#give him all the neckties of the world

[forbiddenxfairytales]

Trust Fall

• Author: forbiddenfairytales • Fandom: Hogwarts Legacy • Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader • Warnings: 18+ Characters | NSFW | MDNI • Word Count: 23.5k

Summary:

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years. Or: Sebastian Sallow teaches you how to fight against the Imperius Curse late one night, and in the process, some long-kept secrets are revealed.

✨ Read On AO3 or below the cut ✨

Trust Fall

After a whirlwind first year filled with dragon attacks and crumbling ruins, keepers and keys and hidden passageways, bonds of friendship forged in secrets and fire, daring quests and trying trials to prove your worth to wield an ancient form of magic only few can see, you should have expected your final year at Hogwarts would be anything but uneventful — and that suits you just fine.

Though, eager as you are to move beyond the confines of the castle and take the wizarding world by storm, there's a part of you that isn't quite ready to leave this place you've come to call home just yet, a part of you that's still got a few more noteworthy memories to make. Luckily for you, you've got a best friend who certainly knows how to make things memorable.

Ever since that thrilling excursion to the Restricted Section back in your fifth year, the two of you have been sneaking out of your common rooms almost nightly to go on all sorts of daredevil adventures — midnight waltzes through the Forbidden Forest in search of the legendary unicorn den, swarms of lacewing flies fluttering all around you like traces of dark magic; summer nights spent sneaking out of the sweltering confines of the castle and stealing away to the lake for a refreshing swim, diving down to its depths to see if you can catch a glimpse of a pod of mermaids or the eye of the giant squid, exploring cavernous grottos hidden beneath the waterfall, turquoise and sapphires made of pure light dancing across the surface of the water by the glow of your wands.

And of course, just last autumn, the night the two of you flew to the top of the Astronomy Tower to make wishes on a shower of shooting stars, bright sparks of silver and gold lit up in his warm brown eyes as he'd gazed up at them with a wide smile on his face and slowly counted to eighteen — one wish for each year he'd been alive. You suppose it would've been a truly breathtaking sight to behold, only you were too busy gazing at something far more beautiful, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles that dapple his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Luckily, you didn't have to wait long to get your second chance, a flurry of snowflakes swirling down from the sky the night the two of you snuck back up for an encore in celebration of your birthday a few months later, green and silver scarf wrapped around both of your shoulders to keep you warm as you blew out candles lit by an overzealous Confringo cast and shared bites of a slightly lopsided cake he'd insisted on baking himself (though you suspect the only reason it was actually edible was because he'd had help from the house elves.) You never told him, but it was the best birthday you've ever had.

That's just how it was with him. Sebastian Sallow had a way of making every moment feel like an adventure.

And tonight is no exception. An owl asking you to meet him at your usual spot wakes you from your bed at a quarter 'til midnight, and the next thing you know, you're following his Disillusioned form down a candlelit corridor, traversing well-worn paths you've come to memorize like the back of your hand. You assume you're off to the Undercroft as per usual, but the longer you follow, the more it seems Sebastian has other plans (either that, or he has no idea where he's going and is simply feigning confidence — wouldn't be the first time.)

"Sebastian," you hiss, but he doesn't seem to hear you, moving ahead at the same steady pace.

You try again.

"Seb—"

"Bash—"

"Oi, Sebastard!" you call out in a series of escalating whispers, running through your rolodex of well-loved nicknames until he finally hears you, a wrinkle in the hood of his cloak catching under the candlelight as he turns his head in your direction.

"Yes, darling?" he whispers back, and you don't need to see his face to know that he's smirking underneath his cloaking charm. You're suddenly very glad for your own Disillusionment Charm — even though you know he only does it as a joke, purely to rile you up, it still makes you blush up a storm every time he calls you that. Thankfully, you have a lot of practice brushing it off.

"Did my Quaffle hit you a little harder than I thought during last week's match?" you tease, relishing every opportunity to gloat that you were the one to score the final goal and lead your team to victory. "Undercroft's the other way entirely."

"Have a little more faith in me, darling. I know exactly where we're going," he reassures you, cocky as ever. "We're simply taking the scenic route."

"I wouldn't exactly call this scenic," you snicker, casting your eyes around the bare stone walls of the corridor you're currently sneaking down.

"Are you sure about that?" he counters, throwing open the unassuming double doors at the end of the passageway with a graceful flick of his wand.

What lies beyond steals your breath away, shivers akin to a haunting melody in an empty cathedral dancing across the back of your neck as you step into a corridor bathed in glittering golds, greens, and blues, kissed by silver in the light of the full moon spilling through wall-to-wall windows, a mosaic of painted glass depicting star-strewn skies over tempestuous ocean waves, fields of wildflowers dotted between snow-capped mountains, and twisting ivy redolent of the Scottish countryside curling in curtains around a sprawling scenery of a vibrant, lush green forest.

At the very end of the hallway, you spot a familiar fixture — the Serpentine Beast Window, leading right out into the middle of the Defence Against The Dark Arts Tower. How extraordinary — a whole corridor hidden inside of a window. Nearly three years here and you're still discovering new secrets about the castle, despite all your eager exploring back when you first arrived.

"Stumbled upon this little beauty earlier today and immediately thought of you," he says softly, and then quickly clears his throat. "I mean to say, I thought you would like it. And, judging by that little dip in the outline of your cheek that can only mean you're wearing your signature dimpled smile, I'd say I was right."

You turn to face him, exchanging one beautiful scenery for another, wondering just how many of your mannerisms he's got memorized, and could know to look for even when you're nearly invisible.

"And look," he adds with a smug smile, pointing toward the little alcove with the familiar clockwork fixture sat just beneath the Defence Against The Dark Arts classroom as the two of you peer around the corner. "You see? Told you I knew exactly where I was g—"

Without warning, a bat-like figure emerges from out of the blindspot of the alcove, and the two of you immediately fall silent.

"Impertinent piece of— I know there's a secret room hidden behind here, if I could just—" Headmaster Black curses, flitting agitatedly back and forth in front of the clockwork cupboard, muttering all manner of incantations to try and figure out a way inside.

In your panic, the two of you bolt back behind the corner you've just rounded, hastily squeezing into a little recess in the wall of the corridor. You've never been the most graceful of people, tripping over your own feet and nearly falling flat on your face in your eagerness to escape, but Sebastian is well prepared for it, reaching out to steady you, grabbing ahold of your waist and pulling you into the little hideaway. Next thing you know, you're pressed right up against him, caged between the cold stained glass wall and the warm, heavy weight of his rapidly rising and falling chest, heart beating like the wings of a wild thunderbird beneath it.

You've never been this close to him before, but even though he's nearly invisible, you've all but memorized his every feature, so it's easy enough for you to map them all out — from the sharp curve of his jawline to the devil-may-care sweep of his hair, to the plush pink pout of his lower lip, and— uh oh, you're definitely staring. And maybe it's just a trick of the light, but you could almost swear he was too, that little telltale flicker as his eyes snap back up to meet yours.

Ocean blues filter through his Disillusioned form as the aquatic landscape bleeds through from behind him, making him look as though he's one with the water, moonlight dancing along the edges of his outline, igniting him in a soft silver glow. Sebastian was right, it is very beautiful in here…though you'd wager it's less to do with the colorful mosaic and entirely due to the man standing in front of you, lips a mere breath from yours, close enough to lean forward and—

Oh, you really need to sort out your priorities. If you're not careful, your less-than-pleasant headmaster will catch the two of you sneaking around past curfew, and that's worth two poltergeists on a good day. This is no time to be thinking about your best friend's lips, wondering whether they might taste like the strawberry sugar quills he'd snuck the two of you after dinner, or the spearmint toothpaste he uses every night before he goes to bed…

The sound of distant footfalls headed down the opposite corridor snaps you out of your reverie, accompanied by the dulcet tones of your irate headmaster, evidently giving up in his attempts to break past the barrier into the place that's been your refuge for the past two and a half years, until all you can hear is the sound of the Defence Tower's crackling Floo flames and the frenzied staccato of both of you trying to steady your breathing.

"I think we're safe now," you tell him, whispers disguising your breathlessness.

"Hmm?" Sebastian replies with a distracted hum, gaze snapping back up from the shape of your lips for the second time in as many minutes.

Sebastian shakes his head, and for a few nerve-wracking seconds you hold your breath in fear that he can feel the sudden jump in your pulse as he leans in even closer in an effort to peer around the corner, before giving you a quick nod of affirmation and slipping out of the passageway, taking what's left of the air in your lungs along with him. The glass wall against your back suddenly feels a lot colder without Sebastian's warm weight against your chest, and for a brief moment you wonder whether you've gone mad, wishing that Black had hovered around for just a little bit longer.

"Yes, it would appear so…for now, at least," Sebastian grouses, lips twisting into a frustrated scowl. "But if Black's been sniffing around the Undercroft, then it's only a matter of time before he works out how to get inside, and that means it's as good as lost to us as a safe haven. I'm…not sure where else we could go," he says, sounding genuinely heartbroken by the notion of having to cut this little nighttime rendezvous short.

You're about to join him in his lament, when a spectacular idea comes to you.

"Oh!" you exclaim, quickly clapping a hand over your mouth when the outline of his eyebrows shoots up in alarm.

"Sorry, got excited," you explain. Sebastian's lips quirk up in fond amusement.

"Follow me," you whisper, taking him by the hand and leading him up the staircase directly across from the hidden corridor.

"Where—" he starts, but you cut him off with a cryptic, "You'll see."

Without another word, Sebastian follows you up several flights of stairs, twists and turns leading you past Charms and up through the Astronomy Tower, sleeping portraits tutting at the two of you along the way.

"Can't believe I didn't think of it before, but, well…I've only just discovered it, and we've always had the Undercroft, so I didn't think…aha! Here we are," you whisper excitedly as the two of you round one final corner, coming to a stop between a blank stretch of stone and a tapestry of Barnabas The Barmy.

Sebastian looks at you like you've gone mad.

"Darling," he drawls, the affectionate moniker dripping with the urge to tease you senseless. "That's a bare stone wall."

"Are you sure about that?" you ask in a mimic of his playful prodding from earlier, lips quirking up in a smug smile at Sebastian's gasp of surprise as an ornate doorway bleeds into view, sprawling across the stone wall like fast-growing ivy.

With a confident smile, you breeze through the door and into a spacious moonlit room decorated in a blend of botanical greenery and gothic architecture, ceiling enchanted to reflect the world outside, sky full of stars glittering through an array of blossoming vines suspended from the illusion of a skylight.

You haven't quite finished setting everything up just yet, so it's still a little messy in some areas (a seemingly endless struggle to coax the paintings and fixtures to hang just right) but you're fairly happy with what you've done with it so far. A handsome writing desk strewn with stacks of dusty old textbooks, half-finished essays, inkwells, broken quills, and a bowl magically enchanted to fill with fresh fruit whenever you enter the room (courtesy of your friend Deek, who'd noticed you missing meals one too many times because you were too wrapped up in one of your projects, and decided to intervene) sits in one corner, while a potioneer's station with a trio of burners and a potting table with nearly-sprouted dittany and mallowsweet sits in another, a whole empty corridor just waiting to be filled with anything your heart desires (your own private library, perhaps) nestled in between.

"Is this…the Room Of Requirement?" Sebastian whispers from beside you, awestruck expression on full display now he's no longer cloaked by his Disillusionment Charm. "I thought that was just a myth."

"So did I," you chuckle, lifting your own with a casual flick of your wand. "…until a fortnight ago."

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes narrowing.

"Hang on," he says, tone changing from fascinated to guarded in the span of a few words. "You've known about this room for two whole weeks and you haven't told me?"

You can't but feel a little pang of guilt over how hurt he sounds.

"Come now, it's not like that," you assure him, reaching out to take his hand. Despite his sudden shift in mood, he immediately takes it, fingers slipping easily between your own, sighing as you rub soothing circles along his thumb.

"Like I said, I've only just found out about it," you explain. "Professor Weasley showed it to me after I spoke to her about wishing I had a quieter place to study for my N.E.W.T.s. — suppose she took pity on me, seeing as two out of three of my only years here have been plagued by nerve-wracking exams — let me turn it into my own private study, and decorate how I please. She made me swear not to tell anyone, but…well…you're my best friend, Seb, of course I was planning on telling you. I just wanted to wait until I'd finished setting everything up first," you finish, eyes narrowing at one of the paintings above your desk set several inches above the others at an odd angle.

"You are a wonder, you know that?" Sebastian laughs, warmth flooding back into his features as he gazes down at you with a fond smile, giving the palm of your hand an affectionate squeeze. "You've got all these professors fooled into thinking you're this saintly, rule-abiding student, yet here you are, sneaking out past curfew with the school's biggest mischief-maker to learn forbidden magic in a secret room you swore you'd tell no one about. We do so adore restricted areas, don't we?"

"Forbidden magic?" you repeat, arching a curious eyebrow.

"Why do you think I invited you to meet me tonight?" he says, lips curving up in an impish grin. "I've got another spell I'd like to show you."

Your eyes light up in excitement, eager as the day he taught you Confringo.

"But first, I think you owe a tour of your secret private study, starting with…whatever those are," he says, curious gaze flitting between three magnificent archways connected by an imperial staircase just across the way, slivers of gold waltzing between the branches of two majestic oak trees twisting around the entryway of the first, a lullaby of birdsong and gentle ocean waves echoing from the bright, hazy doorway of the second, climbing vines curling like serpents around water-logged trees cloaked in mushrooms and moss, casting shadows like Celtic filigree across the marble floor as the soft silver glow of magically-conjured moonlight spills down the steps leading up to the entrance of the third.

"Oh, you mean my vivariums?" you reply with an air of feigned nonchalance, smiling at the way he gazes at them with all the wonder of a small child discovering magic for the first time. "Forest, swamp, coastal, or grasslands — where would you like to start first?"

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyebrows arched in astonishment.

"You mean to tell me there's an entire ecosystem in each one of these?" he asks.

"Well, of course," you answer. "Each beast I've rescued deserves to feel right at home, wouldn't you agree?"

"You've got magical beasts in there?" Sebastian huffs out around a disbelieving laugh.

"Would you like to meet them?" you ask, lips curling up in a bright smile.

"Would I like to— is that even a question?" he asks, jubilant.

"Please, lead the way." Sebastian sweeps into a low, theatrical bow and is nearly knocked off his feet as you eagerly tug him by the hand toward the first of four doorways, stepping from the serene moonlit study into a lush green forest teeming with birdsong and honeybees, lit by the soft golden glow of warm summer sunshine.

"—should really check on everyone anyway. I set up an automatic feeder and a toy chest in each one, but they still need to be brushed on occasion so I can collect all their feathers and fur," you ramble, but your idle chatter is lost on Sebastian as he stands there in the middle of the forest clearing, gazing awestruck at a pair of unicorns — a bright white female and her little golden foal, coats adorned with a series of swirling spirals that seem to shimmer in the sunlight — trotting toward you in the distance.

"I— I can't believe it," he breathes. "After all that time we spent searching, you finally found the unicorn den."

"Do you remember that mooncalf den we found in the middle of the Forbidden Forest that one time?" you prompt, smiling at the memory of one of your many midnight forays.

"How could I forget? The way you cooed over them. Adorable," Sebastian teases you with a fond smile.

"Fifty paces east and we would've found it," you tell him, delighting in the impressed look on his face.

"Huh," he muses softly. "All that time, we were so close. Funny how often that seems to happen."

You watch his gaze drift down to your entwined hands and settle there for a moment, heart thundering to the beat of swiftly approaching hooves. Before you can think of anything to say, you're pulled out of the intimate embrace by the arrival of your unicorns, the bright white female nearly knocking you off your feet in her enthusiasm to greet you. She nuzzles at your shoulder before shooting Sebastian a curious glance, her little foal hiding behind her. You've never brought anyone else into your vivariums before, and she has every right to be wary after everything she's been through.

"It's alright. Sebastian is safe, I promise," you assure her in a comforting whisper, reaching up to stroke along the bridge of her nose. She huffs out a breath and closes her eyes, shaking her head in an effort to get you to reach a little bit higher. After a moment's deliberation, she approaches Sebastian, bowing her head and allowing him to touch her. Sebastian shoots you a wary glance, asking your permission. You give him an encouraging nod, and slowly, carefully, he reaches up to gently stroke along the same path, letting out a delighted laugh when she huffs and nuzzles against his shoulder in turn.

"This is Hazel," you tell him with a soft smile. "A lovely woman by the name of Betty Bugbrooke bonded with her when she was just a foal, came to visit her in the forest every week. But one night, they were attacked by wolves, and Hazel ran off scared. Betty worried she might be injured, or worse— that poachers might have gotten to her. She asked if I could find her, give her a safe place to recover. It was only after I brought her here that I realized she was—"

On cue, the little golden foal takes this moment to make his grand entrance, squeezing in past his mother to head-butt Sebastian in the stomach, eager for attention.

"Oof," Sebastian laughs, raising his other hand to gently stroke the foal's mane.

"And this is Hazel's son," you chuckle, glancing back and forth between the two boys. "I haven't thought of a name for him yet — he was only just born last week. Perhaps you could help me name him?"

"You'd let me?" Sebastian asks, pleasantly surprised.

"I think it's only right. He seems to have taken quite a shine to you," you smile as the little foal head-butts Sebastian's outstretched hand.

"Either that or he thinks my fingers are carrots," Sebastian laughs.

"I don't think he's quite figured out how to work the automatic feeder just yet," you venture, glancing back at the row of little wooden crates by the entryway and making a mental note to double check you've conjured the spellcraft correctly. "Would you like to feed him while I brush Hazel?"

"Sure," he says, glancing warily at the automatic feeder, not quite sure how to use it himself. "Should I just—"

Before he can finish asking, you lift your wand and produce a fresh bag of beast feed similar to the ones you've used in class, handing it off to him before conjuring your brush and heading toward Hazel.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Sebastian reaches into the bag and lifts a handful of food into the air, where it floats between himself and the foal, who eagerly reaches forward to chomp at the pieces. Sebastian chuckles fondly at the hungry little unicorn and sets about trying to figure out a name for him, listing a few choices out loud and asking him what he thinks of each one in turn.

"What shall we call you?" Sebastian muses, tapping a finger against his chin. "Oh, I know! How about a wood-themed name to match your mother? Let's see…how do you feel about Hawthorn?"

The golden foal snorts and shakes his head.

"Alright, I'll take that as a no," Sebastian chuckles. "Hmm…how about Rowan, then?"

The little foal stamps his front hoof in even deeper disapproval.

"Well, we can't very well call you Dogwood," Sebastian laughs.

Hazel lets out an impatient snort as she waits to be brushed, bringing your focus rather sharply back to her. You breathe out a hasty apology, but she merely gives you a look like she knows exactly why you were so distracted.

"Hush, you," you admonish her with a small smile, reaching up to brush the tangles out of her long silver-white mane.

Hazel lets out another huff like she's sighing at you, glancing over to watch Sebastian playing with her son, red-faced and laughing as the two of them chase each other across the clearing, before turning back to level you with another pointed look, nodding her head and nuzzling her nose into your shoulder, and you think it might just be the closest anyone's ever come to getting a unicorn's stamp of approval.

A little while later, the two of you are sitting at the edge of the forest by the toy box, discarded cloaks laid out underneath you like a makeshift picnic blanket, watching Hazel and newly-named Willow chasing an unpoppable bubble around the clearing, when Sebastian lets out a long, slow, contented sigh and leans his shoulder into yours.

"I have to admit, it's a wonder I've seen you at all these past two weeks," he says with a soft chuckle, gazing out onto the golden horizon, mesmerized by the way the sunlight kisses the surface of the lake. "I could easily stay like this forever."

He turns to look at you, sunlight dancing in his warm brown eyes just like the stars had that night on the Astronomy Tower.

"Here…with you."

Breath catches in the back of your throat as you look at him, eyes trailing down the curves of his freckled cheeks to land on his lips again. Here in the soft afternoon light, his freckles are more pronounced than ever, each one a kiss from the sun. You imagine him spending his summers running around outside, tearing through the countryside on all sorts of rollicking adventures, tending to the gardens and livestock in the village on his quieter days. Perhaps that's how he developed such a sturdy build, broad shoulders straining against the sleeves of his button-up, rolled halfway to his elbows, baring toned, freckled forearms that flex with each flick of his wrist as he guides the moving path of the unpoppable bubble.

You feel your body start to lean forward of its own accord, eyes fluttering closed, but manage to stop yourself before you do something monumentally stupid like kiss your best friend in the middle of a magically-conjured forest clearing.

"Ah, but then you wouldn't get to see the rest of my vivariums," you quickly recover, jolting yourself out of the moment.

"Merlin, I forgot," Sebastian shakes his head, seemingly coming out of his own little reverie. "This is just one of three."

"Four," you correct him with a small smile. "The doorway to the grasslands sits just above the entrance to the Room Of Requirement."

"I didn't even notice," Sebastian marvels. "I was so preoccupied with the three right in front of me."

You slowly get to your feet, dusting grass off the edge of your skirt.

"Well then, are you ready to see the next one?" you ask, holding out your hand.

"Absolutely," he says, taking your offered hand, though he does most of the heavy lifting as you help him to his feet. You expect him to let go once he's standing, but he only holds on tighter, slipping his fingers back in between yours. You can't help the rush of warmth that surges through you at the contact.

"Shall we take the scenic route?" you ask, inclining your head toward the darkened forest just ahead.

"Is there any other way to travel?" Sebastian quips back, eagerly following at your side.

Jobberknolls and fwoopers fly overhead, weaving between the autumn-kissed treetops as the two of you make your way through the thicket, while kneazles chase rolling puffskeins through the leaf-strewn undergrowth. As the two of you trudge along, the forest itself grows darker and darker, fading from the warmth of a golden summer's day into a misty moonlit night, the ground beneath your boots becoming steadily more uneven and unforgiving, solid dirt and gnarled tree roots giving way to soft, muddy earth dotted with moss and mushrooms, puddles of water stretching between patches of grass and tall, swaying cattails, until you reach the very edge of the forest, opening out onto the swamplands.

Sebastian lets out a sharp gasp, faltering for a moment when he sees two skeletal, horse-like creatures with wingspans the size of a Hebridean Black swoop down from the night sky to land at the edge of the forest, one pitch black like the sky above, one as bright as the moon.

"You have thestrals?" he whispers, equal parts amazed and apprehensive.

"There's a den just north of here," you tell him, giving the palm of his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Absolutely riddled with poachers, last time I checked. It's not safe for them out there anymore, at least not at the moment. So, Deek asked me to rescue a mated pair."

"Deek," Sebastian repeats, the name somewhat familiar. "That's that house elf that's friendly with Professor Weasley, right?"

"The very same," you reply with a small smile. "He's the one who helped me set up my study, in fact; encouraged me to rescue as many creatures as I could, give them a safe place free from the threat of poachers."

"Which is how you ended up with a mated pair of thestrals," Sebastian concludes, sounding both amused and impressed.

"Gomez and Morticia," you answer with a cheerful nod.

Sebastian glances at you, one eyebrow arched in amusement.

"It's what I've taken to calling them," you say with a small shrug. "Suits them, don't you think?"

Sebastian watches the pair of bad omens curl up together under the shade of a weeping willow, Gomez stretching out his wings to wrap around Morticia's shoulders like a protective shield, before leaning forward to nuzzle his nose against hers.

"It certainly does," Sebastian replies with a soft smile.

He turns back to look at you, teasing grin returning in full. "Came up with names for all of them, have you?"

"Of course," you reply with a jovial smile. "It would get awfully confusing if I didn't, especially with an entire herd of— aha! There they are, right on cue."

One by one, all seven of your mooncalves emerge into the clearing, moonlight dancing in their big, bright blue eyes, webbed feet splashing through muddy puddles as they all come hurdling toward you, jumping up and down, enveloping you in a cuddly circle. You greet them all by name — Millie, Mooncake, Marzipan, Vanilla Bean, Snickerdoodle, Pancake, and Jellybean — giggling and cooing over them as you ask each one how they've been, who's hungry, and who needs to be brushed.

Too wrapped up in your little herd to notice the way Sebastian's lips curl up in a soft, smitten smile as he watches you, heart fluttering inside his chest at how utterly adorable you are, how big and pure your heart is. Of course you'd have a whole herd of them. He shouldn't have expected anything less.

"Where on earth did you find them all?" he asks, huffing out a laugh as one of the braver ones comes sniffing around his ankles, peering up at him expectantly.

"Poacher camps," you explain, upper lip curling in a scowl. "Every so often, I'll come across an encampment near their den in the forest, catch them before they manage to steal away with their quarry. They mostly use cages with level one locks, so they're easy enough to pick while their backs are turned, but it's not exactly the quickest process. So far, I've only been caught twice. Managed to duel my way out of trouble without too much fuss — nothing a vial or two of Wiggenweld couldn't patch up — and more importantly, without any mooncalves getting hurt in the process. Poachers scare pretty easily when they find out a student knows Confringo — thanks for that, by the way."

You look up from your little herd of mooncalves to find Sebastian staring at you in astonishment, mouth hanging open like you've just revealed some grand secret double-life, so distracted he doesn't even notice the muddy paw prints saturating the knees of his trousers as Jellybean jumps up to nose at his pocket, searching for treats.

"You—" he falters, breath coming out in a disbelieving laugh. "You're amazing, you know that? I wondered where you'd been disappearing off to whenever you weren't with me. Speaking of which…I'd like to come with you next time, if you'll have me. Help you fight the baddies, keep these little ones safe," he says, leaning down to stroke the top of Jellybean's head and letting out a contented hum when she closes her eyes and makes a high-pitched squeaking sound.

"I take back every time I've ever teased you for going soft over these little gremlins. I can see now why you like them so much," he relents, chuckling as Jellybean purrs and nuzzles her head against the palm of his hand, eager for more scritches.

"Aren't they wonderful? They're so sweet and soft and silly," you laugh as you watch a trio of little ones chasing after a tiny floating moon conjured from the toy box with all the fondness in the world. "Oh, I just love them so much."

"Is that what it takes to earn your love? I'm at least one out of three of those things," Sebastian chuckles under his breath, eyes growing wide the moment he realizes he's just said that out loud.

"Sorry, didn't quite catch that," you say, struggling to hear anything over the sound of Snickerdoodle happily crunching away as you feed him a handful of treats.

"Nothing," Sebastian lies, summoning a handful of beast feed from out of your bag with a flick of his wand. "I was just asking Jellybean here if she was hungry."

At the mention of food, all seven of your mooncalves come gallivanting up to surround you both, floating toy moon immediately forgotten.

"Alright, easy there, I promise I won't let anyone go hungry," Sebastian reassures them, laughing as their little pink tongues poke out to tickle the palm of his hand. There's no Hazel to tease you this time as you stand there, rooted to the spot as though you've just been Stunned, one breath away from sighing like a lovesick damsel as you watch Sebastian dote on your mooncalves, heart threatening to burst with the overwhelming love it carries.

You wait until the very last mooncalf has huddled in with the rest of their herd and laid their head down in the tall, swaying grasses to drift off to sleep, fur brushed and bellies full, before making your way to the next vivarium. Together, the two of you wade through knee-deep swamp water littered with lily pads and lotus flowers, cloaks soaked and caked in mud and moss, until you reach the mouth of a darkened cave, shards of moonstone jutting from floor to ceiling like rows of shark's teeth.

Led by the glow of your wands, the two of you carefully make your way through the cavernous passageway, a kaleidoscope of colors bursting across the walls each time your light shines through a cluster of crystals, until eventually, the light at the end grows bright enough to outshine even the strongest of light spells, a symphony of crickets and tree frogs and echoes of dripping stalactites giving way to the soft cries of seagulls and gentle ocean waves, moss giving way to seaweed, until the muddied puddles of the swamp meet little whirlpools of sea water.

Together, the two of you step out into a bright, hazy world lit by golden sunlight streaming through fluffy white clouds stretched across a brilliant blue sky, ocean waves crashing against massive weather-worn rocks surrounding you on all sides.

After thestrals and unicorns, Sebastian really shouldn't be surprised to learn that you have hippogriffs too, but he gasps in disbelief all the same when two of them come swooping down from the sky to land right in front of you, eager to be brushed and fed.

They're wary at first, only used to you, Natty, and Poppy from your daring rescue weekend last, watching Sebastian with a kind of cautious curiosity as he dips into a low bow, warm brown eyes fixed first to Highwing's golden gaze, and then Caligo's piercing bright blue. After a moment, the two of them bow their heads, allowing Sebastian to come stand beside you and brush them, Caligo affectionately nipping at the hood of Sebastian's cloak when he sneaks him a few extra treats from your bag of beast feed.

"Keep that up, and I bet he'll let you ride him in no time," you chuckle, plucking another loose feather from Highwing's bright white plumage and stowing it in the pocket of your cloak.

Sebastian turns to look at you, eyes wide with excitement.

Your lips quirk up in a smug smile.

"There's nothing quite like the view of the castle grounds from the back of a hippogriff," you sigh, mischief dancing in your eyes as you cast him a playful grin. "Want to see for yourself sometime?"

"Do you even have to ask?" Sebastian quips back, lips pulling up into a brilliant smile.

"Is it just the two of them in here, or are there any other surprises I should know ab—" Sebastian barks out a startled laugh as a bright white diricawl bursts into existence right beside him.

"Oh, hullo Gwyneira, nice of you to join us," you chuckle as the squat little bird marches up to the automatic feeder, bobbing and weaving without a trace of fear between the hippogriffs' taloned feet, and steals three helpings' worth of food before disappearing again with an audible pop.

You didn't think Sebastian's face had room for any more freckles, but after a long stretch of sitting at the edge of the beach, dark gray trousers rolled up to his knees, wool socks and worn leather boots discarded in favor of dipping his toes into the sand, tempting the water to come up and kiss the soles of his feet, you're proven quite wrong, a ruddy hue settling into the hollows of his cheeks as he squints against the blinding sunlight and watches in fascination as Caligo and Highwing take to the skies.

