#i didn't even mean to keep it the same for so long

[sai-int]

(my ask box ate your ask :/) @siriusxmunofficial said that heartbeat by childish gambino reminds them of douchebag!simon, and I couldn't agree more.

cw : groveling simon, swearing, fighting and fucking (the usual), should be read as a continuation of 'checkmate'

his flat is dark, the air thick with the stale stench of cheap whiskey and regret. it's been days, maybe a week, since he last heard from you. he hasn’t eaten in days, just shot after shot, pulling back on the glass like it’ll erase whatever ache’s settling into his chest. he hasn’t left the couch. hasn’t even bothered to try to think straight.

all he can think about is you.

your name keeps flashing across his phone, texts unanswered, calls ignored. he just knows that it’s breaking him. that his chest feels hollow every time he looks at his phone and sees the missed calls.

and the worst part? he doesn’t even know why it hurts this much. it’s just sex, right? just sex. he’s had countless women, countless bodies, nothing more than a warm hole to fuck until he’s bored. you were just a distraction, something to pass the time until the next job, the next drink, the next moment where he could bury himself in something else

but he’s not bored of you. and that’s the problem.

simon’s drunk, the bottle in his hand heavy, its contents burning down his throat in a desperate attempt to erase the memory of you. but it doesn’t work. nothing works. he brought home another girl to fill the void, some chick with a short skirt and cheap perfume from the pub, someone who doesn’t matter, someone who definitely isn't you.

her moans were too high-pitched, her cunt too loose. she didn't clench around him like you did, didn't claw at his back like you would. she wasn’t you. nothing about her was you. the way you moved, the way your body fit under his. not even close to what you gave him. she’s nothing. but he uses her, fucks her like it’s the only thing keeping him from shattering. the moment she leaves his flat, he kicks over a chair, fuming. nothing means a damn thing without you. he doesn't even realize what it is, this ache for you.

it’s just sex.

it’s not.

he can feel it. he’s desperate for you. the rush, the high, the fucking need that keeps clawing at his heart and his dick at the same time, but he doesn’t let himself think about the heart part for too long. not yet. because thinking means acknowledging the one thing he’s been too fucking proud to admit: he’s emotionally fucked up over you.

meanwhile, you’re dodging him.

you’ve been dodging his calls for days. countless calls in one night, and you just hung up each time, guilt tugging at you with every unanswered ring. he’s desperate, and you’re slowly pulling away. but you’re not blocking him. not fully. something about his name still makes you pause, still makes you want to answer and fall back into those habits you’re fighting to leave behind.

you miss him. not in the way you want to, though. in the way he wants you to. you miss the adrenaline, the chaos. the fucking rush of being wanted by someone like him. that intoxicating feeling of being his, even when you knew you weren’t.

but you’re done. you have to be.

you take a breath, head in your hands after the fifth call that night. you can’t take it anymore. it’s getting harder to ignore the ache inside you. you just want it to stop.

there’s a knock. its well past 12 and you aren't expecting anyone. you hesitate, fingers shaking as you grip the handle. and there he is.

simon. standing in your doorway, hand on the frame like he can't stand on his own

his face is lined with exhaustion and guilt, the rough edges of his demeanor even sharper tonight. he’s a goddamn mess and something cracks in you. he’s drunk and those eyes that usually look so fucking cold are filled with something else, something you can’t name.

"why’re y' ignoring me, baby?" his voice is rough, strained, his words slurring like he's barely holding it together. he pushes past you and into your flat like it's his right, pacing and running his hands through his hair like it'll give him answers. "t... talk t'me, please?"

you sigh as he stumbles in, fists clenched at your sides as you slam the door shut. "you’re really gonna show up at my door like this?" your voice cracks, but you don’t care. "you’re gonna waltz back into my life after you ruined me, and now you want me to just- what? forgive you?"

he opens his mouth to say something but stops. looks away. like he’s trying to find the right words. and when he looks back at you, there’s something in his eyes. something that makes your heart race even though you want to scream at him

"i dunno what the hell this is anymore," he spits out, frustration clear in his tone. "but i want y'back, i fuckin’- im tryin' t'fix this, doll , i-"

"fix it?" you laugh, bitter and hollow. "you don’t get to fix shit, simon. you’ve done enough damage already. you don’t want more, and you never did. what about me? what the fuck about me?"

he steps forward, his body pressing against yours, his hands smooth over your hair. "i never meant t'hurt ya. i’m just…" he trails off, free hand running through his own hair, frustration spilling over. "i dunno know how t'fix this- I miss y'so mu-"

you can’t stop it. you can’t hold it in anymore.

"you fucking miss me? is that it? you miss my cunt? you miss getting your dick wet? because you sure as hell don’t miss me." you’re crying now, tears slipping down your cheeks, mixing with the anger that’s been building up for so long.

you shove him back, hands shaking as you push the words out. "i wanted more, simon. more than just sex. i wanted something real. but you couldn’t give it to me and i can’t keep pretending that I’m okay with being nothing more than another notch on your fucking belt."

you turn away, hot, salty tears spilling as you struggle to catch your breath. this was supposed to be it. you were supposed to be done with him. but the moment his hands are on you, pulling you back against him, the fight drains out of you.

"y'think i don’t want more, yeah?" simon’s voice is a low growl in your ear as he spins you to face him, tugging you flush with him, kissing the side of your neck with urgency. "y'think i don’t want you?" he kisses you harder, sucking and nipping with a kind of desperation you’ve never seen before. "all of you?" it’s not the gentle caress you want.

"you smell like a cheap whore." your voice wavers, barely audible.

there’s a long, torturous silence and his lips still against you. you almost think he’s going to turn heel and walk away. but then he hooks his finger under your chin, snapping your face to his.

"and you smell like my captain."

and then his mouth is on yours, hot and desperate, like he’s trying to breathe you in, like he’s trying to make up for everything. and for a second, it’s almost like it’s all okay.

but it’s not. it’ll never be okay.

you’re kissing him back before you can even stop yourself, your fingers intertwine with his locks as the cycle starts all over again, and before you know it, you're both stumbling to your bedroom. you’re both still so fucking angry, but the need for each other is stronger than anything, especially now. simon’s kissing you like he’s starving, pushing you down onto the bed, his hands shaking as he pulls you under him.

and just like that, you’re back in his arms, back to what it always was.

and you let him. you let him take, because it feels like you’re being seen in a light no one else can see you in.

and then, as he's ripping your clothes off,

"this is just sex,' he mutters against your lips, but his voice falters like he doesn't even believe it himself. "just fucking sex."

you know, deep down, you’re not just some toy to him. and you’re not just a fuck to him either. you've always seen him for what he is, the mess he’s trying to hide. and you’re not gonna let him fuck this up again.

this time, when he fucks you, it’s different. it’s rougher, sure, but there’s something else in it. a quiet plea that he’s not ready to admit. and maybe, just maybe, you’ll let him prove himself. because you both know you’re stuck in this loop together.

maybe you’ll never get out of it.

and maybe you just don't want to.

douchebag!simon mlist

[mamayura]

Adrien not knowing what he wants

Hot take about Werepapas, I guess:

I actually like that Adrien said "I don't know" when asked what he wants/ who he wants to go with at the end of "Werepapas"

Cause the people who had to learn and come around in this episode's conflict were the ADULTS, not Adrien.

Adrien has already said that he isn't alone, he's living with Nathalie,

and Milly, too, acknowledged right away that Adrien has known her for most of his life so for Adrien she should count as more much than just an employee by now.

And he has not been trying to hide it whatsoever from Nathalie how much she means to him and that he wants to keep living with her. Literally the first thing we see in the episode's present time is Adrien running to Nathalie for comfort when hes crying over his dead mom, but she's pulling back so he does too eventually.

Marinette as pretty much unrelated main character doesnt know about this when she enters the conflict. Hence why she can effectively bring about development in Nathalie by challenging her long-established mind set and dynamic with Adrien due to Marinette's perspective adding a new angle and shacking things up:

Nathalie's inner conflict is one of my favourite things about the episode (and needs its own post if I get around to it), but for the context of this post, yes, she was the one who needed to come around. Not Adrien. He was already there from the get-go as we can see by him repeating the hug he started the episode with. Just now, Nathalie hugged back:

It was nice seeing Marinette help Nathalie take on her role in the end because Nathalie did the same thing Marinette did in Illustrhater for example. Acting like and saying things that eventually made Adrien accept that they don't want to be with him because, duh, that's now interactions work.

That's why he initially didn't say that he wants to stay with Nathalie in Paris when asked in the end. Nathalie too made him feel like he has to accept that that won't be an option, so he knew he had to decide between his grandparents:

The same Grandparents who had to come around in the end, too, and allow for Adrien to stay with Nathalie in Paris, even though both pairs of Grandparents are still the ones to officially hold the legal custody of Adrien (which I'm glad about that they did it like this and didn't bullshit some reason for Nathalie to get custody cause the episode is right, Nathalie has NO right to Adrien's custody whatsoever. They went with a very reasonable way to resolve this)

Its the ADULTS who had to come around. Not Adrien. Adrien already made it clear all episode what he wanted. But because all involved adults declared the outcome he wanted as a non-option, well, he honestly says that he doesn't know what else he wants (who he wants to go with).

And I- I just really like that Adrien was taking the situation serious enough to say "I don't know". That was very mature of him. To not just go with SOMETHING or go on about how unfair the situation is. Cause it definitely was, but this is a very serious legal matter that COULDN'T stay unresolved. He's an orphaned minor currently living alone with a person who's said to neither be an option as his guardian nor does she herself treat it like an option. This day COULDN'T end without at least some kind of temporary solution where he would stay now. It just couldn't.

I LIKE that he didn't repeat his denied desire that was already known to everyone around and instead seriously thought about the options he had.

I like that he loves and respects Nathalie enough to be the one person amongst Emilie, Gabriel, and now Marinette, too, who left the decision to HER if she wants to take on the position of his new mother:

As much as he wants to be with her, Adrien was characterized to understand that this is a massive thing to ask of Nathalie. He knows he means alot to her too but Nathalie was, by all accounts, objectively forced into this:

But especially by Emilie (look, I know she was literally dying slowly and painfully, I'm not judging her for wanting Adrien to be loved and taken care of. But I gotta ackowlegde that Emilie put alot on Nathalie without giving her a choice first):

In that regard I can't fault Nathalie for not having acted on her motherly feelings for Adrien and Emilie's last wish earlier than s5 (but God DAMN Nathalie, there is a difference between not doing it and actively making everything so much fucking worse!).

Adrien is the one person in this who respected how much was asked of Nathalie, so when she continuously acted like she didn't wanted to take on the role, he respected that. But this also means that the person who's responsible for Adrien coming to this "wrong" conclusion was Nathalie. Not Adrien. He's only acting accordingly to her actions and words:

So I like that Marinette got to help her in the end, because this is passive development that's very relevant to Marinette's character too. Even if I wished the show would hold Marinette to the same standards since both in Adrinette and especially Ladynoir Adrien gets mostly blamed for coming to the logical conclusions that Maribug doesn't like him or being with him in any way doesn't mean much to her because that's how she constantly acts like in almost every conflict ever. Over and over again. So I like that it was done properly this time around even if it's obvious that that was only possible because it was Nathalie and not Marinette.

And yes, I totally get not liking that Marinette is taking over the whole moment again. I'm not much of a fan of it either, to put it nicely. But it is wrong to say that Marinette is the one making the decision here and Adrien had no agency in deciding who he's staying with. Marinette is merely repeating old news she knows are true because that's what Adrien has been saying and acting like the whole episode and even already since season 5.

The decision was long made by Adrien. It were the adults who had to come around.

And beyond that,

I LIKE that Adrien said "I don't know" to the question which grandparents he wants to go with instead of the show having him make it all about his friends, girlfriend, or Ladybug. He only brings that up when he gets to stay:

Cause the question of where he would feel more at home and what is best for his future, when he has to completely start anew, is not just about his current friends, girlfriend, or his secret hero partner (who has made every precaution and decision possible to not actually have or need him in her life and job and he was made to accept that fully because that's her "rightful professionalism" same as killing your bf Ig)

I like that it was "I don't know" instead of "but my friends!", "but my girlfriend!", or "but I can't leave!".

Adrien saying "I don't know" means he thought of himself first and foremost and not everyone else:

I even like that "I don't know" means that he took the Graham de Vanilys into consideration despite how awful Emil was. Cause when the outcome Adrien WANTED (keeping his life in Paris by living with Nathalie) isn't an option, then he's perfectly in his right to not write off the possibilities he has with the Graham de Vanilys in London (and good heavens, I'm glad nothing ever brought up "but Chloé is in London! YIKES!").

