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#get along with them. like it was so awkward or they grated on me or i got frustrated because what we were doing felt pointless
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When in L.A
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Summary: while on a walk with your boyfriend, the both of you experience a horrible interaction with one of Jacob’s supposed fans.
Warnings: r is referred to being Australian but ofc you can change it :)
Wc: 574
A/n: decided to post a fic before i officially start school again tomorrow 🥹
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enews
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Liked by jacobelordiupdates, elordifan, and 3,098,261 others
Jacob spotted with his girlfriend y/n out in LA today!! The Aussie couple were playing around with their dogs while Jacob took a few photos of her :)
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user1: oh to be her 😫
user2: she’s so so pretty and seems so sweet ahh
user3: I wonder how they met lol
↘️ user4: pretty sure they knew each other since they were at school in Australia 😂
user5: did not know she was Australian? Omg what?
user6: when is it my turn 🥲
user7: thought he’d be dating someone famous but oop
↘️ user8: didn’t know celebrities had to only date other celebrities?
~
You and Jacob amble through the streets of Hollywood hills, the chill energy of the neighbourhood surrounding you as you take your dogs Layla and Freddie for a walk.
You’ve been friends since high school back in Australia and only started dating around 2 years ago when you visited LA and caught up with Jacob. And it was only a couple months ago you moved across the world to be with your boyfriend.
You weren’t foreign to the recognition Jacob garners, fans occasionally approach for a quick chat or photo, and for the most part, it’s a positive experience for the both of you.
A young woman, probably in her early 20s, spots Jacob from afar, her eyes widening with recognition. She hurries over, her excitement palpable. The two of you stop as he comes up, “Hi Jacob!” She excitedly greets, her phone ready for a selfie.
Jacob flashes his signature smile, “Hey, how’s it going?” The fan smiles widely, her full attention on your boyfriend as you stand to the side, “Great! Can I take a photo with you please?” She asks, “Yeah, sure.”
The fan, seemingly disregarding your presence, abruptly hands you her phone. “Take the photo for me,” she demands, her tone leaving no room for refusal. Caught off guard by her directness, you manage a surprised “Uh, sure.”
Even you could tell Jacob was caught off guard by her rude behaviour, his eyebrows slightly knitted. You reluctantly take the phone and frame the photo as the woman poses with Jacob, her hand around his waist as he respectfully hovers his hand on her back.
She glances at you with a dismissive look, as if you’re merely an accessory to the moment. “Make sure it’s good,” she commands, refocusing on Jacob as he visibly becomes agitated.
Despite the awkwardness, you snap the photo with a forced smile. The fan snatches her phone without a word of thanks and strides away, disappearing from view.
Jacob, sensing your discomfort, lets out a sigh. “She seemed nice” His voice laced with sarcasm as you chuckle. “They’re not usually like that, trust me.” He remarks, irritation evident in his voice.
Jacob puts a reassuring arm around your shoulders, “Don’t let it get to you. I didn’t even really smile in the photo,” He says with a cheeky grin as you couldn’t help but laugh.
~
Later that day, Jacob takes to his instagram page that he mostly posted work related things, and shared a photo of the two of you with your dogs, along with a thoughtful caption.
jacobelordi
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Liked by yourusername, alexademie, sadiesoverall, jacobelordiupdates, and 8,038,297 others
Hey everyone! I don’t usually post things like this but it needs to be said. I love meeting you all in public, and I’m always grateful for your support. However, let’s remember to be respectful to everyone, including the people I’m with. Shoving phones in someone’s hand, demanding for them to take a photo and being rude isn’t cool. Let’s keep it a positive experience. Much love to you all!! ❤️
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yourusername: 🐶💗
↘️ jacobelordi: love you!
↘️ user1: awe 😭
rachelzegler: so glad you’re bringing this up!!
alexademie: PREACH 🙌
user2: I seriously don’t understand people who call themselves “fans” and do disrespectful shit like this
user3: Is this about the incident that happened today??
↘️ user4: yup. It’s all over Twitter and tiktok rn
↘️ user5: the “fan” is getting slandered so hard rn
user6: wait I’m so confused. What happened?
↘️ user7: basically a “fan” came up to Jacob and Y/n and demanded y/n to take the photo for them and she was just overall rude
user8: so funny how Jacob isn’t even smiling in the photo 😭
↘️ user9: HAHAHAHHA I WANNA SEE THIS PIC
↘️ user10: it’s on TikTok!!
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m0nsterqzzz · 11 days
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The Three Times Natasha Proposed to You and the One Time You Said Yes
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pairing: Natasha Romanoff x reader
summary: your girlfriend has a habit of proposing, and you have a habit of saying no.
a/n: I was gonna do this with katniss but decided it worked better with my favorite spy and also its been way to long since I wrote for herrrrrr ahhhh anyway, I LOVE HER YOUR HONOR
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The first time Natasha proposed to you, you had only known her for 18 hours.
You were new to the team. So new in fact that you only knew three people’s names at a table with eight people since the other five were too busy all day to introduce themselves. Dinner was awkward, for you at least, as everyone else was busy chatting about their days with each other. They’re laughing, the bond they all share clear as joy feels the air.
You don’t feel that joy.
It’s not like you’re not happy to be here; you’re insanely grateful that Fury was willing to see past your history and allow you to join forces such as the incredible ones around you, but you just don’t feel very welcomed.
You don’t blame the team. After all, it’s only the first day, and Fury already told you about the fact that most of the people on that team aren’t very warm and friendly. It does kind of bug you though, how now the people you’re not familiar with even seem to notice your presence in the group.
It’s just the first day. Things will get better. You repeat for the 100th time, eyes trained on the table as you spoon some more of the food that was in the kitchen when Jarvis called for you into your mouth. It’s chicken over rice, a simple recipe, but the chicken is covered in some type of delicious sauce that you can’t get enough of.
“Is the food okay? It’s my family's recipe.” A girl with brunette hair and jade colored eyes sitting across from you speaks, nervously smiling as she pushes her fork around the food on her plate. She’s young, younger than everyone else on the team, and it makes you feel a bit better about being new as you remember what Fury said about her only joining about half a year ago.
You give a hesitant smile, answering honestly; “Oh…yeah. I love it. It’s delicious.” 
The girl smiles brighter, reaching across the table to hold out her hand for you to shake. “It’s nice to officially meet you. Fury’s told me alot about you. I’m Wanda.”
“All good things I hope.” You giggle before introducing yourself, and she laughs along with you before you both go back to eating. The rest of the team slowly introduces themselves, and out of the corner of your eye you go see the way Wanda cringes when they only do it after she gave an example.
Even if they only did it once the girl made them realize, you still feel a bit more comfortable here then you did a while ago.
You notice Wanda eyeing your rings as you guys continue to eat, so you put your hand on the table in between you too. Her eyes shoot up to you in surprise, clearly not knowing that you noticed it. “Sorry for the staring. I just…I really like your rings. I love wearing them myself and I’ve never seen any like that. They’re beautiful.”
That’s how you guys start up in a conversation about rings, and then a few minutes later you’re sliding off one of your rings to give to her. She seems like the nicest person here, and you can already tell you’re going to be great friends. When you get it off, it accidently flies out of your hand, bouncing on the table before it falls off and lands somewhere on the floor. You turn red in embarrassment at the way everyone falls silent, staring at you in amusement before a redheaded woman slides out of her seat and kneels down on one knee to search for the item.
You met her earlier when you went to the gym to train, and she even helped you learn a few awesome fighting moves before she left to let you do your own thing. You can’t deny that Natasha is beautiful.
The woman smiles when she finds it, grasping the metal in her hand before she turns to face you, still on one knee as she holds it out for you to take as if she’s proposing.
If she notices the way it looks, she doesn’t say anything until Tony, the man you met when he blew up a lab earlier, laughs and mumbles under his breath, “I’m not paying for that wedding.”
You giggle, watching as Natasha stands up and turns to glare at him before facing you once again and putting it on the table near your plate. “Shut up Tony.” She mumbles before sitting back down in her own seat, and you say before shoving food into your mouth when the embarrassment sets in, “I’m not ready to settle down. Sorry Nat.”
Everyone just chuckles, and you are left with a small smile and new found happiness.
The second time she’d done it, she’d almost had you fooled that it was real.
You and her had been dating for three months, and you guys were absolutely inseparable. You’ve learned a lot about her in the year you’ve been an Avenger, and she sometimes opens up about her past. Her little sister, the red room, Dreykov.
Anyway, Fury had sent you on a mission with her, your best friend Wanda, and Steve Rogers to go and steal a flash drive from a destroyed hydra base then find some place quickly to look at what's on it. He said to find the nearest place as people would already be on the search for us, so that's why you got Nat to pull over at a mall. Not for clothes or a new pair of shoes, but to go into one of the electronic stores and use one of their computers to read what's on the file.
It was easy until Natasha noticed one of the workers looking at Steve in suspicion as they see him inserting the drive into one of the computers, and you’re about to abort the mission before your girlfriend grabs your hands and tugs you to the middle of the store, dropping into one knee and glancing at Wanda. The witch seems to get the hint even though you don’t understand what's happening, but you do when the young girl uses her magic to make a ring appear in Natashas hand. It’s beautiful, but you can tell it’s just an illusion to fool the people around you as small red whisps surround your best friend's hands.
“I’ve loved you since the day I met you.” The redhead starts, loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the store but too loud as to not seem unusual. “I know you’re having my brother's baby,” She continues with that most serious face you’ve ever seen, and you have to try your hardest not to burst out laughing. “But I can treat you better than he ever could.”
The whole crowd of people in the store are now focused on you, even the workers which gives Steve the time he needs to enter the hard drive into one of the computers and read what's on it.
“So what do you say hottie? You wanna do this or not? Marry me?” You stare at her for a few minutes, eyes glancing at the blonde haired man who silently laughs at the scene in front of him before sending you a thumbs up to show he’s done and you guys can go.
“No!” Everyone quietly gasps, all looking away as Natasha fakes offense. “No! What the fuck? What kind of proposal is this? I’m just trying to buy a new phone, Stacy! And you’ve got a huge barbecue stain on that sweater. This is truly the best you could do?”
You're having way too much fun with it as you scoff before gently slapping her, trying your hardest not to laugh at the way everyone gasps even louder while you storm out.
Your friends and girlfriend quickly catch up with you, and you all finally burst out laughing by the time you’re getting in the car and driving away from the mall right as some scary looking military vehicle pulls up to the building. “Did you have to slap me?” Natasha laughs out, the ring box Wanda had magically created is now gone as she sits next to you in the back seat. “I feel like you enjoyed that way too much.”
“I did enjoy it. I’m also just practicing for the day you do propose to me.” She lets out a fake annoyed groan, slinging an arm over your shoulder as she pulls you to lay against her side.
Despite the playful mood, you can’t help but feel a fluttery feeling in your chest and a warm blush coating your face at the thought of being married to this girl. Little did you know, she was feeling the exact same.
When she did it a third time, it almost seemed like it was second nature for her to pull out a ring box and propose to you. 
You had just got back to the Avengers tower after a lunch date, and she froze on the doorstep when she realized you were no longer beside her. She turns in circles, panic filling her when she doesn’t see you. She’s a spy for fuck sakes, how could she have not noticed something happening to you.
 Her panic fades when you pop out from behind a thick tree, a snowball made from the small amount of snow on the grass in hand as you send her a mischievous smile. She doesn’t have any time to move before you’re launching it in her direction, practically falling over with laughter as it hits her forehead and then breaks into pieces.
The redhead still seems a bit shocked, but she quickly gets over it as she groans with a grin and runs over to harshly tackle you to the ground. It knocks the wind out of you, but you’re both still laughing so hard your stomach hurts as she grabs some snow from beside your head and then lets it fall onto you. “You wanna play that fucking game? Oh we can play that game honey.”
You shake your head, but the bright smile on your face tells her that you’re not actually scared. “No. I’m sorry Tasha. We can talk this out.” When she makes a, “tsk…tsk” noise with her mouth, you use all your strength to push her off of you, sprinting towards your home even though you can hear the sound of Natasha’s boots hastily crunching the snow beneath them as she runs after you.
She wraps her arms around your waist, easily picking you up off the ground and spinning you around. As cringy as it is, your laugh makes her laugh, and the moment is so perfect as she slowly lets you down so she can look you in the eyes.
“Wait a second.” Natasha mumbles, before grabbing something from her pocket, telling you to turn around for a minute while she makes you a surprise. You draw shapes in the snow in the meantime, your fingers practically numb but by the time you’re done, every planet is drawn into the frozen canvas. “Alright. Turn around.” She speaks again, and your smile grows- if possible- at the sight.
She’s messily formed a ring with the wrapper from a straw at dinner, and now she’s balanced on one knee in the icy snow as she grins up at you. “Will you marry me, and be mine forever?”
You pretend to think about it for a moment, finally holding at your left hand for her to put the ring on as you yell out, “Of course I’ll marry you!”
The russian girl laughs, once again picking you up to twirl you around before she sets you down to kiss you easier.
From a window high up in the Avengers tour, Wanda watches the interaction while drinking her tea and then closing her curtains. “When is she gonna do it for real?” She whispers to herself, already so done with the fact that Natasha has proposed to you three times, and yet she hasn’t been able to wear a pretty bridesmaid dress in her whole live.
The day Natasha proposed in the privacy of the cabin Tony’s letting you borrow for a weekend, twinkling lights dressing the living room and the dining table decorated with candles, rose petals and fancy wine that’s probably from Pepper, was the time you know she wasn't kidding.
As the sun sets behind the clouds, you and Natasha sit across from each other with your free hands hooked together beside your plates. The setting sun casts gentle rays upon your face from the window, illuminating your features with a golden light. You two share a quiet, comfortable silence for a moment before she looks up from her plate to you, a smile gracing her lips. You look at Natasha, heart beating softly in your chest from the soft, gentle atmosphere of the moment. She lets go of her fork to use that hand to grab ahold of your other hand, your fingertips intertwined gently. Your eyes meet across the table, and for a second it’s just you guys in the world. 
The girl then speaks, her words sincere and clear, as she makes her proposal. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you; I’ve wanted to since the first date we went on. I was scared though…..scared of finding someone I love in a world that could take it away so easily. But now….now I realize. It doesn’t matter. As long as I get to be with you for what time we have left, it’s worth it. So," she says softly, tilting her head to the side and smiling as she grabs a ring box from her pocket and opening it so you can see the diamond ring inside before standing up from her seat so she can get down on one knee next to the table. 
"Will you marry me?" 
The question hangs in the air as you gaze into the girl's eyes and processes the words. Your mind reels from the unexpectedness of it all, but you also can't help the surge of joy welling in her chest.
“Yes. Yes of course I will!” Her grin brightens, and she’s still kneeled as she wraps her arms around your waist to hug you as tight as she can. You join her on your knees so you’re on her level, grabbing her face with both hands and pulling her into a passionate kiss. You would’ve married her the first time she asked, but you’re somehow glad you waited until now to say yes. This is perfect.
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aphroditesmoon · 3 months
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Okay but like…clarisse jealous?
I like a challenge when the prize is you
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clarisse la rue x fem!demigod!reader
warnings: platonic luke x reader, kissing, title is from center by sir chloe.
wc: 2.0k
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Today was your birthday, and though birthdays aren't exactly a big thing in camp half blood, considering there are probably more than 300 kids here, your cabin siblings decided to plan out a small party to celebrate it anyways.
You are easily one of the most highly respected demigod here. When you first arrived at camp, you held your ground and barely showed any fear nor awkwardness. You were friendly and charming but knew when to not take people's shit, that had earned you a favorable reputation and had gotten your godly parent to claim you after only being there for two weeks. 
People liked you. And because of the way you're perceived, they were all pretty surprised to find you in a secured relationship with the commonly known camp boogeyman.
You and Clarisse hit it off rather quickly. What started as a playful banter bloomed into a strongly bonded friendship, and then soon enough, became a romantic relationship. 
The two of you grounded eachother constantly, you compliment eachother personality wise, and you just have much more in common then people think. 
Equally as excited as your cabin siblings, Clarisse arrived right on time for your party in your cabin. The event was a private one, only your siblings and close friends are invited.
They had worked together baking a lovely raspberry cheese cake for you along with some brownies and chips. Despite it being your party, you were warned of stealing a taste of any of the food before the party begun.
You were immensely grateful when the clock finally hit 8pm and everyone invited finally arrived. "Can I cut the cake now?" You asked for the 5th time.
"Yes." Your siblings answered together, laughing at your excitement. Clarisse sat by your left, passing you the cake cutter. "Can you do it?" She mumbles as she watches you struggle to push it all the way down. 
You hummed positively and pressed on harder untik the knife finally reaches the bottom of the cake and everyone cheered. "There you go." You mutter to yourself.
Continuing to cut the rest of the cake, you soom began passing the pieces to everyone on paper plates before leaving the rest of it for yourself.
Clarisse was quick to scoop up a section of it with a spoon to wave it over your face. "Alright baby, you know how it goes, open up." Everyone else was laughing at the sentiment, but you weren't bothered by it at all, opening your mouth wide open for Clarisse to feed you like a mother does to her toddler. 
The party hat you were wearing really tied it all together. Nothing says festive more than a coney party hat with pink and yellow polka dots over them. 
"Oh this is amazing." You say with your mouth full, moaning at the taste. "Here, let me do it." You offered quickly,  taking the spoon from Clarisse to feed her the same way. 
If it was any other day, she'd rather die than get caught being babied like this, but it was your birthday, so automatically, you get a free pass. 
"Someone should take a photo." One of the girls called out, Clarisse' glare immediately shut her up. You laughed at her reaction, squeezing her cheek. "Oh no, you're grumpy again." She rolled her eyes and relaxed her face from all the frowning.
"I'm not grumpy, I just naturally look like this." She defends herself as she eats her portion of the cake. 
Music was playing on the back, a mix of Debussy and Tchaikovsky on shuffle as everyone knew how overwhelming loud party music made you feel.
It was all well and beautiful, everything went better than expected, and it's in these moments, surrounded by your loved ones and feeling your happiest, that you feel the luckiest in life. 
It was present sharing time when you heard your cabin door knocked on. You ignored it ar first, letting your sibling check on the visitor as you continue to open your presents. 
"Oh my god, it's a cat sweater!" You exclaimed at your sister's gift. She was only 10 with a passion for sewing and fashion, and she probably took days to make the sweater. You could see the slightly folded and unsymmetric edges, making it even more endearing. 
"You said it's your favourite animal." You nodded your head and bear hugged her. "It is, thank you for this." 
You were about to open your 4th present when your sibling that you had sent to check on the door came sprinting back. "Who is it?" You asked with a raised brow.
"It's, Luke." The name caused the noise around you to husb down. You could feel Clarisse stiffen next to you when you smiled. "Oh, is he joining us?" You doubt it, seeing as he wasn't exactly invited, and it was already so much people here.
"No, he said he wants to see you outside." 
You and Luke are as close as he is with anyone else. His face is usually what new campers are met with, being the leader of Hermes cabin and all, he's always taken the role of the mentor very naturally, never having a problem helping the new kids find where they belong.  
Clarisse unfortunately doesn't view your friendship with him as just that. You've seen the way she tries to size him up whenever he attempts to talk to you alone.
You stood up from your sitting position and ushered your friends and siblings to get back at the eating and dancing as you walk yourself out of the cabin to meet him.
Your hand slips away from Clarisse's. You give her a quick smile that meant 'don't worry about me', before you disappeared from her sight.
Just as you were informed, Luke is outside the door when you exit from it. He wears his easygoing grin when he sees you. You returned his smile and spoke his name.
"Hey." He greeted you. "Got the birthday girl a present." He shows you the small box he carried with him, wiggling his brows as he speaks.
"Oh, Luke, you shouldn't have." He shook his head at you nonchalantly. "Don't worry about it, just wanted to get you something." His presses the box into your hand and folded your fingers over it before taking a step back.
"Thank you, Luke." You tell him, meaning those words. He gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "Your welcome. Now, I'm sure you'd like to go back to your party. See you tomorrow?" You nod your head.
"Alright then, have a good night, happy birthday." You waved at him as he walks off towards his own cabin, waiting until he's a few steps away before going back in. 
You were glad that no one really noticed you until you were near to the group to sit down. Though Clarisse's eyes were on you as soon as you entered the cabin.
Some of them stopped eating as they moved to seat crisscrossed closer to you. "What did he want?" One of them asked. 
You lifted the box up for them to see. They responded with an 'oooh' as they wait for you to open it. "It's so small." Your younger sibling noted, hovering above the box. "Maybe it's a ring." The other suggested. You snorted and shook your head.
"And where would he find a ring around here, less alone to make one." You knew it wasn't a ring. Besides the fact that he didn't have your ring size, he wouldn't give you such a bold gift that could cause a misunderstanding and piss of Clarisse at the same time. 
You opened it gently and awed at it's inside. It was a brooch. One in the size of your thumb. A golden coloured hibiscus engraved brooch. "This is lovely." You noted, letting everyone else look at it.
"It's fine." Clarisse countered, her nose scrunching at the view.
As your younger sibling held it in her hand to properly look at it, you reach over to Clarisse, intertwining your fingers together again. "What about you? No gift for little ol' me?" You ask her jokingly.
"Of course I got you a gift," she scoffed, leaning in to your side. "But I'm not gonna give it here. These chatterboxes can't be trusted."
"These chatterboxes are my siblings." She shrugged at your words. "Never said you weren't a chatterbox either." You gasped loudly, faking offense and lightly slapping her arm. Her grouch falls away, her pursed lips curved into a small smile. 
The rest of the party went well, you managed to get everyone to finish the food so there wouldn't be any leftovers. And despite the argument your cabin presented, you helped them cleanuo the mess and threw away the trash before ot was time to turn off the lights.
You made sure all your younger siblings have been tucked in and all your older ones are done with the chores before you and Clarisse leave the cabin past 11pm.
Some of the girls sent you teasing looks before you left,  but they all swore to secrecy and made sure to cover for you just incase Chiron or Mr.D heard of your little past curfew late night walks.
Once the two of you made it further into the woods, Clarisse pulls you by the arm to sit down next to her on the less harsher part of the grass. You immediately moved to wrap your arm around her neck, resting your head underneath her chin, she wraps her own arms around you and placed a chaste kiss on your hair. 
"Happy birthday." She whispers against your forehead. 
You looked up at her from your position and eyes her suspiciously. "I thought you said you had a present for me?"
A short laugh escapes her as she ruffles your hair. "My presence is not a gift enough for you?" You blinked and answered; "No." 
Clarisse laughs again and uses her right hand to pull something out of the inside pocket of her jacket. "Well, at least you're honest." She did not have a box or a wrapper like the others did. But your heart melted at the sight of the present still.
It was a string of pearls. A necklace. And you could tell from the shine and the ivory colour of it that they weren't fake pearls. They attracted you like a moth to a flame.
"Clarisse, this is beautiful." You told her, she passes it onto your hands and watch as you eye them closely. "I know. Better than the stupid pin." You brows raise at that, your gaze darts from the necklace to her face. 
"Careful Clar, some might say you sound a bit jealous." She huffs and winces at that. "I'm not jealous- I- I just...don't like him." 
"And why don't you like him?" You question her. "Because he keeps hitting on my girlfriend." She answers in a matter of factly tone. "Being nice doesn't equal flirting." You tell her.
"I know that. Does he know that?" 
Clarisse has never liked the way Luke talked to you, and sometimes you genuinely wonder if she was right and if it was you who never noticed any of his romantic advances. But your principle has always been straight to the point, if he doesn't say it outright, then it's not real.
"Well, he hasn't crossed a line so far, so I'd say yes." It wasn't that you're trying to defend Luke, you just don't see what he's done so far that deserves defending at all. 
Clarisse grunted in response and pulls you back into her arms. You refrain from holding her by placing your palms on her chest. "Wait, put it on me first." 
Something clicks behind her eyes like she just remembered about her gift. "Oh, right." You turn around with your back facing her. Clarisse places the pearls over your neck and hooks the back together in one try.
Twisting your body to face her again, you fiddled with the necklace and looked at her for approval. "Well?" She smiled as her fingers came close to your face to brush away the strands of hair covering your cheek. "It fits you." 
You let her pull you by the back of your head to kiss her, welcoming her lips with yours. 
Not that you'd ever admit it aloud, but having her by your side would always be the real birthday gift to you.
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pseudowho · 3 months
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Defending Your Honour
A series in which the JJK guys stick-it to the creeps and perverts bothering the reader.
A multi-fic in a series ❤️🫖☕
Part 1 (Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, and Todo Aoi) link here!
Part 3 (Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge and Fushiguro Toji) link here!
More JJK men and women to come
Trigger Warning: spreading false sexual rumours, stalking, being followed home
Higuruma Hiromi
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You had to leave. You had to get another job. There was no way to come back from this; office-culture spread rumours like the plague, and whether they were founded or not, you still felt the pierce of dozens of judging eyes on you.
Your clothes felt too tight, too revealing, your skin prickled and your nose stung with tears as you gulped, chin held high but so exposed and vulnerable. A filthy rage roiled in your gut at the injustice of it all. The irony did not escape you, as you hot-footed away from the whispers of the legal office.
As you gathered files, clunky and unwieldy in your arms, you felt a hand pretending to be affectionate on the small of your back that made your skin crawl, covered in worms and mud.
"When you're ready," a low voice sing-songed to your right, smirking, gleeful, "just hop along to my office, and we can work something out, yeah?" You jolted with shame as the hand clapped your bum. The eyes flicked back onto you. The whispers spread, infectious. You were a leper, now.
Hiccuping as you ducked your head, you felt hot rancid tears stream down your cheeks, darting down a corridor and reaching for a door any door to take you away from all of these eyes and whispers and accusations and this one was usually empty so you snuck in and slammed the door shut behind you and--
"Oh! Hello," a low, warm voice offered, surprised. You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth, unable to hide the tears and anguish. The man was tall, slender, his unruly black hair escaping in flicks over his temples, but he looked so genuinely concerned as he rose from his desk, that you sobbed, apologising and sinking to the floor with your face in your knees.
You felt the man crouch beside you, his hands on his thighs, his presence sincere and welcoming. He sat for a moment, apparently awkward and unsure how he could help you.
"It's okay," he reassured, "it's a fucking ugly office, I hate it too, it makes me cry--" You huffed out a wet, genuine laugh and heard him smile, amused puffs of breath from his nose.
"Really, though," he continued, "I'm happy to help...if I can. Not sure if you need a lawyer, or-- or for me to catch a spider for you, I mean I hate them too but I can certainly--" he stopped himself from rattling away. You sniffled, looking up at him with a cute watery smile that made his heart thump.
"You could get me a new job, maybe? Or just a new boss?" You wiped your eyes now, embarrassed by interrupting this lovely man. The lovely man raised his eyebrows, now sitting in front of you, cross-legged.
"And what has your boss done to make you cry?" He inquired, black eyes like beetles, reading you.