Eager to see where they're off to, the two of you make your way a little further east, where a large formation of rocks leads up a steep cliffside covered in a thick coat of lush greenery, cracked and crumbling steps ascending to the ruins of an old castle. It's a bit of a climb that's hell on both your knees, but the view at the top is well worth it, sunlight spilling over a landscape that seems to exist forever in the golden hour, rolling grasslands teeming with billywigs and honeybees buzzing about a colorful sweep of wildflowers, surrounded on all sides by majestic, snowcapped mountains.

Sebastian gazes out onto the horizon, elbows resting against the edge of the wooden guardrail fencing in the highest outlook of the clearing, mesmerized by the way the sunlight hits the glittering golds of Highwing's feathers and the cool blues of Caligo's as the two of them soar across the mountain range, when a flash of bright red wings swoops by overheard, wind curling its fingers through his hair.

"Is that— oh, there's no way," Sebastian gasps in unbridled excitement.

"Oh, did I forget to mention I have a phoenix?" you reply cooly, though your proud, beaming smile gives you away.

"Incredible," he says, a little breathless as he watches the legendary bird soar across the mountainous landscape. "Absolutely incredible."

He turns to look at you, sunlight catching against the back of his frame and igniting him in a soft golden glow, fixing you with a smile that's somehow even softer as he adds, "Every time I think I've seen everything, you always find a way to surprise me."

Sunlight spills across his features as he holds your gaze, kissing brand new freckles into the curves of his cheeks and the bow of his lips, and in that moment you've never been more jealous of the sun, longing to follow in its lead.

You're shaken out of the moment by a series of curious squeaks and whines, turning in time to see a family of nifflers eagerly waddling up the path toward you, keen to sniff you out and see if you've got anything valuable to nick. You introduce Sebastian to the felonious foursome — the infamous Irondale Pilferer, Calamity, his partner in crime, and their newborn twins, Mischief and Rascal. Sebastian greets them with a friendly smile, crouching down to tickle Mischief's belly and laughing when a handful of coins comes spilling out of her pouch. You tell him he's more than welcome to pocket them…if he can manage to keep them out of her brother's clutches.

Sebastian lets out a deep, contented sigh as he gazes out into the distance, watching as the sun slowly starts to slip beneath the mountains, bathing the clearing in hazy shades of citrus and rose.

"Blimey, how long have we been in here?" he laughs, glancing down at the edges of his nearly-dried cloak. "It feels so real in here, I'd honestly forgotten we're still in a room inside the castle, and haven't just traversed the whole of the highlands in the span of— what, a couple of hours? This place feels never-ending, it'll be a wonder if we ever manage to find our way back."

He glances over at you suddenly, a worried crease settling into his brow.

"Do you know the way back, or do we just live here now?" he asks, huffing out a nervous laugh.

"Come along, lost boy. Let's get you home," you tease, fixing him with a fond smile as you take him by the hand and lead him down a curved, winding pathway that twists around the cliff face of the clearing, tall grasses and fragrant wildflowers weaving between the pickets of the worn wooden guardrail, down down down until you reach a magnificent waterfall spilling out into a vast, glittering lake on the periphery of a familiar terrain.

As you climb down the last moss-covered boulder and make your way across the clearing, you spot Hazel curled up around her little foal, the two of them softly dozing under the shade of an oak tree, gentle sunlight spilling through its branches in a lazy waltz across the lush green grass.

Hand in hand, the two of you step back through the doorway opposite the edge of the forest, and into the heart of your starlit study.

Sebastian shakes his head like he's coming out of a trance, glancing back toward the sunlit doorway to double check it hadn't all just been a dream.

"An entire world — sorry, four entire worlds — existing inside a single room in the castle?" he marvels, breathless laughter rushing out of him as he glances around the study. "And you managed to set all this up in just two weeks?"

"Well, I had a lot of help," you're quick to assure him, not wanting to take all the credit. "From Deek and the room itself."

"But you're the one rescued all those creatures, and you chose all the decor, didn't you?" he insists, playfully knocking his shoulder against yours.

"I suppose that's true…" you relent, lips curving up in a proud smile as you glance around the room, sleek mahogany bookshelves lining nearly every wall, just waiting to be filled with all your favorites, moonlit sky casting shadows on the polished marble floor through the twisting greenery adorning the skylight up above.

"It's magnificent, by the way…your private study," he tells you, voice soft and low as he turns back to look at you.

"Our private study now, if you'd like," you correct him, mesmerized by the way the moonlight dances in his eyes.

"A secret room that's just ours alone? Oh, I like the sound of that very much," he says, voice close to a whisper now as he keeps his steady gaze fixed on yours.

It's easier to catch this time, now you're no longer under the spell of a Disillusionment Charm, the way his eyes trail down to your lips and linger there, just for a moment. Your tongue darts out to swipe across your bottom lip in instinctual anticipation, and you could almost swear you hear his breath hitch, hand gripping yours a little tighter.

And oh, you're going to do something very stupid if you don't snap yourself out of this right now.

"So," you prompt, embarrassed by how breathless you sound. "You promised to show me something forbidden tonight?"

Sebastian blinks, eyebrows jumping to his hairline.

"What?" he blurts out, half shocked disbelief, half breathless laughter.

Ah. You just clocked the way that sounded. Brilliant subject change. Spectacular choice of wording right there.

"You— you said you had a spell you wanted to show me?" you clarify, cheeks burning at the eager look in his eyes.

"Oh," Sebastian breathes, shoulders sagging a little. He shakes his head to try and clear it.

"Right, we should—" he falters, suddenly nervous, hand slipping out of yours as he makes his way into the middle of the study. (You try very hard not to mourn the loss, the space between your fingers a little too empty without his to fit perfectly between them.)

The look he gives you as he stands opposite you is apprehensive, posture worse than usual as he ducks his head down in an effort to appear smaller.

"So…" he starts, lips pulling up in a wincing smile. "I trust you remember a little spell called…" he swallows. "…the Imperius Curse?"

All the air rushes out of the room like a Dementor's kiss, fear lancing through you like slivers of ice, leaving pins and needles in its wake.

It's been over a year since the catacombs. You thought he'd put all that behind him.

"Sebastian…" you say his name like a warning.

Sebastian puts his hands up in surrender.

"Allow me to explain," he says softly. "Please."

You purse your lips, eyes narrowed. After a moment's deliberation, you let out a sharp sigh and give him an impatient look, your silence giving him permission to continue.

Sebastian breathes a sigh of relief and nods in gratitude.

"Okay, so…hear me out," he starts. "You and I have both known what we wanted to do since the end of our fifth year, yeah? But getting Outstandings in our O.W.L.s is only the beginning. If we're to have even a shot at surviving life as Curse-Breakers, then we need to be prepared for what's out there."

"Even— no, especially— all the things the school deems too dangerous for us to even know about. Honestly, what's the use in Defence Against The Dark Arts if they're not going to teach us how to properly defend ourselves against the Dark Arts?" Sebastian scoffs, rolling his eyes as he riles himself up over his longstanding disdain for the curriculum.

Your lips twitch into a small smile in spite of yourself.

Sebastian shakes his head and lets out a wearying sigh, reeling himself back in, gaze softening as he turns back to look at you.

"Listen, I know you didn't want to learn it last time…but this time, I really think you should," he insists, solemn conviction laced with an undercurrent of soft, desperate pleading. "Not for the purpose of using it on anyone, but so you can understand how it works, the kind of power that comes with wielding it, and most importantly, how to fight against it, so that if anyone is ever fool enough to cast it on you, you won't be so easily subject to their whims."

A shudder runs through the both of you at the very thought, Sebastian bristling with a kind of fierce protectiveness you've only ever seen him display for a few choice souls — his twin sister, his oldest friend, and you.

"And the other two curses?" you ask tentatively, voice low and quiet as your vision swirls with sparks of acid green and crackling carmine, a phantom burst of pain unlike anything else in this world rippling across your abdomen as the memory of cold stone beneath your hands and knees overwhelms you. "Would you have me fight against those, too?"

"No!" Sebastian says a little too sharply, terror flashing in his eyes.

He takes a deep breath, grounding himself.

"The only one I feel even remotely comfortable casting on one another is the Imperius Curse. In the right hands, it's the only one that isn't inexorably harmful…the only one anyone's ever been able to fight against. With the other two, it's really just a matter of…of dodging it," he swallows thickly, a flash of guilt tightening his jaw. "Or…or enduring it."

Sebastian's expression darkens and you know he's thinking back to the Scriptorium again, his reaction so raw and visceral it's as though you're back on a different stone floor, tears drenching the hood of your cloak as he'd clung to you, shoulders shaking in violent, body-wracking sobs.

It's not as though he's made peace with what happened with his uncle, or that he feels more remorse for one grievance over the other. You suppose it's just a little easier to contend with your past mistakes, to quiet the voices of all the people you've wronged, when you don't have to look one of them in the eye every day…when they've been nothing but kind and loyal to you, and all you did in return was repeatedly let them down.

And you know, because he's told you countless times now, that there isn't a single day that goes by where he doesn't wish it'd been him instead, that he should've fought harder against your refusal to cast it on him. But that's an empty regret, because even if you had to go back and do it all over again, you still never would have let him be the one to take it.

"I'll never cast that spell on you ever again," he says, broken, choking. "Once was already too much. I'm so—"

"I know you are," you tell him softly, the same words you've repeated countless times since that quiet little moment in the Undercroft at the end of your fifth year.

You'd kept in touch over the summer, too eager to hear from him to follow through on any half-baked notions of needing space. And a good thing, too — Sebastian, it seemed, was just as keen to hear from you in return. He'd written dozens of letters — two, three, four, sometimes five times a week, if his owl was feeling up to it (though according to one of his letters, she'd start biting his fingers if he ever reached for his quill a sixth time in the span of a single week.)

He never veered toward the topic of your magic or what happened down in the catacombs, content to talk at length about the mundanities of your day instead, asking after your fancy new life in London living all on your own in the flat Fig had left you in his will, commiserating over the hardships of settling a late loved one's affairs. He never seemed bored in the slightest, even when you felt you were droning on about nothing, always happy to hear what you've been up to, even on the days you never left the house. To Sebastian, it seemed no subject could be exhausted, especially when it came to you.

In each new letter, he'd oh-so-casually ask about one of your favorite things, from sweets to flowers to the muggle authors you'd grown up reading, and every week, you'd find a little hand-wrapped parcel among his many letters — a box of sugar quills or a chocolate frog he'd picked up in Hogsmeade the weekend before, a bright blue jobberknoll feather he'd found at a nearby den and fashioned into a quill, fresh honeysuckles and hyacinths from his neighbor's garden pressed between the pages of a quote he'd scribbled down from one of your favorite books, along with an essay on why he liked it.

He'd been keen to keep you up-to-date on how he'd been faring too, eager to keep busy and make himself useful, helping his neighbors with various errands and tasks they might need done, tending to livestock and community gardens, helping to fix up the hamlet in the wake of loyalist destruction. He spoke like he was desperate to prove himself, prove he was keeping his word. A few times, you couldn't help but giggle at the way he sounded like an overzealous suitor trying to woo his intended, keen to sell up his accomplishments.

At first, you'd thought it was simply because he was lonely, that you were his only correspondent, but then Ominis finally broke his silence in July (insisting in his letters to you that given the choice between his family's company and Sebastian's, he supposed he'd rather tolerate the latter, and not because he missed the impish bastard, or anything — his words) followed by a tentative hope you're well from Anne in August. Though she hadn't quite been ready to forgive him back then, Anne was still anxious to know how her brother was faring, not-so-subtly asking if you'd heard from him in her owls to you, and, according to Anne's letters, getting an earful from one of her former neighbors.

After Anne left Feldcroft, she'd kept in touch with one of the neighbors she'd always been closest to — a kindly old woman who used to send over home-cooked stews when Anne and Sebastian first arrived on Solomon's doorstep, and who'd apparently been singing Sebastian's praises all summer for all the hard work that nice young man had been doing to help cut back on the gnome infestation threatening to overtake her rose garden.

Evidently, there were only so many times Anne could bear to hear about that poor boy's crumpled face every time the old woman mentioned Anne's name in passing, how sweet it was that he missed his twin, but wished her luck in her travels as she took a much-needed respite to mourn the loss of their uncle, opting to stay behind and look after the estate, that she'd finally broken and decided to send him a letter. Just one line — hope you're well — but to Sebastian, it was everything.

And yet, the frequency with which he wrote to you never wavered. If anything, it'd given him even more to talk about.

You remember how excited he'd been for term to start back up again — it was all the two of you seemed to be able to talk about in the days leading up to September. You'd grown so used to his presence, even if it was only through letters, that the stroll through Diagon Alley felt rather lonely without him, as did the train ride from King's Cross (though an afternoon of stories, snacks, and Exploding Snap with Ominis, Poppy, Natty, Garreth, and Amit certainly made for a lovely journey through the countryside) but seeing as he could easily get all his supplies in Hogsmeade and simply use the Floo Network to travel to the castle, it seemed rather silly to invite him to come all the way to London, just to go all the way back.

You remember the way the floor fell out from underneath you the first time you saw him again — teeth as white as a Patronus Charm against the sun-kissed glow of his skin, an impossible surplus of freckles scattered across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips pulled up into a bright smile, warm brown eyes lit up like afternoon sunlight across the forest floor, somehow even taller and stronger than he'd been only a few months prior as he'd rushed toward you and lifted you off your feet in a dizzying hug, shivers dancing down your spine as he'd buried his face into the crook of your neck and whispered, "Merlin, I've missed you."

By then, you'd finally begun to admit to yourself that maybe, quite possibly, you might have developed something of a small crush on your closest friend. This moment clearly endeavored to whack you round the back of the head with it.

Laughter caught like honey in the back of your throat as you'd pulled back to look at him, cheeks burning like you'd just hugged a living Confringo blast, and said, "Thought you'd be sick of me by now. We only wrote each other every day."

But Sebastian's sincerity only grew stronger.

"Never. Much as I looked forward to your letters, it's not the same as getting to see you in person. Merlin, can't believe it's been almost three months since I last saw you. You look—"

Sebastian paused, eyes lingering on the silken spill of your hair as it cascaded down your shoulders, longer now and out of its usual braid, the healthy glow that had blossomed across your cheeks from all those downtown strolls in the warm summer sun, same bright eyes, same soft smile you always seemed to reserve just for him.

"I sure hope the end of that sentence is good," you'd teased in the wake of the silence that stretched between you, momentarily worried you had some leftover pumpkin pasty on your face, or forgotten to repair a singe in your cloak.

But then Sebastian had let out the softest laugh, ducking his head in a sheepish grin and peering up at you through his lashes. And Merlin, how your heart raced.

"That's one word for it. Good. You look good," he said softly.

He looked at you for a moment longer, lips pulling up into a soft — dare you call it adoring — smile. And then he shook his head, and in the next instant it was gone, replaced by something sharper, cheekier.

"Though it appears you've somehow gotten even shorter since the last time I saw you," he added in a teasing lilt, lifting his arm and settling it atop your head as though you were a particularly moody armrest.

"Or you just shot up over the summer, you bloody tree," you'd quipped, wriggling out from under his arm, only for it to fall around your shoulders and stay there until they called for everyone to take their seats for the start of term feast.

Sebastian's laughter lanced through you like a bolt of lightning, and you spent far more time than you'd care to admit lying awake later that night wondering whether he'd planned it.

The next morning, you awoke to find him waiting for you bright and early outside of your common room, in the midst of a heated debate with the eagle doorknocker over the answer to the riddle when is a door not a door?

"When it's ajar," you'd answered as you stepped out into the corridor, eagerly accepting the freshly-baked croissant held out in his hand.

"That's—" Sebastian blurted out, flustered. "How is that more of a correct answer than a portrait? Ever heard of the Fat Lady? The painting of the ticklish pear? The doorways to both the kitchen and the Gryffindor common room are literally hidden behind a portrait. So technically, my answer was correct."

You'd never seen a doorknocker look so exhausted.

"Does this little serpent belong to you?" the bronze eagle asked you as it cast a wearying glance at Sebastian.

Now that's one hell of a riddle.

"I— yes. He's with me. Sorry," you answered quickly, turning on your heel and steering Sebastian down the corridor before the doorknocker decided to exact vengeance by locking you out of your common room later that night.

You glanced over at the serpent in question, shit-eating grin spread across his ruddy cheeks.

"Sebastian," you prompted as you took in the sight of him, out of breath as he greeted you with a cheeky hello you. "Do you know how many staircases it takes to get from Slytherin Dungeon to Ravenclaw Tower?"

"Oh bloody hell, not another riddle," Sebastian groaned.

"Seventeen," you replied, cheeks aching from the effort of trying not to laugh. "Seventeen staircases. And you climbed all of them this morning just to…what, argue the merits of what makes for a good riddle with my house's doorknocker? You do know I could've just met you in the Great Hall, right? You didn't have to go to all the trouble."

The redness in the hollows of his cheeks spread like wildfire across the bridge of his nose, nearly drowning out the smattering of freckles there.

"Well yeah, I could've just waited downstairs," he brushed it off with false bravado. "But I figured it's only right I escort my charge to her first day of classes. It is a special occasion, after all."

"Is it, now?" you asked, smile growing even wider.

"It is," he quipped. "Did you know it's officially been one whole year since the day we met?" he asked, puffing out his chest with a kind of pride that made your stomach swoop like you just fell through the vanishing step in the grand staircase.

"You mean since I knocked you on your arse?" you teased around a mouthful of warm flaky pastry and rich chocolate.

Sebastian pouted at you and made a grab to take back his croissant, barking out a laugh when you shrieked and proceeded to shove the entire thing into your mouth.

"The very picture of grace," he'd mused, smile fit to bursting as you stuck your tongue out at him.

"Speaking of which," he added, smile turning sly. "I think it's high time we had a rematch, wouldn't you?"

"Eager to make losing to me a yearly tradition?" you smirked.

"You wish," he snorted, smile fond as he rolled his eyes. "Meet me in the Undercroft after your last class, and we'll set the record back to rights."

"I look forward to sweeping you off your feet again," you countered with a playful smile.

Sebastian's eyebrows drew up the slightest fraction, lips pulling into a soft, amused smile as he let out a sound that was half hum, half laughter.

"Here's hoping one of these days I can manage to do the same," he'd mused, all the air rushing out of your lungs in a single breath as he took a step closer and reached out to swipe his thumb across your lower lip.

You had half a mind to wonder whether the duel had begun early, whether he'd been practicing wandless, nonverbal spells over the summer, and had struck you unawares with a combination of ice and fire charms, heart pounding in your chest as you watched his tongue dart out to lick a dab of melted chocolate off the edge of his thumb, darkened gaze locked on yours the whole time.

"See you then," he said, the low hum of his laughter stirring something that felt an awful lot like wings in the pit of your stomach, threatening to burst out of you and chase him down the corridor as you watched him walk away.

It took you five whole minutes to find your way to your first class, despite the fact that he'd literally walked you to the door.

You were still in a bit of a daze when you'd strolled through the sliding gate several hours later, hair wild from a particularly humid session in Potions brewing your first-ever N.E.W.T. level Draught Of Living Death, a streak of dirt on your nose from wrangling a screaming mandrake into a fresh pot of soil in Herbology — at least, that's the excuse you'd told yourself when Sebastian caught you off guard in the middle of your rematch, knocking you off your feet with a well-timed Depulso that had absolutely nothing to do with the way his forearms flexed beneath his rolled-up sleeves.

The spell hit you directly in the stomach and had you gasping like you'd just been struck by a charging graphorn. You vaguely registered the clattering of a dropped wand against worn stone, and in the next moment, Sebastian was on his knees beside you, hands reaching out reflexively and then faltering in midair, like he wasn't sure what to do, whether he was allowed to touch you.

You'd laughed it off, relieved for that first rush of air back into your lungs, head swiveling to where he kneeled beside you, preparing to see a sheepish grin, a wincing apology made less effective by a triumphant, gloating smirk, but all you saw when you looked into the eyes of your best friend was sheer terror, and you knew in an instant where his mind had gone.

Sebastian's gaze flitted between your eyes and the place you'd been hit — the very same spot his Cruciatus Curse had struck you less than a year prior.

"Oh Sebastian, it's okay," you reassured him, wincing at the slight wheeze to your voice. "I'm fine, see? It wasn't anything like—"

Sebastian's lower lip trembled, and in the next moment you'd been pulled into a tight embrace, shaking in his arms as seismic sobs wracked his entire body, an endless chorus of I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please forgive me spilling from his lips.

You'd held him back just as tight, assuring him between gentle strokes of his hair that you'd long forgiven him, that you knew he didn't have a choice.

"But I did have a choice," he argued, pulling back to fix you with a red-rimmed scowl. "I led you down there. I insisted. I'm the one who got us into that impossible situation in the first place. I made so many terrible choices, and all that time I let myself believe it was worth it because I thought I was doing the right thing. But in the end, all I did was hurt the people I—" he faltered, swallowing around a sharp burst of nerves that only had half to do with the guilt welling up inside him.

"I've had all summer to relive what I did to you…to everyone," he whispered softly, haunted by ghosts both living and dead as he'd looked into your eyes.

It's the same way he looks at you now, desperate and pleading for forgiveness you've already granted him, absolution he still won't allow himself.

You know how much he regrets it, how deeply it haunts him, even now. You know he's changed, learned from his past mistakes, determined never to repeat them. You know you can trust him. So if Sebastian wants you to learn one of the Unforgivable Curses, then you have to trust that it must be for good reason.

"So you're telling me it's actually possible to fight against the Imperius Curse?" you ask, still wary, but, you'll begrudgingly admit, curiosity effectively piqued. "How in Merlin's name did you ever learn how to do that?"

Sebastian lets out a breath he'd likely been holding that entire time, some of the tension unraveling from his shoulders as his lips pull into a smile like he's relieved you're still standing here with him, eager to share in something new he's learned like it's just another trip to the Restricted Section.

"Well, as you may have noticed, our dear friend Ominis is not exactly thrilled about our choice of career," Sebastian starts, and you can't help the small smile that curls across your lips as a litany of passive aggressive comments about how he'd better not see the two of you anywhere near the Janus Thickey Ward when he starts his residency in June, comes flooding into your memory. Sebastian clocks your smile and his lips twitch into one of his own.

"Keeps lamenting about how he wishes we'd choose something less dangerous," he adds, rolling his eyes in a show of fond amusement. "But that if we absolutely must, then he'd rather we go in fully prepared for what's out there. I'd assumed he was just going to help us practice a few defensive spells, offer to teach us some of the healing charms he's been learning shadowing Nurse Blainey. Imagine my surprise when Ominis Gaunt, self-proclaimed opposer of anything to do with the Dark Arts, offers to teach me the ins and outs of the Imperius Curse."

That certainly does surprise you, helping to put whatever remains of your unsettled nerves at ease. You know Ominis would never agree, let alone be the one to suggest practicing dark magic unless he truly felt it would be beneficial, unless he truly believed Sebastian could be trusted with such a thing.

"We've been practicing nearly every night in the Undercroft for the past several weeks," Sebastian goes on to explain. "I'd have told you sooner, but I didn't want to risk subjecting you to such a spell until I'd grown comfortable using it myself, fighting against its effects. Now that I have…would you like to see how it's done?"

A frisson runs down your spine, and you're not entirely sure whether it's thrill, fear, or some strange combination of the two. You swallow, only trusting yourself to nod.

"Alright then, draw your wand," he instructs, taking a few tentative steps closer until he's standing right behind you, gentle hands wrapping around the wrist of your dominant hand and bringing it into the air alongside his own.

"We'll begin with the wand movements so you can establish muscle memory," he says, warm breath ghosting across the back of your neck as he speaks in a low, soothing voice, sending shivers that have nothing to do with the forbidden magic you're about to perform racing down the length of your spine.

Together, you aim for the opposite wall, following his directions as he speaks them aloud. Arc up…left…up at a sharp diagonal to the right…and then straight back down in a figure four.

After you've completed your first circuit, Sebastian takes a step back and allows you to practice a few more times on your own, making sure you've got the movements just right.

"Good," he says, sounding impressed, but not altogether surprised. "Perfect form, in fact."

You can't help the automatic smile that curves across your lips at his praise.

"Now to put it into practice," he prompts, drawing his own wand from the inside pocket of his cloak and turning round to face you.

"Do you trust me?" he asks softly, fixing you with a serious, almost pleading look, like if you answer no it's as good as casting Crucio.

"You know I do," you answer automatically. Because even though you're still a little nervous at the prospect of delving into darker forms of magic, there's no one you'd rather learn it from.

Sebastian's eyes crinkle in a grateful smile, before quickly shifting back to something more serious.

"Alright then," he says, taking a deep, steadying breath. "Prepare yourself, I'm going to cast it on you."

"I'm ready," you tell him, standing with your spine a little straighter, wand at your side.

"Imperio," he intones, wand flicking through the air in the pattern he'd just taught you.

The effect is instantaneous, a serene sort of blankness settling over your mind like you're floating through the clouds, a comfortable warmth akin to dozing off in front of the fireplace spreading throughout your entire body. Then, clear as a bell, you hear Sebastian's voice ring out inside your head, instructing you to walk over to your desk and bring him back an apple from the bowl set atop. Without even questioning it, you do so, legs moving of their own accord.

"Finite," he says as you come to a sudden stop in front of him, a bright red honeycrisp apple held out in offering in the palm of your hand. The floating high disappears instantly, leaving you feeling out of sorts, a little dazed as you stare down at the apple, almost as if you'd dreamed you'd gone to fetch it.

"How are you feeling? Are you alright?" he asks, checking you over like he's the one preparing for a Healer's career. "It can be a little overwhelming when you first experience it. Part of why I asked you to bring that," he adds, pointing down at the apple. "The sugars will help you recover."

Sebastian's always had a bit of a sweet tooth, but the sudden uptick in the sheer amount of sugar quills you'd seen stuck between his teeth as of late suddenly makes a lot more sense. Slowly, as though testing the bounds of being back in control of your own limbs, you lift the apple to your lips and take a small bite, mulling over his question.

"It was…strange," you decide, aware that's the biggest understatement of the century. "I know I should've been scared, but instead I felt oddly serene."

"That's what it does to you," Sebastian nods solemnly. "Lulls you into a false sense of security. Tricks your mind into complacency, like you're merely a vessel and someone else is steering the ship."

"I can see how it earned the name unforgivable," you agree with a grimace. "I reckon the only reason I'm not nearly as unnerved as I should be right now is because I knew you were the one casting it."

"That's exactly why I wanted to be the one to teach you," he says with renewed conviction. "In order to learn how to defend ourselves against it, it's important to practice with someone we trust."

"Which is why," he adds with a wry chuckle. "You're going to be the one casting it on me next."

Your lips part in surprise. Even though you knew it was coming, it still catches you off guard.

"Are— are you sure?" you ask warily.

"Course I am," he reassures you with a confident grin. "As I said, it's important to know what it feels like from both sides, understand the kind of power you wield."

You stare at him for a moment, mulling it over, and then give him a curt nod, taking a few steps back to allow enough room for a safe cast.

"Remember, you have to mean it," he reminds you, stowing his wand in his pocket and standing in front of you with his arms behind his back. "Concentrate. Think the command very clearly in your mind."

You take a deep breath as you square your shoulders, assume your stance, and raise your wand.

"Alright, I'm going to cast it," you tell him, giving him the same warning he'd granted you.

"I'm ready," he assures you in an echo of your words.

"Imperio," you say aloud, and a warm weight like you've just been handed the reigns to the carriage of Helios himself settles into your dominant hand. The effect on your intended target is immediate, spine straightening as he stands to attention, an eerie green glow flickering to life in the heart of his warm brown eyes.

You nearly lose your nerve when you see it, an overwhelming, all-consuming realization that you're completely in control of another human being settling into the pit of your stomach like lead, terrified that one wrong move could potentially hurt your dearest friend. But then you remind yourself that he's the one who asked you to cast it on him, that you're learning this spell for a reason, and so you close your eyes and clear your mind, focusing on the task at hand.

Walk over to the desk and bring back one of Highwing's feathers, and then place it behind my ear, your own voice rings out inside your head, clear as crystal. You open your eyes in time to see Sebastian already on the move, watching with a kind of macabre fascination as he does exactly as you'd commanded.

"Finite," you say the moment you feel the quill gently slide into place behind your left ear — though at first you wonder whether you've done it right, when Sebastian doesn't immediately withdraw his hand, instead letting it linger to brush back a lock of hair and tuck it behind your ear to join the bright white feather. You're saved from worry when he clears his throat a moment later, the bridge of his nose dusted in a curious shade of pink.

"A perfect first cast," he tells you, and although you don't necessarily want to be proud that you'd gotten such a dark spell right on your very first try, you can't help but preen a little at his praise.

"Now, I want you to try it again, but this time, let's focus on recitation," he says, backing up a few paces and resuming his stance from before. "Think the words very clearly inside your mind and watch as they come spilling out of my mouth as though we were a living ventriloquist act," he quips, lips curling up in a wry smile.

Used to his rather dark sense of humor in light of things he should probably take a bit more seriously, you merely smirk and roll your eyes.

After another steadying breath, you lift your wand and cast it again, beginning with a simple, "Hi, my name is Sebastian Sallow, and I'm a seventh year Slytherin at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," watching in equal parts wonder and horror as he repeats every word you'd just been thinking in perfect recitation.

That's what an utterly ridiculous idea comes to you, and, curious to test the bounds of the enchantment beyond mere facts and figures, you instruct him to say something you know he never would of his own accord.

"Hello, I'm Sebastian Mallowsweet, and cockroach clusters are my favorite treat in all the world! I can't wait to buy a whole barrel from Honeydukes the next time I'm in Hogsmeade," Sebastian repeats in a bright, cheerful voice that makes you giggle so hard you nearly slip up and lose your hold on the spell, but not before you get him to add in a hearty, "Perhaps I'll share some with my best mate, Duncan Hobhouse, the bravest man I've ever known."

