#its just so much of me making something i hope others will love and want to know about

[cntloup]

the most dirty ans extreme manhandling rough sx with simon. i want mating presses, choking, praise AND degradation.

(pretty please with a cherry on top🙏😔)

(ALSO i love ur work and ur whole like profile aesthetic, very kewl)

hiii nonnie tysm🤗🥰 kinda rushed bc busy w uni sorry🥺 hope u like it tho❤️

18+ MDNI

rough sex with simon

mating press, choking, teasing, thumb sucking, being called 'slut, whore, princess, good girl, baby', checking up on you after

also, i was listening to this song while writing this🤭 the original is by nine inch nails

simon has you on all fours as you beg and whine for him to do something... he raises his belt in the air and brings it back down to your exposed butt with such force that has you letting out a loud yelp and rolling back your eyes at the hard impact as he watches the soft flesh ripple when the leather hits it, the burning sensation leaving you with a seething desire between your legs.

his eyes follow the trail of the gooey wetness as it travels along your sloppy folds down to your plush thighs, oh it's driving him insane...

"p-pleaseee..." you whine, "please what?" he growls, grasping a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back until it meets his broad and bare chest as you clench your thighs together to get some friction, "use your words, slut!" he grits his teeth, his hardened cock nearly reaching its limit in the confines of his pants. your bare body shudders by the timbre of his voice as he holds you in his burly arms, "fuck me please, si!" you beg and whine as his hand reaches down to play with your wet pussy.

you gasp loudly as you're suddenly turned around by his muscular arms, pinned down on the bed with his full weight pressed against you, "careful what you ask for, dove!" he smirks, his chest rumbling with his deep voice.

he places a wet sloppy kiss on your lips before reaching for your legs and propping them up on his shoulders, his strong hands digging into your soft thighs to keep your legs wide open for him, your pretty pussy glistening with your arousal, nice and ready for him to fuck like an animal.

you gasp and your face heats up as you're fully exposed before him, "you're so pretty, baby." he praises and you giggle, hiding your face with your hands for a moment before he reaches and removes them to kiss you again.

"ready to take me like a good girl?" he asks as he takes his throbbing angry cock out, making you drool and your eyes pop at the mere sight of him fully naked, red tip dripping with pre cum and ready to fill you up just how you like it. although slightly intimidated by his size, you still deeply crave him. and you can only nod in response, the words hitching in your throat as you gulp.

he inserts his thumb into your mouth, letting you suck on his thick digit and moan around it as he rubs his tip along your sopping wet folds teasingly, your clit twitching and your tight wet walls clenching around nothing, eagerly anticipating what's about to come.

he slowly and gradually pushes himself inside you, parting your gummy walls with a squelch as he moves forward, taking his time to fill up your pretty hole with his thick cock and feel your gooey walls wrapped around him.

he sheathes himself deep inside your soaked tight cunt until he bottoms out and groans deeply into your parted lips as you sloppily make out.

"such a good girl for me..." he purrs, lust-filled eyes burning into yours while pounding into your puffy pussy, one hand holding both of yours above your head as the other finds its way to your throat, carefully grabbing and tightening around your neck, controlling the airflow and making you dizzy enough to see stars as you take him fully inside you, always so obedient.

your eyes roll back and you moan out his name repeatedly, "f-fuuuck... 's too much, si!" the combination of his big hand on your throat and his fat cock ramming in and out of your abused cunt is more than enough to send you over the edge, and he can feel it.

"take it, princess. this is what you wanted, right? now take it like a proper whore!" his chest rumbles against your squished tits as you squirm beneath his large form. but you can't go anywhere. he's made sure of that.

"such a slut for my cock... want me to fill you up with my cum, huh?... say it, you fuckin' slut! tell me what you want!" he groans and grunts into your ear, his hand still wrapped around your throat and his thick shaft hammering deep inside your guts with a firm precision, surely bruising your insides, his heavy balls slapping against the plush of your ass while his broad shoulders keep your legs beside your ears. a position you never thought you were even capable of.

"yesss please...need it so bad, si... want you to cum inside me!", overwhelmed and sensitive, you quiver and tremble, "now be a good girl and cum for me... let go, baby. i've got you..." he praises soothingly in your ear, a stark contrast to his harsh thrusts.

and in no time you find yourself convulsing around him as the overpowering beams of euphoria wash over you and a mere moment later he's overcome by the fierce waves of his orgasm.

he spills load after load of thick milky cum deep inside your womb, mixing with your own release, gushing out of your pussy and dripping down your thighs and ass, wet and sticky as he slowly pulls out while you both shake with the aftershock of intense pleasure.

his hand loosens and parts from your neck, "you ok, baby?" he asks with a deep concern that he feels only for you, "more than ok, si... that was fucking amazing!" you reply with a wide smile, your fucked out and hazy expression only confirming your statement, "yeah it was bloody fantastic, lovie!" he says with a low chuckle before kissing your lips and lingering there for a moment, "love you, princess.", "love you too, si. so fucking much!"

[imsofreakingtired]

Hi! First of all, I love your work so much, you have me crying and kicking my feet at the same time.

I'd like to put in a request for a plus-sized reader? If that's something you can do. Something about yearning from afar? She's so sweet and Sev's so not. She's worried she'd taint the pure soul she watches from across the bar only to find out the lamb wants the wolf just as bad.

(I low-key just want some plus-sized rep :/)

SUCH A CUTE REQ AAA also, “the lamb wants the wolf just as bad” WHAT A LINE HELLO??? i hope i did it justice 🙏

i wish i found love

content warning(s): none! just fluff, mutual pining, useless lesbians, mild suggestive content, happy ending

"sometimes i wonder if you'll ever let me in i wonder if i'm ever gonna find somebody i cry and i cry and i cry and i cry out to the heavens why won't you just send me somebody?"

Sevika is sure she is going insane. 

She’d be lying if she said you didn’t catch her eye the moment you walked into the Last Drop that one night. There was something about the way you moved, the ringing song of your laughter that found its way across the room to her ears—a sound she desperately tried to ignore as she scowled down at her card game, puffing away at her third cigarette. She had lost two rounds in a row because she was straining for scraps of the conversation you were in. Trying every possible subtle tactic to find out who you were, where you came from. Cursing the noises of a late night bar that drowned out what you were saying. 

Tonight is like most—there you are, sitting with a new companion on the other side of the bar, perfectly manicured nails tapping idly on the side of your glass as you give the other person a winning smile. When you stand up to order a second drink, Sevika watches your movements and swallows hard. You’re wearing a blouse and pants that hug your figure, showing off every curve in the shifting neon lights of the Last Drop. Making the very air around you look expensive. 

And your eyes. Fathomless yet bright. The innocent curl of your lips when you give the lucky bastard across the table one of those smiles. The secrets sitting in the corners of your mouth. 

Who is she?

“Hey chief,” says Grems, one of her gambling mates. “You’re showin’ all your cards.” 

She glances at him. “Round’s over.” 

“Huh?” 

“You heard me. Clear out.” 

The men exchange glances with one another, but they obey, grabbing up their winnings. Sevika sits back in her chair and lights another cigarette. 

✨—✨

At the bar, you lean closer and beckon to Chuck. He comes over, glancing nervously in Sevika’s direction. Everyone can already see that Sevika has claimed you as hers—they can see the way she watches you, the way she raises her head to attention when she sees you come into the bar. But when he looks over at Sevika, she turns her head away. 

“Chuck,” you say. “Don’t look so scared. She’s staring at me again, isn’t she?” 

“Uh…” 

You give him the irresistible smile you throw at strangers from whom you need information. He falls for it. 

“C’mon, tell me. Who is she?” 

“She…she’s Silco’s right hand,” he stammers. “You know. The Brute.” 

You sigh impatiently. “Gotta give me better than that. What’s her name.” 

“Sevika.” 

“Sevika,” you muse. “Thanks, Chuck.” You pat him on the shoulder and take your drink. You make sure to walk the long way round back to your table, and you can feel Sevika’s grey eyes burn in front of you. Just as you pass her, you tilt your head and let your eyes make contact with hers. Time seems to slow down. She looks at you cooly through the cigarette smoke, but her surprise shows in the way her brows lift slightly. 

Then the moment passes, you sit back down at your table. 

Your companion continues the conversation, but you barely hear a third of what they’re saying. Your thoughts keep wandering over to Sevika, who has left her tab on her table and now disappeared up the stairs. You know for sure she’s interested—she’s been watching you since you first began to frequent the Last Drop—why hasn’t she made a move? 

✨—✨

The truth is that Sevika is scared to approach you. 

That’s right, she thinks to herself, a wry smile on her face as she leans back into the couch in her empty apartment, slightly sweaty after touching herself to you, heart racing in her chest. Sevika of the fucking fissures, scared to talk to a woman as if she's some adolescent. 

She has borne the title Brute of the Underground like an afterthought, something she took for granted, a kind of placard to frame over the blood on her hands. But now it feels like a curse or a jinx, because she can’t think of your soft skin without thinking of the roughness of her own. She wants to feel your body against hers, she wants to kneel and drown in your sweet scent. But then she thinks of your laugh. The way you smile, nose wrinkling. 

How could she ever deserve to receive a smile like that? 

She imagines you recoiling from her, disgust clouding your pretty features. She imagines herself, massive and clumsy—nothing but muscle and scars and callused skin. She compares herself to you in a fantasized mirror and she can’t see a possibility of you ever wanting her the way she wants you. 

One night she is at her usual table, alone for once, making adjustments to her mechanical arm. A glass of whiskey sits among the tools and ashtray. She looks up listlessly as she takes a sip, returns to her work. When she looks up again you’re standing in front of her. 

Sevika nearly chokes. You’ve caught her off-guard, and you can see it. You can’t help but smile at her obvious embarrassment. 

“Mind me sitting here?” 

Without waiting for a reply, you sit down across from her.  

“I work nearby,” you say matter-of-factly. “I was thinking since you come here often as well, maybe we could have a drink together every now and then.” 

“Uh,” says Sevika. 

“Name’s Sevika, right? I’ve gotta run now, but can I claim you tomorrow night?” 

“Um.” 

You take that as a yes. As you walk by her, she can smell the sweet scent of your hair. She doesn’t see the triumphant smile on your face as you leave the bar. She also realizes too late that she never got your name. 

✨—✨

-> thank you @practicalgauntlet for the request! -> dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

[gothamhappiness]

Behind the masks (mayor!reader x Bruce Wayne) - Part 1

Hi everyone, I got this little idea of reader becoming the new Mayor of Gotham, and as you start working with Batman, you fall for each other. This is going to be a two part story with a gender neutral reader, hope you'll enjoy <3

Warnings: no proof reading, you're a leftist (don't know if it needs to be in the warnings, but basically you just want the inhabitants of Gotham to be healthy and happy), you dislike Bruce Wayne quite a lot (you're uneasy in his presence), but you really love Batman, mentions of kissing Batman, mentions of having sex with Batman (he's a little bit submissive), a little bit of angst as you don't think you can get more than a work + sexual relationship with Batman

You were the new mayor of Gotham. 

You didn’t really believe this happened, that you got elected, that you were now at the head of this rotten city. Your whole campaign has been around cleaning Gotham from its corruption and helping the poor people. You had been treated as a leftist and you had been proud of it. You were there to help your citizens, you were ready to fight for them, you were ready to help Gotham become a good place to live in.

You knew it was going to be hard and maybe a little bit bloody. But you were determined. You felt like it was your calling and now you were elected, you were on a mission. It was your duty to save Gotham from the darkness. You knew you wouldn’t be able to do it on your own, but you trusted your people: some of them showed more than once that they were ready to fight for Gotham too. Batman and his vigilantes, as well as Jim Gordon, were the first people you thought about. You were certain everything was possible.

You would make everything possible.

During the campaign, Bruce Wayne quickly offered you some money. You refused at first, because you weren’t too sure you could trust this himbo of a man. And last time he founded a campaign, Harvey Dent turned into a villain - which you didn’t want to happen to you as well. Plus, even if Bruce Wayne was known for his charity events and for trying his best for the city, you were feeling uneasy around such a rich man. Something always seemed fake about him and you didn’t particularly want to be linked to him. 

However when the mayor in place started to find ways to destroy all the funds you got, you had to accept Bruce Wayne’s offer. You hated it but you didn't have the choice anymore. Your campaign director had been exasperated when you told him you had refused the help of Bruce Wayne. And when all your funds disappeared, he blamed you for not having taken what the richest man of the city offered. You told him you could try to accept now, but he wasn’t too sure Bruce Wayne would accept. You still decided to give it a shot.

You remembered how you came to the Wayne manor, feeling pretty awkward in such a place. You remembered how you felt so small there, because you weren’t coming from a very rich place yourself. You were from the low middle class, just enough to get an education and knowing how to talk to be listened to. 

The butler, Alfred, you believed he was called, answered the door and very politely asked you to come inside, and told you that his Master Bruce was waiting for you in his office. You thanked him before following the man through the manor. 

Alfred knocked at a door and opened it for you before announcing you to Bruce Wayne. You were feeling even more uncomfortable, but you tried to remind yourself that you were putting yourself in this position for your city, for your people.

Bruce Wayne probably noticed how tense you were as he got up to shake hands with you as he gently smiled at you. He offered you a seat. You didn’t want to do any small talk or to stay any longer than necessary so you quickly went to the subject of your visit.

“Mr. Wayne, thank you so much for accepting to receive me so quickly." you said

“It’s no problem, I understand that I could help you?” he asked you, and for a moment you wondered if he was playing dumb or if he really was

“I know I turned down your offer to fund my campaign but… I’m afraid Mr. Hill isn’t playing fair, and I can’t really refuse your money anymore, if you’re still up to help me on that front of course. I would totally understand if you changed your mind…” you told him, pushing away your shame and proud as far as possible from you

“Of course I’m still up to help you. I’m glad when my money can serve Gotham.” he replied and you relaxed

“Thank you so much for making things that easy for me.” you said as you leaned into your seat

“Very good speech you gave last night, by the way.” Bruce Wayne shot you another smile as he signed up the biggest check you ever received in your whole life

“Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Wayne.” you whispered, quite stunned by all the zeroes he added, before it started worrying you: “Should I expect you to ask me for a favor one day?” you wondered and Bruce had seemed a little bit surprised for an instant before shaking his head

“I just want Gotham cleaned. And you seem eager and ready to do so” he shrugged “I can host a gala for you by the way” he offered “Anything that could help your campaign”

“That’s very kind of you, I’ll let you know about it” you had politely replied, hoping you wouldn’t need to accept this new offer as you didn’t particularly enjoy that kind of event and you didn’t want to have to spend more time with Bruce “Brucie” Wayne. “I hope to see you at my victory speech” you smiled, trying to be polite

“I’ll be there” Bruce Wayne simply nodded and you didn’t want to enjoy how certain he seemed to be.

Certain you were going to win.

You kept politely talking to one another for a few more instants, before you softly told him you had to go. You thanked him again and he actually guided you back to the front door of the manor.

You left the manor and as you got inside your car, you had to pinch yourself to make sure that none of this was a dream. 

You were a little bit astonished by how things went. Brucie Wayne acted a lot different than usual: he didn’t flirt with you, he didn’t try to seem to be ongoing and nice. He seemed even normal for a rich guy. You had the feeling he was more than just an himbo, after all he was taking an interest in politics? But you still didn’t trust him and you hoped you wouldn’t need to see him too often. Something about him was making you feel apprehensive, like when you look at an illusion and you can’t determine what is behind it.

Truth to be told, Bruce Wayne really liked you. He really thought you could be a good mayor. Jim Gordon thought the same and they both hoped someone was finally going to be on their side to make Gotham a good place.

