#mayb reply later ... :eyes:

[humanjarvis]

tantrum

synopsis: what makes sylus snap?

tags: fluff, sylus is tired and grumpy bc he misses you, he obliterates his phone with his evol, sunshine reader probably, cartoonish luke and kieran appearance (sorry boys) word count: 842

a/n: after that magnum opus line i really wanted to see sylus throw a tantrum and i kept mulling over what would actually make him do that because i can’t see him doing anything much worse than this. i think he’d find Actual grown man tantrums lame. anyway i don’t like this and will maybe delete? nvm but i had the writing urge so i sacrificed this concept from my wips. 

When you arrived at the base after your three-week business trip, your long-awaited homecoming was…tame, to say the least. You’d been expecting a teasing “How nice of you to join us, sweetie,” or a cocky yet vulnerable “I was beginning to think you’d run away.” But once you’d stepped through the front door, Sylus had barely said a word. A soft “Welcome home” and a kiss on the forehead, and before you knew it, you were cradled in his arms as he carried you to his office.

He’d sat you both down in his leather armchair, making you face him in a straddle. His tired eyes had searched yours, and a moment later, he’d buried his face into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“I missed you,” you’d murmured into his ear, pressing a kiss to his hair. With a quiet groan, he’d tightened his grip on your hips and nuzzled into you even deeper.

That’d been 15 minutes ago. Basking in the comfortable silence, you’d traded kisses all the while—yours on his hair, his on your neck. 

But suddenly, a low buzzing noise cuts your reunion short: his phone is ringing.

When he makes no effort to answer, still breathing heavily in your embrace, you twist in his arms and accept the call before he can protest. 

A familiar voice crackles over the line. “Boss?” Kieran asks. “Next meeting’s in 10. The one about those stolen shipments from Linkon—we’ve been waiting to hear back for months. You coming?”

Sylus doesn’t answer.

“…Boss?” Kieran repeats. “Boss, you there? You oka—”

Red and black mist shreds the phone into pieces. 

“Sylus!” you yelp, jumping in his lap. “What’d you do that for? He’ll probably be worried. And how will I text you now?”

You pout up at him, and as you study his chronically calm expression, you see something unusual: Sylus’s eye twitches. Just for a millisecond, only moving a millimeter, but you catch it.

“I’ll have a new one delivered tomorrow. As for the meeting, I’ll stay here,” he says lightly, a tight, closed-lip smile on his face.

“But Kieran said it was important,” you reply in confusion. “Why don’t you want to go? Are you feeling sick?” you frown, starting to lift off of him.

“No,” comes his too-quick reply. “It’s just…the twins can go in my stead,” he decides simply, moving to lean into you again.

But before he can move an inch, a rhythmic sequence of knocks sounds at the door.

“Come in!” you chirp happily, too excited to see the faces you’d missed the last few weeks to notice Sylus stiffening under you.

Immediately, the door swings open, revealing two masked figures. 

“Hi Luke, hi Kieran!” you beam, and they wave back at you eagerly.

“Long time no see,” Kieran begins. “Boss, did you lose signal or something? I tried calling you about the meeting, but I think it disconnected. Anyway, we’re about to head down and—”

“Cancel it,” a frustrated growl rings out.

You all freeze.

Somehow, you’d been too wrapped up in your excitement to feel Sylus's body shaking—no, quaking—beneath you.

“W-what? But they’re already here!” Luke sputters.

“Cancel. It.” Sylus grits out the words as if holding back a snarl, and the power in his voice leaves no room for argument. 

“O…kay,” the boys say in unison, and as they back away slowly, you shoot them a sympathetic look.

Red tendrils wrench the door shut behind them, and when you’re alone once more, it’s like the man under you deflates.

His head returns to the crevice of your neck with a soft but unceremonious thud, and his deep exhales and burning hot skin tell you he’s trying to calm himself down. 

Uncertain and a little amazed—you’d never seen him lose his composure—you give his cheek a gentle poke. “Sylus,” you whisper. Nothing. 

“Psst. Sylus,” you try again, and there’s some force behind your poke this time. With bated breath, you watch as your finger sinks into the space under his cheekbone, sighing in relief when the corner of his mouth twitches upwards. 

Lifting his head up to make eye contact, you smile at him softly. “Hi.”

“…Hi,” he rumbles, and as his crimson gaze softens, the remaining annoyance dissolves from his face.

“Are you upset?” you prod gently. 

A brazen scoff precedes the dry chuckles that fall from his lips. “And what makes you say that, kitten?”

A squint and a slight tilt of your head is all it takes. 

“I haven’t had you to myself in a while,” he begins cautiously. “Three weeks is…a long time. The longest we’ve been apart. And then the moment I have you in my arms, well…” he trails off, gesturing to the shards of phone on the table. “I just want to enjoy you right now. Undisturbed.”

“Oh, I see,” you coo, cupping his face in your hands. “Is this your way of saying you missed me too?” you quirk a brow.

“Yes,” he responds through squished cheeks, honest and unabashed. “Now, won’t you stay with me like this for a little longer?”

[loveanddeepdick]

ᯓ★ babydaddy!toji would never admit that he got jealous when you were around guys your age. he’d never get insecure, no, but he felt a deep pang of jealously in his chest. like he prayed that he had been born later so he could be more similar to you. your relationship with him was complicated. you were dating on and off but finally just settled as friends with benefits (who took care of a ridiculously cute baby together).

your parents often asked you why you dated a guy who was less than a decade away from being your father. your friends did the same too, not seeing the appeal in being with a “broke old man”. you never understood why toji just scoffed and looked away. it was out of character since he’d usually just cuss people out.

babydaddy!toji who let his jealousy show a little too much when you ran into an old high school friend of yours while you were out shopping. toji had to piss and you were waiting outside when he came up to you. shit, you didn’t even recognize him at first and the conversation was merely small talk but when toji came out, he had his arm around your waist, his hands coming down a little too low.

“this is your uh.. boyfriend, yeah?”, you friend asked, his eyes immediately going to the hand on your waist. most people just assumed you were single again.

“you could say that..”, you sheepishly replied, trying to swat toji’s hand away.

“tsk why’re you acting like i didn’t just dick you down and you didn’t carry my baby, ma? course you’re mine”, toji scoffed, looking away.

your eyes dart from your friend’s to his and it finally clicked. he was jealous. with a small smile, you excused yourself and tugged on the hem of toji’s shirt, signaling him to walk out to his car. the walk there was filled with short protests from him and silence from you. of course, he didn’t mean it, he loved this kind of attention from you. as you got to his car you rummaged through his pants pocket to grab his keys—not being shy to graze his dick—and unlocked the car.

babydaddy!toji who’d never admit he was jealous, even when you two were making out in the middle of a mall parking lot with your hand on his crotch.

“admit it, you still—ah, you still love me and you were jealous”

“course i fuckin love you—fuck yeah,keep your hand there—we’re long over, ma. didn’t you say we were just friends with benefits?”

“you’re avoiding the question, toji”

he had his hands all over you at this point, tugging at your shirt but you pulled away and furrowed your eyebrows.

“admit that you were jealous, old perv”

“fuck—fine. i was jealous. i hate seeing you with men younger than me. makes me feel old. happy now, doll?”, he leaned in again, grabbing your face as you kissed back with a smirk.

“yeah, i’m elated”, you grinned, trailing your hand up to play with his dark happy trail and dipping it in his sweatpants.

“don’t be a fuckin brat, ma. m’gonna give you a second snotty little shit if you keep this up”, toji growled, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone

“yeah?“, you smirked, tangling your fingers in his hair as you guided him down, “keep that promise and maybe we’ll get married”

babydaddy!toji who was definitely going to take you in the backseat for hours. fuck driving home.

babydaddy!toji who nearly died at the spot from the news of you being pregnant not with just one baby, but twins. you ended the year with a ring and a freshly painted nursery.

[lacyblades]

౨ৎ baby daddy!satoru who wants needs you back.

in fact, you should've known he was playing a game the instant that text blinked onto your screen: pick your daughter up from his place, not school. a casual oops, totally forgot it was your day! that sent a shiver of unease down your spine.

what choice did you really have? the entire drive to that too-familiar house, your nerves were a tangled mess. pulling into the driveway, parking crookedly in your haste, the only thing screaming in your head was this used to be ours.

this small, unassuming house, a world away from the sterile grandeur of his old penthouse. the first grand gesture of your marriage had been this new place.

"the bigger the house," satoru had murmured against your bare skin that first night, "the further i'd have to be from you." so, your mornings had begun with tangled limbs and hurried kisses, and your evenings had ended in the same breathless way.

it had been the kind of dizzying happiness you foolishly thought would last forever. but then the cracks had started to show – the endless work trips, the hollow promises of things changing. he had gotten better, ironically, after the papers were signed.

satoru stood in the doorway, that infuriatingly charming, utterly knowing smirk plastered across his face. your gaze darted around the living room, a quick, almost desperate search. "where's she?" you asked, trying to keep the tremor out of your voice.

his reply was a casual flick of his wrist. "oh, she's at a friend's."

a harsh scoff escaped you. arms crossed tight against your chest, you scoffed, "what? why? i drove all the way out here!"

"you were coming anyway," he purred, those soft puppy-dog eyes locking onto yours. "i can bring her back later. thought we could, you know… catch up."

"catch up?" you repeated, incredulous. "are you serious right now? we're not catching up, satoru. we're divorced."

but those eyes. they always had been your undoing. and somehow, against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing to this ridiculous "catch-up." you'd pictured awkward small talk over lukewarm tea, maybe a stale cookie.

not this. not being bent in a cruel mating-press, his body a brutal, insistent press against yours, fucking you with a desperate hunger that stole your breath and any semblance of rational thought.

"god, it's been so fucking lo- long since i felt this," he grunted, his hips slamming into you with a possessive force that made you cry out. "this tight little cunt clenching - shit - around me like that."

"ah, 'toru," you gasped, your fingers digging into the hard muscles of his back, clinging on for dear life.

"been even longer si- since i heard you say my name like that." his sweaty bangs were plastered to his forehead, a flush creeping up his neck. his pace was relentless, each thrust deeper, harder, a raw, primal need driving him. he hadn't touched anyone since you, didn't want to.

tears streamed down your face, a messy mix of pain and something dangerously close to pleasure. and that bastard, your soon-to-be-not-ex-husband-anymore, thought you looked beautiful. his thick cock stretched you, filled you completely, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

"did you miss this, huh?" he muttered, his voice thick with lust. "because i fucking did. bet- bet no one else makes you feel like this."

a choked whine escaped you as his teeth sank into your shoulder, a stinging sensation hitting. you can't think of a response, literally. you can't even think of your own name - you can't remember.

all that mattered was the way he was making you feel, the dizzying spiral of sensation. and in the name of "catching up," he makes you come, at least half a dozen shattering orgasms ripping through you before he finally relented, burying his face in the space between your tits.

he looked up at you, panting, a triumphant smile playing on his lips. "so… about moving back in?"

fuck those puppy-dog eyes.

[thephantomsdream]

Can't stop thinking about Captain John Price, your good friend's boyfriend, listening to you talk about how you are considering getting a guard dog, and he whole-heartedly agrees with you. John likes you, you're a fantastic friend to his dove and you're sweet, and sweet girls do need protection. So he nods along and tells you he'll look into getting you one, a big one to protect you.

Two weeks later, you're invited to your friend's house, her telling you days before that John might have gotten you a dog, so to prepare! She wasn't sure, he just hinted at it on the phone.

Tell me why, after knocking at your bestie's door, she opens kinda pale and awkward, maybe even a little bit annoyed, inviting you in. Instead of a proper, legit, literal dog, John introduces you to Simon Riley, who stands there awkwardly but tall and intimidating while your friend apologizes, calling her boyfriend an idiot. But John isn't an idiot. For a while now, he thought you'd be perfect for his Lt., this just a funny way to introduce you both. And the only thing that took Simon to agree (after a sharp yet bored no when firstly asked) was to send him a picture of you at a bar, smiling.

Extra:

"So... you come with a leash?" You joke with the tall man, whose eyes wrinkle in amusement. He has been more on the silent side although very atentive, his intense brown eyes on you all evening. Now that you were both alone at the balcony, abandoned by the two love-birds, you tried to ease the tension.

"I don't do leashes but I can pull a spiky collar." He smiles as you giggle. Hell, he felt relief that you did. Even happiness...

"Yeah, it would fit you."

"Yeah?" His voice was low and buttery. "What about a tag with your name on it?" He leans down a little, just enough in your personal bubble, and your stomach flipped. You felt your cheeks warm.

"Can it be heart shaped?" You stare prettily at him and all he can do is to snort to ease the tension.

"However you want it." His reply was quick, eager.

"Deal. But first take me on a proper date."

"Perfect." He smirks.

[ilovolderman]

Playing It Cool

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam’s getting way too suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, laundry room shenanigans, sam wilson being done

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam didn’t sleep well.

It wasn’t the coffee. It wasn’t even the lingering PTSD from a week spent chasing Hydra remnants. No, this was different.

This was gut feeling. Instinct.

He was standing in the kitchen, hair wild, hoodie misaligned, and eyes like a war veteran who’d seen things and couldn’t unsee them. The clock blinked a smug 7:03 a.m. He poured black coffee like a man betrayed by the very concept of sleep.

That’s when he saw it.

Two mugs on the counter.

One had your initials. The other—a vintage WWII fighter plane sticker. It hadn’t been there last night. He knew, because he always did a final kitchen sweep before bed. Counters clean. Dishes put away. Mugs? Accounted for.

His eye twitched.

“…Barnes,” Sam whispered.

He crouched slowly, inspecting the mugs like they might start confessing their crimes.

Then the hallway creaked. Sam turned so fast he sloshed coffee onto his hoodie.

You entered the room, yawning dramatically, hoodie sleeves engulfing your hands.

“Morning,” you mumbled.

Sam squinted. “Is it? Is it really?”

You blinked. “…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, with the exact tone of a man who was absolutely not fine. He walked to the table and pulled out a chair like it owed him money. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“Because I have questions.”

“I’m not under interrogation.”

“You are now.”

“…Sam.”

“Tell me what you were doing between 0500 and 0700 hours.”

“Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

You squinted. “What kind of creepy follow-up—?”

Sam narrowed his eyes like a raccoon about to steal a whole rotisserie chicken. “I knew it. There’s a cover-up.”

You grabbed a piece of toast and headed for the hallway. “There’s a cover-up on your brain, Wilson.”

“I’ve seen the signs,” Sam called after you. “The glances! The whispers! The ‘accidental’ brush of hands during mission briefings!”

“Maybe I’m just clumsy!” you yelled.

“And matching mugs?”

“That sticker was mine first!”

Before Sam could yell something, Bucky entered the room, with aexpression criminally smug. He looked like the kind of man who had just done something worth hiding.

“Morning,” Bucky said, voice low and gravelly. He moved to the coffee pot.

Sam’s eyes followed him like a hawk on its sixth espresso.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m great,” Sam replied. “Y/N just left.”

“Cool.”

“Came in lookin’ real tired.”

“People get tired.”

“You look real tired.”

Bucky paused, looked Sam dead in the eye. “You implying something?”

Sam sipped his coffee. “I don’t know. You implying something?”

They stared each other down. The air crackled. Somewhere in the distance, a tumbleweed rolled by. A raven cawed.

“You need sleep,” Bucky muttered.

“I’ll sleep when the truth sleeps,” Sam snapped back.

Then Sam dramatically left the room—only to storm back in ten seconds later to grab a banana. He peeled it with authority and left again.

Later that morning, when Sam had finally left for a jog—or more accurately, a neighborhood reconnaissance mission—you found yourself back in the kitchen. You were putting away a dish, humming quietly to yourself, when a pair of warm arms slid around your waist.

You didn’t jump. You never did when it was him.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured against your neck, voice soft now, stripped of the earlier smugness he reserved for sparring with Sam. His lips brushed your skin like a secret.

“Hey yourself,” you whispered, leaning back into his chest. “You’re not worried Sam’s going to install surveillance cameras?”

“He probably already has.” You both laughed.

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “I left my mug out on purpose, you know.”

You turned your head to look at him, brow raised. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugged, expression boyishly proud. “He’s been circling for weeks. Figured we’d give him a trail to follow. Let the man feel like he cracked the case.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You are so chaotic.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

You turned in his arms, resting your hands on his chest. “Yeah… I kinda do.”

He kissed you then. Slow. Sweet. Familiar. The kind of kiss that said, even with a super-spy roommate and questionable mugs, this? This is real.

Later that night you bumped into Sam, sitting on the couch. He was hunched forward, elbows on knees, staring ahead

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice low and suspicious, eyes narrowing like you’d just confessed to treason.

You froze. “Uh. Laundry?”

“Interesting,” he said, voice dripping with suspicion. “You know who else said they had laundry tonight?”

You blinked. “…Literally everyone who owns clothes?”

Sam didn’t smile. He leaned in, voice lowering like he was revealing national security secrets. “Barnes. Same night. Same floor. Same time.”

You paused just long enough to regret getting out of your room.

“It’s a laundry room, Sam,” you said flatly. “That’s how they work. People… use it.”

“Mmmhm,” he replied, writing something cryptic in his notebook. The pen squeaked aggressively against the page.

Just then, the door swung open—and in walked Bucky Barnes, freshly showered, damp hair swept back like a shampoo commercial, whistling something suspiciously upbeat.

 “Y/N. Wilson,” he greeted smoothly.

“Barnes,” Sam said, staring like he was trying to burn a hole through his soul with his eyes.

You smiled. Just a regular smile. Harmless. No romantic undertones. Just two coworkers… being cordial.

Totally.

 “You know... I was asking Y/N here,” Sam said, still squinting, “about her suspiciously coordinated laundry schedule.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “Must be fate.”

You coughed, choking down a laugh.

Sam slammed his notebook shut with the kind of theatrical flair that screamed “I was born for this drama.”

“Enough. You think I’m not onto you. But I see things.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You seeing ghosts again?”

“I’m seeing clues, Barnes. Don’t play dumb. You two doing laundry together. The mugs. The vanishing act during last Tuesday’s debrief—twenty minutes. Both of you. Gone.”

You opened your mouth, searching for a reasonable explanation, but let’s be honest—this was Sam. There was no “reasonable” left. This man had turned your laundry schedule into a covert op.

You crossed your arms. “We went to get snacks.”

“Snacks,” Sam echoed flatly.

“Yes,” you said, trying to maintain dignity. “You know. Human food. Fuel. Chips. The sacred post-mission ritual.”

Sam’s expression didn’t change. “For twenty minutes.”

“There was a vending machine incident,” Bucky added smoothly, stepping closer, unbothered. “Y/N had a standoff with a bag of peanut M&Ms. It got intense.”

You rolled your eyes as Bucky leaned casually against the doorframe, looking way too smug for someone being accused of laundry-based espionage.

Sam was relentless. “You think this is a game? Because I’ve got spreadsheets. I’ve got charts. I have timestamps.”

“I’m flattered,” Bucky replied, folding his arms. “Didn’t realize I was your top case file.”