"Finite," you manage between poorly-stifled bouts of laughter.

"Oh, that's just cruel," Sebastian chides you with a playful scowl, shaking himself out of the enchantment.

"I'm not sure what's worse, the image of a whole barrel of cockroach clusters, or the idea of voluntarily spending time with Puffskein Dunkein," he adds with a sharper shudder toward the latter. "Rest assured I'll get you back for that heinous slander."

At this point you're a lost cause, laughing so hard it's like you've downed a dozen shots of giggle water, shoulders shaking as you struggle to regain composure. Try as he might, Sebastian can't even pretend to be cross with you, lips quirking up at the corners in a fond smile.

"It's a power feeling, isn't it?" he asks softly, giving you an appraising look, curious to see how you'll answer.

"Is it bad that I sort of enjoyed it?" you ask, wincing as though you've just admitted something wicked.

Sebastian studies you for a moment, choosing his next words very carefully.

"There's nothing wrong with the thrill that comes with learning a bit of forbidden magic," he says thoughtfully. "As long as you're responsible about how you use it."

"Some people learn that lesson through trial and error," he continues, lips twisting into a self-effacing frown. "And to some, it just comes naturally. Given that I am speaking to the person who had the chance to take one of the most powerful sources of magic known to wizardkind and keep it all to herself, but chose not to…I think it's safe to say you've more than proven yourself."

Your lips pull up in a small, grateful smile.

"And let's not forget one very important caveat: I gave you full permission to cast it on me and make me say whatever you wanted," he reminds you. "So let me ask you this: would you ever cast it on me without my consent?"

"Of course not!" you answer without hesitation, scandalized by the very thought.

"There you go," he says with a reassuring smile. "So, no, you're not a bad person for enjoying that little moment of power, because in the end, all you did was make a friend say something silly."

"But the kinds of people who usually wield this type of spell…well, let's just say their intentions aren't quite so whimsical," he says, grounding you back in a sharper reality, the chilling warning like a gust of wind through lantern light, reminding just how dark and twisted the path through the woods can be.

"Which is precisely why you're learning it," he says with bright conviction. "So you can understand the dangers of it, learn how to fight against it."

"Now, with your permission, I'm going to cast it again, and this time, I want you to try to break it, alright? Concentrate on channeling your own wants and needs, making your own voice louder than the one giving the commands."

You give him a firm nod of affirmation, wand held steady at your side.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Ready," you reply.

Sebastian raises his wand.

You brace yourself for it this time, try to shake yourself out of the fog the moment it hits. Just before you slip under, you see Sebastian's lips curl upward in a mischievous smirk, dark eyes glinting with mirth. It doesn't take long for you to figure out why, when, true to his promise to get you back for your little cockroach clusters prank, the words, "Sebastian Sallow is the best in our year — a dueling champion, clever as Merlin, graceful as a phoenix on the wind," come tumbling out of your mouth without your approval.

You concentrate all your effort on trying to break his hold on you, your own voice snorting with laughter inside your head as you recall that first day in Defence Against The Dark Arts when you'd knocked that cocky little smirk clean off his face with a single blow. Dueling champion, my arse.

That little burst of your own laughter grounds you, gives you clarity, strengthens your resolve to push back against the commanding voice inside your head, until you feel the curse's hold on you start to weaken, little by little, like the steady tick tick tick of an unlocking charm, before all the right tumblers and springs click into place.

Spell broken, you decide that the best way to get Sebastian back is to take his own ostentatious accolades a step further, hand over your heart as you pretend to swoon, sighing, "Devilishly charming, too. I would gladly spend hours charting constellations in the freckles that adorn his handsome face."

"With my lips," you add with a salacious wink to really drive it home, delighting in the way his whole face goes up in flames, burning brighter than a Confringo blast.

(The fact that it's all true is irrelevant. The point of the thing is to tease him, and judging by the stupefied look on his face, you've succeeded.)

"I—" Sebastian falters, embarrassingly breathless. "Hang on, I didn't tell you to say any of that!"

"That's right!" you exclaim, doubled over laughing for the second time in as many minutes. "I'd already broken your hold on me, that was me having a lark," you tell him, beaming with pride.

Sebastian looks relieved and disappointed all at once.

"That's…that's amazing," he manages. "Broke free from the enchantment on your very first try. You really are something special, you know that?"

You sweep into a low, theatrical bow like a performer on a stage, lips curving up in a smile when he snorts with laughter.

"Alright now, don't get cocky," he chides with a playful roll of his eyes. "While that was excellent for a first try, I still managed to get in a few commands before you broke the enchantment. So, we're going to keep practicing until you're able to completely throw it off from the get-go, alright?"

"Yes, professor," you tease him, stifling one last bout of giggles as he levels you with an admonishing arch of his eyebrow, though the fond upturn of his lips gives him away.

"Cheeky," he chuckles, shaking his head.

You can't help but stick your tongue out at him, further proving his point.

"Now, as you'll have no doubt noticed, fighting off verbal vs. physical commands requires different levels of concentration and technique," he continues, assuming a professorial stance in spite of (or perhaps, unconsciously, because of) your playful commentary. "One is merely a matter of holding your tongue, but it's a different game entirely having to fight for control over the entire rest of your body."

"With that said, I'm going to cast it again," he warns, wand at the ready. "And this time, I want you to practice fighting against a physical command."

"Ready?" he asks, checking in one last time.

"Ready," you nod, back straight as you prepare for the incantation.

"Imperio," he says, and in an instant, that same serene blankness creeps in, only this time, it's like you can make out distinct shapes in the fog, growing clearer and clearer the harder you focus, the more you ground yourself, holding fast to your own thoughts, your own feelings, your own desires.

His task is simple — button his cloak and straighten his tie.

You feel your feet start to move toward him, hands raising to complete the command, when—

No, your own voice rings out, loud and clear. I don't want to do that.

Your hands settle over the front of his cloak, pausing as they inch closer to the open clasp.

Button my cloak and straighten my tie, Sebastian's voice calls out again, more insistent this time. But the voice that answers — your voice — is so much louder and stronger.

No, you stand your ground, snapping back with a triumphant laugh. No, I really don't think I will.

In fact, that's the last thing I want to do right now, you muse, lips curving upward in a cheeky grin.

A heady rush of defiance and determination surges through your veins, lighting up all your nerve endings like a live wire, and in your eagerness to rebel against the enchantment, you end up doing the complete opposite of Sebastian's request, hands sliding under the fabric of his cloak and slipping it off of his shoulders in one swift, fluid sweep, silk-lined wool pooling at his feet as you dive straight for his necktie, making a fine mess of the striped emerald and silver satin in your eager attempts to loosen it, fingers curling around smooth silk and giving it a gentle tug to urge him closer, unraveling until it's completely come undone, spilling into the hood of his cloak.

You can't help but notice how pretty and pale his throat looks beneath it, adam's apple straining with each swallow, caught on the edge of a soft, stuttered groan as you slide your hands up the length of his chest, fingertips dancing across the back of his neck and threading through the soft chestnut curls at his nape. Your eyes follow the movement with a needy, yearning kind of hunger, consumed by the thought of how much prettier it would look littered with pink and purple bruises in the shape of your lips.

A sharp intake of breath sends your senses into overdrive, head swimming in an intoxicating blend of spearmint and strawberry sugar quills lingering on the edge of his lips and the tip of his tongue, and suddenly all you can focus on is how badly you want to taste it. The words kiss me ring out inside your head, desperate and longing, and for a moment, you can't tell whether it's his voice or your own imagination, caught up in a fantasy you've been playing out inside your head for the past two and a half years.

Whatever remains of the enchantment's hold on you is immediately withdrawn, sobriety washing back over you like a sudden plunge into a freezing lake, stumbling forward as Sebastian takes a few cautionary steps back. Instinctively, he reaches out to steady you, gentle hands prying yours from around the collar of his button-up shirt. He holds them there between the two of you for a moment, and then slowly glances down, letting out a small gasp when he realizes he's touching you, and immediately pulls away like he's just been burned.

He looks at you like he's afraid of you, eyes wide with panic and shame, a fiery red heat blossoming in the hollows of his cheeks.

For a moment, you're terrified you've crossed some sort of line, turned his stomach with the regret of having to eat his own words, all that lavish praise he'd bestowed upon you, all those gallant notions of a natural proclivity for responsibility, moral compass thrown off course by the magnet that always seems to pull you toward him.

Your mind reels as you struggle to process what just happened, one little moment changing the course of everything in the space of a few seconds. It all happened so fast — one minute you were fighting against the enchantment, and the next, your hands were in his hair, all sense lost to everything but how soft it felt beneath your fingertips, swept up in the way those warm brown eyes fixed on yours like he burned for you, sunlit warmth and dulcet sugar ghosting across your lips with each breath, and suddenly all you could think about was how desperately you wanted to kiss him, so focused on channeling your own thoughts and feelings into a shield to defend yourself against the curse, you unwittingly summoned everything you've ever wanted to the surface, all those long-held desires you've tried so hard to keep buried, unearthed.

You open your mouth to apologize for getting carried away, scrambling to come up with a reasonable explanation that doesn't involve spilling your deepest secrets, pouring your heart out to the man who's held it captive for years, hoping like hell the connection severed before he heard those stupid little words ring out inside your head, that you haven't completely ruined your friendship — but before you get the chance, he's the one who starts talking, a litany of apologies falling from his lips at a dizzying speed, promising you that he would never, ever use Imperio to make you kiss him of all things, begging you to trust him.

You blink in surprise. What's he on about? Of course you trust him. That was never in question. He's mischievous, certainly, a silver-tongued charmer when he wants to get his way, but you know he would never do anything as villainous as use potions or spells to try to get someone to…to…

Oh.

So you hadn't imagined it, then.

His thoughts. His words. His voice. Wrapped so sweetly around those two little words.

Kiss me.

Not a command, but a subconscious desire, just like yours.

Sebastian wanted you to kiss him.

A mad, blissful smile spreads across your face, heart pounding in your throat as it threatens to leap right out of your chest. Your lips part, willing the right words to come, to assure him it's more than alright, but his anxious steamrolling doesn't give you the chance.

"I'm sorry," Sebastian cries, agonized. "I'm so sorry. You have to believe me, I would never take advantage of you like that. I swear to you it wasn't intentional, I just got carried away in the moment and it sort of slipped out. Beautiful girl tugging at my clothes like that, soft hands running through my hair, the way your eyes sort of burned when you looked at me, I—"

His expression softens to something you'd dare call smitten, lips curving upward in a big, goofy grin as he plays it back, and then quickly shakes his head, admonishing himself.

"Merlin, there I go again," he sighs, wincing in embarrassment as he chances a glance at you, an earnest longing burning in his eyes that makes your heart ache with the need to reach out and touch him. "I've tried so hard for so long to keep my feelings in check, because I know you don't feel the same way, and the last thing I want to do is jeopardize our friendship, so I—"

You're certain the end of that sentence would've been lovely and heartfelt, but you'll never know for sure, the rest of his words swallowed in a soft, surprised oh as you rush forward, closing the distance between you and pressing your lips against his. It's soft and small and tentative, hands gently cradling the sides of his face to keep you both steady, but when you pull back a moment later, Sebastian looks at you like he's just been Confunded, his face an adorable blend between shocked and hopeful, sun-kissed freckles spilling into the curves of his dimples as his lips curve into a bright, blissful smile.

And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it's gone, replaced by apprehension and disbelief.

"Wait," Sebastian falters, holding you back at arm's length and looking you over with the same care and consideration he'd shown the first time he cast the curse on you, concern etched into his narrowed eyebrows. "Are you still under my spell?"

You can't help the smirk that curls across your lips at his choice of wording.

"In a manner of speaking," you reply, sly smile turning soft as you reassure him, "but not in the way you're thinking."

Sebastian blinks at you, confused.

"Then why would you…do that?" he asks, like he genuinely can't believe you'd kiss him of your own accord.

"Because I wanted to," you tell him, and the weight of it makes you laugh like you're about to cry. "I've wanted to kiss you for so long, Sebastian, you have no idea."

Sebastian's breath comes out in a sharp burst, redolent of that same euphoric laughter bubbling up inside your chest.

"How long?" he asks.

"Since you took the fall for me that night we got caught sneaking into the Restricted Section," you tell him, smiling fondly at the memory.

"The first time, that is," you add with a wry chuckle.

Sebastian lets out a disbelieving laugh, raking a hand through his hair and grinning at you like he would gladly go back and do it all over again.

"And you?" you ask tentatively, hardly daring to believe this is actually happening.

Sebastian's lips pull up into a playful smile.

"About five seconds after you knocked me on my arse during our first duel."

Now it's your turn to let out a surprised laugh. All that time you spent thinking your feelings were one-sided, and he's the one who fell first.

"It took you five whole seconds?" you tease, slipping easily back into your usual banter, reveling in the fact that you can freely flirt with him now.

Sebastian snorts with laughter.

"Yes, well…if you'll recall, I was rather stupid back then," he heaves a dramatic sigh. "After all, it took me two and half years to finally work up the nerve to kiss you."

"I'm the one who kissed you," you remind him, quirking an amused eyebrow at him.

"Ah, still besting me, I see," he chuckles, warm breath ghosting across your lips as he takes a step closer.

"Oh, but I wonder…do I still have the power to knock you on your arse?" you tease in a soft, low murmur.

His eyes do a slow, deliberate sweep down to your lips, tongue darting out to lick his own in anticipation, before slowly trailing back up to meet your eyes.

"Every time you smile at me," he replies with a cheeky smirk.

"You charming bastard," you chide him, laughter swallowed up in another kiss as he leans forward to press his lips against yours.

"Mmm, that reminds me," Sebastian murmurs in between stolen kisses, smiling against your lips as you let out a needy whimper, already addicted to the way he tastes.

"So, earlier…when you called me devilishly charming and told me you wanted to — what was it — chart constellations in the freckles that adorn my handsome face…you really meant that?" he teases, positively beaming.

The look on his face is so smug, you're torn between wanting to knock him on his arse again, and wanting to kiss the stupid smirk right off his stupid, handsome face. (Though you already know which one is going to win out.)

"Oh, fuck off," you laugh. "Yes, I think you're handsome and charming—"

"Devilishly so."

"Yes, yes, you absolute menace. I think we've well and truly established that I like you," you wave him off, rolling your eyes in fond amusement. "Now, shut up and kiss me."

Sebastian chuckles under his breath and starts to lean forward, stopping just short of your lips, making you let out another impatient whine.

"Just one more thing," he says, remnants of mint and sugar ghosting across your lips as he leans in close, voice dropping to a low, prowling murmur. "You are, without a doubt, the most breathtakingly beautiful person on the face of this earth, and I consider it a goddamn tragedy worse than the falling out of the founders that I've gone this long without the pleasure of reminding you every single day from the moment we met."

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him, spellbound by his words, heart aching to leap right out of your throat and build a home inside his chest right next to his own, and then you're rushing forward, closing that hairsbreadth distance that might as well be the space between two mountains, crashing your lips against his and kissing him senseless.

Your hands are everywhere, tugging at his shirt, threading through his hair, pulling him as close as possible. So lost in the intoxicating touch and taste of him that you don't realize you've been steadily moving backwards until your backside collides with the sharp corner of your desk. You let out a startled gasp that quickly turns to laughter, head lolling against Sebastian's shoulder as your own shake with self-effacing mirth.

"Are you alright?" he asks, concern akin to a battle with an ashwinder and not a piece of inanimate furniture. You manage a small nod through your laughter.

"Damn desk, bruising my girl," Sebastian scowls, the words my girl sending a thrill like a bolt of lightning right through you.

You let out a surprised giggle as he picks you up and gently places you on top of the desk, settling between your thighs.

"The only kind of marks you should ever have on you are the ones from my lips," he whispers in between soft, slow, teasing kisses up the length of your neck, sucking a bruise against your pulse point that has you curling your fingers through his hair and moaning his name.

"Always hoped I'd hear you say my name like that," he murmurs in a deep, rumbling growl you can feel thrumming between your ribs like thunder.

Eager to return the favor, you thread your fingers through his hair and give him a gentle yet insistent tug, delighting in the way it elicits a rough, guttural moan in the back of his throat, pulse point jumping beneath your touch as you run your tongue along the curve of his adam's apple.

You're fairly certain one of the buttons goes rolling off under the desk as you tear open his shirt and splay your hands across his chest, pleased to find a whole new canvas of well-earned muscle teeming with sun-kissed freckled dotted between soft patches of chestnut hair, uncharted territory just begging to be mapped out with your lips.

By contrast, Sebastian is equal parts gentle and nervous. Clumsy, trembling fingers work the buttons of your blouse and the lacings of your bra until you're completely bare before him, the flowing fabric of your sleeves hanging loosely off your shoulders. For several long moments, all he can seem to do is stare at you like you're a miracle made real, licking his lips in anticipation as his eyes rake across your breasts.

Sebastian's gaze flickers up to yours, a silent plea. You let out a soft breath, nodding eagerly. In the next second, he's pressed in close again, warm hands skimming up the length of your torso before gently settling under the swell of your breasts, holding you like you're a precious artefact, pleasure sparking low in your core as hard-earned callouses graze across your nipples with a perfect texture.

Sebastian lets out a soft hum as he feels them pebble against the palm of his hand, eyebrows arching in a kind of curious fascination as he glances down at his own hands like he's just performed a spectacular bit of magic. Freckled cheeks curve into an eager smile as he ducks his head down, pressing a series of tentative, exploring kisses from the soft slope of your breasts down to the pale peaks of your nipples, taking one of them into his mouth and applying the gentlest bit of suction as he swipes his tongue across the sensitive bud, grinning in triumph as you let out a lurid moan and arch into his touch.

He pockets that bit of very useful information for later as he slowly makes his way back up toward your lips, eager to kiss you again, peppering fevered kisses across your collarbones and up the length of your neck, not wanting to miss a single inch of skin. Within seconds, he's captured your lips in a searing kiss, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gently cradling your cheek as he kisses you breathless, groaning into your mouth as you pull him flush against you, soft breasts pressed against the hard plane of his chest, heathered skirt hiked up around your hips as he cages you in.

Sebastian's rapidly growing hardness is an insistent pressure between your thighs, sparking your own arousal in a pleasant ache that pulses through your core with each touch. In an effort to get even closer to you, Sebastian shifts, and the head of his cock inadvertently grinds between the gusset of your underwear, sending shock waves of pleasure that have you gasping into his mouth, white-knuckling the sleeves of his shirt.

You can't take it anymore. It's too much and not nearly enough all at once. You need more of him. You need all of him.

"Sebastian," you sigh, breathless between kisses. "Do you— do you have protection?"

"Protection?" Sebastian pulls back to look at you, eyebrows arched in a look of adorable confusion.

"From what? I doubt anything will attack us while we're in—" he stutters as the tip of your finger curls into the waistband of his trousers and gives a suggestive tug forward.

"Oh," Sebastian's eyebrows jump in surprise.

"Unless you don't want—" you immediately pull back, feeling foolish.

"Oh, I want," he insists, drawing you back toward him, voice rough and pleading with exactly how much he wants. "I was just caught off guard. I wasn't expecting—"

Sebastian falters, nerves ramping up again.

"You have to know, when I asked you to come out with me tonight, I wasn't expecting any of this."

"I know you weren't," you reassure him with soft, gentle strokes through his hair. "I trust you, remember?"

Sebastian nods, breathing out on a sigh of relief.

"But, yeah…if you're asking me to be honest…stick a pin in trying to be a gentleman," he lets out a sheepish laugh, one of his hands coming up to attack a phantom itch on the back of his neck. "Then the answer is a resounding, embarrassingly keen yes. I very much want to."

"I do too," you admit with a shy giggle, fingers curling under the collar of his shirt to draw him in for another, softer kiss.

The moment the words leave your mouth, two small crystal phials appear next to you on the desk, labeled in pristine print across each side: infecunditatem temporalis, XXIV h. — temporary infertility, lasting twenty-four hours.

The two of you stare down at them for a moment, blinking in surprise, and then slowly pick them up.

"Well, that's handy," Sebastian remarks with a breathless laugh. "This room really does think of everything."

"Cheers," you murmur softly, instinctually linking arms the same way you've always done for every shot of Firewhisky and post-match Butterbeer toast, before downing your respective phials in one swig.

You set them back down on top of the desk and glance up at one another, suddenly nervous.

"I've never done this before…have you?" you ask, not entirely sure you want to know the answer. You've always been exceptionally close, but you doubt he's told you everything.

"Ah well, you know me…" Sebastian starts with a cocky upturn of his lips, and then immediately deflates, letting out a long, slow, defeated sigh. He knows he'd never be able to lie to you, but a part of him momentarily considers whether he should, irrational fear mingling with a deep-seated insecurity that you'll be put off when you find out he has no idea what he's doing. He's researched, of course. Extensively. But it's not like he's ever put it into practice.

"No," he sighs, admitting it like it's some kind of flaw. "Most I've ever done is kiss someone…and that was back in fourth year…on a dare."

He doesn't miss the way your shoulders relax, relief in the form of a small smile curling across your lips, and suddenly he's very glad he never did anything for the sake of just getting it over with, rebounding his hopeless feelings with some faceless stranger wishing it was you, giddy with a heady mix of nerves and excitement that he'll get to be your first.

And if he's very, very lucky, your only.

"And since?" you nudge, keen to hear him say it.

Sebastian's lips quirk up in a playful grin.

"There's only one person I've wanted to kiss since then," he says, leaning forward to capture your lips in a slow, deep kiss.

"Only one person I've imagined lain on their back as I fall to my knees and bury my lips between their thighs," Sebastian confesses in a low, hungry growl, punctuating each word with a searing kiss as he slowly works his way down the length of your body, mouthing at your neck, between your breasts, across the ticklish plane of your stomach, until he's on his knees in front of you, gazing up at you like you're a brand new constellation in a starless night sky.

"You've no idea how badly I've been longing for a view like this," he says with an appreciative groan, kissing a hungry trail up your inner thighs. "Makes the view from the top of the Astronomy Tower look rather dull by comparison."

You can't help the blissful laugh that escapes you, legs trembling beneath his eager lips. Sebastian pauses his ministrations to look up at you, eyebrows arching in lighthearted indignation.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I say something funny?" he admonishes, nipping playfully at your inner thigh and making you let out a sharp peal of laughter.

"No, it's just…oh, please don't take this the wrong way, but I'm just…pleasantly surprised, is all," you giggle.

"Whatever for?" he asks, rising back up to meet you. You throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him close, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.

"You hear stories…about men who absolutely refuse to do that sort of thing, yet seem to expect it from their partners," you explain, thinking back to all those hushed conversations you'd overheard in the girls' lavatories, whispered in the dark before bedtime. "I suppose a part of me has always wondered whether you'd be the same. More of a taker than a giver in the bedroom."

Sebastian leans back to look at you, lips pulling into a frown.

"On the one hand, I'm insulted you think I'd do anything short of worship you," he says, diving back in to press a series of hungry kisses up the length of your neck that have you shaking in anticipation of such a promise.

"But on the other," he counters, pulling back to fix you with a teasing smirk. "It's nice to know you've spent a great deal of time thinking about what I'd be like in the bedroom."

A carmine blush creeps across your cheeks as you remember all the times you'd done far more than just think about him, careful to draw your curtains and cast a silencing charm so no one would hear you when you called out his name.

If only he knew…

…come morning, you'll make certain he does.

"Speaking of which—" Sebastian prompts, eyes darting around the room with an appraising frown, before landing on the desktop underneath you, broken quills and crumpled sheets of parchment hastily shoved aside to make room for your — ahem, more amorous ventures.

"This room might be fine for study and spellwork, but it's not the most romantic of places. I can fix that," he says, giving you a wry smile as he offers you his hand and helps you down from the desk.

"Just close my eyes and picture what I want, yeah?" he asks, looking to you for reassurance. You nod in encouragement, slipping your fingers between his and giving the palm of his hand an affectionate squeeze.

Sebastian closes his eyes and concentrates, summoning two and a half years' worth of fantasies to the forefront of his mind. A moment later, there's a soft grind of stone, and the two of you glance up in time to see a marble statue of an owl that's always sat in the alcove between the grasslands and the coastal vivarium twisting into an invisible recess in the floor, revealing a brand new corridor in its wake.

You let out a startled laugh as Sebastian scoops you up into his arms and carries you down the corridor, lulled by the excited thrum of his heartbeat as you bury your face into his chest and wrap your arms around his neck. In just a few short strides, you arrive at the end of the hallway, where a handsome set of oak doors adorned with elegant swirling filigree in blossoming flowers and twisting vines, crescent moons and little stars, springs to life like fast-growing ivy.

You reach out to turn the handle, and for a moment, you're plunged into total darkness, the room beyond an unfinished painting, transforming before your very eyes the moment the two of you step inside, polished floorboards rippling into place like piano keys playing an arpeggio, walls and ceiling a patchwork puzzle as they slowly piece themselves together.

Brushstrokes in deep ocean blues and dark verdant greens turn the heart of the Forbidden Forest under a midnight sky into a painter's palette, dozens of paper lanterns lit by softly flickering candlelight floating all around you like fireflies, bathing the room in hazy hues of silver and gold as they mingle with the light of the crescent moon trickling down from up above, ceiling enchanted to look as though it opens out onto the heavens, night sky glittering with thousands of shooting stars.

A trail of your favorite flower petals leads to a cozy alcove bed cradled between two recessed bookshelves brimming with pristine leather-bounds the two of you will no doubt spend hours perusing at leisure, gossamer curtains woven with intricate stars and crescent moons spilling down across the silken sheets.

The gentle cadence of rainfall taps its fingertips against the glass of an ornate three-paned window set just above the bed, painted in a perfect replica of the sprawling landscapes from the hidden corridor he'd shown you earlier in the night, while a crackling fireplace dances merrily in the heart of a cozy reading nook complete with two plush armchairs tucked together side by side.

Sebastian lets out a contented hum as the last little details of the room settle into place, glancing down to gauge your reaction, eager to know what you think.

"Oh, Sebastian," you whisper as you gaze around the room, candlelight dancing like flecks of gold in your eyes. "It's beautiful."

Sebastian beams. Of all the times you managed to leave him utterly spellbound tonight, it's a point of pride to finally be able to elicit the same response from you.

"Trust I've been dreaming of the perfect place to be romantic with you for quite some time," he murmurs, leaning down to nuzzle his nose against your cheek.

You gaze up at him adoringly and lean up to kiss him, butterflies taking flight in your stomach when you feel the hard press of his uncontainable smile against your lips.

"Now, where were we?" he whispers, whisking you away to the cozy alcove bed at the heart of the room and gently setting you down at its edge between the star-strewn curtains.

As though he can't stand to be parted from you for a second longer, Sebastian sweeps forward to capture your lips in another breath-stealing kiss, gentle hands sliding across the curve of your jaw to thread through the hair at the back of your neck, cradling the back of your head as he kisses you slowly, deeply, savoring every second.

He takes his time peeling off the layers of your clothing, unwrapping you like a gift, hands sliding between bare skin and soft cotton until your blouse comes spilling off your shoulders to pool around your waist, eager lips following its trajectory as he presses a series of adoring kisses down the column of your throat, tongue darting out to smooth across the tender, claiming bruise he'd left on your pulse point, smirking at the way it jumps beneath his touch, gently palming at your breasts as he makes his slow descent.

Where before he'd allowed himself a small taste, this time Sebastian indulges, falling to his knees and burying his face between your breasts, pressing lavish kisses in time to the beat of your heart, before taking the nipple he hadn't had the pleasure of tasting earlier into his mouth and applying a gentle suction, delighting in the way it elicits the same sinful response from you as it did before.

Not wanting to neglect either of them, Sebastian tries to mimic the same technique on the one not currently occupied by his mouth with his fingers, gently kneading the pebbled peak between his thumb and index finger. Clearly it's the right move, because the moment he does both in tandem, you let out a sharp gasp, arching your back in an effort to get even closer to him, fingers curling around the sleeves of his shirt and gripping tight.

Sebastian chuckles, a low rumbling laugh that vibrates like a crackle of thunder inside your chest as he worships every delectable detail of your breasts, until a series of pink and purple bruises in the shape of his lips starts to blossom across your skin. The sight of it stirs something primal inside him, little reminders lasting well beyond tonight that let everyone know you're his.

Sebastian would gladly spend the rest of his days buried between your breasts, but the curious, insatiable, thrill-seeking side of him is eager to keep exploring, map out every inch of your body with his hands, lips, and tongue until he's memorized every single way you love to be touched, keen to know what other addictive sounds he can get you to make.

He presses a trail of kisses down your torso, smiling when you giggle and squirm beneath him as his lips tickle the curves of your stomach, pausing when he reaches the waistline of your skirt.

"Lay back, darling. Let me take care of you," he insists in a low whisper, sending heat like an inferno straight to your core. You do as he asks, hair fanning out across the sheets, a cool press of silk against your fevered skin.

Deft fingers carefully work the buttons at your waist, unraveling your wrap-around skirt until it's laid out flat beneath you. Hands shaking from a mess of excitement and nerves, Sebastian carefully hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your knickers and slowly slides them down your legs, breath hitching when you tilt your hips to help ease them off, giving him a glimpse of your backside.

"Fuck, you're stunning," he says with a wrecked, desperate groan that has you blushing like you've just downed a shot of Firewhisky, laid bare beneath his hungry gaze as he takes a moment to drink you in.

"Can I touch you?" he asks in a quiet, almost pleading voice.

"Please," you tell him, just as desperate.

Nervous, gentle hands slide up along the outside of your thighs, smoothing over the curves of your hips before settling in the space between, breathing out on a soft, stuttered gasp as his fingers thread through the soft patch of curls at the apex of your thighs.

