#they got everything right about him and i am so happy

[f1girliefics]

Love in the Fast Lane

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: A road trip turns into a heartfelt journey of love.

The hum of the engine was a soothing backdrop as Lewis drove, his sunglasses reflecting the sunlit highway stretching out ahead.

You sat in the passenger seat, your hand resting lightly on the console between you, and you couldn’t help but notice the smile playing on his lips.

He had been unusually quiet about the details of this trip, only saying he wanted to take you somewhere special.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, turning to look at him.

He glanced at you, his smile growing. “Where’s the fun in that? Just trust me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Trusting you got me into a car at 6 AM with no coffee. I think I deserve a hint.”

“Alright, alright,” he said as he reached to squeeze your hand before putting his back on the wheel. “It’s somewhere I used to go before everything got... hectic. A place that helps me think, you know?”

“That sounds perfect. Thank you for bringing me along.”

“Where else would you be, Love?” he asked with a smile before you reached to change the music.

The rest of the drive was filled with easy conversation.

He pointed out random sights along the way.

A quirky roadside diner.

A vintage car that zipped past, and you teased him about how he couldn’t resist critiquing other drivers.

After a couple of hours, the car slowed as he turned onto a narrow, tree-lined road. The lush greenery enveloped the path, and you felt a thrill of anticipation.

“This is it?” you asked, peering out at the scenery.

“Not quite,” he said, his voice teasing. “We’ve got just a little more to go.”

The road opened to a breathtaking view of rolling hills, the sun painting the landscape in gold.

Lewis parked the car at a small overlook and got out, rounding the vehicle to open your door.

“Ever the gentleman,” you teased, taking his hand as you stepped out.

“Always.”

He led you to a spot where a blanket and a small picnic basket had been set up. You blinked in surprise, turning to him. “When did you do this?”

“Magic, and a little planning.”

You sat on the blanket, Lewis handed you your favourite soda.

Conversation between you two was always something extremely calming and natural.

As the sun began to set, casting everything in a beautiful, golden light, Lewis grew quieter.

You watched him, noticing the way he seemed to be gathering his thoughts.

“Hey,” you said softly, touching his arm. “What’s on your mind?”

He looked at you, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “Just thinking about how lucky I am.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Is that so?”

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small, velvet box.

Your breath caught as he opened it to reveal a stunning ring, the diamonds catching the sunlight even though there was not much sunlight left.

“Lucky that I get to spend my life with you,” he said, his voice steady but full of meaning and depth. “I’ve been waiting for the right moment to ask you this, and I realized there’s no such thing as the perfect time. Every moment with you feels right.” Your heart was pounding as he took your hand. “Will you marry me?”

For a moment, all you could do was nod. “Yes,” you managed to finally say, your voice breaking. “Yes, of course.”

He slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands steady even as yours trembled.

Then he pulled you into his arms, holding you close.

“Guess I’ll have to drive carefully on the way back,” he murmured into your hair.

You laughed through your tears of happiness, pulling back to look at him. “Why’s that?”

“Because now I’ve got my future wife in the car,” he said, his grin breaking through.

The rest of the evening was you going through Pinterest having to look at different wedding aesthetics, trying to find the most perfect one.

"Since you are a knight... can we hold the wedding in a castle?" you asked and Lewis laughed.

"So you can be the Princess and me the Knight in shining armour?"

"Or a nice Armani suit. I'm not forcing you into anything metal." Lewis nodded.

"We will do everything you want, Princess."

And as you drove back, you couldn't look away from your beautiful ring. A proud smile on his lips and a very happy one on yours.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ Ending 2 ~ 69

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,055ish

Summary: Your and Logan's relationship continues to progress.

Notes: Only three more chapters after this... I'm already crying... The next chapter is definitely going to be longer. There's going to be fluff and angst and it's going to set up the two different final chapters. HELP PLAN MY NEW LOGAN SERIES HERE.

Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks!

About a week later, you were finally feeling better and Logan brought date night to you in your living room. He had laid out a blanket on the floor with dinner set out on it. He was currently sitting against the couch with you leaning against him, sitting between his legs. The two of you were silent, enjoying the soft music Logan had playing in the background. Logan’s arms were wrapped around you, holding you to him as his head rested against yours, occasionally pressing kisses against it. 

Logan could tell that something was on your mind, the way you were tense against him and fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. But Logan wasn’t going to press you into speaking right now. He had a feeling that you’d tell him. He was simply trying to enjoy this moment: having you in his arms. Your skin wasn’t as cold as it had been since the incident, so he was going to take that as a win.

You leaned your head back onto Logan’s shoulder as your thoughts spiraled. You were getting sicker, quicker than you cared to admit. And you got a call today that only reminded you of how helpless you were.

“Lo?” You breathed out.

“Hm?” He hummed, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I… I got a call today.”

“Yeah?”

“It was from my job… They fired me because I miss too many of my shifts.”

“What? They can’t do that.”

“They can. And they’re right… and, if we’re honest with ourselves, I’m only going to miss more.” Logan tried to ignore the reason why you would miss so many more shifts. “Laura and I going to have to find another place to live.”

“No.”

“Lo—“

“Not a chance. You cannot move. How am I supposed to help you if you’re not right here?”

“I can’t afford it, Lo. I’m sorry. It’s killing me to even think about moving. And I haven’t even told Laura yet. I don’t want her to quit school. She has to continue forward, despite everything with me.”

“What if… and hear me out, baby… what if I move in with you?”

“I can’t ask you—“

“You’re not. I’m making plenty for the rent and have saved a lot of money to help with Laura’s tuition as well. I can just sleep on the couch or I can still stay at Wade’s and just help out. Baby…” 

Logan leaned to the side and pulled your legs into you. He then carefully maneuvered you to face him. Your eyes met his gaze and you lost your breath. He was looking at you with just seriousness and love that it caught you off guard. His large, rough hand came up to cradle your face.

“Let me help you,” he whispered. “Please, baby, let me take care of you… while I can, for as long as I can.”

“Lo,” you breathed out. Your head was slowly moving closer to his, your eyes falling to his lips.

“Yeah, baby?”

You leaned in further but before you could actually pressed your lips against yours. Laura came walking into the apartment. You pushed yourself away from Logan, trying to hide the embarrassment showing on your face.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Laura exclaimed, taking in the scene. “I didn’t realize—“

“It’s fine,” you quickly said, gathering the dishes to clean up.

“No, it’s not,” grumbled Logan.

“I can just go over to Wade’s,” Laura tried.

“Moment’s ruined. How was work and school today, kid?”

“It was good. How was your day?”

“Could have been better.” He glanced over at where you were now in the kitchen, washing the dishes.

“Sorry,” Laura whispered.

Logan ignored her as he began cleaning up. He kept glancing over at you, thinking about how the two of you almost had kissed. He wasn’t all too happy with Laura interrupting their moment, but he knew that it wasn’t truly her fault. Logan was beginning to wish he kissed you months ago, but understood that going at your pace was the most important thing now.

Laura headed to her room, not wanting to ruin whatever was happening between you and Logan more than she already had. You and Logan cleaned up in silence.

“I should probably let you rest,” Logan said as he wiped his hands dry.

“Yeah, okay,” you mumbled.

The two of you walked to the door. You opened it but the two of you stood there, gazing at each other.

“Thanks for tonight,” you quietly thanked. “And thanks for your offer.”

“I’m serious, darlin’. Let me take care of things,” he repeated. “Let me do this while I still can.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Baby,” his hands came up to gently hold your face, “please stop thinking so negatively of yourself. It hurts me when you say things like that.”

“Sorry…” Your hands came up to grasp onto Logan’s wrists, rubbing your thumbs along his pulse points. “I can’t help it.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Then I’m gonna have to keep reminding you about how amazing and beautiful you are.”

You rolled your eyes and giggled, “Lo.”

“It’s all true, doll. Every word.”

“I’m so lucky that I have you, Lo… I’m so blessed.”

Logan smiled at your words before his eyes fell to your lips. Your eyes fell to his lips. You took a step closer, dropping your hands from Logan’s wrists to wrap around his waist. Logan leaned in closer and your eyes fluttered close.

“There you are, Peanut!” Wade exclaimed, coming out into the hall.

You bit your lip as you stepped away, letting go of Logan. His hands dropped to his sides, clenching into fists as his claws poked out.

“Fuck!” Logan muttered.

“I’m going to head to bed,” you said. “Goodnight, Wade. Goodnight, Lo.”

“Night, Buttercup!” Wade said as you slipped into your apartment and shut the door. “Anyway, I have something for you, Peanut.”

“What could you possibly have for me that you needed to interrupt us?” Logan was clearly frustrated, which did not phase Wade.

“Here!” Wade handed over a box.

“A watch? Are you fucking serious?”

“It’s a smart watch1 It will allow you to stop losing track of time and for all of us to get a hold of you easier.”

“I hate you.” 

Logan shoved the box into Wade’s chest and stomped into their apartment.

“Is this because you need to get laid?” Wade shouted, following after the man. “Because I can totally help—“ Wade was cut off when claws plunged into his head. “Ouch.”

~~~

Despite the poor timing for the gift giving, Logan still woke up the next day and put on the stupid smart watch. He went to work as usual and on the way home, picked up your favorite treat. When he came into your apartment, Logan wasn’t surprised to see Wade already there for dinner. What he was surprised about was that you and Wade were sitting at the table and Laura was working on dinner in the kitchen.

“Lo!” You greeted happily as he sauntered over to you.

“Hey, baby,” he smiled. “Got you something.”

“You didn’t need to, Lo.”

“Wanted to. Here.” He pulled out your favorite treat and handed it to you.

“I was just craving these! You must be a mindreader.”

“Only yours, doll.” He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

“Hey! You’ve been living with me and you’ve never once brought me a treat!” Wade complained. “I even gifted you that watch you’re clearly wearing. I feel under appreciated here, Peanut.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “What? You want a forehead kiss, too?”

“You know what? Maybe I do! I deserve one for putting up with your grumpy ass all the time.”

“Oh my gosh,” you laugh. “If he bought you that watch, Lo, I think he deserves a forehead kiss.”

“I agree,” Laura piped in with a teasing smirk.

“Three against one here, babe.”

Logan immediately caught the new nickname and cheeks flooded his cheeks. You didn’t seemed phased at all, which was fine. He didn’t want you to stop calling him that. He would do anything for you, including give Wade a kiss on his forehead.

“Fine,” Logan huffed. 

Leaning down, Logan’s lips don’t get the chance to touch Wade’s forehead before Wade quickly moves and plants a wet kiss on Logan’s lips. Logan’s claws were out in record time and plunged into Wade, shoving him back.

“I fucking hate you,” Logan growled.

You and Laura were cackling, tears springing in your and Laura’s eyes at what had just happened.

“That was great!” You laughed.

“Wait, you’re not jealous, Buttercup?” Wade taunted. “I bet he’ll finally kiss you, too, if you ask him.”

“Wade—“

“Maybe I can finally fucking kiss her if we stopped getting interrupted!” Logan shouted. The room fell silent for a moment after Logan’s outburst. You reached out to grab his wrist but he pulled away. “I need a minute.”

“Lo—“

“I won’t be long.”

You watched as Logan hurried out of the apartment, practically slamming the door behind him. You glared at Wade.

“You went too far,” you told him, shaking your head.

“Hey!” Wade held his hands up. “I’m just trying to help. You both are the slowest movers.”

“Yeah, well, maybe how slow we go doesn’t matter.”

“It does when you’re on death’s door.” Wade immediately knew he had crossed a line when your face fell. “Shit! Buttercup, I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine, Wade.” You waved him off as you stood up. “I’m going to go find Logan.”

You quickly left. Laura went over to Wade and hit him upside the head.

“Idiot,” she muttered.

~~~

You found Logan on the roof. He was standing, over looking the street with an unlit cigar between his lips. You took a deep breath and moved your fingers ever so slightly. You winced at the pain as Logan’s cigar lit. Logan jumped at turned around to see you cradling your hand.

“Shit, baby,” he dropped the cigar and rushed over to you. “Why did you do that?”

“I’m fine.”

Logan took your hand and closely examined it. Your finger tips were blackened with little blisters already forming. His heart was breaking at the sight.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered.

“Sorry,” you quietly responded. “I just wanted to do something for you… I’m sorry for Wade.”

“You don’t need to be apologizing for that idiot.”

“And I’m sorry that we keep getting interrupted. If it helps, I want to kiss you too. I’ve wanted to for a while now, just been too nervous.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah… you make me nervous.”

Logan chuckled. “You have know idea how nervous you make me, baby… So, can I kiss you?”

“Mhm,” you hummed.

Slowly, the two of you went in. Your noses bumped causing the two of you to pull back with a laugh.

“Here,” Logan muttered. 

He gently took your hands and placed them on his waisted before his hands came to carefully cradling your face. You closed your eyes, allowing Logan to take the lead on this. His lips barely brushed against yours, hesitant to take the leap. But then his lips captured yours. It had been years since either of you had truly kissed anyone like this and you were both a little rusty, but that didn’t matter. You gripped his waist tighter as you melted further into the kiss.

Suddenly, you both were jumping as Logan’s new watch beeped in your ear. Logan groaned as he pulled away and allowed you both to look at his watch. You bit back a laugh as you read ‘abnormal heart rate detected’ on the screen. Logan’s face instantly heated up in embarrassment as his watch clearly called him out on how affected he was. 

“Damn watch,” Logan grumbled, ripping it off and throwing it across the roof. “I’m sorry, doll. That was embarrassing.”

“It’s fine, but am I going to have to worry about you having a heart attack if we kiss again?”

“Not a chance, baby.”

Logan pulled you in for another kiss, less hesitant this time. You let Logan take the lead again, just enjoying kissing him. When the two of you finally parted, your foreheads rested against each other.

“Be my girlfriend,” Logan panted softly.

You smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.”

next chapter >

[redrayvenrr]

Y'all are sleeping on Sweets headcanons, so I am here to pick up the slack (which ended up becoming a long rant, and I'm not sorry)

-Sweets' bitch from another ditch Gael is a tattoo artist, y'all know Sweets is Gael's test dummy

Sweets is probably covered head to toe in the randomists tattoos. They got at least one full sleeve, 7 of them are incomplete, and maybe like 3-5 of them are actually ones Sweets wanted

But I offer you Nat coloring Sweets' tattoos to the point where Sweets buys her temporary tattoo markers for her birthday

-Essence Eaters live longer than the average person, right? So Sweets could easily be twice Law's age but is still making fun of him and calling him an old man despite him being in his 20's (imagine Sweets being born in the 70's-80's and Law 90's-early 2000's XD Sweets is very happy that ripped jeans are back in style)

I also imagine Sweets with longer hair because at some point they decided that going to get a hair cut every month or so is too much of a hassle for how long their life span is (and I offer you Sweets eventually needing to dye their hair grey to match Law's so they still look like a couple to non-attuned (I'm not sorry))

Also, remember that in the "getting patched up-" video Law says that "this doesn't look like one of the little scuffles you do for fun at the circle"???? Hello??? Street fighter Sweets??? Go kick ass Sweets you got this baby

-And scars?? I'd imagine they'd obviously have the few you get from childhood, and if we're going with street fighter Sweets, then they probably have a bit more than normal. Like on their knuckles and maybe one on their cheek/forehead/lip/ankles or something. But ya know, it's just for fun, and every once in a while, they're not addicted to fighting or anything

But then the fight with Joel? Joel was out for blood, and Sweets practically died. There are definitely scars, one of which I imagine being a scratch over their eye cause I'm edgy like that (plus it makes sense that Joel would use everything in his arsenal to take down the all powerful Sweets which means nails and playing dirty).

But there is definitely a bite scar since he drained Sweets' lifeforce, which is why they were so concerned about Law getting scarred after the train incident. They don't want him living through that pain they feel every time they see their own bite scar (and ya know they can't live with the idea of hurting Law so "please at least don't let my mistakes scar")

-And speaking of the train incident Law stated that Sweets is strong as all hell and I'm here for it and I need them to crush a watermelon and Law looses his shit (buff Sweets for the wiiiin)

-Sweets' heartbeat was already a comfort for Law, but after Joel, you'll often find Law pressed against their heart. Cuddling on Sweets' chest is a must. When Law has a bad day, Sweets immediately presses him against their chest. Hugs often are one of Law's arms wrapped around them and his other hand press against their chest. Law sitting in between Sweets' legs so he can lean his back or shoulder against their heart

-I think it would be funny if Sweets also had an accent (like Bitish or Scottish or some shit) and everyone enjoys watching Nat struggle with her own accent because she'd have the weirdest mix of her father's southern, her mother's average american, and Sweets' (maybe a bit of uncle desdes)

(And while we're talking about Nat, when are we getting her dog!??! Please, I need the household to just become Spy X Family)

-Can we talk about how good Sweets is with kids? Where did you pick that up? Cause I just always imagined them as an orphaned only child? Like I physically can't see them with a family before Law and Nat, but maybe that's just me

(Maybe they grew up in foster homes and were always the older sibling of the group? Idk)

-One order of Sweets being good at the guitar and singing, strumming their guitar while Law plays the piano and singing Nat to sleep please

Sweets being in a band as a teen in the 80's/90's sounds like good blackmail for Gage to abuse (especially the hair) (but like imagine them doing a killer rift then proceeding to sing Def Leppard)

-I think their job would be like a metal worker or glass blowing, and I don't have an explanation as to why

-Sweets honestly feels like the most responsible and mature person out of all the characters they're just shit at taking care of themself and, say it with me: ✨️traumatized✨️

-I also imagine Sweets as a male, but that's my own problem

But imagine Nat finally calling them dad, and they just combust

Plus Sweets feels like one of those dads who drops a piece of lore then never speaks of it again (whereas Law is the hands on hips, legs apart dad pose (you know the one I'm talking about))

The idea of Sweets being "one of the guys" with Law's coworkers gives me life (because yes Love/Newbie is also a male cause if Desmond isn't just a pure gay man then you're wrong (honestly like 90% the listeners are male in my head)idk)

[airenyah]

A LOOK AT STYLE'S JOURNEY | Ep 10

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep6 | Ep7 | Ep8 | Ep9)

Would you look at that, I'm finally making it before the new episode again. Can you believe. Also, when I started writing this at first I thought that this one wasn't gonna be as long as my recent ones this time, but no. It's still at over 10k words. Oops. Someone shut me up.

HAVE FUN <3

Pronoun situation: As usual, just assume Fadel and Style use the rude pronouns guu/mueng with each other unless I specify otherwise.

To recap: After a turbulent roadtrip through the country, Style finally has his boyfriend back. Yay.

No. 1: Goodbyes

(Ok yes I am cheating with this section cover pic bc I stole it from the official THK twitter account instead of taking a screenshot directly from the episode as I usually do, but I'm just upset that we never got to see Fadel grab Style in the actual episode and so I'm commemorating it here, bye <3)

Their little island getaway is over and the hitmen drop their normie-boyfriends off at Style's place. Fadel reminds Style to change the bandage regularly and Style asks if they're not gonna be spending the night together and I'm already crying, because I'm already reminded of episode 6 only two lines into the new episode. Back in episode 6 Fadel was going on a mission and Style wanted him to stay the night so bad and back then Style couldn't even tell Fadel that he was fully aware of where Fadel was going and what Fadel was doing. Now in episode 10 everyone is aware of everything and yet Fadel still won't spend the night before the mission with Style. Style isn't happy about it, but accepts Fadel's decision without an argument. He does ask Fadel to call him and keep him updated, though. And again I cry as I remember how last time Fadel went on his mission, Style didn't hear from Fadel for an entire week and was worried sick about him. Style doesn't wanna go through that very same experience again. Fadel agrees to call and keep him updated, but then immediately also says that they shouldn't be in touch for a while for safety reasons. Style nods unhappily.

Then the hitmen drive off and the normie-boyfriends are left staring sullenly after the jeep. Kant is back to his usual pessimistic self, asking "Why do I have a feeling that we won't see them again?" This time even Style is too worried to act as the optimistic counterpart. Instead, Kant's comment clearly stresses him out and he scolds Kant not to jinx it. Style looks down and Kant puts a comforting arm around his shoulder. There isn't much they can do apart from waiting it out.

No. 2: When Will Our Husbands Return From War

As if the episode 6 callbacks from the first scene weren't enough, Style and Kant are now back at the restaurant where we saw them in episode 6, too. Back then, the brothers were just about to go on their mission and Style and Kant couldn't stop them, because they couldn't exactly tell them that they knew about their plans. This time around, the brothers already are on their mission, and despite everyone being aware of everything, Style and Kant still failed to stop them. Kant especially is quite irked by this as he goes on a rant. Style agrees, and while he's not exactly happy about the situation, he still seems to be taking it fairly well considering the circumstances. Or at least he seems to be dealing with it a little better than Kant is in that moment. Style does suggest Kant does a little sniffing around to see what their boyfriends are up to, but Kant reminds him that he already knows exactly what their boyfriends are doing. The problem isn't that Style and Kant don't know what Fadel and Bison are off doing, the problem is that they couldn't convince Fadel and Bison not to do it. Kant certainly couldn't stop Bison and he's convinced Fadel wouldn't listen to Style either. Style realizes that Kant is right. As much as they both hate it, in the end there isn't much the two of them can do except to wait for their husbands to return from war.

No. 3: Let Me Help

Let me just say, considering how similar both of the FadelStyle and the KantBison reunions are, I think that before Style and Kant left the restaurant in the above scene they did come up with a plan that wasn't just "let's wait for our husbands to return from war". And I think the plan is: "instead of sitting around, if we can't keep them from going on their mission, then let's get them to let us help them by acting pouty and grumpy so that they'll agree to take us along on their mission". Because both the KantBison as well as the FadelStyle scene have the normie-boyfriends acting upset only to end with them asking to help. However, I'm not sure Style actually needs to do a whole lot of acting here. Because I think he has valid reasons to be legitimately upset with Fadel.

Also, there's been debate about whether a time skip happened or not, and personally I'm leaning towards team time skip, because Style's gunshot wound is nothing but a band-aid by this point. Although, to be fair the injuries didn't seem to be a big deal when they were playing frisbee in the ocean either, so who knows with the healing times in this show. Might as well have been just a day or two that has passed 🤷‍♀️

Anyway, the scene starts with Fadel grabbing Style out of nowhere and shoving him into something. This is the third time this has happened over the course of the series and the fourth time in total that Fadel has ambushed Style from behind. Style is genuinely startled and I do wonder if Style re-lived that trauma of having been drugged and abducted at the hospital for a second there when Fadel grabbed Style's mouth like that. It genuinely scares Style for a moment and this would already be the first reason he has to be upset with Fadel in this scene, if we're already counting that. Because as much as he loves Fadel and even if he doesn't hold it against him at all, getting ambushed, drugged, abducted, tied up and held at gunpoint is quite a traumatic string of events to go through and I like to think that it left at least some subconscious marks on Style. He was also startled in the locker room (episode 2) and in the greenhouse (episode 4), but in both scenes, which both happened pre-abduction, his heart didn't nearly stop the way it does now (first of all, he explicitly tells Fadel "You scared me" and second of all, it's also in the heavy breathing. His breathing is much calmer in the other two scenes).

Fadel apologizes and Style is confused as to why Fadel is even here without a heads-up, because "Didn't you say we needed to stay away for a while?" Fadel explains "I can't help thinking about you" and.... well, in Thai he's actually more specific than that:

I'm worried about you. ก็กูเป็นห่วงมึงอ่ะ [gôh - guu - bpen hùuang - mueng - àh] well - I - be worried (about), be concerned (about) - you - [particle]

Fadel worries about Style and he immediately proves it when he continues to ask about Style's wound. Style tell him the wound doesn't hurt anymore, but "My heart hurts more". Style is really snappy and I think some of that anger is certainly played up to reach his goal, but I do think it comes from a genuine place as he explains a bit later: "You hurt my feelings. I thought you trusted me. You know I know everything, but still you push me away." And let me just...

I'm hurt that you don't trust me. น้อยใ���นะเว้ย ที่มึงไม่ไว้ใจกู [nói-jai - ná - wóiie • tîi - mueng - mâi - wái-jai - guu] hurt, upset, offended - [particle] - [particle] • that - you - not - trust - me Official subs: You hurt my feelings. I thought you trusted me.

Style is much more direct in Thai and he's actually accusing Fadel here. It's not just "I was under the impression that you trusted me now, but apparently I was wrong and the fact that I was wrong hurts me", it's actually "You are still not willing to trust me after everything and your distrust hurts me". And I think Style is right to feel upset about that. The two of them have been through so much at this point and Style has proven over and over again that he is worthy of Fadel's trust, but even now that there are no lies, no acts between them anymore, Fadel still won't trust him 100%. When Style's worked so hard to regain Fadel's trust the past two episodes. Style himself has been all in since episode 4 (he told him as much in the "be my boyfriend" scene) and I think it hurts Style that the person he loves won't return the same trust on an equal level. Especially when Style was literally here trusting Fadel even through the constant death threats, down to the moments where Fadel actually was about to shoot him dead. And yet, Style's trust remained. But Fadel still won't return the favor. Instead, Fadel is just pushing him out of his life again. That may have been a fun challenge for Style in the first couple of episodes, but now that genuinely hurts his feelings as I've already discussed in detail in my ep9 meta as well. Style loves Fadel and he cares about Fadel sooo so much and he just wants to be part of Fadel's life, dammit.

Fadel explains "Well, I'm worried about you.* I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire."

*กูเป็นห่วงมึงไง [guu - bpen hùuang - mueng - ngai] I - be worried (about), be concerned (about) - you - [particle] Official subs: I'm doing this for you.

But Fadel's worry still doesn't solve Style's issue of feeling like Fadel doesn't trust him and it still doesn't solve Style's issue of Fadel not letting Style participate in his life and it still doesn't solve the issue of Style explicitly asking Fadel to call him and to keep him updated and then Fadel just turning off his phone: "So you'd rather I wonder whether you're dead or alive? You think that'll make me happy?"

Style has been through this before. Last time Fadel went on a mission to kill Ruerat, he went completely MIA for an entire week and Style spent that week worried sick about him, stopping by the restaurant every single day (it's canon to me, idc idc). That week really wasn't fun for Style and neither was the time he's spent waiting this time around. Style hates the idea of their relationship to continue like this for the next foreseeable future. He doesn't wanna spend his life waiting to see if his loved ones live or die. Style has been through this before, and not just in episode 6, but also in his past as @nabi-unveiled points out: Style lost his mother to cancer and so he's familiar with the feeling of having to wait it out while not knowing how it will end. And back then, it ended in his mother's death. He doesn't want to go through this again. Style is legitimately upset and angry now and he voices his feelings in the most Style way possible: "It hurts more than getting shot."

And all that Fadel has to say on that? Is:

Can you not be so dramatic? มึงอย่าเวอร์ได้ป่ะ [mueng - yàa - wer - dâai - bpà] you - not, don't - be dramatic, exaggerate - can, be able to - ? Official subs: You’re so dramatic.

Fadel actually uses the slang term เวอร์ [wer] which I actually already went over in my ep3 meta. One of my irl-friends explained it to me a few months ago and I don't remember her exact wording (it was an oral conversation while we were out and about, not a written one) but she told me it comes from the English word "over" and it is used in the context of indicating that someone is being too much in the sense of someone is overdoing something (someone is doing/saying something that is "over" the level that the situation calls for). This article translates this slang term as "exaggerate" or "overstate" or "overreact". I'm going with "dramatic" for some consistency, since we've heard that in the series before.

"Can you not be so dramatic? (Can you not exaggerate/overreact/overdo it)?" Fadel asks and Style is offended at that request:

You always claim I'm dramatic. มึงก็หาว่ากูเวอร์ตลอดอ่ะ [mueng - gôh - hăa wâa - guu - wer - dtà-lòt - àh] you - [sentence link] - accuse of, claim - "over", exaggerate, overdo - always - [particle] Official subs: You love calling me that.

Yeah, Style actually repeats the slang term, so literally, when Fadel asks "Can you not 'wer'?", Style replies "You always claim I 'wer'."

This is funny, because I quickly skipped through all the FadelStyle scenes at 2x speed (no time for a proper rewatch if I have any hope of publishing this before ep11 drops) and if I didn't miss any, there were exactly two (2) instances of Fadel using เวอร์ [wer]. One of them I already discussed in my ep3 meta: when Style helps Fadel work at the diner in the scene where Fadel comes out to offer Style a burger he says "Don't 'wer'" when Style goes "You like me now, don't you?" The other instance is in episode 7 at the hospital when Style is really worried about Fadel's well-being, Fadel also tells him not to "wer". Other times when the subtitles have Fadel say something about drama, he actually uses the word ดราม่า which is literally the word "drama" transliterated in Thai letters. He uses it in the same episode 3 scene from above when he says "Don't be dramatic" after Style laments being exploited and he also uses the word "drama" when he tells Style to stop being dramatic when Style is crying in episode 8.

Either way, Fadel's words hurt Style. It hurts him that Fadel isn't taking his feelings seriously and instead undermines them. And so he tells Fadel: "If you really believe that, just go." I actually wanna share two other possible translations/interpretations of the line:

If that's the only way you think, then just go.

If you think nothing but that, then just go.

ถ้ามึงคิดแต่อย่างเงี่ย มึงก็ไปเลย [tâa - mueng - kít - dtàe - yàang ngîia • mueng - gôh - bpai - loiie] if - you - think - nothing but, only - like this, this way • you - then - go - [particle for emphasis]

And again, even if it is a ploy to get their boyfriends to yield, I think Style is legitimately angry about this. Because Style wants to be taken seriously in this relationship. Style also has feelings and he wants Fadel to take his feelings as seriously as Style takes Fadel's feelings. And he certainly doesn't wanna be told "you feelings don't matter" or "you're exaggerating" or "this is not a big deal". Only two episodes ago Fadel asked Style "You think that you deceiving me wasn't a big deal?" and Style took his anger seriously and acknowledged that what he did to Fadel was, in fact, a big deal. Now Style is the upset one and instead of Fadel taking him seriously or acknowledging Style's hurt in any way, again Style only gets told to stop overdoing it. And it's happened a couple of times. Back in episode 4 when Style was upset about getting nailed-and-bailed, instead of taking Style's hurt seriously Fadel took him out in the woods and nearly killed him (and then it actually ended with Style being the one comforting Fadel, even though Style was initially the upset one). It happened again in episode 8 when Style was crying himself to sleep and all he got from Fadel was "stop being dramatic" (Style doesn't know Fadel nearly broke and even if Fadel almost comforted him after all it doesn't change the fact that in the end, Fadel didn't, and Style still went to through the experience of crying himself to sleep uncomforted that night). And it's happening again now, where Style is legitimately upset and Fadel just undermines his feelings, telling him he's exaggerating. Style has a dramatic way of phrasing things, that's true, but it doesn't make his feelings any less real or any less important than Fadel's. And if it's always Style taking Fadel seriously and being there for him and offering him comfort, but then in return Style gets left hanging... Well, that's not the kind of relationship Style wants to have.

He wants a relationship on equal footing and what's more, in addition to Fadel not taking Style's hurt seriously, if Fadel keeps Style out of his life he might as well just not date Style at all. Because he can't just say he's Style's boyfriend and then not even participate or let Style participate in this relationship. Either Fadel is in for this relationship or he's out, but if he's out then that relationship is off, because again, that's not the kind of relationship that Style wants to have.

Style very firmly tells Fadel:

Really, go. No need to come back again. ไปจริงๆ ไม่ต้องกลับมาอีก [bpai - jing jing • mâi dtông - glàp maa - ìik] go - really, for real • no need - come back, return - again Official subs: Go, and don't come back.

The choice is Fadel's now: either Fadel starts taking Style's feelings seriously and starts taking Style's needs into consideration or Fadel can continue to keep Style out of his life, in which case Style will also keep Fadel out of his own life. In other words, they'll be over. Because this is not going to be just a one-sided relationship. Style isn't having that, no matter how much Style loves Fadel. He shoves Fadel and walks away.

Fadel catches Style's wrist. And I kinda love that, because last episode we had Fadel walking off grumpily and Style catching his wrist and pulling him back to make up with him and now we have Style walking off angrily and this time around Fadel has to make an effort to stop Style and to make up with him. And so Fadel grabs Style, pulls him back and tells him "I don't want to lose you". Yeah, exactly. Neither does Style. That's exactly what Style is so angry about right now. Because at the end of the day his anger boils down to him not wanting to lose Fadel. And now he finally gets to say what he's been meaning to say since the start: "That's why you need to let me help you." Fadel goes through a whole range of emotions while Style watches him, waiting. There is only one correct answer and Fadel knows it. And Style knows that Fadel knows it.

No. 4: Team Meeting

It worked. The hitmen brothers both agreed to let their normie-boyfriends help on their mission. Style is absolutely delighted and stoked about this, because he's fully back to confidently dropping flirty lines at any possible opportunity he gets. Fadel asks "Are you sure you want to do this?" and without missing a beat Style goes "Hell yeah. When I'm in, I'm all in, body and soul." As @clemelntine notes, Style's words parallel his words from when he was talking to Kant in the locker room back in episode 5. And if we take a look at the original wording we can see that this is even more so the case in Thai:

→ Someone like me puts all of their body and all of their heart into everything they do. คนอย่างกูอ่ะ ทำอะไรลงทั้งตัวทั้งใจอยู่แล้ว [kon - yàang - guu - àh • tam - à-rai - long - táng - dtuua - táng - jai - yùu láew] person - like - me - [particle] • do - something - enter (in) - whole, all - body - whole, all - heart, mind, spirit

For comparison, in episode 5 he says:

→ My body is already in it. ตัวก็ลงไปแล้ว [dtua - gôh - long bpai - láew] body - [sentence link] - enter (in) - already Official subs: I compromised my whole body, → And I gotta confess สารภาพเลยนะ [săa-rá-pâap - loiie - ná] confess - [particle for emphasis] - [particle] Official subs: and if we're being honest, → my heart is half in it already as well. ใจกูก็ไปครึ่ง​หนึ่งแล้วอ่ะ [jai - guu - gôh - bpai - krêung nèung - láew - àh] heart, mind, spirit - mine - also, too - go - one half - already - [particle] Official subs: I've already compromised half of my heart, too.

Five episodes later and it's not just all of Style's body and only half of his heart that is in, but now it's his whole body plus his entire heart that is in and that he also actively puts in. And not just that, his whole body and his whole heart are Fadel's, he's offered it all to Fadel in episode 8:

→ Take all of my cars, all of my body, and all of my heart. เอาไปทั้งรถทั้งตัวแล้วทั้งใจไปเลยนะ [ao bpai - táng - rót - táng - dtuua - láew - táng - jai - bpai - loiie - ná] take (away) - all of - car - all of - body - and - all of - heart, mind, spirit - away - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: Take my cars, my body, my heart.

And now here Style is, announcing without any hesitation that he actively puts his whole body and heart into everything. And what I love about this is that when he's speaking? His facial expression is serious and the tone of his voice is also very firm and determined and rather serious. But as soon as he finishes his sentence you can see just how much he fails to keep a straight, serious "I mean business" face. Style is so overjoyed that Fadel is finally including him and that he finally gets to be by Fadel's side that he can't stop smiling about it.

Fadel thinks Style is just exaggerating again and scolds him: "Don't say that just to be cool." Without missing a beat, Style replies "I'm not saying it to be cool, I'm saying it to be yours." In Thai, this is a pun on เอาเท่ [ao têh] (= "to be cool) and เอาเธอ [ao ter] (= "to get you" in the sense of wanting, taking). Also, pronoun switch! Because in his flirty line Style switches from the rude mueng that he usually uses with Fadel to the much sweeter ter. If you're unfamiliar with Thai pronouns, this is the you-pronoun that is typically used in love songs and many couples like to use it. Actors in CPs will also use this pronoun to tease their partner with a flirty line or joke. Style's deliberate use of ter makes his flirty line sound even flirtier than it already is (and I love that we actually did get a ter drop, because people were speculating about it after one of Dunk's lives this summer where he used "ter" as a pronoun to get across the gist of some scene that his mom helped him run lines for).

Kant announces that he too is all in and that he's qualified because of his past occupations. Style doesn't exactly have a criminal past or anything (as far as we know?), but he's confident in his abilities anyway:

No need to worry about my skills to get through situations smoothly. สกิลความเนียนของกูอ่ะ ไม่ต้องห่วงเลย [skill - kwaam niian - kŏng guu - àh • mâi dtông - hùuang - loiie] skill - smoothness - of me, my - [particle] • no need - worry, be worried - [particle] Official subs: You don't have to worry about me. Otherwise I wouldn't have made you be this crazy about me. ไม่งั้นไม่ทำให้มึงคลั่งรักกูขนาดนี้หรอก [mâi ngán - mâi - tam hâi - mueng - klâng rák - guu - kà-nàat níi - ròk] otherwise - not - make that, cause - you - crazy in love - me - like this, this much - [particle] Official subs: I'm good enough to make this dude fall for me, aren't I?

Yeah. Style has the audacity to say it straight to Fadel's face, not just because he's looking at him, but because he also explicitly addresses Fadel with "you". Gotta love his confidence. Style is truly in the bestest of moods now that he has his boyfriend back by his side and said boyfriend also lets him participate in his life. And again, Style can't stop smiling, especially when Fadel meets his eyes:

And again Fadel thinks that Style is just playing around and tells him off: "Stop joking. This is important to the two of us." But the thing is, Style isn't actually joking. Even if he's in a good mood right now, he still seriously means it when he says:

Your life is my life. ชีวิตมึงอ่ะ เหมือนชีวิตกูเหมือนกันนะเว้ย [chii-wít mueng - àh • mĕuuan - chii-wít guu - mĕuuan gan - ná wóiie] your life - [particle] • like - my life - also - [particle] Official subs: Your life is as important to me as my own.

Fadel is important to Style, no joke. Fadel doesn't have an answer. Bison suggests splitting up in teams to do some snooping and Fadel asks one more time if anyone wants to back off from this mission. He even looks directly at Style when he says "It's not too late to back off." But there is no way that Style is backing off now. As he told (and showed) Fadel last episode, Style is a man of his words. Also, he just wants this whole thing to be over so that he and Fadel don't have to live in fear. Besides, he's also sick of have to keep a distance from Fadel. Style is absolutely determined to be part of this mission, because he himself also has something to gain from it.

Style holds out his hand. One by one the rest puts their hand in, too. Well, except for Fadel. Kant gestures for Fadel to join and Fadel makes a skeptical face. Bison tries to encourage him with words, but it's only when Fadel looks over to Style that he rolls his eyes exasperatedly and also puts his hand in at last. As much as Fadel hates to see Style tag along on this dangerous mission, there is absolutely no way he can convince Style to stay out of it and Fadel knows it. And Style knows that Fadel knows it. He throws Fadel a very happy and pleased smile when Fadel puts his hand in and announces that he can finally have a boyfriend without being afraid of dying. When everyone except Fadel sits back down again, Fadel still looks pretty grumpy. Style grabs his hand and smiles at him encouragingly. And I'm almost offended that he doesn't kiss Fadel's hand when it's right. there. in front of his very lips. How is that not tempting?? I'd kiss that hand if it was my best friend, even, ngl.

No. 5: We're Off on a Secret Mission

Just as agreed in their team meeting, Fadel and Style go after Keen. And of course their mission has to start with them immediately bickering. We wouldn't have wanted it any other way. Fadel rebukes Style for not being inconspicuous enough and I laugh, because even though Style is the least experienced of them all, he still does a better job at it than Known Killer Bison who in a bit will just. STROLL AROUND ON THE GOLF COURSE IN HIS MOTHER'S LINE OF SIGHT????? More or less???? Make it make sense... 🤦‍♀️

Anyway, Style asks Fadel what he knows about Keen and we, too, finally get some insight into what Fadel and Bison's relationship is with Keen exactly. They were adopted together. He's the office guy. They don't actually have much to do with him, nor do they care much about him. Style feels bad for Keen. And somehow that seems right for Style. To me he seems like the kind of guy who'd want people to feel included. But then Fadel informs Style that this exact pitiful guy was the one who tried to kill them. Nevermind. Fuck this guy. Pity is out, revenge is in. Style wants to get back at him. But Fadel asks him: "What are you gonna do? Shoot him?"

Guys!! If you remember, in my ep9 meta I was wondering if all the references to Style with a gun (here's a collection, if you didn't read my ep7 and ep8 meta) was foreshadowing to Style getting shot in the store to help Fadel. But no. After a little break in episode 9, our Style + guns counter is back. We're at 6. And with Fadel asking "Can you even kill people?", in addition to wondering if Style will be shooting someone in the future, I am now also wondering if Style will not only shoot, but potentially also kill someone in the last two episodes (actually, I have been wondering if Style will kill someone since all the way back in episode 6, when Fadel told Style he needed to blend in, but then I was like nah, I don't think the show will go this dark, but he MAY at least injure someone with a gun. But now ep10 has me back on my wait, will Style ACTUALLY be KILLING someone??? bullshit dgfkjdkjgdgfk).

But for now, when asked about his capabilities of killing anyone Style just sits and re-thinks Fadel's words.

Fadel is right. Style isn't as ruthless as Fadel. Style isn't a killer at heart. On the contrary, actually, with the way he always tries to mediate just because he wants everyone involved in the incident to come to as little harm as possible. Style is even self-aware of the fact that he prefers to keep people out of trouble, he explicitly comments on it in episode 3:

I'm just a good looking young man who doesn't want anyone to get into trouble. ผมก็แค่ชายหนุ่มหน้าตาดีที่ไม่อยากให้ใครมีเรื่องกัน [pŏm - gôh - kâe - chaai nùm nâa dtaa dii - tîi - mâi - yàak - hâi - krai - mii rêuuang gan] I - [sentence link] - just - good-looking young man - who - not - want - that, for - anyone - get in trouble Official subs: I'm just a good-looking pacifist.

Yeah. There's no way Style can just up and kill anyone in cold blood, as much as he'd like to get back at Keen for shooting him. Keen gets up to leave and Fadel and Style make a run for it before Keen can spot them.

No. 6: Hide and Seek

Fadel and Style follow Keen to a hotel and watch him enter someone's room. They wonder who he could be meeting and Fadel guesses it could be his faen. Style brings up the point that it's kinda weird for them to meet at a hotel if they really are dating and asks if Keen might be hiding from Lilly. Fadel looks almost proud when he says "And you said you're not much of a detective". Style says he learned it from Fadel, but the thing is that Style actually is a smart boy. Even if he's an idiot (affectionate <3). The reality of the matter is that Style is a smart boy who sometimes makes stupid (or unusual) choices. That doesn't make him unintelligent, though.

Now the question is how they're gonna proceed from here. Wait for Keen to come out of the room again? I think Fadel misunderstands Style's question as impatience a little bit (or maybe he simply just expects Style to ditch him), because he snaps at him: "Can you do that? If you can't wait, just go home."

But instead Style tells him: "Like hell I will. I said I'd help. I won't back down." Style is a man of his words and he will not be going home, thank you very much. He's made his choice to help Fadel and so here he'll be, helping Fadel until the end. And with that he's just proving to Fadel once again just how loyal he is and that he'll be staying by Fadel's side no matter what. In fact, in the end it's even Style who thinks of a way to find out who Keen is with. Not our trained assassin Fadel.

No. 7: Truth Bombs All Around

(Awww look, it's a Star in My Mind cast reunion <3)

Style's plan is as follows: he dresses up as hotel staff and pretends to bring room service. That will give them access to the room and they'll see who Keen is with. Now that could be a good plan, except... did Style forget that Keen has seen him???? Did he forget that he's actually met and talked to Keen in the men's room of the bowling alley???? And even if Style was too tipsy at the time to remember him, only one episode ago Keen literally shot him, so like. he knows Style and Style should also know Keen knows him. What does he think will happen once he sees him????

Well, lucky for Style, it's Keen's boyfriend who opens up the door, not Keen. So that solves the mystery of who exactly he's with. Unlucky for Style, though, Keen does recognize his voice and he's also been expecting Fadel, so if Fadel's boyfriend is here then that must mean Fadel himself is also nearby. And so suddenly Keen appears at the door, gun pointed at Style. The very same gun whose bullet Style has gotten to feel on his own body before. Uncertain, Style turns to Fadel and squints his eyes a little. What now? Fadel doesn't know either. Style turns back to Keen and slowly walks inside the room.

Now, on the outside Style looks pretty calm and collected. But I think on the inside Style is actually terrified this time. Because he's completely silent. In fact, during this entire encounter, from the moment Keen first pulls a gun on him, our chatty cat Style doesn't say a single word until he kicks Keen at the end. Not a single time does Style try to talk himself out of it the way he tried when Fadel was the one pulling a gun on him or when those three men at the host club attacked Fadel. No, instead Style remains quiet, but attentive to the situation the entire time. And I think part of why he doesn't say a single word is because this conflict is between Fadel and Keen and Style is smart enough not to meddle, but I also think part of it is because he is genuinely scared.

Fadel is at the door soon after Style has disappeared inside. Keen guides him inside the room with his gun pointed at Fadel's back and orders him to drop his own gun and to kneel next to Style. Style looks tense and uncomfortable.

And again, I think Style is actually really scared right now. Fadel drops his gun onto the bed and Style stares at it for quite a long while.

That gun isn't gonna help them this time, lying on the bed like that. Fadel kneels next to Style and Style wordlessly stares at Keen, watches him as Fadel talks to him. Keen has the gun on Fadel the entire time and threatens him: "One wrong move..." To showcase what he plans to do if Fadel doesn't abide to his wishes, Keen moves the gun and points it at Style instead. Style immediately turns away.

Keen continues his implicit threat with explicit words: "...and I put a hole through his skull." Again, as calm as Style looks, I think he's actually terrified right now. He can't even look at the gun.

This is very different from any time Fadel was pointing a gun at him. Even when Style was tied up at the pool, he never really shied from the gun except for the very end of the scene where for a brief moment he thinks Fadel is actually about to kill him for real. But during that entire conversation he doesn't even turn away from Fadel that time he gets jumpscared when Fadel suddenly shoves the gun closer while putting his foot on the step and yelling at Style to shut up. But when Keen is the one pointing the gun, things are different. Because with Fadel, Style knew he was going to be fine. Style could handle Fadel. But Keen actually has it out for Style and that very gun that is being pointed at him has hurt him before. Style is severely uncomfortable in this situation. He doesn't say a single word, not even to defend himself. Fadel does tell him "No need to be scared" and I think part of it was to comfort Style, but mostly I think this was actually a stab at Keen. Especially with how Fadel immediately continues by saying "He doesn't have the gut to do that". Keen points the gun at Fadel again. Style continues to stay silent during the brothers' argument. Style doesn't meddle or interfere at all. He keeps completely quiet, paying close attention to what is happening. And so when he takes note of how Keen gets distracted, because he's too emotionally affected by Fadel's words about their parents, Style immediately uses that chance and bravely attacks Keen. From episode 3 we know that Style doesn't actually have the skills for a fight and so again we see that Style will just throw himself into a situation if he thinks he can help somehow, even if he doesn't necessarily have the skill set for it. And we also see how terrible of a fighter Keen himself really is (I had some more thoughts about it here), because Style, who is canonically bad at fist-fights, actually manages to overpower him and wrestle the gun out of his hand. In the meantime Fadel makes a grab for his own gun and threatens Keen with it. Style shoves Keen's boyfriend onto the bed and points Keen's gun at him. The Style + guns counter goes up to 7. At this point either the writers are mocking me or we really will see Style pull that trigger at some point. Keen asks Fadel not to hurt Nont and Fadel snaps: "You dare ask me to spare your boyfriend when you were going to shoot mine?"

Fadel actually repeats the word "boyfriend" in Thai:

You still dare to ask for your boyfriend's life? นี่มึงยังกล้าขอชีวิตแฟนมึงอีกหรอ [nîi - mueng - yang - glâa - kŏr - chii-wít - faen mueng - ìik - rŏr] [interjection] - you - still - dare (to) - ask for, request - life - your boyfriend - again, once more - ? Weren't you going to shoot my boyfriend? ทีมึงจะยิงแฟนกูเลยไม่ใช่หรอ [tii - mueng - jà - ying - faen guu - loiie - mâi châi - rŏr] [particle] - you - will - shoot - my boyfriend - [particle] - no - ?

And I think the repetition is probably just from the way the language works in general, but there's just something about hearing Fadel utter the words "faen guu" ("my boyfriend") that makes my heart sing after him vehemently denying it for two episodes straight. Especially considering how at the time of Keen trying to shoot (and ending up injuring) Style, Fadel was actually still refusing to call Style his boyfriend (although he also didn't outright deny it when Style called them boyfriends). And now he's finally back to explicitly calling Style his boyfriend. We love to see it.

Style still doesn't say a single word, even though he himself was actually very involved in the whole "Keen tried shooting Fadel's boyfriend" plot. In fact, he was a main character in it. Style is clearly out of his element here. This is Fadel's area of expertise and also Fadel's conflict. And so for once, Style shuts up and lets Fadel do all the talking.

First, Fadel was the one dropping truth bombs on Keen. Now Keen is returning the favor: Lilly not only killed their parents but in addition she also had Fadel's ex killed. When those news are out, Style immediately turns his head to check on Fadel:

Style has context now, Style knows Fadel thinks the ex just up and left him without a word. And he knows that this new information greatly changes Fadel's worldview. Fadel and Keen continue to yell at each other and Style doesn't take his eyes off of Fadel. The camera is on Fadel and so we only get short glimpses of Style watching Fadel when the camera moves to the side enough for us to see Style's face for a second, so it's a bit hard to interpret what exactly Style is thinking in this moment, but I think the reason why he's watching Fadel so carefully is first of all, to check on him how he's taking the information and second of all, probably also to see if he's gonna do anything to Keen. But Fadel doesn't. They yell at each other for a bit and then Fadel has to turn around and process things for himself for a moment. The fact that he actually turns his back on Keen shows that Fadel really is back to trusting Style again. Because I don't think he would have just turned away from Keen like that if he didn't trust Style to have his back if Keen tried to attack him in this vulnerable state. Style turns to Fadel a little, still clearly uncomfortable in this situation, unsure what to do or what to say, especially now that such a huge bomb shell was dropped onto the person he loves. And he still doesn't utter a single word.

Fadel takes quite a while to process and when we next see Style, he's looking at Keen and Nont again, his expression now very stern.

The fear has faded. Style is in protective mode now. But he still doesn't say a word. He still doesn't interfere. He just waits to see what Fadel wants to do about this situation. Fadel finally regains his composure and suggests Keen a deal. Then Fadel only says Style's name and gestures with his hand. Style immediately obeys, no questions asked. He grabs Nont and pulls him off the bed. Fadel threatens Keen one more time, then walks away. Style watches Fadel leave the room. Before he follows Fadel out, Style kicks Keen and shouts "That's for shooting me!" and it's satisfying to witness, especially considering that this is Style who rarely ever holds grudges.

Style pulls Nont along as he moves to walk out the room himself. Now the question is... Did Style only take Nont to the door as some sort of human shield in case Keen had any stupid ideas and then let Nont go in the hallway or something? Or did Fadel and Style take Nont as an actual hostage? I guess we'll find out next episode. Hopefully.

No. 8: Hurt/Comfort

When they confronted Keen at the hotel, the sun was still out. Now the sun is long gone. I wonder how much time has passed since Fadel found out the news and what happened in between? Did they stay together? Was Style taking care of Nont first while Fadel already went to sit outside somewhere and that's why Style arrives a little later? Or did they separate? Did Fadel call or text Style to come meet him there, because he was feeling like shit?

Either way, Style finds Fadel sitting on some stone stairs and close to tears. Style stands in front of him for a moment with a concerned look on his face, before he sits down next to Fadel. First thing he does is to gently wipe away a tear that has escaped Fadel's eyes before he asks "Are you alright?" He also tells Fadel "You can talk to me, you know?" and then he just waits. He doesn't pressure Fadel to open up, he leaves the decision to open up entirely up to Fadel. Style always does this, actually. He never pressures Fadel to share if he isn't ready to. Only last episode, when Style was asking about the guy from the picture he waited for Fadel to answer without rushing him and when Fadel ignored the question, Style was quick to apologize and to tell him that it was okay if Fadel didn't want to share. Or in episode 5, when he asked about why Fadel goes to the Rise Up meetings he also patiently waited for Fadel to speak willingly and then waited again only moments later when he asked about how Fadel's parents died. Style offers Fadel a safe space to open up, but ultimately leaves the decision to take and make use of that safe space up to Fadel. It's no different here on the stairs. "You can talk to me," Style says and he wants Fadel to talk to him, to trust him enough to open up and to share his pain with Style, but he absolutely won't pressure Fadel into it. He offers Fadel a safe space and then waits. It takes 13 seconds for Fadel to open up. And when he does, he really talks. As soon as Fadel starts to speak, he shares without any hesitation like he did last episode when he told Style about his ex in the first place. He no longer shares just a sentence or two like he did back in episode 5. It all comes spilling out of Fadel now: "You know what? I've always blamed myself. I thought… He left because of me, because he was scared of me. He didn't want a future with me." Style sits and listens intently. Fadel ends with:

So that's why I don't wanna have anyone. กูก็เลยไม่อยากมีใครไง [guu - gôh loiie - mâi - yàak - mii - krai - ngai] I - as a result, that's why - not - want - have - anyone - [particle] Official subs: That’s why I don’t want to get close to anyone.

Style thinks about Fadel's words for a moment, then looks at him, raises his eyebrows and nods like Yeah, that tracks.

This really does explain a lot. In retrospective, all of Fadel's behavior and actions make so much more sense now with the added context. Style doesn't just think that to himself, but he also tells Fadel explicitly:

Ever since I found out about this, ตั้งแต่กูรู้เรื่องเนี่ย [dtâng dtàe - guu - rúu - rêuuang nîia] since, from - I - know - this thing, this matter Official subs: Now that I found out about this, it makes me understand everything about why you are the way you are. มันทำให้กูเข้าใจความเป็นมึงทุกอย่างเลยนะ  [man - tam hâi - guu - kâo-jai - kwaam bpen mueng - túk yàang - loiie - ná] it - makes that - I - understand - the being you - everything - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: I finally understood you And why it was so difficult to woo you. ว่าทำไมมึงถึงจีบยาก [wâa - tam-mai - mueng - tĕung - jìip - yâak] that - why - you - get to - flirt (with), hit on, woo - difficult Official subs: and why you were so closed-minded before.

Fadel looks up and his jaw clenches for a split second. Style is looking back at him with an attentive expression, almost giving him the tiniest smile.

(Is it just me or does the left corner of his mouth (to our right) twitch very subtly?)

Fadel elaborates on why that is: "I don't want to have any expectations just to be disappointed." Style is still looking at Fadel, still listening intently. He gives just the tiniest nod after Fadel says this.

He empathizes with Fadel. This time Style doesn't say anything, though. He stays quiet again and just lets Fadel continue talking whenever he's ready to share more. And things just continue to spill out of Fadel under tears: "I never thought… that he'd be dead because of me. If only I didn't want to quit my job, if only I didn't get close to him… He'd still be alive." Style looks away from Fadel again, contemplating Fadel's words, his expression serious.

When he looks back at Fadel, there is something on Style's mind that he does want Fadel to hear: "It wasn't your fault. Lilly was the one who had him killed. It was her fault. Don't blame yourself." Style's voice is soft, but there is a bit of an urgency to his tone as he says this. It's important to Style that Fadel understands that he has no reason to continue blaming himself. Style ends his little speech with "You had the full right to love and to want a future with him" and his voice sounds so very gentle and kind. And I just love that the writers never made Style be jealous of the ex, but instead made him so understanding. Style is here to help Fadel work through his trauma, to support him, to be his safe space and his shoulder to cry on. And it's beautiful.

Fadel slowly lifts his head and looks up at Style. The moment their eyes meet, Style tilts his head just a little bit closer to Fadel and that makes it look like he becomes even more focused on Fadel as he waits for Fadel to say something back.

But as it turns out, Fadel can't embrace Style's words right now, can't bring himself to believe them. Because in his experience, things don't go well. And so he drops a bit of a bombshell on Style:

You see it now, don't you, Style? มึงเห็นแล้วใช่มั้ยสไตล์ [mueng - hĕn - láew - châi mái - Style] you - see - already, now - right? - Style Official subs: You see now, Style? That loving me will lead you to death. ว่าการรักกูจะพามึงไปตายอ่ะ [wâa - gaan rák - guu - jà - paa - mueng - bpai - dtaai - àh] that - loving - me - will - lead, bring, take - you - go - die - [particle] Official subs: The only thing my love will lead you to is death.

Yeah. The official translation actually completely turned around the meaning. In Thai Fadel doesn't say that him loving someone is what leads to death, but it's him being loved that leads to death. The problem isn't that Fadel can't love, no, the problem is that Fadel can't be loved. Because the moment someone loves him that person is in danger. Fadel can't allow himself to receive love, because that will lead to dire consequences. This is also why Style later says "You deserve love". It refers right back to this line here and to Fadel being convinced that he can't accept anyone's love. Fadel says "Loving me will lead you to death" and Style swallows, his expression now slightly less soft and more serious compared to how it was before.

Style, believer in the power of love, who loves so ferociously with all his heart, gets told that this very love will be his death sentence if he keeps on loving Fadel specifically. Those aren't exactly cheerful news. You can't love me, because you will die, Fadel tells him and I think that hurts Style, because first of all, it's not exactly a great thing to be told "your feelings will cost you your life" and second of all, I think he's also hurt for Fadel, is hurt that the person he loves so dearly would shy away from receiving love, because to them it's a terrible, traumatic experience. And what's more, I'm pretty sure once's he's heard that line Style understands Fadel is about to drop a break-up speech. And breaking up is absolutely not in the cards for Style.

Fadel looks at him full of desperation and says:

It's better if you leave my life. มึงออกไปจากชีวิตกูเถอะนะ [mueng - òhk bpai - jàak - chii-wít guu - tùh - ná] you - go out, leave - from - my life - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: Please just leave me.

Fadel tells Style "I won't even get mad at you" and it's kind of reminiscent of that one time in the beginning of episode 5 where he told Style he'd be cool with it if Style suddenly wanted to back out of the relationship after all. Except now Fadel needs Style to back out of the relationship, because he's terrified for Style's safety. Style looks away and thinks about Fadel's words again, looking almost a little tense now.

This really is a break-up speech and Style definitely doesn't like where it's going. He doesn't say anything yet, though. And Fadel continues:

Live the life you want to live. มึงใช้ชีวิตที่มึงอยากใช้ [mueng - chái chii-wít - tîi - mueng - yàak - chái] you - live life - that - you - want (to) - live (lit. "use") Official subs: Live the life you deserve. Don't entrust your life to me. มึงอย่ามาฝากชีวิดกับกูเลยนะ [mueng - yàa - maa - fàak - chii-wít - gàp - guu - loiie - ná] you - not - come - entrust - life - with - me - [particle] - [particle] Official subs: Don’t leave it with me.

Now Style really can't shut up anymore. "Why would you say this?" Style almost sounds kind of offended now. And when he says "It hurts my feelings, you know?" he's really angry. All that softness from before is momentarily gone. And it makes sense for him to be angry now. Only last episode he was angry when everyone just ignored his own agency in this whole thing. And Fadel is about to do the very same thing again. But Style is perfectly capable of making his own choices, especially when it's about how to live his very own life. Fadel can't decide Style's own life choices for him. And what's more: after all this time, does Fadel still not know Style? Does Fadel still not understand just how loyal Style is? Does Fadel still not believe that Style will stick by his side through life and death? Does Fadel still not believe it, despite the fact that Style was literally out there proving it over and over again in episodes 8 and 9? It makes Style really upset that Fadel has so little faith in him. And I think it also hurts him that Fadel would think of him as the kind of person who'd just up and leave the person they love the moment things get difficult and not pretty. "What kind of man do you take me for?" is a question that Style asked Fadel back in episode 3 already after their storage room hook-up. And now the very same question is relevant again. That question is the subtext of when Style asks "Why would you say this?" and Style then also goes on to elaborate on it: "I'm not the type to be scared of dying and ditch the person I love.* I’m not selfish like that."

*กูไม่ใช่พวกที่จะกลัวตายแล้วทิ้งคนที่รักนะ [guu - mâi châi - pûuak - tîi - jà - gluua - dtaai - láew - tíng - kon - tîi - rák - ná] I - not - group, community - that - will - be scared (of), fear - die - and - leave, discard - person - that - love - [particle] Official subs: I'm not the type to leave the one I love to save my life.

The anger in his voice is already gone when he says this. His tone is softer again compared to when he told Fadel that his feelings were hurt, and there is also some slight urgency to his tone again. It's important to Style that his words really reach Fadel. He really needs it to get through to Fadel that there is absolutely no way Style is leaving him, especially not now in this state, in this condition. Not in his wildest dreams would Style ever even think to just abandon the person he loves at rock bottom. Because that's not at all how he views love: "Love is something you fight for together. You stay by each other's side, no matter what obstacles you run into.*"

ต้องอยู่ข้างๆ กันไม่ว่าจะเจออุปสรรคแค่ไหน [dtông - yùu - kâang kâang gan - mâi wâa - jà - jer - ù-bpà-sàk - kâe năi] must - be, stay - by each other's side, next to each other - no matter, regardless of - will - meet, find - obstacle - how many Official subs: Stay by each other's side through every obstacle.

Lilly killing Fadel's old boyfriend and Style's life now also being in danger is an obstacle they're facing in their relationship, but they're gonna face it together. No way Style is gonna ditch Fadel. Because: "If I was scared of you*, I’d have run away the day I found out you’re a hitman."

*ถ้ากูกลัวมึงอ่ะ [tâa - guu - gluua - mueng - àh] if - I - scared of, fear - you - [particle] Official subs: If I was scared,

Yeah. I need you to know that Style is actually more specific in Thai. It's not the entire situation or Lilly or anything else that he's referring to here. No. He's referring to being scared of Fadel specifically and he also explicitly says that. He says "If I was scared of you", in other words he's saying You don't scare me which is something Fadel really needs to hear. Style already told him that last episode when Fadel first opened up about his old boyfriend, and now Style is repeating it, both for emphasis but also as a reminder. Style is not scared of Fadel, because if he was he could have easily backed out much sooner than this. Because the reality of the matter is that initially he was scared of Fadel for a moment right after Kant told him the truth. But then Fadel never gave Style a reason to actually be scared of him and Style fell deeply in love anyway:

But that I'm still staying / But that I still stayed แต่ที่กูยังอยู่ [dtàe - tîi - guu - yang - yùu] but - that - I - still - stay Official subs: But I stay with you is because I love that you're you / is because I love you for being you เพราะกูรักที่เป็นมึง [próh - guu - rák - tîi - bpen - mueng] because - I - love - that - be - you Official subs: because I love who you are. And I'm confident, you know, that you're the person I desire. แล้วกูมั่นใจนะ ว่ามึงคือคนที่กูต้องการ [láew - guu - mân-jai - ná • wâa - mueng - kue - kon - tîi - guu - dtông-gaan] and - I - be certain, confident - [particle] • that - you - are - person - that - I - want, require Official subs: I know for sure that you're the one I want.

I'm not entirely sure about how accurate "desire" is as a translation here, but I chose it for the lack of a better word. In Thai there are actually two words for saying "want": อยาก [yàak] and ต้องการ [dtông-gaan]. I asked my friend about the about the difference and he explained that ต้องการ [dtông-gaan] is more serious, you don't want the thing because you just feel like it, but there's a deeper/more serious reason behind it. The example he gave was if you say you อยาก [yàak] some candy then it's clear that you just wanna have some candy because you feel like eating it, but if you say you ต้องการ [dtông-gaan] candy, then you have a deeper reason for it, like for example you're a diabetic who's sugar levels are getting low. Style uses the more serious word ต้องการ [dtông-gaan] here when he says he wants Fadel. Him wanting Fadel is not just a fleeting mood. Style's voice is very firm now. Style means every single word that he says. And nothing that Fadel says or does will changes Style's stance on this matter. In episode 5 Fadel told Style to judge once he's seen all of Fadel, and this right here is Style making his choice knowing the entire truth of the situation. A choice, that in reality he had already made in episode 5. Style loves Fadel and he's made his choice to be with him five episodes ago and nothing so far has made him want to change his mind. On the contrary, he's just gotten even more determined the better he gets to know and understands Fadel. And it had to be Style. The person to worm his way through Fadel's walls had to be Style. Style, beacon of hope and optimism and unwavering loyalty. Style, who is even more stubborn than Fadel is.

For the past minute, Fadel has now been the one to intently listen to Style's words. When Style finishes his little speech, a tear rolls from Fadel's eye. Style lifts his hand and wipes it away with his thumb. Then he takes Fadel's face into both hands and sighs. He doesn't want to see Fadel this miserable. Style continues to gently wipe away the tears from Fadel's face. Then he tells Fadel: "There's no need to be afraid. You and I will be fine. Everything will turn out alright. Knowing how much you care about me makes me certain that I didn't choose the wrong man. You deserve love just like anyone."

And for those who are curious, here is a more literal translation of the last two sentences:

The more I know how much you care about me, ยิ่งกูรู้ว่ามึงแค่ร์กูขนาดเนี่ย [yîng - guu - rúu - wâa - mueng - kâe - guu - kà-nàat nîia] the more - I - know - that - you - care (about) - me - like this, this much the more I know that I don't love the wrong person. มันยิ่งทำให้รู้นะว่ากูอ่ะ รักคนไม่ผิด [man - yîng - tam hâi - rúu - ná - wâa - guu - àh • rák - kon - mâi - pìt] it - the more - make that, cause - know - [particle] - that - I - [particle] • love - person - not - wrong You deserve love very much. มึงคู่ควรกับความรักมากๆ เลยนะ [mueng - kûu kuuan - gàp - kwaam rák - mâak mâak - loiie - ná] you - deserve, fit - with - love - very much, a lot - [particle for emphasis] - [particle]

When Style says "deserve" he actually uses the word คู่ควร [kûu kuuan] which my friend explained as a very poetic word that isn't really used in real life unless you're being sarcastic. Obviously Style is not being sarcastic here and I think it's sweet that he expresses himself in a poetic way.

Style's voice as he talks to Fadel now is both so firm and determined and urgent, but at the same time it's also so gentle and soft and warm. And it's so very filled with love. Filled to the brim with love. The love that Fadel thinks he's not allowed to accept, because it will lead to his loved ones dying. But Style doesn't care that he might die. Style loves so fully and so wholeheartedly and so earnestly, and he will give Fadel all the love Style knows Fadel so desperately needs. Because Fadel deserves to be loved. And Style will stay right here by Fadel's side, loving him fiercely no matter what dangers they'll face.

When Style is done with his little speech, you can literally see him trying to figure out and thinking hard about whether it's okay to kiss Fadel now. Whether Fadel will be okay with it or if it maybe overwhelms him right now after all of that. But in the end Style raises his eyebrows as he decides Fuck it, I'm kissing him.

And then he leans in slowly, very slowly, so that Fadel has more than enough time to react and to pull away if he feels uncomfortable with being kissed right now. But Fadel lets him, and Style kisses him so very gently with all the love that he has. And actually, even when Fadel has already clearly given his consent by letting Style kiss him in the first place, in the beginning Style still opens his eyes for a brief moment to check Fadel's reaction, to check if Fadel really is okay with being kissed right now.

They break apart and again Style observes Fadel's face intently. Fadel has his undivided attention, nothing matters right now but Fadel and his well-being. Style is gonna make sure Fadel leaves this place feeling much better than when he got here.

But Fadel still looks rather dejected. So Style gently pulls Fadel's head closer and kisses his forehead. Then he goes back to simply just holding Fadel's face and looking at him. And that's when Fadel really breaks. He pulls Style into a sudden hug and cries into his shoulder. It's the second time this has happened and this time Style is actually aware of it. And this time Fadel is fully aware of just how much Style actually truly loves him. Style holds Fadel as Fadel trembles in Style's arms.

Now, the trembling. I wanna talk about the trembling for a moment. Because I have a mother who works in the medical field and she's mentioned on multiple occasion how trauma release can manifest in the body through shaking and trembling. And when I saw that I was like "YES!! YES!!" Because, remember how Style draws tears on Fadel in episode 6? In the episode itself that worked as direct foreshadowing to Fadel crying tears because of Style's "betrayal" of course, but the first time I watched the scene it didn't even occur to me that this could be foreshadowing to the episode ending in Fadel's tears. No, my very first thought upon seeing those drawn tears was "Are those the tears Fadel never got to cry?" And if you read and remember my ep6 meta, when I got to this part I actually wrote:

I do hope later down the line we'll get a scene where Fadel finally lets it all out, let's out all the pain from all the trauma(s) he's been through while Style is right by his side, supporting him through it, is there for him. Because they'll do this together and Style will always be ready to happily offer and create a safe space for Fadel, just like he did in episode 5 when he was asking Fadel about his parents or when he was trying to get Fadel to let lose and dance a little in the bowling alley or now when he's offering to wear matching make-up with Fadel. And when Fadel cries (and I hope he will cry, and not just from Style's "betrayal"), then Style will offer a safe space for Fadel to cry in, too.

(Bolded for emphasis.)

And I am sooo, so happy I actually got this!! Fadel crying out all of his trauma while Style is there to support him and to hold him through it. Maybe the make-up tears were double foreshadowing after all: In episode 6, Style offered a safe space to Fadel and drew fake tears on him. In episode 10, Style offers a safe space to Fadel and Fadel cries real tears. And both these episodes are the only two episodes that ended with me just staring into thin air for a while afterwards, unable to form any coherent thought. That's it, meta canceled. I'm gonna go throw myself off a cliff now. Bye.

(Overview | Ep1+2 | Ep3 | Ep4 | Ep5 | Ep6 | Ep7 | Ep8 | Ep9)

[s0fter-sin]

cw mild horror

johnny moves into a new house with his dog riley after his last relationship implodes

it's on the older side, a fixer upper; a project he can lose himself in so he doesn't have to let himself think of how his ex used him up just to toss him aside. the backyard's huge with a cluster of trees ringing the property that look beautiful in the sunset. it even has a basement, rarely seen in the uk, that's perfect to store all the supplies he'll need to fix the place up

the only downside is how far away it is from everything; it takes a good hour to drive to anything

but johnny has riley and that's all he needs

he talks to him as he works on the place; promises a new start for them both, that this could be the place they always needed. sure it's old and the groans and scratches that occasionally come from the walls can be a bit unsettling and the smell coming from the dumbwaiter is… concerning but johnny needs this place to work; he needs something to go right and be his and if that thing is a slightly creepy house then so be it

it was a steal; he still can't believe how cheap he got it considering the size of the block but the realtor seemed all too happy to be rid of it. she couldn’t tell him much about the place beyond the size of the land and that it only belonged to two people since it was built; the original owner who built it before it went abandoned for a decade or so until it was bought by a young couple who owned it for over thirty years

he asked about the couple, if they were happy in the long years they lived here, but she just said it wasn’t her place to say. johnny just shrugged; guess confidentiality extends beyond doctors these days

riley sticks by his side as he evaluates the house, figuring out what needs to be done and what to prioritise. he gives himself a week to wallow, living out of boxes with battery powered lanterns to light his - admittedly dismal - dinners before he gets to work. he decides to start with the wiring and old electricity box in the basement. riley occasionally gets distracted by some smell in the old vents but always coming back when johnny starts talking again

it's late by the time he gets the lights to finally stay on so he decides to shower in his newly lit bathroom and turn in

he's laying in bed, hair still wet, when he hears the scratch of riley's nails on the floorboards and sighs, swinging an arm down the side of the bed for pets if riley wants them; wiggling them in invitation when feels his breath on his fingers

"am i doing the right thing?" he asks him. "just- up and leavin'? i don't miss him. i don't... but... should i have tried to make it right 'stead of runnin' with my tail between my legs?"

riley's breaths are all that answer him

then he remembers his ex's apathetic face when he walked in on him in their living room; when he looked him right in the eyes and didn't even bother to stop his moans or hide the legs slung around his waist

"that shouldn't be on me," he growls. "he's the one who decided to nail that goddamn tart- i shouldn't be the one to have to fix shit. he should've been the one on his knees beggin' me to stay."

and he did beg- begged him not to sell the flat he owned and already paid off, the one his ex never spent a dime on rent on yet still had the audacity to ask to stay until he found a new place to fuck his side piece in

"just... why didn't he try?" he whispers. "...why wasn't i enough?"

johnny flinches as riley's tongue laps at his fingers, thick and wet and gross, and he huffs a laugh. "you're right," he smiles. "we're better off without him. just you and me, aye boy?"

he doesn't stop licking and johhny laughs again, pulling his hand back to wipe off on the sheets

"nasty boy," he chuckles. "least you love me."

a whine comes from the bedroom door and johnny frowns, looking over as the door swayed open; he thought he treated those hinges already, the sound was driving him nuts

bloody old place, he groans, sitting up-

and freezes when riley cocks his head at him from the doorway

johnny's throat constricts, ice flooding his system while the warm, wet saliva still on his hand burns. his neck protests as he slowly turns to his left, his quickening breaths roaring in his ears; everything in him begging him to not to look-

and screams when he sees a pair of brown eyes and wet lips spread in a wild grin before the man throws himself back into the vent in the wall

the same scratching and groaning johnny’s heard since the day he moved in following him as he crawls somewhere inside the house

[silurisanguine]

"You can't save everyone..."

Oooh okay *rubs hands together* How about some fear driven angst but with a happy ending?

Teleri's feet felt like lead as she tried to run towards the great doors of the dining hall. They felt wrong, like she was treading through high water.

Everything felt wrong. The sky of the Lighthouse looked dead, the sickly orange shade reminding her of a blight boil, the buildings that held the other members of her team broken down and collapsing - blighted vines covering their walls. Even the floor she tread on was falling away from her as she got closer to the large building ahead which was dark, no light emanating from it's great windows. It looked dead and uninviting, but she had to see, had to know if he was safe. "No...this is all wrong." Her unsure voice shook as anxiety built inside her. "All wrong..." A chilling voice echoed back to her, mocking in it's tones. She reached the stairs and the doors swung open revealing a swirling cloud that beckoned her forward. But she stepped into it's gaping maw without a second thought as darkness chased behind her, it's ice cold fingers almost touching her skin. Stepping through she stopped abruptly as her feet teetered on the edge of a precipice, a chasm under her feet into nothing below. Looking up, she gasped. Huge stone statues of Lucanis loomed down, their empty eyes staring into her soul. The sky around them drained of nearly all colour that pushed all hope away. This was the fade prison again. But she couldn't be here, she escaped hadn't she? "This is a dream...I can't be here again. This isn't right, you're not dead. I escaped, I know I did." "No one escapes. You killed me." It was Lucanis's voice, distant and echoing around her. Just like the echoes in the fade prison, that she must have escaped. "But you didn't die, I feared the worst but I felt you when you pulled me out."

"Don't deny what you know inside. You saw my body, I fell from the explosion when you pulled the dagger free. Dead...just like Harding and Bellara. You cant save everyone Teleri. You've lost me like you lost your family - your clan." Teleri stumbled forward in anguish at the thought of him dead - of not being able to see him, to listen to him talk or feel his gentle caress and searing kiss. She stopped at crumbling stone feet, coming face to face with one of the statues that loomed over her. What he said couldn't be right though. She had been pulled free hadn't she? Emmerich, Taash, Lucanis and Neve had all pulled her from the prison Solas had trapped her in. She'd dealt with her regrets, faced them and escaped.

No this was wrong - a nightmare. But unlike her grandfather's gift, she had no way to control it and no way to escape it.

She could feel the room darkening suddenly, the space around her closing in and she feared what her nightmare would make her see next. She closed her eyes trying to wake up, her nails digging into the palms of her hands, willing herself to become aware. But the next thing she felt were hands over hers and they tingled with an energy that felt so familiar and welcome. Opening her eyes , she was back in her room, though it was silent as the waters of the aquarium were frozen in motion as were the fish. She looked to the one holding her hands and gazed upon Lucanis's face, yet he glowed a deep purple shade. Spite stood before her, his hands firmly wrapped over hers like a grounding force. They felt real, solid, but she couldn't help the tremble in hers. Spite sensing her anxiety unfurled his wings and wrapped them around her, the glow surrounding her protectively as he pulled her closer to him. "Rook had Nightmare. Felt It from Where Lucanis Sleeps. You Needed Help." "Am I still dreaming Spite? How are you here?" "Yes! I Walk in Dreams. Feelings Reside There. So Do Spirits." "I'm not in the prison?" "No. Your Nightmare Needed No Lock to Enter. I Chased it Down and Ate it, It Tasted of Fear and Longing." All Teleri could see now was the ethereal glow of Spite, his eyes searching hers for a reaction. He bore a scowl that could scare away a fear demon, but he wasn't angry at her - he was angry at what had hurt her, she could feel it.

Something had clung to her from the Crossroads on the way back to the Lighthouse, a lingering wisp of despair. But Spite had caught it, destroyed it and made her safe again.

She leant up and placed a soft kiss on his lips, the sensation like feeling the charge of an oncoming storm. It felt good, like that power was there only to protect her. He walked her to the chaise, placing them both down on it and cocooned her within his wings so that nothing else could come near her. Teleri smiled against his shoulder as she lay against him. The lingering fear driven away by his protective aura. "Will you stay with me until Lucanis wakes up too?" "Yes. Will Stay. And Protect Rook. "

[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.

[ladysomething]

✄ for wygig please 💞

✄ DVD BONUS: pick a fic and I’ll describe or write a deleted scene!

actually!!! I now have a DOCUMENT with deleted scenes lmaooo.

one of them is absolutely huge, and it was originally supposed to be in the chapter where Max is in Milton Keynes. he runs into a pregnant omega in a restaurant and helps her get back on her feet. it's a really lovely scene, but was ultimately cut bc it added absolutely nothing to the story, HOWEVER I have it set aside because I'm going to repurpose it as a one shot eventually!

but here are parts that I cut from the most recent chapter.

when I originally this part, the necklace gifting and courting discussion was in like 5 chapters time, and I ultimately cut the below because ... well, there was less time between them getting together and the courting talk, so it no longer made sense.

“Do you think we fight too much?” Charles asks, reaching up to touch the pendant that’s now resting between his pecs. 

“We never fight,” Max says dismissively. 

Charles laughs. “Max, we disagree about everything. Our miscommunication is ridiculous at this point. Every time I think we have it under control, there’s just another thing we have to figure out.” 

Max drops his hands. Charles turns back around, feeling warm and happy despite the conversation he’s brought up. 

“I don’t think it’s a problem,” Max says eventually. “Because I—because we work through them, right?” 

Charles gives him a small smile, finger caressing where the two circles interlock. “Right,” he agrees softly. 

“I love you,” Max murmurs. “More than—more than anything. But there are always going to be things we disagree on. And I’m not keeping secrets purposefully.” 

“You have a couple times,” Charles says. “About what the other alphas in the paddock were saying. About what you were going to do about them.” 

Max purses his lips. “I’m working on it,” he says eventually. “I’ve never had a—a person before. A partner. Someone who would want to know, or who I could trust with it.” 

Charles softens, and reaches out to take Max’s hand in his own. “Me either,” he admits. “But I want this to work, Max. So much.” 

“I do, too,” Max says, squeezing his hand back. “It’s only been a few weeks since we—since the yacht. We’ll figure this out together.” 

this next scene was also part of the chapter, and was literally included until about an hour before I posted the chapter. actually, fun fact, that scene also changed WILDLY at the last minute - all that talk about deciding to properly court and get married and return the claim was added on the day of posting lmaooo. the below is how the scene originally ended (basically max gave the gift, Charles got mad, max tried to take the gifts away, Charles got mad about that too, and then Charles told Max that courting means nothing to him and that he doesn't want to do it, and then they left it at that, and then when Charles went to kiss Max the below conversation happened).

probably I'll end up repurposing that final line from Charles, because it's good and worth saying.

“Just—before we do,” he says, a little nervously. “To be clear, this time. What do you think we are?” 

“You’re my—” He breaks off, unsure what to say. Boyfriend sounds stupid. Partner, maybe. Mate? Except, technically, Charles is his mate, but Max isn’t Charles’. Eventually, he settles on, “You’re my Max. You’re mine.” 

A slow smile creeps up Max’s face. “I am yours,” he swears. “And you’re mine?” 

“I am,” Charles says, a smile blooming wide on his own lips. “Entirely, completely, in every way you can think of.”  

[veggiesxxx]

What if… GENSHIN EDITION . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

What if.... (Part 3/?)

Kaeya got jealous of you hanging around Diluc?

It was an odd pair to see. The reserved boss of Dawn Winery and the slightly chattier Y/N. Diluc was distant and often unapproachable with his signature frown and monotone voice— yet strangely enough, he was surprisingly easy to open up to when you had the chance to talk.

Considering your partner, the ever-charming Calvary Captain Kaeya, silver-tongued with a remarkable knack for getting people to tell him things, seeing you enjoy your conversations with Diluc was unusual, to say the least. The brothers were polar opposites; one sociable and charming, while the other was cool and aloof. Yet they had one thing in common– their habit of hiding their true emotions.

Somehow, you got along with them both, despite their difference in personalities.

Tonight, you placed a glass back onto the damp coaster with "Angel's Share" printed on it. You were intently listening to Diluc recount an experience with a particularly difficult Abyss creature in a voice that lacked all emotion.

Unbeknownst to you, the Calvary Captain had sauntered in, hoping to 'accidentally' find a man suspected of withholding information related to his recent mission. He froze at the doorway, eyes narrowing at the sight of his beloved and Diluc together at a small round table.

"Ah, there you are." Kaeya drawled, an arm snaking around your shoulders. The fur that adorned his attire tickled your neck. The mission could wait— he had something more urgent to deal with.

"K-Kaeya!" You exclaimed, startled but happy to see him. "Why're you-"

"Didn't think I'd find my favourite person here, so cozy with the wine boss,"

"Don't cut me off. Why're you here? You said you had to work overtime." You frowned, puffing out your cheeks, glancing up at the unfairly handsome man. 'Oh.. Well, I just thought I'd find something interesting here tonight.."

 He turned to Diluc with a pointed grin.

Diluc’s gaze didn’t waver. “Relax, Kaeya. We’re having a normal conversation.”

Kaeya’s smile tightened, his gloved hand lingering a moment too long on your shoulder. “I do hope you're not boring her with another boring story, Diluc."

Diluc sighed, clearly unamused. “Not everything is a competition, Kaeya. Relax.”

"Don't flatter yourself," Kaeya smoothly interrupted, his words aimed to insult but with his honeyed tone, they sounded almost harmless. "And I am perfectly relaxed, though I do appreciate the sentiment."

Though, if it were a competition, Kaeya would win it all too easily. You thought.

Diluc just rubbed the bridge of his nose with a gloved thumb and index, closing his eyes and biting back a retort. "If you're just here to disrupt the peace, don't bother-"

Before you could protest, Kaeya gently tugged you off the chair and steered you toward the bar of the tavern.

“Kaeya, what are you-”

“Making sure my partner isn’t stolen right out from under my nose,” he said, cutting you off with a sharp smirk. But the way his hand hovered at your lower back hinted at his possessiveness.

You frowned. “Are you seriously jealous of Diluc?”

“Jealous?” His laugh was low and dismissive, though his jaw tightened. “Me? That’s absurd.”

"You didn't need to hover like that,"

"Hover? I was just enjoying the atmosphere. Not that you'd understand... the atmosphere down there for shorties like you is quite different, isn't it?" He teased, trying to subconsciously brush off your words about his jealousy, to avoid a serious conversation.

"Right,” you said, giving him a knowing smile, ignoring his teasing. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with Diluc, would it?”

Kaeya chuckled, his smirk unfaltering. “Why would it? I’ve no reason to be bothered by such things.” He continued, taking your hand in his, casually intertwining his fingers with yours.

You didn’t press further, only leaning closer as you whispered, “You’re cute when you’re jealous.”

His step faltered, but he recovered quickly, tilting his head with a low laugh. “Am I now? I’ll have to remember that.”

Though he brushed it off, the satisfied gleam in his eye told you he wasn’t upset about you noticing.

"How about I buy you a drink to apologise for my little... outburst?" he tilted his head to the side, his blue hair flopping over in a certain way. You laughed, the sound lingering in his ears like a melody he yearned to hear all the time.

"Lead the way, Captain."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧༶

Hope you enjoyed!!

Previously :

╰┈➤ Part 2 (What if Scaramouche ignored you after an argument?)

Next:

╰┈➤ Part 4 [coming soon] (What if—..)

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.

His grey hairs are so earned

[abirddogmoment]

Mav is gone. I have a thousand things I want to say but I don't have the bandwidth to write a proper post right now.

Send me asks so I can tell Mav's stories. I want to talk about him and remember all the funny and good stuff.

[girlivealwaysbean]

pata hai last kuch din i was very busy with my project kyunki final dena tha and binding karni thi etc to wo karwayi then i went to the bookfair bekaar tha then parso submit karne jaa rahi to subah accident hogaya (bhai ki bike skid hogayi and we fell down) and now i have a big ass blue bruise on my upper thigh and my parents don't even know lmao and kal ek science conference thi to i had to sit in an auditorium for 6 hours listening to accomplished people speak. that's what you missed now your turn

omg i knew everything in this except for the accident cause i stalk your blog vigorously everyday are you okay!!!!!!!!!! did you get tetanus shots!!!!!!!!!! also on your upper thigh oh no that's where future jiju is supposed to write MINE na as per our beloved song guilty as sin?

[lyslsstuff]

.

[ayyponine]

not to be a milennial but harry potter and the prisoner of azkaban really is that bitch....

[saltedcoffeee]

a father with a body about to burn his favourite child into pieces

[larsbarsart]

Day 10 Mask

More Sammy!!!! Except this isn't really Sam!

Much like her adoptive father, Sam has an alter named Giggles. Unlike Masky, though, Giggles is less violent and more protective and cautious. Despite this, it keeps a very cheerful and childish personality, and generally acts much like any honorable clown would!

Its mask is really just what it looks like, or at least how it would like to be perceived.

An extra doodle depicting it showing its Dad what it looks like through crayons!