“You’re not,” Sam snapped. “You’re just the most suspicious.”

You shook your head, already backing toward the hallway. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go… do the thing. With the clothes. Like a normal human person.”

“Sure you are,” Sam muttered, squinting again like he was two seconds away from installing security cameras.

“Goodnight, Wilson,” Bucky said with a wink. And then—because of course—he followed you out.

“Hey!” Sam called. “This isn’t over!”

You didn’t turn around, but you did hear the sound of him furiously scribbling in that cursed notebook again.

You and Bucky sat side by side on top of the industrial dryer, the hum of the spinning machines filling the quiet room. A single overhead light flickered occasionally, casting a soft glow over the laundry baskets at your feet. The scent of fabric softener lingered in the warm air.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” you murmured, folding a hoodie with unnecessary precision.

“He already has,” Bucky said, smirking. “Tried to stick a tracker in my jacket this morning.”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his. “We should start leaving fake clues. Plant a puzzle piece under his pillow. Hang a tie in the garage.”

“I already put a sock in the fridge,” Bucky said casually, reaching over to pull a warm towel from the dryer.

You turned to look at him, mouth open in delight. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Red. Argyle. No explanation.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I love you.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “I know.”

You went quiet for a beat, letting the rhythm of the machines and the safe warmth between you fill the space. His knee rested against yours. The scent of his cologne barely clung to the edge of his freshly laundered shirt.

He reached for your hand, twining his fingers through yours beneath the basket of still-warm socks. “He’s getting close, though. We are getting pretty obvious.”

“You wanna stop?” you asked, turning toward him.

He looked at you—really looked. And it was all soft eyes, steady presence, and a patience you hadn’t known you needed until him.

“Not a chance.”

Bucky smiled, warm and easy, and pressed his forehead lightly to yours.

“So,” you whispered, “what are we going to do when Sam actually proves something?”

“We deny everything.”

You laughed. “Even under interrogation?”

“Especially under interrogation.”

One day, he’d prove it.

But not today.

Meanwhile in the living room, Sam was writing in his notebook. On the top of the page:

CASE #110: They’re DEFINITELY Dating. And beneath it, scrawled in increasingly frantic handwriting:

shared laundry = suspicious

“Coincidentally” always sitting next to each other

Y/N smiled at him like he invented air.

Bucky smiled back.

FRIDAY pinged softly. “Sir, your blood pressure is elevated.”

“Because there’s a LIE in this house, Friday!”

War was still on.

But as long as you had Bucky Barnes looking at you like you were his whole world?

You were definitely still winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2

A/N: it's me again, hi. just wanted to say a big thank you for all the comments and feedback i've been getting from all of you. never thought that a one-shot could turn into a series with already SEVEN PARTS. anyway, just thank you all again. i hope you're liking where this is going. see you next chapter <3

next part

[chososcutie]

⟡ ݁₊˚⊹ SWEETHEART, SORRY IM LATE, I WAS LOOKING EVERYWHERE FOR YOU ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ synopsis♡: when one fateful day leads to you being cursed, you go on a mission to find the infamous satoru gojo and his castle, but little do you know you’d find yourself in his bed later that night..

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ featuring♡: satoru gojo x reader

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ tags♡: unprotected sex, riding, oral (fem!recieving), mating press, praise, making out, p in v, cervix kissing, big dick gojo!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ a/n♡: howl’s moving castle is my favorite studio ghibli film ever, so you already know i had to write a fanfic about it!

—𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ w/c♡: 4.5k

"oh, darling won't you come out of that hat shop with us, you're truly overworking yourself!"

you smile softly, eyes flickering over to where your expectant sisters stood watching you, before looking back at the vibrant purple hat you had been working on, threading through with flowers. "oh no, i couldn't. you all go ahead, though."

they giggle softly at your reply, already well-acquainted with your firm work ethics and habits of almost never leaving the shop, tossing a, "suit yourself!" over their shoulders.

and as the door closes behind them, leaving you to stare at all of the colorful creations of caps littering your desk, you sigh, leaning back to take them all in.

maybe you had been working too hard..

being the eldest daughter of your family, you had been entrusted with the shop from a young age, making and sewing up hats for a living. it had been your father's, though now had been passed down to your mother, who had appointed you as an apprentice, although you were practically the only one who crafted and fabricated everything, and though the work was quiet and calming, it did tend to get rather boring at times.

the interior of the shop was tiny and just a bit cramped, every available surface being taken by assortments of feathery, patterned hats in almost every color. brown, old, and creaking rows of shelves surrounded your working area along with coatracks dipping under the weight of all the caps resting on them.

and though it wasn't much, it was yours.

you continued working for another hour, listening to the rickety clock on your wall tick tick tick away, with an impending sense of dull weariness.

was this all you were ever meant to do?

finally, you push back in your chair with a squeak! decidedly grabbing your hat and plucking it on your head, locking and closing the shop door with a resolute slam.

you would get out and see the town to clear your head. it wasn’t good to lock yourself away in the shop for too long, so you needed to breathe some fresh air before you started working again, and find some inspiration.

and so, you venture out through the hustle and bustle of crowded markets, trains whistling and blowing gray smoke as they chuff along, and the bumping of carriages along stoney paths.

the air grows thick with the amount of people thronging around you, spilling heedlessly in countless directions, and after more than one person gets in your way and abruptly stops, you huff, veering off toward a side alleyway.

it wasn't ideal but it would just have to..

bump!

“hey, what’s a pretty thing like you doing all alone? you lost, sweetheart?”

a slightly heavier set, blonde man leaned in front of you on a wall, blocking your path. he smiled down at you condescendingly, but it lacked any actual warmth, all teeth instead.

“n-no sir, i’m not lost.” you manage to stammer out, trying to duck past him, but seemingly out of nowhere his companion sidles up next to him, bumping his hip and peering down at you, his mean brown eyes and thick mustache seeming menacing in the dim lighting.

“you sure?” his friend snickers, one gloved hand reaching for your side and spinning you around to press against his chest, a sinisterly unfamiliar cologne surrounding and practically suffocating you with its intensity. “why don’t we show you the way home?”

“leave me alone!” you gasp out, trying to break free from their suddenly too-tight grip on you.

“there you are sweetheart, sorry i’m late, i was looking everywhere for you.”

your body stiffens as a large, warm hand comes to grasp gently at your wrist, tugging you away from the two men, and spinning you around to lay eyes on the most beautiful man you had ever seen.

his eyes were azure colored and half-lidded, his voice low and resonant throughout the empty alleyway. he was dressed extravagantly with a poofy white button-up and red and black pattered overcoat flowing loosely behind him, and as his eyes meet yours, something warm twinges in your stomach, the feeling spreading all down your body hotly.

his gaze flickers away to the men still stood there, as if noticing them for the first time, and something about him sharpens, voice noticeably colder. “oh? and what are you two doing?”

"hey, we were just.." the blonde one's voice raises indignantly, trying to pull you back to them with a hasty tug.

"leaving." the blue-eyed man behind you finishes, his other hand lifting to raise his pointer finger and slice it to the side, causing the two men to immediately break into a march, boots landing heavily as they stomp away in sync.

"wha.. how did you?" you stare up at him in wonder, his own flicking down to your face with a small little smirk tugging at his lips.

"magic. now hang on!"

before you can even reply, he's grabbing you by the hand, and lifting you effortlessly up, up, up, into the sky, floating alongside him high above the town, all the people below you seemingly tiny dots scattered around the vibrant landscaping.

"oh!" you exclaim, fearfully clinging onto him as you feel weightless, the air whooshing below and around you.

"straighten your legs, it's okay.." the white-haired man whispers to you playfully, hands curling protectively around you. "now, start walking andd.. see! you're a natural!" he laughs softly at your hesitant steps into the air, growing more confident as he holds you up with ease.

the ground becomes a blur as you match each other's steps, airily floating as if it were any other day, coasting in sync as colors whirl below you in a mess of banners and flags.

"so, where ya headed?" the man's sultry, honeyed tone interrupts you as you quickly turn to glance at him, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

"oh, i.. uh.. just the hat shop."

so much for your day out.

"hmm, a hat maker you are?" you follow his eyes to where they linger on your simple little sun hat adorned with red ribbon.

"something like that.."

he smiles as he glides over to the small overlooking balcony outside your workshop, helping you down easily, your wide eyes gazing up at him as he prepares to leave again.

"make sure to be more careful next time you're out, mmkay? not everyone around here is quite as gentlemanly as me." his tousled, snowy white hair billows around him as he grins down at you teasingly.

" 'kay.." you nod shyly, and he begins to back up, smile widening.

"good girl."

and blowing a kiss to you, he jumps back off the balcony, eliciting a small gasp from you as you instantly rush over to press yourself against it, straining for a better look.

but he's already gone, practically dissipated into thin air.

with a tired sigh, and a combing of your fingers through messy hair, you lock the door to your shop with a click! before slumping down to the floor.

it had been a long day, and just as you're starting to relax, you hear a small, telltale tinkling of the bell that hangs above your door, alerting you when new customers arrive.

"hello? sorry ma'am we're closed right now." you start to stand up, noticing the woman in front of you, her face slightly flushed and eyebrows scrunched, as if in anger.

her figure is awfully plump, with a round, chubbed neck and doughy arms that hang out of her dress like deflated balloons.

her makeup is done rather sharply, as if made to look intimidating with hooked eyeliner and boldly colored eyeshadow, all accompanied by rouge red lipstick and a mole on the side of her mouth.

"why, you!" she stops right in front of you, lifting her─many─chins to stare down the bridge of her flat nose at you. "it was you he was floating around with this afternoon?"

you stiffen. she couldn't possibly mean..

"that wretch!" she hisses angrily. "eleven miserable years of my life spent chasing him! and this is what he does?" she slams her hand down on the counter loudly, causing you to flinch.

"please leave now! we're closed!" you say, your voice taking on a more firm tone as you try not to tremble, straightening yourself up.

she wheels around at you then, as if having forgotten you were there, still rambling on with passion. "oh? standing up to the most powerful witch, are we?"

her overdone, puckered lips draw up into a sinister little grin as you start to back up, unsure of yourself now.

witch?

"since he likes you so much, let's see if you can win over my precious, when i haven't been able to in more than a decade!"

black oozing spirits erupt from her flabby form, rushing over to you as you stand agape, horrified.

"and if you don't manage to fully capture his fleeting heart, you will die!"

all of a sudden, a cloying murky fog drifts in the homey space of the shop, invading your every sense, and clogging your nose tightly.

"what..?" you gasp, but all at once, it surges over to you, enveloping you in its tepid humidity, your mouth gulping in thick heaves of it, pouring into your throat, mouth, eyes, and nose with tendrils extending out of you, like a possession of your very body.

and then.. all is silent as darkness settles upon you, save for the fading echoes of the evil witch's deep, resounding laugh booming throughout the night.

when you open your eyes again, peeking out through your fingers carefully, you don’t feel different, with the exception of a vague, lingering sense of fear.

you were still plain ol' regular you, the you that stayed in working all day and turned down invitations to go out, opting to sew hats instead.

but something was.. off.

what had happened last night to make you so dazed, and memories so jumbled up?

and then, as quickly as it had been evading you, it all comes rushing back─ the man who had floated you into the air as if in a dream, the witch appearing, the sound of her cackle as she cursed you..

when you think back on the specifics of the spell she had cast however, you feel yourself pale, hands falling to your sides limply.

you were supposed to make the mysteriously magical guy that you had met yesterday fall in love with you? when you didn’t even know his name, or who he was?

that was practically impossible.

taking a deep breath, you desperately begin to wrack your brain for ideas as you try not to panic or think about the cruel ways the witch would kill you if you didn’t end up being capable of it.

one way you knew however that would be worth a shot to undo the curse, would be to find a well-practiced witch or wizard, and have them lift the curse from you, saving you a lot of time having to look for the elusive man and making him love you.

but.. there was no guarantee it would work.

you sigh heavily, trying to calm yourself down. that would mean leaving your town behind to move toward the wastelands where the witches resided, and in turn, leaving your faithful little shop, the only place you’d ever known to travel in the hopes for a remedy.

and so, it was with great strength that you straightened yourself up, huffing determinedly, and placing your hat firmly upon your head before heading out, intent on finding a way to break the curse before it was too late..

to the far west of the town, where weeds ran wild and the flowers never bloomed, muddy trails streaked across the land in brown stripes, was where you found it.

a creaking thing, four-legged and made of rotting wood with rusty pipes haphazardly sticking out of it, emitting black curling smoke to twine through the air, its agape, timber mouth and chipping, corroded eyes bringing a shiver to your spine.

gojo’s castle.

you had heard of it many times from your sisters, stories varying from grossly evil reenactments of how he devoured the hearts of beautiful women in search of his own, to tales of his haunting beauty, with glowing, cerulean eyes that were the last thing you'd ever see of the world, never being able to tell a soul.

and then it occurs to you.

of course! gojo was the most powerful wizard of them all, wielding magic that left no trace, going along with his cold reputation and secretive identity.

he could easily remedy the curse placed upon you with a snap! of his deadly fingers, but with the consequence that you still might not leave alive.

you look back up at the faltering, tarnished castle beginning to build up speed as it strode along.

it was now or never.

and so, with a running start and a leap of faith, you manage to clamber aboard the quickly taking-off oxidized clunker, clutching on to the door handle tightly before the wind practically shoves you inside, falling to the floor in a heap with a little, “oof!”

and when you look back up, rubbing your head with a wince, the enormity of the castle stretches before you, all glittering details that suggest riches, and antique, aged wooden furniture, cobwebs crowding near the top of the roof from the impossible vastness of it all.

slowly, you make it to your feet again, looking down all of the many stretching hallways for a sign of life, your steps clicking on the tiled floor ominously.

“hello? anyone here?” you call out, but to no avail.

eventually, your steps lead you to a small, tucked away room, filled with heaps of glinting trinkets and worn carpet that suggested someone had been here many times before.

there are bookshelves with dusty paperbacks piled atop them and shiny frames, but your interest was in the hefty bed shoved in the center, dipping under the weight of quilted blankets thrown lazily across it, and antique floral pillows that looked alike to a grandmother’s.

from the hours of walking that it had taken you to get here, your feet ached and your eyelids were already starting to droop from exhaustion.

all you needed was a nice sleep, and after evaluating your choices, your fatigue eventually wins as with a soft sigh, you shed your slightly muddied clothes into a pool on the floor, and trudge to the edge of the bed, lifting the heavy covers to slide in, your breathing slowing as you drift off, blissfully unaware of the warmth radiating from someone next to you.

darkness covers the room, so you don’t notice when you turn over on your side and press your soft tits against a moving, breathing body next to you, slinging your leg across him and drifting back off.

but he does, stirring awake with a sleepy murmur and tired, blue eyes blinking open only to freeze on your face, his cock hardening painfully in his pants instantly.

it couldn’t be..

you yawn sleepily, shifting closer only for your hand to drape itself directly across his lap,

fuck.

his eyes squeeze shut, breathing coming in soft, short pants as he tries to control himself.

this was so wrong, you were sleeping, completely unaware of..

your eyes flutter, and you groan as your hand curls around something hot, heavy, and pulsing, twitching beneath your touch frantically.

immediately, his face flushes a tinge pinker, eyes growing half-lidded and his breaths coming faster. wake up, wake up, wake up.

and then with a small yawn, your eyes blearily open to blink drowsily at your surroundings, startling only when they land on the pleading, blue eyed man next to you, hips unintentionally pushing up into your hand for more.

you scramble backward as your eyes land on where you’re tightly gripping him, gasping with surprise and already stumbling over an apology.

“i-i’m so sorry, i swear i didn’t know there was someone in here or i would’ve..”

but before you can stutter out another word, his mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you hard, lips crashing onto yours a little uncertainly, as if he was lacking the experience, only making up for it in eagerness as he quickly finds the softness of your hip, pulling you closer and tugging your leg over him so the heat of your core is against him.

and then, as suddenly as he had been on you, he pulls back, face still shadowed and lined with the darkness of night as you gasp for breath from the intensity of it all.

you lean closer to him, causing your plushy tits to press up against his arm as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark, only being able to see a faint outline of the man before you.

“i’m trying to control myself, but you’re making it a bit hard, sweetheart.” his voice is deep, slightly hoarse, and familiar all at once though you can’t quite place where you know him from.

you feel warmth pooling between your legs and lean forward, your hair tickling his face as you prop yourself up atop him.

“are you gojo? the wizard who eats the hearts of pretty girls?” you breathe out, rubbing your thighs together subtly.

he swallows thickly, lips parting slightly as his hand slowly makes its way to squeeze the soft, supple skin of your thighs as if grounding himself, his body feverish beneath yours as you feel his raging bulge poking into you with every small movement you make.

"s-something like that, although right now i'm thinking of eating something else.." his large hands skim slightly over your inner thighs, grazing the hot, gushing flood of wetness that had already begun to seep from your panties generously, one long thick finger curling slightly to press on your throbbing lil' clit like a button, your pink lips parting in a gasp as your eyes roll back immediately.

“y-you..” but your words immediately die in your throat as the bed dips and creaks as he rolls you over so he’s on top of you before pressing soft kisses all the way down your body, breathing out a soft, “s’this okay?” to which you quickly nod, already breathless for more.

and then he’s tugging your panties down in one swift motion, and exhaling sharply at the sight of your dripping cunt all laid bare before him, the feeling of the cool air grazing you making you squirm slightly.

two warm, large palms spanning across your waist hold you down as he nuzzles his head between your thighs, placing a chaste kiss to your pussy before pulling back, strings of arousal already attached to his lips.

“mmh.. so sweet.” he quickly buries himself between your legs, busying his mouth with lapping at you like a man starved, his tongue dipping into your honeyed cunt for more as the tip of his pert, button nose nudges against your clit.

“g-gojo!” you gasp out, your head falling back onto the pillows and back arching up helplessly as he uses hot, calculated sweeps of his tongue to stroke against you perfectly, slippery drool stringing sloppily between your legs.

“please..” he grunts, sucking your sensitive, twitchy bundle of nerves into his mouth before releasing with a sticky pop! “call me satoru.”

“satoru.. fuck!” you moan softly, body desperately curving up as you grind against his face for more friction which he lets out a pleased groan at, hands coming to your hips to rock you back and forth, suffocating himself in your warmth.

he quickly throws your legs over his broad shoulders, his head shaking side to side as he sticks out his tongue, gathering all of your honeyed slick with eagerness while you can only writhe and cling onto the snowy locks of his tousled hair tightly, tossing your head back with every loud moan he draws out of you.

it's only when you glance down that you notice the way his hips are desperately rutting against the creaking mattress, humping his throbbing, raging boner into the cushy bed for some form of relief as he eats you out vigorously, parting your sappy folds with his lengthy, dextrous tongue.

