#painfully neutral painfully dull

[pomefioredove]

Can I make a request for Floyd x reader yuu, where Floyd tries to confess to the reader in every way, even using mer courting methods, but they don't realize that, not that I'm not in love with him, it's just that the reader isn't good at understanding romantic advances? Just a fluffy request :)

this is such a cute prompt!! I got the worst writer's block when I started it, hopefully you're still here anon

summary: floyd confessing to an oblivious reader type of post: headcanons characters: floyd additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is not specified to be yuu author's note: this totally got me to rewatch the little mermaid, I also tried studying eel mating patterns and apparently scientists don't know how eels mate???

the change is... noticeable, to say the least

Floyd has been humming lately, skipping through the dorm, picking flowers and leaving them around the lounge

Jade finds it amusing, Azul is a little annoyed

after all, he's supposed to be working, not sprinkling little pink flowers all over Azul's desk

it becomes painfully obvious to everyone that Floyd has a thing for you

...everyone except you, that is

you suppose the company is nice

you've even gotten used to the way he hovers around you, watching everything you do as if it's the most interesting thing in the world

maybe you've even grown fond of it

after all, there's never a dull moment with Floyd around. he's as interesting and unpredictable as they come

so, you don't even bat an eye when he starts leaving little trinkets around for you

a fork here, a pair of glasses there, a few gadgets and gizmos...

you can't seem to figure out why, so you just call it Floyd being Floyd and don't read too much into it

one day, you get flowers

...although, when you ask Azul, he just grumbles something about Floyd leaving flowers all over the lounge

you're also not sure why everyone keeps giving the two of you odd looks when you're out together

or why Floyd is suddenly so insistent on being near you all the time

you catch him following you more than once

and he'll take any excuse to put his arm around you

your thought process is mostly sure, why not? whilst everyone else is already rolling their eyes at the PDA

if you ever get the hint, you might ask Azul and Jade if they think Floyd is into you

"Into you???" Azul says. "We thought you were already dating!"

[watatsumiis]

Being A Part of the Sumeru Squad!

I've been thinking a lot recently about being a part of the ‘in’ group in Sumeru - the ones shown to be good friends on screen already (Tighnari, Cyno, Al Haitham and Kaveh!) I feel like there's lots of ways one could slot themselves into the dynamic and it's just very pleasant and fun to think about. 

(Rambles below the cut. Platonic stuff, reader is referred to as ‘you’ and is entirely gender neutral) 

Though the squad is almost constantly making playful little jabs at one another, bickering back and forth and whatnot, they're overall a pretty supportive and kind group and accept you into their midst without too much fuss. 

You soon find yourself invited to a myriad of small, casual get-togethers where the group catches up with one another. It's kind of weirdly formal at first, with so many of them holding such high and important statuses. 

Luckily, Kaveh also ends up feeling pretty left out during these discussions, so you'll have someone to chat with or ask questions when you've lost track of the topic at hand. Plus, he's often got some very funny (and surprisingly astute) commentary to add on, even when the subject is painfully dull. 

Once all the politics are out of the way, the conversation tends to ease right up for a little while. Regardless of whether you're at some restaurant or cafe, or just hanging out at someone's house, there's usually snacks available and things will remain super lighthearted for a bit, all jokes and talks of recently released books or occasional infodumps about hyperfixations and special interests. 

On that subject, whenever the stars align and two or more group members have the same special interest or hyperfixation, hoo boy, you can expect them to monopolise the conversation and somehow always drag it back to whatever niche fascinations that they may have accrued lately. 

If you have something you want to talk about, you can rest assured that at least one person in the room will be able to engage. Everybody has their own collection of equally specific and obscure knowledge - with the occasional kind of hilarious overlap. Kaveh and Cyno’s shared fascination with Fontanian machinery, or Tighnari and Al-Haitham’s in-depth discussions of insectoid languages and their potential overlap with human ones are some of the first to come to mind. 

Of course, disagreements do break out every now and then - but everyone is fairly civil for the most part, if a little bit overdramatic and occasionally loud. It's interesting to see how everyone the group tends to take sides almost as soon as a hint of a possible disagreement rears its head. Al-Haitham once questioned Cyno's sense of humour, querying whether it could really be considered comedy if nobody was laughing, and pretty soon, Tighnari and Kaveh were arguing along as passionately as if they'd been personally insulted. 

You tend to be the tiebreaker more often than not - with such an evenly split group, there often tends to be an even balance between whatever arguments. It doesn't help that Al-Haitham likes to break it all down and give pros and cons for both sides (while still keeping his own stance firm), which may make it impossible for you to decide. 

Luckily, it's easy enough for you to guide the group's attention elsewhere. Just offer to make them some hot drinks or ask if someone wants to play a round of Genius Invocation, and it's like the argument never happened at all. 

It's easy to wind up feeling a little out of place in a group of such highly ranking people, but it's like your friends develop a sixth sense for when you're starting to get a little confused or feeling out of your depth. Instead of poking fun at you (like they do for Kaveh), they'll find a way to rope you into the conversation that doesn't put too much pressure on you. Cyno and Tighnari, especially, seem to have a way of relating things to subjects that are in your area of expertise to help you parse them better so you can find your footing and be debating back and forth with the rest of them. 

Game nights tend to get really intense. It's not a case of if someone will flip their lid, it's simply a case of when. Alliances and subsequent betrayals are all too common, and you'll often find yourself being bribed to help someone one-up another person. 

They even have a ‘trophy’ for winning each week's game night. It's a tiny crown, carved out of wood and painted gold. Collei made it and donated it to the group. Whoever possesses the crown also possesses the ultimate bragging rights until the next gaming night (or until they accidentally sit on it and squash it with their big clumsy butt. Kaveh ). 

Though the group is chaotic, noisy, and constantly teasing one another, they're all so supportive of one another and will stick together through thick and thin. As the conversations slow down, sometimes some pretty serious subjects get brought up, heavy venting and other such similar things. 

Though, they're all very understanding if someone isn't in the correct headspace for that sort of talk, and will happily postpone it or talk about it elsewhere if needed. They're also very used to multiple conversations happening at once, so it's easy enough for someone to dodge around the heavy topics if they need to. 

The squad can be almost violently supportive at times. Sometimes you worry that Cyno may be one hundred percent genuine about abusing his status as the General Mahamatra to threaten somebody who mildly inconvenienced you one time in the market last week. 

Overall, the vibes of the friend group are super fun (if a little intense at times). They may not say it directly, but everyone is super glad to have you around, hanging out with them and getting in on all the goofs they make and shaking up their dynamic a little bit.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or copy - pasted into bot or AI technology.

[sturnsiolos0]

Unrequited-Chris Sturniolo

You were no fool.

You knew that beneath the layers of cool charisma and calculated charm, Chris was incapable of true emotions. And yet, despite all of his faults - there was something about him that simply drew you in.

Perhaps it was the fact that apparently, you were the only one so painfully aware of such behaviours that made him all the more tempting to you. It seemed that to everyone else, Chris could do no wrong, but you saw through the lies, this false character he presented himself as.

You often wondered if that made what you were doing with him all the more terrible; Hooking up with him behind closed doors. Maybe it wouldn't seem so terrible if it was not one-sided, or if he was capable of displaying true emotion beside the satisfaction of bestowing dominance over you. It would seem even less terrible if you didn't enjoy what he did.

But how could you not when those nimble fingers would dance across your skin, igniting icy flame in their wake? Or when that smirk would rest perfectly on his face as he watched you writhe beneath him? To love Chris was a conscious sin, and most definitely a sure-fire way to break your own heart, but when he would give just enough to whisper sweet nothings in your ears, you found that you didn't much care about the inevitable fallout.

Especially now, stood before his towering frame. Chris leans against the counter, as proud and casually in command as ever, casting a neutral eye over your naked form in the center of the room.

A table is between you two, hip-high and dark mahogany, polished to a gleam until it reflected the dull lighting of the room. He nods towards it, eyes never leaving yours, and there is no need for you to voice your thoughts aloud as he answers your question.

"Come around. Lay yourself face-down on the table, display yourself to me, baby." He murmurs, voice like honey.

And of course, you obey, bare feet padding against the cool floor as you circle the table, daring to lift your hand and trace your fingertips along the smooth surface edge of the wood, your eyes dropping to follow. Stood in line with Chris, turned to the side, you cast a peek at him from the corner of your eye to see his face before turning to face the table fully. Slowly, as if the silence in the room was seeping into your movements, you lean forwards, closing the distance between you and the lacquered tabletop until the soft flesh of your torso, your breasts, are pressed firmly against the cold wood.

Your cheek rests on the surface, head tilted the side as you gaze absently at the room that surrounds you, your breathing remaining slow in spite of the thrumming of your heart and the mounting anticipation coiling within the pits of your stomach. Everything is cool - the slick table that supports your weight, the air that bites your exposed skin, the fingertips that are now ghosting your spine, leaving a torrent of shudders to rupture in their wake as he traces each vertebrae.

Chris starts low, at the dip in your back before gliding up the arch, sailing between your shoulder blades, before finding the delicate discs of your neck, brushing away the stray strands of hair that tickle your sensitive skin. His touch shifts, adjusting until he's gripping softly, palm pressed against the back of your neck whilst his fingertips rest on one side of your throat and his thumb on the other. He's still, as he usually is, and your breathing grows shallow despite the lack of pressure he applies.

His fingers flex, delicate fingertips digging deeper for a moment and drawing an uncontrollable gasp to slip past your parted lips before retracing their steps to retreat back down your spine.

Chris never kissed you. It was an unspeakable rule between you, that displays of affection were not to be confused with the pure physical desire he showed you, and yet, over the course of whatever it was between you, you had found him to betray his own rules. His touches lingered for longer, explored more of your body, and though he never left you unsatisfied, he seemed - in his own way - to be paying particular attention towards trying to ensure your pleasure.

His touch continues it's descent, tracing the curve of your ass before pausing. Your breath stutters to a halt as anticipation swells, and you steel yourself with a hard bite to your lower lip. Suddenly, fingers delve between your legs, fingertips seeking out your thrumming clit as the heel of his hand grinds against your entrance. Little more than a breathless whimper escapes you as his nimble fingers brush and circle your clit, dragging through your wet folds to tease at your entrance for only a second before his middle finger sinks deep into you, his index finger returning to your clit to draw forth more liquid arousal.

Chris's ring finger joins the other within your pussy after a few thrusts, and when obscene squelches fill the air with each thrust of his fingers, he pulls away. Tongue bitten hard to hold back your protests, your eyes clench tight as you envision the sights that are paired with the sounds emitting from behind you.

The click of a metal belt buckle unfastening, the swift drag of metal teeth as a zipper was undone, the rustle of the material dropping to pool at his feet. One hand rests at your hip, the cold bite of metal from his ring seeping into your hot skin, before the tip of his cock is suddenly brushing up against your slick folds before finding your entrance. You muse that it is perhaps the warmest part of Chris that you've ever felt, but with each velvet inch of his length that slowly fills you, you find it harder and harder to focus on anything else except for the deliciously intense pressure.

His skin grazes the backs of your trembling thighs as Chris buries the rest of his cock deep inside of your pussy, walls clenching and throbbing in earnest as he stretches you until your panting breath fogs the surface of the table. "Jesus Christ," He moans, his jaw slackened and open.

You dare to thrust backwards, grinding hard against his hips, and gain the satisfaction, however temporary, of hearing his grunt of pleasured surprise. Both hands now grip at your hips, a warning, holding you still against the edge of the table, and you fight a losing battle against the smirk painting itself across your flushed face.

"Careful now, you know not to get too ahead of yourself." He grits, before leaning in close, his torso a mere fraction of an inch from brushing your naked back as he breathes in your ear. "Especially when you're beneath me like this."

Chris delivers the first thrust whilst still draped over your frame, reveling in the close-up view of your eyes fluttering shut at the sensation of his cock filling you. He's quick to straighten back up, favouring to tower over you as he begins to settle into his preferred pace; an achingly slow withdrawal of his length to savour the drag of your tight walls, followed by a sharp thrust to the hilt, filling you so entirely and deeply that you could do little more than gasp and moan wantonly.

With each roll of his hips, you found your own twitching to reciprocate, but his grip kept you pinned firmly to the table. Bruises would most certainly form, but you didn't care, the bite of the wood was a tempting contrast of pain to the waves of pleasure he filled you with. Your toes, numb against the cool stone, curl tight, your legs giving out as they spasm uncontrollably.

"Chris-" You whisper, yelping when he delivers a particularly harsh thrust in response. "Please..."

Whether or not he does so in response to your plea, or simply because his pleasure dictated him to, Chris's pace increases, settling on speed over fully withdrawing. He remains buried deep within your throbbing pussy, his pounding becoming borderline-desperate as his length twitches, once, twice, before suddenly his hips stutter to a halt, his entire cock sheathed by your clenching walls as he swells and releases, white-hot fluids filling you.

"Come on baby, it's time for you to let go." He coaxes, voice barely controlled as his cock continues to twitch. His grip dares to slacken, and he reaches between your trembling body and the hard mahogany to find your desperate clit, throbbing for his touch that you so eagerly accept.

His touch draws forth needy mewls and whines, fingertips toying with the swollen bud of nerves, and it only takes a few expert flicks and touches before you're clenching tight around him, pussy spasming as your climax crashes over you like a bolt of lightening. You are only distantly aware of your own moan, high in pitch and awash in euphoria as it echoes through the room, but when you finally come to your senses, it's to Chris's gentle voice and the light caress of the backs of his fingers against your crimson cheek, the heavy stone of his ring like a bite of ice to your heated flesh.

"You did very well, you always do so well."

And, it was in this act, the soft praise and the angelic touches, that you knew the reason why you kept coming back to Chris.

[lovesickeros]

☆ love; heretical and divine

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 0.8k

To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.

To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.

To love a God is to sin.

The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.

But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.

She loves a God like a lover should.

A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.

She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.

No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.

The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.

It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.

For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.

She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.

She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.

But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.

Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.

There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.

To love is to be human, and they are no God.

Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..

She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.

To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.

Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.

An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.

[voxofthevoid]

JJK Teasers: September 2024

Still doing this, though I kinda forgot about it last month after the initial post. Oops. Once again, here are ~200 (unedited) words each from the JJK updates intended for this month.

Ch. 10 of (let me be clear) every version of the story ends with you being slaughtered

“Who’s Suguru?”

Gojou mouth clicks shut; his eyes being hidden doesn’t stop his whole face from radiating shock. Yuuji curls his hand into fists on either side of his body and waits, viciously patient. Yuuji imagined this a lot. These last three weeks, without even a single rambling message to indicate Gojou was still alive, Yuuji has had plenty of time to cook up all sorts of scenarios. What else could he do? The first week, he trained until he passed out, but that kept taking longer and longer and longer, until twenty-four hours passed with Yuuji’s mind still stubbornly online, and he’d wondered, once or twice, if that was Sukuna’s doing somehow, and then he’d somehow started wondering if Gojou was ever going to come back, if Yuuji was going to rot in this gilded cage until he starved and died, and then he’d thankfully passed out on the ground, waking up freezing and miserable the next morning without a cold or even a bruise to show for his stupidity.

After that, he tried to keep his imagination constrained to conversations. Sometimes, he screamed. Sometimes, he apologized. He knew he wouldn’t do either.

When he slept, the dreams were almost a solace. The blood and the bodies were warmer than his bed.

Even Sukuna’s amusement was just dull background noise after a point.

“He…was someone I used to know,” Gojou says finally, the silence only louder for the breaking. “It’s not important.”

Liar, Yuuji doesn’t say.

He asks, “When you fuck me, are you thinking of him?”

Ch. 3 of i can offer you a black-lit paradise

“Taking it slow isn’t always a good thing, Yuuji,” says Gojou. The overlapping fingers on Megumi’s hips turn bruising, making him hiss. “But I guess you wouldn’t know that. Here, I’ll show you.”

“Wait—” is all Megumi manages to say before he’s forced down.

White-hot sensation tears through his body, concentrated pulses of it lashing at his asshole and clawing up and up and up, till he’s choking on a supernova. Gojou’s cock feels like a solid spear of fire, the flesh around it scorched raw.

“—was too much, sensei,” he hears, the voice soft and close. “Are you okay? Fushiguro?”

“M’fine,” Megumi grits out, prying his eyes open only to be immediately assailed by cow-eyed concern. “Stop it.”

Itadori blinks. “Stop what?”

“Stop,” Megumi says carefully, trying to focus past the screaming hurt in his lower half, “looking at me like that.”

Itadori blinks again. “Like…what?”

“Like I’m going to break!” Megumi snaps.

For a moment, Itadori looks taken aback. Then he grins, inexplicably. “That’s just like you, Fushiguro.”

“A bit of dick isn’t going to change who he is.” Gojou’s the one who answers, the words soaked in mirth. “And you should know that very well, Yuuji.”

What the hell does—

Itadori laughs, ducking his head a bit. “I do, I do. Sorry, Fushiguro. Didn’t mean to make you self-conscious.”

