#and I’m telling you HOW and WHY and WHO hurt me

[thecoochiefairy]

gamer girlz. onyankopon.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 4.6K word count. blackfem!reader, drabble, college football coded! onyankapon, grumpy!onyankapon, sweet!onyankapon, dominant!onyankapon, kinda sorta makeup sex?, couch sex , black woman, vaginal penetration, rough, lil bit of sweet talkin’, hair pulling, creaming, oral [f] [m], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, backshots, missionary, condomless sex, cumming on face, kissing, spanking, just a fine ass black man, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ day 283737272 of liyah’s ovulation and faithful celibacy pact meaning she’s having the most nasty, egregious thoughts. please enjoy my black man fantasies. the links inspired this fic heavily, so enjoy those too.

𝓐ᥫ᭡ :: onyankopon just wants to help you finish your game.

link. link. link. ony’s visuals.

YOUR FINGERS SHOULD'VE HURT AT THIS POINT. Swiftly moving from button to button, they tap the controls as you’re on another level of the game you desperately wanted to beat.

You had some time off of studying, and this is how you wanted to spend it. Your boyfriend was at football practice—although a part of you just wanted to be swarmed up in his arms, your attention span also had you elsewhere—this damn game. You enjoyed the older games, replaying the hardest version of Batman: Arkham Asylum, your boredom peaking your interest back in the game you’d had since childhood. 

You didn’t even register that the door had opened, or maybe you didn’t just care enough. You knew who it was. You eye him dropping his keys against the counter, black hoodie over his head, sharp jaw grunting lightly from his sore muscles, scowl along his face—definitely had to do with practice. 

You pause the game for a second, turning your face to the side, fuzzy socks along your feet, his large jersey slung along your body as you greet him, “Hell, baby. What they’ do to you?” 

“Coach was on dick today. Had me running laps cause other niggas couldn’t catch the ball and I got mad,” he huffs, taking his helmet and slamming it on the counter next to him. He massages the nape of his neck, sighing deeply to himself. 

“Now you know coach don’t like all that cussing on his field,” you sigh, “He knows you're good. That’s why he’s on your ass.” 

“Nah. He just annoying as fuck. Can’t expect me to do everything.”

He’s like a child, grumpy and pouty. His tall frame comes closer, wanting your attention in response to his rough day at practice. 

“How’s my baby?” he says in your ear, wrapping his large muscular arms around your waist and gently biting your shoulder. His broad frame shadows under his hoodie, tat against his face shining under the lights of your shared apartment, full lips moisturized—you’d never let him leave the house otherwise. 

You give him a soft laugh, rubbing your fingers over his durag as you say, “I’m fine. Had some time off studying, tryna’ beat this game. I meant what I said, Ony. He doesn’t just give you a hard time because he’s bored. You’re his star player, gotta make sure he ain’t treating you like everybody else.” 

“Don’t tell me you on yo’ nerdy stuff. C’mon. I’m sore,” he groans, his grip around your waist tightens and he pushes himself against you. 

“Oh, is it nerdy shit when you’ screaming on the game playing 2K with your friends? I was gonna offer a little massage. Now you’ve lost your entry to that,” you say, trying to push him off of you, reaching for the controller in between your lap. 

He doesn’t budge. He holds firmly onto you, pressing sloppy kisses against your neck to distract you. 

“Don’t be like that. I was kidding, you know I like that shit,” he huffs, his breath against your neck as he presses his lips on the sensitive part of your skin, “Forgot to tell you, I got an away game coming up in a few weeks. So I’ll be gone for like, a week.”

Your head comes down a bit to look directly at him, “What? You’re not coming with me to my parents? You know the holidays are coming up, Onyankopon. I told them you’d be there.” 

“You know imma’ just be sitting around hiding behind you,” he murmurs against your skin, his hot breath tickling you. 

It’s not that he’s shy— rather, he just doesn’t enjoy the unnecessary attention. 

“How ‘bout we do our own Christmas, before I go?” 

He’s nuzzling himself against your neck now, his hands roaming all along your body. You press his body away from yours, standing up as you become annoyed. 

You then say, “I wouldn’t be going up to my parents place if you didn’t agree to come with me in the first place,” going into the kitchen, searching through the freezer. 

He runs a hand over his face, seeing how instantly irritated you became. He knew having his support for the holidays meant a lot to you, and he might’ve waited on telling you about the going away game to lessen your disappointment. 

“Mama,” he calls, watching you from the sofa. 

You turn, raising an eyebrow as you say, “Oh, so now I’m Mama, you love hitting me with that shit when you know I’m mad.” 

“You know I don’t like going to those family functions, I swear that house always stinks cause yo’ auntie cooks that nasty ass fish. A week ain’t no big deal. Let’s just have our own thing here.” 

“So which one is it? You don’t wanna go or you got your football shit?” You narrow your eyes, pulling the ice pack from the freezer, arms crossed as you come back closer to him.

He knows better than to lie, especially to you. 

“They got some NFL scouts coming to this game,” he mutters, scratching his temple. I’m sorry. But I’m tryna’ go pro, you know that.”

“Mhm.” 

You hand him the ice pack, “Put it on your knee. I know it’s been sore lately.”

He raises an eyebrow, “You’ not mad?”

“Did I say I was mad? You’ want the ice pack or not?” 

He takes the ice pack, wincing once the coldness hits his knee. He knew you were gonna give him a scolding if he didn’t.

“You’ got a bad ass attitude right now.” 

“I wonder why, Onyankopon? If we had plans to go back to your parents house for the holidays and at the last minute I told you I have exams and that I just didn’t wanna go, you’d be irritated too.”  

“Damn, you gon’ be on my ass about this for the next three weeks?” 

He didn’t like it when you were like this, cause instead of being pissed you were more disappointed, which was somehow a lot worse to him.

“I’m gonna be gone for a week.” 

You scratch your nails in between the baby blue orchid claw-clip that holds your curls. You dismiss him, “You need to go shower.” 

“What, you ain’t tryna’ join me?” he murmurs, a smirk on his lips, “Quit being mad. I’m tryna love on you. Wanna put on The Isley Brothers and give you a rub down.” 

“You’re playing too much right now,” you deadpan, “Bye Onyankopon.” 

“What’ you mean bye?” he says, his smirk turning into a frown.

“I’m finna’ go finish studying,” you’re already walking back towards the bedroom, ending the conversation off as that. 

When you finally hear him smack his lips and make his way into the shower, you glance over your notes, deciding you weren’t gonna let him ruin your previous plans. You’re now back on the sofa, eyes set onto the screen, trying to defeat the computer generated opponent. 

You switch over to the sound of the bathroom opening, seeing him re-tying his durag back on, basketball shorts baggy and house shoes on his feet. His tattoos all along his face, neck, chest and arms always had your attention—but not as much attention as you usually gave him at this moment. You sprawled along the furniture, elbow deep into the couch's pillow as one leg laid straight out, while the other bent itself over the top of the couch. 

He doesn’t like how you’re paying no attention to him. As stupid as it sounds, he’s always got to have your eyes on him. They were pretty. 

“You’ still mad? You for real ain’t finna’ give me a massage?” 

“I’m good,” you swiftly respond, “Just playing my game. You can massage yourself.” 

“Why you’ gotta be like this?” 

He sits down next to you, his large frame takes up a lot of the space. The couch becomes smaller somehow. His eyes watch the game intently before he decides to get comfortable. Lying back down on the sofa, he lets his head rest in your lap. Even with you being irritated, you let him lay there. 

You continue going up level by level, your focus intently on the game. The little argument between you and Onyankopon irritated you to say the least, but you didn’t have the energy to completely push him away. It’s unfortunate he was persuasive. You notice out the corner of your eye that he lifts his head a little, the warmth between your legs along the back of his neck, and that’s when he sees that you’re wearing nothing under his jersey.  

He takes the time to admire you, legs lazily hung open, his eyes staring directly against your pussy, scenting of vanilla on your legs, freshly shaven. One of his large hands comes to rest on the back of your thick thigh, rubbing small circles with his thumb.

“What you’ got on?” he mutters.

“Had to wash clothes, didn’t have any underwear. That’s why I put on your jersey,” you tell him, eyes still not looking at his face, unable to see how his jaw clenched at the sight. 

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. In that moment his large hand rubs along the skin on your thigh, pushing the jersey up further.

“You look good as fuck in my shit,” He mumbles, a low rasp in his tone.

“Thank you,” you say in a softer tone, mainly because you’re distracted, buttons pressing harder against the controller. 

He can tell how focused you are—how your face scrunched up, the way your fingers move, even the way your thighs fall open on his head.

He’s getting impatient.

That’s when you feel him lean down, giving a gentle peck to your inner thigh. The feeling makes you tense a bit, but you still keep your eyes against the screen, huffing out a breath as your character is close to dying. This level was difficult. 

He’s giving small, light kisses along the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh, taking small intervals to glance up to you as you keep your eyes against the screen. His hand moves higher up on your leg, slowly pushing the jersey up even more.

Your eyes go to him for a millisecond, seeing as his head is down, lips attached to your thighs, sucking ever so gently on your skin. You can almost feel a pressure building in your stomach, the slow ache of his movements almost purposeful, teasing you in a way. You press your glasses up against your face, huffing out a breath as you mutter, “Stupid ass level,” trying to come up with a reason as to why you sound so breathless. 

He grins as he’s laying there, hearing your breathing getting heavier. It’s obvious how hard you’re trying to focus on the game, but he’s working you up.

“You’ trying so hard, Mama,” He murmurs against your hot skin, his kisses trailing to the spot he knows is extra sensitive.

You shift your body, clearing your throat as you say, “Gotta restart,” adjusting your legs a bit, opening them up just a little more than before. 

He can tell how you’re slowly giving in, how you’re shifting your body around, legs opening just enough for him to move closer. He lets his free hand come to caress your stomach, rubbing against the skin under the fabric of the jersey. His lips are so close to you, his breath is hot against your skin. 

“Restart then,” He mutters, tongue now coming to flick out from his lips, gliding across your skin, hiding beneath the pillows of his lips as they begin sucking a dark red mark against you.

You narrow your eyes lightly as you restart the level you play, but your body is distracted by Onyankopon’s lips along it. You drag your teeth along your lip a bit, pressing your fingers harder into the controller, feeling his lips coming up higher. 

You could feel the arousal you had flooding in between the lips of your pussy, protecting your clit as it now begins to pool farther down, dampening the couch. His large fingers wrap along the outside of your thighs, using his thumbs to pull the skin on the inside apart, showing the dark pink of your pussy, squelching at his presence. Your body tenses even more as you feel his thumb meet with your clit, rubbing so softly against it, dropping his mouth down to press another kiss to your skin. The leg hiked up against the top of the sofa trembles a bit. 

“You’ winning?” You hear him murmur against your skin. 

You take a deep inhale, squeezing your fingers against the hooks of your controller as you softly reply, “No.”

He circles your clit with maddeningly light touches, barely grazing the swollen nub. At the same time, he’s still pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses, occasionally grazing his teeth. 

"You’ getting distracted. Wet ass pussy," Onyankopon murmurs appreciatively, feeling the slick evidence of your arousal coating his finger.

Your chest heaves a bit at his tone, but you don’t let up. You keep your eyes on the screen, but you seem to be losing. In both games. 

He spreads you even wider as he leans in closer, hot breath fanning over your slick folds. He pulls his thumb back as he replaces it with his mouth, giving you an innocent kiss against your clit. His beard captures your arousal, your fingers shuddering as you hear him groan, “Ooh, fuck, Mama. You’ wet for real.”

Without warning, he seals his lips around your clit and sucks, tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. He releases it with a lewd pop before trailing open-mouthed kisses along your slit, lapping up your dripping arousal. Your eyebrows deepen into a frown, lips trembling as you give one more press to your controller, before you take your hand and reach it to the back of his head, getting a clutch against the knot of his durag. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, clasping your mouth shut as you whimper for him.

He delves his tongue deeper between your opened folds, dragging it up and down, lapping up to create more secretion. His hands grip your thick thighs, spreading you obscenely wide as he eats you out like a starving man.

"Mmmm, this a nigga favorite fuckin’ meal," he rumbles, voice muffled by your flesh. He alternates between slurping you up and flicking rapidly, determined to make you fall apart. One hand slides up to grope your ass roughly, kneading the plush flesh.

“O—Ony…” you gasp, voice small and high pitched, fingers squeezing harder against his head, dropping the controller out of your other hand, the object hitting the ground with a thud. The music of the battle within the game becomes something you hear, but not as loud as his mouth gulping you down, heavy tongue sopping against your pussy, drenching his beard so much that he could drown in you.

“Pretty ass voice,” he encourages huskily, the vibrations from his words sending shockwaves through your core. He dips two thick fingers knuckle-deep into your weeping cunt, pumping them slowly as he continues his relentless assault on your clit with his tongue. The wet sounds of him feasting on your pussy fill the room, mixing obscenely with the forgotten video game noises.

His free hand roams your curves possessively, groping and squeezing every inch of exposed skin he can reach—your ass, your thighs, the underside of your breasts. You’re lost in a haze of pleasure.

You were always so sensitive to his touch, the pleasure that you received from him kept you so kidnapped that it was hard to be mad at him. You grind your clit along his mouth that waits to catch it, voice ineffective of composure as you struggle, “Gonna cum soon, Ony…” 

“Yeah?” He grunts, head knocking up and down, your eyes only able to watch as his lower face disappears in between your legs, glistening a coat against his beard, “Where you wanna cum?” 

“On your dick, baby…” you whine softly, rotating your hips gently to match his moments, “Please…”

"You wanna cum on your dick, Mama?” He coos against you, the sound reverberating through your core, you’re whimpering with an urgent nod, “Mhm,” before he can even finish his sentence. 

He pulls himself back, already tugging his tip from beneath his basketball shorts, taking off the material as your eyes follow the curve, the vein in his dick, heavy against the stretch of his large palm. Tattoos spread against his pelvic, scriptures and inspirational quotes that didn’t belong in his blasphemous moment.

"Turn around, put that ass in the air for me.“

Your legs feel a bit numb, bringing yourself up as you know exactly how he wants you. Raising your left leg along the arm of the couch, you lean your breast over the top as your face hides beneath your arm, right knee digging into the seat of it. He places his fingers along the side of your neck, other hand digging into your thigh thrown over the furniture. He doesn’t have to tell you to look at him—you always give him your eyes, feline as they blank beneath his control. Your body trembles as he slams his palm against your ass, “Arch more,” your body following suit, deepening the valley your silhouette creates. 

He grips your hip with bruising force, using the leverage to grind the swollen head of his dick teasingly along your soaked slit. Up and down, he rubs himself through your slick folds, coating his length in your essence. Your hips tense as you feel the weight of his tip stretching open your pussy, sinking in that it makes your abdomen cramp, aching in a pleasure that has your entire body tighten. Your eyes are beginning to roll back, digging your nails into the sofa as you keep your eyes on his, he looks mad at you, slamming his palm against your ass again as he grunts, “Keep that fuckin’ arch.” 

Your chest is filled with oxygen, holding your breath to cure the slight discomfort you feel, but it’s also an agonizing pleasure, feeling so full from him. He’s slowly dragging himself halfway out, rolling his hips back in and going even deeper, your mouth dropping open as your eyes flutter shut, turning your head back towards him as you whimper, “Fuck, baby. You’re deep…” 

Silence goes in between the both of you, savoring the rush of pleasure that clutches the air as he drags his first couple of thrusts, so slow it felt like time wasn’t even passing. The sedated actions almost feel better than if he sped up, his eyes locking down as he sees you painting his tip, creaming on him. 

“I’m in your shit, huh?” he talks to you, it’s almost tortuous as he hilts himself fully inside, his heavy balls slapping against your throbbing clit. Your walls clench around him like a vice, your head tilting back as you completely tense. You whimper, “Ungh,” attempting to push him back to relieve the stimulation, jumping as he gives you a bruising spank, deep voice aggressive as he says, “Uh-uh, don’t do that. You know I don’t do that running shit.” 

His fingers dig into the flesh of your hips as he starts up at a carnal pace. The wet squelch of your pussy being split open echoes obscenely in the room, mixing with your deep whines, nodding your head, gently dropping your hips against his abdomen to meet his strokes.

“Keep riding that dick, goood fuckin’ girl,” each thrust is punishing and deep, stirring up your insides. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes obscenely as he rails into you, chasing your pleasure to insanity.

You always try to keep up, but you never could. All your organs feel tossed around by him, so blinded in your erotic state, your mouth opens as you give long moans, deeply gasping each time you need to catch your breath. He brings you to a point of saying things you’d never thought would leave your lips, mouth parted as you groan, “Yes, yes, baby. Agh, fuck, Ony. Deeper.”

"You want this dick deeper?" He growls, accentuating his question with a thrust that has your eyes rolling back farther. His grip on your hips tightens, surely leaving finger-shaped bruises on your toffee skin as he sets a merciless pace.

He’s back at palming his hand brutally against your ass, rushing it up to come around the front of your mouth, resting his fingers there as he grunts, "Take this fucking dick then," yanking your head back.

The new angle allows him to go even deeper, his hips slapping against your clit, “Finna’ tear this fuckin’ pussy open.” 

His filthy words mix with the lewd sounds of your bodies coming together, filling the room, it has you groaning through his fingers. 

“Love you so much,  baby—“ this was a regular routine, the affection you give him as he’s hitting that spot that only he could find, whines plummeting from your mouth, eyes to the back of your head as you reach back and grab onto his wrist that holds your hip, moaning louder each time he rolls his hips back to meet the weight of your ass matching his rhythm.