“castle gets lonely..” he mumbles into your pussy, the vibrations rocketing up your spine and causing a whine to get stuck in your throat as your stomach knots achingly tighter, the tang of your release on your tongue. “so m’so glad you decided to stop by..”

your eyes glassily cross, barely able to think or hear what he’s saying above the roar of blood crashing in your ears and your heavy breathing, hips twitching up into his mouth and thighs trembling as your stomach aches with the intensity of it all.

and then his whole mouth is covering your core, hot strings of spit mingling with your own sultry mess to streak down your thighs obscenely, and the stimulation turns out to be too much, as all at once your vision turns spotty and you're cumming hard, saturated shimmery squirt just gushing out of you as your body turns into a trembling, whining mess beneath him, sensitivity making your thighs clamp hard around his head.

and as he laps up every drop of your candied cunt, lips glossy and splotches of your sticky wetness pooling across his face, you can only shudder as he continues to suck and slurp at you, until you're desperately pushing him away, the tingling of overstimulation starting to settle over you in pulsing waves.

he sits back, out of breath and you see the slippery sheen of your essence dripping off his glistening chin in droplets, as he eyes you hungrily, like he hasn't had enough until he devours you whole.

he slowly makes his way back up to your face, your back hitting the plush mattress with a thump! as he pins you down, head lazing in a downward angle to draw your attention to the achingly painful, twitching bulge in his pants, sexy half-lidded blue eyes opening just wide enough for you to lock eye-contact.

blue? why did that remind you of someone..

but all of your thoughts are lost the second he's sliiiding his pants down and revealing the neatly trimmed, tufted white happy trail leading all the way to a massive, blushing pink cock, veiny and girthy with milky precum frosting out his tip so prettily.

his lip catches between his teeth as he wraps around himself with one hand, and begins to pull upward in rough-paced tugs, as his head lolls back, more stringy precum coming to gloss over his thickened mushroom head.

"you just gonna watch, or are ya gonna help me out here, doll?" he huskily drawls out, shuddering as you immediately spring to action, coming to straddle his lap in one fluid movement, desperately aligning yourself flush with his heavy cock and sinking down just on the chubbed, rounded tip with a grimace at how enormously big he was.

he makes a gruff noise, leaning back as he helps you to slowly work your way down onto his length, taking every thumping! veiny inch of him to meld into your hot, clenching walls, jaw falling slack at the pure effort it is just to fit him halfway.

"oh g-god, sweetheart.." he chokes out and you feel him pulsating and twitching faintly inside you as if he's fighting back the urge to cum right then and there, his hair flopping into his eyes as he rocks forward slightly.

and then, one thick finger is finding itself on your clit, gliding across the wetness just pouring out of you in sultry sheens as he guides you to take him, and almost instantly, your cunt greedily swallows him to the hilt, a faint bulge outlining his cock stretching all the way up past your belly button generously.

"good.. hah.. girl, taking me so well." he breathes out, and then his jittery lap is already bouncing you slowly, unable to wait another second as you feel his hefty length tracing sweltering hot strokes deep inside you, rolling his hips upward as he pants feverishly, a hand draping its way around your waist and pulling you closer.

drool pours down the side of your mouth helplessly as he moves you up and down on him, your pussy so stuffed and overspilling, it's almost obscene, though he seems to like it, cooing soft praises to you in encouragement.

"i betcha like this, yeah?" quickly grabbing ahold of your hips to get a better angle, he begins hitting into the cushy, soft spot of yours that always makes your legs weaken, smearing gooey precum from his bludgeony tip into you roughly, while the squelching between your legs grows louder, and more lewd with every thrust, the plap plap plap! of your sticky thighs ricocheting off his echoing throughout the vast castle.

he jolts his swollen head allll the way into your cervix, jackhammering with an urgency that leaves your mouth agape and tongue lolling as you feel your abdominals tighten, a familiar tautness creeping its way into your mind.

your pussy flutters around his length as his thrusts grow sloppy, and uncalculated, soft hair tickling you as he leans closer, his musky cinnamon-y scent infiltrating your every sense. "m' s'close my girl, i n-never.. hah.. thought this day would come." he shudders under your touch as you pause, bringing his face closer to truly examine it for the first time that night.

"wait- satoru?" and then, all the pieces come clicking together.

the magical man who had flown and twirled you around in the air was nothing other than the satoru gojo, owner of the infamous moving castle and the most powerful wizard of all time.

and it's then that he cums, spurting heaps n' heaps of creamy bucketloads of ribbony white. so much of it is pouring out, in fact, you swear your tummy swells up with it all, beginning to drip down your thighs in messy rivulets as gojo groans, unable to stop emptying himself heftily inside you.

your release follows just seconds later, as you soak his abdominals in your honeyed essence, slippery sheens coating him generously as he moans softly, still huffing from the effects of his own climax.

as you both come to, stars still blinking hazily behind your vision, you turn to him urgently. "g-gojo, the real reason i came here was 'cause.."

but he quickly shushes you, placing a finger on your pouty lips with a smirk curving up his features. "shh, baby i know, i know. you got a curse on ya, hm?"

you pause, taken aback. "how did you-"

he shakes his head. "in all truth, i was the one who sent her. i wanted to see you." he shifts himself to lean over you, bending your knees up to poke into your soft tits, grinning lazily down at you as he folds you into a mean, mating press. "and sweetheart, even if that love curse was real.. let's just say i already broke it, heh."

© 2025 CHOSOSCUTIE. please don't copy or translate any of my works. all rights reserved.

LIKES AND REBLOGS APPRECIATED!

tagslist: @brownied0ll @iluvgogurt445 @loafteaw @satoruswifeyyyyy @lunar-harts @springismss @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @luvvcho

[sixeyesonathiel]

clanhead!satoru, who grew up behind paper walls and formal greetings, thinks he’s doing fine. he doesn’t need warmth. doesn’t need partnership. definitely doesn’t need you. not your voice. not your gaze. not your hands reaching out in that quiet way they always do, halfway between anger and hope. he doesn’t need softness, doesn’t need mornings spent with knees brushing beneath the table, or nights curled around shared exhaustion. he doesn’t need any of that.

he keeps telling himself that.

you were arranged. names selected. lives assigned. there was no falling in love, no whirlwind romance. only obligation, and a shared contract, and two people who didn’t know each other at all. the clan called it a bond. satoru called it a sentence. and maybe, so did you. maybe you still do. but you're both too stubborn to say it out loud.

and yet, here you are. somehow, sharing a home that isn’t quite a home. circling around each other like bored cats, passive-aggressively polite, trading jabs like candy wrappers. it’s a miracle neither of you has murdered the other in your sleep. though, sometimes, it’s close. last week you slapped his shoulder with a ladle because he said your miso soup was “a little too philosophical.”

every morning, he wakes up alone in the house you both live in. passes your closed door, always closed, like a wall he isn’t meant to climb. makes his own coffee. glares at your mug next to his like it’s mocking him. sometimes he touches the handle like it might give him a sign. sometimes he almost washes it and puts it away, but doesn’t. not yet. not when you might still come down. not when the ghost of your presence still lingers in the air like perfume.

he starts narrating your morning habits in his head like he's in some tragic sitcom. “there she goes. my legally wedded stranger. master of mug placement. destroyer of peace.” he doesn’t say it aloud. mostly because you’d probably throw a pillow at him and then he’d have to feel something about that.

you’ve filed for divorce again. that’s five now. seven, if he’s honest. twice were his. he still doesn’t know why he ripped them up. they sat on the edge of his desk for days, heavy and clean and final. and then one night, he came home soaked in rain, looked at the envelope, and tore it to shreds like it meant nothing. it meant everything. he couldn’t breathe with it there. couldn’t sleep. couldn’t stop hearing your voice, even when the house was dead quiet.

maybe he’s just tired. maybe it’s the quiet way you look at him when you think he’s not paying attention. maybe it’s the way you always buy him those god-awful sunglasses, even though he hasn’t worn a pair in years. he lines them up on his desk like trophies. he doesn’t know what he’s competing for.

he doesn’t eat unless you cook. says the clan's food makes him sick. lies through his teeth. you roll your eyes every time, muttering, “go starve then.” and he almost does, until you slide a plate across the table an hour later. he stares at the food like it might vanish if he breathes wrong. he doesn’t say thank you. you don’t expect him to. but sometimes, he finds himself eating slower, like the warmth might linger longer that way.

“i’m not your maid,” you mutter once, shoving a bowl of miso soup toward him without looking.

“could’ve fooled me,” he replies. you hit him with a rolled-up magazine. he deserved it. he actually smiles into his spoon.

he didn’t know how to be with someone. he still doesn’t. no one taught him gentleness. no one told him how to reach across the silence and say something that mattered. he grew up with expectation in his bones and solitude in his chest. you grew up dreaming of something else. something soft. something kind. he wonders what version of yourself you had to kill to become the one sitting across from him now.

on bad days, you don’t speak at all. the tension hangs like wet fabric, clinging to everything. the walls feel closer. the air feels thinner. you text like strangers. argue like enemies. sleep like strangers, too. and yet… you still leave the porch light on when he’s out late. he still puts your laundry on the drying rack so it doesn’t wrinkle. you refill the coffee beans. he folds your sweaters when they’re left on the couch. no one mentions these things. maybe because if you said them out loud, they might count as hope. and hope, in this house, is more terrifying than anger.

sometimes he wonders if you even remember the day they told you. the day they said, “you’ll be marrying gojo satoru.” did you cry? did you laugh? did you try to run? he doesn't know. never asked. maybe he didn’t want to know. maybe he was afraid the answer would make him hate himself more.

he remembers the first time you touched him. it wasn’t romantic. just a hand on his wrist, steadying him when he almost tripped on the temple steps. but it lingered. it stayed with him longer than it should have. maybe because it felt real. because it was the first time in years he didn’t feel like a ghost inside his own body.

the first time you made him laugh was when you shoved a whole rice ball in his mouth mid-argument just to shut him up. he nearly choked. you didn’t apologize. he thinks that might’ve been the moment he fell a little in something with you. not love. not yet. but something dangerously adjacent.

he started doing small things too. placing your phone on the charger when you fell asleep watching dramas. hiding your favorite snack in the cabinet behind the protein powder because he knew you’d never look there. writing your name on his calendar, next to his meetings, like it was just as important.

this isn’t working. he knows that. it’s not love, not the kind that grows with laughter and time. it’s something else. something quiet. something fragile. it’s the way you both keep showing up, even when you have every reason not to. like a game of chicken no one wants to lose.

but for some reason, when the elders ask about the paperwork, he always shrugs and says, “she must’ve lost it again.” and when you’re alone in the same room, you always say the same thing. your voice is flat, practiced—but your hands tremble when you pick up the mug, and your eyes flick to his like they might say something your mouth won’t.

he wonders if you’re lying too.

and if you are, he wonders what it means that he hopes you are.

[aomiiine]

HE LOVES HIS OFFICER!

𐔌  .   𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆  ୧ ──── PRAEDATOR! SYLUS + ENFORCER! FEM READER

W☆RNINGS. N!SFW/MDNI (18+) — cockhead pinching, hate fucking vibes, orgasm denial/orgasm delay, cock ring, handjob, cock slapping (once), feral sylus, tame(?) bdsm-ish vibes, restraints (chains obv), a bit predator/prey dynamic, slight praise kink (reader), might be ooc sylus but idc lol, switch m & f, overstim, hints of corruption (sylus -> you), quite heavy degradation (reader to him & him to reader. ie; slut, bitch, animal, etc.), that tongue scene lmaoaoa, kind of (not canon) improvised lore at the end, ‘kitten’ is used twice i think, all smut no plot, not proofread wordcount is 1.7k edited to 1.9k

TAGLIST. @tinycatharsis @jellysix @wonryllis @tsukkisukkii @wonuwuuuuu

author’s comment. thinking ab making a small event for valentines day w the lnds guys based on the new banner.. tell me what u think abt this one though! also, this is just me exploring these kinks so pls pardon me if they aren’t well written :’) Comments and reblogs are deeply appreciated !! <3

“As if the frenzy enhancer wasn’t enough, you had to put a fucking cock-ring on me when I’m already this fucking hard, you slutty minx.”

Chains clanged and rattled from Sylus’s writhing, hands balling to fists in his attempt to yank the metal cuffs off him. It was in vain, of course, but you couldn’t blame him. You were tasked to interrogate him by your superior but here you were—absolutely torturing his big cock by denying every single orgasm.

It was almost sad honestly. The way his dick curved to his belly, abs flexing with every ragged breath he took. His tip leaked what seemed to be a steady stream of pre-cum staining his stomach, his arousal making a mess of the white nest on his pelvis, swollen shaft throbbing like a fucking heartbeat in anticipation on what your next move would be.

“The cock-ring was a necessary measure taken for you to speak. Since your mouth wont tell me the information I need, maybe your stupid cock will,” you scoffed at his glower, landing a slap onto his stiff cock, earning yourself a hiss. His teeth gritted and bared at you in obvious agitation from the endless heat running through his veins and the frenzy enhancer.

“Maybe if you stopped being a cruel bitch and let me cum already, I’d fucking speak.”

“Information first, reward later,” you replied swiftly, hand reaching out to wrap around his needy dick, stroking him half-heartedly, not even bothering to pay a sliver of attention to his weeping tip.

“Oh, fuck you.”

“No, thank you.”

Sylus groaned loudly, wrists tugging on the biting metal cuffs hanging over each side of his head. His breath quickened, guttural moans rumbling from his chest from the lazy strokes you gave him.

Sylus felt utterly humiliated that he was being so damn sensitive at the weak jerks of your soft palm around his slick cock, his hips rolling to fuck into your fist. His ego was bruised, but he wasn’t one to dwell on it. Instead, he’d like to move on and have you kiss fuck it better.

“Do you not know how to stroke a cock, kitten? Is my little enforcer a virgin?” Sylus’s voice was low and husky when he spoke, hands relaxing on the chain to lean down forward, his large and tall frame looming over your smaller one just before you could retaliate his remark.

The shadow sylus’s figure casted over yours was undeniably intimidating—especially so when his nearly crazed eyes gleamed at you in a predatory gaze. His head dipped closer to yours, stray strands of his white hair falling over his eyes as he searched for your irises.

It took every will in your body to not flinch, refusing to show him a single shred of weakness to exploit. Except, Sylus merely grinned at your bravado, tongue darting out to lick his lips as if he was staring at prey.

“Scared of a little proximity, my dear enforcer?” The mockery in his voice grated at your nerves, your features contorting into a grimace on instinct.

“You animal,” you seethed, grasp on his cock tightening to a point bordering on pain. Your praedator gasped sharply, leaning away to throw his head back in relief when you began stroking him, fast.

Every deliberate flick of your wrist brought hot white pleasure to his strained body, eyes closing shut with nothing but deep, drawn out groans leaving his throat. The chains began rattling against, muscles flexing with effort when he felt himself nearing an explosive orgasm.

“Yes— oh fuck, yes, make me cum, you dirty bitch,” he grunted in a near whimper, hips rocking upward uncontrollably when your hand began focusing on his crown. Your index finger and thumb created a circle around the head to stimulate his glans continuously, pads of your fingers purposely rubbing over the sensitive frenulum.

“Calling me a bitch when you’re the begging to cum like a manwhore,” you tsked disapprovingly, quickening your strokes while your glared intense at his deep red cock, the cock-ring tight on his base to keep him rock hard.

You didn’t miss the way his slit continued to leak, his arousal betrayed by the way he kept producing natural lube for you to use. “At least I’m honest—agh—fuck! I wanna cum so bad, baby, please,” Sylus stammered, head hung low with droplets of sweat falling down his flushed skin.

You considered showing him mercy at his plea, truly. His cock was throbbing around your fingers, balls drawn up tight to his body with pent up cum—why couldn’t you just let the poor man cum his brains out already?

“I don’t know.. I’m not getting the information I want,” you uttered teasingly, not truly contemplating the thought. Even if you did, the answer would always fall on ‘no’.

You could see how Sylus was on the edge of cumming with how his legs quivered subtly, abdomen muscles flexing and relax with each stroke. His cock was steaming hot in your hand, warm with fresh cum flowing up to his shaft. Yet just moments before he was about to release, your ministrations ceased, two fingers stopping just below his glans to pinch his sensitive flesh, forcefully halting his orgasm.

“Motherfucker—I was just about to fucking cum all over your uniform, you—” he snarled, nostrils flaring with every intake of breath. His nose scrunched up briefly in pure infuriation, eyes closed as he leaned his head back, the corners of his lips twitching to a smile.

“When I get out these chain, kitten, I’ll get back at you so fucking good, you’ll be crippled for weeks,” he huffed in a scoff before punctuating his threat with a harsh tug on the metal cuffs restraining him to the metal bars of the cage, the chains clattering loudly. His throat was stretched and exposed for you to see, skin glistening with perspiration and Adam’s apple bobbing.

The sudden motion startled you, sending your heart beating faster than it already was. Your assigned praedator was unhinged, you knew that much from his files—but you didn’t expect him to be this unhinged.

Despite that, it sent your heart racing rather than falling into the pit of your stomach. You felt excited, fucking thrilled even. Your pupils dilated as if you just found your fix, like a cat setting its sights on its newest toy.

“Mmhm, sure,” you muttered with a faint yet noticeable tremble to your voice. It caught Sylus’s attention in an instant.

the sweat sheened praedator finally lifted his head, tilting to the side with intrigue glinting in those crimson irises. “Are you liking this, kitten?” He said with his now hoarse voice, smirk stretching more than it should. “‘S that why you decided to make this cage for me? Using this place as your personal sex dungeon? Yeah, I see it. The eyes of the depraved.”

Sylus’s eyes narrowed with sadistic glee, no doubt pounding with satisfaction at the thought of corrupting his righteous enforcer and throbbing with an ongoing orgasm, cock still held in place by yours unwavering fingers.

It took you a moment to regain your composure, still reeling from the shot of adrenaline he gave you. Eventually, you caught yourself again, inhaling deeply before dropping your eyes to his cock between your digits, shaft still pumping with kept cum.

With a bite of your tongue, you released him of punishment, letting his cum spurt out onto his stomach in ropes.

”yesyesyesss— mmph, god fucking damn it!”

His balls pulsed with his length as thick, hot stuttering streams of semen dripped to the floor, your hand not hesitating to wrap around his girth, pulling his stiff dick towards you and letting his cum make white messes on your dark coloured uniform.

“There, I let you cum.” You spoke sounding just as winded as Sylus who was basking in the mind-numbing relief of emptying his balls to the fullest after accumulating it all in his cock for what felt like hours.

“You did.. Yes, you did, you good girl,” he slurred, no doubt basking in the afterglow shameless, hips thrusting shallowly into your hand for the slightest bit of friction.

A brow twitched when you heard him call you good girl all of the sudden. Your lashes batted at him, lips parted in surprise until your head dipped once more, averting your gaze.

The cock-ring at the base of his dick was slid off him, his body chasing your heat as you pulled away and tucked his cock back into his pants, zipping him back up. You allowed him slump bonelessly with his hands tied up above his head, leaving him panting for air.

He must’ve said it ‘cause he was drunk of the high, not because he meant it, was a mantra you repeated in your mind to convince yourself. Regardless, you couldn’t deny how it sent goosebumps up your nape, hair standing at attention, couldn’t deny how a single fleeting praise made your throat go dry and breathing quicken.

