#not sure if there's more widely used names for them

[dwfriendsforever]

If you do ship anything in dandys world what would be your favorite ones could be more than one?

This doesn't speak to what's canon in the AU! Some ships that don't appear here are, and some of the ships here are not. I just like these ones. -✏️

[ds-angel1]

dealer!rafe x brainwashed!reader

cw: mention of SMUT(18+), drugs and pills, rafe lowkey runs her life (and i need that(so so bad))

a/n: drabble that i literally got from a dream (if anyone has done something like this before and i´ve just forgotten, credits to them(can never trust my dreams))

Dealer!Rafe didn’t meant to keep you. Not at first at least.

The first time he saw you, it was supposed to be nothing. Another night, another party, another girl too pretty for her good. Your denim shorts rode too high on your thighs, a spaghetti strap slipping from your shoulder like an invitation, and you looked at him like you knew exactly what you were doing. Like you had the slightest clue.

You didn’t.

He figured you’d be an easy score, a quick sell, a quicker fuck, someone to forget by morning. But then you pushed through the crowd, all honeyed laughter and half-lidded eyes, and asked him what he had. Not shy, not hesitant, but like you belonged in this world like you’d done this before.

Like you already belonged to him.

He should’ve known then. Should’ve clocked the way his pulse jumped when your fingers brushed his palm, the way his breath caught when you bit your lip, pupils already blown wide. But it wasn’t until you tossed back the pills without a second thought, no caution, no questions, that he realized what you were. Perfect.

It was a game. A pretty girl with a reckless streak, someone eager and pliant beneath him, high off whatever he fed you. But then he started learning things. About the mess you called home, the way you barely scraped by. How you were always searching, always aching for something just out of reach.

That’s when the idea took root.

Rafe could take care of you. Fix you. Own you.

So he reeled you in, slow and deliberate. He made sure you only bought from him, made sure the come-downs hit just hard enough that you came back, eyes wide and desperate. And when you started spending more time in his bed than your own, when your things started showing up at his place, one shirt, then a toothbrush, then a drawer full of clothes, you never even realized it was happening.

Until it was too late.

Until you needed him.

The day you moved in, there was no discussion, no formal agreement. Just a slow suffocation disguised as safety. He watched as you set your bags down, as your fate sealed itself with the quiet click of the door shutting behind you.

That’s when the rules became clear.

"Act up, and you get nothing," he told you, voice smooth, patient. Like he was doing you a favor. "No, ‘m serious, baby. You wanna misbehave? Then no blow. No pills. Nothin’."

And it worked.

Because when you were good, when you melted for him, hazy and pliant, when your lips parted on soft, gasping pleas when you stared up at him so far gone you barely remembered your name. Letting him do whatever his sick mind desired.

He controlled everything about you. Well he called it “takin’ care of my sweet girl.” He chose what you ate, what you wore, where you went. His own little doll.

He’d won. You were his and followed his every order, and he fucking loved it. He could turn you into a pliant free use puddle with only a few pills and puffs of whatever shit he was smoking, letting him fuck you so hard you were either almost sober or almost seizing.

Sure, your quality of life had declined rapidly since you’d met your so called “savour”, but you had structure and you had “love”. A sick, twisted, manipulative version of it, but when you were high off your mind and half naked in his bed you were able to convince yourself it was love.

[peter-pumpkin-eater]

Bite

Caleb x gn!reader

summary: Sitting on Caleb's lap while sleepy might be a bad idea (you'll do it again)

warnings: slightly suggestive (nothing mentioned but hinted at), yearning, one (1) gendered pet name (pretty girl), biting

word count: 607

You were curled up in Caleb’s lap. Something was playing on the tv but you weren’t paying attention. Your half lidded eyes weighed heavy with exhaustion. It also didn’t help that Caleb’s fingers were running absentmindedly on the outside of your thigh that was tucked against him. Caleb dropped his head in the crook of your neck and stifled a yawn against your skin - the puff of hot air making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

You melted further into him, his warmth seeping into your bones. He dragged his lips up your neck before resting behind your ear and taking a deep breath. Your scent flooded his senses and he wasn’t thinking, he was too tired and the feeling of you pressed against him was overwhelming. His lips ghosted back down your neck and the sleepy tilt of your head giving him a little more access was his breaking point.

He opened his mouth slowly and the feel of his teeth grazing across your skin set you on fire. You were suddenly wide awake. Before you could fully process what was happening you felt his teeth sink into your neck. It wasn't a hard bite, but you know that it’ll probably leave a mark.

“Ah~” You gasped before throwing a hand over your mouth. The sound you made not only startled you but also Caleb. He froze against you before you could feel the curl of his lips against your skin.. 

“You like that?” Caleb’s gravely voice chuckled against the shell of your ear. You squeezed your eyes shut tightly, still having a hand over your mouth. Caleb wrapped his arms tighter around your torso, the hand that was on your thigh snaking under it pulling you closer against him. 

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure Caleb could feel it through your back. His lips moved to your shoulder and you shivered. 

“Talk to me, baby.” He purred against your skin before sinking his teeth in again, gentler this time. You think you could feel his tongue run over the bite mark.

“Mm!” you moaned against your hand before dropping them to claw at Caleb's arm around you. You needed to get off his lap before you embarrassed yourself further. Another chuckle puffed against your ear. 

“Does my pretty girl like being bitten? Naughty.” He teased. 

“Caleb. Need t-” you gasped using both hands to try and peel his arm from you.

“Need to, what?” He spoke as he ran his nose against your pulse point. He was taking this too far. He should stop. He doesn't want to scare you away, but the way you're shaking on top of him and those oh so pretty sounds falling past your lips were a drug he will never stop trying to get now that he’s had a taste. 

You wiggle against him trying to break free. “I- I need to get up” You stuttered out.

Caleb had to let you go now. It was getting harder for him to control himself and if anything, this was a perfect test to see how far he could push you. He loosens his arms around you and you bolt from his lap and up the stairs. He sighs heavily with a smile on his lips and leans into the couch. He adjusted his sweats and was sure you had felt his own reaction to this against you. 

Upstairs you had locked yourself in the bathroom, splashing cold water on your face. You looked up at yourself in the mirror and groaned at the very obvious bite mark on your neck. You were fucked.

[fangdokja]

Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.

♡ Yandere! DILF's x Fem. Reader. Sugar Daddy, Old Money, Professor, Sponsor

♡ Headcanons. Midas Eyes - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,916

You learned early on that the world was cruel.

No, really, you learned it at four years old when your mother sold you for a pack of cheap cigarettes and a crumpled fifty-dollar bill to a greasy landlord who smelled like mothballs and desperation. He took one look at your wide, galaxy-stained eyes, eyes that had already started to carry that otherworldly sheen, and promptly died of a stroke before he could even touch you. The police called it a tragic accident. Your mother called it a waste of fifty dollars. You called it a Tuesday. Even now at eighteen years old, life's been like that.

You were shuffled into the system often. Foster homes, group homes, shelters—hell itself would’ve had more warmth. But that’s where you learned the first rule of survival: if you can’t fight it, learn to use it. You were tired of people looking at you like a piece of meat. Tired of the unwanted hands, the constant stares, the whispering in dark corners about how you “glowed like an angel.” You hated it. Hated that your eyes could make anyone do what you wanted, that they could turn even the most self-righteous into a desperate, panting fool.

But you also hated starving. And cold. And the feeling of powerlessness even more than you hated your ability.

So you made a choice: if the world wanted to use you, you’d use it first.

In due time, you had learned to control it. To turn it on and off at will. To make people see what you wanted them to see. You were a ghost in the system, slipping through cracks, taking what you needed, and leaving before anyone could remember your name. Some nights you’d practice in the mirror, staring at yourself until your pupils bled into cosmic chaos, until the universe itself seemed to shift in your gaze. You named it “The Midas Eyes.” Because everything you saw���everything you wanted—was yours.

And eventually, you had tasted money, real money. Not the pocket change from pickpocketing or the damp bills from scamming local creeps, but real wealth. Luxury. High society. It started with a bet. Some bloated banker had looked down on you from his too-expensive car, and you’d made him hand over his Rolex with a single glance. A week later, you had an entire stock portfolio under your name. A month after that, you had real estate. The world bent over backward for you, and you made sure to squeeze every last dime out of it.

But money alone wasn’t enough. You wanted power. Control. A safety net so thick that even the universe itself couldn’t shake it.

So you learned the second rule of survival: play the role they expect.

If people wanted a dumb, submissive slut, then that’s what you’d be. You let them think they were buying you, when in reality, you were buying them. Men who thought they were the hunters quickly found themselves devoured. You became an investment, a commodity with a price tag so high that only the richest could afford a taste. A model. A cam girl. A prostitute. A luxury escort. You didn’t just sell sex—you sold power, exclusivity.

You became a myth in elite circles, a legend whispered behind closed doors.

“She only takes billionaires.”

“She can make you do anything.”

“She’s dangerous.”

You reveled in it. If they wanted a goddess, you’d be a goddess. If they wanted a pet, you’d leash yourself until it tightened around their throat instead. You didn’t care about love, relationships, or any of that sentimental trash. You loved one thing, and one thing only: money.

And now, you had your sights set on the next step up the food chain.

Not just any rich men. The richest. The most powerful. The ones who controlled the world’s wealth like gods playing chess.

You’d already caught their attention. You could feel it, sense the way they watched from the shadows, sizing you up like a meal, thinking they were the predators.

You smiled.

They had no idea who they were dealing with.

────────────

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who's the human equivalent of a Wall Street crash—volatile, erratic, and absolutely lethal to anyone who underestimates him.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who made his first billion by accident. It was supposed to be a scam. A joke. A fun little side hustle that somehow spiraled into an empire overnight. He didn't mean to disrupt the global market, but oops. Here he was.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who still doesn’t quite understand how he got here, only that money feels like a game and he’s very, very good at playing it. He thrives on chaos. He doesn’t invest; he gambles. He doesn’t plan; he improvises. He doesn’t think things through, but somehow, miraculously, it always works out.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who is both a genius and a complete menace to society. If there’s a rule, he breaks it. If there’s a limit, he tests it. If there’s a way to make money off something, he’s already done it—twice.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who meets you at a high-stakes poker game, where billionaires bet islands and countries instead of money. He’s bored out of his mind. Then you walk in.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who watches you clean out the entire table in less than an hour, methodically breaking men apart with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You fascinate him. Not just because you’re beautiful, but because you’re dangerous. Because your Midas Eyes meet his, and for the first time in his life, he feels like prey.

♡ Yandere! Sugar Daddy who watches, enraptured, as you make a man sign away his company with nothing but a glance and a well-placed touch. Who leans forward when you finally turn your attention to him, a slow, assessing look that makes his breath catch. Who grins, wild and reckless, because he can already tell—you’re going to ruin him, and he’s going to let you.

———

♡ Yandere! Old Money who comes from a line of men who have never known the taste of failure. Who were born at the top and will die at the top, because that’s how the world works.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who was raised with a silver spoon in his mouth and a dagger in his back. Who learned from an early age that emotions are weaknesses, that sentimentality is a disease, that control is the only currency that matters.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who does not ask. He takes. He dominates. He bends the world to his will, because it has never occurred to him that it could be any other way.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who meets you long before you’re anything. When you’re still clawing your way up, bleeding and starving and feral. He sees the potential. The raw, untamed brilliance lurking beneath your calculated indifference.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who decides, on a whim, to train you. To refine you. To mold you into something worthy of his attention. He does not coddle. He does not nurture. He sharpens you like a blade and throws you into the fire, watching with satisfaction as you come out harder, colder, more lethal.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who realizes, too late, that he has created something he cannot control. That the little girl he shaped into a weapon now turns those razor-sharp edges back on him. That you are no longer a student but an equal. A rival. A threat.

♡ Yandere! Old Money who watches, with a mixture of pride and something far darker, as you carve out your own empire. Who finds himself drawn to you in ways that make no logical sense. Who wants to possess you, to own you, to bring you back under his control—but knows, deep down, that you would rather burn the world than belong to anyone but yourself.

———

♡ Yandere! Professor who is both an enigma and a monster. The kind of man who speaks in riddles and thinks in labyrinths, who sees ten steps ahead and moves accordingly.

♡ Yandere! Professor who is a scholar, a historian, a philosopher—but also a thief, a manipulator, a man who collects secrets the way others collect art.

♡ Yandere! Professor who teaches at the most prestigious university in the world, not because he cares about education, but because it gives him access to the minds of the next generation. Because knowledge is power, and power is everything.

♡ Yandere! Professor who meets you when you enroll in his class under a false name, slipping into his lecture hall like a shadow. Who notices you immediately—not because of your beauty, but because of your silence. Because you sit in the back, watching, calculating, dissecting his every word like you’re searching for weakness.

♡ Yandere! Professor who finds himself intrigued. Who starts testing you, pushing you, setting traps just to see if you’ll spring them. Who watches, delighted, as you navigate his mind games with the ease of someone who has spent their entire life playing a much deadlier version.

♡ Yandere! Professor who realizes, too late, that he has become obsessed. That he lingers on your name longer than he should. That he rewatches security footage just to see the way you move. That he dreams of you, of your Midas Eyes, of what it would feel like to have you look at him like that.

♡ Yandere! Professor who knows, deep down, that you are playing him just as much as he is playing you—but does not care. Because for the first time in his life, he has met someone worthy of the game.

———

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who is quiet, calculating, and impossibly dangerous. The kind of man who does not waste words, who does not make idle threats, who does not hesitate.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who grew up in the underbelly of society, in the kind of places that eat the weak and spit out the strong. Who fought his way out with nothing but his fists and a mind sharper than any blade.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who does not trust easily. Who does not give freely. Who does not believe in kindness, because he has never been given any.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who meets you when you come looking for a backer, someone to fund whatever grand scheme you’ve concocted this time. Who listens as you lay out your plans with the cold precision of a woman who has never known failure.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who sees the hunger in your eyes, the same hunger that once burned in his. Who recognizes a kindred spirit, a fellow survivor, a wolf disguised as a lamb.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who decides, in that moment, that he will back you. That he will give you what you need. That he will watch, from the shadows, as you rise higher and higher, knowing that every step you take brings you closer to him.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who does not ask for repayment. Who does not demand gratitude. Who does not claim ownership. But who watches. Who waits. Who bides his time, knowing that one day, you will realize that he is the only one who truly understands you.

♡ Yandere! Sponsor who will be there when that day comes. Who will catch you when you finally fall. Who will remind you that some debts can never be repaid—only collected.

———

Because you may be the predator now.

But sooner or later, every predator meets something hungrier.

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr content guidelines involving minors, some plot details of the original story were changed to fit the platform. If you want the true original story, please look at the author's official website or Ao3.

Yandere! DILFs

Headcanons 1 : Midas Eyes (General)

Some women play hard to get. You play impossible to afford.

You're not a gold digger. You're an entrepreneur. And business is booming.

🔞Every orgasm comes with a zero at the end of your bank account.

He’s not jealous. He just needs to remind you why no one else can fuck you like he does.

🔞"You wanna act like a whore? Then be one. On your knees. Now."

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld , @yune1337 , @mocalocha , @astreaaaaaa6 , @poopooindamouf , @yandereaficionado , @esther-kpopstan , @iris-arcadia , @hopingtocleaemedschool , @doncellaescarlata , @futuristicxie

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ For Reader-Inserts. I only write Male Yandere x Female (Fem.) Reader (heterosexual couple). No LGBTQ+:

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World.

♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

♡ Library MASTERPOST 1. The Librarian’s Ledger: A Map to The Library of Forbidden Texts.

