#this is better than anything I ever imagined

[vanitythevantropist]

OOOOO I like this one :DDD

Imma go with this one👇 (His name is Quill btw)

1. Chris McLain (or howver tf you spell it) from Total Drama the original series :3

2. Canonically, he’s best friends with an alien cat named Spine who is a fire dancer! Working out the kinks on how they met so👉👈

3. Ermmmmmm… Immortals by Fall Out Boy

4. He does not have a love interest, he’s too swag for that

5. See above

6. He is a gunsmith canonically so prolly that👀

7. If he was in a fantasy setting, he’d be some guy who is WAAYY too confident in the world full of giants and dwarves n shit

8. His main hobbies - besides making guns cuz it’s his job - would be dress making, actually :3 He’s very into cross dressing and likes tailoring his own stuff, along with doing traditional at for the funsies and going scrapping (looking for scraps in the junk yard)

9. He takes very good care of himself as he wants to look pretty 24/7 and succeeds better than most people

10. He’s very very bad at it :) Just pretends everything’s fine and covers it all with humour because he has issues

11. He was originally a side character in a Mandelorian ripoff story I made when I was 14 but he overshadowed the mc of that story cuz he’s just like that lmao (Idk what directly inspired him tho)

12. Yesh, I have done sum roleplays with a friend! Their OC is named Junko and they get along well cuz they’re so similar

13. To be determined

14. See above (there are so few characters in this story cuz Quill is my world and my soul)

15. He’ll die before he ever retires (he refuses)

16. He was created in a test tube so that may be a little complicated :)

17. He would not have children as he ain’t that kinda guy but I imagine he would be the fun but kinda forgetful parents who lets their children wield guns (one’s average american, basically)

18. He goes by he/him :3

19. He is aro/ace! His main love language is physical touch (friendly hugs n kisses for the homies)

20. GUNS GUNS GUNS

21. To be determined (it might be Anything You Can Do with basically anyone tho)

22. In rough situations, FIGHT. Lover or a fighter? Imma go with ‘it’s conplicated’

23. Abso-fuckin-lutely! Feeling sad? This man will be there in under five minutes with snacks and a nice warm blankey for you in case you’re sad, as well as all the necessary tools to fix your tire!

24. He isn’t a musical guy

25. Yes absolutely he does it most of the time👀 Walkin down the street, running sum errands, in the middle of a battle, whatever, it’s singin time

26. Errmmmm… I have no idea, what do you think?

27. In spirit, a fox. In appearance, ehhh-

28. Oh my god I need to ask you if I should tag you in this cuz this is such a good idea (high school clique? He’d be the guy whose strangely popular with everyone despite hanging with the weird kids)

29. GUG, see question above !!

30. Quill is very glad that someone wants to be his friend :3 Most people do not

Anyways, ty forthis, it was fun <3 Now y’all have sum lore✨ Have fun~

Fuck it, OC brain rot won. Get ready for the Secret Ask List

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who?

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

3) What song describes your OC?

4) What song describes your OC and their partner/love interest?

5) Do you ship your OC with a Canon character? If so who?

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

7) Vice-Versa! If your OC is in the modern day, what fantasy class would they be? Would they be a different race?

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

12) Does your OC interact with other people's OC? If so, who's their best OC friend?

13) Does your OC have a rival? How did it start?

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive?

17) If your OC has kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

18) What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

20) If they fight, what's their weapon of choice?

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter?

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

24) Can they play any instruments? If so, what do they play?

25) Are they the kind of person who can't resist a good song? Can I catch your OC singing to themselves while they do the dishes?

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

27) What's their spirit tamagotchi? Or an animal you associate them with?

28) What clique would they be in? (Draw them in the clothes of said group!)

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

30) My OC and your OC are friends. This isn't a question. I'm not asking. (How do they respond?)

[trulyy-yourzz]

✿fluff - b.e x reader

I know we all need a little something to make us feel better (I'm still mourning😞), so as a fellow billie writer, and for the requests in my inbox, here you go my loves 💕 I hope you enjoyy. Mwa!

ʚɞ

Billie sat hunched on the edge of her bed, her eyes red and puffy from crying. She had just gotten back from the Grammy Awards, seeing all her friends and peers winning awards left and right while she came away with nothing. It stung more than she ever could have imagined. And she didn't expect it to.

There was a soft knock at her bedroom door before it opened, revealing you, her girlfriend. Billie looked up at you with a sad smile, trying to be strong even though she felt like crumbling inside.

"Hey, can I come in?" You asked softly, your voice filled with concern.

Billie nodded, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. "Yeah, of course. I could use the company right now."

You entered the room and closed the door behind you. then making your way over to sit beside Billie on the bed. You wrapped a comforting arm around the singer's shoulders, pulling her close. "I'm so sorry about tonight, Bille. I know how much the Grammys meant to you," you murmured, rubbing your hand soothingly along Billie's arm.

Billie let out a shaky sigh, leaning into your touch. "I just...I don't get it. I poured my heart and soul into my album. I thought for sure I had a shot at winning something, anything really. But... nothing. It's like, what's the point?" Her voice cracked with emotion as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. You tightened her embrace, letting Billie cry into your shoulder.

"You can't think like that," you said firmly but kindly. "Your music means everything to so many people, including me. The fact that you didn't win an award doesn't diminish your talent or your impact."

Billie sniffled and pulled back to look at you with loving eyes. "You really mean that?"

You nodded, cupping Billie's face in your hands. "I do Billie, you're an incredible artist and an even more incredible person. Don't let one night or a silly little award define you or your career. Your album is beyond amazing."

Billie felt a small smile tug at her lips as she gazed into your earnest eyes. "Thank you. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have to do anything without me," you said with a warm smile, cupping her cheek and leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her lips.

"We're in this together, love..."

°

°

°

Notes: screaming, crying, and throwing up!

That's all❤️

[pupyuj]

[cw: dom ive unnie line x sub wony, like deadass in-the-depths-of-subspace wony, g!p rei bcs idgaf, rei has a BIGGG unnie kink.]

genuinely tried to not make this drag on but the ideas just kinda kept coming 😭 i thought the annyeongz fic i'm working on rn would be the first and only idol x idol thing from me but ah... wonyoung ships are just too good for me to not write anything about them 🥰💞

wonyoung is never EVER beating the unnie’s girl allegations it’s actually so bad for her 😔 she just can’t help it okay!? whenever the unnies speak, something in her brain just rewires itself into making her a perfect, obedient little doll for them and them only 🫠 and she knows the unnies in question love her undivided attention anyway! 🤭 yujin, who is the leader and does expect said attention. gaeul, who is not the leader but is the oldest so any authority that she has on someone, even if it’s small, she will devour. and rei, who is barely considered an unnie but very much wants to be bcs she wants to feel that respect yujin and gaeul feed their ego with 😵‍💫😵‍💫

wony knowing yujin the longest… meaning she would a different level of whipped for her 😍 eyes never leaving yujin while the leader talks, always nodding and agreeing to whatever she is saying, doing whatever the leader wants done from her… most specifically when yujin gets wonyoung alone in some room to talk about how the latter sometimes spaces out during performance discussions and briefings 🫣 wony having to apologize for having a wild, naughty imagination… for thinking about having her hands all over yujin’s perfect body… for wanting to be on her leader’s lap getting pampered and pleasured like the little princess she is 🥺🥺 ofc more often than not, yujinnie would entertain this and give wonyoung the sex she has probably been wanting all day… but sometimes she has to put her leader cap on and punish bad behavior! 😤

and naturally, wonyoung just so happened to love the most common way of punishing disobedient subs—spanking! 💕 being bent over a table with the side of face pressed down and her hair gripped tightly by her yujin-unnie… her skirt on the floor and her panties brought down only to her thighs bcs yujinnie was so hasty and didn’t waste any more time before she started hitting wony’s ass 😮‍💨😮‍💨 wony having to bite back her cute whines and moans bcs yujin just so happened to drag her inside a room that did not have soundproofed walls… and it gets even better when wony arches her back for more, giving yujin a view of her wet pussy… so desperate to be filled up, but yujin was not giving into her own desire this time 🤭

spanking wony until her butt was red and her legs were twitching… and believe it or not, wonyoung came from all of that alone! and ofc yujin wasn’t too mean to her poor pretty girl—she made sure to give wonyoung’s perfect ass a good eating before they both left that room happier than ever 🥰

oh gaeul… the unnie wony adores the most 🥺 follows her around like a lovesick bunny, always hugging her from behind bcs gaeul is just so snug in wonyoung’s arms 😔💕 wony doesn’t know what it is about gaeul that just made her impossible to act… normal around her 😭 maybe it’s the endearingly lazy way that gaeul talked, maybe it’s gaeul’s pretty eyes that was always on wonyoung’s body, maybe it’s the rare moments where gaeul would take charge and boss everyone around… that last one gets wonyoung squirming in her seat every time she thinks about it 🤭 she does a lot of things on purpose to poke the bear that is gaeul’s inner strictness! giving the older girl bedroom eyes from across the table during meetings and if they’re sitting right next to each other, wony would tease her by caressing gaeul’s leg with her foot under the table 🫣 also wearing risqué outfits for gaeul to be the only one to notice that it’s inappropriate, intentionally making mistakes during dance practices so gaeul would be the one to correct her… the more the eldest gets visibly upset, the more wony considers her actions a great success! 🤭

all of that makes gaeul’s nightly visits to wonyoung’s room a lot more fun! but see, gaeul makes no mention of wonyoung’s actions bcs she knew that would only make wonyoung do them more… so the older girl settles with keeping her princess up ‘till dawn using her mouth 😋 seriously, gaeul will join wonyoung in her bed dead in the night, feel her up enough to get her soaked before finally burying her head in between her thighs… and it gets even better when gaeul makes wony work for her climax! slowing down on purpose to the point it frustrates the little princess and she flips the older girl over to ride her face 🫠🫠 in direct contrast to yujin who loves punishing wonyoung on the spot and jumping at every opportunity to do so, gaeul is smart and knows that it’s just what wonyoung wants so instead of giving her that, gaeul makes her beg.

but that’s okay, wony would do anything her gaeul-unnie wants! 🥺 ride her face until dawn? beg and beg for release? scream her name so loud that wonyoung would have to bite on a pillow? everything would be done, and done well.

and rei, the wannabe unnie of 04z 🤭💕 it’s cute when the members tease her about wanting to take care of the girls of the same age as her but it’s a very real desire, okay!? 😤 she wants to be seen as this mature and responsible member who can be just as reliable as gaeul and yujin… especially by wonyoung, who is a few years her senior when it comes to being an idol and being the picture of elegance and class 🤭 it’s so obvious rei wants to be fawned over as an unnie and wonyoung has a hell of a time entertaining her! 😋 during practices, when rei does something as simple as handing wonyoung a bottle of water during a break or being the one to wipe her sweat away with a towel, wonyoung always makes sure to say “thank you, unnie” very, very quietly before scurrying away with a smirk knowing she has just flipped a switch inside rei’s brain 😵‍💫

but oh, rei knows wonyoung can be a big tease sometimes... and once the princess is having fun, it's quite difficult to put her down so, rei likes to get a jump on things! 😋 forcing wonyoung down on her knees in the dirty bathroom floors, even binding her hands behind her back with a silk necktie rei just so happened to be bringing around during dance practice days, and making the pretty princess suck her cock with great difficulty bcs wonyoung always needed to take it slow or else she doesn't do well :( but she always wants to please her unnies... so she forces herself to do her best bcs if rei isn't feeling good then that would just hurt her pride! looking up at rei with tears of pleasure, taking up all of her length down her throat even though she was gagging... all of that just to hear rei's sweet voice call her a very good girl and tell her how much she was making her feel so good 🤭

rei having to cum all over wony's face bcs she looks the prettiest that way :(( and wony hates it when her makeup gets ruined but if letting rei do that means getting filled up her cock immediately after... well then, whatever 'unnie' wants, 'unnie' gets! 💓💓

[callipraxia]

I’ll admit it - thinking of ‘but what will people think of me?’ has stopped me short of writing things before, in everything from writing actual content to writing part of a review on a friend’s story. “What will [Friend] think, seeing that I know that? Even if I explain the actually relatively innocuous reason why I know it, would they even believe me? This is an issue of how something is portrayed in media that I feel pretty strongly about, but in context, it might be better to just…drop it.”

I…tried actually including a detailed example of my next point here, drawing from Anon’s Robert Jordan remark, but it ended up breaking the thousand-word limit before I even got past the introductory explanations, so I guess I’ll write a separate essay about why I don’t really agree with the “dudebro is secretly obsessed with lesbians and BDSM” line of thinking, maybe link it back here later if I remember. In the meantime, the point was - if I start thinking “dang, I think Author X has an Issue with Y,” it’s usually a lot less because of what the author leaves in than what the author leaves out. As an author, one deliberately chooses to explore certain topics, including dark ones that reflect the issues that preoccupy us (isn’t Anne Rice’s work supposed to be kinda messed up? I mean, I’ve never read a word she wrote that I can recall, but aren’t they all, y’know, horror novels?). As distasteful as we might find it, incest and pedophilia and sexual assault and suicide and all those other words you can’t use on YouTube are real things that happen every day. There’s a plethora of reasons why any given author might want to explore such issues in writing, and at least half of ‘em have nothing to do with sex. I’ve never heard anyone imply that Dostoyevsky must have been really, really turned on by the thought of attacking pawnbrokers with axes, much less that he ever committed a murder in real life just for the heck of it. From what I’ve read - though to be fair, my reading on the subject is not extensive - Nabokov probably wasn’t really a pedophile, and Mario Puzo probably had nothing to do with real-life organized crime. I have heard a few people suggest Stephen King must be a perverted serial killer in real life to write what he writes, but those people were idiots. And so forth. Point is, an author examining evil through a certain point of view really should not lead to the assumption that the author has done or wants to do any of those bad things. That’s why we say that authors use their imaginations when they’re working.

Plus, well…nine times out of ten, nobody’s going to make you read a book. If you really can’t read a book without getting uncomfortable because you can’t stop thinking that X or Y means that the author might have wanted his wife to put him on a leash and spank him, you can almost always just…put down the book and go read something else. You can also do this if you’re uncomfortable with Anne Rice apparently having conflicting feelings about God - that isn’t a potential theme that bothers me, but I know people who would be upset for days about reading something that even hinted at someone Having Questions about the divine. Heck, I have a few books I 99% enjoy and I just skim over or entirely skip parts that involve actions I find uncomfortable - my one hard rule is that I won’t willingly even skim anything where bad things happen to pets, but even then, I don’t assume that everybody who ever earned a Newbury Medal is a bad person who likes thinking about such things. I just don’t read their books. Unless you are compelled to do otherwise for a class* or the like, just do thou likewise.

*I was, very reluctantly, compelled to read two books in my undergraduate Adolescent Literature class where bad things happened to dogs; it was the first and last time in my life that I’ve ever tried to get out of reading something, but the professor didn’t believe what I could bring myself to explain about just how negative of a reaction I knew I would have if I read any books with dying dogs in them. Now I still have one of those scenes lodged in my carousel of intrusive thoughts that drive my anxiety level up and make it really difficult not to engage in compulsive behaviors whenever they rudely shove their way up to the front of my brain, but I don’t think badly of Sherman Alexie because of it.

Do you think authors sometimes don't realize how their, uh, interests creep into their writing? I'm talking about stuff like Robert Jordan's obvious femdom kink, or Anne Rice's preoccupation with inc*st and p*dophilia. Did their editors ever gently ask them if they've ever actually read what they've written?

Firstly, a reminder: This is not tiktok and we just say the words incest and pedophilia here.

Secondly, I don't know if I would call them 'interests' so much as fixations or even concerns. There are monstrous things that people think about, and I think writing is a place to engage with those monstrous things. It doesn't bother me that people engage with those things. I exist somewhere within the whump scale, and I would hope no one would think less of me just because sooner or later I like to rough a good character up a bit, you know? It's fun to torture characters, as a treat!

But, anyway, assuming this question isn't, "Do writers know they're gross when I think they are gross" which I'm going to take the kind road and assume it isn't, but is instead, "Do you think authors are aware of the things they constantly come back to?"

Sometimes. It can be jarring to read your own writing and realize that there are things you CLEARLY are preoccupied with. (mm, I like that word more than concerns). There are things you think about over and over, your run your mind over them and they keep working their way back in. I think this is true of most authors, when you read enough of them. Where you almost want to ask, "So...what's up with that?" or sometimes I read enough of someone's work that I have a PRETTY good idea what's up with that.

I've never read Robert Jordan and I don't intend to start (I think it would bore me this is not a moral stance) and I've really never read Rice's erotica. In erotica especially I think you have all the right in the world to get fucking weird about it! But so, when I was young I read the whole Vampire Chronicles series. I don't remember it perfectly, but there's plenty in it to reveal VERY plainly that Anne Rice has issues with God but deeply believes in God, and Anne Rice has a preoccupation with the idea of what should stay dead, and what it means to become. So, when i found out her daughter died at the age of six, before Rice wrote all of this, and she grew up very very Catholic' I said, 'yeah, that fucking checks out'.

Was Rice herself aware of how those things formed her writing? I think at a certain point probably yes. The character of Claudia is in every way too on the nose for her not to have SOME idea unless she was REAL REAL dense about her own inner workings. But, sometimes I know where something I write about comes from, that doesn't mean I'm interested in sharing it with the class. I would never ever fucking say, 'The reasons I seem to write so much of x as y is that z happened to me years ago' ahaha FUCK THAT NOISE. NYET. RIDE ON, COWBOY.

But I've known some people in fandom works who clearly have something going on and don't seem to realize it. Or they're very good at hiding it. Based on the people I'm talking about I would say it's more a lack of self-knowledge, and I don't even mean that unkindly. I have, in many ways, taken myself down to the studs and rebuilt it all, so I unfortunately am very aware of why I do and write the things I do most of the time. It's extremely annoying not to be able to blame something. I imagine it must be very freeing. But it ain't me, babe.

Anyway, a lot of words to say: Maybe! But that might not stop them from writing it, it might be a useful thing for them to engage with, and you can always just not read it.

Also, we don't censor words here.

[noxiousgrace]

I'm not sure who said it first, but the theory that krs is the red dragon has been on my mind for days now

And it would make so much sense if that was the case

Like what's a better twist than finding out the man who ended the white stars bullshit is also the same being who was used to start it all?

And the fact that krs was able to be affected by white stars curse is so much worse now

Imagine sherrit finding out her child was hurt by the same thing she created to protect him 😭

This also places immense suspicion on the god of death, i mean it never made sense to me that the white star was just able to "pass his curse around" like a sickly virus just because he stole someones body. It sounds more plausible to me that the god of death never added the rule "this curse cannot affect anybody else" and then used it as a loophole to curse KRS.

The curse was a punishment for an oath only dragon slayers have made, what the hell could be more targeted and specific than that??? And now you're telling me this random guy from raon has to live with it in korea cuz the white star took his body before that soul got to inhabit it??

The only person who can break a curse is the one who made the curse and the person who wanted it to be made (in this case the GoD and Sherrit)

And in the sealed test choi jung gun says "the god of death is trying to hold the curse back from affecting you"

Excuse me??? He can't dispel his own curse?? I don't believe that at all. Also krs had nothing to do with the white star since he was born, so why is it impossible to remove him from the effects of it?? The god of death had about 36 years to figure out how to make it go away, and he just couldn't?? I smell bullshit

Sherrit also said that the red egg was affecting it's surroundings before it was born, the dragon inside would've been powerful to extents she probably couldn't even comprehend

It makes more sense to me if the GoD just wanted to get rid of any competition/ "wrench in his plans" and used the excuse of protecting sherrits children to create the perfect scenario to take out 2 birds with one stone

GoD does seem kinda stupid when we see him but it's always the mfs with that kind of act that are the most suspicious, also he literally became a god?? If he can do that, then he's more than capable of setting up some kind of intricate plan to get what he wants

Anywho, there's also other things I've noticed:

1) never accepting park jin tae as king until he proved himself, krs has never submitted to anyone without a valid reason for doing so. Which would seem kinda weird cuz he spent 90% of his upbringing being beaten into submission. I've only ever seen an attitude like that in dragons or just stronger creatures in general (coincidence? I think not)

2) this has been stated before but his affinity with dragons is crazy + he's constantly being mistaken for one 😭

3) the GoD called krs a mutant, we don't know why yet but being a human with the soul of a dragon is a pretty valid reason to call someone a mutant. (Especially if that mutant was able to activate a small % of its attribute)

4) i don't have anything to back this up with, but instant being his attribute instead of a power he got on earth would be pretty cool, just using it for a little bit is enough to injure him because it's meant to be used by a dragon as powerful as the Red one.

----

Imagine eden finding out that the heart he ate to become a chimera belonged to the person who saved him 😭

Imagine the rest of the dragons finding out cale henituse is a "dragon" that will literally die from using his attribute because he's living in the wrong body 😭😭

---

Cales honest reaction to that information:

[chosolar]

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈ what about us?

choso x fem!reader

situationship!choso first met you through yuji. you were yuji's partner for a project he had in college, so you were often at their place to work on it. choso, like the gentleman he is, often gave you rides back to your dorm.

situationship!choso spent one night with you and he couldn't get you out of his mind afterwards. even if you both did agree that it was just a one night stand, just a way of releasing stress that's been building up, but choso didn't want to be just a one time thing.

situationship!choso finally got the chance to talk to you one night when he found you outside the club he used to frequent. he gave you his jacket and gave you a ride home since he knows how sketchy people get. he only meant to check up on you the morning after but something inside him told him to continue the convo.

situationship!choso takes you out after you're done your classes. sometimes choso works mornings and sometimes evenings so whenever you two have free time together, he always takes advantage of it.

situationship!choso wants to always fall asleep on the phone with you. because technically he's not your boyfriend, he feels bad sleeping over so instead he settles on falling asleep when you're on a call.

situationship!choso has a hard time saying I love you. he's proven it with his actions and loyalty, but saying those 3 words is just something he holds back on.

situationship!choso overhears you defending him when you're on the phone with your friends. it's been a year since your relationship started with him and he had still yet to ask you out officially. your friends are annoyed with him and he deserves the heat, but he can't help but feel sorry for you who's defending him wholeheartedly.

situationship!choso can't commit. he doesn't know if it started because of his parents' tumultuous relationship or if it was his ex who fucked him over during their 3 year relationship, but he just can't seem to commit himself to anyone. he hates it. you deserve so much better than him.

situationship!choso loves you so much but he just can't bring himself to be in another relationship. he's not emotionally available enough to be able to communicate with you properly.

situationship!choso keeps delaying on breaking it with you but he can't. he doesn't know how to bring it up and he can't imagine how much he'd have fucked you over if he does break it off. he'll be basically just like his ex who wasted his time.

situationship!choso finally finds the courage to talk to you about how he's feeling. he was planning on doing it through text but that would've been disrespectful to you so he asked if you could come over to his place. he struggles at first to put forward the things he wanted to say, and with his mind all over the place, he just ends up blurting out that he wants to stop seeing you.

with the look you're giving him after he speaks, choso thinks it would've hurt a lot less if you stabbed him in the chest. he waits for an answer for you, he expects for you to get angry and yell at him or to just slap him in the face. you don't do anything though. you're still and silent, and that's what worries choso the most.

