#thanks no more lavender or the like for me...

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 136 (Twists and Turns)

The next morning, Heather woke to a fresh blanket of spring snow (must be Canada 😂). She was hit with another bout of nausea, and stunned by news that one of her vet techs, Rico Garrison, had been unceremoniously culled killed in a shock drowning accident in Dachshund's Creek. This left her down a tech and about to commit to a months-long rebuild of Buttercup Pet Clinic.

Despite the unseasonably snowy holiday and feeling less than stellar, Heather had to go to work to cover Rico's appointments. She felt horrible for her best tech, Kaori Hayashi, who had been dating Rico since late winter. They were even expecting a child, which meant Heather would soon lose Kaori to maternity leave, too. At least Thaddeus, her most recent hire, could help pick up the slack, but this was undoubtedly a tragic setback.

Despite the unseasonal snowfall, J Huntington came in with his dog, Archimedes, thanking Heather for her advice over working with Landgraab Corp. "I signed the contract to give them the company. They'll take care of straightening out George's books, and for the first time, my guys will get healthcare, so everyone's on board with the change."

Heather forced a smile. She didn't care much for things that would please Nancy Landgraab, but she knew a strong presence at the docks was important after everything they'd been through over winter. "I'm happy for you," she said, and it wasn't a total lie.

She returned home in mid-afternoon, finding her younger sister back from Henford in the living room. "Hey Hazel! How was Easter dinner?"

"It was great." She fiddled with the hem of her jacket as she sat on the sofa. "I'm sorry I got upset with you while you were away. I was freaking out about all the marriage talk, but I shouldn't have put that on you."

"It's okay," said Heather. "I'm not upset, but I couldn't tell you what you should do. What if I had said no?" (That option won the poll, by the way!)

"I would've been more upset," she admitted. "I'm not ready to marry again right now, but I want to be with her for a long time."

"Did you talk to Suri?"

"I did. She said she's been feeling like she needs to hold on to the important people in her life since she lost her aunt so suddenly, and I totally understand what she's going through. But it's too soon to get married. We want to live together first - just the two of us."

"Here in Brindleton Bay?"

Hazel nodded. "I like working with Alex Goth, and the deal's almost done for Suri to buy the Salty Paw. She said when the owners found out her grandmother was Clara Bjergsen they did their own renovations and upped the price, but once a deal goes through, I'll move in with her in the small apartment over the bar."

"There's an apartment over the bar?"

"Not much of one, but we're going to try to turn it into something nice."

"I'm happy for you, Hazel. And I'm happy you handled this so maturely with Suri."

"You didn't think I could, did you."

"I hoped you would."

"Are you sure you guys won't miss me when I'm gone?"

"The Salty Paw's only about fifteen blocks away."

They laughed together and Hazel smiled. "Thanks for everything, sis. You're the best."

Heather still wasn't feeling great as she tried to get a few chores done around the house. She'd started to feel like she was fighting off an infection; it was time to see a doctor, so she left Conrad at home with Lavender to visit her gynecologist.

But she came home in a daze, stunned by the doctor's diagnosis. She found Conrad and Lavender upstairs, chatting as Lavender tried to bargain for another story. "When you're five, we'll talk about a later bedtime, but until then, that's now. Time to get into your pajamas." Conrad's attention turned when Heather shut the bedroom door behind her. "Hey! What did the doctor say?"

Heather sighed. "Well, I have a UTI. But that, the nausea, the fatigue...they have nothing to do with the spider bite."

Conrad's face fell. "What's up? You're okay...right?"

"I'm pregnant. About seven weeks."

She smiled as his expression flipped from concern to ecstatic joy. "Heather, that's incredible!"

Lavender glanced at her parents with confusion. "What's pregnen?"

"It means you're going to have a baby brother or sister."

Lavender still wasn't sure what they meant. "I have a brother awreddy. Can it be sister?"

"We don't choose, sweet girl."

"I hope it's a sister!"

After tucking Lavender into bed they settled onto the sofa for a comfortable night in, but their movie was interrupted when Heather's phone rang. She checked the call display before she connected the call. "Malcolm? What's going on? Is Ash there?"

The line was quiet for a long time. Too long, and Heather felt the phone start to shake in her hand. Finally, she heard Malcolm take a breath.

"Heather...I...It's...Ash is missing. H-he's been kidnapped." ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Sorry I buried the baby news, but I didn't have enough content to make a whole other post and I set myself another arbitrary deadline to get to a certain point in the story by a certain date. And Heather was supposed to learn she was pregnant later than this, but the mod-generated UTI sent her to the gynecologist and she/we found out earlier than planned. No offense to this very wanted baby but ASH IS MISSING!!

NOTE 2: @purplesimmer455 the way I couldn't react with the excitement I wanted to your meme share on Sunday knowing I paid homage to it in this very post ("What's pregnen?") and didn't want to give the truth away yet! 😅 Shout out to @matchalovertrait who also guessed this, and @changingplumbob who I think was thinking it when she asked why Ash's room had bunk beds. I made up a small fib about repurposing the tiny nursery space, but actually I still need it for the new nooboo!

NOTE 3: On one hand, it's very sad that Rico was culled when he's expecting a baby. On another hand, this is a setback on my likely-fruitless search for a five-star rating because now I have to train up a new tech! Tragic!!

WCIF Phone Poses: Unexpected Phone Call by @starrysimsie and Shocked News by @simmireen. I used @nataliaauditore-blog's iPhone 11 accessory in both poses.

[lucygraysboy]

“still, that wasn’t very nice of me. my brother gave you that scarf, i shouldn’t have just snatched it,” billy stresses, scooping up a handful of warm water and pouring it across lucy gray’s exposed shoulder. pale blue eyes marveling at the way crystalline droplets glide down her olive skin, leave it glistening in the warm glow of the fireplace. “holdin’ onto it and keepin’ it hidden from the world won’t do it no good. if we use it to fix the ruffles on your dress, we’ll be breathing a new life into it, and people will be able to admire it again, and it will give your dress a more vibrant look. my ma would have loved that.” she was always generous and kind, and thoughtful like that. “thank you for not discardin’ it.” it’s a sweet keepsake, but if it can bring some joy into lucy gray’s life, he’s all for it.

“his old self? what a strange thing to say.” dark brows furrowing briefly, trying to make sense of that poetic statement while his hands continue to absently rub some soapy foam into her skin, careful not to press too hard on the cuts. “what do you make of it? i mean, what’s your suspicion?” he wonders out loud, thinking his brother’s statement makes little sense, but lacking the knowledge to come up with assumptions of his own. “you tend to do that a lot, hm?” play with him, try to trick him. an amused smile tugs at the corners of his lips, his eyes sparking with happiness. “i like it, like this side of you a lot,” he admits softly, tucking strands of wet curls behind her ears. his cheeks are still burning, but he’s gaining a little more confidence now that she’s reassured him she’s just messing with him and there will be no anatomy lesson, after all. “mhm, yeah… yeah, i’d love to know. i ain’t ever made soap, not even once. it seems fascinatin’. animal fat and ashes? and what do you do with those? you boil ‘em?” he begins to scrub her back with the bar of lavender soap that he brought over, drawing lazy patterns along the bumps of his spine and over her shoulder blades.

“sweetheart. only my ma ever called me that.” and it touches him so deeply that he nearly bursts into tears, thinking she’s simply too sweet, too kind. a calloused, slightly wrinkled fingertip pokes her cheek, just trying to cheer her up. “i’ll keep that promise, no matter what,” he assures, determined to do just that — keep her safe. if someone comes for her, whether it’s a pack of wolves or peacekeepers, he’ll protect her. “you sure? it’s not a problem, i’ll heat one more pot over there in the fireplace.” he offers, already standing up. “mhm, all out. looks like we won’t have to shave your head, after all.” he laughs but then grows serious, his expression softening. “you have very beautiful hair, you know that? you kept coverin’ it all day but… it always looks pretty.” she always looks very pretty.

“it’s alright… i understand where your feelin’s are comin’ from, you don’t need to apologize.” lucy gray reassures, rubbing at her knee. “if you want to— i’d love that. that’s real thoughtful. but you can also keep it, i just held onto it because your mother didn’t personally do anything to me so i felt bad, or would’ve if i just discarded it.” she explains, it’s his mother’s so he should take it– she insists. lucy gray’s sure their mother was actually a real kind and warm-hearted woman, she can’t hold any grudge for a person she didn’t have the chance to meet and judge for herself.

“he said— my old self.” responding with reluctance of recalling that, the memory stirring up anger in the pit of her belly. the way he looked, the hesitation that was vividly there in his blue hues, she's sick to her stomach in fear she'll find something similar again in the similar eyes right behind her. shoulders scrunching up as the water falling down back involuntarily causes a blissful feeling chasing up her back, skinny arms soon relax right after, “i’m just playin’ with you, darlin’.” a little laugh escapes, unable to see his blush– has to do something to keep the fears at bay. the tongue scrambling coming from the dark haired boy is hilarious to her along with the soap distraction. eyes fall on his extended hand, amused smile pulling at plump lips, “you really wanna know?” or is that a distraction question? "animal fat and ashes." educating regardless.

"don't make promises you can't keep, sweetheart." speaking sweetly despite the disappointment that's been caused by one too many buried deep in her, a sad smile spilling over bare angelic visage. she really misses her makeup and getting all dolled up sometimes. "no, that's alright." she is starting to feel cold, but he doesn't need to put in any extra work for her so the songbird ignores it. rubbing soap into her hair until she can gather enough suds to lather in, "the tangles are all out?" surprise lifting in her voice when dainty fingers don't get stuck in a thick nest.

[writingsoftarnishedsilver]

Not As Planned | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

THANK YOU FOR OVER 300 FOLLOWERS?

I am shocked and humbled and just… wow. At a loss. I’ve been working on this XL one-shot for awhile since I've been writing a lot of super cute love confessions and fluff lately. I felt inspired to change it up a little bit, so this is heavier than my usual stuff... (maybe this qualifies as whump?? Idk lmk ahaha)

But consider this my humble thank you for your continued support. I am just… I can’t believe so many people have been compelled to follow me because of my silly little writing hobby.

With that said I’m sorry for the pain this might cause (but at the same time in a much more real sense I’m not sorry at all bahaha)

And don’t worry, still a (mostly) happy ending.

Words: ~14,500

Tags/TW: SA, Violence, Trauma, Modern AU, Reader Insert, Female MC, Plus Size MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Muggle Born MC, Post Hogwarts, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Drama, Romance, Jealousy and Longing, Confessions

The low hum of the bar buzzed like a low-grade static in Sebastian’s ears. A smooth jazz ensemble played in the corner, their music rich and sultry, threading through the room like smoke. Golden light bathed the space, casting everything in soft amber hues that made the whole place feel a little unreal. Along the curved bar, bottles of rare liquors glittered like jewels, and the faint scent of citrus and something floral—lavender, maybe—lingered in the air.

It was a far cry from their usual haunts.

Sebastian ran his fingers around the rim of his glass, trailing condensation down to the base. The whiskey in front of him wasn’t his first, and it wouldn’t be his last. Across from him, Ominis sat with the casual poise that came so easily to him, his chin balanced on one hand while his other traced absent patterns along the bar's polished surface. He looked relaxed, though Sebastian knew better. If the subtle flush on his pale cheeks wasn’t enough of a giveaway, the way his lips twitched faintly every time Poppy’s name came up certainly was.

Beside him, Garreth Weasley was anything but subtle. Loud as ever, he laughed and gestured animatedly, mid-story about some disastrous experiment he’d tried at the pub last weekend.

“…and then, right as I’m about to take a sip, she snatches it out of my hand, takes one look at it, and says—and I quote—‘You have a death wish, don’t you?’ Can you imagine? The nerve!” Garreth threw his hands up in mock indignation. “It wasn’t even that bad. Just rum, peach schnapps, absinthe—”

“One day,” Ominis cut in smoothly, tilting his head toward Garreth with the faintest smirk. “You will be tried for your alcoholic war crimes, Weasley.”

Sebastian snorted into his drink, unable to help himself. He'd need both hands to count the number of times Garreth had walked into a bar and pestered the bartender to mix him something absolutely disastrous.

It was a wonder they still got served anywhere.

Garreth scoffed, taking an exaggerated sip of his neon-colored monstrosity. “You just don’t appreciate true genius.”

Ominis arched a brow. “If by ‘genius,’ you mean ‘reckless disregard for the structural integrity of your liver,’ then yes, I'm terribly ungrateful.”

Sebastian smirked, but his attention flickered toward the entrance—again. The girls weren’t even late, not technically, but every passing minute stretched unbearably. He should have been used to this feeling by now, this sharp-edged anticipation curling low in his chest.

He wasn’t. He never was. It was always like this, wasn’t it?

The waiting. The wanting.

Sebastian had spent over a decade orbiting around you, trapped in some endless, torturous loop of almosts—of lingering touches, stolen glances, conversations that danced too close to the edge of something he didn’t dare name. The worst part? It was his own doing. He’d had every opportunity to cross that invisible line, to tell you what he felt, what he ached for, but he never did.

Because once he did, there would be no undoing it.

Meanwhile, everyone else in their group was paired off now. Garreth and Natty had been inseparable since a Ministry event a few years back, and Poppy and Ominis had been as good as married the moment Hogwarts spat them out. Imelda had ended up with Nerida, to the surprise of no one, the two of them making up a formidable duo—one sharp-tongued and reckless, the other quietly cutting.

Sebastian was happy for them. Truly, he was. It was almost sickening how well it had worked out for everyone. They’d all somehow ended up with their Hogwarts sweethearts, riding off into the sunset with picture-perfect endings that looked like something out of a fairy tale.

And then there was him.

The idiot who’d spent 11 years hopelessly in love with his best friend and done absolutely nothing about it.

At first, it had been easier to pretend it wasn’t a big deal. You were best friends. You had always been best friends. Of course you were close. Of course you knew each other better than anyone. So what if you had a habit of leaning against him whenever you were tired, or if you always reached for him first when something made you laugh so hard you couldn’t breathe? So what if you touched him more than anyone else, if you let your fingers brush his wrist when you passed him a drink or hooked your ankle around his under the table without thinking about it?

It had always been like that. Until one day, it wasn’t. Until one day, when he was 15, he’d looked at you, and his stomach had flipped, and suddenly, every innocent touch, every laugh, every glance, felt different. Felt like something else entirely.

And now? Now he was fucking trapped.

Ominis’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You’ll get wrinkles early if you keep scowling like that.”

Sebastian glanced up, narrowing his eyes at the smirk tugging on Ominis’s mouth. The bastard didn’t even need to see him to read him like an open book.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” Sebastian muttered, taking a long sip of his drink.

Ominis didn’t respond, just tipped his head slightly, his expression bordering on smug. He didn’t need to say anything. The unspoken truth hung between them like smoke—Sebastian’s feelings for you were obvious to everyone but you.

Garreth leaned in suddenly, jarring him. “Relax, mate. They’ll show up. Natty wouldn’t miss this for the world, and she’d drag the others along if she had to.” He paused to sip his drink, a mischievous grin spreading over his face. “Although, Poppy’s probably the one making them late. You know how she loves to test Ominis’s patience.”

“More like Natty’s,” Ominis muttered, though there was no heat in it.

Sebastian rolled his eyes and turned toward the door again, restless. The moment stretched, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his glass. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t waiting for you—not like that. He tried to tell himself he wasn’t counting down the seconds until you walked through the door, wasn’t anticipating the sound of your voice, wasn’t wondering what you’d look like tonight, what you’d—

And then the door opened.