“What happened to you being mad?” He questions, going slow as he tugs you back into his dick, the echo of your skin bouncing off each other like a drug induced round of applause. 

You shake your head, “Not mad at you, Onyyy,  love you so much….”

He chuckles darkly, low and rumbling in his chest as he leans over you, pressing his muscular torso against your back. His hot breath fans across the shell of your ear as he murmurs, "I know you do, Mama. I love you too.” 

One large hand slides up from your hip, reaching around to splay across your stomach as the other now tangles in your hair, tugging your head back. He rolls his hips in a slow, deep grind, stirring you up from the inside, your mouth releasing broken shouts, your face hot, pleasured tears wanting to stroke along your face. 

"Fuckin’ love you, princess. Pussy was made for me,” He gives another sharp thrust, grinding against your cervix. "You’ getting tight as fuck—You’ cumming, Mama?”

“I’m….” You gasp, defeated in your inability to speak, taking your hand and reaching back to hold his face closer to yours, hips trembling as you dangerously moan in a cracked tone “I’m cumming, baby. I’m cumming. I’m—agh,  c—cumming…”

His chuckle is dark with lust as you flutter and clench around him erratically. He grips you harder, using the leverage to pound into you relentlessly, chasing his own release.

"Good job, baby. Biggg fuckin’ girl. Cum on this dick. Fuckin' soak it," he growls, his voice strained with pleasure. One hand moves from your hip to your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub as he continues his brutal pace.

Your whole body tenses and shakes as your orgasm crashes over you, a loud cry tearing from your throat. Your pussy spasms almost violently around his thick shaft, gushing against him so much it pushes him out of you, trying to milk the sensation for all it’s worth. 

“I’m finna’ bust, baby,” he warns, groaning in your ear, “Come eat this dick up.”

Your body feels numb as you turn yourself towards him, immediately wrapping your lips along his tip, enveloping the taste of your own arousal within the walls of your mouth, sucking him in to reach the heavens of your throat. He clasps your hair within his palm, bobbing yourself back and forth as you reach down, rubbing your clit as you still feel your orgasm rushing through your body. You moan around him, giving him those cat eyes, fluttering your dark extensions as you swirl your tongue against his tip, begging for a reaction.

He throws his head back with a deep, guttural moan as your warm mouth engulfs him. His grip on your hair tightens, guiding your movements as he starts to thrust shallowly into your throat.

“Shit—just like that. Eating that dick up good as fuckk," he pants, his abs flexing with each snap of his hips. The sight of you—eyes fluttering, cheeks hollowed, one hand buried between your thighs—it’s almost too much.

He pulls your mouth off him, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening tip. With another smack to your ass, he flips you onto your back, settling between your spread legs. 

"I wanna see your face when I nut in this pretty ass pussy." 

He lines himself up and sinks back in with one smooth thrust, bottoming out instantly, clutching your throat, holding you down as your back arches up, clawing into his back at the visceral sensitivity.

He sets a hard, fast pace, the wet sounds of your joining filling the room. His intense gaze locks with yours, pupils blown wide with lust as he takes in every expression that crosses your face.

"That's it, baby. Gonna fill this pussy up real good," he grunts as you whimper with his talking, “Ba-by,” angling his hips to hit that special spot inside you. One hand slides under your thigh, pushing your leg up and back to change the angle, allowing him to go even deeper.

He leans down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss as he continues to pound into you. His tongue dominates your mouth, swallowing your moans and cries of pleasure. Breaking the kiss, he buries his face in your neck, biting and sucking dark marks into your skin as he chases his release.

"Fuckk, finna’ cum soon. You want it in you, baby?”

“On my face baby, you say it’s pretty there,” you whimper, deepening your nails in his back, “Mmmph, c’mon, Ony. Please…” 

A grin spreads across his face at your pleas. Grabbing his throbbing tip, he positions himself at your face, smearing the leaking pre-cum across your cheek. He’s moaning, stroking himself rapidly, aiming his tip at your parted lips. His free hand grips your chin firmly, keeping you in place as his strokes become erratic. He then cums, painting your face—across your cheeks, over your lips, some even landing in your waiting mouth.

You stick your tongue out, running your tongue over your lips that darken in color, bruised as you dig your teeth into them with a sultry giggle. Heavy breathing fills the room as you keep your eyes up at him. 

He steps back as he says, “Hollon, baby,” going into the bathroom as he finds a towel, rubbing it along your face to clean you up. He then leans down, pulling you into a kiss as he grunts, “Gimme’ your mouth. I love you, Mama. I’m sorry.” 

You give him a kiss, holding his face in your hands, running your tongues together sloppily, passion filling your entire body from the previous actions. 

You say, “It’s okay. You’ want your massage now?”

He pulls his mouth back a bit, eyeing you before he chuckles. It makes you pout, “What’s funny?”

He laughs, shaking his head as he helps you stand, “Nothin’ Mama. Just thinkin' 'bout how quick you forgave me after I tore your ass up."

You roll your eyes, “I can always change my mind.” 

He runs a hand down your side, squeezing your hip possessively. "Chill out. I want that massage. You know I'm always ready for your magical hands."

He stretches languidly, his muscles rippling beneath his tattoos as he leads you towards the bedroom, “ And don’t be all stingy with the lotion. Do that lil’ thing I like if you feeling extra generous.” 

“You’ getting beside yourself. Do you need that?”

He turns, “Do you?”

You scrunch up your nose, “No. I want a massage next!”

“Exactly. C’mon, get that ass on the bed.”

[julymusings]

I just can't get the idea of soulmate!jason where you share scars out of my head. Jason is a canvas of scars. We all find them beautiful and wouldn't judge him even if we were held at gun point.

But imagine you were getting those scars at the same time he was... it would be hard. Of course you are worried about your soulmate, but when you wake up with a permanent, very purposeful J branded onto your face, can you really tell me you wouldn't be embarrassed to go outside? Afraid of meeting your soulmate who seems to be either a criminal or in a very dangerous victim situation? Would you not be even a little angry that now your face is ruined?

(I know there is makeup, but we are ignoring that for a second)

Yes, you share these scars with your soulmate and somewhere along the line you'd find peace with them. But in the moment when you look in the mirror and find an autopsy scar... I can only imagine what you would feel.

Oh, and poor Jason. He would never be able to forgive himself. He probably wouldn't even realize he has a soulmate because if you get a scar he wouldn't notice it beside all of his.

This isn't a request. I just wanted to share my thoughts and hear yours.

Oh absolutely. I’m wondering exactly how far the scarring would go— would you have burns from the explosion? Do you wake up covered in bruises from the crowbar? A bump on the bridge between your eyes from a broken nose?

I imagine you’d be pretty resentful toward the universe if you woke up with a J branded on your face and marks from injuries that aren’t yours all over your body. And finding the autopsy scar?? Grieving someone you don’t even know? How would you recover from that? Especially so young; Jason died at 15, so you’d probably be around the same age. Imagine going into school like that. Teenagers are awful. They take one look at you and assume you’re bad news, because why else would you look so roughed up? Stay away from people like that, their parents whisper through side-eyed fear. Whoever your soulmate is, you hate them at least a little bit.

And if you follow the storyline where the pit heals all of Jason’s scars from joker and before, imagine waking up one day, almost two years later, and everything’s just gone. Would it be relieving or terrifying? But then you start to get some more, different from the old ones but it’s still as if they never left. Callouses on the pads of your fingers from squeezing a phantom trigger. Slices on the tip of your ear (Jason narrowly dodged three daggers launched by a furious Damian after he accidentally stepped on Titus’ tail). Is this some kind of joke? Is your soulmate pool confined to a singular street gang that gets into the same fights every night? (Luckily open wounds are few and far between now. Maybe it’s professional fighter who finally invested in some body armor, your friend jokes.) At least there’s no branding this time. I guess whoever they are, they’re better protecting their face this time around. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You’re not sure you want anything to do with them anymore. Who’s to say someone hurt this bad is capable of not hurting you?

But he is, he’s so capable and deserving. It breaks your heart to learn the origins of those marks you stared at in the mirror, judging and hating. If you thought having those scars was hard on you, he must have felt it tenfold. You try to act like it never bothered you, but you both know it did. The look on Jason’s face when you absentmindedly mentioned you never really made friends until college because everyone saw you as unapproachable in high school— it took a full week of loving reassurances on your part and therapy sessions on his to get back to your normal.

But sharing his scars helps, even if just a little, in understanding every part of him. You understand his loneliness and fear because you felt it too. Some nights you swear you can feel the trace of a burning knife down the front of your torso, or bits of glass piercing your palms, so you know. You know that ice packs help with the ache, that aloe vera gel soothes the itching irritation from tiny cuts, and regular Hatha Yoga provides just the right stretch to loosen aching joints. He gives you a funny look when you gift him an aloe Vera plant for his windowsill, but says nothing, agreeing to take care of it when you ask him to keep it alive. One night you notice him repeatedly rubbing his red, burning palms down the front of his jeans and lead him to sit down before taking a clean knife and slicing off one of the stems, cutting it open to spread across his cuts. That silent statement of understanding, of seeing him in a way no one else does, has him welling with tears.

So, sure, having to grow up with only signs of him, not knowing who he was aside from anonymous messages on your skin was pretty difficult. But now when you trace across the bridge of his nose over the line of jagged skin, he can do it right back to you, and both of you can’t help but feel a little grateful.

I think I went a little off topic idk man I was just saying stuff but I love the idea of soulmate!jason where you get each other’s scars and that results in you feeling the same/similar but lesser symptoms of them and therefore knowing how to deal with them for him without him having to tell you🤭if someone wants to write a fic like this I will gladly read it

[ririabeam]

𝗕𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝗗𝗲𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

—

I drew this to cope with my birthday depression.

Took 5 months. I also wanted to beat my old manhwa from 5 years ago.

-- Long post ahead! It's my WIPS and thought process. --

Junko is my comfort character as she's the only character I know who hates her birthday.

(Screenshot from Ultimate Talent Development Plan)

I know she’s a villain who has done a lot of bad things, but finding comfort and liking her doesn’t mean I excuse her actions.

A lot of painful feelings went into this, even in Mukuro's perspective so please respect it 🙏🏻

—

- WIPS & Thought Process -

—

Story Script Writing:

A lot of thoughts and feelings went into my script.

-I removed sentences like “For giving me cake!” as I wanted to do more showing than telling.

-“Why do you seem so happy Mukuro?” is changed to “Why are you smiling like that, Mukuro?” as I wanted the sentence to focus more on the thing Ryoko noticed. Mukuro would definitely be happy celebrating Ryoko’s birthday, and the new sentence would help to understand how Ryoko interpreted that Mukuro was more happy than usual.

-“good day” is changed to “great day” for greater emphasis of Ryoko’s happiness.

-A pun is done on “live”, I wanted this sentence to convey the complicated feelings of Junko. She doesn’t want to “live” a “fabricated happy lie” as it goes against her honesty moral. But there’s also a part of her that doesn’t want to kill Ryoko, as she doesn’t want to “leave” this “fabricated happy lie”. She wants to be happy as Ryoko, even if it’s a lie.

This part is a big reference and a reply to Danganronpa Zero.

The background texts are quotes from Danganronpa Zero.

Junko saying “What the hell? Hope?” is a reference to Danganronpa Zero’s ending:

Reading Danganronpa Zero feels like it’s saying something to me: “We are trapped in a loop of despair and hope.” and I’m replying with this part as a “Yes, I agree.”

Junko being confined in her mind is another thing I like about her too. 

I feel the moment we are born, we are trapped, that’s why I ended this comic with “I wish I wasn’t born.”

The moment I’m born, I’m unwanted and worthless, a monster.

I’m trapped in my mind, in other people’s judgements and expectations, and there’s no way out.

I can’t just turn invisible and there’s always something for people to judge and hate. And that hurts when it’s something important to you or you can’t change about yourself.

But even with all the pain, I think of hope to carry on and it’s a loop to fight to live.

I think I make progress with healing but then I’d think wth I’m made to work on this. Cause my life is already scripted from the moment I was born— I’m scripted to have this trauma, this story made my personality and character so in the end I’m still trapped.

So that’s another reason why I find Junko a comforting character and why I feel birthday depression.

I thought of the story first before I thought of the characters who would play it, so I had to make sure it’s in character. 

Things like if Mukuro would say “AU” or “Alternate Universe”. I felt since she spent a lot of time with Junko who knows a lot about these things, she would have heard of this and know the short form term for it. Especially since she had to be Junko at some point.

Since it’s a story about Birthday Depression, my thoughts instantly went to Junko then to Mukuro. It was the perfect story theme to write for them especially cause they are the despair sisters. 

Plus, they are two characters I can feel their struggles and feelings deeply for, so I can write and draw deeply for this story.

Birthdays tend to be happy, and I felt the only kinda right time I can talk about my birthday depression would be on their day.

I felt suffocated and lost myself over the past few years, as I felt I needed to be happy no matter what. When I opened up about sadness and my struggles, people would hate and invalidate me for it. I feel my art reflects that, I don’t like looking back at my old art. It lacked my true feelings, but I feel I’m finding myself again in my Mirai Nikki and Danganronpa art.

For the past few years I tried to celebrate my birthday to try to make myself happy about it but in the long run it didn’t work. I appreciate everyone who celebrated with me all these years still, but now I’m trying to overcome it in another way— facing despair instead of trying to cover it with hope.

I think I’ve learnt a lot about myself and understood myself better through this comic’s process.

Layout Plan:

You can see that things were changed in the final from my layout plan X’D haha

In page 2, Mukuro’s 1st panel is changed so composition is better.

In page 3, after seeing Ryoko as Junko, Mukuro is reaching out her hand instead of placing it on her chest. I wanted it to feel like Mukuro wants to reach out to Ryoko at that moment, like trying to get a wish she knows isn’t real.

In page 5, binary code is replaced with texts from Danganronpa Zero’s story so it reinforces the idea of “a life already fully planned out”.

Lining Process:

I struggled with this part the most as anatomy and poses is not my strong point.

I asked my friend, Setsuya, for help with my poses and redrew the same pose many times for this comic. I really wanted to convey the feelings for this comic right especially since it’s very personal to me. Big thanks to her for helping me so much, I feel I improved a lot from this! 🥺 <3

1st panel of 1st page is the hardest to draw, I’m laughing at my first try of Mukuro who looks like she’s forced to be there 😂:

With suggestions from my friend of how to improve, I tried to improve everyone’s poses:

^ 

Mukuro’s pose was changed to look more fondly at Ryoko, happy to be there and relaxed haha.

Ryoko’s pose was changed to look more delighted and happy about the cake (Which helps to convey the line I removed from my script, “For giving me cake!”)

Matsuda’s pose was changed to look a bit more annoyed about still cares for Ryoko (shown by him still looking at her from the corner of his eyes even though his head is turned away)

And haha I forgot Ryoko’s legs can be seen due to the table frills being transparent, so I had to go back and draw her legs X’D

For this panel, a lot of thoughts went into what things I should place, how they are placed, and what kind of items it should be e.g.

I wanted it to tell the story of what happened before all the characters gathered here, what their feelings are towards each other, and how they are like as individual characters :3

I was thinking Mukuro and Matsuda love Ryoko so much they spoil her by buying a giant cake haha X’D So that’s why there’s a plastic knife instead of a real knife— to show that the cake was bought.

I think they decided not to cook as they would fight about it… (idk if they know how to cook tbh)

I chose strawberry shortcake cause white = purity and red strawberries = blood X’D Kinda like Ryoko-

I was about to draw neatly cut and placed cakes but I think... Ryoko is bad at cutting… X’D so the cakes are lying flat with the cream a bit splattered on their plates.

The table cloth, spoons and plates are all elegant and neat cause Mukuro prepared it for Ryoko :3 I don’t think Matsuda would be able to do that since he seems to not be a tidy person X’D but I do think he probably decided these items and arrangement with Mukuro :3

Here’s a random joke Matsuda + My roughly drawn Promised Neverland manga cover before I squeezed it on to his book haha:

I was going to make Matsuda read Megaman at first like in canon, but I felt making him read “Promised Neverland” was fitting as it helped me bring some foreboding to my happy setting. Like the promise never landed cause I’m going to break my happy promise/premise X’D 

I felt it was fitting too as Matsuda wasn’t met with a good fate like the Promised Neverland children.

Plus I feel Matsuda would like a genre like that, or perhaps he wouldn’t mind anything as he is a laid back character.

This pose was changed so Ryoko would look more reserved and have less of a romantic vibe? Cause the intertwined fingers felt a bit more romantic and off to me, as it wasn’t the vibe I was going for.

Feat. The paper sketch is my friend helping me with anatomy X’)

While writing sentences and drawing for Mukuro’s scenes, I was thinking of experiences I’ve gone through before and the feelings I felt then. 

The way I wished things could be different. I kept having dreams of happy endings I wanted to happen but then I would wake up to the tragic reality and cry.

The way I was suffering on the inside but still held on to this thing I perceived as “Hope” even though it was killing me and could be seen as “Despair” in another POV/or I already knew it was bad for me but it was also my only hope.

Symbolisms for this panel:

Carrying a candle-> holding on to hope/a wish.

Candle not blown out -> Mukuro's wish didn't come true (blowing out a candle means bringing your wish on smoke to the good spirits above to grant your wish) , her hoping leading to despair.

