#but i just wish she felt the same way i do

[grvait]

old art again!! this time a rough animation of sawyer and yarnaby 😎 (looks better if u click to view 😭)

im working on a short ppt animation rn. im thinking i should post it to my youtube channel, though im not sure if people here would see it. i think i can link videos on here?? idk

okay I'm gonna talk abt more chapter 4 stuff.. this time about prototype's previous identity.. ch4 spoilers and also a theory below..

hiding the solo yarnaby under here LOL

people theorized 1006 was elliot, which was recently disproven in the chapter 4 tape where poppy refers to elliot as her dad and wishes he were there. in the same tape she addresses prototype as a completely different person. also recall that elliot died in the 90s, meanwhile prototype met theo in 1989. so yeah, they aren't the same person

I've also seen people say rich is prototype, which cannot be true either. in a ch4 tape he speaks to one of the boys who eventually got turned into doey. the kid mentions his coworkers joking about him going missing. before the bbi, it would not make sense for this to be a common rumor at the company, which means this tape had to happen after harley was hired in 1990; at a time when the company would have a reason to silence people

prototype existed in 1989 at the minimum, but considering he says "it's always been about you and me" to poppy, he's likely the prototype of HER. she's elliots daughter, she died in the 60s, meaning prototype was probably created around that time as well.

this means that rich can't be the prototype because he was human long after prototype was made

if you want my take on who prototype truly is, i'd say his identity doesn't necessarily matter. i don't mean to say his origins aren't important, just that his name and specific role in the past probably doesn't mean anything in the long run. i've never believed he was elliot or rich, and maybe in the future i'll be proven wrong but for now i'll tell you the theory i've had since june of last year

elliot's daughter dies in the 60s. he divorced his wife in 1930, so his daughter is probably in her 30s when she dies. she gets sick or injured, maybe she's actively dying or already dead by the time elliot begins his research. he looks for ways to bring her back, but it doesn't work on the rats (as he mentioned a note in the 2nd chapter)

so what does he do? he tries it on something bigger as he said he would: a human. of course he's not going to try this experimental method on his own daughter, even if she's already dead, so he finds someone else to use it on. we know that elliot wasn't evil or anything, so it's unlikely he killed anybody to use for the experiment. considering the orphanage isn't open yet (it opened in the 70s, not the 60s), prototype probably wasn't an orphan child either. if i run with my simple version of the theory, elliot may have dug up a body in a graveyard and used that. maybe a fresh one, who knows. he tried it, it worked, then he revived his daughter with the same method.

this is likely what harley wanted to know about in the chapter 3 tape (the "i learn something new about you every day" one), and also what prototype is asking harley to figure out in the ch4 tape they're both in. in that case, sawyer never actually figured out how to revive people with the poppy substance. sure, he can transfer people into the toys, but he can't bring anybody back to life

more reason to believe prototype and poppy are of the same "batch" is because it seems they are the only two who don't need food. it's outright stated about him in the ch1 trailer, and insinuated with her saying the "toys will starve otherwise" when she's talking about how nasty them eating humans is. she refers to them, not herself. her and prototype are probably the only 2 who were ever brought back from the dead, which circles back around to his monologue and gives meaning to the "it's always been about you and me, poppy. what we are". when i heard him say that i felt like my theory was lowk confirmed 😭😭

no guarantee this is right, but it's been my guess for a long time

[harunayuuka2060]

*True to her word, MC would only exchange pleasantries with Malleus, and that was all. She never attempted to strike up a proper conversation unless Malleus initiated it himself.*

Malleus: You have been working so diligently.

MC: Thank you, Your Highness.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: We've been married... for how many years now?

MC: A hundred and fifty years, Your Highness.

Malleus: Oh, is it? *smiles* In that case, wouldn't it be proper for us to be more casual with each other?

MC: ...

Malleus: If you don't want to, it's fine by me.

MC: No, Your Highness. I will do as you wish.

Malleus and MC: *standing next to each other*

Malleus: Did you have a lover before we got married?

MC: ...

MC: If Your Highness doesn't mind, I would like to ask the same question.

Malleus: *chuckles* Playing safe, aren't we? Well then.

Malleus: *smiles to himself as memories of Yuu flood his mind*

Malleus: There’s a human I truly admire.

Malleus: We confessed our love to each other but knew we couldn’t take it any further.

MC: ...

MC: It must've hurt you, Your Highness.

Malleus: Well, I've told you my answer. Now it's your turn.

MC: ...

MC: Just like you, Your Highness, I fell in love with a human as well. Unfortunately, he never felt the same way about me.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: I am sorry.

MC: Please don't apologize, Your Highness.

[the-offside-rule]

Joe Burrow (Cinccinati Bengals) - Game Day and Grammys

Requested: no but someone asked about NFL imagines and the Pro Bowl and Grammys were on so how could I miss this opportunity?

Prompt: Joe Burrow x singer!girlfriend

Warnings: none other than it being long and full of fluff

Y/n sat in the plush chair of her hotel suite, a stylist curling sections of her hair while another dabbed powder on her already flawless face. The room buzzed with quiet excitement—her team murmuring about last-minute dress fittings, run-throughs, and camera angles. After all, tonight was the biggest night of her career. Five Grammy nominations. Five.

But her attention? Completely divided. On the sleek flatscreen across the room, the Pro Bowl was in full swing. Her boyfriend, Joe Burrow, was out there, tossing passes and leading drives while she got glammed up for music’s biggest stage. She’d wished she could be there, but the Grammys and the game fell on the same night, and there was no way to be in two places at once.

Her phone vibrated in her lap. Another text from Joe.

Joe: This is so much fun. Wish you were here

She grinned, typing back quickly.

Y/n: Wish I was too. But you better be focused, Burrow. No interceptions.

Another buzz.

Joe: No INTs. Just vibes. Also… scored a touchdown. No big deal.

Y/n let out a laugh, her lips quirking as she typed her reply.

Y/n: A touchdown?? Damn, you haven’t scored one of those in a while.

Her stylist stifled a giggle behind her. "Good news?" She smirked. "Joe just ran one in himself." Her phone buzzed again.

Joe: Wow. The slander.

Joe: But fair.

Joe: Good luck tonight, superstar.

Joe: Ja'Marr said if you win two tonight, that makes it 9 grammys you have ever won

Joe: And guess what my number is?

Y/n chuckled at the coincidence. No matter where they were, no matter what they were doing, they were always supporting each other.

Y/n: Alright, QB1. Ill get the Grammy's you worry about not getting tagged.

With one last glance at the game, she turned back to the mirror, ready to take on her own championship night.

The flashbulbs were blinding as Y/n posed on the red carpet, her dress hugging her perfectly while she effortlessly smiled at the cameras. The energy was electric; reporters calling out her name, fans screaming behind the barricades. She was used to this, but tonight felt different. Bigger.

As she moved down the carpet, she began her interviews, each asking the same old question that she had rehearsed about a million times. How does it feel to be nominated 5 times? She had been nominated for Album of the Year, Song of the Year, Record of the Year, Pop Vocal Album and Music Video of the Year. She had been to the grammys before but she had only ever been nominated twice each year. Granted, she did win them, racking up an astonishing 7 grammys in just 4 years, but her once edgey music had shifted to softer love songs, all thanks to a certain quarter back.

She smiled as she moved on down the carpet to her last interviewer, a little kid who she had seen on tik tok time and time again. "Oh my gosh, hello!" She smiled as she did her best to get down onto the kid's level. Her calf were killing her from the heels standing, nevermind squatting down. "You look beautiful. I love the dress." She said. "Thank you! And you look so beautiful too." The child replied. "I have a few questions for you if thats okay?"

"Of course! I would love to hear them." Y/n said warmly as she held her own microphone. "So, obviously this is your record for the most amount of Gammys that you have been nominated for. If you could go back in time and tell your younger self that this would be happening, what would you say?" Finally a way to answer the question of how she felt about being nominated that didn't involve her rehearsed answer. "I think I would tell my younger self to keep going, to believe in myself and don't put the guitar down because it's gotten me this far." Y/n replied. "Your album Nine Sunday Mornings was a very abrupt change in your music. It was more edgey and angsty the last time you were here-" Y/n laughed at the very blunt question. "Why do you think this change happened or is it because you just got bored of that genre?" Now that was a good question.

"I mean, as you said it was a big change. I mean any love song I wrote before was scrapped because I thought it was too sappy so I stuck to breakup songs or rage songs. I think the change came in meeting Joe. From the songs right down to the title it's all him. I remember the very night I met him I stayed up nearly all night writing about the like 5 minute encounter we had and now it's nominated tonight so. I have to give credit where credit is due." She answered. "Have you been keeping up with the Pro Bowl?" Y/n laughed, adjusting the Grammy-branded microphone in her hand. "Of course! I have it on in my hotel room. Joe keeps texting me updates, so I think I might have a better play-by-play than some of the commentators."

Her manager tapped her shoulder to tell her to make her way inside, so she bid the mini-reporter farewell and walked in to the packed venue.

Once inside, Y/n glanced around, trying to spot her team. The Grammys were always a production, but tonight, the room felt even bigger. Row after row of tables and glowing stage lights. She turned in circles, scanning the room. Where were they? Her manager, her producer, anyone?

"Y/n?"

She spun around to see Jack approaching, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. "Hey, are you okay?" She let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Yeah, I just… I can’t find my seat. I have no idea where my team is." Before Jack could respond, a familiar voice chimed in.

"She can sit with us!"

Y/n turned to see Taylor Swift standing a few feet away, a warm smile on her face. Taylor, dressed in an elegant yet edgy ensemble, motioned toward her table. "If you don’t mind sitting with us, of course." Y/n hesitated for a second. She didn’t want to intrude- Taylor was with her own crew, and this was a huge night for her, too. "Are you sure?" She asked cautiously.

"Of course! Come on." Taylor said, looping an arm around her gently as they started walking toward the table. "Besides, we have a lot to talk about. I can't believe this is the first time we're meeting." Y/n chuckled, relaxing a little as she took a seat beside her. "Are you going to the Super Bowl?" Taylor asked after a moment.

Y/n shook her head. "No, I’ve never actually been. I told myself I wouldn’t go until Joe is the one playing in it." Taylor’s brows lifted in amusement. "Oh that is goals."

"Plus, I’m heading to his family’s house to watch it with them." She added. "I think it’ll be more special that way." Taylor smiled knowingly. "There’s nothing like watching a game with the people who love him most. Honestly, I think you guys are gonna be there next year." Y/n nodded, already picturing herself in the Burrow family’s living room, wearing one of Joe’s sweatshirts, surrounded by his parents and siblings. It felt right. "Honestly, I don't wanna be too picky but I want a Bengals and 49ers Superbowl. That would cure the world, I think."

"That would be a good one."

Just then, the lights dimmed, signaling the start of the show. Y/n took a deep breath, ready to take on the night—Grammys, football updates, and all.

Joe stretched his arms over his head as he stepped into the hotel lobby, still buzzing from the Pro Bowl. The game had been fun, a rare chance to play a little looser, joke around with the guys, and even run in a touchdown himself—something Y/n was sure to remind him about later. His teammates followed behind him, still hyped up from the day. "Alright." Ja’Marr announced, clapping his hands. "Let’s turn on the Grammys. Gotta see Y/n win some trophies since Joe isn’t bringing any silverwear home."

Joe grinned as he nudged Ja'Marr for that dig, leading the way to the suite where they all piled onto the couches, flipping the TV on just in time to catch the ceremony in full swing. The room filled with snacks, drinks, and casual conversation, but anytime Y/n appeared on the screen, the guys would nudge Joe, who was watching intently, phone in hand, ready to text her.

Then came Best Pop-Vocal Album of the Year.

Joe sat forward, hands clasped as they listed the nominees. He knew how much work Y/n had put into this album—how many late nights, how many times she’d called him exhausted but excited, how much of her heart was poured into every track.

"And the Grammy goes to…"

Not her.

Joe exhaled, lips pressing together as he watched her smile and clap for the winner. She was graceful as ever, but he knew her well enough to see the flicker of disappointment in her eyes. "She said she was gonna be surprised if she got that one. She like, knew Sabrina was winning that hands down."

Then came Record of the Year.

Not her again.

"She got robbed." Russell Wilson muttered. "Bro, you're gonna be the first one singing Not Like Us at the halftime show next weekend." Lamar Jackson replied. "She's in like the toughest categories." James Cook added. Joe didn’t say anything, just shook his head. He hated seeing her not get what she deserved, but he knew Y/n. Knew she’d keep smiling, keep pushing forward. And damn it, he’d keep cheering her on, just like she always did for him.

It didn't matter. 2 down, 3 to go. Music Video of the Year.

Joe sat up straight. He knew this one mattered to her, too. Her video had been a passion project, something she’d fought to bring to life exactly the way she envisioned it. The competition was stacked—the other nominees had incredible visuals, and any of them could take it. Y/n sat at her table, her hands clasped in her lap, holding her breath. Joe could practically feel her nerves through the screen.

"She’s got this." He murmured. "She’s got this, she’s got this, she’s got this, come on, baby."

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n!"

Y/n gasped, letting out the breath she’d been holding. Taylor pulled her into a tight hug as the entire table erupted into cheers. Joe leapt off the couch, throwing his hands in the air. "Let's go! Yes! Wooh!" The suite exploded with excitement- Ja’Marr was shouting, some of the guys were recording Joe’s reaction, and others were laughing as Joe jumped up, singing along to the snippet of Y/n’s song that played as she made her way to the stage.

On the screen, Y/n’s smile was blinding, eyes slightly glossy as she accepted her award. Joe grinned, pride swelling in his chest. She’d done it. Just like she always did. "Oh my god, wow." She began. "I’ll be honest, I did not expect Music Video of the Year. There had been some amazing Music Videos so I just wanted to congratulate my fellow nominees and their directors." Joe clapped as he listened to her. "I want to thank my team, the fans, my family and all of you who voted for the video. My boyfriend Joe of course, who may or may not be still playing his game of tag football but I'm gonna thank him anyway." His face grew red. "I think that's all I have to say to be honest. Maybe I'll see you up here again pretty soon."

Joe lounged back on the couch, finally feeling like he could relax a little after all the emotional whiplash of the night ao far and he was still buzzing from it. "She’s performing next." Ja’Marr pointed out, nodding toward the TV. Joe sat up again, straightening his hoodie as the camera panned to the stage. The lights dimmed, and then—there she was.

His girl.

Y/n stood center stage, bathed in golden light, singing a balld version of her nominated song. She wore the most stunning outfit—a gold sparkling, elegant number that hugged her perfectly. She looked ethereal. "Jesus Christ." Joe muttered under his breath before saying a little louder, "Her outfit is so pretty." Some of the guys laughed. "Yeah, it is." Ja'Marr teased with a smirk. "You good over there, Burrow?" Russell asked, causing all the other guys to take notice of his blushing face and tease him further.

Joe just waved them off, eyes locked on the screen. Then, just as the song picked up, she reached down, grabbed the edges of her outfit, and-

Riiiipppp

The elegant gown was gone, revealing a bold, dazzling second outfit underneath—sleek, fun, and perfect for dancing. "Oh my God." Joe groaned, immediately hiding his face in his hands as the entire room exploded. The guys were shouting, laughing, some recording his reaction as they all clapped and cheered. "Ayyy! Okay, Y/n!" Ja'Marr called.

Joe shook his head, chuckling as his ears burned. He peeked through his fingers just in time to see her seamlessly transition into the next part of the performance, moving with ease, completely in her element. She was dancing, smiling, engaging the crowd like she was born for this moment. "I didn't know she could move like that! Damn!" Trey said.

Joe dropped his hands, watching as Y/n held the mic out, getting the entire crowd to sing along with her. She looked so happy, completely in control of the stage, like she was having the time of her life. Joe smiled. His teammates might have been teasing him, but he didn’t care. He was just so damn proud of her. As the song ended,she looked aroukd for the camera that would be zooming in on her. She spotted it and winked, before blowing a kiss right to it. Joe reached for the imaginaru kiss and put it to his heart as the guys teased him even further for it.

Joe sat back against the couch, his arm draped over the back as the next category came up—Song of the Year.

"Alright, this one’s huge." Ja’Marr said, leaning forward. Joe nodded, eyes locked on the screen. Y/n had poured everything into this song and she loved it the most for reason unknown to him, and even though she’d already won Music Video of the Year, he wanted this for her. Badly.

The nominees were stacked— some of the biggest songs of the year, including Y/n’s. The room quieted as the presenter opened the envelope.

"nd the Grammy goes to… Kendrick Lamar, Not Like Us!"

Joe exhaled, shaking his head, but before he could react, he spotted Y/n on screen, grinning and dancing along to the snippet of Not Like Us that played through the venue speakers. Joe burst out laughing. "She doesn’t seem too bothered." Trey snickered. "Bro, she looks kinda tipsy."

The whole room chuckled as they watched Y/n dancing up out of her seat singing along as Kendrick made his way to the stage. She was still clapping and smiling, showing nothing but love for the win, and Joe couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool she was about it. "She’s just vibin'." Joe said with a smirk, shaking his head.

And then finally came Album of the Year.

Her final nomination.

Joe sat up one last time, his heart pounding a little harder. He could see Y/n on screen, hands clasped together, her lips pressed tight as she waited. The tension in the room was thick, even through the television.

The presenter opened the envelope.

"And the Grammy goes to… Y/n Y/l/n, Nine Sunday Mornings!"

She didn’t move.

She didn’t react at first—just sat there, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. Joe felt like the air had been sucked out of the room before he erupted. "Yes! Let's go baby!" He jumped up again, fists in the air as his teammates laughed, recording his reaction for the second time that night. "That’s my girl! That’s my girl!" He cheered, pacing the room as the suite filled with whoops and applause.

Back on the screen, Y/n finally stood, still in complete shock. As she made her way up to the stage, she kept shaking her head, her mouth open as if she still couldn’t believe it. She took the award in her hands, staring down at it, blinking before looking around. The crowd chuckled. She looked up at the mic, then back at the award. "What?" She squeaked.

Laughter rippled through the audience. Joe grinned, shaking his head. He could practically hear her thoughts—How? Against all those incredible albums? She took a deep breath, exhaling sharply, still looking down at the trophy. "I—I don’t even know what to say, honestly I'm a little drunk so-" Joe smiled proudly, watching her collect herself and begin her speech. She had done it. Two Grammys in one night. And even though he wasn’t there in person, he cheered for her just as loudly as she did for him on Sundays.

"I want to thank the incredible Jack Antanoff for helping me produce this album first and foremost, my team also. But there is one person in particular who I will ramble on about because he was the inspiration for every single song I wrote since the 9th of December 2023, when we first met." Joe felt his eyes watering upon hearing it. He didn’t lile seeing her cry, it often meant he would cry too. "The album itself is a hommage to the fact that it took just nine sunday mornings for us to decide we wanted to become a couple and honestly, those 9 Sunday mornings were the best I could have ever lived through because I got to fall in love with the love of my life." Joe wiped his eyes, lookong down as Ja'Marr patted his back in support. "Joe, wherever you are, I wanted you to know that this award is for you, you can put it right next to the Heisman and my other 8 Grammy's."

Joe chuckled lightly as her little dig. "And just in case this wasnt a clincidence enough already- I'm going to shout out Ja'Marr Chase for this information- this is my ninth Grammy, and its for Cinccinati's number 9." The microphone cut out, singalling that her time for speaking was up. She mouthed a very animated 'I love you' to the camera before smiling and heading off the stage.

As soon as Y/n sat back down at her table, she reached for her phone. Her hands were slightly shaking—part adrenaline, part sheer excitement. The night had been a whirlwind, and there was only one person she needed to talk to right now. She hit Joe’s contact, pressing the phone to her ear as the Grammys continued around her. The line barely rang once before he picked up.

"Baby!" She let out a breathless laugh. "Joe!"

"Oh my God!" He said, and she could hear the pure excitement in his voice. "You were insane. I mean first of all, two Grammys? And then that performance? What was that outfit change? You’re trying to kill me?" Y/n giggled, running a hand through her hair. "Did you like it?"

"Like it? Babe, I almost had a heart attack. These guys aren't gonna let me live it down." She laughed again, picturing Joe hiding his face in his hands while all his guys teased him. "I was just thinking about you the whole time." She admitted, voice a little softer now. "I figured you were watching."

"Of course I was watching." He said immediately. "Are you kidding? We had the Grammys on as soon as we got back. I was cheering for you all night." Y/n smiled, glancing down at her awards sitting in front of her. "It still doesn’t feel real. I mean…Album of the Year? What?"

"You earned that, Y/n. No one deserved it more." She bit her lip, warmth spreading through her chest. "I mean, Billie should have won it." She replied. "Oh my God, I'm gonna cry again."

"No, don't cry." He said quickly. "Not unless it’s happy tears." She laughed, leaning back in her chair. "How was the Pro Bowl? I feel like I barely got to ask you." Joe chuckled. "It was fun. I mean we lost, but it was fun."

"What was the score?" She asked. "Like 76 to 63 or somethin' like that?" He looked around for nods of approval. "Did I mention I scored?" Y/n chuckled. "Yeah and as I said before I haven’t seen you do that in a while."

"Okay, woah." He deadpanned, and she could hear his teammates laughing in the background. "I’m kidding." She teased. "I’m proud of you."

"I'm proud of you too, baby." Y/n exhaled, her whole body finally starting to relax after the chaos of the night. "I just wish you were here."

"Yeah, I know." Joe said softly. "But I’ll see you tomorrow. And then we can celebrate properly." She grinned. "Deal."

"I love you, Baby."

"Love you too, Shiesty "

As she hung up, she clutched her phone to her chest, still smiling. It had been a night to remember— and she couldn’t wait to get home to him.

[themoonlitquill]

Whispers Woven in Shadow. (1/?)

𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙬𝙖𝙨 𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝘼𝙧𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙤𝙣 𝙨𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧? 𝙃𝙤𝙬 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚? 𝙒𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚? 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙮.

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 ; 𝖠𝗓𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗅 𝗑 𝖥𝖾𝗆!𝖮𝖢 (𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝖺𝗅).

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; I’m terrible at summaries, so please don’t hate me for that! This is an OC that I’ve been playing around with for literal ages and I finally made the choice to really dive in and develop her, and then the ideas just started flowing in and I couldn’t stop writing! I’m already working on a second chapter for this, but let me know your thoughts if you’d like to see this continued! I don’t post my writing too often, so be kind if you don’t mind!! Oh, && special thanks to @coffeebooksrain18 for the moodboard! 🩵 Enjoy!

𝖳𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗋 𝖶𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 ; 𝗠𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗶𝘀𝗼𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻, 𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳-𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁𝘆 𝗶𝗻𝗻𝗲𝗿-𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗺𝗼𝗶𝗹.

𝖶𝗈𝗋𝖽 𝖢𝗈𝗎𝗇𝗍 ; 3802.

Everything is different now, Ariadne Archeron blinks as she looks out the window to the clear skies of robin’s egg blue with rays of sunlight streaming through to cast a golden hue that emitted warmth and yet, she had never felt so cold, so empty. Her mind was spinning around in circles, jumping from thought to thought, never settling and making her skin itch with such an intensity that she had to refrain herself from digging her nails in and ripping flesh from bone.

It was all wrong. Every single bit of it. And she couldn’t understand what was going on and why she was feeling this way.

The simple answer was because she had been thrown into a massive pot that stripped her humanity from her without consent and replaced it with immortality, which was something she had only wondered about in the stories that Elain used to show her as a little girl; she never imagined that it would come true and become her life.

Feyre had accepted being Made into High Fae graciously, almost eagerly, while Nesta seethed and resented, focusing her pent up emotions into care and concern for Elain. That left Ariadne to deal with it alone and if she were to be honest with herself, she wasn’t doing a very good job of it.

She was broken, lost, and confused, nearly a shell of her former self. How was she to handle this? What was she to do? There wasn’t a set of rules for something like this and there was no one to turn to for advice, not that she could anyway with her inability to speak.

It seemed that magic couldn’t heal everything.

Ariadne had been born deaf and could only communicate through gestures and looks, which made everything that much harder for her compared to her sisters. She couldn’t get her mouth to form the words that ran rampant in her head, not that she didn’t try, and eventually, she gave up, coming to the realization that what she so desperately wanted to say would never be heard by anyone other than herself.

She had never felt sorry about her ailment before, knowing that Nesta understood when she was irritated by the way her eyes narrowed with a hand placed defiantly on her hip and that Elain knew when she needed a moment away from their father when a frustrated huff emitted from her nose, followed with the incessant picking at the skin around her fingernails.

And Feyre, well, she was able to decipher what Ariadne wanted before she even did.

But it was different now. It wasn’t the same and the changes she was going through had to be dealt with, with no help from anyone. It wasn’t fair.

She wanted to scream and yell and cry and throw things, but she couldn’t, and if she could, she wouldn’t want to. That wasn’t who she was and it definitely wasn’t how she acted when life didn’t go the way she wished for it to. Instead, Ariadne kept it hidden away from prying eyes and suffered in silence, because that’s what this all was.

Suffering.

Agony.

Without any end in sight.