Ch. 3 of your resistance, prophetic self-destruction

“You look so miserable, you poor thing,” Gojou murmurs, voice so soft that Yuuji can’t tell whether it’s mockery or sympathy; he wants nothing do to with either. “What do you want from me, Yuuji?”

“I don’t know,” Yuuji lies. But his mouth’s got other ideas, adding in a mortifyingly small voice, “I like you, sensei.”

“Do you?” Gojou asks, tone painfully neutral. “Or do you just want to fuck me?”

Yuuji raises his eyes from the wetly clumped white hair at Gojou’s navel to glare at his face. “What kind of a question is that? Why the hell can’t it be both?”

Gojou just looks unreasonably amused. “Sure, it could be. But at your age, it’s very easy to confuse this”—a tap his chest, right over his heart, and then a hand delving under the water to curl around Yuuji’s limp dick, squeezing once—“with this.”

Yuuji hates his body reacts even to that cruel touch.

“Stop that,” he snaps, curling both hands on the edges of the tub so he won’t do something stupid like try and strangle Gojou. “I’m dumb but not that dumb.”

“Oh, you’re no fool, Itadori Yuuji,” Gojou says, tongue curling softly around the syllables of Yuuji’s full name with a gravity that never fails to fill his spine with molten lead. “But you are very young and full of life—and planning to die that way, aren’t you?”

Yuuji’s whole body goes cold. “What?”

Gojou’s still smiling. “Don’t you want you die, Yuuji?”

Ch.2 of (this is also part of the story) how the story changes

“Gojou-san?” Nanami calls.

Satoru and Yuuji are in perfectly respectable positions, standing close together but with a good foot of space between their bodies, when Nanami and Shouko reach the bottom of the stairs.

They both promptly freeze.

Beside him, Yuuji makes a noise.

“Kento-kun, Shouko-chan,” he practically gasps, “you’ve grown so much.”

Satoru turns to stare incredulously at Yuuji.

He gets his hair yanked and told he’s grown a bit, all with a gently mocking air that no amount of fondness could hide, but these two get—

Well, apparently, they get Yuuji pulling them into a hug they’re too stunned to reciprocate—or resist.

Even with the Six Eyes, Satoru can only barely see Yuuji move. Isn’t that wonderfully terrifying?

Yuuji releases his frozen victims fairly quickly, but only so he can take Nanami by the shoulders. He and Yuuji are nearly the same height—a fact which seems to delight Yuuji.

“You’ve really changed!” Yuuji says, and unless Satoru’s ears are betraying him, that’s pure glee in his voice. “You’re wearing a suit. And your hair. This is adorable.”

Adorable, Satoru mouths to himself.

Shouko’s wide eyes meet his for a fleeting second before she returns to staring at Nanami and Yuuji in evident fascination.

And Nanami—

Nanami looks catatonic.

It’s that blank-eyed stare over a distinct blush that snaps Satoru out of it. “Yuuji, you’re breaking him.”

[chickenlizard13]

No One Else

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Reader (gender neutral)

Word Count: 11810

Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mature +18, Violence

Description: Part 3? Sebastian POV for Catching Up To Do and Too Far Away.

He shouldn’t have accepted this job, no matter how good the payout. Being this close to the castle, to you, was way too risky, and he sat there cursing himself for saying yes. Hogsmeade was bustling, faces both familiar and unfamiliar passing by the dark corner he’d sequestered himself in, hood pulled low over his eyes. He hoped to overhear the location of the poachers’ latest hideout, as there’d been a recent up-tic in their activity around Hogwarts Valley. 

 He’d stopped by a wandering vendor, who informed him of a handsome reward for anyone who could clear the poachers in the Forbidden Forest. The man claimed to have heard rumors of Ashwinders hanging around Hogsmeade. The group prowled the streets, attempting to recruit corruptible souls, and against his better judgment, Sebastian accepted. 

Now here he stood, hidden in the shadows, doing his best to ignore the dull ache sitting in his chest. He didn’t dare look too closely at the students passing by, fearing one of them would be Ominis, or…you. Instead, he kept his head down, standing outside The Hogshead, listening intently through an open window.

 Unfortunately for Sebastian, avoiding eye contact didn’t help much in the end. His ears perking up at a familiar laugh floating by. Before he could stop himself, his head whipped up to look for the source. He swore time stopped as his eyes landed on you, all the air leaving his lungs and his heart squeezing painfully in his chest. 

You looked…Merlin, you were perfect. You strolled along, arm in arm with Poppy and Natty, head thrown back, eyes closed, laughing wildly at something one of the girls said. You looked like a dream, incredibly similar to one he’d had the night prior. Your bright smile shot him in the chest, a heavenly blessing and a wicked curse, the spell you’d cast whispering in his ears to get closer. And he almost listened, his body leaning toward you of its own accord, causing him to lose his balance and stumble forward. 

Sebastian watched you pause, having caught his clumsy movement out of the corner of your eye. He just had enough time to duck down, hiding behind a couple large crates, breath heaving in panic as he prayed you wouldn’t get closer. He heard Natty call for you, and felt you only hesitate a moment before trotting after her. 

Sebastian’s head thunked against the crates, sitting back against them as he replayed your laugh in his head. Covering his eyes with a hand, attempting to burn your image into the back of his eyelids. He never thought he’d see you again, the gaping hole in his chest making him wish he hadn’t, but a smaller, more selfish part, was elated. He missed you so much. Not a day went by where he didn’t long to see you, grateful now that he’d at least gotten a glimpse, no matter the pain it brought. 

After taking a moment to breathe, he slowly stood back up, peeking around the crates to see if you’d gone. When you were nowhere in sight, he slunk around behind the tavern, setting up shop to listen in once more. He was still here on business after all. 

—-------

Sebastian didn’t end up overhearing anything about the poachers in the Forbidden Forest, but he did hear of a small camp near Irondale. Deciding that something was better than nothing, he made his way under the cover of night, hoping to catch the criminals by surprise. He wondered offhandedly if you were still hunting down the vestiges of Rookwood and Ranrok’s forces, or if you’d abandoned that life in your fifth year. 

As it turns out, he’d soon have his answer. 

Sebastian crept silently around the base of the fort, casting Disillusionment to better conceal his presence. He’d just scaled the wooden walls when he heard a commotion coming from below. Peering over the scaffolding, he watched the Ashwinders stand at attention, readying their wands as they yelled at something in the distance. Not something, someone. Sebastian squinted his eyes at the figure, wondering who would be daft enough to approach a hostile poacher camp on their own. 

The figure neared, the torch lights illuminating their face, an irritated look on their features as they marched straight through the Ashwinder’s front door. Sebastian sucked in a sharp breath as he watched you come to a halt, a healthy distance away from the group, crossing your arms as you spoke in an almost bored tone. 

“Look. I’m in a pretty shit mood tonight, so if we could just skip to the part where you all throw your wands on the ground in surrender, it would be much appreciated.” The poachers look at you, and then each other, before bursting into peels of cacophonous laughter. You stood there stoically, waiting for them to calm themselves, growing impatient with each passing moment. 

Sebastian readies his wand as one of the poachers steps forward, preparing to rescue you should things go poorly. He knew you were a brilliant duelist, but there were at least ten to twelve poachers here, far too many for you to take down on your own. The Ashwinder scout wipes his eyes, sneering at you as he speaks. “That’s adorable. What can a little thing like you do all on your own? Why don’t you run along while I-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish. Ancient magic pulsed at the end of your wand, and the man vaporized in a cloud of black dust, ceasing to exist. The poachers immediately stop laughing, all staring in shock at the space their compatriot once occupied. You sighed heavily, planting your feet. “Alright, hard way it is.”  

The poachers raise their wands, and all hell breaks loose. Sebastian, rooted to the spot, watches dumbfounded as you absolutely clean house. Your movements seem almost like a dance, clothing whipping around you as you move, Sebastian finding such beauty in you savagery. You make quick work of the poachers, freeing all the captured beasts before heading back to Hogwarts. 

He watches you take one last look at the camp and the bodies strewn about it, before you quietly walk off into the night, disappearing into the shadows. 

Sebastian hops down from the scaffolding, making his way over to assess the carnage. An unconscious smile slips onto his face as his heart swells with pride, and a severe longing. Seeing you twice in the same day had done something to him. It’d put a hunger in his chest. To see you, talk to you, touch you, be near you. Anything you’d give him, he’d take it, greedily.

The thought stuck in his head for weeks, long after he’d left Hogsmeade, traveling far from you again. The need to be near you ate at him, plaguing his thoughts, haunting his dreams, much more than it had in the past two years. It consumed him completely, until he finally snapped, finding himself sitting in Professor Weasley’s office, making up a story about studying abroad with Anne after their uncle’s untimely death. 

She welcomed him back warmly, informing him that his bed and belongings remained untouched and ready for his return. Thanking her, he left her office, heading not for his dorm, but for the Undercroft instead. He’d have to share a room with Ominis, and Sebastian wasn’t quite ready to face the blonde just yet. He would sleep on one of the Undercroft lounges for a few nights while he figured out a plan. 

—-------

Sebastian was doing his best to avoid running into either you or Ominis, successfully evading you both for the first week of the new school year. He’d caught glimpses of both of you, but didn’t dare stop for too long, lest one of you notice him prematurely. 

That all went out the window when you barreled straight into him in Central Hall, making a mad dash to your next class. On instinct, he’d cast Levioso on your books and papers, preventing them from scattering all over the floor. You were holding your face and apologizing, not yet noticing exactly who you’d run into, and Sebastian stood rooted, feeling a bit dizzy from being so close to you. Finally, you looked up at him, and he could see your brain short circuit. He took the opportunity to scan your face, drinking in the details like you were the first water he’d seen after years in the desert. 

His memory really didn’t do you justice, the youthfulness you’d had in your fifth year melting away to reveal the striking young adult underneath. Sebastian couldn’t stop staring at you, taking in all the changes these two years had brought, eyes fliting down to give the briefest of glances to your lips. He wondered offhandedly what they’d feel like against his, but the thought was forgotten entirely at the first tear drop falling from your lashes. 

You looked at him, eyes wide and unblinking, face shining with heartbreak as you brokenly spoke his name. The sorrowful sound, combined with the wet streaks down your face, were enough to jolt Sebastian out of his private reverie and replace it with a deep shame. This was a mistake. He shouldn’t have come back. Not when you were looking at him like that, openly showing him the damage he’d done. 

Steeling himself, he returned your final book to you before making his escape. He reminded you of your tardiness as he left, not wanting to affect your day any further. He resolved to stay away from you as much as humanly possible, even though his heart screamed not to. 

—-------

Sebastian returned to the Undercroft after his last class, pacing the floor as he contemplated his next course of action. He could leave, go back to being a mercenary, eradicating poachers, doing his best not to think of you. The only problem was the more he thought about running away, the more his chest ached, growing so heavy that he wasn’t sure how he kept standing. 

Sebastian was so caught up in his own head, that he didn’t hear the gate open, or the fast angry steps striding toward him. “You fucking son of a bitch.” 

Whipping around, Sebastian had just enough time to dodge the book being thrown at his head, Ominis snarling in annoyance when it didn't connect. “Where the hell have you been?” 

Sebastian opens his mouth to answer, but ends up dodging Ominis’s fist instead as the blonde continues yelling. “Do you know how worried we were? Do you even care? How dare you. You think you can just waltz back in like the last two years never happened? You’ve got some fucking nerve.” 

There’s no time to say anything in retaliation, Ominis’s fists flying at Sebastian from every angle, surprisingly accurate for a blind man. “I have half a mind to kill you myself. Save you the trouble of abandoning us again.” 

Sebastian grit his teeth, shoving Ominis away from him. “You think it was easy?! You think leaving the two of you was easy?! I left to protect you. I-“

“Save it Sallow! You left because you were scared. Look at you, hiding away in the Undercroft, avoiding sharing a room with me. You-“ 

“OF COURSE I WAS SCARED!” 

Sebastian’s voice cracked, echoing loudly through the large space. Ominis stood, a look of shock painting his face, before scowling again, opening his mouth to spit his frustration at the brunette. Suddenly the Undercroft gates slid open. Both boys turned toward it, panting angrily. Sebastian’s heart sank at the sight of you. You looked defeated, eyes trained on the floor as you shuffled forward. “Ominis, I-I think I saw S-…oh.” 

He wanted to cry. He couldn’t handle the way you were looking at him, either of you. He’d caused this, and he’d only made it worse by returning. Overwhelmed by the crushing pressure in the room, Sebastian did the only thing it seemed he knew how. He ran. 

“We’ll continue this later.” 

Striding forward quickly, he didn’t dare look at you, ignoring the way you turned to follow him, hand reaching out as if to stop his retreat. Ominis demanded he turn around, explain himself to you, but Sebastian was so close to the edge already and couldn’t afford to fall over. 

“I have nothing to say to them.” 

He heard the pained noise ripped from your throat, hands clenching and unclenching, trying to maintain his composure. They ached to hold you, to grasp you and haul you against him. He wanted to whisper apologies into your hair, beg for your forgiveness, tell you he’d rather die than be parted from you again…but he couldn’t. Couldn’t risk breaking your heart any further. You didn’t need him the way he needed you. You could live a happy life, with or without him. 

Sebastian hesitated only a moment, before heading back into the castle, uncertainty settling in his gut. 

—————

Now that he’d been discovered, there was no point concealing himself away in the Undercroft, so Sebastian started spending his nights in his actual bed. He and Ominis weren’t speaking, and the rest of their roommates were too nervous around the two to ask about his sudden appearance. 

Things were tense for a few days, and Sebastian thought they’d stay that way, until he’s being shaken awake one night by a disheveled Ominis, clearly having been startled out of sleep. “Wha-What? What’s- Merlin’s beard wha- Ominis, what’s wrong?”

“I should be asking you that. You were thrashing about in your sleep, mumbling some nonsense.” Ominis stood above him, a comforting hand on his shoulder. Sebastian blinked the sleep out of his eyes, squinting up at Ominis’s concerned face. 

“It was- It was probably just a nightmare. Don’t worry about it. Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.” Sebastian rolled away from the blonde, closing his eyes. 

Ominis stood there awkwardly, shuffling his feet back and forth as he spoke. “Do, um, do you get them…a lot?” 

Sebastian turned to look over his shoulder. “Nightmares? Yeah, I guess, uh, I get them pretty regularly. I’ll-I’ll put a silencing charm on my bed at night so-” 

“No, that’s not- What I mean is-… W-What are they about?” Sebastian stares dumbfounded at Ominis’s nervous twitching. He was clearly worried for Sebastian, and it didn’t seem like he’d give up anytime soon. So, he scooted over, tugging on Ominis’s wrist gently as a signal to sit down. Ominis went hesitantly, but let the curtain fall as he sat cross legged on the opposite end of the bed. 

“Um, well…a lot of them are about...my time away, but…most of them are about the things that happened with my- with Solomon.” Sebastian glanced up at the other boy, gauging his reaction. Ominis furrowed his brow at the mention of Solomon, but nodded his head patiently, waiting for Sebastian to continue. 

So he did, and the two spent the rest of the night talking. Sebastian told him about the places he’d been, and the jobs he’d done, the horrors he’d seen committed at the hands of dark wizards. He told him the reason he’d left, the fear that he’d hurt the both of you the way he’d hurt his uncle, his own blood. Apologies spewed from his mouth, and both boys shed more than a few tears, embracing each other once Sebastian had finished. 

Things weren’t perfect, far from it, and all was not immediately forgiven, but it reopened the door to their friendship. Ominis reminded him that they were family, and no matter what lay ahead, he’d be there. He also urged Sebastian to talk to you, promising that you’d want to, even after the other night. 

He wasn’t convinced, fairly certain you’d sooner put his head on a pike for his mistreatment, than try to make amends. Unsure when he’d even get the chance.

—-------

Fortunately for him, the chance came rather quickly after that. He’d been reading in the library, far away from the other students, when he heard quiet swearing somewhere off in the stacks. Closing his book, he stood up, walking towards the voice that sounded more and more like you the closer he got. 

Turning the corner, he watched you stretch as far as you could, attempting to grab a book just out of your reach. He crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against another bookcase, watching you struggle fondly, wondering where you’d left your wand. You huffed in frustration, and he had to put a hand over his mouth, silencing his laughter as you put a foot on the lowest shelf. His eyes shone with amusement watching your fruitless struggle, and decided to put you out of your misery when you continued climbing the shelves. 

His footsteps were silent as he approached you, reaching up and grabbing the book. You scrambled down, turning to object, assuming someone was taking the book for themselves. Stopping instantly, you both stare at each other, Sebastian finding it incredibly difficult to look away. Your eyes flit from his face to the book in his hands, and then back to his face before speaking. “Um…I need that.” 

Sebastian has to beat back a smile threatening to split his face in two, instinctively wanting to give a sarcastic reply, but controlling himself for the moment. “I know. That’s why I grabbed it.” 

