#and neither of them are tight enough on my hand to fit comfortably

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Being in the glove section of a building supply store with tiny hands feels like a hate crime. What do you MEAN you only carry men’s size M and above?

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Long distance girlfriend surprising Rafe

Request: Reader going to college on the east coast and being stuck there because of snow + Rafe being sad

—

‘’Thank you for choosing Cameron Development for your project, Mr. Phillips. Our secretary will email the documents shortly,’’ Rafe said in his polished, customer-service tone. ‘’Happy holidays.’’

The second the call ended, his forced smile vanished, leaving his face set in a grim scowl. He’s never been a fan of Christmas, but for the first time, he had been looking forward to it — his first Christmas with you. But that changed when a snowstorm hit the East Coast, forcing all flights in New York to get cancelled. 

Rafe leaned back in his leather office chair, running a hand through his buzzed hair in frustration. It was only 3pm, but he couldn’t focus. All he could think about was you, alone in your apartment in New York, and most importantly, miles away from him. He thought of driving to you, but Topper resonated with him. If flights were cancelled, some roads would be closed too. 

Why must you go to college so far away? With a sigh, Rafe picked up his personal phone for the tenth time today, and re-reading your last message. He was hurting himself by doing this, but reading your message also brought him some comfort. 

I’m so sorry I can’t make it to you, baby 😢💔 I’ve been keeping track of the flights, but everything is still cancelled… This snow really wants to sabotage our first Christmas! 😠 In case nothing changes, I’m gonna video-call you on Christmas morning…in my sexy lingerie set I got just for you. Wish you were there to unwrap me 🎁🤭

Before he could finish reading, Wheezie’s face filled his screen with an incoming call. 

‘’Wheezie? Why are you calling me?’’ Rafe frowned, leaning back in his chair. She never called him at work unless it was important.

‘’Rafe! Thank god you picked up! I tried calling Sarah, but she didn’t answer.’’ Wheezie's voice was high-pitched and panicked, words spilling out in a rush. 

‘’Wheezie, what is it?’’ he asked. 

‘’I tried making gingerbread cookies, but I guess I left them in for too long...’’

Rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a headache coming on. ‘’Just throw them out if they’re burned. It’s not worth breaking a tooth over.’’

‘’No, you don’t understand,’’ she cried, her voice breaking slightly. ‘’There’s smoke all over the kitchen!’’ A coughing fit punctuated her sentence, and Rafe’s heart dropped.

‘’What? Wheeze, are you okay?’’ 

He was already standing, grabbing his keys. Fuck work. 

‘’Can you come home? Please, Rafe. Dad is gonna be so mad if I burn the house down—’’ 

He didn’t even wait to hang up properly before he was out the door. ‘’I’m coming, Wheeze. Just, stay away from the oven, okay? And get outside if it gets worse. Do you hear me?’’ Rafe’s tone sharpened, his protective instincts kicking in.

Rafe pulled into the driveway of Tannyhill, tires screeching as he parked quickly. His jaw was tight, still on edge from Wheezie’s frantic call. The house seemed calm from the outside, which was strange because she said there was smoke all over the kitchen.

He opened the front door. “Wheezie?” he called out, stepping into the house, his eyes scanning for signs of smoke. ‘’Wheezie, I’m here. Where’s the damn smoke you talked about?’’ 

The kitchen light was on, and as he stepped closer, his stomach dropped. Instead of finding his little sister panicking, he found you standing in the middle of the kitchen, grinning at him. 

‘’Hi.’’ 

For a split second, neither of you moved. Then, you ran to him, throwing your arms around his neck and pressing yourself against him. Rafe’s brain scrambled to catch up. Then it clicked. The familiar scent of your shampoo, the warmth of your arms — it was really you. His arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you might disappear, and you buried your face in his chest, clutching him like you’d never let go.

‘’What the—’’ He pulled back just enough to grab your face, his blue eyes searching yours, wide with disbelief. ‘’You’re here? Really here?’’

‘’Surprise, baby,’’ you murmured before pressing your lips to his, cutting off whatever string of disbelief he was about to voice again.

The kiss was soft at first, but as the realization sank in, Rafe pulled you closer, deepening it, one hand sliding to your back while the other tangled in your hair. It was desperate and relieved, like he couldn’t believe you were actually there, standing in his kitchen, and not miles away in New York.

He hadn’t seen you since his weekend visit for Thanksgiving, he couldn’t settle with a peck. 

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing hard, faces inches apart. 

Rafe’s forehead pressed against yours. ‘’But you were in New York. The flights—’’ He blinked, still trying to process, his grip on your waist tightening. ‘’How are you here? I mean…what—? Wheezie called me about some fire in the kitchen.’’ He glanced around, half-expecting his sister to pop out from somewhere. 

You laughed, guilt flickering across your face. ‘’Yeah, that was her idea. There’s no fire. I told her to find something to make you come home. It worked, didn’t it?’’ 

His eyebrows shot up. ‘’She knew about you coming here and didn’t tell me?!’’ 

You nodded. Flights being cancelled was not a lie, but you were able to take a train to another state — where the snow was not as bad —, and take a flight there. You texted Wheezie during your flight, asking for help to surprise Rafe. Why would she not help the girl who brought smiles on her brother’s moody face?

‘’Sorry, baby.’’ You looked up and rubbed your hands over his work button up, feeling the planes of his muscled chest and the warmth of his skin underneath. ‘��I just… I couldn’t stand hearing how sad you sounded yesterday. I had to get here, I tried everything in my power to get to you. Don’t be mad at her, okay? She just wanted to help me.’’

Rafe shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips despite himself. His hands slid down to your waist, holding you close as he tilted his head. ‘’You’re lucky I love you,’’ he murmured, his voice absentmindedly falling into your relationship bubble where it was just you and him.

You stayed like that for a moment, bathing in each other’s embrace, until a thought crossed your mind. ‘’Rafe? There’s one other thing I need to tell you: I left your Christmas present in New York…’’ You pulled back, guilt filling you again as you continued and explained yourself. ‘’It was on the table so I wouldn’t forget it, but—’’ 

But Rafe couldn't care less. 

‘’That’s okay. There’s only you on my wishlist anyway.’’ 

—

OBX taglist: @moralina@eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx@sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @Katsukis1Wife   @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue   @acornacreacure @snownjune @nmedina8611 @slvtherinseeker   @slvtherinseeker @poppet05 @1stevelacyfan @illf4iry @withbeautyandrage   @maybankslover @sunflowerziva @laylasbunbunny @Honey-marvel15 @leoluvsur-pappy @slytherhoes @kcskye123 @outerbanksacc   @pedrosprincess   @mikaelsonsstuff  @skyesthebomb   @a1mzcruml3y @iluurmom   @popeheywardssecretgf  @madelynie  @loverofdrewstarkey   @radiant-whore  @outsider-at-hogwarts @luci1fer @bbycowboi @rafecameronsbadussy @urbfsbitchlol @nomorespahgetti @bloodyhw @Veescorneroftheworld   @papayaboyluvr @slytherinambitious @darylscvmdumpster @tommysaxes @johannelis2302nely @lynbubble   @straberryshortcake143 @beth-gallagher22 @doestalker @rubyliquor @theflcwer @angelxxrose @sierraluvzz @cruzgrecia @evelestrange @sunnysunny133696  @under-seasoned-pasta @hoeforsirius   @buckyswhxre @emerald-09   @simonessolarsystem @rehead1180 @stvrkey  @ynmunson @riddle18  @love4ldr @withfireandbl00d @wonderland2425 @blublock404 @eddieslut69

[aylish91]

New chapter incoming!!

Sea Of Hope Chapter 8

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

This masterful piece of art was done by @aoi-kanna as a commission. They are truly talented and I appreciate all the hard work they put into making this for me. Go check them out, they are absolutely wonderful!!!