You fumbled, uncertain of yourself when explaining the crimes of a man to another man, "I think he didn't, uhm...didn't take being rejected very well and uh--" tears poured, unbidden, as your face crumpled again, "--he's started a rumour than uhm-- that I sleep with him and uhm-- I don't but everyone believes it, and he wants me to come to his office now, after he's just touched me, and I don't know-- I don't know what to do--"
You broke down again, weeping into your knees, as the lovely man before you simmered, his lid rattling with unbridled rage at the unfairness of it all.
He smiled at you, though, gentle and open, "Your boss...the sweaty one? Big guy, thinks he's all that?" You laughed wetly again.
"Oh, you know him?" You grinned together, and you blushed, painfully grateful for being treated with basic respect. Hiromi nodded-- he didn't know your boss. But, he knew men like him and they filled him with bitter disdain, a core loathing and disgust that informed his choices every day.
"Well then...you can share my office today," he insisted as he stood, rubbing his hooked nose between two long fingers, "I've got...something to do." You blinked owlishly up at him. He helped you up, pulling a chair to his desk for you. You perched, confused, but not arguing.
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Some time later, your boss headed back to his office from the vending machines, impatient for you to come to his office, feeling sickly gleeful for having punished you for humiliating him, and his heart leapt hopefully, because maybe he could offer to deny all those rumours, and then you would be so grateful that maybe you'd give him a--
He opened his office door, having just enough time to click it closed behind him before hearing a quiet, angry voice from somewhere above the doorframe.
"Domain Expansion: Deadly Sentencing."
Plunged into a different room, ostensibly not his office, your boss shrieked in terror as two terrifying black figures loomed over him, only one of them human.
"What the fuck are you-- where the fuck am I-- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"
Higuruma looked up at the Judgeman with a humourless smile, and back down at your boss, who scurried backwards until his shoulders hit the domain's edge, blind with panic.
"You've been a very naughty boy," Hiromi sang, "shall we see how naughty?"
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You jumped as the office door swung open, and Higuruma (you had worked out, from the lanyard he left on his desk) re-entered with two hot drinks. He smiled a wonky, loping smile.
"Coffee machine's finest," he offered, placing one in your hands. He stood for a moment, bouncing on his heels, chin and nose dipped in consideration.
"I should think... your days of problems with your boss may be over," he said, blasé and cryptic. He did not elaborate, but reached into his pocket, before slipping his card across the desk to you.
"My office is, uhm...hiring a new legal assistant, though. I can put in a good word for you." Hiromi looked into the distance across the room, one hand in his pocket as he continued to rock on his heels. He glanced down at you, eyes glimmering at each other as they met.
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Ino Takuma
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I loved meeting you last week. I thought we made a really special connection. I'd love to meet again. Call me.
You smelled so good today. I love how you're being such a tease. Can't wait for you to call.
I can't stand seeing you talking to other guys! Still haven't seen this so-called 'boyfriend' of yours though. He can't be that into you if he's letting other men near you. Call me.
You didn't answer when I knocked for you, but I know you're home. Bet you were upstairs being naughty, hope you were thinking of me, hahaha, jk. HMU, seriously. I miss you.
I know you're such a little slut behind that 'good girl' act ;) Quit playing hard to get. I finish at 5, I'll meet you from work and we can finally go on that date you owe me.
I've never been this in love before. So disappointed you ditched our first date. I'll catch you another time. I love you so much.
Hope you got the flowers I left on your porch. I love you so much.
I love you.
Good morning baby. I love you.
You're a nasty little bitch and you're gonna die alone and you deserve it. If this is how you treat a nice guy like me, how do you treat all the others? You should be grateful.
I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day baby. You're my whole world. I love you.
Your hands shook as you scrolled through unanswered text after unanswered text. How had being friendly at a work conference gotten so out of hand? Your head spun as you recounted the memories; were you too flirty? Did you give hints of wanting to be more than just acquaintances? Did you dress too provocatively? Did you touch him?
In a desperate hunt for answers you blamed yourself. I should just be a standoffish bitch in the future, you thought, trying to hold back tears.
Leaning over your desk to pack your bag, you began to feel the walls close in around you, terrifying and claustrophobic, a rat in a maze, and you saw tears splash down onto the leather of your work diary. Would he be waiting outside work again today? Or would he be just outside your office door? Would he be waiting in your home?
You felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, "Hey gorgeous! Guess who got off work ear--"
In a shrieking panic, you lashed out, spinning with your hands raised in attack and defence. Your wonderful, kind boyfriend, Takuma, threw himself backwards, alarmed and apologetic, raising his own hands in placation.
"Whoa, whoa, hey! Oh babe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you--...what is it? Why are you crying? What's happened?"
Weeks and weeks of trying to ignore your stalker, hoping he would go away and forget about you, tumbled out of you at once. In a wild babble of explanation, he keeps texting me, and I'm not interested, and he won't leave me alone, and he leaves things on the doorstep, and I'm so, so sorry.
You had thrust your phone into Takuma's hands, and he held you close to him with one arm as you sobbed into his shoulder. The other hand scrolled through messages from your unwanted admirer; Takuma's face grew quiet with rage, his lips curled in disgust, a flush of anger smattered hot and pink across his cheeks.
"Babe," he started, "why didn't you..." Swallowing, Takuma stopped himself, "This is not your fault. This guy, there's...there's something wrong with him. Have you kept everything? All the stuff he's left you? All the messages?" You nodded as Takuma gripped you by the sides of the shoulders, your face crumpling as his hand raised to cup your cheek, staring deeply into you, leaning forward to press a desperate kiss to your forehead.
"Okay, listen, I'm gonna fix this," Takuma nodded hard, staring into you again as you started to shake your head, "no, no no, trust me. I promise I'm gonna fix this. Listen, you're...you're gonna go to Nanami's place. I'll call him. He'll understand. There's this lawyer at the school now, we'll gather everything and get it to him. I've...I've got to go out. I'll fix this, I mean it. I wouldn't let you down."
Takuma's heart wrenched as you continued to sob, apologising to him as if it was your fault. Within minutes, Takuma had called Nanami, and put you in a taxi. Sticking to the alleyways as he headed out into the streets, Takuma pulled his balaclava down, his eyes ferocious and vengeful as he took to the hunt.
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Your stalker was grossly familiar with your routine now. What you ate for breakfast (he had gone through your bin bags). What colour underwear you preferred (he had seen you through the gaps in your curtains). Which work events you were going to attend (he had scoured every inch of every company calender).
Thanks to some sloppy administrators, he even knew where you lived. Grinning to himself, he felt such a satisfying possession over you, knowing you inside-out. Hiding behind your neighbours' fence panels, he peeked, waiting for you to get home.
One hand leaned past his face, resting on the fence panel beside him, and his stomach froze into knots when he felt himself doused in the icy presence of some dark, unknown force. He opened his mouth to scream, and a second hand pressed over his mouth with horrifying strength.
"Hey, big guy! Wow, you really must be a hit with the ladies," air hissed through Ino's teeth and he sighed in feigned disappointment, "Not with my girl, though." Your stalker squeaked as blackness closed in around him. Ino let out a noise of disgusted amusement as the man's trousers darkened down one leg.
Ino continued, letting the man cry and shake under his hand; "Here's how this is gonna work..."
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Several days had passed since Ino had arrived at Nanami's to collect you, with a deeply satisfied smirk on his face. You had received no more messages. No more flowers. No more thinly-veiled threats. A dark cloud lifted off your mind, and you breathed easy.
Curled up on the sofa that night, you stroked Takuma's chest, listening to the clockwork thump of his heartbeat under your ear. Your curiosity got the better of you.
"Takuma...what did you do?"
Takuma grimaced, "Just showed him the error of his ways, babe. He won't be bothering you again."
While grateful, your belly swirled with fear, and guilt that even if your stalker left you alone, he'd just find someone else, another woman, and harass her just as he had harassed you-- or worse. Takuma read you like a book.
"Look, I-- I didn't want to force anything on you the other day. But I promise you, this guy knows that if you go to the cops about him, and he doesn't 'fess up, it'll be more than just me after him."
Ino smugly pictured Higuruma and Nanami, ready, Misters. Law and Order, prepared to flex their quite complementary powers of threat and legal representation.
You smiled, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of support. Leaning up, you tangled your fingers into Takuma's hair, and he let out a sweet hum of happiness as you kissed him deeply. Nose to nose, you took delight in showing your appreciation.
The next day, wearing a mantle of quiet bravery, you walked into the Police Station.
"I'd like to report a crime."
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Itadori Yuuji
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You had chosen absolutely the wrong shoes to go out in.
You shivered in the chilly night air; your skirt hadn't been this short all night, had it? The cold had a way of exposing things the mirror didn't. Still, you smiled to yourself as you leant against a lamp-post, removing your heels with a sigh of relief, certain you'd be comfier taking the last few streets before home barefoot than in these beautiful monstrosities.
You could not bring yourself to regret such a fun night. Waving your friends goodbye, you had foregone taking a taxi home. Tokyo was a safe city, anyway. It was only a short walk home. You could do with sobering up a bit.
Feet padding gingerly on the cold concrete, you tapped away on your phone as you began to walk home. Within a few minutes, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, cold prickles running down your spine.
Running a hand through your hair, you shielded your glance backwards; a man. Some distance away. By the lamppost you had removed your shoes at. You gulped-- it's nothing, you lied to yourself, just on his way home like me. But, just in case, you started walking faster, the soles of your feet stinging as they clapped against the floor.
Feeling tingles at the base of your skull a minute later, you felt the man closing in on you and bile climbed in your throat, feeling the alcohol threaten to come up into your mouth, options running through your head at breakneck speed, to scream or call the police or stop and fight or try to run faster or--
It was no use. He was almost on top of you now; you rounded the corner to a tree-lined street. You could smell the sweat on him, and you spun to face him, losing your footing and falling backwards onto the floor--
All at once, you screamed, a dark mass plummeted from the tree above you, and there was a sickening crunch as it flattened your pursuer to the floor.
The black mass, burly and pink-haired, stood up and turned to face you, opening his mouth--
You screamed again, still panicking, throwing a shoe at him, "What the hell are you? What are you doing?" The young man crouched, eyes wide, both hands in front of him, bleeding from the lip from your shoe.
"I'm a Yuuji, I'm a Yuuji--"
"--a Yuuji?!" You raised your hand again and he flinched. Your pursuer groaned underneath his feet.
"--I don't know if you know, but this guy was following you-- oh shit, you're not friends are you-- please don't throw another shoe at me--" Yuuji squeezed his eyes closed, hands still raised above his head in arrest. You surveyed him from the ground, your panic slowly abating.
He's cute, you thought as your head spun violently, and you rocked to the side, vomiting all over the pavement. Yuuji crept over to you, hands uncertain at first, but eventually settling on holding your hair back as the alcohol evacuated your stomach.
Patting your shoulder with upbeat reassurance, Yuuji turned to look at the man on the floor with a scowl.
"Creep," he grumbled, crushing the man's hand under his shoe. As the man squirmed and complained, Yuuji gave him an effortlessly hard punch to the side of the head, knocking him out cold in an instant. Rummaging in the man's pockets, Yuuji pulled out a drivers' licence.
"Oh hey, he lives nearby. Want to drop him home with me?" Yuuji asked you with a shit-eating grin.
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"Think that'll do it?" Yuuji dusted off his hands, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Tied up in the offerings of the man's shed (some old garden hose, with a wooden freshly painted sign hung around his neck), the man was dropped unceremoniously onto the doorstep. You snapped a quick photo on your phone, hand over your mouth as you laughed to yourself.
Yuuji pressed the doorbell, and grabbed your other hand, pulling you behind a hedge as you giggled like children together.
"I FOLLOW GIRLS HOME" read the man's sign, as his mother opened the door.
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"--so anyway, I should probably get back to work, I guess...after you get home."
You rested your chin on Yuuji's shoulder as he piggy-backed you home, your shoes slung in one hand as he ambled, slowly zigzagging along the tree-lined street. Your eyes drooped, breathing in your new friend's soft, cosy smell, still occasionally giggling to yourself.
Arriving at your doorstep, Yuuji lowered you to the ground, and brought one hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head. His face blushed crimson when you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. He grinned, shuffling sweetly, bidding you goodnight, but hesitating. You bit your lip, head tipped, waiting. Yuuji didn't get the hint, turning to walk away.
"Hey, my hero. All that, and I don't get your number?"
Yuuji's smile could have split rainclouds.
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Higuruma waiting on the ceiling above the office door like
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Coming next: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Toge Inumaki, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.
861 notes · View notes
tarjapearce · 8 months
Note
Lips anon! I think one of the most intimate moments between mother and child is the first hair wash. Especially for curly babes. I'm just imagining the wife remembering Gabi's first wash while doing Benji's. Gentle scrubs and lots of suds. She puts him to bed, and Miguel comes home from work. They decide to bathe together since both the kids have been put to bed. Then they have their own intimate moment with her washing and massaging his scalp and stuff lol just something really fluffy I thought of
THIS IS SO SWEET OMG ❤️❤️❤️.
And the perfect chance for them to makeup 👀
A bit long ❤️ Hope you like 🥹.
Sudsy hands gently massaged Benjamin's head, his little feet splashing water, reacting with an uneven toothy grin whenever you cooed him. You kneeled by the enormous bathtub as you bathed him.
His rubber raccoon floating next to him along some other toys. Long lashes twinkled with the warm water, chubby and full cheeks moved as your baby babbled.
"Oh, I like the soapy water too, specially when it's warm." You rinsed his head carefully removing the baby scented shampoo from his head.
"There you go" You wrapped him in a raccoon themed towel, a matching set you had gotten in the baby apparel section at the super. You dried him well, put on a diaper and some comfy pjs.
You heard Miguel's heavy steps on the bathroom, preparing the tub for his use as you put little Benjamin to sleep and kissed him goodnight. You checked on Gabriela and kissed her forehead before tucking her in the sheets and closed her window.
Kids were asleep, and you only had one space to go back to. Hesitant steps made you approach your room that for some reason had turned into a silent battlefield. Ever since the fight, the tension between you and Miguel had only strengthened; but were careful enough to be a subtle as possible about it, the least you two understood much was that your children were definitely staying out of whatever was brewing.
You closed the door as you rummaged through your drawer of pjs, looking for one to change into. He passed next to you, grabbing a towel but stopped in his haste. You were tiny next to him, but with the current state of your emotions, you felt away. Away from his touch, away from his warmth, away from him.
He hated himself for creating this rift between you, but loathed even more the fact that you were giving him space. Being at odds with you didn't sit right in his chest. And the three days you had spent away from echother, yet in the same bed, made his heart to beat painfully. He'd never forget the way you were tucked on your side, wiping tears, shielding from whatever word he was about to spill. He didn't sleep that night.
He felt your body stirring awake around seven, ready to prepare Benjamin's bottles and wake Gabriela up for school.
His massive back faced you as you said your good mornings. There was no kisses on his cheeks to wake him up, No hug from behind and the nuzzle of your nose on his neck. None of your feathery eyelashes tickling the skin of his cheek. Just a meek and distant Good morning.
Gabriela was too busy with school to actually notice the awkward and forced interactions between you two. And for once he was grateful that Benjamin was... well. A baby.
Seeing him tense next to you made you recoil even more to your spot, not wanting to trigger another fight. His jaw clenched as his throat constricted. Even though you had said that you weren't afraid of him, your body language acted so cautiously around him. Wary to not make anything that would get him talking to you like the night you fought.
He didn't know who was to blame, his rising and brewing anger, or Alonzo. He sighed snd looked at you.
"Can... Can you" He trailed, unsure of his question, "Can you join me at the bathtub?" his voice gentle and careful.
The question threw you off guard, you stared at him for a couple of seconds and nodded.
He threw a couple of lavender bath bombs, your favorites, in the bathtub as the foam bubbles were rising. You removed your clothes and wrapped yourself in a towel. You were the first one in getting in. He joined you a couple of minutes later. You were across him, the foam almost engulfing you as he sat in front of you.
The warmth of the water made your tense muscles to relax slightly. His hand caressed your forearm and pulled you closer to him. Face to face as some water splashed on the floor. He was warmer than the water, a touch you had longed for the past three days.
Tears welled up in your already glossy eyes, he cupped your face and wiped out your eyes.
"Im sorry." His forehead colliding softly against yours, breath fanning over your lips.
"I just... What is going on, Miguel? Have... I done something-"
"No. no. Far from that. I've been an idiot. Me he comportado como un completo imbécil y en el proceso te lastimé. También a Gabi." (I've been an ass and I hurted you and Gabi in the process.)
You didn't have to know spanish at full to know he was admitting his mistakes.
"Im just worried, Miguel. I don't know what is bothering you or where this anger comes from, but... seeing you punching that man-"
"Scared you?"
"A bit. Yeah."
He casted his gaze down, shame washing over him.
"It's... so much going on that, seeing that man touching you was the last straw. My job is transferring me to another unit without consulting me, the house renovations are surely taking a good chunk of the savings, and... Gabriel is just... he barely talks to me anyways."
You grabbed a washcloth and soaked in showel gel, then began gently lathering up his torso with it, as if washing away his worries.
"Maybe he is just busy, you both have demanding jobs."
"I don't feel like I'm doing a good job as a husband and a father." he blurted
You nearly gasped at his confession, and cupped his face, conveying all your love with a single touch.
"Mostly of the time I come home you're ready to put Benjamin on his crib, Gabriela is too tired to play and... you." You shook his head and kissed him.
"No. Don't say that, please." you broken voice made his eyes snap at you.
"Gabriela and Benjamin love you. So do I. Is because you work so hard we try our parts as well. We try making things easier on you because I know it's hard."
"Still isn't an excuse to hurt you and my daughter."
"All I am asking is for you to tell me when something is bothering you. We are a team, Miguel." Your hands made him look at you, and you kissed him softly.
"I am here. I am your wife. We are a team. We don't do things solo anymore okay?"
He took your hand and kissed it, then twirled you around so your back was resting against his broad chest. His frame engulfing you.His arms securing you as his lips kissed your side of the head.
"I hate when we fight."
"Hm. Same." you nodded as your fingers entwined with his.
"I promise to do better. To communicate more."
He grabbed the washcloth and gently washed your arm to then kiss your neck
"Can't lose you over stupid shit."
"You won't. I love you too much to give you up so easily." His hands gently caked a bit of your rose scented shampoo on your head, dexterous fingers massaging your scalp with devotion. His chest finally got rid of that constricting and choking feeling.
"Still, I'm sorry."
"I accept your apologies. I'm sorry too. Should have talked to you sooner instead of just... letting this to grow bigger."
He nipped at your earlobe and kissed your cheek, peppering it in affection.
"We good?"
"Only if you massage my shoulders." he chuckled at your petition and squeezed you tighter against him.
"Te amo, chaparrita." (I love you, little one.)
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Note
AITA for telling my friends i love them?
okay, hear me out before writing this off as fake or “trying to make the other party look bad”. i promise this is a genuine problem i need to have figured out.
i (20) am autistic so i have a hard time telling when i do something wrong, and it’s difficult for me to make friends. however, i was part of an online friend group for ~3-4 years. i was the oldest and the others (17-19) all knew each other irl, so it felt a little awkward (to me) for me to be there, but i considered them my closest friends and my only safe space to be myself.
in the time we were friends, i made some mistakes, some of which i’d rather not get into for personal reasons. but recently the group decided they didn’t want me there anymore, so i was kicked from the discord server and they all blocked me. i was sent a long message about why, and that’s where my confusion starts.
in the message, they brought up some things that didn’t make sense to me as a “bad” thing.
1. they said i’d talked to them about drugs and alcohol “while [they] were still minors”, which is true, but misleading when it’s just said like that. what i actually did was infodump about safe use, because it happened to be one of my fixations at the time, and sometimes mention being high in my channel, but nothing more than that. as for them being minors, some were 17 and some were 18, so it’s really not that different to having DARE come and talk to you about drugs, at least in my eyes. i never encouraged them to use, i never told them to use, and i never gave them resources to use. i only talked about safe use.
2. this is where my title comes in. they told me i was guilttripping and manipulating them by talking about them being my “longest friends” and telling them i loved them. point blank, nothing more to it, that’s what they said. along with that was an added “we know that’s not how you meant it but the effect was there”. this is what i don’t understand and why i need to know if i’m actually a bad person for this or not. yes, i’d talk about them being my longest friends, because i was grateful they had stuck around so long. i’d tell them i loved them just off the bat, whenever i wanted to tell them. it was never about guilttripping or manipulating them, it was always about wanting to show that i appreciated them.
3. this one is a hard one i think. they said that i’d “never disproven [my] ex’s accusations”. i don’t really want to get into what happened which my ex since i know i made mistakes in that relationship, but what’s important to note here is that i had sent my ex’s accusations to one member of the group who’d then sent me a text telling me that they believed i was different now.
this is the text copy-pasted:
“it's definitely a rough situation. but since i know *y'all*, i definitely believe your side. not to mention, you acknowledged your mistakes and the things you did. and i think for all the statements they made about "they knew we had [this traumal", they should've had proof of y'all discussing that. like i can say my girlfriend knows i have body image issues, but i could totally be pulling that out of my ass, you can't just take my word for it. they can't just say things without proof, especially if the things they say could *ruin* y'all's life.”
but in the message as to why i was no longer in the group, they said that actually they didn’t believe me at all, which completely contradicts that text.
and yeah, that’s my explanation of the situation. i genuinely don’t know if i’m the asshole or not, and i’ve been beating myself up about it. this whole situation has made my trust in friends go down, especially since i trusted that group with everything about me. any advice is welcome too.
thank you for listening. have a great day. :)
What are these acronyms?
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mnnacts · 1 year
Text
send 🖤 and my character will answer about yours.
attractiveness:
repulsive / hideous / ugly / not attractive / unappealing / not unattractive / meh / no preference / ok / mildly attractive / nice looking / cute / adorable / attractive / pleasant on the eyes / good looking / hot / sexy / beautiful / gorgeous / hot damn / would tap that / perfect / godlike / holy fuck there are no words.
personality:
grating / irritating / frustrating / boring / confusing at best / awkward / unreasonable / psychotic / disturbing / interesting / engaging / affectionate / aggressive / ambitious / anxious / artistic / bad tempered / bossy / charismatic / appealing / unappealing / creative / courageous / dependable / unreliable / unpredictable / predictable / devious / dim / extroverted / introverted / egotistical / gregarious / fabulous / impulsive / intelligent / sympathetic / talkative / up beat / peaceful / calming / badass / flexible.
how likely they would have sex with them:
not if they were the last person on earth and the world was ending / fuck no! / never / no way / not likely / not sure / indifferent / I’m asexual / maybe / probably / it depends / fairly likely / likely / yeah sure / yes / would tap that / hell yes / fuck yes! / wishing that could happen right now / as many times as possible / we are already having sex.
level of friendship:
never in a million years / worst of enemies / enemies / rivals / indifferent / neutral / acquaintance / friendly toward each other / casual friends / friends / good friends / best friends / fuck buddies / bosom buddies / practically the same person / would die for them / true friends / my only friend.
first impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
current impression of them:
i hate them so much / i don’t like them / i don’t trust them / they annoy me / they’re weird / I’m indifferent / meh / they seem alright / they’re growing on me / truce / I think I like them / I like them / I’m not sure if I trust them / I trust them / they’re cool / they’re genuine / I think we’re going to get along / I really like them / I think I’m in love / oh fuck they’re hot / I love them.
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fayes-fics · 11 days
Text
Reprisal
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Turnabout is fair play. Sequel to Acting Up.
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Warnings: smut, 18+, minors dni, exhibitionism, semi-public blowjob, deepthroat, swallowing, brief d/s dynamics, brief mention of window sex.
Word Count: 2.5k
Author's Note: So, I was in the mood to write a filthy blowjob fic, and this has been sitting in my drafts for more than a year. It was inspired by an ask from the lovely @queen-of-the-misfit-toys, so it is dedicated to them. Unbetaed. Enjoy! <3
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Your toes tingle from crouching in the same awkward position for what feels like the last… eternity. But revenge is a dish best served not so much cold, as when least expected.
You hear him warmly greet all his guests out in the hallway, then beckon them towards the dining room. He sits at the head of the table, just a few inches in front of you. All is unfolding exactly as you expect so far. 
You are so very grateful no one kicks you as they take their places, the convivial buzz of conversation muffled under the thick drape of tablecloth fabric. You shift slightly to get more comfortable, knowing you must wait patiently a while longer; your window of opportunity will arise after their light two-course supper.
Just two weeks ago, your husband had mercilessly made you orgasm silently in front of his entire family as he fingered you to oblivion at dinner. It is now his turn. 
As Smith serves the men dessert, you place a firm hand on Benedict’sknee when you hear him complete a sentence, and his whole leg jolts. It’s the only forewarning you give him before running both hands heavily up over his muscular thighs and grabbing for his resting cock. You feel both his legs jerk, and a hand grabs your wrist forcefully. Next to you, a spoon clatters loudly to the floor, smattering a streak of blackcurrant across the pristine oak floor.
“Butterfingers!” He jests. 
Suddenly, his face appears under the drape of cloth and morphs into one of surprise as he sees you. With a raised eyebrow, you shove a little note into his hand, you came prepared.
Do not give anything away. Now we shall see how well you play this game, my love.
You watch him quickly scan the note, and then his eyes cut back to you, trepidation, challenge, and adoration—a beguiling cocktail. Realising if he stays under too long, his guests will suspect something; he straightens but not before a loving touch to your chin.
“Could not find the blasted thing,” he jokes in explanation. “Smith, please, could you bring me a new spoon?”
As soon as the conversation begins again, you reach to squeeze him again, and he helpfully pushes forward in his chair and splays his legs wider. 
Well played, darling.
You can feel a burgeoning swelling there, and you reach for the buttons at his hip, wanting to dive right in. As soon as you peel open the front of his trousers, his cock springs free, already half-erect. The fact he never seems to wear underwear makes you smirk—your wonderful bohemian whore of a husband. 
You wrap a hand around him, and you can tell from the way his hips surge how much he appreciates it. Slowly, teasingly, you strengthen your grip. He probably suspects you will just use your hands, as he did to you. You cannot wait to see how he will react when you use your mouth on him. You intend to suck him deep and hard, not wanting to be bettered in this game of one-upmanship. 
You shuffle forward, and a hand reaches under the table to pat your shoulder affectionately. 
Without preamble, you suckle his tip into your mouth and feel his whole body tense in surprise, his thigh muscles tensing, and his fingers dig into your shoulder reflexively. Smirking to yourself, you swirl your tongue around his head as his hand travels along the top of your shoulder to cup the side of your neck, his thumb swiping a few tender strokes just under your ear. 
You feel the vibration through his body as he talks, calling upon his friend to regale everyone with tales from his recent travels. “Spare no details!” he appends with an accommodating chuckle, relaxing into his chair and pushing his hips towards you, sliding deeper into your mouth as he does. 
You appreciate his smarts for that decision - he can appear to be listening intently as a gracious host but not having to lead any conversation. 
Taking a deep breath, you sink, taking half of his cock into your mouth, revelling in the contours as they pass through your lips and the twitch of his fingers in the hair behind your ear, his warm palm cupping your jaw. So you push a little lower, as far as you can, without fear of making a noise - you do not want to give anything away by choking yourself on him, as you love to do—that will have to wait for another time, in private. This is more of a challenge for him than anything.