And everything else stopped.

Because there you were.

You moved through the room with easy confidence, utterly unaware of the way you were undoing him. That dress—fuck, that dress—it wasn’t something outrageous, wasn’t scandalous or overtly suggestive, but it didn’t need to be. It followed the soft curves of your body, hugged your waist, your plush thighs, the full flare of your hips in a way that made his pulse hammer violently against his ribs. Every step you took made it shift, just enough to tease, just enough to remind him that he should not be thinking about this.

And yet, his mind was already lost to darker places, caught in the dangerous, helpless imagining of how it might feel beneath his fingers. The silky fabric sliding beneath his hands, the warmth of your skin under it. How it would be if he were close enough to touch, to trace the shape of you properly, to press his hands into the softness of your waist and feel the weight of you against him.

His fingers tightened around his glass so hard he swore it might crack.

Garreth chuckled under his breath, clearly entertained, “Good luck tonight, Sallow."

Ominis said nothing, but Sebastian didn’t need to see him smirking to know exactly what was going through his mind.

It was humiliating, really, how easy it was for them to see right through him. And you? You just kept moving, oblivious to the chaos you were leaving in your wake.

Sebastian watched as you approached, your laugh bright and sweet as Natsai caught your hand, spinning you once in an exaggerated flourish as if to show you off. You humored her, swaying playfully, rolling your eyes when Imelda cat-called in approval.

Then, before he could steel himself, before he could brace for the inevitable destruction you always left in your wake, your eyes landed on him again.

And fuck, that smile.

It was warm, unguarded, laced with something soft. The kind of smile that was effortless, unconscious, the kind that made his stomach drop because it meant you were happy to see him. Because you looked at him like he was something good, something familiar and safe, and it tore him to shreds inside.

He forced himself to exhale. To not look like some love-struck fool drowning in you.

“About time,” he said as you sidled up beside him, leaning back against the bar in a way he hoped looked casual.

You rolled your eyes, slipping onto a stool, your shoulder brushing his. “I had to make sure you suffered a little first.”

“You’re a cruel woman.”

“I’m a patient woman,” you corrected, lifting a brow. “I got us on the guest list here weeks ago, so if I have to hear you complain about the wait, I will take my very expensive cocktail and pour it directly into your lap.”

Sebastian huffed, feigning offense. “You wouldn’t.”

You turned, propping your chin on your hand as you looked at him, amusement dancing in your eyes. “Try me.”

His stomach twisted violently. He didn’t know how you did this—how you made him feel like you could see right through him, like you knew exactly how wrecked he was and were enjoying every moment of it.

He forced himself to focus, to shift his attention somewhere safe.

Unfortunately, there was nowhere safe.

Because now, he was looking at your lips, parted just slightly in a teasing smirk, glossed and inviting and fuck—

He needed another drink. Immediately.

Before he could even flag the bartender down, Garreth leaned into your space with a dramatic sigh his arm wrapped around Natsai's waist. “Seriously though, what took you so long? Sebastian’s been brooding all night.”

You shot him a knowing look. “Has he now?”

Garreth smirked, tipping his glass toward Ominis. “Oh, yeah. Gaunt here tried to warn him about wrinkles.”

You chuckled, leaning slightly into Sebastian’s shoulder in a way that sent a full-body shudder down his spine. “I told you, Seb. Stress is bad for you.”

He tried to smirk, to give you some smart remark, but he knew it wouldn’t come out right. His brain was still lagging on the fact that your body was pressing against his.

Garreth, oblivious as ever, continued rambling. “Honestly, it was embarrassing. I think he almost—”

Sebastian elbowed him sharply, causing Garreth to spill his drink.

Natty, taking pity, pulled him back. “Come on, Garreth. Leave the poor man alone.”

“Fine, fine.” Garreth grinned, clearly not remotely deterred, but let himself be steered away.

Sebastian sighed, dragging a hand through his hair before turning back to you. “So? Was it worth the wait?”

You hummed, taking in the warm, intimate atmosphere, the soft glow of the speakeasy lights. The way the gold hues caught in your eyes nearly killed him.

“Oh, absolutely,” you replied with a smile. "It looks so authentic, like just look at the bar, Seb. The design is almost spot on to the real ones from the Prohibition era—mahogany, brass accents, those exact kind of light fixtures..."

Sebastian tried to focus on your words, really he did.

You were onto talking about speakeasy history now, eyes gleaming with excitement as you gestured toward the dim lighting, the low, rich hum of the jazz band. You’d clearly done your research, and you were rattling off facts with that same enthusiasm you always had for things you loved. It was so endearing. You could make anything sound interesting.

“Well, technically, speakeasies originated during the Prohibition era in America,” you were saying, leaning forward slightly, the low L ight catching in your hair. “They were hidden bars—illegal drinking spots since alcohol was banned. They had secret passwords, hidden entrances, all that. Some were even run by gangsters—people like Al Capone—because bootlegging was so lucrative.”

Sebastian nodded, trying to pay attention, but it was impossible. Because, as much as he loved hearing you nerd out, his brain had zero capacity for historical facts when every single one of your friends had immediately paired off around him.

At the bar, Natty was leaned into Garreth’s side, her hand resting lightly on his chest as he ordered her a drink, his voice dipping into something low and teasing that made her smile. A few feet away, Poppy had sidled up to Ominis, fingers barely brushing against his wrist in that quiet, intimate way they always did. Meanwhile, Imelda and Nerida had wasted no time making themselves comfortable, tucked into a plush booth, heads close together, already lost in each other.

And then there was you. With him. Like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like you belonged here, beside him. Like you were his.

Except—you weren’t.

Sebastian swallowed hard, fingers curling around his glass.

It was a cruel fucking thing, this closeness you gave him so easily. Because it wasn’t real, was it? Not really. You were just you. His best friend. Close enough to touch, to tease, to wreck him without even realizing it. But never his.

Never really his.

“…they even had hidden tunnels sometimes,” you continued. “The really fancy ones had hidden rooms, secret staircases, all kinds of tricks. Some of them were in basements, some behind fake storefronts. People had to whisper the password when they got in, which is where the term ‘speakeasy’ comes from.”

Sebastian barely registered what you were saying and you sighed, finally noticing the way he was watching you.

“You’re not listening, are you?”

Sebastian blinked.

“No,” he admitted, because what was the point in lying?

You rolled your eyes, exasperated, but there was no real bite to it.

“Well, at least you’re honest.”

Sebastian smirked. “Always.”

You huffed, clearly unimpressed. “So, what were you thinking about?”

He should have said something teasing, something to deflect, but then you leaned in, just slightly, your head tilting, and Sebastian was drowning.

There was too much warmth in your eyes, too much softness in the way you looked at him, and for one reckless second, he thought maybe. Maybe this wasn’t one-sided. Maybe you knew. Maybe you felt it too.

Sebastian cleared his throat, forcing himself to look away, to wave down the bartender like they might save him.

“Nothing important,” he lied.

You studied him for a beat longer, and then, before you could say another word—

“What can I get for you?”

Mercifully, the bartender appeared, their voice smooth, professional.

Sebastian exhaled and leaned against the bar, grateful for something else to focus on. “Whiskey and Coke.”

The bartender nodded, about to turn away when Sebastian jerked his chin toward you. “And whatever she wants.”

You huffed then rolled your eyes. “I can pay for myself, you know.”

“I know,” Sebastian said, smirking as he propped his elbow against the bar, resting his chin in his hand. “But since I’m clearly suffering through your history lesson, consider it payment.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, suffering, are you?”

“Excruciatingly.”

“Fine,” you sighed, faux exasperation in your tone, turning back to the bartender. “I’ll take the signature cocktail then, since it’s on his dime.”

Sebastian smirked, shaking his head. “Figures.”

The bartender chuckled and disappeared to prepare the drinks, leaving the two of you to settle back into the warmth of the speakeasy’s golden glow.

Sebastian let himself relax, narrowing his eyes slightly. “So? This drink of yours—what’s in it?”

You lifted a brow, amusement flickering across your expression. “Trying to impress me with your knowledge of mixology?”

“Absolutely not.” He snorted. “Just trying to gauge how badly I’m about to regret funding your expensive taste.”

You laughed, the sound warm, easy. “You’ll live. It’s gin with elderflower liqueur, citrus, a little honey, some kind of infused vermouth—oh, and a sprig of rosemary for flair. They call it The Whisper.”

Sebastian snorted. “That’s a lot of effort for a single drink.”

“That’s the whole point of a speakeasy, you loser,” you teased, nudging your shoulder against his. “It’s all about the craft.”

He rolled his eyes but grinned. “And here I thought we were just here to drink.”

“Well, that too.”

Your drinks arrived, and you lifted your cocktail, inspecting it with a satisfied little nod before taking a sip. The moment your lips met the rim of the glass, Sebastian had to fight back another surge of inconvenient thoughts—the gloss on your mouth leaving the faintest sheen against the glass, the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you tasted it, considering the balance of flavors.

“It’s so good,” you told him, swirling the liquid lightly in your glass. “Floral, a little sweet, but not too much.”

Sebastian hummed, sipping his drink as he watched you. “Glad to know my money’s going to a worthy cause.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “You know, you never did answer my question.”

Sebastian blinked. “What question?”

You gave him a look—one that told him you knew he was dodging. “What you were thinking about earlier while you ignored my history lesson.”

His grip on his glass tightened for half a second, but before he could come up with a clever retort to get out of this, a new voice cut in—bright, excited.

“Hey you!”

Poppy.

She appeared out of nowhere, seizing your wrist before you could protest. “Come dance with us!”

Your eyes widened. “Poppy—wait—”

But Poppy was relentless, already tugging you toward the dance floor with surprising strength. “Nope, no arguments! Come on!”

Sebastian watched, amused and relieved, as you shot him a look over your shoulder—half entertained, half exasperated—before you disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by the glow of the dance floor, and just like that, you were gone.

A slow, knowing voice hummed beside him.

“She got away from you rather quickly.”

Ominis.

Sebastian scowled. “Don’t start."

The blonde sipped his drink, the picture of smug amusement. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Sebastian shot him a flat look. “You were absolutely going to say something.”

Ominis smirked. “Well, if you insist—”

Sebastian groaned, tossing back a sip of his whiskey and coke before slamming the glass down with a bit more force than necessary. “I don’t. I really, really don’t.”

“You’re in rare form tonight,” Ominis continued, swirling the last of his drink lazily in his glass. “I think I might even pity you.”

Sebastian shot him a glare. “I don’t need your pity.”

“No, but you do need a strategy,” Ominis mused, setting his empty glass down with a soft clink. “Because, at this rate, I fear I’ll be married before you confess to her.”

Sebastian scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you. Took you 8 years to say anything to Poppy.”

Ominis simply smirked. “And yet, here I am, in a committed relationship, while you’re still over here brooding into your drink like a lovesick schoolboy.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s sake, Ominis.”

“What?” Ominis asked, feigning innocence. “It’s painful watching you, you know. I can hear the longing.”

Sebastian scowled. “I do not long.”

Ominis turned his head toward him, lips curling ever so slightly. “Sebastian. Poppy said you stared at her mouth for a full ten seconds while she was talking about her drink.”

Sebastian flushed, gripping his glass a little too hard. “It wasn’t ten seconds.”

Ominis hummed. “It was.”

Sebastian wanted to slam his forehead into the bar.

This was his own personal hell.

Garreth sauntered over before he could wallow too deeply, plopping onto the stool beside him with a lazy grin. He slung an arm over the bar, casting a glance toward the dance floor.

“Mate, you are so obvious,” Garreth said, sipping his drink. “It’s honestly impressive.”

Sebastian gave him a flat look. “Did you come over just to harass me?”

“Pretty much,” Garreth said cheerfully.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, resisting the urge to throw back the rest of his drink.

Garreth followed his gaze toward the dance floor, where you were now laughing at something Natty had said, your body swaying to the rhythm of the music. The warm amber lighting bathed your skin, the movement of the crowd shifting around you in slow, rhythmic waves.

And fuck, you looked good. Too good. Sebastian took another sip of his whiskey, trying to ignore the ache curling in his chest.

“So,” Garreth said, propping his chin in his hand. “What’s the plan?”

Sebastian glanced at him. “What?”

“The plan,” Garreth repeated. “You know—the one where you finally do something about your massive, crushing, soul-consuming love for her?”

Sebastian groaned. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Mate, we have to do this right now,” Garreth said, motioning toward the dance floor. “Because if you don’t do something soon, some other guy will.”

Sebastian stiffened. Because this? This was the one thing he never let himself think about for too long.

For years, he had convinced himself there was time. That things would work out naturally, that you’d both just… fall into place.

It wasn’t as if you had never been with anyone. You had, a few times during school, in the careless, fleeting way that teenagers fell in and out of things. But nothing had ever stuck. Nothing had ever felt like it mattered. And when they ended, Sebastian had always been there.

Your constant.

The one person you always came back to.

It had reassured him, in some selfish, pathetic way. Let him believe that you weren’t really going anywhere. That whatever was between you—whatever was building between you—would always be there, waiting, until you both figured it out.

But then you’d fallen for him.

Your first real, serious boyfriend. The one who had made Sebastian’s life hell for over a year.

He had hated every goddamn second of it. Hated watching you be with someone else, hated the way you had looked at him—like that—like he was yours. Hated seeing another man have what should have been his.

And what had he done? Nothing. Because he hadn’t been brave enough.

He had let it happen. He had let himself smile and nod and pretend to be happy for you. He had let himself sit on the sidelines and watch.

And then, when it was over—when it had all fallen apart—he had been there. Of course, he had. But you never told him what happened, and Sebastian never asked for details. Never pressed, never pried. All he knew was that one day, it was over, and you didn’t talk about it.

And if Sebastian had felt relieved? If some ugly, selfish part of him had thrived in the knowledge that you were single again?

Well. That was between him and the whiskey.

But that was over a year ago now, and Garreth was right.

You were moving forward, and Sebastian no longer had the luxury of time. You weren’t seventeen anymore. You weren’t in school, fumbling through fleeting relationships just for the sake of them. You were a grown woman—beautiful, incredible, desirable—and when you chose someone now, it would be for something real.

Something long-term. Something permanent.

And the idea of someone else—some faceless stranger—walking up to you on the dance floor, flashing you a grin, letting their hands wander over your waist, pulling you close like they had any right—fuck. That alone was bad enough. But the thought of someone keeping you, of some other man being the one you turned to at the end of the day, the one who got to wake up beside you, touch you freely, know you in ways Sebastian never had the chance to—

It made something inside his chest splinter, burn so hot and fierce he swore it might ruin him.

Across from him, Garreth was watching, expression infuriatingly smug.

“So,” he said, lazily swirling the ice in his drink. “How’s that plan coming along?”

Sebastian dragged a hand through his hair, resisting the urge to groan.

“Garreth.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

Garreth grinned. “See, I would, but you’re being so fun to watch right now.”

Sebastian scowled, about to say something sharp and unhelpful, but his tongue turned to lead the moment he caught sight of you again.

You had slowed, your dancing shifting into something softer, something more. Natty had turned away, distracted by Poppy tugging her toward another group, and now you were swaying on your own, hands drifting absently down your sides as if lost in the rhythm. Your body moved without thought, your dress hugging the curves of your hips in ways that sent something dark curling in Sebastian’s stomach.

He watched as your eyes fluttered closed, lost in the music, the soft golden glow of the lights painting your skin in honeyed warmth.