My pose was changed here as it is more natural for the hands to be like that, plus the other hand holding on to the arm greater empathise how Mukuro is holding on strongly to this candle.

The candle is melting and the wax is getting on her hand, burning her. Still, she refuses to let go which empathises how much she needs to hold on to this. Even as she grabs her own hand causing more pain from bleeding, she still needs this “hope.” 

Some colour tests for this panel:

I was considering blue fire because blue fire is stronger than red.... but then if it is a wish of hope, I was considering yellow too... but maybe it would be too happy? 

Mukuro is feeling sad and wishful in this panel. 

I ended up going for blue fire which gives off yellow light for a purposeful contradictory colouring— to show that what is perceived as despair can also be perceived as hope.

^ Some exploration for the poses here so I can figure out which conveys what I wanted to convey the best. I like the poses where Mukuro is reserved happy, Ryoko is more playful(?), Matsuda is more relaxed.

^ Exploration for the Junko slash pose. Ended up just going back to the original pose I had planned for the layout.

I found this super hard to draw as I’m not good at anatomy, drew it quite a few times and deleted as I couldn’t draw it right. In the end, my friend drew that pose reference which helped me get it right in final!

Reasons why I chose the original layout pose in the end:

Strangle pose-> I don't want to strangle Ryoko, not because it’s too violent or graphic or that she's 🥺uwu and I can’t kill her-

I just feel Junko doesn’t completely hate Ryoko... a part of her wants to live a happy life after all

But she can’t, that's why the words "A fabricated happy lie, I don’t want to live this!"

It's a lie and it's against her value (honesty).

Sword slashing pose-> Junko is directly jumping towards and has no hesitation slashing Ryoko. This feels off cause it’s too violent which doesn’t convey the message I want.

Sword is also stronger than knife, which would hurt more.

When I see the knife and how the body is twisted a bit away in the original layout pose, it works better as I can see some control to the slash so it's not full on hatred and anger towards Ryoko.

Random full drawing of this Junko before I cut it off for composition.

I find it easier to get the anatomy right if I draw the full thing and draw through everything.

^ I’m super sad at my failure for this :,) I didn’t intend it to be like that 😭 

It’s too hard for me to draw, so my friend helped me again and I chose a pose and studied her pose and drew the whole pose again:

I chose the 1st pose because the angle of the faces there best shows both character’s facial expressions and the emotions are the most important for this scene.

Plus 3/4 angle is better than the flat side view one as it helps make this scene more dramatic!

My friend helped me with the position of Junko’s tie:

reached max images for this post so,

WIPS continued in another post

[pippin-katz]

Voices We Don’t Hear

I was thinking about the scene in the cell down in Hell and wondering why it makes my heart clench so much even after having watched it so many times at this point, and I figured it out! It also led me noticing something in another scene that sticks out when it shows up. It’s the scene in the forest with Edwin and the Cat King.

It’s two lines of dialogue that I’m referring to: “This is all you are. Do you understand?” - Edwin from Ep. 6 “Hey, hey… let’s get you out of here.” - Charles from Ep. 7

These two lines have rare emotional tones for each of them. That sentence is a really bad way to say it, but I'll try to explain it.

We don't hear Charles speak in a soft voice often. He whispers down there in Hell and in Esther's kitchen, but I can't think of any other moments where Charles actually whispers. And there's something different about his voice in that line specifically. Because even though he's whispering, his voice is very clear and not breathy. With full whispering, the person's voice gets mostly obscured by that weird static-like/screen-filter that comes from talking that quietly, like Edwin's voice. (I have no idea how to describe what I'm talking about, but hopefully that's enough for you to understand lol)

So, even when Charles is speaking softly, it's not as quietly as he can. That line in particular is right after Edwin tells him what the demon does to him, and it's softer than all the others. And it's obvious why.

This is without a doubt the first time Charles has ever seen him like this: crying, small, scared, and so unlike himself. It's already heartbreaking. Then Edwin tells him about his torture, and he breaks down crying after managing to keep his most of his composure before.

If you look closely, Charles blinks a few times fast before he turns and cups Edwin's face. It's so dark and the lighting is so strange, but his eyes are shinier than they were previously. He forces himself to keep his focus on the task and being strong for Edwin, but he looks like he wants to cry.

Then he says that line so gently, so delicately while looking directly into his eyes while he holds his head between his hands. Charles voice is softer and a tiny bit strained from keeping his emotions in check.

It's the softest, most loving, and gentle moment of Charles in the entire show.

On the flipside, the line Edwin says to the Cat King is similar. Edwin definitely gets angry, frustrated, etc. and shouts and yells. But all of the people he yells at are people he has personal connections with, and the root of his distress comes from himself.

He yells at Crystal because he's having an anxiety attack after all the rapid changes to their routine, and bickers back and forth with her, but it's never truly malicious. He’s angry, but more importantly, he’s hurt. Crystal’s seeming lack of understanding of the weight of the importance is reminding him of how little people care. He snaps at Simon in Hell, but within minutes he calms down, recognizing how genuinely remorseful and ignorant Simon had been. He yells at Charles in a sort of angry-loving way on the staircase in Hell; he's not actually angry with him.

But in the forest, Edwin finds out that the boy he's been seeing and making friends with has been the familiar of the witch who wants to destroy them in disguise, and was pretending for at least some of their relationship. He also learns of all this because the Cat King exposes him rather than Monty confessing. He's hurt and angry, and then the Cat King pulls the "you owe me card" to try and get Edwin to kiss him even after all of the times he's rejected him.

He tells him off and goes to leave, but the comment the Cat King makes about dismissing him makes him turn around immediately. The way Edwin gets close to him, invading his space like he's done to him multiple times, and shoves the bracelet in front of his face.

There's real venom in his voice when he says the line. It's rough, gravelly, and it's obvious that Edwin has truly run out of patience for the Cat King's antics.

It is truly the angriest we see him in the show, at least from a standpoint of genuine anger toward someone he considers an adversary of some kind.

Edwin has no real relationship with the Cat King; he's basically his warden, the person who has trapped him in this town, and then treats him like he owns him. Given that it was a matter of diplomacy and caused by an error he made, he allowed the Cat King to have his fun to some extent, but in that forest, when he's just found out his new friend is actually a crow and there's a massive, ghost-eating mushroom monster threatening his and Charles' existence, he could not give less of a fuck about playing nice. He's frustrated and upset and stressed about so many different things all at once, and then this smug cat guy, who seems to think they're something more than a captor and his captive, has the audacity to say that Edwin owes him? Yeah, bye bitch! He is done.

I want to hear more of both of these versions of the two of them. I want to hear Edwin rip into an enemy, voice dripping with malice. I want to hear Charles comfort and reassure him (or anyone, but preferably Edwin) with that soft voice that is cherishing and gentle, treating him like something delicate that deserves to be handled with care after the universe has quite literally ripped him apart and crushed him.

(ko-fi)

[scripts4dreamers]

Me and my one (1) friend who has also had their brain corrupted by the blight (dragon age) have been fighting about this for two days but I’m so sure I’m right, so I humbly present my thesis to you lovely people.

1. After the events of the Veilguard, if Rook and Neve ended up together, Neve tries to leave you.

LET ME EXPLAIN! (Spoilers for the Veilguard ending)

I love Neve. She’s my favorite romance from Veilguard, she’s an incredible character and she does not deserve all the hate she gets. Having said that, she does 1000% try and leave Rook.

The one thing we know about Neve, almost from the moment we meet her, is that she is not a believer. She doesn’t believe Solas is a god, at first, she doesn’t believe anyone will have her back, she doesn’t believe Minrathous will improve and she doesn’t believe she’s going to survive this job. But still she fights on, not out of a genuine belief that she can win, but because she has a soft spot for lost causes.

Neve has devoted her life to being the champion of lost causes. She tells Rook that, even if this job doesn’t get her, one of them will. She risks her life, day in and day out, in service of a city that has done nothing but hurt her. Neve believes she’s a dead woman walking, and all she wants to do is go down protecting the people of Dock Town because someone has to. Someone has to.

And then she meets Rook and Harding and now gods are real, and they’re destroying the world and oh well everything was always going to go down in flames, so why not help out? She’s always been a magnet for bad news, for bad luck, for the worst of humanity, so why not spend her last days fighting for what little good is left?

She tries to fight falling for Rook, but they’re everything she wishes the world could be. They’re the lifeline she’s been waiting for since before the world forced her to stop believing. They’re good and kind and full of life and how can she do anything but love them for that? But she’s already dead, they’re both already dead and she can’t survive another loss.

She throws herself into loving them only after she lost them to the Fade. Only after Harding/Davrin died. After her world already ended, because that’s when she really realizes how quickly it can all end and how much time she wasted pushing people away. The goddamn WORLD IS ENDING and the person you love is THERE and they’re REAL and they WANT YOU, so why not? What is there to lose? It’s easy to love someone when the world is ending. It’s easy to love someone when you’re both already doomed.

But then the world doesn’t end. The sun rises on a blighted Minrathous and they’re both still alive, and now she’s faced with rebuilding. There’s so much work to be done, she’s a bloody, scarred mess and the job she was brought in for is over, isn’t it? She’s not a cool noir detective who died saving the world anymore, she’s someone’s partner, someone’s friend and lover and those aren’t jobs she had ever prepared herself to take.

Suddenly, without the haze of panic and the urgency of stopping the gods, things look different. She needs a new apartment. Minrathous needs a detective. Life goes back to normal and Neve still isn’t a believer.

Of course, everyone says they’ll stay in touch. Bonds formed that can never be broken and all that, but Neve knows better. You don’t hang around once the party is over. You don’t give the world more ways to hurt you, more people to take. You don’t give people a chance to leave you.

So she leaves first.

She regrets it. She hates herself for it. She cries herself to sleep wondering how she could be such a coward, but she leaves. She packs a bag, writes a goodbye letter and leaves before morning.

Now, do I think her and Rook get back together? Absolutely I do. I just think that, with all the events of Veilguard happening in such a short time, there’s going to be some major questions for all the companions once the dust settles, and leaving before you can be left is Neve Gallus’ answer to those questions.

[yuckiemouth]

help a girly out here and teach me how to masturbate step by step pls

TMI/OPEN THOUGHTS

Let’s see… I haven’t masturbated in a while because I be busy and my sleep schedule is actually giving me justice, but when I use to stay up, I’ll tell you what I did step by step… man I feel like a teacher 😭

1. PRIVACY

this is obvious, but some idiots get caught, so yeah if you’re able to, LOCK your door, me in a strict house hold, I don’t even have locks, but I never got caught either. So if you don’t have locks on your door or unable to even close it (cuz some parents be doing that), go to the bathroom or better yet, wait til everyone sleep.

If you’re a moaner, pillow rider, vibrator user, dildo user, turn your TV UP!!! Even if you don’t moan, big mama makes SQUELCHING noises, I’m talkin she be wet, so you don’t want no one walking past and be like “WTH?”

2. GET AROUSED.

mindlessly masturbating is such a waste, so I say really set the mood. Turn off the lights or dim them, or better yet LED lights. Optional if you wanna wear sum sexy. To get aroused properly, watch something that you’re attracted to, whether its lesbians, straight sex, BBC, roleplay, etc. whatever that ain’t my business, but if you aren’t able to (say if your parents took your device or your internet is just trash.) USE YOUR IMAGINATION. While imagining whatever you fantasize, caress your inner thighs, knead or suck your own tits, suck your fingers, slowly rub your clit through your underwear, etc.

3. HOW TO MASTURBATE 101 🤓

I ain’t no fingering ass bitch cuz I don’t feel a fuck thing so… As WOMEN, we should know where the clit is (I hope cuz if not where tf have you been?) anyway…. Depending on your anatomy, your clit has a hood (heavy skin) because it’s so fucking sensitive bro. I found out people don’t be feeling nun when they rub big mama is because y’all ain’t pulling the hood up, the mf ain’t cold, take the hood off!! BUT I MUST WARN YOU. Don’t rub yourself too hard because it could be hurtful and could possibly lose feeling on your clitoris, so if you’re rough with your fingers or overly sensitive, keep the hood over it, but if you’re not, PULL IT UP.

Now using your MIDDLE and RING fingers, it’s different strokes people use. The most commonly used one is circulating around it and rubbing side to side. But I’ll tell a little secret.

The way I get off involves 3 techniques.

First, I start off slow, controlled, and even roll my hips with it. Now after some time, I’m aroused, using my arousal as lube y’all hear me out… then i stimulate more by going faster, but soft on the touch. Once I feel like I’m ready, I press harder and go all out, then GOT YA! I’m a edger! I stop when I’m about to cum and slap it a bit to keep her stimulated. Yeah, yeah I know, I get mad TOO when I feel my high go down, but repeating it like 4 times, best nut you’ll experience.

So I circulate, go side to side, and spank her cuz why not. When I’m real horny and feeling rushed, it takes me 10 minutes, but if I have time, 30+.

4. HOW TO CLEAN UP

Now…. Me, this is from experience, I be all over the place. So I go to the bathroom, flush away that water weight, wash my hands and if you’re a squirter (which im not), girl you should already have a towel under you cuz who feel like changing sheets tbh… and NEVER masturbate with underwear, take them off before you even start.

Now people hate talking about it, but YES, masturbating has a smell and you probably won’t smell it because you’re the one doing it, but if another person walk in, they will smell a musky scent SIMPLY because your vagina is an open ORGAN closed with thighs, and you know what creates that? Heat! And you know what heat creates on your body? Sweat. And what SHOULD sweat smell like (since y’all be dirty a lil). MUSK. So to eliminate that smell around the whole room, keep your lower half under covers, use a candle, spray air freshener, keep the air on, inscents or whatever those are called. WHATEVER JUST BLOCK OUT THE SMELL.

And that’s all I got tbh….

[monstersflashlight]

Advent calendar: Day 20. Misfortunes and Sexullus Phallicus

A/N: This one is about Miss Santa, and let’s say she’s a holiday witch, to make it easier. Also this is very ridiculous and I love it, if it makes you cringe… I’m sorry (but not really). Enjoy! And happy Christmas Eve to those who celebrate!

Miss Santa x fem!reader || magic, sex pollen, dub-con, pegging, sex toys, dirty talk (kinda)

When you started dating Miss Santa, you weren’t expecting to be as many problems as there were. You expected it to be hard, because not everyday you started dating a magical being that could teleport and conjure shit out of thin air, but dang if it wasn’t even worse than you expected.

First week dating, you accidentally activated a magic spell that made all elves lose the holiday spirit for a whole day. Which didn’t seem too bad, but then you had to watch how mad they were when they had to work extra hard to recover that lost day of work. You apologized so many times the word lost its meaning.

When you were dating for a bit over a month, you accidentally sent the big dude (aka Klaus himself) a picture of you wearing only a red hat and two pom-poms… (Yeah, strategically placed.) You had to apologize to him, too, much to his amusement and your girlfriend’s dismay.

But the misfortunes didn’t end there.

You were visiting her in the office, looking around as she finished the paperwork for the day, when you saw a weird looking plant. “What kind of plant is this?” You asked, leaning in and inhaling deeply.

She looked up instantly. “Don’t smell tha-” She warned, but it was too late. “You smelled it.” She sighed, face palming as she stared at you. “What am I going to do with you?” She asked rhetorically.

“What?” You looked at her, confused and blinking slowly. Your brain felt a bit fuzzy. “What did I do now?”

“You inhaled the pollen of the Sexullus Phallicus,” she said as if that explained everything. You looked at her puzzled, expecting more information. “Sex pollen, my love, you inhaled sex pollen,” she said, sighing again and looking completely done with you. But the tiny smile at the corner of her lips reassured you a little.

“What’s going to happen to me now?” You asked, a bit confused, but most of all, a bit scared.

“You are going to get incredibly horny, and you’d be insatiable for a few days.” That didn’t sound too bad. Don’t look at me like that. It is bad. You are going to be needing to be filled constantly.” You smirked, liking the sound of that. “Sometimes I don’t know why I put up with you,” she added, all dramatic.

“Because you love me,” you sing-song-ed at her, smiling big. She tried to hide a mirroring smile, but she failed.

“We are in so much trouble,” she lamented a second later, picking up all the papers she was working on and stacking them in a neat pile. “We need to prepare, we need to move. We might not have enough time to get home…” She was panicking.

“Relaaaax, I’m all fine,” you told her, your hands fanning your suddenly too hot face. And then the pain started. “FUCK.”

She looked up instantly, staring at you and teleporting to your side in less than a blink. “What? What happened?”

“It hurts. It hurts,” you repeated over and over, falling to the ground and adopting a fetal position.

She looked anxious, her face turning a light shade of green. “What hurts, my love? Tell me so I can help.” She kept fussing over you, her hands hovering over your body because she wasn’t sure where to touch you.

“My pussy. I need you to touch my pussy,” you said between pants, your thighs rubbing together but providing no relief at all.

She choked on a breath, and you caught her almost laughing, but the frown on her beautiful face never left. “I gotcha, I gotcha… Don’t worry my love, we’ll get thru this. I’ll fuck you until you are so drained you can’t even blink without thinking about my cock.” Her words made you whimper. You want that. You want her cock.

“Please, Santa, please… I need your cock,” you begged, squirming on the floor, reaching for her and pulling her head down until you could kiss her lips softly.