Handing you the book, you take it gingerly, fingers accidentally brushing his. It sends a bolt of electricity through his body, awakening a need to touch you deep in his bones. He’d been so careful to always keep his distance, avoiding physical contact with you, mostly to preserve his own sanity. Sebastian knew he didn’t have any rights to you, and if you were to rebuild your friendship, he couldn’t become greedy. 

You looked at the floor, biting your lip, before thanking him, and making to leave. He notes that you’re careful to avoid touching him as you pass. Even though he knows it’s for the best, he still wishes you would. Merlin, he wants you to touch him so bad. To brush his arm, his hand, anything.

But you don’t, and he watches you take a few steps, before turning around once more. “I’m sorry.” 

Raising an eyebrow at you, he leans his shoulder against the bookshelf again, putting his hands in his pockets to make himself behave. “For what?” 

“For…being weak.  I couldn’t- I couldn’t help Anne, and…and if I were stronger, maybe I could’ve. Then you wouldn’t have had to…go away.” 

Sebastian’s heart sunk. You…blamed yourself? You thought this was your fault? He tried to formulate a response, denying your ludicrous claim, but you kept going. “I understand why you��hate…me, but I just-”

“I don’t hate you.” 

The words were out before he could even fully process what you’d said. Hate you? How could you think he hated you? Quite the contrary actually, he loved you so much it hurt. It often kept him awake at night, missing you, wondering how you were, pondering what could have been if he’d made different choices. How could he ever hate you? 

A sad smile slipped onto your face as you gazed at him longingly. “You don’t have to lie.” 

With that, you strode away from him, shattering his heart with every step you took. 

—————-

It was a long while before Sebastian saw you again. He’d catch glimpses in the halls, watching you giggle with your friends, or scurry between classes. You’d look away quickly if you happened to see him, very obviously pretending to be busy with something or someone else.

You were avoiding him, purposefully acting like he wasn’t there, and it irritated him. He wanted your time, your attention, but he figured that this was his punishment for treating you so poorly. 

Ominis told him to just talk to you, corner you after class or in the library, but he didn’t want you to be more upset with him than you already were, so he let you be. He was going to leave it that way, let you come around on your own, but then he also noticed how much time you spent with a certain red headed Gryffindor. 

Jealousy burned hot in his chest every time he saw you with Weasley, a stabbing pain every time he made you laugh or smile, Sebastian hated it. He wanted you to look at him like that, to laugh at his jokes, to be his. 

He watched you and Garreth heading to the library, arguing playfully, walking so close that your shoulders were practically pressed together the whole way. The last dregs of Sebastian’s will power evaporated, and before he knew it, he’d planted himself directly in your path. 

You didn’t even look up, too engrossed in your conversation with Weasley, and ended up bouncing off him, again. Sebastian could feel your eyes on him, but he kept his gaze focused on the redhead beside you, silently willing him to take a hike.

“I need to talk to you.” 

Sebastian tore his eyes from Garreth and looked at you expectantly. Blinking at him, you furrow your brow in confusion. “I can’t really talk right now. Garreth and I are-” 

Sebastian glared at Garreth, daring him to object. The redhead took a step away, intimidated by the dark look on Sebastian’s face. “You know what, that’s totally ok with me. You, uh, go have that conversation, and I’ll get a head start on the assignment.” 

Sebastian watched him scurry away, eyes narrowed, before turning back to you. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

He crossed his arms, not in anger, but in self restraint. His fingers itch to reach for you, touch any part you’d let him, but there’s no way you would, not like you let Weasley. You looked up at him, a pinched expression on your face.

“Have I?” 

Sebastian scowled at you, eyes narrowing.

“Don’t play coy with me.” 

“Is it really ‘avoiding’ if you don’t want to see me anyway?” 

Sebastian’s heart contracted painfully, the air leaving his lungs completely. “I never said I didn’t want to see you.”

Annoyance painted your features, lips flattening into a thin line. “Your attitude seems to indicate otherwise.” 

He couldn’t help but respond to your irritation with ire of his own. “How would you know anything about my attitude, when you’ve clearly been avoiding me?” 

Sighing, you pinch the bridge of your nose in a familiar gesture, clearly over this conversation. “Sebastian. What- What is it you want? First you’re storming out of the Undercroft, refusing to speak to me, and now you’re upset that I’ve been giving you a wide berth? I’m getting whiplash from the constant back and forth. So what is it?” 

He stays quiet a moment, kicking himself for always acting like this around you. This isn’t what he wanted to say, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to dig himself out of the hole he’d created. Taking a deep breath, he lets his mask slip a bit, hoping you’ll listen. 

“I’m sorry. Ominis and I had a pretty bad argument before you came down that night. I…was feeling emotional, and took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.” 

You folded your arms protectively over your chest, looking down at the ground. “I can understand that. You probably didn’t want to see me anyway so-” 

There’s a pang in his chest, his voice coming out harsh, desperate for you to understand. “Stop saying that.”

Your eyes shoot up to meet his, and he holds your gaze, pleading with you. “I did want to see you. I do want to see you.” 

There was a deep hurt that settled in your eyes. Your voice a quiet, sorrowful demand. “Then why didn’t you?”

Sebastian has to look away. He can’t bear to see that sad expression on your face, knowing he was the cause. Biting his lip, he takes a few deep breaths, trying to get the words out, trying to explain himself. “I-I can’t tell you…right now. Not because- because I don’t want to. I just, need a little bit more time.” 

Breathing uneven, he waits for you to yell at him, cast him off, tell him to leave and never return. Instead, you sigh quietly. “Ok.” 

Sebastian’s shoulders slumped, wanting to cry in relief. Nodding, he keeps his eyes on the floor, not wanting you to see the excitement behind them. “Thank you.” 

You both stood awkwardly, pondering what else there was to say. After a moment, Sebastian glanced up at you through his lashes, scuffing his foot on the floor. “I guess you should, uh, get to Weasley.” 

Your eyes grow wide, suddenly remembering that you were supposed to be studying with the Gryffindor. “Yeah, I guess I should. Um, see you…later?” 

Sebastian’s heart fluttered in his chest. Later. You said he could see you later. Nodding enthusiastically, he gives you a quiet ‘yeah’, bidding you goodbye as you headed toward the library. Sebastian turned, watching you descend the stairs, heart soaring. 

Later.

——————

Sebastian didn’t want to push his luck too much, so he started with greeting you in passing, or giving you small smiles from across the room. When he felt a little braver, he started accompanying you to your classes, chatting idly about schoolwork or the latest gossip. 

He found it more and more difficult to maintain his stoic mask around you, often letting a chuckle escape at something you said. When he did, he could see you bite your lip, trying to stop yourself from smiling. He wished you would. He desperately wanted you to smile at him, and would subtly try to coax one out whenever he could.

Currently, he strolled down the hall towards Defense Against the Dark Arts, excited to see you. Turning the corner, you headed towards him, coming from your previous class. Just as he was about to call out to you, a red streak zipped past him and smacked you directly in the face. You stumble back a step, rubbing your nose, before looking at the offending envelope. He watched as you bent down, a noise of curiosity escaping your lips, before opening the letter. 

Your fingers had just barely lifted the seal, when the envelope flew up, shaping itself into a pair of lips. 

“My sweetest love, not a day passes that I don’t yearn for you-”

Sebastian watches your eyes get wide, a look of panic settling on your pretty face. A dark blush forms on your cheeks as people stop to watch the howler scream its contents at you. A love letter it would seem. 

“-your eyes are like the moon, big and round and beautiful. Your hair, like spider silk, soft and delicate. Your lips-”

You sank to the floor, hiding your mortification behind your hands as you crouched there. Sebastian stands there, dumbstruck, staring at the vile letter spewing its filth. You were clearly upset, embarrassed at how many bore witness to your humiliation. A primal need to protect swelled in his chest, Sebastian dashing to your side and snatching the howler out of the air, crumpling it in his hand before setting it on fire. 

Noticing the screaming had stopped, you peek out from behind your fingers to see Sebastian scowling in rage. “Who, the fuck, sent you this?” 

Sighing, you cover your face again, remaining crouched on the floor. “...Leander…”

Sebastian scoffed above you in disgust. “Prewett? Why?” 

Your voice stays quiet as you shake your head at him. “...I can’t tell you.”

Sebastian clicks his tongue in annoyance. “You’d better tell me, or else I’m hunting him down and kicking his ass now.” 

He made to walk away, ready to beat the daylight out of that cocky prick, when he felt a tug on his robes. Looking down, you’d caught the edge of his clothing in one hand, the other still covering your face from your crouch position. “Get back here, you brute. I’ll tell you, but you can’t laugh.” 

Sebastian obeyed immediately, crossing his arms as he awaited your explanation. Sighing once more, you stand up, removing your hand from your face. You didn’t look at him, instead looking off into the distance, a splash of color sitting high on your cheeks. “I- He- Tsk. I complimented him in our sixth year because he was upset, and…now he thinks we’re courting.” 

“...What.”

You scowled at him, embarrassed that you had to repeat yourself. “A girl he fancied rejected him, and-and he thought that it was because he was too ugly, so I felt bad. I told him he was very handsome and that someone would be lucky to have him one day, and…he thought I was talking about me. So he thinks I’m in love with him.”

Sebastian blinked at you, face carefully neutral. “Are you?”

Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you begin to pace in front of him. “No! I’ve told him so many times that I wasn’t talking about myself, but he just won’t hear it! He thinks I’m too shy, embarrassed by how much I like him. It’s insane! I don’t know how to make it stop.”

Sebastian growled, fists balling as he made to walk away again. “I’ll make it stop.”

“No, you won’t.” You yanked him back again, grabbing the loose fabric between his shoulder blades this time. It sent a shiver down his spine, images of your nails scraping down his bare back flying to the forefront of his mind. He has to take a few steadying breaths before he can turn and face you, praying you won't see the desire clouding his irises. 

“Listen, he’s annoying, but harmless. There’s no need to be getting into any fights, he’ll get it eventually.” 

Sebastian gave you a flat look, voice coming out monotone. “It’s been an entire calendar year, and he still hasn’t gotten it. Let me fix that.” 

Rolling your eyes, you grab the edge of his sleeve, tugging him along to class. “Alright you wild animal, that’s enough out of you, we’re going to be late.” 

Sebastian huffed in irritated defeat. “Fine, but I’m burning every letter I see.”

“And the bouquets.”

“He sends you flowers?!”

“At least once a week.” 

Sebastian grumbles, letting himself be dragged by you, wishing that you’d grabbed his hand instead.

—-------

That was a few weeks ago, and true to his word, he set every letter and flower arrangement on fire, preferably while Leander watched. Leander had kept his distance thus far, but finally grew a pair while you mediated a tense conversation between Sebastian and Garreth. 

“Hello dearest, how are you on this fine day?” 

Sebastian watched you recoil, scooting a step closer to him. He growled, irritated that he now had to deal with two Gryffindors vying for your attention. “Fucking perfect. Get lost, Prewett. They’re not interested.”

Leander scoffed and ignored him, reaching his slimy hand up to touch your cheek. “Anyway my sweet, would you care to join m-“

“No thank you, Leander. As I’ve said several times before, I’m not on the market.” Sebastian’s world came to a screeching halt. What did you mean by that? Had…Were you and Weasley… 

His eyes shot to Garreth, who flinched under his angry gaze. The boy shook his head, eyes flitting between the three of you. Sebastian’s mind was spinning out of control, and he barely heard the rest of the conversation, or that you asked to see him later. Nodding distractedly, he didn’t say goodbye as you dragged Garreth away by the wrist, growing even more envious that you’d freely touch the redhead, and not him.

—————

Sebastian avoided you like the plague the rest of the day and well into the next. He couldn’t handle watching you flirt with Weasley, so resolved to leave you be until he could get his emotions under control. You weren’t his. You had the right to court whomever you wanted, but Sebastian wanted so desperately for that person to be him. He knew he was late, and he’d caused you so much pain, but still he hoped. 

The next time he saw you, you sat in the stands with your friends as he gazed at you from the Quidditch pitch. You waved at Weasley enthusiastically, and the shy smile he returned set Sebastian’s blood on fire. He’d missed the fact that Garreth was actually sending that shy greeting to Poppy, who sat beside you. Sebastian ground his teeth together, determined to absolutely demolish the Gryffindor team. He couldn’t have you? Fine. He’d at the very least have this victory. 

You turned your attention to him, smiling sweetly, mouthing words of encouragement. That smile sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach. You had to stop doing that. How was he supposed to let Weasley court you when you kept looking at him like that? You could be so cruel sometimes. 

Sebastian nodded at you, turning away to focus on the game. Imelda clocked his attitude change immediately, observing the silent interaction between the four of you. A sly smile painted her face, already plotting ways to fix this ridiculous misunderstanding. 

The horn sounded, and they were off. Sebastian did his job beautifully, repeatedly scoring on the Gryffindor team, anger making him play more aggressively than usual. Imelda kept on the Golden Snitch, making sure to keep the other seeker away, performing elaborate aerial maneuvers as interference. 

Imelda could have snatched the snitch at any moment, but she really wanted to wow the crowd, so she waited, trusting Sebastian to keep going, which he did. Imelda held off until Sebastian threw the final quaffle through the Gryffindor goal, timing her capture of the snitch just right, resulting in a double victory. 

The crowd went wild, everyone rushing down onto the field, you included. Perfect. Imelda landed, easily finding Leander Prewett sulking on the side lines. “Prewett, it seems your love has come to console you.” 

Imelda pointed a thumb at you over her shoulder as you scanned the crowd, searching. Leander perked up immediately, making his way over to you, hearts in his eyes. “That’s just like them.” 

Imelda rolled her eyes in disgust as Leander took off towards you. Looking around, she spots Sebastian, sporting a rather cross expression, having been cornered by a group of giggly first years. Imelda strode up to him, waiting until Leander had approached you to tap Sebastian on the shoulder, gesturing to you. “Ridiculous. Does he have no shame? They’re clearly not interested.”

Sebastian cocks his eyebrow at her, following her gaze until it lands on your form, backing away from Leander with an arm stretched out. Sebastian ground his teeth together, a low growl escaping his lips. “I’m gonna rip his fucking head off.”

Without another word, Sebastian began shoving people out of the way, tearing a path towards you. Imelda smiles, patting herself on the back as she walks away. There, that should fix things. 

—————-

Sebastian stormed towards you, physically moving anyone dumb enough to get in his way. He didn’t know where your stupid little boyfriend was, but he wasn’t about to leave you at the mercy of Prewett. Stopping just over your shoulder, he overheard Leander ask where your ‘guard dog’ had run off to.

“He’s right here.” 

You craned your neck to look at him, and he could feel your eyes dart around his face, lingering. Sebastian didn’t dare take his focus off Leander, preparing to beat the ever loving shit out of him, should he touch you. 

He didn’t expect you to spin around and throw your body against his. Sebastian’s brain short circuited, having no idea how to process the sudden full body contact, and then you were whispering in his ear. Telling him how proud you were, how happy he’d made you, and it was over. He was done. He knew he’d do absolutely anything you wanted, just to hear you say those words again. 

Then, you were withdrawing, retracting your arms from around his neck, and he wouldn’t have it. Sebastian’s arms shot around you, clamping them around your body so you couldn’t leave. He shoved his face into your neck, savoring the feel of your soft skin on his cheeks. “Please don’t stop.” 

Apologies were spilling from your lips, you thought he’d be upset that you’d touched him thoughtlessly. On the contrary, he should be the one apologizing to you. The floodgates were open, he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands to himself anymore, he didn’t think he physically could. 

You asked him why, why had he avoided your touch. Before he could think, the words spilled out of his mouth. “I didn’t want to become greedy.” 

Sebastian squeezed you, burying himself as far as he could go. Pleading with you to hold him a bit longer. “I’m sorry. This is…the first hug I’ve gotten in…a long time. Could you just- could you just stay…here, with me?”

And you did. You put your hand in his sweaty hair, and held him as tight as you could, until he was called away by the team. Sebastian took one more second, giving you one last squeeze, before reluctantly parting from you. His hands lingered, relishing the feel of you a moment longer before he wished you goodnight.

—————

Sebastian had lost all self restraint, starved for your touch at every waking moment. Even when he was already pressed against you, it never felt like enough. You didn’t seem like you minded, actually, he thought you enjoyed it, grabbing his elbow or pushing your thigh against his unprompted. 

His head was in the clouds, opening up to you more and more every day. However, there was something in your eyes, a question that was left unanswered. Sebastian knew he had to tell you, knew it was time, he just wasn’t sure when it’d be the right time. 

The right time came as you studied together in the Undercroft, laughing about an unfortunate incident involving Ominis in your sixth year. You’d gotten quiet, withdrawing from him a bit, and he hated it. So, he told you. He told you of his travels, his escapades…his fears, sure that you’d leave, never to speak to him again. 

Instead, you cried. With him. For him. 