“I expect full cooperation tomorrow morning, Sylus.” you blurted, focus moving back to him before you backed away a few steps and stormed out his cage, locking it securely behind you.

You practically sped walked out the prison underground, heading straight to the elevator leading back up to your office.

Once you were in the metal box, you fished for a handkerchief in your pocket, frantically using it to wipe the stains of his seed on the front of your uniform.

With quivering hands, your rubbed it off you the best you could to fade the colour so you could excuse it a spill of chemicals or something to your colleagues—even if that wasn’t what really happened.

Your little rendzvous with a praedator—a SSS ranked dangerous praedator at that—risked more than your job. You yourself could be detained for being suspected of having intercourse with a praedator. You’d be an experiment, again, for researchers to exploit if sex could turn you into a praedator.

But unfortunately, deep down, you knew you’d come back to him again. After all, nothing intoxicated you more than dancing with that red eyed devil tied up at your mercy.

Finally reaching your office floor, you got off the elevator, walking in a bee line past your busy colleague, eyes on the ground to avoid contact with any of them. You didn’t know if you could handle speaking or explaining (lying) about your situation to anyone right now.

you pulled on the back of your chair, taking a seat and immediately holding your head in your hands, rethinking your life choices—the one where you decided to change your occupation from Hunter to Enforcer. Your hands slid down your face, eyes falling to the handkerchief, a reminder of your earlier affair.

Only then did the events dawn on you, your entire body processing the audacity and brazen display you showed Sylus. Now you crumbled in the solace of your safe space away from his predatory gaze.

A hand came up to your mouth, lips capturing a finger to nibble on when your thighs rubbed against one another, making you realise how fucking drenched your panties were. That damn praedator had you this wet in a rut without laying a finger on you—how pathetic of you.

One thing was for sure, you’d call in leave early to rub this compiled arousal off quick—it didn’t matter if you had to wet your sheets with cum, you needed this feeling gone, asap.

[bunnibombz]

Pt 3 because I can't stop thinking about him...

Links to pt 1 and pt 2

Pt 4

Alpha! Simon who wakes up later in the morning to the sound of thunder rumbling and the sweet taste of your slick against his lips. A deep groan buzzed through your body when he locked his arms around your waist to hold you down against his mouth, lips and tongue laving over your clit and clenching hole as you moaned and clutched at his hair

Alpha! Simon who can feel himself getting painfully hard again in the light of your arousal, the sound of rain against the window and the soft sounds of your pleasure dragging his eyes shut again as he smothered himself against you. Wanting to live in this moment with you forever.

Alpha! Simon who fucks you roughly on his fingers, trying to fight the burning instincts telling him to sink you down on his cock again. Wanting to respect John as your Alpha even though it made his jaw ache to think about leaving you after this.

"Easy Omega where's Price?" He asked as you moved down away from his mouth to rub your sticky cunt against his throbbing length.

"Makin' breakfast" you mumbled against the hot skin of his throat, where his scent was the strongest, the smell of your mixing pheromones had you grinding against him.

"Maybe I should go get him" Simon said, lifting you off easily and sliding to the edge of the bed. As he got up and was about to pull on his underwear he felt your hand grab at his hip. He turned before he thought and groaned probably too loudly when your lips made contact with his cock, standing at attention with a leaky tip as you kissed and sucked the skin of his shaft.

Alpha! Simon who can't help but thread his scarred fingers through your hair, fucking against your mouth as you swallowed around him with a moan that had his thighs shaking. He wanted to go get John and at least let him know that you were awake but goddamn if he was gonna try and pull you away when you were looking up at him so pretty, watery eyes and drool running past the tight seam of your lips as he bumped the back of your throat.

"N-Need to go get John" He stuttered, pulling hips back only for you to follow and suck him back against your tongue. "Lovie, come on-".

"No need" John's voice said from the doorway, cup of coffee in his hand when Simon looked over his shoulder. John stood from the doorway and walked around the bed, a soft smile on his lips when he saw you. John's heavy hand smacked down on your bare ass, drawing out a whine as his scent began riling up in the air.

"Ravenous isn't she, Simon?" He asked with a smirk, observing the multiple hickey's across the other Alpha's chest. "She'll drain you dry and keep asking for more". Simon could only grunt in agreement, not trusting his voice to reply as your tongue slithered across his sensitive head, fresh pre-cum running against your tastebuds.

Alpha! Simon who was paying no attention as John undid the tie on his sweatpants and got up behind you on the bed, didn't notice until you cried out with a warbling moan around his cock.

"My greedy little Dove" John cooed as he pressed a kiss against your spine, "Let's see how you handle two at once, maybe that'll tire you out".

[botanicsoul]

Behind the Screen

Pro Hero | Bakugou Katsuki x (fem) Blogger Reader | Aged Up

Part 2 -> Here

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧. 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘ 𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘

—

You post it as a joke. Kind of.

It’s late, and you’re curled up in bed with your fanfic draft open and half a Twix in your mouth. Your followers are going wild in the replies, and you’re riding the high of being the “unofficial Dynamight smut queen” of the timeline. You’ve been known for your over-the-top thirst tweets, but this one? This one’s feral.

—

@/blastyourbackout

“Dynamight wouldn’t even take the suit off. He’d fuck you with the gauntlets still on, breathing heavy through gritted teeth, all ‘Shut up and take it—this is what you wanted, right?’”

—

You toss your phone. That’s enough unhinged behavior for the night. Until the morning comes—and you wake up to hell.

Your tweet is trending. His name is trending. People are tagging him.

—

“this is NASTY and i love it.”

“@Dynamightofficial please read this and confirm or deny.”

“If Dynamight didn’t do this, I’d be shocked.”

“SOMEONE CHECK ON HIM”

“@Dynamightofficial thoughts??”

Then it happens.

—

@Dynamightofficial :

“Who tf is behind this account.”

“If you’re gonna talk like that, be brave enough to show your face.”

You nearly throw up. Your DMs? Melted. And sitting right at the top.

[Private Message – @Dynamightofficial]

“You write a lotta shit for someone who hides behind a screen.”

“You really think I’d leave the fuckin’ suit on?”

“Show me your face if you’re gonna say it like you know me.”

Your heart is pounding. And you shouldn’t. But you do. You send a selfie. Just a soft one. T-shirt, messy hair, bare face. You look like someone who absolutely shouldn’t be writing the filth he just read.

There’s a long pause.

He starts to finally type:

“…fuck.”

“You’re cute.”

“like super fuckin’ cute”

“You don’t look like someone who says I’d blow your back out against a fuckin’ window.”

You:

“I mean… would you?”

Him:

“You really wanna know?”

“You clearly think you know it all, writing the way you do.”

“So what—wanna let me show you what it’s really like?”

You pause. Breathless. Fingers trembling.

“Yes.”

⸻

A few days later, the meet-up actually happened.

You gave him your address—half-joking, half-panicking when he immediately replied with a thumbs up and a “Bet.”

You spent the next two days spiraling.

Cleaned every inch of your apartment. Shaved, exfoliated, moisturized places you didn’t even know needed it. Practiced how you’d open the door without looking like you were seconds from passing out. Told yourself it was just casual, just fun, just… whatever. you totally weren’t about to get fucked dumb by your fav pro that you write smut about.

Except it wasn’t. Because now. He’s at your door.

And he’s in the fucking suit.

Mask off. Jaw set. Gloves still on. That big, broad chest rising and falling.

Black and orange, thick with tension and sweat and that sharp smoky scent that clings to him after a patrol. His hair’s a mess. One gauntlet is attached, the other dangling from his hip. And he’s just standing there—broad, massive, silent—like he owns the whole building.

You freeze. Your heart slams.

“…Hi,” you manage to say.

His eyes drag over you—down your legs, over the shorts you probably could’ve made smaller and the tank top that wasn’t technically meant to be seductive, but absolutely became that under stress.

“Damn,” he mutters. “You look even better when you’re nervous.”

You try to laugh but it comes out breathless. “You really wore the suit?”

“uuuh yeah? did you think I was gonna show up here in a hoodie after all the shit you wrote about this thing?” He steps closer. “Thought I’d let you see it up close before I ruined your sheets.”

Your knees go weak.

You try to respond—something witty, something smug—but your words get caught somewhere between your throat and the fact that he’s already inside. Pushing the door shut behind him. Glancing around like he’s checking for cameras, or exits, or maybe just where he’s gonna lay you out first.

“You ready?” he asks, voice low. Rough. Already undoing the gauntlet from his wrist with one hand, tossing it aside.

You nod, dazed. “Yeah.”

He smirks—steps in closer until you’re backed up against the nearest wall, breath catching.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’ve been losing sleep over the way you said I’d fuck you in this suit.”

You stare up at him, completely wrecked just by his presence, and whisper, “Was I right about some of this stuff I wrote?”

He dips his head down, lips brushing yours—barely.

“I’m here to fact check it.” he growls.

You shudder.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, eyes dragging down your body like he’s mentally ripping off every layer.

He hasn’t even touched you properly yet—but your back’s against your door, your legs are trembling, and Bakugou’s towering over you like he’s already won.

“That tweet got me thinkin’ about you all fuckin’ day, baby. Let’s see if you write better when you’re sore.”

His hero suit creaks with every breath. Heavy-duty gauntlets still locked around his wrists. His undersuit clings to him, black and orange and unforgiving across his chest, his thighs—everything.

“You scared?” he asks, voice low. His hand comes up—gloved fingers trailing under your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Or just nervous I’m actually gonna live up to that filthy little imagination of yours?”

Your breath catches.

“…both.”

He smirks. Then his mouth is on yours.

It’s not sweet. It’s not careful. It’s everything you wrote about—demanding, rough, obsessed. He kisses like a man starved. Like he’s been reading your tweets on loop.

And god, when his hand slides down your waist—those big gloved fingers gripping your ass, hoisting you up—your back hits the wall and you let out a soft, stunned whimper.

“That the sound you make when you’re not behind a screen?” he growls, lips dragging along your neck. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re even better in person.”

You try to answer, but he’s already slipping one hand between your thighs, dragging his knuckles over your heat—still covered by your shorts.

“Wrote that I’d be mean with it,” he murmurs. “That I’d tease you. Make you beg.”

His gloved finger presses just right over the damp spot in your underwear.

“So beg.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders. You feel insane.

“P-Please.”

He groans. “That all I get after all those filthy paragraphs?”

“Dynamight—”

His eyes flash. “Katsuki.”

You pant, skin burning.

“Please, Katsuki.”

“Atta fuckin’ girl.”

He carries you to your room practically kicking the damn door down. Your back hits the mattress, but he doesn’t follow right away. He stands at the edge of the bed, breathing heavy, gaze dark and hungry.

His suit’s half-unzipped now—exposing his chest, glistening with sweat and tension—but everything else stays on. That thick black material clings to his arms and thighs like sin. The gauntlets drop to the floor with a heavy thud, but the gloves? Still on. And he flexes his fingers slow—just to watch you squirm.

“You’re fuckin’ dangerous,” he mutters, eyes dragging over your body like he’s trying to memorize it. “Sittin’ there on your little blog, makin’ people think you’ve got me figured out.”

Your thighs squeeze together. He notices. Smirks. “Lemme show you how right you were.”

He crawls over you like a storm. Muscles shifting under his suit, voice dipping low, filthy, as he shoves your shirt up, lips ghosting over your stomach.

You arch when his teeth graze your hip. “Katsuki—”

“That’s right, baby,” he mutters, pulling your shorts off slow. “Say my name when you write about this later too.”

He pushes your thighs open, and he goes down. Tongue eager. Desperate. He eats you out like he’s proving a point—like he’s got something to prove to every single tweet you’ve ever posted. Groaning into you, gripping your thighs tight like he wants to leave handprints. You’re moaning, shaking, gripping the sheets, and he’s just eating it up—literally.

He comes up with his mouth slick and eyes wild. “Not even close to done with you.” And he isn’t.

He flips you. Presses you into the mattress. One hand on your hip, the other grabbing your wrist and dragging it up the bed.

“Hold that headboard, princess.” You feel him line up—still in the damn suit—and your breath catches as he sinks in.

Slow. Deep. Bruising.

“Fuck,” he hisses, jaw clenched. “You feel like I imagined. So fuckin’ tight, so wet—shit.”

You cry out. He starts moving. Harder. Deeper.

Every stroke is a claim. His hand slides down your back, then back up to wrap around your throat—not choking, just holding. Just letting you feel it.

“Write about this next time” he growls into your ear. “Write about about me makin’ you cum multiple fuckin’ times.”

You whimper—high, breathy, wrecked.

“That’s right. Take it. You wanted this.”

“I did,” you gasp. “I wanted you—”

“You fuckin’ got me now.”

When you fall apart—completely, wildly, back-arching and moaning his name like a prayer—he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow.

Because he’s obsessed now. Addicted.

Your thighs are trembling. Your voice is hoarse. Your sheets are a mess—twisted, damp, clinging to your skin like the heat of him isn’t already enough.

He’s still going.

“One more,” he grits out, thrusts snapping into you slow and deep. “C’mon, baby—just one more for me.”

You’re barely hanging on—nails dragging helplessly down his back, vision blurry with overstimulation, body trembling under him as he rocks into you, all tight grunts and low, broken groans.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect,” he pants, sweat dripping down his temples. “Takin’ me so good—fuck—you feel like you were made for me.”

You moan, shattered.

He growls, fucks you harder, chasing his release like a wildfire. And when he finally gets there—when you clench around him, gasping out his name in a breathless sob— He snaps.

��Knew it,” he groans, hips stuttering. “Knew I’d fill this pussy the second I saw you.” oh, and he does. Deep. Warm. Heavy. Flooding you.

He keeps moving—shallow, deep rolls—just to push it in. Just to feel it drip. Just to make it last. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin.

You barely register him pulling out until you feel it—messy, hot, dripping down your thighs.

“fuuuck you’re beautiful” he murmurs smirking down at you. Wrecked, ruined, glowing. He lays down beside you, just looking at you like you were a fucking trophy.

He then reaches for his phone.

—

[New Tweet – @Dynamightofficial]

“Just fact-checked one of your little fantasy tweets. 11/10 accuracy. Would reread. Would re-enact.”

—

You see what’s he doing and it snaps you out your daze, your eyes go wide. “You didn’t—!”

“Too late,” he shrugs. “Let ‘em guess which one it was.”

You grabbed your phone just as quick to quote it.

—

[New Tweet – @blastyourbackout]

“Just know the gloves stayed on.”

—

The internet breaks.

You can barely feel your legs.

And Katsuki Bakugou? THE pro hero Dynamight?

He’s already rolling over, tugging you to his chest, muttering in your ear, “Hope you’re not tired, princess. I’ve got a lot more tweets to prove right.”

[blank-potato]

Loving You Is Easy

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary:

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow. “You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds. You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold. “Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?” “Bob.” “Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.” Or You and Bob are indifferent to each other, never seeming to mesh. But when you lose your memory, something new blooms between the two of you.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, angst, no smut, amnesia/memory loss, abandonment issues, pancakes may as well be a main character, hurt and some comfort?, acquaintances to lovers?

WC: 9.6K

A/N: Title from Easy by Mac Ayers. Also, the response to my last Bob fic was absolutely insane, thank you! Hope you enjoy this one, might write a part 2 later (I did, link below)

Part 2

***

Bob doesn’t particularly like you. 

It’s not like he hated you or anything; the two of you just didn’t connect. 

Conversations were always awkward and stilted, full of long silences and forced small talk. You’d crack a joke, and he’d give you a tight smile. He’d ask a question, and you’d give a clipped answer, unsure of his tone or where you stood.

It wasn’t animosity. It was worse: indifference with a touch of tension. Or maybe it was just that sometimes people don’t mesh, no matter how hard they try. So both of you stopped trying. You’d walk into the gym and see him already there, towel slung over his shoulder, sweat dampening his shirt.

He’d glance up. “No, no, you can stay. I was just leaving.” Even if he wasn’t actually done with his workout.

“Okay…” you’d reply, pretending not to feel the sting.

Or one time, you both ended up in the kitchen at 2 a.m., bleary-eyed and looking for snacks.

You froze. So did he.

“I’ll just—”

“No, it’s fine. I just needed water,” You interrupted.

You both moved around each other like magnets flipped the wrong way, close but never touching, repelling, retreating.

It was easier this way.

One day, you're on a mission and get injured after a strange encounter with an absurdly eccentric villain. He hit you with some mysterious ray that blasted you through a wall and left you unconscious. The whole team was worried about you… including Bob.

Sure, the two of you were awkward, distant, neither of you quite knowing how to be around the other anymore, but that didn’t change the fact that he still cared. 

So they brought you back to the Tower and did everything they could. Monitors, scans, and even a few calls to some old contacts who specialised in the weird and unexplainable.

As you lay still, unmoving, they waited. They took shifts, refusing to let you wake up alone, just in case.

Bob stayed longer than anyone. Even when it wasn’t his shift, he lingered outside your room. Because no matter how weird or strained things had become, he wanted you to wake up.

It takes a few days, but you wake up, your eyes blinking rapidly as you adjust to the light. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingers faintly in the air, and your body feels achy, like you’ve been asleep for a century.

And then you see him.

A random, handsome man is slumped over in the chair next to your bed. His head is tilted forward slightly, chin tucked, a book loose in one hand as he dozes. 

His lips part slightly in sleep, brows twitching like he’s dreaming. Something about the sight is comforting. 

You don’t recognise him.

But something in you wants to.

“Hello?”

You slip out of bed, groaning as you do so. You step close to the man until you’re but a few feet away, studying him with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper stirring inside.

You’re right next to him now, and suddenly your heart races uncontrollably. He’s beautiful — if there’s such a thing as love at first sight, this had to be it. You can’t think about anything else except his sharp jawline and that messy, adorable hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed.

Then, out of nowhere, his eyes snap open. A piercing blue that somehow feels like a shock and a spark all at once. He screams. You scream back, startled, your breath catching in your throat.

You stumble backwards, about to fall, when suddenly he reaches out and grabs your hand. Firm but gentle, steadying you.

“Thanks, guy.”

“You’re welcome,” Bob replies quietly.

“Where am I? What happened? Who are you?” you ask, panic threading through your voice.

Suddenly, a fog rolls over your mind, and you try your hardest to think, but everything’s blank except for your name.

“You don’t… remember me?” Bob asks hesitantly.

“No, are you…”You search for the right words, trying to piece things together. He was in your hospital room, probably stayed overnight, worrying about you. You’re not sure what your type used to be, but if you had one, this had to be it. Then the question slips out, “Are you my boyfriend?”

Bob’s eyes widen as if they might pop out of his head. He stammers, “Oh, no, we’re not… that’s not…” His words trip over themselves, betraying the panic and confusion inside him.

“We’re teammates,” he finally manages to say, and you take a step back, giving him space to breathe.

“We’re on a team? Like what? A swim team?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, like a superhero team.”

You blink, confused. “I’m a superhero?”