The moment she snapped her fingers, she was naked and had a harness appeared around her narrow hips. Your heart was beating a thousand miles per minute. “Now, now… Who has been a naughty girl this year?” She asked, teasingly. You almost wanted to laugh at the silly pun, but your pussy was so wet and your clit so needy, that you could only whimper. “Sorry, sorry, my love. You know I joke when I’m nervous,” she apologized. “Are you ready?” She questioned either way, always worried about you.

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” you chanted. She snapped her fingers again and your clothes disappeared. You sighed in relief as she moved over you and positioned her purple dick over your clenching pussy. “Please, Santaaa…” You begged again.

“Whatever you desire, my love,” she whispered. She leaned down to kiss you deeply as her hips thrust forward until she was buried as deep as possible.

“Is not enough, not enough, not enough…” You shook your head from side to side, your body tensing under hers.

“Shit, okay. Okay.” She snapped her fingers again, and you felt your pussy filled to the brim, making you scream her name as you tried to wriggle your hips to get it deeper. “This size better?” You nodded vehemently, grabbing her by the hair and pulling strongly until she whined and started to fuck you with intent.

“More, more, more… Santa, more!” You kept telling her, as she puffed and huffed as she tried to go as deep and fast as possible. She was thrusting so hard your body was moving across the floor of her office, your hands scratching her back until you smelled blood.

It was glorious.

Your first orgasm was earth shattering, and you screamed her name so loud you were sure the big man heard you all across the north pole. But you didn’t care. All the world could be listening and you’d be chanting your love and adoration for her cock for them to hear.

But she didn’t stop. And you didn’t ask her to. You needed more. You needed all. So she kept pounding into you until you came, and came, and came again.

Her strength was starting to flatter after your fifth orgasm, but you still hadn’t had enough. So you flipped her over and started riding her with desperation. She was flushed and sweaty, her hair stuck to her face and her eyes glassy after such an effort. She’d never looked so hot.

At some point, she teleported you to your house, her dick never leaving your hungry pussy. It lasted three days, and she had to make you eat and drink as she kept you full of cock, using special enchanted dildos that kept fucking you even when she left for the bathroom.

By the time it ended, you’d never felt so well fucked in your life. She would never know that you did it on purpose, and you were the one who sent the plant to her…

A/N: Thank y’all for joining me for this Advent Calendar, it’s been so fun to write: I explored some kinks, wrote weird monsters, and overall I think it was a very fun experience, let me know what y’all thought.

[schlatt-love-bot]

Shy Schlatt x Reader Headcanon

First time meeting edition!

To everyone else, Schlatt appears to be a large grumpy man, intimidating those around him

He didn’t necessarily help this narrative when he openly picked on his friends around other people, and generally had a brooding attitude when he was in public

This all seemed to melt away the moment he laid eyes on you, though 

Smaller in statue, you would’ve fit perfectly in his side, tucked away under his arm, which kicked in his primal urge to become your protector

He noticed you during a Chuckle Week shoot, vaguely remembering how Ted mentioned that a college friend of his would be helping set up shots and other things during filming this week

He barely listened as Ted explained who you were, he couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, watching as you untangled some cords from Ted’s backpack

Apparently Ted called you over, as Schlatt barely noticed you talking as you introduced yourself, sticking out your hand to shake, looking up at him confused as to why you weren’t shaking his hand 

“I..I take it you’re not a hand-shaking greeter?” 

“O-Oh, uh…sorry toots, it’s not that I’m not a hand-shaker, I was just…lost in some, uh, thoughts. The name’s Schlatt, nice t’ meet ya.” 

You giggled at the encounter and walked away, while Ted let out an exasperated sigh 

“This is going to be a loooong filming week if you keep up that act, Schlatt.” 

Schlatt grumbled and playfully smacked Ted, telling him to shut up among…other choice words 

…ultimately, though, Ted was right. This was indeed the longest week of recording Schlatt had ever done, and it was all due to the pretty little dame behind the camera

Schlatt noticed when you would tune out of the conversation being had between him, Ted, and their guest, which is when Schlatt would become increasingly grumpier, even borderline aggressive at times

If you were listening, though? That man tried his hardest to act cool, but ultimately stumbled over his words and showed a bit too much of his softness

“Schlatt…buddy, my eyes are over here…” Connor, this episode’s guest, began to tease, causing heat to rise in Schlatt’s cheeks as he sent eye daggers in Connor’s direction

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Maybe if you were actually talking about anything interesting, I’d be a better listener! Ever think of that?”

He heard your stifled giggle coming from behind the camera and in turn beamed with pride 

At the end of the week, Schlatt grew grumpier and grumpier, knowing he would have to leave behind this pretty little thing to go back to New York, and Ted could sense it

“Yknow, if you want to leave with a good taste of LA on your tongue…(Y/N)’s totally into you, too. How? I’m not sure. I don’t know why anything with two legs and a pulse would want to go out with you, but she mentioned in passing the other day how ridiculously sexy she thought you were. Go for it, man!” 

Annoyed by Ted’s implications, his ears still perked at the thought of you finding him attractive, so back into the studio he went

He caught you while you were packing away some of the set props, trying to balance yourself on the seats to collect as many Sriracha and A1 bottles you could manage before you began to lose your balance 

“Woah...you gotta be more careful there, toots. Don’t want you to go hurting yourself, now. Can I…can I help you?” 

The way he held you in his arms made your heart stop, and your lack of response made him think you thought he was being a creep by holding you for so long

He quickly placed you back down onto the ground, clearing his throat, before pulling at the hem of his shirt looking for the words he wanted to say 

“So…I…uh, my flight outta here doesn’t leave until tomorrow night so…I was thinkin’...maybe you would wanna, I dunno, grab a bite to eat tonight?” 

He refused to make eye contact with you, one hand snaking around his neck, making you giggle

“Sir…are you asking me on a date?”

“You said it, not me…” 

“Well…” 

“Okay fine, it’s a date. Will you?” 

“Absolutely.”

"Cool, awesome. Here's my number, I'll...uh...pick you up at 5?"

"Sounds perfect, Schlatt."

He didn't want to show just how excited he was about it, (but he totally did) but he was absolutely geeked that he got a chance at a date

You might've caught him giving himself a little pat on the back as he exited the studio, not thinking you were paying any mind to him

ooooohhh!! i just love the idea of a softie schlatt!! i feel he's not portrayed as a softie or as shy very often, so i figured why not try my hand at it!! hopefully you all enjoyed!!

[softestqueeen]

just a kiss

pairing: aaron hotchner x afab!reader

summary: a kiss under the mistletoe with a certain casanova makes your boyfriend, aaron hotchner, question himself.

warnings: 18+ MDNI!! smut, p in v, fingering, jealous!hotch, hurt/comfort, jealousy fucking, slight breeding (i’m just a girl guys), unprotected sex (guys, don’t do that)

wordcount: 1990 words

a/n: better late than never guys, i really wanted to write something for christmas! I’m thinking about writing something short for spencer as well, but i don’t know how much time i will have. But anyways, merry christmas to those who celebrate! enjoy <3

“Oh oh, a mistletoe. You know what that’s means mama, come here and give me a kiss,” your good friend and colleague Derek was already rubbing his hands together before holding them out to you.

You decided to humor him, taking a step closer to him, definitely not expecting him to pull you in and tip you back. Letting out a surprised squeak, you tell Garcia, who was watching the spectacle with wide and curious eyes. “Don’t look Penelope, you don’t wanna see this.”

It was the last thing you said before Derek pressed his lips to you, pulling away with a loud smooch. He lifts you back on your feet again and lets out a laugh, quickly matched by your own laughter.

He gently pats your hip before leaving to join the others in their festive activities around Rossi’s mansion. Garcia immediately lets out an excited squeal which you only answer with a dismissive wave of your hand before following Derek into the heart of the party.

You don’t mind the kiss anymore, until you are alone with your boyfriend Aaron Hotchner. He was standing by the fridge, beer in hand and a frown adorning his handsome face.

Looking around to see if anybody was nearby, you step closer to him, going in for a kiss, which he tried to avert by moving his head. He gives you a tight lip smile before quickly leaving the kitchen, leaving you with a heavy heart and even more confusion.

Why was he acting so weird all of the sudden? Did you do something wrong the last time you saw each other? Yes, your relationship was secret, but you both agreed to keeping it from the team. So, what was wrong?

Following a harmless Christmas tradition under the cheers of Penelope already slipped your mind. You didn’t think it was that much of a deal.

A little while later, while Aaron was still avoiding you like the plague, the two of you unknowingly found yourself under another mistletoe. (damn you, Garcia)

You looked at your (secret) boyfriend, while the team cheared you on. “We don’t have to kiss in front of everyone, if you don’t want to, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s alright. If they want a show, let’s give them one,” Aaron answers you, a rare smile slipping through. His answer confused you, why was he suddenly talking to you like nothing happened?

Leaning up, you place a quick peck on his lips, briefly placing your hand on his arm. As quickly as it started it was already over again. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, knowing he was never one for PDA.

“Show’s over guys,” you announce before going to the kitchen to fulfil your actual plan of getting a refill for your drink.

Aaron silently follows you, even though he just left the massive kitchen. After watching you for a moment, he asked you the question that had been on his mind since you kissed Derek some time ago.

“Why did Derek get a real kiss?”

“What do you mean?” The confusion was written all over your face.

“Just now, under the mistletoe.” Oh, so that is what this is all about. He continues “I only get a small peck, but you kissed Morgan like it was the last time you would ever kiss someone” in a smaller voice he added “It almost seemed more real with him.”

“Aaron, are you jealous?” You almost let out a small laugh, but his almost pained expression made you hold back. In that moment he looked so small and vulnerable, avoiding your eye.

Stepping forward, you take his hands in yours and tell him “Listen to me now, Hotchner. You’re the only one that I want, yeah? I need you to know that.” Your hands now move to cup his face, his dark eyes meeting yours again, the uncertainty in them slowly fading again. “I only gave you a small peck because of the whole ‘we don’t want to tell the team about us” thing. And of course, when Mr. Flirty himself tips you back for a little smooch under the mistletoe you can’t really say no that easily. And why would I, a seemingly single woman refuse to kiss my very good friend Derek Morgan. But that doesn’t matter now, because you Mr. Aaron Hotchner are it for me, I don’t want anybody else. You understand me?”

Hearing you talk like this made Hotch almost feel a little bit silly. Of course, he loved you and knew that you loved him too. And deep down he knows that he never doubted that, but you kissing Derek made something ugly and green sprout in his mind and he was foolish enough to let it overshadow the love you shared.

“I’m sorry, of course I know. I love you like nobody else but seeing you with somebody younger and more charming made me question myself.” It pained you to know Aaron felt hurt by this.

“No, don’t be sorry. I promise I won’t kiss any more colleagues under the mistletoe. Ok, I think that’s a lie, I have the feeling Prentiss is just waiting for her opportunity.” Your joke had the anticipated effect, making you both laugh. Without thinking you lean up, meeting his already waiting lips in an almost passionate kiss. After parting , you both share a knowing look before departing and joining the party again.

++++

The party continued everybody – even you – oblivious to Aarons inner debate. Of course he knew that you were stable, especially after you reassured him, but something still didn’t let him enjoy the time, especially when you were talking to Derek or as as silly as it may sound, Prentiss. He couldn’t get your comment out of his head, even if it was a joke.

Thankfully there was not just the team at Rossi’s Christmas party, but also a lot of his other friends and fbi people, so it wouldn’t be noticed that the two of you were missing.

He quickly found you and thankfully you weren’t talking to anybody at the moment. Closing the distance, he leaned into you and whispered in your ear. “Meet me upstairs, the first bathroom to your left. You go ahead, I’ll join you in about five minutes, darling.” With a quick kiss to your cheek, he left you alone and went back to the party.

Even if you questioned his behaviour, you also trust this man with your life, so you went upstairs and waited. After almost exactly five minutes you heard a knock and a quiet it’s me, making you open the door.

The moment it was closed again, Aaron connected your lips with his and kissed you like his life depended on it. His hands immediately went to your waist, his grip never faltering for even a second. You let out a surprised squeal but weren’t unhappy with how things turned out, so you immediately returned the kiss with just as much enthusiasm, your hands wandering over his arms before letting them rest on his muscular chest.

The unit chief lead you backwards to the sink, turning you around and pressing you against it. The cool tile made you shiver, your thin dress making you feel every dip. You were quickly distracted though, now feeling Aarons massive body against you, his hard cock pressing against your back.

Feeling his length made you gasp. You boyfriends hands rested against your hips again, his lips trailing over the back of your neck and your shoulder.

“You look so beautiful in that dress; it almost kills me to act like I don’t care. Especially when I see everybody looking at you, but you’re mine, aren’t you?”

You were again surprised by his words. Was he really that jealous? Your only answer was a whined only you, before Aaron let his hand wander underneath your dress.

He started stroking your wet cunt through your wet panties, the kissing and his behaviour already having an effect on you. Pressing your ass against his erection, you let out a small moan.

Aaron wanted to be inside of you as fast as he could, so he didn’t hesitate to push your panties to the side and let his finger glide through your folds.

“Already so wet for me, baby. Do you want my cock?” As he was saying that, he slowly pushed one of his thick fingers into you, slowly pumping in and out of you while waiting for an answer.

After a moment you realised he was waiting for an answer, his fingers on you making it hard to concentrate. “Yes, Aaron, need you so bad.”

He swiftly added another finger, now slowly curling them inside of you, preparing you for his length. Letting out another string of moans, your grip his hand, signalling hm to go faster.

“Please Aaron, I’m so close.” It was more of a whine, your head dropping back against his strong shoulder.

Aaron reached forward, hugging your torso against him.

“Let go, come for me, now” it didn’t take more for you. With a breathless call of is name you came undone, your whole body trembling. Aaron supported your weight, his fingers slowly coming to a halt inside of you before pulling out, making you whine.

The unit chief placed a kiss upon your shoulder, before using his now free hand to open up his fly and pull out his rock hard cock. He gave himself a few slow pumps, spreading your remaining wetness over his length.

He properly bunched up your dress to your waist and pulled your panties to the side again, before lining his tip up with your hole. Slowly he buried himself inside of you, his hand now going to your mouth to muffle your moans.

Your eyes closed, you already anticipate the heavenly feeling of him rubbing against your walls and moments later he starts moving. First slowly, giving you a moment to adjust to his length, and then he starts pounding into you, as if to get you both to your release as fast as possible.

The only sounds in the small bathroom were skin slapping against skin and your mixed moans and groans.

Aaron moves his hand, gripping your face and directing it to the mirror in front of you. “Look at you, so pretty. All just for me. I’m the only one who gets to see you like this, huh?” His possessive words make your pussy throb and your walls contract around his cock. You’ve never seen your boyfriend act like this, but you weren’t complaining.

“Only you Aaron, only you,” you breathed out, already feeling your release, the coil in your stomach threatening to snap.

“Please Aaron, I’m so close. Please cum with me, fill me up,” was all you could get out before your whole body started to tremble again, your second orgasm hitting you even harder as the firs. If it wasn’t for your boyfriend holding you up, you would have already slumped forward.

“Fuck,” was all Aaron could get out before his cock twitched and released inside of you. He halted his movements and buried himself to the tilt, now using both of his hands to hug you close to him.

Once you’ve both calmed down, he pulled out and moved your panties back and your dress back down.

“Don’t wipe it away, leave it as a reminder as to who you belong to.” He told you gentle, before adding, “I’m going to go back to the party, follow me after a few minutes.”

He placed another kiss against your lips before pulling away completely to leave the room, leaving you breathless and satisfied.

You were both sure about your relationship now and even when Prentiss eventually gets you under the mistletoe and leaves a very passionate kiss on your lips, the wetness in your panties is a gentle reminder to who you belong to.

a/n: i hope you liked this, if so please leave some notes, likes, reblogs and comments! feedback is very appreciated! i’d like to write more with criminal minds characters, so if you have any ideas/requests lmk!!

please also consider supporting my ao3: @ softestqueeen

requests open!

taglist: @silvermagnolias @milywatermelon @bigbananaa

[genderqueerdykes]

not a question but thank you so much for talking about transandrophobia omg. i feel like i’m going crazy when people try to assert trans men automatically gain all the privilege cis men have, or even that they deserve worse treatment for “wanting to be men.” being transmasc is truly beautiful <3

it literally drives me insane when people claim that trans men instantly gain cishet male privilege the second we come out. most if not all trans men never gain that privilege to begin with. they are not treated or viewed the same way as cishet men. they're clawing and fighting for their lives to be seen as men, period, let alone to be treated like a man, or to be given the benefits that come with being a cishet man.

and i've seen that too. that people think that trans men and mascs literally DESERVE to suffer and be treated like shit. i think that sentiment is really rampant right now. like pissed off transphobic transfems blame trans men for the issues they have with cisheternormative patriarchy and it's placing the blame on the wrong person. transmascs are not actively oppressing trans women by virtue of being men.

trans men are also systemically oppressed. like this sounds rude as hell but as someone who is transfeminine, i really have to sit here and say "the trans community isn't about you." like yes, the trans community is here for us transfems, we belong in general trans spaces just like everyone else. but the general trans community isn't the trans woman community. like i just hate that people are trying to chase out everyone but transfems at this point.

it's so pointless. so many transfems get indoctrinated into rad feminism and do rad fem's work for them by torturing trans men and telling them that they're just confused women. i have never, in my life, seen more corrective rape threats than i have when trans men start opening up about the oppression they face. hell i've gotten them from other transfems before. it's disgusting how we don't confront this behavior.

that is what cisheternormative society does to trans men. why are you perpetuating it from the inside? why are you proudly transphobic? why are you hurting people to try to relieve your pain? hurting someone else will never undo the damage done to you. it's the cycle of abuse. you have to break it. you can't allow the cisheternormative patriarchal cycle of abuse to be practiced within our own walls without it biting you in the ass, too. it's bullshit

[choc-ice-on-wheels]

Humor me but I was trying to explain to my friend about how it feels to enjoy trains. Even as a novice I cannot help but romanticize them and wanted my friend to see through the mind of an engine or how I imagine an engine sees itself.

