#things might be a bit unpredictable for bit

[caramelastro]

SYNASTRY ASPECTS I WISH TO HAVE IN MY LIFE GODDAM

(i actually have it)

Disclaimer - wrote this as i write my personal diaries w no sense of direction ever. But yet very sensible.

3rd house synastry.

synastry that actually everyone wants. (maybe) 😭

7th house synastry? overrated.

Id rather prefer someones Sun or Moon in my 3rd house.

Afraid the relationship maybe wont ever make up to their family? Afraid youll be hidden away from their parents and be not that serious ? Introducing the 3rd and 4th house synastry. That somewhere gurantees you becoming familial to not just them but also their family members? You know those bffs? one friend's family is also family to the other friend too? Thats 3rd house synastry for you . Honestly in my eyes 3rd house synastry is way better than 4th, prove me wrong ill wait bye. Yall are not individuals anymore. Yall are now pairs. literally. i mean it. The pairs in gemini..3rd house. Remember? If one visits a party without the other. Thats weird, how is sheila here without leela? Thats alien to us. They go everywhere togehter. They are a pair.

Even if they are individuals that are not indulging in eachother 24/7 they'll suddenly be seen as lovers hiding a secret and seen as buy 1 get 1 free pair. Always. Even in a group, youll easily figure how Sita is Bffs with Gita. EVEN IF THEY NOT EVEN SITTING BESIDE EACHOTHER. its the connection and synergy of Twins that 3rd house synastry.

.The comfort goes crazy. At times youll see Lara getting comments on how she has started to look alike her Best friend Sara or her Boyfrined Jim (who also shares 3rd house synastry w his gf Lara). This synastry not only bring the twins energy in the energy between them but certainly can also be dripped to their looks to or atleast thats the perception these two give out when in eachothers aura. Lara is now also always at Sara's home. But wait, thats not it. Lara is now also besties w her boyfriends mom? They like eachother..YAY? but Sara?..Saras mom knows Lara is like family, but there is still a bit bad blood.

One downside. Families get involved quicker. But that doesnt always mean good thing always. This can also result in bad blood w family itself too. Can be something that can occur. One not likimg the other or having issues w one. This can be preventable in most situations hopefully , but if not id ask you to be careful w this one as it can..hurt.

Other than that, BEST SYNASTRY EVER. Youre loved, not just by the person that falls in your 3rd house, but also his family. Youre not a secret, youre an open connection infront of them. For good ..Hopefully. I prefer this must better for romantic relationship and bffs thrives on this one.

Communication? Crazy good check.

Just see if yall mercurys not squaring. Then it would turn this synastry a bit unpredictable. A good dinner night can turn into whole hormonal volatile convo between yall im sorry😭.

Comfort? Beautiful.

Twinning? Always. Even if not planning to.🫣

3rd house is 12th from 4th house. Yall love sleeping in eahcothers bed. STOP LYING THATS WHY YALL GO THERE.

kidding. ig?

But 3rd house synastry couple/pair love sleeping in eachothers bedrooms too. They might contribute to decorating their rooms too. And leave their essense there lol its cute. "My room is yours".

"Whats mine is also yours" - 3rd house synastry.

Anyways. I love this synastry and will have it anyday.

Ok bye love you i guess🍭

[commandershepardvasfuckit]

Just some fluff and cultural differences when you’re married to a monster. One of my main OCs is a troll guy who’s rather religious and I like going into all the little differences with anything I can think of.

————

“Can I come with you today?” you asked your husband.

“You always can” he said.

Normally he woke up long before you, visiting the shrines of his gods, shopping in the market, then returning home to make breakfast long before you stirred. He was a creature of routine and habit, preferring to keep to a schedule after a life of war and unpredictability.

You watched as he packed his bag with a few offerings while you got dressed. His moves were always so deliberate, so graceful despite his size. He towered over you by several feet, as was common for a troll, large hands with only three fingers, and large, dramatic, elephant-like tusks. In the beginning of your arranged marriage you had been quite scared of him, but he gave you distance and confided that he didn’t want the marriage either. It was easy settling into a routine with him, he never pushed you, never asked for anything, just made sure you were comfortable and did everything at your pace.

Together you walked across the city to the shrines, hand in hand and just enjoying the comfortable silence that came with early mornings. Your husband spent a lot of time in meditative silence, something that made you originally made you think he was cold and standoffish, now you just knew he was soft spoken and preferred to just observe things.

At the shrines you stuck at his side, though you had been with him once or twice before. It was a spacious room carved into the walls of the ravine the city was in. Two large statues of goddesses dominated the space, with several halls and rooms leading off from the main room.

You watched as he sat and lit incense at the first statue and left an offering of fruit and a small wooden token. He remained seated, meditating, so you sat next to him and mimicked him. Pleasant chatter filled the space, priestesses talking to people, neighbors catching up, parents teaching their children. Not that you could actually understand much of his language.

He spoke the human common, his voice always slow and deliberate, a heavy accent on his words. You had picked up a little bit of his language, greetings, a few common phrases to help you navigate around, and “I love you.”

That was the one he liked the most. Apparently he had spent weeks saying it to you, too nervous to say it human common where you could understand but still needing to say it still. He lit up when you returned his words when he told you in common the first time, then nearly cried the first time you told him that you loved him in his language.

“What I am supposed to be doing?” you asked him.

“You are not supposed to do anything. You can meditate, or just sit and relax, or anything you want. There is no right or wrong way.”

You tried closing your eyes, but you never really understood how meditating worked.

Once he got up you followed him to the next shrine where he repeated the same process and once more you awkwardly sat next to him and tried to meditate. You weren’t sure how anyone could just clear their minds.

Again you followed him to a third shrine. The first two were for the sister goddesses who created the world, flora, and fauna. The third was for the Great Mother, the first troll created to inhabit the world who now shepherds the spirits of the dead to her realm.

You waited quietly while he prayed, listening to his soft words before he went to meditate again.

“How do you do it?” you asked.

He gave you a quizzical look, “Do what?”

“Meditate. I don’t think I’m doing it right.”

“There is no one right way, but I can teach you what I do if you would like.”

You gave him a nod.

“Sit with me, up straight but comfortable, close your eyes and just focus on your breathing.”

You followed his instructions, but it was no different than what you normally did. Try as you might your mind wandered and you never could just keep your thoughts clear.

He reached out and took your hand as you sat, “Just give my hand a squeeze if you cannot focus.”

In. Out. You tried only to think about your breathing, trying only to focus on how each breath felt entering and leaving your body. After a few breaths though your mind wandered, listening to the chatter from the main room, how the cool stone of the floor felt against the back of your legs, then to your rumbling stomach.

You gave his hand a squeeze.

“Just follow me, deep breath in, and out” he squeezed your hand each time he took a breath in, which did make it a little easier to focus.

For several minutes you sat with him, you couldn’t say you truly meditated but a little quiet time somewhere peaceful with him was still nice.

“Last one, but you do not have come with me. I know he makes you nervous” he said as he got up and offered a hand to help you up.

Tsov’ka. Lord of Shadows. And a point on tension in your marriage. Your husband followed him and was one of his avatars. You struggled to understand how your mild mannered husband followed a god like that. Many times he explain Tsov’ka’s domain, that there was no morality to the shadows, but that sure went against everything you were brought up with.

Instead you kept holding his hand and followed him back farther to Tsov’ka’s shrine. It was a small, dark room where even the torches couldn’t hold back the shadows. No statue, just a raised offering plate stained with blood, and a holder of the incense your husband always smelled of.

You looked away as your husband cut his finger and let the blood drip onto the plate. He had done the same thing the first time he brought you here, though then he had not told you what Tsov’ka was the god of. He worried you’d be scared, not go with him, or outright fear or reject him. He had been right, you fled, yelling at him to not touch you and then getting lost and in trouble in the grasslands outside the city where he had to come and rescue you. Through boons from his god he was able to find you and rescue you, it made you uneasy but did cement that your husband would always protect you.

“I am going to stay for a bit and meditate, you really do not have to stay” he said.

“I’d like to try” you said.

As before, he sat down on the floor and you followed him. The floor was colder here, making you shiver a bit as you sat down.

“Here, just sit in my lap, it is fine.”

“Sit on your lap? In the middle of a shrine?”

“You are cold, it is fine.”

“I don’t know if Tsov’ka would appreciate that.”

“Tsov’ka will be much more annoyed if I just let the person I promise to take care sit there cold” he nearly laughed, “I promise that it is fine.”

Somewhat hesitantly you climbed on to his lap and leaned back against his chest. He was warm as always and he loosely wrapped his arms around you.

“Do you want to try meditating with me again?” he asked.

You just nodded and let him guide you again. His chin rested on the top of your head and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back and he reminded you to focus on breathing.

It still might not have truly been meditating, but it was closer than before.

The light was almost painfully bright as you left the shrines, but sitting with him had been relaxing.

“I am happy that you came with me today” he broke the silence, “I know we follow different paths, but I am happy you spent a little bit of time walking mine with me.”

You leaned against him and nuzzled your face into his arm, his species’s version of a kiss since tusks got in the way. You didn’t have to fully understand everything he did or believed in, but wanted to do a better job of trying, just like he did for you.

[tsams-and-co-memes]

The Bloodmoon twins as nagas. They're separate, and while one of them has mostly red scales (various shades of red, to be exact), the other has a mix of dark, dark blue, silver, and (various shades of) red scales

They always do everything together, and they're extremely aggressive and hostile. To the point where they've become known human eaters. They eventually are deemed so dangerous that they can't be allowed to roam free, so they're kept in a special containment facility. They refuse to eat anything other than raw meat, and if anything other than that is presented to them, they'll get mad and try to eat whoever delivered the food

Nexus and Killer Sun are a couple other nagas that have to be kept in this facility (far away from the twins, at least)

Killer Sun has the same golden scales as normal Sun, but they're a bit scuffed up and worse for wear. In some places, he's torn out his own scales in favor of placing scales from various Moon variants that he's killed. He's more of a danger to other nagas than humans, but he can and will attack humans too, if he thinks it's necessary. He really only does what he wants, and he's unpredictable with a body count, hence why he's at the facility

Naga Nexus is there for,,, obvious reasons. He's aggressive and hostile, and has a tendency to lash out and hurt everyone around him. He's being kept at the facility as more of a research kinda thing, for the people that work there. They're studying him, and if they can find a cure or a solution to whatever it is that's made him so angry and dangerous, he MIGHT be able to be treated and then transferred over to a different facility for rehabilitation

......Where are the naga AU tsams/tlaes/teaps character designs. There are maybe,, a handful for canon fnaf Sun and Moon, and maybe a few extra for various interpretations of Eclipse. I think I've also seen a couple for Bloodmoon too, but that's it

Give me snake boy Solar, with autumn leaf colored scales, who's den is filled with trinkets and things that he's made. Give me snake lady Terra with iridescent scales, who collects pretty shells and rocks, and who loves gardening. Give me fuckin,,, giant titanoboa boy KC, who is the protector of his naga brethren, and gives everyone Uncle Iroh Advice™️

Give me Snake boy Sun, with golden scales, who decorates his den with interesting things that he's found, or snake boy Moon, with scales that look like the night sky, who is a guardian figure to his family and makes sure that they're not discovered by humans

How about snake boy Nexus, with black and purple scales, and slitted pupils and claws, who's aggressive and constantly ready to strike or lunge at anyone who gets too close. What about small snake boy Cosmo with iridescent sky blue scales, who's goofy and too curious about things for his own good. Or snake boy Ruin with black and white scales, who's a loner that occasionally swipes things from hikers, as a means to make stuff for himself

[leftycharacters]

July is Disability Pride Month, so to end it off, here's a special post: Left-handedness tends to be more common in neurodivergent populations. This is especially true of people on the autism spectrum, where left-handedness has a rate of 28% compared to 10% for the general population. I am an autistic lefty myself. The other population with a noticeable tendency toward left-handedness is people with ADHD. It is thought that the reason for this is that the neuropathways that determine handedness are are also related to neurodevelopment. After all, the majority of us are not left-handed out of necessity; for most of us our right hands work fine. The brain that makes us southpaws also makes us more likely to have these conditions, with all the difficulties and benefits they bring and the way they make us, us.

[dye-it-rouge-et-noir]

Chaos Theory - The Butterfly Effect

[ID in alt text]

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

god, the post gig blues are hitting hard tonight 😩 time for a hot water bottle and yet another reread of @gasdancer’s joie de vivre i think

[aliosne]

One of my mother’s better Parenting Moments was when my older sister started stealing food. Not ideal behaviour at the best of times, but we were poor, and meals were strictly allotted, so eating food in a neurotic rush now meant it wasn’t there later. My mother mostly fell into the former camp for a variety of reasons, but somehow, this time she did different. She sat my sister down and they drew a contract.

The contract consisted only of “If you are hungry, you can ask me for a snack. I will say yes.” They both signed it. My sister stopped stealing food.

Quote unquote “bad behaviour,” particularly sneaky behaviour, is often about lack of trust. It is the adult’s responsibility to establish and uphold that trustworthiness.

If a child is anxiety-prone or HAS been abused, a lack of trust can also mean not knowing what will happen if they ever do something really bad. I know it’s a cloud that hung over my childhood, and I’m so glad OP’s parents found another way.

I love contracts. I think kids, with their pronounced sense of fairness, love contracts. I use them in my dealings with children today. 4yo and I have a contract that if something is safe for him to do (a kid job, not a grownup job), I will let him do it.

Bringing it back around, I think that’s something adults struggle with. I was talking with my family yesterday about how much covid has eroded my trust in people, in their investment in taking care of each other, in their willingness to suffer minor inconvenience to keep themselves safe, never mind others. A lot of us are dealing with similar lack of trust, whether or not their ideology and concerns align with mine. And so many of us are facing down states that are like abusive parents. If we do something really bad, or even something PERCEIVED as really bad, well. We know exactly what could happen to us.

Some of this is part of growing up. The world is not arranged to keep you safe, and bad shit can and does happen. But maybe it should be safer, more trustworthy. And there’s stuff we can do on a political level to encourage that, but it also starts with showing those most in our power that there can be a different way.

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[lostwrlds]

WITH LOVE, ON YOUR BIRTHDAY ── NAGI .ᐟ

( 📡 ) summary; picking out the perfect gift for seishiro nagi was no easy feat, but after flying a thousand miles to surprise him on his birthday – you discover the only present he really wants is you. 11K

✩ lost notes ! happy birthday to my glorious king seishiro nagi !! my goat fr !! also if ur reading this thank u for supporting the first fic on my blog, i'm excited to share more with u soon !! sorry 4 any typos & enjoy international nagi day mwah ⋆˙⟡♡

✩ warnings ! minors, blank & ageless accounts do not interact. fluff & smut, female reader, pro player nagi, characters are adults. long-distance & newly established relationship, unprotected sex, clothed sex, dry humping, oral fixation, somnophilia, overstim, coercion, breeding, creampie, praise & pillow talk.

── © LOSTWRLDS ╱ 2025.

you would think that seishiro nagi would be any easy person to buy a birthday gift for. 

whilst in your eyes, he’s far from plain and simple, the white-haired striker takes pleasure in the things that come easy. like naps on sunny afternoons and golden rays that filter through half-drawn curtains to kiss at your skin or rainy nights curled up on a cosy couch, blankets pulled over your head as your breathing syncs up. he likes the nothingness of quiet, downtime and alone time away from the hustling bustling world that roars his name whenever he makes a powerful or unpredictable play. 

to you, seishiro nagi is extraordinary — in every possible way. not only is he extremely gifted and a natural at the sport he plays, but he is sincere. when he’s out there, he’s got his heart on his sleeve with the intention of pushing himself beyond his own limits. he takes on the challenge, the adrenaline and the rush not just for himself but for his team. he moves with purpose, revitalised energy like he’s more than just the title bestowed on him. seishiro is not just the lazy genius to you. perhaps you’re a little biased, because you find yourself lucky enough to be his girlfriend. to be the one thing that motivates nagi aside from the tase of a freshly formulated goal. 

but he truly is beauty personified to you. not just fresh snow white hair, calming pools of grey for eyes, and a tall yet muscular physique. though bonus points, he is everything. your own personal drive to do and be better. 

that’s why you feel as though he needs the perfect gift, so you can show seishiro that he motivates you to succeed just as much as you motivate him. most of what he does is for you, not just his ego. 

it’s only right that you treat him the same way.

so a video game for his birthday could suffice, but as a big time soccer player earning big time money — he practically owns almost every game to have ever existed. there’s not a piece of jewellery in the world that might ignite a bit of passion in him, except for the black studs he wears when he’s not on the pitch and even then, nagi never changes them. he’s a creature of habit, he likes things the way they’ve always been and disturbing that would be less than an ideal present. you’d go for more little homely house plants, but between his hectic schedule and the sleep he craves when not working, you think the white-haired striker would struggle with raising a high maintenance army of greenery.

everything seishiro nagi usually wants and typically likes… they aren’t things that you can wrap up with luxury paper and a pretty silk bow — they’re circumstances caused by a butterfly effect starting many months ago. you can’t put a perfect day into a box and call it a gift, no matter how many times nagi tells you that all he wants is you. you’d feel bad if your presence was his only present, what would you have to show for as his girlfriend? 

compared to the likes of other bluelock wags, stags and partners…you find it hard to come up with something that will prove your worth. diamonds and flashy cars, expensive trips and gourmet foods aren’t something you can afford out of your own dime and you’re not even sure seishiro would care if he wasn’t able to share these experiences with you. but that doesn’t stop the nagging, itching feeling that peels through the layers of thick skin like a bug that bites. this would be your first time celebrating nagi day with him as a couple. you at least want to make it special.

it would be the perfect time to prove yourself worthy of every little drop of love he so tenderly showers you with — almost as though you’re one of those mini cacti he raises back home.

an opportunity arises once the bluelock team departs the country for an away game right around the time of the genius striker’s birthday, meaning that you wouldn’t be able to celebrate with one another in person. in a way, you were relieved — the time apart would give you more time to search for the right gift but being long distance was never easy. not for the two of you, so used to being wrapped up in one another’s arms and scents. and when seishiro’s teammates insist on flying you out for his birthday; to cheer him up between practises and matches — that gnawing sensation you’d been feeling, the dire need to prove yourself as the perfect footballer’s girlfriend dials back. just a touch. 

he’s been missing you, he always does. it’s evident in the way that his plays become more sluggish and his mannerisms grow dazed and drowsy —  like he’s out of it. sometimes, seishiro can’t function without you there, up in the stands to cheer him on — it’s too much of a hassle to be his best when his girl isn’t around. who is there to show off to? who is there to make proud? without you, there’s barely any motivation to win.

so maybe that’s what he needs… to touch you, feel you, kiss you again. instead of a ridiculously fancy gift. maybe you’ve been selfish, ignoring the one simple desire your boyfriend had for a day dedicated solely to him rather than choosing to focus on how that would make you look in the eyes of world, instead of how you looked in his eyes. 

no insecurity of yours is worth the cost of his happiness.

therefore, on the eve of seishiro nagi's birthday ( may 5th and not the 6th ) with a prepaid ticket from isagi in hand, you nervously board a plane set to land halfway across the globe in a matter of hours. and hope in your heart that your arrival is enough to satisfy the genius striker’s birthday wishes. 

you’re quiet when opening the door to seishiro’s hotel room — instinctively flinching until your  shoulders are raised high enough to level with your neck at the offensive buzz it makes upon scanning your keycard for entry. it’s a spare from swiped from yoichi, you shove it into your back pocket with baited breath and pray that it hasn’t roused your sleepy boyfriend.

the room itself is shrouded in darkness, inky black painting the contours and corners from where the curtains are drawn to their max and every light switch is turned off. you can just about see your hands in front of you, deciding to shrug off your backpack and leave it by the door with your suitcase to avoid stumbling over it while your vision is impaired. after a few moments of blind feeling, you adjust to the dimness around you — guided by the familiar scent of baby-safe detergent and the sound of soft snoring towards the luxurious king size bed where your sweet boyfriend snoozes soundly.

it’s crazy, how your mind and body works to find him even when your other senses are down. nagi’s calm and safe aura lulls you into his orbit and you don’t ever seem to find yourself fighting it. perhaps he feels the same way about you. drawn to you like a moth to a flame, dying happily by it’s light.

your gaze lands on him, curled up in a heap under high-thread count bedsheets and blankets. comfortable. safe. you’re desperate to be near him after time apart, eager to inch past the barriers of his skin and make space for yourself in his rib cage right next to his heart because you cannot believe that you convinced yourself to stay away from him in the name of gift wraps and tags. kicking your shoes off at the foot of the bed frame, you crawl onto the mattress, hands and knees sinking into its plush memory foam like quicksand.

sitting back on your knees whilst hanging over the sleeping striker, your brain is able to piece together the truth in the meaning of his name. calmness. the sensation washes over you like the gentle lap of waves against a serene, picturesque shoreline — seishiro nagi looks so calm while he sleeps. as though he’s an angel resting or passing time on the fluffiest cloud in heaven. the thought makes you smile softly to yourself in the dark, a hand moving to brush stray strands of snowy locks away from his pretty face. 