You still, to let him feel the heat of your mouth, enticingly dabbing your tongue over his length, before pulling up and concentrating on his sensitive head, sucking on his frenulum and letting his foreskin roll between your lips, a slight twisting action to your movements that you know he loves. He coughs, causing his cock to jerk into the roof of your mouth, his fingers sliding tentatively around the back of your head as if planning to direct your movements.
No, no, I decide what happens here, dearest.
You grab his hand away and hold it on his thigh instead, lacing your fingers with his as you lower again, his fingertips curling between your knuckles, telling you exactly how much he is enjoying this, even as he remains mostly silent and still, his friend still holding court around the table above.
“I did miss my wife, though,” the man ripostes as his story ends. “Her womanly delights were a wonderful homecoming.” 
There is a bawdy round of laughter at that.
“And what of you, Bridgerton?’ you hear one ask as you change your motion, his tip glancing the back of your mouth with each deep pull.
“What of me?” his voice a touch rough.
“You are not long married. How is that sweet, innocent, young thing?” the same man continues.
You have to tamp the urge to giggle at the irony of being called innocent while kneeling between your husband's splayed legs, mere inches from his unsuspecting friends, sucking his cock so thoroughly that your jaw aches deliciously.
If only they knew…
“She is a wonder, and I love her more than life itself,” Benedict praises after clearing his throat. A warmth blooms behind your ribs as his sweet words, such a contradiction to the utter debauchery of your actions at this very moment.
“Spoken like a true poet,” another man mocks affably. “Come now, we speak of earthier matters tonight, Bridgerton. There are no such delicate ears to overhear after all.”
You want to roll your eyes at their prurient line of talk. Even as you slide up and down on Benedict’s cock, moving faster now, wanting to truly put him to the test, as he did you, something in the way he tilts his hips fractionally tells you all your need to know.
“As I said, my wife is a wonder,” he repeats with finality, gritting his teeth. 
To his friends, it likely seems he is attempting to arrest the topic out of decorum, not the fact he is struggling with composure, which you can detect from the tinge of desperation, the twitch in his legs, the harsh grip of his hand on yours. 
As talk moves on to gambling around the table, the volume increases as the men splinter into side conversations, an opportune moment for you to be a touch daring. Sinking to his root, allowing his solid, hot tip to plug your throat, emitting a tiny moan as you do, buzzing into his pelvis. Benedict’s entire body stiffens, and you feel a crest of victory as he fights not to make a noise; his body at war, wanting to thrust, to grab, to do anything but sit still and take it.
Tougher than it looks, is it not, darling husband?
You want to chuckle, but your mouth is too full of him, a salty bead of precum trickling down your throat as you ease off to allow him a moment of reprieve and yourself a deep, calming breath. Tilting your head sideways and running suckling kisses over the underside of his cock, all the way to his sac that you lap as your other hand wraps around his tip and gives soft teasing squeezes.
His hand untangles from yours on his leg and wraps around your other hand, attempting to halt your motions, silently asking for clemency which you ignore, batting him away. He gave you no such accommodation in front of his own mother, no less.
But you take pity and decide not to string it out for much longer, his friends loud now the wine bottles are empty, one beginning to sing tunelessly, and another joining in a few bars later. Using both of your hands wound around his lower shaft, constricting in a wave motion, and your mouth sucking forcefully on his head. Encourage him to break, to come, wanting that taste to flood your mouth, a heavy throbbing sensation between your legs that is your arousal. You will need him to fuck you ruthlessly once his entertaining duties are over. Perhaps facedown right over this very table or, preferably, in your bedroom window, your nipples pebbled against the cool glass as he takes you roughly from behind, kneeling on the bench seat… the exhibitionist streak that he provokes in you flaring.
The images tumbling through your mind have you feral, sucking ferociously, pushing his thighs out wider to allow yourself greater access, crowding into him, knowing that with the level of noise in the room now, you can make some sound yourself. The back of your head glancing the underside of the table as you bob rapidly, moaning lightly, drooling on the length of his cock, your saliva pooling into his trousers as you mercilessly rise and sink, breathing heavily through your nose. You sense the tension in his legs, his vice-like grip on the table edge, every cell of his being in pure ecstasy and the agony of not being able to show it. He is usually so very vocal and lavish in his praise when you do this. 
“Come for me, my love, give it to me.” you gargle around him, his legs dancing now in a staccato quake.
Even if he cannot decipher your words, he can feel the echo over his velvet skin, and suddenly, both of his hands dive under the table and grip around your ears, finger grasping your scalp. Pushing you deep onto his cock, his whole being seeming to curl around you, his knees lifting high near your shoulders as you feel his sac tighten against your chin, a strong ripple between your lips and then a salty wave in your mouth as he comes hard.
“Are you alright, Bridgerton?” a concerned voice rings out as you swallow victoriously, then slackening your mouth to allow him to slip out, moving to lick him clean as he quivers under your tender ministrations.
“Sorry, gentleman,” his voice is ragged, harsh. “I felt a wave of nausea; perhaps a lunch of venison and oysters was not advisable. But do not fear, I'm sure it was a fleeting moment of discomfort,” he lies to cover his actions, holding one hand up in a reassuring gesture as his other hand strokes your cheek, your face resting upon his clothed thigh, leaning into his doting fingers, akin to a cat. “However, perhaps it is time we sojourned to the parlour,” he announces as you carefully rebutton his trousers. “‘Tis where I keep my best liquors, after all!!” 
You hear a rousing call of agreement, all around the sound of chairs scraping as they stand and drift towards the exit.
“I will be there, anon, gentlemen; I must speak to my valet first,” Benedict fibs, shifting in his seat but not standing.
As the chorus of voices fades, he pushes out his chair and holds up the tablecloth, staring at you slack-jawed.
“At a loss for words, husband?” you smirk, raising a coquettish eyebrow as he assists you in crawling out from under the table.
“The most delightful revenge, darling wife…” he responds, his eyes glittering. “But the use of your mouth is an escalation. I rather think a declaration of war, not a mere battle.” The very beguiling threat of more challenges to come makes your stomach flip in anticipation.
‘“Promises promises…Sir,” you goad with a wink, dusting off your dress and standing up, hoping the invocation of his play title will spark something in him.
A warm hand clamps firmly around the nape of your neck, making you gasp excitedly.
“Insolence does not go unpunished, little one,” he warns lowly. 
There it is.
“Yes, Sir,” your stance instantly submissive, swaying into him. “Perhaps, you could fuck me against our bedroom window later? So the world can see to whom I belong?”
He growls softly, and his nostrils flare as he crowds into you. “That can certainly be arranged.”
“I look forward to it, Sir.” you smile, always enjoying when he behaves domineering. 
However, with a wink, his grip releases, his mien turning gentler, nuzzling your cheek.
“I am quite the luckiest man alive. I love you, darling,” he breathes.
“And I you, husband. Now, go entertain your guests. I will see you later,” you offer, kissing his jaw as you drift towards the door, wrapped in each other's arms.
“I’d rather retire to our bedchamber with you,” he sighs wistfully into your temple.
“I shall be there waiting for you,” you vow. “Naked, except for the jewels you have given me. Thinking of you. Touching myself…” you paint a vivid picture to tempt and tease him.
You squeal as he suddenly picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, striding purposefully into the hallway, the sounds of the men in the room across the hall unmistakable.
“Smith,” Benedict addresses the man standing dutifully by the front door. “Please tell my guests they are welcome to stay but that I was, in fact, mistaken. I have taken indeed ill with a dreaded stomach bug and must retire from their company immediately,” he pronounces. 
You laugh at his lie, and he slaps your bottom for good measure.
“Will that be all, sir?” His trusty valet replies, tone world-weary.
“Please escort them out the rear entrance when they are done carousing and arrange for their carriages to pick them up in the mews. I do not wish the neighbours to witness their drunken behaviour,” he rejoinders as he begins to climb the stairs with you still dangling over his shoulder. 
Giggling, you wave to Smith as you go, who merely raises three fingers dryly in recognition—he has walked in upon you fucking you in every room of the house since your marriage; this is decidedly mundane.
And as Benedict fulfils your request sometime later - pounding into you so hard that the window rattles in its frame, you clinging to the wooden sash as you stare out across the treetops of the handsome square - you cannot help but wonder if the request to send his friends home another way was not entirely for your benefit.
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baldurs-gape · 28 days
Text
Worry Worms
A little shared fact about the party was that the worms were in communication with each other. Even with the Emperor's protection, the group were bound in a way, their worms connected to each other. Sometimes it was awkward, other times funny and sometimes frustrating. Yet the worst were the moments where flashes of the past and the pain it held flashed through the group.
The first signs of a shared existence were the pang of hunger. It wasn't obvious to start with, everyone migrated to the supply packs for snacks and ate with more gusto. Yet the hunger was left unsated. Bickering turned to annoyed disagreements and huffy sulks. Lae'zel refused to even look at Shadowheart over the simple fact that the berries they'd had stashed away were now mixed with nuts.
"Perhaps we ought to ask Astarion to feed?" Wyll muttered to Karlach quietly. "It's driving me insane."
"Urgh, yes. I can't eat another mouthful but I'm still starving. Is this what being a vampire is like?"
"Like what?" Astarion sauntered up to them, thumb rubbing at the corner of his mouth as though wiping away the last dribbles of blood after feeding.
An awkward silence held them all in suspense until Wyll cleared his throat. "This hunger. Is this your day to day experience?"
Of all the thing they expected, an honest laugh was not on the list. Astarion wasn't even mocking them, he was genuinely tickled by the question.
"Darling, this hunger isn't mine. It has been dogging me as much as you by the sounds of it."
Which just left one real suspect. The one who had been most graceful at handling the sudden affliction. That evening Gale sheepishly admitted to his affliction. Once he'd consumed a locket, the hunger faded from all their minds.
If only things could be as simple. For a while it seemed like it was. The weather was gorgeous, sun bright and hot. It burned fiercely as they wandered along their path. Armour was slowly stripped, so were clothes where possible. Any stream they crossed, most of them dipped into it with sighs of relief.
"It's hot as the hells themselves." Wyll was neck deep in a clear pool, eyes closed and head tipped back.
Looking around at the various states of undress and sweatiness, Karlach gnawed at her bottom lip.
"Literally. The old engine's been getting a bit too much. My bad."
"This is your doing?" Astarion whirled to look at her. "I haven't felt like this in two hundred years!" Despite not sweating like the others, his hair looked a little lacklustre and flat compared to its usual near-perfection.
"As I said-"
"Don't. I've missed this. Don't change."
Karlach's mouth snapped shut as she nodded and made a mental note to maybe linger closer to Astarion on nights where he looked more cold and alone.
Their adventures carried on. They bore the shared echoes of neck pain and head aches as Wyll got used to his new horns. Gale's mage hand was perfect to for those who preferred not to be touched and Karlach was more than happy to put her rather warm hands to good use too. Given her own horn, she was all too familiar with what muscles could cramp and hurt. Wyll was especially grateful for such knowledge.
Along the way they collected Halsin who was more than happy to tag along on the quest. Nobody was tactless enough to mention how he and Astarion gravitated towards each other, circling in tighter and tigther circles. They all pretended to believe Halsin's reasons were purely altruistic and maybe with a small amount of desire to learn. Nor did anyone mention that Astarion's tent had a tendency to be set up and then abandoned as he spent nights in Halsin's. It was a small comfort and they all knew they needed as much of that as they could get.
Nights tended to be rather monotonous. Once dinner had been eaten, they all drifted off to their respective tents for rest. Sleep came easy enough, so did the nightmares. Flashes of pain and terror. Revulsion and depseration. Hopelessness that hollowed out everything which was only filled by fear tamped rage. Lae'zel was the first to wake, cursing Shar and all she made her followers endure. Determined to wake Shadowheart, she left her tent. Only, Shadowheart was already by the dwindling fire, haggard and scratching at her back.
"Is this not the doing of your goddess?"
"She's much more thorough in taking the memories." The disdain in Shadowheart's voice was a blanket to hide her own discomfort. While awake, the flashes from the worm were no less distressing but the light of the fire helped a little.
"So who-"
Gale stumbled out of his tent and retched as a particularly sordid kind of pain echoed through them all. They all shivered in unison at it.
"We need to wake him." Even as he spoke, the worm allowed more memories to play out in their minds. "He wouldn't want us to know this."
"I don't want to know this," Karlach's voice joined. Next to her, Wyll looked harrowed.
As one they traipsed to the edge of camp where Halsin's tent had been set up. He was dozing, curled around Astarion with a smile on his lips.
"Hush, he's finally trancing." Warm pride made Halsin's words drip with affection. "Said he'd not done it since before being turned."
"With good reason. Wake him up." Wyll winced as new pains from relieved memories curled through him.
Resisting, Halsin watched the group and pulled Astarion into a protective embrace. The broke 'please' from Gale was what did it in the end.
It didn't take much more than a gentle brush of lips to his forehead and Astarion blinked awake. His worm silenced but not before a flash of panic could be felt by all as he stared up at the gathered group.
"I know I'm in high demand, but could we keep it to one or two at a time so I can make sure you all have a good time?"
If only it had been a joke. Before it would have been taken as one. Now though, the truth of his fawning in face of fear was all too easy to see.
"We just-" Gale seemed at a loss for words.
"They wanted to wish you a good night," Halsin helped out, even though he still wasn't quite sure what was going on. "And to make sure you're okay."
Tight blankness smoothed out Astarion's expression. He knew the others saw the memories his trance he brought to life. "Was I-" breaking off, he steeled himself, "Did I make noise to wake you all?"
"You were very peaceful, little heart." Halsin smiled at him and tucked him back against his chest. "Rest some more. I'm sure the rest of this conversation can wait until the morning."
Dismissed, the others filed out of the tent. They didn't sleep easy, kept up by the nightmare fuel of what they'd seen. At least Astarion didn't trance again so no more memories bled through into their shared connection. Come morning, nobody said anything. But if they were a little more gentle with Astarion after that, that was their own business and nobody else's.
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shoulmate · 8 months
Text
"Hey!" Iwaizumi's smile is more relaxed than you remembered. "It's so good to see you."
His greeting is warmer than you expected; he wraps you in a hug.
"How long has it been, now?" he asks as you pull apart and you shrug.
"I don't know...a century?" you sardonically offer with a wry smile and Iwaizumi grins.
It's unfair, you think, how well your old classmates have aged
"Certainly feels like it." He gestures between your matching jackets. "Athletic trainer?"
"Yupp. What team are you working for?"
"Men's volleyball." He grins as you appraise him with approval. "You?"
"Soccer," you answer. Your voice must have betrayed some of your feelings for the team because Iwaizumi chuckles.
"They must be really good, then?"
"Tch." You roll your eyes. "They're annoyingly good."
"Yeah..." He smiles fondly at you, eyes swimming with nostalgia. "You were always most annoyed by those with the most talent."
"You're making it sound like I was jealous," you childishly retort with narrowed eyes and Iwaizumi laughs again.
"And you weren't?"
"No!" you deny, horrified. "It was just the most talented people I knew back then were the ones who were getting hurt."
Grinning Iwaizumi says "you mean Oikawa?" and immediately stiffens.
It only took a fraction of a second for the name to painfully streak through you and Iwaizumi sees it written all over your face:
the wound is still raw.
He clears his throat and your eyes fall away, your expression becoming guarded. "I, uh...I'm sorry. I didn't think--"
"It's okay," you force a painful smile. "To be honest, it's been so long I didn't think it would still bother me."
"But...?" Iwaizumi prompts.
Your face pinches as you try to contain your feelings and you only shrug. "I should go," you whisper hoarsely and Iwaizumi reaches to stop you.
"Wait. Can we...I don't know...catch up sometime?"
"I don't know," you admit, straining to hold back your feelings. "Things are really busy right now."
"I know. But maybe after...?"
"I don't know, Iwa. We'll see." You give a stiff wave and quickly walk off, overwhelmed.
~
That interaction lingers in the back of Iwaizumi's mind for the rest of the Olympics.
Partly in concern for you; the way your face looked as you rushed off.
Mostly in guilt because he hadn't expected you to react so strongly. And--if some part of him maybe had expected you to react at all and maybe he subconsciously slipped in Oikawa's name to needle that reaction out of you--he wouldn't have expected you to react like that.
It makes him worry about how you've been, what you went through after you told Irihata about Oikawa's injury and left the team.
What you've been through ever since.
So when he shakes Oikawa's hand and his eyes flick down to the gold medal hanging proudly around his neck
he can't help himself.
"I hope you know who you owe this to."
Oikawa's brow lifts, shrewd brown gaze surmising his best friend before he smirks. "I didn't think you were the imperious type, Iwa-chan."
Iwaizumi levels him with a flat look as he says your name, reveling in Oikawa's shock and sudden discomfort before they're jostled apart to move the ceremonies along.
~
Usually the neediness of your team would be driving you insane but right now after that painful and awkward interaction of bumping into Iwaizumi
you're grateful.
There's no room for thinking about anything else right now. And it only gets busier as the team makes it to the finals. Japan lost to Argentina on the volleyball court just a few days ago and as the two countries prepare to face-off on the pitch the press goes wild.
Your athletes are used to the publicity after their time in BLUELOCK but you're not.
It's a hassle trying to elbow your way into the stadium--why are they bothering you anyway--with music blaring in your headphones so you can ignore everyone.
Including your team.
You weren't intending on ignoring them for the whole day just this small window of time so you could catch your breath before the team and the game and the crazed atmosphere swallows you whole but of course someone's already here.
Itoshi Sae is leaning against your office door. Expression as unreadable as ever you attempt to shoo him without taking out your headphones but he plucks one out anyway, ignoring your scowl.
"Good morning," you say through gritted teeth. "Can I at least get into my office before you start harassing me?"
Without retort he offers you his phone; your brow angrily furrows.
"I don't speak spanish, Sae." You don't bother trying to hide your glower of irritation; it doesn't bother him. "Why are you showing this to me?"
"Because it's about you." He rolls his eyes, enlarging the caption under the video nestled in the article and your head spins.
It's your name.
"Wh-Why?" you croak.
"Some Argentinian volleyball player was interviewed, said he owed his entire life and career to you from some incident in high school, and the only reason I saw this is because it was referenced in anticipation of the game today."
"Ugh, great," you sneer. "That must've been why reporters tried swarming me on my way in."
Sae cocks an eyebrow. "What else had you thought?"
"I thought they were here for all of you," you say with unfiltered snark. "Naturally."
"Naturally." Sae's eyes land on you again after they roll. "So?"
"So what?" you bite back and gesture to your office and offer his phone back. "Can I get to work now or is there something else you need from me?"
"Nope. Just try to remember which country you sit with." Sae's eyes are cold and cruel as he snatches the device out of your hands.
"Aww don't worry about that, Sae," you hum with a savage smile back, "I wouldn't miss out on my pitch-side seat to watch you put the mid in mid-fielder."
Sae's expression cracks for the first time with a quick flash of anger. He says "fuck you" as he straightens up.
"Maybe if you ask nicely," you venomously simper, sliding your keys into the lock.
"Nah," Same murmurs leaning in too close, "I'll just buy you a few cheap cocktails--"
slap
Sae's face whips to the side but the cursed monster stays in place; he rubs his cheek turning back to sneer at you. "Grow up. Don't you get tired of bitch-slapping people?"
"I don't know. Don't you get tired of acting like a bitch?" you ask rhetorically and slam your office door in his face before he can respond.
You don't get to put anything down before you're sliding to the floor against the door and you put your head between your knees.
Dark drips stain the floor as the years catch up and tears spill over.
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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months
Text
Keith is acting suspicious.
Lance is sure of it. Beyond his usual shiftiness, his awkwardness, his tendency towards privacy. Lance knows his boyfriend, and he knows him well, and as such he knows enough to realise that his boyfriend is acting fuckin’ dubious.
Lance is going to snoop. (Yeah, yeah, ethical schmethical. Snooping fosters distrust in relationships and makes things tense blah blah blah. Lance recognises that. He also grew up with fucking Hunk Garrett and His Entire Family, so he also recognises that snooping is simply the best way to gather information. Fair’s fair.)
He waits until his boyfriend’s snores start to kick up, making the bedroom sound like an illegal motorized lawnmower race, and then carefully starts scooching out of his arms.
It takes a while — Keith likes to hold him. (Lance has to take a moment to calm himself down after the thought, lest he start to giggle giddily to himself, reminded that Keith loves him so much that at his most unguarded, his first instinct is to crush Lance in his arms. It’s exhilarating.) But slowly and steadily he manages to slide out of the arms around his waist, filling the newly hollow space with a pillow, and tumbles to the floor. He takes a moment, crossing his legs and sitting next to the bed, to look up at Keith, at the ratty mess of his bedhead and wide open snoring mouth and the tank top skewed across his torso, the hickeys Lance left all across his chest and collarbones peeking out.
“You are such a shit,” he whispers fondly. “I love you so bad it makes me want to, like, bite you or something. You make me weird.”
He watches Keith’s chest rise and fall until his legs fall asleep, wherein he flops onto the hardwood, wiggling his legs through the pins and needles and screeching silently into his arm (worst feeling in the WORLD) until his legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, and then he inches himself towards the right corner of the room like an inchworm.
(It’s three in the morning. No one is awake to judge him to give him shit or laugh at him or anything. He can do what he likes.)
He pulls himself up to his knees when he finally makes it to the corner, loosening his shoulders in preparation. The room is dark, so it’ll be a challenge, but this is not the first time he’s done this. Hell, it isn’t even the fiftieth. He’s a nosy person. He could do this in his sleep, probably, so in the dark is no problem.
As slowly as he can manage, to make sure it’s silent, he pries off the metal grate covering of the air vent, setting it down gently beside him. Laying down on his stomach again to get a better angle, he reaches down into the wide tube, following the curve of the cool metal, arm buried up to his shoulder, until he’s reached as far as he physically can. He carefully starts brushing his hands along the air vent, searching, feeling. It shouldn’t be too far down since his arms are way longer than Keith’s (Lance enjoys calling him T-Rex, which Keith hates and literally everyone else who knows them loves. It’s great).
Finally, his fingers brush on something small, compact, sturdy, and soft. He wraps his fist around it and slowly drags it out of the vent, keeping it in his fist as he crawls out of the bedroom and down the hall, somersaulting into the kitchen. He heads over to the fridge, figuring that if he uses the fridge light and Keith walks in, he can just pretend he’s getting a snack or something, shoving the thing he found into his pants. Keith’ll be too out of it to question it, anyway.
Laughing quietly and evilly to himself as he pulls open the fridge door, he brings his closed fist up to the light, examining the treasure he found. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light, to take in what’s in front of him.
He gasps sharply when he processes, and the treasure slips out of his hands, clattering loudly to the floor.
He freezes immediately, listening for the telltale signs of his boyfriend snorting awake, noticing Lance’s side of the bed is empty, then the sound of his footsteps as he comes to look for him.
But, fortunately, there’s nothing. The only thing Lance hears are Keith’s continued snores.
Rapidly, Lance scoops up the box and brings it back to the light. It’s unmistakable — there’s only one thing that houses in a small hinged velvet box. It explains the shiftiness over the last few weeks, too, the nervousness that Keith has been disgusting as mysterious intrigue.
Keith is going to propose. Keith is going to propose!
Smiling so widely his face hurts, Lance flicks open the box, bringing his face closer to carefully inspect the ring inside.
It’s difficult to see in the dull blue light of the fridge, but Lance starts to cry when he sees it, because he recognises this ring. This is Keith’s dad’s ring; old, heavy gold, classic princess cut diamond, simple and polished and elegant. This is the ring Keith often wears around his neck, although he rarely has as of late, for now obvious reasons. This is the ring Keith has carried with him for almost two decades. This is, without a doubt, Keith’s most prized Earthly possession, and his intent is to gift it to Lance, as a promise of his love and trust and faithfulness.
Lance has to sit down so he doesn’t pass out. He grabs a dishtowel on the way to the floor, pressing it to his face to muffle his absolutely wailing sobs, the most ugly crying he’s literally ever done in his life.
He’s so glad he snooped. If he had this reaction when Keith finally summoned the balls to ask him, his engagement photos would be so embarrassing.
He paused mid-sniffle.
Actually.
A little embarrassed of himself, he slides up his phone, holding the ring box up to his tear-swollen and smiling face to snap a picture. He looks like a mess, but it’s important to him to have a physical memory of the moment he first learned Keith planned to marry him. He’s sure he’ll cry more over it the next time he’s feeling sappy and emotional.
He doesn’t realise how long he sits, fridge wide open, back to the cabinet doors of the kitchen island, staring in awe at the ring, until his watch starts to beep.
“Fuck,” he curses, scrambling to his feet. It’s six o’clock. Keith’ll be up in fifteen minutes to go on his morning run, Lance has literally been mooning over his ring for two and a half hours.
He runs back to the bedroom, barely remembering at the last second time muffle his footsteps, shoving the ring back into the vent and pressing the grate back onto the hole. Keith stirs slightly at the noise, so Lance abandons any thought of whether or not the ring box is positioned back exactly where he found it and fuckin’ dives for the bed, reburying himself in his boyfriend’s arms and hoping he can pass it off as just having shifted around in his sleep or something. Apparently he squirms and kicks a lot (which is a lie that Keith perpetuates to take attention away from the severity of his snores), so it should be fine. Probably.
“Wh—L’nce?” Keith mumbles, stirring from behind him. He inhales deeply, arms pulling away from Lance’s and stretching out above him. Lance’s heart pounds. He forces himself to stay relaxed, to avoid squeezing his eyes shut. He prays that Keith doesn’t notice how sweaty he is.
Keith leans over to press a lingering kiss to his neck, then chuckles. Lance can feel the imprint of his smile on his skin, and tamping down his own reflexive smile is literally the hardest thing he has ever had to do in his entire life.
“You’re warm as hell,” Keith murmurs, dragging his lips down his neck, across his shoulders. His hand comes to rest in his hip, curling into the hollow there. “Betcha you were squrimin’ around in y’re sleep last night, ya worm. Betcha I’ve got bruises on my shins.” His shoulders, pressed against Lance’s back, shake with his laughter, because he is a shithead who is so lucky that Lance loves him. He presses one final kiss to Lance’s skin and then rolls out of bed. Lance listens carefully as he gets dressed in his jogging clothes and runs a brush through his hair. He falls half asleep listening to the familiar sounds, rousing slightly again when Keith ducks back in to kiss Lance’s head one last time before heading out.
Lance smiles as he falls asleep for real, after the sound of the front door opening and closing.
He’s gonna clown that dumbass so goddamn badly.
———
Lance has a love-hate relationship with pranks. On one hand, the one and only time he was sent into an asthma attack so bad he had to go to the hospital was after he and Hunk wrapped every single thing in Veronica’s room with aluminum foil while she was away on a trip, and upon seeing her reaction laughed so hard his lungs basically collapsed. He still can’t think of that without laughing. On the other hand, he’s had more than enough cruel pranks shoved his way, and never in his life wants anyone to feel humiliated because of something he did.
