#so I just have to breathe and pray in the face of it

[artemisiasmuse]

sex ban | toxic rafe x toxic reader

cw: obvi mdni 18+, toxic jealous rafe, physical violence (not towards the reader), sex ban lifted!, p in v, multiple rounds, unprotected (don’t do this), munch of the year rafe, crying during sex, squirting, headlock, oral receiving for both of them, mentions of blood, again these bitches are crazy

~ 4k words

an: this was so filthy i think i need to go to church (im not even christian) also don’t know if how i described the positions made sense but we move T_T

“you can’t be serious?” rafe looked up from his hands, you’d cleaned off the blood all the while being extremely pissed off. you couldn’t believe he beat someone to a pulp, again, just for checking you out. you hated how good he looked covered in blood, hated how even now you could feel your underwear getting sticky from your arousal.

“i am, no sex for two weeks, maybe then you’ll stop being such an asshole!” surely you were joking, there’s no way you’d hold out on him that long. he knew he wouldn’t survive without your pussy and he prayed you would give up after a few days. his prayers weren’t answered.

two weeks passed with the ease of a thousand pounds dropped onto rafe’s shoulders. he was irritable all the time, practically blue-balled the entire time, and couldn’t stand being in the room with anyone that wasn’t you. at some point, after he begged to at least eat you out, you stopped letting him come over at night even. rafe was practically vibrating with need, yet you seemed so unaffected.

he had a fucking reminder set on his phone for midnight when the two weeks was over, of course he was already on the way to your place at 11:50. you expected nothing less, unlocking the door for him preemptively, and he huffed out a breath when he found you sitting on your couch watching tv like it was nothing. like you didn’t care. rafe was so pent up he might come from a single stroke of your tiny hand around his cock, but here you were, calm and collected. you muted the tv when you saw him, he sat next to you, leaving a gap he normally wouldn’t, and began to apologize.

“baby it’s been two weeks, i’m sorry okay? i’ll do better.”

“you said that last time.”

“i mean it this time, i won’t beat anyone up, unless you want me to.” you roll your eyes at his addition, turning your body to face him. rafe’s eyes tracked the way your shirt rode up your thighs, realizing it was actually his shirt. his mouth felt dry, he hadn’t been so hard from so little since he was a fucking preteen.

“okay.” you conceded, you kinda had to, rafe looked a lil too good like he knew the exact outfit that would make you forgive him easily. his hands were veiny and a ring accentuated his long thick fingers, fingers you missed dearly. yours just weren’t cutting it any more, he knew exactly how to touch you, fill you, make your mind numb. and that was just his fingers, his pink tongue had slipped out to lick at his lips and you can’t focus much longer, all the memories flashing by.

“okay?” rafe couldn’t believe what he was hearing, he couldn’t believe you were taking him back so easily. he didn’t dare move or touch you until you confirmed.

“uh huh, your apology is accepted.” you nodded slow like molasses, your eyes already glazed over with need. he couldn’t tell, he was so caught up in his own desire. and as the word left your pretty lips, the spell was lifted.

“fuck come here” the words are empty, his large hand closes around the back of your neck and pulls you to him, his lips finding your own. you’d kissed the past two weeks but this is different, this is urgent. he’s sloppy with it, tongue peeking out into your mouth, tasting you, sucking on your tongue. it’s less of a kiss and more of a bite, he wants to consume you. you groan into his mouth, unsatisfied with the distance between you two and you move to straddle him. rafe pulls back at that, no he wouldn’t let you, he’d much rather have you on your back, he pushes you down by your neck, the slight pressure makes you keen. there’s no chance for you to sit back up when he’s leaning over you, settling between your legs and kissing you back down.

his kisses trail off, bites and open-mouthed kisses trailing your neck till he reaches your collarbone. your shirt is discarded with a blink of your eye and you wonder if he’s moving too fast. you can barely keep up when a mouth latches over your nipple, sucking harshly. “fuckkk i missed my girls” a lewd pop releases it from his mouth, giving attention to the other one and you arch into his touch. his large hand closes around the now sore nipple, pinching and massaging while he sucks on your tit like his life depends on it. the cold metal of his ring soothes the sting of his bites and you moan his name in desperation. the stickiness in your underwear is getting embarrassing and you feel like a fire is burning in your core. there’s no need for you to ask, rafe wants to eat, he’s been starving for weeks and your pussy is the only thing that can satiate him. after littering your chest and neck with hickies he kisses down your stomach, marveling at how soft your skin is, how he should never take an inch of it for granted any more. when he finally reaches your pink lace panties, he realizes it’s too much work to take them off you. that would require him getting off you and he really couldn’t afford to move an inch away. his fingers trace the flimsy material and he decides very quickly, tearing it off you with ease, and you hear the rip before you feel it. you don’t even notice him stuff the material into his pocket from the shock.

“rafe!” you don’t know if you’re mad or even more turned on but you wiggle under his gaze, blue eyes glued to your puffy and slick cunt. the tv screen illuminates enough for him to see his pretty girl is soaked. he nearly drools.

“getting in the way of my meal, i’ll buy you new ones.” he murmurs, not even looking away once, you huff at his words, and push his head down. he doesn’t need any encouragement, he’s nearly cumming in his pants from the sight of your pussy alone. if he could he’d take a polaroid of it and keep it in his pocket forever.

rafe is a man possessed, pushing you up the sofa length to make space for him between your legs, he hikes one up the cushions to rest on the back of the sofa, the other onto his shoulder so he can fit between them. you don’t even know if you exist to him any more because he’s smiling at your pussy like it’s his girlfriend instead. he shoves his nose, inhaling the scent of your arousal, it’s honey to his senses and his eyes flutter shut at how good you smell. then his tongue flattens against your pussy and he might just cry. you gasp at the feeling, wet and hard across your opening and clit, so brief you think you imagined it. rafe moans at the taste, let’s you coat his tongue before he goes back in for seconds, swirling his tongue along your weeping cunt until he’s thoroughly cleaned his plate. he’s moaning at your taste, tears pricking his eyes as it stains the back of his teeth, his hands grip your waist to drive you down to his tongue. he knows you’re gonna run from it, you always do. finally his tongue fills you up, delving into and cleaning you out, the feeling of the muscle squirming inside you makes you writhe in pleasure. “taste so fucking good, never letting this go again,” he slurs into you. you can feel yourself get wet again and he feels precum stain his boxers as more of your ichor slips down his throat. it’s not enough, he wants more, his right hand joins in, one finger curling into you along with his tongue and his thumb idly swirls along your clit. the combination of his tongue and finger fucking you and his drunken moans, make you come on his tongue embarrassingly fast. you’re gushing into his mouth more and rafe doesn’t even budge when you push at his forehead, the overstimulation stings and your poor walls flutter around his tongue, trying to drive him out, he only goes crazier. his tongue slips out a trail of saliva and your slick connecting him to you before he attaches his lips to your clit. you shake at the sensation, not yet come down from your previous orgasm. he sucks and laves over your clit, setting your body aflame. he takes the opportunity to slip another finger in, stretching you more than anything in the past two weeks, and he can tell your pussy is going to feel amazing on his cock. you’re struggling to take two fingers and he can’t help but moan at the thought. you hate how quickly he brings you to your next orgasm, your legs threatening to close around him and he makes a noise of disapproval. your mind feels numb now and you jump at his touches. rafe gives you a few seconds to recover, pulling his fingers out and licking them clean, but when he tastes you again it’s not his fault he needs another hit. you’re a bit shocked yourself when he releases his hold on your legs and sits back. your wide round eyes making him chuckle at your disbelief. “you’re gonna sit on my face baby.” he resounds and you blink at him twice before sitting up, you wince at the way you’re drooling onto the couch and how you suddenly feel empty. rafe positions himself with his head poised for your pussy to sit on. you gawk at him.

“won’t i crush you?” besides your question you’re raised up ob your knees almost hovering over him, he could just-

“shut the fuck up.” he pulls you close and pushes your hips down to sit you down himself, your sloppy cunt meeting his lips and he’s in heaven. he wants to die like this, suffocated by your pussy. you try to shift your weight back onto your knees but he doesn’t let you, holding you down by your ass. when he licks up into you, you lose your resolve entirely. if he was a mess before, now he’s a goner. he’s spitting up into you, making out with your cunt and swirling his tongue along you, along every inch he can. your rock your cunt over his face, lost in pleasure and when his nose bumps your clit your legs nearly close on his head, he groans at the pressure. you’re practically dripping into his mouth and it’s all he could ask for; tears falling down his face just mix in with the mess of liquids running down his face and pooling on his neck and chest. you continue to rock against him, your cushiony thighs closing around his head and rafe feels himself twitch in his pants, he’s so fucking close just from eating you out. but he can’t even find it in him to care, no he’s crying from how good you taste, he’s past the point of caring. when you finally cum around his tongue he comes in his pants, moaning as you scream his name. you’re shaking uncontrollably, riding out your orgasm and thrashing along his face. your thighs press tightly against his head and he continues to drink you in, until finally your legs give out and you fall off him.

“pussy so good i came in my pants and you’re gonna clean it up.” you look at him in a daze, your body moving on its own accord, moving to your knees on the carpet. your body’s shaking but you still manage to claw at his buttons. “good girl.” he smiles down at you, chin and lips wet from your release and he’s not even dreaming of wiping himself clean, he wants it to stain him, seep into his pores. a whine crawls up your throat as you work his pants off, he’s sitting on the couch in front of you and you want to help him so badly. his cock finally springs free and he breathes out in relief, the cool air making him more sensitive after his release. the worst part is he’s still fucking hard. your eyes round at the sight of him, come lining his length, dribbling down the veins and blushed pink top. it’s so pretty you can’t help but stare. rafe slips a hand around your face, pulling you in, making you stop your staring and instead get to work. you might be drooling from the sight, it’s hard to tell because your mouth closes around him and everything is already so wet. a sick squelch resounds in the air as you lick up and down his length, he fights the urge to thrust into the wet tight heat of your mouth. you make sure to clean up his balls, your hand jerking him off while you’re down there, “fuck you’re doing so well baby.”

“missed this rafey” you hum at the taste of his come, thick and gooey on your tongue and the vibration makes him twitch in your mouth. rafe feels so close already, you’ve already cleaned him up, now you’re just cock drunk, taking him down as far as you can and pressing kisses to his tip. he doesn’t want it to end like this no, he’d rather fill you up properly, so he pulls your head off his length with a pop! and you glare at him and whine, like an insolent puppy whose toy was taken away. there’s a delicious sting from the hair he pulled and heat pools in your stomach again, you can’t tell if you’re wet or if it’s rafe’s saliva you like to think it’s both.

“come here.” rafe hoists you onto his lap, giving you two seconds to adjust before he lifts you both up and makes his way to your bedroom. his shirt comes off along with yours and you clamber up the length of your mattress to rest your head on your pillow while you still can. from how angry and hard his cock still is you know it’s gonna be a long night.

“remember your safe word right?” rafe flips you over, your momentary comfort gone just like that, he presses against your back hard. your ass perks into the air while he arches you just so. he’s waiting for your response, because one look at your pussy, glistening from another wave of desire, rafe knows he’s going to find it impossible to hold back. he’s vibrating with a need to fuck you already, dribbles of precum spurting out of him against his stomach. what a waste, there’s a perfect little hole that could use it. he smacks your ass once, lightly just to remind you to use your words.

“yes, fuck me please.” your voice is muffled against your bedsheets, but he hears it perfectly. when his tip presses against your tight hole, he thinks he might be religious. not to god or anything else, just you. you’re sucking in him, holding your cheeks apart for him like you know he likes and he groans at how you feel like silk around him. your cunt’s so warm and tight, rafe thinks he might never leave you again. once his tip is in you remember how to breathe, the initial stretch finally over. he can’t give you the time you need to adjust, he might start crying again, or worse come early. rafe pushes the rest of his inches in, bullying his way in, pressing you into the mattress just so your cunt could give in. you scream at the feeling of him being all the way in, the angle making him nestle against your g-spot while his tip rubs against your cervix. you feel ropes of pre spurt inside you and you feel tears slip down your cheeks from the pain, you know it hurts, you just can’t find it in you to care.

“s’good,” you’re mind is numb, the only thoughts are spiraling around your boyfriend and his stupid long cock. a sick ring of come and your slick circles the base of his length, his pubes soaked from both of you. he can’t hold back any more, not when you’re wiggling your hips for more. rafe pulls out all the way and slaps back into you, pulling you into him just so he can really fill you all the way. the force of his thrust and the way he tip nudges along your walls, grazing where you needed him most, as you screaming in pleasure, your poor pussy closing on him just so he can stay inside. not that it matters he’s hammering in and out of you so fast you think you might get whiplash. his hips drive you down into the mattress, stuffing you as much he can so you don’t run from it, like you’re already trying to do.

“fuck fuck fuck! too much hng rafe i can’t-“ the slap of his hips against yours are almost bruising, he’s pulling you back by a tight hold around you and it’s hard to breathe. there’s a pressure building in you that you don’t recognize and it’s almost painful how bad it feels to go unaddressed, something must be wrong. but rafe can feel himself getting close, just from your pathetic whines and screams.

“you can and you will.” there’s no room for argument when he’s flipping you onto your back, your head jostling and you blink away the tears in your eyes. you want to see him, want to look into his pretty eyes, rafe can’t help but laugh at your desperate expression. no, he’s no too far gone.

“dumb little girl, i could tell you were turned on, you know?” he maneuvers you onto your side, spooning you and pulling your leg over his so he can slip back in. the new angle steals your breath as you try to focus on what he just said, panic seeping into your system.

“wh-no i wasn’t.” you shake your head insolently, he’s rolling his eyes at your meager denial. his thrusts start out slow, testing the limits of how far he can reach, and it’s not far. a huff of annoyance teases the shell of your ear and you gulp at his proximity.

“tell me the truth and i’ll let you come.” it’s a whisper, soft and sweet, you know what’s to come will be anything but.

“fine! you looked so hot covered in blood-“ he grabs under your knee and lifts it up, slamming deeper into you cutting you off. “oh my god-“ rafe can’t handle not being all the way in, he loves the way his head kisses your cervix, how his veins have molded you to fit them, how he can feel come slipping out of you and dribbling down his length since there’s no space for anything. an addiction, one that he won’t give up. “that doesn’t make it-rafe!-okay!” you manage to get out between thrusts

“yeah yeah i get it.” he’s had enough of your lecturing, the arm that’s not holding your knee, loops around your front, closing around your neck and throat. his thick bicep presses against you in a headlock and he leverages the tight grip to pull you back into him, shutting you up finally. the only sounds that can be heard are of your pretty pussy squelching and gasping for him to be back inside. there’s the occasional moan from you when his grip loosens and the curses and groans from him, but mostly the room sounds like a porno. you’re not sure if you came or you ever stopped coming but your pussy feels warm and fuzzy, like it’s just given up on trying to decipher pleasure and pain.

“can’t come-fuck-need to” rafe frustrates himself with how quickly he feels like he needs to come. his balls are pinched tight, aching for release but he can’t stop, he needs to make it right, make it perfect. rafe won’t admit it anyone else but he’s so in love with you he hates coming without looking in your eyes. his hold on your neck releases and you slump forward tears and drool staining the mattress.

“pretty baby, you’ll give me one more yeah?” somehow rafe knows when you’re cumming, you stopped noticing. you nod dumbly, blurry eyes vaguely make out his face as he finally lets you rest on your back. your body aches and your legs haven’t stopped shaking, but you still welcome him with open legs. rafe presses a kiss to your forehead, shoving into you again, his thrusts aren’t so hurried this time, he’s savoring it. the slow drag of his tip inside of you warms you. you stop crying when he lifts your legs, pushing your knees to your chest, he wipes your tears and kisses down into you. the position is familiar, one of your favorites, and you kiss him back, it’s salty and messy but you can taste the words i love you.

“most beautiful girl in the world, fuck ,how did i get so lucky?” he peppers your face with kisses, giggles erupting from your lips and he can’t believe you’re his.

“love you rafey.” you say it so sweetly anyone would think he’s not 9 inches deep inside you, in a mean mating press.

“i love you angel, can i come inside?” your eyes light up, you both rarely do it since birth control is horrible on your body, but you can’t help but love how it feels.

“please…fill me up.” the words make his dick twitch inside you, more precum dribbling out of your cunt.

“fuckkk gonna get you pregnant, then everyone will know you’re mine.” he’s mumbling to himself, rocking back and forth and a whine leaves your lips. you should be concerned with how possessive your boyfriend is, you know that, but the image he paints in your head is too tempting.

“please.” you kiss his right arm that supports his weight next to your head and he smiles down at you. rafe takes it as his signal to pull out and fuck down into you, your mind blanks. it doesn’t take more than a few hard thrusts for the pressure building inside you to finally snap, seeing white under your eyes as you gasp and scream his name. you’re squirting onto him before you realize it, soaking his chest and dick and he keeps fucking you through it until you stop. rafe can’t help but lose himself as you do it, fucking down so brutally you think he might rip your cervix, if it’s even possible, the overstimulation claws at your senses and you fight the urge to push him away, scratching down his back instead. rafe feels his balls pinch and he can’t hold back any longer, you’re pulsing around him riding out your orgasm and he shoots gooey ropes inside of you. thick and never ending, coating your walls and slipping out the sides, the angle at least keeps most of it in, just like he wants it.

“can’t believe you squirted.” when he finally stops spurting into you, he pulls out, your legs falling to your side as you wince at the aches in your body. without the cloud of pleasure you can feel how sore you’ll be tomorrow.

“sorry” you mumble, turning to where he lays beside you and he shakes his head.

“nah baby i’m gonna make you do it every time.” a wolfish smirk graces his features and you decide you’ll never do a sex ban again. you won’t survive it next time.

[matchpointfaist]

won't you save me? ⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

sheltered art x flirty reader pt ii

the second time art saw you, you were clean from your usual messy makeup, your hair pulled into a bun and a pink hoodie covering the frame he'd become uncomfortably familiar with. you had a coffee in one hand and a vape in the other, looking irritated and frazzled and not at all how he'd seen you the week prior.

he must have been too lost in thought to watch where he was going, or maybe you had him under some sort of trance, but next thing he knew his shirt was covered in iced coffee, and you were looking up at him with wide eyes, apologies spilling from your lips in record time.

"oh! oh, gosh, no, it's alright," he rambled, the cold liquid slicking his shirt to his chest. "it's my fault, i wasn't paying attention-" his breath caught as you pulled the hoodie over your head, leaving you in a lace trimmed tank top, much tighter than the pink fabric had been. just as he started to gain some composure, your hands were on him, blotting his shirt with your jacket like it was the most obvious solution in the world.

"i'm such a clutz," you laughed regretfully, wiping his shirt down, "i am so sorry," "it's okay!" his voice was suddenly hoarse, his face hot and hands shaking, "i can clean it up, don't ruin your hoodie," "i don't mind," and there it was- that smile that weakened his knees, the one he'd seen you giving all the boys at that stupid frat party, this time directed at him. and oh god, he was fucked.