And then, like clockwork, it happened.

Some man—some fucking man—noticed you.

Sebastian saw it before it even began, could feel the exact moment the stranger’s gaze landed on you, lingering.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, the kind of polished that came with old money, and he was looking at you like he wanted you.

And you—unaware, oblivious—were still dancing. Still open. Still approachable.

Sebastian’s blood ran hot.

Garreth, always a shit-disturber, let out a low whistle. “Ohhh, this is gonna be good.”

Sebastian didn’t even register him, because the stranger was already moving, crossing the floor toward you with intent, cutting through the slow sway of bodies, an easy grin sliding into place.

Sebastian barely heard Garreth mutter, yep, there it is, before he was already moving.

Not thinking—just moving, standing, glass forgotten, feet carrying him across the floor with single-minded purpose.

The stranger reached you first, but Sebastian wasn’t far behind, and he saw the exact moment the man’s hand started to lift—reaching for you, moving into your space.

And he saw the way you instinctively leaned back, a subtle but unmistakable recoil, your easy smile dimming as you shook your head, declining whatever offer the guy had just made.

And before the bastard could press further—before he could try again—Sebastian was there.

His body cut smoothly between you, stepping into your space so fast and close that you had to tilt your head up in surprise, your eyes widening at him.

The stranger hesitated, thrown off by his sudden arrival, but Sebastian didn’t look at him. Didn’t acknowledge him. Didn’t even fucking blink in his direction.

Because you? You were looking at him. And only him.

Your lips parted slightly, something caught between confusion and surprise, but Sebastian didn’t give you a chance to question it.

Sebastian held out a hand.

“Dance with me.”

Not a request. Not a suggestion. A command.

Your brows lifted slightly at the shift in his voice, but you didn’t hesitate. Because of course you didn’t. You trusted him.

Your fingers slid into his, warm and soft, and Sebastian nearly exhaled in relief.

Because just like that, the moment was over.

The stranger lingered for only a second longer before turning away, disappearing into the crowd.

Gone. Good.

Then you sighed—a small, quiet thing, barely noticeable over the music—and glanced up at him, a flicker of something unreadable in your expression.

“Thanks for that,” you murmured, voice lower now, more serious than it had been all night.

Sebastian’s brow furrowed slightly. “For what?”

Your lips pressed together for a second, as if debating whether to say anything. Then, finally:

“That guy was talking to our group earlier, too.”

Sebastian’s grip on your waist tightened, his mood immediately souring. Because how had he not noticed? How had he been sitting at that bar this whole damn time, so hyper-focused on you, so obsessed, and not seen some asshole lurking around you and the other girls? A slow, simmering anger curled in his gut.

“Did he say anything to you?” His voice was sharper than he meant it to be.

You shook your head. “Just… you know.” You made a vague gesture, rolling your eyes slightly. “The usual.”

Sebastian’s jaw flexed. No, he didn’t know. Because he wasn’t you.

He didn’t know what it was like to be someone like you—gorgeous, open, effortlessly magnetic—constantly dealing with men who thought that just because you were kind, just because you smiled, just because you laughed and danced, it meant they had a chance.

It made something dark coil inside him, something ugly. Something possessive.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, trying—failing—to push it down.

“Did he touch you?” he asked, voice quieter now, lower, but hard.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the edge in his tone.

“No,” you said after a beat, shaking your head.

Sebastian didn’t realize how much tension he had been holding until the word left your mouth. Didn’t realize how furious he had been, how much his hands had itched to grab that bastard by the collar and drag him outside just for thinking he had the right to put his hands on you.

“You don’t have to look like that,” you murmured, tilting your head slightly.

Sebastian raised a brow, his smirk automatic but strained. “Like what?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Like you’re about to storm out of here and commit a felony.”

Sebastian didn’t deny it.

"You should let me fight someone for you at least once," he muttered, only half-joking.

You grinned. "Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?"

"More than you know."

"Violence isn’t the answer, Sallow," you sing-songed.

He smirked. "It’s a good answer, though."

You shook your head, still laughing, still entirely too light while Sebastian was over here barely holding himself together. And then, just to kill him, you leaned in, pressing your forehead lightly against his chest.

"I’m okay, Seb," you murmured.

Just like that, the anger drained from his body. Because if you weren’t upset, if you weren’t shaken, if you were still smiling up at him like this—like he was something good, something safe—then how was he supposed to hold onto his fury?

The song slowed, the deep bass fading into the last lingering notes of the melody. The hum of conversation filled the space again, bodies shifting, moving apart, laughter rising over the murmur of the next song beginning.

Sebastian barely noticed because you were still close—your forehead resting against his chest, your breath warm through the thin fabric of his shirt. And just as easily as you had leaned into him, you pulled back and reached for his hand, fingers sliding against his.

“I need another drink.”

And Sebastian—who would have followed you anywhere, who always had—went without question.

He let you lead him through the crowd, past shifting bodies and hushed conversation, back toward the bar where your friends had gathered, voices raised in lively debate.

Garreth was the first to notice your return, his grin downright wicked as he clocked your joined hands.

“Look who decided to grace us with their presence,” he drawled, handing Sebastian a pint of beer. “Have a nice dance?”

Sebastian ignored him, but you just rolled your eyes, releasing his hand as you slid onto a stool. “I did, actually. What’s all this?”

Nerida, perched beside Imelda, snorted. “They’re making bets on what Poppy has gotten Ominis into this time.”

You blinked. “Where've they gone?”

“She dragged him off about twenty minutes ago,” Imelda said, smirking over the rim of her glass. “Into one of the side rooms.”

Sebastian felt your laughter before he heard it—the way your shoulders shook, the way you leaned slightly into his side, your warmth pressing into him once again.

“Oh no,” you breathed, shaking your head. “Poor Ominis.”

Garreth grinned. “Poor Ominis?” He gestured wildly with his glass. "That man's probably having the time of his bloody life right now! In fact, Natty, I'd be more than happy to—"

Natty cut him off with a sharp look, arching a brow. “Don’t finish that sentence, Weasley.”

Nerida, still nursing her drink, smirked. “So, what are the odds? Did she lure him in with something harmless, or is Ominis about to lose all dignity?”

“Fifteen galleons says he’s getting head at this very second," Imelda said with a grin, tapping her fingers against the bar.

Garreth howled with laughter, nearly spilling his drink. “Oh, Merlin, I wish I had that kind of faith in Poppy, but in public?! I don't know, Mel.”

Natty groaned, covering her face with her hands. “For the love of God—”

Nerida just smirked, tilting her glass toward Imelda. “Bold bet. You really think Poppy’s got it in her?”

Imelda snorted. “Look, I’m just saying—quiet ones are always the freakiest.”

Sebastian choked on his beer.

Garreth, still grinning, wiped at his eyes. “Ten galleons says she is at least getting handsy.”

“Five says he’s just standing there awkwardly while she tells him fun facts about kneazles,” Natty countered, shaking her head.

Sebastian smirked, shaking his head. “I’d put twenty on him hexing us all into oblivion if he knew what was going on right now.”

Garreth cackled. “A safe bet.”

The conversation was rapidly descending into chaos when, right on cue, Ominis’s voice cut through the noise, sharp and unimpressed.

“I hate all of you.”

The group collectively turned to see Ominis standing there, looking thoroughly unimpressed, Poppy at his side looking suspiciously pleased with herself.

Garreth, delighted, clapped his hands together. “There he is! So… how’d it go, lover boy?”

Ominis’s expression darkened. “I will hex you.”

You grinned, still trying to contain your laughter. “Tell us what happened, Omins.”

Ominis’s face went red. Not just a faint flush—fully red, the kind of embarrassment that spelled immediate entertainment for everyone involved. And Poppy, the absolute menace, lifted a hand to her mouth, failing miserably at stifling her laughter.

The group lost it, and Ominis looked like he wanted to die.

Garreth cackled, nearly spilling his drink as he clutched his stomach.

Nerida slammed a hand on the bar, wheezing. “Oh my God."

Imelda, grinning like the devil herself, leaned forward. “Right, then. Who’s paying up the fifteen galleons?”

Ominis exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “I swear to Merlin, if one more person so much as suggests—”

Garreth clapped him on the back, grinning wildly. “So, that’s a no on the getting head, then?”

Ominis’s expression darkened so fast it was almost impressive, but before he could truly commit to murder, Nerida—ever the peacemaker—tilted her head toward the back corner of the bar.

“Alright, alright—before Ominis does something irreversible, who’s up for a round of pool?”

This was met with general agreement—mostly because the alcohol was settling in enough that no one felt like sitting still anymore.

Sebastian, still thoroughly amused, tipped back the rest of his drink before pushing away from the bar, waiting for you to follow.

And you did. Of course you did.

In fact, Sebastian was pleased—very pleased—when you stuck by his side for the rest of the evening.

You could have easily wandered off, flitted between groups, danced again. But instead, you leaned against the table, sipping your drink, laughing at Garreth’s terrible pool skills, rolling your eyes at Imelda’s trash talk, nudging Sebastian with your hip whenever he made a particularly cocky shot.

It was good.

The night stretched on in a golden haze, full of too much laughter, too many drinks, and the kind of warm, buzzing atmosphere that made it far too easy to forget that the outside world existed at all.

Except.

Sebastian noticed—drunkenly, hazily, slowly noticed—that something was off.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there nonetheless. The girls were still laughing, still drinking, still teasing them mercilessly over every terrible shot at pool. But they weren’t leaving. And that was weird.

Because usually—after enough drinks, after enough games—the girls always migrated. They’d get bored of pool, tired of darts, and drift off to dance, or find a quieter table to sit at and gossip.

But not tonight. Tonight, they were sticking close.

Poppy, usually the first to suggest another round on the dance floor, was still here, sitting comfortably at Ominis's side, chatting animatedly with Natty while Garreth ordered them drinks.

Nerida and Imelda, who normally found excuses to disappear for a bit, were locked in an intense conversation while still staying within view of everyone else.

And you were still beside him.

And maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe it was the way the room had tilted slightly when he stood up earlier. But Sebastian’s brain, slow and sluggish, finally caught up to the creeping thought that had been lurking in the background since you'd danced with him.

Was it because of him? That man from earlier?

Sebastian turned his head slightly, scanning the bar. He hadn’t thought about him in hours, but now that he was... where the hell did he go?

Sebastian’s fingers tightened around his drink, a slow, simmering anger curling back into his gut. Because if you—and the others—had been sticking close all night, had been keeping within reach of them instead of doing what you usually did…

Then what did that mean? Had that bastard scared you?

But then—

“Seb?”

Your voice cut through the haze, your fingers curling around his wrist, tugging lightly. He turned, and whatever dark, brooding thoughts had been creeping into his mind vanished.

Because fuck, you were drunk. Not messy, not too far gone, but just enough. Your eyes were hazy with warmth, your grin lopsided, and when you pulled him slightly closer, there was the faintest slur in your words.

You swayed slightly. “D’you wanna sit? M’legs feel all… floaty.”

And just like that, Sebastian forgot about everything else. The man. The unease. The lingering feeling that something was wrong. Because now? Now he was only looking at you.

You, standing just a little too close, your body warm with alcohol, your hair a little mussed, your expression soft.

You, blinking up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted like you were trying to work through whatever lazy, meandering thought had just slipped into your mind.

Sebastian smirked, setting his drink down. “Those cocktails stronger than you thought?”

You huffed, swaying slightly as you nudged his arm. “So much stronger.”

Sebastian barely bit back a laugh. “Lightweight.”

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “How dare—”

Sebastian grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulders before you could wobble too much.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he murmured, guiding you toward one of the plush loveseats behind the pool table. “Let’s get you off those floaty legs.”

You hummed, leaning into him a little too easily, like it was natural, like this was where you belonged. And fuck, if that wasn’t a dangerous thought.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, guiding you down before sitting beside you, letting his arm rest along the back of the chair, leaving just enough room for you to lean into him if you wanted to.

You let out a small hum, tilting your head back slightly to look at him, eyes half-lidded, hazy with alcohol. Then—out of nowhere—you reached for his hand.

Sebastian blinked, watching, completely dumbfounded, as you grabbed his wrist, pulling his palm toward yours. You pressed your hand flat against his, comparing sizes, your fingers barely reaching the first knuckle of his own.

And you beamed.

“Merlin,” you murmured, like you were discovering something truly profound, flexing your fingers against his. “Why are your hands so big?”

Sebastian swallowed hard, staring at the sight of your palm against his, at the way your much smaller fingers curled slightly around his own.

He barely found his voice. “Dunno. Why are yours so small?”

You giggled, tilting your head at him. “D’you think if I had big hands, I’d be better at pool?”

Sebastian huffed a laugh, his chest tight. “You’re already better than Garreth. No changes necessary.”

You gasped dramatically. “Poor Garreth.”

“He deserves it.”

You snorted, then curled your fingers between his, lacing them loosely together. Just resting there. Just holding. Sebastian nearly blacked out.

You didn’t even seem to realize what you were doing, just looked down at your intertwined hands with an easy, alcohol-softened smile before shifting again, tucking yourself even closer into his side.

“You always smell nice, too."

Always. That meant you’d noticed before. You noticed him.

Sebastian forced himself to clear his throat, trying for something casual—something to keep from absolutely combusting.

“Yeah?” he murmured. “What do I smell like?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Like…” Your brows scrunched slightly, like you were trying to pinpoint it exactly. “Something warm. Like... like… cinnamon. And cloves. And something kind of… smoky? But not in a bad way. Just… cozy.”

Sebastian was about to die. Right here. Right fucking here, in this speakeasy, drunk with you pressed against him, completely unaware that you were absolutely wrecking him. And then, because you weren’t done ruining his life, you sighed. All content and pleased and nestled against his side like you belonged there, like this was normal, like you weren’t setting his entire fucking world on fire.

“And you’re always so warm,” you murmured.

Sebastian’s throat bobbed as he forced something out.

“You cold?” he asked, trying to sound unaffected.

You hummed, nuzzling slightly into his shoulder. “Not anymore.”

Sebastian was dangerously close to losing his mind, and he needed a distraction. Immediately.

“So,” he said, shifting slightly, trying to ignore how easily your body moved with his, “since I did such a terrible job listening last time, how about another speakeasy lesson?”

You perked up instantly, blinking at him in adorable surprise, then huffed, amused. “Oh, so now you’re interested?”

Sebastian smirked. “Figured I should at least pretend to be an attentive student.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting slightly in your seat to face him better—though, in your drunken state, that mostly meant you leaned even more into his side.

“Well,” you began, slipping into a more thoughtful tone, “like I was saying before you zoned out completely, speakeasies got their name because people had to speak easy—keep their voices down so they wouldn’t get caught.”

Sebastian nodded like this was brand new information, even though he vaguely remembered you mentioning it earlier. Meanwhile, you draped your arms over your lap, tilting your head against the back of the loveseat as you spoke, your words a little slower, your thoughts a little more meandering.

“But what’s funny,” you continued, your finger tracing absentminded circles against the fabric of your dress, “is that even though the entire point was secrecy, some speakeasies were huge. Like, big bands, huge dance floors, completely over-the-top. They wanted the allure, the glamour, y’know?”

Sebastian did not know.

Because he was too busy watching the way your lips moved around your words, the way your lashes fluttered when you got lost in a thought, the way your entire body seemed to sway slightly with the rhythm of your own storytelling.

This was not helping his situation.

At all.

“So some of them weren’t hidden?” he asked, if only to remind himself to keep his brain functional.