He can’t not prank Keith, though. He’s literally beat Keith to his own proposal. A prank is in order.
Usually, he’d call Hunk for something like that. They’ve been partners in crimes for most of their lives, after all. Pidge too, honestly. He knows they’d both get a kick out of this whole situation as well.
But…even if those dunderheads were capable of keeping their mouths shut, which they’re not, Lance kind of wants to…well, he wants to keep his proposal to himself. He likes being in on it. He likes being to only one in on it, actually. Honestly, the only thing he wants to do is brag to Keith that he knows, which defeats the whole purpose.
He straightens abruptly. A smirk spreads across his face.
He has an idea.
———
The first step is recon. He needs access to the ring, regularly and long-term, but all will be for naught if Keith realises it’s missing. He needs to know if Keith stashed the ring when he decided to propose and avoided thinking about it, or if he checks on it frequently and stresses himself out about when he’s finally going to go through with it. Both are very Keith options. In fact Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he somehow managed both at the same time, as impossible as that seems.
To get around the issue, Lance goes Spy Barbie. He waits until Keith goes out for his weekly coffee date with Shiro and Adam and then digs through his makeup kit, setting aside what he needs and sitting next to the air vent grate. He spends a good amount of time polishing the metal, making sure it’s as fresh and untouched as it was when it was first put in its package, and then he uses a wide end brush to apply a thin layer of highlighter to the white metal. He takes great care to ensure that no colour is visible, only a slight sheen if one were to look closely. And Keith doesn’t have any reason to look closely, and since Lance knows the universe loves him, he won’t.
The next step is waiting. Lance acts completely normally when Keith gets home, if a little giddy. Keith most certainly notices Lance’s giggles and affection and the way he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself, but he doesn’t seem to mind or question it. Lance does sometimes get like this, after all.
He scored a hot as hell boyfriend. He’s allowed to be a little awed sometimes. He doesn’t feel weird about it.
He does, however, mellow out in the next few days. Keith takes him to a car show, which is fucking wicked, and somehow manages to get himself and Lance behind the wheels of two 200 horsepower Mustangs for them to race, which is so exhilarating that Lance doesn’t have words for it. He just yells and jumps around about it a lot. He doesn’t actually manage to find words for a couple hours after he totally smokes Keith’s ass, but whatever. It’s cool. Keith tried his best and everything, Lance is sure.
A week later, when Keith is out on his coffee date again, Lance gets to work. He cuts a large square of parchment paper and covers it with clear packing tape, careful not to touch the sticky side, overlapping strips so they make one giant tape sheet.
Once the parchment sheet is covered, he peels off the tape, and as planned it comes off in one large sheet, slightly bigger than the air vent grate. Again careful to steer clear of the sticky part, he places the tape sheet sticky side down onto the grate, pressing down hard and rubbing to smooth it out completely flat. Once he’s sure it’s totally stuck down, he picks at one corner until it’s loose, then slowly and meticulously peels the whole sheet back. He holds the tape, now showcasing the concealer-print of the grate, up to the light, examining it with the utmost scrutiny.
Not one single fingerprint in sight. Keith has not touched the grate at all, hasn’t dug into his secret hiding spot. He is taking the refusing to think about it route, then.
Lance smirks. He reaches down and scoops up the ring, placing the grate back where it belongs and skipping out to the living room, humming jovially to himself.
Excellent.
———
The first picture Lance snaps, while biting his lip so hard to keep back his laughter it bleeds, is once again in the dead of night, two weeks after Lance first discovered the ring. Keith is sprawled out on his back this time, arms and legs askew, sheets tangled somewhere around his legs. Lance shifts so they’re both facing the same direction, then holds up his phone camera, trying to figure out how to artfully position himself for utmost devastation upon discovery. He decides eventually on a classic.
He heads over to the dresser to pick out his cutest pajamas, settling on the red spaghetti strap top with lace and short-shorts, debating on accessorizing and deciding at the last minute not to bother except for lip gloss, which is always appropriate. He climbs into bed next to Keith, gently laying his head on his chest and maneuvering one arm to wrap around Lance’s hips. The other he leaves flopped on top of the pillows. He leaves Keith’s mouth wide open because it’s funny, and goes the extra mile to mess up Keith’s hair worse than it already is, because that’s funnier. Finally he flicks open the ring case with his left hand and holds it to his face, grinning widely, and uses his right to snap a picture of the two of them. Once he’s satisfied with it, he untangles himself from the bed again, puts the ring away, presses a sticky lip gloss kiss to Keith’s cheek for funsies, and crawls back into bed for real. His sleep is sound as a baby’s.
———
The next photo doesn’t actually happen for another month. Lance fears overdoing it, and also kind of fears getting caught with the ring, so he leaves it in its hiding spot until the opportunity for another cheeky photo presents itself.
The opportunity in question arrives when Keith announces that he has arranged to drive down to the secluded beach that Lance took him too early in their relationship to spend the day. At first Lance thinks he’s proposing for real, and to check he waits until Keith has the car all packed up and ready to go and then pretends to run inside to go to the washroom. Instead he ducks into their room and tears into the air vent, grasping around until his fingers close around the box.
He scoffs to himself. Wimp.
He quickly shoves the box into his fanny pack (fanny packs are COOL and CONVENIENT and Lance will not hear a word of controversy on the subject, they are absolutely nothing like Keith’s dweeb utility belt) and sprints back to the car. When Keith asks him why he’s smirking, Lance manages to convince him that he’s just excited for the beach.
Lance should have been an actor, honestly.
He mostly forgets about the ring while they’re there. He has enough sense to keep it in the car instead of on the beach so it doesn’t get stolen, unlikely as it is, and just enjoys the day with his boyfriend. He convinces Keith to go jet skiing with him and cackles to himself as he purposely sends Keith flying off the back of it. He screeches at the top of his lungs later when Keith scoops him up from his nap and literally chucks him into the ice cold water. The two of them make really garbage sculptures of their friends in the sand to amuse themselves. They gather ugly seashells and send pictures to their friends asking them if they’ve been turned into mollusks, since there is a resemblance. The whole day was a blast. Lance firmly slots it in his top ten days of all time.
When they go for a long walk to watch the sunset, Lance snaps a picture with the ring and a very teasing grin the second Keith has his back turned. He will bring up how this was a perfect moment to propose, and he will pat Keith’s head condescendingly about it. He can’t wait.
———
The third photo is another dead-of-night-situation. Lance knows it’s repetitive, but it’s easy and it’s funny and Lance can’t resist.
To change things up a bit, he decides not to be in the photo, and also to see just how much he can get away with.
Keith is on his side, this time, one hand tucked under the pillow, one hand held loose and open on top of it. He’s been tired, lately, and when Lance says he fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow, he is not exaggerating. In fact Lance is reasonably certain he passed out in the way down. He is KOed. He’s unconscious. He is absolutely dogged out.
The timing is perfect.
Carefully, aware of the consequences should Lance make a mistake, he removes the ring from its box. He realizes abruptly that it’s the first time he’s ever done that, despite his ridiculous quest, and he finds that he can’t quite let go of the ring just yet. The metal feels cool and smooth on his finger tips; worn, even. It’s shinier than it used to be, which means Keith has probably had it professionally retouched. Resized too, probably, although Lance can’t quite bring himself to check. The diamond catches the minimal light in the room and refracts into rainbows that fall softly on Keith’s lax face, highlighting his sharp jawline, his softly squished cheek, his relaxed brow. He looks so dorky when he sleeps, completely free of the furrow of concentration that usually resides in between his eyebrows, his resting frown. His mouth is always wide open when he’s out, and the echoing of his snores is so comically loud and ridiculous but absolutely something that Lance can’t live without. He has them recorded, actually, for the rare nights they’re not home together, on the rare night Lance has to sleep alone.
Smiling softly to himself, Lance places the ring in Keith’s open palm. He rests his hand on top of Keith’s for a moment, just because he can, just to relish in the scratch of Keith’s callouses on his skin, before pulling back and steadying his phone to snap a picture. He catches it right as Keith inhales heavily, right as his nose scrunches up.
It’s goofy as hell. It’s perfect.
———
The fourth picture is the riskiest, Lance thinks. He’s taken to carrying the ring around with him everywhere, almost as if he is the one planning to propose, just in case he has a moment when Keith’s back is turned. (There really aren’t that many. Keith faces him a lot. He likes to hold Lance hand and kiss his face, neither of which you can do from behind. Lance fucking loves his boyfriend so much.)
They’re at a Thing. Lance’s parents are celebrating their fortieth anniversary, and obviously Lance is bringing Keith, and since Keith is his mother’s favourite he is encouraged to bring his family as well, which means Shiro and Adam are coming, and if Hunk and Pidge weren’t invited then someone would cry and nothing would be right in the world, and of course Veronica is bringing Allura, and Coran comes because Lance’s dad thinks he’s the funniest man to walk the Earth. And of course all Lance’s relatives are there.
The point is that it’s a full house. A couple full houses, actually, since their neighbours are also involved. It’s a lot of people in one place.
As is protocol in crowded places, Keith is essentially glued to Lance’s side. Lance is quite happy with this arrangement, because he gets to show his boyfriend off like the hot piece of ass he is, especially to his rude ass great aunties and uncles who always had something to say about Lance and his single-ness when he was still rocking braces. So.
One thing about Keith, though, is that everyone who meets him is doomed to fall in love with him forever and ever, or so Lance has noticed. His niece and nephew are no exception, and immediately upon catching sight of their uncle — Keith, that is, Lance may as well be dead meat when Tio Keith is available, which, rude — they descend upon him not unlike a vulture may descend upon a recently deceased armadillo. Or whatever. Lance didn’t grow up in the desert, he doesn’t know what happens there.
Occupied as he is, one child hanging off each arm, Keith cannot keep his vice grip on Lance’s hand. Occupied as he is, two children talking at him in a mix of Spanish and English so rapid that Lance himself cannot keep up, which is saying something because his nickname for many years was and aptly so Motormouth, Keith cannot have his full attention on Lance. In fact, even, his back is delightfully turned.
Lance doesn’t hesitate. He flicks open the ring box and snaps a picture. His grin is nothing short of gleeful and he is entirely unapologetic.
When he turns back around, ring box stuffed back into his pocket, he realizes Nadia is staring at him with wide eyes.
“You, shush,” Lance says, and then switches to Spanish so Keith, who is still learning, will miss it, “or I’ll choose a random child to be my flower girl. I swear.”
She glares at him. “This is why Tio Keith is my favourite,” she mutters, because she is a snot who acts as if Lance does not and has not for her whole life taken her on all sorts of cool awesome amazing trips and bought her cool awesome amazing presents. Who was it who bought them recorders when they were seven to terrorize Luis with? Lance. Who was it to take them to a live rocket taking off the summer they turned nine? Lance.
“You’re a brat,” he informs her.
She sticks her tongue out at him, snickering. “Side genes.”
Lance unfortunately has nothing to say to that and also refuses to be roasted by an eleven year old, so he yanks Keith away as penance and takes him to a corner somewhere to make out. He feels very smug about it.
———
The fifth time doesn’t happen.
The fifth time is a clusterfuck.
The fifth time, it’s night again, and Lance honestly doesn’t even plan on taking another picture. He’s just next to the vent, lying on his belly, legs kicking in the air as he inspects the ring for the billionth time. He’s so excited. He can’t wait to wear this on his finger. He can’t wait for Keith to put it there. He’s can’t wait to be Keith’s husband, is the crux of it all. It’s like groundhog day except with literal euphoria. Lance is the luckiest man literally alive, and Keith hasn’t even hinted towards a plan to pop the question yet.
“You are the nosiest motherfucker in the planet, you shithead.”
Lance yelps, startling so bad he almost brains himself on the floor and nearly drops the ring. He manages to catch himself with the grace of God and also probably luck, or neither of those things, but either way Lance heart nearly pounds out of his chest.
“You scared me, you butthead!”
Keith chuckles. His voice is low and raspy from sleep, vowels still rounded from the accent that only comes out when he’s mad or drunk or tired. Lance’s belly swoops. Keith grabs Lance’s ankle and tugs, dragging him over to him, pulling him upright when he’s close enough. Lance goes into him fully, curling up into him, head tucked under his chin. Keith’s hands come to rest on top of his, sliding the ring box from him.
“How long have you known, you snoop?”
“Six months,” Lance answers. “In my defense, you were acting suspicious as all hell.”
Keith kisses his head. “Fair.”
“I need to know everything about everything or I’ll die. You know this.”
Keith snorts. He takes Lance’s left hand and smooths it flat, spreading out his fingers. “Yeah. Ruined my plans, though.”
“Oh, please. You and I both know there were no plans involved. You walked by a shop advertising ring retouching and walked in before you even thought about it.”
Keith says nothing. Lance grins and presses on.
“I bet you cried the whole time, too.”
“Shut up. I’m gonna keep the ring.”
Lance kisses him on the chest, the closest place he can reach, through his sleep shirt. “No, you’re not.”
“Mhm.” Keith plucks the ring out of the box with one hand, setting it on the ground beside them and grabbing Lance’s hand with his other. “You’re right. I’m not.”
He doesn’t move for a while, except to stroke his thumb over the palm of Lance’s hand, over and over again. Lance likes the feeling. He’s always likes the feeling of Keith’s hands in him.
“I know this isn’t a fancy dinner or sunset on the beach or with your whole family present,” he murmurs. “But I’m tired of waiting, if you don’t mind me jumping the gun.”
Lance smiles widely. A tear leaks out of his eye, dripping down his face and onto Keith’s hand.
“I don’t.”
“Good.” Keith holds the ring just above Lance’s finger, poised, ready to slide it on but waiting for permission. “Lance Sanchez, will you marry me?”
“Keith Gyeong, I would want nothing more.”
Unhesitant at last, Keith slides his father’s ring onto Lance’s finger, centring it so the diamond shines brightly in the middle. It fits perfectly.
The tears stream down Lance’s face, and he can’t for the life of him pretend that they’re not, not that he’d bother. He buries his face in his fiancé’s neck and feels Keith’s own tears soaking his hair.
“I took a bunch of sneaky pictures of me holding the ring in front of you,” Lance admits.
Keith laughs. “Of course you did.”
“I carried the ring around for months.”
“Checks out.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too, Lance.”
“I can’t wait to marry you.”
Keith hums, tilting his head up and kissing him properly, entwining their hands so they can both feel the ring press against skin. “No more waiting for you, sweetheart.”
———
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badasbebi · 3 months
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not my fault ➛ 2/2
read part one
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✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader
✦ summary: discovering that a cute girl you saw at your college orientation is your roommate, you become eager to get to know her. however, things quickly go awry when she turns out to be much more difficult to get along with than you could've imagined and abruptly leaves you in the dust. fueled by your terrible experiences with her and rumors about her dating habits, you swear to stay away from her at all costs. will you be able to keep your promise?
✦ genre/au: fluff, smut, my poor attempt at a rom-com, college!au, enemies to lovers, (very slight) roommates to lovers
✦ word count: 9.8k (im still embarrassed)
✦ warnings: isn't proofread. MDNI!!!! top!bada, top!reader for 2 seconds, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), bada is a giver, one of my first attempts at smut so please bear with me lmao.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄���⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
At this point, the school needed to compensate you for how much time you were spending watching and judging their sports teams. Or, maybe you should be paying rent, with how often you're staying here. The thought alone makes you cringe. Tuition was enough. 
Your legs are crossed, and a notebook rests on your lap as you sit in the bleachers, observing the dance team once again. This time, you're not waiting for Lusher. You're here for Bada, who said she could only meet with you after practice today. You're just grateful you're indoors today, and away from volant objects.
It's been a few days since the interview, and you've managed to avoid seeing her in person as much as possible. You've been communicating solely through text, not even bothering to exchange words in class. You know it's childish, but you don’t have the vigor to deal with her head-on. Besides, this way, you can focus on your part of the project, and not Bada's... everything.
You scan the gym floor and pinpoint her. Today, she's wearing a short-sleeved shirt and another pair of cargo pants, driving you to deliberate about how many she owns. If you looked that good in everything, did it matter?
You shake your head, averting your eyes before she notices your staring. You're not even sure what the purpose of your being here is. You probably could've waited to come closer to the end of practice. it was an admittedly nice way to occupy your time while you waited, you assure yourself.
The team is working on a new routine, one that involves a lot of acrobatics. They're running through their routine for the third time. Each time, they seem to get better, their movements more fluid and precise. You watch, fascinated, as Bada twists and turns, her limbs moving in a way that seems almost impossible. She's incredible. She's probably the best dancer on the team, not that you would ever tell her that.
After what feels like an eternity, the music comes to an end, and the team collapses to the ground, panting and sweaty. You're a little out of breath just watching them.
"Good job, guys," Bada says, her voice ringing through the large gym.
"Thanks," someone calls out, her tone laced with exhaustion.
"Let's call it a day," she says.
There's a collective sigh of relief as the team gathers their things and starts to leave. A few people linger, chatting with each other. Bada is one of them, talking to a group of girls. You try not to stare, but it's hard not to notice the way she laughs and smiles around them.
You look away, darting your eyes around the room, when someone catches your eye. Once you realize who it is, your blood runs cold. How did you not notice her before? Probably because of Bada. Damn that woman.
Aiki is on the opposite side of the gym, standing near the door. She's talking to someone and hasn't seemed to notice you yet.
The last thing you need right now is to run into Aiki. That encounter last year was awkward enough. You have no interest in rehashing the whole mess, especially with Bada so nearby.
You snatch your stuff, flying down the bleachers at a speed you did not realize you were capable of. You take the steps two at a time, adrenaline is burning in your veins, nearly tripping over yourself in the process.
You finally reach the bottom, and without a second thought, duck under the bleachers, hiding yourself from view like a criminal hiding from the police. 
Your heart is racing, and you lean against a pole, trying to catch your breath. You peek out and see Aiki still hasn't noticed you. She's chatting animatedly with whoever she's talking to and doesn't seem concerned about finding you.
You breathe a sigh of relief, and slide down to the ground. You rest your head against the pole, and close your eyes, willing your heart rate to slow down. This was ridiculous. You needed to exercise more.
"What the hell, y/n?" a familiar voice calls from behind you. You scream, jumping up and banging your head on the metal.
"Ouch," you hiss, rubbing the tender spot.
"What are you doing?" Bada asks, her tone equal parts amusement and annoyance.
"Uh, nothing," you say, trying to hide your embarrassment.
"This is so weird," she states.
"Sorry," you mutter, ducking your head.
"Are you okay?" she asks, her tone softening.
"I'm fine," you say, brushing her off.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," you sigh.
She takes a step towards you. "I can help you. I'm a nurse's aid, remember?" she points out, a playful smile tugging at her lips.
"No, it's fine, I'm okay."
"Okay, well, if you're not gonna tell me what's going on, can you come out from under there, at least?"
"Uh—"
"Y/n?!" Lusher's voice rings out, running up to the bleachers.
"Shit," you whisper. You did not need two witnesses present for this mortifying experience. 
"What are you doing?" Lusher says, peering over Bada's shoulder. 
"Nothing," you call, trying to sound casual.
"Why are you hiding under the bleachers right now?"
"I'm not," you lie, wincing. 
"Y/n," Bada says, shaking her head.
"Shhh," you hush.
"You're ridiculous," she chuckles.
"Both of you, come!" you hiss. 
"Is she serious right now?" Lusher whispers to Bada.
"Apparently," she sighs.
"Come on," you say, reaching out and grabbing Bada's wrist.
You pull her towards you, and she stumbles, losing her balance and landing on top of you. The both of you yelp in surprise, and a laugh escapes your mouth. It's surprisingly comfortable. You resist the urge to pull her closer.
"Sorry," Bada apologizes, her face inches from yours.
"It's okay," you say, your breath catching.
You're suddenly aware of the warmth of her body and the closeness of her lips.
"Uh, we should probably get up," she murmurs.
"Right," you say, nodding, but neither of you move.
"Hello?! Are you about to have sex?!" Lusher's annoyed voice snaps you out of your trance.
"No! uh, let's get up. Seriously," you say, gently pushing Bada off.
“Good idea,” she agrees. 
Bada stands up, and holds out her hand, helping you up.
"Thanks," you mumble, feeling your face grow hot.
"Y/n, seriously, what is going on?" Lusher demands, her patience wearing thin.
You step toward her, glaring. "When did Aiki join the dance team, huh? Why didn’t you tell me?” 
Lusher's mouth widens into an 'o'. She sticks her finger up, gearing up to defend herself. 
"Um, she didn’t,” Bada cuts in. "She's just helping us choreograph some of our routines."
"Oh," you say. 
"She’s really good, so I thought it’d be fun to collaborate with her,” Bada explains.
"So, she's not a member of the dance team," Lusher clarifies, giving you a pointed look. 
"Nope," Bada says. 
"Oh, well, uh, good," you say, a mixture of confusion and relief swirling within you.
"So, why are you asking about Aiki?" Bada asks, rubbing the back of her neck.
"She's my ex."
"What?" Bada's mouth drops.
"Yeah,” you admit, woefully. 
"Really?"
"It's a long story," you sigh.
"Huh," Bada says, looking stunned.
"So, that's why you were hiding under the bleachers?" Lusher inquires.
"Yeah. I didn't feel like talking to her."
Bada still looks dumbfounded. She's staring at you, and it's starting to make you nervous.
"Well, that’s silly! But I'm glad you're not in danger, or whatever," Lusher says.
"No. I was,” you deadpan. 
Lusher snorts and shakes her head. "Anyway, I know you're here for Bada. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'll leave you guys be," she says, wiggling her eyebrows, out of Bada's sight.
You hiss at her, imagining strangulation. 
"Bye, Bada. Bye, y/n. I'll see you at home," she calls, sauntering away. 
You shoot her a middle finger.
"Bye," Bada says with a small wave. 
She turns to face you, and she stares at you, hard, her eyes unreadable. Your stomach churns with anxiety.
"Nothing," she says, a small smile forming on her face.
"What are you smiling at?"
"I just didn't know that Aiki was your ex-girlfriend."
"There's a lot you don't know about me," you retort.
"True," she says, the smile never leaving her face.
"Anyway, can we get going now? We have work to do," you say, trying to get the conversation back on track.
"Right," she says. "Lead the way."
You walk side by side, the silence between you thick and uncomfortable.
"So," she starts, clearing her throat. "I was thinking...would you mind stopping somewhere and getting something to eat?"
You stop walking.
"Why? Are you hungry?" you ask, suspicious.
"Yeah, a little," she says, rubbing her stomach.
"What are you craving?"
"Anything is fine," she says, a little too quickly.
"Bada, just tell me," you groan, annoyed.
"Okay, fine. I've been wanting to try this new Korean BBQ place that opened a few blocks away."
You bite the inside of your cheek. Of course, she wants to go to a restaurant. You're not sure why you were expecting anything else.
"Um, I guess we could do that," you say, hesitantly.
"Great!"
You follow her as she leads you out of the gym and into the bright, warm afternoon sun.
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You find yourself sitting in the booth across from Bada, staring at a plate of food. 
"What's wrong?" Bada asks, noticing your apprehension.
"Nothing," you reply, forcing a smile.
"Okay," she says, not sounding convinced.
You pick up a piece of meat and put it on your plate. The smell is amazing, and your mouth waters.
"Are you going to eat?" Bada asks, gesturing towards your untouched food.
"Yeah," you reply, picking up a piece and bringing it to your lips.
"So, um, how have you been?" she asks, breaking the silence.
"Fine," you say, taking a bite.
"That's good."
"Yeah," you say, chewing.
"And, uh, how's your part of project going?"
"It's going," you respond, swallowing.
"Cool."
"Mhm," you hum, not bothering to elaborate.
You hear a sigh. "Do you always have to be like this?" she asks, exasperated.
You huff. "Like what?"
"Cold. Distant," she says. 
"Excuse me?" you snap.
"You're always so closed off. It's frustrating."
You drop your chopsticks. "Are you messing with me right now? You're the one that's been standoffish since I've met you. And what was with that whole moving out situation that you still haven't given me an explanation for, by the way?"
Her face softens. "Look, I'm sorry about all that. I was just...going through something."
"What were you going through?"
She averts her gaze, and fidgets with her chopsticks.
"Hey, it's okay, you don't have to tell me," you say, feeling bad for pushing her.
She bites her lip, and your eyes are drawn to the movement.
"I don't mind telling you, but can it wait until later? I don't know if it's the right time."
You nod, and return to eating, a little more at ease than before.
"So, you and Aiki?" she says, after a beat.
You freeze. You were hoping that she had forgotten about that.
"Yep," you say, your voice tight.
"How did it happen?"
You shrug. "It was just a short high school fling. But, you know, first lesbian heartbreak and all."
She snorts. "I get that."
"Really?" you respond, leaning forward. You're too nosy to pass up on this.
"Yeah," she says, a little sheepish.
"Who was it? Do I know them?"
"I'm not telling you."
"Is it Doyeon?" you guess, grinning.
Bada nearly chokes on her food. "What?! No. She's just...no," she sputters.
"Tatter?"
Bada squeals, shoving her head in her hands. "Ew, no! She's like a sister to me."
"Hm," you say, tapping your chin.
She glares at you. "It's none of your business."
You shrug. "I'm just surprised, that's all," you say, nonchalant.
"Why?"
"Well," you begin, resting your elbows on the table. "You're like, a total heartthrob. Everyone's crazy about you."
She lets out a bark of laughter. "No, I'm not," she says, dismissive.
"You are," you insist. "Do you know the vile things I've heard women say about you? I'm surprised you don't need bodyguards. You have literal fangirls."
She rolls her eyes. "Okay, maybe a few girls like me. But, they're not crazy."
"I beg to differ."
"Whatever," she laughs.
"All I'm saying is that I'm surprised you've gotten your heartbroken by women before. It seems like you'd be able to get any girl you wanted, and keep them."
Her face grows solemn. "It doesn't always work like that," she says.
You're taken aback. Her eyes are a storm, dark and intense.
"I guess you're right," you agree, trying to break the tension.
She clears her throat. "Let's just eat."
You're confused, and a little worried, but you're also starving.
"Right," you say.
The rest of the meal is silent, the two of you not making eye contact.
After a few minutes, she finally speaks up.
"Are you ready to go?"
"Yes," you reply, grateful to be leaving.
"Let's get going, then," she says, grabbing her card.
You slide your backpack across the seat, toward your body. "I'll pay," you offer, pulling your wallet out. 
"No, it's fine," she insists, reaching across the table and swatting your hand away. 
"Bada," you warn, a little annoyed.
"It's just one meal, and I asked you to come here with me. It's only fair that I pay."
You open your mouth to protest, but the look on her face stops you.
"Fine," you grumble, shoving your wallet inside your bag. 
"Thank you," she says, giving you a small smile.
She gets up, and heads for the door. You follow her lead, getting up from the table, uneasiness settling in your stomach. 
