#they are both so stupid and i love them so much

[nezuscribe]

hmmm thinking about being in love with gojo satoru ever since you were children.

so undeniably and uncouthly in love with him that it was a wonder he never found out. that nobody really found out, for that matter.

you met on the playground, after you fell off the monkey bars and he helped pick you up. it’s been you, him and the little boy he introduced a few days later, geto, since then.

you love the way he smiles, the way his lips crinkle up in a sort of smug pout whenever somebody has the honor of making him laugh. you love the way he brings you food even when you don’t ask for it, love the way he makes you giggle by telling stupid stories. you’re in love with his eyes and pink cheeks. you love everything about him and everything you don’t know about him.

which is why it makes it so much harder when you find out he’s in love with somebody else.

you introduced your trio to a friend you made in college your freshman year, suki. she was in your political ideologies class and you really found yourself liking her and thought the guys would like her too.

if only you knew how much.

you knew it from the moment gojo saw her that he fell head over heels. you couldn’t blame him, suki was the epitome of perfection. she was so smart and kind, and her beauty was one that made heads turn. you weren’t jealous of her, never, but a longing and angst filled your chest when you realized that the boy you’d been in love with for fourteen years was never really yours.

so as college continued and your group continued to expand, you decided to put it on hold. it really would’ve been fine, you would’ve been fine if not for a simple drunken error one night.

you found yourself giggling with suki, explaining to her all about your childhood crush on one of the boys and she drunkenly giggled back saying how much she finds them utterly annoying.

to your horror, gojo overheard, but perhaps even worse misconstrued your words entirely.

he pulled you aside after that, a plan already devised as he hushed you and your clammy palms down.

“i heard what you said to suki,” he explained hurriedly, your eyes wide as saucers as he continued quickly, “you’ve got a thing for geto, right?”

you swallow.

a friend. he thinks the friend you’re in love with is geto.

you look at him, but he takes that as a silent agreement.

“you know i want suki, i know you want geto. i have a brilliant idea that will help us both out.” his smile is radiant, you wish it wasn’t.

“…what?” your mouth is so dry you feel like if a match were tricked on your tongue it would start a fire.

“we pretend we’re dating!” gojo exclaimed like it was the most obvious thing.

you felt your heart drop.

“we make them so jealous of us that they try to get what we have,” his blue eyes were shimmering with joy while yours were shinning with tears, “and when they do, we’ll split apart and reap the soils!”

you blink.

“deal?” he asks, face brimming with an expression you’d never seen before. you try not to let his hold on your arms sway your judgement, or his idea tempt you into anything you know you’d regret, but there’s no use.

you’ve never been good at controlling your heart from influencing your brain.

you nod slowly, licking your chapped lips.

“deal.”

[all-with-angel]

"𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭?"

Summary: In which he says No to you buying something, but it backfires badly (request!)

Including: Gojo, Geto, Nanami, Toji, Sukuna

Content: crack, hurt/comfort, gn!reader

w.c. 500ish each || Masterlist || MDNI.

“Could we get that?”

He followed your gaze, eyes skimming the display before flicking back to you. And then he did something you should've expected.

He shrugged. “Nah.”

Your heart stuttered. “Oh,” you said, blinking once. “Okay. Sorry.” You dropped his hand before continuing to walk forward, not once looking back at display or him, for that matter, as both guilt and shame built up in your chest.

❥ SATORU GOJO

The moment he realized you were actually upset over it, he felt his heart drop out of his ass. He stood there, dumbfounded as he stared at your retreating figure that slumped slightly forward. The sight reminded him of something that he swore would never let happen again- No, he won’t get left behind again.

He raced over to your side. “No, wait- baby, wait, heyheyheyyyy-” His voice pitched up, breathless and rushed. “It was a joke! A prank! I was kidding! Of course we can get it, are you kidding me? You want the whole shelf? I’ll buy the whole store if you want it!”

His heart went wild. His hands fumbled for yours again, touch feather-light like he was afraid you’d pull away for good. He cranked the dramatics to eleven. If he had to dig himself out of this hole with the fluffiest, most excessive display of affection in human history, then so be it.

He spun you towards him, before literally dropping to his knees. In the middle of the mall, in broad daylight, by the way.

“I have made a terrible mistake,” he cried, throwing his arms around your waist and pressing his face into your stomach and sobbing like a man who had just lost everything. “I’M SORRYYYY- PLEASE forgive me. I was blinded by hubris. My arrogance has cost me the love of my life.”

He cried dramatically, much to your horror. You smacked him, panic and embarrassment replacing the insecurity in your chest.

It didn’t stop him though, he continued whining and apologizing- Promising to buy you the entire mall and then some more, which terrified you, because he could. At some point, you just tried walking off in an attempt to get him off of you. It failed, and backfired. Because as you attempted to walk away, he was just dragged across the floor with his arms still wrapped tight around you. He never stopped apologizing, promising grander and grander things every other second.

In the end, you ended up consoling him. You had to reassure him that you were okay now, and that you’d continue to ask him for things again and again. All the while he laid his head on your lap after you two got a very expensive spa date.

“Promise?” He sniffed.

“Yes, Satoru. I promise to ask you for things even if I barely want or need them,” You recited, memorizing the words after repeating them a hundred times over already. “-And I won’t feel bad for spending money with your black card.” The thought of doing that sent a pang of guilt through you, but it didn’t compare to the exasperation you felt after saying it over and over again. Maybe getting spoiled once in a while all the time wasn’t so bad.

❥ SUGURU GETO

He hadn’t expected it to hit you like that- he really hadn’t. It was a joke, a stupid little prank the girls had convinced him to do. They were giggling and nodding along and he couldn’t say no to his girls, now could he? Like a fool.

And his stomach twisted as he watched your expression drop. Suguru wanted to say something, his mouth opening but the words were caught in his throat as he watched you walk away.

“Daaad,” Nanako complained, tugging at his sleeve.

“You made them sad,” Mimiko whispered, her lip jutting out as she stared after you. “That wasn’t funny.”

Suguru blinked, looking down at both of them. Weren’t they the ones who suggested this? “And you didn’t even say it right,” Nanako added dramatically, arms crossed. “You were too serious.”

“Yeah,” Mimiko nodded. “Now you have to fix it.”

Both girls had already rushed ahead to walk beside you, gripping the edge of your coat and pouting up at you like you were the sun and they were clouds desperate to stay close. Little traitors. Now they were talking about how Mean Suguru was and how he’d make up for it.

What further broke his heart was how you reassured the girls, saying that it was fine and you shouldn’t ask for such expensive things so randomly like that. That made the girls pout, glaring back at him as if he put that idea in your head. Okay, maybe he deserved that though. Suguru hated that way of thinking of yours. Hated that for a split second, you thought you had to apologize for wanting something so small.

Luckily, the girls had shown their mercy towards him and started dragging you towards the display you were pointing at, saying that they wanted it too- And that you should match with them.

Suguru had made sure to pay for it immediately, taking your hand in his as he apologized. “You shouldn’t have had to apologize,” he said simply. “I’m sorry, it was a stupid prank.” He glanced towards the girls, who looked away to definitely look at other displays.

His eyes were on yours again, offering a soft but guilty smile. “You never have to earn anything from me. Not affection, not gifts, not a yes. You ask, and if it makes you smile, it’s already mine to give.”

By the end of the day, you were tired. You had walked around the mall for nearly 3 hours straight as the girls dragged you from one shop to the next, each time coming out with more bags than ever. 

None of them were held by you, Suguru had made sure of that. He was carrying a comical amount of bags and whenever you’d try to say something about it- About anything about this being too much, something you didn’t deserve, he’d gently shut it down and he nudged you towards the girls who were already looking at some cute plushies you’d like.

❥ KENTO NANAMI

Nanami realized the mistake the moment your fingers slipped from his.

He hadn’t expected you to let go so easily. Or for your voice to drop so small. He thought you’d laugh- roll your eyes and nudge him, maybe pout a little and say, “C’mon, don’t be stingy.” That’s what he’d expected. What he hadn’t expected was the way your expression shuttered, the way your shoulders stiffened like you were preparing for disappointment.

It had been a joke. A dry one, maybe poorly delivered, but harmless in intent. Just a shrug, a simple “nah” meant to be followed by a small chuckle.

God.

He hated himself a little, right then.

He caught up to you silently, his long strides swallowing the distance in seconds. He called your name softly, gently grabbing your wrist. When you turned to look at him, your face was schooled into something polite and a little too distant. The edges of your mouth tried to rise into a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“I was joking, darling,” he said softly, finally. “I didn’t mean it.”

Still, you didn’t fully relax. You just gave a small shrug, like it didn’t matter. “It’s fine, I didn’t need it anyway.”

He exhaled, frowning deeply now, before tugging you into the direction the two of you came from. Your eyes widened in panic, immediately repeating that it was fine, that he didn’t need to, that you seriously didn’t need it. It didn’t stop him though, he continued on with you in tow and bought it. When he handed it to you, his gaze softened.

“You never have to apologize for asking for something, especially not with me. I want to give you things. I want you to feel safe asking.”

Before you could open your mouth to go against him, he continued. “You deserve to be spoiled,” He let the item rest in your hands. “I’ll do better next time.”

“It’s yours,” he said, offering it to you without fanfare, but with the quiet weight of sincerity. “And I want you to enjoy it. No guilt. No apologies.”

You sighed, relaxing and holding what you wanted in your hands, wrapped in a paper bag.

Kento Nanami - 1, Your insecurity - 0.

❥ TOJI FUSHIGURO

Toji had done it as a joke. Hell, he’d been messing around with you like this for as long as he could remember, teasing, pulling pranks that always ended with laughter and you rolling your eyes at him. But this? This wasn’t what he’d expected.

He fucked up. He rubbed a hand over his face, cursing under his breath. 

It only took him a moment to catch up with you, his long stride easily closing the gap, but when he reached you, he hesitated. He could tell you weren’t looking for an apology, not really—that would probably only make things worse. You were too polite for that, too considerate to make a big deal out of something like this.

But Toji was never one to let something slide. Not when it involved you.

So now, you found yourself being held hostage cuddled with one arm as Toji scrolled through your favorite online shops. You were snug in the crook of his arm, your legs tossed over his lap, cheek pressed against his chest. His fingers curled possessively around your waist. You had stopped struggling half an hour ago, knowing he wouldn’t budge.

“Toji- ” you started, voice soft.

“Shhh.” He continued scrolling on the phone, angling it so it was in your view. “Pick.”

“Toji, I don’t want anything-” You tried again- yes, he had been doing this for almost an hour. Making you pick out at a minimum of 5 things from every online shop he knew you liked.

“You heard me,” he said, voice low and firm. “Or I’ll pick everything out for you.”

“No!” You shouted, groaning as you slumped further into him. “It wasn’t even a big deal, I shouldn’t have-”

“It was a big deal,” he said, interrupting, his hand rubbing up and down your back with slow pressure. “I was joking, you took it seriously. Yknow I’d do anything for you, right?”

You swallowed thickly, biting your lip.

“I was tryna be funny,” he went on, quieter now. “But I didn’t realize I fucked it up that bad.”

“You didn’t- ”

“I did.” His tone left no room for argument. “And you felt bad for feelin’ bad. That ain’t right either.”

You sighed. “I just overreacted.”

“I don’t care if you cried in the middle of the damn store, I still would’ve been wrong.” He nudged your cheek with his chin. “Now pick your shit or I’ll do it for you.”

“...Fine.”

❥ SUKUNA RYOUMEN

Sukuna watched you walk ahead, your hand slipping from his like it had never belonged there in the first place. His hand twitched, flexing as if readying to cut someone up on instinct. He felt angry, but not exactly at you. Maybe at your brain, how you thought.

What the hell was that?- The hell do you mean, sorry?

Sukuna’s jaw ticked, crimson eyes narrowing as he tried to process what just happened. He could still see the display in the corner of his vision—the thing you wanted, whatever the hell it was. He hadn’t even looked properly. Just heard the tone in your voice, that soft, hopeful question, and thought, yeah, this’ll be funny.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. He didn’t speak much. Not because he was mad—but because he didn’t know what the fuck to say. He kept stealing glances at you. Watching you act like nothing happened. Quiet. Polite. Distant. Like you were doing your best not to take up space.

Sukuna hated it.

The next morning, you woke up to something absurd.

It started with a faint rustle beside the bed. You blinked your eyes open, brow furrowing, the sunlight just beginning to spill through the window. You groaned and turned over, feeling for your husband- Who was uncharacteristically not sleeping and warm beside you.

Instead, your eyes widened when you saw what was on the bedside. Not just the thing you wanted from the store yesterday.

But that plus a mountain of other gifts. Carefully stacked, painstakingly arranged—clothes, snacks, trinkets, plushies, books you’d mentioned offhandedly. Stuff that couldn’t have been pulled together overnight unless someone went on a tear through every store within ten miles and burned through money like it was paper.

Sitting beside it all, arms crossed, lip curled in a dramatic scowl… was Sukuna. He was tapping his foot impatiently.

You sat up, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders, mouth agape. “Sukuna…”

“It’s not a big deal,” he growled, red eyes darting away like they were allergic to your expression. “You wanted that dumb thing. So I got it. And the rest was- was just there. It was all on sale, probably. I didn’t check.”

Your gaze swept over the pile again. Some of it was very obviously not on sale. Limited edition. Imported. Things you’d only mentioned once while scrolling late at night. You looked back at him—and found him staring at the floor now, like he couldn’t bear to meet your eyes.

“Sukuna,” you said again, softer this time.

He let out a slow breath, tension sagging from his shoulders. “I didn’t mean it.” He grumbled. “Sorry.”

You swallowed. “Sukuna, it’s fine, this-” you motioned towards the pile of gifts. “This is too much for me! I didn’t mean to upset you, I overreacted anyway-”

He clicked his tongue. “You didn’t.” He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I did. But it’s not like you were bein’ dramatic or anything. You just… looked like I kicked your damn puppy.”

“I wasn’t mad.”

“That’s worse!” he snapped, gesturing at you like you’d committed some unspeakable offense. “You weren’t mad. You were just-” hurt. He didn’t like it. “...Not happy.”

Your gaze softened. “You could’ve just said something there.”

He grunted. “Whatever.” He nudged one of the boxes towards you with his foot, it was wrapped in a pretty pink bow. “Open them.”

A.N. 😼😼😼 I enjoyed this one too much, thankyou for the request moonie ml <3

[internetgiraffekid1673]

As a librarian's kid and a blue-collar worker who still had to do paperwork somehow I can add a few more!

- Reading Resumes/job applications. If your organization is decently large, understaffed, calls for temp work, or just goes through workers really quickly, you'll have to be hiring employees nigh constantly.

- Order forms (both orders to you and orders from you). If your organization has multiple locations or even just a warehouse, then you never have the shit you need on hand and will have to order it in from somewhere, and somebody else will be ordering it in for you.

- Certifications. ESPECIALLY if you work for the government or are unionized. There will be LOADS of red tape you have to deal with and tons of random things you and all your employees are constantly having to get certified for.

- Records for sales and stocks, especially right around tax season. Companies LOVE to know how much stuff you have coming in compared to how much is going out, and that applies to both money and actual material goods, be they mail, books, guns, food, people, or whatever.

- Work orders. Are there machines on this job? Congratulations, they will break. This includes things like computers, printers, AC, plumbing, elevators, and garage doors. Odds are your protagonist doesn't have the time to fix every single one themself (even if they DO have the know-how), so you're gonna need to be calling in the organization's mechanic to so it, and that is a WHOLE mess of paperwork.

-Proposals. If your protagonist is trying to make ANY kind of change to their organization, that requires writing up a proposal that has to get sent to the higher ups. This could be as simple as "hey, can we get money for cars added to the budget so we're not racking up the mileage on our personal vehicles," or as complicated as "we need to add an entire new department."

- PSAs. Because sometimes you really do have to send out a FOURTH email this week about how we know it's stupid but you really aren't allowed to throw these away, we have to save them all so we can get credit for it. Or guys could you please stop smoking weed on your breaks. Or attention loyal customers, our location is changing and now we gotta put up flyers.

We don’t talk enough about how fanfiction writers love to give character large amounts of non-specific paperwork they hate doing

[scarletmika]

Sunflower : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Mitchell!Reader

Summary: Bob Floyd was head over heels for you from the moment you met. You were the best thing that had ever happened to him. But Hangman knew just how to get under people's skin, too well sometimes, and sometimes frustration hits a boiling point when the people you don't want to hurt are standing in the way.

Warnings: fluff, some angst, established relationship, language, Hangman acting like an ass, female reader

Word Count: 3,771 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ��･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

Pete “Maverick” Mitchell always had one rule for his daughter: no dating any Military men, or ladies, until he was dead. You’d always found the rule dumb, but your dad was firm on it. He knew what those men were like, he used to be one of them himself, part of the reason he ended up with a daughter of his own. Though he’d spend your entire life reminding you that you were the greatest gift the world had ever given him, and that’s why he was so protective with his different rules as you grew up.

You adhered to them for a long time…until Bob Floyd came along.

Maverick had just been called back to Top Gun for the first time in years, and while he was excited and terrified to come back, he was excited at the prospect of seeing you. You’d chosen to attend the University of California at San Diego, and loved the city so much you’d settled in it after graduation and never left. Living in a city, surrounded by Military men at every corner, and through the years you’d obeyed your father’s rule and steered clear of them all.

You could remember the first time you met Bob as if it had been yesterday. A text from Bradley Bradshaw, a man you’d grown up to see as practically your blood brother, telling you to meet him down at the Hard Deck. That was news to you, that he was even back in the States in the first place, but you also knew it meant he was most likely here on a mission.

“There’s my favorite girl!” Bradley had whooped out the second he’d finished his song on the piano, the rest of the bar going back to their own conversations as the jukebox was plugged back in. He’d practically jumped off the piano bench, rushing forward to bring you into a hug, lifting you up with a spin as you laughed, hitting his shoulder lightly. “Would you believe me if I told you you’re my favorite part of coming back to the States?”

“Absolutely not one bit, Brad-”

“Hate to interrupt…but who’s she, Rooster?”

You pulled back from your brother, shooting a friendly smile toward what you could tell by their uniforms were other Navy fighter pilots gathered around the piano, watching you both curiously. Bradley threw an arm over your shoulders, giving it a squeeze.

“This right here is my infamous Sunflower-”

“You eat ONE of those as a child and get a stupid nickname-”

“I’ve told you guys about her before, practically my little sister,” he pointed off at the rest of his friends, listing them off. “That’s Mickey, otherwise known as Fanboy and Reuben, also known as Payback. That right there is Phoenix, but when I talk about her with you I just call her Natasha. We’ve got Jake, more well-known as Bag- sorry, I mean Hangman. And that’s Bob.”

You raised an eyebrow, gaze fixed on Bob questioningly as you realized Bradley wasn’t continuing his introductions.

“Just Bob?”

The man in question seemed to get flustered a bit, trying to speak and not seemingly able to find the words as his cheeks flushed.

“Uh, well, you know-”

“We just use Bob as his callsign too,” it was Hangman that spoke up, clapping a hand on Bob’s shoulder that seemed like it was in mock support. “Baby-On-Board seemed pretty spot-on to call him.”

Your face dropped, already understanding why your best friend seemed to bristle at the entire existence of Jake Seresin. You crossed your arms, shooting the man a pointed look.

“At least babies are cute. They also probably don’t leave their wingmen out to dry, if your own callsign is anything to go off of,”

The howling laughter of the entire group brought a smile to your face, including the look on Hangman’s face that clearly showed he’d been knocked down a peg by your words alone. You took the lapse in conversation to lock eyes with Bob again, sending him a smile and a sly wink.

He wouldn’t admit it, but Bob was head over heels for you from then on.

The team didn’t think they’d be seeing you around that often after that night, until they learned you were Maverick’s daughter. You might not have been on base with them all day, every day, but every second they weren’t on base you were with them all, ingrained with them like one of the family.