“sei,” comes your attentive whisper, hidden beneath the quietness of night. your boy. all yours. so beautiful like this, you’d hate to interrupt his sweet dreams. “baby, wake up…” he keens into your touch even under the guidance of sleep, lifting silvery locks splayed across crisp, flat-ironed pillowcases to nuzzle against your palm. the sound of your voice fails to rouse him, and for a moment you contemplate slipping behind him and joining his deep slumber… but you just want to see his eyes.

see them and know that you’re wanted. 

so you try again, raking your nails through the shaggy roots of his hair and scratching at his scalp. you miss his voice, his scent, his touch. this is easier than forcing yourself to stay away from him, much less of a hassle to desire nagi’s proximity than to deny it. 

“seishiro…”

this time, his body answers your call and the mattress squeaks under the weight of his stocky frame rolling over until his back hits the sheets. still, though, he doesn’t wake. moving quickly, you seize the opportunity to clamber into the lazy genius’ lap — straddling his hips, pelvis to pelvis, as you admire him from above. “mph…baby?” he grumbles at the familiar, pressure of your body on his, still constricted by the misty fog of sleep. he reaches for you because he knows it’s you, instantaneously and it’s cute how even then he searches for you, like you would him. 

he likes your warmth, the smell of the shea butter lathered onto your skin, the closeness — like a safety net. the world is so bothersome without you, that’s why he can’t help but react to you even while he rests. not that you mind and even though you really should sleep after such a long flight, surprise him in the morning, everything within you is screaming at you to take more. give more.

“it’s just me, sei,” you coo and swallow down the ardour that begins to mount in the depths of your throat, like soot from the fire of lust sparking in your lower belly. “don’ worry,” exhaling sharply, you swoop down to press the wisps of a kiss to the tip of his nose — more so to calm yourself down, distract yourself from the desire that you unwillingly allow to spread through you, than anything else.

you can’t control your hips, the way they subtly grind down on seishiro’s lap while he snoozes away so preciously. he’s too pretty, too soft, too warm. he makes it unable to resist. a craving for more spreads across your brain like a sheet of rain during a storm, slipping into the deficits and dips of your brain — clouding your mind with lust. you act on the feeling tingling just beneath the surface of your skin, pushing the heat between your thighs against the subdued hardness trapped behind signature grey sweats that hang low on the striker’s taut hips.

the soccer star visibly relaxes as a result of your subtle affections and sinful movements, the uneven crease between his brows fades into nothingness whilst his adorable pout does the same — only, rather than going back to sleep, seishiro’s ashy grey eyes begin to flutter open and you’re soon face to face with the man you love more than anything in the world. “‘m not worried,” he quips quite directly, the baritone notes of his voice caked in a layer of exhaustion. nagi’s back bows from the bed, his cruelly slender waist jutting upwards to match your pace. “what are you… what are doing here?”

he’s breathless beneath you; lines of sleep still caressing the prettiest patches of his soul, already ready to give himself to you despite just barely returning to the real world. the sight of him sends an unbearable ache down the segments of your spine, crackling at your pelvis and shooting to clit nestled against his crotch. “it’s your birthday, sei,” you whisper, feeling shy as if you weren’t just intent on using his body tonight. not that nagi would mind, it was something he loved. being close to you without asking. “i flew in to surprise you…”

large, veiny hands land on your hips causing goosebumps to rise across their expanse like chicken skin, not guiding you but simply holding you in place — stopping you from retreating into your shy little shell away from your boyfriend's moonlit gaze. nagi raises a brow, quickly checks the date on the digital clock banished to the night stand, and then exhales deeply through his nose — expression vacant and tired but eyes swirling with a bout of mischief. 

hidden desire contrastingly dances through the smoke screen flecks dotted around his pupils too, telling you that his touch isn’t as innocent as one may first think.  “oh… yeah, it is,” his thumbs slip under the loose hem of your shirt, a comfortable one from your apartment back home with his scent intertwined with each little stich and loose thread. a pleased hum rumbles from the depths of seishiro’s chest once the pads of his thumbs make contact with the marred surface of your skin, drawing lazy circles against it. “flew all this way f’me, huh?”

“always for you.” 

“what a hassle.” there’s no malice in his tone and when he licks his lips, wetting them from where they’ve dried up during sleep, and basks in the way your line of sight instantly drops to his tongue — pretty pink darting out and swiping over micro cracks and crevices in otherwise plush, fleshy lips. seishiro appreciates…you. only his girl would fly across the globe to be with him on his birthday, that’s the kind of love and passion that motivates him to be better. good.

everything has a point when he’s with you.

“it’s not, i mean, it wasn’t,” your breath hitches as nagi’s gentle touch coasts over your skin whilst it warms, turning to an almost bruisingly tight grip that allows him to  pulling you back and forth over his lap. the white-haired striker knows exactly what he’s doing, lazily building up an undeniable tension that coils in your stomach and muddles up all of your thoughts.“anyway…i know it’s late a-and we should probably sleep,” incoherent musings come out as a rush, tangling with the heated particles that buzz in the night air — so full of mounting lust and kinetic energy. 

you’re rambling, you’re turned on and you’re flustered all at once. 

but that’s just what he does to you, and it’s so much worse when you’ve been away from each other for too long. seishiro hardens between your supple thighs before either of you can realise it, his erect and pulsating cock nestled between your clothed folds — catching on the hood of your clit through even layers of pure cotton and polyester. the feeling of him beneath you, so ready and so giving, has your steadiness swimming — the strength to keep yourself up already faltering to the point where you need to rest your hands against his firm chest. “but i was wondering… what you wanted for your birthday?” 

he hums at your dizziness, pushing your shirt up further. “nothin’ special,” comes his half-hearted reply, focus landing on the subtle rise and fall of your chest — trailing down to the softness of your tummy that he exposes to the word. “just you. like this.” nagi’s eyes darken, a storm brews within them — you can see the cogs whirring in his tired mind almost as if he’s calculating something. 

the white-haired soccer player bucks upwards experimentally, only once, pressing more of his girth against your pussy as it slickens with anticipation and you realise…

he’s measuring just how much of himself will fit inside you. 

the thought makes you groan with your  lips caught between your teeth — biting down hard enough to draw blood. flavours of iron would be enough to distract you from your aching clit and the soaked through gusset of your panties, but it wouldn’t take away how much you want him in this moment. “sei…” using a warning tone, you paw at his pecs and lean down to hide your embarrassed face in his neck — ragged breaths tickling the milky skin there.

just the mere implication of nagi comparing his size to you, imagining how he’s going to fuck you has you panting like a puppy in heat.

you’ve taken him many times before, in plenty of different ways… that doesn’t mean you’re not shy about it. nagi could have anything he wanted today — you may be new to this girlfriend thing ( girlfriend of a football star no less ), but you know that the world is at his fingertips. so, to think that your boyfriend, as handsome and as desirable as he is, can only think of fucking you for his birthday, it messes you up. does something to you. flusters you until you fall apart and your pieces are beyond repair. 

“i mean it, don’ want anything fancy. just you. on top of me like this. feels good…” seishiro continues to rasp, shaking out his pearlescent bed hair that seems to catch the light of the moon in the dark. something about his laziness is so sexy to you and you’re sure there’s a dark spot on the front of both of your sweats from how much his deep, sleepy voice makes your cunt gush and contract around nothing. “please, baby. you’ll do that for me, yeah?”

“yeah… yes, i can.” you’re nodding your head eagerly before the words have even been strung together — gasping shakily against seishiro’s skin as his hands trail down to your ass to squeeze fleshy cheeks, using them to pull you down against his prominent bulge. he slots between your legs perfectly, like he belongs underneath you or you on top of him. you hardly hold back the moans tucked into his neck, your fingers wrapping in silverdust locks while you hug his head — wanting to be impossibly closer to him.

whilst he appears to be in more control, nagi is no better than you are. he feels like he’s on fire, burning up with the feverish need to fuck you, make you his, fill you up. oh god, how he’s missed this. the adrenaline pumping through his veins, swirling around in the blood that rushes through his ears and down to his cock as it oozes against your covered cunt. there’s only two things that have ever gotten seishiro nagi this rilled up — one of them being you. his beautiful fucking angel; a simpering mess above him, clinging on him and depending on him for pleasure. “mmph, good girl,” his praise runs like molten sugar right through you, sugary enough to make you feel like you’re high despite the late hour. “want you to ride me. will you do that f’me too?”

seishiro squeezes your ass between deft fingers as if to ground himself. they feel so good on you, his lips pressing open mouthed kisses just beneath your ear lobe feels even better. nagi won’t let you go when you’re like this — so sweet and on the verge of collapsing on top of him. he has to soothe you because it soothes him, as if touching you and holding you and kissing you is the only thing that could possibly make him feel alive.

“anything you want, sei.” you reply weakly, lost  under the blanket of the night, you rut and grind against one another like two lovers leading each other blindly. you’ve hardly even started and you’re already close to tears just from having the striker’s sweatpants rub your clit until it’s raw and sticky. 

“i want you.” he murmurs firmly, his cadence still rough with sleep. you barely register his next movements, your entire thought process and any feedback turned to sluggish mush when your boyfriend suddenly pushes you both to sit up — his mouth slothenly finding yours in a languid lip lock. it’s slow, sexy and all-consuming, as if seishiro is trying to make you a part of him. his tongue licks into the crevices of your hot, wet mouth as you pour delectable, dulcet whimpers and whines into him. 

your breath tastes like spearmint like you’d brushed your teeth on the plane, but still has underlying notes of you. all he wants is to swallow you down, never come up for air no matter how your lungs may burn and beg for oxygen. nagi has missed this. he needed this. you find yourself chasing his mouth, his sinful tongue as it rolls over yours — wetly whining between pecks because you need nagi so bad you can hardly put it into words. fingers comb through pure white hair, noses knock against each other and become neighbours, whilst hands grow bolder and finally tug more forcefully at your clothes — impatient, ready to free you and expose you to possessive, fluttering sleepy grey eyes.

eventually the need to breathe outweighs the need to kiss each other and your lips glisten with sweat once you finally manage to pull away from the striker’s greedy grip on you. “arms up, angel,” blue lock’s lazy genius commands under his ragged breath, his tone firm but laced with affection. nagi lifts the hem of your shirt once you do what you’re told, throwing the article of clothing into the abyss of his hotel room. your bra receives the same treatment, exposing your nipples to cool-ish air.  “let’s take these off, they’re in our way,” a beat of silence passes, most spent on ogling the goosebumps that form at your chest like pin pricks — your boyfriend pings the elastic of waistband, causing you to yelp in surprise. “what a bother.” he pacifies you by rubbing cruel circles around your areola until reaching the hardening bud in the middle and pinching it.

in a flurry of fabrics, your own sweats are tugged down and tossed away with your panties — leaving you completely vulnerable and bare to your boyfriend’s manic, starved stare. he drinks you in like you’re the first woman he’s ever seen, the first glass of water to be found in a never-ending stretch of desert sand. before you can even make a move to cover yourself, wrap your own arms around the swell or your breasts — seishiro grasps your wrists a little too eagerly, nearly startling you out of your feverish skin when he pulls them down to have your palms resting on his chest. 

only after he’s sure you’ll be a good girl and stay in place, does he release his hold on you. but it’s far too late for that, by now your soul is tethered to his by strong ropes of longing and lecherousness.

“don’t forget what you promised me,” lifting his hips, nagi repositions himself on his back and yanks down his sweats  — moaning loud at the dark patch you’ve left on his crotch. tucking the waistband of both his pants and his boxers under heavy cum- filled balls — too drained to take them off properly. only then does his cock spring free, slapping sloppily against his toned abdomen, abs prominent through his light sleep-shirt. the lazy genius’ size is just as impressive as he is, where he is long and curved, he is also thick. idiotically pretty, his tip a delicious rose pink shade which might as well be vermillion red from how sore he is — oozing a viscous stream of cream from your earlier ministrations. pale blue gradienting to purple veins wrap around his cock like delicate ribbon on the perfect present, kicking to life as dopamine and other happy hormones rush to his shaft. 

the sight of him is hypnotic, calling to you like a siren’s song and you feel all of your self control slipping away when your hips jump forward — encasing his milky-tipped cock between your syrupy folds, rocking yourself back and forth. back and forth. back and forth over him — driven by the spark of ecstasy pulsing at the sticky sensitive pressure nub hidden between your puffy pussy lips every time his bulbous cock head nudges against it. you’re like a puppet on strings and seishiro your puppeteer, his pillow soft mewls and breathy, pleased laughter leading you through this impure performance. 

claggy, cloying sounds reverberate between your sweltering sexes that rub salaciously against each other — ad-libbed by the gentle sighs the two of you share. echoing in a sweet symphony of love making that only serves to dizzy you and make the world spin on its axis. all you feel, smell and taste is as him. all of him mingles with the air fizzling in the intimate night and all of you is put on display for his viewing pleasure. you are his present, his reward for working so hard. his everything.

eventually, a shaky hand reaches between your intertwined mess of half-dressed, half naked limbs to gluttonously grasp at the lazy striker’s chubbed up cock. you’ve had enough of grinding and humping at him, your whole body is aching for more. there’s a twinge of pain that blossoms in your lower belly and spreads throughout your sopping mound because she’s oh so desperate to be filled. 

you need him inside or you feel like that flickering wildfire of unadulterated lechery raging inside might burn you alive. blacken your organs and taint your soul with sin. you’re rushing, to put it simply, hotly pressing nagi’s mushroomed, pitifully creamy and red tip against the tight ring of your entrance as it flutters around nothing. squeezing droplets of your arousal onto him which helps act as the perfect form of lube.

nagi tuts at your impatience, he’s never liked to rush, always taking his time to make you fall apart but it’s so entertaining to see you crave him like this. so badly that your pretty face crumples above him like your world is falling apart and you’re about to shed some of those precious angel tears for him. “e-easy, angel,” he voices quietly, soft spoken words quickly turning into a hiss as your spasming hole easily circles and glides over the tip of his dick. “my birthday’s just begun…” from there, those very same comforting, warm palms from earlier take hold of your ass — pulling you forward as the white-haired soccer star aligns himself with your entrance and rolls his cock up into you. 

you do the rest of the work, it is his birthday after all, and push down to meet him halfway — burying your face against his stardust freckled skin and biting shoulder to cope with the delicious stretch as his weighty, viscous girth bottoms out inside of you. “slow… go slow, baby. want this to last. wanna feel you…” he murmurs against the shell of your ear, when you’re finally, finally fully seated down on him. though, it’s not long before seishiro throws his head back into the lush hotel pillows with an alluring whine — lips parting wide enough for you to see the strings of saliva that connect the roof of his mouth to his strawberry tongue, drool sloshing across its surface. “hah…mmm, angel. you’re so, m’fuck, you’re s’fucking tight.” 

if you had the brain cells to function, you’d agree. say something dirty in return, but you’re so exhausted from your flight and too worked up to even process full sentences — you’re just about conscious enough to relish in the feeling of his cock nestled perfectly along your rippling wet walls. almost as if they’re welcoming him home. “s-sei,” you whinge all babyish against his neck. “missed how you feel…” a displeased huff from him coasts along your skin as you pull back, but now you’re able to look at him with those beautiful, shiny bambi eyes that make his gut twist and his thick precum to pool deep inside of you. “‘s so big. feel so full.”   

“you can take it. yeah, pretty thing?” he coos; oxygen escaping from his lungs as if the air he breathes is thinned from how high he is — like it would to at a mountain top. because he is. high. high on you like you’re some kind of class A drug. high on the way you feel, wrapped around him so warm and wet — hugging him close, cunt locking around him to keep him inside. he’s high like he’s an addict and he never wants to give you up, never wants to go to rehab to get over you. so he trains you, makes you work for your own high to ensure that you’ll never ever leave him. “you promised me, s’my birthday.” 

a shaky sigh lays wet on your lips, your lashes fluttering against the exposed parts of his skin.  “uhuh… promised.” 

with that, you sit up straight and dig your knees into the crumpled duvet half discarded on the bed — peeling your salt-licked skin away from nagi’s so that you can lift and drop your syrupy cunt down on him steadily. you move up and down, up and down — picking up more momentum each time your pussy goes from suctioning around the swell of his base to just barely squeezing his miry tip. at first, you’re slow, sensual — just like he asked, airily squealing like a lamb at the slaughter house with each thrust. skin sluggishly slaps on skin, accompanying the glacé gripes clawing their way out of the inside of your throat whilst his deft digits splay out against your bare back — fingertips tucking themselves into the divot where your spine is. seishiro strokes along the length of it, sending an electrical current straight up to your brain, causing you to short circuit. 

again, despite his hands exploring and touching you, he does nothing to guide or help you navigate magnetic push and pull between you both as you make love — he’s leaving that all up to you, you are supposed to be spoiling him on his birthday after all. you’re too buzzed off him, too hooked on seishiro nagi to mind that he’s laying still beneath you, only pushing up when you’re too shallow when pushing down. instead, you savour the feeling of his thick cock and it’s prominent veins dragging against your soft, silken walls. 

creamy strings of your arousal cling to each blue ridge that spirals down his shaft, the probable cause of the lewd, squelch of your sex when you grind down on him — let him fill you to the brim once more. “angel,” he simpers, swollen lips escaping the prison of his perfect teeth just for a second as he inhales the waves of lust radiating from your pores. “do you know how wet you are? how good you feel…?” his praise runs like honey through your system, urging you to move atop him with more vigor — your grinding increasingly impassioned as you ride him feverishly. nagi’s rough palms become hot and tacky against the slope of your back but he refuses to let go of you — holding you there, making sure you can’t pull too far off him because he feels like he might die if his dick isn’t safely tucked inside your dripping cunt.

“yes,” you say without really understanding what you’re responding to, your own hands slipping up to shimmering milky-toned shoulder blades and the base of seishiro’s throat — not squeezing. just grounding yourself and reminding him to keep his hazy, stormy eyes on you no matter how blurred his vision may get. “s’all ‘cause of you, sei. o-only you get me like this…” you manage to cry out, but now you’re crying in two different ways. through your voice and your cunt as it bounces on nagi’s drooling cock. you just want to make sure that he sees it, the way your seams start to loosen and the threads of your sanity unravel because it’s his fault you’re like this. 

“not fair, angel. fuck, y’not bein’ fair…” he pants in reply, gaze dropping from the twist of your face to between your glistening thighs; enamoured by the way his chubby cock rhythmically disappears into your swollen pussy. you have no idea how much seishiro needed this, how his fist and pretty pictures of you just weren’t enough to keep him going. he wonders if you know the effect you have on him, shattering the pieces of his soul with you being the only person able to put him back together again. “won’ be able to function without your pussy on me…wanna stay like this forever.” 

nagi’s focus flickers back up to meet your line of sight whilst his slender fingers dance across your body, swallowing down a thick whine when he uses them to spread your nether lips — showing off small waves of your sweet nectar as it glazes his thighs and shaft. “fuck, dont you want that too, angel? keep you full of me forever. like this…” he comments avidly, grinding up into you for a moment furthering your pleasure by jamming his cockhead against your g-spot just to prove his point. “would be such a hassle to do anythin’ else. you could just be with me…”

you tremble and your muscles tense at the new sensation, you blossom under his words and observation — drowning in the storm of his hazy eyes whilst blood dotted with lustful hormones course through you rapidly, stinging right at your exposed clit. every drag of his length against your salacious insides ruins you for everyone else, you could imagine a world where you’re fucked and ruined by him every day and you like it — the idea goading you to ride him faster, harder, clumsily slamming yourself down on him to your heart’s content.��

even from underneath you, relaxed and only lazily bucking up into you on occasion ( when he thinks you need it or deserve it ) — seishiro has so much power over you. he’s the only one able to make you bounce on it until there’s a dulcet crack in your voice and white hot tears are stinging at your waterline — your bodies in a dance together in a way that only lovers know, making you both experts in tangled limbs heaving moans. such levels of intense passion and intimacy have your sodden mound seizing around the white-haired striker, causing a hiccup in the way he lovingly and slowly begins to pound away at you from below.

to be fair to him, you’re very motivational. those dreamy sighs you let out and those  bedroom eyes you look down at him with. those lush lips that you lick in concentration... the list goes on. each little thing about you is like another carrot in front of a prized horse; you’re something he wants to chase after, someone he yearns for. being with you is just as thrilling as the soccer he plays for a living, every time your bodies touch and connect like this, accompanied by a sense of vulnerability that trickles into the humid air — nagi is reminded of how lucky he is to have all of you. you’ll forever be his greatest gift.

in the dead of night, mere hours into his birthday, you give yourself up for him — rip open your chest and bear your heart all for seishiro nagi, the muscle beating rapidly behind your breasts as they sway from the force of your hips crashing down to match your boyfriend’s pace. “wan’ that, wan’ you,” you bleat, sounding so much needier and aroused than ever before — your sugary voice layered over musical tracks of sweat-drenched skin slapping wetly on skin. “please… need more. more of you always. don’ wanna be without you ever again…” 

“mmnn, pretty thing. you’re so perfect,” the striker groans low and sexy, sending a rush of hot dopamine over your tired brain and arousing it further. “want s’much more but you’re not even done riding me yet,” seishiro cocks his head to the side, moonlight locks spreading out across the pillows like refracted pattern from a gem that’s caught light. if he shimmers, then you shine — glowing in the dark from the sex and light sheen of sweat clinging to your naked flesh. “gonna kill me with how pretty you sound ‘n how needy you are…” his hand that once parted your folds now dances its way up your pelvis, traces over the chub at your waist and smooths over your soft tummy — feeling for how deep he’s gotten, churning up your guts while you languidly roll your clenching cunt over him.

next they toy and tug on your hardened nipples, circling your sensitive areolas just to make you twitch whilst the supple mounds of flesh bounce with every thrust. collar bones, the base of your throat, the tip of your chin — they all end up grazed by an adoring touch, acting as checkpoints in your boyfriend’s whistle stop tour of his favourite parts of you. of course, he continues his trek until he’s reached up high enough to brush a thumb under the curve of your bottom lip. 