"listen it's-" choso starts to explain but you cut him off.

"was it something I did?"

"no of course not. you're perfect baby," choso sighs and pauses before he continues his train of though. "I'm not a good partner. I will be the shittiest boyfriend you'll ever have if we continue and you deserve someone so much better than me."

"then why can't we be together? why can't you be better for me?" you ask him and choso doesn't know how to answer. what's he supposed to say? regardless of his reply, you're going to wonder if you're enough.

"I don't know, I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you." he whispers. as much as he loves you, he wishes he didn't start anything with you because he didn't expect to fall in love so hard. choso didn't think breaking this off would be so difficult for him.

you're quiet again and choso hates the silence because he can't tell what you're thinking. a few minutes pass until he looks at you when you speak up.

"well can't we just try?"

choso's speechless. he just can't wrap his head around the fact that you want to stay with him so badly that you'd willingly hurt yourself for him.

"I can't promise you that I'll be good." choso starts off, "I'm not the best at communicating and I have jealousy issues."

he looks at you before he continues.

"my family is dysfunctional and I don't go out often so you're probably the only person I'll hang out with."

"that's fine," you go to him and embrace him as he reciprocates the hug, happy to be around his arms again. "I'll be here for you."

situationship!choso spends weeks courting you. he's always waking excuses to see you, whether that's picking and dropping you off when you have classes, or he just so happens to be at your work while you're on your break.

situationship!choso is not afraid of showing affection for you when you're in public. he started greeting your friends whenever he saw them and slowly, their opinions of him started changing. it's not like they instantly think that he's the best man for you now, but they're glad that he's bettering himself for you.

situationship!choso introduces you to his family. he contemplated on doing so but even if he's not on the best terms with his parents, he wanted them to know that he's serious about you.

situationship!choso plans the cutest, most sweetest date to ask you out. he knows you deserve the best and that goes for making it official with you.

boyfriend!choso loves you to death. after only having the most exhausting and toxic relationships, being with you is a breath of fresh air for him. he wakes up and goes to sleep with you in mind. he works hard so that you can have a better future with him where you don't have to lift a finger.

boyfriend!choso is so clingy! you didn't expect it because of how awkward he was at first with him but as soon as he felt comfortable, he would be right by your side wherever you go. even if it's just to go to the kitchen or the washroom, you can bet he's right behind you.

boyfriend!choso still has some issues that he's working on. sometimes when you have a big fight, you have to beg him to ask what he's feeling because he's spent so many years holding it in that it's hard for him to vocalize. even if it does get frustrating sometimes, you don't hold it against him since you know how bad it used to be (baby steps!)

boyfriend!choso is the true definition of being a secret freak. everywhere, anytime, whatever position, as long as it's with you, choso is down.

boyfriend!choso sometimes stays awake after you pass out to take time to appreciate you. he's never felt a softer love than when he's with you, and he can't believe a person so patient and loving wanted to stay with him.

boyfriend!choso loves supporting you on any hobbies you have. whether it's gaming or something like crocheting, choso will ask you questions to try and connect with you through what you love.

boyfriend!choso is elated that he can sleep over anytime now. he's basically moved in with you and he's so glad that he doesn't have to sleep on the phone with you to feel like you're right beside him at night.

boyfriend!choso has gotten over his fear of saying I love you. it took him some time to say it back to you but you never rushed him, it was obvious that he loves you too. he just looks at your gentle smile and sighs that he couldn't say it. but on a random night, he drank a little too much and as you were taking care of him, "I love you" was all that he said. ever since then, choso has never had a problem telling you the 3 words you've been wanting to hear.

ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈

wanted to flesh out the situationship but I've never been in one so I didn't know how to lmaooooo

not proofread ofc

[anorlondo00]

I do not care at all about sports and the sum total of my knowledge about American football is what I remember from reading Eyeshield 21 fifteen plus years ago, BUT. I am now invested in the football AU. Ace and Luffy are the mascots of the team and everyone loves them. They can do no wrong in Oyaji's eyes and he will let them get away with murder. In return, both of them are seriously devoted to making the team The Best EverTM. The first time the Whitebeards saw Ace throw a hail mary pass they swore it was going way too wide until Luffy tore down the whole length of the field, leapt like the monkey he is higher than anyone thought possible and slammed that ball down. Now the Whitebeards know to expect anything.

Also in my head Ace is the canon 2-3 years older than Luffy, and while he only became his legal guardian upon turning 18, he has helped raised him and the Whitebeards do a double-take every time responsible Ace comes out. Before Luffy joins the team Ace has to beg early off practice to go to a parent-teacher conference. After they're both on the team Ace still makes him PB&J sandwiches after practice, unruffled by doing it in front of everyone in the locker room.

Bootleg Marineford is a game where everyone (and especially Ace, under a lot of pressure) has been physically and mentally wrung out. The Marines team keep trying to sack Ace and get closer and closer, but Marco digs in his heels and makes an impassable barrier of himself. Until there's a crack in the line... And a small opening forms where Teach, who has been fighting with everyone recently, but especially Whitebeard and Ace, stands. Offensive player Akainu, who probably weighs twice what Ace does, hits him like an avalanche. Ace goes down. When Akainu is finally dragged off him, he stays down.

Luffy and Whitebeard are sprinting across the field toward Ace, but Marco's mind has hit the blue screen of death. There's nothing but static behind his eyes as he stares at his fallen quarterback.

The game is suspended and put up for a rematch. Neither Ace nor Marco, who did his level best to murder Akainu right there on the field, play.

(Ace is eventually fine, but now knows up front and personal the effects of a long-term concussion).

Claims not to know that much about American football, proceeds to clearly and accurately describe the exact plot I was also imagining—

YES! Are you KIDDING ME? This is perfect, I’ve got more

They don’t call him ‘Fire Fist’ for nothing, the kid throws missiles. The way Ace and Luffy find each other across an entire football field drops most people’s jaws.

Luffy will track the ball wherever Aces throws it. If Luffy get’s hurt in a collision catching the ball, Ace firmly believes that’s his fault.

That being said, Luffy is notoriously indestructible.

Bootleg Marineford: (That’s a hilarious thing to call it btw)

There was a flag thrown the second Ace got hit. Yes, it was Teach’s fault for leaving an open window. And. Akainu was needlessly brutal. Whitebeard was cursing him out before they even hit the ground.

Luffy was incredibly protective over Ace while he was unconscious. There were cameras everywhere.

Marco needed three people to pull him off Akainu. Instead of apologizing, he later told the media he’d gladly do it again.

Ace is out for the rest of the season. He’s absolutely devastated. That being said, he stood on the sidelines for every game.

Physical and neurological therapy were a bitch. Lots of ‘long talks’ with Pops.

Of course, Ace comes back to the field as soon as he’s better. Now, playing with the most overprotective offensive line you’ve ever seen in your life.

Thank you for writing this, it was so much fun to read!! And there’s a lot I didn't even mention like the adjusted age gap (perfect for this) and parent teacher conferences— I love it all!

[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.

[awriterinthenight]

"I'd Expect Nothing Less From You"-Luke Castellan

requested: anon

words: 479

warnings: really nothing, just really really criminally short, I'm trying to get out of my writer's block so its just a small blurb, but i'll try to write longer stuff

summary: Hephaestus!Reader x Luke Castellan watching the 4th of July fireworks.

The forge was always your place of comfort as a child of Hephaestus, but recently had become the 2nd place of comfort. Your number one place became being in Luke's arms. His strong arms wrapped around you always brought more comfort than anything else. It was relaxing to know you were safe and could be at peace.

Laying down on a blanket on top of the hill, Luke's arm around your waist, while your head rested on his shoulder, peaking out to admire the fireworks. You were proud of the work you and your siblings had put in to make the 4th of July firework show better every year. You spent most of your time working out wires and timing so everything went off perfectly. Luke noticed you spending less time with him, so he was relieved when you were finally finished and could spend the rest of your time with him.

"You comfortable?" Luke asked, teasing you, your eyelids closing every few seconds.

You mumbled something unintelligible, burying your head farther into his neck, "More than ever," you managed to whisper, your breath fanning over his neck.

Luke moved his other hand to run it through your hair, "You did an amazing job on the fireworks, I just wish you didn't have to take away time together for it."

"I do too, I'll make it up to you I promise," you whispered, feeling yourself drift closer and closer to sleep. Nothing was more peaceful than this moment, you wish could stay there forever.

"You don't have to, love. Just let me spend the rest of your time here with you."

You nodded your head, "Ok," your voice barely above a whisper. You were only a summer camper, so you tried to spend all your time with Luke, dreading when summer would end. Of course you wrote to him and iris messaged, but it wasn't the same as being with him, or wrapped in his arms.

"I'm still going to spend all my time with you, I hope you know," you murmured.

"I'd expect nothing less from you," Luke planted a small kiss on the top of your head, which was still buried between his shoulder and neck.

The rest of the night was more peaceful and perfect than you could've imagined. You slowly fell asleep after having a light conversation with Luke, while he kept his hand running through your hair, helping to soothe you to sleep. Eventually when the fireworks stopped Luke carried you back to your cabin, tucking you in, and planting a kiss on your forehead.

Luke went back to his own cabin thinking of every minute he'd spend with you knowing that you were free to spend all your time with him. He loved nothing more than you, and would spend every last second, every last breath with you, no matter when or where.  

Taglist (ask to be added or removed also my taglist is usually for like all fics btw

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @sarahskywalker-amidala @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs @herondale-lightworm @purplerose291 @mitskiswift99 @crumby-child @rafslytherin @shanksvskidd @yerrmar @oceangirl15 @livia7137

[cthulhus-curse]

thinking about insane obsessive stalker bottom wanda stalking reader and breathing every breath for reader. she watches from afar but keeps track of you everyday, studying your routine and habits. one day she’s shocked that you go up to her (because little does she know, you know she stalks you and you love it) you end up being very sweet and inviting her over to your place. wanda is in absolutely awe and shock, not believing that she could finally be so close to her obsession. she’s shocked because you are extremely sweet and patient with her, making her fall in love even more and when you finally kiss her, her heart almost stops. she’d lose her mind at the chance to finally have you, worshipping and becoming obsessive. she’d suck your dick like she’s starving, making you cum over and over again, making your cock so messy with cum and spit as she chokes on it and she can’t get enough. finally you get her to stop so you can please her and she doesn’t let you stop fucking her for hours on end because she can’t get enough. eventually after hours of intense sex, she lays with you and wonders if you’ll ever want this again or if it was just once. she thinks you’re so kind and even better than she could’ve imagined. she was so in her head that it took her a second to process when you leaned over and whispered “i know all about your stalking, i’ve been looking at those eyes that never leave me. i hope all the watching was worth it, because you’re mine now and forever sweetheart, hope you made the right choice” and wanda could not be more fulfilled in life, finally her purpose noticed her love and dedication.