Imagine being so strong and nothing can really hurt you. You’re in a perfectly safe space made just for YOU (the rails) And your job is to go FAST as fast as you were made to be. Or to be strong and to be as strong as you were made to be. You were made to be fast and strong! There was intention in your design. Science, engineering, something real, something you aren’t taught to believe in the walls of a church. Power you can touch, see, and feel. You are imagination made real!

A person has to live under constraints and social pressure. And although you were made for people, their rules that restrict you like speed restrictions or what color you must be painted will never eclipse the truth of what you are and what you were meant to be.

Imagine being a thing built to work and LOVING to work and WANTING to work and when you’re tired, there are people who will fix you and you pay them with your work which also pays you! You are compensated by your mere existence and your usage! And people tell you you’re marvelous and strong and beautiful and it’s true because you are!

It’s like!!! Living an absolute perfect truth. And when you’re speeding down the track whistling as loud as you can for you’re meant to be loud and going as fast as you can because that’s what you’re meant to do; when you’re doing that, you’re living in perfect happiness.

The happiest one could ever be! No biological desire no concept of denying yourself your ultimate calling. Just doing what you’re made to do and loving it unconditionally. And being praised for it and never needing money because it means nothing to you! Incredible.

I just think it would be the most amazing feeling ever. But also!The saddest feeling to be broken! To be unused and waiting in a museum or a siding or a scrapyard. To be told you’re useless. To be melted down for some unknown purpose and to never feel the wind across your frames again and to never scream at your highest pitch that you’re alive and you’re loud enough to drown out the rest of the world! To be silent and only to take up space until you are removed from the beautiful rails and destroyed.

To no longer be what you were made to be. So cold you crack and rust away. And people only speak of your glory in past tense and blame you for things you couldn’t control.

Didn’t I do a good job?

Didn’t I pull? Didn’t I push trucks around nicely? Didn’t you get to where you needed to go? Did I ever treat your destinations as unimportant? Did I ever ask you to justify the direction I took you in? All I ever asked was to be what I was meant to be.

Now you say I’m too expensive. That I take up space. That no one will take care of me anymore. That I’m bad for the Earth I was made from and the living things on it I was made for. Why is this my fault?

Why is any of this my fault? When you made me this way?

Didn’t you benefit from what it took to give me power? Weren’t we all working together? I’m not sorry. I’m just sad.

So many times that came that never had to. So much work left undone. If I were an engine with my life cut short, how I’d cry over the loss of what could have been!

But no one would hear me. I can only be heard when I’m doing what I was made for. My truth only can be spoken when I’m given a voice.

I don’t know! I think trains are neat.

[kurishiri]

Alfons Sylvatica ┊ Chaotic Night

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ notice ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— happy christmas, friends! i present to you...a halloween story lmao this is alfons' story from the chaotic night collection event (featuring will and nica)!

— cw: some suggestiveness, but no portrayed smut.

Due to having ingested the Queen of the Night flower, the Cursed ones’ appearances have changed——

And pulling my hand, Alfons brought me to his room.

Kate: Why did you bring me to your room?

Alfons: You’re asking me that in earnest? There are brutes, all with their Curses amplified, riddled about, you know?

A: With you around, why you’d be gobbled right up.

Kate: But, everyone’s appearance has changed and there may have been changes in their condition... I would think there’s quite a bit of inconvenience.

K: I’m not affected by this, though, so I figured there was something I could do to help or take care of those around me...

Alfons: I do understand the sentiment of wanting to take care of others, but you may end up worrying too much.

A: Just like the ‘Queen of the Night,’ our sins have also amplified...

A: So I would imagine everyone is trying their hardest to hold in the impulses smoldering in their chests.

A: It would be in our best interest to lay low then.

(He does have a point there...)

Kate: ...Alright then, I’ll stay here quietly.

Alfons: Oh, but if your soft and good heart stirs so much and you want to look after someone so much you can hardly bear it, then do take care of me.

A: See, dear me, Alfons’ appearance has changed as well, and what a dire situation he is in, yes?

...was what he said, as I once again looked over his body.

(For some reason, he’s wrapped around in gauze...)

(He’s not wearing a costume, and he’s looked like this since he ingested the queen of the night extract, right...?)

As gauze was not meant to be put on and removed by one’s own volition, even if he lightly pulled on it, it wouldn’t come off.

Kate: With that look... are you hurt anywhere, or did you go through any pain and whatnot?

Alfons: Hardly. My whole body from head to toe — oh, and this place too — is thriving.

(‘This place’...?)

Kate: Umm... if that’s the case, then it’s fine for now.

K: But, now that I’m looking at it again, it’s kind of strange... why do you look like that?

Alfons: In fact, that was exactly what I wanted to ask you, Kate.

A: You would be the one to know why I’m taking on such a form.

A: After all, whatever appearance I take on is a reflection of your desires.

Kate: Your appearance reflects my desires...? What do you mean?

Alfons: Up until now, I have been showing others illusions.

A: And so, if the extract amplified such an ability...

A: Then, even without touching the back of the other’s neck, I would be able to show them what they wish to see, perhaps?

A: ...Besides that, it was when you laid your eyes on me that I changed appearance.

Kate: B-but I don’t ever want you hurt in the slightest!

Alfons: That is the least I can tell, even without your passionate declaration.

A: You are hardly the type to wish harm on me.

Kate: Then why...

Alfons: Hmm, well...

A: ...Ahh, I have an inkling. This is Japonisme, isn’t it?

Kate: Japonisme... you mean how the culture and art from a country called Japan became a trend?

Alfons: Exactly that. In Japan, there is a type of clothing called a kimono, you see...

A: And within that is a part called the obi [1], in which all will be laid bare with one flourish... was a part of their culture.

A: Oh, and by the way, when it’s been removed, the wearer would shout, ‘Oh me, oh my!’ while falling upon the bed.

Kate: ...Was that really a thing?

Alfons: Who knows? I, too, have only ever heard it in passing... well, anyhow, what I wanted to say was...

A: You probably wanted to wrap me in bandages before pulling it all off in one go.

Kate: Wh— why would I be into that sort of naughty thing...!?

Alfons: But you could have been influenced by me, no?

Kate: ...It pains me to admit that I can’t completely argue with that.

Alfons: Ahha! I won’t judge no matter how many strange hobbies you hold, you know?

A: How about you try to take them off, just to test the theory?

(Just what desire of mine caused Alfons to take on such an appearance, I wonder...?)

(It’s not as though I particularly like bandages...)

Then, while thinking about my own tastes...

Alfons: Urgh...

Alfons let out a small groan.

Kate: Did something happen!?

Alfons: The bandages around me wrapped even tighter... and it’s become a tad painful.

Kate: Wha...

Alfons: ...Ahh, but worry not. I do feel being bound to your desires like this isn’t so bad...

As Alfons said that, his expression looked a little pale. He was clearly holding it in.

(I need to stop my desire quick, or Alfons will continue to be in pain like this...!)

(Bandages... bondage... just what’s the reason? What in the world am I wishing for...!?)

I continued to mull on it as hard as I could, in hopes of saving Alfons... when it was then I realized.

(Could it be...!)

Kate: Alfons, say, ‘There’s only the two of us in this room’ to me!

Alfons: ...? ‘There’s only the two of us in this room’...

Albeit hesitant, Alfons said those words, and...

Alfons: Ah... the bandages feel more loose.

Kate: Thank goodness... which would mean my guess was right.

Alfons: Care to explain?

Kate: Well... the other day when we went out to eat together, there were a lot of women in the shop...

K: And many of those women seemed pretty taken by you, so...

K: I ended up thinking, ‘If only nobody else could see Alfons...’

Alfons: Hehe... I see now. So that’s what it was.

A: You didn’t want anyone else seeing me, and so by wrapping me all around in bandages, you could hide me away... is that it?

A: In that case, ‘there’s only the two of us in this room’ would make sense.

A: If it’s just the two of us, there is nobody but you to see me, so there would be no need to wrap me up in bandages then.

Kate: So it really was my desire that left you looking like this... I’m really sorry.

Alfons: Why the apology?

A: To see your earnest love manifest in a way that’s easy to understand is rather a good thing, no?

A: Love is an invisible thing, and at times I do question its existence. But... to see it like this, it does put me at ease.

With an amused smile, Alfons kissed me.

The heat and sweetness of those lips melted away my guilt.

Alfons: ...Say, Kate. There is only the two of us in this room, with no one to interrupt.

A: So what would follow then?

Kate: T-that...

I was too embarrassed to form any more words, but it no longer had anything to do with whether I said it or not.

My desire unbound Alfons’ bandages, causing his clothes to become disheveled on its own.

Alfons: ...You’re quite naughty, aren’t you, Kate.

While laughing happily, Alfons pushed me down on the bed.

Each of us consuming a jumbled mess of Curses and love, this Chaotic Night was just getting started.

Fin.

masterlist🪞 ┊ ko-fi ☕️ ┊ comms🤍

NOTES:

[1] The obi refers to the part of the kimono, traditional Japanese clothing, that is a sash. It might look something like this.

[islandofthedollz]

❤︎Jimmy’s voicemail ❤︎

⁠❥TW implied Rape, blood, implied blackmail

❥ You’re Ex boyfriend Jimmy leaves you voice mail.

“Hey (Y/N). Thought I’d call you. This is probably the, what? Probably the 16th voicemail I’ve left you.”

“I know that one time you answered… and you said… what’d you say? You said that you’d call the police or something? File a restraining order? One of those. I don’t really remember. My memory has been weird these days, maybe it’s the alcohol, but um… I just wanna tell you some things.

I wished you would’ve just picked up the phone… the last time I heard your voice I was hard for hours. I’m gonna have to start recording your voice now. It’s embarrassing, but I’m having trouble getting it up without you.”

“Did you get the poem I sent you it reminded me of you? I’m sure you have, I mean, you’re fucking obsessed with me like I’m of you. I saw a poetry book… I saw it in your apartment that time I fucked you. I know you try to pretend like you’re not obsessed but trust me, I know. Fuck, you’re the prettiest girl there is.”

“My favorite line of the entire thing is when I talk about- when I talk about taking your heart out and ripping my chest open and putting your heart inside me…”

“If you had no heart, you wouldn’t be able to love at anyone else, would you? You’d stop making me so fucking jealous. You love making me jealous, don’t you? You..like playing hard to get. You like it when I’m jealous, want me to fuck you when I’m jealous. You’d like that wouldn’t you?

Fucking you with my cock until you’re crying? Little crybaby, acting like she doesn’t want to, like she doesn't want it.”

“I’m gonna get you one day, you know… one day. I’ll cut your fingers open and collect your blood… wear it around my neck and you’ll wear mine so everyone knows you’re mine. You’re already mine, just no one seems to know it yet. It pisses me off… I want you so fucking bad, baby.

You have no clue. I think about you all the time; all my poems are about you, you know I read them to curly he says say it’s nice that I found another hobby that isn’t weightlifting don’t you agree?”

“you know my favorite one is… where I wrote about how I want to hold your hand and kiss you. About how I just want to be with you, you know? But, um, the dirty ones are especially about you.”

Jimmy chuckles there’s a pause he sighs.

“Listen, I don’t really know what I did for this kind of treatment, babe. I’m starting to get a bit impatient. You don’t respond to my messages, my calls… you’re starting to hurt my feelings. Do you realize how that I die a little bit on the inside when you don’t call me back?”

“But you just love to play hard to get… fucking ignoring me. Hell, I even asked you out and you said no. Do you… do you realize my love for you? Do you realize who the fuck you said no to?

I love you so much it hurts I don’t care who gets in the way of out love. No one is gonna separate us. I’m always watching you. You need me as much as I need you. I know you want me, you’re just teasing me.”

“But you… you know I love it when you tease. Told you that myself, huh? All those times I teased my cock with your cunt… you liked it too, I remember. Yeah, you may have been drunk but you were moaning like a whore.

They say even in your drunkest state you’re honest. if You were moaning, you came so many times, remember? Came all over my cock. You said- you said in your little voice ah, Jimmy , harder! Remember?”

“I was a good fuck wasn’t I? You were saying I was a bit rough and you mentioned how you thought you were bleeding. I mean, if that’s what you’re into. I don’t mind a kinky girl.

I’d prefer one, actually. Maybe that’s why I love you so much we’re so alike. You wanna be my slut, do you? Hm…”

“It would be a shame if your family found out… they’d probably never talk to you. All your dirty little secrets brought to light, and yeah, I know you have secrets. If you don’t want those to come out, you better fucking call me back. You have my number.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Swimming | Sebastian Sallow x OC #59

Summary: ;)

Words: ~8,400

Tags: Confessions, Mutual Pining, Smut Adjacent

Timeline: Early September

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

Evangeline froze, her mind momentarily blank as Sebastian’s shirt hit the sand. She hadn’t expected him to take her seriously. The idea of swimming had been a passing remark, something to fill the silence between them and steer them away from the weight of their earlier argument. And yet here he was—barefoot, bare-chested, and completely unapologetic about it.

The fading light cast a soft glow that caught on the planes of his chest and shoulders, highlighting every defined muscle and faint scar. He’d grown broader in the past few months, and it was all on display—the hard edges and smooth planes of him, the breadth of his chest and the angular cut of his abdomen.

Her eyes couldn’t help but wander, tracing the faint smattering of freckles that dotted his shoulders, subtle and almost boyish against the otherwise sharp lines of him. Her gaze lingered, catching on the faint trail of hair below his navel that disappeared beneath the waistband of his trousers, and heat crept into her cheeks despite the coolness of the night air.

Evangeline swallowed hard, tearing her gaze away and forcing her thoughts back into order. She hadn’t meant for things to go like this—not after the way she’d stormed off, her emotions raw and exposed. She knew why Sebastian had followed her, why he’d come looking for her. He’d wanted answers. Closure. Something to mend the fracture between them. And yet, since the moment he’d arrived, he hadn’t pressed. He’d been patient, careful even, letting her dictate the pace of their conversation.

That patience was what had thrown her off the most.

Evangeline knew Sebastian. She knew his pride, his stubbornness, his instinct to charge headlong into everything, to fix things with grand apologies and passionate words. But tonight, he hadn’t done any of that. He’d stopped short of an apology, stopped short of pushing her to talk. Instead, he’d waited. For what, she wasn’t sure—her temper to cool, perhaps, or for her to make the first move. Maybe even for her to tell him to leave. And now, this strange in-between had settled over them, fragile but strangely comforting.

She’d been talking so calmly with him—not because she wasn’t still hurt, but because she wasn’t ready to face the inevitable. The confrontation they’d been skirting around all evening. The confrontation she knew she couldn’t avoid forever. It would come, and when it did, it would leave them either stronger or broken. And she was terrified of the latter, so she’d kept things light, conversational, even teasing. Anything to delay the moment when everything might come crashing down.

“Well?” Sebastian said, his voice breaking through her thoughts. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his dark eyes glinting in the fading light. “Don’t tell me you were bluffing.”

Evangeline’s mind raced as she tried to summon a coherent response. “I—uh…” She cleared her throat, dragging her gaze away from him and fixing it firmly on the lake. "Do you really expect me to... to just jump in?"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. “What’s stopping you?” he asked. “You were the one lamenting the lack of swimming in our lives.”

“That was hypothetical,” she countered, crossing her arms defensively. “You’re the one who's turning it into a reality.”

“Exactly,” he replied, now reaching for the button of his trousers. “So come on."

Evangeline blinked, averting her eyes. "I can't just go into the water in my dress Sebastian," she managed to retort. “The, um. The boning in the corset will get ruined, and do you have any idea how expensive these things are?”

Sebastian blinked, clearly not expecting the sudden turn into practicality. “Expensive,” he echoed, looking vaguely bewildered. “Right. Of course. You dress has boning… and it's expensive.”

“Yes, and I’m not about to ruin it just because you’ve decided tonight’s the night for an impromptu swim,” she replied more steadily now, folding her arms and glaring at him.

He tilted his head, studying her for a moment before realization dawned on his face. A flicker of something she couldn’t quite place passed through his expression—nervousness? Determination?—but he quickly schooled it into his usual smirk. “Alright,” he said, voice a little quieter now. “Then we’ll fix that.”

She raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Fix what, exactly?”

Sebastian stepped closer, his confidence faltering slightly as he cleared his throat. “The dress. I can, uh… help you take it off.”

Evangeline’s eyes widened, heat rushing to her cheeks. “What?”

He held up his hands, his face turning a faint shade of pink. “Look, I’m just saying—if the corset back is the only thing keeping you out of the water, then I’ll help. That’s all."

She stared at him, caught somewhere between mortification and disbelief. “Sebastian, are you seriously offering to—”

“Undo the laces? Yes,” he interrupted, though his tone was uncharacteristically careful. “I’m not about to let you sit this out because of a stubborn bit of boning.”

Evangeline bit her lip, torn between laughing at his audacity and retreating entirely. But the truth was, she didn’t want to leave. For all her inner turmoil, being here—just here—with him was better than the alternative. Better than walking away entirely, better than facing what the world outside this quiet moment demanded of them.

"Okay," she said slowly, her cheeks burning as she glanced down at the lake rather than meet his gaze. "But... you do realize that under this, I’m only wearing…" She hesitated. "You know… ."

Sebastian, who had taken a step closer, visibly stiffened. For a moment, and she could swear his ears turned a shade darker under the moonlight. But instead of retreating, he cleared his throat and nodded, doing his best to appear unbothered.

"Yeah, it's fine," he said, though his voice was just slightly too quick. He gestured to his trousers, his smirk returning but with an edge of bashfulness that made it feel less like a tease and more like a reassurance. "I won't be diving in fully dressed, will I? So, you’ll be in your underthings. And I’ll be in mine. Completely fair. No big deal, right?"

Evangeline blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. No big deal? He was saying it so casually, as if the thought of both of them standing there, practically undressed after they'd just had a shouting match, wasn’t completely mortifying. "Right," she said faintly, trying to sound more composed than she felt. "No big deal."

Sebastian stepped closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried, as if he were giving her every chance to stop him. Evangeline felt the shift in the air before she heard the faint crunch of sand beneath his feet, his presence settling behind her like a steadying force. The warmth of him, so close yet not quite touching, sent a ripple of awareness down her spine.

Her breath hitched as she sensed his hesitation, a momentary pause that felt like the calm before a storm. Then, with a touch so light it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against the ties of her dress.

Evangeline had been in love with Sebastian for so long that she’d imagined him undressing her countless times in the privacy of her own thoughts—moments steeped in longing, tenderness, and stolen intimacy. But she’d never, never expected it to happen in a scenario like this: standing barefoot at the edge of a moonlit lake, her cheeks aflame and her corset undone by his hands under the guise of practicality after they'd just stumbled out of a heated argument that neither of them had truly resolved.

Her breath hitched as his fingers worked at the laces, each pull sending a jolt of something unfamiliar through her. She couldn’t deny the thrill of it, nor the longing it dredged up, raw and unrelenting. But with it came a rush of self-consciousness—her mind spinning with the thought of him seeing her, really seeing her, with nothing to hide behind but her own vulnerability.

The ties loosened one by one, and her pulse quickened. Of course, this wasn’t the first time they’d shared an intimate moment. The memory of the Prefects’ Bath flickered through her mind, that night when they’d both shed their clothes and submerged themselves in the steaming water. But there had been bubbles then, clouds of froth that had kept her modesty intact.

Now, there were no bubbles to shield her, no warm water to obscure the curves and imperfections she tried so hard not to dwell on. It was just him, her, and the moonlight, casting its soft glow over everything she wanted to hide.

“There,” Sebastian murmured, his voice low as he finished untying the last of the laces. He stepped back, giving her space, though his fingers lingered for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. “You’re free.”

She swallowed hard, clutching the loosened bodice to her chest as she turned her head slightly, just enough to catch his expression out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t looking at her, not directly—his gaze was fixed somewhere over her shoulder, his jaw tight, as though he were making a conscious effort to give her privacy.

“Thanks,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.

Sebastian cleared his throat, stepping back further. "Sure."

Evangeline stood motionless for a moment, watching as Sebastian now worked at the button of his trousers.

Steeling herself, she glanced around for somewhere to place her dress. Her eyes landed on a flat, dry rock a few feet away, its surface smooth and clean. Perfect.

With trembling hands, she finally let the rest of her dress slip away. The cool night air kissed her exposed skin, and a wave of self-consciousness hit her like a crashing tide. She was bare now, save for the lace of her bra and underwear, and every one of insecurities clawed its way to the surface.

The stretch marks she bore from the rapid weight loss and gain after fifth year—the ones that etched themselves across her hips and stomach and thighs—seemed glaringly obvious under the moonlight. The soft curve of her belly, the rolls on her back, the dimpled skin of her thighs. The scars from Quidditch mishaps and childhood scrapes. She felt the weight of it all, the imperfections she had long tried to accept but never quite could. Here, under the stars, it felt as if the world could see them all, and most painfully, so could he.

Sebastian, having finished unbuttoning his trousers, let the fabric slide down his legs before stepping out of them, leaving him in nothing but his briefs. The moonlight caught on the lean strength of his frame—the broad shoulders, the taper of his waist, the long lines of his legs. His hair, dark and tousled, fell slightly into his eyes as he reached down to gather his trousers, balling them put before tossing them up the beach.

Swallowing hard, Evangeline started toward him, hoping to slip into the water before he could get a proper look at her bare form. The cool sand pressed against her feet as she stepped closer to the water’s edge, her arms wrapped tightly around her midsection in a subconscious attempt to shield herself.

But Sebastian turned at the sound of her approach, his gaze instinctively flickering toward her before quickly darting away, as if realizing too late the vulnerability of the moment. His jaw tightened, and he cleared his throat. "Uh, tell me how the water is?"

She let out a breathless laugh, part nervous and part exasperated as she waded into the lake. The coolness bit at her toes, and she focused on the sensation, letting it ground her as she moved deeper into the lake.

Sebastian, to his credit, kept his gaze firmly fixed on the water in front of him. His posture was stiff, his usual air of nonchalance tempered by a rare, palpable awkwardness.

“It’s cold,” she said finally, her voice cutting through the silence. “Refreshing, though.”

He nodded, still not looking directly at her. "Good. That’s… good."

Evangeline couldn’t help but smirk, despite her own nerves. “You can stop pretending you’re suddenly fascinated by the lake, you know. I’m already in the water.”

Sebastian glanced at her, his expression sheepish. “Just trying to be a gentleman,” he said, his smirk returning, though it was softer than usual.

“Well,” she said, now swimming toward the center of the small lake, “if that’s the case, you’d better get in before I change my mind about this whole thing.”

His laugh was low and warm as he followed her, the ripples of the water spreading outward with each step he took.

"You're right," he agreed. "It's refreshing."

They swam in companionable silence for a while, the cool water easing the sharp edges of their tension but not erasing it entirely. It still hung in the air between them, weighty and unspoken, like a storm waiting for the right moment to break.

Meanwhile, the quiet sounds of the lake surrounded them—the gentle ripple of water as they moved, the distant call of an owl, and the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Evangeline tilted her head back, her eyes tracing the endless stretch of stars above them. The sky seemed alive with shimmering light, so vast and serene that, for a moment, it almost allowed her to forget the weight in her chest. Almost. But the knot of their unresolved argument still coiled tightly within her, tugging at the edges of her calm. It was in the way Sebastian’s movements in the water were just a touch too deliberate, in the way he kept glancing at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was waiting. And she knew why.

Sebastian, maintaining his patience, let out a contented sigh. “You don’t get skies like this in London,” he said, his voice low and reflective. “Too much smoke. Too much noise.”

Evangeline turned her head toward him, tracing his features as he gazed up at the sky.

“You miss it, don’t you?” she asked, her voice soft as her eyes traced the stars above. “Feldcroft, I mean.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, still gazing upward. “I do. The peace. It’s hard to find a place like this anywhere else. London’s too loud. Too busy.”

“It’s nice that Feldcroft will always be here for you to come back to,” she replied lightly, her tone tinged with a wistfulness she hadn’t intended. Their conversation slipped into a comfortable quiet again as they floated, the water cradling them in its cool embrace.

But the serenity didn’t last.

The splash caught her off guard, a sudden burst of cool water striking her arm and sending a shiver through her skin. She flinched, startled, her eyes snapping to Sebastian, who wore an expression of feigned innocence that only made her suspicion grow.

It wasn’t much—just a small, lazy flick of his hand through the water—but it shattered the fragile tranquility of the moment. For a second, she didn’t move, her mind racing to catch up with the unexpected interruption.

“Did you just...?” she began, her brow furrowing as she stared at him.

Sebastian shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching upward as though he couldn’t quite hold back a grin. “What? I didn’t do anything.”

Evangeline narrowed her eyes at him, her confusion giving way to incredulity. “Oh, you didn’t, did you?”

“Not a thing,” he said, his voice light, almost teasing. But there was something beneath it, something she couldn’t quite name—a tension he was trying to hide behind the playful glint in his eyes.

For a moment, she just stared at him. The shock of the gesture had faded, replaced by a flicker of realization. Maybe he wasn’t just waiting for her to bring up the inevitable—maybe he was delaying it too.

The thought unsettled her, but it also... softened something inside her. The weight of their argument, the tension that had lingered all evening, hadn’t disappeared. But maybe neither of them wanted to face it just yet.

Narrowing her eyes, she cupped her hands and sent a splash of water straight back at him. He yelped, sputtering as it hit him square in the chest.

“You’re going to regret that,” he said, his grin widening as he retaliated with a much larger splash.

Evangeline shrieked, laughing as she tried to shield herself from the spray. “Stop!” she cried, though her words were punctuated with giggles.

“Not a chance,” he called back, dodging her next attempt and kicking up another wave.

The fight escalated quickly, their laughter ringing out into the quiet night. Evangeline managed to land a few solid splashes in retaliation, sending water cascading over Sebastian’s shoulders and face. He grinned, his eyes alight with mischief, and waded further out, using the deeper water to his advantage as he sent another wave her way.

Evangeline shrieked as the cold water hit her square in the face. “Sebastian Sallow!” she yelled, trying to sound indignant, though her laughter betrayed her. “You are so dead!”

“Catch me if you can, Sterling!” he shot back, already swimming toward the shallows.

Without thinking, she followed. Her legs churned through the water as she tried to close the gap, but Sebastian was faster, his strides growing longer as he reached the shore and took off running along the sandy bank.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” she called after him, determination sparking in her chest as she splashed onto the shore and gave chase, her earlier self-consciousness forgotten in the heat of the moment.

The cool sand shifted beneath her feet as she sprinted after him, the night air whipping around her damp skin. Sebastian glanced back over his shoulder, his grin wide and triumphant even as he saw her gaining on him.

But then her foot caught on an uneven patch of sand, and her balance wavered. She let out a startled yelp as she stumbled forward, her arms flailing in an attempt to steady herself.

Sebastian turned just in time to see her slip, his instincts kicking in. In a heartbeat, he was there, catching her around the waist before she could hit the ground. The force of her momentum sent them both stumbling.

In the aftermath, Evangeline froze, her breath catching as she registered what had just happened. She was sprawled against Sebastian, their bodies tangled together on the sand. His arms were wrapped firmly around her, his grip warm and steady as if to shield her from the fall. Her hands, instinctively braced against his chest, registered every inch of lean muscle beneath her palms, slick from the water.

Her chest was pressed to his, her damp bra and doing little to disguise the softness of her. His legs bracketed hers, their bodies aligned in a way that left no room for misunderstanding. She could feel the heat radiating off him despite the cool night air, the firmness of his hands pressing into the plushness of her waist, grounding her.

They had been close before—hundreds, perhaps thousands of times—but there had always been layers between them. Layers of fabric, propriety, and unspoken boundaries neither had dared to cross. Those layers had always been a buffer, a safety net that kept them tethered to a careful kind of intimacy, one that teetered just shy of something deeper.

Now, though, every one of those layers was gone. The cool water dripped down her skin, and the air between them felt impossibly thin. Her head swam as her gaze flickered, unbidden, to the damp hair clinging to his forehead, dark tendrils framing the sharp angles of his face. Her eyes trailed lower, to the curve of his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble, and the way his lips parted slightly with each steady breath he took.

It was intoxicating, and for one fleeting moment, she allowed herself to linger in the feeling, to imagine what it might be like to let herself give in completely to the warmth of his touch and the intensity of his gaze.

But then, like a bucket of ice water, her insecurities surged to the forefront.

She was too much. Too vulnerable. Too exposed. And he could see everything. Feel everything. The softness of her body, usually hidden beneath structured corsets and flowing skirts, was now pressed against him with nothing to conceal it. Her curves, her imperfections, her vulnerability—it was all right there, melting into him. She could feel the press of her stomach against his abs, the way her thighs seemed to mold against his. Her stretch marks, her scars—everything she tried to ignore or downplay felt glaringly obvious.

Her thoughts spiraled in chaos, screaming at her to pull away, to create the distance that might save her from unraveling completely. But her body betrayed her, frozen in place, refusing to let go of the warmth and solidity of him beneath her.

Sebastian shifted slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet, low and rough with something she couldn’t quite name. “Evie?”

“I—” she began, her voice faltering as she felt his thumbs brush against the curve of her waist, sending a jolt of warmth through her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It's fine,” he interrupted gently, his grip on her tightening just slightly, as if to steady her—or maybe himself. “I caught you, didn’t I?”

She let out a breathless laugh, but the sound felt hollow. “Yeah."

I should move. She knew she should. But she couldn’t. And she realized with a start, that he wasn't moving either.

Sebastian’s voice broke the silence again, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Was this part of your grand plan? Throwing yourself at me like this?”

Her cheeks flamed instantly, and the mortification snapped her out of her daze. “What? No!” she blurted, scrambling to push herself away from him, her hands bracing against his chest for leverage.

But as she moved, Sebastian’s grip reflexively reached for her hips to steady her—or at least that’s what she assumed he intended. The result, however, was nothing short of disastrous. Instead of breaking free, her movements shifted her forward, leaving her straddling his hips as her knees sank into the cool sand on either side of him.

Evangeline froze, her breath catching as the new position sent a shockwave of awareness through her — the warmth of his abdomen radiating through the damp fabric of her underwear, the firm grip of his hands still pressing into her sides. Her entire body felt exposed, laid bare in a way that made her chest tighten and her breath hitch. And the angle—Merlin, the angle—made it so much worse. He was beneath her, looking up with an unobstructed view of everything she tried so hard to hide.

Sebastian, meanwhile, let his head fall back into the sand, the cool grains pressing against his damp hair as he shut his eyes tightly, a soft, almost pained groan slipping past his lips.

He needed to ground himself. To stop his thoughts from spiraling into places he couldn’t afford to go right now. But it was impossible.

From the moment she’d landed on him, sprawled and warm and so real, he'd been done for. Sebastian was drowning in her, in the feel of her, the weight of her on top of him, the heat of her against him. His hands spanned her hips, plush beneath his fingers, the kind of softness he’d dreamed of countless times but never dared to hope he’d actually feel.

When he opened his eyes again, he was greeted with the sight of her above him, framed by the silvery glow of the moonlight. She looked ethereal, her damp hair clinging to her face and shoulders, a few dark strands curling against the curve of her neck. Her cheeks were flushed, whether from embarrassment or exertion he was unsure, and her hazel eyes were wide, darting between his own and his mouth as if she couldn’t decide where to look.

And then there was her body, her glorious body that left him breathless. Her thighs framed his hips, plush and firm in a way that sent heat pooling low in his stomach. The curve of her belly rested just above the waistband of her panties, soft and utterly mesmerizing. Instinctively, his thumbs brushed against the supple give of her hips. It was all he could do not to drag his fingers lower, to let himself explore the curves and dips that had haunted his thoughts for years.

And her chest—Merlin, her chest. The damp fabric of her bra clung to her like a second skin, the delicate lace barely containing her obnoxiously full breasts as they rose and fell with each shallow breath she took. Sebastian swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, his fingers tightening to anchor himself to reality.

It was too much. The feel of her, the sight of her—he felt like he’d been pulled into one of his dreams, one of the countless fantasies he’d entertained over the years when he let himself imagine what it might be like to have her like this. But this wasn’t a dream. Evangeline was here, her body soft and real beneath his hands.

"...Sebastian?" The way she said his name, so quiet and full of uncertainty, nearly undid him.

Sebastian swallowed hard, his voice caught somewhere between a hum and a sigh as he tried to focus on her words instead of the overwhelming reality of her warmth against him.

“Hm?” he managed.

Evangeline’s brows furrowed slightly. “Are you… alright?” she asked, her voice trembling with uncertainty.

Was he alright? No. Absolutely not.

“I—” He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. He let out a breathless chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he forced himself to look at her. “Well, Evie, you’ve just tackled me into the sand. Do I look alright to you?”

Her lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, she stared at him, her expression torn between indignation and something softer—something vulnerable. “I didn’t tackle you,” she retorted, though her voice lacked its usual conviction.

“Oh, really?” he teased, his lips quirking into a faint smirk despite the tension coiling in his chest and low in his abdomen. “Because it feels a lot like you tackled me.”

Evangeline’s gaze darted away from his, her hazel eyes fixing somewhere over his shoulder as though the horizon suddenly demanded all of her attention.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she looked as though she might say something sharp to counter his teasing. But instead, she ducked her head ever so slightly, her dark hair slipping forward to frame her face like a shield.

“Well, sorry. Just… um. Don’t look at me too closely, okay?”

Sebastian blinked, his brows furrowing as her words hit him. He felt the tension in her body, the way her shoulders seemed to curl inward as if she were trying to shrink away from him even while her weight remained firmly atop him. Despite the heat pooling low in his stomach, an ache bloomed in his chest at the quiet vulnerability in her voice.

She wasn’t just embarrassed. She was worried.

She was worried about him seeing her. She was worried about how he would see her—worried that what she thought about herself was what he might think too. And in that instant, something inside him irrevocably shifted.

In the past, Sebastian would’ve been horrified to admit the hold she had over him—the way she could unravel him with a single glance, a soft laugh, or the briefest brush of her hand against his. For years, he had fought to bury those feelings, to shove them deep into the corners of his heart where they couldn’t hurt either of them. He told himself it was for the best, that admitting how much he wanted her, how deeply she affected him, would only complicate things—ruin what they had, because he'd never be good enough for her.

So, he had kept it hidden. He turned his attraction into half-teasing quips and fleeting, stolen moments of closeness that he knew he could laugh off later. He flirted with other girls, chased fleeting distractions, anything to fill the void.

But now? Now, with her sitting atop him, her cheeks flushed and her body trembling with an uncertainty she couldn’t quite hide, every feeling he had fought so hard to suppress came crashing to the surface, relentless and impossible to ignore, demanding to be spoken.

Because this wasn’t just about his lust for her. It wasn’t just about wanting to touch her, to hold her, to watch her come undone by his hand. It was about how deeply it hurt him to see her doubt herself. To see her sit there, beautiful and radiant in the moonlight, and think for even a second that she wasn’t enough. That she wasn’t everything.

He knew admitting the truth was risky, he'd always known it. That's why he'd never done it. It could change everything between them, destroy the delicate balance they had maintained for so long, destroy this unspoken thing between them—the blurred line they had walked for months now, somewhere between friendship and something so much more.

But he couldn’t keep lying to himself, and he couldn’t keep lying to her. Not when he saw the way her insecurities gnawed at her, the way she tried to shrink away from him as if she could hide all the things she thought weren’t good enough—things he had long ago fallen irrevocably in love with.

He didn’t know what to say or how to say it. He had dreamed about this moment countless times, but now that it was here, every word he’d ever rehearsed in his head felt inadequate, clumsy. He knew he would stumble, that he probably wouldn’t say the right thing or make her feel the way she deserved. But fuck it. None of that mattered anymore.

Sebastian’s hands flexed against her hips as he let out a soft breath, trying to steady himself. “...Evangeline?”

She stiffened at the sound of her name, her hazel eyes reluctantly darting back to meet his. There was a mixture of hesitation and uncertainty in her gaze, and he could see her battling whatever thoughts were swirling in her head.

“...What?”

His own voice came out low and rough, strained with the effort of keeping himself in check. “If you back your ass up just a little,” he continued, the words deliberate, their weight unmistakable, “you’ll realize exactly what happens when I 'look closely'.”

Her eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as his words sank in. The air between them grew heavy, charged with a tension that neither of them could ignore. Sebastian held her gaze, his own unwavering. “I promise you,” he said softly, his tone laced with raw honesty, “my body isn’t exactly subtle about how it feels about you right now.”

For a long, breathless moment, she didn’t move. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath catching audibly in her throat. Sebastian waited, his heart pounding in his chest, unsure of what she was going to do. He couldn’t help but wonder if he’d pushed too far, if he’d crossed a line they couldn’t come back from.

But then, slowly, her hand lifted from his shoulder. Her movements were hesitant, trembling, as her fingers brushed lightly against the waistband of his underwear. A spark of heat shot through him at the simple contact, but nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

Her hand moved lower, her palm pressing against him, and the world tilted on its axis.

Sebastian's breath left him in a sharp, ragged gasp, every nerve ending lighting up as her warmth seeped through the thin fabric separating them. His grip on her hips tightened instinctively, his fingers curling into the soft flesh.

Evangeline’s hand froze there, her palm resting against the hard, unmistakable length of him, and her eyes widened in surprise, her breath coming faster as though she hadn’t actually believed him—hadn’t truly expected his arousal.

“Oh,” she murmured, the single syllable escaping her lips like a startled exhale.

“Oh?” Sebastian repeated, his voice breathless, almost incredulous. “Oh?”

Her cheeks turned a deep crimson, the color spreading down her neck, and her lips parted again, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Her hand moved away, and Sebastian nearly groaned, the absence of her hand leaving him aching and desperate for more. He couldn’t help but laugh, though the sound was rough and uneven. “What did you expect?” he asked, his voice low and heavy with need. “I’ve been telling you for ages how beautiful you are. Did you think I was joking?”

Her blush deepened, and her fingers twitched as if she didn’t know what to do, whether to pull away entirely or press closer.

“I just…” she started, her voice faltering before she finally let the words out in a rush. “I didn’t think—well, I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it? It would probably happen with… with any girl, right?”

Sebastian blinked at her, and for a moment, he simply stared, the disbelief washing over him like a wave. “Evangeline,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less intense, “you can’t seriously think that.”

She flinched slightly at the weight of his tone, and her gaze darted to the side, her fingers tightening on his shirt as though bracing herself. “Well, I… I didn’t think—”

“—You didn’t think you were my type,” he finished for her, his voice soft, laced with a quiet tenderness that balanced the exasperation flickering at the edges.

“I—well, whenever you said I was pretty, I just... I thought you were being nice,” she mumbled.

Sebastian didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. He shook his head. “Nice?” he echoed, his voice rough with disbelief and a hint of frustration. “Evie, you have no idea.”

He shifted beneath her, his body rising as he pushed himself upright, bringing them face to face. The sudden movement made Evangeline inhale sharply, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders to steady herself as she remained perched in his lap. He didn’t give her time to pull away or retreat—his hands moved with deliberate care, sliding up from her hips to cup her face gently.

Her brows furrowed slightly, confusion flickering in her eyes. “What are you—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted, his voice low but steady, a quiet intensity in every word. “You have no idea how hard it’s been pretending. For years, Evie. Pretending I wasn’t completely attracted to you. Pretending I didn’t notice every little thing about you that drives me absolutely mad.”

She froze, her breath catching audibly, but Sebastian wasn’t done. He swallowed hard, his gaze unwavering as he continued. “Since fifth year, Evangeline. Since the day we met and you obliterated me in that duel,” His voice softened, his words carrying the weight of all the years he’d kept them buried. “You’ve no idea what it’s been like. Being so drawn to you, wanting you so badly, and forcing myself to act like it wasn’t there. Like nothing was happening.”

“And now?” he continued, his voice growing quieter but no less raw. “Now that we’ve been sharing a bed for months, do you know how torturous it’s been? Having you so close, knowing you’re right there, and pretending it doesn’t affect me? Pretending I don’t want you?” He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh. “And now, when you’re literally on top of me... How am I supposed to hide it, Evie? How am I supposed to pretend this doesn’t feel like I’ve slipped into one of my dreams?”

Her face flushed an even deeper shade of crimson, and her hands trembled slightly where they rested on him. “Sebastian...” she whispered, her voice fragile, but he pushed forward, determined to get it all out.

“I get it,” he said softly, his tone shifting into something more vulnerable, almost apologetic. “I understand if this is a lot for you. If it’s too much. And I’m so sorry if you feel like I’ve been deceiving you all this time. But I didn’t know how else to handle it—I didn’t want to ruin things between us. But I... I couldn't let you think for another second that you needed to hide from me. Let you think you weren't good enough."

“In all the flings I’ve had,” Sebastian pushed forward, his voice quieter now, raw and honest in a way that made his chest ache. “All those girls... I imagined you.” His dark eyes searched hers, desperate for her to understand. “It was always you, Evangeline. Not them. Not anyone else. Just you.”

Her expression softened, her wide eyes filling with something he couldn’t quite name—shock, maybe, or disbelief, or something more vulnerable. Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak, her hands hovering now as though she didn’t know whether to hold onto him or pull away.

The silence stretched and Sebastian’s caught the unmistakable glimmer of tears in her eyes. Panic surged through him, sharp and relentless.

He’d said too much.

The thought gripped him, twisting in his chest. He had gone too far, laid bare feelings he had guarded for years, and now he was watching her unravel beneath the weight of his confession.

His pulse thundered in his ears. Why hadn’t he stopped? Why hadn’t he held back like he always had, like he was supposed to? This wasn’t how things were meant to go—this wasn’t how he’d imagined her reacting if he ever mustered the courage to tell her the truth. Maybe he’d overestimated her feelings, maybe this was too much for her, maybe—

Her hands, hesitant but warm, slowly rose to his face, fingers trembling as they brushed against his cheeks, as though testing if he was real.

Sebastian froze.

“Evangeline,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, rough with emotion. “I—”

“Stop,” she murmured, cutting him off. Her voice wavered, soft and unsure, but there was no anger in it, no rejection. If anything, she sounded... overwhelmed. “Just… stop for a second.”

He obeyed instantly, holding his breath as her hazel eyes darted across his face. “You’ve... thought about me?” she asked, her voice unsteady, almost disbelieving. Her fingers tightened slightly against his cheek. “Like... that?"

“Every day,” he admitted instantly, his voice hoarse. “Every bloody day, Evie. For years. And you—” He let out a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, and I’ve been too much of a coward to tell you because I couldn’t risk losing you.”

Evangeline certainly didn't miss the way he'd worded it, calling himself a coward. He could see it in the way her eyes searched his, darting across every line, every flicker of emotion that crossed his face, as though adding pieces to the puzzle she'd been trying to solve. And Sebastian held perfectly still, his breath shallow, his heart pounding so hard it drowned out the night around them.

Her brows drew together, a faint crease forming between them as confusion and disbelief flickered across her face. “Sebastian…” she began softly, her gaze dropping for a brief moment before lifting again to meet his. “How you feel… Is it just... a physical thing?”

Her words landed like a blow, and Sebastian’s heart clenched painfully, panic igniting in his chest like a wildfire. “No—” The word burst from him sharper than he’d intended, the urgency in his voice startling even himself. Her eyes widened slightly, and he immediately winced, his tone softening as he leaned closer. “No. It’s not just that. It’s not even close to just that.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, his chest tightening as he fought to untangle the mess of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. His dark eyes locked onto hers, pleading silently, desperately, for her to understand. “Do I think you’re beautiful? Merlin, yes. You’re stunning, Evie. You drive me absolutely mad, and you have for years. But it’s so much more than that.” His voice cracked slightly, and he leaned closer, his hands cupping her face in return as if afraid she might slip away.

“It’s you,” he said, his words trembling with the weight of everything he’d kept bottled up. “You’re everything. Everything I never knew I needed until we met. Everything I’ve been too afraid to want. And it’s not just about how you look, or how much I want you—though Merlin knows I do.” He exhaled shakily, his gaze never leaving hers. “It’s about you. All of you.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Heavy. Crushing. It stretched between them, every second of her quiet pulling him further into the churning void of fear. His heart thundered in his chest, the sound almost deafening in his ears, and though his hands stayed steady against her cheeks, his mind was unraveling.

Why wasn’t she saying anything? Had he said too much?

When he couldn’t bear the silence any longer, his voice broke through it, raw and pleading. “Evie,” he whispered, his throat tightening around the name. “Please. Say something.”

Her breath hitched audibly, and she let out a shaky exhale before covering her mouth with one hand, her eyes darting away from his.

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted. Dread sank its claws into him, dragging him down into a pit of despair deeper than anything he’d ever known.

She’s upset. She’s hurt. I’ve ruined everything.

“I—” he started. “I didn’t mean to—”

Evangeline let out a shaky breath. “You—” Her voice wavered, muffled by her hand as she turned back toward him. Her eyes shimmered, not with rejection or anger, but with something else entirely. “You absolute idiot.”

Sebastian blinked, stunned. “What?”

Her hand dropped from her mouth, and she let out another incredulous, watery laugh, her chest heaving as she tried to collect herself. “You’re daft, Sebastian Sallow. Completely, utterly daft.”

“I—what?” He stared at her, his confusion mounting. This wasn’t what he had expected. Not even close.

Evangeline shook her head, her laughter breaking into a soft, almost broken sob, her expression an aching blend of joy and frustration. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “For you to say these things? To finally hear what I’ve been hoping for?”

Sebastian stared at her, his mouth slightly open, completely unprepared for the torrent of words that followed.

“Years, Sebastian,” she continued, her voice cracking on the word as her emotions poured out, raw and unfiltered. “Years. I thought—I convinced myself—you’d never feel the same way. But then… then after the Prefect’s Bathroom, after the Equinox Ball…” She paused, her hazel eyes shimmering with unshed tears, her voice barely holding steady. “I let myself hope. I thought maybe… maybe there was a chance.”

Her breath hitched as she tried to steady herself, shaking her head as if fighting back against the weight of it all. “And all summer, I hoped that you’d say something, that you’d give me a sign.”

Her hands trembled as they cradled his face, her touch warm despite the cool edge of her desperation. “But you didn’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking again. “You never did, and the silence... well, I started doubting everything again, doubting us. It felt like… like I’d been foolish to hope at all.”

She let out a shaky laugh, her expression twisting with a mix of relief and pain. “That’s why I said yes to New Zealand. Because I thought… I thought this moment would never come. That I’d spend my whole life waiting for something that was never going to happen.”

Sebastian’s heart stuttered in his chest, her words crashing over him. For a moment, all he could do was stare at her, his breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. Shock and relief warred within him, tangling with a sharp pang of guilt that twisted in his stomach.

“You’re serious?” he managed finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Evangeline gave him a watery smile, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Merlin, yes, you idiot. I’m serious.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, shaking his head as the weight of her words crashed over him. "Evie..." he began, his voice hoarse and unsteady. Guilt clawed at his chest, raw and unrelenting. How had he been so blind? How had he let her believe, even for a moment, that there was no future here? No future with him? The thought that she had accepted New Zealand because she thought she had no other choice made his heart ache in ways he hadn’t thought possible.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, the words spilling out with desperate urgency, his hands instinctively reaching for hers. His grip was firm but careful, his fingers curling gently around hers as though trying to hold her together—or maybe himself. “Evie, I’m so sorry. For making you wait. For not saying something sooner. For letting you think I didn’t—” His voice cracked, his throat tightening painfully as he searched for the words, his dark eyes locked onto hers with a kind of raw intensity.

“For letting you doubt, even for a second, how much I feel for you,” he continued, his voice trembling. “You’re right—I’m an idiot. I’ve been an idiot for years. But I—”

And then she leaned in.

Her lips were soft against his, warm and urgent, like she’d been holding herself back for far too long and couldn’t bear another second of restraint. The moment their mouths met, Sebastian’s usually sharp mind went scattering, his thoughts fracturing like glass under the weight of this impossible, beautiful reality. She was kissing him—Evangeline was kissing him.

The fantasies he’d conjured in stolen moments—before sleep, during quiet spells when he let himself hope—were pale, fragile things compared to this. His imaginings had never been able to capture the way her lips moved against his, how soft and inviting they were, or the way she tasted, faintly of lake water, a whisper of salt from her tears, and something so distinctly her that he knew he’d crave it for the rest of his life. Nothing had prepared him for the feel of her body against his, warm and yielding, her curves fitting against him so perfectly it made his heart stutter.

His fingers slid into her hair, threading through the damp strands as he gently tilted her head. His lips found hers with a tenderness that felt almost sacred, parting them with a care that spoke of quiet devotion. She met him with equal fervor, her lips moving against his in a rhythm that felt like a rediscovered melody—unfamiliar, yet instinctively known, like a song he’d been waiting his entire life to hear. The world around them melted away, the lake, the trees, the cool whisper of the night air all fading into insignificance. There was only her. Only this. Only them.

When they finally broke apart, it was only because their lungs demanded it. Their foreheads came to rest against each other, their breaths mingling in soft, uneven gasps. Sebastian’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze locking onto hers.

Her hazel eyes were wide, the moonlight catching on the unshed tears that lingered there. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips swollen and slightly parted, and the sight of her—so close, so vulnerable, so achingly real—took his breath away all over again. She looked beautiful, painfully, heartbreakingly beautiful, and he couldn’t stop himself.

"I'm in love with you, Evangeline." he whispered, his voice rough and uneven. "I always have been."

She let out a soft, breathless laugh, her lips curving into the faintest smile as her fingers lightly traced the line of his jaw. "I'm in love with you too."

Sebastian let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his heart hammering against his ribcage as her words settled over him. It was almost too much to process, and yet it wasn’t enough—

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low, almost pleading.

Evangeline’s smile widened slightly, her hazel eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and tenderness. “I’m in love with you, Sebastian Sallow,” she repeated, her voice firmer now, more certain. “Utterly, hopelessly in love with you.”

A low laugh, more like a sigh of relief, escaped his lips, willing the air between them with something soft, something that felt impossibly fragile and yet unshakably certain.

“I don’t deserve you,” he admitted quietly, his voice raw. “Not after everything I’ve put you through. But Evangeline, I’m not letting you go. Not now. Not ever.”

Her hands moved to his wrists, her fingers curling lightly around them as she leaned into his touch. “You don’t get to decide what you deserve, Sebastian,” she said softly, though there was steel beneath her words. “That’s for me to decide. And I’ve already decided I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

“If I’ll have you?” he repeated, his lips quirking into a faint smile as he tilted her chin up slightly, his dark eyes searching hers. “Evie, I’ve been yours since the moment I met you.”

A soft laugh bubbled from her lips, the sound light and full of something that felt achingly like relief. Before he could say anything else, before he could even begin to process the sheer joy of hearing her laugh like that, she kissed him again, softer, slower, as though they finally had all the time in the world.

She fit so perfectly against him, her body pressing into his like it had always belonged there. Every sigh, every shift of her weight, sent warmth coursing through him, settling low in his abdomen and making him ache with need. He couldn’t think, couldn’t form a single coherent thought beyond her.

And when they finally broke apart again, Sebastian pressed a kiss to her temple, lingering there as he whispered, “Stay.”

Her breath hitched, and she pulled back just enough to look at him. “Stay?” she echoed.

“Here. With me. Don’t go to New Zealand,” he said, his voice steadier now, his hands tightening gently on her waist. “We’ll figure it out. Whatever the Muldoons throw at us, whatever comes next—we’ll face it together. Just... stay, Evangeline. Please."