You asked his reason for coming back, and he couldn’t give you anything but the truth, trying to convey everything he felt for you in a few short words. “I missed you. So much.”

More tears began pooling in your eyes again, Sebastian’s hand on your face ready to catch them. “Then…When I saw you…why-”

“I was afraid. I didn’t know what to say. You looked like I’d carved your heart out of your chest and ripped it to shreds. I thought that I’d made a mistake…coming back, so I decided you’d be better off without me.” 

Your hand clutched his wrist, eyes wide as you feared he would disappear. Sebastian didn’t think he could, not with the terrified look you gave him. He’d sooner drown then be the reason for that look on your face again.

Matching tears fell from his eyes, his gaze both sorrowful and loving. “...but I couldn’t stay away. I tried to, but every time you looked at me…I couldn’t get enough, and I hated myself for it. I still do.”

A pathetic sound burst from your throat, Sebastian’s thumb automatically collecting the new tears streaming down your face. “If I was a stronger man, I’d let you go, but…I’m not.”

The dam broke on the last of your composure, and he pulled you into his lap, cradling you against his chest, whispering apologies into your skin. 

It was over for Sebastian. You were it for him. There would never be another so long as you walked this earth, and even for an eternity after. He was yours, whether you wanted him or not. 

—-------

“Sebastian!” 

You struggled in Sebastian’s grip as he carried you away from Garreth, uncaring whatever conversation he’d interrupted. He’d seen Weasley take your hands, nervous smile on the boy's lips, and had quite literally stolen you away.

If you still wanted Weasley in the end, fine, he’d find a way to cope, but he’d be damned if he went down without a fight. 

Marching down to the Undercroft with you slung over his shoulder, he kept a tight grip and ignored your complaining. Eventually you settled, your expression annoyed when he finally put you down. 

“What the hell was that?”

You’d crossed your arms, and Sebastian couldn’t help but find your grumpy demeanor adorable. He mirrored your stance, bypassing an explanation and getting straight to the point.

“Go on a date with me.”

You looked at him like he had two heads. Sebastian’s heart pounded in his chest, awaiting your answer nervously.

“...What.”

Huffing, he tightens his arms, attempting to shield his heart from your rejection. “You’d probably prefer someone like Weasley, but I’m throwing my hat in the ring. Go on a date with me.” 

Sebastian could see the whispers of a blush forming on your face, before you furrowed your brows in annoyance. “And this is how you’re asking?” 

What? He’d never done this before, but he was pretty sure this is how it went. How else was he supposed to ask? “How else am I supposed to ask?” 

You rolled your eyes, looking away from him in annoyance. “Whatever. It’s not like there’s even a ring to throw your hat in. It’s you, idiot.” 

Sebastian froze, arms loosening as he stared at you in shock. “But…you told Prewett you were off the market.” 

“Yeah, for him and everyone else. You made sure of that a long time ago, whether you knew it or not.” 

“So…you and Weasley…”

Groaning, you wipe a hand down your face in frustration. “Oh my- Are just friends. He’s actually confessing to Poppy as we speak, which you so rudely interrupted when you decided to act like a barbarian.”

Sebastian takes a step forward, and then another, and another, until he’s just half a step away, staring at you in wonder. There’s something bubbling in his chest, hands itching to touch you. “So…I can have you? Am-Am I allowed to?”

“Oh for the love of-“ Then you were kissing him. Yanking him down to you, to smash your lips together. Sebastian’s heart beat wildly in his chest, head dizzy from trying to keep up with your confession. You pulled away just a bit, holding his tie taught to keep him from going too far. “Get it together, Sallow. You’re embarrassing me.”

All the air had left Sebastian’s lungs when you’d kissed him, now he sucked in a deep breath, an unfamiliar feeling blossoming inside him. It started out small, a quiet rumble, but then quickly grew into loud giddy laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like this, felt like this, but he couldn’t wait anymore. He grabbed your face in both his hands, pulling you close. 

“I fucking love you.”

Sebastian kissed you again, fighting against the joyous grin splitting his face. He couldn’t contain his excitement, peppering quick kisses onto every bit of skin he could reach, dragging you as close as possible, desperately trying to fuse your bodies together. 

Eventually, he couldn’t resist the temptation of your lips any longer, returning to them greedily. “You’re telling me *kiss* I could have *kiss* been kissing you-” He groaned as he kissed you again, his tongue licking your bottom lip insistently. “-this whole time?” 

Sebastian couldn’t stop, already addicted to your taste. A hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back further as his tongue pushed its way into your mouth. 

“Yeah, you’re mmff-*kiss* -fucking late.”

He gave you one last chaste kiss before pulling away, lips still brushing yours, smiling sweetly. “Guess I’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

—————

You were swiftly approaching the end of your time at Hogwarts, Sebastian finally happy after two long years of misery. 

Well, except for right now. Right now he was wildly put out. He stood down the hall from you, watching Garreth causally place a hand on your shoulder as you snickered together. Sebastian hated it, hated the way you just let the redhead touch you, the way you always let him into your space. 

Weasley kept a respectable distance from you when Sebastian was around, but it seemed like that space shrunk significantly when he wasn’t. Anxiety filled his chest. What if you started to prefer spending time with Weasley? The Gryffindor was energetic, fun to be around, easy to talk to. Your face always lit up around him, the envious pit growing in Sebastian’s stomach when the redhead made you laugh. Logically, he knew Garreth and Poppy were courting, but the jealous, irrational part of his brain couldn’t help but over analyse every interaction between the two of you. 

Sebastian was so afraid you’d realize you could do better, deserved more than he could give you, and that fear drove his growing anger as he watched you. Glancing over at him, your smile dropped immediately, silently asking what was wrong. 

Sebastian turned on his heel, walking away as quickly as possible. He wanted to have a proper conversation about this, and right now, he felt he was too volatile to do so. 

He hoped you wouldn’t follow him, somehow sensing he needed some time to calm down, but of course you did, shoving through the crowded halls as fast as possible to keep up. 

He’d made it all the way to The Bell Tower Courtyard, miraculously devoid of any other students, when you finally caught him. You grabbed his wrist gently, forcing him to stop, but he refused to look at you. “Hey, hey, hey. My love, what’s wrong? Where are you going so quickly?” 

Sebastian took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself before speaking. “It’s nothing. Go back to Weasley.”

You take a step towards him, and he flinches away on instinct, feeling a bit like a wild animal backed into a corner. He can feel you stop abruptly, hesitating, but ultimately dropped his wrist, leaving more space between you than there’d been in months. 

“Sebastian wha- what does Garreth have to do with anything? Why are you upset with him?”

Without thinking, he whirls on you, his rage spilling out of his mouth in an angry torrent. “I’m upset with you.” 

Shock sprang to life on your face, a hand covering your heart protectively. He’d never yelled at you like this, and he could see the gears turning in your head as you tried to comprehend his ire. “I’m sorry, my love, I don’t- I don’t understand what-”

“You keep flirting with him! Every time you’re together all you do is smile, and laugh, and let him put his hands on you. And I’m forced to sit there and watch, pretending like it doesn’t bother me, like I don’t want to tear his head off every time he even glances at you.”

“Sebastian, he’s courting Poppy. You know that. Why-”

“You think that matters?!” His voice cracks, letting you hear all the hurt, all the fear he’d been bottling up inside. “You always look so happy when you’re with him. What if- What if you fall in love with him? Or the next Garreth? You don’t think he’d jump on the chance to be with you? You could show anyone a modicum of interest, and they’d fall at your feet. Look at Leander! You gave him an offhanded compliment two years ago and he still tries to send you flowers.”

Sebastian can’t get enough air in his lungs, his thoughts irrational as he continues to berate you with his insecurities. 

“Sebastian, we’re friends. I- Those are normal things for friends to-”

“Bullshit!” 

He watches you flinch at his volume, sees the tears gathering in your eyes, and he wants to stop. Merlin, he wants to stop yelling at you. You didn’t deserve this from him, not after everything he’d put you through, but the wicked voice in the back of his head kept egging him on, convincing him you’d leave. You’d realize a happy sun filled life with Weasley was better than a miserable broken one with him. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, irritated by his aggressive outburst. “What about you, huh? You think I enjoy watching everyone constantly throw themselves all over you? You think I like knowing you’re the whole school’s wet dream? Because you are! All anyone ever talks about is how badly they want to fuck you.” 

Why would you care? How could other people possibly matter to him when all he could think about was you? Every waking minute of his life he thought of you. No one else could hold a candle to how much he loved you. His lips drew back from his teeth, a harsh bite in his words. “I don’t care if I’m their wet dream! I only care that I’m your wet dream!” 

“Don’t even try to be cute right now!”

“I’m not trying to be cute. I’m telling you how I fucking feel!” 

Annoyance clear in your eyes, you sigh in frustration. “Here’s the difference Sebastian, I trust you. I trust that you’re not going to fuck around with anyone else. You apparently don't share the same sentiment. Garreth is my friend, and I will not throw him away just because you don’t trust me. He’s a good person, and he was there for me when-” 

You slammed your lips shut before you could finish, but Sebastian knew. He knew what you were about to say, and he really couldn’t blame you. That didn’t stop the pit from opening up in his stomach, sure that this would be your final straw and you’d leave. He’d hurt you, and you’d forgiven him, and now he was hurting you again.

“When what? Go on. Say it.” 

The tears returned to your eyes, but Sebastian couldn’t see them past the inner turmoil consuming him. “Stop it.” 

He couldn’t stop the wounded, angry words from spilling out, no matter how much he wanted to. “When I wasn’t. That’s what you were going to say, right? That he was there when I wasn’t? Well, I apologize. Please, finish what the two of you started.”

The tears finally spilled over your lashes, jolting Sebastian out of his blind rage. He watched them roll down your cheeks, realizing the damage he’d done, an apology at the tip of his tongue. You didn’t let him get that far, swiftly turning and walking away, leaving him to play catch up.

This wasn’t what he wanted to happen, how he wanted this conversation to go. Sebastian fucked up. He didn’t mean…He didn’t mean any of it, but you were already gone by the time he’d called your name. 

—————

Sebastian tore through the castle, asking everyone and anyone if they’d seen you, not a clue where you’d taken the floo flame to. Night fell by the time he’d searched the entire building, looking in every nook and cranny he saw. He wasn’t even sure if you were still on school grounds at this point, trying to think of places you’d feel safe enough to go outside of Hogwarts. 

Wracking his brain, he was too distracted to hear someone screaming his name, footsteps pounding towards him. A body collided with his and Sebastian barely managed to steady them both, speaking frantically. “Baby, I’m-“

He looked up, expecting to see you, ready to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness. Instead he’s met with Poppy’s wide frightened eyes, her chest heaving from exertion. “Um Po-Poppy what-“ 

“Forbidden F-Forest. You-You have to go.” 

Sebastian furrowed his brows, shaking his head, not understanding. “Forbidden F- Poppy, what’s going on?” 

Poppy started to shake, hands gripping Sebastian’s forearms as tears welled up in her eyes. “We-We found the fighting ring in the-in the f-forest, and-“ 

Poppy sobbed, trying to get her message out as quickly as possible, but unable to swallow her terror. “The poachers s-surprised us. They captured-“ 

More sobs wracked her body, her face hanging towards the ground, fat tears forming puddles underneath her. Sebastian could feel the dread sinking in, panicking as he feared the worst. “Who?! Who did they capture?” 

Poppy wailed your name, turning Sebastian’s blood to ice. She told him where the fighting ring was, explaining that they’d missed a few poachers while they were clearing the camp. She said that you’d been upset, going along to let off some steam, and that you must have been distracted. Sebastian’s heart constricted painfully. This was his fault. You were never this sloppy, and now you could be dead because he couldn’t communicate correctly. 

At that moment, Garreth walked down the hall searching for his girlfriend, calling to her, voice filled with worry. “Poppy wha-“

Sebastian practically threw Poppy at Garreth, breaking into a dead sprint, looking for the nearest door that would bring him outside. Poppy yelled for him to wait, that he couldn’t go alone, but he didn’t hear her. He’d be damned if he wasted even one more second. There’d be no waiting as long as you were in danger. 

Bursting from the castle doors, Sebastian summoned his broom, taking flight immediately and heading in the direction Poppy had given. His hands shook as he pushed his broom as fast as it could go, grateful that you’d introduced him to Albie and his broom upgrades. 

Sebastian got there in less than ten minutes, landing with a large thud, scaring three Ashwinders standing outside. He rose to his full height, glaring menacingly, voice dangerous as he bared his teeth.

“Where are they.”

The poachers swallowed nervously, glancing at each other before brandishing their wands. Sebastian snarled in rage, prowling forward purposefully. “Wrong answer.” 

He let loose on the three poachers, killing them quickly. Slicing the head off one, he set another on fire, and tossed the last straight into a tree, breaking his back. Sebastian assumed there’d be more inside, and he didn’t have time to fuck around, not knowing the condition you were in. 

Sebastian charged inside quickly, savagely ripping through anyone he came into contact with, uncaring if he killed them. Putting themselves between him and you was a dangerous position, and he relished their screams as they dropped one by one. 

He kept going, growing more and more frantic the longer it took to find you. Sebastian combed through every room, coming up empty handed each time, desperation clawing at his throat. He slaughtered his way through the poachers, until there was one left standing, the man’s wand shaking in his grip. Sebastian cast Bombarda, blowing the poacher back, collapsing one side of the arena in the process. 

He stalked forward, following the weak coughs of the half dead poacher through the smoke. The Ashwinder looked up, terror in his eyes as he stared down death, attempting to crawl away from his impending doom. “N-No please, I-“ 

Sebastian grabbed the back of his collar, yanking him back to growl in his ear. “Where. Are. They.” 

The poacher shuddered, eyes wide with fear. “Th-They’re in the ar-arena. Th-Through- Through there.” 

The man pointed through the large opening Sebastian had created in the wall. Sebastian growled, dragging the poacher along behind him as he strode forward, the dust settling as he scanned the large room for any other threats. 

Arm shaking with effort, the man pointed towards you. “T-They’re right ov-ver, over th-there. S-So, so let me g-“ 

Sebastian’s heart stopped, you were kneeling in the dirt, arms suspended above you, face bloodied and the skin he could see severely bruised. There was a high pitched ringing in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear the poachers cries for mercy. He wasn’t in control of his body as he grabbed the man’s jaw, snapping his neck violently, silencing him before he could finish his sentence. He didn’t once take his eyes off you, letting the lifeless body fall as he quickly walked toward you.

Then your neck gave out, head falling weakly to your chest, and Sebastian started sprinting. He slid on his knees, stopping right in front of you to cup your head gently in both hands, pulling your face up to look at him. “No, no, no. Come on, baby. Don’t do this to me. Stay awake. Open those pretty eyes for me.” 

He could see how hard you were trying to do as he asked, but he could also see you rapidly losing that fight. Swearing desperately, he cut your hands free, catching you before you could fall to the floor. Sebastian feels how broken you are, cursing himself for letting this happen. One hand moved the hair out of your face, begging you to stay awake. “Not like this. Don’t you dare leave me like this! Please, sweetheart.” 

You couldn’t leave him. You were supposed to be mad at him. You still had to yell at him for being an ass. How were you supposed to do that if you weren’t here? You couldn’t go. He wouldn’t let you.

Tears fell from his eyes, his sanity slowly vanishing as the seconds passed. You struggled to breathe, the time between breaths becoming longer and longer. Sebastian went out of his mind, frantic to get you back to the castle, but knowing he’d have to hurt you to do it. “Fuck! I’m sorry, baby. I can’t wait anymore. We have to apparate back to the castle. It’s-It’s gonna hurt. I’m so sorry, my love. Please forgive me.” 

Sebastian curled his body around you protectively, knowing it wouldn’t do anything against the pain apparating would bring, but trying nonetheless. His tears hit your skin as he spoke quiet apologies into your temple, praying you’d make it back in time.

Sebastian appeared in the middle of the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, and was swiftly being torn away from you by the nurses there. He let them take you, knowing they could heal you, but fought against them when he realized they wanted to usher him out the door. 

Hysterical tears cascaded down his face as he screamed to stay with you, reaching out for you as they pushed him back. He couldn’t fight against them, grief making his limbs weak, and they eventually shoved him into a separate room where Ominis waited, locking the door behind him. 

Ominis hurried over, grabbing Sebastian’s hands as they tried to force the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges, magic or no. Sebastian looked at Ominis, knees hitting the floor in a heavy thud as he collapsed. He cried into Ominis’s shoulder repeating how this was his fault, that if you died, he’d have been the one that killed you. 

Ominis held him tightly, denying Sebastian’s self hatred as he quietly cried with him, praying for your survival. 

—————

A few days passed, and you woke up. The nurses had tried in vain to keep Sebastian out, but eventually he would break back in, insisting on being there when you woke up. They gave up, telling him not to overwhelm you immediately upon waking. He pushed the next bed over right up against yours, much to their annoyance, but they let him do it. 