I like that Adrien didnt write anything off when the decision was possibly about to change his whole future. Yes, saying "I dont know what I want" is a perfectly valid and even mature answer for a 14 year old orphan to give when they were JUST this day confronted with this situation that denied him the option he actually wanted:

And I also like that Marinette in the end didn't wasnt made to make Adrien's answer about herself in an usual moment of panic (in general, I truly LOVED how supportive Marinette was in Werepapas, even if the akuma battle incident is forever burnt in my love square heart in a very negative way. Yes, I think being willing to kill your boyfriend without trying any other solution first is bad, sue me ig. if that's what I'll be judged for, then I can live with it).

It is a far cry from Marinette in Representation for example being mostly written to make not getting to have her boyfriend near her out to be the biggest tragedy of Adrien being send to another country for good. I'm glad she got to be the supportive girlfriend for once instead of the show forcibly trying to falsely make her out to be the most important person affected by Adrien's tragic life. It was so refreshing and wonderful to watch Marinette getting to be in the lovingly supporting role of the relationship for a change, and it does WONDERS for her characterization.

While, of course, Marinette was motivated all episode to help Adrien not having to leave, when Adrien said "I don't know" Marinette knew that he's only taking the other options this seriously now because he can't have the option he actually wants.

She wasn't written to go into panic mode the second she heard Adrien NOT saying that staying in Paris is the most important thing on his mind. She knew the problem was laying elsewhere, even if I wished she hadnt made it abuut the Grandparents, but Adrien's right to CHOOSE (and yes, I'm fully aware that people will write this whole post off as salt because I didnt ignore or handwave away Marinette's consistent CANON characterization, even though that's not how salt works. I stand to what I said. More of Marinette as supportive girlfriend please, then we wouldnt have these problems)

I don't know how to end this with a nice little bow to wrap it up. I just REALLY like that Adrien said "I don't know", and how the episode treated the custody conflict for 95% of the plot which is very good for Miraculous.

[sailorblossoms-rankane]

Can I ask your analysis on 'who says you're cute' episode?

On the scene where Ranma and Akane walk after visiting Dr. Tofu's clinic (Akane's crying scene is so heartbreaking).

I think that Ranma said 'that hairstyle looks good on you' is out of guilt. When he hears that Dr. Tofu's words don't affect her as she accepts the fact that the man has a huge crush on her sister, this makes him act to say something sorry in a roundabout way.

(I know he apologizes before they visit Dr. Tofu's office, but still, he feels guilty)

But I think it's shifted into something when Akane said and smiled so beautifully (I love love love love love that scene!) 'thank you, that makes me happy'.

That made him realize that Akane is so cute. (I think Ranma (before the cutting hair scene) thought Akane was cute, but this moment really changed the way his thought of her.)

The word, cute, has much deeper meaning now after that scene (to him). This is the reason why Ranma has trouble saying how cute she is (the armor arc really makes the boi fumble so bad when saying how cute she is, and good lord, the Romeo and Juliet scene).

But when Ranma says Ukyo 'you've become so cute' scene, I notice how lackluster it is. I think that Ranma says to Akane 'you're cute when you smile' and the Ukyo cute is the same.

Ranma didn't fumble when he said cute to Akane because he didn't realize his little crush on his cute little tomboy. Ranma saying that to Ukyo is like seeing a long time friend and seeing the changes on her (finally knowing that his friend is a she).

So yeah.... Thoughts???

This is the chapter before "you're cute when you smile" ... he knows damn well he likes her, he's just trying to protect himself by denying her cuteness because he thinks he has no chance with her. He falls for her first, but falling in love is also a process...

Ranma tells you is not guilt, or him feeling sorry or trying to cheer up Akane. He even gets pissed when Akane says it.

this is Ranma feeling guilty:

Nothing Ranma ever says or does to or with Akane is comparable to what he does with other girls. If anything, comparing should be to highlight how different it is...

This is a rejection. This can be associated with guilt as Ukyo often is...(even noticing she's a girl, given the ass whooping he just gave her and everything he just learned. It can be taken as an overcorrection)

The following scene is romantic. Look at how different the framing is – you're not meant to ever compare this to say it's the same as when he says it to other girls! Look at the lighting, how big the panels are, how it takes a full page, highlighting its importance... It doesn't matter that Ranma, who's in the process of falling for Akane, who already knows he likes her but hasn't figured out how much yet, is smooth about saying it. He knows he's telling the girl he likes that she's cute. He's telling her "I'm here, notice me" while being a bit of a jester about it ("gotcha" ... it's a bit of a game, you see, and directly connects this scene to the scene you mention)

he doesn't struggle with telling her she's cute when he's a jester (that he's teasing her like this shows comfort with her that he has with nobody else too)

Also, he does get in his way in the "you're cute when you smile" chapter. He's his own worst enemy, and he "ruins it" here

I agree with this:

"The word, cute, has much deeper meaning now after that scene (to him). This is the reason why Ranma has trouble saying how cute she is"

but this is why

A common thing when Ranma is watching over Akane's unrequited love is jealousy. He notices her being all cutesy in front of the doc and is bothered, and the next time they're over there he keeps pulling on her pigtails to get her attention when she starts acting like that again. "Pay attention to me, not him"

He tries to put Akane's feelings first in some parts, like here (he can't even look at her, he doesn't like this, but he's already showing you Akane's happiness is important to him)

But when Akane says "I'm over him" this is framed as something hopeful through paneling and lighting, and Ranma does what has been doing for a while "I'm here, pay attention to me... notice me" he jumps so he's in front of her so she literally "notices him" ... "look at me"

I think connecting this to guilt is the worst possible thing you can do (which is why Ranma gets pissed) when you think about the story behind Akane's hair. When Akane doesn't accept what he offers out of guilt is fine (like carrying her) but this isn't because he's offering his feeling here. He tends to call her uncute when he doesn't like something she's doing or feels rejected in some way (or when he's trying to downplay his feelings)

When Ranma says he prefers her shorter hair, he is stating his preference. He has to get away from her and gets to a high place like a little cat, trying to get comfortable but incredibly shy anyway, this is very difficult for him... we see several instances of Ranma dealing with guilt (Ukyo, for example, is constantly connected with guilt) and it doesn't look like this.

And this is huge, because the long hair is linked to her molding herself after someone else to get love, and the short hair is her true self. So this is Ranma saying "I like your true self better" ... so Akane smiles at him with genuine happiness (accepting his feelings, even if part of her still wonders if it's guilt). She's smiling as her true self so Ranma, who already liked her, falls even harder for her... part of why things change for him is that from that moment on, the reasons to be in denial are no longer "I have no chance with her" ... if calling her uncute is sometimes linked with Ranma feels rejected, acknowledging her cuteness in his head is the opposite. Ranma likes her smile because he likes it when she's happy (because he likes her!) but this is also the start of her smiles being connected to bonding and affection (more consciously).

Here's something else:

Ranma knows Akane's roughness, and he likes it. He provokes her to get that side of her: he can deal with roughness and genuinely enjoys fighting with her. It's what he's used to (blame genma)

But he struggles to see Akane's sweetness (even though it's the first thing she shows him with "you wanna be friends?") He struggles with it because it's too disarming.

so this is Ranma being unable to deny her sweetness, and falling even harder... things start becoming difficult then not because he has no chance, but because his feelings become too big, too much

i might be forgetting something here, it's the second time i'm typing this because tumblr ate my first response lol i'm not even gonna proofread, a bitch is tired

[the-silver-peahen-residence]

"D-D-d-do I like…girl with soft boobies and thighs? Um…"

"Y..Yes: do you? I didn't know what type of girl you were looking for. I know others like Yuria and the other girls keep telling me that you...you had a crush on me. I mean, I know we are going slow and I know we....ummm..might have confessed or did we?" she was blushing hoping so but she tends to be always nervous.

Mi-sun was still in shock while being dragged behind the curtains to hear this. It still was shocking to hear. Even the other girls were silent with Hana and Yuria listening. Nobara Maki and Miwa was listening too being quiet.

'What are they saying?' Miwa whispered.

'I don't know. Do you think Miko is confessing to him?' Maki asked.

'He could be or she could be. I can't tell!' Nobara hissed listening.

~~~~Meanwhile~~~~~~

Todo pouts sitting on the ground being treated but he sighed. "I am proud of myself! I mean yeah..I..gotten beat up but for a reason! I mean it is shocking to know that someone like that cares about him." Todo said.

"Even if that same girl beat your butt?" Megumi said with a sweatdrop.

"Same thing!"

~~~~~~~Nurse's office~~~~~~~~

"I don't mind if it's you, Miko. y-you're my type..."

"H..Huh? What did you say?" She didn't hear him but she was nervous now to look down. ".......So am I.....your type? I mean..to be honest...I know your my type. I really...I..Umm..." she was now hiding her hands in the long sleeves of her hoodie blushing worse to look away.

'I really really believe and hope you will accept my feelings and become my boyfriend...' she mutters under her breath.

"Yeah, you did but at least it was not a bad one." Miko was still worried but looking at him, she wanted Kisho to be alright even so. Now came her question if he really did like that sort of thing.

Even Mi-sun was shocked almost dropping the tray she had when hearing this. What the heck!? Miko wanted to know if that was true even if she looks to him wanting a answer.

"Uh…well…I mean…I-I was…" Kisho answers, looking unsure. He needs to change the subject!

"You see Todo has been asking me what is type of woman or man, right? So that's how this fight went down. So you know…" Kisho's eyes shifted back and forth.

"I..I see. Though, I was not expecting that given that Todo would suggest that. Even if not all girls have big asses as he says.." she sighed closing her eyes but she looks to him.

"By the way, Miko…what's your type? What's your type of guy?"

"Huh? M..My type?" She blinks to think about it but Miko looks down to think for a moment. "Well, my type of guy is someone that's fun to hang around with, someone that don't think I'm weird.....s..someone that wouldn't mind going on dates with. I like someone that loves adventure and just having fun. That he is willing to do what makes him himself but has a sweet kind side. I'm into someone that's not scared to prove someone else that they can whoever they want.." she said yet her face went pink to poke her fingers. "Even if we fight for what is right or for one another and our friends.."

"A...also, I sometimes hope that the someone I like..wouldn't mind giving snuggles and hugs if we were along together. I don't even mind them snuggling into my boobs or my thighs......honestly." She blushed worse saying that.

"I even wouldn't mind hearing them say they love me for who I am like I do with them. Or them freaking out if I see things without being called a freak. I don't have picky taste on who I look for in someone. I'm not trying to judge someone for anything." she said yet she sighed.

"Though..you didn't answer my question....d..does this mean you really do like girls with soft boobies and thighs? D..does this also mean you wouldn't mind a girl with them? L...like me? Or am I not your type?" she asked that Mi-sun even drops her tray now shocked.

What in the world are these teenagers thinking right now?! What was Todo even trying to start!?

[cntloup]

toji x fem!reader

angst, bold italics indicate flashbacks, parenthesis are the character's thoughts

this pic of him makes me sooo 😵‍💫🥵

if anyone knows the artist, please let me know 🙏🫶

it's a saturday night and you've been invited to a ball tonight by your close friend, shiu.

you thought what would be better than to unwind with some friends after a long week. what you didn't think would happen was to see him.

you mentally curse shiu for not mentioning anything about him coming here. you thought it was a given that he wouldn't invite both of you.

you spent months crying, trying to get over that guy. and now, he's standing right in front of you, looking dashing as ever, in a suit no less.

you suddenly feel nauseous, as if all the emotions you thought were gone kept rushing back to you.

"you'll have to excuse me..." you mutter lowly to shiu who was just about to introduce you to some clients as you ignore him calling out your name and quickly walk out of the venue, mustering all your power to keep yourself from having a full-blown breakdown in the middle of the room.

as soon as you walk out the door, you break into uncontrollable sobs and start hyperventilating, clutching your chest in a desperate attempt to calm your pounding heart.

"hey... you ok?" suddenly, the world stops... and there's only that voice, the one you know all too well and haven't heard in over a year.

"the hell does that mean?!" he barks at you, his blood boiling as pure rage fills the hollow shell of suppressed emotions, trying to bury the bitter taste of heartbreak.

"I've tried, toji. I really have, to make it work. but I don't feel like you love me. you say you do, but they're just words. I feel like I'm just a maid. and a mom to megs. I don't feel loved for me. I don't feel like myself anymore..."

you let out a gasp and your head turns around as if on autopilot until your eyes meet his.

his already concerned expression softens even further as soon as he witnesses your disheveled look, bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks which he has caused.

he feels the gnawing grasp of guilt in his heart for hurting you like this, all the memories of him in the past year coming back to him, how he was absolutely and completely shattered to pieces over your breakup. and now he can only imagine how it must have been for you.

he was an absolute wreck after you; always beating himself up over pushing you away so much to the point that you doubted his love, ('how did we end up like this?') he kept drinking his sorrow away until he blacked out every night and gambled all his money away even more so than usual without a care which shiu noticed and toji figures now that must have been the reason why he invited both of you.

you were his everything. you proved him wrong when he thought he was done with love after the death of his wife. you dragged him out of the pit of despair and held him through the turmoil, in your loving embrace which became his home.

the silence weighs heavy on your chest, thick tension filling the room as the leaden weight of the words that have just been uttered settles in your heart, and his.