Ariadne works to swallow the dry lump that had formed in her throat and she withholds a wince, knowing that she needed something to drink and she was already dreading the fact that she’d have to leave the bit of safety in the room, that was now hers, to go get it.

Unless she wanted to stick her mouth under the faucet again and she most definitely did not.

Downstairs it is, she gnaws on the inside of her lower lip until she tastes the unmistakable tang of copper on her tongue, the nerves already setting in. You can do this, Ari. Just stand up and walk. It isn’t that hard, her fingers clenched into a fist, nails biting into her palm. Get UP! Get up, get up, get up!

Why couldn’t she move? What was wrong with her?

Ariadne sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment, then releases, her eyelids fluttering as she struggles to keep herself composed. The tears were right there and there was no way she would allow them to fall; she had to be strong like Feyre would be, not letting anything knock her down, and if it did, she’d get back up to try again. She could do that, couldn’t she?

It’ll be quick. Start with putting your feet on the floor. That’s easy enough to do, she reopens her eyes and stares straight ahead for several minutes, working on keeping each breath steady. On the count of three… One, her skin prickles, but she manages to sit up straight, legs unfolding. Two, sweat forms on her brow as she moves her feet to hover over the carpet. Three!

The distance closes and she freezes when she feels the plush material against her skin, finding that it was kind of… nice. See, not so bad, right? One thing at a time. You can do that no problem.

A small bit of confidence surges through her and she quickly rests her arms on either side of the chair, bracing herself before pushing herself up; her knees wobble and her brow furrows, but Ariadne - more determined than she realized - finds her balance and straightens, taking a deep breath in order to calm down a little.

Hey! Look at that. You did it, there’s a twitch at the corner of her mouth, which she dutifully ignores. Now, another deep breath. Start walking, was it too soon to do this? It had only been a week since- Don’t go there, Ari. You’re doing so well. You aren’t there anymore. You’re fine, she lifts her chin and turns towards the door. Go on, she takes a step.

Ariadne keeps going, one foot at a time, and becomes more steady, making her way across the - her - room to the door and stopping to stand in front of it. Her hand wrapped around the handle, halfway turned, but she froze again. Completely immobile. Why was her heart beating so quickly? This wasn’t normal. It made no sense to feel like this and she couldn’t find a way to understand it, which was incredibly frustrating.

It’s good that you want to see something else besides these same four walls. Nothing wrong with that. No one is even going to be out there, she turns it the rest of the way. Nesta is with Elain, and Feyre, her heart clenches painfully. Feyre isn’t here right now, so you’re going to have to do this yourself, she pulls and it opens. There you go.

Ariadne peers out into the hall and looks down both ends, not seeing anything other than the rest of the doors, all closed, and the sconces that emitted a warm light. She slips through and begins to walk, her feet padding softly against the floor and she was hoping that the kitchen was in this direction or else she was going to be wandering around for a while; the House of Wind was huge.

She continues on with her hands clasped together in front of her, the pad of her thumb rubbing soothing circles onto the top and she can’t help but look around, never having seen anything like it before. Not even Archeron Estate. The amount of money that Rhysand had to build something like this? He must’ve grown up rich. Her gaze roams over the intricate carvings on the large columned archways, head tilted in quiet admiration. They were pretty.

The hallway comes to a set of stairs, only four, and Ariadne pauses before taking each one down to find a kitchen to the left that led to what she assumed was the dining room, and held a grand table in the center with multiple high-backed chairs.

Yeah, definitely rich from birth, she walks further in and flicks her eyes over the cabinets, realizing that she had no clue where anything was. Look through all of them. It isn’t going to matter anyway, she reaches up on her tip-toes and her fingertips barely brush against the handle. Oh, great, she sighs. Where’s a ladder when you need one?

She notes the sink only a few inches away and she moves to crouch down in front, beginning to search through and eventually coming up empty. Please don’t tell me I have to climb on a counter, Ariadne stands back up straight. Again, there was really no other way, was there? Of course not.

Her brow furrows as she surveys the correct way to do it without getting hurt, knowing that no one was there to help if things went awry; she finally settles on using the shelf that went across the middle of the bottom cabinet to use to give her a boost and then she’d be able to get her leg up by bracing her weight against the wall.

It seemed simple enough.

After getting into position, Ariadne takes a breath and places her hand to the left as she pushes her foot against the shelf. She grunts from the effort to lift her leg, managing to get her knee onto the counter and use what strength she had to pull the rest of herself on top.

She grasps at the handle on the cabinet to steady herself before she adjusts her knees and leans over a little to open it, only to find plates. An annoyed huff makes her nostrils flare and she carefully shuts it. I should’ve just drank from the faucet again, her arm extends and her fingers wrap around the next handle as she moves over. This is way too much to do for a cup, she keeps her spine straight and prays to whatever higher power hailed over Prythian that this was the right one.

Ariadne pulls, and she doesn’t notice the fabric of her dress shift or when she starts to slide; she peeks inside and her eyes brighten when she sees what she had been hoping for. Yes!

Her body goes to lean like she had done a couple minutes ago and her knees give out from under her, a surprised sound leaving her lips as her other arm flails, unable to find anything to hold onto. No!

Everything went sideways and Ariadne began to fall, the top of her foot hitting the edge of the counter and she hisses through her teeth, eyes squeezing shut and bracing for the impact of her body against the tiled floor. But it never came. There was something looped around her waist, cool and soft, flowing like silk and holding with a gentleness that she had never felt before. What is it? Where did it come from?

Whatever it was had decided to turn her upright and place her down safely, which is when she decided to open her eyes; the first thing noticed were the wings, massive and actually really beautiful, but holding a power that matched that of the one, two, three, four… seven siphons, which reminded her of sapphires, and then it was the deep bronze skin that was littered with dirt, grime, and only the Gods knew what else, followed by a tousle of dark hair, slightly curly.

Though, what Ariadne noticed the most was the golden glow that faded into hazel. There was a mixture of guardedness, curiosity, and worry - maybe? - swirling within the shifting shades of green and brown, but she wasn’t sure if she could trust it. Azriel, I think. The other one is who Nesta can’t stand. Cassian? This is the… Spysinger, her lips pressed together. No, that isn’t right. Oh! Shadowmaster. Yeah, that makes more sense.

She blinks and realizes that she had been staring at him for longer than she should’ve and quickly refocuses to see that he had come around from the other side of the counter to stand a few feet away from her.

It looked like the Shadowmaster had been in a few fights and then slept on the ground afterwards, which was weird to her because she swore Cassian was the aggressive one. Never judge a book, Ari. People look at you and think you’re not capable of anything or that you’re stupid, she lifts her chin and finds that she could now only see his chest when she did that, so she tilts her head back further until she finds his face again.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Azriel watches in silence as the youngest Archeron sister - Ariadne - nearly breaks her neck in order to meet his gaze, the warm honey of her eyes full of questions, trepidation, and a sadness that was trying to hide itself and he was certain it was much larger than what he already caught. He found himself wishing he could ask her about it, but that was impossible for two important reasons; one, Azriel didn’t do things like that and two, even if he did, Ariadne wouldn’t be able to hear him.

And who was to say that if she could, she would answer?

He resorts to raising a single brow, inclining his head towards the counter as he keeps his sights set on her, surveying her expression for the slightest change; it starts with a flicker of surprise before shifting to neutral and she nods, the smallest of sighs emitting from her parted lips and she glances at the still open cabinet that held the cups, then tapping her fingers at the base of her throat.

Ah, he steps forward and reaches inside to grab one, lowering it down and handing it to her. There’s a moment of hesitation, though it doesn’t seem to be an aversion to him. It was more so of someone unsure how to accept help when they had been doing everything without it for a long time. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?

The ever-present shadows that swirled around Azriel became tense at the thought and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind to be locked away.

Now wasn’t the time.

Ariadne was staring at the glass and he realized that she had no idea that the House of Wind would provide anything she wanted. After all, how was she going to know anything about a world she had been thrown into? Stories that passed over to the human lands weren’t always accurate.

Will you- He hears a quiet gasp and he cuts himself off, attention snapping back to the small Fae in front of him that was watching as… orange juice filled to the brim. Apparently, she figured it out a lot quicker than he thought she would. The corner of his mouth twitches. Smart girl.

Azriel takes a couple steps back and leans his hip against the counter, arms crossed over his chest with his wings tucked behind. Ariadne turns her head and blinks at him, observing his position before giving a single dip of her chin and he had a feeling that it was her way of saying ‘thank you.’

He returns the gesture and she begins to walk by, more than likely heading back to her room, and that’s when he smells it; cherry blossoms. It was sweet and soft, hints of creamy vanilla bean and almond with a warmth that made him want to reach out and touch her.

It’s his turn to blink now and he waits for Ariadne to pass before he looks over his shoulder, hazel returning to that golden hue as she makes her way back up the steps and disappears down the hall. His shadows begin curling around his neck and ears, whispering to him in cool breaths, some louder than others.

She is special. Yes, special. And alone. Afraid. She is lost. No way to understand. She cannot ask. She wants to understand. Must help her understand. Yes. Help her.

Azriel gives a small tug and they fall silent, though they flick against his skin in protest and to show their evident distaste for his dismissal. He rolls his eyes with a heavy exhale, giving his head a shake before he pushes himself away from the counter and disappears into the same temperamental darkness that matched that of himself.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔*:･

Ariadne was unsure how to feel about her brief interaction with Azriel; he understood what she’d been trying to do and had even helped her, which was odd for her, but it made him better than most people she had met. He didn’t invade her personal space either, didn’t try to do anything at all that would make her the slightest bit uncomfortable.

In fact, he seemed to be a fairly decent male. She couldn’t remember a single instance over the few times she had been around him - even as a human - where he had ever acted out or caused any sort of problem. And if he did, she had an inkling that it would have to be over something important.

Her eyes lifted to the window and found that the sun had set, painting the sky in magenta and lavender with bursts of burnt orange and yellow; it reminded her of something that Feyre might like to recreate on canvas. There’s a sharp pang in the center of her heart at the thought of her sister and she winces, reaching up to rub the spot with her hand.

It was hard without Feyre. Yes, Nesta and Elain were there, but they were handling being Made even worse than Ariadne was. At least she had left the room. Granted, it was only once and she wasn’t gone for that long. It was still more than what they were doing.

And that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Ariadne had been the closest with Feyre, in age and in every other way. They were inseparable and a lot of love was shared between the two of them, along with a deep-rooted loyalty and respect for who they each were. And now? She felt like she was missing a vital piece of herself that she didn’t know how to get back and the longer the stretch of days went on, the more painful it got.

She picks at the skin around her nails and shifts her gaze to the floor, not wanting to think about any of this anymore. That was the thing about having no way to talk to someone; she tended to inner-monologue and go too into detail about things, overwhelming herself until she disassociated from it all.

Not the best solution, but it worked for her.

A flicker of movement in the corner catches her attention and she zeroes in on it, eyes narrowing slightly. Don’t tell me this place has ghosts now, Ariadne stands, noting how it was darker than it should’ve been with the way the light was streaming in. Because I will find a way to get out of here. There can’t be that many stairs.

She takes a couple steps forward, head tilted with curiosity and a bit of fear if it was actually a ghost. Whatever you are, I’m not going to hurt you, so that means you can’t hurt me either. That’s how this works.

The unknown something moves again, causing a shift in the air that her new Fae eyes are able to detect; it looked like smoke, though more refined and smooth, shimmering with an iridescence that reminded her of the stars. She reaches out. What are you?

It slithers forward and Ariadne watches as it brushes against one of her fingers, almost as if it were curious about her too, and that’s when she feels that same softness that had been around her waist earlier, silken and surprisingly strong.

You’re one of Azriel’s shadows, it curls around her finger and Ariadne hums. What are you doing here? Did he send you?

The shadow moves further up until it’s wrapped around her wrist, the end curled between her fingers and she feels something push at the back of her skull. It didn’t hurt, but it was strange; it sort of felt like someone was trying to fit the wrong key into a lock.

Ariadne keeps her eye on the shadow and takes a breath. Are you trying to get in? Feyre mentioned that before, but I can’t remember what it’s called. It’s mind reading though, isn’t it? Are you saying I can do it too?

There’s an instantaneous pressure around her wrist and she sucks in another breath. Okay, that’s… Okay, her brow furrows; how did the shadow know before she did? Was it because of Azriel being their master? But then that would mean he would know too, wouldn’t he? And he had never given any inclination that he did, so how?

She wished she knew all of the information that Feyre had given back when she first showed them that she was High Fae. Ariadne could read, some, from the few books Nesta was able to get when they lived in the small cottage and then even more so when their father had suddenly been offered a business deal that made them wealthy again, not that she remembered any of that part of their life, and was given lessons; she didn’t like them and proceeded to have a glare off with her eldest sister until it was made clear that there would be no changing her mind.

Ariadne would teach herself.

And reading turned into writing.

But it had been slow going at first and when Feyre had arrived with Rhysand, Azriel, and Cassian, she had only gotten so far and there was some of it that had been written down that she either got mixed up or couldn’t remember at all. It was all bits and pieces.

The tightening around her wrist draws her attention back to the present and she shakes her head. Right. Focus, Ari. If the shadow is trying to tell me what I think it is, I have to try, don’t I?

Ariadne closes her eyes and recedes back into her mind, maneuvering through the jumbled mess of thoughts before she comes across an opalescent wall, shimmering with a moonlight glow and she couldn’t help but think how pretty it was. Why had she never noticed this before? Her head tilts and she probes further, searching for some way to open it.

It brushed softly against her just as the shadow did and she gave an instinctive squeeze in return before the wall of light brightened, beginning to shake and shift, soon revealing a small entryway for a single person to get through. She gasps.

Whoa! How did I do that? Ariadne opens her eyes and looks down to see the little thing was weaving between her fingers. Can you hear me now?

Yes.

[sky--phantom]

Times other people discussed Solavellan + Times Solas and Lavellan talked about each other (dav)

"I've seen how you look at him. You're in it" - Sera

"Is it my imagination, dear, or have certain... lingering looks passed between you and our Solas?" - Vivienne

"You're real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can't" - Cole

"The two of you were close. Perhaps he had no choice? He might return at any moment" - Leliana

"How have you been? It seems ages since we've spoken. I know you were cruely disappointed when Solas left" - Vivienne

"Are you hoping for word on Solas? I'm sorry, Inquisitor. I'm afraid I have nothing" - Leliana

"I've been meaning to ask... Solas hasn't come back? Sent word? Anything?" - Thom

"Oh, and Inquisitor? Feels weird, but I'm sorry Solas never came back. Well, no, I'm not, but... I'm sorry he left you." - Sera

"I am not a god, Charter. I am prideful, hotheaded, and foolish, and I am doing what I must. When you report back to the Inquisitor…. Say that I am sorry.” - Solas

"Maybe it's gullible of me, but I know the Inquisitor feels the same: Solas isn't too far gone to bring back" - Varric

"Solas was... important to me. If this statuette helps you understand him, if it uncovers something that... Honestly, I don't know. I wish I did. But this feels like a part of him, and whatever he and I once were... I think... I-I hope... it might help you" - Lavellan

"And when I served the Inquisition, I tried to avoid entanglements" - Solas

"Except for Inquisitor Lavellan" - Rook

"I said that I resolved to do so, not that I succeeded. She's a good woman. Growing close to her was... selfish of me" - Solas

"Do you regret it?" - Rook

"I live with countless regrets. Some of them I have grown to cherish more than my victories" - Solas

"Solas took this path because he thinks he has no choice. But the Inquisitor believes there is another way for him. For them. She could save him, if he would just let her" - Harding

"God of Lies, Dread Wolf, Fen'Harel. They're titles he earned from enemies, followers and fractured history. He and I shared another name: Vhenan" - Lavellan

"You've spoken to him in your dreams. You've felt the power of that mind. His love could burn against me like a bonfire. He seemed so kind, and wise, and sad, and looked at me as if I somehow mattered more than anything around us. For a time... I thought I would have followed anywhere he asked me to" - Lavellan

"Or maybe I'm the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so that I never have to face my folly. That I loved someone who made such grave mistakes. That I might love him still" - Lavellan

"He really made you happy?" - Rook

"Yes, he really did" - Lavellan

"Harding... I am sorry" - Solas

"For what, Solas? Betraying the Inquisitor and breaking her heart?" - Harding

"Is there any chance - any chance at all - that he would listen to reason?" - Lavellan

"Speaking from the heart, Inquisitor?" - Morrigan

"With Elgar'nan and and Ghilan'nain dead, and the Inquisitor finally reunited with her true love... it looked like one of the biggest stories this world had ever seen was finally drawing to a close" - Varric

[keepingitformyself]

good men die too (so i’d rather be with you)

A/N: first natalie fic. needed to get this off my chest. crush by ethel cain on repeat as i wrote this.

SYNOPSIS: natalie scatorccio isn’t the kind of girl you bring home to your parents. and she’s not the kind of girl you’d think to spend forever with. she’s reckless, dangerous, and rough. but that doesn’t stop you from wanting her all the same.

pairings: natalie scatorccio x reader

genre: no crash AU

warnings: suggestive themes, blood, bruises

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

it’s no surprise to anyone when natalie scatorccio comes strolling into soccer practice twenty minutes late. long after coach martinez has just finished a speech on the importance of time management.

her leather jacket slung over her jersey clad body gives you just the faintest scent of marlboro reds clinging to her clothes. she wears a smirk as she approaches the rest of the girls on the field.

coach martinez merely rolls his eyes at her presence. he decides to barely batt an eye anymore. what was the point? natalie was good. maybe not the best, but good enough to get away with her shit.

you weren’t really close to her like the others were. not like misty, who hung on her every word, or shauna, who tried (and failed) to keep her in check. you weren’t even like lottie, who seemed to understand her in a way that made no sense. no, you and natalie were something different.

you didn’t talk much, but when you did, it was charged. every snarky comment or off-hand joke felt like it was said to imply something neither of you wanted to admit. like a game neither of you were willing to lose.

the first time you really noticed it was after a game. the team was celebrating a win at some rundown diner. cramming into booths that barely fit you all. natalie sat across from you, her fingers wrapped around a coke bottle, condensation dripping from the glass.

her eyes met yours, and she smirked like she knew something you didn’t.

“you’re staring.” she drawled, bringing the bottle to her lips.

“you wish.”

she laughed, low and throaty, before leaning in. “i know.”

that was how it always went. a flicker of something in a hallway, a touch too long passing water bottles at practice, her voice too close to your ear when she made some off-hand comment that sent heat pooling in your stomach. and every time, you refused to acknowledge it.

because natalie scatorccio was trouble. and you didn’t do trouble.

but damn if you weren’t drawn to her anyway.

it was easier to act like she didn’t get under your skin. to roll your eyes, to scoff, to push her buttons just to see if she’d push back. you’d rather drive her crazy, make her hate you, than admit what you actually wanted. becuase if you admitted it, it would be real. and real meant dangerous.

real meant natalie had the power to ruin you.

so you kept playing the game. kept up the act. and natalie…she played right into it.

even with the others around, you found ways to test the limits.

at parties, when she was sprawled on a couch with some guy draping an arm over her shoulder, you’d pass by and let your fingers brush against hers for half a second too long. just long enough to make her glance up at you through her lashes, lips quirking like she knew exactly what you were doing.

in the locker room, when the team was too busy talking about the next game, you’d let your knee knock into hers while tying your sneakers. she never moved away.

one night, the team had gathered at jackie’s house for a movie night, a tangled mess of limbs and blankets on the floor.

you ended up beside natalie, bodies pressed together in the dark. her hand rested on her stomach, dangerously close to yours.

you could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, but neither of you moved. not when she exhaled slowly, not when her pinky brushed yours so lightly it could’ve been an accident. you weren’t sure if you imagined it, but you swore you felt her shift just a little closer.

then there was the time in the school hallway. the team was heading to the cafeteria together, but natalie had stopped by her locker. you weren’t supposed to wait for her, weren’t supposed to lean against the metal beside her as she rummaged through her bag, weren’t supposed to mutter,

“hurry up, scatorccio,” in a tone only she would catch. she smirked at you then, slow and knowing, before tucking a pack of cigarettes into her jacket.

“gotta problem with me taking my time?” she murmured, just quiet enough that no one else heard.

you scoffed. “i’ve got a problem with you wasting mine.”

she grinned. “right.”

one friday night, after practice, you found her in the parking lot, perched on the hood of her dad’s beat-up mercury, cigarette balanced between her fingers. the night was cool, and the parking lot was empty save for the two of you.

“you need a ride?” she asked, eyes flicking up to meet yours.

“i’m good.”

“you sure? wouldn’t want you walking home all alone. bad things happen to good girls.”

“i never said i was good.”

her smirk widened, something dark flashing behind her eyes. “no, i guess you didn’t.”

you should’ve walked away. should’ve ignored the way her gaze lingered, how the glow of her cigarette lit up her face in a way that made your breath hitch. but instead, you stepped closer. just a fraction. just enough.

natalie tapped her cigarette, ashes scattering to the pavement. “you ever gonna admit you want me?”

you scoffed, crossing your arms. “your window’s already passed.”

she laughed, full and unbothered. “bullshit.”

you didn’t answer. you didn’t need to. she could read your mind just fine.

and that pissed you off.

because you hated it. the way she could see right through you. the way she knew you wanted her even when you wouldn’t admit it to yourself.

it made you want to punch her, just to get rid of the feeling clawing up your throat. you wanted to see her lip split open, watch her wipe the blood away with that smug little smirk because then at least you wouldn’t have to think about how badly you wanted to kiss her instead.

then, one night, she cornered you outside a party, the bass from inside thrumming through your ribs. her lip was split, a bruise already blooming high on her cheekbone, and she looked at you like she had all the answers.

“i owe you a black eye and two kisses,” she murmured, voice laced with amusement. “tell me when you wanna come get ‘em.”

your stomach tightened, heat crawling up your spine. natalie licked at the blood on her lip, watching you like she was waiting for you to call her bluff.

but this time, you didn’t want to call it.

you swallowed hard, fists clenching at your sides. “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

natalie tilted her head, stepping into your space, forcing you to meet her gaze. “i know exactly what I’m asking for. and so do you.”

the words settled between you, heavy and inescapable. you wanted to fight her. you wanted to push her away. but more than that, you wanted her to keep going. to ruin you the way you knew only she could.

“say it,” she pressed, voice low, eyes dark. “say you want me.”

your breath hitched. “i—”

“i want you,” she said first, cutting you off. the game, finally over.

and just like that, the bottom dropped out from under you.

you would’ve walked away. but every inch of your body screamed for you to stay. you could feel the weight of her presence as if she was a magnet, pulling you closer, her eyes locked on you like she was reading your every thought.

“i’m not the type of girl who plays by the rules,” she said quietly, voice dripping with something between challenge and promise.

“and i'm not the type who gets caught up in trouble,” you shot back, but it sounded like a lie. you both knew it.

her lips curled into a knowing smile, eyes glinting with mischief. “yeah? that’s funny, because every time i look at you, you seem like you're trying to talk yourself out of something.”

you crossed your arms, shifting your weight to one foot, trying to steady your pulse, but her words hit you harder than you expected. you could feel her eyes on you, following every move, reading the way your body tightened when she came closer.

“trying to act all tough, but you’re standing here, aren't you?” she continued, her tone light but pointed. “guess that makes you just as bad as me.”

your heart skipped, the sting of her words digging into you. “don’t flatter yourself. i’m not playing your game.”

she took a step forward, and you couldn’t help but move back a fraction, but only because you didn’t want her to see how badly she was getting to you. “you’re already in it,” she said, voice dropping lower. "you think i don’t notice the way you look at me?"

your breath hitched, and you scoffed, doing everything you could to keep the distance. "i don't look at you."

natalie cocked her head, eyes narrowing in playful challenge. “really? ‘cause i could’ve sworn i saw you staring when i walked into practice today. or maybe it was when i grabbed that water bottle from you after the scrimage. funny how you can't keep your eyes off me, huh?”

you swallowed, fighting the flush rising in your chest. “you’re imagining things.”

“i’m not,” she said, voice dripping with confidence as she moved even closer. her scent, a mix of smoke and something sharp, intoxicating, wrapped around you. "i know you want to fight it. but you’re not fooling anyone. least of all me.”

“i’m not some fucking game,” you muttered, voice sharp, but shaky. you couldn’t keep the edge from your tone, couldn’t keep the uncertainty out of your voice.

“you’re already in it,” she repeated, her tone quiet but unwavering. “so why don’t you stop pretending? stop pretending you’re not already caught up in me. you don’t get to walk away anymore.”

her voice was so close now, you could feel the heat from her breath brushing against your skin, and every nerve in your body screamed for you to back away, but your feet stayed rooted. your heart thudded, each beat pulling you closer to her than you wanted to be.

“i’m not some... i’m not the type of girl who...” you started, but your words were getting tangled in the mess of thoughts she was creating in your head. you were losing control, and the worst part? you didn’t want it back.

“not the type of girl who what?” she murmured, leaning in just enough to make you feel every word. “who gets what she wants?”

you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but you couldn’t. the words were gone, smothered by the feeling of her closeness, the way she was looking at you, waiting for you to break.