Nights at the Hard Deck, beach days learning to work together as a team in preparation for a mission, or the few days some of them managed to get off early enough to swing by and say hello to you at work. You spent all of your time with them, and those Navy fighter pilots had quickly become your best friends.

Many of them, mainly Fanboy and Hangman, had tried to get your number multiple times, to no avail. They were either stopped by Rooster’s protective gaze on you, your own father’s murderous look he’d shoot them, or a simple and polite no from you every single time. Natasha was the only one who got your number.

Bob didn’t think he stood a chance either, having overheard Rooster talking about how your father had a rule for you about dating Military men as it was, so he never tried. That’s why it surprised him so much when you’d walked up behind him at the Hard Deck one night, plucking his phone straight from his hands when no one was looking and typing in your phone number without another word.

Phoenix was the one who noticed more than others, given that Bob was her WSO. How every single time they weren’t up in the air training for the uranium mission, or being lectured back on the ground, he was buried in his phone with a smile and a blush on his cheeks. Or the way he disappeared from the base the second he was allowed to, or how you both seemed to always be around one another now wherever you all were hanging out at.

The bird strike was the first time you’d accepted that maybe you were on the verge of breaking your father’s single rule he had for you your entire life.

Maverick knew how close you’d become with the entire team, and called you the second he could to inform you of the accident. You were already in your car and on your way to the base before your father had told you he’d gotten special permission from Cyclone to let you on base.

You’d practically flew into Natasha’s arms the second you caught sight of her in the medical wing, asking her a thousand times if she was okay and checking her over. Once you’d backed out of her arms and set your sights on Bob, you could feel the overwhelming urge to cry overtake you. You’d stepped into his arms in an instant, burying your head in his neck as you began to cry, and Bob didn’t stop holding you until the tears subsided.

It was right before the Uranium mission where your relationship with Bob changed in an instant.

You were already worried sick, knowing your father was now leading the mission. You’d gotten a text directly after from Rooster informing you that you dad would be leading the mission, followed by one from your father himself to announce it. A bunch of texts streamed in, but you couldn’t bother to answer them as the nauseous feeling inside of you only grew. That pit in your stomach grew bigger as you realized that your father and Bradley’s lives weren’t the only ones you were overly concerned about, but Bob’s too.

You’d sequestered yourself for the rest of the day, ignoring texts from everyone as you realized that what you felt for Bob went entirely past platonic feelings. It was the next day when you’d opened your front door after the doorbell rang to Bob standing there in his Navy dress whites. You didn’t say a word to him, and he didn’t say a word to you either, the pair of you simply colliding in the middle in a kiss that had the rules you’d followed all your life long forgotten.

“Maverick is going to kill me for this,” he’d practically moaned out through kisses as you gripped onto the back of his neck, pulling him back in every time he pulled away for even a second.

“Good, means he’ll keep you alive during the mission to kill you after,” Bob had finally gotten you to stop chasing after his lips, pulling back to see the tears slowly streaming down your face as he gently wiped them away. “Just come back to me…all of you.”

“I promise, Sunflower,”

This wasn’t the first time your father had been on deployment. You’d had plenty of friends over the years in the military, too. This was far from the first time you’d ever dealt with people you care about throwing themselves into the line of fire and risking their lives. But this time, it held a new weight to it.

You were at the forefront of Bob’s mind the entire mission. The moment Maverick called his name alongside Phoenix’s own, his first thought was of you. Of the prettiest girl he’d ever laid eyes on, the girl who had carved out a space in his heart in such a short amount of time, who’d he’d never thought he’d have a chance with, waiting at home for him. For him, her father, and her best friends. He thought of his own family, his parents and his siblings too, but you’d crept right up in there with them at the forefront of his mind.

It was you he thought about as he frantically called out signals for Phoenix when they’d rounded coffin corner. It was the dread he felt of having to tell you that your father and the man you considered your brother were both most likely dead the second the remaining Daggar squad had landed back on the ship. Then, it was like a weight lifted off his shoulders the second they landed back in safety with the rest of the team in that beat of F-14, knowing he could keep his promise to you.

The second the team was back in the states and touching ground on land, you’d been waiting with tears in your eyes for all of them. Maverick’s arms were the first you flew into, your father holding you as tightly as humanly possible, before he let Bradley join in on the group hug too.

“Is the cry fest over here done?” Hangman had called out, the rest of the team joining you all as they smiled at the sight of you wrapped in a bear hug of two of your favorite men. Hangman held out his arms, wiggling his fingertips. “Can’t the rest of the team get hugs here, Sunflower?”

You had pushed your way out of the hug and in Hangman’s direction, but his smirk fell when you’d simply brushed past him and threw yourself into Bob’s arms, tugging his lips back to yours, craving the feeling you’d already become addicted to. Bob could feel his cheeks instantly flush with the heat of the public display of affection, of knowing who was watching, but it was worth it for that moment with you.

Jake, Reuben, Mickey, and Bradley’s jaws all collectively dropped as they watched the interaction before them, while Natasha only held a small smirk on her lips, knowing her suspicions were confirmed. The group had all turned back to Maverick, collectively fearing for Bob’s own safety. They may have been more shocked to see a genuine smile of pure affection and love on the fighter pilot's lips.

That night, surrounded by everyone you’d come to love so dearly in the Hard Deck over well-earned beers, Maverick had quickly bestowed his blessing on the pair of you.

“If she’s going to ignore my lifelong rule and date a Military man…I’m glad it’s you, Floyd,” Maverick had clapped a hand down on his student’s shoulder, giving him a pointed look. “Break her heart, though, and the push-ups are going from 200 to 300. Daily.”

Those moments all seemed like ages ago to you, when in reality they’d only been 10 months ago. They’d led to this moment now, as you stepped into the Hard Deck on a busy Wednesday night later than usual because of work, trying to spot your group of pilots in the distance. Thankfully for you, they’d all been assigned to stay at Top Gun for an extended period of time, still learning more and more from Maverick as Cyclone had determined there was much more his top students could learn. For you, that meant having your best friends around every single day.

“Sunflower! How nice of you to join us!” Natasha had called out with a laugh, handing you one of the beers she’d grabbed for you already. You happily took it, clinking the top of your bottle with her own.

“Phoenix, you’re a lifesaver for this,” you’d thanked her, tipping your head back to gulp the alcoholic beverage. “Work was insane today, for no good reason, too!”

“Your father had us doing 200 push-ups every time we failed the flight simulations today,” Fanboy cut in, walking past quickly as he rounded the pool table in front of you both. “Trust me, most of us would kill for your office job right about now. Bet it’s got air-conditioning.”

“Hey, you guys want to handle company-wide presentations, be my guest. I don’t mind passing that off,” you watched Payback and Fanboy’s pool match for a moment, turning back to Phoenix at your side. “Is my boy hiding around here somewhere? He didn’t answer my text earlier when I said I was on my way.”

“Oh, you mean dark and stormy?” you lifted an eyebrow at her words as Natasha let out a soft laugh. “Hangman was being extra…Hangman today, if you will. Really was digging in on him all day, could hear him grumbling from the backseat of the jet after every comment.”

“Let me guess, Jake is still on his ass even now, after hours?”

“Last I saw, he had him crowded in a booth with Bradley across the room,”

You clinked your bottle with hers one more time before turning on your heel.

“Guess that my queue to go save him!”

Bob Floyd was having the worst day of his life, and it was thanks to Hangman. Don’t get it twisted, he really did love Jake, he was one of his brothers after everything that had gone down on the Uranium mission. This job can bind you wth people for life, and it has for them. Today, though, Hangman was just being so…classic Hangman.

“No, seriously, I think if you’d just given me a little more time I could have had Sunflower wrapped around my finger instead,” Jake commented with a laugh, taking another sip of his beer as he shot a smirk across the table at Bob, seeing his friend’s grip on his own beer bottle tighten. “Oh come on, Baby-On-Board, lighten up! It’s just jokes! Though we’ve got to admit, her and I would be one gorgeous couple.”

“Yeah, so funny,” Bob mumbled to himself as Bradley gripped onto Hangman’s shoulder, shoving him out of the booth and promising Bob he’d go distract him for a bit up at the bar. The second they were gone, Bob was rubbing at his eyes under his glasses, frustration rolling off of him in waves.

He could deal with the Baby-On-Board comments all day long, the snide comments throw his way as he worked his way through Maverick’s 200 push-ups. Hell, he could deal with the four-eyes jokes too. Did they get on his nerves? Absolutely. Was he at his breaking point today? Also yes. What sent him over the edge every time, without fail, was jokes about you.

It didn’t matter that you’d been together almost a year, that you’d been the first one to utter ‘I love you’ to him at three in the morning as you’d laid together in his bed, his insecurities never really went away, they were just satiated for periods. It was when Jake chose to remind him that you were, in fact, way out of his league that they came crawling back to the surface.

“Now, what’s my handsome pilot doing over here all alone?”

It was your voice in his ear suddenly, hands winding around his shoulders and fingers digging into his muscles as you leaned over the back of the booth, hugging him to you. Normally, Bob would be like putty in your hands, falling back into your touch and your words as every ounce of stress left him simply because he was in your presence. Today, though, his shoulders stayed tense as Hangman’s constant jeers and jabs from the last few hours floated around his head.

“Regretting leaving my house,”

You raised an eyebrow, feeling the way Bob’s shoulders tensed up instead of relaxing into you, and slid your way around the bench so that you were sitting beside him. You craned your neck to try and get a look at his face, but Bob refused to look at you, the stress of the entire day on the verge of breaking over the surface.

“Come on, baby, what’s wrong-”

“Why don’t you ask Hangman?”

The question caught you absolutely off guard as you pulled away from your boyfriend slightly in confusion.

“Jake? The hell does he have to do with this?” when Bob didn’t answer you, you only continued. “Phoenix said he was giving you shit today, is that what this is about?”

“He thinks if you didn’t end up with me, you’d be with him. You’d be some perfect, gorgeous couple,”

“And what, you believe him?”

“I don’t hear you denying it,”

That was the moment that Bob decided to finally look at you, and he felt every ounce of frustration leave his body as he was racked with guilt and regret immediately.

“Wow. Okay, Bob,”

“No wait, baby-” he tried to place his hand on yours, but you’d already ducked out of the booth and stood beside it.

“No, you’ve made your point,” you refused to look at him now, and Bob close his eyes for a moment, knowing he’d fucked up. “I get it, Hangman can be a dick, but I chose you, Bob. If I wanted him, I’d have picked him, but I’ve only ever wanted you, and I chose you. I don’t care how much of a dick he was today, insinuating that isn’t cool.”

Bob knew you well enough to know that with the way you went storming out of the Hard Deck, chasing after you right now wouldn’t be the greatest idea in the world. It was at that moment that Jake and Bradley came back to the table, Jake whittling at the sight of you storming away.

“Ooooo, trouble in paradise?”

“For once, Hangman, please shut the fuck up,”

If you thought yesterday was a long day at work, nothing compared to the day after your disastrous Hard Deck night. You hadn’t texted Bob a single time, nor him you, even though you wanted to.

You let out another sigh to yourself as you stood at the copy machine in the office, rubbing at your under eyes. In hindsight, you felt that you had overreacted to the conversation last night, and you weren’t sure how to apologize to Bob for it. He’d had a long day, and so had you, and it simply had all culminated in that moment that anything could’ve set someone off.

“Hey,” you turned your head to see one of your coworkers, Jessica, standing at the doorway of the printer room you were in. She nodded her head in the direction of your office. “Someone is waiting in your office for you, by the way. Navy boy by the looks of it.”

You’d left the project on the printer in front of you, immediately walking back down the hallways in the direction of your office. You knew immediately who it was waiting for you, and it brought a small smile to your face as you turned through the door of the office.

Bob was standing directly by your desk with a small, almost timid smile, a bouquet of flowers in his hands as he took a step toward you, you taking one toward him as well.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” you answered, stepping up to him, just a foot away. You took a glance down, seeing him still decked out in his flight suit, straight from the base. “Aren’t you supposed to be on an F-18 right now?”

“Maverick was nice enough to give me the rest of the day off,” he commented, albeit sheepishly as he looked to the side for a moment. “After…the 300 or so push-ups he made me do.”

“Might be my fault there, he called me this morning once he got to base wanting to know about the ‘Hard Deck’ gossip that Rooster was talking about. Sorry,”

“You don’t have to apologize, I should be the one apologizing,”

You took the moment to glance down at the flowers in his hands, a smile growing. White tulips, a common symbol for apologies. Red roses, of course, representing love.

A single sunflower. The symbol of adoration and loyalty. You took the bouquet from him, inhaling the scent with a grin on your lips that he mirrored.

“They’re beautiful,”

“So are you,” Bob took the bouquet from you, placing it on top of the desk behind you both before taking your face in his hands. “I love you. You are, quite literally, the best thing that had ever happened to me, Sunflower. I shouldn’t have let him get in my head, and I shouldn’t have said what I did last night-”

“I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did,” you cut in, hands placed over the top of his own as you gazed up at him. “We were both frustrated, that’s all. You just have to remember that I chose you, because I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he’d simply responded. “I’ll always love you.”

Just like that day he’d shown up on your doorstep in those dress whites, words weren’t needed between you both to simply collide together in a passionate kiss, pouring every ounce of love’d felt for this man since the moment you’d met him into it.

[wonfie]

LEATHER LOVE ⟢ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗃𝖺𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌, 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗋𝖾.

⤷ ALTERNATIVELY ✧ riding riki while wearing his leather jacket ‎𐦯

配对 bf · riki & fem . reader ��� smut mentions of alcohol riki & reader are both drunk petnames praise

the night was a long blur—loud and muffled music, clinking glasses, and the smell of alcohol on everyone’s breath. but it was the kind of night that left you both rushing with adrenaline. the moment you both step into the apartment, the tension was clear.

riki shuts the door behind you, breathing heavy and uneven. you’re a little dizzy, legs about to give out, but the sight of him—in that stupid leather jacket that clung onto his body, lips parted like he was only seconds from latching them somewhere onto you—made everything disappear.

you snap out of it when you were interrupted by a low, slurred voice. “bedroom, now.” he growls, voice rough with desire. before you can even think once, you’re in the bedroom, helping each other undress with fumbling hands. you slide the jacket off his shoulders, letting it land on the ground with the pile of clothes you two had left.

“no,” he mumbled, “put it on.”

you blink in confusion, but he’s already unbuckling his belt, and shuffling his pants down. he guides you to the bed after you put on the jacket.

“ride me, baby.” his voice was almost demanding, hands gripping your waist as he led you to straddle him. the leather jacket hung from your shoulders. you love how it feels to wear it, knowing it’s his.

you don’t waste any time. lowering your tense hips, feeling the head of his cock gently bumo your entrance, before you sink down on him, gasping with every inch filling you.

you start moving slowly at first, but your need only grows—your hands rest on his chest, bouncing in a sloppy manner.

riki’s eyes are locked on you, eyes hungry and raking your trembling form.

“that’s it,” he groans, hips lifting slightly to meet your movements. “fuck yourself on my cock. just like that, baby.”

you obey, pushing yourself up and down, each stroke making you both lose any more sense of control. the leather feels slick against your skin, brushing against your nipples as your back arched.

he hisses, fingers digging into your hips, urging you to go faster. “so fucking perfect, riding me like this..”

you speed up at his comment, lewd squelches leaving where your two bodies intimately met. he matches your pace, and your eagerness. his cock hitting that spot that made your head spin.

you’re panting, breath hitching with every thrust. you’re close. so, so close.

“riki, i’m—”

“i know,” he says, “cum on me, baby. show me how much you need it, yeah?”

you came hard, a broken moan escaping your throat as your body trembles, clenching around his length. he’s not far behind, cumming deep inside you with a groan of his own, holding you close as you both right out your highs.

you collapse on top of him, both of your chests heaving in ragged breaths.

you’ll never look at that leather jacket the same way, will you?

for my beloved @goon2hoon ♡

[heartyluv]

⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆꙳*̩̩͙ ❆ ͙͛ ˚₊⋆

Note: I know we’re in May, but I felt like it being Christmas works well in this little story and I’ve had this idea for a few days so I’m excited. I listened to Love Wins All by IU when I wrote this and would I be crazy if I got a littleeee emotional?

Creds to @/anitalenia for the dividers!

Warning: Nothing, honestly. I’m using Caleb becoming a Colonel as the reason you divorced. This is just angsty Caleb declaring his love to his ex-wife.

Word Count: 2,362

Summary: Letting your ex-husband come over for Christmas was bound to stir the pot.

Ex-Husband!Caleb/Reader

You loved your children with everything in your being. They were the most precious things to you in the world and you’d do anything to make them happy. It’s why when they begged you for days to let their father be here when they open their Christmas gifts tomorrow morning, you couldn’t tell them no.

Many people would look at you crazy for letting your ex-husband come into your home and play house, especially with the divorce being so fresh. It’s only been a year since everything was finalized and to this day, your heart still aches when you think about how everything transpired between you two.

When Caleb became a colonel, you thought it was the beginning of something monumental. And in hindsight, it was. It just led to the end of what you both thought would be forever. You found yourself home alone with your first born baby boy all the time, never getting to see your husband in the daylight because he was coming home so late. He missed so many of your son’s milestones and no amount of apologies and kisses made up for the fact that you felt like you were doing it all on your own.

You knew that the job was challenging and demanding, but it was changing him in a way you couldn’t understand. Caleb didn’t agree, telling you at the time that he had to be this dedicated, that he didn’t get to where he is by not giving it his all. He used the fact that he needed to take care of his family as a crutch as to why he was letting the job consume him, but you knew better. His position is something he’s always longed for and you’ve known that in all the years you’ve been together.

But even if you did know better, you still stayed because you swore it would get better.

It’s why you ended up pregnant again with your precious girl not long after your son turned two. But when you saw that the cycle only repeated itself, that it seemed like you lost your husband entirely, you knew what you had to do, even if it broke you.

There was too much fighting, too much back and forth, and it became all consuming in the way that you felt like you were losing him and yourself. It’s why you offered a proposition that nearly drove Caleb mad. But when he saw how unhappy you were, how drained you became, even in the end if it meant breaking his own heart and destroying himself, he’d always put you and the wellbeing of your children above himself. He wasn’t stupid, Caleb knew how he failed you as your husband and he’d always regret it because he wished that it didn’t happen and that he tried harder before it became too late.

You two went your separate ways and it took both you and the kids time to adjust, but you were making it. If it weren’t for them, you don’t know how’d you be. It was so hard telling them that their dad wouldn’t be around at all, that they’d be going to him without you from now on and vice versa.

Caleb was still taking care of you, even if you weren’t together. You told him over and over that it wasn’t necessary, that you’d find a job and handle your end. But he wouldn’t have it.

“You only need to be the mother and woman I fell in love with. There isn’t a thing that you could say or do that would make me stop being there for you and our children.”

In that moment, you felt like your resolve almost broke. But you stood your ground and reluctantly accepted his care, seeing as you really had no choice. He made sure you kept the house, paid for the bills, gave you extra money for yourself and the kids, always stocked up on food. He was treating it like you were still a unit, and you never knew how to feel about that.

Despite it all, you could never deny that Caleb has always been a phenomenal father. It was only being a husband that it seemed to not grasp the entirety of. He gave your babies the world and you couldn’t ask for a better man to have as the father of your children.

It’s Christmas Eve evening as your kids sit in front of the TV, watching classic holiday films you grew up, with when you hear the doorbell ring. You dry your hands, stepping away from the now empty sink and walk to the front door. As you open it, there stands Caleb with a slightly red nose from the frigid temperature. Some snow sticks to his jacket and hair, making him look like a scene out of a movie. He gently smiles at you and you reciprocate, and you step over as the kids come running at him full speed.

“Daddy!” they exclaim with joy as they wrap themselves around his legs.

He chuckles before he kneels down to take them into a tight hug. “My two favorite people in the world,” he hums as they giggle in his hold. “You excited for tomorrow?”

“Yeah!” your son says enthusiastically before he frowns. “Santa hasn’t come yet.”