The two of you make your way to the cash register, where the hostess greets her enthusiastically. She hands her the bill, and Bada hands her the credit card, and the hostess takes it, grazing Bada's hand with a coy smile. You glance at one of the tables nearby, contemplating how much of a hassle it'd be to gouge your eyes out with chopsticks. You decide against it, knowing that you'd probably be banned from this delicious restaurant and would never be able to return. You sigh, depressed, and when you focus on Bada again, you're caught off guard by what you witness. Bada thanks the hostess and turns to leave, not bothering to wait for the receipt. The hostess frowns and calls out a goodbye, which is met with Bada's disinterested wave. You trail behind her, raising an eyebrow at her, and she ignores your questioning look. 
Rather, Bada grabs your wrist and guides you outside. You try not to notice the way her palm feels against yours. Yet, you are unable to suppress the smirk that emerges on your face. 
Once you're outside, she drops her hand, and you're reminded of the discomfort that occurred in the restaurant.
You squint. The sun has started to set, casting a glow over the city. The streets are crowded, the hustle and bustle of people passing by.
"Give me your bag," Bada demands, holding out her hand. 
You gape at her, then clutch your backpack, surveying your surroundings for any law enforcement. "Sorry, what?" 
"Your bag. Give it to me." she repeats, her hand still extended.
"Are you trying to rob me?" you ask, baffled. 
"What? No. Why would I do that?" she clarifies, incredulous. "I'm walking you home, and we have a long way to go. Your bag is gonna get heavy. So, give it to me." she explains, wiggling her fingers.
"Oh," you say, feeling foolish. You loosen your grip on your bag. "No need for that! I can take care of myself."
She gives you an impatient look. "Do you have to argue with me about everything? Just let me walk with you, please."
"Fine," you relent, sliding the backpack off your shoulder and handing it to her.
"Thank you," she sighs. 
She takes a step closer to you, and to your surprise, laces her free arm through yours.
"Lead the way," she instructs, motioning ahead.
You stare at the place where your arms are interlocked. "What are you doing?" you question, alarmed.
"What does it look like? I'm walking with you."
"Uh, I guess," you say, your heart racing.
"Ready?"
"Sure" you mutter, defeated. 
"Let's go."
You begin walking, your arms intertwined. Your pulse is erratic, and the closeness of her is sending heat waves throughout your body. You're sure she can feel the beating of your heart.
You walk in silence, the sounds of the city filling the air.
"I'm sorry if I got a little weird back there," Bada says, breaking the silence.
"It's okay."
"No, it's not. I didn't mean to make things awkward. I just...get a little sensitive when it comes to talking about my love life."
"Really?"
"Yeah," she admits, sighing.
"Well, that's understandable. It's hard talking about failed relationships."
"Exactly," she says, turning to look at you. "But, thank you for understanding."
You feel the weight of her stare, and a blush rises to your cheeks. What was going on with you right now?
"Don't mention it."
"Y/n," she says, her voice low.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for going to dinner with me."
"Of course," you say, your words caught in your throat.
"I had a really good time."
You can't think of a response, her brown eyes drawing you in.
"Me too," you manage.
Her mouth curves into a grin.
"Can I do something?" she whispers.
"Um, yeah, sure."
She leans in, and adjusts a strand of hair that's fallen onto your face. Your breathing quickens. You didn't even realize that a strand was in front of your face. Her eyes are locked onto yours, and her hand lingers on the side of your face. 
"Better," she says, her face centimeters away from yours.
You swallow. "I- uh- thank you."
She pulls away, and a sense of disappointment settles within you.
"It was nothing," she says, her eyes twinkling.
"Okay," you reply, unable to form a coherent sentence.
You're both silent again, and the rest of the walk passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're at your doorstep.
"This is it," you say, turning to her.
"This is your apartment?" 
"Yep," you confirm, reaching into your pocket for your keys.
"Alright, cool," she says, tossing you your backpack.
You catch it, the straps hitting you in the face. Please stop this madness, you think. At least you caught it. Maybe there's still hope for you. 
"Thank you," you say, slinging it onto your back. 
"Of course," she flashes you a bright smile, and your heart skips a beat. “I had a great time.”
“Me too,” you confess, your palms sweaty. "I'll see you tomorrow?" 
"Tomorrow," she echoes, her voice soft.
You're not sure what else to say, so you give her a small wave and head for the door.
"Goodnight, y/n," she calls gently, as you reach for the handle. You turn to look at her, and her eyes are shining, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips.
"Goodnight, Bada," you respond, giving her a smile.
She nods, and with one final glance, she turns and walks away. You watch her retreating figure, and let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.
"What the hell was that?" you whisper, your head spinning.
You enter your apartment. It's dark. Lusher must not be home, which makes you want to cry. You wanted to talk to her about today.  You throw yourself onto the couch. You replay the evening's events in your head, and as you do, you feel an incoming headache.
You sigh, and close your eyes. Tonight was weird. Really, really weird.
Your phone buzzes, and you grab it from the coffee table. You have one new message.
You unlock your phone, and check the message. It's from Bada.
Bada: hey, did you get inside your apartment alright?
Y/N: yes
Bada: good. i was just making sure. 
Y/N: thanks.
Bada: no problem. :)
You stare at the screen, and quickly type out a response.
Y/N: thanks for tonight. i had a really great time.
Bada: me too. 
Bada: we should do it again sometime!
Bada: I mean, other than our meet-ups for the project. 
This is when you remember for the first time since the end of dinner that the two of you are doing a project together. That was the original reason for meeting. 
You: yeah, definitely.
Bada: awesome!
Bada: sweet dreams <3
Y/N: night.
You throw your phone down. Your head is reeling. As you lay there, the sound of your heartbeat in your ears, the memory of her fingers brushing your cheek plays in your mind. The warmth of her touch. The softness. And her eyes. Her eyes.
You let out a sigh, and rub your temples.
"Get a hold of yourself," you mumble.
But, no matter how much you try, you can't stop the butterflies in your stomach, or the warmth in your chest. Something shifted today. Maybe it shifted from the moment you began working on this project together. With every meeting, Bada proved to you that she's not the stuck-up, self-centered person you thought she was. No. She's smart. And she's kind. So, so kind. Gentle. Talented. Nothing aligned with the image of her that you created in your head.
As much as you've tried to push these feelings away, deny them, repress them, they keep coming back. And with the way she's acting, the way she's been treating you, it feels like she may feel the same. But, what if you're wrong?
The thought scares you. If she didn't reciprocate, the embarrassment would be insurmountable. It would ruin everything. Your seemingly newfound friendship. The project. Regardless of how great tonight was, you cannot help but think back to that day in the locker rooms, and how dismayed she sounded at the thought of asking you out. Even if her feelings have shifted and she finds you attractive now, what if that's all that it is? Attraction. Lust. The thought of it makes you nauseous. You're not sure you could survive her using you and then discarding you, like some kind of toy, like the other ones. 
No, it's better to remain friends. Just friends. Besides, you're sure that these feelings will dissipate soon. They have to. Right? Maybe you'd just steer clear of her for a little while to be safe. It'll give her the space she needs to forget about this, and give you the time to bury these stupid feelings.
You decide to text her.
Y/N: hey, i'm really tired. can we reschedule tomorrow's study session for next week?
She replies almost immediately.
Bada: yeah, no problem. are you okay?
Y/N: yes
Y/N: just had a long day.
Bada: alright, take care.
Y/N: will do.
Bada: oh, and one more thing.
Y/N: ?
Bada: thank you again.
Bada: i mean it.
Bada: and i'm glad that we're friends.
Your stomach flutters. Friends. Yes. This is exactly what you need.
Bada: goodnight.
Y/N: sweet dreams.
You toss your phone onto the couch, and get up. You're exhausted. Physically. Emotionally. You need to get to bed. You trudge to the bathroom, and wash up. Then, you change, and climb into bed. As you drift off to sleep, a million thoughts are swirling through your mind. But, the one that lingers is the image of her eyes, warm and bright, staring at you.
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You're lying in bed, your laptop open, the blue light washing over you. The room is silent, save for the sounds of your keyboard, the tapping of keys. It's late. Really late. But, you can't sleep. Every time you close your eyes, you see her. Those brown, inviting eyes.
You groan and sit up. You need a distraction. You can't use your phone, because you'd have to face the dozens of unread texts from Bada that have been collecting dust for the past couple weeks. You haven't talked to her at all since that night, even going as far as to skip the class that you have with her. It seems like she's given up trying to reach you, as today is the first day you've gone without a message from her. Thank God. 
You pull your laptop onto your lap, and open a random YouTube video.
It's a funny skit. A couple. They're arguing. About something mundane, trivial. You find yourself laughing. For a moment, you forget about her. But, the feeling doesn't last. Because, after the skit is over, the next video starts.
It's a music video. Two women. They're singing. It's a love song. You can't focus on the lyrics, the images, the sound. All you can see is her. Those eyes.
You slam the laptop shut and throw it onto the bed.
"Dammit," you mutter.
You can't think straight. Everything is clouded by her. By Bada. You're losing your mind. You need air.
You stand and walk to the window. You look outside. It's quiet. There are few cars, no people. Just the lights, casting their glow upon the buildings.
You rest your head against the window, and sigh. You've never felt this way before. It's maddening. Infuriating. But, you can't help it.
You hear your door open, and Lusher steps into the room.
"Hey," she greets.
"Hi."
"What are you doing up?"
"Couldn't sleep," you reply, not turning around.
Lusher leans against the wall, studying you. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"Y/n," she sighs, "You know that you can tell me anything."
"I know."
"So, what's going on?"
"I don't know," you shrug.
She walks towards you and stands beside you.
"Come on," she insists, "Tell me."
"It's stupid," you grumble, shaking your head.
"I'll be the judge of that."
"Fine," you relent.
"Let's hear it," she presses.
"Well," you start, "It's about Bada."
Lusher smirks. "I knew it."
"You knew what?"
"That you had a crush on her."
"Wait, what?" you splutter, turning to face her.
"You're so obvious," she accuses, crossing her arms.
"No, I'm not!"
"Oh, please," she laughs, "Even when you claimed to hate her it was written all over your face. I mean, why else would you be so upset over your roommate of one day leaving you? Because you had a humongous crush on her and got embarrassed when she seemingly rejected you!"
"That's not it at all," you retort. "It was the principle! I mean, filing a complaint against me is crazy."
"Y/n," she says, gently. "You have a crush. It's normal."
"Yeah, well, I'm not sure if the feelings are reciprocated."
"You know, the day that you guys got paired up for that project, she sent me a text asking me what kind of coffee you liked. We'd never even texted before that," she reveals. 
You blink in disbelief. "What?"
"Yeah," she chuckles. "Apparently, she was trying to get on your good side and impress you."
"Wow," you mumble.
"But, I guess I ruined it for her," she jokes.
"Why'd you tell her about the coffee?"
"Because, I'm your friend. And I could tell that you liked her. A lot."
"I don't know," you say, shaking your head. "Maybe it doesn't mean anything. She's a flirt, and she's nice to everyone."
"You're not wrong. But, y/n, you gotta trust your instincts. If you feel something, go for it."
"Maybe," you respond, not sure if you're convinced.
"Just don't sit here and dwell on it," she says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.
"Can we get out of here?" you ask, still wanting a distraction.
"Sure. Where to?"
"Anywhere. The library. A bar. A club. Just, not here."
"Alright," she says, grinning. "Let's go."
Lusher brings you to a house party. You're not in the mood, but she manages to convince you to come. After a couple of drinks, you're feeling a bit more relaxed. The music is loud, and the crowd is rowdy, but you don't mind. It's a welcome distraction from your thoughts.
"There she is," Lusher shouts, pointing to a familiar figure.
It's Bada. Her hair is tied into a ponytail, and she’s wearing a short-sleeved patterned button-down shirt, black baggy pants. She looks good, as always. She's dancing with a group of friends. There are a couple women standing suspiciously close to her, giving her heart eyes. 
"Do you want to say hi?" Lusher asks, nudging you.
"No," you yell over the noise, "She looks like she's having fun. We should leave her alone."
She gives you a pitiful look and sighs. "If you say so."
You take another sip of your drink. You watch her as she dances, her hips swaying, her arms above her head. She looks happy. Carefree. You can't help but admire her, even now, in this house full of people. She's beautiful. Ethereal. The way the light catches her hair, her skin. She's captivating.
"Excuse me," a voice interrupts your train of thought.
You turn around. It's Aiki. 
It's settled. Someone has invoked a curse on you, and you're doomed to suffer incessant encounters with unattainable women who have broken your heart until the end of time.
"Hey, Aiki," you greet, attempting to hide your discomfort.
"Hey," she responds, her gaze flickering to Lusher. "And who's this?"
"I'm Lusher, y/n's best friend. We went to school together. I'm also on the dance team."
"Oh, right! The famous Lusher," she exclaims, offering her hand. "Nice to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you."
"Same," she nods, taking her hand.
Aiki's attention returns to you. "Y/n, I didn't expect to see you here," she notes, sipping her beer.
"Yeah, well, here I am," you laugh awkwardly.
"You should come dance with us," she invites, motioning towards the crowd.
"No, thanks. I'm not much of a dancer."
"Really? You looked pretty good when we danced together," she comments, smiling.
You laugh. "Trust me, that was a one-time thing."
"Aw, come on. I'd love to see you dance again," she insists.
"No, really. It's not happening," you say, holding up your hands.
"Oh, c'mon. Just one dance," she begs, taking a step closer.
You mull this over, tapping your fingers against your cup. "Well, maybe just one."
"Yes!" she cheers, grabbing your hand.
You glance at Lusher, who offers an encouraging thumbs-up.
Aiki leads you to the dance floor, and the two of you join the throng of sweaty bodies. She begins to dance, her hips gyrating, her arms raised above her head.
"C'mon," she urges, "Join me."
You hesitate, not wanting to embarrass yourself, but her enthusiasm is infectious.
You begin to move, swaying your hips to the beat.
She steps closer, her hand finding its way to your waist. "That's it," she praises, her voice low and seductive.
Your pulse quickens. You can't help but be reminded of the last time the two of you were this close, the night when she asked you out.
Her grip on your waist tightens, pulling you closer. Your breath hitches, and your eyes lock.
"Y/n," she whispers, her lips inches from yours.
Your heart hammers in your chest. You feel her fingers trailing along your side, her body pressed against yours. The music drowns out all rational thought. All that matters is her, the heat of her touch, the sound of her voice. Her breath is warm against your cheek. Her hand caresses your neck, drawing you closer. Your eyes flutter closed, and—
A heavy weight comes crashing into the two of you, sending the both of you stumbling backward.
"Watch it," you snap, looking over to see the culprit.
And it's Bada, of course.
She's holding a red cup, staring at the two of you with an unreadable expression. 
"Sorry," she mutters, taking a step back.
 You glance at Aiki, who looks like she's bordering on being concussed, and then settle your gaze back on Bada. 
"Bada? Where the hell did you come from?" you question, rubbing your forehead.
Her jaw clenches. "Nowhere."
You let out a short, dry, disbelieving snort. “That explains a bunch.”
"Sorry," she repeats. "I tripped."
"Right," you say, not believing her.
"Where have you been?" she asks, taking a small sip of her drink. You study her face, noticing the pink flush on her cheeks. You'd assume it was the alcohol, but she doesn't seem drunk. 
"Around," you answer, crossing your arms.
"Well, I didn't see you at class," she points out, taking another sip.
"I was busy," you lie, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.
"So busy you couldn't even give me a heads up?"
"Yup," you reply, popping the p.
"What about our project?"
"Is that all you care about?" you retaliate.
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking in a breath. "No, but-"
"Um," Aiki pipes up, lifting herself off of the floor. "Am I interrupting something?"
"No!" you say. 
 "Yes," Bada responds at the same time, venom laced through her voice.
"Bada," you growl, glaring at her. "Stop."
"Well, are you not done?"
"Done with what?"
 "Her," she spits. 
 "Alright, well," Aiki interjects, holding up her hands. "I'm done! I'm gonna head out, Y/N. I'll catch you later...or not." Aiki says, fast-walking away with a limp.
"Bada," you whisper, anger bubbling up in your throat.
"What?" she says, her gaze piercing.
"Are you kidding me?"
"What, did I ruin your date?"
"Date?" you scoff, shaking your head. "That wasn't a date."
"Uh-huh, right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Me?" she scoffs, stepping forward.
"Yes, you!"
"You're the one who's being difficult here, y/n. Not me." she retorts, setting her drink down on a nearby table.
"How am I being difficult? All I've done is try and do the project. I've put up with all your shit."
"Forget about the stupid project! This is about us."
"There is no us," you shout, jabbing your finger into her chest.
"I know you don't mean that."
"You're unbelievable," you grumble, pushing past her, up the stairs.
"Don't walk away from me," she demands, chasing after you.
"Leave me alone, Bada."
"No," she protests, reaching for your wrist.
You stop, turning around. "I told you to stop," you yell, shoving her away.
"I'm not going anywhere," she warns, her eyes narrowed.
"God," you groan, massaging your temples. "You're impossible."
"And you're being a coward," she snaps.
"Coward?"
"You're avoiding me," she states, her voice steady and calm.
"Maybe I am," you fire back.
"Why?"
"Because, you're exhausting," you explain, throwing your hands up.
"Exhausting," she echoes.
"Yes, exhausting," you affirm. "I can't stand you, Bada. You're arrogant and conceited and-"
"You want me," she interjects, her voice barely above a whisper.
"W-what?"
"You. Want. Me," she repeats, each word slow and deliberate.
"I-I..." you stammer, rendered mute. You were not prepared for this level of confrontation. This is not how you expected tonight to go in the slightest. You couldn't tell Bada  you wanted her, even if you did. And, now, you know you do. More than anything. You've been wanting her for so long. But it's not like she wants you back in the same way.
"Tell me that I'm wrong."
"Bada, I—"
"Tell me that I'm wrong, and I'll never bring it up again."
You open your mouth to speak, but the words die on your tongue.
"See," she laughs, though there's no humor behind it.
"Shut up," you murmur, massaging your forehead. 
"No," she defies, stepping closer.
"You're so annoying," you complain, turning around.
She follows you. "Where are you going?"
"I don't know," you answer truthfully, stomping further up the staircase.
"Y/n," she pleads, grabbing your arm. "Just tell me that I'm wrong."
"Bada, let it go."
"Tell me," she begs. 
You turn around, infuriated, your veins pulsating. "What is the point of this? Do you just want me to tell you that I want you so that you can feel good about yourself?"
"The point of it is that I like you, y/n! I really, really, like you. And you keep pushing me away! Why?" She exclaims, throwing her hands up. 
You can feel the tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, but you're too angry to care. Bada's confession should give you some solace, but it only makes the ache in your chest stronger. You need to get out of here. Get away from her. You can't deal with this anymore. You can't take it. She's too much. She doesn't understand. She doesn't know how badly it'd wound you if things didn't work out. If she ended up hurting you. Or worse, forgetting about you. 
"Because," you pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling, attempting to calm yourself down. “I don't want to get hurt."
“Y/n," she says gently, stepping forward.
"Don't," you warn.
"I would never hurt you," she reassures, her hand cupping your cheek.
You stare into her eyes, searching for any trace of dishonesty, but find none.
"I would never intentionally hurt you," she corrects, a sad smile on her face.
"Bada," you mumble, her hand warm on your skin.
"I know you're scared," she continues, her voice soft and soothing. "But I promise, I'll take care of you."
"Bada, you don't understand," you argue, stepping back.
"Then help me understand."
"I..." you trail off, unsure of how to continue. "I like you. I like you a lot. But I just cant stop thinking about that whole roommate situation. And...I heard you say something in the locker rooms one day when I was visiting Lusher."
Her eyebrows furrow. "What'd you hear?"
"You said that you didn't want to me. At all," you explain, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.
"Oh, y/n," she sighs. "That's not true."
"What?"
"I've liked you for a long time. Probably since I first saw you. That's actually why I switched rooms. I didn't think you'd be into me, and I was afraid of rejection, so I ran away," she confesses, her gaze cast downward.
"Bada," you breathe, shocked.
"But I'm done being scared. And I'm tired of running," she declares, looking back up.
"What does that mean?"
"It means that I'm not going anywhere," she promises, taking your hands.
"Bada, are you sure? This is a lot."
"I've never been more sure about anything," she states, her tone firm. "But are you going to stop running too?"
"Bada, I—"
"Please, y/n. Take a chance on me." she requests, squeezing your hands.
 Was the risk worth it? Were you willing to put your heart on the line? Would she keep her promise and not break your heart? The questions flood your mind, threatening to overwhelm you. But, when you look into her eyes, the answer is a clear yes. Because, really, now that everything was on the table, when did she ever give you reason to doubt her? When did she not deliver? Maybe it was time for you to have some faith in her, just like she has faith in you, right now.
You exhale. "Okay," you relent.
"You will?"
"Yes,” you nod, vigorously. “Let’s give this a try."
"Yay!" she exclaims, pulling you into a hug. You laugh, wrapping your arms around her waist.
"I'm sorry I've been such a jerk. I felt so awkward and shy around you, I didn't know what to do" she apologizes, burying her face in the crook of your neck.
"It's okay," you say, running your hands along her back.
She removes herself from the embrace, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. She studies your face, her eyes roaming over your features.
"Can I kiss you?" she questions, her thumb caressing your cheek.
"I guess so," you shrug, feigning nonchalance with a sly smile on your face. Deep down, you've been waiting for this moment since the day the two of you met. You've dreamed about what it would feel like, how her lips would taste. You've thought about it while lying awake in bed at night, while doing homework. It's a constant, nagging thought. Her face draws closer to yours, and your eyelids flutter closed. You feel her breath fan across your lips. Your heart beats rapidly. Then, finally, her lips meet yours, and everything else fades away. It's like nothing you've ever experienced before. It's tender and passionate, sweet and perfect. You wrap your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss. As she holds you in her arms, your fears disappear, and a new feeling takes their place. A feeling of warmth, safety, happiness—more than that. When you part, the both of you are breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide, filled with wonder. You're sure your expression mirrors hers. Neither of you say a word. Instead, you just stand there, drinking in each other's presence. You're not sure how long you stay like that. 
Eventually, she lets out a soft chuckle, breaking the silence. "Was that okay?" she asks, biting her lip.
"Yes," you confirm. "More than okay."
"Good," she beams, pecking your lips. "Want to go back downstairs?" she offers.
"Actually, can we go to my place? Lusher will be gone," You suggest, hoping she catches the hint. You can't help but glance at her lips. You're eager to have her all to yourself. To be alone with her. To do whatever the two of you want. If the blush creeping up her cheeks is any indication, she knows exactly what you're insinuating. She nods, and the two of you descend the stairs, hands intertwined. She stops to grab her jacket, and once the two of you make it outside, the crisp, night air hits you. It's cool, and refreshing. As the two of you begin your walk to the apartment, she leans in, her shoulder brushing against yours. The contact sends a shiver down your spine. You can't believe how close the two of you are. How intimate it feels. It's a welcome change from the distance you've forced upon the two of you for the past few weeks. A small part of you is afraid. But a larger, stronger part of you is excited. Excited to explore this newfound intimacy, and whatever may lie ahead. And for the first time in a while, you feel genuine hope.
"Here," she offers, draping her jacket over your shoulders.
"Thank you," you murmur, wrapping it around yourself.
The two of you hop in Bada's car, the engine purring to life. 
"You cold?" she asks, turning the heater on.
"Yeah, a little," you admit, rubbing your hands together.
"Here," she offers, taking your hands in hers. You look down, watching as she runs her thumbs over your knuckles. "Better?"
"You're cheesy," you tease, rolling your eyes. Though secretly, her touch does make you feel warmer. Better. It makes your heart swell with affection, and the corners of your mouth turn up. It's like her presence is melting the ice surrounding your heart.
"I like cheesy," she counters, grinning.
"I'm lactose intolerant," you retort.
"Oh, no," she pouts, feigning concern. "Guess I'll have to come up with some other way to make you happy."
"I can think of a few things," you flirt, giving her a coy smile.
She just smiles, and the two of you fall into a comfortable silence. After what feels like an eternity, the two of you pull up, and Bada turns the car off. She hops out, making her way to the passenger side door, opens it, and extends her hand. You take it, and allow her to lead the way. The two of you climb the steps to the apartment, tension growing thick. Once you reach the front door, she lets go of your hand. You immediately miss the contact, and your heart rate picks up. You unlock the door, and step inside. She follows behind you, closing the door and locking it for you.
"It's freezing," Bada says.
"Yeah, sorry," you say, closing the door. "The heating's broken. It should be fixed by tomorrow, though."
"It's fine," she assures, wrapping her arms around you from behind. 
You lean back, savoring her warmth. You've fantasized about this more than you'd like to admit.
"Bedroom?" she whispers, kissing your temple.
You nod, tugging her through the apartment and into your bedroom. Bada shuts the door, and you turn to her, staring into her eyes.
"Hi," you whisper, placing a hand on her chest.
"Hi," she whispers back, placing her hand over yours.
You lean in, brushing your lips against hers. She reciprocates, capturing your lips with hers. Her hands slide down to your hips, pulling you closer.
You tilt your head, deepening the kiss. Your hands move to her hair, tugging lightly.
She moans into your mouth, her grip tightening on your hips.
You pull back, gazing into her eyes.
"You're so pretty," she murmers, her thumbs rubbing circles into your hips.
"So are you," you counter, smiling.
She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours. The two of you stay like that for a moment, drinking each other in. Finally, you pull back, grabbing her hand. You shove her onto the bed, and then fall on top of her, your legs straddling her hips.
"Hey," she giggles, wrapping her arms around your waist.
"Hey," you reply, a smile on your face.
"You're so annoying," she says, leaning in. 
"And yet, you're here," you point out. 
She ignores this, deciding to press a kiss to your lips, her fingers moving up your back. You sigh into her mouth, your body relaxing against hers. She slides her tongue into your mouth, eliciting a moan from you. Her hands move to your ass, squeezing. You roll your hips, grinding against her. She groans, her grip on your ass tightening. She sits up, her lips never leaving yours. She scoots back on the bed, her legs spread, and you sit between them, still straddling her.
"You're such a tease," she says, her voice husky.
"Oh, yeah?" you ask, smirking. "How's this for a tease?"
You slip your hand under her shirt, tracing circles on her stomach, her abs. You can tell she's not wearing a bra. 
"I don't know," she sighs, her head falling back. "Keep going, and we'll see."
You lean down, peppering kisses along her jawline. She tilts her head, giving you better access. You suck on her pulse point, her breath hitching.
You move lower, kissing and sucking her neck.
She groans, her hand tangling in her hair. You smirk at this, trailing kisses down her chest. You unbutton her shirt, exposing her breasts. You take a nipple into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the stiff peak. She lets out a string of curses, her grip on your hair tightening. You give her other nipple the same attention, relishing the noises coming from her. You trail your hands down her sides, settling on her thighs.
You're about to give her a command when, suddenly, she stops you, pushing your head away. 
Before you can protest, she grips onto your waist and flips you over. You let out a squeak of surprise. 
She stares down at you, a smug grin on her face.
"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice breathy.
"What am I doing?" she repeats, raising an eyebrow. "I'm getting revenge."
"Revenge?"
"Yeah," she replies, her hand snaking its way up your shirt. "For teasing me."
"How do you plan on doing that?"
