#instant waterfall

[goldenispunk]

The scene where Wolverine is laying under Deadpool and grins up at him with blood all over his face😫😫😫

[nicole-alexandria]

“This is my world, so it’s all in my favor”

.

Nicole Alexandria

[tomsflavorfusion]

Sweet and sour pork recipe - The GialloZafferano recipe

Sweet and sour pork recipe – The GialloZafferano recipe One of the fundamental criteria of Chinese cuisine it is the harmonious balance of colors, flavors and textures. Sweet and sour pork is a traditional recipe that perfectly represents this characteristic, starting from the choice of ingredients: the green of the peppers, the red of the tomato and the yellow of the pineapple, a brightly…

[grand-theft-carbohydrates]

Ok i know it’s dumb as hell and means absolutely nothing, but one of my least favourite popular tumblr jokes is that one about a salmon getting all freaked out because we named the colour salmon after it’s flesh. It just hits my biology pet peeve so hard bc i hate it when people assign human morals and values to animals. I hate it even more if they’re INACCURATE ones. The majority of animals are opportunistic cannibals. Fish eat other fish. Toss some chum in the water and it looks like it’s in a rolling boil. A salmon would not be freaked out that we devour it’s flesh on a regular basis, because they would gladly eat each other if the opportunity presents itself. I went to a salmon farm on the south island once, and one of the gimmicks was you could catch your own fish (it was as fun as shooting fish in a barrel–or rather a large, enclosed pond, but you get the picture). You toss in a handful of feed pellets and nothing happens. Absolute silence. I dropped it right on top of a passing fish and it gave me the stink-eye. If i was prone to anthropomorphising i’d say one could almost sense their fishy disdain. Some guy gave us a piece of salmon to use as bait, and the instant that piece of flesh hit the water it was like a bomb had gone off. Every single fish in a ten meter radius converged on that single point and fought each other for the chance to devour their brethren. The hook was in the water for 3.5 seconds on average. If a salmon was cognisant enough to talk, it’s main beliefs would be DEVOUR. FEAST. FLESH. FLESH. FLESH.

Also while we’re on the topic, the life process of a salmon is so utterly alien and unthinkable to a human, the ‘being eaten’ part would rank so low on their list of Fucked Up Shit it’s not even worth talking about. you hatch in a river with no parents, no name, and no one to guide you or tell you who you are. You simply am. your mother laid up 10,000 eggs, but you are one of the 15% who hatched. You and your siblings were born to die, only a scant handful will reach maturity. When you’re big enough, an unknown force tells you GO TO THE OCEAN. You don’t know why. Hell, you don’t even know what the ocean is, but you don’t have a choice in the matter, your body has already changed so much that you can’t survive in freshwater any longer, if you don’t leave your nursery, you will die. You spend 1-7 years in the ocean, swimming the length of the continental united states of america (as far as alaska), until one day the unknown force tells you IT IS TIME and it tells you to retrace your steps (fins?) and return to the SAME STREAM YOU WERE BORN IN. you do this by smell in a way that baffles the apes studying you. Your body metamorphosizes into a SUPER SEXY version of yourself. Your entire body begins to slowly deteriorate, all energy goes to swimming and your reproductive organs. Getting eaten by a bear would be the kindest, cleanest death at this stage. You travel up rivers by swimming against the current, jumping small waterfalls, ect. If you’re one of the survivors who successfully mates, then your life ends here. You spend your last 15 days in the river you were born in, mating as much as possible if you’re male, or guarding your clutch of eggs if you're female, until your body slowly disintegrates. Maybe you find this horrific. Maybe you find this peaceful and satisfying. Getting named after a colour is low on your list of cares rn.

[justagirlswrld]

Thousand year old, sexy, space princess seeks companionship! must be hot!

a/n: i told you i was a mark grayson groupie.

warnings: unprotected p in v. humanoid!reader. stuff that happens in sex happens in this. porn w plot.

part two

“….Mark, why is there a purple…guy outside your window?”, Mark doesn’t look up from the Seance dog comic at the sound of Will’s confused voice, choosing to roll his brown eyes instead.

“Yeah, funny.”, Mark replies in an airy tone.

“No, Mark i’m ser-”, Rick cuts his boyfriend off as he walks through the front door of the apartment, “Why is there a purple man outside of the living room window?”, This finally gets Mark’s attention, he looks over at the window in question and his eyes grow triple their size.

Mark is in his suit in less than a second, comic thrown onto the couch he was just relaxing on. He floats over to the window, taking in the short, stocky….lavender man that flies just outside the apartment on deep, amethyst wings.

Mark opens the window roughly and the man scampers back, he didn’t plan on hurting the creature but it seemed like someone always wanted to fight on his days off.

Mark flies out the large window, he dwarfs the��man easily. He has an uneasy smile on his face, Mark notices that his mouth is filled with long canines and he tries not to grimace. “I’m not helping any….fairies today. so, leave.” With that Mark turns his back on him, a strong hand grasps his shoulder. In an instant Mark is zooming into the afternoon sky, holding the lilac haired creature by the collar of his thin shirt.

His purple skin now has a slight gleam from his nervous sweat. “I’m not a fairy, I come from the planet-“, Mark cuts him off, “I don’t care. Now go.”, Mark releases the being and hovers in front of him but he doesn’t budge. Mark rubs a gloved hand down his face in frustration.

”Mark Gray-“, Mark cuts him off instantly, “My name is Invincible when i’m in this suit. What do you want?”

The alien nods, “Invincible, please. I haven’t come to harm you…my planet needs your help.” Mark groans inwardly, why was it always on his day off.

The mysterious man goes on to explain how another evil alien race has come to conquer his kingdom. He paints a picture of his beautiful world being annihilated and his people being slaughtered without Mark’s help. “I’ve left it in ruins, Invincible. I’m scared I may be the only Solorian left.”

Mark points to a near by patch of forest in exasperation, “Wait there.” He flies back inside without waiting to see if the creature followed his instructions.

With major convincing from Will and Rick, Mark ends up not ghosting the…Solorian waiting in the woods. When Mark floats down through the trees to the hard ground, he’s sitting on a log with a happy expression on his face.

“Where’s your planet?”, Mark’s tone is serious, he really wanted to be back in time to watch the newest episode of this show he’d been tuning into.

The thing stands, brushing the dirt from his odd pants. Mark notices that he’s dressed like a jester, save for the pointy hat.

“It’s many galaxies from Earth, it usually takes a year to get there,-“ Mark makes a sound as he begins to protest but the man continues talking as he pulls a small, metal disc from his pocket. “But with our technology it’ll only take a minute.”

He throws the disc on the ground with his knobby fingers and its turns into a circular pad. Mark and his traveling companion step on and become engulfed in a pale yellow light. Mark only has time to blink before he’s whisked away, landing on what he assumes to be cobblestone streets.

Mark surveys his surroundings as the man picks up his transporter. There’s winged humanoids dressed almost…medievally everywhere, no one lounges as the planet’s two suns beat down on their backs.

He watches as children with skin in arrays of colors play in the waterfall and clear, blue stream. He has to crane his neck to look at the behemoth of a castle in front of him.

“This doesn’t look like ruins.”, Mark’s eyes shift as he waits for assailants to pop out from behind the thatched roofed shacks that line the street.

“Because I lied to you invincible. Walk with me and i’ll explain.”

They glide towards the castle slowly, the man, Edolan, explains that their princess refuses to marry one of her arranged suitors after hearing of his exploits on earth. They go up winding stair cases before they stop in front of a room with large, oval doors. “She says she must….meet you, before she marries.”, Edolan explains with his hands held behind his back.

“You know you could’ve said that”, is all Mark can think to say in response. Edolan nods, “Yes, I apologize for deceiving you but I had to make it seem urgent in a way you’d understand.” Edolan waves a hand and the doors creek open, “The princess is waiting for you. When you’re finished she will give you passage home the same way you came.”

And he’s gone.

When Invincible glides into your expansive room you’re draped over your canopied bed, idly playing with some alien device.

Mark wasn’t sure what he’d be dealing with when he came through the doors but he damn sure wasn’t expecting you to be pretty…beautiful even. You’re as humanoid as the rest of your subjects save for the blush pink skin and hot pink hair.

You look up at the young man standing a few feet away from you. You lick your lips and Mark is happy to notice that your mouth isn’t filled with razor sharp teeth but human like ones instead.

“Mark Grayson of Earth!”, You greet him, cheeks stretched into a wide smile. Mark blushes as you rise from a lying position to a sitting one, noticing that your breasts are only covered in a thin, bralette of shiny jewels.

“Uh-Hi, you can just call me Mark.” You rise to stand on your bed now as you mimic someone fighting, “Or Invincible! Defender of Earth and slayer of beasts and villains.”

Mark wants to argue that he doesn’t slay villains but nods his head in agreement instead, trying to end this odd experience as soon as possible.

“Right….and you’re Y/N, Solorian princess who refuses to marry until you met me…,”Mark rips his mask off, exposing his handsome face to your eyes, “Will you marry the guy now?” Your eyebrows scrunch together and your lips form a pout. Mark thinks that it’s probably the sexiest expression he’s ever seen.

“That was not the agreement. I have yet to lay with you.”, You say from your place on the bed. If Mark had been drinking something he would’ve spit it out in astonishment.

“Lay with you?”, Mark asks in a shocked tone. You laugh at the expression on the boys face, if he pushes his eyebrows any higher they’ll be on the cathedral like ceilings of your room.

“Yes, Mark Grayson. The promise was that I would finally marry an arranged suitor, saving our planet from war, if you bedded me first.” You lay back down on your large mattress as you wait for the superhero to collect himself.

Mark swallows, he’s not sure if he’s turned on or scared. Probably both. “Um, don’t princesses have to be virgins when they get married?”, you cock your head to the side like a confused dog, “I’m not familiar with the word- virgins.” The word sounds jumbled when it passes your perfect lips.

“It means you never- laid with anyone. On Earth princesses usually save themselves for their husband or their virtue or something.”

You throw your head back and laugh loudly, it’s closer to a howl really. “What a sad life these Earth princesses live. As a Solorian we live for many, many years. I am 1,000 years old, just a baby I know-,“ Mark doesn’t reply as you continue, “And I would never be asked to be a…virkin. Solorian’s find virtue in other ways than saving yourself.” You almost look disgusted as you finish your rant.

Your mind goes back to the task at hand. You unclasp the jewels from your upper and bottom half, positioning yourself so Mark can see your naked body well. You watch as his strong throat bobs.

“Will you lay with me Mark Grayson?”

Mark feels like he might combust on the spot as he nods, more excited than he hoped. He walks to the edge of the bed and sits nervously, palming himself through his suit. “On Earth we usually go on a date first.” He laughs awkwardly, willing himself to get hard. He just couldn’t get out of his head to do so.

“We are not on Earth, Mark.” You slither up his back, breasts pressing against the hard muscles. Your hands rest on his broad shoulders as you press soft kisses to his neck. He groans but when he palms himself again there’s nothing. Mark is perplexed on why because you were super hot and he never had this problem before. It must be how weird the situation is.

You notice the mental battle and stop kissing his neck. “Are you well?”, he nods again and you notice him palming himself. You giggle, the sound so close to his ear that it has his heart speeding up again. “You can’t ‘get it up’? As they would say on Earth”, Mark’s torn between defending himself and asking where you learned that from but chooses silence instead when you slink between his legs.

You make yourself comfortable on your pink knees and look up at him through your lashes with big doe eyes. Mark has an instant semi.

He’s rock hard by the time you slip him out of his suit and into your warm mouth. You suck unabashedly on his thick, cock hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue around his angry tip.

“Shhhhiiiiiittt”, Mark moans with his hand tangled in your vibrant hair, hanging on for dear life as you bob up and down his member. “St-Stop i’m gonna-.” Mark trails off, his eyes almost roll back when you choke around his length, gobbling the throbbing cock down your throat.

He finally wrestles your mouth off his cock and he takes a moment to collect himself as he breathes heavily. Mark leans down and kisses you sloppily, he tweaks your nipples hoping that it’ll do something to stimulate you sexually. Luckily it works and you moan lowly in his mouth.

Mark picks you up by your arm pits and tosses you on the bed, you laugh, “Yes! Show me your strength, invincible.” His name is sultry as it falls out your lips, causing a shudder to creep down his spine.

He flips you over roughly by your ankle then pulls you to the edge of the large bed. Mark manhandles you until your face is pressed into your thick blankets with your round ass in the air. When Mark’s tongue pushes its way between your folds you’re a moaning mess.

Mark slowly licks from your wet cunt up to your puckered hole, repeating the motion over and over again. You close your eyes tightly as your moans fill the great space of your bedroom. He uses his skilled fingers to search for your clit, praying that Solorian’s have one. When he finally finds the nub he sucks on it harshly, causing you to cry out and fall on your stomach.

Mark lets out a huff behind you, voice raspy from his previous moaning, “If you want to lay with me princess, you have to keep your back arched.” You do as he says and he continues making a mess of you with his tongue, adding two, slender fingers into your pulsating heat.

When you feel Mark’s bulbous head rubbing against your tight entrance you release a sound akin to a purr. He pushes into you slowly, inch by veiny inch until his hips are flush against your backside.

You call out for him when he pulls out of you and he answers with a moan of his own when he pushes his length back into your tight walls. Mark starts at a slow rhythm that has you moaning with each pointed thrust, still you throw your ass back to meet each one.

Mark’s pace becomes brutal and you struggle to keep up with his pounding hips. One of his large hands slides up your back and wraps securely around your neck. His full lips leaving kisses in its wake. His other hand goes between your bodies to your engorged nub, rubbing slick circles as he continues to pound in and out of you.

Your toes curl so hard that you feel like they may break when Mark hits a deep, spongy spot in your cunt. You call out his name as you come, body going completely still then slumping to your stomach. Mark continues to fuck into your spent cunt, groans turning to moans. Mark pulls out and releases warm come on your lower back and ass cheek.

He lays on his back beside you, both of you two breathing too hard to say anything to one another.

When Mark walks through his apartment door Will is waiting for him, coffee cup in hand as the early morning light peaks through the bay window. Will’s eyes go wide when he takes in his best friend, “Mark! Where have you been? Do you realize you’ve been gone for three months?!”

Mark sits down at the granite island, smiling to himself as he begins to tell his best friend about the alien pussy he had to force himself to leave.

[akisteahouse]

Soulmates. A concept where in a world of magic, talking direbeasts and overblots, were believable enough, with families passing down tales of romance and tragedies generation to generation. Some describe meeting their soulmate like a love-at-first-sight encounter, others say it feels like finding a missing puzzle piece, an instant click.

So… what do the Savannaclaw boys think of meeting you, their soulmate, for the very first time?

Jack Howl! Who had been fed all the fantastical stories of soulmates ever since he was a child - constantly begging his parents to tell him the tales over and over again, before repeating the tales as bedtime stories to his younger siblings, to the point that they had long gotten sick of it, asking him to read them something else for once, please? So, of course, Jack had expected - no, waited - for his soulmate to come, eventually. Hopefully, by the time he’d graduated Night Raven, opened up maybe a gym, with a nicely furnished apartment of his own, with a small balcony to put his cacti… but fate had other plans. You. Just another student walking the vast halls of Night Raven. And yet. Just the sight of you made his face burn hotter than the many days of running track under the sun ever could, the blood roaring louder than waterfalls in his ears, the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart beating against his chest… oh, and his tail thumping on the floor. Wait, what? Thanks to you, he simply can’t focus on any of his classes and club activities anymore… what a bad influence! >:( As his soulmate, you ought to take responsibility… By following his principles, of course! Which means he’ll have to be around you to make sure you follow them! Whatever shall you do… ;)

Ruggie Bucchi! Who never really thought much of it. Sure, sure - he’d meet his destined soulmate, and then what? Partners were costly, and he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be worth it. Besides, what kind of idiot would want to date, much less marry, some poor street rat? No one, he supposed - and he really couldn’t blame this mysterious soulmate either. Sure, granny would nag him constantly for this belief, telling him to ‘Have a little whimsy!’ But he couldn’t. Because whimsy took up time, and time was something he couldn’t afford. Until he met you, that is. It was a complete accident - you were simply yet another unassuming person who had just bought a sandwich from the school’s canteen, the same sandwich that everyone wanted. Which meant Leona had to get it and sent Ruggie to steal it for him. So, Ruggie did what he always did. He sneaked up to you, snickered, and was about to use his unique magic when - oh. You heard him. Well, that didn’t happen often. Your eyes locked into his, and he felt his knees weaken, his tail twitch, and his hands tremble. “Y-You - Laugh With Me!” Who then proceeded to run away with non of the limbless agility he usually possessed, face burning pink. Ohnonononono - absolutely not. Unless? But you - agh, he forgot Leona’s stupid sandwich! Hey, soulmate - help him out here, pleaaaaaaaaase? ;)

Leona Kingscholar! Who wasn’t really fond of all that soulmate crap. After all, his parents weren’t soulmates, and the only soulmated pair in his family were Falena and his wife, and that was just a lucky fluke. Besides, even if he did meet his soulmate, if they weren’t royalty? End of that relationship. Who was he to say that he’d even meet his soulmate? Hundreds and hundreds of people lived in Sunset Savanna, much less the entire world of Twisted Wonderland, so the chances of finding them realistically were slim. The thought had never really bothered him much - after all, he couldn’t miss someone he don’t know. And then, you happened. Just another fool who’d stumbled upon him napping in the botanical gardens, with the luck of accidentally waking the prince up. He had lazily cracked his eye open, tail twitching in annoyance when - huh. His heartbeat raced, eyes boring into yours with an intensity. Great Seven. His ears twitched for any sounds from you, tail unconsciously curling around your ankle. Soulmate. He’d actually managed to meet his soulmate. What kind of cruel prank was this? (Do expect to get trailed and used as a human pillow now. Sorry not sorry. ;) )

[etherealrin]

♫⋆ ₊˚ toxic til the end!

call us what we are, toxic from the start...toxic!boyfriends ft. karasu tabito, michael kaiser, nagi seishiro, and itoshi rin.

tw: toxic behavior (duh), mentions of violence (kaiser), foul language

notes: fem reader! part 2 + part 3 for rin!

karasu sees green the instant he catches you with any other guy; heck he even cares which girls you hang around. it's a pitfall of his, he doesn't see himself as enough, just the average joe, so he doesn't trust that you love him enough, that you'll stick with him. hell, you should've taken the first warning—when he was upset that you were with your male cousin and his friends even before you two began dating. and now? it's tenfold worse, you can't do anything without his approval.

karasu thrusts his phone into your line of sight, eyes cold.

