#I'm oblivious to the blatantly obvious at the best of times

[magpiedminx]

I don't visit my dashboard often, maybe once a week at the most. I read my Tumblr crawl via RSS feeds. (Which has its pluses and minuses) Got distracted by something shiny today while checking notifications and was scrolling down, and I saw an ad. I looked at my extensions pins and saw, oh, I turned ad blocker and my anti-tracker off to support the site at some point. It took me a good 5 minutes to notice. If I'd turned either off on Facebook or Xitter, I'd be unable to read my newsfeed, purely because it would be overrun. I do so love our little hellsite.

[s-brant]

Three’s Company

When Patrick visits his best friend at Stanford University, Art’s new fling finds herself stuck between two very attractive men.

9k (18+)

Warnings: smut, threesome, unprotected p in v, double penetration, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, they’re all pervs, and strong language.

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The room is stiflingly hot.

There is no air conditioning in her study/fuck buddy's dorm to keep up with the late April heat that has descended upon Stanford's campus so quickly. Three different fans are plugged into outlets around the cramped living space, yet it does little to keep her body cool enough to feel comfortable.

Sleeping with Art was an impulsive decision. The first time was merely weeks ago after he politely asked if she would share her notes from a class he was absent from. They exchanged numbers to organize the meeting, and she ended up talking to him for the better part of an hour in the dining hall. Although she did not recognize it as flirting—the oblivious little thing she is—he shyly commented on seeing her at one of her gymnastics competitions and refused to let her get dinner with her meal credits. Looking back, his intentions should have been obvious to her, yet she does not think badly of him over it. If anything, she likes how wanted he made her feel. He knew what he wanted and ensured that he got it.

They came back to his room to study—only to study, he claimed with his hands held up to proclaim his innocence—for their approaching final exams.

"Good," she said with a teasing lilt to her voice, slinging her bag onto her shoulder and turning to walk in the direction of his dorm building. "Cause it's way too hot to be doing anything else."

They were both laughing as he set down his racquet bag to unlock the door. It was muffled through the wall, but Patrick heard it just fine from where he was perched on the foot of Art's bed with Tears for Fears playing on the unlabeled CD he dug through desk drawers to find. The sound of a distinctly feminine giggle made his mouth turn up at the corners in a smirk. This will be fun to tease his closest friend over until his cheeks flush pink and he has to hide his face in his shirt.

When the door swung open, the laughter died out as soon as they realized they weren't alone, but it was quickly replaced with wide smiles and warm greetings.

Patrick tried not to look her up and down so blatantly. Instead, he chuckled and said, "Art, you conveniently left out that you had a girlfriend on our last call."

To this, Art set down his bag and tackled him onto the bed, starting a minute-long wrestling match that only ended when they began to sweat from the heat and physical activity. It was then that Art remembered to have manners and introduced her. He scrambled to sit upright on the mattress and met her curious gaze.

"Y/N, this is Patrick. I'm sorry, I forgot what day he was coming."

She smiled.

"It's nice to meet you. I've heard a lot about you." A pause, and then she turned her attention to Art. "Do you wanna study another time? I don't wanna intrude or anything."

Before Art could open his mouth to tell her to stay, Patrick aimed one of his charming grins at her, then said, "No, please intrude. I'll just hang out. You won't even know I'm here."

The last sentence caused a disbelieving scoff to leave Art’s lips.

As of right now, as she sits on the chair in front of the desk and the boys share the bed, they have gotten halfway through the study guide they meticulously constructed after one of the two classes they share, but it grew boring once an hour and a half passed. They typically end up getting distracted and make out by now, but with Patrick here, neither of them considers that an option. So, she suggests they take a half-hour break to sit, drink, and talk to allow their brains to decompress from the constant stimulation.

He already had a few beers inside the mini fridge beneath his desk, along with a hard seltzer for her seeing that she finds the taste of beer disgusting but quite enjoys being drunk with him. Also kept in the freezer section of the fridge is a pack of ice pops she bought a few days ago when the heat wave began. They prove to be very useful right now as the midday sun bakes the building alive despite the closed curtains and blowing fans.

