#i loved this drama when i saw this way back

[meo-eiru]

I like to imagine Elias as an insane and extremely messy concubine from those historical cdramas PFFT. Especially in his “omg you came to see me!” Sketch. Mc would be the emperor of course! Poor guy would die to palace drama for sure.

Elias would so secretly poison another concubine if you decide to visit them at night instead of him.

This AU kinda goes hard actually I'm getting a lot of ideas.

Imagine he's the son of a normal family but was blessed with incredible good looks by the gods. Due to that beauty he was yearned by all sorts of nobles which made his family get a lot of riches as gifts but he kept refusing all of them.

Until one day you, the ruler of the country, came to personally visit him and he fell in love with you at first time, saying he would marry you even before he saw what gifts you brought for him.

It's all amazing, he's prettied up by the helpers you assign for him and you two quickly go back to your palace. He's so happy the whole way there but little did you know it's the quiet before the storm.

Once you arrive there he becomes aware of the fact that he's not your main husband but a concubine. He's distraught and extremely angry, what do you mean he has to share a rank with other man. He's clearly the most beautiful one here. Okay maybe you two don't have a child yet but so what? Are you really going to prioritize tradition before him? Even though he loves you so much? Do you not love him is that it???

After that it's just constant chaos. Your other concubines getting poisoned left and right, some of them straight up getting assassinated, a few of them returning to their village while crying due to continuous bullying. Elias even breaks into the rooms of the concubines you decide to spend the night with while you're there.

You've considered sending him back many times but you just can't bring yourself to. He's like a rare flower, with a lot of nobles keeping their eyes on him. Just his existence brings you political power, and not to mention when you do spend the night with him he's like a dream.

While he might be hurting the others due to his selfishness it's also true that he loves you in a way no other concubine does. As a ruler most of the relationships you have with your concubines are for politics but it's Elias who wraps his arms around you as soon as you enter his room. Engulfing you in the flowery scents he covered himself in and kissing you like you two are soulmates fated to be together. He's the one who looks at you with those loving eyes while his face is completely red and his body is warm under you. He's the one who holds your head in place through the whole night to make you look at him, like a sweet hypnosis he puts you under.

So it doesn't take too long for him to impregnate you with a child, quickly raising to the imperial consorts status before everyone else. It doesn't slow down his terrible behavior outside of the bedroom though. In fact it fuels it more some might say.

He has this air of superiority to him, knowing he has won against the others even while coming from a lowly background. He spends so much gold spoiling himself, buying the prettiest clothes and hair pieces, receiving the best skincare and makeup.

But you can't say no to him right? He's your beautiful rare treasure after all.

[trivia-yandere]

ending two to "beast of busan"

second alternate ending to "beast of busan" @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @investedreader @minshookie29 @chimmy-licious @bangtans-momma @yunhoswrldddd @whipwhoops @curse-of-art @annafarrr

word count: 9.491

warning: obsessive behavior, yandere themes/elements, smut, unprotected sex, stockholm syndrome, creampie, dirty talk, non-con/dub-con, manipulation/mind-manipulation, character deaths/violence, blood, public sex, jungkook's a real yearner, shower sex, oral (f/m), fingering, squirting,

valentine's day masterlist | alternate ending (one)

As patient as Jungkook was, you were stubborn. But, it took merely 3 months for Jungkook to break you. The privileges you once held were stripped away from you. 

Jungkook was serious about breaking you the old fashion way. If you weren’t going to listen then so be it. 

Jungkook had locked you in another bedroom - one with no windows or lights. He decided when you would come out and it was only to bathe. You ate in the room alone and you often spent your own time in said room. 

Jungkook hadn’t spoken to you often, either. He would only say simple sayings - “shower time”, “dinner time”, “bed time”. 

As time went by, you realized just how cold the room was. How lonely. You would hear Jungkook right outside the door whenever he cooked or strolled by. You pondered what he was doing most days as it wasn’t spent around you. You could hear the faint sounds of the television or even music. At times, you would hear Jungkook’s melodic voice as he sang.

The third month - unbeknownst to you -  was when you cried pure tears of sadness and despair. You were lonely. You’ve gone to human interactions to none at all. The sane part of you would have told you to stand up and fight your ground, but you were weak now. You don’t know when the last time you saw the sun or breathed fresh air and it was driving you crazy. 

Jungkook had gently patted your head when you fell to your knees and begged him to take you out of the room. It hurt him to have to punish someone he loved, yet you weren't much of a listener. You had to go through such a heinous punishment for you to realize how privileged you once were.

“Feel better?” Jungkook asks as he allows you to sit underneath the sun. It’s hotter than you once remembered it being. There isn’t a cool breeze like last time you were out - naked and determined to run away. The breeze is warm, flowers blooming around you and Jungkook.

“Yes.” you nod in agreement, eyes darting around the scenery. The tree’s are a brighter shade of green, vibrant. There’s bushes and flowers that now formed as winter has ended and spring has arrived. 

“My Y/N…”

Jungkook takes your hand and places a kiss on the back of your palm. 

“Isn’t it peaceful out here? Nothing to worry about.” Jungkook mutters.  “No loud cars or people to ruin the scenery. No drama. Nothing but you and I.”

Your eyes blink a few times at Jungkook. He grips your hand in his own and the sane part of you is saddened that you missed his touch. 

Yet, you’re unsure just when that part of you was going to return. You didn’t want to return to the cold, dark room. You didn’t want to be alone with your thoughts anymore. You wanted to feel the sun on your skin and inhale the fresh scent of spring. You wanted to savor the human touch Jungkook provided.

Jungkook witnesses the shift in your eyes and slowly, he begins to smile. Not just because he managed to break you exactly the way he intended to. But because now you truly understand. Your mind is processing that all you had to do was be submissive to Jungkook. Do as he says and in return, you’d have it all. You’d eat well. You’d be treated well. You’ll get to feel the sun on your skin and inhale the fresh scent that the outdoors provides - but not if you disobey him.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook’s ears perk when he hears your voice - meek and soft. Slowly, his attention turns back to you fully and he tilts his head.

“You don’t need to apologize, my love.” Jungkook squeezes your hand in his own, satisfied with your willingfulness. His heart jolts a bit with anticipation. “As long as you know now that this is our life.”

You’re silent, your eyes roaming around the spring scenery. There’s a breeze in the air that isn’t like the cold one that you felt prior to being locked into the room. Time had carried on while it appeared to go excruciatingly slow in the bedroom. It causes your mind to break along with your heart. You didn’t want to go back in there and miss out - even if it was just you and Jungkook, at least you wouldn’t feel lonely.

Slowly, your eyes turn back to Jungkook and you nod your head, breaking out into a small grin. It appears, on Jungkook’s end, like a grimace - but he was alright with that! He understood your concerns entirely and knew that eventually, you’d grow to love him just as much as he loved you.

“It’s beautiful out here, right?” Jungkook inhales a bit. “Right through there,” Jungkook begins, jutting his head to the sight where there was an opening between the trees. “I like to go and sit by the lake. It’s a bit of a walk, but I can take you.”

Your curiosity peaks and you nod your head without much thought. “I’d like that.” you murmur with ease. Whatever it took to continue to inhale the fresh scent of freedom.

“Good. Wait here.” Jungkook’s eyes zone in on your face and he lets go of your hands. He wouldn’t call this a test to be exact. He was sure you wouldn’t run away if he went into the home for a moment - because that meant you would only be found and forced back into the locked bedroom for another three months.

Jungkook was right when he returned to find you waiting for him in the same spot. When you hear his footsteps creep back onto the wooden porch, your attention turns to him. 

“Here, my love, hold this.” Jungkook holds out what appears to be a lunchbox for you to carry, while he’s holding a black duffle bag around his shoulders. “I thought we’d have a picnic.”

Jungkook’s bright-eyed stare and thin-lipped smiles causes you to smile in return, a warm feeling going throughout your body. Slowly, you nod your head and take the lunch box. It is only a bit heavy and you ponder what Jungkook had to pack in such a short amount of time. Maybe it was already packed - he stated he goes to the lake often. 

Without thinking, your hand finds Jungkook’s and you entangle your fingers with his. You stand close to him as he leads you through the tree’s. As you and he venture deeper, you notice just how tall said tree’s were. How close together they begin to feel as you and he strolled deeper within them. Eventually, you note that there isn’t much of a path and Jungkook travels through memory - one you aren’t familiar with in the slightest.

“Are you alright?” Jungkook asks. “You’re squeezing my hand.”

“Sorry.” you mumble. You hadn’t realized you were doing that and immediately loosen. “Do you know where we’re going?”

“Of course I do.” Jungkook lifts both of your hands and kisses yours. “I know this area like the back of my hand. I know where to avoid and where it is safe.”

You nod your head a bit. Your head lifts up to see that even though it was the middle of the day, the tree’s cause only little light to shine through them. 

You swallow back your nerves, your mind wandering back to months ago when you attempted to escape and just what would’ve happened if you came into this area. You wouldn't have known where to run - unsure where the safe haven.

“Here we are.”

The lake comes into view. The large body of water appears to be still from afar, the surrounding land and tree reflecting off of the water. Jungkook stops about ten feet away from said water and drops the duffle bag and your hand. He turns towards you and offers a short wink. “No one else comes here, so we’re good.”

Jungkook seats himself onto the grass and you do the same. It itches against your skin, but it was a feeling you needed to become accustomed to.

You looked out into the lake, finding that it was enjoyable to just stare - even at nothing. The surroundings were quiet and calm, a relaxing aura surrounding you and Jungkook.

“Do you want to paint?”

Your attention turns back to Jungkook. He had opened the duffle bag and you notice that it’s full. Your eyes catch on several types of paint brushes and paints; all used. Some paint jars are covered with dried paint around them and the brushes are cleaned, yet stained with old paint. 

“You…paint?” you asked with a blink.

“Yes?” Jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression on your face. “Murdering people isn’t my only hobby.”

You try not to look shocked by his idea of a joke and slowly you nod your head. “I-I like to paint.” you say softly. “I’m not very good at it.”

“At what? Painting?” Jungkook questions, gathering all the supplies out from the duffle bag. He has several small canvases and you couldn’t help but ponder where all of this came from. You didn’t see him travelling to any stores or shops to get them and did he even have actual money?

However, you find that things were easier when left unsaid. You never questioned how the food appeared to be endless. How the water was always functional and hot and the electricity continued to work. This would be another mystery.

“Yes. I’m not very good at art.” Your hand grasps the canvas Jungkook hands you. “It was one of my least favorite classes in school.”

“What?” Jungkook snorts with a shake of his head. “Art is…well all around us.” he says, waving his arms around to the scenery. “Art doesn’t have to be conventionally beautiful. It’s whatever you make it.”

You blink at Jungkook once more. He appears to be happy to talk to you about…art. You hum, nodding your head. It was weird to think that someone like him enjoyed art.

This is how you found yourself for the next few hours; sitting besides Jungkook as you and he painted. He was better than you and made little to no mistakes. If he did, he would fix them easily. While you and he decided to paint the forested mountain and lake before you, his was amazing - something out of an art exhibit.

Yours…you were sure a child could do better. 

But, dare you say, you found yourself having fun with Jungkook. The atmosphere was calming, a light breeze in the air. The sun was high in the sky, but didn’t radiate harsh heat. The birds chirped around you, even if you couldn’t see them anywhere. Nature was beautiful - and you enjoyed it with Jungkook.

“Why do you kill people?”

It was a random question that slipped out as you and Jungkook ate. The strawberries he packed are fresh and the sweetness causes your taste buds to jump. Jungkook fed you, of course, but he made sure not to spoil you. He wanted you to understand that the sweets and snacks were a luxury that you were only allowed to have whenever he saw fit.

Jungkook blinks. He stops chewing on for a bit as he processes your question. He’s silent for so long that you think he’s only choosing to ignore you.

“I haven’t killed anyone since the day I broke out of that hospital.” Jungkook states, swallowing before grabbing a bottle of water and downing at least half of it. 

“I know.” you say, but you don’t really. You haven’t asked about the nurse and you could only hope she was alright. You’ve been locked in that room for months and you barely know what day it is. He could have slaughtered anyone and you’d be oblivious.

Jungkook hasn’t, of course. Missing people in an area like this would only cause suspicion.

“It’s the reporter in you that wants to know, huh?” Jungkook questions with a twitch of his lip. “You don’t believe what I said in the interview, my love?”

You inhale deeply. Jungkook had said a lot but also nothing at all. You didn’t get to the route of why Jungkook was a serial killer. Everyone had a starting point, right?

“I believe there’s more to the story.” you finally respond.

“Is that so?” Jungkook hums. “Are you afraid of me?”

The question is followed by eerie silence. The lake is unmoving. No birds flying high above in the sky nor are there any sounds of hiding insects in the wind. 

“I’m afraid of what you could do to me.” you murmur. “...Like locking me in that room.”

Jungkook leans forward to come closer to you. “As long as you listen, baby, you’ll have freedom. We can come here whenever you like.” he says. His hand reaches out to touch yours. His is warm and on the back of it has a splat of dried acrylic paint. “If you continue to disobey me, Y/N, I have no choice but to punish you.”

Your mind replays his words over and over again. As long as you listened…as long as you didn’t disobey him.

“There isn’t a reason you kill, is there?” you don’t remove your hand from his, nor do you go to push yourself away to be rid of his intense stare. “You…most people they kill to see what it’s like to take a life.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “I suppose you’re correct.” he states.  “I’ve killed this kid that was a few years older than me…I was around 11.”

Jungkook’s eyes zone onto you to witness the reaction you’d give. Your breath hitches a bit, but you’re unmoving.

“He was an asshole.” Jungkook continues. “He bullied everyone. He…” Jungkook clicks his tongue. “I grew up with two parents and a brother.”

Your brows furrow. You didn’t look into Jungkook’s background much as that was never the focus. His crimes were.

“I was a happy kid with a happy life.” Jungkook speaks again. “He wasn’t. He didn’t have a family. No one was going to miss some kid in the system, right? So I killed him.”

Still, though your heart is pounding, you’re still. You allow Jungkook’s fingers to entangle themselves with your own.

“He would harass anyone he saw fit and that day was my turn. I lured him into these woods behind our school one day. My brother had practice after school was over. He played the clarinet.” Jungkook could still remember the awful way in which his brother would blow into the instrument. “I ran as fast as I could and hid because I knew he would come and find me.”

You swallow.

“I found this big rock. It was heavy, but it’d do the trick was what I was thinking. So…” Jungkook lifts your hand to his lips to kiss it. “...I bashed it against his head. Over and over again. You know…only then did he ever apologize for picking on me.”

Jungkook chuckles with a shake of his head. He doesn’t think about that moment often and sharing it with you now is something new. Refreshing even.

“I won’t say I became a killer because I was bullied. Quite the opposite, my love.” Jungkook says. His eyes flicker to yours, reading your expression. Your eyes are wide with shock and he doesn’t expect them not to be.

“I…became enthralled with the act of violence. After basking his head in, I went home. I did my homework. I ate. I went to sleep and lived my life as if I hadn’t done anything at all. I found that I enjoyed it. It got my blood pumping. I never felt so alive.”

Jungkook’s truth was entirely insane. He was insane. He admits to such heinous acts with little to no remorse. He laughs as if it’s a funny joke - a cherished moment in his life that is so child-like and carefree.

Jungkook has been a monster since a young age and now you’re trapped alongside him for who knows how long. And yet, you don’t move a muscle. You don’t pull yourself away with disgust and attempt to free yourself from him.

“People feared me. Even if they didn’t know who I was…it was their fear that kept me going.” Jungkook lays himself onto the grassy ground and tags you to do the same. You and him are side by side, eyes staring right up into the cloudy sky.

“You weren’t one of those people. No matter how hard I tried to get to you…you didn’t break.” Jungkook murmurs, the memories flowing through him. The pictures he’d take of you, the bloodied messages he’d leave for you. Each night, you’d go back and document his crimes live while the remaining reporters had all quit.

“Eventually, killing became…a way to express myself to you.”

“Why?” you finally speak up, voice soft.

“Killing wasn’t the only thing making me feel alive anymore.” Jungkook answers. “I allowed myself to be caught.”

“That’s insane.” you scoff, turning your head to look right at him. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Jungkook snorts. “I’ve been who I am since a child yet I haven’t been caught. I was already estranged from my family and what else did I have to lose? I allowed everyone to see who the Beast of Busan was. I wanted you to see me.”

Your heart jolts again and you’re unsure why.

“I saw you as a murderer.” you say, now turning your body fully to face him. The grass is itchy against your skin, but you’d prefer this over the cramped, dark bedroom any day. “I wasn’t one of your fangirls.”

“I know.” Jungkook turns your way, as well. “That’s what I liked about you. I could have lied to you. Present myself as a good guy and go to you that way. But I’m no liar.” Jungkook states. 

“You risked your freedom just to not be a liar?” you’re unsure why you’re smiling. Maybe because Jungkook’s words are insane just like him.

“Nothing else to lose.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “Am I not free now with you beside me?”

Jungkook had a point.

“I’ve never lied to you. I’m a murderer, yes. I’ve killed dozens.” Jungkook’s hand reaches out to touch you. He’s happy when you don’t flinch away. “I don’t have to kill anyone else. You captivate me in ways that not even I understand, you know? You outweigh the bloodlust.”

The sane part of you would have told you that Jungkook’s words were lies. That a murderer would always be just that. This was a manipulation tactic - “as long as you’re here as my hostage, I wouldn't kill anyone else”.

Yet, you find that your heart is pounding outside your chest so rapidly. Jungkook’s hand caresses your cheek gently. They’re soft - not hard or calloused like a murderer's hand should be.

Footstep sounds that causes Jungkook to immediately become alert. He sits up instantly, his eyes snapping to the sound of the noise. About ten feet away, an older man steps into view. He’s holding fishing gear and whistling to himself. He doesn’t notice you or Jungkook until he makes himself closer.

“Hello.”

The man is old. White hair on top of his head. Thick glasses that sit on his nose and a bear so long that it touches his chest.

The old man voices cracks as he speaks. He places the fishing gear on the ground and waves slowly, his actions showing his old age.

Jungkook blinks. “Hello.” he calls back, on alert. 

“I didn’t know we had young people around here.” the old man laughs. “Young love…”

Jungkook watches as the man, slow as ever, begins to prepare to fish. His eyes dart to the lake and he furrows a brow.

You watch, as well, unsure what Jungkook was going to do next.

“Are you two staying for spring break?” the old man asks. “I have grandchildren around your age. A shame they don’t visit often…” he begins to murmur under his breath.

The old man doesn’t know Jungkook. He doesn’t know that he’s speaking to a murderer.

Jungkook releases a breath through his nose.

“Yeah, spring break.” Jungkook nods his head slowly. “My parents own a cabin not far from here. My girlfriend and I are only visiting.”

The old man smiles. “Young love…chivalry should never die!”

“Want to go for a swim?” Jungkook had asked you one warm night. It was random - completely out of thin air. He and you had been watching a movie he put on when he asked.

“Now?” you ask, lifting your head from his shoulders to look at him. “It’s…nighttime.” you deadpan.

“I’m aware.” Jungkook snorts. “It’s warm, though. The lake is just as beautiful at night.”

You didn’t need any more convincing. As weeks dragged on, you and Jungkook visited the lake nearly every day. He would show you different methods of painting all the while answering whatever questions you had. He would prepare lunch for the two of you and even sometimes the old man would make an appearance. You and Jungkook realized that the man wasn’t much of a threat and he was genuinely kind. He spoke of his children and many grandchildren and you and Jungkook listened.

“Are you sure we won’t get lost?” you murmur, your hand tightly grasping Jungkook’s as he leads you through the dark forest. A duffle bag is on his left shoulder as you basically cling the right side of him. 

“Positive. I told you, I know these woods like the back of my hand.” Jungkook assures, bringing you closer to him. 

Jungkook loves how dependent you’ve become of him. You freely grabbed his hands or arms at times without him initiating it. You cuddled closer to him when the two of you sat to eat, or to watch whatever was on tv. At night, you would even lay yourself onto his chest and doze off almost immediately.

Trusting Jungkook wasn’t not an option. You didn’t know where you were at and the act of being free from him has become foreign to you. You never asked where the groceries came from, but you understand enough that Jungkook leaves and comes back with enough to last weeks and that was alright to you. He has assured you had all the right necessities you needed - feminine products, soap, body washes and more. The sane part of you, wherever she was, is probably screaming at you to be weary.

“We’re here.” Jungkook sing-songs as the familiar path you and he took leads you right to the large body of water. The moon is full and high in the cloudless, dark sky. Its light illuminates off of the soft, rippling water of the lake, causing it to shed a bit of light to the dark area.

You hum, your eyes dancing around the lake in slight awe. Jungkook had been right again - the lake was beautiful at night, as well.

Jungkook lets go of your hand to drop the duffle bag onto the ground. He has a large comforter and a few throw blankets inside. He takes it all out to spread it across the grass. “You should probably get undressed.”

“Undressed?” your brows furrow. 

“Yes, silly. We’re going swimming.” Jungkook turns to you, a small grin on his lips. He removes his pants, socks and shoes then his shirt. He’s left in his underwear and he stands a moment as he awaits for you to do the same.

Your eyes roam Jungkook’s chest for a moment, before scanning his sleeve of tattoos.

“You don’t have any tattoos on your chest.” you say matter-of-factly.

Jungkook blinks. “I do not.”

You suppose you got your long awaited answer. You too begin to strip. Your sandals tossed aside and the checkered pajama pants with a loose fitted top. You, like Jungkook, leave your own underwear on, your chest already bare. You cross your arms, a bit chilly.

“Come,” Jungkook holds out his hand for you to take and you do. He leads you towards the water that you find to be surprisingly warm. The water splashes as you and Jungkook go deeper into it, until it’s right up to your chest.

Jungkook immediately goes under and you watch in slight amusement when he reemerges, hair slick down.

“The water feels good, doesn’t it?” Jungkook questions. 

“Yeah.” you nod your head. You aren’t sure the last time you actually went swimming - but you know it was never in a lake. At night. With someone like Jungkook. “Jungkook?”

“Hm?”

Jungkook halts his movement when he hears you call him. He floats on his back, eyes casted towards the moon. 

“You said this home belongs to a friend, right?” you question.

“That’s correct.” Jungkook dips underwater once more, this time reemerging right beside you. “Why do you ask?” he says, wiping the water from his eyes. Droplets of water fall from his hair onto his cheeks.

“Who is the friend?”

The lake isn’t as deep as one would expect. He’s able to easily place his feet across the ground and tilt his head your way.

“Why?” Jungkook questions. “Do you want to meet him?”

You shake your head. If you had to guess, you were positive whoever this friend was had to be like Jungkook. You’ve grown to like Jungkook and you’re not sure you could handle more than one of him.

“It's just…you seem to know this place like the back of your hand.” you shrug a bit. “And we never seem to run out of anything.”

Jungkook allows himself to grin. He makes his way a bit closer to you, grabbing your hips beneath the water to keep you close.

“Is there something more you want to ask of me?” Jungkook murmurs. “You’re dancing around the question.”

Jungkook brings you closer to him. He awaits for you to speak - to say what you were trying to say without coming right out and doing so.

“Did you have help getting out of prison?” 

Jungkook’s arms are around you, an act you don’t mind in the slightest. 

“Help? I would say no.” Jungkook’s finger taps the low of your back underwater. “I, however, did tell someone my plans and that’s how we’re here now.”

You nod your head, a bit surprised with Jungkook answering your questions. He didn’t appear to be lying, yet you wouldn’t know if he was or not. 

“In due time, you’ll meet him.” Jungkook leans forward to press his lips to your forehead. They’re soft to the touch, and he softly trails them down your temples to your cheeks. “The countryside is much better than the city, isn’t it? It’s so loud in Busan. It was hard to even think at times.”

“Yeah.” you nod your head, fully aware that now Jungkook and you are so close. Your hands are on his chest and slowly, your left hand trailing towards the tattoos on his arm. You trace them, eyes wandering with the amount he has. “Did your tattoos hurt?”

“Nah,” Jungkook murmurs against your cheek. “I have a high pain tolerance.”

Jungkook’s lips go from your cheeks to your chin and jaw. His kisses leave a tingling feeling behind as he goes lower, reaching your neck.

“Do you remember what I said months ago?” Jungkook questions, lips against your neck.

“No?” you tilt your a bit, silently enjoying the way his lips feels. 

“Back when you fought me.” Jungkook quips. “When you punched me nonstop? Declaring that I’d have to kill you to get you to stop?”

Your eyes close for a moment as Jungkook’s kisses come up your neck to your ear now towards your cheeks once more. He holds you tighter, hands rubbing up along your spine. 

Your mind flashes back to that moment, attempting to remember what Jungkook had said - he said, a lot. As did you. You recall how angered you were; mainly because you were becoming accustomed to Jungkook. You hated yourself for enjoying the way he was making you feel - so you attacked him. You took out whatever frustration you had on him and he allowed it - an act that only pissed you off even more.

“I said I’d never kill you, of course.” Jungkook and you are now nose to nose as your eyes blink open. “But I also said that your attacks excite me.”

Now you remembered, your body heating up underneath his intense gaze. That was right before Jungkook had told you to choose what you were going to do - continue to defy him or accept your fate. You months hiatus you spent right in the dark, lonely bedroom indicates exactly what decision you took.

You begin to ponder what life would have been if you weren’t so headstrong. That if you would have just accepted your fate and understood that there was no leaving Jeon Jungkook unless he allowed it. Would you and he be…happy together?

You press your lips against Jungkook’s without much thought, and even if he himself is a bit shocked, he gets over it instantly. He deepens the kiss, more than happy to finally feel you give into him.

Jungkook, of course, would have rathered you do this months ago. He hated having to treat you like a prisoner in a home that is supposed to belong to the both of you. He had missed waking up besides you every morning and cuddling against you every night - but it’s a lesson you sadly had to learn.

And now, you have. You were determined to make the most of your situation, your sanity slowly slipping away as kissing Jungkook didn’t repulse you like it initially would months ago. You legs wrap around his waist and he holds you effortlessly, your body appearing light as a feather underneath the water.

“You don’t hate me anymore.” Jungkook states between kisses. 

You think about his words. Did you hate him?

Jungkook, no doubt, was a terrible person who turned your life upside down in a blink of an eye. He’s killed so many people and has willingly admitted to it - going as far as stating that it excites him. He’s broken out of prison and dragged you far away from your home and forced you by his side.

But, he hadn’t hurt you, you think selfishly. Sure, emotionally, mentally and spiritually, you are drained. You gave up trying to fight the man but you were fed. You had cleaned clothes and bathed every day. The country life was better than the one in the city. You always felt like you were being watched by those who despised you for your connection to Jungkook.

Was being here with him truly this bad?

“I don’t.” you respond, pressing your lips back against Jungkook’s, this time your tongue finding its way inside his mouth. The action is lewd and it just shows you how desperate you have become for a man's touch. Or maybe it was his touch, as weird as it sounds.

Your tongue dances against one another, your arms now wrapping around Jungkook’s neck to hold him close. Your breasts are pressed against his chest, your nipples hardening.

To Jungkook, having you so close to him (willingly) sends jolts of electricity throughout his entire body. His hands roam down to the curve of your ass, groaning against your tongue.

The next few minutes blurr past the both of you - so much so that you two somehow manage to get out of the water and lay against the large comforter Jungkook had set out on the grass. Goosebumps erupt onto your skin at the cool breeze in the air, but Jungkook’s warmth right on top of you makes it better.

Jungkook’s cock grinds against your clit, both of your underwear equally drench with lake water. He halts the makeout session to release a low groan, his lips swollen red.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You roll your eyes at the compliment. There was no way you were any sorts of beautiful now, drenched in lake water and pieces of your hair sticking to you. Jungkook was a man and said whatever he thought sounded good.

“Shut up.” you grumble, one hand on Jungkook’s bicep while the other trails down his side to reach the hem of his underwear briefs. “I want you…”

Eyes dark, Jungkook licks his lips. His thrusting hips cease for a moment. 

“Right here?” Jungkook questions, though he isn’t exactly opposed to it. It’s dark and no one is around - yet he wouldn’t have thought you would be the one to suggest it. 

“Yeah,” you nod your head hastily. “I don’t care, I just…I-I just want you.”

You were turning into the person your sane self didn’t want to be. Desperate for any form of human contact that you settled for that of a serial killer.

“Ok,” Jungkook huffs. He allows you to pull down his underwear until it’s around his knees. “fuck, ok. Ok.”

Jungkook wants to treat you with delicacy - to show you the ultimate pleasure that only he could provide you. But now it’s evident that the both of you need one another now.

Your panties are next, being ripped off of you by Jungkook and tossed aside. Only a small percentage of you is worried about losing them.

Jungkook wraps a hand around his cock, stroking it a bit before he slides them through your folds. You’re wet, allowing his cock to slide easily across your clit. It causes a shiver to rise up his spine at how good it felt.

You lick your lips just as you feel Jungkook at your entrance. Your hand grips his tattooed bicep, digging your nails into it as he begins to enter you. Your head pushes back towards the comforter as he inches deeper and deeper inside of you.

“You feel so good.” Jungkook stammers, both of his hands onto your hips. “So, so good.”

Your legs wrap around Jungkook’s waist to keep him closer to you.

Jungkook takes it as a sign to pick up the pace, his hips buckling and cock sliding in and out of you. You’re fully unaware just how long it’s been since you had someone - anyone. In Busan, you felt as if the only person you could trust was Jimin, and that was fully platonic. You didn’t trust getting close to anyone after feeling watched due to Jungkook's…friends? Followers?

Jungkook’s mind swirls with you. His heart pounds rapidly as his thrusts pick up, adrenaline flowing through him. He finally has you - all of you. It took longer than he expected but it’s alright but now you submitted to him like he wanted. Your moans fill his ears, a tune that he was going to have ingrained in his mind forever. 

“I love you so much, baby.” Jungkook groans, eyes darting from your bouncing breast to your face drawn in pleasure. “You don’t even know how much I adore you.”

You swallow back another moan, walls clenching around Jungkook’s pounding cock. You had an idea of his sick version of love - you were dragged out of your home and brought here because of said love.

However, with your sanity slowly subsiding, your mind was telling you that this was love.

“I love you, too.” you groan, tightening your grip onto his bicep. 

Jungkook shudders, leaning away from you so he can force your legs apart further. He pounds into you, both of his hands underneath your knees. His head hangs low to watch you, water dripping from his hair. 

“I knew you would…” Jungkook grumbles, eyes clouded. “I knew eventually you’d come to appreciate everything I’ve done for you. For us.”

The forest isn’t quiet anymore. Your moans and Jungkook’s grunts dance off of the trees, mixed with the aggressive skin slapping. 

“For months I sat and thought about what I should do to you while in prison.” Jungkook huffs, his right hand sliding up from your hip to grip your neck. The act causes you to yelp at the rudeness of it, but you’re more than willing.

“I thought about…hurting you.” Jungkook grumbles, his cock plunging in and out of you. If he’s scaring you, you don’t show it. “But then I realized that it wasn’t your fault for what you’ve done. You were just scared.”

Your stomach churns, the hand gripping his bicep going to place right over his hand around your neck. Your eyes blink a few times, fluttering to look at Jungkook’s dark ones.

“I’ll never hurt you, Y/N. You know that, right, baby?”

“Yes,” you nod your head, somehow managing to speak over his hand onto your neck. “I-I know.”

Jungkook removes his hand from your neck and you suck in a deep breath. A rushed hand reaches out to grab the back of Jungkook’s neck and you crash your lips right onto his. Jungkook is a solid man and later you’d ask yourself how you manage to flip him onto his back, but you do. Your legs are on either side of his waist and you begin to grind onto his willing cock.

Jungkook, in this new found position, marvels at you. His hands greedily roam your body, gripping your breast then sliding past your sides to steady on your hips. You were so beautiful that he’s unsure where he should settle. 

Your hips rise and fall eagerly, your hands holding onto his shoulders for support. It’s insane to think how willing you’ve become in Jungkook’s world - all of an act of survival, surely. But even now you’re not so sure if it’s just that.

“You’re so beautiful, my love.” Jungkook’s hand grips your breast, meeting your hips halfway to fuck you deeper. “Everything I’ve done to get here was worth it.”

Nails digging into the skin of his shoulders, you feel the familiar clenching in your stomach. 

“The killing���the infection. I would do it again if it meant I could have you, baby.”

Your eyes squeeze shut, the bouncing you’re doing only becomes strained. Your arousal leaks along his thighs and it’s obvious you were cumming - Jungkook’s yearning words only dragging you there a lot sooner.

“You’re so obsessed with me.” you murmur after a short breath. It was only a joke, but when Jungkook presses a thumb onto your clit and twirls in with that look in his eyes, it drags you deeper into a state of bliss.

“I am obsessed with you.” Jungkook grumbles, now thrusting his cock into you as you hover above him, your pussy clenching around his so tightly. “I’ve killed for you, baby, there’s nothing more obsessive than that.”

There was something wrong, you think. Jungkook’s words cause something to flow through you. A sick sense of satisfaction that someone would claim to kill for you - the lack of sanity flowing through your mind that it had to be the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard. Mixed that with a bit of stockholm syndrome and possible delirium of being locked in a dark room then…

You were cumming, head pushed back. You release a struggle cry, giving Jungkook full access and control while you tremble above him. 

Jungkook isn’t too far behind and he never intended to last this long. He had waited for months for you to come around, distancing himself no matter how much it pained him. He missed you to his core, sleeping on your side of the bed with your pillow just because it smelt like you. He bathed with your body wash just to feel closer to you - even going as far as masturbating with his eyes closed, pretending that it was you there with me.

“I love you so much, baby.” Jungkook breathes, sloppy thrusts pounding into you while his fingernails dig into your skin so harshly, but neither of you notice.

Jungkook’s cum is warm when it releases inside of you and it begins to pool out even before he has the chance to pull out himself. His breathing begins to slow, his chest rising and falling in rushed patterns. His grip on you tightens when he releases his cock from inside of you.

Sex with Jungkook became constant - especially after coming from the lake and taking a shower. As time went on, sex became passionate; sensual. You and he couldn’t be bothered to stay away from one another nor did it ever truly matter. 

Now especially as you and Jungkook bathed, hot water poured down on both of you. Your right hand is wrapped around the shaft of his cock and your tongue swirling on the tip. Over time, you’ve enjoyed pleasuring Jungkook just the same as he does you, finding that his handsome face is drawn in pleasure mixed with the grunts and groans coming from his lips.

The tiled shower wall is cold in contrast to the water pouring down, but to Jungkook all he can think about is the way your mouth takes him so lovingly. 

It all happens so fast. You on your knees, cock in your mouth to you and Jungkook, tangled in the sheets. He has you in a hold, thighs spread apart while his tongue suckles onto your clit, working its way between your folds. The once silent home is full of passionate moans from your end, and slurping from his. It’s overwhelming as Jungkook, as a lover, was extremely tentative. He didn’t stop until you came each time - now no different.

One hand grips Jungkook’s hair as his tongue devours you. Dark, lust-filled eyes stare up at your face and the action only encourages him to continue. His head rapidly jerks back and forth, tongue laid flat onto your clit.

“I can never have enough of you, baby.” Jungkook disclosed, going to enter two fingers inside of you. His tongue, teasingly as he pumps his digits in you, flickers against your clit.

Your moaning increases. No matter how many times you find yourself in this position for Jungkook, the man always causes you to squirm. His fingers scrape your walls in just the right way, stamina unmatched. One of his favorite things to do is watch you come undone right before him, juices pooling around you and onto the palm of his hands. 

Just right now, your chest heaving as he pounds his fingers into you does your arousal pool out of you messily.

“Oh, fuck.” Jungkook chuckles. “You’re making a mess all over me, baby. Your pussy can just never get enough.”

Your thighs are quivering when Jungkook removes his fingers. He places them into his mouth, tongue swirling over them to savor the taste of you - a groan coming deep from his chest.

“You always taste so sweet.” Jungkook shakes his head. It was so hard not to be obsessed with you as to him, you were far too perfect in every way.

Jungkook stands, hands moving quickly. He flips you onto your stomach and arches your back and pulls you aggressively towards him. His cock is painfully hard and he needs to fuck you.

Your fingers dig into the sheets as Jungkook’s cock plunges into you with one quick thrust. Jungkook had two sides to him - the passionate lover that dotted onto you. And this side; the aggressively possessive man that took what was his.

Either side of Jungkook you enjoyed.

It doesn’t take long for you to be squealing loudly again as Jungkook fucks you. His thrusts are demeaning, both hands keeping you in place and shoves you right into the mattress. His movements are quick, rough and nonstop, eyes unblinking.

“Fuck, baby. Your pussy keeps squeezing around me.” Jungkook grunts. “You’re such a whore, Y/N, you can never get enough. Your pussy’s so greedy.”

You had become a whore, you think. You wanted Jungkook at any moment - no matter the time, day or what you were doing. It’s as though you forget a few months back the hatred and fear you fett for the man and just what he had done to bring you here.

“K-Kook,” you gasp, your cheek pressed firmly against the sheets. 

“Yeah, baby?” Jungkook snaps his hips deeper at the sound of his name from such sweet lips. “You’re going to cum again already?”

You nod your head pathetically, unable to form words at the moment. 

Jungkook snarls. “Such a good slut you’ve become, Y/N. You open your legs for me all the time and allow me to fuck you with no consequences.” your ass bounces off of his abdomen and Jungkook finds the sight utterly perfect. “You must want a baby, don’t you? Of course that’s what you want.”

A baby wasn’t ideal - not when he was an escaped prisoner hiding out. But, it was something that excited him. Out here, he could keep you and him safe from anyone as there was no one that lived for miles. That old man wasn’t a threat and overtime, said old man wouldn’t be around. Maybe a baby wouldn’t be wrong…

“Fuck,” Jungkook’s hips snap even harder at the thought of you carrying his child - or children. You being round with something that is just as much as him as it is you.  Someone he could love just as much as he loves you - it causes Jungkook to burst right inside of you, milky seed splattering your spasming walls.

The entirety of the day you and Jungkook find yourself entangled in the same way that it’s exhausting.

“Where are you going?” you ask Jungkook after another shower, your body wrapped in a robe. Your eyes watch as he begins to dress.

“I have to meet my friend.” Jungkook says vaguely. “I won’t be long, though.”

“Oh.” you say. You blink a few times, eyes roaming around the bedroom. 

“Is everything alright?” Jungkook tilts his head to look at you. 

“Yeah. It’s just…getting dark.” you shrug your shoulders.

Jungkook’s lip twitches upwards. He makes his way towards you. “You don’t have to be concerned about my safety, Y/N.” he says with a laugh. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Of course you haven’t, and the thought that you were a bit concerned about Jungkook causes your body to grow warm with embarrassment. He was more than capable in taking care of himself.

“Will I ever meet your friend?” you question, a hand on Jungkook’s chest. You smooth out the small wrinkle in his shirt. 

“Of course.” Jungkook takes your hand from his chest and kisses your fingers. “In due time. We just have manners to speak about before you do.”

You nod your head slowly. “I can start dinner.” you insist.

“Yeah?” Jungkook smiles. “I’d like that. Don’t watch anything until I come back. We both need to start the new season.”

It was only ten minutes later when there was a knock on the cabin door that jolted you back into reality. You had cut vegetables and were steaming them when the knock sounded. The kitchen wasn’t far from the living area and majority - if not all - the lights were on. 

Jungkook never knocks - he didn’t have to. 

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you make your way towards the wooden door just as another knock sounds. The window right beside the door had the curtains drawn and you peek out to see a man - young. College age possibly. He’s holding a medium, shaped tupperware in his hands and appears utterly uninterested.

Jungkook wouldn’t have wanted you to open the door - right?

No one is supposed to know that you’re here.

You open the door a crack and look out. “Hello?”

“Oh.” the young man says. His attention is on you. “Um, I have bread.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Bread…?”

The young man lifts up the container in his hands and shakes it a bit. “Yeah. My grandfather said you’d probably want some.” he says.  “He didn’t tell me the walk would be half an hour.” he proceeds to mutter beneath his breath.

You release a short breath. This was the old man's grandson - he talked about them not visiting often.

“I, uh, have to take the bus back home.” the young man says. It was a hint for you to get the bread so he can leave. It was obvious he didn’t want to be here. “It’s already another half an hour walk and-”

“Thank you.” you say quickly, opening the door to take the container. 

The young man nods his head as he places it in your hands. “No problem. I didn’t know my grandfather had neighbors…” the boy trails off. “Can I use the restroom?”

You blink a bit, straightening your shoulders. 

“It’ll be quick.”

It took five minutes. Five agonizing long minutes with you looking down the hall to the bathroom to outside. You didn’t want Jungkook to come and see that you allowed someone to enter the cabin for fear of how he’d react. Your hands are trembling as you begin to cut potatoes just as the boy enters.

“Thank you.” the young man murmurs, his eyes on his phone.

“No problem.” you stop cutting to avert your attention towards him. “It’s getting dark and I don’t want you-”

“You’re Y/N.”

Your mouth clasps shut as the boy speaks. He turns his phone to you, a picture of you shining back at you. “You’ve been missing for almost six months.”

Your heart pounds.

“My grandfather said you were with a man…” he says, voice low. “...is that man…forcing you to be here?”

You had hoped that your appearance had changed drastically from the last time anyone saw you. Your mouth goes dry and you’re truly unsure of what to say.

“Look,” the boy comes closer to you, hands up. “You’re here alone, right?”

Slowly, you nod your head.

“Okay,” he nods his head. “We can go together. My grandfather’s cabin is just down the hill. It’ll be a little walk but-”

“I’m not sure when he’ll come back.” you murmur. “He said he won’t be long.”

His eyes widen a bit and he swallows. “You’re…far from Busan, Y/N.” he whispers. “If you want to escape we need to go now.”

Now.

Escape.

Now.

Escape.

Escape…now…

“Come,” you boy takes your free hand and tugs you a bit. Your feet and his paddles along the wooden floor as he begins to take you down the hallway and out of the cabin door.

The cool evening air hits you just as you and he get onto the porch. Your other hand, still clenching the knife, strikes before your mind can tell you not to.

You sink the knife right into the young man’s lower back. A shriek releases from his throat and he lets go of your hand as he stumbles forward.

“W-What?”

The knife drips with crimson blood, your eyes looking between him and said knife.

“I…I can’t go back.”

The man eyes you as if you’re crazy.

“Jungkook he…he loves me. He…” you think back to Jungkook's words. He’d kill for you. He’s protected you all this time.

“You shouldn’t have come here.” your voice cracks. 

You raise the knife again, this time jabbing it into the boy's stomach repeatedly. Over and over again, your eyes glossy with fresh, hot tears and it blinds your vision. The young boy's squelching soon stops but even then can you not hear him over the sound of your own sobbing, the slicing knife digging into flesh just another background noise.

Your breath hitches when you feel arms embrace you and the knife falls onto the ground beside you. You blink away the blinding tears.

“Y/N.”

Jungkook’s voice fills your ears and again, you begin to sob.

“Come,” Jungkook gets you to your feet and brings you into the house. You’re covered in blood and it trickles down the hallway as he takes you towards the bathroom. 

“I shouldn’t have let him in the house.” you begin to say rapidly. “I-”

“It’s okay, baby.” Jungkook sits you onto the toilet as he turns on the water. “It’s okay-”

“He, uh…the old man.” you have to get your breathing under control before you can continue to talk. “...his grandson came and gave us bread.”

“Bread?” Jungkook furrows his brows. He slowly nods his head. “Okay…”

“And he…he asked to come use the bathroom and I-”

“It’s not your fault, baby.” Jungkook places both hands onto your cheeks. The broken look in your eyes causes his heart to jolt.

“He told me to run away.” you hiccup. “And…and escape while you were gone so I…I…”

The running water hits against the bathtub floor and the hot water steams up the bathroom. 

“...I didn’t want to go. You love me, right?”

Jungkook answers immediately. “Of course I do!” he says, pressing a kiss to your bloodied forehead. “Of course. I. Do.”

Jungkook isn’t upset at you. You’re a wholesome person who decided to see the good in people.

“Take a shower. Get cleaned up.” Jungkook murmurs your way, his hands sliding down your cheeks to your shoulders. “I’m going to get rid of our problem.”

You exhale a shaky breath. You were suddenly exhausted and didn’t want to do anything but curl into a ball and cry.

“Okay.” you sigh.

Jungkook closes the bathroom door as he walks out and down the hall. He makes his way out the front door and lets out a sigh.

“Well,”

Jimin is standing above the bloodied body of the young man. He glances up at Jungkook as he makes his appearance.

“It appears that Y/N doesn’t want to leave.”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Jungkook groans, motioning towards the body. 

Jimin furrows his brows. “No.” he scoffs with a jerk of his neck. “Are you dumb or just fucking stupid, Jungkook?”

Jungkook knits his brows with a snort. “What the hell are-”

“You aren’t supposed to be here, Kook.” Jimin hisses, pointing a finger at the cabin. “I said a month tops then you go. Leave the fucking country but do you listen?”

“Jimin, I-” Jungkook sighs. “I didn’t have time for that. Y/N...she wasn’t ready-”

“Who the fuck is this?” Jimin hisses, pointing at the corpse. “And bullshit. You’ve been fucking her for months-”

“No one comes out here!” Jungkook hisses back. “He wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the old man.”

“Old man?” Jimin questions. “He’s still alive? Damn.” he blinks a few times. “Did he recognize you?”

“Not at all.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Not as the Beast of Busan  or as the one of the kids who used to come by and help with his garden.”

Jimin nods his head. “He probably has dementia,” he murmurs. “Who’s to say he even remembers sending his grandson here?”

Jungkook hums. “Probably not at all.” he murmured. “What should we-”

“I’m not getting dirty with you.” Jimin raises a hand. “I’m wearing valentino. If I would’ve known you’d turn Y/N until a little killer-”

“She’s not-”

“-I probably would’ve worn something less expensive.” Jimin waves him off. “Put him by the bear den.” he shrugs. “People would find some type of trace of him there if anyone comes looking. They’ll think it’s just natural selection.”

Jungkook was thinking of cutting his body into pieces and possibly burning them - but the bear den was possibly better and it was further from here. No one would come snooping around.

“Yeah.” Jungkook nods his head hastily. 

You sit in the room, towel around your body when Jungkook appears. You’re positive dinner is ruined and you feel even more terrible. Your mind replays the events over and over in your head.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook questions from the doorway. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” you say, answering both questions at once. You inhale deeply and sit up onto the bed. “Is…he gone?”

Jungkook nods his head slowly. “He is.”

You look over Jungkook’s appearance. His clothes are muddy and you contemplate asking if he buried him, but you decided against it. You didn’t want to know.

“What you’ve done, my love, is not your fault.” Jungkook allows a smile to form onto his lips. “You did it out of love. You’ve killed for me the same way I would've done for you.”

Your heart jolts. “You aren’t mad?” you have to ask, even if he stated before he wasn’t. You added more stress to an already stressful situation.

“Of course not.” Jungkook steps into the bedroom and kneels down by the edge of the bed. He takes your hands in his own. “No one is ever going to find out about him or us.” he says in a whisper. “We’re safe here. You and I.”

Slowly, you nod your head. “Just you and I.” you repeat, your own lips twisted upward to copy his smile.

[k3n-dyll]

𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 | 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠; 18+ interactions only, wlw, omg i wrote something SFW!

Sevika being "not good with kids" but kids loving her anyway. She doesn't hate children, of course - she's just awkward around them. Sevika's generally not much of a talker and kids tend to talk a lot, so being left alone with a kid to entertain isn't ideal for her. Not only that but she's big and has a (also big) mechanical arm modified with sharp weapons. The control she has over her arm is unmatched, obviously but the subconscious fear that it's going to malfunction or something too close to a little one is always in the back of her mind when they're around. It never does. Because duh.

Kids though? Oh, they love her. She's quiet, but she's great at "pretending to listen" (as she calls it). As much as she doesn't want to admit it, some of the things kids talk about are deeply entertaining. One time she was 'forced' to listen to a six-year-old daughter of one of Silco's goons talk to her about a game of house that went wrong and the drama between the kid who played the mom and the kid who played the dad was so intriguing she started asking questions like she was watching a reality TV show.

Her height, her strength, and her arm? To any other adult those qualities make her a lethal tank of a soldier. To a kid? Free jungle gym. Kids that sometimes come around her quickly figured out that the most she would do is scowl at them and gently place them back on the ground if they started climbing up onto her, and the scowling doesn't even happen often anymore because one time she made a little girl cry. Now she just rolls her eyes, and entertains it for a little bit before making them get down.

One of the funniest things she discovered she could do is straight up lie. Children lack that filter between their brains and their mouths that blocks adults from saying whatever the Hell they want so they frequently ask about her arm. At first she just dismissed the question, then one day she thought about it and realized...they don't know. She could say whatever she wanted and what were the kids gonna do? Tell her it didn't happen that way?

"Where'd your arm go?"

And then her answer would be something different for each kid:

"It got bitten off by a shark" "I lost it battling a dragon" "This is my arm...I was born with it" "It just didn't wanna be there anymore....seriously, just got up n' walked away from me one day." (a favorite she had to stop using because one day a kid spent the rest of the day clutching his arm in fear that his arm would decide it didn't like him anymore and walk off)

Have y'all ever seen those videos of dudes holding babies weird? Doctors will come on the internet and say it's good for the baby, which, slay, but it's still a weird way to hold a baby, right? That's how Sevika holds babies. She will do everything but hold them 'correctly' for some reason. I once saw this video of a guy carrying his baby by the back of its onesie like cats carry kittens by the scruff of their necks and I could 1000% see Sevika doing just that (obviously once the baby can like, hold its own head up). Or like carrying the baby on their stomach on her forearm (I think it's called a football hold?). It's always a little anxiety-inducing to see but also a little funny because the baby would just be chilling and looking around, not caring how precariously it's dangling in the air.

I dunno what made me do this at 7 in the morning but uh...yeah

Donations 4 Palestine - Arcane Masterlist

Taglist; @archangeldyke-all, @delinthecut @sevsbaby, @half-of-a-gay, @porcelainmystery,  @strawberry-shortcakey , @abvisionss , @urbayolet,

@Sillygirl-lol

[organic-bloodbath]

Hello! Could you write about Thanos and reader being childhood friends (also grew up having hugh crushes on each other) until they grew apart when he became a rapper, now they meet again in squid game when the reader is there to pay off her college debt and they almost didn't recognize each other because of how much time has gone by. When Thanos sees the reader in Gi-hun's group and finally recognizes her, he then remembers his long crush for the reader and falls more in love with her.

You and me, forever

Summary: As above.

A/N: Feeding you more fluffy softie Thanos, i hope this is okay 💜

☆☆☆

~ First meeting ~

Thanos and you had known each other ever since you were 8 years old, soon after you had moved to Korea from Japan.

One day everyone in your class had to make a Valentine's day card and give it to one of your classmates. The gesture didn't have to mean much in any deeper way, you were only 8 after all, but it brightened the children's day for getting a nice gesture from their classmate. You were allowed to give more than one if you wished so, it wasn't limited to one only.

Everyone got one or more, except you. You thought that you had been left without a card and you didn't know who you could give yours to, since you were mostly ignored by your classmates. You had difficulties being social, so you hadn't managed to make friends yet.

Until he approached you.

"Hi," he said quietly, almost shyly. "Here, this is for you. If you want, that is."

He offered you a pink card which had a red heart, sprinkled with red glitter, and the words of "Hapy Valetine's Day", with a typo, which you found adorable. You looked at him and blushed, you had seen him sitting in the back of the class but he had never spoken to you before.

"Oh, um," you stuttered and hesitantly took the card. "Thank you. Uh, here. You can have this."

You gave him your card, which was bright yellow with two stick figures holding hands, 'Happy Valentine's Day' written on top of them. The boy smiled at you.

"My name's Su-bong."

"I'm Y/N."

☆☆☆

~ First token of friendship ~

When you were 13 years old, you were in your room with him, sitting on the floor cross-legged, and making bracelets by putting different color beads into a plastic band. It was such a girly thing to do, but he had suggested it when he saw you wearing bracelets with two of your female friends.

"Here," he said and put the bracelet he had made on your wrist. You had finished yours a little after and put it on his wrist.

"I'll make sure to wear this for the rest of my life, Su-bong," you smiled.

"Me too, Y/N."

☆☆☆

~ First crush ~

The first time you truly realized your crush on him was when you were 14. Before that as a child, you hadn't really cared about boys in a romantic way, while your friends had talked boy dramas many times already and ranking the cutest boys in your class. You had been too young for that, until now.

Thanos, on the other hand, had developed a crush on you years before you were getting familiar with your feelings, but he didn't dare to tell you before you'd be older. He also thought that it would be just a silly little crush which would go away on its own, since he didn't have many other female friends, if at all, but his feelings just got stronger as more time passed.

On Valentine's Day, you were sick, having a high fever and couldn't get up from bed. Su-bong stayed at your house that day, watching movies with you. Your parents had to work late that night, so Su-bong warmed you some soup and made sure you had everything you needed.

He gave you strawberry ice cream, a bag of your favorite candies and a 'Happy Valentine's Day' card which you got each other every year.

"Didn't you have plans with your friends in an hour?" you asked. "You should leave so you have time to go home first."

"They'll be fine without me for one evening. I'm not leaving you alone in this state."

As expected, he got sick too a day later, but he would still always take care of you when you fell ill.

☆☆☆

~ First kiss ~

The first kiss you shared was at the age of 16. Neither of you had been prepared for it, it was just a total accident - atleast at first.

You had gone to the movies, and he was walking you home. You usually went to the movies together once a month, so it was nothing new, really. You shared your favorite scenes of the movie and overall what you thought about it. Usually you managed to choose a movie you both enjoyed, since you had very similar taste in movies.

When you arrived at your doorstep, you turned towards Su-bong one last time.

"Thank you for the evening, it was fun," you smiled, getting a smile back from him.

"It was, i'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll text you."

You were reaching towards his face to give him a quick kiss on his cheek, like you always did when you wished him a goodbye, but this time Su-bong turned his head just in time to accidentally make you kiss on his lips.

Your eyes widened and your cheeks felt suddenly hot for what had happened. You could see the same expression on his face as well, his cheeks turning pink.

"Oh, i'm, uh, i'm sorry, i didn't mean to-" he rambled.

"Yeah, me neither, it was totally just an accident," you tried to brush it off, but your voice was shaking. "Well, i'll just go then. Bye."

You turned around to leave but he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back towards him. You looked at him with your brows furrowed, cheeks still red.

"Can i... can i do that again?" he asked and put his hand on your cheeks, which sent electric sparks across your face. "If that's okay."

You didn't say anything back, just glanced at his lips and soon he pressed them on yours, pulling you into a kiss he had wanted to do for a long time by now.

You only melted in his arms and didn't want to let go.

☆☆☆

~ First broken heart ~

The last time you saw Su-bong was when you had finished high school. You left to attend college and he put his time to build a career as a rapper. You were so proud of him that he was finally achieving something that he had put a lot of work on and reaching his dreams.

When you moved away and you saw him for the last time, he promised that you'd stay in touch. You'd text, call, write letters, send postcards - anything. However, you decided to stay only as friends, since you both were sure a long distance relationship wouldn't work anyway and it would only end up ruining both of you.

Your love for him and his for you never faded, not even a little bit. You made a promise that whenever your studies would be over, you'd go back to Su-bong and start a life together, finally settling down wherever life was going to take you.

And you did stay in touch regularly, almost every day, for the first few months. Until he completely ghosted you and cut you out of your life without a word. It was like you had stopped existing for him. You had always supported him the most and when he walked into the music industry, he forgot all about you, and you never got to know the reason behind all that.

You thought it was supposed to be just the two of you, no matter what, until the world would end. When you didn't hear from him ever again, it was the first time you experienced having a broken heart.

☆☆☆

Now, ten years later, you were playing these games to either live or die. You had figured you weren't in as severe debts as most of the other players here, but you still had a lot of college debts to pay off. You had trouble finding work which would help you live comfortably and get the debts off your back. And you wanted them gone as soon as possible to move on with your life.

When people started dying during the first game, only one bullet in the head making them collapse on the ground, you were more terrified than ever before. One wrong move and you'd be one of the corpses as well. But you survived it, moving on to the next one after a good night's sleep - although, you were barely managing to fall asleep at all, the dozens of shots still ringing in your ears.

When Thanos saw you for the first time after an entire decade, he didn't recognise you at first. The last time he had seen you, you had dyed your long hair from your natural dark brown to lighter brown and had cut yourself bangs with your mom's kitchen scissors. You had used makeup, mostly playing with eyeliner and dark eyeshadow, putting on some lipstick once in a while, staining Thanos' cheek every time you had to go home, giving him a short kiss of goodbye. Although, obviously he had seen you without makeup too, but not as often as you both grew up towards adulthood.

Now, you had your natural hair color back, had grown out your bangs and weren't wearing any makeup. You had cut your hair shorter, just above your shoulders.

When the second game was about to start and you had to find a group of five, Thanos was missing couple of people for his group too. He was about to approach a girl who seemed to be alone, her back turned towards him, but before he managed to reach her, an older man - that same psycho shouting outside during the first game how you all were going to die - had come to talk to her, soon leading her to his group. Thanos sighed and turned around to scan other free players.

Thanos didn't look towards every group going through the challenge, perhaps a couple of them, until it was the turn of his group.

His group passed easily, as expected.

When the door opened and the last group arrived back, he heard a girl laughing. He got chills all the way down his spine. He could recognise that laugh anywhere. He looked towards the group arriving, and even though he was further away from you, he easily recognised you.

Y/N.

You were laughing at something another guy said, he couldn't hear what, but your laugh flew into his ears easily, as if it was meant specifically to him.

Was it really you? It couldn't be, it must be only someone who resembled you a lot. If it truly was you, he was anxious to face you. He knew you must be angry at him for abandoning you like he did years ago. He regretted putting his dreams of becoming a rapper before you, but he could never take it back. He couldn't have you back, could he?

Before the second game, you had been almost right in front of him before the other man had reached to you first. If he had been a minute earlier there, he could have faced you and in that case, almost have a seizure for the sudden shock.

"What are you staring at?" Nam-gyu asked but Thanos didn't move his gaze away from you for even a second. You weren't looking at his direction at all, keeping your attention on the conversation with those men. You looked like you were having a good time, and to see you smile had always warmed Thanos' heart.

"Nothing, mind your own business," Thanos scoffed.

"Fine, just asked," Nam-gyu rolled his eyes.

☆☆☆

Your gazes across the room met for the first time that same evening after the votings were over. You had pressed X, separating you from him to the opposite team.

He couldn't read your expression well what you might have been thinking. Your gaze seemed empty, like you had no emotions when Thanos looked at you. Surely you recognised him, right?

He hadn't expected you to excitedly wave your hand at him, then run towards him and fall into his arms, wrapping yourself around him so tightly he could barely breathe.

"Oh, Su-bong, i missed you so much!" you would exclaim against his shirt. "Thank god you're here!"

But no. You only turned your head back to player 456 and player 388.

Thanos wanted to go and talk to you more than anything but what would he say? And in front of your team too? He had to wait so you'd be alone but he didn't know how long that would take, you seemed to be glued to your group.

Would you want to talk to him? He knew you must be angry at him for doing and acting how he did - the one person who had supported him through all the good and bad. He knew he'd have to earn your forgiveness.

☆☆☆

During the Mingle game, when it was time to find a group of 2, Thanos saw you in the distance. Player 388 was holding your hand, starting to lead you towards a room, but Thanos ran towards you before you managed to run too far.

He grabbed your free hand and pulled you to him, squeezing your hand so tightly in his that you couldn't let go.

Thanos pushed you into a room with him and soon, the door was locked.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" you yelled. "I was with Dae-ho! And if he's dead when i walk out of this room, i'll never forgive you."

You were looking into his eyes, anger flaming in them and Thanos was even a little afraid, almost taking a step back.

"Listen, i just needed to talk to you alone-"

"And you could have done that when the game ended, hm? Or are you so scared to face me in front of your friends and everyone else? Scared if i'd be pissed off at you after these years or what?"

"Please just, let's talk," Thanos pleaded.

You just crossed your arms on your chest.

"Okay, speak," you spat.

"I'm sorry," Thanos said quickly. "You have no idea how much i regret pushing you away from me."

You wiped your face with your palm in frustration and closed your eyes for a moment. When Thanos noticed what you had on your wrist, his heart stopped for a moment. He quickly grabbed your hand, even though you tried to pull away at first.

"You still wear this?" Thanos whispered, brushing his fingers on the colorful beads on your bracelet. The exact same one Thanos had made for you when you were only 13 years old.

A tint of blush rose on your cheeks and you tried to look away, but Thanos turned your head back to look at him, finger on your chin.

"Why?" Thanos asked quietly.

"I don't know, i just like it," you mumbled, trying to act all nonchalant, but when Thanos pulled his sleeve up, your face fell.

You looked at the pink and purple beads you had put on the bracelet years ago.

"You're my lucky charm," Thanos smiled. "Even though we grew apart, i always needed to keep a part of you with me."

Your stomach twisted and eyes were in risk to start watering up but you managed to keep your cool.

"Oh, wow, well," you mumbled, a slight smile visiting your face, but you forced it away as quickly as it had appeared. "If you wanted to keep me with you, why did you cut me off?"

Your face looked extremely hurt and it broke Thanos' heart.

"I don't know," he awkwardly said. "Everything became so hectic and busy, you were so far away from me... i don't know."

You let out a deep sigh.

"Would there be a possibility for a second chance, perhaps?" Thanos asked carefully, almost afraid to say the words outloud. Your time in the small room was running down, and Thanos needed to make sure you didn't start avoiding him for the rest of the games. "I want to make things better between us. And I'd be happy to hear what your life is like these days."

"Depends if you just killed my new friend or not."

☆☆☆

Dae-ho was alright, he had found a partner after Thanos had ripped you away from him so rudely during the game. Thank god for that. You had immediately rushed towards Dae-ho and apologised for Thanos' behavior.

You and Thanos sat together, just the two of you, and talked about both of your lives a little bit. He told you about his life as a rapper, all the good and bad sides of it, and even though you were slightly mad at him, you couldn't be more proud of him what he had achieved by far. You told him about your life in college and your studies, as well as some of your friends.

"You know," Thanos started slowly. "I've looked at your Instagram once in a while."

You lifted your eyebrows, surprised for a moment.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing. Your life seemed so good and it looked like you had it all well. You posted pictures of your friends, so i thought you had enough people around you that you wouldn't need me anymore," Thanos confessed, his voice turning more quiet as he spoke.

"Su-bong..."

"I shouldn't have just assumed things because of social media but you just looked so happy."

"I am happy with my life," you admitted. "But that doesn't mean that there wouldn't be space for you too."

Thanos looked at you with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry," he sighed. "Eventually i just got afraid of suddenly messaging you out of nowhere, so i never did."

"I would always take you back into my life, no matter how mad i would get at you," you sighed. He broke your heart and as the years passed, you thought you had gotten over him. But now that he was sitting right next to him, you knew you could never walk out of the door when he was still in the room. "You were the most important person to me half of my childhood, it leaves a deep mark into my heart, even if i didn't want to have it."

"You were the most important person to me too," he whispered.

You didn't answer for that, your thoughts and feelings were just a huge mess right now. Thanos wanted to take your hand in his, your hands had always been so soft, but he was anxious you might not let him.

"So," Thanos started awkwardly after a short silence. "Is there a boyfriend in the picture right now?"

"There was," you said, "but we broke up a few weeks ago."

Thanos felt two emotions at the same time of your words - happy for himself, sad for seeing the sorrow on your face.

"What happened?"

"He cheated on me," you chuckled nervously, though you found nothing funny about that. "Yeah, we dated for a year and he was sleeping with another girl for a few months."

Thanos felt anger inside him. How could anyone cheat on such a beautiful girl like you? Who was not only beautiful on the outside, but on the inside as well. Thanos laid his hand on your shoulder.

"What's his name? You want me to go and beat him up when we get home?" Thanos asked and by the tone of his voice you weren't sure if he was only joking or dead serious. "Just say the word and i'll go give him a little life lesson on how to treat women."

"God, no," you laughed. "He's not worth any more of my attention and i don't want you to get in trouble. How about you then? Any girl in sight who you've already introduced to your parents?"

Thanos looked at you in the eyes for a moment, slight smile on his lips.

"There is one," Thanos said.

"Hm, really?" you asked, sounding almost surprised. You felt a sting in your heart which you tried to ignore.

"Yep, my parents absolutely adore her. I've been in love with her for years. She's funny, beautiful, though very clumsy, her laugh makes me go insane and i could listen to her tell stories all day," Thanos described. "The list of things what i've always loved about her is endless."

"She sounds like a perfect girl," you said quietly, trying not to sound hurt.

Thanos put his finger on your chin and made you look at him in the eyes.

"And she's sitting right in front of me, right now," Thanos said with teary eyes. "And i miss all the years i've wasted apart from her."

You bit your lip, heart hammering against your chest so hard you were sure it could burst open any moment.

"Y/N," Thanos started. "When the games are over - will you give me another chance? To be a part of your life?"

A smile spread on your face.

"I'll beg on my knees as long as i need to," he said and went down on his knees in front of you, finally taking your hands in his.

"Get up," you chuckled. "Buy me a dinner and i'll think about it." And that was enough for Thanos.

You pulled him up and wrapped your arms around him. This was the moment you realised how much you truly had missed this man. It didn't matter how long you would be apart, he'd always be that one person who you wanted by your side for the rest of your life.

Even after all this time, you knew it wouldn't be hard to start loving him again. You'd have to take it slowly, scared of him breaking you again, but you'd welcome him back.

You'd always take him back.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Okay, I am in love with all your Sebastian fics like a honeybee to pollen 🐝

Could we get some love for Ominis, too? 🥺 If your requests are open, I was thinking of something a bit packed with drama. Maybe during the early 1900's, Ominis was going to be married off to another pureblood woman as a last ditch effort to save the Gaunt family from utter disgrace. But Sebastian sent a frantic letter to MC (knowing she's always had feelings for him) and she rescues him because she's quite literally the only person who can counter the strength of the Gaunts.

If this is too action-packed, I understand 😅 And if you want to do something else with this, I'm totally onboard for it! Thank you so, so much!

Speak Now | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

CAN YOU HAVE SOME LOVE FOR OMINIS? UM, YES. OF COURSE. ALWAYS. SEND ME ALL THE OMINIS PROMPTS, I LOVE HIM DEARLY.

ANON, I HOPE YOU LOVE AND ENJOY <3 THANK YOU FOR YOUR MESSAGE!!!

Words: ~10,500

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Pureblood Drama

The ink was smudged, the parchment worn, as if it had been handled too many times before finally being sent. The hurried scrawl was unmistakable—Sebastian Sallow had always written like he was running out of time.

You have to come back.

That was the first line, sharp and urgent, as though he was reaching across the distance to shake you into action. You swallowed hard as your eyes darted over the rest of the letter, scanning the words that followed.

They're forcing Ominis into a marriage. He won’t fight it. He thinks he has no choice. He’s going to let them do it. The Gaunts are desperate—this is their last chance to cling to whatever power they have left. If you don’t stop this, no one will.

You tilted your head back against the hotel room chair, exhaling slowly. This wasn’t what you had expected when you saw Sebastian’s weekly letter among the rest of your correspondence—his updates had always been the same.

Small anecdotes of life in England, sharp-witted remarks about Ministry work, and the occasional complaint about the monotony of it all. It had become a habit, these letters, a quiet tether to the life you left behind.

But this was different.

Sebastian had always known. Even when you tried to hide it, when you buried your feelings so deeply they felt like ghosts inside you—he knew you were irrevocably in love with Ominis.

He had known when you stood beside him through the worst of it, when the three of you were still inseparable. He had known when you were sixteen, when you looked at Ominis across the Great Hall with something aching in your eyes.

Sebastian wouldn’t have sent this if he wasn’t desperate.

The candlelight flickered against the crumpled parchment in your hands, the ink smudging beneath the heat of your fingers. Your chest felt tight, something old and aching clawing its way to the surface.

You had spent nearly a decade trying to carve Ominis Gaunt out of your heart.

You had moved away. You had thrown yourself into the world, traveling far from England, chasing adventure and knowledge, anything to dull the pain of loving someone who would never be yours. You had gone years without talking him. Not because he hadn’t written—but because you never wrote back.

It never worked.

Because love like that—love that had rooted itself so deeply, so completely, didn’t just disappear. It lingered in the spaces between your ribs, in the quiet moments before sleep, in the way your body still tensed at the mention of his name.

It had been unspoken between you, as silent as the spaces he left untouched when you stood too close, as damning as the way his hand would hover near yours but never close the distance.

And when you couldn’t take it anymore, you left.

You left because you thought, maybe, if you put an ocean between you, the wound of unrequited love would heal.

It never did.

And now Sebastian was asking you to do the very thing you had spent years convincing yourself you wouldn’t.

Go back. Save him.

The Gaunts were a dying family, their legacy rotting from the inside out. With every generation, their blood grew thinner, their wealth squandered, their name teetering on the edge of ruin. A marriage—an advantageous one—was their final desperate bid for survival. And Ominis, bound by duty, bound by the fear that he had nowhere else to go, was walking into the trap with his head bowed.

You let out a shaky breath and reached for the letter again, rereading the final lines, the ink smudged and urgent.

If you don’t stop this, no one will.

By tomorrow night, you would be back in England.

The night was cold, the London streets slick with rain, the gas lamps casting a dim glow against the cobblestones. You barely felt the chill as you climbed the stairs to Sebastian’s flat, your heartbeat pounding louder than your footsteps.

You didn’t hesitate. You raised your fist and banged on the door. Hard.

The music inside was loud enough to mask the first round of knocks, but you weren’t deterred. You hit the door again, more forcefully this time, your palm stinging from the impact.

There was movement inside, the shuffling of feet, the clinking of glass. You exhaled sharply, bracing yourself.

All you could hope was that he was alone.

Because if there was one thing Sebastian Sallow had never lacked, it was company.

It had been a constant presence in your lives—girls who were drawn to him like moths to a flame, girls who whispered behind their hands when they saw the two of you together, girls who looked at you with suspicion, jealousy, irritation.

It had never mattered that you weren’t interested. That your heart had belonged to Ominis so completely that there had never been room for anyone else. That Sebastian had never once looked at you that way.

It hadn’t stopped the tension, the quiet hostility, the accusations in whispered conversations you weren’t supposed to overhear.

You could only imagine how much worse it would be now if you were about to interrupt a lover’s evening.

The door swung open, and Sebastian stood before you, shirt half-unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Bloody hell.” His voice was hoarse, caught somewhere between shock and amusement. “You actually came.”

You huffed a laugh, tugging your bag higher up your shoulder. "Hello, Sebastian."

His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face before settling into a lopsided grin. He stepped aside, motioning you in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in before you catch a cold.”

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, brushing past him. The flat was warm, filled with the scent of oak and whiskey, the remnants of dinner still on the table. A record played in the background, something slow and bluesy, and the room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the fireplace.

You scanned the space quickly. No sign of anyone else.

Relief loosened the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian caught it immediately, his smirk widening. “Were you worried I’d have company?”

You shot him a look.

He laughed, the sound low and knowing. “You used to hate that, didn’t you?”

You sighed, tugging off your gloves, your fingers stiff from the cold. “I didn’t hate it, Sebastian.”

“Oh, you did,” he said, dropping onto the sofa, his gaze sharp. “Every time a girl so much as looked at me twice, they’d take one look at you and think they had to fight for their lives.”

You rolled your eyes. “That wasn’t my fault. You’ve always had a type, and apparently, that type is ‘possessive.’”

Sebastian grinned into his glass. “It was entertaining, at least.”

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

He studied you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression, before he let out a quiet huff of amusement.

“You look so much more… grown up.”

Your hands stilled where they had been undoing the buttons of your coat. You glanced up at him, unsure whether to feel flattered or vaguely insulted. “Should I be offended?”

Sebastian smirked. “No, no. Just—well, you know.” His gaze flicked over you with something bordering on appraisal. “Filled out a bit. More mature.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious.

He grinned before leaning back into the sofa, stretching his arms behind his head lazily. “Ominis is going to be very happy to see you.”

You groaned at the implication, rubbing your hands down your face. “Gross, Sebastian.”

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “What? It’s been a long time. He’s going to notice.”

“You just noticed, and that’s already too much.”

Sebastian only smirked, utterly unrepentant.

You shook your head, slipping your coat off and draping it over the back of a chair. The warmth of the flat was already sinking into your bones, easing the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian watched you for a long moment, his teasing expression softening slightly.

“You really came,” he murmured, quieter now.

You met his gaze. “Of course I did.”

“I’ve tried to reason with him, tried to convince him he doesn’t need to do this but…” He hesitated, drumming his fingers against his knee. “I don’t think he realizes he has a choice. How much he still—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“So,” you said, glancing at him, “do you have a guest room these days, or am I taking the couch?”

Sebastian’s lips quirked up at the corner. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

You arched a brow. “The kind who forgets to replace his bedsheets for months at a time.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head as he stood, finishing off the last sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. “You wound me,” he drawled, then he gestured for you to follow him down the narrow hallway.

As you trailed behind, he glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Your accent’s changed,” he noted. “Sounds almost American now. Tragic, really.”

You scoffed. “It does not.”

“Oh, it does.” He mimicked a horrible, exaggerated version of an American drawl. “Next thing I know, you’ll be saying ‘ain’t’ and asking for a cup of coffee instead of tea.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been gone, not possessed.”

Sebastian chuckled, pushing open a door and stepping aside to let you enter.

The spare bedroom was small but comfortable—a proper bed, neatly made, a modest wardrobe, and a single oil lamp on the nightstand. It was uncharacteristically tidy for him, and you cast him a suspicious glance.

He smirked. “Surprised? I do have some manners, you know.”

“Debatable.”

He snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, watching you as you set your gloves on the nightstand, smoothing out the worn fabric between your fingers.

Then, without warning, he reached for you, wrapping you in a sudden, firm embrace.

You tensed for half a second before melting into it, your hands pressing into the worn fabric of his shirt as you buried your face against his shoulder. He smelled like whiskey, firewood, and something unmistakably Sebastian—familiar, grounding.

“Missed you, you know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. “I wish I’d threatened Ominis’s marriage sooner. Would’ve saved me years of boredom having you around again.”

You let out a breathless laugh against his shoulder even as your chest ached.

You had been gone for so long, chasing something you could never quite outrun. And yet, standing here, in the warmth of Sebastian’s flat, his arms still loosely around you—

It felt like a piece of you had finally come home.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat, blinking quickly. “Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “we’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Sebastian grinned, giving your shoulder a final squeeze before stepping back. “Oh, we will,” he promised. “Starting tomorrow.”

Your stomach twisted at the reminder.

"What's the plan for tomorrow, exactly?"

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the flickering lamplight casting shadows across his face. He tilted his head slightly, considering your question.

“Well, obviously, I have a wedding invitation,” he said, his smirk sharp and knowing. “And seeing as you didn’t exactly RSVP, you’ll be my plus-one.”

You sighed, rubbing your hands together. “Okay... but when we get there, then what?"

Sebastian’s smirk faded, replaced with something more serious. “We’ll try to get to him before the ceremony starts,” he said. “Pull him aside, talk some sense into him. If we can convince him to walk away without causing a scene, that would be ideal.”

You exhaled slowly. “And if we do have to cause a scene?”

Sebastian lifted a brow, a familiar glint of mischief in his gaze. “Well, you did bring all that dramatic ancient magic of yours back with you, didn’t you?”

You shot him a dry look. “Yes, Sebastian, I plan to hex an entire wedding party in broad daylight.”

“Now that would be entertaining,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “You think he’ll listen?”

Sebastian hesitated, his fingers tapping idly against the doorframe. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve tried, but you know how he is. Stubborn as ever. He thinks this is the only way. Thinks he has no other choice.”

Your stomach twisted.

"And you think, somehow, I'm going to change his mind? We haven't spoken in, what, eight years? He probably—”

Sebastian cut you off with a pointed look. "Exactly. You haven't spoken in years. Which means you showing up? That'll shake him more than anything I could ever say."

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. "Or it'll just piss him off."

Sebastian shrugged, unbothered. "That works too. As long as it gets him to actually feel something about this instead of just rolling over and letting his family dictate his life again."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he hasn't felt anything about this?"

Sebastian tilted his head. "I think he's spent so long convincing himself he doesn’t have a choice that he's stopped considering the alternative. And I think," he said, crossing his arms, "that if there's anyone who can remind him of what he wants instead of what he owes, it's you."

The words struck deeper than you wanted them to.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, gripping the edge of the bed as if grounding yourself. "If he ever wanted me," you said, quieter this time, "it was never enough."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always were terrible at seeing what was right in front of you."

You frowned, but he didn’t give you a chance to argue. He pushed off the doorframe, turning toward the hall. "Get some sleep," he said over his shoulder. "Big day tomorrow. You might have to throw yourself in front of an altar."

You snorted. "Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that."

Sebastian grinned. "If it does, at least try to make it entertaining. Dramatic declarations, an I object! shouted for the ages." He paused, then waggled his brows. "Preferably while wearing something scandalous."

You rolled your eyes. "Goodnight, Sebastian."

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he teased, retreating down the hallway.

You listened to his footsteps fade, staring at the worn wooden floor beneath you.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you would face Ominis again.

Sebastian was already ready. Of course he was.

You could hear him outside the bathroom, pacing the hallway, his dress shoes clicking impatiently against the wooden floor. He’d already knocked twice, and now he was resorting to pestering you from the other side of the door.

"Are you ready yet?" His voice was exasperated. "Honestly, if I'd known you'd take this long, I would've given you a two-hour head start."

You stuck a pin in your hair and rolled your eyes. "It's been thirty minutes, Sebastian. You’re acting like I've been in here for days."

“Might as well have been,” came Sebastian’s voice from the other side, muffled but unmistakably exasperated. “We’re going to a wedding, not a coronation.”

You sighed, adjusting the way your dress fit over your shoulders, tugging at the fabric as if it would somehow settle your nerves.

The truth was, you were taking longer than usual.

But could he blame you? You hadn’t seen Ominis in nearly eight years.

And sure—he couldn’t see you, exactly, but his wand could.

You sighed, stepping back from the mirror and smoothing your skirts. You had settled on something elegant, something proper, something that would make it impossible for the Gaunts to ignore you when you walked through their doors.

Sebastian, of course, was dressed for trouble. A sharp three-piece suit, his tie just slightly loosened, his hair combed back but still holding that casual devil-may-care disarray that somehow made him look even more like a menace.

Another impatient knock. “The wedding starts in an hour, by the way.”

You shot a glare at the door, even though he couldn’t see it, then took one last look in the mirror before before finally stepping out.

Sebastian was mid-complaint when his eyes landed on you.

His mouth clicked shut.

He blinked.

And then, after a moment, let out a low whistle.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping back slightly to take you in. “You do clean up nice.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

He grinned. “I’m just impressed. You put me through an agonizing wait, but I suppose it was worth it.” His gaze flicked over you again, more appraising now. “Ominis is going to—”

You shot him a warning look before he could finish the sentence.

Sebastian just smirked. “Right, right. Gross.”

He, mercifully, didn’t push the subject further as the two of you stepped out onto the quiet London street. The air was crisp, the overcast sky hinting at rain, and the city was already awake—carts rolling by, men in suits tipping their hats as they passed, women hurrying along with baskets in hand.

A sleek, enchanted carriage waited at the curb, black lacquer gleaming under the dim morning light. Sebastian, always the gentleman when it suited him, opened the door and gestured dramatically.

“After you, my lady,” he quipped, voice dripping with amusement.

You shot him a flat look but climbed in nonetheless. The interior was comfortable, the seats upholstered in deep blue fabric, smelling faintly of polished wood . Sebastian followed, settling in across from you as the carriage took off with a jolt.

The ride started in silence, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the space between you. You stared out the window, watching London give way to quieter roads, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

Sebastian stretched out, lounging like this was nothing more than a casual social call. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You exhaled, fingers drumming against your knee. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that I might be making a mistake.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, please. As if this could even qualify as a mistake.”

You shot him a sharp look. “This isn’t a joke, Sebastian.”

His smirk softened, just slightly. “I know,” he admitted, leaning forward, bracing his forearms against his knees. “But listen to me—there is no version of this where Ominis doesn’t want to see you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t know that.”

Sebastian’s gaze was unwavering. “I do.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he was wrong, that Ominis had probably long since buried whatever he had once felt for you—if he had ever felt anything at all.

But you couldn’t ignore the gnawing in your chest, the way a tiny, fragile part of you wanted desperately to believe Sebastian was right.

The carriage slowed. Your breath caught.

Sebastian straightened, adjusting his jacket. “Showtime.”

The Gaunt estate was exactly as you remembered it from your Hogwarts days—cold, imposing, and entirely too suffocating. The sprawling grounds were still vast, stretching endlessly in every direction, but there was something unmistakably wilted about them now. The hedges lining the drive had grown wild at the edges, the once-pristine cobblestone path cracked in places, and the grand iron gates—tall and menacing—creaked on their hinges as they shut behind your carriage.

The manor itself was much the same: gray stone, towering spires, an air of superiority that had always felt like a performance rather than a truth. But even from this distance, you could tell that the years had not been kind to it.

The roof, once gleaming with meticulously maintained slate tiles, had dark patches of discoloration. Ivy crept aggressively up the eastern wing, unchecked, wrapping around balconies and windows as if slowly strangling the place. The grand windows that had once shimmered with warm candlelight now looked dimmer, some of them cracked, their leaded glass slightly warped with age.

Neglect.

That’s what this was. The decay wasn’t extreme—not yet—but it was there, creeping at the edges, slowly taking hold.

And you knew why.

Ominis’s father.

The man had been wretched, and his penchant for excess was nothing new. Even back when you were all still in school, it had been whispered that the Gaunts' fortune was a shadow of what it had once been—that their power was more name than substance now.

And now, with his father dead and Ominis as the heir, it seemed evident that the cracks in the foundation had begun to spread.

Sebastian let out a low whistle beside you. “Charming as ever.”

You exhaled, willing your nerves to settle as the carriage rolled to a stop before the grand entrance.

Footmen were stationed by the double doors, their posture rigid, their expressions carefully blank. A few well-dressed guests were filtering into the manor, their whispers hushed but pointed, eyes flickering toward your carriage with interest.

This was it.

You were here.

And somewhere inside that crumbling, gilded ruin was Ominis—waiting for a future he had resigned himself to.

Sebastian stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket before turning to offer you a hand. You ignored it, stepping down on your own, too preoccupied with the steady thudding of your heart against your ribs.

As you approached the grand entrance, one of the footmen—rigid, humorless, and probably handpicked for his ability to look as unwelcoming as possible—stepped forward, barring your way with a polite but firm, “Name?”

Sebastian handed over his invitation, flashing a smirk that bordered on arrogance. “Sebastian Sallow,” he said smoothly. “And my lovely plus-one, of course.”

The footman scanned the invitation with a blank expression, then flicked his eyes toward you. His lips pressed together.

“I’m afraid there is no ‘plus-one’ listed, sir.”

Sebastian blinked. “Pardon?”

The footman held out the invitation again. “Your name is on the list, Mr. Sallow, but there is no mention of a guest.”

Sebastian made a show of taking the paper back, squinting at it dramatically. “Oh, what an incredible oversight,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly, a devastating clerical error. You should fire whoever manages this list.”

The footman’s mouth twitched—somewhere between unimpressed and mildly annoyed. “Sir, I was given specific instructions. No additional guests who are not accounted for.”

Sebastian threw up his hands. “I’m accounting for her right now—”

“Sebastian,” you muttered under your breath, nudging his arm in warning.

He huffed. “This is absurd. What do you think she’s here for? To steal the centerpieces? I assure you, my guest is—”

The footman remained firm. “If her name is not on the list, she does not enter.”

Your fingers curled into fists. You should have seen this coming. Of course the Gaunts would keep the guest list strictly controlled—this wasn’t just any wedding, it was their last-ditch attempt to save face. The idea that a surprise guest might slip through the cracks was laughable.

Sebastian was still arguing when you finally grabbed his sleeve and yanked him aside.

He frowned at you. “What? I was wearing them down.”

“No, you were irritating them,” you muttered, glancing back at the guards. “Look, you have an invitation. You can get inside.”

He crossed his arms. “And what, exactly, are you going to do? Sit on the curb and wait?”

“No.” You lowered your voice. “I’ll figure something out. But you need to get to Ominis now.”

Sebastian hesitated, his brow furrowing. “You sure?”

You exhaled, glancing back toward the doors. “We don’t have time to waste. Find him. Get him alone. Make him listen. If that doesn't work... we'll... we'll think of something.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw, clearly not thrilled at the idea of leaving you behind. But after a moment, he exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if you’re not inside within the next fifteen minutes, I will cause a scene.”

You smirked despite yourself. “You always cause a scene.”

He grinned. “Yes, but this time, I’ll make it big.”

With that, he turned, flashing the footman an exaggeratedly smug smile before striding through the doors and disappearing into the estate.

You, meanwhile, lingered near the entrance, watching the footmen out of the corner of your eye. As much as you hated the idea of waiting out here while Sebastian got to Ominis, you knew forcing your way in wasn’t an option.

So you waited.

The footmen barely glanced at you once they assumed you were no longer their problem. Instead, they refocused on their duties—checking invitations, directing guests, speaking in hushed tones with the occasional arrival. It only took a moment for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

A carriage pulled up, the sound of clattering hooves drawing the footmen’s attention just long enough for you to slip away from the entrance.

You kept your posture casual, strolling toward the side of the estate as if you belonged there

The gardens sprawled around the estate in twisting hedges and overgrown flower beds, a shadow of their former grandeur. You maneuvered quickly, ducking beneath the trellis of a neglected rose arch, its petals long wilted, its thorns creeping along rusted iron.

Beyond the hedges, the ceremony setup came into view.

Rows of white chairs arranged in perfect symmetry. A raised platform at the far end, decorated with elegant but impersonal arrangements of deep red roses and ivy. Guests milled about in clusters, dressed in their pure-blood finery, the air thick with murmured conversations and thinly veiled judgments.

You swept your gaze over the fence, searching for a break in the iron, a space for you to slip through without your name on that stupid list.

Nothing.

You kept moving.

The gardens stretched endlessly around you, a maze of twisting paths and forgotten alcoves, the scent of damp earth and decaying petals clung to your senses as you pressed on, scanning every wrought-iron fence post, every creeping vine for a weakness in the estate’s meticulous defenses.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirts, your mind racing, cycling through every possible version of what you would say when you saw Ominis again.

How were you even going to begin? Would you demand? Beg? Reason? Would you tell him he was making a mistake, that this wasn’t the only option? Would you say it plainly, admit that you had spent years running from the truth that you loved him, and you always had? That you couldn’t stand the thought of watching him tie himself to someone who would never understand him the way you did?

Suddenly, your skirts snagged against the thick brambles of a particularly dense bush, yanking you to an abrupt stop.

You hissed in frustration, twisting to untangle the fabric, cursing under your breath as you fought with the thorny branches.

Then—

Music.

You froze. Your hands clenched in the fabric of your dress, your breath catching in your throat.

A slow, solemn melody drifted through the air, carried by an unseen quartet.

Shit. Shit. The ceremony is starting.

Your pulse pounded. This wasn’t just some idea anymore, wasn’t just a plan scribbled onto parchment in Sebastian’s messy handwriting.

This was happening.

This was Ominis’s wedding.

Your heart was in your throat.

You tore your skirt free from the brambles, stumbling forward, breath coming faster as you scanned desperately for a way through.

If you didn’t get inside now—

A hand clamped down around your upper arm, yanking you backward with enough force to make you stumble. A startled gasp escaped your lips as you twisted in place, trying to wrench yourself free, but the grip was unrelenting.

The footman was tall, broad, and utterly impassive, his expression betraying not even a flicker of emotion.

"Ma'am, you are trespassing on private property, I must insist—"

“No, wait—” you gasped, trying again, shoving at his arm, but the man barely even shifted. “I just need a moment—I’m not here to—”

“The wedding is invitation-only,” the footman said, unbothered, already dragging you back toward the entrance. “Guests are to remain in designated areas. If you do not have proper clearance—”

“I just need to talk to him!” you nearly shouted, struggling as the ceremony music continued to drift through the garden, the slow, deliberate swell of strings making your stomach twist violently.

Ominis was at the front of that ceremony right now, waiting, standing still and poised while guests murmured and the woman he was supposed to marry prepared to walk down the aisle.

It was real. It was happening. And you were out here, being dragged away, powerless to stop it.

A sickening ache took root in your chest, spreading through your ribs, pressing against your lungs like a vice. Your breath hitched, sharp and unsteady.

You tried everything.

You dug your heels in, but the footman pulled you along effortlessly.

You tried bargaining. “Please, just listen—Ominis Gaunt—he knows me, we were close once, I need to see him—”

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t listening.

Of course he wasn’t.

The Gaunts controlled their world too carefully to let last-minute intrusions disrupt them. Even now, at the end of their dynasty, they still clung to their crumbling influence, still made sure that everything went exactly as planned.

You just needed one chance—one opening to slip away, to disappear, to reach Ominis before it was too late—

Your fingers twitched toward the hidden pocket in your skirts, brushing against the cool handle of your wand.

It was reckless, maybe even stupid, but you didn’t care.

But then, another hand seized your wrist.

Your breath hitched violently as a second footman stepped forward, his grip firm, unyielding.

“Stop resisting,” he ordered, voice impassive.

“No—please—” you gasped, voice breaking.

The music swelled, the notes stretching out like a death knell in your ears, wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

You could see it now. Too vividly.

Ominis.

Ominis, sitting at the head of a long, extravagant dining table, a woman—his wife, a woman you did not know, would never know—beside him, her hand resting lightly on his wrist as they spoke in hushed tones.

Ominis, dancing with her at some pure-blood gala, his hand on her waist, his voice low in conversation.

Ominis at holidays, wathcing his children—laughing as they tore open gifts wrapped in crisp gold and silver paper.

Ominis in the soft quiet of night, pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple, his hands gentle as they cradled her face.

A sharp, ragged breath tore from your throat, your chest constricting painfully, your lungs refusing to expand properly.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You fought harder, twisting violently, desperation turning into something sharp and frantic.

"Please, you don’t understand,” you gasped, struggling, thrashing, but it was useless. "Please—I just need a moment—I have to—"

They kept dragging you back to the front drive, further and further away from the ceremony, from him, from the one moment you had to stop this. Your lungs burned, your vision blurred at the edges, and a hot, unbearable pressure rose in your throat—desperation curling tight, suffocating.

Tears burned behind your eyes, stinging, threatening to fall.

And then—

A sudden crack. A flash of red light. The grip on your arms vanished.

You collapsed to your knees, barely registering the sharp sting of gravel biting into your palms. Your chest heaved, ragged and uneven, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as the world tilted around you.

The footmen hit the ground hard, unmoving.

And when you looked up—

Sebastian stood at the threshold of the grand doors, wand raised.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” he mused, voice light, almost lazy, as if he hadn’t just knocked out two Gaunt guards in broad daylight.

You sucked in a shaky, gasping breath, arms trembling as you pushed yourself upright. The fight had drained you—left you raw, exposed.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered. His gaze flickered over you, taking in the state of you—your wild hair, your disheveled dress, the way you struggled to breathe past the sheer panic still lodged in your chest.

His expression hardened. He crossed the distance between you in three long strides, dropping to a knee before you, hand bracing against your shoulder to steady you.

“Hey,” he said, lower now, gentler. “You’re alright.”

You let out a shaking breath, still staring at the unconscious footmen, mind still reeling. “I wasn’t going to make it,” you whispered, voice hoarse, raw from the struggle.

Sebastian squeezed your shoulder. “Yeah, well.” He exhaled, straightening. “Luckily, I’ve got a terrible habit of causing trouble at exactly the right moment.”

You let out a breathless, exhausted laugh.

Sebastian stood, then offered you his hand. “Come on.” His tone shifted, sharpening with urgency. “We need to move. They’ll wake up soon.”

You took it, fingers gripping his tight as he pulled you to your feet.

Your legs were weak, but there was no more time for fear, no more time for second-guessing.

Sebastian held your gaze.

“Are you ready for this?”

Ominis was still waiting.

And you—you were still here.

You nodded.

Sebastian grinned. “Alright, then.”

And with that, you ran.

The Gaunt manor was a maze of dark corridors and endless rooms, its sheer size and suffocating grandeur turning your desperate rush into something far more frustrating.

Even with Sebastian practically dragging you forward, navigating the twisting hallways and sharp turns, it felt like time was slipping through your fingers.

Your pulse thundered. Your legs burned. Your breath came short and uneven as you sprinted your, skirts gathered in your hands.

Footsteps echoed in the halls behind you—shouts, movement. They were coming for you.

A left turn, another hallway, a sharp sprint down the main stairwell, and then finally—

Sebastian shoved open the back door, and you stumbled into the gardens.

The sudden burst of open air nearly stole your breath away. Your lungs ached, your body trembling from the exertion. And then—

You heard the officiant speaking.

Your head snapped toward the ceremony, your entire body freezing in place. It was already happening.

Rows of pure-blooded guests sat in eerie silence, their attention locked on the figures standing at the altar.

You could hear the officiant now, his voice steady, final.

"If there is anyone present who has just cause why these two should not be joined in marriage, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Everything in you screamed. Your vision tunneled, and before you could even think—

"I OBJECT!"

The words rang loud, impossible to ignore, echoing across the ceremony as if they had weight, as if they had been carved into stone.

The officiant froze mid-sentence, his mouth still parted, the words he had been about to speak dying on his lips.

And then, the ripple began.

Gasps. Dozens of them. Whispers—hushed, sharp murmurs spreading through the crowd like wildfire, rustling through silk gowns and stiffly pressed suits. Heads turned sharply in your direction, eyes wide, mouths forming quiet exclamations of scandal and disbelief.

The woman beside Ominis—his bride—let out a small, startled gasp, the delicate bouquet in her hands trembling slightly. She turned her head toward him, confusion flickering across her face, but he didn’t move to reassure her.

Sebastian let out a sharp, triumphant breath behind you. "Well. That got their attention."

But you couldn’t answer. Your heart was going to burst.

You could feel it—pounding, breaking, swelling, shattering all at once, an unbearable rush of emotion so raw that it nearly brought you to your knees.

Because he was standing right there.

Ominis.

Older. More composed, more refined, dressed in a suit that fit him perfectly, every line and seam made for him. But it was still him—the boy you had once loved.

The boy you still loved.

Your vision blurred, and for a horrible, dizzying moment, you thought you might actually cry.

But your feet were moving now.

You barely realized it—one step, then another, then another, until you were walking, carrying yourself down the aisle toward him, your breath still coming too fast, too uneven from the struggle, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Your skirts were torn at the edges, your hair mussed from running, from fighting, from forcing your way through every obstacle that had tried to keep you away from him.

The whispers grew louder, the tension in the air becoming so thick, so suffocating, but you didn’t care.

The words fell from your lips, breathless, desperate, trembling with everything you had kept buried for far too long.

"You can't marry her, Ominis."

For a moment, the world felt frozen, as if the sheer weight of your presence—your defiance—had brought everything to a grinding halt.

The officiant stiffened, his mouth slightly parted in shock. The bride inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the bouquet, knuckles turning pale against the soft petals. The guests—rows upon rows of pure-blooded aristocrats—stared at you, their expressions ranging from horrified to scandalized to morbidly fascinated.

But none of it mattered.

Because Ominis finally turned.

His head lifted, his face shifting just enough for you to see him fully, and the breath nearly left your lungs entirely.

He was beautiful in the way only Ominis had ever been—his features a careful composition of sharp cheekbones, a proud jawline, plush pink lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line.

But God, he had grown even more handsome.

Time had sculpted him into something even more unattainable, something even more devastatingly perfect.

His voice, measured and steady, cut through the stunned silence.

"...And why is that?"

You felt it before you understood it—the way his voice reached inside you and wrapped around something raw, something fragile, something you thought you had buried beneath years of distance and silence.

It was deeper than you remembered. Richer. Steadier.

And for a terrible second, you couldn’t speak. You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. You had dreamed of it, dreaded it, rehearsed what you would say if you ever saw him again.

But none of those versions had prepared you for this.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in your eyes. Your fingers curled into your ruined skirts, grounding yourself, forcing breath back into your lungs.

"Because you don’t love her," you said, voice shaking yet resolute. "And she doesn’t love you."

The bride’s sharp inhale was barely audible beneath the collective gasp that rippled through the guests.

"You’re doing this because you think you have to," you continued. "Because you think there’s no other way. But that isn’t true, Ominis. It’s never been true."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.

Your next words came softer, but they still broke through the air like a spell cast in desperation.

"Tell me you want this. Tell me this is what you really want, Ominis, and I’ll leave."

You took another step forward, heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to tear itself free from your chest.

The guests were silent now, barely breathing, watching as if they had stumbled into something far too intimate, far too raw to be witnessing.

But you didn’t care. You kept going.

"But if you don’t, if there's—" You swallowed, huffed a small, shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, because god, you were unraveling. "—if there’s any part of you that doesn’t want this—any part at all—then don’t do it. Please. Because I—" You hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment bear down on you, crushing, suffocating. "Because I love you, Ominis."

A ripple went through the crowd—a gasp, a scandalized whisper, a rustling of fabric as guests turned to each other in shock.

The bride was rigid, her knuckles white against the bouquet, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. But it was her eyes that gave her away—wide, wild, brimming with something between fury and panic.

"Ominis," she said sharply, her voice a blade cutting through the heavy silence. "Say something."

But he didn’t.

Ominis stood motionless, carved from something finer than marble, yet just as unyielding. His lips parted, breath slow and uneven, as though you had reached inside him and shaken something loose, something buried too deep to name. His jaw tightened, the muscle feathering beneath pale skin, his throat working around a swallow he never quite finished.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

It stretched and stretched, yawning wide like the space between stars, like the distance you had spent years putting between you. It pressed against your ribs, against your throat, thick and suffocating, a weight that crushed the breath from your lungs.

You had been so sure—so certain—that he would say something, do something.

But he only stood there. Still. Silent. Unmoving.

And as the seconds bled into each other, as the realization began to sink its cruel, merciless teeth into you, the first seed of doubt took root.

This reckless, desperate thing you had done—it had been a mistake. A cruel, foolish, selfish mistake. You had laid yourself bare before him, only to be met with silence. Nothing more than a last, flailing act of desperation, a pathetic display that only proved how far you had fallen.

Sebastian shifted behind you, and for a single, awful moment, you thought—

Maybe he’s going to drag me away.

Maybe he’ll step in, cut your losses, put an end to this, spare you from any further disgrace.

Maybe this was your only way out.

Maybe it was time to let go.

You swallowed against the burn in your throat, against the ache blooming in your chest. Your vision blurred at the edges, and for the first time, you truly considered turning around.

Walking away. Leaving Ominis to the life he'd been bred to live.

But then Ominis exhaled, a breath so sharp, so unsteady, it sliced through the silence like the edge of a knife.

And then, he turned.

Not just his head. Not just the subtle tilt of his face in acknowledgment.

All of him.

His entire frame shifted, shoulders squaring, spine straightening as he turned fully toward you, facing you where you stood trembling in the middle of the aisle.

The tension in the room snapped taut, the atmosphere shifting as if the very foundation of this moment had cracked beneath the weight of his movement.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, hushed and urgent, the kind of sound that signaled the birth of a scandal, the sort of thing that would be whispered about behind gloved hands for years to come.

The bride sucked in a sharp breath, her bouquet shaking in her grip. “Ominis—”

But he wasn’t listening.

His hand twitched at his side.

And then, he stepped forward.

Just one step at first, slow and deliberate.

Then another.

And another.

The bride’s composure cracked.

“Ominis,” she snapped, her voice laced with something sharp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Your chest felt too tight, too full, as if your own ribs were locking around your heart, trying to keep it from breaking, from believing what was happening.

Because Ominis was walking toward you. Confidently. Purposefully.

As if there had never been any other choice but this. As if, after years of silence, of distance, of unspoken things left to rot in the past, there had only ever been one path left to take.

The whispers rose to a fever pitch, scandalized and sharp, shocked and disbelieving. A frenzied murmur of names and questions and outrage, but all you could hear were his footsteps against the stone, each one measured, steady, unshakable.

And all you could see was him.

Tall and lean, just as he had always been, the crisp lines of his suit, the effortless precision of his movements, the way his shoulders squared with a quiet, unshakable confidence—it was Ominis, but not the boy you had once known.

He was a man now.

And he was—he was right in front of you. So close you could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, could hear the slow, deliberate exhale that left his lips as he seemed to gather himself.

Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of your own breath, the silent demand in your mind that you memorize this, remember this, because no matter what happened next, this moment would live inside you forever.

Then—he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, as if the weight of this moment threatened to crush him as much as it did you.

His fingers brushed against yours first, barely a touch, a whisper of warmth that sent a shudder through your spine. And then, with a quiet, unsteady inhale, he took your hand fully, his grip firm but trembling, as though he were afraid that if he didn’t hold on now, he might never get the chance again.

A gasp rippled through the crowd, a sharp intake of breath from dozens of watching eyes, but it barely registered. The garden, the wedding, the expectant horror of pure-blooded society—all of it had ceased to exist.

It was just him.

And then, finally, he spoke. Soft, low—only for you.

"You came back."

His voice—God, his voice.

Your throat tightened, your fingers tightening instinctively around his.

"Of course I did."

Ominis exhaled, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound—half a laugh, half a shudder. As if he couldn't quite grasp that this was real, that you were here. Then—slowly, reverently—he lifted his free hand, his fingers trembling ever so slightly before they found your cheek.

You barely had time to react before a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.

"Ominis!"

The bride.

Her voice rose, high and shrill, cracking under the sheer force of her rage. "Have you lost your mind?"

The ceremony was in chaos now—guests murmuring, shifting, watching with wide, horrified eyes. The officiant was pale, his hands clasped together as if unsure whether to proceed or flee. Somewhere in the back, someone stifled a horrified gasp.

But Ominis didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

His palm remained cradling your cheek, his thumb still smoothing gentle, unconscious strokes against your skin. His head tilted just slightly, his breath still uneven, as if the world outside of you had ceased to exist entirely.

"Tell me," he said, voice low and steady, a quiet thing made of certainty and desperation all at once. "Tell me it's true," Ominis whispered, barely more than breath. "Tell me you meant it."

Your pulse roared in your ears, your breath shuddering past your lips.

"You said you love me." His voice dipped lower, raw and unguarded, something fragile threatening to break beneath the weight of it. "Was it true?"

And oh—he needed this.

You could feel it in the way his fingers curled slightly against your skin, in the way his voice wavered at the edges, in the way he stayed, unshaken, unmovable, even as his world collapsed around him.

Your throat tightened. Your heart ached. And for the first time in years, you didn’t hesitate.

You lifted a hand, pressing it over his where it still cupped your cheek.

"I've always loved you, Ominis," you said, voice steady, unshakable.

His breath hitched—his fingers tensed against your skin. His grip on your hand faltered for the smallest second, as though the weight of it, the truth of it, had knocked the air from his lungs.

And then Ominis laughed, soft and disbelieving, shaky and full of something like wonder, like relief, like everything.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t the careful, reserved gesture of a man bred for propriety.

It was a collision, a reckoning, years of longing and regret and unspoken words crashing together in one devastating, breathtaking moment.

Ominis kissed you like a drowning man breaking the surface, like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth, like he had spent years starving for something he had convinced himself he would never taste again.

His hands, usually so composed, were firm, desperate—one cradling your jaw as if to hold you exactly where he needed you, the other splaying against the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close.

And you melted.

The world around you erupted.

The bride screamed.

A high, piercing sound, raw with rage, with betrayal, with pure, unhinged fury.

Another voice—sharper, colder—cut through the chaos, filled with absolute horror. His mother.

"Ominis Gaunt, what in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?!"

Pandemonium.

Gasps, shouts, the rustling of expensive fabric as guests stood, as scandalized pure-blooded aristocrats lost all sense of composure. The officiant took a stumbling step back, as if physically recoiling from the disaster unraveling before him. Somewhere, a woman swooned, and a man cursed under his breath.

It was chaos.

But you didn’t care. Because Ominis didn’t care.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. If anything, the noise, the outrage, the sheer catastrophe unfolding around you only made him hold you tighter. Only made him deepen the kiss, parting his lips against yours in a way that made your knees buckle, that sent your fingers flying to clutch at the lapels of his suit, holding on to him for dear life.

He tasted like desperation and devotion, like every word he had never spoken, like every moment that had led to this one, like forever.

And all around you, the world was collapsing, and you could hear it—

Movement.

The rustling of fabric, hurried, frantic. The clambering of shoes against stone. Someone—his mother, the bride, maybe both—running toward you.

A furious, sharp inhale. A gasp of outrage.

And then—

A hand.

Firm, unrelenting, gripping your shoulder.

Before you could even react, before you could turn to see who had reached for you, there was a sharp pull, and the universe twisted, folding in on itself, pulling you through space, through time, through everything.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

You were somewhere else.

It took a second for your mind to catch up, to register your surroundings. The scent of damp earth. The distant hum of insects. The soft rustle of trees swaying in the wind.

Feldcroft.

And Sebastian was there, standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, an entirely too pleased expression stretched across his face.

“Well," He exhaled, shaking his head. "That was dramatic.”

You blinked, dazed.

Ominis's hands were still on you—one at your waist, fingers firm and unyielding, the other curled at the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell against yours, his breath still uneven, still chasing the moment, still catching up to everything that had just happened.

Sebastian let out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with the kind of slow-spreading smirk that made your stomach drop. He was enjoying this.

“Merlin,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. “I knew you had it in you, mate, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Ominis exhaled, sharp and slow, the ghost of disbelief still clinging to the breath. He had done it. He had walked away from everything—his family’s expectations, his carefully arranged future, the life he had been forced into.

All for you.

The realization struck like lightning, burning through your veins, stealing the breath from your lungs.

His mother was going to kill him. And the bride—dear god—

Ominis had just dismantled years of pure-blood tradition in the span of a single moment, and the fallout would be absolute.

But as his grip on you tightened—just barely, just enough to remind you that he was here—you realized something else.

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

He took a slow, steadying breath, then finally—finally—turned his head in Sebastian’s direction.

"I suppose you're expecting me to thank you for that little apparition stunt," he said, his voice still a little rough at the edges.

Sebastian���s grin widened. "I’d prefer a heartfelt speech about how I saved your arse, but I’ll settle for the knowledge that I just witnessed one of the greatest pure-blood scandals in recent history.”

Ominis scoffed—something that might have been amusement, might have been exasperation.

And then he turned back to you.

The shift was immediate. The teasing, the aftermath, the lingering humor between friends—all of it faded, leaving only the space between you, heavy with everything that had just unraveled.

Ominis still hadn’t let go.

His fingers twitched against your waist. His other hand, still resting at the nape of your neck, curled slightly, as if reacquainting itself with the shape of you. His head tilted, his lips parting just slightly, as though there were words on the edge of them, waiting, hesitating.

And you knew.

You knew what he was thinking.

What now?

You had shattered his carefully built world in a matter of minutes. He had destroyed everything that had been set in stone for him. And now, here you both stood, at the precipice of something entirely new, something undefined, something terrifying and exhilarating and real.

Sebastian, sensing the shift, sighed dramatically. “Right, well, I can see I’m no longer needed here.” He turned on his heel, taking a few steps toward the cottage before pausing. “Just don’t shag in my childhood home, yeah? I’d really rather not have to burn it down.”

Ominis didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Sebastian laughed under his breath, gave you a knowing look, then disappeared down the path, whistling as he went.

And then, it was just the two of you.

Alone.

Ominis let out a long, slow breath.

Eight years.

Eight years since he last saw you. Since the moment he convinced himself he’d never see you again. Since you disappeared from his life with nothing but silence left in your wake.

His grip tightened, fingers curling ever so slightly against you, as if he was afraid you might slip away again.

“You never wrote me back,” he said, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges. “Not once.”

You swallowed, throat tightening, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. “Ominis—”

“No,” he cut you off, a sharp exhale betraying the control he was desperately clinging to. “No, let me—” He broke off, shaking his head, voice dropping lower. “Let me say this before I lose my nerve.”

You nodded, pulse thrumming in your ears, watching as his expression twisted with something raw, something fragile.

“I wrote you,” he continued, softer now. “I wrote you for years. And I know you wrote to the others. Sebastian, Imelda, even Garreth, for Merlin’s sake. But never me.” His fingers flexed at your waist. “Why?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You had braced for this. You had known, even in the haze of everything that had just unraveled, that this moment would come.

You shut your eyes for a brief second, gathering yourself, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. “Because I thought you… God, Ominis, I was in love with you.” The confession tumbled out, raw and unpolished, your throat tightening around the words. “And I didn’t think you felt the same. I couldn’t—” Your breath hitched, and you forced yourself to go on. “I couldn’t handle it anymore. Every day, being near you, pretending I was fine when all I wanted was—” A sharp, shaking inhale. “It was easier to run. To disappear. To… to hide.”

Ominis made a sound—half choked, half incredulous—a sharp, disbelieving exhale that might have been a bitter laugh if not for the rawness in it. “Are you serious? You thought I—?” He let out a shaky breath and pulled back just enough to search your face, his touch firm but hesitant, as if afraid you might vanish again. “You were everything to me.”

The world around you shrank to nothing. It was just him, just the storm in his voice, the years of pain in his expression, the way his carefully composed mask had finally, finally cracked.

You could barely breathe. “Ominis...”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You really mean to tell me—” He let out a slow, shaky breath. “You left because you thought I didn’t love you?”

A lump rose in your throat.

"Yes."

His expression changed then—shifting from disbelief to something devastatingly open, as though every wall he had ever put up had crumbled all at once. No careful detachment. No measured control. Just him, stripped bare.

“Eight years.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse with something you couldn’t name. “I spent eight years convincing myself you were happy without me. That I was a fool to still be in love with you.”

Your breath stilled in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in all at once. “You—?”

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. No hesitation at all. “I loved you then. I love you now. I never stopped.” His fingers curled ever so slightly against you, like he was trying to ground himself in this moment. “And all this time, I thought you—” He swallowed, shaking his head, voice breaking on the last words. “I never knew.”

Your stomach twisted painfully.

For eight years, you thought you had carried this heartache alone.

But so had he.

Ominis had spent these past eight years thinking the same thing. That you didn’t love him. That you didn’t want him.

The weight of it crashed down on you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened against his jacket, as if holding onto him could somehow anchor you, could somehow make up for all the time you had lost.

Eight years. Eight wasted years.

“Ominis,” you finally managed, but the sound of his name wasn’t enough to contain everything you felt. The love. The grief. The aching realization of what you both had done to yourselves, to each other.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice low, barely more than a breath between you.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“That you loved me.” His fingers flexed, tightening where they rested at your waist, and you felt it—the desperation, the need. “Say it.”

Your throat tightened, and you lifted your gaze to his, knowing exactly what he was asking.

Not just for the past, but for now. For the truth that still remained, untouched by time.

You swallowed hard. “I loved you.” A shaky breath. “I love you.”

Ominis let out a soft, broken sound, like something inside him had finally snapped. Before you could even think, he moved.

His hands framed your face, and then his lips were on yours again.

Unlike the desperate, heated clash of lips from the wedding—a collision of years of tension and aching grief, unpolished and frantic—this was something else entirely. This was slow. Purposeful. Reverent.

Ominis kissed you like he was memorizing you. Like he was tracing the contours of something long lost, something he never thought he’d have again.

His fingers moved, skimming along your jaw, tilting your face just so, allowing him to deepen the kiss in slow, measured increments. No rush. No desperation. Just the quiet, unshakable truth of what had always been there between you.

You sighed against his lips, and he responded with a quiet, content hum, the sound reverberating through you like a tether, like a promise. His thumb brushed your cheek, featherlight, as if to reassure himself that this moment was real—that you were here, in his arms, not a cruel trick of his imagination.

He broke away only for a breath, just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven, his hands still cradling your face like something fragile and precious.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe, with wonder.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Believe it.”

He swallowed hard, his lips hovering close to yours, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to part from you. “I’ve spent so long dreaming of this.” A pause. “Of you.”

Your heart clenched at the quiet confession, at the raw tenderness in his voice.

“I’m here now,” you whispered. “And I’m not leaving again.”

Something in his expression shifted then, something profound and unguarded. His hands slid from your face, down to your waist, pulling you just that much closer until there was no space left between you. His lips brushed against yours once more—not demanding, not desperate, but full of quiet devotion, the kind that made your knees weak, the kind that felt like home.

His arms wrapped around you fully now, enveloping you in his warmth, his breath fanning against your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “Because I wouldn’t let you.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped you, but it dissolved into nothing as he kissed you again, slow and sure, as if he had all the time in the world to make up for every missed moment.

And maybe—just maybe—you did.

[jungwnies]

wrong time, right person - carlos sainz (1/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : carlos sainz x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : years after a bitter breakup, you and carlos sainz reunite unexpectedly. old wounds resurface, but so does undeniable love. will history repeat itself?

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor, drama ୨ৎ : tws : mild language, arguing, friendships ending, bantering, suggestive humor, mentions of alcohol consumption. ୨ৎ : wc : 952

part one | part two | part three | part four

Spain was never supposed to feel like home.

You were just an exchange student, a stranger in a country where the language tripped you up, where conversations flowed around you like a current you couldn’t quite swim in. The other students were nice, polite even, but distant. They smiled, but no one really saw you.

Except for him.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t just friendly; he was relentless. He talked to you like it was the most natural thing in the world, like he had made it his personal mission to make you feel at home. The first time he sat next to you at lunch, he didn’t ask the usual "Where are you from?" or "How do you like Spain?" Instead, he stole a fry from your plate and smirked.

“You always eat this little?”

It took you a second to process what he said, your brain scrambling for the right words. When you did, you narrowed your eyes and stole a fry right back.

“Mind your business.”

He laughed, loud, unapologetic. And just like that, best friends.

He made Spain feel like home. He dragged you to local karting tracks, shoved a helmet on your head, and laughed until he was breathless as you struggled to drive at half his speed. You sat on the asphalt after his races, drinking cheap sodas and listening to him talk about his dreams; Formula 1, podiums, championships. You still remember the way his eyes lit up when he talked about his father, the legendary Carlos Sainz Sr., how he wanted to make him proud.

“You think I can do it?” he asked once, voice quieter than usual.

You scoffed, nudging his shoulder. “I think you’re already doing it.”

And you were right.

He climbed the ranks, and you were right there beside him, just like he was there for you. Modeling started small, with local gigs, small shoots. but soon after, your face was showing up in magazines, whispered about in the industry. The first time you booked an international job, Carlos picked you up and spun you around like it was his victory too.

“You’re gonna be famous,” he said, grinning. “I’m gonna see your face on billboards, aren’t I?”

It was fun, easy, and natural, until it wasn’t.

The higher he climbed, the further away he felt. The more you succeeded, the less you seemed to talk. At first, it didn’t feel like a big deal. You still sent texts, still FaceTimed when you could. But slowly, the missed calls turned into silence, and suddenly, you were watching each other’s successes through headlines instead of in person.

Then, he made it to Formula 1.

And you? You were stepping into high-fashion modeling.

The night it all fell apart wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Just another call that went unanswered. Just another missed "good luck" before a race. But this time, Carlos called back, and he called back angry.

“You don’t even care anymore.” His voice was sharp, cutting straight through your exhaustion.

You blinked, phone pressed to your ear, the weight of his words settling deep into your chest. “What?”

“You heard me,” he snapped. “You missed my race. Again.”

Your stomach twisted. “Carlos, I had a show. You knew that.”

“Right, right,” he said bitterly. “Another shoot, another runway, another excuse. Siempre tienes una razón, ¿verdad?” (You always have a reason, right?)

Heat flared in your cheeks. “Excuse me? Don’t you dare act like you’re the only one with a career! I support you, Carlos, but I have my own dreams too.”

He laughed, but it wasn’t the kind that made your heart feel light, it was sharp, hollow, cold. “Support? ¿Eso es lo que llamas esto?” (Is that what you call this?) “Because it feels a lot like you just don’t give a damn anymore.”

Anger burned hot in your chest. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” His voice dropped, quieter, but somehow even more dangerous. “Entonces dime, when was the last time you actually showed up for me? When was the last time you watched me race, not through a screen, but actually there?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because the answer was obvious. And it wasn’t one you wanted to say out loud.

Carlos exhaled sharply, like he had been hoping, hell, borderline begging, for you to fight him on it. But you couldn’t.

He scoffed. “Eso pensé.” (That’s what I thought.)

Tears burned behind your eyes. “This isn’t fair, Carlos. You’re always traveling, I’m always traveling! What the hell do you expect me to do?”

“I expected you to care.” His voice cracked. Just slightly. But it was enough to break you.

Your breath hitched. “You think I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and that hurt worse than anything else.

Because Carlos always knew. He always understood you, always read between the lines, always saw you even when you felt invisible to everyone else. But now? Now he wasn’t even sure.

The silence stretched between you like an open wound.

And then he said it.

“Quizás sea más fácil así.” (Maybe it’s just easier this way.)

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. “What?”

His voice was flat, emotionless. Like he had already given up. “Maybe we’ve just been holding on to something that doesn’t exist anymore.”

You felt something inside you shatter.

Carlos had been your best friend. Your person. Your safe place. But now he was just...just nothing.

“I don’t have time for this.” Your voice was quiet, raw, aching. “I have an early flight.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Por supuesto que sí.” (Of course you do.)

Neither of you apologized.

Neither of you fought for it.

Neither of you said goodbye.

Carlos left for another race. You left for another shoot.

Neither of you looked back.

Until you were given no choice...

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Loving, All Knowing

Warning: Typical British drinking (alcoholism lite)

Summary: Drunk night out with your girlie! And also Ghost!

Notes: It is too amusing to me to constantly cocktease our readers I apologise for nothing

Word Count: 2,756

ao3 link

It didn’t matter how many times you heard that trainers were in at the clubs; you still couldn’t wrap your head around it. Trainers were for walks, painful heels were for clubbing, alongside bandage dresses that did their best to suffocate you.

You’d considered the trainers several times that night, but you couldn’t quite bring yourself to wear them out, so you’d gone with ankle boots instead. They were a good compromise, you thought; they provided ankle support, and with laces, you could tie them tight enough so they wouldn’t rub and give you blisters, but they still had a sky-high heel, so you didn’t feel like you’d given up completely. That, and the skimpy bandage dress that was doing a great job of trying to suffocate you with your own boobs, which you’d hoisted up in a push-up bra. Helen was dressed similarly, though, with her bright pink hair, she was far more eye-catching. Not necessarily a good thing either, considering how many of her exes seemed to be out tonight, making her a beacon for lesbian dramatics. You’d already had to sneakily exit one club to avoid a particular ex of hers who had a penchant for throwing drinks, so you were hobbling across the cobblestones to a different club, praying that whatever drama would surely arise in that one wouldn’t involve a vodka lemonade to the face.

You were only halfway across the street, having had to pause to tie your laces back up, when you heard men shouting from down the road, shouting your name. Damn Helen and her hair! You had exes to avoid too! If it was Matt, you were running for it, untied shoes be damned. You abandoned your shoelace to look over at the group of rowdy men, only to find a familiar face at the centre of them.

Ghost.

It was weird to see him in such a pedestrian environment; you only ever really saw him solo in the middle of the night; to see him surrounded by lads in a busy club street was bizarre. He was dressed the same way he always dressed, blue jeans, black jumper, dark trainers, though he’d eschewed the mask. His face was still in the healing process, though the bruises had faded more, a strange green tinted purple on his skin. You could see that he’d had his hair trimmed too, practically a military buzzcut, a tragedy, right as it had been getting a little fluffy. The men around him were unfamiliar to you, but they looked military, big and beefy, all jostling one another with that typical smug arrogance that came with being in the army. Already, they didn’t feel like your type of men, but Ghost had separated from them and was making a beeline toward you.

Helen had been so distracted by a beautiful woman smoking outside that she didn’t seem to notice the group of lads until Ghost was mere metres away. The look on her face could have made a toddler cry, and she looked at you suspiciously, “Isn’t that that lad from the pub that time?”

“No?”

“Is he the sneaky link you’ve been hiding from us?”

“What sneaky link?”

Helen snorted, “You think we don’t notice? Please. You’ve had a little soldier on the side. That’s why you don’t host girls nights anymore.”

Well, she had you there. There was no time to bicker anymore; Ghost was standing right in front of you, his eyes flicking from you to Helen and then back to you. Helen regarded him haughtily, as she did with all men, “You gonna introduce yourself then? Or are you only a ‘two in the morning u up’ type?”

Yeesh. She really did like to embody the ‘man-hating lesbian’ vibe. It was a great vibe though.

Ghost wasn’t put off and instead offered Helen his hand, “Not my style at all. Name’s Simon.” She looked at him, then at you, and you widened your eyes a touch at her, silently begging her to be nice. She narrowed her beautifully lined eyes as though wishing she could stab her stiletto nails through his fingers, but she took his hand and briskly shook it, and you knew she was doing her best to crush his fingers, “Helen.”

Well, that was about as friendly as Helen got. You laughed awkwardly, trying to diffuse the tension radiating from Helen, “Simon! Hi! Hey! What are you doing here?”

He tilted his head at you as though he was trying to understand how you wanted him to act around your friends. “Just out with the lads. Some of ‘em only got back tonight so ‘m taking them out for a couple drinks. What about you, love?”

“Oh, you know, drinks and dancing.”

Ghost looked down at your heels and then at your face, one brow raised, “You planning on snapping an ankle?” He didn’t wait for a response, dropping down into a crouch, gently pulling your foot forward and redoing your laces tightly, forcing you to place a hand on his shoulder for balance. With one done, he tapped on your other shoe, and you shifted your weight so you could hold that boot out for him to relace, the leather snug around your foot. His fingers trailed over the back of your calf as he straightened back up, “That should keep you all night.”

It took you a good second to bring your brain back into gear; the sight of Ghost practically kneeling down before you, looking up at you with those eyes had filled your head with all sorts of images, wondering if the soldier in him was good at following orders. You needed to find out. You needed to have him on his knees in between your legs.

“You alright, love?”

He was looking down at you as though he was concerned, but you could see the smugness in his eyes, that faux innocence, like he didn’t know exactly what you were thinking about. You blinked away the images in your head, storing them away for later. Helen’s patience was beginning to thin; you could tell by the tapping of her fingers on her arm; after all, it was a girl's night, not a girl's plus Ghost, so you decided to draw a quick end to the conversation, a little emboldened by the shots you’d already had tonight. You leant up as far as you could get, resting both hands on Ghost’s chest so you could press a kiss to his cheek, leaving a little red lipstick mark there, “I’ll text you later, yeah?”

Now it was Ghost’s turn to look taken aback, but only for a second, his face quickly breaking into a wide smile, revealing the scars on his cheeks as the tissue pulled tight. He put one of his hands over yours on his chest, “You need anything you let me know, yeah?” You nodded, and he reached out to gently brush a thumb across your cheek, a tender gesture that made your heart skip and your insides tingle. He leaned in to press a kiss to your head, “Have a nice night.”

With that, he left you to return to his group, the berating from which you could hear even from so far away, though Ghost took no shame in his actions, looking immensely proud. Helen snorted and rolled her eyes at you, though there was no real bite in her tone, “My God, why don’t the pair of you just fuck in the middle of the street? Like a pair of teenagers, you are. Or unfixed cats. It’s nauseating.”

You dragged your eyes away from Ghost and back to Helen, wrinkling your nose at her, “Bite me. Not like you don’t eye-fuck every girl that looks at you.”

She grinned at that and linked her arm through yours, pulling you towards another club, “What can I say?”

A fair few hours later, your feet ached, your calves felt like they were going to cramp any second, and you’d danced so much that you were sure you’d worked off the empty calories of the many shots of alcohol coursing through your system. Helen had given up on her heels and was now walking barefoot next to you, emphatically explaining why it wasn’t her fault that taken women seemed to gravitate toward her. Neither of you noticed that there was still a wedge of lemon in her hair from where the lemonade had been thrown over her. At least you’d managed to miss most of it this time.

Walking in this state felt impossible, especially considering Ghost had tied your shoes so tightly you couldn’t figure out how to undo the knot, trapping you in your heels. You had no choice though so you soldiered on, practically dragging Helen to where the lines of taxis were.

“Little love!”

The shout was practically deafening, several heads turning to the sound, yours included. There he was, still with his mates, but he barged through them to get to you, a waft of smoke trailing behind him. Helen had found a lamp post to cling to instead of you, and Ghost took the opportunity to sweep you up into his arms, squeezing you in a tight hug, his face nuzzling into your neck. Clearly, he’d had about as much alcohol as you. But you weren’t about to complain, still buzzing, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, enjoying the scent of him mixed in with cigarette smoke and alcohol. He picked you up off the ground, and you had just enough time to grab Helen’s arm as Ghost carried you over to where his mates were leaning against the brickwork.

Without a word from you, he dropped you back on the pavement, his arms encircling your waist as he presented you to his mates,

“Wanted you to meet the lads, love.” He named them in quick succession, and you immediately forgot all of their names, mostly focused on trying to stand upright. Although, what did stick out in your mind was when one of the lads, Baz, you think his name was, mentioned how whipped Ghost was.

“Barely shut up about you tonight. You’d think other women didn’t exist.”

Ghost practically purred in your ear, “They don’t. Not to me.”

“Did you know he carries photos of you with him? Sure we caught him wanking in the barracks to one-“

Whatever Baz had to say was cut off by Ghost reaching over to smack him around the head, but it was too late. You’d already heard that delightful little piece of information, and there was no putting that back in the box. Ghost grumbled and hugged you tighter, and you thought one of his friends fake retched at the affection until you realised it was real retching; Helen was puking in the gutter. You wriggled out of Ghost’s arms to stumble over to Helen, rubbing her back as she emptied her stomach into the street, a disgusting rainbow of glitter amongst the chunder. Ghost sniggered behind you, but he reached out to pick up a few strands of Helen’s hair, holding them out of the way until she’d finished.

“Give us a bottle of water lads.”

From the group of men, a bottle of water was produced, and Ghost handed it to you so you could help Helen clear the spatter off her arm and swill the water to get the taste out of her mouth. She groaned, and you sighed, too drunk to be a caretaker but without choice. “I need to get her back home.”

“Where does she live?”

“‘Round Salford way.”

Ghost nodded, and he pointed out a taxi, “Let’s get her in one.”

It was quite cosy with five of you bundled in the back of the taxi, with Helen closest to the door, you on Ghost’s lap, and then two of Ghost’s mates on the other side. The three soldiers were engaged in some army nonsense, but you found it easy enough to tune out, your head resting against Ghost’s chest as his fingers stroked up and down your arm, your hand resting on Helen’s back. When you finally reached her house, he helped you carry her to the front doorstep, where her eternally patient sister awaited her, dragging her into the house. With your charge taken care of, it was back into the taxi with Ghost.

After the lads were dropped off, you were finally on the way back to yours, curled up in the back seat with Ghost, his arm draped around your shoulders as you laid with your arm wrapped around his stomach, half asleep. The idea of having to walk up to your flat sounded like sheer torture, and you were quite tempted to see if you could fall asleep in the taxi, but Ghost wouldn’t allow it.

“Come on, darlin’.”

You grumbled about your shoes, so he simply reached into the taxi and pulled you into his arms, carrying you like a princess. He paid the driver, then whisked you up to your apartment, surprisingly steady considering how much he’d been drinking. There was some fumbling with the locks as he tried to juggle both you and the keys, but he managed, carrying you over the threshold and shutting the door behind the two of you.

Roach and Soap knew better than to come and see you after a night out, knowing that you were likely to try and cuddle with them, so the apartment was quiet as Ghost walked you into your bedroom and laid you down on the bed, moving back to deftly undo your laces, releasing your feet from the prison that was your heels, tossing them back into the living room. You were too drunk to care about propriety, just irritated by the tightness of your dress as you pulled at the zip, trying to get out of the bandage cage. Ghost’s fingers came up to assist, gently tugging the zip down until your body practically busted out of the damn thing. It was too tight, too irritating, so you had no problem letting Ghost gently tug the dress up over your head, leaving you just in your underwear and tights.

When you opened your eyes, having apparently closed them at some point, you saw Ghost crouched at the side of the bed, his hand resting on your thigh.

“You really are gorgeous, you know that?”

You looked down, seeing your own half-naked body, and then back at Ghost, a little bit of sobriety coming back into you. He tugged his jumper off over his head, then immediately pushed it over your head, not giving you much of a choice in being covered up again. You didn’t mind; the jumper was soft, and it smelled like him, and it was warm. It would have been easy to fall asleep like that, but you had other plans. You rolled onto your side so you could look at him, taking into account his bruised and battered face, the harsh features of his face a perfect contrast with the soft, loving way he was looking at you. He really was gorgeous, even if his face was a bit fucked up.

Your hand moved down to his, and you played with his fingers, “You coming to bed?���

“You inviting me?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of silence, and you could see Ghost grappling with something. He brushed a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers stroking across your cheek and gently touching your lower lip before he backed up, getting to his feet. You frowned at him, “Where you going?”

Ghost answered you frankly.

“I’m going to have a wank in your bathroom.”

If you had been sober, you might have had more of a response to that, but you were drunk and tired, so you didn’t give it much thought, rolling over in the bed as he walked off, taking your bra off underneath the jumper and tossing it on the floor, then squirming under the covers.

Ghost returned a few minutes later, and you could hear the sound of him undressing, followed by the bed dipping as he got in beside you. His thighs were warm against the back of yours, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you close to his chest, his fingers tangling with yours as he cuddled into your back, pressing several soft kisses to your neck before he let his head fall on the pillow beside yours, joining you in peaceful slumber.

[tojisprettylittlething]

Chapter Twenty Eight: A Mission Gone Too Far

Pairing: Assassin!Toji Fushiguro x Assassin!Reader

Warnings: violence, blood, gunplay, near-death experience, injury (bullet grazing the head), Toji being pissed, heavy tension, arguments, and power struggles.

Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

"Testing, testing—"

The smooth voice rang through the earpiece, crystal clear against the static of the comms. You barely resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

"—If you can hear me, say ‘Gojo is a sexy genius.’"

"Gojo, I swear to God," you muttered, checking the magazine of your gun before slotting it back into place.

"Just say ‘copy,’" Toji’s voice cut in, irritated.

“Copy,” you responded, adjusting your gear.

You could hear Gojo’s smirk over the line. "Buzzkills. Both of you."

You and Toji stood on the rooftop of an old industrial building, eyes scanning the lot below. A shipment was coming in, an underground deal that Gojo had oh-so-graciously assigned you to oversee. A simple recon mission, he’d said. In and out. No unnecessary bloodshed.

Bullshit.

You knew a test when you saw one. You’d been thrown into enough trials-by-fire to recognize when someone wanted to see what you were really made of.

And judging by the way Toji stood beside you, arms crossed, jaw locked—he knew it too.

"Keep your eyes open, lovebirds," Gojo drawled in your ear. "We’ve got movement. Two cars, black SUVs, just pulled up."

You spotted them immediately. Four men stepped out, all dressed in dark suits, their movements crisp, purposeful. Professionals. Armed.

"How much you wanna bet they’ve got more inside?" you murmured.

Toji scoffed. “That’s not even a bet. Of course they do.”

"Then let’s keep this simple. We don’t fire unless we have to."

"Agreed."

You both moved swiftly, descending from the rooftop, taking up positions along the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

Then, right when the deal was about to finalize—

All hell broke loose.

Gunfire erupted, shattering the tense quiet. You didn’t know who shot first, but it didn’t matter—suddenly, the entire place was a war zone.

"Ohhh, now it’s getting interesting," Gojo hummed through the comms.

"Not the time," you snapped, ducking behind a crate as bullets tore through the air.

Toji moved like a damn ghost, cutting through the chaos with brutal efficiency. A blade in one hand, a gun in the other, dropping anyone in his path.

You weren’t far behind, weaving through the mess, gun aimed, shots precise. You weren’t here for an all-out fight, but if someone got in your way? You weren’t hesitating.

At least, not until you saw him.

The sniper.

Perched up high, barely visible through the dim lighting.

And his barrel was aimed directly at Toji.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up.

A sharp bang. The world blurred—pain exploded along the side of your head, a searing, white-hot sting.

The shot missed. Barely.

But you felt it.

A graze, just above your temple, hot blood trickling down the side of your face.

You heard Toji’s voice, sharp, frantic—

“What the fuck?!”

The sniper wasn’t getting a second chance.

You lifted your gun and fired. A single shot, straight to the skull. The body dropped.

The gunfire around you faded into a dull roar, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

Your vision swayed for a second—

Then Toji was in front of you, grabbing your face, tilting your head to assess the damage. His hands were rough, firm, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore it might snap.

"Are you fucking stupid?"

You blinked, still catching up.

"Toji—"

"You moved in front of a sniper.” His voice was deadly quiet, barely restrained. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

You scowled, slapping his hands away. "I saved your ass."

"You almost got your head fucking blown off."

"But I didn't."

“That’s not the fucking point—”

"Ah, young love," Gojo’s voice interrupted. "So much passion. So much drama. But, uh—maybe wrap up the lovers’ quarrel after you clear the damn warehouse?"

Toji’s glare could’ve burned a hole through the comms.

But you could barely focus on that. The pain in your head was setting in now, throbbing. Your vision was still a little off-kilter, the blood dripping down your face warm and sticky.

You exhaled sharply, shaking off the dizziness. "Let’s just finish this."

Toji muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t argue. He turned on his heel, jaw tight, gun raised.

And despite the anger simmering between you—he still positioned himself in front of you. A shield. Just in case.

Because no matter how pissed he was—no matter how much he wanted to strangle you for what you just pulled—he wasn’t about to let anyone else touch you.

Not now. Not ever.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The last few minutes of the mission were a blur of gunfire, adrenaline, and your throbbing head wound.

Toji was furious, but he didn’t let it slow him down. If anything, he was moving faster—his bullets landing with brutal precision, his blade slicing through flesh like it was nothing. If he was pissed before, he was outright murderous now.

You kept up, but the world swayed every few seconds, the warm trickle of blood trailing down your temple reminding you that you weren’t at your best. Still, you weren’t about to sit this out.

Gojo’s voice rang in your ear, cool and entertained. "Well, that was fun. Seems like you two made quite the impression."

"Shut the fuck up," Toji snapped.

Gojo only laughed. "Relax, lover boy. Mission’s over. You’re clear."

You took a slow breath, surveying the bodies littered around the warehouse. The air was thick with the scent of gunpowder and iron, the tension still clinging to your skin.

Your hand lifted to your temple, fingers coming away slick with blood.

Toji was already stalking toward you, his movements rigid, controlled. The second he reached you, he grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from your wound. His expression was unreadable, but his grip was tight.

“We’re leaving,” he said, voice sharp.

“I’m fine.”

His jaw clenched. "You're bleeding."

"It’s just a graze."

His hand tightened around your wrist. “You think I give a fuck?”

You stared at him, breath still uneven. His eyes were dark, burning, and his grip on you was almost bruising. You could feel the anger radiating off of him, barely contained beneath the surface.

You didn’t say anything else. There was no point.

Without another word, he yanked you toward the exit.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The car ride home was silent.

Tense. Suffocating.

Toji’s grip on the wheel was too tight, his knuckles white. His jaw was still clenched, his whole body wound tight with frustration. You could practically feel the rage rolling off of him in waves.

You sat beside him, arms crossed, eyes trained on the window.

Your head still throbbed. The blood had dried, crusting uncomfortably along your temple.

Finally, you exhaled. "Are you gonna stay mad forever, or—?"

The tires screeched as he slammed on the brakes, jerking the car to a stop on the side of the road.

Your pulse jumped.

Slowly, you turned to him, only to find him already staring at you—his expression dark, livid.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” His voice was low, lethal.

You scowled. “I was thinking about saving your life.”

“I don’t need you to save me.”

Your temper flared. “I made a choice. I took a risk. That’s what we do.”

"Not like that." His voice was sharp, his breathing uneven. "Not when it means almost getting your fucking head blown off."

“Jesus, Toji—”

“You hesitated before. And now you’re fucking reckless?”

Your fingers curled into fists. “I handled it.”

"You almost died." His hands slammed against the steering wheel, frustration spilling over. “And for what? You think I’d be grateful? You think I’d be proud that you nearly got your skull split open?”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling. His voice was raw, his anger barely leashed.

But beneath it—beneath all the frustration, all the sharp edges of his words—you saw it.

The fear.

He had seen you go down. He had seen the blood. And for a split second—he had thought you were dead.

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

Toji exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His hands dragged down his face, his fingers raking through his hair.

Then, softer this time—hoarse, almost—

“Don’t ever do that again.”

Your throat felt tight.

“…Okay.”

Neither of you moved. The car was still. The world outside was quiet.

Then Toji clicked his tongue, shaking his head again. “Fucking stupid.”

You snorted. "You're one to talk."

He huffed, but there was no real bite behind it anymore.

Finally, he shifted the car back into gear, pulling back onto the road. His hand found your thigh, gripping it tightly—possessive, grounding.

You let him.

You stayed silent for the rest of the ride.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When you got home, Toji barely let you step through the door before he was dragging you to the bathroom.

“Sit,” he ordered, gesturing to the closed toilet lid.

You rolled your eyes, but you obeyed, watching as he rummaged through the cabinet for the first aid kit.

“I told you, it’s just a graze—”

“Shut up.”

You huffed. “Bossy.”

He shot you a look before kneeling in front of you, tilting your chin up to examine the wound. His fingers were rough but careful, his gaze focused.

You sighed, letting him work. His grip was firm as he wiped away the dried blood, cleaning the wound with surprising gentleness.

“…You should’ve let me take the shot,” he muttered after a moment.

You looked down at him, watching the way his brows were furrowed, his lips pressed together.

“But I didn’t.”

Toji’s jaw ticked. His fingers pressed against your chin, his thumb stroking over your jaw absentmindedly.

You swallowed.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. The air was thick, heavy with everything left unsaid.

Then, finally, he exhaled.

“I fucking hate you,” he muttered.

You smirked. “No, you don’t.”

His eyes flickered up to you. A beat of silence.

Then—softer, quieter—

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

Your chest tightened.

Toji let out a slow breath before standing up, tossing the used alcohol wipe into the trash.

“Come on,” he murmured. “You need sleep.”

You didn’t argue.

Because despite the throbbing in your skull, despite the ache in your body—

For the first time since the mission started, you actually felt safe.

My lil taglist ₍₍ ◝(　ﾟ∀ ﾟ )◟ ⁾⁾ : @t4naiis - @crimsonxm00n -

[dol--blathanna]

So since CR campaign 3 is ending today (RIP) I’ve been seeing a lot of Hot Takes about the campaign overall, the events of the past few episodes, and the fact C3 is ending now. I generally try not to get involved in CR discourse (also I am primarily a witcher-themed blog lol) BUT I wanted to share my Super Duper Important and Urgent Campaign 3 Hot Take because I haven’t seen anyone mention it and I'm beginning to gaslight myself over if I'm remember things wrong:

I Can’t Believe Bells Hells Never Called Ira Out For Erasing Ollie’s Memories/Mind-Controlling Him

So way back in the campaign, in episode 31 “Breaking Point”, Ira betrayed the group (including Birdie and Ollie), stole the Moontide crown, and vanished. Imogen and FCG entered Ollie’s mind and found various “grey smears” in his memories, including one where “Birdie was crying”, then both she and Ollie angrily gathered their belongings with the intent to leave as fast as possible…only for the memory to go into the grey smear, and then the next memory having Birdie and Ollie working alongside Ira again, as if their moment of wanting to ditch Ira never happened.

So obviously, Ira was either erasing Ollie’s memories or magically controlling him and Birdie (or maybe both) in order to stop them from leaving. Not only that, but there are these grey smears all over Ollie’s mind – Matt even describes it as “Swiss-cheese”, i.e. Ira did this a LOT! Bell’s Hells even theorise that perhaps Birdie and Ollie kept on discovering that Ira was evil and wanting to leave, or – most importantly – wanting to go back to Fearne. And Ira robbed them of their choice!

And Bell’s Hells…completely forget about this. The next time they see Ira, they’re asking him to help stop Ludinus during the solstice and the first attack on the Malleus Key (and, very importantly, to Please Not Let Xandis Die when they make the plan to crash the airship into the key). And like, I totally get it – they were trying to gather as many allies as possible, and Ira is both very useful but also not particularly trustworthy, so accusing him and starting an argument with him before a very dangerous and time-sensitive mission would have been unwise.

But, 88 episodes since they entered Ollie’s mind have passed and – nothing! It has never, ever been brought up again, despite them working with Ira a number of times since then. And I think that’s a shame because Fearne feeling abandoned by her parents, then all the additional drama with Zathuda, was a very interesting part of her character, and Ira mind-controlling her parents could have been part of why they didn’t go back to her – but unless it’s brought up in the 8hr finale tomorrow, I guess we’ll never know. (Of course this isn’t even touching the question of whether Nana Morri stretched time secretly to give herself more years with Fearne, considering it had been 90 years since Fearne saw her parents but Birdie was under the impression it was 6/7 years – that’s a whole other can of worms that unfortunately was never opened, iirc).

But anyway Bells Hells might have forgotten about Ira meddling with Ollie’s mind but NOT ME. I haven't and I have held a grudge against Ira this entire time and I have no regrets for that. Fearne I love you, Birdie and Ollie I’ve got your back, FUCK Ira all my homies hate Ira, I hope he steps on a lego with his nasty 2-toed feet, also isn’t it funny that he FAILED to blow up his nemesis Sorrowlord Zathuda with a giant bomb on the moon haha what a LOSER. Meanwhile Chetney threw a chisel at Zathuda’s head and Orym slashed him and then Zathuda DIED wow Ira you are so CRINGE you couldn’t even manage that. Also I am Totally Not in Denial About Campaign 3 Ending. We’re definitely getting another 100 episodes trust me. Source: my delusions.

[dramashii]

It was strange. That day, more than any other words, I was comforted by those words.

BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIRST LIFE (2017) | Ep 1

[brionysea]

when max is depressed we know something's wrong because lucas says with his words that he knows something's wrong but when mike is depressed we don't think anything of it because will's right next to him rolling his eyes about how stupid straight people are

[dumplingcatho]

thinking abt link click this fine day GOD first and probably will be the best donghua i'll watch ever aueghhhhh it's lowkey utena 2.0 for me (i still prefer utena but linkclick is basically on that level) it's just so solid and well crafted and compelling RAHHH

the opening song too???? it didn't take too long to realise!! something had changed in the back of my miiind!! your eyes!!!!! there ain't nowhere left to hide behind!! time no longer flew like it was... when the flash froze everything before... without you.. i don't know if i could take this road.... okay i'll stop there or i WILL type out the whole op

[thorninyourpaw]

my existence makes me feel awful for my family

[britneyshakespeare]

you know i don't bring this up as a light anecdote because it involves me being talked about in really perverted ways behind my back. but when i was like 20 i was part of this large group of friends that was mostly a bunch of guys, and a couple of girlfriends. and the energy if you were a girl starting to hang around them was like. "ok, so who are you gonna hook up with/date?" and it didn't last long bc of course when the answer ended up being "well none of you," the patience they had for me evaporated. lol. so i was being talked about among literally every single one of them behind my back in a gigantic group chat, of like literally everyone in the original group chat (including the ppl who never fucking used it, and it was over twelve people) minus a few other ppl they didn't like, decidedly. and eventually one of my GOOD friends (that i am still friends w to this day) told me about it and then there was the whole drama of people not being able to accept consequences for their actions, not owning up to being cowardly bullies, etc... yawn yawn yawn. truly that was some stupid middle school shit from a bunch of immature ppl that i didn't really take to heart. not the guys, anyway. i was honestly very hurt by a couple of girls who partook in it though, that i thought genuinely liked me and who i genuinely liked in return, so that was shocking to me.

but anyway. after this all happened my sister went OFF on this one guy in particular. bc he had been a nuisance before. he was a slimy creep honestly. i used to feel a lot of pity for him bc i thought he was just sad and wanted attention but that was just my 20-year-old nonsense brain way of interpreting it. he was incredibly annoying and would wear girls down, would hop from one girl to another week after week, each one not reciprocating his constant desperate flirting and lovebombing. and there was a joke he participated in about me and my (also queer, female) friend that was particularly crossing a line. so kaily just ripped this guy a new one when he went to try and offer an explanation. like imagine trying to even talk to someone after you just humiliated and bullied their sister... couldn't be me. like i was literally the one being bullied in this instant but i can't imagine the kind of white hot rage i'd be in if someone did that to my sister. you know? so yeah.

at the end of this rant kaily told him "go to hell." you know. like fuck off. go fuck yourself. go to hell. good old indecent words to throw out at someone you loathe, right? i'm literally ONLY bringing this up because i cannot stop thinking, all these years later, about how one of the girls who participated in it, and was the least apologetic about it (in fact weirdly a year later she came back just to taunt me again and tell me how much better her life is without me and how stupid i was for breaking up a 'wonderful' friend group?? yeah that sounds like the behavior of someone who is over it)... i don't remember where but someone told me she talked particularly about that message to that guy and said "kaily told (name) to burn in hell" like. like that whole time she interpreted my sister as like a conservative christian who was calling him a dirty sinner. bc presumably she had never heard the phrase "go to hell" in a non-literal context before, or just never understood it?? like that girl didn't necessarily strike me as incredibly bright or something, in the short time i knew her, but i never would've guessed she could be so dumb...

but for the record that pervert guy yeah he is gonna burn in hell.

[fluffywhump]

i'm also not a fan of how even when going the trad pub route, authors are expected to use social media to market their books. and many times it feels like being expected to sell a personality to get people interested enough to look at your work

[makismei]

cw: pleasure dom toji!!!, overstim, he’s sweet, squirting. 18+ content, penetration, little hint of anal play, fingering, oral f! receiving, established relationship

“baby, chill out,” he scolds, grabbing you by the hips and dragging you back. he knocks your legs open and you whimper, resisting.

“tojiii,” you whine, all drawn out and pretty, “please, it’s too much, i can’t cum.”

he scoffs, wet fingers rubbing against your pussy. your body locks up and he holds back a groan at the tears in your eyes. “it’s only too much because you can’t stay still. you did this to yourself, doll.”

you shake your head, stubborn as ever. “‘s not my fault! you just suck!”

eye twitching, toji presses two fingers inside without warning. “i think i’ve been too nice to you, baby.” he hums, scissoring his fingers and relishing in the way your back arches. “look at ya, talking back to me.”

he thrusts his digits, forcing your leg to open wider, while his thumb massages your clit. he presses down, applying pressure and making out little shapes.

you wriggle, tears pooling in your eyes like the drama queen you are. “no! not like thaaaat!”

“why, baby?” he questions, “you cum so quick when i have ya like this.”

you whine loudly, legs starting to shake. toji licks his lips, eyes training hungrily on your cunt. you’re almost there, but you’re fighting the urge to cum, knowing it pisses him off.

it makes him regret the fact he used to make you hold back your orgasms, only letting you cum if he said so—because now look, you’re using it against him.

but toji is competitive and he loves to win.

so he crooks his fingers just right, hooking onto that one spongey spot that guarantees his victory every. single. time.

“yeah,” he goads, watching your body suddenly lock up and wetness spew from your pussy like a geyser, “‘s what i thought.”

he rubs your pussy, just to make your squirt splash around. it’s humiliating, how he toys with your body and forces you into endless pleasure until you go stupid.

but you love it, despite the fact you like resisting, toji knows all too well that it’s just an act.

you turn onto your side, quivering from the aftershocks of your orgasm.

wordlessly, he manhandles you onto your knees, shoving your face into the mattress. you moan at the feeling of his tongue lapping at your pussy, muffling a scream when his lips latch onto your swollen clit and suck, his tongue playfully flicking your little bud.

he alternates between nibbling and sucking, reducing you to a babbling, incoherent disaster.

“cumming!” you warn, more squirt splashing shamelessly onto his face and all over the sheets. you fall forward, head turned to the side and panting.

“what a mess,” he chides, clicking his tongue. “aren’t ya ashamed?”

it’s teasing, but you’re so turned on. you hike up your knees again, wiggling your ass enticingly. you look over your shoulder, pouting. “‘m sorry, toji. didn’t mean to be messy.”

“sorry?” he asks, frantically you nod. burly hand slides up and down his cock, catching your slit and using your fluids as lube. his gaze flits to you momentarily, “yer really sorry?”

you nod again, squirming, “i am! m’ so sorry.”

toji grins, watching his cock disappear into your cunt, “then cum for me again, c’mon, hurry.”

you yell, arms unable to hold yourself up.

he plows into you mercilessly, fingers digging into the plush of your ass. your eyes widen when you feel his thumb on your other hole, rubbing it teasingly.

“what if i put my thumb in here, baby? what do you think will happen?” you feel a line of spit hit your ass, his thumb collecting it before returning to teasing your other hole. “remember your little treasure chest? swore i saw some plugs in there..”

weakly, you try to support yourself on shaky arms, moaning incoherently. “i— toji, i… ahh, mmph!”

you fall back down, face first, and he just laughs, “s’ okay, you don’t have’ta say anything. ya know why?” he goads, thrusting just a little bit harder, teasing you. “‘cause your little pussy is telling me all i need to know.”

toji groans and it’s loud, feeling your cunt squeeze down, trying to milk him for everything he’s worth. “that’s right,” draping himself over your back, his hand sneaks its way to flick your bud, relishing in your squeals and they way your body squirms.

“cum, pretty, c’mon,” he breathes, leaving spit-soaked kisses on your back, “need ya to feel good for me.”

he sings praises in your ear when he hears you gush all over the already damp sheets, moaning into your skin as his thrusts grow sloppy, before he’s dumping wads of hot cum into your battered pussy.

“fuck me,” he sighs, dragging his lips along your shoulder blades and nape, hips still pushing into your ass.

you’re whining, tears blurring your vision as you ride out the pleasure toji relentlessly gives. you’ve fallen into prone bone, too fucked out to utter words besides incoherent babbles.

his hands find purchase beside your head, dropping to his forearms, but refusing to pull out but littering your skin with feverish kisses, “did so good for me, sweets.”

he’s reassuring, knowing it’s intense for you. but toji has a mean streak that he likes to keep up, so naturally he’s teasing. “my baby, so fucked out, huh? it’s okay, you’re so cute like this. always so sweet after i dick you down enough.”

he pulls out, knocking your legs apart to watch his cum drool out of your slit. “mm, yer perfect, baby.”

you flop onto your back, pinching toji’s arm and refusing to look him in the eye. he grins, “what? you want a kiss?”

you nod slowly, cheeks burning. he just knows you too well.

but he complies, all too easily. it’s you, after all.

swallowing up your little moans, he devours your lips, pushing his tongue into your mouth. burly hands cup your face, opening his eyes to see yours squeezed shut. he grins, biting your lower lip when he pulls away.

rough thumbs wipe your teary cheeks. “there’s your kiss, baby. you happy?”

“yeah…” you mutter, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him. “another one?”

he smiles and it’s warm and full of love, leaning down, toji brushes his lips against yours. “sure doll, anything you want.”