"y-you're leaving?" his quivering voice is laced with a bleak desperation, as if trying to grasp at even a sliver of hope that this is not happening, his worst nightmare.

"goodbye, toji." you swallow the lump in your throat, 'I will always love you...' the words play out in your mind, but they never leave your mouth.

"what are you doing here?" you wipe the tears furiously with your hands as you think he shouldn't see you like this, ('please hold me')

"I could ask the same thing." he takes a step closer to you, carefully as if not to scare you away, ('still love you...')

"fuckin' shiu..." you shake your head, ('can't live without you')

he chuckles dryly, ('take me back please... i promise to be better... for you, i will')

you both stand there, staring into each other’s eyes for what feels like an eternity, feeling yourself nearly getting lost in his eyes, before sensing a surge of emotions rushing into you and overwhelming your heart, causing you to avert your gaze from him and mumble a quiet 'I need to go' and quickly make your way towards your car before he has any time to react, ('please stay! curse me, hit me, anything! just please, stay!') still shocked by seeing you after so long when he thought he was over you. what a fool.

oh, how you wish you could have stayed. how you wish he wouldn't have let you go in the first place. and how you wish you had the heart to let it all out instead of just leaving...

you notice him running after you in the rear-view mirror, but you know it's too late now as you drive away with tears in your eyes, your loud sobs mixing with the roars of the heavy metal music playing in the car.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Sex | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

This fucking song and this fucking idea have been floating around in my head for months and I think I just gotta get it out before I go NUTS!!! I hope y'all enjoy.

This is... not very plot driven tbh, just pretty much longing and smut.

Words: ~9,200

Tags: Shameless Smut, Modern AU, Plus/Mid-Size Reader, Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Post-Hogwarts, Chonky Seb Supremacy, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Longing and Pining

The walk to the car is excruciating.

And it’s not because of the crowd, not because of the neon-lit chaos of the parking lot, or because people are weaving between cars, shouting to their friends, the leftover adrenaline from the concert still pulsing through everyone’s veins.

It’s excruciating because of you.

Because you’re tipsy and giggling, clinging to Sebastian’s wrist as you stumble over the uneven pavement in those ridiculous platform heels that you insisted on wearing even though you knew you’d be walking half a mile back to the car.

Because your top is tight—way too tight—clinging in ways that make his pulse skip, the fabric stretching over curves that he’s spent ten fucking years trying not to stare at.

Because your jeans are hugging your thighs like they were painted onto you, and he’s trying so goddamn hard not to think about how good they look, how good you look, how much better you’d look without them.

And then there's your makeup—the dark, sultry eyeshadow, the perfectly lined eyes, the lipstick that started out precise but is now just slightly smudged from sweat, from drinking, from running your tongue over your lips all night.

It’s killing him.

You laugh suddenly, squeezing his arm as you stumble again.

“God, my feet hurt,” you whine dramatically, pressing your forehead against his bicep like the weight of your suffering is too much to bear. “Why the fuck did I wear these?”

Sebastian snorts, steadying you easily. “I asked the same thing when I picked you up, love.”

You lift your head, squinting up at him, cheeks flushed from the alcohol, the heat, the pure, unfiltered joy of the night.

“They make me taller,” you say, lifting one foot and wiggling it mid-air for emphasis before dropping it back down with a clunk.

Sebastian shakes his head, amused but also distracted, too fucking aware of you tonight.

“You’re still short,” he mutters.

Your mouth drops open in mock offence and you shove him, but your balance is shit, so you just end up gripping his arm harder, your nails pressing into his skin.

Sebastian swallows. He feels everything—your warmth, your weight against him, the way your fingers curl slightly against his forearm, the way your perfume is mixing with the sweat on your skin, and fuck—

He clenches his jaw. Keeps walking.

You don’t let go.

“That was such a good show,” you murmur, your breath warm against his shoulder.

Sebastian swallows. Nods. “Yeah.”

Then you tilt your head up at him, narrowing your eyes.

“You’re being so quiet,” you tease, squeezing his arm. “Did you not have fun? You didn’t even get a single drink.”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, smirking just enough to cover the fact that his pulse is pounding.

“Yeah, well. One of us had to drive.”

You laugh, nudging your hip against his.

“Responsible and sexy,” you tease. “God, you really are the whole package, aren't you?”

His throat goes dry.

You always do this when you're tipsy. You get flirty, bolder than usual, pushing boundaries you'll never fully cross. You say things, teasing, reckless things, that curl around his ribs and settle deep into the spaces between them. Things that would mean everything if he thought, even for a second, that you meant them.

But you don't. You never do. By morning, it'll be like it never happened.

You'll wake up, groggy and hungover, your memories softened at the edges, and everything you said, every look and every touch, will be reduce to a joke, and Sebastian will have to pretend it didn't mean anything to him either, just like he always does.

He knows this.

But tonight? Tonight, it’s harder to keep his head on straight.

Because you look like this. Because your boyfriend isn’t here. Because your fingers are wrapped around his arm, and your perfume is still lingering in his lungs, and you keep staring up at him like you’re waiting for him to say something. Like you’re daring him to say something.

Sebastian forces out a low chuckle, looking away.

“Let’s get you in the car, trouble.”

He unlocks it with a quick flick of his keys, grateful for the distraction, for something to do with his hands other than wrap them around your waist and haul you up against him.

He slides into the driver’s seat and barely gets the door shut before you’re groaning dramatically and stretching out.

“Oh my god,” you sigh, reaching down with clumsy fingers to unbuckle your heels. “I swear to Merlin, I think my feet are broken.”

Sebastian smirks, watching as you yank them off one by one, dropping them onto the floor with two loud, echoing clunks.

“Told you,” he mutters, reaching for his seatbelt.

“I don’t need your attitude right now,” you huff, kicking your feet up onto the dashboard before twisting to face him.

Then, before he can even register what’s happening, you shift—leaning over the center console, stretching yourself across his lap like you belong there.

His entire body locks up.

Fuck.

Your hair spills over his legs, soft waves spread over denim, the warmth of you pressed against him. You twist a little, adjusting yourself, completely oblivious to how every tiny shift of your body is undoing him.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose, staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“You comfortable?” he mutters.

You hum, smiling lazily, your cheek resting on his thigh.

“Mhm.”

His pulse jumps at the sound, but you’re not even thinking about it, are you? You’re not thinking about what it means, or about how he can feel the heat of your body through his jeans, how desperately he’s trying not to not get hard right now, how much he wants—

He exhales sharply, tilts his head back against the headrest, and fights the urge to slam his fist against the dashboard.

This is going to kill me.

Sebastian puts the car in drive.

Your place is only twenty minutes out of town. All Sebastian has to do is survive you laying across his lap and not get pulled over for the blatant seat belt violation happening right now. Simple.

Except it’s not.

Because every time he shifts gears, he feels you. And every time he exhales, he catches the scent of your shampoo, and because your breath is warm through his jeans, your fingers idly tracing along his thigh like this is just something you do, something normal, something casual, something it absolutely isn’t.

Then you start talking, and part one of his mission—survive you being in his lap—becomes infinitely harder.

“You ever think about your exes?”

Your voice is light, teasing, and the question comes out of nowhere.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on the wheel. “Like who?” he mutters.

You hum, fingertips still lazily dragging patterns over his thigh.

“Emilia?” you guess. “Or what about… what was her name? Harper?”

Sebastian scoffs, his pulse pounding. “Not even a little."

You grin like you don’t believe him. “Not even for the—"

“Don’t.”

You huff a dramatic sigh. “Sebastian, it’s okay if you still think about them.”

“I don’t.”

That’s the truth.

Because he doesn’t think about Emilia. Or Harper. Or any of them. Not when every girl he’s ever been with has only been a placeholder for the one person he can’t fucking have.

You hum. "I miss some of mine."

Sebastian exhales sharply, jaw flexing.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

He should not be listening to this, but you keep talking, your voice low, thoughtful, the alcohol making you too loose, too honest.

“I mean, not them, really,” you continue. “Just, like… the sex.”

Sebastian almost veers off the fucking road.

He physically has to adjust his grip on the wheel, blinking hard against the heat that flares in his gut, against the way his brain immediately starts supplying images he shouldn’t be thinking about.

You miss the sex. Not the relationship. Not the romance.

The sex.

“You literally have a boyfriend,” he grinds out, his voice tight.

He hears you exhale, feels you shift slightly in his lap. “So what?”

Sebastian finally glances down at you, just for a second, just to make sure he actually heard you right. Because you can’t be serious.

But you are.

You’re staring at him, lips parted, the distant glow of headlights and streetlamps casting golden light over your face.

Sebastian lets out a short, humorless laugh. “'So what'?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Jesus, you really are drunk.”

You make a small, amused noise, your fingers tapping idly against your thigh.

“I’m not that drunk,” you murmur.

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “Yeah?” he mutters. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “I just meant that some of my exes have been better in bed than him, that's all."

Sebastian hums noncommittally, keeping his eyes on the road, but his grip on the wheel is tight. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with that information?

On one hand—good. He’d never liked your boyfriend anyway. The guy was mediocre at best, the kind of safe, boring choice you made when you were trying to convince yourself you wanted stability instead of passion. On the other—

Sebastian doesn’t exactly want to hear about how great some other guy’s dick was.

But the damage is already done. Because now, he’s thinking about it. Thinking about you with them, thinking about the ones who were better, wondering what made them better.

Was it how they touched you? How they talked to you? Was it the way they knew exactly how to pull you apart, how to ruin you? Was it—

The sensible thing to do is change the subject. Ignore it. Pretend you never said it and focus on not losing his goddamn mind while you’re still draped across him, still warm against his lap, still too close.

But then—because he’s a fucking idiot—the words slip out before he can stop them.

“Who was best?”

You stretch a little, completely oblivious to the way every tiny movement of yours is sending heat pooling in his gut.

“Well,” you muse, eyes glinting with something dangerous, “do you want, like, a ranked list? Or just an all-time favorite?”

Sebastian exhales sharply through his nose. “You know what? Forget I asked.”

“No, no,” you tease, scooting up slightly. “You asked. You wanna know.”

I really fucking don’t.

But he stays silent. Because some stupid, masochistic part of him actually does.

You pretend to think for a moment, eyes flicking to the windshield, lips curving in a way that’s going to fucking kill him.

“Probably Caleb,” you finally say, voice thoughtful, casual, like you’re discussing a meal you once had instead of someone who used to fuck you.

Sebastian hates how his stomach twists.

“Caleb,” he repeats, expression unreadable.

“Yeah.”

Sebastian shifts his grip on the wheel, fighting the urge to roll his shoulders, shake off the tension creeping up his spine.

He remembers Caleb.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Stupid fit. A Muggle who played rugby at Uni. Arsehole.

He also remembers how pissed he was when you first started seeing him, how much he fucking hated the way Caleb used to pull you into his lap at parties like he owned you.

Sebastian clears his throat. “Huh.”

You grin, shifting again, your hand brushing against Sebastian's arm now. “He was good."

"Why?"

The question slips out before he can stop it and you smirk, and Sebastian knows—he knows—he’s about to regret asking.

“He was just…” you hum, tilting your head like you’re choosing your words carefully. “He was… I don’t know. Rough, I guess? He liked taking control. Giving orders. That kind of thing.”

Sebastian grips the wheel so hard it might snap in half.

Because now he’s picturing it. Picturing you, pressed down against a bed, hips pinned, whimpering, gasping, hands gripping sheets, your voice breathy as you—

Stop.

Sebastian's jaw locks, his pulse hammering at his throat. “I didn’t need that image, thanks."

You laugh softly. "Why not? I thought maybe you wanted to take notes."

He laughs, low and dry, shaking his head. “In your dreams.”

Your smirk widens. “Mm. Definitely in my dreams."

Sebastian nearly groans.

Because fuck you for saying that. For laughing softly, for dragging your fingers against his stomach as you shift again, like you can’t stop pressing yourself against him. For smirking when you say it, for the way your voice dips, lower, softer, like you’re confessing something, like you’re actually being honest.

Sebastian holds in a sigh. He is not playing this game.

Because you’re drunk, and you’re not thinking about what you’re saying, and in the morning, you won’t remember how you said it, how your voice curled around the words like you meant them, and because your fucking boyfriend is waiting for you to get home.

So he laughs, low, dry, dismissive.

“Sure,” he mutters. “That’s a nice little fantasy you got there.”

“You’re such a dick,” you say, still amused.

Sebastian hums, flicking the turn signal as he veers onto the quiet stretch of road leading out of town.

Eight more minutes.