The CD has moved onto Nine Inch Nails, and she remains quiet to hear it over the sound of the fans as she holds a red ice pop to the side of her neck to cool herself off. Sometime along the way, both of them had stripped down to their underwear after asking her if it was alright because it was so hot. Patrick joked that he was alright with her taking her clothes off too, which she laughed at while Art playfully shoved him over it. Yet now she isn't laughing. Her small exercise shorts are as forgiving as any item of clothing could be in these circumstances, but the long-sleeve shirt she wore because it was the only clean one left is sticking to her skin.

"So, how did you and Art meet?"

Her eyes open to find Patrick glancing back and forth between them.

"It's a boring story, actually," she says. "He asked if I took notes for a class he missed, and now he's stuck with me all the time."

"No, no, okay, maybe it was boring from her perspective, but I was trying to work up the nerve to talk to her for at least a week before then. I went to one of her competitions and recognized her from class," Art explains. "She won, which wasn't surprising at all."

Although she already knew this, this is the first time he has admitted to it out loud, and her stomach flutters at the idea of him becoming so enamored with her from one glance. The popsicle is sweet on her tastebuds when she raises it to her lips and sucks with her eyes looking between them both. As she expected, Patrick shifts a little in place and looks away for reasons not at all related to how she was looking at them while sucking her popsicle.

She chuckles.

"So, you were just interested in befriending me 'cause I win a lot?"

Her tone of voice is taunting, but they know it's all in good fun. Art is quick to play along, shrugging his shoulders to feign aloofness and taking a quick swig of his beer before responding. Their eye contact grows intense in the seconds before he speaks.

"Well, there were some other contributing factors."

"Mm," Patrick hums in agreement. "I've never seen you compete, but you are really hot, so Art's right about that."

This makes her pause for a second, her gaze shifting to find Art's to see if his friend crossed any lines, but he appears strangely calm about it. What she doesn't know is that he has never had any problem sharing, at least, not with Patrick. They shared a room in boarding school, jerked off together to the same girl, and shared the court together—what was his would always be Patrick's, and what was Patrick's would always be his.

"You're flirting with me right in front of him?"

Art interjects, "I'd be shocked if he didn't."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he's standing up from the bed to get another beer. The dorm room is small, so it only takes a few strides for him to meet her where she sits before the desk and kneels down to open the mini fridge. His left hand braces itself on one of her thighs while the right swings open the fridge door only to find there is no beer left. Rather than complain, he simply grabs one of her least favorite hard seltzer flavors and gives her thigh a firm squeeze before standing up.

The bed creaks beneath his weight when he sits back down on it.

He settles into a comfortable position with his back against the wall and legs spread, balancing the seltzer can on his bent knee. Patrick sits close to him, and she finds it difficult to peel her eyes off the pair of them in their current state of undress. Her gaze mostly lingers on Patrick seeing that she has already explored every inch of Art's lean body in the plentiful amount of times they've hooked up over the past few weeks. But, that being said, she cannot resist looking at Art either. Having two beautiful men laid out before her in their underwear is a treat she never expected to indulge in today. They each have the strong, masculine figures of athletes—showing mostly in their shoulders, biceps, abdomen, and thighs.

When Patrick notices her staring, she turns her gaze to the floor to avoid the embarrassment of being caught. If he did catch her, though, he doesn't call her out for it. Not yet, at least.

With one last bite of her popsicle, she stands from the desk chair to toss it into the small trash can beside his nightstand. It isn't until she lets it go that she realizes how close she now stands to the two of them. Only a foot or so from the bed, her heart begins to hammer in her chest at the proximity.

The way she sees it, she has two options. The first would be to retreat to the desk to let her long-sleeved shirt give her heatstroke while the men get to sit in front of the oscillating fans with their shirts off, or she can strip down to her undergarments and join them on the bed. Needless to say, she opts for the latter of the two.

Y/N lets out an exaggerated groan at the heat and fans herself with her hands for the sake of appearing somewhat innocent in what she's about to do, then reaches down for the hem of her shirt with a huff.

Art and Patrick can do nothing but watch with rapt attention side by side as she pulls the fabric up her torso and over her head. The shirt ends up falling to the floor beside her feet alongside their discarded t-shirts and pants. This leaves her in her most comfortable bra—which is Art's favorite since her nipples can be seen through the mesh material—and a pair of tiny spandex shorts.

