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always-just-red · 2 days ago

Note

Oh I forgot to add 😭😭😭 be it fluff like jelly sylus but fluff maybe he trying to make the mc jelly too ? I’m going wild with ideas, I will be quiet

(Part 1 of ask) FINALLY finished this fic oh my goshhh I've loved it so much but writer's block was my constant companion for this one 🫠 Thanks for your patience!! Sy is jealous but I'm still pushing my 'Sylus is the softest man alive and would die before hurting MC' agenda, so I had to get a lil creative! Hope I've pulled it off idk 😭😭

Be Mine

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus is getting a little tired of sharing you with the other men in your life (and he doesn't mean Luke and Kieran 🙃)

Genre: lil bit of angst, comfort and fluff

Warnings/Additional tags: gn!reader, jealousy, other LIs mentioned, brief allusion to Raf's self-harm tendencies, cheating mentioned, some intimacy & kisses-- more soft than spicy!

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

Sylus has spent centuries waiting for you, so he’s going to give you another minute.

Patience is not a virtue; it’s an old acquaintance he greets with a false smile whenever he’s forced to pass it on the street. Sometimes outside your building, whilst you’re chatting with a neighbour from the apartment above yours. Sometimes when you’re running late from a doctor’s appointment.

Patience has been cropping up a lot these days and gods, he’s sick of its face. Even now, it sits with him at this table for two as he sips at a glass that’s almost empty. There’s poetry in stalling, in savouring what’s left, especially as a waiter hovers anxiously nearby, anticipating the need for yet another refill (it would be the third).

Dregs of blood-red wine swirl with solemnity. Sylus is a patient man, a man who waits, but he doesn’t want to be. He wants the reward of it: the pot of gold at the end of that insipid rainbow. Hasn’t he waited enough?

He lifts his drink to his lips again.

“Sylus!”

They curve as he swallows the final drop.

“I’m so sorry,” you stammer, flinging yourself into the seat across from him so quickly that he’s cheated of the chance to rise and help you with your chair. “Sit back down,” you usher, because he had made a start on it, “really, Sy, I’m so, so sorry. Things at work just got crazy, and I—”

“You don’t have to explain, sweetie,” he smiles as he signals the waiter. He’ll have that refill, now, and he orders your favourite drink as you shrug off your coat and fumble with your bag, looking for something. “I’m more than familiar with the Association’s… dedication to a cause.”

You glance up with an amused smile. “We’re keeping you on your toes, huh?”

“Mmm. There is one hunter who’s proving to be a real thorn in my side.”

“You on top of that?”

“Most evenings, yes. Some mornings, too.”

You poke your tongue out at him. You’ve retrieved a compact mirror and you use it to study your dishevelled reflection. “Is everything all right at work?” he asks as you fuss over your hair.

“Yeah,” you puff. “Long story.”

“We have time.”

With a warmer smile, you stash your mirror away and sequester your bag by your feet. “You sure?” He gives you a look. “Fine,” you chuckle. “Basically, Xavier forgot to write up some reports. He’s been away on an ultra-secret, special mission or whatever—” you tap your nose conspiratorially— “which I didn’t just tell you, okay? But yeah, the reports weren’t done, and they were due tonight, so…”

Sylus raises an apathetic eyebrow. “He asked you to help?”

“Begged me, more like.”

Of course he did. The waiter arrives with your drinks and Sylus has never been gladder for a distraction. His mouth is full of pettiness, bitterness, so he drowns it with wine. You could have called. Texted. “So kitten’s been playing secretary, hmm?” he goads instead.

“That would imply kitten could keep track of time,” you pout, “so no. And speaking of playing a part—” you poke his nose— “you’re allowed to be mad at me. I should have called you. Texted. So let me have it, yeah? I feel bad enough already without you being all… perfect.”

You’re only teasing, but Sylus doesn’t feel perfect. He’s thinking about you working late with your partner, laughing at his jokes, poking him with your pen to keep him from falling asleep on his paperwork. He smirks, regardless. “What if I want you to feel bad?”

“Oh, gods,” you slump forwards, face-down on the table. “How long were you waiting?”

“Years.”

You fake cry into the tablecloth. “Don’t, Sy. Just tell me the truth. How bad was it?”

“Really, years,” he insists again, folding his arms on the table and sliding forwards, too. His chin is resting on his hands, and he blows at the top of your head. “Look.” Your face lifts so you can peer at him. He pinches his hair. “I’ve even gone grey, see?”

You sit up the tiniest bit more and your noses are almost brushing. “It looks nice,” you whisper.

“You think so?”

“Mmm. Suits you.”

Your eyes are every gem— every jewel in an illicit auction Sylus has to steal away from the rest of the world, because something that pretty just has to be his; it will find no worthier home than his hands. His devotion fills vaults. Aren’t they spilling with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds— those reckless imitations of your gaze? No-one else could deserve them, adore them like he does.

And they’ve nothing on the real thing.

Someone clears their throat and Sylus tracks the noise begrudgingly. The anxious waiter is back, clutching menus this time. You sit up fully, laughing to break the tension, and sure enough, Sylus feels less like hurling the man through the nearest window.

He’s still thinking about it though. He tells the waiter as much with a smile, and the menus are passed over with shaking hands. When Sylus says, “thank you,” it sounds like a bomb, ticking.

“Play nice,” you tut, once the waiter’s cleared the blast radius.

“Sweetie, when do I ever not play nice?”

You blink back at him disbelievingly. This should be good. “How about the time that you—?”

A familiar ringtone interrupts you, and your eyes widen in apology as you grab at your bag, rifling around for your phone. You find it— check the call and decline it— but relief is hiding, refusing to set foot on stage. Not yet, it confers to Sylus darkly, because it knows what comes next.

“Do you need to…?” he asks anyway.

“Nah, it was just Rafayel. Thanks, though.” You set the phone down. “Where was I?”

“You were about to tell me what a terribly bad man I am, sweetie.”

“Right!” you giggle. No, not yet. “So how about the time that you…” The phone rings again. You check it. Decline it. “How about the time that you—ugh!” It’s ringing again.

Sylus taps a finger on the table, impatiently patient. You can’t mute the wretched thing: the next call you miss would be a Wanderer, tearing through an orphanage or the like. It’s the reason you check, even when there’re no orphans at stake— just a pest of an artist with too much time on his hands.

Except… “Oh,” you say, glancing downwards, “it’s Zayne. I should probably—” Sylus gives a half-smile of blessing, but you weren’t waiting around for it— “hey, Zayne! I can’t talk right now, unless— Raf? What the hell? How did you get Zayne’s phone?”

You pull yours away from your ear as a string of whines come through:

“— ignore my calls, don’t even text me to ask what’s up, and then pick up his call right away? You hate me, right? Just say that you hate me, cutie.”

“I don’t hate you, Raf.” The phone is back to your ear. “I’m busy. Now seriously, how did you get— oh, hi, Zayne. Why is Raf…?” Sylus can hear a deeper voice answering your questions. “He’s at the—? Shit, is he okay? Ugh, tell him I can hear him. Tell him I know he’s not dying.”

You meet Sylus’s eyes as conflict erupts on the other end of the call. Sorry, you mouth as static filters through, interspersed with broken words and curses. The doctor’s voice prevails. “Yeah, Zayne,” you speak back to it. “I’ll call Thomas, get him to pick him up. Mmhmm? Oh!” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I forgot, he’s at that stupid art thing. Look, maybe later, I can…”

The artist’s shrill tone is protesting.

“I know it’s my job, Raf!” you counter. “But gimme a break, please. If it was any other night, you know I’d be there. Of course I wanna be there! But I can’t—”

It’s just a slip of the tongue— words you don’t even realise you’re saying— but Sylus still feels his heart sink. He hates it. A heart is so difficult to argue with: it’s long gone before you can talk any sense into it. He stands from the table, those priceless eyes of yours pursuing him. When you tilt your head, he musters a smile, then a weak excuse: “I’m just stepping outside for a moment.”

You nod, a follow-up question on the tip of your tongue, but then there’s a voice in your ear again— two voices— and you’re you, so of course you listen.

…

Sylus waits on a bench outside the restaurant, closing his eyes as he waits for his heart to come back.

It’s only been a few minutes. He’s thinking about your eyes, your nose and lips— an inch from his— and how he should have closed that gap before it grew treacherous. Shouldn’t he be done with this? This… longing? You’re his. You’ve told him you’re his, over and over again, but he finds himself needing to hear it once more; the ghost of your voice is starting to lack persuasion.

He is yours without exception, but you? There’s always a caveat. I’m yours, Sylus. But only so long as the city is quiet. I’m yours, Sylus. Until someone else calls. The door to the restaurant opens— he can hear it— but he doesn’t open his eyes. He wants to pretend.

I’m yours, Sylus. No caveats. No exceptions.

“Sylus.”

He swallows the dread in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” you entreat softly. His eyes open, and you’re wearing your coat, holding your bag. “I have to run to the hospital— it’s this whole thing. Raf, like, passed out or something. He’s not been eating again. Zayne said when something like this keeps happening, it’s a sign that… yeah. He just… needs someone. And he hasn’t got anyone else, you know?”

“I understand.” You’re worried about your friend. That’s all it is.

Why can’t he believe that’s all it is?

You come over and sink down on the bench beside him, looping your arm through his and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Don’t you know that he’s afraid? That a selfish, spiteful part of him wants to hide you— with the rest of his treasures— away from the light, so he can love you in the dark?

There’s a sigh as you lean against him, savouring his touch like the wine one swirls in a glass when their thoughts are elsewhere. It’s gone in a mouthful; you check your watch, and he hopes it’s bitter.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

No, he would rather be sweet for you, but look at you— making him lie. “I’m okay,” he says, and it doesn’t have a drop of conviction. He’s tired of philanthropy.

…

“What are you gonna do? Come on, tell us. Tell us! What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know, Luke. Give me a second, okay? Jeez.”

You literally just got here. Your pace is brisk and the night air still clings to you— you shed a layer of it by peeling your arms out of your coat. Luke and Kieran are close behind, keeping to your heels like terriers hoping you’ll trip with a plateful of food. They’ll take even a crumb at this point.

“You gonna fight him?” Kieran nudges, but your lips stay tight.

“Oh, you’re so gonna fight him,” Luke takes away from the silence.

You don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve reached a decadent lounge, lavished with black and gold, and you throw your coat over the arm of a chair before starting to wrestle off your combat boots. You’ve been off work for hours, but it doesn’t feel like it. One call-to-duty after another; first the hospital, now this.

Mephisto caws in greeting from a nearby perch. “I’m not gonna fight him,” you say as your second boot drops with a clunk. “I just need to—”

“Say no more,” Luke cuts you off. “We want in.”

With a tired sigh, you gaze up at the twins at last. Kieran is readying a fist: punching his hand softly, the beak of his mask low and threatening. Beside him, Luke swings a baseball bat over his shoulder. He didn’t have it a second ago. Where did he even—?

You put your hands on your hips. “You guys got a death wish or something?”

“Yes!” they enthuse together, nodding excitedly.

You haven’t got time to ask. Your focus drifts to Sylus’s bedroom door, where music is leaking with honeylike light. You can’t count the number of times you’ve fallen over that threshold, exhausted— always slightly broken. You want to crawl into cool silk sheets and a warmer embrace, but there’s one small problem.

The text that had brought you here, anxious and out of breath:

Boss is with someone.

“What’re you thinking?”

You’re closer to the door, now, and Luke’s whisper makes you jump. You spin, twisting the bat from his fingers and pushing him back until the tip is pressed to his throat. “Get back,” you hiss, before levelling the weapon at an encroaching Kieran, “both of you.”

Luke leaps behind his brother— swinging him between you for protection. The baseball bat stays hovering, and Luke peeks over Kieran’s shoulder, swatting at it like an indignant kitten.

“Stop it,” you scold, poking back at his hand and his masked face. “Begone!”

“Yes, boss!” Kieran goes to move, but Luke is holding him in place. He’s dragged backwards: a human shield until they can both scurry around the turn of a corridor.

You smile fondly. You forget, for just a moment, that you’re alone and full of uncertainty. The song in the next room lulls, at its inevitable end, and then you can’t forget. You’re stood in silence, staring at a door you’ve never had to knock before. Another song starts up.

Whatever this is, you can handle it.

You use the baseball bat to tap against the dark wood. “Sylus?” you call.

He makes you wait. You can hear him, moving around— unmistakably taking his time— but you don’t mind. You’re running scenarios through your head. Is he in on this, too? Or…?

He opens the door and oh, he definitely is. His silk robe hangs haphazardly over his figure, one side threatening to slip from his shoulder and the belt dangerously loose at the middle. A flush is tinting his face, spreading down through his neck, past his collarbone and lower, you think, but you’re trying not to look.

“Sweetie,” he purrs in the way that tells you he’s up to no good, “what a pleasant surprise.” His eyes flit downwards. “And you’re armed, too.”

There’s a breathlessness to the observation, and your ability to breathe briefly eludes you as well. His hair is damp and unkempt, his skin warm, his gaze hot. Is this a test? It feels like a test.

“Are you alone?” you snap, because he’s clearly put some thought into whatever it is, and you’re a good sport, so you’ll play along.

“No,” he says, but then: “You know you’re always with me in spirit, kitten. Even if not in—” another downwards glance— “body.”

“Sylus.”

“Mmm?”

“I’m going to ask you one more time.” You catch his chin with your free hand, forcing his gaze back to your face. “And I want a real answer.” He swallows thickly. “Are you alone?”

His submission is fragile. He lifts his hand, wraps his fingers around your wrist like a reminder of the fact. “Careful, sweetie.” His grip tightens as his voice drops. “Think about what you’re asking.”

“I know what I’m asking.” You snatch your hand free and step closer. “Get out of my way.”

Sylus narrows his eyes, but soon relaxes. He sweeps a hand through his hair, chuckling as he obeys— moving aside to let you past. You storm through, looking over every visible inch of his room. There’s nothing to see, of course. No clothes that aren’t yours pooled over the floor. No lover wrapped up in his bedsheets.

“Just what exactly are you looking for?” he asks smugly behind you.

“Save it, Sylus.” Your pretend patience is gone. “The twins told me everything.”

So you start searching more strenuously. You make your way over to his bed, baseball bat slung over your shoulder as you check behind the far side— even stooping to peek under it. You open the wardrobe. Nothing. Use the baseball bat to push back the curtains, letting in more blood-red moonlight. Nothing. You huff in frustration.

“You know, don’t you?” Sylus says quietly.

He’s leant against the doorway, arms crossed, and you spare him a glance. “Know what?”

“That there’s no-one here.”

It sounds like defeat. “I’m taking this very seriously, actually,” you dismiss as you roll open the drawer of his bedside table, where no-one is hiding. You move on to even more absurd places: lifting flowers out of their vase to glance about inside it, peering into the horn of his vintage gramophone.

You’d hoped your antics would elicit at least a short laugh, or a scoff of amusement. There’s nothing, though, so you plonk onto the bed— defeated, yourself— and look to the man as you set your weapon down.

He looks back with an insincere smile. “How did you know?”

“That you weren’t really with someone? Because you’re you, Sylus. The key to a good prank?” Your fingers twinkle in the air beside your head. “Believability. Besides—” now a forefinger taps at your temple— “nothing gets past this.”

“Your ego?” he guesses with a smirk that is sincere, if nothing else.

“My brain, Sy.”

“Ah.”

Your ego— tsk. Your feet are dangling from the bed, playing with a slipper they’ve fished out from underneath it, and you have half a mind to launch it at him. This doesn’t feel like one of your usual games, though, and you’ve had a whole ride through the N109 Zone to figure out why.

“I really hurt you, didn’t I?” you speak like a confession, staring down at the floor so you don’t have to meet his eyes. “That’s what all this is about, right? You wanted to get back at me for dinner?”

“No, I—”

“I get it.” Your feet find the second slipper. “I do. I mean, it was a really shitty thing to do— walking out on you like that. Especially after you waited for me. You went to all that effort, and I— ah.” You’ve toed one of the slippers out of reach.

“Allow me,” comes a voice that’s suddenly close. Sylus’s figure looms over you before he’s crouching, kneeling by your feet. He still looks like a mess of sin, but he’s gentle as he retrieves the slipper for you. Removes your socks for you. Slides a slipper onto each of your cold feet. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he mutters.

You let out a sigh. “Sylus.” You’re scolding him, and he gazes up at you, his eyes garnets of adoration only you could afford. “You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“So why won’t you tell me how you feel?”

He sits back on his knees, his thumb drawing circles on the inside of your ankle. The ministrations are mindless, and so are his words: “How I feel is not important.”

“Of course it is!” You pull away from him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“But I thought I could tell you anything, kitten.”

It’s a nick from a blade that could do much worse; he wants you to feel how sharp it is. His smile is a warning and he’s waiting for the hunter in you to strike back, because violence is what you’re good at. What you’re both good at. It hurts, but it’s easy.

You shift forward on the bed. “Sylus… you don’t need to protect me. Not from you. Not from anything you feel. I want you to be happy, to tell me if you’re unhappy. I don’t need you to—” your fingers skirt over his chest and you falter inexplicably— “to sacrifice yourself for me.”

Sylus looks down to where you’re tracing the shape of his heart on his skin. He lets out a long, beleaguered breath, then leans closer to you, his head turning away as he settles it on your lap. Your hands find his hair instinctually, threading through it in slow, meandering motions.

“I want you to be mine,” he admits on another sigh.

He can’t see you smile, but he’ll hear it in your voice: “I am yours, Sy—”

“No— just mine.”

He won’t make it a demand. Even asking you nicely has him breathless and still, like the drawn-out pause of a finished symphony. Your hands stop moving, out of respect for the quiet. You’re remembering the times you’ve been late out of your building because you’d stumbled into Xavier in the lobby. The doctor’s appointments that always overrun, and Rafayel’s ‘emergency�� phone calls.

“Come and sit with me,” you mumble, patting the bed beside you.

When Sylus does, it’s with the same reluctance a cat surrenders a sliver of sun. Lazy and listless— still warm from the light. The bed sinks under his weight and you turn to face him. His robe’s collar has fallen further, so you hook a finger under it to draw it back up to his neck. Then you straighten the lapels, smoothing them over distractedly.

He’s watching your face, not the movements of your hands. Your cheeks feel warm. “I was speaking to Rafayel earlier, and we—”

A groan, and Sylus is no longer at your fingertips; he’s flopped down backwards on the bed, his hand over his face. You can’t help giggling— you’ve broken the big, bad boss of Onychinus, it seems. Is that all it takes? You grin as you lie down with him, settling on your side, propped up on an elbow. He doesn’t stir when you fix a few stray strands of his hair.

“We talked about boundaries,” you continue. “How I can’t be on call twenty-four seven, and how he’s going to take better care of himself, so I don’t have to be.”

Sylus has moved his hand, ever so slightly.

There’s more: “I’m gonna call in sick to work tomorrow. I made a deal with Xavier, that’s why I stayed late today. He’ll cover for me.” You shift closer. “I wanted it to be a surprise. I know I can’t always be with you, but I am always thinking of you, I promise. You’re always with me in spirit, Sy, even if not in—” you press a quick kiss to his chest— “body.”

He chuckles at the words, or maybe the touch tickled.

You grin down at him. “I’m yours. Say it.”

“I’m yours.”

“No! Ugh, just—” Smart-ass! You flick his forehead as he laughs quietly. “Not the words ‘I’m yours’, say that I’m—”

His hand is at your face, pulling you in so he can kiss you. It’s slow and it’s patient; he’s taking his time, and you won’t slip away. You can feel his smile. “You’re mine,” he murmurs when he finally withdraws. One more kiss, lighter, on the tip of your nose. “Just mine.”

Always. You let him pull you into an embrace, snuggling into his warmth like you’ve been wanting to from the moment you last left it. You can hear his heartbeat beneath the lullaby of his breath. “Sy?” you whisper.

“Hmm?”

“You look really hot when you’re pretending to cheat on me.”

He scoffs, but a yawn comes before his response. “Don’t get any ideas, kitten.”

Your quiet is pensive. “I have this lunch with Zayne later this week. I really should text him to find out—”

The grip around you constricts, and a voice is in your ear, soft and possessive:

“What did I just say?”

#🖋rach is actually writing #sylus x reader #sylus #love and deepspace #lads sylus #lnds sylus #l&ds sylus #qin che #sylus x mc #sylus x you #lads x reader #lads #lnds #l&ds

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 days ago

Text

Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

← Read Part One

Back by popular demand! I was actually laughing while I wrote this so I hope y'all do too. This is so fucking silly bahahahah poor sebastian. except not really at all, it's so fun torturing him HAH

I will add as an aside, that since this is set in fifth year, I won't be doing a part three since I never write intimate scenes between characters unless they are 18+. Thanks for respecting this boundary!

Words: ~5,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor

Sebastian Sallow was going to die.

He was sure of it. Whether by expulsion, an arranged marriage, or sheer embarrassment, his demise was imminent.