Bruce Wayne stayed true to his words and as you were giving your victory speech, you spotted him in the crowd with his butler. He applauded for you, and when journalists asked him if he voted for you, he quickly said that yes. You hated how it helped your popularity and how everyone was even more eager to work with you as a mayor. You still had to send him a little message to thank him for his support.

You did your best to forget about him as you quickly started to work once you got elected. You truly became an ally of Jim Gordon. You started to clean up the GCPD from any rotten apples, and you did the same among the justice of Gotham. Of course, you quickly started to get a lot of enemies. You spent sleepless nights and you were walking on a thin line: with all the people you had to fire, you were clearly understaffed. But you had to do it, and you knew it was the right path. At the same time, you were working on an education plan for the poorest neighbourhoods of Gotham. You were certain that when people would escape poverty, they wouldn't need to work as goons, and criminality would drop.

Jim still warned you about the fact that before you reached this goal, you would need more police officers, or other kinds of help… You quickly understood what he meant and the next day you publicly declared that Batman and the vigilantes working with him were allies of Gotham, that the GCPD wouldn’t attack them anymore and that the city was eager to work with them.

Bruce was watching the news and he was quite pleasantly surprised by such decisions. It would indeed make things so much easier. He was quite eager to work with you.

After that, Jim offered to organise a meeting with Batman in the flesh so the three of you could agree on the better plan for cleaning up Gotham. 

You didn’t hesitate. You had always believed Batman was a light in Gotham. Of course, you weren’t always in agreement with how he acted, but you also knew that without him, the City would have gone even crazier.

You were a little bit stressed out before meeting the Dark Knight. You weren’t too sure how to act around him. But once he appeared in front of you, you relaxed. You felt safe and talking with him felt natural.

It was strange how Batman and you instantly enjoyed each other. You easily understood each other, and you were seeing Gotham and its corruption the same way. You often had meetings with him, sometimes even without Jim. When it was happening, it was almost looking like a working date.

Or just a date.

You didn’t want to admit it but Batman was attractive: he was a big and powerful man, he was a genius too. More than once, when it was just the two of you, he cracked some pretty cynical jokes that never failed to make you laugh. 

He also gave you a device to call him or the other vigilantes in case you would be in danger. You were becoming a target, and you were grateful a man like Batman was looking after you, or you knew you would get killed pretty soon. But, few months after your election, you still haven't needed to call for him because whenever something was going on in the city, he was sending one of the people working with him to you, so they could protect you.

You were quite friendly with all the vigilantes of Gotham and they seemed to like you quite a lot as well. It was a nice change for them that someone was so openly thankful for their work and to be offered food and water whenever they arrived to look after you. You even bandaged Robin one night he showed up injured but with the clear determination to protect you. You had argued with the kid for a while before he let you check on him. Batman personally thanked you for that the night after and you shrugged it off

“You look after me, I look after you all, it seems like a fair deal to me”

The first night you kissed Batman, you got worried it would make things awkward between the two of you. You didn’t know why you acted on your fantasy, but you didn’t regret it, as the man quickly answered the kiss. He sat you on your desk and cupped your face. You smiled against his lips: you clearly weren’t the only one who had wanted this.

The first time you had sex, Batman went down on you. You had been a little bit surprised that the Dark Knight was actually a little bit submissive, but you enjoyed to hold onto the pointed ears of his mask to ride his mouth. He had left you satisfied like you had never been before. Was the man really skilled no matter what he was doing? You wouldn’t complain about it.

You adored Batman, and you enjoyed working with him and having this physical relationship with him, but you didn’t really hope for anything more. You were already happy with that, even if a little voice inside your head told you that you could have so much more. You could become his partner, you could start a romantic relationship too. And you would have been the happiest person on Earth, because he was truly illuminating your nights and helping you go through all the mess Gotham could be.

But he was a masked man and you didn’t really think he would want more or to put his secret identity at risk. You were aware that something changed though, because the other vigilantes seemed a lot more careful when it was about you. After all, they knew their mentor and father was in love with you.

You were taking a break from work, reading a newspaper talking about the fact that Bruce Wayne hadn’t been seen with any girls or boys lately. Actually, it appeared that Brucie wasn’t flirting or hitting on anyone at galas. Everyone was wondering if he wasn’t secretly seeing someone but so far the paparazzi hadn’t found anything.

“I didn’t know you cared about Bruce Wayne?” a voice asked from behind you and you jumped before groaning as you realised that Batman had appeared out of nowhere

“Bat” you gave him a warning look “We talked about it” you reminded him as you turned your seat to face him

“Sorry, mayor” he apologised but you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips

“And no I don’t care about Bruce Wayne, but that’s all the media are talking about lately.” you replied to his question “But you know him, don’t you? Is he too in love to fuck with anyone else?” you teased

“I don’t know his sexual life” Batman sternly replied and you hummed “But you know him too, don't you?” he asked but he seemed to already know the answer

“He just gave me money for my campaign.” you shrugged

“And you didn’t try to know more about him? It’s always useful to have rich people on your side” Batman tried and you were wondering what was happening with Batman

“No. He feels too… unreal and that scares me off.” you finally said

“Unreal?” Batman seemed genuinely surprised

“I mean you feel unreal sometimes too, but you feel fuller too. I’m uneasy around Bruce Wayne because… well I don’t know, it’s like a perfect mask and because he’s super hot, no one tries to find out what’s really behind all of it. I guess you’re also wearing a mask, but you’ve got a real personality” you tried to explain “Anyways, we’re not here to…”

“You’re smart” Batman cut you off and you arched an eyebrow at that “But you never wonder what's behind the masks?” he asked again and you were really curious about where this conversation was leading

“I don’t want to be near Bruce Wayne. And as for you… I don’t know. We’re working well together, the sex is good too. I guess I’m always afraid to ask for too much, because I don’t want things to get ruined between us because I’ve been too greedy” you sincerely replied

“Would you do me a favor?” he suddenly asked and you nodded “Bruce Wayne is going to invite you to one of his galas and I need you to go there, and I need you to talk with him. And then you’ll tell me if you’re still scared to look beneath the mask”

--

Part 2

--

Taglist for all my work <3

@blublock404

@wind-canoe

@silverklaus

@couldeatthatgirlforlunch

@tatsuri-zomushiki

@navs-bhat

@randomnamedmira

@winterhi09

@murkyponds

@qardasngan

Taglist for Bruce Wayne <3

@alishii

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

you wrote a fanfic the other day about Sebastian gaining some weight but I’d love to see a fanfic where MC gains some weight + Sebastian’s reassurance <3

Pool Side | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Anon! I want to apologize for the very long wait (like... two months...) for this fic! It has been a WIP since you submitted this request but the story took on a life of its own and it took a hot minute for me to finish. I hope it was worth the wait!

Also I promised some more fluff/smut on the blog so enjoy everyone💚

Words: ~16,100

Tags: Smut, Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, Plus Sized MC, No Y/N, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Actually Unrequited Love, Romance

Beta: @newdreamlove95 💚

The coastline stretched before you, the sea a glimmering expanse of blue beneath the midday sun. White limestone cliffs loomed in the distance, dramatic and weathered by time, framing the golden sand of Durdle Door Beach. It was the kind of place people romanticized—secluded, picturesque, the perfect setting for a group of old friends to escape their busy lives for a single, carefree afternoon.

Except, you hadn’t felt carefree all day.

The sound of crashing waves filled the spaces between laughter, between playful shouts and splashes as your friends waded deeper into the water. The air smelled of sea salt and sunscreen, the sand warm and fine beneath your towel. It should have felt perfect. But as you sat beneath the wide shade of your umbrella, the book in your hands barely touched, all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

Time had shaped all of you in its own way—careers, travels, lessons learned, heartbreaks and triumphs, all of it leaving its mark. Garreth had finally cut his hair, and his once-boyish face was now set with sharper features. Imelda had somehow managed to look even more athletic than she had in school, toned and lean, her features even more fierce. Natty had grown taller, even more poised, carrying herself with quiet confidence. Even Ominis, who you’d always considered the most put-together of the group, had softened somewhat, the weight of his family name no longer pressing so heavily on his shoulders.

And Sebastian—He wasn’t the same as he had been at eighteen, either.

You let your gaze drift toward him, tracking him where he stood near the water’s edge, talking with Ominis. His once-boyish face had sharpened, the angles of his jawline more pronounced, the shadow of scruff darkening his face where smooth skin had once been. Even his curls had changed—longer now, though the wind still toyed with them the same way it always had.

And his body—

He had always been strong, lean from Quidditch and dueling, but now he had filled out, broader in the shoulders, thicker in the arms and chest. Not as sharply cut as he had been at eighteen, no longer carved from restless youth and constant training, but something better—something balanced, something solid—not chiseled, not sculpted, just strong, in a way that felt effortless. Comfortable.

Yet while everyone had changed, you had changed the most.

You adjusted the loose cover-up draped over your shoulders, tugging it down to make sure it hid as much of you as possible. Not that anyone in this group would say anything—but that didn’t mean they hadn’t noticed. Because people always noticed. In fact, people commented. Not cruelly, not always, but enough. Enough that when you saw someone again for the first time in years, you had learned to brace yourself, waiting for the inevitable remark, whether it was an aunt’s offhanded, Oh, you were always such a slip of a thing before! or the faux-concerned, Are you taking care of yourself?

The world never let you forget that you used to be different, better.

At least, that’s how it felt.

You had been confident in your teenage years, running through the halls of Hogwarts with reckless energy, sharp-tongued and sharp-witted, always ready to challenge someone in a duel or throw yourself into something new without hesitation. Back then, your body had never been something you thought about—it had just been yours.

You weren’t sure when that had changed.

Somewhere along the way, your body had shifted, weight settling onto you in ways you couldn’t ignore, in ways other people refused to ignore. It didn’t matter that you were still you, still clever and kind and capable—it was as if the world had collectively decided that none of that mattered as much as the shape of you.

It wasn’t fair, but fairness had never been a rule the world followed. So even though your friends never said anything, you knew they had noticed. How could they not?

The weight of your thoughts pressed down heavier than the sun, hotter than the sand beneath your towel.

You felt guilty.

This weekend had been planned for months—a rare break in everyone’s busy schedules, a chance to reconnect without the distractions of work, responsibilities, or the sheer exhaustion of adulthood. It had taken forever to arrange, largely because of them.

Imelda and Natty were impossible to pin down.

Imelda, who had thrown herself headfirst into professional Quidditch after Hogwarts, had spent the last several years building a name for herself as one of the fiercest Beaters in the league.

And Natty—Natty had never stayed still. She had left the Ministry years ago for international work, teaching and training young witches and wizards abroad. If she wasn’t in Africa, she was in Asia, and if she wasn’t in Asia, she was in Australia.

Getting both of them in the same place at the same time, on holiday no less, had been a miracle.

You should have been thrilled. You were thrilled.

And yet all you could think about was how different you felt—how different you were.

You had tried to prepare. You had tried.

Dieting. Exercising. Starving yourself. Hyping yourself up by buying a new bikini, thinking that maybe—maybe—if it was flattering enough, if you just forced yourself into the right mindset, you’d be okay.

But stepping into it today had made you feel sick.

You had stood in front of the mirror in the beach house bathroom that morning, stomach churning, as you studied the reflection that didn’t match the version of yourself in your memories.

You had stared at your body, turning slightly, tugging at the waistband of the bottoms, at the straps over your shoulders. No matter how you adjusted them, you still looked like this.

So, instead of running into the water, instead of being the girl you wanted to be, the girl used to be, you had thrown on your cover-up and settled under the umbrella, staying there like an anchor while the others ran free.

You watched as Imelda and Poppy tossed a beach ball back and forth, their laughter carrying over the sound of the waves. Imelda, ever the athlete, barely had to move to intercept each pass, her sharp reflexes making it look effortless. Poppy, for all her gentleness, was surprisingly competitive, her playful smirk clear even from where you sat under the umbrella.

A little farther out, Natty floated on her back, arms stretched, face tilted toward the sky. She looked serene, perfectly at ease in the water, her dark braids fanning out around her like a halo.

A little closer to shore, Garreth waded through the shallows, carrying a handful of bottles, the brown glass glinting in the sunlight. He trudged toward Ominis and Sebastian, where they stood in the the surf, the waves lapping lazily at their calves.

Sebastian popped off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips without a care, his other hand raking through his hair. The sunlight made the water droplets on his skin glisten, tracing the lines of his shoulders, his arms, the long stretch of his back where his swim trunks sat low on his hips. You hated how easy it was to look at him, how easy it had always been.

You wrenched your gaze away, but you heard Garreth open his own bottle with a sharp hiss before sighing dramatically.

“Merlin’s balls,” he laughed. “I forgot to tell you. I finally took Eloise out last weekend.”

Sebastian, already a few swallows into his drink, raised a brow. “That sounds promising. Do tell.”

"It went brilliantly," Garreth continued. "Dinner, drinks, and by the end of the night—" He took a swig of his beer, then grinned wolfishly. "Let’s just say I made quite the impression."

"Spare us the details, Weasley," Ominis huffed, tipping his head back.

"Oh, come on, mate. Don’t pretend you’re not interested."

"I assure you, I am not."

Garreth rolled his eyes before continuing anyway. "She’s gorgeous. You know, tall, really fit, amazing legs. I mean she plays for the Falcons, and bloody hell, you can tell." He whistled low, shaking his head in admiration.

Sebastian made a knowing sound, half a chuckle, half a sigh. “Of course. Tall, leggy, tiny waist. Garreth Weasley’s classic type.”

“Right, well, can you blame me? She's something else,” Garreth pointed at him with his bottle.

Sebastian hummed appreciatively. “I get it. Hard to argue with a body like that.”

Garreth nodded firmly. “Of course you get it, you're a man of taste.”

Your grip on your book tightened, the pages bending beneath your fingers. Of course, Sebastian understood. Of course, he got it.

Because women like that were meant to be wanted.

Women like Poppy, who was soft in the way that was delicate, the kind of pretty that made people want to protect her.

Women like Natty, who carried herself with effortless grace, whose body was carved from strength and discipline.

Women like Imelda, who was lean, fit, sharp-edged and powerful.

Women, apparently, like Eloise, whose body was a gift, something to be admired, appreciated, worshiped.

It made sense. Of course it made sense. But it didn’t stop the ache that settled deep in your ribs, the quiet, sinking certainty that you would never be the kind of woman men spoke about like that.

And then—

“Well,” Ominis drawled, tipping his bottle toward Garreth, “not all of us are so visually inclined, I suppose.”

Garreth snorted. “Are you calling me shallow?”

Sebastian let out a quiet huff of laughter. “Knowing what you like isn’t shallow.”

“Perhaps,” Ominis allowed, tilting his head. “But I still think I have better taste.”

Garreth groaned. “Here we go.”

Ominis smirked, lazy and self-assured. “Forgive me for thinking there’s more to a woman than her legs, Garreth.”

Sebastian snorted. “Alright, we get it, you’re enlightened.”

Ominis only hummed, amused. “It’s just that I, personally, prefer someone with a bit of substance—quite literally.” He tapped his own ribs lightly with a knowing smirk. “I’ve already got enough bone for the both of us. A bit of cushion is good for a man.”

You froze.

Ominis' words hung in the air, settling between the easy laughter and the rhythmic pull of the tide.

On one hand, it was almost comforting in a way, hearing Ominis brush aside such narrow ideals. At least someone—someone you respected, someone you trusted—didn’t think a woman’s worth was measured by how well she fit into a neat little mold.

But at the same time his words didn’t fix anything. Not really. Because it wasn’t him you needed reassurance from.