“you’re just a little scared,” she whispered, a teasing lilt in her voice. “scared of what’s underneath all this. scared of what’ll happen if you let yourself want it.”

Your pulse spiked. “stop it.”

“no,” she said, her smile widening. “you start it.”

you could feel the air around you both thickening, charged, and the space between you two felt like it was closing in, getting tighter, until you could barely breathe.

you could taste the words you weren’t saying, hanging in the air, unbearable. and in that moment, you hated her, hated how she could do this to you—make you feel like this.

but you couldn’t pull away. you couldn’t fight it.

and she knew it.

“tell me,” she pressed, voice low, dangerous. “what do you want, huh?”

it wasn’t a question anymore. it was a command. and in the space between, you realized she wasn’t asking for an answer.

she already had the one she wanted.

[lvrgurlblobbu]

a date it is!

college!zayne x fem!reader

⤿ CW: pure fluff!

⤿ word count: 3.3k

⤿ second part of code love series | previous part

ao3.

You barely had any sleep last night, it’s not that you spent the whole night talking to Zayne. He made sure that the both of you gets plenty amount of rest. So when the clock struck at 10:00 pm, he bid his goodnight to you. You also bid yours as well but you’re awake until 1:00 in the morning.

You’re not sure why sleep wouldn’t come. Maybe it was the lingering warmth of the conversation, the way Zayne’s voice still echoed in your mind, or maybe it was just one of those nights where rest felt impossible. You tossed and turned, staring at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the night outside your window.

Even after saying goodnight, your thoughts refused to quiet down. It was comforting, but at the same time, it made you feel a little restless.

When sleep finally pulled you under, it was shallow and fleeting. By the time morning arrived, you felt the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you. Your body ached for more rest, but your mind was already wide awake.

Your phone buzzes beside you. Squinting against the brightness of the screen, you see a message from Zayne.

Zayne: Morning. Did you sleep well?

You immediately sat up which made your head throb a bit. You bit your lip as you hovered you thumb at your phone to type a reply.

You: Good Morning! Yes I did : )

Even though you know damn well you didn’t, then after a few seconds your phone received another message from him.

Zayne: That’s good. I shall get going now, I’ll see you later around campus, take care.

You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling as you typed your reply. As you hit the “send” button, you threw your phone at your bed and screamed at your pillow as you kicked your feet.

Then as you began to calm down, your heart races so fast as you stared at the ceiling. Well, today is going to be a good one because of two main reasons: one is that Zayne greeted you good morning and he wished you well, second is that you’re looking forward to meet him again.

“How’s it going?” Simone nudged your shoulder as the three of you make your way towards your classroom.

“Well, we talked last night.” You replied, biting your lip to suppress your smile and clutched tighter on the books you’re holding. Tara seemed to notice and she began to tease you.

“Oh?” Tara smirked, leaning in closer. “And by talked, do you mean actual words, or was it just you giggling at your phone like a lovesick fool?”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. “It was just a normal conversation,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Simone chuckled, bumping her shoulder against yours. “Sure, sure. And let me guess—after he told you to sleep, you stayed up thinking about him, didn’t you?”

Your lips parted in protest, but the way both of them were staring at you—knowing, amused—made it clear there was no point in denying it. Instead, you let out a dramatic sigh. “You guys are impossible.”

Tara giggled. “We’re impossible? Please. You’re the one walking around like a main character in a romance novel.”

You groaned, shaking your head as you pushed open the door to your classroom. “Can we talk about something else?”

Simone and Tara shared a glance before grinning. “No promises,” they said in unison.

You huffed, but despite your complaints, you couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on your lips. Because, if you were being honest, you didn’t really mind.

It’s 4 o’clock, and your classes are now finished. Now, you’ve already tidied your desks and placed your things inside your bag. You sat on your desk as you fished your phone from your pocket, checking if there are notifications — specifically from a certain someone.

You also unwrapped a lollipop and popped it in your mouth as you scrolled through your phone. Then, someone called you.

“(Name)! Someone’s looking for you?” Your classmate called, then you met Tara and Simone’s gaze, both of them looking teasingly at you. You rolled your eyes as you slung your bag on your shoulder before walking towards them.

“I gotta go.” You told them, but they both got up from their seats and grabbed your arm on each side.

“We’re walking with you until you reach the classroom door.” Tara giggled, then Simone added “You should formally introduce us.”

You shook your head as you giggled at the two of them, so you made your way outside. There you saw Zayne, leaning at the wall typing something on his phone. When he seemed to notice your presence, he immediately looked up from his phone, placed it inside his pocket before offering you a light smile.

“Hey,” he said as he approached you, Tara and Simone were trying their best to contain their giggles as Zayne approached.

“Hello.” You replied as you looked at him, “Oh by the way, these are my friends and I guess you already met them yesterday.” You formally introduced Tara and Simone to Zayne.

“Oh yes I did, I actually saw them at the lounge yesterday and they introduced themselves as your friends. Though I wondered where you are and they told me you got home early.” He said as you nodded slightly, his gaze began to flicker at Tara and Simone who’s currently tightening their grip on your arms.

“Shall we go?” you offered, Tara and Simone immediately let go of your arms and pushed you slightly at Zayne. He immediately caught you, his hands steadying you as you stumbled slightly against him. His grip was firm yet gentle, his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your sleeves.

“You alright?” Zayne asked, his voice softer this time as you looked up at him. His hazel-green eyes searched yours, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

“Yes, I’m alright,” you replied, offering a small smile before turning to shoot a sharp glare at Tara and Simone. They only grinned, clearly enjoying themselves.

Zayne chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “Let’s go?” he asked, tilting his head toward the path ahead.

You let out a small sigh before smiling at him. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As the two of you began walking, Tara and Simone’s voices rang out behind you.

“Take care of her!” Tara called.

“Make sure she gets home safe!” Simone added with a teasing lilt in her voice.

You groaned, spinning around to glare at them one last time, but they only giggled, waving you off.

Zayne glanced back at them before turning to you, his smirk softening just a little. “I will,” he assured them before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping just enough for only you to hear. “Not that I needed the reminder.”

A sudden warmth spread through your chest at his words, but you rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

“Good,” you muttered, quickening your pace to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Zayne easily caught up, his smirk still lingering. “I think your friends really like me,” he teased.

You scoffed. “More like they enjoy embarrassing me.”

He chuckled, hands in his pockets as he walked beside you. “Well, I don’t mind. Gives me an excuse to stick around.”

You glanced at him, meeting his gaze once more. This time, there was no teasing—just something softer, something almost genuine.

And for some reason, you didn’t mind that either.

You went to the same cafeteria, the barista immediately greeted the both of you as you entered. Zayne led you towards your spot, pulled out a chair for you before sitting infront of you.

Then, a waitress approached the both of you. “Good afternoon! What can I get for you today?” She smiled at the both of you.

“I’ll have the chocolate lava cake, a slice of cheesecake and a couple of macarons as well.” He ordered as he gave the menu back at the waitress, “Oh and a cup of cappuccino.”

“That is noted sir, and what about you miss?”

“Well uh, I think I’ll have the pesto alfredo, a side of fries and an iced mocha.” nd an iced mocha,” you said, glancing at the menu one last time before looking back at the waitress with a smile. “That should be all for now, thank you.”

The waitress nodded, writing everything down with a friendly smile. “Got it! I’ll bring your orders right out!” She turned and walked away, leaving the two of you to settle into the comfortable silence.

“So, an informant told me that you were looking for me yesterday.” Zayne mentioned which made your face warmer as you felt yourself blushing.

“Who told you?” You asked, trying your best not to stutter. A small chuckle left his lips as he answered you.

“It’s from Greyson, told me that someone came looking for me yesterday but he didn’t mention any names. Then when I saw your friends at the lounge and approached me, that’s when I had a hunch that it was you.” He took a sip of his water, before looking back at you.

“I don’t know a single thing about you, so we thought that the best course of action was to look for you yesterday.”

“Well, if that’s the case,” he extended his hand towards you, his expression soft yet confident. “Zayne Li, sophomore. BS Biology, Major in Medical Biology.” A small smile played on his lips, one that sent an unexpected flutter through your chest.

You took his hand, the coolness of his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “(Name), freshman. Journalism major.”

His grip was firm but gentle, lingering just long enough to make your pulse quicken. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Ms. (Name),” he said, his voice smooth and undeniably warm.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” you replied, holding his gaze a second longer than necessary.

Soon enough, your orders arrived, and as you both settled in to eat, the conversation between you and Zayne naturally deepened. Between bites of food and sips of your drinks, you took the opportunity to learn more about each other—your interests, your goals, and the little things that made you both who you were.

Laughter slipped easily into the conversation, and with every shared story, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a growing sense of familiarity. It was as if, for this moment, the world outside didn’t matter—just the two of you, the warmth of good food, and the quiet excitement of newfound connection.

"A what?!" you tried to hold back your laughter as you questioned him once more. You finished your date at the cafe almost an hour ago. Now, Zayne offered to stroll around the park nearby, but the mention of his monkey adoption had completely thrown you off.

He gave you an exaggerated look, clearly enjoying the reaction. “I said my parents adopted a monkey, okay?” He chuckled for a bit.

You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Zayne… you’re serious?”

He let out a small giggle upon hearing your amused reaction, clearly loving how hard you were trying to process what he was saying. “Yeah, I’m serious. His name’s Sweet Potato.”

You blinked. “Wait, hold on. Sweet Potato?” You burst into laughter before you could stop yourself. “You’re telling me your family adopted a monkey named Sweet Potato? And that’s his name?”

He nodded, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. Sweet Potato. And before you ask, yes, it's a he.” He rubbed his neck awkwardly. “My mom picked the name. Don’t ask me why.”

You were struggling to contain your giggles. “This has got to be the most random thing I’ve ever heard. How does one go about adopting a monkey, especially one with a name like that?”

Zayne shrugged casually, still grinning. “Well, they were looking to adopt through a rescue group, and Sweet Potato was just the one who clicked.”

You were practically doubled over now, laughing so hard it was starting to hurt, and sooner later he began to join your laughter as well. The two of you stood there in the park, barely able to catch your breath, as you tried to picture a tiny monkey running around with a name like Sweet Potato.

“Okay, okay,” you gasped between laughs, wiping a tear from your eye. “We need to breathe and calm down.”

Zayne, still grinning, leaned back against a tree, his hand brushing through his hair as he tried to catch his breath. His eyes were warm, the kind of warm that made you feel like the world had just slowed down around the two of you.

You both stood there for a moment, the sound of your laughter slowly fading into the peaceful quiet of the park. The sky was a soft shade of purple, the air cool but not too chilly. There was something simple, easy, and perfect about this moment, and you couldn't help but feel a little lighter, as if the world outside of this park didn’t matter for a while.

Zayne shifted slightly and looked over at you, his expression softening as his smile turned just a little shy. “You know, I really like this. Just… hanging out with you like this.”

Your heart fluttered at the way his words lingered, his eyes meeting yours with an openness that made everything else seem distant. You smiled back, not sure what to say for a second, but then the words just slipped out, quiet and sincere. “I like it too. This… feels nice.”

Then, Zayne’s gaze shifted at the bench nearby, “Let’s have a seat?” he suggested as he offered his hand. You nodded gently before placing your hand above his as you let him lead your way towards the bench.

When you reached it, Zayne let go of your hand just briefly, but his smile lingered. You both settled down, the air around you still and calm. The faint rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds were the only sounds, and for a moment, everything felt perfectly still. You could feel the space between you, but it wasn’t awkward—just peaceful.

Then, after a while a soft meowing broke the silence between the both of you. You both looked at each other with eyes wide open, then you began searching.

“Found it.” Zayne said as he picked up the tiny kitten. You gently grabbed the kitten from his grasp and gently placed the kitten on your lap.

“Hey there little one…” you cooed as you gently petted the kitten, “It’s okay, you’re safe..” you whispered as your hand made contact with its shivering form.

The kitten let out a tiny, pitiful meow, curling into the warmth of your lap. Its fur was damp and matted, its small body trembling from either fear or the cold. You exchanged a glance with Zayne, concern evident in his eyes.

“I’ll take her home..” you mumbled as you wrapped a handkerchief around the kitten.

“Do you wish to go right now?” Zayne asked and you nodded at him, “Alright, give me your bag and I’ll walk you home.”

You carefully adjusted the kitten in your arms, making sure it was snug in the makeshift blanket. Its tiny body still trembled, but as you held it close, its shivers began to ease ever so slightly.

“Thank you, Zayne,” you murmured, handing him your bag.

He slung it over his shoulder without hesitation. “No problem,” he said, offering you a small smile before turning serious again. “Let’s get going before it gets colder.”

The two of you walked side by side through the quiet streets, the distant hum of the city blending with the soft rustling of the trees. The kitten let out another faint meow, pressing further into your warmth. You gently stroked its head, whispering soothing words.

Zayne glanced at you. “Think you’ll keep her?”

You hesitated, looking down at the tiny life cradled in your arms. “I don’t know… But I’ll make sure she’s safe, no matter what.”

Zayne nodded in approval. “Just let me know if you need help with anything, I know a few vet because of my parents being doctors.”

A warm feeling settled in your chest. No matter what, you’d make sure this kitten never had to feel alone again.

Your walk with Zayne was quiet but it’s calming and peaceful. He made sure to assist you as he placed his hand on your lower back, with your consent of course.

The warmth of his hand was gentle yet reassuring, a silent promise that he was there if you needed him. You glanced up at him briefly, catching the soft expression on his face as he focused on the path ahead.

“Thank you, Zayne,” you murmured, feeling a little shy but grateful nonetheless.

He gave you a small, lopsided smile. “Of course. Just want to make sure you and the little one get home safe.”

You looked down at the kitten, its tiny chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. It seemed more at ease now, its earlier trembling having lessened with the warmth of your embrace.

The night air was crisp but not too cold, and the soft glow of the streetlights cast a golden hue over the quiet neighborhood. There was something comforting about walking like this—side by side, in peaceful silence, with the occasional glance exchanged between you and Zayne.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of your house. Zayne shifted your bag on his shoulder before turning to you. “You got everything?”

You nodded, adjusting the kitten carefully. “Yeah, I think so.”

“If you need anything, just text me,” he said, his voice gentle yet firm.

You met his gaze and smiled. “I will. Thank you, Zayne.”

Zayne shifted slightly as he met your gaze, “I really enjoyed hanging out with you today, more than I expected, honestly.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as he spoke, “I did too, it was honestly nice getting to know you more.”

Zayne smiled at you, his eyes filled with a warmth that sent a gentle flutter through your chest. “Well,” he started, shifting slightly as if gathering his thoughts, “I guess we should do this again sometime?” His tone was light, almost teasing, but there was a hint of sincerity beneath it.

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. The thought of spending more time with him, of sharing more moments like this, made warmth bloom inside you. A soft smile formed on your lips as you met his gaze.

“Of course,” you said, your voice gentle but certain. “I’d love that.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the night air cool but comfortable, the soft glow of the streetlights casting a golden hue over his features. He seemed to take in your response, his smile growing a little wider, a little more genuine.

“Good,” he said, almost as if he’d been hoping for that answer. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You chuckled softly, hugging the tiny kitten closer to your chest as it let out a sleepy sigh. “I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.”

Zayne’s expression softened, and for a brief second, it felt like neither of you wanted to end the moment. But finally, he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck as he took a small step back.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Get some rest. And let me know if you need anything.”

“I will,” you promised.

He gave you one last lingering smile before turning to leave, his footsteps quiet against the pavement. You watched him disappear down the street, a warm feeling settling in your chest.

That’s when you knew deep down that maybe bumping into him at the cafeteria might not have been random at all. It felt like the start of something… something that you were starting to look forward to.

dividers by: @enchanthings

[annefolklore]

Choose me

Kang Dae Ho x Reader

- Content: Fluff, jealousy, Angst/comfort, smut, oral (both), fingering, p in v, a bit of femdom, a bit of Dae Ho dom if you squint, swallowing cum, hickey, breathplay if you squint, squirt

- Note: it’s a bit canon divergent at some point bcuz there’s no fight in the bathrooms and rebellion against the guards. Also, I know 333 was the one to play Jegi in squid game but let’s pretend he played something else okay. Last, there are some links in this fic so whenever there are words underlined, click on it it’s a link. (There are porn link at some point)

Having joined the games to pay off your dept of 4 million dollars, you were more than ready to leave after the first game with your share of the money. 24k was more than enough for you and you valued your life more than to stay in an environment like that.

You met a kind (and handsome) man during the first game called Kang Dae-Ho. You hid behind him, doing what the man shouted throughout the first game. He had squeezed one of your hands as he felt them slightly shake as they clung to his jacket and you sighed in relief when you finally passed the finish line behind the doll.

From then on, Dae-Ho and you were attached to the hip. He shares his food with you, his bed is right beneath yours and he said he wants to see you when you both get out of the game. Even though you’ve known each other for a bit more than 24 hours, he just felt drawn to you in every way possible. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, how couldn’t he like you when you’re everything he could wish for? Yeah, maybe it’s dumb to have a crush in a deadly game where one of you could be killed anytime, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

You were already in a group of 5 for the second game, when a girl approached you guys asking for help because she was pregnant. You didn’t hesitate to give her your spot, under the sad eyes of Dae-Ho.

You gave a small smile to your team and you all cheered yourselves up by saying you’ll see each other again soon, and you walked away. Dae-Ho couldn’t help himself but to feel a bit angry at Jun-hee, there were other people who haven’t formed teams yet, so why would she come here? But he quickly brushed off his feelings, she’s pregnant and Gi-Hun played those games before so of course she wanted to stay alive for the baby by coming here!

His heart raced when it was your team’s turn. This time, he couldn’t be close to you during the game and he felt powerless knowing he wouldn’t be able to help you. He could only sit there like everyone else and pray that you make it. You were responsible to play spinning top, the last game, but you were struggling and there was only 35 seconds left.

One of the players, 333, put his hand on your shoulder and said “Come on, I know you can do it”. You took a deep breath as you tried again, trying to stop the shaking of your hands.

Everyone cheered as the toy spinned on the ground and your team quickly walked to jegi, where 333 nailed it on the first try.

You finally made it to the finish line with only 3 seconds left and didn’t have time to cheer up before loud gunshots exploded through the air. The team against yours was now laying dead on the ground.

Player 333 hugged and congratulated you as the guards guided your team away.

At least someone else was with you, he thought.

His motivation through it all was you and his hand moved on his own with swift and fast movements as he played gonggi. Dae-Ho’s mind was already imagining you jumping in his arms when he would walk back in the dormitory room.

With a sigh of relief when a guard unlocked his ankles, he left alongside everyone else. When he came back, you were sat on your bed with player 333 with you. You laughed at something he said and noticed Dae-Ho at the same time. You waved you hand at him and went back to your conversation with the guy.

What was his name again? Mung-Gu or something? He didn’t care that much to know, but as he watched you too interact, he understood you. Mung-Gu is more handsome than him, it seemed like he was funnier to be around and he was there for you during the second game. Not like him.

Eventually you came back toward your usual group with them and you all congratulated each other. Like usual, you hung out with Dae-Ho for the rest of the evening, but you had noticed something was wrong with him. He wasn’t smiling like usual, he was more quiet and…well he just seemed down for some reason you couldn’t guess and he wouldn’t tell you.

His jealousy fell immediately as soon as you wrapped your arms around his neck to pull him in a warm hug “I won’t force you to speak, if you don’t want to right now. But I want you to know that you can tell me anything”

His heart melted at your words. You’re so kind, how could he stay in a bad mood when you speak such sweet words to him?

At night, Gi-Hun said to stay close together and that he’ll stay awake to stay aware of the surroundings. You went to Dae-Ho’s bed and asked him if you could stay with him for the night, after being a bit scared at what Gi-Hun said, you didn’t want to be alone. Dae-Ho nodded and scooted over to make some space for you to lay down with your own pillow and cover. He was laying on his side, his back facing you and you hesitated as you laid your hand on his side.

A small silence reigned between you guys before he cracked. He couldn’t help himself but say “Do you…do you wanna cuddle?”.

“Yeah” you answered. He turned around and you both scooted closer to each other as he opened his arms for you, enveloping your body and pressing it softly against his own. You put your leg on his hip to feel him more

Physical touch has always been something Dae-Ho loved receiving and giving to people, especially with you. So he was more than happy to cuddle you.

“Are you mad at me?” He heard your worrying voice ask and his heart could only soar.

“No, I’m just tired” he answered, hoping you’d drop it. It would be too embarrassing to say why he was acting like that, it’s not like you guys were together or something. He shouldn’t even feel like that in the first place.

Just like he hoped, you dropped it and simply went to sleep, lulled by his heartbeat and his hands caressing your back, and soon enough Dae-Ho fell asleep too.

The next day, it seemed Dae-Ho came back to his usual self. During breakfast, you guys were chatting about pretty much everything while sharing your food.

“What’s that on your arm?” You noticed ink on his skin.

He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo. You never would’ve thought of your friend as a tattoo person.

“It’s from when I was in the Marines” he says.

“The marine? You must be strong and courageous then” you joked (not really), to stroke his ego.

He smiled as he flexed his biceps “Of course I am”. Pink filled his cheeks when you laughed and he locked eyes with Jung-Bae who gave him a thumbs up with an approval expression on his face, and it only made Dae-Ho blush even more.

But soon enough, you guys’ small bubble was pierced when guards came to take you to the next game. As you walked there, beside your friends, you felt Dae-Ho’s warm hand slid in yours. Looking up at him, he was trying to play it cool but you could see he was nervous so you squeezed his hand.

God, he’s adorable. Why did you have to meet him in such circumstances!?, You lament to yourself in your head. If it wasn’t for the games you’d have asked him out already, but that’s basically impossible in here.

The game was Mingle, the rules were to be in teams of the number given and lock yourselves in rooms. Several turns passed and you had managed to survive them all.

When the speaker announced “2” Dae-Ho grapped your hand and ran fast, basically dragging you with him. But through the chaos of people running, someone ran right into you and you tripped right on the ground. You heard Dae-Ho shout your name and he turned around running back to help you get up, but at the same time, someone grabbed his arm and pulled him with them in a room.

Taken aback, he opened the door of the small room, but you were already gone from your spot.

Oh no.

Please no.

God please.

A train of thought raced through his mind as he scanned around through the small opening, looking for you. But throughout the chaos of people, the bad lightning and angle it was almost impossible to see well.

His ears ringed when people started dropping to the ground as the guards shot them. It was almost unreal to see and every time a woman died, his guts pinched even more and he felt sick while trying to see which one was you. But it was too fast and other pink soldiers came in with their black boxes and the vehicle they carry them with, hiding even more.

He has failed you. Kang Dae-Ho has failed you and you were dead now because of him.

“Her clock has not striken midnight yet” he heard a voice say behind him.

The weird shaman woman was there, staring at him with her dark creepy eyes.

At the same time, he heard the door being unlocked and he stepped out, the speaker announcing the end of the third game.

Nothing made sense anymore. You were dead, how is he supposed to live without you now?-

“Dae!” He stopped right in his tracks. Could it be…no, that’s impossible…

“Dae!” He heard it again and he had barely à turned around when someone jumped in his arms.

He could recognize this scent anywhere and oh he inhaled it instantly as his arms immediately wrapped around your waist.

“But…how?” This has to be some sort of he was having. Is he already going crazy?

“Myung-Gi saved me” you answered “I fell right in front of him so he scooped me and basically carried me to a room”

Of course he did, he thought with a bit of bitter. But right now was not the right time for such feelings, at least you were alive.

The man was right behind you, standing there with his hands in his pockets. He had been there for you twice already, when Dae-Ho wasn’t.

“Thank you,” Dae simply says.

“Nah, thanks to her,” player 333 shrugs “She was right here when I needed her the most”

“Give yourself some credit too” you friendly push his shoulder “I was the one who needed someone and you were there to carry me. I probably wouldn’t have made it otherwise with my knee”

You guys acted like Dae-Ho wasn’t even there. He felt like he was just a fucking ghost watching you both bicker back and forth on who needed who the most and Myung-Gi kneeled to take a look at your knee.

“It doesn’t hurt that much now, but on impact it felt like hell” you say and he stands back up.

“Help Y/N walk and check on her knee from time to time,” he says to Dae-Ho.

He did not like the way he spoke, like Dae wouldn’t do that in the first place.

“I know” he simply says.

333 gives you a smile before walking away and you guys did too, Dae helping you.

There it was again, his bad mood. That guy certainly had the gift at pissing him off. And he certainly wasn’t the only one, Jun-Hee and Thanos couldn’t stand him either.

You took Dae’s hand in your own when you saw again his sad eyes. Why wouldn’t he just tell you what the fuck what wrong? It hurts to see him like this and not being able to help, but this time you decided to not drop it like yesterday.

So when night came and you joined him again in his bed, you waited until people began to fall asleep before you spoke in a whisper to not be heard around“Alright now, what’s wrong. You’ve been sad and angry or something since yesterday”

He didn’t answer at first and you were getting ready to tell him that he couldn’t keep it hidden from you forever and that he’d feel better talking about whatever it was bothering him. But eventually he spoke up.

“It feels a bit stupid now to talk about” he says, now unsure of himself.

He started spiraling a bit, imagining your reaction. You’re gonna laugh at him and say that of course you liked 333 since he saved you while he didn’t.

“I’ll judge it myself if it’s stupid or not” you were determined to know

He sighs and mumbles so low you didn’t get it “I’m sorry, say that again?”

He closed his eyes as he repeats “player 333” he sighs and continues “Mung-Go or something”

“Myung-Gi? What are you- why?” You couldn’t understand what you were hearing.

Shouldn’t Dae be happy that you’re alive instead of upset by who saved you?

“It’s just…I felt really awful during the second game when you left and…I don’t know I felt weird seeing you guys together afterwards, because I wanted you to come up to me but you stayed with him and- and then you laughed at something he said and it made me feel worse. Like- like I wasn’t enough,” you listened carefully as he opened up.

“And then today, I- God Y/N I thought you were dead!” A single tear ran down his face but he quickly wiped it “I thought I had failed you and you were dead because of me, but then I was relieved you were alive but when I saw it was him- and you guys were talking about needing each other- what about me?” He rants

Oh, so he was jealous this whole time.

“I need you Y/N. I probably shouldn’t because we haven’t known each other for long but it’s how I feel. But…I understand if you like Myung-Gi more because he saved you but- it should’ve been me! I know I can carry you just fine and-well, yes he may be more handsome than me but I don’t think he’s stronger. And yeah, I like you Y/N, more than a friend. So much, I can’t stand seeing you with him because it makes me feel like I’ll never be good enough for you. That no matter what I do, it won’t matter because someone else is already ahead of me”

His eyes were fixed somewhere else, refusing to look at you and your heart sank at his words. How the hell could he think like this?-

“I just want to be someone you can count on! Someone you’ll choose over and over again even if there wasn’t this game forcing us into this mess” he finishes with a voice crack, his frustration and vulnerability spilling out.

You were literally speechless at what he was saying.

“First of all” you start to enumerate “I left on my own during the first game so Jun-Hee could have a team and now we’re both alive. I never would’ve forgiven myself if she had died. Second of all, Myung-Gi and I were just hanging out, I’m sorry if it hurt you but like, he’s just a friend I promise. Third, he said he needed me but more like he needed someone you know? I just happened to be there and same for him, he was there when I needed someone. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you can ever save me or something, Dae”

He slowly nods.

“And besides, don’t give Myung-Gi that much credit, he’s not that handsome to me and he struggled a bit to lift me off the ground during the game” the last bit made Dae-Ho chuckle a bit and your heart flipped at the sound.

“I prefer looking at you way more, Dae” you cupped his face, your thumb caressing his cheek. “I’ll always choose you”

His eyes were fixed on your lips as he licked his own and you could see him hesitating, but he adjusted himself so he could support himself on his arm. Butterflies flew in your stomach, watching him on top of you like that, damn that’s hot.

Dae-Ho almost moaned when his lips touched yours. They were so soft, fuck you were soft all over. You guys moved perfectly in tandem, like you had done this a million times before. Hot blood rushed to his downstairs area when you bucked upward against him.

Your legs locked around him to have him closer if that’s even possible, seeking the heady contact of him. Just this- you guys grinding your sex against together- makes you both pant and jerk, all consuming desire spreading through your bodies like wild fire.

And your bodies fit together so well, like two pieces of a puzzle as you rocked and bucked, hot flesh against each other. But it just wasn’t enough. You wanted everything with Dae: hear him, see him, taste him, and right now you had none of them.

“Let’s go to the bathroom” you whispered to him, when you both had to breathe.

Too lightheaded to speak straight, Dae-Ho simply nodded and quietly followed you. After a bit of an argument with a guard (you were absolutely not letting them cockblock you), they finally let you both out and walked you to the bathroom, waiting at the end of the corridor.

You both entered the women’s bathroom, you opened the first stall and pushed him against the door, chasing after his lips. His hands came to rest on your waist underneath your shirt, caressing the soft skin there before going upwards with the hem of your shirt.

You couldn’t wait anymore, you wanted to feel him everywhere, he wanted to feel you everywhere, it was all so much to feel and you didn’t even have a bed to do it well, but it’s whatever now. Quickly, you undressed each other. Dae-Ho couldn’t believe his eyes as he scanned you whole, you’re so beautiful it’s unreal. He felt blessed to have you only for him to have.

You gave him a last lingering kiss before sinking to your knees. Fuck, even his cock is freaking pretty, you thought as you took it in your hand. It was a good 6 inches long with a good girth and a pink leaking mushroom tip.

“I’ve wanted you for so long Dae” you pant as you kitten lick the head to catch the beads of precum on your tongue.

He whimpered, when you took him in your mouth without any warning. His taste oh my- it was everything and even more. It tasted salty with something else that was just so…him, you loved it. From then, you sucked him hard and fast down your throat, swallowing around him.

Above you, Dae-Ho tried his best to keep quiet, but that’s kinda complicated when you were literally moaning while blowing him, as if his taste gave you pleasure. The vibrations of your moans shot through his whole body and he couldn’t do anything but tighten his hands in your hair.

You pushed his hips toward your face, encouraging him to fuck your face. Your nose was nuzzled in his dark pubes and you stayed there, your hands on his hips to keep him from moving. His musk was so delectable, it was intoxicating as you smelled him. Over and over again, not moving and letting your throat stretch around his dick.

Your eyes were beginning to tear up as you looked up at him and you smiled around his cock. You were so fucking turned on right now, your clit was aching.

“Please” he whimpered “I’m gonna cum”

As soon as his words registered to you, you let him go with a loud pop and stood up to attack his plump mouth. His strong hands went to cup your boobs and squeeze them as you sucked on his tongue like it was his cock.

He trailed kissed down your neck, to your chest until he took your nipples in his mouth, sucking on each of them. Damn, your moans are hot. He wants to hear more.

So he sank to his knees like you did earlier and lifted one of your legs to put it on his shoulder

Warmth filled your lower half even more when he looked up at you, his eyes full of lust as he carefully leaned in and kissed your clit. A gasp left your mouth and he immediately went to town.

His hot tongue licked you from hole to clit and he suckled it, your pretty sounds were like music to his ears and encouraged him.

“You’re doing perfect Dae” you whimpered, hand in his hair and the other squeezing your breasts “How come you never- right there yes!- told me you’re a champ at this?”

He whined as he tongued your wet pussy, alternating with sucking your clit and lapping at it.

“I need you to fuck me against the wall baby” you say “but I wanna come on your tongue first okay? Can you make me- fuck Dae- do that?”

You vaguely heard an answer, but it was muffled as his tongue was inside you, licking around, laving your pussy.

“Oh I know you can, baby” you moaned again

You were practically grinding yourself against his mouth, seeking the relief your body desperately needed from him ever since you laid eyes on his physique.

Being around Kang Dae-Ho was already difficult enough for your body, because he always succeeded to make it react. Whenever he’d smile at you, initiate physical contact with you or even the way he’d run his hand through his hair, did it for you every time and made you want him even more if it was possible. And now that you finally had him the way you’ve been wanting, you felt more than happy.

“Finger me” you begged and you had to cover your mouth when you felt both his index and middle finger slide easily in your vagina.

Just like that, he focused on sucking the life out of your clit while his fingers curled deep inside you.

Your orgasm was rapidly approaching and you were right on the edge when a loud knock was pounded on the bathroom door.

“What’s taking so long in here?” The guard say outside the room

The interruption did not stop Dae-Ho from making out with your pussy.

“I’m almost finished” you answer, not breaking eye-contact with Dae and he smiles as he sucks hard on your bud.

Over and over again.

You had to restrain yourself as to not scream as your orgasm washed over you, but it was nearly impossible to stay quiet when his tongue was wrapped around your pearl and continued to suck you like this. He was almost suffocating as you rutted against his face, coating the bottom half of his face in your juices.

He wiped his chin and stood back up to kiss you, making you taste yourself on his lips.

“I like the way you taste” he whispered against your mouth.

“Yeah? Which lips do you like the taste of?” You asked him.

You asked that on purpose to make him blush, because it was obvious he liked how lewd you could speak.

“Both” he answered, licking your neck.

Dae felt like he was in heaven or that he was dreaming. It all felt unreal to him. He had been jealous about seeing you with Myung-Gi and next thing he knows, he’s lifting you off the ground, his arms hooked under your thighs.

“We gotta make this fast” you tell him while aligning his fat dick with your pussy and wrapping your arms around his neck.

The stretch was so fucking perfect, it wasn’t hurting too much and his dick was filling you so good. It was pressing against all the right spots.

Curses left his mouth as he your warm and slick walls engulfed him in, molding your insides to his shape. The second you gave him a signal that you were ready, he began to lift you up and down his cock.

His tip was hitting your g-spot perfectly everytime he impaled you on his cock. The way Dae Ho could support your full weight and fuck your brains out like that turned you on so much, one of your hands slid down to rub at your aching clit.

Moans threatened to spill out of your throat and you noticed Dae Ho was in the same situation, biting on his lips to not make too much noises. You smashed your lips against his, letting your moans melt together in each other’s mouth, the sound of skin clapping against each other echoing in the room.

“You’re so fucking- mhmh- strong” you whimper as he trail kisses on the side of your face and your neck. “I love it when you fuck me like this”

“Of course you fucking do” he says, speeding up his pace “Myung-Gi could never do this to you”

You couldn’t focus on the kiss he was trying to give you, too distracted by the pounding you were getting.

Dae Ho was focusing on not cumming before you, much easier to think than to do. He moved faster and harder, your walls clenching around his cock at every movement.

He wasn’t the only one trying to not come. It’s been so fucking long you’ve had sex, it’s like your body was more sensitive than before and was begging for Dae Ho to give you his all. He was so goddamn perfect, his tip kept assaulting that spongey spot inside you with merciless precision and you couldn’t stop every moans from spilling out of your mouth.

“Take me against the wall” you beg him after giving him a hickey.

He immediately put you down and press your chest against the stall’s wall. You arch your back, basically presenting your ass and wet pussy to him. Dae Ho didn’t waste time as he buried his cock back where it belonged, in your soaking cunt.

Your hard and burning nipples pressed against the cold stall, making you hiss. Pushing back your hips, you met his thrust midway and felt him even deeper if that’s possible.

“You feel so good baby” he moans

Dae Ho was fucking you so good, it almost made you cry how fast and hard his pace was. It’s like the both of you had forgotten about the guard waiting outside. You wanted this moment to last forever, for the world to stop spinning and for everyone to disappear so it could just be the two of you. But seen the circumstances, in a place where death could happen anytime, it wasn’t possible and your clandestine escapade in the bathroom had to come to an end.

You were right at the very edge and you knew only a small push would be enough. Like he was reading your mind, Dae Ho coated his fingers in saliva and suddenly they were on your clit, rubbing the small bud in quick circles

“Fuck- baby!” You couldn’t stop your moan as the knot inside you exploded.

Dae Ho pulled out with a whine, busting between your thighs. Without thinking about it, you fell to your knees, ignoring the pain in one of them and closed your mouth around his cock, fucking your own face on it and swallowing the thick ropes of sperm as he came and came on your tongue. You could taste yourself on his dick and it turned you on so fucking much, you wanted to go for a second round but knew you couldn’t.

It was truly amazing sight for Dae Ho to see, as he looked down. Your fingers were quickly rubbing yourself as you swallowed him whole, your eyes rolling back as you fucking squirted all over yourself while doing so.

After both riding your high, he helped you get up and instantly went for a messy kiss, full of tongue and spit. His hands caressed your body, following your curves and pressing you against his naked body.

You guys quickly cleaned up, took a piss (don’t catch UTI guys!) and put your clothes back on before exiting the bathroom. Both of you could imagine the guard’s face as he looked at the two of you exiting the bathroom, before he guided you back to the dormitory.

Dae Ho almost wanted to laugh at the situation, wondering if the guard heard the two of you.

He guided you both back to his bed, pulling you close to his chest, his lips kissing your forehead and praying to whoever was up there to make both of you exit this place alive.

“How’s your knee, by the way?” He suddenly remembered

“Dae Ho, I got on my knees twice to suck the life out of your dick. Don’t act like you care about my bruised knee now” you joke and kissed his neck. “But it doesn’t hurt that much anymore”

And you cuddled together to sleep.

[madthetruemad]

stubborn heart ch. 12

yan!capitano x wife!reader

summary | or in which capitano is told he needs a wife. and he begrudgingly agrees.

Capitano held you close as he entered your shared home, his arms were tight around you as many of the maids and servants bowed. None of them daring to look up or even ask what happened to the others as the bloodstains on Capitano’s coat.

“Lord-“

With a single look, the servant had zipped his mouth shut. His form bowing impossibly lower as he didn’t dare to lift his gaze again. With that settled, Capitano went up the marbled steps.

“Do you wish for a bath?”

“Later,” you said quietly, “mmm just cold.”

“Then you should take one now.”

He didn’t have to look at you to know that you were close to pouting, but you didn’t argue as he finally brought you to your shared room. Then he walked to the joined bathroom and easily kicked the door open before walking you over to the sink and settling you upon it.

“Are you able to undress yourself?”

You nodded as he turned towards the bath to turn it on and get it ready for you. Taking that as a cue to get undressed, you got off the sink and shrugged your coat off first, and with careful practice you managed to unlace your dress and drop each article of clothing to the floor one by one before you were completely nude. Truthfully, you could still feel the embarrassment course through you, however, he has seen you naked before…

When he had turned to look at you, you saw how his head immediately snapped to the side.

“Husband?”

“You… need to give a man some warning next time.”

Wait- was he expecting you to undress when he left the bathroom?!

You wanted to hide your face, but before you could you felt his hands gently cradle your face. So you swallowed the embarrassment now as the bath behind him started to get hotter.

“Why did you… come save me?”

“Because you are my wife.”

“But I caused you trouble.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t.”

He was firm as he got out of the way for you and dropped his hands from your face so one of his hands could grab your arm and help you into the tub. You tried not to splash any water, but some still got on the edges of his coat when you sunk into the tub.

You had more questions for him, but you doubted he would tell you. So instead, before he could leave, you called out to him.

“I know you told me not to expect anything but… you could join me… if you want.”

You could hear his footsteps stop in the doorway, and when you looked over your shoulder you could almost see how the wheels turned in his head, but…

“Maybe next time.”

You watched as he closed the bathroom door behind him which caused you to sigh. You don’t know if it was relief or something else, but you were glad either way. Truthfully, you didn’t know how you would react if he got in the tub with you. However, you do know how you feel since he didn’t… you raised a hand and pressed it against your chest. It hurt. He did say not to expect anything after all.

That same night, Capitano didn’t come to bed. Nor was he present in the morning or afternoon.

His absence would be a constant for the next two weeks which would leave you wondering… maybe you were too much trouble after all.

Atri was folding your laundry when she noticed your troubled expression. No matter how many books you tried to nose into, nothing would cure your sadness and she noticed.

“Did he not tell you where he was going?”

“No. Did he tell you?”

When you looked over at Atri, her face was everything you needed to know so you turned to her expectantly.

“He’s just on a mission, he’ll be back soon.”

You sighed and turned back to your book until you heard a bustle downstairs. Servants all running around as you turned to Atri and she smiled at you and motioned towards your bedroom door.

Almost excitedly you had tossed your book to your side of the bed and hurried to the front entrance as fast as you could. Capitano left so unexpectantly, so seeing him again was surely to put you in a better mood, right?

Though, the moment you got to the front door you had skidded to a stop. Your eyes were trying to figure out exactly what you were seeing.

Why was some random woman hanging off of Capitano’s arm?!

@littlekohai77 @lvtuss @kreishin @floffytofu @nastylilcvnt @nas-ha @simp-simp-no-mi @emmathecouchpotato4583 @sendria @riotakire @mikoslightnovels @feral-childs-word @barbatoss-bitch @venicecherryblossom @squirrelboxer @temperamentupgrade @avalordream @immahuman @xavlyzn @greensunflowerjuna @sarah22447 @naviabestgiirl @nevermoresworld @depressedbearblogs @ppancakesforu @0vendettaself @lilyalone @mochiivqi @pbjts @chewwyaaa @c4xcocoa @ren-ren23 @tazuduck @atrebiusr @simpingbigtime @aryuunachigiri @judithregulus @crowleysthings @yns-sister @satori-runa @meowmeow999999 @beeskn3es @tamikahoshiko @shoyosdoll @ngadasblog @sugacor3 @xiana21 @melancholyae @jjkysnk @s1mppp @that1weirdshipper @himikoquack @sugaryesplease12 @gallantys @wiltedpoison @vamqyx @butratherbutrather @squishameow @reivelmin @eirly-morning-tea @vortexbloom

[elysianholly]

A Spuffy Fan's Perspective on the Reboot

So, as most Buffy fandom knows (unless they’ve been living under a rock in a crater on the Hellmouth), it was announced yesterday that SMG is involved in a Buffy reboot sequel series, one in which she will be a recurring but not central character.

As a lifelong Buffy fan, I’m expected to be overjoyed at this news, and I’m, well, not. Nor are a good number of people deeply entrenched in fandom. I’m super happy for the people who are excited. As a Spuffy fan, though, it’s hard to be jazzed for a number of reasons, among these being that SMG is most definitely a Bangel shipper, and despite being overwhelmingly more popular than Bangel in current times, Spuffy is often overlooked in a lot of key areas of the “official” Buffy promotions, the comics being a notable and welcome exception.

One thing I’ve noticed is a lot of people in Spuffy fandom are more than just “not normal” about Spuffy. I’ve struggled for 20+ years to both identify and articulate why the ship resonates with me so much to the point that news like this can make my anxiety spiral. I understand it’s not an ideal reaction media, but I have lived inside a neurodivergent brain my entire life and that ain’t about to change. And I’m not the only one—I’ve met and interacted with many, many people who feel as intensely as I do and also struggle to articulate why news like this distresses them.

So for everyone who is like me, slightly more than just “not normal” about Spuffy (or any aspect of Buffy!) and distressed about the news, here are some things I keep reminding myself.

Buffy is an Established Multi-Universe Property

We know that there are multiple universes in Buffy; it’s explored in The Wish and then confirmed by Anya later in the series. Not just multiple dimensions, but divergent/adjacent worlds to the one we saw in the show. This has been later explored in the comics, such as The Lost Summer, the Boom reboot, and The Last Vampire Slayer, never mind the plethora of authorized novels and the recent audio play. These were all officially sanctioned, licensed productions that exist outside the official canon.

All of these stories matter, regardless of whether or not they’re considered “official.” For my Spuffy people, some are Spuffy friendly and some are not. We acknowledge what we want to acknowledge and leave the rest behind. Me? If I find the sequel reboot upsetting, I’ll mentally shove it into one of those other worlds, the same as I’ve done with the comics for years (yes, even if they got Spuffy friendly).

One of the points that was brought up yesterday when I suggested just giving the sequel reboot the comics treatment was it’s harder to ignore if SMG is involved. And I get that; I felt the same way about the Slayers audioplay, because significant OG cast members were involved so it felt more official. But upon reflection, I do still think it’s the same as the comics, which were spearheaded and overseen by JW and still considered (until this sequel reboot happens) the official post-series canon. If the involvement of original artists is what makes or breaks something’s authority, then the medium shouldn’t really matter.

And on that note…

Star Wars Legends, Halloween, Terminator, & Other Reboots

For years—decades—following Return of the Jedi, the official Star Wars canon was continued in novels, the same as Buffy was. There was a rich tapestry of intergalactic politics, Leia and Han’s Force family, Luke and Mara Jade, and characters like Grand Admiral Thrawn that proved so popular he’s been recanonized.

These books existed and still exist. The new movies, the reset of canon, all things involving Rey Palpatine Skywalker and Kylo Ben Ren exist alongside established, official property. I know plenty of people who were upset that their investment in the extended Star Wars family was essentially nixed with the sequel series 10 years ago, and others who chose not to acknowledge the sequel series but maintain their post-Jedi canon.

In an era of reboots and sequel series, canon can become a bit diluted. You can’t just erase everything that came before you decided to hit the “start over” button. The recent Halloween trilogy flat-out ignored multiple movies to tell the story it wanted to tell. Terminator has done the same thing, multiple times, with the Sarah Connor Chronicles being officially licensed and more or less officially scrapped, and the last Terminator movie retconning like, what, four or five that came out after Judgment Day. That is to say, established canon doesn’t really matter in this era, because the people making these decisions are doing what fan artists have done for decades; keeping what they want, tossing all else aside, and focusing on the story they want to tell.

If what came before and what has been long established doesn’t matter (and I actually do love this; it opens up worlds and essentially gives us licensed what-if fics), then canon itself is kind of nebulous. It doesn’t matter what is or isn’t established, because established canon is a moving target, subject to personal interpretation. Don’t like the Halloween reboot? Ignore it. There are other movies out there. Don’t like the clusterfuck Disney has made of Star Wars? There is a fully developed alternative. Don’t like any of the options? Come up with your own. Comics do it all the time with superhero stories, and Buffy is nothing if not a superhero.

It’s All Fiction

This is what drives my husband crazy when I try to explain my beyond not normal feelings about Spuffy. It’s all fiction. We’re not talking about historical events here. All fiction lives in exactly one place, ultimately, and that’s between your ears. If you don’t like the way a fictional story went, you can do what fanartists have been doing for years and create your own fix-it. Or find a ready-made fix-it; I promise it exists. And the more I think about it, the less stock I put into “official” stories that are told primarily to make money. The people who are here telling these stories because they love the characters and know the characters on levels that frankly outperform most licensed stuff.

In Summary

So I’ve rambled a lot, but here are the key points to take away:

Buffy is canonically a multi-universe property so the world we’re shown by official licensed sources see isn’t the only one that exists. I didn’t say this in the section, but in this way, all fanfic is canon, because each exists in a different universe

If canon is not sacred in the world of reboots, then what they try to sell us as canon is debatable, negligible, and ultimately fine to just not acknowledge

Official canon doesn’t really matter all that much when you can pick your own, which you can and should

I hope this helps my fellow Spuffys and anyone else who is struggling with the news. My siblings in beyond just not normal. Your feelings, even if you have trouble explaining or understanding them, are valid. You’re not silly. It’s never silly to be upset about news that impacts something important to you. And there’s still so much we don’t know, so speculation abounds, but whatever comes of this, I hope you find some comfort in the freedom of being able to do exactly what the for-profit storytellers do all the time and just fucking ignore what doesn’t suit them.

In the meantime, Elysian Fields Archive will remain a Spuffy exclusive safe space, and I imagine will be home to a shitload of fix-its if the pilot gets picked up, so you’re free to join us there.

Until then, be good to yourself, and to somebody else.

[moosesarecute]

Chapter 10: The Shadow to my Flame

Series masterlist

Masterlist

“So my mother asked to curl your hair?” Eris asked Ashe. He looked confused and also worried in a way. She couldn’t detect all the emotions in his look.

“Yes,” she answered him. “I was curtain I was getting fired and that she was only nice to me because of it.”

Eris let out a small laugh. He seemed tense, but Ashe knew he wouldn’t tell her why if she asked.

“I think she misses Lucian,” Ashe continued. “Have you heard anything from or about him?”

Eris shook his head.

“I only know he’s in spring. He never answers my letters. I’m not sure he gets them.”

Ashe was the only one that knew how much his youngest brother meant to Eris. Their family dynamic was hard, and all the brothers had been set up against each other from the start. However, Eris loved being an older brother. He loved seeing his brothers grow and learn. He just didn’t have any way to show it without being weak.

Eris looked very thoughtful, and Ashe realized it was time for a subject change.

“How was the ball?” she asked him instead.

Ashe hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Eris since ball on Saturday. It was now Tuesday evening. So much had happened in the last week. Ashe felt like she had lived a new life. She had so much she wanted to tell him, but she knew she couldn’t.

She would wait until Sunday and then she could talk to Samli about everything. Especially the kiss. 

“Boring as usual. Only politics and dancing.”

“But dancing seems so nice,” Ashe told him with a small pout.

Eris was a very good dancer, but he never liked it. He didn’t like dance as a way of communicating. Ashe, however, would spent every ball she worked at as a way to look at all the different dances. It felt magical.

“How’s your back?”

“It’s fine. Almost doesn’t hurt anymore.”

With that, Eris pulled her up by her arms and laid one of them on his shoulder and held the other in his hand. His last hand laid at her waist.

“Do, ti, ti,” he sang the rhythm in the lightest voice he could, and then he started the dance.

Ashe couldn’t help but laugh. Both at the dance and at his ridiculous voice.

“You’re stepping on my toes!” Eris said. “I taught you better.”

That only made Ashe laugh even more, but she tried her best to not step on him again.

Eris had taught her to dance many years ago. He usually would dance with her before or after a big ball. And they always laughed their way through it.

Ashe didn’t mind being a servant. She of course wished they would get treated better, but she absolutely didn’t mind the work. But one ball. That was her wish. She just wanted to go to one ball. She had told Eris that, and her friend had since danced with her. He always said it was to prepare her for the day when her dream would come true.

They laughed and spoke for many hours. Even though Ashe’s live had taken a big turn the last week, at least the nights with her friend stayed the same. Or so she thought.

Azriel had read through the documents and the book three times. The book was rules for servants that he stole from Ashe.

Ashe.

Even thinking her name made him weak in the knees. Her soft eyes, calming voice and pretty smile.

“Mate,” his shadows sung.

“Shut up.”

Azriel was pacing back and forth in his office. He felt so stupid. And at the same time confused. And at the same time like he had the biggest crush in existence.

He couldn’t be right. He refused to be right. He felt everything at once.

Had she lied to him? Had he been blinded by the mating bond? Did Ashe at all know about the mating bond?

Please, be wrong.

He usually would just press down his feelings and pretend to forget them, but this. This was too much. He packed down the book, the hair colour, the small piece of hair and the two documents he stole from Autumn.

He felt almost his entire body shake as he made his way to the townhouse, where his brothers would be.

He walked silently into the living room and spotted Cass, Rhys, Mor and Amren. Seeing Mor made him even more nauseous. What had he done?

He looked quickly between Rhys and Cass.

“I need to speak to you two,” he said. He hated how shaky his voice was. And he saw how his brothers were going to make fun of him. They were smirking, however, they made their way to Rhys’ office in silence.

“Okay, brother. What’s going on.”

Azriel felt like he was going to throw up. He was crazy. He must have become insane. It was an insane theory, but at the same time, he found so many things that backend it.

“You okay, Az?”

He looked over and saw how both his brothers looked rather worried. He would just have to jump in and do it.

“You know Ashe?”

His brothers nodded.

“The servant you couldn’t stop daydreaming about in Autumn,” Cass said with an even bigger smirk. “You were basically drooling at her.”

“Shut it,” Azriel told him, even though he spoke the truth.

“What about her?” Rhys asked.

Azriel regretted that he didn’t write down what he needed to say. All the words got mixed up in his head. He should have found a better way to pack in the information. But he hadn’t planned this, so he just spoke.

“She’s a spy for us.”

Rhys and Cass shared a worried glance.

“We already know that.”

Right. Of course they did. He had told them before. This is so stupid, he just needs them to know.

“I think we should get her out of Autumn,” he said.

“Okay,” Rhys answered. “Why?”

“I’m not sure we can trust her any longer.”

Azriel felt like he was going to explode. Why couldn’t they just know what he wanted to tell them?

“What happene-”

“She’s my mate.”

Azriel froze when he realized what he had just said. He didn’t dare to look at his brothers. He had always planned to keep her a secret until they accepted the bond, but after what he had just learned, he needed them to know.

Ashe was his mate. He had known since the first letter. Or, his shadows had known. They would tell him all about her and tell him exactly what she was going through. They called her his mate, and Azriel didn’t know her by any other name until she introduced herself as Flame.

So yes, he had spied on his mate. But it was only to make sure she was safe.

And then when he first saw her in the dungeon, he knew for sure what she was.

He wanted to hold her then. To kiss her and touch her hair. Her beautiful…brown…hair. But he refused to do so. He was going to be strong.

That lasted about three hours, before he snuck into her cabin. He tried to figure out more about her. That’s how he found the brown hair colour and red hairs. His mate had red hair. Mother, he wished to see her with her natural hair colour. Even the thought of it made his heart dance. She would look so cute and sexy. Definitely sexy.

That’s also where he found the book for servants that told him that Ashe was forced to colour her hair.

He hadn’t meant for her to find him there, so he pretended it was a part of being one of his spies. He couldn’t stay away. He needed to know more.

That’s when he learned about all the abuse his mate had gone through. He learned about the pain she was dealing with as they spoke. Azriel wanted to do anything for her. He wanted to make the pain go away. If she had asked him for something, anything at all, he would to it.

Most of the harm had come from the High Lord himself. Why would he hurt her if she was…

After the conversation, he found it even harder to stay away. He needed to protect her. To make sure no one would ever hurt her again. He needed to see her eyes light up in a smile. He needed to feel her warmth and touch her. He didn’t necessarily mean touching sexually, even though he wanted that too. He just felt the need to hold her. Play with her hair. Hold her hand. Kiss her. He wanted to look deep into her amber eyes.

But now, he wasn’t sure he could look into her eyes without seeing…

When he saw her curled hair in the dining room, he lost all self-control. He almost drooled. His mate was so pretty.

He needed help to sneak into the office, but most of all he just needed to see her again. He hadn’t planned on kissing her. But she looked so terrified and when her hand gripped his tighter than usual, he couldn’t help himself.

Ashe had the softest lips he had ever kissed. He had to force himself to stop kissing her, before he went too far to hold back all he wanted to do to her. Her flushed face made him struggle to stand.

He let himself have one last kiss, and then he left.

But know, after he had learned what he had, he felt so stupid. How could he have trusted her so easily? But at the same time, what if he was wrong? Or what if he was right, but Ashe didn’t know? He just wanted her to be the kind, soft and wonderful female he thought she was!

After what she had told him and what his shadows had told him, Ashe had no clue.

However, if Ashe did know…then he had almost doomed the entire Night Court.

“That’s great Az! But why does that mean we can’t trust her?” Rhys’ voice pulled him out of his daydreaming.

Azriel looked at his brothers shocked faces. He saw that they were happy, but at the same time, neither one of them knew how to react. They soon begun to smile instead.

He took a deep breath and hid partially in his shadows before he spoke next.

“I have reasons to believe she is Beron’s daughter.”

Ashe was getting ready for bed. Eris had left a little of an hour ago, but Ashe had been too busy daydreaming over a certain winged male to do go to bed.

However, she was exhausted.

So, when a knock was heard from her door, she didn’t think twice. It was probably Eris coming back to say something or getting something he forgot.

If she had been a little less tired, she would know that Eris never came back to her room in so close intervals. Their friendship was a big secret.

Ashe walked over to the door and opened it. Fully expecting to see her friend or maybe Maria.

However, looking at her from the other side of the door was no other than the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

And he did not look happy.

Taglist: @tele86 @demon-master-zero @kbear8863 @atluky @mis-lil-red

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Dividers by @saradika-graphics

[archduchessgortash]

Let's talk about the Prayer for Forgiveness:

I personally never care too much about spoilers. Thus, I knew about this document long before I ever found it in-game. Many fans laud it as irrefutable proof of Durgetash being canon. Whether it is or isn't holds no relevance on what I wish to discuss.

Spoilers below the cut.

The only proof of Durgetash that I need is the look on Gortash's face when Durge strolls into the coronation alone. How Durge truly felt is never fully remembered, allowing players to blissfully headcanon the past relationship to our hearts' content.

For my part, I was always more perturbed by how utterly foolish it seemed for Durge to have been carrying evidence of their intended betrayal on their person during Orin's attack than I was concerned about dissecting every word in the Prayer for Forgiveness for the sake of my favorite ship.

When I did find it, I thought it was interesting that certain information about the document was and wasn't on the Baldur's Gate 3 wiki.

On my most recent playthrough, I decided it was time to take some screenshots and make a post about it.

First off, Durge doesn't know yet that Orin is their sibling when they find it, and it is neither signed nor does the in-game item description offer any indication that Durge wrote it. There's also no narrator response or journal update when we read or pick it up.

While it is correct that the Dark Urge wrote this document, it's worth noting that when it is found, an unspoilered player would not yet be privy to that information.

We find it in the Mind Flayer colony beneath Moonrise Towers, on a workbench that is clearly NOT Gortash's, in spite of the ill-informed assertions of some fans.

See evidence below, located on the very same workbench:

Gortash designed the Mind-Archive Interface and certainly used it, but the workspace in which we find the document is, in fact, Balthazar's.

The Prayer For Forgiveness is located here, on Balthazar's workbench:

In close proximity to this item:

More on that in a bit. 😉

Depending on which doors our party chose to explore first in the colony, we either just met or will soon meet this piece of work:

Kressa confirms that Durge could not or at the very least did not communicate verbally while she was doing her experiments on them.

Obviously, that's changed between the time of their departure and waking up on the Nautiloid, as Durge complains aloud about their headache upon waking. They also communicate with Us, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart via both their tadpole and their voice.

Kressa also informs us that Durge was not like other thralls.

Durge fought like the Hells against their captivity.

Kressa's Mistress of Souls' Research Log also informs us that Durge was tadpoled differently than all the others.

We don't learn until much later that the unusual method that Kressa noted was Orin prying open a hole she'd stabbed in Durge's skull to let the tadpole in.

Now... a small tangent that I personally use to explain this scene for a Durge playthrough:

Since this happens before we choose our origin, and in the course of the story, Durge finds out they weren't originally tadpoled on the ship like the rest of the party, this scene starts to feel incongruent with the reality of playing as Durge. When they come across the pod they broke out of near where we find Mizora, I like to think that why both memories exist is that Durge's healing brain might have continued to retain greater control, or at least a rebellious streak, even without the Artefact protecting them.

If they were thrashing and fighting in their pod or resisting in any way, it wouldn't surprise me if the Emperor forced them to take a second tadpole via the proper route of insertion, especially since Empy wants all characters to be teeming with tadpoles anyhow.

When one considers that the more tadpoles consumed, the harder it is both to refuse the Astral Tadpole and resist the forced mind flayer transformation that can happen in one of the evil endings, it makes even more sense that Durge already has more than one tadpole.

It was required just to keep them leashed.

Now, about the Resonance Stone...

'Seized by great joy, affected entity is more energized and also more mentally compliant.'

The Steeped in Bliss condition provided the explanation that I needed for why the Prayer for Forgiveness even exists as a document we can find. Durge wasn't carrying it around with them. Balthazar used the Resonance Stone to make them write it, most likely as a confession about their intended betrayal. I feel pretty confident in this interpretation as making the most logical sense.

In my opinion, Balthazar's post-script doesn't have any Durgetash connotations. It's there in order for Dark Urge players to connect the dots and realize that their character wrote it after they find out Orin is their sibling.

My own post-script:

Does the Prayer for Forgiveness also offer evidence that Durge might have had emotions about Enver Gortash?

I think so, but it can be interpreted in too many different ways for me to use it as some kind of Durgetash Holy Grail.

As I've said before, Gortash's face is the Holy Grail of Durgetash.

The only other character that can get anything close to the kind of visible affection from his expression is Karlach, on an Origin run, when she chooses to ally with him. He's pleased as punch that his old bodyguard isn't holding a grudge, but he's a total dick if she gives up the stones, revealing his true opinions about her in his comments.

He doesn't say spiteful lines to Durge even when they've freed the prisoners at the Iron Throne and blown up the Steel Watch Foundry, destroying everything he's built.

For Durge... Gortash hesitates.

If you made it here, thanks for reading! 🙂

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Not As Planned | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

THANK YOU FOR OVER 300 FOLLOWERS?

I am shocked and humbled and just… wow. At a loss. I’ve been working on this XL one-shot for awhile since I've been writing a lot of super cute love confessions and fluff lately. I felt inspired to change it up a little bit, so this is heavier than my usual stuff... (maybe this qualifies as whump?? Idk lmk ahaha)

But consider this my humble thank you for your continued support. I am just… I can’t believe so many people have been compelled to follow me because of my silly little writing hobby.

With that said I’m sorry for the pain this might cause (but at the same time in a much more real sense I’m not sorry at all bahaha)

And don’t worry, still a (mostly) happy ending.

Words: ~14,500

Tags/TW: SA, Violence, Trauma, Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, Plus Size MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Muggle Born MC, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Drama, Romance, Jealousy and Longing, Confessions

The low hum of the bar buzzed like a low-grade static in Sebastian’s ears. A smooth jazz ensemble played in the corner, their music rich and sultry, threading through the room like smoke. Golden light bathed the space, casting everything in soft amber hues that made the whole place feel a little unreal. Along the curved bar, bottles of rare liquors glittered like jewels, and the faint scent of citrus and something floral—lavender, maybe—lingered in the air.

It was a far cry from their usual haunts.

Sebastian ran his fingers around the rim of his glass, trailing condensation down to the base. The whiskey in front of him wasn’t his first, and it wouldn’t be his last. Across from him, Ominis sat with the casual poise that came so easily to him, his chin balanced on one hand while his other traced absent patterns along the bar's polished surface. He looked relaxed, though Sebastian knew better. If the subtle flush on his pale cheeks wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the way his lips twitched faintly every time Poppy’s name came up certainly was.

Beside him, Garreth Weasley was anything but subtle. Loud as ever, he laughed and gestured animatedly, mid-story about some disastrous experiment he’d tried at the pub last weekend.

“…and then, right as I’m about to take a sip, she snatches it out of my hand, takes one look at it, and says—and I quote—‘You have a death wish, don’t you?’ Can you imagine? The nerve!” Garreth threw his hands up in mock indignation. “It wasn’t even that bad. Just rum, peach schnapps, absinthe—”

“One day,” Ominis cut in smoothly, tilting his head toward Garreth with the faintest smirk. “You will be tried for your alcoholic war crimes, Weasley.”

Sebastian snorted into his drink, unable to help himself. He'd need both hands to count the number of times Garreth had walked into a bar and pestered the bartender to mix him something absolutely disastrous.

It was a wonder they still got served anywhere.

Garreth scoffed, taking an exaggerated sip of his neon-colored monstrosity. “You just don’t appreciate true genius.”

Ominis arched a brow. “If by ‘genius,’ you mean ‘reckless disregard for the structural integrity of your liver,’ then yes, I'm terribly ungrateful.”

Sebastian smirked, but his attention flickered toward the entrance—again. The girls weren’t even late, not technically, but every passing minute stretched unbearably. He should have been used to this feeling by now, this sharp-edged anticipation curling low in his chest.

He wasn’t. He never was. It was always like this, wasn’t it?

The waiting. The wanting.

Sebastian had spent over a decade orbiting around you, trapped in some endless, torturous loop of almosts—of lingering touches, stolen glances, conversations that danced too close to the edge of something he didn’t dare name. The worst part? It was his own doing. He’d had every opportunity to cross that invisible line, to tell you what he felt, what he ached for, but he never did.

Because once he did, there would be no undoing it.

Meanwhile, everyone else in their group was paired off now. Garreth and Natty had been inseparable since a Ministry event a few years back, and Poppy and Ominis had been as good as married the moment Hogwarts spat them out. Imelda had ended up with Nerida, to the surprise of no one, the two of them making up a formidable duo—one sharp-tongued and reckless, the other quietly cutting.

Sebastian was happy for them. Truly, he was. It was almost sickening how well it had worked out for everyone. They’d all somehow ended up with their Hogwarts sweethearts, riding off into the sunset with picture-perfect endings that looked like something out of a fairy tale.

And then there was him.

The idiot who’d spent 11 years hopelessly in love with his best friend and done absolutely nothing about it.

At first, it had been easier to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. You were best friends. You had always been best friends. Of course you were close. Of course you knew each other better than anyone. So what if you had a habit of leaning against him whenever you were tired, or if you always reached for him first when something made you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe? So what if you touched him more than anyone else, if you let your fingers brush his wrist when you passed him a drink or hooked your ankle around his under the table without thinking about it?

It had always been like that. Until one day, it wasn’t. Until one day, when he was 15, he’d looked at you, and his stomach had flipped, and suddenly, every innocent touch, every laugh, every glance, felt different. Felt like something else entirely.

And now? Now he was fucking trapped.

Ominis’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’ll get wrinkles early if you keep scowling like that.”

Sebastian glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the smirk tugging on Ominis’s mouth. The bastard didn’t even need to see him to read him like an open book.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Sebastian muttered, taking a long sip of his drink.

Ominis didn’t respond, just tipped his head slightly, his expression bordering on smug. He didn’t need to say anything. The unspoken truth hung between them like smoke—Sebastian’s feelings for you were obvious to everyone but you.

Garreth leaned in suddenly, jarring him. “Relax, mate. They’ll show up. Natty wouldn’t miss this for the world, and she’d drag the others along if she had to.” He paused to sip his drink, a mischievous grin spreading over his face. “Although, Poppy’s probably the one making them late. You know how she loves to test Ominis’s patience.”

“More like Natty’s,” Ominis muttered, though there was no heat in it.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and turned toward the door again, restless. The moment stretched, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his glass. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t waiting for you—not like that. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t counting down the seconds until you walked through the door, wasn’t anticipating the sound of your voice, wasn’t wondering what you’d look like tonight, what you’d—

And then the door opened.

And everything else stopped.

Because there you were.

You moved through the room with easy confidence, utterly unaware of the way you were undoing him. That dress—fuck, that dress—it wasn’t something outrageous, wasn’t scandalous or overtly suggestive, but it didn’t need to be. It followed the soft curves of your body, hugged your waist, your plush thighs, the full flare of your hips in a way that made his pulse hammer violently against his ribs. Every step you took made it shift, just enough to tease, just enough to remind him that he should not be thinking about this.

And yet, his mind was already lost to darker places, caught in the dangerous, helpless imagining of how it might feel beneath his fingers. The silky fabric sliding beneath his hands, the warmth of your skin under it. How it would be if he were close enough to touch, to trace the shape of you properly, to press his hands into the softness of your waist and feel the weight of you against him.

His fingers tightened around his glass so hard he swore it might crack.

Garreth chuckled under his breath, clearly entertained, “Good luck tonight, Sallow."

Ominis said nothing, but Sebastian didn’t need to see him smirking to know exactly what was going through his mind.

It was humiliating, really, how easy it was for them to see right through him. And you? You just kept moving, oblivious to the chaos you were leaving in your wake.

Sebastian watched as you approached, your laugh bright and sweet as Natsai caught your hand, spinning you once in an exaggerated flourish as if to show you off. You humored her, swaying playfully, rolling your eyes when Imelda cat-called in approval.

Then, before he could steel himself, before he could brace for the inevitable destruction you always left in your wake, your eyes landed on him again.

And fuck, that smile.

It was warm, unguarded, laced with something soft. The kind of smile that was effortless, unconscious, the kind that made his stomach drop because it meant you were happy to see him. Because you looked at him like he was something good, something familiar and safe, and it tore him to shreds inside.

He forced himself to exhale. To not look like some love-struck fool drowning in you.

“About time,” he said as you sidled up beside him, leaning back against the bar in a way he hoped looked casual.

You rolled your eyes, slipping onto a stool, your shoulder brushing his. “I had to make sure you suffered a little first.”

“You’re a cruel woman.”

“I’m a patient woman,” you corrected, lifting a brow. “I got us on the guest list here weeks ago, so if I have to hear you complain about the wait, I will take my very expensive cocktail and pour it directly into your lap.”

Sebastian huffed, feigning offense. “You wouldn’t.”

You turned, propping your chin on your hand as you looked at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Try me.”

His stomach twisted violently. He didn’t know how you did this—how you made him feel like you could see right through him, like you knew exactly how wrecked he was and were enjoying every moment of it.

He forced himself to focus, to shift his attention somewhere safe.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere safe.

Because now, he was looking at your lips, parted just slightly in a teasing smirk, glossed and inviting and fuck—

He needed another drink. Immediately.

Before he could even flag the bartender down, Garreth leaned into your space with a dramatic sigh his arm wrapped around Natsai's waist. “Seriously though, what took you so long? Sebastian’s been brooding all night.”

You shot him a knowing look. “Has he now?”

Garreth smirked, tipping his glass toward Ominis. “Oh, yeah. Gaunt here tried to warn him about wrinkles.”

You chuckled, leaning slightly into Sebastian’s shoulder in a way that sent a full-body shudder down his spine. “I told you, Seb. Stress is bad for you.”

He tried to smirk, to give you some smart remark, but he knew it wouldn’t come out right. His brain was still lagging on the fact that your body was pressing against his.

Garreth, oblivious as ever, continued rambling. “Honestly, it was embarrassing. I think he almost—”

Sebastian elbowed him sharply, causing Garreth to spill his drink.

Natty, taking pity, pulled him back. “Come on, Garreth. Leave the poor man alone.”

“Fine, fine.” Garreth grinned, clearly not remotely deterred, but let himself be steered away.

Sebastian sighed, dragging a hand through his hair before turning back to you. “So? Was it worth the wait?”

You hummed, taking in the warm, intimate atmosphere, the soft glow of the speakeasy lights. The way the gold hues caught in your eyes nearly killed him.

“Oh, absolutely,” you replied with a smile. "It looks so authentic, like just look at the bar, Seb. The design is almost spot on to the real ones from the Prohibition era—mahogany, brass accents, those exact kind of light fixtures..."

Sebastian tried to focus on your words, really he did.

You were onto talking about speakeasy history now, eyes gleaming with excitement as you gestured toward the dim lighting, the low, rich hum of the jazz band. You’d clearly done your research, and you were rattling off facts with that same enthusiasm you always had for things you loved. It was so endearing. You could make anything sound interesting.

“Well, technically, speakeasies originated during the Prohibition era in America,” you were saying, leaning forward slightly, the low L ight catching in your hair. “They were hidden bars—illegal drinking spots since alcohol was banned. They had secret passwords, hidden entrances, all that. Some were even run by gangsters—people like Al Capone—because bootlegging was so lucrative.”

Sebastian nodded, trying to pay attention, but it was impossible. Because, as much as he loved hearing you nerd out, his brain had zero capacity for historical facts when every single one of your friends had immediately paired off around him.

At the bar, Natty was leaned into Garreth’s side, her hand resting lightly on his chest as he ordered her a drink, his voice dipping into something low and teasing that made her smile. A few feet away, Poppy had sidled up to Ominis, fingers barely brushing against his wrist in that quiet, intimate way they always did. Meanwhile, Imelda and Nerida had wasted no time making themselves comfortable, tucked into a plush booth, heads close together, already lost in each other.

And then there was you. With him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you belonged here, beside him. Like you were his.

Except—you weren’t.

Sebastian swallowed hard, fingers curling around his glass.

It was a cruel fucking thing, this closeness you gave him so easily. Because it wasn’t real, was it? Not really. You were just you. His best friend. Close enough to touch, to tease, to wreck him without even realizing it. But never his.

Never really his.

“…they even had hidden tunnels sometimes,” you continued. “The really fancy ones had hidden rooms, secret staircases, all kinds of tricks. Some of them were in basements, some behind fake storefronts. People had to whisper the password when they got in, which is where the term ‘speakeasy’ comes from.”

Sebastian barely registered what you were saying and you sighed, finally noticing the way he was watching you.

“You’re not listening, are you?”

Sebastian blinked.

“No,” he admitted, because what was the point in lying?

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but there was no real bite to it.

“Well, at least you’re honest.”

Sebastian smirked. “Always.”

You huffed, clearly unimpressed. “So, what were you thinking about?”

He should have said something teasing, something to deflect, but then you leaned in, just slightly, your head tilting, and Sebastian was drowning.

There was too much warmth in your eyes, too much softness in the way you looked at him, and for one reckless second, he thought maybe. Maybe this wasn’t one-sided. Maybe you knew. Maybe you felt it too.

Sebastian cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away, to wave down the bartender like they might save him.

“Nothing important,” he lied.

You studied him for a beat longer, and then, before you could say another word—

“What can I get for you?”

Mercifully, the bartender appeared, their voice smooth, professional.

Sebastian exhaled and leaned against the bar, grateful for something else to focus on. “Whiskey and Coke.”

The bartender nodded, about to turn away when Sebastian jerked his chin toward you. “And whatever she wants.”

You huffed then rolled your eyes. “I can pay for myself, you know.”

“I know,” Sebastian said, smirking as he propped his elbow against the bar, resting his chin in his hand. “But since I’m clearly suffering through your history lesson, consider it payment.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, suffering, are you?”

“Excruciatingly.”

“Fine,” you sighed, faux exasperation in your tone, turning back to the bartender. “I’ll take the signature cocktail then, since it’s on his dime.”

Sebastian smirked, shaking his head. “Figures.”

The bartender chuckled and disappeared to prepare the drinks, leaving the two of you to settle back into the warmth of the speakeasy’s golden glow.

Sebastian let himself relax, narrowing his eyes slightly. “So? This drink of yours—what’s in it?”

You lifted a brow, amusement flickering across your expression. “Trying to impress me with your knowledge of mixology?”

“Absolutely not.” He snorted. “Just trying to gauge how badly I’m about to regret funding your expensive taste.”

You laughed, the sound warm, easy. “You’ll live. It’s gin with elderflower liqueur, citrus, a little honey, some kind of infused vermouth—oh, and a sprig of rosemary for flair. They call it The Whisper.”

Sebastian snorted. “That’s a lot of effort for a single drink.”

“That’s the whole point of a speakeasy, you loser,” you teased, nudging your shoulder against his. “It’s all about the craft.”

He rolled his eyes but grinned. “And here I thought we were just here to drink.”

“Well, that too.”

Your drinks arrived, and you lifted your cocktail, inspecting it with a satisfied little nod before taking a sip. The moment your lips met the rim of the glass, Sebastian had to fight back another surge of inconvenient thoughts—the gloss on your mouth leaving the faintest sheen against the glass, the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you tasted it, considering the balance of flavors.