"care to explain, sweetheart?" but there's no trace of sugar in his honey-like words. you peer at the screen, confused.

"it's a picture of me...and my friend...at his birthday party?" you're confused at what he wants you to say, was it not obvious by the stupid little silver party hats atop both your heads in that digital camera shot?

"so? why're you posted alone with him?" tabito scoffs. "who is this guy anyway, why've i never seen or heard of him?"

"he's a friend of my parents, and we only ever see each other occasionally. i was only really invited because-"

"you're alone. with him."

"he took a solo shot with everyone, tabito! it was his damn birthday!" you're exasperated already. karasu was always a bit odd with who you were with when he wasn't there, and he seemed to recently have taken up stalking your socials and anyone who was connected to you. it's almost as if he was trying to catch you with somebody else in that way, and it hurt. did he not believe it when you told him that you loved him every morning and night? and this wasn't even near the first time, no, he had been questioning everyone you interacted with since a few weeks after you'd started dating, and although it had been almost a year by now, he seemed to grow more persistent if anything.

karasu reads your expression in a heartbeat, and he knows. if he doesn't act now, you'll slip far away from him. so he forces up a smile, murmurs an apology, and kisses you, distracting you from your worries. it's why you can never bring yourself to break up with him, he knows exactly how to play you into the palm of his hand. you think you're in love, even if your boyfriend is a bit twisted: jealous and possessive.

michael kaiser loves you. that's a fact, set in stone so clearly that you wonder why you doubt him. even if he snaps at you, even if he picks fights for no reason, even if he nearly slaps you, it's all out of love, right?

the day he breaks you is a frigid and rainy, afternoon. you're over at his place, fussing over michael because he's been coughing quite a bit, believing him to have caught some kind of cold.

"what are you doing?" he hisses, watching you mess around his forehead, hands pressed to it.

"checking to see if you're sick," you reply, frowning slightly, the concern evident on your face. he was a bit warm, but not enough to warrant a fever. "mihya, you should wear a thicker jacket or something before going out-"

"the fuck you are, my mom or something? i've practically lived on the streets since birth, i can take care of myself." he interjects, swatting your hand away like your presence was akin to a pesky bug's.

"i-i just wanted to..." you feel so small against him.

"to what?" his tone is dangerous now, eyes gleaming with an anger you've come to fear. had you caught him in a bad mood? you can't fight the tears slowly precipitating in your eyes, and when michael sees this he only makes it worse.

"and now you're crying? the fuck is this, you trying to make yourself the victim here?" his blonde locks in your vision blur, the teardrops now a steady waterfall leaking away. the room walls suddenly feel too white, like they're closing in on you, and oh, you might just suffocate if you don't get out of the damn room right now. every time, you tell yourself it's the last you allow him to mistreat you like this; you try to believe you're tired of him. so you storm out his front door wordlessly, back turned, and he waits until you're outside in the pouring rain before he allows his facade to fall, lips twisting into a scowl.

you're blubbering in the rain like an idiot on a phone call to your best friend, without an umbrella and now hopelessly drenched. she swears up and down that it's not normal for your boyfriend to act like this, you should leave him for good this time. and you're almost ready to believe her and cut yourself loose, almost.

kaiser picks the perfect time to show up, holding a black umbrella over the both of you. before he can ask who you're calling, you've already hung up, refusing to meet his piercing gaze.

"hey," he says softly, his demeanor a full 360 from how he was acting minutes before. "i'm sorry, liebe. i went too far, huh?" cold, slender fingers tilting your chin up, forcing you to look.

you just sniffle, averting his stare and still juggling the idea of leaving him. but it's futile, as if he can read your mind, because he says "i swear i won't do that again. don't leave me, please." and his tone is oh so heartbreaking now that you can't not look at him. that's the mistake which seals your demise because when you see his eyes, you're a lost cause under his spell.

"m'sorry," you mutter, as if you have anything to apologize for. he merely nods.

"i love you," michael whispers, and you hate that you actually believe him. he's just so manipulative, and you've developed a taste for his sweet venom.

nagi genuinely doesn't lift a finger some days. being with him is so tiring, so much work, on top of your already jam-packed schedule. what's worse is that nagi can't seem to understand.

"why're you avoiding me all the time?" nagi whines from the sofa.

"sei- huh?" you're baffled. you'd already told him that you had a group project for a university class and that you would likely be occupied, but nagi didn't get it.

"reo says he sees you on campus with this other guy a lot."

"sei, that's my groupmate! and it's not like we're alone, there's always three other people with us!"

"so you like them better than me?"

you have to stay silent to avoid snapping at him.

"y'know, you're bein' a real hassle right now," he sighs from under the blankets, clicking lazily at his xbox controller.

"oh, i'm the hassle now? who just cleaned your filthy living room, cooked us dinner, and did your laundry?" you're seething, was he really just a toddler in the body of a 6-foot teen?

eventually, you've had enough. it doesn't even feel like you're his girlfriend—more like you're his maid, hired help. when you end things over text, he doesn't even bother to reply to your message. it's honestly impressive.

it's a surprise to you that itoshi rin asks you out—you didn't think you were anything to him—just a classmate at most. but there was something so alluring to his cold personality, and you wanted so badly to understand him. not to mention that he was drop dead gorgeous.

so you don't think about the reasons he could have for asking you, of all people, to date him. you blindly say yes, believing that he liked you.

and he was a perfect boyfriend at first, you swear! all of your friends acted like you were the it couple: he would take you on dates in his luxurious sports car after class, pay for dinner, willingly take your instagram photos, hell even your parents liked him.

you didn't think anything could go wrong, not a hint of something amiss in the relationship, until last week. last week when his childhood best friend suddenly broke up with her boyfriend of two years, coincidentally the exact same week rin became distant.

suddenly he's taking her to the same places in the shotgun seat of the lamborghini that you used to sit in. and you pretend not to mind that much, after all they were friends. and she did just go through a breakup. it was only natural for rin to want to comfort her, right?

fuck yourself for being naive. you should've known from the things rin had told you. the impact that she's had on him was clear as day to anyone. she was his first friend, first crush, first kiss, first everything. oh, except they'd never dated! though it seemed that itoshi was deadset on changing that as well, ignoring his own girlfriend for her sake. and really, how would you ever compare to someone like her?

"rin, who're you even dating?" you complain to him as soon as he finally has the time to come over, something you'd pestered him for days about. you're partially convinced that he only did so just to shut you up.

"huh?" it's an emotionless reply.

"given all the time you spend with her, you might as well be dating her instead," you begin, ready to rant. it's unsettling, how unbothered he is by the whole ordeal—like he doesn't even have it in him to care about how you feel.

"that's a great idea." he interrupts. it's your turn to be confused now.

"huh?" you echo back, eyes wide.

"let's break up." couldn't he pretend, just a little, that he felt some unease about this? yet all you see is his expressionless face, and maybe even a hint of a smile if you squint.

"seriously?" you can't believe him.

"why would i be joking?"

"y'know what, fine! go ahead," you huff, shooing him out of your house before you collapse on the sofa, berating yourself for believing that he ever loved you. of course you couldn't be good enough for itoshi rin.

but apparently she was, because a few days later, on her instagram story, she's shoulder to shoulder with rin at the beach, him sporting an uncharacteristically wide grin, fingers interlaced. he'd never smiled like that with you. the text read "my day one luvr" and rin was tagged. you bite back a gag.

word eventually gets around that he only dated you to make her jealous. great, you hate that he had you participating in his sick little game.

a/n: been thinking ab this song all week now, i could not resist LOL. me when i realize bllk lowk has no green flags...also rin's is sm longer is my fav that obvious?

ılılılılılılı now playing: toxic till the end by rosé, heather by conan gray, tumblr girls by g-easy.

masterlist!

[crescentofthegods]

DISSIPATION!

pairing: draco malfoy x muggleborn!slytherin!fem!reader

request: devastion overwhelmed you completely once you witnessed how draco, your boyfriend, was unable to defend you after his friend called you a mudblood.

word count: 2,472

warnings: ANGST, swearing as usual hehe, goyle being a cow, draco being a DICK and also calling reader a mudblood but its for your own good woah, a bit of fluff before the angst but there is NOT a happy ending, all this goes down on reader's birthday, unfortunately not proofread again (it's 1am in the uk im SORRY)

author’s note: i looooved writing this request, goodness gracious me. HOPE YOU LIKE IT ANON, i put my own little twist in it if you dont mind, draco DOES call reader a mudblood towards in their argument dw<3 also theres a little easter egg from one of my other fics, youre a real one if you notice hehshhs

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IN THE SPAN OF SIX MONTHS, your private friendship with Draco had blossomed into something more beautiful—a real relationship where you got to call him your boyfriend. However, there was a downside to the two of you dating… Draco made you promise that you wouldn’t tell anyone; you knew deep down that this should’ve been a red flag, that if he really loved you, he wouldn’t be afraid to tell anyone about you, about your love.

            Too bad that your naivety got the better of you.

            Sitting on the cold, stone floor of the Astronomy Tower, you tried to stifle your sobs of despair, but it was no use. Tears of your turmoil trickled down your cheeks like the waterfalls you always adored gazing at whenever you went hiking with your parents—today wasn’t the special day you had planned it to be.

            After all, it was your birthday. Your seventeenth to be precise.

            You weren’t expecting a lot, in all honesty. Just a day of happiness, spent with your closest friend… and even your boyfriend, Draco. Most of all, he had promised you—

            “I can’t believe I turn seventeen in a few days,” you whispered, more to yourself if anything as you burrowed into your beloved boyfriend’s chest, hiding away from the rest of the world… The tips of his fingernails slowly traced a line up your spine, creating a rather ticklish sensation, your quiet giggles sounding like the vocal music of the angels in Draco’s mind. He brought you closer (you didn’t think that had even been possible, not with how close you both already were) his arms wrapping tighter around your waist, his chin making a home in your many locks of hair.

            He had snuck you into his dorm. Since you were both in the same House, it was easier said than done—Theo and Blaise decided to attend class for once, so Draco took his chances.

            “Mhm,” a small smile touched his lips as he hummed, his grey eyes peering at you—he had always cherished how you fit so perfectly against him. Like he was made for you, and you him. “I bought you something, actually.” Though, as soon as those words left his lips, he immediately regretted saying them in the first place, seeing how you sat up within an instant, your wide, bright eyes meeting his.

            “What?—Why? You know I hate it when you buy me things,” you frowned, though it looked more of a pout in Draco’s eyes, his small smile widening into an amused grin.

            “And why is that? Am I not a good enough gift giver for you?” his teasing voice prompted you to roll your eyes, the heel of your hand colliding with his chest, almost like you were shoving him playfully.

            “No, you always buy really… expensive things—don’t your parents wonder where the money’s going?” you asked, your tone sounding a little more serious now. He hated how concerned you grew whenever it came to the people in his life—but, it was basically his fault. Sometimes, he thought about how it would’ve been better if he’d decided not to pursue this relationship with you.

            But, for once, he wanted to be more selfish than usual. Everyone that feared Draco seemed to conclude that he always got what he wanted, but that was not the case.

            He got lucky with you.

            “Don’t worry about my parents,” was all he said; his expression didn’t say much, but you could tell he didn’t want to continue this particular conversation. Initially, your heart dropped, worried that you had overstepped a boundary—though, the way his fingers intertwined with yours, the way his thumb rubbed the gentlest of circles across your skin… it caused your anxious feelings to dissipate.

            They never really go away. They just… stick to the surroundings. Hence why your inner voice used the term ‘dissipate’. Your mind always knew better than your soul, always two steps ahead…

            “Can you at least tell me what the gift is?” your question was much more softer this time, smiling because of how warm he made you feel—how warm his hand felt against yours. You wanted to ask another question; something that probed at your mind recently was how he always wore long sleeved shirts around you now. It wasn’t a problem entirely, it merely sparked worry inside you. In spite of that, you supposed that attempting to ask would only push him away.

            Draco was confusing in that sense. Your love for him, however, overpowered that.

            “Of course not, my heart,” murmured Draco, his grey eyes twinkling with his usual charm. Using that nickname that always made your soul melt like fresh honey. “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you.”

            “You’re the bloody worst,” you groaned, his deep chuckle flipping your organs inside out as you collapsed against him once again, snuggling into the cotton of his grey jumper.

            Tell me about it, was what he wanted to reply, but he stopped himself. It was a happy moment. A moment of peace for once in his fucked up life. He wouldn’t ruin it.

            Not with you, the only person who believed in him.

            —That was before you stumbled upon a conversation with Draco and his friends today. Being a Muggleborn sorted into the House of Slytherin was clearly a set up from bloody Merlin himself. Unsurprisingly, you had more friends outside of Slytherin; a lot of the Hufflepuffs, thankfully, were sympathetic to your situation. That afternoon of your birthday, you had walked out of the girls’ dorms, relieved that you had found your Transfiguration homework, heading straight towards the Common Room…

            And, that was when you heard it.

            Gregory Goyle saying your name.

            “What are you so hot and bothered about?” Crabbe nudged Goyle, seeing how visibly peeved the latter appeared to be after exiting the boys’ rooms. Draco wasn’t particularly interested in the conversation after his little… rendezvous at the Room of Requirement. He simply sat in an armchair, playing with his silver bracelet.

            It had a butterfly charm, actually. Your middle name, translated from Latin, meant ‘butterfly’. For your birthday, which was today, he had bought you a dragon charm since ‘Draco’ meant ‘dragon’ in Latin. However, you wore yours on a sterling chain around your neck, wanting it to be hidden—no one would believe that you could afford something like that.

            “Snape teared me a new one,” he grumbled, plopping himself down onto the velvety green sofas with a huff. Crabbe pulled a face.

            “You mean tore—”

            “—Shut up. Anyway, he saw how shitty my grades were and now he’s forcing me to get a tutor! Fucking unbelievable,” Goyle muttered under his breath, running a hand through his extremely thin curls, leaning his head back as Crabbe replied.

            “Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m being tutored too,” he shrugged, sitting beside him as he fiddled with his watch. Releasing an irritated ebb of air, Draco also leaned his head back, wondering how long he was going to endure this pointless discussion.

            “You’re not being tutored by that mudblood, [Y/L/N].”

            That was when you heard it. Standing under the doorway that led towards the Common Room. It was nothing new, being insulted with that term. Nevertheless, your eyes fell on Draco, seeing the way he picked his head up slightly at the mention of you.

            You waited. For a good few moments. Hoping. Praying that he would defend you.

            And, a few seconds later, he laughed, bearing his pearly whites and all.

            “Yeah, good luck with that. She’s a real fucking brown noser, that one.”

            By that point, your mind was blocking out every sound that followed Draco’s words—you made a run for it, not even bothering to look at your so-called boyfriend, dashing out of the Slytherin Dungeons before fleeing to the Astronomy Tower. You had tried to keep it in, your tears, your sorrow—it was all too much.

            To make matters worse, he had fucking followed you. As soon as he made sure that his lackeys couldn’t question him, he’d tried to catch up to you, but you were always the quicker one. If you weren’t so obsessed with academics, you’d make a real good Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch Team.

            There Draco Malfoy stood, watching your hysteric sobs consume you, your head in your hands—he knew that you’d be upset; in fact, he knew you’d been listening the entire time. He noticed you before you had even become the topic of conversation.

            He always noticed you.

            And now, you had noticed him. Your gaze lifting momentarily, only for it to widen at the sight of your boyfriend standing there with the blankest of expressions. Sniffling to yourself, you stood up from your seat on the ground, your expression one of clear torment.

            Anger. Anger consuming you because you didn’t know why you were putting yourself through this. Dating one of the richest Purebloods a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. When you were only a measly Muggleborn. A Mudblood.

            Even so, the same weight of dissipated dejection weighed over you. Why did he ask you out? Why did he become friends with you in the first place if this was how he saw you? If this was how it was going to be? Him pretending to care about your blood status in front of his good-for-nothing friend group.

            Maybe, after all this time, it wasn’t a pretense. Perhaps this was a prank he’d instigated just to humiliate you.

            Numerous possibilities. Numerous outcomes. They all filled your head like snakes in a vat of thick, torturous tar.

            Your voice broke the silence.

            “I don’t understand you,” your first statement filled the atmosphere like a hot vapour, suffocating not just you, but the other person in the room—Draco. Your tears had stopped, cheeks still wet with your misery as you stared at him, not just with passionate feelings of indignation, but more so disbelief. And he couldn’t handle it.

            I should’ve done this earlier.

            “Really?” His voice was quiet. Almost noiseless, like he was calculating the best way for this to go. “I don’t think you’ve ever understood me, my heart.”