"you're art, right?" you asked, pulling the hoodie away to survey the condition of his t shirt, "donaldson?" "yeah!" it came out quicker than he would've liked, "uh, yes, that's me. i didn't know we knew each other,"

"oh, i try to make a habit of knowing all the tennis boys," he could've sworn you were teasing him, "especially the blonde ones," "w-why's that?" he borderline squeaked, "do you like tennis, i mean?"

"sure, somethin like that," you grinned, and dear god, you winked at him, "cute necklace,"

and then, when art thought it couldn't get any worse, your black fingernails were on his silver crucifix, your eyes inspecting it curiously, "you christian?"

"catholic," he nearly choked out, "i- it's a crucifix, when they nailed him to the cross-" "i know what a crucifix is, donaldson," you rolled your eyes, but your smile was back; oh god, your smile.

"well i have to get to class," his heart was pounding, the tent in his sweats threatening to give him away, to expose him and all his impure thoughts and fantasies- your hand was on his arm. and he was so fucking gone.

"you should call me sometime," you said softly, your eyes all wide and sweet and your lashes were so long and oh god, there he was, thinking about your on your knees again. "i don't have your number," was all he managed, his breath stuck in his tightening throat.

"give me your phone," it was like a command, like you were controlling his actions, because before he could even think, you were typing your number into his cell and passing it back to him with another wink.

"see you, artie," you grinned, patting his shoulder, "oh, and you might wanna do some extra praying to make up for all that," you giggled as your eyes fell to his thighs, to the obvious tent, to the very thing he'd been so desperate to hide.

before he could protest, or make some last ditch excuse, you were gone, the smell of your perfume lingering enough to nearly make his mouth water.

he watched you go, each sway of your hips adding to the tension, adding to the twisted longing he felt for you.

that night, he hovered over your contact, debating what he'd even say to you. 'hey, it's art. i think i'm in love with you.' 'hi! it's art. i jerked off to you last week.' 'hey, it's art donaldson. you make me question my faith.' finally, 'hey, it's art, from earlier.'

your reply came minutes later, the vibration off his phone interrupting his nightly prayer, and he tried to ignore the guilt as he paused his talk with god to begin his arguably more important talk with you.

'hi, art from earlier.' you'd sent, 'whatcha doin?'

'fantasizing about you.' 'just getting ready for bed. you?'

'same.' and then there it was, and he felt sick, he felt restless and needy and depraved and you were on his screen, a selfie of you in your silk pajamas, your hair down just barely covering your chest and his own chest was growing so very tight, his breathing restricted, his eyes taking in every single detail.

'oh.' was all he could manage to reply, shifting uncomfortably in his boxers, his skin flushed, 'goodnight then.'

'night, artie :) hope you handled your little problem from earlier.'

oh, he'd handle it. god, he wished you could handle it for him.

[whizzing-fizzbee]

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

XOXO, Anonymous

Sebastian Sallow x F!OC

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

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

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

Read on AO3 or both parts below the cut.

Part I

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

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

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

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

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

His tired pout morphed into a full-fledged frown.

Dearest Ominis,

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

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

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

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

XOXO, A.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

“Sebastian! There you are.” 

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

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

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

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

“Quidditch practice.”

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

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

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

“Nothing,” Sebastian lied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sebastian, what-” 

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dearest Ominis,

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

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

XOXO, A.

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ominis,

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

Sebastian E. Sallow

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

He tried again.

Ominis– 

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

See you in hell, Sebastian

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

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

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

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

Annalisa,

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

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

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

Forever yours, Sebastian

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sebastian, I live here.”

“But… you have a date.”

“I do? That’s news to me.”

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

“But… but you and Ominis…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I saw the letters. Your letters.”

“What letters?”

“The ones you wrote to Ominis.”

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

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

“You’re not dating Ominis?”

“What?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But then, who…” 

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

“But I don’t-”

“Anne!” Annalisa continued.

“Anne?”

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

“You mean Ominis and Anne are in love?”

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

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

“Sebastian, that’s beside the point.”

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” she demanded. 

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

“It’s a letter.”

“One of Anne’s letters to Ominis?”

“No. A letter from me to you.”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

“Why would we do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sebastian,” she breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you calling me chaotic?”

“Are you denying it?”

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

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you so tense?”

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

“Sebastian?”

“Yeah?”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

Oh. Oh.

“I… don’t know.” 

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

“Years?”

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

“You could have told me!”

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

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

Part II (Smut warning)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You feel so fucking good,” Sebastian breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it?” she demanded.

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

“Surely it can’t be that bad.”

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

“Sebastian!”

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

“It was downright foolish.”

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

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

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

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

 ← Read Part One

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

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

Words: ~5,800

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

Sebastian Sallow was going to die.

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

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

He was spiraling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian ran a hand down his face.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

What if Black had proof?

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

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

Sebastian needed to talk to you. Immediately.

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

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

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

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

Then he narrowed his eyes.

Why were you so calm?

How were you not losing your mind over this?

Unless…

Oh, no.

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

Sebastian’s breath caught.

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

And there was no dignified way to do it.

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

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

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

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

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

His stomach sank.

Oh, fuck. You really don’t know.

Sebastian swallowed, suddenly unsure how to even begin.

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

You blinked at him. “Fine. Yours?”

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

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

Sebastian just stared.

Something on his mind? Something on his mind?!

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

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

You blinked, brow furrowing. “The Headmaster?”

“Yes.”

Your frown deepened. “Why would he?”

Sebastian’s pulse spiked.

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

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

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

Sebastian felt sick.

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

You shrugged. “Not that I noticed.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Been…?”

Sebastian groaned, resisting the urge to physically collapse.

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

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

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

You made a strangled noise.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Had you just laughed?

No. No, surely not—

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

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

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

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

Sebastian froze. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Your expression barely wavered. Barely.

But he saw it.

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

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

“What?” he demanded.

You shook your head too quickly. “Nothing.”

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

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Enjoying what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now Black was onto him.

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

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

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian stared after you, unmoving.

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

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

A voice drawled behind him.

“Well. That was painful to listen to.”

Sebastian whipped around.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian frowned. “What's your point?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Exactly,” Ominis said, clearly entertained.

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

The fucking audacity.

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

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

“Garreth.”

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

“It’s got to be Garreth.”

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

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

Ominis smirked. “About?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “About… things.”

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

Sebastian groaned. “Shut up.”

Ominis hummed, utterly unbothered.

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

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

He stopped short, realization hitting him like a brick.

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

Ominis lifted a brow. “What?”

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

Ominis’ smirk vanished.

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

Ominis actually winced. “Oh.”

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

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

Sebastian nearly exploded.

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

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

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

Ominis chuckled.

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

Ominis shook his head, but he was clearly entertained.

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

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had many regrets in life.

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

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

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

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

“So. About this marriage arrangement of yours.”

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

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

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

Sharp had the audacity to look unimpressed.

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

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

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

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

Black froze. The words did not compute.

“What.”

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

Black’s eye twitched.

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

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

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

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

And Black was going to find out who.

“Summon Weasley,” he snapped.

Sharp inclined his head. “Garreth or Matilda?”

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

“…Both,” he muttered.

And thus, his investigation began.

Garreth Weasley was about to have a very bad day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

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

Because Sebastian Sallow was on the warpath.

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

“Garreth Weasley!”

The Hufflepuffs startled.

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

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

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

“You know damn well why,” Sebastian growled.

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

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

Garreth, to his credit, didn’t falter.

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

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

Garreth’s brows lifted. “I did what?”

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

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

Sebastian made a noise that was not human.

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

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

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“YES.”

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

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

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

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

Ominis rubbed his temples. “Sebastian, perhaps—”

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

“Mr. Sallow.”

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

Sebastian turned slowly.

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

Then, after a long pause, Sharp spoke.

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

Sebastian froze.

Sharp’s gaze shifted.

To Garreth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sharp arched a brow. “Is it?”

Garreth opened his mouth, paused, then scowled.

“…A little,” he muttered.

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

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

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

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

Instead—

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

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

And Sebastian was still very, very screwed.

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

Ominis let out a slow breath.

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

Sebastian’s stomach churned.

“…No.”

No, it did not.

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

And it was glorious.

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

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

And Merlin’s beard, was it worth it.

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

Garreth had been just as bewildered as expected.

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

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

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

And Sebastian? He wasn’t relieved.

Oh, no.

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

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

You had one last dose of Polyjuice Potion.

And you were going to use it well.

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

Sebastian was still fuming.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A voice cut through the corridor.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped dead.

Ominis visibly tensed.

Both of them turned.

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

Or at least, who they assumed was Black.

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

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

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted.

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

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

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut up.

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

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

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

Black tilted his chin downward.

Sebastian closed his mouth.

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

Sebastian blinked.

“Sir?”

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

Sebastian braced himself.

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

Sebastian stared.

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

Sebastian’s brain shut down.

“What.”

Black did not waver.

“You heard me, Mr. Sallow.”

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

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

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

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

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

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

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

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

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir.”

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

“Yes. Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sebastian wanted to melt into the floor.

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

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

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

Sebastian scowled. “That is not what happened.”

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

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

“Then don’t.”

Sebastian bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood.

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

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

Ronen blinked.

Sebastian wanted to die.

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

Sebastian felt himself short-circuit.

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

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

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

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

Sebastian groaned audibly.

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

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.”

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

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

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

Sebastian glared daggers at him.

Ronen just chuckled.

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

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

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

Sebastian had never felt more humiliated in his life.

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

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

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

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

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

And oh, how right he was.

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

The entrance finally creaked open.

A familiar set of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber.

You looked up and nearly lost it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, you blinked at him, feigning concern.

“Rough night?”

Sebastian turned his scathing glare on you.

Oh, it took everything in you not to crack.

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

You blinked innocently. “Oh?”

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

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

Ominis inhaled sharply. Your lips twitched.

Then.

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

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

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

Sebastian whipped around, eyes wild with betrayal.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING?!”

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

And you lost it all over again.

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

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

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

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

Sebastian glared. “Liar.”

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

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

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

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

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

You dissolved into laughter again, but Sebastian froze.

Stared.

Blinked.

Looked at his hands.

Then looked at you.

Then back at his hands.

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

Fuck.

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

Your brain short-circuited.

Lie. Lie, quickly.

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

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

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

You clenched your fists. Shit.

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

“You knew.”

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard.

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

“How did you know?” he demanded.

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

“Sebastian—”

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

“…It was you.”

Your breath caught.

Sebastian stilled.

Ominis gasped.

And then—

“IT WAS YOU!”

He knew.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body tensed, preparing to run.

Sebastian saw it.

"YOU LITTLE MENACE!"

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

“SEBASTIAN—WAIT—”

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

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

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

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

“A JOKE?!”

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

“Sebastian, listen—”

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

“I CAN EXPLAIN—”

“OH, YOU’D BETTER.”

“IT WAS A PRANK—”

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

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

And this time, he caught you.

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

Your chest heaved from laughing too hard.

Sebastian, equally breathless, stared down at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The Undercroft was too quiet now.

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

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

Your breath hitched. You weren’t laughing anymore.

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

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

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened.

Oh.

Oh, you were so screwed.

[optimisticgrey]

Based on this anon ask for @dekariosclan (and her beautiful answer), I tried to write an intro to such a story. I do not actually need a new story to start but it has been on my mind ever since the answer was posted and we all aware how hyperfocus works, so here we are.

The idea is a (female) Tav from our world being plugged by the Nautiloid and thrown into Faerûn.

masterlist | requests? | ao3| kink encyclopedia |

summary: You wake at the beach after attending your friends birthday party last night. There are people standing in front of you, looking as if dragged from a fantasy movie. What the heck is going on?

author's note: Please let me know if this is something worth exploring and that you would enjoy reading. I will also need guidance in regards of skills/class for this Tav (please🥺)

content warning: This is just an intro.

word count: 1,3k

AO3 Link

You notice you are half-awake.

Not quite there yet, your mind not fully emerged in reality but you are awake enough to notice your head hurts.

Massively.

There is pressure at the back of your skull, as if you have been sleeping on a rock.

It is incredibly painful.

So intense, your stomach churns.

It has been some time since you fell asleep randomly after a party but you cannot really care as you swallow hard with a too dry mouth and try to contain the contents of your stomach.

You can feel your heartbeat pulsating in your temple.

Everything hurts, you realize.

Not just your pounding head.

What the fuck was in that drink Silas gave you?

After all you know you should have not taken that last shot he handed to you. But it has been his birthday, who are you to judge the birthday boy wishes?

In hindsight, not the best decision.

And yet, this does not feel like a hangover.

Something is wrong.

Slowly, you become vaguely aware of your surroundings.

The air smells of dead fish, bacon and….wood? Wet wood? Like the wood your father used to fuel the stove in his hut where you spent so many weekends in the child.

Yes. Not yet fully dried, freshly cut wood, consumed by flames.

The stench of fish is more intense, though. You are certain, fish is not supposed to smell like this.

There is water rushing by, in large quantities.

A river? Not rhythmic enough be the ocean. No waves, just a steady rush.

Your face is warm but it does not feel like a fever. As if you are lying in the sun, external heat burning your skin.

There are hushed voices.

"She’s alive! Still breathing—thank the gods!" whispers one voice.

"But what, pray tell, are those trousers?" another interjects. "And that tunic—dare I ask if this is some bold new fashion sweeping the high city?"

"I assure you, it most certainly is not," a third voice cuts in. "I've never laid eyes on such fabric before—nor, I suspect, has anyone with a shred of taste."

Huh. Interesting. There should not be anyone in your bedroom.

Let alone three men.

“Let me through and take a look,” a woman orders.

You notice, the surface beneath you feels wrong.

Too hard. This is not your bed.

It is….sand?

The realization is enough to jolt you upright.

The sudden movement sends a fresh wave of pain crashing through your skull. It feels as if your brain is too large for your head, pressing outward, straining against bone.

You wince, flinching as the sunlight stabs into your eyes.

If possible, your head hurts even worse from this sudden movement.

Multiple people immediately step back and stare at you.

You are instantly certain this is not your bedroom.

This is not even your house.

This is not even your city.

You force yourself to take a slow, steady breath and look at them properly.

As if all of this was not strange enough, you are somehow certain you have left….home.

You know, with a quiet, head-hurting certainty, this is not your home.

But you do not know how you are certain.

You look at the people standing around you.

A black man with two different eyes, one is glowing red but the rest of it is black. He has black dreadlocks, bound behind his head. There are scars on his face and down his neck, but he somehow the gaze on his face is kind, intrigued.

Another man, with a surprisingly cute face with a stubble. An earring with a star dangles from his left ear. His dark brown hair is bound back at the top, dark brown eyes watch you curiously as he crouches to one knee in front of you.

And then there is the third person, you have never seen a person like this. You might be hallucinating, you think.

Isn’t that a side effect of migraines? This headache really feels like a migraine.

Her skin is light green with dark spots on her cheeks and around her eyes but her ears are pointed, ridged with delicate waves. Her nose is pointy yet somehow flat. She watches you with clear disdain, her lips pressed into a thin line. There is a fucking sword, resting in her arm, too.

She reminds you of a frog, though you try to suppress this idea. You do not know where you are, how you got here or who the fuck these people are, but you are quite sure, calling someone a frog might not be the best idea.

The other woman has one of the most beautiful faces you have ever seen. There is a small scar beneath her right eye, but it’s nearly hidden below freckles. Her hair is pitch black and she wears an interesting pointy silver piece on top of her long braid at the back of her head. Her ears are also pointed, but not as much. Her eyes are curious but restrained. Light green. Laura would fall for her instantly.

The last one might be a model. Pearl skin, beautiful sharp jaw line, the most perfect tone of silver white curls you have ever seen. But his eyes are deep red. It suits him somehow. You do not know what to do with this information. His ears are pointed too. You realize, he is an elf.

Of course, in all of this – whatever the fuck this is - there is a beautiful elf staring at you.

They all stand around you, watching you.

As if all of this would not be weird enough, you notice their clothes.

The dark eyed man is dressed in a robe? Clasped at the front with a white shirt underneath it. There are leather embellishments on the shoulders and surprisingly elegant brown boots.

Both women are wearing….armour.

You have no other way of describing it.

Actual, medieval-style armour.

There are definitely metal elements in it, on the chest, shoulder and legs, attached to leather part. The dark haired woman definitely wears chainmail.

What the actual fuck!

You’ve read your fair share of fantasy novels, watched all the big-budget adaptations, but you are sure this is not CGI. This is not a badly rendered animation or even masterful makeup artistry.

Not your own, your mind couldn't come up with this if you focus hard enough.

For a moment, you consider being in a coma. You read an article once, on people having the most vivid dreams while being in a coma.

Or experiencing a near death scenario.

No. This somehow - although you are not sure how - feels real.

A real fantasy.

But you are quite sure, you made it home last night, unharmed.

You remember drinking water. And electrolytes. In your kitchen.

You remember undressing, before dropping into bed.

No, this, somehow, indescribably, feels real.

You can touch the sand.

You hear the river you can see when you look to your right.

You can feel the sun on your skin.

You can feel their gazes on you.

You can smell the stench of fish, wood and burning flesh. Not bacon. There are corpses burning behind them.

Of course, there are fucking dead people. Burning dead people.

When you look up, there is a…..giant tentacle?

What the ever loving fuck!

There is a burning, gigantic squid to your left, one of its monstrous tentacles held by large, light brown stones around you.

Your mind rebels against the sight.

It is not a ship. Not really. A grotesque fusion of flesh and metal, twisted and burning.

And there is an elf and a walking frog person, apparently, so it’s a start to your personal fantasy adventure?

It kind of feels like a nightmare, though.

How can this be real?

But they do not look like badly rendered CGI or very expensive makeup and you do not even have time to comprehend the entirety of weirdness of this situation, the fact that these are in fact breathing people, as the dark haired, crouching man speaks.

“Hello. I am Gale of Waterdeep,” he says gently. “Are you alright?”

[ysabelyaps]

Warning: honestly, just bad writing. I’m sick rn but I’m bored so

Summary: Sae-Byeok experiences new feelings with her roommate and decided to confront them. (Or something like that)

A/N: This is so bad I’m sorry, I’m sick, but I’m bored, but I’m sleepy, but I wanted to get it done, but like yk. I’ll probably redo it eventually..

Part: 2/2

⇠✧❀✧⇢

“I like you.”

“Huh?.. I like you too? What are you on about Sae-Byeok?” Maybe talking about this at this time wasn’t the best idea.

“[name], I like you romantically. I think.. this is new for me.. but..” she pauses, “I want to experience it with you, no one else.”

Oh wow. Okay, way to be bold? Your face heats up, you can feel the heat. You can feel it radiating off of your skin. Is it hot in here? Maybe it’s because of Sae-Byeok, it was definitely because of Sae-Byeok.

“..okay. Well, uhm. I like you too, uhm…”

Here you guys were again, staring at each other. Awkwardly. You fiddled with your fingers, but she was staring at you. Straight into your eyes. Like she was trying to pull a string of words out of you. What string of words you may ask? You probably know.