Story below or AO3 above.

~~~

While Axe checked you over, Edge grabbed Red by the back of the neck and stormed down the main hatch, loudly yelling at the rest of the crew to mind their own business as they scurried out of his way. For the most part, Red's protests went unheard as he was dragged down the steep steps. Blue, on the other hand, had hesitantly approached Papyrus, whispering something before they too turned and headed past the hatch, disappearing through a pair of doors into the upper levels of the ship. 

The clearing of a throat had you tensing and pressing closer to Axe. Black had once again gotten closer than you were comfortable with, standing only a couple paces away. “AS HEARTWARMING AS THIS IS, IT IS QUICKLY BECOMING LATE AND THE LADY STILL NEEDS ADEQUATE DRESS. MY BROTHER’S COAT IS HARDLY A FITTING SUBSTITUTE.”  

Rus chuckled beside him. However, when he made to comment, a look from Black had him looking down instead. 

Axe narrowed his sockets. “Don’t know where you’re planning on get���n somethin. Ain’t exactly swimmin in extras and you’ve refused to mend mine so I could give it to her.”  

Black scoffed. “YOU FAILED TO MENTION IT WAS FOR YOUR MARKED. YOU HAVE ALSO YET TO COMPLETE THE TASK I ASKED OF YOU. I DID NOT SEE THE POINT IN TURNING IN YOUR FAVOR WHEN MY OWN HAD BEEN UNMET.” 

“Been busy.” 

“AS WE’VE ALL.” 

Something shifted in the air, both of their eyelights brightening. Rus glared, moving closer to his brother. It took Crooks placing a hand on Axe’s shoulder for the two to back down. 

“Petty bastard.” 

“WHEN IT SUITS ME.” With a flourish of a hand and a half step back, he indicated the direction of the doors, continuing to meet Axe’s gaze. “NOW, I BELIEVE WE SHOULD ATTEMPT TO FIND SOMETHING MORE SUITABLE UNTIL NEXT WE MAKE PORT. SURELY YOU CAN AGREE IT WOULD BE IN EVERYONE’S BEST INTEREST.”  

“Fine, but we’re not leadin’.” You could hear the creak of Axe’s teeth. 

“OF COURSE.” With a tight turn, Black nodded, marching forward with Rus trailing behind with a wink. "AS YOU WISH." 

Axe refused to move at first, tugging his empty socket and prompting a sighing Crooks to nudge you both. "I Know You Don’t Like Him, But He Is Fair.” 

“Bastard never does anything fer free.” 

“And Yet, He Has A Point.”  

Neither you nor Axe was reassured but allowed him to guide you forward regardless. Crewmen brave enough to linger eyed your group with various degrees of emotion. When a dog monster growled, another was quick to slap the back of their head, nervously hunching at a glare from both of your skeleton friends. You tried not to show your fear or your growing limp as you passed, hoping Rus' long coat hid what you couldn’t. It didn't seem like a good idea to show weakness around others. The watchful eyes and aggressive postures spoke volumes to your already heightened nerves. Entering the ship did nothing to ease your discomfort.  

It felt cramped and pressing despite having more than enough space and light. Unlike the previous ship, several lanterns lit the expanse leaving no ominous shadows or darkened areas. You could easily see all the doors lining the walls as well as the beautifully carved and decorated windowed doors marking the end of the hall. Rus waited near the last door on the left.  

It was calm and warm, but you couldn’t shake off the feelings of danger. 

“Ya c’n go inside Darlin. Milord’s wait’n.” Rus stood to the side, motioning you inside the now open door. 

You looked to your companions. While Axe kept his eyelight on Rus, Crooks’ soft smile and nod gave you enough of a boost to cautiously cross the threshold. It smelled of lavender tinted with something you couldn’t quite place, the overall size relatively small. What looked like a narrow modified canopy bed connected to the wall was on your right. In front of you, under a single window, was a rather lovely desk intricately carved with polished knobs. To your immediate left was an open decorative chest shoved in the corner. Everything was of exquisite taste and quality, from the bedding and carvings on the furniture to the upholstery on the chair at the desk. The few trinkets left out were of fine gold or silver with glistening jewels. 

You jumped when the door closed behind you. Axe nor Crooks had made it inside. It had your stomach rolling with nerves. You did not anticipate having the others closed out. Having Black now between you and the only exit made it worse. His eyelights were too bright. 

Didn’t Rus call him a lord...? 

Your chest tightened at his approach, making sure to lower your gaze. 

“TRUE TO MY WORD, THAT HORROR’S GARMENT HAS BEEN MENDED. HAD I KNOWN IT WAS FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS, I NEVER WOULD HAVE HELD ONTO IT.” In his hands was a large linen shirt, neatly folded and dark in color. Holding it out, he offered it to you. “PUT IT ON. I WILL ADJUST IT AS NEEDED AFTER.” 

You froze, intently focusing on the simple article of cloth. Was he expecting you to do it here and now? In front of him? Wasn’t it bad enough you were laid bare in front of all those on the deck, or stars, when you pressed yourself against Blue? At least Axe had good reason to see you. Multiple! To willingly undress now in the presence of a man other than your husband...  

By the angel, what would Axe think of all this? 

Black must have noticed your silent panicked uncertainty when you didn’t immediately take it. Clearing his throat, something in his tone changed. “I SHALL, OF COURSE, REFRAIN FROM LOOKING WHILE YOU DO SO. YOU MAY LEAVE MY BROTHER’S COAT ON THE CHAIR WHEN YOU ARE READY.” 

It was hard not to squirm. While that was greatly appreciated, it still felt uncomfortable. Could you trust his word? You hardly knew the man. Perhaps things may have felt different if the room wasn’t quite so stifling or the door hadn’t been shut so suddenly. 

Luckily, heavy thumps in the hall distracted Black enough for him to hand you the garment himself, squinting at the door behind him. He was just about to speak again when another set of thumps sounded, this time shaking the door. Growling, he finally turned when the muffled voices following the noise got angrier. 

You really didn’t want to do this right now. Not here. Not with all the uncertainties surrounding you.  

Taking a slow breath in, you let it out. The sooner you changed, the sooner you could be rid of these unsettling feelings. With unsteady fingers twitching against the fabric as you took one last glance at Black’s back. 

One more breath. 

The sound of your rattling bones was louder without the security of the coat. Placing it on the chair, you did your best to quickly dress.  

The feeling of fabric against your bones was surprisingly comforting as you pulled it over your head. True to Axe’s size, the shirt almost went to your knees. It was so large the fabric pooled on your much smaller frame and reminded you of the nightgowns you used to wear back at the manor. 

If only it wasn’t so short. 

Though your more private areas were covered, it was not good for a lady to show so much… leg. You tugged at the hem, the sleeves threatening to engulf your hands.  

“I’m dressed, my lord.” 

A calculated breath was your only answer before his eyelights found you, fuzzy with a slight warble. You had to second guess if you had seen them correctly, for the next moment they were back to their bright and sharp orbs. Getting closer, they traveled over you as he hummed, the heel of his boots clicking as he circled. If you had hair, it would have stood on end at the subtle brush of his hand against your back. 

“AS I EXPECTED.” 

You startled, yelping when he came around to lightly grip your hips. Instinctively, your hands came to your chest from the forwardness, sockets wide. He paid no mind, eyelights intent on the bunched fabric. He only let go to pull a satin rope from his pocket. 

You squeaked again when he reached around you to wrap it around your waist. 

“MUCH BETTER. HOWEVER," His gloved hands touched your elbows, slowly moving up your arms to grasp your hands for inspection. “YOUR MAGIC. IT IS MUCH TOO THIN…” He turned them over. “Hmmmmm. Knowing Him…” 

Your chest clenched. He was close enough you could feel his ambient heat and wisps of breath. 

Before Black could say or do anything else, his door nearly burst off its hinges, a very aggravated Axe forcing it open. Black pulled you into him with a snarl, eyelights vanishing with the click of his teeth. Stuck in a headlock was a disgruntled Rus, resigned to the hold around his neck. 

You didn’t know if you could physically handle any more stress.  

“BY THE ANGEL, YOU WILL REPLACE THAT LOCK IF YOU HAVE BROKEN IT!” 

Axe’s voice was low, grin tight as he took in the scene. “Don’t appreciate the closed door, Black. Hell ya think yer doin’ in here?” 

Black placed you behind him, grumbling a growl. “AS I STATED EARLIER, I HAVE GIVEN HER SOMETHING TO ADEQUATELY COVER HERSELF UNTIL WE CAN PROCURE SOMETHING MORE FITTING.”  

Axe narrowed his sockets at Black’s squared shoulders. For a split second, you could see the red orb of his eyelight flick over the man in front of you before it focused on you.  

“Sure that's all ya were doin’?” 

The fabric of Black’s gloves creaked. “IF YOU MUST KNOW, I WAS INSPECTING HER MAGIC FLOW. I’M NO EXPERT, BUT EVEN I CAN TELL IT’S RUNNING LOW. A MORE IMPORTANT QUESTION WOULD BE, WHY HAVEN’T YOU—” 

“I’ve been doin’ exactly what I need ta be. Don’t need ta explain myself either.” Rus stumbled into the room when Axe unceremoniously released him to motion to you. “Now, if yer done?” 

With a snarl, Black pointed a finger. “NOW SEE HERE YOU–” 

Instinctually, you reached out, stopping just before Black’s arm. “My lord, I!” You faltered at his abrupt attention, pulling back to dip your head in respect. “I thank you for your kindness, but I should return to my lord husband before any more misunderstandings occur.” 

His eyelights stuttered. “I, I BEG YOUR PARDON?” 

There was a beat of awkward silence before Axe broke into heavy laughter, the loudest and deepest you’ve heard from him. It was enough to warm your cheeks as he beckoned you out and away from the room. Black gaped, slack-jawed and sputtering as you passed. You were already being guided onto the deck by the time he was able to call out one last time from his doorway. 

“AXE! YOU WILL… THAT… YOU WILL EXPLAIN YOURSELF!” 

Axe only laughed harder, closing the doors behind you. 

The sun had mostly set by the time you stepped out into the humid sea air. You would have done anything in the past to be able to look up, out, and around but Axe was swift in guiding you down the main hatch. You didn’t want to linger longer than necessary anyway. 

You didn’t have Rus’s coat to hide under. 

You were grateful for the darkness once you were under. The lanterns were farther spread, some empty of light altogether. It helped ease your mind against the wandering eyes. Most gathered under the brightest lamps, playing cards at makeshift tables, drinking, and socializing while others lounged in hammocks hanging interspersed between the canons. While some watched you pass, Axe was surprisingly good at slipping through the darkest areas to avoid the unwanted attention.  

The closer you got to the front of the ship, the fewer people there were until you came upon barrels and crates stacked near and around an area quartered off by familiar heavy sheets. You could even recognize the stack you and Blue had hidden next to, the sheet on that side still halfway pulled down. Axe was kind enough to hold the flap for you to enter. 

Finally, you were able to relax the tension out of your shoulders and pained joints. You wanted to climb back into the hammock and rest your aching pelvis, maybe snuggle against Axe and his warmth. The way he moved about though had you gingerly sitting on his stool, setting it upright from where it had been knocked over. 

You wondered when that had occurred. What happened after you had been taken? 

... 

A quiet curse had you looking back at Axe as he re-fastened the makeshift wall. There were a few more rips in it than you remembered. If he had any sewing supplies, you would have to mend them. It was the least you could do as thanks. 

You let out a slow breath, peering down at your clenched fists. They were cold and stiff on your lap. Black had been interested in them. The lot of them had been interested in general, but he had seemed so focused. 

Your voice was soft, hesitant as you summoned the courage to speak. “Axe? I have so many questions, but I’m afraid… I don’t know if I’m allowed to ask.” 

Axe chuckled. “Don’t gotta be afraid with me, Dove. It’s good ta ask questions around here. The more ya know the better, good or bad. Don’t let anyone tell ya otherwise.” 

You picked at the hem of the shirt, smoothing it down as much as you could. “Is that true?" Axe simply grunted. Collecting yourself, you forced yourself to ask the questions burning your mind. "What is a Banthos? What does it mean to be one? And what did Black mean when he said my magic was too thin? I don’t have magic. I’m not… I’m not even a monster.” 

It was hard not to flinch when, from your peripherals, you saw him stop. His voice had become more serious but thankfully still soft.  

“The hell yer not. Listen, I don’t know what you’ve been told, where ya come from, or what ya been through. But you’re as much of a monster as the rest of us. You’re made of magic and hope just like me.” He came over to place your hand in his scarred one, taking a knee to look directly into your sockets. “We’re the same. Dust and all. It don’t matter about anything else. As fer your magic,” he rubbed his face with a frustrated sigh, “let me worry about that. Just know ya got it and I’m gonna make damn sure ta get it where it needs ta be.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that, but it sent a comforting feeling to your chest. He was always so warm. It reminded you of your mother.  

Nodding, you were about to ask about your first question when footsteps interrupted you. Axe stood, moving between you and the flap.  

“AXE, IT IS GETTING LATE. I HAVE TAKEN THE LIBERTY OF PREPARING SANS’ ROOM FOR THE LITTLE MISS. I HOPE YOU HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN.”  

Axe only slightly relaxed at the sound of Papyrus’ voice, not moving but calling out to the other skeleton. “I can take her when we’re ready. Just got a few–” he bristled when Papyrus entered and smiled down at you, hand twitching at his side –“more things ta take care of.” 

“AND WHAT MIGHT THAT BE SO I MAY HELP?” When Axe only grumbled, Papyrus took it upon himself to continue. “WELL, WHILE YOU FIGURE THINGS OUT, I SHALL MAKE SURE TO GET HER SAFELY TO HER NEW LODGINGS.” 

You both tensed. “Papyrus. Paps. At least let things settle before ya drag er away. You saw Sans. I don’t trust him.” 

Papyrus looked a little sheepish at the accusation. “I UNDERSTAND YOUR CONCERN, BUT I HAVE FAITH THAT THIS WILL WORK. I MYSELF WILL KEEP AN EYE ON THINGS IF I MUST. He Means Well. NOT THAT, THAT IS AN EXCUSE FOR HIS TERRIBLE BEHAVIOR.” He came forward to place a hand on Axe’s shoulder, humble and pleading. “WON’T YOU AT LEAST TRUST ME?” 

You couldn’t place the look that crossed Axe’s face from the question, the red orb of his eyelight quaking until his free hand brushed the edges of his empty socket. “That’s cheat’n…” There was a heaviness to the silence.  

When Axe’s shoulders sagged, Papyrus gave him back his space. “All WILL BE WELL. I’M SURE OF IT.” 

You were uncertain as to what you needed to do, but before you could stand, Axe nudged you back down. With the reluctance of a stubborn cat, he then went about gathering items he had deemed yours, going so far as draping his favored blanket over your shoulders. When all was said and done, you were left with a surprisingly intricate box full of puzzles, Axe’s blanket, and an affectionate nuzzle to your neck.  

It was with a heavy heart and a glowing face that you eventually followed Papyrus back out into the darkness. 

You did your best to keep up with his long strides, missing Axe’s purposely slowed gait. You could feel the grinding strain on your pelvis and lower joints with each step. You focused on the clack of your feet to keep your mind off the aching. Papyrus was already several steps ahead of you when he got to the steps.  

Blessedly, he turned to wait for you. 

It was embarrassing how out of breath you had become from such a short distance, especially when you knew you didn’t technically need to breathe. You were even more so when Papyrus cocked his head to look you over with a contemplative hum. 

His smile was kind. “MY APOLOGIES MISS. I KNEW YOU WERE IN ROUGH SHAPE, BUT I HADN’T REALIZED…” He glanced up the steps. “PERHAPS IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR ME TO HELP.” 

Without so much as a warning, he picked you up and draped you across both of his arms. You almost dropped your box, squeaking in surprise as he ascended to the deck. Your mind and tongue had stopped working from the suddenness. Though Axe had carried you once before and had moved you a few times, you didn’t quite know what to think of this stranger picking you up so nonchalantly. It was as if it was the most normal thing in the world for him, smile just as polite and kind as before. 

With him carrying you, it took little time to cross the rest of the way back through the double doors and down to the end of the hall. Standing in front of the windowed doors, you were only jostled a little when he turned the knob. He used his boot to kick it open the rest of the way with a bang, making you flinch when the glass shook precariously. 

You thought you saw a flash of blue, but when you looked, there was nothing there but a railed raised platform with an extravagant-looking bed, windows lining the entirety of the back wall. 

You shuddered. It smelled overwhelmingly of snow and cold rain. 

Scrunching his nasal ridge, Papyrus walked around a heavy round table with a scattering of papers and a lantern. Stepping onto the platform, he carefully set you down, turning to furiously rip the blankets off the bed to ball and fling them across the room with a fwump. 

“FORGIVE MY IDIOT OF A BROTHER. I WILL BE HAVING A TALK WITH HIM ABOUT APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR LATER. FOR NOW, I’M AFRAID THIS WILL HAVE TO DO. AT LEAST THE BED IS EXCEPTIONALLY COMFORTABLE.” He put his hand down to pat the mattress. “IT IS A GIMBAL BED, MADE WITH LARGER MONSTERS IN MIND SO YOU WILL HAVE PLENTY OF SPACE AND WON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THE TIPPING OF THE SHIP.” 

When you didn’t move, he gently ushered you to sit before making his way to the windows. It was so dark now that the light from the lamp effectively turned them into mirrors. You were grateful, too afraid to look through them. To your relief, Papyrus closed the many curtains for each once. Once done, he gently took your box and stood at the end of the bed, bowing slightly from the waist. 

“I WOULD STAY TO HELP YOU SETTLE, BUT I UNFORTUNATELY HAVE OTHER DUTIES I NEED TO TAKE CARE OF AT THIS TIME. BUT DO NOT FEAR, I WILL MAKE SURE SOMEONE WILL BE BY IN THE MORNING TO BRING YOU SOME TEA AND BREAKFAST AND TO WELCOME YOU.” Walking away, he stopped to place your box on the table and extinguish the lantern. “SLEEP WELL MISS.”  

With a wave, he picked up the bundle of discarded blankets and walked out the door, closing it behind him. 

… 

It was frightening, alone in the dark.

Previous Next SOH Master Grandmaster

[rainbow-nerdss]

Buck goes over to Tommy's place late one morning, coffees in hand. They agreed to go out today, maybe go for a walk in a nearby park or something, no solid plans for the day other than spending it together.

When Buck gets there, though, he feels something is wrong. The curtains are closed, for one thing. And when Buck knocks, he doesn't hear any immediate movement towards the door. Usually, Tommy opens the door before Buck even makes it up the drive.

But today, Buck knocks, and he waits.

Had Tommy gotten held late at work? Buck knows he had a shift that was supposed to end a few hours before, but maybe he got stuck with overtime and didn't have a chance to call or text. But his car is there, in the same place it always is, and there hasn't been anything on the news about any major disasters.

Buck knocks again and considers calling or texting when he finally hears shuffling on the other side of the door, then the jingle of keys before the door opens.

Tommy is... A mess, honestly.

His hair is sticking up in every direction, old sweatpants with a hole at the knee, and a worn out old hoodie which Tommy shoves his hands back into the pockets of when he sees Buck.

"Hey, Evan." He swallows, voice think with some heavy emotion. "I'm so sorry, I... I forgot we had plans today, I—" he's hunched into himself, and he looks smaller than Buck's ever seen him.

"Tommy," Buck reaches for him with the hand that isn't holding the coffee cups. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Tommy shrugs, hesitating before stepping aside to let Buck in. "Rough shift," he says after an extended silence. "Everyone... The team all made it out, but... We lost someone. I lost someone."

Buck sets the coffee cups down on the entrance table and pulls Tommy into a hug, tucking his head into his shoulder and holding him tight. Slowly, Tommy's hands raise enough to wrap around Buck's waist.

"I don't think I'm gonna be much company today," Tommy sniffs after a while. Buck can feel a wet patch on his shoulder, but doesn't mention it.