It was Sebastian.

Garreth laughed, raising his bottle. “Well, cheers to that, then,” he said, clearly unbothered. “Honestly, better for both of us. I’d rather not compete with you, mate. If I had to go up against you and your good looks? I’d be doomed.”

Ominis rolled his eyes but clinked his bottle against Garreth’s all the same.

Sebastian made a sound—low, amused, noncommittal.

And that was it.

No teasing rebuttal. No agreement, but no disagreement either. Just a simple, easy acknowledgment that meant nothing.

Or maybe it meant everything.

Because Sebastian had spoken up earlier, when he’d defended Garreth’s tastes. But now? Now, he said nothing.

He didn’t joke with Ominis. Didn’t agree. Didn’t disagree. He just let the conversation move on, unbothered, unthinking.

And that was your answer. The truth you had known somewhere deep down but had tried so hard to ignore.

Sebastian got it. Sebastian agreed. Because of course he did. Because why wouldn’t he?

Hard to argue with a body like that.

A sudden burst of splashing pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

You blinked up just in time to see Natty emerging from the water, droplets rolling down her sun-warmed skin as she pushed her braids back from her face. She was beaming, looking as effortlessly radiant as ever, and you felt a twinge of guilt when your first instinct was to shrink further into the shade.

She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling toward the shore. "I am going for ice cream. Who’s coming?"

The response was instant.

“Ooh, absolutely,” Poppy chirped, catching the beach ball Imelda had just tossed her before jogging toward Natty.

“I could go for something,” Imelda agreed, squeezing the seawater from her ponytail. “Haven’t had a proper cone in ages.”

Sebastian tipped his beer back for a final sip, then turned to Ominis. "You coming?"

Ominis scoffed. "Do you even have to ask?"

You didn’t have time to react before the whole group was moving, heading toward the shore in a mess of dripping bodies and sun-warmed skin, shaking the saltwater from their limbs as they made their way toward you.

"That book must be fascinating if you’re still at it," Garreth teased as he approached your umbrella.

You forced a smile, gripping the novel a little tighter. "Riveting."

Sebastian was right behind him, running a hand through his damp curls as he reached for the towel he’d left beside his bag. "What’s it about?"

You hesitated. You had no idea. You hadn’t read a single word in—how long had it even been?

"It's romance-mystery-crossover," you lied offhandedly, hoping the vague genre mashup would be enough to satisfy him.

Sebastian gave you a slow, amused look, clearly unconvinced. "Sounds made up."

"Of course it is, it's a fiction novel, Sebastian," you countered, flipping the book closed and setting it aside, hoping the conversation would move on.

It did.

Garreth reached for his t-shirt, shaking off the sand before pulling it over his head. "You going to join us in the water after we get ice cream?"

You hesitated.

The question was casual, easy, but you could feel the weight of expectation behind it. Not just from Garreth, but from the others too. Poppy was already looking at you with hopeful anticipation, Natty giving you a small, encouraging nod.

They wanted you to say yes.

And for a second, you wanted to say it too. To be the girl you used to be, the one who wouldn’t have thought twice before running headfirst into the waves, salt-stung and laughing, sand stuck to her legs and hair damp with seawater.

But that wasn’t you anymore.

So you mustered up a small, apologetic smile and said, “Maybe later.”

Garreth groaned. “Oh, come on. You said that last time."

But before he could complain further, Natty had already tossed on her sunhat and pulled her dress over her swimsuit, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. She didn’t waste time waiting for further debate.

"Come on," she called over her shoulder, already walking down the beach toward the path leading up to the ice cream stand. "Before the ice cream all melts."

That was enough to get the others moving.

Poppy hurried after her, still wringing the seawater from the ends of her hair, Imelda not far behind. Garreth quickly followed, dragging Ominis along with him, still grumbling about how one day you’d actually keep your word and join them in the water.

And then, just like that, they were gone.

You could have followed. You should have followed. But you didn’t.

You stayed put beneath the shade of your umbrella, hands clenched in your lap, your book abandoned beside you.

Because you didn’t need ice cream. You certainly didn’t need the extra sugar, nor the extra calories.

Then a shadow fell over you. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Sebastian.

His presence was unmistakable—always had been. Something about him was too big, too bold, to ignore.

For a few beats, he didn’t say anything. Just stood there. And then—

"You’re not coming?"

His voice was casual, but there was something beneath it. Something pointed.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes fixed on the page in front of you as if that would be enough to make him move on. "I’m not really in the mood for ice cream."

Sebastian didn’t move. Didn’t turn to leave. Didn’t let the conversation drop like you needed him to.

"You were in the mood for it last summer," he pointed out. "And the summer before that. And the one before that. And before that."

"Well, people change, Sebastian."

You hoped that would be enough. That he’d just let it go. But you’d been friends with Sebastian Sallow for over a decade, and Sebastian Sallow never let anything go. Not when it came to you. He would poke and prod, just like he always did, the way he had when you were fifteen, sixteen, eighteen—always tugging at you, always unraveling you.

You heard a heavy sigh, followed by the soft sound of shifting sand as he sat down beside you, uninvited but entirely unsurprising.

His skin was warm from the sun, his shoulders still glistening from the water. He didn’t crowd you, but he was close, the scent of salt and sun-bleached fabric clinging to him as he leaned back on his hands, his gaze now trained fully on you.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you, brows pulling together slightly, head tilting the way it always did when he was trying to figure something out.

"Are you okay?"

You exhaled sharply through your nose. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

Sebastian hummed, tilting his head toward the horizon, pretending—pretending—like he wasn’t watching you carefully, like he wasn’t studying you the way he always did when he knew you were lying.

"You’ve been avoiding the water all day," he mused. "Didn’t eat much at lunch." He nodded toward your book. "And I’d bet my wand you haven’t actually read a single page of that."

You gritted your teeth. "What’s your point?"

Sebastian turned his head then, looking at you fully. "My point is that you’re clearly not okay," he said, voice steady, measured.

"Sebastian," you sighed, voice tired, "just drop it."

For a second, he actually looked like he might. But then his gaze flickered, his expression shifting with realization.

"Is it because of what Garreth said? I know how much you hate when guys objectify—"

“No.” The word left you quickly, too quickly, your chest lurching at the assumption—not because it was wrong, but because it was almost right.

Because Garreth’s words did matter. Just not in the way Sebastian thought.

He assumed you were bothered on principle, that this was about your usual distaste for men reducing women to their bodies. Because that was who you were to him—sharp-tongued, quick-witted, never one to let careless words slide.

And in a way, it felt good that he saw you like that. It meant he wasn’t thinking about your body. It meant that, in Sebastian’s mind, at least, you weren’t standing on the outside of their conversation, trying to pretend the words didn’t sting.

That was… a relief.

But it didn’t loosen the tight, twisting knot in your stomach, because even though Sebastian hadn’t thought of it that way—you had.

And it wasn’t about Garreth having a type. It wasn’t even about Eloise specifically. You didn’t care who Garreth found attractive—everyone had their preferences.

It was Sebastian. Because he had agreed with Garreth.

And it was stupid, really, that it should hurt at all. You had no claim to Sebastian. No right to expect him to think of you that way. He had never given you any reason to believe he did. The only person who had spent the last ten years hopelessly in love with an idea—with him—was you.

But it still hurt.

"I'm sure you overheard him," Sebastian continued, "I know you like to eavesdrop," he added teasingly.

You let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking your head. "Oh, please. I wasn’t eavesdropping. You lot were talking loud enough for the entire beach to hear."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, but it lacked any real amusement. “Fair enough. But for the record, I don’t think Garreth meant anything by what he said.”

You scoffed. “Oh, I know that.”

And you did know. Garreth didn't have a single mean-spirited bone in his body.

Sebastian was still watching you carefully. “Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong."

“Right,” he said, stretching the word out and leaning back on his hands. “So you’re sitting here, sulking under this umbrella, avoiding the water, avoiding ice cream, barely speaking to anyone—all because nothing is wrong?”

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Sebastian—”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the book, your nails pressing into the cover. “You are wrong.”

Sebastian let out a dry, knowing laugh. “Yeah, no, see—that’s the thing about lying. You’re shit at it. Always have been.”

Your jaw clenched. “I swear to Merlin—”

“What?” He turned to you fully, one eyebrow raised. “You’ll hex me? Go on, then. Should be entertaining for the rest of the beach.”

You exhaled harshly, fingers flexing against the cover of your book. “Look, Sebastian, it—” You shook your head, forcing out a small, humorless laugh. “It doesn’t matter.”

Sebastian made a sound in the back of his throat—somewhere between a sigh and a scoff. "You’re not even arguing properly.”

That made you glance at him, brow furrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sebastian gave you a pointed look. “It means when you actually don’t care about something, you normally fight back with something biting, something clever. You roll your eyes, you call me an idiot, you tell me to piss off.” His gaze flickered over your face, sharp and assessing. “You’re not doing that now.”

Your stomach twisted. Damn him. Damn him for knowing you this well.

Sebastian sighed, shaking his head. "Just tell me the truth."

You clenched your jaw, looking out at the waves instead of at him. "Sebastian—"

"No, really." His voice was steady, firm. "What’s the point of this? Of going around in circles when we both know I won’t let up?" He gave you a pointed look, eyes sharp. "You’re wasting your breath trying to lie to me. I see right through it, and you know I do. I’ve got a decade of experience, love."

His voice was light, teasing, but you could hear the weight beneath it. The concern. The care.

And maybe that was what did it. Maybe that was what made something in you snap.

Because you were so tired. Tired of pretending, of swallowing things down, of trying to act like it didn’t hurt.

So you turned to him, something bitter curling in your chest.

“Sebastian, you know why I don’t want to go in the water. Why I don’t want to eat in front of everyone. Why I haven’t taken off my cover-up. Why I don’t want ice cream.”

Your breath was heavy, uneven, your fingers curling into the fabric draped over your shoulders.

Sebastian didn’t say anything. Didn’t move.

So you shook your head, voice quieter but no less raw.

"You know." Your chest tightened. "And I know that you know, because you have eyes."

Sebastian just stared at you. It seemed, for once, you had managed to stun him into silence. A difficult feat. And yet, here you were.

The weight of his gaze pressed into you like an iron brand, unrelenting, burning. His lips parted slightly, his brows furrowing, something unreadable flickering across his face.

Hurt. Frustration. Anger.

“That’s what this is about?” His voice was lower now, but no less intense. “That’s what it’s been about this whole time?”

And when he said this whole time, you knew he didn’t just mean today. He meant the past few years.

The slow retreat. The way you had pulled away, little by little, until the girl he had grown up with—the one who had been fearless, the one who had laughed loudly and took up space without hesitation—had hidden herself away.

His jaw clenched.

“Who?” His voice was rough, barely more than a growl. “Who made you feel like this?”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Who?” You shook your head, gripping the edge of your towel like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “Everyone, Sebastian.” Your voice wavered, bitter and exhausted. “The whole fucking world.”

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his whole body tense like he was barely holding something back. And then his voice came low, simmering with something dangerous.

“Just give me names.”

You let out a shaky laugh, running a hand over your face. “And what, exactly, are you going to do?”

Sebastian’s jaw was tight, his entire body radiating tension. “I don’t know yet,” he admitted, voice clipped. “But I’d very much like the opportunity to find out.”

Your stomach twisted, a mess of emotions you didn’t have the energy to untangle. You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “It’s not just one person, Sebastian. It’s in the looks, the comments, the offhand remarks. It’s in the way people notice, the way they always notice, the way they feel entitled to remind you, like maybe you hadn’t already noticed yourself.” Your breath hitched, throat closing up. “It’s in the way people talk about women like me—if they even bother talking about us at all.”

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, dragging it down to his mouth like he needed to physically stop himself from doing something. "Merlin, you—why have you never said anything?"

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. "And say what, exactly?" Your voice wavered, edged with exhaustion and bitterness. "That every time I see someone after a long time, I can feel them sizing me up, silently comparing me to who I used to be? That I can’t eat in front of people without obsessing over every bite?" A humorless scoff escaped you. "Or maybe I should’ve told you that whenever people talk about a ‘real woman,’ it never seems to include someone like me—because to them, we’re always just a consolation prize?"

Sebastian stood abruptly, sending a small spray of sand scattering as he pushed to his feet. The suddenness of it startled you, your breath still uneven in your chest, your body tense from the weight of the conversation that had just unraveled between you.

"Come on."

"...What?"

He rolled his eyes, but there was something determined in his stance, something resolute in the way he held his hand out to you.

"Don’t ask questions. Just get up."

You hesitated, glancing from his open palm to his face—his stubborn, determined face, the one you knew far too well. The one that meant arguing would be pointless.

Still, you narrowed your eyes, skepticism thick in your voice. "Sebastian—"

He exhaled sharply, already exasperated, and before you could pull away, he reached down, grasping your wrist with a careful but firm grip. His fingers were warm, rough from years of dueling, calloused in that way you knew too well.

"Just come with me," he murmured, voice softer now, quieter.

You let out a sharp breath but after a long, weighted pause—you let him pull you to your feet.

Sebastian's grip remained steady as he led you away—away from the crashing waves, away from the shade of your umbrella, away from the book you had never actually been reading. Away from the water that had once felt like freedom but now felt like something else entirely.

Instead, he walked you back toward the beach house your group had rented, his pace unrelenting.

You followed reluctantly, the damp sand clinging to your feet as the distant sounds of laughter and crashing waves softened behind you, replaced by the rustling of palm fronds and the creak of wooden steps as the two of you moved past the deck.

"Seriously—what are we doing?"

"Patience."

You scowled. "You’re not exactly known for patience."

"Yeah, well, I’m trying something new," he muttered.

The two of you rounded the deck, past the side gate, until you stepped onto the lush grass of the backyard to where the pool remained untouched.

Because why would anyone use the pool when the ocean was right there? When the horizon stretched endlessly, inviting and vast?

But Sebastian didn’t hesitate. He walked straight to the edge, dropping his towel onto a chair before turning back to you and he reaching for the hem of his shirt.

Your brain barely had time to catch up before he pulled the fabric over his head, revealing his sun-warmed skin, broad shoulders, and sun kissed freckles.

You swallowed hard, heat creeping up the back of your neck.

"...What are you doing?"

"Getting in the pool."

"Why?"

Sebastian shot you a flat look. "Because you won’t go in the ocean. And if you don’t want to swim in front of the whole world—fine. But you’re not allowed to hide from me."

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head. "Sebastian—"

"You love swimming." His said, low and steady, like he was stating an irrefutable truth. "I know you do. And back here, it's just me and you."

You swallowed, your throat tightening.

"Sebastian, it’s not that simple—"

"Why not?"

You inhaled sharply, feeling the words clog in your throat. Because I don’t want you to look at me like everyone else does.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to keep your gaze locked on his. "Because it just isn’t."

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders. His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was barely holding something back.

"That’s not an answer."

You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "It’s the only one I’ve got."

For a moment, he just looked at you—eyes dark, searching, unreadable. Then, before you could react, before you could argue or stop him, he stepped closer, reaching for your wrist again.

"Could you, for once in your life, not argue with me?"

He said it with his usual teasing tone, but you could see the tension in his jaw, the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

You sighed.

"Fine."

Sebastian blinked, as if he hadn’t actually expected you to agree.

You barely expected it yourself.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the silence between you stretching taut.

Then slowly, reluctantly, he let go before finally turning toward the pool and lowering himself into it. The water lapped around his waist as he submerged himself, stretching his arms out with a satisfied sigh.

"The temperature is perfect," he announced. "Trust me, you’re going to love it."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, stomach churning as you reached for the tie at your waist.

This was a mistake.