“open up, sweet thing,” nagi taps his fingers against your mouth and if you focus enough through the fog of your mind — you can even smell yourself on his fingertips.

obediently, your lips part — warm breath coasting along the pads of nagi’s digits before you take them into your greedy little mouth. you happily suck on what your boyfriend gives you, two fingers pressing down on the drooly palette of your tongue, your frenzied emotions become subdued like someone has wiped you mind and you’ve become a clean slate — where all that remains is the white-haired striker pumping up into your hot, juicy pussy each time you slam it back down on him. 

a quiet ‘fuck’ drifts from seishrio’s open mouth, drawing your attention to his strawberry tongue poking at the inner epithelium of his cheek as he sets his mirthy sights on you while your hips roll like a rushing river over him – occasionally pulling his throbbing, seedy dick from the snugness of your creamy cunt. the striker admires you like you belong in a museum. as though you’re a flawless piece of oil-painted art or a perfectly smooth marble statue – even with all the parts of you that you pull to pieces or despise. the view from where he is, down there, is one he tries to sketch into his brain for all of eternity… because he doesn’t want to forget and he wants something to remember you by when the time comes for you to leave. 

you’re so beautiful, licking between his fingers, thick globs of frothy spit seeping from the corners of your mouth. he has to fight the urge to sit up and taste it on you – instead choosing to fuck your mouth like you fuck his cock. the striker presses down on your tongue to make you writhe in his lap, and although he’s the one technically in control, you are the reason for the gentle thrum of ecstasy vibrating through his lean, athletic frame. “you like that? does that feel good? sucking me in from both ends…” the player asks, his voice shaky and increasingly husky from how lovestruck and turned on he is. 

having him pressed up against the walls of your blisteringly hot slit, nudging against that one special spot deep inside your swollen pussy fries your brain – causes your jaw to slacken while you sleepily suck on his digits. your poor pussy even trembles around him, catching on the ridges of his length that plunges in and out of you. “feels s’good, sei… so, so good–!” your words are muffled by the way he strokes at your tongue, drowned by spit, because you really do feel like you’re about to see the pearly gates of heaven. its evident in the way your eyes roll back into your skull and sex squelches at every thrust. 

yet, it's not enough for him, seeing you like this is still not enough to appease nagi’s ever growing appetite. like the egoist within him on the pitch, he has a sickly urge to devour you – especially when you lean away to sit back on your haunches, using your grip on his thighs as leverage to keep working yourself down on his thickness – cunt locking and unlocking around his frothy base that stretches your little hole. you don’t stop, shifting your hips in slow sensual movements to help him sink deeper into you and pulsing against hot, viscous and squishy pleasure spots dotted along your insides. spots that only he can reach. “love the way you fuck me, pretty girl,” seishiro feels like he’s losing his mind underneath you, stuck between chasing the sweltering heat of your insides and kicking back to enjoy the show entirely. “but ‘good’ isn’t good enough…need you to feel like heaven. make it even better, baby.”

he groans lowly and relishes in the feeling of your warm wet walls tightening around his erection, pulling his digits from the splashy cavern of your mouth – seishiro drags them back down your body, leaving a tacky wet trail in their wake to reach between your doughy thighs for what lies between your fat pussy lips.

with your hips rocking together fluidly, your boyfriend is careful when letting the pad of his thumb graze your aching clit as it rears its adorable little head between your nether lips. frantically, you grind against his digit and stain it with your thick, trecaly essence. everything is coated in everything that you leak, the mess worsened by the tiny spurts of precum nagi rewards you with. although, it does help his impressive size glide through your sugar-coated lining of your gushy walls. every time his fingers flick against your puffy pleasure pearl, you’re one step closer to crumbling above him.

something. you need something to ground yourself. overwhelmed by exhaustion and love and desire. “g-god, s-sei!” squealing like a lamb being taken to the slaughter house you lift a hand from his clothed leg, over his knee and reach for the bottom of his sleep shirt. “please…pleasepleaseplease – need more. wan’ more. a-anythin’ from you. for you,” you’re babbling brainlessly with no idea of what you’re begging for – the delicious burn of his girth against the tiny, tensed rim of your entrance distracts you from even thinking straight. “wanna feel you, sei,” you add onto the tail end of your mewled words whilst you continue to paw at his last remaining article of clothing. fishing for his stupid shirt. still, you remain timid and shy despite how you moan like seishiro’s perfect, personal little whore.

that’s okay. your boyfriend likes that look on you. stupid, dumb and sleepy on his cock. his heart roars in the left side of his chest but circulates passion and excitement through the rest of his body. you turn seishiro nagi on in more ways than one. physically and mentally — he can’t help but get all worked up around you, even in the dead of night.  “you want this off? can you ask me nicely, angel?” he chuckles leisurely, mouth falling open to mock your seraphic moans whilst he relentlessly toys and pinches and draws shapes on your viscid clit.

“c-can you take it off, please sei. been good,” you drawl, all high-pitched and whistle-toned like a puppy begging for the treat in its owner’s hand. seishiro has you on a tight leash, his little well trained pet – even if he doesn’t mean for things to end up that way. neither of you really mind it, though.

a bemused, fond smile tugs at the seams of his lips because you really are so perfect for him. the perfect gift. he’s thought about it about a million times tonight. it all rushes to his head, messing with the sleepy tendrils curled around his consciousness; the way you claw at him, the way the silverness of the moon catches on the saltine-perspiration on your skin and your glistening slit that leaves webs of slick on his sweats and pubes. he tortures you for a little bit longer, signing his signature against the most sensitive part of your sex for a few seconds longer – happy to see you jolt, hear you practically sob above him before he relents. “yeah, yeah… been so good f’me, sweet angel,” nagi releases your poor clit and then uses his arousal painted fingers to remove his shirt. he takes the fabric hem between his pearlescent teeth – revealing exquisitely carved abs shaped by his soccer career to your delirious gaze. “always gonna give my pretty girl what she wants…”

your lungs threaten to explode as your gaze rakes over him and oxygen in them fades to nothing when your boyfriend tugs the article of clothing the rest of the way off. you choke on a moan, the fluid motions of your doughy hips faltering for a moment. the second his chest is laid bare to the humid, sex struck air you’re immediately jumping forward to press your naked chest to his. now, you feel complete. content. with your hearts beating against each other in sync like a promise of loving each other eternally, made in the depths of the dark. you feel fully connected, skin on skin, nipples brushing against each other – it makes you tingle, makes your pussy drip down his balls like a never ending tap in this new position. you’re so shamefully wet that crude slaps drown out the sounds of your shared laments.

“want you. only you, sei.  h-hah, fuck!” you simper softly, the sound warbling with the threat of crying. “love you s’much, i love you.”

just as your tears start to spill over the edge and flow down the apples of your cheeks, strong and safe arms wrap around your shoulders – anchoring you to seishrio’s lap and cock, giving him the leverage to pull you up and down on him in a nasty, passionate manner. you’re so close now, impossibly so, and you love it because you get to hear the striker in ways no one else ever will. his deplorable, breathy whimpers coast along the shell of your ear heatedly and pick up when he begins to jackhammer into you with levels of motivation he dedicates only to you.

you make seishiro nagi want to do the unthinkable. the unspeakable. he would move mountains for you if you asked, if it were possible. he’s never wanted to do that for anyone other than himself when playing soccer.

you may be falling apart on top of him… but you’ll always be able to control him as much as he does you.

the bed below, as expensive and sturdy as it may be, begins to creak beneath the weight of it all. squealing louder than you do into the crook of seishiro’s neck as you dampen it with moist moans tears. he’s angling his hips up to press directly against your g-spot, grey eyes wild like an uncaring hurricane whilst he taps into his ego to make you see stars. and you take it, no matter how brutish his sluggish thrusts are, pussy eagerly swallowing him down. “love you, angel. my perfect angel, huh?” he grunts slackly and in restraint. you love him and if you say it again, especially in that voice, he’ll break in ways that only men in love will know. you just… do that to him. make it so he could cream your insides before he’s ready to. “you… y’really do it t’me, baby. can’t help it when ‘m with you… jus’ end up going crazy.”

his eyelashes flutter against your damp cheeks and his voice begins to wander into a dark slur that you willingly sink under the surface for. it brings you closer and closer to the edge, and you’re so tired from the flight out here and the work you’ve put into fucking your white-haired soccer star that you’re not sure you can hold it back. “y’make me crazy too,” you pant, too out of your mind to say more, muttering praises into his skin, clenching down on him to the point where your arousals mingle and foam at the thick base of his pulsing length. you hug his head, intertwining your fingers in his sweat-locked silver hair and tug on it as if it’ll keep you tied to earth instead of floating out of the atmosphere from the pleasure. “a-are you close? need you to cum inside… been waitin’ for it. missed it…” 

oh, how he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the idea too. filling you up with a hot round of his seed until it was practically pouring out of you. breeding you. the two of you aren’t strangers to the dangers of him cumming inside – nagi hardly ever pulls out if he doesn’t have to. most of your intimate moments end in that way, with a spent cunt and a drooly cock, the result of many lazy early mornings started by the kick of his morning wood against your backside and nights like this. it's too much of an effort and too much of a mess if he cums anywhere else. and also, it’s much more a plus to focus on watching your face as he pumps you full and feels you struggle to keep it all in. 

“need it that bad, huh? so soon?” he’s being a little mean without really meaning to, licking over the front of his teeth and grunting as he increases the weight behind his thrusts – eager to push you as close to the edge as possible. his dick throbs in the embrace of your deliriously addictive walls from where you’ve got him fucked up beyond imaginable, but he keeps it together, long enough to ruin you and hear you sniffle from the overstimulation. “almost, angel. almost. can you hold on f’me?”

you said you’d do anything for seishiro and at the time, you’d meant it but now your muscles are achingly wary and your eyelids are growing heavier, and heavier by the second. just as you shake your head ‘no’ a loud and childish sob bursts from between your lips, wet and whiny while your hole flutters loyally around his drippy dick. no, you don’t think that you can hold back, not like this, not when it hurts so good and he’s fucking you numb and dumb. 

all you can do is reply in a pitchy squeal, nearly missed by the wet sounds of you dowsing him in your sweet nectar, soaked sex slapping down on him in an uncoordinated manner. “‘m close…c-can’t–!”

still, you squirm about and you do your best to catch up with nagi’s new insane pace, his unrelenting stamina… even the backs of your thighs start to burn from the exertion — a subtle stinging tingling sensation underneath the supple flesh  from the friction against seishiro’s sweatpants and its waistband.

“‘course you can, always do,” white starts to froth at the entrance of your ravaged pussy, a mix of his precum and your juices bubbling up to leave opaque milky streaks along the length of him – clinging to the veins decorating his shaft. “c’mon, s’too much of a hassle for you to give up now, thought you wanted to be my present? make me feel good?” his words are breathlessly patronising, causing your body to jolt and jerk above his own, your hips fumble in their rhythm but that doesn’t stop you from gushing about the place either. “or is it that my poor baby is gettin’ tired…”

keening hoarsely, his voice still under the authority of sleep – nagi’s gaze slowly but surely hones in on the point at which your bodies join, taking in the sight of his pre-cum coated cockhead disappearing in and out of your puffy pussy repeatedly. his sights trail upwards to where your tummy bulges from the sight of him and he imagines how beautifully you would swell with his seed – he can’t wait any longer, not for that. 

in response to his speculation, you nod this time, desperate for relief or second to relax since your limbs are on the verge of giving out – head flying back as a result of the formidable momentum nagi uses to pummel your pretty pussy. “y-yes!” you damn near scream, not caring how loud you sound nor how late it is. “sei i-i’m… ‘m too–!”

you don’t get the chance to finish your hiccuped and heaved words, not that they make sense in between your shrieking and pleasure-filled cries, only because your loving, lazy boyfriend is snaking his bulking arm around your waist in addition to the one around your shoulders. all so that he can keep you tucked into him whilst he rolls you both onto your sides. “you’re that tired, baby? you don’t wanna fuck me anymore?” seishiro is teasing you of course, a tender smile splitting across his sweaty face whilst he fixes you both in this new position. with your calf now thrown over his slender hip and your head safely nestled into a pillow, nagi captures your lips in a searing hot and sloppy kiss before you have a chance to cry or whine about how mean he’s being. consoling you in a way as he assumes control. “s’okay, angel. don’ worry, i’ll got’cha. ‘m gonna take over, take my present now…”

only then do you remember how large seishiro is. how the sheer size of his frame is able to manhandle and dominate you. how small and safe you can be with him. you suppose he likes it too, where he gets his motivations from… the ability to commandeer you.

whatever he had commented to you had been all the reassurance you needed to hear before losing all sense and control and coordination – going limp in seishiro’s consoling hold. between your cute little please and airy, dreamy wails your lips smack against the soccer player’s – in tune with his measured grinds and ardent stream of lunges into you. his grip on you barely gives him the room to pull out from your tight, blistering mound… and it’s not like your body gives him the permission to either – your preciously greedy cunt squeezes down and locks his fervid, pre-cum pearling tip against your gummy walls. 

“f-fuck…” seishiro drawls, whiny and romantic – like what you would imagine an aphrodisiac would sound like if it could make a noise. “y’keep suckin’ me in, angel. i can get s’deep like this…” he switches it up, going from rapidly circling his hips to gentle, purposeful pounds – stringing you along on a trip to your high. with such little space between you both now, you can feel his blistering hot breath coasting along your cupid’s bow, leaving the ghost of his mark along your sweltering skin as you gush around him – marking his cock and his balls as your own with your cream. “feel that… me, right here?”

whether you mean to or not, your pussy spasms around him – keeping him there. choking the life out of nagi in a way he can’t help but enoy. he feels like he’s being rewarded for loving you just as much as he is motivated to fuck you. he never knew sex could be this amazing until he met you, and now touching you..being with you is all that he wants. especially on his birthday.

pressing your forehead to nagi’s, you nod again – lost in your own lassitude and the sweep of delectation that laps at the inner parts of your soul. “r-right there, sei. need you r-right there,” you say tranquilly, barely able to keep your big wet bambi eyes open as the white-haired striker’s sappy cock massages that spongy spot nestled deep within, the one that only he knows how to find. “p-please don’t stop sei!”

your shared arousals form an elixir of love that seeps into the bedding beneath the lazy bump and grind of your bodies – it adds shine to your clit that drags over nagi’s pelvis, webs over your skin and wafts into the air, so that it smells like sex. the two of you are everywhere. everything and it only heightens the passion you have for one another. “not gonna, angel. n-never gonna. as long as i have you…” seishiro retorts, licentiousness lining the ridges of his throat, rattling about between the bones in his ribcage.

always. forever. an eternity. is what you want to say. you’ll have him for as long as he has you. you can only hope that where your words fail you, the erotic enthusiasm you have when you kiss him can make up for it. cupping his cheeks whilst you both lay on your sides, grinding and groping at each other – you lean forward and lick the trail of drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and track it up to his plush, parted lips – where he kindly feeds you his airy moans and stray straggles of his spit. all of which you accept, wanting whatever he gives you to fuse with your body and soul, whilst keeping you sedated. tongues roll over one another agonisingly slow, adding the thrumming bliss tangled in the panted breaths the two of you exchange. your kiss speaks a million words in a million different ways and languages, portraying the love and adoration you have for the lazy genius. 

cherry red outlines seishiro’s lips, emphasising just how swollen they’ve gotten from constantly being meshed and melded against your own. “did so fuckin’ well for me… all night,” your boyfriend murmurs pensively, his words punctuated by the pervertted plap, plap, plap of his breeders balls against your syrupy mound. “really is so unfair how perfect you are f’me, angel. my pretty girl…my dream girl.” he adds through gritted teeth, making a home between your cream-soaked folds, rubbed and fucked raw – pushing back and forth between them to relieve the building ache in his erection. “g-gotta make you feel it…make you cum.”  

throughout his lazy rambles, your boyfriend’s grip ( in the mess of tangled limbs ) cascades down to handle your waist – roughly circling you on him like a well-loved rag doll while he plunges into the quivering tackiness of your pussy. an orgasm starts to burn through you like paper being held to the flickering flame of a candle and you’re not sure how much more of this you can take, being able to hold off is usually an easier task – but not today, on his birthday, when his usually soft eyes are flooded with a desire so dark the black of his pupils eclipses any colour in his eyes. 

“’m going to. g’na cum, sei,” a hearty sob burts free from your lungs, shaking your body down to its core. the visage of seishiro, your beautiful boyfriend, in front of you becomes blurry from your salty tears but you can still make out the rouge flush to his skin and the crease between his brows caused by your pleas for release. “feels so, so good. lemme cum on your cock… please–!” juicy, wet sounds stack like bricks in your hotel room, a symphony of whimpers and simpers that accompany the perfectly pitched notes from seishiro bucking into your sickeningly deluged hole. japan’s favourite genius leaks an endless stream of precum, a creamy white like the loose strands of his hair splayed across the pillows – the pre-release oozes against your ribbed insides from his bright red tip and aids his movements. they’re smoother, easier, helping him glide in and out of your clenching cunt like it's nothing. despite how tight you are around him, pussy fluttering with the intent to keep him in.

that’s how you’re reminded of his sheer size; accommodating to the way his cockhead so sweetly kisses your g-spot just by having his cock nestled inside. he throbs, fat and inflamed from an oncoming orgasm and the load he’s saved for you in his balls, weighing them down as they swing with each rut of his taut hips. “yeah?” nagi questions you groggily, swallowing thickly at the sight of you straining to stay awake and present in front of him. “you gonna cum f’me, angel? s’gonna be the best fuckin’ birthday present i’ll ever have…” he can tell that you’re there, teetering on the edge of sanity and heaven on earth. viscous drops of your treacly essence runs through your slit, spiraling down the purplish blue veins pulsating on his shaft. he’s right behind you, ready to catch you if you fall.

if he could, the soccer star would selfishly keep you writhing like this for hours, slowly making love to you until you slip from threads of consciousness. it is his birthday after all, he’s sure you’d let him… but it’d be too much effort to ask you to hold on for that long. not when you sound this wet, not when you’re blubbering and crying for him – weakly grinding on him. “that’s right. take it. take my cock, you know you can do it. gonna… gonna make you cum, i promise. s-swear it…” he coos to you like it’s a promise over the crude sound of your sexes slipping over one another. 

both of your shaky arms hug his head once more, grazing the sweat-darked curls on the nape of his neck and you arch forward on your side to press your chest against his – craving that closeness, whimpering happily as his heart beats against your breasts bouncing between your bodies with each uncoordinated and sloppy thrust. nodding your head agreeably, your next words hang between your teeth – panted out from your mouth as it slowly falls open. “‘hmygod, sei. sei please, ‘m cumming! oh… i-i’m cummming!” you don’t last much longer as your release sneaks up on you like a thief avoiding streaks of moonlight. the ropes that had been twisting in your tummy since the start of your midnight escapade finally unravel and the world around you shatters, seishiro’s hold on you being the only thing tying you to it. darkness floods your vision, black spots dotted around the corners of your love tinted lense – you don’t even realise you’re passing out from how hard you’re cumming either. you squirt fast and hard, clear streams of your own arousal spewing from your swollen cunt and rendering you useless in nagi’s strong arms.

white noise buzzes in your ear but he holds you close through it all, pulling your head down to rest against his bare shoulder to help muffle the deliciously loud wail tugging on your vocal chords. the louder you sound, the more seishiro likes it. he likes all of it really, the way your pussy drowns him in your mess and nearly forces him out, it’s exactly what he needs to reach his own peak. pushing an arm past your head, he grasps at the soiled sheets and carefully rolls you onto your back – using the last of his stamina and energy to make himself cum missionary style. as if chasing after something that’ll slip away too fast, nagi speeds up his thrusts whilst little whinges and whines spill from his cherry-bitten lips. 