She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "I think I'm going to start with..."
She trails off, her gaze focused on your pants.
"What are you—" you're cut off by her hand moving to the button of your pants, undoing it.
She slides the zipper down, revealing the lace of your underwear.
"Nice," she murmurs, a grin on her face.
You're about to reply, when she moves her hand beneath the fabric, cupping you.
"Oh," you breathe, your hips bucking into her touch.
She begins rubbing slow circles on your clit, causing you to writhe underneath her.
"You're so wet," she states, her fingers picking up speed.
"All for you," you manage to get out, your breath ragged.
"That's what I like to hear," she says, slipping a finger inside you.
"Oh, fuck," you moan, your back arching.
She adds another, long, finger, stretching you.
"You're so tight," she marvels, pumping her fingers in and out.
You moan, grinding against her hand. She curls her fingers, hitting that sweet spot inside you.
"F-fuck," you curse, your walls clenching around her digits.
"Such a dirty mouth," she scolds, adding a third finger. She moves her mouth to your neck, her teeth scraping against the sensitive skin.
You pant, your toes curling as her pace increases. She hums in response, her fingers curling inside you, her thumb pressing against your clit.
"Fuck, Bada," you moan, gripping onto her wrist.
"You close, baby?" she asks, her breath hot against your neck.
"Y-yeah," you stammer, your hips meeting the movements of her fingers.
"Gonna cum," you mumble, your vision blurry.
"Mm-hmm," she nods, her gaze intense.
"Fuck," you cry out, and as your climax approaches, she removes her hand, leaving you frustrated and empty.
"Bada," you gasp, panting. "What the fuck?"
"I'm not finished with you," she states, a mischievous grin on her face.
"I wasn't either," you pout.
"We'll see about that," she teases, her hands moving to the hem of your shirt. She pulls it over your head, tossing it to the floor.
She gazes down at you, a hungry look in her eyes.
"Take those off," she orders, gesturing to your pants.
You oblige, sliding the rest of garment off and kicking it to the side.
"Good," she praises, a smirk on her face.
She stands, removing her shirt, pants, and boxers, her toned body exposed. You bite your lip, drinking in the sight of her. She crawls on top of you, her body hovering over yours. She kneels in front of you, her fingers ghosting over your skin.
"So, you gonna finish what you started?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't know," she says, a glint in her eye. "I might."
She kisses you, her lips soft and pliant. You part your lips, allowing her tongue to slip into your mouth.
"Bada," you groan, tangling a hand in her hair.
"What is it, baby?" she murmurs, nipping at your bottom lip.
"Need you," you whisper, your hips bucking into hers.
"What do you need?" she breathes, her hand ghosting down your torso.
"Your fingers, your mouth, everything," you reply, a whimper escaping your throat.
"Everything, huh?" she teases, her fingers dipping beneath the hem of your underwear.
"Fuck, please," you beg, arching your back.
"Since you asked so nicely," she replies, her voice dripping with desire.
She ducks her head, her lips trailing kisses down your chest, her hands pushing your underwear down. You kick the last bit of fabric off, leaving you bare before her.
"Beautiful," she murmurs, her fingers circling your clit.
"Ah, fuck," you moan, your hands gripping the sheets.
She sucks on your inner thigh, her tongue tracing patterns on your skin, her fingers never stopping their ministrations. She spreads your legs, her hands pushing your knees up, exposing your wet, aching center. She exhales, her gaze hungry. She places an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, her tongue lapping up your juices. You keen, your hands finding her hair.
"More," you plead, your hips canting.
"Whatever you want," she promises, her fingers digging into your flesh.
She dives in, her tongue flicking across your clit, her nose brushing against the sensitive nub. You cry out, your body writhing beneath her. She wraps her lips around your clit, sucking hard. Your toes curl, and a low, guttural moan escapes your throat. She hums in response, her eyes boring into yours. She presses a finger to your entrance, her tongue continuing its assault on your clit.
"Please," you rasp, your breathing ragged.
She enters you, her digit pumping in and out.
"F-fuck," you swear, your head rolling back.
She adds a second finger, her tongue swirling around your clit.
"Bada, I'm close," you warn, your walls tightening.
She hums, her fingers curling inside you, her mouth closing over your clit, sucking hard, and you chant, your hands tangled in her hair.
Your climax crashes into you, and you cry out, stars exploding behind your eyelids. She works you through it, her fingers coaxing every last drop of pleasure from you.
You pant, your body trembling. She smirks, pulling her fingers out of you.
"Tired already?" she teases, wrapping her arms around you.
She grins, capturing your lips with hers, and you can taste yourself on her tongue. You melt into the kiss, your arms encircling her. 
"Get some rest," she suggests, pulling away. 
You pout. "But what about you," your gaze trailing down her naked form.
"I'm fine, we'll continue this another time," she reasons, kissing your temple.
"Fine," you relent, cuddling up to her and nuzzling her neck.
She rests her chin on top of your head, her hand gently rubbing your back.
"I'm really glad we met," you murmur, the exhaustion finally catching up with you.
"Me too," she replies, kissing the top of your head.
"You're gonna stay the night, right?"
"Of course," she affirms, giving you a squeeze.
"Good," you mumble, drifting off.
You smile, listening to the sound of her heartbeat, your eyelids growing heavy.
She whispers something that you can't quite hear, but before you can ask her what it is, sleep overtakes you.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
You wake up the next morning to find Bada fast asleep beside you. You roll over, facing her. She's on her back, one arm draped over her stomach, the other above her head. She's snoring lightly, her features relaxed. You try not to coo at how adorable she looks, and instead, get out of bed and make your way to the bathroom.
You take a quick shower, and then put on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. When you walk back into the bedroom, Bada's sitting up, her phone in her hand.
"Morning," you greet, crawling onto the bed and sitting next to her.
"Morning," she replies, her gaze focused on her phone.
"What are you looking at?"
"The news. Look,' she answers, handing her phone to you.
You read the headline.
'Improved conditions for the girls' basketball team after protests'.
"Oh, wow," you say, surprised.
"Yeah," she smiles, taking her phone back.
"Our project is kind of fucked now," you realize.
"Nah, it'll probably be fine. We'll just talk to the professor about it,"  she assures, putting her phone on the nightstand.
"What time is it, anyway?"
"12:30."
"Really? I thought it was earlier," you state.
"Well, we didn't get much sleep," she teases, a grin on her face.
"I wonder why," you reply, rolling your eyes.
She smiles wider and gives you a peck on the cheek. You laugh, her lips tickling you, your heart overflowing with joy. You felt like you were dreaming. Speaking of which, you suddenly remembered what she had whispered to you last night.
"Hey," you say, gently pushing her off of you.
"What's up?"
"Last night, right before I fell asleep, you said something," you start, trying to remember exactly what it was.
"Oh," she laughs, a blush forming on her cheeks.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, just... nothing," she says, shaking her head.
"Bada," you urge, poking her side.
"Ugh, fine," she sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I, uh, I said I love you."
Your eyes widen in disbelief. "What?!" you gasp, 
Her face flushes with embarrassment. "I know, it's stupid, and you don't have to say it back or anything, but I-,"
"Bada, shut up," you interrupt, pressing a finger to her lips.
"Huh?"
"I love you, too," you reveal, smiling.
"R-really?" she splutters, gazing at you in astonishment. 
"Yes," you chuckle, kissing her forehead. 
"Wow," she whispers, staring into the distance.
You laugh. "What, did you think I wouldn't say it back?"
"Well, I didn't really know," she admits, scratching her head.
"Of course I do," you insist, cupping her face.
She stares at you, her eyes wide. You stare back, your thumbs caressing her cheeks. Your heart swells as you smile at her, and her lips tug up into a smile. There's something so endearing about the way her eyes sparkle, her skin glows.
Then, she pounces on you, showering you in kisses.
"Hey, stop!"
"No," she giggles, her lips trailing down your jawline.
"Bada, seriously," you laugh, trying to push her off.
"Nope," she declares, her hands roaming under your shirt.
"Oh, my God," you sigh, giving in to her affection.
You hold her close, your arms wrapped around her. As she's getting increasingly handsy, you hear the door slam open.
"Okay y/n, TIME TO WAKE UP! I cannot believe you left the party without-" Lusher stops in the doorway, gasping as she lays her eyes on the scene before her. 
"Fuck," you curse, scrambling out from under Bada and falling onto the floor.
"Oh god," Bada mutters, standing up.
"Lusher, please-"
"Bada?!" Lusher screams, her eyes wide. "Oh! My! God! How did this happen? Wait."
You groan. Here we go. "Lusher, please let us enjoy our-"
"God I'm glad you two finally got together. I was sooo tired of hearing you two mope about how into each other you were. It's about time, seriously."
"Lusher."
"Sorry, you know, I had weird premonition when I fell asleep that you guys hooked up, but I wasn't sure. Guess I'm a psychic," Lusher exclaims, giddily.
"Lusher."
"Okay, well, I'm glad it's true. And also, I'm very happy for you. Anyway, I'm going to go now," she announces, backing out of the room.
"Thanks, Lusher," Bada laughs.
"No problem. Also, by the way, I'm going to be a bridesmaid at the wedding."
"LUSHER."
"What? Okay, I'm going, I'm going. Bye!" she shouts, shutting the door.
"Oh, my God," Bada mutters, sitting back on the bed.
"Yeah," you agree, crawling back onto the bed and plopping next to her.
"She's a character."
"That's an understatement," you laugh.
"Anyway," Bada continues, a mischievous glint in her eye.
"Wait, what are you-,"
She pins you down, a smirk on her face. "Back to what we were doing!"
To Lusher's dismay, you and Bada spend the rest of the day locked away in your room, the two of you only coming out to grab snacks. And you couldn't be happier with how everything turned out. You almost laugh, remembering how hard you tried to convince yourself that you didn't have feelings for her, how you didn't want to date her, how she was out to get you.
But now, here you are, your head resting on her chest, her arms wrapped around you, her body pressed against yours. It's a dream come true.
And you wouldn't have it any other way.
296 notes · View notes
thedreamlessnights · 4 months
Text
Someone to shed some light - pt. 5
Astarion x gn!reader (NSFW)
{series masterlist}
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Synopsis: You and Astarion come across the camp, and its discovery adds a complication to the mix. The two of you share an intimate night together.
Warnings: 18+ - Blood drinking, mentions of past abuse. Explicit sexual content. Penetrative sex, fingering, first time sex.
Word Count: 7.7k
A/N: As you can see, this chapter is an eventful one. I hope you'll all enjoy! This story is going to get wild, and we're going to start seeing some new (and perhaps familiar) faces 👀 Also, thank you so much to @aerynwrites for making the amazing header image and for looking over this chapter! I appreciate you so much ♥
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The thick, awkward silence in the air follows you all the way to the stream - tailing along with you like it’s your shadow.
You’ve never been more grateful to see a body of water in your entire life, and it’s not due to the thirst slowly building in your mouth, or the grime on your skin itching to be cleaned off. It’s because you’re dying to do something that isn’t walking, dying to curb the silence, and dying to think of anything that isn’t Cazador.
How long have the two of you been traveling, now? How long since you’d come across Gandrel? The trees have been too dense to tell the time with any accuracy, but there’s a break of them over the water, and the sun is mid-sky when you glance at its position. 
Hours, maybe. 
Hours of thinking up a thousand different conversation topics. Trying to find something to fill the deadening quiet. None of them seemed appropriate, though; not in the aftermath of finding out that an evil vampire had enslaved Astarion for two centuries and is now relentlessly hunting him. What could you possibly say after that? 
Nothing, you’d eventually decided. You’d say nothing. But that hadn’t made any of it any better. 
The camp shouldn’t be far, now. But that can wait.
You sink to your knees on the bank, taking a handful of the mercifully cool water and splashing it over your face. It’s sweet when you bring it to your lips, blissful on your burning-hot skin, and you can’t help letting out a sigh of relief.
“I can’t wait to get out of these woods,” you say softly, more for yourself.
“They were your idea, my sweet,” Astarion replies, somewhere behind you. 
“Freedom was my idea,” you combat defensively. “The woods just happened to be a temporary part of that.”
“If you’re planning to run from my mother, then it certainly won’t be temporary,” Astarion says. “I’d become very, very friendly with the woods if I were you.”
You drop your hands, shaking away the remaining water as you try - and fail - to bite away your frustration. “Why can’t she leave me alone? All I want is to go back to my home.”
“And I want to wake every morning with a virgin at my side,” he snipes, every word laced with melodramatic condescension, “but life doesn’t give us what we want.” 
This time, your anger cuts through your chest like a knife as you shift to face him. “Well!” you exclaim. “Congratulations then, Astarion, because you do!”
He freezes, a glint in his eye, and you know you’ve made a grave error. “Do I, now?” he purrs. “Interesting.”
You ignore him, turning back to the stream, but your cheeks go hot. “Well?” you finally say. “Are you going to get cleaned up or not?”
To your surprise, he doesn’t respond.
You glance at him and find him staring at the water like it’s a poisonous bog. “Oh, come now, Your Highness. Don’t tell me the stream isn’t good enough for you?”
He scowls at you, but his gaze is quick to flit back to the stream as he speaks. “Running water used to burn like acid, dearest. I’ve never tested if it still does.”
Your mouth snaps shut. No more teasing him, you resolve. It’s only making you look like a complete ass. “Oh,” you finally say.
Astarion sinks down into a squat, hesitantly dipping his fingers into the water and giving a hum. “Well. I suppose that answers that question,” he says, shifting onto his knees.
He’s just as dirty as you feel. Gandrel’s blood is splattered all over him, and the grime of the woods has etched streaks of dirt onto his skin. Somehow, despite all of that, he’s still as beautiful as always. Maybe even more so, like this.
You feel a strange sense of disappointment when he starts rinsing the mess away.
It’s blazing hot out. It was easier to ignore earlier when you were under the shade, but the light is in full effect over the stream, and it’s unavoidable, now. You’re covered in sweat and dirt and the gods know what else. The itch to get clean is maddening.
At first, you try splashing water onto your skin and your filthy shirt, but all it ends up doing is drenching yourself - not cleaning anything at all. You’re left dirty, wet, and frustrated, and, well. Who knows when the next bathing spot will be. You’re already soaked…
You peel off your shoes and socks, get to your feet and take two steps back, then jump in.
The water is freezing cold, but it’s wonderful - euphoric under the pounding sun. It washes away the dirt and blood and sweat with ease, carrying them away as you kick around. The mild current feels like silk over your limbs. For a moment, you even float around on your back, enjoying the peaceful murmur of the water.
Then you remember that you aren’t alone, and you go upright. Astarion is watching you with a mixture of curiosity and disdain, distracted from his task. As soon as he sees you looking, he instantly goes back to trying to clean the stains out of his shirt - which is going about as well for him as it had been for you.
You watch his struggle for a moment before a string of words leave your lips. Words that wouldn’t have come out if you’d taken the time to think about it. 
“You should join me!”
He glances at the water. It’s completely clear and a beautiful blue, but that doesn’t seem to matter to him. “Darling,” he says, letting out a haughty laugh, “you want me to jump in there? Only the gods know what’s in that water.”
“You’re using it to clean your shirt,” you point out, “which isn’t going very well, Your Highness. It’ll be the closest thing to a bath for miles.”
He simply scowls in response, and you shake your head.
“Alright,” you relent. “Stay up there in the heat, then, covered in blood and dirt. Just don’t start complaining to me when you start to feel dirty.”
His scowl deepens, but he gives up on the shirt and shifts until he’s sitting on the edge of the bank. “Fine,” he says sharply. He looks down and hesitates, tilting his head. Is he wondering how deep it is? If water used to burn, then he probably hasn’t gone swimming in…
Two centuries. 
You let yourself stand, your toes sinking into the mud. The water isn’t much higher than your rib cage, and the crease between Astarion’s brows fades away. Following in your lead, he takes off his boots and socks, then lets himself slide into the water. He grimaces for a moment at the temperature, sinks under the surface, and comes up sopping, wiping water out of his eyes.
You almost feel bad, looking at that silvery mop of curls, but he doesn’t say anything. He simply pushes the mass of wet hair out of his face, then resumes his process of cleaning the blood out of his shirt. Or, trying to. It seems thoroughly fixed into the cream fabric.
For some reason, your attention on him feels like an invasion of a private moment, so you take to making sure you’re cleaned off, averting your gaze - especially when he takes off his shirt to scrub away the stains. The brief flash of porcelain skin you catch has your cheeks blooming with heat; it’s the most you’ve ever seen of him.
To distract yourself, you speak. “I’m surprised you actually got in.”
“Well,” he says. “Unfortunately, my warm baths have been conveniently misplaced. This will have to suffice.”
“Of course,” you mutter, paddling absentmindedly through the water. “For a moment there, I thought you might like something that’s remotely fun. My mistake.”
You’re still turned away, which is why the splash of water that hits you catches you by surprise. “Oh, you bastard,” you gasp, instantly sending another splash back at him.
He pauses, flashing you a wicked grin, and then you’re hit with another one, and another, and another. You’re splashing him back as much as you can and trying to swim away from the splash zone, and he’s splashing you, and you’re both breathless and calling taunts into the air. The sun is in your eyes, and water is in your lungs, and for a brief, blissful moment, it’s like all your worries have slipped away.
When the two of you are finally worn out, muscles aching, you push your way to the shore and lay on the grass, trying to catch your breath as your eyes flutter shut. The sun is golden and warm overhead, and with your now-drenched clothes, it feels wonderful. 
A moment after you’ve gotten out, Astarion joins you. You hear the light thump of his wet shirt landing on the grass next to you, and then he’s sighing. “Gods - it’s hopeless,” he mutters. “Hopefully one of those Zhentarim knew something about fashion.”
 His footsteps head back to his pack, but the feeling of warm sun on your skin is relaxing enough to keep you where you are as he digs around. When he stalls, you finally sit up, coughing some of the leftover water out of your lungs. Another joke is poised on your lips, but when you catch sight of his back, the words turn to ash on your tongue.
The soft pink lines seem like an intricate tattoo at first, but as your eyes continue to take it in, you realize that the skin is raised - far too much to ever be a tattoo. Scars. They’re scars.
You only see them for that brief moment before Astarion has found a new shirt and pulled it over himself, blocking out the sight of them, but even after they’re gone, the markings burn under your eyelids.
He turns to face you, and when he sees your face, the lightheartedness in his eyes immediately fades to something sharper. He knows you’ve seen.
“Your back,” you say softly. “It must have been painful.”
He looks away. “A gift from Cazador,” he says, his voice surprisingly soft. “A poem. He spent the night carving it into me.” He pauses, and pain flashes over his eyes. “He made a lot of adjustments as he went.”
You briefly think to yourself that - evil, powerful vampire or not - if you ever come face-to-face with Cazador Szarr, you’ll tear him to shreds with your bare hands.
Gods. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you already know Astarion won’t take it well. He clearly despises pity, and you’re not going to give it to him. 
Instead, you get to your feet, ignoring the way your drenched clothes now stick to you, and head to your pack. “Why didn’t your mother kill him?”
He scoffs. “Believe me, she tried. Unfortunately, killing a vampire isn’t exactly easy. Rescuing me was the main priority, and, honestly? It was a miracle she even managed that.”
You nod, picking at a loose string on your sleeve. “Do you have any idea where he is now?”
“Baldur’s Gate, no doubt,” he replies stiffly. “In his ridiculous palace. He’s a Lord, you know.”
Ridiculous palace. It’s an ironic thing for him to say, but then you recall that Astarion probably doesn’t enjoy Erelin’s palace, either. Then, very much delayed, the reality of his words sinks in. “Hold on. You mean to say that there’s an evil vampire lord in Baldur’s Gate, and no one knows?”
“Oh, some do; they just don’t care,” he says, tilting his head. “You see - it’s all about power. He has a fair amount, and people will do anything to get even a taste of it. You should see his servants. They come to the door, begging for his eternal gift, and they’re stupid enough to think he’ll give it to them if they work hard enough.”
The concept of that is sickening. You fear nothing more than being thrown back into your personal prison, and here people are, volunteering to be in one - and one that’s far, far worse than yours, at that. All for what? Immortality? It doesn’t even remotely appeal to you. 
From the look on his face, Astarion feels the same way. 
Gods. You can’t even imagine what he’s experienced; not even half of it. Everything you’ve been through pales in drastic comparison to his two centuries of torture. Shame sweeps deep through your gut, dark and oozing, and it’s all you can do to not despise yourself. 
Still - he complains about the petty things more than you do. And he hadn’t faulted you for wanting to run. He’d just told you not to bother, because you’d be caught.
“I don’t understand them,” you remark quietly, gathering up your things. “I can’t… imagine wanting something so much I’d give up my freedom for it.”
He shakes his head, and something reproachful paints itself into his expression. “Power is addictive, dearest. You’ll learn that soon enough.”
You sling your pack over your shoulder once more, and Astarion follows in your lead. “Well,” you say, “I suppose we’d better see what that camp is all about.”
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You smell the camp before you see it.
The smoke you’d seen yesterday has faded in the air, but the smell of it is present: a distant, hazy odor that lingers in the forest. You and Astarion squat down to be safe, observing from behind the treeline, and it becomes immediately clear what it is.
Banners of silver and blue - those are Calthirian colors. This is your kingdom. What’s left of it, at least. 
You’d been right. This rebellion is a prominent force, from the looks of it. No wonder Erelin had married you off instead of fighting. Still, it makes you wary to go waltzing straight into the place, expecting everything to turn out right. A level of paranoia lays over your skin like sweat, making it hard to think clearly. What if someone recognizes you? Do they know what you look like?
“Well,” Astarion remarks, “I suppose we’ve received our answer. And now that we have, we should be on our merry way.”
“Unfortunately,” you murmur in agreement. “You don’t think they’d give us directions to the nearest village?” It’s a long shot, and mostly a joke, but having traveled all this way to leave no better off is a sinking disappointment. 
“They’d sooner recruit us,” Astarion answers. “Or kill us.”
You stare for a moment longer, then shake your head. “All right - new plan, then. We get the hells away from here. I’ll scale another tree and see if I can see anything.”
Astarion frowns, but doesn’t seem to have any better ideas. He follows silently as you creep through the woods, watching out for any nearby scouts. 
You don’t like this place. It feels ominous, in a way. 
Your breathing doesn’t return to normal until you’re a decent amount away, and you can’t help feeling like you’ve narrowly avoided something awful. Astarion stays on the ground while you climb another tree, and this time, the forest provides something very useful to you. 
A city. Your city.
Baldur’s Gate, in all her glory, lies in the distance. It’ll take days, maybe even a week, to get there - but gods, is the sight of her a relief. Warm beds. Familiar faces. These days, there’s not many people you trust, but the ones you do are all in Baldur’s Gate. If you’re ever going to find any true escape, it’s there.
And, you think, your stomach sinking, there’ll be Ancunín outposts for Astarion to get back to his mother. 
Astarion is pacing along the base of the tree when you hop down again, and his eyes brighten when he looks at you. “Gods. You saw something, didn’t you?”
“Baldur’s Gate,” you tell him, unable to mask the smile that spreads over your lips. “It’s a few days away, but it’s there.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Astarion sighs. “I couldn’t take much more of this.”
But you know what he’s really saying. He’ll finally get back to safety.
The two of you will have to have a talk sooner or later. You aren’t sure if he’s expecting you to return with him, and you’re not keen on arguing with him. You don’t want to leave him, but if it comes down to it - you can’t go back to Erelin. 
Can’t, not won’t. It’s not even a choice. Every part of you rejects the suggestion like an unsuccessful transplant; every inch of you viscerally objects to returning to that palace. You’d bring him with you if you could, but you know that he’d never feel safe. Not while Cazador is out there, hunting for him.
The realization sombers the air as the two of you continue, skirting your way around the camp and in the direction of the city. You do a bit more hunting, and so does Astarion. Your food cooks in silence as the sun starts to set, and he seems to be lost in thought - just like you are.
When the crunch of a nearby branch sounds, the two of you leap two your feet without a second thought, reaching for your weapons. When you see who it is, your knife tumbles out of your hand.
“Cal?”
He looks more worn down than you’ve ever seen him, but it’s undeniably him. Chestnut hair. Grey eyes. A full, trim beard. He’s dressed in Calthirian colors, and his eyes widen in recognition as he stares at you, looking like he can’t believe you’re real. 
“By the gods, is that really you?” he asks. “How? When? Last I heard, you’d returned to the queen’s palace - we’ve been trying to find a way to get you out, but - well, it doesn’t matter. You’re here! You’re really here!”
He glances behind you, and when he sees Astarion, he pauses. His eyes trail over the wedding rings you both wear, and the blood drains out of his face. “Oh no,” he says softly, taking a step back. His expression hardens, and his hand flits toward the sword at his belt. “No, no, no. Tell me that is not who I think it is.”
“Oh, him?” you say quickly. “This is Lirien. He helped me escape.”
“Of course it is,” Cal replies flatly. “Instead of Astarion Ancunín.” He shakes his head. “You think I can’t tell when you’re lying? I raised you! Gods - why? Why in the hells would you bring him? Do you have any idea what people will do when they find out?”
Astarion scowls. “I can hear you, you know,” he says.
Cal ignores him. “What am I going to tell them?” he mutters to himself, pacing, looking like he might topple over. “What am I going to do?”
“Nothing,” you say adamantly. “Cal? They’re not going to hear about it. Not about me, and not about him. Alright? We’re leaving.”
But Cal, instead of softening for you like he usually does, simply clenches his jaw. “You can’t be serious. This camp has been searching for a way to get you out for the last month,” he says. “We’ve lost… hundreds of men. They’re planning to mount a rescue mission for you, two days from now! Of course I’m going to tell them you’re here!”
“Well, I got myself out before they did,” you tell him, even though that isn’t really true. “And now, I’m going.”
Cal stares at you, incredulous. “What the hells did they do to you?” he asks. “Brainwashing? Torture?” He shakes his head in disbelief, then steps closer. “I won’t hide you. You were born to rule, understand? I raised you better than this.”
He mutters something under his breath before you can respond, and your and Astarion’s weapons fly toward him, falling neatly at his feet. You start forward, but Cal has snatched them up before you can make a grab for them. You have another knife in your bag, but - gods, do you really have it in you to kill him? Even now?
Before you can decide, he’s reciting another incantation. Warmth blooms on your skin, and something electric fills the air, hazing the air and tickling the inside of your lungs.
“What was that?” you ask, flinching at the sensation. “What did you do?”
“A tracking spell - over the both of you. It’ll tell us where you are even if you run. Don’t go trying anything. I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”
This side of him is something you don’t know, not even a little, and it breaks you. Betrayal cuts through you like a knife, etching permanently into a sharp, painful spot between your ribs. Something sours on your tongue. 
You’re a pawn. You always have been, even to him. Erelin had been bad enough, but this? Cal cares more about your position than he does you. It hurts so much that you think something in you might actually rip apart and spill out of your gut, seeping into the grass below. 
You have to swallow down the nausea to speak, but the slime of this situation coats your throat and your words when you talk. “Wait until tomorrow,” you request. “Give me one more night away from them. Please.”