Patrick's tongue darts out to wet his lips at the sight of her—almost angelic in her beauty—and tries to burn the image into his mind to hold onto forever. Definitely going in the spank bank, he thinks to himself as his cock begins to harden in his boxers. Beside him, Art has been stunned to silence. Even though they've fucked like rabbits since the first time, he isn't sure if he'll ever get used to seeing her like this. Those shorts hug the delicate curve of her hips, as well as that lovely ass that has been sculpted from years of training as a gymnast, and all he can think of is how badly he wants to take them off.

They sit there, dumbfounded, with their mouths hanging open just enough for her to notice and suppress an arrogant smirk. But to allow herself to smirk would be to reveal her cards, and she doesn't want them to see this as anything other than her innocently trying to cool down. Truth be told, she hasn't thought this through. It's not as though she planned this as she was sitting at the desk. It's more of an impulsive, irresistible urge. And if they will tease her so blatantly with their half-naked bodies, she is entitled to do the same.

"You," she says, jutting her chin in Patrick's direction. "Scoot. I wanna sit in front of the fans too."

Underneath it all, she's thankful that she took the time to do her hair the way that makes her feel the most confident and put a little makeup on. Not that either of them is focused on her damned makeup. No, they're far too busy ogling her figure to notice anything north of her collarbones.

After a delayed second of staring, what she said seems to register within him and spark him into action. He's quick to scoot closer to the end of the bed if it means she'll be inhabiting the small space between them. 

She offers a quiet, "Thank you," and crawls onto the bed, turning around and settling into place with her back against the wall. The cool air generated by the fans blows faintly against the front of her sweat-slick chest, and she can't help but shut her eyes and hum in appreciation of it.

With her eyes shut, Art and Patrick are both scrambling to quietly conceal their growing erections. If they don't, it'll be glaringly obvious when she opens her eyes and sees a tent in their underwear on either side of her. Although the life-long friends don't speak, there's an understanding formed between the two of them. Whatever she allows them to have of her tonight, if she allows anything, they'll share nicely. Patrick knows that if anything happens, he is to assume it is a one-time thing unless she or Art expresses a desire for an arrangement of some sort to be made.

Her eyes open again a few seconds later to find them staring at her.

Breaking the silence, she asks, turning her head left to right to address each of them, "Did your mothers never tell you it's rude to stare?"

Patrick doesn't miss a beat.

"Did you know it's rude to be a tease?"

The sound of Art sucking in a deep breath meets her ears, but she doesn't look away from Patrick. Their eyes are locked, and she can see the mischief present in his. It's almost as if he dares her to do something...like he knows that she wants him just as badly as he wants her. Part of her feels guilty, feeling like she should remain loyal to Art even though they aren't exclusive, but a much more dominant part of her desires it too much to resist the temptation.

"Patrick, don't pressure her. If she doesn't want to—"

Her head turning to look at him halts him in his tracks. The look she's giving him...

Much to his shock, she was a virgin when they met a few weeks ago. He questioned her relentlessly, claiming there was no way someone as beautiful, smart, and talented as her could've gone so long without doing it, but she held firm. It was the truth, he realized after she sheepishly relayed the story of how she made out with a basketball player on Halloween and wimped out before it could go further. That first night, she was a bashful, blushing little thing. He treated her with the tenderness and reverence she deserved, first making her come with his tongue and fingers before fucking her. It was so...intimate. Her nails dug into his shoulders when he made that first, breathtaking thrust into her. Just the thought of it was enough to get him hard the next day, but he knew not to expect anything after how shy she was the previous night. Little did he know, he awakened something within her, and from then on, she would be insatiable.

He almost got whiplash from how quickly she changed from a nervous, flushed-faced girl asking him, "Am I doing this right?" when she got on top to a cock-hungry temptress ready to jump onto him at any moment. Truth be told, he found it so fucking hot. To think that he was the catalyst for this behavior was beyond comprehension. Though Art did well enough in his dating life, Patrick was the one that the girls they liked gravitated toward when they were in school together. But she was his, and he thinks, even now, that he'll always have the satisfaction of having gotten to her first no matter what happens tonight.