“An Avenger, to be exact.”

“What the hell is that?”

***

Bob was pale and quiet, still reeling from what had happened to you. The medics were running tests, whispering terms he didn’t fully understand, frowns etched deep into their brows.

Bucky came out of the room a few minutes later, expression unreadable as he approached Bob, pulling him aside.

“What did they say?” Bob asked, his voice hoarse, almost afraid of the answer.

From the look on Bucky’s face, it wasn’t good. “She has amnesia,” he said softly. “Doesn’t remember much of anything right now.”

Bob felt the air leave his lungs. He looked toward the room, the edge of the hospital bed just visible through the cracked door. You, in there, not knowing him.

“Can you take care of her?” Bucky asked gently. “We won’t all be around all the time, and she’s going to need someone who won’t push. Someone who’ll be patient.”

Bob didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

All day, he deliberates on how he can help you out. They were going to let you out of the medbay the next morning, so he wanted to make sure you’d have something comforting waiting for you. After some thought, he lands on pancakes. 

Good food had always been his go-to to shake off a bad mood, maybe it would work the same for amnesia.

After helping you into the kitchen, he serves you the pancakes he prepared, sliding the plate toward you a little sheepishly.

“What are these for?” you ask, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“You. I, um… figured they’d help you feel better,” Bob says, his voice dipping awkwardly near the end like he already regrets how earnest it sounds.

You blink at him, eyes flicking between his face and the pancakes. Then a smile spreads across your face. Cute, and he makes pancakes? You’d struck gold.

“Thanks… man!” you say, then pause, realisation dawning mid-sentence. You don’t even know the name of the very attractive guy standing in front of you. You laugh a little, embarrassed. “What’s your name?”

“Bob.”

“Bob,” You repeat, the smile on your face growing just that little bit more if that was even possible, “I like Bob.”

You start digging into the pancakes and let out a squeal of happiness. “This thing is the best thing I’ve ever tasted, well technically one of the only things I remember tasting, but still.”

Bob feels a small rush of happiness that he was able to do something for you, no matter how simple.

“So, Bob, you and I are superheroes, correct?” you say between mouthfuls of delicious pancakes.

Bob hesitates; he didn’t quite have full control over his powers yet, but he was sure he’d get there one day.

“Well, yes…”

“Do you have powers?”

“I can fly, and I’m kinda invincible, and a couple of other things,” he says, looking away sheepishly. He didn’t want to sound like he was bragging.

But then he looks back and sees you beaming at him, the same way you had been since he gave you those pancakes.

“That’s awesome, can you show me?”

He hesitates, “It’s complicated. I can be…dangerous.”

“Oh, I get it, no pressure.”

He's surprised at how quickly you drop it, but appreciates it nonetheless. You take another bite of the pancakes before asking with a little smile, “Do I have powers?”

You were already thinking of the possibilities, maybe you could fly too, or teleport or even turn into a giant frog. The sky’s the limit.

“No…” he says,  and the wind is taken right out of your sails. So much for being a frog woman. But seeing the disappointed look on your face, he quickly adds, “You’re a really talented fighter, though, great shot too.”

“Really?”

Bob nods, giving you an encouraging smile. You twiddle your fingers, trying to ask more questions.

“Where are you from?”

“Florida.”

“What’s Florida like?”

He strains to think of what to tell you. Flashes of sticky summer air, thunderstorms rolling in over flat suburban streets, and the hum of cicadas come into his mind.

“It’s… hot.”

You giggle softly, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “Good to know.”

“So let me summarise. You are Bob, Florida is hot, I can shoot stuff.”

“That’s about right.”

He watches you devour the whole plate of pancakes, and he's still having a hard time reconciling the you he knows and the you sitting in front of him. For one, you were actually talking to him and talking to everyone a lot more. Your dynamic with the rest of the team wasn't nearly as bad as yours with Bob's, but now you seemed a lot more open.

It’s a trend that continues as you ask him and the rest of the Avengers questions incessantly the rest of the day, your curiosity never seeming to run out. Every new answer only sparks ten more questions, and somehow, they never seem to mind your enthusiasm.

“You can go through walls?!” You gasp, eyes wide with amazement, and you nearly pass out when you see Ava do it, your hand reaching out as if trying to touch the air she just phased through.

Or when you sat cross-legged on the floor, chin resting on your hands, listening to one of Alexei’s stories with such intent. It was nice seeing you so bubbly, laughing at his exaggerated tales and rolling your eyes when he insisted every mission ended with him saving the day. “There’s no way you took them all down yourself!”

“Red Guardian defeated them all single-handedly, I tell you,” Alexei says, enjoying your reactions, insisting no one listens the way you do.

But there was a little downside. Now you were more eager to do things, and since you were also restricted to the tower, all that restless energy had to go somewhere. 

This morning, it was the kitchen.

The truth is, if he knew that his making pancakes would cause the mess that you unleashed, maybe he would’ve chosen something easier to make.

He walks into the kitchen to see you surrounded by chaos, flour on the counter, batter on the ceiling, and a pan smoking in the sink. It looks like a warzone.

“What is all of this?” he asks, blinking at the sight.

You glance up at him, cheeks flushed, hair a little wild, looking like you’d just gone ten rounds with your own breakfast.

“Pancakes,” you say with exaggerated confidence, like it was obvious.

“If you wanted pancakes, you could’ve asked,” he says, stepping closer with a shake of his head.

He would’ve made them in a heartbeat. He didn’t always know how to fix things, but it made him happy to be useful, even if it was hard to get the energy sometimes. 

Bob says, rolling up his sleeves, “I happen to make pretty good pancakes.”

“I know. The ones you made for me the other day were really good.”

“One of the few things I can do,” he mutters, the self-deprecation slipping out like muscle memory, automatic, unfiltered. He's been working on it, but old habits die hard.

You nudge him gently with your elbow. “I’m sure you’re good at a lot of stuff. And if not, at least you’re good-looking.”

Bob blinks at you, looking at you incredulously, like you’d just said the sky was green. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s about to argue, but then doesn’t.

A beat passes, and he gives a soft huff of a laugh, shaking his head. “You really are different,” he says, eyes full of something like wonder.

“But… in a good way.”

“Thanks…” You say. “So, about these pancakes, how about we make them together?”

“Sounds perfect.”

He’s about to start making more batter when he notices you didn’t even bother to put on an apron. He grabs one off the hook and makes his way back over to you.

“But I’m already messy,” you say, looking down at your shirt, now covered in flour.

“Better late than never?” he says with a grin.

Agreeing with him, you duck your head down as he slips the apron over you. Accidentally ruffling your hair in the process, and you let out a small noise of protest.

Then, gently, almost instinctively, he smooths your hair down with both hands, his fingers brushing along your scalp.

It makes you shiver and shake a little against your will. Your body apparently hasn’t gotten the memo on playing it cool around hot men who are weirdly good at domestic affection.

Great. Just great.

He steps closer and delicately wraps the apron ties behind you, moving with such care. You can only imagine what his hands must feel like, strong but soft, you thought.

All you can focus on is the little sensations you do get. The brief, accidental caresses against your back as he tries to tie the apron. His fingers brush your spine, light as a whisper, and your breath catches in your throat.

“Let me do yours,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the way your heart’s trying to break out of your chest.

He turns, and you tie the apron behind him. You can't help but notice how solid he feels, how broad his shoulders are. You feel that same flutter in your stomach you had when you first saw him in the med bay, those damn butterflies that show up uninvited whenever he’s near.

You step back and smooth out the fabric on his chest, trying to act casual.

“How do I look?” he asks playfully.

“Very chefy,” you reply with a grin.

You step aside, and he turns to see what you’ve done.

“First of all, what did you put in here?” He asks, looking at the strange concoction you had made up. It looked like a science experiment gone wrong, the way it was bubbling like it was about to come to life.

“Pancake stuff.”

“Why is it blue?”

“To complement your eyes.”

He blinks, fully expecting to see you grinning or laughing, but you’re dead serious.

As he chuckles and starts remaking the pancake batter, shaking his head with the tiniest smile, he says, “Why didn’t you just ask me to make them for you?”

“I, uh… was trying to return the favour.” You mumble, scratching the back of your head. “You made them for me when I needed them. Thought it’d be nice to do the same.”

He pauses mid-stir, glancing over at you. “That’s really sweet.” 

Bob is about to go back to stirring when he sees something.

“Oh, wait a second, you have a…” He says before trailing off, his expression shifting slightly. He reaches out without hesitation, fingers gentle as they brush your cheek. Your breath catches, heart thudding like it’s trying to escape your ribcage, as he plucks an eyelash off your face.

“Make a wish,” he says softly, holding it out to you.

You close your eyes for a moment, your mind blank except for the thought of him. You blow it away, your breath catching just a little as the lash flutters and disappears.

And a tiny part of you wonders if wishes like that ever come true.

“What did you wish for?”

Your eyes scan his, you know exactly what you want, what you need.

“It’s a secret.”

***

“You need to eat more than just pancakes,” John says with a sigh, arms crossed like a disapproving dad.

You shrug from your spot on the couch, hugging your knees and avoiding eye contact. “They’re comforting. And Bob makes them really well.”

“That’s not the point,” he replies, “You need nutrients. Vegetables. Something green.”

You’re finally saved when you see Bob come into the room.

“Bob!”

You scramble out of your seat the moment you spot him, excitement bubbling up as you point at the TV screen. An ad for a local pizza place flashes by, and it somehow sends you into a state of near awe.

“I know what pizza is, but I don’t remember what it tastes like.”

“Can we…?” you begin, unsure how to phrase it without sounding too eager—if you asked, would he eat it with you?

“I’ll order,” he says without hesitation.

“Pizza isn’t good for you either,” John points out, and you roll your eyes at him before throwing your arms around Bob, hugging him tightly. 

He stiffens for a second, caught off guard, he still wasn’t used to how openly affectionate you'd become since the memory loss.

“Sorry, got a little excited,” you mumble, pulling back slightly.

Bob just smiles.

“We can eat it on the roof if you want,” he offers. “It’s a really nice view.”

“I’d like that,” you say softly, already picturing it.

When the pizza arrives, the two of you head up to the roof, scarfing it down like you hadn’t eaten in days. Bob watches you in quiet amusement, the city of New York sprawling beneath and around you. Lives moving, horns blaring, people rushing through the streets, but up here, it feels peaceful. Safe.

“This is so good, I could die right now and be happy,” you declare dramatically, a slice still in hand.

You flop back into Bob’s lap without warning, gazing up at him with a lazy, contented smile. He freezes slightly, his leg twitching with nerves. You’re too busy chewing to notice the way his eyes widen, or how he swallows hard and looks away for a second.

He’s glad you can’t hear how loud his heart is pounding.

“Hey,” you say after swallowing a particularly big bite of cheesy goodness.

“Yeah?” Bob answers, turning to you.

You don’t respond right away, just stare at him again, like you’re trying to memorise every detail. There’s something about being near him that makes everything else fade out. Being in love with him, even without remembering it, feels like breathing.

“I wish I could take a picture.”

“Of… the pizza?” Bob asks, confused. 

“No. Of you. You just… have one of those faces.”

He blinks. “What does that mean?” There’s a note of genuine concern. Was this your weird, roundabout way of calling him ugly?

“You have a face I wanna… immortalise. Is that super dramatic?” you ask, gesticulating with your slice of pizza. Cheese flopping to the side with every word.

Bob lets out a stunned laugh. He honestly can’t believe half the things you’ve said since the memory loss, but this might be the most unexpected yet. His ears turn a little pink.

You’re both quiet for a beat before you break the silence with a chuckle. “What is it? Have I grown another head?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head slowly. “I just… you’re so different.”

But he doesn’t say it like it’s a bad thing.

“How so?” you ask, muffled slightly by the mouthful of pizza you just shoved in. Even that, being messy and unfiltered, was a pretty big shift. Before the accident, you would’ve never let Bob see you like this. You were all sharp edges, always composed around him. Never vulnerable. Never soft.

“You didn’t… we didn’t really get along before you lost your memories,” Bob says carefully, like he’s stepping over landmines.

“Did we hate each other?”

“No, no, nothing like that. It was just… awkward,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Huh…” You glance past him, up at the stars overhead. The sky looks endless. “I know I don’t remember anything, but something in me tells me I liked you more than I let on.”

You turn your gaze back to him, sincere now. “It’s just a feeling,” you say, lightly tapping your chest. “In here.”

There’s a loud bang in the distance that interrupts the two of you, and it jolts you upright from your place on his lap.

You and Bob are instantly alert, eyes scanning the skyline. 

“Fireworks?” you ask, squinting toward the horizon as bursts of colour light up the sky.

The distant booms echo softly through the air, and for a second, the world seems to pause. The sky is painted in shimmering golds, purples, and reds. You shuffle closer to the edge, your mouth slightly open in awe, your eyes reflecting the vibrant display.

“This is so beautiful,” you whisper.

“Yeah…” Bob’s voice is quiet as he looks over at you. His eyes don’t linger on the fireworks, instead, they find you. The glow of the explosions dances across your face, illuminating your smile. “It is,” he says, but he’s not talking about the sky.

You don’t notice his stare, too entranced by the spectacle. “I mean, I don’t remember what pretty things I’ve seen before,” you say with a soft laugh, “but there’s no way anything beats this.”

The two of you stay there for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder as the last of the fireworks fade. You forgot about the pizza. It goes cold beside you, untouched. But neither of you cares. 

You rest your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed despite the crackling fireworks and the hum of New York City below. Somehow, in the middle of all that noise and chaos, you find peace. A kind of quiet you didn’t know you needed. And before long, you’re completely asleep, your breathing soft and even, your body relaxed against his.

Bob glances down at you, frozen for a second, not from discomfort, but from something more tender. He doesn't want to move, not really. But the night is getting cold, and you shouldn't sleep on a rooftop. Gently, he shifts, slipping one arm under your legs and the other around your back. You barely stir as he lifts you.

He walks quietly down the stairs, careful with each step, your head nestled into his chest.

Then—

“What’s this?” comes a voice that makes him jump nearly out of his skin.

Yelena is standing in the hallway outside her room, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, clearly in the middle of getting ready for bed.

“She fell asleep,” Bob says, adjusting his grip on you slightly, trying to look casual. “So I thought I’d help her to bed…”

Yelena arches a brow. “That’s very gentlemanly of you, Bob.”

“She’s had a long day,” he mumbles, eyes avoiding hers as he starts to move past.

“Mm-hm,” she hums, still grinning. 

He walks into your room, carefully sidestepping anything that might creak or clatter. The last thing he wants is to wake you. But when he leans down to gently lay you onto the bed, your fingers curl tighter into his shirt like talons.

He freezes. “Seriously?” he mutters under his breath, glancing down at your sleeping form. You’re completely out cold, but your grip says otherwise.

He tries again, delicately prying your fingers away one by one, but you’re like a koala in REM sleep. “Yelena?” he whisper-shouts, trying not to jostle you too much.

After a few seconds, Yelena pokes her head around the corner, toothbrush in hand, completely unbothered. “What?”

“She won’t let go,” he says, exasperated.

Yelena steps into the room, takes one look at the situation, and her face breaks into a slow grin. “Of course she won’t.”

“What do I do?” Bob hisses.

Yelena shrugs. “Get comfortable?”

Eventually, after a few more whispered pleas and another failed attempt to detach you, she sighs and calls for backup. “Ava, we need another pair of hands.”

It takes a combination of Bob and Yelena pulling while Ava gently works your grip free one finger at a time, to finally get you into bed without dragging Bob in after you.

By the time they’re done, Bob is sweating, slightly rumpled, and staring at you with a look that’s somewhere between exasperation and complete emotional defeat.

“She’s gonna be the end of me,” he sighs.

Ava pats his shoulder. “Not a bad way to go.”

***

Weekend rolls around, Bob had offered to help you go through your stuff, maybe handling familiar items, seeing old things, would help jog something loose in your memory.

You had found an old teddy bear, a digital camera with very few pictures, and throwing knives. You think it’s nice to know you’re very versatile. 

You’re in your room, standing on your tiptoes trying to reach another box on the highest shelf. You stretch a little too far, fingers just grazing the edge of it, when suddenly, Bob's reaching for it too.

“Oh, don’t worry, I can—”

You’re in a memory.

Your hands slip under Bob’s, and in a sudden pulse of light and warmth, the room falls away.

You’re no longer in the safety of your space. It’s a hazy afternoon, the golden sunlight casting long, sleepy shadows across cracked pavement. The distant sound of a train horn echoes through the air, and there’s a soft breeze drifting in from somewhere, maybe the coast, maybe the open countryside. It smells faintly of dust and old paper.

A small train station. Quiet. Still. You see a little child, no older than four, and a woman beside them. The child is you.

The woman bends down, brushing your hair back with tender fingers. She’s beautiful in the way only memories can be, edges blurred, features softened by time. Her lips move, whispering something you can’t hear. Words drowned out by the roaring silence in your ears.

She kisses your forehead.

“Mom?”

Then she straightens, turns, and walks away. Her hand slips from yours like sand, and you’re left standing alone.

You come to with a sharp gasp, the memory still clutching at your chest like cold fingers. Bob is in front of you, eyes wide, his hand gently on your shoulder as he steadies you.

You call out for her, a small voice barely rising above the bustling noise of the trains, but no one comes. Watching the little kid, watching yourself, sit there and cry until your voice is hoarse, tears streaking down chubby cheeks. People pass. Some glance, others don’t. Looks are given, but no one stops to help.

“Was that my memory?” you ask, your voice faint. You’re still there, in that memory, like part of your mind is dragging its feet back to the present.

“I’m so sorry, I… I didn’t mean to do that,” Bob says, his expression crumpling with guilt.

You blink at him, really seeing the way his hands are trembling slightly, his face pale. He looks visibly shaken. Like he’s taken away your clean slate. And now the only memory that’s surfaced from your past is that of being left behind.

“That’s the first thing I remember,” you whisper. “That’s the only thing.”

Bob’s throat bobs, and he steps back slightly, like he’s not sure if you want him near anymore.

“I—” he tries, but the words falter.

There’s a thick tension in the air as you try to come to terms with what just happened.  You’re uncertain, scared, and hurting in a way you don’t fully understand. But through it all, the only anchor you have is Bob.

You reach for him instinctively, like your heart knows the way before your mind catches up, but he flinches. It’s a small movement, but it cuts deep. Not because he’s afraid of you, but because he’s terrified for you. Of what he might do, what you might see again, what memories might bleed through just from a touch.

“Please?” you whisper, voice trembling. “I just… I need you.”

You hold your hand out, palm open and steady despite the way your insides shake. Like you’re telling him: It’s okay. I trust you. I’m not afraid of you.

He hesitates for a beat, long enough that you can see the storm behind his eyes. Then slowly, cautiously, he reaches out. His fingers curl around yours, and the moment they connect, you don’t wait. You step into him, into his arms, burying your face against his chest. His arms come around you like instinct, and you finally feel like you belong again. Like his arms are exactly where you’re meant to be.