Sebastian broke down when you finally opened your eyes, shoving himself against you, hurling apologies into your ear. You held him through it, soothing him with words of forgiveness and love, kissing him when you'd heard enough. 

He kissed you like his life depended on it, pouring all his love and affection into the press of his lips. Over time, a need to have you crept in around the edges. Sebastian hovered over you, wanting more, his hunger for you growing with every kiss. 

You laughed, reminding him that not only were you out in the open Hospital Wing, but were also still recovering. Sebastian huffed in annoyance, but relented, promising to revisit the subject when you felt better. 

Sebastian didn’t think he was very good with words, always fumbling or saying the wrong thing, so he resolved to show his love physically, needing to please you to make up for his recent behavior. He waited patiently, as patiently as he could at least, until you’d gotten the clear from Nurse Blainey. Afterwards, all bets were off.

—————-

You’d reassured Sebastian that you were fine several times after being released. He’d been hovering around you non-stop, fetching you food and carrying your belongings, treating you with care and delicacy. However, once you’d convinced him of your complete recovery, he swiftly scooped you up, practically running to The Room of Requirement. 

“Sebastian! What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” 

He doesn’t answer, too focused on getting you alone. He’d missed you, missed feeling your skin against his, and he’d been so patient while you recovered. Bursting through the door, Sebastian was grateful that he didn’t see Deek, one less obstacle to get through. 

He strode down the hall, heading straight for the master bedroom that waited, the room already knowing what he wanted. Sebastian kicked the door closed behind him before putting you down, backing you up against it, eyes hooded and panting desperately. “Can’t wait anymore.” 

He couldn’t even let you respond, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, pushing himself as close to you as he could. One hand fisted in your hair, tilting your head back to give him better access, the other kneaded your hip, pushing and pulling like he was trying to force his hand through the fabric.  

Sebastian licked into your mouth hungrily, moaning as he scraped your bottom lip with his teeth. Tearing himself away, his other hand came down to grip the fabric at your hip, tugging on it urgently. “Let me have you. Please, baby.” 

Slamming his mouth back onto yours, he kisses you frantically before he hears a desperate ‘please’ escape from your lips. That’s all he needs to begin tearing at your clothes, demanding words finding spaces between kisses. “Off, off, off.” 

Thank Merlin your top had buttons, allowing him to shed your garments without breaking from you, fingers clumsy in his excitement. Once your top was off, Sebastian brought his hands up, cupping your jaw, pressing a few more forceful kisses into your mouth, before dropping to his knees. He got his hands in your waistband yanking your bottoms and undergarments off together, leaving you completely bare before him. 

Sebastian wasted no time, hoisting a leg over his shoulder, eyes never straying from your sex. “Yes baby.” 

He licked a long stripe up your center, eyes rolling into the back of his head at the taste of you. Sebastian licked and sucked like a man starved, which in his mind, he was. Your hands pulled his hair roughly, suffocating him between your thighs. He moaned against you, burrowing closer, refusing to come up for air until you finished. 

Sebastian looked up at you, watching you writhe on his tongue, and he swore he could climax at the sight alone. There were tears in his eyes, lungs screaming for air, head dizzy, but he loved it. He wrapped his lips around you and sucked hard, pulling a wail from your lips as you came, hips stuttering against his face as you felt him moan with you. 

You finally released him, and he pulled himself away just enough to heave air into his lungs. Sebastian watched your hips twitch as you felt his breath across your sensitive spot. The hand in his hair moved to the collar of his shirt, tugging at it weakly. He got the message and stood abruptly, placing your leg on the floor. You leaned against the door heavily, watching him with hooded eyes as he disrobed. Sebastian preened under your gaze, crowding himself against you once more. “You ok?” 

Nodding your head, you stretch up, kissing him again, trying to coax him back into a frenzy. “Are you ok? I’d usually be thrown on the bed by now. Tired already?” 

Sebastian chuckles darkly against your lips, both hands palming your ass as he rubs his hard cock into your stomach. “Well, excuse me for letting you breathe for a moment. I’ll hop to it.” 

With that, Sebastian lifted you up, wrapping both your legs around his waist, shoving his tongue in your mouth as he walked to the bed. He sat down, lifting you slightly so he could steadily lower you on his cock. Panting into your mouth, small whimpers escaped him until you were fully seated. He wrapped both arms around you, keeping you close. “Sorry sweetheart, I can’t-I can’t wait today.” 

Sebastian started rutting his hips up into you, arms clamped tight, forcing you to take whatever he gave. He wanted as much skin contact as possible, and he knew how much you loved when he ground himself into you like this. You mewled above him as he placed wet kisses on your chest, rolling a nipple in his mouth, squeezing every lustful sound he could from those pretty lips. 

He pistoned his cock inside you, making sure to hit every spot you liked, until he couldn’t take it anymore, lifting you slightly to scoot back on the bed. He laid on his back, bringing you with him as he planted his feet on the mattress. Wrapping one arm up your back to keep you close, he used the other to help you stay on his cock as he fucked you in earnest. 

He drank in every delicious sound, savoring every time you called his name. A primal need clawed at his chest, wanting his name to be the only word you remembered. “Oh baby, you feel so- fuck!- you feel so good.” 

Sebastian whimpered as you came again, hips grinding up into you, prolonging your orgasm. He rolled the two of you over, laying you on your side, mirroring your position from the Hospital Wing. 

Sebastian peppered kisses all over your face, hips still pumping in and out of you. You whined at him, complaining about the sensitivity. “My love, it’s-it’s too much. I can-can’t go anymore.” 

Sebastian trailed frantic kisses down your neck, moving to speak directly in your ear. “I know, sweetheart. You’re doing so good. Give me one more. Please? Just one more.” 

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he relished the burn of your nails on his back. He gripped one leg, pulling it over his hip, giving him more room to fuck his cock into you. “Come on, baby. One more. Yes!- That’s it! Oh my-you’re squeezing me so good, sweetheart.” 

Sebastian rutted into you harder, your walls tightening around him so nicely. He could feel your orgasm approaching, you just needed a push. “Please, my love. I wanna cum so bad, but you-oh!- you have to first. Come on. Come on! Yes, yes, yes!” 

Sebastian felt your walls constrict and flutter around him, catapulting him into his own orgasm. He cried your name and bit down hard on your shoulder, causing you to keen in his ear, squeezing him harder. His hips twitched, milking as many spasms from you as possible, whispering praises into your neck. “Yes, baby. So good. You’re so good. I love you so much.” 

Finally his hips stopped, but he didn’t pull out, choosing to just rest there for a moment, purring as he kissed your skin possessively. “My love. Mine. All mine.” 

You could do nothing but lay pliant against him, brain fogged over in post coital bliss, eye fluttering shut in exhaustion.

—————

Sebastian lay there with you for a long time, caressing your bare skin, quietly proclaiming how much he loved you. Eventually you cracked an eye open, pouting about how sore you were. He’d smiled, running his nose along the side of your neck before placing a kiss behind your ear. 

Scooping you up once more, he carried you into the attached bathroom, the claw foot tub already filled with warm water, the steam rolling off the surface invitingly. He stepped in carefully, hissing as the hot water enveloped you both when he sat down. You were laid on his chest, settled between his legs, head tucked into the crook of his neck. He dipped his hands under the surface, letting the water heat them before placing the palms on your back, fingers kneading the skin soothingly. 

Humming in pleasure, he feels you sink into him, one hand resting on his chest as the other circled his waist, holding him lightly. You’re quiet for a moment, deep in thought before whispering to him hesitantly. 

“You know that I love you, right?” 

Sebastian looks down at you, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “Of course, baby.” 

Lifting your head, your anxious eyes meet his confused ones. “I- But do you feel loved?” 

Sebastian sits up a little more, confusion turning to concern. “Sweetheart, wha-“

“It’s just-…I keep thinking about what you said the other day, and… I just can’t help wondering if you don’t feel loved in this relationship. Because you are. Sebastian, I love you so much-“ Tears pooled in your eyes, and Sebastian’s heart broke a little bit at the sight. 

“Sweetheart, I-…I’m sorry for yelling at you like that. It had nothing to do with you. I was battling a lot of my own insecurities and I blamed you, which wasn’t fair.” Sebastian grabbed the hand on his chest gently, tenderly placing a kiss on your wrist, then one on every finger tip, and the last one on your palm. “I know you love me, ok? You remind me every day, and I’m sorry I made you feel otherwise.” 

Sebastian placed your hand back on his chest, holding it there affectionately as the other traced idle circles on your shoulder blade. He let you process his words for a moment, prompting a response from you with a quiet ‘Ok?’. Nodding, you tucked your face in the crook of his neck, relaxing once more. 

Placing a few loving kisses on your temple, Sebastian sighed in contentment, squeezing your wrist teasingly. “Ready for round two?” 

He laughed at your bewildered expression, hugging you tighter against him.

“Round two?! You mean that was only round one?!” 

Laughing some more, he brought a hand up to caress your cheek, moving a stand of hair out of your eyes. “You didn’t really think I’d be satisfied with just that, did you? Come on now, I’ve been so good. Don’t you think you should let me have my fill?” 

Flopping down on top of him again, you let out a resigned sigh. “You beast.” 

Sebastian cradled you in both arms, a happy smile painting his lips, letting you relax a bit longer. “Not my fault. You did this to me, now you have to live with the consequences.” 

“Me?!” 

“I’m ruined. No one else will do.” 

[9leaguesofmirrors]

Death Of a Debt Collector (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

No... the title isn't a metaphor

CONTENT WARNING: Character death, minor descriptions of violence

When Ross opened the door to see a tall, silver-haired man in a black coat standing in front of him instead of his partner, there was no doubt in his mind that it wasn't going to be good news

"I'm not in debt to you, am I?" He asked with a drop of irritance in his tone

There was a strange look in the silver man's eyes, it was steely with an added element to it. Something that looked as though he would rather have been anywhere else - not because he didn't like Ross, but because the situation was painful

"This isn't about debt," the man explained "my name's Glenn, I-"

"Right, yes, you work for Joseph." By now, impatience was colouring Ross' voice "What happened? Did he do something stupid and get fired by his boss?"

"No, um, Mr. Lisgoe... maybe you should sit down-"

"Where's my partner, Glenn?"

Glenn sighed, looking down at the floor, seemingly trying to figure out how to get his words out. When he looked at Ross, his eyes held a feeling of pity

Ross hated the sight of them

"Mr. Lisgoe had to be called out to deal with a difficult target," Glenn said "I don't know what happened, but I got a call from Hammonds and he explained everything."

Ross was was smart enough to start connecting the dots. But he wasn't too worried, Lisgoe got hurt a lot on the job and, although it wasn't a pretty sight, he always bounced back eventually. That resilience, his pure stubbornness, was something Ross had grown to admire and, in his own way, love about him

"So he's in hospital." He said, nodding in understanding, his face neutral "How long will he be in for?"

Once again, that horrible silence

"Hammonds said that the target had a gun."

... No

"And, well he waited until Mr. Lisgoe was leaving."

It didn't... he couldn't have...

"And, well, apparently it did a lot of damage. Mr. Lisgoe had to be rushed off in an ambulance..."

Glenn looked down again, clearly uncomfortable

Not Joseph

"How bad is it?"

More silence. God, Ross couldn't cope with more silence

"Glenn, how bad are his injuries."

"Mr Gaines..." Glenn took a deep breath and faced him with a calm expression "Mr. Lisgoe didn't make it."

"Don't say stupid things like-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gaines, but I thought you should know considering your relationship with him. But he didn't make it. Mr. Lisgoe passed away before he made it to the hospital."

At once, Ross was painfully aware of how chillingly cold the wind was. How lifeless and grey Royston Vasey looked today. The way everything just looked so... dull. As if anything that made it interesting or darkly amusing had been drained from it. Like its light had been forcibly ripped from it

Joseph Nigel Lisgoe, that stubborn man, was gone

No, not "gone". Don't say "gone", why sugar-coat it now? He's dead. Joseph is dead

"I want you to leave." He said, sharply "Now."

"I understand."

As Glenn left, Ross slammed the door shut behind him and headed into the kitchen. What he needed right now was a cup of coffee

Well, he wasn't going to get back what he actually needed right now

Even pouring his coffee, a task which usually signified the end of a long, hard day, was tainted by a gust of heaviness. As if the loss of Joseph manifested in chains and shackles that made everyday movements more of a chore. He didn't want to do anything, he wasn't even sure he wanted his coffee

He made it away, holding it in his hands as he made his way into the living room and sat down. Looking around, he never realised the walls could be so meaningless. What used to be a home was now nothing more than four walls, a roof, a ceiling, and a few pieces of furniture

It was a joint effort, making this place their own. Now it didn't even feel like Ross' anymore

Every single thing in that living room, in that whole house, linked him to a corpse. A corpse that once was a man who knew the best and worst sides of Ross, a man that knew his deepest secrets and what he looked like when he cried. Joseph knew everything about him, and now he'd taken it all to the grave

How ironic?

Ross stared at the murky brown of his coffee - of all days for a cup of coffee to turn out horrible - and felt his stomach churn. Right now, he didn't need coffee. He needed to be out in the air. He needed to shut himself away forever. He needed to pull himself together, he needed to drown in whatever his feeling was

He needed Lisgoe to walk through the door and take a swig out of a wine bottle just because it annoyed Ross to bits

He needed to get into one of those pointless spats they always got into

He needed be get annoyed, ticked off, frustrated by him

He needed the pissy attitude, the foul mouth, the stench of cigarette smoke

He needed to hear the cackling laughter that only he ever managed to catch glimpses of, he needed to feel the press of his lips against the corner of his mouth, he needed to see his tattoos and those dull blue eyes, he needed to hear his distinct voice...

God, it was all so cliché and pathetic, but he just needed Joseph around

With all the logic and intellect he possessed, he couldn't come up with any way to hide it. There was no way to keep his pain and anguish bottled in his stomach

He just wanted his partner back, as much as he hated to admit it, he finally knew what people meant when they said "a part of me died with him"

It was hollow

It was raw

It was exactly why he promised himself to never be so stupid as to give his heart to someone

And, for once, he let his brain take a backseat. And his heart was what ended up hurting

He closed his eyes, leaning back in his seat as he felt himself sink into it, allowing the guilt to loom over him like a storm. Wallowing in pain and shame, cursing himself for ever letting himself get so attached

He was angry at himself

He was angry at the... bastard that shot his partner

Despite everything, he couldn't get mad at Lisgoe

Oh god... he really did love him

And he was too much of a coward to say it

In his grief, in his pain, in his torment, he still found it in himself to admire Joseph's bravery If nothing else, he wanted to hold onto the memory of that, of him, until his hands were red and raw.

He took another look around the room. It was in that moment he realised just how many tiny fragments of Joseph Lisgoe there were. There were little memories attached to so many things, tiny things that brought him right back to the strange, imperfectly perfect life they had

Lisgoe had left behind so much without even realising

That's what eventually made Ross break down his walls

Without even knowing, Lisgoe had given him so much to remember him by. So much that made the pain less stinging

His final act, though he'd have never seen it that way, was one of immense kindness. And that was how Ross chose to remember him

[another-corpo-rat]

Pale Yellow

im throwing this into the wild before it bites me again. enjoy Victoria not being in a Great Place, featuring the darling Kauri who belongs to @pozerjacket ty for letting me steal your lad for this <3

No Pairing Summary: Smasher's dead. Victoria's…coping. Not well, but she's coping.

“Hey-hey ‘Tori! How you doing?”

It’s a familiar enough thing; Stunzer’s voice was always as bright as his mood when he was off-duty – and she was yet to be privy to him not in a good mood. He was one of the rare few who could claw genuine joy out of the shithole that was Night City, a skill she would perhaps envy were she a lesser woman, desperately trapped with no means of leaving the city.

But a lesser woman she was not and she certainly didn’t count herself trapped, not with a first-class ticket booked for London. Trading one shithole for another she supposed but when held against Night City, England’s festering heart was a gleaming pinnacle of opportunity and order.

“Stunzer.” She says, sharp and cold as if she was interrupting someone’s stupidity in a meeting—

And really that didn’t seem far off. She did think him idiotic with that stupid smile and aggressively pleasant mood. Painfully genuine and utterly foolish for it.

But not entirely so. Something flips and that bright smile drops into something more presentable, practiced. Professional. Good. She almost forgot that she kept him around for reasons beyond warming her bed.

“I have a job for you,” and she could do without her voice sounding rough to her own ears; the words rasping against her coarse throat, “no fixers, no middlemen. Meet me on the Ebunike in Northside if you’re interested. Maelstrom shouldn’t give you any trouble.”

She cuts the call before he can speak and wonders why she didn’t just send a text.

.

By all accounts she should be impressed with how quickly he arrives considering he was in Pacifica when she called. Both too fast and not fast enough – a frustrating confliction, riling her annoyance either way. Still, she makes a note to pay for whatever speeding tickets he has as the heavy door slides open, stopping two-thirds across with the distinct cha-thunk of old mechanisms catching.