The rest of the day had been a blur. He barely absorbed a word of his lectures, nearly set his robes on fire in Potions, and had been so lost in thought at lunch that he nearly took a bite out of his goblet instead of his sandwich.

He was spiraling.

He replayed the conversation with Black over and over, trying to decide which part had been the most damning. The secluded alcoves? The suggestion of a scandal? The casual mention of a baby?!

But the worst part—the part that made his stomach twist itself into impossible knots—was the marriage comment.

A proper arrangement. Ensuring the integrity of all involved parties.

Sebastian could barely breathe just thinking about it. Would Black actually force him into it? Could he? He still wasn’t sure what the school’s policies were when it came to these things.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that he couldn’t even properly deny Black’s accusations.

Because you had been sneaking off together. And it had been improper. Very improper.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

What if Black had proof?

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited so violently at the thought that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t ready to even think about that.

Sebastian needed to talk to you. Immediately.

You were the only other person involved in this mess—aside from the bloody headmaster—which meant you were his only hope of figuring out how deep this disaster went.

Did Black speak to you? Did he give you the same accusations? Did he mention marriage?!

Sebastian stormed through the halls, half-aware of students and portraits giving him odd looks as he passed. His usual easygoing confidence was nowhere to be found. He was on a mission.

When he finally spotted you sitting in the Great Hall, completely at ease, not a single ounce of concern on your face, he nearly collapsed with relief.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

Why were you so calm?

How were you not losing your mind over this?

Unless…

Oh, no.

Maybe Black hadn't spoken to you yet. And if you didn’t know yet...

Sebastian’s breath caught.

He was going to have to break this humiliating, horrible, life-ruining news.

And there was no dignified way to do it.

Taking a steadying breath, he strode up to you, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as casual as he could make it.

You turned to him with an easy smile. “Hey.”

Sebastian stared at you, waiting—praying—for some sign of recognition. Some hint that you already knew what he was about to say.

But you just looked at him expectantly, utterly unaware of the existential crisis unfolding inside him.

His stomach sank.

Oh, fuck. You really don’t know.

Sebastian swallowed, suddenly unsure how to even begin.

“So,” he started, voice tight. “How was your day?”

You blinked at him. “Fine. Yours?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve been better.”

You hummed, tilting your head at him. “Oh? Something on your mind?”

Sebastian just stared.

Something on his mind? Something on his mind?!

Did you have any idea the kind of mental gymnastics he had been performing all day?

He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing his voice to stay even. “Did… Black speak to you today?”

You blinked, brow furrowing. “The Headmaster?”

“Yes.”

Your frown deepened. “Why would he?”

Sebastian’s pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck—

“Well.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. But he, uh, might’ve mentioned you.”

You tilted your head, expression unreadable. “Oh? And why would he do that?”

Sebastian felt sick.

“That’s… not important,” he muttered. “Did he seem… suspicious of you?”

You shrugged. “Not that I noticed.”

Sebastian’s stomach was in knots. “Right. Right. That’s good.”

You studied him, your expression flickering just slightly—too observant.

“Why?” you asked, ever so innocent. “Did something happen?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Happen? No, no, nothing happened, just that the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts apparently thinks we’ve been—”

Your brows lifted, lips twitching in a way that made him deeply uneasy.

“Been…?”

Sebastian groaned, resisting the urge to physically collapse.

“Black thinks we’ve been sneaking off to do improper things,” he muttered, low and fast.

Your lips parted slightly. “What would give you that impression?”

Sebastian scowled. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Maybe the fact that he directly accused me of it. And then had the audacity to start talking about marriage.”

You made a strangled noise.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Had you just laughed?

No. No, surely not—

You cleared your throat. “And what did you say?”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath. “I—I denied it, obviously! But he just kept pushing, talking about consequences and reputation and—”

He was spiraling again. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“Look, I swear I would never ruin your future like that—unless you wanted me to, I mean—wait, no, that's not what I meant, just that—”

Sebastian froze. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Your expression barely wavered. Barely.

But he saw it.

The flicker of amusement. The way your lips twitched. The way you were struggling— visibly struggling—to hold back laughter.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His entire body went rigid.

“What?” he demanded.

You shook your head too quickly. “Nothing.”

“No. No, not nothing.” He studied your face closely. “You’re enjoying this!"

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Enjoying what?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You just patted his shoulder. “Sebastian… we have been sneaking off to do improper things.”

Sebastian swallowed, hard. “Yes, well—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. “That’s— I mean— Not that I— We weren’t—”

You grinned. “Oh? What was that? We weren’t what?”

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. His entire spine burned, every memory of exactly what the two of you had been up to flashing through his mind at lightspeed.

The Undercroft. The hidden corridors. The darkened corners of the library. The breathless, desperate whispers beneath the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

And now Black was onto him.

Sebastian groaned, gripping his hair. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—this isn’t funny!"

You beamed at him. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

Sebastian dropped his hands, exhaling sharply. “I hate you.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. “No, you don’t.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw. He was so close to losing his mind. “I might.”

You patted his cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

Sebastian froze. You had never called him that before. His entire body locked up. His thoughts derailed completely.

You, unbothered, turned on your heel and started toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

Sebastian stared after you, unmoving.

It took him a full five seconds to realize he was still standing there, completely useless, thoughts looping in an endless, embarrassing cycle.

And then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse—

A voice drawled behind him.

“Well. That was painful to listen to.”

Sebastian whipped around.

Ominis stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual neutral expression tinged with something suspiciously close to amusement.

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he stumbled toward the nearest bench and all but collapsed onto it. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground as if he could will himself out of existence.

Ominis, still wearing that annoyingly neutral expression, walked over at a much more measured pace and lowered himself onto the bench beside him.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I don’t get it.”

Ominis hummed, tilting his head slightly. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

Sebastian scowled at him. “I mean her.” He gestured vaguely toward the exit, where you had disappeared moments ago, completely unbothered by what should have been a catastrophic situation.

“She’s amused,” Sebastian muttered, half to himself. “She’s enjoying this. Why?”

Ominis considered for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Well,” he said, his voice slow, patient—annoyingly reasonable—“to be fair, you did a terrible job explaining why this is an actual problem.”

Sebastian blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis turned his head toward him, a single brow arching. “Think about it. You just ambushed her out of nowhere, looking like a deranged madman, started rambling about Black and improper behavior, and then, instead of clearly conveying the very real threat to your future, you panicked so hard that you practically proposed to her.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “That is not what happened.”

Ominis smirked slightly. “That is exactly what happened.”

Sebastian waved a hand, desperate to move past that particular humiliation. “Fine, whatever. But she should still be worried. Black is onto us. He’s already talking about arranged marriages—”

“Is he?” Ominis interrupted, ever-so-slightly skeptical.

Sebastian gawked at him. “You were there! You heard him!”

Ominis inclined his head slightly. “I was there, yes. But let’s be rational about this, Sebastian.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, great, here comes the ‘rational’ lecture.”

“You and her have been sneaking off together, and to the best of your knowledge, no one has caught you. And then, suddenly, Black of all people, corners you, accuses you, and starts spewing about ‘respectable arrangements’ without a shred of actual proof."

Sebastian frowned. “What's your point?"

Ominis tilted his head slightly, replaying the conversation in his mind. “I mean that Phineas Nigellus Black has never once given a single damn about student affairs. Not once in the years we’ve been here. He barely even tolerates his job as it is. And yet today he suddenly decides to take a keen interest in your extracurricular activities? And not just an interest, but one so pressing that he practically corners you in broad daylight and starts talking about marriage?”

Sebastian frowned deeper, his hands resting on his knees. He hated to admit it, but… Ominis had a point.

“That does seem… uncharacteristically involved of him,” Sebastian admitted, chewing his lip.

Ominis nodded once. “Exactly. It’s suspicious.”

Sebastian shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But maybe—maybe, I don't know, maybe Garreth ran his mouth in the vicinity of a Professor and it got back to Black?”

Ominis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “If that were the case, it still wouldn’t explain his reaction. He’d have let that Professor handle it, or sent you a warning through a letter—he wouldn’t waste time personally terrorizing you.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “So what are you saying, then?”

Ominis’ brows furrowed slightly. “I’m saying something about this doesn’t make sense.

Sebastian frowned. “Maybe not, but he is an odd man. Who knows what goes on in his head.”

Ominis was silent for a long moment, then—slowly, so slowly—his lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.

“Oh, this is good,” he murmured, tilting his head as though savoring the realization.

Sebastian snapped his head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis let out a short breath—not quite a laugh, but something suspiciously close. “Oh, come now, Sebastian. Think about it. There’s no way it was actually Black. He knew far too much about the specific details of your late night rendezvous. The only logical conclusion is that someone must have impersonated Black. Someone who knows you. Obviously one of our friends went through the absolute ordeal of brewing a Polyjuice Potion just to terrorize you.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “He did know a lot about where precisely we’ve snuck off to… the library, hidden alcoves...”

“Exactly,” Ominis said, clearly entertained.

Sebastian growled in frustration, pushing off the bench to stand. His blood was boiling. Ominis was right.

The fucking audacity.

His mind raced, already running through the short list of people who were both deranged enough and competent enough to pull this off.

And one name immediately shot to the top of his list.

“Garreth.”

Ominis, still looking entirely too pleased, lifted a brow. “Hmm?”

“It’s got to be Garreth.”

Ominis exhaled, leaning back slightly against the bench. “And what, exactly, makes you so certain?”

Sebastian threw out a hand. “Are you kidding? He’s been up my arse all week, badgering me for details about—” He cut himself off.

Ominis smirked. “About?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “About… things.”

Ominis’ smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m well aware of your things, Sebastian.”

Sebastian groaned. “Shut up.”

Ominis hummed, utterly unbothered.

Sebastian paced in front of him, hands in his hair, his entire body tense with fury.

“I’ve been telling him way too much,” Sebastian muttered, seething. “I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But he kept asking, and I figured, what’s the harm? It’s not like he’d—”

He stopped short, realization hitting him like a brick.

“…Wait.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “That absolute MENACE.”

Ominis lifted a brow. “What?”

Sebastian turned back to him, looking truly unhinged now. “He’s been gloating about a new potion all week.”

Ominis’ smirk vanished.

Sebastian pointed at him, vicious with victory. “He said—and I quote—‘Oh, it’s a special project. I’ll tell you about it when the time is right.’”

Ominis actually winced. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian mimicked, mocking. “Oh? Yeah, Ominis, oh. The bastard’s been cooking up a Polyjuice Potion for weeks, and I didn’t even see it. I played right into his hands. Merlin’s beard.”

Ominis considered this for a moment. Then: “That’s… actually quite impressive.”

Sebastian nearly exploded.

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

Ominis snorted. “Oh, come on. You have to admit—it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sebastian whirled back around, pacing furiously. “I’m going to kill him.”

Ominis chuckled.

“No, I’m serious,” Sebastian hissed. “I am going to personally, violently, and enthusiastically end Garreth Weasley’s entire bloodline.”

Ominis shook his head, but he was clearly entertained.

Sebastian’s mind was already racing with vengeance. Garreth wanted to play games? Fine. Sebastian would play. And Garreth Weasley was about to regret every single life choice that had led him to this moment.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had many regrets in life.

Taking the position as Headmaster of this cursed institution was certainly among them.

There were only so many years a man could tolerate insufferable teenagers, incompetent professors, and Ministry interference before he began to wonder whether he had been cursed by some malevolent higher power.

And now—now—on top of it all, he had to deal with this.

He had been enduring—not enjoying, enduring—his evening tea in his office when Professor Sharp casually mentioned something that instantly ruined his entire day.

“So. About this marriage arrangement of yours.”

Black had, understandably, nearly choked to death on his own tea.

Sharp, ever unbothered, merely watched him struggle, raising a single brow in mild disinterest.

Black coughed violently, pounding a fist against his chest, before spluttering, “My WHAT?”

Sharp had the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I assumed it was a joke,” he said, calm as ever. “But it’s already making the rounds among the students, so I thought I’d ask before it reaches the parents.”

Black stared at him. It took an impressive amount of effort for him not to throw something.

“…Please explain,” he said through gritted teeth.

Sharp tilted his head. “There’s a rumor circulating that you threatened Sebastian Sallow with an arranged marriage.”

Black froze. The words did not compute.

“What.”

Sharp, utterly unconcerned, took a sip of his tea. “Something about improper behavior, a scandal, and the need for a ‘respectable arrangement.’”

Black’s eye twitched.

“Why,” he began, voice tight, “would I ever, in any universe, concern myself with the sordid affairs of adolescent imbeciles?”

Sharp exhaled, as if he, too, was burdened by the weight of other people’s idiocy.

“That,” he said, setting his tea down, “is an excellent question.”

Black rubbed his temples. He had much better things to do than play wedding officiant to a bunch of lovesick idiots. Which meant someone—some absolute fool—had used his name in vain.

And Black was going to find out who.

“Summon Weasley,” he snapped.

Sharp inclined his head. “Garreth or Matilda?”

Black paused. Then, slowly, a deep sense of dread filled him.

“…Both,” he muttered.

And thus, his investigation began.

Garreth Weasley was about to have a very bad day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Currently, he was completely at ease, perched on the edge of a courtyard fountain, chatting animatedly with a group of Hufflepuffs. His hands were moving wildly, eyes bright with mischief, completely unaware that his life expectancy had just significantly shortened.

Because Sebastian Sallow was on the warpath.

With Ominis reluctantly trailing behind him, Sebastian marched across the courtyard, his eyes locked onto his target like a predator about to tear its prey to shreds.

“Garreth Weasley!”

The Hufflepuffs startled.

Garreth turned his head, blinking in surprise as Sebastian stormed toward him, seething with righteous fury.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Garreth greeted, flashing his usual easy grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian didn’t stop until he was right in front of him, glaring so hard it was a miracle Garreth’s hair didn’t catch fire on the spot.

“You know damn well why,” Sebastian growled.

Garreth blinked. “...I don’t, actually.”

Sebastian leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Drop the act, Weasley. We know.”

Garreth, to his credit, didn’t falter.

“Know what, exactly?” he asked, tilting his head.

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You used a Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Black and humiliate me,” he snapped. “Admit it.”

Garreth’s brows lifted. “I did what?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Oh, don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Garreth said, now actually looking intrigued. “Someone turned into Black? That’s brilliant.”

Sebastian made a noise that was not human.

Ominis sighed. “Garreth, please. Just confess so Sebastian doesn’t do something regrettable.”

Garreth scoffed. “You think I’d waste a whole month on a potion just to mess with Sallow?”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“YES.”

Garreth paused. “…Okay, fair. But I didn’t.”

Sebastian stabbed a finger into his chest. “You’ve been asking questions, Weasley. About—about my, my nightly... routine. And— and gloating about a special potion.”

Garreth looked entirely too delighted. “Wait, someone impersonated Black and then they interrogated you about your sex life?”

Sebastian’s rage doubled. “I’m going to strangle you.”

Ominis rubbed his temples. “Sebastian, perhaps—”

“NO.” Sebastian cut him off, eyes still locked on Garreth. “I am not leaving until this idiot admits—”

“Mr. Sallow.”

A new voice. One that sent an icy chill down all their spines.

Sebastian turned slowly.

There, standing just a few feet away, expression unreadable, was Professor Sharp, and beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, was Professor Weasley.

Then, after a long pause, Sharp spoke.

“Well,” he said dryly, eyes flicking between them. “It seems you’ve come to the same conclusion as the Headmaster regarding who exactly impersonated him this morning.”

Sebastian froze.

Sharp’s gaze shifted.

To Garreth.

The Gryffindor, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, suddenly looked deeply alarmed.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly. “No, no, no. I didn’t—”

Professor Weasley let out a heavy sigh. “Garreth.”

Garreth turned to her, eyes wide with betrayal. “Aunt Matilda, I swear, I did not—”

“We’ll discuss it in the Headmaster’s office,” she said firmly.

Garreth’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?! I had nothing to do with this!”

Professor Weasley exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Garreth, it’s always you.”

Garreth threw out his arms. “That’s unfair!”

Sharp arched a brow. “Is it?”

Garreth opened his mouth, paused, then scowled.

“…A little,” he muttered.

Professor Weasley stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Garreth’s shoulder.

“Come along,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Garreth whirled on Sebastian. “I hope you’re happy, Sallow!”

Sebastian blinked. Was he happy? Garreth was being dragged away, right in front of him. He should have felt vindicated. Should have felt relief.

Instead—

There was a deep, sinking dread curling in his stomach.

Because Garreth’s arrest was not the problem. The problem was the real Headmaster now knew about all of this.

And Sebastian was still very, very screwed.

As Garreth was pulled away, still pleading his case, Sebastian stood there, motionless, watching his chance at containment disappear before his eyes.

Ominis let out a slow breath.

“Well,” he murmured. “That didn’t help at all, did it?”

Sebastian’s stomach churned.

“…No.”

No, it did not.

And little did Sebastian and Ominis know, you had been listening the entire time.

And it was glorious.

You had been casually passing through the courtyard—entirely innocent, of course—when you had spotted Sebastian storming toward Garreth like a vengeful wraith.

Naturally, you had done the only reasonable thing and tucked yourself behind a nearby pillar to observe.

And Merlin’s beard, was it worth it.

Sebastian, red-faced and seething, had all but shoved his accusations down Garreth’s throat.

Garreth had been just as bewildered as expected.

And Ominis? Ominis had just stood there, his entire existence radiating exasperation.

You’d had to bite your knuckles to keep from laughing.

Then came the real highlight—Professor Sharp and Weasley arriving just in time to drag Garreth away.

And Sebastian? He wasn’t relieved.

Oh, no.

If anything, he looked even more panicked, and you had to physically restrain yourself from cackling out loud.

As the crowd dispersed and Sebastian muttered something about heading to the Undercroft, your mind was already racing.

You had one last dose of Polyjuice Potion.

And you were going to use it well.

Sebastian and Ominis walked briskly through the halls, heading toward the passage that would take them to the Undercroft.

Sebastian was still fuming.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. "What if the real Black actually agrees with Garreth’s idiotic ramblings and—"

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Sebastian, I highly doubt the Headmaster is actually considering an arranged marriage for you.”

Sebastian threw out his hands. “Are you sure? Because I’M NOT.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Black does not care.”

“You don’t know that,” Sebastian shot back. “What if he decides to make an example of me? What if this turns into some grand moral statement about propriety?”

Ominis snorted. “Phineas Nigellus Black making a moral statement? That would imply he had morals to begin with.”

Sebastian hesitated. “…Okay, fair. But still—”

A voice cut through the corridor.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped dead.

Ominis visibly tensed.

Both of them turned.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, arms folded behind his back, expression severe, was Headmaster Black.

Or at least, who they assumed was Black.

Sebastian felt every last ounce of his blood drain from his face as the Headmaster took slow, deliberate steps toward them, gaze piercing.

“I have been informed,” he said, voice low and authoritative, “that you took justice into your own hands this afternoon.”

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted.

Ominis stood unnaturally still, as if movement might invite further scrutiny.

“That is—” Sebastian stammered, “I was just—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut up.

“As I was saying,” the Headmaster continued, voice measured, “It is not your place, Mr. Sallow, to interrogate your peers. Confronting Mr. Weasley? Threatening him in front of witnesses?”

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

“That’s not—I didn’t threaten him, I just—”

Black tilted his chin downward.

Sebastian closed his mouth.

“Since you are so concerned with matters of conduct and discretion,” Black continued, “I think it only fitting that you learn about them properly.”

Sebastian blinked.

“Sir?”

“You will come with me to Professor Ronen’s office,” Black declared, “where you will complete a ten-foot essay on—”

Sebastian braced himself.

“—Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Sebastian stared.

Ominis made an awful noise, half-choking, half-suppressing a laugh.

Sebastian’s brain shut down.

“What.”

Black did not waver.

“You heard me, Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian gawked at him. “You—you cannot be serious.”

“I am always serious.” Black’s voice brooked no argument.

Sebastian sputtered. “Sir, this is completely unnecessary—”

“Oh?” Black arched a brow. “Would you rather I speak with Professor Weasley about additional disciplinary measures?”

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good,” he said crisply. “Now, off we go.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, threw one last murderous look over his shoulder at a still-chuckling Ominis, and stalked off after Professor Black, who continued his merciless monologue.

“…lack of discretion, lack of foresight, lack of even the most basic self-preservation instincts,” Black droned, his tone a perfect balance of condescension and boredom.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Black didn’t even acknowledge the response. “One might assume, given your track record, that you would at least attempt to be subtle in your misdeeds.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fling himself out of the nearest window.

“Yes, sir.”

Black sighed. “And yet, instead of exercising the tiniest sliver of caution, you took it upon yourself to corner a fellow student and create a spectacle of your impropriety.”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir.”

Black hummed, as though unimpressed. “Honestly, Sallow, I don’t know whether to be more appalled by your recklessness or by your utter incompetence in getting away with it.”

“Yes. Sir.”

By the time they reached Professor Ronen’s office, Sebastian was seething.