“f-fuck. fuuuck, ‘m cummin’, pretty thing. gonna put it inside. won’t need to clean up, won’t ruin the sheets…w-won’t–!” the white-haired striker rasps without a care in the world, stumbling over his syllables – spit pooling on the palette of his tongue whilst he rocks into your soiled cunt harder and harder. you don’t have the strength to respond, weakly cradling the back of his neck in one hand while your nails rake down his back using the other. tears like dewdrops cling to your fluttering lashes as you watch your boyfriend fall apart above you – orgasm stacking painfully in his pelvis and practically tearing through his mountainous frame as he fucks you through the remaining aftershocks of your own high.

a final ripple of your pussy around his drippy dick opens the floodgates and his orgasm breaks the surface. nagi pushes himself as deep as he can go, every inch of himself snuggled salaciously against your honeyed walls before he finally lets go. he shakes like there’s been an earthquake, gargling against the shell of your ear whilst blisteringly white hot seed spurts against your squishy, gummy insides. there’s so fucking much of it, a layer of opaque cream smearing over your abused folds, painting you with his claim. seishiro’s cream sloshes about, but he doesn’t pull out – languidly rolling his hips into you so that he can make sure it sticks, lubing up your sex as he fucks himself further into your naked cunt.

silence trickles into the room, not uncomfortable, but instead completely content – broken only by your shared and shuddered breathing. you relish in the way he intermittently throbs and he, in the way that you convulse around him as he softens. for a moment, it’s just the two of you and no one else in the world, simply able to come down from your highs and calm down while hugging each other close.

“h-happy birthday, sei,” you whisper once your voice allows you to, it’s cadence still rough from the sex. “i love you…” 

“love you most…” fatigue sinks its claws into the white-haired striker, who collapses on top of you at the first chance he gets. he nuzzles against you as he goes, closing his eyes and peppering your wet face with soft little kisses as if to help soothe you both. “mmm. happy birthday to me, i guess,” comes his exhausted, yet pleased, hum. “you okay, angel?” nagi’s still regaining his ability to speak properly, a pleasant buzz crackling like static over his brain whilst he inhales through his nose, memorising the scent of your union. of you. “went too hard, i think.” everything feels right when you’re together like this, more peaceful and safe. exactly what a relationship should be

so, you shake your head, searching for grey eyes that meet your own with a doting gaze. “you were perfect,” you grin tiredly, growing shy underneath him. “i hope i was too…”

“the best, always are,” he’s quick to reply, checking you over for bruises and hissing as you clench around him. nagi can tell that you don’t want him to pull out, that you need him in close proximity to properly come back down. so, he clings to you, rubs small circles into the parts of you he can reach and just… loves you. as best as he can. “stay with me, lay with me. don’ wanna let you go just yet. you’re my present after all.” seishiro pouts entirely too cutely, doing a complete one-eighty to the man who was wrecking your insides just mere minutes ago.

humming you feel yourself begin to lose the fight to sleep – choosing to bask in nagi’s warmth and love instead of stay wide awake. “all yours.” you sigh out, completely reassured that your presence alone is always going to be enough to keep the lazy egoist happy on his birthday. more than happy.

seishiro nagi will always want you, always need you, always love you – especially when you fly across the globe to be with him on his birthday. 

falling asleep together, with your fingers intertwined and your hearts beating in sync.

RIGHTS RESERVED © LOSTWRLDS 2025. the content seen here belongs to me. do not copy, repost, translate, feed into ai, or recommend elsewhere.

[edensrose]

𐔌 𖹭 𝑱𝑱𝑲 𝑪𝒂𝒔𝒕 & 𝑺𝒆𝒙𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝑫𝒚𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒔 ˖ ࣪✧

ᡴꪫ. what're they like in bed ? 𖹭 g. satoru, g. suguru, i. shoko, i. utahima, t. yuki, n. kento, k. shiu 𖹭 f. reader ˖ ࣪ꮽ˳

˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ Satoru Gojo ۪ ୧ top dom leaning switch. fucks hard, he's got a lot of frustration to get out + he loves seeing your pretty eyes go dumb. please piss him off, he loves the idea that someone actually can. however, has a soft spot for lazy morning and sweet, sensual night sex. he enjoys doing the work and making you feel good but ! will not be opposed to you taking lead . . . if you fight him for it. what, you expect him to just give it to you?

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ Suguru Geto ۪ ୧ top dom. don't try to take control, you will fail, he will laugh at you. more into the hard dom and can be really damn mean. brat taming? watch yourself, he has a particular love for putting you in your place. he is such a damn tease it's insane. we only believe in pervert suguru on this blog, he will do some of the nastiest things like keeping your panties in his pocket or touching you under a table.

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ Shoko Ieiri ۪ ୧ switch, pleasure seeker. will honestly change depending on your preference, she's pretty chill with it. while she does have a particular love for relieving whatever stress you may harbour, she's not opposed to you putting her on her back. gets very touchy, will leave you marked up in her lipstick after quickies. not very outwardly submissive but oh can she run with that top/dom title. will use the strap on you! prefers if you scissor her though.

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ Utahime Iori ۪ ୧ bottom sub. please let her be a pillow princess she's tired and stressed. also a bit inexperienced as a general so might fumble a bit but she's definitely very into it! guide her a little and she'll do whatever you want. gets a tad bit jealous which will result in her getting a bit 'assertive' with you which turns laughable once you introduce some tongue and get her legs all trembling again.

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ Yuki Tsukumo ۪ ୧ TOP. DOM. look at that woman and tell me she wouldn't pin you down by the thighs. she's sooo sweet with it too, giving you little winks and croons while her fingers are being so mean between your legs. you never know what to expect with her she's beyond unpredictable. one moment you're cuddling and she's being the sweetest — the next? over her face. literally so obsessed with your pleasure ( and making you teary )

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ Kento Nanami ۪ ୧ top dom. now he woudn't be opposed to you taking control if you asked him, but he prefers to be the one calling the shots. it just relaxes him you know? with that being said, his dynamic is whiplash. he's so tender and gentle . . . with his words and foreplay. the second his dick's in? your legs will be weak and he'll show you just how mean he can be — while still keeping his tender words as if he isn't re-arranging your guts. also into brat taming but he actually makes you feel a bit bad about it with the way he scolds you while bullying your cunt.

. ۫ ۶ৎ .

˖ ࣪✧ ꘓ Shiu Kong ۪ ୧ top dom and prefers to keep it that way. he's too old and tired to deal with you trying to one-up him so don't try. it will end with you on his lap while he idly smokes his cigarette and makes you do the work. that's his brat taming. why should he give you what you want when you act up? teasing bastard who lovvess making you beg for it. lazy and effortless with it until he's either got his head between your legs or you're sprawled out on his dick. and even then.

͝ ⏝𝅄︶ ͝ ⏝ ⊹ ⏝ ͝ ︶𝅄⏝ ͝

[goddamnitmahtin]

Real Robins Can Fly

( a dc x dp prompt)

As a part of a charity event, Bruce holds a cosplay contest where contestants show off their cosplays, explain their processes and even show off a little if they have a talent of some sort that kind of fits the theme of the character.

Problem? Everyone he invited to be judges at the event are league members and they all had a case suddenly interfere so Bruce and his colleagues can’t show up. So he asks Dick to round up as many of his siblings as he can to be judges for this event. The lineup ends up being Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie and Damian. Duke was almost able to make it but he got caught up with work.

Dick was surprised that Damian even wanted to come considering he was drowning himself in studying for his finals. He was about to graduate high school and wanted to make sure his gpa was flawless. Nevertheless, he found a way to drag his youngest brother out of the library and into the judges panel.

The contest was fine. Most people dressed as local vigilantes or villains that were easy to recognize. There were some really good ones. There were a few that none of them recognized. A few only Tim recognized. Apparently they were from animes or something.

The day dragged on and on, all of them having to stop for breaks at different points. Dick needed to get up and walk around because sitting in one place for too long made his joints hurt. Jason had to leave to do breathing exercises when a really accurate second Robin cosplayer came through holding a crowbar of all things. Tim had to leave a few times to make phone calls as co CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Steph called the babysitter (Cass) a few times about her now 2 year old daughter. And Damian used every single one of those breaks to cram in more studying.

What nothing that day could have prepared them for was the last contestant. The 13 year old boy walked onto the stage with a huge smile in a perfect replica of Dick’s very first Robin suit. Down to the last detail everything was correct. Except that… it had been torn up and damaged in places and there were painted on bruises and wounds in the places missing fabric. Part of the mask was ripped off and being held in the boy’s hand. And the face underneath that broken mask looked just like Tim.

Tim: *after recovering faster than everyone else* Wow. What a suit! What’s your name and tell the process of creating your cosplay.

Danny: *smiles* I’m Danny! I’m 13 years old and I wanted to be Robin! Robin is my favorite vigilante because he’s an inspirational figure for younger people. I decided to design my outfit based on the very first Robin in his first ever suit that he was spotted in but I wanted to pay homage to all of the Robins so I changed it up a little bit. I studied the Robins from the past in photos and was able to come up with at least one thing from each.

Steph: I see. Could you show us these homages?

Danny: YES! *his eyes glowed green in excitement, catching Jason and Damian off guard* I designed the suit itself to look like the first Robin as he was the pioneer of the Robin title but I made the entire outfit from materials only used on the current Robin. As you can see the color scheme for the suit is more muted than the original as the current Robin uses shadows and corners more for attacks than the others did.

Damian: *smiles slightly*

Danny: I chose my wounds and distresses in the costume based on photos of the second and third Robins. They took more physical blows than the rest did. *pointing to each wound, pointing to one in the abdomen* This one is just a theory of mine but I think the third Robin might of at one point had a surgery around here from his fighting style. He would protect his abdomen from attack more.

Tim: …… I see.

Danny: And the fourth Robin was a deviation from the pattern because she was a girl that didn’t have the dark hair that all the others had. She wasn’t Robin for very long but her style and decision making were more unpredictable than the rest so if you just give me a second… *fidgets with his gloves for a moment* Whole watching her footage I noticed how her hair was accounted for in her fighting style without it ever getting into her way. *slides off his glove* So on my wrist I have a replica of the headband she used in her suit but smaller so it’s more of a bracelet.

Steph: *noticing how accurate it is* Oh- wow-

Jason: That’s really impressive Danny. Tell us a little bit more about how you actually created the suit. Your process.

Danny: Well the entire thing is made of an armored flex material that I made in my sister’s basement. I studied pictures of all of the Robin suits and noticed parts of the fabric that stood out and made my prototype from there. *smiles* I have a small sample for you guys to pass around! *hands Jason said sample*

Jason: Oh that’s really impressive-

Tim: You said you made it in your sister’s basement? How did your parents feel about it?

Danny: My parents are gone. It’s just me and Jazz. I spent all of my money on the materials to make this. I’m hoping to win because the prize money will be enough for her to buy a car so she can find a new job. And maybe with the rest I’ll finally be able to go to space camp this summer. I’ve always wanted to go! But we could never afford it.

Steph: *covers her gasp softly* Oh-

Damian: Did you have a talent you wanted to show off for us today?

Danny: YES! *pumps his fist excitedly*

Damian: Could you demonstrate that for us please?

Danny: Okay! *climbs up the light tower next to the stage and hangs from the metal bars like a proper gymnast before jumping off, flipping and grabbing frames and pieces of rigging to swing from, replicating old tricks Dick used to do as Robin that he learned in the circus before flipping down and landing nimbly in the center of the stage* Tadah!

Dick: *absolutely shook* Why did you- choose that as your talent?

Danny: Real robins can fly. So why can’t I?

After Danny leaves the stage, it takes a few minutes for them all to collect themselves from that. Especially Dick.

Steph: So that Danny kid is gonna win.

Tim: 100 percent. He was able to recreate the fabric we make our suits out of through pictures!

Jason: We better not tell Bruce or-

Damian: Too late. I already texted father. He’s drafting adoption papers as we speak.

Dick: *who was planning on doing that himself* Dammit!

Damian: I for one, am thrilled at the prospect that this Danny child will take up the Robin mantle when I leave for college.

Steph: Well real robins can fly so why shouldn’t he? *smiles*

Dick: Stephanie I’m literally going to cry.

[michaela-o]

Random things i think Cybertronians would find adorable about humans~♡ Pt. 2

1. Us getting scared by small things

Humans jumping or screaming at a bug, sudden noise, or a scare prank would probably seem hilarious to the bots, who would be 100% amused by how easily humans can be startled. I bet MANY bots would take advantage of this when there would be a lil human on the lost light. Bots like Whirl, Trailbreaker sometimes Swerve that would like to scare the human despite them telling him not to.

Ya all know the vine video? With guy that goes: "Aaah stoop im gonna drop my criossant."

Yes that XDD

2. Us getting lost even with maps or GPS

I personally have terrible sense of direction and orientation (*p_q*) And some bots catching humans struggle with directions, even with GPS, would be both puzzling and funny to them. They always wonder how humans get lost so easily. But come on give the lialison a break the lost light is fucken HUGE.

3. Getting “hangry”

I mostly get tired when i'm hungry but when im also irritated i become hangry. I think bots would find humans getting irritable when they’re hungry both funny and perplexing to them who might see it as an amusing “malfunction” due to our a basic need.

4. Human body “glitches”

Hiccups, sneezes or random muscle twitches and similar reflexes would be entertaining to the bots, who’d find these involuntary responses both weird and amusingly unpredictable especially when we tell them that we can't control them. Get ready to be friendly bullied for this by some of the bots.

Human sitting over on Swerve's bar counter: *sneezes*

Whirl: What the frag was that sound? A sparkling's war cry?

Human: ( ｡ớ︿ờ)

5. Collecting random souvenirs

Humans collecting small souvenirs, like seashells, keychains, or mugs from places they visit, would be amusing to Cybertronians, who might see it as an odd way of marking memories. Since from what i was reading in comics i didn't see any bots do this and i think they would find this pretty adorable. Almost like we materialize memories.

We are all like crows :3

6. Huddling for warmth

When humans instinctively huddle together or bundle up in thick layers when we're cold. Bots would simply find it cute amd definitively have to fight the yrge to just- squish-

Our need to find warmth and the cozy solutions we come up with would seem quaint and endearing (*´˘`*)

7. Gathering in groups for safety

The way we instinctively form groups, especially in unfamiliar or intimidating and scary situations would be both cute and a bit amusing to bots who might see it as humans’ way of finding strength in numbers despite their physical smallness. But we find great comfort in it ( *^艸^*)

8. Soothing or hugging each other in stress

When we instinctively comfort each other with hugs or reassuring words would be adorably puzzling to the bots, who’d find it endearing that humans can find peace in such small, gentle gestures. I bet a bot that is visibly sad would be pretty surprised when the human lialison comes up to them and just hug their servo and ask if they want to talk about it. It personally makes me happy when i can comfort and help someone in need ( ｡ớ ᴗờ)

9. Making eye contact to connect

Humans instinctively make eye contact to establish trust or share feelings, which many bots would find very intimate, sincere and honest because it shows how deep the personal nature of human connection can go ( ⁎ᵕᴗᵕ⁎ )

(bots getting lost in human's eyes is one of my guilty pleasures)

10. Fighting for what’s important

We humans naturally stand up for our values, friends, and families, often driven by an instinct to protect or defend what we love. I think bots would find this fierce loyalty and bravery adorably noble for such a small species such as us. I even think that many would take us for an example in this (｡>ㅅ<｡)

11. Helping others instinctively

Cybertronians would likely find this endearing that humans instinctively help each other out—whether holding open a door, picking up dropped items, or offering support without being asked. This is the very nature that makes us human (*´▽`*)

12. Blushing when embarrassed or flustered

The way our cheeks turn pink or red when we're shy, embarrassed, or flustered would be extremely cute to the bots, who’d see it as a “giveaway” that adds to our vulnerability and the fact that we just can't hide our emotions makes us very emotionaly transparent is just straight up adorable.

13. The way the human brain is so simple

I personaly am very simple human being and i find many stupid and simple things funny and laugh at them. I think because of this many bots would find us very innocent and adorable

(｡>▽<｡)

AAAAARRRGH there's so many other things i wanna write but i decided to make part two of this bc i enjoy writing this stuff. Dis a good soup :33

(i might add a small masterlist to my pinned post :3)

[backinmyphase]

Sukuna was stubborn.

You knew that but you stil thought he would leave the sleeping deprivation matter go. Yeah, maybe you yawned a lot, but was that really so irritating?

He obviously thought so.

Sukuna always looked so frustrated at you. And maybe he had a right to. He caught you a couple of times sleeping in the library. He woke you up after the first time. A scowl was always present when you blinked up at him.

"It's not that bad." you reassured him, hoping he wouldn't dig into the matter. But you knew that wouldn't satisfy him.

And still. He let you sleep after that. The times after that you weren't woken up when you fell asleep in the library. But you always woke up in your chamber.

The maids didn't stop. No, they were having fun with tormenting you now, with stealing your sleep. Sometimes knocking your door down at 2 am and leaving when you woke up. Waking you up with water splashing your face, while cleaning your room without speaking.

You wanted to act, do something. Anything to finally sleep.

You wanted to kill them. But not enough to tell Sukuna.

So things changed.

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"Don't you have better things to do?" you muttered while picking at your lunch.

And Sukuna that little shit (he was in fact not little) smirked at you while taking a sip of his drink.

"I don't think so."

The King of Curses was unpredictable. You still didn't understand why he let you live, why he laughed at the village that threw you away, why he burned them down. No, you didn't dare try to predict his actions. But still. This was unusual.

The last week he was uncharacteristically nice. Attentive. Present. Almost clingy?

He didn't just dine with you, he ate breakfast and lunch with you too. Sukuna made sure to take at least one stroll with you through his garden. Made sure the food you ate was to your liking.

Made sure you got everything you needed.

You didn't understand. It wasn't like there was something missing. It wasn't like the palace of him wasn't giving you everything.

You just wanted to rest. But even with the king of curses right next to you on your stroll it didn't feel like you could relax. There was still that haunting feeling of being watched, being judged by them.

There were only Sukuna, you and Uraume in the dine room as you ate lunch. And still you felt tense.

"Why did you move me to a different chamber?" you tried to raise your voice but you were so exhausted.

Sukuna gave Uraume a quick glance before he spoke. And that kind of fucked with you. "You still have sleeping problems right? Something with your neck?"

You cleared your throat. "It wouldn't call it a problem." you paused for a second. "And it got better." A lie.

"Well, problem or not, I've decided to gift you a new bed. Something better to rest in." Sukuna's eyes examined your tired posture as he spoke. "And more stable. You never know."

You hated how hot you felt suddenly. How you knew he knew from his smirk.

"But was a new chamber necessary?" your voice was much more thinner than before.

"Might as well. Why, do you not like it?"

"No, I do! I just... Don't see why."

"Then just accept it as a gift."

"You are really generous, my lord. It's not even my birthday."

There was it again. The awkward silence. It had gotten a more rare visitor over the last week, but it still somehow made its way into your interactions. Sukuna wasn't someone you could normally talk to over long time. Who could? He was the king of curses.

"Is that important to you?" his gaze was lowered now, not exactly avoiding you but still not meeting yours.

"What is?" you pushed your empty plate away from you.

"Birthdays."

You blinked at him. "I... Guess."

He seemed a bit tense now. "Why?"

"Well, it's a tradition, a celebration of ones birth. And I like to celebrate my existence, that's why I like to think that day is mine." you let out a small chuckle. "But it's not that important I guess. It's just a day to feel good for me."

He nodded. That tall man with four arms nodded and seemed so human to you in this moment.