Your fingers fumbled with the knot, hesitating. Your pulse pounded in your ears. You regretted this already. The bikini—the one you had somehow convinced yourself was a good idea when you bought it—was bright fucking yellow.

Unmissable. Unavoidable. A beacon of self-inflicted torment.

What the hell had you been thinking?

You should have picked something darker, something less obnoxious, something that wouldn’t make you feel like every single part of you was on display.

Sebastian tilted his head slightly, floating lazily on his back, watching you. "You’re thinking too hard again."

You clenched your jaw. Your fingers curled around the fabric, tight, hesitant. This was stupid. This was so, so stupid.

But he was watching you. Not impatiently. Not expectantly.

Just waiting.

And that was the only reason you finally, finally pulled at the knot.

The cover-up slipped from your shoulders, the fabric pooling at your feet. Immediately, your stomach flipped, your arms twitching with the immediate urge to cover yourself, to retreat, to run—

But then, slowly, deliberately, Sebastian let his feet drop beneath him, standing fully in the water. His gaze dragged over you. Slow. Lingering.

"Sebastian—"

"Yellow."

"What?"

His lips curled slightly, tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your swimsuit. It’s yellow."

Your face burned. "No shit."

Sebastian hummed, his brown eyes dark and unreadable. "It suits you."

Your breath caught.

"Are you coming in or what?" he murmured.

Your throat felt tight.

"Yes."

You forced your legs to move, stepping toward the pool’s edge as if you were approaching a cliff, bracing for the drop.

Every sensation was amplified—the way your thighs brushed together, the curve of your stomach, the stretch marks etched across it. The way your skin dimpled, the way your body moved, the way there was no concealing any of it.

Sebastian was still watching. You felt the weight of his gaze, and it took everything in you not to cross your arms over yourself as you stepped onto the first stair.

The cool water lapped at your ankles. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to move faster, descending step by step, letting the water claim you inch by inch.

By the time it reached your waist, you exhaled, relief flooding through you.

Safe. At least partially.

Sebastian had shifted slightly, leaning back against the edge of the pool, elbows braced along the tiled rim.

"See?" he drawled, tilting his head slightly. "Not so bad, is it?"

You rolled your eyes, trying to focus on the water instead of the fact that you were sitting in a bright fucking yellow bikini with Sebastian watching you like you were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Easy for you to say," you muttered. "You’re not the one out here feeling like a goddamn highlighter."

Sebastian’s laugh was quiet, warm. "I don’t know," he mused. "I think you make a pretty good highlighter."

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck. "Shut up."

"I’m serious."

"You’re messing with me," you muttered, dragging your fingers through the water, watching as the ripples lapped against his arm.

"I’m not," he said, and something about the quiet certainty in his voice made you hesitate.

Your breath hitched as you lifted your gaze to his.

The teasing was gone. His expression was steady, unreadable, but there was something beneath it—something weighty, something real.

Heat crept up your neck, prickling despite the cool water surrounding you. The moment felt too heavy, too close, pressing in on you in a way you weren’t ready for. So, you did what you always did when you felt yourself slipping—deflected.

"Stop looking at me like that," you scoffed.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. His gaze was steady, focused in a way that made your stomach twist.

Then, finally, he asked, “Did you mean what you said earlier?”

Your brows pulled together. “What?”

“About... feeling like a consolation prize?”

Your stomach lurched. “Sebastian—”

“Did you mean it?”

You let out a breath, gaze flicking away as you trailed your fingertips absently through the water. “It’s not exactly something I pulled out of thin air.”

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening where his arms braced along the pool's edge.

“So that’s a yes."

You glanced back at him, at the tight set of his jaw, at the way his fingers flexed against the tiles, like he was reining something in.

“Why does it matter?” you asked.

Sebastian let out a short, humorless laugh, dragging a hand through his hair before tipping his head back against the pool's rim. “Because it’s the dumbest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

Sebastian huffed, shaking his head, his eyes sliding back to yours, darker now. “I mean, do you honestly think no one looks at you like... like you're all they bloody want?”

You frowned, shifting uncomfortably. “Sebastian—”

“I’m serious.” His voice was firm, unwavering. “You think no one’s wanted you? No one’s looked at you and thought about what it’d be like to have you under them, or against them, or—”

“Sebastian!” Your face burned, heat spreading like wildfire from your chest to the very tips of your ears.

It wasn’t like you and Sebastian had never talked about sex before—you’d been best friends for over ten years. You’d sat beside him while he’d swapped crude jokes with Garreth, rolled your eyes at his commentary when Imelda complained about whatever hopeless bloke she was entertaining that week, even endured drunken late-night conversations about past flings and failed dates when the two of you had stayed out too long at the pub.

But never—not once—had you talked about it so blatantly.

Because discussing sex in general was one thing. Listening to Sebastian drunkenly mock some disastrous one-night stand was one thing. But this—this was him, talking about you, saying your name in the same breath as under them, against them—

The thought too much, too impossible, too close to something you’d spent the last decade trying to bury so deep it could never surface.

It was unbearable. Unthinkable. Because you knew if you let yourself really hear him, if you let yourself linger on those words, on that voice murmuring them so low and rough, then you would—

You would implode.

So instead, you reacted, your body moving on instinct, on sheer mortified desperation.

Your hand shot forward, cutting through the water as you splashed hard in his direction, your heart slamming against your ribs as you tried to drown out the image of Sebastian's mouth, the sound of his voice, the way he had said it—

The water hit him square in the face, droplets clinging to his dark hair, his skin glistening beneath the late afternoon sun.

Sebastian blinked, expression shifting from intense to something unreadable as he wiped a hand down his face, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“What the hell was that?”

Your breath came out shaky, your skin too hot, your arms twitching with the urge to cover yourself, to disappear.

“You can’t—you can’t just say shit like that!” you managed, your voice bordering on frantic, your pulse hammering so violently you thought it might shake you apart.

Sebastian’s brows lifted, his face still dripping. “Why not?”

“Because!"

“Look, ’m just saying,” he said, voice rougher now, lower, “that you might want to reconsider your stance.”

Your mouth opened, then closed, because Sebastian wasn't done.

“I hear the things guys say about you.” His gaze flickered over your face, then lower—just for a moment, just enough to make your stomach flip. “I hear the things they want to say to you all the fucking time."

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling like you were sinking despite being fully buoyant in the water.

“...What are you talking about?”

Sebastian exhaled sharply through his nose. "At work. When we go out. The pubs, the shops, wherever we are. Doesn’t matter." His gaze flickered over you, something simmering behind it. "I hear it."

Your pulse spiked.

“The only reason you don’t hear the shit they say about you is either because they know better,” he said, voice almost bitter. “Because they know you’d hex them into next week if they ever let you hear it. Or—”

Sebastian let out another low laugh, shaking his head.

“Because I scare them off.”

“You... what?”

Sebastian gave you a look, like it was obvious. “I scare them off.”

You just stared at him.

“You think it’s a coincidence no one approaches you when we go out?”

You felt your breath falter, your hands balling into fists at your side. "You’re making that up."

"I promise you," he asked, tipping his head slightly. " I’m not."

You swallowed thickly, your pulse hammering. “That can't be true—”

Sebastian’s jaw ticked. "I know it for a fact. And I can tell you exactly what they say, if you really want to know.”

You clenched your jaw, pressing your lips together, but it didn’t matter—because Sebastian kept going.

“They talk about your ass, how it moves when you walk, how they’d kill to get their hands on it, the kind marks they'd leave if they got the chance.”

You felt burning heat creep up your spine.

“They talk about your tits,” he went on, his eyes flickering over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. “How full they are, how they sit just right, how fucking soft they look, how they’d kill to watch them move if you rode them."

His voice dipped lower, rougher. “They talk about the way your stomach curves when you sit, how they know you’d feel so fucking good under their hands, under their weight.” His jaw ticked, his fists tightening until his knuckles went white. “How they’d bury their face between your legs and press their hands against your waist and feel all of you.”

You felt your pulse hammering, your entire body caught somewhere between stunned disbelief and mortification.

“And your mouth,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Merlin, they talk about your mouth—that sharp fucking wit of yours that makes them either want to win you or get on their knees for you.”

You made a strangled noise in the back of your throat. Your arms twitched with the immediate, desperate urge to cover yourself, to run, to deny, deny, deny—

“I know the world is fucked,” he admitted. “And it sure as hell isn’t fair to women like you. But just because you’re not plastered across a fucking Quidditch magazine doesn’t mean you’re not wanted.” His voice was softer now, but no less intense. “Doesn’t mean men don’t look at you and think about fucking you senseless."

Your breath came out uneven, your heart hammering against your ribs as Sebastian’s words settled around you like something heavy, something undeniable.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. You refused to believe it.

You shook your head, forcing your voice to come out.

“You’re just—” You exhaled sharply. “You’re just trying to make a point.”

“A point?”

“Yes,” you insisted shakily. “Because you’re frustrated with me, and you hate when I don’t believe you, so you’re just—” You shook your head, your throat tightening. “You’re making a point!"

Sebastian’s jaw ticked, his nostrils flaring slightly. “You really think I’d make all this up?”

You swallowed thickly, your stomach twisting into itself. “Okay, maybe you’re not making it up entirely,” you admitted, voice quieter now, unsure, searching. “Maybe they do say those things, but that doesn’t mean I’m what they want.”

Sebastian frowned, his brows drawing together like he couldn’t believe you were still pushing this.

“I’m what they go for when what they really want isn’t available,” you pressed, voice bitter, thick with something sharp and worn down. “I’m the one they settle for.”

Sebastian stilled. The air changed. His expression darkened, a muscle jumping in his jaw as something sharp flashed behind his eyes. Then he moved—

Closer. Slow. Deliberate.

The water shifted around you, rippling, the cool contrast of it doing nothing to temper the heat pressing into the space between you, heat that came from him.

He loomed, his shadow blocking out the sun, his presence so much heavier now.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice low, tight. “You want to argue? Let's argue."

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, intent, his focus sharp, almost cutting. “If that were true,” he continued, voice rough, firm, “if guys were only settling for you, then why have I spent years scaring them off?”

“You—” You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding, forcing yourself to lift your chin, to meet his stare head-on. “Because you’re... territorial.”

Sebastian snorted, something dark and frustrated flickering across his face. “Why do you think that is?”

“Because you’re my best friend,” you shot back, shaking your head, like that explained everything. “Because you're you!”

Sebastian scoffed, rolling his eyes. “If you really think that’s all it is,” he muttered, voice thick with exasperation, “that it's because I'm your friend, then you’re fucking delusional.”

Your stomach flipped, something deep in your ribs twisting, recoiling.

“Then maybe it’s because you don’t trust them,” you argued, voice more desperate now, more pleading. “Men can be pricks, Sebastian, you know that.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, they can,” he agreed, his voice rougher now. “But that’s not why.”

“Sebastian—”

“You really think I’d waste my time running off blokes if I thought they weren’t serious?” His voice was incredulous now, like he was talking to someone being insufferable. “For Merlin's sake, I know the things they say about you, and I know they fucking mean it because I’ve said the same shit!”

The world tilted. Your heart stopped. Something in your chest lurched, your breath coming out too shallow, too thin, like your lungs had forgotten how to work, like your ribs had locked up, trapping something inside of you that was too big, too impossible to comprehend.

Sebastian just looked at you. Unwavering. Unshaken. Like he hadn’t just ripped open the very fabric of your reality and upended a decade’s worth of carefully constructed walls, of every defense mechanism you had ever built to keep this exact thing from happening.

“No.”

The word was instant, instinctive, ripped from you like it had been lodged in your throat, an immediate act of defense, of self-preservation.

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly.

“No?” he repeated, his voice edged with something that almost sounded offended.

Your head shook before you could even stop it, panic rising fast, too fast, crashing through you like a wave you hadn’t braced for.

“No,” you repeated, voice higher, tighter, desperate. “That’s not true, it can't be true, you—”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath, his jaw tight, his nostrils flaring slightly as he shook his head. Then he laughed—a short, humorless sound that didn’t reach his eyes, a huff of sheer disbelief as stared down at you.

“Do you really think I would say this if it weren’t true?”

His voice was low, unwavering—something dangerous simmering beneath the surface, something unyielding, something that said enough.

You could see it in the way his fingers curled into fists beneath the water, in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his throat bobbed like he was forcing the words out, pushing past something that had been buried for too long.

“You’re just—” You swallowed. “You’re just saying that—”

"—No. I have always wanted you."

Sebastian’s voice was rough, edged with something aching, something raw, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the words were leaving his mouth, like he couldn’t believe you were making him say this.

"For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, "I was in love with you at sixteen, and I have been every damn day since.”

Your breath came out uneven, barely a whisper. “Sebastian—”

"I don’t know where you got it in your head that you’re supposed to look like you did when we were kids, but yeah," His jaw clenched. "We’ve changed. And I, as you so aptly pointed out, have eyes—so yeah, you’re right." His brown eyes flickered over you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I do see it. I know you don’t weigh 130 fucking pounds anymore," he continued, voice rougher now, firmer. "And I am fucking thrilled."

You stiffened. Your chest felt too tight, like your ribs had shrunk around your lungs.

"Do you want to know why?" His voice dropped lower, something dark flickering behind his eyes.

Your mouth was too dry to answer, but it didn’t matter. Because he kept going.

"Because every single thing you seem to hate about yourself ruins me," he bit out, his hands clenching and unclenching like he was physically restraining himself. "You have no fucking idea how many nights I’ve spent thinking about this," he admitted, voice rough. "Thinking about you."

You were so hot now it felt like you were burning alive, fire coursing through your veins and settling low in your stomach, thick and dangerous.

“I’ve thought about your thighs around my waist.” Sebastian's voice was lower now, almost reverent. “How you’d taste when I spread them apart. How you’d feel pressed against me.”

Your legs clenched instinctively beneath the water.

“I’ve thought about your ass in my hands.” Sebastian shifted, his brown eyes flickering lower, dark and intense. “How it’d feel to have you in my lap, to make you ride me until you forget your own fucking name.”

“And your tits.” He licked his lips, tiling his head back slightly. “They fucking kill me. I mean, god, you were pretty before, but now? Now, they’re full and heavy and fucking perfect, and all I’ve ever wanted is to get my mouth on them."

Your breath came out shaky, your arms twitching like you needed to hold yourself together.

“Merlin, I have spent years trying to behave,” His voice turned almost gritted, like the words were physically pulling something out of him. Hhe muttered, his voice lower now, darker. “But you—fuck, you have no idea how hard it is when you’re standing here looking like this—”

His gaze dragged over you, hungry, slow, like he was devouring every inch of exposed skin, every soft curve, every part of you, like he had spent years looking and wanting, and now that the words were out in the open, he refused to hold back.

“Trust me, I’ve tried,” he admitted, voice lower now, rougher. “I’ve really fucking tried to keep this in. To pretend I don’t notice, to keep my mouth shut, to respect that you don’t see me that way, that you don’t want me that way.”

Sebastian’s brown eyes flickered over you, dark and certain. “But now I find out that you won’t even step in the water because you think you don’t look good enough?” His voice was sharper now, like the words were physically pulled out of him. “That you think you need to hide?! When you look this fucking good?! It's a crime."

The world wasn’t real.

It couldn’t be.

Not when Sebastian was standing there, saying these things. Not when the same voice you had spent years aching over, pining for, was suddenly confessing all the things you had only ever dared to dream about in your weakest, most hopeless moments.

It was impossible. It was wrong. Not because you didn’t want it to be true, but because it couldn’t be. Because you had spent years overhearing men talk about other women like this.

Women they wanted. Women who fit the mold of desirable, women they admired, lusted after, fantasized about.