You shook your head, a little slower than usual. “Not really. Like, technically, you still had to know someone to get in. They had passwords, secret entrances… but everyone knew where they were.”

Sebastian hummed, watching the way you twirled a loose strand of hair around your finger. “So what you’re saying,” he mused, smirking, “is that criminals are just show-offs?”

You snorted, rolling your head to the side to look at him. “That’s what you took from that?”

He grinned. “Am I wrong?”

You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. “No, you’re not wrong, but historically speaking—”

Sebastian could have stayed here forever. You, curled into his side, talking about some random bit of history you’d read in a book. Your voice laced with alcohol, your words a little softer, a little slower, but still so full of excitement. It was so easy. So perfect.

His fingers absentmindedly played with the hem of your dress, twirling the soft material between his fingertips, completely absorbed in the warmth of the moment, in the way you looked at him, in the way—

Then you let out a heavy sigh, shifting against him.

“I need to break the seal,” you muttered, groaning dramatically.

Sebastian blinked, momentarily thrown from his thoughts.

You pouted, stretching slightly as you tilted your head toward him. “I have to pee,” you clarified. “And I don’t wanna move.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “That is a tragedy.”

You groaned, snuggling further into the cushions, making no move to actually get up. “Ugh, this sucks. I'm so comfy.”

He nudged you lightly. “Go on, love, I'll be right here when you get back.”

You whined, literally whined, before finally, reluctantly pushing yourself up. You stretched as you stood—your dress shifting dangerously as you straightened yourself—and Sebastian was definitely not looking. Not at the way your dress shifted up the curve of your thighs, not at the way your arms lifted over your head, making every inch of you somehow even more tempting.

Nope.

He was absolutely looking straight ahead, nowhere near you.

But as you turned away—taking slow, slightly unsteady steps—something in his chest twisted. Not the usual ache, the fuck-I’m-in-love-with-her feeling he’d been drowning in all night.

Something else. Something wrong.

He tried to shake it, tried to tell himself it was just the drinks, just his dumb possessive instincts making him hyperaware of you.

But still.

His smirk faltered slightly as he watched you make your way toward the washrooms.

It wasn’t far. Just across the lounge, past a few tables, through a hallway.

But still.

Sebastian shifted in his seat, his foot tapping idly against the floor. You’d be back in a few minutes. Everything was fine.

Except it wasn’t.

Sebastian knew it the second too much time passed.

At first, he kept himself distracted, letting Garreth and Imelda pull him into their bickering over pool shots, letting Ominis make dry, unimpressed comments about their collective lack of skill. Sebastian nursed his drink, felt the warmth of the alcohol hum through his veins, tried to tell himself you were just taking your time.

But then a song ended. And another. And you still weren’t back.

Sebastian’s fingers tapped against the rim of his glass, his brows pinching slightly.

Then he checked the time. And the wrongness that had been sitting, low and uneasy, in his chest all night curled tighter.

He straightened in his seat, setting his drink down, his entire body suddenly too alert.

It was fine. You were fine.

Maybe you’d just gotten distracted. Maybe you were reapplying your lipstick, or fixing your hair, or—

No. No, something was wrong. And suddenly, Sebastian wasn’t drunk anymore.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. Just moved, ignoring the way the others glanced at him in mild confusion.

“Be right back,” he muttered, already walking away.

His heart picked up speed as he cut across the bar, past the lounge, weaving through groups of people, gaze sharp as he scanned the room.

The hallway to the washrooms was dimly lit, tucked just slightly away from the main bar, just enough that it made something uncomfortable roll through his stomach.

He stepped into the corridor, his footfalls suddenly too loud in the muffled quiet. The wrongness in his gut went from unease to something razor-sharp.

Where were you?

Sebastian glanced toward the entrance to the women’s washroom, waiting—listening—for any sign of you. Nothing.

His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched at his sides. He turned his head—

And froze.

Just past the corner of the hallway, tucked slightly out of view, a sound. A muffled whimper. Quiet. Shaky. Then a voice. Low. Murmuring. Unfamiliar.

Sebastian’s fingers curled into fists, he rounded the corner so fast he nearly slammed into the wall, and there you were.

Pressed against a door, your shoulders curled inward, hands shaking as you tried to push him away. Your dress, torn at the strap. That man—his hands on you, gripping your waist, his body too close, his breath hot against your ear as he murmured something low, coaxing, like he was trying to convince you, like you weren’t already crying.

Sebastian’s mind went blank. One second, the bastard was pressed up against you, gripping you like he had any fucking right, and the next—

Crack.

The man hit the opposite wall, hard, eyes blown wide as he let out a stunned, choked gasp, lip split and bleeding.

Sebastian was already on him.

His fist caught the bastard’s shirt, dragging him forward, shoving him so hard the walls rattled.

Sebastian was breathing too fast, seeing too much, his pulse roaring in his ears. The man let out a pained groan, hands grabbing at Sebastian’s wrist.

“Hey—”

Sebastian slammed him back again.

“You think you can touch her?” His voice was low, deadly, his face so close that the bastard flinched.

“She was asking for it,” the man spat, mouth bloody, words slurred. “Didn’t say no, just got shy—”

Sebastian snapped. His fist came down hard—one, two—again—

“How fucking dare you?”

The man gasped, wheezing, hands scrambling to stop him.

Sebastian was going to kill him. Was going to beat him into the fucking floor.

And then a hand. Light. Shaking. Fingers curling around his arm.

“Sebastian?”

Soft. Trembling.

Sebastian’s lungs seized. He turned his head, still breathing hard, still shaking. And fuck—

Tears streaked down your cheeks, your lip trembling, your eyes too wide, too stunned, too afraid.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His grip tightened for a breath, then, with a sharp, ragged exhale, he let go.

The man hit the floor hard, scrambling back on his hands, panting, nose crooked.

Sebastian didn’t even look at him. Because you—

You were still standing there, your hands clutching your torn dress, fingers shaking, chest rising too fast, breath uneven.

Sebastian felt sick.

And then voices. Footsteps. A sudden surge of noise as the dim corridor flooded with people.

Sebastian barely turned in time to see Ominis, Garreth, Natty, Imelda, Nerida, Poppy—the whole group—rounding the corner at full speed.

Garreth’s face twisted into something Sebastian had never seen before, his usual easy demeanor vanishing as he took one look at you, then the man on the floor, then Sebastian—still fuming, still shaking, still breathing too fast—and understood immediately.

Natty sucked in a sharp breath.

Nerida froze.

Poppy clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide and horrified.

Imelda’s knuckles cracked from how hard she clenched her fists.

And Ominis—

Ominis, usually the calmest among them, took one step forward, and his voice came out cold. “What the fuck happened?”

Sebastian didn’t answer. Couldn’t. His throat was too tight. You hadn’t moved.

Then another voice, unfamiliar, but undeniably authoritative.

“Out. Now.”

Sebastian turned his head to see the bouncers push through the group.

One of them grabbed the man by the collar, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt. The bastard let out a choked noise.

“You’re done,” the bouncer growled, dragging him toward the exit. “Get the fuck out of here.”

The man spluttered, voice slurred from his split lip. “I—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Sebastian watched. Watched as the man who had his hands on you got ripped away, thrown out like trash, shoved into the night where he fucking belonged.

And yet Sebastian still wasn’t breathing right. Still wasn’t calm. Because you were still shaking, still—

“We’re leaving.”

Ominis.

His voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. Sebastian nodded automatically. They all did.

The group moved quickly, no hesitation, no time for words as they all started toward the door, the bouncers giving them a wide path through the crowd.

Sebastian barely noticed the murmured whispers around them. All he noticed was you. Still silent, still staring down, still breathing too fast.

The cold air outside hit like a shock, cutting through the drunken haze that had lingered over the night.

Sebastian barely felt it, but the moment the chill hit, you shivered violently. Ominis moved instinctively, shrugging off his jacket in one smooth motion.

“Here.” His voice was still tight, still controlled, but softer than before.

But when he stepped forward, offering it—

You flinched. Sharp. Instinctive.

And Sebastian—watching it all unfold—felt something deep inside him break.

Because it wasn’t just anyone you flinched from. It was Ominis. One of your closest friends. The gentlest, kindest, least-threatening person you knew. And if you recoiled from him—

Sebastian swallowed hard, his throat tight as the entire group went silent, the weight of it suffocating.

Ominis stilled, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the fabric of his jacket before he pulled back, his face unreadable, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t try again. Just exhaled slowly, fingers twitching once before he let his arms drop to his sides.

Poppy, who had always been the most gentle of them, shifted half a step toward you, lips parted like she wanted to say something—but stopped herself. Because she saw it, too.

You weren’t just shaking. You were wrapped up inside yourself, arms clutched around your middle, shoulders drawn in tight, like you wanted to disappear.

Sebastian’s chest ached. He didn’t know what the fuck to do. Didn’t know how to fix this. Didn’t know how to make the world feel safe for you again.

He wanted to grab you, hold you, whisper that he would never let anyone touch you again—but he couldn’t. Because what if you flinched from him, too?

Ominis—always steady, always rational—was the first to move.

"Let's go, we need to get off the main street," he said, voice measured, composed—but there was something else beneath it. Something tightly wound.

No one argued. The group moved as one, huddled close, protective.

Imelda and Nerida flanked either side of you like an unspoken shield, while Natty and Poppy stuck close behind.

Garreth, for once, was silent, his face set in a rare, grim seriousness as he cast sharp glances at every single person still lingering outside the club, as if daring someone to look at you wrong.

And Sebastian stayed right in front of you, hands curled into fists, jaw aching from how tight he had clenched it.

Together, they moved toward the nearest side street, somewhere quieter, somewhere out of the open. Only once they were tucked into the dimly lit alleyway, far from the club and the weight of watching eyes, did Ominis finally speak again.

"Who’s flat is closest?"

"Mine," Sebastian said instantly.

That wasn't technically true.

Natty and Garreth’s place was closer—objectively the better option. If this had been any other night, any other situation, logic would have dictated the choice. But logic didn’t mean shit right now.

Not that anyone protested. Because of course it was going to be Sebastian. Of course he was the one taking you home.

Garreth let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "Right. Let’s get you a cab, then."

"Fuck that," Sebastian muttered. "I’ll Apparate."

That stopped everyone in their tracks.

Ominis immediately frowned. "Sebastian, we’re in Muggle London—"

"I don’t give a shit." His voice came out sharp, barely restrained. "I’m not making her sit in some goddamn cab, not after—" He cut himself off, exhaling hard, trying to shove down the fresh wave of anger clawing at his throat.

It was the last thing you needed right now.

The group exchanged uneasy glances.

Apparition was dangerous under the best circumstances—let alone when he was like this, let alone when you were like this. Not to mention, doing magic in a heavily populated Muggle area was risky as hell.

But fuck that. He wasn’t going to make you wait. Wasn’t going to let you sit through some excruciatingly long cab ride, squirming in silence, trapped in a moving metal box.

No. He was getting you out of here. Now.

Natty stepped forward, voice level. "Sebastian."

He clenched his jaw. "Natty, I swear to—"

"Sebastian."

She was stepping in front of you now, her dark eyes steady, sharp, cutting through the thick, suffocating tension like a blade.

Sebastian knew that look.

Natty had always been practical—calm, calculated, always thinking a step ahead. And right now, she was looking at him like she was measuring him, like she was assessing him.

"You're not going anywhere with her," she said, her voice even, "unless she wants to go with you."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened. His gut reaction was to be offended. To snap that of course you wanted to go with him, because who else would it be?

But Natty’s expression didn’t change. Didn’t waver. Because this wasn’t about him. This wasn’t about what he thought, what he wanted, what he was sure of. This was about you, and whether you still felt safe with him.

Sebastian swallowed hard. The thought that you might not be wrecked him, made his stomach twist, made his ribs feel like they were caving in.

The idea that you—his everything—might not want to be anywhere near him right now. Might not trust him. Might not even be able to look at him after what had just happened. But if that was what you needed then he wouldn’t fight it. Wouldn’t blame you. Wouldn’t say a damn word.

Sebastian nodded, and Natsai turned to you slowly, her movements deliberate, careful. Her voice softened, but still held its steady, grounding weight.

"Do you want to go with him?"

A moment passed. Sebastian held his breath.

Then you nodded. It was small, barely more than a twitch of your chin, but it was everything.

Sebastian exhaled, something sharp and unbearable unwinding in his chest. He stepped forward, slowly, his movements deliberate, careful.

Held out his hand and waited.

Your fingers trembled, but you reached for him, sliding your palm into loosely into his.

"Ring us when... when you have a minute," Ominis said, his voice level, steady—but heavy. There was something unspoken in it, something Sebastian understood immediately.

Sebastian nodded once. No words. No drawn-out goodbyes. He didn’t have it in him.

Then, without another thought—he turned on the spot, pulling you with him.

The world twisted. The sharp pull of Apparition coiled around his ribs, wrenching them through the dark, until—

Home.

Sebastian’s flat was silent. Dark. The shift from the crowded club to the emptiness of his space was jarring.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was your breathing. Uneven. Shallow. Sebastian’s stomach twisted.

His hand was still wrapped around yours, and he didn’t want to let go, but after a second, he forced himself to loosen his grip. A silent offering. A choice. And after a beat, you pulled away.

Sebastian felt it like a wound. The warmth of your skin slipped from his grasp, and the absence of it left something hollow in his chest.

But he didn’t react. Didn’t move. Didn’t let it show. Because this wasn’t about him.

He unsure of what to do now, though. How to talk to you, what he was even supposed to say. He felt like he was balancing on the edge of something sharp, a thin, precarious line between giving you space and giving you what you needed—except he didn’t know what you needed.

So, he did the only thing he could think to do.

“Come on,” he murmured, voice hoarse, heavy. “Let's sit you down. Get you comfortable.”

He turned toward the living room, motioning toward the couch as he moved. “I’ll—” He cleared his throat, swallowing hard. “I’ll get you something else to wear.”

But before he could take more than two steps, you shook your head.

Sebastian hesitated. “You don’t—”

“I’ll go with you,” you murmured.

Your voice was quiet. Unsteady. But certain.

Sebastian blinked, thrown off. He didn’t understand. You had to be exhausted, had to be drained, and the couch was right there, waiting.

But you weren’t moving toward it. You were waiting for him. And something in your expression—something small, something subtle—made the words click in his mind.

You didn’t want to be alone.

He swallowed hard then nodded. "Okay, come on.”

When he turned toward his bedroom, you followed.

The door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping inside first, letting you follow at your own pace.

Sebastian’s room was… messy. Books stacked haphazardly on his nightstand, a half-open wardrobe in the corner, a few stray clothes abandoned on the chair near the window.

He ignored it all. Went straight for the dresser.

He rifled through the drawers, trying to find something soft, something comfortable. Something that wouldn’t remind you of tonight, that wouldn’t feel like a weight pressing against your skin.

A worn sweater. Sweatpants. That would work.

He turned, holding them out for you. “Here.”

You hesitated. You weren’t looking at him. Your gaze was down, locked on the clothes in his hands like you weren’t sure what to do with them.

He softened his voice. "If you want something else, just say the word.”

Then, quietly, almost too soft to hear.

“Can you... will you help me?”

Sebastian stilled. For a second, he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right.

Help you?

His first instinct was confusion. You’d flinched from Ominis outside. You hadn’t wanted him near you. Hadn’t wanted to be touched. After what happened, Sebastian had assumed you’d want privacy, that you wouldn’t want to be seen at all.

But then he looked at you, really looked at you, and he understood.

Maybe, right now, this wasn’t about not wanting to be touched. Maybe it was that you didn't want to touch it. Didn’t want to unfasten the dress yourself, didn’t want to peel the fabric from your skin, didn’t want to register the places it had been touched, gripped, pulled by someone who had no fucking right.

Sebastian exhaled, slow and careful, schooling his expression into something even.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Turn around for me?”

You hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling where you clutched the hem of the sweater he’d handed you. But then you did, shifting slightly, your back to him.

Sebastian took a slow step closer, hands hovering just behind your shoulders, giving you the chance to change your mind.

But you didn’t move away.

So he gently, carefully, reached for the zipper at your back.

And fuck, he’d imagined this before. Ten thousand times, maybe more. Peeling the layers off you slowly, seeing what was underneath, watching the fabric slip down the curves of your body. His hands, his, mapping the warmth of your skin as he uncovered inch after inch, drinking in the sight of you like he’d been starving for it.

But this—this wasn’t like that.

This was the first time he had ever done this, maybe the only time he ever would if he didn't get his shit together, and the circumstances were so utterly, sickeningly wrong that it made his chest feel hollow.

He wasn’t looking at you with desire. He wasn’t seeing the expanse of your skin the way he would have if things had been different.

Seeing you like this just hurt.

The fabric was still warm from your body, but that wasn’t what made his stomach twist. It was the broken strap, the torn seam, the evidence of what had happened—of what he hadn’t been able to stop sooner.

Slowly, he dragged the zipper down.

The dress loosened, slipping slightly off your shoulders, the weight of it threatening to pull away completely—and for a second, he panicked, his brain scrambling to make sure he wasn’t making this worse for you, that he wasn’t exposing more than you were comfortable with—but you stayed still.

So, with a deep breath and slow, careful movements, he tugged the dress down, guiding it past your arms, your waist, your hips. The fabric slipped easily, pooling at your feet.

His stomach twisted. Seeing it like this—abandoned, discarded—it felt like something sick and wrong. Because that dress had looked so fucking beautiful on you. Had clung to you like a dream, had made him ache. Had made him stare.

And now... now, it was nothing but a reminder of what happened.

“Step out of it, love,” he murmured, voice low and gentle despite the ache in his chest.

You obeyed, lifting one foot, then the other.

Sebastian grabbed the discarded fabric from the floor and tossed it far away—out of sight, across the room, like it didn’t deserve to be near you.

Then he picked up the sweatpants from the bed.

"Step in," he murmured.

You did. The sweater came next.

"Arms up for me."

You obeyed again, and he tugged the sweater over your head, guiding it gently over your arms, down your torso, covering you, shielding you from whatever still lingered on your skin.

The moment it was on, Sebastian exhaled deeply.

"All done."

You let out a breath. A slow, shaky thing. Then, for the first time since entering his flat, you met his gaze.

And Sebastian felt his chest cave in. Because you still looked so shaken. Still looked wrecked. But the difference was, you were here now. Fully.

"Thank you."

Your voice was small. Quiet. But present.

He swallowed hard, forcing down the unbearable ache in his chest. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Of course.”

You shifted slightly, like you wanted to say something else, but the words didn’t come. Instead, your arms wrapped around yourself, small, like you were still trying to make yourself disappear.

Sebastian’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to touch you. Wanted to reach out, wanted to pull you into his chest and hold you there until the shaking stopped.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

So, instead, he exhaled carefully, ran a hand through his hair, and nodded toward the doorway. “Come on,” he said, voice softer now. “Let me make you some tea.”

You blinked at him, like the thought hadn’t even occurred to you. But after a second, you nodded.

So, he turned, leading you back into the dimly lit apartment, moving toward the kitchen. And you followed. Because you still trusted him.

Sebastian pulled open the cabinet and reached for your mug—the oversized one printed with tiny blue flowers, the one you always used when you visited. It had been a birthday gift from him last year, and after unwrapping it, you’d immediately set it in his cupboard and said, This one stays here.

He set it down on the counter and filled the kettle, flipping the switch with the practiced ease of routine. Something about the motion, the normalcy of it, settled the restless tension in his chest.

His hands worked on autopilot—pulling down the tin of loose tea, measuring out just the right amount, stirring in the fixings the way you liked. Far too much sugar and milk for his taste, but he didn’t hesitate, mixing it the exact way you always did.

By the time he turned around and pressed the mug into your hands, steam curling between you, he finally caught the way your fingers trembled as you curled them around the ceramic.

And then—soft, broken, barely above a whisper—

“I’m sorry.”

Sebastian went completely still, something sharp, something furious, coiling in his chest.

“What?”

Your gaze dropped, staring into the depths of your tea. “I—I don’t know. Just for all of this. For ruining your night. For—”

“Don’t.”

He took the mug from your hands, just for a moment, long enough to force you to look at him. His brows furrowed, his mouth tight, like the words physically hurt to say aloud.

“You don’t apologize. Not for this. Not to anyone.”

You swallowed, hard, but you didn’t look away.

“This wasn’t your fault,” he said, voice quieter now, but no less fierce, his grip tightening briefly around the handle of your mug before handing it back. “Not one single fucking bit of it. Do you understand?”

You hesitated, like you weren’t sure you could understand. And fuck, that made something ugly rise in his throat.

Sebastian had never felt anger like this—like something helpless and raging, burning at the back of his skull, at the hollow space in his chest where you had been hurt and he hadn’t been there to stop it.

You sniffled, swiping your sleeve across your eyes, shaking your head like you were mad at yourself. “I should’ve—” Your voice was thick, strained. “I should’ve pushed him away harder. Been more assertive. Asked one of the other girls to come to the bathroom with me, or—or been more aware, or not drank so much, or—”

“Stop.”

You shook your head again, watery, miserable. “I just—”

“No.” His voice was hard, unyielding. “This wasn't your fault, there's no magic combination of things you could have done differently to make someone else not be a fucking piece of shit. It wouldn’t have mattered, because he's still a monster. And you—” His voice softened, just a fraction, his chest aching. “You did nothing wrong.”

You swallowed, throat bobbing.

“It wasn’t even that bad.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened.

You let out a wet, unsteady laugh, shaking your head. “It could’ve been worse. I just— I just froze because of Tyler.”

The second the words were out of your mouth, Sebastian saw it—the way your face froze, the way your lips parted slightly, like you hadn’t meant to say that. Like you wished you could take it back.

But it was too late.

Sebastian’s brain snapped back to a year ago.

The breakup.

How you had shown up at his door, quiet and withdrawn, a forced little smile on your lips as you told him your relationship was over. No details. No explanation. Just done.

How he had asked if you were okay, and you had nodded, too quickly, and said you didn’t want to talk about it.

And he’d let it go. Because you always told him things when you were ready. But now—now he was seeing it, the way your shoulders curled inward, the way you were smaller, like you wanted to disappear.

And something inside him snapped.

What the fuck had happened back then?

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and controlled. “Tell me,” he said, voice low, but steady.

You blinked. “What?”

“Tell me what happened. Please.”

You hesitated, curling your hands around the mug like it was the only thing keeping you tethered. “It’s not—” You swallowed, eyes darting away. “It’s not important.”

Sebastian’s jaw clenched. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Minimize it.” His voice came out rougher than he meant, but he couldn’t help it. “I need to know, love.”

At the nickname, your fingers tightened around the mug, just slightly. You opened your mouth, then closed it. Sebastian waited.

He’d wait all fucking night if he had to.

And then, finally, you exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. “It was at a party,” you murmured, not looking at him. “I—I don’t know why I froze tonight. It wasn’t even the same. Not really. I just… the moment he grabbed me, I was back there.”

Sebastian hated how softly, how passively you said it. Like it wasn’t something that had haunted you. Like it wasn’t something that still had its fucking claws in you.

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, didn’t push, because you were still talking, and if you stopped, he didn’t know when you’d let yourself say these words again.

“I told him no,” you whispered. “Tyler. I told him I didn’t want to go upstairs with him, that I was tired. But he kept—” You broke off, shaking your head. “He just kept talking, kept trying to get me to change my mind. And I just—I shut down. I just let him. I didn’t fight, I didn’t—”

Sebastian couldn’t take it anymore.

“I swear to God,” he said, voice hoarse, pained, “if you say you should’ve done something differently, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Your throat bobbed, eyes flicking up to his.

“He was supposed to stop," Sebastian insisted. "That’s it. That’s the only thing that was supposed to happen.”

You just stared at him, wide-eyed, like you weren’t sure you’d heard him right. Like no one had ever said it to you so plainly before. And then, finally, you spoke—so softly, so small.

“But I let him.”

Sebastian’s hands curled into fists. “No,” he said, voice firm, unwavering. “You didn’t.”

He exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself, trying to say the right thing, because fuck, he couldn’t mess this up.

“If someone keeps pushing, keeps coaxing, keeps pulling you in when you’ve already said no—you didn’t let them. They took advantage of you.”

The words sat heavy between you, and Sebastian saw the way they hit you. Your grip on the mug went white-knuckled, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, and then you were crying.

Silent at first—just the shake of your shoulders, just the quiver in your lips. But then your breath shuddered, and your face crumpled, and the first broken sob escaped.

Sebastian stood there, feeling useless. Helpless.

Should he reach for you? Should he give you space? Did you want to be touched, or would it only make things worse? His hands hovered, twitching at his sides, unsure. And fuck, he hated it. Hated not knowing what to do, hated feeling like he was just standing here while you broke apart in front of him.

But then—

You set the mug down too quickly, tea sloshing over the rim, spilling onto the counter, and Sebastian barely had time to react before you collapsed into him.

His breath hitched, his arms automatically wrapping around you as you buried yourself against his chest, shaking, small.

And then he wasn’t thinking anymore. He just held you. Tightly. Protectively.

One arm wrapped firm around your back, the other cradling your head, fingers threading gently into your hair, like maybe if he held you close enough, it would put you back together.

Your fingers fisted into his shirt, and Sebastian closed his eyes, exhaling shakily against the crown of your head.

What the fuck do I say?

What words could he possibly put together that would make any of this better? He quickly realized there were none.

So he didn’t speak.

Didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless reassurances, didn’t tell you to calm down, didn’t tell you it would be okay. Instead, he just held you, strong and steady, like a wall—one you could press into, lean against, fall apart against.

Your breathing was uneven, shaky against his chest. Each sharp inhale like it was trying to hold back the flood.

Sebastian pressed his cheek to your hair, gentle, careful. “I got you,” he murmured, voice raw. “I got you.”

You let out a sound, a soft, aching thing, half a sob, half relief, as the tension in your shoulders cracked, your weight fully sinking into him, like you’d been trying to hold yourself up all this time and just couldn’t anymore.

“I got you,” he whispered again, like maybe, if he said it enough times, you’d believe him.

You stood there for a long time. You didn’t pull away, and Sebastian didn't let go. He would have stood there all night if you needed him to.

The tea sat abandoned on the counter, growing cold, the soft hum of the refrigerator filling the air while the kitchen clock ticked away the minutes.

Your breathing—ragged at first, gasping, uneven— slowly, so slowly, steadied, fading into quiet sniffles. And that was when Sebastian finally moved. Carefully.

He slid one arm under your legs, the other holding you steady against him. “Up we go, love.”

You let out a soft noise of surprise as he scooped you up, pressing your face instinctively against his shoulder.

“You don’t—”

“Shush” he murmured gently, affectionately, and you didn’t fight him as he carried you across the room, lowering you onto the couch.

But the moment he tried to pull back, your fingers tightened in his shirt again.

Sebastian obeyed, sitting down and letting you tuck yourself against him, curling into his chest. His arms wound around you again, warm and solid. His hand moved instinctively to your hair, fingers slipping through the strands, slow, soothing strokes.

It had always been this easy, hadn’t it?

Sebastian wasn’t sure how long you both stayed like that. Long enough that your breathing evened out. Long enough that his own heart stopped pounding with anger and ache.

And then, after a long silence—your voice, quiet, hesitant:

“I’ve been stupid.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed. “Don’t—”

Your hand shot up, pressing lightly against his mouth, and whatever Sebastian had been about to say died instantly.

His breath caught. His lips parted slightly against your palm, startled, thrown completely off balance. But it wasn’t the touch that had him frozen.

It was your eyes.

Raw. Red-rimmed from crying, but so fucking clear. Like you had figured something out—like whatever had been sitting between you for so long, uncertain and unspoken, was now suddenly blindingly obvious.

“...You know I love you, don't you?”

Sebastian froze.

He did know. At least, sort of.

He’d always known you loved him as your best friend, as your constant, as the one person you always turned to. He had felt it in the way you sought him out first in a crowded room, in the way you always made one too many cups of tea just in case he wanted one. He had seen it in the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, in the way your hand lingered when you touched him.

But he didn't know if you loved him as more.

Of course, he'd imagined your confession the late hours of the night, when exhaustion blurred the edges of his thoughts. In the quiet spaces between glances, in the way his chest always felt too full when you laughed. In the way he always waited for you to arrive at his door.

But he always imagined hearing those words for the first time in a moment of joy, in the golden hush of a summer afternoon, in the warmth of a stolen moment where nothing hurt, nothing felt too heavy.

His throat bobbed. “You—are you saying—”

But the words felt too big, too heavy.

You huffed a laugh, sniffling softly as a stray tear rolled down your cheek. “I was so stupid. Maybe if I had just told you how I felt, if I had just—”

Sebastian cupped your cheek before you could finish your sentence, his palm warm and steady against your tear-streaked skin.

His mind was racing, his chest too full, his breath caught somewhere between disbelief and something so fierce, so all-consuming, so fucking relieved that it almost hurt.

Because you meant it. You loved him. Not just as his best friend. Not just as his constant. But as something more.

He searched your face, memorizing everything—the way your lashes were still damp, the way your lips parted slightly, the way your breath trembled under his touch.

And fuck, he didn’t know what to say.

He hadn’t been ready for you this moment to happen like this. Not when your voice was still raw from crying. Not when your hands still shook in your lap. Not when he had spent the last hour trying to piece you back together after something that should have never happened. Not when you deserved so much better than this moment.

He couldn't stop his mind from imagining what this would have been like if things had been different.

If tonight had just been another night.

If you had just come over, curled up with him like you always did, nudged your socked feet against his under a blanket, laughed at something stupid on TV. If he had turned to you and just fucking said it, just let it be easy.

But it wasn’t easy.

And yet, his the words left his mouth in a breath, like they had been waiting there, like they had been sitting at the back of his throat for years, clawing at his ribs, aching to be spoken. Because they had.

"Fuck, I love you too."

And the second they were out—

Relief.

Like something had cracked open inside him, something tight and suffocating finally letting go, leaving his chest too light and too full all at once. Because it was the truest thing he had ever said.

But right behind that relief came the guilt, because he should have said it sooner.

He should have said it a thousand times before now—should have said it when you were laughing, when you were happy, when you were light and warm and untouched by pain.

He should have said it last week, when you had fallen asleep on his couch, curled up with his sweater wrapped around you, mumbling something incoherent before sighing in contentment.

He should have said it months ago, when you had grabbed his hand without thinking at the crowded market, weaving through people like you had never once considered not holding onto him.

He should have said it years ago, when you kicked his ass in that very first duel.

Sebastian huffed a humorless laugh, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. "God, I wish I’d just told you sooner. Over a bowl of popcorn, some dumb movie playing in the background.” The corners of his mouth twitched, a rueful little smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I imagined it a thousand times—telling you. Watching your eyes light up, seeing you smile like you do when you think I’m being stupid.”

Your lips quivered, the hint of a smile breaking through the tears.

“I wish it had been easy," he said. "Because you deserve easy. You deserve soft and gentle and everything good.”

You leaned into his touch, your hands reaching up to cover his. Your eyes searched his—gentle, knowing, certain.

“Easy’s never really been on brand for us, has it?”

Sebastian blinked, caught off guard for half a second. And then a breathless, broken sound left him, something between a scoff and a laugh, something small and raw and achingly fond.

Because you were right.

Since the very beginning, since the moment you had first collided into his life, it had never been simple. Never straightforward. There had always been something else—a complication, an obstacle, an unsaid feeling caught between glances and lingering touches that neither of you were ever brave enough to name.

You sniffled, wiping at your face with the sleeve of his sweater—the one you were drowning in, and fuck, you were so beautiful even now, despite the weight of the night still lingering in your shoulders.

“Do I wish none of this had happened?” Your voice was quiet, raw. “Of course I do. But fuck, Sebastian, you were there. You're always there." You gave a watery laugh, the smallest, softest thing. "When I'm at my best, when I'm at my worst. It's always been you. And I—"

You exhaled shakily, voice thick with too much. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t there tonight,” your voice dropped to a whisper, eyes locked onto his. “There's no one else I would have gone to. No one else I would have let see me like this. No one else I trust the way I trust you.”

Sebastian’s throat felt tight, his breath coming uneven, chest aching under the weight of realization.

This wasn’t just about tonight. Or last night. Or last week.

It was about every night. Every stolen glance, every quiet moment, every time you had reached for him first. It was in the way you always found him before anyone else, in the way you always chose him, in the way you always trusted him—with the good, with the bad, with everything.

When things went well, when they didn’t, when you needed comfort, when you needed a co-conspirator, when you needed someone to just be there—it had always been him.

It settled into him all at once—the weight of years pressing against his ribs, filling every empty space inside him that had ever questioned what he meant to you.

Because it had always been this. Not a revelation. Not a shift. Not something new.

It had simply always been.

And you must have seen something in his face—the way he looked at you like he wanted to fall apart, because you gave him a small, wobbly smile, something barely there, something hopeful, something real.

“Say something, Sallow," you teased.

Sebastian let out a breathless, unsteady laugh, shaking his head. His eyes burned, his own tears threatening to fall. He let his hands move—one tangling in the fabric at your chest, the other sliding to the nape of your neck.

He leaned in, slow, deliberate, like he was giving you the chance to pull away, like he was making absolutely sure—but your hands curled into his shirt, pulling him in the rest of the way, and then—

Then you kissed him.

It was soft. Hesitant. Testing. Like neither of you could quite believe this was finally happening.

But then Sebastian felt you melt into him, felt the warmth of you, the way your grip on him tightened, the way your lips parted—

And suddenly, it wasn’t hesitant at all.

A soft sound rumbled in Sebastian's throat, something relieved, something grateful, something aching with all the things he had never let himself say, and he kissed you like his life depended on it, because maybe it did. Like he had been waiting for this for years, because he had. Like you were the only fucking thing in the world that mattered, because you were.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, foreheads pressed together, hearts pounding in sync.

Sebastian huffed a soft laugh, his lips brushing yours. "…'bout time, huh?"

You let out a wobbly, teary laugh, nuzzling closer. "About time."

And Sebastian held you—tightly, unshakably, like letting go wasn’t even a possibility, like something fundamental in him wouldn’t allow it.

Because maybe this wasn’t how he had ever imagined this moment. Maybe it wasn’t wrapped in golden light, in laughter, in the warmth of an easy, stolen moment where everything was simple and good.

Maybe he hadn’t gotten to plan for it, hadn’t had the chance to say it first, hadn’t gotten to look at you when you were smiling, when you were happy, and tell you what had been the truth for so damn long.

Maybe you weren’t supposed to be saying I love you in the aftermath of something that had hurt you.

But this was still you. And this was still him. And that was all that mattered.

Because love wasn’t just about the easy moments. It wasn’t just about the days when the sun was shining, when your laughter came freely, when things felt light.

Love was this too—love was holding on, love was being there, love was standing in the wreckage of something awful and saying I’ve got you. I’m here. And I’m not leaving.

Sebastian pressed his forehead against yours, his breath shaky, his grip tight, his fingers curled against the fabric of his own sweater on your frame, holding you close, keeping you safe.

And he knew, with every piece of himself, that he wasn’t letting go.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

[anonymousewrites]

Lavender for Royalty; Sage for Wisdom (Book 1) Chapter Nineteen

Kyoya Ootori x Reader

Chapter Nineteen: Mint for Virtue

Summary: (Y/N) runs into someone unexpected at the mall.

            Okay, errands are run…I have some spare change, maybe I can get myself a new book. Ana Huang’s latest book has come out. I could buy that. Yeah. (Y/N) smiled to themself as they walked through the mall. That’ll be good— (Y/N) paused as they spotted the one person they had never expected to see in a regular mall.

            “Kyoya?”

            Kyoya looked at (Y/N).

            “What are you doing here?” they asked.

            “Tamaki,” said Kyoya.

            “Hm.” (Y/N) nodded. Honestly, the word “Tamaki” could explain everything almost all the time, especially the strange situations the hosts got into.

            An irk mark appeared on Kyoya’s forehead. “He didn’t even give me my phone or wallet.”

            “So you’re stuck here?” said (Y/N).

            “Unfortunately,” said Kyoya. “Tamaki couldn’t even be bothered to tell me where he was going.”

            “Well, you can use my phone to call your driver, or I can loan you some money for a cab,” offered (Y/N).

            Kyoya looked at them. “You don’t have to spend money on me.”

            “You’re my friend, and you need help,” said (Y/N). “It’s not an issue.”

            “I would pay you back,” said Kyoya.

            “You’re too polite not to,” said (Y/N), smiling. They trusted him.

            Kyoya’s shoulders relaxed slightly as he heard the words. “Thank you—” His stomach growled, and they both paused.

            (Y/N) chuckled. “Maybe we should grab some food before sending you home.”

            Kyoya sighed. He was really going to owe (Y/N) after this.

l

            “Are you sure you don’t want to go somewhere a bit fancier?” asked (Y/N).

            “I’m not going to have you spend more money than necessary on me,” said Kyoya as they stood in line at the fast food shop in the food court. He smiled coldly at (Y/N). “In fact, for all the trouble, I’ll have Tamaki pay you back, as well.”

            Poor Tamaki, thought (Y/N). “Thank you, but it’s no trouble. This is a fast food place. It’s not putting a dent in my money.” My savings, anyways. My little bit of free money? Yikes…

            “He’ll pay you back ten times over,” said Kyoya.

            Oh, dear. “Okay,” said (Y/N), giving up the fight and going to order. “What do you want?”

            “I don’t know how to order here,” said Kyoya. “Get anything.”

            “Two burgers and medium fries, please,” said (Y/N), smiling at the cashier.

            The cashier looked up and saw Kyoya. (Y/N) recognized the blush that appeared on her cheeks.

            “Thank you for your order!” She beamed at Kyoya. “Would you like some dessert? There’s a brand-new item—”

            “No dessert for me,” said Kyoya, bored.

            “How about our new milkshake?” she continued, still trying.

            “I said I don’t want any,” said Kyoya.

            Poor retail worker, thought (Y/N). “Thank you.”

            The receipt came out, and, soon enough, so did their food. As they picked it up, Kyoya saw a scrawled note on the receipt, and Kyoya narrowed his eyes. A phone number. Carelessly, he crumpled it up and threw it away as (Y/N) grabbed a table. He had no use for that. He wasn’t interested in anyone but (Y/N).

            “Hm.” Kyoya regarded his hamburger after taking a bite.

            “Not to your tastes?” said (Y/N), amused.

            “It’s a gift. I won’t complain,” said Kyoya.

            Aha, so he would if it wasn’t a gift. (Y/N) sweat-dropped. That’s Kyoya. “Well, once you’re done eating, I can give you money for a cab and you escape for the sake of your ‘taste.’ ”

            “What are you planning to do?” asked Kyoya.

            “I was going to take a look at the market,” said (Y/N). Not that I have money left to do that. “But I might head home.”

            “What if we walk around?” said Kyoya. “With my name, we can put anything you want aside and come back once I have my wallet to get it.”

            “Kyoya, you’re paying me back for food,” said (Y/N). “You’re not paying for books or trinkets or whatever else is here. That’s on me. I’m independent.”

            “Are you sure?” said Kyoya.

            “Yes,” said (Y/N). “I don’t want you to continuously spend money on me.” They were independent. They were ambitious. They were going to make their own money. They appreciated gifts, but they didn’t need to be continuously spoiled by their friends. That was fine with them. “But thank you for the offer. We can still walk around, if you want?”

            “That would be nice.” Kyoya respected them too much to push. They were their own person, after all. He liked to gift them things—the denim romper looked amazing on them—but he wouldn’t go too far. He would never cross (Y/N)’s boundaries.

            Besides, as long as he got to spend time with (Y/N), he’d be satisfied.

l

            “Small businesses are so interesting,” said (Y/N). “To see people love something so much that they want to make something out of it…it’s inspiring.” They smiled.

            “I don’t see much of this,” said Kyoya. “My family and the families of my peers, they all order things from larger companies. Reliable.”

            “But less personal,” said (Y/N). Kyoya inclined his head in acknowledgement. “I suppose it’s all a balance.” They examined a piece of pottery. “I mean, reliable is good, but new ideas come from—”

            “Hey, watch where you’re looking,” said the old man running the stall. “Shoo, shoo. This is too valuable for some kid to look at or, worse, touch.”

            (Y/N) straightened and flinched back. Kyoya narrowed his eyes slightly.

            “Honestly, the amount of ignorant window-shoppers who try to paw my merchandise,” grumbled the man.

            “Oh, my,” said a woman, looking at the pottery. “Is this Shoin Komatsu’s work? How odd to see them here.”

            Instantly, the man’s attitude changed, and he beamed at her. “What good eyes you have, madame!”

            (Y/N) sighed and rolled their eyes. Their age and class caused people to be condescending, and this was one of the examples.

            “As a matter of fact, they are a bit too high-quality for a venue such as this,” continued the man.

            Kyoya raised a brow. This vendor wanted to disrespect (Y/N)? Very well. Kyoya would handle it appropriately.

            The man continued without any knowledge that Kyoya was planning his downfall. “They’re so valuable that the Komatsu family kept them out of the public eye for generations—”

            “They’re counterfeits, madame,” said Kyoya smoothly.

            “What did you say?!” cried the man in both shock and offense—obviously, Kyoya was right.

            “The blue of this dish looks extremely similar to the kind Shoin Komatsu produces, but the base differs in gradation, and this coating is too clean,” said Kyoya, beginning to take apart the pieces of the vendor’s scam. He flipped the bowl over. “Ah, as I thought. The signature at the bottom has somewhat different strokes than the original.” He looked up at the terrified vendor. “Of course, if it is genuine, then you surely have a certificate of authentication. Shall we get someone to verify?”

            “I—Well—the certificates are all kept back at the store,” said the man hastily.

            “Fair enough. If that’s the case…” Kyoya smirked. “My family has known the Komatsu family for years. If you don’t mind, I’ll put in a call and have my men look into it right away.”

            The vendor was trapped by his lies. Kyoya had won. It didn’t take long for the people in charge of the market to escort him out, and the older woman was grateful enough to bow formally to Kyoya, who waves her thanks off with more humility than (Y/N) was used to him showing.

            “It’s unusual for you to help someone like that,” said (Y/N). They smiled at Kyoya. “I’m glad you did, though.”

            Kyoya certainly hadn’t done it out of the goodness of his heart—mostly, anyway. It was for (Y/N). They had been disrespected, and Kyoya had rectified that. He wouldn’t let the person he loved be treated so rudely. Besides, a low-brow scam like that was unacceptable.

            However, Kyoya didn’t say any of that. Instead, he said, “That lady is the wife to the chairman of a large economics firm. I’d ever met her before, but by her kimono and ring, I figured she must belong to a reasonably good family. So it turned out alright.”

            “Thank you again, young man,” said the woman, smiling. “Who would have thought I’d come across an Ootori here of all places? I’ll be sure to let my husband know how you helped. He’s been unsure about going to your resorts due to the distance from here, but I’m sure the resorts would do us good coming from such a polite family.”

            “We’d be honored to have you,” said Kyoya, bowing his head and smiling as the woman walked off.

            “So you did it to secure someone’s good favor?” said (Y/N).

            “Business connections are made from good impressions and word of mouth,” said Kyoya, the trained response of someone used to being PR for his family coming out.

            (Y/N) smiled and chuckled. “That’s true, but not everything you said was.”

            Kyoya glanced at them. “Oh?”

            “There was a crow around the vendor,” said (Y/N). “You couldn’t see the woman’s ring.” They smiled so knowingly at him that Kyoya was worried they were staring right into his soul. “Thank you all the same for helping.”

            They understood why he’d done it. Kyoya faltered for but a moment, and then he cleared his throat to respond. “I—”

            Bring! A loud ring sounded over the PA system, and everyone paused.

            “Attention customers,” said the voice. “There is a lost child. Please be on the lookout for Kyoya Ootori. The missing child is Kyoya Ootori.”

            (Y/N) and Kyoya paused and just stared at one another. Huh?

            “His guardian, Mr. Suoh, is waiting at reception on the second floor,” continued the announcement. “Kyoya is 181 centimeters and wears glasses. He has on a patterned shirt and jeans. The child is currently penniless, and his guardian is extremely worried. If anyone spots him, please contact our staff immediately.”

            People glanced at Kyoya strangely and began to whisper. It was strange, after all, for a young adult to be referred to as a child. It was possible, though, that there was something wrong with him…

            A giant irk mark appeared on Kyoya’s forehead. “I’ll kill him!”

            Poor Tamaki, thought (Y/N) again. He was in for quite the lecture (and punishment) from Kyoya.

l

            “Kyoya! Mon ami! I was so worried about you!” cried Tamaki as Kyoya approached reception. He ran towards his friend and jumped to hug him. Kyoya sidestepped and let him crash into the ground.

            “You called me a child because you didn’t leave me my wallet?” said Kyoya, looking down at him coldly.

            Tears came to Tamaki’s eyes. “I’m sorry! I was so worried!”

            “Yeah, and we know how grouchy you get without sleep and food,” said Kaoru, shrugging.

            “You could’ve been terrorizing the commoners,” said Hikaru.

            “You’re scary in the morning,” agreed Honey, and Mori nodded.

            A larger irk mark was appearing on Kyoya’s forehead. “I have better sense than that.”

            “Don’t worry, he was fine,” said (Y/N), walking up.

            “(Y/N)!” said Tamaki happily. “When did you get here?”

            “I go to this market regularly,” said (Y/N), smiling. “I happened to find Kyoya.”

            “You owe them money for lunch,” said Kyoya.

            “But I didn’t get lunch with them—”

            Kyoya glared at Tamaki.

            “How much?”

            (Y/N) chuckled. Kyoya held back a smile at the sound. Ah, well. Tamaki had caused him a lot of trouble, but at least he’d gotten time with (Y/N) out of it.

Taglist:

@roo024

@jmclouds

@yappydoo

@ramblingsoftheill

@girgal73

@rockerica

@nosoyyo1213

@ritzes28

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[cupidbedsy]

emma ! Congrats on 1k !! I'm so happy for you ! Mwah !

can I get🪻with the prompt "Stop giving me hope. It hurts so much more." for Luke Hughes please !

How about the reader and Luke dating but he's going to Jersey so they decide to end things, but Luke just keeps giving reader hope. Maybe it ends with one showing up to the others place?

but, if you get another idea feel free to do it ! 🫶🏼🧡

✿ CUPID'S FLORAL SHOP ✿

here's a freshly picked lonely lavender 🪻 !

warnings: breakup, reader not really trying to fight for the two of them

word count: 774

florist cupid: thank you ana 😚 i hope you enjoy some little lukey angst mhm

both of you knew it was going to happen soon, between the rumors online and between the talks luke's been having, you knew it was coming up but neither of you wanted to be the first to bring it up.

so for two weeks, you acted like everything was normal: hanging out in your rooms watching movies, going out on date nights, and taking late-night drives around campus.

but soon the anxiety started to eat at you, not knowing what your future was going to be like once he left, if you two would make it through the two years you still had to be in michigan.

luke could see it tearing you down every time you guys hung out, you bit your lip more than usual, went from leaning into his hugs to scooting away from him a second later, short text messages, the lot.

the lack of communication between you two was putting a damper on any hope you could have had for your relationship after he went to new jersey, and now? maybe you weren't so sure if you should continue this.

you showed up to his place after your last class of the day. you knew he didn't have practice and it was uncommon for you to come by unannounced, everyone had gotten used to you walking in, saying your quick greetings and then making your way to luke's room without another word.

you knocked softly on his door, twisting the handle once you heard his familiar 'come in'. you walked in, setting your bag on the ground near the door and made your way over to his bed, sitting on it.

"hey baby."

you internally cringed at how happy he looked, he had been putting on a brave face for the both of you these past few weeks. as much as he wanted this to work out and keep you by his side for the rest of his life, he knew he couldn't, but maybe he would change your mind.

"hi."

there was no mistaking luke's frown when he heard your soft voice, almost as if you were scared all the words would tumble out as soon as you opened your mouth.

"what's wrong?"

you took a deep breath before speaking, "i don't think i can do this anymore."

"what do you mean?"

"i mean that you're going away soon and i don't know if i can do this whole long-distance thing. you're going to be busy with practice and games and i'll be busy with homework and exams and i just- i'm scared we'll get too engrossed in our lives and forget about each other."

"i wouldn't forget you, y/n/n-"

"luke... maybe it's for the best. maybe we need to focus on ourselves and just not worry about putting each other on the back burner."

"sweetheart, i would never put you on the back burner. you're the most important person in my life, i'm always going to put you first." he reached for your hand, taking it in his larger ones, warmth radiating through you.

tears pricked your eyes and you did everything in your power to keep them in, but as soon as one fell, the others were quick to follow.

you shook your head at his words as they finally registered in your mind, "luke we can't. we're going to get so busy and-"

"i'm going to do everything i can to make sure you feel like i want you in my life, because i do, baby. nothing, not even 600 miles, is going to change that."

your voice cracked as you spoke again, "stop giving me hope, lukey. it hurts so much."

luke could feel his heartbreak at both your words and your voice crack. slowly he released your hand, nodding as you stood up and walked toward your bag.

no more words were spoken between you two, just the unspoken agreement that the past year and a half were nothing more than a memory now.

━。゜✿ ゜。━

two days later and luke was gone, in new jersey and all you were left was the deep pit in your stomach of guilt and sadness. you missed him, much more than you thought you would and much more than you wished you would.

you were so overwhelmed with the guilty feeling that you couldn't help your impromptu trip to new jersey. and now here you were, standing in front of jack's apartment getting ready to knock.

but just as you were about to rap your knuckles against the door, the door opened and you were met with the face of your boyfriend, or ex-boyfriend.

"y/n?"

"luke."

back to the shop ! ; navigation !

[empty-plastic-water-bottle]

Thanks for the tag!!!! It didn't have the right stuff and I felt like it made me look more feminine which I don't like that much.

@i-had-a-bad-feeling @kermit-the-fag-uwu @abbyth3w1tch @lavendes @new-zee-land @anyone else i might have accidentally forgotten

starting a picrew tag game bc why not, let's see how far this goes

create yourself as a child then yourself now using this picrew :)

@percyweasleyapologist @garden-of-runar @mairon-goth-minion @printershorts @elisedonut @sarkylittlemonster @beanthebugboi @art-isnt-arting @guess1mjustheren0w @callmesel @lirenthenonlyrist @postsbycass @winn-wynn @n1cc0l0-f13rr0 + whoever else wants to join :)

[hmhas-00]

Ch. 14

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- oh my GOD I’m so sorry I missed last Thursday’s post! I’ve been all over the place lately. Not in the best mindset right now due to the current state of this country lmfao. 😫 But I hope you love the chapter! I will still be posting this Thursday!

Billie’s POV

The bright rays of light shined through the small window, giving our skin a golden glow. Remy was facing away from me with her leg wrapped around a pillow. Her thigh escaped the fabric of her long t-shirt, showing off her toned legs. I caught a glimpse of the delicate embroidery that adorned the edges of her hips. The lavender lace hugged her curves, peaking from beneath her shirt. My eyes traced her figure, giving me an uncomfortable amount of goosebumps.

I laid still, wondering what time it was. I thought about what Remy shared with me yesterday, and how shocked I was. When those words came out of her mouth, I swear the world paused for a second and I felt like I couldn’t control my facial expressions. I thought about how I might’ve come off to her about, and if she took it wrong. I thought about if I blew my cover, or if she might’ve gotten the hint that it got my hopes up a little.

At the same time, her liking girls and never showing any interest in me broke my heart. Knowing she’ll take another girl to my party today hurt in a way I couldn’t describe. It was bittersweet. I went from being sad about her not being into women to being sad about her not being into me. However, it meant I had a chance.

Pulling me out of my thoughts, Remy began to shift in bed, throwing her leg off the pillow and turning to face me. She yawned, opening her eyes slowly.

“G’morning pookie.”

“What time is it?” She pulled the covers over her.

“I don’t know. You hungry?” I propped elbow up, leaning on my hand.

“Kinda. I want some cinnamon rolls.” She smirked, stretching a bit. She scooted closer to me and hugged me. “You’re actually here!” She said, her voice muffled into my chest.

“I am.” I smiled.

She pulled away, looking at my forehead and lightly tapping it with the tips of her hand, making a smacking noise. She laughed, getting out of bed.

“Okay.” I laughed, getting up and following her out to the kitchen. We reheated the cinnamon rolls in the oven and poured more icing over them, of course. We had some iced matcha tea and sat around yapping.

Later in the day, I sat in her room, watching her get ready. The time and detail she dedicated to her face routine enamored me. The precision in her brush strokes were so satisfying, and so calculated.

“It would look so cool if you smudged it a little. Like make it kinda smokey?” I tilted my head, looking at her through the mirror.

“Oooh, yeah!” She looked closer, in the mirror at her winged liner.

I took a little rubber ended brush, and kneeled on the floor next to her little vanity. She closed her eyes for me as I took the tip and began to gently glide it over her waterline and top lid. I held my breath, catching a glimpse of the soft contour of her lips, creating little smile lines. I gazed down at them in a focused, almost hypnotic stare, as my lips mirrored exactly the way her’s slightly parted. I fought the tingling urge to kiss them softly and close the gap between us.

Realizing I was entranced, I snapped out of it and continued my smudging. I couldn’t help but locking my eyes on her features every now and then. They were so unique, so symmetrical. I finished out the first eye, moving onto the next.

“Almost done…” I whispered.

She giggled, “Your breath smells like cinnamon rolls.”

“Stop moving!” I laughed a bit, concentrating on the wing. “Okay, there.” I sat back, admiring my masterpiece. She leaned into the mirror to see up close. “That’s so dope.” I nodded, smiling.

“Love!” She gushed over my work, finishing the rest of her face.

******

We headed out after she packed an overnight bag to crash at my house.

The house had already been transformed for the night thanks to the party planner who had stopped by earlier. Everything was perfectly spooky.

We changed into our costumes, leaving our former outfits on my room floor. The guests would start arriving soon and wanted to be ready in time.

“Do I look like him?” Wearing a yellow beanie, a red zip up hoodie, and gray sweats, I began drawing small lines on my face to resemble his facial hair.

“Oh my god! Todd, you’re so hot! Can I, like, have your number?”

“Maybe if your name was Princess Carolyn.” I joked as she stuck her tongue out at me.

She put on her heels and stood straight, proud of her attire. The way the holographic glitter highlighted the skin on her collarbones made her aura look celestial. Ethereal, even.

I walked over to her and straightened my shoulders, trying to measure up to her new hight. Anytime she wore heels, she was taller than me by at least half foot. She giggled, exaggerating and bending down to my level.

“Look at you. You don’t even have to get on your knees.” She teased, cracking herself up.

“And I’ll STILL kick your ass.” I shoved her playfully.

******

Before I knew it, the moon was out, and guests were appearing, one after another. A good friend of mine was DJ-ing tonight. She always elevated the vibe. I walked around greeting everyone, thanking them for making it. Everyone looked so good, most of them going all out with their costumes.

In the midst of chatting with friends, I lost sight of Remy. “Excuse me, I’ll see you around. Have fun tonight!” I scanned the sea of dancing faces, searching for a familiar feature distorted by the red-tinted lights overhead. The crowd was only a swirling vortex of fleeting blurs, until I saw her signature smile.

She was dancing with a purple drink in one hand, and someone’s grasp in her other. I watched as the tall, thin, curly haired girl in a white tank and black denim straight-leg jeans spun her around. I watched as she devoured Remy with her eyes, taking in her body flowing like liquid silk as she moves to the loud beat.

When she noticed me, her arms reached out in delicate gestures. Her smirky expression a mixture of joy and concentration, each step seemingly weightless as she glides across the floor to me with her captivating energy. “Billie!” She shouted over the music.

“There you are!” I smiled, looking from her to her date. “Is this your friend from work?” I asked, hoping it would somewhat undermine her. She wasn’t even in costume.

“This is Stevie.” Remy introduced us, completely letting it go over her head.

“Hey, thanks for the invite, it’s great to finally meet. Rem talks so much about you.” Her voice had an undeniable, but slight English accent. Fuck me. Of course she has a cool accent.

“Really? That’s funny, because she hasn’t really talked about you too much.” I teased.

“Dude.” Remy wrapped her arm around my waist without Stevie noticing, poking a finger into my rib cage, making me flinch.

“What, it’s true! Just yesterday-“ I started to explain, but she cut me off. Stevie looked between the two of us, reading into our exchange.

“She’s just kidding.” Remy laughed, digging her finger into my side a bit more, making me laugh from the tickling feeling.

I shook my head, “No, I’m just playing. I’ve been on tour so we did some catching up last night.”

“I can imagine, you guys seem so close.” She nodded. “So, are you… Jesse from Breaking Bad?”

I looked down at my clothes, then back up at her. Remy snorted. “No. You’ve never seen Bojack Horseman? I’m Todd!” I held out my arms.

“Oh fuck. No, sorry.” She laughed, “You look cool though! I wish I had time to find a costume. I feel so out of place.”

“I know, it was a last minute invite, that’s my bad.” Remy rubbed her arm, “Don’t worry, you look so good! Right Bills?”

I smiled, “Yeah, great.” I nodded, trying my best to be nice, but their touches made me feel my own skin burning.

“Aw, don’t be too sweet.” They exchanged looks.

I cleared my throat, not knowing what to say next. “You guys keep dancing, I’m gonna go grab a drink.”

“Okay!” Remy smiled at me. I could tell by her face she was already starting to feel a buzz. I gave her a small smile and turned around, leaving them behind.

At the drink table, Finneas chatted with some friends. I interrupted, dapping everyone up.

“Hey! We’re festive as shit in here!” Finneas hugged me.

“At least y’all know who I’m dressed as.” I rolled my eyes.

Finneas looked confused, having no context to my complaints. “Where’s Remard at?” He said in a goofy voice.

“She’s over there with her date.” I pointed with a head tilt.

He looked over, seeing her dance with Stevie. “Date? Wait what?”

“Yup.”

“Brotherrr she’s-“

“Yes brotherrr.”

He laughed, looking at me with comedic pity. “I’m sorry, this isn’t funny, but it’s fucking funny.”

“Go fuck yourself.” I laughed, wiping the seriousness off my face.

He grabbed my shoulders. “Sorry brother. But hey, if it makes you feel better, she’s definitely not gonna win the costume contest.”

“Fuck off.” I laughed, shaking my head and pouring a ginger ale.

“You drinking tonight?” He asked, watching my hands.

“Noo way.” I emphasized, raising my brows. “Last time I drank at a party we all know how that turned out.”

“Try to have fun though. Take it slow. Be in the moment.” He rubbed my upper back. “You got this, Todd.”

I smiled, “Thanks, I’ll do my best.”

The rest of the night was spent going back and forth between Remy and everybody else. I kept gravitating towards her, but felt too awkward to stick around. I’d watch them dance, or talk, but the way Stevie hovered all over her ticked me off. Like she was trying to mark her territory or something.

Towards the end of the night, I could no longer find Remy or her friend. I had made my way around the entire first floor, including the kitchen, and even checked the patio, where some people were smoking or talking, away from the loud music.

Suddenly, sheer panic went down my spine as the thought of them alone together upstairs dawned on me. I hurried up the stairs and knocked on every door, opening it and seeing nobody. Thank God people chose to be respectful and not make themselves comfortable in any of my rooms this time.

I asked around downstairs if anyone had seen her, but none of them did. I went up to my friends Ava and Jane, who were sitting on the couches playing cards with some others.

“Hey have any of you seen where Remy went? I can’t find her anywhere.”

One of them squinted their eyes, looking around, “I think she might’ve left with that tall chick she was dancing with.”

“Yeah, I think I saw them go out the front door a while ago.” Ava nodded.

I couldn’t hide my disappointment, “Fuck, man!” I walked away, going towards the foyer and pulling out my phone. No calls or texts from her saying goodbye. It wasn’t like her.

I opened my front door and stepped out, looking for her car, only to see her sitting on my porch swing. She was alone, looking into space, seemingly distracted. She jumped, caught off guard when the swing swung a little more as I sat next to her.

“God, you scared me.” She put her hand on her heart.

“My bad.” I laughed a bit, knowing how easy she was to scare. “You okay?” I looked at her.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She looked away. “I feel stupid.” She said, looking down at her tights, rubbing her thighs up and down.

“Why’s that?” I tilted my head, watching her uncertain movements.

She laughed this breathy laugh that I’m sure was aimed at herself, “So, I thought we were vibing. And I felt like she was really into me…”

“Oh no…” I put my arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

She groaned, giving into my pull. “I’m dumb, I kinda ruined the mood.” She shook her head.

“Tell me, what happened?” I swung us with my legs at a steady pace.

“We were kissing, it was getting really intense. Like tongue and hands and all.” She started.

My stomach turned, wanting her to spare me the details.

“And she asked me if I wanted to go back to her place, or if we wanted to go to my place because she has roommates.”

“Ah, and they were roommates.” I joked.

“Yes, they were roommates.” She groaned, laughing through the pain. “And I told her I wanted to stay here because I’m staying with you tonight, and then she assumed me and you were like a thing? And she was basically implying that it was cool and she does the same thing too. And I’m a literal idiot because I was like wait what? You sleep with Billie too?”

I laughed, following her rant as her voice grew more intense and changed tones for each person she quoted.

“And she was like no, and I was like neither do I, and she laughed, so I was like thank god I’m funny! And then she asked me if I still wanted to hook up.”

I laughed as the story just kept getting worse. “You’re a certified dork.”

“Ugh! And then! I was like look, I really like you! And she got all weird, and told me relationships aren’t really her thing, and basically I made everything weird so she left and told me she’d see me around at work.”

“Oh, man, Rem, that’s rough. I’m sorry.” I rubbed her arm, continuing to swing us. “She’s probably driving home mad she didn’t get to smash.” I tried to make her laugh.

“I’m so dumb. I was just like oh, yeah same! Sooo lame. I literally hate myself.” She chuckled at herself.

“No, you’re not. You’re sweet.”

“I got all dressed up for nothing.”

“Nooo, you got all dressed up for the party, silly. You still look fine as hell!“ I pointed at her body, emphasizing how great she looked.

“I feel like I wasted tonight on her.”

“Tonight’s not over yet. We can still go in there and have the best time.” I smiled, wiggling my brows at her, trying to persuade her to forget all about it and dance with me. I got up and pulled on her arms, “You can request a song and we can shake ass!”

She laughed, getting up with me. “Okay, okay.”

Inside, we asked the DJ to play our favorite stuff and instantly got lost in the rhythm, our bodies swaying in perfect sync. Half of the guests had already left at this point, and only our favorite people surrounded us. The energy was electric and vibrant. This is what I had looked forward to all night.

Eventually, most of our friends had left, including the DJ. The lights came back up and we decided to play a giant game of uno with the people that were left. It was the perfect end to the perfect night. We screamed over each other, laughed until our bodies ached, and before we knew, it was 3am.

As people began to head out, we said our goodbyes and got out of our costumes upstairs in my room.

“That was so much fun. That was my favorite part of the night.” I sighed, lying on the bed as Remy searched my drawer for something comfy to sleep in.

“It’s exactly what I needed.” She smiled.

I kept the same smile on my face, falling into a train of thought so deep that my eyes trailed around where Remy went. I looked at her tattoos and her back muscles flexing as she lifted her arms to slip on my shirt.

She looked up and held my gaze without me even noticing. “You tired?” She asked, walking towards me.

“Not really.” I hummed.

She climbed up. I watched her crawl over to me from the foot of the bed, all the way up to the giant, beige, upholstered headboard I rested my back on.

“What do you wanna do?” She sat in front of me, putting her hair up in a pony tail.

“I don’t know.” I licked my lips, trying to keep them moist since my Aquafor was out of reach. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

She looked to the side, thinking about it for a moment, then nodded. “I guess.”

“Unless you wanna do something else?” I suggested, watching her get under my covers.

She propped up two pillows and leaned back on them comfortably. “No that’s cool with me.”

I turned on the tv and scrolled through Amazon prime to find a movie. “Hey, I’m sorry about Stevie. I know how much you like her.”

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have invited her anyway. She was hard to talk to. I felt like I was trying so hard to be interesting to her. You know that feeling?”

“That’s the worst.” I shook my head, picking a movie and pressing play.

We watched the opening credits in silence, letting the melatonin in our bodies spread and make our eyes heavy.

She gently took my hand in hers and interlocked our fingers. “Thanks for making my night. You always make it better.”

She kept her eyes on the movie, probably not realizing how it made me feel. How much harder it made it for me to breath. My eyes darted between our hands and her side profile, careful not to turn my head at all. I tried my best not to let my chest heave as I tried to control my sudden racing heartbeat.

No matter how platonic it is, my heart doesn’t know any better. I just squeeze her hand, letting her know I am here, and I’m not going anywhere.

[multiheadcanons]

THINGS THE MERCS WOULD WEAR OUT OF MY CLOSET

scout: he’s taking all my sweatpants and my boxers. i’ll never see them again. they won’t fit him because my waist is bigger than his. i feel like he’d very specifically take the sweatpants i used when i was younger and cosplayed as scout, and they would be his favorites without him putting much thought into it. they’re comfy! he might go through my sweaters, but i don’t think any would really catch his eye. i would insist he takes one of my many winter coats i don’t use. i just want him to be warm he worries me sometimes. and i need to get rid of these damn coats. i don’t know how they didn’t make it to the donate pile.

soldier: i have a single pair of decent steel toed work boots that are two sizes too big for me and i think him and engie would fight over them. they’re good boots. no brand on them. they’re khaki though. engie would probably get more use from them. and he’s gonna make fun of me because i have a single pair of matched socks and the rest of them are thrown in there. he’s welcome to organize the drawer if he really feels some type of way about it. gonna be really confused by the cropped jacket.

pyro: pyro would take my cloaks. they might also take my slippers (they’re cows), but my cloaks are definitely gone. they would also attempt to take my boot cut lavender levi’s jeans. i would definitely fight them for those pants though, they’re my favorite freakin pairs. they would be very confused as to why i have so many slips in colors i don’t own in my closet otherwise until i tell them that they’re summer nightwear. then they’d ask if every dress was my nightwear. and i would have to ask myself if i really want to keep all of my dresses or if i want the faceless murderer to have them instead. maybe leave the pink one, please? and we would be having many serious conversations about the taylor swift merch. i’m willing to part with some stuff but i’m fighting on others.

demo: all of my turtlenecks are gone. i’ll never see them again. that’s on me though, i have like five different black turtlenecks that have different textured fabric. if he could leave me at least one, preferably the ribbed one, that would be so awesome. and if he’ll leave me my velvet while it’s still cold outside that would be equally awesome thank you tavish. he would probably be the one to take my knit sweaters. i’d beg for the dysphoria sweater to be left. please leave me my one dysphoria sweater.

heavy: i think i maybe have three sleep shirts that are actually in heavy’s size, and they would just be normal shirts on him. one of them is a texas tourist shirt, one of them is a game grumps shirt, and the last one is my unus annus buddy system shirt. he can have the texas one. we would actually have to fistfight for my game grumps shirt, i had to wait like six months for the restock, and i’m snatching my unus annus shirt directly out of his hands. it’s not even getting unfolded for him to look at. he’d find it humorous that i’m emotionally attached to these shirts, and wouldn’t take anything. appalled by what i call my winter coat.

engineer: he would first try to take my one winter coat that i wear exclusively, which is actually just a men’s green sherpa jacket i stole from my brother like 6 years ago at this point. i will kindly, yet firmly steer him towards the three other men’s winter coats currently sitting in my closet that i don’t touch. he’d probably end up getting the work boots. i’ll miss them. but they’re good boots.

medic: he is popping the lenses out of every frame of glasses i own. he’s got his own lenses he can put in them. i have nine sets of prescription glasses. i’m very serious about my glasses, i will never wear contacts so i need to have variety in my glasses. and he’s gonna decide he wants variety too. he’s maybe leaving me two if he decides he likes me that day. i would have to beg at his feet to not leave me my worst pairs. but he’s not leaving without almost every set i own. he would have me begging him to get out of my room. he’s like… the worst sister in the world. he’ll rag on my clothing tastes and then say “oooo! i’m taking this.”

sniper: he’d probably go through my pullovers. his legs are longer than mine, so i don’t think he’s going to fit any of my pants. but he can fit my pullovers. he could take them, i wouldn’t care. mostly opts for my neutral pullovers, or the quarter zips. if he’d leave me one black crewneck i don’t care otherwise. i don’t think he’d take anything though. he might take this thick, tight knit maroon quarter zip pullover. i’d let him, i hardly wear it. will go through my jewelry if he’s already allowed to go through my clothes.

spy: joining sniper in going through my jewelry. probably thinks my style is doodoo garbage. doesn’t get my shoe choices. annoyed by the extensive pairs of open toed fuzzy slippers. respected the glasses concept until medic took them, so there went that. appreciates the body jewelry selection. but he can’t wrap his mind around how all of the individual pieces could even come together to make semi coherent outfits. sorry not all of us can afford three thousand dollar suits…

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

the language of flowers

for @steddiemicrofic february prompt - rose and my second @steddiebingo fill - flower shop au

pairing: steddie | rated: G | wc: 367 | on AO3: the language of flowers

The first time he came in, he was picking up an order.

A bouquet Eddie had put together the night before; dwarf sunflowers, zinnias, baby’s breath, and goldenrod.

An odd combo, sure, but this was the guy who Chrissy said was so earnest on the phone the other day while placing the order. Said he’d looked up flower language to make sure he was putting the right feelings behind this bouquet for his best friend’s graduation.

And the moment he stepped through the door, Eddie was in love. The perfect swoop of his hair, the beautiful hazel eyes, the bright smile...

The man, Steve, lit up as soon as he saw the bouquet, gushing about how much his friend would love it and that he’d be back again soon.

The next time Steve picked up an arrangement, it was crocus, goldenrod, gladiosis, and dill (of all things) for a little brother who was “nervous about starting his Dorks and Dumbasses club even though he’s been playing forever.”

“...D’you mean Dungeons and Dragons?”

“That’s what I said.”

Eddie fell a little more in love.

It wasn’t until graduation season came around again that Steve did too, bustling in claiming he was late for his little sister’s high school graduation and thanking him profusely for his most recent order (daisies, hollyhock, morning glory, zinnias, and even more goldenrod).

Two weeks after his last visit, Steve called in another order.

Gardenias, peonies, calla lilies, and specifically lavender roses.

The meaning behind this one was clear.

Steve was in love.

Eddie thought about making it a little janky; using the more wilted blooms, not wrapping it up the best he could.. But he couldn’t do that. Not to Chrissy, not to Steve (...but maybe a little to the person Steve was giving this to)..

So, Steve picked up the beautiful bouquet meant for someone else, gave Eddie another beautiful smile, and left, the jingling of the bell on the front door leaving Eddie feeling hollow.

As soon as he was out of sight, however, Steve reappears; waltzing back through the front door and offering the bouquet in his hand to Eddie.

“Would you maybe like to get dinner with me sometime?"

divider from @ saradika! also putting my steddie bingo board below the cut, both 'filled' and blank 🤗

[cinnamonbunpuff]

thanks for the tag!!

last song: helium by glass animals (been in my GA phase recently, banger stuff to listen to walking to classes)

fav colour: muted lavender-ish (smth like #8f7dba)

last book: my biostats textbook ?? (when was the last time i read a book? havent read much at all, the last things i remember were fics - maybe bookwise the sun and the star but like a part of it)

last movie: love, simon (like, just finished it 15 min ago)

last tv show: squid game (been watching with my roomies!)

last thing i searched online: "milk price at trader joe's" (lol i wanted to check out the trader joe's near my uni but i wanted to see how the prices compared to what i usually got (me when i go to the store to get milk))

sweet/savoury/spicy: mmm love sweet stuff but also savoury equally

current obsession: my stand partner prolly, it's actually borderline concerning 😭 (being hopelessly in love, but the more serious answer is the life series)

looking forward to: getting boba with the other officers in the club im in at uni! (and seeing my stand partner tmrw at rehearsal 😭) (oh and SNOW!! it's been lightly snowing occasionally here but i was sleeping every time)

@redd-underscore @m00nagedreamin @neapolitan-cat @too-much-sunshine and anyone else!!

Get to Know Me Game

Tagged by the lovely @blacktofade!

last song: Stay Golden by Saint Motel

favorite color: @ prev yellow gang rise up!!!!

last book: I am currently reading The most self-indulgent thing ever, which is Pride and Prejudice in Space by Alexis Lampley. It has two of my favorite things: Pride and Prejudice and a truly astonishing amount of worldbuilding, like I am taking so many notes on how Lampley did her worldbuilding. Also she illustrated it herself and I have mad respect for that this book is gorgeous.

last movie: Nosferatu! I have not stopped thinking about it. I need to see it again immediately because I wasn't paying close enough attention to the plot, I got distracted by the way they were clearly taking cues from Expressionist filmmaking styles of the 1920s. There's a shot that reads exactly like one of the backgrounds of Das Cabinet to me and I am trying to stay normal about it.

last tv show: Leverage :D Jim and I are poking at a leverage au to and I'm using it to keep from obsessing too hard over my other projects & as a cute little cooldown/warmup thing and I'm having SO much fun with it!

sweet/spicy/savory: Spicy food all the way down. I have a major sweet tooth, but spice ekes out the win because it's all I can eat when I'm sick.

last thing I searched for online: "Seamstress's Guild" for Only Silver reasons. I wanted to make sure I wasn't being subtle with the reference I was making. Before that it was "Capet-Plantagenet Feud" for Dirges reasons.

current obsession: the upcoming chapter of Only Silver has officially invaded my dreams, so does that count?

looking forward to: I'm headed to the coast this weekend! it'll be my first real vacation in a hot minute because I spent 80% of last year unemployed.

Thank you for tagging me, Jo! <3

No pressure at all to anyone! (And let me know if you'd prefer I not tag you in these <3 ) but I'll go ahead and tag: @hitheeprithee @canarydarity @azzayofchaos and @slooopes!

[self-spaghettification]

fun little smell headcanon for you goofy guys

aaravos would smell like steak and pee.

can't have nice things anymore

[crimeronan]

one big thing about polyshipping for me is, like. you know how some people will have their eyes opened to homoerotic relationships in media bc they'll realize, "wait, if these people were two different genders, i'd 100% assume they're into each other. i have a double standard that i never noticed"?

there's a polyamorous equivalent in certain media that's basically just. "if you didn't assume this character is monogamous, you would 100% believe they have crushes on & are dating all of their friends." OR, "if this character wasn't dating somebody else already, you would 100% interpret this new friendship of theirs as a crush/budding romance."

usually the creators of the media aren't thinking about polyamory when they make it! usually the creators of the media are thinking "i want this character's friends to be as important to them as their romantic partners, we don't get enough of that in media," which is great and true and also EXACTLY WHY IT WORKS AS A POLY NARRATIVE. people will be like you don't Have to polyship why can't you just let platonic relationships be important ugh 🙄 & i'm like i did my years in the "why can't two men just be friends why does everything have to be gay 🙄" trenches. you're not doing this to me. we're not doing it about polyshipping. we're skipping over that whole discourse cutscene because i am Too Tired For It. don't even start

sometimes characters are so full of love and affection and joy for so many people that i start gnawing off my hands about how polyamory isn't normalized. because i'll watch/read certain media and i'll be like. listen. this is a polycule. i know you don't know this because your creators don't know this and that is totally okay but you are a Wildly polyamorous person who's ambiguously trapped in the 2000s/2010s with Big Monogamy psyops eating your brain. please let me free you. please i can give you Everything .

PLEASE KISS YOUR FRIENDS

[joyfuladorable]

Turtle Titan in Terrible Trouble

[mofuubuns]

whitney's girl on the beach? 🥺

WODJSKALA OMG???? THEY LOOK SO CUTE AND PRETTY😭😭😭🫶🫶🩷💖💗💕♥️🩷💖 I LOVE THE SWIM SUITS TOO, IT MATCHES THEM SO WELL🥺🥺🥺 ALSO YOUR PC IS ADORABLE I LOVE HER SM!!!

They're having a nice day at the beach! Thank you so much for drawing my girl!🥺🙏��💗💕♥️

[theblackqueen-ofmyheart]

So I was just flipping my shit because my lavender seeds have sprouted and for some odd reason that made me think of lavender brown, which made me think of pansy, then petunia, then Lily, then fleur….what the fuck is up with JK and female characters named after flowers?

[cepheusgalaxy]

ughhhhhhhhhhh why am i so prone to complaining