Y/N shifts around on the mattress so that she's sitting on the side of the bed opposite the wall, facing them with her hands on her knees and legs tucked beneath her ass. Both boys perk up a little at this, and they watch every minute movement she makes and listen to every breath she breathes with unwavering focus.

She meets Art's gaze first before doing anything. Her brows raise in question, and, in answer, he gives her a slight nod. Those pretty, cherry-stained lips of hers curve into a smirk she doesn't even bother to hide in response to this.

"Have you ever fucked the same girl before?" she asks out of pure curiosity, her tone calm and even. Her hands leave her knees to grab one of their thighs each, slowly rubbing up and down to allow her fingertips to brush the edge of their boxers. "Two guys at the same time is a first for me..."

To say that they are in a state of shock would be a gross understatement. Surprisingly, their mouths are not hanging open, and they aren't drooling at the mere thought of what she's proposing.

Somehow, Patrick finds his voice and says, "No." A second of pause, then—"Is this for real? Like you're not just fucking with us?"

The silence that follows is ripe with tension. All that can be heard is the sound of voices passing in the hallway outside of the dorm room and fans blowing on their highest setting. The hands on their thighs come to a halt at the edge of their boxers, and the softened expression on her face shifts into one of unabashed lust as she looks at Patrick.

In answer to his question, she starts to crawl over to him. Seeing that the mattress is a twin, it doesn't take too long for her to reach him and settle into place on top of him. Her hands slide up to cup his face, forcing him to only look at her when she lowers herself onto his lap. The spandex shorts hugging every inch of her figure do little to keep him from feeling the warmth of her cunt against the bulge that formed the second she took her top off.

That first brush of her lips against his is gentle, as though she has him under a trance, but it doesn't take longer than a few seconds for him to snap out of it. Patrick's hands grasp her hips first to keep her from moving away, then they slide down to knead the soft, supple flesh of her ass as he begins to kiss her back hungrily. The kiss quickly begins to descend from her lips to her jaw until he reaches the soft skin of her neck.

While he nips and sucks at the sensitive spot along the side of her neck, Y/N opens her eyes to find Art staring, unblinking, at the pornographic display before him. The sight of him alone—between his messy blonde hair, piercing eyes, and masterfully structured face—is enough to pull a breathy moan from the back of her throat. One would think that she would get used to the way he makes her feel when he looks at her like that, but she never does.

One of the arms wrapped around Patrick's neck uncurls itself to reach for Art, fingers wiggling to beckon him to her. 

He's already invading her space by the time she whispers, "C'mere, baby."

Art practically melts into the two writhing bodies he kneels beside at the casual use of a pet name from her. The word echoes in the farthest reaches of his brain until it is all he can hear on a loop. Even as she grips the back of his neck and pulls him until their mouths collide, his cock twitches from the memory of her calling him baby.

Patrick continues to suck, lick, nip, and kiss his way down her neck as she slips her tongue into Art's mouth with a groan. He leaves marks behind everywhere he goes with the thought of his friend finding them on her for the next week and a half in mind. It only makes it more thrilling for him to imagine the strange mixture of frustration and arousal that will arise within Art when he rediscovers them the next time they hook up.

Slowly, she is guided onto her back by his mouth slipping down to take one of her nipples into it and his callused hands peeling her shorts, along with her soaked cotton thong, down over the swell of her ass. The freshly washed sheets are soft against her bare back as she lays back and watches Patrick worship her breasts with both his mouth and hands. In the midst of their repositioning, Art took it upon himself to squeeze into the cramped space next to Patrick, slotting himself between him and the wall the bed is pressed against. Without a word of warning, he dips his face down to kiss the breast Patrick is cupping in his hand.

She feels hands everywhere, unsure of which belongs to who. Hands grapple for purchase on her hips, her waist, her breasts, her thighs, and her ass—always moving in search of new territory to claim. Although they have no way of coordinating their actions, they seem to move in sync with one another. The second Art's mouth lowers to kiss down her stomach, which flinches inward at the feeling, Patrick follows. If she weren't so overwhelmed with everything right now, she'd likely laugh at how eager they are to race each other down the length of her body.