            That nickname. The nickname reserved for you and you only. There was once a time where it would make your insides all warm and fuzzy, where it would make your soul melt like honey. Now… now, it felt like molten; searing, dripping lava scorching your insides, burning you—destroying you from within.

            Those anxious feelings, the ones that dissipated. They came back.

            “Seriously?” you scoffed, blinking away the fresh saltwater that threatened to spill from the very crevices of your heart. “Was all of this just some cruel joke to you? Our friendship? Our relationship?”

            Silence.

            Silence, silence, SILENCE—

            “Oh, don’t go all quiet on me now,” you muttered with a breathless chuckle, stepping forward, only to shove him where it would hurt the most—slamming your heel against his chest, where his heart would feel its impact. He certainly did with the way he turned his head to the side, unable to look at you. “You planned this to embarrass me, didn’t you? You never loved me, all these stupid gifts—” you reached inside your shirt, only to rip the sterling chain from your neck, throwing it at him— “It was all fake?! It was for YOUR enjoyment, wasn’t it, Draco?”

            No.

            “Of course it fucking was,” he finally snapped, glaring at you with those grey eyes—you swore that they had been brighter once, that they had sparkled in the sunlight during those ever so secretive moments in his dorm. Regardless, it was now darkness that devoured those orbs you always pined after. Depravity. Hatred.

            All over a blood status.

            “You’re a mudblood, [Y/N], you’ll always be a fucking mudblood—why can’t you get that through your insipid brain of yours?” he was seething now, catching you completely off guard as he grabbed your shoulders, staring into those wide, dimmed eyes that used to glow every time you saw him.

            “Theodore gave me the idea, you know?” Lies, lies, lies. “Told me to mess with you a little since no one else would dare touch such… such scum,” he laughed—he was fucking laughing. Watching as more tears rolled down your cheeks, like it was automatic. Two natural waterfalls crashing into the warm chambers of your coveted core. “I mean, come on, love—I thought you were smarter than this,” his taunts overwhelmed you like a vice, his grip on your biceps tightening, wanting to hurt you as much as he could—needing to, so you could walk away.

            “You’re just as delusional as the rest of them,” scoffed Draco, his lips, the same lips that locked with yours in the early hours of the morning, holding a barely perceptible smirk, clearly proud at how broken you looked. How utterly devastated you appeared before him. Glass-like tears decorating the apples of your cheeks like diamonds on a dress, eyelashes wet with absolute desolation—the contentment that had embraced you like a blanket earlier today had vanished in less than seconds.

            All because of Draco Lucius Malfoy.

            “Probably shouldn’t have led you on for so long, huh?” he murmured gently, like he was complimenting you. Like this wasn’t eating you up completely; terrorising you. His calloused fingers cupped one of your delicate cheeks, his thumb swiping across your skin to wipe those tears away, the ones you had fought so hard, but had escaped your crevice anyway. A whimper of sheer melancholy was all you could respond with, crying to yourself—your entire life was a lie.

            “Fuck you, Malfoy,” you whispered, shaking your head from his almost-soothing grasp, stepping away once again, feeling rotten to the core. Your eyes met his for a final moment, your bottom lip quivering, as well as your entire body—like you were cold, frostbitten. Betrayed. “We’re done. I hope I never see you again.”

            With that, you shoved past him, your hushed weeps trailing after you as you fled the tower, leaving your ex-boyfriend alone in the tower. Leaving him with his deprecating thoughts.

            She wasn’t worth it.

            Father wouldn’t have approved.

            MUDBLOOD.

            Swallowing the painful lump that grew by the second in the confines of his throat, Draco’s eyes landed on the sterling chain at his feet—the one that he had gifted you only this morning. Holding the dragon charm. Holding him. He bent down to pick it up, seizing it like it was the most delicate thing he had ever felt; and it only held that title because it was purely yours. His heart was yours and yours only.

            “Don’t worry, my heart,” he murmured to himself, the ambient glow of his Dark Mark resonating through the rich cotton of his shirt. His thumb brushing over the silver scales of the charm with an utmost gentle manner.  “You won’t.”

[mad-scientist-anton]

CAN CONFIRM!!!! VERY ENRICHING :D

i need to put my pet mad scientist under one of those big bucket things you see at water parks. that's splashes water on you? but instead of water it's filled with random chemicals and viscera. it's very enriching for it.

[sirenpearldust]

Found you

Baby Daddy Azriel!

Series masterlist ⋆ Part one ⋆ Part two

Pair: Azriel x Spring Court! Reader

Word count: 1.993

Warning: none

Azriel was perched high in the branches of a sturdy oak, the warm spring air brushing against his  wings. He was ordered by Rhysand to observe Tamlin’s movements, the task proving far less engaging than he had hoped.

The silver ring in his hand spun idly between his fingers, glinting in the sunlight as he surveyed the lands below. Distant rustle of leaves and the water splashing from a waterfall nearby were his only companions until a sound broke through the monotony.

A laugh, light and sweet, unmistakably a childs floated up to him. Tilting his head, he scanned the bloomy landscape for its source, curiosity piqued. A rare smile ghosted across his lips as he thought about Nyx.

Azriel shifted silently on the branch he sat on, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.

The child, a boy, chased a small cat through the tall, swaying grass.                                                   But it wasn’t the laughter or even the playful scene that rooted him in place. 

It was the wings. The boy had wings. Illyrian wings.

Azriel’s breath caught as he studied the child more closely. The size, the structure they were unmistakable, a testament.

But how? How could an Illyrian child end up here, deep in Spring Court territory, so far from their mountain homes?

He leaned forward slightly, his shadows curling around him protectively, as his mind raced.         Was this an accident? A trick? Did he get lost or was it something far more troubling?             Whatever the answer, he couldn’t walk away now.

Azriel watched as the boy’s shadow stretched across the grass, curling and mingling with his own shadows. The sight tugged at something deep within him, a faint, unshakable unease. Shadowsingers were rare.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his movements careful, deliberate. The boy turned at the sound of his approach, his laughter vanishing in an instant. Wide, startled eyes met Azriel’s and the boy’s small wings twitching as if preparing to flee.

His gaze on Azriel.

Azriel stopped in his tracks, his heart tightening in his chest. Those eyes, he had seen them before. Years ago. In this very court.

The boy’s shadows rippled as if echoing his unease, ready to attack Azriel if he made a wrong move. He simply stood there, his fists clenched, his wings half-flared. And those familiar eyes, bright and piercing, stared at Azriel with something that felt like both a question and Curiosity.

“Where are your parents?” Azriel asked, his voice soft, not to scare the child.

The boy tilted his head. “Mommy’s busy,” he replied simply, relaxing a little, kicking at a tuft of grass with his bare foot.

Azriel’s shadows stirred restlessly, their unease mirroring his own. “And your father?” he pressed.

The boy shrugged, petting the white cat that had positioned itself between them.

“Mommy said he’s gone.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched tightly, his teeth grinding together, unease blooming in him. He didn’t want to finish the thought forming in his mind, didn’t want to follow the thread of suspicion unraveling before him.

Gone. That single word hung in the air, heavy with too many meanings. And Azriel just hoped, prayed, it wasn’t what he feared.

Azriel’s jaw tightened as memories he had long buried resurfaced. 

Four years ago, in the Spring Court, he had been tangled in a fleeting, passionate affair with a noblewoman. It hadn’t meant much, not to him, at least. Their connection had ended in bitterness and harsh words. He hadn’t thought of her since.

But now, as he looked at the boy with Illyrian wings and familiar eyes, he did not want it to be true. His shadows pressed closer.

It can’t be, Azriel thought, though the pit in his stomach kept tightening with doubt. There was another explanation for this child’s existence. He hoped the boy wasn’t his son. Because if he was…

He needed answers, and he needed them now.

The boy tilted his head, watching Azriel with wide, curious eyes. There was no fear in his gaze anymore, only fascination, innocence.

Azriel’s stomach twisted as he took in the details he couldn’t ignore. The boy’s dimples, so faint yet unmistakable, mirrored his own. His skin was the same deep shade of brown and then there were the shadows swirling faintly around the boy, just as protective of him as his own.

The boy smiled tentatively. It was like staring into a reflection of himself, a reflection smaller and unshaped by the cruelty of this world yet. It was starting to freak him out.

“Amias!”

The voice cut through the stillness, edged with worry. Azriel turned sharply toward the sound, his heart stuttering in his chest as you came running into view.

The boy lit up, squealing with happiness.

 “Mommy!”

You swept the boy into your arms clutching him tightly against your chest as though you’d feared he’d vanish. Azriel stood frozen, watching as you smoothed a hand over the boy’s hair, voice scolding, soft but firm.

“Did I not tell you to stay inside?” you said, tone a mixture of relief and frustration. 

“What were you thinking, wandering out here alone?”

Amias squirmed a little in your grasp, clearly unfazed by the reprimand. Adjusting your hold on him, shifting him onto your hip you turned and began walking back toward the house.

Azriel blinked, completely thrown off. You hadn’t even looked at him. Not a single glance, not a flicker of acknowledgment. As though he weren’t standing there at all.

“Y/n”

You kept walking, your steps steady, your soft blue dress swaying in the wind. But Azriel didn’t miss the way your body tensed, the slight shudder that rippled through your frame. You’d heard him.

“Wait,” he called, his voice firm. When you didn’t stop, he winnowed directly in front of you.

You didn’t falter, stepped around him as though he were a ghost, attention fixed solely on the boy in you arms, your son. His son, Azriel realized with a jarring certainty.

His jaw clenched as he watched you, ignoring him, the way you pretended he wasn’t standing right there. As if he was invisible.

But he wasn’t about to let you slip away. He reached out, his fingers wrapping gently around your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

Your steps faltered, and  Amias looked up at him. The happiness that had lit his young face moments before drained away, replaced by wide-eyed fear. He clung tighter to his mother, his tiny wings twitching nervously. His shadows curling around the both of you.

Azriel’s  focus shifted to the sound of movement nearby. A servant stood at a distance, observing the scene with a wary eye. His sharp gaze caught the subtle shift of their hands, reaching for the hilt of a blade.

Azriel released your arm, his fingers lingering for a moment. He stepped back, his eyes finally met your angry, guarded eyes, filled with a familiar coldness he’d seen once before. The same expression you’d worn the last day he left, the day everything had ended between you.

He had never expected to see you again, at least not like this.

Without a word, you gently placed Amias on the ground, your hand lingering on his small shoulder before you spoke.

“Lex, take Amias and tell Nara to get him ready for bed.” Your voice was firm, smooth, like he had remembered. The servant from before stepped forward and ushered Amias away with a soft murmur.

Azriel watched them go, his heart sinking as the boy kept glancing back to them, eyes full of confusion and fear. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt at the way the child reacted to him.

He watched them disappear into the house. 

He turned back to you, you were already facing him, your eyes cold and unreadable.

“So, you’re not going to say anything?” His voice was quiet, the words sharp, but you detected hurt.

Your expression remained impassive

“Are you done trespassing into my court?”

“Is he my son?” His voice was low, strained, as he finally asked the question that had haunted him since he first saw the boy’s face.

Your gaze didn’t waver, eyes locking onto his with an icy clarity.

“Our laws state any Spring Court citizen is allowed to kill any trespassers” you said flatly.

 “Are you here to die?”

You were daring him to make a move, daring him to test your resolve. It wasn’t just a threat, it was a challenge, one he wasn’t sure he was prepared to meet.

”I am here to know if he is my son!”

You didn’t answer right away, but the smirk that crept onto your lips made Azriel’s gut twist. It was a look he knew too well, too familiar. One that reminded him too much of Eris.

You shrugged, clearly unbothered by his insistence.

“Let me rephrase,” he said. “Did you fuck another Illyrian after me?”

The laugh that followed was like a slap. It took everything in Azriel not to let his anger flare, but he couldn’t help the tightening in his jaw, out of frustration. You really had a way to make him angry.

He had hoped for answers, serious answers and instead he was met with mockery.

He had to bite back the words he wanted to say. He didn’t expect what you said next.

“He’s yours.”

He and his shadows froze, momentarily stunned, as if they, too, were caught off guard by the blunt honesty in your voice. Azriel couldn’t move for a moment.

Now that the truth was out there, raw and plain, one question still lingered on his tongue.

“Why did you hide him from me?”

“He’s safe. Do not bother caring or playing house now.”

Azriel’s heart twisted at your words.

“He’s my son. I have a right-“

“You don’t have any rights,” you snapped, your anger flaring like a sudden storm. Eyes blazing, full of fury “He’s my son, my heir, and a citizen of this court.” 

The finality in your tone struck him like a blow. Azriel recoiled slightly, his breath catching in his throat. The woman he remembered was not there, in her place stood someone entirely different.

You turned away from him, back rigid with anger. The woman he had known had been soft, kind. This woman? She was a warrior, someone shaped by cruelty and far, far more dangerous then he remembered.

You had shut him out, made it clear that any claim he thought he might have on his son was nonexistent. He had no rights here, not in your eyes, not in this court.

“He’s still Illyrian,” he continued. You kept walking, ignoring him again.

“He needs to learn how to fight, fly and control his shadows.”

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, but before he could say anything, you waved your hand dismissively.

“Do not worry about his education,” you said, voice sharper now. 

“He’s fine and he will not be sent to the camps you were raised in.”

Azriel’s feet moved before his mind could catch up, his long strides closing the distance between you in seconds. He grabbed your arm, halting you.

“Stop this nonsense,” he said, his voice low but forceful. Your skin soft under his rough, scarred hands. 

You turned to face him, expression as cold as ever.

“What do you exactly want?” Your words were clipped, as though you had already decided this conversation was over. 

He wanted to know his son.

You could read his mind. Your lips curled into a cruel smile. 

“Fine, but you will get to know him on my terms. No discussion.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he followed your steps, the frustration building in his chest. 

“What conditions? He is my son I should see him whenever I can!”

But you didn’t answer him. Just kept walking, pace never slowing. 

Your silence gnawed at him, driving him insane with every unanswered question. You wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t speak beyond the bare minimum.

Main Taglist: @bubybubsters @lilah-asteria

[nottslove]

Hello! My favorite song at the moment is bed chem sabrina carpenter

event; profile; nav;

4.6k words. longer than i expected. istg i should call these long-ass fics instead of mini-fics.

hi anon! thank you so much for requesting!! so since this song came from a summer album, it gave me summer vibes... as in, a summer romance vibe. and who better to fill in the role than our favorite, italian reverie? presenting.... none other than theo nott!

warnings: google translated italian, fluff, angst, use of y/n.

song: bed chem, sabrina carpenter slytherin boy: theo nott

Italy in the summer was nothing short of magical. Ever since childhood, you had dreamt of wandering its sun-drenched streets, breathing in the scent of fresh espresso and warm pastries, getting lost in the hum of its language. Finally, after years of waiting—graduation behind you, a job secured—you seized the moment. Three months of careful planning had led to this: a solo summer in your dream country.

From the instant you arrived, Italy wove its spell around you. The rich culture, the lyrical cadence of the language, the way history seemed to press against the very walls of the cities—it all made your heart swell. Rome for the first week, Venice for the second, Verona for the third, before returning home to England. A carefully mapped-out itinerary, structured yet bursting with anticipation. And yet, only two days in, the thought of leaving already felt unbearable.

Your schedule was packed, each day a whirlwind of exploration. Today, you were on a mission—to find the restaurant your coworker had raved about. But somehow, amidst the maze-like streets, you lost your way. A wrong turn led you somewhere unexpected—quieter, tucked away from the usual tourist bustle. The air here felt different, carrying the aroma of fresh bread and roasted coffee.

That was when you saw it.

A small, unassuming café nestled into the corner of a street you hadn’t intended to walk down. At first, you nearly passed it by, lost in thought, until your hip accidentally brushed against a potted plant perched on an outdoor table. As you bent down to set it upright, your gaze traveled to the building—soft yellow paint, ivy cascading like a green waterfall over the doorway, curling around the windows as if cradling the café in a warm embrace.

Through the glass, maritozzo sat temptingly on display, golden and pillowy, just waiting to be devoured. Your stomach made the decision for you—you stepped inside without another thought.

The café had a charm that was impossible to ignore. Dim lighting, shelves stacked with books worn from time, the quiet murmur of conversation blending into the clinking of porcelain. You spotted the perfect table by the window and moved toward it, but something stopped you. A pull, inexplicable yet undeniable, tugging you gently in another direction.

You turned.

There he was.

A classic Italian gentleman, effortlessly poised, his fingers curled around a porcelain mug. Dark curls framed his chiseled features, his presence magnetic, as if he had been waiting for someone—perhaps, for you.

He sat there with an effortless grace, the kind that spoke of quiet confidence rather than arrogance. His strong jawline framed a face that seemed sculpted by the hands of an artist—sharp cheekbones softened only by the warm olive tone of his skin. His deep brown eyes, rich like freshly brewed espresso, carried an intensity that made it impossible to look away. They held stories, secrets, a depth that hinted at a life well-lived, or perhaps, one waiting to begin.

The soft curls of his dark hair, slightly tousled yet undeniably charming, brushed against his forehead, the kind you could easily imagine running your fingers through absentmindedly. His neatly pressed shirt, a shade of crisp white that contrasted beautifully against his sun-kissed skin, was unbuttoned just enough at the collar to suggest a sense of ease. The sleeves were rolled to his forearms, revealing toned muscles beneath, a glimpse of strength tempered by elegance.

As he lifted his coffee to his lips, the movement was deliberate, languid, as if savoring not just the drink but the moment itself. His fingers—long, graceful—curled around the porcelain mug, and you couldn't help but wonder how they might feel tracing against yours.