The fact that Tommy trusts him enough to be this vulnerable with feels like something sacred, something he's been searching desperately for. Up to now, Tommy has been the one adjusting to make space for what Buck needs, but it's time for Buck to step up, to be there for Tommy.

"I get it, but I'm here." Buck kisses Tommy's cheekbone, just below his eye and he tastes the salty tang of tears there. "If you'd rather be alone, I-I get it. I can go home, and we can reschedule this. But, Tommy, I don't care if all we do is sit on your couch in the dark, okay? Whatever you need, I'm here."

Tommy holds Buck tighter for a moment.

"Evan," he says, in the same way he always says it. Like it's a something precious and delicate and wonderful. Buck's not sure where it came from, but he adores it.

"What do you usually do after a bad shift?' Buck asks.

Tommy sniffs, and it takes a while to answer. "Usually..." He clears his throat. "Usually I curl up in bed or on the couch and watch a rom-com. I know, it's a little—"

"Don't you dare say it's embarrassing," Buck warns, cupping Tommy's jaw and running his thumb over the stubble there. "Go make yourself comfortable, drink your coffee, pick a movie. I'll make us some snacks and join you in a minute, okay?"

Half an hour later, Buck settles on the couch—the coffee table full of popcorn, chopped vegetables and dips to snack on.

Buck reclines against the arm, and pulls Tommy on top of him, head on his chest. It's a tight fit, but from the way Tommy settles into him, Buck knows it's what he needs.

Tommy hits play, and Buck smiles at the opening monologue. "Love Actually?" He asks.

Tommy makes a sound, a soft sort of hum. "It's... kind of my favourite," he admits.

Buck smiles and kisses the top of Tommy's head, then replaces his lips with his fingers, running them over Tommy's scalp.

"That's really cute."

Tommy nestles in closer to Buck's chest, and neither of them say anything else for a while.

"Thanks," Tommy says, when they're about halfway through the movie. "For staying."

Buck kisses his head again, and Tommy lifts himself up a little so he can turn and kiss Buck on the lips, instead before settling back against his chest.

"Thank you, for letting me stay. For letting me look after you."

The words are on the tip of his tongue as he looks down and watches Tommy turn his attention back to the movie, watches him mouth along to a handful of lines.

I love him, he thinks. He doesn't say it out loud, not yet, but the realisation is soft, and warming, and perfect. And he will say it, soon. When the time is right. And he hopes Tommy will say it back.

For now though, Tommy is like a weighted blanket on his chest, comforting and warm, and Buck's content to just stay here for as long as he can.

They'll put on another movie, finish the snacks, maybe order takeout for dinner later, and Tommy will smile again, will laugh again, will kiss Buck the same way he says his name.

[r1pp4r]

• i wrote this and i just had to share it 😭😭 its abt you and simon’s first time together !! i wanted to show him from my perspective n make him accurate w my headcannons so here ya go!! i hope yall enjoy :))

this one is really sappy. i rewrote it a bit but tiktok saw it first!! btw my tiktok is @r1pp4r 🫣

• !!WARNING THIS IS 18+! MDNI!!

——————————————————————————————

• warnings: smut!!! 18+ this is honestly just a vv fluffy and comforting smut oneshot.. hinting at SA!

tonight, you had simon over to your apartment. the two of you were on a break from missions, and you both had been in a relationship for almost two and a half years. and neither of you could explain what happened tonight, or why it happened truthfully.

maybe it was the way he smelled, or the way your hair was down tonight.

maybe it was because your apartment was tiny, or how you never looked where you were going.

maybe it was the way you bumped into him walking out of your bathroom while he was walking from the kitchen sink, or the way he looked down at you.

maybe it was the way he instinctively grabbed your waist instead of your hips, or the way you could feel each others heartbeat when he pulled you flesh against him to steady himself.

but somehow you ended up in your bed, with simon between your thighs, pumping his manhood out of your sex slowly, as he watched you very carefully. the two of you had talked about this day, but wanted it to come naturally and you wanted simon to be comfortable enough to make the decision himself.

so when his hands were against your hips, his fingers digging into the skin while your hands were sprawled against his chest, he couldn’t help but lean down and kiss you. you looked up at him so innocently. with all the love in the world and even though simon was absolutely terrified, during the past two and a half years you had shown him everything, given him more than he could’ve asked for.

and that’s how he ended up between your thighs. you wouldn’t have had it any other way though. you truthfully were usually more of a dominant stature in the bedroom. more in a sense where you took control, but tonight.. tonight simon wanted that control and you knew he needed it more than you.

so you obliged happily.

and now you had your hands on his cheeks, and your foreheads were pressed together. his forearms were on either side of your head as he was caging your tiny body in and holding up his huge frame as he split his cock into your tight entrance. you were moaning like it was a symphony and simon loved knowing he made you feel good.

he was terrified that he was ‘tainting’ you in some way by pressing himself against you, but god he could’ve swore that was the sound of heaven falling off your lips. your cries of how good simon felt, were liquid gold.

you couldn’t breathe. he took up your entire being, soul, heart and mind. this man was giving you everything and you were giving him your all in return, because of course he was terrified but you had given up control to him. he had your body, and you loved every bit of it. he controlled the pace, when you looked at him, where he pressed his hands and where your own went.

his words of praise had you falling onto cloud-9, your body was set ablaze with the heat from simon’s movements. the way his cock fit so perfectly into your cunt. it was like he was made for you… and the way he was groaning, the mask muffling them a bit, but truthfully just making it better. you could tell he felt the same.

and this is how the two of you gave up trust.

this is how simon was offering himself to you. he was giving you his all, and asking for yours in return. and you gave yourself.

but, even with his thrusts and his praise.. his slow, languid thrusts and those sweet, sweet words.. it was enough but you needed something. you needed more, and you were willing to ask.. beg, even. but you didn’t want to scare him, so you began to press soft, but wet, open mouthed kisses to his shoulder and jaw. you loved hearing the way he groaned, and grunted above you, letting you know he was enjoying himself.

you were gentle in your touches now, letting your moans sync up with his. the two of you were enjoying each other but you just.. needed one more push, and you could tell he did too. but again you didn’t want to push him, so you tapped him gently, and he immediately stopped, almost backing away but you held him in place, softly.

your eyes told him everything and he nodded, breathing heavily from not only how aroused he was, but how nervous he was now..

but you just looked up at him with all the love, and trust in the world. you ran your hand over the balaclava softly, pressing kisses over where his lips and cheeks would be. then all around.

your voice came out above a whisper before you spoke..

“ghost.. ghost please i- need more..”

“you feel so good i just.. need a little more baby.. can you do that?”

“deeper.. i need to feel you.. if you can..”

you brushed your lips against his balaclava, seeing as he didn’t want to take it off as this was the first time. he’d taken it off before but you respected his decision. you knew what he looked like and his eyes were enough to explain his whole face. you pulled away and you swore the sight of his eyebrows furrowing as he thought about your words. you watched the way he screwed his eyes shut and fully bottomed out inside you, making you cry out once more.

“ghost!”

you cried, screwing your eyes shut as well. your back arched as he had moved your legs a bit higher, causing a new, deeper angle. and simon stopped there, not moving an inch. you opened your eyes, ready to reassure him that it felt good- but when you opened them, simon was looking at you with such an intense gaze.

you could tell his jaw was hanging open under the mask, as his eyes contorted into complete pleasure, feeling you clench around him at this new angle. you were so tight and it was so sweet, the way your pussy was gripping him..

“simon.” his voice was almost a command. “say it. call me simon..”

“please.. i need to hear it..”

“please ripley.. fuck..”

his voice was strained as he looked down at you. he was completely lost in the pleasure between the two of you and you were as well.

but he asked once again and you knew he wouldn’t ask twice.

“simon…”

“simon please.. i need it..”

“i love you simon.. i’m yours.. i’m only yours..”

you whispered softly, and you could hear the guttural groan that fell from his lips. he quickly rolled up his balaclava, only to his lips. he looked down at you with an expression you’d never seen before. at the sound of his name, his eyes darkened with a hunger and love you hadn’t experienced he pressed his lips to yours with a fervor and began to move once again.

but this time his movements were deep, and a bit more unsteady, but god did he know what he was doing. he was bottoming out every time and he had you keening and reeling for him. you couldn’t help it as your head rolled back and so did your eyes, your back arching into his chest. he knew exactly how to hit that spot over and over.

“are- are you okay?”

simon asked as you had yelled particularly loud on one thrust. and you nodded quickly, pressing your lips to his once more in a heightened state. you need to explode around him and you needed him to claim you. you needed to be his. and then he continued his brutal pace, feeling the way you clenched around him as he began to praise you once again.

“god.. ripley i.. you feel amazing.. i can’t..”

“fuckin’.. fuckin’ hell.. oh you sweet girl. you spoil me..”

“givin’ me all this.. all of you.. your trust.. fuck.. i don’t- god i don’t deserve you..”

and though his words were few, you knew what he was saying and though his cock was absolutely plummeting you, you couldn’t help the tears slowly run down your cheeks. but simon was just listening to the way you cried his name over and over like a prayer. he continued to ask if you were alright, and you continued to assure him that you were okay, and that everything was so good. it just felt too good.

simon began to slow down his thrusts as he couldn’t continue looking at your tears. you choked back softly, wondering why he slowed but he just spoke sweet nothings into your ear and pressed soothing kisses to your shoulder and neck.

he waited until you had calmed down a bit, but not enough to where you weren’t still on the edge. and he began to move again, very slowly, keeping a tentative eye on you to make sure you were okay, and he could tell his thrusts were making you feel absolute euphoria.

but one particular thrust had you seeing stars, and simon haulted but you shook your head, ushering him to continue and he did, watching the way your face began to screw up in absolute pleasure.

simon had never seen something so beautiful and he just continued his pace. he had never wanted something this bad. he needed to feel you give your all to him and he was going to bring you over the edge

“yes- yes simon i’m- oh my god-“

“i can’t- you’re so- deep-“

“simon!- i’m gonna cum-! fuck!- right there!-“

and you did. your body erupted into a beautiful explosion as you released onto simon, and gave him your all. you arched your back off the sheets, your fingers gripping into them so tightly you were afraid they’d tear. you cried out his name one last time, your lips parting open as you panted and began to come down.

simon continued to lead and guide you through your orgasm with slow and deep thrusts, and sweet words. but he grunt and groan loudly, his pace becoming uneven and you could tell he was about to come.

“simon.. simon i’ve got you.. go ahead, let go.. it’s okay..”

“you can.. inside.. shh let go my love..”

you said reached up, wrapping your arms around his neck before pulling him flesh against your body. simon for the first time cried out, gripping onto your body tightly as he slowly began to lose his rhythm and stilled, pressing his cum deep into you, which forced a cry out of you as well.

simon didn’t move from your arms and stayed inside you. the two of you were breathing heavily, the smell of sex and sweat was in the air. you could feel the way your sweat mixed with simon’s as he laid against you.

you began to run your fingers from the base of his neck, into his hair, scratching at his scalp softly. you could feel the way simon began to shudder softly and you pressed kisses to his forehead, pulling the blanket around the two of you.

you whispered sweet words into his ear. reassuring him that he was safe and it was the two of you, there was no one else. no one could hurt him and that he was safe with you.

he squeezed you tightly, you could feel his nails digging into your flesh slightly but you knew he needed to feel you and that was okay.

so the two of you stayed intertwined, as you spoke sweet nothings into simon’s ears until you could feel him fall asleep.

[leslie-lyman]

Election Night

A Euclidean Geometry drabble

Summary: Election night 2024 does not go as they’d hoped.

Pairing: modern!Pero Tovar x Frankie x Jack x nameless!OFC/f!reader (written in third person, reader is only referred to as she/her/their girl, with no physical descriptors)

Word count: 1.1k

Rating: G, just some election-related angst/hurt/comfort

a/n: Trying to work through my feelings about the 2024 election results. Would like to have three large Pedro boys comfort me. Had a breakdown. Wrote this.

Masterlist.

———

She hadn’t wanted to stop watching the results come in.

Not even after the swing states had started to fall, one by one, like red dominoes. But at some point the hands she’d pressed tightly over her mouth had begun to shake, tears spilling down her face, breath catching in her throat with each shallow inhale.

Frankie had finally turned off the tv, slipped her phone into his pocket, and carried her to bed. They’d pressed in tight against her as she sobbed, soaking the front of Jack’s tshirt as he held her against his chest, crying so hard she nearly made herself sick.

I don’t understand, she’d said, over and over. I don’t understand. This can’t be happening again. I can’t do it, I can’t face another four years of this…

In that moment the worst thing is how helpless they feel. The three of them are smart, strong, capable men, men who are trained to protect, to figure out how to get out of impossible situations. And if they could they’d burn the world down if anyone or anything caused their girl to hurt like this. But there’s nothing they can do to fix it.

She’s scared for herself, yes, but they know she’s far more worried about the three of them. The horizon of possibility stretches terrifyingly wide before them.

Pero has his green card, but will that matter? How careless and indiscriminate will the promised deportations be? At the end of the day, being a tan-skinned, Spanish-speaking immigrant may be more than enough to put a target on his back. Frankie and Jack are citizens, but neither has to branch out terribly far in their respective family trees to find relatives who are undocumented.

To say nothing of the fact that the four of them live together in a queer, polyamorous relationship. Where even now they have to be vigilant in public, wary of how obvious they are, always aware that simply being who they are out loud could result in unexpected attack. How much worse will it get? How much harm will be caused?

And as they do their best to soothe the woman they love, they know this reaction isn’t just about fear, or frustration, or anger.

It’s grief.

It feels like suffering through a death because that’s what it is. The death of a hope, of a dream, of what could have been and what should be if there was any justice or common sense or decency in the world. And even though this grief inwardly pummels them black and blue too, they know they will never truly feel it the way their girl does. The unique pain of women, who hope so much for so little, for even just the opportunity to be equal, and to be denied so resoundingly. To have gotten so close to a woman president and to have that chance ripped away by a man as odious as he is dangerous not once, but twice? It’s just cruel.

They do what they can for her, holding her close, letting her cry it out, murmuring soft words of reassurance.

It’ll be okay, sweetheart. Just let it out.

We’re here. We’ve got you. We’ve always got you.

I’m sorry, darlin’. I’m so sorry.

Tears roll down their cheeks and they try to muffle their sniffles for her sake, but the looks they share with each other are pained and haunted.

At last their girl quiets, having cried herself into a fitful doze. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:37am.

Jack, Pero, and Frankie all lie awake, ingrained military instincts refusing to let them sleep when they have something precious to keep watch over.

Jack breaks the silence.

I’ll call our lawyer later today, he half-whispers. Make sure we have all our paperwork in order. Wills, power of attorney, that sort of thing. So we’re as protected as possible, legally speakin’, should anything happen to one of us.

Frankie and Pero nod in silent agreement.

We should sit down with Robert soon, Frankie adds, mentioning their financial advisor. Reassess where we’re at, have a contingency plan in case we decide we need to move.

She’ll want to increase where and how much we donate, Jack adds, looking down at their girl with her head on his chest, one first curled into his shirt.

This is good. This is a plan. This is what they need.

We should go away for a bit. Pero’s voice is low and deep in the dark. Take some time somewhere remote, just the four of us.

I can think of a long weekend in January when I wouldn’t mind be disconnected from the rest of the world, Frankie quips humorlessly.

There’s an old Daniels family cabin in the U.P., near Mackinac, Jack says. Snow-covered trees, big roaring fireplace, little to no cell service…

Their girl shifts to blink sleepily up at him, just awake enough now to interject.

What about someplace warm, Jack?

Oh you’d be kept plenty warm, sugar. Don’t you worry about that.

He softly brushes her hair back from her tear-stained face, placing a delicate kiss to her forehead.

How are you feeling, querida?

She reaches for Pero’s hand to anchor herself before she answers him.

Sad. Scared. Angry.

That is how you should feel, Frankie murmurs, and the validation is strangely reassuring.

And tired, she says, tears starting to clog up her throat again. Fuck, I’m so damn tired. Tired of fighting, of resisting, of feeling like I’m screaming at the top of my lungs to have my and others’ basic humanity recognized by people too devoid of empathy to care. I’m so, so tired.

I know, querida, I know you are. And it seems overwhelming right now. But the alternative is giving up. And that is the only thing that truly feels impossible to do, no?

Her hand squeezes Pero’s as she nods, reluctantly conceding that he’s right.

But not at this moment, Frankie says. We should rest. There’s nothing else we can do at this moment.

Their girl turns to face him, making sure she’s still touching all three of them before closing her eyes and snuffling down into the pillow.

Should call our lawyer, she mumbles, starting to slip away into sleep again. And Robert…make sure we protect ourselves…as much as possible…

The three men share an amused look.

Those are great ideas, baby, Frankie praises her quietly, pulling a blanket up to her chin. We’ll do that.

And maybe…find a place to go…a beach somewhere?

Muffled chuckles break out around her.

Whatever you want, darlin’, says Jack.

It doesn’t matter where they go. And whatever happens next, they can face it, as long as they’re together.

[myymi]

tail wags

Sonic’s ear flicked at the sound of grass rustling behind as he rolled up the two sleeping bags. He was trying to rush so they could get on the move again, having gotten up and moving pretty late today. It had been a lazy morning for the two of them. Instead of running and flying down the road, the two had cuddled up and spent the early sunlight talking about whatever came to mind. Neither of them were really up to being too active today, but the hedgehog knew better than to stay in one spot for too long.