Her gaze searched his, the uncertainty flickering in her eyes softening into something calmer, something resolute. She nodded, her hands brushing against his jaw again as she whispered, “Okay.”

Sebastian’s chest swelled. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him as if to make sure she was truly there, truly his. The lake shimmered in the moonlight beside them, but all Sebastian could see, all he could feel, was her.

FINALLY IT HAPPENED. FINALLY. TIME TO CELEBRATE. THEY DID IT. THEY STOPPED BEING SO STUPID.

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[asarigg]

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 1

mentions of physical, psychological and sexual abuse towards both Koujaku and his mother

SELF DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR

Let’s go back to the beginning. Or rather, what Koujaku tells us. He also talks about himself, of course, but usually when he talks about his past, most of the time he talks about his mother: because that’s what hurts him the most. He barely mentions the abuse towards him other than the tattoo and that one time his father punched him. But he always talks about all the hardships that his family put his mother through. And I’m sure you’ll agree with me that it is hard to believe that was it.

Koujaku’s father has proven to be an extremely violent piece of shit and a zero-empathetic person. I don’t doubt that Koujaku’s mother, because of her nature, was his favorite toy. What’s more, he did every cruel thing he could think of to her, his wife too, she had fresh wounds every day and she couldn’t even eat, and although it isn’t said nor implied I wouldn’t be surprised if Koujaku was a product of rape. I mean… most likely. We hardly know anything about his mother, not her appearance, not her name, not what she liked, not how the hell she ended up in that place, if there was any love involved in it or if it was something about debt, we only know that she was the perfect victim.

She was always saying sorry to her son, for everything Koujaku’s been witnessing, she feels guilty and responsible because he tries to stand up for her, and because she has brought him to a world where the one that decides for them is a criminal. She keeps a deep pain inside for everything that’s happening and she tries to hide it, especially from Koujaku, and seeing her son suffer doesn’t help. Smiling to him so he doesn’t worry, and saying sorry to try to comfort him. That’s why the last thing she repeats over and over to her son when she’s lethally wounded is “I’m sorry”, feeling sorry that it’s because of her that he has lived like this, because she wasn’t able to protect him, to give him a proper life.

Obviously all his father did was also psychological abuse towards Koujaku, even blackmailing him with hurting his mother. But I sincerely believe that his father would use physical abuse to teach the boy a lesson, nothing could stop him anyway, because Koujaku as a child complained and rebelled, he didn’t care if his father hit him, he would defend his mother regardless. This is why I sometimes give Koujaku more scars to his body, and besides defensive cuts I also give him cigarette burn marks. Lore expansion better known as adding trauma.

I think he just doesn’t talk about it that much because the abuse towards him isn’t what has hurt him the most. We ourselves often don’t give it much importance if someone tries to insult us, but maybe if it’s someone close to us, that does piss us off, some logic like that. Moreover, throughout the game Koujaku’s personality is just like that, always worrying about others and giving little importance to himself, to the point of being tremendously negative for him.

Don’t you think those scars would make him look more masculine, intimidating, as if he’s survived dozens of dangerous, tough fights? It seems the perfect image for an environment like organized crime.

Despite all of Koujaku’s feminine traits, the perception of him both in canon and in fandom (usually) is that of a stereotypically masculine, super straight man who fucks a different woman every night, always joking with “no homo, bro” (which, mind you, I’m not saying I don’t like these jokes, I make them myself too). But in reality that couldn't be further from the truth.

With that image that we have of him, sometimes it would seem that he is someone with prejudices or that he really had a hard time accepting that he’s not straight, specially when in the scene where he confesses to Aoba he says the following:

The reasons he tries to hide his feelings is a mix between the fact that they are friends and he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they already have, that he wants to hide his past and that he doesn’t want to be a burden on Aoba, so he keeps all those things to himself. (And he’s also been educated a certain way and has always seen things one way, never gave it much thought so when it crosses his mind, of course he’s confused)

When he first met Aoba he thought he was a girl because he had really long hair, and after all, when we’re kids we don’t have very developed features anyway, it’s a pretty androgynous state. When Aoba corrects him and tells him he’s a boy his behavior is exactly the same, nothing changes. He corrects himself and never treats him as a girl.

He is someone who has no problem showing his affection for Aoba, neither in private nor in public, he’s very comfortable with his bisexuality, the only one who is reluctant to do so, either out of shame or fear, is Aoba.

What I’m trying to get at with all this is that all that “gentleman” facade and the “always accepting women who want to have something with him” that makes him look so stereotypical in a first impression has a much darker origin, although underneath all that there’s a much more sentimental, vulnerable and open Koujaku about his true feelings, expressing them even if he feels embarrassed, as we see on some occasions (touching his hair nervously when he confesses, of when he explains why Aoba's hair is so important to him).

The relationship he has with his mother is the most direct connection, or course. Being the son of an abused woman has made him hyper-aware of his position as a man (so much that sexism in this game almost goes full circle like the Bourbon family tree, but this is NC’s problem and it happens everywhere, it’s so obvious it’s a writers problem and it’s a shame it affects Koujaku so much because he’s basically the only one who isn’t scared of a bad bitch). We’ll talk about this in particular some more later, but let’s focus on what concerns his father for now.

Being the family of criminals that they are, abusers and… almost slavers, the most logical thing to assume is that they are specially conservative. It could very well be that his father, once he decided to make him his heir, wanted the image of his kid to be as intimidating and masculine as possible. A criminal, a murderer who could run his business in a world like this.

We know that the tattoo is an experiment by Toue, and it wouldn’t be strange if his father knew what was behind it, because after all it would also be beneficial for him to have a way to control him, to mold him to his liking and to make him obedient, unlike he had been behaving, refusing to be his heir and trying to defend his mother. The image of an effeminate, soft, sissy man was not exactly ideal for the future leader. For me, Koujaku’s father either already intended to name him heir before agreeing to the tattoo being an experiment with Toue and Ryuuhou, or he ended up deciding to name him the heir precisely because they had already talked about the tattoo and its possibilities beforehand.

His father would want to break him, drive him to despair so that he would stop resisting, take away his will and, although this is mostly headcanon, “make him a man”. Be a man, be strong, tenacious, learn to fight and find a woman to continue the family with, etc. So it is not surprising that at first he didn’t even reconsider his sexuality and thought that the affection he had for Aoba was just friendship, which over time, with such strong feelings, he realized was not the case. I sincerely love that he is shown to be so nervous and that he confesses to be kinda confused about it and in a state of denial, without having any external reference and too busy hating his father and Ryuuhou to even think about it, it’s normal that it took him so long.

He was trained to be a gangster, while his father insulted him, hit him and threatened him using his mother, on whom he took it out. This training also implies not only fighting but also for doing business, how to talk to be well-received, how to negotiate, how to give the best impression of himself at any given situation. This pack of skills seem to resonate with those that he uses to flirt and run his own business, even if he does it on an unconscious level, he just knows what to say to strike the person he’s talking to in their weak spots. His father’s physical treatment would not only be a punishment, but also to teach him a lesson, to learn to endure the pain, just like he endured the pain of the tattoo. If he cried, it would be shameful, he would be punished. He had to hide his pain, his feelings, his thoughts, for the sake of his mother’s safety and his own. Practically becoming a puppet, thus evolving into the life he carries in Midorijima as an adult.

Him not wanting to open up to Aoba wouldn’t be just an “oh he’s going to hate me”. It’s also what he learned would be the best, having a charismatic appearance that everyone likes. After all wouldn’t it be logical to not want any confrontation with anyone after all that? A tough guy, with people around him who admire him, who never gets tired or cries, because nothing’s wrong. In a way it’s also a shield, a protection, a defense mechanism. To be a man.

Now, the way he behaves that almost everyone without exception associates with his mother. And this, for sure, is the intention, his desire to protect his mother and therefore take care of the women he meets. But it’s also him actively wanting to be the opposite of his father.

What kind of relationship does he have with women? The contact he has with them is mostly through all his female fans, who are crazy to say the least. We’re not going to get much into the subject of sexism but first of all it’s a huge mistake that his fans are only young women or the way they make them all act.

Koujaku spends all his time building a character that he considers perfect, someone gentle, who never says no to a woman and is always available to entertain them, it would never occur to him to deny anything to any of them, as his mother was denied so many things. Unlike that hard and tenacious masculinity that he was taught to have in order to take on his role as the heir or the bestiality of his tattoo, he presents a gentle and chivalrous masculinity on the outside. What he does is pamper them and give them everything they ask for (almost, because has never really had serious relationships. Which makes sense because he would be telling them pretty big lies, right? That wouldn’t fit with his own code). He doesn’t think very highly of himself, he has a low self-esteem as he thinks he is nothing better than a worthless monster that should have probably died a long time ago.

Sometimes people who are abused go through abuse again, in a cycle. I think saying that Koujaku is a playboy is incorrect. (He acts flirty and likes playing around, sure, but there’s something deeper). That perception of him is natural, of course, because the way he behaves and how he is presented to you, is the image they want to give of him after all, in a basic and cliche way, so artificial that it is unsettling. I could believe that it sounds artificial on purpose, referring to that shell of how a confident and strong man should talk, if it weren’t for the fact that they do this kind of cliche and artificial situations quite often with other characters as well, and it makes it kinda hard to remain immersed. I honestly think that the foreshadowing could have been done a little better, but it still serves the narrative. Also this is practically almost all you see of his character the two first interactions he has with Aoba. Considering the structure of the game and how rushed everything is, it’s not very positive, but for the sake of your mental health it's better not to think too much about it.

In short, Koujaku is a very accommodating and attentive person. He listens and encourages others with their problems but doesn’t let anyone worry about him with his own, taking on everything himself. He even ironically tells Aoba that if he’s worried about what happened with Mizuki, he can blame him, and that he can always count on him to tell him anything. It’s a very lonely way to live, even though he has so many people around him.

Knowing this, it’s more than reasonable to think that more than him flirting with women, it’s simply him agreeing to give what those women ask of him. They come looking for something and he gives it to them. He’s a toy. It’s often joked that he’s practically a prostitute, and pretty much that’s what it is. And it’s in the balcony scene where we see a more personal side of him, where we can observe that in reality all this burden tires him, it’s not natural. It’s not like his character isn’t extroverted and charismatic, but that’s not everything, and in public he doesn’t allow himself to be “less”, so in private and in confidence is when he can afford to relax, with Aoba or in his own house.

Somehow, even though he is no longer with his family, the way he interacts with other people, or how he lets himself be used, be it consciously or not, even if there is a different intention behind, is not that different from before, people still use him.

ERHM... SOMETHING

I’ve sometimes wondered if there was some sort of sexual abuse on Ryuuhou’s part towards Koujaku. Nothing is implied canonically, at least physically, but the erotic connotations of the story of the tattoo artist he’s based on, the sadism, and his constant references to love make me think of it happening on a symbolic level.

I think it’s obvious that Ryuuhou loves Koujaku, in his own way, as his creation, and he’s referencing love at first sight and Koujaku’s abuse of Aoba. In a metaphorical way that abuse certainly happened, ever since he was tattooed, his body did not belong to him anymore. There are people who can’t stand the idea of having sex, and others who often seek it out to ease the pain. Ryuuhou made sure to mark his body and mind so that he could never forget him. His tattoos are his shame, his filth and sin. When Aoba touches his tattoos Koujaku practically jumps at contact.

[writerfae]

Christmas movie au Advent Calendar 🎄

Day Twenty-Three:🌠ChristmasCard🌠

Christmas special tag list: @bunnymermaidsblog @deadlycupid @dustylovelyrun @ladywithalamp @sleepy-night-child @theguywithnonickname

The rest of the day was nothing but a blur to him, like looking through a frozen window.

He remembered calling his father.

He remembered his father scolding him like he was a little child and demanding for him to come home immediately.

He said he would.

And he remembered Halea, calling him afterwards, worried because of the way his voice sounded when he had talked to his father.

“Oh Talon, I’m so sorry. What are you gonna do now?”

“Leave.”

He didn’t say come home, because it didn’t feel right.

“You heard father, he wants me to come back and will send someone else to do the deal.”

“And you want to just let that happen?”

“No. No, I don’t. But I have no idea how to get Mr. Ashwood to change his mind and build his project somewhere else.”

“And Aiden? You said you’re in love with him. You can’t just give up like that. It will only make you unhappy.”

“Aiden doesn’t want to see me anymore. I’m not gonna mess up his life even more by staying.”

Halea didn’t seem persuaded.

And if Talon was quite honest to himself, neither was he.

He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to fix this thing with Aiden.

If he didn’t want him back, if he couldn’t have him, Talon at least wanted to help him.

He would’ve bought the farm grounds himself if it wasn’t for Mr. Ashwood, if only it meant Aiden and his family could stay there.

It’s not like he couldn’t afford that, technically, he still had the money Kieran inherited him and that wasn’t a small amount.

But he knew how unrealistically high the guy’s offer was, more than the grounds were worth, if he was quite honest.

He’d have to get him out of the way to even have a chance.

But how?

Maybe he would find a way to do it when he was back home, his father wouldn’t send another one of his workers until at least January.

He at least had to try, that’s what he owed Aiden.

He missed him.

He missed him so much, even though it’s only been a day.

It was nice outside, fresh snow had fallen over night and the view from his window looked like the picture on a Christmas postcard.

But it all had lost its magic to Talon.

Seeing all that snow only suffocated him now and he turned away, facing the room instead.

It was a mess.

His coat still lay on the floor by the door, where Talon had left it. His bed was unmade, his open suitcase lay on top of it, his stuff strewn around the room.

He sighed, starting to collect the clothes that were lying around.

His car would be ready soon (he had to bring it to the mechanic because it stood around unmoved for so long it had not one but two flat tires. Talon found that quite symbolic and fitting to the overall situation of his life) and he had already told Greta that he’d leave earlier than planned, so once he had packed it was time to go.

He didn’t want to leave, really, he didn’t.

His heart was revolting against his mind, against the rational part of Talon, who said that staying had no use.

Whatever it was he had with Aiden was over now, Aiden didn’t want him in his life anymore.

And he didn’t manage to fulfill his initial goal in this town anyway (not that he’d ever wanted to do it ever since he got to know the people here).

So it was only logical to leave.

And Talon was nothing if not logical.

Even if it hurt.

His view fell on something inside of the suitcase.

The green sweater with the red and white nordic pattern was neatly folded and tucked away safely in a corner.

Talon couldn’t tell why he brought uncle Kieran’s sweater here with him in the first place.

He hadn’t worn it in years, had almost forgotten about it over the time.

When he had packed for his trip and noticed the sweater in the very corner of his wardrobe, he had put it in his suitcase without thinking about it much.

And now there it was. Reminding Talon of the comfort it always used to bring him, years ago.

After hesitating for only a moment, he grabbed the sweater and unwrapped the book he had wrapped inside of it, carefully placing it on the bed.

He pulled the shirt he currently wore over his head and put on his uncle’s sweater instead.

With a mixture of shock and awe did he notice that he had grown into it. It always used to be too big on him, the sleeves almost reaching his fingertips, but not anymore.

His mother used to say how similar Talon looked to his uncle. Looking in the mirror now, he could see it, too.

The book he had put to the side slipped from the bed, landing on the ground with a loud thud that made Talon wince.

He bend down to put it away, when he noticed that something had fallen out of it.

Talon picked it up, examining it. It was a postcard.

There was a Christmas motif on it of a Santa carrying a Christmas tree before the background of a snowy forest.

A little corny, but still pretty.

Talon stood abruptly.

Not just because the Santa in this postcard looked awfully familiar (he dismissed this one as imagination) but because he registered what he was holding there.

This was the Christmas postcard he got from his uncle, the one he gifted him on their very last Christmas together. The one he never had the heart to read.

He almost dropped the postcard, so fast did he turn it around.

On the back, written in his uncle's neat handwriting, stood his usual Christmas greeting and under it the message he had left Talon, his last words of advice for him.

Always follow your heart.

Tears gathered in his eyes again. Talon was surprised he still had any left.

He ran a hand over the words of his uncle. They sounded just like him. It made Talon smile.

His eyes locked on the red scarf that lay next to his suitcase, carefully folded together.

He hadn’t been sure if he should keep it or let Greta give it back to Aiden.

So it lay next to his suitcase all day, untouched.

Waiting.

On top of it rested the little reindeer figure Aiden had gifted him, gently bedded on the soft red fabric of the scarf.

Talon couldn’t help but stare at it, a thousand thoughts running through his heads.

Thoughts of Aiden, of their time together.

“You said you’re in love with him. You can’t just give up like that.”

“The frost can only make us shiver if we let it in.”

“Always follow your heart.”

Stay. His heart screamed. Fight.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

He carefully put the postcard down and reached for the reindeer figure instead, gently swiping a finger over the little piece of art.

If he’d leave now, he’d never be able to look at it again.

It reminded him of Aiden in so many ways.

Like that time when they saw an actual reindeer at the…

Talon’s thoughts came to a halt abruptly.

The reindeers. Of course. How didn’t he realize sooner?

“A wild reindeer,” Aiden had told him back then. “A bunch of them live here on our property.”

It may not have been birds, but still… this was worth a try.

Maybe, maybe it could work.

This way he could at least help Aiden’s family.

Clutching the reindeer figure in his one hand, he grabbed for his phone with the other, dialing the number of his best friend.

“Halea, I need you to help me…”