Just eight more minutes and he can drop you off. He can shake off the feeling of your fingers grazing his stomach through his t-shirt and of your weight pressing against his lap like it’s the most normal fucking thing in the world.

Eight more minutes and this night will be over.

Then you speak again.

"...Have you ever thought about it?"

“Thought about what?”

You grin, and it’s slow, lazy, dangerous.

“Us,” you say simply.

Sebastian stiffens.

Has he thought about it?

Fuck, he’s spent years trying not to think about it.

Not to think about you pressed beneath him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth dragging over your skin, your voice breathy in his ear. Not to think about the way you’d sound, the way you’d fall apart, the way you’d look wrecked and flushed and fucking perfect. Not to think about how you’d feel under his hands, under his mouth, how you’d—

Sebastian shoves the thought away violently.

Exhales.

He's not about to tell you that.

“No.”

You laugh softly. Sebastian’s jaw tenses. And then you sit up, just a little, your breath warm against his neck.

“I have,” you say.

Sebastian stops breathing, his pulse slamming against his ribs as he flicks his gaze toward you—just for a second, just long enough to see the way you’re looking at him.

You’re not laughing now. There’s no teasing smirk, no smugness either.

Sebastian swallows hard, forcing his eyes back to the road, trying to think, trying to process, trying to decide if this is real or just another one of your drunken, fleeting moments that won’t mean a damn thing in the morning.

Then your hands move, fingers dragging down his chest, slow, deliberate, your touch featherlight but undeniable.

Sebastian grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus, forcing himself to keep the car steady, forcing himself to—

Your fingertips graze the waistband of his jeans, hooking slightly under the hem, and that’s it.

Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist, stopping you.

The car is silent. Just the hum of the engine. Just the sound of both of you breathing hard.

He exhales, slow, controlled. But when he speaks, his voice is wrecked.

“Don’t.”

A pause.

"Why not?"

"Because you don't mean it," he mutters, voice rough, like he’s forcing the words out through sheer willpower.

"...What if I do mean it?"

Sebastian slams on the brakes. The car jerks to a stop, tires skidding slightly on the empty country road, the sudden silence deafening.

He stares at you, his pulse hammering, his breath coming too short, too fast.

"Are you fucking with me?"

"Do I look like I’m fucking with you?"

Sebastian exhales hard through his nose.

Yes. No. Maybe. Fuck if he knows.

Because this is what you do.

You flirt. You tease. You get close, just close enough to ruin him, and then you pull away like it never meant anything at all. And right now, you’re still in his lap with your fingers still hooked in his jeans and your breath hot against his neck, and this... this is dangerous. If you’re joking, if this is just another round of you pushing boundaries you never actually mean to cross, it will break him.

Sebastian tightens his grip on your wrist just for a second—just long enough to make sure you’re listening, really fucking listening.

“This isn’t a joke,” he says, voice rough, uneven. “This isn’t a game, it's not—”

"Sebastian."

Suddenly, you don’t seem drunk at all.

The teasing lilt in your voice disappears, evaporating into the thick silence between you. There’s no lazy amusement, no coy smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, no playful glint in your eyes like there always is when you push him just to see how far he’ll let you go. It’s all gone.

Instead, you are sharp, your gaze cutting through the dim light of the car, slicing right into him.

Sebastian feels the shift like a physical thing, like the weight of something heavy pressing down on his chest. His grip tightens on the wheel out of instinct, like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, but it does nothing to steady him.

Because suddenly, you are steady.

You pull back just slightly, just enough to give him an out, to give him space, but you don’t really go anywhere. You are still there, your body still warm on his, your breathing still uneven, just like his. You simply leave just enough distance between you for him to feel it, the unbearable stretch of space that’s always existed, the one he has spent years pretending doesn’t hurt.

For a moment, you just look at him.

Sebastian sees the hesitation in your expression, the flicker of uncertainty in the way your mouth parts slightly, like you’re on the verge of speaking but don’t quite know how. You look like you’re standing at the edge of something dangerous, like you’re deciding whether to step back or let yourself fall.

Then, you inhale. Slow, measured, determined. And you let it all out.

"I’ve always imagined it was you," you say, voice quiet but unwavering, like you've already made peace with the confession before it even leaves your lips. "Every single time I’ve had sex since I lost my virginity, I’ve imagined it was you."

Sebastian’s stomach plummets, and for a split second, he genuinely wonders if he’s actually dead. If he crashed the fucking car and this is what the afterlife feels like—sitting in the driver’s seat with his best friend sprawled across his lap, admitting the thing he has spent years torturing himself over.

You keep going.

"If hell is real, I’m fucking damned," you huff a laugh, your voice coming out rough, frayed at the edges, "because I’ve touched myself to you more than any reasonable amount."

Sebastian makes a wrecked sound in the back of his throat, one that he barely recognizes as his own. His hands clench into fists at his sides, fingers twitching like they don’t know what to do with themselves. Because what the fuck is he supposed to do with this With you?

You're rewriting everything, burning down every carefully constructed wall he has built to keep himself from wanting you too much.

And then you land the final fucking blow.

"You want the truth? I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen," you whisper. "And I want nothing more than for you to take me home at least one fucking time."

Sebastian’s body locks up. His vision tilts. Everything inside him goes too tight, too hot, too overwhelming. His fingers are trembling. His pulse is out of control. His mouth is dry.

No, this isn't a game, or some some drunken, fleeting moment. This isn’t a joke.

This is real.

And he doesn’t know how to breathe.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "And I get it if you don’t feel the same," you say, voice softer now, almost like you don’t want to say it, almost like the idea is too painful, "if that’s why you’re acting like this, then I get it."

You laugh again, except this time it’s self-deprecating and bitter. "I mean, for fuck’s sake," you mutter. "I’ve got a boyfriend anyway. This is so fucked up, I know. I just, I don’t know what happened. But something inside me snapped and I can’t hold back any longer."

Sebastian’s jaw tightens. Because yeah, this is so fucking fucked up. And yeah, you do have a boyfriend and he is literally waiting at home for you right now. But Sebastian doesn’t have it in him to care.

Because you love him.

For ten years, he’s wanted this. Ten fucking years of pretending, of ignoring, of pushing it down so deep it nearly killed him. Every drunken flirtation, every lingering touch, every fucking time you smiled at him with that look in your eyes that made him wonder if you wanted it too, and now he knows you did. Knows you do.

And you—

Fuck, you think he doesn’t feel the same?!

"Just forget I said anything," you mumble. "Seriously. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—"

Before you can talk yourself further into this spiral, Sebastian's hand shoots out, gripping your wrist.

You freeze.

He exhales sharply through his nose, his grip tight, his pulse racing, erratic, wild. Then, his voice low, rough, wrecked beyond repair—

"I've been in love with you since we were fifteen, too."

Your lips part, barely breathing, completely still, like you’re trying to process the weight of those words, like you’ve lived in a reality where that wasn’t true for so long that you don’t know how to exist in one where it is.

And then your face crumbles.

"Sebastian," you whisper, voice breaking, shattered.

And that’s it. That’s fucking it.

Sebastian crushes his mouth against yours.

It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s ten years of frustration, ten years of jealousy, of biting his tongue, of pretending he didn’t want you, and ten years of believing he could never have you—all of it, all at once, breaking loose, crashing down.

And you kiss him back.

Hard.

Desperate.

Your hands grip his shoulders, his jaw, fisting into his hair as you pull him closer, closer, like you need this just as badly as he does, like you’re starving for him.

Sebastian groans into your mouth, swallowing the sound of you gasping against his lips, swallowing everything he’s ever wanted from you.

His mouth moves to your jaw, trailing down your neck, sucking a dark, bruising mark against your pulse point just to hear you whimper.

"Tell me again," he growls against your skin, voice rough, demanding.

Your nails dig into his arms, your breath uneven, panting.

"Tell me again how you've thought about me," he mutters, dragging his lips up to your ear. "How you imagined it was me," he rasps, fingers slipping under the hem of your top, gripping your bare waist.

You let out a soft, broken whimper, your fingers curling into his hair and pulling. He grips your jaw, tilting your head so you have no choice but to look at him.

Your lips part, eyes glassy, dark, and fucking desperate. "I imagined you every time."

Sebastian throws the car into reverse.

Because he’s not taking you back to your pathetic excuse of a boyfriend. Not when you’ve spent the entire night driving him insane, not when you're touching him, teasing him, whispering in his ear about the exes you never actually wanted because they weren't him.

Not when you just told him you’ve loved him for a decade.

No, he’s taking you home, and the second he gets you there, he’s going to ruin you.

You blink at him, dazed, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, still straddling his lap.

“Where are we going?” you ask breathlessly.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on your waist as he turns the wheel.

“My place."

Your eyes darken, and then your hands are everywhere—fisting into his hair, sliding down his chest, curling under the hem of his t-shirt like you need to feel his skin and touch as much of him as possible.

You trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, your breath warm, wrecked, and he groans, tipping his head back slightly as your teeth graze his throat.

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely able to focus on the road as your hands wander lower.

You shift in his lap, your thighs spreading over him, and Sebastian hisses, cursing under his breath as you press down against him, rolling your hips just slightly.

And then your hands move lower.

Your fingers trace the waistband of his jeans, toying with the button, flicking it open. His hips jerk up instinctively and your laugh is breathy, lips grazing against his jaw.

“You drive too well for someone getting felt up,” you murmur against his skin, your voice all smug amusement and heat and fucking destruction as you drag a hand over the bulge in his jeans.

Sebastian groans, a deep, wrecked sound in his throat, his hips jerking into your palm despite himself.

“Fuck, don’t—”

“Don’t what?”

Sebastian slams his fist against the steering wheel, jaw clenched, desperate to focus, desperate to not lose his mind completely.

"If you keep doing that," he growls, low, warning, "I'm gonna pull over and fuck you in this car."

Your breath catches. Sebastian watches as your pupils blow wide, lips parting slightly, grip on him tightening.

His cock twitches in his jeans.

Jesus fucking Christ.

The drive to his place is the longest fifteen minutes of his fucking life. By the time he pulls into his driveway, he’s barely holding himself together.

His jeans are too tight, his body is on fire, his pulse is a reckless, unforgiving thing pounding against his skin, and you—you are still in his lap, still pressed against him, still dragging your lips over his jaw, still palming over him, still teasing, still ruining him.

Sebastian barely gets the car into park before he’s gripping your hips, hauling you against him, mouthing at your throat like he’s starved for it.

You gasp, fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, rocking your hips over his lap like you’re hellbent on making him suffer.

And he lets you. For ten long fucking seconds, he lets you.

Lets you grind down on him, lets you drag your nails over his scalp, lets you press hot, open-mouthed kisses against his jaw, lets you whisper his name against his lips, against his skin, against his fucking soul.

Then—

“Inside,” he mutters, voice rough, strained beyond repair.

You blink at him, dazed, breath uneven and wanting. And fuck, he’s never wanted anything more than this. More than you.

The second he pulls you out of the car, you laugh, breathless, fingers gripping his shirt, swaying slightly in his grasp.

Sebastian catches you easily, one arm sliding low over your waist, his palm pressing into the soft curve of your hip, and fuck, he loves the way you feel against him, like you were meant to be there.

You tilt your head back, looking at him through half-lidded, dark-lashed eyes, “You gonna fuck me out here?” you murmur, smirking as you lean up, breath warm against his throat.

Sebastian groans, his hands tightening on you. “Don’t tempt me.”

You giggle, bright and shameless, dragging your nails down his chest, lower, lower, until he’s grabbing your wrist and tugging you along.

The second the front door closes, Sebastian is on you.

His hands in your hair, his mouth crashing against yours, his hips pressing you against the door as he kisses you so hard it knocks the breath from your lungs.

And you moan into it, fisting your hands in his shirt, dragging him closer, biting at his lower lip.

Sebastian growls, pressing into you, his knee slipping between your thighs, forcing them apart.

You let out a whimper, grinding down against him, your fingers tugging at the hem of his t-shirt, pushing it up, trying to get it off.

Sebastian laughs, breathless, rough, dragging his lips down your jaw, sucking another mark onto your throat just to hear you gasp.

“You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

You huff, rolling your hips against his thigh, lips curled into something dark, something smug, something absolutely fucking ruinous.

“You’ve made me wait a decade, Sebastian.”

Sebastian’s grip tightens. and then he’s lifting you, hands firm under your thighs, carrying you through the house like he’s done this a hundred times before, like deep down he’s always known exactly where this was going to end.

You laugh again, thrilled, breathless, arms wrapped tight around his neck as he kicks open his bedroom door and drops you onto the bed.

Sebastian stands at the edge of it, looking down at you—panting, flushed, wild-eyed, ruined before he’s even touched you properly.

You smirk.

“You just gonna stand there, Sallow?”

Sebastian smiles, dark and dangerous. Then he’s crawling over you, one knee pressing between your thighs, his hands bracketing your face, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing, testing, torturing.