So he forced them up, but let the kid sit out of packing up to stretch his tails before they moved out. It was strange how hard it was to get on his feet this morning, the weight of the kid on his chest more comforting than he ever thought it could be. He didn’t like touching other people. He tried not to let it show around the kid, but physical contact made him want to physically curl away and bolt. He didn’t really get why, but it just wasn’t for him. Or– he thought it wasn’t for him. But somehow that kid managed to blow his mind again. It was insane how often he did that, but he supposes that’s just a trait you have to have in order to keep up with the fastest thing alive. There was more rustling, so Sonic decided to turn around and look at what was the cause of it. His brow furrowed as a confused smile curved his muzzle as he found the cause of the gentle noise.

Tails had his tails pinned against the ground, face scrunched up in annoyance. He hadn’t noticed the tween was looking at him, his attention fully on the two fluffy appendages. His ear flicked a few times, showing he was trying to solve something. "Whatcha doin, bud?" He asked, snorting when the fox jumped. The kit’s ears swiveled before focusing in on Sonic, his head soon turning to look over at him. "My tails aren't listening." He said, lifting a hand to point at his namesakes which allowed one of them to slip free. It started wagging behind him, causing him to huff and reach around to try and catch it. "Whaddya mean they aren't listening?" Sonic asked as he stuffed the sleeping bags into the backpack. It was a tight fit with the two of them, but he learned how to work around it. When they first started traveling together Tails had insisted he slept on the ground, but the tween refused. He lent his to the kid for the first few weeks until he had saved enough money to buy another. Sometimes he would still find loose fox hair in it. "They keep moving when I think about you even though I’m not telling them to!" The fox complained, having successfully recaptured his rogue tail. He held it and the other to his chest, but they still twitched excitedly against him. "Awh, kid.” A fond laugh was pulled out of the older as he walked over to the kid. Tails’ ear flicked as he approached, “They're wagging. Just means you're happy" He explained, reaching down to affectionately muse the kid’s bangs. "But it's never happened before," Tails said, frowning at the appendages. “It’s weird.” “Nah, it’s happened.” Sonic shook his head. He imagined it hasn’t happened much in the kid’s life yet, but he’d definitely caught the twin tails thrashing giddily behind him. “I’ve seen ‘em do it.” That got him to look up, brow furrowed as he soaked up the new information. He was like a little sponge, though squeezing him wouldn’t get him to let go of all the things he’d learned. You’d probably have to pry it straight out of his brain. “What about you? Does your tail ever wag?” The kit asked, head tilting enough to cause his ears to flop over. Sonic shrugged, reaching out to tug at one of the ears despite the swats he received from the younger’s hands. “Sure it does,” He said, snorting when the kid shook his head to free his ear from the hedgehog’s hold which caused it to hit him in the face. “You just haven’t seen it cause it’s small.” “I’ve never seen my tails wag.” Tails pointed out, glancing back at the mentioned appendages. His lips pursed as he considered the new information before turning to look at the tween again and pulled a face. “Are you lying again like you did with the Easter Bunny?” Sonic laughed at that, having forgotten about the times he tried to tell the kid about the usual holiday characters. No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t convince the kid things like the Tooth Fairy existed. The first time Tails lost one of his teeth Sonic had tried to swap it out for a few mobiums. It took quite a while to even convince the kid to put it under his pillow, but the promise of mint candy got him to comply. Sonic had done a good enough job at being quiet when sneaking around to his sleeping bag, but no amount of silence could get that tooth without waking the kit up. The second the tween had touched his pillow, Tails shot into a sitting position as if expecting it to have been a badnik. There was just no way to get that kid to believe in them. It didn’t help that he held pretty much all the logic in the world in his tiny, 5 year old brain. Every time Sonic tried to make up a lie for one of Tails’ questions he’d get debunked.

“Nah, this one’s true, keed.” He shook his head, reaching around to poke one of the tails. It twitched in response, “You’re too little to keep all your happiness in ya, which causes your tails to wag.” Sometimes it was odd to teach the kid things outside of breaking badniks. It shouldn’t be. He was 5. He was at the age when kids would go to school to start their journey in learning what they needed to know as they grew up. Tails hummed, searching the older’s face to try and find something that would indicate that he wasn’t telling the truth. “That seems.. weird.” He decided, face scrunching as he tried to work it out in his head. “I have a way to prove it to ya.” Sonic grinned, knowing that Tails would really not like this idea. But curiosity blinded him of the mischief brewing in the older, his head tipping to the side in a silent question. They usually didn’t ask or say things that were obvious in their body language. Neither of them saw the point in it. “Tickling.” His grin widened. He enjoyed messing with the kid, being purposefully dramatic to get any sort of laugh out of him. Really, he just enjoyed hearing it. He wasn’t really sure why, but it was a more calming sound than anything nature could provide. “No!” The fox’s reaction was instant. He was in the air in a second, out of the hedgehog’s reach. Sonic laughed up at him, rising to his feet while holding his hands up in a mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I won’t.” He promised, nodding at the kit to land back down. Tails’ eyes narrowed, but he did as he was told. His feet softly touched the ground a few steps away from the tween for good measure, but it didn’t really matter when you considered the older’s speed. But Sonic was a hedgehog of his word, so instead of poking at the kit he settled for a hair ruffle. His hand was still swatted away with a pout anyway, but the twin tails swayed happily behind the kid. “See?” He pointed at the appendages, smiling as the younger blinked at them. “You just don’t realize when it happens.” Tails considered them for a few moments more before frowning. “I really don’t think they used to do that.” He mumbled, watching as his tails wagged. Sonic frowned as well, how could a kid go so long without ever feeling happy enough for his tails to wag? They shared a silence for a few seconds until the kit suddenly beamed, grinning up at the hedgehog. “Maybe they were broken and you fixed them!” And oh, if that didn’t make his heart swell up in the most painful way. Nothing about this kid was broken. Being born a little different wasn’t a bad thing and he hated that this poor kid had been convinced it was. If anyone was bad or broken it was that stupid village. They were the ones who tormented a child because they didn’t like that he stood out a little. But he didn’t mention it. Tails never did like talking about Westside, so Sonic tried to avoid it whenever he could. “I’unno. Maybe they just now figured it out.” The kid shook his head at that, smile still bright as ever, “They couldn’t have, I didn’t even know they were broken in the first place. Well— I did, but not like that.” “Okay–“ It was Sonic’s turn to shake his head before crouching down to be at eye level with the fox. “They weren’t broken, kiddo. They just needed a second to catch up.” He said, voice firm as he placed a hand on the younger’s shoulder. Tails’ head tilted again as he thought those words over, “..Like me on our runs?” “Exactly!” Sonic grinned, he didn’t even think of making that connection. “Nothin’ wrong with it, they just needed time.” The fox pursed his lips and nodded, satisfied with that answer so the tween ruffled his bangs as he stood back up. With his hands on his hips, he glanced around at what remained of their little campsite.

He had packed up everything, but the light indents in the grass still outlined where everything was. “Speaking of our runs, I think it’s ‘bout time we blow this joint.” He said, turning to look back at the kit with a hand outstretched, “whaddya say, keed?” Tails beamed back, his smaller hand immediately grabbing the older’s with a large smile, “Let’s speed!"

happy wednesday

[nanamimizz]

tags:this is a very self indulgent piece my b, 18+ minors dni, fem reader!

Jing Yuan, for better or for worse enjoys you - from your sentimental heart to your delicate nature, never will there be a thing that he does not fawn over. Even now he enjoys how you turn the other way when exposed, hiding your flushed face and nervous eyes from his lidded gaze. You both are in the nude, laid in the comfort of your bed and he wouldn’t lie that there is something wicked charming in the fact of taking you before the eyes of your plush companions. Jing Yuan could never claim to be a good man - so he delights in his wicked ways as he eyes the tightness of your nipples and the slope of your hips.

How sweet, how delicate you are beneath him - like a flower freshly bloomed it feels like you could perfectly fit in the palm of his hand.

The sweetest thing of all is the look of half terror half desire in your eyes as you gaze at the width of his cock. It’s large, Jing Yuan is well acquainted with his size and he laughs at the pitiful whimper you let out at the sight of it. Your legs had pressed shut before its visage and he pushed them aside with little effort. He is a man of the blade, your pitiful strength is only something to be laughed at when compared to his. 

A golden eye leers down at you - the curls of hair from your pelvis are sticky from the two releases he ripped from you and the fingers that hold your left thigh are still tacky from being inside of you. You are soft and sticky, inner thighs webbed with your release; more than ready to take him but you tremble beneath the breadth of him. His cock rests against the seam of your cunt, the head is more than flush with the pearl of your clit throbbing in its hood.

You gasp and he teases.

“Are you so frightened? Surely I’ve prepared you enough.” He purrs all too much like the lion that lounges in his main room and you wither beneath him - the flower in his palm wilts as you whine.

“It’s just - so, big. What if it hurts?” You mumble out even when he kisses you in between your stumbling words and you taste the tea he drank on his tongue. He laughs at you, condescending in its timbre and you only whimper at the sound. The head of his cock is now pressed to the centers of the petals of your cunt, he can feel your slick trickle down to the salty head and he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth.

Affection paired with snickering teases, your poison of choice.

“It will,” His head presses in and you gasp - ankles coming to cross over the small of his back as he presses deeper and deeper inside of you. “Even if I have to break you for it, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

 His words are as true as they are a jest and you squeal as name as you take more of his cock. The truth is wrapped in the glittering wrapping of a tease but you know the gravity of his words hangs as heavy as the cock inside of you. You look up into gold eyes with tears in your own, your stomach gives and you wonder - is this how his foes felt when they look up at him? Knowing they will receive no mercy, and neither would you.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

until the morning comes {finnick odair}

plot: it's the day before the 75th hunger games and you and finnick share one last night together.

character: finnick odair x reader

His body is warm and comfortable, arms wrap around you tight and strong, he feels like home as you rest on him. Your eyes squeeze shut, trying to keep the tears at bay and trying to keep this memory forever. You have until the morning comes and then after that... who knows?

Tomorrow Finnick will be taken away to compete in another Hunger Games. Tomorrow will be different for it's victors of previous games that are competing. It's bullshit, you think, he went through hell and back and now they're making him do it again? Bullshit. You hate it. You hate them; Snow. Finnick does too but there's nothing the pair of you can do about it. It's got to happen and that's the end of it.

You should've ran away when you had the chance.

Finnick's eyes are trained on the ceiling as he tries to push the thoughts as far out of his head as possible. He has until the morning comes with you. It may be his last morning with you. The thought kicks him in the stomach, almost winding him, making him feel nauseous. The thought of going back into the arena terrifies him but even more so, it angers him. The rage burns strong and bright under his skin, coursing through his veins, a fire in his heart. How dare they do this to him again? How dare they make him compete again? After all that happened...

Your sniffing brings him back.

Wordlessly, he pulls you closer until your torsos are pressed together and your cheek is pressed to the crook of his neck. His hands rub your back, relishing in the way your skin feels beneath his nimble fingers. He wants to remember every single detail about you, every dimple, every freckle, every blemish; he wants to drink you in and keep your memory vivid and alive.

After all, he doesn't know if he'll come back to you.

No, he thinks, can't think like that.

He pulls you up, littering gentle kisses all over your face; your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, the corners of your mouth and then presses several soft kisses to your lips. He hates the sadness in your eyes, the tears that want to fall, the tremble in your lips. The pair of you stare deeply into the other's eyes, silently saying everything you want to.

I love you.

Be safe.

I'll do my best.

"You are the one thing that will keep me going," he whispers, the first words spoken in a few hours, "but please... no matter what happens, you have to carry on. No matter what they say about me, no matter what happens to me... you have to keep going."

All you can say is one word, "Please." It doesn't need an explanation, Finnick understands immediately.

Please stay alive. Please come home to me. Please don't die.

Finnick's eyes flood with tears and all he can do is nod. He pulls you down to him again as you both weep softly. Neither of you can believe that this is happening, that he's going again. Finnick's told you the horror of the 65th games and now, 10 years later, he's going to compete again.

For a while, you're silent again, the only sound being the ticking clock which hangs on the wall. You refuse to look at it, not wanting to know how long or little you have left. A few hours at least but it won't be enough. How can you fit the rest of your lives into a few hours?

Finnick's hand reaches to your cheek, stroking the soft skin gently, "We should try to sleep." His suggestion falls on deaf ears. Neither of you will sleep, you both know it. You'll be too worried about the morning, about the games, about him never returning.

You have until the morning comes.

It's a while later, you start to hear the birds singing outside and you know that morning fast approaches. Finnick shifts, propping himself up on his elbows to reach under his pillow. You lift your head, looking at him curiously.

"A promise," he says softly as he opens his palm to you, holding a ring. It's a simple ring, gold with three shiny diamonds, it looks expensive, "A promise that I am yours and you are mine. A promise to try my best to return to you. A promise that if-" when "-I do, we shall be wed immediately." His voice wobbles towards the end, "A promise that I shall love you for eternity." You're a mess of snot and tears as you sob into his arms. He holds you tight, pressing soft kisses to your skin as he too weeps quietly.

Goddamn Snow.

When the morning comes, it comes fast and furious with sun streaming through the curtains and already, you can hear the chatter of District 4. It's not long before there's a knock from the front door and Finnick gets dressed. Neither of you speak, you just watch with tired, stinging eyes.

It's when he's ready, that's when you stand and approach him for the last time. He kisses you, soft and lingering, not really wanting to let your lips go until there's another bang at the door.

Time's up, morning came.

"I love you," you croak as you begin to cry again, "please, Finn-"

He nods, knowing what you want to say. He kisses your forehead then lifts your hand to kiss the engagement ring that now resides on your left hand, "I promise," he whispers.

You hold his hand until he opens the front door, "I love you," he says, turning to look at you. He smiles but it doesn't reach his eyes. God you love that man with everything you have. His hand slips from yours and then the door closes and you dissolve into tears once again, on the floor in the hallway, house suddenly seemingly overwhelming large and empty.

Until we meet again.

[fairyniceyeah]

You made my dawn - Homesick/Sweetie 🐸

Titel from 1 to 13 (SEVENTEEN)

Previous story: Wiping away tears/Sweetheart

Summary: He was so scared, just sent to Korea with a gold ring to sell if he was lost.

CW: /

Whumpee: Minghao

Eunji woke up suddenly when her blanket was tugged partially off and her foot was assaulted by the cold night air. For a moment she was confused but then she felt the warmth of a small body against her back.

She did not yet know who had caused the population of her bed to double so suddenly but she had a faint idea.

As the person behind her nuzzled his face between her shoulder blades and a hand wrapped around her waist, as if she was a giant teddy bear, she heard the quiet sniffle.

Minghao.

Their newest addition to the team who had arrived not even a week ago. A lonely boy who didn’t speak their language.

She had managed to put him to bed a few hours ago, after another crying fit (not that she blamed him, her heart ached for him), but that hadn’t seemed to hold. The past week she had spent every evening at his bedside, drinking tea together as he cried for his parents. He was so scared, just sent to Korea with a gold ring to sell if he was lost.

But he wasn’t lost in the way his parents had imagined. He was lost in a more metaphorical sense of the word. 

Alone.

Scared.

Sad.

Homesick.

Lost.

“HaoHao”, she whispered, gently opening the tight grip his fist had on her sleep shirt. She smoothed out the curled up digits, then shifted to turn to him, never once letting go of his hand. They were close, just as Minghao, tactile as he was, needed. But she didn’t mind.

Sudden visits of her bed in the quietude and darkness of the night had not been a real surprise for years now.

“Noona”, he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay, sweetie”, she replied, the Chinese words feeling awkward on her tongue. “Don’t feel bad for waking me.”

She had started to learn Chinese when Jun had first come to Korea, who had been struggling with the language only a little less than Minghao. She was far from perfect but it was enough to comfort him. She had had her Chinese teacher teach her sentences along those lines first. Could she order a meal or say much more useful stuff than her name and that she was manager? No. But it was enough.

The trainees hadn’t really had the time in their busy schedules to learn, but whenever she waited for them during schedules and they didn’t need constant supervision she was on her phone, teaching herself more. For Jun and now for Minghao.

Minghao just sniffed. 

“Couldn’t sleep?”, she asked, rubbing his back.

“Nightmare”, he replied, “I miss my mom and dad. It hurts...”

He laid his hand on his chest, barely visible in the low light of the moon shining in.

“... right here.”

“Oh, Hao”, Eunji whispered. She tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before speaking again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Minghao shook his head. With the movement she could see the tear tracks glistening on his face. 

“I just want to go home. But I don’t want to … them.”

Eunji hadn’t quite understood his last sentence, his voice so small and choked up. Besides, she was pretty sure she hadn’t heard the vocabulary before. But from the context clues she figured he meant disappoint.

She sighed. The poor kid was trapped in limbo: On one hand just desperately wanting to go home and on the other scared to go home as a failure. His parents had placed so much trust in his talents and he was scared that they would be unhappy with him if he couldn’t keep up.

And there was nothing she could do but hold him. She just hoped it was enough. He was such a talented kid and she didn’t want him to give up so early on. But she wanted him to be happy. And she yet wasn’t sure if he could be happy here.

Eunji would just have to work harder to make sure he was comfortable and felt welcome and at home. The team, neither members nor managers, could ever replace his parents but they could become a second family for him. 

Next story: Fever/Tiger

[m-ayo-o]

pair

18+ // alcohol consumption drunken night out with Aki Hayakawa wc 720 selfshiptember; 7

The night begins at a simple but welcoming ramen restaurant, the last thing seared into your brain being the shout of “cheers!!” clinking glasses with everybody around the table.

You order more food, loads more drinks, then head to bars and clubs, finally ending up at some house party with Aki. You can’t find anyone else, so you stick to him like glue, not wanting to get lost in the chaos.