Unlike Adam, Stunzer doesn’t curse or need to force it the rest of the way. The gap is enough for him to squeeze through without awkwardly contorting himself, something she notes without turning; watching his reflection in the glass.

“You should consider fixing that.” He says in way of greeting, his voice carefully dull now; a lacklustre mimicry of a corpo’s professional neutrality. Maybe he’s mastered it to the untrained ear; to the ratty street-scum and dusty sand-walkers he rubs shoulders with on the daily, but it feels merely passable in this space. Missing that crucial cold edge, that underlying and unspoken threat that’s always there if you cared to look: sewn through words.

He ought to fix that.

“Hardly necessary, I won’t be returning here.” She flicks her eyes from his reflection, focusing instead on the case’s contents. The partial frame of the Dragoon is displayed like a trophy, and likely better cared for than even the most prized. The office is empty now aside from it, and still she’s put it off – like prodding at a loose tooth instead of just yanking the damn thing out.

The thought of leaving it had crossed her mind and twisted her guts in turn, made them churn with a bitter acid that burned her throat on its way up. He had taken meticulous care of it and there’s a…need to continue that. For all that she has left of him.

Stunzer hums, nods to himself as he looks around the space that few were ever privy to. “So, did you fry Maelstrom before or after you called?”

“Not long before. Had a good little laugh to themselves when I asked them to leave.” She sighs softly, but her shoulders still drop with a substantial weight. “I wasn’t for wasting an already…limited patience on them.”

“Uh-huh. Does the big guy want—”

“I’m not one to let the wants of dead men dictate how I conduct my business.”

She thought it would be common knowledge by now, that even Arasaka would struggle to hide the death of one of the city’s few living legends. She was sure there was something on WNS News about it— but either she was mistaken or Stunzer has been under a rock.

The soft breath of ‘shit’ pulls her taut, an unpleasant tension tightens in her chest like a fist curling within her ribcage, squeezing at her heart as she clenches her jaw tight. An ache already blooming. She digs her nails into the palm of her hand, but there’s hardly any relief. No stinging pain. Just a vague sensation of pressure, metal against metal. Of all the times to mourn her natural arms…

His hand rests on her shoulder, heavy, squeezing gently in an effort to comfort. Warm in the way only living flesh can be. She wishes it was his chrome hand instead. At least then she could close her eyes and pretend, just for a second. Just a few precious seconds where the past few weeks were nothing but an elaborate nightmare and it’s Adam’s hand on her shoulder – but his finger span is too small, the press of weight too light. Fucking meat.

In the quiet of the room the shing of her claws is loud, enough of a warning that is well heeded: his hand withdraws. Still she glances over her shoulder, lips pressed tight and eyes flashing with the prime of a daemon until he takes a few steps back along with that. Back to that thin veneer of professionalism; Artees the merc. Maybe when she can stomach company beyond wine and a pair of dogs too affectionate to ignore, she’ll reach out for Kauri the friend again. Maybe.

She rolls her shoulder to shrug off the warmth he left in his wake. Adam had been cold the last time she could hold him. His chill had sunk into her skin, deep enough that her natural bones were beginning to ache. Or maybe that had been from holding him – that heavy husk of metal, so damaged there was nothing salvageable.

So said the technician. There was certainly nothing salvageable left of them.

“And speaking of business,” she nods towards the weapon rack, empty now but for a small box. Black, nondescript. The chip within it is equally basic to the eye, notable only for its pristine condition and lack of corporate branding. “You’re going to find the bastard and chip that into their neural slot. I don’t care how, just get into their neck and keep it out of your own.”

“Doubt finding them is gonna be that simple,” she looks to the reflection once more, watching him cross the room to the box, “if they’ve managed to hide from Arasaka.”

“Arasaka is big, we make too much noise when we move. Disturb the wildlife, so to speak. But you?” She turns to regard him, drags her gaze along his body and hums in approval, “You fit right in.” He presses his lips tight, scrunches them towards the left corner of his mouth and damn him, it’s an effort to keep her own from twitching in response.

“Right…still isn’t gonna make it easy to find them, y’know?”

“I’m well aware. Even with the information Arasaka has, we’d have better luck finding a virgin joytoy on Jig-Jig. It’s why I’ve asked you Kauri, and why I won’t be skimping on your payment either.”

This time he regards her, a little furrow in the centre of his brow as he works through her words, looking for some trap, something spoken but meant differently. And maybe that’s a sign that he knows her too well, or that she was too obvious in the use of his name, but the way his fingers curl around the box is answer enough.  

“And this is?”

“A hell of my design,” and she can’t help the smile now – feels it tear her lips apart and bare her teeth, “just for them.”

[akittyboy]

Another Life (part 2)

Sweet Home FF | Hyunsu x Eunhyuk

Debris crunches under a pair of heavy booths and there's soon a familiar presence at his side, a cool hand on the curve of his tense shoulder. It's Eunhyuk.

.

.

.

Hyunsu is conflicted. He doesn't know whether it's alright to feel relieved, whether it's fair to the old Eunhyuk.

"Give it some time," the alien says that inhabits Eunhyuk's body, easily reading Hyunsu's awkward posture, the indecisiveness that fleets across his face whenever he spends too much time in Eunyu's presence. "We've waited for so long, what's another couple of months, or a few years? Maybe it's for the better. The world is slowly mending, perhaps it will be a safer place to live by then. And once she's ready, we'll help Eunyu learn everything she needs to know."

Hyunsu glances up, messy bangs falling into his dark eyes as he squints in the white sun, wondering whether Eunhyuk can afford to make that kind of promises — whether it's all a lie.

Eunhyuk remains impassive under his scrutinizing stare, thin lips carved into a neutral line and sharp eyes dull even under the gentle rays that splinter above their heads through the paper-thin clouds. 

His smooth face gives nothing away.

Hyunsu swallows thickly, the knot bobbing painfully in his throat, and ends up nodding slowly anyway, not leaving Eunhyuk out of his sight. Because every day when he wakes up, Hyunsu chooses to trust him. Even back then at Green Home apartments, when Hyunsu was nothing but a tool to him, a weapon, a mean to survive, he still trusted him — because it gave his lousy life a purpose. There was suddenly a light at the end of the dark tunnel that he'd been trapped in for such a long time. 

Ironically, the end of the world turned out to be his salvation.

A sharp glint of sunlight stabs at Hyunsu's eyes, forcing him to blink. And in the lost space between two heartbeats the bright day suddenly distorts around him with a blur. He finds himself submerged into a hollow space void of sound and color, a sluggish mass slithering around his body. There's a phantom flutter of warmth against his dry lips, a soft caress along the line of his neck, his jaw. Someone is holding him close, cradling him viciously in their embrace with so much desperation that it hurts, squeezing the air out of his lungs until they're on the verge of bursting like the finest glass.

Hyunsu blinks and the illusion breaks into splinters like shooting stars, leaving him lightheaded and empty. Aching.

He frowns in confusion. It couldn't be the monster — too vague and too fuzzy for a desire dream. Was this his empathy kicking in then? Did he just reach into Eunhyuk's mind with a mere touch? Hyunsu glances warily at the hand still on his shoulder. He wasn't aware that his abilities had an effect on neo humans. Even with people going through the monsterization process, he still had to force his way in to get to the deepest core of their desire. It shouldn't be so easy to catch a glimpse of Eunhyuk's mind.

Of course, if there's even anything distinctly human left inside of him — besides the undying call of those throbbing, womblike cocoons that all neo humans and monsters alike seem to sense like blood on the wind.

Unaware of or plaintively ignoring Hyunsu's muted distress — it certainly wouldn't be the first time — Eunhyuk's mouth quirks faintly into a semblance of a smile at the meager acknowledgement he gets from their exchange. He squeezes Hyunsu's shoulder briefly, almost reassuringly, before dropping his hand away, leaving a burning imprint that lingers on Hyunsu's skin far longer than he would like to admit.

"It's good that Eunyu has you," he states without looking at Hyunsu, letting the words hang heavily in the space between them.

Eunhyuk turns around then, motions sharp and precise as he operates his new body, all long limbs and lean muscle. He stretches his legs out and leans back against the rickety railing that squeaks faintly under the added weight while he settles.

Standing side by side, they silently watch for a few more minutes Eunyu explore this new, precarious world that has emerged just as much from the remaining scrapes of human ingeniousness as human depravity. Her lonesome silhouette is outlined against the brilliant, blue sky as she moves around with practiced ease, gracefully arching her body to the classical notes flooding her ears. The fluidity of her motions is cathartic in a way. She's like a butterfly, exploring the world for the very fist time.

"Was it like this for you too?" Hyunsu asks quietly, breaking the easy silence.

He also wants to ask; At what point do the voices stop and how does it feel to forget everything? But refrains. He's caught glimpses of the stained photo that Eunhyuk stares at sometimes with this empty, soulless gaze, holding it so ever reverently in his hands like something precious. It's both depressing and fascinating, and not wholly unlike Hyunsu, the way he clings to the pitiful dregs of his humanity. Maybe it would help Eunyu recover faster as well, yet Eunhyuk doesn't seem eager to share.

Hyunsu turns his head when the reply doesn't come fast enough, staring curiously at the symmetrical planes of Eunhyuk's profile, his skin almost alabaster-like in the sun.

Like this, stripped of any visible human weakness and without his wire-framed glasses, Eunhyuk seems too artificial, emotionally unattainable, hard to understand despite the logical arguments he voices in his unnervingly even tone. After the bullying incident, the memory of which was now nothing but a sad, little movie playing to a miserable tune inside his head — something from a completely different life — Hyunsu has never truly recovered his social skills either. So, navigating this estranged partnership with Eunhyuk amidst a post-apocalyptic world has truly proven to be a challenge.

If it hadn't been for Eunyu, they surely wouldn't have crossed paths again.

Hyunsu decisively ignores the chill that slithers through his lower stomach at this thought.

"Yes," Eunhyuk replies after too long of a pause, even now finding ways how to annoy Hyunsu, and slips his hands into the front pockets of his rustling jacket, his feeble gaze strained on Eunyu. "Except, I had no one that waited for me, watching over me like this. I think... I crawled back to the cocoon twice or thrice on my bare hands and knees before I regained a sense of self-awareness and could protect myself. After that, it took a while longer for my memories to come back."

For a period of time he was nothing; a leaf in the wind; a maggot crawling in the dark.

And then he was everything.

So much of everything, that it became nothing. Silence.

Hyunsu's eyes widen in alarm at this piece of information, pupils large, but then he frowns immediately, dark brows drawn over his burning gaze. He crowds a little into Eunhyuk's personal space, shoulders and elbows bumping. The knit fabric of his sweater softens the hard lines of his body pressing into Eunhyuk's and then, of course... there's the rich tang of smoke and warm amber that seems to permanently cling to his skin nowadays.

"Eunyu waited for you," Hyunsu insists softly. His voice is serious, more defined in the crisp air. It could've been quite a lovely spring day if not for the stinking misery slinking in their shadows. "Whenever I helped her, she always hoped that it was you, not me. You're the only family she has."

Eunhyuk turns his head, bringing their faces mere inches apart, studying Hyunsu. It's refreshing to see him speak up more, Eunhyuk thinks as the cool breeze tosses his silky hair around, bringing a trail of Hyunsu's scent with it and Eunhyuk tries not to let it sweep him away.

"And you?" He asks into the sliver of space left between them, disregarding Eunyu's plight. "Did you wait for me?"

What's your desire? He wants to ask instead. Why do you think Eunyu doesn't see you as her family?

What is a family, anyway? Eunhyuk and Eunyu are not even real siblings. And yet, they've only ever had each other, no matter how broken their relationship has been throughout the years.

Hyunsu's lips part in bewilderment, his gaze searching as he stares at Eunhyuk but the other one remains expressionless, merely awaiting his reply. Hyunsu licks at his lips then, heart trashing uncontrollably within the too tight confines of his ribcage; like a trapped bird wanting to break free; like a bird slamming straight into a closed window with a noisy splatter. The whispers of the monster inside him grow louder, ripping viciously into his gut only to spill all of his dirty secrets along with his mushy intestines and blood and muscle tissue, cruelly stripping him bare before himself — a pile of loose skin and rancid gunk lying at his feet.

No. He didn't dare to hope. He never thought that he would get so see either of them again. It's too good to be true. Hyunsu is too scared to even question it.

What if it is — a dream?

"I—" Hyunsu articulates helplessly, slowly, mouth moving without a sound while his heart races madly in his throat and then finally, finally he breathes out, "Yes." Eyes wide and dark like the oblivion, seemingly shocked at his own admission.

The monster laughs at him. Liar. Coward. I know what you want.

Eunhyuk nods, shuffling his feet in the dirt as he processes Hyunsu's reply, always rational, always analyzing. Used to filing away his own reaction, crushing it down until there's nothing left. Veering off track and getting far too emotional had meant a sure death once upon a time, before he evolved, rising above fickle humanity.

Staying numb meant that they were all safe, perhaps even now.

"Funny. It didn't seem like it though, with the way you tried to kill me last time. It was quite the reunion, don't you think? Or were you just that happy to see me again and couldn't hold back your excitement?" Eunhyuk supplies in monotone, yet manages to sound patronizing, much like everything he says. "What was it called—? Cute aggression?"

He keeps his face carefully angled away from Hyunsu, but Hyunsu can still glimpse the faint curl of a smirk on his sharp lips. He's being deliberately obtuse. What a bastard.

Ignoring the pinch in his gut, Hyunsu snorts and pushes away from the railing. The voice whispers pure filth into his ear; what he would like to do to Eunhyuk; how he'd like to torture him and rip his limbs apart, one by one, and then bury them all in different places so that he couldn't be reborn from one of those slimy cocoons ever again.

And the truth is, Hyunsu feels annoyed for having been strung along by Eunhyuk's little spiel just now, so he gives in, just a tiny bit.

<< previous part | next part >>

[arcplaysgames]

And the biggest problem I have with P4G...

The main character.

I think the main character of Persona 4 is actively bad. And I think the game paints itself into a corner by making him so fucking boring and non-emotive and non-reactive. He is the opposite of a catalyst in a game that needs forward momentum.

This becomes painfully obvious in the mid-to-late game, around when the entire Namatame thing happens, but it's present for the entire thing. All of the emotional pushes come from other characters. Chie and Yukiko worried about each other, Kanji worried about Naoto, Teddie and Rise driving their arc forward. Because the P4MC can't drive anything everywhere. They are purely reactive in a plot structure that doesn't deal well with reactive protagonists.

(For comparison, see how P3P is structured.)

Yosuke is the real protagonist of P4G. And yes, in universe, I love how this manifests, how you can feel Yosuke taking on more and more responsibility through the game. He takes in Teddie, he leads the team to Namatame, he works with Naoto to solve the case. His anger is one of the primary thrusts of the plot, and if you removed him, the ENTIRE story would fall apart because the MC has nothing.

I am an unabashed stan of FeMC in P3P. I thought she was the perfect balance of a proxy for the player while also having a lot of forward momentum. Also!!! As mentioned in the last post, having the people around her in SEES having their own shit going on frankly alleviates the need for her to carry the whole story!

I appreciate that P4G let me have fun as the MC and gave me some fun chaos options. But the dull void of the MC has bothered me for literally half the game.

Like, compare Yosuke and P4MC with Junpei and FeMC. It's stupid, but I felt real fucking camaraderie with Junpei! I cared about him and I felt like he was my fucking wingman in all things! Which let the game pull that masterful trick when Junpei gets his crisis of self-esteem and turned his back on me for several in-game weeks, I really felt that! But as much as I like Yosuke and P4MC, that exact same plot would not work with Yosuke because P4MC is just not enough of a character to pull it off.

Also, I will be a total asshole for a second. Why the fuck are you only allowed to be a boy in P4? It's actively asinine and if you are gonna make the MC such a blank slate, you can at least give me a blank slate with different fuckign pronouns. Nothing is gained from making P4MC a boy except to reaffirm the idea that Boys Are Default.

In a perfect world, Atlus would make the Persona 6 protagonist gender neutral. Just don't use gendered terms at all! Let the player decide who the fuck they are!

(MAN i am sad thinking about Junpei talking to FeMC like she's One of the Boys. I literally loved that shit so much.)

But yeah, I... did not like the P4MC and as a writer, I can feel the way the story struggles against the void of his existence and presence and how other characters have to compensate for those deficencies. Which becomes even more galling when the game tries to convince me what a cool and excellent guy he is.

SIGHS

Anyway. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my time with P4G despite all my complaints. Persona 3 Portable Girl Route is just the better game.

[caparvisquartet]

figured i could post this here too and have this short story as my first tumblr post, so here you go <3

Zoro is lost. He has an uncanny way to find his path back home.

(A zosan short story)

***

“Who the fuck gave the map to Zoro?!”

Nami roared, half-enraged half-stunned.

She turned to Usopp, recoiling in fear behind the trunk of one of the large trees that made the forest they were currently lost in.