Black didn’t even bother knocking. He simply swept inside, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and gestured for Sebastian to enter.

Sebastian dragged his feet as he stepped inside, his mood absolutely foul.

Professor Abraham Ronen looked up from his desk, his ever-cheerful expression brightening further as he spotted them.

“Ah, Headmaster!” he greeted, standing swiftly. “And Mr. Sallow. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I require your assistance, Professor Ronen,” Black said smoothly, stepping into the room with the air of a man who had never known shame in his life. “Mr. Sallow has demonstrated a profound inability to conduct himself with even the faintest whisper of discretion.”

Sebastian wanted to melt into the floor.

Ronen’s brows lifted slightly. “Discretion, sir?”

Black sighed dramatically, as if personally burdened by Sebastian’s existence.

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I have taken it upon myself to educate young Sallow in the ways of proper decorum.”

Sebastian scowled. “That is not what happened.”

Black lifted a hand. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

Sebastian’s fury burned hotter. “No, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Sebastian bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood.

Ronen tilted his head, clearly amused. “And what exactly does this… education entail, Headmaster?”

“I am assigning Mr. Sallow a ten-foot essay,” Black said blandly, as if discussing the weather, “on Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Ronen blinked.

Sebastian wanted to die.

“I would like you to supervise, Professor,” Black continued smoothly, “to ensure that Mr. Sallow completes his work with the appropriate level of… humility.”

Sebastian felt himself short-circuit.

Ronen was trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Oh, I would be honored.”

Sebastian whirled on Black, aghast. “Sir, please—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good. Now, I expect this to be completed by this evening. Professor Ronen will be responsible for ensuring its quality, and I will personally review it myself.”

Sebastian groaned audibly.

Black tilted his head. “Was that a complaint, Mr. Sallow?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Black turned on his heel, his robes sweeping dramatically behind him as he made his exit.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ronen let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Well,” he said cheerfully. “This is easily the highlight of my week.”

Sebastian glared daggers at him.

Ronen just chuckled.

“Now, now, Mr. Sallow,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Take a seat.”

Sebastian huffed angrily and collapsed into the chair, arms crossed like a petulant child.

Ronen leaned against his desk, grinning. “So,” he mused. “Matters of the heart, hmm?”

Sebastian had never felt more humiliated in his life.

Which was saying something, considering he’d spent the entire day careening from one public disaster to another.

Late that night, you sat cross-legged on one of the worn couches in the Undercroft, a book balanced on your lap, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever passage your eyes were lazily skimming. Across from you, Ominis sat in his usual chair, his own book in hand, posture relaxed.

The two of you had settled into companionable silence, save for the occasional turn of a page and the steady sound of the flickering torches along the stone walls.

He had, of course, informed you—thinking you had no idea—that Sebastian had been assigned detention.

Though he had spared the details, he had smirked slightly as he’d said, “I’m sure we’ll both get an earful about it later.”

And oh, how right he was.

Sebastian was going to be livid. And you were going to have to try very, very hard to look appropriately concerned.

The entrance finally creaked open.

A familiar set of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber.

You looked up and nearly lost it.

Sebastian stood in the archway, fuming. His hair was a mess. His robes were askew. And his hands—oh, his hands—

You had expected anger. You had not expected him to look like he had crawled out of an ink well after fighting for his life.

Ominis, still not looking up from his book, greeted him far too calmly. “Sebastian.”

“I,” he seethed, glaring at nothing in particular, “am going to kill Phineas Nigellus Black.”

Ominis exhaled heavily, not even looking up from his book. “That seems excessive.”

Sebastian ignored him. He threw himself onto the couch beside you, huffing furiously. You had never seen him so pissed off. It was glorious.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Instead, you blinked at him, feigning concern.

“Rough night?”

Sebastian turned his scathing glare on you.

Oh, it took everything in you not to crack.

“I had to write,” he growled, slamming a fist onto the armrest, “a TEN-FOOT ESSAY.”

You blinked innocently. “Oh?”

Sebastian threw up his hands. Ink smudged across his face.

“It was absolute TORTURE,” he ranted, pacing now, gesturing wildly. “Ronen wouldn’t let me leave until he was satisfied with it—AND I HAD TO READ IT ALOUD.”

Ominis inhaled sharply. Your lips twitched.

Then.

Ominis broke. The laugh that tore out of him was far louder than you had expected, his usually composed demeanor utterly shattering.

And now, with Sebastian’s utter misery in front of you, with Ominis losing his composure entirely, you couldn’t stop the wheeze that escaped, followed by absolute uncontrolled laughter.

It burst out of you before you could stop it, filling the Undercroft, your entire body shaking with mirth.

Sebastian whipped around, eyes wild with betrayal.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING?!”

You tried—oh, you tried—to compose yourself. But every time you thought you had it under control, you caught sight of Sebastian’s ink-stained hands, his utterly ruined dignity, the absolute rage burning in his eyes—

And you lost it all over again.

Ominis, already a goner, was curled forward, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Sebastian scowled so hard it could have cracked the very foundation of Hogwarts.

“You think this is FUNNY?” he barked, crossing his arms.

You gasped for breath, wiping at your eyes. “No—no, of course not.”

Sebastian glared. “Liar.”

You bit your lip, still grinning. “It’s just… I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” you said, completely unconvincing.

He jabbed a finger at you. “No, you’re not.”

You shrugged, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Maybe a little.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"It's—it's just—imagining your reading it aloud," you inhaled sharply as if you were dying for oxygen, "Matters of the Heart—"

You dissolved into laughter again, but Sebastian froze.

Stared.

Blinked.

Looked at his hands.

Then looked at you.

Then back at his hands.

Realization dawned on you. The laughter immediately died in your throat.

Fuck.

"I didn't tell you what the essay was about," Sebastian said slowly,

Your brain short-circuited.

Lie. Lie, quickly.

“Oh—uh—” You scrambled for an excuse. “I mean, it was—it was obvious, wasn’t it? What else would Black make you write about?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Oh,” he murmured, realization dawning.

You clenched your fists. Shit.

Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something smooth, silky, utterly lethal.

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A verdict. A sentence.

You forced out an awkward chuckle. “Sebastian, come on—”

“You knew,” he repeated, glaring. "How did you know?"

Ominis made a noise of delighted horror. “Oh, this is about to be so good.”

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was too sharp. Too quick. He was already piecing it together—his expression shifting from betrayal to slow, creeping realization.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

You sunk back into the cushions, hands raised in a feeble attempt at innocence.

“Sebastian—”

His brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. And then, softly, dangerously—

“…It was you.”

Your breath caught.

Sebastian stilled.

Ominis gasped.

And then—

“IT WAS YOU!”

He knew.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body tensed, preparing to run.

Sebastian saw it.

"YOU LITTLE MENACE!"

You yelped, narrowly missing his outstretched hand as you flew over the sofa.

“SEBASTIAN—WAIT—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the couch in pursuit. “YOU’RE DEAD.”

You sprinted, dodging past Ominis's chair, laughing too hard to breathe.

“You absolute menace!” Sebastian shouted, nearly grabbing your wrist. “YOU MADE ME THINK I WAS GETTING MARRIED.”

You shrieked with laughter. “It was a joke—”

“A JOKE?!”

You ducked behind a column, barely missing Sebastian’s grasp.

“Sebastian, listen—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the sofa, closing the gap. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“I CAN EXPLAIN—”

“OH, YOU’D BETTER.”

“IT WAS A PRANK—”

Ominis, now fully invested, wiped tears from his eyes. “I have never been happier.”

Sebastian rounded the pillar. You darted left. He anticipated it. He grabbed at your wrist—

And this time, he caught you.

Momentum dragged both of you down, and you landed hard on the floor, pinned beneath him.

Your chest heaved from laughing too hard.

Sebastian, equally breathless, stared down at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The Undercroft was too quiet now.

You felt the weight of him, the warmth of his hands wrapped around your wrists, pressing into the floor on either side of you.

“…You’re in so much trouble,” he muttered, but his voice had dropping lower, rougher.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t laughing anymore.

Ominis, who had been utterly entertained up until now, cleared his throat loudly.

“Right,” he said flatly, dragging his hand down his face before heading to the door. “This is officially no longer my business.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened.

Oh.

Oh, you were so screwed.

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buckets-and-trees · 2 days ago

Note

I love bed Chem and the follow up!! I’d love to see them bump into each other outside of hook up times - like they’re both in the same coffee shop…and a cute barista is flirting with reader…and Bucky suddenly feels possessive when he sees it happening from across the shop but can’t say anything as they’re just hook up buds and it’s not his place to be jealous 🤭

Even Better Than In My Head

Characters/Pairings: Bucky Barnes x curvy!Millennial female!reader Word Count: 2.9k Summary: Hooking up with Bucky Barnes in the middle of the night has scratched the itch whenever you're craving between your legs, but crossing paths with the man out in the wild in normal life? Much more dangerous than you could have guessed.

Content Warnings: modern AU, hook up culture/bootycall, established sexual relationship

Author Notes: This is a follow-up to Parking Lot Chem and Camaraderie.

Logistical Notes: My first fill for @buckyboybingo (Gym) and my ninth bit for Valentine Storygrams!

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

“This entire table is a masterpiece!” your sister exclaims, thoroughly impressed and overjoyed. “I seriously owe you!”

“You do!” you chide. “You owe me many, many favors.”

“I’d promise my first-born, but that ship has already sailed!” she replies, gesturing at her daughter - your niece - who is currently engaged in some sort of statue tag game with a gaggle of other children her age.

“I’m serious, though. You know you absolutely saved me.”

"I know," you say, waving off her gratitude with a smile. "That's what sisters are for, right?"

You both turn to survey the booth, a riot of pink and red decorations adorning every surface. Heart-shaped cookies, cupcakes with swirling frosting rosettes, raspberry-lemon bars, and delicate palmiers drizzled with white chocolate and heart-shaped sprinkles cover the table in neat, enticing rows.

"Seriously, though," your sister continues, lowering her voice, "this could make or break my campaign for PTA president. The entire board is here, and they're all watching to see how this goes."

You nod, remembering the frantic phone call you'd received two nights ago.

Your sister's voice had been a mix of panic and exhaustion as she explained how her usually angelic toddler had decided to test out his superhero abilities by leaping off the kitchen counter. The result? A nasty gash that required a trip to urgent care and several stitches. But to make matters worse, she’d only been so distracted to allow the failed test-flight of her two-year-old because she’d been trying to figure out why her oven would turn on, but refused to heat up past 180 degrees - nowhere near close enough to take care of her baking needs.

So you agreed - or offered, you really don’t quite remember how this part of the conversation went at this point - to take care of making all the baked goods.

“Couldn't let my favorite sister crash and burn at the Valentine's Day bake sale, could I?"

"I'm your only sister, you goof," she retorts with a laugh. "But again, thank you. I don't know what I would have done without you."

As you're about to respond, your sister's eyes suddenly widen, and a sly grin spreads across her face. She leans in close, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Speaking of paying you back, I think I'm about to start right now."

You follow her gaze across the crowded gymnasium, your curiosity piqued. Through the sea of parents and children, a tall figure is making his way towards your booth. As he draws closer, you can't help but notice how he seems to part the crowd effortlessly, his presence commanding yet somehow warm.

"See that absolutely gorgeous man heading our way?" your sister murmurs, her excitement palpable. "That's Aiden Hartley. He's a single dad, a widower, and practically the perfect gentleman."

You try to maintain your composure as Aiden approaches, but it's difficult not to stare. He's easily over six feet with a build that suggests he's no stranger to the gym. His short blonde hair catches the light, looking almost golden under the fluorescent glare of the school's overhead lighting. Even from a distance, you can see his eyes - a striking shade of green that reminds you of summer leaves.

As Aiden reaches your booth, a warm smile spreads across his face. Your heart skips a beat.

"Ladies," he greets you both, his voice deep and smooth. "I have to say, this spread looks absolutely incredible."

Your sister jumps in, "Oh, it's all thanks to my amazing sister here! Aiden, you haven’t met her yet, but she's the baking genius."

Aiden's gaze returns to you, a spark of interest in those mesmerizing green eyes. "Is that so? Well, I'm thoroughly impressed. I'm Carter’s dad, by the way, he’s in the same class as your niece." He extends his hand.

You introduce yourself, hoping your palm isn't too sweaty as you shake his hand. His grip is firm but gentle, and you can't help but notice how your hand seems to fit very nicely into his.

"So, what would you recommend?" Aiden asks, gesturing to the array of sweets.

“I’d like one of the cupcakes,” the last voice you’re expecting to hear interrupts from just behind you, and you whip around to find yourself face to face with Bucky, the man who has been regularly - if intermittently - wrecking you sexually.

What on earth is he doing here?

Not only is he here, he’s looking devastatingly handsome in a dark blue button-down and jeans. Your breath catches in your throat as memories of your late-night encounter flood your mind.

"One of the chocolate ones," Bucky drawls, his eyes roaming over the baked goods before settling on you with a heated gaze. "Is that a strawberry buttercream on top?"

“Mhmm,” you manage to nod, throat completely dry, brain trying to figure out how to function.

You’re not supposed to be seeing this man in the light of day - does not compute, does not compute.

"Looks like someone's been busy in the kitchen," he adds.

Your sister, oblivious to the tension crackling between you and Bucky, beams at him. "Yes! Isn't it amazing? My sister made everything here."

Bucky's lips curl into a smirk. "Is that so? You’re clearly skilled with your hands - the piping on this frosting is flawless,” he says, handing cash to your sister in exchange for one of the cupcakes.

He brings the treat to his nose, inhaling deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. "Smells divine," he murmurs, voice low enough that only you can hear. Then, with a wink that makes your knees weak, he turns and strides away, weaving through the crowd with the same effortless grace that brought him to your booth. His confident stride draws more than a few appreciative glances from the other parents.

Your sister nudges you with her elbow, breaking you out of your daze. "See, I told you you're too modest with your baking skills," she whispers excitedly. "Bucky Barnes is usually a man of few words, and he dropped plenty just now."

You nod absently, still reeling from Bucky's sudden appearance and the way he'd looked at you. Your mind races, trying to process the conflicting emotions swirling within you. On one hand, there's the familiar spark of desire that Bucky always ignites. On the other, there's a new, tentative flutter of interest as you glance back at Aiden, who's patiently waiting with a warm smile.

Your sister, ever the matchmaker, seamlessly steers the conversation back to Aiden. "So, Aiden, you were asking about recommendations?" She gives you a subtle but pointed look.

You clear your throat. "Right. Well, the raspberry-lemon bars are a personal favorite. They've got just the right balance of sweet and tart."

Aiden's eyes light up. "That sounds perfect. I'll take two, please." As your sister boxes up his order, he turns back to you. "So, do you bake professionally? These look like they could be in a high-end bakery."

You laugh, shaking your head. "Oh no, it's just a hobby. I work in marketing, actually."

"Well, you certainly have a talent for it," Aiden says, his smile warm and genuine. "I can’t wait to try these,” he adds, holding up his box.

As you're about to respond to Aiden's compliment, your sister suddenly gasps and slaps her forehead dramatically. "Oh no! I completely forgot!" She turns to you with an exaggerated look of distress. "The PTA was supposed to set up the face-painting station, but I just realized we left all the supplies in my car!"

You raise an eyebrow, sensing the poorly disguised matchmaking attempt, but play along. "Oh, that's not good. You'd better go take care of that."

Your sister nods vigorously, already backing away from the booth. "Absolutely! Can't have disappointed kids on Valentine's Day!" She pauses, then turns to Aiden with a look of calculated innocence. "Aiden, I hate to impose, but would you mind helping my sister man the booth until I get back? It shouldn't take more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”

Aiden’s eyes flash to you, gleaming with amusement, clearly recognizing your sister's ploy for what it is, but he plays along anyway. "Of course! I'd be more than happy to lend a hand... or take an order or two," he jokes, winking at you.

Your cheeks flush a with heat, but you’re not totally unhappy with her shenanigans.

Your sister rushes off and Aiden takes her place behind the table. As the two of you settle into a rhythm working the table, you can't help but feel a spark of connection. His easy smile and warm demeanor put you at ease, and soon you're chatting effortlessly about everything from your shared love of books to your favorite local restaurants.

"So, marketing, huh?" Aiden asks during a lull. "What kind of projects do you work on?"

You launch into a brief explanation of your latest campaign, surprised at how easily the conversation flows. Aiden listens attentively, asking insightful questions that show he's genuinely interested. His green eyes sparkle with intelligence, and you find yourself drawn in by his charm.

"That sounds fascinating," he says, leaning in slightly. "I'd love to hear more about it sometime. Maybe over coffee?"

Your heart flutters at the invitation, but before you can respond, your eyes are inexplicably drawn across the crowded gymnasium. Through the sea of parents and children, you spot Bucky leaning against the far wall.

He's standing slightly apart from the crowd, his presence both magnetic and aloof. The sleeves of his dark blue plaid shirt are rolled up to his elbows, revealing the corded muscles of his forearms. His hair, usually disheveled when you see him, is neatly combed back into a bun, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw.

As if sensing your gaze, Bucky's eyes lock with yours from across the room. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face as he brings the cupcake to his lips. You watch, transfixed, as he takes a deliberate bite, his eyes never leaving yours.

The chocolate cake yields easily, and a smear of pink frosting clings to his upper lip. Your mouth goes dry as you watch his tongue dart out, slowly and purposefully licking away the sweet confection.

The sight sends a jolt of electricity through your body, igniting a fire low in your belly. Memories of that same tongue exploring your most intimate places flood your mind. You can almost feel the ghost of it and press your legs together.

Suddenly aware that you've been staring, you snap your attention back to Aiden, who's looking at you expectantly. You realize he's still waiting for an answer about coffee.

"Oh, um, yes," you stammer, trying to regain your composure. "Coffee sounds great."

Aiden's face lights up with a warm smile. "Wonderful! How about this Saturday?"

You nod, pushing thoughts of Bucky to the back of your mind. "Saturday works for me."

As you exchange numbers with Aiden, you can't help but feel a mix of excitement and guilt. Excitement at the prospect of getting to know this kind, handsome man better. Guilt because you know that no matter how charming Aiden is, a part of you is still thinking about Bucky and the raw, primal energy between you.

About how he probably would have no problem dragging you away to his car and fucking you in the parking lot right now.

You think that’s something Aiden would never do .

The rest of the bake sale passes in good conversation with Aiden, chatting between customers and stealing glances at each other when you think the other isn't looking. You learn that he's an architect, specializing in sustainable design, and his passion for his work is evident in the way his eyes light up as he describes his latest project.

"It's a community center," he explains, his hands moving animatedly as he speaks. "We're incorporating solar panels, rainwater harvesting systems, and even a rooftop garden. The goal is to create a space that not only serves the community but also educates them about sustainable living."

You find yourself genuinely interested, asking questions about the design process and the challenges he faces. As you listen, you can't help but appreciate how different this interaction is from your usual encounters with Bucky. With Aiden, there's a warmth, a sense of connection that’s so natural.

But your gaze drifts regularly to Bucky. Bucky has become attached to a young boy who looks to be about six years old. The resemblance between them is striking – the same strong jawline, the same chestnut brown hair. They grin and laugh together, Bucky follows him around to the face painting, a craft station, poses with him in the photo booth.

All you have ever shared with Bucky is sex. The two of you had given next to no time to small talk even in the first few days of messaging on the hook up app and in your first meet up. You had both made it clear you used each other for sex and didn’t want anything else from the connection.

As the bake sale winds down, your sister finally returns, apologizing profusely for needing to cover the face painting instead of helping at the booth. She winks at you when Aiden isn't looking, clearly pleased with her efforts. Aiden continues to linger, helping to fold up the tablecloth and carry boxes.

This morning you were thoroughly single, no need or with to do much to be otherwise. But now you find yourself torn between two very different men. Aiden, with his warm smile and gentle demeanor, represents the possibility of a genuine connection, of building something meaningful. Your conversation flows easily, and you can't deny the flutter in your chest when he laughs at your jokes.

But then there's Bucky. Your attention drawn back to him over and over, watching as he had interacted with the young boy who must be his son. It's a side of him you've never seen before, and it stirs something unexpected within you. The tenderness in his eyes as he looks at his child is a stark contrast to the raw intensity you're used to seeing when he looks at you.

As you and Aiden start packing up the remaining baked goods, Bucky approaches your booth once more. This time, the little boy is with him, clinging to his hand and looking up at you with wide, curious eyes.

"Hey," Bucky says, his voice smooth and charming. "We wanted to grab a few more treats before you packed up." His eyes flick to Aiden, then back to you, a flash of something - possessiveness? jealousy? - passing over his face.

"Of course," you manage, brightening your voice as you direct your attention to the small boy. "What would you like?"

The little boy tugs on Bucky's hand, pointing at the heart-shaped cookies. "Can I have those, Daddy?"

Your heart does a little flip at hearing Bucky called 'Daddy'. It's such a stark contrast to the Bucky you know - the one who whispers filthy things in your ear as he pounds into you.