After having your fill of alcohol for the night month, feeling numb from all the dancing, you grab Aki and pull him into the hallway, “can we–” you’re barely audible over the noise, “can we go home!?”

He nods and takes your hand as you stumble to the nearest train station.

You find yourselves turned around in the underground labyrinth, but you hop onto a train eventually, hopefully heading in the right direction.

Both of you near enough slump onto the sunken seats like they’re the most comfortable cushion in the world, your heads lolling to the side, collapsing into each other in your intoxicated state.

“Too much– beer” Aki groans.

“I knowww,” you moan back, “my head’s… spinning”

You grip onto each other when the train starts moving, feeling suddenly startled then bursting into fits of giggles.

But neither of you pull away, only cuddling into each other further during your ride home.

You’re far too drunk to walk, your phone’s dead, so Aki insists that you stay over while drunkenly setting up a camp bed for himself on the floor.

“Aki, Aki, sstop–” you slur out, “I’ll stay– if, if you come sleep in here– with me?” You bargain, frowning at each hiccup that interrupts you.

His expression shifts, looking hesitant, then he climbs up onto his bed and sits next to you.

“Help–” you start trying to lift up your dress, attempting to discard the smoke tinged, beer sodden garment before you sleep, “get this off!” you huff with defeat, your arms flopping down again. It’s just too tight and wet.

Aki sighs and unceremoniously pulls your dress over your head, throwing it away as you’re left in your underwear. He joins you shortly, stripping off his jeans and shirt, climbing in as you pull him in for a cuddle.

You’re just so comfortable with each other– he’s seen you in bikinis and underwear so many times now you’re not even shy.

But you’re starting to feel like you should be when you feel something hard poking between your thighs.

You can’t help but giggle, arching your neck round to give him a snarky comment, but you find his eyes closed. 

The devil hunter is sleeping.

You watch him for a second, admiring his peaceful expression.

Then sleep calls for you as well as you enjoy his warm embrace, feeling thankful for your reliable friend.

You’re awoken in a lightheaded and dreamy state, the unfamiliar bedroom swirling into your vision, suddenly overcome with panic.

Where the fuck am I?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind you already realise you’re at Aki’s, noticing the familiar clock on the wall, his bedsheets… his arm… wrapped around your… naked? waist?

Shit.

You lift the blanket, finding that you’re at least still wearing your thong.

You don’t feel like you had sex.

You’d know if you had sex with Aki… right?

You feel his hand twitching, grabbing at your waist as you shuffle around, agitating him.

“We didn’t.” he mutters against your back and pulls you closer.

A relieved smile washes over your face. Fuck knows what would’ve happened if you and Aki had sex last night. You wouldn’t have used protection, that’s for sure, and you were honestly so drunk one of you would’ve probably ended up injured.

He hears you giggle quietly as you grip onto his arm, staying in bed for a while longer as you both wake up and recount the night slowly.

You have a peaceful morning together, nursing each other’s hangovers, taking turns in the bath, borrowing a spare set of his pyjamas, then heading to the kitchen.

Aki prepares some coffee and breakfast, serving them up at the small wooden table in the living room. You enjoy the simple meal then step out onto the balcony, feeling the breeze and indulging in a sobering cigarette.

selfshiptember 7!!

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! <3

[captain-mj]

Can you do a GravesPrice wedding???? (Also I want the shadows to try to getGraves into a dress and they succeed! You don’t have too tho. You can have Graves in a tux.)

I compromised with a white tux and a bridal veil, I hope that's alright? I projected a little bit of my struggles with femininity onto Graves

I'm writing a longer PriceGraves thing right now that I hope you guys enjoy

Graves sighed as Jason, Mila and Oz sat with him. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I appreciate you guys trying to make feel pretty on my special day and all, but I uh... I don't think I want to wear a dress."

Oz gasped. "But you look so nice!" And he did. Graves really did think he looked pretty. But it wasn't him. The dress was tight around his waist and looser around the shoulders. It did look lovely.

Mila nodded. "Yeah, but it's his special day. What do you think would fit you best, Boss?"

Graves frowned and actually thought about it. He never really thought he'd get a day like this. When he was a kid, he was told weddings were for women. Then, once it became more accepted for men to care about it, he had started to realize he was gay which definitely meant he could never have this. His family would've never tolerated it.

Now, he had a new family. Family that liked him. That didn't mind.

Still, he struggled sometimes. He sometimes wished he could approach being gay the way his younger friends did. That he could take eyeliner and put it on and makeup.

But that stuff didn't spark the same feelings in him that it did them. It was not freeing. It just...sparked nothing.

Graves put the white suit on and felt... Well. It was better. The pants were so much more comfortable at least. He didn't like having his bare legs out. But it still didn't feel quite right. Definitely closer though.

Jason got the idea for the veil and once Graves put it over his face, he was pretty sure this was the closest he'd get to what brides felt on their wedding day. It was a nice mix of femininity and masculinity that just felt nice. Good even.

Graves found he liked a lot of things about wedding planning. The flowers. The tasting a bunch of cakes. Price looking at him fondly every chance he got. It made him forget about the returned invitations from his family.

Price was a saint. Always was. Better than he deserved anyway.

So the day came. Price and Graves went back and forth about who should walk down the aisle and they eventually settled on Graves because Price didn't want to risk his knee giving him problems and they had to rush to adjust for him. It didn't happen often, but his knee could have him almost bedridden on bad days and Graves had agreed with him at the time.

But all the attention would be on him.

It hit him hard as he walked down the stupid aisle.

The flowers were a mix of buttercups and peonies. The florist had tried her best to get him to change his mind and pick flowers that looked better together or at least matched, but Graves had wanted peonies and Price wanted buttercups and neither wanted to tell the other person no.

There were only a handful of people. The 141, Jason, Mila, Oz, Laswell, Farah and Alex. Not too many people.

Graves didn't understand why something ached in his chest. Why the suit felt stifling. The veil a giant arrow pointing towards him for ridicule.

Too feminine, not feminine enough.

Price looked at him and smiled.

Just right.

Graves was... just right. He was fine. Because Price loved him as he was.

Price gently lifted the veil and let it drape across his back.

"Beautiful."

Graves started to cry. Price grabbed Graves's hands and kissed them, while the priest spoke. He had insisted that there be a priest even though Price didn't care. But Graves wanted there to be, so they made it happen.

Price almost kissed him before the "I do"s.

"John Michael Price. Do you take him to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"Phillip Thomas Graves. Do you take him to be your lawfully wedding husband?"

Graves had so many emotions. They almost choked him up until he couldn't say it, but he took a deep breath. "I do."

"You may now salute the groom."

They kissed. Soft and sweet. His arm went around Graves, holding him carefully. Graves went on his tippy toes to keep the kiss going, not for the first time hating the height gap.

A few of their friends clapped excitedly or whistled. Price pulled him away and smiled at him.

"Now, lets eat that cake, yeah, my love?"

Graves nodded and they held hands, cutting the cake. It was a vanilla bean flavor with a chocolate layer on top. They took their pieces and left everyone else to eat it. Graves remembered seeing videos of couples and offered a bite to Price on a fork. He made eye contact with him as he took his bite for mimicking him.

"You really do look beautiful. Even teary eyed. What happened?"

"I'm just really happy I got this day. With you."

[keysorsomething]

Clef and Strelnikov Headcanons

Clef and Dmitri Hit the Road is the single most important peice of literature I ever read in my life and these are all completely self indulgant.

Btw I'm not viewing this through a romantic lens I just think they're very close and too silly :3

Request Page!

They def have shared a bed before

- It started in Brazil (Clef and Dmitri Hit the Road reference) when they passed out drunk in the same hotel bed and they kinda just kept doing it whenever was convenient.

- Clef was averse to being held in his sleep (trauma) but Dmitri couldn't fall asleep without holding something (trauma) and they helped eachother work through it

-Now sometimes Dmitri pulls up to Clef's dorm and makes himself comfortable if he's having a hard night and vice versa

-Dmitri lays close enough that his inner elbow rests on Clef but he's not pressed against him and they hold hands and that was the compromise they settled on between no physical contact and spooning

-Clelfdraki but Kondraki wakes up and assumes that Clef is already up but when he turns over he finds Dmitri in his bed snuggling his husband (this is a regular occurrence)

Clef gets dragged into Russian traditions all the time cause of him

- Especially the one where they sit in silence before one of them goes on a mission

- Dmitri will literally flip his shit if Clef tries to avoid it

- Whenever Dmitri needs to go to Clef's office he brings a gift of some sort

- Clef's desk is covered in little trinkets that Dmitri gave him (The ones that didn't fit are in a box in his dorm)

They've kissed before

- Another Russian tradition Clef can not escape from is Dmitri greeting him after one of them has been on the field for a long time

- There's a tradition in Russia where two men who are super close greet each other with a big tight hug and three kisses to the temple if it's been a long time since last they saw each other

-Sometimes they kiss eachother on the mouth

- It happened once and never again

-Clef still gets temple/cheek kisses though

-Sometimes Dmitri sneaks in an extra if he was extra worried about Clef

They play poker every Friday and get super drunk

- It's Texas Hold 'Em

- No one is allowed to refer to it as Texas Hold 'Em (Texas talk is banned in their presence)

After a day where Dmitri had to think really hard and a lot he only speaks in Russian and Clef will obnoxiously nod and go "Ah yes, I understand.. you want (thing he def did not say he wanted)"

Dmitri is Clef's favorite and he genuinely loves the guy (even if not romantically, that's just his bestest friend)

They talk about how their therapy sessions went even though they aren't supposed to

- Neither take their therapy seriously

- It's mostly joking about Dr. Glass and/or how good they got him

They're the kinda besties to talk shit about someone while they're in earshot

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Foul Play | Sebastian Sallow x OC #17

Summary: During a Quidditch match, tensions between Sebastian and Lysander escalate into a mid-air confrontation, culminating in a fistfight and Lysander injuring Sebastian. Later, Evangeline finds Sebastian in the Undercroft, tending to his injuries with quiet care while expressing her anger at Lysander's cruelty and loyalty to Sebastian. The chapter ends with Evangeline confronting Lysander.

Words: 9,962

Tags: Protective Friends, Slow Burn, Soft Moments, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Ancient Magic, Rivalry, Quidditch, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fist Fights, Dark Magic

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

Read on AO3

Sebastian tightened the leather straps of his gloves, flexing his fingers until the fit felt snug. The Slytherin locker room was alive with anticipation, the rhythmic tapping of boots on stone and the faint rustle of robes filling the air as his teammates prepared for the match. Imelda stood at the center of the room, her captain's armband gleaming against her dark green uniform, and her expression fierce.

"Listen up," she snapped, her voice cutting through the noise like a whip. "Ravenclaw’s not handing this game to us, and I’m not walking out there to lose. Their chasers are quick, but they don’t have our coordination. Silas, Sebastian, I want clean passes—nothing sloppy. And Jameson, Darian, don’t hold back on those bludgers. Knock them off their brooms if you have to."

Darian gave a low chuckle, twirling his bat in one hand. "They won’t know what hit 'em."

Sebastian smirked but stayed quiet. His mind was already on the pitch, running through plays and strategies. Beside him, Silas nudged him with an elbow.

"So Clearwater, eh?" Silas said under his breath. "I saw him eyeing your Gryffindor again earlier this week."

"She’s not my Gryffindor," Sebastian muttered, his jaw tightening.

"Right," Silas drawled, the corners of his mouth lifting in a sly grin.

Sebastian didn’t dignify the comment with a response. Instead, he grabbed his broom and headed for the tunnel, pushing down the flicker of irritation. Lysander Clearwater had been a thorn in his side long before the breakup with Evangeline, but lately, the Ravenclaw chaser had been casting sidelong glances her way during Quidditch practices, trying to pull aside between classes and engage her in conversations during meals. It wasn’t as though Sebastian had any claim to her—he didn’t—but neither did Lysander anymore.

As the team emerged onto the pitch, the roar of the crowd hit him like a tidal wave. The green and silver of Slytherin banners swirled through the air, interspersed with the bronze and blue of Ravenclaw. Above it all, the announcer’s voice boomed.

“And here come the Slytherins, led by their captain, Imelda Reyes! And not far behind, the Ravenclaws—"

Sebastian mounted his broom and kicked off, the familiar rush of wind whipping past his face as he soared higher. His eyes immediately sought the stands, and there she was, next to Ominis—Evangeline, bundled in his scarf, her dark hair catching the sunlight. She clapped enthusiastically, her cheers loud enough to carry over the din.

When the Quaffle was released, Imelda dove first, snatching it with an effortless grace that earned a roar from the Slytherin side of the stands. She passed it off to Silas, who wove through two Ravenclaw chasers with practiced ease before hurling it toward Sebastian.

Sebastian surged forward, catching the Quaffle in a tight grip and pivoting mid-air. He veered left to avoid an incoming bludger, fired with precision by one of Ravenclaw’s beaters. Darian intercepted the second bludger with a vicious swing of his bat, sending it screaming toward Lysander Clearwater, who narrowly dodged it.

But the Ravenclaw chaser wasn’t easily shaken. Lysander matched Sebastian's speed, inching closer, his broom almost clipping Sebastian’s as they raced toward the goalposts. The intensity in Lysander’s expression mirrored the one simmering in Sebastian’s chest—a rivalry that had nothing to do with Quidditch and everything to do with Evangeline.

Sebastian feinted right, his body low against his broom, before jerking left and twisting upward. Lysander took the bait, overcommitting to the fake. Sebastian grinned as he sailed through the gap and closed in on the goal. He raised the Quaffle, locking eyes with the Ravenclaw keeper, before whipping it toward the center hoop. The crowd erupted as it soared through cleanly, putting Slytherin onto the scoreboard.

But Sebastian barely had time to register the cheers before a blur of blue streaked past him—Lysander, catching a pass from one of his teammates. Their eyes met for a brief moment, a silent challenge passing between them, before Lysander shot off down the pitch.

The game grew rougher with every play. Ravenclaw was relentless in their pursuit of the quaffle, and the bludgers flew with dangerous precision, forcing Sebastian to keep his reflexes razor-sharp. Slytherin wasn’t backing down, though. Imelda’s aggressive leadership and Slytherin's brutal beater work kept the momentum on their side, but the score stayed neck-and-neck.

At one point, Sebastian intercepted a pass meant for Lysander, pulling it neatly out of his grasp. He couldn’t resist a smirk as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Getting slow, Clearwater.”

Lysander’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he surged forward, his broom a blur as he tried to block Sebastian’s path. Their shoulders collided as they fought for dominance, the clash of their brooms drawing gasps from the crowd.

The skirmish continued even as the Quaffle changed hands again, the game descending into a blur of speed, strategy, and barely concealed animosity. When Lysander scored the next goal for Ravenclaw, Sebastian clenched his fists, the smug grin on Lysander’s face only stoking the fire in his chest.

With the score still tied and the Snitch still unseen, both teams threw everything they had into the match. Sebastian was closing in on a pass from Silas when Lysander slammed into him from the side, sending the Quaffle spinning out of reach. The impact nearly knocked him off his broom, but he held on, his grip tightening as he glared at Lysander.

“What the hell's your problem?” Sebastian growled.

“You,” Lysander snapped, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. The game continued in a chaotic frenzy around them, but neither seemed willing to back down. Imelda’s voice cut through the noise, shouting for Sebastian to stay on the Quaffle, but he barely heard her.

“You’re playing like a rogue bludger—no control, no strategy. You’re endangering everyone out here.” Leander barked, maneuvering his broom closer to Sebastian's, their knees nearly knocking together.

Sebastian leaned closer, his voice low and sharp enough to cut through the wind. “I think we both know who’s lost control here, Clearwater."

Lysander’s jaw tightened, "Don't bring Evangeline into this, Sallow."

Sebastian’s smirk was sharp, almost cruel, as he leaned in just a fraction closer, his broom hovering uncomfortably near Lysander's. “Why not? She's all you’re really mad about, isn’t she?”

Lysander’s hands gripped his broom tightly, his knuckles pale against the wood. “She’s none of your concern.”

“Isn't she?" Sebastian shot back, his tone laced with mock innocence. "I'm the one she spends her time with while you’ve been watching her like a lovesick puppy. Still hoping she’ll take you back, Clearwater?”

Lysander’s temper flared, his broom swerving dangerously closer as his voice dropped to a venomous hiss. “She deserves more than a selfish, reckless—”

Sebastian huffed a bitter laugh, his smirk twisting into something colder. “Selfish? That’s rich coming from the guy who couldn’t handle it things got messy. What did you think, Clearwater? That she’d just wait around for you to grow a spine?”

Lysander’s jaw clenched so hard Sebastian thought he might crack a tooth. “You don’t know a damn thing about what she needs.”

“I know she needs someone who won’t walk away,” Sebastian snapped, his voice sharper now, his broom tilting closer. “Someone who doesn’t give up the second things get complicated.”

The words struck a nerve, and Sebastian saw the flicker of guilt in Lysander’s eyes, there and gone in an instant. Sebastian leaned in further, his voice dropping to a cutting whisper. “Face it, Clearwater. You weren’t enough for her. And you hate that someone else might be.”

Lysander’s face flushed, his knuckles tightening around his broom handle. “You’re delusional if you think Evangeline will ever choose you. You’d ruin her, just like you ruin everything else you touch. Or did you think the entire school would just forget that your only living family member won't talk to you?"

Sebastian froze. For the briefest moment, the words landed like a stun spell to the chest, knocking the air out of him. The pitch seemed to spin below him, the roaring crowd and chaos of the match fading into the background. His grip on his broom tightened until his knuckles ached, the only thing keeping him from falling apart in midair.

But then the fury came, white-hot and blinding.

“Careful,” Sebastian said, his voice low and venomous. He angled his broom closer, so close their knees almost brushed again. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

Lysander held his ground, his expression hard, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it? She’s too good for you, and you know it. You'd drag her down, just like you did to your sister.”

Sebastian’s voice dropped dangerously low, “Say that again,” he hissed, his words sharp as a blade, slicing through the rush of wind around them. His broom tilted slightly, a predator circling its prey. “Go on, Clearwater. I dare you.”

Lysander smirked, glaring daggers at Sebastian. “You’re pathetic, Sallow. Maybe that’s why Evangeline keeps trying to save you.”

Sebastian didn’t think. He acted.