Crazed stalker Wanda is something I desperately need in my life. The way she’d be so willing to please and do anything to get you to so much as look her way 😵‍💫

[2am-writing]

You're a Coward Steve Harrington

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader 

Category: Angst to fluff

Summary: Steve has been avoiding y/n for the last month. It’s not until you’re shit faced at a party for him to confess what’s really going on.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, taking shots, smoking, smoking weed while driving (I do not condone this behavior this is just here for the sake of the story and vibes LOL), throwing up, fighting, kissing

WC: 2.5

A/n: Second “fanfic” “imagine” esc post!! I really hope you like it. This was fun to write and please don’t judge my shitty writing lollll I’m still working on it and lots of room for improvement (: 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I still think he’s into you” Nancy laughed at y/n as she told Nancy the infamous story of how one day her and Steve were the bestest of friends, inseparable really. How they did everything together- movie nights, parties, dinners, even sleepovers. Steve and y/n became close very quickly ever since y/n moved to Hawkin’s about a year ago. But one day later everything had seemed to banish out of nowhere. 

It crept up slowly, and though y/n was trying not to read too much into it at first, she soon realized she should’ve because when she finally came to terms with what Steve was doing it was too late, and he was gone- Not literally gone as in disappeared but, gone from her life. 

It first started with Steve not returning your calls right away, letting them go unanswered for hours, until those hours turned to days. He stopped walking you to class and meeting up before and after school. He avoided you at lunch, and started making excuses to get out of hanging out. All which ultimately led to him completely dodging your presence.

Finally when it became too much for y/n she pressed him in the hallway, on the verge of breaking down, demanding to know what she did that made Steve want nothing to do with her anymore. Steve’s heart was shattered at the thought that he let y/n think that this was her fault. But overall, he thought losing her like this was a better alternative than getting rejected and ruining the friendship that way. So when she pressed him that day in the school hallway, it took everything in him to say nothing and just walk away.  

Over the course of that month Robin countlessly called Steve an idiot, she suspected the feelings he had for y/n but nothing was confirmed. Steve was too stubborn to admit to anything. And Robin too- like Nancy, tried telling y/n

‘I think he’s just an idiot who’s into you.’ But without confirmation, y/n just accepted that Steve had a newfound hatred for her and the only thing could do was bury her feelings for him and forget it. 

As for y/n, she spent a lot of her free time with Robin when she wasn’t with or working with Steve, and Eddie too- they were just friends of course but they did get significantly closer ever since Steve walked out of y/n’s life. 

10pm hit as Nancy, Jonathan, and y/n stood outside the Wheeler’s house waiting for Eddie to pick them up for a party. You weren’t really sure whose party it was, but Eddie knew the guy which automatically meant you and your friends were invited. 

You were excited, and felt like this would be a good opportunity to finally let loose and have fun after how stressful this month has been for you. You wore a tight black mini skirt, a baby tee that rose just above your belly button, and knee high boots. You wanted to feel good about yourself tonight, forget about Steve and everything he put you through. You were never much of a partier and you definitely preferred smoking and relaxing than drinking and partying, but you knew a switch up would be good for you.

When Eddie finally pulled up you hopped in the passenger seat, as Johnathan and Nancy sat in the back.

“Hey- you clean up nice” Eddie laughed at y/n while passing her the joint he just lit. Y/n accepted the joint gracefully and took a hit of it, before Eddie started driving off to the party,

“Not so bad yourself Munson,” She coughed out before taking another hit, 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie stammered, “One, save some for me-” He took the joint back smoking it, “Two, slow your roll and wait till we step foot in the party before you completely lose yourself.” 

The drive over to the party was no more than 20 minutes. On arrival, Jonathan and Nancy went their separate ways as they are more of the inverted partier type. As for you and Eddie, he took you straight to the kitchen to get started on drinks, 

“Okay doll, what’re you drinking tonight?” 

“Tequila,” You answered without hesitation, Eddie was taken off guard by my answer. He knew that wasn't my typical drink of choice. His eyes widened and eyebrows raised,

“Well shit y/l/n, why do I have a feeling I’m gonna be carrying you out of this place tonight,” He laughed pouring your guys’ first shot of the night. 

You cheered your shot before taking it with ease, then taking a hit of a joint you just lit. Eddie’s eyes looked at you in disbelief as you held the joint in your mouth inhaling while pouring another shot before- he chimed in,

“I don’t know if I should be proud or concerned for you,” 

You shook your head laughing, "I just need to say fuck it and let loose Eddie, I’ve been needing this for a while, okay."

Eddie is aware of the situation that went down with Steve, he’s the one who has been at your side and at your every call, always there to comfort you. He knew how much Steve meant to you, though he never understood why you liked him so much, but you just claimed he never got to know Steve like you did.

“Doll, I know you need this, just be careful please I can’t babysit all night-” Eddie got cut off by his friends welcoming him and dragging him out to the back patio.

All honesty you were fine being left alone, tequila made you wanna dance and that’s exactly what you went to do.. After you took another shot of course. 

You slammed your shot glass on the counter after taking it, then filling up your red solo cup with a mixed drink and hit the dance floor. 

You were doing exactly what you had planned on doing, letting loose and having fun. A benefit to going to a party where you don’t even know who’s hosting it is you don't know a lot of the people here- making dancing with random guys a lot easier.

Whilst in the middle of quite literally throwing it back on some guy whose name you didn't even know, your body suddenly froze up, you felt as if your lungs had started constricting, and anger rose inside of you noticed Steve fucking Harrington walking in the door with Robin- 

‘I should’ve known, a friend of Eddie’s is more than likely a friend of Robin’s of course they’re fucking here.’

You sighed, taking a deep breath in, 

‘Tonight is my night of fun and letting lose, fuck Steve Harrington,’ 

You took another swig of your drink before continuing dancing, you were definitely feeling the alcohol hitting you now. 

Steve spotted you the moment he walked into the house. Jealously rose inside of him as he saw you dancing with some guy. But he still couldn't help but miss you and his heart felt like it was aching. That feeling followed up with the thought of rejection, and he couldn’t help but replay the moment in the hallway you two had shared when you were pressing him, he had never seen you so angry.

He quickly snapped back to reality, he could automatically tell you were drunk, he smiled to himself admiring how confident you looked dancing, drink in your hand, you looked as if you didn’t have a care in the world. He missed your presence. 

A few minutes later Steve found himself in the kitchen grabbing a beer. After taking a prolong drink he heard someone stumbling into the wall over towards the bathroom. 

With curiosity getting the best of him he peered around the corner, and there you were. Drunkenly stumbling, joint in your mouth, your hand pasted to the wall using it to guide you to the bathroom door.

When you reached the bathroom you had slammed the door behind you before placing your joint on the sink carefully, then falling to your knees in front of the toilet waiting for the contents in your stomach to rise up. 

Steve slowly approached the door listening to what you could be doing, he more just wanted to know that you were okay in there. The second he heard you start to vomit, worry washed over him. He lost control over himself and didn’t think twice before he opened the bathroom door. His eyebrows pinched together, sympathy in his eyes at the look of you hanging over the toilet sick. 

Your head had snapped over to the door upon it opening, your face had a look of anger then quickly dropping as you made eye contact realizing it was Steve, 

“What the fuck are you doing here,” Your words slurred,

“I know- I know you hate me,” Steve calmly said while closing the door behind him then kneeling down next to you pulling your hair out of you face and holding it back, “Just- just let me help you please,” 

Before you could respond you resumed throwing up and coughing in the toilet violently. Steve continued to hold your hair back while with the other hand he was rubbing small circles in your back calmly saying, “It’s okay, you’re okay- just breath,” 

Truth to be told, his presence felt very comforting, and as much as you wanted to kick him out of the bathroom, scream at him, and analyze this odd situation- You were far too crossed from the weed and alcohol to even think.  

“Why- are you- here Harrington,” You began choking on your words before tears started to form in your eyes, “You avoid me- for- a whole fucking- month, you’re just gone- and now you want to just show up again,” 

“I know- I know, I-”

Before Steve could finish his sentence you started vomiting again cutting off his sentence, his heart ached seeing you like this,

“Hey hun,” His tone gentle, “Can I please take you home, you can’t stay here like this,” 

As much as you hate to give in so easily you knew you were only gonna feel worse. Plus you had a feeling Eddie left the party already with a girl that was hitting on him on the back patio so this may be the best option for you,

“Okay,” You croaked out grabbing Steve’s shoulder to boost you up. Steve stood up with you wrapping his arm around you to help keep your balance,

“Okay- let’s go” 

He guided you outside the house, walking you to his car. He opened the passenger door for you, helping you inside. The world was spinning, your mind was racing yet it was also blank, you rested your head on the window feeling drowsy,

“Your house or mine hun,” 

“Steve-” you slurred, “I can’t go home like this,” 

"Okay," Steve nodded, driving off to his house. 

You blacked out during the car ride, you felt as if you were jumping in and out of reality, nothing felt real. One moment you were sitting in the passenger seat of Steve Harrington’s car, the next minute you were laying on his couch with a slightly better grasp of reality.

You slowly sat up rubbing your eyes not caring if you smeared your mascara. You noticed Steve in the kitchen holding a cup of water as he started walking towards you, 

“Here,” He said quietly, “Uh- We just got here- like 10 minutes ago- here drink this,” He hands you the cup and you drink the water reluctantly glaring at him, 

“How can you just act like nothing happened Steve? You were my best friend one day, and a shitty- selfish person the next.”

Steve sighs, embarrassed, and unable to look you in the eyes. He knows you’re right, he can’t just have you stay the night without explaining why he did what he did. He knew he had to tell you the truth, and he had to tell you tonight. 

“Do you remember the time- uh- we stayed up all night just talking in my car,” Steve’s demeanor was soft, he was staring at the ground breathing slowly,

“Yeah,” 

“I think about that night almost everyday you know,” He pauses taking another deep breath, “We talked all night- about everything- and you feel asleep on my shoulder at sunrise-” 

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at Steve, “Yes Steve I get it. I was stupid enough to open up to you, about everything, my whole life. What? Just for you to ditch me months later and forget about everything?” Tears started forming in your eyes, you started to fill of rage,

“No, no- Just- please let me finish,” I stayed silent, 

“Y/n I love you-” 

“You’re a coward Steve Harrington,” You shouted at him, “You don’t abandon someone you love,” 

Steve’s head snapped up at you making eye contact, you could tell something changed in him, 

“Dammit y/n I fell in love with you!” He shouted. He maintained eye contact, your eyes widened, eyebrows raised, your breathing fasten, yet you remained silent,

“I’m sorry I abandoned our friendship y/n- I’m sorry I left you hanging. I was scared of your rejection, I didn’t wanna lose our friendship that way y/n. I know it doesn’t make sense, but at the time- you know- it did. I know I’m a coward from running away from those feelings, but I just knew you could never feel the same,” Steve stopped talking and started catching his breath,

“Steve, you're an idiot,” You gave him a saddened pitiful smile, “How could I not like you back? Of course I had feelings for you,” Steve’s expression softened as those words left your mouth,

“Really?” In the moment nothing but guilt washed over Steve, he was happy too- But more so he felt guilty, like a real jerk for wasting all that time away from you. But ultimately, all the worry he had of getting rejected from you had vanished. 

Steve inched closer to you, closing the gap that laid between you guys. He held eye contact with you momentarily, breaking it to stare at your lips. His hand cupped your cheek as he closed his eyes slowly pulling you into him. You leaned into his kiss, your hands hanging around his neck. 

You couldn’t believe this was finally happening, Steve felt like he was dreaming.

When your lips collided it felt as if the whole world around you disappeared. Your lips fit perfectly together moving in sync, his lips were soft and gentle with yours. Everything felt perfect. 

Steve paused pulling back, you were both smiling like idiots at each other catching your breath before Steve spoke up,

“I missed you so much- I’ve been wanting to do that for so long you have no idea,”

“No, you have no idea Harrington,” You laughed, “Don’t ever do any of that dumb shit again,”

Steve laughed shaking his head before pressing his forehead against yours, 

“Trust me, I’m never letting you go again honey.” 

[wiltkingart]

hi! i was just curious if you think you will ever draw more art for the rifter series? i’m currently on book 8 after starting it on your recommendation and i love it, and i love these characters, and the pieces you’ve done capture the characters as i imagine them better than anything else ive seen.

i dont see why not! ive been holding myself back from starting a reread like a wild dog desperately yanking and fighting for my life at the leash ever since i finished it the first time. im trying to make a dent in my unread book pile currently, but once i make progress a reread is inevitable, and art will probably follow.

[darkmagyk]

Fic game prompt! Poorly Timed Confession and pregnancy fic?

More of the Previously written: Annabeth is Married to king Poseidon, Percy is Poseidon's bastard son AU that I started here

A bastard son’s position was precarious. Percy had always known that. He lived and died (perhaps literally) on his father’s desires.

Percy had long been lucky. Both of Poseidon’s first two wives had died before his mother had come to court. Poseidon had been very attached to his mother. And he’d been very proud to sire a son at his age. And for the son to be so healthy and hail and looked just like him.

In recent years it has gotten better. He’d gotten a ducal title. Some of the best Estates in the country, and his military success was proven.

He was 18 and doing as swimmingly as one could imagine.

Except.

No.

Except a lot of things.

His father was old. He would be 70 at his next birthday, and though he was about as healthy as one could be at 70, he would not last forever. And Triton hated Percy. Despised him more than anything else.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to manage in a post Poseidon world, when that day came.

But then, he was already committing treason.

For 5 months, he and the Queen had been… carrying on, as it were.

He hadn’t meant to, not really. Even though Queen Annabeth was his age, and the funniest and smartest person he’d ever known.

Queens, even girlish queens of old men, didn’t conduct affairs with bastard boys. Even favorited sons with ducal titles.

But Annabeth had. It might have been desperation. No one had wanted much to do with her when she arrived. And it was clear she was stifled for both intrigue and friendship.

Percy was so happy to be that friend, and to attempt to take her hurts, and kiss them better.

To kiss her everywhere: to join her in her bed, and make her time in Atlantis better.

He should not have fallen in love with his father’s wife. 

He was in too deep now, dreaming of drowning in her love. 

Bastard’s lived and died by their father’s. And Percy was betraying his in every way imaginable.  And it was worth every second of it. 

***

Annabeth had always known she was meant to be a queen. But she had been furious at her uncle when he’d arranged the marriage with a twice widowed man, with an heir and a bastard spare already. 

It had been everything she’d feared. He was old, which was not necessarily a bad thing. She might have found great satisfaction as a puppet for an old man. Or even in wrapping a man around her fingers. 

But Poseidon was both in fine health and very set in his ways. He did not run his court the way she would, of course, but it had no gaping holes that would bring it to its knees in his lifetime.

He had his friends. He had his women. He had his amusements and the passive love of his people. 

Annabeth still had no idea why he even bothered with another wife. He didn’t yearn for her companionship. He didn’t need her feminine influence on his court. He had an heir who seemed as healthy as he. 

He might want a spare. And that would explain both the marriage and the recruitment of a bride so young. But if he wanted a spare, you would have thought he’d have done his husbandly duties. 

He’d been drunk on their wedding night, and the only saving grace was he’d both passed out before doing anything, and been out of it enough subsequently to believe the blood she’d put on the sheets. 

He had not called on her once in their six months of marriage. And of the 3 times she’d called on him, twice she’d been turned away. And once he had failed. 

And it was no secret that she had failed to make an impression on him. The wedding had been, as far as royal weddings went, a scant affair. The feast had only 12 courses and the King had not even had a new doublet made.

And so she failed to make an impression on anyone else. They had all decided she was not worth it, at least now. A queen only in name. Not in word or deed or every day. 

It would have been ok. Annabeth of Svedland was not merely a pretty face and a good pair of breeding hips. She was smart. And she was clever. And she could plan her way out of this. 

If not for the crushing loneliness that seemed to surround her. Her uncle had not sent any of her companions with her. And though there were ladies to surround the queen here, they barely paid lip service to her. 

And the isolation, the rejection, had been getting to her. 

Until Percy.

“May I have this dance, My Queen?”

“Yes, thank you.” The king was smiling at his son’s choice. Annabeth had realized that he liked the Duke of Thera being attentive to his stepmother. King Poseidon took it as a sign of respect towards him, specifically in contrast to Prince Triton’s treatment of her. Though he didn’t have an opinion on anyone else ignoring her, as long as they bowed when he was by her side. 

Percy made all the difference. 

In more ways than one.

Percy had friends. Percy had a power base. It wasn’t a strong one, he wasn’t ambitious enough for that on his own. But he was well liked, and a war hero. He was known voice in the ear of the king. People paid attention to him. And they saw that he was paying attention to the queen. 

So now, slowly, they did as well. He was not the first to request her dance tonight. Other’s called on her. Or requested her presence at various gatherings. She’d taken to hosting lunches, and had she now had a regular circle of people showing up to attend them. 

And she was very close, she knew, for something that would truly change the game she played. 

Percy was a fairly good dancer. He didn’t have much musicality, but he had the control of his body a warrior needed. So he led her around as he was meant to, and did not step on her toes. 

“I will wish to retire,” She told him, “when the tapers are about halfway gone.” He knew what that meant. It was an established code between them. 

Then she told him of the horses she’s acquired, for they both shared a well known love for the animal. She asked about his estates. And general inquiries of if all his friends were well. 

Then the dance concluded and he left her with a bow.

She spotted him eyeing the candles out of the corner of her eye as she accepted another dance. 

And he made sure he was very near his father when Annabeth made a show of yawning. 

“If it would please you, I would retire.” She said to her husband. 

As expected, he asked Percy to accompany her to her chambers. Though this time he did ask his son to return afterwards. 

She wasn’t thrilled by this. But still, they would get a solid few minutes to speak. And that was really what she needed.

Away from the crowds, she asked him about his mother. She’d not met the woman, Lady Sally didn’t come to court, but she wanted to.

She had a plan for that, too. It all hinged on this one thing. 

She took Percy into her chamber.

Her lady’s maid, Juniper, was waiting for her. Juniper was Percy’s find, and infinitely more trustworthy than the one before. She immediately helped Annabeth out of her hood, and her outer dress, and took them off to be cared for.

“I feel like I have not had a proper moment alone with you in a fortnight,” She complained, taking a seat on her couch, and knowing that it had been 5 days and everyone was more painful then the last. 

“Forgive me, your highness.” He gave his own bow before taking his own seat. She would break him of the habit one day. Perhaps she would even begin to bow to him.

Then he frowned, “I do not have long. The king will be waiting.” 

“I know, Percy, but I do not need long.” 

His frown changed then, more smirk then smile. And so very beautiful. How did people ever say he looked like the king? “Feeling saucy tonight, your majesty?”

“With you, always?” She agreed, grasping the hand that had come to rest on her thigh, “But as you say, we do not have a lot of time right now. And I have something very important to tell you. And you simply must be the first to know.” 

He frowned again. 

“Is everything alright, Annabeth?” And every time he said those words, it was like a dozen moths danced with joy in her tummy. 

“It is more than alright,” She said, leaning in close, “I’m with child.”

[treviso-nights]

Blood and Allegiance—Rook de Riva, Teia/Viago

summary: before she was rook, Keket was a fledgling taken from a declining, abusive House. now, in treviso, she meets her new benefactor (viago de riva) and his surprising, beautiful counterpart (teia cantori). what will she think of her potential benefactor? what will they think of her? rating: M word count: 2500 (inspired by the first prompt from this post!!)

read on AO3

Keket had heard many things about Treviso, had flipped through the images of its canals and architecture marvels in textbooks. In private, Keket had even pressed her fingertips to the glossy pages and imagined she was there instead of where she was, instead of doing what she was. In fact, anywhere would have been better than training in her House. Yet in those secret daydreams, in those most private thoughts, Keket was always in Treviso, cartwheeling down boardwalks flanked by sparkling water—or perhaps ziplining over a twinkling marketplace.

Now, as she was escorted through its front gates, Keket knew she had been right to hold onto those daydreams.

Treviso was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

Her escort didn’t speak to her as they meandered through Treviso’s walkways, moving with the elegance and grace of a trained assassin. Someday, she would be as languid as that. Though as a teenager just past her thirteenth year, Keket was mostly just uncertainty, with limbs too stiff to do anything useful with. It wasn’t as if the anxiety hadn’t already been beaten out of her—it had.

But Keket also couldn’t help wondering what kind of beatings her new benefactor favored—because they all favored one or another. There was no love lost for her old House; that was for sure. However, the nondescript warehouse they came upon didn’t do much to appease newfound concerns, no matter how often she’d been punished for them in the past. After all, Antivan Crows were nothing if not relentless. At least, that was what she told herself.

“This is where I leave you.”

Years of training kept Keket from jumping at the sound of his voice. “Thank you,” she responded, smiling grimly up at her escort. Because even then, she knew to be polite. Even then, in this new city, with this new benefactor, Keket knew to be pleasant. How else was she supposed to form alliances?

To her surprise, her escort smiled warmly back at her—even winking before he began to walk away. That was harder to digest. Crows weren’t supposed to smile at anyone that wasn’t a contract. Keket nearly frowned at the absurdity of it. No doubt that whoever trained him would be ashamed if they’d seen.

The front door to the warehouse was also nondescript—though pretty and well-stained wood, if anything. The inside was dark and empty, save for a few skylights, which provided enough sunshine for Keket to easily make her way to the room’s center, where a person in shadow awaited.

Her new grandmaster.

There wasn’t much Keket wanted—they didn’t need to be kind or accepting or even remotely interested in their fledglings. But if this new House could just be better than the last… if they could just be even one iota less cruel, that would be enough for her.

“Welcome! You must be our new fledgling.”

If Keket’s escort had surprised her, this was nothing less than shock, radiating down into her very bones. As she approached the figure, she could have sworn the day-light filtering in from above rearranged itself just for her—for the small woman standing in front of Keket. Which it should.

Because standing in front of Keket was an earth-shatteringly beautiful woman.

“I’m Andarateia Cantori,” the woman said, flashing white teeth in her smile. “Though you can call me Teia. Just don’t tell anyone else I told you so.”

Sheer instinct kept Keket on her feet, had her nodding slowly back to Teia. Though it was several moments before she could find her voice again. “Are you my new grandmaster?”

This only made Teia smile’s widen, until she was full-blown grinning at Keket. If the gesture itself wasn’t so warm and full of kindness, she would have retreated to a more defensible position in the room.

“Well…” Teia began. “Not really. Although, if you wish, I could make arran—“

The warehouse door slamming back open was the last straw, and Keket threw herself to the side, safety rolling near one of the room’s main walls, which she promptly pressed her back against.

“Oh, dammit!” Teia shouted, all traces of her previous warmth evaporated. “You scared our little fledgling half to death!”

A new, distinctly male voice sounded off then. “Teia!” the intruder barked, his long legs carrying him to where Keket had just been standing. “What do you think you are doing? Is it your life’s mission to be a complete pain in my ass? Or did I do something to specifically warrant this intrusion? I can never tell.”

“Keket?” Teia called, ignoring the intruder’s protests. “May I introduce to you your new grandmaster—Fifth Talon, Viago de Riva.”

At this, Keket’s eyebrows shot up. Fifth Talon? The Fifth Talon wanted her in his House?

“Come over here,” Teia encouraged, beckoning Keket with another warm smile. Still, she ignored Viago’s ever-reddening face, the deep blush darkening his handsome bronze skin until it almost looked purple.

The wall felt safer. But Teia was too enticing, too beautiful and friendly to disobey—as if they had already formed a comraderie or an understanding that could not be betrayed by Keket’s own suspicion. Even if that suspicion was a necessary part of their trade.

Unwilling footsteps shuffled Keket closer to where the duo stood, only twelve inches apart or so. The sky-light illuminated both of their features, which were very Antivan in nature—tawny brown skin and dark, curly hair so tightly coiled the curls were more like ringlets. And while Teia’s eyes were as deep and brown as her hair, Viago’s were a strange, muted emerald, as if that emerald had first been buried in fresh soil.

Only when Keket came to a stop next to him did Viago turn towards her, his piercing gaze pinning the teenager’s feet to the spot.

“Viago, Keket. Keket, Viago,” Teia chuckled.

Keket remained silent, as was expected of all fledglings before their grandmaster. So did she avert her gaze, keeping it trained on the ground. She needed to show him the utmost deference and respect, just as her last grandmaster had taught her.

“Look at me,” Viago commanded.

Keket’s blood ran cold. That didn’t seem right. What had she done wrong?

“Now.”

She obeyed him at once, her eyes wide and wiped blank of any obvious sentiment—the best she could do, given her terror.

“Don’t frighten her more,” Teia hissed, and Keket’s eyes involuntarily flicked to the scowling woman beside them. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Keket’s next inhale stuttered in her chest. Surely she would face punishment for speaking to the Fifth Talon this way?

But Viago only rolled his emerald eyes, his mustache quirking with a grimace. “How old are you?” he asked her.

Keket knew to answer quickly. “Thirteen.”

“How long have you been a fledgling?”

“Since I was eight.”

“Eight?” Both Viago and Teia shared a look.

Keket fought the urge to squirm. “Is that… unusual?” Typically, Keket would never deign to speak while not spoken to, but something about their reactions felt strange.

Teia was the one to answer. “It depends. But your former grandmaster had a certain reputation for eccentric recruiting practices.”

At that, Keket was silent. What did that mean?

Viago scoffed. “What she means is that your former grandmaster was a despicable speck of scum that had no qualms about recruiting hordes of small children so long as some of them survived long enough to cause trouble for the other Houses.”

Keket nodded absently.

“Agreed. Let us hope their new grandmaster has more sense,” Teia added, glancing at Viago again. “Lest the rest of us be forced to take action.”

With no clear understanding of what she meant, Keket once more averted her gaze.

“Keket, let me properly introduce you to Andarateia Cantori, Seventh Talon of the Antivan Crows, since I am sure she made no effort to disclose her official title.”

Against all instinct, an audible gasp ripped through Keket’s throat.

“Now you’ve done it,” Teia angrily muttered.

The Fifth and Seventh Talon. Keket knew this meeting could potentially be dangerous, though she would never have been able to ascertain the level of that danger—would never have thought that two Talons would ever be standing in front of her, squabbling like old lovers as if they couldn’t end her existence with a single twist of their hands.

There were no words for the influx of awe, horror, and hope rushing through her belly. So, Keket defaulted to the proper supplication these Talons deserved; a still body, and a quiet mouth.

This, however, did not seem to please Viago de Riva.

He cursed in Antivan. “What? Did your grandmaster beat the spirit out of you?”

Keket’s reply was instantaneous and without any emotion. “Yes.”

Then Teia cursed. Keket turned to her. “Grandmaster said that a good Crow must be emptied before it can be filled with anything useful, so we practiced being empty a lot.”

The warehouse’s subsequent silence only served to further strain Keket’s nervous system. That wall was looking highly safe right now…

“A good Crow uses everything at their disposal to complete their contracts,” Viago replied. “Especially their natural predispositions.” A pause. “Look at Teia,” he continued, gesturing to Teia with his hand. “What weapons do you think she is most likely inclined to use?”

“Here it comes,” Teia grumbled.

Keket was sure she was being set up to fail this question, but she also suspected Viago did not tolerate anything but the truth. Slowly, Keket appraised Teia once more, absorbing her small, lithe body, which would certainly attune her to agile movement; her full lips; the way her soft, long hair framed her jaw…

An uncomfortable blush began peppering Keket’s neck and ears when she realized she was staring. “Well,” she started. “She is… very beautiful.”

This prompted Teia to grin at her, which only served to aggravate the blush.

But Viago only frowned. “Exactly. So you can imagine how many powerful, wealthy men survive encounters with her when she is fulfilling a contract.”

“Probably not very many,” Keket said.

Teia laughed. “Exactly. Seduction is one of many tools in a Crow’s arsenal. These powerful, self-important men see my face and my ears and think I am harmless. Usually, it is the last thought they ever have.”

Keket’s eyes widened in something akin to wonder. 

“Now, what do you think of Viago? What skillset do you think he is most predisposed to?”

She felt her jaw lock when Viago’s intense gaze returned to her. This was most certainly a trap. Right? 

Still, the answer came at once—a muted whisper that bubbled inside her mind. Such whispers came infrequently, though when they did, they most often struck true.

“Poison.”

Both Teia and Viago’s brows shot up, their visages conveying an honest surprise at the answer.

“And why would you say that?” Teia asked.

Keket swallowed, attempting to ignore Viago’s stare seeping into her face. “He holds himself apart from others—at least one foot away. At first, I thought it was because of a… distaste for you,” she said, unwillingly glancing back at Teia, “but your obvious familiarity with each other ruled that out. I would guess that you just don't like to be touched.”

She got the distinct impression this made the Talons uncomfortable, judging by their stony expressions.

“Secondly… you smell like Belladern,” Keket murmured.

Viago de Riva cocked his head at that, his stare turning intense. “Are you sure you are not scenting my cologne?”

“I’m sure. Belladern is created by mixing belladonna with wyvern venom, and it has a signature aroma when heated at the right degree. It’s sweet.”

Viago nodded, his head moving slowly while he stuck his tongue against one cheek.

But Keket continued to answer, her voice steadily becoming more confident as she did. “I also think you sampled some before coming here. You probably ingest small amounts of several poisons to build immunity to them, since most who prefer poison are often paranoid about unknowingly consuming poison themselves.”

“What’s your evidence?” Viago asked, deliberating.

“Belladern side effects include rapid heartbeat, and I can see yours pounding against the arteries of your neck.” Keket lifted one hand, pointing at Viago’s carotid, where his pulse point throbbed at a steady and swift rate.

“And I don’t think it’s because you’re nervous,” she supplemented. “Also, your left fingers keep twitching. Since Belladern also causes convulsions, that would make sense as well.”

Teia muttered something softly, the Antivan momentarily breaking through Keket’s examination.

“Anything else?” Viago inquired.

Keket nodded at Viago’s other hand. “The tips of those fingers are red and raw, as if they’ve been burned. Since I assume you wear gloves while you work, yours are either old and worn through, or you need a second pair to cover the first. I would recommend drakeskin, as it deteriorates slowly,” she finished, voice once again quiet.

Viago de Riva folded his arms across his chest, the harsh angles of his brow and jaw smoothed out. “Was it your grandmaster that taught your class alchemy?”

“No. He used it on us. I remembered the smell.”

After an agonizingly silent pause, Teia cursed again—a fiery, filthy string of curses Keket struggled to not blush at.

Meanwhile, Viago looked vicious once more, fury etching deep into the handsome planes of his face. “Agreed, Teia.”

Keket resisted the urge to return to the warehouse’s wall. Had she said too much? Was she arrogant in her responses? Did she insult his honor?

“Right, then,” Teia chirped, a strained smile pulling at her mouth.

“Viago, if you do not want another fledgling, I would be more than happy to declare her part of House Cantori.”

That… couldn’t be right. Right? 

But Viago only glowered, each emerald eye narrowing in warning.

“Absolutely not. I will not have you poaching every wounded fledgling who crosses your path.” Then he turned to Keket, the curls in his hair bouncing slightly with the movement.

“You should know: I will not coddle you the way some may think you deserve. Becoming a fledgling in my House will mean even more discipline and more… correction, if you will.”

Keket nodded. She did not expect anything different.

“But,” Viago said, his jaw unclenching. “Only when you deserve it. Or when lessons demand that of you. Nothing more.”

Unwilling, traitorous tears began to gather in the back of her eyes.

“Stop that,” Viago snapped, all too observant.

Keket froze. “Yes, sir.” She briefly turned her gaze to the ceiling, hoping that the tears would suck themselves back into their ducts.

“I guess it is settled then,” Teia said, clapping her hands together. It did not escape Keket that she seemed to be pouting, her lower lip jutting out a touch more than the top. “What a shame. I do enjoy my strays.” 

And for the first time in many months, Keket found herself smiling.

Treviso, the city of dreams, indeed.

[girlnadian]

i seriously cannot stop thinking about theo and ken just take it. some off screen moments for them

786 words // divider

Theo is a large, solid weight against the line of Ken's back, pressed close with one hand around Ken's bicep and the other holding a netherite sword just above their tail. He's still huffing angrily as they pass through the walls around the base, avoiding Wardens and Elder Guardians as they go. It's really not a great build, Ken thinks—he's not sure why Wemmbu was so surprised it didn't work.

Ken's feet hit the water with a harmless splash. Theo is right behind them as soon as they crawl out of the water, but his shoulders have visibly deflated. He doesn't make any move to round up his "hostage" again. Ken tries not to snicker.

"I didn't mean any of that," Theo says, not-quite apologetic but just a bit guilty. "You can leave."

Ken fails. They snort, leaning forward to look up at Theo under the barrier of his helmet. "Really? I'm not pretty enough to be a hostage anymore?"

Theo places a hand on Ken's forehead and shoves them away. It's with more force than Ken was expecting, but they manage to stay upright even if they stumble and yelp.

"Knock it off," Theo says. "I'm trying to be nice!"

"I was having fun, though," Ken pouts, and then dodges another shove towards their face. "You made me get naked and now you're telling me to leave?"

"Dude."

"Alright, alright," not that Ken's actually worried about Theo's reaction, but he is about to go into a fight—assuming Wemmbu shows up, that is. Ken wouldn't be that surprised if he didn't, threat on Ken's life or not. Either way, it's probably better not to distract Theo too much. Instead, Ken busies themself with strapping on their armor and getting their elytra over their shoulders. Theo watches passively. Ken reaches over again to pinch his cheek.

"Don't die," they say kindly. Theo pulls a face like he's offended, but Ken launches into the air before he can get a word in.

They stick around. Theo is good enough at PvP to not get himself killed, Ken knows that, but that doesn't mean they aren't curious about what will happen. They hunker down in a hastily made shack, far enough away that they're reasonably sure the fight won't carry over here but nearby enough that they should be able to catch Theo leaving, assuming he leaves in the same direction he came from. It must be a long fight, though, because by the time Ken hears that tell-tale sound of rockets, they're dozing off against one of their shulkers.

Feet hit the ground right outside the door. Theo bursts in at the same time that Ken yawns.

"You don't look like you won," they observe. Theo's armor is banged up, but he doesn't look too bad… He's not bleeding profusely, anyway. Theo's proud, though, bordering on egotistical—if he had won, he'd be swaggering around like a mafia don. That's too bad.

Theo doesn't respond, just stumbles over and starts digging through the shulker Ken had previously been draped over. Ken lets him, tail idly swaying in the air behind them; they put it out for Theo, anyway. He digs out golden apples, a few bottles of enchanting, ender pearls—anything he's low on—and then promptly falls back on his ass so they're both sitting on the floor.

"Sorry for taking you hostage," Theo says.

"You apologized for that already."

"No, I didn't."

Once more, Ken reaches over, gently digging his claws into one of Theo's headwings until the avian twists and flutters. "You apologized enough. I could tell. It's fine, Wemmbu also threatened to kill me. Unlike you, he probably would have."

"He did?" Theo sounds a bit miserable. Ken shrugs.

They lapse into silence. Ken settles back into their spot and allows Theo to lick his wounds in peace. They're not good enough with people to know what Theo's thinking, but they could wager a guess, maybe: for people like Theo, it's always about strength. The Farlands are long behind them, and Ken thinks much more highly of Theo now than they ever could have imagined they would a few months ago, but Theo has been, is, and always will be a warrior at heart. Losing was probably a bigger blow than any mace hit.

Ken could never understand it, though. They think about Wemmbu insisting their base stay in the same spot. The pursuit of strength and sentimentality lead people to irrational places so fast.

"Thanks for listening to me," Ken says, "about not dying, I mean."

Theo's body untenses, just a little, wings hitting the floor with a dull thump where they had previously been rigid in the air. "Sure, no problem."

Ken will take it.

[saoirseyun]

— .ᐟ ౨ৎ . . . 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞! 002

𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲 — you were prepared, to say less. becoming newlyweds to a distinguished noble named Osamu Dazai... Yet who knew it'd be this difficult alone needing to finalize and insure responsibility right from the get go?

𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦 — unreliable narrator, actually no one is reliable in this fic, there are more questions than answers, nlh-esque end monologues, british english usage (i forgot to change keyboards), historical inaccuracies, rash judgement, sexism-ish?, some word vomits, dazai being weird and vague, please tell me if I missed anything!

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤 — once again, so sorry for the long wait!!! a couple of issues popped up here and there which is why this took so long to write & finish. I apologize there's any errors!

𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖣 𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖳 — 4.1k words, proofread

CHECK OUT HALF AN HOUR FOR LOVE, OVERVIEW.

Japanese terminology; kotatsu - Japanese 'heating' table shūgen - Traditional Japanese wedding

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐀𝐘

The grooming sunrise sparks the horizon in its youth and began highlights of warmth, soothing... Canvas through the open scene and fallen comfort in amidst of everything that awaits you beyond the safety and silken textures and exquisite drawn cushions of a shared bed with Dazai, allures the weak body flat to sink in the bed... The cruelest harshest temptations that is reminiscent of your years being a shinzō. Honest for life begets a wishful longing to once again become those bygone days... Maybe companied with Dazai Osamu in imagine where a love—in a sense that is full and developed... There wouldn't be such hesitation as to now—or if... Otherwise, better thought; he waited. No, no. Seems the less likely too. You've caught close glimpse of that man and the acts he pulled upon seconds after invitation to his exquisite room. It doesn't hurt anyone, however, no harm to think. A move that stirs to form in light of having felt a touch of skin-to-skin and sense closure in romance and affection. You open your eyes to behold Dazai's smirk and come to realize his fingers rake your strands of hair in await for you to finally muster enough energy to snap from sleep. Lie between both his arms in bed—now since when had this been decided? It's distinctively clear on the back of your head you went out in search of the guestroom. Perhaps it's couple's perks, who knows, it's the first time for ever you've been married to such luxury... Or it is natural, you're only the more ignorant. Let's put things in perspective, you don't know anything to start with. Albeit places to point your secondary fears for the engagement with this supposed man... "...Good morning, Jun'ai." But the chronic absorb in your limbs and soreness in the lids of those poor eyes from wake, Dazai notices in surprise. "...Still tired? I don't blame you." The man undone a piece of his kimono a slight second to wrap bandages from the chest up until it reaches Dazai's neck. Applies the same on his arms. Untellable right now but never once you saw scars or wounds of some kind of Dazai last night. Shutter of those eyes in similarly of a crane's feathers spread flight, left to no time thinking when observed the guy to prepare his schedule for the day.

"...Jun'ai-chan?" He takes the moment and turn a shoulder to your exhausted body lie aimless on the featherlight blankets and sheets. By some miracle you do manage to open your eyes yet again for Dazai as he calls out for your name in an inexplicable reason. "Will you come with me later to converse about our matrimony details?" A reluctant nod was forced out of you and Dazai appreciates the sluggish bit of effort in asserting and answer. Who knew songs of poetry would not only tire the vocal chords but the mind and body too... "In case I still have not been able to, let me tell you how loveable of a woman you are—Jun'ai." It's the way he laze those fingers intent to the soft skins and pleasure of kept affection and embrace lures you in return of comfort, safety. Polarize the love spent hidden in a mere glint of contact of another beloved's skin press against yours—in this case, him.

Taken much of potential to spend more time in bed as you stare at Dazai leave the shared space. A sigh out of those lungs, he wasn't bad in any means—you knew—it's of how strange Dazai Osamu can act by occasion, it's ridiculous, or the inexperience of genuine love is speaking. Overall a well intent man. You toss and turn and decides to further contemplate of your satisfaction in the place. Not convinced yet so in case of anything Ōnami still has the structure hit your back at the faulty.

〝It beckons you to think even during sleep, however. The bliss—mindless, akin to the shared moment of your most favorites of things, of your most favorites of many other things stacked on top and so on forth. Only to uncover the affections lost as a mere manipulative love to bomb upon unsuspectingly... Were perhaps those favorite things do mean something beyond being preference?〟

An hour half sharp passes. A short nap visits you all the while wasted to overthink.

Hence waking in a second and able to this time take on the challenge of your day. After pouring yourself a fresh glass from last night that now tastes room temperatured of mild disgust in warm and cool breeze. Legs hang from the bed covers before an elegant stands to your feets. Must one always remain gorgeous even going through a ruckus sleep. It seems to be approximately 9:00 am. Whatever does feel like 9‘o clock... It might've been midday but oh well. Dazai Osamu indubitably had high relevance of workload to do anyways besides on that. Is what everyone would have, logically—thus most initially hoped! He didn't excuse to sample... Where was he heading. It isn't your problem to dwell nor shan't it be—Dazai has requested of you to 'join him later' with Dazai Masako more. Better... Leap forth on start.

Begins by you and those fingers ran through the unkempt hair which pops away from the scalp, what a dreading nightmare in itself to face... Regardless the joked fears takes your own step to the vanity and brush. Ah, a second thought—which one is supposedly yours...? The staff must've been considerate enough to unpack and organise your own items in a sustainable and efficient manner around the shared room.

With two to compare and oh lord have mercy upon thee how many things does Dazai Osamu truly have—it'll be a moment.

...Nevermind! You noticed a ruined spot on one, not as sudden and beautiful crack in metaphor of age. Perhaps you're actually a mess when it comes to handling personal belongings. Either what was the case, you've fixated towards combing your hair and start the soon melting day. Good point, however! What shall you unravel? Attend the vocal point of that kind hearted sister Masako, follow after Dazai Osamu, or explore the mansion grounds first? A sigh to your heart as you've taken a liking to wearing a separate kimono from the ones you used for nightly affairs. "This should be a fine fit." Is what one would mutter just seeing its elegant and wonderful patterns and subtle feelings of colors. You fold the fabrics into one and another—a single side for side as you eventually come to tie the belt.

The design does seem akin to Dazai Osamu's. Not too obvious, vague. A niche design choice. How can something like that happen?

You urge your legs out of the bedroom and into the same spot where you've enter in hopes to find them there. Sure enough, Masako and Osamu sat front numb near the kotatsu. In wait for your arrival—the two siblings seem to banter a little on the latest state of their duties. "Jun'ai~ Here now, my belladonna." Dazai cuts the conversation in an instant when you walked in. "Right on the exact second! We were about to discuss our marriage conditions and final statements." Dazai says. He escorts your hand next to his, sitting close together. You hope a tad bit that the two didn't wait that long—that either they've only started about a while ago, let's say 20 minutes. Masako nods, seems to approve the looking pair of you and her younger brother—safe to say a cute couple. "Very well. Then... I'm sure as a soon-to-be wife of his, you are indeed expected to carry on forward alongside Osamu's own duties, am I not wrong?" Masako watches as you smile gentle in confirm, the confident face Dazai made intensify. He held that wrist of yours tight, caress across a finger and Dazai being content. What a lovestruck fool.

"Good. I've figured to at least given half of what was originally at hand, you see. A partner of a noble shall be honest—and willing to assist their beloved in the sake of this household. I know that it can be difficult, yes? Consider this for a size: Osamu must help you with the basics until you can safely say you understand."

Not bad! You smirk slight at the thought, cover the devious glint with the long butterfly-like sleeve of your elegant kimono. Besides... This Dazai Osamu is reluctant too anyways, right? He is your husband, after all, he'd be a horrible one at that if not. Not to mention a potential disgrace coming from the family.

"Isn't that lovely? It'd be exciting too, don't you think? In my personal opinion, at the least." But you nod in sync aftermath of Dazai speaking his mind. "No, no. I'm as certain that I have the same feeling." Well, who wouldn't, after all? In some other life you're probably forced to figure things out by yourself. Isn't that quite a nightmare? Masako gleams in delight to the small reciprocated banter of two cherished people—even when the arrangement wasn't so natural. Let's... Be honest. "Both of the pair seems utmost pleased! Feel open to begin the session anytime if you will, only report to me until nightfall."

Dazai and you exchanged a blunt chuckle to mischief over Masako's remarks, right until papers then present before the two of you in a slide of two of Masako's mere fingers with initials and requirements of sure about the wedding. Furthermore, the more you look, the more it seems to resemble contracts...

"May I orientate the following: statements and policies that will take effect soon after the ceremony has been communed. Any questions?"

Skim reading. It appears to topic about the House of Peers, long story short to cut chase—received status in nobility and legalization of the event in itself. Excuse you? Why is that mentioned only the second paragraph in? Is something as marrying off to relations a promiscuous woman so looked down upon by social means, standards? It's unheard... Consider the other times courtesans were sold out your brothel to marry. Second speaking, it seems more the sensible. "...It mentions about legality, is it a crime to engage a sex worker?" You weren't familiar too much with the country's law... Masako shakes her head, put worries to arrest.

"It is, howeverexcept not allowed in our cases for clan nobles marry the weak and unfortunate, those at the bottom... It's a bad picture painted. So do us a favour and upheld this family code's honor and discipline during the wedding."

"Right. Memorize daily mundane routines to maintain duty and order in the household alongside avoid potential rumors spread, what I'm getting. How will it be...?"

"The wedding is private." Dazai so casually adds without effort, spontaneous to then and there say. Fixate the loose sleeve of his own clothing of kimono tightly again. A revealed wrist of his own hand buried in bandages, that's too much for a virgin noble's liking. "On top of that, it's no suspicion. We'll play off as the stereotypical tradition to present family members instead. And... You'll configure to stay at the mansion always, no matter what."

Shūgen which refers to the classic in brought together liveliness in one's house by the lovers families. Come in as one in one to celebrate the special occasion of a new embark generation fills prosperity.

He was right on the trail, yes. No one would be of suspect anyway if such thing exists since the Edo period and later ancient times of Japan. To think the westernisation version will so come as the case but this is the safest betting. As... "Societal expectations to see the best versions of its leaders..." You murmur quiet, Dazai leans in to the nook of your own shoulder—to pick up your brief and casual almost words for this certain meeting, bold. "...Disrupting, is it not? I hate men in our lives who do. But it is also men instinct to hope what is potentially great for both sides to flourish peace and what is remains right until its end. Your kind are different, I don't presume they're human... Neither is you." Strikes a nerve in your veins for a second upon heard, tense sharp eyes as you prompted to lean to your own side to the left. Ignore that noble's face, what an odd comment... Compared to his lovey-dovey gestures and remarks much you were soon getting used to. Dazai Osamu who flares a kind grin—drawled fake and oblivious to his own tongue. "Though worry not much of your little head, wife."

"Please, my dearly beloved Jun'ai, go on ahead without me. I'll handle care with the rest of these papers."

Possibly wanting you to relax first for a while... Before he could. None addressed the line about humanity, the system... What's all that about? Your head stubborn to bicker while persuaded to stand and leave the few more apers unchecked, thus, more uncertain instructions...

To that you may leave the room and once again enter the halls, pick up the sight of more maidens and menservants alike alinged prestige in a rush with all sorts of assets in their grasp. Just so then, must you encounter another—an established, refined elder man who might as well look about six or so years more than you? The house crest of Dazai imprints to his own stylish fabrics, the gentleman bows in apology. "...On behalf of my father, please obey mercy for such my faults on clashing."

Appears just the same as Dazai Osamu, but a softer and gentle appeal to his face ratio and a lot more restrained in a way you can't put it to words... The older brother, Dazai Setsujoku. As he so introduces himself. "You must be my younger brother's lady-in-waiting, am I correct?" He offers a smile, arms placed behind the back and a proper, formal bow presents.

It's off-putting how kind he is. Akin to his sister, is your husband the only one who acts as such like that yesterday midday? Blasphemous, if you didn't knew better he's probably an entertainer.

Now, now, let's not make fun of your man once more again. It's temptation.

"Yes, indeed. Indeed that I am, Setsujoku-dono" And yet he dismiss such status referral from you. "Please. We'll be family, no? Refer to me by my first without such status difference..." Setsujoku assures without placing worry in your senses. Odd, his sister Dazai Masako nor Dazai Osamu didn't do the same. You won't complain to him, after all, tradition to wait the least of three nights for lovebirds to call by each other's birth names. How romantic. For Masako, you wouldn't dare. "Right. I haven't introduced to you my name... Jun'ai shall it be, then."

"Ah—but that is the false name you'd come to use back in the brothel, yes? What is exactly your first name, if you do not exactly mind me wondering about." Persistent, that's one thing for sure to describe about this peculiar man. Setsujoku spoke in levels of courtesy and respect, it's not to be bothered of, surely? You muster the courage and whisper him your full name, sparkles in his eyes tell of appreciation and bonded trust as soon-to-be in-law relatives. Setsujoku smiles so sweet and darling. Charm of an elder adult, "What a lovely name. [L/N]-san." You snort down a single horrific scoff to the nobleman's words. "Now who's using the honorifics...?" Folded arms from each side of your body, you inquire playful and harmless joking. "Touché." Is when the moment the older brother hid away the mouth with a sleeve of his rich, textured kimono of class and laugh beneath shame and judgement. It's an odd gesture.

Setsujoku offers a second or so... Uncounted smile in condolences. Whatever his intent be. "I assume you'd want to discuss further about the agreement of engagement with my incompetent brother. For now, you may make yourself feel at home in our house. You have my word." Humbly can all you do to turn the offer in a stead rush. "My apologies. I still must have myself to prepare later afternoon." It's an odd way for you to say it to such intriguing style but Setsujoku didn't mind. "Right. Next time, do keep mind not being so tense, we're family." And this he turns back to face you and does an interesting gesture. Cross an arm and scissors two of his fingers by the wrist, "See you later." He says. You nod affirmed as you watch the royal skip off to some else where in the place.

Yet it bugs you on the way out of the area—why is a man like him suddenly have to be at his parents' room at a time like this? You found the thought moving and interesting to discuss another chance, you kept it in your head.

No, no, no, no. Keep that head of yours straight now... All they ask is to remain await in the comforts and haven of the bedroom chambers for practice duties. "This shall be life." You admire the strims and fabric the kimono was made out of, rich fibers and absolute gorgeous to the storytelling patterns. "And it's mine." But other than coincidence to be as pretty to that nobleman Dazai Osamu's fitted standards thus drove the son of nobility into falling for you... Was the love maternal? Even after those glances in his brown accented eyes glamorous to behold—sublime touches of skin against skin and held. It could all be an act! You can't just let your guard down, no exceptions the slightest bits, you— "Jun'ai? My apologies, had I made you wait a week?"

"...Sincerely, no. Fear not."

"As I hope for."

Dazai comes to gather a few strands in your hair into his grasp careful and timid, tuck aside them behind your ear and observe your face—look up in expectancy of something, anything, that could may happen. Before he curls those fingers into a fist, away from your face. You sigh, turn to confront with determinate eyes. "Would you mind discuss about what you've converse thoroughly this whole time? Those weird papers, the wedding, about—"

"Hush."

Unanswered.

So many questions, only to be silenced with a finger kissing your nosey lips eager to beg whenever there was an opportunity to pull out what you need to know. This man... Dazai Osamu dares to close in the distance in a second... Third... Maybe forth, you've lost count as to how many exactly but it was many. Dazai proceeds to strum gentle the tips of his digits away your cheeks. "Sorry, I still can't come to believe that I'm marrying the woman of my dreams." The ring finger of yours lends into his free palm. Fallen flat against the end and deep chopped lines of skin, it meets the longer sleeve beneath traditional noble fabric. Dazai gestures you to listen in his nonsense. "...Jun'ai, as soon as you take my surname, I swear with bloodied hands and fingers cut, I'll gift you the entire world. All you ever wanted, at your possession, from my heart with love. One of many things I'd want to do with you, don't you know?"

He, final, turns to leave the quarters before instruct to follow whenever you do ever feel like such.

...What in the world was that for?! On the Gods, no! Is this man for sure not going to be bothered or even willing to talk about what just happened between the privacy of two of you? Ridiculous. But kept no fear any longer now please. No longer to judge... You must twist the knot between the bones of your dominant whichever where it was. And chase after your darling. He... Must've had a cheap sake somewhere in pocket of his outfit to bluntly confess outright. Especially to how mindless Dazai Osamu sounded to be. Remains that is to complete understand the chores in wait for you after finalization of those forbid papers. Well, a lot's been on your mind.

〝So just like this; left on by itself. He's, as if, thrown you off with that brief met of fleeting love—no near the enough second to comprehend clear that wasted last minute affection. Will there be time to process it all, the complexity to initiate and experience genuine love? Perhaps it even wasn't love to start with. Perhaps a much more foreign being. Perhaps that love itself was too foreign—and alien. To where it all suddenly felt meaningless and untold apart from anything else. Perhaps your lack of understanding was the reason behind the distant felt.〟

Distracted and far thoughts clog your necessary usual thinking. Dazai's vague and yet oh so loved attitude changes frequent. To which hardens what is and what isn't the case of his personality.

Close approximate love, those Papers, the Responsibility, some Secrets, and... finally Marriage.

Dazai Osamu who then insists that it'd be able to handle under the deadline that is today. All finished and none left to remain and worry over about even after the wedding ceremony, but who's to know, truly. That's the downward spiral part. "Anyway..." He chirps to alert once more on your attention. Since that look implies greatly about your lack of focus. "The abode fancies guests every so often, please be more cautious if so... Your first housewife duties would theoretically shall become one with me alongside greets of strangers and forlon faces." Dazai exclaims gentle. To hold your hand literally and both too metaphorical as he spoke. The emphasis on cautious. About what, towards something—and yet you slit your own tongue in silence and obedience. "Next would land you into the closures of office spaces. Keep indulge the affairs of the real world and local news, will you?"

"Won't be a struggle in the slightest possibility."

What's in the slightest difficulty that is handling basic chores practically required for all households? Ah, assuming the signed papers and high intel on hand in order to prosper. "Great to hear." Dazai rewards a that sweet, calling smile. "But, just fear less to approach me if there's ever really a chance to have questions, all right?" Utter nonsense and yet it's taken to heart. Sure, if that is you so wish in communicate!

"I have a good one," You perk. Tension. Stepped an inch or so closer to his face. How it all sounded like a bad idea in picture and on paper both ways. "Why is it that... No one must know of my origins? My story that's real and natured to what's the truth... I can't be expected to ramble on a fake one, no, I'm not the greatest liar of all, so you know—if anything, the story I'd make up is clear fictional. No matter how hard I try there'd be a slip in the cracks! Why not keep it vague or untold instead? Must there be none of a better plan in mind instead of failure to meet expectations results to fake those all?"

"As it's... established, a stain for the upbringing of this family." Dazai clarifies with a troubled, heavy heart. "...Jun'ai, must I ask. Was it a sin for man to revolve into their selfish desires, disregard the impacts of all that is society?"

Society... Society, a garbage capsule excuse of a word if you've ever heard one. Society to present what's right—includes the balance and rules, creation that is laws. Society to accept others like them exclusive—kinship to the bone without mere considered regards on the others unsociable. What's society, the people and while community that forms a humongous culture upon pieces of land—connection; love and harmony or rather a plural for men perfections to come fall as one in unity, the sake of keeping things equal?

"How 'society' views it baffles me to an early grave. So what you've provided scandalous services to a thousand or so men before? I can remain the more apathetic. You're that feeling and sense of freedom I can hardly get... I'd cherish it—thus makes me cherish you... Us... Cheers to the star-crossed lovers that are prolonged to meet then suffer. It rebels order and is most certainly taboo. If there's one thing that'd befall us, I'd propose to get away from this all. To insure your safeness." Oh, dear lovely Jun-ai, if only your name belongs to another hierarchy that withstands the pillars of status near his. None of this would have occured, simply mustn't!

You twist your head at Dazai's implication. "So what exactly do you mean?"

He held you again. "Leave this life behind if all goes downhill. I'll follow suit, after time thrown in bars."

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