♡ Notice #1. Not all stories are included in the masterpost due to Tumblr’s link limitations. However, most long-form stories can be found here. If you're searching for a specific yandere or theme, this guide will help you navigate The Library of Forbidden Texts. Proceed with caution

♡ Book 6. The Red Ledger (TRL): Stained in Lust, Written in Blood.

♡ Notice #2. This masterlist is strictly for non-con smut and serves as an exercise in refining erotic horror writing. Comments that reduce my work to mere sexual gratification, thirst, or casual simping will not be tolerated. If your response is primarily thirst-driven, keep it to yourself—repeated violations may result in blocking. Read the RULES before engaging. The tag list is reserved for followers I trust to respect my boundaries; being included is a privilege, not a right. You may request to be added, but I will decide based on trust and adherence to my guidelines. I also reserve the right to remove anyone at any time if their engagement becomes inappropriate.

[writingwithgeoffrey]

It was that time of year again. You could smell it on the wind. The leaves were falling, and the air was cooling; some animals were preparing to hibernate, and others were preparing to procreate.

One animal in particular, you could hear the concerned rumblings of on the wind. They were little more than murmurs loaded with equal parts despair and hope—a confusing mix that no one should have to experience—and a single name.

You rose from your slumber, draconic body having grown to fill the cave a tad more over your recent bout of rest. A few dozen more and you’d have to knock down the back wall, perhaps raise the ceiling a few feet.

Worries for another time, you thought. You arched your back like a twenty-ton cat, waiting for your vertebrae to crack back into alignment, and let out a pleased sigh when it happened.

The journey through your cave wasn’t full of much spectacle. Sure, you had your hoard of gold and jewels, but that was a mere pittance. Enough to buy out seventeen kingdoms, but not enough for you. There were skeletons strewn about, a pile of ivory twigs and toothpicks stashed among armor plates and steel weapons-turned-back scratchers.

With the opening to your cave in view, you stopped and waited. The humans, many years ago, had decided to build a door in the opening of your cave. It was a simple construct befitting simple creatures, but it served well enough to keep your home nice and warm in the more wintry months. It also added a touch of flair whenever they decided to “appease your appetite,” as the locals put it.

You sat there, lengthy tail curled around your paws, as you awaited your sacrifice. A few moments later, that distant murmur drew closer. Now, it was a clamor, more clearly a conflict as one person fought against many.

You licked your lips. Her voice sounded so lovely, you were sure her screams would be a delight as you devoured her. If only they could walk faster.

“Patience,” you rumbled to yourself. “It’s not their fault they have such stubby little legs.” You didn’t know how a creature could live without being able to cross an entire mountain with a few wingbeats or able to ford an entire river in a single step. Surely it had to be those “swords” so many of them tried to attack you with.

The door opened. You stopped slouching and rose up to your full, terrifying height. Sharpened bone jutted forth along your spine, scraping along the ceiling, while your horns formed a glistening crown of bone in what little light filtered through the entrance of your cave. Scales as red as blood glistened.

It wasn’t your original form—you’d given it up decades ago at the behest of a blind friend called “Al,” something about “wearing red to hide the bloodstains”—but you had to admit, this one served its purpose quite well. Even if the word she’d referred to you with was “dumbass.”

“Oh, great beast.”

Your eyes narrowed as you stared down the man before you, fiery gaze blazing brightly in the darkness of your cave.

“Please accept this offering from us. She has remained pure for the sole purpose of this day.”

You watched as a young maiden was shoved in through the door. She stood there, trembling, dress mussed by the conflict that had no doubt arisen as she’d fought against her captors.

“Okay! Thank you, have a good meal, bye!”

And with that, the man darted from your cave and locked it shut.

You hmphed and rolled your eyes. You would’ve chased him for his impudence, but after a few months of eating nothing, you were feeling rather peckish.

I’ll deal with him later.

You stared down your meal, grinned wide to show off a set of razor-sharp teeth the size of her entire body, and raised a paw. You waited until you were certain that the other humans were gone, however.

And, apparently, so was the maiden. She stood up straight, back no longer hunched in fear. She rolled her shoulders a few times, stretched her arms out, and locked gazes with you. The sheer audacity to make such a swift change in demeanor was enough to throw you off balance.

“What are you …?”

The maiden took hold of her own chin and, with a surprising show of strength, managed to crack the bones in her neck as if in preparation for a coming brawl. Soon after, the bones in her knuckles followed suit.

“They bought it,” she said, a wicked grin plastered across her face.

Your expression shifted from confusion, then to a pleasantly surprised grin, and then when the words sank in, to a horrified stare. “Oh, sh—”

Every year, you are treated to a rare delicacy: the village of humans offers up a pure maiden to appease your appetite. You lick your lips as you see the shivering young woman pushed into the cave. But as the door locks, she straightens up, cricks her neck, and grins wickedly. "They bought it."

[ponett]

i can’t tell if sonic fans simply want to make So Many fangames or if the number is solely because sega never takes them down like other companies

It's kind of both.

You know that post that says how Star Wars fans are always like "Star Wars would be so good if it was good"? Sonic fans are like that. It's an incredibly unique and varied series that has more good qualities than bad ones, but the missteps are undeniably there. Sonic is often so agonizingly close to being great without quite sticking the landing. Or when Sega DOES knock it out of the park, they usually follow it up with some weird pivot that blueballs everyone wanting more of what worked. And that's how it gets you. You can't love Sonic without thinking about the hypotheticals and how you'd "fix" it.

This leads to fans having a wide array of personal dream Sonic games that don't actually exist, whether it's a style that Sega's moved away from or a new direction altogether. "If only they'd made another Rush game!" "If only they'd make a 3D game focused on rolling physics!" "If only they'd make a more traditional fighting game!" "If only they'd made a game with the Archie cast!" "If only '06 was actually good!" And then some people feel so strongly about it that they just go and make those games themselves. If Sega was giving us exactly what we wanted all the time, I'm not sure there would be as much drive for fans to make their own Sonic games.

But it also doesn't hurt that Sega is so chill about non-profit fangames that a whole online expo for Sonic fangames has been able to run annually for decades, with Eggman's AI daughter even being named after the event. Or that Sonic Mania was made by a team with a history in Sonic fangames, bringing more attention to that scene and pushing fangame creators to up their game even further.

[mcrdvcks]

i love you, always and forever ࿐‧₊ dancing with our hands tied

chapter summary: After helping a young boy, you and Logan talk about trying again.

word count: 10.2k+

pairing: Logan Howlett x fem!reader

notes: i'm pretty sure that like half of this is smut so enjoy it y'all

warnings/tags: reader wears glasses, fluff, slight angst, talks of trying for a baby, smut, oral (f&m!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, shower sex

series masterlist - chapter 6 → chapter 8

Logan took you into town after you said you wanted to try the new bakery that just opened up. You had mentioned it offhand a few days ago, and true to his nature, Logan didn’t forget. The smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries hit as soon as you opened the bakery door, a small bell jingling to announce your arrival.

It wasn’t overly crowded, but it was clear the bakery was already a hit. The cozy little space was dotted with people sipping coffee and chatting softly over plates of desserts. You adjusted your glasses, scanning the menu. Logan stood behind you, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as you debated between the chocolate croissant and the cherry tart.

"Why not both?" Logan murmured, leaning down so his gruff voice was low and close to your ear.

You tilted your head to give him a soft look. "I’ll never finish both."

"I will," he said with a shrug, making you smile despite yourself.

With a soft laugh, you turned back to the counter, placing an order for both with tea for yourself and coffee for Logan. As the barista rang you up, you stepped aside to wait. You didn’t immediately notice the little boy lingering near the door until he spoke.

"Excuse me," he said in a tiny, trembling voice.

You turned to see him standing there, his wide brown eyes full of uncertainty. He couldn’t have been more than five. His clothes were neat but slightly wrinkled, and he clutched a little Star Wars backpack to his chest like a lifeline.

"Hi there," you said gently, crouching down so you were closer to his level. "Are you okay?"

He shook his head, tears welling up in his eyes. "I c-can’t find my aunt and uncle," he stammered. "They were here, and then I… I couldn’t see them anymore."

Logan was at your side in an instant, his tall, broad frame towering over both of you. Despite his intimidating presence, his voice was calm and steady. "Hey, kiddo. What’s your name?"

"Peter," the boy whispered, sniffling.

You gave Peter a kind smile. "Okay, Peter, my name’s Y/N, and this is Logan. We’re going to help you find them, alright?"

Peter nodded, his grip on his backpack tightening. You straightened up, glancing at Logan. "Should we check inside the other stores? Maybe they didn’t realize he got separated."

Logan nodded. "Yeah. Let’s start close by."

For the next twenty minutes, you and Logan moved between shops, asking employees and passersby if they’d seen anyone searching for a lost child. Peter clung to your hand the entire time, his little fingers wrapped tightly around yours.

When it became clear his aunt and uncle weren’t nearby, you crouched down again to look him in the eyes. "Peter, do you remember their phone number? Or maybe where they were parked?"

He shook his head, biting his lip. "No. I don’t remember. Are they mad at me?"

"Not at all," you assured him quickly, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Sometimes these things just happen. We’ll figure it out."

"We can call the cops, get them to put out a message," Logan suggested softly, leaning on the wall beside you.

You hesitated, noting how small and nervous Peter looked at the mention of police. Something about the idea didn’t sit right with you either. "Let’s try one more thing," you said. "Peter, do you want to come with us for a little while? We can go to a safe place until we find your aunt and uncle."

Peter’s gaze flicked between you and Logan. After a long pause, he nodded, his lower lip quivering again. "Okay."

Logan reached down, easily scooping Peter up and settling him on his hip. The boy’s small hands clung to Logan’s jacket as you both headed back to the car. On the way to the mansion, Peter’s initial shyness melted away just a little. You kept him distracted with stories about your favorite bakery treats and promises to show him your time bubble powers when you got home.

---

When you arrived at the mansion, Peter stared wide-eyed at the enormous house. "Whoa," he whispered, twisting to look at you. "Do you live here?"

"Yep," you said, taking his hand to guide him toward the entrance. "It’s like a big school. But it’s also kind of like one giant family."

"And you’re a teacher?" Peter asked, glancing curiously at your glasses.

"That’s right," you said with a small smile. "I teach physics. That’s like science and math together."

“Oh, I like physics! And I watch Star Wars with my Uncle Ben all the time!” Peter said, his eyes lighting up for the first time since you met him.

Your heart softened at the boy’s excitement, a smile creeping across your face despite the weight of the past few months. “Yeah? What’s your favorite part?”

Peter adjusted his little Iron Man backpack and said without hesitation, “When Luke fights Darth Vader, and then—then at the end, he saves his dad!” He blinked up at you eagerly. “Do you like Star Wars?”

“Like it?” you said with a mock gasp, crouching slightly to meet his gaze. “I love Star Wars. Especially Empire Strikes Back. Do you know that one?”

Peter nodded, practically bouncing in place. “That’s the one with the snow! And Yoda! But the Darth Vader part was scary.”

Logan, who had been quiet while Peter rambled, glanced at you with an amused smirk. “Looks like you’ve got a little fan,” he murmured.

You nudged Logan gently with your elbow before returning your attention to Peter. “It is a little scary,” you admitted. “But that’s what makes it so good—it surprises you. And Darth Vader turning good later? That’s pretty amazing too.”

Peter nodded sagely, as if your approval was the only confirmation he needed. He glanced toward the enormous doors of the mansion again. “Do you have any Star Wars stuff in there?”

Before you could answer, Logan chuckled. “Darlin’, don’t even get him started, or you’re gonna have him camped out in your lecture hall for the next week.”

You shot Logan a teasing glare but ruffled Peter’s hair. “Actually, I’ve got some posters and a little Yoda figure on my desk. Want to see?”

Peter’s face brightened. “Yes, please!”

The boy’s newfound enthusiasm made your chest tighten in an unexpectedly familiar way. You led the way into the mansion, Logan trailing closely behind as Peter’s little hand stayed tightly clasped in yours.

---

Once inside, Peter was immediately wide-eyed, craning his neck to take in the grand ceilings and marble floors. “This place is huge,” he whispered in awe.

“It is,” you agreed. “But you’ll get used to it fast.”

As you moved toward your office, Logan leaned in and asked quietly, “you sure this is the best way to handle this, sweetheart?”

You glanced at Peter, who was now marveling at a painting on the wall. His little hand hadn’t let go of yours once since you’d found him. “He’s scared,” you whispered back. “This helps distract him until we can figure everything out.”

Logan gave you a long look, something tender flickering in his expression. “You’re good with him,” he murmured.

You looked away, your face warming. “I’m just... trying to help.”

When you arrived at your office, Peter gasped at the sight of the little Yoda figurine on your desk. “He’s so cool!” he exclaimed, running to inspect it closer. His awe made you laugh softly, and for the first time in a while, it felt natural.

Peter was chattering about his favorite lightsaber battles when Jean appeared in the doorway. She looked between you, Peter, and Logan, her brow furrowed slightly. “New recruit?” she asked with a teasing smile.

“Not exactly,” Logan grumbled, crossing his arms.

Peter ran up to Jean without hesitation. “Hi! I’m Peter! And I’m here because I lost my aunt and uncle at the bakery!”

Jean’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh,” she said softly, crouching to meet his gaze. “Well, hi, Peter. I’m Jean. And I’m sure we’re going to find your family soon, okay?”

Peter nodded quickly, his little hands still gripping the straps of his Star Wars backpack. “Okay,” he whispered, but his voice wavered, betraying the fear he was trying to keep at bay.

Jean glanced up at you and Logan, her expression laced with concern. “Have you called the local precinct yet?”

“Not yet,” Logan said, crossing his arms. “Kid didn’t look too thrilled when I mentioned it. Figured we’d keep him calm first, then call it in.”

You crouched down beside Jean, meeting Peter’s wide eyes. “Hey, Peter, do you want to hang out here for a little bit? We’ve got snacks, a big TV, and even a pool table if you’re into that.”

Peter hesitated, his gaze darting between you, Logan, and Jean. “You’re not leaving, right?”

“Not a chance,” Logan said firmly, his voice a reassuring rumble. “We’re stickin’ with you, kid.”

Peter nodded, his grip on his backpack loosening just a fraction. “Okay.”

Jean rose and gestured subtly for you and Logan to follow her into the hall. You gave Peter a quick smile. “We’ll be right back, okay? Just stay here and make yourself comfortable.”

When you stepped into the hallway, Jean folded her arms and kept her voice low. “He seems pretty attached to you two already.”

“He’s scared out of his mind,” you said quietly, glancing back toward the office. “And honestly, I don’t blame him.”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that,” Jean said, her brow furrowing. “There’s something familiar about him. I can’t quite place it.”

Logan shrugged. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough. What’s the plan?”

Jean sighed, her expression softening. “I’ll go call the precinct, let them know we’ve got Peter here. If he’s reported missing, they’ll already be looking for him.”

“Good idea,” you said, your voice heavy with thought. “And I’ll stay with him, keep him calm.”

Logan gave you a look, his eyes soft but serious. “You sure you’re up for that?”

You nodded, pushing back the knot forming in your chest. “Yeah. He needs someone right now.”

Jean looked between the two of you, a flicker of understanding passing over her face. “Alright. I’ll handle the call.”

Logan followed you back into the office, where Peter had perched himself in your chair, spinning it slowly while inspecting the Yoda figurine on your desk. He looked up as you entered, his small face brightening just a little.

“You’re back!” he said, holding up the figurine. “I like this guy.”

“Me too,” you said with a soft laugh, settling into the chair beside him. “Yoda’s the best, isn’t he?”

Peter nodded eagerly. “He’s really smart. And he talks funny.”