"Sure thing, buddy. How about we get a few to take home for later?" Bucky suggests, his voice gentle as he speaks to his son.

You can't help but smile at the interaction as you carefully package up a half dozen of the heart-shaped cookies. As you hand the box to Bucky, your fingers brush against his, sending a whoosh of butterflies through your stomach. His eyes lock with yours, dark and intense, before he glances meaningfully at Aiden.

"Thanks," Bucky says, his voice low. "These look delicious. I'm sure they taste even better than they look." The double meaning in his words is clear, and you feel a flush creeping up your neck.

"I hope you enjoy them," you manage to reply, your voice slightly breathless.

As Bucky turns to leave, his son looks up at you with a shy smile. "Thank you for the treats!”

"You're very welcome, young man," you reply, smiling warmly at the little boy. As they walk away, you can't help but watch Bucky's retreating form, admiring the way his shirt clings to his broad shoulders.

You and Aiden finish packing up the last of the baked goods, and he helps you carry the boxes to your car.

"So, about Saturday," he says as you close the trunk. "There's this great little café downtown that does this stuffed french toast that will send you to heaven. How does that sound?”

You smile at Aiden, genuinely excited about the prospect of getting to know him better. "That sounds wonderful," you reply. "I love a good french toast."

As you exchange details for your upcoming date, you can't help but feel a mix of anticipation and guilt. Aiden is everything you should want - kind, intelligent, and clearly interested in more than just a physical relationship. Yet, as you watch him walk away, your mind drifts back to Bucky.

Later that night, as you're getting ready for bed, your phone buzzes with a text. Your heart races as you see Bucky's name on the screen.

BUCKY: Those cookies were delicious. But not as sweet as your cunt.

You bite your lip, torn between responding and ignoring the message. Before you can decide, another text comes through.

BUCKY: I'm in the neighborhood. Have any of that frosting left?

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #buckyboybingo2025 #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #aspen wrote something #female reader #bed chem bucky #aspen's valentine storygrams

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whizzing-fizzbee · 2 days ago

Text

I have a doozy of a work week coming up, so I don't anticipate having much time to write. So enjoy this little Valentine's Day angst-fluff-smut combo I’ve been sitting on for a while. Thank you for reading and have a splendid Valentine's Day if you celebrate - regardless, you are loved! ❤️

XOXO, Anonymous

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

Rating: Explicit/MDNI (smut, profanity); all characters are 18+ Words: 6,323 Tags: friends to lovers, Valentine's Day, love letters, misunderstandings, mutual pining, angst, fluff, Seb is extra stupid in this one

Summary: Sebastian Sallow has been hopelessly in love with Annalisa Lark since the day they met during fifth year. So when he discovers a love letter to Ominis seemingly sent from her, he begins a downward spiral. Once the truth comes out, he'll realize actions sometimes speak louder than words.

Notes: This one's split into two parts in case you want to skip the smut. Part I is angst and fluff. Part II is smut. All characters are 18-year-old seventh years. MC in this one is a Ravenclaw named Annalisa Lark.

Read on AO3 or both parts below the cut.

Part I

Sebastian Sallow trudged into his dormitory, exhausted after a particularly grueling quidditch practice. The room was empty, presumably because all his roommates were already elbow-deep in their dinners.

Sebastian would have gone straight to the Great Hall to join them, but he’d been neglecting a Potions essay that was due in the morning. He just needed to grab a book and he’d head to the library for a few hours of writing.

Except Sebastian’s Potions book was nowhere to be found. He cursed under his breath as he realized he’d left it in the locker room. With no desire to make the trek all the way back to the quidditch pitch, Sebastian decided he’d merely borrow Ominis’ book. Surely Ominis had completed the essay ages ago.

The book sat on the desk next to Ominis’ bed, resting on its back atop a neat stack of parchment. Sebastian picked it up and moved to gather some parchment and quills of his own when a folded sheet slipped from the book’s pages. It fluttered to the floor and landed face-up, open, as if its contents were meant to be seen.

Typically, Sebastian wouldn’t dare read his friend’s mail. He would never willingly violate Ominis’ trust, not after it had taken him two years to regain it after the events of fifth year. But a few choice words scrawled on the parchment caught Sebastian’s eye as he bent down to retrieve it. He paused, his hand hovering above the letter until he finally gathered the nerve to pick it up and read it.

His tired pout morphed into a full-fledged frown.

Dearest Ominis,

Your last letter made me smile. You have such a way with words that I always find myself re-reading your letters over and over again. I hope they never stop, even if we can one day be together.

Speaking of, have you given any further thought to discussing our potential relationship with Sebastian? I know you’re worried it could sever your friendship, but please don’t. He cares about both of us far too much, and I truly believe he merely wants to see us happy.

I love you, Ominis. I love you, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t. After everything that happened to me during fifth year, I’ve realized life is far too short to be separated from the ones we love.

Please give what I said some more consideration. See you soon.

XOXO, A.

It took a moment for Sebastian to realize his hands were shaking. His palms were sweating and his stomach churned. He couldn’t even pinpoint which emotion had taken charge of his body – disbelief, surely, but what about the betrayal? And the pain… my god, the pain. It slammed through Sebastian’s chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.

He read it again. Call him a masochist, but he had to be sure he understood correctly. He prayed his eyes had somehow managed to trick him, that it had all been a projection of his own deepest fears, or perhaps some cruel prank Ominis cooked up.

But Ominis wasn’t a prankster. And he would never joke about something as complex as Sebastian’s feelings – not when it came to her. Or so he thought.

Sebastian had loved Annalisa Lark since the day she absolutely dismantled him during a duel in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. She was stunning to him in every sense of the word, and while their friendship was sometimes turbulent, Sebastian flocked to her like children to candy. He’d never admit to it, though. The only person who seemed to understand was Ominis.

But now, it seemed Ominis understood more than he’d let on. Sebastian stilled himself, the letter still in his hand. Had his best friend really stolen the love of his life? Perhaps that was a bit dramatic. She wasn’t Sebastian’s to steal. He was certain she didn’t even have those kinds of feelings for him. Still, surely Ominis knew about that unspoken gentlemen’s rule about not romancing your best friend’s love interest.

Sebastian’s shock shifted to fury. His conniption swelled as he mulled the situation over. His best friend had swooped in on her. The one and only girl he couldn’t bear to lose.

He had to toss the letter aside to stop himself from crumpling it into a ball. Knives clouded his vision. He could choke Ominis until the life left his eyes. She said she loved him. She told Ominis the only words that could likely save Sebastian from a tragic demise.

And worst of all, they’d kept their romance a secret from him. They didn’t deem him worthy of sharing their secret. They thought it’d be easier to keep him out of their equation. He wasn’t meant to be a part of their secret society.

Sebastian sank onto his bed, his gaze wavering in and out of focus. He didn’t know what to do. Should he storm down to the Great Hall and demand answers from them? Should he keep quiet and pretend he didn’t know? Should he make a last-ditch effort love declaration in hopes of stealing Annalisa back to her rightful place?

All of those options made sense in Sebastian’s mind, but Sebastian Sallow rarely made sense when it came to the most important matters of the heart.

Dinner and Potions essays be damned, Sebastian decided to retreat to the Undercroft.

---

“Sebastian! There you are.”

For the first time in nearly three years, Sebastian was dismayed to find Annalisa in the Undercroft. She was curled up on a sofa she’d conjured during their fifth year, a book open across her lap.

Even from where he stood, Sebastian could see it was a romance novel. She was always reading those, as if she enjoyed the escapism into a world of longing stares and declarations of desire. She didn’t know she was living inside one of those novels; though this one was currently creeping toward an angst-ridden, tragic ending as far as Sebastian was concerned. The trope of his life was morphing from secret pining to the one that got away.

“There you are,” Sebastian replied. It was their routine greeting, a symbol of their bond since they were fifteen. Even in crisis, he wouldn’t stray from it. He needed its familiarity.

“Where’ve you been?” Annalisa asked curiously as she shifted to one side of the sofa to make room for him.

“Quidditch practice.”

“Did you eat? I didn’t see you at dinner. I have some apples in my bag.”

Sebastian shook his head as he took the other half of the sofa. His posture betrayed him. He typically slouched into his seat, his knees parted while his hands absentmindedly twirled his wand. But tonight, he was rigid, his spine far too stiff and straight to fool her. “I’m not hungry.”

Annalisa frowned, her book now forgotten as she set it aside. “Since when have you ever turned down a meal?” she demanded with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian lied.

Annalisa scowled at him. “Sebastian Edward Sallow, do not play with me.”

Sebastian nearly barked a laugh at the irony of it all. If anything, she was the one playing with him; sneaking around behind his back with his own best friend, penning him passionate love letters while Sebastian had been none the wiser.

He wanted to be disgusted with her, to lash out and demand answers. He wanted her to know how hurt he was by her decision to omit him from such a significant portion of her life. Even if she didn’t choose him, she could have at least filled him in on her stirring new romance – especially since it involved their mutual best friend.

But Sebastian could never be repulsed by her, even if he felt slighted. She was too much of all the good things Sebastian admired in life – a stunning little spitfire compressed into five feet of fearless conviction. She was compassionate and complex; she didn’t view the world in black and white the way so many others preferred to. She understood the frayed seams between good and evil and light and darkness.

That realization was the moment Sebastian was certain he loved her. She stood by him after Solomon’s death and offered him unwavering support, because she knew the nuances of right and wrong. She had blood on her hands, too. The difference in their bloodshed was hers was an effort to quell darkness; Sebastian’s bloodshed had embraced it.

Still, Annalisa understood Sebastian at a level that transcended mere friendship, and because of that, Sebastian had grown certain she was his soulmate. But now, he wasn’t sure he knew her at all.

“Sebastian…” Annalisa was still peering at him expectantly.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he insisted, his tense posture still exposing his discomfort. “I’m just exhausted, is all.

Annalisa opened her mouth, fully prepared to interrogate him into a confession, but the entrance to the Undercroft clanged open again, revealing Ominis’ arrival. Sebastian stiffened even more.

“Ominis!” Annalisa greeted. “Sebastian here was just about to tell me why he’s so moody.”

“Sebastian, moody? I can’t imagine,” came Ominis’ dry reply.

Sebastian was in no mood for teasing remarks. Not when he was the third wheel to the two people he thought he trusted most. His irritation surged, and before he could suppress it, he was on his feet.

“I’ll just leave you two to it then, yeah?” he snapped.

“Sebastian, what-”

Sebastian brushed past a stunned Ominis and sulked from the Undercroft.

---

Sebastian hated Valentine’s Day. What a stupid, sordid excuse of a holiday, he thought. He slouched over his corner of the Slytherin table in the Great Hall as he watched his classmates exchange jovial greetings and giggles over romantic gifts. It was positively nauseating. The arrival of Ominis taking the seat across from him didn’t sweeten the day.

“Brooding in the corner on Valentine’s Day,” Ominis mused. “How very cliche of you.” Sebastian didn’t reply. Ominis sighed and set his stack of books on the table between them. “Going to share with the class what’s had you so bent out of shape?”

Again, no reply. Ominis was no stranger to Sebastian’s tempestuous moods. They always became particularly stormy when Annalisa was inundated with attention from their classmates. Today, she sat at the Ravenclaw table with a short stack of valentines and an assortment of sweets surrounding her. Truthfully, Sebastian could cope with that – he’d witnessed their classmates’ attempts to court Annalisa on countless occasions. He was used to that. He wasn’t used to the nauseating knowledge that his own best friend was the one who had secured her heart, and in secret nonetheless.

“Alright, mate,” Ominis sighed as he gathered his books again and stood. “But Cupid’s arrow isn’t going to find you while you’re commiserating by your lonesome self in a corner.”

As he retreated toward the doors of the Great Hall, Sebastian considered chucking a potato at his head. But something else stole his attention.

Another letter. Ominis must have left it accidentally in his haste to flee Sebastian’s orbit of agony. Sebastian snatched it off the table immediately, took a quick glance around the Great Hall, and read.

Dearest Ominis,

Happy Valentine’s Day, love! Thank you for the gorgeous flowers. They look positively stunning at my bedside. I look forward to gazing at them as the last thing I’ll see before I fall asleep. You are always the last thing on my mind at night anyway.

I am so looking forward to seeing you tonight. I hope it will be just as special for you as it is for me. See you at 7:00.

XOXO, A.

The edges of the parchment curled inward as Sebastian’s hands shook. They had a secret date planned for the night. They were going to have a romantic night together and neither of them felt any obligation to tell him. Their friendship was no longer a trio. They were a pair, plus one, single fool.

Sebastian crumpled the letter and stashed it in his pocket. He prayed Cupid would choke on a pumpkin pasty.

---

Sebastian’s sour mood didn’t stop there. It devolved by the afternoon, until all who crossed his path were at risk of a terrible lashing.

Finally, Annalisa found him pouting beneath the Transfiguration Courtyard fountain.

“Sebastian,” she said sternly, her green eyes drilling him with impatience. “What is the matter with you? Ominis says you’re positively insufferable. What has happened?”

Of course Ominis called him that. Ominis was a treasonous, back-stabbing traitor who was too cowardly to even admit he was in love. If Sebastian had Annalisa, he’d tell the whole world, and would burn it down if anyone dared to question him.

“Ominis knows exactly what he’s done,” Sebastian snapped.

“Clearly not,” Annalisa challenged him. “All we know is something has you upset. Stop isolating yourself and tell us. Tell me, at the very least.”

How rich. She was begging him to tell her, when she hadn’t bothered to tell him about her new little love affair.

“Tell you what,” Sebastian said, rising to his feet as he gazed at her with a pointed stare. “I’ll tell you my secret when you tell me yours.”

Annalisa blinked at him. “Secret? Sebastian, I don’t know what you’re on about.”

Sebastian slipped past her to head inside the castle in search of someplace more secluded. “Then neither do I.”

He wasn’t proud of his prickly behavior. It was reminiscent of his fifth year, when his obsession with curing Anne’s curse pushed him into a manic state, void of any logic. He wasn’t that far gone now, but he certainly was allowing his emotions to control him.

Fine. If Ominis and Annalisa were so into writing silly little love letters, he’d do the same.

Sebastian retreated to his dormitory, where he was relieved to find himself alone. He sat at his desk with two blank sheets of parchment in front of him.

Ominis,

It has come to my attention that you have entered into a romantic partnership with Annalisa. To say that I feel betrayed and slighted is an understatement. I thought you were aware of my feelings regarding our mutual friend and would use better judgment. It’s clear the two of you have chosen each other over me, so consider this my resignation from our friendship.

Sebastian E. Sallow

He snatched the parchment up and crushed it in his hand. This was meant to be a deeply personal declaration of deception and distress, not a polite invitation for afternoon tea.

He tried again.

Ominis–

I know your secret. Consider this the final fallen pillar of our friendship.

See you in hell, Sebastian

Much better. One down, one to go. But the second one wasn’t as simple.

Sebastian was certain he could be romantic, right? He’d been on his fair share of dates, had plenty of experience with girls. In truth, he had his pick of most girls at Hogwarts. Sure, he didn’t have the family name and wealth that Ominis had to offer, but he had a bright future as an early acceptance into the Ministry of Magic’s Auror program. He was charming and intelligent, charismatic enough to sway most people he encountered to his side.

Surely he could pen one simple love letter. But for as silver-tongued as he was when it came to getting himself out of trouble or convincing his classmates to help him with various endeavors, Sebastian had no idea how to tell a girl he loved her.

He sat glued to that spot for a good hour until the reject pile of letters not good enough for Annalisa’s eyes had formed a small stack on the desktop. No words could convey what he felt for her. No words were pretty or poignant enough.

Annalisa,

I know you’re in love with Ominis and I don’t want to stand in the way of the happiness you deserve. But if there’s any chance I could ever compete for your heart, please know that I won’t go down without a fight.

I’ve loved you since that first day in Hecat’s class. I know I haven’t made life easy on you, but loving you’s been the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

Tell me I have even the slightest shot at being yours and I promise you’ll always have my full effort.

Forever yours, Sebastian

It wasn’t good enough, but it was the best he could manage. He wasn’t meant to craft eloquent prose like Annalisa’s favorite romance novels. Because this was real, not a fictional work intended to entertain the masses, and Sebastian wanted to be sure she knew that. This was his brutal honesty, raw and real.

He sighed as he decided these two letters would have to do. He pocketed Annalisa’s and placed the other on Ominis’ nightstand before slinking off to the kitchens to eat dinner in solitude.

By the time he was finished, his pocket watch indicated it was 6:30. Ominis and Annalisa would be heading off to their date soon, likely at some romantic restaurant where they could cozy up to one another away from prying eyes. Sebastian couldn’t stand to picture it.

He had originally planned to send Annalisa’s letter via owl, but impulse control was never Sebastian’s strength. So in an act of desperation, he trekked up to Ravenclaw Tower and lingered outside the common room.

In a serendipitous act of fate, Samantha Dale was just returning from dinner.

“Samantha,” Sebastian breathed in relief. The Ravenclaw stopped in her tracks and lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Sebastian? What are you doing here? Meeting Annalisa?”

“Oh, er, yes. Except I was hoping to surprise her,” Sebastian said, hoping he was convincing.

“Ooh, are you finally taking her on a date?” Samantha squealed. “It’s about time.”

“Oh. Um, yeah, but it’s a surprise. Can you let me into the common room?”

“Of course, right this way.” Samantha led Sebastian inside and gestured toward the girls’ dormitories. “Pretty sure you’ve been up here before, yes? You remember the way?”

Sebastian nodded and thanked Samantha, who continued into the common room. He strode hastily toward Annalisa’s dorm, praying she’d still be there. He knocked gently and felt his stomach contort at the sound of her voice inviting the visitor inside.

“Sebastian?” Annalisa blinked as he creaked the door open. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Sebastian was more confused than her. She was wearing pajamas and she sat up in bed, cozied beneath the covers with a book open. She certainly did not appear to be preparing for a romantic date.

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian asked stupidly. Annalisa snorted.

“Sebastian, I live here.”

“But… you have a date.”

“I do? That’s news to me.”

That’s when Sebastian also realized there were no flowers on her nightstand. What was going on? Was this some sort of prank? A bizarre dream – perhaps an astral projection? He felt sick.

“But… but you and Ominis…”

Annalisa tilted her head, perplexed by the entire interaction as her eyes narrowed in concern. “Ominis? What does he have to do with this? Sebastian, what is going on? You’ve been acting so strange lately.”

“I…” Sebastian’s entire frame deflated, his shoulders slumping forward and his knees threatening to buckle. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

Annalisa motioned for him to sit on the side of the bed. She watched him carefully as he did so, his hands resting atop his knees. He looked exhausted.

“What’s this date you were talking about?” Annalisa asked as she tossed her book aside.

Sebastian sighed. There was no recovering from this. Even if he wanted to get out of this, to sweet talk her with some excuse, he knew he’d only leave with despair in his heart. “I thought you and Ominis had a date,” he said.

Annalisa looked like he’d slapped her. “You’re not serious.”

“I saw the letters. Your letters.”

“What letters?”

“The ones you wrote to Ominis.”

Annalisa felt dizzy, which was alarming because she was certain Sebastian was the one who’d gone loopy. “I didn’t write Ominis any letters,” she said. “Why would I? I see him every day. I don’t need to write him.”

Sebastian’s chest constricted. A flush crept from his neck into his cheeks. His lungs screamed for air. He didn’t understand.

“You’re not dating Ominis?”

“What?!”

Oh no. Had he really gotten it all wrong? How? He’d seen the letters with his own eyes. It all added up in his head. Had he really let himself spiral into an episode of assumptions and self-doubt?

“Sebastian,” Annalisa continued, her voice a breath of laughter and perplexion. “What the fuck are you on about? Who told you I was dating Ominis?”

“No one told me. I accidentally saw letters written to him – love letters.”

Annalisa was clearly intrigued, another indication that she had nothing to do with said letters. “Love letters? To Ominis? From whom? And what made you think they were from me?”

“I only saw two of them, but they were both signed by the initial A,” Sebastian explained. “And one of them talked about a date tonight.”

“Well, clearly it wasn’t me,” Annalisa laughed. “This book is my hot date for the night.”

“But then, who…”

Annalisa giggled, her eyes glinting with a facetious, knowing smile. “Sebastian, come on,” she said. “Think.”

“But I don’t-”

“Anne!” Annalisa continued.

“Anne?”

Sebastian froze as all the mental pieces shifted in his brain. Merlin. It made perfect sense – more sense than Ominis and Annalisa.

“You mean Ominis and Anne are in love?”

“Yes, silly,” Annalisa snorted. “Anyone with two eyes can see it.”

“But Ominis has two eyes and can’t s-”

“Sebastian, that’s beside the point.”

“Right, sorry. But… you knew? About them?”

“Not for sure,” Annalisa said. “But it’s always been pretty obvious that those two love each other. They share everything and they really only trust each other… they’d do anything for each other. Of course they’re in love.”

“Oh.”