"LONG NOSE! I entrusted you with the map, so don't run off and explain why it ended up in the directionally challenged idiot's hands!"

"Hey!" Zoro protested half-heartedly, at least sheepish enough to not make any additional comment. Nami decided to ignore him anyway.

"Explanation, now!" she barked at the sniper.

"Well, you see, it's funny, really..." he trailed off, looking to the side. Nami heaved a long-suffering sigh and grabbed the straps of his overalls with force.

She wore her sweetest, most threatening smile as she crooned, "what's funny?"

Usopp swallowed painfully, forced to look her in her rage-smoldering eyes.

"I really intended to keep it, Nami," he whined. She only tugged tighter on his clothes.

"But then there was this huge wolf, and I got scared, and Luffy offered to chase it off for me, right?"

Imploring eyes shone to her, but she didn't budge.

"He took the map at some point to shoo the monster away with it, and it didn't process immediately for me because of the fear, okay! And then he ran off, and I don't know what happened, and then we all met again and Luffy ran off again back to Sunny because he was hungry, and I didn't know anymore where the map was and I was too afraid to say anything about it..."

He slumped in her arms, utterly defeated. She didn't even have the strength to send him flying with her climat-tact, too busy being absolutely baffled by his carelessness.

She turned to Zoro, growling.

"Anything to say for yourself?"

The swordsman just glared at her defiantly.

"Luffy gave it to me. Figured I could do the job as well as Usopp."

"SO YOU LOST US BECAUSE YOUR ASS IS NOT EVEN CAPABLE TO READ A MAP???"

"I'm plenty capable!" Zoro barked in return, looking offended like he had absolutely NO business being. "And this shit here is more flaming garbage than it is a map, it's unreadable!"

She let go of Usopp, who fell limp to the forest floor, trembling, and snatched the map from Zoro's extended arm.

The paper was still wet from a jump in the water, probably, and was adorned by multiple sticky fingerprints that she immediately recognized as Luffy's. She turned the map in her hands, eyes going a dull shade of neutral, then looked back to her two companions.

Usopp winced at the sight of her face.

"None of you talk to me anymore," she decided, her grimace by that point as good as burnt into her features.

Taking a few angry steps to distance herself from the two boys, she then brusquely came to a halt when the realization dawned on her.

Lest she had the urge to strangle one of them, she kept her back to them as she growled.

"So. You're telling me that our map with the way back to the others is ruined. And, that we lost our foolish captain, who was the only one who could help us make it back to the Sunny, because he already ran off by himself to the ship?"

She tugged on her hair and heaved a crazed laugh.

"Great. Great! Absolutely tremendous."

Silence stretched out for a little while as she paced on the soft soil of the forest. Then, Zoro yawned and huffed a displeased sound.

"It's supper soon," he stated. "I'm hungry."

Bristling in rage, Nami whirled around and pointed a threatening finger right between his eyes.

"I literally couldn't care less right now."

Zoro just rolled his eyes like he was bored with the whole exchange. "You don't understand. It's supper soon."

"And?"

"And the cook is preparing dinner."

"O...kay? And what do you want me to do about it?"

He pointed to some place behind her.

"It's coming from there."

"Huh?"

She turned around. Saw nothing. On her side, Usopp turned to him in surprise, forgetting his apologetic and fearful muteness.

"How... Wait. You can smell it like Luffy does?? Like you do for booze?"

Zoro simply shrugged, the bastard.

Usopp and Nami both blinked owlishly at him.

"What gluttonish Nakama I have..." she muttered under her breath, then challenged, "How come you're able to smell food from this far?"

"I can't simply do it for any food. It has to be Curly's."

He said, like it was a perfectly fine answer. Their eyes widened even more.

"Haaah...?"

And to make matters even worse, the doofus had the indecency to blush a little.

"I mean, it's not really his food, specifically. It's just, his food smells just like him, you know?"

"NO, I DON'T KNOW!" she all but hysterically cried, and laughed at the same time, because what. The. Fuck.

"Wait, wait, backtrack." Usopp said, confusion etched all over his face. "You're telling us you can use Sanji's smell to navigate yourself around?"

Zoro made a face too guilty for Usopp to be wrong. "I never said anything like that!"

Nami was almost feeling her eyes slowly falling off her head.

"Dear god. You're absolutely hopeless, aren't you? How come you're not dying under the weight of such a humongous crush?"

Then, she turned to Usopp and whispered. "Like, come on, his smell? Ugh, they disgust me."

"I know, they really need to do something about this thing they have going on..."

"You guys finished?" Zoro growled. Nami couldn't really tell if he was beet-red from anger or the shameful revelation. She itched to laugh, suddenly.

The urge was just too great to pass.

"Find your way back to your boyfriend, lover boy," she cackled, tears seeping from the corner of her eyes at the absolute madness that just unfolded in the last couple of minutes.

Zoro gave her the finger.

"NOT my boyfriend, witch."

She just howled in another mighty bout of laughter.

[flurrys-creativity]

Fixer upper

Pairing: Kang Younghyun (Day6) x GN!Reader; Genre: Roommate AU, enemies to lovers, a little angst, romance, fluff; Rating: sfw, pg-15; Warnings: a broken cup, yelling and a fight, clumsy reader, blood, crying and kisses; Wordcount: 1.379

Summary: Younghyun had enough of your clumsy ass. Not that he had something against you being clumsy. But you just leaving your mess behind for him to stumble over drove him up the walls. It was time to confront you.

A/N: This is another written deal for @daemour ! Actually kinda the first deal we made... and yet it’s the third I finished writing.. or is it the third? I don’t know.

Younghyun stood in front of the sink, staring down at the broken cup in it. He sighed deeply and placed his hands on the counter, leaning against it as his head hung low. By now Younghyun had lost count of how many broken things he had found in the shared apartment over the time he lived with you.

“Y/N!” His voice boomed through the apartment. He heard a dull thud and closed his eyes, gritting in annoyance. How could one person be that clumsy?

Startled, you rushed into the kitchen. Your eyes frantically darted around the small room until they landed on Younghyun’s form. “What’s wrong?”

Younghyun turned around and looked at you, a grin playing over his lips when he saw your dishevelled appearance before he resumed the pointed stare. He schooled his expression again, ignoring the flutter in his stomach from your wide eyes. How could you look this adorable when you were such a mess?

Your eyes scanned his face, worried something bad happened while you still waited for his answer.

Younghyun simply pointed at the sink and your eyes followed the movement, noticing the broken cup you had left there.

“Are you hurt?” You quickly rushed over to him and grabbed his hands, turning them around and tracing his palms with your finger. “I noticed it was broken in the cupboard and put it in the sink so neither of us would use it by accident and get hurt.

Younghyun stared at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you throw it out in the first place?” He asked, tone exasperated. He pulled his hands out of yours and stepped away, his heart pounding within his chest.

Your shoulders slumped down, face slightly falling before you returned to a neutral expression again. “It’s your favourite cup”, you murmured and looked down at the cup. “I didn’t want to throw it away and I knew simply taking it would make you mad.”

“I’m mad because I constantly find broken things around the apartment!” Younghyun raised his voice, internally seeing how the thread of his patience snapped.

You grabbed the broken parts within the sink and held them in your hands, looking down at the pieces. “I’m not doing it on purpose. Also I didn’t break your cup this time.”

“This time! Y/N, I swear to god”, Younghyun didn’t finish the sentence, instead he rubbed his face with his hands, feeling incredibly tired all of a sudden.

Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and you could feel your lower lip trembling. Without another word you turned around and stormed out of the kitchen, still holding the broken pieces in your hands.

“Where are you going now?!” Younghyun called after you even though he didn’t expect an answer. His heart twisted painfully, knowing his outburst had hurt you. He never meant to hurt you. With a deep sigh he sat down at the counter and buried his face in his hands. He shouldn’t have yelled, shouldn’t have blamed you for something you didn’t do on purpose.

After a while, Younghyun pushed himself up and trotted to your bedroom. He raised his hand and hesitated, hearing quiet sniffling from inside your room. Younghyun winced but decided to knock on the wooden surface nonetheless, waiting for your response.

All of a sudden it became eerily quiet behind the door, worrying Younghyun even more about the severity of the damage his outburst had done. He knocked again, softly calling out to you. 

The only response he received was the clicking of the lock, making him think you actually locked him out of your room. His hand trembled violently when he moved it to the doorknob, slowly twisting and opening it.

Younghyun exhaled the breath he had held, noticing the short rush of relief spreading through his body when he opened the door and stepped into your room.

You sat on your bed, back facing him. Even though you tried your very best, you knew your shoulders were shaking and that it was only a matter of time before your sobs turned loud again.

“Hey, y/n, about earlier”, Younghyun spoke softly, carefully taking one step after another closer to you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to let it all out on you. That was wrong of me. I guess I just was kind of stress- holy shit! What happened?” 

Younghyun’s eyes widened in shock, quickly stepping right behind you when he noticed the red stains on your sheets. 

When you didn’t react and only continued to press the pieces of the cup together with bloody fingers, Younghyun slowly leaned down, prying your hands off of the shards. 

A loud sob escaped your throat the moment Younghyun pulled the broken cup out of your hands and placed it down on your bed. 

“Hey, it’s alright, okay? You’re going to be okay, yeah?” Younghyun grabbed your wrist with one hand, using his free arm to wrap it around your body. He noticed the tube of liquid glue next to the pieces, feeling his throat close up in guilt.

For a moment he only held you, needing the time to gather his thoughts while you continued to cry silently. Seeing your bloody hands again, Younghyun inhaled deeply before he lifted you up and carried you to the bathroom.

Somewhat clumsy - oh the irony - he sat down together with you on the edge of the bathtub. Younghyun held you tightly against his chest with one arm while he leaned forward and turned on the faucet of the sink. 

“You wanted to repair the cup, didn’t you?” He asked softly as he grabbed your wrists again and pulled them under the warm stream of water. 

You nodded shortly, biting on your lower lip to stop the sobs but they only fought their way through. Through bleary eyes you stared at the sink, seeing the red stained water vanishing down the drain.

“That’s why you didn’t throw it away.”

Again you only nodded. When Younghyun had called you earlier, you had browsed the internet to check how you could repair a cup without sharp edges remaining.

“And out of protest because I got mad, you decided to paint the cup with some blood?”

You snorted and shook your head, slowly gaining control over your crying. “And tears”, you mumbled.

“And tears”, Younghyun repeated, turning off the water and gently drying your hands. He grabbed a small medical kit from under the sink and started bandaging your hands. Once he finished he turned you on his lap, brushing the remnants of your tears away with his thumb. “Let’s just throw the cup away, yeah? I can always choose a new favourite one.”

“We can’t always throw things away when I break them”, you whispered, new tears forming in your eyes. 

Younghyun leaned his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, humming quietly in agreement. “But I also can’t see you getting hurt because you try to repair them every time.”

“I only got hurt because I couldn’t see properly.”

“Y/N, stop arguing with me when I just told you I care about you”, Younghyun sighed but pulled you closer into his embrace nonetheless. “Right now, I don’t know if I want to kiss you or scold you for hurting yourself over something so stupid.”

It stayed quiet for a moment between the both of you where you simply took in the presence of the other.

“Can I pick?” You asked, suddenly feeling shy in front of him.

“Only if you pick a kiss”, Younghyun answered, opening his eyes and leaning back a little. A grin spread over his features when he saw you nodding.

Younghyun closed the space between you, his lips hovering in front of yours. He waited several heartbeats, still offering you the chance to pull away, before he turned the ghost of a touch of your lips into a deep kiss. One of his hands came up to your neck and held you there. 

“Just know, I’m still going to scold you later for giving me a heart attack when I saw all that blood and thought the worst”, Younghyun murmured between kisses.

You whined softly before he stopped you with another kiss, letting you successfully shut up and enjoy the moment.

© all rights reserved

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland​ 

[kkglinka]

I've half a mind to track down and join some avatrice discord just so I can tell them that aikido has no striking techniques of its own, it's often painfully dull to watch, and 95% of all 'throws' are just the initial attacker flipping themselves to neutralize a debilitating jointlock.

[yomogi-mogi-mochi]

Pygmalion (IV)

Pairings: Rook/ (Pygmalion) Reader // Idia/Reader (Platonic)

Summary: You were frequently told that your career as a renowned sculptor did not match your dull and less than colorful personality. With your cybernetic hands, you carve the lives and deaths of those long gone‒ producing pieces which have been held in both technical and emotional high regard, dubbing you with the title “Pygm.AI.lion” despite your human heart and brain. When you accidentally still the usually flamboyant archer into silence after he comes across you working in your atelier‒ you find that you’ve become a victim to one of his ceaseless stalkings. Though, you’ve been prey long enough to know how hunt the huntsman himself.

Notes: I've been reading more of Song of Achilles and I'm sobbing. Help lol

Sorry updates have been slow. I've been working between fics‒ I have an Orpheus inspired Vil fic coming out soon-ish??? We'll see how my creativity is fairing after completing this chapter lmao I can feel myself burning out as we speak. Short chapter but I have big things coming next chapter

Comments and kudos always appreciated ヽ(●´ε｀●)ノ

CW: Hints of depression?? Mention of death. Not really much else except bad French oh my god it’s so so bad

AO3 Link Here.

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 (Here) // Part 5 // Part 6

Masterlist

——————————————————

Grief anchored you to the ground for minutes? Hours? Days? You weren't sure. Your sense of time had been long broken when you separated from the rhythm of human life‒ and you would let yourself rot for however long you wished, knowing‒ painfully‒ that it would not matter how many more centuries you stayed harbored to that misery, as it would just circle back to the same emptiness. But you knew it was long enough to warrant a visit from Idia of all people, who examined your arm with a careful eye.

"Seems fine now. Your Orpheus system is just lagging because you haven't upgraded your physical body in its entirety for a while.” He let your hand go, falling limp into your lap. “I can whip up something quick‒"

"It's fine." You tried to say it as neutrally as you could, but it came out strained and hoarse instead. Porcelain teeth grazed the insides of your mouth, gathering saliva in your mouth to fix the dryness in your throat. "I'll be alright, little flame." You corrected.

"Ortho misses you, you know."

"Is that so?" You clenched your fist, testing its movements. "It'll pass."

Idia pushed a stiff breath past his lips to release his growing frustration. "Hah? Sorry‒ what? 'It'll pass?'"

"Yes, it will."

A violent vermillion licked the tips of his hair. "Be so serious right now (Name)." He stood suddenly to his full height, knocking the wooden stool behind him. "You're finally free and this is what you are now?"

He was nearly three feet taller than your sitting height. It would have shook a bit before to see the difference from his small stature during his childhood, and now at the cusp of his adulthood, but it didn’t now. You challenged him with an empty gaze, cold as splintering ice. "And what am I now?"

"You know what I mean."

“I’m not quite sure. Enlighten me.”

"I know it's not simple.” He began. His chest heaved with desperate, slow breaths‒ you could tell that he wasn’t used to raising his voice. There’s a slight pain that made you squint your eyes. “Ortho reminded me that you need to value your heart, as much of a fault in human programming it is. You taught me that first, you know.” If an answer was expected at that time, you did not give it. “If you keep cornering yourself into what S.T.Y.X tried to make of you, you’ll never actually be free from them.”

There was a familiarity in this conversation that slumbered somewhere in your hazy memories, that prompted you to answer as automatically as the reflexes programmed within your bionic muscles.

“You don’t know me.”

Idia’s sudden strength almost surprised you when he picked you up by the scruff of your collar, face bright from the orange flames that flickered onto his face. "No‒ don't you dare‒"

"I'm not interrupting something, am I?"

The door opens wide, revealing Rook with an amused stare. You were sure you locked it‒ but everything seemed to blur together in your head.

"...No." Idia's hands left your collar, letting you fall solidly onto your chair. You slumped into yourself, turning to your drafting table to keep pretending like you were busy like when Idia had first entered.

"Just…think about it, please?" He says quietly, turning away to leave. You couldn’t bring yourself to nod, or shake your head‒ unsure if who he was talking about was truly the one implanted in your mechanical body. So you merely stared at the bare paper, bent and wrinkled from the several days you had spent laboring over its blankness.

“A spat with the Ignihyde house warden? Now that’s a sight to behold. One could only imagine what you have done to prompt such a response.”

“I was being cruel.” You answered‒ almost a warning, a violence to fend him off. That fire felt seasoned in your throat, perhaps you had someone else’s memories deep down that had spat the same wickedness from it.

Rook tried again. "Critique is not quite the same without you."

You felt your voice echo in the hollowness of your body, ringing in your ears. "Really."

"Yes‒ no one appreciates or loves beauty quite like you do." He shakes his head. "As Le chasseur d'amour‒ I find it simply pitiful that I am unable to be in the presence of your masterful critiques anymore."

"I don’t love beauty‒ they were just my observations."

"Ah but I know it‒ I feel it!" He exclaims, pacing between statues bearing foreign faces. "You love beauty most of all‒ Maître d’Ivoire, is it not what has pushed you for all these centuries?"