“It’s so good,” you told him, swirling the liquid lightly in your glass. “Floral, a little sweet, but not too much.”

Sebastian hummed, sipping his drink as he watched you. “Glad to know my money’s going to a worthy cause.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “You know, you never did answer my question.”

Sebastian blinked. “What question?”

You gave him a look—one that told him you knew he was dodging. “What you were thinking about earlier while you ignored my history lesson.”

His grip on his glass tightened for half a second, but before he could come up with a clever retort to get out of this, a new voice cut in—bright, excited.

“Hey you!”

Poppy.

She appeared out of nowhere, seizing your wrist before you could protest. “Come dance with us!”

Your eyes widened. “Poppy—wait—”

But Poppy was relentless, already tugging you toward the dance floor with surprising strength. “Nope, no arguments! Come on!”

Sebastian watched, amused and relieved, as you shot him a look over your shoulder—half entertained, half exasperated—before you disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the glow of the dance floor, and just like that, you were gone.

A slow, knowing voice hummed beside him.

“She got away from you rather quickly.”

Ominis.

Sebastian scowled. “Don’t start."

The blonde sipped his drink, the picture of smug amusement. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Sebastian shot him a flat look. “You were absolutely going to say something.”

Ominis smirked. “Well, if you insist—”

Sebastian groaned, tossing back a sip of his whiskey and coke before slamming the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “I don’t. I really, really don’t.”

“You’re in rare form tonight,” Ominis continued, swirling the last of his drink lazily in his glass. “I think I might even pity you.”

Sebastian shot him a glare. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No, but you do need a strategy,” Ominis mused, setting his empty glass down with a soft clink. “Because, at this rate, I fear I’ll be married before you confess to her.”

Sebastian scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you. Took you 8 years to say anything to Poppy.”

Ominis simply smirked. “And yet, here I am, in a committed relationship, while you’re still over here brooding into your drink like a lovesick schoolboy.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s sake, Ominis.”

“What?” Ominis asked, feigning innocence. “It’s painful watching you, you know. I can hear the longing.”

Sebastian scowled. “I do not long.”

Ominis turned his head toward him, lips curling ever so slightly. “Sebastian. Poppy said you stared at her mouth for a full ten seconds while she was talking about her drink.”

Sebastian flushed, gripping his glass a little too hard. “It wasn’t ten seconds.”

Ominis hummed. “It was.”

Sebastian wanted to slam his forehead into the bar.

This was his own personal hell.

Garreth sauntered over before he could wallow too deeply, plopping onto the stool beside him with a lazy grin. He slung an arm over the bar, casting a glance toward the dance floor.

“Mate, you are so obvious,” Garreth said, sipping his drink. “It’s honestly impressive.”

Sebastian gave him a flat look. “Did you come over just to harass me?”

“Pretty much,” Garreth said cheerfully.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to throw back the rest of his drink.

Garreth followed his gaze toward the dance floor, where you were now laughing at something Natty had said, your body swaying to the rhythm of the music. The warm amber lighting bathed your skin, the movement of the crowd shifting around you in slow, rhythmic waves.

And fuck, you looked good. Too good. Sebastian took another sip of his whiskey, trying to ignore the ache curling in his chest.

“So,” Garreth said, propping his chin in his hand. “What’s the plan?”

Sebastian glanced at him. “What?”

“The plan,” Garreth repeated. “You know—the one where you finally do something about your massive, crushing, soul-consuming love for her?”

Sebastian groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Mate, we have to do this right now,” Garreth said, motioning toward the dance floor. “Because if you don’t do something soon, some other guy will.”

Sebastian stiffened. Because this? This was the one thing he never let himself think about for too long.

For years, he had convinced himself there was time. That things would work out naturally, that you’d both just… fall into place.

It wasn’t as if you had never been with anyone. You had, a few times during school, in the careless, fleeting way that teenagers fell in and out of things. But nothing had ever stuck. Nothing had ever felt like it mattered. And when they ended, Sebastian had always been there.

Your constant.

The one person you always came back to.

It had reassured him, in some selfish, pathetic way. Let him believe that you weren’t really going anywhere. That whatever was between you—whatever was building between you—would always be there, waiting, until you both figured it out.

But then you’d fallen for him.

Your first real, serious boyfriend. The one who had made Sebastian’s life hell for over a year.

He had hated every goddamn second of it. Hated watching you be with someone else, hated the way you had looked at him—like that—like he was yours. Hated seeing another man have what should have been his.

And what had he done? Nothing. Because he hadn’t been brave enough.

He had let it happen. He had let himself smile and nod and pretend to be happy for you. He had let himself sit on the sidelines and watch.

And then, when it was over—when it had all fallen apart—he had been there. Of course, he had. But you never told him what happened, and Sebastian never asked for details. Never pressed, never pried. All he knew was that one day, it was over, and you didn’t talk about it.

And if Sebastian had felt relieved? If some ugly, selfish part of him had thrived in the knowledge that you were single again?

Well. That was between him and the whiskey.

But that was over a year ago now, and Garreth was right.

You were moving forward, and Sebastian no longer had the luxury of time. You weren’t seventeen anymore. You weren’t in school, fumbling through fleeting relationships just for the sake of them. You were a grown woman—beautiful, incredible, desirable—and when you chose someone now, it would be for something real.

Something long-term. Something permanent.

And the idea of someone else—some faceless stranger—walking up to you on the dance floor, flashing you a grin, letting their hands wander over your waist, pulling you close like they had any right—fuck. That alone was bad enough. But the thought of someone keeping you, of some other man being the one you turned to at the end of the day, the one who got to wake up beside you, touch you freely, know you in ways Sebastian never had the chance to—

It made something inside his chest splinter, burn so hot and fierce he swore it might ruin him.

Across from him, Garreth was watching, expression infuriatingly smug.

“So,” he said, lazily swirling the ice in his drink. “How’s that plan coming along?”

Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to groan.

“Garreth.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Garreth grinned. “See, I would, but you’re being so fun to watch right now.”

Sebastian scowled, about to say something sharp and unhelpful, but his tongue turned to lead the moment he caught sight of you again.

You had slowed, your dancing shifting into something softer, something more. Natty had turned away, distracted by Poppy tugging her toward another group, and now you were swaying on your own, hands drifting absently down your sides as if lost in the rhythm. Your body moved without thought, your dress hugging the curves of your hips in ways that sent something dark curling in Sebastian’s stomach.

He watched as your eyes fluttered closed, lost in the music, the soft golden glow of the lights painting your skin in honeyed warmth.

And then, like clockwork, it happened.

Some man—some fucking man—noticed you.

Sebastian saw it before it even began, could feel the exact moment the stranger’s gaze landed on you, lingering.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of polished that came with old money, and he was looking at you like he wanted you.

And you—unaware, oblivious—were still dancing. Still open. Still approachable.

Sebastian’s blood ran hot.

Garreth, always a shit-disturber, let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, this is gonna be good.”

Sebastian didn’t even register him, because the stranger was already moving, crossing the floor toward you with intent, cutting through the slow sway of bodies, an easy grin sliding into place.

Sebastian barely heard Garreth mutter, yep, there it is, before he was already moving.

Not thinking—just moving, standing, glass forgotten, feet carrying him across the floor with single-minded purpose.

The stranger reached you first, but Sebastian wasn’t far behind, and he saw the exact moment the man’s hand started to lift—reaching for you, moving into your space.

And he saw the way you instinctively leaned back, a subtle but unmistakable recoil, your easy smile dimming as you shook your head, declining whatever offer the guy had just made.

And before the bastard could press further—before he could try again—Sebastian was there.

His body cut smoothly between you, stepping into your space so fast and close that you had to tilt your head up in surprise, your eyes widening at him.

The stranger hesitated, thrown off by his sudden arrival, but Sebastian didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t even fucking blink in his direction.

Because you? You were looking at him. And only him.

Your lips parted slightly, something caught between confusion and surprise, but Sebastian didn’t give you a chance to question it.

Sebastian held out a hand.

“Dance with me.”

Not a request. Not a suggestion. A command.

Your brows lifted slightly at the shift in his voice, but you didn’t hesitate. Because of course you didn’t. You trusted him.

Your fingers slid into his, warm and soft, and Sebastian nearly exhaled in relief.

Because just like that, the moment was over.

The stranger lingered for only a second longer before turning away, disappearing into the crowd.

Gone. Good.

Then you sighed—a small, quiet thing, barely noticeable over the music—and glanced up at him, a flicker of something unreadable in your expression.

“Thanks for that,” you murmured, voice lower now, more serious than it had been all night.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed slightly. “For what?”

Your lips pressed together for a second, as if debating whether to say anything. Then, finally:

“That guy was talking to our group earlier, too.”

Sebastian’s grip on your waist tightened, his mood immediately souring. Because how had he not noticed? How had he been sitting at that bar this whole damn time, so hyper-focused on you, so obsessed, and not seen some asshole lurking around you and the other girls? A slow, simmering anger curled in his gut.

“Did he say anything to you?” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be.

You shook your head. “Just… you know.” You made a vague gesture, rolling your eyes slightly. “The usual.”

Sebastian’s jaw flexed. No, he didn’t know. Because he wasn’t you.

He didn’t know what it was like to be someone like you—gorgeous, open, effortlessly magnetic—constantly dealing with men who thought that just because you were kind, just because you smiled, just because you laughed and danced, it meant they had a chance.

It made something dark coil inside him, something ugly. Something possessive.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying—failing—to push it down.

“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice quieter now, lower, but hard.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the edge in his tone.

“No,” you said after a beat, shaking your head.

Sebastian didn’t realize how much tension he had been holding until the word left your mouth. Didn’t realize how furious he had been, how much his hands had itched to grab that bastard by the collar and drag him outside just for thinking he had the right to put his hands on you.

“You don’t have to look like that,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly.

Sebastian raised a brow, his smirk automatic but strained. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re about to storm out of here and commit a felony.”

Sebastian didn’t deny it.

"You should let me fight someone for you at least once," he muttered, only half-joking.

You grinned. "Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?"

"More than you know."

"Violence isn’t the answer, Sallow," you sing-songed.

He smirked. "It’s a good answer, though."

You shook your head, still laughing, still entirely too light while Sebastian was over here barely holding himself together. And then, just to kill him, you leaned in, pressing your forehead lightly against his chest.

"I’m okay, Seb," you murmured.

Just like that, the anger drained from his body. Because if you weren’t upset, if you weren’t shaken, if you were still smiling up at him like this—like he was something good, something safe—then how was he supposed to hold onto his fury?

The song slowed, the deep bass fading into the last lingering notes of the melody. The hum of conversation filled the space again, bodies shifting, moving apart, laughter rising over the murmur of the next song beginning.

Sebastian barely noticed because you were still close—your forehead resting against his chest, your breath warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. And just as easily as you had leaned into him, you pulled back and reached for his hand, fingers sliding against his.

“I need another drink.”

And Sebastian—who would have followed you anywhere, who always had—went without question.

He let you lead him through the crowd, past shifting bodies and hushed conversation, back toward the bar where your friends had gathered, voices raised in lively debate.

Garreth was the first to notice your return, his grin downright wicked as he clocked your joined hands.

“Look who decided to grace us with their presence,” he drawled, handing Sebastian a pint of beer. “Have a nice dance?”

Sebastian ignored him, but you just rolled your eyes, releasing his hand as you slid onto a stool. “I did, actually. What’s all this?”

Nerida, perched beside Imelda, snorted. “They’re making bets on what Poppy has gotten Ominis into this time.”

You blinked. “Where've they gone?”

“She dragged him off about twenty minutes ago,” Imelda said, smirking over the rim of her glass. “Into one of the side rooms.”

Sebastian felt your laughter before he heard it—the way your shoulders shook, the way you leaned slightly into his side, your warmth pressing into him once again.

“Oh no,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Poor Ominis.”

Garreth grinned. “Poor Ominis?” He gestured wildly with his glass. "That man's probably having the time of his bloody life right now! In fact, Natty, I'd be more than happy to—"

Natty cut him off with a sharp look, arching a brow. “Don’t finish that sentence, Weasley.”

Nerida, still nursing her drink, smirked. “So, what are the odds? Did she lure him in with something harmless, or is Ominis about to lose all dignity?”

“Fifteen galleons says he’s getting head at this very second," Imelda said with a grin, tapping her fingers against the bar.

Garreth howled with laughter, nearly spilling his drink. “Oh, Merlin, I wish I had that kind of faith in Poppy, but in public?! I don't know, Mel.”

Natty groaned, covering her face with her hands. “For the love of God—”

Nerida just smirked, tilting her glass toward Imelda. “Bold bet. You really think Poppy’s got it in her?”

Imelda snorted. “Look, I’m just saying—quiet ones are always the freakiest.”

Sebastian choked on his beer.

Garreth, still grinning, wiped at his eyes. “Ten galleons says she is at least getting handsy.”

“Five says he’s just standing there awkwardly while she tells him fun facts about kneazles,” Natty countered, shaking her head.

Sebastian smirked, shaking his head. “I’d put twenty on him hexing us all into oblivion if he knew what was going on right now.”

Garreth cackled. “A safe bet.”

The conversation was rapidly descending into chaos when, right on cue, Ominis’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and unimpressed.

“I hate all of you.”

The group collectively turned to see Ominis standing there, looking thoroughly unimpressed, Poppy at his side looking suspiciously pleased with herself.

Garreth, delighted, clapped his hands together. “There he is! So… how’d it go, lover boy?”

Ominis’s expression darkened. “I will hex you.”

You grinned, still trying to contain your laughter. “Tell us what happened, Omins.”

Ominis’s face went red. Not just a faint flush—fully red, the kind of embarrassment that spelled immediate entertainment for everyone involved. And Poppy, the absolute menace, lifted a hand to her mouth, failing miserably at stifling her laughter.

The group lost it, and Ominis looked like he wanted to die.

Garreth cackled, nearly spilling his drink as he clutched his stomach.

Nerida slammed a hand on the bar, wheezing. “Oh my God."

Imelda, grinning like the devil herself, leaned forward. “Right, then. Who’s paying up the fifteen galleons?”

Ominis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear to Merlin, if one more person so much as suggests—”

Garreth clapped him on the back, grinning wildly. “So, that’s a no on the getting head, then?”

Ominis’s expression darkened so fast it was almost impressive, but before he could truly commit to murder, Nerida—ever the peacemaker—tilted her head toward the back corner of the bar.

“Alright, alright—before Ominis does something irreversible, who’s up for a round of pool?”

This was met with general agreement—mostly because the alcohol was settling in enough that no one felt like sitting still anymore.

Sebastian, still thoroughly amused, tipped back the rest of his drink before pushing away from the bar, waiting for you to follow.

And you did. Of course you did.

In fact, Sebastian was pleased—very pleased—when you stuck by his side for the rest of the evening.

You could have easily wandered off, flitted between groups, danced again. But instead, you leaned against the table, sipping your drink, laughing at Garreth’s terrible pool skills, rolling your eyes at Imelda’s trash talk, nudging Sebastian with your hip whenever he made a particularly cocky shot.

It was good.

The night stretched on in a golden haze, full of too much laughter, too many drinks, and the kind of warm, buzzing atmosphere that made it far too easy to forget that the outside world existed at all.

Except.

Sebastian noticed—drunkenly, hazily, slowly noticed—that something was off.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there nonetheless. The girls were still laughing, still drinking, still teasing them mercilessly over every terrible shot at pool. But they weren’t leaving. And that was weird.

Because usually—after enough drinks, after enough games—the girls always migrated. They’d get bored of pool, tired of darts, and drift off to dance, or find a quieter table to sit at and gossip.

But not tonight. Tonight, they were sticking close.

Poppy, usually the first to suggest another round on the dance floor, was still here, sitting comfortably at Ominis's side, chatting animatedly with Natty while Garreth ordered them drinks.

Nerida and Imelda, who normally found excuses to disappear for a bit, were locked in an intense conversation while still staying within view of everyone else.

And you were still beside him.

And maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was the way the room had tilted slightly when he stood up earlier. But Sebastian’s brain, slow and sluggish, finally caught up to the creeping thought that had been lurking in the background since you'd danced with him.

Was it because of him? That man from earlier?

Sebastian turned his head slightly, scanning the bar. He hadn’t thought about him in hours, but now that he was... where the hell did he go?

Sebastian’s fingers tightened around his drink, a slow, simmering anger curling back into his gut. Because if you—and the others—had been sticking close all night, had been keeping within reach of them instead of doing what you usually did…

Then what did that mean? Had that bastard scared you?

But then—

“Seb?”

Your voice cut through the haze, your fingers curling around his wrist, tugging lightly. He turned, and whatever dark, brooding thoughts had been creeping into his mind vanished.

Because fuck, you were drunk. Not messy, not too far gone, but just enough. Your eyes were hazy with warmth, your grin lopsided, and when you pulled him slightly closer, there was the faintest slur in your words.

You swayed slightly. “D’you wanna sit? M’legs feel all… floaty.”

And just like that, Sebastian forgot about everything else. The man. The unease. The lingering feeling that something was wrong. Because now? Now he was only looking at you.

You, standing just a little too close, your body warm with alcohol, your hair a little mussed, your expression soft.

You, blinking up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted like you were trying to work through whatever lazy, meandering thought had just slipped into your mind.

Sebastian smirked, setting his drink down. “Those cocktails stronger than you thought?”

You huffed, swaying slightly as you nudged his arm. “So much stronger.”

Sebastian barely bit back a laugh. “Lightweight.”

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “How dare—”

Sebastian grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders before you could wobble too much.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, guiding you toward one of the plush loveseats behind the pool table. “Let’s get you off those floaty legs.”

You hummed, leaning into him a little too easily, like it was natural, like this was where you belonged. And fuck, if that wasn’t a dangerous thought.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, guiding you down before sitting beside you, letting his arm rest along the back of the chair, leaving just enough room for you to lean into him if you wanted to.

You let out a small hum, tilting your head back slightly to look at him, eyes half-lidded, hazy with alcohol. Then—out of nowhere—you reached for his hand.

Sebastian blinked, watching, completely dumbfounded, as you grabbed his wrist, pulling his palm toward yours. You pressed your hand flat against his, comparing sizes, your fingers barely reaching the first knuckle of his own.

And you beamed.

“Merlin,” you murmured, like you were discovering something truly profound, flexing your fingers against his. “Why are your hands so big?”

Sebastian swallowed hard, staring at the sight of your palm against his, at the way your much smaller fingers curled slightly around his own.

He barely found his voice. “Dunno. Why are yours so small?”

You giggled, tilting your head at him. “D’you think if I had big hands, I’d be better at pool?”

Sebastian huffed a laugh, his chest tight. “You’re already better than Garreth. No changes necessary.”

You gasped dramatically. “Poor Garreth.”

“He deserves it.”

You snorted, then curled your fingers between his, lacing them loosely together. Just resting there. Just holding. Sebastian nearly blacked out.

You didn’t even seem to realize what you were doing, just looked down at your intertwined hands with an easy, alcohol-softened smile before shifting again, tucking yourself even closer into his side.

“You always smell nice, too."

Always. That meant you’d noticed before. You noticed him.

Sebastian forced himself to clear his throat, trying for something casual—something to keep from absolutely combusting.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “What do I smell like?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Like…” Your brows scrunched slightly, like you were trying to pinpoint it exactly. “Something warm. Like... like… cinnamon. And cloves. And something kind of… smoky? But not in a bad way. Just… cozy.”

Sebastian was about to die. Right here. Right fucking here, in this speakeasy, drunk with you pressed against him, completely unaware that you were absolutely wrecking him. And then, because you weren’t done ruining his life, you sighed. All content and pleased and nestled against his side like you belonged there, like this was normal, like you weren’t setting his entire fucking world on fire.

“And you’re always so warm,” you murmured.

Sebastian’s throat bobbed as he forced something out.

“You cold?” he asked, trying to sound unaffected.

You hummed, nuzzling slightly into his shoulder. “Not anymore.”

Sebastian was dangerously close to losing his mind, and he needed a distraction. Immediately.

“So,” he said, shifting slightly, trying to ignore how easily your body moved with his, “since I did such a terrible job listening last time, how about another speakeasy lesson?”

You perked up instantly, blinking at him in adorable surprise, then huffed, amused. “Oh, so now you’re interested?”

Sebastian smirked. “Figured I should at least pretend to be an attentive student.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly in your seat to face him better—though, in your drunken state, that mostly meant you leaned even more into his side.

“Well,” you began, slipping into a more thoughtful tone, “like I was saying before you zoned out completely, speakeasies got their name because people had to speak easy—keep their voices down so they wouldn’t get caught.”

Sebastian nodded like this was brand new information, even though he vaguely remembered you mentioning it earlier. Meanwhile, you draped your arms over your lap, tilting your head against the back of the loveseat as you spoke, your words a little slower, your thoughts a little more meandering.

“But what’s funny,” you continued, your finger tracing absentminded circles against the fabric of your dress, “is that even though the entire point was secrecy, some speakeasies were huge. Like, big bands, huge dance floors, completely over-the-top. They wanted the allure, the glamour, y’know?”

Sebastian did not know.

Because he was too busy watching the way your lips moved around your words, the way your lashes fluttered when you got lost in a thought, the way your entire body seemed to sway slightly with the rhythm of your own storytelling.

This was not helping his situation.

At all.

“So some of them weren’t hidden?” he asked, if only to remind himself to keep his brain functional.

You shook your head, a little slower than usual. “Not really. Like, technically, you still had to know someone to get in. They had passwords, secret entrances… but everyone knew where they were.”

Sebastian hummed, watching the way you twirled a loose strand of hair around your finger. “So what you’re saying,” he mused, smirking, “is that criminals are just show-offs?”

You snorted, rolling your head to the side to look at him. “That’s what you took from that?”

He grinned. “Am I wrong?”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “No, you’re not wrong, but historically speaking—”

Sebastian could have stayed here forever. You, curled into his side, talking about some random bit of history you’d read in a book. Your voice laced with alcohol, your words a little softer, a little slower, but still so full of excitement. It was so easy. So perfect.

His fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of your dress, twirling the soft material between his fingertips, completely absorbed in the warmth of the moment, in the way you looked at him, in the way—

Then you let out a heavy sigh, shifting against him.

“I need to break the seal,” you muttered, groaning dramatically.

Sebastian blinked, momentarily thrown from his thoughts.

You pouted, stretching slightly as you tilted your head toward him. “I have to pee,” you clarified. “And I don’t wanna move.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “That is a tragedy.”

You groaned, snuggling further into the cushions, making no move to actually get up. “Ugh, this sucks. I'm so comfy.”

He nudged you lightly. “Go on, love, I'll be right here when you get back.”

You whined, literally whined, before finally, reluctantly pushing yourself up. You stretched as you stood—your dress shifting dangerously as you straightened yourself—and Sebastian was definitely not looking. Not at the way your dress shifted up the curve of your thighs, not at the way your arms lifted over your head, making every inch of you somehow even more tempting.

Nope.

He was absolutely looking straight ahead, nowhere near you.

But as you turned away—taking slow, slightly unsteady steps—something in his chest twisted. Not the usual ache, the fuck-I’m-in-love-with-her feeling he’d been drowning in all night.

Something else. Something wrong.

He tried to shake it, tried to tell himself it was just the drinks, just his dumb possessive instincts making him hyperaware of you.

But still.

His smirk faltered slightly as he watched you make your way toward the washrooms.

It wasn’t far. Just across the lounge, past a few tables, through a hallway.

But still.

Sebastian shifted in his seat, his foot tapping idly against the floor. You’d be back in a few minutes. Everything was fine.

Except it wasn’t.

Sebastian knew it the second too much time passed.

At first, he kept himself distracted, letting Garreth and Imelda pull him into their bickering over pool shots, letting Ominis make dry, unimpressed comments about their collective lack of skill. Sebastian nursed his drink, felt the warmth of the alcohol hum through his veins, tried to tell himself you were just taking your time.

But then a song ended. And another. And you still weren’t back.

Sebastian’s fingers tapped against the rim of his glass, his brows pinching slightly.

Then he checked the time. And the wrongness that had been sitting, low and uneasy, in his chest all night curled tighter.

He straightened in his seat, setting his drink down, his entire body suddenly too alert.

It was fine. You were fine.

Maybe you’d just gotten distracted. Maybe you were reapplying your lipstick, or fixing your hair, or—

No. No, something was wrong. And suddenly, Sebastian wasn’t drunk anymore.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just moved, ignoring the way the others glanced at him in mild confusion.

“Be right back,” he muttered, already walking away.

His heart picked up speed as he cut across the bar, past the lounge, weaving through groups of people, gaze sharp as he scanned the room.

The hallway to the washrooms was dimly lit, tucked just slightly away from the main bar, just enough that it made something uncomfortable roll through his stomach.

He stepped into the corridor, his footfalls suddenly too loud in the muffled quiet. The wrongness in his gut went from unease to something razor-sharp.

Where were you?

Sebastian glanced toward the entrance to the women’s washroom, waiting—listening—for any sign of you. Nothing.

His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched at his sides. He turned his head—

And froze.