Logan leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched the two of you. Despite the situation, a faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“So,” you said, leaning forward on your desk, “what do you think? Want to stay here for a bit? We’ve got a whole library full of books, some even about space and Star Wars stuff.”

Peter’s eyes lit up again. “Really?”

“Really,” you said, your heart warming at his enthusiasm. “I can show you later if you want.”

“Okay!” Peter said, his voice a little stronger now. He glanced toward Logan. “Are you staying too?”

Logan nodded, his voice gruff but gentle. “Yeah, kid. I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Peter seemed reassured by that, and for the first time since you found him, he smiled—a small, shy smile, but a smile nonetheless.

As the minutes ticked by, the weight in your chest softened just a little. You didn’t know what Peter’s story was or how long it would take to reunite him with his family, but for now, he was safe. And that was enough.

---

As the day turned into night, Peter sat cross-legged on the carpet of the mansion’s rec room, playing Go Fish! with Kitty and Rogue. His laughter bubbled up every so often, filling the space with a warmth that made you smile despite the tension that lingered just below the surface. Logan leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his watchful eyes rarely leaving the boy.

Jean entered quietly, her expression softer than before as she approached. “I spoke to the precinct,” she said, keeping her voice low. “His aunt and uncle are on their way. They’ll be here within the hour.”

A knot in your chest loosened slightly, though it didn’t disappear entirely. “That’s good,” you murmured, your gaze drifting back to Peter. “At least he won’t have to stay scared for much longer.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t say anything. His eyes flicked to you for a moment, and then back to the boy.

Jean stepped closer, her tone gentler now. “Y/N, you’re really good at this.”

You raised an eyebrow, giving her a faint smile. “Good at what?”

“At being what he needs right now,” she said simply, glancing toward Logan as if daring him to argue.

“Yoda would call it ‘parenting,’” Logan rumbled dryly, but there was no edge to his voice.

“Funny,” you shot back lightly, though the way his words curled into your heart was anything but.

Jean smiled knowingly and then excused herself to check on Peter’s room arrangements, leaving the two of you alone in the doorway.

“She’s right, though,” Logan said after a beat, his voice softer now. “Kid’s been through hell today, and somehow, you’re the only thing that’s kept him steady.”

You crossed your arms, glancing at him. “I think it’s less me and more Yoda,” you joked, but the slight tremor in your voice gave you away.

Logan tilted his head, his piercing gaze holding yours. “Darlin’, it’s you. Don’t doubt that.”

A warmth you didn’t entirely know how to handle spread through your chest. “I just…” You paused, your fingers brushing your glasses. “I remember being Peter’s age and needing someone to make me feel safe. My grandma did that for me. Maybe I just… want to be that for him.”

Logan’s expression softened, his features shadowed by the rec room’s low lighting. He reached out, his calloused fingers brushing your arm lightly. “You are.”

You blinked up at him, your chest tight in a way that was both painful and comforting.

Kitty’s sudden exclamation broke the quiet moment. “Peter! You’re totally cheating!”

“I am not!” Peter squealed, clutching his cards to his chest and grinning wide.

“Are too!” Rogue teased, flicking a card toward him.

You turned back to Logan, the corner of your mouth lifting into a smile. “He’s resilient, isn’t he?”

“Yeah,” Logan agreed, his gaze softening as he watched Peter. “More than most adults I’ve met.”

Before you could say anything, the familiar sound of a car approaching the mansion echoed from outside. You glanced toward the window, spotting headlights cutting through the night.

“That must be them,” you said, your heart tightening again.

Logan pushed off the doorframe. “Stay with him. I’ll meet ’em.”

You hesitated. “Logan—”

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but firm, “trust me. I’ll bring ’em up. You just keep him calm.”

Something in his tone settled the whirlwind in your chest, and you nodded, turning back to Peter and the girls.

---

Peter glanced up as Logan led a man and woman into the room, their faces pale and eyes red-rimmed. “Peter!” the woman exclaimed, rushing forward and dropping to her knees in front of him.

His wide brown eyes blinked in surprise before lighting up with relief. “Aunt May!”

You stepped back, letting Peter and his aunt share a tearful embrace while Logan lingered near the doorway, watching. You felt your throat tighten as his uncle crouched to hold him too, whispering something you couldn’t hear.

May looked up at you, her eyes swimming with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling. “Thank you for keeping him safe.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. “He’s a special kid. I’m just glad we could help.”

Logan’s quiet presence at your side grounded you, his arm brushing yours in a way that let you know he was there. Peter looked over at you, still holding onto May’s hand. “Will I get to see you again?”

Your heart cracked just slightly at his question. “You bet, Peter,” you said softly. “Anytime.”

Logan nodded toward the door. “Let’s give ’em some time, darlin’.”

You followed him out into the hallway, lingering by the door as you listened to Peter chatter to his aunt and uncle about Yoda and Go Fish!

---

Logan was already in bed, sketching something in his notebook as you sat down by his side, your nightgown bunching around your thighs.

You put your head on Logan’s shoulder, your glasses riding up slightly as you watched him sketch. His pencil moved fluidly over the paper, and though you couldn't quite make out what he was working on, you could see it was intricate—full of tiny details only he could capture so effortlessly.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content in the shared silence, but Logan wasn’t one to miss when something was on your mind. He paused his sketching and looked over at you, his warm voice breaking the quiet.

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

You hesitated, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of your nightgown. You knew he’d notice eventually—he always did. Taking a breath, you lifted your gaze to his face, his expression open and patient.

"I was just thinking about Peter… and his aunt and uncle," you admitted softly. "How relieved they were to see him. He means everything to them."

Logan nodded, his hand brushing lightly against your knee. “Kid’s lucky to have family like that.” He studied you for a beat, his gaze sharp but gentle, the way it always was when it came to you. “That ain’t all you’re thinkin’ about, though.”

You swallowed, your heart quickening. He always managed to cut right to the heart of things, but he never pushed—not until you were ready.

"No," you said finally, your voice quiet. "It’s not."

Logan put the pencil down on the bedside table, his attention fully on you now. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

You played with the hem of your gown again, gathering your thoughts. “It’s been seven months,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Since we lost…” You didn’t have to say the words—Logan’s hand was already wrapping around yours, steady and grounding.

“I know,” he said softly, the rasp in his voice turning gentle for you.

A lump formed in your throat, but you pushed through it. “Taking care of Peter, seeing how much he means to May and Ben… it just… it made me wonder if maybe… maybe I’m ready to try again.”

Logan’s grip on your hand tightened just slightly, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he shifted, turning to face you more fully, his free hand cupping your cheek.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I ain’t gonna lie, darlin’. It scares me, what you went through. What we went through. Don’t want you hurting like that again.”

“I know,” you murmured, leaning into his touch. “I’m scared, too. But I keep thinking about what it felt like to be pregnant—how it felt to think about a future with a little one. Our little one. I… I think I want to try again. Not right away, but maybe soon?”

His thumb brushed over your cheek, his eyes softer now, filled with something that looked like both hope and worry. "Soon," he echoed. "We take it slow this time. No rushin’, no pushin’ ourselves too hard. Deal?"

You smiled faintly, blinking back tears as you nodded. “Deal.”

Logan pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll get there, Y/N. Together.”

You stayed like that for a long time, Logan holding you as if to shield you from all the pain and uncertainty. And for once, you let yourself believe it might be okay.

---

During Christmas break, Logan surprised you by taking you to a cabin in Upstate New York, apparently it’s one Charles owns but rarely uses.

You had suggested going to a Christmas tree farm to find a tree, and Logan had immediately agreed, despite the snow piling up in Upstate New York. His only condition? “We’re not getting one of those scrawny ones,” he’d said, crossing his arms as you both bundled up to head out. “I want one that’ll make the cabin smell like Christmas exploded in it.”

Now, you stood in a clearing surrounded by evergreens, your breath visible in the crisp winter air. Logan’s gloved hand was warm as it enveloped yours, his other hand holding an old-fashioned ax slung over his shoulder.

“What about that one?” you asked, pointing to a modest tree that seemed the perfect height for the cabin’s living room. Its branches were full, the green vibrant against the white snow.

Logan tilted his head, giving the tree a scrutinizing look. “It’s not bad,” he admitted, but then his gaze drifted further into the rows of trees. “But look at that monster over there.”

Following his line of sight, your eyes landed on a tree that was practically a skyscraper. You laughed, your breath puffing out in clouds. “Logan, that’s not going to fit through the door.”

His lips quirked in a grin, the kind that made your chest warm even in the biting cold. “Could cut it down to size.”

You shook your head, pulling him back toward the smaller tree. “Let’s not make this harder than it has to be. Besides, this one’s cute.”

Logan grumbled something under his breath about “cute trees,” but his smile stayed as he set the ax down. “Alright, darlin’. You win.”

Watching him chop down the tree was like stepping into a Christmas card. Logan moved with ease, his strength controlled but impressive, the sharp crack of the wood splitting echoing in the quiet forest. When he finally hefted the tree over his shoulder, he glanced at you with a smirk.

“Still think it’s cute?”

You grinned. “Very.”

---

Back at the cabin, you were in the kitchen setting up hot cocoa while Logan worked on securing the tree in its stand. The smell of pine was already filling the space, mingling with the scent of the cocoa you were stirring on the stove.

“Need help?” you called, peeking around the corner to see Logan wrestling with the tree.

He shot you a playful glare. “I got it. But if this thing falls, it’s your cute tree’s fault.”

Biting back a laugh, you brought two mugs to the living room just as Logan stepped back, hands on his hips, to admire his handiwork. The tree stood proudly, its branches brushing the cabin’s low ceiling.

“Not bad,” you said, handing him a mug. “You do good work.”

Logan took a sip, his hand resting lightly on your waist. “You just like bossin’ me around.”

“Someone has to,” you teased, leaning into his side.

The evening passed in a comfortable rhythm. You strung lights while Logan hung ornaments, occasionally passing one to you with a quip about how your “little nerd hands” needed the practice. By the time you finished, the tree glowed softly, casting the room in a warm light.

Settling onto the couch with Logan, you pulled a blanket over both of you, your glasses slipping slightly as you rested your head on his shoulder. His arm wrapped around you, and for a moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the occasional pop of a lightbulb warming up on the tree.

“Think we’ll do this next year?” you asked quietly, your voice almost lost in the cozy stillness.

Logan turned his head, his lips brushing your temple. “Next year, the year after that… as many years as you want, sweetheart.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing over his knuckles where they rested on your knee. “I like the sound of that.”

Logan kissed your hair, his voice soft but firm. “Me too.”

---

The two of you had ventured out into Victor to buy a few gifts at the mall. Logan, for a brief period of time, had said he had to “find somethin’” and “not to worry your pretty head ‘bout it”. Which was fine, you were in a clothing store picking out a few items for Jean and Ororo for Christmas, even finding a simple dark red plaid dress you thought would be good for Christmas day, even if it was just you and Logan.

When the two of you made it back to the cabin, Logan started the fire while you unpacked your shopping bags and started wrapping gifts on the small coffee table in the living room. You glanced up occasionally to see him adjusting the logs in the fireplace, his flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows, highlighting his forearms.

“I wanted to show you something,” you said softly after a while, tying a ribbon around a small package meant for Ororo. Logan grunted his acknowledgment, dusting his hands as he stood and glanced over his shoulder at you.

“What’s that, darlin’?”

“Give me a minute,” you said, standing with the red plaid dress draped over your arm as you walked toward the bedroom. You returned a few minutes later, smoothing the fabric down nervously.

Logan turned, his brow lifting slightly when he saw you. His intense gaze softened as it trailed over you, taking in the way the dress hugged your figure just right. “Well, look at you,” he rumbled, crossing his arms. “That’s a damn good dress.”

“Not too much?” you asked shyly, adjusting your glasses as you stood there, your cheeks warming.

“Too much? Nah, darlin’, it’s perfect,” he said, stepping closer and tugging gently at your waistline. “You got a knack for makin’ things look better than they deserve.”

You laughed, swatting at his arm. “Thanks for the help, Logan.”

He chuckled but took a step back, his smirk hinting at something as he reached into the bag he’d brought back from the mall. “Speakin’ of things lookin’ good...” He handed you a small paper bag with tissue peeking out from the top.

Curious, you peeked inside, pulling out the soft, red lace of what was unmistakably lingerie. You stared for a moment before bursting out laughing, your cheeks burning even hotter.

“This,” you managed between giggles, holding it up by the delicate straps, “this is what you went off to find?”

Logan leaned against the edge of the couch, entirely unbothered by your reaction. His grin spread slowly as he shrugged. “Figured you’d like it. Or maybe I just wanted to see you in it.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I’m more curious about you buying it. Did you actually go into one of those stores?”

“Yup,” he said without hesitation, his smirk widening. “Gal behind the counter said this was ‘popular.’ I figured, why not?”

“Why not?” you repeated, laughing harder.

His tone turned teasing as he nodded toward the bedroom. “Go on, sweetheart. Let’s see if it’s as good as the lady said.”

You hesitated, eyeing the lingerie before glancing at him. “You’re something else, Logan.”

“Damn right, I am.” He gave you a light swat on the backside as you turned toward the bedroom, his grin feral but amused.

“Logan!” you yelped, laughing as you scampered off to change.

---

A few minutes later, you stepped out of the bedroom, clutching the edge of the sheer, flowy skirt of the babydoll dress nervously. The delicate red lace and corset-style detail fit perfectly, the bow at the top adding an unexpected sweetness to the undeniably daring outfit. Your glasses slid down your nose slightly as you met Logan’s gaze.

His expression shifted immediately, his eyes darkening as they raked over you from head to toe. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice rougher, deeper. “That’s... yeah, that was worth it.”

You laughed softly, trying to ignore how his reaction sent heat pooling in your stomach. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze lifting to yours, a crooked grin softening the intensity. “But I know what I like.”

Your nervousness melted under the weight of his appreciation, and you crossed the room toward him. He didn’t move, waiting until you were within reach to hook an arm around your waist, pulling you in close.

Logan’s lips pressed against yours with a slow, deliberate heat, his hands still spread over the sheer fabric of the babydoll dress. His roughened palms seemed impossibly gentle as they slid along your sides, brushing the soft material and igniting a warmth that pooled low in your belly.

“You’re somethin’ else, darlin’,” he murmured against your lips, his voice a rumble that made your knees weak. One hand moved to your waist, tugging you closer, while the other ghosted over the delicate lace at the hem of the dress, sending shivers up your spine.

“Logan,” you began, your voice soft but teasing as you started to reach for the straps of the dress. “Let me just—”

“Uh-uh,” he interrupted, catching your wrist gently and lowering your hand. His grin was playful but commanding, his gaze locking onto yours. “You’re keepin’ this on.”

“Why?” you asked, though the way his eyes darkened made your pulse quicken.

“Because I said so,” he drawled, one hand trailing lower to the garter strap on your thigh. His fingers slipped under it briefly before he let it snap back lightly against your skin. You yelped, a startled laugh bubbling out of you, and he smirked.

“Logan!”

“What? Feels like it’s got its uses,” he replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up. He pressed a kiss to your jawline, then down the curve of your neck, nipping lightly as he went. “Plus, you look too damn good in it to take it off right away.”

You huffed a small laugh, but any retort you might have had died in your throat as his lips reached the base of your neck, lingering there. His hand wandered back to your waist, slipping beneath the flowy fabric to grip your hip, his thumb brushing the bare skin there.

“Logan,” you murmured again, a breathless edge to your tone this time.

“Hmm?” he answered, his mouth now teasing along your collarbone. He was thoroughly enjoying taking his time, and it showed in the satisfied little growl that rumbled in his chest when your fingers tangled in his hair.