Lunging forward, he gripped the handle of Lysander’s broom to shove him back. Immediately, Lysander retaliated, swinging an elbow that nearly knocked Sebastian sideways. The crowd roared, but the cheers and boos blurred together in Sebastian’s ears. All he could hear were Lysander’s words, and all he could see was red.

Ignoring the frantic whistle blasts from the referee and Imelda’s furious screams from across the pitch, Sebastian surged forward, his shoulder slamming into Lysander’s side.

The Ravenclaw jerked back, rocking precariously before he regained his balance. “A cheap shot, what a surprise,” he spat, his voice loud enough to carry over the chaos. “You're lucky you can hide behind your broom.”

Sebastian’s lip curled, his glare razor-sharp. “Solid ground, midair, doesn’t matter. You’ll lose either way.”

Lysander’s smirk deepened, sharp as broken glass. “Then let’s settle it.”

Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He dived toward the ground, his broom slicing through the air, prompting some stunned commentary from the announcer.

“And it seems Slytherin chaser Sebastian Sallow is… is heading for the ground! Lysander Clearwater is following—wait, are they abandoning the game?!”

The moment the two chasers hit the grass, the fight began, brooms falling to the ground as they collided.

Sebastian threw the first punch, his knuckles cracking against Lysander’s jaw with satisfying force. Lysander staggered but retaliated quickly, his fist slamming into Sebastian’s ribs with enough force to make him stumble.

“Come on, Sallow,” Lysander growled, his voice ragged with fury. “Is that all you’ve got?”

Sebastian’s teeth clenched, his entire body vibrating with anger. His next punch came hard and fast, catching Lysander square in the cheekbone and sending him reeling back a step. But the Ravenclaw chaser recovered almost instantly, lunging forward, his hands gripping the front of Sebastian’s uniform.

“You’re nothing,” Lysander snarled, “Just a cocky, self-absorbed fool who thinks he can fix everything with his fists.”

Sebastian twisted free, shoving Lysander back and sending him stumbling. “At least I’m not a coward,” he shot back, his chest heaving. "At least I don't hide behind my precious family name and empty promises."

“A coward?” Lysander spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You think this is bravery? Picking fights because you can’t handle the truth?

“The truth?” Sebastian hissed, his voice shaking with fury. “The only truth here is that you’ll never be enough for her.”

Lysander's smirk was sharp and taunting despite the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “And you think you are?” he sneered. “You, who destroys everything you touch? We all know you got your Uncle killed by going into that crypt. And you dragged Sterling, Gaunt, even your sister down there with you!"

Sebastian’s chest heaved, his breath ragged as Lysander’s words cut through him like shards of glass. The word echoed in his head, a vicious reminder of the guilt he carried every second of every day. Before he could think, before he could stop himself, his fist connected with Lysander’s jaw with a sickening crack.

Lysander staggered back, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he pressed the wound deeper. "Hit a nerve, did I?” he taunted, spitting blood onto the grass. “Guess it’s true what they say—people who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.”

The referee's whistle pierced the air, frantic and shrill, yet it barely registered in Sebastian’s ears. He vaguely caught the shouts from the announcer and the gasps of the crowd, but all of it faded into a dull roar. Why hadn't the professors intervened? It was a fleeting thought, quickly shoved aside as Lysander took another step forward, his expression cold, calculating.

“Glass houses?” Sebastian growled, his voice low and shaking with suppressed rage. “You’re standing in one yourself, Clearwater. You think being the perfect little heir will make up for the fact you’re a spineless, pathetic excuse of a man?”

Lysander's smirk faltered, replaced by a flicker of irritation at Sebastian’s words, but he didn't get a chance to speak as Sebastian took a step forward, the fire in his chest blazing into an inferno. His fists clenched tightly, nails biting into his palms. “You think you’re better than me because you have money? Status? A name that comes with a silver spoon shoved so far down your throat it's coming out your ass?"

Lysander’s eyes narrowed. “At least I’ve got something to lose. What do you have? A family you can’t keep alive? A sister who—”

Sebastian lunged forward, tackling Lysander to the ground with a feral snarl. The impact sent a dull thud reverberating across the pitch as they hit the grass. A shocked silence rippled through the crowd before shouts and screams erupted again.

The professors on the sidelines finally stirred, shouting commands to intervene, but they were too far away. The crowd buzzed with a mix of gasps and cheers, and the Slytherin team hollered at Sebastian to stand down, their voices barely cutting through the chaos.

The two boys rolled in a flurry of punches and shoves. Sebastian’s knee pressed into Lysander’s stomach as he landed another punch to the Ravenclaw’s jaw, the crack of bone reverberating in his head like thunder. Lysander retaliated, his fist slamming into Sebastian’s side, just below the ribs, making him gasp for breath.

“You don’t deserve her,” Lysander growled through gritted teeth, flipping their positions as he wrestled Sebastian to the ground. “She’s better off without you poisoning her life with your endless misery.”

Sebastian’s hand shot up, grabbing a fistful of Lysander’s uniform to pull him down. Their faces were inches apart, both of them breathing hard, blood and sweat dripping onto the ground between them. “You're the one she broke up with,” Sebastian spat, his voice hoarse. “Because you’re nothing but a self-serving prick.”

Lysander twisted his hips, and straddling Sebastian's chest. He grabbed a fistful of Sebastian's collar and raised his arm, landing a punch squarely on his cheek. The force of the blow sent stars bursting across Sebastian’s vision, and he grunted, instinctively raising an arm to shield himself.

“Face it, Sallow,” Lysander snarled, his breath ragged as he pulled back for another strike. “She’s better off without a mess like you.”

The next punch connected with Sebastian’s jaw, a sharp crack that sent a jolt of pain searing through his face. His head snapped to the side, and for a moment, the world swam around him. Lysander’s taunts blurred into the roar of the crowd, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the rage boiling in Sebastian’s veins.

When Lysander's fist came down next, Sebastian moved just in time, grabbing his wrist. With a low growl, he twisted Lysander’s arm, forcing the Ravenclaw off balance. Using the moment to his advantage, Sebastian bucked his hips and rolled them over, reversing their positions. Now it was Lysander pinned beneath him, his back pressed firmly against the grass.

Sebastian's fist came down hard and fast, slamming into Lysander’s cheekbone with a sickening crack. He barely registered the way the Ravenclaw's head snapped to the side, or the blood now smearing his knuckles. All Sebastian could see was red.

“You don’t deserve to speak her name,” Sebastian hissed, his voice shaking with fury as his fist collided with Lysander’s face again. “You think you can waltz into her life, make promises you can’t keep, and walk away unscathed?”

Lysander grunted, his hands scrambling to grab Sebastian’s wrists, but the Slytherin was relentless. Another punch landed, and another, this time catching Lysander on the nose, and blood spattered onto the grass.

By now, Lysander’s face was smeared with dirt and blood, his sharp features barely recognizable beneath the swelling and bruising. His hands weakly tried to shield himself, but it was half-hearted now, his strength faltering. Sebastian’s chest heaved, his knuckles hovering mid-air, poised to strike again.

For a moment, time seemed to still. Sebastian’s vision cleared just enough to see the damage he’d inflicted. Lysander’s lip was split, his nose crooked and bleeding profusely, his eyes already swelling shut. The Ravenclaw chaser wasn’t fighting back anymore. He was beaten.

But in that moment of hesitation, Lysander’s hand shot up, grabbing Sebastian’s shoulder. Using what little strength he had left, he shoved Sebastian just enough to twist out from beneath him. He staggered to his feet, swaying as though he might collapse at any second. His face was a mess of blood and bruises, but his eyes burned with defiance.

Sebastian scrambled up as well, his chest heaving with exertion and anger. For a split second, he thought Lysander was surrendering—thought he’d finally beaten the arrogance out of him. But then Lysander’s hand disappeared into his cloak, and when it emerged, he was gripping his wand.

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as the glint of polished wood caught the sunlight - having your wand on the pitch was strictly forbidden. The referee and professors, now sprinting across the field, shouted in unison, and the Slytherin and Ravenclaw teams surged forward, yelling for Lysander to stand down. But he didn’t. His hand trembled, whether from rage or exhaustion, as he pointed his wand at Sebastian.

“Secaero!” Lysander hissed, his voice low and venomous.

The curse slashed through the air, dark and razor-sharp. It hit Sebastian square in the shoulder, and the impact sent him reeling backward, landing with a thud on the grass. Pain bloomed instantly, white-hot and searing, as a deep laceration tore through his uniform and into his flesh. Blood spilled freely, staining the green of his Quidditch robes. The sharp sting of the spell was like a dozen knives digging into his skin, and the warmth of his own blood seeped between his fingers as he tried to staunch the flow.

“Are you out of your bloody mind?!” Sebastian heard the Ravenclaw captain bellow as she finally caught up with Lysander, her face twisted in a mix of disbelief and fury. She shoved him back, grabbing his wand arm and yanking it downward. “What the hell are you doing?!"

Lysander’s jaw was set, his expression unreadable as he shook her off. His wand hand trembled slightly, though he quickly hid it behind his back as if trying to downplay his actions.

The chaos reached a fever pitch. While Madam Kogawa kept the two teams from getting into a brawl, Professor Sharp closed in on Lysander, his eyes narrowing as he took in the scene—the blood soaking Sebastian's robes, Lysander’s wand still clutched in his hand.

“Clearwater,” Sharp barked, his voice like a whip crack. “Drop your wand. Now.”

Lysander hesitated, his grip tightening as if weighing his options, but the intensity of Sharp’s glare left no room for defiance. The wand fell to the grass.

Meanwhile, Professor Hecat knelt beside Sebastian, her wand already moving in precise, fluid motions, “Hold still, Sallow,” she commanded, her tone brisk but not unkind. “You’re bleeding through your uniform."

Her wand glided over Sebastian’s shoulder, the tip glowing with the pale blue light of a healing charm. The familiar warmth of the spell should have started to soothe the searing pain, but instead, the wound burned hotter, the edges raw and jagged.

When Sebastian let out a gasp, Hecat frowned deeply, her eyes narrowing as she muttered a stronger incantation. The light flared brighter, sinking into the wound and slowing the bleeding, but the flesh stubbornly refused to knit back together.

“What… what’s wrong with it?” Sebastian asked, his breath coming faster as the pain sharpened.

Hecat didn’t answer immediately, her lips pressed into a tight line. From where he stood, Professor Sharp observed the scene with a grim expression, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Hecat?” he said, his voice low and steady, though laced with concern.

“It’s not responding to standard healing spells,” Hecat replied curtly, her tone clipped, “This isn’t just a basic hex or jinx.

Sebastian’s jaw clenched as he fought to stay upright. “Figures,” he muttered bitterly, his gaze darting toward Lysander, who was now being berated by a furious Professor Weasley.

Professor Hecat's eyes narrowed on Lysander, "Clearwater’s wand will need to be confiscated for examination.”

Sharp nodded, his expression grim. “I’ll see to it.”

As Hecat rose, she went to cast a levitation spell, but Sebastian raised a hand, his voice hoarse. “No. I can walk.”

She hesitated, clearly skeptical. “You’ve lost a considerable amount of blood, Sallow. Don’t be foolish.”

He shook his head stubbornly, staggering to his feet. “I’m not letting him think I’m weak.” His voice was low, but the steel in it left no room for debate.

Professor Hecat fixed Sebastian with a sharp look, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Fine, Sallow. Have it your way, but make no mistake—we’ll be questioning you later. Both you and Clearwater. Now straight to the hospital wing, understood? Madam Blainey will do what she can until we figure out how to neutralize that curse."

“Yes, Professor,” Sebastian muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He held his shoulder tightly and took a cautious step back, his expression schooled into something resembling compliance.

While the scene on the pitch dissolved into a flurry of activity, with professors corralling the remaining players and referees attempting to restore order, Sebastian turned sharply on his heel.

He knew he should probably go to the Hospital Wing, but he couldn’t bring himself to face the questions that would follow. Madam Blainey would fuss over him and demand a full account of the fight, all while rumors spread through the school. So instead, Sebastian turned sharply, veering off the main corridor that led to the Hospital Wing. His destination was clear—somewhere he wouldn’t have to endure prying eyes or relentless questions. Somewhere he could be alone.

The Undercroft.

The cool, familiar air greeted him as he stepped inside, the stone walls wrapping around him like a sanctuary. He instantly sank to the floor. His good hand worked to peel off his blood-soaked robes, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to the wound. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pain radiating through his shoulder, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it.

Finally, with the bloodied robes discarded beside him, he examined the damage. The wound was worse than he’d expected. Jagged edges framed the dark gash, the faint veins of dark magic seeping into the edges. The skin around it was swollen and angry, and the sluggish flow of blood hadn’t stopped.

Sebastian let out a slow breath, dragging his good hand across his face to steady himself. He glanced toward the far corner where a small wooden crate sat. Ominis. Trust him to think ahead. Given the number of reckless adventures Sebastian and Evie had roped him into, Ominis had insisted on stocking the Undercroft with a basic first-aid kit—bandages, salves, potions, and whatever supplies they could scrounge from the hospital wing without Blainey noticing.

Sebastian hauled himself to his feet with a grimace. The pain flared, sharp and hot, as he crossed the room and dropped to one knee in front of the crate. His fingers were slick with blood, making it difficult to pry the lid off, but after a moment of struggle, it gave way with a dull creak.

He pulled out a roll of bandages, a small bottle of clear disinfectant, and a square of clean cloth, setting them on the stone floor beside him. His good hand reached for the disinfectant, but he paused, staring at the bottle with growing apprehension.

“This is going to hurt,” he muttered, almost as if bracing himself aloud would soften the blow as he moved back to sit against the wall.

With a sharp inhale, he poured the disinfectant onto the cloth. The scent hit him first—sharp and medicinal, a smell that promised nothing but agony. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the wound.

“Come on,” he told himself through clenched teeth. “Just do it.”

But as he steeled himself, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from beyond the entrance, sharp and unmistakable. His head snapped up, his heart lurching as he caught the faintest sound of someone calling his name.

“Sebastian?” The voice, though distant, was familiar—Evie.

The footsteps grew louder, quicker, and Sebastian barely had time to register the flicker of light from the doorway before Evangeline appeared, her eyes wide with worry. Her gaze immediately landed on him—slumped against the wall, pale, and bloodied—and her breath hitched audibly.

“Sebastian,” she breathed, stepping closer, “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You’re supposed to be in the hospital wing!”

He grimaced, his hand instinctively tightening over the cloth he hadn’t yet applied to the wound. “I needed some peace and quiet,” he muttered, averting his gaze. “Didn’t think you’d find me so quickly.”

Evie stormed over, dropping to her knees in front of him with a mix of exasperation and desperation. “You idiot,” she snapped, grabbing the bandages from the floor. “Peace and quiet? With a wound like that? You could have bled out in here!”

“I’m fine,” Sebastian shot back, though his voice was weak, betraying his words. He leaned back against the wall, watching as she took the disinfectant from his trembling hand. “It’s not that bad.”

Evie glared at him, her hazel eyes flashing with frustration. “Not that bad? You look like you wrestled a werewolf and lost.” Her voice cracked slightly, her hands already moving to inspect the wound with a gentleness that contrasted her scolding. She winced as she took in the jagged edges and the ominous dark veins creeping outward. “Merlin’s beard, Sebastian, what were you thinking, fighting Lysander like that?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” he admitted, his voice low. “It just… happened.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line, the anger in her expression softening into worry. Without another word, she set to work cleaning him up, her movements swift and determined.

Sebastian opened his mouth to protest, but before he could get a word out, she pressed the cloth to his shoulder. A sharp hiss escaped his lips as the searing pain shot through him, his entire body tensing against the wall.

“Hold still,” Evie said, her tone gentle but unwavering. “This isn’t exactly pleasant for me, either.”

He clenched his jaw, focusing on her instead of the pain. Her hair had fallen into her face as she worked, the faint glow of the Undercroft’s lighting catching the strands.

“You didn’t have to come,” he grunted out, his voice barely audible over the pounding in his ears. “I would’ve handled it.”

She scoffed, not looking up from her work. “Right. Because bleeding out alone in the Undercroft is your idea of handling it.”

Sebastian didn’t respond immediately, distracted by the way her hands moved over his skin, careful but firm. It wasn’t the first time she’d tended to one of his wounds—not by a long shot—but this felt different.

For one thing, he was suddenly, acutely aware that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. And she’d never seen him without a shirt on before.

His gaze flicked down to the jagged wound and the blood smeared across his chest.

Of all the scenarios where this could have happened, where she'd see him for the first time, it had to be while he was a mess, and his mind wandered, unbidden, to the thought that this might have gone differently had it been under better circumstances. Like, say, without the busted shoulder, without being caked in dirt and sweat… or after he’d finally managed to shed those last few pounds he put on over Christmas holiday.

Not that he cared about things like that. Not usually. But the way she focused so intently on him, her hands steady and determined, stirred something in him—a mix of vulnerability and a sharp, unexpected longing.

Sebastian tried to read her expression, to piece together what might be going through her head. Was she comparing him to Clearwater?

The thought crept into his mind, unwelcome but insistent.

Sebastian hated the idea, hated even more the possibility that she might find him... physically lacking. This isn’t exactly a fair playing field though, is it? Bleeding out and looking like a total wreck.

Meanwhile, she continued her ministrations, the touch of the cloth against his skin alternating between stinging and soothing. She was good at this—too good at taking care of him. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak, to break the silence before it swallowed him whole.

“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice rough but laced with an attempt at humor. “Am I in that bad of shape?”

Evangeline glanced up at him, her hazel eyes meeting his briefly before returning to the wound. “You’re lucky Clearwater didn’t hit anything vital,” she said, her tone brisk but softening at the edges.

He winced at her words, not from the pain but from the reminder of how close it had been. “He’s not exactly subtle, is he?”

“No,” she agreed, dabbing at the edges of the wound with a gentleness that caught him off guard. “But neither are you.”

Sebastian let out a dry chuckle, though it came out more strained than he intended. “Fair point.”

She paused for a moment, her hand hovering for a moment before she resumed her work. “You didn’t have to fight him for me, you know."