Just past the corner of the hallway, tucked slightly out of view, a sound. A muffled whimper. Quiet. Shaky. Then a voice. Low. Murmuring. Unfamiliar.

Sebastian’s fingers curled into fists, he rounded the corner so fast he nearly slammed into the wall, and there you were.

Pressed against a door, your shoulders curled inward, hands shaking as you tried to push him away. Your dress, torn at the strap. That man—his hands on you, gripping your waist, his body too close, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured something low, coaxing, like he was trying to convince you, like you weren’t already crying.

Sebastian’s mind went blank. One second, the bastard was pressed up against you, gripping you like he had any fucking right, and the next—

Crack.

The man hit the opposite wall, hard, eyes blown wide as he let out a stunned, choked gasp, lip split and bleeding.

Sebastian was already on him.

His fist caught the bastard’s shirt, dragging him forward, shoving him so hard the walls rattled.

Sebastian was breathing too fast, seeing too much, his pulse roaring in his ears. The man let out a pained groan, hands grabbing at Sebastian’s wrist.

“Hey—”

Sebastian slammed him back again.

“You think you can touch her?” His voice was low, deadly, his face so close that the bastard flinched.

“She was asking for it,” the man spat, mouth bloody, words slurred. “Didn’t say no, just got shy—”

Sebastian snapped. His fist came down hard—one, two—again—

“How fucking dare you?”

The man gasped, wheezing, hands scrambling to stop him.

Sebastian was going to kill him. Was going to beat him into the fucking floor.

And then a hand. Light. Shaking. Fingers curling around his arm.

“Sebastian?”

Soft. Trembling.

Sebastian’s lungs seized. He turned his head, still breathing hard, still shaking. And fuck—

Tears streaked down your cheeks, your lip trembling, your eyes too wide, too stunned, too afraid.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His grip tightened for a breath, then, with a sharp, ragged exhale, he let go.

The man hit the floor hard, scrambling back on his hands, panting, nose crooked.

Sebastian didn’t even look at him. Because you—

You were still standing there, your hands clutching your torn dress, fingers shaking, chest rising too fast, breath uneven.

Sebastian felt sick.

And then voices. Footsteps. A sudden surge of noise as the dim corridor flooded with people.

Sebastian barely turned in time to see Ominis, Garreth, Natty, Imelda, Nerida, Poppy—the whole group—rounding the corner at full speed.

Garreth’s face twisted into something Sebastian had never seen before, his usual easy demeanor vanishing as he took one look at you, then the man on the floor, then Sebastian—still fuming, still shaking, still breathing too fast—and understood immediately.

Natty sucked in a sharp breath.

Nerida froze.

Poppy clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and horrified.

Imelda’s knuckles cracked from how hard she clenched her fists.

And Ominis—

Ominis, usually the calmest among them, took one step forward, and his voice came out cold. “What the fuck happened?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was too tight. You hadn’t moved.

Then another voice, unfamiliar, but undeniably authoritative.

“Out. Now.”

Sebastian turned his head to see the bouncers push through the group.

One of them grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt. The bastard let out a choked noise.

“You’re done,” the bouncer growled, dragging him toward the exit. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The man spluttered, voice slurred from his split lip. “I—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Sebastian watched. Watched as the man who had his hands on you got ripped away, thrown out like trash, shoved into the night where he fucking belonged.

And yet Sebastian still wasn’t breathing right. Still wasn’t calm. Because you were still shaking, still—

“We’re leaving.”

Ominis.

His voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Sebastian nodded automatically. They all did.

The group moved quickly, no hesitation, no time for words as they all started toward the door, the bouncers giving them a wide path through the crowd.

Sebastian barely noticed the murmured whispers around them. All he noticed was you. Still silent, still staring down, still breathing too fast.

The cold air outside hit like a shock, cutting through the drunken haze that had lingered over the night.

Sebastian barely felt it, but the moment the chill hit, you shivered violently. Ominis moved instinctively, shrugging off his jacket in one smooth motion.

“Here.” His voice was still tight, still controlled, but softer than before.

But when he stepped forward, offering it—

You flinched. Sharp. Instinctive.

And Sebastian—watching it all unfold—felt something deep inside him break.

Because it wasn’t just anyone you flinched from. It was Ominis. One of your closest friends. The gentlest, kindest, least-threatening person you knew. And if you recoiled from him—

Sebastian swallowed hard, his throat tight as the entire group went silent, the weight of it suffocating.

Ominis stilled, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the fabric of his jacket before he pulled back, his face unreadable, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t try again. Just exhaled slowly, fingers twitching once before he let his arms drop to his sides.

Poppy, who had always been the most gentle of them, shifted half a step toward you, lips parted like she wanted to say something—but stopped herself. Because she saw it, too.

You weren’t just shaking. You were wrapped up inside yourself, arms clutched around your middle, shoulders drawn in tight, like you wanted to disappear.

Sebastian’s chest ached. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. Didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know how to make the world feel safe for you again.

He wanted to grab you, hold you, whisper that he would never let anyone touch you again—but he couldn’t. Because what if you flinched from him, too?

Ominis—always steady, always rational—was the first to move.

"Let's go, we need to get off the main street," he said, voice measured, composed—but there was something else beneath it. Something tightly wound.

No one argued. The group moved as one, huddled close, protective.

Imelda and Nerida flanked either side of you like an unspoken shield, while Natty and Poppy stuck close behind.

Garreth, for once, was silent, his face set in a rare, grim seriousness as he cast sharp glances at every single person still lingering outside the club, as if daring someone to look at you wrong.

And Sebastian stayed right in front of you, hands curled into fists, jaw aching from how tight he had clenched it.

Together, they moved toward the nearest side street, somewhere quieter, somewhere out of the open. Only once they were tucked into the dimly lit alleyway, far from the club and the weight of watching eyes, did Ominis finally speak again.

"Who’s flat is closest?"

"Mine," Sebastian said instantly.

That wasn't technically true.

Natty and Garreth’s place was closer—objectively the better option. If this had been any other night, any other situation, logic would have dictated the choice. But logic didn’t mean shit right now.

Not that anyone protested. Because of course it was going to be Sebastian. Of course he was the one taking you home.

Garreth let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Right. Let’s get you a cab, then."

"Fuck that," Sebastian muttered. "I’ll Apparate."

That stopped everyone in their tracks.

Ominis immediately frowned. "Sebastian, we’re in Muggle London—"

"I don’t give a shit." His voice came out sharp, barely restrained. "I’m not making her sit in some goddamn cab, not after—" He cut himself off, exhaling hard, trying to shove down the fresh wave of anger clawing at his throat.

It was the last thing you needed right now.

The group exchanged uneasy glances.

Apparition was dangerous under the best circumstances—let alone when he was like this, let alone when you were like this. Not to mention, doing magic in a heavily populated Muggle area was risky as hell.

But fuck that. He wasn’t going to make you wait. Wasn’t going to let you sit through some excruciatingly long cab ride, squirming in silence, trapped in a moving metal box.

No. He was getting you out of here. Now.

Natty stepped forward, voice level. "Sebastian."

He clenched his jaw. "Natty, I swear to—"

"Sebastian."

She was stepping in front of you now, her dark eyes steady, sharp, cutting through the thick, suffocating tension like a blade.

Sebastian knew that look.

Natty had always been practical—calm, calculated, always thinking a step ahead. And right now, she was looking at him like she was measuring him, like she was assessing him.

"You're not going anywhere with her," she said, her voice even, "unless she wants to go with you."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. His gut reaction was to be offended. To snap that of course you wanted to go with him, because who else would it be?

But Natty’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t waver. Because this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about what he thought, what he wanted, what he was sure of. This was about you, and whether you still felt safe with him.

Sebastian swallowed hard. The thought that you might not be wrecked him, made his stomach twist, made his ribs feel like they were caving in.

The idea that you—his everything—might not want to be anywhere near him right now. Might not trust him. Might not even be able to look at him after what had just happened. But if that was what you needed then he wouldn’t fight it. Wouldn’t blame you. Wouldn’t say a damn word.

Sebastian nodded, and Natsai turned to you slowly, her movements deliberate, careful. Her voice softened, but still held its steady, grounding weight.

"Do you want to go with him?"

A moment passed. Sebastian held his breath.

Then you nodded. It was small, barely more than a twitch of your chin, but it was everything.

Sebastian exhaled, something sharp and unbearable unwinding in his chest. He stepped forward, slowly, his movements deliberate, careful.

Held out his hand and waited.

Your fingers trembled, but you reached for him, sliding your palm into loosely into his.

"Ring us when... when you have a minute," Ominis said, his voice level, steady—but heavy. There was something unspoken in it, something Sebastian understood immediately.

Sebastian nodded once. No words. No drawn-out goodbyes. He didn’t have it in him.

Then, without another thought—he turned on the spot, pulling you with him.

The world twisted. The sharp pull of Apparition coiled around his ribs, wrenching them through the dark, until—

Home.

Sebastian’s flat was silent. Dark. The shift from the crowded club to the emptiness of his space was jarring.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was your breathing. Uneven. Shallow. Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

His hand was still wrapped around yours, and he didn’t want to let go, but after a second, he forced himself to loosen his grip. A silent offering. A choice. And after a beat, you pulled away.

Sebastian felt it like a wound. The warmth of your skin slipped from his grasp, and the absence of it left something hollow in his chest.

But he didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t let it show. Because this wasn’t about him.

He unsure of what to do now, though. How to talk to you, what he was even supposed to say. He felt like he was balancing on the edge of something sharp, a thin, precarious line between giving you space and giving you what you needed—except he didn’t know what you needed.

So, he did the only thing he could think to do.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice hoarse, heavy. “Let's sit you down. Get you comfortable.”

He turned toward the living room, motioning toward the couch as he moved. “I’ll—” He cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “I’ll get you something else to wear.”

But before he could take more than two steps, you shook your head.

Sebastian hesitated. “You don’t—”

“I’ll go with you,” you murmured.

Your voice was quiet. Unsteady. But certain.

Sebastian blinked, thrown off. He didn’t understand. You had to be exhausted, had to be drained, and the couch was right there, waiting.

But you weren’t moving toward it. You were waiting for him. And something in your expression—something small, something subtle—made the words click in his mind.

You didn’t want to be alone.

He swallowed hard then nodded. "Okay, come on.”

When he turned toward his bedroom, you followed.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping inside first, letting you follow at your own pace.

Sebastian’s room was… messy. Books stacked haphazardly on his nightstand, a half-open wardrobe in the corner, a few stray clothes abandoned on the chair near the window.

He ignored it all. Went straight for the dresser.

He rifled through the drawers, trying to find something soft, something comfortable. Something that wouldn’t remind you of tonight, that wouldn’t feel like a weight pressing against your skin.

A worn sweater. Sweatpants. That would work.

He turned, holding them out for you. “Here.”

You hesitated. You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was down, locked on the clothes in his hands like you weren’t sure what to do with them.

He softened his voice. "If you want something else, just say the word.”

Then, quietly, almost too soft to hear.

“Can you... will you help me?”

Sebastian stilled. For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

Help you?

His first instinct was confusion. You’d flinched from Ominis outside. You hadn’t wanted him near you. Hadn’t wanted to be touched. After what happened, Sebastian had assumed you’d want privacy, that you wouldn’t want to be seen at all.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and he understood.

Maybe, right now, this wasn’t about not wanting to be touched. Maybe it was that you didn't want to touch it. Didn’t want to unfasten the dress yourself, didn’t want to peel the fabric from your skin, didn’t want to register the places it had been touched, gripped, pulled by someone who had no fucking right.

Sebastian exhaled, slow and careful, schooling his expression into something even.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Turn around for me?”

You hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling where you clutched the hem of the sweater he’d handed you. But then you did, shifting slightly, your back to him.

Sebastian took a slow step closer, hands hovering just behind your shoulders, giving you the chance to change your mind.

But you didn’t move away.

So he gently, carefully, reached for the zipper at your back.

And fuck, he’d imagined this before. Ten thousand times, maybe more. Peeling the layers off you slowly, seeing what was underneath, watching the fabric slip down the curves of your body. His hands, his, mapping the warmth of your skin as he uncovered inch after inch, drinking in the sight of you like he’d been starving for it.

But this—this wasn’t like that.

This was the first time he had ever done this, maybe the only time he ever would if he didn't get his shit together, and the circumstances were so utterly, sickeningly wrong that it made his chest feel hollow.

He wasn’t looking at you with desire. He wasn’t seeing the expanse of your skin the way he would have if things had been different.

Seeing you like this just hurt.

The fabric was still warm from your body, but that wasn’t what made his stomach twist. It was the broken strap, the torn seam, the evidence of what had happened—of what he hadn’t been able to stop sooner.

Slowly, he dragged the zipper down.

The dress loosened, slipping slightly off your shoulders, the weight of it threatening to pull away completely—and for a second, he panicked, his brain scrambling to make sure he wasn’t making this worse for you, that he wasn’t exposing more than you were comfortable with—but you stayed still.

So, with a deep breath and slow, careful movements, he tugged the dress down, guiding it past your arms, your waist, your hips. The fabric slipped easily, pooling at your feet.

His stomach twisted. Seeing it like this—abandoned, discarded—it felt like something sick and wrong. Because that dress had looked so fucking beautiful on you. Had clung to you like a dream, had made him ache. Had made him stare.

And now... now, it was nothing but a reminder of what happened.

“Step out of it, love,” he murmured, voice low and gentle despite the ache in his chest.

You obeyed, lifting one foot, then the other.

Sebastian grabbed the discarded fabric from the floor and tossed it far away—out of sight, across the room, like it didn’t deserve to be near you.

Then he picked up the sweatpants from the bed.

"Step in," he murmured.

You did. The sweater came next.

"Arms up for me."

You obeyed again, and he tugged the sweater over your head, guiding it gently over your arms, down your torso, covering you, shielding you from whatever still lingered on your skin.

The moment it was on, Sebastian exhaled deeply.

"All done."

You let out a breath. A slow, shaky thing. Then, for the first time since entering his flat, you met his gaze.

And Sebastian felt his chest cave in. Because you still looked so shaken. Still looked wrecked. But the difference was, you were here now. Fully.

"Thank you."

Your voice was small. Quiet. But present.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the unbearable ache in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Of course.”

You shifted slightly, like you wanted to say something else, but the words didn’t come. Instead, your arms wrapped around yourself, small, like you were still trying to make yourself disappear.

Sebastian’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to touch you. Wanted to reach out, wanted to pull you into his chest and hold you there until the shaking stopped.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

So, instead, he exhaled carefully, ran a hand through his hair, and nodded toward the doorway. “Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let me make you some tea.”

You blinked at him, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to you. But after a second, you nodded.

So, he turned, leading you back into the dimly lit apartment, moving toward the kitchen. And you followed. Because you still trusted him.

Sebastian pulled open the cabinet and reached for your mug—the oversized one printed with tiny blue flowers, the one you always used when you visited. It had been a birthday gift from him last year, and after unwrapping it, you’d immediately set it in his cupboard and said, This one stays here.

He set it down on the counter and filled the kettle, flipping the switch with the practiced ease of routine. Something about the motion, the normalcy of it, settled the restless tension in his chest.

His hands worked on autopilot—pulling down the tin of loose tea, measuring out just the right amount, stirring in the fixings the way you liked. Far too much sugar and milk for his taste, but he didn’t hesitate, mixing it the exact way you always did.

By the time he turned around and pressed the mug into your hands, steam curling between you, he finally caught the way your fingers trembled as you curled them around the ceramic.

And then—soft, broken, barely above a whisper—

“I’m sorry.”

Sebastian went completely still, something sharp, something furious, coiling in his chest.

“What?”

Your gaze dropped, staring into the depths of your tea. “I—I don’t know. Just for all of this. For ruining your night. For—”

“Don’t.”

He took the mug from your hands, just for a moment, long enough to force you to look at him. His brows furrowed, his mouth tight, like the words physically hurt to say aloud.

“You don’t apologize. Not for this. Not to anyone.”

You swallowed, hard, but you didn’t look away.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said, voice quieter now, but no less fierce, his grip tightening briefly around the handle of your mug before handing it back. “Not one single fucking bit of it. Do you understand?”

You hesitated, like you weren’t sure you could understand. And fuck, that made something ugly rise in his throat.

Sebastian had never felt anger like this—like something helpless and raging, burning at the back of his skull, at the hollow space in his chest where you had been hurt and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

You sniffled, swiping your sleeve across your eyes, shaking your head like you were mad at yourself. “I should’ve—” Your voice was thick, strained. “I should’ve pushed him away harder. Been more assertive. Asked one of the other girls to come to the bathroom with me, or—or been more aware, or not drank so much, or—”

“Stop.”

You shook your head again, watery, miserable. “I just—”

“No.” His voice was hard, unyielding. “This wasn't your fault, there's no magic combination of things you could have done differently to make someone else not be a fucking piece of shit. It wouldn’t have mattered, because he's still a monster. And you—” His voice softened, just a fraction, his chest aching. “You did nothing wrong.”

You swallowed, throat bobbing.

“It wasn’t even that bad.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened.

You let out a wet, unsteady laugh, shaking your head. “It could’ve been worse. I just— I just froze because of Tyler.”

The second the words were out of your mouth, Sebastian saw it—the way your face froze, the way your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t meant to say that. Like you wished you could take it back.

But it was too late.

Sebastian’s brain snapped back to a year ago.

The breakup.

How you had shown up at his door, quiet and withdrawn, a forced little smile on your lips as you told him your relationship was over. No details. No explanation. Just done.

How he had asked if you were okay, and you had nodded, too quickly, and said you didn’t want to talk about it.

And he’d let it go. Because you always told him things when you were ready. But now—now he was seeing it, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way you were smaller, like you wanted to disappear.

And something inside him snapped.

What the fuck had happened back then?

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and controlled. “Tell me,” he said, voice low, but steady.

You blinked. “What?”

“Tell me what happened. Please.”

You hesitated, curling your hands around the mug like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. “It’s not—” You swallowed, eyes darting away. “It’s not important.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Minimize it.” His voice came out rougher than he meant, but he couldn’t help it. “I need to know, love.”

At the nickname, your fingers tightened around the mug, just slightly. You opened your mouth, then closed it. Sebastian waited.

He’d wait all fucking night if he had to.

And then, finally, you exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. “It was at a party,” you murmured, not looking at him. “I—I don’t know why I froze tonight. It wasn’t even the same. Not really. I just… the moment he grabbed me, I was back there.”

Sebastian hated how softly, how passively you said it. Like it wasn’t something that had haunted you. Like it wasn’t something that still had its fucking claws in you.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t push, because you were still talking, and if you stopped, he didn’t know when you’d let yourself say these words again.

“I told him no,” you whispered. “Tyler. I told him I didn’t want to go upstairs with him, that I was tired. But he kept—” You broke off, shaking your head. “He just kept talking, kept trying to get me to change my mind. And I just—I shut down. I just let him. I didn’t fight, I didn’t—”

Sebastian couldn’t take it anymore.

“I swear to God,” he said, voice hoarse, pained, “if you say you should’ve done something differently, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Your throat bobbed, eyes flicking up to his.

“He was supposed to stop," Sebastian insisted. "That’s it. That’s the only thing that was supposed to happen.”

You just stared at him, wide-eyed, like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. Like no one had ever said it to you so plainly before. And then, finally, you spoke—so softly, so small.

“But I let him.”

Sebastian’s hands curled into fists. “No,” he said, voice firm, unwavering. “You didn’t.”

He exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, trying to say the right thing, because fuck, he couldn’t mess this up.

“If someone keeps pushing, keeps coaxing, keeps pulling you in when you’ve already said no—you didn’t let them. They took advantage of you.”

The words sat heavy between you, and Sebastian saw the way they hit you. Your grip on the mug went white-knuckled, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, and then you were crying.

Silent at first—just the shake of your shoulders, just the quiver in your lips. But then your breath shuddered, and your face crumpled, and the first broken sob escaped.

Sebastian stood there, feeling useless. Helpless.

Should he reach for you? Should he give you space? Did you want to be touched, or would it only make things worse? His hands hovered, twitching at his sides, unsure. And fuck, he hated it. Hated not knowing what to do, hated feeling like he was just standing here while you broke apart in front of him.

But then—

You set the mug down too quickly, tea sloshing over the rim, spilling onto the counter, and Sebastian barely had time to react before you collapsed into him.

His breath hitched, his arms automatically wrapping around you as you buried yourself against his chest, shaking, small.

And then he wasn’t thinking anymore. He just held you. Tightly. Protectively.

One arm wrapped firm around your back, the other cradling your head, fingers threading gently into your hair, like maybe if he held you close enough, it would put you back together.

Your fingers fisted into his shirt, and Sebastian closed his eyes, exhaling shakily against the crown of your head.

What the fuck do I say?

What words could he possibly put together that would make any of this better? He quickly realized there were none.

So he didn’t speak.

Didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless reassurances, didn’t tell you to calm down, didn’t tell you it would be okay. Instead, he just held you, strong and steady, like a wall—one you could press into, lean against, fall apart against.

Your breathing was uneven, shaky against his chest. Each sharp inhale like it was trying to hold back the flood.

Sebastian pressed his cheek to your hair, gentle, careful. “I got you,” he murmured, voice raw. “I got you.”

You let out a sound, a soft, aching thing, half a sob, half relief, as the tension in your shoulders cracked, your weight fully sinking into him, like you’d been trying to hold yourself up all this time and just couldn’t anymore.

“I got you,” he whispered again, like maybe, if he said it enough times, you’d believe him.

You stood there for a long time. You didn’t pull away, and Sebastian didn't let go. He would have stood there all night if you needed him to.

The tea sat abandoned on the counter, growing cold, the soft hum of the refrigerator filling the air while the kitchen clock ticked away the minutes.

Your breathing—ragged at first, gasping, uneven— slowly, so slowly, steadied, fading into quiet sniffles. And that was when Sebastian finally moved. Carefully.

He slid one arm under your legs, the other holding you steady against him. “Up we go, love.”

You let out a soft noise of surprise as he scooped you up, pressing your face instinctively against his shoulder.

“You don’t—”

“Shush” he murmured gently, affectionately, and you didn’t fight him as he carried you across the room, lowering you onto the couch.

But the moment he tried to pull back, your fingers tightened in his shirt again.

Sebastian obeyed, sitting down and letting you tuck yourself against him, curling into his chest. His arms wound around you again, warm and solid. His hand moved instinctively to your hair, fingers slipping through the strands, slow, soothing strokes.

It had always been this easy, hadn’t it?

Sebastian wasn’t sure how long you both stayed like that. Long enough that your breathing evened out. Long enough that his own heart stopped pounding with anger and ache.

And then, after a long silence—your voice, quiet, hesitant:

“I’ve been stupid.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed. “Don’t—”

Your hand shot up, pressing lightly against his mouth, and whatever Sebastian had been about to say died instantly.

His breath caught. His lips parted slightly against your palm, startled, thrown completely off balance. But it wasn’t the touch that had him frozen.

It was your eyes.

Raw. Red-rimmed from crying, but so fucking clear. Like you had figured something out—like whatever had been sitting between you for so long, uncertain and unspoken, was now suddenly blindingly obvious.

“...You know I love you, don't you?”

Sebastian froze.

He did know. At least, sort of.

He’d always known you loved him as your best friend, as your constant, as the one person you always turned to. He had felt it in the way you sought him out first in a crowded room, in the way you always made one too many cups of tea just in case he wanted one. He had seen it in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, in the way your hand lingered when you touched him.

But he didn't know if you loved him as more.

Of course, he'd imagined your confession the late hours of the night, when exhaustion blurred the edges of his thoughts. In the quiet spaces between glances, in the way his chest always felt too full when you laughed. In the way he always waited for you to arrive at his door.

But he always imagined hearing those words for the first time in a moment of joy, in the golden hush of a summer afternoon, in the warmth of a stolen moment where nothing hurt, nothing felt too heavy.

His throat bobbed. “You—are you saying—”

But the words felt too big, too heavy.

You huffed a laugh, sniffling softly as a stray tear rolled down your cheek. “I was so stupid. Maybe if I had just told you how I felt, if I had just—”

Sebastian cupped your cheek before you could finish your sentence, his palm warm and steady against your tear-streaked skin.

His mind was racing, his chest too full, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something so fierce, so all-consuming, so fucking relieved that it almost hurt.

Because you meant it. You loved him. Not just as his best friend. Not just as his constant. But as something more.

He searched your face, memorizing everything—the way your lashes were still damp, the way your lips parted slightly, the way your breath trembled under his touch.

And fuck, he didn’t know what to say.

He hadn’t been ready for you this moment to happen like this. Not when your voice was still raw from crying. Not when your hands still shook in your lap. Not when he had spent the last hour trying to piece you back together after something that should have never happened. Not when you deserved so much better than this moment.

He couldn't stop his mind from imagining what this would have been like if things had been different.

If tonight had just been another night.

If you had just come over, curled up with him like you always did, nudged your socked feet against his under a blanket, laughed at something stupid on TV. If he had turned to you and just fucking said it, just let it be easy.

But it wasn’t easy.

And yet, his the words left his mouth in a breath, like they had been waiting there, like they had been sitting at the back of his throat for years, clawing at his ribs, aching to be spoken. Because they had.

"Fuck, I love you too."

And the second they were out—

Relief.

Like something had cracked open inside him, something tight and suffocating finally letting go, leaving his chest too light and too full all at once. Because it was the truest thing he had ever said.

But right behind that relief came the guilt, because he should have said it sooner.

He should have said it a thousand times before now—should have said it when you were laughing, when you were happy, when you were light and warm and untouched by pain.

He should have said it last week, when you had fallen asleep on his couch, curled up with his sweater wrapped around you, mumbling something incoherent before sighing in contentment.

He should have said it months ago, when you had grabbed his hand without thinking at the crowded market, weaving through people like you had never once considered not holding onto him.

He should have said it years ago, when you kicked his ass in that very first duel.

Sebastian huffed a humorless laugh, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "God, I wish I’d just told you sooner. Over a bowl of popcorn, some dumb movie playing in the background.” The corners of his mouth twitched, a rueful little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I imagined it a thousand times—telling you. Watching your eyes light up, seeing you smile like you do when you think I’m being stupid.”

Your lips quivered, the hint of a smile breaking through the tears.

“I wish it had been easy," he said. "Because you deserve easy. You deserve soft and gentle and everything good.”

You leaned into his touch, your hands reaching up to cover his. Your eyes searched his—gentle, knowing, certain.

“Easy’s never really been on brand for us, has it?”

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard for half a second. And then a breathless, broken sound left him, something between a scoff and a laugh, something small and raw and achingly fond.

Because you were right.

Since the very beginning, since the moment you had first collided into his life, it had never been simple. Never straightforward. There had always been something else—a complication, an obstacle, an unsaid feeling caught between glances and lingering touches that neither of you were ever brave enough to name.

You sniffled, wiping at your face with the sleeve of his sweater—the one you were drowning in, and fuck, you were so beautiful even now, despite the weight of the night still lingering in your shoulders.

“Do I wish none of this had happened?” Your voice was quiet, raw. “Of course I do. But fuck, Sebastian, you were there. You're always there." You gave a watery laugh, the smallest, softest thing. "When I'm at my best, when I'm at my worst. It's always been you. And I—"

You exhaled shakily, voice thick with too much. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there tonight,” your voice dropped to a whisper, eyes locked onto his. “There's no one else I would have gone to. No one else I would have let see me like this. No one else I trust the way I trust you.”

Sebastian’s throat felt tight, his breath coming uneven, chest aching under the weight of realization.

This wasn’t just about tonight. Or last night. Or last week.

It was about every night. Every stolen glance, every quiet moment, every time you had reached for him first. It was in the way you always found him before anyone else, in the way you always chose him, in the way you always trusted him—with the good, with the bad, with everything.

When things went well, when they didn’t, when you needed comfort, when you needed a co-conspirator, when you needed someone to just be there—it had always been him.

It settled into him all at once—the weight of years pressing against his ribs, filling every empty space inside him that had ever questioned what he meant to you.

Because it had always been this. Not a revelation. Not a shift. Not something new.

It had simply always been.

And you must have seen something in his face—the way he looked at you like he wanted to fall apart, because you gave him a small, wobbly smile, something barely there, something hopeful, something real.

“Say something, Sallow," you teased.

Sebastian let out a breathless, unsteady laugh, shaking his head. His eyes burned, his own tears threatening to fall. He let his hands move—one tangling in the fabric at your chest, the other sliding to the nape of your neck.

He leaned in, slow, deliberate, like he was giving you the chance to pull away, like he was making absolutely sure—but your hands curled into his shirt, pulling him in the rest of the way, and then—

Then you kissed him.

It was soft. Hesitant. Testing. Like neither of you could quite believe this was finally happening.

But then Sebastian felt you melt into him, felt the warmth of you, the way your grip on him tightened, the way your lips parted—

And suddenly, it wasn��t hesitant at all.

A soft sound rumbled in Sebastian's throat, something relieved, something grateful, something aching with all the things he had never let himself say, and he kissed you like his life depended on it, because maybe it did. Like he had been waiting for this for years, because he had. Like you were the only fucking thing in the world that mattered, because you were.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync.

Sebastian huffed a soft laugh, his lips brushing yours. "…'bout time, huh?"

You let out a wobbly, teary laugh, nuzzling closer. "About time."

And Sebastian held you—tightly, unshakably, like letting go wasn’t even a possibility, like something fundamental in him wouldn’t allow it.

Because maybe this wasn’t how he had ever imagined this moment. Maybe it wasn’t wrapped in golden light, in laughter, in the warmth of an easy, stolen moment where everything was simple and good.

Maybe he hadn’t gotten to plan for it, hadn’t had the chance to say it first, hadn’t gotten to look at you when you were smiling, when you were happy, and tell you what had been the truth for so damn long.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to be saying I love you in the aftermath of something that had hurt you.

But this was still you. And this was still him. And that was all that mattered.

Because love wasn’t just about the easy moments. It wasn’t just about the days when the sun was shining, when your laughter came freely, when things felt light.

Love was this too—love was holding on, love was being there, love was standing in the wreckage of something awful and saying I’ve got you. I’m here. And I’m not leaving.

Sebastian pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky, his grip tight, his fingers curled against the fabric of his own sweater on your frame, holding you close, keeping you safe.

And he knew, with every piece of himself, that he wasn’t letting go.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

[paulyenvol6]

Bruised, Not Broken (Part 2)

This is part 2 of a one-shot I posted and it is based on this request. There will definitely be part 3 and maybe part 4 but we'll see :) Also, I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful support and I love you all <3

Contains: angst, mentions of pregnancy

Wordcount: 2.84k

Masterlist

Everything was spinning.

The ground beneath you was moving and although you knew that your mind was probably playing a trick on you you reached out to hold on to the wall of the inn.

You couldn't even cry. Your eyes were dry as a desert.

You knew you had to do something, walk away from this place but your body was frozen. Numb.

Everything was twisting and turning inside of you and as if it was a further sign from the gods the child in your womb kicked and moved so much that your upper body buckled.

You had nothing left in the world. Everything about this felt surreal and distant but at the same time you instantly knew your life would never be the same. What were you to do?

If someone walked past you they would probably assume that you were perfectly fine because your internal chaos wasn't visible from the outside. Your only reaction was the way your bottom lip trembled.

You didn't know how long you were standing by the brothel. Perhaps you could've measured the time by the movement of the sun but you couldn't raise your head high enough to watch it. Your eyes searched the crowd and only after a few minutes did you ask yourself why you had just done it. What had you been looking for? A sign that all of this was just a nightmare?

What were you to do? was the question repeatedly appearing in your head. What if you just ran away? You could find a boat and go to Essos. You could raise your child there and never hear from Daemon again.

Suddenly there was a sharp pain in your stomach and the tears that washed over you came so unexpected that you choked on a cry. Images of your husband appeared in your head. His smile, the way he tilted his head, his warm eyes. You allowed your tears to flow because otherwise you might have exploded and then soon, you didn't know where she had come from, you saw a woman's face in front of you through the veil of tears.

"My lady, are you quite alright?"

With trembling lips you nodded and tightened your grip on the facade of the house.

"Are you sure? Something I can do?"

You shook your head and then she left after giving you another suspicious glance. You were left alone and truthfully you appreciated it.

Time passed with you trying to calm yourself somehow but you couldn't fight the occasional breakouts and then, it was almost dark now, you knew you had to do something. You would either freeze here or get assaulted by someone and despite all your emotions, your child was still your priority.

You took a step back from this damned brothel and felt like a babe learning how to walk. Your knees were wobbly and your whole body was shaking so hard that you wished you could hold on to something. And yet you made it to the middle of the street and as if your whole life hadn't just got shattered into a million pieces you started to make your way back to the red keep.

In some way you were torn apart because you wished you could avoid Daemon for the rest of your life and not feel embarrassed and humiliated by merely looking at him but on the other hand the thought of screaming and shouting at him until you'd lose your voice sounded tempting as well.

When you eventually arrived at the keep you felt like you were about to explode from all the anger inside of you and you knew in order to survive, you needed to get it out. The guards were obviously too professional to comment on your expression and just allowed you to enter the castle and then the first thing that you did was make your way up to your chambers.

You didn't know what to expect. You didn't know what time it was so you thought that Daemon might still be out. Perhaps it would be even better that way so you could have a little more time to prepare yourself for the confrontation.

Your nails dug into the palms of your hands while you stared at the door. Driven by your rage you opened it and immediately heard a noise inside. You pressed your teeth into your bottom lip and slowly entered the room while searching for your husband.

"Honey!" he shouted and your eyes found him by the table. "Where have you been, I thought you would only be gone for an hour. Did something happen? I was so worried, tell me. Are you fine?"

Mayhaps he mistook your teary eyes with a reaction to something that had happened to you. You flashed your eyes at him and hissed out when his hand reached out to touch your upper arm.

"No," you dangerously whispered and you could see his eyes widening.

"What is it?"

You chuckled quietly but could feel your veins throbbing. "Fuck you."

"Darling, what – "

"Shut up. And don't call me darling," you said close to tears now and pushed him away from you.

"Y/n, I don't understand – " "DON'T FUCKING LIE TO ME," you screamed completely overtaken by your rage which concerned Daemon so much that he took a step back.

"OF COURSE YOU UNDERSTAND YOU STUPID LIAR. I KNOW WHAT YOU DID."

Despite feeling unaware of the fact that you had started to cry again, you tasted something salty on your lips.

"No, y/n, please listen to me."

"I don't wanna listen to anything out of your mouth, EVER AGAIN," you hissed and pointed with your finger at him.

"You are an arsehole, an evil lying disgusting arsehole. You fucking CHEATED on me while I was here in the keep scared of having a miscarriage and then you came back here acting all loving and caring without even having any regrets. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU??"

You were blinded by your emotions and didn't care about wakening up the whole castle. You wanted to hit him in his face until you forgot about his existence. Before you could even register it Daemon reached out to your hand and enclosed it tightly.

"Please, darling, I didn't know. I didn't know that you were in danger, otherwise I would've been here immediately."

You pulled back trying to free your hand from his grip and eventually he let go.

"You CHEATED, Daemon. NOTHING can justify this. Why the fuck would you do this?" you cried and dropped your head to your chest feeling very tired suddenly.

"I'm sorry. I know I fucked it up," he whispered and tried to come closer to you.

"Stay back," you sobbed.

He watched you cry for a few minutes and for some reason it made you even angrier. How could he just stand there acting like nothing was wrong while you bawled your eyes out? Why didn't he cry? Why wasn't he on his knees apologizing?

You wiped over your eyes with the back of your hand. "I don't wanna see you again. I'm gonna leave the keep."

Now Daemon's eyebrows lifted and for the first time he looked genuinely concerned. "What."

"I'm gonna leave. Do you actually think I want to spend another second in your presence after what you have done to me?"

Daemon took a step towards you and grabbed your shoulder.

"We have a child together. You can't just leave, we're married."

"Oh I can. Watch me," you hissed quietly.

"Y/n, don't be childish now."

You laughed out loudly and Daemon seemed so worried now that you could see in his body's reaction that he was nervous.

"I'm childish? You cheated on me and now you're calling me childish because I say don't want to live with you?"

"It was a one-time thing, gods be good. I won't go the brothel again. Ever. If that's what you want."

"You can do whatever you want from now on. You can go fuck your whores as often as you like, I don't care."

Daemon shook his head and looked to the ground. "That's not I want. I want you."

"Well, if you did, you wouldn't have cheated on me, Daemon Targaryen."

Your voice was barely more than a whisper and you were proud of yourself for sounding so indifferent although inside of you there was a storm.

"How did you find out?" he breathed after a moment of silence.

"I passed the brothel. And then the owner saw me and asked when you would come by again. I was confused and he explained everything to me."

Daemon pressed his hand on his eyes and murmured something you didn't understand but you didn't care to ask him.

"I'll leave tonight."

He closed his eyes looking frustrated. "Y/n, you can't just leave like this. Please be reasonable for a moment. You're with child and where do you even wanna go?"

"I'll find something," you whispered and then the both of you remained silent for a few minutes before you started to speak again.

"As I said so many times before, you're not able to listen to me. You don't understand what I'm saying and why I'm saying it. I guess now you don't have to anymore."

Daemon gulped loudly and tilted his head at you.

"What do you want me to do? I'll do anything, what do I have to do so you'll forgive me?"

"There is nothing. You broke my trust, you betrayed me and nothing will ever make up for it."

He shook his head and now you could finally see some tears in his eyes as well.

"Don't say that…," Daemon whispered.

"Goodbye," you whispered and turned around.

For a moment you thought he was coming after you but then you were already standing in the corridor and asked yourself whether you had wanted him to come after you or not.

1 month later

"I don't wish to see him, Ser Roggers."

"He's persistent."

Yes he was. Daemon had written countless letters to you, begging you to come back and if you were being honest with you you were surprised he acted so pathetic and had just swallowed his pride like this.

"Tell him that I'm not here."

Ser Roggers looked down to the ground. "It's too late for that, my lady."

"Then tell him something else, I don't care. I'm not gonna see him."

You crossed your legs and turned around signalizing him that the conversation was over now so Ser Roggers had no choice but to bow and leave your chambers.

Once you heard the door closing you sighed out and leaned back in your chair. It had been almost a month since you had left Daemon and everything that was happening around you still seemed absurd and surreal. You were living at Dragonstone now as Viserys had found that it was the only solution to this "situation" as he had called it.

The night after you had found out about Daemon cheating on you you had intended to storm out of the red keep but Viserys, who had found about your argument with his brother, had stepped in your way before you could even leave the castle.

At first he had tried everything to convince you to stay but after he had realized that nothing would make you spend another hour in Daemon's presence he had decided to grant you some time alone but in order to hide this crisis from the smallfolk Viserys had ordered you to go to Dragonstone.

Therefore you had a safe and warm place to live during you pregnancy and what would follow after you didn't want to think about right now.

You sat in your chair a few more minutes until Ser Roggers returned to your chambers. His facial expression worried you at first and you flared your nostrils.

"Is he gone?" He sighed but then nodded. "Yes. He left."

You exhaled deeply. "Good."

"But my lady, I don't think… I mean I think it would be good to see him. He's the father of your child. And your husband."

You rolled your eyes and grinded your teeth threateningly.

"I don't want to see him. He humiliated and embarrassed me and just because he inserted himself inside of me once doesn't mean I'm obligated to spend the rest of my life with him."

He widened his eyes at your inappropriate words but you ignored it.

"I wish to be left alone by him. I do hope you have made that clear to him. No more letters or visits."

"I tried to, yes. But I don't know if he'll actually do it."

You rolled your eyes again. "Then try harder."

Ser Roggers bowed and then excused himself and you were left with a bitter feeling in your stomach. You didn't want to be mean to your most loyal and closest companion here but just hearing Daemon's name made your blood boil. And yet it wasn't Ser Rogger's fault, he only followed your orders.

With a feeling of regret you promised yourself that you would be kinder to him in the morrow and then rose from your chair. It was still early but you were feeling quite tired already so you made your way to the door to ask your servants to prepare your supper so you could go to sleep early.

The next weeks passed and each day you felt like everything you were doing became more difficult. Your belly has swelled to an unimaginable size and soon the easiest things such as walking up a staircase became almost unbearable.

And then you were in your ninth month and you made a decision that probably shocked you the most out of all people.

You allowed Daemon to visit you.

You couldn't even exactly explain why you chose to do it but the date of the birth of your child growing closer triggered a feeling of both helplessness and reasonableness in you. Because as much as you still hated him and swore yourself you'd never come back to him on a daily basis you knew that he would demand to see his child. It would be his heir after all and even you couldn't deny him to visit his child.

And well aware that the first few weeks after giving birth would be hard for you you decided to rather get used to seeing him every now and then now.

When you told Ser Roggers the news his jaw dropped and he was too stunned to speak for a second.

"Pardon me, my lady. But did you say I am to invite the prince to dragonstone?"

The last weeks Daemon had still kept you busy with a lot of letters begging and pleading for your forgiveness and you had been quite vocal about your displeasure so it was no wonder Ser Roggers was confused now.

"Yes. Of course you may not invite him to live here with me. Just for an afternoon or supper."

The knight hesitate but then nodded. "F-Fine. I'm going to make it happen, my lady."

And so on the very same evening the message arrived that Daemon would be coming to dragonstone on the next day. Ser Roggers told you that Daemon had intended to come the very same day but he had refused him with the explanation that you needed a lot of sleep in this state so your husband had insisted on coming with the first light of dawn.

That night you went to sleep with an odd feeling in your stomach. You didn't know what it would be like to see him again. It had barely been two months and yet you so felt so distant to him that you caught yourself thinking whether you had actually known him at some point. What if he would drag you back to the red keep?

'No,' you thought and turned to your other side. 'All of this is still under Viserys' watch and Daemon wouldn't turn against his own brother.' But well, hadn't he turned against you? His wife?

You thought back to your life months ago. How well you were able to remember how happy you had been when the maesters had told you that you were with child. Your life had seemed perfect. A loving and protecting husband who worshiped you like a goddess. A safe and comfortable life in the keep and a promising future.

Unconcsiously tears had welled in your eyes and you blinked several times. You couldn't fool yourself, because as strong and angry you appeared towards the people here at dragonstone and first and foremost Ser Roggers, you were deeply hurt and had found yourself crying to sleep more than once.

Everything could have been magical if Daemon hadn't been so stupid to destroy it. All he had to do was open his eyes and see what both your lives had become now because you were certain that he wasn't any happier now as well. And that was entirely his fault.

You clenched your fist and gulped loudly. You had to stay strong now. Tonight and tomorrow. This would only work if you'd be able to control your feelings and remain calm.

You raised your chin and then fell asleep.

[spideyanakin]

Hiiiii its me again 🤭

I keep rereading the part where reader tells sirius their son name. Sirius smiles and it got me thinking of them being kids choosing names for their future kids. Like they are looking over the stars and they like the name Perseus Sirius Black. Oh the agsnt and tears 😩

THE WAY THIS ASK HAS A CHOCK-HOLD ON ME!!!

Thank you darling for those gorgeous requests 🩵

all I think about now - masterlist

summary - sirius black x malfoy + slytherin! reader, you watch the stars with sirius

warnings - mention of extremely minor character death lmao

The grass was high this year, enough to reach your knees when you walked and engulf you whole as you laid in it.

You weren’t sure if it was a deliberate choice from your parents, or if it was because the muggle gardener had been eaten by those magical plants your mother had asked to be planted last autumn.

Sirius was sure it was the latter, because gardeners, especially wizard ones were hard to find these days: he didn’t know if it was true, that’s just what he heard his parents say anyways.

"Well, you don’t have a garden, do you?" You had mumbled as your gaze lifted up to the night sky, pushing some rogue grass blade away so you could get a better view of Sirius lying by your side.

"No," he sighed, "but Kreature keeps the rooftop and balconies nice. I think my father is growing a mandrake up there, not sure why, but Kreature keeps complaining." The sudden thought of the Black household elf repotting a mandrake was making you laugh, and Sirius joined in your giggles, adding wood to the fire, "he keeps muttering insults every time the thing grows! My father says he is the only one who should do it because house elves are immune to their screams or something.”

"Poor Kreature," you giggled.

"Hm," Sirius didn’t seem convinced by the use of the word poor to describe his house elf. Although he did everything his parents didn’t wish to do, he was almost treated like a third child by his mother. Which meant that Kreature heard all her gossiping and complaining when she talked about him, and the elf did not hesitate to voice the same views on Sirius’s chaotic antics whenever the two of them dared to cross paths.

It also meant, the elf didn’t care as much for Sirius as he did for his brother, and saw great pleasure in sabotaging him. He saw it in the little things, like adding extra salt into Sirius’s plate, or folding one of his shirts not yet dry, or not quite ironed perfectly like his mother liked.

Imagine Walburga’s face when Sirius arrived at dinner with wrinkles on his shirt, and of course, he was obviously the cause of it because, this shirt had just been freshly ironed, or was it?

"You know how to read the stars, do you not?" Your soft voice broke his reminiscing, and he found himself looking at you, adoration filling his bright eyes.

"I do!" He smiled brightly, and you found yourself blushing at his enthusiasm.

"Will you teach me? I need to know them if we are to be married, do I not?"

"I guess so," his smile turned shy as you scooted closer to him, heads lying barely inches apart.

From so close you could see the clouds in his beautiful grey eyes, and the faint freckles from the freshly arrived summer sun that kissed his nose. His hair smelled nice, you noticed. Like fresh jasmine and eucalyptus.

After seconds that felt like minutes of staring, his gaze broke with yours and climbed up to the sky, his hand pointing towards his star, Sirius, as if on instinct.

"You see that bright one. That’s mine."

"The really bright one amidst the two little ones?"

"Yes!" He exclaimed happily, "and with these, it’s the Canis Major constellation." You nodded with a smile as you spotted all the stars he was pointing too. He pointed further down the sky, "now look up, straight from my star, you see these three little stars that align?"

"Yeah."

"That’s Orion’s Belt, and the few stars around it creates the full constellation. You can see his bow right there."

He watched you struggle to spot it, brows furrowing as you attempted to find the shapes in the stars.

"Here," Sirius scooted closer to you, taking your hand in his to point at the stars, skin burning where he was touching you. "These little ones are the bow, and this one is his head."

"Oh, I see it! This is the one your father is named after?"

"Yes," he smiled brightly at the proud sparks in your eyes. "Now if you go up right there, directly from my star, there is Regulus."

"The bright one?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "Reg’s the star leading to one of the paws, you can easily see the lion shape."

"Oh! I do see it!"

"You’re doing amazing, took me hours to find it the first time."

"Thank you, but you are the one who is a great teacher,” you blushed.

"What else do you want to know?"

There was a quiet silence, almost shy before you looked back to his stormy eyes, shining in the moonlight.

"What will we name our children?" your voice was quiet.

Sirius’s eyes widened, his heart racing to his ear as he watched the shy smile on your features. Suddenly, a large grin rose upon his lips, and he managed to keep his own blush at bay.

"Well, do you have any star names that you like?"

"I asked you first! Do not cheat!" You awkwardly giggled. "Do not tell me you have not thought about it."

“I have," he smiled, and your gaze lingered for a second more before his signature grin took over again and he stared back at the stars. "I always loved the name Rigel, but I hate the fact that it’s Orion’s foot." That got a new laugh out of you.

"I agree, it is a no for Rigel then."

"My mother loves Cassiopeia," he shook his head, a scowl forming on his features. "That's what she would have named us if either Regulus or I had been a girl," you watched him think, "but her story is ghastly."

"I remember reading about her." Your tone spoke for itself.

"Yeah," Sirius nodded. "I like Ara better for a girl."

"Ara,” you smiled, "that is beautiful, Sirius."

"I know right?" He mirrored your smile as the two of you locked gazes again. "Brought victory and luck to the gods, a name meant for someone great."

"I love it."

You don’t know how long you spent, staring at each other, grinning with smiles full of love and admiration for the life you were yet to live. A life where Sirius had been gifted to you.

You let yourself imagine what Ara would look like. Dark curls, with his fine nose, and if you were lucky, she would have his stormy eyes that you could spend hours diving into.

You whispered into the silence, "and for a boy? If not Rigel."

"My parents would love Arcturus, after my grandfather, but I hate it."

"I hate it too," you scrunched your nose. "No offense to your grandfather, bless his soul, or to your brother."

"None taken, my brother despises the name more than anyone."

"What do you have in mind then?"

He smiled so brightly it gave your head a spin. Your stomach fluttered at the look in his eyes, he lifted his upper body from his place in the grass and rested on his elbows.

"Do you see these few stars, the ones that look like a w," he pointed somewhere in the sky, you rose too, leaning against him, but you couldn't seem to find it.

"Here," he took your arm again, black curls brushing against your cheek as he gently took your hand. "These ones."

"Yes," you whispered, heat rising to your cheeks at the closeness of it all.

"That is Cassiopea, look right underneath it, right above the skyline. That long line of stars, with the one in the middle."

"Yes, I see it."

Your breath caught in your throat when he leaned even closer, almost whispering as he explained, "That is Perseus. Hero of the sky. He saved Andromeda, did things no one thought possible."

All words died in the back of your throat as the two of you stayed, watching the constellation without making a move to change position. Your heart was beating loudly against your chest and you feared he could hear it.

Finally, you felt him smile. You looked to the side to see him already looking at you. He pressed an awkward kiss to your forehead before coming back to lay on his back.

"Perseus Sirius Black, it sounds nice," you smiled as you followed his movements to lay by his side.

"As beautiful as Ara Y/n Black," you smiled at the name falling from his lips. "Goes well together don't they?" He noticed, "Ara and Perseus Black."

"Yeah."

"Cannot wait to meet them."

[brkmysoul]

heyyy guuuys gentle reminder that you should be aware of the fact that friendship is a two way street🫶 and its okay to relay on your friends but you also should check out how they are feeling and making sure you are there for them when they need you🫶🫶🫶