He thought you wouldn’t want him anymore. Thought whatever pain you’d seen in that memory would make you run.

“I feel safe with you,” you murmur, your breath warm against his neck. It was like you could read his mind.

You sit there until you feel normal again, breathing in sync with Bob as you toy with his shirt and he pets your hair.

“Why were you so scared?” You ask suddenly.

“The last time I used my powers, things got out of control.” Flashes of what happened appear in his mind— the darkness, the destruction. 

“I read about it. What happened that day…”

Bob looks down, jaw tight, the guilt still weighing on him.

 “Where’d you hear it from?” he asks quietly.

“I’ve been trying to get my memories back,” you say. “So I’ve been reading my diary.”

Bob’s eyebrows lift, surprised. You didn’t seem like the type to keep a diary.

“I write about you quite a bit,” you add, offering a small smile.

His breath catches slightly. “Yeah?”

You nod. “I don’t seem to understand you. Every other entry is me trying to figure you out, analysing the interactions we have. One minute I think you hate me, the next I think you’re just… scared.”

He doesn't answer right away, just looks at you like he wants to say something but doesn’t know where to start.

“I think I was scared too,” you admit. 

“The way I write about our relationship in my diary seems sad. Like there’s so much I wanted to say to you, but couldn’t for some reason.”

You twiddle with your fingers for a moment before finally saying what's on your mind.

“I think you should read it.”

“Your diary? That's crossing a boundary. When you get your memories back, I don’t think you’ll appreciate it.” 

The tone of his voice told you he was resolute in his decision, but you wanted to leave the door open.  “If you want to read it, it’s in the top drawer by my bed, in the very back. I think it’d clear a lot of things up between you and her, or I guess me. I don’t know how to address myself.”

He looks at the drawer and thinks of what might be inside your diary, which you wanted him to read so badly. A few moments later, you get up off the floor and offer him your hand again, “Let’s go, I think Yelena’s making dinner.”

***

Waking up to you was disorientating as fuck.

Since you lost your memory, you’d been clinging onto him like a lifeline. Sure, you followed the rest of the Avengers around like a lost duck, trailing behind their conversations and mimicking routines, but with him… with Bob, it was different.

You didn’t just follow him, you stuck to him like glue. Something about him made you feel safe.

“Sorry! I wasn’t watching you while you slept,” you blurt suddenly, catching yourself as he looks over at you from his bed. “I mean—well, technically yes, I was, but not for a long time... just like a minute because I didn’t want to wake you, but—”

Bob doesn’t respond, just blinking at you.

“I really didn’t mean to overstep, it’s just—I came in to see if you wanted to make breakfast together, and you were asleep and you looked so…”

You stop yourself as the words threaten to spill out. If you didn’t stop, there was a solid 90% chance you’d end up professing your undying love for him, and maybe even proposing marriage right there.

“It’s okay, I get it,” he says gently, cutting in before you can spiral any further with embarrassment. “Let’s just go make breakfast.”

You exhale a laugh, relieved, your nerves settling just a bit.

You both go to make breakfast and settle on grilled cheese sandwiches. You watch as he takes a bite and melts, visibly softening.  He looks so cute, and all he was doing was chewing. You loved all the little mannerisms no one would notice unless they looked closely. The way his nose would scrunch up when he laughs, how he'd caress his hands to soothe himself, or how he makes eye contact when people are talking so intently to make sure that they know he was listening. You take out your digital camera that you had found in the box in your room, angling it just right.

Click.

When he realises you’re taking a picture, he freezes mid-bite, eyes wide.

“I’m making memories,” you say simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m just eating a sandwich,” he replies, baffled.

You shrug, grinning. “Exactly.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a shy smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Alright…”

He tries to look unaffected, but you can see it. His shoulders relax, and his cheeks flush ever so slightly. All of a sudden, you have this unexplainable power over him. He wasn’t used to someone looking at him like that, like they wanted to remember him.

“I’m sure you could find more interesting things to shoot,” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You shake your head, smiling softly. “There’s something special about you. You look so real when you think no one is watching. I can’t help but want to capture that.”

“You mean that?” Bob says, traces of doubt leaking in.

“From the bottom of my heart.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and a little surprised. “Still… I think you should explore other things if you want new memories. Let’s go somewhere today.”

You grab his hand gently, excitement bubbling up inside you.

He takes you to a park, but all you can seem to focus on is him, how he moves, how he laughs. So you keep sneaking pictures (not so sneakily), desperate not to forget a single moment. 

“There’s a whole park to take pictures of, you know?” he says, grinning as he lowers the camera.

You glance around, finally noticing the trees, the sunlight filtering through the leaves, the vibrant colours all around. But you quickly look back at him, your smile soft.

“Yeah, but you’re the best part of the view,” you admit quietly, making him blush just a little.

Bob clears his throat, cheeks warming as he tries to shift the attention away from himself.

“Okay, okay…but you should let me turn the favour. Give me your camera, I’ll take some pictures of you,” Bob states, holding out his hand with an easy smile.

“Oh no, that’s fine. I doubt I’m that photogenic,” you say, laughing nervously. “You don’t really want pictures of me.”

Then with a sudden surge of confidence, he says, “I don’t think you realise how beautiful you are.” 

Bob doesn't know where it comes from; he wasn’t one to say something so bold like that, but he couldn't stand hearing you downplay yourself. 

He says it so softly and genuinely, you swear you heard your heart skip a beat. Your eyes meet in the silent pause, but it isn’t uncomfortable like awkward silences tend to be. It’s warm and cosy like one of Bob’s many sweaters. 

Feeling like he was staring for too long, he clears his throat before adding, “Plus, all your memories can’t be pictures of me.”

“R-right,” you stutter as you hand over the camera, your fingers brushing his. The touch is brief, but it leaves a spark, a lingering warmth that settles somewhere deep inside.

“Say cheese.”

“Cheese!” you grin, striking a playful pose.

The rest of the day is spent taking pictures as you wander around New York, basking in the warm sun, laughing at everything you see, carefree and lighthearted.

“We should get ice cream!” you declare suddenly.

He buys it for you without hesitation and snaps a candid photo as you dig into it with delight.

“This is heaven,” you sigh dramatically. “Second only to your pancakes.”

He takes another picture, catching you mid-bite, and you catch him smiling to himself.

You notice and nudge him, “How do I look?”

He looks at the screen. Your eyes are closed in pure bliss, a little smear of vanilla ice cream on your lip, with the brightest smile on your face.

“Perfect,” he says, and for a second, you’re not sure he’s talking about the photo at all.

Eventually, after your long day of wandering around, the two of you get on the subway to head back home. It's packed, shoulder to shoulder, a blur of strangers and noise. You manage to find two seats side by side, squeezed tight among the crowd.

Sitting next to each other, you're pushed up close, legs touching, shoulders brushing with every lurch of the train. The warmth of him seeps through your clothes, and you’re suddenly all too aware of how close you are.

“I had a lot of fun today,” Bob says, leaning in so you can hear him over the rattle of the subway.

“So did I,” you reply, smiling. “You know how to show a girl a good time, Bob Reynolds.”

The train jerks to a stop as it pulls into the next station. The doors slide open with a hiss, and a few people step off, thinning the crowd a little. You glance up and notice an older couple standing nearby, gently swaying with the movement of the train.

You and Bob exchange a look, then both rise at the same time.

“Please, take our seats,” you offer warmly.

They smile gratefully as they settle down, and you both step back to stand nearby, holding the pole for balance. It’s quiet for a moment, and you watch as the elderly man gently brushes something off his wife’s shoulder, then takes her hand in his. The tenderness in his gesture makes your chest ache. It was simple and sweet, watching him dote on her like she was still the only girl in the room.

“You two make such a cute couple,” the old lady says suddenly, looking up at you both with a knowing smile.

You both blink, completely caught off guard. 

“Oh, we’re not…” You start to say, but your voice trails off when Bob nudges your arm gently.

“Thank you,” he says to her, still smiling, then glances at you.

“How long have you been together?” The two of you weren’t anticipating any follow-up questions, so you had to think on your feet. It was time to put your non-existent acting skills to the test.

“A yea–” You start, but seeing the look on Bob’s face, you morph it until you say, “Month. A month.”

They both smile, clearly loving young love because old people do that. 

“And how did you two start dating?” She asks, and you’re starting to see why the Avengers get annoyed with you.

“I was at the…” You start looking for Bob to save you, and he does. “Hospital.”

That wasn't where you were heading, but technically it was true. “Yes, I was hit by a… bike.”

Their eyes go wide with shock. “Yup, it was an awful affair. Bike messenger gone rogue.”

“When I heard what happened, I rushed over to see her and I slept by her side,” Bob adds, which was very close to what happened when you got hit with the ray.

“When I woke up and saw him there waiting for me to wake up, I fell in love with him on the spot.”

They both swoon at your story, and when it was said like that, it did sound quite romantic, Bob realised. 

“You take care of her,” the old man interjects, his voice gravelly but kind. “Girls like that, with that light in their eyes… they don’t come around often, trust me, I’d know.”

Bob swallows hard, his gaze softening as he looks at you. You had a light—a spark about you—that he’d be crazy to deny. But the two of you were just becoming friends, finally finding solid ground; how could he risk messing that up?

Still, for the old man’s sake and maybe a little for himself, he says quietly but with conviction, “I will.”

Even if he didn’t mean it in the way the old man intended, he would take care of you.

“And keep her away from bikes. They’re trouble,” the man added, and Bob gave him an affirmative, “Of course.”

He’d protect you from bikes too.

You both watch as the couple get off at the next stop, but what they said sticks with you for much longer.  

As you walk away, you whisper, “That was… something.”

Bob glances sideways at you, amused. “You didn’t correct them.”

“You didn’t either,” you shoot back, cheeks flushing.

“I didn’t want to.”

The train buckles a little, making you lose balance and stumble, but he catches you instantly, his hand wrapping securely around your waist.

“Trying to sweep me off my feet?” you joke, but if you’re being honest, you’re just trying to hide how breathless you feel. His strong arms are around you, keeping you upright without effort. It’s enough to make your pulse stutter.

He smirks faintly, eyes flicking down to meet yours. “If I were, would it be working?”

You look away, flustered but smiling. “Shut up.”

But you don’t pull away. And neither does he.

“The next stop is ours.”

The two of you break away almost reluctantly. By the time you get back to the tower, you feel like your heart has been racing nonstop.

Once inside, you both go your separate ways, he finds his comfy spot by the window while you wander around, looking for an Avenger to follow around and maybe learn from.

A few hours later, he hears you come back into the room. You’re following behind Bucky, asking questions, and he wonders how, in the two or so weeks you’ve been like this, you hadn’t run out of questions. 

“Is it wrong of me to want to know how many pushups you can do?”

Bucky sighs, running out of words to give you. Fortunately, he’s let off the hook when you catch Bob’s eye and bound over to him.

“Meet me on the roof in 10?” you ask, leaning in close.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies, smiling.

You stand looking out at the sunset, waiting for Bob to show up.

A moment later, he appears, turning toward you and noticing you’re still holding the camera.

“I just realised we didn’t get any pictures together, so I figured…”

You stand at the edge of the roof as you sidle up next to each other, sharing the warm glow of the setting sun.

“Ready?” you ask, lifting the camera.

You snap a picture of the two of you. The flash flickers briefly.

The two of you turn toward each other, the space between you suddenly feeling electric and full of possibility.

You glance down, checking the picture on the camera. A small smile tugs at your lips, and Bob watches you with quiet intensity.

He told himself he just wanted to be your friend, and he was. He was your friend now. But being this close to you, when you looked like a daydream, it was hard to think of anything else. He liked seeing you happy. He liked being the reason you were happy. So this just felt like the natural step; he wouldn’t be afraid anymore. 

“Can I kiss you?” He utters so softly that you might not have heard it if you weren’t so dialled in to him.

“Yes.”

It was the easiest question you’d ever had to answer. 

The moment is instantly electric. It was love at first sight for you, like fate had placed him in that chair just for you. His hands gently cup your face, drawing you closer as he leans in to kiss you.

The moment your lips meet, you melt into it.

It’s easy, it’s natural. But it also feels like you’re walking on air.

Your lips melt together as the kiss deepens, slow and sure, like you’ve both been holding your breath for days and finally found air in each other.

Then, suddenly, you feel the ground vanish beneath your feet. It takes a few moments to realise what’s happening. You're both slowly lifting into the air, weightless, like the kiss has broken gravity’s hold.

You pull back, breathless, eyes wide. “We’re flying.”

Bob’s eyes are glowing, soft gold, like sunlight through clouds. And to make it that much more perfect, he’s staring at you like you hung the stars.

“Yeah,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “we are.”

***

The world feels light. You feel like you could do anything. Bob kissed you, and somehow, that made everything else fall into place, like that one moment was enough to ground you and lift you all at once. You kissed him so good, he fucking flew! That was something to be proud of. 

“Morning!” you greet cheerfully, practically floating into the room.

“Well, aren’t you in a good mood?” John comments, raising an eyebrow at your brightness.

“I am. Quite literally nothing could ruin my day.”

You look over at John’s plate filled with all things healthy and not a pancake in sight, and sneer, “Not even whatever is going on over there.”

“You’re going to die if you keep eating the way you do.”

“At least I’ll die happy.” 

And probably in Bob’s arms, but you’d keep that to yourself. You keep flitting around the kitchen, flashes of Bob popping up like you had a gallery in your head dedicated to him.

Then, of course, that’s when Bucky and Yelena appear, both standing stiffly in the doorway. Their faces are unreadable, but it’s clear they’re not here to chat.

“Can we talk to you?” Yelena asks, her voice calm but firm.

Your smile falters. The tone in her voice doesn’t match your mood. You glance between them, a nervous flutter stirring in your chest. They lead you to another room, and your heart pounds with each step. Once you're face to face with them, you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. 

“Just tell me,” you say, steeling yourself.

Bucky steps forward, voice gentle. “There’s a way you might be able to get your memories back.”

Your heart nearly stops.

“They’ve made a device,” Bucky says carefully, “to counteract the effects of the ray you were hit with.”

You swallow hard, your lungs suddenly tight, like the air has turned to cement.

“Will I remember what happened these past few weeks?” you ask, already bracing for the answer.

“They’re not sure,” Yelena replies gently. “There’s a chance you won’t.”

The rest of the day blurs. You wear that carefully constructed smile while inside, everything feels like it’s unravelling. You laugh at jokes, eat meals, and talk to the team, but every time you look at Bob, it’s like looking at a sunset you might never see again.

Because what if you disappear?

What if the version of you that exists now—the one who fell in love, who made pancakes, who learned to laugh again—vanishes?

What if all of it was just borrowed time?

You’re curled up on the couch later, trying not to let the weight of it crush you, when Yelena finds you. She pauses, studying you quietly.

“You okay?” she asks, snapping you out of your spiral.

You glance up at her with a weak smile. “Yeah,” you lie. “I’m… I’m great.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Yelena presses gently. She sits beside you, eyes focused and unwavering. She sees right through you.

You hesitate, then finally let it slip out like a confession you’d been clutching too tightly.

“What if, when I get my memories back… things are different? What if you guys don’t like me anymore?”

Your voice cracks on the last word. It’s not just about them, and you both know it. It’s about him.

Bob liked you now. The person you’d become. The version of you without all the baggage, the walls, the defence mechanisms. What if the old you came back and pushed him away again?

“We’ll like you regardless,” Yelena says, firm but kind, leaning forward, her words meant to stick. “All of us.” She emphasises that last part, not missing the real question behind your fear. You and Bob haven’t exactly been subtle, floating around the Tower like someone told you the world was ending and you decided to fall in love anyway.

“You think?” you ask quietly, hating how small your voice sounds.

“I know,” she replies without hesitation. “Bob isn’t the type to run. He’s not just here for this version of you. He’s here for you, full stop.”

The thought of him leaving still prickles, sharp and cold. But there’s something warm in her certainty that you cling to. You want to believe her.

“Thank you,” You whisper with a small smile. But there’s still that little piece of doubt lingering in the back of your head. 

***

You spend all night worrying, your mind running in circles while your body stays perfectly still, tucked into Bob’s arms. His breath tickles the back of your neck in soft, steady waves. You can feel the quiet thud of his heartbeat against your spine, a rhythm that grounds you more than anything else ever has. This feels like happiness. This feels more right than anything you’ve ever known.

And nights like this… how could you give it up, when you had just begun to have it?

The thought won’t let you go. So, when you’re sure Bob is fully asleep, you carefully slip out of his arms. You sneak out of bed, heart pounding with every silent step, padding your way barefoot down the hall to the lab.

The room is dim and still. On the central table sits the device. The thing that could give you everything back and take everything away.

You stare at it. Your reflection glints back at you in its smooth surface. What would you really be giving up? The person you were before. Aloof, guarded, and apparently barely connected to anyone. No warmth, no laughter, no Bob.

Your fingers close around it. Maybe this was the price of keeping what mattered. Maybe this version of you was the better one. Maybe memories weren’t worth more than love.

You raise the device in the air, prepared to end it all before it can change you back—

Then the door creaks open behind you.

“Hey,” Bob’s voice is low, thick with sleep but steady. He stands in the doorway, his eyes not on the device, but on you. “What are you doing?”

His eyes widen in alarm. “You need to put that down. Without it, you can’t get your memories back.”

You stare at the small device in your hand, the one meant to unlock everything you've forgotten. Everything that’s been haunting your dreams and slipping through your fingers like mist.

You’re so close to throwing it on the ground, your grip tightening as your voice shakes. “Maybe I don’t want them back.”

He goes still. You can see the panic in his face, but it’s laced with something else too. Pain.

You’re biting back the heat behind your eyes, the pressure building in your chest, like red-hot guilt piercing through you. Because it’s not just about your memories, it’s about him. The fear that if you remember everything…you might lose this. Lose him.

“I don’t want to remember a world where you’re not in it,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “What if I get it all back and I’m not me anymore? What if I’m someone who doesn't love you?”

Bob takes a careful step closer, like you’re on the edge of something fragile. “Then I’ll help you fall in love with me all over again,” he says quietly. “No matter how many times it takes.”

What if you don’t love me anymore? What if getting these memories back means you lose me…?” Your voice is shaking now. “What if who I am is just… broken? I mean, my own mother didn’t—”

You stop yourself, the words dying in your throat.

Bob takes a step closer. He feels that pang again, deep and aching, like something in his chest is being pulled taut. Not just because of what you said, but because he’s watching you unravel in front of him, and he never wants you to feel like this, like love is conditional. 

“The person I am now… I want to be that person. I don’t want to be the girl you think of as a stranger. I want to be the girl you love.”

Bob’s eyes are soft, full of a sadness he tries to hide, and a depth of affection he doesn’t bother to. “I’m telling this to you because I love you. If you don't get your memories back, you'll always be left wondering who you were.”

Your hands are trembling when you finally set the device down on the table. You throw your arms around him and hug him so tightly he thinks he might break apart, and he doesn't mind it especially if it meant being held like this by you.

“I love you too,” you murmur, burying your face in his shoulder.