Annalisa stared at him with exasperated eyes. “You really thought I’d date Ominis?”

“I mean, the two of you adore each other.”

“Yes, because we’re great friends. Surely you know we’d never consider each other romantically.”

“I didn’t think so, but then I saw those letters and… I just thought maybe I’d overlooked something between you two,” Sebastian explained.

“Well, you thought wrong,” Annalisa said. “Obviously I’m not on a hot date with our mutual friend. I didn’t have a date tonight, so I’m enjoying a cozy night in.”

“Oh.”

Annalisa’s brow furrowed as her gaze locked in on the folded parchment in Sebastian’s hand. “What’s that?”

Sebastian swallowed. There was no going back, he reminded himself. But this wasn’t how he wanted to tell her. He wanted to woo her with melodic words and grand gestures symbolic of his feelings. He wanted to make a case for himself she couldn’t refuse.

But if he had to convince her to love him, it wasn’t the right kind of reciprocation anyway. Still, his nerves were getting the best of him.

“It’s nothing, spare bit of parchment,” he tried to say with a shrug. Annalisa shot him a look.

“What is it?” she demanded.

Sebastian frantically scanned his brain for the right words. He only had one shot at this. He had to get it right.

“It’s a letter.”

“One of Anne’s letters to Ominis?”

“No. A letter from me to you.”

Annalisa tilted her head quizzically. “What do you mean? Why? What does it say?”

Sebastian averted his gaze, his eyes on the parchment in his hands. “Before I hand this to you, before I allow you to read it,” he started. “I want you to know that it was a result of a severe misunderstanding. When I thought you were in love with Ominis… I felt like I was going mental.”

“Is that why you stormed out of the Undercroft and have been sulking so much?”

“Yes.”

“Sebastian, why didn’t you just say something to us?”

“Because I thought you were trying to keep it a secret from me.”

“Why would we do that?”

“To avoid my wrath, apparently. Judging from the letters, it sounds like Anne wants me to know but Ominis is afraid to tell me.”

Annalisa’s lips curved in another knowing smile. “To be fair, I can’t say I blame him,” she said. “This is your sister we’re talking about here.”

“I know, but if there’s anyone I do trust to date my sister, it’s Ominis. He’s the only person I’d trust with her.”

“Well then, it sounds like you both have been making some inaccurate assumptions,” Annalisa mused.

“I suppose so.” Sebastian raked a hand through his hair. “Look, when I thought you and Ominis were together, I didn’t handle it well, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, Sebastian,” Annalisa laughed. “I just don’t understand why it had you so upset.”

“Because I don’t handle jealousy well,” Sebastian answered.

“Jealousy? Sebastian, don’t tell me you’re struggling to find a girlfriend. You-”

It was a good thing Sebastian was absolutely smitten with Annalisa, because for as brilliant as she truly was, she could be quite dense when it came to personal matters of the heart. “I thought Ominis had taken the only person I’m interested in,” Sebastian cut in. He maintained his gaze on the parchment, terrified to watch as the understanding settled within Annalisa.

“Sebastian,” she breathed.

“Here,” Sebastian said as he extended his arm to offer her the letter. “Now you can have this.”

Annalisa reached tentatively for the letter, as if she knew reading it would change everything. Sebastian didn’t look as he listened to her unfold it. The room fell silent as her eyes scanned his penmanship. When he heard her inhale sharply, Sebastian considered flinging himself out the window.

He wasn’t prepared for her reaction. He had long accepted the reality that she could never possibly love him mutually. She might love him as a close friend, but she’d never understand the magnitude of her presence in his life. She was more than his shoulder to lean on and partner in crime; she was the gravity that grounded Sebastian to this world. If he lost her, he’d lose the anchor that kept the sea of dysphoria from sweeping him away again.

Sebastian decided he’d start by apologizing. He’d tell her he never meant to jeopardize their bond. He hadn’t even meant to fall for her. But he wasn’t sorry for loving her. It was the most genuine emotion he had.

Then he’d assure Annalisa that their friendship didn’t have to change. He was determined to maintain it. He’d fight every one of his emotions tooth and nail for her. She had to understand that he’d never expect anything more from her than the privilege to merely be a part of her life.

“Sebastian,” Annalisa breathed. He finally turned to look at her and was stunned to see tears welling in her eyes. “Sebastian, why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not really a casual topic for dinner discussion.”

“Sebastian, really.” Annalisa sniffed. “You should have told me.”

“I’m sorry.” Sebastian averted his gaze again, riddled by guilt and fear. He fiddled with a loose thread on the blanket while both seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Sebastian,” Annalisa repeated. She slipped from beneath the covers to sit next to him. Sebastian fought desperately to think about anything other than the way her silk pajamas clung to her body. “Sebastian, look at me.”

He exhaled slowly as he turned to face her, awaiting his fateful sentence. He assumed she’d let him down gently, tell him they were better off as friends. She was far too kind to raise her voice at him, though she was also fiery enough that she might slap him.

Instead, she threw her arms around him. Sebastian’s lungs deflated as he stilled, stunned by her sudden embrace.

“Sebastian, you fool. You know I love you too,” she mumbled, her words muffled against his neck. It ignited a new heat that coursed through his limbs. He swallowed as her words clashed with the feeling of her soft lips against his skin. It was a staggering juxtaposition of sweet relief and untamed desire.

She loved him? Had he really managed to overlook that major detail in his life? Had there been signs? Sebastian blinked in disbelief. He'd orchestrated his fair share of stupid events, but this one took first place.

Annalisa closed her eyes as she continued to cling to Sebastian. “You really thought I was in love with Ominis?”

“Ominis is brilliant,” Sebastian offered with a shrug. “Girls seem to like that whole polished and proper thing he has going on.”

Annalisa snorted against his neck and Sebastian couldn’t help but smile in spite of his nerves. “Sebastian, when have I ever been the prim and proper type?” she murmured. The more she spoke and the more her lips buzzed vibrations across his skin, the more Sebastian squirmed.

“That’s true,” he answered, forcing his words until they sounded steady. “You do seem to have a proclivity for chaos and dramatics.”

Annalisa drew away just far enough to peer upward at him with a pointed gaze. Her green eyes gleamed with coquetry. “It’s not like I go looking for chaos,” she huffed. “It just seems to find me… sort of way you found me. Sometimes it’s good to attract chaos.”

“Are you calling me chaotic?”

“Are you denying it?”

Sebastian chuckled. “No. Can’t deny that.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you so tense?”

“Because I just confessed to being in love with you and now you’re pressed up against me.”

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Oh. Oh.

“I… don’t know.”

Annalisa offered him a bemused smirk. “Boy, Seb, between that letter and all of this, you sure have a way with words,” she teased. “Lucky for you, you won me over years ago.”

“Years?”

Annalisa rolled her eyes, her impatience evident. “Yes, years,” she said matter-of-factly. “Which is why you should have told me.”

“You could have told me!”

“And ruin the absolute spectacle of you making a fool of yourself because of a couple love letters to Ominis? Never.”

That was enough talking, enough words for one day. Sebastian had spelled it all out, albeit rather awkwardly, but the swell inside his chest made it all worth it. He finally kissed her, which told her more than any stupid letter ever could.

Part II (Smut warning)

“Sebastian,” Annalisa whimpered. “Sebastian, please.”

Her hands were presently tangled in Sebastian’s hair as her legs were tossed over his shoulders.

Annalisa was quickly learning that Sebastian may not always have a way with words, but he was certainly skilled with his tongue. His letter to her lay on the floor, having fluttered off the bed amid the frenzy of hungry hands and greedy kisses.

“Sebastian, don’t stop,” Annalisa begged as his tongue pressed patterns over her clit. He hummed in response, certain he’d go mad by the way she begged him for more. Her whimpering pleas, the taste of her arousal and the aftermath of their declarations of love had Sebastian teetering on the edge of an insanity that could only be stoked by adoration.

Sebastian’s tongue traced tiny heart shapes across her clit until Annalisa’s thighs tensed and the pitch of her moans spiked. “Oh fuck, Sebastian!” she cried as her nerve endings seared with pleasure. Her back arched off the bed and her fingers tugged at Sebastian’s hair until her orgasm subsided, leaving her chest heaving and her entrance soaked.

Sebastian, still stunned by the day’s revelations, sat back on his heels to admire her. She wasn’t in love with Ominis – his own sister was. But he’d wrap his mind around that part of the story later. The part that mattered now was Annalisa had been his the entire time, and she was eager to prove it to him. After he kissed her for that first time, she had practically climbed into his lap until they were tearing their clothes off.

Once she had caught her breath, Annalisa sat up to pull Sebastian into a long kiss. “Stand up,” she ordered.

Sebastian blinked. He was enthralled by this bossy new side of her. Of course, one doesn’t save the world from a goblin rebellion by being a timid pushover, but Sebastian hadn’t anticipated this level of dominance from her. It made his cock twitch desperately.

He obliged and scrambled to his feet, holding his breath as he watched Annalisa fall to her knees on the floor in front of him. She took him into her mouth and tightened her lips around his shaft. Sebastian had to lean one hand on the back of her desk chair to support his weight. The suction pulling against his cock was dizzying.

“My god,” he groaned as he gazed downward to watch her work. Her hands snaked their way to the backs of his thighs, fingers pressing into his flesh as she used only her mouth to make him moan.

Annalisa’s lips released their vice grip to make way for her tongue. She dragged it from the base of Sebastian’s cock upward, over and around the tip, leaving it slick with saliva. Sebastian whimpered at the sight of it.

“Annalisa, please,” he begged. “Let me have you.”

Annalisa nodded in understanding and rose to her feet to pull Sebastian into a kiss. She nudged him backward to guide him toward the desk chair.

“Sit,” she commanded. Sebastian obeyed and dropped into a seated position. Annalisa climbed over him, hands clutching his shoulders as she lowered herself. She held her breath, astounded that her quiet Valentine’s Day was ending in such a way. Much better than any of her romance novels.

Sebastian’s fingers dug into her waist as he felt his cock make contact with her entrance. He tensed as she sank slowly, a low whine escaping her throat as she stretched around him. “Sebastian, you’re big,” she whimpered.

“Take it easy,” Sebastian said gently, though every nerve ending in his body was electrified. The scorching heat surrounding his cock was surreal.

Annalisa lifted herself and dipped downward again. The friction made both of their breaths hitch. Sebastian fought to control his body’s response while Annalisa found a steady pace, her cunt gliding over his cock until the room echoed with the sounds of their slick union.

“I love you,” Annalisa whispered, her eyes meeting Sebastian’s as she studied his expression to ensure he was content.

“I love you too,” Sebastian growled, his hands still pressing into her sides. He marveled at her; the way her full breasts bounced, her cheeks flushed, and her tight walls embraced him. He was desperate to feel her release. He had to know how she’d feel when she collapsed on top of him, her thighs shaking and cunt swollen from the intrusion of his cock.

Annalisa’s eyes fell shut as she worked, her hips rising and grinding as she rested her palms flat against Sebastian’s chest. The chair creaked beneath them.

“You feel so fucking good,” Sebastian breathed.

She rocked her hips and let out a sharp moan as Sebastian’s cock speared her soft, sensitive spot. “Oh, right there,” she groaned. She repeated the motion, her teeth tugging at her bottom lip as she lost herself in the sensation stimulating her core. “Sebastian, I’m close.”

Poor Sebastian was hanging on for dear life. His mind was presently reviewing spell patterns he’d learned in Charms class to divert his attention. He didn’t find himself in such a drastic dilemma very often, but this was pure desperation.

Annalisa slammed herself hard down onto him, driving the depths of her walls around Sebastian’s cock until she could feel the familiar flutters. She squeezed and rocked until her walls gave way to her climax, throbbing with relief as she wailed and threw her head back. She collapsed her full weight into Sebastian’s lap, allowing the tip of his cock to settle deep inside her until the final twitches of her cunt evoked his orgasm. He swore as he gripped her hips and spilled within her, earning one final moan from her.

The room’s erotic echoes were replaced with their recovering breaths. Annalisa slumped against Sebastian, her body exhausted from bouncing on top of him, and her head hazy.

Sebastian was utterly spent. His forehead rested against Annalisa’s bare shoulder as the weight of the day’s overwhelming epiphanies settled within him.

Things had taken a turn for the better; a monumental shift in events that he never could have predicted. He felt foolish and guilty for his presumptive behavior, but elated that, finally, for once, things had worked in his favor.

Annalisa was watching him with soft eyes. “Alright?” she asked. Sebastian grinned, his hands tracing light lines up and down the small of her back.

“Alright,” he answered. “Just… thinking about how mental this day was.”

“Only because you’re mental,” Annalisa said as she climbed off him and began fetching her pajamas from the floor.

“Sorry,” Sebastian said with a sheepish smile. “I guess I owe you and Ominis an apol-” He froze, his eyes widening until Annalisa drew back in alarm.

“What is it?” she demanded.

“Ominis,” Sebastian said hastily as he scrambled to his feet and began redressing. “I- I wrote him a letter too. I have to go. I have to get rid of it before he sees it.”

“Surely it can’t be that bad.”

Sebastian flashed her an apologetic grin as he buttoned his shirt. “I might have told him we were no longer friends and to go to hell.”

“Sebastian!”

“In my defense, it was all for you, love.”

“It was downright foolish.”

“I know. Apologies, love. I’ll just go fetch and destroy it and then I’ll come right back, yeah?”

Annalisa sighed and crawled back into bed. “Yes, alright. I’ll be here.”

Sebastian pressed a kiss to her forehead and sprinted back to the Slytherin dungeons.

#mdni #sebastian sallow x oc #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow smut #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #sebastian sallow #whizzing fizzbee fanfic

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prapaiwife · 3 days ago

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I'm so annoyed honestly very upset cause why am i on twitter just scrolling through thamep tag all happily. And all the ep 9 content is gone from all socials. Then come to find out it's cause of this "concern" that this one girl has over william being so young (19 btw) acting in a love scene with est (23). And feels its inappropriate to show the shirtless pics and videos etc...now this is utterly insane that's not the problem here the problem is your uncomfortable with queer media and these two men who are acting btw portraying these characters so so well!! kissing and showing affection for each other. William is about to 20 in a week btw! But some of you fans have this infantilizing issue which is another topic for another day! William im sure has given the consent to everyone involved in the scenes in ep 9. He himself has said multiple times how he and est have had talked about this and more! and he made it fully clear he trusts him. This is so upsetting because gmmtv is giving into this bs! Williamest have worked so hard for this show to be where it is now! The show wasn't even going to happen mind you till the author/directior found her perfect two main leads. And this is the thanks they get! all of their videos with the amazing viewership of ep 9 are gone. All because of one person saying its inappropriate!? If your a fan you would appreciate and love them for doing what they choose to do instesd of craping on it and making them feel like they did something wrong. You are not William's personal family! your not in his circle it's not your place to feel as if u do. That beautiful scnee in ep 9 was noting nothing far from uncomfortable and yet your acting weird about that! Telling him to delete his own pictures his own work is crazy touch the grass!! Go for a walk it's cold so get warm and take in some air. I promise you you'll be able to sleep at night and carry on about your day! As of now tmr they have a book fair event and this is what happens after they had made a accomplishment of 1.3m record for ep 9. This needs to stop gmm needs to grow a backbone and stop feeding into those ppls mindset making them feel as if they matter more then your actual artists!!!

#thamepo #thame po #thamepo the series #thamepo series #thamepo heart that skips a beat #thame x po #estwilliam #est supha #williamest #william jakrapatr

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meguwumibear · 2 days ago

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dominant!zayne x submissive!reader

tw for light BDSM, bondage/shibari, sex toys (vibrator), fingering, and some minor angst. mc calls zayne sir like twice. if i've missed something else that needs a tag, just ask! nondescript female reader with a bit of a backstory, just to make her feel more connected to the world.

Additional Disclaimer: Takes place after the events of the main story (which I am not fully caught up on). Reader is NOT the game MC in this fic. In my mind's eye MC decided to romance one of the other characters and Zayne does what he can to move on.

and yes, zayne's harness in the fic is 100% inspired by his harnes in the new trailer

In 2034 the world you as you know it ends. It happens suddenly one mundane spring afternoon. A great, gaping maw opens in the cloudless blue sky above Linkon City, releasing a tidal wave of ferocious monsters unto the earth. Locals come to call the event the Chronorift Catastrophe. The world later discovers that the great, gaping hole in the sky was the appearance of the first ever Deepspace Tunnel which attracted alien beings now colloquially referred to as Wanderers.

Everyone in Linkon City remembers where they were that day. They remember what they were wearing and who they were with. A flashbulb memory, the psychologists call it. A memory that endures. A memory that persists.

Like most survivors, it isn’t just the red rain falling from the sky or the horrible sound of the earth splitting around you that you remember: it’s the actions you took to survive. The people you ran past. The neighbors you didn’t save. The hand you didn’t extend to the woman who tripped over her own two feet running from the creature. The debris you didn’t help remove from the body of the elderly man too weak to push the plank away without aid.

For three weeks you see a therapist. You’re an adult now, still plagued by nightmares of the event. You tell the woman you’re meeting with that you are suffering from memories. She tells you that your body needs to learn that the danger has passed. The problem with that logic? The danger hasn’t. Your body can’t stop secreting stress hormones when you daily lunch breaks are constantly interrupted by Metaflux monsters.

Your past becomes a prison. An inescapable cage. Your therapists asks how you would feel if someone flung open the doors for you. You tell her it would depend on who opened the door and what’s happening outside.

The session before you ghost your shrink, she asks you to practice breathing exercises. She prattles on and on about the importance of nervous system regulation in trauma recovery. Apparently exhaling is supposed to activate the “rest and digest” response—the antidote to the “fight and flight” response that your body is stuck in.

And that’s all well and good but even twenty years later the Wanders keep manifesting in Linkon City in numbers that the Hunters can’t keep up with. You’d move, maybe, if you had the means, though you did read somewhere once that a scared animal will continue to seek out their home, even if their home is no longer safe.

So you find an alternative way to cope with the stress of the new world.

There’s budding red light district about an hour outside the city. You go sometimes on weekends to decompress. Your favorite haunt is a small BDSM club run by a couple of old widows who lost their husbands to the war. They verify ages at the door and ensure all the drinks at the place stay virgin.

You’re not heavy into the scene or anything—you actually have quite a few hard limits—it’s just…nothing else you’ve tried has helped you to shut off your brain. To shift your focus from the past to the present. To shut out all thoughts of Hunters and Protocores and Wanders.

The doms you’ve had up until this point were perfectly adequate; they listened diligently to what you were open to and respected all of your boundaries. You aren’t sure why you’ve never asked for a more consistent routine with any of them. Something, somehow, was always missing from the encounters.

There are a lot of new faces at the club tonight. Or, rather, there are a lot of faces new to you. The club has many regulars, but you don’t make the hike often enough to have them all committed to memory. Still, you’re certain you’ve never seen the tall, stoic man in a leather harness swarmed by a gaggle of women before. Despite the fact that he clearly has his pick of the litter, your gaze keeps wandering to his solid form. The way his abs flex when he breathes. The way his lips quirk when he talks.

He's halfway across the room but must somehow still feel the heat of your wandering gaze because after a few stolen looks he locks eyes with you. Your whole body flushes as he acknowledges you with a raise of his drink. The tips of your ears burn as he takes a healthy swig of the beverage without breaking the eye contact. It’s you who looks away first.

When you chance a glance back over, he’s excusing himself from the women who flocked to him like a tourist attraction to pick his way towards you. Your heart flutters anxiously as he closes in, and you have to remind yourself not to take a step back once he’s close enough to touch.

“First time?” he asks, voice smooth like ice.

“Ouch,” you reply, gripping your own water glass to ground yourself. “It’s not. Do I really look that unaware.”

His expression doesn’t change but his eyes move to assess you, “What are you drinking?”

Though his tone is relaxed you can’t help but feel as if the question has a correct answer.

“Just water.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Something with electrolytes would be more efficient. If you’re looking for a session tonight, that is.”

“I don’t like the taste,” you tell him, trying to keep the glass in your hand from shaking as desire swells within you.

He frowns, “Without electrolytes, your body will dehydrate, no matter how much water you consume.”

“You a doctor?” you ask.

He hums in what sounds like confirmation before wrapping his hand around yours. “I take the health of the people I play with seriously. This is about much more than sex to me. I like when my partners eat three square meals a day and have an effective exercise regimen implemented.”

You don’t resist when he slips your water from your grasp. You also don’t hesitate to open your mouth when he raises his own perspiring glass to your lips. His fingers don’t even graze you as you swallow down the fruity liquid, yet you can feel your insides come alight as you obey. As your pussy begins to leak it becomes increasing clear to you that you would do just about anything to have this man dominate you tonight.

“Good,” he says once you’ve downed the drink. “Now, do you happen to have a list of what you enjoy and your hard limits on you?”

With shaky hands, you reach wordlessly into your bag to retrieve what the man has asked for. He spends a few moments skimming the contents before simply stating, “I believe we are compatible.”

You follow him to a private room near the back of the club and watch as he begins to gather some equipment for the session. Without turning to look at you he says, “I noticed that you have some experience with light bondage. I prefer to use traditional single ply shibari rope or silk as restraints. These two methods prevent chafing and other potential complications like skin lesions or rashes. Do you have a preference for today’s session?”

“No preference, uh…” you trail off, wondering what the man would like you to refer to him as.

Sensing what’s on your mind, he offers, “I have no preferred titles, but you may assign me one if you like.”

“No preference, Sir,” you say, watching the man for his reaction. He seems unfazed by the moniker and continues to ready himself.

“Do you have any allergies or medical conditions I should be aware of?” he asks.

A lie forms on the tip of your tongue but the truth slips out anyway, “My heart’s a bit weak. Nothing serious. It didn’t develop properly when I was younger. I haven’t had any issues with it before.”

The revelation seems to give the man pause. He turns to you and motions for you to hold out your wrist for him, so you do. His warm fingers slip under your sleeve and find purchase on your pulse point. After a few excoriatingly silent minutes, you attempt to put his mind at ease.

“I’m, uh, a bit more excited than usual at the moment. My resting heart rate is probably higher than normal.”

The pads of his fingers don’t leave your wrist when he asks, “What’s your typical resting heart rate?”

You want to ask what that fucking matters, but sensing that won’t get you any closure to what you want you decide to humor the man. It’s been a while since you’ve been to a doctor. Back when they used to have you track it, the rate could vary depending on what task you were completing. It was higher, usually, when doing something strenuous. When you rested it would drop again.

“Usually around 90 beats per minute.”

His eyes flick to your face as he drops your wrist. “You should see a specialist.”

You roll your eyes impatiently, “Are we fucking or not?”

In response to your outburst, his hands find the hem of your shirt. “Who said I had any intentions of fucking you?” he asks, voice frustratingly emotionless. Your arms raise instinctually as he toys with the fabric, and the takes the opportunity to relieve you of the garment. “As I said before, this is about much more than sex to me.”

He circles behind you and draws you in close to him. It occurs to you suddenly just how much larger than you the man is. He rests his chin on your head as his fingers slowly trace down your sides, leaving a field of goosebumps in their wake. His hands make their way to the button on your pants.

“You aren’t just here for sex. Are you?” he asks, voice low. You feel the words vibrate his chest as he speaks them.

“No,” you whisper, eyes suddenly blurring.

“Good,” he says, undoing your buttons. “Let’s use the traffic light system today. It’s a simply way for me to check in on you and see how you’re doing.”

He lets the words sit in the air for a bit, fingers fiddling with your zipper. The only sound in the room is your own uneven breathing that you fight for control over.

The man pinches the tab of your zipper and shifts so his cheek is pressed against your forehead. “Color,” he asks, breath hot on the shell of your ear.

“Green,” you practically moan.

He slides off your pants with ease once he’s taken care of the zipper. He even helps you to keep your balance as you step out of them, one foot at a time.

“Color?” he asks again, as his fingers settle on the clasp of your bra.

“Green,” you reply, voice steadier now.

He undoes the hook with one hand.

You expect him to remove your panties next, but his fingers instead find the meat of your breasts. One of his arms wraps around you, securing you tightly against him, as you nearly keel over in a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

“Sensitive here,” he observes, cupping one of your breasts in his free hand. He uses a foot to nudge your legs further apart and slip a leg between them. The man isn't lying about getting off on this; his cock is hard as a rock against your ass.

“Fuck,” you whine as his bends you over ever so slightly. Just enough to rub your clothed pussy against his pant leg.

“Wet already,” he informs you, as if you don’t already know. As if you can’t feel the way the cotton material sticks to your lip. “All I did was undress you. That eager to begin?”

“Please,” you groan, desperate for him to take you apart with his slender fingers. “Please, Sir, I want you so fucking bad.”

“On the bed,” he instructs, releasing you, careful not to harm you as his leather harness peels away from your skin.

The rope he ends up choosing for the session is the jute rope. He takes his time winding the instrument around your wrists and pulling them above your head. His movements are practiced and skilled. His hands steady like a surgeon’s. You don’t even realize the effect watching him restrain you is having on you until a firm hand finds its way to your pelvis to stop your squirming.

Once you’ve settled, he retrieves two strands of additional rope.

“Are you familiar with the Spiral Futomomo tie?” he asks. “I understand that you’re still a beginner and tie will force you into a fixed position for an undetermined length of time. I trust you will use your safe word if needed?”

“You can trust me,” you assure him. “I know my limits.”

He must believe your words are sincere because he sets to work binding your ankle to your thigh, checking in periodically to ensure the wrappings aren’t too tight. The man is clearly in no rush and seems to delight in taking breaks between knots to steady your shaking form. You also notice the way his eyes shift to the growing wet spot beneath you as he progresses.

“What do you like about bondage?” he asks as he begins to work on your other leg.

“I don’t know,” you say, attempting to shrug before remembering your pose prevents you from such movement. “I’m never in control of my life anyway. May as well surrender myself to someone I know will take care of me.”

He doesn’t look at you, but you can see the way his eyes lighten. Your response must please him somehow. You decide to push the issue, “You like being in control?”

“I like caretaking,” is his response. “I like giving people what they need.”

“What if I need your fingers inside me?” you dare, feeling bold.

A small smile, but a smile all the same. “Then, you’ll have to patiently wait until I’m finished with the task at hand.”

He double checks all of his bindings once he’s finished securing you, mumbling under his breath about optimal blood flow. It’s cute, the way he seems so set on ensuring this is the best possible experience for you. You can’t remember the last dom you had who was this doting.

When he finally situates himself between your legs, it’s with gloved hands and a vibrator. You jump as the cool leather of the hand covering finds your inner thigh.

“Keep these spread for me,” he says, referring to your legs. Then he’s rubbing the vibrator, still off, up and down your panties with just enough strength for you to truly register the tool.

“You’re soaked,” he observes in that neutral tone of his, though his eyes glistening with awe. You wonder if he even realizes the vibrator isn’t on. His eyes find yours and for the first time all evening he smiles warmly at you. “Don’t worry. I’m going to take excellent care of you.”

Then he turns the vibrator on its lowest setting and your pussy truly begins to drool. He circles the vibrating toy around your clit strategically, watching your response to his ministrations intently. Fire pools in your belly as he slides the vibrator down your cunt and presses the tip of it gently against your opening. The panties you’re still wearing dull some of the vibration, but you can still feel the ungodly amount of slick that slips out of you at the slight penetration.

You do your best to stay still for him as he ups the setting, but your body starts to twitch in pleasure, back beginning to arch, toes threatening to curl. Your breath quickens as well as all the blood in your body seems to pump directly to your swelling clit. The same clit the man is now more firmly rubbing the vibrator against.

“Fuck,” you cry, starting to lose your composure. Your hips buck away from the relentless thrumming of the vibrator. Or maybe towards it. You’re not actually sure. It’s both too much and not enough at the same time. You need more. You need less. You need…

His unoccupied hand presses your hips back against the bed. “Easy,” he coaxes. “Don’t pull against the ropes.”

When you’re unable to obey, too overwhelmed with desire, he switches the vibrator off. The lack of sensation is so abrupt the tears you’ve been holding back finally spill, slipping down your heated cheeks. An animalistic whine you didn’t even know you were capable of escapes you.

“We’re not done,” he assures you, swiping at your tears with his thumbs. You wish suddenly he wasn’t wearing the leather gloves. You yearn to feel him skin to skin. The fabric is warm at least from the heat of his fingers. “You’re just getting a little fussy. I want to make sure everything is alright before we continue.”

He settles back between your spread legs and hooks his pointer finger in the bottom of your panties, pulling it aside to expose your dripping core and swollen lips. “Impressive,” he says, “how simple it was to elicit this response from you.”

He collects some of your spend on his index finger before starting to slide it inside you. It’s met with no resistance. He sinks easily in, straight to the knuckle. When he slips out it’s only to coat a second finger in your slick so he can sink that one in alongside the other. The two digits begin working you in tandem with each other, pumping deliciously against your walls. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for.

“Here,” he states, pressing and holding the tips of his fingers against the sensitive area. You involuntarily clench around them, body begging him to move them once more, but the man—to the devastation of your body—is nothing but the living embodiment of self-control.

You audibly cry out when he pulls his fingers from you. He locks eyes with you as he coyly promises, “Soon. I’d never leave a woman unsatisfied, and any man who would isn’t fit to be a dom.”

He picks the vibrator again and this time, when he touches it to your clit, it’s under your ruined panties. The thrumming sends a bolt of electricity skittering up your arched spine. Fuck, you’re so unbelievably wet. You feel your pussy fluttering around nothing and hiccup out a sob. You’re so empty. You’re so, so empty.

“Need,” you hiccup.

“What?” he asks patiently. “Tell me what you need.”

“Your fingers. I need your fingers. Please.”

He slips the same two from before back inside you.

“So well mannered," he praises. Then he asks, "Here?” as he presses the appendages against that spot once again.

“Yeah,” you agree, though you’re so far gone you would agree to anything he asked of you in this moment. “Yeah. Yeah. There. Right there. Fuck!”

He uses his fingers and the vibrator to bring you right to the brink of an orgasm. It’s so good. He’s so good. He’s touching you everywhere you need to be touched. Pushing all the buttons that need to be pushed. Your time in these rooms has never felt anything like this before, and you doubt it will ever feel anything like this ever again.

“Can I-”

“I don’t remember telling you that you needed my permission.”

Your orgasm ripples through you, strong and steady like a cresting wave. Once he’s certain he’s wrung the last of it out of you, the man withdraws his fingers and switches off the vibrator.

“I’m going to remove my gloves and start undoing your bindings,” he says.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply.

It takes a few minutes for him to completely untie you. Once he has, he asks permission to massage your legs and arms to reencouraged blood flow which you readily agree to. He produces a bottle of lotion that smells like eucalyptus from his bag and starts working the muscles of your arm.

“I wish they had showers here,” he offhandedly comments. “I don’t like sending people home without a proper washing.”

“A bath does sound nice,” you agree, sagging into his embrace.

“Promise me you’ll take one when you get home. I don’t want you getting into your bed dirty.”

“I would never make a promise I couldn’t keep, Sir.”

A comfortable silence falls over the room as he continues to provide you with aftercare.

“Zayne,” he eventually says, eyes fixed on the foot he’s been massaging for the past few minutes.

“What?”

“My name. You could use it if you’d like. Sir is fine too, if you’d truly prefer it, but I find names are much more intimate.”

“Oh,” is all you muster. Then you tell him yours.

“Could we move to the sofa while we continue to wind down?” he asks after testing the sound of your name in his mouth. “I like the casual skin to skin contact after a session. I’ll remove my harness but leave my slacks.”

“Fine with me.”

It takes Zayne a moment to remove his harness. Perhaps it’s his first time wearing this particular set of gear. You watch him wrestle with the final clasp through drooping eyelids. His expression softens when he catches you lazily staring at him.

“Admiring the view?” he teases.

“Never had a better one,” you reply easily.

He positions himself behind you when he joins you on the sofa. The two of you lay there comfortable for some time, breath seeming to synchronize in the quiet of the room. The world outside this secluded space slowly begins to creep back into your mind. Back to Metafluxes and Protocores. Back to Wanders and Hunters.

And then you start to cry.

If you weren’t so close to Zayne, you could probably hide it from him, but he notices the change in your mood instantly. He tugs gently at your arm, a wordless plea for you to turn to face him. You allow him to reposition you, curling yourself into his large body, tucking your face into his neck.

He pets at your hair soothingly while you let the worst of it out. When an appropriate amount of time has passed, he asks, “What brought that on?”

“It’s, uh, well it’ll probably ruin the moment if I told you.”

“I’d still like to know if it’s all the same to you. Debriefing is part of the scene after all.”

At first, you’re not sure you want to tell him what triggered the outburst, but considering the dynamic, you figure you owe it to him.

“I was thinking about my ex,” you admit.

Zayne stiffens, his caressing hand on your head stills. “They hurt you?”

“They loved me.”

Zayne tangibly relaxes at your response, and he resumes petting your hair.

“What happened to them?” he asks, tone carefully neutral.

“They left me.”

The silence that follows your confession is welcome. You think you even dose off. When your eyes open again, Zayne is full dressed, sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows as he sanitizes the sex toy you soiled.

Sensing you stir he says, “You’re awake.”

“I am.”

Zayne dries the toy and sets it aside, turning to face you.

“I like to follow up with the people I dom for. You don’t have to give me your number if you’re not comfortable. An email will suffice.”

“You can have my number,” you say, gesturing for him to hand you his phone. “I’d actually appreciate a check in tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

He walks you to the train station once he’s certain the number you’ve given him isn’t a fake.

“Remember to get a full eight hours of sleep tonight,” he tells you. “And please eat a protein-based meal for breakfast. Something with eggs and meat, maybe. A shake if absolutely necessary.”

“Yes, Doctor Zayne,” you joke, offering him a crisp salute as you step onto the train platform. Maybe you're imagining things, but you swear he flinches at your response.

A firm hand on your wrist stops you from fully entering the car. You turn to face him one final time.

“About that,” he says, expression unreadable. “I was serious about you seeing a specialist for your heart.”

#love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x you #lads x reader #lads x you #zayne x reader #zayne x you #zayne lads x reader #zayne lads x you

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thebunnednun · 2 days ago

Text

Kiss me!~Kiss me!~ 💐

Y'all ain't ready for ALL this here.

Based on my mha “Fuck it, I got you,” mha story au’s. Some of these ladies haven’t graced the screen yet so you’re meeting new girlies today!! The only two cannon series out right now are Katsuki’s and Aizawa’s. I don’t wanna write for more characters until I finish at least Katsuki’s.

Why am I letting the girls out now then? (THey scaRe mE—) Because as Elizabeth Bennet said, not having the younger sisters have their share of fun because the eldest is not yet married hardly encourages sisterly affections. Plus, they crazy.

BUT— For this month alone, you will meet them and hopefully fall in love. Every fic is going to have bonus facts about the reader and how she met her man at the end of the fic. These ladies walked into my mind fully formed so I hope you love them as much as I do.

None of these women are ‘OC’s’. They are you, with big personalities and crazy brain power/quirks/whatever. If y/n can be a pretty princess one moment then throw her hair into a messy bun using her orbs and take 5 dicks like a pro and keep it kicking at work the next day, you can have a discernible personality and strong powers in a fanfic.

I will be hosting a poll that lets you, mi amor, vote on who you want to see get posted first. Make sure you cast your vote because poll times are going to be airtight. I will also take requests for a character that you desperately want to see added to the list. Remember to reblog with extra tags so more people can see this!

If you like my writing please feel free to follow, like, reblog, whatever. My fanbase is called the, “Cheesy potatoes,” and I do have a community link. Feel free to interact with me here on my blog, that’s what tumblr is for! I also have a Ko-fi if you’d like to tip me or commission a fic. I write for other fanbases too, but if you like my mha stuff in particular, please give my current works and series a look over and show them some appreciation. I’m also on ao3 and comments are love.

Enjoy your reading!!

And Happy Valentines Day~~🌹

-Angie

P.s. All the little icons are clues to what the stories will be about, byebye!~

Remember to give the post a like if you vote.

Remember you are loved.

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adieutristana · 2 days ago

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AHH UR WRITING EATS UP EVERY TIME🙏🔥🔥

anyways, low-key inspired by your Jinx-ring fix and got an idea. Reader makes jewlery for fun and her, Jinx and Isha all have some kind of matching jewelry w/ a little hex-jem in it

-thank youuu (take ur time n take care of yourself honey💜)

of course! thank you for the request <3

thank you for the kind words! also this request kind of reminded me of those dora and disney princess kid rings that used to be everywhere in the 2000s? i loved those please tell me i'm not crazy and you guys know what i'm talking about.

summary; reader makes matching rings for herself, jinx, and isha.

characters included; jinx, isha (platonic/familial)

tags/warnings; fluff, domestic, welder/jeweler!reader, mother/mother/daughter dynamic, i can't rly think of anything else

men dni.

"stay still."

you murmur, holding a thin strip of paper around jinx's right ring finger. you wrap it around once, using one of jinx's blue markers to mark just a millimeter below where the paper should end. just for safety, you think. jinx's gaze is fixed on you, before you straighten up and write 'J' on the remainder of the white strip.

“got me all measured now?”

“mhm. thanks, babe.” you smile, squeezing one of your girlfriend’s shoulders.

you'd told her what you were up to. you were an apprentice under one of the undercity's only jewelers, welding jewelry by hand and making custom orders for loyal patrons. wedding bands, engagement rings, promise rings, pendants, chains, charm bracelets- you'd done it all.

since taking in isha, once just a scared little girl in the lanes who insisted on hanging off jinx's pant leg, your life had changed for the better. you'd already been pretty satisfied with the state of things. you had a stable job, you loved your craft, you had a beautiful and loving girlfriend by your side. all of this combined was more than enough to keep you happy, but at the most unexpected of times, this girl had come into your life.

she was afraid, having seen firsthand the rigidity of zaun and just how violent things could become; especially in the climate of recent days. but she was also sweet, and both you and jinx could tell that she just needed someone to love her. communicate with her, play with her, make her feel important. rather, two someones.

yet after taking her in, she’d grown so much. always such a playful kid, so curious about the world around her and so fascinated by both you and jinx. you’d had endless adventures together, filled with laughter and anticipation. a kid-friendly version of jinx’s usual mayhem. though you’d also share quiet mornings together, when isha wants to help you make breakfast or wants you to read from one of the children’s books jinx had stolen for her.

and now, you wanted to do something for the three of you. a marker of your status as a family, and something you know both jinx and isha would love. with jinx’s possessive nature, matching jewelry was an immediate ‘yes,’ and isha would be delighted to receive something so personalized. and to be able to match with her moms? that’s the cherry on top!

though, both you and jinx had agreed to keep it a surprise for the girl. the look on her face when she received her gift would be worth having to keep a secret (as difficult as that was for jinx).

“your turn, ish!”

you call out, a sound which is soon followed by the pitter-patter of little feet. isha looks up at you with wide, curious eyes, before you crouch down to her level and reach your hand out for one of hers.

“give me your hand.”

you hum, your tone instantly becoming softer in the presence of isha. she holds up both hands, looking at you as if to ask ‘which one?’ a smile tugs at your lips, and you let out a light chuckle.

“either one. just give me a hand.”

isha then puts down her right hand, giving you free access to her left. you gently take the girl's hand in yours and spread her fingers out, slotting another thin slip of paper in. she tilts her head curiously, but allows you to wrap the paper around her finger and mark it- this time with a yellow 'I.' upon releasing her hand, you look up at the girl before you to be greeted by furrowed brows. a low laugh escapes you.

"it's a surprise, kid. you'll know soon enough, okay?"

isha frowns, looking over to jinx for some kind of backup or clue as to what you're finding, though she just shrugs in her chair.

"sorry, isha. this one-" she points her index finger at you. "made me promise not to tell."

the girl lets out a low yet adorable groan, keeping her little arms crossed over her chest. you could almost give in upon seeing her bottom lip poking out lightly, her leaning on one leg, and those yellow eyes narrowed; but you had a surprise to keep. isha would know soon enough, and she'd love it.

✧.*

it was challenging to find time between clients, but within about three weeks, you'd finally managed to complete the set of rings.

the rings you'd made yourself and your girlfriend weren't difficult. but you'd never made a ring for a child before, and making a piece of jewelry fit for isha's fingers proved to be one of the most daunting tasks during your time as a jeweler. engraving it had proved to be even more difficult. but you'd managed, and you were damn proud of the final results.

your girlfriend and isha sit in front of you, looking at you with expectant eyes. you'd just told them that you had a surprise for them both, and guided them to sit on jinx's torn leather couch. jinx knows exactly what you're planning, trying (and failing) to look unassuming in front of isha.

"close your eyes and hold your hands out," you say with a smile, giving both girls knowing glances while they do what you've asked. isha's hands out in front of her while her wide eyes slip shut, jinx wearing a slight smirk. you step back and take a deep breath in, before reaching into your back right pocket to retrieve the rings. two matching silver bands, the metal clinking together quietly as you try to separate them in your hand.

you place the rings in their outstretched hands, before reaching into your left pocket to take your own out and slip it onto your finger.

"now... open."

both of their eyes slip open, and isha instantly gasps at the sight before her. jinx's eyes widen, immediately wearing a toothy grin. she turns the ring in her hand, looking at how the shiny silver catches in the light.

"look at that."

she gasps, turning the ring in her hand. jinx's ring holds a blue hex crystal, glowing even in the dim lighting of jinx's hideout. on one side of the crystal, a cursive engraving of the letter J, and a simplistic outline of a monkey on the other side. isha's own is similar, holding another hex crystal. an 'I' is engraved into her ring, a bunny on the other side to match it.

and your own, the same silver band and hex crystal adorning it. though this one is engraved with your initial, and the outline of a cat.

"you like it?" you ask, holding up your right hand for jinx to see. her smile returns, and isha is nodding frantically. it's adorable to see- her wide smile and the way her hair bounced up and down while nodding. she's so enthusiastic.

"it looks great, toots." she muses, "but i still think i could've done better. i have scrap metal and a blowtorch."

you lightly roll your eyes at jinx's quip, but turn to gauge isha's reaction. she's already put her ring on where she remembers you measuring her, marveling at the sight. she's switching between gasping whenever she notices a new detail, and smiling wide at the fact that you made this for her. the fact that they're all matching and personalized isn't lost on isha, and you can tell it makes it that much more special for the girl.

a far cry from the scared child jinx had brought home a few months prior, and this is exactly what makes your job worth it. not the acclaim, not the positive critics' reviews, not even the money (though that was always welcomed). the fact that you've made an impact on this kid by using your craft makes you only want to push more, strive to be greater. give her both something to remind her of your love, and a positive role model to look to.

she's finally able to close her mouth, giving a close-lipped smile and bring her hand to her chin to sign 'thank you.'

"you're welcome," you breathe out, before sitting yourself between jinx and isha on the couch. you reach an arm out for both of them to pull them into your sides. "those weren't easy to make, you know."

"so you've told me."

jinx replies, and you shake your head in mock resignation. isha, though, is pressing closer to you, one arm haphazardly wrapped around you while she continues to 'ooh' and 'aah' at her new jewelry.

"these feel so personal, you know." jinx murmurs, suddenly a bit more earnest. she's looking at her own ring herself, her gaze flitting between the glimmering hex crystal and you. "i mean, they are. they were made for us. but i don't know. it's... nice."

isha makes a 'hm' noise in agreement, jinx taking a deep breath.

"i like that it's just us. we're the only people in the world who have these rings, and we get to show them off. i think that's a pretty damn good selling point."

you hum, gently brushing your lips along the crook of jinx's neck before letting your head rest on jinx's shoulder. isha situates herself to lay across both yours and jinx's laps, her little hands folded over her stomach.

"it's like we're some kind of exclusive club."

jinx chuckles, coming to card her fingers through fluffy brown hair.

"or a family."

the girl pauses, her shoulders tensing for only a moment. a family. she'd never necessarily thought of it like that, having let go of the idea of ever having a family again long ago. but it's the perfect descriptor of your group without a doubt, and it feels like the right word to put to the moment you're having right now. her shoulders relax, a gentle smile gracing her features. isha reaches to squeeze one of jinx's hands in a show of silent support.

"...yeah. a family."

#jinx x reader #arcane x reader #arcane x you #jinx x you #reader insert #sapphic

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woooshworldtwo · 2 days ago

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AT A LOSS

TAGS: WIFE!READER [Originally just mentioned once in dialogue but otherwise just spouse is used when describing said relationship between characters], Husband!Caracalla x Reader x Unrequited!Geta, Mentions of sex, Brief mentions of slavery [gladiators in the Colosseum], Brief mentions of animal cruelty [animals participating in the Colosseum], Historical inaccuracies, I'm not sure what else.

FIRST NOTE: I think I wanted to try accentuating the care he wants to give reader and therefore ends up treating those around him as what he sees them as- disposable and like shit. Geta is a TERRIBLE man so I guess I just wanted him to be pining for someone he knows is out of reach. I was gonna make it a series to like Caracalla x partner reader x unrequited Geta. if this is the first chapter, ngl idk where to trail off from there. i kind of write while im smoking just to fuck around so maybe i could write at least five-ish chapters if i think of a good enough plot. WHAT DO YOU PEOPLE THINK?? who knows i could even do the same with Caracalla, it could make sense cause he literally kills his brother in the movie

SECOND NOTE: pov ur me, high off like five tokes and u watch Gladiator 2 the day it comes out on Paramount+. BOOM, obsessed, love it, don't even care about the historical inaccuracies. For some reason, as someone as not all there like Caracalla is, having that deep relationship with his brother, once he notices that lil interest Geta has, or even just the doubts of others finally becoming to a point where my guy has to LOCK IN to keep his partner w him. not cause they don't love them, I think it would be cause he loves THEM too much. I'm talking bristling at the notion whenever he thinks of them together. JUST UNSPOKEN TENSION. do u guys enjoy that?

THIRD NOTE: unfortunately, i have more to talk about but no one to say it to so ur my audience. yelling into the mic i ask, do you guys think I should write porn of Caracalla and reader FUCKING?? idk if it would even include Geta- IT COULD, WHATEVER YOU GUYS WANT. I sort of just wanted to explore writing intimacy as an actual action instead described as thoughts. leave ur thoughts on what u guys think on that too bc im literally so curious.

PLEASE DON'T COPY MY WORK, I BET YOU

Summer in your lungs, and alcohol swimming in your stomach; Caracalla wonders if he's seen beauty such as yours. Never alone in the hours of the night, the lovers he takes soon notice how harder he is to satisfy, to sedate into a warm puddle wrapped in expensive sheets- instead becoming unflinching to the pleasures that usually melt his tortured mind.

Intense with his emotions, he swears this affection was there from first glance. Taken sight of you at in your hazy glory; the clothes accentuating the shade of your skin, the warmth of your eyes, it only takes months before you two wed.

From there, days are blissful. Misery always follows, but he finds with your company at his side, falling into the episodes of madness are rarer and rarer.

Perhaps it's the sweetness of your soul mending what his lacks, or having the closeness of your body distances the pestering thoughts appearing out of thin air. No matter what is it, with his claws dug into your being- he refuses to let go.

Dimmed by what other's consider insanity, it's difficult not to see Caracalla's growing lucidness. Coming face to face with it, Geta realizes any foes and enemies of Rome has never been as close as his brother has to the inner workings of his mind.

Divided by grace, the affection for you has been its limit. As the eldest, Caracalla bears the pitying glances from other's in the palace; to have the responsibilities laid on Geta is blasphemy, but who else can handle its weight when his mind is in two?

Who else to lessen its everlasting ache if not you? For that reason, such as many others, is why he cannot risk this becoming what he has grown familiar with- sharing with his brother.

Holding the same curiosity he did in the faint moments of childhood, his Adam's Apple bobs faintly- and when you look to follow its movements before returning your gaze to him: a faint shiver is felt and repressed in that same breath. "Caracalla?"

Asking in a murmur, he knows what you're referring to. Living with you these past handful of months, he can recall the number of times you've cut each conversation he's thought out into nothing more than small talk. In one worded questions, he cannot help but admire the relaxed sight of you.

So much so, he allows you to each time. Tossing the unspoken plans of connection for small talk, he nods. A hint of a smile is seen, and alone from that, you beam back at him.

Genuine like the sun, to continue seeing it, it makes it easy for him to keep spew out half thought words in hopes something he says would land. "He will arrive shortly, do not worry.", it ends with your name, echoing from his mouth, and although the God's have given him the same glory they themselves hold at their fingertips; nothing has sounded as holy.

Bounded by faith, the prayers he spills are ingrained in the folds of his brain, but once consumed in these times of power, he wonders if he should dare step closer to the soul he swears should beat for him.

"... Geta?", Unknowing for how much time has past, the beaming smile you once held is melted into a small frown. Quietly urging him to the present like he's seen you do with his brother, there's a warmth blooming in the hallow part of his chest.

Cherishing the brief concern, it only seems to remind him what Caracalla has naturally and what he takes the scraps of.

Still leaned back into the expensive marble, the wall itself is a pale enough color to forget about, instead focusing on the features he, too, fantasizes of in passing moments alone.

"Where did you go?", Too familiar with speaking to the other emperor, the question is thoughtless when spoken, yet its weight is felt nonetheless. "Nowhere. Just here.. Are you enjoying yourself?", Taking a pause, he eventually speaks again. It's done when walking to the the throne nearing Caracalla's; the one you sit in.

"Quite the spectacle.", Your eyes peer down at the sight below; bloodshed in the Colosseum's sand doesn't make your stomach twist like it once did, however when watching captured men swing weapons- and seeing another one fall, you look to him again.

Sitting at his own throne, you find his eyes already on you; a quirk upturning on his lips to show the pleased buzz your words give him. Gladiators from conquered lands, their purpose in Rome is to win their survival and amuse any passing visitors. Yet in the past year or so, since your arrival, he's found a deeper sense of pride at their display.

Growing passed the Senator's praise, passed continuing his parents past teachings, he has found serenity in the amazement you hold so clearly.

Seeing your wonder at the captured animals; their stature towering over the sand's flat ground, using its strength to trample over any competitors- he finds himself chasing the occasional bursts of attention he manages to keep with in your magenta sunlight.

Never promising loyalty to anyone; he chases it when you're unable to give it, the mess of concubines and courtesans who he cannot remember the names nor the faces of, only remembering their similarities to you- their purpose has been asked for more as of late, and neglected all the same soon after.

No matter if it was seeing a person with hair similar to yours, a familiar sounding voice, even just dressed in clothing resembling your own; they were sought out after in hopes of finding you in them.

He finds it only lasts briefly.

Of course sex is endless, at the call of his voice and at the stop of a groan; services are there to satisfy whatever craving he has. But after each round of breathlessness, he finds that hunger for what is missing growing into something insatiable.

Hours spent, feeling their bodies, picturing what your own must look like underneath the white moonlight casting into his bedchambers. Each thrust is heavy with yearning he cannot mend, moaning for warmth he cannot have; he damns Caracalla in those times for finding you first before he did.

Perhaps then would you be his spouse. To bed you the same way his brother does would be true nirvana, to hear those same whimpers he knows you're able to make, to feel you shiver and tighten around him the same way those people do; it's what he longs for.

He's certain then he'd be more than just rough, chasing whatever high is made in a blurry of orgasms- it becomes difficult to differentiate who is with him and who is imagined; not when his eyes are shut and your image is all he sees in its darkness. Tenderness is taught, and if his brother was able to learn to extend that same to you; there is no doubt he'd do the same.

"Are you enjoying it?", Turning your focus back onto Geta, his answer is a hum. The sound is husky from passing thoughts, and strain for what should be hidden; he takes a moment to gather his words.

"I always favor your company, the spectacle is merely entertainment.", Repeating what you said only minutes ago, the unexpressed emotions behind it is registered in your mind- and although brushed off originally, that denial you have becomes harder to not believe Geta's feelings becoming more noticeable in the time spent at his brother's side.

"The ambience of cheering Roman's, animals in pain, and dying men; no wonder we have such lively conversations in these times.", Another quality of yours he finds endearing is your dryness. The harshness soaked into your veins from being raised by your family has not changed you the way it has him he notices; viewing the cruelties of Rome in whatever light you could shed, he once again almost smiles, a quirk of his lips turning upwards showing.

"Complaining to the emperor for the privileges he's given you? What an ungrateful wife you are.", Breaking out into a smile, what is said is anything but malicious. Leaving Caracalla unmentioned; unsaid, his mind is soothed from its ache, mending itself when remembering it's just you and him- hidden away.

Alone in a place where he can pretend you two are more than in-laws, there's a warm stirring at the sound of your laughter. Filled with humor you express so freely, it reminds him of conversations with your father throughout the years; his stories of your youth.

Defiant in ways he wishes he'd seen, and mischievous in ways he knows you still are; the only changes is now you're not tangible. Yet, lost in affections like he never got to be as a boy, he doesn't mind who he's face to face with now. Not in the slightest.

"Forgive my insolence, emperor; I plead for it.", Clearly you speak to Caracalla too much because the shiver trailing up his spine goes directly into that heated feeling in his abdomen. Aware you're unknowing to the effect you have, it only worsens at the hint of playfulness heard.

"Oh, you're forgiven. The God's have extended their mercy onto you today, but be wry, they could change their mind.", Unwilling to give into the arousal brewing, the tension he's created in his body, he replies with a smile- one that lingers too long.

Mischief isn't needed to be noticed in the palace, not with the two emperor's having their souls intertwining themselves with your own- no longer being unheard by those around you, that streak remains. It brings an amusement greater than bloodshed to Geta, and even more so to Caracalla. Smoothness of your words he swears is coated with the sweetest of wines; it disarms what would be seen as scrutiny as nothing more than a jest.

With humor being forgotten in such trying times; outside of what the Colosseum offers, and outside of the different celebrations of another conquered land- Geta finds your spirit is lightening to what is constantly dampening in his.

Shouts of Roman's are heard, like you predicted, and another man falls. However, with neither of you truly paying attention to the sight; their deaths were not offered the same graciousness you're given so carelessly, so frivolously: and when one of the last remaining takes their bow to surrender- only then do you look away.

To see your eyes of amusement grow into something unreadable, his own smile dims into a frown.

Standing from the throne, his hands rest on the Bisellium's railing, he grips onto it tightly when seeing below. Blood stains the sand as always; the deceased laid out over it in the afternoon heat, and the two lone man kneel. Meters away from one another, your eyes flicker between them, and soon Geta speaks up again.

Mercy is yelled in the air, and when he asks you, his voice is quieter than intended, "Shall we show mercy?"

Sparking what was lost, you nod, and another smile is seen, "Mercy."

Prayers do not solve what is inevitable, he finds, not when the God's blood soars through his body. The threat of rebellion, and the stings of betrayal, that mask that hides it all becomes wavering whenever he's with you; wishing to you like he did as a child to the God's for power, to worship you in ways he only should deities- it almost feels blasphemous.

Even more so now, when you don't understand the importance behind what he says; the grace he offers, the laughs he lets slip out- it is only the beginning of what he could promise you.

FOURTH NOTE: Now that you've made it this far, I wanna like drift away from what I was writing on my old account. it was just small paragraphs, but writing on a laptop just HITS DIFFERNT- literal hours spent doing this shit. I don't rlly wanna take requests bc i feel like my time is just too hectic for that, BUT I WOULD LOVE to hear your guys thoughts!! Okay, small series on these characters- Quinn Mossbacher, Simon Kalivoda, Ethan Russell, DIMITRI KRAVIOFF, DANIEL MARKOWITZ, JASON HOCHBERG, and finally our beloved; Caracalla. bad part is I haven't most of the movies they're in, so i don't want it to be inaccurate.

FIFTH NOTE: currently i'm writing a Johnny Storm fic series inspired by the new Fantastic Four trailer (writing the third chapter of what could be a five or even eight part series if I get to understand that franchise better), an Eddie Muson fic mainly just to fuck around and post that old one I never got a chance to. also an Adrian Chase fic i found on my laptop, another one for Koby from the one piece live action (I was inspired when the show first came out), and joe goldberg

FINAL NOTE: I've wanted to get into watching Yellowjackets. LOVE THE SHOW. Another thing I wanted to ask bc when I write for women characters, i like to write them as WLW. SO would you guys like it if i also wrote for Iris (Companion), SISTER BARNES (Heretic), Jinx (Arcane), Lucy Maclean (Fallout), Rhiannon Lewis (Sweetpea)?? one day if i sell out and get a membership to Prime or those silly addons; I WILL.

#caracalla x reader #emperor caracalla x reader #geta x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta fanfic #emperor caracalla fic #i hate tagging shit bc i never know what to put i just dont wanna ruin peoples scrolling w like fanfiction HA #PLS LET THIS FIND THE RIGHT PEPOPLE

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jackoshadows · 2 days ago

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"... best you have a new face as well.” He cupped her chin, turned her head this way and that, nodded. “A pretty one this time, I think. As pretty as your own." - Arya, ADwD

A recap and a lesson for fandom newbies -

We have this CANON ACCURATE fanart of Arya Stark from the incredibly talented Tonyloom with the long face, brown hair and grey eyes dressed for feast time at Winterfell as the daughter of the Warden of the North.

A Sansa fan gets triggered by this Arya fanart because it's different from ones that Sansa stans usually like for their 'Stark sisters' fanart - where Arya is drawn dark skinned to highlight Sansa's fair complexion because Sansa is beautiful and Arya is ugly, where Arya is missing teeth, always a sword in hand, messy hair being braided by Sansa to conform to what Sansa likes etc. - and goes on an insane rant about how Arya fans don't want Arya to be ugly because of equating goodness to beauty....

So Arya fans respond to this attack on the fan artist and point to the book text where several characters call Arya pretty and beautiful and ask why they should consider the character ugly when she is not in the text of the books.

A BNF then jumps into the discourse and reblogs the 'Arya is ugly and Arya fans have internalized misogyny' post and pretends that Arya fans are the ones starting this whole discourse on Arya's looks.

BNF tags it as 'This is weird discourse, who cares if Arya is pretty'. Who cares if Arya is pretty? The weird, racist Sansa stan that you reblogged the post from, who got triggered by some Arya fan art and had to go on an entire rant, that's who. Who cares? Well you cared enough to reblog an 'Arya is ugly' post and point fingers at Arya fans, that's who.

And now the BNFs reblog spreads like wildfire amongst the casual fans and we have many who actually think that canon Arya is ugly and Arya fans just have internalized misogyny. This, children, is how the many wrong but popular fanon gets created.

Remember, this BNF had nothing to say about racist Arya fanart. Nothing to say about sexist posts where Arya is masculinized and her femininty stripped from her. Nothing to say about the many posts from Sansa stans/Jonsa shippers about how Jon is repulsed by Arya's ugliness and loves Sansa because she is so beautiful.

But they had to step in and make sure everyone knew that Arya is ugly and it's Arya fans who are the problem.

This is actually nothing new. The reason there is so much wrong misinformation about Arya and Daenerys, and the way this fandom has opinions about these two female characters, is because it's been crafted over decades of fandom BNF's spreading posts and meta like this through BNF blogs like Asoiafuniversity. Explained so well in this post here:

Villainizing Arya fans as 'bad fans' has long been a thing in fandom. Asoiafuniversity, which was the goto place for all things asoiaf in those days, had actual posts equating Arya fans to Walter White fans from Breaking bad who hated on his wife Skylar.

Keep in mind, this is an actual quote from a post on the most popular asoiaf blog when the fandom was very active:

The interesting thing about Arya is that unlike most of the male Bad Fan icons, she doesn’t have a wife to embody her Bad Fans’ frustrations and serve as an outlet for their ire – no Betty Draper, no Skyler White, no Carmela Soprano. Instead, she has a sister, Sansa, who winds up serving the same function. Much of Bad Fandom is a gendered phenomenon, pulling for he-man figures against shrewish wives who just don’t understand them. It’s fascinating to see how the phenomenon can alter itself to accommodate a female-female pairing while still targeting characteristics we typically gender female. The Bad Fan is nothing if not durable.

So much toxic sexism masquerading as feminism, where they equate Arya fans to the chuds who hate female characters and whose unfair target is Sansa because she is 'female'. And Arya is a 'he-man' figure....The mind boggles.

But this was the typical vile sexist garbage Bnfs were spewing about both Arya and Daenerys in the days when fandom was most active and this is where a majority of the sexist opinions about Arya and Dany comes from.

This is why these canonically wrong aspects of these characters are so widespread and entrenched in fandom thought that it doesn't matter if we use actual book quotes to show that it's the exact opposite.

#Arya Stark #fandom nonsense #fandom wank #fandom discourse

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winchesterwild78 · 3 days ago

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A Light in the Darkness

Master List

Characters: Jensen x Reader (girlfriend)

Warnings: Mention of death, sadness, grief, fluff

A/N: Wrote this quickly for my sweet friend @jackles010378. I am so sorry about your friend. I do hope this helps some. Sending lots of love and hugs.

No disrespect to Jensen or his family, this is a work of fiction. Written fast and not edited well. Do not take it or say it’s your work.

Minors DNI 18+

The key rattled in the lock, a familiar sound that usually brought a smile to my face. Tonight, though, the click echoed hollowly in the otherwise silent apartment. I was curled on the sofa, enveloped in the darkness, tears silently streaming down my face. I hadn't bothered turning on the light. What was the point? The world felt dim enough already.

"Hey, baby, I'm home!" Jensen's voice called out, the usual cheer in his tone. It faltered as he stepped into the living room. "Whoa… what's wrong?"

He rushed to my side, his face etched with concern. The soft glow from the hallway illuminated his features, and I could see the worry in his eyes. He knelt beside me, gently taking my hand. "Hey, talk to me. What happened?"

I tried to speak, but only a choked sob escaped. I shook my head, unable to articulate the pain that was tearing me apart.

"It's okay," he murmured, his voice soothing. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight, kissing my head softly. "Just breathe. Whatever it is, we'll get through it."

Finally, between gasping breaths and hiccuping sobs, I managed to get the words out. "Sarah… she's gone. She… she died this morning."

Jensen’s embrace tightened. I felt the shift in his posture, the intake of his breath. He knew Sarah. Everyone did. She was a ray of sunshine, always laughing, always there. A wave of fresh tears washed over me as I relived the moment I’d received the phone call, the moment my world had tilted on its axis.

"Oh, baby," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He held me closer, stroking my hair. "I'm so sorry. Sarah… she was… she was amazing."

We sat in silence for a long time, the only sound was my muffled cries. Jensen didn't try to fill the quiet with platitudes or empty reassurances. He simply held me, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm raging inside me.