He sighs. “I don’t have much of a choice in that. Aris won’t be back until morning anyhow. Come on, you two - I’ll get you situated.”
He starts off toward the camp, but neither you nor Astarion follow after him. Your mind is flying over thoughts at a thousand miles per minute, trying to think of what to do. Gods, what in the hells are you going to do? 
“If I have to get the guards to drag you, I will,” Cal calls. “You’ll spend the night in chains. Come willingly, and you’ll get a tent. It’s your choice.”
You start walking. Your hands are shaking like a leaf. You look to Astarion, whose expression has tightened, who looks even more pale than usual. He’s scared, and you are, too. You have no idea what the hells these people want from you. Cal may have taken your weapons, but there’s still the other knife in your bag. Astarion has his teeth, and there’s two of you… 
Astarion meets your eyes curiously, and his gaze flits over to Cal, raising his brows. His intention is clear, and it's the same thing you’ve been thinking to yourself. After a moment of torturous internal debate, you nod. 
What had you once thought to yourself? That you were willing to do anything for freedom? Gods. Apparently, you are.
You’re just bracing yourself for a fight when the flicker of torches passes through the trees, and you hear the chatter of voices. More men, and from the look of it, they’re all armed. “Cal, is that you?” one calls, lifting his torch higher in the approaching dark so he can see. “New recruits?”
All hope left in you dies at the sight of them. Astarion tenses at your side, his hands clenching into fists. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. They’re going to take you both, and you’re completely fucking helpless to stop it. 
“Yes. Another round,” Cal says casually. It occurs to you that he probably doesn’t want to announce your identity right off the bat, and you can’t decide whether or not you’re grateful for it. 
“Aris will be happy to hear that,” the guard replies. “With the siege, we need everyone we can get. You’re sure they can be trusted?”
Cal glances back at you, smiling grimly. “Positive.”
“Good.”
The two of you are escorted all the way to the camp, and the guards trail away when you reach the outskirts. “This way,” Cal says, leading the two of you to one of the empty tents. “There’s room for both of you, since you seem so fond of each other.”
You stare at the tent, wanting nothing more than to tear through it like a rabid animal.
“Don’t be like that,” Cal implores. “Whatever they did to you, we’ll reverse it. We’ll get you back as you were, hm?” He waits for you to respond, but you don’t. If you do, you think you might actually lose your mind. 
“Alright,” he finally sighs. “Feel free to explore camp, get something to eat, but don’t go past the outer torches. If I wake tomorrow and don’t find you here, the whole of this camp will come after you. Understand?”
You swallow hard, your nails piercing into your palms. “Fuck you, Cal.”
He shakes his head and turns away - but as he moves past you, you catch a flash of movement by his pack. You say nothing, and he’s gone before he’s noticed. You and Astarion are left in front of the tent, alone. 
Well. Here you are.
The tent is larger than you’d expected when you retreat into it, Astarion following after you and sheathing the dagger he’d stolen. There are two bedrolls, some blankets and pillows, and a large amount of space to the side. No amount of blankets and pillows can make any of this better.
Silence falls, sour and agonizing. You want to throw up. You want to drink yourself to death. You want to cry. And you really, really want to punch something.
“So…” Astarion says slowly. “I suppose we’ve met each other’s parents, now.”
You let out a laugh, but it’s bitter. “And what lovely introductions we’ve had.”
His brows pinch in feigned offense. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”
You try to smile, but it falls flat. You’re so angry it feels like fire is bursting from your chest. Pressing your face into your hands, you try to breathe, wanting this not to be real - please, gods, don’t be real - but it is. You can smell the torches burning in the distance and feel the soft breeze that’s pressing through the partially-open flap of the tent.
Astarion sighs, then pushes the flap to the side and crawls through.
“Where are you going?” you ask.
“To find something to make this situation bearable,” he says, and then he’s gone.
You don’t think he’s foolish enough to fight against the tracking spell with nothing but a dagger, but it doesn’t stop anxiety from fluttering in your gut. 
You can’t stand sitting still, so you leave, too - not following after him, just restless. Drifting.
For a long while, you wander aimlessly around the camp, trailing from place to place with no destination. A person or two gives you an odd look, but you really don’t give a damn. Your problems are much larger than some strangers and their opinions. All of it will turn irrelevant come morning.
Is it fury you feel, seeping so darkly through you? Has your anger turned ice-cold? It’s as if your life has all been an illusion, some kind of cruel trick. Was any of it real? Did Cal ever really care about you, or were you simply a means to an end?
You often try not to think about your parents, but you allow yourself to do so now. Would they approve of this? Would they have wanted this for you, if they were here? Or would you be nothing more than a pawn to them, too?
You don’t know. You’re starting to wonder if there’s anyone who’s ever really cared for you.
The approach of velvet-blue sky brings you wandering back to your assigned tent. It’s different than it had been before - but you can’t recognize quite how. Not until you get inside, at least. 
Astarion has set up a meal: candles and wine and much fancier food than was in your packs or at the ration stations. You stall at the opening, and he nods for you to come in. You take a seat across from him, admiring his work. With the tent closed, it almost feels private. You can almost forget the camp out there, even for just a moment.
“What’s all this?” you ask.
He hands you a goblet, and you take it without another thought. “Well, darling,” he says softly, “I thought we should enjoy our last night of freedom. Who knows where we’ll be come morning.”
You press the glass to your lips and drink, finding a dark, heady wine on your tongue. “We didn’t have wine,” you recall to yourself. “Where the hells did you get this?”
“Oh, you know,” Astarion sighs, waving a dismissive hand. “Around.”
This time, it’s a real smile that overtakes you. “Just like that dagger?”
“Of course,” he says, tilting his head. A mirroring smile plays on his lips, and he takes a sip of his wine. “If he didn’t want it taken, he shouldn’t have had it out in the open. Besides,” he adds, rolling a shoulder, “I was only returning it to its rightful owner.”
You shake your head. “I still can’t believe he did that. I never thought he was capable of… anything even similar to that. I thought he - cared. About me.”
“You’ll get used to it,” Astarion replies, but there’s a quiet sympathy on his face. “Especially if they intend for you to rule, which they almost certainly do.”
“Of course.” Your throat tightens, and you take another sip of wine. You feel drawn so incredibly tight. It’s like a part of you is waiting to burst.
“So,” Astarion muses, swirling the glass around, “our last night of freedom. Any idea what you want to do with it, my sweet?”
You let out a huff, staring down at your wine. “Aside from blowing this entire gods damned camp up?” You let out a shaky exhale. “No idea.”
“No?” he asks. “No lifelong list? Something you’ve always wanted to try?”
There must be a thousand things you want to do while you still can, but none of them are coming to mind. You’re wound as tight as a rope, fuming, and would give absolutely anything to stop thinking. 
When you shake your head, Astarion leans forward, setting down his glass. “Nothing comes to mind?”
“I - I don’t know. All I can think about is how… angry I am. I don’t know what I want.”
“Then allow me to make a suggestion, darling,” he says, taking the wine out of your hand, neatly setting it on the chest he’s using as a makeshift table. He leans forward, trailing his thumb along your cheek, and something in your stomach jumps. “We’re here, aren’t we? We might as well take the opportunity to distract ourselves.”
“Astarion-”
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he asks, his voice low and honeyed. “I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt those little… trembles of excitement when my teeth are in your neck.” He pauses, tilting his head, and another smile plays on the corners of his lips. “No need to be coy,” he purrs. “Your body has already given you away.”
And you do want it. You want it so badly that you can hardly stand it. “And what about you?”
“What?” he asks, frowning. “What about me?”
“What do you want?”
He lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Gods. Isn’t that obvious?” he asks, “I want you.”
You’re caught between the ever-growing want now steadily coursing through you and - something else. Something you don’t recognize. “If you’re sure.”
“Of course I’m sure,” he insists, frustration bleeding into his voice as he pulls back to look at you. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
You give him a half-hearted smile. “Well, for one, I’ve never done this before. Remember?”
The frustration bleeds out of his face, and the line that’s been creased between his brows disappears. “Please,” he says incredulously. “You say that like it’s a bad thing. Haven’t you heard of vampires preferring virgins?” 
Something flutters in your gut at his words, at the heated way he’s taking you in. “Alright, then, vampire,” you say, before your fears can suck you in. “Do what you will with me.”
His eyes darken. “Oh, I most certainly will,” he murmurs. 
He leans in, and his lips meet yours, fragrant with honeyed wine, ardent and sweet. Gentle at first, but that quickly becomes a haze of need - his hand tightening on your cheek, your hand tightening on his shirt. 
Gods, you think. Kissing Astarion is like hearing a new melody and knowing that it will never leave your mind. The kiss you’d shared at the wedding has already haunted your mind plenty, but this? This is incomparable. Electric. He coaxes your mouth open with ease, and arousal shoots down your back like a bolt of lightning. When his tongue brushes against yours, every muscle in your body goes slack. 
In the midst of everything, you’re still inexperienced. Your hands don’t know what to do or where to go. One settles on his shoulder, the other keeps itself clutched in his shirt. You can’t tell if it’s right, but if it’s wrong, Astarion doesn’t say.
He places his free hand at your side, using it to stabilize himself as he crawls over you, still kissing you, straddling your legs with his hips. Then that hand is at your waist, and his lips are at your neck, and you’re letting out a soft, wanting noise.
He huffs, kissing up your jaw, gently nipping at the sensitive flesh of your earlobe. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?” he hums. 
And what the hells are you supposed to say to that? Of course you’re eager. You’ve been wanting him for ages. The building need between your legs says that more than enough. You’re viciously turned on, and the smugness of his voice isn’t helping, but there’s still an awkwardness to the situation. 
You have no idea what you’re doing. You can’t tell if anything you want is remotely right. In between the pleasure and passion, there’s a building anxiety that’s becoming more and more prominent. It’s distracting you from what he’s doing, which is leaving you nothing but frustrated.
“You’re thinking too much. Relax, darling,” Astarion murmurs, pulling away. “Close your eyes for me.”
And you do. You take one last look at him, so impossibly beautiful in the warm candlelight. His curls have dried tousled from the river, his eyes are half-lidded and dark, and there’s a certain amount of expectancy laced in his gaze that makes you shiver. Then, satisfied that you’ve enclosed the image to memory, you shut your eyes. The darkness helps, you think. A little.
“Good,” Astarion praises, and his lips return to your neck. He takes your hands and places them at his waist, and you’re more than happy to keep them there as he kisses down your jaw. In the darkness of your closed eyes, every touch becomes intensified. Every thought begins to slip away in favor of the feeling of him.
Sharp teeth, grazing along sensitive skin. The icy touch of his skin, sating the scorch of the arousal that shudders through your veins. The soft, almost ticklish brush of his curls against your neck as he kisses along your clavicle. The moment his hands stall at your top, your breath hitches, and your body flinches - an automatic defense you’ve ingrained over the years.
But you want him to touch you. You want this. So you take in a steadying breath and compel your muscles to relax, and he continues - not teasingly slow, but not rushed, either. Taking his time with you.
You’d thought he was beautiful when you first met, but you have to admit: you’re glad that your first time with him, as horrible as the outside circumstances are, is happening here, and not on your wedding night, when you were so hesitant of him. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it, then, even if he’d been the exact same with you. But now? 
Gods, you’re enjoying it. And, judging by the growing hardness between his legs, he’s enjoying it too. 
You’d like to think you’re a patient person, but you really aren’t. The more your want grows, the more your impatience does as well. Your breathing has turned heavy, and as his hands, slowly taking on your warmth, grasp lightly over your ribs, the rhythm of your lungs turns shaky - your entire body singing in want for something you’ve never even experienced.
Just as you’re truly getting desperate, he pulls away again, his hands trailing along your abdomen as he nips at your ear. “You poor thing,” he says, his voice light and teasing. “How did you stand it all this time, alone with me?”
You open his eyes and find him staring down at you, observing the sight of you. You shake your head, failing to bite away the smile that’s threatening to show itself. “Sex wasn’t exactly my priority in the middle of the woods, Astarion. The circumstances were awful.”
“True,” he remarks, tilting his head. His fingers graze over your thigh, still clothed with fabric, but you almost can pretend you don’t know better. “Still,” he says softly, his hands stalling at your lower navel, “here’s hoping we’ll get more time to enjoy this.”
Before he continues undressing you, he pauses, and that crease between his brows forms again. “Just to be clear,” he says, “you do want this?”
Your response is immediate, albeit breathy with want. “I do.”
He flashes you a grin, suddenly wicked. “Good.” 
To your dismay, he crawls off of you, but it’s immediately remedied when he places his hands on your shoulder and eases you to the soft floor of the tent, coaxing your legs apart with his knee.
Any clothes you’re still wearing are quickly disposed of, and needless to say, being so naked while he’s still fully clothed leaves you feeling entirely too vulnerable. “Planning to take me with your clothes on?” you ask, and he pauses, blinking - shaking his head, as if shaking away a stray thought. “Of course not,” he says, the corner of his lips tugging into a smile. “Simply admiring the view, darling.”
His shirt comes off, first, tugged over his head. All silky-smooth skin that you want to trail your hands over, admire inch by inch. Gods, he’s beautiful, shadows reflecting over lithe muscle, supple skin and unearthly beauty you shouldn’t be able to touch. But you are. You gently lift a hand to him, running your fingers over his forearm, and he smiles, undoing his trousers. 
Your entire body tenses in anticipation of him, but your gaze can’t stay in place. It meets his for a moment, taking in the dark ruby color of his eyes. It flickers over his nimble fingers, studies the tendons in his hands, dances over his chest and abdomen. Something stirs in you, something that aches well beyond the temporary arousal, something that cuts deeper. It’s something that, selfishly, wants him to stay. Wants him to curl next to you in the nights, wants him to leave his mother behind and continue on with you.
An impossible want, but it’s still there. After this, where will it leave the two of you? 
You aren’t sure - but if this is the only chance you’re going to get at it, you’re damn well going to take it. Astarion leans over you, kissing you softly, and then his talented fingers are going to work between your thighs. They work a smooth, blissful friction that you’ve never been able to achieve by yourself - and, though the anxious rooting inside of you wants to shut your eyes, you don’t. You hold his gaze. 
For just a moment, he looks almost distant, but his eyes clear - and something darkens in his gaze as he looks at you. He props over you, watching you as you squirm in pleasure, his lips slightly parted.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, and you nearly come apart right there. You don’t, though. He pulls his hand away and you’re left shuddering, panting and aching. Then, he moves closer, places a hand on your thigh to coax your legs apart, and works a finger into you. 
His hands are warm by now, but - gods. The feeling of him, compared to your feeble attempts, is nearly shameful. He takes his time with this - goes slow, watching your face intently. He doesn’t want to hurt you, you realize.
Your impatience is less now, as he increases it to two, then three; the stretch, despite his best efforts, is bordering on painful. The almost-pain fades the further he goes on, bleeding into something else that’s so intensely pleasurable you want to beg him to just take you. 
When he finally stops, he tilts his head. “Oh, you’re ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice silky and low. 
“Please,” comes your response.
“Darling, no need to beg,” he says. “I won’t keep you waiting.”
And he doesn’t. He props himself over you, lowering himself to kiss you, and your leg hitches around his waist. His skin is warm from touching yours, but it’s cold where your arms move to wrap around his neck. You’re mindful of his scars, because you doubt he likes them touched, and he brushes his nose against your cheek as he pushes into you. Slowly, again, but you’re not going to complain. There’s that wash of pain again, and then - oh, gods. Pleasure. Delicious, blissful friction. Your chest heaves and your mouth lets out a loud, needy sound. 
Only then do you remember you’re in the middle of camp, but honestly? You’re so removed at this point that you don’t even care. If all of Calthir hears you getting fucked to the heavens by their enemy prince, so be it. Cal’s probably fucked off to somewhere else anyway, no doubt burdened by guilt. He has to feel some sort of guilt, doesn’t he?
“Gods,” Astarion pants, drawing you back to the present as he slowly deepens his thrusts. You swallow hard, watching the crease of pleasure form between his brows, studying the flash of fangs between his lips. You’re drunk on pleasure, the feel of him, the tiny solitude in this tent that separates you from the rest of the world. He kisses you again, and this time it’s heated, desperate, messy. 
His tongue molds against yours, his fangs graze your lip. Gods, his pace is picking up. Your muscles are starting to tense - the flushed warmth that’s building under your skin is growing. He lets out a soft moan and grips your shoulder, and you instinctively tilt your head for him, giving him access to your neck.
He studies your expression for a moment, as if he’s confirming what you’re offering, and then - gods. He sinks his fangs into your neck. 
If you’d thought the practice was intimate before, it’s so much more now. You barely even feel the pain of the piercing skin - all you feel is him tasting you, groaning into your skin, his hips still rolling evenly. 
He only takes a little, but when he pulls away, there’s that rosy flush to his cheeks. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on him, metallic iron. His movements are less graceful, now. His gaze is dark and intense, and his grip on you is stronger when he takes your shoulder again, thrusting harder - enough to have you tensing, the both of you panting. 
When the pleasure finally takes you, it’s so intense it’s almost painful. It starts somewhere deep within, working its way through you, singing through your veins until the world blurs at the edges. Blinding, white-hot waves of it ebb and flow through you, taking you away from every sensation but that of Astarion, skin balmy against yours - floating somewhere in the depths of your mind until you finally come down. 
Astarion shudders through his climax just after you, letting out a sudden, wanting noise - as if it’s been punched out of him. As if it had surprised him, just the way it had surprised you. You want to memorize it. You want to take that sound and remember it forever.
When it’s all passed, you’re left covered in sweat, sated, and very, very vulnerable. The arousal that had drifted away your insecurities is waning, and you’re left wanting to hide - to crawl away. But Astarion gently kisses you, carefully pulling out of you, and exhaustion takes over instead. 
The Gur. Finding out about Cazador. Cal’s betrayal. All of that in one day, and it’s taking its toll. Your eyes feel heavy. Your muscles feel achy and worn out. Your thoughts are clouded over, too intertwined and complicated to drag apart when you’re like this.
You sit up and grab a stray rag, intending to clean yourself, but Astarion tugs it out of your fingers. “No, darling, let me,” he says. 
And you do.
He confuses you - that he can be so vicious and so tender. He’d killed Gandrel without hesitation, without remorse - though, admittedly, you’d let him. Let him. As if you had some control over him. As if you could have stopped him. It should scare you, perhaps - that callous, venomous side of him - but it doesn’t. The rough edges of him you keep finding only make you want him more. The details don’t sate you. You always want more. 
And now, you suppose you’ll find out what comes next. 
The tent is silent. You fumble through your pack and find your sleeping clothes, and Astarion does the same. You’re hesitant, not wanting to push too far. You know very well sex doesn’t mean anything more - however much you might want more - and you know for certain that Astarion had not offered you anything aside from that. Still, the thought of curling up alone tonight has your chest aching.
When you finish dressing, you find that Astarion has pulled the two bedrolls together, fluffed up by the pillows and blankets. He raises a brow and pats the spot next to him, and it’s really very childish, the way your chest fills with a delirious sort of joy. You make your way next to him, and he folds you into his arms. 
His skin is cool again. The little sounds of him are relaxing - the movements of his ribs when he breathes, the bob of his throat when he swallows, the light sigh he lets out when his head meets the pillow. It almost makes up for the silence in his chest. The void of sound where a beating heart should be.
For just a moment, before sleep pulls you away, you wonder if he remembers how it felt - to have something alive, thrumming in his chest.
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tags: @amica-aenigmata-naboo @sadslasher13 @peachy-possum @the-lonely-abyss @maddiedrmr @starved-kitten @catching-fire-in-the-wind @aoirohi @g0retash
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hellcat8908 · 4 months
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Hello. Hope your doing well. I have had this idea in my head for a while know. And it can go 3 ways. It involves reader and rhysand
So the reader is pregnant. U know that rhys was under the mountain. So... The reader is mated to rhys. She either goes utm pregnant. She can be trapped and lose the child because of a tourture method, or she can give birth secretly and hide the child utm Or she never went and rhys meets his child after 50 years. U can decide this. Thank you! Have an amazing day.
Returning Home Rhysand x Reader
"You are staying in Velaris, I will not risk you traveling in your condition. I want you to stay here and just focus on taking care of yourself and our child." Were Rhys's final words to you before he went under the mountain and became trapped. You were 6 months pregnant when he had left. Once you received word of what happened, you were devastated. You almost lost the babe from the stress and heartbreak. Thankfully, you had the inner circle to help you.
It wasn't always easy, and you're not sure how you managed some days, but you had raised your son. Of course, Azriel and Cassian helped you keep him in line when you needed them to. You were grateful for their support along with Mors. You were finishing setting the table when Rhys walked in. You dropped the plate you were holding, and before it shattered on the floor, you were in Rhys's arms.
Cassian, Azriel, and Mor all came to see what the commotion was. You reluctantly let go of your mate, allowing Azriel and Cassian a chance to welcome him home. You notice Ryker come in and take in the scene in front of him. His family gathered around his father. His same violet eyes stared back at him as Rhys saw him for the first time. You hold your breath as you worry about Ryker's reaction.
Just as Rhys takes a step towards him, he turns and runs out. Rhys politely excuses himself and follows Rykers exit. He quickly finds his son leaning against the railing over looking velaris. Rhys cleared his throat as he approached and joined him. "I know this awkward for both of us, but I would like for it to become less awkward with time." Rhys says. "Where do we even start? What are we even supposed to say?" Ryker asks as he runs his fingers nervously through his hair.
"Why did you go? Why did you leave us behind?" Ryker asks in sudden frustration. "Neither were easy decisions to make, I regret leaving every day. I don't regret not taking the two of you with me, though. Once I'd learned what had happened, I knew I had made the best decision in ordering your mom to stay in Velaris. I knew the two of you would be safe, and I shielded the bond from her to protect her from my agony and the things I witnessed."
Ryker remains silent as he takes in what Rhys said. "I want us to get to know each other and become a family, I don't expect it overnight, but I'll continue to keep reaching." Rhys says before turning and heading back inside to the rest of his family. Ryker remains still as he tries to sort through his feelings and thoughts.
You excuse yourself to check on your son. "It's a beautiful sight, the city." You say as you stand beside him. "I've waited my whole life for him to come home and had dreamt of it so often." He says. "It's nothing like you dreamt it would be, is it?" You ask. "I'm so confused. When he came home, I expected to feel happy and have some sort of connection, but when he does I'm angry and full of questions. "Why now? Why after so long? Am I what he was expecting or hoping for?" He rubs his face. "I need to go."
In an instant, you're left standing alone before you can offer any words of comfort. You let out a sigh and return inside for dinner. Cassian and Azriel are questioning Rhys while Mor just smiles and listens. You take a seat next to Rhys and feel him tugging at your mind. "Later." You convey to him. He relents and continues answering all of their endless questions.
After dinner, you retreat to your bedroom where Rhys joins you a few minutes later, looking upset. "You need to give him time. He'll come around." You tell him softly before helping him undress and get ready for bed. You get yourself ready for bed and cuddle up next to him for the first time in 50 years. "I'm sorry." Rhys says softly. "For what?" You ask, enjoying his warmth. "For leaving you alone to raise him on your own through it all." He says barely loud enough for you to hear.
You reach up and tilt his head so he's looking at you, "You have nothing to apologize for. You had no way of knowing what would happen. Besides, I didn't do it alone. Our family helped, and I always made sure he knew about you." You say before kissing him softly. "I can't help but feel like I failed you both." He admits. "We were safe because of you. You did everything you could, and there is nothing wrong with that. Please don't punish yourself for this." He lets out a sigh and gives you a nod.
Eventually, you drift asleep together. Rhys becomes restless, so he changes into training leathers and heads outside. He makes his way towards the training ground when he hears someone already out there. He assumes it's Azriel since he struggles to sleep some nights. When he rounds the corner, he's surprised to see Ryker. He observes as he notes how well Cassian and Azriel have been training him. His heart hurts that it wasn't him teaching him all these years.
"You look like you could use a sparring partner." Rhys says as he steps closer. "You sure you're up to it, old man?" Ryker retorts. "You could still learn a thing or two." Rhys says confidently. "Let's find out." Ryker says while taking his stance as Rhys follows suit. "Let's see how easy your uncles have been taking it on you." Rhys taunts him.
Ryker lunges for Rhys but is easily blocked as Rhys land a hit to his side. "Someone is impatient." Rhys comments before trying to they continue each one blocking most of the others' attacks but still landing some lucky ones. They seem to be fairly even matched as they wear each other down. Finally, Rhys sees his opening and brings down Ryker after he leaves his left side exposed.
"Looks like this old man has still got it." Rhys says, extending a hand to help Ryker up. "Only one thing you forgot." Ryker tells him. "What's that?" Rhys asks. "Expect the unexpected." Ryker says before sweeping Rhys's legs out from under him, sending him to the ground beside him. "I see Cassian training ideas haven't changed." Rhys says laughing. Ryker joins him, "No fighting dirty is one of the first things you learn with him."
"Come on, let's get some ice for that eye." Rhys says before standing and starting towards the house. "You got lucky on that one." Ryker says as he follows. "Luck had nothing to do with it, son." Rhys says arrogantly. "Whatever you say, old man." Ryker says as he falls in step beside him.
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withacapitalp · 3 months
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How to Rehabilitate a Jock Part 19
Part One Link to ao3 Part 18.
Part Twenty
As always thank you to @stevethehairington and @thefreakandthehair for generally keeping my head on my shoulders and betaing everything I always throw at you guys ily ily ily
Step Nineteen: Sing a Song
“Are you sure about this Steve?” Claudia asked for the millionth time as Steve opened her coat and held it out in front of him with a patient smile. 
“I’m sure. Honest, Mrs. Henderson.” Steve said. He had gone through this exact song and dance with every parent except for Joyce and Hop, and Claudia was the final hold out. Truthfully he had expected Karen Wheeler or the Sinclairs to be the most unsure about leaving their sons at his house overnight, but a few small platitudes had been enough to get them to let go and go home. 
Well, a few platitudes and a bottle of wine to hit the road with. 
“Steven,” She immediately replied, a faux warning tone coloring her voice as she wagged her finger at him with a grumpy look in her eye. 
“Claudia,” Steve amended, still feeling that little awkwardness that he always had when he addressed any adult by their first name. He could practically hear his mother’s voice in his ear telling him off for being impolite. “It’s not a problem, and besides, they’re just going to sleep. Super easy.”
Steve wasn’t exactly sure if that was true, but he had hope. All six of his brats had been letting out big yawns as he had ushered them up the stairs a little while ago, and he hadn’t heard any shouting coming from upstairs yet. There was no way of knowing if the excitement of a sleepover would give them a second wind of some form, but even that would be short lived. 
Besides, Eddie had just left to drop off his friends with the promise of coming back soon, so the quicker he got the kids in bed, the better. 
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, dear, you know how grateful I am for everything you’ve done for Dusty and the others,” Claudia said, finally allowing Steve to help her into her coat, “I just can’t believe you don't get tired of having them all here so often. I mean, doesn't it exhaust you? I can barely handle the occasional playdate they have at my house!” 