You had listened to Garreth wax poetic about Quidditch players, about girls with long legs and sharp features. You had heard Imelda talk about the men who trailed after her, about how they couldn’t help themselves, about how they looked at her like she was something worth having.

But never you. Never you.

So hearing it now—like this, in Sebastian’s voice, in Sebastian’s gaze, in the way his words hit you like a blow straight to the chest—

You felt dizzy, lightheaded, the words pressing against you, into you, wrapping around your ribs, curling low in your stomach, twisting and knotting and refusing to let go.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his voice hoarse, desperate in a way you had never heard before. “Say something,” he muttered, “Please."

You couldn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out, your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your lungs squeezing tight as your mind raced, as your body fought to catch up to what was happening.

How could you accept that the same boy who had haunted your every dream, every stupid little fantasy, every sleepless night spent staring at the ceiling with want pressed into your bones— How could you accept that he had been living through the same thing?

Sebastian let out another low, frustrated breath.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice gritted, dark. “Let me make this absolutely clear.”

Then, suddenly, he moved, fast. Aand deliberate.

The water swelled around you as he closed the distance in an instant, surging forward with a force that sent ripples crashing against your skin. Before you could react, his hands were on you—gripping your waist, anchoring you in place. His fingers pressed firm and unyielding against the soft curve of your sides, holding you steady, pulling you closer until there was nothing left between you.

Every inch of him was flush against you—solid, warm, inescapable. You could feel the tension in his body, the quiet strength beneath the water, the way his fingers dug in, pressing, gripping—possessive in a way that stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Sebastian’s breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling hard against yours. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscle feathering beneath his skin, and when he spoke, his voice was nothing but gravel and heat.

“You feel that?”

"Feel wha—oh."

Oh.

Oh.

Heat flooded your face, your pulse hammering, your skin burning. Because fuck, he was hard. Right there—there—pressed against your stomach, undeniable proof that every word he had just said wasn’t just frustration, wasn’t just heat-of-the-moment reassurance, wasn’t just a desperate attempt to make you see.

It was real.

It was real.

It was so fucking real.

“Yeah.” His voice was rough, strained. “That.”

Your mouth parted, but nothing came out. Your thoughts tangled, scrambled, lost somewhere between disbelief and something hotter, deeper—something that made your fingers twitch against his shoulders, your breath come quicker, your body suddenly hyperaware of every single point where you touched.

But then he went rigid. And suddenly—too suddenly—his hands dropped from your waist.

The moment he stepped back, the absence of him was like a shock to your system, your body instantly missing the heat, the weight, the certainty of him pressed against you.

Sebastian ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply, his jaw clenching.

"I—fuck. I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

Your stomach dropped.

“What?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh, but it sounded frustrated, almost self-loathing, his expression twisting like he was kicking himself for losing control.

“That was—” He exhaled harshly, shaking his head again. “That was out of line. I’m sorry.”

Your pulse pounded, your skin still burning where he had touched you, still hyperaware of every place your bodies had been pressed together.

He was still so close. You could still feel the ghost of him. But Sebastian wouldn’t look at you.

His brown eyes flickered away, somewhere over your shoulder, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to reach for you again but was physically forcing himself not to.

“I know you don’t feel the same,” he said, his voice gritted, like he was forcing the words out despite the fact that they physically hurt him. “I know you never have.”

Your heart lurched in your chest, but he kept going.

“I mean, how could you?” His fingers flexed at his sides, like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for you again. “It’s been ten years, for fuck’s sake. You’ve never—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t expect you to just, just change your mind.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Your mind was reeling. Because what the fuck was he talking about?

You didn’t feel the same? You had never felt the same?

It was so absurd, so absolutely mad, that you actually laughed—a short, startled sound of pure disbelief, because he could not be serious.

Sebastian’s head snapped up at the sound, his eyes narrowing, his entire body going tense. "What?"

You shook your head, still breathless, still dizzy, heat and disbelief and something else—something sharp—twisting in your chest.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you demanded, voice thin, incredulous. “You think I don’t want you back?!”

Sebastian stiffened then rolled his eyes, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were even trying to argue this. “Oh, come on.”

“No—no, you come on,” you shot back, your hands lifting out of the water, gesturing sharply. “Do you hear yourself right now? Do you actually believe that? You think I—” You let out a sharp, incredulous laugh, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Merlin’s sake, Sebastian, are you insane?”

Sebastian’s nostrils flared, frustration flashing across his face. “I don’t know, am I? Because for years, you—”

“For years, I have been in love with you, you dolt,” you snapped, cutting him off.

The words rang between you, loud and final.

Sebastian froze. His breath stopped. His brown eyes went wide.

For a long, weighted beat, neither of you moved. The only sound was the water lapping gently around you, the distant crash of the waves against the shore, the sharp thud of your pulse in your ears.

Sebastian’s mouth parted slightly, his breath coming out uneven. His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse. “...are you serious?”

With a surge of boldness that felt almost foreign, you stepped forward, closing the space between you. Your hands found his waist, fingers curling tight, anchoring him in place as if daring him to move, to run, to deny what was right in front of him.

You tilted your chin up, locking onto his gaze, refusing to let him look away.

“Sebastian, for ten fucking years, I have been in love with you.”

Your hands flew to his shoulders, fingers digging in, grasping, clinging, and Sebastian let out a low, desperate sound against your lips. His grip shifted, one hand sliding up your spine, pressing against your bare skin, holding you there, anchoring you to him.

And the other—fuck.

His fingers skimmed down your hip, tracing the soft curve of your side before sliding lower, gripping your ass with a reverence that made your stomach flip. Like he wanted to memorize every inch of you beneath his hands. Like he had dreamed of this—fantasized about this—but never allowed himself to take it.

A quiet, breathless whimper slipped from your lips, and the moment it reached him, Sebastian groaned into your mouth. His hands tightened, his hold possessive, his body pressing against yours, solid and burning and real. You could feel everything—the heat of his skin, the hard planes of his body, the tension coiling beneath every touch, every breath.

He was shaking. Like he was barely holding himself together. Like he was one second away from losing control.

And honestly—

So were you.

Your fingers slid into his wet hair, tangling, tugging just slightly, and Sebastian moaned. His grip flexed, his breath hitched—and then he moved.

In one swift motion, his hands pressed against the curve of your ass, lifting you effortlessly as he backed you against the edge of the pool, pinning you there, chest heaving, eyes dark and wild as he hovered over you.

“Fuck.” His voice was low, rough, like it had been dragged over gravel.

Those dark, hungry brown eyes locked onto yours, burning with something thick and dangerous, something that sent heat licking up your spine and pooling low in your stomach.

His fingers flexed against your skin.

“Do you want to get out of this bloody pool?”

Your breath hitched. The weight of the question slammed into you, wrapping tight around your ribs and squeezing. Because this wasn’t about getting out of the water. This was about what came next.

Sebastian knew exactly what he was asking. And, Merlin help you, you knew exactly what you were answering.

You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering, fingers twitching against the bare skin of his shoulders.

“Yes,” you murmured.

Sebastian inhaled sharply. His grip tightened. And then he was lifting you, strong hands braced beneath your thighs, guiding you up onto the ledge. The water sluiced off your skin, the cool air shocking against the heat burning through you.

You blinked down at him, chest rising and falling, heart slamming against your ribs.

He stayed in the water, hands still on you, grip firm, unwavering.

His gaze roamed.

You knew exactly what he saw.

Your thighs, still slick from the water, parted where he had positioned you. Droplets clung to the soft curve of your stomach, catching in the dimming sunlight, tracing slow, deliberate paths down to the plush flesh of your hips, slipping lower—between your legs. Your chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the thin, taut fabric of your bikini stretching over the swell of your breasts, highlighting every dip, every line, every part of you he had spent years trying not to look at.

His hands left your thighs for only a second. Just long enough for him to hoist himself out of the water in one fluid motion, muscles flexing, skin dripping, water cascading down his chest and stomach—catching on the waistband of his swim trunks, pooling at his feet.

And fuck, he was beautiful.

You barely had time to process before he was reaching for you again—one hand extended, palm open, waiting.

You placed your hand in his and then he pulled. Not gentle. Not soft. Claiming.

Your breath hitched as you stumbled forward, but before you could find your footing, his grip shifted, and before you could think, before you could question, he was dragging you across the deck—his grip firm, his pace unforgiving. Like he had already decided. Like nothing—not a single fucking thing—was going to get in his way.

Your heart pounded as he led you straight to the lounge chairs, his breathing heavy, uneven.

Your thighs hit the edge of the lounge, and suddenly, there was nowhere left to go. Nowhere but down.

Your stomach flipped. Your pulse hammered. Because—fuck—this was happening.

You sank onto the chair. Sebastian followed. No hesitation. No second-guessing. No pause to let you catch up.

He just moved.

Climbing over you. Caging you in. Settling between your legs, his hands braced on either side of you, thighs pressing against yours—the weight of him hovering just above, heavy, consuming.

Dripping water.

Dripping heat.

Dripping desperation.

His gaze dropped, drinking you in—your parted lips, your heaving chest, your bare stomach, the mess of your thighs spread open beneath him, the fabric of your bikini clinging to wet skin.

"Tell me you want this." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper, his fingers pressing into your waist, grounding himself in you. "Because if you don’t, if I’m wrong, I need to fucking stop before I—"

"You’re not wrong," you interrupted, breathless. "You have never been more right about anything in your entire life."

Sebastian huffed a laugh, and in the next breath, his lips crashed against yours, claiming, taking, devouring. It was rough, messy, all instinct. All heat.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers flying up to his hair, tangling in the damp curls, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more. Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, shifting his weight, pressing against you, forcing you to sink further into the lounge chair.

His hands were everywhere, hot and demanding, tracing the dips and curves of your body like he was mapping them out after years of pretending they weren’t his to touch. His fingers pressed into your waist, sliding over the soft curve of your stomach, his grip firm, reverent, like he needed to feel every inch of you beneath him.

“God,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough, strained. “You feel so fucking good.”

You let out a quiet, desperate sound, fingers tightening in his hair, tugging slightly, and Sebastian growled, low and wrecked, pressing his hips harder against you, grinding down just enough to let you feel exactly what you were doing to him.

Your head tipped back, a gasp breaking free, and Sebastian wasted no time, his lips trailing along your jaw, down the column of your throat, hot and wet.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, voice dark. “You’ve always been mine.”

Your stomach clenched, your entire body burning, too hot, too much, and you didn’t even realize you were saying his name until his teeth grazed the sensitive spot beneath your ear and you whimpered it, breathless and wanting.

Sebastian groaned, his hands flying to your thighs, gripping tight, spreading them wider beneath him, pressing himself between them, flush against you. His lips dragged lower, down the slope of your shoulder, his hands skimming higher, fingers teasing at the strings of your bikini top.

"Please," he muttered, voice thick, unsteady. "Let me see you."

You nodded.

Sebastian sat back on his knees. His breath came out heavy, uneven, as his eyes dragged over you—taking in the way you looked beneath him, sprawled out, wet, wanting.

His jaw tensed, and then slowly, carefully, his fingers found the ties of your bikini top.

Your breath hitched as he tugged at the strings, the knot loosening, the damp fabric clinging stubbornly for a moment before slipping, before baring you completely to him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his throat working, his hands freezing where they had been resting against your ribs.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked.

And—Merlin help you—the way he looked at you was like you were something to be worshiped. Like he couldn’t believe you were real, that you were here, that you were his.

His hands twitched.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud, like the words had been ripped straight from his chest.

Heat flooded your face, your entire body burning beneath his gaze. “Sebastian—”

But then his hands were on you, and you couldn’t breathe.

Fingertips, warm and reverent, traced over the breadth of newly exposed skin, slow, unhurried. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, featherlight, teasing, making your breath stutter, making heat coil low in your stomach, before he pressed more insistently, fingers disappearing into the plushness of your breasts.

Sebastian exhaled hard, his pupils blown wide, his tongue flicking over his bottom lip like he was barely holding himself back.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You’re so soft."

Sebastian cursed again, leaning in to kiss you again, deeper, rougher, his hips pressing into yours, his hands gripping, exploring, memorizing.

Your mind was spinning, your pulse erratic, heat licking at every inch of your body, and fuck, this was happening. This was really happening.

Sebastian’s hands trailed lower, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, gripping them tight before sliding to the ties of your bottoms. His hands trembled slightly as he pulled at them, loosening the fabric with each tug.

They clung stubbornly to your skin for a second before he slid it away, baring you completely beneath him.

Sebastian inhaled sharply.

His eyes traced the soft curve of your stomach, the way the dimming sunlight caught the droplets still clinging to your skin, rolling in slow, lazy paths over your navel, down to the plushness of your hips, the swell of your thighs, settling lower, lower—

His throat bobbed, a sharp inhale shuddering through him as his gaze caught between your legs, at the glistening wet heat of you, already slick, already open for him.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his voice strained, thick with want. His grip on your thighs flexed, his fingers pressing into soft flesh, kneading, his eyes locked onto you, staring like he was witnessing something divine.

Then, finally, finally, he tilted his head up, his brown eyes locking onto yours.

“You’re soaked,” he rasped, voice wrecked.

"Whose fault is that?" you murmured, gazing up at his though half-lidded eyes.

Sebastian let out a low, strangled sound—somewhere between a groan and a curse—his grip sliding up to your hips, tightening, his fingers flexing against soft flesh like he was grounding himself, steadying himself.

"Mine," he muttered, almost to himself, almost reverent. "All mine."

And then he moved lower.

His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate, his breath hot against your damp skin. His hands, one on your hip, one on your breast, pressed, kneading, gripping, holding you in place as he trailed his mouth along the sensitive skin.

Your breath hitched, your fingers twitching at your sides, instinct begging you to reach for him, to pull him closer, to demand more.

Sebastian hummed against your thigh, slow and pleased, his lips curling against your skin. “You’ve always had such a sharp mouth,” he murmured, voice like gravel, teasing.  “But now? Now, you’re going to be too busy moaning my name to run that pretty mouth.”

And before you could even react, before you could do anything but shudder beneath him, Sebastian’s mouth was on you.

A sharp, breathless sound broke from your lips as his tongue pressed against the slick heat of you, slow and thorough, licking through your folds like he wanted to savor you, consume you.

Sebastian groaned, low and wrecked, his fingers digging into your thighs as he buried himself between them, licking, sucking, devouring like he was a man starved—like he had been waiting for this for years.

Your fingers flew to his hair, tangling in the strands, pulling him closer, needing him closer, needing more.

He shuddered, his tongue flicking against your clit, slow and deliberate, before dragging lower, teasing and pressing inside.

A whimper spilled from your lips, your thighs twitching around his head, your entire body trembling at the heat of him, of what he was doing to you.

“You taste so fucking good.” Sebastian muttered, his fingers flexing, holding you open for him, his mouth moving with precision, slow and intentional, like he was mapping you out, memorizing every reaction, every sound, every tiny movement that told him exactly what you liked.

Your hips bucked, your fingers tightening in his curls, and Sebastian let out a sound that was nothing short of filthy, his grip on your thighs tightening before his tongue stroked, pressed, teased—

"Look at you," he rasped, voice thick with something dark, something possessive, something hungry. "Falling apart for me already, hm?"

You let out a desperate, broken sound, your body aching for more, for him, and Sebastian just smirked, grinned, before plunging his fingers inside you, insistent and deep.

Your body jolted, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as your hips bucked into his hand, chasing the pressure, the feeling of him inside you. Sebastian groaned at the reaction, his fingers flexing, curling, teasing—spreading you open in the most devastating way.

His mouth was back on you in an instant, tongue flicking over your clit, slow and purposeful, as his fingers worked inside you, stroking, coaxing, ruining.

Your head tipped back, pleasure surging through you, sharp and overwhelming, And this time—

You did moan his name.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And then—

“Let me fuck you,” he rasped.

Your breath hitched.

“Wha—”

Sebastian’s grip tightened, his nails digging into your skin just enough to make your breath stutter.

“Answer me,” he repeated, his voice lower this time, more desperate. “Before I forget how to be a gentleman and do it anyway."

You huffed, a flicker of defiance sparking through the haze of pleasure. "How demanding of you," you murmured.

Sebastian's grip flexed against your thighs, his fingers still buried inside you, his mouth hovering just above where you needed him most. His jaw tensed, his pupils dark and blown, his expression twisted with want, with something near desperation.

"Answer me," he repeated, his voice thick with warning as his fingers curled inside you, imploring you to respond.

But you just smirked, still gasping, still wrecked, but unwilling to give in that easily.  Sebastian wanted an answer? He could wait.

Your fingers twitched against his shoulders before you moved, pushing yourself up. Sebastian’s gaze flickered up to yours, pupils blown, his lips still slick with you, his hands flexing against your thighs like he knew what you were doing—like he knew you were about to make him suffer.

Good.

You reached for him, your fingers curling around his biceps, pushing him back, and Sebastian let you, let you take, let you flip the balance of control.

Your hands trailed lower, down his chest, his stomach, and then your fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his swim trunks.

Sebastian inhaled sharply, his entire body going rigid, his jaw tight, his hands twitching where they still braced against your thighs.

You smirked, slow and deliberate, tilting your head as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s wrong?” you murmured. “You were so talkative a second ago.”

Sebastian let out a breath that was more growl than exhale, his head tipping forward slightly, his entire body coiled like he was barely holding himself back.

Your fingers curled tighter around the fabric of his trunks, teasing the band, pulling just slightly.

“Let me see you,” you whispered.

Sebastian stared at you, eyes dark, lips parted, his hands clenching, flexing, aching to touch, to take. Then, without breaking your gaze, he reached down, fingers curling over yours, helping you undo the ties.

Your breath caught when the fabric slid down, when his cock sprang free, hard and thick, flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach, every inch of him aching, straining.

"Like what you see?" he asked, voice smug despite the raw edge of need in it.

Yes.

You swallowed hard.

"I'm deciding," you managed to shoot back.

Sebastian barked out a laugh—short, strained—before he caught your chin between his slick fingers, tilting your face up, forcing your eyes back to his. "Fucking tease," he muttered.

You arched a brow, smirking, and without breaking eye contact, you leaned in.

Your lips brushed over the flushed, aching tip of him, barely there, just enough to make his entire body shudder, to make him suck in a sharp breath through clenched teeth.

His cock twitched against your mouth, a bead of precum glistening at the tip, and you—slowly, deliberately—dragged your tongue across it.

Sebastian jerked, his grip tightening on your chin, his breath stuttering, a low, guttural groan escaping him.

You hummed, pleased with his reaction, with the way his muscles tensed beneath your fingers, with the way his jaw clenched like he was barely holding on.

But you didn’t take him fully. Not yet.

You let your lips trail down his length, your tongue flicking out just enough to taste him, to tease him, your hands smoothing over his thighs, slow, measured, unrushed.

Sebastian groaned, low and dangerous, his grip tangling in your hair, tugging and demanding, his body vibrating with restraint, with the barely leashed need to take control, to take you.

“Enough,” he ground out, his voice a raw, strained command. “Either stop teasing, or I’ll fuck your mouth like I know you want me to.”

Heat flooded your stomach, your entire body pulsing at the sheer dominance in his tone, at the way he looked at you like he was losing his mind, like he was aching to wreck you.

You pulled back just enough to make him groan in frustration, enough to make his fingers flex against your scalp, enough to make his cock twitch in anticipation.

Then you licked your lips, slow and deliberate, gazing up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What’s the rush?” you asked, voice syrupy sweet, filled with challenge. “I thought you wanted to be a gentleman.”

Sebastian snapped.

A growl rumbled from deep in his chest, his grip shifting as he pushed you back onto the lounge chair, his body pressing against yours, hot and unyielding.

“You really want to test me right now?” he muttered, his voice dark, dangerous, his cock pressing hard and heavy against your stomach.

“Maybe."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, shaking his head, a rough, strained chuckle escaping him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his grip shifting to your thighs, spreading you open for him again, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be, where you wanted him to be.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark and searing, one last time.

“You’re done teasing,” he rasped, voice raw as he pressed the thick, aching length of himself more firmly against your stomach, teasing, taunting. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll still feel me tomorrow.”

You grinned, fingers curling into the damp mess of his hair, tugging him down to kiss you. His groan vibrated against your lips, his hands clenching against your thighs as you deepened it, licking into his mouth, tasting the desperation there.

And then, you shifted beneath him, twisting, arching—attempting to flip yourself over, to press your chest to the lounge, to give him the perfect view of your ass as you braced yourself on your forearms.

But before you could turn completely, Sebastian’s hands flew to your waist, stopping you.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering through the haze of heat as you turned to look at him, your breath coming in short pants. “Sebastian—”

He shook his head, softly, slowly, like he wasn’t rejecting you—like he was pleading with you.

“No, don't,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked but suddenly softer.

Your brow furrowed, eyes searching his. "Don’t?"

Sebastian's lips curved into a small, strained smile, one hand reaching to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

"As much as I love your ass," he admitted, his jaw tightening as his gaze dipped, sweeping over the soft curves of your body—lingering, wanting. "And as much as I’d love to see it against my hips, to watch myself sink into you, to see the way your back arches, to hold onto these soft, perfect fucking hips and bury myself so deep—”

His voice broke, his breath coming out sharp, shuddering.

“That's not what I want, not for our first time.”

Your stomach flipped, something warm and devastatingly tender blooming in your chest, twisting around your ribs.

Sebastian sighed, his grip on your face tightening just slightly, his gaze flickering back up to yours, something raw, vulnerable shining behind the wrecked hunger in his eyes.

“The first time,” he murmured, voice rough, stripped down, honest. “I want to see you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I want to watch you come.” His lips ghosted over yours, featherlight, reverent. “Want to see every expression, every little fucking reaction. All of you.”

You swallowed, your breath still unsteady, your body still burning, aching—but the heat had shifted, changed.

This wasn’t just need. It was something more.

His lips brushed over yours, featherlight, his hands framing your jaw like you were something fragile, something precious. "Is that okay?"

Your fingers curled around his wrists, your pulse hammering beneath his touch.

You nodded.

Sebastian exhaled, a breath that felt like it had been trapped inside him for years. Then, so softly—so reverently—he kissed you.

Not like before.

Not feverish. Not desperate. Not a frantic chase of pleasure.

This was different.

This was tender. This was worship.

“I love you,” he said against your lips.

Your hands slid up to his face, cupping his jaw. "I love you too."

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound breathless, almost disbelieving, like he couldn't quite process that this was real. That after everything, after years of tension and stolen glances, after all the pushing and pulling, you were here, beneath him, wrapped up in him, saying the words he'd never let himself hope to hear.

His lips found yours again—slow, unhurried, savoring—before he finally shifted, positioning himself exactly where he wanted to be. Where you wanted him to be.

He teased, barely pressing into you, the slick heat of your body driving him to the edge of his restraint. His breath fanned against your lips, uneven, ragged, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself back.

His gaze locked onto yours, dark, devouring, and his voice, when it came, was hoarse.

"Tell me if—if I need to stop."

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make his breath stutter, your own lips parting as you whispered, "I will."

Sebastian exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against yours, his grip tightening at your waist, anchoring himself to you.

"Keep your eyes on me," he murmured, fingers flexing against your skin, voice rough, edged with something deeper than desire. "I want to see everything."

A shudder ran through you, your breath catching, your pulse hammering beneath the weight of him, the weight of this moment.

Because this wasn’t just need.

This wasn’t just giving in to years of tension.

This was love. A love that burned. That consumed. That settled into your bones and refused to let go.

Then, with a slow, steady roll of his hips, he pushed inside.

Your breath caught, a sharp gasp ripping from your throat as he stretched you open, filling you completely, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt, until you could feel him in every part of you, until there was nothing between you.

Sebastian shuddered, his grip tightening, his fingers pressing hard into the soft flesh of your hips.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice trembling with the weight of his own need. "You—God, you feel unreal."

You clung to him, your hands grasping blindly at his shoulders, his back, needing something to hold onto, needing to ground yourself as pleasure crashed over you in waves, hot and overwhelming.

And Sebastian—God, Sebastian—

His head dipped, his lips brushing against your jaw, the column of your throat, breathing you in, his hands roaming and greedy, mapping every curve, every dip, every soft, yielding part of you like he was memorizing you, like he wanted to brand this moment into his soul.

“Move,” you whispered, your voice trembling, your nails scraping against his skin. “Sebastian—please—"

He didn’t make you wait.

A ragged groan tore from his lips as his hips pulled back, slow and deliberate, before thrusting forward again, deeper, dragging another gasp from your throat as he filled you again and again, his movements measured but devastating.

His lips found yours, desperate, consuming, claiming, swallowing every sound that escaped you, every broken moan, every whispered plea.

And he was watching—just like he said he would.

His gaze flickered over your face, drinking in every expression, every quiver of your lips, every flutter of your lashes, memorizing you.

"You’re so fucking beautiful," he murmured, voice thick with reverence, his hands gliding up your sides, over your ribs and gripping at your breasts.

You whimpered, your body arching into him, your thighs tightening around his waist as he kept moving, slow and deep, dragging out every inch of pleasure, unraveling you entirely.

Heat curled low in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter, every shift of his hips, every roll, every stroke against the most sensitive parts of you sending you hurtling closer to the edge.

"Oh god," you moaned, head falling back, tension coiling tighter as he stroked the bundle of nerves inside you, the one that made you see stars, the one that made your entire body tighten around him.

Sebastian let out a wrecked, filthy sound, his hands flexing against your waist, like he was barely holding himself back, like he was trying to keep himself from unraveling too soon—because he wanted to watch you come first.

He moved faster now. Rougher, deeper, every thrust dragging a desperate, broken moans from your lips, pleasure coiling tighter and tighter inside you, sharp and electric, ready to snap.

"Sebastian," you whimpered, your fingers fisting in his curls, your head tilting back, your body begging for release, needing it.

"I've got you," he murmured, breathless, his lips brushing against yours, his movements never faltering, never slowing. His forehead pressed against yours, his voice a ragged whisper. "Let go. Come all over my cock—let me feel it."

And fuck—you did.

Pleasure ripped through you, blinding and all-consuming, stealing the breath from your lungs, the world narrowing to just him, just this, just the way he held you, the way he filled you, the way he worshipped every sound you made.

Sebastian followed you over the edge, his body jerking, his thrusts turning erratic and desperate as he groaned, his fingers digging into your waist, pulling you closer, deeper, until he was buried impossibly deep, spilling inside you, hot and thick and completely undone.

You felt utterly spent, boneless beneath him, warmth pooling in every inch of your body, but you welcomed his weight, the way he sank into you like he belonged there, like this was exactly where he was always meant to be.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your chests rising and falling in tandem, your heartbeats thrumming in sync, a quiet, unspoken connection settling between you.

Sebastian finally let out a slow, shaky breath, his lips pressing against your temple, lingering there for a heartbeat, maybe two.

Then, his fingers—still gripping your waist—softened, smoothing over your skin in slow, lazy strokes.

"Holy shit," he murmured, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper. "That was—"

"Perfect," you finished for him, your voice still breathless, still heavy with everything this was, everything it meant.

Sebastian's lips curled upwards, nudging his nose against yours, his breaths still uneven. "Yeah," he murmured. "Perfect."

You smiled, cupping his jaw and tugging him down for another slow, lingering kiss—one that wasn’t filled with hunger or urgency, but something deeper. Sebastian melted into you, sighing against your lips.

"You're beautiful," he murmured. "You're so fucking beautiful, I'll remind you until the day I die."

You swallowed, your thumb brushing over his cheek as you pulled back, dazed, overwhelmed, utterly wrecked by the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something cherished, something he had never once doubted wanting.

“You really believe that?”

Sebastian let out a soft, breathy chuckle against your mouth, nudging his nose against yours, his hands still tracing over your body.

"I don't believe it, I know it," he murmured, pressing another kiss to your lips. "You’re the most beautiful girl I've ever seen."

Another kiss.

"Perfect, really."

Another.

"Always have been."

Your chest tightened, your stomach twisting, something thick and overwhelming settling in your throat. Because God, you had spent so long believing you weren’t enough—so long shrinking yourself, making yourself smaller, convincing yourself that someone like him could never want you like this.

But he did.

He always had.

And now, with his body wrapped around yours, with the heat of him still lingering between your thighs, with the way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—it was undeniable.

It had always been you.

A shaky breath left your lips, and you smiled—small, but real—your fingers tracing over the sharp edge of his jaw, feeling the tension there, feeling the way he was holding himself together, barely, just for you.

"I love you," you whispered, and God, it felt good to say it again. To let it out. To give it weight. "I will for the rest of my life—" your thumb brushed over the corner of his mouth, and you grinned, "and after that too. I'll fucking haunt you, Sebastian Sallow."

A rough, breathless laugh escaped him, and his head dropped, his forehead pressing against yours. "Good," he murmured, his voice warm and teasing but full of something deeper, something raw. "Because you're mine. Completely stuck with me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, fingers threading through his curls, nails scraping gently against his scalp.

"Obviously," you mused, voice still breathless. "I can feel you dripping down my thighs right now."

Sebastian groaned, deep and wrecked, his grip on you tightening like he physically couldn't handle what you'd just said. His forehead still rested against yours, but you could feel the way his body tensed, the way his fingers flexed against your hips, like he was resisting the urge to do something about it.

"Fuck," he muttered, and his breath was hot against your lips, his nose brushing yours. "Don't say shit like that unless you're ready for round two."

You smirked, utterly sated, utterly pleased with yourself, your body still thrumming with euphoria. Your hands trailed lazily down his back.

"Who said I wasn't?"

He groaned, half in frustration, half in amusement, and buried his face against the crook of your neck. "You have no idea how badly I want to," he admitted, voice muffled against you, breath hot and uneven. "But I’m pretty sure I have nothing left to give you."

You giggled, running your fingers through his sweat-damp curls, tugging lightly just to feel him groan.

"Nothing?" you teased.

"Love," he mumbled. "I think I came enough for three sessions in one. My soul left my fucking body at some point."

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh. "Sebastian Sallow, surrendering? What in Merlin's name am I hearing right now?"

He groaned again, lifting his head to glare at you—though the effect was utterly ruined by the small, satisfied smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not surrendering," he argued. "I'm just acknowledging that I may need to recover before you completely break me."

You laughed outright this time, the sound bright and breathless, warmth blooming in your chest at the sheer wreckage of him.

"I'm serious," he insisted. "Give me, like, ten minutes. Maybe fifteen."

"You might as well use that time wisely, then," you mused, voice teasing, but laced with something softer, something full.

Sebastian hummed against your skin, pressing a lazy, absentminded kiss to your collarbone. "Mmm, and how’s that?"

You smirked. "By cleaning me up. Preferably with your tongue.”

A low, wrecked sound rumbled from his chest, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and suddenly his grip on your waist tightened.

"You're killing me," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin.

You grinned. "Am I?"

Sebastian lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, his pupils still blown wide, his expression caught somewhere between utterly ruined and utterly obsessed with you.

"You are," he admitted, voice rough, hoarse, his fingers tracing slow, absentminded circles against your hip. "Because now I have to."

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. "Oh? Have to?"

His lips curved into a smirk, dark and lazy. "You asked me to," he murmured, voice dipping into something dangerous, something possessive. "And I'm a very considerate boyfriend."

You arched a brow, amusement flickering in your expression as you lifted your head slightly to meet his gaze.

"Boyfriend?" you mused, voice teasing, but beneath it was something softer, something real. "When did that happen?"

Sebastian blinked, then scoffed, like you had just said the most ridiculous thing in the world.

"Merlin’s balls, woman," he muttered, shaking his head as he let his weight settle more firmly against you. "You just let me fuck you into a patio chair, told me you’d haunt me, that you've loved me since we were sixteen, and now you’re questioning whether I’m your boyfriend?"

You grinned. "Well," you drawled, tilting your head, feigning deep thought. "You never asked."

Sebastian groaned, dropping his forehead onto your chest like he physically couldn’t handle you right now. "Unbelievable."

"You’re the one making assumptions," you teased.

He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze again, and there was something fond in his expression, something soft beneath all that exhaustion and wreckage.

"Alright," he murmured, voice low, hoarse. "Be my fucking girlfriend."

You huffed out a laugh, amused, delighted. "Wow, so romantic."

Sebastian rolled his eyes, but the corner of his lips twitched upward. "Please be my fucking girlfriend," he corrected, smirking as he trailed a hand down your thigh, fingers teasing, possessive. "Though, given the fact that I've also loved you for a decade, and the fact that I’m about to devour you, I’d say the answer’s pretty obvious."

Your breath hitched slightly, your amusement shifting into something warmer, something deeper, something that curled low in your stomach.

But you weren’t going to let him off that easy.

"Hmm," you hummed, running your fingers down his back, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, enjoying the way he shuddered beneath your touch. "I don’t know..."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes, his smirk turning wicked, dangerous. "You don’t know?" he echoed, voice dipping low, teasing, edged with something predatory.

You grinned, thoroughly pleased with yourself, fingers still lazily tracing patterns down his back. "Mmm. Maybe you should convince me."

A deep, wrecked groan rumbled from his chest, and his grip on your thigh tightened. "You really don’t know when to quit, do you?"

You shivered beneath him, your breath catching, anticipation coiling in your stomach. You opened your mouth—maybe to challenge him, maybe to tease him further—

A sharp click rang through the air, the unmistakable sound of the gate latch unlatching.

Sebastian froze.

You froze.

Then—

"OH MY GOD."

You barely had time to process before a chorus of voices erupted from behind you, overlapping in shock, amusement, and sheer disbelief.

"Finally!"

“Sweet Merlin—”

"No fucking WAY."

"I cannot bloody believe this!"

Sebastian flinched, his entire body going rigid, his head snapping up so fast you thought he might injure himself.

A strangled sound ripped from your throat as you followed his gaze toward the entrance of the secluded deck—where your friends stood, frozen, their expressions ranging from amusement to absolute agony.

Poppy had both hands clapped over her mouth, her wide eyes darting everywhere but you. Natty looked like she didn't know whether to laugh or leave the country. Garreth, the absolute menace, was grinning like he'd just won the lottery, nudging Imelda—who was looking at the two of you like she was seconds away from hexing you both for subjecting her to this.

And then—

"Thank fucking Merlin I'm blind," Ominis declared, his expression nothing short of relieved, even as his face twisted in mild disgust. "This was the single greatest blessing Salazar ever granted me."

Sebastian dropped his head onto your shoulder, his damp hair sticking to your skin. His breath hitched—somewhere between a groan and barely-contained laughter—as you immediately scrambled to cup your breasts with frantic desperation.

Mercifully, blessedly, he was still positioned between your legs, hiding the most damning evidence from your group of unwitting, horrified spectators.

"Fuck," he laughed, voice wrecked, his arms tightening around your waist. "This is so much worse than getting caught by a professor at Hogwarts."

You let out a strangled, humiliated sound. "Sebastian, please, we need to get a towel or—!"

Garreth howled with laughter, his voice ringing loud and delighted over the deck. "We left you alone for an hour," he crowed, "and you two finally decided to stop pining and start—”

"SHUT UP," you and Sebastian both shouted at the exact same time.

Poppy let out a giggle from somewhere behind Garreth, and you could practically hear the barely-concealed amusement in Natty's voice when she muttered, "It's about bloody time."

Imelda groaned. “I just—why here?” She gestured toward the deck, still looking like she wanted to bleach her eyes. “This is communal property!”

“Technically,” Sebastian muttered against your thigh, “we were here first.”

“Oh, so that makes it better?” Imelda practically screeched.

You groaned, feeling the heat of absolute mortification creeping up your neck.

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care how inevitable it was,” he said, voice utterly flat. “I do care that I now have to suffer through knowing where it happened.”

Poppy giggled behind her hands. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ominis.”

“You try sharing a living space with Sebastian after this,” he deadpanned.

Sebastian grunted, finally sitting up, his broad frame still angled protectively in front of you, shielding as much of you as he could manage. His hair was a disheveled mess, his expression caught somewhere between resigned acceptance and unapologetic defiance—like a man who had been caught red-handed but had absolutely no regrets.

“Well,” he exhaled, his arm still braced protectively in front of you, still shielding as much of you as he possibly could. “Guess we’re not keeping this a secret anymore.”

Natty snorted, crossing her arms, her smirk barely contained. “You two thought this was a secret?”

Poppy giggled from behind her hands, her eyes still squeezed shut like she wasn’t quite brave enough to risk seeing something scarring. “We’ve known for years.”

Garreth grinned like he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. “I knew you two were in love, but this—” He gestured wildly to the deck, to the situation, to Sebastian still bracing himself between your legs like a human barricade. “This is beyond what I could have ever imagined.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Alright, that's enough commentary from the peanut gallery.”

Imelda scoffed. “Peanut gallery? We walked in on this absolute nightmare! You don’t get to act like we’re the ones inconveniencing you.”

“I do, actually,” Sebastian quipped, deadpan. “You’re the ones interrupting our afterglow.”

Natty’s voice was full of strained patience, but there was no hiding her mirth. "Alright, alright, everyone, let’s give them some space before they die of embarrassment."

"Bit late for that," you muttered under your breath.

There was a collective shuffle of movement, a few muffled laughs, and one last dramatic sigh from Garreth before the door clicked shut behind them. Silence settled over the space, thick and still buzzing with lingering mortification.

Sebastian snorted. "You think they’re ever gonna drop this?"

"Absolutely not," you muttered, knowing full well that the moment you and Sebastian emerged from this, you would never hear the end of it.

And yet—

Somewhere beneath the mortification, beneath the utter embarrassment, there was something else.

Something warm. Something real.

Something that felt like forever.

Sebastian shifted slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his brown eyes still twinkling with amusement, but soft, fond, full of something deeper than just humor.

"You still gonna haunt me?" he murmured, smirking.

You huffed a laugh, still hiding against his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to the bare skin there.

"Now more than ever, Sallow."

Banner Credit

[rekino2114]

Stella Hoshinari and Emma Magorobi fighting over who you love more, but you love both equally

Emma magorobi and stella hoshinari fighting over you

Pairing:Emma magorobi x gn reader x stella hoshinari

A/n:This was requested way before the prompts, but it gave me the idea for the 17th prompt on my list, so thanks. This is also my first dangan/fangan crossover post, and I'd like to do more (maybe something with chiaki and Cassidy or kirumi and akane) so let me know if you want to see more. Also, please request more of this I genuinely loved writing this so much

You'd never thought you'd attract the attention of a girl, much less two, much less two incredibly rich and famous Hollywood actresses that just so happened to go to the same school as you but life has its surprises

It all started simple enough. Both Emma and stella started to hang out with you. Sometimes, one of them would eat lunch in the cafeteria with you, and the other walked with you after school, you became good friends with the both of them.

Little did you know that they both were actually crushing on you super hard and were testing the water before starting to actually flirt with you, those compliments that you interpreted as them just being nice were actually the first signs of those crushes.

Eventually, they were ready to finally ask you out and had the same idea. They were going to invite you on the set of one of their movies

Stella was about to approach you to ask but saw you were already talking with Emma, so she raised her sunglasses and got closer

"It's gonna be great so what do you-"

"Oh pardon I wanted to talk with y/n"

"......well I already am so......"

"Wait a second I know you, aren't you that other actress from the other class?"

"The ULTIMATE actress, Emma magorobi pleasure to meet you"

"Oh well that's a coincidence, I'm the ultimate actress too, stella hoshinari, it's nice to meet you too"

"Really? I wasn't aware of another actress attending Hope's peak, you must have been in some pretty niche movies if I haven't heard of you"

[Even if she didn't show it, still keeping her smile on her face, stella was really pissed off by Emma's passive-aggressive remarks]

"Oh I wouldn't say so, but anyway I'm here to ask y/n something, so if you wouldn't mind moving"

"I wanted to ask them something too, if they wanted to come to the new set of a movie I'm in"

"Wow really? Me too"

"......I.....see, well I'm sure y/n would much rather come with me than see whatever second rate movie you're in"

"I disagree. In fact, I think they'd like mine way more"

"Then let's do a little bet, we both bring them on a date and whichever girl they like best gets to keep them"

"I like that, after all, a bit of competition in this industry never hurts"

[They shook each other's hands while you stood there confused]

"..........wait that was a date?"

During the movie date, both actresses tried their best to show you how great and attractive they were. both wearing very revealing clothes and showing off their assets at every occasion

They also made sure to show you how much better they were than the other, making comments about how "emma/stella could never, she's just way too confident in herself if she thinks she can bag a cutie like you~"

After the dates, you told them you needed more time to think about which one you liked more. They actually took that pretty well and gave you time to think

The actual reason that they took it so well was because they understood it just gave them more time to court you, a thing which became apparent when the following day you opened your doorstep to see a pile of roses with a note signed "Emma magorobi" with a stain of lipstick

And also when the next day you received a box of very expensive chocolates with a note this time signed "stella hoshinari" with a similar lipstick mark

And it was with this that the second phase of their fight for you started, absolutely spoiling you rotten with gifts

Both of them were rich and had absolutely no problem spending all of their money if it meant to get with you and beat her competitor

They brought you everything you could think and more, flowers, sweets, videogames, clothes, and way way more, they subtly asked your friends for what you wanted and the next day it suddenly appeared on your front door

One time you brought them to a store in hopes of getting them to hang out and maybe become friends.....it didn't help

"Hey y/n, do you like this shirt? I've seen it and I think it will look adorable on you"

"Not as adorable as these pants I picked out"

"Oh, I suppose they do look cute. You don't mind if I buy them too, right? After all, I doubt you can afford them"

"I can indeed, in fact I think I'll buy these pants and that shirt too for y/n"

"Well then I'll just have to buy this entire section, y/n does need spare after all"

"W-well than I'll buy the entire store!"

"........And I'll buy th-"

"...girls please stop"

While all of this was happening, you were thinking about them too, and which one you liked more. They were both incredibly beautiful and equally rich it seemed but not only that

You noticed how.....nice they both were, not only to you but also to the staff or just random people they met, they never declined autographs or selfies when they were recognized and thanked their fans with such sincerity in their voices, they were so sweet and kind, like the opposite of those stereotypical celebrities, and you couldn't deny that that was probably what made you love them equally

And one day you finally told them just that

"I'm sorry but I can’t choose between you two, you're both so beautiful and nice, I love both of you equally, I know it's dumb and so feel free to just leave me alone, I'd much rather stay alone than break the heart of one of you"

[They both started thinking for a while before Emma spoke]

"I understand so you like both of us equally?"

"Yeah"

"Well then the solution is simple, just date both of us"

"W-what!?"

"Oh I......never thought of that, that's actually a good idea"

"R-really? Like.....you'd be sharing me?"

"Yeah, since you love both of us the same, it shouldn't be a problem"

"B-but are you OK with that?"

"I suggested it so why wouldn't I?"

"As long as I get to stay with my darling I don't mind, plus getting to know Emma more will be nice, you can tell me all those tricks for the make-up"

"Oh I'd love to as long as you tell me where you found that super cute top"

".......I tried to make you friends this whole time and now you're doing that?"

"Well I guess competition gets the best of a girl sometimes"

"Yeah, but don't worry now that I know you love me just as much as stella i'm totally fine with her........just don't think I'm going to let you hog y/n all to yourself"

"Of course, the same goes for me"

"........wait a second so now I'm dating two girls......no wait....two incredibly hot and rich and famous and nice actresses.....AT THE SAME TIME"

"Oh is that what you think of us?"

"Darling, we're flattered, and you are absolutely right. You are dating both of us, so you'll get double the love"

"And the gifts and the kisses"

"Oh yeah speaking of"

[They both got closer and kissed both of your cheeks]

"I was planning on going to a cute Cafe tomorrow, wanna come too Emma?"

"As long as y/n is there absolutely"

"Then it's settled, see you tomorrow cutie~"

[They walked away as you stood there still in complete disbelief of what happened]

When they confirmed their relationship during an interview the news went absolutely wild that a random person was dating both of the ultimate actresses

[siddyyyyyyyy]

YYAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY

okay hear me out

Jason todd x daughter!reader/gn!teenage reader who basically went through the same torture as him? like idk maybe we got captured by some villains when he wasn't present or something 🙏🏼😔

if im completely honest I'm in need of some angst w/ a fluffy ending 🙂‍↕️ (daddy issues much..........?????????????) love u bro 💕🙏🏼

Flashbacks

Father!Jason Todd x Teenage!reader

wc: 2K summary: You get captured by a past villian, but your father saves you. warnings: angst/comfort, blood, kidnapping, violance, branding scars, no y/n used a/n: Thank you so much for the request!!!! this actually reminded me of another req I did a while ago; Safe Again !! I actually didn't expect for the father!Jason AU to go this well, but I'm not complaining, I'm really glad a lot of you liked it! enjoy this request, thanks again🤗

»For the last time, tell me everthing. Or else I‘ll cut off your head.«

He threatens, squeezing his throat dangerously tight while the cartel leader keeps his wide eyes on the white slits of his helmet, being just as helpless.

The Red Hood is relentless and unhinged in his approach, not letting anyone go without at least one dangerous injury.

He didn‘t know what to do when he woke up from a long nap after patrol and he didn‘t see you at home. You should‘ve been at home a good while ago, and you never mentioned going out with friends after school. He tried checking your phone, but it‘s a lost cause. There‘s no way to track you down or find your last coordinates.

It‘s been almost two days and he finally found a lead. A smaller warehouse, located near a place he forced himself to forget about. Even now, staring at the big screen of his computer, he hopes this is all a bad dream. It‘s more difficult to focus, but he forces himself to get over his inner turmoils and save you. To bring his baby back.

The warehouse was easy to find once he got there, uncomfortable memories flooding through his mind again, making him tense up further. There weren‘t as much guards around, making him doubt that this is the correct location. But he was desperate. Desperate to find you, to bring you back to safety. He doesn‘t want to imagine what could‘ve possibly happened to you during those two days, when he couldn‘t find a single trace of you.

It was scaring him.

He doesn‘t want to fail like…

God, like Bruce did.

But this is real, and it feels like you are already slipping through his fingers. These past two days felt like the longest time in a while. He couldn‘t sleep, didn‘t eat, he focused entirely on finding you again. On getting his baby back.

Jason tenses up at the sound of chains dragging against concrete. It‘s a small sound, but enough to draw his attention and make him grow slightly more paranoid. His feet drag him towards the sound, the hall growing darker as he approaches the main area of the warehouse, being lighted up by a faint bulb at the middle of the ceiling.

He finally reaches the big room, the sight of you making his breath hitch. It‘s like a giant punch to his lungs, he can‘t seem to breathe properly as he takes you in, seated on a chair, hands tied up into the air, head hanging low.

His head jerks to the side once another figure appears, dragging a chain behind him, eyes focused on him like a hyena stalking its prey. But this time, it‘s not Red Hood who intimidates a poor mugger. It‘s somenone who he is familiar with, but can‘t seem to recognise him entirely at the same time. There‘s something different, as if it‘s not exactly the same villian he expected to see.

»Red... hood. How unexpected. Yet predictable. Of course you‘d go after poor children, wouldn‘t you?«

»What did you do?«

Jason hisses back, drawing his gun out and pointing to the copy cat. But the other person doesn‘t seem to be threatened, putting his hands up in mock surrender, chuckling lightly at him, amused.

Your head continues to hang low, seemingly unconscious. Jason keeps his eyes forward on the threat, not daring to look at your beaten body just yet.

»Oh, I think you know it best.« The copy-cat shoots back. Jason‘s blood runs cold. His grip falters ever so slightly on his gun before he finally charges forward, violantly pushing him on the ground, beating the heel of his gun into the other‘s face repeatedly.

He won‘t let the same thing happen to you. You are innocent. You never got wind of his nightly activities in Crime Alley and around Gotham, at least he never told you about them. He didn‘t want you to know the details, even though you are old enough to know about them.

»You—« another hit, »should‘ve—«, another one, »died,«, one final hit to his head, »a long time ago.«

The copy-cat of Joker can‘t help but laugh quietly under him, despite his jaw being locked unnnaturaly. Jason‘s gun is pointed on his forehead, pulling the safety off as he takes a trembling breath.

»I‘ll show you what‘s funny,« after one final breath, Jason pulls the trigger, landing several bullets into his head.

The warehouse grows quiet, leaving Jason with his own feelings. He stares back at the lifeless body under him, the familiarity to Joker making his skin crawl. Finally, he pushes himself off of him, packing his gun back into his holster. His gaze settles back on you, still unconscious on the chair, clothes a bit shredded, your arms chained up into the air.

His stomach churns at the sight, but he keeps it together, approaching you and carefully freeing you.

Your wrists are burning red from being chained up for so long, you body sagging forward once they are free from the chains. Your form is thinner, dark circles under you eyes, hair messed up slightly.

He coos quietly as he picks you up into his arms, making sure not to press on any cuts or bruises. And finally, he brings you home, setting you down on the couch of the living room. He notices you waking up slowly, eyelids fluttering open.

You can feel the aches settling in your body again, your head pounding from all the hits you had to take earlier. Jason stays kneeled down in front of the couch, his hand gently stroking over you head.

»You‘re safe, angel. I‘m here.« His voice quiet and gentle, eyes soft as ever.

You hear him exhale heavily before hugging you carefully, leaning over your weak form on the couch. His heart clenches as you try to hug him back, your hand falling back on the couch, feeling the aching stings through your muscles.

Jason takes a deep breath, forcing himelf to get it together and stay composed in front of you. You need someone to rely to right now, and he would do anything to make you feel safe again.

»Let me check on you, okay? I‘ll fix you up,« his bigger hands let go of you, carefully moving you around a little to examine your weakened body. He notices light cuts along your body, mostly bruises along your soft skin.

You wince once he turns you on your side, immediately letting go and trying to find the source of pain.

»Where does it hurt, hm?« His expression grows more worried, waiting for you to tell him what hurts, already prepared for anything. You gesture at the side you laid on just now, pulling up your shirt a bit to reveal the larger wound.

Jason takes in the branding scar, clenching his fists tightly. The branding scar seems to be some kind of symbol of the copy-cat, revealing a bright smile with chunky teeth. He runs his hand through his hair before he stands up, making his way to find his first aid kit. The apartment grows quiet again, only interrupted by your light winces of pain and steadying breaths to keep the pain under control.

He manages to patch you up fully, making sure that nothing can get infected. You watch him get back into his bedroom for a moment before returning a moment later, handing you over one of his hoodies. He helps you to sit back up on the couch, watching as you stubbornly put it on yourself without any help.

»I‘ll make us some dinner. Want something special?«

He kneels down in front of you again, taking your hand in his to brush his thumb along your knuckles, ready to take any request you‘ll make. You shake your head a bit, accepting any kind of warm meal you will receive.

Eventually, Jason gets to the kitchen and starts making your favourite, letting you stay in the living room with your favourite childhood show playing on TV. Jason lets his thoughts wander while he cooks, letting himself spiral a little in the comfort of his own home.

He keeps comparing himself to Bruce, telling himself that he dodged a big bullet by finding you in time. The fact that you could‘ve died without him knowing, without being able to save you…

The vegetables gently simmer in the pan as he keeps quiet, trying to think of lighter things. With a heavy sigh, he hopes you won‘t hold the same grudge against him, like he does with Bruce. He saved you, he got you back, you won‘t hate him… right?

Jason finally serves two plates for the two of you, entering the living room once more. He notices the way you sit curled up on the couch, surrounded by fuzzy blanket, drowning in his big hoodie. He smiles fondly as he hands you over your plate, sitting down beside you, making sure he doesn‘t accidentally hurt you.

The familiar show brings a sense of nostalgia in him, remembering the early days when you were just a small child, when you had dinner together every evening, and giggled over funny scenes and jokes in the show. But now, you are a little more grown up, barely sixteen years old, sitting beside him after getting rescued.

You finish up your plate after a while, laying your head back on his shoulder. A familiar safety you‘ve grown used to.

»You know I will always find you, right? I will always protect you.« He mutters softly, keeping his eyes trained on the TV.

You listen to him, deciding to stay quiet as he finally shows a more vulnerable, more raw side of him. As his child, you never saw many strong emotions from him, having been helped with yours instead. He always tried his best to understand your emotions and help you get through them, especially when puberty hit you pretty hard. Still, it‘s strange to see him be so open about his thoughts and feelings.

»I know I should‘ve been there to protect you— but I wasn‘t… and— and I will make sure to always be there from now on.« He finishes his small monologue, but you aren‘t as emotional as him. You simply train your eyes on him, speaking up for the first time

»You were always there, dad. It‘s not your fault.« You tell him matter of factly, not having the energy to have a long heart-on-heart with him right now, especi ally after such a hearty meal, making your eyelids heavy. Jason notices your growing tiredness, recongising your familiar character come back to the surface. He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders, squeezing gently.

»Okay, I‘ll keep quiet.« Jason promises as he actually grows quiet, allowing you to finally relax further and enjoy the comfort of the home.

Some time goes by before you manage to slip into a light sleep, dozing off against his shoulder as if it‘s a soft pillow. Your father smiles faintly to himself as he notices, letting you fall into a deeper sleep, before carefully picking you up and settling you into his own bed. He remembers the time when you were younger, too afraid to sleep in your own big room, still freshly taken in by him.

Your body stays relaxed and safe in his covers, his hoodie still on you, drowning you in, keeping you safe. Jason decides to stay awake, being unable to fall asleep still. He uses the time to clean up in the kitchen and have some more time to process what happened exactly. He knows Bruce will eventually find out about everything, he still killed the copy- cat in the warehouse, after all. Just another way to get lectured by Bruce, as if he hasn‘t heard it enough times already.

Sitting down by the kitchen island, he picks up his phone in forever, searching a certain contact. The dial tone rings quietly through the kitchen until the other person on the line picks up, letting out a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

»Hey, dad...«

←MASTERLIST

taglist₊‧.°.⋆˚₊‧⋆. @143637-hrrm @dollyure @ibreathesmut @dreamzaremyrealityy @lunana98 @pitofrats @joonunivrs @reallycreativeusername @oneiropoloss

[secretgcrdens]

Callum didn't know much about Beatrice's past, he only knew bits and pieces from what Cecilia had mentioned over the years. But, he yearned to know more. He was certain her life had only been filled with the sweetest and purest melodies. And he hoped she'd never felt pain — and would never feel pain. Something gnawed at him, he was sure he wasn't the first man to catch Beatrice's attention ��� that would be impossible, given her kindness, intellect, and beauty — and what if he didn't compare to other gentlemen? He couldn't possibly compare. He listened intently to her story, a wide smile making it's way across his face and and soon he caught her infectious laughter. "That's so endearing," he smiled, "It proves that you're good at wanting to take care of others and serve them the finest of sweets, even if they come out not so delectable." He was able to breathe a sigh of relief when she didn't bring up his word choice. He nodded, running his fingers through his curls, "Do you have an escape?"

As he examined the painting, he wasn't expecting her to whisper in his ear and it sent a shiver down his spine. He took his lower lip between his teeth, a poor attempt to hide his shy smile as he looked down at the redhead, "That was a small token?" As they examined the painting, Callum let his fingers find hers for a brief moment, long enough to feel her skin against his, but quick enough that her mother wouldn't notice. "You have...affection for me?" he asked in shock, his skin growing warm. He tilted his head at the painting, taking in all of its beauty. It was much like Beatrice — calming, bright, and lovely. "It's a gorgeous reflection of you," he told her, "I knew your favorite paintings would be just like you." Callum, too, preferred the countryside and the peace it brought. The Ton was too overwhelming and he desired the days where he could escape into nature at the Sinclair's country estate. "I know exactly what you mean," he agreed, "I'm very fond of the countryside."

Although he didn't know about the summer before, Beatrice could only feel guilty about it. If she had only waited a few months. The affair that she had gotten wrapped up over the summer had been a whirlwind. He had taken her breath away. She had thought that, that would be it. And Beatrice being Beatrice, she had pictured a future for the pair of them. That had all shattered when she found out the truth. And she had given up on that kind of love ... but then came him. And he was so soft and gentle and there seemed to be butterflies every time that he was near. She only hoped that he felt similarly - that there wasn't another girl who had stolen his heart. "Oh, I don't know about that." Beatrice shook her head. And then she spoke again, "When I was a little younger, I used to sneak into the kitchens. I'd help the chefs prepare dessert. I loved it." She giggled to herself, "Turns out the chef had been making double of everything we'd made together and served that to my family. Anything I touched seemed to go wrong." Her giggle turned into full laughter. "So I'm certainly not good at everything." As he continued, Beatrice nodded. She didn't take much note to his choice of words. "It's good to have something which you can escape into - something which can take away your worries." Of course she didn't know the depth of his worries but she still stood by her words. "That is very sweet." She nodded.

Beatrice quickly shook her head at his thanks and as the pair stopped in front of a painting, she reached up so she could whisper, "It is only a small token of my affection." She was tired of playing coy and if that was something which scared him, then she thought that it was probably for the best. Beatrice wasn't someone who particularly enjoyed putting herself out there but she wasn't about to let something she wanted slip through her fingers. She quickly turned back to face the painting as she heard her mothers humph. "This one is one of my favourites." She spoke quickly to try and distract the conversation onto something else. It was a landscape in autumn - for the most part. There was a lake with a bridge towards the back and a couple walking in the foreground. "It feels so ... Peaceful." She smiles. "I miss the countryside when we're in the city so I suppose that probably explains this."

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[spaciebabie]

see i absolutely despise jimmy (and curly) as a character(s) but as a literary freak i can appreciate the way hes used as a story device with his relationship to curly. i could type this more eloquently but currently ive had a glass of champagne and i havent drank in like 6 months so my tolerance is low so forgive my writing but. jimmy cannibalizing curly. yeah.

theres multiple messages here, theres the message that jimmy is doing what curly (assumedly) did to get into his position and, employing another metaphor, taking the "dog eat dog world" saying to heart. and literally. devouring his competition. or maybe curly didnt do that. and thats what jimmy thinks curly did and so he aims to do the same. choose whichever one you like more they're both interesting storywise.

theres the message where jimmy "consumes" curly in some twisted expression of love. devouring curly so that he remains a part of him, an expression that he is the gold star captain and something to aspire to. admiration for something he'll never be and so he chooses to consume him in order to potentially absorb some of his skill or become more like him.

and then there is curly sitting there helplessly being devoured. its something he has no say in, not something that he chose to happen to him, its something hes become swept up in. he becomes devoured by jimmy in the literal sense of cannibalism, but also in the sense that he became so absorbed in his friendship w/jimmy he ignored his wrongdoings and ultimately led to anya's assault as well as the death of the whole crew.

curly and jimmy intertwined so that one is always consumed by the other. curly in a literal sense, jimmy in a more psychological one. i mean like its really quite crazy they did the "im consumed with thoughts about this guy and want to be him so i must literally consume him" thing quite well. when examining mouthwashing's narrative you find new things to admire every time. each little story element has a place in creating a wonderfully complex and heartbreaking story. its very well done and honestly something to aspire to from the perspective of someone who enjoys studying/writing literature.

all of this is to say i think that there should be more art of jimmy covered in blood and engaging in this cannibalism like the stupid little leech he is

[twentyonefirstmates]

Just looked at the digital remains again and oh my god why are we not talking more about the original lyrics to backslide

If I were to backslide, tell everyone we know

Thanks for the last time they came out

...

Why did I not thank you more, saving me those other times

(Don't you dare jump in)

...

I'd rather you hurt me, than do nothing at all

I'd rather you let me down, than just gas me up

I'd rather you cuse me, than do nothing at all

...

You won't make a sound, pick someone else I won't be around

Trapped inside your smile, don't put me on trial

Don't you see you take, everything from me

[bulundu]

Things could potentially change for me at work. Nervous. Throwing up and shitting myself. We shall see.

[dent-de-leon]

TAZ Ethersea my beloved.....

[truethes]

i think one of the nicest, non serious headcanons that i had and the series brought to life is the realisation: ku.ro is a good cook. implied in subtext throughout the series through both his original scenes ( a man who has been missing for at least 100 years can now somehow make instant microwaveable ramen? he must have some knowledge with a kitchen ) and london arc ( yout.arou ... enough said ). simply relying on himself both as an orphan to when he departed to kill the count: it was something he had to learn from survival, but ... was also something he found himself enjoyment in doing. a hobby he sincerely liked even if he wasn't quite ready to admit that.

what the latest cd has opened up is the idea that ku.ro has an enjoyment in baking, too. learning the infamous alic.ein brownie recipe and pancakes even approved of by lich.t . it's commented by lawle.ss that it genuinely seems to make him happy to do, which is a big improvement on who he was. combining that with his comments in the earlier chapter really leads me to believe ku.ro finds himself most happiest in the domestic life. a parallel between him and mahi.ru, in the sense. whereas mah.iru wants a big table, ku.ro wants it full of love. where mah.iru wants a house clean and proper, ku.ro doesnt mind the dirt if only for it to show that it's lived in.

even if it was a joke, i wouldn't be surprised if he ever considered opening a cafe of his own. it would be even less of a surprise if he only hired those he knew (coughlawle.sscough).

tldr; they confirmed a year after the end of sv ku.ro re-embrassed his househusband era and good for him for finding enjoyment in it.

[cherrylight]

dreamily sighs and screams

[stabyou]

i feel very unloved and left out. i wish i had a big friend group like everyone else... but i always stick out like a sore thumb whenever im amongst a group. if only the antipsychotics could make my weird, unlikeable aura go away

[bmpmp3]

the really beautiful landscape/skyscape animation in makoto shinkai's works tends to be the big thing i see focused on and that is understandable and deserved like the weather and lighting effects are unREAL but i do think we should also appreciate how absolute insane the plotlines of his original movies get. at least two movies with in universe catastrophes with major ecological implications. the guns and explosions. theres that one movie i havent seen yet with the guy who turns into a chair (?)