“So uh.. Sae-Byeok.. will you uhm.. will you be my girlfriend?..”

You know it would happen eventually, but the words actually leaving your mouth. You felt as if you would faint right there.

“..” she pauses, “yeah. Yeah I’ll be your girlfriend.”

…

So now what? This was awkward. Why does it always have to be awkward? Can’t it be normal for once? Maybe that’s just how it is when you put two people who are bad at socializing together. One has always been too much for others, and the other was too intimidating. Their experience with people put together is still not very much at all.

“It’s late, can I sleep with you?” Sae-Byeok’s warm voice fills the silent room. Sharing a bed with her didn’t seem terrible. But by that does she mean like.. are we going to cuddle? Or just lay awkwardly.. or..

Eventually you nodded, praying that she would make it obvious what she was trying to do or what she wanted. Unfortunately, that didn’t go to plan.

You guys laid on the bed, arms by your sides. Stiff and awkward, until eventually Sae-Byeok awkwardly wrapped her arms around you. Still stiffly though, somehow.

“Sae-Byeok relax. You’re really stiff, just breathe it’s okay.” Maybe listen to yourself for once? It’s fine, you guys have known each other for a while. You have mutual feelings. It’s fine, just.. breathe in and out. Relax and enjoy the moment. You in her arms, her warm embrace. Just let yourself relax.

You did eventually fall asleep, before Sae-Byeok. The room was silent, the only noise being your soft breathing. Sae-Byeok looked down at you, your head resting against her chest. She started playing with your hair a little. She knew she wasn’t going to fall asleep any time soon. She couldn’t. Not when she loved this moment so much. She wanted to stay in it forever.

It was nice and peaceful.. she really liked it. You looked so pretty in her eyes, the way your lips slightly parted in your sleep, your calm expression. The way you fit in her arms, and as she played with your hair she became more and more aware of how soft and silky your hair was. And it smelled nice.

After a few moments, she brushed your hair out of your face. Before she pulled out her phone.

Click

You weren’t the only one who liked to take pictures of pretty things.

⇠✧❀✧⇢

[sinisterexaggerator]

Askin' for trouble.

Cad Bane x Fem!Reader

Summary: Stupid, and sloppy. That's what he had called you. That's not to say he's wrong, but challenging Cad Bane is just asking for trouble. He'll teach you a lesson in listening, one way or another.

Warnings: NSFW/18+ for: Blood, injury, distress, roughhousing, physical violence, "brat taming," cursing, PiV sex, alien genitalia, and bloodsoaked kissing.

Word count: 3.2k

Notes: Cad Bane is an asshole, but you already knew that. I know Bane hardly does numbers anymore, but if you like it, please reblog! Otherwise this shit ain't gettin' seen. Happy reading! This one is for @deepbluespace4. ;D

------

Sloppy.

Your trembling fingers rifled through your pack, droplets of your own dark blood cascading from the open wound marring your flesh. The bastard had cut straight through your armorweave, leaving a ten-centimeter-long gash in your side.

You should have seen it coming, there was no doubt he had. You would be the laughingstock of the entire hunting party, though you had no time to worry about such things. Flinging your belongings left and right, you urgently searched for the implement that would save your life, yet it was nowhere to be found.

"Fuck!" You cursed the universe as loose credits spilled onto the dingy tiles of the refresher floor. Your comlink joined them, along with your spare rations. You needed to calm yourself, staunch the flow of crimson pouring from you like wine. Your vision blurred as you teetered before the broken mirror adjacent, hardly able to recognize your own reflection through the uneven streaks of dirt and grime, so wan was the color of your skin.

It was obvious your heart was beating faster to try to compensate for the drop in pressure; you felt the onset of nausea, dizziness, and knew that soon it would be too late. You were becoming weaker by the second, though perhaps you would be able to endure death better than facing your colleagues, yet it seemed fate had other plans.

Footsteps, the jingle of spurs in the hall—it caused your saliva to all but evaporate, your mouth as hot and dry as the atmosphere of Jakku. A shadow crept along the slit in the door; you held your breath. 

All was silent; you prayed it had been your imagination, your subconscious conjuring hallucinations in its fatigued state, though your hopes were dashed as a bright light met your eyes, revealing to you the figure of a man in a wide-brimmed hat.

Stupid, and sloppy. That’s what he had called you.

The door shut closed behind him.

“What the hells do you want?” you hissed, quickly turning back to the task at hand. If you could only ignore him, his hulking presence in that damnable mirror, then maybe the skeeze would leave you be.

The chink of metal and the stretch of leather said otherwise.

“Lookin’ fer dhis?” the Duros asked, his tone laced with undue arrogance. You spun around too quickly and nearly lost your balance. A smirk tugged at the corner of his scarred and weathered lips, Bane’s boot having placed itself on top of something, rolling it along underfoot.

With just enough force, just the right amount of weight being redistributed, the case would crack, destroying that precious thing you sought so desperately—your fucking stimpak.

“Give that to me!” you demanded, rushing forward despite feeling ill, paying no heed to courtesies or your rapid blood loss. Bane placed a finger to the center of your forehead and gave a simple push. It was all it took to send you careening backward, forcing you to plow into the edge of the ceramic sink.

“Tsk, tsk. Where’s dhem manners, hm?”

If looks could kill, surely the Duros would be dead. All you received in return was a grin so nefarious it made what blood you had left boil in your veins.

“Bane … I don’t have time for this,” you seethed, your grip slipping, your unoccupied hand being utilized as a makeshift bandage, yet that stubborn rivulet of red refused to wane.

“No time fer manners?” he asked mockingly. You heard something shift; you looked down to see the sole of his boot pressing just a little bit more firmly.

“Asshole!” you screeched, diving clumsily once more for that item you so sorely needed, more valuable to you than money. This time, you received a kick to your chin as your head whipped back, causing your body to tumble heavily onto bits of broken pourstone.

“Only asshole here’s ye, fer dhat shit ye pulled,” Bane groused, his voice deepening in righteous anger. The Duros was the leader of your entourage; you had been given a chance to work alongside him, a galaxy-renowned bounty hunter, yet you had karked it up like some unadept, some novice not worth their weight in salt.

But it wasn’t your fault! The men you had been pursuing had been too fast! Their skills were matched only by those others on your team. Yet all in your company had claimed their prize—your quarry had been the only one to get away scot-free.

You had not expected him to use a sonic detonator at the last possible second; Bane had conveniently told you to, “cover your ears.” Then, you blindly shot into the crowd, taking down some random bystander. Fortunately, you would not be charged by any such entity that passed for law enforcement on this planet. It was a living, breathing, Rogue’s gallery.

In other words, your conscience was clear.

“S’what ye get fer naht listenin’,” Bane sneered, breaking your train of thought. Already you had proven him to be right, having nearly missed his last scathing remark.

Bane bent down, plucking the small syringe up from off the ground, causing a wave of panic to weasel its way in. “Ye want it? Beg fer it,” he snickered, twirling the delicate vial of medicine between his fingers as if it was a blaster to be holstered. You felt yourself turning red with rage, yet what could you do?

Die. You could die.

“Please,” you grated between clenched teeth, digging your fingers into your lap to keep from screaming, to keep from biting down on your own tongue. Hate filled your heart, and Bane could see it, smell it—it only made him worse. It only made him want to continue to provoke you.

“Hm,” he pondered aloud, tapping the edge of the syringe against his thigh as if contemplating something weighty, “don’t think ye meant it—try again.”

You felt inclined to pull your weapon, to shoot him right where he stood, but you were far too intelligent for that—he was too quick for you. He was the best of your kind, no matter that he was the worst in every other way conceivable. Nonetheless, you wouldn’t stand a chance in hell against him. The idea was forfeit from the start.

You inhaled deeply and with purpose; you attempted to placate your frayed nerves. This might be the most difficult thing you would ever have to do, suppressing your very nature; burying that part of you that was so obstinate.

Finally, in your most gentle, even tone, you asked, “please, Bane? Please, help me.”

“Good girl.”

You felt the pause; it hung in the air, like a question that was left unanswered—what did he just say?

Before you could ponder on it further, you were yanked unceremoniously up off the floor by the collar of your vest. You cried out in shock, though now you would cry out for another reason—Bane had jabbed the needle point of your stimpak directly into your gaping wound.

The Duros’ thumb pushed down to inject both bacta and painkillers simultaneously, causing a wave of relief to overtake you as you became putty in his hands. You moaned in near ecstasy, your misery having been mitigated as if the hand of God had touched you, imparting to your addled gray matter sweet, unadulterated bliss.

“Thank you,” you whispered. Bane studied you, keeping you aloft and hanging off the floor. Your toes barely brushed solid ground. So tall was he that, even raised up by his hand, he towered over you, searing red eyes staring into your soul.

The gears of his incisive mind were turning; your scent, this close, was enticing. Your sudden vulnerability ignited a fire within him, poking at his predatory instincts.

And you—you inexplicably thought he smelled so good. That scowling face didn’t seem so scary anymore. He had always been decent toward you; he had not let you bleed dry. He was in charge here, after all. You were a brat, and a tool to be used to accomplish those goals set out for him by his employer, only ever promised a cut of the profits.

“How easy,” he rasped, pinning you to the wall. Whether he meant you offering up your gratitude, or the effort it would take to snuff you out like a candle remained to be seen, the Duros letting go so quickly that you fell like a sack of potatoes, nearly busting your ass on the hard surface below.

You ignored all of this, his poor treatment of your person, pointing out something you would not allow him to overlook—you were still alive. “I knew you wouldn’t let me die.”

With a curious tip of his hat and head, Bane dropped the dispenser, now emptied of its contents. He stared at the red, viscous substance that coated his hand from where he had touched you, as if deciding on his next course of action without a single hint as to what it might be.

“Dhat right?” Blue fingers rose to his mouth, a pink tongue creeping from between parted lips, tasting that which lingered on his scales. He would revel in the tart, pungent flavor; the texture; the feel of your warm, human blood—it called to him, that inborn part of him. The innate desire that drove him to hunt not just for credits, but for food.

You gazed up with heavy-lidded eyes, canting your neck, watching him in both awe and fascination, wholly aware that you were presently level with his groin. He observed you from a height that seemed impossible, two digits disappearing into his open maw as he licked them clean; you felt your cunt clench as you rose to sit up on your knees.

You had no control, pushing your face into black denim, your nose grazing the soft mound of flesh that resided there, just behind the fabric. You felt sleepy, serene, and ineffably aroused. What was that smell? That delightful scent?  

You desired to taste him as he had tasted you.

“Bane,” you breathed, “Cad. Bane.” The hunter flashed his teeth in a predaceous snarl, yet he was silent, entranced by your bold move. You took this as an invitation to keep going, your own teeth pinching closed around the zipper of his trousers, pulling it down, forcing him to abide by your lecherous game.

If you were playing, he was not. Within an instant, Bane had you by the hair. He thrust you backwards. You gasped and he held on. His other hand unfastened the holster at his waist, then worked on his top button until all was revealed—another layer, this one the blackest of blacks.

You took over then, shoving the seam aside; dual cocks slid from between woven folds, pushing into your mouth. You nearly choked in surprise, never having thought about what might exist beneath his skintight pants, not once admitting your attraction to him, even to yourself.

You moaned at the tang of his slick, at the thickness that invaded you down to the deepest recess your throat could offer. You inhaled through your nose as you sucked gingerly, your human lips stretching to accommodate his girths.

Just as soon as it had begun, he pulled free, leaving your mouth open and your eyes wide. He hauled you up, this time by your damaged armor, cerulean digits cinching as he silently commanded you to look him in his stark red eyes.

“What do ye want,” he harshly asked, strengthening his hold. You were hypnotized by his cold stare, the brightness of twin suns that gazed back at you from a sea of cobalt blue.

“I—” Your words caught; you could think of nothing else, admiring him down to the smallest detail; down to each of his femoral pores; the faintest trace of a faded scar.

“Say it,” he hissed; you could smell his breath, sweet with a hint of cheroot, a tinge of whiskey.

“You,” you claimed, voice hushed, your breath unsteady in your lungs. Your heart pounded ferociously in your chest, not doing you any favors, yet that feeling of delirium and ecstasy remained.

“Damn right.”

Bane’s cocks coiled around each other like mating serpents, conjoining together to form a single thick, tentacular phallus. Your pants were torn from off your waist, pushed down without care, the Duros pulling you to him as he broached your sex, incrementally sliding up, up, farther and farther into the tight abyss of your wet loins.

Every sound you made for him was like music to the ears, your little mewls of pleasure, your feeble cries of pain—pain that felt so good.

“Cad,” you whimpered as you fell against him; he hoisted you up onto the sink and lifted your thighs with his forearms, dragging you forward, forcing you to entwine yourself around his waif-thin waist.

You wasted no time in enveloping him with your legs, your explorative hands running the course of his slender chest, fingers daring to claw against black thermoguard, to tug at the metallic breathing tubes fixated to his cheeks.

“Again,” he growled into your ear, the sensation of Bane’s sharp cuspids skimming your earlobe nearly driving you over the brink. He pumped his narrow hips, slow at first, picking up speed with every ragged breath. His strokes were long, deep, and exacting, his unbelievably large hands cupping the round of your ass as he massaged your G-spot, pushing forward with only half his might.

He wanted to hear his name, though you were frustrated, pawing at the accursed body glove that housed him, every speck of his blue flesh but his fingertips and the flat of his face denied to you so cruelly.

“Bane,” you murmured, feathering kisses along his throat, his chiseled jawline, until you met his mouth—that’s where he put an end to it.

“Keep talkin,” he instructed, refusing to indulge you, refusing to give you any part of himself that would prove to be too intimate.

You persisted.

“Kiss me.” The curve of your palms clasped either side of a frown. Your lips returned in earnest, pushing into his. Bane pushed back, keen canines grazing your lips and chin, piercing your skin, the bottom tier of your mouth left to bleed as he pulled back.

“Don’t stop,” you implored, trailing your tongue over the red stain that remained, licking your own blood straight off his teeth.

Bane rumbled a fearsome sound, its echoes rising from the pit of his throat, the Duros ramming you once for good measure so that you reflexively gasped, though your embrace only became more snug, more secure. You dug your heels in, having crossed your ankles, your body lifting as you enthusiastically offered yourself up.

“Still angry?” you taunted. You were flirting with death itself; Bane slipped a hand down toward the ache in your side. Your injury would not fully heal without proper medical attention, the hunter pressing two fingers directly into your novel wound.

You yelled out; Bane moved those fingers to your mouth. You gagged, and he rolled his hips as you slapped at his chest, the Duros honking a dry, vicious laugh.  

“Shut you right up,” he pointed out. You were furious again. You bit down. You dared to attempt to maim him, his quickdraw would suffer, you would suffer.

TWHAP.

You received a backhanded slap; you opened your mouth to protest. He withdrew his fingers, though that well placed smack had been rightfully deserved.

“Biiitch,” he sizzed, pinching your cheeks so hard they would most assuredly bruise. His eyes flashed in warning, his quirled cocks pressing rudely against your cervix.

“Fuck off!” You beat him with your fists, though Bane knew just how to tame you, how to break your tenacious spirit, shoving the pink point of his tongue squarely into your pugnacious, irritating trap.

You settled; your hands ceased their futile drumming against his ribs. Bane grabbed a breast, slid that offending hand between your legs, those bitten fingers amid your labia. He caressed your clit; you hummed around his tongue; you squeezed his pricks with the muscles of your pelvic floor, the Duros groaning into your eager, ardent mouth.

It was like something from a fantasy that no one dares to dream, so alien, so different.

And he had spread you apart, the crests of his cocks hitting all the right spots, feeling like the writhing of a snake inside you at the best of times, that ball of heat in your belly intensifying until the point you knew it would explode, causing stars to rupture in your eyes.

The clink of a belt buckle against porcelain, the creak of Nashtah hide, and the high-pitched, girlish cry of a woman echoed off the walls. Out there, somewhere, patrons of a dark and dreary cantina were fated to listen, though most talked over it. The music played louder; the bartender turned a blind eye, for Cad Bane had gone inside.

It was as if your previous desire had been naught but child’s play. Your cunt was soaked. His rhythm was impeccable, the circular motions of his fingers between your legs utterly precise. You crooned for him; he bit down on your bottom lip. You flinched, but were overcome with pleasure. The pain added something beautiful, something you could not quite express.

“Yes,” you breathed. It became your mantra. Bane did not relent; he would not cease, even as a fresh wellspring of blood dribbled down your chin.

A grunt for every pump, a duet, a cacophony of foreign noises. You felt overwhelmed, but all you could think to do or say was: “Oh, Cad.”

The Duros came; the feeling of him filling you triggers your own orgasm. You feed a moan into his fang-filled mouth; you frantically overtake his tongue again. His hand gropes and fondles your breast; his fingers titillate your clit until you spasm, cajoling him to stop.

Then, it’s over. He’s vacated you quicker than you have time to blink. He shakes himself, adjusts his genitalia, zips his fly, and retrieves his blasters from off the floor.

Your mind is a whirlwind of thought, yet you feel so at peace. Your entire world is upended as Bane locks his gargantuan hand around your fragile neck, his thumb long enough to brush across your lips, wiping away more of your red blood.

“Next time, ye take orders as well as ye take dick,” the gunslinger says. He shoves you back; you fall bottom first into the basin of the sink, Bane pulling a hand-rolled cigarra from out the pocket of his coat.

You are bereft of breath as his duster whorls behind him; you watch as he ignites the end, tossing the sparkstick onto the floor. He leaves a plume of smoke in his wake, not bothering to close the door on his way out.

You search your feelings as the eyes of others peruse your half-naked form. This place is a shithole, a dive. You have laid claim to the only refresher for over an hour now. Curiosity demands an answer, yet no one dares to question Bane.

Dog whistles ensue, laughter, someone calls you indecent, another a slut, yet nothing bothers you; nothing can jar you, or make you forget what has just transpired, the salacious act still so fresh in your mind’s eye.

Besides, you have already made up your mind. Nothing could persuade you otherwise. You cannot wait to serve once more at Cad Bane's side.

-----

Masterlist

Cad Bane Masterlist

[pixiecactus]

Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. "I know which end to use," Arya said. A doubtful look crossed her face. "Septa Mordane will take it away from me."

.

And Arya … he missed her even more than Robb, skinny little thing that she was, all scraped knees and tangled hair and torn clothes, so fierce and willful. Arya never seemed to fit, no more than he had … yet she could always make Jon smile. He would give anything to be with her now, to muss up her hair once more and watch her make a face, to hear her finish a sentence with him.

.

"Sometimes I dream about it," he said. "I'm walking down this long empty hall. My voice echoes all around, but no one answers, so I walk faster, opening doors, shouting names. I don't even know who I'm looking for. Most nights it's my father, but sometimes it's Robb instead, or my little sister Arya, or my uncle." The thought of Benjen Stark saddened him; his uncle was still missing.

.

"He's frightened. We're leaving him." He remembered the day he had left Winterfell, all the bittersweet farewells; Bran lying broken, Robb with snow in his hair, Arya raining kisses on him after he'd given her Needle.

.

"They were as close as brothers, once." Jon wondered if Joffrey would keep his father as the King's Hand. It did not seem likely. That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont's permission. It would be good to see Arya's grin again and to talk with his father. I will ask him about my mother, he resolved. I am a man now, it is past time he told me. Even if she was a whore, I don't care, I want to know.

.

Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran … forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. "I am … yours, my lord. Your man. I swear it. I will not run again."

.

As he rode, Jon peeled off his glove to air his burned fingers. Ugly things. He remembered suddenly how he used to muss Arya's hair. His little stick of a sister. He wondered how she was faring. It made him a little sad to think that he might never muss her hair again. He began to flex his hand, opening and closing the fingers. If he let his sword hand stiffen and grow clumsy, it well might be the end of him, he knew. A man needed his sword beyond the Wall.

.

May those deaths be long in coming. Jon Snow sank to one knee in the snow. Gods of my fathers, protect these men. And Arya too, my little sister, wherever she might be. I pray you, let Mance find her and bring her safe to me.

.

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl.

he just loves her so much, thank you for your existence in arya's life, jon snow.

[tragedy-of-commons]

HI GWENNIE !!! here for the event hehe

may i req honeysuckle + ebullience + serendipity for dan heng? 🤍

HONEYSUCKLE:  they’re making it a point to show you just how much you mean to them.

ebullience  —  a boiling or bubbling up; (figuratively) the quality of enthusiastic or lively expression of feelings and thoughts.

serendipity  —  a combination of events which have come together by chance to make a surprisingly good or wonderful outcome.

modern au but it's not obvious, fluff and mush, dan heng is whipped, so is reader, kinda fits the dahlia prompt better but shhh

“It’s fine. We don’t have to go.”

In response to Dan Heng’s reassurance, you snap your neck around to face him like an affronted owl. By the expression quickly making its way onto his countenance, he seems to regret ever speaking up, his brow pinched together in contrition and his fingers twitching as if to physically take the statement back.

“Don’t be ridiculous!” you scoff, voice light. “You went out of your way to make dinner reservations on the most romantic day of the year, months in advance. Cancelling is out of the question. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You must remain resolute. Today is Valentine’s Day, and after all of the cursory couple activities that you’ve dragged your boyfriend to, you’re more than worn out. Normally you’d be bouncing off the wall in excitement at the prospect of dinner - food is the best - and you rarely go out with Dan Heng as it is! However, it’s apparent you’ve already expended all of your daily stamina.

You can’t shirk his thoughtful gesture just because you’re tired! And you’ve told him as much, which is why you’re both here, lingering near the front door in reluctant date attire.

“It’s not entirely about me,” he tells you, watching with crystalline discontent as you stalk over to him. You fidget with the silver necklace resting over his shirt while he continues. “And to be transparent, I’m not exactly looking forward to it either. I made the reservations because I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“I do appreciate it! I love restaurants…” you lament. Dan Heng sighs, breath ghosting your face.

He’s really close now, and it makes you feel even worse about not feeling your best. You decide to cup his cheek in your palm while he leans into your touch, even if he’s normally embarrassed to accept such things from you. At least you’re in private. 

“But you’re exhausted. I’m exhausted. These circumstances are less than ideal.”

His reasoning is sound, and you groan, perching your chin on his shoulder, melding chest to chest with him. However, you make no move to embrace your partner, instead letting your arms hang loosely by your sides like a dejected ragdoll.

“Yeah… but I don’t want to waste the night.”

“Maybe we don’t have to.”

You blink, pulling back to level with him. “I’m listening.”

And to your surprise, Dan Heng leads you outside anyway. If you’re not going to the restaurant, then pray tell, where the hell are you going? The streets aren’t pitch black just yet - you have the periodic lampposts and sinking sun to thank for that - but you’re still perplexed. You wave to one of your neighbors as you pass his house, a very friendly old man that, earlier in the day, was giving out free bouquets to any passing couples. You remember shoving a bundle of tulips in Dan Heng’s arms while he held back an earth-shattering sneeze.

Man, you are tired. You’re not even energized enough to break from your boyfriend’s side and start up a thirty minute chat about life as humanity knows it with the neighbor! What is the world coming to? Terrible, awful, no good.

“Aren’t you going to tell me where we’re going?” you yawn.

“...No.”

“Really? ‘Cause you sound dangerously close to cracking.”

He pulls a face at you. You’ve learned that Dan Heng is good at keeping secrets - especially his own - but he’s a horrible liar. One time he was attempting to fib to you about what his plans were for your shared anniversary (he had none, he’d claimed), but his ears were tipped an endearing, entirely telling red. 

Also, it’s like his tongue sometimes fistfights his brain. The man you’re in love with doesn’t stutter or trip over his words very often, but he can get hesitant and lock up for an indefinite period of time. So you’re really excited - despite your low battery - that he’s going to surprise you. You know he can do it! 

Dan Heng doesn’t have to reply. The conversation has lulled into a comfortable silence, anyway; the kind of quiet that really brings out the love you harbor for one another. If you were side-by-side with anyone else, walking to some unknown destination, you’d force a cheerful smile on your face, and perhaps a bizarre non sequitur out of your mouth, desperate to keep up the banter. 

But with him, you don’t have to. You can be tired all you want without fear of being pestered by well-meaning questions or concerned glances. And Dan Heng, in turn, can say everything without saying anything.

It’s truly bliss, this life. 

“We’re almost there,” he remarks, taking an abrupt right turn. You only stop for a moment before doubling your pace to catch up, the brisk temperature coaxing you forward. “Sorry for the walk.” 

You snort. “If you’re sorry, then I must be doing something wrong.”

You can’t say you’ve ever been this way. Groceries, work, leisure - it’s all reached by taking a left, not this fantastical right. But you’re not complaining! It’s nice out, golden hour is dwindling, and all of the possible yet abundant circumstances that’ve led you to this very moment drift by in your mind like shooting stars. 

Dan Heng halts in front of what seems to be a small park. It’s contained by a chain link fence, boasts a couple of tall oaks, and is connected by a bunch of sprawling concrete paths. 

You deflate.

He turns to gaze at you, taking note of your indifference. The sky is now briefly turning a magenta color in anticipation of total sunset, bathing him in a mild warmth that will soon give way to cool in a matter of minutes. It wholly suits him.

“Is something wrong? We can go home.”

“No, idiot,” you laugh, limply shooting your arms out and gesturing to the grassy landscape, “It’s perfect. I didn’t even know we had a park in this neighborhood. How long have you been keeping this place a secret?”

Dan Heng lets you link pinkies with him as you begin the (not so perilous) journey through the green. It’s nothing like how dinner would’ve been - no clinking glasses or endless noise. It’s so peaceful. 

“Not a secret,” he sighs, “but on one of my walks I discovered the area. I was waiting for an opportunity to share it with you, believe it or not. Tonight fits the bill well.”

You hum in response, falling back into silence. The cue is understood and honored without a beat skipped, as it often goes. For the next hour or so, you stroll through the park with your other half. Nighttime descends and quickly shadows all the tempting wildflowers you’d normally pluck from the ground and take home, but you find yourself content.

I love you, your hand says as it engulfs Dan Heng’s.

I love you too, his replies ardently as it squeezes back.

event post here. network members only!

[myshadowsbackstage]

Repercussions | Suna x Reader.

Summary: Everything was fine until Rintarou decided to say that. And you get him, you really do, so you try to do him a favor. You're doing Rintarou a favor, so why does he feel like he wants to punch Atsumu anytime he sees you two together.

College! au, gn! reader, platonic! Atsumu, angst with a happy ending (I think). Inarizaki is a college team because why not.

W/c: 5,5k

a/n: Hello! I really hope you enjoy your reading. English isn't my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Also, this is -literally- my first piece of fiction in like... at least 6 years, so any *constructive* feedback is highly appreciated.

You were doing your way to the kitchen when you heard him.

Suna and you went to a birthday party of a friend of yours, and at some point during the night you and him got separated. You went to play with some of your friends while he stayed talking to a group of guys he met that night that really seemed to like him. 

After dancing and fooling around you felt the need for a glass of water, so you went to the kitchen looking for something to satiate your thirst. 

You heard a masculine voice. "It's like once you start a relationship, any sense of freedom it's just gone". Laughter, and another voice "Like when they cling to your arm or something, and it's like, God, just let me breathe for once"

His voice. 

And you swear, a punch to the gut would have been less painful. Still, you didn't stop walking and went to the kitchen anyway. A sudden silence filled the room and that seemed to make the voices in your head louder. 

Should I say something? Confront him. Go away. Say something. How could you act like nothing happened? What the fuck do I say to that. I want to cry. I wanna scream. Punch him. Fucking punch him. How could I? How could he?

God, you were dizzy.

"Hey, y/n" His voice was shaking, you could almost see his face just by hearing him. Twisted in an uncomfortable grimace "Everything alright?"

"Yes" You didn't dare looking at his face, working on autopilot while taking a bottle of juice to serve yourself. 

"Cool... Cool, are you having fun? Do you need anything?" And that switched something inside of you because how could he dare to play dumb like that.

You looked him in the eye and seeing the unshed tears burning in your eyes finally shut him up.

"No, I'm fine"

Without wanting to spend another second in that place, you left the bottle on the counter, fighting not to squeeze the vase in your hand while you got away from that place.

But who were you fooling, you were never good at pushing your feelings away. You wore your heart on your sleeve. Even if you didn't want to, the tears escaped, so you just left the vase on a table on the way to the bathroom, praying for it to be empty.

In the kitchen, Suna stood up, not knowing what to do. The silence kept stretching, and he was a moment away from tearing his hair with his own hands.

What possessed him to say such a thing, he had no idea. He didn't mean it, of course he didn't mean it, but the guys were joking, and being received so easily by a group of people wasn't something that happened to Suna a lot, he just wanted to be a part of it.

But not at the expense of you. Never again at the expense of you. Seeing the betrayal in your eyes made him realize what a stupid thing left his mouth just to be seen as cool by a bunch of random guys whom he would probably never see again.

So he went after you.

He knew you enough to know that you would look for a quiet place to let loose, and considering that this was supposed to be a party, he knew there weren't a lot of places to do that, so he went for the most obvious place to go in this situation.

He knocked on the door three times. "Hey, y/n, are you there?" The music and laughter around the place almost didn't let him hear it, but there they were. Soft sniffles coming from the other side of the door. He kept knocking and calling your name a few times, until he thought that it would be better to let you have your space for a while before trying to do anything about it.

He came back to the kitchen, where the group was still dealing with the tension in the air. When they saw Suna's face, they gave up. 

"Hey, you okay?" Asked one of them.

"I think so... I don't know" Another tsked and awkwardly patted Suna's shoulder.

"Give them some time"

"Yeah" another interjected "They're gonna get over it in no time"

And if you asked him at that moment, he wouldn't have been able to pinpoint what it was. Maybe it was the look on your face when he saw you, the tears dwelling on your eyes, the way your voice strangled in an attempt not to waver, or your sniffles through the door, maybe the image of you, hiding in a bathroom sobbing all by yourself, or maybe that it was all his fault, but something snapped inside of him.

"No, you see? That's the problem. I don't have to wait for them to move on, I can't wait for them to move on. That's not the way you treat a partner. If you fuck up, then you make up for it, you don't get to continue your life as if nothing happened. I mean, if you really prefer to get away with being an asshole, and not suffer the consequences of that, rather than speaking to your partner, why the fuck do you have one in the first place?"

Most of the guys averted their eyes. Some were pretending to drink, while others suddenly picked an interest in the room's decoration, but not one of them could look Rintarou in the eye.

"Chill, dude, we we're just trying to–" 

"Save it"

After that, Suna got up and went wandering around the house, ignoring everyone and wondering  Now, what the fuck do I do now? 

He tried, he really tried, but his own body was reacting to the guilt, and he was sure his stomach were not gonna be able to handle another minute of being on your bad side, so he came back to the bathroom.

He could still hear you. Softer. Calmer. But still going. He knocked again.

"Y/n?" 

Silence.

"I know you probably don't want to see me right now, but... I really regret saying that, if you could let me...  Please, just hear me out, I can't–" Suna's own voice staggered "I can't bear to be like this. Please. Let me fix this"

The lock clicked, and the door barely opened. Enough to let him know that he could enter, but not enough to even see inside. He still pushed, and once inside, closed and locked the door again to not be disturbed.

Then he saw you.

Curled up, hugging your own knees, hiding your face in them while trying to control your breathing. Suna wanted to hold your hands, your face, touch in any way to reassure you. Somehow. However, he knew better. You barely let him inside, going straight to physical touch would be anything but the smart choice, so he put his back on the door and slid to the floor. Giving you some distance.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean it. Really, I didn’t” Ashamed, he cast his eyes to the floor, picking the skin around his nails. “I just… the guys were joking, and I didn’t want to be left out like I always do, and I know it sounds absolutely dumb to use that as an excuse, because it is. But…” He crawled a little, getting closer, still not daring to touch you. “I promise, I love whenever you hug me, or take my arm, or anything, just anything really. I adore how you are so unapologetically you, and just show your love the way you want to, and I would have never accepted being your boyfriend if that weren’t the case, okay?” Just then he made his first attempt, putting his hands on your knees, caressing in little circles, and getting gradually closer to your head, aiming to take off your face from its hiding spot “Please, don’t do that. Don’t hide from me, I want to see your–”

“How am I supposed to believe that?” Suna went silent, and it was that which made you look up to him. “How am I supposed to believe that my boyfriend isn’t sick of me when he speaks like that so easily to a stranger? Was it because they wouldn’t snitch on you? They don’t know me, don’t own me anything, why would they tell me about it?”

“No, no, it wasn’t like that–”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I am sure!”

Another silence filled the air. Both of you looking at each other’s faces, panting. Suna was the first to sigh, trying to lower the volume of his voice.

“You don’t believe me, I get it. Which is why I need you to look me in the eye when I say this” At that, he held your face, forcing eye contact “I did not mean it. Just wanted to belong to that shitty group for an hour, and it was one of the worst mistakes I have ever made, only surpassed by that time I chickened out on asking you on a date, so I had to watch fucking Omimi shooting his shot instead, thank God that really didn’t go anywhere, because I swear those were the worst six months of my life” You couldn’t help to laugh a little, remembering that messy time for you and your relationship with the Inarizaki team. “And now I got to be the person you should rely on, and I fuck it up.” Suna laughs humorlessly “Forgive me, please. I know it may be too much to ask, but give me the opportunity to show you I really care”

You fell back, away from his touch and wiped out your tears before answering. “I want to, I really want to, but Rin…” A nickname. Suna thought there might be hope after all “What guaranteed do I have of this not happening again? Hell, how do I know you won’t be trash mouthing me anytime we get separated?”

“I won’t”

“But how do I know that?”

“You’ll feel it”

“What are you talking about?” You were sure Suna hit himself in the head at some point during the last 10 seconds of your conversation, but then he took your hands, his grip was firm, a bit harsh even, desperate. 

“I’ll be the best boyfriend I can be, I’ll let you feel how important you are to me, you’ll feel how much I love you, and your hugs, and kisses, and pats, anything you give me. You’ll never doubt yourself again. You hear me?”

Part of you still was unsure about the situation, but Suna had that look on his face. The one where his eyes opened up just a little bit more, and his lips parted. Lowering all of his defenses to show that his intentions were true.

“Okay”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” At that, he couldn’t restrain himself anymore and enveloped you in a hug, caressing your hair with one of his hands, allowing you to rest on his chest, smelling that perfume you adored so much.

“I am not disappointing you again.”

Truth is, Suna was true to his word. After getting out of the bathroom, he spent the rest of the night with you, just talking, drinking a little bit, even dancing for a bit when you asked him to under the pretence of atoning for his sins.

However, something inside you still felt unsure. Suna swore up and down that something like that would never happen again, and it got you wondering, if something like that were to actually bother him one day, would he tell you?

Because it wasn’t a lie when you said he wasn’t the most touchy person before he got with you, and that was something you both knew. Part of you still thought that maybe, just maybe, part of what Suna said at the party was true, and he felt uncomfortable with you being glued to him any chance you got.

And since he did his part in showing you how much he cared for you, you decided to do him a favor.

You would do it gradually. Suna is a perceptive person, any abrupt change would startle him immediately, and you would also allow yourself some things. You wouldn’t compromise hugging while sleeping, or napping, you liked that way too much, but perhaps holding his hand when you were sitting at some table on campus wasn’t that necessary. Nor was holding his arms when you were watching movies, for a few scenes maybe, just not the whole thing. Hugging his back when he was cooking was kind of uncomfortable, but you still could do it while waiting for the water to boil whenever you made tea.

Yeah, you could do it. 

The smell of the gym was something you were long accustomed to. The humidity in the air by sweaty bodies jumping and running non stop was something that didn’t make you flinch anymore. Not that much, at least.

Suna and you were holding hands when you entered. Some of the guys were warming up, others chit chatting here and there. Atsumu was about to enter the court, ball already in his hands when he saw you.

“Y/n!”

“Tsumu!” You let go of your boyfriend’s hand and run to hug your best friend. Atsumu and you used to be aware of each other, seeing one another on campus a few times, but you didn’t get close until you started your thing with Suna, when your company during practice became part of the routine. At the beginning, it was a bit awkward, you could tell Atsumu didn’t like your presence very much, thinking you were going to be a distraction for the middle blocker, but if anything, Suna wanted to impress you, so he stopped lacking off any chance he got, and suddenly Atsumu thought that maybe having you there wasn’t so bad after all. He started being nicer to you and the rest was history, you two connected in a way you haven’t with any other person in university.

“You okay? How’s Sunarin treating you? Had he done something to punch him?” You laughed, not letting go of him.

“Sorry, but you’ll have to keep waiting”

“Damn, when is the universe giving me an opportunity to smack the guy?” You heard Suna letting go of a sigh at Atsumu’s antics.

“If anything happens, I’ll let you know”

“Please”

You let go of him and went to your usual spot on the bench. The guys started practice and you used the time to read.

This was all part of your routine. The guys knew you would always be there during practice , and since you would be sitting in silence, without distracting any of the guys, the coach allowed it. Every break you would seize the opportunity to go and pamper your boyfriend, or even better, pester Atsumu. Neither the guys, nor Suna said anything about it, you didn’t want to let them know. To let him know.

Two weeks pass by, and something in the back of Suna’s mind starts to nag at him. He can’t tell what it is, but there is definitely something different between you two. You keep accompanying him to practice, he stills waits for you at the station so you can go to class together, you two still wait for the other, depending on who finish class later that day, you two still go to each other’s houses and sleep hugging each other, you still talk, and message the other when you’re not together, then what is it?

You two enter the gym, and before he can process it, you let go of him to go say hi to Atsumu. When he sees you two, his stomach does something. He knows it’s not jealousy, because he would trust his life to you, and even if he would never say it out loud, the truth is, he trusts Atsumu too, he knows nothing romantic would ever happen between the two of you. So why? Why does he feel so aware of the way your arms are wrapped around each other, noticing how you just don’t let go, which of course you don’t, you never do, you love too much to do that, that was one of the reasons he fell in love with you in the first place. That never ending love that made everyone around you feel seen.

He doesn’t have the energy to keep thinking about it, he doesn’t want to, so he just puts out his phone and scrolls on social media while you talk to Atsumu on the court, waiting for practice to officially start. You don’t get to see Atsumu that much outside of practice, so he doesn’t intend to ruin that for you. Not now, not during breaks. Not last week, not this week, and he doesn’t do it either the next week. He just takes his phone and sets his eyes on the screen, nothing but the screen. He knows if he allows himself to go with any of the guys, he would inevitably see the two of you, and if he sees you, then he has to think about what makes him so… he doesn’t even know what he is feeling right now, a sense of loss he doesn’t know where is coming from, that started only when he was in practice, but 3 days ago, it started to plague his mind during the rest of the day, and he can’t bear to feel any of that.

When it comes to you, the truth is, you don’t realize what you’re doing. In your mind, your plan to give Suna his space is going on with flying colors. He has not said anything, and looks as calm as ever, so you must be doing it right. The problem is, you love to be touchy, you just can’t help it, you love to hold and be held, give and receive, you need it. And if your body can’t have your boyfriend, then somebody else needs to fill that need.

Osamu does realize it though. So does Kita, and Aran, and Ginjima, and the whole team really. 

Yes, even Atsumu.

He hasn’t asked about it, because he knows that if something bothers you that much, you would tell him, but lately things seems to have spiraled in this weird setting where the moment you step on the gym, Suna ceases to exist, and he looks absolutely unbothered by it, burying himself in his phone, and not speaking with anyone on the team. Even the coach went to Kita asking if everything was alright, or if he should intervene. Shinsuke reassured him that they would handle the situation.

“How’s it going?”

“Nothing”

“Should we intervene?”

“I’m not sure” Atsumu replied. Osamu was across from him, arms crossed, pretending to look at the court while actually having an eye on Suna, who was playing something on his phone while you were in the bathroom.

“It’s been almost three weeks”

“I know, but I’m not sure how to approach it. They hadn’t told me anything about it”

“Well, ask, then.” 

Atsumu growled. “It’s not that easy”

“Yes, it is”

“You do it, then”

“Okay, but what if…” At that, Atsumu looked at his brother, interested. “You talk to y/n, and I go talk to Rin, how’s that?” Atsumu sighed, thinking about it.

“Okay”

Another three days pass by before the perfect moment to have that conversation appears. Coach called for a short break, yet Osamu noticed how he picked up a call and after asking who was he walking to, his face changed and he went away for a bit of privacy. Surely the call would take a bit of time. He sees Atsumu talking to you on a bench, while you play absentmindedly with his hair. Atsumu feels the drilling look of his brother and as soon as Osamu gets his brother’s attention, he makes a quick nod at Suna and a thumbs up. Atsumu gives a quick wink at his brother, acknowledging the situation, and as Osamu makes his way to Rin, he sees how Atsumu takes your hand and guides you to a quieter corner of the gym.

“Hey”

“Hey” Suna doesn’t take his eyes away from the screen.

“How’s it going?”

“Good. You?” Osamu laughs and nudges the middle blocker.

“Nah, don’t bullshit me, I know you better than that and you know it”

For the first time in what feels like forever, Rintarou takes his eyes away from the phone. “I don’t know”

“You don’t know?” Osamu was at the verge of teasing him, but as soon as he sees the troubled look on his friend, he decides against it.

“Honestly, I don’t know, it’s just…”

Osamu tries to help him, tentatively. “Does it have to do with y/n?” Suna looked down.

“Yeah” There was silence for a moment. Osamu didn’t dare press any further. “I… I really don’t know how to talk about this, everything seems fine, but… but it doesn’t feel fine. It’s… something’s been off for a while, and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“Haven’t you tried to talk with them about it?”

“No. I mean… It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just that… I don’t know what would I say to them. ‘Hey, I feel you’re mad at me, even though you act the same as always’ doesn’t seem to cut it” Osamu plays with his fingers, wanting to play dumb as much as he can.

“I mean, if it has you feeling like this even at practice, maybe they haven’t really been acting the same as always.” Suna hums and Osamu decides he may need to pick a bit deeper if he wants to get something out of Rin. “Does this have to do with my brother?”

Rintarou sighs and puts his phone aside, putting his feet on the same table as his, and letting his elbows rest on his knees. “Is it that obvious?”

“You want me to answer that honestly?” They both laugh softly, and Suna seems to relax for a bit, knowing Osamu wouldn’t judge him for being honest.

“Yes, it has to do with Atsumu, but at the same time… no? Ugh, I don’t even know what I’m saying”

“Tsumu, what are you doing?”

“Just wanted to have a conversation without any monkey interrupting us” You would have laughed, but the implications of that sentence put you on some kind of edge.

“A conversation? Atsumu, is everything alright?” 

“I don’t know, you tell me” There is a beat of silence, the confusion written all over your face.

“What?”

“God, I didn’t want to ask like this but… I can tell something has been bothering you, and you know I don’t like to pry, and I trust you would tell me if anything serious is going on, but I know there is something you aren’t telling me, or anyone for that matter. What is it?” You put on a facade a second to late, he noticed the way you tried to evade his gaze before giving him a little smile.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”

“Yes, you do”

And it was the look on his eyes. The way his voice was so assertive without being accusatory. Not judging, not attacking, just stating a fact. And it could have been any other of the guys, you would have kept pretending, but this was Atsumu. Atsumu who managed to win you even after giving you the cold shoulder the first time he saw you. Atsumu who would always make sure you were feeling comfortable and welcomed anywhere as long as he was present. Atsumu who would take your side anytime you had a fight with Suna even if he knew you were in the wrong just because you needed the support. This was your friend.

“It feels like he’s getting all the attention” Getting those words out of his mouth felt as if rocks made their way slowly from Suna’s stomach to his mouth. He felt absolutely embarrassed. “In private I still get the hugs, and… that stuff, but whenever we’re here it’s just… I become a background character or something, a fucking npc or whatever”

“Does this happen only with Atsumu?”

“I don’t know, I don’t think so, even if he’s busy they manage to be with someone else, being all touchy and fuck, it sounds so shitty, but I swear, it doesn’t bother that they are doing it, it’s just…” The sentence hung up in the air, but Osamu got perfectly what  Rintarou was trying to say.

It was messy, but he knew his friend enough to know he would rather drink a bottle of vinegar in one go before admitting that he just wanted physical touch.

“When was your last fight?”

“Our last fight?

“Yeah, or a discussion, anything really”

“Uh… I don’t know, like three months, maybe”

“What was it about?”

“It was about…” Osamu looked at Suna’s face, trying to recall when was the last time you had an actual fight and not a discussion about what show you would be watching before sleeping, and he could swear he saw the exact moment the gears in his friend’s mind started to work. “Motherfucker”

“What is it?”

“That fucking party” Osamu waited “We got separated, I was mingling with a bunch of guys, we were just talking, but they started speaking about how annoyed they felt at their partners sometimes, and…stupid me, just because I wanted to say something, I basically said that I would get annoyed by them hanging onto me any chance, or something like that. Doesn’t matter really.” Suna sighed, “Thing is, they heard me.” Osamu stayed there, suddenly very aware that they were supposed to still be in practice and praying to all the gods for the coach not to come back yet. Not when the conversation got that serious. “I apologize, we spoke about it, I told them I didn’t mean it, I just wanted to… participate, I guess.” Another moment of silence, Suna’s gaze glued to the floor “Now that I think about it, this has been going on ever since”

“I see…”

“You’re not gonna say anything else?”

“I want to say a lot of things, but most of them aren’t very nice, and ultimately, I think you already know them” Suna let out a bitter laugh.

“I guess you’re right”

They both let another moment pass, settling their emotions.

“Well, at least you solved the mystery, now you can say you want their attention without looking like you are constipated”

“I did not look like that”

“Yes, you did, but it’s okay, because now you have an actual argument to backup that feeling”

“I guess… Fucking Atsumu, getting all of the attention”

“Of course, you know he would never reject them”

“You think y/n told him anything? He seems pretty oblivious about it” For Suna’s sake, Osamu chose not to point out that, in fact, Rintarou hasn’t looked at anything his teammates has been doing for the past weeks. 

“Judging by his expression, I think he found out about 5 seconds ago” Rintarou followed the gaze of Osamu and found Atsumu holding both of your hands. He couldn’t see your face, but he could see Atsumu’s clenched jaw, and his overall tense posture.

Suna sighed again “Considering this may be my final moments, just so you know, you were always my favorite Miya” Osamu lets out a laugh so deep, it reverberates throughout the gym, gaining the attention of some of the members as the coach came back.

“I already knew that”

“Okay, guys, sorry for the tardiness, let’s come back, come on!”

Both guys got up, and before entering the court, Osamu squeezed Suna’s shoulder.

“I’m here whatever happens, okay? Don’t forget that”

Practice finished with… a sort of tension. Suna could tell Atsumu was trying to pretend everything was normal, but he has always been shit at acting, so every person in the gym could tell something was up with him, while Osamu was the only one ignoring his twin’s antics and actually acting like everything was fine. To Suna, that made the situation even more disturbing.

Once the coach signaled the end of practice, Suna almost ran for his things. When he got out of the lockers, he saw Atsumu talking to you, doing gestures with his hands and moving his mouth at a speed that made Suna dizzy even through the distance. When Atsumu saw Rintarou, he stopped abruptly, making you turn away and give him a tight smile. If he wasn’t so nervous already he would have burst his ass laughing at Atsumu’s cartoonish ways.

While he made his way to you, Atsumu gave you a quick hug and just a wave to Rintarou as he made his way to his brother.

“Do you want to go for some ice cream?” He asked suddenly. You looked at him a little confused, yet seeing his face, a sort of mutual understanding passed through both of you.

“I would love to”

Shyly, you extended your hand. He took it, intertwining your fingers, and giving a soft squeeze. 

As you walked to your favorite ice cream shop, the streets seemed to have a little more color, the air felt a little more fresher, the neighbourhood was a little bit quieter.

“Rin…”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to talk to you”

“I’d like that too” Both of you squeeze the other’s hand “Would you like to begin?”

“Yes.” He gave you your time. “I know I haven’t been the best to you lately, I’ve been acting weirdly, and I know you noticed, and we just haven’t addressed the situation, and god, I hate we let it get to this point. We should’ve… I should’ve talked to you sooner” Suna nodded his head a little, showing he was listening “To be honest… I’ve been feeling insecure because… well, I… You…”

“Y/n” He interrupted softly “Does this have to do with what I said at that party?” You let the air you were holding out, relieved that he was willing to address the situation.

“Yes.”

“Okay” Suna kept quiet again, waiting for you to elaborate from there.

“To be honest, I still feel insecure about it. I know you told me, and even insisted that you didn’t mean it, and whatnot, but it made me think perhaps there were times where you didn’t want to be touched all the time, but you didn’t tell me just so you wouldn’t hurt my feelings. And Rin, I would hate to make you feel uncomfortable, or that you need to suck up with things you don’t like just for my sake. I thought… I wanted to do you a favor by giving you space, because I know that is something you appreciate.”

Suna bit his lip, nodding “I’m sorry”

“What for?”

“Because you shouldn’t be feeling like this. I told you that day I would make you feel appreciated and it looks like I failed again. Even worse, I knew there was something, I didn’t talk to you about it sooner ‘cause I haven’t figured it out yet, if you had asked me before, I wouldn’t have known what to say. But I knew there was something, and maybe I should have tried to figure this out with you, not wait for it to be something so big, and drag you through this feeling for so long.” At this point, Suna stopped walking and took both of your hands, facing you. “I’ve been such a shitty boyfriend, and I hate it.”

“Don’t say that”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?” He held your face with one of his hands, tender, while the other held your hands firmly “I love so much, and you let me show it to you any way I want. I always thought that I would do the same for you, and I’ve been doing anything but. Just stop this. I want it. I want all of you. Hughes, kisses, pats, cuddles, everything. I’m sorry it took me losing that to appreciate it, I really am. So, please, if it’s something you want to give me, if you are still willing to give it to me… I would really appreciate that.” In that last sentence, Rintarou’s voice broke a bit, and it was all that it took for you to slide your arms around him, giving gentle caresses on his head, encouraging him to nuzzle in your neck.

“I would love to, Rin” You stayed there for a bit, just holding each other. Drinking on that moment of intimacy at plain sight.

“I don’t deserve you”

“Oh, stop it” You let go, laughing. He gave you a little yet relaxed smile in return. Everything seemed to fall into place again. “C’mon now” You took one of his hands, and started walking again “I really could do with some ice cream right now.”

[skribbledarker]

VAMP SANJI WIP UPDATE!1!1!1 i finally got off my ass and started writing ts so. have a snippet. context is that Sanji’s germa genes are starting to take effect OHHH hes not gonna have anything good happen to him from here on out sorry yall…enjoy

—

“I missed you.”

“Wh—” Sanji completely forgot he wasn’t alone. He jumps and the knife slips; Sanji registers a sharp pain in his thumb before he really has the chance to process what the hell Zoro just said. “Ow, shit—”

“Cook?”

“Ugh, fucking nicked myself,” Sanji hisses. he sticks the tip of his finger in his mouth, sucking on the pad of his thumb to stave the bleeding off when the coppery taste of way more blood than there should be fills his mouth.

Sanji lets the knife clatter to the counter as he scans the sink area for a dish towel, the pain from the cut throbbing dully as he grabs one and quickly bunches it over the digit. Zoro shifts from his perch on the couch, the bottle he was holding clinking on the wood as he puts it down. “You sure?”

“Yeah, m’fine, just—“ Sanji scans the counter for any stains, and oh, that is a good chunk of flesh with a fingernail sticking out of it just sitting on the table. That is a quarter of his thumb. on the table. What the fuck. Sanji feels panic well up inside him, because he just sliced off half of his fucking finger.“—Oh.”

“What the hell are you doing over there?”

The words go in one ear and out of the other. Carefully, very carefully, Sanji removes the towel from over his thumb (Chopper would be fucking screaming at him for not putting pressure on the wound, but he needs to see the damage) and…

…It’s fine. His thumb looks fine, whole. Once he frantically wipes the rest of the blood off, there’s barely even a cut. Again, what the fuck, because Sanji knows he just chopped off a good portion of that digit and it’s laying right next to him.

And then Sanji watches, breath tight in his chest, as the remaining wound on his thumb starts knitting itself together. The cut fully closes, leaving nothing but pink, tender, skin behind, and everything seems to grind to a halt as Sanji realizes exactly what this means.

“Do you need a bandage?” Zoro is somehow behind him now, looking over Sanji’s shoulder, and he scrambles to throw the dish towel over the incriminating chunk of his finger still on the counter before the swordsman can see.

Sanji barely spares enough focus to bat him away with his other hand, still reeling from the revelation. “Go– fucking sit down, it’s not even bleeding anymore.”

“Whatever. You’re being weird.” Zoro throws his arms up in defeat.

“Your face is weird!”

“I’ll gut you.”

“Shut. Up.”

“Fine,” Zoro tromps back his perch on the galley’s couch while Sanji struggles to keep his breathing in check.

It was stupid, really, for Sanji to think that he was in the clear. To believe that everything would all suddenly be over after he’d finally gotten rid of the last of the influence Judge had on him. Or, well, thought he’d finally gotten rid of– Even in its absence, Germa still manages to be ever-present in everything he does. Sanji really should’ve known better.

He pulls a breath in, oblivious to the eyes (eye, really) on his back, wrapping up the offending piece of finger in the towel and chucking the entire thing into the garbage can. Sanji will finish up here, go to sleep, and pray that he’s still him in the morning, because what else is there to do in this fucking situation?

The galley is blissfully silent as Sanji picks up the knife again, finishing off the rest of Franky’s potatoes quickly and carefully; Zoro doesn’t comment on what just happened, or what he said earlier, and Sanji is quietly very glad for that. The entire time, the knowledge of what’s happening in his body sits in the back of the blonde’s mind like a stone. Heavy, threatening to bowl him over with the weight. It stifles him, even as he moves deftly to clean the kitchen and not-so-nicely give the marimo a boot to the ass.

when Sanji falls asleep that night, he dreams of his name: whispered on faceless lips while a sword plunges gently into his chest.

—

ugh i have a slur to say. the two of them are homo leve 100 thousand and Sanji is about to start having a BAD TIME. oka

[umi-adxhira]

ᝰ.ᐟ SERENITY | 019

FANDOM: TWTPTFLOB

WARNINGS: Erm pain idk

AUTHOR'S NOTES: DIDI IS BACK YALL I KNOW YOU GUYS MISSED HIM

◄ PREVIOUS CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ►

You wake up again to find an ominous presence looming above you.

Pain. It’s the first thing you register. A deep, aching soreness radiates through your limbs, as though your body has been wrung out and discarded. Every breath is an effort, every shift of muscle met with a sharp sting. You try to move, but even that feels impossible. Your body is leaden, sluggish, as if it no longer belongs to you.

Darkness presses in from all sides, thick and suffocating. You can’t remember where you are. Can’t recall what happened. Your mind is a haze of fractured images, none of them making sense. All you know is that something is wrong. Very wrong.

Your senses crawl back to you, piece by piece. The dull throb in your ribs. The faint scent of damp wood and lingering candle smoke. The uneven rise and fall of your own breath, labored and shallow. And then-

The presence.

It’s there. Watching. Close enough that you can feel it, oppressive and unmoving. Your heart lurches, a cold, instinctual fear seizing your chest. Not again. Please, not again. Your pulse pounds in your ears as you squeeze your eyes shut, pretending - praying - that if you don’t acknowledge it, maybe it will disappear.

But it doesn’t.

A shadow looms over you, silent and motionless. A predator waiting for you to wake, to acknowledge its existence. You know you should move. Should flee. Should do something. But your body won’t cooperate, frozen in place, held captive by exhaustion and terror. Your breath comes faster, shallower, panic creeping in at the edges of your mind.

Who? The question screams in your head, but you’re too afraid to voice it. Too afraid to open your eyes.

And then, a sound - low, steady breathing. A scent - leather, steel, something faintly metallic beneath it. Familiar, in a way that makes your stomach twist. A voice, quiet but heavy, carrying the weight of an unspoken demand.

"Who did this to you?"

Dion.

The realization crashes into you like a wave, sudden and disorienting. You gasp, your body jerking in response, muscles tensing despite the pain. Your eyelids flutter open, and there he is - Dion, standing above you, his face barely illuminated by the flickering candlelight. His gaze is sharp, unreadable, the same as always. And yet - not the same at all.

His clothes are ruined, streaked with deep crimson. The fabric clings to him, heavy with the weight of dried blood. His sword is still strapped to his hip, his fingers clenched around the hilt so tightly that his knuckles have turned white.

For a brief, absurd moment, you think he looks tired. As if he’s been carrying the weight of something far heavier than just his blade. What happened on his mission?

But there’s something else - something in the way he looks at you, in the way his grip tightens around his weapon, as if he's holding himself back from something. From what?

He asks again, his voice even, but there’s a dangerous undercurrent beneath it. "Who did this to you?"

You avert your eyes, unable to hold his gaze. Your throat tightens, and the sting of fresh tears pricks at your vision. You don't answer. I can't. You simply turn away, swallowing the sob that threatens to escape.

Dion remains still for a moment before he sighs, almost inaudibly. He kneels beside your bed, one gloved hand reaching forward. His fingertips hover just above your cheek, hesitant. But before he can touch you, you whisper, your voice hoarse:

"Take your gloves off. I don't want to see any more blood."

For a fleeting second, his brows knit together, but he obeys without a word. The gloves come off, discarded onto the floor. His now-bare fingers finally make contact, brushing away your tears with a gentleness that seems so foreign coming from him.

You close your eyes, leaning into the touch despite yourself. His hand is warm. Warmer than you expected. I thought he’d be colder. Colder than this.

Minutes pass in silence, his presence grounding you more than anything else could. Then, his voice breaks the stillness once more.

"Was it Fontaine?"

Your stomach twists into knots. Your fingers grip the blanket, heart pounding against your ribs. You don't answer. But you don't have to. When your eyes finally meet his, the silent confirmation is clear.

Something shifts in his gaze - a flicker of something dark, something dangerous. His jaw tightens, but he says nothing else. Instead, he shrugs his cloak from his shoulders and drapes it over you with careful precision.

"There's no blood on it," he murmurs, as if reading your mind. "It's clean."

You glance down at the fabric, skeptical. He just returned from a week-long mission. How could it not be stained? But your inspection turns up nothing - no smudges, no evidence of the battles he must have fought. You don't question it. You're too tired to.

As he moves to stand, you reach for him. Or at least, you try. Your fingers barely brush against his hand before they fall, weak, to the side of the bed.

He notices.

Turning back, he watches you, waiting. "Don't go," you whisper. "I'm lonely."

His expression doesn't change, but you think you see his fingers twitch. "I'll be back later,"

"Stay," you plead. "At least until I fall asleep."

The silence stretches between you. He doesn't move. Doesn't speak. And then-

"Why?" His voice is softer this time, barely above a whisper.

You don't have an answer. Or maybe you do, but you don't have the strength to say it. Instead, you close your eyes, focusing on the way his presence makes you feel. Safe. Safe, despite everything. "I don't know," you admit. "I just do."

Another pause. Then, begrudgingly, he exhales through his nose, relenting. He sits at the edge of your bed, stiff and uncertain. You reach for his arm, weakly pulling him toward you as you shift the covers just enough to make space.

His movements are careful, hesitant. He settles beside you, mindful of your bruises, and lifts a hand, letting it rest awkwardly by your head. An attempt at comfort.

You tuck your head against his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breathing. The steady rhythm soothes you, lulling you toward the peace that had eluded you all night.

For the first time in a long while, you feel safe. And as sleep pulls you under, you think you feel his fingers, ghosting over your hair - a touch so light, you wonder if you imagined it.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

When you wake again, Dion is still there.

His arm is stiff beneath your head, his breathing even but not quite deep enough to be sleep. You stir slightly, and he shifts in response, his grip on the edge of the bed tightening momentarily before relaxing again.

The room is still dim, the candle having melted further down, the wax pooling onto the bedside table. Outside, the faintest traces of dawn begin to creep through the cracks in the curtains.

For a moment, you simply lay there, listening. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, grounding you in a way that nothing else has in weeks. His warmth seeps into you, the weight of his presence both comforting and disorienting.

"You're awake," he murmurs after a moment, voice rough from disuse.

You nod against him, not wanting to move. His hand, still hesitating by your head, finally lowers, his fingers brushing lightly over your temple. It’s a fleeting touch, as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

You close your eyes again, whispering, "Thank you for staying." before noticing something on his cheek. Blood? Your mind races back to last night, seeing him looming over you. He didn’t have that stain last night? Did he leave sometime after I fell asleep?

His fingers still. A long silence follows. And then, just barely above a whisper, he responds, "Get some more rest,"

And for once, you believe him.

TAGLIST: @evaxmisu, @00hellohello00, @welpthisisboring, @hsrvl264, @flyingpansaurus

[mrs-starkgaryen]

The weekly essay that no one asks for but Maggie seems to enjoy and I certainly do-

So to mo further ado-

1. “Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

A) you make him an ass 😂

B) but I also made this reference so I forgive him

2. “Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

A) ho ho, that's awkward

B) skinny cake- damn Hollywood is already affecting her, bless

3. She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

A) put the knife down Baela, babes

B) for Jace's sake

C) I hope this is foreshadowing- Becca goes full Michael Myers when she finds out something scandalous (just my sleep deprived brain)

4. “Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

A) it feels like his eyes are stuck, like the only thing that can move in a plastic face like a scream for help, if you get me

B) I was gonna say you can't change the eyes but I realised you can. There goes my 'eyes are windows to the soul' shit and how it will show how Sunshine will still always have the same soul (hopefully) deep down

5. “Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

A) ah creepy

B) he's getting that money money, ofc he's smiling

6. “Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

A) she's so sweet, she will crack later with how Hollywood is gonna eat her up

B) slack as in she will collapse with the pressure of pretending

C) even the floor is fake, pretending to be something it's not 😭

D) she will have to take her cover (dress) of LA dreams off when the actual nitty gritty of fame comes to her

E) I'll come back to the eyeshadow.. they're getting darker...

7. As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

A) poetry, especially the last two lines

B) Hollywood is not the [framed] picture-perfect idea she has, she is still looking up at it even when times are tough but will it be enough?

C) being manipulated and measured is totally what the fans will do to her, omg

8. He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

A) I had hope and I had prayed and Aegon came to save the day (poetry ooh)

B) he came running- perfect 👌

C) I wonder if she'll return the favour one day...

9. He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

A) least he says hello

B) what a babe

C) also not looking downwards? Gentleman

D) I hope he brings it up later "I really wanted to see what you had underneath" *bites fist*

10. And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

A) Aegon is gonna eat her up

B) but me too, anything for Aegon

11. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

A) don't look at her like that, it's not like she invited him for the boob viewing 😭

B) oh girly is in LOVE

12. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes.

A) nothing to do with the story but that song makes my eye twitch lmao

13. “Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

A) "yes daddy"

14. But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

A) and shit hit the fan

B) he has some sort of condition where he's forgetting things slowly and it's gonna decline so fast isn't it

C) that's why he wants out quickly before he's remembered for it!

D) I can just see actor Aegon forgetting lines and his family wanted him to take it easy 😭

E) my baby and sunshine thinks he doesn't remember cuz he doesn't caree

15. And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

A) my shaylaaaa

B) Maggie you're cruel

16. “Uh…1994, I think.”

A) he doesn't care or he can't remember that well

B) I'm gonna look for other clues in the other chapters

17. “She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

A) alright sunshine, you haven't met her yet (jokes)

B) ho ho ho- Becca is gonna be selfish? Interesting how that'll play out

C) oooh, Dragons. good connection Mags

18. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

A) cooler colours for something bad brewing?

B) silver and blue eyeshadow.. blue meaning loneliness... both aegon and sunshine are lonely.. speculation..

19. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored.

A) Mario is Aegon isn't he?

B) the maze represents his mental condition: foggy and unclear

C) or it could be describing Hollywood- a confusing and toxic place but the coins (fame and riches) make it worth it? Hence why the power bar rejuvenates a little, but it won't her going forever?

D) also Becca is Waluigi lmao

20. Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake.

A) oooh girllll

B) both of his bitches in the same room

C) That wasn't supposed to happen

21. “No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

A) Mario is dead, nice. Bye Aegon

B) or it means her collapse in being in Hollywood

22. “Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

A) wait no Becca is kind of cute

B) this will be interesting if we like Becca

23. “You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

A) stop she's sweet

24. “Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

A) interesting.... she noticed something in his look... did she catch on?

B) does she know he got rid of his other clients but her?

C) you know it's bad when he starts cleaning 😂

25. “And I guess they’re growing on me.”

A) stopp

B) I love it, she's growing on him too (already has)

26. The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

A) the newness of LA is lost to him whereas she still is experiencing it

B) ah the Venus flytrap- Hollywoooooood

27. You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

A) so the plants are gonna die, aren't they Mags?

B) you're preparing us for worse stuff

C) she's gonna be busy with something or distracted and the plants die

D) she's gonna say the same to Aegon when he's dying on his bed 😭

28. Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

A) stop Aegons gonna break my heart (but not as bad as later ey)

B) he's the only one who seems to appreciate her cuz there ain't no sunshine when she's gone 🎵🎶 they both need sunshine

29. “And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

A) oh he will know about someone disappearing 😭

B) last good thing he will do here or ever??? Is he on a mission to die peacefully??

30. “Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

A) she's so sweet

B) LA will take advantage of that

C) I hope she stands up for herself soon. This world sucks.

31. “It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

A) sus.. why is her address in the file? That doesn't sound right.

B) ew gross scene- no need and WHY DIDNT THIS CHANGE GO THROUGH AEGON, THE MANAGER FIRST??

32. “Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

A) he doesn't babe

B) he's gonna lose his shit and pop an eyeball and be mistaken for Aemond in his anger 😠

C) if I don't get there first

Love your work as usual, and I keep noticing you pointing out dogs in this chapter. I'm watching you

A Curse [Chapter 3: Flower District]

Series summary: You are an aspiring actress. Aegon is a washed-up and disenchanted agent…at least until he sees something special in you. But within paradisical seaside Los Angeles you find terrible dangers and temptations, secrets and lies. Maybe Aegon’s right; maybe the City of Angels really is a curse.

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), age-gap relationship, entertainment industry misogyny, some body dissatisfaction/dysmorphia, medical stuff, a creepy dude, a special surprise is found in Aegon's office!!!

Word count: 6.2k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @lauraneedstochill @mrs-starkgaryen @chattylurker @neithriddle @ecstaticactus, more in comments! 🥰

🏝️ Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🏝️

You sleep in late and wake to the sound of excited voices out in the kitchen. When you follow them, you find Baela using a pink Click ‘n Flame utility lighter to ignite the candles on a sloppily but lovingly homemade cake, Pillsbury Funfetti according to the blue box left upturned on the countertop, lumpy white icing dotted with multicolored sprinkles. Jace must be responsible. You panic, thinking that you have forgotten a birthday, but no: you quickly recall that Baela is a Sagittarius and Jace is—somewhat improbably—a Capricorn.

“What are we celebrating?” you ask.

Baela looks up from the cake, the candlelight luminescence radiant on her face. She is beaming, she is glowing, she is definitely meant to be an actress. She shines too brightly to belong anywhere but among the stars. “I got the part.”

“Which part?”

“The one in the new Yorgos Lanthimos movie!”

“No way!” you shout, and you rush over to hug her; but already there is a sinking feeling that you are dimly aware of through the rush, and when the revelry is over you will lie in bed alone with these thoughts, treasonous yet true: When will it be my turn? Why can’t this happen to me? “That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!”

“It’s about the French Revolution,” Baela says when you pull away, still grinning hugely. “I’m getting third billing, my name will be on the promo posters! I’m flying to Paris for filming next month!”

“Wow.” Your smile is frozen on your face. “Wow, wow, wow, I can’t believe it. This is so awesome!”

Then Baela realizes how it must feel for you, and she is sympathetic, rubbing your shoulder as her expression twists into something soft and bashful. “But hey, your luck is turning around too!”

“Yeah,” Jace says. “You got to be in Episode 5,000 of Grey’s Anatomy.” Baela gives him a reproachful glare. “What?” he asks, clueless.

“No, it’s totally cool,” you insist. “I’m really, really thrilled for you, Baela. You have to take a million pictures in Paris so I can see all the architecture and desserts and hot French dudes!”

Jace snorts. “Are French dudes even hot?” He sounds skeptical.

“You can be my date to the premiere,” Baela tells you. Jace gapes at her, incredulous. “We can pose together on the red carpet and you can do some networking! Maybe Yorgos will even like you and cast you in his next project!”

But something about the way she says it makes the prospect sound ludicrous, fantastical, fictional. Baela’s breakthrough is reality, yours is unicorns and mermaids and the Loch Ness Monster. “You are so wonderful, but you should take Jace.”

“Yeah, you should take Jace,” Jace says.

Baela pulls a knife out of the bamboo block on the kitchen counter. Her parents bought it, like they bought almost everything else in the apartment; they believe in her, lots of people do. “Do you want some cake? When’s your appointment?” The appointment you didn’t cancel, contrary to Aegon’s explicit instructions. Technically, you never agreed to, so you haven’t lied to him. That makes you feel better. Baela glances at the calendar and reads the time written there in red ink. “Oh good, not until noon. You definitely have time for cake!”

“Babe, you gotta blow out your candles first,” Jace says. Baela closes her eyes, becomes still and serene, extinguishes the tiny golden flickers of light with one delicate puff. Then she begins cutting the Funfetti cake. You get three forks from the silverware drawer. Jace hands you a plate from the cabinet as he complains about having to go to class today: Music Aesthetics, Analysis, and Philosophy.

“Just a little one, please,” you tell Baela. A moment later, she plops a skinny slice of cake onto your plate. “Thanks, Becca! Wait, no, I mean Baela. Sorry.”

She laughs, still wielding a knife covered in white frosting. “Who’s Becca?”

“Aegon’s fiancée.”

“Oh, your agent’s future wife? The agent that you are definitely not into at all?”

“Yeah, that one, you got it.” You give her a wink and take a bite of cake: frosting so sweet it hurts your teeth, tiny kaleidoscopic flecks of candy like gold in a stream.

~~~~~~~~~~

“So, which one are you liking the feel of?” Dr. Cunningham asks, smiling in a way that is effervescent and yet impersonal, vaguely impatient, a real estate agent type of charisma. He must be in his mid-fifties, and yet his face is nearly entirely purged of wrinkles, smooth and shiny and evenly tanned. His teeth are too perfect to not be veneers. People keep suggesting those to you too; you need more time to wrap your mind around the idea of having your canines and incisors shaved down to helpless nubs.

“Um…” You go down the line again, squeezing all three samples that are arranged on the stainless steel utility table that Dr. Cunningham wheeled over to you. “I walked in wanting the gummy bear implants, and I think I feel the same way now.”

“Excellent!” he says, wearing that same smile. His eyes, very blue, never change; they are alert yet vacuous, like the fatal error screen on a Windows computer.

“And they’re safer, aren’t they? The gummy bear ones?”

“Statistically, yes,” Dr. Cunningham agrees, somewhat briskly, as if he is eager to change the subject. “But I wouldn’t worry about that. I hardly ever see ruptures in any of my patients.”

Hardly ever, not never. “That’s good!” you say spiritedly, like a star pupil.

“As I mentioned earlier, they are a bit more expensive than the other options, but we have several financing options available.”

“My parents are paying, so no worries there.”

“Fantastic.” He’s still smiling. You kind of wish he would stop. “You want to be an actress, I assume?”

“I do, yeah! How’d you know?”

He chuckles as he rolls the small metal table away. “That’s what all the girls are doing out here, right? And if it’s not acting, it’s singing, or modelling, or…what do you call that, when you make money on TikTok or wherever?”

“Being an influencer.”

“Right,” Dr. Cunningham says. “Well, I wish you the very best of luck.” It’s chivalrous but hollow, an echo of the encouragement he’s given to thousands of women just like you, except probably more beautiful and more talented and actually getting some of the parts they audition for.

I got a part, you think, and your mood lifts a bit. Aegon finally found me one. And he believes I’ll get more.

“Is it okay if I take a look?” the ever-smiling Dr. Cunningham says, and your heart begins to pound beneath the gown you’re wearing, scratchy white polyester-blend fabric that opens in the front. But this is all standard procedure, and you knew to expect an exam, and you should not feel like you’re lining up for the firing squad.

“Of course!” you exclaim too enthusiastically; your voice cracks. You undo the tie down by your waist and the fabric across your chest and belly goes slack. Your tan TOMS wedges are scattered on the linoleum floor that’s supposed to look like wood. The sundress you wore to the appointment, patterned with large sunlit palm leaves, is folded on a chair. Your eyeshadow matches: matte green Thorns by Anastasia Beverly Hills, sparkly gold Whisper by Natasha Denona.

As Dr. Cunningham opens your gown and begins the exam, you stare at a framed print of Venice Beach on the wall, and you pretend you are there under the hot glaring daylight instead of here in a frigidly air-conditioned office being prodded and manipulated, measured not to be admired or understood but only to be improved upon.

Dr. Cunningham is saying: “Just so you’re aware, due to how firm a gummy bear implant is, we typically have to make a slightly larger incision in order to insert it. Saline and traditional silicone implants, being more flexible, can be squeezed in through a smaller opening, for example using a transaxillary incision in the underarm. But they’re also more prone to wrinkling and rippling, and they must be replaced more frequently, so that pliability comes at a cost. I think gummy bear implants are a very good choice for you.”

“And…where exactly would the incision be?” Your heartbeat is still thunderous; you can hear the scorching red blood flow throbbing in your ears. Dr. Cunningham either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mention it.

“We’d go in right here,” he says, skimming his gloved fingers just beneath your left breast, your raw heart just two inches away. Goosebumps prickle on your arms. “It’s what we call an inframammary incision, and it gives us more room to work with to ensure the implant is placed properly, and…”

He loses his train of thought, interrupted by a commotion out in the lobby. Through the closed exam room door, you can hear people arguing and then something being spilled—the jar of pens on the receptionist’s desk? the glass bowl of mints?—and heavy sprinting footsteps. Dr. Cunningham pulls his hands away and you snatch your gown shut just as the door bursts open, and Aegon stands there breathing heavily from the exertion, hair in disarray, white Nike Killshots with a red slash of a Swoosh, dark jeans, salmon-colored t-shirt that’s too big for him, tan sport coat jacket yanked off of his shoulders. His attacker, the elderly receptionist, has chased him to the doorway.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” she’s shrieking. She smacks him with a massive leather purse. “You can’t just go barging in on patients! What are you, some kind of druggie? We don’t keep any opioids in this office!”

Dr. Cunningham yells: “Will you call the police, Barbara?!”

“No wait, I know him,” you say, and both Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist stare hostilely at you. You ignore them and look at Aegon instead, stunned. “Hi.”

He straightens his jacket. His eyes, that dark and turbulent blue, are fixed on your face as you hastily retie your gown so it stays shut. “Hi. What the fuck are you doing?”

“It’s just a consultation.”

“For a surgery you’re not going to have?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “How did you know I was here?”

“I just had this feeling you weren’t going to cancel,” Aegon says. “So I went to your apartment and you weren’t home, but your roommate told me where you were and gave me the address that you wrote on the calendar.”

“Oh.”

“She’s very nice. Your roommate, I mean.”

“Yeah, Baela’s cool.”

“She offered me a piece of Funfetti cake.”

“Did you take it?”

“No. I was in a hurry to get here.”

“Right.” You remain seated on the edge of the exam table with your hands clasped together in your lap. The receptionist and Dr. Cunningham’s bewildered gazes fly between you and the intruder.

Aegon sighs and nods towards the hallway that leads out to the lobby and the front door of the office. “Come on,” he says gently. “Get dressed. Let’s go.”

“I can’t,” you reply.

“Why not?”

You don’t answer; your eyes dart to the print of Venice Beach on the wall and stay there as they begin to water. Aegon crosses the room—the receptionist and Dr. Cunningham shuffle around the cramped space to keep away from him—and stops when he is standing right in front of you, his hands in the pockets of his rumpled tan jacket.

“Why not?” Aegon asks again, very softly now.

You look at him. Your voice is a quivering whisper. “I don’t want to have to give this up.” The city, the potential, the dream.

“Hey,” Aegon murmurs, leaning in close. You can smell the ocean and sunlight and Juicy Fruit gum. Strands of blonde hair, ripped from the sheen of gel, shag over his forehead. “You’re bright as hell just the way you are. You don’t need surgery to be an actress. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

And immediately, you are ready to leave. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah.” You wriggle down off of the exam table, check your gown to make sure you’re still covered, and turn to Dr. Cunningham. “I guess I’m not interested anymore.”

“Please never set foot in my office again,” he says.

“No problem,” Aegon snaps. And then to you: “I’ll meet you outside. We’ll get lunch.”

“Sure,” you reply, still a little dazed.

Aegon hurries out of the exam room before the police are summoned. Dr. Cunningham and the receptionist leave too, muttering to each other and casting you appalled glares. When you are alone, you throw off the gown and put on your bra, wedges, and sundress…and as you are smoothing the creases from the soft cotton patterned with palm leaves, you smile to yourself, kind pink heat swirling in your cheeks.

Aegon is in the parking lot and leaning against his white Chrysler Sebring convertible. He has put on his black aviator sunglasses to blot out the intense afternoon sun. Dr. Cunningham’s office is on a busy street in Beverly Hills; you can hear car horns, pedestrians shouting into their cellphones, toy dogs yapping, Shape Of You chiming from a passing Mercedes. Across the street is a series of shops in a row, Starbucks and Neiman Marcus and Gucci. Aegon says, pointing to your 2003 Honda Accord: “I’ll drive you back to get your car later.”

“Okay. Where are we going?”

“Chinatown,” he says, opening the passenger’s door of his Sebring. “And from now on, you listen when I tell you to do something, just like you said you would.”

“I’ll be your best client ever,” you promise, climbing into the car. The top is down, the wind blowing in from the Pacific Ocean to the west.

“I’m here for a reason. It’s not to be ignored. I can be your advocate, but you have to be honest with me.”

“I completely understand. I won’t mislead you again.”

“The Grey’s Anatomy people really liked you, by the way.”

The hope unfurls across your face like dawn over the earth. “Really?”

Aegon gives you a teasing, crooked grin. “Don’t pretend you’re shocked.” He shuts the car door, jogs over to the driver’s side, drives east through thick midday traffic.

At the same restaurant you went to the day you met, seated beside the same large fish tank, you and Aegon place the same orders: moo goo gai pan, boneless spare ribs. The waitress, Lanying, asks Aegon about how his siblings are doing before she speeds off to tend to her other customers.

Aegon watches the malevolent ember-colored oscars for a while, then taps his paper Chinese zodiac calendar, rimmed in red and gold. “Which one are you?”

You laugh, thinking he’s joking. “You already know.”

But Aegon doesn’t smile; he only stares at you blankly. “What?”

“I told you about my zodiac sign. The first time we had lunch here.”

And he looks at you as if his skull is as clear as the transluscent blue-tinged water of the fish tank, all the lights on but nobody home, and for a split second you almost feel as if you don’t recognize him, as if he is a stranger wearing Aegon’s windswept blonde hair and ill-fitting clothes and the crow’s feet around his eyes. Then Aegon repossesses himself and he is flippant, casual. “Oh yeah, right. Totally. I remember now.”

But you have the sense that he doesn’t. You try to hide how much this wounds you. It must not have been memorable. It must not have meant anything to him. “I’m a dragon!” you say brightly, and hold up your hands as if they are claws, opening and closing your hooked fingers.

Now he does smile, a little preoccupied, a little forced. “Of course you are.”

You scan the calendar. “What year was Becca born?”

“Uh…1994, I think.”

“She’s a dog,” you say. You read the description silently to yourself as the tea and wonton soups are brought to the table: Loyal and honest, you work well with others. Generous yet stubborn and often selfish. Look to the horse or tiger. Watch out for dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~

You arrive at Aegon’s office twenty minutes early, mostly because you miss him. It’s Wednesday, June 25th, and you park your Honda on the narrow sloping street and step out into 80-degree sunlight, ambient dog barking, powerlines crossing overhead. A lady walking her chihuahua waves at you and adjusts her sunglasses. Window air conditioning units whir. The trees, ginkgos and pink trumpets and Victorian boxes and palms, are still in the bright breezeless afternoon. The skyline of Downtown is a mirage on the horizon. From the barber shop across the street, you can hear a radio playing Bailamos by Enrique Iglesias.

When you clop into the lobby in your TOMS wedges, you see that Aegon’s door is closed. At his desk, Brandon is on the landline phone and jotting notes down in his planner, his flower pen scribbling rapidly across pink paper. When he spots you, he covers the phone speaker with his hand. “Hey girl!”

“Sorry, I know I’m early. Is he busy with another client?”

“No, go on in!” Brandon reaches down to dig around in the minifridge and sets a Perrier on the ledge of his desk. You take it, thank him, and go to Aegon’s door. You are puzzled to hear people talking on the other side, muffled indistinct voices. You wear an ocean blue sundress and cool metallic shades on your eyelids: Shellshock by Urban Decay, Strike by Natasha Denona. You open the door.

Aegon has his Nike Killshots up on his untidy desk and is playing the Nintendo 64. Mario is running through what appears to be some sort of underground maze, foggy and strewn with gold coins. The greenish haze must be toxic. Mario’s Power Meter is slowly ticking down; each time Mario snags a coin, it is partially restored. Aegon is watching the screen as he talks to a woman whose back is turned to you: tall, willowy, long dark hair. They don’t realize you’re here.

Aegon is saying as he clicks the transluscent orange Nintendo 64 controller: “That’s great, babe.”

“And the charity thing is on July 19th. I got a custom suit from Tom Ford, it’s powder blue, all you have to do is show up to the fitting.”

He sighs euphorically. “You’re the best.”

She giggles. “I know.”

Then Aegon notices you, and for a moment he seems shaken—not in a good way—and for some reason you feel like you’ve made some horrible mistake. The woman spins around to see what he’s looking at. She is stunning and ethereal and wearing a plain sack dress that hangs perfectly on her, a young Cher, and she smiles at you, kind and dazzling.

“Hi!” you say. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m a little early, I mixed up my appointment time because I’m an idiot.”

“No, you’re fine,” Aegon replies, but he’s still distracted. Mario suffocates in the maze and drops over dead. Aegon turns off the game. He clears his throat. “Uh, this is Becca.”

You shake her hand when she offers it. Gold bangle bracelets jangle on her wrist. “It’s so nice to meet you, Becca!”

“And you must be the new client!” she says warmly. “The one from…where was it, Michigan?”

“Minnesota,” you reply.

“Oh, brr!” Becca says, pretending to shiver, and you laugh.

“Yeah, I’m really happy to be here. And you’re getting married soon, I hear!”

Becca beams, clapping her hands together. “Yes! I’m so excited but so stressed. The planning is endless.”

“Are you going to do it here in the city somewhere?”

“Aegon didn’t tell you?” Becca is perhaps a tad disappointed. “It’s a destination wedding.”

Aegon says from his desk, somewhat recovered: “Turk…something.”

“Turkey?” you say doubtfully. An interesting choice.

“Turks and Caicos,” Becca clarifies.

“No way! My sister just got engaged there, she said it was gorgeous.”

Aegon asks you from his desk: “Have you ever been?”

“I wish. Not yet, maybe one day.”

“You’ll have to come to the wedding!” Becca says cheerfully.

“Me?!” It’s ridiculous; you’re a nobody, you barely know her, you have a crush on her future husband.

“Yeah, all of Aegon’s clients are invited. Aren’t they, babe?” Becca glances at him, and then her eyes catch there and they stare at each other, Aegon slumped in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, Becca standing next to you, and there are several slow awkward seconds of silence. Aegon gets a piece of Juicy Fruit gum from a pack on his desk and shoves it into his mouth. Becca looks at you and then back to Aegon, who is pretending to organize the clutter on his desk. You notice for the first time that there is a ceramic bowl of Honeycrisp apples there.

“I thought you didn’t like those,” you say to alleviate the tension that you don’t understand.

“Well, Brando eats them,” Aegon explains.

“That makes sense.”

“And I guess they’re growing on me.”

“They’re really good for you,” you say. “Helps to balance out all the boneless spare ribs.”

Now Becca is studying you, and instead of being warm she is now cold and rigid and perplexed. After a while she asks stiffly: “What are you two up to today?”

“We’re going to the Flower District,” Aegon tells her as he rolls his gum wrapper into a ball between his palms. “I’ll be done in a few hours, I just have to get some current pics of her to send to people. So we’re going to do a quick impromptu photoshoot.”

Becca nods, still scrutinizing you. You open your Perrier and start gulping it so you have an excuse not to talk.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Aegon asks Becca, and she perks up a bit.

“Beef bourguignon. It’s a new recipe, I’m really excited to try it.”

Aegon pretends to drool. “Amazing. I can’t wait.”

“I’ll talk to you later,” Becca says, and goes to leave.

“It was so nice to meet you!” you call after her.

Becca replies curtly without stopping: “Yup. You too.” You hear the two-inch heels of her gold sandals tapping on the scuffed wood floor and then the rough opening and closing of the front door of the half-duplex.

“What just happened?” you ask Aegon.

“Nothing,” he says, standing from his desk. His shoes match his shirt, a green plaid Ralph Lauren button-up that isn’t tucked into his jeans. His hair is slicked back and shiny with gel.

“I’m sorry, did I…did I do something wrong…?”

He sighs. “No.”

You toy anxiously with your Perrier bottle. You don’t want Aegon to fire you; you don’t want to lose him. He’s the only person who understands. “You should have told me we were going to be taking pictures. I would have done my hair and worn normal eyeshadow.”

He smiles. “I wanted you to look like you.” Then he heads off to his Chrysler Sebring, and you follow him.

The Flower District is on the other side of Chinatown in Downtown Los Angeles. It’s the largest wholesale flower market in the country, six blocks of vendors selling every plant imaginable, from ordinary daisies and tulips to bamboo shoots, ferns, herbs, cactuses, succulents, baby trees, house plants like monstera and ivy. The aroma is overwhelming; when you breathe deeply, you imagine prismatic blossoms bursting up through the alveoli of your lungs, roses and irises and calla lilies and orchids. Aegon weaves through the aisles and frowns at the magnificent flowers, none of them right for some reason. You are endlessly pausing to sniff petals and gingerly graze your fingerprints over leaves. Aegon has to backtrack to find you when you stop to watch a demonstration of a Venus flytrap being fed.

“Here we go!” Aegon announces triumphantly when at last he is satisfied, and he lifts the large bouquet from a plastic bucket for you to see: massive sunflowers, water dripping off the cut stems. “They’re sunny, just like you. You like them?”

“I love them,” you say, taking the bouquet and beaming. Aegon pays in cash.

Outside under the harsh cloudless sunlight, he poses you in front of one of the flower shops, pedestrians walking behind you and a rainbow myriad of blooms out of focus. He uses his phone to take a series of photos, some up-close and some full-body shots, and you had assumed it would be awkward but it’s not, Aegon is making jokes and you are laughing and trying weird angles and spinning around so the skirt of your sundress swishes despite the lack of a breeze.

“Cool, got some good ones,” Aegon says, scanning through his phone. “We’re done.”

“What should I do with these?” you ask about the sunflowers. “Do you want them back?”

“Why would I want them back?”

“I don’t know. You paid for them, it feels weird for me to keep them.”

“They’re yours. Enjoy.”

You inhale the faint floral scent that emanates from the yellow petals. “I’m going to put them in a vase on the kitchen counter and buy them flower food so they live as long as possible. And I’m going to talk to them, because that’s supposed to be good for plants.”

Aegon chuckles. “You are ridiculous.” He slides his phone into the pocket of his jeans and sees an ice cream vendor up the street, then gestures for you to come with him. The ice cream is allegedly homemade and only comes in five flavors. Aegon orders for you both. “Hi, one vanilla and one strawberry.”

The vendor scoops the ice cream into two waffle cones. Again, as he always does, Aegon pays in cash. You locate an available bench and you and Aegon sit together with the sunflower bouquet lying between you, watching the pedestrians stroll by with their friends and partners and children and dogs.

“Tastes better when you make it,” Aegon says, licking melting strawberry ice cream from his waffle cone. “I might have another job for you.”

“Really?! Yay!”

“It’s a little unorthodox, but you said you’d take anything.”

“I definitely will.”

“It’s a music video for Maroon 5,” Aegon cautions. “It’s honestly pretty uninspiring and stupid, but it’s work. It’s another last-minute thing, at first the girlfriend of one of the band dudes was supposed to be in the video but I guess now they’re fighting all the time and the guy doesn’t like the idea of having a permanent reminder of her if they break up, which seems likely.’”

“I want to do it,” you say immediately. “When?”

“They’re planning to film the first week in July at a mansion in Beverly Hills. They already have a male actor cast. And you don’t even have to kiss him or anything, you get to argue with him in the first scene and then the rest of it is mostly you just moping around the mansion in designer outfits. Again, it’s super unoriginal. Boy and girl have a miscommunication and split, boy regrets it afterwards, they both secretly and photogenically yearn for each other. It’s very Edward leaving Bella in New Moon.”

“Sounds fantastic! Do I get to meet Maroon 5?”

Aegon is disappointed. “Are you a fan?”

“Well…not really.” You both laugh. “But I feel like it’s always cool to meet celebrities in real life.”

“Yes, you get to meet them.”

You cheer. “You are the most talented agent ever!” You take a lick of your ice cream; it’s almost gone now. You look over at Aegon, serious now. “You’re the only person who doesn’t think I’m absolutely insane for trying to do this.”

He crunches his waffle cone with his teeth. “Your roommate’s an actress, right? She must get it.”

You shrug. “Baela is confident, and magnetic, and she wants to be famous. She’s very obviously meant to be in this industry, and agents and directors respond to her. But I’m not like that. Most people don’t notice me. And that’s okay, I don’t really want to be famous. I just want to be able to be a working actor and get to stay here. If I’m not making significant progress by the end of the year, I have to choose between going back to Minnesota or being disowned and impoverished.”

Aegon watches you, thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “I like you the way you are, sunshine.”

You smile shyly at him. “Thanks. I like you too.”

“And I don’t want you to change. It’s horrible to watch someone disappear.” He devours the rest of his waffle cone. “You know…I think helping you get to where you’re going, and making sure it’s done the right way…that will be the last good thing I ever do here.”

“You don’t have to retire.”

He shakes his head. “Circumstances change. Priorities change.”

“Do you want kids?” If Becca is in her thirties, perhaps now is the time to start planning for that.

“No,” Aegon says, flinching. “Definitely no kids. You’re anti-horse, I’m anti-kid.”

“Then what’s the rush to leave L.A.?”

“It’s the right time.”

“Not for me.” You grin. “I just got here. You can’t abandon me yet.”

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of before I go. I’ll get someone I trust to sign you.”

“But I don’t want another agent.”

“The music video director asked to meet you before filming,” Aegon says, deflecting. “It’ll be quick, just ten or fifteen minutes. We’ll swing by his office on the way back to Elysian Park.”

“Okay,” you agree. You take a makeup compact out of your Patricia Nash purse and use the mirror to make sure you don’t have any ice cream on your nose or chin.

“I haven’t worked with him before,” Aegon says. “But I’ve heard very good things and obviously I’ll be there at the shoot.”

You snap your compact shut. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

In a spacious, glass-walled office in Downtown, the director introduces himself as Dan Sacco. He is tall and broad through the shoulders and extremely welcoming, offering you drinks and snacks and asking about your hometown as Aegon stands in the corner of the room, his hands in his pockets and his eyes watchful. Two jobs in two weeks; Aegon is a miracle worker.

When you get home to your apartment, it’s empty. Baela and Jace must have gone out somewhere for dinner. You put the sunflowers in a vase and then scroll through Instagram. Aegon has posted a new story: a photo of you standing with your bouquet and smiling, not sexy or alluring or arrogant but simply happy, and he must be very knowledgeable about filters because you think you look great.

Future Hollywood Walk of Fame star recipient, Aegon has added as a caption. If you want to book her, you know where to find me. He finished with a sunflower emoji. You press the heart button in the bottom right corner of the screen to like the story. Your own heart is racing now in the best way possible, feverish and loud, intoxicated, needful, seams ready to rupture.

You look up Becca’s Instagram, but her account is private. You send her a follow request. She doesn’t accept it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The night before the shoot, there is a knock at your door. It’s 8:30 p.m., a strange hour, not early enough for Amazon deliveries or a visit from one of Jace’s eccentric PhD program friends, not late enough for a drunk tenant to have mistaken your apartment for their own. When you open the door, you are at first so shocked you can’t place him. Then you remember where you know the hulking man in the tan suit from. It’s Dan, the director of the music video.

“Oh my God, hi!” you welcome him. You have just gotten home from Cold Stone Creamery and are still in your drab grey uniform. You always drive to and from work now, per Aegon’s insistence. You promised you’d listen, and you’re trying your best. Jace is in Baela’s bedroom banging on his Yamaha keyboard. From the velvet orange couch in the living room where she is watching The Vampire Diaries, Baela peeks curiously over at where your visitor fills up the doorway.

Dan seems pleased by your enthusiasm. “Hello again.”

“Can I help you with something? I know the shoot is tomorrow, I’m really excited. I was about to get ready for bed so I can go to sleep early and be well-rested. There’s not a problem with the music video, is there? Please don’t say it’s cancelled or that I’m fired or something.”

Dan chuckles, a deep slow rumble. “No, nothing like that. I just wanted to give you a heads up that we added a scene to the script.” He holds up a thin packet of papers held together by a single staple. “I’m not allowed to leave it in an unsecured location, so I have to take it with me when I go. But I thought you should be aware so you’re prepared when you show up to set.”

“Aw, that’s so thoughtful of you!” You take the packet and flip through it, skimming for an unfamiliar scene. “Did you get my address from Aegon? Or Brandon, his receptionist?”

“It was in your file that they sent over,” Dan says, perhaps a bit guardedly, and before you can ask anything else you stumble upon the scene, and your stomach drops. The actress—me, you think, that’s not some other woman, that’s me—will be lying in a vast empty bathtub, soaked hair, dripping skin, black lingerie, writhing and whimpering as she mourns the loss of her lover.

“Um…the bathtub scene?” you squeak.

“It’s going to be so cinematic,” Dan says, his large hands painting a picture with dramatic gestures. “Sunlight streaming in through a window, your skin glowing, you’ve drained the tub but you’re too heartbroken to get up so you’re just sprawled there, still drenched from the bathwater. Obviously it would make more sense if you were naked, but…we can’t do that in a music video.” He laughs. “But the aesthetic will be divine, like sexy mourning widow. And we’ll get all kinds of shots, you crying, you angry, you pining, you flirting and beckoning the camera closer, and we can get creative, you can just kind of crawl around all over the tub and we’ll see what you come up with.”

You gaze at the script until all the words vanish, imaging a room full of men watching you roll around in underwear, black lace wet and clinging to your skin, no secrets, nowhere to disappear. I can’t do that. But you can’t say no. “Is there going to be a woman on set to…you know, to…like…supervise, or, or something…?”

“You mean an intimacy coordinator?”

“Yes, thank you, that’s the term I was looking for.” Does Aegon know about this? He has to, right?

“Well, it’s not a sex scene,” Dan says rationally. “It’s not even a kissing scene. So we would never pay to have an intimacy coordinator around for this, it’s completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.” I can’t do that. I can’t do that. You feel nauseous; you feel dizzy, like you might stagger if you try to move.

“Look, if you’re uncomfortable, that’s totally cool,” Dan says. “I get it, a job like this isn’t for everyone. I have a list of backups I can call, and I can find somebody else—”

“No!” you cry out, then give the script back to Dan and manage a smile. “No, sorry, I was just a little confused, but I understand now. Thank you for letting me know about the new scene, and I can absolutely handle it.”

“Great.” He grins proudly. “I knew I could count on you. See you tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

Dan lumbers down the hallway, and you close the door when he’s out of sight. Baela asks from the couch: “What do they want you to do?”

You swallow noisily. “Roll around essentially naked in a bathtub.”

Baela nods; she doesn’t seem alarmed. Is this normal? Are you unreasonable? “Bikini?”

“Lingerie.”

“Want to know a trick?” she says. “After you shave, run a Stridex pad over your skin. I have a container of them in the bathroom cabinet, use as many as you want. It’ll burn at first, but it kills any bacteria and prevent razor burn. No bumps or ingrown hairs!”

“Thanks,” you reply weakly.

Baela squints at you. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” A lie.

“It’s not that bad,” she says reassuringly. “I know it seems like the end of the world, but once you do a nude scene or a sex scene once, the nerves go away and it’s just another day at work. You’ll get through it. You’ll do an incredible job.”

I don’t want to give up the dream. I don’t want to leave Los Angeles. I don’t want to leave Aegon.

“You’re probably right,” you tell Baela, and you pretend to be fine so she won’t worry, or pity you, or be further convinced that you don’t belong here.

You shower, shave, scrub your skin with stinging Stridex pads, and long after you were supposed to be asleep you’re still staring up at your bedroom ceiling, a deep blue shadowscape with no stars.

[itspileofgoodthings]

had a moment today with my seniors that was so tense, I made myself stop, breathe, and say three hail Mary’s under my breath. the moment teetered and then the tension broke. I was so relieved.

[aenslem]

THE RAVEN Star Trek: Voyager

[fushitoru]

i don't wanna lose this with you a spiderman gojo fic

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ an amalgation of misunderstandings and stress lead to a very big fight between you and satoru, but you certainly don't expect the way he wins you back.

warnings ⸺ college au, spiderman!au, angst, hurt/comfort, i warn you reader might infurate you, but she's just a woman in stem :(, tooth rotting fluff bc he's a loser for his gf, not edited sue me

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n you'll probably need to read the first installation (nsfw, so mdni) to understand this one :3

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

you've blocked gojo on all platforms.

you don't really remember what caused the "break up" (you didn't really break up). maybe it's the fact that you've been stressed about grad school admissions, your dorm's floor was covered in his boxers, and he's never been able to visit you pre-3am these days. somehow, the city's criminals are determined to keep your boyfriend away from you, and maybe it was your pms, or maybe it was truly just because satoru is annoying. regardless, it's when you guys have plans that's not an impromptu healing-gojo's-wounds-in-your-dorm-at-3am sesh and you're waiting at the coffee shop that you explode.

because he was supposed to arrive ten minutes ago, and when you move to go to the bathroom, you see him. through the window, his white hair is never not noticeable, and who you see next to him makes you falter.

he's standing next to a girl with blue tinted silver hair that you recognize as mei mei, and she's gripping his upper arm as she smiles while looking at his face, his lips with such fuck me eyes that you could tell they were having some sort of intimate conversation.

and if it were an ideal day, you would know that it's all a misunderstanding, you would know your boyfriend is someone you trust. but, again, the cards were stacked against you, and the only things that go through your mind all make your eyes all glossy. he's late to the one date that you planned because you and him were finally free at the same time and you've been busy because you've been desperately applying for internships because unlike your boyfriend you don't have a plethora of papers and coding experience and you've been getting four hours of sleep on average this week and ugh you've heard a rumor that satoru used to hook up with her and fuck now your tampon is poking at you in the wrong way—

great. now tears are fully streaming down your cheeks. in public.

as you rush to the table where your stuff is your vision is so blurry that you also almost fall flat on your face as you stumble over the legs of chairs and tables. blurting out a ensemble of choked up sorry's and excuse me's you hurriedly gather your laptop and notebooks in your backpack and book it for the exit.

the biting cold stings at your face, but you nevertheless determinedly move in the opposite direction of where satoru and mei mei are situated, praying your boyfriend doesn't recognize you. however, it seems that the heavens are working against you because you hear a yelled "baby?"

you don't look back because you know a new set of tears will leave your eyes, and with it being finals season, you're not very hydrated to being with. but you hear footsteps running towards you and fuck your boyfriend's long ass legs because he quickly catches up to you. then, he grabs your hands, attempting to stop you from running away and face him.

"baby," he breathes, baby blue eyes looking into yours as he moves to kiss your forehead. you stay silent, pinning your gaze to the ground while shivering. "where are you going? aren't we supposed to hang out right now?"

look, you and gojo have a good relationship. but recently, things have gotten...strenuous lately. you guys haven't been communicating, and it might not help that half of your calorie intake was from energy drinks. or perhaps what lead you to say what you said next was driven entirely by the brain eating mold on your unwashed dishes, but dumb excuses aside, you sneer. "shouldn't you be busy doing that with mei mei, instead?"

a small part of you--the part that knows you shouldn't be like this--feels relief that hurt doesn't immediately flash across his eyes, only confusion. but lack of sleep has not only stripped away at your sanity but also your people pleasing and overthinking tendencies, leaving you only as a girl frustrated, even irrationally angry, with her boyfriend. so you only avert your gaze when he dumbfoundedly asks, "what?"

"what do you mean, "what?"" you scoff, wrenching your hand from his grasp. "you were ten minutes late to our meet-up, gojo." it is at your use of his last name, instead of your sweet my love, that the hurt you've been looking for flashes across his eyes. he moves to speak but you cut him off, no longer wishing to be here with him. "if you're so busy talking to bitches you hooked up with before, why did you even bother saying yes to hanging out with me?"

he looks at you in confusion, eyes quickly flitting back and forth across you. then, slowly, as if he's still processing the weight of your accusations, he says, "i don't exactly know what you're referring to, but let's calm down---"

and you see red.

"calm down?" you snap, voice sharp and icy, just like the wind stinging your cheeks. "did you seriously just tell me to calm down? you were late again, gojo, and i find you chatting it up with her?" you practically spit the word, arms crossing as a flimsy defense against both the cold and the ache building in your chest.

satoru blinks, his confusion genuine, but you’re too far gone to care. "wait—mei mei? is this about mei mei? she's not—"

"don’t you dare finish that sentence," you cut him off, your voice rising as your blood boils hotter. "i don't want to hear how she's just a friend, or how it's not what it looks like. i’m so tired of hearing the same bullshit excuses."

"baby, you're jumping to conclusions—"

"and you’re jumping at the chance to look like an idiot in public," you snap, your hands trembling now, either from the cold or your rising fury. "god, what do you even say to her? let me guess, you go around telling girls you're spider-man to get into their pants, huh? bet that works like a charm."

the accusation hits like a slap, and for the first time, satoru looks genuinely stunned, his mouth falling open slightly. "what the hell are you even saying right now?"

"am i wrong?" you let out a bitter laugh, one that echoes in the frosty air. "you’re late to the one date i actually planned, and i see you with her, all cozy, like i’m not even waiting for you. like i don’t even matter."

his eyebrows knit together, frustration mixing with something softer. "you seriously think i’d—"

"i don’t know what to think anymore, satoru!" the words burst out of you, your voice cracking as hot tears well in your eyes. "all i know is that i can’t keep feeling like this. like i’m some afterthought while you’re out doing—whatever it is you do. swinging through the city or flirting with your exes or—" you choke on the words, wiping at your cheeks furiously as the tears spill over. "just forget it. i’m done."

"wait." his voice is quieter now, more desperate as he steps toward you, his hand reaching out. "baby, come on, we can talk about this—"

"no," you say firmly, jerking your hand away before he can grab it. "i’m blocking you. on everything." then, mockingly, "you can figure out how to save the world without me."

his eyes widen, his mouth opening like he’s about to plead or argue, but you don’t wait for him to speak. you turn on your heel and storm away, the cold wind biting at your skin as the lump in your throat grows heavier.

you don’t look back. not when he calls your name, not when you hear his footsteps falter. you just keep walking.

it’s 3 a.m., and you don’t know if you exist.

well, you do, but after how light you feel after you’ve cried a disgusting amount, you just lie down on your floor staring at the ceiling and contemplating the meaning of life. or more specifically, the meaning of your life, which right now feels like it’s revolving around nothing but stress and a breakup you don’t even fully understand.

you wouldn’t be having these problems if you were a childless cat lady.

but alas, you’re just a college student. in the few days where you haven’t seen satoru, you’ve finished all your finals—miraculously, considering the fragile state of your emotional wellbeing—and now you’re finally on break in your dorm. you’re supposed to go back home in two days, but the thought of packing feels like trying to climb a mountain barefoot. you can’t summon the energy to do anything except wallow in your self-pity and selfishness, letting it wrap around you like a weighted blanket that’s somehow comforting and suffocating all at once.

you’d like to say this is rock bottom, but truthfully, it’s worse than that. because rock bottom implies a kind of finality—a place to push off from. this? this feels more like you’re sinking in quicksand, the weight of everything dragging you further down.

in your stress and impulsiveness, you’ve managed to kill your entire grind for internships. deadlines have slipped past while you spent hours doom-scrolling job boards and second-guessing every application. the ambitious, career-focused version of yourself feels like a stranger now, buried under the weight of your own doubts and insecurities. and on top of that, you may have potentially lost the love of your life.

it’s laughable, really, how thoroughly you’ve managed to self-destruct in such a short time. the worst part? you can’t even bring yourself to check your socials. if you unblock him and see there aren’t any messages, you think your heart might shatter completely. which, if you’re being honest, isn’t exactly fair to him. you’re the one who had the meltdown. you’re the one who blocked him on everything. he probably doesn’t even know what he did wrong because you didn’t even communicate anything.

your stomach twists at the thought, guilt mingling with the ever-present ache of missing him. he was supposed to be the one person who made everything feel a little less impossible, and now you’ve pushed him away.

there has got to be a taylor swift song for this.

so you make your way to your spotify account to listen to afterglow, putting in your airpods while somberly looking at the ceiling once again as the lyrics fill your ears. tears well up as soon as the lyrics start

i blew things out of proportion, now you're blue⸻

tears well up before you can stop them, hot and heavy as they trail down your cheeks. god, you’re a mess. and yet, as much as you hate it, you can’t seem to stop the flood of thoughts that follow.

you miss him. you miss the way he made you laugh even when you were on the verge of tears, the way his ridiculous confidence somehow made you feel like everything would work out. you miss how he’d stay up late just to facetime you when you were overwhelmed with schoolwork, how he always seemed to know exactly when you needed him most.

and now? now you’ve gone and ruined it. maybe he’s angry, maybe he’s hurt, or worse—maybe he’s just done with you entirely.

the thought makes your chest ache, your breaths coming in shallow and uneven as the lyrics hit their crescendo.

i need to say, hey, it’s all me, in my head—

then, suddenly the song changes. you frown as you hear early 2010's pop blast through your ears.

i threw a wish in the well, don't ask me i'll never tell⸻

why the fuck is call me maybe playing?

annoyed and rubbing at your eyes, you move the change it back to, now, the sad girl hours playlist spotify curated for your and assume your dead fish position on the floor once again.

however, it seems as if your spotify is genuinely tweaking, like it's realized it’s gotten your attention. when call me maybe starts playing again, you groan out loud and move your phone. but before you have a chance to switch the song again, it seems to switch.

baby by justin bieber.

call me, blondie.

i love you, i'm sorry, gracie abrams.

letstalkaboutit, aminé.

i don't understand but i luv you, seventeen.

please please please, sabrina carpenter.

and then, once more, as if to really drive the point home: call me maybe, carly rae jepsen.

again, it's 3am, and you're stuck in a surreal mix of grief and confusion, staring at your phone as your spotify queue seems to have gained sentience. each song feels like a pleading nudge, an unmistakable pattern forming, and your blood runs cold when you remember one very important fact.

you share a spotify account with satoru.

"carly rae jepsen," you mutter under your breath, a mix of exasperation and fondness bubbling up despite yourself. he's hijacking your queue. right in the middle of your emo songs.

you sit up abruptly, tossing your airpods onto the bed, and hover over the call button on your phone. there’s a split second of hesitation—your pride battling with your longing—before you give in and press it.

the line rings twice before his voice comes through, breathless, like he’s been pacing. "baby?"

the sound of his voice sends a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you, sharp and raw like an open wound. the sound of his voice makes your stomach twist uncomfortably, equal parts relief and guilt. "satoru," you say, barely above a whisper. "why are you messing with our spotify?"

"why am i messing with our spotify?" he echoes, his tone incredulous. "why did you block me on literally everything? what was i supposed to do—send you a letter by carrier pigeon?"

you wince at the edge in his voice, your earlier anger wilting under the weight of his hurt. "i… i don’t know," you admit, the words tumbling out before you can catch them. "i was upset, and i wasn’t thinking straight. i shouldn’t have done that."

"yeah, you shouldn’t have," he says, still sounding a little indignant, though there’s something softer beneath it now. "do you know how many songs i had to go through to make my point? do you know how hard it was to resist the urge to rickroll you instead?" then, there’s a pause on his end, the line suddenly feeling too quiet. then he sighs, his voice softening into something that feels too much like an apology. "i didn’t know what else to do. i hate not talking to you. i hate knowing i made you upset, even if i don’t entirely understand why."

you close your eyes, the lump in your throat returning with a vengeance. the silence stretches between you, thick and unbearable, until you finally break it. "i’m sorry," you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. "i shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.” and now that the dam has been broken, it all comes rushing out as you start choking up. “i’ve just been so stressed, and i’ve been missing you and then i saw you with her and then got irrationally angry when i really should’ve trusted you and oh my god i’m like a possessive tradwife husband that doesn’t let you leave the farm i’m sorry and i didn’t even communicate before i blew up at you like that—”

"hey. hey, hey, it’s okay," he says immediately, his tone filled with an earnestness that makes your chest tighten. "i know things have been hard for you. i should’ve been better, too. more present. i hate that you’ve been feeling like this while i’ve been...doing spider-man things." then, he lets out a dramatic sigh, the kind that’s equal parts exasperation and playfulness. "but wasn’t fair,” and you can hear a whine in his voice, “you blocked me and then ghosted me like i’m some kind of random tinder match. do you have any idea how insane i felt when i couldn’t even check to see if you were okay? i thought you hated me."

your breath catches at his words, guilt twisting like a knife in your chest. "i don’t hate you," you say quickly, the words spilling out in a rush. "i could never hate you. i was just… stupid, and emotional, and i didn’t know how to handle everything piling up. i’m so, so sorry, satoru."

there’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter, a little more vulnerable. "then why did you say those things? about mei mei, and… and me using the spider-man thing to get into girls’ pants."

you bite your lip, the memory of your harsh words making your throat tighten. "i didn’t mean any of it," you whisper. "i was just lashing out, and i know it wasn’t fair to you. i know you’d never do something like that, and i trust you, satoru. i just… i let my insecurities get the better of me."

"wait," he interrupts, his voice laced with amusement that shouldn’t make your heart ache the way it does. "you actually think i’d use the spider-man thing as a pickup line? that’s...wow. that’s genius. i should write that down."

"satoru!" you exclaim, half-laughing, half-crying, your emotions unraveling all over again. "i’m being serious!"

"i know, i know," he says, but you can hear the smile in his voice, warm and teasing. "and i’m being serious, too. i’d never do that to you. mei mei’s just...she tripped in front of me, i was just helping her up. i didn’t even realize how it must’ve looked, but i’ve never done anything with her. you’re it for me, okay? always."

you sniffle, wiping at your cheeks as your heart swells and aches all at once. "you mean that?"

"of course i do," he says, his voice soft and sincere in a way that makes your breath hitch. "i love you, even when you block me on everything and make me resort to spotify warfare." he sighs again, but this time it’s softer, the warmth in his voice breaking through his remaining irritation. "i’m not mad. i mean, i was mad, but mostly i was just upset. you really hurt my feelings, you know?"

the lump in your throat grows, your guilt threatening to choke you. "i know," you say, your voice cracking. "i’m so sorry, satoru. i’ll make it up to you, i promise."

"oh, you will make it up to me," he says, the teasing edge returning to his tone. "i want a week of boyfriend privileges—no complaining when i steal your fries, no making fun of my movie picks, and you’re buying me snacks for at least three of those days."

a small smile tugs at your lips despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. "deal," you say softly.

there’s a pause on his end, and then his voice comes through the line, quieter but no less sincere. "you really mean it? you’re not still mad at me?"

"i’m not mad," you say, your voice thick with emotion. "i was never really mad at you, satoru. i was mad at everything else, and i took it out on you. but i’m not mad anymore. i just… i miss you."

"i miss you too," he says, and the raw honesty in his voice---the subtle way it chokes up, as if he had been crying and missing you too---makes your chest ache. "so, can i come over? or are you going to make me keep hijacking your playlists to get your attention?"

you laugh softly, the sound tinged with relief. "just come over already, you dummy. and bring snacks. good ones."

"done," he says, his grin audible through the phone. "i’ll be there in twenty. and for the record, you owe me at least a whole playlist dedicated to how amazing i am and you sucking the absolute soul out of my dick---."

"don’t push your luck," you reply, but there’s no heat in your words, only warmth (and you’re absolutely going to suck his soul out of his cock). regardless, for the first time in days, the tightness in your chest starts to ease, replaced by something lighter, something whole.

general masterlist | spiderman!gojo m. list

a/n he's so cute :( i'll keep on writing stuff for them whether it be small fics like this or long ass fics. i think my next one is gonna be freaky if you guys are nice to this one

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