“It does exhaust me,” Steve joked with a soft laugh, “but it’s also nice? A bit hard to explain, I guess.” 
“You’re starting to sound like a father,” Claudia teased, buttoning up her extremely bright pink coat., “You’ll make some girl very happy someday.” 
Steve laughed along because that was what was appropriate, but he couldn’t deny the weird pit in his stomach that was beginning to grow. A month ago he would have thought it was because of his breakup with Nancy and the prospect that he might never find someone he loved like her ever again. 
That made sense. 
But Steve could say with almost one hundred percent certainty that Nancy was nothing but a friend now. Someone important to him, but wholly platonic. He could also say that he still very much wanted to be a father. It was one of the things he wanted most in life.
So why was Claudia’s joke making him so uncomfortable? 
It made zero sense. There wasn’t any reason. Something just felt… wrong. 
Luckily their conversation appeared to be over. There were still the normal polite farewells and long goodbyes in the doorway, but that was all perfunctory. Steve could go through those motions without much thought, and before he knew it the front door shut and he was finally alone in his house once more. 
Thump. 
Mostly alone. 
“You shitheads better have your pajamas on and teeth brushed by the time I reach the top of these steps!” Steve called up from the bottom, standing still and relishing in the sudden flurry of activity that was coming from his bedroom. 
The kids weren’t even a bit frightened of him, but they still listened to him when they felt like it, and especially if he was doing something big like letting them all stay overnight so they could spend more time with El. It was almost novel, knowing they were going to actually do what he said with only minimal complaining. 
Steve waited one second longer before starting to climb the stairs, purposefully making his steps just a touch louder so he knew the kids could hear him approaching. He even made a show of slowly opening the door to his bedroom, only to be greeted by a truly miraculous sight. 
All six of them tucked tight into his bed, quiet and calm. Max, Lucas, and Will were even pretending to be asleep, just to really sell the bit. Max and Lucas weren’t doing too good, but Steve might’ve actually believed Will’s act if he didn’t know that Will always slept on his left, and not his right. 
“Look at that, turns out you can do as you’re told,” He said, putting his hands on his hips and biting his lip to avoid directly laughing at how good they were pretending to be. The ‘sleepers’ opened their eyes, and the others all relaxed at the easy going tone their babysitter was using. 
“Fuck you, Steve,” Mike grumbled, ever the contrarian. 
“I can still call your mom and dad to pick you up, Wheeler,” Steve threatened lightly, both of them knowing he would do no such thing. 
Still, it was enough to get Mike to back down, grumbling as he snuggled in tighter between Dustin and El. 
“How’d the plan go?” Dustin asked eagerly, leaning over his grumpy friend and jamming his elbow’s into Mike’s ribs, causing the other boy to snarl and try to push him off without success. 
“Pretty much perfect,” Steve sighed walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling at one of Max’s braids idly just to rile her up a little bit. “El should have no problem going to school next year.”
The kids immediately began to cheer and whoop, already excitedly planning all the things they would get to do together next year.
All except one. 
“What’s wrong Supergirl?” Steve asked softly, furrowing his brow at El’s stormy expression. “I thought this would make you happy.” 
That was the whole reason he had come up with this insane plan- he had wanted to make El happy. And yet, here she was, practically miserable. 
El sucked in one cheek, chewing on it in a move that was so reminiscent of Hopper it almost made Steve laugh. She looked just like her dad when he was deep in thought. 
“I am happy about being allowed to go to school,” El finally began, her words slow as she thought through the exact words she wanted to use. Steve waited patiently, knowing she would come to the words when she had them, or would ask for one that might help explain better. 
“I am… uncomfortable with lying. Friends don’t lie.”
Friends don’t lie. 
Steve wasn’t exactly sure who had taught that to these kids, but if he ever found out, he would not be responsible for what he did. 
Don’t lie. What a stupid thing to teach kids. In Steve’s opinion- honesty was overrated. There was nothing wrong with a white lie, or a big fat one, as long as it was for a good reason. What was the point in telling his mother that his dad was out with his secretary again? What sense was there in being truthful when Carol asked if the other girls thought she was mean? Saying those things just hurt everyone, Steve included. 
It was better to be smart, to be strategic with the truth, and hope for the best. He would lie to everyone around him, as long as it was what would keep them happiest. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and actually, knowing would hurt more. 
Still, he couldn’t say that to them. Especially not to El of all people. The other kids barely understood; her black and white way of thinking wouldn’t be able to get it. Not yet. 
But then again, maybe it would be better if she never did.   
“Friends don’t lie, but friends do keep secrets,” Steve decided, hoping that would be enough. “We’re going to keep your secrets, so you can stay safe. Does that make sense?”
“Yes,” El said almost immediately, knowing how important her safety was to Steve. She paused, and Steve could practically see the wheels turning in her brain as she let his words truly sink in. 
Once she did she took a deep breath and turned back to him, making sure Steve was looking at her as she spoke. 
“But I still don’t like it? Does that make sense?” El asked hesitantly. 
“I don’t like it either,” Mike said, and this time Steve could tell he wasn’t just agreeing because it was El. Mike’s little glower had turned into a full blown scowl, and his arms flew around as his voice began to raise, “El saved the world. Twice. She’s a hero, not a monster!” 
No, she wasn’t a monster, and Steve would never want her to think of herself as one, but the world wasn’t so kind. Before he could even begin to try explaining that, the kids kept going. 
“It does kind of suck that I can’t tell my mom anything,” Max admitted, uncharacteristically quiet as she kept her eyes firmly on the blanket covering her legs. “I don’t care about telling Billy or Neil or anything, but my mom asks me about my nightmares, and I can’t tell her why I have them. I’ve never been good at keeping secrets from her.”
“My mom’s still bummed about Mews,” Dustin muttered. 
“My mom knows and it’s still hard to talk to her,” Will added on, looking far too old for just being twelve. 
They all looked old. It was like Steve could almost see the adults they would be someday far down the line. Adults with secrets to bear, and lies to tell, and too many things they would never be able to explain to the world around him. Things that their mothers would never be able to help them with.
Was that what he was now?
Steve had never even considered talking to his mother about everything they had been through. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind once. And now that he was thinking about it, he still couldn’t imagine a world where he would ever talk to his mom about any of this. 
… It was hard to recall the last time he had talked to his mom about anything real. 
“I know it sucks, but it’s not safe guys,” He said, focusing on the thing he could worry about and ignoring the panging ache in his heart. This wasn’t a time to think about his mommy issues. This was about the kids. 
“Yeah, being put in cuffs once was enough for me,” Lucas said, unconsciously rubbing at his wrists. “Not fun.”
“I do not want to go back to the lab. Secret’s are necessary,” El agreed, reaching over and tangling her fingers in Lucas’s, “but they suck.”
“Secrets suck a big fat one,” Dustin declared. 
El leaned back, quirking her head to the side. 
“A big fat what?” She asked, the absolute picture of innocence she was. 
There was a beat of quiet as they all registered exactly what she had just said, and then as a group they all began to laugh. Steve tried in vain to stifle his giggles, not wanting El to feel like she was being laughed at, but she was smiling too, pleased as punch to get her friends feeling happy again instead of sad. 
“I’ll explain it some other time, Elliegirl,” Steve promised, tugging the covers more securely around the brats as he did. “And you guys can always talk to me, you know that right? I’m not the same as your parents, but I’m here.” 
Some sleepy nods and yawns answered him, and Steve figured the conversation had reached its natural conclusion. But, just as he reached over to grab the lights, a quiet little voice broke through the silence. 
“... Who do you talk to?” 
Steve paused, his fingers still curled around the knob on his bedside lamp as he turned to give Will a curious look. 
“What?” 
“You said we can talk to you, but who do you talk to?” Will explained, a little nervous like always, but not backing down. 
No one. 
“Plenty of people. I’ve got my friends, and Nancy and Jonathan,” Steve replied, a little too cheerfully, trying to ignore the immediate response that had come to mind. 
“But you can’t talk to Eddie or the others about the upside down stuff, and you barely talk to Nancy and Jon,” Max argued, joining Will in staring Steve down now that he had considered the question, “so, who do you get to talk to about this, Steve?”
“Where’s all this coming from?” Steve asked, expertly maneuvering around the situation. He ruffled Dustin’s curls, finally free of his hat, poking him in between the eyes to add an extra annoyance. “I’m the one that worries about you brats, not the other way around.” 
“We are friends, Steve. Aren’t friends supposed to watch over each other?” El insisted. 
Steve opened his mouth but quickly shut it before he said something stupid like they weren’t friends or it didn’t work that way. 
But wasn’t that the truth?
The kids were friends with each other, Nancy was Mike’s sister, Jonathan was Will’s brother, Hopper and Joyce were the parents. Where did Steve fit in that equation? ‘Babysitter’ had been an easy thing to use as a placeholder, but how much longer could he say that? What place was Steve supposed to be in for them as they got older? He wasn’t their brother, but he couldn’t see a world where he fit as one of their friends. 
“You’re wrong,” Dustin grumbled, pulling Steve out of his head and back into the moment. 
“Excuse me?” Steve said, more than a little shocked. As far as he knew, El was the only one who could read minds, and he hadn’t said a word. 
And yet, they were all glaring at him, unhappy with whatever they had seen on his face. 
“How many times do we have to say you’re in the party?” Mike muttered, a heavy red blush on his cheeks as he burrowed deeper into the pillows to avoid looking at anyone. 
“Dumbass,” Max added, just to even things back out. 
A hot heavy warmth spread through Steve’s chest and he bit down the stupid smile that was 
threatening to break onto his face. Whatever he was, it didn’t matter. They cared, and that was what mattered. 
“If I need to, I’ll talk with you guys,” Steve offered, knowing deep in his bones that he would never do such a thing. 
“Promise?” Lucas murmured.
“Promise,” Steve lied with a soft, honey sweet voice, shutting off the light and letting the hallway lamp and the glow of the pool illuminate the room in a gentle cool tone. “Now it’s really time for bed.”
“What about Story and Song?” El asked. 
Steve raised his brows in surprise, reminded with a jolt that despite looking just the same, El wasn’t like the other kids. 
Story and Song was a little tradition Steve had started for the nights that Hopper had to work late, an easy way to get her to go to bed in an unfamiliar house without the comforting presence of her dad. He would read one of the short stories from his big book of Disney stories, sing her a song, and she would sleep until Hopper came to pick her up. It was sweet, but none of the other kids would have ever dared to ask for such a childish thing. They would want to act more grown up, more mature, always in a rush to grow up. 
El had no such qualms. 
A familiar storybook was being floated into his lap, and none of them, not even the boys, were protesting. In the blink of an eye, they weren’t old anymore, just kids who wanted to hear a story they already knew to help them fall asleep. 
“Which one do you guys want?” Steve asked, ignoring the lump that was starting to grow in his throat, flipping through the Disney storybook and feeling the worn edges against his fingertips. 
“Lady and the Tramp?” Dustin offered, seeing that Steve was already thumbing through that page. He turned to the beginning and rolled his neck getting into the mood to read, using the light from the pool outside as his guide. 
“Lady was a happy little dog. She lived in a big house with Jim Dear and Darling.”
By the time Steve’s index finger glossed along the last sentences of the story, most of the kids had dropped off. Will had fallen asleep almost immediately, with Dustin and Lucas tripping after him before too long. El had made a valiant attempt to stay up, but she was gone by the time Lady met the other dogs at the pound. 
Steve had just two hold outs left.
“G’night guys,” He said quietly, slowly sliding off of the bed and putting the book on the floor next to his bed. Mike turned over and ignored him, but Max sat up with a little glare. 
“You said we would get a song too,” Max said sleepily, rubbing at her eyes with both palms. 
“That’s being cheap, Harrington.”
Cheap? Was she actually serious?  
“You two… want me… to sing you a lullaby?” Steve asked in complete disbelief. El, he understood. She had no frame of reference, no way of knowing that she might be a little bit too old for things like this, but Max? 
Mike? 
“We just don’t think you can actually sing,” Mike said, his words punctuated by a ridiculously big yawn. 
“You gotta close your eyes then, and just listen,” Steve sighed, unwilling to argue this late at night. 
“Deal,” Max said, snuggling down into the bed.
Steve let his eyes fall shut, taking a long deep breath as he slowly lowered himself to the ground, putting his back against the bed and conveniently facing away from the kids. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed to sing, it would just be easier not to have to see them while he did it. 
But what should he sing? 
It had to be something soft, something easy. Something anyone would want to hear. 
The memory hit him like a ton of bricks. 
“Who could hate this song?” 
Steve had the answer. 
“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me…”
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𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝐴𝑟𝑒 𝑃𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡, 𝑌𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝐼 𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑡
Summary: No one in school could deny that Sebastian Sallow was in love with the new student, but also couldn't deny that he was a stupid with his confession plans... Would a birthday change it all?
Aka scenario mixed with headcanons about Sebastian absolutely being a lovely romantic with his feelings and doing something to prove his feelings to a certain important professor and the girl he loves.
A/N: I might write one with Ominis too, because they are both my lovely bois! But this one is already long as hell, so there will be a second part!
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Against the contrary belief, Sebastian Sallow was never and is never gonna be a fratboy kinda man. Yes, he flirts but guess what?
Only with you, the absolute love of his life.
Now, Anne often teased him with being a hopeless romantic and said that girls wouldn't be that interested... Jokes on her, you were already down bad for him and that stupid smile whenever he achieved a certain hard potion.
I mean, come on... You wouldn't try to stand the pain of freaking Crucio for his sake, if you didn't feel anything for him.
Anyways back to the point, Anne was indeed grateful that there was someone who had her brother's back.
Someone that eased his thirst for Dark Arts and a blind suicide mission just to have a cure for her.
She was also happy that there would be someone else he could rely on, knowing he and their uncle didn't get along at all.
But couldn’t help from thinking that girl, come on... My awkward brother when it comes to romancing the girl he likes?
She was right tho
Sebastian, though he didn't know much about romance since his priorities lied somewhere else until you came along, relied on romance novels
First mistake he did
Reading Wuthering Heights proved to be a wrong move because a) he cried after reading it and b) he was starting to act like the characters
The first reality shifter in my opinion 😂
And now, our awkward boi had a plan to confess- Merlin knew if he didn't, he would soon loose you and it would break his already fragile heart, the one thing he hid from anyone.
And what was the best plan..?
Throw a birthday party and confess there.
But... Now there was another problem
What gift would be good enough for you?
“What to get her, what to get her..? What does she even like? Maybe books? No, too cliche... I'm sure she read all the books in here though-“
You see, for the first time, Sebastian Sallow was actually nervous. One might think the charming Slytherin boy could be anything but nervous, but when the mission on hand was the utmost importancy that held the key to his future and possibly the rest of his life that could either continue with bliss or pain, he couldn't really afford his focus to wander to other places.
“Sebastian, what are you doing?”
But of course, simple people-even if that said person was his best friend-, could never understand how this was a big deal.
“A very important mission, Ominis. Now, if you excuse me...” Sebastian muttered absentmindedly while the blonde boy tilted his head curiously since he never saw Sebastian so... dead-set on something, that had nothing to do with Anne’s curse.
How did he know, you ask? Well, he wasn’t begging him to go to that Scriptorium for the first time. And Ominis, as shocked as he was, just knew that it was something about the new student that came and a smug smirk found his face.
Oh, I knew Sebastian was attached to her... Wonder how long it will take for them to finally confess.
“I assume it has something to do with Y/N, the new friend of us? Maybe about her oncoming birthday even?” he teased Sebastian as he plopped down on the bed that was right next to Sebastian’s , feeling the brunette boy’s shocked stare on his face as he brought out his own wand to show him the gift he had already gotten for you.
“I thought you didn’t like her! Why did you even buy a gift?!”
Ominis looked at him dead in the eye, scoffing all the while putting the gift he has gotten for you away and changing back to his relaxing clothes. “Tame your jealousy, Sebastian... And no, I never said I hated her. I was just slightly irritated because you brought her to Undercroft without me knowing beforehand. But just so you know, we are really good friends now.” He stated as a matter of factly, and though Sebastian denied he was jealous, both young Slytherins knew the truth.
And just how much Sebastian was deep in the well of love.
“I’m not jealous, Ominis. You can buy her whatever you want, I was just curious since you are always snarky around her!” he let out a childish humph! while sitting on his green, silky bed and continued to write down all his plans and possible ideas for gift. He wouldn’t really say it out loud, not that he was embrassed... Or maybe he was, but not because it was you, he had obvious feelings for you for the first time ever.
It was hard for him to admit, but perhaps... He only needed a little push.
“Hmm, so it wouldn’t be a problem if I were to go and snatch he-“
And by the fast swoosh and the sudden thud sound, followed after a groan from the brunette boy, Ominis knew that he had caught him.
First of all, no he wasn't being too much with his reaction
Second of all, why would Ominis be ever interested in you?? When you were his...
Okay, so perhaps that was what made him halter and think about what he just thought and...
🌠fireworks 🌠
That was exactly how the realization felt like. His insides burnt, not a painful one but a very pleasant, warm fire he used to feel whenever he sat down in front of the fireplace... And that warnth made him realize the true expant of his feelings.
Most students, and even some teachers, told him how he was attached to you ever since you came to the school. How you and him were attached from the hips, and how you both looked at each other sweetly, though in secret.
He was possessive of you, was in awe of your kindness and care for everything and anything. After everything that happened, and now he admitfed how selfish and inconsiderate he was of you in the road to his sister's aid, he trully realized that you were more than a simple girl.
You let him do Crucio on you, a painful curse, and bear the pain of it alone. You used your magic for him, Ominis and Anne many times to the point of fainting and... He only used that kindness, took it granted and bever checked on you with his mind occupied with Anne.
It filled him with immense sadness and guilt, making him feel ashamed at the way he treated you as if you didn't mean everything to him. As if you weren't his whole heart and soul. As if your kindness wasn't what lightened his dark life.
And then, the most recent memory of you erupted, a few days before everything went shit... A memory, which made his heart clench in love and longing.
"Why are you sitting away from me?" You turned your head to Sebastian who already was seated next to you, a frown pulling on his annoyingly handsome face and you smiled. Because that was what you had been doing whenever you were close to him, with his dorky face and stupid jokes that never failed to make you crack a tiny smile.
He made your heart fill with... as much as you didn't want to accept, love and safety. You felt more alive with him, as if you would be able to do anything with him there.
Your body and soul, heart all together existed only when he touched you.
This is what we call love. When you are loved, you can do anything in creation. When you are loved, there's no need at all to understand what's happening, because everything happens within you.
You could feel yourself through him, and it was... scary, how in rhythm you were with him. How well cordinated you were together, basically impossible to stop as a duo. He always had an eye on you, moreso after what happened with his uncle. You saw the guilty eyes he always seemed to have, how he was acting around as if he was walking on eggshells and how much... responsible he had become.
Before everything that happened, you and Ominis had to force him to attend class in time and do his homework, often making him trail after you two whenever you and Ominis would study late in the library secretly. And the shocking part, he always got good grades from almost every single one of them and that shocked all the teachers.
We didn't know you had it in you, Mister Sallow...
One sentence that freaked not him, but all three of you. That was when you thought this was it, that they would ask what was going on but instead they only replied with I see that your friends are helping you out! I knew one day you would come around.
Yeah... Friends.
Friends who watched the other get lost in the darkness.
Friend who sacrificed every bit of her for her crush, no... the boy she loved, but got treated like a punchbag.
A friend who had to stop his best friend from commiting crimes and comfort the other, a friend who blamed himself for ever introducing Sebastian to Dark Magic.
And amidst all... A friend who was so close to loosing everything.
Yeah, definetly friends...
"Nothing Sebastian. Nothing is wrong really. I just didn't want to make uncomfortable since you are left-handed." He didn't like how awkward and shy your voice sounded, and definetly didn't like how these words were something you always said even when you were in pain... The proof of his not-so-there care.
But he also didn't know whether to scoff, scold you, laugh or cry at your reason either. He told you many times that it was fine and he wasn't uncomfortable, something you would answer with but you always get angry with other whenever they anger you over it.
You could really never realize his feelings, couldn't you?
"You... sure? Did I do something? Anything lately?"
Ah, suddenly... I hate being early to the lesson and is he coming closer to me?
"I'm sure, Seb... Why would I even lie?" You gave him a kind of awkward smile as he raised a brow at you, looking between the two of you. His insides told him otherwise, but he feared he would drive you away if he asked more.
And it was the last thing he wanted, the last thing he needed...
Merlin knew he would be gone for food if you left him too...
"No reasons, just... We are still due to the Hogsmeade, right?"
Perhaps you should have said no and return back to what you were doing, avoid him and his handsome face that did nothing except haunting you and gave you butterflies whenever your eyes laid on him...
Loving him will end you, Poppy once said to you. Worrying for you and your heart, bless her soul. Sebastian was like mad honey, you always thought of him like that. Mad honey eased many pains in one's body, was healthy for the body, strengthening the heart and making the person who ate it stronger than before...
But it also burnt while eating, damaged the heart rhytm, caused hallucinations and caused pain if one ate more than necessary... And in se rare cases... It resulted with death even.
The worst part? It was so addictive that the person couldn't stop themselves from eating it after one point.
And Poppy feared that would be what happens, if you didn't stop yourself. She didn't hate Sebastian, he was actually noce to her from the beginning and even helped around whenever he had time. But she knew his reputation around the school as well, and was scared if he would hurt you.
Him suddenly acting all nice and responsible didn't help either.
But what no one really realised is... You were already a goner for him.
And even after all the hurt he put you through... He was now aware of them, actively trying to be better.
How could you avoid him when he is the biggest part of your life?
"Yes, Sebastian... Of course we still are. I can't wait to spend more time with you..." you turned to him with your usual smile that blinded him and made him blush, cooing internally at your adorableness and he gave the same smile back, if not... A much more relaxed one that gave away how relieved he was to hear you were still there and didn't plan on leaving him.
But that smile soon faltered when you frowned at something behind him, making him turn and... eventually scream in fright.
"Is that... Ominis?" You looked at Sebastian with wide eyes, cautiously walking to where the slumped figure of the blonde who worked two jobs, being a student and keeping an eye out for you two, was leaned over the wall behind him. You clutched your chest thightly, the sight of Ominis' open eyes scaring you, and you waved your hand slowly in front of him. You let out a surprised squeak when Ominis did nothing except letting out a snore and shook your head softly at him all the while Sebastian was busy with trying to get you back to his side.
"Merlin's beard! He sleeps with his eyes open!"
"I mean... He can't see either way?"
"It's still scary Y/N! You don't know how frightening it is when I wake up and see him looking at me, sleeping with those eyes open!" You laughed loud at Sebastian's trully frightened look, slapping a hand to your mouth to not wake Ominis up. You were glad to see Sebastian so... like how he was before and seeing the three of you were still the chaotic duo made hope blossom in your heart and made the fairies sing love songs and ring chimes happily...
Alongside with Ominis' cute snoring, who wasn't aware of anything.
Ahhh, yes... I would be nothing without these two dorks...
So, going to Hogsmeade was never a problem. You three always hang around there, Ominis usually dragging you both to Honeydukes while Sebastian dragged you to Three Broomsticks
There were times they had to listen to you tho
For example letting you drag them to have a picnic and have fun in the river by teying to catch some fishes or splash water at each other
All three of you were drenched after one time you did this, and Professor Matilda was angry at you three for a whole week.
Not because she hated you all or something, but because she was worried you three would get sick.
Secretly, she loved you three the most amongst all the students and saw you as her children... Especially knwoing your family status'.
But mama bear was flabbergasted when the two boys were bedridden but you were all fine, attending classes and even explaining them to the sick boys and volunteering to do their homeworks as well.
"I was gonna do mine as well, why wouldn't I do yours?"
But if mama Matilda was good at reading people, she was even better at reading young people in love
And she saw right through Sebastian and you as well. All those stolen glances and shy touches didn't pass through her glasses at all.
And, as the matchmaker of Hogwarts, she gave you two a day off to Hogsmeade after doing so well in your classes...
And so that you two might grow some pairs and confess already, she had a going bet with the grumpy Sharp and she wasn't going to loose it!
"What's your favourite color, young lady? Just say it so that I shall give you what your heart desires, as a gift to you of course."
Well, not every day you had the chance of hearing a seller ask this kind of question. And definetly not when you were looking for gifts or having a stroll with your bestfriend, who-would-never-love-you type of man.
"Uhm... Excuse me?"
"Your favourite color! I make little lockets and gifts based on a person's favourite memory, colord and such! And today'a lucky customer is you, darling girl!" Slightly old lady exclaimed happily, showing off everything she had done in the past and though you took a step back at the amount of them, you couldn't help but let out a wow at the significant details in all of them, which made the woman puff her chest out proudly.
It probably wouldn't hurt to try, right?
"Brown... Brown is my favourite color." The woman tilted her head curiously at your choice, making her magic work as your eyes drifted to Sebastian who was busy having a mild argument with one of the ladies over a necklace, giggling at how that act screamed Sebastian.
"Hmm, interesting choice... May I ask why?"
" It reminds me of autumn... The early hours when the sun's light reflect off of the soil and create the most beautiful auburn color and... His eyes..." Your eyes stayed locked onto where Sebastian was busy picking some jewelry as a gift to Anne, lips pulled in a frown as he looked at every single one of them with a seriousness you rarely saw.
But your eyes travelled away from his face and your mind took a sharper turn.
Those new uniforms need to be illegal... He is too good-looking in them...
His white shirt hugged his arms and chest quite well, showing off the muscle he had built after years of training and fighting. They were daunt and probsbly well-defined, you could tell whenever he hugged you or wrapped them around you protectively...
I'm down bad for him... Is that even oka-
"Ahh, youngsters... Always having other ideas with their significant others..." the seller let out a sigh softly as she looked behind her to where you were looking, understanding the situation fast as she gave a teasing smirk. Damn, I forgot she was able to see my mind...
"Uhm... I'm sorry, I can't help it..." you mumbled shyly, not daring to look at her as you accepted the two lockets to you. The open one, your eyes stayed on and your heart flipped at the scene that was inside it. There it was, the day when you surprised him with a little get-away, only the two of you and jumped on his back when he didn't expect it, drenching both of you as the sun kissed his freckles and casted the most beautiful gleam over his face...
But there was one more...
You frowned at her at realizing the other locket, after all you definetly didn't tell her to make two of them.
"But... I didn't want a second-"
"I know, sweetheart... They are my gifts to you and your boyfriend. You two look lovely together." She patted your hand sweetly, urging you to accept it and smiled when you accepted them rather shyly.
"I-I... He isn't my boyfriend..." you put the lockets back in your pouch and gave a thankfull smile to the old lady begore catching up to Sebastian who beamed at the sight of you, telling you how there was a lady insisting on buying two necklaces he set his eyes on.
As you listened to him and took his arm and looped yours with his, you weren't aware how his heart beated hard at the peaceful smile over your face. You didn't know how he started to sweat nervously and stuttered slightly either or how badly he wanted to kiss your plush lips, wondering how kissing you would feel like...
And you definetly didn't know what happened before he came to collect you that day either, the memories of what he talked with Professor Fig still clear in his mind.
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