Their heads bump every few seconds by the time they reach her parted thighs, but they are too focused on getting a taste of her to care at first. They work with the same synchronized harmony they once had as doubles partners, Art tugging her left leg over his shoulder while Patrick shoves her right up and out until her thigh is flush with her chest. She can't help but silently thank her parents for enrolling her in gymnastics lessons years ago. If they hadn't, this would be a tad uncomfortable.

Finally, Patrick tries to shove Art to the side a little, complaining, "Come on, man, you're with her all the time."

To her surprise, it works for the first moment or so. Art places hot, open-mouthed kisses on her inner thigh as Patrick's tongue makes a broad stroke through her, but it isn't long before he grows dissatisfied with his current role in this impromptu threesome and decides to fight back. He doesn't shove or push like Patrick had, instead, he gently nudges his head against Patrick's until they can share her.

Having Art go down on her alone always feels pleasurable, but having both of their mouths on her at the same time is another sensation entirely. It's indescribable. Spit drools from their lips as they kiss her sodden cunt, taking turns flicking the tips of their tongues against her clit for the sake of hearing her moan over and over. From where she looks down at them, they're nearly kissing each other as they eat her out, and she has to tip her head back onto her shoulders to keep them from seeing her smirk.

When she looks back down, she makes a breathy, gasping sound at the sight of them. Patrick is looking up at her with an intensity no man has ever had when looking at her, not even Art, and there is no ignoring the feeling it stirs in the pit of her abdomen.

"Fuck," she whines and pushes herself harder against their faces, but it's never enough. "More—I need more. Please."

Neither one hesitates. In fact, they seem to form a plan without speaking it aloud. As Art's free hand raises from where it palmed his cock through his boxers, Patrick's lips close around her sensitive, puffy clit and start to suck. The tips of Art's middle and ring fingers brush tentatively against her hole, then, teasingly slow, push inside until they're buried knuckle deep.

The contrast of the men as lovers—Patrick being unforgiving and passionate, Art being tender and desperate—threatens to dizzy her. But Art cannot control himself for too long. He often starts slow and gentle, his eyes flooded with genuine affection for whoever is pinned under his body, then loses his composure the farther things go. By the time he's inside of her, he's almost brutal in how hard he fucks her, and it isn't out of malice, it's out of animalistic lust.

So, as per usual, the pace Art sets to begin with shifts into something harder and faster.

Over the sounds of the fans and music playing on the CD player across the room, a symphony of panting breaths, whines, and wet noises can be heard. It wouldn't surprise any of them if the people who were talking in the hallway could hear it, but it's not like they care right now. 

When she closes her eyes and tries to fall back against the mattress, Patrick stops for a second to murmur, "Don't look away," before getting back to work. Something about the way his voice sounds forces her to submit to his demand without hesitation. There's an edge to it. An underlying promise that he will stop and leave her here to suffer if she doesn't listen, so she does. She watches with a slack-jawed expression at how they work diligently to get her off.

The combined sensations of the fingers pumping into her at a steady, rushed pace and the lips enclosed around her sensitive bud push her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion. Art slips a third finger in and licks between her sticky folds as Patrick sucks her clit relentlessly. Everything they do is motivated by a dire need to take as much of her as they can, as though they can't quite believe what's happening and want to savor it before they wake from the dream. Seeing their desperation only fuels the fire roaring to life inside of her.

They feast on her the way starving men would if presented with food—humming and groaning in satisfaction at the taste of her on their tongues. Through the haze she's fallen under as a result of the present situation, her gaze lifts from where both of their faces are smushed together between her parted thighs to find that they're both humping the mattress. It seems like they don't even realize they're doing it, which, of course, only makes it hotter for her. To think that she wields enough power over them, that she renders them so useless and needy...

Her brows pinch together at the feeling of Art's fingertips finding the sweet spot inside of her.

"Right there," she breathes out in a shaky voice, hand shooting down to grasp anything she can find for support.