He skims a finger featherlight along the seam of your lips, testing the waters before delving deeper, a low groan rumbling in the back of his throat when he feels how wet you already are for him. Heat pools low in your belly as he slides between your folds in an achingly slow tease, sending shivers like shock waves rolling down the length of your spine, working you into a frenzy as careful, calloused fingers graze your clit.

Once he's satisfied you're ready to take him, fingers coated in your slick, Sebastian slips down to rub teasing circles against your entrance, driving you to the point of madness, canting your hips with soft little whines, until finally, he relents, slowly sliding his ring and middle fingers inside you and curling them in a come hither motion that has you gasping and writhing above him.

"Is this— is this alright?" he asks, concern bleeding through breathless exhilaration.

"It feels amazing, Seb," you manage, yours words barely more than a stuttered moan as his fingers twitch inside you. "Please don't stop touching me."

Your soft gasps and moans guide him to where he needs to go, thumb rubbing heady circles against your clit as his fingers curl in that blissful breath-stuttering way inside you. He works you into a maddening frenzy, pressure slowly building like an arrow being drawn across a bowstring, and Sebastian can't help but let out a low groan each time you flutter and tighten around him. If this is how incredible you feel against his fingers, he can't even imagine how amazing you're going to feel around his cock. Though that particular pleasure will have to wait just a little bit longer, because Sebastian isn't anywhere near finished with you yet.

You let out a needy whine as that delicious pressure suddenly disappears, only to be replaced by a sharp burst of breathless laughter as Sebastian grabs a handful of your backside and hauls you closer to the edge of the bed, coaxing your legs over his shoulders as he buries his face between your thighs.

"Forgive me, darling, but I need to taste you," he groans, tongue darting out to delve between your folds.

"Sebastian," you cry out as a burst of pleasure sparks through you, hands fisting in the sheets. Sebastian lets out another loud moan as you call out his name, tongue gliding down to lick at your entrance, burying himself deep enough to taste your pleasure at the back of his throat, before sweeping back up to capture your clit in a blissful blend of gentle suction and the sinful swirl of his tongue.

Slowly, carefully, he slides his fingers back inside you, curling them against that sweet spot deep within you, lips and tongue working in perfect tandem to worship your clit with the same eager attention he'd given your breasts.

You've never felt so feral in all your life, hands clutching at the sheets as you writhe above him like a wild animal in heat, Sebastian's name spilling from your lips in a flurry of sighs and soft, keening moans. With a contented hum, Sebastian reaches up to gently pry your fingers from the bedspread, lacing his own through yours and giving the palm of your hand an affectionate three-pulse squeeze, encouraging you to hold fast to him instead, not wanting to miss a single detail of just how wild he makes you.

Your other hand follows suit, seeking him out, chestnut curls even softer than the silk sheets as you curl your fingers through his hair and give him an insistent tug, and oh, he really likes it when you're a little rough with him, so desperate and needy for his touch that all you can think to do in that moment is pull him even closer, the low, throaty moans he makes every time you do only serving to heighten your pleasure as they vibrate through your core like rolls of thunder.

He brings you crashing over the edge, wrecked and breathless as you call out his name, begging him between stuttered sighs that you need him to be inside you, now.

Sebastian lets out a soft, blissful breath as he presses a few more kisses to your inner thighs, and then slowly rises to his feet, gaze locked on yours as he swipes the pad of his thumb across his lower lip, tongue darting out to lick the last of your release. The sight is obscene, riling up a primal pride deep within you that only makes you want him even more.

You sit perched on the edge of the bed, reaching up to slide his button-up shirt off his shoulders and running your hands down the length of his torso, soft curves over hard-earned muscle, freckles scattered amidst soft patches of chestnut hair like a star-strewn sky through a forest canopy, pausing to take a steadying breath as you reach the waistband of his trousers. Hands trembling from a mix of nerves and excitement, you carefully work the buttons to relieve him of his trousers, the last layer of clothing left between you.

You take a moment to drink him in, eyes raking down the length of his body in hungry appraisal, letting out a soft gasp as you take in the sight of his generous length, before slowly sweeping back up to meet his gaze again, thrill and desire outweighing any apprehension over his intimidating size. You understand now how he must have felt when he first saw you — every inch of him is absolutely stunning.

You wrap your arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss, sending the two of you tumbling backward against the pillows, giggling and grinning as you cling to one another. Sebastian kisses you, soft and slow, his body a warm, comforting weight as he settles between your thighs, hovering above you. The two of you breathe in on a stuttered gasp as he takes himself in hand and slides the head of his cock between your folds, coating himself in a combination of his saliva and your release, hesitating as he lines himself up with your entrance.

"Ready?" he asks with a steadying breath, heated gaze locked on yours.

"Ready," you answer, just as breathless as you tilt your hips in invitation.

With a broken, blissed out moan, Sebastian slowly sinks inside, stuttered breaths ghosting across your lips as he closes his eyes and presses his forehead against your own, hips stilling the moment he hears your soft gasp from underneath him.

"How're you feeling, love? Are you alright?" he asks with an edge of panic to his voice, terrified at the thought of hurting you. He keeps still as a statue, giving you a moment to adjust to the sheer size of him.

It's indescribable — the most incredible pressure, a pleasant ache like kneading sore muscles, building and unraveling tension all at once; a feeling of fullness after a life spent starving; a kind of magic even more timeless and powerful than the rarity thrumming through your veins, wonderstruck by how perfectly he fits inside you, like the two of you were made for each other.

"More than alright," you reassure him with a breathless, euphoric laugh. "I feel amazing."

Sebastian lets out a sigh of relief.

"Merlin, that's one word for it," he breathes out on a blissful laugh, eyes rolling back at how amazing you feel wrapped around him. "You're perfect."

He leans down to kiss you, soft and slow and sweet.

"I'm going to start moving now…is that alright?" he asks after a few quiet moments, voice straining like it's been torture holding back.

"Please," you sigh, coaxing him closer as you wrap your legs around the small of his back.

Sebastian sets a slow and steady pace, achingly tender as his hips rock against yours in long, languid thrusts, pressing soft little kisses to your cheeks and the corners of your lips as he moves above you, whispering between kisses how beautiful and breathtaking you are. He's careful and controlled, each move dulcet and deliberate like a slow dance between the sheets, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get it just right, because it has to be. Because this is you, and you are everything.

He's been dreaming of this moment for years, and a part of him still can't believe it's really happening, that he actually gets to be with you. He's spent the better part of the last two and half years convincing himself you'd never feel the same, that he was lucky just to call you his friend, selfish to want more, that he didn't deserve you…though that never stopped him desperately wanting you all the same.

He understands now why they call it lovesick — feverish blush prickling at his skin, heart beating like a staccato as he moves above you, hands trembling as they gently cradle the back of your head and draw you in for a slow, sweet kiss. It's all-consuming, burning through him in equal measures of fiery fervor and glowing embers, like he's just swallowed an Incendio charm. Incurable — though this is one life sentence he'll gladly serve.

It's overwhelming how amazing you feel wrapped around him, soft hands threading through his hair and tugging ever so gently, legs locked around his hips to keep him anchored in your depths, shallow gasps and stuttered ohs whispered in between soft sighs in the shape of his name as you gaze up at him like he is everything to you.

It would be all too easy for him to lose himself in the euphoria of finally getting to be with you, and Merlin, he wants to.

He wants all of you. It's like he can't get close enough, a primal hunger to fuse himself with you, body and soul, bury himself inside you like treasure, climb inside your chest and build a home inside your heart, dive down to your depths and spill all his secrets inside you, long-held confessions of how deeply he's fallen for you.

The words bubble up inside his chest like steam inside of a screaming tea kettle, burning his throat as years worth of messy, nerve-addled feelings threaten to spill past his lips. He wants to kiss the words into your skin, knit his love so deep within you, you feel it in your bones, with each pulse of your heart, his name a subliminal sigh with each breath you take, until you're inextricably woven together, until he's an irrevocable part of you, just as you are for him.

He aches for you to be his, because he's so desperately yours. He'd shout it from the top of the Astronomy Tower, from the stars themselves, if he could.

But if he does…he's afraid you might actually hear him. And Sebastian can't have that. He can't let you know the true depth of his feelings. Not yet. It's too soon, too much for something so fragile and new. He knows he can be a little intense, a little overwhelming. When Sebastian loves, it's fierce and unwavering, and as much as he wants to tell you, show you, how deeply he loves you, he's afraid the intensity of his feelings will drive you away.

He supposes that's one of the many reasons he's always been so drawn to more fiery forms of magic. After all, they're just like him. Fervent. Insatiable. Incendiary. Kindred — kindling — spirits. Cast with the best intentions — to protect and keep warm — but one wrong move, too much, and it becomes dangerous, destructive.

Sebastian has spent his whole life being told as much — that he's too much. Overzealous. Unrelenting. Reckless. Doesn't know when to stop. Breaks everything he touches. Loses everyone he loves.

He can't lose you too.

He's a wildfire, and you— you're a forest teeming with birdsong and greenery, and he's terrified that with one wrong move he'll burn you to the ground, when all he wants to do is keep you warm.

So he holds himself back, concentrates all his efforts into taking it slow, swallowing a symphony of lovesick confessions and pouring the softest version of his love into every touch, determined to make this perfect for you, determined to get this just right. Because maybe, if he gets this right, he'll actually be lucky enough to keep you.

"So perfect," he sighs as he moves above you, soft and sweet.

"Tell me what you need, love," he urges between stuttered breaths and slow, languid thrusts. "To make this perfect for you, too."

You can tell he's holding back — each touch a little too gentle, a little too careful, a little too reserved — and you think you know why, because you know him.

Sebastian Sallow has never done anything halfheartedly, so when he loves, it's without reservation — fiercely, deeply, perhaps a little madly.

You also know that he's lost just about everyone he's ever loved.

Though you've never actually spoken the words out loud, you know that he loves you too. It's always been there, unspoken, thrumming beneath the surface of every interaction.

You can hear it in the silence of a lazy afternoon spent cloud-watching under the shade of a flutterby tree in the summoner's courtyard, splayed hands edging across the grass until you feel the accidental brush of his pinky finger against yours.

In little gestures played off as teasing banter, covert hands sliding stacks of toast and chocolate croissants across the shared desk of your first class, wrapped in scribbled notes admonishing you for missing breakfast after yet another sleepless night.

It's in the way you wish each other goodnight, stretching out the moment with hastily stifled bouts of laughter and stolen glances over your shoulders as you watch him make the long trek back from Ravenclaw Tower to Slytherin Dungeon, hesitant to part after yet another nighttime lark, despite the fact that you know you'll see each other the very next day.

In the way he insists on coming along with you on some of your more daring ventures, pushing down his deep-seated fear of spiders and instinctively stepping between you and a thornback ambusher seconds away from incapacitating you with its venom.

You've always known Sebastian loves you, but up until tonight, you've always thought it was in the same way he loves Anne and Ominis. Fond. Familial. Kindred.

That was before you'd felt the weight of his lips against yours, the tremble in his hands as he'd pulled you close, the beat of his heart thundering in time with your own.

Now that you know it runs even deeper — not just friendly or familial love, but romantic love, too — it adds a whole new layer of vulnerability. And if he loves you the way you think he does, the same way you love him, then you know why he's holding back. Because when someone is your whole heart, the prospect of losing them is that much more terrifying.

This is a man who has endured more pain and loss than most people could even dare to imagine. This is a man filled with more fear and guilt than anyone should ever have to bear. Afraid to fuck up again. Afraid to hurt you again. Afraid to lose what little remains of the people he loves. Afraid to let himself have what he wants, because deep down, he still doesn't think he deserves it.

Afraid that he is too brash, too broken, too intense, too much for anyone to ever want, the weight of his grief too heavy for anyone else to carry, spirit too bright and burning for anyone to ever want to get close enough to touch.

And maybe he is. Maybe he is too much. But that's never stopped you wanting all of him just the same. If he is an untamed beast, then your heart is a vivarium, a home built for an occamy at its full potential. For you, he could never be too much, because you could never get enough of him.

He's a wildfire, but you've always been drawn to his warmth, his light, bright sparks lighting up your coldest, darkest nights. You wouldn't just walk through his flames, you'd dance in them, safe in the knowledge that you'll never get burned.

Because he's a wildfire, but you are a hurricane, and you're more than a match for his heat.

So when he asks you, soft and sweet, what you need make this perfect for you, that's exactly what you tell him.

"You. Just you," you sigh as you lean up to press a trail of kisses in between the freckles that dapple the pale column of his throat. "I want all of you, Sebastian. Please, show me how badly you've been wanting me all this time, too. Don't hold anything back. I can take it…anything and everything you're willing to give."

Sebastian's hips still as he pulls back to look at you, lips parted in surprise.

"Are— are you sure?"

You lean up to kiss him, slow and deep, your answer little more than a sigh against his lips.

"I'm yours, Sebastian. I've always been yours," you whisper. "Now all you have to do is take what's yours."

Sebastian gazes at you, stunned for a moment, breath catching in his throat. And then his eyes darken, and that charming smile that's always made you weak in the knees curls across his lips, adoration burning like the heart of a wildfire in his irises as he keeps his steady gaze locked on yours.

He laces his fingers with yours and pins your entwined hands above your head, holding you captive, using them as an anchoring point as he begins driving into you with rough, zealous thrusts that hit deep and steal your breath, his other hand coming up to smooth across your cheek as he pulls you in for a kiss, swallowing his own name as it falls from your lips in a stuttered sigh.

"Like this, love?" Sebastian groans, the hard line of his smirk pressed against your lips. "Is this how you want me fuck you?"

"God, yes. Please, Sebastian—"

"As you wish, darling," he growls, picking up pace even faster, his thrusts coming even rougher. "You've no idea how badly I've wanted to have you just like this."

"Tell me," you urge, voice barely more than a whisper.

A litany of lovesick confessions spill from his lips in between desperate, hungry kisses: how deeply he adores you, how beautiful you look laid out beneath him, how amazing you feel wrapped around him, how you must've been made for each other with how perfectly you fit together, how he's been dreaming of being with you like this for so long and he can't believe he's lucky enough to actually have the real thing.

How he'd love nothing more than to keep you forever, make you his in every possible sense of the word (because he's yours, he's always been yours, every beat of his heart belongs to you and you alone) wants you to feel the ache of him throbbing between your thighs days after he's made love to you, a constant reminder of what you've done together; wants to leave claiming bruises all over each other's necks so that everyone will know you belong to one another.

You tilt your head back, bearing your neck in offering, and Sebastian lets out an appreciative groan, swooping down to leave another mark right below the first, fire dancing in his eyes are he pulls back to admire his work.

"Mine," his voice rumbles through you like thunder as he presses the word into your pulse point.

"Yours," you sigh, leaning up to graze your teeth along the column of his throat, eager to claim him in return.

It's enough to drive him over the edge, burying his face in your neck and breathing in deep, greedy lungfuls like you're a burst of fresh air after a life spent drowning, praising you between hungry kisses. How he could gladly spend the rest of his life right here between your legs. How wild you drive him with the sounds you make, the way you call out his name.

"I've wanted to hear you say my name in every possible way — in laughter, in sighs, in gasps…in screams," he says with a prideful smirk as he gives a rough snap of his hips that hits deep enough to pull his name from your throat in a sharp, breathless gasp.

Sebastian lets out a low, throaty chuckle that sends shock waves straight to your core, heating burning every inch of your skin like a shot of Firewhisky as he tells you how badly he wants to watch you come undone beneath him, feel you wrapped around him as your body clings to him, see himself reflected in your eyes as you call out his name, to know that he's the only one who can make you feel like this, take you apart just to be the one that completes you.

The hand that's spent all this time tangled in your hair, gently pressed against the curve of your cheek, comes down to wrap around your waist, tilting your hips upward and pulling you roughly against him, the new angle giving him access to an even deeper sweet spot inside you, each thrust causing the space where you're connected to grind against that sensitive bundle of nerves, sending waves of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body as he keeps a steady, consistent rhythm, buried to his hips between your thighs, building you to climax until you're crashing over the edge, fingers laced with his as you fall together, fluttering around him, pulling him in even deeper, an endless chorus of I love you, I'm so in love with you, I'm yours falling from his lips as he spills deep inside you, calling out your name like it's a sacred prayer and you're his salvation.

Sebastian collapses against you, panting against your neck and pressing lazy kisses to your cheek before rolling to the side to lay on his back. You're barely able to get out a breath before he's pulling you into him, coaxing your head onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a protective hold, burying his face into the top of your hair and breathing you in with deep, contented sighs.

The words he'd said to you as he'd fallen over the edge repeat inside your head like a mantra, pulling your lips into a bright, blissful smile.

"Sebastian?" you ask as you snuggle in closer, heart full.

"Yes, darling?" he asks, still breathless but utterly blissed, voice muffled by your hair.

"I love you too."

You feel his whole body relax, exhaling on a long, slow, contented sigh that almost sounds like a sob toward the end, like he's relieved to hear you say it out loud.

"D'you know," he says into the comfortable silence after a few moments, lips pulled into a bright smile as he glances over at you. "I've seen entire ecosystems co-existing inside a single room tonight — bloody hell, I saw a phoenix — and all of that still couldn't even hope to compare to being with you," he marvels, still a little breathless. "To think, we could've been— I mean, two and a half years. I can't believe it took us this long to finally act on our feelings."

You lift your head, a playful look in your eyes as you gaze up at him dreamily.

"We just took the scenic route," you tell him, smiling as you lace your fingers together and press a kiss against each of his knuckles in turn.

Sebastian's chest rumbles with laughter as he nuzzles in even closer, pressing kisses to the top of your crown. You do the same to his chest, charting constellations of your own design in the sun-kissed freckles you find there, falling into a deep, comfortable sleep before you have the chance to name them all.

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #forbiddenfairytales #forbiddenxfairytales #fanfiction

[tatsumessy]

Hidden Feeling - {part 2}

“It’s the big day!” Your little sister says fixing your hair while smiling at you through the mirror. “I know…” the solem tone in your voice raised some red flags in your sisters head. “What’s wrong? It’s your big day!” She repeated and you just rolled your eyes not wanting to make eye contact with her. “It’s not just my big day, it’s mine and Sae’s. I know he was fine with paparazzi being here I just don’t know how I feel about it.” She sighed and turned you around in the chair to look at her.

“Just think of it as it just being you two.” She said rubbing your arms and smiling at you. “But what if she’s there? I don’t think I can do it…I’m too scared.” You said hugging your body then turning back around in the chair. “So you don’t want to marry me now?” Letting out an annoyed groan you didn’t want to turn around because you already knew he had this look of disappointment on his face.

“Give us a minute.” He said to your little sister, you could hear her heels clinking against the floor then exiting the room. “Y/n. Look at me. Baby look at me.” He said standing behind you with his hand on your head. “What’s wrong?” He leaned down and started kissing on your cheek, “I just don’t like the thought of everyone here…I wanted our wedding to be small and private…” “I know how to fix that.” He said standing up and walking towards the door.

“Put your dress on.” He exited the room and closed the door behind himself. After ten minutes he came back into the room with the marriage official, “Sae what is this?” You said standing up and holding onto the bottom of your dress, “we’re getting married right here right now just the way you want it.” There was a small blush on your cheeks as you walked closer to your soon to be husband and grabbed his face. You leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. “Thank you.”

“Put it on, stop being so difficult.” You said fixing the buttons on your husbands shirt and glancing over his shoulder to make sure that your kids were behaving themselves while you were out in public. Your eldest son is nine, your middle kids are seven and then your youngest is three and then last but not least you’re five months pregnant with your fifth child. “We’ve been doing this for too long, I’m tired.” He said undoing the necktie that you just fixed along with the microphone.

“ITOSHI SAE! Stop it. This is the last interview for the year before our family trip. Please behave, how are your kids doing better than you?” He scoffed and refixed his tie then placed a kiss on your lips before leaving the room and walking onto the stage. Everyone clapped and cheered as he sat down and had this passive aggressive attitude towards the lady. The same interviewer who had a lot to say 11 years ago.

“Before you start this irrelevant conversation I have a question for you myself. Are you still trying to chase after men you know you can’t have? Or are you still being a gold digger?” Everyone in the crowd gasped at his question but then started laughing at her reaction. She was pissed, beyond pissed at that. “I-I only had one question. How’s life been so far since your shotgun secret wedding?”

“I’ve truly enjoyed life with my WIFE and my children. I’m very happy with how everything has been and I’m excited to see how we will grow especially since my WIFE and I are expecting our fifth child in four months.” People started clapping at the news while you sat there in shock, as much as the world knew you only had one child. Now they know you’re on your fifth child. “Five kids?” She asked setting her notecards down and looking up at him, “yes I guess you can say I just LOVE my WIFE.” he emphasized while looking at his watch for the time.

“We are all glad you’ve found the happiness you’ve wanted and more.” She said not making eye contact with Sae then ending the live interview. Sae exited the stage and headed straight towards the dressing room to come and see you. Just in the time span of 15 minutes he missed you, a lot. “Stop running Sae.” You said from behind him as you had just walked out the bathroom with your youngest daughter standing behind you. He turned and gently grabbed your face to kiss you.

“I love you Y/n.” you glanced up at him in confusion. “I love you Sae.” you responded rubbing his cheek as he looked down and hurriedly picked up his daughter who was hiding behind your leg. “And I love you SiSi.” he said kissing her cheek and making her laugh from her shy nature.

Later that night while you and your kids were sleeping on the sofa from watching a movie, Sae had taken a photo of you all and posting it on his instagram.

Caption: My forever goal 💞

dc: @marisely03

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x mc #blue lock x you #bllk x y/n #sae imagines #bllk sae #itoshi sae x reader #sae blue lock #sae x you #sae itoshi #blue lock sae #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #itoshi sae #itoshi x reader #itoshi sae x you #itoshi sae x y/n #bllk sae itoshi #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk x female reader

[justastrugglinghotchocolate]

So like a year ago, I made a post asking why Dorian confessed to murdering Basil in the 1891 edition of the book, but not the 1890. For the last few months, while working on tlg and the comic, I’ve on and off again worked on a small animatic for the ending of TPODG. Because of this I’ve had to reread the ending conversation with Henry again and again. And a thought occurred to me:

Is Dorian’s ‘desire to be good’ actually an attempt to stop being objectified?

Dorian’s ‘desire to be good’ is obviously horseshit, even to himself, but why does he do it? "To feel something new" is a lazy explanation especially when the book literally says that “[h]e felt a wild longing for the unstained purity of his boyhood”. He doesn’t want something new, he wants what he had before. But it’s not the innocence of his youth, nor something material he desires—it’s the way people treated him before Henry and Basil.

The thing that always stood out to me was this exchange (occuring after Dorian’s confession): 

“There is someone at White’s who wants immensely to know you—young Lord Poole, Bournemouth’s eldest son. He has already copied your neckties, and has begged me to introduce him to you. He is quite delightful and rather reminds me of you.”

“I hope not,” said Dorian with a sad look in his eyes.”

While many modern adaptations either forget this line or give a charitable reading, to me it reads as though Dorian realizes he’s replaceable. Even though he has a magic portrait and eternal youth, he still is a dying relic of a changing world. He will never be anything more than the innocent, youthful doll society and Henry treated him as.

His confession, to Henry of all people, was a final plea to be seen as more than the dumb youth, as an innocent angel—he is begging Henry to look at him and see that Dorian Gray is a person. That he feels more than youth, or beauty, or idolatry. That he is capable of great violence and even greater crime, like any other man and through that can be capable of evolving with the time like any other. He doesn't want to live as a passing fancy of perverts and naive young people.

But Henry breaks all of that in one simple line:

“You and I are what we are, and will be what we will be.”

But, Lord Henry was never going to see Dorian as a real person. Because Henry himself isn’t real. ‘Lord Henry’ is a role he plays, one that consumed him far before the first chapter. In many ways, his cynical philosophy is his own defective portrait. He hides any semblance of a person in his role of ‘cynical hedonist’ and denies any change. He too is a dying relic of a changing world.

When Henry denies his attempt to change, Dorian seeks Basil’s portrait of him. I think it's quite telling that even after he murder him, Dorian seeks implicit comfort from the man who had idolized his rose-white purity. Basil was the only relationship that was closest to what he had before. But the sad truth is laid bare:

No one ever saw Dorian Gray as a real person. 

He was always a role being played. 

And he dies tragically discarded.

#this is only a theory and opinion piece. #it is something I've thought about for a while #I hope I get across what I'm trying to #this is def 70% analysis #30% exhausted brain #dorian gray is a tragedy first and foremost #i discovered this when I read hamlet at the same time as this book #uhhh yeah gimme your thoughts if you want #the picture of dorian gray #tpodg #dorian gray #basil hallward #henry wotton #analysis #essay #unironically essays are so fun when you enjoy the material #choco drops an essay and won't reply for seven fucking days #long post

[fairy-writes]

TREES OF GREEN, RED ROSES TOO

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing(s): Nanami Kento x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Grim Reaper!Nanami, Gender Neutral!Reader, Reader is terminally ill

Notes: This is for the Spooky House Collab done by Willow’s House/@willowser! Go check out the other pieces!

The title is lyrics from “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.

TW for death, illnesses, coughing up blood, and hospitals

__________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect Death to wear a suit.

All the tales you had heard swathed the Grim Reaper in robes of pitch and tar. Like a night sky without the moon or stars.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was borderline driving you up the wall. All day, every day, it was all you heard as you wasted away in your hospital bed.

You hunched over and coughed into a tissue that you managed to grab before your body convulsed. When you pulled it away from your mouth, it was tinged red with blood.

So when your hospital door opens, you expect a nurse to come to your aid.

Not the actual personification of Death.

You know it’s him the second you see him. Something in the back of your mind knows. Some primordial part of your brain recognizes just what you are face to face with. 

He’s tall and blond, with hair styled neatly and his eyes hidden behind glasses. He’s dressed in a neatly pressed black suit, an almost leopard print dotted tie around his neck, and a very expensive-looking watch around his left wrist. The necktie seems an odd combination, but with the literal Grim Reaper in front of you, you didn’t give yourself much time to think about it. 

But… surprisingly… you don’t find yourself scared at all.

“Are you here to kill me?” You ask once your coughing has subsided. The man cocks his head slightly, watching you with eyes almost like a bird. 

Unblinking. 

Unmoving. 

And then…

“No. Not kill you. Help you pass on, maybe, but I don’t kill anyone.” His voice is smooth and deep, rich like the notes of an orchestra. You shudder at the sound and stifle another cough. 

“What if I don’t want to pass on?” You ask, and he raises an eyebrow. Immediately, you feel like a child being scolded by a parent.

However, instead of scolding you, he simply sighs, adjusts his cufflinks, and takes a seat next to your hospital bed.

“It’s your time.” Is all he says, and all you feel is anger. You clench your fists until the skin is taut across the knuckles. 

Who is he to decide that? 

Who gets to decide when and who dies? 

Death or not, you should get to decide when you go. Not some man you’ve just met. 

“You have a valid train of thought. But everyone gets to pass on some time.” The man says, and you realize you have just said everything out loud. You duck your head in embarrassment and stare at your hands twisted in the cotton blanket that is draped haphazardly over your legs. It’s silent for a beat. Then two. 

“I don’t want to die.” Your voice cracks, and your eyes burn as you realize that you genuinely don’t. For months, you had waxed poetic about wanting to finally pass on. To finally be free of this pain. To be free of this life you have lived, in and out of hospitals for years on end. 

But when faced with the one person who can grant you that… you find yourself… afraid and clinging to life.

The man’s eyes soften until he simply looks sad. 

“There are few people who do. But your time has come.” He says gently, and you hold back a choked sound that threatens to break the confines of your chest. You lurch awkwardly away from him as if that would keep you from dying. He half-stands when you nearly fall out of your hospital bed but returns to his seat when you right yourself. 

You refuse to say anything, refuse to take his hand, refuse to do anything that has to do with the man next to you. And he doesn’t say anything in return. He simply sits and watches.

Until…

“Can I do something before I die?” You whisper, and he checks his watch, adjusts his tie, and nods. 

“What is it?” He asks, and you reach for your diary on your bedside table beside your hospital bed. He hands it to you, and you take it, fingers brushing his.

His hands are… warm.

Not cold as death as you had so often heard in stories.

But you shake your head and open the book, flipping through pages of poetry and ideas, and finally come to a stop on a page simply titled “Bucket List” and hand it to the Grim Reaper. 

“I want to do everything on that list before I die.” You say firmly, and he scans the pages, arching an eyebrow when reading over the list.

“This isn’t very long.” He comments, and you shrug, relaxing against your pillows now that imminent death isn’t looming on the horizon. 

You had stalled for time. 

More time to remain alive.

More time to come up with a way to get out of this. 

“I tend to be picky.” That is all you say, and he nods once.

“Very well then. Let us begin.” He says and extends a hand. You frown and hesitate to take it.

“You aren’t going to just kill me, are you?” You inquire, and he huffs,

“Of course not.” 

Something in you says to trust him.

So… you do.

Entry #1: Go to a haunted house

The crowd to the haunted house is bustling, almost overwhelming to your ears with the sheer amount of noise. Your nose is assaulted by the smells of popcorn, cotton candy, sweaty bodies, and spilled drinks. 

The wheelchair creeks, but you almost can’t hear it. It was one of the crummy ones the hospital provided when you were discharged. You weren’t sure why you were released early, but you had a feeling it had to do with Death. He had approached the nurse checking your vitals, touched her shoulder, and whispered in her ear. Her eyes had glazed over, and she had nodded numbly before leaving.

You had been checked out within the hour. 

Some kid bumps into your wheelchair, and you flinch. Perhaps this was more overwhelming than you anticipated. 

Death seemingly notices and leans down,

“We can leave.” He suggests by whispering in your ear, and you can tell he isn’t judging. He’s simply stating a fact because he noticed you were panicking. But you shake your head and swallow your overwhelming panic,

“No… I’ll be fine.” You say, and it’s finally your turn. 