Sebastian stiffened slightly. For her. He averted his gaze, focusing on the flicker of light from the enchanted sconces rather than her hazel eyes.

“Didn’t I?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter than he intended. He winced as her hands pressed a little harder than before, though it was more reflex than actual pain.

She didn’t respond immediately, but for a fleeting moment, something flickered in her expression—surprise, perhaps, or maybe something softer. It was gone just as quickly as it appeared, her features smoothing as she refocused on the task at hand.

“Merlin, how’d you manage to get so much grass in this?” she muttered, dabbing around the edges of the wound where dirt and debris clung stubbornly to his torn skin.

Sebastian let out a weak chuckle, the sound strained. “It’s called a Quidditch pitch, Evie. Comes with the territory.”

She huffed, not bothering to glance up. “If you spent more time flying and less time tackling your opponents, you might avoid turning yourself into a human garden bed.” Her tone was sharp, but the underlying softness betrayed her concern.

Sebastian let out a quiet laugh, though it came out more like a breathless exhale. The adrenaline from the fight had long since worn off, replaced by an entirely different tension. His heart pounded in his chest for reasons that had nothing to do with the pain in his shoulder. As Evangeline leaned in slightly, adjusting her angle to clean the wound more thoroughly, he felt her breath brush against his neck. His throat tightened, the warmth of her so close sending a shiver down his spine.

He forced himself to focus on the stone wall behind her, anything but the delicate curve of her face or the gentle way her hands moved. But it was impossible to ignore the way her presence seemed to pull every thought to her, leaving him feeling more unsteady than the wound ever could.

“Hold still,” she murmured, her tone soft but commanding, and he realized with some embarrassment that he’d shifted beneath her touch.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Evangeline didn’t comment again, her focus already back on his injury as she set to work wrapping it. Sebastian clenched his jaw, doing his best to stay still, though every brush of her fingertips sent another jolt through him.

“You’re good at this,” he found himself saying, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Evangeline paused, glancing up at him with a faintly raised brow. “What?"

“Taking care of people,” he clarified, his voice quieter now. “You’re... gentle.”

A faint pink tinged her cheeks, but she quickly looked back down, busying herself with the bandage. “Someone has to be,” she murmured, her tone soft but laced with a hint of exasperation. “You’re certainly not gentle with yourself.”

Sebastian couldn’t argue with that. He wasn’t gentle—not with himself, not with anything, really. He pushed too hard, fought too fiercely, and never knew when to stop. It was part of who he was, and part of why he couldn’t seem to stop himself when it came to her.

“I can’t believe he used a curse like that,” Evangeline muttered then, her fingers deftly tying the final knot to keep the dressing secure. “What the hell was he thinking?”

Sebastian let out a dry chuckle, though it lacked humor. “Clearwater’s been looking for an excuse to hex me since term started. Guess he finally worked up the nerve.”

Evangeline frowned, her brows drawing together as she adjusted the bandage again, even though it didn’t need it. “This wasn’t just any hex, Sebastian."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and accusing, the sharp edge in her voice reserved entirely for Lysander. The intensity of her reaction made Sebastian pause. She wasn’t just upset—she was furious.

“I know,” he said quietly. “Trust me, I felt it.”

“Using something like that against another person, let alone on the pitch, in front of everyone…” she trailed off, her voice trembling faintly. Her gaze flicked up to his face, and for a moment, the anger in her expression dissolved, replaced by something softer, almost tender.

“Your face is a mess,” she said quietly. Her hand hovered for a moment before reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from his brow, her touch light but lingering.

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard by the shift in her demeanor. He felt his throat tighten, the proximity between them and the warmth in her voice unraveling his carefully constructed defenses. “You should see the other guy,” he murmured, his lips twitching into a faint, lopsided smile.

Evangeline huffed a soft laugh, though it was tinged with exasperation. “That’s not funny.” But the corner of her mouth twitched as if she were fighting back a smile of her own. Her hand lingered near his face for a moment longer before she pulled back, her expression once again clouding with concern.

She reached into her robes, quickly locating her wand. “Hold still,” she instructed, her tone soft but firm. “Luckily for you, Clearwater’s fists aren’t cursed, so standard healing charms should help. This will sting a bit.”

Sebastian sighed, leaning back against the wall. “Sting, ache, throb—I’ve already hit the trifecta. What’s a little more pain?”

Evangeline shot him a look, half amused, half exasperated, before pointing her wand at his face. “Episkey.”

Warmth spread through his nose and cheeks, followed by an uncomfortable pulling sensation. He winced as he felt the bones of his nose snap back into place with a sharp crack. The swelling around his eye began to subside, and the dull, relentless ache in his cheekbones and jaw eased into something more tolerable.

Sebastian brought a tentative hand up to his nose, testing the now-straightened bridge. A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced at Evangeline. “So, how do I look, Sterling? Dashing as ever, I assume.”

Evangeline snorted, shaking her head as she tucked her wand back into her robes. “If by ‘dashing’ you mean like you’ve been run over by a herd of hippogriffs, then sure.”

“Harsh,” he muttered, though the amusement in his tone was impossible to miss. “You could’ve just said ‘ruggedly handsome’ and spared my ego.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ll live. That’s all the compliment you’re getting.” Her gaze dropped to his bandaged shoulder, and she let out a slow breath.

"What?" Sebastian asked, following her gaze.

“...It;s just... that spell. It... it wasn't just dangerous." She murmured, "It was cruel. And he used it on you like it was nothing.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, the memory of Lysander’s cold resolve flashing in his mind. “He knew exactly what he was doing.”

“I can't believe I ever courted such a monster,” she muttered, the disdain in her voice unmistakable.

Sebastian tilted his head, studying Evangeline's expression. Her hazel eyes were fixed on the bandage, her hands resting in her lap, clenched into fists as if trying to contain her frustration. There was no hesitation in her words, no lingering sentiment. Just disgust.

“Well,” he started, his voice lighter than he felt, “I can’t say I minded watching him make a complete ass of himself.”

Evangeline’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile, but it didn’t last.

"If he were anyone else, he'd be expelled for this," she muttered, her voice low but edged with bitterness. "But of course, he's a member of the 24. Just like Black. So he'll get away with it."

Sebastian watched her closely, the fire in her tone both surprising and satisfying. She was angry—not just annoyed or frustrated, but genuinely, fiercely angry.

"You really hate him," Sebastian said, his voice quieter now, more curious than accusatory.

"He hurt you," she said resolutely, as if her resentment towards the Ravenclaw should be the most obvious thing in the world. Her hazel eyes locked onto his, fierce and unwavering, and for a moment, Sebastian felt caught in the weight of her gaze.

He was used to her worrying about him in a quiet, measured way—an arched brow, a gentle nudge, a scolding remark when he pushed himself too far. But this was different. This was fire, heat, and frustration wrapped up in a concern that felt almost... possessive.

He shifted slightly, leaning back against the cool stone wall, trying to summon the usual cocky smirk that came so easily to him. But the weight of her gaze, the intensity in her voice, made it impossible. Instead, he found himself staring at her, caught in the firestorm of her emotions.

“I’m fine, Evie,” he said, his voice quieter now, softer. “Really.”

She didn’t answer his reassurance, didn’t acknowledge his attempt to lighten the tension in the room. Instead, she gave him a look—part exasperation, part something softer. Then she leaned closer, her fingers brushing the edge of the bandage she’d just finished securing. Her touch was featherlight, deliberate, but it sent a faint shiver through him. Sebastian knew she didn’t need to adjust anything—the wound was clean, wrapped tightly—but she lingered anyway, her eyes focused on his shoulder as if it might tear open again the moment she looked away.

“You already fixed it,” he pointed out, though his voice lacked its usual bite. He didn’t want her to stop.

“Shut up, Sallow."

Sebastian did as he was told, his chest tightening as her hands lingered against his skin, and he realized, with a pang of something he couldn’t quite name, that she was doing this because she needed it, not because he did.

He wasn’t sure what to do with the realization, so he said nothing, watching her in silence as her brow furrowed with that quiet determination he’d grown so fond of. Her dark hair fell forward slightly, framing her face, and he resisted the sudden urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

~

Later that evening, Sebastian endured a tense meeting in Headmaster Black’s office, his injured shoulder still searing as he listened to the headmaster dole out their punishments with cold indifference.

Lysander, pale and stiff beside him, received the harsher sentence: detention for the remainder of the term and an immediate ban from future Quidditch matches. Though Sebastian thought the Ravenclaw deserved worse, he found a small sense of satisfaction in the humiliation etched into Lysander’s expression.

When it was Sebastian’s turn, Black’s sharp gaze landed on him. “And you, Mr. Sallow,” he began, his voice as icy as ever, “while your provocation was not magical, your behavior was still appalling. Detention. Two weeks. Be grateful I’m feeling lenient.”

Sebastian inclined his head, knowing better than to argue. He’d expected the punishment—it wasn’t like he could claim innocence, not after throwing the first punch.

The room fell into a tense silence as Professor Black fixed Lysander with a steely glare as he gestured to Sebastian's shoulder, “Now, Clearwater. Don’t keep us waiting. The counter-curse, if you please.”

The Ravenclaw cleared his throat, his voice strained but steady. “The incantation is Revocare Nocentia.”

Professor Hecat stepped forward, her expression severe. “Is there anything we should know about countering this curse, Mr. Clearwater?” she asked, her tone clipped. “Or will it surprise us like your reckless decision to use it in the first place?”

Lysander hesitated, his gaze flicking briefly to Sebastian before returning to Hecat. “It’s… potent,” he admitted reluctantly. “The counter-curse should neutralize the lingering effects, but it may take time for the full strength of the magic to fade.”

Hecat’s eyes narrowed, "Very well." She raised her wand, the tip glowing faintly as she directed it at Sebastian. “Revocare Nocentia.”

A cool wave of energy surged through Sebastian’s shoulder, immediately countering the searing heat of the cursed wound. The veins of dark magic that had spidered outward began to retreat, their ominous black hue fading back into his skin. The relief was instant, like a heavy weight lifting from his body, and Sebastian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Hecat nodded in approval, motioning for Madam Blainey, who was standing nearby, to assess the wound.

The nurse stood beside Sebastian, her hands deft as she peeled away the bandage. Her sharp eyes scanned the injury, and her lips pressed into a thin line. “You should have come to me straight away,” she scolded, though her tone was more exasperated than angry. “This could have gone very wrong.”

Sebastian opened his mouth to respond, but she held up a hand to stop him. “That being said,” she continued, her voice softening as she inspected the meticulous dressing, “whoever cleaned and dressed this did an excellent job. Nearly perfect.”

Sebastian let a small smile tug at his lips, the thought of Evangeline’s steady hands and the way she’d fussed over him in the Undercroft surfacing in his mind. He didn’t say anything, though, simply nodding as Blainey applied a final charm to complete the healing process.

A warm, tingling sensation spread across Sebastian's skin, like sunlight breaking through a cold morning, as the torn skin knit itself back together. The edges of the gash smoothed over, fading to a faint pink line as new skin formed, leaving only a small patch of rawness at the center—a stubborn reminder of the injury that would likely take another few days to fully heal.

Headmaster Sharp straightened, his sharp gaze flickering between the two boys. “You’re both dismissed,” he said curtly. “But let me make this clear—if either of you steps out of line again, your punishments will be far worse.”

Sebastian inclined his head, murmuring a quiet, “Yes, Headmaster.” Lysander didn’t respond, his jaw tight as he turned toward the door.

The two boys left the office in silence, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife.

As they reached the Great Hall, Lysander paused just outside the entrance, finally breaking the silence. “This isn’t over, Sallow,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous.

But Sebastian didn’t so much as glance at Lysander, keeping his expression neutral and his steps steady. The words Evangeline had said to him earlier echoed in his mind, her voice calm yet firm: “You didn’t have to fight him for me, you know."

It had taken the softness in her eyes as she patched him up to make him realize she was right. Lysander wasn’t worth the effort, and whatever claim the Ravenclaw thought he had over Evangeline didn’t matter. She had made her own choices—choices that didn’t include Clearwater.

Without a word, Sebastian stepped past him, his boots clicking against the stone floor as he strode into the Great Hall. The hum of chatter and clatter of cutlery filled the air, and the Slytherin table was bustling with the usual mix of energy and gossip.

Spotting Ominis at their usual spot, Sebastian made his way over, sliding into the seat across from him.

"Quite the show you put on today," Ominis remarked, "Whole school’s still talking about it. Care to share what possessed you to dive headfirst into a boxing match during Quidditch?”

Sebastian reached for a roll, tearing into it without meeting Ominis’s gaze. “Clearwater deserved it,” he muttered, his tone clipped.

“I’m sure he did,” Ominis replied dryly, tilting his head as if scrutinizing him despite his lack of sight. “But I imagine that sentiment didn’t carry much weight with Headmaster Black.”

Sebastian huffed a bitter laugh, his smirk sharp. “No, not exactly. But Clearwater’s in detention for the rest of term and he's off their team, so I’d call it a win.”

Ominis raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. "Better than I expected, if I'm honest."

A few minutes later, Imelda slid into the seat next to Ominis, her expression sharp with curiosity. “So,” she began, filling a goblet with pumpkin juice, “what’s it like knowing you’ll go down in history as the idiot who started a fistfight in the middle of a match?”

Sebastian shot her a smirk. “If I’m an idiot, what does that make Clearwater? Pretty sure he was the one who pulled his wand.”

“A bigger idiot,” Imelda replied breezily, taking a sip. “But that’s not saying much, is it?”

Violet and Nerida joined them not long after, with Violet looking particularly amused as she plopped down beside Sebastian. “Heard someone in Hufflepuff is already making up a song about the ‘Great Broom Brawl.’”

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s beard, of course they are.”

“Well,” Nerida chimed in brightly, her tone cheerful as she scooped a generous helping of mashed potatoes onto her plate, “you certainly know how to put on a show.” She gave him a once-over, her eyes narrowing slightly as if evaluating his condition. “Honestly, you don’t look half as bad as I thought you would.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, a wry smirk forming on his lips as he opened his mouth to fire back a retort. Before the words could leave his tongue, though, something in the atmosphere changed. It was subtle at first, a faint hum of energy threading through the air, barely noticeable over the clatter of plates and silverware. But it grew stronger with every passing second, an almost electric charge that prickled at the edges of awareness.

Sebastian felt it too—that strange, heavy stillness settling over the room. He straightened slightly in his seat, his earlier amusement giving way to cautious interest. He glanced at Nerida, who had paused mid-bite, her fork hovering just above her plate as her gaze flicked toward the entrance.

“What in Merlin’s name…” she murmured under her breath, the cheerfulness in her voice replaced with quiet uncertainty.

Whispers began to creep through the silence, soft and uncertain, as students leaned toward one another to exchange puzzled glances. They all watched the doors, and Sebastian’s fingers curled around his fork as he watched them swing open with a deliberate slowness.

Evangeline stepped across the threshold, her ancient magic swirling faintly around her.

Sebastian’s breath hitched. That faint, blue-tinted haze was rare—so rare that Sebastian had only seen her magic manifest like this a couple times, and only in the direst of situations, when they’d faced goblins or dark wizards. Yet here she was, standing in the entrance of the Great Hall, her presence commanding the room with an unshakable authority that silenced every voice.

Even the professors seated at the head table froze mid-conversation, their forks poised in the air as they turned to stare. Whispers rippled briefly through the hall, but they were quickly swallowed by the weight of the magic surrounding her.

Evangeline didn’t hesitate. With deliberate steps, she parted the room like a wave, students shrinking back instinctively as the crackling hum of her magic filled the air, her hazel eyes burning with fury.

Sebastian watched in awe. He’d seen her angry before, but this was something else entirely. This was righteous, unrelenting wrath.

Lysander, seated near the middle of the Ravenclaw table, looked up just as she approached. His pale face drained of what little color remained, his usually composed demeanor unraveling as he realized she was heading straight for him. The students around him shifted, all of them scooting away to distance themselves from the confrontation.

Evangeline stopped directly in front of Lysander, her magic swirling faintly around her. Even the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall seemed to respond to her rage, with dark clouds gathering above, their roiling edges flickering with faint sparks of blue light.

Lysander flinched, his jaw tightening as his hands clenched into fists on the table. He opened his mouth to speak, but Evangeline didn’t give him the chance.

“Dark magic,” she spat, her voice low but laced with venom, “is the refuge of the weak. The desperate. The pathetic.” Her eyes bore into him, unyielding and furious. “And you, Clearwater, proved today just how utterly spineless you are.”

The room was so silent that Sebastian swore he could hear the flicker of candles above. The weight of Evangeline's words seemed to press down on everyone, but it was Lysander who bore the brunt of it. His expression flickered between indignation and fear, his composure crumbling under the force of her anger.

“You pulled your wand in a Quidditch match,” she spat, her voice growing louder, echoing off the walls. “You couldn’t beat him with skill or your fists so you resorted to a curse?"

Lysander’s mouth opened again, but no sound came out. His hands trembled slightly, his face pale and strained.

“You’re a disgrace," she continued, her tone scathing. "To your house. To this school. And to yourself.”

The clouds above the room darkened further, and a faint rumble of thunder rolled through the hall. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the crowd, students glancing nervously at the ceiling. Even the professors exchanged uneasy looks, though none moved to intervene.

Lysander finally found his voice, though it was shaky at best. “I—”

A sharp crack of lightning split the air, silencing him instantly. The bolt didn’t strike, but it flashed across the enchanted ceiling, the light casting shadows across the hall. The hum of Evangeline’s magic surged, and the tension grew almost unbearable.

Lysander, visibly shaken, tried again, his voice cracking. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean to what?” Evangeline interrupted, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. “You knew exactly what you were doing, Clearwater. You're just too pathetic to face the consequences.”