You both freeze for half a second, the realisation hitting you at the same time, how easy it was. How natural.

You pull back just enough to look at him, wide-eyed, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

“You said it.”

“So did you.”

And then you’re laughing softly into each other, that weight between you gone, just you, him, and the now. “I love you. No matter what version of you I get.”

He kisses you lightly, your lips moving in sync with one another. It’s more than a kiss, it’s a promise that no matter what, you’d fall in love over and over again, no matter how long it took. 

You pull him flush against you, the feeling of his shirt beneath your fingers keeping you in the moment. Like you were scared it would slip right through your fingers. You pull back and look at him; his eyes are full of desire, and so are yours.

You jump and he catches you, wrapping your legs around his waist. Your lips reconnect as if they were magnets. The kiss is more fast paced, filled with passion as you who each other just how much you need one another. He places you on a counter, his hands roaming your body as the need to explore every part of you becomes too much to bear. 

Both of you stop suddenly, your foreheads against each other as you breathe heavily. Your chests rise and fall in sync, hearts thudding loudly in your ears. You wanted to go further, God, you both did, but you knew you had to stop. 

“When you get your memory back,” he whispers.

You nod. As much as you both wanted this…you couldn't yet. Not while you weren't whole.

“When I get my memory back.”

***

“So this is it?” you whisper, voice barely steady.

You’re sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, the sterile smell of the room thick in the air. You can feel your heart pounding harder than it should.

Bob is standing beside you, his hand tightly wrapped around yours, thumb running slow, comforting circles over your knuckles. 

You glance up at him, eyes searching. “What if everything changes?”

Bob is the first thing you see when you wake up. You’re sleepy and groggy, and he’s sitting there, book in hand.

“You’re awake,” he says softly. You nod, your eyes slowly adjusting as you take in your surroundings. “Maybe I could make you some pancakes,” Bob says, trying to see if you remembered. 

“Why would you do that?” you ask, letting out a confused laugh.

His face falls, hands tightening around the book. “You don’t… remember?”

“No, sorry. Did I miss something?” you say, blinking at him, genuinely puzzled.

“I’m sorry, I… I was just—” He stammers, trying to backtrack. “It’s nothing.”

“I should let you rest,” he adds, sensing your discomfort.

Bob gets up and walks to the door, and he’s about to leave when you stop him, your voice softer now.

“Thanks for being here when I woke up. It’s very kind of you.”

He musters a small, genuine smile and replies, “Anytime.”

In the days that passed, it was hard mourning someone who’s still alive and technically shouldn’t have existed. But deep down, he knew it wouldn’t be the end. The person he fell in love with was gone, but maybe he could fall in love again, with the person you are now.

One morning, you’re sitting by the table, scrolling through your phone, when Bob quietly walks in and slides a plate of pancakes to you.

“What are these for?” you ask.

“Just felt like it,” he replies, watching your eyes light up when you bite into them despite your best efforts to hide it.

You’ll fall for each other again; it’s only a matter of time.

Masterlist

[iydiamartinx]

UNEXPECTED GUESTS III

jason x reader, platonic!damian wayne

divider by: @cafekitsune & @thecutestgrotto & @omi-resources word count: 737 synopsis: Jason’s secret relationship is discovered by Damian—who keeps showing up uninvited. Jason’s patience is tested, popcorn is made, but at least Damian brought cinnamon rolls.

Jason had rules.

One: No surprise visitors.

Two: No crashing without asking.

Three: No team meetings in his damn living room.

Naturally, all three were broken by Friday.

It started when Damian showed up with a duffel bag.

You opened the door, expecting him to just waltz in like usual. Instead, he stood there—bag slung over his shoulder, hood up, and absolutely no explanation.

“…Is that a sleepover bag?” you asked slowly.

“It’s tactical preparedness,” he stated, stepping inside. “You said we might watch two movies.”

Jason, halfway through a protein shake, froze. “That doesn’t require a duffel bag, Damian.”

“It does if one’s staying at your apartment,” Damian replied, already unzipping the duffel. “You have no throw blankets, your couch is stiff, and your meal portions are inconsistent at best—putting me at risk for low blood sugar.”

Jason blinked once. Twice. “Damian, you are twelve.”

“And I am cold,” Damian snapped, already unpacking a hoodie, pajama pants, and an aggressively folded sleep mask.

That alone would’ve been fine. Maybe manageable.

But then Stephanie showed up.

You barely had time to pause The Princess Bride when there was a knock on the door.

“Did someone say movie night?” Steph beamed, already pushing her way in, balancing takeout in one hand and a pillow under her arm. Her eyes landed on you, wide with curiosity. “Wait—you’re the civilian who tamed the demon.”

You blinked. “Uh—guilty?”

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Stephanie Brown. Spoiler, Batgirl—“

“—Also known as the chaos gremlin—” Jason rolled his eyes. 

She ignored him. “—I brought tacos and terrible opinions.”

Jason squinted. “Why do you have a pillow?”

“Why do you live in this shoebox instead of the manor?” she shot back cheerfully.

Then came Cassandra.

Silent, graceful, and practically materializing behind Steph, Cass gave you a small, warm smile and a nod.

You smiled back. “You must be Cassandra. He talks about you.”

Her brows lifted with interest as she stepped inside and offered a hand.

“I’m Y/N,” you added, shaking it. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Cass’s smile widened, as she returned the nod as if to say you too before joining Stephanie on the couch. 

And just like that, you had four vigilantes lounging in your apartment, trading snacks and movie quotes while you tried to remember how this became your life.

Jason came home from patrol later than usual, hoping—praying—he could slip in, shower, and have a quiet night in bed with you.

What he found instead was chaos.

Shoes by the door. Pillows on the floor. An entire army of fuzzy blankets colonizing the couch. Stephanie arguing over whether a vampire or a werewolf would make a better boyfriend. Cass was silently braiding your hair with laser focus while Damian sat beside you reading, pretending not to be invested in the debate.

Jason stood there, helmet under his arm, staring into the eye of the domestic storm.

Tim walked out of the bathroom with wet hair and a borrowed towel. “Hey, you’re out late.”

Jason blinked. “Why are you here?”

“You said the shower pressure here’s better than the Cave.”

“I was being sarcastic!”

Tim shrugged. “Still true.”

“Okay, no,” Jason said finally, tossing his helmet onto the counter. “This is not a Batcave. This is not a bunker. This is not a public gathering space.”

“You’re just mad Cass took your blanket,” Stephanie called, swaddled like a human burrito.

“That was my blanket,” Jason snapped.

Cass just smiled, warm and sleepy, and patted the couch beside her. Jason looked personally betrayed.

Damian—now in sweatpants and sipping tea like a 40-year-old divorcee—barely looked up from his book. “You could always move back to the manor. There’s more space.”

Jason gave him a look.

You grinned from the kitchen, where you were plating up leftover tacos. “You could just stay here and deal with it.”

Jason walked over to you, leaned in, and whispered, “We could also fake your death and move to the Alps.”

You kissed his cheek. “But then who would make Damian’s tea right?”

Jason groaned and dropped his forehead against your shoulder. “I want you. Not the entire rogue’s gallery of caffeine-addicted vigilantes who have colonized my life.”

“You want me and a quiet apartment. You can’t have both.”

He looked at the living room—Steph singing off-key, Cass stealing Tim’s hoodie, Damian glaring at his tea like it wronged him—and sighed.

“…I’m going to the Batcave.”

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Tag list: @stormz369

[a-casxandra]

❝𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐫.❞ part 2

Caleb as your boyfriend x you (non-mc), birthday angst.

𝗖𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗯'𝘀 𝗽𝗼𝘃

Caleb had never noticed it before—not really.

The way your smile never quite reached your eyes these days. The way your fingers fidgeted in your lap when MC leaned a little too close. The way Gideon looked at you with something that resembled… pity.

He thought things were fine. You never complained. You were always understanding. Supportive. Gentle. So he convinced himself you were okay.

That night at the club, he hadn’t thought twice about offering MC his jacket. She was cold, drunk. He didn’t even see your bare arms shivering just inches away. Didn’t notice the way your lips pressed into a tight line when MC clung to him in her usual, tipsy way.

Didn’t realize how wrong it all looked—until much, much later.

It wasn’t until he saw Gideon hand you his jacket, and you hesitated, almost embarrassed, that something in his chest stirred. A flicker. Just a flicker.

He should’ve checked in.

But MC laughed, and his attention shifted again. It always did.

Caleb had always thought love would be obvious.

Loud. Chaotic. Unavoidable. Like the kind he saw in movies, or felt years ago, when he was young and stupid and MC was the girl next door with a crooked smile and dreams bigger than both of them.

But maybe that was the problem.

He didn’t realize love could also be quiet.

Like someone sitting on his right side all night.

Someone who didn’t need to speak to be loud.

Someone who didn’t cry even when he deserved to be yelled at.

He didn’t realize until you were gone.

Caleb noticed your silence the morning after his birthday.

No good morning kiss. No breakfast for two. No light footsteps moving through the kitchen.

Just... silence. The kind that made his chest tight.

He walked into the living room. Your phone was gone. So was your jacket. The dress from last night? Folded neatly on the chair.

His heart sank.

A note sat on the table, your handwriting small, almost apologetic.

> “Happy birthday again. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye in person. Take care of MC. She needs you.”

He read it twice. Then again. And again.

Then he said your name out loud, like maybe if he spoke it enough, you’d answer.

You didn’t.

Day 2.

He texted.

No reply.

Day 3.

Called. Straight to voicemail.

Day 5.

He showed up at your workplace. Your co-worker said you took leave. “Needed space,” was all they offered.

Day 7.

Gideon found him sitting on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by takeout containers and empty glasses. “You look like hell,” Gideon said, pulling him up by the arm.

“I think she’s gone,” Caleb croaked. “For real this time.”

Gideon didn’t say I told you so. But the look in his eyes said everything. “You hurt her, man. You didn’t even notice. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt, but damn, Caleb… the way you looked at MC that night? You should’ve seen yourself.”

Caleb ran a hand through his hair, chest aching. “She’s just my childhood friend.”

“No,” Gideon said, dead serious. “She was your future. And you treated her like a seat-filler.”

One week later, Caleb finally found you.

You were at the park, sitting alone on a bench with a takeaway coffee cup in hand, face tilted toward the pale sun. You looked peaceful.

And he hated himself for wanting to disturb that peace.

Caleb stood there for a moment, just watching. Then took a slow step forward.

You noticed him before he could say your name. “I thought you’d be with MC.” Your voice wasn’t bitter. Just… tired.

Caleb winced. “She’s not the one I want to be with.”

Silence.

“I was stupid,” he continued, swallowing down the guilt. “I didn’t see what I was doing until you left.”

“No,” you said, calmly. “You saw. You just didn’t care until I finally walked away.”

Caleb froze. Because you were right.

And it hurt. Because he deserved it.

“You looked at her like she was the only one in the room,” you whispered. “And I was there the whole time, Caleb. I was there.”

He stepped closer, voice raw. “You have every right to hate me. But I—God, I miss you. I miss us. I’d do anything to fix it. Anything.”

You looked at him then. Eyes glassy, but steady. “And if MC called you drunk again tonight?" Your words were like a dagger. “If she needed you again? Would you leave me in the backseat again?”

“…No,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”

You nodded slowly, letting his answer hang in the air like fog. Then you stood, brushing off your coat. “I don’t want to be your second choice, Caleb. Not anymore. I loved you enough to accept crumbs. I loved you enough to believe your silence meant safety. But I love myself more now.”

His hands trembled, he didn't think twice as he sank down on his knees, kneeling infront of you. “Please. I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you—”

But you shook your head. “I don’t want you to make it up to me. I just want you to feel it.”

And with one last look, you turned and walked away.

Caleb kneeled there long after you disappeared, clenching his fist, throat burning.

And for the first time in years, Caleb finally understood:

𝗛𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝗱𝗻’𝘁 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝘆𝗼𝘂.

𝗛𝗲’𝗱 𝗹𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜.

soo here's caleb with my mc! (●'◡'●)

[nightplvmes]

the morning after (fluff)

zayne one shot (love and deepspace) the morning after your first time with him⋆｡° | pairing : zayne x fem!reader ⋆｡° | word count : 0.9k (900) ⋆｡° | fluff, no explicit content, the morning after (that) likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :) ★ masterlist here

When you woke up, you felt your eyes burning slightly. You stirred in bed and yawned so you could continue sleeping in complete peace. It took more than a couple of seconds for the memories of the previous night to flood back to you and for you to remember where you were.

When the memory hit you like a bus, you quickly got up, sat on your bed, and looked around. You were definitely not in your room, and you recognized your surroundings too well to confirm that what had happened the night before had been real. You were only wearing your underwear; you didn't even remember having put on underwear the night before. You were so tired that you could only fall asleep without realizing it.

You had gone on some sort of date to Zayne's house the night before; nothing out of the ordinary had happened on other dates. He had cooked for you, you had drunk wine, you had dessert, and then you had watched a movie while you sipped on something that was a hot beverage, but you didn't even remember what it was anymore. You closed your eyes and fell back onto the pillows until your mind returned.

You weren't drunk, you knew it perfectly well because Zayne would never have touched you if he'd known you were even slightly intoxicated. The desserts and the hot drink had helped you come back to your senses in case some of the little wine you'd drunk had slightly clouded your mind because you had a terrible temper when it came to alcohol. You remembered starting with small kisses when at some point in the movie he'd slipped you into his lap. Until the kiss ended up escalating too much.

Your cheeks flushed at the memory. Zayne wasn't someone you were just hanging out with, waiting to see what would happen. Maybe you weren't a couple, but you were absolutely sure you were serious and it was going to happen at some point. When you slid out of bed and looked for your clothes, you couldn't find them… But you did find one of Zayne's shirts. Was that too cliché? Probably, but it was much safer if he'd already left for work.

With that thought, you left the room with a yawn. You walked calmly to the kitchen, and it wasn't until much later that you smelled a sweet scent in the air. Your heart pounded as you considered two options: something was burning and now you had to explain to Zayne why he had to move out, or Zayne was still at home and not actually in the hospital.

The second option won out. You noticed it when you walked into the kitchen and saw him there, moving around, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, totally relaxed and shirtless. Shirtless. He didn't realize you were there until he turned to put something on the table. Zayne's jaw clenched when he saw you at the entrance to the kitchen, his eyes scanning your body and the way you looked in his shirt. "Good morning," he smiled, placing a mug on the table.

"Hi," you mumbled, somewhat embarrassed, as you approached the kitchen island. You took a seat at the table, and Zayne moved the mug he'd previously placed on the table closer to you. It was then that you realized that the coffee was for you. "I thought you'd be in the hospital," Zayne shook his head as he turned off the stove.

"I asked for the day off," he replied normally, placing a kiss on your forehead before taking the seat next to you. Zayne looked away, and you took the time to observe him, how he looked shirtless, still slightly sleepy, and with his hair disheveled.

Something stirred in you. You wanted to wake up like this every day. You wanted to see him shirtless, making breakfast or getting out of the shower, and he'd place a kiss on your forehead before leaving for work. You couldn't stop staring at him, not even when he got up from his chair to check something on the other side of the kitchen. It was at that moment that you slid out of your seat and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him from behind. Zayne seemed surprised but quickly relaxed in your arms. "I like it like this," you finally spoke after a few seconds of silence.

Zayne turned to look at you, his arms quickly wrapping around you to hug you. "Like this?" he asked as he placed another kiss on your forehead. You nodded, clinging closer to him.

"Waking up with you," you admitted, inhaling Zayne's scent and concentrating on the warmth he gave off. You felt him slide his fingers down your jaw and then to your chin to force you to look up. His lips crashed against yours, a slow kiss, savoring every part of your mouth. Like those times when you know there will be more, because Zayne knew there would be more. He wanted more.

"You have to have breakfast." Zayne kissed your cheek again, then your jaw, and finally pulled back. You nodded because you knew if he kept kissing you like that, you'd probably end up in bed again, much less before the day started. It took you several seconds to return to the real world and realize Zayne had made breakfast for you. You definitely wanted to wake up like this every time.

[dior-luxury]

How'd They React To You Skipping School

( ✧ ) ────── boyfriend stories . comedy/drama - she/her .

- [𝐜𝐡.] cater . leona. floyd . vil . rook . silver . sebek . malleus

- [𝐩:𝐬] none

Note: I had like no idea of what to post, so I just decided to post one of my drafts!

Cater Diamond

Cater is used to you doing your own thing, but when he realizes you're skipping school without telling him, it throws him off. He first notices your absence in class when he glances over at your usual seat and finds it empty.

"Huh? No way. Did she sleep in?" he mumbles, tilting his head.

He checks his Magicam feed just in case, and sure enough—there you are, chilling at a café, sipping on a fancy drink with a little dessert on the side.

"Omg. She’s out living her best life while I’m suffering in Trein’s lecture?? Rude."

At first, he considers letting it slide. After all, it’s not like he never ditches, but the more he thinks about it, the more a nagging feeling settles in his chest.

So, the second class ends, he shoots you a text.

Cay-kun 🧡: Baaaaabe, why am I seeing u on my Magicam instead of in class? U cheating on me with a strawberry shortcake? 😭🍰

You don’t reply right away. He sighs, leaning against a hallway wall. Then, an idea strikes him. If you’re going to skip school, why not have a real ditch day adventure?

Thirty minutes later, you’re peacefully enjoying your alone time when a very familiar voice chimes in from across the café.

"Omg, no way. What are the chances? I just happened to be in the area~", Cater says, sliding into the seat across from you with an easy grin.

You roll your eyes. "Cater, you totally left school to find me."

He laughs, taking a sip of your drink without asking. "Busted. But c’mon, how could I let my precious girlfriend have all the fun by herself? We could’ve planned a whole cute ditch day together!"

Though he’s joking, there’s a flicker of something else in his expression—concern, maybe? You don’t miss the way his fingers drum lightly against the table, the way his usual easygoing smile seems just a bit forced.

"Next time, at least tell me, okay? I wanna make sure you’re safe. Plus, if you’re gonna skip, might as well do it with style. Matching outfits, cute couple photos—the whole deal."

Even though he’s being playful, you know he’s serious. And honestly? You wouldn’t mind skipping with him next time.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is no stranger to skipping school—hell, it’s practically his hobby. So when he hears from Ruggie that you didn’t show up to class, his first reaction is to scoff.

"Tch. So what? Not like it’s my problem."

But as the day drags on, something bugs him. He expected you to at least text him if you were gonna skip.

By the time lunch rolls around, his patience is gone.

Instead of going to class, he heads straight to his usual napping spot in the botanical gardens—where, conveniently, he finds you lounging on a bench, headphones in, eyes closed as you soak in the afternoon sun.

For a moment, he just watches. Then, with a sigh, he plops down beside you, one arm draped over the back of the bench as he tilts his head toward you.

"You got some nerve skippin’ without tellin’ me."

Your eyes snap open. "Leona? How’d you—"

"I am the king, y’know. I got eyes everywhere."