You evaded his last statement, turning your face sour at the thought of even contemplating what truly had been dragging you through the centuries. "Knowing and feeling are two different things."

"Oh?"

"Knowledge does not require sacrifice. Feeling does." Something deep was swelling inside you, which plunged your voice into a quicker pace. You weren't sure what it was, but it singed more than the archaic violence in your throat. "Knowledge is obsession‒ there is nothing you just give to obtain it. Feeling‒ however‒ is love, it is giving a precious part of yourself to make room for something, someone, whatever." You stumbled over your sentences, urging you to bite your lip to quiet yourself.

"Hm. Then in that case I do not know which one beauty is for me." His hair sways as he turns towards you again. "This is so like you‒ Maître d’Ivoire. You make me question new possibilities. Tell me‒ what do you think it is for me?"

"Hunter of love, you say?"

"Oh, vous parlez ma langue?"

"I lived in the City of Flowers, I speak a bygone version of it."*

"You're from there?"

“Je viens de nulle part.” I am from no where, you dismissed with a quick tongue. "As a hunter‒ do you truly care if it's love or obsession? I imagine it doesn't matter as long as you're fed."

He thinks. "Hm. I suppose it doesn't. But I would like to think I love it.”

“If you merely think of it then you do not love it. Beauty is but knowledge to you. When you love it‒ you feel it, and let it feel you‒ unravel you, break you if you stay long enough.”

The smile began to falter from his lips. Cruel, you knew it. But you had warned him, hadn’t you? The words didn’t stop from your mouth. “Obsession is young, it takes, it conquers. It is tethered to ephemerality, and therefore is the brightest, the most beautiful. But it devours itself eventually. To love is pain. To love is to prevail beauty, to feel absolute reverence in whatever shape it takes. If in your eyes…” the breath hooked heavily in your chest, reminded of his words, “With my human eyes, that's all I can see”. You started again. “If in your eyes, it is beauty, then so be it. But to love it is to know you'll grieve over and over and over again, for it is a part of your heart." When you talked with him, you felt so sure of your words despite the centuries weighing heavy on your chest. You pierced your gaze into his own, looking far into the lush green of his eyes. “Would you fear that? Lingering and loving a thing enough to know it’s absence, le chasseur d'amour?”

Hunter of love. The title he wore like a crown felt like dust when it touched your lips. Once again, you were blurring the picture of clarity in his mind with a hazy heat, an aching hunger which rolled inside him that urged him to join your hands in breaking beauty, breaking truth. But he remained frozen.

His eyes shook at your words, your unblinking gaze searching for any fear, any grief, anything‒ in hopes that he would pluck it from its own heart and hand them to you‒ fill you with any particle of humanity. If it was him, surely it would feel fresh like the hunger in his eyes. Rook clambered those things in his chest, he felt the roles of the hunt were tipping, fiercely tumbling between animal and human‒ but he felt himself allowing it for once, his grip loosening and his chest swelling euphorically at his flowering palms.

“I am not scared.” He reveals quietly to you, as if whispering a secret. “Just greedy for it. For everything. Maybe it’s not all black and white as you say.”

Too many fruit bore in front of his eyes, and every second he spent inspecting one made another rot. He starved below the base of the fruit tree, paralyzed in choosing which delectable sweetness he could latch his lips onto for eternity. There’s no time, no time, not enough, he seethes.

You saw the quiet fire in his eyes, looking aside in shame. You had no right on the matter‒ you could linger as long as you could‒ you had the choice to leave people first before they hollowed you out with their absence. And even if you stayed, it would be fossilized under the deep pressure of eternity‒ their faces would become unknown to even you, forgotten forever. True death‒ you witnessed it, created it over and over.

Right, this again. Humans did not have this privilege. But you did.

You felt far, impossibly small for these vast things.

“Yes. You’re right.” I am no longer entitled to such things.

“Then how about you? Do you love it?”

“I…” I shouldn’t. I can’t. Not again.“…I have no right on the matter. You shouldn’t listen to me.”

His frown loosened into disappointment. He grips his sensitivities back into his chest once more, quieting his footsteps as a kindness as he walks towards the door. “I see”.

You clumsily clasped his wrist with your gloved hand. “Wait‒” He turns, with wild eyes. “I didn’t mean‒“ What were you doing?

Despite the stillness in his body, you could feel the warmth rumbling through his wrist through your gloves, into you sensors. “Can I show you instead? And‒ you could help me decide?" You felt like a child again, begging for forgiveness, justifying your ignorance to people twice your size. "I don’t know. I truly don’t. I wish I could tell you. I'm sorry."

“...Okay.”

You slid your arm to cup your hand over his. His lips twisted slightly, but allowed you to guide his fingers towards a familiar statue, encrusted with soft, pink wax. You pressed it against where her cheek was, her flushed skin, warmed from the sunlight and life that was fleeting within when you touched her with your bare hand. You felt hers, then his heartbeat jump in your hands.

“Tell me, what does she say to you?”

Rook was silent for a moment. “Can it speak?”

“Her.” You corrected gently, running his hand in across her jaw with the soft force of your own. “Her name…I cannot remember, time is bitter to me right now. But feel her‒ what do you feel from her?” You felt your fingers lingering on his own, before they parted from him, your body falling to a chair.

As he felt the fluttering heartbeat‒ gradually slowing in his hands, a storm of stimulation buzzed inside him. This felt like sweetness leaving his lips, leaving his mouth dry, but honeyed. She feels green with greed, but in the light it shines pink‒ like tender flesh, like love; and blue, like the quiet entropy of the cosmos. Everything felt so raw‒ the colors and his senses fresh to him like a child, or a man nearing death. When the beating burrowed in the wax slowed to a whisper, she felt lighter against his touch. But he still felt her warmth dancing in his palms, leaving a ripple of colors before it turned snowy white in his mind. A frosted fragrance, like pine, smoldering to ash in the fireplace. It reminded him of Christmas nights with his siblings, where distant laughter could be heard in the room over as he drifted into blissful stillness. The warmth felt like a hand in the dark‒ like when his father had guided him through the forest on early winter mornings to see the sun rise. Your love carved into this cold flesh‒ felt so alive, felt like everything, everywhere, all at once.

He felt a swelling in his entire body, every nerve, every cell in his body felt bigger than he was, threatening to burst at his seams. It was the same feeling he had felt when he first encountered this statue‒ a bittersweet fire at his tongue, something writhing under his bones, begging to dig its way out.

The beauty of your craft had been knowledge, something he had merely observed before. But even his exceptionally sharp eyes could not have felt so tenderly, this, that, here, there, all of it. Only when you had led his hand heavy towards fleeting life, a ceaseless thing you had felt in the centuries of your existence‒ had he truly loved the heaven-laden beauty crafted by your hands. You were right. Before, he didn't want to give a single drop of himself‒ seizing your life as a fruitful opportunity, sweet but quick to rot. Now, he felt himself sinking into it, feeling, smelling, and tasting its whole as a part of himself, before he carried that flesh to his mouth to become a part of his mortal blood. Oh gods, it was delicious to eat the world so tender. He could feel himself falling off his bones.

“Do you think that is love? It’s been six hundred years‒“ You gulped the heavy air between those words. “I just know anymore‒ what humanity or beauty or love is. I'm a fraud. I'm no artist. A fraud."

He suddenly understood Idia’s angered response. If you were a fraud what was he? “Maître d’Ivoire. You know better than anyone, those words could not possibly be true.” The muscles behind his eyes tightened from the salt that lurched behind them. He cradled his own thoughts in his chest, guarding it with such tightness he feared he might break them. He let go to reach a hand towards your bare hand‒ feeling the warmth pouring from yours into his bones, softening that hold inside of him even more. When he spoke, he merely traced the words inside of him, spending no time decorating with meticulous distance like he always had.

“It feels like a storm is buzzing inside me. Like the bitter chill of a quiet morning. Like sweetness leaving my lips‒ spacious, but sweetened. She feels green with greed but shines pink in the light‒ like tender flesh, like love; and blue like the quiet entropy of the cosmos.”

“Oh‒“

“Allow me to finish. Everything feel so raw when I touched her‒ I felt like. Child or a man of his deathbed. And when the life stopped‒ it still felt warm, and colorful. It was like cool pine, smoldering to ash in the fireplace. Like Christmas nights with my family, nights where I hear distant auger from the other room while I drifted off to sleep. The warmth felt like my father’s hand in the dark‒ when he guided me through the forest on early winter mornings to see the sunrise.” He sucked in a deep breath to catch his own. “If this is the life and death you have touched others with is not love, I would not want to know it.”

You gave him an owlish stare, unable to give a response to his words. Now, you felt far too close, tethered to your body and its rising warmth that tingled at your cheeks. You brought your fingers to your face to check your temperature. They shook with your twitching blood, unable to register anything other than their tremble. If you had a stomach, you would have heaved it out with your heart at that moment you realized Rook was still holding your bare hand in his own.

“That’s so…” Your hand squeezed his. “…sappy.”

Rook gave you the same look you had a second ago, before bursting out in a fit of laughter. You quickly trailed behind him with your own chuckles, but you don’t let eachother’s hands go. The atelier fills with the lightness of your laughters, the two of you clutching stomachs and throwing your heads back and forth, but you don’t let eachother’s hands go. The weight of that touch grounds the soaring feeling inside of you, hand in hand, sharing that gravity together.

“Not only are you an artist‒ you are a comedian too? Fantastique!”

“Only because I did not know you were such a sap! But I should have guessed‒ le chasseur d'amour.” Your laughter began to die down to chuckles. “It’s been centuries since I’ve laughed like this.”

“I am glad to be the reason you have.”

——————————————————

Notes:

You know, in a perfect world, there would be an English or Japanese to Old French translator. Or I would have some linguistic talent. Unfortunately the transition from Roman Vulgar Latin (the dialect of Classic Latin spoken in the Western Roman Empire) to French is so fucking convoluted because Charlemagne tasked an English who didn’t even speak a lick of Latin (or any Romance languages) to “French-ify” it by making all of the spelling literal from the pronouciation of the Latin word. Also French has a bunch of other influences like Celtic languages (Gaulish‒ because oh yeah, the Roman Empire was big but so were the Goths) and others because after the Roman Empire fell, things were a little bit chaotic until countries began to differentiate themselves by the Middle Ages were Middle French emerged as a closer relative to contemporary French.

If it’s one thing I can’t do it’s languages. I can barely speak my native language (Japanese) or my second language (English), and sometimes I’m illiterate like genuinely I look at my writing sometimes and I’m like ….What? I’m sure you all share similar sentiments about my writing sometimes lol. But sorry for the historical accuracy this time. My academic Achilles heel consists of non-applicable math and sciences, and linguistics.

Fruit tree analogy stolen from The Bell Jar lol I love Sylvia Plath

Sorry this was kind of short. But I have something bigger planned for the next chapter

[scribblyspaceskeleton]

Hey, do you mind if I ask about your synesthesia? I'd love to hear more about your particular perception of the world

Of course!

I hope you don't mind the absolute wall of text you've just unleashed from this very hyperlexic individual.

I've got quite a few types of synesthesia, just about all of them are color related. All of these things are perceived as color:

-Sound (pitch, timbre, key signature, they *all* play into this)

By far my absolute favorite form of synesthesia that I have, period. Pitch, key signature, timbre, the raw sound itself vs what it would look like if I were to play it myself-- all of these things interplay together in a complicated mess that's impossible to replicate perfectly.

I can see even really small differences in pitch, and they do matter- if someone does something like fuck with me and change the base tuning of my keyboard from 440 to 420, I am immediately going to notice.

Taking a G-sharp note from standard tuning and bumping it up just a few hz produces the same difference as that between Prussian Blue and Cobalt. It is that noticeable and drastic.

I also can see each individual harmonic in any given note or sound- they are all automatically separated by my brain like a prism breaks apart light into different frequencies. I've been annoyed in the past when the harmonics from the bass in a song clash with the melody. It's just as plainly obvious as if someone put neon green and magenta together.

As an aside, conflicting songs playing at the same time tastes like if you left water sitting on the nightstand for too long and now it's acidic and gross. Yuck.

This could be sensory heaven or sensory hell based on context. It's so easy for me to get overstimulated by sound, but music is my favorite thing in the world and I will seek it out whenever I can.

-Graphemes (numbers, letters, etc)

My alphabet is a rainbow. Every single letter has its own unique color, and it's projected into 3d space onto the actual letters, numbers, and other symbols I know of themselves.

For example, A is red, and whenever I see the letter A on my screen, it looks tinted ever so slightly red. It's so slight as to be barely perceptible, but it's there in my mind's eye and I can see it.

-Morphemes (whole words in my case)

Not only do individual letters have colors, but a whole word might have its own color that overwhelms all of the others. The word orangutan starts with O, which makes it off-white, even though it contains a bunch of browns, reds, purples, and oranges in the rest of the letters, the word itself is white.

-Languages

Languages are color-coded, too. Spanish is mostly green with red and purple mixed in, Dutch is cyan and silver, French is golden yellow-orange, English is the most boring dull off-white you can imagine.

-Touch

Pretty self-explanatory, I see physical sensations as color. The ache of my shoulders and my arms in this uncomfortable position I'm currently refusing to move out of is... Red, deep muddy blue, gray, silver, orange etc on a black background

Goosebumps are like silvery white static that spreads throughout my body.

-Temperature

Pretty simple. Colder temperatures are lighter gray, warmer temperatures are darker gray, until it starts getting painfully hot and red and yellow and silver get added to the mix.

I love hot showers, they're perfectly dark and comfortable.

-Smell

I see smell as color. Those cinnamon scented pinecones that people bring out every November look like crinkled metallic violet.

-Taste

Most tastes are some kind of gray or neutral colors, but strong fruity tastes like lemons or strawberries are some shade of electric blue. Cinnamon is fuchsia, vanilla is pale cyan, and chocolate is a beautiful assortment of shades of purple.

-People's personalities (people are each assigned a unique color set that's a mix of their personality and the colors from their name)

-Emotions, both my own and other people's

This one is also overwhelming. Just because I can see/perceive an emotion, doesn't mean I know it's coming from me or another person, or what it means, or what to do about it. I think it's linked to mirror-touch synesthesia, which I do also have (and it's why I can't watch gory horror films!).

-Different states of the US

For these, I feel like I'm physically *inside* the color and it's surrounding me everywhere I go within the state in question.

California is a strong yellow color, New Jersey is olive green, Ohio is white, Pennsylvania is very bright and silver, Washington State is a deep veridian, New York is burgundy.

-The different months of the year

January is black and white, February is gray-purple, March is greenish gray, April is fuchsia, May is blue, June is orangey, July is brown, August is a strange shade of gray, September is golden, October is black and white and a bit of red, November is gray and dark, December is also black and white but in a different way.

Aside- I see time on a physical diagonal line of spaces inside my head- the future extends up and away to the right, the past extends down and back and to the left. The past from before I was born is really dark and murky and hard to make out, my lifetime is a brighter mix of silver and white, the future cuts off at a certain point and there's no way to look beyond that, which I think is how I think about my own mortality.

-My fingers

Starting at thumb: Gray-red-blue-pinkish-orange. I don't like nail polish for long because the colors are Wrong. I'm considering getting them done in my own palette and seeing how that works.

-Silverware, of all things

Spoons are yellow, forks are either green or pinkish based on how many tines they have, knives are gray.

---

That's the majority of what's happening in my head, 85% of it links back to color in some way.

Other, non-color-related types:

-Hearing movement

-Sound-movement (this is an odd one to try to explain, it's like I hear a sound and I just feel like I just should move a certain way. It's not like dancing or anything voluntary, it's like a specific sound makes me widen my eyes etc)

-Sound-touch (I feel music on my face, inside my mouth, on my eyelids, and the BEST songs are the ones I can feel (and SEE) in my chest. I don't mean like turning up the volume on a big speaker and feeling the vibrations in the air, I can feel this while wearing headphones.)

-Smelling/tasting some music (HOME Resonance smells like artificial cherry flavor)

-Hearing colors and shapes

-Numbers don't have personalities, but they each have a vibe to them. 5 is optimal and calm. 3 is warm and positive.

-Hearing the texture of different people's art styles (Vincent van Gogh had this one! I feel lucky I have this in common with him)

-Hearing my own thoughts as abstract sound

-Glitchy, misspelled ticker tape in my mind's eye (spelling "babe" as "baab" for instance)

-Lots of random stuff like how looking at a car's wheels makes me feel like there's something in my mouth and I need to bite down

----

This is a pretty exhaustive list, I might come back to it and add more as I think of them.

[wyrmguardsecrets]

IDK what it is with Orc RPers being either the worst people imaginable, or being so painfully dull. There's better ways to RP your orc than riding the old horde dick or conveniently moving past the Horde as an idea and being neutral. There's gotta be a middleground between Genocidal Maniac and John Lok'tar the Orc Warrior right?

.