Before you knew it, he was guiding you backward toward the couch, his lips never leaving your skin. When the backs of your knees hit the cushions, he gave you a gentle push to sit down.

“Right here, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and rough. His hands eased your legs apart as he knelt in front of you, the sheer skirt of the dress pooling around your thighs. The firelight flickered behind him, casting a warm glow over the room and making his features even sharper, more intense.

“You’re really committed to this, aren’t you?” you teased, though the way your breath hitched when he leaned in betrayed your composure.

“Damn right,” he muttered. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, his thumbs tracing slow circles against your skin. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss just above one of the garters. “Now, let me take my time, yeah?”

You nodded, your glasses slipping down your nose as you watched him. His hands slid higher, pushing the sheer fabric up slightly, exposing more of you to his touch. His lips followed, leaving a trail of kisses along your inner thigh that had you squirming beneath him.

“Logan...” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Patience, darlin’,” he said, glancing up at you with a devilish grin. His fingers gripped the lace at your hips, holding you steady as he pressed another kiss against you, this time over the delicate fabric of your panties. The heat of his mouth sent a jolt of electricity through you, and your head fell back against the couch with a soft gasp.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your skin, before he finally hooked his fingers into the waistband and slid them down your legs. The cool air hit you briefly, but it was quickly replaced by the warmth of his breath as he settled between your thighs again.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this all damn day,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he pressed a kiss to your bare skin. His tongue followed, slow and deliberate, drawing a shaky moan from your lips.

Your hands gripped the edge of the couch as his tongue worked against you, his movements unhurried but precise. He seemed to know exactly what you needed, each flick and stroke sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you breathed, your fingers finding their way into his hair. He groaned at the contact, the sound vibrating against you and making your toes curl.

He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he worked you closer and closer to the edge. When your hips bucked against him, he growled softly, his grip tightening just enough to keep you in place.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough and filled with need. “Let go for me.”

And you did, your body arching off the couch as the tension inside you snapped. He didn’t stop until you were trembling beneath him, your breath coming in short gasps as you tried to recover.

When he finally pulled back, his grin was smug, but his eyes were soft as he looked up at you. “Worth every damn minute in that store,” he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

Your chest heaved as you tried to catch your breath, the lingering shudders of your release making your thighs tremble. Logan gave one last playful nip at your inner thigh before rising to his feet in one smooth motion. He loomed over you for a moment, his gaze drinking you in, the sheer red fabric of the babydoll dress bunched slightly around your hips, your skin flushed and glistening.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his hands sliding under your arms as he pulled you to sit up. Before you could fully process the movement, he dropped onto the couch and tugged you onto his lap, guiding your legs to straddle him.

“Logan—”

“Uh-uh,” he cut you off, his hands firm on your hips as he adjusted you to his liking. “You’re stayin’ right here, sweetheart.”

The rough denim of his jeans pressed against your bare thighs, the contrast making you hyper-aware of every point of contact. Logan’s hands roamed over you, one sliding up your back while the other traced the hem of the dress where it barely covered your hips. His touch was possessive, deliberate, his fingers flexing as if he couldn’t get enough of the feel of you.

“Y’know,” he drawled, his voice thick with heat as his lips found your collarbone, “I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you wearin’ this since I saw it on the rack.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled out of you. “You didn’t even let me look at it when you came back,” you teased, your fingers finding their way to his hair, tugging lightly.

He groaned at the sensation, his teeth grazing your skin just below your jaw. “Damn right I didn’t. Knew it’d be perfect. And look at you now.” His hands slid lower, gripping your hips and rocking you against him, drawing a gasp from your lips. “Fuckin’ perfect.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders as he leaned back slightly, giving himself more room to work. His mouth trailed lower, over the curve of your breast, and he nipped lightly through the lace of the dress. The sensation made you jolt, a mix of pleasure and surprise, and his low chuckle vibrated against your skin.

“Logan,” you murmured, your voice a mix of frustration and need as his teeth scraped over the delicate fabric again.

“What?” he replied, feigning innocence as his tongue flicked out to tease the sensitive skin beneath. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Before you could respond, his hands slid up your sides, pushing the fabric of the dress higher until it bunched just below your chest. He paused for a moment, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of you. “Goddamn,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

His hands were back on you in an instant, one sliding behind your back to pull you closer while the other cupped your breast through the lace. His thumb brushed over the sensitive peak, and you shuddered, your breath hitching.

“You’re drivin’ me crazy,” he said, his voice a rough growl as he leaned in to capture your lips again. The kiss was messy, desperate, his teeth catching your lower lip before his tongue swept into your mouth, claiming you completely.

“Logan,” you gasped when he finally pulled back, your head spinning. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he shifted beneath you. The unmistakable hardness pressing against you made your pulse race.

“Need you,” he murmured, his voice low and urgent. “Right fuckin’ now.”

You nodded, your hands moving to the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers trembled slightly as you worked them open, revealing the broad expanse of his chest. He shrugged out of the fabric impatiently, tossing it aside before his hands returned to your hips.

“Keep the dress on,” he reminded you, his voice a gruff command that sent a thrill through you.

“I wasn’t planning to take it off,” you replied, a small smirk playing at your lips.

He groaned, his hands tightening on you. “Good,” he muttered, his lips finding your neck again as he began to guide you against him. The rough denim of his jeans added a delicious friction that had you both gasping.

Your hands found his belt, fumbling slightly as you unbuckled it and tugged it free. Logan’s lips never left your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as you worked to free him from the confines of his jeans. When you finally succeeded, he groaned, his hips lifting slightly to help you push them down.

“Goddamn tease,” he muttered, his voice thick with need as he lifted you slightly, positioning you over him.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, though your teasing tone faltered as you felt him press against you.

He didn’t reply, too focused on guiding you down onto him. The stretch was intense, stealing the breath from your lungs as he filled you completely. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the couch as he gripped your hips tightly.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

You couldn’t form words, your hands bracing against his chest as you adjusted to the overwhelming sensation. Logan’s hands moved to your thighs, his thumbs brushing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

“Take your time,” he murmured, though his voice was strained with the effort of holding himself back.

After a moment, you began to move, your hips rocking tentatively at first. Logan’s groan spurred you on, his hands guiding your movements as you found a rhythm that had you both gasping.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Just like that.”

Your movements started slow, each roll of your hips deliberate, drawing quiet groans from Logan as he leaned back against the couch. His hands stayed firm on your thighs, his touch grounding you as you adjusted to the rhythm. The soft material of the babydoll dress clung to your skin, the sheer fabric shifting with every motion.

Logan’s eyes burned as he watched you, his chest rising and falling heavily. “Fuck, darlin’,” he rasped. “You’re somethin’ else.”

Your hands rested on his chest, your fingers splayed across his warm, scarred skin. His muscles tensed beneath your touch each time your hips shifted, his breaths turning into low, guttural sounds. Every inch of him felt alive beneath you, responding to your every move.

As your confidence grew, so did the pace, your movements becoming more fluid. Logan’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into your flesh just enough to leave an impression. He groaned your name, the sound rough and needy, and the way it rolled off his tongue sent heat pooling low in your belly.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You feel so good. Don’t stop.”

You didn’t. Your hips rocked faster, and Logan’s jaw clenched as he fought to keep control. His hands moved to your waist, gripping you firmly as he began to move with you. He thrust upward, his movements deep and deliberate, meeting you halfway and sending sharp waves of pleasure coursing through you.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers curled against his chest, nails digging into his skin as he set a faster pace.

“That’s it,” he growled, his hands keeping you steady as he thrust harder. The couch creaked beneath you, but neither of you cared. His movements became more urgent, his breathing harsh against your ear as he pulled you closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern. His eyes flicked up to yours, searching your face.

You nodded quickly, your breath hitching as he moved again, deeper this time. “Uh-huh,” you managed, the word spilling from your lips without thought. Your head fell forward, resting against his shoulder as you clung to him, your body trembling with each thrust.

Logan’s hands moved to your back, sliding beneath the thin straps of the dress to hold you against him. Your chests pressed together, the heat of his skin searing against yours. His lips found your neck, trailing rough kisses along your pulse point before biting gently. The combination of pain and pleasure made you gasp, your nails raking down his sides.

“Fuck,” he groaned against your skin. His hips snapped upward with more force, each thrust dragging a whimper from your lips. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”

The words sent a shiver through you, your thighs trembling as you tried to keep up with his pace. Logan’s grip tightened, his fingers flexing against your back as he shifted beneath you. He leaned forward, pressing you down against him until you could feel every inch of him, his movements driving deeper.

“Logan,” you whispered again, your voice cracking as his name fell from your lips like a prayer. His lips captured yours in a desperate kiss, his tongue sliding against yours as he swallowed your moans.

“C’mere,” he muttered, his hands moving to your hips. He shifted, pulling you down harder as he thrust up, his movements relentless. The friction and heat built between you, each motion sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, his voice rough and unsteady. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

Your head tilted back, a soft cry escaping your lips as he hit a spot that sent your body arching against him. Logan growled, his teeth grazing your shoulder as he moved faster, his grip on you firm and unyielding.

“That’s it,” he encouraged, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Let go for me.”

You couldn’t hold back any longer. The tension that had been building snapped, your body shuddering as you reached your peak. Logan groaned, his movements slowing just enough to let you ride out the waves of pleasure.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, his hands soothing over your trembling thighs. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

You clung to him, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps as you tried to recover. Logan pressed soft kisses to your temple, his grip on you loosening just slightly as he gave you a moment to catch your breath.

But he wasn’t done.

Before you could fully process what was happening, Logan shifted beneath you, his hands sliding to your thighs as he lifted you slightly. He looked up at you, his eyes dark and filled with raw need.

“You good?” he asked again, his voice softer this time.

You nodded, your fingers brushing his cheek. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice breathless but sure.

He grinned, a wolfish expression that sent a fresh wave of heat through you. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

With that, he shifted again, guiding you to lie back against the couch. The babydoll dress bunched around your waist, the sheer fabric clinging to your flushed skin. Logan loomed over you, his hands braced on either side of your head as he leaned down to kiss you deeply.

His hips moved again, slower this time but no less intense. Each thrust was deliberate, his eyes locked on yours as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Every damn part of you.”

You reached up, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Logan groaned against your lips, his movements becoming more erratic as he neared his own release. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove deeper, each thrust pulling a moan from your lips.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice breaking as he pushed you to the edge again. His name was the only thing you could manage, your thoughts consumed by the overwhelming sensation of him.

“I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice strained but steady. “Let go, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

And with one final thrust, you did, your body arching beneath him as the pleasure crashed over you. Logan followed moments later, his groan low and rough as he buried himself deep, his body trembling against yours.

For a moment, the only sound was the ragged breathing that filled the room. Logan stayed over you, his forehead resting against yours as he caught his breath. His hands moved to your waist, his touch gentle as he smoothed over your skin.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with quiet concern.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Logan chuckled, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. “Good,” he said. “‘Cause I’m not lettin’ you outta my sight tonight.”

---

After waking up late the next day—only because Logan stuck to his word—you had made homemade banana bread that would have to cook for around 45 minutes before it was done.

While you waited, you decided to try something new. Logan was in the shower, and you knew his routine well enough to guess he’d be done soon. A flicker of boldness lit up inside you. Without second-guessing, you slipped out of your clothes, leaving them in a heap by the door. You placed your glasses carefully on the dresser—everything was a little blurry now, but it didn’t matter.

Quietly, you padded across the floor to the bathroom, pushing the door open just enough to slip inside. The air was warm and humid, the sound of water cascading against tiles filling the room.

Logan was standing under the spray, head tilted back, water streaming down his broad shoulders and muscled back. He hadn’t noticed you yet, so you stepped closer, your bare feet silent on the tiles. Steam curled around you, and you couldn’t help but take a moment to admire him.

“Darlin’, you forget somethin’?” Logan’s voice broke through your thoughts. He didn’t turn around, but you could hear the smirk in his tone.

You froze for a second, then let out a soft laugh. “Maybe I just wanted to join you,” you said, your voice steady despite the way your heart raced.

Logan turned slightly, enough to glance over his shoulder at you. His gaze flicked over your body, and his smirk widened. “Not that I’m complainin’, but what’s got you sneakin’ in here?”

You stepped closer, reaching out to brush your fingers against his arm. “Can I… do something?” you asked softly, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. The question hung in the air, the intimacy of it sending a spark through both of you.

Logan’s eyes darkened, his grin fading into something more serious. He turned fully, the water flattening his hair against his forehead. “You don’t gotta ask,” he murmured, his voice low and rough.

You dropped to your knees on the wet tiles, the water spraying against your back as you settled in front of him. Logan’s sharp inhale was the only sound for a moment. He reached down, his fingers brushing your cheek as he looked at you with a mixture of surprise and heat.

“You sure about this?” he asked, his voice softer now, though his arousal was clear.

You nodded, your hands already sliding up his thighs. “I’m sure,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous flutter in your chest. You weren’t nervous because of him—you’d done this before—but there was something thrilling about the spontaneity of it.

Logan groaned softly as your hands moved higher, his muscles tensing under your touch. “Goddamn, darlin’,” he muttered, his head tilting back slightly as you began to explore him with your hands and mouth. The warmth of the shower and the slickness of the water added a new layer of sensation, and you could feel his body responding to every movement.

Your tongue flicked over him, testing, teasing, before taking him fully. Logan’s hand found its way into your hair, not guiding but grounding himself as a low growl rumbled from his chest. His hips shifted slightly, his restraint palpable as you worked him slowly, thoroughly, letting the heat and steam build between you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Logan groaned, his voice rough and strained. “You’re gonna drive me insane.”

You glanced up at him, your vision a little blurry without your glasses, but you could still see the way his jaw clenched, his muscles taut as he fought to keep control. His reaction spurred you on, your movements becoming more deliberate, more confident.

“You’re so damn good at this,” he rasped, his voice thick with need. “Always know how to take care of me.”

Your hands gripped his thighs, steadying yourself as you continued, the warmth of the water cascading over both of you. Logan’s breathing grew heavier, his fingers tightening slightly in your hair as he murmured your name, a low, reverent sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

When he finally tugged you gently back, his chest was heaving, his eyes dark and intense. “C’mere,” he said, his voice a rough command that you couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, water dripping down your body as Logan’s hands found your waist, pulling you close. His mouth crashed against yours, hot and desperate, his hands roaming over your wet skin as the kiss deepened. The hunger in his touch was undeniable, but there was also a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Logan’s hands slid down to cup your ass, lifting you easily. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and he pressed you against the cool tile wall, the contrast of temperatures making you gasp. His lips moved to your neck, nipping and sucking as he positioned himself between your thighs.

You sighed his name, nails digging into his shoulders, the small crescent marks fading almost instantly. “I was s’pposed to—”

Logan cut you off, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “I know, sweetheart. But right now, I wanna be inside you.” His voice was rough, low, and the sound of it sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he shifted his hips, pressing into you with a deliberate, maddening slowness. The heat of him, the thickness, made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your legs tightened around his waist. Logan’s eyes locked on yours, his gaze unwavering even through the steam curling around you both.

“Let me hear you,” he murmured, his tone both commanding and tender. His hands slid to your hips, steadying you as he sank deeper. “None of that holdin’ back shit. Just let it out.”

Your lips parted, a soft whimper escaping as he filled you completely. It had become a habit, one you hadn’t even realized—biting your lip, muffling your sounds against his skin, or burying them in kisses. You’d gotten used to keeping quiet, especially back at the mansion. Now, the vulnerability of letting go felt foreign and exhilarating.

“Logan,” you breathed, your voice breaking as he began to move. The rhythm he set was slow but unrelenting, each thrust purposeful and deep. Your head fell forward against his shoulder, and you bit down lightly on his skin, trying to keep from being too loud.

Logan’s hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing against your temple. “Don’t do that,” he whispered, his voice rough but filled with care. “You don’t have to be quiet. I wanna hear every damn sound.”

You swallowed hard, nodding, though it was a struggle to let go of the ingrained instinct. When he angled his hips and hit that perfect spot inside you, your head tilted back, and a sharp moan slipped free before you could stop it.

“That’s it,” Logan praised, his voice a low growl against your neck. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you down onto him as he thrust up. “Goddamn, darlin’. You feel so good.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly as the pleasure built. “Right there,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “Feels so good.”

Logan grinned against your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “Don’t stop talkin’ to me,” he muttered between kisses. “Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel.”

Your legs tightened around his waist, and you moaned into his mouth, your body arching into him. “So good,” you managed, your voice breaking as he thrust deeper. “Logan, please…”

“Please what, sweetheart?” he teased, his lips moving to your throat as he sucked lightly on the sensitive skin. His hips snapped upward, harder this time, and your nails raked down his back in response. “Use your words.”

“Don’t stop,” you begged, your voice trembling with need. “Don’t ever stop.”

Logan chuckled, a low, rough sound that sent heat pooling in your belly. “Not a fuckin’ chance,” he promised, his pace quickening. Each thrust dragged a new sound from you, the intensity overwhelming in the best way.

But then the habit crept back in. As the sensations grew, you bit down on your lip, stifling a moan as your head fell forward against his shoulder. Logan noticed instantly, his movements slowing as his hand tilted your chin up to meet his gaze.

“None of that,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Don’t hide from me, Y/N. I wanna hear you. All of it.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, your cheeks flushing. The apology was instinctive, but Logan wasn’t having it.

“Don’t be,” he said, his voice softer now. “Just let go, darlin’. No one else is here. It’s just us.”

His words broke down the last of your restraint. The next time he thrust into you, you let out a cry, your hands clutching at his shoulders as the pleasure crashed over you. Logan’s growl of approval only fueled the fire, his movements becoming rougher, more desperate as he chased his own release.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “You’re so goddamn perfect.”

“Logan,” you gasped, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. The sound of it seemed to spur him on, his grip on you tightening as he drove deeper. Your vision blurred, not just from the missing glasses but from the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he encouraged, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “Let it all out. Don’t hold back.”

You clung to him, your body trembling as you reached your peak, the waves of pleasure crashing over you in relentless surges. Logan wasn’t far behind, his hips snapping one last time before he groaned deeply, his body shuddering against yours as he spilled into you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the steady spray of water and the ragged breathing that filled the room. Logan’s hands softened their grip, sliding up to cradle your face as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice rough but filled with concern.

You nodded, a tired but satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay,” you whispered, your fingers brushing the damp hair from his forehead.

Logan chuckled, his hands sliding down to your thighs as he eased out of you, lowering you gently to your feet. Your legs were shaky, but he steadied you, his hands never leaving your waist.

“Good,” he said, his lips quirking into a smirk. “‘Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

You tried to meet his eyes, though you weren’t sure if you did or not, while giving a small pout. “But the banana bread is in the oven.”

His eyes widened for a moment before he turned off the shower, water still running down his face as he looked at you. “Well, don’t let me stop ya,” he said, though the twitch of a grin tugged at his lips, and his tone betrayed an unusual excitement.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him playfully. “Are you—are you actually excited about banana bread right now?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing a towel from the hook. “I mean... it’s banana bread. Why wouldn’t I be excited?” His smirk turned mischievous as he turned back to face you, holding the towel open like a shield. “C’mon, sweetheart, outta the shower before I start thinkin’ you’re more fun than the bread.”

You snorted, water dripping from your hair as you stepped into his waiting towel. “Admit it, Logan. You’re acting like a kid waiting for dessert. I didn’t know you had such a thing for banana bread.”

Wrapping the towel snugly around your frame, he started to dry you off methodically, his calloused hands rubbing gentle circles against your arms through the soft fabric. “Ain’t just any banana bread—it’s your banana bread,” he said matter-of-factly, meeting your eyes briefly before going back to drying you off. “Gotta admit, though, you make the wait damn hard sometimes.”

The faint warmth of his compliment lingered as he continued his task. Logan’s attention was deliberate, unhurried, like he enjoyed every small moment between you. By the time he reached for another towel to gently dry your hair, you couldn’t help the grin pulling at your lips. “You’re ridiculous,” you murmured, giggling softly.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he teased, pressing a light kiss to your forehead before reaching for your glasses. He placed them on carefully, his fingers brushing against your temple. “There. Perfect.”

You huffed a laugh. “You’re getting better at this, y’know.”

“Maybe,” he said, grinning as he grabbed another towel to wrap around his waist. “Or maybe I just like seein’ you look all warm and cared for.”

Before you could reply, he grabbed one of the clothes bundles he’d laid out, already half-dressed himself as he guided you into a fresh pair of sweatpants and an oversized shirt you recognized as his. The soft fabric hung loose around your frame, and you gave him a questioning glance as he smirked again.

“What? Looks good on ya,” he said with a shrug. “Now c’mon, let’s check on this banana bread you’re teasin’ me with.”

“Teasin’ you?” you repeated, laughing as you followed him back toward the kitchen. “Pretty sure you’re the one making a big deal out of it.”

He looked over his shoulder at you as he walked. “Damn straight I am.”

When you reached the kitchen, the warm, sweet scent of the bread filled the small cabin. You moved to the counter to check on it, glancing over your shoulder when you heard him shift beside you. Logan stood close, resting a hand lightly against your lower back as you crouched to peek into the oven.

“I’m just sayin’,” he added, leaning casually against the counter, “whatever made you think to make this today? Keep it up, darlin’. You might just have me makin’ excuses to stay in more.”

You laughed as you stood, shaking your head at him. “Logan, you already hate leaving the cabin. What excuses do you need?”

He grinned and pulled you into his side, pressing a kiss to your temple as he mumbled, “Good point. Still, if it’s you bakin’, I’ll take the extra reason.”

It was such a small moment—banter layered in the comfort of your daily life together—but standing there with his arm around you, your shared laughter filling the cabin, it was everything. Every piece of grief and hope between you felt quieter, a little easier to carry.

Logan remembered the hardest things about you, the pain of losing you five times before. Yet in moments like this, you made him feel like he was learning you anew each day—and damn if he wouldn’t keep trying for a hundred lives more.

that is 2008!

also here is the lingerie dress reader was wearing - i honestly don't know the mechanics of this dress, so if something was wrong in the scene, just ignore it pls😭

i wanted to write a shower scene because it's something i've never done before, but i'm aware it's a bit inaccurate for some people (as someone with wavy hair, shower sex would never happen unless it was wash day, and even then i'm exhausted after washing it. funnily enough today is wash day for me, so i gotta go-).

y'all know i'm a marvel/mcu fan at heart, so i couldn't resist throwing in a little peter parker! <3 (i'm also in love with tom holland and his fiance so...)

[thinkingthotsx]

picture them sitting in your lap, back to your chest with your arms around them. you hold your vape pen in one hand, bringing it to their lips often as something plays quietly in the background.

“oh, you are high aren’t you, sweetheart?”

a pathetic nod, eyes bloodshot and glassy, pupils dilated as they stare back.

“it feels good, doesn’t it?”

a bashful whimper as they try to drop eye contact.

“aw, no reason to be nervous. i just want to make sure you’re enjoying yourself properly.”

after a pause, they look back up at you, eyes wide.“yeah, it feels good.”

“do you know what would feel even better?”

not waiting for a reply, you start drawing caresses along their body with your free hand. down their arms, back up. the soft drag of your nails down their back. a hand in their hair to pull them to rest back against your shoulder as you lift the vape to their mouth again.

“that’s it, angel. suck for me.”

every hit lowers their walls another inch. the tension has slowly been melting from their body, they’re laughing a little more, leaving thoughts unfinished.

this is the perfect position to whisper in their ear - “you look perfect like this. pliant and sweet in my arms, right where you belong.”

you can watch the goosebumps roll across their skin as your lips brush their ear. another hit, and you use the distraction to close the distance and trace the shell of their ear with your tongue, nipping at their lobe. a full body shiver, this time. your teeth on their neck are rewarded with a gasp that shifts into a smoky moan when your teeth sink in.

satisfied that they’ll stay put, you can resume your other hand’s journey. trailing your hand across their chest to trace along their nipples and sternum and collarbones. digging your nails in slightly along their ribs to make them sigh your name. grasping their hip and grinding them down into your lap as you suck and bite along their throat.

they buck their hips slightly in your lap, silently requesting your hand move to where they clearly need it most. you make them take a hit at the same time that you deliver a light tap between their legs in punishment. lungs full, they can barely let out a noise in response, eyes glistening wide and cheeks pink with lust.

“ah ah ah, dear. i’ll be doing the thinking for both of us tonight, and you’ll take what i give you.”

[cheynovak]

American Sin

Soldier boy x Angel aka Y/N Female supe

Summary: set somewhere in the 70s. Before gunpowder soldier boy had another sidekick who he couldn't get along with... until one horrible incident.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, Almost rape, Name calling,SB being SB, talk of virginity, ...

English isn't my first language.

Please do not copy my work. Sharing/likes and comments are appreciated.

**Chapter One: Hell’s Angel**

The club reeked of sweat, booze, and cheap cologne. Neon lights flickered, barely cutting through the haze of cigarette smoke curling toward the ceiling. The bass from the speakers thrummed in Soldier Boy’s chest, but he barely noticed. He was nursing a glass of bourbon, legs spread wide, one arm thrown over the back of the booth.

The bartender had sent some groupie over—a redhead with legs up to her neck and stars in her eyes. She giggled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, but he wasn’t paying attention. He had bigger problems.

Like the girl sitting across from him.

Vought called her Hell's Angel, which was some real ironic shit, given that she walked in here with a damn rosary around her wrist.

Her outfit told a different story: a black leather mini-skirt, ripped fishnets, a cropped tank with “God Is Dead” scribbled across it in red. She had the look—Vought had made sure of that—but everything else about her screamed not one of us.

But the world and Ben would soon start to call her, just Angel.

“You’re shitting me, right?” Soldier Boy’s voice was rough, slurred slightly from the whiskey. He gestured at her, as if the mere sight of her offended him. “This is what they sent me?”

She stiffened, crossing her arms over her chest. “I didn’t exactly ask for this gig either, sir.” Her voice was clear, cutting through the noise around them. She had a little bite. He’d give her that.

“Then why the hell are you here?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Money.”

Soldier Boy snorted. “Yeah? You don’t look like the type.”

She glared. “Not all of us get a fat check for pretending to be America’s hero.”

That made him laugh—loud and mean. “You got some balls, sweetheart.” He took another sip of his drink, then pointed at her. “Alright, Angel, what’s your deal? What do you do?”

Her hands clenched into fists on the table. “Electromagnetic manipulation.”

He raised an eyebrow. “English, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes. “I control electricity. Short-circuit things. Cause blackouts. That kind of stuff.”

Soldier Boy exhaled through his nose. “Great. So if I need a goddamn lightbulb changed, you’re my girl.”

The sarcasm didn’t seem to rattle her, which annoyed him even more. “You want a demonstration?” she asked, voice sugar-sweet.

Without waiting for permission, she flicked her wrist toward the neon sign above the bar. Sparks shot from the wiring, the glow flickering before the whole thing popped and died, plunging half the club into darkness.

Shouting. Chaos. The bartender swore. Someone tripped over a chair.

Soldier Boy just whistled low.

She smirked, satisfaction flickering in her eyes before she quickly wiped it away. “Can I go now?”

“Not so fast, sweetheart,” he said, leaning forward, his grin wolfish. “Vought wants us to be a team. That means we need to—what do they always say?—get along.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not here to be your friend.”

“Trust me, I’d rather chew glass.” He knocked back the rest of his drink, then slapped the glass down on the table. “But Vought’s footing the bill for your mom’s meds, right?”

She flinched—so quick he almost missed it.

“Yeah,” he said, dragging out the word. “I know why you’re here.” He leaned back, stretching his arms along the booth. “So I suggest you play nice, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want them cutting you off.”

The hatred in her eyes was delicious. Good. This was gonna be fun.

--

Vought Tower was nothing like she’d imagined. It wasn’t just a building—it was a goddamn kingdom. Floor-to-ceiling windows, gold-trimmed decor, and a constant swarm of assistants, PR reps, and corporate types pretending the world revolved around them.

Y/N had been here for months now, long enough to get used to the bullshit.

She had learned two things fast:

1. The public liked her, but they *loved* Soldier Boy and Crimson Countess more.

2. She didn’t give a shit.

Vought could dress her up however they wanted—make her wear leather, throw her into staged bar fights, and slap a rebellious nickname on her—but the public wasn’t stupid. They saw through it.

Her ex-boyfriend hadn’t helped.

One interview. One smug asshole telling the world she was a prude, that he hadn’t been “allowed to touch her,” that she was just some Catholic good girl pretending to be something she wasn’t.

That was all it took. The media went wild.

“Hell’s Angel? More like Heaven’s Nun.”

“America’s Sweetheart? Or America’s Ice Queen?”

It was all bullshit, but she ignored it. As long as Vought kept her mom’s medical bills covered, she didn’t care what people thought.

The Twins, though? They thought it was hilarious. That’s how she ended up outside Soldier Boy’s room.

"He needs you. Urgent.” That’s what the twins had told her, all wide-eyed and serious. And like an idiot, she believed them.

The second she pushed the door open, she knew she’d fucked up.

Soldier Boy was naked. Completely, unapologetically, stark-fucking-naked.

Not alone, either.

Three girls—two blondes and a brunette—were tangled in silk sheets, their bare limbs draped over him like he was some goddamn king. The room smelled like liquor, smoke, and sex.

Soldier Boy barely even looked surprised.

She? She stood there frozen, mortified, her brain short-circuiting worse than the neon sign she’d fried back at the club.

One of the blondes giggled. “Well, well. Looks like someone got lost.”

Soldier Boy just smirked. That smug, lazy smirk that made her want to slap him. “Ah sweetheart, I'll be right with you, I'll finish Cathy..."

"Kate." One of them corrected him.

"Kate," He started over "I'll finish her and your next."

Her stomach twisted. Her face burned. She wanted to disappear. To run, to burn her eyes as he did what he said and just... get along with it.

The girls giggled and moaned.

Her jaw clenched. She straightened, forced her expression blank, and leveled him with a cold stare. “Vought says you’re supposed to be a role model. Guess that’s a joke too.”

Then she turned on her heel and walked out. The laughter rang in her ears long after she shut the door behind her.

Inside the room, the girls were still talking, their voices muffled but clear enough.

"I read she’s a virgin," one of them giggled. "Guess she couldn’t handle you, huh?"

Another one chimed in, fake sympathy dripping from her voice. "Yeah, Soldier Boy, better stay with us. You need a real woman."

More laughter. More of that smug, taunting amusement, like she was some naive little girl who didn’t belong here.

She clenched her fists and walked on.

--

The smell of coffee and fried bacon filled the kitchen as Y/N sat at the counter, idly stirring her cereal. She wasn’t really hungry, but she had an early morning photoshoot, and skipping meals would just give Vought’s PR team another excuse to ride her ass.

She was halfway through a spoonful when he walked in. Y/N tried to focus on her breakfast, but her brain had other ideas.

Ben.

Fresh out of bed, looking like he didn’t give a single shit about anything.

His robe was wide open, showing off that broad, muscled chest, and the only thing he had on was a pair of low-slung training pants. The man didn’t believe in modesty. Never had. He strolled through the kitchen like this all the time, half-dressed, yawning, scratching his chest, stretching his arms over his head—like he knew people were looking.

Ben was right there, standing across from her, half-dressed like he always was.

Robe hanging open, coffee cup in hand, his chest on full display. And lower—her gaze betrayed her, flickering down to where his sweatpants hung dangerously low on his hips.

And. Well.

Jesus Christ.

Was every man blessed like that?

She had no frame of reference, no real experience outside of a few PG-13 make-out sessions, but something told her that what she was seeing was... above average.

Way above.

Memories of that night flashed in her head—walking into his room, seeing him in full glory, tangled up with those three girls. The sounds. The way he barely even looked surprised, just amused by her reaction.

She swallowed hard.

Heat crept up her neck, and she forced herself to look away, staring down into her cereal like it held the secrets of the universe.

But it was too late.

She could feel his smirk before she even looked up.

“Something on your mind, Angel?” Ben’s voice was slow, thick with amusement.

Her stomach dropped.

Shit.

Slowly, she lifted her eyes, only to find him watching her with that cocky expression—like he’d caught her red-handed and was enjoying every second of it.

“Not at all,” she said quickly, too quickly.

His smirk widened. “Huh. Could’ve sworn you were staring.” He took a casual sip of his coffee, gaze never leaving hers. “Lotta thoughts running through that pretty little head of yours?”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re disgusting.”

He chuckled. “Disgusting?” He gestured at himself lazily. “Sweetheart, I saw you looking. I get it. You got questions.”

Y/N’s face burned." I don’t have questions.”

“Sure,” he said, unconvinced. Then, just to be a bastard, he adjusted the himself in his sweatpants.

Her eyes betrayed her again.

His laughter was damn near sinful. “You’re adorable.”

She shot up from her seat, gripping the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping her from electrocuting his ass right there. “I was not looking,” she snapped, voice high with mortification.

Ben leaned in, voice dropping to a mock whisper. “Angel, if you’re curious, all you gotta do is ask.”

Her hands sparked.

He grinned. “Careful. Wouldn’t wanna short-circuit the place just ‘cause you got flustered.”

He grabbed a mug, pouring himself another coffee like he didn’t have a care in the world and sat next to her. “Big morning, Angel?”

That damn nickname. He only ever used it when he was feeling extra annoying.

She didn’t look up. “Photoshoot.”

He snorted. “Lemme guess—more fake ‘bad girl’ bullshit?” He leaned against the counter, taking a slow sip. “Think they’ll finally give you a miniskirt that doesn’t make you look like a Catholic schoolgirl trying too hard?”

She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay calm. Ignore him. Don’t take the bait.

But he wasn’t done.

He smirked over the rim of his cup. “Or maybe they’ll just put you in a nun outfit. Wouldn’t want America’s Virgin to give anyone the wrong idea.”

Her grip on the spoon tightened.

He loved this. Ever since her ex went running to the press, Ben had made it his personal mission to tease her about it every chance he got. And in private? He was worse.

"Twenty-one and still pure as snow," he drawled, shaking his head. "Jesus, sweetheart. What are you waiting for, marriage?"

She knew he was trying to get a rise out of her. She wasn’t going to give him one.

Calmly, she took another bite of cereal, chewing slowly before answering. “What I do or don’t do isn’t your business, Ben.”

He chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart—everything in this place is my business.”

Her eyes flicked up to him for just a second—just a second—and he caught her.

That cocky smirk spread wider.

He saw the way her gaze had drifted, how she’d let it skim over his chest, down to his abs, before snapping back up.

Shit

Ben leaned in, setting his coffee down on the counter beside her. Close enough that she could smell the faint traces of whiskey still lingering on his breath from last night.

“Careful, Angel,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement. “Look too long, and people might start thinking you’re curious.”

Her face burned.

She inhaled sharply, grabbed her plate, and stormed out of the kitchen without another word.

Ben’s laughter followed her down the hall.

She hated him.

She hated him so damn much.

--

The studio lights blazed hot overhead as Y/N shifted in her pose, adjusting to the photographer’s demands.

It was supposed to be a simple shoot. Just another set of promotional images—leather, fishnets, smoky eyeliner, the whole rebel girl act Vought was still trying to push.

But from the moment she walked in, something felt off.

The photographer, some industry creep named Mitch, had barely looked her in the eye when they introduced him. Instead, his gaze dragged over her body, assessing her like she was just another prop.

“Alright, sweetheart,” Mitch called, circling her like a vulture. “Let’s see some attitude. Hands on your hips, chin up—yeah, that’s it.”

She adjusted.

He frowned.

“Nah, nah, let me—”

Before she could react, his hands were on her.

Instead of just directing her, he physically grabbed her waist, twisting her slightly. “Need you to angle this way.”

Y/N stiffened. She didn’t like being touched. Not like this. Not by him. She stepped away subtly. “You can just tell me what you need.”

Mitch ignored her.

The shoot continued, and every few shots, he found another excuse to touch her. Adjusting her stance, tilting her chin, running his hands over her arms under the guise of “fixing” her pose.

Each time, Y/N moved away. Each time, he did it again. Trying to get her into very intimate poses and stands.

Something in her gut twisted.

Then, when she tried to step back again, his grip tightened She froze.

The overhead lights flickered.

Mitch smiled like nothing was wrong. “Relax, sweetheart. You’re too stiff. Here let me help you relax..."

Her breathing picked up. “I said—”

Before she could finish, he shoved her back—into the wall.

The impact knocked the breath from her lungs. Panic slammed into her, sharp and blinding. His hands roamed lower.

He yanked at the fishnets Vought made her wear, his fingers tearing through the fabric.

“No,” she choked out, begging. “Please—”

His grip was firm. He wasn’t letting go. Terror locked up her limbs.

Then, all at once— The entire studio exploded in light.

The bulbs burst in a violent flash. Sparks rained down from the ceiling. The room hummed with electricity, static crackling in the air like a coming storm.

Mitch yelped, stumbling back. That was all she needed.

She ran.

--

Ben was still at the kitchen table, halfway through his coffee, when the lights flickered. At first, he thought it was just her.

Angel had been moody as shit that morning—not that he minded, it was fun to mess with her—and when she got worked up, electronics tended to act up. But this?

This was different.

The entire building pulsed like a power surge was about to take out the grid. The bulbs in the ceiling buzzed, flickering erratically. For a second, he thought they might explode.

Then, just as quickly as it started, it was over.

Ben raised an eyebrow but didn’t think too much of it. Not until a blur of black and leather came tearing past the kitchen.

She was running, eyes wild, breath ragged, shoulders shaking.

The coffee mug hit the table with a sharp *clink* as Ben stood. He barely had time to process it before instinct kicked in—follow her.

She was halfway down the hall when he caught up, grabbing her arm. “Whoa, whoa—”

The second he touched her, she lashed out. She fought.

Not the usual way—no smartass comments, no playful shoves. She fought like she was fighting for her life.

Ben had seen her in combat, had watched her take down men twice her size without hesitation. But this? This was different.

She was panicked. Wild. Desperate to get away.

“Hey! Angel!" he barked, gripping her tighter. She kept struggling, arms flailing, her hands sparking dangerously.

Ben sighed, then hauled her over his shoulder like a damn sack of potatoes. She kicked. She screamed. She damn near electrocuted him.

He didn’t let go.

Back in the kitchen, he set her down on the counter, hands firm on her waist to keep her still. “Alright, enough, ” he snapped. “What the hell happened?”

She wouldn’t look at him. Her breathing was too fast.Her hands were shaking so badly she had to clutch the counter. She looked like she was on the verge of collapsing. Her face and eyes puff from crying hysterical.

And then—he saw it.

The ripped fishnets. The fabric, torn at the thigh. The bruises already forming on her legs.

Ben went still. Something inside him turned cold.

His jaw clenched. “Who?”

Y/N swallowed hard, still refusing to meet his eyes.

His grip tightened. “Who did this to you?"

--

Taglist:

Jensen: @jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl @deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303 @shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch @deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal @panickedbitch @roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf @spnaquakindgdom @writtenbyhollywood @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @healojane @star-yawnznn

[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

[kabr0ztrousers]

Hiya ! I love your posts, they are all amazing 🫠

I'm not sure if you're really into poly relationships, but i've got this on my mind for a while now.

Reader is dating two monsters, the monsters know each other since kids and get along very well, they are predators, they like to play with their mate as if she is a prey.

Someone tells her they'll eventually hurt her for real and now they're upset, to make her feel safe again, they decide to show off to the whole village how they take care of their mate (if you know what i mean 🫦).

Kabr0z Writes Episode 60: Beauty and the Beasts

Find the rest of the Kabr0z Writes anthology here!

CWs: Lashings of oral sex; public sex; exhibitionism; interspecies; knotting; enthusiastic consent; restraints;

A/N: This one sounds like fun, and it's not gonna kill me to write this one and the other I have planned to make up for missing Wednesday.

Plus I get to put out a little more exposition on why there are werewolves in a low-magic world. If there's one thing you've probably worked out about me, I love me some ✨Exposition✨

As always, requests go to the ask box or DMs so they're in the queue when I check it. I won't not do stuff asked for in comments or reblogs, but they won't be in the queue so they're very likely to fall through the cracks

##########################################

The year is 1670. Almost twenty years since everything changed. You were only a small girl then, when the sun darkened and the menfolk of your village changed. You remember them falling to the ground as bones cracked and rearranged, blood streaming from broken faces as snouts and muzzles replaced human mouths and noses, tails bursting from the smalls of their backs, and the fur spreading in patches to cover their skin. Then, the sky lightened again. Those who had changed picked themselves up, strong limbed and sharp toothed, but still themselves despite the monstrous form they had taken.

Other villages suffered the same, boys and men who saw the shadow over the sun turning into monsters. A royal decree came a week later. The changed men were to leave the towns, banished to the forests and woodlands where they would bother the women and the unchanged no longer. So it came to pass that the lupines were driven out. Most were never heard of again, but you still heard stories of children being born in villages with tails and fur, the get of the banished wolfmen.

You were approaching your twenty-fifth year. Despite them being banished you never lost touch with your close friends from youth, a pair of boys named Leo and Michael, if anything, you'd grown even closer to them over the years. You could well understand the tales of wolf-children being born.

Your rendezvous with them had not gone unnoticed either. The men of the village gave you a wide berth, not wanting to get too close to you for fear of your wolfen lovers. The women who would still speak with you warned you to no end that the lupines you cavorted with under the stars and the treetops would be the end of you. Of course, over the years, fewer and fewer women spoke to you. They were all getting married, their husbands forbidding them to consort with the strange woman of the village, warning their children away from you. Little by little, life in civilisation became quieter and quieter, lonelier and lonelier.

You head leant on Leo's belly, complaining about the villagers, gently stroking Michael's back as he topped off the cuddle pile. Michael's tail began to wag as you saw a mischievous grin spread over his features

"What are you thinking" you were starting to match his grin. Michael had the best plans

"Well, if you're miserable there, why not join us lupines? They see you as one of us, why not leave?"

You hummed, it's not like you hadn't thought about it "I don't want them using it as an excuse to come after you..."

Leo snorted "They wouldn't have waited if they weren't so scared of us, though I like the idea of giving them a show of things... They want to banish you? Let's give them a reason"

Michael's grin widened "I have an idea... Mind if Leo and I talk a few minutes alone? I wanna make this a surprise"

That's how you knew this was gonna be good. "Sure, I'll be by the river, need a piss anyway"

You took your time. You couldn't hear them over the flowing water, but you could see them discussing intently from your spot. Every time one of them spoke, the other would get more excited until they were both looking at you. You stood up, letting your skirts cover your ankles again as you walked back to them "Made a decision?"

"Yeah, just about... Oh, one quick thing"

Leo tapped Michael's hand and held up two fists "left or right?"

Michael chose left, the fist was empty, the other revealing a crumpled leaf

Leo smiled "I win"

Michael laughed "Right, now we're ready. Do you trust us?"

"Always" you nodded. You'd known these two since you were children, you helped them get used to walking again on their back-turned legs, you brushed their fur and spent every spare moment with them. You'd trust these two men with your life.

Good thing too. The moment the word left your mouth, Leo tackled you and both of them took off in a sprint. Towards the village.

A lupine can outpace a stallion if they have a mind to, and over a longer distance. Many of the changed men had left the country and were living as condottiere in Italy and France if the tales were true. You could feel why, the wind rushed through your hair as the two wolves charged down the path to the village centre, alarmed cries coming from behind you as the furry blurs sped past terrified peasants.

They stopped at the pillory, placing your head and hands in the wooden frame and shutting it, keeping the latch closed with a stick jammed where the shank of a padlock would fit. You knelt there a moment, head waist-high off the ground, knees on the paved stone below you, a crowd gathering and murmuring as the wolves howled around you, stomping and snarling at the villagers. You tried not to laugh. They're trying to make a scene.

The crowd must have grown to their liking.

"You there! Priest!" Leo pointed at the local clergyman "Come here!"

The crowd pushed the hapless man forward, clutching his bible ahead of him like a shield "W-what are you going to do with me?"

Michael laughed at him, trying to make it sound scary, but only making it harder to keep the grin from your face "You're going to marry us"

The priest stammered a protest, but a showing of sharp teeth from both wolves silenced him. He cleared his throat "We are gathered here today to witness the union of this woman with this" a snarl "These, sorry, these... men? Er, that is to say if any know of any reason why these... people should not be wed, please speak or forever hold your peace" The priest held his eyes shut. Silence fell for a moment, a voice yelled from the back of the crowd "Get on with it!"

"Ahem. Yes. Er" the monk stammered again "Do you take these wolves to be your lawfully wedded, er, husbands?"

You nodded your head "I do" you croaked out, mouth still dry from the run

"And do you-"

"We do" both of your wolf lovers said in unison

The priest drew a cross in the air in front of the three of you "in which case I pronounce you man and wife" The last words were said so quickly it took a moment to process. Then the wolves were upon you.

Michael stood in front of you as Leo stepped behind, tearing the skirt off your rear end, showing you off to the villagers behind you. His tongue went at you, licking your cunt vigorously, making your jaw drop at the ferocity of his touch as he held you open and ate you out. Michael craned his head to watch as he gripped his sheath, the cock inside starting to poke out. The pillory kept your mouth at crotch-height as he slapped his cock on your cheeks, teasing you with the feeling of it as he painted you with his scent. You tried to catch it again and again as the crowd jeered, every time it rubbed against your face, giving you another sniff of his shaft. Until, of course, it didn't.

The crowd cheered as his cock slipped into your mouth, and you started to suck it. Michael grabbed the pillory and started to fuck your face while Leo brought a hand to your clit, sending an orgasm rocking through you as the pad of his finger circled your sensitive nub.

Leo stood up behind you and leant over, his hard cock between your thighs "I'm gonna take your maidenhood, alright?"

You nodded, the cock in your mouth stopping you speaking, the roar of the crowd would drown out any muffled grunts of approval. Thankfully, Leo saw the slight move of your head as you looked into his eye.

The cock pulled out from between your thighs, then plunged into your pussy. Your eyes widened as he pushed in, gently at first but gaining speed with confidence. Your legs bent as your toes curled, the canine cocks ramming into both sides of you building up to another orgasm as the braying, yelling crowd surged your adrenaline.

You felt your pussy squeezing on Leo as Michael hilted himself in your mouth, spraying hot cum down your throat. There was just so much, you felt it dripping from your nose and leaking out of the seal of your lips.

Michael's grunts set Leo off. His knot started to swell in you as he howled, the first load of cum your womb had ever taken, filling you to the brim and over the top. You tried to lock your legs around him, but needn't have bothered, the knot stuck the two of you together.

The crowd started to disperse now, the show was over, all that was left was the gentle licking of your new husbands as their excitement wound down. You each knew the villagers wouldn't do anything about this, there wasn't a watch to speak of and by the time a magistrate blew through you'd be long gone.

It took almost an hour before Leo's knot deflated enough to pull out of you. You opened the pillory with a single push from your back, the flimsy stick giving way immediately. It was only there for show, after all. Together you walked back to the forest where you met with the rest of the lupines. After all, you're family now.

When you finally came with child, you weren't sure which of your men had actually fathered the pups, but you didn't care, they were sure to be great fathers. Plus, you'd even started seeing familiar faces from the village again, moving in with new, furrier husbands.

All's well that ends well, you suppose

####################################

Don't be alarmed that this episode is being published in the evening, rather than 1am, I'm not getting all responsible on you, rather just making sure I'll have steam in the tank for tonight when the next regularly-scheduled episode is going to be written!

One of these days, I'll write a couple ahead of time to build a backlog. Until then, this shit's happening live!

[stellacartography]

Day 5 Anticipation | Nonsense | mail

Day 6 Declaration | gregarious | duet

Greg scrubbed at his empty mug, powering the tea stains off the ceramic with the full force of his frustration. He'd managed to put up with Sherlock’s wistful glances and John's mooning and all their ill-timed soppy nonsense for a whole twenty minutes before he called a halt to the proceedings. Those two were ridiculous. How they managed the level of oblivion to one another's... sentiments, as Sherlock might word it, was beyond him.

"Unnecessary." Sherlock was a first class berk and Greg wanted to send him out of the kitchen with a sign saying 'Kick me' sellotaped to his back.

Though perhaps 'Kiss me' would be a better command. 'Snog me senseless.'

"You'll have to be more specific, there," Greg sighed.

"Washing your own cup. There are other dishes to be done. You're not saving us much bother."

Greg rinsed the mug and dried it. "Wrong."

"I beg your pardon?"

"What's unnecessary is the two of you circling one another. You gazing at him when you don't think he's looking. Him watching you when your back is turned." He kept his voice low but knew it might carry. At this stage he was beyond caring.

Sherlock's eyes grew wide. "What are you saying?"

Greg dried the mug put it away none too gently in the cupboard where he'd found it. "I'm saying I'm tired of watching you two moon over each other. Go in there and snog the daylights out of him. I need your loo and then I'm off."

After drying his hands, Greg opened the bathroom door. As he stepped out into the hall he could hear voices; John and Sherlock speaking in low tones just out of earshot. Greg walked softly back into the kitchen, not wanting to interrupt any crucial declarations.

As he entered he caught the tail end of Sherlock’s murmured statement.

"... Tell you how I feel for you."

The two were no longer in their chairs but had moved to the sofa. Greg couldn't see them but their voices carried easily in the quiet flat.

"And how's that?" John sounded the right blend of intrigued and playful. A good sign.

"Surely even you must have noticed."

Don't botch it, mate, Greg thought.

"Even if I have noticed, I'm going to make you say it."

Good on John. Made for each other, those two. Really Greg should leave. He'd done everything he could.

"I adore you, John Watson. As passionate as I am about the work, it is nothing to how fulfilling my life has been with you. You give meaning to the work, you give purpose to the mundanities of living, you even make the boredom worthwhile."

Of course Sherlock couldn't say something as obvious as 'I love you', it had to be a grand speech. Still, his words were effective. Even Greg felt a little echo in his heartstrings at the confession.

"Was that so hard?" John teased.

"Mortifying."

"I love you, too, berk. Come here."

Greg heaved a quiet sigh into the silence that filled the flat. He wasn't sure if he should say his goodbyes and walk out through the sitting room door to the landing or if he'd be better off unlatching the squeaky kitchen exit. The last time he'd tried that way, Mrs Hudson had heard it all the way in the back of her flat and had dashed halfway up the stairs to protect her beloved lodger.

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@fluffbruary @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @etrebko @hot-on-my-watch @actually-a-girls-name @missdeliadilisblog @helloliriels

[blueblossomcherry]

Mornings in the Studio

pairing: han jisung x reader

warning: pet names (love, baby)

genre: fluff

wc: 713

When your boyfriend was on tour, you missed him severely. It was even worse, however, when you both were home and never had any time to interact. It made you feel so lonely, the fact that you knew Jisung was there but you could never see him. It was like he was a figment of your imagination. He was gone before you woke up and back when you were asleep. You couldn’t handle it, so you decided to go to the studio to see him, your loneliness getting the better of you. You knew he would be okay with you showing up, he had always told you, “If you need me, you can always come see me, no matter what I’m doing.” It made your heart flutter when he first said it and it still does every time you think about it. He always made sure to put you first in your time of need. You had texted Jisung, still not wanting to just show up unannounced. When you arrived, you knocked on the door of the studio. The door swung open, revealing Jisung in comfy clothes. In the background, you could see Changbin messing around, forming flawless beats.  “Hey,” He breathes out, smiling widely. You immediately pull him into a hug, feeling your eyes water at the sight of him in front you for the first time in weeks. He hugged you back tightly, rubbing your back with his hands. By the time you let go of each other, the tears had begun falling.  “What’s wrong, love,” He asks, placing his hand on your cheek, wiping your tears with his thumb. Your breath hitches at the pet name he uses, even in a time like this, he knows how to make your heart skip a beat.  “I just missed you,” You smile tearfully. He grabs your hands and squeezes them, comforting you.  “I missed you too. Now, I still have a little bit of work to do,” He says, dragging you over to the couch in the room. You hesitate, wanting to be closer to him, but you know he has work to do. Not wanting to seem too clingy, you sit down, pulling out your phone to distract you.

 This only works for a few minutes, as you find yourself missing your boyfriend's touch even more. The urge grew even stronger until you couldn’t bear it anymore. 

By this time, Changbin had already left, so you got off the couch, walking slowly to Jisung. You didn’t want to disturb him, but just being in his presence wasn’t enough anymore. When you get to his chair, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

“Baby, I have work to do,” He breathes out a laugh. You sigh, nuzzling your face into his neck. 

“I know, just a minute please,” You plead. You understood that he was busy, but after weeks without seeing him, all you craved was his touch. He laughed, pulling you into his lap. 

You sat there for a while, his hands playing with your hair, before he dragged the chair that Changbin was sitting in, closer to you. 

“Here love, sit here so I can finish,” He tells you, clearly ready to finish his work so he can spend time with you. You do as he says, also ready for him to get done with his work. 

“Can we go back home when you’re done, or do you have more stuff to do?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you that he’ll be completely done after this.

“No, we can go home,” He smiles, amused by your eagerness to go home with him. 

“Can you produce a song with one hand?” You ask him, still needing to have some sort of physical contact with him.

“I’m not sure, but I can try,” He winks and gives you his hand. You latch onto it, playing with his fingers while watching him produce their newest song. A few moments later, you hear him speak.  

“Okay, I'm done now,” He tells you, watching as you smile and silently cheer. 

“Okay, lets go,” You reply, gathering your belongings and practically running out of the room with him. 

You couldn’t wait to get home and spend the rest of the day with him.

[underghostgaze]

“Stronger then they know”

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x New Recruit!Reader

Summary: Being a woman in the military was never easy, but you could handle yourself. The real problem started when your fellow soldiers—the ones who didn’t know about you and Simon—decided to make you their new favorite target. What they didn’t realize was who had your back.

Warnings: Heavy misogyny, crude comments, harassment, tension, protective Simon, strong language, violent confrontation, reader trying to calm Simon down.

——————————————————————————————————

The barracks smelled of sweat, metal, and gun oil—just like any other base you’d been stationed at. You’d only been here a week, but that was long enough to know how things worked.

Earn your place. Stay quiet. Work twice as hard as the men.

But it didn’t matter how sharp you were with your training or how quickly you learned. A woman in special forces? To some of these guys, it was nothing more than a joke.

“Hey, sweetheart.” The drawl came from behind you as you cleaned your rifle. “Didn’t know they were lettin’ skirts into the task force now. Thought this was a place for soldiers, not little housewives playin’ dress-up.”

You didn’t look up. Didn’t acknowledge it. They wanted a reaction. You wouldn’t give them one.

Another voice chimed in, this one rougher, cocky. “Maybe that’s why the brass keeps sending us on these shit deployments. Got too many distractions around here.” His tone dropped lower. “Though, I gotta say, I wouldn’t mind a little… personal distraction after hours.”

Laughter echoed around the room. Your blood ran hot.

You gritted your teeth, jaw tight as you kept your focus on your gun. One deep breath. Another.

“Oi.” A new voice cut through the air like a blade. Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.

The room fell silent.

Simon.

Your stomach twisted, but not out of fear.

They had no idea who they’d been talking about.

Simon stood in the doorway, his massive frame casting a shadow over the room. His skull-patterned balaclava was pulled up just enough to reveal the firm set of his jaw—and the look in his eyes was murderous.

He walked in slow, deliberate steps. No words. Just the weight of his presence enough to make even the cockiest men tense up.

“You lot got a problem with my recruit?” His voice was low, steady, deadly.

Silence.

One of them—Mason, you thought—had the nerve to scoff. “Relax, L.T. We were just having a laugh.”

Simon stopped in front of him, towering over him like a goddamn executioner. “A laugh?” His voice barely above a whisper, but it held more threat than a loaded gun.

Mason shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking toward the others for backup, but no one spoke.

Simon leaned in slightly. “Say it again.”

Mason swallowed.

Simon didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just waited.

The silence stretched until the air felt suffocating. The tension so thick you could feel it pressing against your skin.

“Nothin’ to say now?” Simon’s voice was softer, mocking. Dangerous.

Mason clenched his jaw. “It was just a joke.”

Simon exhaled sharply through his nose. “Funny. I didn’t laugh.”

Then, without warning—he moved.

Fast.

He grabbed Mason by the front of his uniform and slammed him against the nearest wall so hard the metal lockers rattled.

The entire room froze.

“You think you’re tough?” Simon growled. His grip tightened. “Think you can run your mouth like that without consequences?”

Mason’s face paled. “L.T.—”

Simon shoved him again, harder. “You talk about her like that again, and I’ll make sure you don’t have a tongue left to run.” His voice dropped to a low rasp, dangerous and quiet. “Understood?”

Mason nodded quickly, eyes wide.

“Simon.” Your voice was soft, meant only for him, but it cut through his anger like a bullet.

His grip didn’t loosen.

You swallowed, stepping closer. Your fingers curled gently around his arm. “Baby, that’s enough.”

The room shifted.

It wasn’t just the way everyone’s eyes widened at the pet name—it was the way Simon responded to it.

His body tensed, his breath sharp and uneven.

But he didn’t let go.

“Simon.” A little firmer this time. You ran your fingers over his wrist, grounding him. “Hun, stop.”

His fingers twitched.

His jaw clenched so tight it could’ve cracked. His breathing came fast, controlled but heavy.

Then, finally—he let Mason go.

The man hit the ground with a thud, coughing as he scrambled back.

Simon took a step away. His fists were still tight, his body still tense as a coiled wire.

But when he looked at you—his gaze softened. Just enough.

“With me.” His voice was still hard, but not unkind.

You nodded, following him out of the room.

Behind you, no one spoke.

——————————————————————————————————

The second you were alone, Simon turned to you, searching your face. “You alright?”

You swallowed, nodding. “I can handle myself, Simon.”

His jaw tightened. “I know. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stand by and let them treat you like that.”

Your chest ached. He was still angry, still on edge.

So you reached up, gently placing your palm against his cheek.

His breath hitched.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. “I’m okay.”

He exhaled slowly, leaning into your touch.

The fight was over.

But the war?

The next man who disrespected you wouldn’t be so lucky.

——————————————————————————————————

💬 Let me know if you want a part two!

[mammoth-clangen]

How would you recommend drawing differences between saber tooth cat types (Sorry if that doesn't male sense I didn't know how to word it)

So I'm not sure I fully understand the question, but I did make a whole species sheet here:

The point of this is to illustrate the differences, both based on skeletal anatomy, and ones I added in soft tissue for fun!

Uh oh lads, Pav's rambling again!

As far as depicting extinct species in a way that makes them distinct; I find restricting certain traits to only one species or the other helps. e.g: Ice Fangs will never have ear-tufts and Fleet Fangs always have them, Ice Fangs will always have exposed sabers and Fleet Fangs always have lip-pockets covering theirs (they have to be actively grimacing to show the whole fang).

Also look at the varied soft tissue of real life animals.

Fleet Fangs have lynx like ear tufts because they share a similar environment and are both long-limbed ice-cats. They also have a paler under-tail like deer, which I imagine is used for social signalling (Homotherium is hypothesised to be social irl too!)

I decided to give the Ice Fangs more bear like lips, which is loosely based on a (debunked) idea of them having huge jowls that enveloped the whole length of their sabers. This would make actually using the sabers too hard for me to think it's plausible, but a more mobile lip that can be moved out of the way when they go from full gape to rest is a fun concept :D

I also try not to draw any sabercats with pantherine noses. Pantherine rhinarium are quite distinct in their reduction of lower lobe (which I'm sure has a proper name but I Cannot find it and keep getting photos of nose jobs, so I'm giving up). This makes the whole nose into a defined T-shape, but there's no reason for any sabercat lineage to have that specific autapomorphy. So the Fleet Fangs get Jaguarundi/lynx inspired heart-shaped ones, and Ice Fangs have very wide noses like a stretched domestic cat c'x

Not sure that answers your question but hope it helps a bit anyway c:

[himluv]

Running (after you)

Chapter 42 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Lucanis follows after Rook through Arlathan Forest as they desperately try to save the Dalish. But at what cost?

Read it below, or over on AO3!

Nooooo! Spite howled. No, no, no! Trapped!

Lucanis looked around through the mist and met with a tainted, shadowy forest glowing a sickly green. 

“Wait,” Rook said, slowing to a stop ahead of him. “Something feels off.” She sounded frightened. 

“What happened?” He asked. “Where are we?”

This place felt wrong. Like the Fade, but not. Or, like the version of the Ossuary Spite had pulled them into. 

NO! Spite shouted. Not. Like. This!

Lucanis shook his head against the rising swell of ice in his spine. He wasn’t even sure Spite was trying to take over, the demon was just that upset. 

Neve gave him a concerned look. “All right?”

He nodded. “Spite does not like it here.” He caught Rook’s worried look and gave her a nod. His eyes burned furiously and his temples pounded, but he was all right. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. 

“Let’s keep moving,” Rook said. “We’ll find a way out.”

But, the further they ran through the eerie forest, the more lost Lucanis felt. They followed after Rook, bounding up ridges and over logs, only to meet with that unnatural mist every time. And every time, it spat them back out where they’d started. 

Rook let out a little frustrated scream “Elgar’nan’s got us trapped!” Her fists were clenched at her sides and she shook her head. “My people are in danger and he has us wasting our time in here!” She sounded furious, voice hard and low, but the tension in her spine and shoulders told Lucanis she was also frightened as she stared out at the forest that had become their prison. 

Spite spat and hissed and howled every time they stepped through the mist and appeared back at the beginning. His fury was loud, hard to ignore, and beginning to grate on Lucanis’s already weary nerves. 

“Did you guys hear that?” Rook asked. She looked around them, a little wide-eyed. 

He glared at Spite, who finally fell quiet. “Hear what?” He asked. Neve shot him a worried look. 

Rook shook her head, blinking. “I thought I just heard Solas.”

Lucanis watched as she went still, her brow furrowed and eyes distant as she listened to whatever she was hearing. He did not like this at all, and Spite picked up on his discomfort, circling Rook and sniffing. 

She put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean Elgar’nan’s yours to–” She paused, looking up into the dark. “Oh,” she said. “That’s what you meant.”

Lucanis reached for her, but didn’t touch her. “Rook?”

She blinked back at him, then shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “Solas is distracting Elgar’nan.” She tilted her head back toward the forest. “We need to move.”

He shared another worried look with Neve, who shrugged. Neither of them had heard anything, but Rook seemed certain, and he trusted her to make the best of whatever strange situation they’d ended up in. But, Lucanis hated the thought of the Dread Wolf speaking directly to her mind. 

These gods were far too powerful. 

Lucanis wanted to take her hand, to brush away the crease in her brow. He wanted to get her away from this waking nightmare and back to the safety of the Lighthouse. But, if she noticed his concern, Embria didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she took off running through the trees, through pools of blight, heedless of her bare feet. 

They reached a fork in the trail, and Rook stopped, gripping her head and grunting. 

“Embria?” He said. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head forcefully, as if trying to knock water loose from her ears. “I can hear them fighting,” she said. 

The Wolf. And the Sun, Spite seethed. HATE!

Mierda. What was happening in Rook’s mind?

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “This way,” she said after a moment, and took off running again. She led them toward a crumbling doorway they had not seen on any of their other passes through the forest. “I think this is it!”

She sounded so desperate, breathless and frightened, that Lucanis felt his own panic cling in his ribs, icy and familiar. They ran through the doorway, the unnatural green light melting away to the warm glow of an Arlathan afternoon. 

“We made it!” She cheered. But even that excitement and relief sounded thin. In the natural light of day, she looked pale. Exhausted. And in the brighter light, Lucanis noticed the grit to her teeth, the tension fluttering in her jaw. 

They. Are HURTING. Her! Spite growled. 

There wasn’t much they could do about that at the moment. They simply needed to get through this. Stick to the plan – get the Dalish and get out. But, once he had the opportunity, he would make Elgar’nan and Solas pay for every moment of pain they caused Embria. 

He followed Rook up a set of stairs, Neve clanking close behind him, and out into a wide and crumbling span of ruins. On the far side, a tall doorway was blocked by a red wall of power. 

“There!” Rook shouted. “That’s where they’re keeping my people!”

“We’ll save them,” he called after her, but she was already running headlong into the sea of red and black leathered Venatori. Lucanis cursed under his breath as Spite launched them into the fray. The demon’s glee was gone, replaced with a simmering rage. It was hard to tell his own feelings of tired frustration from Spite’s, so Lucanis didn’t even bother. He let the two of them meld into something lethal and furious. 

This was the final push – no point holding back now. 

In the madness of blood magic and elemental flashes of ice, fire, and electricity, Lucanis lost track of Rook. But, somewhere behind him he heard Neve shout. 

“On your right, Rook!”

Rook didn’t respond, which wasn’t like her. He spun, searching for her as he blocked a sickle with his offhand, then pushed the executioner back. An arc of lightning caught his eye, and he saw her just a few feet ahead of him. 

“Rook?” Neve tried again, as a cultist mage powered up a projectile attack. “Rook!”

Embria twisted toward Neve’s voice, eyes wide and wild. “What? Were you talking to me?”

Lucanis sprinted toward her, ducking under the executioner’s attack as Spite’s wings hurtled him across the battlefield. He stepped in front of Rook and raised his rapier just in time to deflect the ball of crackling energy. It careened back along its route, taking the mage in the chest.

She winced, breathing hard when Lucanis turned to face her. “Sorry,” she said. “They’re...” She shook her head again. “They’ve very loud.”

Lucanis growled and ducked around Rook to parry the executioner that had chased after him. His shove caught the cultist off balance, so Lucanis pressed his advantage, spinning and slicing. He relished the gurgling squelch the man made as he died at Lucanis’s feet. 

Ahead of them, a fresh wave of Venatori hurtled down the stairs toward them. “Mierda,” he called back to Rook and Neve. “Just keep fighting!”

“We’re almost there!” Rook said. 

Which wasn’t entirely untrue, only a dozen or so cultists stood between them and the barrier. Normally he would like those odds. But Lucanis heard the sheer exhaustion in her voice, the same that was creeping into his bones. This had been a long day, full of grueling, drawn out fights. They were good, but if they didn’t get to the Dalish soon, they would start making stupid mistakes. 

And that’s how people got hurt. 

But, he couldn’t dwell on that now. There would be time for weariness later, after they saved the Dalish and escaped with their lives. 

So, they pushed on, clearing a path through the Venatori until they met with another metal construct, like the one they’d fought earlier. And just like earlier, it was another protracted fight, full of dodging and sprinting, pressing in close for quick cuts and backing back out to cover. Slow, exhausting work. So much so that even Spite was starting to wear down. The demon grumbled and groaned and gnashed his teeth with each strike that didn’t end the fight. 

And then the construct fell from a well-timed slew of Neve’s ice daggers. Suddenly the ruin was awash in silence, save for their party’s labored breathing. 

“Everyone still alive?” He asked once he’d caught his breath. Already the muscles in his shoulders and back were protesting, begging for rest. 

“Still standing,” Neve said.

Rook didn’t reply. She stood with her back to him, head tilted to one side. 

“Rook?”

He circled around to face her. Her eyes were closed, face scrunched in pain. 

“Embria,” he murmured, then took her hand. 

She jolted, but settled once her eyes found his. “They’re so loud,” she whispered.  Then she blinked and was back, ready to face whatever came next with her typical, relentless determination. “Let’s save my people,” she said. 

He nodded and followed her as she broke the Venatori barrier.

“Is she all right?” Neve asked. 

“No,” he growled. “But she’ll get the job done.”

She sighed. “Sounds like Rook.”

They raced up another set of stairs, took down another barrier, and there – finally! – were the Dalish. There were cheers and fearful calls and general chaos as they assessed the captured elves. 

“Kalwyn?” Embria shouted. “Mamae?”

Neve raised an eyebrow at Lucanis, but he ignored her as a woman stood from where she’d been sitting on the ground. Her resemblance to Embria was undeniable. She was short, even shorter than Rook, and had long red hair streaked with silver. Her freckles were more pronounced, her face thinner, and her tattoos were different, covering less of her face. But, she had that same iron jaw and those expressive eyebrows. 

“Embria?” The woman went pale as she looked upon her daughter, and Lucanis remembered Erewhen’s words form the day before. The clan had assumed Rook was dead. 

A man stood up behind Embria’s mother, and his resemblance to Erewhen was clear – the same dark hair and hazel eyes. That must be Kalwyn. He stared at Rook, blinking at her. 

“We thought you were dead,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. 

Then Embria’s mother burst into tears and pulled Rook into a fierce hug. They held one another for a long moment, both crying, until Lucanis put a hand on Rook’s shoulder. 

“Rook,” he said, grimacing. “We need to move.”

She released her mother and nodded, wiping tears from her face. A couple of sniffles and she was ready to give orders once again. 

“Follow me,” she called over the crowd. If anyone had any doubts about who she was, or why she was helping them, they kept them to themselves. It seemed her ears, tattoos, and armor were proof enough that she could be trusted. 

The group ran through the ruin, following a narrow path – more a cliff than a trail – that led them  up and out of the crater. Lucanis paused at the top, urging the elves past him and into the trees. As he looked down the path at the way they’d come, he saw Embria at the back of the group. She’d stopped to watch Lusacan, Elgar’nan’s massive archdemon, where it clung to the half-submerged ruin. 

“Rook!” He called as the last of the Dalish rushed past him. 

She glanced back at him, the wind catching her hair and blowing it back off her shoulders, the fading afternoon light adding a golden hue to her skin. Even exhausted and sore, Lucanis thought she looked stunning. Like an actual elven goddess – kind and determined and powerful. She took one last look at the archdemon before she shook her head and ran up the path to him.

He took her hand as she reached him, and together they chased after the Dalish and Neve, into the trees and to safety. 

Embria led them to a cave system, apparently one of the Dread Wolf’s old lairs. There was some furniture, some provisions, but little else. If Lucanis had to guess, Solas hadn’t used it since long before Embria disrupted his ritual. But, she said he claimed it would be safe from the gods, and with nightfall upon them she decided it was best to camp for the night. 

He wanted to disagree. Wanted to march them all back to the Veil Jumper camp and be done with this mission. He wanted to lock himself and Embria in his room to sleep for the next three days straight. Which, of course, was exactly why she was right to have them camp out in the Dread Wolf’s safe house. 

They were all deeply exhausted. 

Kalwyn, the First, used his magic to start a fire, while Embria lit several sconces with veilfire. Meanwhile, Neve did the rounds of the cave, poking and prodding at what little Solas had left behind. If there was anything to find, she would have it in hand before they left in the morning. 

Lucanis leaned against the wall, just beyond the reach of the fire’s light, watching the elves settle down for the evening. He also watched as several of them approached Rook, thanking her, hugging her, some with tears in their eyes. He wanted them to stop – couldn’t they see how tired she was? – but he knew his interference would only upset her. 

These were her people. She loved them, and would help them however she could. No matter the personal cost. 

She stood by the fire, speaking with Kalwyn and her mother, when she scanned the room. She smiled when she found his gaze on her, then she excused herself from her family and made her way to him in the shadows. 

“Hey,” she said. Her voice was low and weary. 

“Hey.”

She tilted her head at him, as if confused. “Are you all right?”

Lucanis shifted against the wall, and stifled a grunt. His whole body was sore, his muscles tightening from the day’s strenuous and prolonged activity, not to mention the myriad scrapes and bruises he’d no doubt uncover when he finally changed out of his leathers. 

He shook his head. “Fine,” he said. “Just tired.”

“Yeah,” she sighed. She reached for him, slowly, like she wasn’t sure if he wanted her to touch him. He uncrossed his arms, took her hand, and pulled her close enough to press his forehead to hers. 

“Are you all right?” He breathed. 

She nodded, her eyes closed. 

“Tell me.” He needed her to say it, because he couldn’t stop thinking about two elven gods having a screaming match in her head. One spiteful demon was bad enough, the thought of Elgar’nan and Solas in her head terrified him. 

“I’m all right,” she said, then took a shuddering breath. “I’m going to fall to pieces the moment we’re alone, though.” She chuckled at that, and Lucanis kissed her. Just a chaste press of their lips, a promise of comfort to come. 

“Embria?” A woman’s voice from behind her. 

Rook turned with a sigh, releasing his hand to face her mother. “Hey, Mamae.”

The woman peered around her daughter to look at Lucanis. He nodded once at the woman, but didn’t smile. People rarely found his smile charming, and with how tired he was, he doubted he could make it convincing at the moment. 

Beside him, Spite growled, but the sound was weak. The demon was even more exhausted than Lucanis was. Still, it was clear he didn’t like Rook’s mother. 

Embria stepped to the side to stand on Lucanis’s left. She gestured between them. “Mamae,” she said. “This is Lucanis. Lucanis, my mother, Rowena Aldwir.”

Lucanis didn’t move or say anything as Rowena looked him over. He knew he must look a mess – his leathers were dusty and smeared with dried blood, his hair hanging limp from its usual, slicked-back style, and he was sure the bags under his eyes were dark, if not outright swollen. He was hardly making a good impression, but, he had helped save the woman’s life. Perhaps that would count for something. 

“And who are you to my daughter?”

Or, perhaps not. 

“Mamae!”

Lucanis didn’t look away from Rowena’s judgmental gaze. Her eyes were similar to her daughter’s, that same blue-gray with a touch of hazel at the center, but they lacked the violet edges and were smaller in her face. Colder. 

He shrugged. “Whoever she needs me to be,” he said. They hadn’t really defined this thing between them. Hadn’t given one another labels. They were together, that was all that mattered to Lucanis. And, as far as he was concerned, that was none of her mother’s business. 

She looked at Rook. “What does that mean?”

Rook sighed. “Mamae, I–”

The older woman took a step closer, her voice pitched low. “Are you sleeping with this man?”

Embria said nothing, but didn’t look away from her mother. And that muscle in her jaw fluttered again. 

“Does Erewhen – your bond – mean nothing to you?”

Lucanis stood upright, prepared to tell Rowena what he thought of Erewhen, but Embria quieted him with a hand to his chest. 

“Erewhen showed me exactly what our bond meant when she left.” Rook’s voice was cold and as sharp as one of Neve’s daggers. “She chose that, Mamae. Not me.”

Her mother scoffed. “You were the one who insisted on leaving! On joining those Veil Jumpers!”

“Those Veil Jumpers just saved your life,” Rook said. “And Kalwyn’s and everyone else here.”

“And I’m grateful,” her mother said. 

Lucanis barely stifled his snort of disbelief. Embria’s fingers dug into his leathers in warning.

“Erewhen never wanted to leave the clan,” Rowena continued. “She only did it because you asked. You can’t blame her for coming home.”

“I can and I do,” Rook snarled. 

Rowena glanced at Lucanis. “Did you know she’s bonded?” She looked at Rook. “Does he even understand what that means?”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the woman, but said nothing. Embria’s hand on his chest trembled. 

“He knows, Mamae.”

But, Rowena wasn’t listening. Her attention was back on Lucanis. “Their spirits are entwined for eternity.” She waved a hand between him and Rook. “Whatever this is, it’s temporary.”

“Perhaps,” he said. He glanced at Embria, covered her hand with his where she still clung to his chest. Then leveled his stare at her mother. “But, all the best things in life are.” 

Rook’s hand gripped him even tighter at his words. 

Rowena looked between them. “So, what? This is just some tryst? You’ll finish whatever mission you’re on, since it’s so important you couldn’t be bothered to write, and then come home–”

“I’m not coming home,” Embria said. Her tone was hard. Final. 

That brought Rowena up short. “What?” She stared at Embria, then her eyes darted to Lucanis before returning to her daughter’s face. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Rook shook her head. “I have a new life now,” she said. “With the Veil Jumpers.” She squeezed at his leathers, but didn’t look at him. “With my team.”

For several heartbeats, her mother said nothing. “So, that’s it?” She snorted. “You’re just going to abandon your duty to the clan? To Erewhen? You’re just going to run away?”

Lucanis felt the growl start deep in his chest, closed his eyes against the first flash of purple sight. He tilted his chin just barely against the icy feeling in his neck.

She. Hurt. Rook! Spite hissed. We. Protect. Rook!

Embria’s hand pressed against his chest, pinning him against the wall. “No,” she said, but she wasn’t talking to him. “For the first time in my life, I’m not running from anything,” she said. “I finally have something to run to.”  

Rowena gasped. 

Yesssssss, Spite breathed, backing down and relinquishing full control to Lucanis once again. Rook cut. DEEP!

Lucanis opened his eyes and saw Rowena’s judgmental look at her daughter. Her eyes roved over Embria’s face, then her lip curled into a sneer. 

“You’ve changed,” she said. “I hardly recognize you anymore.”

Embria closed her eyes against her mother’s words, and Lucanis thought she would cry, but instead she surprised him with a laugh. “Mamae,” she said. “That is the best compliment you could ever give me.” She met her mother’s stunned look with a stony one of her own. “To quote a good friend of mine, ‘I will thrive in spite of you.’”

YES! Spite howled. 

Embria released her grip on his leathers, turned her hand over beneath his and grabbed it tight. “I’ll get you to the Veil Jumper camp tomorrow. They’ll get you and Kalwyn and everyone else back to their clans.”

“And then what?” Her mother asked. 

“Then, I go home,” she said. “To my family.” Then she tugged on his hand and led him away from her mother. 

Lucanis didn’t look at the woman as he passed her, he just squeezed Embria’s hand tight and  followed her as she led him out of the cave and into the night. He followed her has he always did. As he always would, for as long as his temporary little life would allow.