His voice is low, a promise, a warning.

“Not a fucking chance.”

He takes your mouth again, swallowing your breathy little gasps as he kisses you deep, slow at first, dragging his tongue against yours, learning the taste of you, the heat of you, memorizing this moment in case the world ends tomorrow and this is all he ever gets.

And you fucking moan.

Loud and wrecked and needy, and it does something to him, something devastating, something that makes him tilt his hips down, pressing into you properly, rolling against you in a way that makes you gasp against his lips.

“Fuck, Sebastian—”

His fingers work automatically, popping the button of your jeans, sliding the zipper down, tugging the fabric past your hips—revealing more, more, more.

Sebastian has seen you a thousand times—in every possible way, in every possible light.

Drunk off your ass at parties, laughing with your head thrown back, cheeks flushed, eyeliner smudged from the heat of the room. Half-asleep, curled up in the passenger seat of his car, your fingers twitching as you dream. Post-workout, sweaty and flushed, hair stuck to your forehead, chest rising and falling as you try to catch your breath. Dressed to the nines for some god-awful date with some guy who wasn’t him, your perfume lingering in his car long after he dropped you off.

And yet, he’s never seen you like this.

Laid out in his bed, your lips swollen, your chest rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, your jeans halfway down your legs beneath his hands, the anticipation humming between you so thick it feels like drowning.

You’re reaching for your top, fingers curling around the hem, ready to peel it off—not that it ever hid much anyway.

Sebastian should help you. He should be the one ripping that top off, the one dragging it up and over your head with shaking fingers and an aching hunger that’s been simmering under his skin for years.

But he doesn’t. He just watches as you pull it up slowly, revealing more, more, more.

His mouth goes dry.

Sebastian can’t stop looking.

You are a masterpiece.

Soft and plush, all curves and warmth, the kind of body meant to be touched, gripped, worshiped. The gentle rise and fall of your breath makes your stomach shift beneath the dim bedroom light, and fuck, he wants to put his hands there, feel the way your skin gives under his palms, kiss every inch of it. Your thighs—thick, full, fucking perfect—press against his thigh, and he thinks about spreading them, about feeling them squeeze around his waist, about sinking his teeth into them just to hear the way you’d gasp. Your hips, generous, tempting, made for his hands, make his fingers dig into the sheets, because all he can think about is gripping them, holding you down, guiding you. Your breasts, full and heavy, barely contained by the sheer lace of your bra, stretch against the fabric, making his vision tilt, his pulse hammer, his restraint fucking snap.

And then there’s everything else—the parts of you that make his chest ache, make his stomach tighten, make him wonder how the fuck he’s supposed to survive this. The stretch marks that paint your skin in soft, pale ribbons, evidence of time, of change, of life of a body that has existed beside him for years, growing, shifting, becoming something that was always beautiful but now feels like it was made for him. The softness that wasn’t there when you were younger, but grew with you, grew beside him, shaped by late-night drive-thrus, three too many beers, appetizers you never hesitated to share with him, the comfort of knowing you never had to shrink yourself. The dimples, the dips, the folds where your skin creases when you move, the evidence of a life fully lived, of a body that has only ever been yours—until now. Until him.

And you—you’re wearing a matching set. Black lace. Thin straps. Delicate details that don’t really hide a damn thing.

"Look at you," Sebastian says breathlessly, fingers tracing along the edge of your underwear, teasing. "Dressed up all pretty. You knew, didn’t you?"

You hum, lazily smug, shifting your hips just slightly, just enough to make his brain fucking short-circuit.

"Maybe," you murmur, biting your lip. "Maybe I wanted to be prepared."

Sebastian’s breath stutters, something deep, something dangerous curling in his gut, something possessive and wrecking and unbearable, because fuck—

Prepared? Did you know you were confessing him tonight? Did you get dressed for this moment? Or is he just filling your boyfriend's shoes?

His stomach twists, the thought curdling in his chest, bitter and raw, but then—

Does it matter? Because you're his now.

Sebastian leans in, pressing his mouth to the soft swell of your stomach, dragging his lips along your skin, his fingers curling into your thighs, his breath hot, his hands desperate.

“God, you have no fucking idea how much I love your body, do you?"

You make a wrecked little sound, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling.

Sebastian grins against your skin, dark and dangerous, pressing his lips lower, biting, sucking, making sure he leaves marks, making sure you feel exactly how much he’s wanted this.

You shift beneath him, breathless, giggling as your fingers find the hem of his shirt.

"Only fair," you murmur, tugging at the fabric, your voice teasing, expectant.

Sebastian huffs out a breathless laugh, shaking his head, but he lets you drag it up, lets you peel it off him, lets you look.

Because of course you should get to look.

He just wasn’t expecting to care so fucking much.

Call him arrogant, but he’s always known he’s good-looking. It’s never been a secret.

The wrong women (everyone but you) have always flocked to him like moths to a flame, drawn to the sharpness of his jaw, the cut of his smirk, the way he carries himself with an easy confidence that makes it seem like he never second-guesses a damn thing.

But this? This is different.

Sebastian never had trouble maintaining a trim figure back at Hogwarts, never gave it much thought beyond Quidditch and dueling and running from the consequences of his own goddamn actions. But adulthood claimed him differently, and that Sallow metabolism slowed to a crawl.

Sebastian is not lean.

And normally? That doesn’t bother him. Normally? He doesn’t care.

But right now, under your hands, under your gaze, in his bed—he does.

Because you’ve always been the most stunning fucking person he’s ever known. Because you could have anyone, and you always did.

Rugby players. Duellists. Healers who spend their breaks lifting weights instead of eating lunch. The kind of men who look like they were chiseled out of stone, sculpted into something untouchable, untouchable except for you—because you’ve had them.

Those were your exes.

And now here Sebastian is, broader, heavier in places they weren’t, softer in places they weren’t. Because he’s never been the type to count macros or meal prep or wake up at the ass crack of dawn to run five miles before work.

He’s still strong, sure—Auror training keeps him fit. But he’s also a man who doesn’t think twice about splitting a second plate of chips with you at dinner, who always finishes your leftovers because “wasting food is a crime”, who drinks pints after work without a second thought, who fills out his shirts more than he used to, who carries weight in his chest, his stomach, his thighs.

And now, here he is—bare in front of you. And you’re staring.

Sebastian wants to say something. Wants to make a joke, wants to shift your focus, wants to ignore the way something unsteady coils in his gut when your gaze drags over him—

Then you breathe out, soft, awed, wrecked.

"Fuck."

Sebastian freezes.

Your hands reach out, palms flattening against his chest, sliding over his skin, tracing down his stomach, your fingers pressing into the flesh there—

"You’re so fucking hot, Sebastian," you murmur, breathless, desperate, like you’re telling him the most obvious thing in the world.

He swallows, something rough and wrecked and disbelieving curling in his chest. "Yeah?"

You hum, dragging your hands back up his chest, your fingers tracing the freckles there, the muscle, the places where he’s softer than he used to be, pressing your lips just below his collarbone.

"Always have been," you hum. "But it's been really fucking unbearable the last few years."

Sebastian laughs, breathless, disbelieving, staring down at you like you just told him the sky is green, like you just shattered some fundamental truth about the universe.

Because fuck off—you’re serious? The last few years?

Oh. Oh. you have a thing for him like this—not when he was lean, not when he was a wiry, arrogant little shit back at Hogwarts, but now. Now, when he’s bigger, broader, heavier.

Something dark, something deeply satisfied, something possessive coils in his chest.

“Oh,” he smirks, his voice low, rough with amusement, with understanding, with something sharp and teasing. “So this is what you’re into?”

You blink up at him, your hands still roaming his chest, and fuck, you look ruined.

Sebastian lets out another low, rough chuckle, dragging his fingers down your body, spreading his weight over you, pinning you to the bed. He grabs your wrists, pressing them above your head, trapping them against the pillows.

“You mean to tell me,” he murmurs, lips hovering just above yours, teasing, testing, “that while you were off fucking all those blokes—”

You inhale sharply, your lips parting, your body arching subtly under him.

“—those assholes with their six-pack abs, the dueling champions, professional fucking athletes—”

You whimper softly, and fuck, he feels it. Feels the way your body reacts to him—not to them, not to some long-lost ex, not to your boyfriend, but to him, to his voice, to his weight pressing you into the mattress.

His grin turns wicked.

“You were picturing this?” he teases, his grip tightening just enough to make you shiver. "Me? All soft and heavy and fucking desperate for you?"

Your breath stutters, your thighs twitching against his hips.

Sebastian chuckles, dragging his lips back up to your ear, smirking when he feels the shiver that runs through you.

"And here I was, thinking I let myself go," he mutters.

Your breath hitches, but before you can say anything, he’s pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, sucking a mark there, then another, and another, branding you, making sure you remember this, making sure you feel it.

Your wrists twitch in his grip, but he doesn’t let you move.

Sebastian fucking loves it. Loves the way you squirm, the way your lips part, the way your chest rises and falls in uneven little breaths, the way you’re looking up at him like you don’t even know how to handle what’s happening to you right now.

His smirk deepens. “Tell me, love,” he murmurs, dragging his lips down your jaw, his teeth grazing your throat, “if this is what you wanted all along, why the fuck did you waste all that time with them?"

Your lips part, your expression flickering between dazed, ruined, and incredulous. And then you scoff.

"Because you weren’t fucking me, Sallow."

Sebastian freezes for a beat. Then two.

Then he laughs—low, rough, something almost mean curling at the edges of it. "No," he murmurs, dragging his lips down your throat, grazing his teeth against your pulse. "I wasn’t. But I am now."

You shudder beneath him, your body arching against his in some helpless, desperate little movement that goes straight to his cock.

"Impatient, are we?" he murmurs, smirking against your skin.

You huff a breathless laugh, hips shifting beneath him, fingers flexing in his grip. "You’ve made me wait ten years. Figure it out."

"You're not the only one who waited, you know—"

Sebastian barely gets the words out before you tug your hands free, fingers reaching for his jeans, already undone from your teasing in the car. And he should be savoring this—should be dragging this out, making you beg for it, for him, for all of it—but you're already shoving his jeans past his hips, and he loses the ability to think entirely.

Then your hand slips beneath the waistband of his briefs, and Sebastian’s entire body tenses, his breath catching as your fingers curl around the length of him, teasing, testing.

“Christ,” he exhales, shuddering, his forehead dropping to yours.

Your eyes flick up to his, and the way you look at him—blown pupils, parted lips, your expression equal parts fascinated and utterly fucking desperate—it makes his cock twitch in your grasp.

He can’t fucking handle this.

His fingers tighten on your thighs, his jaw clenching, his entire body burning with the effort it’s taking not to lose himself completely.

Sebastian grabs your wrist, halting your movements, his grip firm but gentle.

Your brows lift slightly, breathless.

“Seb?”

His smirk is wicked, possessive, completely wrecked. He leans down, dragging his nose along the curve of your jaw, his lips brushing your ear.

"If we're going to do anything," Sebastian exhales sharply. "We might as well fuck. Otherwise, this'll be over before it even starts."

“Oh,” you breathe, dragging your nails lightly down his stomach.

"We've waited ten years for this," he murmurs, dragging his tongue along your skin, feeling the way you shudder. His voice drops lower, rougher, teasing. "So let's make it worth our while."

Your breath catches, your nails pressing into his skin as you tip your head back against the pillow, blinking up at him like you’re still trying to process this moment—this night, this reality where you’re here beneath him, breathless and wanting, where he’s finally allowed to touch you like this.

And then you grin, a little dazed, a little breathless, completely wrecked already, and say:

“Holy shit, we’re actually about to fuck.”

You both freeze, eyes locking, and then you both start laughing, some combination of nerves and disbelief and a decade of waiting for this exact moment finally crashing down at once.

“God,” Sebastian mutters, shaking his head as he presses his forehead against yours, still grinning, still feeling that wrecked, desperate thing curling low in his stomach. “That’s what you have to say right now?”

You giggle, your fingers smoothing over his shoulders, down his chest. “I mean—come on, this is so surreal.”

Sebastian scoffs, nipping at your jaw, pressing a rough, open-mouthed kiss to your throat, humming when you shiver beneath him.

“Oh, I’ll make it real, love, don’t worry.”

And then he’s moving again, hands everywhere, fingers slipping beneath the lace of your bra, under the waistband of your thong, tugging the fabric down your shoulders.

His breath hitches as your breasts spill free, full and heavy and perfect, your soft curves shifting beneath him, and he can’t stop staring. He feels greedy, like he needs both hands, both lips, every fucking inch of him touching every fucking inch of you.

His fingers brush over the swell of them, thumbing over one hardened nipple, and you let out a soft, breathy little sound that nearly kills him on the spot.

And then your eyes flick down, your breath catching, because he’s still in his briefs, but they’re pointless at this point, and you can see exactly how fucking gone he is for you already.

Your lips part, eyes widening slightly, voice soft, awed, wrecked—

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian snaps his gaze up to you, brows lifting.

“What?”

You swallow, blinking at his broad chest, his stomach, his cock aching against the fabric.

“Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that my best friend is secretly built like a fucking god,” you say, laughing breathlessly, teasing, and yet completely, unabashedly honest.

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head like he can’t believe you. “Oh, I’ll remember that,” he says, voice thick with amusement, with something darker curling at the edges. “Next time you decide to insult me, I’ll remind you that you said that.”

You grin, tilting your head back against the pillow, watching him through half-lidded eyes.

“I mean,” you hum, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, “the evidence is pretty overwhelming.”

Sebastian groans, dropping his forehead to your shoulder for a second. "And here I thought you preferred the blokes built like Roman statues." He hums, dragging his lips lower, pressing open, slow kisses over your collarbone, between the swell of your breasts. “Should’ve known better, huh?” he murmurs, teasing, grinning against your skin. "Turns out my best mate likes them thick."

You huff a laugh, but it breaks into a whimper when he finally closes his lips around one pert, sensitive nipple, sucking, dragging his tongue over it, groaning when your back arches beautifully into him.

"Apparently," You mutter breathlessly, "You do too."

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he mutters, smirking, tracing the soft curve of your hip, gripping, kneading. “I've always known that. You've been ruining my life with it for years."

You meet his eyes, and your mouth curves into something downright sinful. “Yeah? So why the hell didn’t you do something about it sooner?”

Sebastian barely gets a breath in before you’re pushing him back, shifting your weight, twisting your body beneath him until he’s the one sinking against the headboard, his back hitting the pillows.

He exhales sharply, blown, wrecked, barely processing how fast you move—or the fact that you just fucking flipped him like that.

"Bossy little thing," he mutters, grinning, but his voice is hoarse, completely fucking ruined.

You straddle his thighs, pressing your hands into his chest, pinning him down like you’re making sure he doesn’t move.

And fuck. Sebastian just lets you. Lets you crawl over him, lets you drag your lips down his chest, his stomach, kissing and teasing and taking your fucking time.

He groans, his head tipping back, his hands twitching at his sides because he wants to touch you, wants to grip your hips, drag you back over him, but he doesn’t want to stop you, doesn’t want to break whatever the fuck this is.

His breath stutters when you press a slow, deliberate kiss over the curve of his hip, your fingers hooking into the waistband of his briefs, tugging, teasing.

Sebastian curses under his breath, his jaw clenched tight, his entire body drawn so tight with tension he thinks he might actually fucking die.

"Jesus," he mutters, his hands flexing at his sides.

You hum against his skin, dragging your nails over his stomach, over his thighs, soaking in the way his muscles twitch beneath you.

And then you drag his briefs down, past his hips, past his thighs, down enough to free him.

Sebastian groans, eyes slamming shut, jaw clenching as the cool air hits him, as he feels the weight of himself resting heavy against his stomach, already aching, already dripping for you.

And you just fucking stare, mouth parting slightly, eyes dragging down the length of him, slow, heavy-lidded, like you’re trying to process what you’re looking at.

Sebastian cracks one eye open, breath ragged, and he can’t help but smirk. His voice comes out low, rough, teasing—

“What is it?" He grins, tilting his head, watching the way your gaze flicks over him, the way you press your thighs together.

You exhale sharply, blinking like you need a second to find words.

“Oh, fuck.”

Sebastian laughs, full and deep, completely and utterly smug.

"Shit," you mutter, shaking your head slightly, still staring, like you're recalibrating your entire fucking world.

Sebastian grins, dragging a lazy hand down his stomach, wrapping his fingers loosely around himself, stroking once, slow, teasing.

"See something you like, sweetheart?" he murmurs, voice thick with wolfish amusement.

You snap your gaze up to his, glaring. "Fuck off." But your voice is breathless, wanting, wrecked.

Sebastian chuckles, tilting his head back, completely in love with the fact that you are absolutely, completely undone over him.

Then— then you lick your lips, and Sebastian stops fucking breathing.

You lean down, hands gripping his thighs as your tongue flicks over the head of his cock, licking up the sticky precum already there, your lips barely grazing the sensitive tip.

“Fuck,” Sebastian groans, his hands flying to your hair, fingers tightening, but you’re not done yet.

You swirl your tongue over him again, slow, deliberate, your nails dragging over his skin, and then—then you start mouthing off.

Because of course you do.

"You could have had me ten years ago, Sebastian," you murmur, voice low, teasing, sinful, your breath hot against his skin.

Sebastian grits his teeth, jaw clenching. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you hum, pressing one last, teasing kiss to the sensitive tip before dragging your gaze up to his face, smirking. "How the fuck could you be so blind to the fact I've been in love with you this whole time?"

Sebastian groans, fingers tugging at your hair, his body trembling with restraint.

"You’re talking a lot of shit for someone who’s got my cock in their mouth," he growls.

You laugh, fucking laugh, your tongue flicking over him again. "You really can’t take a little criticism, can you?"

Sebastian snaps.

"Alright," he mutters, voice low, rough, wrecked. "That’s enough."

Before you can get another word out, his hands are on you, gripping your hips, flipping you back beneath him.

You gasp, laughing breathlessly, but it’s cut off when he pins you down, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his hand wrapping around your throat, just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. Then—just to make sure you never forget who you belong to—

He spreads your legs, dragging his fingers down your stomach, between your thighs, feeling the heat of you, the slick, messy proof of how long you’ve needed this.

"Christ," he mutters, running his fingers through the wetness, spreading it over you, teasing you.

Your hips jerk into his touch, desperate, wanting, already completely undone. Sebastian grins, dark and satisfied, watching you unravel beneath him.

"Messy thing," he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours as he drags his fingers up to himself, coating his cock in your wetness.

You practically purr beneath him, your thighs trembling against his hips, the heat of you slick and fucking ready for him.

This is it. Finally.

His fingers curl into the sheets beside your head, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, teasing, aligning, his vision tunneling, his entire existence narrowing down to the feeling of you, of finally having you—

And then your hand comes up. Soft. Trembling. Pressing against his cheek.

His gaze flickers down to yours. Sebastian stalls instantly. His brain short-circuits, muscles locking tight, because he knows that look.

He knows it in his bones.

Knows it in the way your fingers tremble against his cheek, in the way your lips part like you’re about to say something but don’t know how.

Shit. Wait. Are you having second thoughts? Are you saying no?

Sebastian’s stomach drops, panic flaring as he searches your expression, trying to push past the fog of lust, of need, of desperation—

But it’s not hesitation he finds. It’s something soft, something raw and pleading, and he feels it deep in his chest, where everything soft and aching for you lives.

“Sebastian,” you whisper, barely a breath, and fuck, his chest aches.

“What is it?” His voice is rough, hoarse, aching with restraint.

“If... if this is just for tonight,” you whisper, your voice small, fragile, like you’re saying it through the lump in your throat, “If this is just—if we’re just gonna wake up tomorrow and pretend it never happened, then I—” you pause, your voice breaking slightly. "I need you to tell me now."

And that—

That fucking shatters him. How can you not see it? The way he worships you, the way he’s been yours since he was fifteen fucking years old?

He exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hip. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he tips your chin up, forcing you to see him, forcing you to understand. “You think I could have you like this and then just go back to how things were?”

Sebastian shakes his head, dragging his thumb over your cheek, over your lips, his brows pulling together.

“I’m not built like that, love.”

Your throat bobs, your breath shaky, uneven, your body still trembling beneath him.

He swallows, something breaking open inside his chest. “I’ve wanted you for nearly half my life,” he murmurs, pressing his lips against your temple, against your jaw, against the curve of your throat. “You really think I’d just let you go after this?”

A breathless, almost helpless noise escapes you, your fingers curling into his hair, gripping, holding on to him like you don’t know what else to do with yourself.

Sebastian groans, pressing more of his weight down into you, anchoring you, grounding you, making sure you fucking feel him.

"You’re mine," he breathes against your lips, possessive, reverent, certain in a way that leaves no room for doubt. "You're fucking mine, and I’m yours, and I don’t care how fucking long it took us to get here—I’m not fucking going anywhere. You understand?"

Your lips part, eyes flickering between his, something desperate and so fucking relieved blooming across your face.

"Thank fuck."

Then you pull him down to you, crashing your mouth against his, kissing him like he just fucking saved you. It's messy, all tongue and teeth and years of wanting, and his hands move without thinking—gripping, claiming, spreading you open for him

You whimper into his mouth when he grinds against you, his cock dragging through the wet mess between your thighs, slick and aching and so fucking ready for him.

You shift beneath him, thighs trembling, reaching down between your bodies, lining him up yourself, guiding him right where you need him.

Sebastian chokes on a breath, his head dropping to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Shit," he groans, voice breaking.

He can feel you, feel the heat of you, the wetness of you, and his brain blanks.

He’s done for.

Because this isn’t just sex.

This is everything.

This is forever.

[synnamon-hearts]

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

Okay... Okay... Okay... So I have an extension to this here about Ghostface Josh and Ghostface Chris...

NSFW down below! (Warning: Accidental sex with killers! Whoops! 🫢)

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

Soooooo after the movie, you realize that these two boys make you feel the most safe. Seriously, they have been your rocks throughout this whole nightmare and you didn't worry one bit while hanging out with them for the night. I mean, you didn't even get a call from the killer so that must mean something, right? You are completely safe with them.

Something about the way these two make you feel has you think that it's making you begin to have feelings for them both. They are your knights in shining armor, and you can't take holding back how you feel anymore. So when the screen goes black, you take them both by the hand and tell them how you feel.

At first, Josh and Chris are shocked. They did so well to deceive you that you actually fell in love with them? This is awesome! It took so much to keep them from both smirking devilishly at your confession, and they did well to each give genuine responses.

"Oh, y/n! We are so glad you feel the same way. We've both wanted you for so long but we didn't know how to bring it up with you... You know, with everything that's been going on and all..."

"Yeah, y/n. We think you are great! It's hard not to fall for a girl as awesome as you are. Maybe... We could be something more?"

Josh and Chris would be lying if they said they didn't have some feelings for you too. Before the prank happened, they actually both wanted to be with you and would argue about who had more of a right to bag you quite often when nobody was around. Even now, they still think you are so adorable.

Just in more of a sadistic way, of course. The fear in your eyes when you get those horrific phone calls or get chased through the house by one of them is just so goddamn sweet. You've become a little more than a victim to them, but their little toy—a doll for them to control.

Before you know it, you are sandwiched between the two on Josh's large king sized bed, taking them both at the same time. Oh, it feels so heavenly. Each time one pulls out, the other thrusts in. No matter what, you are full to the brim and it feels so fucking good. Thoughts are no longer a thing in that pretty little head of yours as you get fucked silly by these two men.

Not only do you feel like you're on cloud 9 being between them right now, but you actually feel as though you are locked away in a small fortress that no evil can enter. You know you are protected from that nasty killer who had been threatening your life for what feels like so long now. You know that as long as you are with them, no harm will come your way.

When you all cum, it's a peaceful moment. You lay between them, spread out on Josh's chest while Chris lays on top of you, caging you between the two. You're feeling dazed from the intense high their cocks and passionate kisses brought you. The room is filled with nothing but overestimatulated groans and heavy ragged breaths, while silent thoughts hang in the air between the three of you.

However, while you relish in the thoughts of how safe and comfortable you feel in this moment, Josh and Chris have an opposite mindset. You are too out of it to see the wicked grins that grows on both of their lips as they share a knowing look.

You barely notice when Josh pulls out a small, white, triangular object from underneath his pillow and brings it up to his lips. At first, you think it's just a pack of cigarettes. That is until you hear a click and the familiar, dreadful voice of your enemy right in your ear.

"Surpriseeeee, y/n." He drawls out, a smirk thick in his tone. Your eyes widen as you look up at Chris, who smiles down at you with almost pride?

Josh tosses the voice changer to Chris. Josh's hold around your waist suddenly tightens as Chris speaks the next planned out line. "What's the matter, y/n? Looks like you seen a ghost."

Before you know it, you're hyperventilating. Suddenly the men who felt like your heroes, feel more like your hunters. And you are their caught prey. Nothing in life would have prepared you for a betrayal like this. You've spent so long running from this unknown person, only to find out that it was the two people you trusted the most. And now you can't get away. You are stuck to deal with the consequences of letting someone in...

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

I thought since Josh was more like the Billy in this situation and Chris was more like Stu for roles of who's in charge and stuff, it would be fun to switch Billy's line to Chris and Stu's line to Josh. I'm really liking this trope so far though so if anybody would like more, let me know!

𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭~𖹭

[bluiela]

Antis Fanon: "Azriel is up at night thinking of Elain, he spends his nights in thoughts of Elain"

actual canon:

I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days. Too many razor-sharp thoughts sliced him any time he grew still long enough for them to strike. Too many wants and needs left his skin overheated and pulling taut across his bones. So he slept only when his body gave out, and even then only for a few hours. Azriel surveyed the empty family room, presents and ribbons littering the furniture. Cassian and Nesta hadn't reappeared down-stairs, though that came as no surprise. He was elated for his brother, and yet... Azriel couldn't stop it. The envy in his chest. Of Cassian, and Rhys. He knew he'd be swallowed by it if he went up to his bedroom, so he'd remained down here by the dying light of the fire.

Takeaway: Razor sharp thoughts keep him up at night, the envy in him of his brothers having found their mates swallow him in in his bedroom.

"Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to."

Now e/riel see the words "too many wants and needs left his skin overheated" and "he stared at the headache powder at night every day" and ignore any context or words and think that its elain. Azriel feels lust towards elain so Elain. He's up at night thinking about Elain. When Mass really spelled it out how It is his envy and razor-sharp thoughts that keep him up and which he is running from.

That keep him up and attack him. How just because he stared at the powder and jerked off to her does not mean that it consumes his entire night. Even after a whole year of thinking that the third sister should be his he had not once planned for her beyond sexual fantasies.

Maas wrote it and spell it out, there is no need to interpret something that is obvious. Razor sharp thoughts and the envy swallow him and keep him up at night and he had not planned for her beyond sexual fantasies

Gwynriels are not just pulling out its only lust argument out of thin air. Maas wrote it. She contrasted it in the same chapter with him planning for a snowball fight for a year (there was no reason to add this if it didn't mean anything.)

No one is disagreeing that he doesn't think of Elain. They are just stating the obvious that he does have surface level feelings for Elain that are not true love. It is obvious. Maas with these many hints is literally shoving gwynriel and elucien down our throats. People who see it from an unbiased and working brain can see it from a mile away.

[autism-autobot]

Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 23:

Tw: Non-sexual partial nudity

Part 22:

"Finally home. How long were we away?"

"From a week before New Years to now, so... three and a half months? Give or take?"

"Oh... that's a while."

"Well, not in comparison with how long I've been away from the mountain."

"... I see."

Nezha and Wukong were moving Wukong's presents and medical equipment back into Nezha's house about a week after the party.

Nezha had been ecstatic to bring his friend home after all the crazy events that he'd witnessed Wukong go through. Although that last sentence pierced his heart a little more than he could bear.

SWK: Something the matter, Daffodil?

Nezha: Oh, no. Nothing at all...

SWK: I don't buy that one bit. I know you too well. What's wrong?

Nezha: Nothing! Nothing at all!

SWK: Still don't buy it. But since you don't want to talk about it, I'll let it be for now.

Nezha: Alright then.

~~~

They didn't say a word to each other until Nezha was about to start preparing dinner. Even then, it was only a simple question of what Wukong wanted to eat.

~~~

Wukong wordlessly ate dinner as Nezha's eyes darted around the room as he thought about what to say. He needed to say something, but what?

How could he phrase the question that may very well be the difference between the future he wanted for himself or the same thing he'd been quietly suffering all his immortal life?

Wukong didn't know what Nezha wanted to say, but he knew that his Daffodil was thinking very hard about it. He decided to let Nezha take his time to find his words.

Nezha: *breathes deeply* Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven...

SWK: *nearly starts choking on his at getting full name and title dropped*

Nezha: OH MY GOODNESS, ARE YOU OKAY?????!!!!!!

SWK: *mouth still full of food* Maybe a little warning next time you decide to use my full name like that! wtf Nezhie?????

Nezha: My apologies. I *sighs* it... i-i-it seemed right. For the-the question I want to ask you, that is.

SWK: Okay... *takes another bite* What is it?

Nezha: Would you like to...

SWK: mhm...

Nezha: stay with me?

SWK: I thought that's what I was doing?

Nezha: No! But like... *sighs* I mean like...

SWK: ?????

Nezha: Forever.

SWK: !!!!!!

SWK: OH!!!!! Like forever forever? Like, even if I'm no longer sick?

Nezha: Yes! Exactly!

Nezha: So...

Nezha: Would you?

SWK: *swallows his food* *takes a deep breath*

Nezha: Youdon'thavetoanswerrightaway!

Nezha: I mean... you can take time to consider. It's a big ask, and I-

SWK: No need, I already made up my mind.

Nezha: You have?

SWK: Yes.

SWK: I will stay with you. *grabs his hand*

SWK: Forever.

Nezha: *gasps*

Nezha: *passes out*

SWK: OH SHI-

~~~

Li Jing: Less than 24 hours home, and one of you winds up in the ER!!!!!

SWK: Wasn't me this time though.

Jing: That doesn't make it better.

SWK: Sorry.

Jing: What even happened back there?

SWK: Uhhhhhhhh Idk ask Nezhie.

Jing: Fine. I'll ask as soon as the doctors are done with him.

~~~

SWK: *enters room* 🎶✨️Nezhie!✨️🎶

Nezha: Wukong! How are you?

SWK: I'm not the one in the hospital bed this time. Why are you asking me?

Nezha: True.

Jing: What was all that about back there?

Nezha: I... um... I think my heart rate shot up unexpectedly, I think? *hoping his father doesn't ask any more questions*

Jing: Well, whatever the case, you know you need to keep better track of yourself to keep these sorts of things from happening.

Nezha: Yes, father. I will.

Jing: Good, now let's get you home.

~~~

Nezha: Father, you don't need to carry me inside!

Jing: You passed out. You should stay in your wheelchair for at least a week.

Nezha: Awww.

~~~

Jing was sleeping in the guest room while Nezha got dressed for bed. He couldn't convince his father to go home even after three hours of trying to persuade him.

Nezha: *takes off his shirt*

SWK: *takes his pants off and chucks them at Nezha* What a day, huh?

Nezha: *takes pants off his face* You're telling me. I was hoping we'd be able to get a bit more privacy, but my father isn't going anywhere soon.

SWK: Lucky for you, neither am I. *tries putting pajama pants on*

Nezha: Here, let me help you with that.

Nezha: *wheels himself over and helps*

SWK: Thanks. Need a hand climbing into bed?

Nezha: Sure.

~~~

Nezha wrapped his arms around Wukong's bare torso and nestled his head next to his heart. Macaque was right, it is a strangely soothing, almost mechanical sound.

Wukong put one arm under his pillow and the other around Nezha's head. Wukong stroked his hair and sang a lullaby he wrote for his children.

Nezha fell asleep chest-to-chest with his favorite person in the universe and was happy to spend every night for the rest of their shared immortal lives like this.

Part 24:

Masterpost

@istopaskingmemate @weaverpop @swkbiggestdefender @starrclown @ainnur @fruit-fight

[bubblegumrabbitwriting]

Since Valentines 💝 is around the corner. How would the Ro's react if they found out that Mc had a date night with some person. But they knew Mc had feelings for the Ro's? Would they try sabotaging the date or something?

Thanks for the ask, Happy Valentine's. Reactions below; some of these, I guess, reveal some new info about the ROs.

Echo -

Echo sat typing away on her with more force than necessary, mind racing with ways to stop your...date. Even the thought of using that word left a bad taste in her mouth.

She knew that you both felt the same, or at least she hoped that was what she saw when you looked into her eyes. But sometimes you're too kind for your own good; surely you were cornered by that—by Miss Kim's grandkid. So Echo was just going to have to save you for once.

She just had to figure out how; maybe she could call in a bomb threat at the restaurant or use some of her connections with the health and safety to get it closed down for an impromptu check or... Was she being too clingy? After all, isn't that why they left her?

Is she just pushing herself on you like she did them, and you were going to get bored of her sooner or later and leave? Is this what this date was? No, no, she can't think like that, not again; she will get you out of this.

--------

You arrive at the restaurant, and it's closed...you feel bad for the small amount of relief that bubbles inside you. But it's not long before you're walking to another restaurant, and that's also closed, then another, and the same again, closed. Each brings you more relief.

It's almost like you have a guardian angel watching over you, and you have a funny feeling they are furiously typing away on her phone right now.

Cy -

Cy watched as you got ready for a...date. Keeping their displeasure expertly hidden, waiting for you to act on your clear attraction for them and make a move, but the time is coming near, and you haven't acted yet. Much to the dismay of Cy.

They know you know that you act damn conscious, so why weren't you acting now? Turning to Cy and telling them that you want them to be yours and you theirs. Why were you glamming yourself up, and why wasn't it for them?

Then finally you left your home for the restaurant and Cy with it, looking at them like you were waiting for them...wait, were you hoping they would act?

Shit, well, if you want them to show you how much you mean to them, they will show you.

-------

You sat, eating and barely paying attention to your date across from you as your mind raced with images of Cy. Were you being too obtuse? You known Cy for years now; how observant they are, surely they noticed what you were hoping for.

Then the waiter appeared, or Cy in a waiter's disguise? Not that it was much more than a plain white shirt and tight-fitting slacks, but you would be lying if you said that it didn't make your heart race.

Then they spilt wine on your date; for anyone that didn't know them, it looked like a mistake, but for you, it was clear that it was on purpose. Wait, are they trying to sabotage your date, and are you really just going to let them?

Maybe...yes, yes, you are.

A -

A was hanging around the warehouse, trying to tease Echo as they are want to do. But this time she wasn't reacting, moping and angrily typing away on her phone and only biting back with remarks that were too pointed for their usual back-and-forth.

They weren't offended, no, they were even more interested. What could have possibly shaken her so much? But then she said the words. You were going on a date with that bland clerk that always made eyes at you. Why? What did they have that they couldn't offer you?

You obviously liked what they have to offer; they had seen the way your eyes wandered and your cheeks redden when they whispered sweet words in your ear. Yet you were going on a date with another, really, and someone so...normal. This wouldn't do, not one bit. And A already had the perfect plan.

-------

There you were sat, across from the clerk, A watched them like a predator ready to sweep down on their prey. But that would be to easy and wouldn't open your eye's to what you were missing.

But the person across from them, openingly ogling A would. They just had to show you what you were missing, and then you would have no choice but to spend the rest of the night with A.

A laughed openly and obnoxiously, their faked giggle filling the space of the restaurant and pulling your eyes to them as they were dressed in their finest, leaning towards...someone, someone you had never seen before.

Then they turn to look directly at you, challengingly, and trying provoke you to do something about it... Were they trying to make you jealous, and is it actually working?

A had you exactly were they wanted you.

Salem -

Salem was walking back to the office, and her already bad morning had turned worse when she heard your news: you were going on a date. Not a bad thing. But the problem was it wasn't with her.

She likes to think that she is good at reading people, and you were showing all the signs of attraction. Maybe she could have been more perceptive to your feelings, but...it's hard, hard to show that sort of open weakness to a world that seems all too happy to dig its claws into it and tear it until you break down.

And now she would have to pay for shielding herself, shielding herself so much that you turned away. Like so many before, not that she could blame you. It's the normal reaction. But maybe this time it doesn't have to end in the same way; maybe she needs to take a note from all those stupid rom-coms Harper makes them watch.

She pulls out her phone and starts typing the number for the local precinct.

------

You wait outside for your...date. Maybe you're slightly regretting agreeing to it, but what were you supposed to do? The professor said it would do you good, but now you're starting to feel stupid waiting here dressed up in the dark.

Then you wait and wait and wait, and nothing. Just you and an empty street before you hear footsteps to your right that you recognise. Salem.

"Do you like standing out in the cold?" The answer was obvious, but you couldn't speak due to your own embarrassment. "There's a new diner opened up down the road; want to go?" You would like that; maybe it would even make dressing up worth it.

Salem escorts you to the dinner close to your side and pushes the thoughts of your would-be date locked in a cell far away from their mind.

Harper -

Harper was sat at work typing away, while Salem complained about you, as she has gotten so used to doing. They were listening with rapt attention, trying to glean any new detail about you from another person's view. They admittedly aren't always the best at reading people's emotions or even their own, but that's why they just have to listen to how other people view you. They just need to know one thing you like, and their plan will come to fruition: a gift and message for Valentine's. What could be more romantic?

"Apparently they are going on a date with that Kim's woman grandkid." Salem said, more annoyed than anything else. The words stopped their rhythm on the keyboard in its tracks, hands suspended midair as they started to tremble. You're going on a date...with some rando-with someone other than them. They thougth you saw them in the same light, they did you, but you weren't going on the date with them.

Were they too late again? Too scared to act, and now you were going to be swept away by someone who could offer you more than them. Who wasn't afraid to show how much you meant to them, how much they wanted to spend time with you, how you just walking into the room brightened their day? Should they call you and confess their feelings before you go on the date? But wouldn't that be unfair, to try and steal you away from another? To make you choose. And what if you didn't choose them? What would they do then?

-------

Hours later, Harper sits at home, curled in a blanket, a half-empty bucket of ice cream slowly melting as 'When Harry Met Sally' plays on their TV. Eyes red and puffy, why are they even mourning something that didn't have a chance in the first place?

Eating the box of chocolate they so painstakingly picked out for you, maybe you aren't enjoying the date. Maybe they just need to build up the courage like in the movies they have been watching all night and tell you everything, but they are frozen with fear before they fall into the gentle embrace of sleep. Dreams of you dancing in their mind as a single tear rolls down their cheek.

Man...some of these got deep. Um...Happy Valentines, everyone. 💖

[tribalauthor]

THE WISEWOMAN (roman reigns ff) <chapter 14>

word count: 2.1K

Roman's POV:

Me and Sophia are in my home now. The place where I was born and grew up - Pensacola. We are in our big yard, eating a classic Samoan barbecue with the company of my family.

My mother specifically kept asking her a lot of questions about her life and to be completely honest I didn't quite listen cause I was too busy admiring my girlfriend's beautiful body that was hugged by the baby blue floral summer dress she is wearing and most specifically her breasts that are cupped by it.

Suddenly I felt a strong hit on my shoulder that completely startled me out of the unholy thoughts that I was having about my girlfriend.

"I raised you better than this." dad said quietly yet with scolding tone.

My father played such an important role for my mindset that is today. Frankly, if it wasn't for him, I'd probably never become a wrestler. He saw my potential before anyone else...even before myself.

He must have noticed how I look at Sophia and as a man, I expect him to understand me here but as I see, he wants me to behave. I couldn't help but feel bad.

"Don't blame me, dad." I whispered at him.

"I don't. The girl is amazing but please, keep your composure." he replied while he slightly widened his eyes.

I resemble him in a lot of ways. People tell me I look like him and act like him a lot, so I can bet my ass when he was young and met mom, he was completely crazy over her. But of course, he will never admit it to me.

"You are such a well-spoken woman, Sophia." I heard mom remarking. Judging by her expression and body language, she seems to like Soph and that brings me so much relief and comfort.

She didn't quite like my ex-wife ever since the moment I brought her here. Moms are always right. They really know when somebody isn't right for you. My dad has also been telling me that I shouldn't stick to a woman I met in the darkest period of my life.

I met Michelle when I thought I was never returning to WWE again. I had a serious injury that could have ended my life and even if it didn't, it was questionable if I could return to sports one day. I was so lost and depressed. She was my escapism to all of that.

I really viewed her as a breath of fresh air and all that and she was. That's why I was convinced she was the love of my life and married her and tnen I found out she doesn't want kids.

I mean it's her choice, of course, I am not judging but when you marry someone, you have to have similar goals for the future, right?

Not to mention that the second I returned to WWE and started to become the greatest in the business, I felt her pulling away.

She just wasn't the same person I met when I was at my lowest. And that's why people say it's not important how people treat you at your lowest but at your highest.

Michelle is the pure examle for that. The more I was rising at work, the more she was drifting away from me. What she told me was that she just didn't feel like a priority to me which is completely wrong.

I was always trying to spend time with her as much as I could but I guess, there is nothing I could do if she felt that way. I couldn't convince her and I wasn't intending to.

That's why our divorce process was very smooth and unproblematic. No quarrels, no scandals, no fights.

So yeah, people sometimes can underestimate the vibe check on the parents and the clichè sayings.

Right now before me, I see my mom and sisters watching my girlfriend talk smartly, my lil' nephews drooling over her and my nieces admiring her.

I feel completed.

"And how does Paul feel about this?" my eldest sister asked.

"He just threatened my career." I replied with my arms crossed and the table was filled with laughter.

"It's so amazing. The fact that your uncle has been with our family for such a long time. I remember him ever since he was so, so young and now his niece being with my son. A generational bond." my dad remarked and I couldn't help but giggle.

"We may be talking about very deep generational tie here. I agree." mom replied and I took a sip of my water cup. "If you two have kids." I suddenly choked on my drink and started coughing like crazy and Sophia started hitting my back immediately.

"Sophia, you want kids, right?" mom asked her.

"Of course. I'd love to have one day." my girlfriend replied.

"Great. His ex-wife didn't want." she spoke with bitter tone.

"Mom." I said with scolding tone.

"Are we going to have little cousins?" one of my little nieces asked excitingly and I gave mom the "you fix this" look.

Sophia's POV:

"All these trophies are yours?" I asked Joe as I was looking at the shelf full of trophies in his room.

We just had a pretty amazing day with his family and relatives. I got to know his parents and sisters. I spent time with his nephews and nieces as well all of which are raised so good.

I could see the wrestling genes are running in the whole family. The boys were fighting like crazy in the yard, I got scared for a second but Roman and Sika assured me it's a full circle moment. They were even advising them how to do the moves better and so on.

A bit scary yet wholesome.

I was left with the impression they liked me though but even if it was a pretend, it was a good one.

"Yup. I won my first one at seven. Even before you were born." he replied and I smiled continuously admiring the different gold figures in front of me. "I told you I have always been a winner."

"Impressive." I muttered. His room really looked like the typical room of a jock. Judging by what I've seen in the movies. High school me would never hang out in a place like this and I couldn't help but let out a mute giggle at that fact.

"I'm sorry if mom made you feel awkward, she just-" I interrupted him.

"No worries. She just wants grandkids like every mother." I replied logically. My mom has never expressed if she wants grandkids but even if she does, I don't know when she would be able to see them from her work schedule. What I know is that she would make sure the best midwife is around me.

"But it's too soon to be talking about this. Hope she didn't scare you." my boyfriend looked seriously concerned. I mean in a way I understand him since some of my peers as a whole can get triggered by this topic.

Not me though. Especially when my best friends are starting to get pregnant and the ones from high school are probably even expecting second kids.

"Nope. Not at all." I shrugged and finally decided to sit next to him on his bed. "This is not a taboo topic."

"I know but I had to make sure you are okay." he replied with cutely nodding his head.

"You're so cute." I exclaimed as I softly grabbed his face and kissed his lips. "I'm gonna eat you."

Joe looked excitingly scared with his boba brown eyes popping out. That expression however suddenly changed into a smug one.

"You know what I'm gonna eat? Those boobs." he said and buried his face in my cleavage making me squeal.

"Not here." I whisper-yelled.

"Why not?" he pouted and grabbed my wrists.

"I am not doing any freaky stuff in your old household where anybody can hear us." I declared. "I'm a woman of class."

"You just don't wanna make your biggest nightmare a reality." Joe said with that tone of a therapist who is psycho analysing you.

"What? Don't be ridiculous." I rolled my eyes.

"It's true." he argued and as I was about to argue back, the door opened abruptly and it was the younger part of Joe's nephews and nieces, running to our bed.

"Uncle." they all yelled and climbed on the bed.

"We came here to say good night to you and aunt Soph." one of the curly haired angels named Alani spoke. They are all so sweet and the way they call me aunt is just so wholesome, it fills my heart.

I love kids.

Joe lifted himself up a bit and all of them went to hug him. I think I'm gonna pass out any second.

"Good night, my little angels." he replied to them as he stroked everyone's dark curly hairs.

"Good night, aunt Soph." they yelled and now they came to me for a hug.

I didn't hesitate to hug them back and I felt one of them burying his head close to my chest.

"Nuh-uh, little Julian." I heard Roman saying slightly dragging the boy's head away from my chest. "Go get your own."

"Leave the poor boy alone, Joseph, oh my god." I dragged the little kid back for a hug and my boyfriend squinted his eyes at me.

"You are very pretty, aunt Sophie." Julian now faced me. He is such a cute boy - around 5 years old with light brown skin and big brown boba eyes, curly hair.

"You are prettier." I replied and started tickling him a bit and the toddler started laughing out loud.

"You look like Barbie." Sarah exclaimed and I smiled at her, squeezing her little hand slightly.

"No, she looks like Pamela Anderson." Liam, the eldest one here which was around 9 years old opposed. Me and Roman exchanged confused looks.

"How'd you know Pamela Anderson?" his uncle asked him.

"I found some old magazines in my dad's bedroom shelf." the boy replied and I started shaking my head.

"You really do look like her, though." my boyfriend agreed and I gave him the dead look cause there is another thing we should be concerned about.

"There you guys are." one of Joe's sisters, Summer, got in the room. "It's late already. Leave uncle and aunt to sleep, okay? They must be tired from the flight and the match yesterday."

She collected them like little stones and the kids actually listened to her. What I noticed from earlier when we were at the table, they may seem reckless and full of energy like every kid but when their parents or relatives tell them something, they listen immediately.

"They are so cute." I said after they left.

"Indeed but lil Julian can be a trouble." Joe remarked and I rolled my eyes.

"I guess he takes after his uncle." I snapped at him and he laughed.

"Some of them has to have my traits." he defended himself and then leaned to kiss me.

"I wonder what the fans' reactions are from last night." I said as we got away.

"Let's check." Joe replied excitingly and got in a sitting position, as he reached for his phone on the nightstand. "I will see on Twitter, you go to Instagram." he suggested and I agreed.

We started going through our phones. I am kinda off-guard since Joe claimed before that he isn't a technology guy and so on, he barely uses his phone but yeah, of course right now he is gonna be interested what the fans are going to think about us.

We opened the apps excitingly and while I was in the search bar about to type what I'm looking for, the stuff was all over my feed.

The capture of us kissing.

Headlines all over the place and questions rising for our future. Of course, there are comments about our age difference.

"I don't know if I wanna be Sophia or Roman in this situation. " Joe read out loud and started laughing. I followed him cause this is a good one.

"I knew it from the start that they were meant to be" I read a comment from Instagram.

"I was the first who knew that." he replied and my lips formed a tiny smile of sweetness.

"Of course the Tribal Chief would get the good stuff." Joe continued reading and started laughing at this. "Period."

"I wanna be in Sophia's shoes so bad." I read out loud and chuckled.

We actually read mostly very positive things and I am very surprised from this fact. People seem invested in this already and me and Joe said we shall not disappoint them.

[scarlet-bee]

Finally changed my header after literally years

[elysianholly]

Hey! I had more thoughts.

The first time I was in fandom, Spuffy endgame was strictly a fan conceit. At the time, materials like the comics were not Spuffy-friendly. I phased out of fandom before the canon comics started trending into Spuffy territory, so in general, the Spuffy fandom space felt (to me) more wish fulfillment than anything we'd get to experience through official media.

That is clearly not the case now. The comics went hard Spuffy (and I contend they only ended the way they did because JW is a pansy-ass; but even their ending strongly indicated Spuffy endgame so whatever). We also have other non-canon comics that are very pro-Spuffy. These things would have blown mid-00s Holly's mind. No longer was Spuffy fan wish fulfillment -- we have been acknowledged within licensed material.

Why does this matter? I've seen a lot of concern that SMG's involvement will make Bangel endgame. And it might; we know how she feels about it. But if that's what happens, it will only be endgame in that particular continuation, no longer dominating all of Buffy storytelling. In fact, we have Spuffy endgame all over the fucking place. Not wish fulfillment, real endgame. That's something we didn't have for a long time.

Also, I'm inclined to believe that the 90s/00s shipping wars will be kept out of the reboot. If they're smart, they'll keep Buffy's love life vague. Why?

Spuffy fandom comprises most of the active Buffy fandom these days; I understand they won't want to alienate the old-guard fans who will tune in out of curiosity and nostalgia, but fandom is what keeps properties going.

The JW brand of feminists will reject this outright (i.e., the dudebros you see on Reddit). There will be complaints that Buffy has gone "woke" (with no sense of self-awareness, same as we've seen with Star Trek and Star Wars). Lose the JW dudebros and they'll review bomb it, and we know Disney listens to these assholes. And they WILL lose them. A non-JW Buffy is going to be way more inclusive.

Because of point 2, the success of the show will be decided by the diehards. That's us. Look at what happened with Veronica Mars. They pissed off the diehards and now it's Season 4? What Season 4?

I've said before that Spuffy is the reason we're still here. We're 20+ years old and have two incredibly active non-AO3 fanwork communities that are Spuffy exclusive, never mind the dominance on AO3. Can you point to any other ship where that's the case? (I mean if you can, awesome, but I'm not aware of it)

Anyway, I think that's it but don't hold me to it.

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.

[torchickentacos]

The pokemon anime subreddit fascinates and frustrates me on equally deep levels

[riiviir]

hey guys so I just started reading Flatland by Edwin A. Abbott and OMG AHSBNSBSBSNSNBSHZHSHDBFHGGHFHGRJ2KSHSBSNSK AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE THINKING ABOUT THE RELATIVITY BETWEEN DIMENSIONS!!!!!!

[featherymainffins]

Trying to remember where I first encountered humanity as a horror to see if this has a root the same way you can trace literally all of my thirst for fictional characters back to WITCH, but ngl I genuinely cannot remember anything like that.