” he says smoothly. “Unlike most dragons, it is known for its unusually gentle nature- unless provoked, of course.”
You watch, slightly shocked at how easily he continues, detailing the Opaleye’s habitat, magical properties, and conservation efforts.
You nod along, filling in the gaps where necessary, but he hardly needs it. The passion in his voice is undeniable, and even McGonagall looks impressed.
When he finishes, she gives you both a slow nod of approval. “Well done. You clearly did your research for an animal such as the Opaleye with not much information known about it.”
You exchange a quick, surprised glance with Draco.
McGonagall moves on, and the moment she’s out of earshot, you and Draco each turn to each other.
“We actually- didn’t mess that up,” you say, a little breathless.
Draco grins. “Obviously. I did most of it.”
You open your mouth to argue, but before you can stop yourself, you’re so genuinely relieved and excited that you throw your arms around him. “Thank you!”
For a split second, Draco stiffens.
Then, just as quickly, his arms wrap around you.
It lasts a second too long.
You both pull back abruptly, clearing your throats, avoiding each other’s gaze.
“Uh-” You run a hand through your hair. “I guess there were worse people to be partners with on this.”
Draco tilts his head, mocking. “Oh? What high praise.”
You glare at him. “Don’t push it.”
But then, his smirk softens.
“Yeah,” he says quieter this time. “I suppose I’ve had worse partners too.”
For once, you don’t argue.
The Great Hall is nearly empty now, the fundraiser reduced to a couple empty tables and a few scattered supplies. You dust off your hands, exhausted but weirdly satisfied with how everything turned out.
Draco stands across from you, fiddling with one of the left over parchment flyers. You’re about to head for the door when he catches your wrist.
It’s gentle, barely a touch, but it stops you cold.
You turn back, your eyebrows knitting together, and he lets out a small breath before tugging you a step closer.
There’s no one else around. Just the two of you in the dimming candlelight, the faint echo of footsteps in the corridor outside. For once, he doesn’t have anything smug to say.
A moment of silence.
Then- “I was an idiot this week.”
You blink.
He huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Fine. More than usual. But-” He exhales, his grip still light on your wrist. “Just tell me you feel nothing and I’ll stop.”
A lump grows in your throat.
It should be easy to say. You should be rolling your eyes, scoffing, walking away.
But the words don’t come.
You hesitate.
And that’s all he needs.
Draco’s smirk returns- but it’s softer now. Not mocking or triumphant. Just… knowing.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs.
He steps closer, his hand moving up to cup your cheek. His touch is warm, fingertips brushing your skin so lightly it makes your breath catch.
He leans in, waiting- giving you the chance to pull away.
You don’t.
Then, his lips press to yours, and it’s like the whole damn castle fades away.
Your fingers clutch at his shirt and his other hand slips to the small of your back, pulling you until there’s no space left. The kiss is slow, lingering, like he’s been waiting for this.
Like you have, too.
When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your cheek before he lets go completely.
“Well,” he says, voice a little lower than usual. “Good thing we worked this out.”
You huff a laugh, shaking your head as you fight back a smile. “Come on, let’s just go already.”
You roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted.
Draco only grins, falling into step behind you. Not letting you get too far ahead.
synopsis: you've always had a thing for watching gally get into trouble, but after an especially heated argument with alby, you can't help but feel pulled in. so, you decide to follow him as he storms off.
w/c: 800
It’s just another day in the Glade, the usual chaos of the others running around, the looming walls keeping everyone on edge. You’re walking past camp when you see him- Gally.
His usual scowl is more intense today, but there’s something else in the way he stands. He’s in trouble again, and for some reason, you find yourself drawn to it. You don’t hate him, not by a long shot. But there’s something about him when he’s angry or frustrated, something about the tension in his body when he’s caught in a mess, that makes your pulse quicken.
You can’t quite explain it, but it excites you.
You lean back against a tree, watching from a distance as Gally argues with Alby in the middle of the Glade. His fists are clenched, his face burning with the effort of holding back his temper. The way his body moves, tight and controlled, like a spring ready to snap, sends a rush through you.
“Gally, you can’t just do whatever you want!” Alby says, his voice firm, trying to stay in control of the situation.
“I do what needs to be done,” Gally snaps back, voice low and filled with defiance. “You want to be the one to clean up the mess? Fine, go ahead. But I’m not waiting around for you or someone else to fix it.”
You can see the muscles in his jaw working, the veins in his neck standing out as he takes another step toward Alby, challenging him. The tension is palpable, and it’s all you can do not to step forward and get closer. There’s something about this side of Gally that pulls you in, something about the way he never backs down. You can’t help but want to see what happens next.
Alby’s hands are thrown up in frustration. “I’m done, Gally! Get out of my sight!”
You can feel Gally’s anger simmering, but when he turns and his eyes catch yours, the tension shifts. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze, something between anger and… you’re not sure what. Maybe it’s another challenge. Or maybe it’s just that he knows exactly how you feel.
You can’t resist.
You follow him as he storms off, careful not to make it obvious that you’re trailing behind him. He’s not done yet, and you need to see how far he’ll push it.
Gally’s steps are heavy on the grass, the harsh crunch of dirt echoing straight in your ears. He doesn’t look back, but you’re pretty sure he’s aware of you. You walk a bit faster to catch up, and just as he reaches The Deadheads, you call out.
“You’re not exactly winning any friends today,” you tease as he turns to face you.
Gally’s eyes flash with irritation, but there’s a hint of something sharp as well. “Don’t start, Y/N,” he warms, though his voice is less harsh than it usually is toward you.
You take a step closer, the air between you thick with something unspoken. “I don’t mind watching you get into trouble. It’s rather entertaining.”
His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms, his posture hardening. “You get off on that or something?”
You can feel the tension rising in your chest as the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. “Maybe.”
He takes a long, slow look at you, as if weighing you up, considering his next move. His lips twitch upward in a barely-there smirk. “You’re a strange one, Y/N.”
You bite back a smile, refusing to look away. “I said maybe.”
Gally steps toward you, closing the space between you both. His eyes burn into yours, a challenge there, something dark and dangerous flickering in the depths.
“Want to see more?” he asks, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear.
Your heart skips a beat. “Yes.”
Without another word, Gally grabs your wrist, pulling you toward him. You don’t resist, letting him drag you into the shadows of The Deadheads where the trees are thick and the world feels far away. His grip on you is firm, his body a wall of heat and muscle. The moment you’re out of sight from the glade, he pushes you against the rough bark of a tree, his lips crashing into yours with an intensity that takes your breath away.
You can feel the roughness of his hands as they cup your face, pulling you closer. His kiss is urgent, desperate, and you find yourself kissing him back just as harshly. It’s like everything inside you is set ablaze by the way he touches you, the way he takes control. The tension from earlier spills into the space, each kiss deeper, more consuming than the last.
When he pulls back, his chest rises and falls with the same pounding rhythm as yours. His forehead rests against yours, his breath still shaky.
“Is this what you wanted?” he murmurs.
You open your eyes, meeting his gaze with a smile. “Mmm,” you think aloud as your hands run up his arms. “It’s a good start…”
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