#why did I spend so much time doing this!!

[nezuscribe]

gojo knew there was a woman under that helmet.

he knew that those movements were too fluid, to precise, to calculated to be at the hands of a man. he had seen men fight, and they did not fight like you.

it was unheard of, forbidden even, for a girl to be a part of the seven holy knights. the sacred and esteemed title was usually bestowed upon the sons who came from noble families. in other words, families who could afford to have their boys trained from birth.

as second in line to take the throne gojo didn't care much for tradition and values. his brother was going to be king in a few years. why should he bother with the weighty and unnecessary rules that he's tied to?

so he spends the rest of his time, time delegated for learning calligraphy or studying neighboring relations, with his holy knights. and half that time he spends studying you.

the knights never take off their helmets; it's part of the secrecy and significance that they hold. but gojo has been holding a sword longer than he's been holding a pen, has strummed more bows than strummed instruments. he knows this, or at least, he used to.

maybe that's why he feels such deep animosity towards you.

unlike the other knights, you don't speak or jest. you don't answer, only grunt once or twice, depending on what you want to convey. you never groan when dealt a nasty blow, and never gloat when you win the upper hand.

which you always seem to do.

you best him in sword fighting, in knife fighting, in target shooting and bow making. you're better than everyone, in all honesty, and can kill and gut an animal faster than they can haul one up the hill. it's maddening, and gojo hates being bestedat for yet another thing.

and although he'd bet his titles on your secret, he would never tell anyone about it. a part of him liked wondering who you were, liked guessing what you looked like under all that armour.

he comes to dinners later, spends more time practicing in the courtyard. he snaps at the rest of the men, blinks the bite of sweat out of his eyes. he's groan restless in trying to become the best, trying to beat you.

which is probably why he didn't see where he was walking one night, exhaustion and aching joints causing his eye sight to blur and body to sway as he tried to make his way to back to his quarters, bumping into what he thought was a statue only to find out it was a real person instead.

"shit," he mtutered, hands reaching out to steady you up, "sorry, i wasn't paying attention."

you shook your head, bowing slightly at the young prince as you kept your eyes trained on the ground.

gojo wiped at his face, hoping this wouldn't become a problem for him in the morning, coming to mind that another servant complained about his recklessness.

"it's alright," you say quietly with a small smile, "happens to the best of us."

gojo squinted, nodding as he swayed once more, steadying himself on the wall. he briefly glanced at you, noting a new face. it wasn't uncommon around the grounds, especially with how much he's been missing.

"oh...you'd might like to get your wounds checked out, my prince," you tell him, worried eyes glancing over his bruises and scrapes, all at the hands of that lady knight who keeps churning him down.

gojo looked down at his arms and hands, turning them over as if seeing it for the first time.

"right, right, thank you," he says dismally, going to leave before you shake your head, pointing to the cut along his neck.

"this one?" you say, motioning to it on your own skin.

gojo looks at you, his eyes squinting a little bit as he gives you a tight smile. with everything going on he just wants some sleep, not to be pestered by some flirting maid.

"right," gojo says between his teeth, "thank you again."

you nod, bowing once more as you leave. gojo shakes his head in annoyance, making the journey back to his room as he mutters about what new strategy he could use the next time he combats his new rival.

when he finally settles down and gets off, discarding his dirty clothes, he pauses at the mirror, his fingers lightly grazing over his neck. the blood has dried off, the wound barely even there, but that's not what catches his attention.

odd, he wonders, how could you have seen his cut under such a high collar?

[therainscene]

I didn't start shipping Byler because I picked up on a few moments of chemistry and decided they'd make a cute couple -- I started off by absolutely refusing to entertain said moments as reciprocally queer until I ran into the ridiculous homophobia on the ST subreddit and decided to review Mike's character arc out of sheer gay spite.

Let me clarify: Spite isn't what made me change my mind about Mike. Spite just made me read a few Byler analyses and rewatch the show with an open mind because I didn't want to be like those pricks who would insult and censor queer fans for... [checks notes]... thinking something gay might happen in a TV show with gay people in it. I truly wasn't expecting a queer interpretation to fit Mike's arc anywhere near as well as the default interpretation -- but by the time I'd finished my rewatch, I was reeling from how much better it fit.

Cause that's the thing: Mike's queerness is pretty obvious once you look for it. The difficulty is in giving yourself permission to look.

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

A question Bylers are often asked is "why would the show spend four seasons building up Milevn just to tear it down at the last minute for some unrealistic woke ship? Mike literally said he loves El!" And yeah, Mike's grand love confession at the end of S4 certainly seems like a triumphant pay-off to all that build-up... but I have a few questions of my own.

Firstly: why establish in no uncertain terms that feeling loved is the key to unlocking El's fullest potential against Vecna--

--only to undermine the power of Mike's longed-for confession by having it only be good enough to delay Vecna instead of defeat him? Yes, it's the penultimate season -- so why did Milevn's pay-off happen here instead of S5 where it could properly shine?

Secondly: why couldn't Milevn fix their relationship by themselves? Even if you believe that El commissioned the painting (she didn't) and that the feelings Will describes are truly hers (they aren't), it was still Will who had to perform this romantic gesture on her behalf, and it broke his heart to do so. Why hand this important work off to a third party? Why weave queer tragedy into the build-up towards a heterosexual pay-off that's supposed to feel triumphantly romantic?

Speaking of which: why undermine the intimacy of this scene by having Will hover behind Mike's shoulder the whole time? Couldn't they have asked Noah to take a few steps to the left for the sake of a better shot? Couldn't they have waited until after Milevn's big romantic moment to remind us for the millionth fucking time how sad Will is about it?

In my opinion, this scene and its four seasons of build-up make much more sense if you read them as three entwined character arcs about the trials of growing up in a suffocatingly heteronormative era: the gay kid who doesn't think he's entitled to a happy ending; the abused girl who thinks shallow romance with the first boy who's nice to her will make her feel normal; and the confused hero who hasn't figured out the solution yet.

For all the insistence that this show has to stick to "realistic" depictions of 80s queerness... it's hardly a realistic depiction of 80s straightness for Mike to score an awesome magical girlfriend, either. That's just nerdy wish-fulfillment, and common only as a trope in fiction.

So it's not unreasonable to suppose that Mike's true role in the Subverting 80s Tropes Show might be to represent the actually very realistic 80s experience of getting swept up in compulsory heterosexuality.

Think about it: Will's vulnerability to the horrors functions as a metaphor for being visibly gay in a world that despises gay people--

--whereas Mike's girlfriend quite literally has the power to protect him from monsters and homophobic bullies alike.

This doesn't mean Mike is callously using El, though. He learned the hard way in S1 that treating an innocent girl like a means to an end would only end up destroying her, and the guilt and fear of hurting her again has been weighing heavy on him ever since.

Comphet isn't about taking advantage of other people's feelings so you can pretend to be straight -- it's about deluding yourself into believing you're straight because queerness isn't an option you're allowed to consider.

Mike genuinely does love El and he genuinely does want to be an important part of her life -- so surely that means he wants to be her boyfriend, right? Twelve is perhaps a little young to know that yet... but surely there's gotta be something here that sets his feelings apart from how a friend or brother would feel?

Surely the reason he later finds himself struggling to say to her face that he loves her is because he's just an immature loser who needs to try harder to grow up and be the man this girl he adores deserves to have...?

...and certainly not because the guilt and fear of losing her just keeps piling up as the romantic instincts he thinks he's been waiting to grow into turn out to be developing at exactly the pace they're supposed to -- in the wrong direction.

That would be ridiculous. Will's his best friend. Yes, he loves him and can't bear to be without him, but that doesn't mean anything. Why can't a guy display a little unhinged devotion to his special friend without it having to mean something romantic?

Why can't he, indeed.

At his core, Mike is someone who desperately wants to be as special as the straight heroes in the nerdy media he loves. But there isn't anything inherently heroic about being some lame middle-class white nerd who's bad with girls, so he believes that the best he can do is to be a dutiful sidekick who would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for people he perceives as more special than himself.

For all the "build-up" Mike's romance with El has enjoyed across four seasons, it's done absolutely nothing to help him grow as a character and overcome this self-worth problem.

So is it really any surprise that even after realizing El would be fine and still want to be friends with him if he told her the truth, and even after realizing just how good Will is at understanding his insecurities and reassuring him of his inherent worth--

--Mike would still sacrifice his chance at happiness for the sake of the greater good?

El was literally dying in his arms. How could queer desire possibly be as important as this girl who needed him to be a man and do his damn job so she could do hers?

I'm interpreting Mike as gay here, but I think it's important to note that this principle applies even if he's bi or straight -- Mike can be attracted to girls and still be forcing himself to stay in a relationship with a girl he's not a good romantic match for because that's just what he thinks he's supposed to do.

His sister had a similar problem: Nancy was legitimately attracted to Steve, but her infatuation with him was more about doing what cool teen girls are supposed do than about authentic connection. And because this is a horror story as much a coming-of-age story, Wheeler's conformity had horrendous consequences -- her critical-of-comphet bestie was killed by the horrors.

Which sounds familiar, doesn't it?

(Sure, Max technically didn't die -- but she still died enough for Vecna's plan to come to fruition. Which just brings us back to my first question: why couldn't the Power of Heterosexual Love prevent this? In the same season that said "forced conforming is what's killing the kids", no less?)

Will describes Vecna as an inevitability that won't stop until he's taken everyone -- which in my opinion is the same defeatist attitude demanded by comphet.

It's not that Mr. Refuses-To-Participate-In-Society's-Silly-Play symbolizes comphet itself, per se; rather, he represents the despair of feeling like you can't truly escape it. But either way, this means that the solution to defeating Vecna is the same solution to defeating comphet:

Giving yourself permission to look and see that your true self is far more valuable than whatever you think you're supposed to be.

[loveyouprongs]

love like sugar

prompt: “babe, i love you, i do, but if i eat one more piece of chocolate i think i’m going to throw up.” james potter x reader

upcoming content: fluff, broken bone, food. pls lmk if u think i missed anything

authors note: i started this in december 2023!!!! finally finished it!!!! 🍪🥛

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

james likes to believe he's one hell of a boyfriend.

he prides himself on it. he would make the earth spin the other way round if you asked. it doesn't matter how much shit he has to take from his friends, calling him whipped and groaning when he spends his time winking at you in the stands instead of focusing on the match. he could take it all if it meant you'd keep calling for him to open every tightly shut jar so he could puff his chest out and twist it open with ease and you'd clasp your hands under your chin and swoon 'my hero'.

which is why he’s utterly depressed because today’s valentines day and the two of you haven’t left the flat once. all because two weeks ago he slipped in the mud while practicing and the crack that echoed in the air as his leg broke still rung in his ears. six weeks with a cast is what the doctor ordered and now the two of you had to spend valentines day on the couch with his leg elevated in a stinky plaster.

“‘s almost ready, jamie!” you exclaimed, peeking out from the kitchen. your megawatt smile not having once faltered since this morning when you woke him up with kisses across his chest. the press of your lips against his skin enough to erase any physical pain he was feeling, but not the guilt of ruining this special day.

“you don’t have to do this, lovely,” he said, eyes alight with endearment, even after years of being together his gaze still brought heat to your cheeks.

“nonsense! it’s valentines day!”

“don’t remind me,” he began, “i swear i’ll make it up to you right after they cut this shit off me.”

you rolled your eyes, heading back into the kitchen. james was a perfect boyfriend every day of the year, one valentines day indoors wasn’t going to change that. “it’s nice that i can treat you for a change, anyway,” you let out, drizzling chocolate sauce over strawberries as you heard distinctive clunks growing louder.

“y’shouldn’t have to lift a finger, lovie, ‘specially not t’day”

“you say that,” you called from the kitchen, “but you look pretty comfy being waited on.”

there was a beat of silence, followed by the unmistakable clunk... clunk... clunk of crutches against hardwood. You sighed.

“james.”

“i just want to look!,” he whined, voice strained like he was summoning his last ounce of strength as he dragged his crutches behind him.

you turned just in time to see him appear in the doorway, dramatically hunched like some war hero returning from battle, one socked foot planted carefully between each clumsy thud of the crutches. his hair was an absolute disaster, and the blanket you’d tucked around him earlier was still hanging from one shoulder like a cape.

“james, get back on the couch.”

“but you’ve been in there all day,” he protested, leaning heavily on one crutch while gesturing limply with the other. “it’s cruel, making me sit alone while you drown in baked goods.”

“i’m not drowning, I’m baking. and you’re not supposed to be weight-bearing!”

he raised both brows in a slow, theatrical blink. “didn’t realize ‘watching my girlfriend bake cookies all day’ was medically prohibited.”

you gave him a look, but he only smiled—crooked and winning, the same way he always did when he was trying to get away with something. you crossed your arms.

“you’re making me feel like a dickensian orphan, love,” he said.

at that you couldn’t help but laugh and james’ eyes lit up, not just at the sound of your giggles that rang in his head like his favorite song, but that he was wearing you down. maybe he’d be able to hang in the kitchen a little longer.

“may i have some more, sir?” you let out in an exaggerated oliver twist impression, before busting into laughter again.

james groaned, “that’s not even the quote.”

“say it! say it!” you responded, alight in mirth.

james could only roll his eyes and try and fail from a smile spreading on his face, “no! i said that to make you feel bad for me! not for you to make fun!”

you only stuck your tongue out at him, which he matched before dissolving into laughter himself.

“jamie,” you drawled, now with your arms wrapped around his sturdy torso. the warmth that emanated from his body warmed you straight to your toes. “please go back to the couch, i know it’s been boring but i’ll join you in just a few minutes.”

james looked down at you as you rested your chin on his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. you figured he knew what you were doing, but he nodded complacently before dropping a kiss to your forehead, “alright, alright love, but if i die from emotional neglect, tell everyone it was your fault.”

“that’s completely fair.”

he turned around with great effort and started dragging himself back, muttering under his breath about injustice and being unappreciated. you waited until he flopped dramatically back into the cushions before calling out, more fondly this time:

“i’ve got one more batch in the oven. then you get to eat cookies until you pass out or throw up—whichever comes first.”

you took the cookies out of the oven and looked at your handiwork. dozens of cookies and treats were cooling on the kitchen table, and you were giddy with excitement as you bit your lip. you were devastated for james’ injury, but it was so rare that you got to treat him and dote on him that his plastered leg was a blessing in disguise.

he was usually the one taking care of you. always picking up fresh ingredients from the market because he knew you hated wilted basil, always opening stubborn jars without being asked. he let you sit on the bathroom counter while he showered so you could tell him every single thing that happened during your day, even the parts that were boring. he clasped your bracelets when your nails were wet, let you switch controllers during mario party when you were losing too badly, and acted like it was no big deal when you “miraculously” pulled ahead.

but now he was stuck on the couch, grumpy and dramatic and completely at your mercy.

you arranged the cookies onto a mismatched set of plates, stacking them with a kind of chaotic elegance. chocolate chip, red velvet crinkle, sugar hearts, jam-filled thumbprints, some a little burnt around the edges, some barely holding their shape. you didn’t care. they were yours. his. yours for him.

and you were halfway back to the couch, balancing a tray like it was a fabergé egg, when you saw him: james, passed out under three throw blankets, one arm flung over his eyes like he was a fallen soldier. his crutches splayed on the floor.

“your majesty,” you said, setting the tray down carefully and nudging his leg with your knee, “your offerings have arrived.”

he peeked out from under his arm, eyes blinking open. “are those jam ones?”

“there’s five. i counted.”

“you do love me.”

you handed him a cookie without answering and watched as he took a bite, eyes fluttering shut with the kind of reverence usually reserved for religious experiences or championship wins. he didn’t speak again until he was halfway through a second.

“you should open a bakery.”

“yeah, i’ll call it ‘Potter’s Patience’ and make everyone wait six weeks for their order.”

he grinned, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “worth it.”

The two of you eventually settled on the couch, a carefully arranged blanket nest around James’s outstretched leg.

“what did you pick, baby?”

“a movie,” he said, far too innocently.

“what movie?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“a really good one,” he replied, already clicking through the previews. “and i get to pick because i’m injured!” he said too defensively.

“james…”

he didn’t answer. He just hit play, then turned to you with his arm lifted, the universal signal to come curl under it.

you gave him a look, but when the opening theme of The Princess Bride began playing and the familiar old-school credits started rolling, you groaned.

“oh, james! again?”

“yes!” he said, beaming like it was the first time he’d ever shown it to you. “now shh and enjoy it. and pass me a cookie.”

you handed him one without looking, already half-smiling as the storybook castle appeared onscreen.

as the movie went on, james found himself less interested in his favorite film and more interested in you.

he found himself concentrating on the pace of your breath, trailing his eyes along the line where your body met his. there was a tiny scar just above your right eyebrow, one he’d given you by accident when you both ran at each other after he’d won the rugby final and his fingernail caught your skin. he'd felt horrible at the time but you’d laughed through it.

he studied your mouth, how your smile always said kind things to him when he was quiet and blue. he thought about how your hands had made him this ridiculous cookie feast, and how they would never purposely tickle him because he didn’t like it even though he was horribly ticklish and sirius took shameful advantage of that fact. you respected it, like a good person.

and it was more than that. his body had some sort of homing sense for yours. he always knew when you were nearby. didn’t need to see you, didn’t need to hear you. his whole system just… hummed. lit up like it knew what to do.

he leaned in and kissed the top of your head, lingering for a second, eyes closed.

then his stomach gave a long, unhappy gurgle.

he let out a dramatic groan.

you sat up slightly. “are you still hungry?”

“no,” he said, eyes squeezed shut. “babe, i love you, i do, but if i eat one more piece of chocolate i think i’m going to throw up.”

you blinked.

“how many did you have, babe?”

“i wasn’t counting. I blacked out from love.”

you snorted, already passing him a glass of water. “you’re such a menace.”

he took it with both hands, like a child recovering from a stomachache. “a menace who is completely in love with you.”

“next year I’m making soup.”

“i’lll eat all of it.”

you gave him a look. “a normal amount of it.”

“...most of it.”

you elbowed him gently and sank back into the couch.

he smiled, let his head fall against yours, and murmured, “still worth it.”

[fushiguruuzzzz]

know my name, know my face.

megumi is sick and tired of you being so formal. he is silent in his feelings until one day, when something as simple as a little shop and your eagerness about a keychain tips him over.

just a really silly fluffy fic. canon verse. was supposed to be a drabble but I yapped too much so I formatted. megumi yearns and longs and broods and- you get it. a mix between a drabble and a short fic kill me. no beta we die like everyone in the jjkverse. word count of 1046.

masterlist . join the gen taglist

although he loathe to admit how deeply he is being affected by this whole situation, the truth is that megumi is getting fed up with you.

not you, per se, but the way you seem to view him. he feels more distant to you than the others; you seem more personal with them, more friendly. even though you choose to spend more time with him than anyone else and speak to him more fondly and overall express more affection for him, he feels out of place. when you call upon the other first years, his name rolls off your tongue differently. it leaves your lips akin to that of a stranger.

you see, there is yuji and nobara and then there is fushiguro.

(he recalls the early days of your friendship with the group. your voice had been so sugary, lined with honey as you asked “is it okay if I call you yuji?” and, “you don’t mind nobara, right?” …you had not even asked him. he had looked straight ahead and pretended to feel less invisible.)

it meets his ears and makes him wince internally every time. it is soft and sweet as it always is, but that does not change the facts. you refer to him as a classmate rather than a companion. he wants to grab you by your shoulders and make you repeat the syllables of his first name until it is engraved in your mind and vocals alike — his ears too. maybe, if he were feeling really desperate, he would fall to his knees. however, he does neither. he simply gives a nod and lets the sound ring through him, lets the echo of it beat against his insides and leave welts big enough to have him crumpling to the ground. he greets you back like he is neutral, keeps his knees steady. he calls you by your last name also.

perhaps he is being dramatic. perhaps he is irked by it more than he should be, but he cannot help himself. what is it about him that is so alien? he had always been different from other people, but jeez.

he is silent in his brooding, quiet in his troubled inquiries. they fester in his mind and do not pollute the air. until one day, his mouth betrays him.

your feet have the gravel crunching beneath you as you bound up to him, a smile on your face. the others were not in sight—the three of you had gone off into another part of the shop whilst he lingered in a different isle. you had returned to him alone. it made him feel seen, even as he schooled his expression to indifference.

you hold a keychain out to him. “look, fushiguro! isn’t this cute?”

the warmth in him flickers, fading into a dull ember. he gives a short nod, hoping you would not notice the way the corner of his lips tugged downward. a long, silent exhale leaves his nose, eyes focused a little too intently on the trinket than necessary.

you pause, because you noticed, as you always did. you saw him. but unfortunately, you only saw fushiguro.

“fushiguro?” you questioned tentatively.

that was the final straw; the words escaping him before he could will them away, “why do you do that?”

a pause. the meaning of the cryptic statement is somewhat lost on you, he quickly realized. the tips of his ears heat up as he continues, “speak to everyone so personally except for me. we aren’t strangers, you know.”

tilting your head, your brows furrow, not because you are still confused but because it was so ironic. not one person at jujutsu high called him by his first name save for gojo, who was met with the meanest scowl every single time. you would much rather be left out of his wrath, therefore did not bother pushing him for it. your eyes flicker oddly for a moment and he is left to drown in the silence.

“everyone calls you fushiguro.”

he averts his eyes completely. the tips of his ears are turning pink, but you can only see if you look very closely. “what makes you think you’re just a part of everyone?”

“well, when we met. you stared at me deadpan and introduced yourself with it’s fushiguro, point blank.”

his cheeks warm further. he scowls, both because of your horrible impression of him and because of the recollection. he did do that, but… that was different. that was a long time ago. that was before you had become so close to his heart that you could touch it, feel it beat against your palm and speak his first name in morse code for you. now is now.

“that was different.”

“so… you want me to call you megumi?”

the sound of his first name hits him like a punch to the gut. his heart speeds up, fingers twitching at his sides. finally, he thinks. after multiple months and a bit of mild mortification, you had done it. his soul eases and sinks contently back into his bones. he shrugs, though, despite his entire conscious screaming yes. “do whatever you want. I was just asking.”

you chuckle. he is a bit of a terrible liar when it comes to these things, you have learned. you choose to humour him. “okay. i’ll call you megumi, then.”

he nods. silence falls again, but it is different this time. easy. transparent. it does not settle thickly and add to the weight on his shoulders, instead lifting it, if even a little. then, “I don’t sound like that, by the way.” his voice is a low grumble.

“you totally do, don’t lie.”

“shut up.”

“okay, whatever, megumi.”

despite himself, he smiles. he would let you torment him so long as you eased the sting with the soothing balm that was his name on your lips. hell, you could curse his entire existence and he would forgive you if it was followed by the gentle whisper of megumi against the shell of his ear. it is a scary thought, but he accepts it with surprising ease.

as long as you called out to him like he was a little more than a stranger, he was anything to you. he was yours.

tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniyaa @kashee-h @fiannee @bubybubsters @lizbix @mayyhaps @adoresia @xianji @cinnamxnangel @sickpatientt @megapteraurelia @scoutings @anotherwriternamedclara @spookypeacesandwich @titititititixo @wizzzierr @jadeyaps @whoevenisjessica @nishislcve @rustymind @grndz3r000

[harrysangel23]

Neglect*

A/N: I've returned with yet another fic!!! Hope y’all are excited because this ones lowkey a little unhinged (can't help myself when it comes to Harry's biceps yum). Anyways! I'm so glad to see you guys are liking my work so far!!! As a new writer, it's doing much better than I anticipated and I really appreciate the rebloggs, likes, and comments <3. Hope you guys enjoy this fic as much as the others!

Pairings: CEO soft dom H x subby reader

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Daddy kink, licking and biting, fingering f recieving, RAW p in v (wrap it before you tap it guys), and dirty talk.

WC: 4,392

Summary: Harry has been a little neglectful of his angel. After not seeing much of each other for days, Harry misses a planned and promised dinner togther. He finds a good way to make it up to her though;).

You knew how stressful Harry’s job could get and you understood when he had rough days how he just wanted to relax. There was nothing wrong with it. 

Running a company would be far more work than you could imagine so it made sense when he would be in a sour mood from a deal that had fallen through or partners not having his best interest. 

You learned to be as comforting as possible as everything he did was mainly for you and your relationship. 

But it’s also hard on you when it continuously happens day after day. Sure, every once in a while was normal, for anyone with a career, especially his. 

It had been 2 weeks since you’ve noticed a drastic change in Harry. You’d fall asleep by yourself, no longer having the comfort of strong arms wrapped around you and steady breathing to be heard in your ear as you drifted into your dreams. Same thing in the morning, you’d wake up to his side of the bed cold. It was almost as if he was never there throughout the night. On top of that, dinner and breakfast - which used to consist of each of you asking about the others day and light kisses placed every now and then- now consisted of you sitting alone at the table in the quiet home. 

If it wasn’t for the little things placed around the house or the short amount of time he’d be at home during the weekend, it would seem as though you didn’t live together. You’d notice the hand towel in the bathroom damp from his washing, or wrappers left on the counter as if he’d had a quick snack before he rushed out of the house. 

Sure you’d text, but his normal cheekiness was replaced with dry responses and sometimes the texts wouldn’t even be answered until hours later. 

If anything, the changes had made you scared and worried. You knew how time consuming his work could be and the effect it could take on him. But your relationship had never experienced this type of change for this long. 

So of course the doubts overwhelmed your mind. Was he irritated with you? Was he not interested anymore? What if he found someone else, someone that wasn’t immature and needy like you were? 

Of course there were never any signs that really made you think he thought these things of you. He always said how he adores how you want to be near him all the time. Despite that, you really can’t help it that this is what your mind turns to. 

As you used to spend nearly every minute of free time with him, dinners, or simply laying in bed, the harsh withdrawal was making your head spin. You hadn’t been able to communicate with him as you’d like. 

So you made the decision to stay up and wait for him. It was all in your head and simply talking to him in person for the first time in days would clear up everything… right?

Occupying yourself was difficult as the hours get later. You were restless trying to calm your nerves before you saw him. You shouldn’t be nervous though. It's Harry, the same Harry that would wake you up by pressing kisses all over your face and was able to make your toes curl when he hit all the right places. 

You glazed at the clock again and the time glared back at you: 1:53 A.M. Why was he so late? He used to be home by 6, calling your name and smiling brightly when he would see you making your way towards him in the doorway. 

You were soon pulled away from your thoughts as you heard the front door lightly close. He was home. You got up to walk towards the door of your bedroom and down the stairs. When you first saw him, you could see how disheveled he was. 

His curls lay flat as it looked he ran his hand through them one too many times. His tie hung loosely from his neck as he untightened it. His eyes seemed to hardly stay open. In his hand, held a glass as he poured liquor into it before taking a sip. 

Catching you out of the corner of your eye, his head whips to see your fragile frame standing at the end of the staircase. 

“What’re you doing up sweetheart, it's nearly 2 in the morning?” his voice was soft and he had  frown placed upon his lips

You shrugged and walked closer to stand in front of him. “I just haven’t seen you in a while H. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Your response was light as your wide eyes gazed up at him. 

“I’m sorry honey. Works been shit, I know I haven’t been around as much as I would like but I promise when this shits over I’ll be around you so much you might get sick of me.” He gave a small smile, before taking the cup of liquor back up to his mouth. 

“It’s okay H. I know how it gets and I’m sorry you have to deal with it,” Your arms moved to wrap around him, feeling him for the first time in what felt like ages. Your head rested against his chest, hearing his heart beating softly as his arms made their way around you too. “What if we have dinner tomorrow night? We can catch up and I’ll make a nice home cooked meal for you. Maybe watch a movie after?”

“I’d love nothing more angel, always so good to me aren’t you?” The double meaning made you blush but you hit yourself deeper in his chest, already feeling excited for the following night. “Promise I’ll be here at 6 on the dot, can’t wait to spend time with my favorite girl. Now go lay down, I’m going to get ready for bed and I’ll be with you in just a tick.” His arm around your waist slid down as he lightly patted your ass as a signal to move. 

You giddily made your way back up the stairs and jumped into bed, being excited to have the feeling of his arms around you again. 

Harry soon made his way to the bed as he finished up in the bathroom. Sliding in between the sheets, his arms immediately went around you and pulled your body as close as possible to his.

His hand rubbing your back, light kisses pressed to the top of your head made it easy for you to relax and drift off. After being deprived of his affection for days, you were the most comfortable you have ever been in your life. 

~

When you woke up, you thought you had imagined last night. Opening your eyes, his side of the bed was once again empty and cold. It was hard to refrain from frowning, but remembering the promise of a night together for the first time in ages, you couldn’t be too upset. 

Your excitement of dinner with your lover had you rushing to get out of bed and get ready for the day. You spent the day shopping for groceries, not being able to make up your mind on what to make him, your cart ending up being full with multiple ingredients. You decided to make a decision when you’d get home rather than right in the moment. Picking up snacks for the movie and grabbing his favorite sweets. 

Once arriving home in the afternoon, you were too giddy not to start. Deciding on a pasta dish, one of his favorites, you thought it’d be perfect for the occasion. 

Not having heard from him yet that day, you shrugged it off. After seeing him last night and feeling him, you were put at ease. He looked you in the eyes and promised to be home. You thought he was simply keeping busy at work to get ahead so he could finally be home at his normal time. 

However, those thoughts soon started slipping after it neared 6. 

The table had been set, food plated, you even dug out a fancy wine and poured it into both glasses. You sat sitting at the table with a frown on your face. He couldn’t possibly of forgotten?

You tried reassuring yourself. He's busy, he wants to be here, maybe he's just going to be held back a little past 6, no worries!

But when the clock neared 7 you felt less hopeful. 

You pulled out your phone, maybe he was on his way and stuck in traffic?

To: H💗- Hi honey, just wanted to check in… are you almost home? I love you 

You set your phone down on the table, watching it intensely as though that would make him respond faster. 

However, the text went unanswered as the minutes passed and you began to accept he wasn’t going to be home. 

Only a few bites were taken of your pasta before you decided you weren’t hungry anymore. You began cleaning up and putting the leftovers into containers. 

You wrapped his plate and left it in the fridge so he could still easily warm it up when he came home. 

As you moved to the bedroom you looked at the clock again to notice the time was past 11. Wanting to make one last attempt you reached for your phone and clicked his contact and pressed your phone to your ear. 

The ringing continued until his voicemail was heard. Hanging up you tossed your phone before running your hands over your face. 

Your chest felt achy. You couldn’t help as the disappointment was seeping through you. Having the built up frustration of no contact with him and Harry’s broken promise to be at home tonight, you felt tears slide down your face. 

You knew how important his job was to him but that didn’t mean being put on the back burner hurt any less.

Tears flowed as you made your way to the spare bedroom. Was it petty? Sure, but you didn’t want to sleep in the same bed as him despite the fact that he’ll slip out in the morning without a trace, like he was never there. 

Laying on your side the tears streaming down and soaked into the pillow case. All these emotions ran through your head, not really sure how exactly you should be feeling. 

Should you be completely understanding? His career is important, he worked so hard for it and provided you with everything you could ever want and more. 

Should you be angry? You planned this, got excited and put so much effort into a meal he couldn’t show up for after leaving you at home and deprived of his affection for 2 weeks. 

Should you be sad? He made you have expectations of him being home tonight and enjoy the night in together. He promised you to be here after being absent all those other nights and you just miss his presence. 

Your mind unsettled, tears never ending, and you weren’t sure how you managed to fall asleep. 

However, you were sure of being woken up from the gentle stroking of fingers through your hair and light kisses being pressed to your hand that was intertwined with his and held up to his mouth. 

Your eyes opened to find his on you already and a frown took over his face as he noticed the puffiness and redness that accommodated your eyes. Confirming his fears of you being upset with him, which you had every right to be in his mind. 

“Hi sweetheart.” He spoke softly to you and pressed more kisses to your hand and wrist as he sat crouched on the side of the bed. 

“Hi.” You whispered, eyes darting to the wall behind him, finding it difficult to look at him. Besides, that's really all he had to say for himself?

He sighed as he stood up and went to sit on the edge of the bed in front of your body. His hand that was stroking your hair moved to join his other, both now holding your hand and his lips consistently pressed kisses before he spoke up again. 

“I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am, angel.” 

You felt the tears crawl back up and your throat tighten at the reminder of last night and how excited you had been. You blinked continuously before just closing your eyes and responding “It’s fine.” 

“No, it’s not,” His grip tightened on your hand, “You were upset enough to sleep in here and I don’t blame you. I’ve been shit at being with you, I know that. Last night was my wake up call. I promise you-”

You cut him off, taking a dig at him, “Like you promised to be home last night? After I spent all day looking forward to you coming home and finally spending time with me? I don’t mean to be needy H, I know how important your job is to you and everything you’ve worked for. But I can’t shake how I felt last night and how you completely disregarded me yesterday. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed being around you and spending time with you. I don’t like being a second thought this consistently.” You felt the tears finally slip down your face as you pulled your hand away from his to wipe at them. 

Harry just looked at you, seeming at a loss of words. You could tell by his demeanor that he was sorry but it’s hard to just move past. 

“I don’t mean for it to come off as that love. I promise you are important to me, more than my career. I love spending time with you and I know how neglectful I’ve been. You have every right to be upset with me. I will spend everyday making it up to you and you have my word on this. I let it get out of control and I realize how upset you are and I don’t intend on making you feel like that ever again. You’re my girl, and my girl deserves nothing but the best.” His eyes looked urgently into yours, his hand resting on top of the sheets over your thighs. 

You move your hand to rest on top of his, eyes meeting him again. 

“I trust you H. I just don’t want this to happen again. I love being with you in our home and having time together. But if it’s just you leaving work late and going in early, it’s difficult for us to do that and makes everything harder. I love you and want this to work out more than anything.” 

“It will, I promise angel. I need you and I promise I won’t let this happen again.”

You nodded your head, as he began to lean down and pressed his lips to yours, muttering, “I’m sorry honey”, “It won’t happen anymore”, and “I hate seeing you upset”. 

At first the kiss was soft and slow, enjoying the feeling of both of you connected at the lips for the first time in forever. Then, slowly the urgency began to grow. Lips smacking could be heard as Harry moved to lay on top of you, holding himself up by his thick arms, lips never parting yours. Your mouth slightly opens as you go to lick as his bottom lip. He quickly followed, opening his mouth to you when your tongues licked the others. Feeling the excitement begin to pool in your panties you move your hands to grab his upper arms. 

It became a mess, spit pooling in the corners of your lips, him licking into your mouth. You began to whine as he began to grind down onto you. 

His hand slowly traced down your side, reading your shorts as he toyed with them. He parted from your lips, “May I, sweetheart?” 

Without hesitation you eagerly nodded your head and his fingers slipped below the shorts, under your panties and soon reached your soaking folds. His lips were shortly back on yours, pressing eagerly as he brought the fingers soaked in your juices up to your clit and began circling it. Your breath hitched, pausing the kisses, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. 

He pulled his fingers from you, but grabbed your shorts and shoving them down along with your panties before he returned them back to your wetness. 

His middle finger eventually made its way to your hole, where he made sure to get it covered before slipping it in. A sharp gasp was heard slipping from your mouth. You spent so long without having him like this, making it all the more rewarding. 

Harry’s kisses soon began to travel down your face as he reached your neck and lightly peppered them all over. His hand pulled back and was brought up to your face, where his ring and middle fingers were pressed against your lips. 

“Go ahead and slobber them up for me, puppy.” You were compliant, opening your mouth and giving him what he wanted. 

His fingers laid flat on your tongue as you sucked them, loving the taste. You had your tongue flick them up and down, swirled around them tasting your own excitement on them. He watched intensely as he pushed you by shoving them farther back, almost down your throat. You gagged but didn’t mind as saliva pooled in your mouth and got them slippery, just like he wanted. He groaned before he pulled them out and brought them back to your pussy before shoving them inside you without warning. 

You moaned, clenching around his fingers, loving how they felt inside of you. He quickly thrust them in and out, and placed more kisses down your neck to your collarbones. 

“Are you ready for my cock puppy, hm? Missed you so much it's aching to be inside this tight cunt of yours.” 

Your hips grinded up into his hands as an immediate reflex to the words coming out of his mouth. 

“Yes, yes, please d-daddy I missed your cock.” You whined at him, eyes glazing over. 

He didn’t need to be told twice. He sat up, quickly undoing his pants and tugging them down along with his boxers before stroking himself. He quickly sat back on his knees and gazed at your leaking cunt as his hand slid up and down his member, letting out a hiss and a curse under his breath at the contact. 

His cock was soon lined up with your hole as he pushed in and let out a groan, before he fell over top of you with one elbow holding him up on the side of your head, the other grasping your waist to keep you steady. 

His cock was pushed further and further inside of you before he bottomed out and held it there for a moment. 

The feeling of him inside of you was like no other. You felt so full and happy. Clenching around him, he moaned into your neck. 

“Jesus Christ puppy. Don’t know how I left you all alone for this long when you feel this fucking good. So mean of me, can’t tell you I’m sorry enough,” He pulled back and thrust himself back in, keeping his pace consistent. “You’re so tight and wet, cunts just leaking around my cock isn’t it baby.” You moaned in response, nails digging into his back. 

“Faster daddy p-please, feels so good, I missed you.” You felt tears leaking from how good it felt to have him back inside you filling you up and making the knot in your tummy grow. 

“So sweet f’me, I missed you too baby, never happening again. Feels so good.” His thrusts began to pick up as the wet noises of your bodies connecting was heard. 

Your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of all the right places he was hitting. His cock felt so good in your pussy, like he was made just for you. You open your eyes to the feeling of his fingers on your clit, rubbing messy circles. 

Your moans were borderline pornographic at how good everything felt. His head leaning down to capture your lips as the messy smacking returned. His kisses trailed down to your neck as he began to nip at the skin and sooth it with his tongue. His thrusts sending the headboard into the wall, creating a loud thumping noise. You turned your head, giving him better access to your neck, hands climbing into his hair to tug, his thrusts not letting up. 

As your eyes focused on what was in your eyeline - his biceps. His sweaty, tatted, and muscular biceps looked too good to be true. It was flexing as he held himself up and how good you felt, you couldn’t restrain yourself from leaning closer and licking the sweat that was sliding down. He just looked too good, all sweaty and disheveled. You eagerly lapped at his biceps, moving your tongue all around before biting. Not enough to cause too much pain, but enough to leave a mark. You were such a needy slut for his body, especially the tattooed areas. 

You grow wetter at the remembrance of the tiger he had on his thigh and how you've always dreamed of riding it. How good it would feel to rub your wet pussy on it as he encouraages you, tells you what a good girl you are. How he'd make you kneel on the floor and lick up your juices that were left on it after you cum.

The filled in heart and the inked nails on the inner side got the most of your attention. As your tounge licked a fat stripe acrossed both of them, you whined at how hot he was. The top of the anatomical heart was also eagerly lapped and nipped at. They just looked too good to ignore.

Harry didn’t seem to mind as he let out a breathy laugh, almost amused at your fixation of his biceps. 

Once you started, you couldn’t stop from continuously biting, leaving little marks along his muscles. Although the tattoos made it hard to see a lot of them, that didn’t stop you. You licked over each mark that was left, collecting his sweat along the way. 

The immense arousal you had was overwhelming. His thrusts not letting him, neither was his hand on your little clit. Your clenching became more frequent the more he thrust and the more you had your fun with his bicep. 

“You gonna cum for me baby? Feel this cunt getting tighter and wetter by the second.” His words were whispered in your ear as he moved up from your neck to bite at your lobe. 

“Ye-yes daddy, I’m so close, so close I need it so bad.” Your breath was cooling as you breathed out your words against his slobbered up bicep and eagerly began licking stripes up it again.

Your hands pulled his hair as the knot grew more intense, he groaned against you before pulling your face back to meet his. 

“Wanna watch you cum for me. Go ahead and cum on my cock baby, cum like the good girl you are.” His sentence alone was enough to set you off, you felt it burst in your stomach as you cried out and clenched around him. Your mouth in an O shape as his lips met yours. “Thaaats it puppy, good fucking girl.” 

He kept thrusting, rubbing your clit to ride you through your orgasm as his approached. 

“Fuck you look so good. Can I come in this pretty pussy baby, hm? Is that okay?” His minty breath panted on you as you nodded with widened eyes.

“Yes yes, please come in my pussy daddy. Wanna feel your cum leak out of me.” You practically begged him. Curses slipped out of his mouth as he finally let go. 

His sweaty hair stuck to his head, sweat dripping down his face, and down his neck as he tilted it back moaning as his cum spilled into you. 

You once again couldn’t help yourself as you leaned up licking the sweat that dripped down him. There was something just so erotic about it that turned you on like nothing else. 

He kept thrusting into you as his cum filled up your pussy. You kept tounging at his neck and nibbling to show your immense appreciation. 

“Jesus fuck baby felt so fucking good. Did so good for me, I love you.” His thrusting stopped at his head tilted to look at you again. Harry’s lips connected with yours showing all the appreciation he could. 

“I love you so much.” You murmured against his lips. 

He pulled out of you sooner than you would’ve liked, as his cum slowly followed. He intensely watched it drip out of your cunt as he let out a “fuck” under his breath as his chest heaved. 

You were completely spent. Laying down with your eyes closed but you could still feel the weight of him shifting off the mattress. You quickly opened your eyes and whined as you grabbed his hand to keep him from leaving. 

“It’s okay baby, just gonna run to the bathroom to grab something to clean you up, I’ll be right back.” He leaned down, pressing a chaste kiss on your lips. You reluctantly let go of his hand as he moved to the bathroom. 

Hearing a drawer close, he soon returned next to you and lightly wiped at the cum leaking from your pussy. 

Accidently, he nudged your clit with the fabric, causing you to twitch and a grunt to leave your lips. 

“I’m sorry baby, I’ll be more careful.” He leaned down, and his lips pressed a light kiss onto your clit.

“Don’t be mean H.” You glared at him as he let out a light laugh. 

His body moved back up, where he leaned down pressing another kiss, this time to your lips. 

“I love you angel. Wanna get up and we can go back to bed? Can spend all of tomorrow together if you’d like? Whatever you want.” he grinned at you as you brush your fingers through the loose curl against his forehead. 

“I love you too Harry. Can we shower first?” Your voice light as he nodded and grabbed your hand to help you sit up. 

“I’d love nothing more.” 

You both walked to the bathroom before taking off the remaining clothes that lingered on your bodies and stepping into the warm water. 

“No funny business, I’m spent and have a whole list of ideas we can do today.” You look up at him accusingly. 

“That’s so weird, I also have a list of things we can do today.” His cheeky undertone led you to quirk and eyebrow at him for him to continue. “I meant I have a whole list of things I can do to you today.” 

You blushed, feeling heat crawl up your face as you hid yourself in his chest while he just laughed and helped you clean yourself.

[backinmyphase]

Satoru is one of the sweetest people you know.

He brings you flowers, makes you laugh, he even knows your favorite color. And he isn't shy to tell you how he feels.

He smiles when he asks you: "How is my pretty lady, doing?"

And you feel so horrible, because you do like him! It's just the timing.

It's been two months since you broke up with your boyfriend. Well honestly he broke up with you. It wasn't even messy just two people growing apart from each other. And he just didn't see a life with you anymore and you didn't either.

But you're still hurt. Still scared.

Scared of the butterflies, scared of watching the flowers welk over time, scared of getting undressed again, getting hurt again.

Scared to see the glint dim in those eyes again.

Satoru is a friend of a friend. You met him at a party, right after your break up. Shoko brought you with her, telling you to forget about your 'ass of an ex'.

But you didn't feel comfortable because you weren't even mad at your ex. You didn't want to drink your problems away, you wanted to take time. And when Satoru approached you, you were honestly not feeling well.

Satoru noticed.

He didn't press, didn't push just made light conversation. Asked for your name, your major, your interests, without making it too pushy, without making it too flirty.

Since then he slowly slipped into your everyday life, after one month he asked for your phone number with a smile. And you did give it to him.

And now he brings you flowers every sunday.

Today is sunday.

Satoru is sweet, even when you're not. Even when you search for distance, he doesn't make you feel crazy, he pulls back, he gives you space. When you start crying he isn't overwhelming, he knows the routine by now, he knows what to say and what not to say.

But his flowers scare you. They welk. Every sunday the old ones are completely dead.

"It's a waste of money you know." you say as he shows up again with a new bouquet of flowers. Their beauty trying to replace the old.

"They just welk. They are a pretty at first, but they get exhausted over time."

He is silent at first. But then he smiles that sweet sweet smile at you. "Why not dry them? You can keep a book with them between the pages. Of memories of me, your handsome and charming Satoru."

He winks while putting the new bouquet in a vase, while taking the old flowers out of it. He gently puts them on a towel.

"Just because they change doesn't mean they aren't pretty. Change isn't always bad."

Is it?

"I don't want you to keep spending so much money. I feel like I'm robbing you." you watched him as he took a book and opened it. Putting paper towels on the pages and putting one flower into at. Then he gently closed the book, putting over books on top.

"You're not robbing me, sweetheart. I love bringing you flowers. A different bouquet every time, for a new week." he looks up from the books with a quiet hum. "You can take the flower out of the book later and use new paper towels and a flat iron to speed up the process. Then it should be perfect."

"It's not just the flowers." you were mumbling.

"I'm stealing your time, Satoru."

You weren't ready. His eyes have that glint that scare you. You are scared to lose that image of you. One day he will also realize how you really are. One day he will also not be able to see a future with you. And you are not ready to get attached again. You are not ready to see the flowers welk again.

Satoru is so sweet. So cruelly sweet that even now he looks at you like he understands. Like he wants you to steal his time, no share his time with him.

"You're not. I know what I am doing."

"Then stop." you look away, tears are starting to come up. "I'm just not- I don't want to disappoint you."

"It's okay, I won't be mad at how you feel."

Tears are falling from your stupid eyes. "You don't get, Satoru, I don't think it's healthy for you to be so close to me. You are so nice, so-" hiccup "You are so sweet to me and I feel so bad because-"

"You do not owe me love."

You look back at him and through your blurry view you can see how he still smiles at you. A gentle quiet smile.

"I didn't bring you flowers to buy your love, I brought them to make you feel special. I want to make you smile again." he pauses and now it's his time to look away. "Because I like you."

"And it's okay if you don't like me back. If I make you uncomfortable with that I will respect that and try to get over you. But one thing is important to me."

He stops and another hiccup leaves your lips.

"Do you not like me? Or is it something else?"

And you completely break down. You cry and it's not pretty. While sniffing you somehow cry out words. "It's not that! I don't-" you huff for air.

"I do like you, Satoru. But I am not -" the overwhelming feeling is too much and you stop again.

"I'm scared. I'm not ready yet."

You turn away and try to calm yourself but the tears keep going, the feeling of loneliness, the feeling of abandonment after your break up on your mind.

You heard Satoru standing up and slowly approaching you. His presence behind you noticeable but not pushing.

"That's okay. We don't have to be in a relationship. Not now."

You glance at him, seeing his sweet eyes, eyes with that glint.

"But you don't have to push me away. I understand your fear and I don't expect you to overcome it immediately. But I want to help you on that journey. I want to be there for you until you are ready. Until you feel comfortable."

His voice stutters. "If you want me to."

Satoru was sweet. The sweetest person you knew, he showed you compassion even then when he didn't have to. He was there for you in a time when it didn't bring him immediately into your arms. But that was okay for him. Because he wanted to.

"I would like that." you muttered as you tried to dry your eyes, but tears where still falling. "But only if your patience allows it. I don't want to hurt you."

He gently lifts his arm, stops before your face as if he was asking. As you blinked at him he started to dry your cheeks for you.

"Then I will be here. Because I want to."

Satoru and you weren't a couple. But he was the most important person for you, your rock helping you with not drowning in your fear. Wounds don't just disappear. But they can be treated.

Satoru and you may not be a couple yet, but you were just starting.

I don't wanna get undressed for a new person all over again

[jiggy-manda]

movie night with the yellowjackets

yellowjackets x reader movie night headcanons (lottie, natalie, mari)

sfw, no warnings, written with fem!reader in mind but can be read as gn!reader

lottie matthews

always the host !! yes it’s logical because her house is huge & her parents are never home but you spend most of your time together there anyway so that’s also a big factor

ALWAYS STOCKED UP ON SNACKS

makes sure to have your favorite snacks and drinks for the movie, but she really already has those things just for whenever you’re there 🤭

you flip a coin to decide on who gets to choose the movie or you switch back and forth each time

i imagine her watching a lot of movies growing up especially with her parents always being busy

like idk just imagine her being a bit pretentious about her favorite movies unprovoked (but in an endearing way) 😭

she loves dropping fun facts about her favorite movies throughout the night

“this scene almost wasn’t included actually”

“did you know those lines were improvised?”

will shush you if you talk during her favorite part

will rewind to show that part again even if you only talked for half a second of the scene

she was basically raised by movies so it’s serious for her when it comes to her favorites

designated snack & drink refiller

obviously she knows the lines to her favorite movies forwards and backwards

NEEDS to know your thoughts once the movie ends; she loves a good post-movie yap sesh

will do the fake yawn to put her arm around your shoulder “as a joke”

loves to snuggle while watching

lots and lots of fluffy blankets

loves falling asleep with you while the movie plays (as long as it’s not one of her favorites)

natalie scatorccio

usually movie nights are held at your place

you oftentimes end up picking the movie

generally speaking she usually just likes rewatching her favorite movies

the type to distract you on purpose in the middle of the movie

“accidentally” gets closer to you as the time goes on (she somehow ended up on your lap?? how did that happen…)

makes sure there’s plenty of blankets and pillows

makes it into a whole experience, basically creating a pillow fort

she also orders lots of food !! anything you want

but she puts you on popcorn duty too because she always burns it

pretends not to be as excited as she is

not completely paying attention to the movie

much more focused on watching you watch the movie or just staring at you in general

occasionally you have to quiz her on what just happened to make her prove she was watching

tbh she’s just happy to be there <3

mari ibarra

HAS to be the one to pick the movie

you get slurpees and cheeseburgers obviously

make it into another little date if u can easily walk to the 7/11

she sometimes asks to do the 2 straws in one drink thing as a cheesy romantic gesture, but if you told anyone about it she’d deny it

definitely gets annoyed if you ask her to rewind a bunch of times because you were talking

because why are you talking during her perfect movie of choice 🤨

i imagine she’s a ride or die for her favorite movies (much like lottie)

she’s a sucker for a good rom-com even though she’d never admit it (nat too)

you buy the tickets (if it’s at a theatre— but usually movie nights are held at one of your places)

usually ends up talking about the movie for hours after it ends if she really liked it

would never admit to anyone how much the movie nights mean to her but they’ve pretty much become a staple (+ a favorite) part of her routine

loves sitting on your lap bridal style with her arms around your neck throughout portions of the movie (posture in the GUTTER)

feeds you popcorn like a loser in love 🙄 because she is 🙄🙄

falling asleep together is one of her favorite parts of movie nights

HAPPY PRIDE MONTH EVERYONEEEEE MAKE SURE TO KISS A GIRL AND PRACTICE LESBIANISM TODAY AND EVERY DAY!

#LIVELOVELESBIANS

[sy4luvs]

SYLUS prompt ! @sy4luvs

cw: periods, fluff, soft, very self indulgent

you have been laying down in bed all morning, feeling too much discomfort to move even the slightest. every time you did try to move, even if just adjusting the position in bed, made a sharp pain run through your whole entire body. your legs, back, lower stomach and for some reason your behind hurt SO bad.

“what’s the matter angel?” sylus asked after you finally found enough strength to come out of your room into the kitchen, where he was probably cooking some dinner. oh wow, you really did spend the whole morning in your bedroom.

“period, hurts…” your hissed in pain quickly settling into one of the seats to curl into yourself. sylus understood immediately what to do, he grabbed a heat bottle before boiling some water. “my poor baby, why don’t you go back to bed, hm? I’ll bring you dinner and your favorite snacks later” he rubbed a hand comfortingly over your back, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek and temple. you weakly nodded at the suggestion, letting out another hiss in pain. without another word sylus picked you up, gently carrying you into your bedroom making sure your bed is comfortable enough.

you weakly smiled up at him whispering a ‘thank you’ before hugging the oversized crow plushie, that he got you for your birthday, closer to your body. sylus caressed your cheek gently, humming softly. he smiled pecking your lips trying not to chuckle at how fast your eye dropped at the feeling of him just caressing your cheek and hair.

“anytime beautiful girl, i love you. i’ll be here whenever you need me”

side note: sorry this is a bit short but i love sylus and and im on my period and i love sylus and sobs 🥹🥹 i wanna kiss his beautiful face NOW WHY AM I ACTUALLY SOBBING.

[hischiershoe]

ooooo 02. "actually, we're leaving early, we have something to get to." "no we don't- oh, okay fine i'll call you guys later." + clayton keller please 💗

tysm for sending in!! i’m a little nervous for this since i’ve never written for him before but i hope you like it <3

warnings: i changed the prompt up a teeny bit and just a bit of jealousy but that’s it!!

Clayton was trying to not to let it get to him. Really, he was, but the longer he had to watch your new coworker inch closer and closer to you until he couldn’t even see space between you, the more frustrated he got. Of course he trusted you and he knew you would never knowingly put him in the position he’s in now, but he also knew you had a habit of mistaking blatant flirting for friendliness. It was something he never faulted you for, he never would, and he tried to keep his cool when it came up.

However, it was only a matter of time until his resolve had dissolved entirely.

When you walked into the bar with Clayton and a few of his teammates, you hadn’t expected to run into a few of your coworkers. The two of you had gone to the bar a dozen times before and you’d never seen anyone you knew, so of course you jumped at the opportunity to briefly infiltrate their group before you went back to your boyfriend. You had no intention of spending too much time with them because while you did like the ones who were there, you already spent 40 hours a week with them and you would much rather be with Clayton.

“You should come out with us more often,” Cameron, one of your newer coworkers, suggests as he leans against the table and looks down at you with a friendly smile.

“Maybe,” You lightly chuckle, your gaze sliding across the sea of people until you find Clayton.

He’s already looking at you, though you know he probably hasn’t looked away from you since you broke away from him, and he looks… Not mad, necessarily, but he doesn’t look happy, either. The expression etched on his face is something you rarely saw, but it made heat crawl up your spine and to your cheeks all the same. You only break away from his stare when he starts walking towards you, and you shift your focus back the people in front of you.

“At least hang out with us now,” Cameron gleefully calls out, “You’re already here, may as well stay a while.”

“Actually,” Clayton’s voice smothers your own, placing a protective hand on your hip and tugging you into his side, “We’re actually leaving. We’ve got somewhere else to be.”

“What? No we don’t—,” You feel him gently pull on your body and your feet are moving away from your coworkers, “Okay, well, I’ll see you guys at work!”

Clayton’s hand moves from your hip to grasp your hand in his own as he guides you out of the bar, not even sparing a fleeting look in the direction of his teammates. Though you do, and you don’t miss the amused and smug looks a few of them toss in your direction. You wordlessly follow him out to his car, only casting a curious glance at him when he holds the passenger door open for you. He slips into the drivers seat and leans over the center console to place a small kiss to your lips before he’s reversing out of the parking spot.

“So,” You draw out, lip pulled between your teeth and eyes trained on Clayton’s face, “What was that about?”

“What was what about,” He mumbles, though you both know he’s playing dumb.

“We weren’t even there for thirty minutes,” You point out, “Why didn’t we just go back to the guys?”

Clayton takes a deep breath before his focus briefly shifts towards you, “Didn’t want to have to look at whatever-his-name-is all night, or him to look at you.”

“Who,” Your brows furrow in confusion, your hand moving to grasp his that was placed on your thigh, “Cameron? Why would he look at me?”

“He was flirting with you the whole time you were over there,” He groans, like speaking the words make him physically nauseous, “Even Kess said something about it. Didn’t like it.”

You purse your lips as you think about what to say next because you didn’t think he was flirting, but you’d never been the best at picking up on things like that. Even when you had first met Clayton, he had to drop the act of subtly and be upfront with how he liked you because you always mistook him for just being friendly.

“Well,” You start, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze, “Even if he was, it doesn’t matter to me. I’ve already got the guy I want and I don’t intend on getting rid of him anytime soon, even if he gets a little jealous every once in a while.”

“I was not jealous.”

[what-even-is-thiss]

I RISE.

Anyways, the Spartans are a weird case for a variety of reasons. And before I get started I want y’all to know I’m not saying this game sucks and I’m not advocating for 100% brutal accuracy in historical fiction. I’m just gonna be an English major about this for a second.

Most of what people think they know about Spartans comes from propaganda. Either through the grapevine from Sparta or directly from Athens.

There’s a lot about day to day life we don’t know about Sparta because they didn’t read much. I mean they could read but they just preferred not to. They preferred to memorize things in the form of poetry and song and pass knowledge on that way.

Though there also is a lot of things we do know about Sparta. From archaeology, sparse surviving records and poetry, and things other people said about them that should be taken with a bit of skepticism.

What we do know is that Spartans did not throw their “weak” children off of cliffs. There would be a lot of child skeletons to find in the area if they did. They likely did have some kind of weird educational system where boys were separated from their families for a few years, and women did have quite a few more freedoms in their society than in other Greek city-states.

However a lot of this freedom to spend a life getting stronger for all genders was gained off the backs of the helots, an enslaved group of people who made up anywhere from 60%-85% of their population who were gained early on in Sparta’s history when they raided nearby cities and took thousands of them as prisoners.

This slave class was everything about Sparta. It was why they had a reputation for being unbeatable warriors. Early on in Sparta’s history nobody else in the region had professional soldiers. Regular everyday men volunteered or were conscripted to fight with minimal training. The slave population freed up Spartan men to have the time to become professional soldiers. Early on this gave them a reputation for being unbeatable supermen. It also freed up time for their women to train in combat and become managers to defend the homestead and run businesses instead of spending the bulk of their time doing the necessary work to make cloth, cook, watch the children, and other things that were traditionally women’s work in the region. Because the slaves were doing all that.

Because of their professional soldiers and weirdly strong women, early on the Spartans gained a reputation of being unbeatable. They coasted on this reputation for as long as they could, even as other city states started training professional soldiers that were just as good as theirs and even as it became increasingly clear that they were very outnumbered and their societal structure was an incredibly unsustainable one.

The thing that made it unsustainable was the very group of people that made it what it was in the first place. The large enslaved population. Slavery has been an unfortunate fact of life since before recorded history began, and though yes slavery has varied in the intensity of its cruelty throughout history, even in very slave heavy societies such as the Roman Empire or the American south pre 1865, slaves never often made up more than a third of the total population for the simple reason that people generally prefer to own themselves and be allowed to make their own decisions about their lives and no matter how well or how poorly one is treated, it is always preferable for a person to own themself, so eventually it’s inevitable that if you have a large population of them, the slaves will revolt and when they make up more than a third of your population, it becomes really complicated and time consuming to continually stop them from doing that.

Keeping the helots from revolting was a full time job. It was what a large chunk of Spartan men spent the majority of their working time doing during peacetime. During wartime? The clock was ticking. The longer the trained soldiers are away, the closer you get to the unknown day when the helots get organized and start a large scale revolt, and Sparta’s enemies knew this. A very common strategy when at war with the Spartans was to sail up to Spartan territory and go “hey you oppressed and enslaved masses. Ya want some swords?” and then there would be a slave riot and the Spartans would be forced to go back home to try and stop them.

Beyond even the mass cruelty, it was a very very unsustainable system. It was a system that held up the entirety of Spartan society and it’s a system that most people don’t mention when talking about the Spartans today.

Since their general inevitable decline into irrelevance around the late classical period, the idea of Sparta has been used as propaganda by individualistic and imperialist people. From the Romans to modern day fascists they cling onto this idea that Spartans just hated weakness and were forged in the fire of their society to be perfect unstoppable warriors. That it’s pain and discipline that made them strong. They’ve even been latched onto by some modern day feminists. Spartan women were strong! They ran businesses! They were a girlboss beacon in the darkness of Ancient Greece!

However that strength and freedom was built on the backs of the large majority of their population who was enslaved and ruled by fear.

There’s always somebody doing the dishes. There’s always somebody weaving the cloth. The strongest and most powerful in society don’t exist in a vacuum.

The Spartans loved their children, loved poetry, loved song and dance. They gave their women more freedom than many other places in their region. They were a militaristic people but like every other society they also had kindness and softness and love of art within them. And their freedom was built on the backs of the large enslaved population below them. They were a nuanced people. Not a solely war driven monolith that those using them for propaganda both modern and ancient would have you believe. What they also leave out though is who was ploughing the fields. Who was cooking and weaving the cloth. Which is a very inconvenient truth when you are trying to create a myth of strength and self sufficiency.

Assassins creed odyssey is downloaded. I think I’m gonna playas what’s his face instead of what’s her face just to see if he’s as annoying as everyone says he is. Also to see if I can be gay in this game.

[ysrjune]

Can u write smth on how Sam would do his makeup? like he is definitely always late to school because he used up his morning time for his eyeshadow 😭😭😭

ouuu my gosh, you are so right. he's late already because he woke up late, but he doesn't care about being even later. He needs to do his makeup. He feels naked without it, and it bothers him so much

School started at 8, he woke up at 8:42 and didn't leave the house until 9:40. He actually spends time trying to pick out an outfit that he likes and what jewelry would go with it. He's genuinely like a girl, changing his outfit like 4 times because it's not the vibe. THEN, he does his makeup.

He spends an extra five minutes trying to look for his eyeliner, and eventually, he gets so mad he just gives up and uses eyeshadow and packs it all over his eyelids, smudging it with his thumbs.

He gets to school at 10:34, and his little (very little) friend group in first period is asking him why he's so late. "You usually have a ride?", "Were you trying to brainstorm an idea to tell Mrs. Hollis, why you didn't do the homework?"

Sam just ignored them and sat at his desk while the two boys chatted with each other. They keep asking and pestering Sam to tell them why he was so late. He got so annoyed, and he finally told them. "I woke up late. I was choosing an outfit, but I changed maybe 4 times, and then I did my makeup."

The two boys look at each other and laugh. "You're such a girl, dude!" One cackles. "Seriously. Why do you care about if your outfit is good or not? Nobody looks your way anyway." The other says with a toothy grin. Sam smirked and shook his head. "I dunno man, just shut the hell up."

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far @prettiestmini @amiratheangel @blckberrie @literally-izzyy @litt1e-misssunsh1ne

[dilf-docs]

High Heels, Hushed Whispers

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: a black dress, high heels and a fancy dinner. that's all it takes for you to fall into harry's scheme. or, better said, trap.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 3,560 words

side note: i'm lowkey crashing out in FOMO so bad bc materialists won't release in my country until july 31th💔 the need to move to US for my master's just to inherit a lifelong debt but never missing out as a cinephile again,,, HhmmM also, streets saying we're getting the gladiator II treatment in the marketing sense💔💔 UGH WHY WON'T YOU CHOOSE BILLIONARE IN THIS ECONOMY? PEDRO PASCAL FACED BILLIONARIE??!! tbh i'm a hypocrite bc if pedro was poor i'd still chose him anyway... this is in honor of materialists NYC premiere today, hope my man goes 🕯🕯

part: prev | masterlist | next

Picking up calls you shouldn't pick up is a lesson you've yet to learn. Damned be your work habits slipping up into your personal life.

"Let's see if I understand" from the other line.

You take a deep breath, pausing. "Yes?"

"You're going on a date and didn't tell me"

You roll your eyes, looking out the window.

"I would've told you if it was a date, Rach"

You were always a good liar.

"At least I could helped you pick your outfit" she whines. "Like old times!"

It's almost as if you can see her pouting through the phone.

"I would've let you" you concede, "but I already chose the dress you gave me last Christmas"

A fine red garment tailored in authentic silk that hugged your body just right.

"Great choice. That's a killer" then, there's silence, followed by a loud gasp that elicits another eye roll from you. "Wait. Don't tell me- You're already there!"

Your lips quirk up in a smirk. "Maybe"

"You are a terrible friend" but Rachel's words carry no real weight. "At least give me a clue?"

You remember the address, marked in the GPS screen in front of you.

"Boring"

"That's not a clue" she huffs, "everything's boring to you"

You look out the window, the mansion coming into your view.

"Extra boring"

"It's a social gathering, then. You hate those" and you hate how much she's right. Probably knows you better than your dad. Yourself even.

"Your silence proves I'm right" and again, you roll your eyes.

"Goodbye, Rach"

"At least find someone to take home. Your house reeks of loneliness"

It's a joke, but there's a weird pit in your stomach when you hang up. It shouldn't matter that much, but you can't keep pretending you are choosing to spend more time at the office, because going back to a place where the only sound is that of your own steps, echoing back to you, the surface and space looking so artificial, like a hotel room, has become some sort of torture.

Your driver, Joaquín, parks right in front of the entrance. Before he moves, you raise your hand.

"I can do this by myself. Thanks"

He knows better to contradict you and you don't know if you are convincing him or yourself.

"Have a nice night, Ms. y/n"

You open the door, sighing as the heels dig into the pebbled road. I'll try.

As he drives away, you can't help but think again what were you really doing here. It's not like you needed the money, so, again, why did you agree? Willingly accepting to help Harry and his friend, people who you could care less, the first even nearing enemy territory. But for some reason, the moment those brown eyes landed on you, it felt like yes was the only correct answer.

"Welcome, Miss. Can I see your invitation?"

You think it's pointless: would you've driven all the way here if you weren't invited?

"Here"

You don't know why but the moment you step in, your eyes search for him, Harry, as if your body moved on instinct. Betraying.

A waiter walks by and you take whatever it's on his tray, downing the liquid with a gulp. Once the small tingling buzz settles into your system, you find that easy practiced smile of yours: cold enough to be polite but not warm enough to be confused for anything more.

"Having fun?"

You spin, dress doing a little reveal of your bare legs, yet he doesn't even look your way, that kind of silent promises and respect faithful men hold onto when they've swore their heart to only one woman.

"I'm trying"

"That's the spirit" he chuckles, lowly. "Is there anything I can do to make your night better?"

You fake a pondering gesture.

"Maybe get you another drink?"

"Thanks, but I want to walk straight when I exit through that door"

"Smart girl" he quips, "but I hope you don't plan on leaving soon"

You take the time to look at him under the chandeliers.

"I have manners"

This man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes, a dark grey but still holding onto a spark for life, not dull at all. His hair matches his gaze, and so does his neatly trimmed beard. His face is aged, probably about the same age as Harry, if you were to take a guess.

"Paul" you recognize. "Paul Lauder"

Lauder offers his hand and a charming smile, like all the men from his circle have been cut from the same cloth: gentleman manners that hide calculating characters. Still, there was something about the man and owner of the house standing before you, that seemed genuine.

"Am I that easy to recognize or has my friend already talked about me?"

A million questions raise through your head. If he was talking about him, how did he know you knew each other? It was a given in your society, yes, but to speak about you both in such friendly terms? Or worse: had Harry spoken of you to his friends?

"Forgive me. I talk nineteen to the dozen"

Your body tenses at just the sound of his voice, and there he is, the man of the hour.

"Harry" Paul calls him, another gentle smile making its way to his face.

"The one and only. Don't tell me you know another one" he jokes.

He still hasn't looked your way, and you don't know why that makes your skin hot.

"You're irreplaceable, my friend"

Now you see why he insisted on helping him. Paul's a true friend: a rare gem, especially in New York's elite.

"This is y/n" Harry introduces you, "David's daughter"

Its only then that Harry looks at you. A fast up and down, barely noticeable, but you were an observer, always. Part of your work and charm, just what made you perceptive and deadly enough. His eyes linger on the open skin, in the cut of your leg, and then move to your face, gaze holding. Daring, almost. And the he chuckles. Harry fucking chuckles, the sound low and grave. A fuzz settles in your cheeks and you choose to blame the alcohol rush.

You desperately wish to know what Harry's thinking.

"Ah. So this is she" a knowing smirk makes its way into his mouth. Then, his eyes widen. "Wait, David? Oh, haven't you grown? Into an extraordinarily beautiful woman, nonetheless. You sure look like your mother"

The compliment feels paternal at best, but a knife slowly twists into your ribs at the last sentence. None of the men seem to catch this.

"She has" and Harry takes your hand from seemingly nowhere, body closer than you anticipated. Grabs your hand and kisses it like he means it. The other man observes it all in silence. "The belle of the ball"

"Except this is my birthday, not a dance" Paul banters, nudging the billionaire gently on his side, as if you hadn't gone completely at loss for words. You hated to be unprepared, yet Harry always seemed to turn you into a house of cards, his wind sweeping you off your feet.

"There's music" Castillo is quick to reply. "That has to count for"

Paul lets out an easy laugh. Then, looks over his shoulder, and you don't miss the way his eyes light up, unaware adoring smile on his face, the rest of the world reduced to a meaningless blur.

"It's my turn, I suppose" you don't understand what he means. "I want to introduce you to my wife"

You see Harry's body tense and smile falter by centimeters, barely noticeable.

So this is it. This is the part where you meet her. Your newest job.

Your eyes follow Paul's direction, only to be knocked breathless.

Her beauty is obvious, insulting even, making you uncomfortable in your own skin. It's in the way she carries herself, smiles all white, her teeth perfectly lined; blinding. Dress ivory and clean, making your red one feel vulgar in comparison.

You wait for the cold to hit you, but when Paul slides a hand across her back, resting behind not to claim nor brag, but to belong and feel her warmth, she smiles, not for the room, but to the man who looks at her like she makes life worth living.

You're confused.

"This is Grace" he introduces her, proud.

The woman shakes your hand. Even her gestures seem the perfect mixture of delicate and proud. You tell her your name and suddenly, she's smiling again.

"Pleased to finally meet you. Harry has talked so much about you"

His stare burns from your side. So he has indeed talked about you before. You decide not to dwelve too much on how that makes you feel.

"Alright, that's enough" he laughs, clipped. A hand slides across your back, and it feels deliberate.

An instrumental cover of an old 90s ballad you can't quite place begins to play.

"This is my favorite" Grace beams, green eyes sparkling with joy.

"I know. That's why I asked it to be played"

She swats his chest playfully while yours aches with a silent press. Grace links her arm with Paul and gives you a goodbye smile.

"I'll leave you two alone. I have an important dance to attend"

Before going, Paul gives Harry one last look, one you can't decipher. Your breath feels oddly constricted.

"Just us again. Is this perhaps fate telling us something?"

You scoff.

"That I should go home"

"Is that so? Didn't take you for a downer" Harry laughs.

"I'm not" you protest like a child, embarrased.

He's enjoying this, by the way he smirks. "I don't believe you"

"I don't care" but you keep looking on his direction.

"Fine. How about this? Give me a dance and I'll believe you"

You face him, annoyed.

"Do you ever stop doing business?"

He just offers his hand.

"Quick. Offer's expiring and everyone's staring"

Harry's right, though. You hate their whispers and looks, so, be it the pressure or way your heart beats when his fingers slip between your own, you concede.

"Just one. You're lucky I don't like unwarranted attention"

He guides you to the center.

"You better get used to it. You're a natural"

The soft strings and notes of jazz waft through the air. Grace and Paul laugh somewhere to your side.

"But I hardly know this beauty by my side"

You might break your neck with how fast you raise your view, stuck before on the sway of your feet.

"Huh?"

"Lady in red?"

His hand softly caresses the silk of your dress, like a wind breeze.

"Me?" you ask, voice caught in your throat.

Harry laughs. With or at you.

"No, the song"

That's why it was vaguely familiar.

He quirks an eyebrow. "Don't you know Chris de Burgh?"

"All I know is my feet are killing me"

"So dramatic" yet his voice is soft. As the cello hidden behind drums and bass. Too soft. Stable as the Roland TR-808 drum machine for the drum pattern. Tension hanging like the synthesizer, acknowledged but not spoken of.

Harry had this effect on you. He just brought this side of you, a more unguarded side no one saw or dared to search for. Not even Rachel, who you spoke to. You talked to Harry. Because he looked past your walls. He tried. Took the time to pluck brick by brick. Like it mattered. You weren't New York's most sought-after divorce lawyer nor David Beaumont's daughter, just a girl who tried too much and is tired of doing so, and had finally been seen: the eyebags and the pleading eyes. The yearn for something she would never say outloud, between pride and the refusal to name something she can't even name.

"We always end up dancing" you comment, hand firmly holding his. Because it has become too much, and you'd rather go back to the light swimming than the drowning.

"We always end up doing the same things"

You think about the first time you met him. Not the very first, but the one you saw Harry Castillo for the first time.

It was at your father's fourth wedding, with a woman you can't seem to remember by face nor name.

"I hate weddings" you had said, not expecting to be heard but to be understood; the entlitement of your silver spoon was inherit. You felt as if you were wearing a costume of some sorts: a polished aspect that hid that bitter taste of seeing your father's failure and betrayal all over again, front row. You saw by the corner of your sharp eyes the way Harry tensed, unsure if he should even acknowledge you. So you sat in silence for the rest of the ceremony, answer hanging in the air, and when your father swore an expiring love again, you walked out, not before sparing one last glance his way.

He did too.

It made you falter a bit, unsure, almost tripping on the bench. For a moment, it seemed like he could see what you hid: the light tremble in your hands, the unopened invitations yet showing up at the last minute because you had no one else in this life, and how, despite your cruel jokes and harsh words, your eyes turned glassy when you allowed yourself to look at the bride as a kid looks at the shiniest toy behind the display, forbidden to be touched. For a moment, Harry Castillo saw the little girl who wore the heavy crown of a last name, words and grown face like an armour.

"I hate you"

Or maybe you fear him and the way he picks the scabs of your best hidden wounds, searching for the meaning of you past the shells of healed by force scrapes.

He closes his eyes, feigning hurt. "And here I thought we've gotten past base one"

"I hate you" this time sharper. You wish you could mean every ounce of venom laced within.

"You don't mean that" softly, like his gentle tug on your dress. Like the calm of your storms.

No answer, but the tiniest phantom of a smile graces your lips.

"Tell me about Grace"

Harry's grip tightens on your hands. "What about her?"

"I don't think she's the villain you're trying to make her be"

He narrows his eyes. "Give it a few days. She's just a pretty face"

"You say it like that's all there is"

"No" he's quick to answer. Then pauses, probably pondering. "But it certainly helps"

He looks at your lips. Under the lights, it's hard to distinguish if the red across your face is of anger or just a blush.

"Harry-" you beg without knowing why. A greater woman wouldn't.

"What?" like he's dealing with a naive kid.

"Don't lie to me" you seethe.

Not you. Everyone but you.

The song keeps playing in the distance, yet all you can hear is the ringing of your ears.

"I'm not"

It's pathetic to care this much about someone you claim to despise, finding hurt in a rift across the laces of trust in such strange interwoven bond. A phantom thread.

"Where are going?"

Your feet develop a mind of it's own. You don't spare him a glance, breathing suddenly a difficult task.

"Outside"

The cool evening breeze hits you. So does the smell of water, the soft sounds of a fountain in the background.

"At least this time it's a garden"

You and balconies. Another of your rules broken. By Harry, again.

"What are you doing?"

You admire his persistance. With shaky fingers, you reach for one of your dress' pockets.

"Thinking"

"It's such a nice evening to be doing that" as if nothing happened.

You roll your eyes, pulling out the lighter with your mother's initials.

"I'm trying to think who is lying to me"

His face falls.

"Y/n" as a warning, maybe a plea. "The answer is obvious. You don't know her, but you know me"

"I don't" you cut, harsh. "As you don't know me either"

You keep saying the same words, as if they were a shield of some sorts, to protect you from falling under his spell.

Harry Castillo scoffs.

"I'm trying, trust me. But you never make it easy" then, his charming smile is back on, slipping on it like a costume of some sorts. Tailored suit: just for him. "Lucky for you, I'm not a quitter"

"Do you have a cigarette?"

His face betrays surprise. Still, he pulls a Marlboro Gold and hands it like a peace offering.

"You said you quit"

The light flickers, smell of nicotine mixed with that of the flowers of the night garden.

You hold his gaze. "I'm not a quitter"

Harry pulls one of his own too. Takes a long drag, tired, before asking.

"Do you want the truth?"

You face him, expression unreadable. A weak smoke cloud billows over your eyes, masking their shine.

"I don't care"

"Don't lie to me" he repeats your words, but instead of the severity of your own, his are laced with benignity.

"I don't care"

"I didn't want to be alone"

You take another drag, silent, wishing for louder words and not spaces of silence that leave your mind restless.

"Harry Castillo, who could buy all of Manhattan, can't find a simple escort?"

He scoffs, seemingly offended. "That's not what I meant"

But not for the accusation at his expense, rather at your lack of (or lack of wanting to) understand.

"Too low for you, I get it. Where all your model friends busy?"

"One, they're not my friends. I can count those with my fingers" he lifts six. "Besides, I doubt twenty something year olds would be friends with a forty-seven year old finance guy"

You take a drag. "What does that make us then, Harry?"

Harry exhales. "We aren't friends"

Your lips curve up. "And two?"

It's his turn to smile.

"I doubt they would choose to accompany me to an old people dinner instead of a night clubbing with their age appropriate friends" he casts you a look, deliberate. "What would you do?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

His smile widens.

"Tricked, but you are"

You smash the half burnt cigarette against a stone statue next to you.

"Grace isn't the problem"

"Sweet Grace may be eleven years younger, and we know what that means in our world, but God, doesn't that woman love Paul?"

You chuckle, lowly.

"Jealous?" you find yourself teasing him.

He casts you a quick look. "Of course I am"

Even if his tone is light and playful, there is a quiet longing laced within. You gulp harshly.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you"

Your heart shouldn't beat this fast. You chuckle, weakly.

"Elaborate"

"Of course you have to know everything, don't you? You can't help but want to understand it all"

You laugh. "Is that so bad?"

"It's very... you"

"Got it. I'm the bad I was asking about"

For the first time, you both join in laughter. It's so easy feeling this comfortable with Harry, you think. Like it's meant to be. All pretenses left behind for a moment of too loud unguarded laughs.

When the laughter dies, he takes one last drag before putting his cigarette out.

"It's because you're the only one who could play along and not make more out of it"

You're not sure you want to face him. Still, you do, offering a tight lipped smile his way.

"Because I'm smart"

"Of course, you're a Beaumont"

A beat.

"You could've told me"

He shots a look your way, eyebrow arched.

"Would've you accepted if I told you the truth?"

You ponder for a moment before answering.

"No"

"Be honest"

"No, but I would've told you to fuck yourself"

Harry smiles. "That's better"

You join him. "I could send a lawsuit your way for lying"

"I doubt that, divorce lawyer"

You let out a dramatic gasp.

"I went to law school. I know this things"

"I'd like to see you try"

"Are you challenging me, Mr. Castillo?" you dare, mischievous.

"Please, don't call me that. You make me feel old"

"That you are"

"You're impossible" he sighs. "Older, then"

The wind blows your hair a little wild. It gets on your face.

"We should go inside" you say.

"Yeah. We should"

You feel a hot rush through your face when his fingers remove the loose strands, touch delicate. His gentle ministrations find a way inside your tense heart, nesting inside in a pulsating soft ache.

He offers his hand. "Dance with me. As an apology"

"That sounds like another favor"

"Yeah. So we get more prying and envious glances thrown our way"

"I feel I'm getting the short end of the stick here"

Harry laughs. "I'm the old man with a pretty lady on my arm"

"The lady in red" and the color matches your cheeks and dress.

"Is dancing with me"

You take his arm. "Lyric?"

"Truth as well"

When you get back inside, Paul's eyes find you soon enough. You try not to think too much about the meaning behind his smile.

"So..."

"So?"

You take his hands first, diving in. They're warm, holding yours back without second thoughts.

"Let's dance"

And you do, trying not to feel special for being the one Harry Castillo chose.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco @not-the-teen-witch (comment if u wanna be added!)

[johamfated]

Harry followed the older man inside the cottage, enjoying the warmth as it hit them. Truth be told, he much preferred the idea of having somewhere solid to spend the night, and he didn't really fancy traipsing back to Hogsmeade.

"Thanks." He said softly, inviting himself to sit by the fire. He could hear the animals softly in the background, a nice backdrop. He glanced around the cottage, wondering what the rest of the building looked like, "So, what passes for amenities in nineteen thirty-nine? My time at school was a bit of a change than what I had been used to. It was like stepping back into the dark ages. Where I come from, its like Muggles are far more advanced than witches and wizards. Which is ironic since we have magic and everything. But I suppose we probably became lazy. Why go out of your way to build something which magic can do with a flick of your wand?"

Harry knew he was kind of rambling, talking about things he wasn't necessarily interested in, other than to get passed the previous awkward conversation. Because Harry did still feel awkward. He had openly confessed to the professor that he had feelings for him, but the older man hadn't given any real indication as to how he felt.

Not that Harry expected him to, given the man didnt really know him in the way Harry knew Dumbledore. But still, it was a disconcerting feeling, being at someone else's mercy emotionally. Even a man you had trusted for half of your life.

@regretismyconstantcompanion

Albus Dumbledore was sitting on the couch, staring into the fireplace that was across from him. The crackling of the flames was the only sound breaking the silence in the cottage that was nestled in the Scottish Highlands. It was isolated, miles away from even the nearest village. He had chosen it for that very reason, desperate for solitude even if it wasn't something that had been forced upon him. He had lost the duel against Grindelwald. He had known that had always been a possibility. There were equals after all and had known each other painfully well. They had spent that summer duelling, friendly but pushing each others boundaries. They had grown and changed and become more powerful but their tendencies had lingered. The fight had lasted well over an hour but in the end, Gellert had just gotten the better of him and managed to disarm him and send him flying backwards. His only minor consolation was the fight had left them both panting and injured. But it had been clear who the winner was. There was no backing out of the agreement they had made. His time in Nurmengard had been brief. A chance to recover from the duel before Gellert gave him an ultimatum. He could remain free if he agreed to leave Hogwarts and retreat from the Wizarding World. Albus had already known he would leave the school, for certainly he had lost that right when he had failed his students and the Wizarding World as a whole. He had agreed, knowing Gellert wasn't giving him a choice and not agreeing would result in either his death or being imprisoned in Nurmengard forever or the deaths of those he cared about. And so here he was, over a year after the duel. Staring into the fire, sitting beside a cup of tea that had long gone cold. Books had been removed from the overflowing bookshelves, scattered around the room. Some had been read, some he hadn't even yet opened. Plain parchment piled up on the desk. Few knew where he was and so letters came rarely. He had picked some of the fruit and vegetables he grew in a small garden he tended to. Perhaps he would make some jams and chutneys if he could find the strength and motivation. It came sometimes, mixed in with the heavy weight of despair that seemed to fill his waking hours. He had failed. He had let down the wizarding world and now he banished just beyond the world he loved so much. He knew what was happening there, of course. He did his best to learn of Gellerts ongoing plans and rise to power. Without him there, there was nothing to stop him. He knew the few Ministries that still existed moved against him but it wouldn't take much for them to fall. Everything would be lost then and Albus knew he was powerless to stop it. @johamfated

[cherrieshalo]

Romanticism

k.bakugo x fem!reader | fluff | art museum date | 1.2k words

You don’t know how you were able to convince your boyfriend to go to the art museum with you. He wasn’t one for dates where he had to stand and stare at something (you discovered this during a trip to the aquarium, where Katsuki’s usual scowl felt much more intense as he pointed at every ugly fish he could find and claimed they looked like Kirishima) but he did enjoy the closeness of being attached to you; whether it was holding your hand or an arm around your waist, he was glad to be spending at least some kind of time with you. 

Katsuki had dressed up for the date, too. Mostly under your advision. He only usually dressed up if he knew the date location would be fancier, but you insisted on the nice outfits ‘for once’ as you put it. Something about looking nice for pictures, or whatever. He couldn’t really hear you over the steaming noise when you were ironing his slacks. 

You tugged him by the hand across the glossy flooring, a large smile on your face as you looked at and yapped about different artworks. Katsuki, on the other hand, had no clue what you were ranting about. He understood close to none of it. Baroque? Renaissance? They both looked the same to him. Even when you explained they were not and why, he stared at you with his brows knit together. 

They both had religious…what's the word you used….? Iconography? Yes, religious iconography! He knew they both had religious themes but if you were two put two pieces next to each other and ask him to classify them, he’d glare at you to take his place. He wouldn’t want to disappoint you, after all.

The two of you stood in a large room, staring up at a painting of a horse. Katuski didn’t understand what drew you to this painting in particular. It’s just a horse, nothing special! He saw several other ones just in that room that seemed much more interesting to him. 

“Ah, romanticism. One of my favourite styles. Look how detailed the mane is,” your gaze was soft as it was focused on the painting, your hand tightly holding onto his. Your interlocked fingers caused your nails, the ones he ever so diligently paid for, to gently dig into the back of his hand. 

“Romanticism? What the fuck is romantic about this shit? It’s a fucking horse!” Katsuki huffed loudly, his agitated voice echoing in the room. 

“Romanticism and romance aren't the same, Kats…” you gently patted his arm to calm him.

“Oh? Do enlighten me, then. What is so different about them, hm?” 

You rolled your eyes, turning to face him. 

“Romanticism deals with romanticizing the natural world,” you explained calmly. “Nature was a source of beauty and inspiration. Pieces, whether paintings, writings, or music, could lead to a better understanding of our natural world.” 

God you looked so proud of yourself, Katuski couldn’t even be mad. “Ah, I see…” 

“Mhm! Think of like…Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. That’s a good example I think you’d know.” 

“I didn’t read that shit.” Katsuki said it with such a straight face it was nearly comical. You blinked slowly, turning back to the painting.

“Oh…” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

“...you should read it some time. I have three copies at home that you can choose from-” 

“Three?” the blond scoffed. Who the hell keeps three copies of the same novel? 

“Yeah. Three,” you shifted on your feet slightly. “One is an annotated copy for ‘creator’s of all kinds,’ one is a regular copy that I’ve annotated, and the last one had a pretty cover.” 

“Nerd.

“Your nerd,” you stuck your tongue out at him. 

“Yeah, unfortunately…” Katsuki grumbled, pulling you along. The sooner you covered the different exhibits, the faster he could leave and go stuff his face at the local cafe. He really was craving a pain au chocolat right now, but it had to wait. 

Katsuki hated to admit it, but he was actually having fun. Maybe it was because he was with you, or your constant yapping, but it genuinely wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He sneaked in a few cute photos of you, too. That was surely a bonus, especially since he knew you’d be happy if he posted them to his Instagram story without being told to. He did love showing off his girl, after all. 

His favourite exhibit had to be the Ancient Greek exhibit. Maybe it was the way you were flapping your hands excitedly over the black-figure pottery (he really liked how they depicted many of the Gods and Goddesses on them) or how you would giggle at the male nudes you said were called kouros with him. 

Katsuki found the Egyptian exhibit to be a favourite as well, his gaze fully focused on the different sarcophagi on display. He tilted his head slightly in curiosity. Some of the heads were sculpted, while others were more realistic painted portraits on what he thought looked like wood paneling. 

“Huh, I wonder why they changed it…” he mumbled under her breath. 

“Roman invasion.”

“What?” he turned to you, face scrunching up. 

“Yeah, Romans. Egyptians changed their burial practices after the Romans invaded. Things became simpler and closer to Hellenistic influence. And the painted faces were done similarly to Roman art, like many of the religious pieces,” you explained to him, using your finger on the glass to point out the differences. “Greco-Roman influence.” 

Katsuki turned to you, eyes squinted as his grip on your hand tightened. “How the hell do you know all of this, pretty? We’ve been running around all day and your mouth never stopped spitting information out at me.”

“Very disappointed you don’t know by now, Kats…” you pouted, raking her nails of your free hand up and down his arm. 

“The hell you mean?” 

“I took art history classes my first year of university, dummy. Two, actually. It’s how I met Kyoka, remember? And if it wasn’t for that…” you trailed off in hope that it would finally click for him. 

“Oh, right.” Katuski swept under his nose with the back of his hand. “We wouldn’t have met. Or have you yapping in my ear all day.” 

“You’re acting like you hate it. Admit it, you enjoyed our date.” 

“Yeah, I did.” A small huff, paired with an even smaller smile. “I think I enjoyed it because of your yapping.” 

“You’re so sweet, Katuski…” you kissed his cheek with a grin on your face. He actually enjoyed the date? That was super totally awesome! Sometimes you were scared he would get bored or annoyed, so you must have done a good job with your limited planning done. 

“Whatever. Can we go to the gift shop and see if they have replicas of those organ jar things? The ones with the fuck-ass looking heads on them.” 

“Canopic jars…?” you guessed, earning a nod from him. “Of course, let’s go see.” 

Oh, you totally needed to drag him to museums more often. 

You wouldn’t have to wait long though for the next opportunity. Just 2 weeks later, he stormed into the bathroom as you finished brushing your teeth, nearly choking on spit as he magically appeared behind you in the mirror like a ghost. 

“There’s a cool art museum an hour away by train. Get dressed, we’re leaving in 20 minutes,” Katsuki spoke coolly before making his way out of the bathroom. Perhaps the day’s plans could wait, for fate had scheduled yet another free-yapping session your boyfriend wouldn’t be able to back out of now.

© property of cherrieshalo 2025 - please do not steal or copy my work to post elsewhere

[monstersflashlight]

I know this is the monster fucking blog but can you do wholesome monster loving with the Tree Hole Debacle?

Like the reader bringing a picnic to the nature spirit?

A/N: You can find part 1 here, part 2 here, and part 3 (patreon exclusive) here. This is just very fluffy and soft and the furthest for horny ever, but I really enjoyed writing it, hope y’all enjoy reading it!

Forest entity: Picnics and situationships

Forest entity x fem!reader || sfw

Every time you’ve come to the forest, it’s with a secret intention.

Well, maybe not so secret because he always finds you and ends up giving you so much pleasure that you spend days in a dazed fog of post orgasm bliss. Let’s say it’s a secret intention for plot’s sake. Isn’t that what the cool kids say nowadays? Making bad choices… for the plot? Maybe you’re too old for that.

Anyway, you feel really bad because he always brings you pleasure but you don’t even try to befriend him. It must be lonely to live all alone in the forest. Or maybe it wasn’t, but how can you know? It’s not like you ever tried to talk to him when he was fucking you senseless… Okay, you weren’t the only one to blame for that- but you wanted to remedy it.

So here you are, parking your car and grabbing a basket full of food and a big plaid blanket. You take the compass out and follow it until you find yourself in a clearing. You know he should be around here, but you try to act nonchalant as you set your blanket on the ground and prepare your little basket with food.

It takes him less than five minutes to show up, emerging from the forest as his vines move around his body, giving him a kind of godly aura that makes your pussy tingly. Down girl, you remind yourself, we aren’t here for that.

“What are you doing here, human?” He asks. You can’t answer before he’s continuing. “The forest doesn’t want any offerings. I thought you’d be done after last time.” If you didn’t know better you’d say he’s smug about it. Truth be told, he can be smug about it. The things he did to you? Yeah, you still think about them every time you touch yourself.

“I- I didn’t come for that. I’m here to… To have a picnic,” you let out, which is technically correct. You try not to blush too hard, your whole body shivering at the intensity of his stare.

“In my forest?” He says, tilting his head to the side. You nod. “Why?”

“I just wanted to,” you lie.

He catches you instantly, making you feel even more embarrassed. “Lie. Try again.”

“I like nature,” another lie.

“Lie. Try again,” he repeats, almost as if he’s amused.

“Ugh. Okay. I just… I felt bad for always coming here to get fucked and I thought… I thought maybe we could spend some time together.”

“Why?” He asks, again.

“Why not?” You fire back, sounding like a five year old and wanting to stick your tongue out at him.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you just need to go back to your house and stop thinking a literal forest entity has some kind of hurt feelings over fucking you dumb. You’re about to get up and gather everything to run away as fast as possible, but he stops you with one of his vines. He approaches you very carefully, as if he’s trying not to scare you away. His beauty feels forbidden in this light, and you almost have to look away as he sits in front of you, not on the blanket, but close enough.

He doesn’t say much, he doesn’t eat anything, but he seems to enjoy watching you talk and eat some of the snacks you brought. He looks curious as you tell him stuff about your life, so you go in deeper details, telling him about your day, your job, your friends… He never stops looking interested, and he even blooms some flowers when you say something particularly amusing to him.

It’s… really nice.

Like a gentleman, or more like a gentle-entity, he walks you to your car when the light starts to fade. He claims it’s because humans have poor vision (which is true), but you want to think it’s because he wants to spend a little more time with you.

Your suspicions are confirmed when he stops in front of your car. “I like to spend more time with you, human. I won’t be opposed to do it again. I’ll be waiting,” he says before disappearing into the forest again.

Well, shit.

Did you just get yourself into a situationship?

[milla-frenchy]

Damn, I'm speechless. Angst and bitterness are flirting with such hot moments, all wonderfully written 🤌👌

I loved every word of it. The way you express their feelings is so raw and vivid. I loved reading about their shared past. And this moment between them, wowwwww

Thank you so much for writing a fic with these prompts, it's perfect ❤️❤️❤️

Beautiful mood board, as always. I just love your aesthetic 😍😍

“You wanted to see me?” “Long day?” you ask, unable to kill off that instinct that makes you want to take care of him. He snorts. “You could say that.” Then he empties his glass with one big gulp. You watch his throat work, follow it down to where his light blue shirt is undone one button too many. How often did you kiss his neck until he was complaining about your tickling breath? You stop yourself before you can think about it for too long. Nothing good can come from going down that particular path.

wow. I can only imagine how she feels 🥺🥺

“Do you want another drink?” You glance at your cocktail, the glass still almost full. “Javi, please –,” you start, but he stands abruptly. “Be right back.” You sigh, watching him head back to the bar. Months of trying to chase him down, months of your lawyer trying to get him on the phone … you should have known this wouldn’t be easy. But there is no reason for him to make this quite so hard. “Tell you what,” he says as he lets himself fall back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, “tell me how you’ve been and I’ll sign those papers.” “Don’t act as if you care.” The words are out before you can stop them, years of hurt erupting violently like a geyser. His lips thin into a straight line. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’ll always care about you.”

The beauty and the cruelty of it all. After spending years with someone, wow!

Your eyes move back to the bar and land on the man who approached you earlier. He’s with a young woman now, the cleavage of her dress cut so low there isn’t much left to the imagination. Still, his eyes keep searching for yours, and a strange heat begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach. There was a time the man sitting opposite you desired you like that, and you miss that feeling like a former junkie misses the high. “He just wants to fuck you,” Javi interrupts your thoughts, still the observant cop you’ve known him to be. You hate the crude way he talks to you and you want to make him hurt. “Maybe that’s what I want.” Javi smirks. But by the way he knits his fingers together you can tell you’ve landed a blow. “Don’t make me jealous.”

This is so, so good

“Tell me, how many women have you been with since you walked out on me?” You’re surprised at your own question, steeling yourself for an answer you never wanted to hear. “It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” For a split second, Javi’s eyes drop to where the thin straps of your dress rest against your shoulders. You sigh. “I know. But it still hurt.” “And I’m sorry about that,” Javi says quickly as if trying to get out words that are threatening to choke him. “It’s who I am though. You knew that when you married me.” For the first time since he sat down, you allow yourself to smile at him in soft familiarity. “I did. It’s why I found you so attractive, too.” Javi returns your smile. “So how have you been?” You laugh then. “Is that how you get your suspects to make a confession? Rile them up, pretend to lower your walls, and then go in for the kill?”

This hurts. But I understand her, so much. She knew him. She ran towards him, and he broke her heart. I would have done the same.

You flex your hand in frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult?” “Maybe I like hearing from you.” He empties his glass a second time. “Once I’ve signed these, you’ll be out of my life for good.”

Damn the angst is chef's kiss 👌🤌

“One drink,” Javi replies, one finger raised in reprimand. “I just never clarified when I would have mine.” You like this. You shouldn’t, but you do. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll allow it.” Javi huffs in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. “I always liked it when you were like that.” “Like what?” “So confident.” Your face heats up. Standing up for yourself (in front of others but in front of Javi too) – that used to lead to … interesting consequences. “What else did you like?” you ask, the vodka warming your blood. Javi runs the knuckle of his index finger over his lips. “Better not ask something you know you’re not gonna like the answer to.” Your heart skips a beat. “How do you mean?” “Baby …” That name, so familiar, sounds like a plea coming from his lips. You inhale sharply. “Tell me, Javi.”

Ughhhhhhh they're playing with fire and I'm SO here for it 😍😍😍

Javi finally raises his eyes to look at you. “Do you think you’d show me? How much you liked it?” The air in the room is thick now, like it is right before one of those tropical storms you’re used to by now. Your tongue is heavy when you reply, “I could do that.”

OH MY GOD HOLY FUCK 🥵🥵🥵

And then, the smut. Oh wow. Criminally hot 🫠🫠🫠 I'm so in love with this man, damn...

The ending... I saw it coming, ofc. But still 💔💔💔

Such an amazing fic!! Thank you so much for sharing ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You've been estranged from your husband for years. When you finally track him down to make him sign the divorce papers, you get what you want and what you need - but it comes at a price.

Warnings: divorce | angst | alcohol consumption | masturbation (f) | fingering (f) | pussy pronouns | multiple orgasms | oral (f receiving) | (protected) p in v sex | some butt stuff 🤭 (but in a blink and you'll miss it kind of way) | to no one’s surprise there’s some stuff with hands and fingers too

Notes: Do you guys remember my 10k follower celebration I started about a year ago? I'm still working on all your prompts, I promise!! This one goes out to @milla-frenchy who requested "My tongue still remembers the way you taste.", "I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.", and "Don't make me jealous." with Javi P, so naturally I had to make this about estranged married people who have a lot of history. This is set during S3E6 ('Best Laid Plans') btw because I couldn't stop thinking about Curaçao (the pink shirt doesn't make an appearance though 😔). As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who not only came up with the divorce plot but also with the ending, and yet she still said this fic is one of her favorite things I've ever written like 🤯 and the truth is, I really really like it too 🤭

The heat is oppressive, even during the evenings and nights when the sun is taking a break. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, not even after the three years you now have been living on Curaçao. Your dress sticks to your back and your whole body sticks to the leather chair you’re sitting in, while your palms are slick with sweat. That, at least, you can’t blame on the heat.

You take a sip from your strong cocktail and resume your vigilant watch of the hotel lobby that you can make out perfectly through an open doorway. Despite the late hour, people are still checking in – old men with young women on their arms, families with children sleeping in strollers or in their mothers’ arms; young couples who can’t keep their hands off each other, even when the receptionist looks like she’s about to despair at the line forming behind them.

You were like them once, you and Javi. Not that you would have been able to afford a place like this for your honeymoon. But you remember the feeling of being newly-weds, the way you couldn’t let each other out of sight, how it felt like you were the only two people in the world, and nothing else mattered. You despise them, all the young people who arrive. You want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. Wake up, it’s all a lie, leave right now and save yourselves the heartbreak. You don’t do it, of course. Instead, you take another sip of your cocktail, the cool glass moist with perspiration, and straighten the envelope that is lying on the table in front of you.

A man approaches you, asking if you need company. You touch your neck self-consciously, wishing there was a way to soothe your burning nerves. “I’m waiting for someone, I’m sorry,” you tell him with a sweet smile. You truly are sorry; any other night, you would have said yes, despite the cruel streak around his mouth. Loneliness doesn’t ask questions.

The man accepts your rejection with a shrug, but his eyes linger on you, even when he has retreated to the bar to order himself another beer. For the first time in an hour, you turn your attention away from that familiar doorway and watch as his thick fingers grab the bottleneck tightly. Heat rises into your cheeks and you shift in your chair, tired and frustrated and sore.

“Hi.”

Your head snaps back toward the doorway, but he’s already standing right in front of you. You knew this moment was coming, had two whole days to prepare for it, yet the sight of him makes you lose what little composure you had left as you sharply suck in air, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Javi goes on when you don’t acknowledge his greeting. “I – give me a minute.”

He too moves away toward the bar, then leans on it right next to the man and his already empty beer bottle. You use the moment to gain back some control, straighten your back, calm your nerves with another sip that turns into a gulp. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, his sudden appearance wasn’t supposed to rattle you so. But it’s been so long since you were in the same room together, so long since the thought of him didn’t feel like a knife being plunged into your heart, that you have completely forgotten how to be around him without it feeling like you’re dying.

He lets himself fall into the chair opposite yours, groaning with relief as he sinks into it. In his hand, he holds a glass of whiskey, neat, and in his expression he holds nothing but exhaustion.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Long day?” you ask, unable to kill off that instinct that makes you want to take care of him.

He snorts. “You could say that.” Then he empties his glass with one big gulp.

You watch his throat work, follow it down to where his light blue shirt is undone one button too many. How often did you kiss his neck until he was complaining about your tickling breath? You stop yourself before you can think about it for too long. Nothing good can come from going down that particular path.

“It’s about these.” You pick up the envelope and open it. Your hands are steady after having practiced this moment over and over again. Now you’re supposed to say, “It’s only three signatures,” but he’s already holding out his hand, waiting for you to give him the papers.

It’s with a creased brow that he looks at them, eyes skimming from the header (“Divorce Agreement”) all the way down to the bottom where he has to place his first signature. You feel compelled to justify it, even after years of living apart and not being faithful to each other, but you hold your tongue. You owe him nothing, and he knows that.

Finally, he says, “And you’re sure about this?”

You laugh. “When was the last time we acted like husband and wife?”

“It’s not about that …,” he says slowly.

“I don’t care what this is about,” you snap, nerves frayed from the heat and the tension of the evening. “I’m not leaving until you sign these.” You rummage around in your bag, pull out a heavy, silver fountain pen, and hold it out to him.

He accepts it but doesn’t make any move to use it. “Beatriz tells me you live here now.”

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest. “I do,” you confirm.

“Do you like it?” Immediately after he’s said it, he pulls a grimace.

“You were never good at small talk.” There’s no malice in your voice, but you speak those words so softly you’re not sure he catches them. “No, I don’t,” you answer honestly. “I hate the heat and the tourists. But the money is good.”

He nods as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about. Then he places the pen and the papers on the low table between you. “Do you want another drink?”

You glance at your cocktail, the glass still almost full. “Javi, please –,” you start, but he stands abruptly.

“Be right back.”

You sigh, watching him head back to the bar. Months of trying to chase him down, months of your lawyer trying to get him on the phone … you should have known this wouldn’t be easy. But there is no reason for him to make this quite so hard.

“Tell you what,” he says as he lets himself fall back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, “tell me how you’ve been and I’ll sign those papers.”

“Don’t act as if you care.” The words are out before you can stop them, years of hurt erupting violently like a geyser.

His lips thin into a straight line. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’ll always care about you.”

You know there is some truth in that, or at least you want there to be. Your eyes move back to the bar and land on the man who approached you earlier. He’s with a young woman now, the cleavage of her dress cut so low there isn’t much left to the imagination. Still, his eyes keep searching for yours, and a strange heat begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach. There was a time the man sitting opposite you desired you like that, and you miss that feeling like a former junkie misses the high.

“He just wants to fuck you,” Javi interrupts your thoughts, still the observant cop you’ve known him to be.

You hate the crude way he talks to you and you want to make him hurt. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

Javi smirks. But by the way he knits his fingers together you can tell you’ve landed a blow. “Don’t make me jealous.”

“Tell me, how many women have you been with since you walked out on me?” You’re surprised at your own question, steeling yourself for an answer you never wanted to hear.

“It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” For a split second, Javi’s eyes drop to where the thin straps of your dress rest against your shoulders.

You sigh. “I know. But it still hurt.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Javi says quickly as if trying to get out words that are threatening to choke him. “It’s who I am though. You knew that when you married me.”

For the first time since he sat down, you allow yourself to smile at him in soft familiarity. “I did. It’s why I found you so attractive, too.”

Javi returns your smile. “So how have you been?”

You laugh then. “Is that how you get your suspects to make a confession? Rile them up, pretend to lower your walls, and then go in for the kill?”

Javi just sips on his whiskey, waiting for you to answer his question.

“I’m okay,” you say after brief consideration. “I got a promotion at work. And I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“And how are you really?” Javi presses.

The smile vanishes from your face. “Lonely.”

He nods at the papers. “And you think that’ll change when I sign these?”

“The closure won’t hurt.”

“Neither will staying married if there isn’t anyone in the picture.”

You flex your hand in frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Maybe I like hearing from you.” He empties his glass a second time. “Once I’ve signed these, you’ll be out of my life for good.”

“You’ll have to let me go eventually.” Your voice trembles slightly. “You can’t have your cake –”

“I know,” he interrupts you sharply. “But this,” a wave of his hand to encompass the two of you locked in your stand-off, “it reminds me of how good we were together.”

“We were,” you agree, “and I’d rather remember us that way than as the couple who dragged things out until they hated each other.”

“I could never hate you.” He says it quickly, and he doesn’t quite look at you.

You can’t make him that same promise in return. Right after he left, there was a time … hate might be too cruel of a word to describe what you felt then, but you cursed him every day for choosing his job over the perfect thing you two had. You would’ve gone anywhere in the world with him, just not straight to hell where all you could have done was sit at home and wait for that cautious knock at the door preceding the news that he had been killed. And he went anyway. You still can’t quite bring yourself to forgive him for that.

“You made your choice when you took that plane to Colombia.”

He looks at you, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow, pupils blown wide by the darkness of the bar and the alcohol in his blood. “Come up to my room. Just for a little while. Just to talk.”

You shake your head. “Why do you think I asked you to meet here instead of at my apartment?” He shakes his head too, acting as if he has no idea how to answer that question. “Please, just sign the papers.”

“Why did you want to meet here?”

This man sitting opposite you used to be your husband. Legally speaking, he still is. And even though you haven’t seen him in years, you still feel that same old pull tugging you toward him. “I’m not setting foot in a room with a bed. And I don’t think I need to explain why.”

He laughs, something he so seldomly does. “We don’t need a bed for that.”

It’s loud now in the bar, and the ice in your cocktail has melted. What was supposed to be a quick meeting has eaten away your entire evening. You blink fast, and let your gaze wander across the bar. The man who approached you is gone.

“Come up to my room with me,” Javi tries again. “Just for one drink. Then I’ll sign your papers.”

He’s an asshole, and you have every reason to hate him, set your lawyer on him, but he knows you won’t do that. You know it too.

“One drink,” you say emphatically. “That’s it. And then I’m gone.”

He nods, his face serious. But there is a sparkle in his eyes as he stands, victorious. He straightens the papers and picks them up, hands you back your pen. You take it and stand too, straightening your dress.

“I should warn you though,” Javi says as he offers you his arm, “there’s a bed in my room.”

You shake your head, your shoulders tight with determination. No matter how charming he is, no matter how much he tries, you won’t let him in. It’s just one drink, and then you can finally put this marriage behind you.

Javi leads you to a large elevator that opens just as you approach it. An old couple steps out; he’s walking a few paces in front of her, not checking if she can keep up, while she hobbles after him, braced on a cane. At least you didn’t stay married to Javi long enough he started to resent you, you think as he crowds you into the elevator and presses the button for the third floor.

He's standing too close to you – you can feel his hot skin right next to your own naked arm, making your heart do a little dance in your chest. It’s funny how the body remembers, and how much it craves things that are decidedly a bad idea. Javi shifts, and moves closer still, his eyes firmly fixed on the closed elevator doors. You’re alone, there’s no need for him to put on this little show, but it still feels like you’re being claimed.

Javi’s room feels small compared to the grand entrance hall and the broad hallways of the hotel. He opens the door and lets you in first, but he doesn’t turn on the ceiling light once you’re alone with him. Instead, he walks over to a desk in front of the window and switches on a small lamp.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestures at the bed, neatly made by the hotel staff.

You think about pushing past him to sit in the upholstered chair that comes with the desk, but he lets himself sink into it, crossing one leg over the other. The bed it is, then.

While you try to find a comfortable position to sit in, one that lets Javi know you’re not here to play, he opens a small door in the desk, and the minibar hidden behind it. “Vodka or whiskey?” he asks.

“Vodka,” you answer without thinking about it.

He shoots you a surprised look but hands you a small bottle without questioning your choice.

You unscrew the bottle, the seal breaking with a satisfying sound. “What do you want to talk about?”

Javi places his bottle of whiskey on the desk. “Nothing, really. I’m just not done being in your company.”

You laugh and take a sip. It tastes cheap. “Well, we should talk about something.”

“Or we could just enjoy each other’s company.”

“You were never good at that,” you remind him. “Always answering calls, always jumping when your pager went off. There were times I thought you’d do anything just so you wouldn’t have to be in my company.”

“I did make it feel like that, didn’t I?”

You’re caught off-guard by this rare moment of reflection. “I’m enjoying this, you know. I don’t think we ever spent this much time together when we were married.”

“We still are,” Javi reminds you.

You take another sip of your tiny bottle. There isn’t much left now.

“Ah,” Javi makes, “but I haven’t even opened mine yet.”

It shouldn’t catch you by surprise, the way he reads you so well. “You keep changing the rules of the arrangement.” An hour ago, you would have crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him. Now it’s a soft smile that accompanies your words.

“One drink,” Javi replies, one finger raised in reprimand. “I just never clarified when I would have mine.”

You like this. You shouldn’t, but you do. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll allow it.”

Javi huffs in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. “I always liked it when you were like that.”

“Like what?”

“So confident.”

Your face heats up. Standing up for yourself (in front of others but in front of Javi too) – that used to lead to … interesting consequences. “What else did you like?” you ask, the vodka warming your blood.

Javi runs the knuckle of his index finger over his lips. “Better not ask something you know you’re not gonna like the answer to.”

Your heart skips a beat. “How do you mean?”

“Baby …” That name, so familiar, sounds like a plea coming from his lips.

You inhale sharply. “Tell me, Javi.”

He shakes his head, lowers his eyes to the floor. The light from the single lamp casts soft shadows across his face. Maybe you overstepped a line you didn’t know was there. Or maybe you should push him just a little bit further.

“Tell me, Javi,” you repeat.

He remains seated in his chair, the perfect image of composure, wound tighter than a coil. “I liked watching you,” he answers finally, eyes still downcast, “when you knew I wanted you.”

You stop breathing as the memories wash over you. You, wearing that pretty red dress, Javi’s pupils blown wide when he sees you. You, lying on the bed, naked, Javi standing at its foot, tearing off the well-pressed shirt he was in the middle of buttoning up. That one night you danced for him in that shabby motel room, your hips stiff, your arms always awkwardly in the way, but when he palmed himself through those tight jeans all the shame and embarrassment evaporated. You miss them, all those little moments. And you miss how Javi made you feel beautiful, worthy, desired. You miss that most of all.

You try to play it all off by taking that final sip of your bottle. “Yeah,” you agree, “I liked being wanted by you.” Your voice is steady. Right?

Javi finally raises his eyes to look at you. “Do you think you’d show me? How much you liked it?”

The air in the room is thick now, like it is right before one of those tropical storms you’re used to by now. Your tongue is heavy when you reply, “I could do that.”

Javi nods, as if you’ve just come to an understanding about who is going to pay for dinner. He reaches for his bottle of whiskey, opens it, empties it with one big drag. You watch his throat work as he swallows, think you see the flutter of a nervous heartbeat at the base of it. He runs his tongue over his lips, chasing the taste, before giving you the smallest of nods.

You kick off your sandals slowly, your heart thundering in your chest. The wooden floor of the hotel room is pleasantly cool beneath your feet when you place them there, chasing something solid. Because you feel like you’re floating, high on the way Javi’s arms flex as he balls his hands into tight fists. The air is so thick now you can barely breathe.

Your dress is long, a light cotton blend, and it feels soft between your fingers as you bunch up the fabric and pull it up toward your hips. Javi’s eyes shoot to your legs as more and more skin is exposed – calves, knees, thighs. It’s as if he’s seeing you for the very first time, and he clears his throat almost bashfully as a light giggle escapes you. Both these things do nothing to ease the tension.

You manage to take off your panties without the dress falling down your legs, and Javi’s eyes shoot to where you drop them to the floor. He licks his lips again, a sight to which your body responds with a throbbing sensation at the base of your spine. It’s impossible to stop your hand from shaking as you lightly touch your thigh; it’s impossible to deny how much it affects you when Javi shifts in his chair in eager anticipation either. You shift too, spreading your legs a little further, but leaving the fabric of your dress draped over your thighs as it is – there is no point in giving it all away at once.

You’re soaked. It catches you by surprise, more so than the familiar touch of your fingers, made unfamiliar by the way Javi is watching you, both fists pressed tightly against his thighs, as if he’s trying to control himself. Your mouth forms a surprised O, a gasp escaping from it, as the tip of your index finger brushes your clit and your hips jerk forward, desperate for more. Javi’s mouth falls open too, his chest heaves with deep pants, his eyes now glued to where your hand vanishes beneath the hem of your dress. You push yourself into your touch, your fingers drawing tight little circles over that swollen bundle of nerves, while you clench around nothing, desperate to be filled.

You didn’t expect your body would remember so well.

“I’m so wet,” you breathe before you can stop yourself.

Javi groans in response and shifts in his chair, but his fists remain firmly planted against his thighs. That won’t do. You spread your legs even further and lean back on one elbow while moving your hand lower. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers, and it brings a smile to your face, one that makes Javi bite down on his bottom lip. Hard. Normally, you like to work yourself up to accommodate a bigger stretch, but tonight, two fingers glide into you with ease, and you moan at the sensation, nothing bashful about the way you throw back your head. You pump them out, then back in, once, twice, before you add a third finger, burying them three knuckles deep. Your entire body is shaking with arousal.

Your eyes land back on Javi, whose chest is heaving. “Guess how many fingers I have inside of me,” you challenge, your voice unsteady. You pull them out slowly, teasingly, the sensation making your head spin.

“Shit,” Javi groans, and now you notice the bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. “Shit. I don’t know – two?”

“Three,” you correct him with a self-assured smile.

He breaks. One fist uncurls, and he palms himself, his hips jerking up into his touch. “Let me see her,” he rasps.

You’re not sure if you heard him correctly, but then he repeats the words with sharp command in his voice, that tone making you clench around your fingers. You fall back against the mattress and pull up your dress until it’s bunched against your stomach, leaving the bottom half of your body exposed. Javi’s chair creaks as if it’s about to break, but when you look at him, he has stopped touching himself. He has stopped breathing too as he takes in the sight before him, eyes impossibly dark.

You press the fingers of your free hand against your clit, and your hips jerk upwards, a movement that Javi’s hips mirror. What you can see of his chest is flushed in a deep, dark red, and the sight spurs you on. There is nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re pumping your fingers into yourself now, nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re rubbing your clit. Javi ruts his hips in desperate little circles, but you’re not sure he’s aware of it at all, too busy drinking in the sight of you sprawled on the bed, too far gone to care about what you’re doing. Everything tightens, and suddenly your toes are pressing down against the hard floor as you push your hips up into your hand, shoving your fingers impossibly deep. Your cunt clenches around them eagerly as you come with a deep, drawn-out moan of “Yesyesyes!”, eyes closed now, completely lost in the sensation of one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years.

When you open your eyes, Javi is kneeling in front of you, unbuttoning his shirt deliberately. Everything still feels soft and hazy, so you don’t protest as he gently takes your wrist and pulls out your fingers. “She’s just as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers, his breath tickling your thigh.

You try to push your dress down to cover yourself, but he only tightens his hold on your wrist. “No, no, no.” He’s determined, the pleading from earlier having long since disappeared from his voice. “Can I taste you?” he asks.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want him to, but because this is so much more than that single drink you agreed to. You should tell him no, make him finally sign those papers and leave this godforsaken room that now smells of sex. But your body is still thrumming with arousal, and the way he’s kneeling between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you, makes it impossible to refuse him anything.

You nod.

You expect him to approach this cautiously, but he delves in like a man starved. You hiss from the overstimulation, but he strokes your thigh soothingly, and you let him lick a broad stripe from your opening all the way up to your clit. Both your moans, and the sounds of his wet tongue against your wet cunt – it’s lewd. It turns you on so much the way you clench around nothing is actually painful.

Javi pulls away, teases your folds with a curious, probing finger. His dark mustache glistens in the dim light as he looks up at you. “My tongue still remembers the way you taste,” he admits, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder, his biceps flexing with the movement. “Especially with your cum all over you.”

“God, Javi,” you groan and, unable to keep looking at him, you let yourself fall back into the mattress.

He kisses your clit, licks it, sucks it in between his lips. You squirm, but he holds you down tightly with both hands, making it clear who’s in charge. You inhale deeply, but there is no way you can hold on for much longer. When he moves lower, licks at the wetness he finds there, has the audacity to moan as if he’s tasting heaven, you break.

“Please, fuck me, Javi,” you groan, arm slung across your eyes so you don’t have to look at him.

He chuckles, and you can feel the sound vibrate all the way into your core. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fuck me?” he asks before rolling his tongue over your clit.

It presses all the air from your lungs. You raise your hips so your clit bumps against his nose. “You’re very confident for a man who just got hard from watching his ex-wife touch herself.”

With a growl, he lets go of you and your eyes fly open, worried you offended him. Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of him unbuckling his belt with shaking fingers before throwing his wallet down on the bed next to you. You think you hear him murmur, “You’re still my wife,” as he pushes down his jeans, but you could be mistaken because you’re busy pulling your dress over your head. Then you’re both naked, the air between you crackling with unspoken challenges.

Javi grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom. “Turn around,” he growls, before tearing the wrapper open with his teeth.

You’re too transfixed by the way he’s rolling it onto his thick length, hanging heavy between his thighs.

“Turn around,” he repeats sharply.

You snap to attention and do as you’re told. Lying flat on your stomach, breathing in the smell of the hotel’s detergent, you await the inevitable. The mattress beneath you dips as Javi climbs onto the bed behind you, pulling your hips up toward him. Then there’s a finger inside of you, and you flutter around it, eager for more. It’s replaced not by his cock but by his tongue, and you grab the duvet, pushing back with a loud moan. He curls it inside of you while spreading your ass cheeks with both hands, and before long, you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Javi,” you warn.

He pulls out and runs his tongue upward to where he’s spreading you open. With a strangled moan, you press your face into the duvet and push against him, chasing the crest of the wave that’s building inside of you. But instead of giving you the release you so desperately crave, he pulls away.

“No man’s fucking you like me.” It isn’t territorial possessiveness. It’s not even a question. It’s just a simple statement.

He pushes down your hips, the force of being pressed into the mattress knocking the wind out of you. One hand he braces right next to your head, the other he uses to guide himself into you, spreading you open so much wider than your three fingers ever could. Then both his arms are caging you in, and the weight of his chest against your back holds you right in place where he wants you.

It's a deep groan and the way his hips stutter that pull you back from the edge. You kiss his hand, then his arm, eyes half closed as your body adjusts to him.

“No other pussy feels as good as yours,” he mumbles into the sudden quietness.

That confession hits you like a bullet right to the heart. “You need to forget about me.”

He swears, but you don’t quite catch the word. “I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.”

You wish it were true. You need it to be true, actually. Because when Javi starts moving, you know you’ll never want another man in your life. He has ruined everyone else for you. And it doesn’t matter where he wants to live or what kind of criminals he wants to chase down – you’re prepared to follow him wherever he might go.

“Shhh,” he makes, and strokes your hair. “You’re thinking too loudly.”

You clear your throat and lift your hips slightly, his cock sliding in impossibly deeper. He grunts at the sensation.

“Wait,” he says, then pulls out and flips you over with ease.

It’s exactly like it was on your wedding night, when he fucked you just like this, telling you to keep your eyes on him. Now your eyes widen at the memory as he pushes back into you, chest pressed against hot chest. Then two of his fingers are resting against your lips and before he even tries to pry them open, your jaw goes slack. He pushes them inside and your eyes flutter close in utter bliss.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “I remember how much you like sucking on these while I fuck you.”

He starts to pump into you, as both your hands close around his wrist to keep his hand in place. His fingers lightly press against your tongue, rich with the salty taste of sweat and arousal, and you massage them, sloppy, wet, eager moans vibrating in your throat.

He’s fucking into you now, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing through the air around you. You’re dimly aware of slinging your legs around his hips to pull more of him into you, and of him kissing your neck, but you’re so fucked out of your mind you might be imagining these things. When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, your eyes fly open in protest only to see him gaze at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he has ever seen.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says.

His tongue finds his way in between your parted lips, and then you’re returning the kiss, chasing the sensation of coming home. He must feel it too because his hips are moving faster, and the entire bed is shaking beneath you. You moan, sounds that start low in your throat and come out high and breathless. They make him shudder against you.

Javi breaks the kiss first. “I want you to come for me.”

You nod eagerly and push a hand between your bodies, brushing against his stomach. God, there is so much of him waiting to be rediscovered.

As soon as your fingers find your clit, you give him a clipped, “Javi,” as a warning. It feels like you’ve been right there on the edge for hours, and now that you’re about to break, you’re no longer in control of anything. He bites down on his lip in concentration and then in bliss as you wrap your free hand around his biceps and dig your nails into his skin.

He stills, and groans, and gives you another three desperate thrusts, pulling you over the edge with him. Your orgasm catches you by surprise, makes you cry out with the force of it, and he leans down to reclaim your mouth while he empties himself, engulfed by your hungrily clenching cunt.

*******

Soft morning light tickles you awake. You stretch your aching muscles, then breathe in deeply. The scent surrounding you is unfamiliar and yet familiar all the same. Then you remember.

Javi!

Your eyes fly open. He’s not lying in bed next to you or getting dressed, and you also don’t hear the shower running in the bathroom. Maybe he went out to get breakfast. Maybe he got called into work. All you know is that you were so tired you didn’t hear him leave.

You sit up and roll your stiff shoulders. Sometime during the night, Javi must have draped the blanket over you. The blanket that still smells of sex. Your face heats up.

The empty whiskey bottle is standing on the small desk, right where Javi left it. If he went out to get breakfast, you should clean the desk so you’ll have a place to eat. If he got called into work, you should still tidy up – you don’t want the hotel staff to gossip about him.

As you approach the desk, you notice the divorce papers spread out on top of it. It seems silly how you came here last night in an attempt to make him sign them. You make to push them into a pile when you spot it – a neat signature on a line right next to yours. “No,” you whisper, but there’s the second one, and the third.

Right there on the line where it says “husband”, his signature flashes up at you: Javier Peña.

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dividers by @saradika-graphics