"Do you not like birthdays, my lord?"

He glanced at you. "I never celebrated one."

Your eyes widened. "What, why?"

At that he looked up at you with an ironic smile and there was the Sukuna you knew. The one you saw the first time you met. "Do you really think someone celebrated the birth of the king of curses?"

You didn't know what to say. Now you felt a bit stupid to ask such a question. You looked at the man in front of you and asked yourself how his parents had reacted to him. What happened to him?

"Don't pity me, I like being feared." he smirked while saying that.

"Do you know when your birthday is?"

"Pfff- no why would I? I just don't see a reason."

"Well, if you say so. But I think you would like it. I like the feeling of having a day filled with gifts and appreciation. And it doesn't have to be that, just a day in which one treats themselves." you muttered.

Sukuna glanced at Uraume again.

"When is your birthday?"

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It was in the afternoon when you strolled through the garden with Sukuna. He didn't say a word just slowly walked beside you, keeping you company. That was nice.

The garden was really beautiful, something you didn't expect from the king of curses. That he would have a beautiful and healthy garden seemed almost ironic when you thought about your burned village.

The soft breeze was refreshing and for the first time you were relaxed.

The maids didn't matter right now. Your tired body was just enjoying the gentle sounds of nature and the company of that tall man.

Sukuna watched you while you were looking at his flowers. And honestly you didn't mind. His staring started to flatter you, almost made you feel safe as long he was watching.

But that didn't mean you always liked it.

"Do you like Forget me Nots?" it was the first time you started a conversation on your little trip through the garden.

"Like is a strong word." It really wasn't. But for Sukuna it was. "They are pretty."

He was quiet. Looked down at you sitting before the flowers. He stared into your eyes and then back at the flowers. Then he cleared his throat.

"I guess I like the quietness in them. In flowers in general. And still some of them have thorns or other ways to keep dangers away."

You smiled at them. "And they are pretty?"

"And they are pretty."

You couldn't help but think of what he said when he first saw you. How he had called you a pretty flower. Was it just some dumb saying or was it something-

Crack!

You flinched at the sudden sound and turned around to see where it was coming from. It came from near a tree the ones near the entrance of the palace.

And then a small peeping sound, almost like cries.

You walked near to see a small bird laying on the ground, unable to spread his wings.

"A Shima-enaga." Sukuna spoke from behind you. "Probably broke his wing."

"Poor thing." you mumbled while leaning down.

"Just the circle of nature. Happens all the time." he raised his hand. "I can put it out of his misery if you want?"

"No!" you turned to him a bit fast taking him by surprise. "It can heal, can it not?"

"I guess I could heal it with reversed cursed technique." he raised an eyebrow and almost seemed sad he didn't get to kill it.

You watched the small white fluffy bird. Watched as it peeped at you so helplessly.

"Can I take care of it?" you slowly pushed one finger against it, helping it to stand up.

"If you want to. But I could just heal it."

"I like to have the feeling of deciding over ones life. And it's cute. I would like to keep it."

Sukuna just smirked at that. He knew that feeling all to well. And since he first met you he knew you liked it too.

And who was he to deny you your wishes?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Thank you again for your interest, I am very happy and grateful for all your nice reviews! The taglist is open for the next part if someone is interested!

Taglist: @csolya @neuvilletteswife4ever @unaaasz @yeehawbrothers @entr4p3 @idontwannatalkrn1 @realalpacorn @beabamboo @bellsoftheball @numblytemporary @fluerful @smailaway @pluto-9456 @feliaeae @saltyfriendsaladbandit @dreamofkaty @ayeeeitsmiracle @strawberrychita @katsukiseyebrows @butterycupsofwheat @strawberrysweet09 @updated-version @idontwannatalkrn1 @professionalreblogger @totallygyomeiswife @somuchdard @its-evee16 @yunodazed @tiffyisme3760 @t4naiis @gojo-caturo @elizabeth-von-winken-universe @spookyreviewluminary @blueyesuguru @angelita-uchiha @rock-iest @riverquacksworld21 @just-lilita @istoleyourcookies @shikigami-the-paper-spirit @mmeeretrix @paranoid-poppies @uhkaey @nickey-diano @iii6lf @exitingmusic @i8yourt0ast @actuallynarii @coconutbananashake

[cursedcola]

Prompt: Couples will evidently begin to mimic their better half after some time. What traits do you steal from him, and vice versa? Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Characters: Everyone - because I want to and I’m amidst fleshing out all my Yuu/Character dynamics + designs Format: Headcannons. Masterlist: LinkedUP Parts: Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore (Here) | Ignihyde | Diasomnia A/N: Putting all my brain rot from my notes into something cohesive. Contrary to my love for ripping your hearts out, I've come with some fluff this time around. BTW you may or may not already do things mentioned - I write my works with a specific Yuu in mind for each character so this is based on them. Just a reminder.

Habits you steal:

Posture (Inherited): You know that scene in every princess movie, where they're in training with books balanced atop their head? Walking in circles over and over to maintain perfect posture? Yeah. Just yeah. It's one of his more annoying habits, for sure.

"Any further and you will kiss the table. Right yourself this instant." <-If you so much as slouch like the gremlin he truly does love - he will straighten you himself.

Social Freedom (Inherited): You are....a wonderfully weird character. Even by Twisted Wonderland's standards. Vil loves bringing out the intricacies in people and blossoming them into perfection. His confidence oozes and bleeds. Which is why being near him makes doing the most spontaneous and crazy things easy. Especially when there's such fondness behind his 'scolding'. You won't be camera shy or just shy in general, that's for certain.

"I never thought fleeting liberty could be portrayed as elegant. Alas, I am still yet to be convinced otherwise - but it is a wonderful look on you. That was a compliment, my dear." <- Others look at Vil as someone without the ability to let loose. They're correct to an extent, yet it does come easier with you. The last person he expected such a thing from.

Healthy Eating (Inherited): Vil follows a strict dietary regimen - he won't subject you to it's itinerary to a T. However, he is going to give the snide eye if you don't get a side salad with that pizza. He'll often order on your behalf at eateries or when the team is taking meal orders on set. Never in an oppressive way, it's always things you like, but he is stubborn when it comes to nutritional gain. There lingers a deep rooted discomfort that you'll one day feel neglected in his absence. Even if Vil isn't home, expect those ready-made meal packages to be sent to the door. Vil is nothing if not attentive - that much is for certain.

Pagers and Beepers (Inherited): A bit old-school, but he carries one. Vil can't always drop everything to check on his phone. He also puts the addictive device away two hours before bed to ensure better sleep - what he does keep on at all times is a functioning pager. This is Vil's preferred communication device and he expects you to have it on your person at all times. Never miss a beep. Especially if he is out for long periods of time, or you're in a state he's fussing over (gods do NOT get sick. He will be an absolute mess).

*Bzz* 'Home Late. 10:00.' *Bzz* 'Come to studio. Wear Mask & Bring Downtime Material' *Bzz* 'Still Sick? Have You Eaten Yet?' *Bzz Bzz Bzz* 'Love you. Miss you.'

Skincare (Inherited): Vil's very pushy when it comes to personal care - Epel can 100% attest to this, and takes every chance to voice his grievances (when Vil is not near, of course. Somehow word always gets back though). While he runs a tight ship, he's very sweet and takes your preferences into consideration when making products.

"Come here. Ah...your cheeks are reddened. Sunburn is a very dangerous opponent this time of year. Tsk. I fault myself for not thinking ahead. You might survive the occasional visit in Scarabia, but the Shaftlands climate is unpredictable." <- Vil will gently graze your cheekbones, already thinking over what potency of sun cream he needs to make. Everyone is different, after all. He already makes your perfume, shampoo, lotions, and cosmetics all from scratch - although he does have a preference for when you wear notes of citrus. Bright scents and soft looks suit your character (and are reflective of the effect you have on him). Beauty is an art, and you are his most precious canvas.

Wet-Wipes (developed): Yes, he owns smudge-proof lipstick. Yes, he could choose to wear said lipstick...Vil does not, and thoroughly enjoys seeing whatever shade he picked out smeared on your cheeks or lips. It's a rare bit of selfishness to waste time re-applying it, but he gets a bit of pleasure watching you scrub frantically at it in the mirror. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

"Ahaha...oh? That look on your face is worth a bit of extra effort. I cannot expect to be rewarded without putting in the work, after all." <- It's a rare bit of unnecessary selfishness on his end. To waste his carefully crafted products, just to watch you scrub his mark off in the mirror. Not too frantic otherwise it'll earn a scolding...but he gets a brief twisted pleasure from it. Especially on days you have somewhere to be.

Apologies(Developed): You...always have to initiate apologies. He's nothing sour or stubborn. Vil can admit his faults when exposed to constructive criticism, and he will work on them. Do not expect things like silent treatment to work, because he will not give in. He is stubbornly attentive, making sure your pettiness won't bleed into life. Makes sure you still share meals together, etc. He will NOT apologize first though.

Habits he steals:

Junk Food (Inherited): Just like he tries to heal your body, you'll try to heal his heart through soul food. It's a part of bonding, and contractual between partners. Is he really going to sit there empty handed while you gorge on candy hearts after a bad day? He better have at least one, or you won't tell him what's wrong. What about peanut butter and potato chip sandwiches?

"You truly are one stubborn creature. Is your stomach made of impenetrable steel?... *sigh* I will taste this concoction of yours, but never claim that I do not love you. If I break out in a rash then you will have far worse to fear beyond my potions" <- He'll be disgusted, but you insist he has to have at least one bite. Just for the cultural experience. If you drink his convoluted potions, then he needs to try your culinary concoctions. Secretly? It's a bit thrilling. You're so wonderfully novel that he can act out any role without thinking the character weird. He's got the biggest weirdo at home after all.

Paparazzi (Developed): Vil will take the blunt end of the media to keep you hidden. He has a private account for people close to him on all sites, and knows what tricks to use so images can't be reused. Like always wearing the same outfit when accompanying you to the gym. This way pictures can't be reused. As much as he encourages you to blossom from your shell, he's a cautious fellow. Not unfamiliar with how obsessive some fans can be. When you're alone, there's always a body guard. Yet unwilling to make you nervous, he arranges for a more...secretive approach.

" - and how was your outing today? Rook is exceedingly knowledgeable on the tourism in this town. I'm sorry we could not go shopping together, but you bought me a gift surely?...hah! I'm merely teasing. It's good to hear that you both had a fun time exploring" <- It's honestly just Rook. Always Rook until the end of time. He's the only one Vil would trust to either politely follow, or simply hang out with you. You're familiar with him, Vil knows there are no ulterior motives, and he's got a sharper eye than most.

Cuddling (Developed): It's scientifically proven that cuddling improves the quality of one's sleep, did ya know? Get in the bed. Now. Don't you want his affection? Hmph.

"Now, I know fully well that you have no intention to spend the night on the couch. I suggest you join me in the next five minutes, or I will take matters into my own hands."

Video Games (Inherited): Vil isn’t a stranger to them. Enjoys them from time to time but never too much because he’s so busy - but you introduced him to Dress to Impress and now he’s addicted. Not just that but he absolutely loves a good rpg. He does like to play with you - like in a co-op platformer, cozy game, or service - when able because it’s bonding time. Vil gets so invested in story lore and actively starts seeking roles in Live Action Adaptation films. Vil as Astarion when???

Thrifting (Inherited): There’s something magical about not knowing what you’re going to get. At first he was against it. You don't have to do that anymore, y'know. He can buy you new clothes if you need them. That is - until you take him through an upcycling market. Vil is used to his designer brands and high fashion - but when you’re able to see potential in something? Make it sparkle? He’s just a big slut for creativity, and I think he would love upcycling.

"My radiance touches all fronts - including my darling. How bold of you to insinuate anything but - No. How daring of you to suggest that adhering to anyone else's standards is worth my time." == Vil is happy to discuss your relationship if the topic is breeched politely during an interview. He isn't shy, neither does he approach anything with less than his best. That includes romance...but oh, hell hath no fury than a smitten Shoenheit scorned by an uncouth reporter. He can sense their attempts to doctor an interview for petty gossip a mile away. He is PROUD that you are learning from him, and views the changes you've brought to his life as improvements. Not lovelorn imperfections.

Habits You Steal

Locks (Developed): Rook is? Oh...okay, so your love's a bit of a prankster - or perhaps a thrill-seeker is more like it? He doesn't let life get too boring, that's for certain. Rook knows Ramshackle through and through. It's not uncommon to look out the window and see his feathered hat zip by in the woods, or through the garden. He does love playing his own version of 'where's waldo' - flickering about to and fro, weaving between the garden trellis and ducking behind trees. Just waiting for his amour to spot him from afar. He knows the layout too intimately - you fear. His habit of breaking and entering instills an anxiety over how unsecure Ramshackle truly is.

“BOO! Aha - desolé, mon coeur - I didn’t mean to startle you so. Consider this a lesson in spacial awareness! Mon dieu, there is a blatant gap in your dorm’s fencing just near the east! Wild beasts can break through and have you for supper. My poor heart will be shattered!” <- So yeah. He's all to happy to set up padlocks on the weak point windows, your fence, etc. He even encourages you to set up some traps yourself. It'll make those 'where's waldo' games more fun for him with new obstacles hehe.

The Nearest Exit (Inherited): Huntsman through and through - he's trained you well. You always sit by the nearest exit in class, closest to the door wherever you are.

Research (Inherited): While Rook is très passionné about fine arts, he's also fascinated with the unknowns in this world. What better club for the truly curious, than the science club? He adores bringing you in to join experiments, always questioning your perspective and letting you take the lead (when safe). It makes a routine procedure all the more interesting, watching what is familiar to him become novel through your eyes. It's like planting a rare seed for the first time, not knowing what will bloom. Akin to venturing within the barred sections of NRC's greenhouse, a thrilling adventure in the pursuit of knowledge. Alchemy becomes your best subject, you can recite the periodic table without need for mnemonics, and you breech the top five in your academic year. Crewel is thoroughly impressed. Good pup.

“Hm? Ah, how curious…there are 123 elements for study in this world, my dear assistant. Would you like to learn the song we teach young mages to memorize them? I will happily serenade you as we work. <- Yup. Twisted Wonderland has more elements than we do, since they’ve got magic resources. Sadly singing the Periodic Table Song won’t be useful. Well, it’s mostly useful still? Trey will actually kill you for teaching it to Rook though. Their mnemonic is much less fast paced and…less annoying. Yeah.

Fleurien (Inherited) : Is this truly shock to anyone? It's french in our world - so props if you already speak the language. Rook isn't fluent but he'd love to learn more. So ... either you use it more with him, or pick up a phrase or two here and there. It's scary as shit - by the way. Now Epel's got not one head popping up screeching "BONJOUR" but two. Don't get comfy because he's small - Rook might be quick enough to dodge a punch but you're one to many outbursts away from a broken nose.

Talking To Yourself (Developed) : Alright. Ace is officially convinced you're off your rocker and need to go visit the nurse. There's no way you know when Rook's skulking about - and if you did, why the heck are you talking to thin air? Just tell him to come out?...yeah, it's not uncommon to have a conversation with your 'boyfriend' when said man isn't visible to the naked eye. There are rumors you finally snapped, just so y'know. Rook physically had to go clear it up with Kalim before the sunshine child sent you on an all-paid tropical vacation to destress (Dammit Rook we were so close -)

“Mon cherie! You look positively radiant in the afternoon light! - ah. The answer is 27, adieu!” <- Call out any question on your Maths or Science homework to the barren sky, and an answer will sound from proximity unknown. The gods have answered your academic dilemma in the form of fleurian embellishments. No. Grim. You can’t just ask every problem - okay you might want to only do this when alone.

Compliments (Developed// Inherited) : Rook is a sweetheart. Maybe a bit of an acquired taste - but he always has something wonderful to say about everyone. No matter their faults...it's almost instinctual, the way you flip from boxed caution to returning his zeal with a genuine compliment. Each and every one. His reaction remains unique as well, he never grows accustomed to it. People groan at the 'shameless flirting' - only to blanch when Rook compliments them in turn, and you are so quick to back him up.

“Oh…mon amour, you never cease to surprise me.” <- Spoken with the most tender affection. Tips his hat to cover his blushing cheeks.

Habits he steals:

Surprises (Inherited): Rook often leaves little gifts and surprises for you to find - in a way he's testing himself, gauging your reactions and getting a spin of glee when you show him a new expression. A bouquet of fresh flowers (their meanings spelling a love letter), sweets from a far corner in the Shaftlands, poems hidden throughout your home in places he predicts you'll check, polaroids of sites across the Isle (urging you to find where for a surprise) etc. This actually started with you - knowing his love for the unknown, you wooed his heart by making little games for him. Not so much snooping into his affairs, but it was fun being under someone else's watchful eye. A bit clumsy but charming to have someone wanting to get the jump on him. Could he be considered prey, if he wanted to be caught?

Decor (Developed) : We've...we've all seen his bedroom, right? Now it isn't going to be the extent of Neige of Vil. Be this a concern or comfort to you? - it's subjective. He will preserve every little thing in regards to your relationship. That middle space above his bed? Cut a square right down the room's center, taking equal parts away from the Neige and Vil spitdown. Add some shelving, a few boxes under his bed and new linens...yup. Polaroids, mementos, paintings, love letters, mayhaps not a plush but if you consent to him having a tiny crochet doll or tsum of you then he will be thrilled. It's all there, right at the center of his organized chaos. He doesn't harbor the same feelings towards you as he does his idols, but that doesn't mean you're any less important.

Organization (Inherited): On that note, since Vil's your friend and the space can be a bit much? Rook will politely tone it down when you're over - flipping the posters and dolls if he's expecting a visit. It is wonderful that you accept his bonified fanboy behavior, but he concedes this much for your comfort.

“Ah…my limited edition Appleblossom-Vil sheets. I understand your discomfort my love, so I have graciously turned them into the perfect couch-cushion cover! Come and see how magnifique they match the drapes!” <-Again…compromise. You can’t even be put off with that level of creativity and excitement.

Freckles and Gloves (Developed): Stop. Covering. Your. Damn. Freckles !!!! This isn't about the hair. Believe it or not, his hair is cute and anyone who says otherwise can stfu because he likes it. If it's what he likes then it's what he likes. The freckles? You're slapping that damn bottle of concealer out of his hands. He'll wake up early to try and reapply it before you wake up. Nope. Nada. He cannot go preaching about the beauty of imperfections while still covering up what triggers the most extreme cute aggression known to man. You compliment every nick on his hands and forearms and wherever else, praise all the little freckles on his nose and cheeks until this man physically is sent to the moon and back from your passion.

“Aha! I am being assaulted by a ticklish foe! If my face is enough to elicit such sweetness from you, then I will certainly die the happiest man in this lifetime” <- He's never seen you so passionate about anything. it's enough to overwhelm him, in all honesty. Stops wearing the concealer most casual days, but won't concede his gloves. Might wear it on occasion to see if you notice (and get a bit of that fire in your eyes to come back).

Scrap Booking (Developed): Rook documents everything, why not keep a scrap book? You suggest the idea to him as a way to immortalize his findings without always needing some kind of trophy. Now he has a scrap book dedicated to literally everyone. Vil and Neige might have multiple…and at some point you have to wonder when it breeches scrap book criteria and just becomes a full detailing of his observations. It depends on how you feel about candid photos.

Newspaper Club (Inherited) : Oh yeah. Rook becomes an honorary member of the Newspaper club. He finds great thrill in trying to get those candid shots without being spotted by his targets <3. If he can help out his amour on his little escapades, then say no more. He's honored to be the only one allowed to use your ghost camera.

“Oh just look at that sunrise! It is the true embodiment of what our students stand for! To press through the darkness through tireless hours of study and labor - all to emerge in new dawn as promising mages! I must get the perfect shot for my darling’s club…non. A ground view will not do - to the skies!” <- He proceeds to break six rules, pilfer a broom from the Spelldrive team, get the photo and return to class without any evidence

-

“Oh mon dieu - how my heart soars! To be loved is to be seen, no? Ah, I could as for no greater compliment. Merci Beaucoup, mon amie!” == Others might make the comparison with scorn. Most find Rook’s mannerisms to be peculiar, some find him distasteful. He is merely an appreciator of beauty, and you are one of the most marvelous creatures he has ever set eyes on. In body and mind. It is an honor to be mimicked. To be loved is to be changed. If anyone holds a true appreciation for sharing habits, it is Rook Hunt. He detests others prying into his personal affairs…and yet, he finds himself willingly giving hints to you. Oho?