“I want see Santa!” your daughter folds her arms dramatically. Caleb kisses her cheeks and she giggles. She’s always been a daddy’s girl.

Caleb looks behind them to see that under the tree is empty. He already knows the tradition. You guys always put the presents under when they fall asleep, and it’s no different now. He looks up at you while you watch the exchange, winking with a sly smirk. You shake your head, unable to stop the smile that decorates your face.

“You guys eat?” he asks as he stands to usher them inside the warm home.

Your kids talk his ear off as they tell them about their dinner, the breakfast you plan on cooking, what they asked Santa for, all while you sneak out the back to take the presents he bought and put them in the side closet so they can be added to the collection you have.

It’s not long until Caleb tires them out from all the playing and conversation, tucking them into bed with gentle kisses to their foreheads. After he leaves their bedroom, he walks in the living room to find you already stacking presents.

“Let me help,” he voices. After grabbing some gifts from the closet, he kneels beside you to start laying everything out, just how you like.

“How’ve you been?” he asks. You swallow, clearing your throat. You haven’t really uttered a word to him since he got here and now that you’re alone, for the first time since the divorce, it all feels so surreal.

“I’m okay,” you answer gently. “How are you?” He breathes out a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?”

“Just,” he sighs. “Talking to you like it’s the first time we’ve ever spoken in our life feels…wrong? I don’t know.”

Your jaw tenses. “I get it.” You think of how to shift the conversation, not quite ready to delve into this. “Thank you for coming, by the way. The kids really—”

“I miss you,” he interrupts, and this time you freeze.

“I miss you and the kids. I miss being home. I miss us.”

“Caleb, don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Tell you that I never wanted this? That we’re supposed to be together? That not having you makes everything feel fucking impossible?”

“You should’ve throught about that before you put being colonel above being a husband.”

That stings him, slaps him in the face. Feels like it shot him in the stomach. He gulps, staring at you even if you won’t look at him.

He looks down at his hands, watching them turn to fists because of the anger he holds toward himself. “I messed up.”

“You did.”

“Let me fix it,” he begs. “It’s not too late for us, I know it isn’t. I know you still want me, still love me.”

“You’re being so unfair,” you shake your head, feeling the tears burn your eyes. “This isn’t what you came for.”

“I came for my family, and that has and will always, include you.”

You don’t answer and that frustrates him. The way you keep sliding festively wrapped boxes under the tree like he isn’t telling you that he wants a second chance, is enough to make his heart thump even faster in his chest.

“Look at me,” he commands shakily.

“You don’t get to see how much you hurt me, how lonely you made me, watch our marriage fall apart, then try to come in here for redemption after all this time, Caleb!” When you notice how raised your voice has become, you press your lips together to collect yourself. The last thing you want to do is wake up your kids. “Even though we signed the papers a year ago, there hasn’t been nothing family about us for even longer.”

“I was selfish, I know that. I needed to do better, I want to, I always have. Baby, I will. Every time I walk into my empty apartment without you to kiss, to love, to hold… Without my kids…I feel the weight of my stupidity suffocate me with every step I take.”

“I can’t do this,” you sniffle, getting ready to stand, but Caleb grabs your hand before you can. His silver necklace glimmers against the warm lamp light beside him and your eyes trail up his neck, past his perfect nose and into his.

Your lip quivers as he pulls you up. He grabs your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours as a tear falls down your cheek. You brace your hands on his wrists as he holds you, unable to open your eyes.

“I never stopped loving you. I never will,” he whispers, his breath fanning across your skin. “I was lost, and instead of leaning on you, I abandoned you. But know that there is no lifetime, no timeline in any universe, that could keep me from you. Every part of me will always belong to you.” His voice cracks at his admission.

“Caleb…” you say his name as if it was a stress reliever. Like voicing it could make all the ache in your chest dissipate.

“Don’t you remember? How good we used to feel? How good I made you feel? I know your body and soul better than anyone—not even you could take that privilege from me, baby. I was too late before. Let me do better now.”

With shaky breath, unbridled emotions, and conflicting thoughts, you tilt your head up. He looks down at you with pain that mirrors your own, desire that matches your being. And he doesn’t ask for permission, doesn’t wait because even while he’s chipping away at your walls, he knows you’ll try and swiftly put them back up—and he kisses you.

His tongue mingles with yours as you hesitate to feel him.

“Touch me,” he begs. “Please, touch me.“

When you succumb to his request and your hands grip his hair for the first time in what feels like forever, he melts into your hold. He devours your mouth like you’ll slip away from him at any moment and based on the reality, it’s a strong possibility. So he relishes in your taste, memorizes you all over again because divorce and pain changes a whole person’s being. He knows this because it did it to him.

He’s not the same man he was. In fact, he believes he’s a better one. He just needs you to give him the chance to show you. It’s unfortunate that it took losing you to correct himself.

“Let me come home,” he bites your lip, groaning at how you whimper. “Let me come home to you and our babies.”

You just keep kissing him because you don’t know if you’re ready to give him what he wants, even if you want it to. It’s because he knows you so well that he doesn’t need you to say it. He just needs you both to stay right here for as long as you’ll allow it.

When you finally pull apart, he’s caressing your cheekbone with his thumb.

“Why now..?” you ask.

“I finally got the courage to face my mistakes. I wanted to fight the divorce the moment you asked for it, and with the little fight that I did give, I only hurt you more. I knew there was no winning side of it all for either of us. Being together hurt and being apart proved to do the same. But we’re here now,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Let me be what I should’ve been, right now. Even if I don’t deserve it.”

Your eyes soften, one of your hands gently tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I’m scared, Caleb. I don’t… I can’t be hurt again.”

“You won’t be,” he promises. “I’d rather die than put you through anything like this again. You and the kids.”

“Will you give me time? To think?”

It’s not what he wanted to hear, but it’s not a no. So for now, it’ll have to do.

“Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. Not if my family isn’t with me.”

It takes all your strength to separate yourself from him. He promises to finish putting the gifts beneath the tree because distance is needed right now. So when you retreat to your bedroom and shut the door behind you, your press your back against it and put your palm to your mouth.

You suppress the sounds of your weeping, feeling the emotions rack and shake your body. You’ve missed him so much, you knew the man you loved was never gone. And now that he’s seems to be back, you have to decide for you and your children if starting over is something you’re prepared for. If it’s something you should even consider doing.

If Caleb really wants this, if he’s truly ready, then you’re sure that the love you’ve always had for each other, will win above all.

[heartsforkatsuki]

rude.  ｡°✩ e. kirishima

pov ; your dad won’t give ur boyfriend of 8 years his blessing

pairing: eijiro kirishima x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, marriage, swearing, yearning lovesick kirishima!!!

word count: ~1.9k. song; rude by magic!

kirishima had fallen in love with you at first sight.

the minute he saw you in the entrance exams, he prayed you’d both get in together. he came up to you and wished you a very manly , loud, “good luck!!” with a hand on his hip and his other in a thumbs up.

you’d found it weird at first, and returned his enthusiasm with an awkward “thank you..?” and walked away.

now, 11 years later, looking back, you find it endearing, and can’t believe how long it took you to end up where you are now.

the minute he heard you woke up after the war, kirishima ran to your room and hugged you. not even 2 seconds before you could process him, he asked you to be his girlfriend and explained how he felt about you all along.

“[name], i’m so inlove with you. i have been since the entrance exams. i’ve been keeping that from you for three years.. so sorry. that wasn’t cool of me. i really, really hope you feeling the same way ‘cause if you don’t, i’ll bet i look pretty stupid right now.. you’re just so.. beautiful and captivating .. and strong. so strong.. and really cool just.. all around. what i’m trying to say is.. will you be my girlfriend? please? oh! dang, and i’m so so glad you’re okay! i should’ve started with that.. dang it.“

he said everything so rushed, you just sat there in your hospital bed blinking at him.

“i.. what?”

“its okay if you don’t feel the sa-“

you finally processed it all.

“no, no! i do! im sorry, it took me a minute to process.”

he rubbed the back of his head, looking at the floor. the tips of his ears were turning the same color as his hair now.

it was adorable.

“so…?”

“yes! yes, i’ll be your girlfriend!”

now, 8 years later, you’re still together and more in love than ever. you’ve succeeded at acquiring your dream job, and your boyfriend has been climbing up the hero rankings, sitting at #12! what could be better than this? there’s one problem though.. what’s been taking him so long to make you his forever?

it was approximately 8AM, you woke up to a message from your boyfriend saying he left early for work.

you sighed, reading through the text.

goodmorning, babe! if you’re reading this it’s cause you’re awake, which means you should have (hopefully) noticed your amazing, radical, the manliest of them all boyfriend is infact not laying down next to you! (that’s me btw) i had to go to work early babes, i’ll be home later! i love you baba girl😘😍😍!

you chuckled, texted back a heart and an okay , be safe before you went to check the calendar.

it was saturday.

eijiro almost never, ever worked on saturdays unless there was an emergency. he wouldn’t even check in at the agency.

so of course, the first thing you did was check the news.

nothing really, just small criminals and no big villains. what could he possibly be doing?

so the next thing you did was check his location. not because you’re crazy, but you were genuinely worried. you never ever checked his location, you didn’t need to. but he insisted to give you it just in case, so you never had to doubt.

currently, he was on super close to Osaka, and it said he’d been driving there for about two hours now.

Osaka? What the hell is in Osa…

your parents. your parents lived in Osaka, nobody else you guys knew lived there. when you saw exactly where he was, you saw he was literally pulling up on your parent’s street.

what the hell?

eijiro pulled up in the driveway to your parents house, his palms clammy on the steering wheel.

he’d been thinking about doing this for a while now, but he knew just how your dad felt about him.

your dad was a very old-fashioned man, didn’t exactly love the idea of you dating, much less marrying, a hero.

he didn’t want there to be an accident, only to end up with a depressed, grieving, hurt daughter.

and he made sure you knew it.

“he’s gonna do something stupid one day, [name], and then you’ll regret it.“

you’d always ignored him, and eijiro was forever grateful.

he tried as hard as he could to change your dad’s views on heroes, explaining how passionate he was, and why he decided on it in the first place.

he never really budged though.

now, kirishima was standing at your parents’ doorstep at 8am on a saturday morning, in his best suit, tailored just for this moment, and a big bouquet for your mom.

he brushed his hands on his dress pants and pushed the doorbell button.

he stood there for a minute looking at his shoes, until he heard the lock turn.

when he looked up, he was met with your dad’s resting bitch face. except now it was ten times worse, seeing as it was 8 in the morning.

“ah.. goodmorning, mr. [surname].”

“eijiro? it’s 8am.” your dad crossed his arms, spreading his feet.

“i know.” he lifted his hand, handing the flowers over to your father. “those are for mrs. [surname].”

“thank you? why are you here, young man?” he scowled.

“i came because i wanted to ask you.. for your blessing.” he rubbed the back of his neck, “to marry [name].”

“i love your daughter more than anything, and i’ve kept her waiting for 8 years now. i’ve been inlove with her for 11 years now, and i want to spend the rest of my life with her.”

your dad scoffed to that, “which i’m sure won’t be long, eijiro. your job is gonna end up with my daughter heartbroken.”

“sir, please, i’m safe! i love your daughter, plea—”

“over my dead body. no. until i die, you aren’t marrying my daughter.” he slammed the door in front of eijiro.

“fuck..” he sighed, running a hand through his hair before walking back to his car.

“I just don’t get why he’s so rude to me.” kirishima groaned, placing his beer on the table infront of him.

“he’s just an asshole dude, ignore him.” bakugo responded, rolling his eyes.

“hey! that’s my future father in law you’re talking about.” he whined, taking a swig of beer.

“he won’t be if you keep paying attention to the bullshit he’s spouting.” the blonde picked up his own beer, drinking it.

“dude, i’m gonna marry her anyways.. i just need to convince him.” kirishima insisted, his hands balling into fists.

the week after that, kirishima did the same thing as he did that last saturday morning, he bought a brand new suit and showed up with an bigger bouquet.

the door creaked open, and he made sure to get the first word in

“can i have your daughter for the rest of my life? please. i love her, i can provide for her as i always have, and i’ll give my life to make her happy.”

he prayed your father would say yes, chanting it in his head.

“no.” he slammed the door, again.

“hey babe, why does your dad hate me so much?”

it was now two weeks after the first visit, and you hadn’t asked him about why he went to go see your parents yet.

“he doesn’t hate you…” you curled on the couched next to him, stroking his hair, “he’s just looking out for me, babe.”

“why does he have to hate me in order to look out for you?” he pouted.

“he doesn’t hate you babe!”

the following week, he repeated his attempts.

another new suit, and a bigger bouquet. he stood at the door, determined to walk away with your fathers blessing this time.

one thing changed though, this time your father didnt open the door, your mom did.

“Oh. goodmorning, mrs. [surname]. how are you?” he asked, lifting the bouquet to her.

“goodmorning, eijiro. i’m well, thank you for asking, and for the flowers dear.” she smiled.

“is mr. [surname] home?” he asked, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants again.

“yes, he is. let me get him for you.”

she stepped away from the door, and soon, your dad appeared. his expression was unreadable this time.

“you again?” he grunted.

“yes, sir. i know you’ve said no—three times now—but i love your daughter. i’m going to marry her. with or without your blessing… but i’d rather it be with.”

your father stayed silent.

“i’ve never loved anyone the way i love her. she’s the first and only person i’ve ever truly wanted to build a future with. i want to wake up next to her every morning. i want to take care of her, support her, grow old with her. and i promise you, with everything i have, i’ll protect her.”

your dad sighed, long and heavy.

“…you’re a persistent little bastard, huh?”

kirishima swallowed, “only for her, sir.”

your father stared at him for a long moment before stepping aside.

“come in.”

kirishima blinked, stunned. “w-what?”

“you heard me. come in.”

he followed him inside, nervous and stiff as a board.

they talked for over an hour. about life, about you, about the future. your father asked hard questions, challenged him, and at one point even asked if he was truly willing to give up being a hero someday if it came down to choosing between his life or yours.

without hesitation, kirishima answered, “i’d choose her. every time.”

eventually, your dad nodded slowly and let out another sigh.

“…fine. you have my blessing.”

kirishima nearly collapsed from relief.

“but you better not make her cry. not once. or i swear—”

“never, sir. never.”

a few days later, you came home to find a trail of glowing red petals leading to your backyard. confused, you followed them.

and there he was.

in a perfectly fitted black suit, holding a small, red velvet box in his hand, his other hand tucked nervously into his pocket.

the yard was lit up with fairy lights, and small candles floated in a heart-shaped pond he’d made with some help.

“[name],” he said, voice cracking just a little, “i’ve loved you since the day i met you. you’re everything to me. my best friend, my strength, my peace. i want to spend every second of my life making you feel as loved as you make me feel.”

he got down on one knee.

“will you marry me?”

you cried. of course you did.

dang it, he already messed up the first rule.

but you said yes so fast, he didn’t even finish opening the box before you tackled him with a hug.

later that night, you sat together under the stars, your head on his shoulder, your hand in his—now with a sparkling ring on it.

“so,” you whispered, “what changed my dad’s mind?”

he smiled and kissed your forehead. “i just told him the truth. and refused to leave until he believed it.”

you giggled. “you’re so stubborn.”

“only for you, babe.”

[raekensluver]

Hey I got I request for George I was wondering if you could do where reader walks in on George streaming like the one with he have the vr set and she scares him and he stops playing with it and hangs out with reader then he ends stream cause he wants to hang out with his girlfriend and she’s like I really like your hair messy you know

i love thissss!!!

contains: established relationship, fluff

george clarke x fem!reader

the apartment is quiet when you first walk in, door shutting behind you with a soft click. you set your bag down, toe off your shoes, and stretch the stiffness from your limbs, already imagining the warm weight of george’s hoodie, his arms, the quiet hum of his voice when he’s not performing for a screen.

then you hear it.

the faint buzz of his voice from the spare room-the streaming room, as he calls it now. his studio, when he’s being sarcastic. you catch a blur of noise, a laugh, and then-“yo, i’m actually sweating in this, hold on, hold on-”

you peek your head in and stifle a grin.

george is standing in the middle of the room wearing his vr headset, flailing like he’s either sword-fighting or narrowly avoiding digital disaster. his hair’s a storm of soft curls from the headband, sticking up like he’s been dragging his hands through it in frustration. he’s talking fast, too fast, the way he always does when he’s panicking a little but pretending he’s not. he nearly knocks over a lamp, swears under his breath, then pivots like he’s dodging something.

you lean against the doorway, arms folded. “you alright there, clarke?”

he yelps so violently he actually falls.

it’s not a dramatic fall—just a startled little backward stumble as he yanks off the headset, cheeks already red, hair standing on end like he’s been electrocuted. there’s a beat of silence. his streaming overlay lights are still on, blinking blue and purple against his flushed skin. his mic’s picking up everything, so of course, you glance at the monitor—and there it is.

twitch chat is in shambles.

LMAOOOOO SHE GOT HIM GEORGE GOT JUMPSCAREDDDD CLIP IT CLIP IT THAT SCREAM WAS NOT REAL 💀

george blinks up at you from the floor, breathless. “darling. you nearly killed me.”

you press a hand to your mouth, biting back laughter. “i knocked. twice. you just looked like you were losing a battle with your imaginary demons.”

“i was!” he grins, sheepish, brushing curls from his forehead. “it was this stupid horror game. like, who asked for floating mannequins with knives?”

“you, apparently.”

he lets out a breathless laugh, still not moving from the carpet, just looking up at you like he’s already halfway melted. “you scared the hell out of me.”

“good. that’s what girlfriends are for.”

you step into the room, crouching beside him. he’s warm from the lights, hoodie soft beneath your fingers when you tug him closer, hands slipping under the fabric at his waist like muscle memory. the vr headset lies discarded beside you both like it’s something embarrassing. he rests his forehead against your shoulder with a groan.

“i’m never playing that game again.”

“liar.”

george huffs a laugh against your neck. “okay, maybe. but not tonight.”

the twitch chat’s still moving. someone’s spamming the timestamp of the moment he fell. you glance over again, biting your lip, then gently push at his chest.

“go on, sign off before someone makes it their ringtone.”

with a muffled groan, he reaches up and taps the mic, voice dry. “yeah, alright, lads, this is enough trauma for one stream. my girlfriend showed up and she’s much cooler than all of you combined.”

there’s a flood of nooooo and boooo in the chat. george doesn’t wait. he clicks a few keys, ends the stream mid-noise, and tosses the headset onto the desk like it’s cursed.

you don’t say anything until he turns back around, cheeks still pink, hair a complete mess. your fingers automatically reach up to card through the strands, soft and warm and utterly chaotic. you leave them mussed on purpose.

“you know…” you murmur, voice low, “i really like your hair like this.”

he stills. “messy?”

“messy. fluffy. like someone’s been touching you.”

his lips twitch upward. “someone has been.”

“mhm. and i might keep doing it.”

george leans in, his voice suddenly quieter, gaze a little softer. “you like it that much?”

you nod, fingers sliding to the nape of his neck. “yeah. feels more like you.”

he exhales like he’s been holding something in all night, and then he’s pulling you into his lap, hoodie bunched up between you both, his arms looped around your waist like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the room. and maybe you are.

the stream’s over. the headset’s forgotten. his hair’s a mess and his heart’s calmer now, with you here.

and there’s nowhere else he wants to be.

[pollkien]

CURUFIN PROPAGANDA:

Sideeyeing Beleriand’s best boy

Called Orodreth stupid behind his back in the Lay of Leithian

#1 Eöl hater of all time

#1 Beren hater of all time also

Daddy’s most specialest boy. So special that both of his names are about his dad. This slut has absolutely no identity outside of his father and I think this is extremely appealing to some

“he alone showed in some degree the same temper and talents. He also resembled Fëanor very much in face.” I mean if you resemble the hottest elf ever you must also be hot.

Absolute cunt. Just a huge asshole. I love that for him

Actually in a draft, Fëanor called on Curufin and a few other of his most trusted servants to burn the ships at night <3

His only redeeming quality is when he told Eöl off that one time

Says the funniest line in all of Silm. “By the laws of the Eldar I may not slay you at this time” is incredible. He invented “Had It Not Been For the Laws of This Land”

Can usurp your heart ;)

Married! Canonically fucked! Unlike most other people here

This also means Curufin is a dilf.

Set evil in Celegorm’s heart <3

If his dad was so so hot Curufin must also be very hot

NOT racist! He was friends with Telchar and wrote much about the Dwarves and Khuzdul. #DiversityWin

Curufin the Crafty more like Curufin the Cunty

He schemes so hard. Do you like scheming boys? He is THE scheming boy for you.

Has a named weapon!

“Eöl, however, Curufin loved not at all. Curufin was aware of Eöl's resentment towards the Noldor, and that Eöl was using his friendship with the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains, which Curufin was jealous of, to stir up unfriendliness against them. Regardless, Eöl was still allowed to cross through East Beleriand, though a constant watch was placed on Nan Elmoth as they mistrusted his doings and goings.” No fucking way DUDE YOU ARE ALSO FRIENDS WITH THE DWARVES OF THE BLUE MOUNTAINS

“In The Earliest Annals of Valinor, the translation of Curufin's name in to Old English is given as Cyrefinn Facensearo and defined as "[Curufin the Crafty, O.E. cyre 'choice', facen 'deceit, guile, wickedness' (a word of wholly bad meaning); searu 'skill, cunning' (also with bad meaning, 'plot, snare, treachery'); facensearu 'treachery'.]"” someone fuck this whore right now

Sorry i am now just reading his TG page “In relation to Celegorm, Christopher Tolkien notes that Curufin is "the more longheaded schemer, standing behind his brother and prompting him - it is clear ... that Celegorm has some authority — or is felt by Curufin to have some authority — that Curufin lacks"[23]:247 and that Curufin was "the wickeder (as he was certainly also the cleverer) of the brothers".” Oh my god.

He has quite the long TG page. Not propaganda just very surprising. Did you know his name shows up 30 times in the published Silm, 34 if you include the name index

Oh he is also divorced.

BELEG PROPAGANDA:

First gay in Middle-earth

No literally. Wist no sire? Beleg the bowman was blowing gaily??

He’s just such a jolly fellow

Beleg <- that’s it that’s the propaganda

“He was great of growth and goodly-limbed, but lithe of girth, and lightly on the ground his footsteps fell”

Loyal as fuck

“Followed no man” and “could not be restrained”

His name means great or mighty. Penis metaphor.

Good sense of humour - for example he surprises Túrin’s outlaws by sneaking up on them with presents

Good with kids

Greatest woodsman of the first age

Truest of friends

With Halmir of Haladin, took an entire orc legion unaware and destroyed it.

Has a mighty bow of black yew wood and an arrow that never breaks (until it broke)

Cute fashion senses - wears grey and green and brown, very cute forestcore vibes

Also has a big white cloak

Cute red boots

Jirt even drew a picture of him clearly this is because he is sexy

Both a warrior and healer. Get you a man who can do it all.

Possibly one of the first elves to awake. Fuck that old man.

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a year after the breakup, one fight still haunts them both. when sylus shows up again, it all comes rushing back—every kiss, every scream, every regret. they miss each other. they need each other. and this time, they’re not letting go.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: ex boyfriend sylus, canon divergence, slight angst if you squint, dw there's comfort, brief mentions of zayne, reader is VERY briefly implied to be a student, plot with porn, emotional make up sex, like crying during the deed, slightly toxic but they're in love, they're healing ok, sylus is a simp, reader is down bad, this is soft and filthy at the same time

★ 𝐰𝐜: 10.5k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: this came to me in a prophetic vision and i needed to write it. i LOVEEE the idea of ex boyfriend sylus. like mmmm give me more…. anyways im not very good nor comfortable with writing smut but i had to do it so here it is. i hope i executed it well LMAO. was originally gonna be porn with plot but i got too locked in… enjoy!

Nothing about the breakup was amicable.

It wasn’t one of those slow fades, where two people quietly drift in different directions until they’re just gone. No, it was one fight—loud, sharp, nasty and just downright cruel. The kind that leaves a ringing in your ears and words you wish you could take back. One moment, and everything you were just blew apart. 

You didn’t walk away. 

No, you crashed—hard. Spun out of each other’s lives like planets knocked off course.

You always fought like that—both of you stubborn, neither one willing to back down. It wasn’t anything new. You’re not even sure what exactly made you lose it that time.

Maybe it was the way he embarrassed you in front of everyone. Maybe you’d had too much to drink. Or maybe you were just finally done. Done with the constant tension, the little digs, all the crap you kept letting slide. Just sick and tired of his shit.

You don’t even remember what you said, just playfully whining to your friend beside you.

“You get used to her overreacting. She just needs attention.”

And then everyone laughed. Maybe at you, maybe just at the joke—who even knows anymore. He always had a way of getting people to laugh like that, soaking up attention with that slick charisma he wore like his dumb expensive cologne. And this time? That charm of his came at the cost of your dignity. Your pride.

You bit your tongue and swallowed everything you wanted to scream. Unlike him, you weren’t going to make a scene—not in front of all your friends. No, you kept your mouth shut, had a few more drinks, sat in silence the whole Uber ride home, and waited.

He followed you inside like nothing was wrong, started taking off his coat like he always did, settling in like it was just any other night. But you stopped him. Told him to hang on a second. Then you walked straight to your room, grabbed every single thing he owned—every sock, every hoodie, every stupid little trinket—and dumped it all at his feet.

And that’s when it started. You brought up what he said, how he embarrassed you, how he made you feel like a goddamn joke in front of everyone. And of course—of course—he didn’t take you seriously. Laughed it off, like he always did. Like your anger, your hurt, was some kind of performance he’d already seen too many times.

Like your overreacting was just a grab for attention.

That’s when you snapped. You weren’t just arguing about that night anymore—you were tearing into everything. Every moment you’d swallowed your pride, every time you felt small, every time he talked over you or dismissed you like you didn’t matter.

You started throwing his stuff at him, screaming like your chest was on fire, like you could rip his voice out of the air just to make it stop. Told him to get the fuck out, that you never wanted to see his stupid fucking face again. It was bad, the kind of fight that had cops on the doorstep. That was the only thing that finally got him to leave. The only reason that ugly night finally stopped.

Then came the texts—him cycling through the five stages of grief in your messages. 

‘Sweetie, you know me better than this. What happened to us, to you?’

‘Can we just sit down? I’ll listen, really. I’ll hear you.”

‘Don’t throw away everything we’ve built in one moment of anger.’

You had to silence his calls, his texts. Your phone had practically turned into a vibrator with the way he was spamming it.

But you never found it in yourself to block his number.

Once, you walked out of class and there he was, waiting outside like he’d been watching for you. He tried to talk to you, and you had to practically sprint to get away. After that, you started taking different routes to your classes, finding back ways around buildings, just to avoid him. It felt like you couldn’t even breathe without him showing up.

He sent gifts to your doorstep; monetary, thoughtless gestures like expensive jewelry, new designer clothes, extravagant bouquets. But on nights you spent cramming for exams or buried in the library, you’d come home to meals from your favorite restaurants or baskets filled with all the snacks you loved.

There was never a note, but you didn’t need one. You always knew who it was from.

But it didn’t take long for it all to stop. The texts, the gifts, the way you’d catch glimpses of him standing around places you used to go. You thought you’d be relieved, but now… it’s different. Sometimes, you almost miss it—the reminder that he was still there, still trying. It felt like you still mattered to him, even if it was twisted.

Despite all the fights, he was good. Good to you, and just good in that rare, complicated way some people are. His heart was made of gold and steel—soft in places, unbreakable in others. He just didn’t always know how to use it.

But you know you mattered to him. You felt it, even when everything else was falling apart.

Right person, wrong time, you guess.

Because despite your 3 year relationship coming to an abrupt, sudden and earth shattering halt—life goes on.

Though, it took a while.

At first, his constant pleas for forgiveness built a wall between you and any real chance at healing. And then there was the regret—that heavy, gnawing feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’d made a huge mistake. That maybe you’d let go of the best thing you ever had. Lost something you weren’t sure you’d ever find again.

It didn’t help that you shared the same circle of friends. He was everywhere—smiling in group photos, lit up in stories, slipping into your feed like a ghost that refused to rest. You’d catch a glimpse, tap the tag, and spiral into his page like it was muscle memory. You told yourself it was harmless curiosity, that you just wanted to know if he was okay now that the begging had gone quiet.

But deep down, you were searching for something else.

Hoping he hadn’t moved on.

Eventually, you found a rhythm. Learned when to look away from social media, which friends to sidestep in conversation. You slipped into a beat that no longer used him as an instrument. 

And slowly, quietly, you began to write a new song.

Without Sylus.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

You sat cross-legged on the floor of Zayne’s apartment, your head resting in your hands as you watched him work. His eyes were locked on his laptop, fingers moving with careful precision, while his glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. Every few minutes, he’d pause just long enough to push them back up, never once looking away for long.

You’d been seeing each other for a few months now. It had been a year, finally a full year, since everything fell apart.  

“Better to get back out there,” you told yourself.

You met Zayne through one of your new friends. He had asked for your number, and you gave it to him without thinking too hard—if you did, you’d start to feel the guilt you were trying to desperately ignore. He’s a doctor, living the kind of life that sounded like ambition carved into marble—precise and immovable. He had plans, timelines, a path so clearly mapped out it felt like there wasn’t room for detours.

He’s sweet. Gentle in ways you didn’t realize you needed. 

He doesn’t set off fireworks in your chest, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe peace was always the thing you were chasing.

But, sometimes, being with him felt like standing in a waiting room of his life. Like you were something brief, something meant for now but not later. A warm presence to come home to, but never quite a part of the long term picture. 

Because of that, you weren’t exactly together—but you weren’t not together, either. It was strange, undefined, but it worked. You didn’t know if you were ready for something more serious yet, a new commitment after what came before.

And Zayne was so different from him.

Zayne was calm where he had been wild. Predictable where he had been chaotic. Steady where he had burned.

But sometimes you missed the fire.

The way he could make you feel like the center of the universe with just a look, the way everything with him was urgent, desperate, alive. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been electric.

With Zayne, it sometimes felt like you were too much for him. Like he didn’t really know what to do with all of you. But with him, it was the opposite—he couldn’t get enough.

Zayne was still a good guy. That should’ve been enough.

Even if you already knew what it felt like to be wanted completely. Wanted like a storm.

"Do you want to grab food?" you asked, tapping gently on the back of his laptop. You knew better than to interrupt his flow, but you hadn’t come over just to sit and watch him work.

He hummed in response, barely acknowledging you.

You sighed. "So you wouldn’t care if I blew up your apartment?"

Another hum.

To be fair, he had promised dinner earlier. He just needed to finish his work—and then he just needed a bit more time… And then a little more after that.

That was three hours ago.

This time, you reach for the top of his laptop screen, and his eyes flick up to you—blinking slowly, like he’s just now registering the reality outside of his research paper.

Zayne frowns, the disapproval clear on his face. You mirror him with a frown of your own, arms crossing over your chest.

"It’s getting late," you say, your tone edging on impatient. "Let me know what you want, and I’ll go pick it up."

“No, it’s alright.” He finally shuts his laptop with a quiet click, then takes off his glasses and sets them gently on the table beside him. His eyes meet yours—tired, a little guilty.

“I’m sorry for taking so long,” he says, voice softer now, like he means it.

You shrug in response, but inside, your thoughts begin to stir.

They did this sometimes—whenever Zayne did something even slightly wrong.

He would never do that.

He would never make you wait more than an hour—and that was only if something came up. He always respected your time, always made sure you knew you were a priority. 

He was always there when he said he would be—in every single sense.

The guilt rises again, thick and suffocating in your chest. Guilt for what you did, guilt for even thinking about him when Zayne is right here. The way Zayne’s hesitation, his lack of urgency, makes everything feel distant.

‘If he would never do that, why don’t you go back to him?’ Though sarcastic, the thought cuts through you bitterly. You scoff, but the question lingers.

“Where do you want to go?” Zayne asks, his voice pulling you out of the fight with your own subconscious. You blink, disoriented for a moment, before his words sink in.

“Anywhere you’d like,” he continues, “As an apology for making you wait so long.”

You don’t know why you say it, and you're not even sure if you want to go there, but the words leave your lips anyway. You tell him you want to go to this place across town.

Zayne doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the history of that place, the weight of the memories tied to it, the way it feels like a part of him still lingers there. And you don’t want to taint him with that—don’t want to drag him into this aggressive, aching space inside you.

But it’s like everything in you aches to go there, anyway.

To feel a fragment of him again, even if it’s through something so small, so insignificant. Just to be near a place that once held the kind of warmth you crave now. To feel a piece of what it was, even if you know you’ll never truly get it back.

To just miss him for a second.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to drag Zayne along. He’s clueless, unaware of the heaviness of this strange little hole in the wall restaurant. Doesn’t know why you stay silent the entire ride, eyes fixed on the world outside, every single tree passing by like a painful reminder.

You can feel the hole in your chest, the space he used to fill, and it’s all you can do not to let it consume you.

When you arrived, even the bricks outside were enough to make your heart lurch. For a second—an honest, long second—you forgot who you were with.

You turned, expecting to see silver hair, eyes like cut rubies, that familiar warmth of a presence that used to pull the air from your lungs.

But instead, you were met with something gentler. A forest, not a flame.

Zayne took your hand, his brows drawn with concern. “Are you alright?” he asked.

You forced a smile—too quick, too practiced—and nodded.

“Yeah.”

But even as the word left your mouth, you could feel the lie settle in the air between you.

The inside was just as cruel. Small and warm, familiar in a way that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. The feeling was a tie between a warm hug and suffocating.

Maybe you were a masochist for letting yourself come here—for asking to be brought back to a place that held a feeling you’d buried so deep it shouldn’t have surfaced this easily.

It was just a small place you found by accident one lazy evening. But once you fell in love with it, he made it tradition.

Every weekend, like clockwork, he’d take you on a date. And more often than not, you’d ask to come here.

Eventually, the owners knew you by name. Knew your usuals, your laughter, your habits—the shape of your love, even.

And standing there now, with Zayne beside you, the warmth and familiarity turned sharp.

You realized what you’d done.

Who you were with.

And for a moment, regret bloomed in your throat like a bruise.

Were you that ex? The one who dragged new boys through old memories like ghosts on a leash?

No.

Zayne wasn’t your boyfriend. So it didn’t count. It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

You found a table in the corner, far from that quiet little booth tucked near the stage—the one that had soaked in your fights, your laughter, your deepest conversations.

The one that still held all of that messy, complicated love.

Far from the exposed brick wall where you’d once scrawled your initials with the red lipstick you always carried.

His favorite shade.

You still have it in your purse. You never took it out.

Why didn’t you take it out?

The band was bustling, the loud jazz music crashing against your thoughts like waves. You knew Zayne would hate it here—too loud and too cramped for him.

The faint frown tugging at his face confirmed everything you already knew.

You had to order at the bar, and you silently hoped—begged—that he’d take the hint, take the lead.

You just wanted to stay in your seat, stay still; let the noise swallow you whole while you slipped quietly back in time.

Just for a little while.

And he did. Zayne stood with a sigh and made his way to the bar, already checking his watch like he couldn’t wait to leave.

You stayed seated.

Let your eyes wander around the room, soaking in the soft haze of memory like it was smoke in your lungs.

You imagined another version of this moment—one where you weren’t sitting there with someone you knew well, but still felt like a stranger; who held your hand too gently, smiled too politely.

One where the seat across from you was filled with someone who looked at you like you hung the stars, the sun and the moon alike. Who never looked at his watch because time was never wasted with you.

From where you were sitting, you knew the only thing you’d be able to see through the crowds of people at tables was the band and that stupid, beautiful booth.

You couldn’t look at it.

You wouldn’t look at it.

You looked.

Oh.

Oh.

You met his eyes, and the world forgot how to spin.

The air stilled. The conversations and music seemed to pause, a single note stretched out across eternity.

Everything—everyone—stood frozen in place.

Time held its breath.

And for one impossible second, it was just the two of you again.

What was he doing here?

Was the universe playing some cruel trick, drawing you both back to this place like gravity? Why your booth?

Why now?

His eyes scanned your face like he wasn’t sure you were real—like you’d stepped out of a dream.

Then came that smile.

The soft one; the one he used to give you in the quiet, perfect moments when the world was small, just the two of you.

There was no venom in it. No pain. No trace of the wreckage you left in each other.

Just something tender.

As if none of it had happened.

As if you were still okay.

You couldn’t help but smile back.

It was instinct, not decision—like your face moved before your mind could catch up. Like your chest cracked open just wide enough to let the light in.

It felt like winter turning to spring, when everything thaws out and comes alive again. when the frost softens and color creeps quietly back into everything.

Your heart bloomed, slow and trembling—like a flower daring to open again.

He lifts his hand in a wave, mouthing “Hello.” 

“Hi, Sylus.” You mouth back

Your lips felt strange shaping his name. Like they weren’t used to the syllables anymore—like they’d forgotten the rhythm of it, the way it used to sit so easily on your tongue. It felt foreign now, like a word in a language you once knew by heart but hadn’t spoken in years.

Everything started moving again when your drink was sat in front of you. You looked up, and Zayne’s face was tired, pained even.

"Thank you," you murmured, fingers idly twisting the straw. He stayed quiet, as he always did, his gaze fixed on the band, listening to the music, indifferent to you.

You glanced over at the booth again, just to make sure.

And he was gone.

Your heart froze up again, going back to winter. The flower that had started to bloom died in an instant.

Did you just imagine him? He was there in a second, gone the next. 

Was coming to this place such a bad idea that you started hallucinating your ex boyfriend?

Suddenly, the once familiar comfort of this place turned on you, becoming suffocating and unbearable. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, a flush of panic exploding beneath your skin. Every hair on your body stood on end, as if now bracing for something that wasn’t there.

Your chest tightened, breath shallow, the music too loud, the walls too close.

What the hell just happened?

You pushed your food around the plate, appetite long gone, and caught glimpses of Zayne doing the same.

The high had worn off—whatever rush or adrenaline that had carried you through the moment had collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but a deep, aching hollowness in your chest.

All you wanted was to crawl into bed and fall apart. To let the tears come in the dark, mourning the vision your mind had conjured up like some sick joke.

To sit with the guilt of missing him. Of returning to this place. Of dragging Zayne into the wreckage of your past.

He didn’t know a thing—not really. You never told him. Never told anyone, if you were being honest.

It wasn’t something you ever felt the need to say out loud. You kept it locked away, tucked in a corner of your soul like something sacred and shameful all at once.

But now, sitting here, watching Zayne shrink into his chair, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d tainted him, too. Dragged him into a history he had no business being part of.

Was it you? Or was it this damn bar? Maybe both were cursed. 

You excused yourself to the bathroom, muttering something about needing a moment, but really you just needed to slam your head gently against a stall door and splash cold water over your face. Anything to snap yourself out of whatever spiral this was.

You stood in front of the mirror, blinking hard, like maybe the reflection would shift. That maybe you’d look solid again—real, awake and breathing. But as you smoothed your hair, you really looked. For the first time in what felt like ages.

The circles beneath your eyes were deeper than you remembered, carved in like bruises you forgot to cover. The spark behind those same eyes had vanished, a dull, empty quiet staring back. The color in your cheeks had faded, drained from your skin like it had somewhere better to be.

Where had it gone?

With him.

Your life went with him.

You walked back out to find Zayne at the bar, settling the tab. His expression was unreadable, but it didn’t take much to tell—there wasn’t a smile left in him tonight. His eyes were low, his mouth set in a line.

This was going to be a long ride home.

And it was. Long. Silent. The kind of silence that wasn’t just quiet, but loud in all the wrong ways. The kind that pressed against your ears and made your throat tight. The air in the car felt thick, like you couldn’t swallow a breath. 

Would it have killed him to turn on the radio? Like, just a song? Was he that mad at you for dragging him somewhere out of his comfort zone?

The answer was yes.

“Listen,” Zayne said as the car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment. “Can we talk for a second?”

You knew what was coming.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You replied, turning toward him with a hollowness in your voice. There wasn’t any way this night could get worse.

He let out a breath, one of those slow exhales people do when they’re trying not to make something worse than it already is. His hands fell to his lap, unsure, then found the wheel again.

“You’re great,” he started, eyes fixed somewhere ahead, like looking at you would make it harder. “You’re really sweet. Kind. But I think…” A pause. A swallow.  “I think we’re headed in different directions, two very different people.”

That damn bar.

“Yeah.” You repeat again, hand reaching for the door, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“You’re great though.”

I heard you the first time, you want to say.

Instead you just nod, climbing out of the car and heading inside. 

When you see his car pulling away through the glass of the lobby doors, something inside you gives out. The tears come hot and fast, spilling before you even reach the elevator. You don’t care who sees.

The couple down the hall pauses mid conversation, shifting awkwardly as they juggle grocery bags and avoid your eyes. The old woman waiting by the elevator doesn’t look away—after a second, she rifles through her purse and presses a butterscotch candy into your palm.

You thank her as you both take the elevator up. She doesn’t say a word, just gives you that soft, knowing look only age can shape. The kind that says heartbreak is universal, and survivable.

You’re still crying when you reach your door, fumbling with the keys through blurred vision. The tears come in waves now—messy, relentless—and you’re not even sure what they’re for anymore. It’s like a year’s worth of grief, pressed down and packed tight, finally burst free all at once.

It wasn’t really about Zayne. You’d known for a while you didn’t belong in the future he was building, and he wasn’t ever really yours to begin with. But tonight? Of all nights?

Really, karma? You think, bitterly. Was this supposed to be funny?

When you finally get inside, something feels off. You pause, your hand still on the doorknob. It was light out when you left—had you accidentally turned a light on? You don’t remember doing that. The glow from the kitchen spills out like an omen.

You shut the door slowly, silently, and that’s when you hear it—a shuffle.

Your body locks up. Heart in your throat, you reach for the pepper spray on your keys, hand trembling.

Of course. Of course. Out of all the godforsaken nights for your apartment to get broken into—it had to be tonight. Because why wouldn’t it be. 

What luck!

You catch a quick movement—and without thinking, you lunge, instinct taking over. A desperate swing in self defense. But just as fast, you’re caught. Arms wrap around you, pinning you back against the body of whoever’s in your home.

This is it, you think, panic thundering in your chest. This is how I go. What a night to die.

But then—

“Easy, kitten.”

The world stops. Your entire body goes rigid.

That voice.

That goddamn voice.

A voice you haven’t heard in thirteen months and twenty eight days. Not that you were counting. You tried to stop counting—god, you did—but the days clung to you like dust in sunlight. Every hour ticked by like a relentless grandfather clock, towering in the corner of your mind, never breaking and never missing a chime.

Always ringing.

Always reminding you.

And there it was again. Smooth as velvet, soft like the worn fur of a childhood bear. It wrapped around you with the grasp of memory, gentle and impossible to forget. Like your favorite song buried deep in your mind, untouched for years, and yet the moment it plays—you remember every note, every breath, every rise and fall. 

You don’t know if you want to turn around. There’s a part of you that’s afraid he won’t actually be there, that if you look, you’ll just be staring at an empty room or some figment your mind cooked up to fill the silence—because maybe you’re imagining him again. After the night you’ve had, it wouldn’t be too far off. 

Maybe you’re just tired, emotional, and your brain is pulling memories of your ex out of storage. And honestly, with the way things have gone, that would be exactly your kind of luck.

You’re yanked out of your spiral when he turns you around, slow and careful. And there it is—his face. That same stupidly beautiful, maddeningly familiar face. The one that made you laugh, made you cry. 

Sylus, Sylus, Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

You don’t know whether to swing at him for breaking into your apartment or hold onto him so tight you melt into his bones—crawl into his skin, make a home in his ribs. Never leave his side again.

He searches your face, stares at you like he’s just as unsure of your existence as you are his. 

You take a step back, putting some space between you, letting your eyes scan him like they might find something new. But he’s the same. Same worn coat, same styled hair he swore looked better like that, same silver “S” hanging from his neck. But his eyes—they match yours, tired and drained. Like everything of the past year sits on his chest, just like it does on yours. And suddenly, he doesn’t look so untouchable anymore. He looks just as haunted.

It’s on you, if you’re being honest. Sure, he said some things that cut deep, and yeah, you were exhausted—mentally and emotionally by that point. But you’re the one who tossed three years away like they didn’t matter. Like they were disposable. One angry moment, one impulsive decision, and it was all over. You didn’t stop to think about what it would do to him—or to you. And when the dust settled, you were too damn proud to go back, to say you messed up, to admit that walking away wasn’t really what you wanted. You both lost something special, because pride got in the way. Because despite all the arguments, he was your person. And you were his.

“I made coffee,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

“At this time of night?” you reply, eyebrows lifting but not really questioning it. 

You can’t find it in you to ask how he got in, or even why he’s here. The words don’t form, caught somewhere between exhaustion and surrender. Tonight has taken too much out of you—emotionally, mentally, physically. You’re too drained to be angry, too hollow to press for answers. And maybe, deep down, you don’t really want to know. Maybe pretending is easier.

Pretending you came home from a hard night, and he was here, waiting for you like he used to. Like nothing ever fell apart between you. Like the months without him hadn’t happened, like the space between you two had never formed in the first place.

You know it's ridiculous. 

Definitely unhealthy. 

But in this moment, you don't care. You're tired—so, so tired—and the comfort of familiarity, even a fractured one, feels like the only thing keeping you upright. Because maybe you're a little crazy. Or maybe you’re just lonely. Maybe you’ve spent so long missing him in silence that your heart doesn’t know how to stop.

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s trying to smile but can’t quite get there. And that’s when it hits you—since seeing him today, not once has he worn that usual smug grin he always carried so effortlessly. No teasing, no playful glint in his eye. Just this look, like you’re something out of a dream. Like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, and he doesn’t fully believe it. Like you’re some kind of miracle, and he’s still trying to convince himself you’re really standing there.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where two mugs sit on the counter. You stop when you notice them—your matching mugs, the ones you picked out during that trip, the ones shaped like a cat and a crow. You remember how you practically screamed when you saw them, all excited like a kid in a candy store. Of course, he bought them for you, because that was just who he was. 

He’d do anything for you.

You don’t know why you’ve kept them, not after everything. But there are certain things, small things, that you can’t bring yourself to let go of. These mugs are one of them. They hold too many memories—too many nights spent tangled in blankets during movie marathons, too many late night conversations at the kitchen table over cups of coffee just like this.

And the moment you take that first sip, you realize—he still knows exactly how you like it.

Sylus leans against the counter, watching you. Analyzing. 

“What’re you thinking about?” You mumble over the rim of your mug. He raises an eyebrow in surprise before standing up straight, rolling his shoulders back as if he's gathering the confidence to speak his mind. It’s strange to see Sylus like this—like he has to work up the courage to say something, something you’ve never seen him do before.

"Who was the guy you were with tonight?" He takes a drink. 

You scoff. "Sylus, be for real."

"Is he your boyfriend?" He sets his mug down a bit too forcefully.

"You really broke into my apartment over a guy?"

"I asked you a question first, sweetie."

"Fine." You roll your eyes, setting your mug down and crossing your arms. "No, he's not my boyfriend. Well, kind of. But whatever he was, he’s not anymore." You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head at the irony. "Actually, he ended it outside."

"Is that why you were crying?" Sylus’s expression hardens, and you regret your choice of words for Zayne’s safety.

Sighing, you shrug, not really sure how to answer that. “No, I think that was just the straw that broke the camel's back.”

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

He was never great at comforting people, but Sylus was one of the most caring and empathetic people you’d ever known. He just wasn’t always good at showing it.

"I don’t know." You avoid his gaze, fingers tracing the rim of your mug. "I went to the bar tonight because I wanted to feel something. Feel a part of you again. And I don't think I realized just how much I missed you."

You surprised yourself with how easily the truth spilled out, after all this time. But that was always the way with him—honesty never felt like work. It came naturally, like breathing. You used to hate that about him, about what he brought out in you. Because maybe if you'd kept more to yourself, held your tongue a little tighter, you wouldn’t have fought so much. Maybe silence would’ve saved you both some hurt.

"Seeing you again brought everything back, and it was just a lot all at once. Then I got dumped after all of that. Kind of felt shitty."

You were ready for him to bite back, make a remark that would start a fight. Say something about how all of this was your fault anyways. Ignite the flame. 

Honestly, you kind of wanted him to. Wanted to feel some sort of sick piece of your previous life together.

But he didn’t. Just pressed his lips into a line while he paused to think. 

“I’m sorry.”

The apology felt foreign, strange even, coming from him. He was never one to admit he was wrong, and for a moment, you wondered if this was one of the rare times you’d ever hear him say he was sorry.

“For... what?" Confusion flickered across your face. It was painfully clear for once he wasn’t the one in the wrong here.

"I'm sorry things ended that way."

You weren't sure if he was talking about the night or the entire relationship, but as you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, you whispered, "I'm sorry that it ended at all."

Sylus finally smiled—really smiled—the kind of grin that cracked through the solemn silence like sunlight after a storm. Like he’d been holding his breath this entire time, just waiting for you to say those words.

You lifted your hand, stopping him before the moment could get ahead of you. “The fight we had was stupid. And breaking up? That was impulsive. Irrational.” Your voice wavered. “And maybe... maybe you were right. Maybe I do just overreact.”

“No.” he said, already making his way to where you sat, each step careful, like approaching a wild thing.

“No?” you echo, blinking up at him.

“No,” he says again. “You were hurting. And I didn’t see it. That’s on me too.”

He kneels beside your chair, resting his hands on your knees like he used to when he had something serious to say. His eyes search yours, looking for anything and everything.

“I should’ve asked you what was wrong instead of trying to fix you like you were some project. I didn’t know how to handle you—us sometimes. But I never stopped—” His voice catches for a quick second. 

Sylus swallows hard, eyes glancing to the floor. “I never stopped thinking about you. Missing you. Hoping you were okay.”

You stare at him, heart tight in your chest. You want to say something but your throat burns with unshed tears, eyes stinging and cheeks hot.

He lifts his hand, hesitant, brushing his fingers just barely against yours. “I don’t want to keep pretending like losing you didn’t tear something out of me.”

You don’t even realize your hand is moving until it’s already holding his. It fits the same way it always did—like nothing had changed, and everything had.

“Then don’t,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss to each of your fingers, then lingers at the inside of your wrist like he’s afraid to let go. 

“Come back to me, sweetie. Please.”

You lower yourself to the floor beside him, knees brushing the cold tile as you refuse to let him bear the weight of this alone. He didn’t belong down there—not without you. If blame was to be shared, so was the burden. You had always been equals, and you’d meet him where he was, just like always.

Gently, you take his face in your hands, cradling it like something fragile. Your thumbs brush over his cheeks as you tilt his head from side to side, memorizing the features you never truly forgot.

He’s Sylus. He’s home. He’s your heart and soul.

“I never really left,” you whisper.

Sylus leans in, slowly and carefully—just enough for his nose to brush again yours, a quiet question hanging in the air between you. Not demanding, just hoping and waiting.

You close the space with a kiss, gentle and unsure at first, like trying on a memory. But the moment your lips meet, it all comes rushing back—how seamlessly you fit. Like you were made with the shape of him in mind.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, tentative at first, then grounding. The kiss deepens just a little, and it’s not desperate. It’s not about lust. It’s about grief and forgiveness, about missing someone so deeply that your soul aches and yearns to touch theirs again.

Yeah, that doesn’t last long.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But suddenly your hands are tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer like the space between you is unbearable. Like air doesn’t matter if he isn’t in it.

His lips crash back into yours with more urgency this time—less hesitation, more ache. It’s not soft anymore. It’s desperate. Months of wanting, of regret, of missing, all boiling to the surface and spilling out through every touch, every kiss, every small gasp between breaths.

Sylus groans against your lips, his hands everywhere at once—your hips, your back, your jaw—as though he can’t decide what to touch first, only that he has to. Your fingers slide under his shirt, palms skimming fever warm skin, and he shudders like the contact burns. He decides on one hand sliding up your back, the other buried in your hair as if to anchor himself there. You let him. You want him to. You want to feel all of it—everything you’ve been pushing down since the moment he got dragged out of that door a year ago.

When he pulls you into his lap, it’s not gentle. It’s a need—as if not having you near him physically hurts. 

At least, it hurts you.

Your thighs cradle his like instinct, and your bodies slot together like they never really stopped belonging to each other. Like you’re two atoms destined to combine.

The kiss deepens, grows messier—teeth and tongue clashing. Breath shared like oxygen. You’re not even kissing anymore, not really. You’re devouring, rediscovering. Worshipping with your mouths. He breaks only to gasp, to mutter your name like hes singing a psalm, saying a prayer, like he’s drowning in the taste of you.

“You didn’t waste any time,” you pant, lips swollen, eyes glazed.

He grins against your mouth, finally giving you that signature, smug smirk he wears so damn well. “I’ve had thirteen months and twenty eight days to starve, kitten.”

Your laugh is breathless, and it breaks against him as your hips roll forward just once. He chokes on a gasp and grips you harder, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down your throat, dragging teeth and tongue and heat as he goes.

Clothes shift. Shirts inch upward, skin revealed in patches, in hurried grazes of fingers that tremble with the weight of too much time passed. You could cry from the way he touches you—like he’s both reverent and ravenous. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again if he blinks.

Sylus.

Sylus.

Sylus.

“I missed you,” he says, and the words hit you like a lightning strike—hot and electric. It’s enough to draw a sound from your throat, a soft whimper at how deeply you feel it, in your heart and your core. Like music played in a key only your body recognizes, a melody you’ve been yearning to hear.

Because he wanted you all this time as badly as you wanted him.

No, he needed you. And hearing it now, in that voice, in this moment, feels like being set free.

Set free from all of that guilt and pain that’s been haunting you like a vice.

You cup his face again, thumbs sweeping over skin you used to call home. The skin you’ll call home once again. “Then take me back,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “Right here. However you need.”

He doesn’t answer.

You don’t remember standing—you don’t think you did. All you know is the feel of Sylus’ arms wrapped around you; he carries you down the hallway like muscle memory, navigating your space with the ease of someone who never truly left. And in that moment, all you can think is, ‘please don’t leave again.’

He’s on you again before you can exhale—lips crashing to yours like he’s been waiting to breathe, to feel, since the moment you left. Since that moment the cops had to practically drag him out of your front door.

It’s desperate, disheveled, the kind of hunger that comes from months of lonely nights and phantom memories traced on cold sheets. Nights where you buried your face in the pillow that still held the faint shape of where he used to sleep, moaning into the echo of him, aching and wet for the hands that weren’t there.

And now, they were.

You backpedal until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and he follows you down with a gentleness that betrays the way his hands feel when they touch your skin. You fall together, mouths never parting, tangled limbs pressed into the mattress that hasn’t known this kind of weight in far too long.

Your shirt peels away, slow and careful. As if he’s trying to savor every second, like this will never happen again. 

It will—it has to. You may die if you have to go through separation again.

He stares at you like he’s seen heaven and hell and finally made it back to the beginning. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, voice ragged. He’s barely holding himself together, a fierceness in his eyes that makes you think he may eat you alive.

You hope he does.

You reach up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him back down to you with need. “Then stop looking,” you mutter against his lips. “Start remembering.”

Clothes come off in stuttered gasps—half laughed, half moaned—as if each layer is a wall you’re tearing down together. Skin meets skin, the kind of touch that makes you feel tethered again. Anchored to something. 

Someone.

Sylus’ mouth traces a path along your collarbone, down the hollow of your throat, over the curve of your ribs. He bites, he sucks, leaving behind a pattern of bruises and blooming marks—claiming you in color. Like jewelry only he could give you, like tattoos etched in heat that say, without words, mine. You arch into him, a whimper escaping you, and he groans in response—low and guttural.

He sinks between your thighs like a man starved returning to his favorite meal, settling into the place he’s always called home. A low, satisfied sigh escapes him—as if the world’s weight has finally lifted now that he’s right where he belongs. His hands grip your hips like an anchor, grounding himself in your heat, in you. 

He trails open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, nipping at the tender flesh as a warning when you push towards his face.

When he finally buries himself in the place you’ve ached for most, it’s not gentle—it’s ravenous. He devours you like he’s been starving, like every second apart built up into this fevered need to taste and claim. His tongue moves with purpose—etching your name in cursive, apologies, confessing I love you in strokes and swirls only your body can understand.

You’re flushed, burning from the inside out, your skin damp and glowing like firelight. It’s heaven, you’re sure of it—though the way Sylus tears into you with sinful devotion, he might just be a demon sent to drag pleasure out of you until you forget your own name.

But don’t worry, he’ll spell it back out for you. Again, and again, and again.

Your moans pour from your lips, unrestrained and embarrassingly loud, the room echoing with every gasp and whimper. But you’re desperate, and past caring. It’s been too long. You missed this—missed him—the way Sylus touches you like he was made to, the way he knows your body better than you ever could. Missed the way he always, always finds his way back to you.

You haven’t felt this good in ages.

It doesn’t take long—your body coils tight, then shatters, release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision whites out, ears ringing with the force of it. You try to push him away, trembling hands lost in his hair, but he just smirks against your skin like the devil he is.

“One more?” he murmurs, low and wicked. It’s shaped like a question, but you both know it isn’t. It’s a promise. A command. A sentence you’re more than willing to serve.

His arms tighten around your thighs as he drags you back to him, wearing your legs like a crown, worshipping you like a man possessed. His mouth doesn’t stop—it never stops—and you break apart again, undone and helpless beneath the weight of his hunger.

You cry out his name, babbling through the overstimulation, letting the walls shake with the sound of it. Let the neighbors hear. Let the world know. You’re his—you’ve always been. And now, with his mouth rewriting every nerve in your body, you know you’ll never be anything else.

When he finally pulls back, your body is trembling, skin electric. It’s like the universe was reborn beneath your skin—like some celestial detonation bloomed inside you and scattered your bones into stardust. Every nerve feels like it’s glowing, every inch of you humming with aftershocks, like you’ve been rewritten molecule by molecule in his name.

You’re not sure if you're floating or falling, only that Sylus is your anchor in a sky full of stars he put there.

He moves back up your body slowly, this time trailing kisses along your skin like he’s putting you back together with his mouth. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you gently—like you’re something fragile and precious.

In his eyes, you are.

There’s nothing rushed now. The hunger’s still there, sure—it burns under the surface like wildfire—but it’s laced with something softer, sadder. Like you’re making up for lost time. For all the nights you didn’t have this. All the apologies neither of you knew how to give until now.

Your chest is still rising and falling, breath uneven from the waves that just crashed over you, when he finally presses against you—trembling with restraint. His hand finds your chin, tilting your face toward his. He searches your eyes, desperately looking for anything that says no, anything that tells him to stop. There’s fear in his gaze, quiet and vulnerable—terrified this might be too good to be real.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

Instead, you nod, certain, and push your hips toward his like an answer he’s been begging for. Gently, you press a kiss to his forehead.

And when he finally sinks into you—not just physically but emotionally—it’s not about sex. It’s about return. 

Reunion. 

The sacred act of becoming known again, flesh and heart and harmony folding back into one another.

You cling to him like you might fall apart otherwise. He holds you like he’s scared you already have.

Your head tips back with a moan, mouth parted as pleasure ripples through you. He presses a kiss just beneath your ear tenderly, like he’s trying to keep you from floating too far away. “Stay with me, sweetie.”

As if you could be anywhere else.

His movements are slow—painfully slow—the kind of rhythm that feels like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. He’s chasing something deeper than pleasure—he’s trying to feel all of you, to touch the parts of you he lost when you walked away. But even then, it’s not enough. God, it’s never enough.

You meet him halfway, hips rising to meet his, your body pleading before your voice even does.

“Sylus, please,” you whimper, voice cracking.

One of his hands slides down, gripping your hip harder, pulling you to him. “Tell me what you need,” he rasps, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it, sweetie. I’ll give you everything.”

And you know he would. You could ask for a kiss, a kingdom, his last breath—he’d give it without hesitation. He’d peel the stars from the sky just to light your way home. He’d carve out his heart, wrap it in gold leaf, and place it on a priceless platter if it meant seeing you smile.

Sylus made you greedy—gave you a gold thumb. He spoiled you without hesitation, fed your hunger. And he reveled in it. Got off on the way you used him, adored how you took and took, because giving to you was the only thing that ever felt right.

Your fingers thread through his hair like you’re spinning silk, tugging at the silver strands. You press open mouthed kisses along his jaw, his cheek—anything you can reach while writhing beneath the weight of him. “Quit going so slow,” you whisper, breath hitching with every drag of his hips, “you’re gonna kill me.”

You knew exactly what you were signing up for the moment he chuckled against your lips—low, dark, dangerous. He shifted you easily, legs hooked tight around his waist. Then, with a teasing snap of his hips, he drove forward, and the sharp gasp that tore from your throat was instant, involuntary.

You barely had time to say his name before his arms locked around your body—thrusting into you with a punishing rhythm, fast and merciless. It felt like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, like he was trying to replace every cell in your body with the shape of him.

If this was how you died, gasping his name, your body split open with pleasure and your heart cracked wide, then so be it. There was no holier death than this—than being completely, utterly taken by the man you loved.

His hands gripped you hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in like he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting go. And you clawed your nails down his back until you were sure you’d drawn blood—your bodies leaving marks like they were writing poems on each other’s skin.

It wouldn’t be the first time you two had broken a bed—and at this rate, it wouldn’t be the last. Not that he cared. He’d buy you a hundred more without blinking. Hell, he’d buy you a house just to ruin every room in it. He’ll put a baby in you right now to turn that house into a home, just to make sure you never even think about leaving him again.

Sylus groaned your name like it was the only thing keeping him alive. And you? You could only hold on, begging for more through breathless moans, because you knew—no one would ever fuck you like he did.

With every thrust, he drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers twisting in his hair. You could feel the tears streaking your cheeks, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming rush of it all—of him, of pleasure. It was too much and not enough all at once. You’d never felt so full. So wanted. So his.

Your mascara was probably a mess, your lips swollen from kissing and your heart aching from the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

“Sylus,” you gasped, barely able to breathe through it. “Oh, fuck—”

You were close, clinging to him like your body knew this was it. That after all the nights apart, all the words left unsaid, this was where you were meant to be.

His pace faltered for just a moment, a soft hiss through his teeth as you tightened around him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and shaky. You felt him everywhere—his hands, his heart, his love.

You shattered around him, sobbing as your climax overtook you, nearly screaming. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was months of longing, of everything you’d buried now clawing its way to the surface.

All you could think about was him.

His name, carved into your mind like scripture.

His eyes, the way they always burned through you, even when he tried to hide it.

That damned smirk—infuriating and addictive.

The scent of his cologne clinging to your sheets, haunting you even after he left.

His old jacket, the one you swore you hated but wore every chance you got.

The booth in the back corner of the bar where he first kissed you like he meant it.

Everything about him hit you at once—your body, your mind, your heart. Like coming home after wandering lost for far too long.

He followed suit, pulling you so close you half expected to disappear into him entirely. Like your skin was made for his and your bones had always bent to make room for him; as if you were his lifeline—and if that were true, he’d never sign a DNR. He’d beg the universe to keep you beating.

He clung to you like salvation, chanting your name between breathless gasps like a mantra. You were his altar, his ritual, his divine obsession.

His hips finally stilled, buried so deep inside you it felt like you’d been stitched together. His breath was shaky, chest rising and falling against yours, sweat slick skin pressing close as your hearts raced in unison.

And then he kissed you—the kind of kiss meant to seal a vow. It was quiet, sweet, full of all the things he didn’t know how to say.

I love you. I’m sorry. I’m yours.

So you say it—for the first time in thirteen months and twenty eight days.

“I love you.”

It slips out as a whisper, your voice rough, frayed at the edges. But there’s no hesitation in it. No fear. It’s the most certain thing you’ve ever said in your life.

Sylus freezes, eyes locked on yours, like those three words shattered and rebuilt him in real time. And then he exhales, relieved.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw. “Say it again,” he murmurs, almost afraid it was a fluke. A dream he’d blink and lose.

You smile, “I love you.” And this time it’s louder. Stronger.

“I love you too.”

He says it like a vow, a promise, then begins to pepper kisses across your face—each one a quiet apology for every day he went without touching you. Each one a reminder: I’m here. I’m back. I never stopped loving you.

You start to drift, the weight of the night settling into your bones, your body warm and sore and sated. Sleep tugs at you gently. But then Sylus nips playfully at your cheek, and his voice, low and teasing, curls against your ear. “Not yet, sweetie. Let me get you cleaned up.”

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “No, I’ll shower in the morning.”

But you don’t stop him when he pulls away, don’t open your eyes as he disappears briefly and returns with a warm cloth, gentle as ever. He moves with care, cleaning both of you in the quiet hush of the room.

When he’s done, you reach out, fingers circling his wrist like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you don’t. “Don’t go,” you murmur, barely above a breath. “Stay here.”

Sylus leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, that soft smile tugging at his lips—the one he only ever wore for you. “Where else would I go,” he whispers, “if not here with you?”

He climbs back into bed and pulls you into his arms like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head, guiding you to rest against his chest. You breathe him in, his scent, his warmth, the steady rhythm of his heart under your ear—home, in every way that matters.

Sleep comes easy like that, safe in his arms, as if nothing could ever take him away again.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed, and your stomach dropped. For a second, it felt like none of it had happened. Like you'd imagined it all in some sleep deprived dream.

You thought you were going to have to call a therapist for psychosis.

But then you noticed the dent in the pillow beside you. The sheets were still messy, warm where he’d been. And then you heard it—the faint sound of something clinking in the kitchen.

He hadn’t left.

You lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, heart slowly steadying. He was still here. After everything, he was still here.

It was strange how easy it felt, slipping back into something that used to be second nature. The routine. The comfort. The quiet knowing that someone else was there. It didn’t feel forced or awkward. 

It just was.

And maybe that said something. Maybe that was enough proof that this wasn’t a mistake. That loving each other had never been the problem. That the space between then and now hadn’t broken anything that couldn’t be fixed.

After one night, it was like everything was finding its place again.

You crawl out of bed and grab the shirt he left on the floor—It smells like him, that familiar mix of expensive cologne and soap that always lingered on your skin long after he was gone. 

The apartment smells like coffee and something frying. You can already guess what it is. He never cooked with precision—just intention. Eggs were his go to, even if they were usually either barely set or borderline burnt. But he tried. He always did.

You pad quietly down the hallway and stop in the kitchen doorway. He doesn’t notice you right away—he’s too focused, standing at the stove with his back to you. Shirtless, muscles shifting with every little movement. He’s wearing those pajama pants. His pajama pants. The ones you stole and swore you’d thrown out during some emotional cleanse, only to find them months later shoved behind your laundry basket. You never brought yourself to toss them again.

They hang low on his hips now, like they never left.

You lean against the doorframe, just watching him for a second. Listening to the sound of him cook, the birds chirping with the morning sun outside, and the peaceful quiet that this life brought you. 

It was home again.

“Like what you see?” Sylus says without turning around. You’re not sure how long he’s known you were standing there, but then again, he always knew. Could feel you without looking—like you were some extension of him, stitched into the same thread.

You walk up behind him and slip your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to the warm skin between his shoulder blades. “Maybe.”

He chuckles low in his chest, then reaches forward to turn off the stove. In one fluid motion, he spins in your hold, facing you. That smug grin is already there, the one you used to pretend annoyed you. His eyes sweep over you, stopping at the oversized shirt you’re swimming in.

You glance over at the table. The same old mugs. A bowl of fruit. Two plates—simple, a little uneven, but made with care.

“You didn’t have a lot to work with, kitten,” he adds, brushing a piece of hair from your face, “Someone hasn’t been buying groceries.”

You kiss his jaw, lazy and slow, still waking up. “Doesn’t matter. You showed up. That’s enough.”

“Then sit.”

You snort, let him guide you to the table, and as you sit, you watch him pour your coffee the way you like it—still remembering. Still yours.

You two sit in silence—soft, easy. The fruit’s a little mushy, the eggs slightly too done, but not enough to matter. Sylus sits across from you, half smiling, half watching.

‘This is it’, you think. ‘This is the life.’

You think, for a moment, that maybe you should ask him how he’s been. Catch up like normal people. Trade stories from the months apart—what he’s done, what he’s seen, what you missed between the snapshots friends posted with him barely in the frame.

But only one question makes it past the swirl in your chest.

“Sylus,” you say, folding your arms and leaning over the table, eyes narrowing. He mirrors you, brow lifting in challenge. “Yes?”

“How the hell did you get into my apartment?”

He laughs—loud and unbothered. He juts his chin toward the counter where, sure enough, a single key lies.

“I still have that,” he says, far too smug.

You gasp, lurching forward to swat his shoulder. “Why didn’t you give that back?”

“You never asked for it, sweetie.” He shrugs, leaning in like he’s telling a secret. “Besides… I figured it might come in handy one day.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” he hums, biting into a slice of melon. “And yet, here I am. Still your favorite bad decision.”

You scoff, sipping your coffee to cover your laugh. And maybe he is. Maybe he always has been.

But as you sit there with him, sunlight pouring in and the scent of overcooked eggs lingering in the air, it will never feel like a mistake at all.

[kxsagi]

blue lock x cyclist user.. doesn’t even have to be the professional ones could be the street cyclist ykyk

And pls she'd be so baddie like overtaking opponents gyatt

“𝐥𝐞𝐭’𝐬 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞”

a/n: hey siri, play vroom vroom by charli xcx

lavender lamborghini, roll up in a blue bikini

suggestive content inside! (sorry i’ve been slacking with that recently, but shidou is always suggestive honestly…) 

ft. isagi yoichi, mikage reo, kaiser michael, itoshi rin, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae

isagi yoichi

he thought he had good stamina. 

nah. you took him on one of your “light” rides and homie was praying to god on the fifth hill. 

“yoichi, you good?” 

“mhm just. catching. my soul. it left my body back there.” 

he admires you so much. like he will literally pull out his phone mid-convo and be like “btw, look at my girlfriend” and show everyone a video of you overtaking five dudes uphill like it’s nothing. 

“baby slow down you’re gonna hit a poth– OKAY NEVERMIND YOU JUMPED IT.” 

is also your #1 mechanic. watches bike maintenance tutorials just to help you. he’s just a little guy in love. 

blushes so hard when you ride past him and slap his ass like a demon on wheels. 

mikage reo

no one was ready for how obsessed reo became. 

spends 10k on a custom gold-accented fixie bike just to “ride with you,” only for you to pop a wheelie and leave him in the dust. 

“you didn’t say we were racing!!” 

“i wasn’t.” 

all jokes aside, he funds your entire cycling wardrobe. aero suits, racing shoes, visors. you’re his little tour de france princess. 

and when you ride past random dudes on the street and they try to catcall you? vroooom. 

reo’s already catching up like, “say it again i dare you, she’ll run your kneecaps over and i’ll sue your family.” 

holds your thigh in his lap when you’re sitting. stares at it like it’s a work of art. 

makes out with you every time you “win” a street race. “congrats, babe. now come here.” 

kaiser michael

when you met, you were biking uphill, he was jogging downhill, and you blew past him like a gust of wind and yelled, “move it, pretty boy.” 

he’s been chasing you ever since. 

your thighs haunt him. every time you pedal hard in front of him, it’s a spiritual experience. 

“you’re seriously so hot when you almost get hit by a car.” 

he also thinks it’s funny when you’re lowkey feral. like he once saw you bark at a car that almost cut you off. 

he tells everyone “my girl could outpace your sports car in a school zone.” 

buys a scooter just so he can legally ride next to you and hold your hand. 

and when you stop in front of a crowd in your helmet, shades, and biker fit? 

he just goes, “you guys wish you were her.” 

itoshi rin

he hates how attracted he is to you. like he didn’t ask to be whipped. 

every time you ride past him in full gear, he just stares. 

“you look stupid.” 

“you’ve been staring for ten minutes.” 

has no idea how to act when you pull up to his games with your helmet under your arm, your thighs all defined and glistening, and you go, “score a goal and i’ll give you a ride after.” 

cue him scoring a hat trick. 

tries to train with you once. just once. 

“we’re going how far?” 

“rin, we barely started.” 

also he 100% acts unbothered when other people check you out, but you can feel the silent murder vibes from behind his bangs. 

you once told a guy off by overtaking him on a tight sidewalk. rin was so proud he kissed you on the spot. 

karasu tabito

no thoughts head empty just: “babe, do the spinny leg thing again.” 

he takes 100 slow-mo videos of you pedaling and sets them to dramatic music. 

“LOOK AT HER QUADS.” 

absolutely wears one of your old cycling jerseys like a boyfriend hoodie. 

calls himself your water boy. shows up to your rides with snacks and says “hydration is sexy.” 

y’all do dumb dangerous races together at night just for the thrill. one time you both almost ate it trying to bunny hop a pothole. 

his love language is matching biker gloves. 

and he always stands behind you when you stretch because… reasons. 

“i respect your athleticism.” 

(he’s staring respectfully.) 

bachira meguru

street biking duo from hell. 

he doesn’t even have a real bike. it’s some janky monster-energy-themed BMX and you’re riding a $3k carbon fiber beast. 

but somehow he keeps up??? 

“it’s all in the legs, babe. and the chaos.” 

your dates are late-night races through the city where you both scream at random birds and laugh when you beat red lights. 

he draws goofy graffiti of you on buildings: “cyclist demon queen <3” with hearts and flames. 

he is genuinely obsessed with your power. like claps when you take off your helmet and your hair flips in slow-mo. 

wants pegs on your back tire so he can ride standing behind you like a badass sidekick. 

“go, my beloved velociraptor!!!” 

“meguru that’s not even the right animal–” 

nagi seishiro

he has no idea how you do this for fun. 

“you want me to... move my legs?” 

absolutely would rather be hit by a car than bike for more than five minutes. 

but he watches you ride like he’s watching a goddess in a music video. 

you once leaned down to adjust your shoe mid-ride and he was never the same. 

when you pull up to his practice to pick him up, he hops on the back like a sleepy little princess. 

“wake me when we get there.” 

falls asleep with his arms around you while you're riding 30 mph through traffic. 

he tells people, “my girlfriend’s thighs are stronger than my will to live.” 

and if someone tries to flirt with you while he’s riding behind you? 

he just peeks around and goes, “she’ll run you over.” 

shidou ryusei

this man fell in love the second he saw you hop a curb, cut off a car, flip the driver off, and speed into the distance like a neon blur. 

“nah. that’s the one.” 

his love language is biking recklessly with you. weaving between traffic, racing through yellow lights, giggling like a maniac while almost dying. 

if someone dares catcall you while you’re riding, he bikes up next to them, stares into their soul, and just smiles. 

“wanna lose your kneecaps, dumbass?” 

has definitely gotten arrested once or twice for following you into illegal races just to cheer you on. 

“baby you looked so sexy eating pavement on that last turn.” 

has a shrine in his notes app of all your biker fits. especially when your thighs are peeking out. 

and when you call him after a ride, breathless and flushed and laughing? 

he’s immediately feral. “pull up to my place. helmet on. nothing else.” 

also tries to show off by biking with no hands while texting. hits a trash can. 

“worth it.” 

itoshi sae

was absolutely unimpressed at first. like, “okay, you ride a bike. i walk.” 

then you pulled up in black cycling shorts, slick sunglasses, and passed a speeding car while eating a protein bar. 

he literally short-circuited. 

he’s not dramatic, but he hasn’t shut up about it since. 

“she’s fast. scary fast. and her legs–" 

he doesn’t even care about soccer anymore when you’re around. the second you text, “wanna ride?” he’s out the door like, “say less.” 

he doesn’t even try to race you. he just watches. 

he’s your groupie. your number one simp. the king of “you see my girl?” 

“oh, you drive a porsche? my girlfriend rides a bike and could smoke you on a roundabout.” 

casually films your sprints and slow-mos your thighs in post with royalty-free music like a whole fan cam. 

and when he sees guys stare too long at you mid-ride? 

he goes full “i’ll take your eyes out for free” mode. calmly. menacingly. 

“look away before she breaks your spine with her calf muscle.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[deswhomst]

Regulus comes out as trans

James and Sirius look at each other, eyes wide and mouthed open, forming perfect ‘o’s.

James dashed to his dorm before bringing back a notebook labeled ‘queer jokes’ - puns to make fun of whoever came out (Sirius had a feeling) so they would still be a part of the group

hii i love this ahaha!! <333 i wrote it out a little!!

“I’m trans,” Regulus blurted out after all those weeks of planning this moment. Coming out to his brother and the love of his life in the Gryffindor Tower on a random Tuesday was not ideal but he had gotten the words out and he felt strangely proud of that simple act. Running off of that, he continued, “I—um, I chose Regulus. As my name, that is.”

Regulus watched as James and Sirius looked at each other, jaw dropped, mouths forming perfect ‘O’s. He didn’t have time to question it much before James sprinted away as if he had been burnt.

Well, okay, then.

“No, no,” Sirius said quickly, probably noticing the look on his face. “Don’t worry. He just went to get something.”

“Oh,” Regulus said, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. He didn’t really understand but he didn’t know what else to say, either. “Okay.”

“I’m proud of you, yeah?” Sirius told him and Regulus was so, so relieved to find that it was sincere. “And I love the name. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s from the Leo constellation,” Regulus grinned. He hadn’t expected Sirius to react badly but the way he embraced it like it was the most natural thing in the world made Regulus feel like he was, too. Naturally himself.

“Oh, I know,” Sirius chucked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Heart of the lion or whatever, right?”

“Or whatever,” Regulus grumbled back but the giddiness was hard to shake and echoed in his voice.

Sirius rolled his eyes with a fond smile. “It suits you, you know,” he said. “Regulus. I’ll call you Reggie—you can’t stop me.”

He had no intention of stopping Sirius but before Regulus had a chance to respond, James reappeared at Sirius’ side, a notebook clutched in his hands with the title Queer Jokes.

Of course. Regulus could not help the eye roll.

“Regulus, you can’t have a kid,” James said seriously but the only thing on Regulus’ mind right now was the sound of his name out of James’ mouth. “I won’t be able to see you. You’ll become … transparent.”

And Regulus, Merlin help him, laughed. A full body laugh that felt like it had been ripped right out of his chest but he wasn’t complaining. In fact, he didn’t remember ever being this happy.

“Okay, James,” he said softly. “No kids until we find a way to make me visible to you.”

James grinned back.

“Oh, here’s another one,” Sirius read off of that stupid book. “We need to make you eat salads because you’re a herbivore.”

James and Regulus both passed him confused looks.

“A her-before,” he elaborated. “A herbivore. Come on.”

Regulus snorted. “James’ was better.”

“How dare you,” Sirius gasped, which set James and Sirius off into a trans pun competition. Regulus pretended to be annoyed at times but, really, he couldn’t be.

Not to mention, some of these jokes were pretty good.

“Okay!” Regulus announced after a while. “I will give my left tit for you both to stop this. And my right. Actually, take them both either way.”

Silence. And then—

“Regulus Black, was that a … joke?” asked James.

“Yes,” Regulus admitted.

[pensthoughts]

Soooooooo……… you know the song Casual by Chappell Roan? That but Van x cheerleader!reader, like, the song is so…yum. Like, you see it? You see it? Like, r telling the cheer team that Van and them are just friends who fuck. And Van is upset about it. Call me crazy but…I see it.

casual | v.p

a/n: love love love this idea! i love casual and chappell so this was suuper fun to write pairing: van palmer x cheerleader!reader summary: you’re the cheerleader with a secret. van’s the goalie who picks you up after practice — but at school, you don’t talk. you said it was casual. but now it’s new year’s, and nothing feels casual anymore. word count: 4.2k

pretty.

popular.

cheerleader.

that's what you were to everyone in wiskayok high. glossed lips, good posture, knees always bandaged from stunts. people knew your name before they knew your voice. you smiled in yearbook photos, waved at homecoming, kissed boys at parties when it was easy.

and when wasn't it easy?

when things got confusing and hot and sharp around the edges?

you found van palmer behind the bleachers.

it was after cheer practice—late, golden hour bleeding into dusk. you'd stayed behind to work on a basket toss, and your ride had flaked. the field was quiet now, the lot nearly empty, except for one figure leaning against a beat-up honda like the had nowhere better to be.

van palmer.

she spotted you from across the grass, thumb flicking her car keys around like she was just killing time.

"you guys practicing a secret routine or something?" she called out.

you glanced up, squinting into the fading sun. "we stayed late. coach thinks if we don't stick the basket toss this week, she'll die or something."

van smirked, crossing a few steps closer. "dramatic. how very cheerleader of her."

you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the little smile tugging at your lips. "like your coach doesn't yell every time you don't make a save."

"he does. i just tune it out."

you nodded toward the bleachers. "you waiting for someone?"

she gave a vague shrug. "was. don't think they're showing."

you glanced toward the empty lot, then back at her. "guess we're both stranded."

van spun her keys once around her finger. "where do you live?"

you hesitated. shifting your gym bag higher on your shoulder. van wasn't your friend—not really. she played socker with some of your friends. you sat with jackie and lottie and shauna at lunch. you did cheer. she played soccer. your circles touched, but only lightly.

she raised an eyebrow. "not asking for your social security number. just—i can give you a ride, if you want."

you hesitated, shifting your gym bag higher on your shoulder. van wasn’t your friend—not really. she played soccer with some of your friends. you sat with jackie, lottie, and shauna at lunch. you did cheer. she played soccer. your circles touched, but only lightly

"fine."

she unlocked the passenger door with a satisfying clunk. inside, the car spelled like gum and pine tree air freshener, with a faint trace of something smokier beneath it.

you didn't talk much on the way. she kept one hand on the wheel, the other draped casually over her thigh. you tried not to stare at her wrist—the freckles there, the faint soccer tan, the leather bracelet she always wore like it meant something.

when she pulled up to your house, neither of you said thank you. you just got out. and the next afternoon, when you were leaving practice again, she was already parked in the same spot, engine running.

van started driving you home more often.

never planned. never promised. she just started showing up, like it was normal. like it was routine. and every time, there was more tension in the air—thick and stupid and impossible to ignore. like something pressing in from all sides, begging to be broken.

some afternoons she'd lean over and grab your leftover gatorade and drink from the same bottle like it didn't mean anything. sometimes you'd bump hands when reaching for the radio. and once—once—she tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear and then made a joke to cover it up, but her fingers lingered.

then came the night your parents weren't home.

you mentioned it offhand in the car—"my mom's working late. my dad's out of town again." you weren't even thinking about it when you said it.

but when she pulled into your street and parked, you didn't get out.

you turned to her, heart kicking.

"you wanna come in?"

van looked at you.

then she killed the engine and followed you inside.

it wasn't planned. you weren't even sure what you thought would happen—maybe hang out, maybe watch a movie, maybe let the tension float between you until it finally fizzled out.

but the second the door shut behind her, everything snapped.

you kissed her first.

you told yourself it was just curiosity. just something to do because you were alone and she looked at you like that. but it wasn't gentle, or shy. it was teeth and breath and hands tugging at clothes that hadn't even hit the floor yet.

her back hit the hallway wall. yours hit your bedroom door. she made a noise in her throat when you pulled her hoodie off and touched her like you'd been thinking about it for weeks; because you had. and van—god, van kissed like she was trying to win something. she groaned your name like it wasn't supposed to mean anything, and still made it sound like it did.

she left just before midnight.

neither of you said much. just a look. just the sound of her sneakers on the porch as she jogged back to the car, hoodie half-zipped, lipstick smears from your mouth.

but it didn't stop there.

it happened again. in her car, parked behind the movie theater with the windows fogged and your skirt pushed up. in your basement, quiet and messy and fast, while your mom was upstairs making dinner. even in your bedroom once—maybe twice—both of you pretending it didn't mean anything.

but at school?

you didn't talk.

you didn't have classes together. she sat with the other soccer girls, and you sat with jackie and shauna and lottie, like always. maybe you'd catch her eye in the hallway. maybe she'd glance at your cheer uniform and smirk. but you never stopped to say hi. never let anyone see.

because you weren't together.

not really.

you were just two girls who hooked up when no one was looking.

and now it was december—right before winter break—and the air in the wiskayok high locker room was full of static.

the fluorescent lights buzzed above as the sound of metal lockers slamming echoed around you. it smelled like hairspray, sweat, and vanilla body lotion. the cheer team was in your usual corner, half zipped jackets, blue and yellow ribbons everywhere as you changed into your uniform for the basketball game.

your skirt was hanging on the hook. you were in your sports bra, fixing your hair in the foggy mirror above the sink, when some soccer girls walked in—cleats in hand, shin guard under their arms, all laughing about something someone said in the hallway.

van was with them.

she was late, windblown, cheeks pink from the cold. her yellowjackets soccer hoodie was damp around the shoulder like she'd run through flurries. her hair was tucked messily into a ponytail. she looked like she hadn't even tried today. still looked good.

you didn't look up.

but you felt her.

she passed behind you, close enough that her sleeve brushed your back. no hellp. no smirk. just... nothing. like you were anyone.

your chest tightened.

jackie was sitting on the bench behind you, lacing up her cleats, her practice jersey already on under her warm-up jacket. she barely looked up. "took you long enough," she said.

van dropped her duffel with a loud thump and kicked it into place. "had to get my bag from my car. almost froze my ass off walking here."

jackie snorted. "tragic."

lottie was adjusting her ponytail beside her, one eye on the mirror. "better late than cut."

"coach won't cut me," van said. "i'm his favorite."

mari groaned. "he literally screamed at you last week."

"still his favorite," van said under her breath, like it meant something. her voice was even, easy. her shoulders relaxed. but she didn't look at you. not once.

you go back to your corner to grab your cheer skirt and tug it on, keeping your eyes down. you told yourself it didn't matter. you told youself it was easier this way. you told yourself it wasn't supposed to hurt.

the zipper sticks halfway up, and you pretend it's just the fabric, not your hands shaking.

"are you going straight to the gym?" shauna asks, tugging on her hoodie as she walks over to you. "for the basketball thing?"

you nod once. "yeah."

jackie scrunches her nose, twisting her braid over one shoulder. "that sounds like hell. all that school spirit and flourescent lighting."

you fake a laugh. "better than running drills in the cold."

shauna shrugs. "debatable."

jackie's digging in her bag now, unearthing a crushed granola bar. she plops down on the bench beside you. "you've been kinda...i don't know. different lately."

you freeze. "okay?"

jackie lifts a brow, like she's not convinved. "like, all dreamy and weird. distracted."

shauna leans back against the locker, arms crossed. "you keep staying at the field even when you don't have to."

you glance between them. "is this, like, an intervention?"

jackie snorts. "only if it's about a girl."

and that's when lottie, quiet until now, chimes in. "or van."

the silence that follows is immediate and brutal. you don't move.

"what?" jackie blinks.

"jesus," shauna murmurs.

you try to focus on tying your sneakers. your heart is pounding. the floor feels too far away.

"wait, van as in our van?" jackie's voice is rising, almost laughing. "van palmer?"

you don't answer.

shauna's starting at you. "are you...like...dating her?"

you force yourself to sit up straight. to smile like it's no big deal. like the air doesn't feel thinner now.

"we're just friends," you say, pulling your hair tighter. "who fuck. occasionally."

jackie lets out a noise—half gasp, half laugh—and drops her ball. "oh my god."

shauna's eyes are wide, and lottie just raises her eyebrows like yep, saw that coming.

you cross your legs. smooth your skirt. try to keep your voice casual. "it's not that serious."

"you're hooking up with van palmer," jackie repeats, slow like she's testing out the taste of it.

"yeah."

"since when?"

you shrug. "couple weeks."

"holy shit," shauna says under her breath. "i thought you, like, hated each other. anything but this."

you glance at her. "we don't."

"but you've barely said anything about it," jackie says, still in disbelief. "you and van. that's like... oil and water."

you're about to say something snarky, something that'll make them drop it—but then lottie tilts her head.

"is the the reason you've been acting weird?"

and then—

a water bottle clatters to the floor behind you.

your heart drops.

you turn.

van's there. leaning against the lockers a few rows down. hoodie unzipped, jaw set so tight it could snap.

you don't know how long she's been that close. you don't know what she heard. but the way she's looking at you: it's not a mystery.

you open your mouth, but she pushes off the locker and walks out without a word.

and this time, you don't chase her.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the sky outside your window is already going dark, that cold winter blue that only shows up on the last day of the year. snow dusts the sidewalk like powdered sugar, and your room smells like hairspray and lotion and the faintest hint of your mom's perfume from when she dropped your laundry off earlier.

the house is quiet except for the faint hum of the radio and the occaisonal creak of the vents. jackie's gonna be outside in jeff's car in five minutes, probably honking if you're not done. you still haven't decided if you want to see her tonight. not jackie.

her.

you're learning into the mirror over your dresser, lip liner in one hand, the other braced against the wood. music's playing low on the radio—something breathy and sad and too slow for tonight—and the lamplight turns everything gold.

you blot your lips. press them together. try not to look at your own eyes in the glass.

it's stupid. you know it's stupid. you're fine.

you're fine.

you put the cap back on and reach for mascara. your lashes are alredy done, but you redo them anyway, carefully, slowly, anything to keep your hands busy. anything to stop thinking.

because you told yourself it didn't matter. told yourself it was easier this way. told yourself it wasn't supposed to hurt.

but you still remember her mouth.

her hands under your skirt in her car, knee pressed between your thighs while the windows fogged and your breath hitched in her ear. that night after cheer regionals—parked behind the library, your pom-poms in the backseat, her jersey still on from practice. her whisper low and wicked, saying, "you gonna let me make you late again?"

you remember the heat of her breath, the way her fingers curcles just right, how she laughed when you swore. the kind of laugh that you felt in your chest for days after.

you curl your lashes. blink the memory away.

there's a knock, and then your mom doesn't wait—just pushes the door open like she always does. "are you almost—oh. sorry, sweetheart, didn't know you were still getting ready."

you don't turn around. just keep working on your makeup like nothing happened. "it's okay."

she lingers. "so, jeff's driving you and jackie?"

you nod. "yeah. first to shauna's, then he's driving us to the party. we want to be able to drink."

your mom raises an eyebrow, but let's it go. you're a senior. she was your age in the '70's. she gets it more than she lets on.

she crosses the room to grab something from your still-packed suitcase, but then pauses.

"that redhead girl—" she says casually, like she's just remembering. "the one who used to come over a lot."

your body stills.

"she hasn't been around lately. everything okay?"

you reach for your perfume. "yeah. we just haven't been hanging out."

your mom's voice is thoughtful, innocent. "i was going to invite her to the family house with us after christmas. thought it might be fun. bonfires, snowmobiles. but then i realized i hadn't seen her since, i don't know...before midterms?"

you try not to breathe too deep.

"oh," you say, light. dismissive. "nothing happened."

she doesn't say anything for a second. just watches you in the mirror."

"well, if you do see her tonight, tell her the offer still stands for presidents weekend. i liked her."

you nod, picking lint off your skirt.

i liked her too, you don't say.

your mom leaves.

you spritz perfume on your wrists and smooth your hiar down one more time before heading downstairs. jackie's already honking from jeff's car, signaling for you to hurry up.

you slipped out the front door before your mom could ask anything else, coat half zipped, sleepover bag slung over your shoulder. snow crunched under your boots as you jogged down the walk. jeff's car was idling at the curb, headlights cutting through the dusk.

jackie rolled the window down. "you take longer than i do."

you climbed into the back, breath fogging the glass. "i was putting on eyeliner, not lying about it for twenty minutes."

she scoffed and turned forward again. jeff glanced at you in the mirror, but didn't say anything.

the heat blasted from the vents, warm against your bare legs. outside, the houses blurred past—christmas lights still up, wreaths sagging, that in-between holidy lull where everything felt a little hollowed out.

"so," jackie said, twisting in her seat just enough to look at you, "is van coming tonight?"

your stomach flipped. "no idea."

"she was at tai's last thing i heard," jeff offered casually. "bringing jell-o shots or something."

you stared out the window. "that's...festive."

jackie raised an eyebrow. "you guys still...?"

"still what?"

she blinked. "i don't know. do whatever it is you're not doing."

jeff coughed pointedly, eyes still on the road. "should i be here for this?"

"no," you and jackie said at the same time."

she turned back around with a little smirk, biting her nail. "i was just asking."

you didn't answer.

the rest of the drive passed in low music and even lower tension. you caught your reflection in the window—mascara perfect, lipstick still sharp. you looked exactly how you were supposed to.

but you didn't feel likt it.

not when van might be there. not when your mom had said redhead like it meant something. not when the silence in your chest had started to ache. jeff pulled into shauna's driveway and threw the car in park. "you girls want help with your bags?"

jackie was already grabbing hers. "we're good."

you slid out behind her, the night colder than you remembered.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

shauna's bedroom was already a mess—curling irons still hot on the floor, clothes thrown over her desk chair, a few discarded lipsticks rolling dangerousy close to the edge of her nightstand. music played low from her little stereo, a mixtape humming through fuzzy speakers, and the air smelled like hairspray and peach schnapps.

you were sitting cross-legged on her bed in your top and skirt, drink sweating in your hand. jackie was in front of the mirror, blotting her lip gloss like she hasn't already done it three times. shauna had taken over the floor, her back against the dresser, painting her toenails a dark plum and trying not to smudge them as she reached for another wine cooler.

"okay," jackie said, turning from the mirror dramatically, "be honest. on a scale from one to, like, prom night, how hot do i look?"

"prom night hasn’t happened yet," you said, smirking behind the rim of your drink.

"exactly," she shot back, striking a pose. “i'm setting the bar.”

"jeff is gonna combust," shauna muttered, shaking her head. “he’s been sick for three days and still insisted on driving us.”

jackie flopped onto the bed beside you. “because he’s obsessed with me.”

you snorted. “or he just didn’t want you drunk behind the wheel again.”

shauna giggled. “remember homecoming?”

“barely,” jackie said, raising her bottle like a toast. “which means i had a great time.”

you leaned back against the pillows, letting their voices swirl around you, light and easy. but your stomach twisted every time someone mentioned the party, every time the clock ticked forward. midnight was coming, and van would be there.

you hadn’t seen her since christmas eve.

and you still hadn’t stopped thinking about the way she looked in your bedroom light, her hands in your hair, her voice low in the dark.

shauna stretched, kicking jackie’s leg. “one more drink before we go?”

“obviously,” jackie said, already halfway to the closet where she’d hidden the extras.

you stayed put. tipping your head back. trying to calm the jitter in your chest.

tonight wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

but your heart didn’t seem to know that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

the party was already hot by the time you got there.

some junior's house — a kid you didn’t even know — but someone’s older brother had a fake id and a sound system, so it didn’t matter. there were strings of lights tangled along the ceiling, a makeshift bar in the kitchen, someone smoking out the window, and music loud enough to vibrate through your ribs. the carpet was sticky and your heels already hurt, but you looked good. you knew you did.

it was warm inside your chest — from the drinks, from the attention, from jackie’s laugh in your ear — and you were floating a little, smile lazy, lips glossed, sipping something pink you didn’t even remember grabbing.

that was when you saw her.

van.

leaning against the hallway wall with one foot kicked up, solo cup dangling from her fingers, hair half-curled like she hadn’t meant to try but had anyway. her t-shirt clinging to her collarbones, and her eyes on you.

your stomach flipped.

you looked away too fast. pretended you didn’t notice. pretended you weren’t already drifting toward her with every drink, every minute. you danced with jackie. laughed with shauna. let some guy from the wrestling team tell you you were the hottest girl in the room. but your eyes kept flicking back.

and she didn’t look away.

not once.

eventually, you had no choice. you slipped out of the living room — through the crowd, down the hall — into the kitchen, the only place with decent lighting and fewer people, and of course, thirty seconds later, you heard the door swing behind you.

van.

she didn’t say anything at first. just leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed.

you took another sip, too fast, too much. it burned.

“you look good,” she said, voice low.

you scoffed. “you’re drunk.”

“so are you.”

you shrugged, leaned back against the fridge. “not that drunk.”

silence stretched between you. it was sharp. familiar.

“you haven’t answered my last two notes,” she said finally, a little quieter.

“i’ve been busy,” you lied.

“you only talk to me when it’s dark,” she said. “when no one’s around. when no one can see.”

you set your cup down too hard. “you knew what this was.”

she flinched. “don’t do that.”

“do what, van?”

“don’t say it like it didn’t mean anything.”

you laughed once, cold. “it didn’t.”

she looked like you’d slapped her.

you pushed off the fridge, stepping past her — needing air, needing to be anywhere else — but she caught your wrist.

her hand was warm. familiar. you hated how much you wanted her to pull you closer.

“don’t walk away,” she said. “you always walk away.”

you turned, faced her. your breath shallow.

“you came to my house,” you said. “you let my mom make you hot chocolate. you picked me up from practice in the rain. and you knew what this was.”

“you keep saying that,” van said, voice cracking. “but i don’t think you know what this is.”

you stared at her, heart pounding. the countdown had started in the other room — ten, nine, eight…

“this was supposed to be casual,” you whispered.

“i know,” she said. “but it wasn’t.”

seven, six…

“i told everyone we were just friends who fuck,” you said. “because it’s easier than saying i think about you all the time. because it’s easier than saying you ruined me.”

her mouth parted.

five…

“then don’t say it,” she whispered. “say something else. say what you mean.”

four…

you didn’t know who moved first.

maybe it was you. maybe it was her.

but her hands were on your face, your waist, your hips, and your lips crashed into hers like the end of the world, like this was the last time, like it wasn’t casual, like it never had been.

three, two, one—

the crowd in the other room roared.

you didn’t even hear them.

you don’t even mean to open the door — not really. but your hand’s behind you, fumbling for balance, and suddenly it gives way.

a bathroom. dark. cold tile on your calves. you’re drunk. she’s drunk. neither of you care.

you pull her inside anyway.

van kicks the door shut behind her and grabs you by the hips like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. her mouth finds yours again — messier this time, like she doesn’t need to hold back anymore. the kiss is all teeth and tongue and the soft sound you make when her hands slide under your top.

“still casual?” she mumbles against your neck.

you laugh, breath hitching. “shut up.”

her hands settle on your waist, thumbs pressing in like punctuation marks.

“you said it first,” van whispers.

you tilt your head back against the door, eyes fluttering shut. “i didn’t mean it.”

“i know.”

you look at her. really look at her — flushed and sweaty from the party, curls wild, lip gloss smeared on her mouth (your lip gloss). you reach out and brush a strand of hair from her cheek.

“i don’t know what this is,” you whisper. “but i don’t want it to be nothing.”

van swallows. “then it’s not.”

for a second, it’s quiet. just you and her, breathing in the dark.

then you laugh again — soft, shaky. “we’re idiots.”

she grins. “speak for yourself. i’m a genius.”

“oh yeah?”

van kisses you again — slower this time, less like a dare and more like a promise. her hand cups the back of your neck. you lean into it.

outside, the music shifts. louder. someone’s yelling. someone’s crying. the party’s still spinning without you.

you pull back, forehead pressed to hers.

“we should go back out,” you say.

van raises an eyebrow. “why? so you can pretend you don’t know me again?”

you roll your eyes, nudge her shoulder. “no. so i can kiss you in front of everyone this time.”

van blinks. smirks. “you’re not gonna.”

“you sure?”

you reach for the door.

she grabs your hand.

“wait.”

you glance back.

van’s smile drops. her voice softens.

“i liked it better when it wasn’t casual.”

your chest squeezes.

you squeeze her hand.

“then let’s not do casual anymore.”

she kisses you again — one last time, quick and certain — then opens the door, light flooding in around her.

the party’s still going. still loud. still waiting.

but van doesn’t let go of your hand.

and you don’t let go either.

💌 taglist: @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey, @crainalley0227, @auroraseddie, @brielease

[juliet-017]

Reprisal - A.M.

Abraxas Malfoy x Fem!Gryffindor!reader

Minors DNI!

Warnings: cheating!! both parties, slight misogyny, semi-public sex, risk of being caught, Abraxas is like super arrogant (Draco on steroids), marking, choking, implied size kink, oral (both ways), unprotected p in v, creampie (+contraceptive charm)

Synopsis: After your boyfriend, Arcturus Black, cheats on you more times than the hairs you have on your head you decide that you're finally done with him. And what better way to signify that than sleeping with his best friend?

a/n: I needed a fic for the loml Abraxas Malfoy so bad guys so here we are. Thank you @viperify and @neptunemma for helping fuel my Abraxas addiction and for the Malfoy family in general. Anyways I hope you guys enjoy bc if you do I'll write for him more in the future !!

wc: 2.4k

Arcturus Black has pissed you off for the last time. Sure, he’s rich, his family well known but you can't bring yourself to put up with his bullshit anymore after seeing him kissing a girl whilst fully sober for the… what time is it?

It doesn't matter, she's just some no-name a year younger than the both of you, probably just some stage where he'd get bored and come running back to you. Or were you the stage? A middle finger to his family? A rebellious phase? You weren't thinking black and white on this fine evening, deciding to find a way to get under his skin, finally get back at him after being so submissive to him for so long.

Abraxas Septimus Malfoy. One of the only boys who could even try to match up with any of the Blacks, and the best option too. After all, you heard him run his mouth about all the Gryffindor pussy he's gotten countless times, and whether it was talk or not, it intrigued you enough to force a pursuit.

It doesn't take long to find him in the library, conversing with Riddle. Hovering around a bookshelf you peer at them, trying to find the right timing. Biting the inside of your cheek you retract, tidying your appearance before rounding the corner with a clearing of your throat.

They both silence themselves quickly, Riddle glaring while Abraxas holds a curious gaze. “Abraxas, may I have a word?” You ask, being sure to hold a certain level of poise.

The two look between each other, some sort of silent communication before Tom seemingly dismisses Abraxas, a smug expression on the latters face as he approaches you. He looms over you, causing you to look up at him. “Need something that your little prince can't provide?” He drawls mockingly.

“Fuck off.” You hiss, crossing your arms to pout.

He shakes his head, leaning up against the bookcase with his hands in his pockets. “Careful, sweetheart, don't you know about playing nice?” He purrs, reaching out with a hand to play with a strand of your hair.

You huff, glancing around before speaking up. “I'm done with Black.” The words come suddenly, even shocking yourself. “I've put up with far too much from him.”

He nods, appraising you. “Soo, what does that have to do with me?”

Running your tongue over your teeth, you plan your next word. Mirroring him slightly you tilt your head to the side. “I want to give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“Oh? And by that you mean?” Abraxas asks, his tone haughty as he raises a brow.

“Don't act like you haven't been begging to get into my knickers for months now.” You snap. “Talking about all the Gryffindor girls you bed and how adventurous they are. I'm not stupid.”

“So you aren't as dumb as I thought.”

You open your mouth, agape and about to retort before he cracks one of his rare grins. “I'm only having some fun.”

“Well, I don't appreciate being the butt of a joke. I mean I knew you were an arrogant twat but Merlin-.” Abraxas moves quickly, putting a hand against your neck and running a thumb over your carotid artery.

“Your heart is racing, love.” He states bluntly before reaching down to take your forearm into his grip. “Let's get somewhere a bit more private, hm?” He starts to guide you before you rip your arm free.

“Rumors will be bad enough if I get seen simply walking grounds with you, I'm not letting you guide me around like some pet.” You spat, taking walking beside him.

“You sure you wouldn't like that? You look rather like a meek little kitten on Black’s arm.” He taunts, his signature smirk taking over his face. “Rather pretty when you don't run your mouth.”

“Bastard.” You retort, slowing to a stop.

“At least I know what I'm doing with my cock.” He muses. “You looked ever so disappointed whenever leaving Arcturus’ dorm, was a bloody shame I couldn't have ravished you after every single time.” Crowding you, Abraxas traps you up against a corridor wall. “Your boyfriend on the other hand only has money and his name, nothing that'll make his future wife too fascinated.”

Before you can respond you lurch, feeling yourself be yanked and pulled into the closet room. You gather your surroundings in a bewildered state before Abraxas locks the door, finding yourself in an office.. Dumbledore's office. “What the hell, Malfoy?” You ask abruptly, stumbling back from him.

“You said yourself that you didn't want to be seen with me so I had to think of something quick.” Abraxas responds, taking a hand and running it through your hair. “Gryffindor idiocy will never fail to amuse me.” He hums before closing the small distance. “Now let's put that mouth to better use, huh?”

His other hand cups your jaw, running a thumb over your lips before prompting with his thumb. You comply, letting him slip his thumb into your mouth as you swirl your tongue around it teasingly, looking up at him doe-eyed.

He hums, allowing you to continue before backing you up against the closest wall, his knee finding a place between your thighs. The friction makes you moan, Abraxas takes the opportunity to withdraw his thumb, a small string of saliva connecting the two.

He starts working on your neck, leaving light pecks and nips as he unclasps your cloak before moving to undo your tie.

You roll your hips, lost in the simple sensation of his knee against your clit, falling prey to his simple actions.

He works on the buttons of your blouse whilst continuing the assault on your neck, his hands moving to work on your skirt next, heavy breaths intertwining.

Abraxas undoes the small clasp with ease before helping you out of it, guiding you to kneel without second thought. You comply, sitting back on your heels whilst still in your Mary Jane's alongside your undergarments. Abraxas undoes his belt, letting it hit the floor followed by his trousers.

You can already see him through his boxers, your eyes only growing a tad bit wider as he frees himself, already semi-hard. His hand appears in your face, “Spit.”, he commands firmly. You do so, watching him stroke his length as he continues to harden.

He taps his tip against your throat, having you open your mouth as he slowly pushes himself down your throat. “C’mon, you can take more than that, just relax.” He purrs as he practically pets you, pulling your hair into a makeshift pony as he pulls you back, allowing you to breathe before pushing his length back down your throat.

Being more prepared this time, you're able to relax your jaw alongside your throat and let him practically bottom out. He drags himself in and out of your mouth, using your hair as a guide whilst making you match him, his other hand bracing himself against the wall as he looks down and watches.

You moan around him, gagging slightly as you try to take him deeper even with your lack of control in the situation.

“Merlin, it's like you were made to suck cock.” He moans, stuttering a bit in his thrusts as you run your tongue over his cock the best you can. Buried deep inside you he stills, twitching and grinding slightly before he explodes.

Abraxas pulls out slightly, enough so you can swallow, looking up at him with watery eyes as you cough and catch your breath.

Next thing you know he takes your hands, helping you up, enjoying the sight as you rush to finish stripping. Abraxas follows suit, laying himself bare before commanding you to jump, supporting you with your legs and arms wrapped around him.

He pushes you against the wall for starts, working on marking up the other side of your neck, humming. “How about Dumble’s desk? Most action old man's probably going to get, huh?”

Barely waiting for your nod, Abraxas carries you over to the desk, his muscles from Quidditch on full display. And you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away, trying to ignore how the sight alone makes you even more wet. He sets you on the edge of the Deputy headmaster's desk, just enough for some extra support.

Digging your nails into his bare shoulder blades, trusting him and Dumbledore’s desk to hold you up whilst your legs are wrapped around his waist as he teases your drenched cunt. Running himself between your folds a few times, he pushes in slowly, taking his time as if he had waited for this for ages.

“I wish I could've taken you in my dorm.” He pants, almost animalistic as he pounds into you. “Imagine all the things I could've done to you there.”

He wraps a hand around your throat, squeezing enough to make you already feel hazy. “Can't believe Arc gave you up,” he growls into your ear. “Best pussy I've had in ages.”

You let out a moan, your back arching in pleasure as your eyes flutter in pleasure. “Really? That's pathetic.” You spat out, clinging onto any fight you have despite being fucked out of your mind.

“Still running that mouth, are you?” Abraxas retorts the rhetorical question, taking his free hand to draw circles on your clit. “I guess I didn't fuck it hard enough.” He growls, thrusting harder as if to emphasize his point.

You make a guttural sound, scratching at his back as if searching for something to anchor yourself on. “There ya go, that's a good slut.” He groans into your ear, lashes fluttering in pleasure.

You rock your hips, trying to match his pace, silent moans leaving you as you feel your climax approaching.

“Fuck, I'm so close-” You whimper, digging your nails in even deeper.

“Come on, just let go.” He mutters, thrusting into you faster.

You wrap your legs around him further, biting into his shoulder to silence your moans as you fall apart, eyes rolling back slightly as you let go. You slump against him after letting out a loud moan, your forehead falling against his shoulder.

You feel him fuck you through your orgasm, overstimulating you slightly before he stills, spilling inside of you. The two of you stay semi-intertwined for a few minutes, catching breaths and cooling down. Part of you wants to chastise him for cumming inside of you, watching him slowly pull out.

Abraxas gathers the pile of clothing the two of you discarded, setting it right next to you before he pulls out his boxers in order to start dressing. In the midst of it, he picks up his wand, murmuring a contraceptive charm.

You stay sat on the desk, a bit surprised at his actions but hiding it as you start to dress yourself, clasping your bra and starting to button up your blouse, Abraxas working on his own dressing.

“Can't wait to tell everyone how I stole Black’s bitch.”

You let out a laugh, pausing in your rush to get dressed to look over at him. “You did not just say that.”

“What? It's true.” He replies, his words laced with arrogance.

“No, it's not you pussywhipped twat. I pursued you after I was done with his shit.”

“You still picked up on the clues.” He continues to taunt.

You raise your hand to slap him but he catches your wrist. “See this is why I tolerate Gryffindors.. so feisty.” He hums, allowing you to free your wrist. “Now you see I might actually be tempted to fuck you again, unlike half your housemates.. they're not so up to par.”

“Oh really?”

“Mhmmm, and trust me, I don't do charity.”

“Oh fuck you.”

“Just did.” He replies cockily.

“Let's put that mouth to better use, yeah?” You retort mocking his earlier words with a roll of your eyes as you grab his half-done tie, pulling him down as far as he allows.

He smirks, ripping your blouse open before kneeling at the edge of the desk. He pushes you to lean back on your elbows, hooking your knees over his shoulder as he leaves small kisses and nips up your inner thigh.

He teases you, stopping right before where you need him most, letting out slow and labored breaths as you whine in desperation.

Starting with one lick between your folds, Abraxas buried his face, lapping at your pussy like a starved man.

You quickly dig a hand into his scalp, pulling at his hair as you moan loudly. You didn't actually expect him to do this, from what you were told no ‘respectable man’ would ever be willing to do this. Your thoughts were cut off when he hummed around your clit.

He went back to licking, rutting his nose against your clit before deciding to alternate between the two, making the experience drag on in the most pleasurable way.

“You taste divine.” Abraxas mutters against your soaked folds. You groan, trying to rut against his nose slightly as you feel heat cook in the bottom of your stomach once more. Reaching a hand under your bra; Abraxas fiddles with a nipple, squeezing your tit before pinching your nipple.

He does the same with the other, taking his free hand now to fiddle with your clit. You pull at his hair once more before your loud moan echoes around the office, causing you to slack on the desk as you catch your breath.

“I think the scores are pretty even now, don't you, darling?” He taunts as he pulls back, catching his breath as well before he gets up to his feet, helping you stand and sluggishly getting dressed.

He helps you off the desk once both of you are dressed, utterly spent as you two make it to the office door. Abraxas peers around the edges before slipping out and pulling you behind him by the hand.

“That was..” You start, a small giggle escaping you.

“Outstanding? Mind-blowing? Earth-shattering?” Abraxas replies, arrogance already back on his tongue.

“Well, I was going to say nice. It was.. good.” You decide with a small nod.

“Well if you ever need a nice time again, you know where to find me.” He replies, bringing your hand to his lips and leaving a light peck on your knuckles before going his own way.

[tawked]

tbh I feel like almost all problems with "civilian girlfriend" superhero characters would be resolved by simply having the civilian girlfriend become an active part of the superhero's superheroing, ala Dian Belmont.

She's been an independent detective who's perspective on cases leads to their resolution as often as anybody else's, she's been Sandman's get-away driver and in-the-field assistant, she's been an informant using her access to places he can't reach ie. the district attorney's office, and she even uses Wesley's kit to investigate independently of him toward the end of Sandman Mystery Theatre.

Sandman Mystery Theatre #62

To be totally real with you, I dislike maybe 90% of fem superhero love interest stories (while liking most of these characters, let me be clear) pre-2005 or so, because they so often use women to present a conflict between the comfortable domestic life the male superhero could have, and the call to superheroism. But that conflict feels suuuper arbitrary to me when you remember that women can like

do stuff lol.

This is really apparent when you consider that the majority of m/m and f/f love interests that began appearing in the mid-2000s make both characters extremely active, with most m/m pairings usually being superhero/superhero, while f/f pairings usually feature a more active feminist play on pre-existing m/f or queered familiar friend dynamics. Kate Kane's girlfriends are a hardboiled cop (kind of a Jim Gordon, do you see the vision?) and The Question respectivey, so we have superhero / action archetype and superhero / superhero. I don't think this is a queerness thing so much as modern writers realizing that characters are more interesting when they do stuff, instead of complaining about the characters who are allowed to do stuff doing that stuff, and because queerness was basically illegal until 2005 or so writers were allowed to innovate and introduce new characters instead of sticking with the old.

But a lot of historied m/f relationships in comics have the baggage of a sexist history weighing them down, imo, in this weird repetition of "I can't let Woman know about my secret life..." concept. It's hard to really innovate on that formula when the formula by design usually doesn't allow women to be pro-active in these stories, they need to be kept separate from the action or imperiled by the action for the superhero to both rescue and maintain his secret life status quo. I think that's why the Batman love interests we remember and care about are the supervillain femme fatales like Catwoman and Talia al Ghul, and not like... Shondra Kinsolving or, as much as I love her for being the actual progressive who calls out Bruce to his face lol, Vicki Vale - the villainesses are by design characters who are allowed to engage in the action of the genre.

I think 100% of the reason Lois Lane is such an iconic character and why she immediately transcended this, is that she was often presented as an extremely pro-active badass. She was a careerist at a time when careerist women were not portrayed (even Girl Investigators were usually written as getting their one big scoop and retiring to marry some dickhead at the office), she was an open humanist who often wasn't written as weak or stupid for having feelings, and most importantly, she was always right there in the shit. Sure yes okay, she'd be distressed into damselry a lot, especially in the 1930s - 1960s, but y'know,

Fleischer's Superman, 1941, one of the best Loises.

she was allowed to do things like run toward danger and shoot at aggressors at a time when most women in comics were kinda not at all that.

I think, and I mean this super politely, that's kinda why PS5 Spider-Man's Mary Jane (one of my fav characters in the genre actually) is sooort of just Lois Lane but on a more down-to-earth Marvel "we need to pay the goddamn bills Peter" scale, while Ultimate Spider-Man or Reimi Spider-Man's Mary Janes are, well, not that really lol (I also really like Reimi MJ, her whole arc with her struggling acting career is top).

And you can't even pull that Mary Jane was a kid in Ultimate and therefore entitled to be boring because Peter was dating Kitty Pryde at one point, because Bendis has a problem and needs to be stopped. So, it's not like more pro-active fem love interests weren't around. Those stories just weren't being given to 90% of the women and girls in that run and he had to borrow a girl who by design is always doing intersting shit because she's already a superhero.

Y'know what I mean?

I don't really like modern comics all that much but I gotta admit that women being written as "part of the team" and not "the obstruction I need to dodge so I can do superhero shit" is one of the best things modern comics have going on.

[angelblueflame]

◇ Levi who's been through so much loss and betrayal and hurt in his years as a soldier that he finds it almost impossible to believe that you could ever actually want him. He's scarred and he's lost an eye and fingers and it almost makes him angry to hear the words from you when you finally get the courage to admit it.

◇ Levi who thinks that maybe you're mocking him for his appearance and even playing with his feelings so he avoids you at all costs, going out of his way to avoid a conversation or the stupid- so he calls them- sugar cookies that you bring over for the neighbours every Saturday.

◇ Levi who sees you looking at him when there's cookouts with the neighbours, eyes always soft in contrast to his cold and stoic gaze. And it confuses him because you're everything he isn't- not anymore- soft and beautiful and so, so pure while he's lost everything and he's in too much pain to believe anyone could see him as anything but what he used to be- Humanity's Strongest.

◇ Levi who finds himself stealing a subtle glance after months of ignoring every hint you've dropped and every smile you've sent his way. Suddenly, it feels like he can't help it, something in your approach starting to grow on him slowly. You're distant now but your gaze lingers on him, smiles gentle even as you keep your distance and he finds himself almost intrigued.

◇ Levi who sees you around town, with your friends or family and can't help but notice the subtle curving of your lips or the way your eyes twinkle in the sunlight, even though he never admits it, his expression carefully cold as his good eye lingers on you.

◇ Levi who battles with his complicated need for distance and his slowly softening heart for months, the twisted emotions and past hurt a constant wave that seems to toss and pull at his heart. When he finally gives in and approaches you himself, his eyes are as firm as always and he finds himself almost at a loss for words as he tries- and almost fails- to properly introduce himself.

◇ He can't seem to get over that first conversation, the way you giggle at his almost akward greeting before giving him your name and then striking up a somewhat casual and easygoing conversation about simple things. Your smile almost steals his breath, his focus entirely on you as you both sit across from each other at a random table in one of your neighbours' backyard. He thinks about you for days, eyes finding yours when you walk past his house, or when he walks past yours.

◇ Of course, it takes him a long while to actually form a bond with you, to get to know you and to allow himself to open up. He's been through too much, his heart scarred and hurt and doubt creeps into his thoughts, the fear that if he lets you in, life will rip you away just like everyone else that he ever cared about. But when you finally manage to break his walls.... Levi is a man lost to your words, your gentle smiles and the time you both spend together, sometimes just talking or taking a walk or discussing your favorite books or even playing checkers- a game you seem to love- and one he always indulges you in.

◇ Levi who never thought he could have anyone being close to him because they actually care but that fear slowly ebbs away as you become a part of his life. He finds himself less insecure about his scars and appearance, your soft words and smiles reassuring him that it makes no difference to you that he isn't as he used to be.

"I don't want Humanity's strongest. I want you, Levi. The real you, with every scar and pain that you have."

The words almost tear him apart as you gently place a hand over his injured one, not a hint of a lie in your eyes. And he clings to those words, breaking the last of his walls for you, letting you in.

◇ Levi who spends countless nights worshipping your body and being worshipped by you, bodies tangled in his sheets, breaths laboured and mingling. He kisses your skin, fingers gripping you and pulling you close, almost like he can't bear to let go, not when he finally has something that he didn't even know he wanted- needed. He whispers every vulnerable thought, every 'I love you' he's never known he wanted to say, his voice almost shattered from the emotions. And when its all over, he keeps you in his arms, your head on his chest or his resting against the crook of your neck.