The atmosphere is spooky but not scary. You didn’t even flinch when the first scare actor dressed as a wolf-man jumped out at you with an ungodly shriek. Perhaps it’s because you have the literal Grim Reaper pushing your wheelchair. Maybe it’s because you know you’re dying, so a haunted house feels… trivial. Either way, you don’t feel scared.

Another scare actor. This one dressed as a zombie. Another scream. But you simply smile, say, “Good job!” and move on. Death doesn’t so much as flinch with each wail. He doesn’t even say anything. He simply keeps pushing you through the haunted house at the same steady pace.

You two finish the haunted house easily. As Death begins to push you back down the sidewalk toward the hospital, he speaks.

“What did you think?” He asks, and you shrug, leaning your head back to look at him. His eyes are carefully trained on the scenery ahead. You look ahead but see nothing but a few people meandering about.

“It was alright. Not at all like the movies.” You say and hear him huff out a noise of amusement. 

Looking back up at him, you look in time to see a quirk on his lips. 

“Things rarely are.” He says wisely, and you can’t help but smile a little. 

Entry #2: Make candy apples

You stare dumbfounded at the sight before you. 

There’s Death at the sink, making his way through washing a bag of apples. His suitcoat is hung over the back of a chair, and his black button-down sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His watch had been taken off and carefully set aside so as not to get water on the expensive article of clothing.

“Why are we in the kitchens? Why are they empty anyway?” You ask as you slowly roll your wheelchair closer to the man. Your arms shake as they strain to push you closer. You had another round of treatments today—another bout of attempting to extend your life for as long as possible.

“Your list says you wanted to make candy apples. I managed to get the supplies.” That's all he says, and you blink. 

“You actually read my list? You didn’t skim it?” You ask, surprised. He looks at you with a slight frown. 

“Of course I read it. Why wouldn’t I?” He asks in return, and you look down at your hospital-issued sweats.

“No one ever does.” You whisper and hear the water turn off. 

Death doesn’t ridicule you. Doesn’t laugh. He simply walks behind you and takes ahold of your wheelchair handlebars. Then, he pushes you to a small kitchen table that has been set up and lets you get comfortable. He returns to the counter, brings you the bowl of washed apples, and instructs you to start twisting the stems off while he boils the corn syrup, sugar, and water. 

“What color do you want the candy apples?” He asks, and you pause in your endeavors. 

“Surprise me.” You say, and he simply makes a noise to show he has heard you. 

Stabbing the apples with sticks and dipping them takes little over twenty minutes, and soon, you have a bushel of drying, dipped candy apples on a tray of parchment paper. The green fruit is coated in a deep red hard candy, and your mouth salivates at the thought of biting into your sweet treat. 

“Thank you, Mr. Reaper.” You say as you poke at one of the apples with a spare skewer. Death looks up from where he is fastening his watch back around his wrist. 

“For what?” You look at the man,

“For allowing me to do this. I’m sure you’re busy. But—”

“Helping souls pass on is part of my job.” He cuts you off gently, and you nod numbly, looking down at your lap. 

He stands, gently working one of the dried apples from the parchment paper and handing it to you.

“You can also call me by my name, you know.” He says abruptly, and you pause from where you are about to take a bite. 

“What?”

“My name isn’t Mr. Reaper. Just call me Nanami.” He says, and you squint, a bit skeptical about the entire exchange.  

Ultimately, however, you decide to smile and extend a hand, offering your own name, though you are sure he already knows it. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Nanami.”

Entry #3: Do a corn maze

Nanami gets you checked out of the hospital at dusk. He wheels you out to a nondescript black car with tinted windows. You slide into the passenger seat with some difficulty as he folds the wheelchair and puts it in the trunk. 

The ride to wherever you are going is filled with aimless chatter. Nanami seems to have relaxed some after introducing himself properly, so he makes it a point to ask you questions. 

“Don’t you already know this stuff?” You ask incredulously, and he nods once, keeping his eyes on the road as he switches lanes. 

“I do. But I prefer to hear it from you.” He says simply, and you feel your ears warm. 

The Halloween festival isn’t crowded like the haunted house was, but it isn’t completely empty. You spy a few families, some pushing strollers and others carrying children. Nanami parks the car and gets out; you get out as well, wrapping your coat around your thin shoulders and tugging mittens onto your fingers. It’s already cold out. You can see your breath. 

The Reaper unfolds your wheelchair, and you take a seat. The two of you make your way over the gravel parking lot toward the entrance, where Nanami pays for two tickets with what looks like a blank card. Your hand is stamped, and you are ushered inside. 

All you can smell is carnival food and corn. And it smells utterly delicious. Nanami must be able to read your mind or something with his freaky powers because he stops and purchases a caramel apple for you to snack on. 

Soon enough, you are at the entrance of the maze. The dirt path is worn, and you are jostled back and forth as you are pushed forward. 

“They really ought to level this out. Someone is going to trip and fall.” You complain in between deciding where to turn. Nanami makes the wise choice not to say anything.

Once good and lost, you then make the decision on getting out of the maze. However, there’s a problem. 

“Nanami, I can’t see. And I don’t have a flashlight.” You say once you realize it’s indeed too dark for you to make out anything but the bare minimum of the corn stalks. 

“I can see just fine.” He replies, and you huff,

“But that takes the fun out of it for me. Isn’t that the whole reason we’re here?” You try, and he pauses, clearly having not thought of that. 

So he touches your temple with one warm hand, and suddenly, you can see everything. 

It’s like the sky is as clear as day! 

It’s like you can see the very turn of the universe as you stare up at the brilliant sky speckled with stars. 

It’s magnificent. 

You are gobsmacked the entire way, not even noticing that Nanami easily navigates the corn maze. It isn’t long before you make it back to the car, and it’s only then that you realize that you are back to seeing the pitch-black sky. 

“How’d you do that?!” You demand excitedly as he starts the car. 

“I can temporarily share some of  my powers.” He replies, and you nearly bounce in your seat with your sudden bout of energy. 

“That was brilliant! Can you do it again?!” At that, he shakes his head, 

“Not tonight. Maybe some other time.” He says and leaves it at that. 

You don’t have the heart to remind him that your time is coming to a close. 

Entry #4: See the cherry blossoms

Fog rolls over the grounds as you are wheeled through the park. It’s late into the night by the time you are quite literally teleported to your destination. The Grim Reaper holds tight to the handles of your wheelchair and begins to walk. You have a blanket thrown over your lap, a hat over your bald head, and mittens over your hands as the wind stirs up the leaves.

It’s not that cold. Really, it’s only a bit chilly. But with your emaciated body from all the treatments, you shiver nonetheless. 

“Would you like to go back? You’re trembling.” Nanami points out, and you shake your head vehemently. 

“Absolutely not. This isn’t like the haunted house. Plus, I want to see the blossoms.” You say firmly, tugging on your mittens, and he makes a noise but doesn’t stop pushing you at a slow, leisurely pace.

The park is beautiful. 

The paleness of the cherry blossoms is washed out in white, making the flowers seem silver in the full moon’s light. And with no one around, you have the entire park to yourself. 

Well… except for the man pushing you. 

You tilt your head back to watch the twinkling stars peeking through the cherry blossom trees. The branches sway in the light breeze, and petals flutter onto the sidewalk. You hold your hands out and catch a few in your palms. Bringing them close, you inhale deeply, smelling the faint scent of the flowers. 

It’s peaceful.

At least… until frost begins to cover everything, and you go from chilly to downright freezing. 

And see a tall, cloaked figure standing at the end of the sidewalk, massive scythe in hand and a blackened hole where their face should be. 

Now this was what you imagined when meeting the personification of Death. 

“Nanami…? Who is that?” You whisper, pointing, but it seems Nanami has already noticed the figure. You can hear his bones creak as he tightens his grip on the wheelchair bars. 

Worryingly, he doesn’t say anything. He simply comes to a stop and waits. 

And the figure begins to walk. In long strides that eat up the distance between you until they stand before you, carrying that massive weapon as if it were a mere twig. 

“Who’s this Nanamin?” The voice is powerful and childish, but that of a man at the same time. When no one answers, the figure reaches up with a skeletal hand. It’s almost as pale as the moon, and he flicks his hood back.

The man has alabaster hair that defies gravity, and his eyes are hidden from you under a blindfold. You can see the sunken sockets where his eyes would be if he weren’t wearing the cloth over his eyes. He stares at you seemingly through the eye covering with a cheeky grin on his face. You don’t have to look at Nanami to know he’s scowling. 

“What do you want.” It isn’t a question but a demand. The cloaked man lets out a petulant whine and leans heavily on the staff of his scythe. 

“Rude!” He scoffs, and you can practically hear Nanami roll his eyes. He goes to turn you around and leave when the base of the scythe digs into the cement between the wheels of the wheelchair. 

“Now, now, no need to run! I’m just being a dear friend and checking in on our dearest Nanamin! You’ve been gone ages! And for what? Hanging out with some humie—” 

“Humie? Who even are you?” You blurt and flinch when he turns that look onto you. However, instead of getting upset at you interrupting him, the cloaked man gives you that cheesy grin again and bows, 

“Gojo Satoru, Grim Reaper, at your service!”

“What do you want, Gojo.” Yet again, Nanami wasn’t asking questions. He was demanding information. Gojo straightened from his dramatic bow, once again leaning on his scythe. 

“Like I said, I was checking on you. You’ve been gone forever!” He exclaims. 

“I’m taking care of a soul. Can’t you see that?” Nanami says succinctly, and you pull your blanket on your lap closer around yourself. 

Gojo lets out an almost annoyed noise.

“Yeah, but you never do that. It’s always business with you.” He complains, and you hear Nanami sigh. 

“What I do is none of your concern.” He says, and readjusts the wheelchair so he can start to wheel you away. Your mittened hands are twisted in the blanket that is now around your shoulders to keep you from shivering too much. 

Maybe you should have stayed at the hospital.

Entry #5: Carve a pumpkin

“What is he doing here?” You ask as Gojo seemingly melts from the shadows of the corner of your hospital room. Nanami looks up from where he’s setting up your “activity,” and his face sours. 

“What are you doing here?” He directs the question at his fellow Grim Reaper, and the taller man removes his pitch-black robe with a dramatic flick of his wrist, leaving him in a black zip-up and trousers. 

He hangs the cloak on the coat rack in the corner of the room. 

“Checking in on you and your favorite human, of course! And I brought a friend!” He steps aside, and a shorter figure steps out of the shadows. They’re dressed identically to Gojo, red hood up and obscuring their features until they draw it down.

“You’re just a kid!” You sputter, surprised at the sight before you. 

Because you’re right. 

He’s just a child. 

With messy pink hair on account of his hood and a boyish quirk on his lips, he can’t be any older than seventeen. 

Was he another Reaper?

He had to be.

The boy’s grin quickly faded, and he frowned. 

“I’m not a kid!” He argues and flinches in surprise as Gojo sets a hand on his shoulder,

“You are the youngest one in the room, Yuji.” He points out, and “Yuji” deflates. 

Nanami gathers your attention with a sigh, and you look over and can’t help but smile. 

Pumpkins.

A smattering of orange, warty pumpkins are set up on a cloth-covered table, a variety of carving tools laid out neatly next to them. You excitedly squirm to the side of your hospital bed and accept Nanami’s hand to help you stand. Your knees are weak from all the time spent in bed and the medications wreaking havoc on your body. So you shake as you take a seat at the table. 

All other furniture has been pushed into one corner, giving ample room for holiday festivities. But you don’t move, not at first. 

“Would you three like to carve a pumpkin with me?” You ask suddenly, and the three reapers freeze. But Yuji grins and takes an enthusiastic seat.

“I’ve never carved a pumpkin before! Is it like in the movies?” He asks, and you shrug,

“I don’t know. I’ve never done one myself. Hospital visits tend to take precedence.” You say, embarrassed at the thought of you, a grown adult, never having carved a pumpkin before. 

Nanami and Gojo pause before taking their seats in the creaky folding chairs around the table. One sits more excitedly than the other. Yuji and Gojo dive right in, chattering like schoolchildren. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before picking up a tool and getting to work. 

You are halfway through cutting the top off your gourd when you realize that Nanami hasn’t moved. 

“Are you not going to do one?” You ask, and he looks at you from behind those glasses of his. 

“I’m content just to watch.” He says, and you feel a pang of disappointment. 

So you push a pumpkin in his direction gently and offer what you hope is a hopeful smile. 

“It’s just a pumpkin, Nanami. It won’t bite.” You say, and he rolls his eyes. You can’t help but giggle, but he takes the gourd and slowly begins to cut open the top. 

Entry #6: Visit Malaysia

Your arrival in Malaysia was surprisingly quiet. 

Of course, it was. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was long in bed save for a few teenagers drinking on the beach when you are pushed from the shadows. They don’t pay you any mind as your wheelchair is parked, and you stand on your own for the first time in what feels like forever. 

Nanami is at your side immediately, offering you his arm for you to grab. You take hold of it gratefully as your knees begin to shake with the energy it takes to simply stand upright. You kick off your shoes and socks and walk through the sand.

The water is a bit cold, but nothing too bad. You are staring out at the horizon, where the moon is just peeking over the water, when Nanami finally speaks. 

“Look.” He gestures downward, and you gasp. 

The water is glowing blue.

A brilliant blueish-white color laps over your toes, and you tighten your grip on Nanami’s arm. He pats your hand once, then twice. 

“What is this?” You whisper in awe, bending down shakily to trickle your fingers through the water. 

“It’s called the Blue Tears. It’s caused by bioluminescent creatures in the water called dinoflagellates.” Nanami explains, and you look up at the man from where you are slowly soaking the bottoms of your trousers by crouching on the shoreline. 

It’s hours before you are tired of watching the glowing water. Thankfully, you had thought to bring a towel and sit on it next to the Grim Reaper as you watch the sun rise over the water. 

“You know I wanted to move to Malaysia when I was human,” Nanami says abruptly, and you look over at him. He’s bathed in the growing sunlight, hair turned gold in the bright reds and oranges of the sun’s rays. 

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, and he just looks sad. 

“I died before I could.” He replies, and you feel a pang of emotion. 

And then comes a realization.

“I’m ready, Nanami.” You say suddenly and realize it’s true. You had done everything on your list. Your fear has left you. And surprisingly, you feel at peace. You see Nanami turn his head to look at you out of the corner of your eye. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you smile a sad sort of smile. 

“I’m ready to pass on.” You whisper and see his eyes widen behind his glasses. 

“Are you sure?” He replies, and you nod once. 

He looks at his hands, clenches them into fists, and seemingly steels himself.

Then, he extends a hand. And you take it. Looking down at your joined hands, you realize you are quite literally glowing. Golden specks of dust slowly eat away at your physical body. But you don’t feel pain. You just feel warm. 

“Thank you, Nanami.” You say, voice cracking and tears falling. 

“Kento. My name is Kento.” He says gently, and you nod once, smiling a brilliant smile as you disappear, your final words but a whisper on the wind.

“Thank you, Kento.”

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #jjk kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen kento #fairy writes

[mitzvahmelting]

assuming that will's glasses aren't for correcting his eyesight, where do you think he got them from and when did he start wearing them?

Assuming that the glasses aren't for correcting his vision, then we have to consider why he's wearing them. One reason that's generally accepted in fandom is that he wears them like a shield between himself and others, to give himself some distance from their gazes. That's a vaild reason, but I would argue that it doesn't explain why he started wearing the glasses. Because it would be pretty strange to make the leap directly from "i'm uncomfortable looking into people's eyes" to "i should wear glasses!" Maybe he started wearing sunglasses to help with avoiding people's gazes and then, though the sunglasses weren't appropriate for a professional environment, he found that clear glasses served the same purpose?

But honestly, a more natural origin for the glasses would be that he was trying to lean into tropes about glasses-wearing people. In particular, he was aiming to look 1. more intelligent, and 2. less proximate to violence. (This is particularly relevant to him as a cis man. I don't think people would make the same unconscious judgement about a cis woman in the same situation. There's something about putting a man in glasses, and the stereotypes associated with glasses, that would subconsciously distance Will from the concept of violence in the minds of the people around him. It makes him seem less dangerous.) If changing the way people perceive him was the original purpose of the glasses, then the question becomes: when in the timeline did he start using them? Two major options come to mind.

One: he started wearing glasses when he went back to school. So after he got fired from the police force in New Orleans, he went back to school to study criminology, presumably getting a Master's degree in forensic entomology (which, after a quick google search, is a real thing that you can actually get a master's degree in! neat!) Either that, or he started wearing the glasses after he was out of school and had already been rejected from the FBI as a field agent. Like, once he knew that he would be teaching at Quantico, maybe he started wearing glasses (and neckties) to make him seem older and more specifically bookish, so that people wouldn't confuse him for a trainee. Two, and the option which appeals the most to me, is the possibility that he's been wearing non-prescription glasses on-and-off since grade school. Because picture this: you're Beau Graham (for the purposes of this tumblr post we will be going with the name Beau for Will's father.) It's the 80s. You're a single father and you're working crazy hours in the boatyard and you're barely putting food on the table. You travel seasonally to various lakes in the eastern US for work, and your poor kid is shuffled from public school to public school, all underpaid guidance counselors and administrative staff working to get Will situated in his new class in the middle of the school year. Meanwhile, Will isn't a perfect student. And with the amount of instability he's experiencing at home, it's no surprise that he's got some behavior issues. But you're Beau Graham, and you know how smart your son is, and you know that this brilliant, sensitive, unusual kid (who you already suspect is probably going to turn out gay, neurodivergent, feminine, or some combination of the three) will be torn apart by the world if a subpar school transcript keeps him out of college and stuck in the boatyards.

If these teachers look at Will, and they only see his secondhand clothes, his attention issues, his behavioral issues, his attitude issues.... they're gonna write him off. They're not going to be willing to put in the work to help him, and they're going to bring their preconceived notions about him when they grade his schoolwork. So Beau Graham puts his son in glasses. And that alone would make the comments on the report cards change: "Will still struggles with paying attention in class and showing respect to adults, but I can tell he's a bright kid and, when he's engaged in learning, he's a pleasure to have in class." or shit like that. Anything, anything to give him a boost. Those teachers would see that Will was a brilliant kid if they only gave him a chance, Beau thought, so he used the glasses to make sure they actually gave him that chance.

#hannibal meta #will graham #hannibal tv #long post #stereotypes #hannibal nbc

[goodomensafterdark]

Writer's Guild Presents: His Partner's Mark (ch2)

Written by Niknak90 on Reddit for the GOAD subreddit!

In which Crowley gets fucked while wearing the turtleneck like he deserves (and Aziraphale leaves his mark on it). Also featuring Crowley getting yanked around in the necktie.

CW/TW/Tags-light D/S dynamics, dom Aziraphale/sub Crowley, top Aziraphale/bottom Crowley, come marking, genital switching (Crowley starts with penis, ends with vulva), blow jobs, anal sex, cunnilingus, PIV, butt plugs

Summary- Crowley and Aziraphale are officially together after the world doesn't end, but Aziraphale is still having trouble acknowledging it in public. After fighting about this, they go to the pub. An encounter with a carpet salesman forces Aziraphale to claim his demon in public. Said demon's enticing outfit inspires him to mark him in other ways behind closed doors.

Ch1-no smut, could honestly be a T-rated oneshot on its own, Ch2 is almost pure smut.

Ch2 Excerpt

Once they returned to the shop, Aziraphale locked the door and shut the curtains. Then he pressed Crowley against the door and kissed him, apparently forgetting his own rule.

“Someone’s impatient. Didn’t even give me a chance to take my glasses off.” Crowley said with a smirk. Normally, Aziraphale refused to kiss him with the glasses on, as he didn’t like it putting a barrier between them. As a result, Crowley almost never wore glasses past the entryway. He wanted as few barriers to being kissed and touched as possible. He wouldn’t even bother with clothes half the time if Aziraphale didn’t insist he wear something.

“We waited for centuries. I’d say that’s patience enough, wouldn’t you?” Aziraphale ran his hands down the soft turtleneck. Crowley melted into the touch. They’d only had this relationship for a few years in their long history together, so it all still felt so new. Would he get used to this after decades, centuries? Get bored by it, crave something new as humans tended to do? It seemed unimaginable.

Right now, he was the very opposite of bored as Aziraphale slipped one hand around his waist and pulled him in by the necktie for another kiss. “Now, are you ready to learn what sort of ideas this fetching ensemble has inspired, dear?”

“Somehow, I didn’t think strangling me with my own necktie was one of them.”

“If I strangled you out here, I couldn’t take you in the back room, which would be a shame. Would you like to join me there, dear?”

“Yessss, pleasssse.” He had gone there many times by now, had hoped that dressing up for his angel would lead to precisely this.

He hadn’t expected to enjoy submitting so much when Aziraphale first suggested it; in his encounters with mortals before they’d gotten together, he’d always needed to be the one in control. But there was something about letting his angel make the decisions, trusting that he would get exactly what he needed. Today, he craved the reassurance that his angel wanted him, needed him as badly as he needed Aziraphale.

“Excellent. Glasses off first, then come with me.” Crowley set his glasses on the horse statue, then let Aziraphale grab his necktie and lead him to the back room. It should be humiliating, far beneath a demon to be led around like an angel’s pet. It was, a little, but also arousing. And who would object to being led into Paradise?

Read more on AO3!

#good omens after dark #goad #good omens #good omens fanfic #writers of after dark

[stargazer-sims]

Just cute couple things I picture my OCs doing (that could be turned into to cute fluff scenes):

Yuri and Victor reading to each other

Victor feeding Yuri pieces of fruit with his own chopsticks, even though he's not really supposed to (and also despite it being poor etiquette), and both of them loving it and also feeling slightly rebellious

Yuri washing Victor’s hair, even though he's fully capable of doing it himself, simply because Victor likes having his head/hair touched

Yuri teaching Victor how to tie a necktie instead of just doing it for him (and the whole thing somehow evolves into playful nonsense)

Victor putting Yuri's robe in the dryer to warm it up for him before he gets out of bed, and then bringing it to him when he goes to wake him up

Eden recording voice messages for Haru instead of leaving him handwritten notes, so Haru doesn't have to struggle to read them

Haru waking up earlier than he prefers, just so he can make Eden’s favourite breakfast before Eden heads to the rink for practice.

Eden and Haru listening to music with one set of earbuds, each with one earbud in their ear.

Milena brushing Stan’s hair and secretly being happy that he doesn’t like to cut it because she also prefers it longer

Mishka being unable to resist any opportunity he gets to trace around the heart shape of Nikolai’s birthmark with his fingertip, and Nikolai having a love-hate relationship with that because he loves Mishka’s reason for doing it, but his skin is sensitive there and he dislikes being tickled

Nikolai wearing Mishka's clothes, and Mishka finding it totally adorable, but also being secretly amused because all his stuff is way too big for Nikolai and it looks like a kid has stolen his parent's things.

Nikolai and Mishka having an inside joke relating to peppermints, and not being able to keep a straight face when they're together and somebody mentions peppermint candy (yes there actually is a story behind this)

Forest doing Caroline’s makeup because it’s more difficult for her to do it herself, and then she gets compliments on it all day.

Forest and Caroline trying to feed each other cake like characters in a film, and being super uncoordinated and messy with it

Fox being more worried about Takahiro than about himself when Takahiro gives him his insulin shot because despite Taka's insistence that it doesn't bother him to stick a needle into Fox's thigh or belly, it really does

Fox and Taka dancing in their kitchen like no one is watching, except their kids are definitely watching and laughing about how terrible they are, but Taka and Fox do not care in the slightest because they're both convinced the other one is the best dancer in the world.

Julian composing random, silly love songs on the piano for Grace

Grace making a point to tell Julian every day how smart, handsome and talented he is, because she knows that even after all this time, he still struggles with his self-confidence sometimes

Kenji and Rei playing piano and violin duets in their music room

Rei convincing Kenji to go on a picnic with her even though he doesn't want to sit on the ground or eat food outside, but he ends up having a much better time than he anticipated and is ultimately glad he agreed to it

Peace taking Beth-Anne shopping and Beth-Anne grumbling about it because she doesn't care about fashion and thinks its a waste of time, until she sees herself in the outfits Peace chooses for her and is caught by surprise when she sees how good she looks (but she still prefers athletic wear)

Beth-Anne trying to teach Peace how to skate (for context, Peace's country of origin is Nigeria)

Peace trying to take care of Beth-Anne when she's sick, and Beth-Anne being an absolute grump about it because she insists she doesn't like anyone making a fuss over her, but Peace persists because she's sure Beth-Anne is just being her typical stubborn self (and she's right)

Félix and Davian going on pizza dates, in which they get pizza and eat it in the car because it reminds them of the night they met

Félix and Davian perfecting the art of sleeping in the same hammock

I could go on for ages... but I'll stop here (for now)

#sapphire notes #randomly #writing #otp things #oc things

[hyunsuks-beanie]

This is All Yoon Jeonghan's Fault

Pairing: Jeonghan x idol! afab! reader

Content Warnings: Smut; jealous sex; hard dom Jeonghan; sadism; slight hints of masochism; fingering; cunnilingus; masturbation nipple play; bondage; use of neckties, handcuffs; whips and vibrators; edging; overstimulation; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!); use of pet names (Princess, Doll)

Word Count: 6658 words (the exact count matters, trust me)

Mellow speaks: Soooooo we're finally here and I'm screaming right now!!! This is my first ever actual collab and that too with my lovely Lemon!!! And I kid you not, this really is all Yoon Jeonghan's fault, because we're not holding back today. Also, I'm so pissed rb bc this was scheduled for 4 PM est but Dumblr ate my post up I hate it here.

Tagging: @sweethyuka @yedamology @enhacolor @axartia @hyunsuksmygod  @duolingofanaccount @zurimochi 

Oh and yeah, here's the reason why it's all Yoon Jeonghan's fault.

Go read the first half on (@shhhhhimthinking) Lemon's account first, because we wanna be menaces today *insert evil smirk*

off his pants.

“Explain yourself. Maybe if I like your excuse I’ll go easier on you.”

He trailed the cold metal of his belt buckle across your perked nipple and you shivered from the sensation.

You looked up at him with lustful eyes as you took in the man before you. You had never seen him like this before and seeing him like this now excited you to no end. Did you even want him to go easier?  No. You wanted everything he could give you. Jeonghan watched the way your beautiful eyes lit up with amusement as you seemed to be choosing your words carefully. You didn’t seem in the least bit remorseful, in fact you looked proud, almost a bit too much for his taste. 

“I wanted you to feel so jealous but not be able to do anything about it. I wanted you to want me so badly but not be able to do anything but sit in your chair just watching. I wanted to know that while he was dancing with me you were sitting there burning with desire. The desire to claim me back. I want you to want me.”

Jeonghan gazed at you as he took in all that you said. He leaned into you until his warm breath tickled your ear.

“Then you're not going to leave this bed until you are completely filled with me. Until I’ve made sure you know just how much I want you.”

He sat back up.

“No one can have what’s mine.” He said as he got off the bed and walked out of the room.

The cold air mixed with his worlds and danced across your skin sending shivers through your body. You wondered what he was doing but you didn’t have to guess for long as he walked back in with something red in his hand. You couldn’t get a clear view of it but as he walked closer it suddenly dawned on you.

“Where’d you get that?” You exclaimed. You wiggled in your restraints, trying to get a better view.

“When I couldn’t find you in your room I took something else instead.” He said casually as he laid it gently on the bed before taking off his vest and then his shirt. He picked up the switch and walked over to you with slow seductive steps. 

He held your prop above you as he let the cold tassel trail across your skin. 

“If you would’ve told me that you like things like this we could’ve gotten one sooner.” He said as he trailed the switch slowly over your clothed core that craved more attention all the way to your perked breasts.

You whimpered and squirmed as he tickled your skin with his teasing. He gave your sensitive nipple a light whip earning a breathy moan from you. But breathy wasn't the way he liked your moans, deciding to turn it into a louder whine as his lips soon got wrapped around the exact spot he had teased a moment ago, the warm feeling of his saliva on your bud making shivers run down your spine. 

Sucking on your breast just a little before pulling away, Jeonghan had wasted no time in making the leather further down your body, your right thigh being met with a delicious sound as a red mark bloomed in the whip's wake. He was barely doing anything, and yet, you couldn't help but find yourself on the edge already, wanting him to take you just then. 

And your desperation was not lost on your boyfriend as a lazy smirk had made his lips curl up, his fingers dancing along your bare torso while he decided to test you a little more. You deserved it after all, or so he told himself as he had said, "I hope you're enjoying the…..arrangement I've got in place for you." 

The words were hard enough to comprehend in your inebriated state, drunk on lust and begging to be ruined, but any hopes of coming up with a reply were crushed the second you felt a sharp tip coming in contact with your your clothed heat, a sweet pain that almost made you release into your panties. He had you under his spell, and despite having pretended to be the one in control earlier, you found yourself thanking him for being rude.

You were writhing under your bindings, silently pleading for him to give you more already, but no matter how hard you tried, you knew it was going to be useless until he wanted to give it to you. Jeonghan was going to tease you until you were crying, and he was going to make you whimper and beg. That was the thought you had in mind when you found yourself being pulled out of it at the sudden pressure being applied to your still sensitive core, the tie around your wrists coming undone to reveal soft red marks.

"Tsk," Jeonghan had mused, making you open your eyes only to see his hand right against your crotch, the wetness coating his digits through the lace of your underwear, "Need to use something more…..resistant, don'tcha think?" 

And with that, the feeling was gone, leaving you whining at the loss of contact when he pulled away from you entirely, chuckling just a little as he sauntered over to the wardrobe. 