Habits you steal:

Dialect and Slang (Inherited) : The most obvious. You don’t spend hours upon hours with someone and not walk away without some of their lingo. Do you REALLY think he has the energy to maintain that primmed facade all the time? The moment it’s closed doors Epel lets loose like no one else on campus. The personality flip is insane. It’s like when you spend time in a foreign country and pick up a bit of their accent - but that southern drawl.

"I don' sound like that! Wait..." <- Slams his palm over Deuce's mouth when he and Ace were mimicking you who 'apparently' started to sound like a bumpkin. Doesn't help that Epel calls you a 'pumpkin' either....oh yeah, the teasing is relentless.

Survival (Inherited): Epel could get you off a stranded island with just a coconut, three sticks, and a rock. Not even exaggerating, he’s just that resourceful. Navigating through woodlands through any kind of weather, making deliveries across towns and encountering any spectacle the mind can trudge up? Yeah. Teaches a guy somethin’. He makes sure you don’t walk off the farm without a survival pack and even shows you how to tell time using the sky. If only he realized how attractive this sort of thing is.

Apples (Developed) : I sincerely hope you have a taste for apples and everything apple related. Epel will be carving away, picking the dud chunks with toothpicks and handing them off without a second thought. Who eats them? You. Also his family sends a care package at least once a month. Cider, pie, tarts, hell they somehow got apples in kugel? The others in your little possé help polish it off, but Epel’s family is so stoked that he has a partner. That Harveston event was a doozy, let me tell ya. A village full of elderly folks asking after you means you will never go hungry. Well…so long as you can survive on apples.

"You know...you kind of remind me of a McIntosh apple. Pretty sweet but also nice an' refreshing...a-ah? That was romantic? I was just thinking out loud but if you say so..."

Cold Tolerance (Developed) : Speaking of Harveston, did you know you got thirty-minutes? Oh yes, thirty minutes to run my friend. Just kidding. Don’t run. Not unless you want to see a sled coming at you in the distance at breakneck speed. Now that his family has a face to match their Epel’s sweetheart, you will always be expected to join him on trips home. They want pictures, updates, your measurements for new clothes and he better be sending notice so the guest room is made up. Epel will be sent right back to NRC if he ever comes back without you in tow. Congrats, you’ve been adopted. It’s chilly there but you get some hand-knitted mittens out of it. Epel is mortified but also so thankful he has someone to buffer the welcome-wagon with.

"Hey uhh...do you mind if we take a picture together? It's just for my mom's scrapbook. She's been asking for one 'a us together and I don' want to disappoint her....h-huh? What'ddya mean you already sent some?! When?!" <- You're writing to his family. Alright. He's totally not running through every embarrassing story his Meemaw or parents have in their arsenal...ah crap.

Cowboy Hat Rule (Developed) : One-hundred percent true across dimensions. You are NOT allowed to wear anyone else’s hat, ya got that? No one. Especially not no-one from the shaft-lands or the Savannah. Rook once offered you his brimmed-hat on a rainy day and Epel completely lost his mask for a moment. He quite literally yanked his jacket off and smothered your head with it, meeting Rook’s amused mirth with narrowed eyes. He didn’t care if Vil scolded him. That Hunt knew exactly what he was doing, ain’t Epel’s fault. Not this time, no way.

"A-a little water won't kill anyone! Let's just run for it!" <- Shoots a poorly-controlled glare as you both book-it to the nearest shelter. Rook's laughter was as boisterous as ever, always happy to push Epel's buttons.

Cat-Calls (Developed) : Assholes love to hit on Epel. The amount of times other students mistake him for a girl - man. Poor guy. It really peeves him off when it happens in front of you too. We’re talking veins popping out of his neck and red enough to rival Riddle on his worst days. What makes it worse is that you defend him. Ain’t it supposed to be the other way ‘round? On one hand he’s smug because you’re parading him like a prized trophy - hah! Look at that, ain’t he a catch? The high dies down a bit when the pursuer leaves. Then he gets sulky.

Heating Pack (Inherited) : Dear god farmlife is kicking your ass. Epel cackles and jokes at your suffering, but hauling those crates is no joke. Thank god he knows a remedy and lends you his heating pack every night. Some icy-hot on the joints, a foot bath for the ankles, and he might rub your shoulders if you ask nicely. He won’t admit to using the remedies himself, claiming they’re for his parents. He just wants to seem tough but you know better. Seven have mercy on your aching knees…there’s got to be a way to worm out of this.

There isn’t. You don’t work, you don’t eat. Haul ass dimension traveler.

"Howdy pumpkin, how're you holding up? Jeez, I warned you about lifting with your legs...nah, forget about it. Vil must be rubbing off on me with his scolding. Here's some hot chocolate to tide ya over until supper. Meemaw's got some herbal remedies lying around, want to give them a try?"

Habits he steals:

Thievery (Inherited): Goes in-hand with the care packages he's getting from home. Those are suppose to be FOR HIM, but you're sneaking all the good bits and leaving him with the barrels of apples. Get your own mail man...just kidding(-ish). He honestly is so glad to have some of the heat taken off his shoulders. Plus, you writing them means he gets a bit more freedom...but seriously. He has to keep stealing back the stuff you've pilfered. Sure he's getting an allowance, but c'mon. Half the stuff that gets sent are things from his room that he already owns, like clothes and his whittle knives...it was cool showing off his best stuff, until his parents sent over his baby album without saying nothing. He had to pry that out of your mitts and bury it under lock-and-key in his room.

"Son of a- Hey! The heck did I tell ya about stealin' my socks?! I know yous ain't that desperate! Go an' get et yer own already dammit!" <- Doesn't matter if he sends a letter back to his Meemaw, asking her to send some extra pairs of those fluffy slipper-socks. Maybe some stationary and a couple jars of jam that Grim'll just run through in a day. You're always fighting over stuff.

Delinquency (Inherited): You are literally Vil's worst enemy - undoing everything he's sought to instill. When Epel is with you, he reverts back to his most basic form. Aka. hunched over his carvings like a gremlin crescent, doing contortionist moves through the halls, sneaking cup-ramen at 2am just 'cause he's bored (Rook plays Hide 'n' Seek those nights, chasing ya through Pomefiore until you're back in Epel's room. Wanna eat? Gotta work for it) , and really the most unmannered bullshit possible. Spell Drive was his go-to outlet where he could get muddy and talk hot shit. Still is - what? You think the Savanaclaw students (70% of the team) are going to sit there and paint their nails? Nah, he's been initiated and all that. Had to show his muscle...but this is different. Vil's considered banning you from the dorm during important times like exams, parties, assemblies, etc. just to get some grounding. Doesn't work, since Epel will just sneak out. Riddle isn't the only one with crafty first-years looking to couch surf.

Malipulation (Inherited): Epel learns how you've managed to last this long in Twisted Wonderland with nothing but that pretty little brain under your belt. People are so quick to expect nothing from the Ramshackle prefect...and instead of proving them wrong, or getting heated? You let them think that way, because bad press was good press at NRC. Let them think you were a conniving, brown nosed kiss-ass who was getting it in with the dorm leaders. Let them think you were a walking sack of bad karma. Let them think whatever else - because those stereotypes are what's keeping you afloat.

"Ah - pardon me...I'll take that challenge on their behalf, if it's all right with you? Don't hold back on me now!.....ya pea-brained fucknugget." <- Epel twists this in his own way- aka. he starts using his pretty looks to his advantage. Let people think he's a weakling, so that when the time comes to prove himself he'll make a 180 change and give a big ol' can of whoopass. Your 'normie-ness' as Idia puts it, is your biggest weapon. Same for Epel's disarming visage.

Cologne (Developed): In an effort to be seen as more 'manly' in your eyes, Epel went down to the Isle shopping district and bought the most putrid smelling drugstore musk you can imagine. One whiff near-singed your nostril hairs off from how much he packed on...Vil did not approve, and gifted him a higher quality scent with notes of peppercorn and jasmine. You personally went and thanked Vil in secret - unable to tell Epel just how bad he smelled since he did it trying to impress you.

Lint Roller (Developed): Vil runs a tight ship - Epel's needs to get Grim's fur off of his uniform for every inspection or else he'll get his head chewed off. Especially if his dorm uniform gets dirtied.

Confidence (Developed): Stops masking his accent when with friends. Never had anyone cheering for him before. Like, really cheering for him. So you coming to his Spelldrive games is such a boost. Wears Ramshackle colors (bandanna and waist-flags) on his club uniform - Vil not mad bc Rook wouldn’t shut up about it being in the name of love -

"Woooo! Score! Blue must be my lucky color! Hahaha!" <- Epel always looks for you in the crowd. Luck isn't nothin' to do with it, but if wearing blue and white gets him playing better? The team isn't complaining.

Protective (Developed): Part insecurity, part him being a bit old-fashioned, part being sick of stereotypes against the underdog (aka. ya both), and part pure country-boy lovin'. He's not a raised gentleman like Riddle, doesn't know the ins and outs of 'romance' like Rook, honestly bro is fumbling half the time...but ain't no one seen Epel flair up like he does in your defense. No one can talk him down. On the protectiveness scale he would get 15/10, because there ain't many friends to make back at Harveston. Surely not anyone to love. He's got some good examples for how to treat a life-partner, and knows 13 different moves to dislocate different joints across the human body.

"Sure ya want ta go there, huh? Huh? Say that again to mah face. I'll put ya nose to the dirt so fast that filthy mouth'll o' yers will taste nothin' but soil fer weeks!" <- He'll do it too. His Meemaw trained him for more than just the Sledathon...nah, years of hauling crates built muscle. Back when he was still a first-year on the Spelldrive team, he'd get shit from his teammates while they 'tested' him. The worst mistake they made was coming for you though, even if it was a bit. Epel was full on ready to clobber a Cheetah-beastman twice his size, and if Jack hadn't stepped in...he probably would've, no mercy.

-

“That’s….that’s somethin’ else, ain’t it? Heh. Heheheh,” == Epel had to excuse himself to go giggle on his lonesome. Can’t have anyone see how happy that small comment just made him. You really love him that much? You respect him that much? He can’t begin to put two and two together - his heart was pounding like some lovesick ninny…oh. Oh hells. He is a lovesick ninny. Needless to say that Epel is absolutely riding a high for the rest of the day.

[sophrosyncc]

— what's up bro ?

you call the chrysos heirs bro. how do they react to it?

warnings/tags : slight story spoilers (you'll only notice them if you squint your eyes), gender-neutral reader, crack, slight ooc behavior (for the comedic effect) author's note : apologies for suddenly disappearing out of nowhere. I have severely underestimated how busy I'd be 🥀🥀 a bit of silly stuff before the dreaded 3.4 arrives. might edit this later characters : aglaea, anaxa, castorice, phainon.

aglaea

in her many years of leading the flame-chase journey, the last thing she expected was to be called bro.

no. you aren't the first one to call her that. both children and teenagers in the recent age of amphoreus have approached her with that nickname. cipher and phainon are definitely at the scene of the crime as well.

if she dislikes you, she'll ignore you or politely tell you off. unless you're elder caenis which is an entirely different situation on it's own.

compared to the next person on this list, she doesn't mind it if you call her that around others. it'll be a bit awkward at first but she gets used to it. there are far worse names or titles that others have given her, and she's glad that yours comes from a place of no ill intent.

if you are associated with phainon and cipher to a good extent, expect her to ask you if you were dared to do that.

maybe she'll give you an amused smile or laugh a bit after you call her bro. aglaea enjoys the unpredictability you bring in her life filled with daily routines and responsibilities. it's a nice break from what she's usually used to.

the only time you shouldn't is if she's doing something important.

on the other hand, if you're her lover, she'll be a be more playful with you. she may or may not call you bro when you least expect it. what's even worse is that no one will ever believe you if you tell them. the demigod of romance calling you bro out of nowhere sounds more impossible than completing the flame-chase journey.

can you really blame her? it's funny to see you surprised. aglaea can and will be a tease.

if you try to catch her off guard, it won't work.

call her garmentmakers bro as well and she'll enjoy it.

"hm? I don't remember calling you by that nickname. perhaps you have mistaken the voice from one of my garmentmakers for me — some of them can be playful."

anaxa

first of all, why would you call him bro?

are you asking for a death sentence? an early entrance to the nether realm?

or to catch his attention?

we're talking about the man who doesn't want to be called anything but anaxagoras. the same one who corrects everyone to the point he's made it a personal rule — he has a voiceline ranting about his own name.

if the two of you are strangers, he won't hesitate to tell you off. if he dislikes you, he'll give you a glare too or straight up ignore you. he isn't going to waste his time on you when he has better things to attend to.

however, if you're friends or lovers with him, anaxa will stare at you for a few good seconds. the scholar's silently judging you. he doesn't know whether being called bro is better than being called anaxa. to put it simply, it's awkward. he still corrects you in the end.

continue calling him bro after the first time and he'll eventually get used to it.

no. he's not calling you bro. it'll only happen in your dreams.

the era nova will happen before anaxa calls you bro.

call him bro in the classroom or anywhere near his students and he'll give you the nastiest side eye you've ever received. anaxa does not need the troublemakers getting ideas from you. that includes the other chrysos heirs as well.

a huge emphasis on the other chrysos heirs. entertaining the thought of phainon, cipher or aglaea hearing about that gives him dread. give this man some peace please.

"first of all, that's anaxagoras to you and remember that well. secondly, i'm not your bro. refrain from referring to me with such nicknames next time."

castorice

she... doesn't know how to react.

speechless. quiet.

a bit flabbergasted, even.

no worries, you didn't offend her at all. castorice simply doesn't know how to reply.

you are most likely the first one who's ever called her that. congratulations!

not a lot of people approach the hand of death and call them bro casually. people have called her by many names or titles as well, similar to aglaea, and the last thing that comes to mind is a casual nickname. castorice is also aware that she isn't the liveliest person around.

whether you're a stranger or someone she dislikes, she'll give you an awkward nod or ignore you. if there's others around her when you call her bro, she'll think you're talking about someone else. anyone but her.

however, if you're a friend: despite the silly nickname, she likes it.

being called bro isn't something she's definitely used to, but it's a nice and pleasant surprise. it gives her a sense of normalcy and comfort. it'll take more time for her to get used to it compared to the others. call her that with other people in the area and she'll be a bit confused if you're talking about her or someone else.

castorice won't call you bro often, but sometimes she will.

not a lot will change if you're her lover. she'll still react the same for the most part, but I can imagine her surprising you with another silly nickname of her own. it has to be mutual.

please just don't call her that in front of aglaea or tribbie.

she will be a bit embarrassed.

"it's... alright. there's no need to apologize. I enjoy the nickname quite a bit actually. please— don't be scared to call me that again, or other similar words."

phainon

phainon takes it extremely well. too well.

in fact, he'll even reciprocate it.

no one is surprised at all.

it isn't the first time he's heard others call him like that or the first time he's called others bro. call him bro and he's calling you bro as well. equivalent exchange.

he has also called some of the other chrysos heirs bro as well. both of you are guilty of that.

the only time he won't do it is if he dislikes you a lot. if you've played the 3.3 story quest. depending on the situation and how much he dislikes you, he'll either firmly tell you to not do that next time, pretend you didn't call him that, or glare at you.

worry not, it takes a lot to have the deliverer hate you.

if you tell him to stop calling you bro, phainon will respect that. however, he'll find other silly nicknames to call you, ones that you don't mind.

if you're his friend or his lover... good luck. one way or another he'll turn it into a competition on accident or purposefully, and it'll only get more heated if you're just as competitive as he is. get ready to have bets over who can come up with the most absurd nicknames in one minute or something else.

just be careful to not drag anyone into it, lest the two of you want to replicate chaos that could rival penacony's disaster.

"bro? haha! I didn't expect that but I'm not against it either. I guess that means you're my bro now as well. what? don't look at me like that."

masterlist

[marauroon]

Hello there! I hope you're having a great day/night, I'd like to request a SiriusxFem!Reader in an AU where the Marauders are in a band based on the song "English Love Affair" by 5 seconds of summer?

── .✦ 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫. (𝐬.𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤)

sirius can’t get over his short-lived university love affair.

rockstar!sirius x fem!reader 9.0k masterlist. 18+ for non detailed NSFW mentions

AN | rockstar!sirius anyone??? also side note: 5sos actually bangs

The late summer air was thick with heat, sound, and the unmistakable scent of beer and sweat. The main stage of the Fawley Fields Music Festival was lit like a warzone—bright white strobes slicing through the haze, catching glimmers off sequinned tops and raised cans. Thousands of people were packed into the field, bodies crushed together, limbs raised, voices raw from screaming. And at the centre of it all, silhouetted against the glare, stood The Marauders.

Sirius tipped his head back, the tail end of his black button-down sticking to his sweat-slicked chest. The band had just nailed their penultimate track, a thunderous, guitar-heavy number that had the mosh pit in full chaos. The final chords echoed into the dusky sky, and the crowd roared with it, feeding on the energy like addicts. A chant began that rolled over the sea of people, a chant for more, louder, always louder.

Sirius gave it a second, basking in it. Not out of arrogance—well, maybe a little—but because he’d worked his arse off for this. From the dingy pub stages in East London to this: a sunset slot on the main stage, a crowd 10,000 strong, and the press already calling them the “next big thing in alt rock.” He deserved this moment.

He reached for the mic, fingers adorned in silver rings, and grinned beneath the curtain of sweat-dampened hair falling over his face.

“Alright,” he said, voice cracking from overuse, low and melodic with that accent that made interviewers go stupid. “This one’s a bit different,”

The crowd stilled just enough for his voice to carry, a ripple of anticipation moving through it.

“Normally we’d end on Lily’s Lullaby or something with a filthy breakdown—”

A cheer from the crowd.

“—but I’m gonna be selfish, yeah?”

He shifted his guitar strap slightly, fingers brushing the strings absently.

“This next one—it’s not on any of our albums. Never played it live before,”

More noise, wilder this time. The crowd lived for unreleased content. That, and the enigma of Sirius Black doing anything unpredictable. He was the heartbreaker, the rebel, the beautiful bastard who wrote anthems about one-night stands and sleepless nights.

“This one’s not for the radio,” Sirius continued, a little softer now. “Wrote it back in uni. About a girl,”

He pauses.

“Someone I’ve never really stopped thinking about,”

The scream that tore through the crowd was feral. Phones shot into the air like missiles, filming, snapping, documenting. It was like someone had dropped a match in petrol.

Because Sirius Black—Mr. I-don’t-do-feelings, Mr. Probably-shagged-your-favourite-actress, Mr. Writes-a-new-love-song-every-week—was standing in front of thousands, half-smiling, admitting to being hung up on someone from his past.

A million TikTok theories were born on the spot.

Sirius just laughed, a bit self-conscious, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway,” he said. “This one’s called English Love Affair. Hope she’s listening,”

He looked out across the crowd—not really expecting to find who he was looking for, of course, but somehow hoping the universe might oblige. Then, fingers deft on the strings, he struck the first chord.

It started on a weekend in May

I was looking for attention

Needed intervention

Felt somebody looking at me

The library at Hogwarts University smelled like stress, highlighters, and the slow decay of hope. It was the last few weeks before final exams, and the building was packed wall to wall with students muttering formulas under their breath and flipping through textbooks like salvation could be found between the pages of Financial Accounting and Corporate Strategy: Vol. II.

Sirius was not one of them.

He sat in a corner near the back, long legs stretched under the table, black hoodie rucked up to his elbows, a biro tucked behind his ear. His textbook lay open in front of him, unread and unhighlighted, the margins empty, the pages pristine—unlike everyone else’s, which were cluttered with notes, frantic underlines, and colour-coded tabs.

He hadn’t turned a page in half an hour.

Not because he was clever enough not to need to revise—although he could bullshit his way through most subjects if he had to—but because, frankly, he just did not care.

Finance. Fucking finance.

He hated the word. Hated the suits, hated the spreadsheets, hated the suffocating inevitability of it all. He only chose this degree because his mother nearly had an aneurysm when he said he wanted to study music. Now here he was, slogging through a degree in numbers and company law, just so she could parade him around at family dinners like some stock option.

And still, none of it meant anything to him.

The only reason he was even in the library was because James had confiscated his guitar that morning and told him to “go fail somewhere quiet,”

So he was here. Not failing exactly, but definitely not succeeding.

He sighed and let his head drop forward, forehead thunking softly against the open page.

“Kill me,” he muttered into the textbook. “Just… kill me and tell my parents I died doing something noble,”

He sat there a moment longer, pretending to care, then lifted his head.

And that’s when he saw you.

You were sitting two tables over. Hair pulled back, earbuds in, laptop open. You looked like the sort of person who had colour-coded tabs and knew how to use them. The sort of person who had probably made a revision schedule and stuck to it. The sort of person Sirius’ mother would call “sensible,” which, in Sirius’ world, meant “soulless.”