Lysander looked as though he wanted to disappear into the floor, his hands trembling as he avoided her gaze. The students around him stared wide-eyed, stepping back even further.

But Evangeline took a step closer, her voice dropping to a deadly calm. “You’re lucky he’s alive,” she said, her tone quiet but no less fierce. “Because if he wasn’t, you’d have to answer to more than just the professors and the Ministry."

Lysander’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, it seemed like he might stay silent and accept her condemnation. But then, his pride—wounded, fragile, and desperate—got the better of him. His trembling hands gripped the edge of the table as he pushed himself to his feet, meeting her piercing gaze with a flicker of defiance.

“You think you’re so righteous, Sterling,” he said, his voice cracking but managing to carry through the deathly silent hall. “But look how far you've fallen—defending him.” He gestured sharply in the general direction of the Slytherin table, “You could’ve been so much more, could have been with me. But instead, you’ve chosen to chain yourself to someone who drags you down. Someone who—”

The words died in his throat as a deafening crack split the air.

A bolt of lightning shot down from the enchanted ceiling, striking the now-abandoned center of the Ravenclaw table with earth-shattering force. Wood splintered and flew in every direction as the table split in two, the echo of the strike reverberating through the Great Hall. Gasps and shrieks erupted from the students, some shielding their faces from the sudden burst of light and energy.

Lysander stumbled back, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear. He nearly tripped over the bench behind him, his composure shattering as he stared at the smoldering wreckage where the table had once been. The faint crackle of residual magic lingered in the air, the edges of the broken wood glowing faintly with blue light.

Evangeline took a single step forward, her expression cold and unrelenting.

“Choose your next words carefully,” she said, her voice low and deadly. “Because the next time you insult me, or anyone I care about, I won't aim at the table."

Lysander opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His pride, his arrogance, had been reduced to ashes. He looked around desperately, as if seeking help, but no one moved. The Ravenclaws closest to him shrank back, their gazes flicking nervously between him and Evangeline.

Seemingly satisfied, Evangeline straightened then turned away from Lysander. And as she retreated, the storm clouds in the enchanted ceiling began to clear, the oppressive darkness giving way to soft hues of sunlight filtering through an illusion of blue skies. Evangeline’s steps were steady and deliberate as she approached the entrance, her presence still commanding the attention of every pair of eyes in the Great Hall.

With a sharp, fluid motion of her wand, the towering double doors swung open, the resounding boom echoing like thunder in the now-silent room. She didn’t pause, didn’t glance back at the chaos she’d left behind as she approached the exit, but her hand rose with a subtle flick of her wrist, and the shattered Ravenclaw table trembled.

The jagged edges began to shift, sliding seamlessly back into place as the wood twisted and reformed with a low groan. Splinters and debris vanished until the table stood whole once more—pristine and untouched, as though nothing had ever happened. The faint blue haze of her power faded entirely, leaving no trace of her fury except the stunned, disbelieving expressions etched across every face in the hall.

The doors swung shut behind her with a sense of finality, cutting through the heavy silence like a knife. Almost instantly, whispers erupted from every corner, hushed and frantic, as students exchanged wide-eyed looks, struggling to process what they had just witnessed.

“Did you see that?” “She split the table in two with lightning!” “I didn’t even know Sterling could do that.” “What in Merlin’s name just happened?”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on the spot where Evangeline had stood just moments ago, his chest tight and his thoughts spinning. He didn’t know whether he wanted to laugh, collapse from the sheer weight of it all, or find her and kiss her senseless for what she’d just done.

The sheer audacity of it. The power, the confidence—she’d owned the entire hall, wielding her ancient magic like it was second nature. And all of it, every word, every action, had been for him.

“Well,” Imelda said, breaking the silence at their table, her voice tinged with awe. “If that wasn’t the most terrifyingly brilliant thing I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is.”

“Terrifying is right,” Nerida agreed, her voice barely above a whisper, her wide eyes still fixed on the Ravenclaw table. “I didn’t even know Sterling could do that.”

“Well, now we all do,” Imelda added, leaning back in her seat with a low whistle. “And Clearwater’s lucky she only aimed at the table.”

Sebastian’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though his chest still felt tight. His mind replayed the scene again: the strike of lightning, the cold edge in her voice, the way her magic pulsed like a living thing, demanding attention and respect.

“Did you know she could do that?” Nerida askedhim, leaning closer, her curiosity overpowering her shock.

Sebastian tore his gaze from the doors and shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not exactly,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual. “But I’m not surprised.”

Nerida blinked. “Not surprised? She just summoned lightning indoors and split a table in half!"

Ominis, who'd be silent until now, huffed a laugh, "Well that’s Evie for you. She doesn’t do anything halfway.”

Imelda snorted, leaning her elbow on the table as she shot Sebastian a sly grin. “She definitely doesn’t, does she?"

Violet perked up at that, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. “She practically lit Clearwater on fire for you, Sallow."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, though the faint pink creeping up his neck betrayed him. “She didn’t do it for me,” he said, reaching for his goblet of pumpkin juice in an attempt to distract himself. “She did it because Clearwater deserved to be put in his place.”

Silas, who had evidently been eavesdropping from his seat part-ways down the table, scoffed, “She all but told the entire Great Hall that if anyone messes with you, they’re going to end up in ashes.”

Imelda cackled, delighted by Silas’s comment, and pointed her fork at Sebastian. “He’s not wrong, you know. That wasn’t just a warning—it was a declaration."

“Clearwater didn’t stand a chance,” Silas added, shaking his head in mock pity. “He’s probably regretting every life choice that led to him opening his mouth today.”

“I doubt he’ll dare look your way for the rest of the year,” Violet chimed in. “She just made your life infinitely easier.”

Sebastian leaned back in his chair, setting his goblet down with a sigh. “She didn’t have to do any of that,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting back to the closed doors.

Ominis let out a soft sigh, shaking his head. “But she did. Because she’s reckless, like you. Perhaps that’s why you get along so well.”

Sebastian finally tore his gaze from the doors, glancing at his friend. “You don’t think she was out of line, do you?”

Ominis arched a brow. “Out of line? No. Bold? Yes. And I suspect she’ll be hearing about it from Professor Weasley soon enough.”

The group chuckled, though the tension in the Great Hall hadn’t entirely faded. The buzz of whispers continued to ripple through the other tables, and Sebastian could feel the weight of lingering stares on his back. No doubt the entire school would be dissecting what had happened for days, maybe weeks.

And Sebastian, Merlin help him, couldn’t bring himself to care.

Read more stories about Sebastian and Evangeline

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[ilyuu-archive]

warnings : hurt/comfort, fluff (it is, i promise), a kith, a lot of descriptions, he’s a tease, lmk if i missed anything! happy (late) birthday venti <3

“you had me waiting yet again~!” and his voice, as airy as it is carefree, carries to you. it comes from atop. you look up, and see him nestled in the leaves, one of the branches of the tree as a bed of sorts.

gentle specks glowed from the lyre in his hand, his fingers aimlessly plucking each and every string, and each a dulcet echo, dripping with life - just enough for the night, ticking to the earliest of dawns.

yes, into the next day.

you didn’t think you’d be held up until all the way until the end, and yet, here you are. the life in the skies drifted away, along with the thin strips of clouds, and leaves only the reminder of how late it is to those still awake - in other words, the two of you. and yet, the windrise tree welcomes you nonetheless.

your legs ache, your chest asks for air, your lungs dry, your throat burns. you didn’t stop, even as the streetlights that fits the sides of the sidewalk starts to less and lessen, as the life of its own nature beyond the walls of mondstadt creeps into the crevices.

you ran and ran.

he lies on his back, head titled to the side to steal a glance at you, and, though he tries to hold back at least a bit, the smile that came on his lips says it all. even as the way you are now, he still looks cute. that’s not something the dark can take away, neither time, or the lack of breath.

there’s whispers in the wind, taking in a cool, crispy touch to the space between the skies and stars - it swirls up all the leaves that fell to its melody and flew over to you, somehow pulling you in, close and closer to the roots of the tree.

“don’t tell me it’s going to be a daily thing now, [name]…” his hand twirls in the air, and the lyre fades away with that. “i don’t know how much my heart can take the loss and the lack of your presence any more!”

a pause.

a draft of wind whipped up from the roots, blades of grass nearby fluttering along, as venti fell into it - the tips of his braids gleamed - and it caught him with such ease. before you know it, he’s striding up to you, his steps a soft crunch, barely a hum, as the night swallows it whole.

and it’s as if that’s all it took for the shift in him - the air to him that he always has dims a bit. the person in front of you is but a shell of himself. the shadows of the leaves aloft casts on him, and the light in his eyes that you always admire is lost along with it.

he doesn’t say anything. much less as he led his head to your shoulder, sitting there for a bit - that bit stretched on into minutes. the leaves clinging to you fell apart. the air around you fell silent. there’s nothing but the lull of a lullaby, a pair of soft breathes - one breathless, another soft - to keep the two of you company.

“ve…venti?”

it’s when you feel his hands graze yours that you let out a sigh.

“…i’m sorry, venti.” your arms then wrapped around his waist with little to no hesitation, and pull him to you. that’s all he took for him to take you in, and you find yourself in his arms, an embrace that is too tight yet too loose all at once. “i’m sorry i’m late. the… the day went by in a blink of an eye and i was getting a present ready for you, i was, when i noticed how late it was, it… i’m- i’m sorry.”

“ehe, what are you even saying sorry for?” you can feel his words against the shell of your ear, the soft tepidness of them as he says, “it’s the thought that counts, no? knowing that my lovely lover was thinking about me the entire day… what more can i ask for?”

“absolutely everything.” your hand curls into his hair, just shy of the nape of his neck. you feel goosebumps trail across his skin as your fingertips skims at that spot. “you deserve that much, don’t you?”

“hmm… nope.”

“w…wha—”

his lips pecks yours. in that alone, there were traces of him - light, fleeting, a bit of a joyful skip to it. that was enough to steal the little air you managed to breathe in, whined out as he pulls away - an inch’s worth of space.

“i already have enough and more going on for me, thank you very much.”

general taglist (open!) : @/zuyoo, @starz222, @haliyamori, @kazumist, @/tartaglia-apologist, @mikacynth, @angelkazusstuff, @doumalove, @kpop-and-otome, @emo-mess, @kissedbysilk. . .

[vague-in-vegas]

Visaemon nation, wake up. New fic just dropped

Warnings: Omegaverse, alpha/alpha, top Viserys, bottom Daemon, knotting, dry humping, (light) feminization, (light) breeding kink, past underage

Words: 1,598

Ao3 link

1.

“Does it hurt?” Daemon had asked curiously, eyes watching where he touched Viserys. Neither of them were undressed, just clothing moved around enough so Viserys could pull his cock out. Currently, Daemon had his fingers curled around him and stroking around his knot.

"No,” Viserys insisted, but his voice was breaking and squeaking in a way that suggested he was lying. It made Daemon smile and rub the pad of his thumb harder against his knot. Viserys hadn't been able to keep his hips still. It was bad enough while Daemon stroked him, movements uncoordinated and unskilled, but it was worse now that his knot had swollen. “It's just really sensitive,” He explained.

Over time, he would lose some of that sensitivity, but he was newly presented now and everything felt like it was too much. Daemon had yet to present, though he knew he likely wasn't far behind. It only took a bit more coaxing before Viserys was coming across his hand with a strangled sound. His knot had swollen even more since then, but it had stayed rather small. Daemon knew he was still developing and would grow into himself a bit more.

“I hope you're an omega,” Viserys said once he had calmed down enough to speak clearly. He had already begun putting himself away by this point, but Daemon still watched him. “If you present as an omega, we could be mates. We'd be each other's,” Daemon rolled his eyes at this. 

"I have your seed coating my palm,” Daemon complained, seemingly ignoring the words. Viserys let out a noise of protest and moved away when Daemon wiped it over his clothing. “I would say we're already each other's,” He told him with a small smile. 

2.

Daemon groaned as his spine dug into the harsh floor of the throne room. It wasn't the most comfortable place to be doing this, but it hadn't even been Viserys' first choice. Daemon was sure he would have him on the throne itself if they had been able to figure out the logistics. 

Another time, they would manage it, he was sure. Viserys had been too eager this time around, though. As soon as they had a moment alone, Viserys had his hands all over Daemon's clothed body. They hadn't even removed their clothing. Instead, Viserys was on top of him and rutting against him. Daemon kept his arms tight around Viserys, holding him close. He laughed as he watched Viserys' new crown slipping down a bit. 

“You're losing your crown, my king,” He laughed breathlessly and his fingers pressed the crown back into place. Viserys groaned at the words and Daemon committed that to memory. Of course, he would enjoy that sort of thing. Daemon laughed again, although his laugh was cut off by a sharp groan pulling from his throat. Viserys rocked harder against him, the friction nearly overwhelming. The rough fabric only added to the sensation and his legs wrapped tighter around his waist. 

All the thoughts had left his mind and focused solely on Viserys. The noises they made bounced off of the walls of the throne room. He knew he was leaving bruises all over the new king just hours after his coronation. His fingers dug into his throat and his side, leaving his fingerprints all over him. It seemed fitting enough. Viserys might be the king to the entire realm now, but he had always been Daemon's. 

3.

“Do you still wish I'd been an omega?” Daemon managed to ask between rough shoves of Viserys’ hips. His voice was high and strained, each word sounding like it was a struggle to get out. Viserys made a noise of confusion behind him and it dawned on Daemon that he likely didn't even remember ever making the comment. 

“Why should I?” He asked once the question made sense in his head. It was obvious his mind was still elsewhere which Daemon couldn't fault him for. Most alphas weren't able to focus on anything else when they had their cock buried in something. “You have a perfectly fine cunt right here,” His next thrust was sharper, drawing a moan from Daemon’s throat. 

It was an embarrassing noise, one he would never make with anyone else. It only serves to encourage Viserys, though. His thrusts grew shorter, hands readjusting on his waist to pull him back into each movement. Daemon had always believed their bodies were made for each other, they fit together too perfectly for him to think otherwise. Briefly, he wondered if something had been messed up along the way and maybe he should have been an omega. 

He reasoned with himself that there wasn't any point in him being an omega. His status has never held them back from sharing their bed with each other. The only thing Viserys couldn't do was properly breed him, but that was for the better. Daemon had no desire to carry his bastards, but that certainly didn't stop Viserys from trying.

He had lost count of the number of times Viserys would hold him down and knotting himself as deep as he could manage. A hand would be stroking Daemon’s stomach in the afterglow, gentle pulses still filling him up further and Viserys whispering in his ear that he had really managed to breed a babe into him this time. If he has been an omega, he had no doubt Viserys would give him a child. Then another as soon as he could manage and another, another, as many as the Gods would allow. The worst part was Daemon thought he would likely resign himself to that fate if he had been an omega. 

In the present, Daemon knew Viserys was getting close to finishing before he even felt his knot growing. His thrusts grew more erratic, soft grunts leaving from deep in his throat, and his hands clinging tighter to Daemon. They had done this enough times that Daemon could read his body perfectly. 

“Go ahead,” Daemon encouraged. “Knot me,” That seemed like enough to put Viserys over the edge. It only took a handful of thrusts before Daemon felt his knot beginning to swell and Viserys shoved in as deeply as he could go. 

His thrusts became just gentle rocking, barely pulling out at all in attempts to properly knot him. As another alpha, Daemon's body wasn't made for this. At times, it could be a struggle to get his knot inside. Viserys massaged his back and his hips, touching any skin he could reach with such reverence. 

“You're taking it so well,” Viserys murmured as sweat formed at the back of Daemon's neck. The swell of his knot burned and ached. The first time it happened, it had been unimaginable and Daemon had to have him pull out. Now, the ache had never eased, but he better expected it and could handle it far better. He didn't reply, giving a small nod of his head and hoping it was sufficient. “My perfect alpha,” He pressed his face into the back of Daemon's hair and mumbled something else that he couldn't quite hear. 

It made no difference. Daemon wasn't focused on his words, far more distracted by the knot forcing his soft walls to part for it. He knew he must look like a mess, an alpha down on his hands and knees while his brother's knot became too swollen to pull out. His body trembled and his own cock remained hard, leaking between his legs from the neglect. Viserys finally managed to fully knot him, groaning into the back of his neck when he did. 

“There you go,” Daemon breathed out soft encouragement, although it was hard to focus on anything except how his body felt. He felt swollen and tight, Viserys was truthfully too big and caused discomfort once he was fully inside. Daemon would never share that thought, though. His brother's ego was bad enough. 

As expected, it only took a few seconds of Viserys grinding his hips into Daemon before he actually came. Viserys was panting and whining like a hound, a flood of warm wetness filling Daemon. Each pump seemed to increase the discomfort. If he was an omega, his body would be made to handle this. As it stood now, it brought a mix of pain and pleasure. It hurt and he never wanted it to stop. 

Viserys didn't need to be reminded of his partner's own pleasure. As he finished, one hand slipped over Daemon's stomach and long fingers wrapped around his cock. The wetness beading at the head was rubbed through, slicking the way for his fingers to stroke over him. Daemon groaned and his hips bucked into the sensation, inadvertently tightening around Viserys which elicited another whine.

He wanted to laugh, his brother has always been so sensitive. He didn't think he had room to make fun of sensitivity now, though. It didn't take long at all before he was coming apart as well, spilling over his fingers and his knot swelling in his palm. Viserys didn't waste time in wrapping his fist specifically around his knot, forming a tight hole for Daemon to rock himself into. It didn't compare to actually knotting something, but it was so perfectly Viserys. 

That's why he enjoyed all this so much, he thought. Why he handled the way his guts cramped painfully with Viserys’ knot and seed. Why he let himself be compared to an omega. Why he found himself enticing Viserys into fucking him every chance he had. He didn't truly like alphas, he liked Viserys.