You were losing it, but it still wasn't enough to make you not frown your brows as you watched him, taking his time opening the drawers and rummaging through them. "What's he doing?" you thought to yourself, but before you could put that thought into words, he was looking back at you, his smirk even more sinister as your eyes landed on the small, shiny black object he held in one hand, and the deep red object that dangled from the fingers of the other. 

The sight knocked the breath out of you, your toes curling and uncurling as he walked back over, turning the vibrator on. You wanted to ask him where he got all that stuff from, but yet again, your boyfriend beat you to it. 

"Been saving them for the right occasion," was all he said, reaching over to catch your wrists in another binding, this time much harder and more steadfast than the first.

As the black cuffs made their way to the bedpost with your hands in their clasp, you couldn't help but gaze up at his form, his chest peeking out from under the top two buttons that had been opened. The tugging on your wrists felt cold and foreign, the metal cutting into your skin as you found yourself struggling against it too. 

All this while the toy was lying next to your thigh, the vibrations coursing through it gave your leg a preview of what was to come. The wait, of course, wasn't too long, Jeonghan's hums dispersing the silence as he made quick work of your panties, your soaking pussy fully exposed to the cold air as you attempted to press your thighs together. 

But he wasn't having it, his hand pushing them apart once more as he smacked his lips, feeling his mouth water at the mere sight. "Delicious, he whispered, smirking as he watched you drip, "You just can't get enough of me, huh?" And he knew he wasn't wrong, because no matter how bold you tried to be, you were still putty in his hands. So he was going to use it to his advantage, wasting not one moment in shoving the vibrator deep through your folds, a loud moan slipping past your lips at the impact that had you reeling. 

It was all a blur of moans and whines for a few tense minutes after that, your body thrashing over the bedsheets as you called for him to let you  finish already, failing to make him relent in the slightest, all while his fingers added pressure where the toy couldn't, rubbing against your clit.

"Enjoying ourselves, are we?," he chuckled darkly, relishing in the way your walls clenched around the tip of the toy. 

Before you knew it, you were on edge, your body convulsing under the waves of pleasure that he was making you feel. As the vibrations traveled deep into your entire being, you could feel yourself giving in to the force of your impending orgasm. You were already sensitive from the teasing and the previous orgasm that came with it’s fare share of overstimulation earlier, so it wasn't a surprise that you soon were almost near the edge, ready to fall off.

And then, the pleasure was gone for the second time, leaving you groaning in agony as you flailed your legs and struggled against your cuffs, while sinister laughter filled the room. Your climax was receding away at an alarming rate, until it wasn't, ripples of sweet pain racking through your body as the tip was inside you once more, deeper than ever. 

Less than a minute was all it took for you to finally reach your high, your juices spilling out of you and almost making you lose consciousness from how amazing it felt. 

Your breathing heavy and your chest heaving, you opened your eyes after what felt like centuries, only to realize that your boyfriend wasn't next to you any longer. Instead, he was standing at the foot of the bed, naked to the bone as his hand pumped his member. 

"Gave me a good show," he smirked, the word "Sweetheart" rolling off his tongue in a way that made your skin crawl, but in a good way. "Guess you do deserve a prize." 

He reached over and unlocked your hands from the bed.

His words and actions caused you to let out a soft sigh, your lips curling into a gentle smile as your foggy mind believed his misleading words. But as he climbed onto the bed and hovered over your form, cuffing your hands to each other, you realized that wasn't what he had in mind.

The very next moment, he confirmed your suspicions, his balls hitting you right in the pelvis as he thrust his cock hilt-deep inside you. He was relentless from the get-go, his hips rocking against your own as he made your walls clench around his girth. "Tell. Me. Who. Got. You. This. Tight. Huh?," he asked with each thrust, taunting you while grunts and groans emanated from the depths of his chest. 

"You're. Fucking. Mine," he didn't stop, his moans mixing with yours as your body latched onto his for dear life. He had already driven you past the point of insanity, that had been his plan since the beginning. Before you could stop yourself, you were releasing your pent-up frustration all over his member, your constricted hands hooked around his neck and your nails dug into his back as you rode out your high.

You were spent already, but Jeonghan showed no signs of stopping or even wanting to stop, his groans only growing louder as he continued to pump in and out of you, chasing his own orgasm. He was feral in that moment, almost animalistic as he kept up the pace, never one to slow down. You were crying by now, tears streaming down your cheeks while he kept up his assault on your aching core, pinning you to the mattress. 

It was only a matter of minutes before you felt a familiar knot in the pit of your stomach and another wave of pleasure washing over your being. You found your toes curling, the lustrous sensation breaking through you in ripples and pulses causing your eyes to screw shut, the bedsheets getting soaked with you yet again. This time, it was enough to make Jeonghan cum too, his seed filling you up to the brim.

It had you moaning like nothing else, the thought of him breeding, the feeling of him overflowing in your pulsing core sending you into a frenzy. 

"That's right, take all of me, let me remind you who owns you," Jeonghan grunted as he continued to grind into you, meeting you halfway for the third time that night, which you were sure would also be your last. He was still going at full-speed, bent on completely obliterating your insides as he thrusted even harder, your sweet spot crying tears of joy and pain and threatening to come undone in a way it never had before, the knot in your stomach close to bursting to pieces. 

"Gonna nail it into your head," he grunted against your ear, biting down on your shell as his moves never stopped, "Gonna teach you never to mess with me again." You were in bliss by now, completely ignorant to everything else except the feeling of his dick filling your insides, showing you stars. Everything was a blur, from your sense of time to the knowledge of your whereabouts. It was only him, sending your mind dancing as he continued to hit that sweet spot inside you, over and over. 

It felt like an instant, and at the same time, it was an eternity, your insides twisting and churning as you found your release, this time harder than the previous three, the whole ordeal making your body shake and convulse. He wasn't done though, still keeping at ramming into your clit for heaven knows how long, till he reached his climax, his cum and yours now soiling the mattress, his seed firmly inside your hole as he collapsed on top of your chest in exhaustion.

Your chests pressed against each other as your hearts pounded to the very rhythm of your sinful night. You felt his breathing slowing against your hot skin, the feeling of sweat moistening your bodies. He propped himself up with one arm and used his other hand to caress your tired face. 

“Baby?” He called for you gently, the fire in his voice now washed away with the pent up frustration he had released. He was back to being the soft Jeonghan you knew and loved, showing you that one side of him that he reserves only for you. 

You were so spent, all you could do was hum a weak response. The aftershock of your orgasms sent a soft shiver through your body that drew Jeonghan's attention to your arms that were still bonded by the cuffs. When he slowly lifted himself and pulled out, you found yourself groaning not only at the sensation in your swollen pussy but also at the feeling of his precious cum seeping out of your body. 

He tenderly undid you cuffs from around your wrist, softly rubbing the red marks that were left. 

“Does it hurt baby?” He cooed at you as he slowly helped you sit up and put your back against the headboard, mindful of your pained expressions and your soft hisses. 

As he did, he watched with concern as your face scrunched at the feeling of your sore body moving.

“Was I too rough?” He asked, his voice now coated in panic as he held your hand and softly stroked the mark on your wrist.

You shook your head no, a smile blooming on your exhausted face. 

“You were everything I wanted and everything I didn’t know I needed.”

His face also relaxed as he saw your expression.

“Do you want to take a bath?” Jeonghan softly whispered to you as if he was afraid to startle you out of your calm.

“Yes please.” You said as excitedly as you could manage with your depleted energy. 

He quickly hopped up from the bed and made his way to the bathroom. You felt yourself drifting in and out of sleep for a few minutes while he got everything ready. Then you felt Jeonghan gently slide his arm under yours and you opened your eyes to see him smiling at you warmly. 

“Let’s get you in the bath.” He said affectionately as he helped you towards the bathroom.

You gingerly slid into the water that was the perfect temperature and smelled of your favorite soothing bath salts. 

He got up to leave and your face did its signature pout. "Won't you join me?," you asked, your voice hopeful as you thought about cuddling him in the bath. 

“I’m just going to go change the sheets.” He chuckled, giving a loving boop of your nose. “After all, we made quite the mess.”

His last comment left you blushing as you had no choice but to recount the night. He gave another chuckle at your cuteness before hurrying off to finish his task. You found yourself drifting off again, only barely registering his body when it slid into the water behind you. You instinctively leaned back into him and he took a washcloth to help you wash up. You felt him tenderly dabbing the marks that were left on your skin as he softly asked you once again if they hurt but all you could say was no. They didn’t hurt, not like that, they were simply temporary memories of a very eventful night. 

You took the moment to take a few healing breaths. You were too tired to speak anymore and he understood completely. You continued to relax as the sound of him softly humming set the mood for the rest of the night into a peaceful one.

After you were all soaked out, he helped you stand up before letting the water out and holding you against him while you both quickly rinsed off in the shower. Jeonghan wrapped a towel around you and led you back to your bed that now had fresh crisp sheets on them and your favorite bottle of lightly scented moisturizer that always helped you relax. 

He took the towel from around you softly laughing at the way you instantly began to shiver before helping you lotion your sore body. You could never be too sure he didn’t have ulterior motives but the way his hands caressed and massaged your tired skin was therapeutic and calming so you didn’t care to ask, instead you lost yourself in his gentle touch. When you couldn’t bear to stand anymore, you leaned against his chest and whimpered to let him know just how exhausted you were. 

“Alright alright.” He said with a chuckle. “I’m almost done love.” 

Jeonghan quickly finished, made sure you were both moisturized and then held up the covers for you as he guided you into bed. You let out a slightly dramatic sigh of relief at being able to finally rest your aching body and Jeonghan smiled at you fondly. He put the lotion back in the bathroom and turned off all the lights. When he came back you had the covers lifted and ready for him as your warm body and sugary smile welcomed him. He climbed in and snuggled into you, wrapping his arms around you and laying on your breast which he saw as his own personal pillow. You used delicate fingers to rub his back, wanting to give him back some love as you attempted to sooth the scratches that you left.

“Does it hurt?,” You softly asked him.

“No, not at all," came his reply, nonchalant as ever. “Anyway you know what they say… all is fun in sex and foreplay.”

His ridiculous comment pulled a full laugh from your lethargic body and he proudly laughed along with you.

“You’re such a doofus.” You said still laughing as you playfully slapped his arm. 

“I love you.” 

With your last sentence you felt yourself swiftly drifting away into dreamland.

“I love you more.” Jeonghan said, pulling you closer to him.

The distant hum of the washing machine and the whisper-like sounds of your and Jeonghan's gentle breaths were the ending melodies of your ever eventful night. Just like that, the two of you were lulled into your most rewarding slumber, peaceful dreams begetting content smiles as you two lovebirds snuggled even closer.

#jeonghan #jeonghan smut #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan hard thoughts #jeonghan imagines #seventeen #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen hard thoughts #svt #svt smut #svt hard thoughts #mellow & lemon #lemon & mellow #melade #I hate yoon jeonghan

[spyramy]

Thinking about the layers in Harry's cataclysmic brain event at the start of Disco Elysium.

1. The surface layer: the man drank so much he gave himself brain damage and now contains only traces of his past self.

2. Except it's not him piloting this new start, instead the wheel is being given to someone else (the player) to fill in the blanks with their own preconceptions and intentions.

3. Having said which, there is no definitive 'Harry' to return to. Much as we gain and lose parts of ourselves everyday, and *learn* to be ourselves much more than we are ever born to be. And the skill tree mechanics, encouraging you to level up skills to reward your curiosity more than improve your gameplay, reflect this better than I've ever seen it done.

4. Apart from where alcohol is concerned, because Harry's chemical dependency breaks through and intercepts the player's game as Electrochemistry. One cannot forget one is an alcoholic. And the day one task "find booze and drink it" will remain with you all through the game if you choose not to fulfil it. Even if you internalise the "wasteland of reality" thought, essentially sobriety, that nerfs your skills and nullifies all gameplay effects from alcohol. It is still there.

5. On top of which, in the Church while you're dancing, a failed check will lead to Harry having a seizure, and learning that what killed his memory may run deeper than drinking yourself to brain damage. Or even that, knowing that he has some sort of epilepsy, he intentionally triggered a huge seizure through alcohol/drug overuse in an attempt to either die or "not be this animal anymore"

6. It also begs the question, is there something more seriously wrong with Harry? Some of his internal voices, like the Necktie, read more as psychosis than internal monologue. His ex wife describes him as 'crazy' so I think it's possible all this predates the incidents of the game. Is this illness fatal?

7. Even if he is a seriously ill man, it kinda hardly matters in the scope of the game in which The Pale is eating the world. Harry's condition may be the microcosm of this; a long neglected problem, exacerbated by human behaviour, encroaching in on a beautiful, complex, loving, imperfect experiment, while the inhabitants bicker and infight, unaware that it will all be over much sooner than they think.

8. NOT TO MENTION the implication that Revachol herself being deeply connected to Harry, that Harry is her instrument, she took control of him and bestowed upon him the grace of a clean slate. That very palpable spirit of Revachol watches over the whole game, and maybe that is who the player is supposed to be.

9. Other things about European romanticism and post-war and cold war shaping of European cities, identities, lives and legacies, and how I've never seen a game inhabit this so well. The craters in our cities are the craters in our souls etc etc. I literally have to stop now.

And there's a huge amount of dialogue options I have never seen that might give a whole heap of other perspectives...

#disco elysium #the pale encroaches

[theamityelf]

A sort of random question but do you think the Kamukuras would get varied clothes? Or just the same regular ol’ black suits for each of them

I was absolutely thinking about this, too, so we are on the same page! 😁

I think when they first emerge from the labs, Izuru and Byakuya are in black suits (Hajime's reserve course uniform and Byakuya's expensive clothes) and Makoto is in a hospital gown. Nagito was given his original main course uniform once he no longer needed the hospital gown, but he's modified it over the course of his time in the labs because he was bored, so now it no longer really looks like the main course uniform. And Mahiru might still be in the hospital gown, timing-wise, since she's the most recent, but instead I'll say that her outfit is more like pajamas; not the disposable hospital gown she'd be wearing if she were still regularly being operated on, but not the cohesive outfit she'd be wearing if she were considered "complete" as an experiment. She was still being reviewed and approved when they broke out; she was in the final stages of being considered "finished", whereas Izuru, Nagito, and Byakuya were done and Makoto was going to be taken in for more work.

After they leave, they all have different ideas of what they're supposed to be doing. Byakuya still just thinks his job is to be the Togami heir, Makoto wants to learn about Makoto Naegi and his friends (At least, that's the surface level; the underlying thing is that he needs to become his own person and develop wants and feelings of his own.), Nagito wants to just continually be doing stuff, Izuru just vaguely wants to keep a handle on all his successors and be in control so nothing bad happens to any of them, and Mahiru is almost on a superhero arc where she wants to right the world's wrongs in ways only a Kamukura can.

Byakuya sticks with the suit because it's his, he's Byakuya Togami, etc. To be more specific, he can still make use of his entire wardrobe. Like, he could just straight up go home, sleep in his own bed, and all that. This genuinely could just become the wacky story of all the Kamukuras living in one of Byakuya's mansions. Byakuya also cuts his hair. It won't be the same style he had before; it's slightly longer, since he has a more precise sense of what look favors his face the best. But basically, he still sees himself as the Togami heir and puts effort into his appearance.

Izuru sticks with his suit and his long, unkempt hair because he can't be bothered to change it. He doesn't find clothes terribly interesting, but he does care about what he, Nagito, and Makoto are wearing, collectively. By which I mean, he would care if Nagito and Makoto were dressed similarly and he wasn't, so I'm thinking when he is finding Makoto something else to wear besides the hospital gown, he would specifically opt not to get him a main course uniform for that reason. He also doesn't want Makoto wearing what he used to before the project. I'm thinking he would find Makoto something fairly neutral to wear, and it would coincidentally look a lot like Hajime's casual outfit (like, collared shirt and necktie). As Makoto gradually gains his own identity, he starts to choose not to wear the necktie, maybe one of his old friends gives him a hoodie, etc. (It might even be Junko, as an attempt to provoke Izuru's possessiveness while also doing a nice thing for Makoto.)

Nagito I think would be the most into clothes. He's the one who would get excited by new clothes, by trying out a new style, etc. He would regularly acquire new clothes just to combine them in fun ways. He likes to style Makoto's hair and dress him in new accessories. I'm just picturing him walking Makoto into some sitting room at Byakuya's house to show the others the new outfit he put together for him, and they all just have an extended conversation about it. Byakuya thinks the outfit is ugly, Izuru just shrugs that it's fine, and Mahiru flatly asks Makoto if he likes it. Makoto just says, "My hair feels crunchy."

Nagito might give Makoto or himself a new hair color on a whim.

Mahiru I think would be the one to wear normal clothes. Not her outfit from before, but still a regular casual outfit. Like, t-shirt and shorts, t-shirt and skirt, t-shirt and jeans. That type of thing. Something that won't draw a lot of notice or get in her way. She would cut her hair, but she'd deliberately avoid emulating the bob she used to have, since she thinks it would be disrespectful to the person who lived in this body before. She leaves it at just past shoulder-length. Maybe she gives herself bangs. Her objective is to be someone who can blend into a crowd, kill a killer, and then blend into a crowd again.

#danganronpa #makoto kamukura au #mahiru kamukura au #byakuya kamukura au #nagito kamukura au #izuru kamukura #makoto naegi #byakuya togami #nagito komaeda #mahiru koizumi #junko enoshima #kamukuras au

[pencilpat]

Breaking Things - Analogical

This sat in my drafts for a bit, because it makes me emotional. This is simply a hurt/comfort expression of thoughts about Virgil giving comfort to Logan's ongoing struggles with his and Thomas's emotions. I see analogical as queerplatonic, but romantic interpretation is ok with me!

◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂◂

A crash resounds from the hallway, so loud that Virgil curls in on himself with a gasp and Roman lets out a slight scream. They blink and look at each other, fingers paused on the controls of a video game.

"What was that?" Virgil groans.

"I don't know, probably just Remus- Jump back to game world, Gloomba." Roman nudges his arm with his elbow and jerks his head towards their stalled game. Virgil rolls his eyes, and he's about to retort, when a bang sounds from the same area. Virgil flinches again. A swelling pit seeps through his gut, suddenly, the mindspace seeming to darken around them.

"Wait," he says, standing, dropping his controller and moving away like a man possessed, "Something is actually wrong." His voice wavers, slightly too deep, slightly too echoey, as he senses the panic among them.

Roman groans at him and pauses the game, tempted to unpause and kill Virgil's character for fun as he watches him disappear down the hall that contains their bedrooms. Virgil ghosts down the hall as quietly as he can, dragging his hand along the wall, listening for sounds that would explain the distress he senses. Another smaller crash pipes up from the door with a silver 'L' engraved on it. Target acquired, Virgil walks towards Logan's door with worry creasing his brow.

He knocks, gentle just in case. "Logan?" he calls it just loud enough to be heard, knowing how noise can aggravate Logan when he's already upset. "Can you come to the door?"

There's silence, at first. Then he hears hesitant footsteps walk to the door. It doesn't open. "Do you need something, Virgil?" Logan's voice makes Virgil cringe, that crisp monotone that he uses when concealing, masking, himself.

"Uh, yeah. I sense your distress, y'know. It's kind of my job. I thought all of you knew that by now," he mutters the last part, scratching and tugging at the beanie he wears over his hair. He can practically hear Logan breathe in, his irritation loud as always.

"I'm fine."

"Then open the door," Virgil spits out so fast he barely thinks about it, blinking at his own boldness. Logan stills again behind the door. Virgil hears him sigh, and the door creaks open, just a crack, enough that Logan's face is in his view. And wow, does he look like shit. "Wow, you look like shit."

Logan glares at him through exhausted, reddened eyes - from crying or tiredness, Virgil can't tell - and glasses just barely askew. He wears no necktie, unlike his usual attire, just a polo. "Astute observation. What do you need."

"I- I don't know, I'm checking on you! Can I come in? I mean, you usually let me come in?"

Logan's eyes flash, something seeming off about them, so suddenly there and then gone that Virgil misses it. "Virgil," he groans, the mask slipping as he runs a hand down his face, further disrupting his glasses. "I said I'm fine, is that not sufficient?"

"No, L, it's not." Virgil breathes in heavily, and then shoves into Logan quickly, pushing both of them into the room. Logan gives a small, angry cry, stumbling backwards.

"Virgil! That is a complete breach of privacy, what are you-"

"Logan- Woah, Logan, what happened in here?" Virgil's eyes are held wide as he takes in a thoroughly damaged version of the usually pristine room. Logan's entire desk has been overturned, and the objects on his shelves seem tossed at the wall in a fit. The shelves that hold all of Thomas's memories seem untouched, thankfully. There are several empty jars of Logan's favourite jam, enough to be eaten in weeks seemingly eaten in only a few hours. Virgil looks back to his friend, arms extended between them in question. Logan is staring hard at the floor, anger creasing his features. "What happened?"

Logan's eyes flit around, landing on anything but Virgil's face. Finding only the signs of his episode surrounding him, he breathes in sharply, and then deflates as his breath leaves him. Logan walks quietly to his bed, and sits on the edge, leaning over himself and covering his face with his hands. His knuckles are reddened as though he's been hitting something - or himself. Virgil trails behind him on instinct, settling beside him instantly. He touches his shoulder softly, massaging his fingers into the muscle of his arm, grounding, soothing. Logan's tenseness settles slightly, calmed by the familiarity of their times comforting each other. This level of upsetness isn't something Virgil has seen coming from Logan, specifically, and it leaves him white-faced and drawn.

"I think- I think something might be wrong with me." Logan's voice shakes, a light rattle of fear. He looks down at his own hands like they're not a part of his body.

"Seems like it, bud," Virgil sighs. "Did something uh- upset you? Or..?"

"Everything." Logan barks sharply, his mouth held thin. "I don't know. I can't- I can not tell what's causing this."

"Causing what, teach?" Virgil moves his arms around his friend's body, now massaging both of his shoulders as well as holding him. He presses the pads of his fingers into his skin firmly, coaxing him back from that spot five feet to the left of himself. Logan leans into him, his eyes closing tightly.

"Do you remember when I threw paper at Roman, a while back?"

Virgil snorts. "Sure do. Funny stuff."

"It wasn't." Logan's fist tenses against his leg, pressing down into himself. "I didn't feel like- like me. Like myself. Something wasn't right. I was... overcome."

Virgil stops massaging him, setting a hand on his cheek and drawing him to look at him. "L, I'm being so serious when I say to tell me exactly what you mean by that."

Logan withers slightly under direct eye contact, but he holds it due to the seriousness of Virgil's voice. "I don't know, Virgil." He feels slightly taken aback, not fully prepared to explain this emotion. "It has happened more than once, I know that. I feel very- very suddenly grasped by something. Like something is squeezing me." As he speaks his eyes squeeze closed again, flitting back and forth under their lids as though searching for the answer beneath them.

Virgil breathes. "Oh. Well, that could be a panic attack, Lo." He tries to conceal relief in his voice under concern. "Is it your chest, specifically?"

"Virgil," Logan suddenly grabs his hand, staring down at his unmade blankets and breathing heavily for a moment. He manages to meet his eyes, misery making them watery and strained. "I have had panic attacks before, all of us have, when Thomas has them. It isn't like that feeling. It's- it's hot. Like a burning." Logan's opposite hand ghosts over his own throat, clenching and unclenching. "I don't know what it means. I am still me. But it's also not me. Burningly not me."

Virgil flinches under his intensity, wide eyes seeming wider with the dark makeup below them. Logan's behaviour is scaring him. He tries to think if Thomas has experienced much dissociation before, but no incidents come to mind. He blinks dumbly as he comes up with nothing to help. Logan's eyes drift away as the silence stretches. All of him drifts, suddenly, to the side as he falls onto his pillows with a dull thud. Virgil crawls up on the bed beside him cautiously, laying next to him and beginning to massage his arm again gently, knocking their foreheads together.

"You are yourself. We're all ourself. Feeling big things doesn't make us not 'us'. Just us, yeah? Just Thomas."

"Just Thomas," Logan parrots under his breath, eyes closing above deep purple eyebags nearly rivalling Virgil's. Virgil lays beside him, not knowing what else to say but wanting to do anything he can. He soothes at Logan's tense muscles in the semi-strained silence around them, silently offering anything he can give. The pit in his gut suddenly unravels just as Logan's breathing evens out. The rhythm of the massage and his exhaustion from wrecking his room seemingly caused him to fall asleep unceremoniously. Virgil sighs through his nose, glancing over the messy room and his friend's face.

He scoots closer to him, removing Logan's glasses gently and settling in the space of his side, faintly resting his arm over his stomach, soft as not to disturb him. If he fell asleep that suddenly, he must need it, and Virgil wouldn't disturb his most stressed companion's rest for anything.

"We'll figure it out, bud," he whispers to him, promising reverently even though Logan can't hear. "We'll all... be okay. For now." He chuckles at his own dire pessimism, and lets himself rest as well in the crook of his friend's sturdy arm. The room looms darkly around them, but they are safe, curled against each other through the darkness, only ever themself. Only ever Thomas, and all the pieces that come with him.

#sanders sides #analogical #qpp analogical #platonic analogical #hurt/comfort #virgil sanders #logan sanders #tss logan #tss virgil #sanders sides fanfic #tss fanfic

[cookycherry]

The Fated Maknae

Chapter 1:

Author Note: this is a multi chapter story I’ve been working on for months and finally want to share! So far I have 4 chapters made and this is chapter 1.

Pairing- Jungkook x Original Character

Genre- Gangster au, straight omegaverse, unprotected sex, fem!reader, original character

Warning-smut, drinking hookup, stranger sex, choking, straight omegaverse

Word count-4,796

Summary- In a world where Alphas and Omegas exist, there’s an alpha who can’t stop his instinctual desire even if it risks everything his family stands for.

This would be the eighth time he’d been in this club. 

The eight time that he’d seen her.

 Between the seven brothers, this was the establishment to be at. They ruled the city.

Meticulously each one of them was running a business to hide their true identities, their ties of the seedy underbelly hidden.

Each of them but Jungkook. 

He hadn’t found his passion yet but he didn’t mind helping each of his brothers out. Lately it had been Jimin who he had been aiding; he didn’t mind though because who would turn down a gig at the top nightclub in the city? An idiot. 

 Out of all their natures and passions this one sat the best to cut loose; free for your carnal desires to run rampant. Jungkook could get away with anything here and the other brothers knew that. 

 Jimin ran this place like he ran himself; top of the line, selective and dazzling.Served as a haven for the brothers to participate in any debauchery after keeping up weekly facades. 

Only the best of the best could get in and here she was. An innocent creature who wandered into the viper den, her innocence excited him. The coolness of the glass he held was burning into his heated hand. Nipping at his skin in a way that excited him more. 

 From his view up in the upper echelon seating, Jungkook could see the way she made the best effort to avoid how obvious it was she was searching for him in the crowd.

 Deep bass pulsed from the dancefloor. Lights and bodies tangle below as Jungkook leans against the private railing, the second landing. Below him resembles a pit ; swirling bodies pressed up against one another, the smell of hundreds, all their pheromones heady.

His lips tug in a smirk as he watches the way she innocently follows her friend but continues to search for him. Her eyes are everywhere until they finally settle on him above her. Predator watching prey. When their gazes meet, he nods in ,

acknowledgement. Swift and brutal, not even cracking a grin.

 Her eyes wide with innocence, she smiles bashfully and lowers her head in submission as she’s pulled by her friend, an attempt to hide the flush across her face. 

A circular walkway with a balcony looks over the main dance floor. The music vibrates the metal floor beneath Jungkook’s boots as he walks over to a section of velvet booths, accompanied by diamond embellished tables and expensive booze. 

“Oh, your little bunny is back.” 

Jimin shakes his head and teases once he realizes where Jungkook's attention had been. 

“They always come back.” Jin retorts before sipping gracefully from his glass, ice cubes clinking together as he tugs at his necktie.

Taehyung raises a confused eyebrow as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. Jimin quickly brings him up to speed about what is going on. His dark eyes then scan the crowd and spot her. He blows smoke out of his nose while taking in her long exposed legs and taunts, “ Golden Maknae, I can smell you from here.” A wide smile creeps on his face, a shit giving smile. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, knowing he can’t hide the heat creeping up in him. He bites his tongue at commenting how he can smell each of them and instead shrugs nonchalantly. 

“Looks like she’s a Virgin.” 

Jimin comments, sipping his own drink gingerly while a girl grinds in his lap. She’s hungry for more from him, to appease her he gives her a firm slap to the ass to let her know he’s still paying attention. 

“Whoever is hitting it isn’t hitting it right.” Murmurs Taehyung showing more interest in the smoke O’s he's blowing at ceiling than the conversation. 

They don’t get it. 

“She’s just an omega. There’s a sea of plenty for the picking. Don’t chase, remember you’re an alpha.” Jin claps his hand on Jungkook's shoulder. He grins wickedly. He takes a stiff swig of his bourbon, “Remember to not go too crazy tonight. Starting in,” he glanced lazily at his watch, ”6 hours you work for me.” 

Jungkook sighed remembering he was set up with some swanky office job at Jin's company, a new cover up and probably a better one. The idea of waking up in a few hours and rushing to a cubicle made him anxious with irritation. Jungkook really owed him big, he was putting his neck out and saving Jungkook from being trapped in this club for the rest of his life.

 “No worries.” Jungkook dryly laughed, running his hands through his raven hair. 

 Jimin grabs his partner by her hips, guiding her to roll her ass back on his crotch, and asks, “Hey, did this little bunny give you a piece last time?”

 Jungkook rolls his eyes, hating the way he feels like he's being examined. “No.” 

“Remember, Jimin? She bolted the minute our little wolf approached her.” Jin adds, his hand now sliding up the thighs of Jimin’s partner, Jimin steadily putting pressure on her back until she curves just right. The trio is working up a scent that is telling Jungkook it’s time to leave or stay and watch. 

With a sigh, Jungkook thought back to the week prior. 