But you didn’t look soulless. You looked… distracted.

Because you’d just glanced at him. And then, when you thought he hadn’t noticed, you glanced again.

He smirked, straightening slightly. A distraction. Just what the day needed.

He watched you for a second—long enough to realise you were pretending to type while your eyes flicked back to him every few sentences. Something about it made his stomach twist, in a way that was more exciting than it should have been.

He gave it two more seconds.

Then he stood.

You saw him coming out of the corner of your eye and quickly looked back at your screen, like the spreadsheet on your screen had suddenly become the most fascinating thing on earth.

“Alright?” he said, stopping by your table. Voice low. Lazy.

You pulled out one earbud and looked up at him.

“Hi,” you replied cautiously. He was standing very close.

Sirius smiled. “You keep looking at me,”

You blinked. “Do I?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Not that I blame you. I’m devastatingly handsome and tragically bored,”

You snorted. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just self-aware,” He grinned, and you hated that it made him even more attractive. You looked back at your screen, but the smirk tugging at your lips gave you away.

“Well, if you’re so bored, shouldn’t you be studying?”

He leaned one elbow on the table, peering at your notes.

“I’ve been staring at the same page for an hour. Thought I might die from the lack of stimulation. Then you started looking over,”

You raised a brow. “And that was enough stimulation?”

“Debatable,” he said, “but worth investigating. What’s your name?”

You tilted your head. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He frowned. “Should I?”

You closed your laptop with a little snap and turned to face him properly. “We’ve been in the same lecture for Corporate Markets and Investment Policy all year.”

There was a long pause. Sirius blinked, visibly scrambling to remember. “...Seriously?”

You nodded. “Seriously,”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, shit. In my defence, I don’t actually attend most of those. I just... exist in proximity,”

You laughed, properly this time. “Yeah, I know,”

His hand dropped to his side, and he gave you a sheepish smile. “Alright, that was rude of me. Let’s try again,” He held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Sirius Black. Chronic underachiever and part-time nuisance,”

You raised an eyebrow but shook his hand anyway. “Yeah, I know who you are.”

He grinned, pleased. “Reputation precedes me?”

“Something like that,” you said.

He laughed—loud enough that someone nearby glared over their textbook.

You didn’t apologise.

Sirius sat down in the chair across from you without asking, stretching out like he belonged there.

“So,” he said. “You clearly know everything about me, and I’ve got absolutely nothing on you,” he muttered, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. “Give me something to work with,”

You looked at him, considering. You didn’t really have time for this—you had an entire section on financial derivatives to memorise—but the prospect of watching Sirius self-destruct over economic theory was weirdly entertaining.

And maybe... a bit flattering. The hottest boy in your course—maybe in the whole uni—had noticed you. And now he was sitting across from you, eyes warm, grin easy, pretending like this wasn’t completely out of the blue.

You introduce yourself, and he smiles.

“Suits you, your name,” he tosses you a wink and you roll your eyes.

“Charming,” You leaned back slightly. “Alright. Lets get revising,”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

You gestured at your notes. “Revising? For the exams? I’ll help you,”

He blinked again, visibly confused. “You will?”

You nodded. “On one condition,”

A pause.

“You buy me a drink after,”

Sirius stared. Then laughed, a little too loud. “That’s it? Just a drink?”

You shrugged. “My standards are low. Plus, it’ll be fun to watch you fail in real-time,”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Ruthless,”

“You love it,”

“I do,” he agreed, leaning in again. “You’ve got this terrifying no-nonsense thing going. It’s very—” His eyes flicked to your collar, then back to your face. “—compelling,”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t quite stop the smile creeping across your face. “Eyes on the prize, Black.” You tap the textbook on the table with your finger. “This is your last chance to not flunk out,”

He sighed. “Fine. But I reserve the right to flirt with you shamelessly through every single concept,”

“Deal,” you said. “But if you ask me what ‘liquidity ratio’ means, I will hit you,”

Sirius smiled like he’d just won something. “Bring it on, sweetheart,”

—

Over the next hour, the two of you settled into a rhythm. You explained things with more patience than you thought you had, and Sirius surprised you by actually listening. He wasn’t as clueless as he made out—he just hadn’t bothered to try. But with you, he leaned forward, asked questions, made jokes that were half-clever and half-chaotic.

And every time you laughed, he looked pleased with himself.

The library didn’t feel as heavy anymore. The air around your little corner was warmer, brighter, tangled up in whispered banter and the scratch of your pens.

At one point, you reached over to show him something in his notes, and your hands brushed. It was stupid. Brief. But it sent a flicker of something down your spine.

Sirius glanced up at you, and you knew he felt it too.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

But when he caught you watching him a few minutes later, he didn’t look away.

—

By the time the clock ticked past five, your brain was fried, your stomach was grumbling, and Sirius looked genuinely shocked to have filled an entire page with actual revision.

“Well,” he said, stretching, arms over his head. “That was productive,”

You nodded, packing your things away. “Told you I’m good,”

“You are. Absolutely,”

He stood with you, grabbing his bag, then hesitated.

“So. That drink?”

You slung your backpack over your shoulder. “You buying?”

“Obviously,” he said, throwing you a grin. “Consider it payment for saving my academic life,”

You paused, then leaned in, voice low. “If you actually pass, I might let you buy me a second one,”

He looked delighted. “Motivation. I like it,”

You nudged his shoulder. “See you at nine,”

Every single step had me waiting for the next

Before I knew it, it was serious

Dragged me out of the bar

To the backseat of her car

The bar was packed, noisy, and swimming in neon. It smelled like vodka, cheap perfume, and the burnt citrus of a bad cocktail. A proper student haunt—threadbare booths, sticky tables, and drinks so discounted they might as well have been charity. It was the kind of place people ended up when deadlines were done and mistakes were begging to be made.

And tonight, you were absolutely here for the mistake.

You walked in just before nine, wearing a dress that left little to the imagination and a lipstick shade that promised trouble. You didn’t do it for him—not entirely—but you did want to look good.

You spotted him before he saw you. Slouched at the end of the bar, drink in hand, legs stretched out like he owned the place. He’d dressed up, sort of—fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, rings flashing on his fingers, and a ridiculous silk tie hanging loose around his neck. Burgundy, patterned, completely unnecessary.

He looked infuriatingly good.

When his eyes finally met yours, it was immediate—like a live wire connecting across the room. His mouth tugged into a slow, deliberate grin. And then he stood.

“Bloody hell,” he said when you reached him, voice low in your ear. “You clean up terrifyingly well,”

You gave him a smirk. “So do you. What’s with the tie?”

“Statement piece,” he said, tugging it dramatically. “Makes me look respectable. Like I haven’t just failed two modules,”

You laughed, and he motioned to the bar. “What’s your poison?”

“What’s the most expensive drink on the menu?” you asked sarcastically, leaning on the counter.

He raised a brow. “Brutal. I like it,”

And then the night began.

He bought you drinks. You made fun of his posh voice and the fact he’d never once brought a pen to class. He pretended to be offended when you called him a trust fund degenerate, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes kept dropping to your mouth when you sipped your drink.

You talked for nearly two hours, and not a single thing either of you said truly mattered. It was all smoke and mirrors, banter and bravado. He told you about some summer internship he was meant to be doing in London. You told him about your part-time job at a bookshop, about your roommate who kept hogging the shower.

He laughed at everything you said. You rolled your eyes at everything he said. And yet—your knees brushed. His hand lingered too long when he passed you your drink. And the air between you got heavier with every sip.

By the third round, you were tipsy. Loose-limbed. Bolder.

“You’ve got a tell, you know,” you said, swirling your drink.

Sirius leaned in. “Oh?”

“You stare,” you said, eyes meeting his. “Like, a lot,”

He didn’t flinch. “So what?”

The silence after that was thick and deliberate. He looked at you like he knew what you were thinking. Like he’d been waiting for the moment you stopped pretending.

So you stood. Downed the last of your gin.

And said, very casually, “Come with me,”

He blinked. “What?”

You reached down, grabbed the end of that ridiculous tie, and gave it a tug. Not hard. Just enough.

He stumbled forward, grin spreading.

And then you dragged him out the back entrance of the bar.

—

The car park was half-empty, dark but not quite silent. Your little hatchback was parked in a corner, under a flickering lamp. You fumbled with your keys, laughing under your breath, and Sirius followed like a moth to flame.

The second the doors were shut, it was chaos.

You were in the backseat, lips on his, hands everywhere—his hair, his jaw, his shoulders. He was kissing you like he’d been waiting all term, like the world might end if he didn’t get another taste. His hands were on your waist, under your dress, against your thighs, and his mouth was hot and hungry against yours.

It was rushed. Clumsy. Perfect.

Clothes were pulled aside, not off. Your dress rucked up. His belt undone. Breathless laughter between kisses. The car fogged up quick, your back pressed to the front seat, knees hitched around his hips. The phone in his pocket dug into your thigh. Neither of you cared.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangled in his stupid hair, and he groaned like it physically hurt to hold back.

—

He thought about that night.

A lot more than he meant to.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A stress relief. An impulsive decision wrapped in gin and flirtation. You’d both gone home that night in your separate directions—him to his flat, you to yours. No promises made. No numbers exchanged.

But Sirius didn’t stop thinking about you.

He tried to laugh it off, at first. Made a joke to James the next morning about the perils of student bars and the danger of sharp women with sharper tongues. But then he couldn’t stop hearing your voice. Couldn’t stop remembering the exact shade of your lipstick or the way you’d yanked him by his tie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And when he couldn’t sleep, which was often, he played his guitar.

Loudly.

At three in the morning.

“Mate,” James groaned one night, pillow over his head. “You are killing me.”

“I’m expressing my feelings,” Sirius muttered.

Remus poked his head in from the hall. “Can you express them a bit quieter? Some of us have dissertations.”

Peter mumbled something incoherent from the other room, which sounded vaguely like “murder” and “strangle.”

But Sirius just kept playing. Over and over again. New chords. Snatches of melodies. Half-formed lyrics that always started in May and ended with a car seat and a laugh he couldn’t get out of his head.

James, one bleary-eyed morning, said, “You’re obsessed.”

Sirius didn’t argue. Because it was true, you haunted him.

Not in a spooky, ethereal way. In a maddening, brain-eating way. You were a thought that scratched at the back of his skull. A loop he couldn’t escape. And the worst part? He hadn’t seen you since that night. No sightings. Nothing.

He looked around in lectures. Couldn’t see you.

He went back to the bar once, under the pretence of meeting someone else. You weren’t there.

He even almost asked around.

But something held him back. Pride, maybe. Fear that you’d already moved on and that it had just been one night for you. No regrets. No repeats.

Still, when he lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, guitar across his lap, he could still hear your laugh. Still remember the exact pitch of your voice when you’d said, “Come with me.”

And every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that car.

When the lights go out, She's all I ever think about

The picture burning in my brain

The lyrics came easily after that.

Sirius had written songs before—some good, most chaotic—but this one poured out of him. Every line was sharp-edged, vivid. He remembered your fingers in his hair, the way your perfume clung to his hoodie. The rush of it. The rawness. The feeling that something had tilted in the universe that night and hadn’t corrected since.

James found the scribbled lyrics one afternoon and raised an eyebrow.

“This about the library girl?”

Sirius didn’t look up from the guitar. “What library girl?”

“Oh come on,” James said. “The one you ditched us on a friday night for?”

Sirius strummed a chord, nonchalant. “Maybe,”

The movie playing in my head

Of her king sized bed

Means I can't forget my English love affair

You weren’t expecting him to approach you again.

You’d told yourself it had been one night

—a spectacular, toe-curling, sanity-erasing night, sure—but still, just one night. And Sirius Black didn’t strike you as the type to chase anything other than a bottle of whiskey or a reckless thrill.

So when you heard your name called across the quad, three days later, you were surprised enough to turn around.

And there he was. Strolling toward you with his bag slung over one shoulder and a grin already forming—the sort that suggested either mischief or flirtation, probably both. He looked slightly dishevelled in a way that was too intentional to be accidental. Button-up undone at the collar, necklace peeking out. That same stupid leather jacket strewn over his shoulder.

“Alright?” he asked casually, falling into step beside you.

You arched a brow. “Back for round two?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, and the shamelessness of it made you laugh. “But not the kind you’re thinking. I need help with business economics.”

You blinked. “You need help… from me?”

“You’re the only one who can talk about GDP without sounding like a dementor,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Also, I won’t lie—the button-up’s distracting in a way that makes learning bearable.”

You looked down at your shirt, then back at him. “So you’re bribing yourself into revision by ogling me?”

“Exactly,” he said brightly.

“Charming,”

“I try,”

He gave you a look then—not intense, not over-the-top, just curious. A bit hopeful around the edges. You didn’t have to say yes. But you were already smiling. You were already shifting your books and mentally clearing your schedule.

“Fine,” you said. “But if I’m going to babysit you through fiscal policy, you’re buying the coffee,”

He gave a dramatic bow. “I’m a man of honour,”

“And of short attention span,”

“That too,”

—

You studied together later that day in a quiet alcove of the library—you with your notes, him with his tongue between his teeth as he tried to understand elasticity graphs. Every time you leaned over to explain something, he stared. Not subtly. Not even a little.

“Eyes up, Black,” you muttered.

“Can’t help it,” he said without shame.

But you could tell he was trying. He asked questions. Made actual notes. Repeated terms back to you with enough confusion that you knew he was listening, even if he was wildly out of his depth.

At one point, you looked up to find him watching you with a strange sort of intensity.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly. Then added, “Just wondering how the hell I didn’t notice you before this term,”

You smiled, trying to ignore the warmth that crept up your neck. “Maybe because you only come to half the lectures,”

He chuckled. “Maybe,”

—

Two nights later, he was at your flat.

You’d invited him this time.

“You sure?” he’d asked, leaning against the kitchen counter when he arrived. “You could’ve dragged me to the library again,”

You handed him a glass of cheap vodka. “And let your eye-line drift all over the place in public? Absolutely not,”

He grinned. “Fair point,”

He looked around your flat—small but tidy, the kind of space that felt lived in, comfortable. A few mugs on the table, textbooks stacked under the telly, a random scarf hung by the door even though it’s almost June.

“Flatmates?” he asked, sipping.

“They’re out,” you replied.

He raised a brow.

You added, very smoothly, “I told you to come over today for a reason,”

That made him pause.

He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or lunge.

Instead, he sat on the sofa, stretched out like he owned the place, and said, “Alright then. Teach me things, professor,”

You groaned, grabbing your laptop and books. “If you call me that again, I’ll throw you off the balcony,”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman tried to kill me for being too charming,”

“Gods, you’re exhausting,”

“Yet here I am. On your couch, with you. Alone,”

You tried to study. You really did.

But between the flirting and the alcohol and the way he kept leaning in to comment on the terrible formatting in your notes, it was a lost cause. The vodka burned. The music you put on (mostly as a distraction) didn’t help. By the third drink, you were both a bit giggly, a bit warm, sprawled sideways on your couch with your legs tangled together.

He was fiddling with your highlighter, spinning it in his fingers. You reached over to steal it back, and he caught your hand.

“What’s your deal then?” you asked, half-curious, half-buzzed.

“My deal?”

“You dress like you mugged a punk band,” you said, gesturing at his worn boots and tattered denim, “but you sound like you came out of a Jane Austen novel,”

He snorted. “It’s the trauma,”

“Oh, obviously,”

He sighed, let his head fall back on the arm of the sofa. “My family’s a nightmare. Old money. Very proper. Think they invented the stock market,”

You watched him for a moment. He looked tired—the sort of tired that sits in your bones. The kind you don’t fix with sleep.

“So why are you here?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged. “They paid my tuition. All of it. That was the deal—get the degree, then ‘join the family legacy’ or whatever. Be a good Black,”

“You don’t want to?”

“Not even slightly,” he said, voice dry. “I hate it. I hate the lectures, I hate the people, I hate the smug twats who think balance sheets are sexy,”

You laughed. “So what do you like?”

He hesitated, then looked at you sideways. “Writing music. Playing. Screwing around with the band.”

“You’re in a band?”

He grinned. “We’re called the Marauders. James, Remus, Pete and me. Mostly just gigs around campus and dive bars. We’ve got maybe one good song and three that sound like drunken karaoke.”

“So, what? You write songs about getting high and having sex?”

The words came out before you could stop them—a joke, half-serious, mostly cheeky. You were smiling.

“Pretty much,” Sirius shrugged lightly. “You’ve been quite the inspiration lately,”

You stared at him. For a full beat. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m really not.”

You started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

He gave you a wink. “That’s my name,”

You threw a cushion at his face. “That’s such a bad joke.”

He pulled the cushion off his lap and said, “I’m not kidding. It just sort of happened. Couldn’t stop thinking about it,”

You paused.

“You’re serious,”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It was good. You were good. And I don’t know — I kept seeing it in my head. The windows fogged up, that stupid tie, the way you looked at me,”

You weren’t sure what to say.

Part of you wanted to laugh again—it was absurd, wasn’t it? The campus heartbreaker, Sirius bloody Black, writing actual music about an actual one-night stand. Another part of you… didn’t quite want to make a joke.

You looked at him, really looked at him.

He wasn’t smirking now. Wasn’t leaning into the charm.

He looked oddly nervous.

“You said you couldn’t stop thinking about it,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“And now what?”

He tilted his head. “Now I’m on your couch, half-drunk, trying to pass my finance exam so my mum won’t disown me,”

You smiled.

He smiled back.

—

Later that night, you kissed again—slower this time, more sure. Your hands in his hair, his on your waist. His lips soft and searching, like he was learning the shape of your mouth by heart.

You pulled back at one point, breathless, and said, “You’re not just here for the notes, are you?”

He laughed, low in his throat. “Not even slightly,”

And then he kissed you again.

You were the one who pulled back first.

Not because you wanted to stop. Just because the weight of what you were doing—the feel of his hands on your waist, the heat building behind his lips—had finally caught up with the moment. The couch was small, the flat was quiet, and Sirius Black was looking at you like you were already halfway into a dream he hadn’t realised he was having.

You gave him a look. One eyebrow arched, all faux-detachment and teasing heat.

“So,” you said casually, brushing a finger along the collar of his shirt. “What you’re saying is… I’m the best lay you’ve ever had?”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Absolutely.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how quick—and how serious—he was. “That was fast,”

“I’m decisive,”

“You’re drunk,”

“And still right,”

You laughed, trying not to feel flustered, but your heart gave a weird little thud in your chest. “Sirius—”

“I mean it,” he said, sitting back just enough to meet your eyes fully. “Do you want the whole list? Cos I can’t even remember anyone else’s name when you’re looking at me like that,”

That shut you up.

He was smiling, yes—that usual grin, all teeth and trouble—but something in his voice felt weighted. Not a joke. Not really.

You searched his face, waiting for the punchline, the wink, the smug little shrug.

But he just looked at you.

Earnest.

Soft, even.

And your brain, already muddled by the vodka, the warmth of him, the whole surreal magic of the night, completely short-circuited.

“Right,” you said eventually, standing up too quickly. “Bedroom. Now. Before I change my mind and make you sleep on the sofa,”

He grinned, leaping up after you. “You love me,”

“Shut up,”

“You want to marry me and have my terrible punk babies,”

“Oh my God,”

“Gonna name one after James, obviously—”

You smacked him with a pillow before dragging him by the hem of his shirt toward the hallway.

You tried, genuinely, to be patient, but you were both far too drunk to have anything resembling grace. You got halfway down the corridor before Sirius managed to tangle one foot under the other and slam into the wall with a bark of laughter.

You wheezed trying to pull his shirt off and he ended up getting both his arms stuck through one sleeve.

He tripped over your shoes and nearly brought you down with him.

Your elbow went into a doorframe. His jeans got stuck on his ankle.

By the time you finally collapsed onto the bed, you were both half-dressed, breathless with laughter, and absolutely gone — the sort of drunk where everything is funny and your hands don’t quite do what you tell them to.

And still, somehow, your mouths found each other.

It was messy. Clumsy. Loud. Rushed in some places, slow in others. There was a lot of giggling. Some frustrated huffing. His necklace got caught in your bra strap and you ended up yanking it off entirely and throwing it across the room.

“Gentle,” you hissed at one point, when he tugged your hair a little too roughly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against your collarbone, voice already hoarse. “Just—fuck, you smell good,”

“You’re really drunk, huh?”

“Drunk on you.” He throws you a wink.

You smacked his shoulder. “Gag, that’s such a cliche line,”

“You won’t remember it anyway,”

You didn’t speak after the initial teasing. There was no need for words when his hands were on your thighs and your mouth was tracing the shell of his ear and the whole world had shrunk to your mattress, your body, him.