There was something about him—an air of mystery, a quiet magnetism—that pulled you in. A presence that demanded attention without asking for it. And in that instant, as the world outside continued to bustle on, he was the only thing that mattered.

His eyes locked onto yours, unflinching, electric—a mesmerizing shade of aquamarine that seemed almost unreal, like the sunlit waters of the Amalfi Coast. They held something—an unspoken challenge, curiosity, or perhaps recognition. A glint of amusement flickered beneath the depths, but there was something else too, something that sent a shiver down your spine. It was as if, in that single moment, he had unraveled you entirely—seen you in a way no one else had.

The way they caught the light, reflecting hints of seafoam and cerulean, made them impossibly captivating, as if they carried fragments of Italy itself. And just like that, without a single word, you knew—this summer, your summer, had shifted in a way you never anticipated.

Just like that, your summer had changed.

It didn't take long before you were at his apartment, tangled up in his sheets, bodies pressed close, the world outside forgotten, him feeding you strawberries with your head on his chest.

Your head rested against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into quiet contentment. He reached for a strawberry, holding it delicately between his fingers before pressing it gently to your lips. The sweetness burst against your tongue, mingling with the lingering taste of his kiss, and somehow, it all felt so natural.

It was intimate in a way you had never experienced before. Here you were, in the arms of a total stranger, yet somehow, you felt safer than you ever had in a long time. It had barely been two hours since you met, and he already knew so much—the tender details of your childhood, the wistful echoes of your first love.

You exhaled, staring at the soft rays of the golden setting sun filtering through the window. Was it him, or was it simply Italy itself—the spell this country seemed to weave around everything and everyone? Were all Italian men this effortlessly charming, this easy to talk to, to surrender yourself to?

"Come mai la tua bella testolina è così silenziosa, hmm?" he murmured, large hands sliding down your hair and brushing it away from your face.

You giggled, reaching for another strawberry and placing it between his lips. "I already told you I don't understand a word of Italian..."

"I've heard I'm a very good teacher," he replied with that confident, lazy smirk of his. "I could show you Italy better than any..." he paused, furrowing his brows slightly to think of the word. "guida turistica..."

Once again, you giggled softly, the moment he pressed his lips to your fingers to lick up whatever was left of the strawberry his mouth had just stolen from you. "tour guide?" you asked, trying to provide him with the correct word.

"Si. Tour guide. I can be yours, if you like..." He punctuated his suggestion with a series of open mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbones.

And just like that, all plans of going to Verona and Venice were out the window, and you rescheduled your return trip to a whole month later than your original return date.

His name was Theodore Nott, but you called him Teddy for short.

He had somehow managed you to move into his penthouse, where you spent every morning waking up in his bed, and the scent of freshly brewed espresso all over the penthouse.

Every morning, without fail, he insisted on spoiling you. Before the sun had fully risen over the terracotta rooftops, before the city outside had begun to stir, he was already at work in the kitchen, crafting something new—something special—for you.

The aroma would reach you first, warm and inviting, coaxing you from sleep before his voice did. And then, there he was, standing at the edge of the bed, tray in hand, a knowing smile playing at his lips. He never let you lift a finger.

It was never the same meal twice. One morning, perfectly flaky cornetti dusted with powdered sugar, paired with rich, velvety cappuccino. The next, eggs cooked just right, fresh tomatoes bursting with flavor, crusty bread straight from the bakery down the street. Then, perhaps, a delicate frittata, infused with fragrant herbs, the kind only someone born into the heart of Italian cooking could master.

He knew what he was doing. Better than half the chefs you had encountered. Every bite was a revelation, every flavor precise yet effortless, as if he were drawing from an endless well of knowledge passed down through generations.

And there, in the quiet glow of morning light, the two of you would share more than just the meal. Between sips of coffee and bites of something impossibly delicious, the conversations flowed—deep, unfiltered, woven with laughter and confessions.

It was indulgent, intimate in a way that felt rare, precious. You had never been cared for like this before, never been seen in such a quiet, effortless way.

And each morning, as he looked at you over the rim of his cup, you wondered how you could possibly go back to a life without this. Without him.

But both of you knew that this golden relationship you had wasn't meant to last. It would be over once the summer came to an end. It was nothing but a summer romance, no matter how real it felt.

Yet, despite knowing, neither of you spoke of it. The truth lingered between kisses, between laughter that melted into quiet sighs, between mornings wrapped in sheets that smelled of sun and him. It was there—in the way his touch lingered a moment too long, as if memorizing the feel of you. In the way you watched him, tracing every detail, as if trying to capture something fleeting, something slipping through your fingers.

It wasn’t just a romance. It felt bigger than that. Real, golden, drenched in the warmth of a summer that would soon end. But endings had a way of creeping in, of pressing against even the sweetest moments. The whispered promise of farewell was in every embrace, every shared meal, every sunset you watched together with unsaid words weighing in the silence.

And yet, despite it all, neither of you pulled away. Because for now—just for now—it was enough. It had to be.

He was true to his word. He showed you Italy better than any tour guide would. All the intimate places he spent his time at, all the tourist spots... everything.

And he did it with a kind of quiet pride, as if sharing these places with you meant something—meant more than just sightseeing. He led you through the winding alleys of Rome, past the bustling piazzas and into corners untouched by the hurried footsteps of tourists. The hidden cafés where the locals greeted him by name, the bookstore tucked away in a side street where he had spent lazy afternoons, the unmarked trattoria where the food was better than anything you’d find on a guide’s list.

But he didn’t ignore the classics. He took you to the Colosseum when the sun was soft, when the crowds hadn’t fully formed, so you could stand there in the open space and feel the weight of history pressing against your skin. He pointed out the details in Michelangelo’s work, things that even the guides didn’t mention. He let you linger at the Trevi Fountain, grinning when you tossed a coin in and made a wish, teasing you about what it might be.

"What did you wish for, cara?"

"Would you like to know?" you replied with an air of mystery and a suggestive raise of your eyebrow.

Venice came next, the city that felt suspended between reality and dream. He showed you how the water reflected the light just right in the early evening, how the gondoliers sang not for show, but because music was woven into the city’s bones.

And in Verona, he traced his fingers along the worn letters left at Juliet’s wall, smiling as you read them, as you let yourself believe—for just a moment—that love like that could live beyond legend.

He gave you Italy. Not the packaged version, not the curated one. He gave you the one he loved, the one that had shaped him, the one that mattered.

And in doing so, it became yours too.

He showed you Italy, and you showed him your soul.

He had given you Italy—the real Italy, the one written in hidden alleyways and the scent of fresh espresso, in the history etched into crumbling stone and the rhythm of a language that felt like poetry.

And in return, without meaning to, without even realizing it at first, you had given him pieces of yourself. The quiet corners of your heart, the stories tucked away for only the most deserving ears. The fears, the dreams, the moments that had shaped you. He saw them all—held them gently, as if they were something precious.

And somehow, he remembered all of it.

The way your fingers moved when tying your laces—quick, practiced, a subconscious rhythm you never thought twice about. The way you stirred your coffee absentmindedly, always three times, never more, never less. How your nose scrunched up ever so slightly before a sip, testing the temperature without thinking.

Then, of course, there was the pineapple on pizza—your unforgivable offense. He had gasped dramatically when you first admitted it, clutching his heart as if wounded by the mere thought.

"Mio Dio!" he had gasped, when he had first seen you put pineapple slices on your slice of the pizza he had spent four hours making for you at home, from scratch. "Stai rovinando tutto! This is a betrayal..." he declared, eyes alight with playful scandal, yet he still took your hand that evening, still kissed you like you belonged to every part of Italy.

And perhaps that was what struck you most—how easily he collected these pieces of you, storing them as if they were something worth keeping, worth cherishing.

It was fleeting, ephemeral, destined to fade when summer did.

But for now, he knew you, and you knew him.

It was unexpected—the way he let you in, the way he unraveled parts of himself that felt sacred, deeply personal.

He showed you the school where he had spent his earliest years, where he had first learned to chase dreams too big for a boy his age. He traced his fingers along the worn stone walls, the graffiti scrawled by restless students, and laughed as he recounted the trouble he used to get into, the teachers who never quite knew what to do with him.

Then, there was his childhood home—a modest place tucked away in a quiet neighborhood, walls filled with echoes of the past. He told you about summers spent on that tiny balcony, about the way his father used to hum old songs while cooking dinner, about the arguments, the celebrations, the life that had unfolded within those walls.

But it was when he brought you to her grave that everything shifted. His mother—the woman who had shaped him, guided him, loved him deeply, and left too soon. He didn’t speak much at first, just stood there, quiet, thoughtful, fingers brushing the cool stone. Then, slowly, he told you about her—the warmth of her presence, the lessons she had given him, the ache of losing her.

And in between, you lived with him—fully, unapologetically, as if time had no claim on the moments you shared.

You laughed until your stomach ached, until your cheeks hurt from smiling, until your laughter tangled with his and filled the spaces between you like music. You cried in ways you hadn’t before—not from sorrow, but from honesty, from the weight of stories told that had never been voiced so openly.

Together, you existed in a space untouched by reality, wrapped in something golden and fleeting. Neither of you spoke of the end, but it lingered, always, just beneath the surface.

Yet, somehow, that made it all the more beautiful.

And you loved him.

You loved him like you had never loved anyone else in your entire life. And he knew it.

Tangled up in the sheets after yet another round of him completely rocking your world, your head was resting on his chest when you tilted your head to look into his eyes and whisper the two little words that you had learnt on Google just for him.

"Ti amo..."

His grin stretched wide, unmistakable, almost wicked in its delight—the kind that sent a thrill down your spine, that made you wonder what thoughts ran through his mind in that exact moment. It was the kind of smile that could pull you in effortlessly, like a secret he was daring you to uncover, like he had already won a game you didn’t know you were playing.

The corners of his mouth curled with satisfaction, his eyes gleaming with mischief, amusement flickering beneath the striking aquamarine depths. He leaned forward slightly, as if savoring the way the words hung in the air between you, his fingers tracing absent patterns against the table, his body relaxed, utterly at ease.

Without hesitating, he said it back, "anch'io ti amo, tesoro."

But all good things eventually come to an end, and within the blink of an eye, your summer had come to a close.

You had gotten to know his soul in depth— every inch of him, every quirk, every flutter, every mark on his body. It was a lifetime of love experienced in one single summer.

A love that burned brightly, condensed into fleeting moments, yet carrying the weight of something much greater.

You knew him. Not just his laughter or his charm, but the quiet pauses between his sentences, the way his fingers twitched when he was deep in thought, the crease in his brow that only appeared when he spoke of things that truly mattered. You memorized the rhythm of his breathing, the softness of his voice just before sleep, the way his presence wrapped around you like warmth you never wanted to let go of.

Every mark on his body told a story, every scar a memory, every glance a secret shared only between the two of you. And in the golden stretch of those summer days, you traced them all, learning him in ways that felt impossibly permanent.

A lifetime of love, packed into stolen kisses beneath a foreign sky, into whispered conversations at dawn, into the soft pull of fingertips against skin.

And yet, when the season came to its inevitable close, when the sun dipped lower, signaling the end, you both knew—this was exactly how it was meant to be.

No regrets. No bitterness. Just a summer that would live in your bones forever.

And when the time came, when the final days of summer settled upon you both like the last golden rays of the evening sun, there was no bitterness. No desperate clinging, no sorrowful goodbyes laced with regret.

You had known him completely—every detail, every quirk, every unspoken thought behind those aquamarine eyes. And he had known you just the same. There was nothing left unexplored, no corner of his world, or yours, left untouched.

Yet, this was how it had always meant to end. Not in heartbreak, but in understanding. A gentle farewell, filled with gratitude for what it had been, rather than grief for what it could not be.

Right person. Wrong time. Right place.

You stopped at the café where it all began one more time before he dropped you off at the airport.

It had been almost two months ago that you met him here, but now?

It felt like a lifetime ago.

And so, beneath the amber glow of the setting sun, with Italy wrapping itself around you like a final embrace, you made a promise.

Not one bound by desperation or longing, but by understanding. By the quiet certainty that, though your story was meant to end now, perhaps—just perhaps—it wasn’t meant to end forever.

"If you’re still single," you murmured, fingers tracing the rim of your coffee cup, voice steady but soft, "meet me here. Ten years from now. Same place, same table."

He studied you for a long moment, aquamarine eyes deep with something unreadable—something like hope, something like fate. Then, slowly, he smiled. A real one. A promise sealed with nothing but the weight of the unspoken.

"Ten years," he whispered softly, but you knew him well enough to know what he was saying. "If you find yourself lost, or lonely," he continued softly, looking at you longingly, like he wanted to tell you to stay, but he knew he would be asking too much. "Will you come find me?"

He looked like he was losing a part of himself that he had never realized was missing until he met you.

Your lips curved into a watery smile. "Of course I will..." you replied, your fingers gently brushing his jaw, the way you had done countless of times. "I'll always find you, Teddy..."

And just like that, leaving him was easier, leaving Italy was easier, carrying the summer in your bones, the memory of him pressed into every part of you.

Maybe you’d return. Maybe he would. Maybe, just maybe, the right person at the wrong time would, one day, become the right person at the right time.

He was your soulmate. You never believed in them before, but you certainly believed in them now.

With your pact in mind, of a futuristic promise, you had finally agreed to part ways.

And just like that, it was over.

No tears, no grand gestures—just a quiet understanding, a moment suspended in time, wrapped in the golden haze of a summer that had changed you both.

He had dropped you to the airport, and your heart felt heavy and full as you parted ways.

One last goodbye kiss.

One last fleeting touch.

One last look of his beautiful aquamarine eyes meeting yours.

And then, you turned your back on him and began to walk away.

"Wait," he had called right before you fell out of earshot.

You turned, pressing your lips together to stop yourself from making this farewell harder for you than it was supposed to be.

A moment of silence.

And then he spoke.

"Goodbye, Y/N," he murmured.

"Goodbye Teddy."

It was only when you had turned around fully and passed through the security gates that you allowed the tears to finally spill.

But you held hope in your heart.

You walked away, carrying the weight of what had been, the tenderness of shared mornings, the electricity of stolen glances, the laughter, the knowing, the love—brief but undeniable.

Yet there was no sadness in the goodbye. Because, in the heart of Rome, beneath the watchful gaze of history itself, you had made a promise.

Ten years. Same place. Same table.

And whether fate would honor such a pact, whether time would lead you back to him, was a mystery left to the future.

But for now, you carried him with you, and he carried you with him.

And maybe—just maybe—Italy would call you home once more.

Ten years passed faster than you anticipated. The years slipped through your fingers like sand, faster than you ever imagined.

Lovers came, and lovers went. Life unfolded—new places, new faces, fleeting romances that never quite ignited the way that summer had.

Theo was embedded into your soul. He was there in every, single thing you did. Your summer in Italy was no longer a distant memory, but a whole different lifetime, one that was etched so fiercely into your soul that it was a part of you. You lived, you loved, you lost, and yet, through it all, Theo remained.

Not in a way that haunted you, not in a way that stopped you from moving forward. No, he was simply there—woven into the fabric of your existence, stitched into the smallest, quietest moments.

It was in the smallest things—the subconscious gestures, the habits formed over a lifetime. In the way you lingered at cafés with ivy-clad doors, in the way you stirred your coffee three times, in the soft ache that settled in your chest when the golden glow of evening light reminded you of the way his skin had looked beneath the setting Italian sun.

Your summer with him wasn’t just a memory—it was a lifetime, a part of you, embedded so deeply that no amount of time could erase it. It had shaped you, changed you, taught you things no other experience ever could.

Because that summer lived within you, etched into your very being, woven into the quiet moments of your day.

It was there in the way your lips curled into a soft, private smile whenever a passing scent reminded you of fresh espresso in a hidden café. In the way your fingers brushed against ivy-covered doors, lingering as if searching for something lost. In the way your heart skipped—just barely—when the evening light mirrored the golden glow of those long-forgotten afternoons.

It wasn’t just a memorable summer vacation. It was a presence, a whisper of something untouchable yet undeniably real.

And whether the promise would be fulfilled or left behind in the folds of time, one truth remained—Italy had never truly let you go.

And neither had he.

And now, here you were. Ten years later.

Standing in front of the café where it had all begun.

Heart pounding. Breath shallow.

Wondering if fate still had a place for the two of you.

The café still looks the same. The ivy overgrown a little more, the paint a little more faded and worn and the steps that lead to the café a lot more rough and round-edged.

You stepped inside, your breath shaky as you tuck your handbag underneath your arm, tilting your head back to shake the hair all away from your face.

Your heart in thumping, your fingers are sweaty as you look around once, a quick scan of your eyes across the room.

And everything stops.

Your breath catches.

Just like that, time collapses.

Ten years, a lifetime’s worth of moments, all fading into insignificance the instant your gaze locks onto his.

He’s there. Exactly where he said he would be.

The same table, the same quiet confidence, the same presence that had once unraveled you completely. But different too—aged by experience, refined by the years that shaped him in your absence.

It's his eyes that give it away— that he's the same person as he was a lifetime ago, the same person you fell so hard for.

His eyes—impossibly vivid, the color of sunlit tides and forgotten dreams—burn into yours, a tether pulling you back, back to a time when love was effortless and fleeting, yet somehow eternal.

Yet, as his aquamarine eyes meet yours, as recognition flashes across his face, as his lips part ever so slightly in stunned disbelief—none of that matters.

"Teddy," you whisper breathlessly, your eyes meeting his, the rest of the occupants of the café fading into a blur— nothing else matters as much as him.

It takes two strides for him to reach you.

"Y/N," he pulls you into his arms, and your lips crash against his, tears spilling down your cheeks as you hear the golden sound of his voice calling out your name.