The next two weeks were a blur. Jensen was my rock. He took time off work, clearing his schedule to be by my side. He handled everything – from grocery shopping to fielding concerned calls from friends and family. He made sure I ate, even when I had no appetite. He listened patiently as I recounted stories about Sarah, both happy and mundane, his own eyes often glistening with unshed tears. Rambling on and on about how she was the reason I got the job I loved so dearly, how she quickly became more than my mentor, but like a sister to me.

He didn't try to fix me, he just loved me. He sat with me in my grief, sharing his own memories of Sarah. The first memory of her meeting him and her threatening to cut off vital parts if he ever hurt me, making me laugh amidst the tears. He reminded me that it was okay to grieve, okay to feel the pain.

The day of the funeral arrived, a gray and somber affair. Jensen stood beside me, his hand firmly clasped in mine. His presence was a source of strength, a silent promise that I wasn't alone. As I looked out at the sea of faces, all touched by Sarah's light, I felt a pang of gratitude for Jensen. He wasn't just my boyfriend; he was my best friend, my confidant, the one person who understood my pain and loved me through it. And in that moment, amidst the sorrow, I knew that with him by my side, I could face anything.

Tags are open, if you want to be added or removed, let me know.

Tags:

@nescaveckwriter @kr804573

@k-slla @jackles010378

@jawritter @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx

@roseblue373 @cheynovak

@jassackles @chriszgirl92

@suckitands33 @arcannaa

@n-o-p-e-never @ladysparkles78

@smoothdogsgirl @hobby27

@manicjk @stoneyggirl2

@deans-spinster-witch @snowayumi

@shadowqueen1318 @shanimallina87

@muhahaha303 @fitxgrld

@nancymcl @baby19sthings

@cheekygirl2309 @oceean

@kindollss @foxyjwls007

@lmg14 @cevansbaby-dove

@spxideyver @reignsboy19

@deans-baby-momma @deansimpalababy

@ladykitana90 @quietgirll75

@superrey @kamisobsessed

@obliviousap @ninii-winchester

@mischiefnevermanaged89-blog @whimsyfinny

@bobbdylan @star-yawnznn

@reignsboy19 @monkey-d-hoshizora98

@depressionbarbie2023 @livingdeadblondequeen

@mandee7 @barnes70stark

@spnaquakindgdom @djs8891

@pughsexual @spnaquakindgdom

@lunaleah @amberlthomas

#hes gorgeous #so damn sexy #jensen ackles #jackles #jensen ackles x plus size reader #jensen ackles x reader

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qoldenskies · 2 days ago

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Okay okay I'll yammer about Rise!Splinter in your ask box because oh my god I cannot STAND people who legitimately villainize him on main. Like, alright, you can call him an emotionally unavailable or even slightly neglectful parent all you want, because even the show itself makes it clear that his parenting style wasn't exactly PERFECT and probably left the boys with at least a SMALL myriad of issues (Raph's parentification and Donnie's constant need for approval come to mind, though I can't say for sure whether those are entirely borne of Splinter's parenting style lmao). But I feel like so many people through trying to villainize his actions deliberately gloss over the fact that he was probably struggling with hardcore PTSD after spending a decade or more basically being forced to fight in a DEATH ARENA, not to mention probably having a good deal of body dysmorphia because he's suddenly been kind of forcefully shoved into a body that he can't even recognize as his own anymore. PTSD is a genuinely crippling condition to struggle with at times. On top of the depression he more than likely had, it'll make you not even want to get out of bed some days, and to struggle with that AND take care of four INFANTS that you've basically suddenly found yourself the sole caretaker of HAD to require a great deal of both mental and physical strength from Splinter. I'm sure he had his hard days, and the show points that out, but he was still trying his damn hardest to be there and be present for these kids, even if he fucked it up at every turn, even if he was far from the BEST parental figure that they could have had.

People can critique his parenting style as they wish (hell, even I do it), but so many depictions of him as an awful parent feel like they're glossing over the legitimate mental issues that he more than likely has, and idk sometimes I just feel like yammering about it on main

yeah like, a parent can seriously fuck you up completely unintentionally and have understandable, sympathetic reasons for it (while still not being in the right! a kid is never in the wrong for being hurt by an adult who failed them! but they're also well within their right to understand and empathize with a complicated parent who loves and changes for them!). generally im sure a lot of people who write abusive parent splinter genuinely had horrendous and abusive parents and are venting, which is why i tend not to be judgemental to people who do. characters are ultimately devices to drive a plot and if they're writing a story where they want to put them through some shit, that's one way to do it. aus are aus and allat

HOWEVER. lord does it frustrate me when people act like his behavior in the show itself is actually like that. i think its really uncharitable and unsympathetic. like if you want to see some of the things he did to them as potentially unforgivable thats fine, because if they're upset with him they dont have to forgive him, but him dealing with crippling ptsd and depression while being someone who goes out of his way to parent and change and grow while handling it just makes it idk nasty to me ,,,,

and also maybe this is just a hot take but esp. when it comes to raph and donnie i think them having more complex feelings about him makes for more compelling angst. its juicier, and i love to read stories that are empathetic towards everyone involved.

i am not a splinter defender but i will still fight splinter haters (not actually. dont fight me i will cry, i dont main tag most things anymore for a reason lmao)

#ask

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itsabouttimex2 · 14 hours ago

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Yes! <3 I love the concept of Macaque and Y/N both being yandere for Wukong!!! How do you think they would react when they see Wukong in the future (after Macaque is resurrected) as a retired deity!? With a student (MK)?! Oh I would love to know how they plot to get Wukong back and the punishment for killing Macaque?! I wonder how the other characters would feel about it? Do they know about Wukong’s obsessive/possessive “lovers” or do they think that Wukong is overreacting and see nothing wrong with them?!?!

Our Sweet Sage

(Yandere Y/N and Macaque x Sun Wukong)

Even "just" putting Y/N beside Macaque as a yandere for the Great Sage himself is going to; though perhaps not radically, change the story, because the reader would basically have to be part of the Brotherhood alongside the two Mystic Monkeys (This is assuming Y/N isn't the Long-Armed Gibbon or Red-Buttocked Baboon themselves!) if they and the resident umbrakinetic are working in tandem to snare this lovely simian as their mutual "darling".

The most likely course being ran is that you and Macaque are partners already, on your end spending long loving days in your own little corner of Flower Fruit Mountain, lathing tongue to dark skin and darker fur and secretly, shamefully, simmeringly longing for a brighter hue, counting from hours to minutes to the tortorously long seconds that you spend away from him, sweet, sunny, him. Him, him, him, on your mind and in your heart and struck through the core of your being, leaving the desire to take and have and love.

gold eyes and soft fur and sweet lips and a thousand more "ands" that leave your mind spiraling into a pitch abyss of obsession, too snared to crack these lovesick chains and be content with here and now when then and there are and is him him him with his laugh and smile and perfect fangs that you would feed and nourish to bring happiness to him and only him and never anyone but him because he should be yours like you want to be his and then he would love you like you love him him him him him

Sun Wukong, Great Sage Equal to Heaven, Future Mate and Husband-To-Be, waiting for a wedding ring and a diamond cuff around both wrists and maybe a chain between them or even a collar and a leash with a shiny golden tag so that EVERYONE will know that- HE. IS. YOURS. and there will be NO EXCUSE!! or FORGIVENESS! if ANYONE or ANYTHING on this wretched and UNLOVING planet dares to touch WHAT! IS! YOURS!

And the one day that you let it slip, the truth fed by wine held in a goblet, only at your sweetly poisonous lips for the fact that it is held by your umbral mate, purring and upon you in arm and leg and tail, wrapped like a snake but twice as toxic, crooning for you to take more and more and more because there's still some love left in his heart for you and inebriation will soften the truth's blow, perhaps, so he quenches you with man's oldest potion.

And then it oozes out, easy and low and sick, "I wish Wukong were here instead~" and Macaque agrees. Because yes, a hundred lives and deaths over, yes, it would be better if the Great Sage were here!

And it starts-

"His perfect fangs-" "And those soft lips-" "All his lovely fur-" "That sweet scent-"

-until neither of you remembers who is saying or has said what, and every loving detail has been remarked upon at least twice, and you both have drained half the cellar, as much as half because you needed to toast to how perfect your mate is, as few as half because you'll need the rest to celebrate a three-way marriage already in the making and there will be hell to pay if the love of your lives is not happy and drunk with you.

You and Macaque. Both. Always. Because even with all the obsessive longing, you still love each other just enough to share, to plot, to scheme in tandem, in perfect, twisted harmony.

The idea is so natural, so blatantly obvious, that you wonder why it never took root before now. You love Macaque, yes, but hardly with every "breath and pulse of your being"- the space in your heart has always had a third shape carved into it, waiting to be filled with warmth, and Wukong, your radiant, incandescent star, was obviously meant to burn there.

Macaque sees it, as clearly through your eyes as he sees it through his own, and though his smirk is slow and knowing, his own claws tighten possessively at your wrists, tail curling at your waist. You are still his, and he is still yours, and now, so soon, so inevitably, Wukong will be something undeniably and mutually owned.

"We'll make it work," Macaque murmurs, voice velvet and honeyed darkness, pressing his forehead to yours. "We'll have to, if we want him."

You lay together, lip to lip and hip to hip, entwined like leeching vines and between you is a plan unfurled like the petals of deadly nightshade.

Sun Wukong, for all his strength and cunning, has a weakness or two-and there is one you both know well. He trusts. He believes in his own charm, his own invincibility, his own legend. And you, oh, you and Macaque, you are shadows and whispers and waiting teeth, predators in love.

And that is a behaviour that persists long after the Brotherhood fails, all through the agony he endures buried under the weight of a mountain built five centuries strong, even after he is stolen away by that damned monk, and... you lose Macaque. Your plans are sunk for at least a few hundred years, and you run off into the night, bunkering down to scurry for scraps of power in order to enact an old ritual.

In return, the king receives a a life of peace, of redemption, of something more than battle and blood.

He retires.

Steps away from the chaos of gods and demons, finds a place to rest his weary soul. Takes a student, even! A bright, eager boy with a wide grin and an open heart, someone to teach, to mold, to guide away from the mistakes of his own past. It’s a good life, a quiet one.

But good is a fragile, fleeting thing.

And the past does not stay buried.

You claw your way back to your partner in obsession, your tether in darkness, and Macaque claws his way back to you. The ritual works. It takes centuries, a hundred whispered incantations and sacrifices, the unraveling of fate itself- but it works.

Macaque breathes again. His heart beats again. His lips curl into that slow, knowing smirk again.

And he asks, first thing, “Where is he?”

Not "What happened?" and not "How long has it been?" and not even "Did you miss me?"- because of course you did, and of course he knows you did. But that's not what really matters. What matters is the third piece of your puzzle. The missing part of your hearts.

Sun Wukong, radiant star and light of your life.

It takes time to get back to him. Macaque has to regain his strength. You hardly have to remind him of all your many plans, to retrace old schemes, rekindle the flames of love, sharpen the edges of your devotion. All you have to do is play nurse, and dream of a happier life when the king is back in your hands. And when you do- oh, when you do- it’s almost laughable how easy the tracking is.

Wukong is right where you imagined he would be, on his mountain with all his little monkeys.

And a student.

A student.

Macaque laughs at first, a low, rasping thing, dark and rich and so very cruel. He leans into you, his tail winding around your waist, his hand finding yours and squeezing. "He thinks he can just play house? Like none of it ever happened? Like he doesn’t belong to us?”

Your heart pounds, your fingers twitch and then curl around the nearest limb, settling deep into black fur. Tamed. The word sours on your tongue, because—no. No, Wukong is not some house pet to be caged by the mundanity of mortal life. He is a king. A warrior. A god.

Your nails bite into his arm and Macaque hums in bitter approval at the raw hatred in your gesture.

You watch Wukong from the shadows, from just beyond the veil of his peace, unseen but ever-present, and every soft moment he shares with that boy, every little laugh and casual touch, makes something ugly and feral curl in your stomach.

He should be yours.

And yet, the king sits there as if he belongs to this- to this false little family, to this child and the friends he dares to call his.

Macaque clicks his tongue. “I bet he hasn’t even thought about us,” he muses, voice lilting, teasing, but you can hear the barely masked venom beneath it. “I bet he hasn’t even dreamed about us.” He leans in closer, the warmth of his fur seeping into your side, breath hot against your skin as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

Your breath shudders, hot and heavy and hateful. You do know.

He needs to be reminded.

He needs to remember.

And if that means tearing him away from this little fantasy, from this fragile, laughable life he’s tried to build- then so be it.

You have a king to collar.

#Romantic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #x Reader #Yandere Macaque #Yandere Y/N #Yandere Shadowpeach #i need a name for this au

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gh0stly-mp3 · 16 hours ago

Note

hello

Can I ask about the blue lock characters, since the reader is male or gn is the boyfriend of the blue lock's characters, the important thing is that the reader is suffering from a serious illness in his body, and he did not tell your boyfriend about his illness, I want specific characters such as (Snuffy, Lavinho, and Chris Noa and Baro, Shoei and Kaiser, Julian and Shido, Sae and Oliver, and Otoya and Karasu)

Since you suggested several characters, I chose a few from these options, so I made the master strikers (might do a part 2 cause I really liked writing it)

your not alone -> bllk drabbles

master strikers x male!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend finds out that you have a severe illness and didn't tell them

tags: bllk drabbles, master strikers, angst w comfort, sick reader, male reader

warnings: manga spoilers, hurt/angst, severe illness mention, blood mention (in noa's), drugs/medicine mention (in lavinho's)

characters: master strikers :D

masterlist.

Noel Noa

You didn't want to disturb Noa; he was always busy with too much to handle, and you didn’t want to be a burden. But Noa is a very observant man, and he slowly started realizing that something wasn’t right. However, he decided to wait for you to tell him because he hated overstepping.

Neither of you talked about how your health was getting worse day by day, but Noa was becoming more and more worried about you.

Everything went downhill one day when you were watching TV with Noa and suddenly started feeling dizzy. You went to the kitchen to grab some water when you began coughing uncontrollably. Then, you saw red.

Noa went after you and saw the floor covered in blood, you holding on to the sink while more blood dripped from your mouth. Noa immediately went into full protective mode. He grabbed you and rushed you to the hospital as fast as he could while talking to you to make sure you stayed conscious.

After you were taken care of, Noa grabbed your hand tightly. You could see that he had cried. He looked you in the eyes and said: "Never do that again, please. I want to know everything, so I can take care of you..." - You nodded.

He was your boyfriend, and you would never be a burden to him. After that day, he drove you to all your medical appointments, made sure you took your meds, and ensured you had a healthy diet.

Chris Prince

You knew Chris would find out sooner or later; he loved taking care of you, especially when it came to your health, and eventually, he would notice that you couldn't do the things you once could.

It happened on a quiet afternoon when you were trying to make lunch. The simple task of chopping vegetables felt like climbing a mountain, and your hands shook with every cut. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice, but as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes immediately locked on you, concern furrowing his brows.

“Hey, are you okay?” - Chris asked, stepping closer.

“Yeah, just a bit tired.” - You tried to brush it off with a smile.

He raised an eyebrow. - “Tired? You look like you're about to pass out.” - He gently took the knife from your hand, his grip firm but tender. - “Sit down. What’s going on?”

You felt the familiar pang of guilt in your chest. Chris had always been the one to take care of you, not the other way around. And here you were, hiding something so big from him. - “I… I didn’t want to worry you,” - You murmured, your voice shaking. - “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Chris knelt in front of you, his hand lifting your chin so you’d look at him. - “You’re never a burden to me. You’re my everything, my sweet boyfriend.” - His voice was soft but full of urgency. - “What’s really going on?”

You sighed, unable to hold back anymore. - “I’ve been feeling worse, Chris. I'm ill... And I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t want to see that look in your eyes… I didn’t want you to worry.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, processing the words, before his arms wrapped around you tightly. - “Don’t you ever hide something like that from me again. I’m here, okay? We’ll get through this together.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the weight of everything you’d kept hidden finally crashing down. - "I’m so fucking scared" - You whispered.

“I know” - He whispered back, holding you even tighter. - “But you don’t have to be. Not while I’m here.”

Lavinho

Lavinho was oblivious. He always thought that if you had something going on, you'd tell him immediately. So he was absolutely confused when he opened your drawer and found a bunch of medicine. For a moment, Lavinho thought you were selling drugs, but then he saw the prescriptions.

His heart sank, and in that instant, the past few weeks replayed in his head. He remembered how you started skipping practices, how you’d look exhausted after simple tasks, how your usual energy seemed to fade. You've been distant in a way that didn’t fit with the rhythm you two always shared, especially when it came to soccer.

His mind raced, panic setting in as he stood there, staring at the bottles. He wanted to believe there was an explanation — some innocent reason for all of this — but doubts crept in.

You're his boyfriend. His soccer duo. His best friend. You wouldn’t hide something like this from him, would you?

The sound of the front door opening broke his spiraling thoughts. He quickly stuffed the bottles back into the drawer, his heart pounding in his chest. You walked into the room, looking surprised to see him standing there, a mix of curiosity and concern in your eyes.

“Hey, what’s up, babe?” - You asked casually, though there was an edge to your tone that made Lavinho’s stomach tighten.

He swallowed hard, trying to sound normal. - “Porra [fuck]... I... uh, I was looking for something and... I found meds... Ai caralho [oh fuck]. - He ran his hand through his hair. - "Please tell me what's going on?”

For a second, you froze. Then, you let out a quiet sigh and sat down on the bed, not meeting his gaze.

“I'm sorry Lavi, I didn’t want you to worry” - You said with a shaky voice. - “I’ve been dealing with something, but I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I’m fine, really.”

Lavinho’s chest tightened. - "You’re shure?" - His voice cracked slightly, betraying the fear that had built up in him. - "Don’t lie to me, please."

You hesitated, finally looking up at him, the vulnerability in your eyes more than he could bear. - “Alright... I’m ill, Lavi. It’s been affecting me more than I thought. The medicine helps, but… I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

Without thinking, he crossed the room and sat next to you, taking your hand in his. - “You’re my partner” - He said, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest. - “We face everything together, 'kay? You should’ve told me. I’m not going anywhere. Whatever this is, we’ll get through it. But you can’t keep this from me. Not when it’s hurting you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself lean on him. Lavinho pulled you close. - “You’re everything. And we’ll figure this out, together.”

Julian Loki

Julian was always busy, flying everywhere. You two had hard times scheduling to see each other, and you wanted to tell him about your illness face to face, so he wouldn't freak out.

Eventualy, he was able to visit you for 3 days, and when he saw how exsausted you looked, he was shocked. He immediatly knew something was wrong, but he waited for the best moment to talk to you about it.

When you two were alone, cuddling on the couch, Loki brought it up gently. - "You know you can tell me anything, right?"

"What do you mean?" - You asked, nervous that he had noticed something. You didn't want your first day together to be ruined by the news of your illness.

"You don't seem well, mon chéri." - He replied in his smooth voice while gently caressing your back. - "Please, tell me if something is wrong. I’m here for you."

These simple words made you break down in tears. How could he know you so well? Loki knew exactly how to approach you in a way that made you feel comfortable and loved.

When you finally calmed down, you vomited all the agony you had been feeling in the past few weeks in a messy ramble. Loki listened to you carefully as you told him about the diagnosis, the doctor visits, the constant anxiety, and how afraid you were to tell him.

He held you in silence for a while, gently caressing your back. "I'm here now. We'll get through this together, mon chéri."

Marc Snuffy

You were really scared to trigger Snuffy due to his past experience with losing someone, and he had an important match coming up and you were scared he wouldn't do that good if he knew it.

You told yourself that once he came back home you'd tell him. You didn't. He was so happy and cute you didn't want him to worry about your situation, you clould handle it.

You couldn't, not by yourself. But the weight of your fear kept growing heavier each day. One night, after Snuffy had returned from training, you were sitting together on the couch, watching a movie. He was laughing, his voice warm and comforting, but you were quiet, really quiet.

He paused, noticing the shift in your demeanor. - "Hey, what's wrong, amore?" - Snuffy asked gently, his gaze soft with concern.

"I..." you whispered, choking on the words. Your vision blurred as your chest tightened, and before you could say anything more, everything went black.

Snuffy rushed to you immediately, his arms supporting you as you slumped against him. His voice was calm and reassuring, his hands gently brushing your hair away from your face.

"Hey, hey, it's okay" - he murmured. - "You're safe. I’ve got you. I'm here"

When your vision was back to normal, Snuffy was right there, his worried eyes studying you. - "I'm sorry" - You mumbled, feeling a pang of guilt.

"Don't apologize. Just tell me what's happening" - He said softly, brushing a thumb across your cheek. Then, you told him everything from the start, and when you finished talking he kissed your forehead gently.

"You don't have to carry this alone. We’re a team, remember? Let me help you through this." - You nodded, feeling the weight slowly lift as Snuffy held you close, knowing that with him, you'd be okay.

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