And then it was over—or it wasn’t, you weren’t sure. The minutes blurred. The vodka didn’t help. You were sweaty, tangled together under your duvet, his arm flung lazily across your waist, your leg hooked over his hip like it had always belonged there.

You stared at the ceiling.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured after a while.

“Thinking,” you whispered.

“About?”

You turned your head to look at him.

Sirius Black. Shirtless. Sleepy-eyed. Absolutely ridiculous. And completely still.

You didn’t answer.

—

You woke up before him.

The sunlight coming through the blinds was far too bright for your hangover, but you didn’t move. Not immediately. You were too aware of the weight beside you, the arm still draped across your stomach, the soft sounds of his breathing as he dozed.

He looked younger when he slept.

Less arrogant. Less sharp around the edges.

And fuck, you thought, staring at the ceiling again. What the hell are you doing?

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

It was supposed to be hot, chaotic, meaningless fun. A distraction. A break from your assignments and your own mess and the looming terror of the post-uni void. He was supposed to be a good shag—nothing more.

But you’d seen the look on his face last night.

He meant it.

And, worse—some traitorous, pathetic, unguarded part of you wanted to believe it.

You let out a long breath.

Sirius stirred beside you, groaning as he blinked against the morning light.

“M’head,” he mumbled.

“That’s the vodka,” you said softly.

“Betrayed by my own choices again,”

You smiled despite yourself.

He looked over at you and smiled too, all sleepy and unfiltered, the kind that made something in your chest flutter before you could stop it.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,”

He stretched—limbs long and tangled in your sheets—and then rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Do you always look this fit in the morning?” he asked.

“Do you always flirt through hangovers?”

“Only with people who’ve ruined me sexually,”

You laughed. “You’re so full of it,”

“And yet,” he said, leaning in to kiss your shoulder, “you keep inviting me back,”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re tolerable when asleep,”

“I’m irresistible always,”

“I think the word you’re looking for is insufferable,”

“No, no,” Sirius shakes his head carefully, trying not to worsen the impending headache. “Definitely irresistible,”

—

He left mid-morning.

You offered him toast. He accepted. Ate it half-standing in your kitchen like he’d done it a hundred times before. Then he grabbed his shirt, kissed your temple without thinking, and promised to see you later.

And then he was gone.

You stood there in the quiet.

Trying not to feel the loss in the room.

When I got out I knew

That nobody I knew would be believing me

You didn’t hear from him much over the next few weeks.

A couple waves, a few hellos, but nothing proper.

You were too busy. Exams swallowed your brain like quicksand. You crammed until your fingers cramped, drank enough energy drinks to probably cause a coronary, and watched the sunrise from your desk too many mornings in a row.

Your social life dwindled to caffeine-fuelled library whispers and the occasional flatmate making sure you’d eaten something other than toast.

When the final exam finished—the bastard of a quantitative finance paper—you nearly cried walking out of the lecture hall. Someone popped champagne in the quad. You high-fived your study group. You stood on the steps and screamed into the sky.

And in July, you passed. Somehow.

Everything felt lighter.

And then, just as you were heading to your car with your results in hand—sun out, heels clicking against the pavement, wind tugging at your open shirt collar—you saw him.

Sirius.

Leaning against the railing with his hair tied back and his leather jacket slung lazily over his shoulder. Like no time had passed at all. Like this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him properly in weeks.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, grinning.

He looked up, and smiled—not the usual smirk, but the softer one. The one you always had to pretend didn’t get to you.

You crossed the last few steps and launched into your news without hesitation. “I passed. All of them. Barely—and I mean barely—scraped through quantitative, but I did it. No resits. No crying. Well, I cried a bit, but not during any of the exams—”

He caught you mid-ramble with a laugh, pulling you into a hug before you could finish.

You sank into him automatically.

He smelled like cigarette smoke and warm leather. Your heart did that stupid little dance again.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice low against your temple. “Knew you’d smash it,”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a grin. “You owe me dinner. Or celebratory sex. Your choice,”

He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Both?” he offered, light-hearted but off-kilter.

You narrowed your eyes, teasing but watchful. “Why do you look like someone’s kicked your puppy?”

He didn’t answer straight away.

That was the first clue.

The second was the way his hand stayed on your hip longer than necessary—like he was anchoring himself. Like he didn’t trust his legs not to bolt.

You stepped back fully.

“Sirius.”

“Alright,” he said, voice carefully casual. “Don’t get mad,”

You crossed your arms. “Why would I get mad?”

“Because I’m about to say something stupid,” he replied, then ran a hand through his hair. “And possibly ruin the vibes,”

You waited.

He sighed.

“I’m leaving,”

You blinked. “...What?”

He gave a weak laugh. “I failed. Most of my exams, anyway. Except the one you helped me with— so really, you’re the reason I’ve got any academic credibility at all,”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again.

“I got the notice yesterday,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Uni’s not letting me back next year. They were… diplomatic about it. Said I could reapply after a break, provided I prove academic discipline, blah blah. But I’m not going to,”

“Oh,” you said quietly.

He shifted. “The band— the Marauders— we’ve been getting attention. Played a couple gigs in Camden, some scout liked us. Said we’ve got a sound. He’s offered to get us into a studio. Independent label, nothing big, but… it’s something,”

You were quiet.

“I’m moving out next week,” he added. “Might end up up north for a bit. Or Manchester. Depends where the recording space is. Everything’s still up in the air,”

He glanced at you, then away.

“But I wanted you to know,”

You nodded.

He watched you, a flicker of worry behind his lashes. “You alright?”

You let out a soft breath. “Yeah,” you said, and meant it. “I’m happy for you,”

“You sure?”

You gave him a small smile. “I mean… I’ll miss you. Obviously. Even if it was just a friends-with-benefits situation, or whatever the hell this was. But this is what you’ve wanted, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah,”

“Then I’m proud of you too,”

Something in his jaw tightened.

You tilted your head, half-grinning. “Besides, what kind of monster gets mad at a guy for chasing his dreams?”

He smiled—properly this time, though a bit bittersweet.

You nudged his shoulder. “So, one more round before you go?”

He blinked.

“Sex, genius,”

His eyebrows shot up. “You serious?”

“Call it a send-off. My treat,”

He stared for a beat longer than necessary, then grabbed your hand and pulled you towards your car.

You were both half-laughing, half-running — high off adrenaline and the electric sort of sadness that feels like holding fireworks too close to your chest. The air smelt like summer pavement and exam dust, and Sirius looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. You didn’t let yourself read too far into it.

You knew better than that.

Still, when he pressed you against the passenger door and kissed you with every ounce of tension he’d held in since telling you he was leaving, you let him.

And when you got back to your flat and climbed the stairs two at a time, limbs tangled and mouths chasing the next inhale, you let yourself want him.

Because why not?

What were you saving yourself for?

It felt like a dream, the way you stumbled into your room. His hands on your waist. Yours in his hair. The low clatter of keys falling to the floor. Clothes tugged off, discarded without aim. Your jumper. His shirt. The way he looked under the dim light of your lamp, mouth red and eyes blown wide.

When the lights go out

She's all I ever think about

Except… you didn’t even have sex.

You wanted to. So badly you could’ve screamed.

But something about it—something about the way he looked at you, or the silence between your heartbeats—shifted.

Maybe you both knew that this wasn’t going to be another carefree romp. That if you went any further, it would mean something. Something you weren’t sure either of you could walk away from.

So instead, you just… sat.

You climbed into his lap, straddling him where he’d dropped onto your bed. Your bare legs wrapped around his hips, your lips brushing his jaw—and instead of unbuckling his jeans, you let yourself settle there. Let yourself exhale.

Dusk painted the walls violet and blue. There was a breeze through the open window, and the smell of distant cigarettes from someone smoking below.

And you talked.

He told you about the producing deal in more detail—how the scout was a friend of someone’s cousin, and how it wasn’t official yet, but they’d been invited to record a demo. They’d booked a session in a dingy little place near Camden, and the label guy said if the sound was tight, he’d see what he could do.

“I mean, we’re still technically a uni bar band,” Sirius admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we’ve got followers. And if it goes well, it’s a foot in the door. A real one,”

“That’s brilliant,” You nodded, tracing the edge of his collarbone absentmindedly. “And terrifying,”

“Oh, it’s horrendously terrifying. I haven’t told my family yet,”

You quirked a brow. “Why not?”

He gave a bitter little laugh. “Because they’ll cut me off. Or worse — be disappointed,”

You leaned your cheek against his shoulder. “Do they even know about the band?”

“Not really. They think it’s a phase,”

“They’re in for a surprise, then,”

He snorted. “They think music’s fine as a hobby — as long as I’m also taking over Black & Co. eventually,”

You hummed. “I’ll take your place,”

He paused. “What?”

You pulled back just enough to grin. “Once I graduate. I’ll apply to be the heir to your family’s cold, corporate throne. Could do with the cash,”

“Don’t even joke about that. You’ll be wearing grey slacks and developing caffeine dependency within weeks,”

You poked him in the chest. “Better than moving in with my mum,”

“Debatable,”

You mock-pouted. “You don’t think I’d make a great junior partner?”

“No offence,” Sirius said, lips twitching, “but my family are absolute twats, and I wouldn’t wish them on you,”

“None taken,” you replied. “They do sound like twats,”

He laughed, and you kissed the corner of his mouth. His hands slid along your thighs in a way that felt instinctive, not lustful—like he was memorising you.

You stayed like that for ages.

Talking. Drifting. Laughing into each other’s skin. The vodka stayed unopened on your desk. The city hummed around you. And every time you looked at him, something soft bloomed in your chest that you didn’t have a name for.

The picture burning in my brain

Kissing in the rain

He stayed the night.

You didn’t ask—just curled under the covers with him once the sky turned navy and the streets below went quiet. He didn’t object. Just pulled you close, his arm around your waist, your head tucked under his chin.

You both slept badly, but neither of you cared.

It was enough to be near.

To exist in the same breath, if only for a few more hours.

—

The morning came too soon.

You dragged yourself out of bed in an oversized hoodie while Sirius rifled through your room looking for his jeans. He finally found them behind your desk chair, tangled in the blanket he’d somehow pulled down during the night.

You tried not to stare at his back as he dressed. Tried not to think about how quiet it felt.

He pulled on his jacket, fingers catching the zip, and you reached out before you could stop yourself—smoothed it for him. He blinked, just once, then smiled that same smile you’d seen on the steps outside campus.

Like he was trying not to let something show.

The clouds outside were thick and heavy, grey like wet concrete. You walked him to the door anyway.

Neither of you said much. Until you opened it—and found the rain waiting on the other side like a punch to the face.

Sirius blinked, stunned by it, before laughing. “Bloody hell,”

It was *pouring—*sheets of rain, bouncing off the pavement, flooding the drains. The kind of rain that soaked you through in seconds. That made umbrellas feel pointless.

You reached for the car keys beside your door, but he stopped you.

“I’ll be alright,” he said, pulling his hood out from where it was shoved inside the back of his jacket, but not putting it up.

You stared at him. “You’re going to walk to your flat in this?”

“It’s only fifteen minutes,”

“In that?” You gestured to his torn jeans and thin cotton tee beneath the jacket.

“I’ll dry off,”

“You’ll drown,”

He chuckled, then hesitated—that same beat-too-long pause he always did before saying something real.

“I’ll be alright,” he said again, more softly.

You didn’t argue this time.

You just watched him step into the doorway and reached for the pen on the side table, scribbling his number on a crumpled receipt.

“Just in case,” He said, holding it out. “In case we get lucky,”

You took it with a grin. “Unlikely,”

“Still. Now you’ve got no excuse,” His eyes met yours, storm-dark and unreadable.

And then he kissed you, with feathered lips and hands gentle enough that they don’t even leave fingerprints on your cheeks.

You barely had time to kiss him back before he stepped into the rain.

Let himself get soaked.

Didn’t even pull up the hood.

He just glanced over his shoulder one last time, gave you a two-fingered salute, and vanished down the street, hair already dripping, receipt crumpled in his hand.

You stood in the doorway until he was gone.

And then longer still.

The movie playing in my head

Of her king sized bed

Means I can't forget my English love affair

The song ends, but the crowd doesn’t.

They’re still screaming—still throwing themselves toward the stage like they could grab onto the final chords and keep them going, as if their voices might convince the band to stay just a little longer. The lights pulse overhead, hot and gold and dizzying. The air tastes like sweat and smoke and bassline, like summer caught in a bottle and shaken until it fizzes over.

Sirius stands at the mic, breathless, his shirt clinging to his back. Hair damp, jaw sharp beneath the spotlight. He looks… elated. Wrecked in the best way. The kind of tired that feels like triumph.

You’re somewhere in the crowd, but he can’t see you.

Doesn’t know you’re there.

Not yet.

Because you hadn’t planned to come. Not until the very last minute—until your best mate shoved a last-minute ticket in your hand and said “Come on, it’ll be funny. Isn’t that your uni crush? The one who played guitar instead of going to lectures?”

You’d laughed.

And then you’d come.

Because somewhere after the goodbye, Sirius Black had turned into someone people recognised. Someone who got played on indie radio stations and reviewed in music blogs. Someone with tattoos and a fandom and a press schedule. The kind of person who said things in lyrics that made strangers cry.

“Holy shit,” James says, breathless as he steps offstage, clapping Remus on the back. “That crowd was insane,”

“Insane,” Remus agrees, wiping sweat from his brow and reaching for a bottle of water. “I thought we were going to lose the speakers during Track Six,”

“We might’ve,” Peter adds, looking mildly terrified and thrilled in equal measure. “I saw security taping one of the subs mid-song,”

James lets out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t notice. Too busy watching Sirius dry-hump his mic stand again,”

“Not my fault the crowd’s thirsty,” Sirius replies, dropping onto a crate near the back of the tent and fanning himself with a setlist. “I’m simply giving them what they came for

“That’s what she said,” Peter grins.

“I’ll leave you all to form your own relationships with your microphones, thank you,” Remus mutters, shaking his head.

Sirius just smirks.

He should be riding the high. The set went better than they’d hoped—no technical issues, the crowd was electric, and the reaction to the unreleased song was mental. He’d watched people mouth along to the chorus by the final repeat, like they already knew it. Like they felt it.

And maybe they did.

Maybe everyone has someone they can’t forget. Even the people who pretend not to care.

“You’re getting softer by the year,” James says as he flops onto the crate beside Sirius, elbowing him lightly. “Soon you’ll be writing acoustic shit about holding hands,”

“Don’t tempt him,” Remus says, snorting. “We’ll get a ballad about library desks and crosswords next,”

“Finance Girl,” Peter says dramatically, holding an invisible microphone. “Track one off the next album,”

Sirius doesn’t respond immediately.

He’s smiling—the kind of half-amused, half-resigned smile that means yeah, alright, fair enough. He tosses his towel over his shoulder, grabs a water bottle to throw in James’ direction, and watches as he raises it in mock salute.

“To Finance Girl,” James says, voice dry. “The unofficial fifth member of the band,”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Remus groans. “You’ll jinx it. She’ll turn up in a dramatic twist of fate and demand royalties,”

“She’s probably a CFO somewhere now,” Peter adds. “Drinking oat milk lattes and marrying some bloke named Quentin,”

James leans in conspiratorially. “So, remind us again. Why did you never go back for her?”

Sirius pauses. The air buzzes with leftover feedback and adrenaline. Somewhere outside, the next band is warming up.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Life got loud,”

“Bet she’s still fit,” Peter says with a dreamy grin. “Imagine the sexual tension if she did show up now,”

“She’s always in your head anyway,” James says. “You write more songs about her than I have about Lily, and we’re married,”

“That’s because you two are boringly vanilla,” Sirius replies without missing a beat, unlocking his phone.

Dozens of notifications. Mentions on Twitter. Clips of the performance already circulating. A missed call from their PR. A text from a number he doesn’t recognise.

And it’s that one that makes him freeze.

still writing songs about how good our sex was? count me honoured

The room falls away.

The noise fades.

He stares at the screen like it might combust in his hand.

Because no one else would know to send that.

No one else could make him feel like a second-year uni student again with just one sentence.

No one else ever dragged him into the backseat of their car by his tie.

Then a second message.

I really hope you haven’t changed your number otherwise whoever is getting this text is gonna be really confused

James notices first. “You alright?”

Sirius doesn’t look up. Just stares at his phone like he’s forgotten what it’s for.

“Mate?”

Sirius finally speaks. “I think she’s here,”

“Who?” Peter asks, still giggling at something Remus said.

Sirius doesn’t answer.

[sxorpiomooon]

People's first impression of you - a pick a card reading

with a little bit of fashion suggestions too<3

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Pile 1-

LMAOOO I know bitches MAD. There are alot of people that just linger around you. Very very cool girl vibe I wonder if you all love the symbol of star, metallic jewellery sort of things, hinge cut or bangs and prefer using wired earphones? Bubble gum plays in my head have y'all checked the acubi style? Jewellery suits you all alot metallic so do try it. Anyways people might want to dress you up? You ooze coolness? Wherever you go people stare you don't have a well put together style but people LOVE your style. Women in general look up to you more and you are very messy. I'm seeing nana as well? Unconventional pretty the type of pretty that haunts people. People also feel as if you give off some ominous vibe they might be very scared of you and might think of you as someone who's very scary. I see people not wanting to even talk to you at first simply bc they're scared. Alot of rumours go around about you that make you seem more scary? People might even think that you will beat them up if they say something wrong 😭 women look up to you ALOT one sound keeps playing in my head it's in russian but I can't seem to name it. Whenever you go people always stare at you not because they necessarily want to but because they cannot help it. Men are naturally submissive and scared of you too lmao might make up shit about you simply because they have no balls.

Pile 2-

I see alot of mixed opinions people might not be able to grasp you easily so they might at times form a judgement about you that they themselves are aware of not being correct. She's a star started playing in my head y2k fashion, long time to go by cassie I heard "keep em in your pants" very cliche old rom coms, flared jeans. Anyways, people think of you as someone who is unpredictable like they always have to be on their toes with you because they never know what you are upto. "You look like a bratz doll" is what I heard lol. People also might not be able to lie to you very easily even the ones that you've met for the first time. There's a certain type of pull that you have that makes people very uncomfortable in lying to you. Some people also see you as someone who's extremely hardworking and resilient. I see these are the people that have actually observed you I saw those tools in the chemistry labs. Some of you take chemistry classes or work in a lab where people find you very fascinating. You turn things into magic is what I'm hearing 🪄 this emoji hahaha. You are capable of building and making new magical things. People wish to talk to you alot because they are very fascinated by you and observe you alot this is men mainly

Pile 3-

People might think of you as very distant this is also physically for some reason? Alot of people on the internet also have alot of opinions on you. Do you use discord or twitter? People form first impressions of you there are well and I feel like alot of population that chose this pile is the more digitally active one. I'm also feeling cold so anyways people might feel a bit sorry for you? People might think of you as someone who's suffering in someone why am I seeing snow or seeing so much cold "it matters where you are" from that one song started playing. People might also get the impression that you might not have the best family life? They might want to offer you help but you might seem too closed off. I'm seeing alot of black clothes and this reminds me of that daughter from the atypical family. People might also see you as very brave too they might actually be impressed "I wish I was half as brave as her" is what I'm hearing. Do you try to hide yourself with your clothes? People might also get the idea that you are very over burdened with things and situations. I keep seeing people constantly wanting to be close to you or help you out in some way but you close them out every single time. There is a girl in particular that has very pure intentions. I'm seeing the movie soulmates the korean one such brilliant movie do give it a try

Pile 4-

I believe that the photo you felt the pull towards speaks alot but still people listen when you talk. You are very fluent and straightforward in your manner of talking I wonder if you have sun in your 2h or a prominent sun. You have a very clear and commanding way of talking. love you love you love you love you that one instagram song keeps playing in my head. People see you as someone who is a leader it's like when you enter a group you are automatically handed over the title of the leader without anyone having to say it. Someone who sees the bigger picture and is a visionary. Everyone looks up to you alot especially your juniors or people younger than you. You are someone who knows what they want and have a clear goal in life. I'm seeing table tennis for some reason all of a sudden? Anyways zendaya is very similar to this. Someone who overcomes challenges very easily. Hmm at times people might feel as if you are slacking off? Or not doing as much as you can? I'd usually say this is people being jealous of you but this is coming from your closest ones. And this is not them hating on you but a genuine advice. Everyone knows that you have a tremendous amount of potential and you are working hard but not as hard as you can. "Are you scared of your own potential" and I heard "raw" immediately the black swan movie came in my head. You are also a very brilliant friend to everyone even to strangers.