His conquest almost reached a boiling point. The two always were gravitating towards one another, this was the first time he actually spoke to her; tired of the cat and mouse game. Still, he never even caught her name while she knew his and that bothered him.

Immediately, he could tell the club wasn’t her scene by the way she carried herself. She was always spotted being dragged around by her friend who always appeared to be on the mission to get drunk and laid.

 He watched from a distance making sure this little bunny was unbothered.

 Despite striking him as an untouched princess, she sure knew how to move her hips. She appeared gentle and innocent until a few drinks hit her system. He was dying to break those traits out of her. 

Finally after lengthy eye fucking, there was a window of opporunity to separate her, with little more than a smile and a leading hand; he subtly led her to a private room reserved just for him. 

She seemed to have no idea he knew the owner of this place, why he was always here. Usually in these trysts, he preferred to keep it that way. Once some girls see dollar signs, the game is over and they see him nothing more than an in for socializing. 

As he quickly leaned in for a kiss she pushed him away with a look of pure shame on her face. 

“What ?”Jungkook asked in surprise, blood rushing, pounding in his ears. 

She bit her lip and began playing with her disheveled hair, “Jungkook. I have a boyfriend.” 

Now, as one of the upper seven brothers Jungkook was no stranger to fucking girls with someone who they went home to, hell even with rings. But this time, it was different. When girls begged him to take them to heights they could never hit with their sad situations, he typically got off on it.

Not now with this little bunny. This time, he was enraged.

Snorting, Jungkook leaned back on the couch and told her, “I’m surprised.”

She was expecting a different reaction apparently, because she questioned calmly, “You’re surprised?”

“A girl like you should be with a man who knows how to treat you right,” He explained, overlapping his arms behind his head as if he were lounging on some exotic beach.

She scoffed, picking at invisible dust on her lap. “He treats me… decently.”

He cracked a smile, resisting the urge to laugh, and asked, “How’s the sex? Decent?” Mocking. 

“It’s none of your business,” she replied flatly.

This time, Jungkook openly laughed and pointed out, “Wow, you said that with absolutely no expression on your face.” He scoffed while throwing his hand in the air,”Then why the hell did you come with me back here? To discuss the latest news on the stock market?”

“I thought you were different. Now you’re just putting me on the spot.” she exclaimed, growing more flustered by the second. Her face is bright red. So she did have some zest under that fawnish behavior. 

“Nope, that’s not it,” He said, leaning forward before rising to his feet. “When I’m done with the girls I’ve fucked, they take one look at me and can’t help but press their thighs together.”

She gulped, sobering up quickly.

He stepped closer, tilting his head. “Do you wanna know what that feels like? It’ll be better than decent.”

Heat was emitting from her body, a sweet smell that made him want to grab her by the throat. 

“I can make you feel so good,” He whispered, sliding his fingers into her hair and brushing his lips over her own.

Her breathing stuttered, grip on her purse tightened. She wavered on her feet.

Then, her conscience must have kicked in and like Jin said, she bolted.

Admittedly, Jungkook expected to never see her again, but this tiny voice in the back of his head teased him that he had given her just enough of a taste that she would come sprinting back for more once she’d sorted out her pathetic moral compass.

And sure enough, here she was.

Though, there was something different about her tonight. She had abandoned her typical conservative doe eyed look by wearing a little black dress that didn’t leave much to the imagination. 

Her long legs were on display, accentuated by the highest heels he’d ever seen, though Jungkook never paid much attention to shoes. The neckline was deep and he spent more time than he'd like to acknowledge staring at her cleavage.

He watched her at the bar, flicking her long hair over her shoulder. Hair he wanted to intertwine with his fingers and yank.

“You really should do something about that heat of yours.” 

Teased Taehyung, leaning on the railing next to Jungkook, bringing him swiftly back to reality. Clearly, he was not interested in the moans and lewd noises that were behind them. Taehyung raised a dark brow and nodded his head towards the stairs that led down to the dance floor, a signal he was wanting them to leave. 

Jungkook happily obliged, meeting on the private landing just outside the dance floor taehyung was greeted by a pretty petite brunette.He spoke to her in a foreign language before turning to Jungkook. Maybe one of his escapades he met while jet setting the world.

“I’d say you better get a move on her now before someone comes and snatches her up.” Taehyung smiled as his female guest began sucking on his neck in an effort to leave an obvious bruise. Jungkook would be lying if he said he wasn't a tinge envious. 

“How much money do you all have riding on it?” 

Jungkook asked irritably, knowing damn well how his brothers were. No doubt Hobi, Yoongi and Namjoon were made aware of what was going on even in their evening absence.

 Taehyung playfully scoffed and replied, “I have a hundred says you’ll go another week without any if she turns you down again.”

“What?” 

“You haven’t touched another girl since you met this one,” Tae was now half resisting the urge to be pulled down the hall to the private rooms by his sultry vixen. 

He gave in. “Do what you need to.” He exclaimed as he began to be pulled,  his figure fading in the darkness of the dimly lit hall. Soft talking and giggling filling the direction they went. 

“I like a challenge.” Jungkook muttered to himself. 

Done with playing games Jungkook strutted his way to the bar, a perfect beeline. He felt his temperature rise and could smell her, her essence tangled with perfume.She turned as if she sensed him as well.  Her eyes were wide and studying him. 

“Hello, again.” She greeted Jungkook, her voice trying to remain calm. An attempt to be harder than the last interaction.  

“Can we talk?” Jungkook could hear the blood rushing through her veins and she squirmed, tugging on the hem of her dress, clearly she had her friend pick out this outfit. He bit his lip to avoid laughing at this dress up makeover. 

Her eyebrows furrowed and he caught a second wave of her scent. She was in heat too. 

“Why?”

“I have something I want to talk about. In private.”

 He bit off the last words feeling a sweat bead on the back of his neck. It was getting hard to breathe but he couldn’t let her see the effect she had on him.

She glanced around. Game over. Hook, line and sinker.

“Okay.” 

She was shaking and warmth was emitting from her that Jungkook noticed as moved to her side and led her down to the familiar hall, the dark private area. One of the bouncers bowed his head at the duo's approach and opened the door, promptly closing it once they entered. 

“So what did you want to talk about?”

 Jungkook noticed she was fighting to say the words, the shaking he noticed earlier was now much more. Her breathing had grown panicked and her body felt feverish. 

He could sense all of the heat coming off of her and could smell arousal. 

“Sit down.” Jungkook slowly pushed her down onto the leather chaise. 

Her eyes closed, she was fighting to keep a steady breath, her hands shakily were resting on her lap and tightening their grip on the hem of that heartbreaking dress. 

It suddenly clicked for him. He was making her this way. 

He huffed playfully, “Seriously? Going into heat in a place like this?” 

He watched as she opened her eyes, noticed how her eyes raked down his leather clad legs as he stretched them. 

“You’re a fool.” He smiled slyly. 

“I broke up with my boyfriend.” She fought the words out in a steady way, she was burning up and her pheromones were driving him crazy. He had to keep up this cool act, toy with her some. 

He wanted to grin, pride taking over his body. 

“Sorry to hear that.” Jungkook crooned in a condescending manner. 

She huffed petulantly. 

“You’re Feisty tonight.” Jungkook was now grinning ear to ear. 

“You have no idea.” She murmured. Sweat was beading her forehead. 

“I think I can help you out.” He moved closer to her resting his hand on one of her trembling hands. She wasn’t recoiling.

The scent coming from her wasn’t a normal omega smell. She was different. 

“Please. I want you.” She was squirming closer to his touch. 

So much for him begging her, he was getting the advantage of her begging him. 

Jungkook knew what to do. He moved to kneel down at her legs, her body seated perfectly on the couch. He began parting her legs carefully watching her face to see if there was any hesitation. 

“Please, I’m begging.” Her breathing was messy and her body felt like a fire. She groaned and admitted in a weak whisper, “I want you.” 

Jungkook bit his lip, running his tongue along his lip piercing. “You’ll feel better after this.” 

Reaching forward, he grabbed the neckline of her dress pulling it down, fingers conveintely caught between her full breasts, he murmured, “Relax.” 

Her breaths stuttered as she began grinding on the couch, grabbing handfuls of the couch to steady herself, her thighs shaking in anticipation at how close jungkook was to them, open and eager. 

She snapped him out of his delayed attention when a desperate mewl escaped her ruby lips. Tentatively, while listening to her labored breathing, Jungkook pushed his hands further up her thighs, pushing up her short dress and found her panties.

 She quickly gripped his tattooed forearms,hips stuttering at the prospect. He hooked his thumbs around the snug, lacy material forcing his fists to coil around the underwear before pulling hard. 

She shrieked in surprise and at the sting of the fabric being torn from her body. His hands returned from beneath the dress, taking in the sight of ripped lace, smiling as he wriggled them enough to push them in his back pocket. His trophy. 

“You’re mine now.” He quipped.

 She shifted, adjusting her position to allow full access to the hidden area.  His fingers traced up her inner thigh, knuckles brushing through the dripping arousal. He danced his middle finger at her entrance, his dick twitching at the feeling of how soaked she was for him.

 “It feels good to be touched here, right?” He groaned as he pushed two fingers in, biting his lip at the way she stretched to accommodate him. 

A pitiful moan rang through the room and she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt in desperation. With how in heat she was it only took a few seconds of him pumping and curling his fingers inside of her before she gasped. 

“Don’t be so surprised. I just made you come with my fingers.” 

At that, he withdrew his hand and grabbed her by the throat, pulling her forward so he could whisper, “You’re not gonna rest until every inch of my cock has been swallowed by your tight pussy. You got that?”

She nodded, eyes wide open, pupils blown to total darkness. If he squinted he may have seen hearts in her eyes. This girl probably had never been so aroused in all of her life. “Decently,” he quietly muttered to himself. 

 “Now lie down.” He wanted to be gentle but the instinct was taking over, he couldn’t help himself. She did as instructed as he fiddled with his belt and finally pulled down the zipper and freed his length. 

Her eyes widened as he held his dick, guiding it back and forth between her damp center, coating himself in her sweet arousal. She practically purred then gasped for air when the head of his dick brushed over her clit then returned to her entrance, teasing the opening with light pressure. 

She pushed at Jungkook's lower stomach, and whined, “Please. Please.” 

“You’re gonna sit there and wait until I feel like it.” He spoke calmly, still raking himself back and forth in her arousal until he was soaked with it, watching her face contort in euphoria. 

Without any warning or hesitation, he sheathed himself in one motion inside her. Her fingers tightened on his arms, nails biting into his skin harder as he pushed into her entrance. 

His eyes couldn’t choose where to settle. From watching himself vanishing inside her to the pleasured look on her face, his attention kept flickering back and forth. She was so wet, he slipped inside her easily and he felt her clench. 

“Good Bunny,” Jungkook crooned, voice trembling.

She moaned loudly as his thick length penetrated her. Her face tensed at the pressure and her legs shuddered against his hips.

“Oh, god,” she gasped as he sheathed to the hilt within her.

“Ah, fuck,” he groaned under his breath, feeling her walls clamping around him like a vice.

“Jungkook,” she sighed, lingering with her eyes winched closed.

No woman had ever spoken his name the way she did and he immediately pulled her up, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist quickly to sit down on the seat. His lips found her neck, peppering little kisses across her skin. Tentatively, he bounced her gently on his lap, letting his length slide within her walls smoothly. She grabbed his shoulders and let out a raspy moan.

Still trapping her to himself , he curved his hips between her thighs, dragging himself against her sensitive walls as he drew back before pressing back in. Jungkook’s pace was slow and deliberate until he was satisfied she had stretched enough for him to take it to the next level. He was feeling feral. But for now, he was perfectly content for her to feel every slight movement of his thickness thrusting deep inside her.

The moment she began to match his rhythm, he pressed one last heavy kiss to her neck and leaned back again, clinging to her thighs with his broad hands.

“Ride me,” He commanded, regaining the power he craved. 

She didn’t hesitate to obey and he thoroughly enjoyed watching her rise and fall on his length, her ass smacking into the leather of his pants rather loudly. It didn’t take long for her to lose herself on top of him. He could practically see the stress and tension melting away from her, the heat subduing.  Hair disheveled and sweat glistening on her skin, she looked beyond beautiful riding him.

Mouth agape, head tilted back, and eyes pressed closed, she couldn’t see the way he stared at her.

His hands constantly switched from grasping her thighs, to her hips, her waist, and finally her exposed breasts before beginning the process again. No matter how harshly he squeezed, she didn’t slow down. Up and down alternating to slow circles of her hips, she didn’t follow any patterns.

With a short moan, she leaned forward, shoving both of her hands on his chest to support herself above him, and bounced her ass to a quicker pace.

“Fuck me,” Jungkook groaned, pinching her waist in his grasp.

“Do you ever shut up?,” she bit back, swallowing to wet her dry throat as her voice faltered. He grinned ear to ear. 

Ever so slowly, he traced his fingers to her lower back, grabbing her dress and tediously drawing it higher up her back. The moment her bare ass was in the clear, he smacked both palms down, a resounding slap echoing through the room.

She squeaked in surprise. Determined, he asked in a low sneer, “Who’s filling you up?”

“Jungkook.”

His hands tangled in her hair, drawing her attention. “Who are you riding?”

“Jungkook.”

Yanking on her throat, bringing her close to his level, he whispered, “Unless that pretty little mouth is filled with me you don’t tell me to shut up. Do we understand each other?”

Grinning, she replied, “Yes, sir.”

Mouth locked open, no air passed through. His other fist remained coiled in her long locks while he held her flow of oxygen at bay. Her eyes widened before rolling back, hips bucking wildly into his in an attempt to sate him.

The moment a dark crimson began to flush her face, he released her, overly pleased with the way she gasped and choked for air. While she was dazed, he sat up, trapping her in his strong  arms again and driving up into her heat.

A sharp raspy moan fell from her lips with every harsh snap of his hips, driving his length deep inside her. Every breath was hard and mangled with sweet nothings. He had never heard such perfect noises in his life.

Grabbing handfuls of her ass, he pounded into her nice and rough, listening to her suck in an inhale through gritted teeth. Her body tensed against his, but her body clamped on him with pleasure and she didn’t tap out.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Jungkook asked, keeping up merciless thrusts.

She nodded rapidly against his shoulder.

“You like when it hurts a little, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she wheezed into his pierced ear, raking her nails down his back.

“That’s right. Take it. You love it.”

“I love it,” she whimpered.

The flesh of her hips bruised under his fingers as he held her in place, bucking into her harder and harder. Her core welcomed every time, pulsing around his dick with nothing but delight. Her arousal pooled and made the room echo with the sound of wet, hot sex.

Crossing her arms behind his shoulders and head, he felt her fingers wind into his dark hair and her lips settled against his ear. He expected her to beg for mercy with how hard he was fucking her, but all he could hear were her delicious pants and whimpers.

Until she finally cried, “Fuck, I’m gonna come.” 

Giving her an affectionate bite at the base of her neck, he brought one of my hands to the apex of her thighs, rubbing at her clit with his thumb. With a grunt, he slowed his pace only slightly, driving into the spot he knew rendered her speechless. Exerting some pressure on her clit, he had her right where he wanted her when she started moaning with every gulp of air.

“Jungkook,” she managed to plead, squeezing her already tightly wound fists in his hair and his shirt. 

There wasn’t anything he needed to say to throw her over the edge even though he had plenty of material that would have worked. With a rough push of his hips and a pinch of her clit, her walls pulsated and her spine arched. Hands and legs shaking, she tried to escape, but there was nowhere to run.

Gaps fell from her mouth while she climaxed in his arms, he anchored her to him tightly. Staving off the urge to finish inside her, he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes while her core tightened and tightened in waves. Her head fell back, chest heaving for oxygen, and she finally let out the wanton moan she’d been holding.

Jungkook snickered and continued bouncing her slowly in his lap, riding out her aftershocks of sensitivity and listening to her hiss through gritted teeth.

Grabbing a handful of her hair, He bit and sucked a path up her neck. When he reached her ear, he whispered darkly, “My turn.”

Pulling her on to her back on the leather couch, he settled between her thighs and drove his length back into her sensitive core. She yelled his name, digging her nails into his arms while he thrusted his dick in and out of her at a brutal pace. Listening to his groans must have tipped her off that he was chasing his own end, because she spread her legs farther to give more room to work with and held on to him for dear life.

Propped on his elbows, his lips brushed against her brow and he turned to bury his face in her hair, trying to stifle his moans with how hard he was pounding into her. Raking her nails up and down his shoulders, she smirked while listening to his grunts and crooned, “That’s it.”

Rising just enough, he clamped his hand over her mouth, enjoying her muffled gasps and cries as he finally released his load in her. Fire raced up his spine like someone was dragging a white hot brand down his back.

His length swelled within her before filling her and he couldn’t help but moan her name as he shuddered above her. Her eyes were fixated on him, hands dropping alongside her shoulders on the couch as she lay there perfectly submissive, humming ever so softly against his palm that pressed over her mouth.

And with a long, quiet, “Fuck,” He dropped on top of her, crushing her  frame beneath his and keeping his length deep inside her. He wasn’t ready to be apart from her yet.

He finally pulled his hand away, freeing her lips, and slid his arms under her to take some of his weight off of her chest. She shifted her hips and he growled his disapproval, but he was pleasantly surprised when she tucked her ankles to the inside of his knees.

“Ah, don’t do that,” He gasped, feeling her flexing her innermost walls on his sensitive length.

She snickered at the rare chance to torture him and he raked a hand into her tousled hair to draw the strands from her flushed face. He lifted his head to kiss her squarely on the mouth for the first time since this tryst began. She smiled against his lips, greeting his aggressive tongue with her own. Her teeth clamped on his bottom lip and tugged, earning a little whine from him. 

Sitting up and finally sliding out of her core,he pressed his palms to the fronts of her knees, angling her legs back toward her chest until her hips shifted. His hands stroked up and down her thighs, encouraging her to stay in that position.

“What are you doing?” she asked, shuddering.

“What does it look like? Keeping my cum in you,” He told her, grinning wickedly taking in the face of utter shock and fascination plastered on her perfect face.

Watching him sit up and get himself together, she chortled and whined, “You never asked for my name.”

Turning to rake his eyes up and down her form, overly content with her draped motionless on the couch, Jungkook replied, “Is it that important?”

#jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts fan fiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x female reader #jungkook x original character #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook #kpop fanfic

[gaykarstaagforever]

I've never liked James Bond movies, other than like two of the Pierce Brosnan ones, and only now because of nostalgia. They're boring when chases aren't happening and too long and his gadgets are unjustifiably impossible and the villains are idiots with stupid schemes, and no one ever just shoots the bastard, leaving him to constantly get out of situations by deus ex machina or blind luck. I don't know what people want from these movies, what makes the "good" ones good or the "bad" ones bad, or why anyone is invested in any of this.

That said, I just watched what is, to me now, the one genuinely good Bond movie: 1973's Live and Let Die.

Bond fights a technologically-advanced drug-dealing voodoo pimp / Caribbean island dictaror, whose evil plan involves giving away a billion dollars of heroin for free. And this plan also involves him somehow successfully killing like 4 secret agents, plus, oh yeah, voodoo and tarot magicks are probably actually real?

This feels like white people mistakenly deciding they know enough about Black people in 1973 to make a movie about their world, and it is exactly as problematic and insane as you'd expect. And I loved every minute of it.

Such gleeful stupidity, done with such a straight face, is a beauty to behold. There is also a 10 minute sequence that is just Smokey and the Bandit, complete with a fat racist idiot Southern sheriff and incompetant Louisiana state police, who get their cars completely destroyed in slapstick comedy wrecks where people crash off ramps into bogs but no one ever gets hurt.

...Except this came out 5 years before Smokey and the Bandit, and maybe the same weekend as the similar White Lightning, so I have no idea who was stealing what from whom. I guess 1973 was just the year to start making fun of Southern law enforcement with funny car accidents.

I'm not complaining. I love this crap. It's just such a specific thing for multiple creatives to seize on at exactly the same moment. I suppose art, like voodoo, is endlessly mysterious.

I got the impression this movie is a critical pariah and was a flop, but neither is true. It made tons of money, and while people in general didn't and don't like Roger Moore as Bond, it seems most people enjoyed the frenetic weirdness going on here.

This was Moore replacing Connery, who set the iconic 1960s Bond bar. Like, hostility to anything new and different was inevitable. I don't feel strongly about Connery's Bond either way, because a lot of those movies are impossibly slow and his charm doesn't redeem them. So I like Moore here. He seems like he's still figuring out how to do the character his way, but that is also inevitable. But he's drool and wry and unflappable, and any lack of charm is fine, considering the movie is far more about jumping from one ridiculous situation to another at a break-neck pace. Bond is really just along for the kooky ride, and Moore manages that.

I love the cars and the costumes. This is peak early 70s, so everything is big and bright primary colors, from the cars to the collars and neckties, to the platform shoes and afro wigs. All the suits have vests. VESTS! The villain dresses his henchmen in bright bluejeans with scarlet polo shirts tucked in. They look like Target associates went rogue. It's beautiful.

Any more analysis of the plot than I've already offered is pointless, because this is a Bond movie. So even at peak wannabe-Blaxploitation goofiness, he's still boldly walking into obvious traps, inappropriately trying to trick certainly-evil women into sleeping with him, and solving every problem with a gimmick watch and desperate flailing that somehow knocks people out.

I don't know why anyone bothers setting elaborate traps for him. Just send a guy to pick him up. He'll know exactly that you've done that and get in the car anyway. That happens twice in this movie! And the same guy is driving!

The watch in this one has an industrial-strength magnet in it, and also the face spins and acts like a tiny buzzsaw. And, fine. That's the right kind of stupid. But how the hell does all that work on tiny watch batteries? I can't forget about that, which is why Bond movies aren't for me. And it makes Bond look bad, because anyone with that watch could probably do exactly what he does. ...Except probably the thing where he uses the magnet to undo the zipper on a woman's dress. That's very specifically a Bond thing, the cheeky predator.

But he's not the only incompetent gadabout, here. Most of the story takes place in the US, and he's working with the CIA. And they are AT LEAST as bad at everything as he is. But they don't have magic watches, so I guess that's why they keep getting stabbed, and poisoned by voodoo snakes, and have to call him in, to do whatever the hell this is:

Jane Seymour is also here. She is a possibly biracial? tarot witch who has virgin powers, and is owned by the Black villain. She gets manhandled and molested all the time, especially by Bond, and his deflowering of her is a major plot point.

As I said before, there are some problematic things going on here.

But the whole affair is so earnestly cheesy and high-energy that it's hard to find fault. They were going for schlock, and they schlocked it. James gets cornered by a hundred people doing a deadly swamp voodoo ritual that involves human sacrifice and a magic robot, and after some of them charge him with machetes, he responds by blindly firing into the crowd and murdering a bunch of them. This culminates with him getting captured by the villain for like the third time, and the guy acts like all this was just part of his plan.

Then Bond wrestles with him a little near a shark tank, but kills him with a Looney Tunes device. 1960s Batman showed more restraint than this. The Austin Powers movies barely referenced this one, because it is already a parody of spy movies. It is a thing of messy, stupid brilliance.

If you don't like Bond movies, this is the Bond movie for you. Everyone can get a laugh out of this, even if they're only laughing at it.

(Also the theme is the best Bond theme ever, but everyone already knows that. It opens the movie with naked women dancing around flaming skulls. That alone probably makes it the best Bond movie.)

#james bond #007 #roger moore #live and let die #1970s #blaxploitation #voodoo

[roadtophantom]

Let your S(e)oul take you where you long to be (III) - Cho Seung-woo

(part three of my neverending travelogue, I thought I'll just write one but this already got long)

I think it didn't quite hit me that I was seeing Phantom even when I went in the theatre, likely because of travel adrenaline? I was still a bit dazed coming in and I didn't quite settle until the show started. But also it was so warm and tight that it's hard to get a semblance of personal space.

But it didn't take long because Charlotte Theatre is small and it kinda really wraps itself around the stage. At least that's how I felt.

Because when the overture started and the sparks came off, I was sucked right in.

But listen. Hearing the organ played in person and watching the chandelier make its steady ascent, coming from a lockdown of 3 or so years after fighting tooth and nail to be on that seat, were enough to reduce me to actual tears.

I was sobbing behind my face mask — a souvenir from the pandemic that is sadly here to stay— as reality finally hit me that I managed to live to see another Phantom show when such a possibility didn't exist then, and it's as real as the chandelier looming large before my very eyes.

Second was seeing the proscenium in its fullest glory. Unfortunately, 2delier and the stripped down World Tour revival stage cannot possibly hold a candle to the magnificence of a complete replica set. I haven't seen this setup since 10 years ago in Singapore (not counting HK coz that was an arena and it's a bit different).

I'm reviewing both performances at once because I saw them in 24 hours and it will help me make (healthy) comparisons.

But I think I want to write about the Korean production as a whole first. I've read that it took a while for the local production to mount another POTO KR because of the scale and the demands of the show and the producers want to get everything perfect.

And I think they really did, or at least one that approaches sheer excellence in acting, singing, dancing, all that.

The ballerinas are in step with each other, the cast harmonizes so beautifully even in Prima Donna which tends to go messy and overwhelming...As a full company they are undefeatable.

And I've seen some of the most heartrending performances and heard the most exquisite voices in these two shows.

During my week in Seoul, I managed to catch a movie on cable TV led by Cho Seung-woo called Inside Men and he played this prosecutor who is smart, ambitious, and hellbent for justice. He was all suits, yanked neckties, and cigarettes. A cool hero you wanna root for. And in the first movie I've seen of him (The Classic), he plays a young Romeo with such pure ideals on love and friendship, again a good guy you can't help but love and feel hurt for.

The Phantoms - Cho Seung-woo

Those are barely a scratch on the surface of the veteran actor's stellar filmography and theatre work. His versatility is undisputed, and he's played everything from Hedwig to Sweeney Todd until he finally took on the challenge as the Phantom, which is still so mindblowing to me.

There was no hint of swagger, coolness, or goodness in Cho Seung-woo's Phantom. He is basically the anti-cute Phantom. This is the sewer rat, the stone gargoyle on the roof, the cantankerous old neighbor you don't wanna deal with. He made that especially clear from the mirror scene, as he openly sneered at Raoul's attempts at Christine.

The Phantoms I've seen would try to play up being angel, ghost or even just try to present themselves as an educated gentleman forced under very unfortunate circumstances, but Cho Seung-woo's Phantom is well frankly, truly what you'd expect of a creature living in an underground lake. He isn't shy or afraid to be menacing because that's...what's on the script anyway, right?

With one caveat, he can't bear to be ugly in front of Christine who is his weakness from the very beginning.

His Music of the Night gives a sneak peek of the kind of desolation and yearning he feels for her. He also peppers his performances throughout with whispers of "Christine" (even after MOTN) which I realized is his desperate plea of help.

Cho Phantom loses his temper quite easily, he's delighted like Rumpelstiltskin dancing around the fire when he plays tricks at Carlotta, unafraid to play up his monster persona to get his way. But this evil facade falls in front of Christine. Of course he tries to put up that mean act, but eventually he is just this awkward teenage boy with a first-ever crush. He is so hyperaware of his appearance in front of her. He practically worships her.

So imagine in PONR, he groans at Christine's advances and in AIAOY reprise he is almost on his knees begging her to please take pity and accept him.

In Final Lair, he recoils after Christine kisses him in a 'Why would you do that to yourself? Why touch a cursed creature like me with your perfect being? Please don't corrupt yourself' way. And when she goes back to return the ring, he really tried to wipe his hands on his pants, fix himself because he had to at least try to be less horrible as he already is in front of his idol.

As a singer, CSW can carry the notes, but he is not the best singer, not in front of actual tenors in the cast.

Yet his nuanced acting, the level of sensitivity and hyper-awareness he has, the kind of vulnerability he exposes to Christine at Final Lair is one of a kind. You can see he dug into the psychology of the character, imagined how it was like living miserably like him and how it's like to lose everything when he lets Christine, his only source of light and happiness, go.

You feel a lot of things when he's on stage, I truly felt so sorry for him, because his Phantom was such that the world truly let him down. So many realizations you'll see of his character. I think his was the most humanistic rendition of the role I've seen so far. It's a solid performance, and I understand he likes to change the details up every show, no wonder his shows sell out so fast.

#cho seung woo #rtp goes to seoul #Phantom of the Opera #gonna do my best and write the rest and finish this whole thing 😭😭 #but the words they are not quite wording

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

2. "Looks like you're on your own hook, too."

ROSEMARY - "Of course, of course, of course..." The drunk raises his pilsner and nods. "It is what it is, you know? What it's always been. People, buddy-boy, it's the people."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He has long forgotten what you were talking about.

3. "Why does the bottle of spirits cost 300 reál?"

ROSEMARY - "See, friend..." He brings out a one-litre bottle with blue-ish liquid. The mouth is corked shut. "It's *real* valuable. Worth every reál, if you catch my drift. Got it from a bit of a business venture..."

Nod -- let him speak.

"No one can buy spirits for 300 reál, that's crazy."

"I'll just have the spirits and not the story today, thank you."

ROSEMARY - "You know, it's funny, actually..." He bursts out laughing, then takes three gulps of his pilsner and stares at you intently.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - He's finding it difficult to focus his watery gaze.

"What is?"

ROSEMARY - "What?"

"What do you mean *what*? What did you think was funny earlier?"

"Forget about it, I just want the spirits!"

ROSEMARY - "This guy, this guy..." He says and shakes his index finger at you.

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - Conversation might bring a discount, no?

"Where did you get the bottle of spirits from?"

"Okay, can I just get the spirits if that's okay with you?"

"You know what?! I don't even want the spirits anymore!"

ROSEMARY - "Oh, this is medicinal spirits. The good stuff. Got it from the doctor's office."

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - He ain't shitting you. Medicinal spirits are a blast, *bratan*. The flaming truth of this joke of a world.

ROSEMARY - "I got one of those scientific ampoules a few months ago. 'Torpedo' they call it. It's supposed to keep a man from takin' a drink." He spits a nasty yellow clot on the ground before you.

"Didn't stop *me* for shit, that's for sure!" His voice rings with pride. "Five lemons with half a pack of butter and you're good to go."

"That's a good tip, I should remember it."

"That sounds dangerous."

ROSEMARY - "It was," he croaks. "In a week the goddamned kidneys started giving me all kinds of hell. Finally the missus took me to a private doctor's office -- not a charity, the real thing..."

"Those assholes!" He gets visibly angry. "Those assholes charged me *four reál* to remove the damn thing. But I came out on top after all!"

"Assholes..."

"Have they no shame taking money for a service they provide!"

"Okay, how?"

ROSEMARY - "But the idiots left me alone in there. Now, I used to teach high school biology. I *know* what doctors use to preserve dead thingies..." He gets an excited gleam in his eyes.

"Two I already sold to these fine gentlemen here," he nods at his companions. "But this last one is yours for three reál, if you want it?"

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - Don't say it.

"I thought it was 300 reál."

"Can I smell it first?"

"I think it will prove... useful. Yes."

"No, not really."

ROSEMARY - "Here..." He uncorks the bottle and holds it under your nose. "Be careful, it's extremely flammable. One spark and the entire city of Revachol is wiped off the map."

PAIN THRESHOLD [Legendary: Failure] - Feels like someone set a mustard field ablaze right inside your nose, then drenched it in tear gas. Your nose is a singular source of pain... but at the same time you don't remember the last time you felt so alive.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - In all fairness, that might be attributed to the retrograde amnesia.

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - Did I not tell you, *bratan*? This is it -- this is our party drink. This is what we're having, baby! Please get it for me! (The tie vibrates excitedly around your neck again.)

ROSEMARY - "So, what's the deal, friend? Want the spirits or not?"

"I think it will prove… useful. Yes."

"No, not really."

ROSEMARY - "Three reál and it's yours, friend. The deal of a lifetime!"

REACTION SPEED - Well done. You got it.

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - That's a much more reasonable price right there. Makes sense now.

Well, shit, at those prices we can't afford *not* to buy it.

3. [3 reál] "Here's the money for the spirits."

Item gained: Blue Medicinal Spirit

ROSEMARY - He hands you the bottle. "Jus' make sure to *enjoy* that one, friend!"

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - *Bratan*, I am so proud. Now -- whatever you do, don't drink it. This deserves so much more than just regular *oral* consumption.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - The tie is *SO* on the money there! Up the bum it goes!

Huh...

But… I don't wanna put it up my bum.

Okay, right. We're putting it in the bum!

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - Who said anything about putting it up there? No, we're gonna put it in a *way* more special place. Soooo special. Just hang on to it, keep it safe. Wait for my sign!

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Soon. The time will come soon. Have patience, brave one.

We could also buy more alcohol to trade to Idiot Doom Spiral, but let's see if we can find some around first.

6. "I'm off." [Leave.]

ROSEMARY - "In the civilized world, it's a custom to tip the shopkeep, friend. But come back anyway." He waves you off.

BLUE MEDICINAL SPIRIT

The liquid has an unearthly blue tint. The kind that might or might not, but definitely *does* glow in the dark. This is 98,7 pure alcohol. Keep it away from an open flame.

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - "Don't call Abigail," grumbles an unshaven man with a ruddy nose. He narrows his eyes at you as if in recognition, then turns his head away.

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - The noxious odour emanating from the drunken man is strong and familiar.

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - "Don't ya call her, ya hear. Don't call Abigail..."

"I am the law."

"Who is Abigail?"

"I'll call whoever I want, don't tell me what to do."

"This is making me uncomfortable." [Leave.]

+1 Lawbringer

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant sighs. "You really don't have to... Besides, he won't understand you anyway."

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - "Abigail... oh, Abigail..." He mutters while trying to brush something off his extremely dirty trousers. His movements are slow and awkward.

2. "Who is Abigail?"

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - He draws out a disgusting snort, then mumbles, waving a finger in your general direction: "Ugh... Abigail... don't ya... fuckin'... call Abigail."

SUGGESTION [Easy: Success] - Abigail is his wife or girlfriend. Chances are, she's gone. Calling her wouldn't make it any better or worse.

"Who are you? What's your name?"

"Where am I? What is this place?"

"Why shouldn't I call Abigail?"

"Tell me about your friends." (Point to the others.)

Walk away. [Leave.]

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - His eyes move around erratically, the look in them hazy and unfocused. "Don't call Abigail," he says.

2. "Where am I? What is this place?"

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - The man hiccups, then mumbles something unintelligible.

3. "Why shouldn't I call Abigail?"

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - He snorts and beckons you to lean in closer.

Lean in.

Don't lean in.

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - His breath smells harsh like a toxic swamp as he whispers to you: "Don't call Abigail. Don't call Abigail!" He then waves his hand, as if shooing you away.

"Hey, I'm on an important official investigation, I demand you answer my questions."

KIM KITSURAGI - "There's no use in yelling at drunks," the lieutenant interjects. "He's barely holding it together."

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - The drunk man starts coughing, a really disgusting hacking cough.

5. "Tell me about your friends." (Point to the others.)

DON'T CALL ABIGAIL - He glares at you. "Don't ya fuckin' call her, hear me." His voice trembles with every word, becoming ever weaker. "Abigail," he whimpers in the end.

"Don'... don'..." the man stammers, "don't call..." Slowly, his head nods off to the side and he passes out, tongue dangling from his mouth.

+5 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "There was little chance he'd be a reliable witness, anyway."

#disco elysium #kim kitsuragi #rosemary #don't call abigail #harrier du bois

[txemrn]

Déjà Vu

Chapter 2

New? Check out the first chapter HERE! (Go ahead; you're not late. Sure, we can wait.)

Series Summary: After an unforgettable night with a stranger, Princess Eleanor finds herself caught in a secret love triangle between a noble and a commoner.

Chapter Summary: Drake attends dinner at the palace, and even though some things will never change, he discovers quickly everyone has moved on without him.

Pairing(s): Liam x Riley; Bertrand x Savannah; Maxwell x m!OC; Olivia x Amalas

Word Count: ~4885

Warning: 🔞 Mature Audiences Only 🔞 language (like, a lot); references to infidelity, pregnancy; teasing/bullying

A/N: Welcome to my Crack Fic! If you are new, hi! Thank you for joining us! This story takes place approximately 2 decades after TRR/TRH. I have made some canonical changes (they will be mentioned). Characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry! This was not Beta'd; please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Drake

The gentle purr of the engine beneath my grip of the steering wheel shoots pleasurable waves of pure octane ecstasy. My nerves ignite with palpable electricity, coursing through my every cell. The cream leather interior is like butter against my skin, and the scent of luxury leaves me completely intoxicated.

Lucky little shit.  

I still can't believe my nephew–my fucking nephew–owns this beauty. How many twenty-four-year-olds own an Aston Martin Vantage convertible? I wish I could give him more shit about it, coming from such privilege as being the oldest son of a duke, but Bartie has more than earned it. 

He may not have exactly been planned, but he was the answer, and essentially the savior, of Ramsford. Back when I lived in this God-forsaken country, some twenty-odd years ago, Ramsford was in financial ruin. My brother-in-law, Bertrand, Bartie's father, scraped, scrapped and pinched every monetary morsel to keep them afloat for years.

Then along came Bartie: finished the top of his class at some preppy private institute at Stormholt with a degree in finance, and in just three fucking years of working with his dad… well, that little shit has an Aston. 

I'm actually very proud of him. Surely he knows that. We weren't much for talking over the years, but I'd send cards telling him I loved him, and I'd ask about him during video calls with my sister.

Judging that I am sitting in his custom-painted cherry-red luxury car right now? Yeah, Bartie knows I care the world about him. The fact that he's going to allow me to drive it? Fuck, I don't think I even trust myself, especially on these European roadways. Sure, I learned how to drive in Cordonia, but that was over two decades ago. And it wasn't a stickshift.

Can't be that hard, right?

I study the mechanism of the gear shift, comparing it to a quick Google search on my phone as I wait for my nephew to return to the car with a necktie–my suggestion.  Afterall, we're heading to dinner with the royal family… A.K.A. my childhood best friend, his daughter. And his wife.

The love of my life.

Eh, don't feel sorry for me. I'm over it. Seriously. And besides, technically, Liam had first dibs on her; but then again, he had first dibs on several other women at the exact same time, social season and all for his highness, the fucking crown prince of Cordonia. Whoop-de-do.

He's the one that asked me to look after his hot American suitor during his own personal season of The Bachelor. Are you really surprised I fell for the chick? The guy was never around. And Riley and me? She... she was fun, smart. She was fucking hilarious, gave those noble bitches a real run for their money. And yet, she was still kind and caring. She was easy to talk to; I found myself opening up to her in ways that… well, no one else could. 

Riley Brooks. I guess you could say she's the reason I never settled down with anyone. No one–and I mean no one–ever measured up. 

Oh well. That was a long time ago. And she made her decision. Him. And even though he was like the brother I never had, I… I couldn't. I just couldn't sit back and watch them play house and build a life together. Well, for Liam, it was real. 

I had fallen for her. But so had Liam. I knew that if I stayed–if I had stayed, the secret of Riley and me wouldn't end. Shit, if it didn’t end after they said, "I do," when would it?

Time heals all wounds, right?

Bartie opens the door, and slides into the passenger seat with two neckties in hand, both black as he holds them up to his crisp white oxford. "What do you think?"

"Think about what? The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost? You look like a fucking mormon," I jest as I point to the one with a subtle matte paisley design. "Why are you fussing about this anyway?"

"Just cause," he passively offers as he stares in the visor mirror, knotting his tie. "I'm speaking with King Liam privately after dinner, and… well, I just want to look alright."

Sensing his raw nerves, I pause for a moment, watching him fidget anxiously with the garment. Jesus, when did my baby nephew become a fucking man?  I smile, placing my calloused fingers on his shoulder. "You do, kid." I fasten my seat belt as I turn my attention to the dash. "So, how do I put this thing into drive?"

------

It’s surreal walking into the palace after so many years away. White marble floors. Crimson curtains with gold accents.  Childhood memories flood my mind of our sword battles on the grand staircase, pretending to be blood-thirsty pirates. Or when we would gallop through the secret labyrinth of corridors deep within the estate, charging on our make-believe stallions like mighty Spanish conquistadors. 

We would always sneak to the kitchen between meals to taste the desserts being made for dinner–unless Ms. Marta was working. That fucking old hag. Most of my ass whoopings were from her tattling on us. 

Liam was a fucking weirdo on our kitchen raids.  We would slip through the window of the bakehouse, and when we would confirm that the coast was clear, he would always head straight for the pantry to a bag of pistachios. We're talking about a place that had every sweet, every chocolate, every cookie imaginable, readily available in sealed containers. And he chose nuts. 

I always had my eyes on a nightly staple in the palace: warm apple pie. They were made daily, and I could always find at least one cooling on the window sill. 

Fuck, now I'm salivating over a fucking pie.  

To this day, I humbly have to admit that Cordonia apple pies are the best–don't let the taste of a raw ruby fool you. Something about the bitter compounds reaching a certain temperature causes… something-something to do something… ah, hell. Tell you what. If you're that curious, ask Liam. I mean, I'm assuming he's still a nerd–

"Drake!" 

I startle at the greeting, instantly recognizing the tall, broad-shouldered blond striding closer to me, wearing… an apron? The fuck? The apron has the phrase, 'I love you a bushel and a peck'.

Oh, yeah. He's still a fucking dweeb. 

His outstretched hand takes mine as he shakes it before pulling me into an embrace. "It's so good to see you, old friend," he pats my back before standing back to take me in.

He looks so different, but undoubtedly, he still looks like Liam Rys. Stray pieces of silver litter his perfectly styled, perfectly placed waves. His strong jawline and high cheekbones were cut more razor-sharp by his more mature, thinned face. His strong chest and the swell of his biceps made him look like a fucking Greek god. Lucky bastard. It's like turning forty didn't wreak havoc on his appearance or metabolism, save for a few fine lines around his eyes and smile.

"Bartie," Liam smiles endearingly, "always a pleasure." He extends his arm to my nephew before the scared kid had a chance to bow. I could see the flood of panic in Bartie’s eyes, but I gave him a reassuring nod as he hesitantly took his majesty's hand.

Don't worry, kid. I won't tell your daddy about your ‘poor manners’.

"Please," Liam rests his hand on my shoulder while turning to guide us to the queen's hall, the largest dining area in the palace for private parties. The room boasted an impressive, custom eight-meter-long table that could easily fit twenty-five guests comfortably. "Come, come. Everyone is just being seated." We follow him down the east corridor when suddenly, the savory aroma of roast and… something garlicky teases my senses. Liam obviously caught the delicious waft too, turning back with a devious grin. "I hope you brought some hearty appetites. Riley and I have something special for you tonight."

Riley. Why does the mere mention of her name make me–shit. Get it together, Walker. You're over it.

As expected, my closest friends during my time in Cordonia are all present along with their families. Well, 'friends' might be too strong of a word to use on this crowd. They were nobles and friends of Liam. I was friends with Liam. Ergo, we were friends. Sorta. 

My sister Savannah and her husband Bertrand were sitting at the end towards my right, speaking in hushed tones to one another. They came separately from Bartie and myself from their estate since, well, there wasn't enough room for them and the triplets. Yes. You read right. Triplets. As in three babies at once. They had tried for years to have more children with sadly no avail, and it took a terrible toll on their marriage. I still remember Sav's tearful call five years ago, revealing to me that they were separating. I was preparing to hop on a plane to execute my brother-in-law's accidental demise for breaking my little sister's heart when I got a second call a few weeks later. They were pregnant. I got a call a week after that. I had three nieces on the way.  Sydnie, Stella and Simone: the cutest little shits you've ever seen… and not just because they have their uncle's dashing good looks. 

I'm talking about me, their uncle. Not their other uncle.

Maxwell Beaumont–said other uncle– was sitting next to his brother Bertrand. He officially married Baron Friedrich von Lehndorff twelve years ago when Cordonia overturned their marriage clause of traditional unions. One hundred forty-eight same-gender couples came forward that day to be legally married; Max and Rich led the way to the Capitol. They became a beacon of light and love, not just for Cordonia, but to the world. I remember reading about their march for equality and their victory in my local paper. Maxwell and I weren't necessarily best friends, but a sense of pride bloomed in my chest, seeing him do something so incredible and bold with his life.  

He and Rich have a 9-year-old daughter Gia and 4-year-old son Ollie, both adopted from South Korea. Don't tell them I told you, but I follow their TikTok. Those two are fucking adorable.

Across from the Beaumont-von Lehndorffs is the Scarlet Duchess herself. Olivia Nevrakis. And… I almost can't believe the sight myself–

"Hey, Walker!" She waves, a smile growing on her face.

What. The. Fuck. Was she… happy to see me?

She stands up and makes her way around the table of guests to greet me. 

With a hug.

Shock number two: she’s touching me in a friendly manner. But that's when I was hit with shock number three.

Is she? No, no… she can't be. Is that a–?

She must've seen the curiosity etching across my face as I stared down at a rounded abdomen that just pressed up against me during our embrace. She instinctively cradles her belly and giggles.

Giggles. 

Was I in the Twilight Zone?

She married Amalas a few years after I moved away. I wasn't surprised; the few times Livvy and I hooked up felt odd, like something was missing. I mean, not that I didn't satisfy her. That was never a problem for me with women. Turns out, ol' red was looking for a queen. 

Together they serve as queen and queen consort of Monterisso, and apparently are known for creating quite a riot at international events. I'm not surprised. They have four children: Macaela–Amalas’s daughter with her late husband–Josefine, Joaquin, and Joseph.  And then baby Timothy will be joining them soon. Because that name makes sense.

I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious. It's been over twenty years, and everyone seems to have grown up. Had families. Changed the world. And what did I have to show? Nothing. I mean, I did have quite a successful construction company that I developed with almost seventy employees under my leadership, but… well, that went under thanks to my business partner fucking me over. Fucking twat-waffle. 

But is this really what my life comes down to? Is this how you would sum up my life? Compared to childhood friends, I was still nothing. And here I was again on the coattails of Liam.

An abrupt delicate tink to a wine glass echoes over the various conversations and children squealing, silencing everyone as we turn our attention to the head of the table. 

And there she was. Just as breathtaking as the last day that I saw her.

"Drake," she gasps as I pull her into the dark shadows behind the barn. "We can't. Not anymore." 

I shake my head, her eyes refusing to meet mine. I took a step towards her, but she instinctively shifts, her back pressing against the wall.

"Brooks–"

"Rys," she interjects, the correction like a serrated blade piercing my skin. A sob escapes her as rivers course down the planes of her velvet skin.

Placing my arm against the splintered wood next to her head, I lean closer to her, capturing her intoxicating scent. My hand slips up her neck, my fingers tenderly lifting her chin to look at me, to captivate me with those ocean eyes.

My thumb caresses her rosy lips, feeling her breath hitch. I flutter my mouth across her wet cheeks, my feather touch kissing away her tears.

But we suddenly freeze.

"Riley?"

Liam's smooth voice carries over the moonlit pasture, drowning out our abilities to hear the bustle of the reception.

"Riley…Don't–"

But it's too late. Before I could stop her, she was gone.

I blink. Casually shifting in my seat, I glance nonchalantly around me. Whew, everyone is still staring at the head of the table. No one seems to notice that I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.  I nervously scratch through my stubble before grabbing the water glass in front of me. I take a longass sip of water, but when I pull the glass from my mouth, two crystal-blue orbs with long, flirty lashes are locked on me.

Fuck, I choke on the water on my attempt to swallow it down. I start coughing violently as Maxwell starts patting my back.

"You okay there, Drakey?"

I finally take a gulp of air, and glare at him. "Yes… and it's Drake, Maxi pad." Okay. I admit it. It was childish to retaliate by calling him the name me and some of the other guys called Maxwell growing up. But to my surprise, he laughs before finger-gunning me.

"Good one, Drake. I haven't heard that in years."

I turn back to our royal hosts just in time for Liam to give me a friendly nod, as if to ensure that I'm okay without creating more of a scene. But when I glance over at Riley, she quickly averts her eyes, slipping her hand into Liam's. 

Jesus Christ. If that was a sign of how things were going to be, her cowering and treating me like I'm some kind of criminal for something she did willingly… something she pursued… fuck that. Send me back to Texas.

"We brought wine!" Rich singsongs, pulling out two large bottles from a nearby refrigerated wine rack. "Who'd like–?"

I refused to let the poor bastard finish.

"Me."

------

I can't remember a single time in my life where I have been so positively and exuberantly grateful for Maxwell fucking Beaumont. He fended off the anticipated awkwardness and helped the dinner conversation progress, making the casual assist to include me in this special meal that was supposedly in my honor. 

I'm not saying the others were rude to me, Liam especially. He was treating me like a long lost brother, like the prodigal son that has finally returned home. And I'm not going to lie: it felt good to be reunited with him.

But Riley couldn't even look me in the eye, and judging by the flashes of guilt and her over-eagerness to leave the room every chance she got, I know she never told her husband the truth about our relationship.  He had his suspicions. And I owned up to falling for her, thus the ending of our friendship and me moving to Texas. I mean, I thought it was the end…

But, I didn't just fall for her; it wasn't pining for her from afar, hoping she would give me the time of day.

We were in love.

"This was absolutely divine," Savannah sings praises, taking a sip of her tea. Everyone begins chiming in with their sentiments, thanking the royal couple for the delicious meal. Yes, they prepared it. I know; I was impressed myself.

Individual conversations continue through dessert and coffee when suddenly, the ring of a phone interrupts us into silence.

"Excuse me," Amalas whispers with the phone against her ear, "I need to take this. It's Josie."

Liam and Riley flash looks of concern at one another. "I hope everything is okay," Riley says softly as she twirls her necklace between her fingers, turning to her husband with a more hushed tone. "Did Ellie text you?"

Liam is already looking at his phone, but he's casually shaking his head, appearing more relaxed than his wife. His gaze catches my curious look as I try to put the pieces together of what's going on this evening.

"Josie–err, Josefine–is out with our Eleanor and Madeleine's daughter Bethany this evening." 

Ah, that's right… Josefine must go by Josie, Amalas’s second daughter, her first daughter with Olivia. Shit, I can’t keep these spawn straight….

"Crisis averted!" Amalas sweeps back into the room, placing her cell into her pocket. "The girls said the restaurant was too crowded, so they're going over to the Vancoeur's for a–" she imitates an American valley girl, "girls' night."

"Vancoeur?" I mutter, turning to Maxwell. "Did he… reproduce, too?" The idea sounded ridiculous. What woman lowered her standards that low to sleep with that bastard?

"Yep," Maxwell responds, "he has a beautiful daughter." He takes an obnoxious sip of his espresso. "You know, Bethany, the girl that's out with Eleanor and Josie."

No. Fucking. Way.

"I thought Beth was Madeleine's kid?"

"It is." Maxwell chuckles as mischief glows in his eyes. "Oh Drakey, you missed it. Maddie and Neville were actually married for about ten years." Pulling a napkin up to his mouth, he lowers his voice. "Rumor has it she was about to lose what was left of her inheritance, slept with that weasel, then faked a pregnancy to get him to propose." He snickers. "I wish I could've been a fly on the wall when her fake pregnancy turned out to be a real pregnancy."

"What the–?"

"Mhrmm," Maxwell bounces his eyebrows, "she claims she had no idea." He stares at me intently before rolling his eyes and gesturing with his hand a dramatically large curve over his stomach. “Agnes, my seamstress–can you believe she’s still working for us? Well, anyway, that woman can work absolute miracles…” He takes another sip of his drink.  He quiets his voice while he averts his eyes, slowly crossing his legs. “There was no hiding that bump.”

I shake my head in disbelief, chuckling under my breath when suddenly, I feel a large hand on my shoulder. I whip around quickly, pulling my body away, when I see–

"Shit, Li–"

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he offers a friendly smile.

I blow away the air I had quickly sucked in, willing my heartbeat to slow down. I guess I'm still a little on edge being here, but fuck, that scared me.

"I thought before you left tonight, we could discuss, um… arrangements. For you."

"Yeah… yeah, of course." Following his lead, we start to make our way to the exit for privacy.

When Liam invited me to Cordonia, he was very specific that he wanted to help me get back on my feet. And I believe him. I know his generosity is genuine; he doesn't have any ulterior motives or some secret vendetta against me from the past. At least I hope he doesn't. But this isn't a vacation for me; part of the deal was I needed to work. I'm not sure if that meant finding temp jobs or something more long-term. 

“Do I smell imported cheap whiskey?”

I stop short of the door.

Fuck me. Leo Rys. Liam’s older brother and notorious international womanizer. The man just turned fifty last year, and it’s like he unlocked a new group of admirers, especially now that he’s sportin’ a little silver around the edges these days. 

He and Liam are complete polar opposites. Apples and oranges. Night and day. If Liam was thoughtful and selfless… well, you get the gist. And clearly by his entrance, I’m discovering that some things never change.

As if his deep bellow wasn’t warning enough, his black leather boots announce his presence as he struts across the polished tile, his arm hooked around his helmet. He slaps his free hand on my shoulder, squeezing it firmly as he obnoxiously sniffs me.

"Cheap whiskey… and… is that a hint of beef jerky and cow patties I'm detecting?"

"Good to see you, too." Jackass. I slap his chest before pushing him off of me. I may have used a little more force than I should've. My bad. 

"Am I late for dinner?" He slaps Liam on the back before walking towards the kitchen.

Liam sighs. "Just… a little–"

"Ahh, don't worry," he stops to kiss Riley on the cheek. "I'll serve myself."

As Leo disappears, Liam and I give each other a knowing look before leaving the room as well.

------

"Trust me, you're going to love what Riley has done with the guest quarters."

Liam and I had a good talk. A really good talk. We didn't have to say it, but it was clear: we missed each other. We missed our camaraderie, the confidence we had in one another. He was the first person I called when Dad died; I was the first person he called when Leo abdicated. We grew up and became men together.

But then Riley Brooks happened… but, I'm guessing you know that by now.

Liam has already a number of jobs for me to sift through, several carefully picked out that would play to my strengths with architecture and construction. But since these jobs were either on the grounds or here locally in the Capitol, he insisted I move into one of the private guest quarters with its own private entrance and balcony.

'You don't need to be making that drive from Ramsford everyday.' He's right. It's quite the journey, not to mention I don't exactly have a vehicle of my own here. So, I'm back in the palace. Ain't life a bitch?

"Now I hope you don't mind all-electric. The gas lines and how they were designed don’t–"

"Beggars can't be choosers, love."

Her words are like ice, the sharp chill making even her husband shudder. 

"Riley–"

"What?" She giggles under her breath. "I was joking." She turns a venomous stare towards me. "Drake knows I'm kidding. Don't you, Drake?"

I clear my throat. "Yeah," I play along, "good one."

"Love?" She slips her hand around Liam's arm, lowering her voice into a whisper. "Bartie Beaumont has requested to speak with you privately."

"Oh!" Liam brightens. "Sure. Of course." He gives me a pleasant nod. "Excuse me, Drake. And, please. Feel free to look around."  He begins to make his way towards the dining area, Riley following in step behind with no acknowledgement to me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I needed a moment to myself anyway.

"Actually," Liam turns on his heel, waving a finger in the air. "On second thought, Love?" He smiles lovingly towards Riley, placing his hands affectionately on her shoulders. "How about you go show Drake the renovations you made?"

Shit.

------

Riley barely spoke two words to me besides pointing to the obvious fixtures and control buttons in the guest suite.

Light... Refrigerator… Bathroom… 

"This, uh, looks really nice," I try to converse, combing my fingers through my hair. "I never thought I'd see the day this room would have a–"

"We don't have to do this." She walks out of the room and into another part of the suite.

Why was she being such a frigid bitch? 

Fuck, I need a smoke.

I take a deep breath, shoving my hands in my pockets as I stroll back out into the hallway of the apartment.

"Is there anything else you needed to see?" She swallows thickly. She tries to remain stoic with a stiff bottom lip. Her jaw ticks… but her glare betrays her as something else brews that I … can’t quite discern.

But then, without warning, Riley's eyes roam down my body, catching on the crotch of my khakis before returning to my face.

Eyes up here, your majesty.

She clears her throat, pretending I didn't just catch her checking me out. "Um, anything else you wanted to see… of the suite, that is? Because, uh, we should probably –" she shuffles backwards, pointing aimlessly behind her, towards the door.

"You go on ahead," I tell her. "I'm gonna check out the balcony if you don't mind."

A heated swirl of rouge ignites on Riley’s cheeks. She nods, turning on her heel quickly without saying a word, and exits the apartment in record time. 

Thank God. I don't know what just happened, but… this is a very interesting turn of events. Does she still have feelings for me?

No. Stop.

Shit. Maybe moving in is a mistake.

I make my way outside, and damn. The view from this balcony is stunning. It actually overlooks the Cordonia countryside, which means less lights from the city and plenty of stars to be seen at night. It's... actually a nice reminder of home.

Taking a seat on the balustrade, I pull out a cigarette and nestle it between my teeth as I search for my lighter. I pat my pockets, both in the back and front of my pants before checking my shirt.

Shit. Can the universe just pass me a fucking bone?

I slump over, resting my elbows on my knees. Holding my hands in front of me, I begin to pick at my calluses as the events of the evening replay like a movie reel in my head.

But suddenly, there's a snick, then a spark; then a single flame is held in front of me. Fishing my cigarette out from behind my ear, I fix it between my lips and lean into the fire. I pull heavily, deeply until the familiar burn touches my anxious nerves, and I blow away my initial puff.

"You know smoking can kill you."

I raise an eyebrow at the deep voice, taking another inhale before blowing it in Leo's face.

"Malaka."

I chuckle at his insult, watching that smug grin pull out his own cigarette to light. He leans against the side of the balcony before hoisting himself up onto the balustrade.

"So," he licks his lips, looking at me inquisitively. "How does it feel to be back in lovely Cordonia?"

I look at him, scrunching my face. Really? That's the best you can do? I look back down, flicking some ash on the ground.

"How does it feel–" he blows smoke over his shoulder, "--being back close to Riley?"

My head shot up.

"Ohhh," he snickers, "that got Walker's attention really fast."

How the fuck does Leo know? How the fuck does Leo know anything? I can feel my heart begin to pound, my eyebrows furrowing in anger.

"Now hold up, Walker," he holds up his hands in defense. "I come in peace. I don't care that you fucked my sister-in-law once upon a time… okay, fine. Maybe just a little–"

"What do you want, Leo?"  I interrupt, irritation baited in my voice.

He looks down fidgeting with his fingers.  When he turns back to me, he has an indiscernible expression on his face, as if a wave of vulnerability is crashing over him.

"I know it can be… challenging, you know? Moving back to Cordonia after a hiatus, and I figured tonight was probably a lot for you."

And now Leo is trying to have a heart-to-heart with me… What the fuck happened to these people while I was gone?

"I thought maybe… you could use a friend."

"Well," I stand up, taking a step away. "Thanks. I appreciate it–"

"I mean it," he holds a hand to his chest. "Say–" he jumps to his feet, sandwiching himself between me and the door. "What are you doing tonight?"

Besides leading the exciting life of letting my nephew drive me back to his parent's house, eating a bag of Doritos in my boxers and getting shit-faced?

"There's a new club opening in town tonight. Tons of people. Who's who. VIP–" 

"Thanks, but–"  I try to shove past him, but he stops me, putting his hands against my chest.

"Six full bars, and–" he wiggles his eyebrows. "Lots… and lots… of fresh Cordonian-grade pussy. How do you like them apples?"

Like I said, some things never change.

"C’mon, Walker… you in?"

~🖤~

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