He leans in, his voice dropping to that low, lazy drawl that always sends a shiver down your spine. "So? You got a reason for dodging class, or you just felt like slacking?"

You mumble something about needing a break. Leona raises an eyebrow, letting out a deep sigh.

"Hmph. Well, can’t say I blame you. But if you’re gonna play hooky, at least do it right."

Before you can react, he shifts, lying down with his head in your lap, eyes already closing.

"Since you’re already here, you might as well stay. I ain’t letting you run off alone again—next time, you skip, you tell me first. Got it?"

His words are firm, but the way his hand lazily rests on your knee, fingers tracing absentminded patterns, tells you everything you need to know.

You weren’t just skipping school—you were skipping him. And Leona Kingscholar doesn’t like being left out.

Floyd Leech

When Floyd finds out you skipped school, the reaction is instant and dramatic.

It starts when he bursts into your dorm room, eyes glinting with mischief.

"Shrimpyyyyy~ Why weren’t you in class today?"

Before you can even answer, he flops down onto your bed, stretching like a lazy cat.

"I was soooo boooored. Sitting in class with no Shrimpy to tease? Ugh, it was awful!"

You roll your eyes. "Floyd, it’s just one day. I needed a break."

The air shifts.

Floyd props himself up on one elbow, his usual playful smile still in place, but there’s something more intense behind his eyes now.

"Hmm. A break from school? Or a break from me?"

You blink. "Wait, what? No, that’s not—"

Before you can finish, he’s suddenly on top of you, his long fingers gently but firmly pressing against your wrists. His grin widens, but his grip tightens just slightly.

"Y’know, if you wanted to play hooky, you could’ve just told me. We coulda done something fun together." His voice drops to a murmur, lips brushing against your ear. "But instead, you ran off all alone… That’s kinda mean, don’tcha think?"

Your heart skips a beat. "Floyd, I didn’t mean it like that—"

In an instant, his mood flips back.

"Hehe, just kidding~!" He suddenly rolls off you, laughing as he sprawls out on the bed again.

"Buuut next time you skip, I’m coming with you. No ifs, ands, or buts. Shrimpy doesn’t get to run away from me, got it?"

Despite the playfulness, you know he’s dead serious. And honestly? It’s safer to just agree. Because when Floyd wants something…

He gets it.

Here’s how Vil, Rook, and Silver would react to you skipping school, each in their own unique way!

Vil Schoenheit

Vil notices your absence immediately. He keeps a close eye on you—not in an overbearing way (or so he claims), but enough to know when something’s off.

It starts when he walks into class and sees your seat empty. He frowns.

"Where is she?" he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else.

Even Rook, who usually lets things play out naturally, raises an eyebrow at Vil’s reaction.

"Perhaps ma belle has decided to take an impromptu escape from the drudgery of academia?"

Vil clicks his tongue. "Hardly. She wouldn’t skip for no reason. Which means…"

His eyes narrow as he pulls out his phone and dials your number. It rings. And rings. No answer.

Vil is not amused.

By lunch, he has had enough. With a sigh, he closes his notebook, stands up, and says, "If the professors ask, tell them I’m handling a… personal matter."

A few students exchange glances, but no one questions him. When Vil Schoenheit is on a mission, he gets what he wants.

—

You’re lounging at a quiet spot near the outskirts of campus, enjoying the rare moment of solitude, when suddenly—

"There you are."

You nearly jump out of your skin at the sound of his voice.

Vil stands before you, arms crossed, his violet eyes burning with irritation.

"Would you like to explain to me why you’ve chosen to neglect your studies today?"

You stammer out something about needing a break. The pressure of school, the endless expectations—it was all just too much.

For a moment, Vil just stares at you. Then, with a sigh, he walks over and gracefully sits beside you.

"I understand," he says at last, his tone softer now. "But running away won’t solve anything, my dear. If you were overwhelmed, you should have come to me."

His fingers gently brush a strand of hair from your face, his expression unreadable.

"Your beauty, your mind, your potential—they are things that should be nurtured, not neglected. And if anyone dares to say otherwise, they’ll have to deal with me."

You swallow, feeling warmth bloom in your chest.

"But…" he continues, tilting your chin up slightly, "if you ever pull something like this again without informing me, I will drag you back to class myself. Understood?"

With Vil, skipping school is not just about missing lessons. It’s about maintaining excellence—and to him, you deserve nothing less.

Rook Hunt

Rook doesn’t need anyone to tell him you skipped school. He feels it.

The moment he steps into the classroom, a shiver runs down his spine. He scans the room, and sure enough—you’re missing.

"Ah… mon trésor, where could you have vanished to?"

Anyone else might have let it go. But Rook? Rook Hunt?

Oh, no, no, no.

This is a hunt.

—

You think you’ve found the perfect hiding spot—a secluded meadow just beyond campus. The breeze is gentle, the grass soft, and the world feels so blissfully quiet.

But then—

"Ah…! What a rare and exquisite sight! A most beautiful creature, escaping the confines of duty to embrace the wild!"

You jerk up, heart pounding. "Rook?! How—"

He smiles down at you, eyes glimmering with delight.

"My dear, you wound me! Did you truly believe you could evade me?"

You groan. "Can’t I have one day to myself?"

Rook simply chuckles, kneeling beside you. "But of course! And what a splendid setting you have chosen! Ah, the crisp air, the golden sunlight—it is a moment worthy of poetry!"

You sigh, leaning back. "So, you’re not going to drag me back?"

Rook tilts his head.

"Non, non, ma chérie. Who am I to interfere with the call of your spirit?" His voice lowers, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "However… I must ask—were you running to something… or from something?"

You pause. You hadn’t thought about it that way.

Rook hums, plucking a flower and tucking it behind your ear.

"Whatever it is, you need not face it alone. If ever you wish to flee again… invite me along, oui? Let us embark on a grand adventure together."

His words are sweet, but the message is clear—next time, he will find you. And next time… you might not mind.

Silver

Silver is usually the one who accidentally skips class (thanks to his habit of falling asleep anywhere), so when he realizes you’re the one missing, it catches him off guard.

Lilia is the first to notice his concern.

"Looking for someone, Silver?" he asks, sipping his tea.

Silver hesitates. "She’s not here. She wasn’t in class this morning."

Lilia chuckles. "Ah, young love. Are you worried, or do you just miss her?"

Silver’s ears turn a little pink. "That’s not—"

But he is worried.

So, after finishing his morning duties, he sets off to find you. It doesn’t take long.

He finds you by a quiet stream, legs dangling over the edge, watching the water ripple. You don’t even hear him approach—until he’s sitting beside you.

"Skipping school, huh?" he says, voice calm but firm.

You sigh. "Are you here to lecture me?"

Silver shakes his head. "No. But I am here to make sure you’re okay."

You blink, surprised.

He gazes at the water for a long moment before speaking again.

"I get it. Sometimes, the world moves too fast. Sometimes, you just… need to stop." He exhales. "I’ve felt that way too."

His honesty takes you off guard.

"But," he continues, turning to look at you, "you don’t have to bear it alone. If you ever need to slow down… let me stay by your side."

Your heart clenches at the sincerity in his voice. Silver has always been gentle, always patient—but beneath it all is a quiet strength, one that makes you feel… safe.

He offers you his hand. "Let’s go back together. But if you really don’t want to, then I’ll stay here with you."

You stare at his outstretched hand. And for the first time today, you don’t feel like you have to run.

Because with Silver beside you, the world doesn’t seem so overwhelming anymore.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek prided himself on being alert, disciplined, and ever-diligent in all things—so when he noticed your absence from class, his first instinct was absolute outrage.

"Where is she?!" he bellowed the moment roll call finished, slamming his hands down on his desk.

The entire class turned to stare. Even Lilia, who was used to Sebek’s theatrics, raised an eyebrow.

"Calm yourself, Sebek. I’m sure she has her reasons," Lilia said, sipping his tea.

Sebek whirled around. "Reasons? What reasons could possibly justify this?! My human— I mean, my beloved has abandoned her education!"

His heart raced in his chest, not just from frustration, but from concern. What if something had happened to you? What if you were in danger? What if—gasp—you were avoiding him?!

No. Unacceptable.

Without hesitation, Sebek stormed out of class, determined to find you and drag you back to school himself.

—

You were relaxing in a quiet corner of the gardens, lying beneath the shade of a tree, finally enjoying some peace. That is, until—

"HUMAN!"

The roar of your name nearly sent you flying out of your seat. Before you could even react, Sebek loomed over you, arms crossed, golden eyes blazing with intensity.

"You dare to SKIP CLASS?! What kind of nonsense is this?! Have you no sense of duty?!"

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "Sebek, please. Not so loud."

"LOUD?!" he repeated, even louder. "How can I possibly remain quiet when you have committed such a heinous act?! Skipping school—DISGRACEFUL!"

You sighed. "I just needed a break. I wasn’t in the mood for class today."

Sebek scowled. He wanted to scold you further—to lecture you on the importance of education, of discipline, of honor—but then… he saw the tired look in your eyes.

His frustration wavered.

"You… were not in the mood?" he repeated, his voice softer now.

You nodded. "I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. I just wanted to breathe a little, that’s all."

Sebek stiffened. His grip on his arms tightened. His natural instinct was to demand you push through it—to insist that duty must always come first.

But then… he thought of Lord Malleus. How often had his master been told to put his responsibilities first? How often had he been isolated because of that very thinking?

Sebek hesitated. Then, very slowly, he sat down beside you.

"If you were feeling unwell… you should have informed me." His voice was still gruff, but gentler now. "It is my duty to stand by your side, no matter the circumstance."

You blinked, surprised by the change in his tone. Sebek? Being understanding? That was new.

He cleared his throat. "But! This does NOT mean I condone such behavior!" He huffed, turning away. "If you must rest, then rest properly! Not by… skipping school like some delinquent!"

You smiled. "So, you’re not mad?"

"OF COURSE I AM—!" He caught himself, exhaled sharply, then muttered, "…Just do not make a habit of it."

You giggled. Despite all his dramatic ranting, you could tell he was genuinely worried about you.

And maybe, just maybe… Sebek Zigvolt cared more about your well-being than he let on.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus immediately noticed your absence the moment he stepped into class.

At first, he thought you were simply running late. But as the minutes passed and your seat remained empty, his usual calm began to crack.

"She is not here," he murmured to himself, fingers tapping lightly against his desk.

Lilia, watching from the side, smiled knowingly. "Ah, young love. Worried already?"

Malleus said nothing, but his green eyes darkened.

The moment class ended, he vanished. Not even his retainers could stop him.

—

You were peacefully sitting beneath a willow tree, flipping through a book, when the sky suddenly dimmed.

A chill ran through the air. The once-bright afternoon grew darker, as if the sun itself was hiding.

And then—

"There you are."

Your head snapped up. Standing before you, tall and regal as ever, was Malleus. His emerald gaze bore into yours, unreadable and intense.

"You did not come to class today," he stated. Not a question. A fact.

You swallowed. "I just… needed a break."

Malleus was silent for a long moment. Then, he took slow, deliberate steps forward.

"A break," he repeated softly. "From school… or from me?"

Your eyes widened. "Wait, what? No, Malleus, I—"

Before you could finish, he had closed the distance. He stood so close, his presence towering, consuming.

"Do you understand how worried I was?" His voice was gentle, yet firm. "You disappeared without a word. Do you truly believe I would not seek you out?"

You fumbled for words, guilt creeping into your chest.

"I didn’t think it would be a big deal—"

"You are my beloved."

The way he said it—so matter-of-factly, so absolute—made your breath hitch.

"Everything about you is a 'big deal' to me."

Your heart pounded. You opened your mouth to respond, but Malleus was already sitting beside you, his usual regal demeanor softening.

"If you wished to escape," he murmured, "you need only call for me. I would take you anywhere you desire."

His fingers ghosted over yours.

"But next time, do not disappear on your own. My heart does not take well to such… uncertainty."

A lump formed in your throat. You hadn't meant to worry him—not like this.

You turned, meeting his gaze. "I promise. Next time… I’ll tell you."

His expression eased, and a rare, soft smile graced his lips.

"Good."

And just like that, the sky brightened once more.

Malleus Draconia was no stranger to solitude. But when it came to you…

He would not tolerate being left behind.

[pucksandpower]

A Royal Surprise

Max Verstappen x Princess of Wales!Reader

Summary: in which Max 1) forgot to tell his team that he has a girlfriend and 2) forgot to tell his team that the girlfriend in question is the future Queen of England … oops?

One of Red Bull Racing’s PR officers, Leslie, sits in the back of the conference room, her pen poised over her notepad as she listens to the team debrief. It’s a typical Thursday morning, with engineers and drivers discussing the upcoming race weekend. Leslie’s eyes flit between Max Verstappen and his teammate as they offer their insights on car performance and track conditions.

“The balance felt off in turn three during the sim,” Max says, leaning back in his chair. “We might need to adjust the downforce.”

Leslie jots this down, already planning how to phrase it for the press conference later that afternoon. Just another normal day at Red Bull Racing, she thinks.

But then, Max casually adds, “Oh, and by the way, you might see some extra security around this weekend. My girlfriend’s coming to watch the race.”

Leslie’s pen stills. There’s something in Max’s tone that makes her look up sharply.

“Girlfriend?” Christian Horner raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

Max shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, it’s been a few months now. We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Leslie leans forward, her PR senses tingling. “Anyone we know?” She asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

Max’s grin widens. “You could say that. It’s Y/N.”

The room falls silent. Leslie blinks, sure she must have misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Y/N? As in ...”

“The Princess of Wales, yeah,” Max confirms, as if he’s just mentioned dating a local girl from down the street.

Leslie’s notepad slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the room.

“Max,” Christian says slowly, “are you telling us that you’re dating the future Queen of England?”

Max nods, still looking far too relaxed for someone who’s just dropped a bombshell of international proportions. “That’s right.”

Leslie’s mind is spinning. Images of tabloid headlines and diplomatic incidents flash before her eyes. She stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need to make some calls,” she says weakly.

But before she can escape, Christian holds up a hand. “Wait, Leslie. We need to handle this carefully. Max, how long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Max replies. “We met at a charity event in London. Hit it off right away.”

Leslie sinks back into her chair, her head in her hands. “Six months,” she mutters. “You’ve been dating the Princess of Wales for six months, and we’re just finding out now?”

Max has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. You know how it is with the media.”

Oh, Leslie knows. She knows all too well. “Max,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “do you realize what this means? The security implications alone ...”

“It’s all been taken care of,” Max assures her. “The palace has been very discreet.”

Leslie laughs, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “The palace. Of course. Because now we’re dealing with actual palaces.”

Christian clears his throat. “Right. Well, this certainly changes things. Leslie, I think we’re going to need to reschedule the rest of this meeting. Can you get started on a press strategy?”

Leslie nods numbly, her mind already racing with potential scenarios and damage control plans.

As the room begins to clear, Max approaches her. “Leslie? Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Max, I appreciate you telling us. But next time you decide to date royalty, maybe give us a heads up a bit sooner?”

Max chuckles. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you’re handling it better than your counterpart at the palace did when you found out.”

“Oh God,” Leslie groans. “I’m going to have to coordinate with the royal PR team, aren’t I?”

“They’re actually pretty cool,” Max says. “A bit stuffy at first, but they loosen up after a while.”

Leslie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is my life now. Okay, Max, I need you to tell me everything. How did you meet? How have you kept this secret? What are the security arrangements?”

For the next hour, Leslie grills Max on every detail of his relationship with you. She learns about secret rendezvous in Monaco, carefully orchestrated “chance” meetings at public events, and the challenges of dating someone whose every move is scrutinized by the world.

“And you’re sure about this?” Leslie asks finally. “Dating her ... it’s not exactly going to be easy for you.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know. But she’s worth it. We’re worth it.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a twinge of sympathy. It can’t be easy, trying to nurture a relationship under such intense pressure.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll do everything I can to make this as smooth as possible. But Max, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more bombshells, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Max grins. “Well, actually ...”

Leslie’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? What is it now?”

“Her father ... he’s a big F1 fan. He’s been hinting that he’d like to attend a race.”

The room starts to spin. The last thing Leslie hears before everything goes black is Max’s concerned voice saying, “Leslie? Leslie, are you okay?”

When Leslie comes to, she’s lying on the conference room couch, with Max and Christian hovering over her anxiously.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Christian says, relief evident in his voice. “You gave us quite a scare there, Leslie.”

Leslie sits up slowly, her head still spinning. “Please tell me I dreamed all of that,” she mutters.

Max shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry, it’s all real. Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?”

Leslie waves him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Just ... processing.” She takes a deep breath, her PR training kicking in despite her shock. “Okay. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to draft a statement.”

Christian nods. “Good idea. What are you thinking?”

Leslie stands up, pacing as she thinks out loud. “We need to confirm the relationship without making too big a deal of it. Something like ... ‘Red Bull Racing confirms that driver Max Verstappen is in a relationship with Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. We ask for privacy as they navigate this new chapter.’”

Max frowns. “Isn’t that a bit ... formal?”

Leslie sighs. “Max, you’re dating the future Queen of England. Everything’s going to be a bit formal from now on.”

“She hates that, you know,” Max says softly. “All the formality. It’s why she likes being with me. I treat her like a normal person.”

Leslie pauses in her pacing, struck by the vulnerability in Max’s voice. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Max nods. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. She’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. When I’m with her, I forget about all the titles and protocol. She’s just ... her.”

Christian clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “That’s all well and good, but we need to think about the bigger picture here. This relationship could have major implications for the team, for Formula 1 as a whole.”

Leslie nods, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll need to coordinate with the palace on all public appearances. Security will need to be completely overhauled. And the media ... oh God, the media is going to have a field day with this.”

“Hey,” Max says, placing a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re the best in the business, Leslie. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a rush of affection for the young driver. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do before this news breaks.”

As they settle back into planning mode, Leslie can’t help but shake her head in disbelief. A Formula 1 driver and a princess. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or a cheesy romance novel. But as she watches Max’s face light up when he talks about you, she realizes that sometimes, reality is stranger — and more romantic — than fiction.

“Oh, and Leslie?” Max adds as they’re wrapping up. “About the King wanting to attend a race ...”

Leslie holds up a hand. “One crisis at a time, Max. Let’s get through announcing your relationship before we start planning any more royal visits to the paddock, okay?”

Max grins. “Fair enough. But just so you know, he’s particularly interested in the British Grand Prix. Says it would be ‘jolly good fun’ to present the trophies.”

Leslie closes her eyes, already imagining the logistical nightmare. “Max, I swear, if you’re joking ...”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Max asks innocently.

Leslie looks at him for a long moment, then turns to Christian. “I’m going to need a raise. And possibly a personal team of therapists.”

Christian chuckles. “I think that can be arranged. Welcome to the new era of Red Bull Racing. It’s going to be an interesting ride.”

As Leslie gathers her notes and prepares to face the whirlwind that’s about to engulf them all, she can’t help but smile slightly. It’s going to be challenging, stressful, and probably more than a little crazy. But as she watches Max’s eyes light up at the mention of your name, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, it might all be worth it in the end.

After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale?