#An inevitable and a constant; a perfect match

[hellenhighwater]

Gold and garnets for Persephone and Hades! This pair is going to be listed for sale on my website but it's also slated for exhibition at the Garrett Museum in the fall, so it's booked until then.

[theonottsbxtch]

ITS OK IM OK | LN4

an: it's ok im ok by tate mcrae is out and i had this idea the minute i heard it the first time so i've been writing this the last two hours. this was very rushed so please be nice, slight oscar x yn (no use of yn)

written and smau

face claim: pintrest and queen t8

newgirlfriend just posted

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen1 and 159,382 others

oh he's so perfect

**coments have been restricted**

When she’d first broken up with Lando, she’d been distraught. He was the love of her life, or at least she’d thought. For over a month, she’d spent every passing moment reminiscing on all the good parts she could remember of the relationship, but as that month came to a close, the fog began to lift. 

There was no good.

At first there was, there had been the dates, the gifts, the flowers and the continuous travelling alongside her. The texts of ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love you’ at least once a day had diminished into a ‘gn’ and ‘gm’ eleven months into the relationship. 

The affection that once felt so constant had turned into something routine, something obligatory. She’d ignored the signs at first, brushing off the growing distance as just a phase, believing things would eventually go back to how they were in the beginning. But they didn’t.

She remembered the nights when he would cancel plans at the last minute, claiming he was too tired from work, yet his social media was filled with stories of nights out with his friends. The times he’d forgotten important moments — her promotion at work, her 21st birthday, their anniversary. Every time, he had a perfectly reasonable excuse that she had willingly swallowed, desperate to hold onto the image of the man she’d thought he was.

The excuses, the half-hearted apologies, and the lack of effort slowly chipped away at her, until one day, she woke up feeling emptier than ever, wondering where she’d gone wrong. She’d blamed herself, convinced she was being too demanding, too needy.

But now, with some distance, she could see it all for what it was: she’d been in love with an idea of him, a projection of her own desires. The real Lando was far from the prince charming she had made him out to be. He was just a guy who knew how to charm his way through life, good at saying the right things but never following through.

She realised now that the man she’d loved never truly existed; he was a mirage, built from wishful thinking and her own desperation to be loved.

So when Mclaren invited her to celebrate the new season, she took it knowing she was a mature adult, after all he’d moved on. So could she.

“She’s posted him again,” Her best friend spoke from the sofa where she’d been waiting for her to touch up her makeup. “Caption is ‘Oh he’s so perfect’ with some flowers and a teddy bear.”

“Poor girl.” She muttered to herself as she applied some gloss. “She’s still in the honeymoon phase,”

Her best friend hummed and laughed as she continued to scroll through the photos.

Unlike many ex girlfriends, she didn't hate the new girl, no if anything she pitied the next girl and the inevitable one after that, it wasn’t their fault that he acted like the perfect gentleman at the start.

She sighed, putting the lip gloss down and meeting her own eyes in the mirror. "I mean, she’s just like I was," she added, more to herself than to her friend. "I remember thinking he was my perfect match, too. All those little gestures, the compliments, the way he always seemed to know exactly what I wanted to hear. I fell for it, hard."

Her friend glanced up from the phone, a knowing look in her eyes. "Yeah, but you saw through it eventually. And you got out."

She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Yeah, I did. And I’m not gonna pretend that was easy, but I did it. I’ve just gotta hope she figures it out sooner rather than later."

Her friend grinned. "I bet you’re dying to go up to her tonight and give her a friendly warning."

She laughed at that, shaking her head. "Oh, no. I’m not getting involved unless the opportunity comes up . She won’t listen anyway; no one does when they’re in the thick of it. Besides, it's not my place."

Her friend tilted her head, watching her closely. "You’re really okay with all this?"

She paused for a moment, considering her answer. Was she really okay? Seeing those photos had stirred something in her, but it wasn’t jealousy. It was more like a dull ache, a memory of a wound that had already healed. "I think so," she said finally, smiling a little. "I mean, it still sucks to see, but not in the way it used to. I guess... I’m more relieved than anything. Relieved that it’s not me anymore."

Her friend nodded in approval. "That’s growth, babe. And tonight, we’re gonna celebrate that growth with some champagne and dancing. No thinking about exes, just fun."

She laughed, grabbing her bag and turning to face her friend. "Deal. Now, let’s get out of here before I change my mind."

They headed out the door, a cool breeze greeting them as they stepped into the evening air. As they walked to the car, she glanced at her phone one more time, catching a glimpse of Lando’s face on her social media feed. His arm was around the new girl, that same easy smile on his lips, the same charm in his eyes. But this time, it didn’t sting. It didn’t make her chest tight or her stomach drop. She felt...nothing.

“His teammate was fitter anyway,” At first she hadn’t heard it but when she did, she turned to face her friend, “What? I’m saying what we all saw.”

“I’m not stirring that pot.”

“You’re not but I am.” Her friend laughed as she pulled out of the parking lot, “Think about it, he’ll be there tonight, freshly broken up. Maybe you two can bond over that.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at her friend, “He broke up with his girlfriend?”

“I knew you were interested!”

She rolled her eyes, feeling a flush creep up her neck. "I’m not interested," she insisted, but the hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips, betraying her. "It’s just… surprising, that’s all."

Her friend shot her a knowing look. “Oh, come on. I’ve seen how you look at him. All those race weekends, sneaking glances when you thought no one was watching. You can’t deny it.”

She laughed, a light, genuine sound she hadn’t heard from herself in a while. "You’re imagining things. Besides, just because Lando's teammate is single doesn’t mean I’m ready to jump into something new."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. “Who said anything about jumping? Maybe just dip a toe in. Have fun for once. You deserve it."

She hesitated, biting her lip as the car sped through the city streets. "I don’t know… it just feels too soon."

"Too soon? Or maybe the perfect time?" her friend challenged. "It’s not about replacing Lando. It’s about letting yourself feel good again."

She stared out the window, watching the city lights blur into a kaleidoscope of colours. Her friend was right. She had spent so long grieving over Lando, replaying every mistake and wondering where she went wrong. Maybe it was time to let someone else in, even just a little.

“Okay," she finally said, her voice steady. "If I see him tonight, I’ll talk to him. No expectations, no pressure. Just… a conversation."

Her friend grinned. “Now, that’s the spirit. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find out he’s more than just a pretty face.”

She laughed again, this time with more ease. “Or maybe I’ll find out he’s just another disaster waiting to happen.”

Her friend chuckled, “Only one way to find out.”

By the time they’d pulled up to the club and handed the keys to the valet, there was a solid blush on her cheeks. After all, she had spent the rest of the car ride looking at Oscar’ photos. 

She felt the bass of the music underneath her feet as she and her friend handed their ID’s to the bouncer, waiting as he checked their names off the list.

“Right let me find some virgin cocktail, you go find Oscar.”

“Absolutely not, I’m getting a drink first.”

When they reached the bar, they eyed up the drinks board, everything seemed so tempting. Starting easy she ordered herself a vodka coke. No point trying to talk to Oscar if she was sloshed. 

“Your replacement, 12 o’clock.” She heard her friend shout over her drink.

She turned around, subtly glancing in the direction her friend had pointed. There she was, the new girl — bright-eyed, smiling, and looking like she had the world at her feet. Her heart clenched for a moment, a tiny pang of something she didn’t want to name, but then she felt it ease just as quickly. It wasn’t jealousy; it was almost… nostalgia.

The girl was everything she remembered herself being — full of hope, dressed to impress, standing a little too close to him as if she needed to mark her territory. And there he was, Oscar, just as charming as ever. Leaning in, whispering something that made the girl laugh loudly, the kind of laugh that begged for attention.

Her friend nudged her side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, swallowing a sip of her drink. “Just feeling pity, really.”

“Well,” her friend prompted, “you gonna say hi or what?”

She took a deep breath. “I think I’ll let them have their moment. Besides, I’m not in the mood to play the ex-girlfriend card tonight.”

Her friend snorted. “What, you don’t want to ruin their Instagram-perfect night?”

She grinned. “Tempting, but no.” She took another sip, feeling the warmth of the alcohol begin to relax her nerves. “Let’s dance, yeah?”

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

Grabbing her phone off the bar and shoving it down her bra, she took her friend’s hand and brought her to the middle of the dance floor, some Flo Rida song making the walls shake. 

Moving to the beat of the music, she looked as her friend began to dance on her, pulling her hand on her hip as they danced in sync enjoying the moment and ignoring the fact that she could see Lando looking at her and not his new girlfriend.

She felt the bass thump through her chest, each beat syncing with her pulse as she lost herself in the music. Her friend’s laughter was infectious, and she couldn’t help but grin, the tension in her shoulders easing as she swayed to the rhythm.

Lando’s gaze was heavy on her, almost burning through the crowd. She could feel it, a mix of curiosity and maybe a hint of regret. She didn’t look directly at him — not yet. Instead, she let her movements become more carefree, twirling with her friend and raising her arms in the air as the chorus hit. The whole room seemed to pulse with the beat, and she revelled in the feeling of letting go, if only for a moment.

Her friend leaned in, her voice barely audible over the music. “He’s staring,” she said with a sly smile.

She shrugged, flipping her hair back with a casual flick. “Let him,” she replied, her voice loud enough to be heard over the music but still cool and collected.

And then, on a whim, she spun around, facing him across the crowded room. Their eyes met, and she held his gaze for a heartbeat longer than she intended. His expression was unreadable — a mix of surprise, maybe a flicker of something else. But she didn’t want to decipher it; she didn’t care to.

Instead, she raised her drink in a mock toast, a sly smile playing at her lips, before turning her back to him again. She felt a surge of confidence, a quiet thrill in knowing she no longer needed his validation or attention. She was here to have fun, to enjoy the night, not to relive old memories or make a scene.

Her friend noticed the exchange and leaned in again. “You sure you don’t want to give him a piece of your mind?”

She laughed, a real, genuine laugh that felt good in her chest. “Nah, he can watch if he wants. It just shows he’s not as over it as I am.”

She turned her attention back to her friend, giving her a playful spin. “Anyway, I have a much hotter date.”

This time her friend laughed loudly, “Uh huh you do, I’ll go get us refills.”

“I’ll come with,” she offered, even though she was beginning to feel herself in the middle of the crowd.

“No, you just stay here.” Her friend gave her a final wink before disappearing into the crowd, leaving her alone on the dancefloor. The bass of the music pulsed through her, making her heart race in time with the beat. That’s when she spotted Oscar — tall, confident, with a warm smile that seemed to cut through the throng of people. He was one of the few people who had been genuinely kind to her since she’d met him, and there was a sense of magnetic energy between them.

He extended his hand with a charming grin. “May I have this dance?”

Without missing a beat, she placed her hand in his, feeling a thrill of excitement. They moved closer, the heat of their bodies melding together as the music swelled. He guided her into a slow, sensual dance, their movements smooth and synchronised. His hands rested lightly on her hips, and she could feel the tension of his touch, a mix of confidence and tenderness. Overlapping her hands on his, she tightened his grip on her hips.

As they danced, she felt a rush of freedom, the worries and old feelings from earlier dissolving into the rhythm. She glanced to her side and caught a glimpse of Lando across the room. He was watching them, his expression a mixture of surprise and frustration. For a moment, their eyes locked, and she saw the flash of jealousy in his gaze. She raised an eyebrow slightly, a smirk playing on her lips as if to say, “Look at me now.”

Returning her focus to the Oscar, she let herself be completely immersed in the moment. His touch was intoxicating, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her feel desired and cherished. They moved together effortlessly, each step and sway adding to the intimate connection they were building on the dancefloor.

Oscar leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You look amazing tonight,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “I mean you always have, but tonight things are different aren’t they?”

She shivered at his words, the tension between them palpable. She responded with a soft laugh, her fingers trailing up to his neck as she whispered back, “They are, aren’t they?”

As the song reached its climax, they pulled closer, their bodies pressed together in a way that felt both exhilarating and soothing. She let herself be lost in the sensation, feeling a newfound sense of liberation and sensuality. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of them in their own private dance.

The song ended, but they stayed close, their breaths mingling. “I’m going to the bathroom, but I’ll see you here for round two?” she said, trying to be heard over the music.

“I won’t go anywhere,” he replied with a teasing smile, his voice like velvet. She wanted to linger in his warmth a moment longer, but she knew she needed to regroup. The minute she snapped out of her trance, she found the bar and her friend, dragging her to the nearest bathroom.

Finding the handicap stall, she pulled them inside and slumped against the wall, grabbing her drink out of her friend’s hand.

“Fuck me,” she whispered, her voice a mix of exhilaration and happiness.

“I am not Oscar, but I’m sure he would if you asked nicely,” her friend quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

She let out a tired laugh, shaking her head. “Not what I meant. I just… I don’t know. It’s weird being back in this place. Wow. That dance - I.”

Her friend gave her a knowing look. “At least give me a heads up if I’m going to drive home alone tonight.”

As she took another sip of her drink, she heard the bathroom door swing open, followed by the sound of animated giggling. It was Lando's new girlfriend, chattering excitedly with a friend. Her voice carried through the thin bathroom walls, brimming with admiration.

“Oh my god, he’s just so perfect!” she gushed. “I can’t believe how lucky I am. He’s got everything—charm, looks, and he’s so sweet. I feel like I’m in a dream.”

Her friend raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. “Are you okay?”

Suppressing a laugh, she stood up and pushed open the door to the cubicle. As she emerged, she locked eyes with Lando’s new girlfriend in the mirror.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice smooth yet edged with cool detachment. “So, which version of him is perfect, the off-season version or the regular season?”

The new girlfriend blinked, visibly startled. Her smile faltered, and she looked momentarily confused. “Uh, I don’t really understand what you mean.”

She could sense her best friend trying hard not to laugh behind her. Shrugging lightly, she maintained a mix of sympathy and detachment in her gaze. “Just a thought. Sometimes people have different sides to them, you know? What you’re seeing now might not be the whole picture.”

Before the new girlfriend could respond, her friend besides her chimed in . “You’re just jealous.”

She turned, a knowing smile on her lips. “Oh, sweetie, it’s okay. I’m perfectly fine. After all, I had him first.” Without giving the new girlfriend a chance to reply, she gently but firmly guided her friend out of the bathroom and back into the club.

As they re-entered the lively atmosphere, her friend grinned at her. “That was hot.”

She chuckled, feeling a sense of empowerment and closure. “Glad you think so. Let’s enjoy the rest of the night.”

ynprivate just posted

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, yourbestfriend and 38 others

it's ok im ok

**comments have been restricted**

[avocado-writing]

i'm not a very big chain person, but in my head i can picture so perfectly Logan getting him and his s/o a matching pair of chain necklaces or bracelets to quietly express his love and commitment. because, in comparison to other forms of jewelry, chains are durable- it's hard for a quality chain to break. to him, they signify how the bond you've fostered together is unbreakable too.

if he manages to get them in adamantium, there's the added layer of gifting you something made of the same material as his skeleton. his way of gifting you a part of him, of always being with you... ;-;

He used to wake up to a pounding skull and a truly bitter hatred of the world. A constant stream of alcohol had managed to silence the first issue - or, at least, make it tomorrow Logan’s problem - but had just made the second one far worse. 

He knew he was a mean drunk. Wade never shied away from letting him know what a cunt he was when he was ten drinks deep, but it was easier to face life when he stopped trying to be gracious to it.

The world had never cared about him, so why should he care about it right back?

That was… before, though. Before you. Not exactly some sort of holy light but you’d been damn well close. Someone he’d wanted to get his act together for, try to break free from the cocoon of rot and misery he’d made for himself. 

So, nowadays, he wakes up to soft singing and the smell of frying eggs. 

You’re an earlier riser than he is, slipping out of his grasp somehow - he always tries to grab you and keep you in bed with him, despite your dramatic but insincere protests - and getting a start on your day to make the most of it. You’re so much more of a functional person than he is that it’s laughable (Wade has pointed this out a couple of times, while laughing, and you’d talked him down from giving the merc a claw through the eye). 

He drags himself to his feet and heads into the kitchen. 

The radio is on quietly and you’re half-humming along with it, trying not to be too loud so as not to wake him. You can’t help but sing and secretly it’s one of those little things he fucking loves about you. It’s how he can tell you’re happy, so he never wants you to stop. 

You hear him appear and turn with a smile so bright it outdoes the morning sun. Ahh fuck, and you look amazing. Those short pyjamas that highlight the curve of your ass, those stupid fuzzy slippers you constantly leave around the apartment for him to trip over…

… and there, around your neck and resting on your clavicle, the chain. 

He’d never been good at gifts, but he knew he wanted a way to match you. Something to look at in his own reflection to remember you’re waiting for him at home; a part of him to carry with you so you know he’ll always keep you safe. Your eyes had lit up when you’d opened the jewellery case he’d handed over, neatly wrapped by the store, and then welled with tears when he’d shown you his own one. With blunt, uncareful fingers he’d fastened the clasp at the back of your neck, breathing in the comforting smell of you when you’d wrapped your arms around him. 

“I’m so lucky to have you, Logan.”

He’s more lucky to have you. You shine in the sun and so does every adamantium link. A fucking beacon in this world for him. A lighthouse. Bringing him home. 

“Hey, baby. Sorry, did I wake you up?” you ask, turning the music off now he has your full attention. He considers this and smirks. 

“Mmm, if I say yeah, do you have to find a way to apologise?”

You grin at the huskiness of his early morning voice and the promise of what’s next, turning off the heat on the pan before inevitably forgetting and burning the eggs. As you step into his arms he knows what the rest of the morning will entail: he’ll take you back to bed and show you how much you mean to him, three or four times if he can coax it out of you, then you’ll head to the diner across the street to eat because you’ll be too boneless to do much of anything else. 

Sounds pretty fucking perfect to him. His mind flashes to the ring he has in its little box, the one he bought at the same time as the chains and keeps stuffed in one of his jacket pockets, and is sure one day soon he’ll have the courage to give that to you too. 

Taglist: @mildly-salted @belilwen @malfoys-demigod @falsewordz @tvwebs @getmeoutofhell @rush-the-stars @s1eep-o @yrthr @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @childeslegstrap

[glamourscat]

FLOWERS? ISAGI YOICHI X READER

the bastard münchen vs pxg match HAS FINALLY ENDED. A lil (late Valentine’s) childhood bestie! x Isagi fic because I love him so much

Pathetic.

That’s how Isagi felt; truly and utterly pathetically in love.

It was foolish of him, really, falling for his childhood best friend. The one person who knew him better than anyone else, the one constant in his life. And yet, he had fallen anyway.

He had known you since before you could even string proper sentences together, back when the biggest problem in your tiny world was who got to play with the fluffy teddy bear. He had been there for every phase of your life, just as you had been for his.

The bad haircuts, the breakouts, the braces. The cringe stylistic choices that made you both groan whenever old pictures resurfaced. The triumphs and failures, the reckless dreams and harsh realities. Every best and worst moment you had been by each other’s side.

And because of that, maybe he should have realized sooner.

Your parents, his parents, had always teased. “You two will end up together eventually.” A statement so casual, so inevitable in their wise eyes. Maybe that was why he held back for so long. Maybe it was out of sheer defiance, or maybe it was the terrifying truth that you already saw him. Every flaw, every insecurity, every crack in his carefully built walls.

And yet, you still chose to stay.

To love someone who truly sees you, all of you, and still stays by your side? That scared the shit out of him.

But Blue Lock is over now. He felt like he had aged thirty years in that soccer prison, but it had been worth it. Because now, he was here. Walking freely through the streets with the weight of his dream in his hands. He was part of Japan’s World Cup team.

And you, his best friend, his everything, would be by his side, not just as his anchor but also as the team’s manager.

Isagi exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as he stared at the selection of flowers before him.

He had faced some of the greatest strikers in the world. Outwitted geniuses on the field. Fought, struggled, won.

And yet, confessing to you on Valentine’s Day? Felt like the biggest challenge he had to yet face.

“Roses are too much, right?” he mumbled under his breath, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stared at the bouquets like they were an opposing team’s defensive lineup. Puzzle pieces hardly connecting in his brain. “I mean… yeah, they literally scream romance, but isn’t that kind of obvious? Too predictable? Shit.”

The old lady behind the counter glanced at him, unimpressed. She had seen countless lovesick fools in this exact position before, hell, today alone and Isagi fell right into that category.

Tulips? Too plain. Sunflowers? You might think he was calling you bright and cheerful, which—yeah, fair, but what if you took it as a joke? Lilies? What do lilies even mean?!

“You need help?” the florist finally asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” he admitted immediately. “I mean—yes? No. I’m just trying to figure out what flowers match a card that I, uh, may or may not have rewritten six times… as a valentines gift. Which turned out fine! I think. Maybe. Hopefully.”

The florist hummed, giving him a long, knowing look before glancing at the selection in front of her. “Alright, what kind of message are we going for here? Romantic? Sweet? ‘I’ve been in love with you since childhood and only just realized it because I’m a dumbass’?”

Isagi choked. “Why would you say it like that?!”

She gave him the flattest stare of his life. “Because that’s exactly what’s happening.”

He groaned, running a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, fair point.”

The florist smirked before plucking a bouquet from the display. “Here. Go with these. A mix of daisies, lavender and forget-me-nots. It says you care, but you’re not coming on too strong. Subtle romance, but meaningful. Perfect for an idiot in denial.”

He took the bouquet, staring at it like it held the secrets of the universe. “Huh. Yeah. This… this actually works. How did you—”

“Experience, kid. Now go before you start overthinking again.”

Isagi nodded, clutching the flowers like they were the winning ball in a match. Alright. Flowers? Check. Card? Done—well, kind of. Cake? As good as it was gonna get.

Now, he just had to actually go back home and give them to you.

…Oh, shit.

This was really happening.

This might actually kill him.

He is pretty sure his heart is beating faster than the last goal he scored while playing for bastard münchen. He feels like throwing up. Was this normal? Probably not. But despite everything he wants you to know. He needs you to know that at the end of the day, pathetic or not, Isagi Yoichi is in love with you. And it was damn time he did something about it.

But for his luck, as he walked out of the flower shop, he almost crashed into someone.

“I am so—“ before he could even get the words out his soul almost came out of his body.

YOU. Out of everyone, you. In front of him. With a bouquet of flowers too. Wait, FLOWERS? Who— you…. Did— who gave you those?

“Yoichi” you say, words coming out slightly higher pitched than intended, trying to act normal, but you’re pretty sure the panicked expression you were trying to fight off with a smile came off more as you were constipated, more than anything else.

“Y/n” he says, seemingly unaware of your mental state, thankfully? Or maybe you should be worried that he was so oblivious to it.

“ Are you g—“

“Who— gave you those?” He said so quickly, not even allowing you to finish your sentence.

Your eyes fall to the flowers in your arms, if your cheeks weren’t red before, you’re pretty sure they are now.

“Who gave you those?” you say, nodding to the flowers he had in his arms. Trying to change the subject.

“I asked first.”

“I asked second”

A moment of silence before you two burst out laughing from the strange moment.

“Alright— alright. On the count of three? Together?” You says amused

One. Two. Three.

“I got them from you” you two say in unison.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

That’s what his brain was screaming. He probably looked like an absolute moron, standing there with a confused expression and jaw open as he looked at you. Huh? Him? YOU GOT FLOWERS FOR HIM— AKCKEPWLCNGIVVIFNRNWPW.

“You— eh?”

That was it. That was all his brain could come up with. World-class striker, future ace of Japan, but the second you said you got flowers for him? Immediate system failure.

You smiled, shy but warm, the edges of your expression softening in that way that was playful yet so beautiful. It made his heart feel like it was about to spontaneously combust. “Yeah, you—is that so weird?”

Yes. No. Maybe. His brain was still rebooting.

“You—you got me flowers?” he repeated, as if the words might make more sense if he said them out loud.

“I mean, yeah,” you said, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The bouquet in your arms crinkled as you fidgeted with the wrapping. “It’s Valentine’s Day, isn’t it? I figured i had to be clear because you’re so dense sometimes.”

“I’m not dense!” he argued immediately.

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Okay, fine. Maybe a little dense,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning out the rest of the world. “But—wait, why did you…?”

The words hung heavy in the air. Why did you get me flowers?

You took a shaky breath. “Because I like you, idiot.”

“I—wait—what?” He blinked, gripping his bouquet tighter like it might hold him upright. “Like… like-like?”

“Damn… and you say you aren’t dense” a small snort left your lips. “Yes, like-like!” you huffed, but your voice trembled a little. “I’ve… kinda liked you for a while. And I figured—if I didn’t say anything today, I’d probably chicken out forever and cry myself to sleep for the next month. Maybe two.”

“You like me,” he repeated dumbly, trying to wrap his head around it.

You tilted your head, exasperated. “Yoichi, please tell me those flowers are for me or am I about to die of embarrassment right now?”

“What? NO—I mean, yes! Yes, I like you too!” The words practically exploded out of him, way louder than he meant to. “I’ve liked you since—God, I don’t even know when. Probably since that stupid teddy bear fight when we were kids.. And—” Lord, he is rambling now. “And I have made you a card. A beautiful one, I think you will like it. And a cake. Though I burnt it the first time. Maybe the second time too. But, fuck yes, I like you too”

For a second, neither of you said anything. You just stood there, two idiots clutching flowers, blushing like middle schoolers with their first crushes.

Finally, you exhaled, shaking your head as you tried not to laugh. “Wow. We’re really bad at this.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. “But, like… at least we’re bad at it together?”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing smile tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. “Together, huh?”

“I mean… if you want that. If you want me.” He said, trying not to look more giddy than he already is.

“I wouldn’t be standing here holding flowers and trying to not burst into flames after a confession that I definitely did not rehearse in my head twenty times for you if I didn’t, genius.”

In a rush of courage, Isagi moved closer and wrapped his arms around you, bouquets squished in between your guys’ chests. You smelled like warmth and home.

“Can I—uh,” he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, “can I kiss you?”

“Yoichi, if you don’t kiss me after all that, I’ll start overthinking and we know—.”

He doesn’t need anything else. His smile shushed you, as his lips finally met yours in a kiss that was a bit messy, yet soft and sweet. You tasted like that tea you like so much. A mix of honey, flowers and sugar that makes him greedy for more. Despite being in the middle of the sidewalk and in retrospect, he will for sure be embarrassed about the pda later.

But that’s a problem for later. Because the realisation that fuck yes, he is finally kissing you, settles in. And for the first time that day, but perhaps in his entire life, his brain went completely and blissfully quiet.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[12:18 pm]

Hang outs with your group of friends always seemed to end like this. Just you and best friend!Jeno getting too lost in your own conversation to notice that everyone around you had left. It wasn't even something that you or Jeno had quite picked up on yet, but your friends certainly had.

It just had always been you and Jeno for so many years now. Friends groups changed, people grew up, others moved away, some even had falling outs with each other, but not you and Jeno. You were each other's constants. Of course you would be, he knew you better than you even know yourself and vice versa.

Your friend group had decided to do a picnic brunch in the park that had ended about... 20 minutes ago, not that either of you noticed. The two of you were still sat and chatting atop the blanket you brought for the picnic.

Jeno laid on the blanket, staring up at the clouds, enjoying the fresh breeze in the air, the sweet aroma of spring that wafted around you two, and the soft humming that came from beside him. On the other half of the blanket you laid on your stomach, plucking flowers from the grass while you hummed under your breath.

You loved moments like this, calm, quiet moments with your best friend where you didn't feel like you had to fill the silence. Jeno was one of the few people you felt like you could have these moments with. The silence wasn't uncomfortable or awkward, it was comforting and normal for you.

"Can you stop ripping flowers from the ground, you menace?" You heard Jeno taunt from beside you.

You scoffed, stopping your movements as you shifted toward Jeno. His eyes still shut, long, dark eyelashes brushing over the tops of his cheeks. He had a serene but somehow still mischievous smirk on his face. His unstyled hair rustled very gently with a burst of warm wind as you stared down at him.

"How am I bothering you by making myself a bouquet?" You ask softly, tucking his hair behind his ear.

He didn't startle, didn't flinch at your touch. He just smiled, "how many flowers did you pick for your bouquet?"

"Only two... before I was rudely interrupted," you respond and Jeno chuckles as he imagines the pout on your face. When he opens his eyes, he laughs even louder, because he was right. You were pouting at him exactly as he imagined.

He plucks one of the floral weeds from your fingers with a gentle smile and tucks it behind your ear. The yellow of the flower is a nice contrast to your hair and brings out the beauty he's always seen when he looks at you.

He doesn't catch it, but your breath hitches in your throat and you're thankful that it's warm enough to blame the warmth of your face on the heat outside. Biting the inside of your lip, you take the second flower in your hand and tuck it behind his ear, nestled right into the dark mess of hair.

"There," you breathe out as you gaze down at him with a sweet smile, "now you look even more pretty and we match."

"Not more pretty than you, right?" Jeno asks as his hand cups your cheek.

You lean in to his touch, "I think we can be pretty in our own ways."

Jeno shakes his head, his gaze warm and loving, "I could never be as pretty as you."

You don't know what happens and when your friends inevitably ask, you and Jeno will just say that something... just felt right. Maybe there was a click, a shift in the air, just a sudden understanding between the two of you.

All you know is that you lean in and Jeno tilts his face up and suddenly you're kissing. You're kissing your best friend and it just feels right. His lips slot against yours like a missing puzzle piece, it's the perfect amount of pressure, and it just feels right. It's not sparks, it's not fireworks, it's an overwhelming warmth that starts in your face and spreads all the way out to your fingers and toes.

You and Jeno may know each other better than anyone else, but it's still a little funny that neither of you noticed that you fell in love with each other.

[humanpurposes]

Mine All Mine

Michael doesn't have a lot of friends, nor does he want them. Now he thinks he might have found his perfect match, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away

Main Masterlist

Michael Gavey x unnamed female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, Michael Gavey being a little shit (affectionately), possessive behaviour (yk the drill here)

Words: 7k

A/n: This ended up leaning into more of a cuter side, I definitely wanna do something creepier with him at some point! Also available to read on AO3.

He gets to the room early, before the tutor has even arrived. It’s his first tutorial of the year and his first ever at Oxford. He stands straight with his head up and his hands unmoving, a picture of neutrality. He has his problem sheet in his satchel and runs through the questions in his head, not because he needs to, not because he doubts himself, but simply because he can.

He doesn’t even like maths all that much, but he’s always been good at it. He had considered doing something a little less straightforward, physics or economics, but then what would be the point in getting into Oxford to be anything less than perfect?

He knows his tutor’s name from his schedule, Stephen Breyer. He arrives only a few minutes later and they go inside. The tutorial room is small, with three of the four walls covered in bookshelves. In the centre of the room there is a table, an armchair on one side and a small sofa on the other. 

Michael takes the seat closest to the door. It puts him in a slightly more direct line of sight with Stephen. It also means his tutorial partner will inevitably have to climb over his legs to sit down and the thought amuses him.

“How are you finding it so far?” Stephen asks, unpacking a thermos flask and a notebook from his bag.

“It?” Michael repeats.

Stephen pauses and looks at him, slightly bewildered. “Well, the course, the college, Oxford. All of it.”

“Right,” Michael says. He takes his time taking out a pencil and his problem sheet before placing them on the table. He sits back against the sofa and rubs his lips together in thought. 

He supposes it’s been exactly as he had expected. Lectures have been fairly straightforward, Lincoln college looks the same as it had in the prospectus, and so far, most of the people seem insufferable. So many of them have no sense of urgency, no drive to truly succeed because to them, Oxford is a rite of passage rather than an earned privilege. He’s met maybe one person he’d consider worthy of his time, and even then, Oliver Quick is only a literature student. He might as well get a degree in overthinking.

Stephen is looking at him like he is still expecting an answer. Michael stares back. He’s never been one to bother with smalltalk. 

“Alright then,” Stephen says, then nods to the empty place on the sofa. “Do you know if–”

The door opens and a girl walks in, closing it gently behind her. “Sorry I’m late,” she says, eyes flickering around the room and settling on the space beside Michael. 

He’s seen her before, in lectures, in the dining hall, walking around the college with her little group of friends. He wouldn’t be surprised if they were all Cheltenham girls by the way they talk and dress in the stupid outfits rich girls wear to make themselves seem like normal people.

He watches her as she walks towards him, the awkward little smile she gives him before she steps over his legs. 

“Sorry,” she says again, falling onto the sofa. Michael almost winces at the sudden jolt of movement and the faint scent of a sweet perfume drifting from his left. “Had some trouble finding the room.”

“You’re right on time,” Stephen says, “we haven’t started yet.”

She’s better at the smalltalk than he is. She has a constant smile on her face and a bright look in her eyes, already having plenty of humorous anecdotes to share, despite the fact it’s only their second week. 

As they go through the questions on the sheet, comparing calculations and answers, Michael is horrified to find that he’s a little nervous. His throat feels dry and he can feel his heart pulsing in his chest. It’s her fault, he thinks. Everything about her is distracting, the sound of her voice, the satisfied little hum she makes when she realises she’s got another question right. Her black tights, the way her skirt rides up her thigh when she crosses her legs.

He wants to think she’s vapid, a pretty face dressed up in black boots and a denim jacket, but to his dismay, all of their answers are the same, down to every detail in their calculations.

That is until they reach the last question. It’s terribly complex and he had almost struggled with it. Almost.

He steals a quick glance at her sheet and notices their answers are different. Because she’s missed a step, he realises. He feels a smile creeping across his lips.

He proudly goes through his working out, delighted at the surprised look on her face as she goes over her own sheet.

“I got something different,” she says with a shrug.

Stephen invites her to talk through her answer. Her voice is quieter and softer than it was before, but not as defeated as he’d like.

“She has you beat there, Mr Gavey,” Stephen says.

It’s like being punched in the gut. “What?”

“Overextend yourself a little,” he explains, drawing a line through the last few calculations on his paper. “Make sure to read what the question asks of you.”

His blood is boiling and his fists are clenched. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s ever been wrong. A dangerous impulse in the back of his mind wants to scream his throat raw and tear his paper to pieces.

Then he feels a warmth settle over his knuckles. She’s placed her hand over his.

“It’s a compliment, really,” she says to him.

He looks up at her, only more infuriated by the gentle expression on her face. But he knows better than to let anger get the better of him. It will only leave him feeling ashamed. So he forces a smile and nods. “Thank you.”

She smiles too, sweet and reassuring. 

He can’t bear the humiliation. Once they’re dismissed he packs up quickly, practically storming out of the room before she even has a chance to stand up. 

He spends the rest of the day in his dorm, looking over the same problem and pulling at his hair, because now his mistake seems glaringly obvious. How could he be so useless? So careless as to not even read the fucking question properly?

His room is on the second floor, overlooking the quad. There are always people around, walking between classes, sitting on the grass, their voices and the smell of cigarette smoke rising and drifting in through his window. He hates it. He hates the noise, the distraction.

But as he goes to close the open window he spots her. It’s only for a moment. She’s walking towards the library with her hands in the pocket of her jacket and her backpack slung over one shoulder. She’s not with any of her preppy friends, in fact she looks rather solemn. 

He feels a slight twinge of guilt in his gut. Perhaps he had been a little unfair to her in their tutorial.

He keeps noticing her, especially at meal times and during lectures. Whenever he enters a room he finds himself searching for her, and if he cannot find her, he waits for her to appear. He plays guessing games with himself, waiting to see what outfit she’ll wear, the pretty mini skirt or a pair of faded blue baggy jeans. If she’ll be with her friends or if she’ll be alone.

He never approaches her. He waits for her to look at him, and once they’ve made eye contact she’ll smile at him.

He likes watching her, and comes to the conclusion that she is charming and polite, but not overbearing, and that’s what's so intriguing about her. She knows how to talk to people, even the most insufferable of their peers, but she’s not nearly entitled enough to truly be one of them.

It’s a Friday evening the next time they actually speak. The library tends to be quieter at this time and he has a textbook to look over before his next lecture. Only, when he goes to find the book, he discovers the last copy has been checked out a matter of minutes ago. Fucking typical.

He goes to stalk out of the library, debating whether or not he can be bothered to ask Oliver if he wants to grab a drink in The King’s Arms, when he sees her.

She’s alone, with her chin in her palm, writing in a notebook as she looks at the textbook open in front of her. He’s willing to bet that’s exactly the book he needs.

He approaches her slowly, waiting for her to look up and notice him, but she seems utterly absorbed in what she’s doing. Only when he puts a hand on the back of her chair and leans over her shoulder does she react to him.

He sees her jump when he gets too close. “Jesus Christ!” she hisses, clutching her hand over her chest.

“Sorry,” he mutters, still hovering over her. “Did I frighten you?”

She hums a laugh but composes herself quite quickly. She turns her head to look at him. “I’m guessing you want the book?” she says, her breath fluttering over his cheek.

He straightens his back so he can look down at her. “Will you have it for long? Only I think I’ll get through the reading quite quickly.”

“Oh yes of course, you’re a genius, right?” she says with a grin.

Irritation scratches under the surface of his skin, hot and restless. That’s how he usually introduces himself, but it’s the truth. 

“We could just share,” she says, gesturing to the empty seat beside her, “that is, unless you don’t think I’ll be able to keep up.”

There’s something exciting about the way she holds his gaze, the hint of a smile on her lips.

She offers to go back a page so he can catch up and admittedly, he skims through, only writing down a few notes before he tells her to move on. He can find the book again if he really needs to.

He has to lean over his left arm rather significantly to read the book properly. She notices this, and pushing it closer to him, shuffling her chair over to follow. They’re close enough that he can smell her perfume again.

“None of your little friends around then?” he asks quietly, so as not to disturb the other students.

“What?”

“That group of girls,” he says, “I’ve seen you sitting with them in the dining hall.”

She brings her chin back to her palm but doesn’t look up from her notes. “They live on my floor. I don’t need to spend every waking moment with them.”

“Touchy subject?” he asks, perhaps a little too hopefully.

His heart leaps in triumph when she looks up at him. “No. I’m just not sure I’d count them as friends, necessarily.”

“Why not?” he asks.

“Not my kind of people,” she says.

“Why not?”

She frowns briefly. He thinks she might scold him for being so direct, for asking so many questions, for being too intrusive. But she doesn’t.

The textbook is forgotten. She tells him about the village where she grew up, a sad little place by the sounds of it. She spent most of her schooling surrounded by the same twenty or so kids.

“For a long time, I knew there was something people didn’t like about me,” she says. “I didn’t understand why. I was never rude or cruel, I just kept my head down and did my work. The other girls told me I was a freak, the boys used to tease me, pull my hair, tear pages out of my books. Mum said people hated me because I was clever. Dad said I should stop complaining. So I did.” 

He can’t help but draw a comparison to himself. He can feel it when he meets someone new, the inherent distrust, the sense that there is something inherently unlikeable about him. In a way he likes that people are unnerved by him because at least it’s something he can control. He has never been one for friends or common ground, a consequence of being the smartest person in every room.

He watches her intently as she tells him about a private school a few miles outside of her village, a proper posh place, Victorian buildings and sprawling estates. For her, it was her one chance of escape, and while her parents worked hard to make ends meet, the only way she was going to get in was with a scholarship. So she worked for it, got all A*s in her GCSEs, started at the posh school, and from there, set her sights on Oxford.

“You’re rather deceptive,” he says.

She smiles at him. “It’s not like I lied. Were you expecting a daddy’s money brat?”

“There’s enough of them about,” he says.

She huffs a laugh and rolls her eyes. “Fucking tell me about it.”

They start to make a habit of studying together, at first it’s by coincidence, and then she gives him her number so they can organise themselves more effectively. They meet at the library every Friday to share a textbook or go over problem sheets, in preparation for their lectures. They even start to meet before their tutorials together, to compare answers and make sure neither of them are left out. Sometimes they go for coffee after their classes, and branch off to chat about things that aren’t maths.

He tells her about the grammar school he went to, that most of the boys there were rugby playing morons. He tells her about his family, his mum, his dad, the family cat that’s been around longer than he has. He tells her about his summer, running numbers for his uncle’s accountancy firm.

She tells him about the posh school, that starting at a boarding school was like being thrown into a different universe. Sure, she had been the odd one out and got the odd “povo” comment, but it was the first place where she had felt like she didn’t have to be ashamed of her own intelligence. She learnt how to fit in, to the point where he can’t tell if she actually likes her preppy friends or if she just puts up with them for the sake of it.

He starts to wonder if he could consider her a friend. He likes that she’s smart and sharp, the slight air of competition when they compare notes or go through a problem together. He likes challenging her, making her second guess herself, watching the way she squirms and tries to hide that she’s flustered. Just once, he thinks it would be fun to one-up her, but of course, she never slips up, and she never makes a mistake.

On Halloween she mentions a party at Magdalene College being hosted by one of her old school friends. Of course he’s sceptical. Hanging around a bunch of stuck up posh kids, who no doubt will all be in slutty costumes and getting off on each other’s egos, isn’t exactly his idea of fun. Although, part of him is intrigued to see her in a different setting.

So he agrees to meet her outside her dorm at 10pm exactly. He doesn’t bother with fancy dress, opting for jeans and a black jumper so that he can just fade into the background. 

She appears with some of her preppy friends. They’re all in pastel dresses of differing colours, matching wings strung on their backs, glitter on their cheeks, a little pack of fairies. She’s in white mini dress that floats around her thighs as she moves, more like an angel.

She introduces him enthusiastically to the girls, already giddy from their pre-drinks, pink gin and rosé. None of them seem that interested by his presence and he grunts in response. 

She links her arm through his as they walk over the cobbles, through the maze of ancient buildings to the dorm where the party is being held. She talks about everything and nothing. She tells him who’s going to be there, who’s been uninvited but might show up just to stir shit, how many girls are going to be there and that they’re all going to be trying to get into Felix Catton’s Calvin Kleins.

“Are you going to get with anyone?” she asks.

He makes a sound of disgust.

“Come on, Michael, live a little!” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t think– I don’t know–”

She puts her hands on his shoulders and turns him to face her. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

He swallows thickly. It’s not something he’s ever been ashamed of before, now it feels like a weight crushing down on his chest. “No,” he says, simply, determined to remain indifferent.

“Get with someone tonight!” she says excitedly, “just for the fun of it, we’ll find you someone good.”

He hates the idea, but he doesn’t have the heart to tell her. Perhaps it seems like fun to her, but to him it seems like an impossibility, and he thinks he’d rather have the consistency of being unwanted.

The party itself is loud and sparsely lit by neon lights. He starts off on bottles of beer to ease himself into it, but seeing everyone else is doing pills and white lines, he thinks he might need something stronger to get through the night, especially when she keeps getting distracted. The angel is quite the social butterfly and insists on saying hello to everyone, even the people she’s never met. 

He finds himself in a common room and reaches for a bottle of whisky and a cup when he spots her. She’s leaning against a wall, wings discarded on the floor beside her. A tall boy, wearing nothing but jeans, a pair of feathery costume wings and a horrible Carpe Diem tattoo on his forearm, has his hands on her waist. She’s smiling and giggling into his neck every time he goes in to kiss her. Of all the girls Felix could go after.

His skin feels tight. He fears if he keeps having to watch this little display he’ll retch his guts up, and yet he’s utterly hypnotised by it, the way she had her arms around his shoulders, the way her fingertips trace the base of his neck. And fuck, he’s never seen her look so beautiful.

He ends up downing the rest of the whisky straight from the bottle and most of the night becomes a blur after that. At some point he thinks he starts trying to talk to one of her pastel fairy friends. He doesn’t catch her name, and he wouldn’t care to remember it anyway. She plays with his glasses, tries them on and giggles hysterically. He thinks she must be completely off her face, considering the look of utter disgust she had given him at the start of the night.

Somewhere in the noise of the party she throws her arms around his neck and they sway clumsily to the overwhelming bass of the music. He thinks he feels her lips graze his cheek, his jaw, his neck, but where he can help it, he keeps his eyes on his angel. Felix has one of her legs around his waist and his hands halfway up her skirt. 

Fuck this.

He pushes the nameless girl off him and storms over to put an end to the scene before him. He grips Felix by his shoulders to pull him off her, grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dorm. He doesn’t look back to see if Felix protests, he’ll probably find some other throat to stick his tongue down. 

She tries to shout over the music. “Where are we–”

“I’m tired,” he snaps, bringing his face in close to hers. He gets closer than he means to, pressing his nose and his forehead against hers. He’s breathing fiercely, he realises, desperate to contain the full extent of his anger, his jealousy. “I want to leave.”

She stares back at him with parted lips, and nods.

He feels better the moment they’re outside, away from the disorientation of the party. He takes deep breaths of the night air, cold and sharp in his lungs. He snatches off his glasses, runs his hands over his face and his hair to find himself drenched in sweat.

His angel tucks herself in against him, under his arm, huddling her arms around herself and shivering.

“Do you want my jumper?” he says. His voice and the words on his tongue feel strange. His limbs feel weightless as he pulls it off and helps her into it. 

“Hmm, thank you,” she says dreamily, clinging onto his arm as they stumble back to Lincoln College. He burns where she touches him, her fingertips digging into his skin. He loves it, and hates that her hands were on someone else before him.

“You were getting rather cozy with Miranda,” she says.

“Who?”

“Lilac fairy costume,” she says, playfully hitting his arm. “Did you kiss her?”

His heart sinks. He presses his lips together but she doesn’t seem to pick up on his annoyance. “No,” he says with a tight jaw.

“Oh no,” she says, looking up at him with a comically sad pout. 

“It’s not important,” he says.

“It’s your first kiss! Or should have been your first kiss. It’s important. Did you at least have a good time before you got tired?”

“No,” he says, “your friends are all imbeciles.”

They walk the rest of the way back to her dorm in silence. He makes sure she has her keys, holds her face between his hands and tells her to drink a whole glass of water before she falls asleep. 

She leans into his touch with a sleepy smile. “Yes, yes, I will,” she whines.

The sound stirs a wanting in his stomach. Suddenly his heart is beating faster than it ever has before.

“And call me if you need anything–”

“Would you want to kiss me?” she asks.

His eyes flicker down to her lips. His hands are still cupping her cheeks. “What?”

Her eyes are wide and alert. “I just mean, I could be your first kiss, if you wanted to.” She places her hands on his wrists, tracing her fingertips over his skin, along his forearms. It’s such a simple touch, and yet he can feel it driving him slowly insane. 

He imagines her hands running over the rest of his body, down his chest, his stomach, teasing over the growing hardness in his jeans.

“You’re drunk,” he whispers, terrified of how desperate his voice might sound.

She rises onto her toes, inching her face closer to his, drawing her nose over his cheek. “So?” she says, lips brushing over his skin, “I promise it’ll feel good.”

Their lips find each other in a simple movement. It’s easier than he thought it would be, following the movements of her mouth, letting his hands fall from her face and rest on her waist. He can feel her breathing, the little hums she makes as she kisses him and runs her hands through his hair.

He decides, in that moment, that she is perfect. She is bright and beautiful, passionate and kind, soft and sharp, everything he wants for himself, the only person he has ever felt a need for. That need burns through his bloodstream, goes straight to his head and makes his mind hazy. It tightens in his gut and only makes that wanting feeling in his chest feel emptier. His heart races, his trembling hands graze over the thin, silky material of her dress.

His glasses come askew. He feels her smile against his lips and it feels good. Really fucking good.

His hands clench into a firmer grip on her waist. He needs to keep her close, to touch her, feel her, know she wants this as much as he does.

Only she’s slipping away.

Her hands come away from his neck and the cold night air stings his skin in her absence. She pulls her head away, not abruptly, but that’s the pain of it. He leans forward to chase her lips but he has no choice but to let her go in the end.

She looks up at him with a vague smile. “See? It’s nice, isn’t it?”

Nice in the moment. Pure torture that he’ll have to spend the rest of the night clinging onto the memory, only able to imagine how good it felt.

After that night he cannot escape the thought of her, when he’s in his lectures, when he’s in the library, when he’s walking between classes, when he’s in the dining hall. If he’s with her he cannot help but notice every little detail about her, her clothes, her hands, the colour of her nail polish, every micro expression, every word, every laugh, every sigh.

And when he’s alone, he can’t help but picture her in that white dress, the sound of her voice, the feel of her lips. He can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands over every inch of her skin and make her a breathless, whining mess. When he’s in his dorm, it’s inevitable that his hand will end up dipping into his boxers, stroking himself until he spills over his knuckles with a grunt or a whisper of her name.

He’s never known himself to be so distracted.

Worst of all is the rage that comes with the wanting. He hates walking into the lecture hall to see her chatting to someone else, seeing her with her preppy friends around the college or drinking with that old school friend in the King’s Arms. None of them deserve her. None of them. Does she even realise it? How long before she loses herself, before she decides she doesn’t need him?

He knows he’s not a sentimental person. He doesn’t have a lot of friends nor does he want them. People have come in and out of his life, but this girl is different. He feels a draw to her, a hunger that he can’t satiate with his own imagination. She is everything he wants for himself, and he has no intentions of letting her slip away.

As Michaelmas terms comes to an end, the colleges and libraries are covered with garlands and wreaths. Despite the lingering worry in the back of his mind, Michael is rather happy with his collection of outcasts, though poor Oliver Quick seems rather unhappy at being a designated Norman-No Mates. 

He finds it easier to get her attention as the term and the workload progresses. They’ve had tutorials and summative assignments, and she’s finally starting to struggle. 

And then there was the incident about the scholarship. One of the preppy friends let slip that she wasn’t paying for her tuition fees or her accommodation, likely done out of jealousy after she’d gotten close to Felix at the Halloween party. He was there for her with a perfectly good shoulder to cry on when half the girls in her dorm started teasing her for it.

He tells her that she doesn’t have time to get distracted with parties or friends who won’t help her succeed. 

He’s sitting at a table in the library, ready for one of their Friday evening study dates. She’s late but soon hurries in, pulling off the thick red scarf she has wrapped around her neck and shrugging off her denim jacket.

He has the textbook open at the right page and places a Crunchie in front of her when she sits down.

“Did you know there was a college Christmas party tonight?” Michael asks as she takes down her notes. “We’re NFI, apparently. Not fucking invited.” He’d checked his pigeonhole, and Oliver’s for good measure. 

In the corner of his eye, he sees her look up from her notebook. 

“As if we’d actually want to hang out with those vapid cunts,” he says, laughing to himself. He turns his head to check if she’s laughing too.

She doesn’t look very amused. “Actually, I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me,” she says.

He pauses, hovering his pencil over his worksheet. “You got an invitation?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she says, “I was chatting with some of the literature guys the other day, you know Farleigh Start–”

“What the fuck were you talking to him for?” He asks in a voice like ice.

She stares at him with wide, almost accusing eyes. “What, am I not allowed to talk to anyone besides you?”

“They’re not worth your time so stop acting like a fucking bootlicker” he hisses. “They’re all self-obsessed and cruel, and I don’t know why you’re so desperate for their approval.”

“Desperate,” she echoes.

The silence of the library is screaming at him. He has an awful feeling in his stomach, like he’s done something wrong, like he’s pushed a little too far.

It’s Halloween all over again. He can feel her slipping away, and he can’t reach out for her, can’t hold onto her and make her stay where he wants her. He curls his fists as he feels his body start to tremble.

“I guess I won’t waste any more of your precious time then,” she says sharply as she starts to pack up her things.

“No,” Michael utters. He reaches his hand up as if to stop her but she stands up, out of his reach. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She throws on her jacket, wraps her scarf around her neck and turns around, glaring down at him with sad, glassy eyes. “I need to get ready,” she says. “Enjoy the rest of your night.” Then she sweeps out of the hall with a cold rush of air and a slam of the doors.

Michael groans and lets his head fall into his hands. How had he managed to fuck up that badly? 

He can’t think about the problems on the sheet in front of him, or think about the reading from the textbook. All he can picture is her in some skimpy dress, letting some sick trust fund baby put his hands all over her. It makes him want to tear his hair out. 

He stays there until the evening has turned to night, until any other stragglers have left the library, to attend this stupid Christmas party or to make their own fun.

He can’t understand why she keeps trying to befriend the people who would abandon her the moment they got bored of her, the very same people who shamed her for her scholarship. 

He’d never leave her, never let her feel anything less than worshipped.

When he finally packs up his bag he finds himself walking to her dorm. A few girls are leaving as he arrives at the building and he easily slips in while they’re busy chatting. He knows which floor she’s on, and then all he has to do is find her name on one of the doors… and there it is, under the number 205. Perfect.

He glances up and down the hall. It’s deathly quiet. He wonders how many students have already cleared out of their rooms, how many will be at this party, at the pub with their friends.

He can hear music on the other side of the door, a voice singing softly to a song he doesn’t know.

He brings his knuckles up and taps four times against the wood.

She seems happy when she opens the door, but her face falls when she realises it’s him.

He buries his hands in his pockets, keeps his chin down as he looks up at her. “I need to talk to you,” he says.

She sighs and purses her lips, but steps aside enough for him to come into her room. 

It’s not as neat as he imagined, but it’s cosy. There are photos and posters all over the walls, clothes strewn everywhere, an opened makeup bag on the floor by the mirror, pieces of paper and used mugs on the desk. His eyes are drawn to her bed, to the colourful comforter tossed carelessly over the duvet and the pile of mismatched pillows. It smells like her perfume, and something else that is distinctly her.

A red dress hangs on the front of her wardrobe, her outfit for the party, he guesses. For now she’s dressed in her favourite pair of baggy jeans and a tank top, her hair slightly damp and her skin dewy.

She sits on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. She doesn’t prompt him, but he knows what she wants to hear.

He stands in front of her, his knees almost touching the bed. He tries not to look at the cut of her tank top, the way it clings to her torso and teases the swell of her breasts.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “You were right, I was being unfair.”

She looks up at him, furrowing her brows and catching her lip between her teeth, like she always does when she’s thinking. It makes his stomach drop. 

“You can be cruel too, you know that?” she says, “and so full of yourself, but you hold it against everyone else you meet.”

“But I’d never lie to you,” he says, “and I’ve never pretended to be someone I’m not.”

She keeps frowning. “Neither have I.”

He hums a laugh. He can’t help but reach for her, taking her chin between his fingers. She doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t question it when he gently strokes his index finger over her cheek. “Silly girl,” he says, “you care too much about what people think of you. You’re smarter than that, but you’re happy to hide it.”

Her breath hitches as tilts her head further back and lets his thumb drag over her lower lip.

“Michael,” she utters, pressing her palms against his chest, but not enough to push him away. Her hands grip at the collar of his jumper and she nudges her nose against his.

He doesn’t know where the sudden recklessness comes from. Perhaps it’s in the way she said his name, the way her eyes are gazing up at him, but every part of him feels hollow. 

He leans in closer. “Why bother? Why do you want to dumb yourself down when I could just fuck you stupid?” 

She leans in to kiss him and he indulges her, letting his hand settle against her cheek as they clash together in a mess of lips and tongues. It’s more frantic than the night of the Halloween party, wetter, clumsier.

She comes up onto her knees, snaking one of her hands down to the hem of his jumper.

“Have you fucked a girl before, Gavey?” she says between their kisses. He can feel her smiling.

“No,” he says, practically tearing his jumper and his shirt off, “but I’ve thought about it a lot.”

“Anyone in particular?” she says, palming over the bulge in his jeans.

“Who do you fucking think?”

His hands are on the buttons of her jeans, ripping them open, dragging them down her legs before she’s on her knees again. He slips his hand between her legs, against her clothed centre and she ruts against him like a bitch in heat.

With his other hand he grabs at her waist, impatiently pulling her tank top over her head to reveal a lacy black bra underneath. He can’t stop himself, planting firm, desperate kisses over the flesh of her chest as he undoes the clasp.

He tosses her bra aside and takes one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and circling his tongue over the sensitive bud. He loves how she whines for him, how she runs her fingers through his hair and pulls when it feels good.

And then her phone rings.

She sighs in frustration before she shoves Michael away and crawls over to the table by her bed. 

Michael groans at the loss, wanting nothing more than to grab her and pull her back across the bed. “Who is it?” he asks, adjusting his glasses.

“Could be Farleigh, or one of the girls, I said I’d meet them before the party–”

That’s all he needs to hear. In an instant he’s on top of her, pinning her wrist to the mattress so she can’t reach her phone, legs on either side of her body as he presses her down.

She writhes underneath him, unintentionally grinding her rear into his crotch. She tries to turn her head over her shoulder, but it’s hard when she’s caged in underneath him. “Michael! What the fuck are you–”

“When are you going to get it into that pretty little head that you don’t need them?” he says, letting his lips brush against the shell of her ear. He feels her shudder, feels her heartbeat racing against his chest.

“I know I don’t need them,” she says.

“Hmm,” he says, leaning back to undo his jeans enough to free his hard and eager cock. I’m not convinced.”

He takes his time pulling her panties down her legs, kneads at her thighs and her ass, pulls her hips up and parts her legs so he can get a look at her slick, glistening cunt. He’s almost fascinated by it, drawing his thumb through her folds, noticing how she reacts to his touch, the sounds she makes, the way she fists the bedsheets when he gets close to her clit, but just enough to keep her on edge.

“I could be so good to you,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder, “so fucking good, so why do you act like you don’t need me?”

“I do,” she breathes, interrupting herself with a light moan when he presses firmly against her clit. “I do need you.”

“There you go, you’re starting to get it,” he coos, circling over her most sensitive spot with the pads of his fingers. He may not have the practice but he has the knowledge, and he needs this to feel good for her.

She responds beautifully, sighing and rocking her hips against him, and she just melts when he presses the tip of his cock against her entrance.

He has to push harder than he expects, pausing when she gives a little yelp of what sounds like pain, but she assures him she’s fine.

He grabs her hip for leverage, hissing through his teeth as he pushes in deeper. She’s so tight, so wet, so warm.

“You can move,” she says, letting her head fall against her arm. “Please, I need it.”

He starts slowly, focuses on the drag of his cock through her, the way she stretches around him, but he can’t hold back for long. Once he finds a rhythm he gets a little more reckless, snapping his hips against her rear, keeping his harsh grasp on her flesh as he fucks her into the mattress.

Her moans are heavenly and obscene. She’s given up struggling but she’s trying to look at him, trying to touch him but she can’t. She calls his name and it sounds so pathetic but so endearing.

He chuckles lowly to himself. “Silly little slut, didn’t know what she was missing, did she?”

“No,” she whines. He can feel her clenching around him and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to last. “Fuck, Michael, it feels so good…”

He pulls out of her, only to turn her back and slam back in. Suddenly she’s all over him, running her hands down his torso, wrapping her arms around his neck. She has her face buried into the crook of his neck, grazing her lips, tongue and teeth over his skin. 

It feels good to have her close, but he’s still not entirely satisfied. 

He pulls away to hold her down again, one hand on her throat, the other on her stomach. “Mine.” he huffs as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. “All mine. Fucking say it.”

She places her hands over his, urging him to hold her tighter, press harder. “Yours,” she utters, “all yours.”

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and feels her respond to his voice, cunt fluttering, back arching, another whine sounding in her throat— maybe she likes that. “My clever little girl.”

He feels her come undone around him, back arching as he lets out a breathless moan, practically squeezing him to his own release.

He pulls out and with a few strokes of his hand, paints her belly and her thighs with his spend.

She’s trembling, smiling, reaching out to touch him again, grabbing at his wrists and pulling herself up. She guides him to lay back in the bed and straddles him, tracing her finger over his lips, his jaw, along his nose to push his glasses up for him. He can hardly see through them, the lenses fogged up and smeared with sweat.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” she says.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pawing at her hips, watching his cum as it drips down her body. He can feel a sense of pride swelling in his chest, the arousal in his gut starting to tighten again.

He gasps when she drags her wet cunt over his already hardening cock. “You.. want to go again?”

She tilts her head, looking down at him with that familiar excited look in her eyes as her mouth spreads into an eager grin. “You’re adorable,” she says, tracing her fingertips over his chest, down the lines of his abs, to the trail of thin hair on his navel.

She leans down, reaching between them to take his cock in her hand, moving with agonisingly slow strokes. When he tries to protest she silences him with little more than a peck on his lips, before she trails down to his throat. “I stand by what I said, Gavey, and you’re not leaving this bed until we’ve taken that ego of yours down a notch.”

Tags (comment to be added)

General taglist: @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

[goldfades]

never gets old ─── luka dončić⁷⁷

free palestine carrd 🇵🇸 decolonize palestine site 🇵🇸 how you can help palestine | FREE PALESTINE!

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.3k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | how valentine's always goes for you and the mister, because it never gets old and you don't need big gifts to show your love.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | fluffy as hell, literally that's it

The apartment smells like pancakes.

It’s the first thing you register when you blink awake, eyes still hazy with sleep, the soft weight of Luka’s arm slung lazily around your waist. The second thing you register is the sound—low music playing from the speakers, something easy and old-school, mixed in with the occasional clatter of dishes from the kitchen. And then there’s the warmth, the way Luka’s body practically molds to yours, his breath steady and slow against your shoulder.

Valentine’s Day.

You smile before you even fully open your eyes because you already know exactly how today will go. Because it always goes the same way.

No grand surprises, no over-the-top displays, just the two of you in this home you built together, moving through the day like second nature. Luka, who wakes up before you on mornings like this just to make breakfast (even though he’s an objectively terrible cook, but it’s the effort that counts). You, who will pretend not to notice the flour dusted on his sweatpants when he inevitably burns the first batch and has to start over. The way he’ll kiss your forehead when you shuffle into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and act like he’s been cooking for years—like there isn’t a half-disguised takeout bag sitting in the trash from his backup plan.

The best part? It never gets old.

The first time Luka tried to do Valentine’s Day the way he thought he was supposed to—the big, flashy, dramatic way—it had been a disaster.

Not because he didn’t try. If anything, he tried too hard.

It was back in the early days of your relationship, when the world had just started paying attention to him, and by extension, to you. Luka was still getting used to the constant eyes, the cameras flashing whenever you so much as held hands in public. Back then, he was convinced that he needed to prove something—not just as a boyfriend, but as Luka Dončić, rising NBA superstar, man of grand gestures. So he did what anyone with too much money and too much influence at their disposal would do: he went all out.

A private rooftop dinner at one of the most expensive restaurants in Dallas, complete with a string quartet playing love songs in the background. A designer dress he had custom-ordered weeks in advance, along with the matching jewelry set that made you blink at the price tag in disbelief. Rose petals scattered everywhere—on the table, on the floor, even in the damn elevator up to the rooftop. And, of course, the final touch: a professional photographer hired to capture every single moment of the night, so perfectly curated that it barely felt real.

It should have been a dream. It should have been perfect.

It wasn’t.

Luka was nervous the entire night, checking in with the waitstaff every few minutes, his knee bouncing under the table. You spent half the dinner making small talk with the photographer, who was taking pictures of you at every possible angle, until eventually, you both looked at each other and realized—this wasn’t you. This wasn’t your relationship.

By the time dessert came, you could tell Luka was exhausted. He was trying so hard to impress you, but the thing was… he never needed to.

So you leaned across the table, rested your hand over his, and with the same quiet certainty that had always been there between you, you told him, This isn’t us.

And that was it. That was the moment things shifted.

Instead of finishing the dessert, you both left the restaurant, ditching the whole thing in favor of picking up burgers and fries from the nearest drive-thru. Luka had laughed—one of those real, unguarded laughs, the kind that made his whole face light up—and you knew then that this was what Valentine’s Day should be. Just the two of you, doing something easy, something simple, something that felt like home.

So that’s what you did every year after that.

No more extravagant plans. No more performances for the cameras. Just warmth and routine, the kind of love that settled into your bones and stayed there. A day that belonged to you, and only you.

Which is why, now, as you roll over in bed and hear Luka humming softly in the kitchen, the smell of slightly burnt pancakes filling the apartment, you can’t help but smile.

Because this?

This is perfect.

--

The pancakes are slightly overcooked.

Not burnt, exactly, but just enough that the edges are crispier than they should be, a little too golden-brown. Luka doesn’t seem to notice—or maybe he’s just pretending not to—because he’s already drenching his stack in syrup, more than any normal person should ever use. You watch as he drowns the plate, then tilts his head at you like he’s waiting for judgment.

“You gonna say something?” he asks, chewing as he gestures at you with his fork.

You pick up your own, cutting into the pancake and taking a bite, chewing slowly just to mess with him. It’s not bad. A little dry, but nothing a good amount of butter and syrup can’t fix.

“I mean,” you hum, swallowing, “it’s not exactly a five-star meal, but I will say it’s an improvement from last year.”

Luka scoffs, shaking his head. “Nah, last year’s were better.”

“Luka, you set the fire alarm off last year.”

“I was testing it.”

You roll your eyes, but your laugh slips out before you can stop it. This is how it always is—easy, warm, the kind of comfort that settles into your bones. The TV plays softly in the background, some random show neither of you are paying attention to, and the morning light spills through the windows, painting the apartment in soft gold.

And then you see it.

A small, perfectly wrapped box sitting on the table next to Luka’s plate.

You narrow your eyes. “Luka.”

He doesn’t look up, just keeps eating like he doesn’t hear you.

“Luka,” you say again, this time more pointed. “What is that?”

Finally, he leans back in his chair, wiping his mouth with a napkin, and gives you that look. The one that’s all boyish charm, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. “A gift.”

You sigh, but you’re smiling. “We said no big gifts.”

“I didn’t say it was big,” he says, shoving another bite into his mouth.

“You do this every year—”

“And you love it every year.”

You can’t even argue with that, so you just shake your head as you reach for the box, fingers tracing the smooth edges before carefully peeling back the paper. Inside, nestled in soft velvet, is a delicate gold bracelet—thin and dainty, the kind of piece that looks effortless but still means something. It’s simple, but there’s something intricate about the way the links are woven together, like they’re unbreakable. Like they’re made to last.

You blink, touched in a way you don’t quite have words for. “Luka.”

“You were talking about it the other week,” he says, watching your reaction carefully. “Figured I’d beat you to it.”

You remember, vaguely, mentioning something similar offhandedly—something about how you liked the way it looked, how it wasn’t too flashy but still had weight to it. You hadn’t even realized he’d been listening that closely.

You swallow past the warmth climbing up your throat. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yeah,” Luka grins, leaning forward on his elbows, eyes crinkling at the corners, “but I like spoiling you.”

You shake your head, fighting a smile as you slip the bracelet onto your wrist. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

He’s not wrong.

So instead of arguing, you reach across the table and take his hand, fingers slotting easily between his. “Good thing I don’t mind.”

[inloveinsickness]

❝ STRAWBERRY KISSES ❞ — hinata shoyo (18+)

cw: MDNI, f!reader, post-timeskip!shoyo, fluff but alludes to smut (non-explicitly), established relationship, aftercare, non-sexual showing together, suggestive | wc: 1.2k

there is nothing more secure and anchored than being loved by hinata shoyo

masterlist

if there’s one thing that shoyo loves, it’s the sight of you laying beneath him breathless and spent, soft and pliant atop plush white sheets, the strands of your hair tangled between his fingers earlier now fanned out like a halo. you’re a little slice of heaven on earth, his angel.

the dazed, love drunk look on your face in post-coital bliss never gets old, and he lets his eyes trail over your features and sweat-slicked skin, needless to commit to memory — he already knows every part of you like the back of his hand, basking in a beauty that’s uniquely yours, and only his to see.

the faint light from outside seeping through gaps in the blinds highlights his tanned cheeks in its airbrushed pink, and you can’t help but bring a hand up for a featherlight touch, grazing the smooth plains with a small, tired, but no less genuine smile and affection swirling in your eyes. he's only gotten more handsome as he got older, past his awkward fumbling teenage years and now with a newfound confidence since returning from brazil, he glows with happiness, self-assurance and in this moment, simply love.

you always thought he looked attractive on the court, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and hair disheveled, and it rings true even now in bed with you.

the hand cupping his cheek snakes around the back of his neck, gently guiding him down to meet your lips in a delicate, unhurried exchange. he readjusts his position from above you, taking some weight off with a quiet grunt and settling next to you, taking you into his arms again, lips still connected through it all. his calloused hands caress your sides and pull you in by your waist, craving once again the closeness of skin on skin as you melt against his sturdy frame.

it’s warm, sticky and sweaty, but in the moment, neither of you can be bothered to care, chasing the warmth of connection and each other as your bodies tangle above the sheets.

what little that’s left of your strawberry lip balm leaves a lingering taste on his tongue and he can't help but go in for seconds, addicted to your lips and the burst of sweetness that follows. it's like biting into the ripe juicy fruit, just one is never enough.

it’s slow, gentle and tender, pacing unurgent and languid as your locked lips dance a well versed number, every movement familiar and effortless, like a choreography perfected over time and practice, and a graceful melody leaving you wanting more.

inevitably pulling apart for air, shoyo rests his forehead against yours, not before gently blowing the strands of hair sticking to your skin and feeling the walls around his heart crumble for the nth time at your airy giggle, the sound akin to a cupid’s arrow, shooting right through to his soul.

“you okay, princess?” he whispers lowly, and with your nod, your eyes flutter shut in content and the comfort of his embrace, “you’re so damned cute, so pretty like this.”

basking in the afterglow, you nuzzle your face into the juncture between his neck and shoulder, hand resting against his bare, damp chest and feeling the thrum of his heartbeat pulse against your palm. it's steady and sure, stable and constant, much like the nature of his love — he is the embodiment of passion and excitement, but there is nothing more secure and anchored than being loved by hinata shoyo.

“you wanna stay here for a little longer, or shall i run the bath?” he softly mumbles against your temple, hands gently tracing shapes into the small of your back. you faintly make out the outline of a heart gliding across the dips and curves and can’t help the smile that graces your lips, feeling a matching one pressing into the side of your head.

“mmm a bath does sound nice right now…” you trail off, lips murmuring against his neck and voice clouded with drowsiness.

he huffs in amusement, your breath tickles as he slowly sits up with you still in his faithful hold. picking you up with ease, you’re light as a feather to him, he walks to the bathroom and plants you on the counter to sit while he prepares, your legs dangling and swinging back and forth.

you take the time to admire the broad expanse of his back. he’s grown quite a bit since his years in high school, once small and lean, now sculpted and defined by muscles that speak of his discipline and hard work. his short life in brazil and current pro-league training did wonders for his physique — he’s faster, stronger, in more ways than one if your soreness has anything to go by.

this is a far cry from the first time you slept together, but the tender loving care after never gets old. shoyo may slack on doing the dishes or laundry from time to time, but never in a million years when it comes to you. he’s precise and methodical in his movements, he’s done this countless of times before after all, but he never lets himself get too familiar — being able to love on you is a privilege he will never let himself forget.

the water soon stops running and he stretches his hand out, helping you down the counter and keeping you steady on your feet as you step into the tub, "careful, i got you."

he follows suit, settling behind you and you happily lean back against his chest, his hand resting on your tummy and rubbing soothing circles under the water. it’s a peaceful and comfortable quiet, the only sounds being soft breaths and the water shallowly rippling with his ministrations.

“sore?” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, barely above a whisper and causing goosebumps to rise on the surface of your skin.

you hum in response, resting your head on his shoulder as you sink even further into his frame, the warmth of the water and his body enveloping you in a little bubble, safe and comforting. keep this up and you could fall asleep right here and now.

he takes advantage of his current position behind you to litter your neck with kisses, occasionally nipping and sucking at the supple skin. “mm don’t start something you can’t finish, sho.” you say this, yet you’re still leaning into his sensual touches and tilting your head to give him more access, sleepily whimpering his name so prettily, dripping with honey.

your pliancy and the lack of resistance on your part spurs on another wave of desire in him and he takes it as a cue to continue, painting the untouched spots of empty canvas and leaving faint purple bruises in it’s wake as a mark and declaration of his love. you're always so trusting, so receptive of him. only for him.

you may not be able to see the shit-eating grin on his face but you can sure as hell hear it in his voice and feel it as his chuckle vibrates against your pulse, sending shivers down your spine.

“are you challenging me, meu amor?”

taglist. open (link to form) @koton @shouyuus tagging you two as promised ♡

networks. @the-all-stars-network @houseofsolisoccasum

notes. writing this made me feel things... also crazy how i started this draft in SEPTEMBER jfc

© yogurtkags. please do not repost, plagiarise, or translate my work.

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ kinda like a rom-com! ]❜

ft. scott summers x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ watching a horror movie is the perfect set-up for romance, but unfortunately for the xmen, scott’s a bit of a dumbass┊1.4k words

contains: ooc scott probably, he’s the biggest dumbass ever, i thought this was cute, anyways, fluff, the entire x mansion ships it, descriptions of horror movies, the title & ending probably doesn’t make sense because i don’t actually watch rom-coms but i think it fits because it’s romantic comedy shortened, written before october started

➤ author's note: do people even want scott content?

it’s adorable, really, how a mutant who has faced countless dangers throughout your entire life and bravely battled adversaries head-on was now cowering by his side and covering your eyes with your hands, fingers slightly parted to still allow you to peer at the screen to satiate your curiosity of what would happen next.

“i didn’t think you would be this terrified,” he chuckles.

“i didn’t think we would be watching a horror movie tonight!” you hissed in return. “we usually watch superhero movies, why are we suddenly putting on supernatural stuff when october hasn’t even started yet?”

movie nights were pretty commonplace in the mansion, one of many activities hosted to encourage bonding between the inhabitants just in case being mutants on its own wasn’t enough to do the trick. scott loved these nights, because not only was it a nice break from being a professor who would have just spent this night grading papers, it also let him grow closer to you as you always find yourself in his company one way or another whether it was simply sitting next to each other or happening to hide in the same spot to catch a break from all the screaming children with unpredictable powers. 

little did you know that all of these coincidences were a result of careful planning by your co-workers in hopes that a confession would bring itself closer to the present. from ororo making it rain on the way home to force the two of you to share an umbrella, to jean nudging him during the best times to talk to you after reading your mind and helping him pick out personalized gifts you would love— hell, even logan let him steal two bottles of beers so that he could help comfort you after a bad day (although, it might have just been because he wouldn’t stop begging and shut up until he handed some of his stash over. he brings it up every time they bicker to get a leg up on him).

it seemed everyone aside from you knew about this, like an inside joke you missed out on because even the students had the tendency to giggle when seeing you two interact. the only reason scott hasn’t confessed first was simply due to your obliviousness to your own feelings which would likely end in a rejection. it’s not in vanity where he believes this, but in fact when the redhead telepath informed him that you just hadn’t realized what you felt for him wasn’t platonic. realization was inevitable and bound to hit you like a ton of bricks, and after some squealing from embarrassment in your room, it would only be a matter of time before you sought him out to confess. except, no one has the patience to wait for you to do so organically, hence the constant match-matching that has become so common that they don’t even think before doing so sometimes. everyone plays the part of wingman except for charles who thinks they should wait until you’re ready, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t find it highly amusing. 

it was actually the wolverine who suggested picking out a scary movie for tonight as he claimed it was “one of the best ways to get a girl all over ya.” scott didn’t quite believe him at first because it sounded too much like something straight out of a cheesy teen drama, but he now realizes that he shouldn’t question the two-hundred-year-old guy who has more experience with such things than he could imagine.

you tightly gripped on his bicep, not even realizing that your nails were starting to dig into his skin, staring wide-eyed at the projector image as another character died in a rather gruesome way. really, these movies always overdid the blood and gore, but criticizing it was the last thing on his mind because you were currently holding onto him with a vice and he needed to plot his next move.

his eyes began to wander around the dark room to find nearly everyone focused on the film playing in front of them and a couple of students asleep, turning his head subtly to look around behind his red-lensed glasses until he spotted the white-haired weather manipulator doing the same thing because she was bored out of her mind. (isn’t it funny how some people were so uninterested in the movie that they are falling asleep or counting how many heads are in the room while you’re unable to tear your eyes away despite looking like you’re about to cry? you’re so damn cute.)

she mouthed something to him while tilting her head in your general direction, completely inaudible in order not to attract attention. unfortunately for her, scott was an idiot who didn’t know how to read lips even though everyone around him assumes that he’s blind and most of the time he might as well be. she rolled her eyes in frustration, wrapping her arm around jean’s waist (who was understandably a bit confused at first but then did the same) and highlighting the action with a simple motion of her hand— signaling to him that he should do the same.

it looked like a fucking lightbulb went off in his head or something when he mutter a silent “oh” before following her example and pulling you close, resting your head on the side of his chest as if to soothe your fears. it worked like a charm, you buried your face into him and held on for dear life as you braced yourself for another jumpscare, trying to focus on his hand patting your back instead of trembling like crazy. 

“it’s not even that scary, chill out—”

“no! don’t say that!”

scott stopped mid-statement, trying to figure out what the fuck that was until he realized it was jean’s voice in his head. “how did you even hear me from where you’re sitting?”

she ignored his question, so he wasn’t sure if he was just being too loud or if she was already reading his mind to make sure he didn’t fuck up. “don’t finish that sentence, she’ll think you’re making fun of her for being more sensitive towards these things. the poor thing is petrified, how about you take her up to her room instead? i don’t think she’ll be able to stomach the ending of this movie.”

he hummed and nodded in agreement, remembering that everyone dies at the end, pulling on your arm to grab your attention and whispering, “come on, let’s get you out of here.”

you nodded weakly and swallowed, not letting go of him for even a moment as he escorted you out of the living room and up the stairs. “thanks, i didn’t think that the movie would be that terrifying… and we’re showing that to kids?”

“just the older kids, all the younger ones are already in bed.”

“and i’m about to join them,” you shuddered, opening the door of your dark room and cringing at the sound of the hinges squeaking. you lingered at the doorway before turning to look at scott, “could you come hang out in my room with me for a bit?”

“what, you want me to check for monsters under your bed?” he laughed.

“s-shut up! i’ll just go look for logan then!”

“no-no-no, don’t do that, i’ll go with you! i’m much better company than that old man— we can watch some rom-coms until you fall asleep and forget about that stupid movie.”

“i didn’t know you were a fan of rom-coms,” you said, turning on the lights and looking noticeably less afraid as the shadows disappeared. 

“well, i think my life right now is kinda like a rom-com…” he slipped, admiring how your bed had so many stuffed animals meticulously stacked so that none of them would fall off. your room was just like you— cute.

“really? how?”

“i’ll, uh, tell you eventually… it’s a… whole thing, i don’t feel like getting into it tonight— anyway,” he quickly diverted the conversation, digging through your stack of dvds before picking one out. “i haven’t seen this one yet— ‘someone like you’— i’ve heard good things about it— the male lead kinda looks like logan if he took care of himself.”

he’ll tell you soon when he finally hears your confession, or if he goes crazy before then because he has to spend one more day without being able to call you “his.” whichever comes first.

[14thgalerie]

the one

• pairing: theodore nott x riddle!reader

• now playing: hayloft by mother mother / you that i want by divine

• word count: 1.7k

• genre: angst, fluff, hint of smut

— short one that i kept thinking of.

Theo slumped in his chair, fatigue weighing heavily on him. The clock on the wall opposite him ticked relentlessly, unforgiving of his sleepless state. He had long abandoned any hope of finding any rest. He hadn’t been able to since that fateful night when everything felt right in his life.

His mind wouldn’t grant him solace. Each time his weary eyelids dared to meet from the pure exhaustion of the stress of OWLS, the ongoing war, his brain kept feeding him images of you. You, who kept haunting him from the very forefront of his mind. 

The natural curve of your eyelashes. The way it fluttered against his cheeks as your lips made a blazing trail across his cheeks. Gentle whispers that drown him in sheer bliss still send shivers down his spine. 

His tie lay abandoned, discarded beside him, next to the pile of papers swept aside in his frustration earlier. The long, emerald fabric had felt too suffocating amidst the overwhelming thoughts of you.

He couldn’t help but wonder if you would also be writhing in bed, unable to fall asleep as he does. Would your dreams torment you with the brief time his hands tangled onto your hair, wayward? Does your dormant body spin cruel variations of that time, telling him tantalising tales of what could’ve occurred if only your insufferable blonde companion hadn’t so abruptly interrupted?

He had never loved you.

Not in the way you wanted.

This desire to fill the emptiness in your heart, to have somebody give you the time and day has obscured that truth. A part of you knew, from the very beginning, but this desperation forced you to turn yourself blind.

Draco was there, a constant presence in your life, a perfect match to have by your side. Born only 24 hours apart, and 10 years of your childhood spent solely with him.

In truth, you both used the other, a fact that you ignored. He relied on you for protection and status as your partner, while you clung to him to feel the fleeting sense of warmth. But the perpetual storm of reality always wearing you both down and, you were rapidly losing the strength to keep yourself afloat.

Unspoken words hung heavy in the air between the both of you as the year progressed and the inevitable return of your father neared. At first, you had both kept your feelings at bay, not wanting this to jeopardise your friendship altogether. But as time went on, it became a routine. Venom spit from raised voices, threats of abandonment and indifference to each other, reconciliation accompanied by hollow promises and sex.

“Are you a bloody fool? She is my best friend and yet again, Draco ‘can’t-keep-his-boxers-on’ Malfoy decided that didn’t matter!” You screamed in frustration, but it didn’t seem to matter when he didn’t even so much as falter at the volume. 

“We aren’t even together, so why should it?” He carelessly replies, an air of indifference surrounding him.

“We aren’t? You truly are an insufferable git, I spent two years committing myself to you, and you never thought to mention that little detail before?” You scoffed, incredulous at the idea. It was foolish and outrageous, and not at all like how the man you know would think. Despite your differences with one another, he would still treat you with at least the respect you give to a friend, but now…

“Oh please! Don’t act as if your mind has not been completely filled with that mindless buffoon.” 

“For Merlin’s sake, do not dare turn this on me…” You challenged him. 

“Or what? Threaten to have your father kill me? Well, surprise, darling, I’m no stranger to that already.” He humorlessly chuckles. “I’ve seen you. I’ve seen that god-awful lovesick look on your face at the mere sight of his back. I am not the complete bloody fool you think I am.”

It hurt, truly, despite the fact that this started as a hilarious excuse of a relationship. You cared for Draco and to see him constantly destroy everything and everyone in his path of destruction left you unable to conjure up any more excuses for him.

“I am done, Draco. We can stop whatever awful pretentious act we put ourselves to and live on our own as you seem to hardly care for even yourself anymore these days.” You laugh, defeat etched on your face.

He never gave you the love that you sought, the kind that Theo had laid bare in complete display for you in just under seven minutes in that tiny closet. 

“You came back to me.” He whispers, close enough for his lips to touch the corner of your lips but there’s just a stutter of breath. It makes you want to instinctively kneel and look up to him and beg religiously for mercy, the way he speaks.

“I did.” You reply. Unmoving, but your patience wears thin.

“Look at you,” He mutters, his hand tugging at your head by your hair, exposing your neck to him, and your knees nearly buckle at his breath that burns against your jaw. “I haven’t even touched you properly yet and you’re almost like putty in my hands already.”

“Shut it, Nott.” You quickly remark a decision you notably regret when you are left standing in the middle of the room all by yourself. The cold air from the ajar window left your skin tingling with an uncomfortable feeling akin to when Draco touched you in the past weeks.

You scoff, the sound more as if you were nearly pleading. “What are you doing?”

“You know I hate it when you act like a brat.” He inclined his head, and the movement leaves chills running through your spine for the action is almost similar to someone sinister. But weirdly, it makes you want to tease him even more.

“Oh please, Theo. I’m not blind, as if you don’t dream of it.” You slowly approach him, your fingers make a motion of dragging along the ends of the poster beds. “The way I see your eyes tremble when I contradict every single thing you say. I know you are depraved when your thoughts are only of my mouth…”

You hear a sharp intake of breath when you come near. “The way you would just love it if you could shut me up by having my lips wrapped around you. I know you, Theo.”

His lips twitch into a mirthless smile, he reaches almost mindlessly for your collar. His thumb barely touches the skin of your neck. “Yes, you do.”

His eyes are intense as they dart to your mouth. Your tongue unconsciously makes a sweep against your dry lips.

“I suppose Draco will show me exactly how.”

Taking a page of this man’s book is terrifying but you are tired of this game of tug that you keep playing.

“That would be wise. ”

He’s still looking at your lips.

“I’ll go then.” You try again, unwilling to make the move.

“Go on, you won’t hear a sound of protest from me.” But you remain standing in front of him, the will to move weak against the desire to have him.

“Really?”

“No.”

Theo grabs the back of your head, tangled his fingers in your hair, and made a mess of your mouth. With his lips attached to yours, you grab him by his shirt and the both of you kiss as if you were third years again. Your teeth clashed into each other time and time again and you couldn’t find it in you to slow down. 

The need to kiss him, to feel what you’ve been thinking of for several nights on end.  You push back at him, desperate to feel the same hunger and need in him, as he kisses you deeper and more profound than you ever thought possible.

The soft, selfish hands that you wished so badly to wipe clean off the bodies of other women move up from the bottom of your back to move you impossibly closer until you are almost one. His voice is ragged when he pulls away, a thin thread of saliva still connecting you.

He says against your cheek, “I love you. I’d die for you. Nobody can ever give you what I could make the pain go away like I could, not even that dense fuck who has a deeper sense of self-preservation than his parents.”

You swallow, agonised by the sudden slow pace that he moves. Not an ounce of energy dared to waste to defend your ex. “I will love you anywhere.”

You shiver at the raw and pure intensity that laced the declaration. You almost want to ask, to hear how. But you don’t think your mind could properly comprehend the ability to piece together the right words to ask.

His heart is pounding from beneath your fingers as you feel the pulse on his neck, almost leaping it out as if all it wants is for you to finally claim it as yours. Encase it in a glass case and put it on display for all else to see.

“In a bookstore, by the water fountain, the sidewalk, in the flames of your home.” His hands come down to your hips, his fingers digging in so harshly that by morning sunlight, purple will be painted on your skin but it feels so heavenly that you don’t push them away.

“I love you, not for the protection you provide and for your substantial looks, but for all the small things you do that bear your soul to me.” 

Your hands meet around the back of his neck as he carries you by your thighs towards his bed. Pulling at the fabric that keeps him away from you.

“I’ll love you even as you tell me you hate me. I love you enough that I will scour the face of this earth for a place where I can take you away from your nightmares.” 

“I-“ He sighs into your lips, completely delighted by the intimacy that only his mind could conjure up in the lone nights. “I love you.”

You move for the buttons of his polo, while he moves to pull your shirt from you. A race that leaves you both fumbling when you feel his hand carving a path against your waist and up to your chest. You are left scalding, tiny bounces of light flickering in your eyes.

“I will be at your string’s end.”

masterlist

[sabrinajenre96]

The Shepherd’s Sweet Chaos"

Derek" McDreamy" Shepherd x reader

After six weeks of complete and utter chaos, you and Derek had just about survived. You were officially cleared to return to your normal routine, which, for you two, meant rediscovering the lost art of intimacy. But it wasn’t going to be easy.

The twins—Sawyer and Harper—had perfected their ability to scream at the most inconvenient times. Every time you and Derek so much as looked at each other longingly, one of them would inevitably burst into tears. The twins had mastered the fine art of cockblocking. It was as if they knew exactly when you and Derek had plans to sneak in a little "mommy and daddy time" and decided that wasn’t going to happen.

So, one evening, after a particularly brutal round of rooting for bottles, you two finally managed to shove the babies into their cribs and found a rare moment of peace. The two of you, finally able to relax in your bedroom, decided it was time for a long-overdue "sexy time" moment.

“Alright,” Derek said, a playful smirk forming on his face as he crawled over to you on the bed, “Are you ready for this, Mrs. Shepherd?”

You chuckled. “Ready, McDreamy. Let’s just—”

Screaming.

Both of you froze.

Sawyer’s voice screamed through the baby monitor like a banshee, followed by Harper’s more subdued but still loud wails.

Derek groaned and flopped onto the bed dramatically. “Are you kidding me? Again?”

You burst out laughing, the sound of your amusement loud enough to match the babies' cries. “Looks like you’re being cockblocked by your own daughters, huh?”

Derek glared playfully at you. “I blame you for this. You gave birth to them.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” you said, still giggling. “They’re totally my fault.”

You both gave up trying to keep the mood alive as the two of you rushed to get up and attend to the twins. Night after night, it was the same exhausting routine—feedings, changings, soothing, and endless groggy moments where neither of you could remember if you’d brushed your teeth or eaten dinner. But at least you had each other’s misery to cling to.

A few weeks later, the madness continued. You and Derek were living in a constant haze of baby bottles and diapers. But today, there was a glimmer of hope. Derek had managed to take a much-needed nap after finally being allowed to sleep for two hours straight (the babies had been in a deep sleep, a rare occurrence). You, too, had taken advantage of the calm and fallen asleep on the couch beside him, completely knocked out.

The babies were both peacefully snoozing in their giant playmat/bassinet, oblivious to the chaos that had consumed the house for the past few weeks.

But then, a knock at the door shattered the peace.

Mama Shepherd and Amelia had arrived—unannounced, as always.

“What do we do?” Amelia whispered, looking at her mother with an eyebrow raised.

“Well, what we don’t do,” Mama Shepherd whispered back, “is knock louder.” She then pulled out the spare key to the house that she had held onto for “emergencies.”

They both crept inside, only to find you and Derek sprawled across the couch, looking like two exhausted, drooling zombies.

Amelia, who couldn’t resist a good laugh, took a few steps closer to you both, smiling mischievously. “I can’t believe you two finally crashed.”

“Shh,” Mama Shepherd said, motioning for her daughter to be quiet as she peered down at the peacefully sleeping twins. “They’re asleep, so we can’t disturb them just yet.”

Amelia, eyes glinting with mischief, turned to her mother and whispered. “Let’s have a little fun, yeah?”

Mama Shepherd raised an eyebrow but said nothing, just gave her a sly smile.

Two hours passed.

During that time, Derek and you remained unconscious, while Amelia and Mama Shepherd decided to have some fun.

Amelia, with her phone in hand, started filming the moment. Derek’s and your positions on the couch were laughably off-kilter—you were practically hanging off the edge of the couch, while Derek was using a cushion as a pillow and drooling slightly.

Amelia whispered to the babies. “Do you think Aunt Amelia can wake them up with her screaming laugh?”

The babies, of course, giggled in response. They had no idea why they were laughing but found Amelia’s energy contagious.

Mama Shepherd, feeling particularly mischievous, picked up one of the twins and began to rock her gently. “Let’s see how long they’ll sleep through all this.”

The house was filled with quiet giggles as Amelia started to make fun of her brother. “You know, he’s just as tired as a newborn. But the difference is, he doesn’t cry when he’s tired.”

She continued to make sarcastic remarks, quietly teasing her brother, while you and Derek remained oblivious to the hilarity unfolding around you.

Finally, after two hours, Derek stirred. He rubbed his eyes groggily and looked around. “Where are the babies?”

You groaned. “They’re in their bassinets.”

Derek immediately jumped up in a panic. “Wait—what?! Where are they? Why didn’t you wake us up?”

You smirked, watching him freak out. “Derek, calm down. They’re fine. They’re right there.”

“No, no, no.” Derek started pacing. “We went to sleep and lost two babies. How did that happen?”

You stayed calm, playing along for the drama. “It was your turn, remember?”

“No, no, no,” Derek insisted. “You said you were going to take them for a nap. It was supposed to be my turn! How did we lose our children?”

Amelia, unable to contain herself, snickered and turned her phone camera on. “Oh, I’m totally sending this to our sisters.”

Mama Shepherd was already mocking Derek���s misery, shaking her head fondly. “Oh, sweetie, don’t worry. They’re safe.”

Derek, now feeling completely outnumbered, crossed his arms. “I’m going to take a shower.”

You laughed at him, unable to hold it in anymore. “Sure, go ahead. But don’t think you’re escaping from your responsibilities that easily.”

“Seriously?” Derek grumbled. “I’m getting out of here before I have a nervous breakdown. These women are killing me.”

Amelia, still filming, called after him. “Don’t worry, Derek. We’ll keep the twins safe! You can go cry in the shower.”

And with that, Derek stormed off to the bathroom, a frustrated man defeated by the women in his life, as you followed behind him, laughing all the way.

[followsfrankiep]

Don't Worry About Her (Eddie Brock x Reader)

GIF made by @rei-is-still-here 💕

Divider from @plum98

Summary: They always say, when a guy tells you not to worry about his girl best friend, you probably should. Izzy's wild and free-spirited nature has always contrasted with her best friend Eddie's quest for stability. Now that Eddie is engaged, he never expected Izzy to complicate things for both of them.

TW: Smut, Unprotected Sex, Mentions of Burn Injuries, Explicit Words, Cheating, Minors DNI.

Word count: 6.2k (It's getting hefty bc its ending soon!)

A/N: I appreciate the love for Izzy and Eddie! But there's something inevitable in the story. I'm afraid this is one of the few since it's going to end soon. Let me share my pain with u 😭

No pressure tag 💕 @rei-is-still-here @feveredvisions @potter-solomons @tickettride @rach5ive @dreamygirli3

Previous Part

Part 6 - Burn Victim

Eddie lounged in her bed like it was partly his now. Lately, he’d been different—the space between them wasn’t something he could tolerate anymore. He was more present, their intimacy was more constant and pronounced as ever, like he couldn’t get enough of her. And truthfully, Izzy didn’t mind. There was something about the way he claimed her.

She was perched on her bed, cross-legged, her laptop on her knees as she scrolled through pages of dresses. It was another regular lazy day for Izzy and an after work unwinding for Eddie. She wore a rose printed white tank top and matching shorts that made up her perfect pajama set. He lounged behind her, sprawled across the pillows with one arm tucked behind his head while the other slowly traced up and down her arms.

“You know,” he muttered, sitting up, his lips brushed against her shoulder, “this whole shopping thing would be more productive if you, dunno... picked one.”

“You know,” she echoed, her gaze fixed on the screen, “this would be faster if you stopped distracting me.”

When it was mentioned said Eddie had been extra affectionate lately—it meant, he's really all in on him and Izzy. His lips pressed gentle, lingering kisses along her shoulders and neck, his breath brushing against her skin. Izzy didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into it. He'd been like this since that night in Muir Woods.

His movements slowing slightly as his gaze flicked to the screen. “That one,” he said, nodding toward a sleek, elegant dress displayed in the screen. His lips resumed their trail along her shoulder as he added, “That’d look perfect on you.”

“It's nearly two grand,” she announced flatly upon seeing the price tag, turning her head slightly just enough to shoot him a pointed look. “For a dress.”

“Yep,” Eddie replied casually, his kisses undeterred. “So buy it.”

“Oh, sure. Let me just pull two grand out of thin air.”

Eddie didn’t miss a beat. He shifted, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his credit card with an almost nonchalant ease. He placed it beside her laptop, his lips quirking into a soft smile.

“Here. Go nuts.”

She blinked at him in disbelief before letting out a breath of laughter. “Wow,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Your show must really be rolling in it now, huh?”

“You could say that. Or you could just say 'Thank you for spoiling me.'.” He tilted his head, the mischievous glint in his eyes softening slightly as he added, “I mean it, Iz. Get what you want.”

Izzy rolled her eyes, the amusement still lingering in her smile as she placed the card back beside her laptop. I guess sex is not the only thing Eddie didn’t hold back from.

She resumed her scrolling, and Eddie rested his head against her shoulder, his lips brushing her skin once more. You could say he's having an advanced honeymoon phase but not to the woman he's bound to get married to, but to his best friend.

Eddie leaned back against the headboard, the card still sitting on the bed beside Izzy’s laptop. He watched her with silent pleasure as she shifted in her spot, his fingernails grazing gently along her shoulder. She clicked a few buttons, then paused dramatically, tilting her head just enough to smirk at him. If anyone could take advantage of the rare Eddie Brock generosity, it would be her as shameless as she is.

“Alright, Brock,” she cooed yet her tone laced with mischief. “The dress is settled. But… you know what would really crank it up a notch?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow, already sensing where this was headed. “This ought to be good,” he muttered, his grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Alright, Knight, hit me.”

“Heels,” she said, dragging the word out like it was some grand revelation. “Tall, sleek, head turning heels. You know the kind.”

See? Shamelessly adorable.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Not just any heels—the kind that make you call me after a few hours to come wherever you are with fuzzy slippers because your feet hurt?”

She gasped playfully, eyes widening, pretending to be offended. He did know her so well.

"First of all, how dare you? Second, you clearly have no idea what you’re talking about.” She leaned back into him, her tone dipping into a teasing drawl.

“Third… you also have no idea how hot you are right now.”

Eddie smirked, his lips brushing against her ear and whispers, “Oh, I know,” the confidence in his tone both infuriating and endearing. “That’s why you better wrap this up quickly. Can’t have you distracted when I’m on a roll.”

His newfound confidence was magnetic, so irresistible that drew her to him in a way she hadn’t expected. She had spent years coaxing him out of his shell, watching him struggle against his insecurities, and now, here he was—a fucking tease, delicious, and more captivating than ever. She can't help but to bite her lip down. Damn, it was impossible not to get turned on and ignore the heat rising in her chest.

“You’re really leaning into the whole ‘sugar daddy’ thing, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, baby.” Eddie shot back, his voice smooth, his arm wrapping loosely around her waist as he settled in closer. “Now, go on—pick the heels. You're expensive but I don't mind spending my money on you.”

It seems like their previous conversation paved a way for them to dive deeper into whatever they are. Izzy was living the dream. A dream she wouldn't admit to herself that she wanted. But the truth about dreams is they don’t always end with soft awakenings. Sometimes, they end abruptly, with the sharp sting of a scalding pain that forces you back into reality.

And what are you supposed to do when you get burnt?

When something scorching presses against your skin, your instincts tell you to pull away—to retreat before the pain becomes unbearable. But Izzy? Izzy plays with fire, wants it closer, somehow attracting it to consume her. And now, after all the secret meetings, the unabashed intimacy, she finally feels the heat sinking in. The pain of playing with it is inevitable. The real question is—how long will she hold on to Eddie? To what extent does she have to get herself burned until she realizes it was time to let go?

Playing with fire, for Izzy, also meant wearing her Prada Sunglasses inside the mall. Yep. No sunlight, just something to hide the fact that she's rolling her eyes at the couple walking in front of her. Apparently, Carlton Drake happened to ask Anne about Izzy during a deposition she was working on for the Life Foundation and their conversation sparked Anne's curiosity about her unpredictable personality. She was surprised to hear Eddie's best friend dated the billionaire she was working for and asked why didn't he tell her about it. On top of that, how could he say no if his fiancé wants to get to know his treasured best friend more?

If only she knew...

First Degree Burn

The wild card was painstakingly dragging her feet slightly behind Eddie and Anne, her heels clicking against the mall floor as she adjusted her sunglasses. To anyone passing by, she might’ve appeared perfectly unbothered but within, she was counting every second until this supposed "bonding" ends. A third wheel wasn’t exactly her preferred role, especially when it came about to couple she found herself involved with in one way or another.

Their first stop was Eddie’s wardrobe—a rare moment of unity between Anne and Izzy as they both agreed it was time to retire Eddie’s infamous, godforsaken hoodie that somehow still made several appearances on The Brock Report. Eddie couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his best friend’s cheeky, dimpled grin as she teamed up with Anne against his questionable fashion choices. For a fleeting moment, Eddie let himself soak in the rare warmth.

But that was short-lived.

As soon as they stepped into the store, it became a silent battleground as to who knows Eddie Brock more. Anne, meticulous and poised as always, was on a quest to refine Eddie’s look, holding up sleek blazers with an air of determination. "Honey," she called to him, "you should wear this to look more professional."

Izzy, meanwhile, rolled her eyes dramatically. Good thing she was wearing her sun glasses. She pulled a rugged leather jacket from the rack and tossed it toward Eddie. "No, this..." she countered, "is what Brock should wear. You’re not just a host—you’re the guy everyone wants to have a beer with."

Eddie stood between them, caught in the cross roads of their differing styles, careful not to make anyone of them upset. Anne’s vision spoke to his role in front of the camera, the polished professional she believed he could be. Izzy scoffed silently, arguing that the leather jacket fully captured his essence—the casual, unfiltered, and unapologetic charm that made The Brock Report what it was.

None of them was backing down.

It was a tamed exchange between them yet Eddie couldn’t help but shake his head in surrender. It wasn’t really about the clothes; it was about how they saw him. And while their opinions couldn’t be more different, the sheer effort they put into arguing over his look only reminded Eddie how deeply both women cared—each in their own way. Now, he's weighing his options carefully.

“It’s perfect for you,” Anne was still championing the blazer. “More refined and elevated. An upgrade you need for the show.”

Izzy, leaning lazily against a nearby rack with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow and shot Eddie a knowing grin. “Yeah, Brock. How much is the real estate commission lately?” she joked, earning a forced smile from Anne.

“Come on, big guy. The leather jacket is you. Let’s be honest, its way cooler.”

Eddie chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced between the two women. Finally, Eddie reached for the leather jacket, sliding it on and adjusting the collar with an amused smile. “I gotta say,” he murmured, glancing at his reflection in the store’s mirror, “this feels more like me.” He turned to Anne with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, babe. The blazer’s nice, but the show’s called The Brock Report, not House Hunters.”

The power she had.

He chuckled, casting a glance toward Izzy, who tugged her sunglasses down and shot him a quick wink, clearly pleased with his choice.

Feeling defeated, Anne sighed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “I should’ve known,” she said, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "if that’s what you want, it’s your choice." she continued before stepping back. "I’ll see if they have a new stock in your size."

Izzy saw how dismayed Anne was with his choice and how oblivious Eddie was to it. Her best friend did look absolutely delicious in that jacket but her guilt creeped in, and she knew what to do. The moment Anne walked away, Eddie felt a gentle nudge against his arm. He turned to see Izzy leaning against the rack, holding out the blazer to his reach. She placed the sunglasses on top of her head, and he can now see her neutral expression.

"What’s gotten into you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Just pick the blazer, big guy," she murmured under her breath so only he could hear. "She’s trying. I realized this is a big deal for her and I’m not about to ruin it."

Eddie tilted his head, giving her a knowing look. "You’re the one who pushed for the leather jacket, Iz." he reminded her, feeling both confused and amused. "Now you’re backing out? What happened to being ‘timeless and rugged’?"

Izzy sighed, her fingers massaging her forehead as she avoided his gaze. "Look, you know I hate doing this, but... she’s your fiancé. She just wants you to look your best—her version of best." She finally looked at him. "So, make her happy, alright?"

Eddie stared at her for a moment, his chest ached when he noticed the guilt in her voice. He knew Izzy has always been thoughtful of others despite her constant reckless choices. He also knew how much she loved things being her way, so this was a huge sacrifice on her part. His instinct told him to stick with the leather jacket—it was him, after all—but his best friend's insistence weighed on him. With a small sigh, he shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

"Fine." he muttered.

When Anne returned, a fresh leather jacket draped over her arm, Eddie straightened and cleared his throat. "You know, babe," he began, his tone warm but steady, "I’ve been thinking. The blazer might actually be the better choice after all." Her face lit up in surprise, her smile genuine as she handed the jacket to the staff.

"Really? That’s great! I promise you’ll look amazing in it."

Eddie caught Izzy’s gaze as Anne started talking to the staff about sizes. Izzy gave him the faintest nod, though this time it carried a quiet understanding rather than triumph. She did not mind giving it away when she saw how happy it made Anne feel. She's done far worse towards Anne, unforgivable things she does not have the slighest clue. Letting this moment belong to her felt like the least Izzy could do. A small gesture to balance the scales she’d tipped so unfairly. Not for the points for forgiveness, not for herself, but for Anne—the person Eddie would come home to by the end of the day.

The cashier handed Eddie the neatly packed blazer, his card now safely tucked back in his wallet. Anne stood beside him, her smile bright with satisfaction as she brushed her hand against his arm.

“You’ll look amazing in this,” she said warmly, her excitement radiating. “Trust me, it’s exactly what the show needs.”

Eddie forced a smile but Anne didn’t seem to notice. It wasn’t about the blazer—he didn’t mind wearing it, really—but a part of him felt like something was missing, an piece of himself left behind on the rack. He asked himself: is this who he really was? Or was he once again settling for the path of least resistance, the thing that wouldn’t disrupt the peace of their world? Again, he is trying to convince himself it didn’t matter. But deep down, the pull of something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want was there.

As they exited the store, Eddie adjusted the shopping bag in his hand, glancing over his shoulder at Izzy. "You coming?" he asked.

"You guys go ahead," Izzy replied smoothly, waving them off with a flick of her hand. "I just saw something that caught my eye. Don’t wait up."

Anne didn’t question it, tugging Eddie’s arm lightly as she led him toward another shop. Eddie lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting Izzy’s briefly. She knew he wouldn't leave her behind so she mouthed "Go, Go!", her head nudging towards Anne's direction, her smile returning as if to reassure him. Satisfied, Eddie turned to follow his fiancé, disappearing into the flow of mall traffic.

Once they were gone, Izzy straightened and turned back to the counter. The cashier glanced up at her with a polite smile. "Can I help you with something?"

"Yeah," Izzy said then gestured toward the leather jacket Eddie had tried on earlier. "I’ll take that one. Same size." She pulled out her card, as she glanced toward the door, checking if they truly left.

She didn’t need him to choose the jacket—it wasn’t about that. But a part of her wanted him to have it anyway, a piece of himself he didn’t have to sacrifice to make someone else happy. She had been selfish enough to keep up with their affair, it was the least that she could do.

"Gift receipt?" the cashier asked.

"Sure."

She tucked her card back into her wallet and took the bag with a small nod of thanks, her fingers gripping the handle tightly as she turned toward the door. A faint smile tugged at her lips as she walked out into the mall, the jacket now safely in hand. For now, though, she’d let Eddie live in his new blazer, playing the role he needed to play. But when the time was right, Izzy would give him the jacket—because what she felt for him was like how fire needed oxygen, burning with the kind of intensity that didn’t beg nor asked.

Looped around his arms, Anne was a walking ball of sunshine, enthusiastically chatting with her fiancé about wanting to grab a cup of coffee, and making an effort to glance back and include Izzy in the conversation.

"Izzy, you drink coffee, right?"

"As needed." Izzy flicked her gaze toward Anne, her lips curving into a faint smile when she replied, glancing towards Eddie, who was already watching her with a subtle smirk.

"She needs food first," he interjected, glancing at Izzy with a knowing look. "She can’t have coffee on an empty stomach—it messes her up."

Izzy paused, her lips curving into a cheeky smile as she adjusted her sunglasses, her gaze flicking playfully between Eddie and Anne. "I guess someone knows me too well." she teased lightly.

After a couple hours more of shopping, they ended up at a quiet corner of a restaurant for a late lunch. Eddie insisted on taking the bags back to his car, leaving Anne and Izzy to order first. The atmosphere at the table shifted again the moment Anne called over the waiter.

“I’ll have the Salmon with Quinoa and Spinach,” Anne said, before gesturing toward Eddie’s empty chair. “And the same for him.”

What?

Izzy blinked, her brows lifting as she leaned back in her seat with her arms crossed. “Salmon?” she asked, skeptic. “You do know Eddie’s practically married to burgers, right?”

“He needs to eat healthy. The wedding’s coming up, and staying fit is important,” Anne said with a smile that didn’t falter as she folded her hands neatly on the table.

“Fair enough,” Izzy muttered, reaching for the menu. Fighting the urge to shake her head in dismay with Anne's order. She couldn't help but wonder how much her best friend loves this woman. The only thing that this day proved to her was how Eddie was a completely different person in his fiance's eyes. She continued,

“Double cheeseburger. Extra fries. Thanks.”

The waiter nodded and left, and Izzy leaned back in her chair, catching Anne’s gaze briefly. She didn’t press further, biting back her instinct to defend his usual choices. If Anne thought she knew what was best for him, assuming that she did, then Izzy wouldn’t interfere. Eddie returned just as their orders were set down and his smile faltered slightly the moment his eyes landed on the plate in front of him—the delicate salmon, the bed of quinoa, the neatly arranged spinach. He sat down slowly, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face.

Oh boy. Izzy didn’t miss it.

He sighed, poking at the salmon with his fork. Izzy watched him for a moment longer. She didn’t say it outright, but she knew Eddie well enough to see the guy who loved greasy burgers and simple comforts force himself to like what's chosen in front of him. She didn’t watch him directly, though. Instead, she kept her gaze on her burger as she sliced it cleanly in half, taking her time with the first half while she waited for him to finish his meal.

She ordered extra fries for a reason, to compensate for what she's going to do next.

When Eddie finally finished, he set his fork down with a quiet sigh, leaning back in his chair. His expression gave it all away—the meal hadn’t come close to satisfying him, and she knew it never would. Without a word, Izzy slid the remaining half of her burger onto his plate casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

He glanced down at the burger, then up at her, his lips twitching into a grin despite himself. “Someone's getting soft.” he teased but filled with quiet appreciation.

"Just eat the damn burger, Brock."

He didn’t hesitate as he picked up the burger, taking a bite with the kind of contentment she’d expected all along. Anne, sitting beside him, shifted slightly in her chair, her fork pausing mid-cut. Her eyes flicked between Eddie’s sudden happiness and the half-empty plate in front of Izzy. She couldn’t help but feel... disconnected when she realized that she wouldn’t have done that—not because she didn’t care, but because it wouldn’t have even crossed her mind. His best friend seemed to understand him in ways that felt effortless and instinctive. It wasn’t jealousy she felt but rather an uneasy awareness that there were parts of Eddie she might never fully reach.

Izzy kept her focus on her phone, scrolling aimlessly, the screen lighting up her otherwise expressionless face. She didn’t need to look at Anne to know the questions forming behind her gaze. Izzy wasn’t interested in explaining herself—not to Anne, not to anyone. Eddie shot her another happy look mid-bite, and though she still didn’t meet his eyes, the faintest smirk tugged at her lips. She didn’t need acknowledgment, just the satisfaction of knowing he’d get through the rest of the day with a little less tension in his shoulders.

For Izzy, that was enough. It always had been.

"Time to go?” Anne asked and swung her bag over her shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she glanced at Eddie still comfortably reclined, his attention fixed on his phone screen. He didn’t respond immediately, his posture relaxed, his thumb lazily scrolling. Before he could answer, Izzy chimed in, her voice casual but laced with a smile.

“How about we wait for another ten or fifteen minutes?”

Anne blinked, paused as she glanced at Izzy, puzzled. There was no explanation, no follow-up, it was just Izzy cooly scrolling her own phone. Confused, she settled back into her chair, her curiosity bubbling and she turned to Eddie, raising an eyebrow in question, but all she received was a shrug.

He didn’t elaborate, and neither did Izzy.

It was like a timed magic trick, Anne tried to distract herself, sipping what remained of her drink and idly scanning the restaurant. Izzy remained absorbed in her phone, her cheek resting on her hand. It wasn’t until Eddie suddenly pushed back his chair, rising fluidly and slipping his phone into his pocket, that the pieces began clicking into place.

“Be right back,” he excused himself, weaving through the tables toward the restroom.

Anne sat frozen, her lips parting in silent realization as the scene replayed in her mind—the timing, the unspoken understanding between her fiancé and his best friend, the way Izzy’s seemingly casual suggestion had lined up perfectly. Her gaze flicked to Izzy, who hadn’t even glanced up, her attention still on her phone. She knew Eddie well. Too well.

It wasn’t romantic, she told herself, but it was enough to make her skin prickle. She couldn’t shake the lingering thought that this unspoken system in place was theirs, and Anne couldn’t help but feel like an outsider looking in.

Two days later, Eddie pulled up to the Knight Mansion after work.

When Eddie walked into her bedroom, Izzy was sitting up on her bed, scrolling through her phone until her gaze flicked up, and she saw him leaning against the doorframe, the rugged leather jacket hugging his shoulders, fitting him like a glove.

So fucking hot.

Her brow arched as she set the phone down beside her, smirking. “Well, look who’s decided to embrace his Brockness,” she teased.

Eddie grinned, stepping inside, closing the door behind him, and shrugging as if it were no big deal. “Someone left this in my car the other day...” he said casually. “Pretty solid choice, don’t you think?”

“Not bad,” Izzy murmured, leaning back on her elbows as she eyed him. Her gaze lingered, tracing the way the jacket framed him—strong, sure, unmistakably him. “Well, I did not want to steal your fiance's thunder so I just left it there.”

Eddie chuckled, his grin softening as he walked closer. “You think I didn’t notice?” He stopped just in front of her, tilting his head slightly, then climbed on top of her slowly. “Come on, baby. Did you really think I wouldn’t figure it out?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, her smirk tugging wider. He was now pinning her down. “I just figured I’d save you the trouble of missing it. You seemed... attached.”

“Attached, huh?” Eddie echoed, his voice dropping making her stomach flip. He leaned closer, his knees spreading her legs. “Guess this jacket makes us even?”

"If I’d wandered off again, I would’ve found you something better,” she shot back playfully. “You know me—I don’t settle.”

Eddie froze for half a beat when Izzy mentioned wandering off. Anyone else could have dismissed her words but he hated it—how natural it sounded coming from her lips, how easily she acted like she could pull herself away from him and not feel the gravity of it. She had always been the wildcard in his life, the constant he couldn’t control, and the idea of her going away again felt like losing a piece of himself he couldn’t afford to lose.

"You're not wandering off,” he commanded, making her pause. “Not until I’m married to Anne. You stay.”

Izzy’s smirk faltered for a moment, and she didn’t argue, already knowing what he felt. He made sure she knew that previously. Instead, she let out a sigh, circling her arms around his neck.

Eddie closed the gap, his hand brushing lightly against her cheek as his lips met hers. He kissed her, slow and steady, their eyes were closed but their lips moved like a dance they’d both memorized, tasting her favorite pomegranate flavored lip balm she always applied on her soft lips. His tongue swiping on her bottom lip that made her mouth part slowly, deepening their kiss while his large frame pressed against hers.

Since the night he made her say you're mine, their dynamic shifted. Eddie took the lead more often than not. He knows he's engaged and is about to get married, but something about having no barries in their intimacy both physically and somehow emotionally, aroused the possessive side of Eddie Brock over Izzy.

The closing time,

The unspoken feelings,

The secrecy of their relationship,

The lies...

She pulled away slightly, her hands pressing against his chest gently, slowly gasping for air. "Jacket off, big guy.” she murmured, sliding her hands in between his jacket and shirt, tugging it down.

They loved exploring various positions now that they're doing it unprotected, though nothing beats the classic. They are gazing in each other's eyes, her knees spread out and bent, and her hands gripping on his arms. Eddie on top of her, thrusting his cock slowly, gently, repeatedly, in and out of her. His left hand gripping on her hips to keep her in place, while his right elbow kept him propped up as his face dipped into hers capturing her lips once again for a deep kiss. It feels so good, making her moan against his lips.

"Shhh, baby... they're gonna hear us." he mumured and nibbled on her lower lip before moving to neck, sucking and kissing her skin, all while continuing his pace. His hands holding her hips glided the curves of her body up to her chest, kneading it gently, while his mouth sucked on the other one.

He often swung by her parent's mansion earlier these days, right before her mom serves dinner, so he could spend more time with Izzy. Sex was usually reserved towards the end of his stay, when her parents have retreated to their bed room since her dad was a deep sleeper. They could make all sorts of noises they would want.

However, that night, sex came first.

Izzy arched her back when her stomach coiled, she huffed letting him know she was about to cum, and not to stop. His head nodded, tugging her nipples in between his teeth as he responded. Eddie was taking it slow, yet deliberate in hitting her spot again and again until her juices gushed warmly around his cock. She came and he was close.

He steadied himself, brushing her hair away from her face, the other hand secured her jaw, making her look at him. He made her cry out his name discreetly, bending her leg up to her stomach, plunging in her deeper. She pouted, lips red and her dark eyes looking up to him. She was fucked up, satiated, still receiving him, and moaning his name quietly. Slowly, she felt her stomach get filled with Eddie's hot seed, jolting at every whirl he made. Not a single drop wasted, he thrusted his cum inside her, grumbling "Take it all in, baby. It's all yours."

Izzy nodded absentmindedly, her eyes half-lidded as she sank into her pillows. Her limbs draped over the bed like she was holding on for dear life. Her lower abdoment was warm, filled to the touch, god it felt so good. The shot was worth it, they did not have to worry about anything, except the fact that they're only falling deeper into this pit they keep digging themselves. Eddie loved filling her up, giving him the perception that she was his, and his alone. He smiled, pulling out slowly. She looked so endearing in his eyes as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple.

"Good girl."

And as he pulled back, he couldn’t help but feel that even in her spent state, Isobel Knight, in his arms, looked vulnerable yet radiant in his eyes. The woman he can't seem to let go.

Second Degree Burn

Five months out from the wedding, Eddie found himself falling deeper with the woman he couldn’t let go of. Every time he sat beside Anne, he’d nod and murmur agreements at the wedding preparations.

Anne saw it, too.

The way he seemed more distracted these days, coming home later than usual, brushing off her questions with vague mentions of “work stuff". The future Mrs. Anne Weying-Brock was starting to realize how distant her fiance has been lately, and the "bond" she wanted to establish with Izzy a few days ago got her wondering.

So, she did what any fiancé in her position might: she reached out to Izzy.

If Anne was being honest, meeting her was daunting. She was not that comfortable talking to Izzy without Eddie around. However, she was desperate for clarity. She wanted to understand her fiance, reach out to him in the same effortless manner his best friend did. She was not even sure that Izzy would show up in the said café but she did arrive, twenty minutes late. She slid into the seat across Anne, skipping the pleasantries and conversation appetizers. Izzy knew she would not have called her if this was not about Eddie.

“I don’t know what I’ve done wrong,” she admitted, the words barely above a whisper. “Eddie’s been pulling away, and I can feel it—even when he’s right there beside me.” She paused, her throat tightening, but forced herself to keep speaking. “I try to plan things, make it easier for him, take the stress off his shoulders... but it’s like the more I try, the farther away he gets.”

Izzy didn’t respond immediately, shifting slightly in her chair. It was uncomfortable to hear, but she was all ears. Her eyes are fixed on the blonde woman pouring her heart out.

Just when she thought it couldn't get any more uncomfortable...

“It’s hard to say this, but... we haven’t been..." Anne started, yet stopped for a second, clearly hesistating before she continued, "..intimate lately. Not for weeks. And I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’ve done to make him pull away like this.”

Fuck.

She did not want to hear that. Izzy had assumed naively, that perhaps Eddie’s relationship with Anne remained intact in 'certain' ways, even despite their affair. It dawned on her. He has been more consistent with her, making time to see her inside or outside the mansion, frequent calls and messages to check up on her, then their sex—the raw and unapologetic sex.

It was her doing.

Anne’s voice broke slightly as she continued, her composure slipping. “I love him—I love him so much. And I know he loves me, but I can’t shake the feeling that there’s a part of him I’ll never reach. Like there’s this invisible wall between us, and no matter what I do, I can’t tear it down.”

Izzy’s gaze flicked to Anne’s trembling hands, her stomach twisting in a way she hadn’t expected. She wanted to look away, to detach herself from the rawness of Anne’s words, but something about the vulnerability in front of her that held her trapped in the moment.

Is this it? Is this finally it?

“And I don’t know how to fix it,” Anne said, her voice cracking as tears pooled at the edges. “I’m supposed to be the person who knows him best but it seems like I don't. Not the way you did at the mall.”

Izzy froze at the mention, her chest filled with guilt as it clawed its way into her throat. She did not mean to make her feel that way. She had only wanted to care for Eddie, to be there for him in the only way she knew how. She never realized that those small, intimate moments could haunt her like this and now, hearing Anne reference it so earnestly, Izzy couldn’t help but feel the sharp sting of her own actions. She thought, this was only the tip of the fucking iceberg she and Eddie created. She can't imagine how Anne would even look at her if she knew the depth of their relationship.

It was a scalding pain. Her conscience was a boiling hot water pouring in her skin.

Anne wasn’t accusing her, wasn’t even looking for blame. She was opening her heart, searching for help, clinging to the hope that Izzy might hold the answer to better understand Eddie. And in that hope, Izzy felt an unbearable guilt, the kind that comes from knowing she's part of the wall Anne was desperately trying to tear down.

She IS the wall.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. Anne met Izzy’s gaze then, her cheeks tear-streaked. “Help me, Izzy. You know Eddie better than anyone, and I can’t do this on my own. I don’t want to lose him.”

She felt a huge lump on her throat, listening to Anne's plead as she nodded slowly, struggling to maintain her calm facade. She had never felt like the villain before, but as Anne looked at her with such raw trust, she couldn’t help but feel the weight of her guilt settle deeper. “O-okay,” she murmured quietly, her tone softer than Anne had ever heard it.

“I will help.”

And in that moment, Izzy realized she wasn’t just helping Anne reconnect with Eddie, she was desperately trying to atone for the fire she’d helped create.

But this conversation was not the most excrutiating part of it all...

It was when she realized that the Third Degree Burn was ending it all at once. Facing Eddie, knowing she had to let him go and burning through all the layers of their relationship, for the sake of his engagement. For the sake of the woman he loved.

She called him later that night at the Bay area, a quiet spot where no one would hear what they were about to say.

Izzy rehearsed this conversation on her head over and over again. She thought about the right words to say, how she would open this topic up, and how she's going to hold herself in the process. What she did not realize how painful it could be until Eddie appeared in front of her.

That devilishly handsome crooked smile of his that always made her heart pound is now making it ache...

“Hey, baby,” he called out, a lopsided grin spreading across his face. “So, you’ve summoned me out here at this hour—what’s next? You plotting to start some scandalous sand sex? Because I’m all in, but let’s just say ‘Brock caught in bay-side mischief’ isn’t the headline I’m dying to see tomorrow.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled with mischief as his voice took on that teasing tone she knew too well. He reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, his hands naturally grabbing her waist. But Izzy didn’t laugh. She didn’t have a witty retort or roll her eyes like she usually might. Instead, she flinched that was enough for Eddie to stop as his grin faded.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She took a shaky breath, her expression blank, her gaze distant as she finally spoke the words she’d dreaded saying aloud. She can't look at him without breaking.

“Anne spoke to me earlier...” her words came out sounding detached, as if she had to remove all feeling from them just to get them out even though it felt like her feelings are burning through her chest.

She had to do this, even if it left her in ashes.

Next part

[bootsukki]

5.

fic masterlist!

full masterlist!

taglist (closed!): @adelinesthoights @bellssforyou @halfp4stmidnight @avis-writeshq @carm1lla @sunghoonsgfreal @reirain @cherrypieyourface@aynfp @keldracula @kurroomii @chilichopsticks @shanchiikiss @starstrikeer @yzaelki @just-lilita @chiiibeaa @baby-bunnyxn @zarisluvr @xxpr3ttyk173rxx@albakugo @swoozleee @aeristocrats @frog-and-moon @amterasuu

The gym was filled with tension as the game was its last end, 22-23 and even though the gymnasium was silent apart from the noises of shoes, spikes and teams communicating between them, your head hurt. Your constant thinking of having Atsumu right in front of you and the inevitable fact that he had also seen you made you extremely nervous.

He had been your best friend for years, after all.

His team, which had been leading for most of the game was now backed into a corner after four great points from you university’s team, only leading by one point. You were sure that your team was going to win.

Atsumu was getting ready to serve, bouncing the ball a few times, exhaling slowly before tossing it up for his jump serve.

The ball rocketed across the court, a powerful hit aimed at the back corner. The libero of the team was already moving and managed to dig it and although it was flying low, Kageyama reacted quickly, pushing out a high set towards the right side. 

Tsukishima was already moving towards it, eyes tracking the ball with precision, waiting until the perfect chance to jump. Hinata spiked the ball but their opponent swung for a sharp cross which Tsukki blocked without any issue. The block was clean, sharp and controlled, making the ball bounce straight to the floor.

22-24.

On the sidelines, Yachi shifted nervously. “Tsukishima’s reading them really well,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Yuki replied, glancing at you. “You must be used to this by now.”

You hummed noncommittally, watching as the teams reset. Atsumu rolled his shoulders, clearly irritated, while Tsukishima remained composed, barely acknowledging his own play.

Tsukishima’s team served, and Atsumu’s side responded quickly. The ball was set for a powerful back-row attack—Atsumu himself stepping in for the kill.

Tsukishima reacted instantly.

He jumped, eyes calculating every movement, every fraction of a second. Atsumu swung, fast and precise, but Tsukishima’s block met it perfectly. The ball slammed straight down.

Match over.

Atsumu exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it.”

Tsukishima adjusted his glasses and turned away as people cheered and started leaving the gymnasium.

Yuki nudged you slightly. “You’re not gonna go congratulate him?”

You shrugged. “He doesn’t like making a big deal out of things.”

Yachi smiled softly. “Still, I bet he likes that you’re watching.”

Yachi and Yuki stood up, saying something about going for drinks while you remained seated. They turned to let you know they were leaving and you waved at them, not responding, only watching as Tsukishima walked back to his team, cleaning some of the sweat of his forehead before your eyes moved to the other side of the court, focusing for a bit on Atsumu, who was watching you as well.

You stood up, walking towards the door to make your way downstairs.

"(Y/N)?"

You knew that voice. You had known it for more than 10 years, since you were just a little kid running around the neighborhood playground, back when it was softer and high-pitched. 

You turned your head, locking eyes with Atsumu.

It had been a year. A year since everything fell apart, since he vanished from your life along with everyone else. When you needed him most, when you were at your worst. And now… he was standing right in front of you, hesitation in his voice.

“Hey.”

Atsumu's mouth opened, then closed, his brows knitting together. "Didn’t think I’d see ya here."

"Huh? I know you completely ignored my existence but you knew I studied here." you replied coolly.

He let out a breath, shifting awkwardly on his feet. "I—uh, I meant to—" He cut himself off, pressing his lips into a thin line. "How’ve ya been?"

The question almost made you laugh. Now? He’s really asking how you are?

"Great." You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. "You?"

Atsumu studied you for a moment, as if trying to figure out if you were lying. "I—yeah, good, I guess. It’s just—" He hesitated. "It’s been a while."

"Not my fault.” Your heart was pounding against your ribs. “Weren’t you in America?”

“I was but my scholarship ended and I came back.”

“Okay.”

“I brought you a souvenir but I didn’t know that I wo-”

“What do you want, Atsumu?”

“Atsumu? Since when do you call me that?”

You tensed, blood boiling.

“Since you didn’t even try to talk to me and ignored me for more than a year. Let me think… Oh yes, since you read all my messages, telling you all I was feeling during the worst period of my life and left me without a reply.” You wanted to cry, punch him. “Since my best friend, the one who had been next to me for years, decided to take sides, even tho-”

"Do you two know each other?"

You tensed at the sound of Kageyama’s voice. He stood behind you arms crossed, his usual scowl fixed firmly in place. His gaze flickered between both, sharp with suspicion.

At the same time, Atsumu said, "Yeah," while you said, "No."

Silence.

Kageyama frowned, looking between you like he was trying to piece something together. Atsumu inhaled sharply, his expression shifting as his eyes widened, but you didn't give him the chance to say anything else.

“I was telling him where the bathroom was.” You answered. “If you’ll excuse me, I have people waiting for me.”

You didn’t want to leave the apartment but you couldn’t lie to Tsukishima again. You have been feeling uneasy since your short conversation with Atsumu, your heart racing everytime you thought about the fact that you had, indeed, seen him again.

“Are you okay?” Yachi asked you from the kitchen. “I know seeing him must be weird.”

“Weird is an understatement…”

You had never told anyone, apart from your family and Yachi about everything that had happened the previous year. You felt pathetic everytime you thought about it, about begging him to stay, sobbing like a little kid in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t leave you, hoping it was all just a nightmare.

“Yeah…” She sat down in the couch next to you, squeezing your shoulder for a second. “I guess it was meant to happen sooner or later, right? You are going home for Christmas soon and maybe you’ll run into him.”

“I don’t know… I…” Truth be told, you hadn’t even given a thought about Christmas until now. You missed your family, especially your brother Shota. “If I go home, I think I’ll stay at home hibernating.”

Yachi laughed softly, nodding. “Well, if you ever see him, he’ll probably regret everything he had ever said or done to you. Anddddddd… You’ve got a new boyfriend who is taller and hotter than him.”

You feel bad lying to Yachi. She has been a huge part of your life for the past year, offering you a place to move into when you were panicking about not being able to afford the rent of your last place and the university not having free dorms in the middle of the school year. She listened to all your concerns, held you when you cried and introduced you to all her friends, trying her best to get you out of your room.

But, knowing her meant that you knew she is not capable of keeping secrets and you don’t want to disappoint Tsukishima.

“Do you think…” Yachi looks at you. “... do you think Atsumu knows what happened that night with you and Osamu? Do you think he truly knows what happened the night Osamu decided to leave?”

[its-hard-to-let-go-of-an-echo]

Solangelo Fic Rec List!!

Hey you guys voted yes, so here! There are so many more but I'll add them when I inevitably go back to reread them xx (in no particular order)

Under the cut!!!

1. Sanctuary by Tundras_and_Taigas (SO CUTE AND I LOVE IT SM)

The Apollo cabin is destroyed when the Teumessian Fox tears through Camp Half Blood looking for the Hunters of Artemis. With his cabin in ruins, Will finds himself bunking in the Hades cabin for a week — a living situation that proves to be significantly more uplifting than he could have suspected.

2. The Rose of Paphos by Tundras_and_Taigas (also amazing, love this author!!!!)

During a trip up to the Big House’s attic, Will, Valentina, and Mitchell stumble across an old relic of Aphrodite’s: the Rose of Paphos. Created by Hephaestus as a courting gift, the ancient metal rose blooms whenever it's held by someone who harbours romantic love for another. When the rose reveals Will's hidden feelings for an unnamed camper, Nico isn't sure whether to hold out hope or try to move on. OR: Nico and Will need a little nudge. Aphrodite is happy to oblige.

3. You Break It, You Buy It by nikkiRA (best sickfic, so sweet!!)

Thanks to Apollo's absence, his children are finding themselves getting illnesses for the first time in their lives. Needless to say, they aren't taking it very well. “Do you think your father will be nice to me when I die?”

4. Dreamcatcher by FoxFire16 (one of the first solangelo fics that i thought about for weeks after fluffiest ever)

Nico has struggled with nightmares for a long, long time. It's not until after the war that he learns that maybe, just maybe, there's someone there to help him. And maybe it's okay that Nico is so drawn to him. Aka: A fluffy 5+1 for Nico's birthday that I finished a week ago and have been DYING to post (I had to do it on his birthday, for once). Cuddly Nico, cuddly Will, nightmares, mild hurt and major comfort, and... well. You know the drill.

5. Touch Me by FoxFire16 (same author, they're the best!!! this one is the sweetest getting together one!)

Nico hated being touched. Percy knew it. Reyna knew it. Annabeth and Hazel knew it. Chiron knew it. Hades and Persephone knew it. Pretty much everyone in the entire world knew that Nico hated being touched. Unfortunately, that included Will Solace.

6. Morning theft by nightbeginstoshine (the first fic i frothed at the mouth over, this person is the best but they haven't posted in a while)

Nico’s constant nightmares and Will’s inability to have a normal sleep schedule make them the perfect match. They come up with the brilliant idea of sharing a bed to fix their nighttime problems. What could possibly go wrong?

7. Opportunity Knocks by nikkiRA (SPEECHLESS. READ RN)

Two years after the war with Gaia, Nico tries to run away again, but on the way he is ambushed by Aphrodite, who has decided to take a personal interest in him - lucky him. Nico finds himself stuck in a Groundhog Day situation, reliving the same day over and over until he can figure out what the hell Aphrodite wants from him.

8. Consider Icarus by @theklutzycrow (MY FAVOURITE PART OF MY DAY WHEN A CHAPTER IS POSTED 10/10 PLS READ)

Consider Nico di Angelo, consider his plight Eight months with no answer once dimmed his light, Three years hence, he remains alone, His heart is with the sun, his home. But one meddling daughter of love may start A raw and painful heart-to-heart, To bring comfort to the crying sun-- And join two souls meant to be one. -- Or, what if Nico and Will never got together after The Blood of Olympus? And why? [ALREADY WRITTEN POSTING SCHEDULE: 1 CHAPTER A DAY!]

All for now!! This list is going to be forever growing, most likely :)

[voice-of-the-sexyman]

"Mic check...mic check...you all have waited long enough~"

"Goooood day Slayers, Narrators and Princesses! It's a good day for a tournament! And it's my honor to welcome you all to the FIRST VOICE OF THE SEXYMAN CHAMPIONSHIP!!!"

COUGH COUGH

"Anyway, I am your host and commentator for the tournament, Mai. And me and my hnnuy will walk you through the competition and you decide at home who wins THIS TOURNAMENT! And since we are hosting a Cold Voice of the Sexyman, I thought it be fair to have a celebrity as a co-host. Say Hi to @sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now COLD!"

"Hmmm...Fitting weather to host this tournament, isn't it?"

"Oh, so you can talk! That's neat!

So, I am sure everyone is wondering why someone who fits the criteria is not in the race. Why don't you answer em?!"

“The mailman came late. Considering the weather, I suppose that explains why the traffic was a mess. It happens.

And now I’m here as a judge instead.

I’m seeing many versions of me waiting to be judged. How interesting. 14 of them, wasn’t it?”

"Its 16, actually. That's a...typo on my part. But glad to see you're not bored!"

“It would be interesting to see how I look like in different constructs. I’d like to see them for myself.

They will be judged fairly and without bias.

So—entertain me.”

"Alright! You heard the sexy voice, let the matches BEGIN!!"

🏆 VOICE OF THE SEXYMAN CHAMPIONSHIP 🏆

ROUND I PART I

[Propaganda under the cut]

"First on the chopping block is Spu's lil lady and Ace's frequent funeral goer!"

“The Weapon, was it? A very unique take of me, I must say. She reminds me of a praying mantis. Fitting, as the ladies would kill off their spouse as a sign of courtship."

"Simple but effective! A female Fatale! And woo wee, ain't she a cutie?!"

“I suppose her attractiveness adds to her effectiveness in luring mates. Dangerous, yet elegant. An efficient design...”

"In the words of the owner:"

"She may be flat but she does have curves. Who doesn't love the constant threat of razor-sharp blades? The perfect woman, one might say. She teases with that soft, slightly playful voice, sending a chill up anyone's spine. Perfectly toxic, like any good sexyman should be, as well as queer in one way or another, and, of course, the imminent threat of death, teetering between her and anyone who looks her way - @Spupulum "

"Now, her victim is Ace's Mourner! Damn, he's already dressed for a gloomy day!"

“A man in mourning. Perhaps for the death of a past long gone.”

“Perhaps it’s inevitable for us to be associated with death. Shown by the X on his chest. That does bring back memories, doesn’t it?”

"Yeah, with the spectre right?"

“Yes. When we have first awoken. I still remember that day...

The cabin

The blade

And how it sank into her heart with little difficulty..."

"Ok...let's hope this guy doesn't have too much of an obsession with death, or else he'd be rolling into defeat

In the words of the creator:"

"He has a veil and he has white, featureless, soulless eyes. - @acethekenku "

"Well...that's a lot shorter...but don't let that sway your vote ok?!

Have a happy time of voting!"