And you're finally home.

Because this was never truly a goodbye.

And somehow, somehow, it feels like the beginning all over again.

event; profile; nav;

©nottslove 2025. do not copy, steal or claim any works/graphics as your own.

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 3 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW: All hail severely traumatized Reader.

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

The moment you stepped out of the Hanging Gardens, the city of Seoul came crashing into your senses. The bustling noise, the chatter of strangers, the blaring car horns—it was overwhelming. After so many years surrounded only by the whispering leaves and the sound of distant waterfalls in your domain, this city felt like a whole other world. Yet, you had no time to marvel at it.

Your first thought was him. The young hunter who, in the original story, would one day transform from the weakest E-rank hunter to the world’s most formidable force. You had seen his journey play out on the pages of a manhwa, and even though this was your reality now, you still thought of it as a story. Perhaps that was the only way you could cope.

Jinwoo. The name was a whisper in your mind, a mantra you repeated as you sent out your butterflies to search for him. They flitted into the sky, through alleyways, dodged bustling crowds, and skimmed across rooftops, invisible to everyone but you, its compound eyes transmitting a dizzying aerial view of the city straight to your mind. You kept your focus tight, pushing down the nerves that gnawed at your stomach.

But your search was interrupted by a sudden shift in the air around you. The city's mood had changed in an instant. People on the street stopped, their heads turning upwards, eyes glued to the enormous screens on the skyscrapers. As the images on the screen flickered into view, a chill you down your spine.

It was chaos. The screens showed devastation—images of buildings crumbling, fire and smoke engulfing the skyline, and a massive gate that loomed ominously above it all.

The first S-rank gate—the one from which Kamish, soon to be the most feared dragon in history, first emerged. You stood frozen, your eyes widening as the scenes played out in real-time.

“No…” You breathed out, barely a whisper, your hands shaking.

Even watching it on the screen was entirely different from reading about it on the pages of the manhwa. It was real now. Too real. The ground beneath you seemed to tilt as civilians screamed and hunters rushed into action. The casualties. Oh God, the casualties. The sight of corpses being pulled from rubble, the screams and cries of civilians and hunters alike echoed through your mind long after the broadcast ended. The dread spread through you like ice.

If I’d just managed to get out sooner, you thought, the guilt and horror churning in your stomach. If I’d escaped the Gardens just a year earlier, or even a few months…

Surely you couldn’t have stopped the gate from opening, but could you have evacuated more people? Shielded them with your powers? Reduced the casualties? Your mind raced with possibilities, spiraling in your inability to actively turn back time in a scale that large.

Could I have made a difference? Could I have saved even a single life?

Your breaths came in ragged gasps, heart pounding. The "what ifs" started to spiral, pulling you deeper into a pit of guilt and self-recrimination. Your fingers dug into your palms as you tried to regain control. Just as the world around you blurred from the tears stinging your eyes, there was a gentle nudge at the edge of your consciousness, yet the swirling visions just made you want to empty out your stomach.

Through your shared vision with the butterfly, there he was, younger than you expected— around sixteen or seventeen, a teenager, though he looked like he’d grown up too fast. His frame was slimmer, not yet the broad-shouldered man you knew he’d become. He was dressed in a faded school uniform, his eyes carrying the weariness of someone who had already seen too much. The lines of his face were taut with worry, a haunted look lurking in his gaze. An expression you’d often seen through the pages, etched into his older self.

You swallowed hard, your fingers trembling. If…If I had been here sooner, would things have been different for you?

Your mind wandered to another possibility—his father. Would you have been able to prevent the disappearance of Sung Il-Hwan if you’d arrived two years earlier? Could you have kept Jinwoo from bearing the weight of that loss, the look of pain he now wore like a permanent scar?

Though his mother was still with him now, you could see the faint shadow of the pain he carried even now. Could you have helped him avoid the countless sleepless nights, the burden he’d shouldered in silence for years?

But reality was harsh, and you couldn’t change the past. A hollow ache settled deep inside you, thoughts haunted you, sticking like thorns in your mind.

---

The following years were a blur of watching from the shadows, helping where you could without being noticed. You couldn’t save everyone, but you could lessen the burdens on the boy you had grown to care for. The butterflies you sent to heal his mother and alleviate her pain seemed to help, if only a little. But that look—that haunted, broken look in Jinwoo’s eyes whenever he thought no one was watching—it gnawed at your heart.

It was during one of those quiet nights, as Jinwoo and the rest of the world slept soundly, that you decided to take a more desperate measure. Jinwoo’s mother was showing signs of the dreaded Eternal Sleep disease, the same way she had in the manhwa. You had placed a protective spell around her to shield her from excessive mana exposure, but it hadn’t been enough.

No, not again... please, not again. You couldn't bear it. You refused to let Jinwoo suffer the same pain twice.

There has to be a way to save her, you thought, teeth clenched. The pages of the manhwa didn’t reveal much about Eternal Sleep, but you took a gamble. If exposure to mana was the cause, then maybe you could draw the mana out of her system.

The hospital was quiet that night, the corridors bathed in a cold, sterile glow. You slipped in under the cover of darkness, cloaking yourself and the room in an illusion. Her face was pale and serene, and she seemed to hover somewhere between sleep and consciousness, untouched by the turmoil around her.

You took a steadying breath, summoning the butterflies close and feeling their power surge within you. Your children hovered around her bed; their wings softly glowing as they began to absorb the excess mana from her frail body.

“Please… let this work,” you whispered.

Focusing on your intent, you reached out with your healing magic, channeling the butterflies to draw mana out of her body. It was delicate work, like trying to remove poison from a deep wound without disturbing the tissue around it. Sweat trickled down your temple as you focused, your hands trembling with the effort. You could feel it working; her breathing grew steadier, the tension in her muscles slowly unwinding.

“Yes, yes… this is working…” you whispered to yourself. Little by little, traces of mana were being drawn away from her, and with every second, your heart beat faster with hope for the first time in years.

But then, as if someone had flipped a switch, everything came crashing down.

[Warning! Trial Player is not permitted to alter this part of the storyline.]

The system’s notification blarred before your eyes in blinding red text. You shook your head, gritting your teeth.

“No, no! I can’t stop now! Just a little more and she’ll—” You breathed, ignoring it, pushing yourself harder. You could feel the system’s cold disapproval as it listed penalties— deductions in your stats, loss of your domain privileges, even the risk of a forced expulsion back to the Gardens, warnings, threats, each one harsher than the last. But you didn’t care. If there was a chance, even the slightest one, that Jinwoo could have his mother healthy and safe, you’d risk any penalty.

[Initiating first protocol: Trial Player is restricted from interfering with main events.]

“No! Please!” You screamed in your mind, pushing harder, trying to siphon the last remnants of mana from her body. An invisible force tightened around you, harsh and unyielding. It was like trying to wade through thick mud, each step harder than the last, until finally, the force slammed into you, and you were thrown back, the butterflies flung away from you as the spell shattered.

Your body hit the wall with a sickening thud. You let out a gasp, clutching your ribs as you tried to regain your balance. An invisible barrier had been erected between you and Jinwoo’s mother, solid and unyielding. Your butterflies fluttered helplessly against it, unable to pass through.

“No… No, no, no!” you screamed, cried, banging and clawing against the barrier until your hands were raw and bleeding. But it wouldn’t budge. The tears blurring your vision and cascaded down your cheeks in rivulets.

The system’s cold, unfeeling voice echoed in your mind. You couldn’t register the subtle unfamiliar desperation other than your own. [Trial Player, cease all attempts to alter key story events, or face permanent penalties.]

A sob tore from your throat as you slid to the ground, your shoulders shaking. “Please,” you sobbed, your forehead pressed against the barrier. “Please, let me help her...”

The silence a sledgehammer that you had failed. All your efforts, your desperate attempts to change the course of events, had been for nothing. The realization hit you like a knife to the gut.

No matter how much you tried, no matter how desperately you wished to change things for the better, the system wouldn’t allow it. It had let you toy with minor events, heal minor wounds, but when it came to the story’s crucial turning points, you were powerless.

The what-ifs that had haunted you since you’d first stepped into this world were answered in the cruelest way. Even if you had left the Hanging Gardens sooner, even if you had arrived in time to save Jinwoo’s father or cure his mother, you would have been stopped.

For the second time since you had been isekai’d, you felt utterly, hopelessly trapped. You were no longer a player with some semblance of control. For all your power, for all your knowledge of the future, you were nothing more than a helpless spectator to a story that would unfold exactly as it had always meant to. You were a mere observer, bound to the whims of a story you could never truly change.

All you could do was watch, from the shadows, as the boy you loved continued to suffer. As something inside you continued to crack.

You drew your knees to your chest, burying your face in your arms, letting the sobs wrack your body. For once, you let yourself feel the weight of your powerlessness, the despair that had been building in your heart for years.

In the darkness of that hospital room, the weight settled over you like a suffocating blanket. And all you could do was cry. This was no longer the story you had loved. This was your reality. And you were utterly powerless to change it.

---

You stumbled out of the hospital, numb and hollow, the world blurring around you. The voices of passing strangers, the hum of distant traffic—it all faded, leaving only an aching silence in your heart. You wandered without aim, letting the sorrow settle, the bitter knowledge clawing at you. How many years had you spent dreaming of a way to help him, of a way to change his fate? And for what?

Back in the Hanging Gardens, you’d felt trapped and powerless, but there had always been hope. Now, that last ember was snuffed out, leaving only darkness in its place.

As you returned to your hidden space in the city, you couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness. It was like a familiar, cruel reminder of your first days in the Gardens, alone, struggling to survive in a world that hadn’t wanted you. And now, here you were again, unable to do anything but watch as the story unfolded as if you were still on the outside.

-----

The city had begun to grow familiar over the years, but the feeling of unease and disquiet never truly left. In this world of hunters, dungeons, and chaos, you weren’t exactly a normal citizen, though you’d tried your best to blend in. You made a life here, a life woven carefully to avoid standing out, hiding a fraction of your power and even more of your knowledge.

The first step to living a new life in this world was a matter of practicality: identity. You needed to establish yourself as a citizen of Seoul. But just as you were puzzling over how to manage something as complex as legal documents, the system—your ever-watchful, omnipotent shadow—seemed to have anticipated your needs.

You stared down at your supposedly birth certificate and identification card, your name printed clearly beneath a picture of a face that felt both like yours and... not. Relief was short-lived, turning to a sickening churn in your stomach. What happened to her? The question gnawed at you in quiet moments. This girl, this "you" of this world, had her life been erased to make room for your presence? Had she died before you arrived? Or, worse yet, had she been destined to die, and the system had simply taken advantage?

You tried to ask the system directly. “What happened to... the original?” you whispered, feeling a tremor in your voice. But, predictably, the system remained silent, its screen blinking away without an answer.

It left you with grim speculations. The more you thought about it, the more it felt like a noose tightening around your conscience. On sleepless nights, the thought haunted you: somewhere, in some unmarked corner of this world, the original (Name) might be lying forgotten.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to the wind one night, your voice barely audible. You were sitting in the Hanging Gardens, surrounded by the flowers you’d nurtured into bloom with your magic. The air was filled with the scent of roses and jasmine, a comforting balm against your troubled mind. “I promise... I’ll make a place for you here.” A way to remember her in the only way you could.

When you had a rare moment of free time, you returned to the depths of the Gardens. Deep within its heart, you found a secluded spot, a quiet clearing where the sunlight filtered through leaves, casting gentle dappled shadows. It was here that you began to build a small tomb, using stones and flowers enchanted with your magic.

It took days to finish. You poured your heart into it, weaving protective wards and spells into every petal, every blade of grass. You carved her name—your name, really—and when it was done, you placed a simple plaque: For the one who came before me. May you find peace.

Your hands clasped together; you couldn’t stop the tears from spilling over. This was your way of making amends, a fragile attempt to honor a life you had never known.

You stood there for a long while, the only sound the gentle rustling of your butterfly summons as they hovered, curious yet respectful.

“Thank you,” you whispered, not sure who you were even speaking to. Was it gratitude for the life you now had, or a farewell to the life you’d unknowingly taken?

---

After sorting out your papers and putting that grim thought to rest, you turned to the next task: becoming a hunter. You needed a way to sell the monster drops from your domain without drawing too much attention. Those materials were too valuable to ignore, and your stash from the Hanging Gardens had been growing, with enchanted trinkets and rare plants you’d carefully cultivated over the years.

With your identity settled, the next task was securing your place in this new world. You needed to establish yourself as a hunter, and quickly. The aftermath of the catastrophic gate and Kamish’s rampage had left the world desperate for capable hunters. S-rank hunters had fallen, and fear gripped the public. What if another gate like that one appeared? What then?

The Hunter Association was overrun with applications, both from hopefuls and seasoned hunters alike, eager to prove their worth. You knew your capabilities exceeded those of even high-rank hunters, but revealing your full power would draw unwanted attention. The last thing you needed was to be a target for the Hunter Bureau or one of the powerful guilds that dominated South Korea’s hunter landscape.

Suppressing your powers took everything you had. It was like trying to hold back a tidal wave with nothing but your bare hands. But you managed. After a few practice sessions cloaked in the safety of the Hanging Gardens, you learned how to cloak your true strength, masking it just enough to appear as a C-rank healer.

The evaluation day was chaotic, with hunters and administrators bustling around, trying to keep things moving. You stood in line, trying to ignore the stares from the other applicants. You kept your head down, focusing on the role you had to play.

“Next, please!” the examiner called, gesturing you forward.

You stepped up to the designated area. The sensation of being probed by the assessment device was unpleasant, like icy fingers brushing against your soul. But you kept your facade intact, holding your breath as the machine beeped.

“C-rank healer,” the examiner announced with a bored tone, scribbling notes on his clipboard.

You let out a silent sigh of relief, bowing politely before making a swift exit. You could feel the weight of curious eyes on your back, but no one suspected a thing.

Joining the South Korea Hunter Association was easy after that. You chose not to align yourself with any guild, instead opting to work freelance. It allowed you the freedom to pick your own missions and, more importantly, to avoid too much scrutiny. The Association didn’t question it, relieved to have another willing hunter, especially one with healing skills.

After a few raids, you gradually established a rhythm, selling a select number of drops at the hunters' markets. You kept the powerful materials for yourself, knowing the enchanted items might raise suspicions. The influx of funds was just what you needed.

----

The money you earned was enough to set up a modest business, a modest storefront on the quieter side of town, far from the bustling commercial districts. It was a charming space with large windows that let in ample sunlight. Perfect for what you had in mind.

A flower shop.

It was a simple concept—a quaint little greenhouse-inspired shop, cozy and serene, with butterflies fluttering gently around the blooms. Your years of cultivating exotic flowers to look like their normal counterparts in the Hanging Gardens paid off. Your magical influence made the flowers not only bloom faster but also granted them subtle enhancements, flowers that brought calm or clarity, leaves that eased headaches, petals that had slight rejuvenating properties, and much more.

The enchantments were soft, just enough to go unnoticed by hunters who occasionally stopped by, curious about the whispers of a shop with “enchanted” flowers. To manage the flow of clients, you eventually made the shop private, requiring customers to book appointments. Word of mouth spread quickly, though, and you found yourself busier than you’d anticipated.

One afternoon, as you were tending to a particularly finicky flower that required a touch of magic to bloom, a young girl entered the shop, holding her mother’s hand. Their wide eyes taking in the quiet, verdant space with wonder. The mother glanced at the butterflies resting on flower petals and the leaves that shimmered in soft hues.

“Mom, look! The flowers are glowing!” she exclaimed, eyes wide with childish excitement.

Her mother smiled and turned to you. “Hello,” she said with a nervous smile. “This place is… magical.”

You returned her smile, pleased with her reaction. “I’m glad you think so. What can I help you with today?”

She hesitated, fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “I… I heard about your flowers and, well… I’ve been feeling exhausted lately. I thought maybe something here might help?”

You nodded and led her over to a section of delicate white blooms. “These are calming flowers,” you explained. “You can put them by your bed, and they’ll help ease your mind while you sleep. Their scent is soothing and works wonders for stress.”

Her face lit up as she reached out, fingertips brushing the soft petals. “They’re perfect. I never thought flowers could… do that.”

“They’re a little special,” you said with a soft chuckle. “But sometimes, a touch of nature is all we need.”

“And this is for you little one.” You make a grand gesture, like a magician, and a pink carnation bloom in your hands. The girl eyes sparkled, and you took the chance to slip the flower behind her ear.

She and her mother left with a small bundle, the flowers carefully wrapped, and you watched them go, a sense of satisfaction warming you. You were making a life here, slowly but surely, even if there was still a shadow of loneliness lingering at the edges.

Over time, your shop became something of an oasis. People came not just for the flowers, but for the atmosphere, the butterflies drifting lazily through the air, the subtle scent of earth and blossoms mingling together. You overheard customers remark on how they felt better after just a few minutes in the space, how even just watching the butterflies was calming.

“Ah, it’s so peaceful in here,” A couple walked in one day, the man sighed as his partner looked around. His eyes widened as a butterfly landed on her hand, its tiny wings shimmering like fragments of stained glass. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“This place... it’s like stepping into another world.”

If only they knew.

You smiled warmly, handing him a bouquet wrapped in elegant paper. “They’re drawn to the scent of the flowers,” you explained. “It’s said that they bring good luck.”

One regular visitor was an elderly woman who came once a week to buy flowers for her husband’s grave. She’d chat with you while you wrapped her order, sharing stories of her late husband and their time together. She once remarked, “There’s something… kind about you, dear. It’s like you have a healing presence.”

You only nodded, humbled and slightly unnerved by her words. You didn’t feel like you deserved the praise—after all, you were only borrowing this life, this identity. But every time she left with her bouquet, she’d smile back, and you’d return it with a quiet, grateful nod.

And so, you continued on, living a borrowed life.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [010/10/2024] - Welcome

[bugb1t35]

Sebastian solace x reader

Summary: What happens if you give a suicidal person the ability to come back from death time and time again, completely ok? Physically at least. Sebastian doesn't want to know.

Trigger warnings and content warnings: suicide, suicidal ideation, self harm and some graphic descriptions of death. Angst with a happy ending.

Genre: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort

Read on AO3 or down below :3

Word count: 6205

Author note

There will always be someone there. You are never alone and you are loved. Please remember that.

Also please ignore the spelling mistakes if there are any it is 7 am when I am posting this. Also I'm on mobile so possible weird formatting I'm sorry </3

__

The cold in the room bites at you, filling your lungs with a gasp as you open your eyes. The burning that consumed every inch of your body just seconds before is gone just as fast as the manilla folder slaps down on the desk in front of you, barely illuminated by a light from above. This feels different from the other deaths.

You wonder what snide remark you're gonna hear this time.

“A void mass? Really?”

You spare a glance up at him, glowing white eyes peering down at you, completely void of emotion. Completely unreadable. You give a meek shrug. It's not like you have to explain yourself to him, and you're already feeling a lot better than before. Lighter.

Like you can let yourself breathe.

“I tripped up. I heard an angler and hid without checking.”

His stare is still empty as ever, his tail shifts around somewhere in the dark room around you as he snickers and leans in a tiny bit closer. Just enough to see that fanged smile.

“Try not to be so careless next time, yeah? Wouldn't want urbanshade taking their brightest expendable out of the program.”

Normally the thought would send a chill through your veins, you’d give a snide remark back and then you’d be on your way to start another life, start another loop, and repeat the cycle all over again.

You don't have it in you to do that this time, so you smile up at Sebastian and bid him farewell, closing the folder and your eyes.

When you open them, you're back in the lobby. Other expendables rushing around, submarines docking and leaving, and the sound of rushing water flooding through the cave hidden port as you look out at the waterfall blocking the entrance that hides it from the view of any unsuspecting soul.

Standing up and dusting yourself off, you make your way to a dock.

The cycle begins anew.

—

Cold air rushing into your lungs, dim light illuminating a folder on the table, a hearty laugh. The same story once again. The searing on your skin is gone, now replaced by a soft tingling.

It's not entirely unpleasant.

A claw emerges from the dark and flips open the folder, circling the photo of a landmine slowly and tauntingly.

“Tsk tsk tsk. So careless. A mine in the middle of the hallway? I thought you were better than this expendable.”

The name is said low and slowly, certainly drawn out to mock you of the position you hold. You couldn't care less, this is the best you've felt in a while.

Your eyes skim through the page, not really caring about mines in particular, but it's something you'll be able to think about later on a slow run.

“Thanks for the info Sebastian! I’ll be heading out now.”

Your voice is awfully cheery for someone who was just blown to bits, but before he can say anything you're already sending him a smile and wave as you close the folder and blink away in an instant, back to the lobby.

Sebastian sits there for a moment longer than he should have, glancing down at the file still on the desk.

There's no way you hadn't seen that mine in front of you.

—

By the time you're at the 8th death from something he deems completely avoidable, Sebastian sits with the file already open on the table and eyes narrowed down at you as your body jerks back to life.

You can feel the hole that pierced through your body closing up, flesh mending and muscle regrowing underneath your jumpsuit. It burns, yet you're still grinning ear to ear.

“Beautiful day for some runs, isn't it Sebastian?”

He stares down at you with a glare, sounding incredibly unimpressed.

“You walked directly into a searchlight’s spotlight.”

For the first time, you catch something in his eyes, but it's gone before you can put a name to it.

“Just what exactly are you playing at here expendable? Some stupid idea that if you die enough times in such meaningless ways you'll be pulled from the program? That urbanshade will think you're too useless so they let you free from here only to go back to death row? Once you're here, you're here for good.”

His voice is practically snarling at you as you look at the papers on the desk in front of you before looking back up at him, pulling out your best sheepish laugh.

Letting him know wouldn't do anything.

“I guess I've just been off my game recently, but that doesn't matter. I just come back every time anyway’

You smile up at him with that same stupid smile, the one you’ve made every time for the past 7 deaths before this and close the folder, disappearing before he can get a word in once again.

A growl bubbles up in his throat that turns into an agitated scream as he swipes the folder and lamp off the desk, sending them crashing down onto the floor.

You have to have a goal here. Some kind of weird thing you’re working towards, you wouldn't be dying so senselessly for nothing, would you?

You have almost everything in the files unredacted, you've been on so many runs he's lost count and you've gotten as far as anyone can go before being sent back to start again. What could you possibly be doing?

He grumbles as he picks up the folder and lamp off the floor, dropping the lamp on the table with no regard for it and cramming the file back into the locker.

You have normal runs where you die normal deaths like every other expendable down here, things that most people would slip up on. So why is it that these completely avoidable (and quite frankly stupid) deaths keep happening closer and closer together?

You had to be losing it. Running down seemingly endless halls, getting hunted by every living thing in this forsaken facility like it's a sport, feeling your body die all around you... After one day any normal person would be starting to feel the grips of insanity beginning to claw its way inside them.

He stops for a moment and sighs before quickly shaking it off and getting back to work.

No use wondering what that would imply for someone like him. He’s thought about it enough already.

—

Sebastian’s eyes peer down at you as you grab some batteries off of his desk, watching and waiting to see anything that could tip him off to what you were doing. Even the slightest change in your behavior from what he's used to, anything that could be useful in any way.

Whenever you get to his shop, you always stop and chat for a few minutes with a smile. That's been something that's never changed about you.

Even on your first day, terrified as all hell and trembling from head to toe as you stumbled your way through the vent to his shop, you still smiled and introduced yourself.

You don't seem as…energized…this run. Something he's been noticing a lot lately. Very avoidable mishaps are always what kill you when you're like this.

Maybe you're not paying attention as much as you should be because your mind is elsewhere.

But where else would it be besides this hellhole?

As you turn to grab the keycard and leave he huffs, picking the medkit off of his tail as you turn to look at him questioningly.

“You’re not gonna be getting past the generators in the shape you’re in. here.”

This is something he would never do, something that defies all morals he’s gained since he's been stuck in this hellhole.

“6% off. You look like you need it.” he sneers out, knowing fully well that it’s an act at this point.

You look up at him, hand hesitantly hovering over it. Sebastian never gives anyone discounts for any reason. Something’s wrong. He's onto you.you put on the best playful grin you can.

It hurts worse than any death you've experienced.

“The Sebastian I know would never accept anything for less than full price. What's the catch?”

“There is no catch, now take it and get out before I change my mind.”

He can see how the smile doesn't reach your eyes, how the fatigue is creeping its way into every inch of you, but you take the medkit and turn around before he can look closer.

You wave farewell and thank him without turning around, crawling out of the vent and making your way down the hallway. He hears the sound of the med kit lid clattering to the ground as your footsteps fade into the distance.

You make your way to the next room, body fully refreshed but mind still cloudy. It was nice of him to do that for you. He's not usually that nice. It makes you feel just a little bit less foggy.

The door shutters open with a metallic shriek as you make your way inside, only to see that a giant hole in the ground blocks most of the way, with small wooden planks laid out to form a narrow path over.

You haven't killed yourself while fully healed yet. Will that make it feel even better?

Almost like second nature at this point you walk over to the edge and step over with no hesitation or second thought, your body falling down into the abyss with a smile on your face.

You blank just before you hit the

ground.

You jolt awake a moment later, head pounding that quickly dulls into a fuzzy feeling, the relief of feeling better almost instantly washes over you.

Sebastian isn't happy to see you again so soon.

—

After the 24th death, he decides enough is enough. He waits a few minutes after you leave to put the vent cover back on the entrance to his shop and he hoists himself up to the ceiling rafters, sliding into one of the air ducts to follow after you without you knowing.

He was getting to the bottom of this, one way or another.

__

Banging in the vents was nothing abnormal in the blacksite, hell, it's hard to go 10 rooms without hearing someone screaming for their life.

Random thumps, footsteps or other sounds of unknown origin don't scare you anymore. Quite the opposite.

If there had been no sound here, you probably would’ve lost it much sooner. Going on runs by yourself can get lonely. You used to love venturing into the depths of the broken down site with other people. But you'd prefer it if no one saw what you've been up to.

But it's good to know there's other things down here with you.

No matter how fucked up they may be.

The safe room door slides open and you walk inside, beginning to search drawers and filing cabinets for the keycard to open the next room.

Sadly, this room didn't have a way you could end your own life in it, so you'd have to keep going if you wanted to find a way to make this awful feeling end.

You hear a jingle to your left as you look around, eventually ducking down and finding the keycard on the floor underneath a chair. A small but triumphant smile crosses your face. Finally, you wouldn't have to put up with this much longer. You could start a new, hopefully better run.

A run where you don't feel like there's a bottomless pit in your chest where your heart should be.

A run without something that sucks all of the good things out of life.

You’ve been saying that to yourself nearly every round now. It's only getting worse.

You grab the key card and make your way to the door, sliding it in and waiting for it to click. The door opens with the same loud metallic shriek every door here opens with and you stand in the entryway for just a moment, before you hear what sounds like music to your ears.

The sounds of turrets kicking to life

Painter's voice cuts in from over the speakers like an angel descended from heaven itself to save you.

“Better hope you're bulletproof, buddy!”

__

Sebastian watches from up in the vents, having been following you for around 10 minutes now. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary so far, it seemed like any other run; albeit a bit slower than normal pace.

The sound of turrets firing up was not something new to sebastian, he had heard painters splatter art therapy too many times to count at this point, even getting caught in it a time or two before the ai realized who it was shooting at.

He watched you as you stood at the doorway of the room, just outside of the turret's range. Most likely assessing the best path to get to the off switch.

You have the least amount of deaths from turrets, once even telling him that you find it fun. The ducking, weaving and adrenaline rush making it more like a game to you.

You should have no problem with this.

You take a step into the room and suddenly, something feels wrong. Horribly wrong. Without a moment's notice, you step directly into the moving turret's red beam of sight and it locks onto you, firing almost instantaneously.

He can only watch wide eyed in horror as bullets shred through your body in an instant, tearing flesh, ripping muscle and shattering bone. Your body crumbles to the floor in a matter of seconds.

When he sees your face, he feels beyond sick.

Blood gurgles out of your mouth, spilling down the sides of your cheeks next to tears. Your eyes are fully welled up, scleras turning bloodshot.

Worst of all, you're smiling.

The same smile you'd give to him when he had your favorite items in his shop. It was now twisted and warped, smeared in crimson that only sputtered out more and more when you let you a broken, drowned laugh.

He was completely frozen. He had seen so many bodies, he himself had killed so many, he's seen enough viscera and gore in this shit hole that it would make the world's most renowned biohazard cleanup crew resign permanently.

He’s committed atrocities against so many people, just wanting to survive down here and get out, same as him, so why…

Why did it feel so different now that he's seeing it happen to you?

He covers his mouth with his hand, suppressing the urge to vomit. He's seen expendables kill themselves before, he knows you’ve died horrible deaths before.

This shouldn't be any different!

But oh god…not like this…

Not with you…

Before he has the chance to keel over he blinks for the first time in what feels like years, and suddenly he's back in that oh so familiar dark room with a file in his hand and a shitty lamp barely illuminating the desk.

You're lying slumped in the chair across from him, how you appear after every death. Jumpsuit completely clean and tidy, all signs of blood are completely gone, and the bullet holes that riddle your skin are stitching themselves back up as if nothing had ever happened.

As if what he just saw was nothing but a horrible dream.

His eyes are still wide and jaw agape as you twitch to life, gasping in air, you sit and breath for a moment before looking up at him with the brightest smile and wave he's ever seen from you

“Turrets got me this time! Guess I got a little too ambitious when I was heading for the off switch!”

Your voice is so cheerful it's sickening now. He's never felt like this before. He can't move, he can't talk, he can only sit and stare in horror.

You look up at Sebastian, seeing him frozen like this is certainly new. You wave your hand in front of him, and when all you get in response is his mouth moving with no words you reach and grab the folder from his hands with no retaliation from him, too caught up in your own glee to notice the fear in his eyes.

You kick your feet back and forth and smile, humming a little as you browse over the file.

He swears he can still see the blood on your lips.

“Ok, well I'll see you next run Sebastian! Take care!”

you close the folder and just like that, youre gone from him once again

He stares at the folder on the desk before turning and looking at the file cabinets surrounding him.

How many times had you killed yourself and played it off as normal deaths?

How long has this truly been going on for? Had you been purposefully putting yourself in dangers way this entire time and only recently started ending your own life yourself?

Have you been doing it yourself this whole time and just gotten worse and worse the more it progressed?

All he knows is that he can't let it continue.

He can't.

—

You crawl through the vent into Sebastian's shop, standing up with a stretch and popping your back. You take a moment to stretch the rest of your limbs before moving over to Sebastian, giving him your best wave and smile.

“Hey Sebastian! Whatcha got in store for me today?”

He seems more tense than usual as he flicks his tail over to you, showcasing the stock for today. You idly chat about whatever you can think of as you make your choice, picking up some batteries and a flash beacon.

You bid farewell and turn to leave, but before you can even make it halfway across the room Sebastian flicks his tail again, this time slamming the vent cover back into place. You flinch a little from the loud noise and turn to him confused.

“I think we need to have a talk, friend.”

He sounds incredibly pissed and immediately you are racking your brain for anything you could’ve done to make him angry. You're too lost in thought to notice him leaning down to your level until his hands are gripping your shoulders.

“So, how many times now have you killed yourself on purpose? And why?”

His claws sink into your shoulder, not enough to break skin, but enough to be very aware of them.

You freeze, every muscle in your body tensing as your heart begins to speed up. He wasn't supposed to find out. How did he find out? You need to think of something to get out of this and fast.

He shouldn't know about this.

“Killing myself..? Sebastian, why would I kill myself? I've got enough things trying to kill me as is! I haven't been doing it on purpose!”

You try to play it off with a chuckle and force yourself to smile. It's not like this is about anything serious, or something that would matter to him.

He scowls at you, anger flickering in his eyes as his tail thuds against the ground in restrained anger.

“No one happily walks in front of a turret and then laughs about the fact they're bleeding out on the floor.”

Shit. Shit shit shit SHIT. He saw you?!? Not good not good not good NOT GOOD. he's probably going to think you're crazy and hate you. He'll be disgusted with you forever and never want to be near you again. You have to salvage this somehow. You have to.

“I was just so excited to see you…?”

“Wrong. Try again”

You fidget uncomfortably, looking anywhere but him. This is bad. How could you possibly make this seem like a normal thing??

“Why do you need to know? It doesn't involve you”

His grip tightens on your shoulders and you swallow nervously.

“It does involve me when i'm the one who deals with you every time you die.”

Your hands are shaking now as your eyes begin to water. Why did it have to go like this? Why did this have to happen? This shouldn't involve him at all, he's stressed enough as is.he shouldn't have to deal with you. You're being pathetic. Why couldn't you have just stayed dead on one of your attempts? This isn't fair. It isn't fair it isn't fair it isn't-

You didn't even realize you had started crying until Sebastian says your name. Not expendable, not buddy, not friend. Your actual name.

All at once, everything breaks and your legs give out underneath you with a sob, his hands quickly move under your arms to catch you and set you on the floor gently, making sure you don't fall.

Your sobs begin to grow louder as you grab your arms, nails digging into your flesh to try and calm yourself down as blood begins to pool at the openings of the new wounds.

Sebastian's eyes widen with shock and before you can do anything more in your panicked state, he grabs your hands, holding them above your head. You jerk back in retaliation to try and free yourself before quickly giving up, unable to do anything.

“I-”

you try to sputter out, choking on your own sobs.

“i -i dont-”

you sniffle and hiccup, unable to get more than a few words out at a time.

Sebastian moves his free hand to your face, wiping the tears away from your eyes. He squeezes your blood soaked hands gently.

“It's fine, take your time. I'm not going anywhere”

You stare at him teary eyed in silence for a moment before letting out a long and broken whine, more tears spilling over your eyes. This was wrong. You shouldn't be letting him see this. He's being too gentle with you. You don't deserve this.

“Jesus, if i knew that's how you'd react i would've said something else”

Sebastian forces a chuckle, trying anything to try and distract you from what you're feeling.

But his voice is quiet, as if he wanted no one else in the world to hear it but you.

You take a shaky breath, you have to get him away from you. He doesn't deserve to be put through this.

“I...”

Your voice trembles as you speak, your words almost completely unintelligible.

“I...hate you. I dont…I don't want to be near you.”

If you tell him you hate him, he’ll leave. He’ll leave and never talk to you again and he won't have to be burdened with you and your dumb problems ever again. He can figure out a way to escape and be free and happy without you constantly bothering him.

Sure you'll be miserable without him, you love him. But your feelings don't matter, not when it comes to him. His happiness is much more important. He'd be much better off without you

“You hate me, huh?”

His voice is dripping with sarcasm, enough to make you aggravated as you glare up at him. Why isn't he taking this seriously? Why isn't he leaving you?

“Y-yes! I…i hate you..! I hate you Sebastian! I never want to see you again! Get away from me!”

The words leave a nasty taste in your mouth and an even worse feeling in your chest. You didn't mean any of this. You could never hate him. But you have to, to keep him safe.

He stares at you, barely reacting to your outburst. His eyes narrow as he leans closer to you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“No you don't.”

He says it so calmly, as if it were a fact everyone knew. Disbelief and frustration bubble up inside you as you try to shake his grip off of you, planting a foot on his chest to try and push him away from you. Your efforts are completely in vain as he keeps you in place without so much as even moving when you struggle.

“What do you mean I don't?! That's not for you to decide!”

“If you actually hated me, you wouldn't make such a pitiful face when saying it.”

He flicks you on the forehead right between your eyes as he says it, and you stare at him with wide eyes and jaw agape. Why won't he just believe you?

“I hate-”

“Nope. Try again.”

“I ha-”

“Nah”

“I-”

“Wrong.”

You let out a scream in frustration, tears of anger running down your face now. Why won't he just let you do this for him?!

“Now, are you gonna tell me what's actually going on?”

You turn your head away now. If he wants to play like that, you can play like that too. You'll just sit here in silence until he gets fed up with you and leaves. This is what's best for him.

You both sit in silence for a moment before he asks again, once again being met with silence. He groans in annoyance. Why did you have to be so stubborn?

The hand that was once wiping your tears away grabs your face, forcing you to turn and look at him

“Just tell me what's wrong god dammit!”

A baffled and angry sound escapes you as you try to wiggle your face out of his grip, but he only pulls you closer. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes piercing into you like they were trying to dig into your very soul.

You try to look anywhere else that isn't him, but he jerks your face to make your eyes meet him anyway. There's no escaping it this time.

“Im- I'm not going to burden you with this Sebastian! It doesn't involve you!”

He raises an eyebrow at this, backing away from you a bit but still keeping a firm hold on your face.

“You think you're going to burden me? Is that it?”

You scowl. What doesn't he understand?

“Of course It would burden you! You already have so much shit to deal with and I'm not gonna let my pathetic problems weigh you down more!”

Shit. You probably shouldn't have said that. He stares at you silently before letting go of your face and bringing your hands to your lap, squeezing them in his. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, the gesture making nausea and pain shoot through you.

“Are you actually stupid enough to think it would burden me?”

Because you can refute the insult, he holds a finger up to your mouth to shush you.

“You're one of the few things in this shitty place that doesnt burden me. If the only actual person I gave a damn about is hurting, then I want to know.”

You can feel your heart skip a beat at his words, but you try to shake it off.

no no no NO!.. this…this isn't right..! He shouldn't have to worry about someone like you! You're being pathetic!

“Don't tell me what is and isn't right. I've seen plenty of people being pathetic, and you aren't one of them. Especially not now”

Fuck, did you really say that out loud? You would cry more from embarrassment at this whole ordeal, but you've run out of tears by now.

You sniffle quietly, your voice coming out quiet and broken.

“I don't…I don't deserve you, Sebastian…”

Sebastian reels back, a confused look crossing his face as the fins on the sides of his head dropping down a bit to match.

Slowly, a snicker leaves him. Then another, until it becomes full on laughter. You didn't deserve him?? He's never heard something more ridiculous.

You stare at him confused as he laughs, his laughter only growing lower and harder, even bringing up a hand to wipe away a tear forming.

What is even happening right now…?

It takes a moment but he takes a deep breath in and out to recollect himself.

“You don't deserve me? I'm a monster! I mean, just look at me! Do you even know how many people I've killed? How many deaths I've caused?”

He chuckles to himself, but your eyes widen, panic growing on your face as you pull your hands out of his grasp. Instead, you clasp his hands together in yours as you practically lunge forward towards him. He flinches back from the sudden movement but otherwise stays still as he looks down at the most desperate face he's ever seen anyone make.

“No no no! You're not a monster! You're amazing Sebastian! Even with everything that's happened to you, you still help people! You let everyone and everything that was trapped in the black site out and even now you're trying to figure out a way to get painter out with you too! A monster wouldn't do that! Of course I don't deserve someone as selfless as you!”

The pure desperation to get him to understand you makes his heart drop. Why the hell is he the one getting nervous now? This is supposed to be about you for god's sake.

He opens his mouth to respond but before he can get the chance, you're already talking again.

“You run a shop when you don't have to, you could leave everyone to fend for themselves but you don't! Hell, you didn't even get anything at all from the dead drop shop and you still run it! You're amazing Sebastian! I could never ask someone like you to worry about someone like me!”

This time he's the one cutting you off before you can start talking again, an agitated look on his face.

“Woah woah hey- you don't deserve me? What the actual hell are you talking about? I've seen you give med kits to people who were barely bruised while you were bleeding out! I've seen you jump in front of people to take bullets so they wouldn't have to, seen you shove people into the last locker while you took the full force of pandemonium charging at you! When someone is hurt or sad, you're always the first person there to help! What in the everloving hell are you saying you don't deserve me?! I Don't deserve YOU.”

You begin to stammer something out before he holds up a hand, gesturing at you to stop for a moment. He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs before looking back up at you

“Ok look, we’re not going to get anywhere like this and how I feel right now is irrelevant because you have been CONTINUOUSLY KILLING YOURSELF-”

He cuts himself off, taking a breath to calm himself before continuing

“And I care about you, which you can't change, no matter how much you want to. So for now, you are going to sit here and promise me that you will stop hurting yourself.”

He looks down at you and god, he's never wanted to take on someone else's pain as much as he does right now.

Your eyes are wide and bloodshot with tear stains on your face, your hair is messy and your arms are covered in now drying blood. If it were anyone else, they'd look pathetic to him. But it's not anyone else, it's you.

His heart clenches at the thought. He wishes he could take you away from here, shield you from all the horrors of this place. Protect you from every horrible thing you think about yourself. But for now, this is the best he can do.

“Do you think you can do that for me?”

Your name on his voice is enough to ease the pain of everything for a moment, but you hesitate.

Sebastian notices immediately, placing a claw under your chin and guiding you to look up at him.

“Listen, here's what we’re gonna do. I'm going to give you a walkie talkie, and the moment you feel any urge to hurt yourself you call me and I will come get you. If you can't use the walkie for any reason, you will find painter and tell him and I will come get you. Do you understand”

You swallow nervously, shame burning in your chest. You really don't deserve this, but there's no point in arguing with him anymore.

“Ok I um….I… I promise.”

You look away as you say it, not being able to bear how humiliating this feels.

“I see you every time you die, so I'll know if you don't tell me.”

“Ok, I understand.”

“And so help me god if I learn you threw yourself into danger I WILL-”

“Ok ok I get it! I won't!”

You grumble to yourself as he smirks, clearly proud of himself. This is the worst. You shouldn't be happy about this, that he cares about you enough to do this. How selfish you are-

“Now you are going to sit here and tell me about alllllll of the good things about yourself”

Wait, what?

Before you can object, or even ask what he means by that, he's moving his hands under your arms and picking you up as you shriek in surprise.

He moves his tail, curling it so you can sit comfortably on it as he drops you down on it before plucking a med kit off of one of the bags on his tail.

The med kit pops open with a click and he holds a hand out at you expectantly. Completely baffled, you rest one of your arms in his grip, his hand almost the size of your entire forearm.

Sebastian pops a bottle of antiseptic open and pours it onto a cotton pad before bringing it to your arm, holding it just above one of the self-inflicted scratches.

“Now, tell me one of the reasons you deserve to be cared for.”

“What-? Sebastian I'm not gonna-”

You hiss in pain as he dabs the rag over a cut, the antiseptic stinging the wound. He glances up at you expectantly.

“Ok ok um-....”

You sit in silence for an embarrassingly long time as you try to come up with anything good about yourself. Even with the things Sebastian told you earlier, it's still hard to believe you deserve any of this

“I'm…I care about others and always try to help when I can…?”

It comes out more like a question than anything else. You glance at him nervously as he nods and let's put a hum of approval, telling you to keep going as he grabs a roll of bandages and begins to wrap it around your arm.

This is going to be difficult.

You swallow nervously, your mind almost fully blanking.

“I'm a good person…?”

“Don't say it like a question, say it like you mean it.”

You tense up slightly at how…soft…he sounds. Your chest tightens and a lump forms in your throat. This is all way too...intimate. You think you might pass out if it goes on for any longer. Despite this, you push forward and try to be a bit more confident.

“I'm…a good person. ”

“Good.”

He lets your arm go, gently, grabbing your other one and beginning the same process of cleaning and bandaging it again. Your heart flutters at the praise and the touch.

“I can't stop you from caring about me, even if I want to, so I might as well let it happen.”

You sound defeated when you say it, like you just lost a battle but Sebastian is pleased to hear it.

“There you go, now you're getting it.”

He hums with approval and your face flushes as you look away. This is the worst. You're enjoying this way too much.

Despite every inch of you screaming at you, calling you selfish and undeserving, you feel your eyes begin to shut for longer and longer with each blink, your body getting heavier and your nerves beginning to calm down.

“I deserve to be cared for”

You can feel yourself starting to drift to sleep, and at this point you're far too exhausted to try and fight it. Sebastian finishes tying the last bandage when he notices. He puts everything back into the med kit and shuts it gently before setting it on the ground.

He shifts his tail so it's wrapped around you now, you mumble something incoherent in protest before getting comfortable again. His heart feels full for the first time in years as he looks at you.

“Rest well, ok? I know it's hard to believe but I..”

He trails off, debating on the best way to phrase it, or if he should even tell you right now.

You barely manage to open your eyes as you look up at him questioningly, still trying your best to listen to what he has to say. He can feel his heart stutter in his chest.

“I…I care about you. Get some rest, okay? You need it.”

What he wants to say is teetering on the tip of his tongue, begging to be spoken into existence, but he doesn't want to drop that on you right now. It can be said another day.

As sleep begins to take you, against his better judgement, Sebastian leans down and presses a small kiss to your forehead.

That's good enough for now

Ending note:

I haven't seen many things explore the fact that in pressure you come back completely fine after every death so I wanted to try my hand at writing it based on my emotions and experiences.

I am perfectly fine actually but a few months ago when I originally wrote this I was having the worst time of my life, but now that I'm better I decided to revisit it and edit it a bit.

Please remember you are never alone, there is always someone willing to help.

And don't forget dear reader, Sebastian loves you very much, even if he can't say it yet <3

[ms-snape]

Ok I have the sweetest idea! Can you please write severus with a female reader who is just fascinated with his long hair and asks to style it for him, nothing crazy but you know bows like lucius or braids

Title: For me?

Warning: None, just pure fluff

Words Count: 1000+

Masterlist

---

In the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where shadows danced in the flickering candlelight, Y/N flitted through the halls like a vibrant breath of fresh air. As the Herbology professor, she was well-versed in nurturing both plants and the students who so often found themselves enchanted by her passion. However, it was not just her lessons that captured the attention of those around her; it was the way she lit up at the mere mention of Severus Snape, the brooding Potions Master with a heart as deep as the dungeons he called home.

Severus, with his raven-black hair that cascaded like a dark waterfall, was a source of quiet intrigue. Though he preferred solitude, he found solace in Y/N’s company. Her laughter echoed like music, warming the cold stone walls of the castle. But there was one aspect of Severus that Y/N simply could not resist—his hair. To her, it was not merely an accessory but a canvas, a tapestry waiting for her gentle hands to weave magic into it.

“Severus, please,” Y/N implored one evening, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they lounged in the cozy confines of their shared place. A fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow that illuminated her face, highlighting the way her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Just let me style it once! I promise you’ll love it.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, his usual expression of stoic annoyance morphing into mild amusement. “I do not believe that would be appropriate, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was an undeniable softness to his tone. “My hair is not a toy for your amusement.”

With a dramatic pout that could rival even the most skilled of performers, Y/N crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out in a way that made her look irresistibly adorable. “But it would be so much fun! And you have such beautiful hair! It deserves to be styled, not left to hang limply like a neglected broom.”

Severus fought to suppress a smile, the corners of his mouth betraying him. She had a way of disarming him, of stripping away his defenses with her infectious enthusiasm. “It is merely hair,” he muttered, attempting to maintain his facade of indifference.

“But it’s your hair,” she insisted, her voice rising slightly in excitement. “It has character! Just think of the potential!”

He sighed, knowing full well that her stubbornness would not easily be swayed. “Y/N,” he began, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone, “I hardly see how this is—”

“Just once!” she interrupted, leaning closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “For me?”

For a moment, the world outside their bubble faded away. Severus felt the weight of her gaze on him, filled with an earnestness that tugged at something deep within his chest. He took a breath, allowing himself to be swept up in the moment. “Fine,” he relented, the word escaping his lips almost against his will. “But only for a moment.”

Y/N’s face lit up with unrestrained joy, and in that instant, all of Severus’s reservations melted away like snow beneath the sun. He could not deny her anything when she looked at him like that.

“Yay!” she squealed, her voice a melody of delight. She quickly ushered him to a nearby chair, her hands moving with purpose as she began to untangle the strands of his hair. As her fingers slipped through the silky locks, Severus felt a strange mixture of vulnerability and warmth. He was accustomed to being the one in control, yet here he was, yielding to her playful whims.

“Your hair is so soft,” she remarked, a hint of awe in her voice. “Have you been using that conditioning potion I recommended?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, feigning nonchalance even as he felt his heart rate quicken at her touch. The way she concentrated, her brows slightly furrowed, made her even more endearing. He watched as she sectioned his hair, her movements precise and graceful.

“Now, let’s see,” she murmured to herself, her focus unwavering. “A braid? A twist? No… I know!” With a burst of inspiration, she began to weave his hair into intricate patterns, her fingers dancing like a skilled artist. Severus felt a surge of warmth at her dedication, each tug and pull both comforting and invigorating.

As she worked, they exchanged soft, teasing banter, laughter spilling from their lips like the most precious potion. Y/N’s enthusiasm was contagious, and soon even Severus found himself enjoying the process. She recounted tales of her students’ antics in the greenhouse, her expressive gestures painting vivid images that made him chuckle despite himself.

“I’ve decided this is the look you should adopt,” Y/N announced triumphantly, securing the final braid with a delicate ribbon. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Severus caught his reflection in the nearest mirror, and for the first time, he saw something different—something that spoke of connection, of warmth, and of a world beyond the cold, dark potions and brewing shadows that had long defined him. “It appears I have been transformed into a woodland sprite,” he remarked dryly, but the corners of his mouth betrayed the fondness he felt.

Y/N clapped her hands, bouncing on her heels. “You look incredible! I can’t believe you ever doubted this.” She stepped forward, her fingers brushing against his cheek as she leaned in, eyes softening. “I love seeing this side of you.”

In that moment, the air crackled with an unspoken truth. Severus felt an overwhelming swell of affection for her—how she brought light into his otherwise somber existence. Her laughter filled the silence he had grown so accustomed to, and he couldn’t help but admire the way her passion made even the darkest corners of the castle feel alive.

“Perhaps,” he began, the words feeling foreign yet exhilarating on his tongue, “I could tolerate such transformations more often, provided it remains… just between us.”

Y/N beamed, her joy radiant and uncontained. “Deal! But next time, I’m trying out a crown braid!”

As she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, Severus felt the weight of his walls crumbling further. In her presence, he was not merely the Potions Master; he was something more—something hopeful, something cherished. Together, they sat in the soft glow of the firelight, a tangle of hair and heart, weaving a bond that transcended the very magic of the world around them.

[xi4oyan]

My Dear ~

The Mountain of Flowers and Fruits slept beneath the starry sky, its waterfalls whispering soft melodies while the night breeze made the leaves murmur secrets. Inside the royal cave, the scent of wildflowers mixed with the lazy burning incense in an ornate brazier. Silk curtains swayed with the draft, and golden lanterns cast warm reflections on the carved stone walls. At the center of the chamber lay a vast bed, adorned with soft cushions and sheets dyed in shades of red and gold, fit for a king.

And his queen.

Wukong sat at the edge of the bed, but he was not alone. Small white-furred monkeys clung to him, some coiled around his tail, others climbing his shoulders, playfully tugging at his wild hair. One of them nibbled lightly at his ear while another pulled at the tangled fur on his chest.

"Enough, you little pests" Wukong grumbled, peeling one monkey off his arm only to see it leap back onto his leg. "If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll send you to sleep by the waterfall."

The little ones were unimpressed by the threat. One, particularly bold, grabbed Wukong’s cheeks and squeezed them, drawing an involuntary chuckle from his lips.

You watched the scene from the doorway, arms crossed and a smile playing on your lips.

"What a charming sight," you teased. "The great Monkey King, subdued by his own army."

Wukong lifted his gaze to you, golden eyes glinting with amusement. "My dear, they do not subdue me. I simply allow them to believe they do."

One of the monkeys proved him wrong by climbing onto his head and yanking his hair again.

You laughed. "If you need help, I can rescue you."

He scoffed, pushing the little ones away with a flick of his tail before rising with the grace of a beast. The monkeys chattered in protest but knew it was time to leave. One by one, they scampered out of the chamber, leaving only the king and his queen in the warmth of the room.

"Now," he murmured, predatory gaze sliding over you. "Where were we?"

You pretended to ponder. "Ah, yes. I was just about to go to bed and—"

"Wrong."

He moved. You stepped back.

"Oh?" Wukong tilted his head, tail swaying behind him. "Are you challenging me, my queen?"

You did not answer. You simply took another step back, slipping behind one of the lacquered wooden columns.

He chuckled, a low, vibrant sound. "Running from me, my dear? That’s not very wise."

Before you could blink, he vanished. A moment later, you felt the shift in the air behind you. Heart racing, you spun on your heel and ran.

Your laughter echoed through the cave, mingling with the sound of the wind filtering through the stone openings. You leaped over an intricately carved chest, spinning in the air like a drifting leaf, landing gracefully on the soft carpet. Wukong landed right behind you, agile as ever, but before he could catch you, you slid to the side, escaping through a gap in the silk curtains.

"You can run, my dear, but you will never escape me."

"Perhaps I simply enjoy watching you try, my king."

His eyes gleamed even brighter.

In a fluid motion, he leaped onto a suspended beam high above the chamber, then onto the canopy of the bed, watching you from above like a predator about to pounce.

You knew he would strike the next instant.

You jumped to the other side of the room, landing on a polished wooden table. Wukong followed, but you grabbed a cushion and hurled it at him. He dodged easily, laughing, but the second strike caught him off guard.

"Ah, my queen..." He licked his lips, eyes sharp as a beast’s. "Now you’re just provoking me."

Before you could escape, he lunged. You dodged at the last moment, springing onto the bed in a graceful movement, the soft sheets sinking beneath your feet. He landed right behind, ready to seize you, but you leaped again, evading him once more.

"Getting slow, my king?"

That provocation was a mistake.

Wukong grinned—and in the blink of an eye, he vanished.

You turned your head from side to side, senses sharp, chest rising and falling with quickened breaths. The silence was treacherous.

And then, suddenly—

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back. A soft gasp escaped your lips as Wukong pinned you against his chest, spinning through the air until he landed on the sheets, with you beneath him.

"Got you."

His warmth surrounded you completely, the scent of earth and storm mingling with the incense in the air. You tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he draped himself partially over you, his tail lazily curling around your leg.

"I let you catch me," you argued, feigning indifference.

"Oh, really?" He leaned in, the tip of his nose brushing against yours. "Then show me what happens when the queen captures her king."

Your heart skipped a beat. Wukong always knew how to turn games into something more intimate, more enthralling. His fingers trailed along the curve of your face, thumb tracing your jawline.

"Or would you rather have your king conquer you once more?"

There was a playful challenge in his eyes, but also something deeper, more devoted. You slid your hands over his shoulders, pulling him closer, until your lips were only a breath apart.

"My beloved," he murmured, caressing your skin. "My dearest. My everything."

And so, that night, between red silk sheets and soft laughter, the king and queen of the Mountain of Flowers and Fruits found rest in each other’s arms.

Not before, of course, a few small curious eyes peeking through the doorway were met with Wukong’s amused growl.

"Go to sleep, you little pests."

[s4kura-tr3]

Meet once more

W: angst, character death, depression, happy ending, cursing. (Tell me if I missed any)

Summary: where a garden can change his good heart

Wc: 5.5k

The Heian era was a time of beauty and blood, where curses and sorcerers danced in an endless battle for dominance. Above the plains, high on an isolated mountain, lay the dark kingdom of Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses. His name was etched into history with fear and hatred, his four arms wielding death and destruction wherever he went. For all his strength and glory, Sukuna lived in solitude, his vast estate echoing with the silence of the dead.

His palace, a masterpiece of architecture, was shadowed by towering stone walls and intricate wooden beams. Yet, despite its magnificence, it was a tomb. No laughter, no warmth—only the howling wind and the occasional groan of old wood filled its halls. His servants were few and silent, bound to him by fear rather than loyalty.

But there was one place in his domain that thrived: his garden. It was a stark contrast to the desolation surrounding him, a lush, vibrant sanctuary filled with rare and beautiful flowers. Sukuna himself had overseen its creation, though he never allowed anyone to enter it. The garden was his alone, a quiet reminder of beauty in a world he despised.

It was this sacred space that she stumbled into one warm spring morning.

Sukuna was making his usual rounds, his steps slow and deliberate as he moved through the winding paths of his garden. The wisteria trees were in full bloom, their purple petals cascading like waterfalls. The air was fragrant and still. But as he turned a corner, he stopped.

There she was—a woman crouched among the flowers, her hands busy weaving together stems of wild daisies and chrysanthemums into a small bouquet. She was humming softly to herself, completely oblivious to the danger she was in. The sight was so unexpected, so absurd, that for a moment, Sukuna simply watched her.

Her presence disrupted the sanctity of his garden. The stillness he had cultivated for centuries was broken by the gentle melody of her voice and the rustle of leaves beneath her fingers. Fury bubbled within him, and he took a single step forward.

The sound of his footfall broke her trance. She froze, her hand halfway to her basket, before turning her head to look at him. Her eyes met his, and in an instant, her expression shifted from peaceful contentment to wide-eyed fear. She scrambled to her feet, the basket tumbling to the ground and spilling its contents.

Sukuna towered over her, his crimson eyes glinting like polished rubies in the dappled sunlight. “What do you think you’re doing?” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“I—” Her voice faltered, but she swallowed hard and tried again. “I didn’t know anyone lived here.”

He stepped closer, his towering frame casting a long shadow over her. “You think that excuses your trespass? My garden is not a place for petty thieves.”

Her brows knitted together, and she shook her head quickly. “I’m not a thief! I didn’t know this was yours. I just… the flowers were so beautiful. I couldn’t help myself.”

Sukuna’s lip curled in disdain. He expected her to beg for forgiveness, to drop to her knees and plead for her life. Yet, while her fear was palpable, there was no groveling. Instead, she stood before him, trembling but defiant, her hands clenched tightly at her sides.

“You’re either incredibly brave or hopelessly stupid,” Sukuna sneered.

“I—” She hesitated, then straightened her back, forcing herself to meet his piercing gaze. “I meant no harm.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the silence between them stretching until it was nearly unbearable. Then, with a sharp flick of his clawed hand, he pointed toward the path leading out of the garden. “Leave. If I ever see you here again, I will not spare you.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Grabbing her empty basket, she bowed her head quickly and fled down the path, her footsteps fading into the distance.

But she returned the very next day.

Sukuna had been expecting her. He had felt her presence as soon as she stepped into the garden, the faint hum of her aura a disruption he could no longer ignore. When he found her, she was kneeling in the same spot, carefully replanting a flower she had accidentally uprooted the day before.

His anger flared as he approached her, his footsteps heavy against the soft earth. “Are you trying to die, woman?”

She startled, looking up at him with wide eyes. For a moment, she hesitated, as though debating whether to flee. But then she squared her shoulders and met his gaze. “I… I thought it was the least I could do to make up for yesterday. I’m sorry if I caused any damage.”

Her quiet apology gave him pause. Most would have run at the mere sound of his voice, yet she faced him with trembling hands and a determined expression. “You’re an idiot,” Sukuna muttered, his crimson eyes narrowing.

“Maybe,” she admitted with a faint, nervous smile. “But I couldn’t leave it like this.”

Against his better judgment, Sukuna allowed her to stay.

Day after day, she returned. Each time, she brought a sense of life to the garden that had been missing for centuries. Her hands worked tirelessly to prune, weed, and water the plants, her soft humming filling the once-silent air. Sukuna found himself watching her from the shadows, his sharp eyes tracking her every movement. He told himself it was to ensure she wasn’t causing any damage, but deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth.

She intrigued him.

Weeks turned into months, and her presence became a constant in Sukuna’s life. She spoke to him occasionally, her voice light and unassuming, as though she were unaware of the weight of his gaze. At first, he ignored her, offering only curt replies or silence in return. But slowly, without realizing it, he began to respond.

One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon, casting the garden in hues of gold and pink, she sat beneath a cherry blossom tree, her back resting against the trunk. Petals rained down around her, catching in her hair. Sukuna approached her, his footsteps soft against the grass.

“Why do you keep coming back?” he asked, his voice breaking the quiet.

She looked up at him, her eyes thoughtful. “Because the garden needs care,” she said simply. “And… I think you do too.”

Her words struck a chord deep within him, one he had long thought dead. Sukuna stared at her, his crimson eyes searching hers for any hint of mockery, but all he found was sincerity.

“You’re a strange woman,” he muttered, sitting down beside her.

Her smile was soft and genuine. “And you’re not as scary as everyone says you are.”

For the first time in centuries, Sukuna felt something stir in his chest—a warmth he had almost forgotten.

The days stretched into weeks, and their strange companionship deepened. Sukuna found himself lingering in the garden more often, his usual patrols of the mountain becoming an afterthought. She was there, her presence as natural as the flowers she tended, her hands bringing life to every corner of his once-forgotten sanctuary.

He had never been one for small talk, yet he found himself listening when she spoke. She talked about simple things—how the cherry blossoms were blooming earlier this year, how a rare species of orchid needed extra care. Sometimes she would ramble about her village, her family, or her childhood, her words painting a life so ordinary it was almost foreign to Sukuna. He listened, silently absorbing the details, though he rarely offered much in return.

But even he couldn’t ignore the way her laughter softened the edges of his harsh world, or how her smile seemed to brighten the very air around them. She was a disruption, a flicker of light in the darkness he had wrapped himself in for centuries.

One day, as the afternoon sun bathed the garden in golden light, she looked up from her work and asked, “Why did you make this garden?”

Sukuna was leaning against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, watching her with his usual intensity. Her question caught him off guard. He had never told anyone the reason, never felt the need to explain himself. But something about the way she looked at him—curious, but never prying—made him pause.

“It reminded me that even in chaos, there’s order,” he said finally, his voice low. “That even in destruction, something can still grow.”

She tilted her head, her hands stilling as she considered his words. “That’s beautiful,” she said softly.

Sukuna scoffed, though there was no malice in it. “It’s practical. Nothing more.”

But her gentle smile told him she didn’t believe him.

The change in their dynamic was gradual. At first, Sukuna told himself it was her usefulness that kept her around. The garden had never looked more vibrant, and her care was unparalleled. But as time went on, he found himself seeking her out not for the garden, but for her presence.

She began to ask him questions—questions about his life, his powers, his reign. At first, he dismissed her curiosity with sharp remarks, but her persistence wore him down. He told her stories of the battles he had fought, the kingdoms he had razed, and the sorcerers who had dared challenge him. She listened intently, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and sadness.

“You’ve been alone for a long time,” she said one evening, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sukuna didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked out at the horizon, where the sun was setting behind the mountains. “Alone is safer,” he said finally.

“Safer doesn’t mean better,” she replied, her words hanging in the air between them.

He didn’t have an answer for that.

The turning point came one quiet night under the stars. The garden was bathed in silver moonlight, the soft chirping of crickets filling the silence. She sat beside him near the koi pond, her knees tucked to her chest as she stared at the water.

“I think I’ve fallen in love with this place,” she said softly, breaking the quiet.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to her, his expression unreadable. “It’s just a garden.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s more than that. It’s… peaceful. It feels alive, even though everything else feels so uncertain.”

There was a pause, and then she turned to him, her eyes meeting his. “I think I’ve fallen in love with you, too.”

Her words stunned him. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, his crimson eyes locked on hers. No one had ever said such a thing to him—not with sincerity, not without fear. His first instinct was to dismiss it, to tell her she was foolish. But the look in her eyes silenced him.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice rough.

“I do,” she insisted. “I know exactly what I’m saying. I see you, Sukuna. I see the man behind the power, behind the fear. And I don’t care about what others say. I care about you.”

Her words cut through the walls he had built around himself, leaving him exposed in a way he hadn’t been in centuries. Slowly, he reached out, his clawed hand brushing against her cheek. She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

“You’re a strange woman,” he murmured, his voice softer than it had ever been.

“And you’re a complicated man,” she replied with a small smile.

For the first time in centuries, Sukuna allowed himself to feel something other than anger and emptiness. He allowed himself to care.

Their love grew like the garden—slowly, patiently, but undeniably. Sukuna found himself smiling more, his sharp edges softened by her presence. She brought warmth to his cold world, filling the empty halls of his estate with laughter and life. They married in a quiet ceremony under the cherry blossoms, with no witnesses but the flowers and the wind.

For a time, they were happy. Sukuna began to believe that perhaps he could have something good, something pure, in a world that had always been cruel.

But fate was not so kind.

The sorcerers came without warning, their spells shattering the peace of the mountain. They sought to destroy Sukuna, to end the reign of the King of Curses once and for all. In the chaos, they captured her, dragging her from the garden as she screamed his name.

Sukuna fought with a rage unlike anything the world had ever seen. His power tore through the sorcerers like a storm, their bodies falling like leaves in the wind. But when he reached her, it was too late.

She lay on the ground, her body broken, blood pooling beneath her.

“No,” Sukuna whispered, dropping to his knees beside her. His hands trembled as he cradled her face, his crimson eyes wide with disbelief. “No, this isn’t happening.”

Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze weak but full of love. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Don’t you dare,” Sukuna growled, his voice breaking. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

“I love you,” she murmured, her hand reaching for his cheek.

Before he could respond, her hand fell limp, and her eyes closed.

Sukuna’s roar of grief echoed through the mountains, his tears falling freely as he held her lifeless body in his arms.

Centuries passed, and the once-grand estate crumbled into ruins. The garden withered without her care, its beauty lost to time. Sukuna withdrew from the world, his heart hardened into stone. He stayed atop the mountain, a shadow of the king he once was, his mind haunted by memories of her.

The modern world grew around him, but he paid it no mind. Centuries passed, and the world moved on without him. The mighty King of Curses, once feared and revered, became little more than a myth whispered in forgotten tales. Sukuna no longer cared about power or dominance; even hatred had turned to numbness. His estate, once a palace fit for a god, had withered into nothing but a broken skeleton of its former grandeur. Stone walls crumbled, roofs caved in, and the lush, vibrant garden that once symbolized life had long since withered into decay.

Sukuna sat atop the hill in solitude, a silent monument to what he had lost. The days blurred into each other, the passing of time irrelevant to an immortal being. The world at his feet changed, skyscrapers rising like great mountains of steel and glass, cars roaring like beasts on paved roads. Yet his world remained frozen, locked in the moment her life had slipped from his hands.

He no longer wandered through the ruins of his garden; the sight of the overgrown weeds and the broken koi pond was unbearable. Instead, he sat in the shadow of the mountain, a lone figure in a shack that had become more of a cage than a home. The nights stretched endlessly, his mind looping through memories that refused to fade.

Then she came.

It was early spring, and the air was cool and crisp as Sukuna rested against the doorframe of his shack, his gaze distant as he stared at the valley below. The first thing he felt was a faint ripple in the air, an energy so familiar that it stopped him in his tracks. He thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing cruel tricks on him again. But then he heard the soft crunch of footsteps on the gravel path.

She appeared suddenly, rounding the bend where the old garden gate used to stand. She didn’t look out of place—dressed casually in a light jacket, jeans, and hiking boots, her hands tucked into her pockets. She wasn’t supposed to be there; people rarely ventured this far up the mountain anymore.

Sukuna’s breath hitched in his chest. It wasn’t just that she looked like her; it was that she felt like her. The aura she carried, that undeniable warmth, was the same. His sharp crimson eyes drank in every detail—the curve of her face, the soft glint of curiosity in her eyes as she glanced around the ruins. It was her. Reincarnated, but undeniably her.

She hadn’t seen him yet, too focused on taking in her surroundings. She knelt to touch the weathered stones of what had once been a garden wall, brushing away moss with her fingers. “It’s beautiful, even like this,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Her voice struck Sukuna like a thunderclap. It was different, yet the cadence was the same, the softness that had once soothed him now filling him with a tempest of emotions. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep himself from rushing to her. How could this be possible? How could she stand here, centuries later, as if fate had finally returned her to him?

Finally, she noticed him. Her head turned, her eyes widening slightly as they locked onto his figure. He stood still, his towering frame half-hidden in the shadow of the doorway. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. “I didn’t realize anyone lived up here.”

Sukuna’s voice, rough from centuries of disuse, came out like a low growl. “Who are you?”

Her surprise turned to slight embarrassment. “I’m… just exploring. I’ve heard about this place before, but I didn’t think I’d actually find it.” She gave a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry if I’m intruding. I can leave if you want.”

He stepped forward, his crimson eyes narrowing as he took in every nuance of her expression. Her mannerisms were different, more modern, but there was no mistaking her. It was her soul standing before him. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said gruffly.

Her brows furrowed slightly, her gaze flicking between him and the ruins around them. “I didn’t mean any harm. I just thought… this place feels special. Like it has a story to tell.”

His jaw tightened. A story. If she only knew.

She hesitated, her hand brushing over the vines that had overtaken the garden walls. “I know it’s run down now, but… it’s still beautiful in its own way. I can’t explain it, but it feels like this place is waiting for something. Or someone.”

Sukuna felt the weight of her words like a blade to his chest. He wanted to tell her everything—that this place was waiting for her, that he had been waiting for her. But instead, he swallowed the words, masking his emotions behind a cold exterior.

“The garden is dead,” he said flatly.

Her lips pressed together thoughtfully as she looked around. “It doesn’t have to be. Gardens can come back to life if someone takes care of them.” She smiled softly. “I’m good with gardens.”

Sukuna’s chest tightened. It was almost too much—the way she stood there, so full of life, speaking as though she were meant to be here. He clenched his fists, his sharp nails biting into his palms. “You think you can fix this place?” he asked, his tone colder than he intended.

She tilted her head, unbothered by his harshness. “Maybe. It would take some work, but I’d love to try.”

He stared at her, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Was this fate’s cruel joke, dangling her before him only to take her away again? Or was this his second chance?

Finally, he said, “The garden is beyond saving. But if you’re foolish enough to try, I won’t stop you.”

Her smile brightened, and for a moment, the world seemed a little less gray. “I’ll do my best,” she said, her voice full of determination.

As she turned to examine the overgrown garden, Sukuna watched her silently, his heart aching with a mixture of hope and fear. He had spent centuries in darkness, his grief carving him into something colder, harsher than even he had been before. But now, standing before him was a piece of the light he thought he had lost forever.

He would find reasons to keep her here, excuses to bring her back. He couldn’t lose her again. Not this time.