It ends up being Patrick's dark hair that is weaved between her fingers and used as her lifeline, tugging nearly every time Art's fingertips find the spot inside of her that makes her throw her head back on the bed and cry out for them. If they didn't have her pinned down, her hips would be lifting to meet every thrust, but she cannot do anything other than take it. Every breath she takes turns rapid, her chest rising and falling dramatically, as the familiar feeling of her impending release grows nearer by the second.

She says, half warning and half pleading with them, "I'm"—The sentence is cut off before it can be said by a high-pitched moan that makes Patrick moan and Art whimper into her—"Please"—What she's pleading for, none of them know, herself included, but she continues to babble nonsensically anyway—"Ah!"

The hand that isn't pulling on Patrick's hair reaches down instinctively for the hand Art grips her thigh with, and she doesn't even need to ask him for it. He entwines their fingers and allows her to squeeze his hand until circulation is lost as she finally feels the wave that was building within her begin to crest.

It hits her harder than she ever knew it could. 

Everything explodes into a sensation of bliss so strong, she loses herself in it. The only thing tying her body down to the earth is the feeling of the hands on her—touching her, fingering her, caressing her, and holding her hand—yet even that is not enough to keep her from floating away into another world entirely for the first few seconds of her orgasm. The muscles in her legs, so exhausted from being forced into a position like this, shake violently with every wave of pleasure rushing through her, and her walls clamp down around the fingers thrusting into her.

If she could live forever in these fifteen seconds, she would, but it soon becomes obvious to her that there's no chance of that happening. Gradually, the intense sensation starts to recede like the tides, and they are both there to help her ride it out to the very end. But once it fully fades, she wriggles beneath them in sensitivity.

Using the hand wrapped up in his hair, Y/N pulls Patrick's mouth away from her clit with a strength he didn't know to expect despite her obvious athletic background, and when Art notices this, he too slows the rhythmic pumping of his fingers inside of her throbbing heat to a stop. Wary of hurting her, he waits another five seconds before slowly pulling them out.

She has gone boneless where she lays on her back with her eyes shut and chest heaving for air.

Knowing she cannot see them, Patrick cuts his best friend a look and jerks his chin in her direction in a silent urging to check on her. Both men start to move at the same time, crawling over her until they reach her face. While Patrick lies beside her and trails his hand up and down her naked, sweat-soaked torso to occupy himself in the time it takes her to recover, Art licks her arousal from his fingers before grabbing her by the chin.

He asks with a teasing inflection, "You still with us?"

Her eyes slowly open to find them both staring at her, and she cannot help the slight smile that comes to her face at this.

"You guys almost killed me," she murmurs. "I think my vision got spotty for a second there."

They allow her another moment to catch her breath and recuperate in the aftermath of what she endured. She takes turns looking at them as she pants for air, laying with her arms above her head and thighs squeezed together due to her current state of sensitivity.

Patrick is the first to break the silence.

"We're not done with you," he says softly, the hand on her chest climbing up until it cradles the side of her neck. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I'd be a little bummed if you were," she replies.

Her head is whipping around at the sound of Art's voice.

"Only a little?"

She pushes herself up from where she's lying supine on the bed, which is now a mess of tangled sheets and sweat, to smack him on the arm. It's all in good fun, of course, and Art is hardly hurt by the playful blow she landed on him. Giggles escape her mouth as they begin to play fight, swatting and trying to pin one another down with Patrick there to spectate. He encourages Y/N to fight dirty, telling her where to strike, which causes Art to curse under his breath and declare him a traitor.

It ultimately ends with her on top, her legs straddling his hips and hands pinning his wrists to the bed. Based on the faraway, longing gleam in his eyes as he looks up at her, Patrick can tell immediately that she only won because Art allowed her to. Because there is something about being pinned to the bed underneath her that turns him on. And she knows it. It's easy to tell by how his erection presses up against her naked center through the fabric of his boxers.

Suddenly, she comes up onto her knees and moves back until she's hovering over his thighs. Her next words are a soft-spoked explanation for why she's reaching for the waistband of his boxers.

"Too much clothes."

But, to her surprise, another pair of hands comes to her aid in shimmying Art's underwear down his hips and legs. The way Patrick sees it, the sooner he helps her get them off, the sooner she'll take his off. And he isn't wrong. As soon as they get the boxers free from Art's body, the garment is tossed to the side without a care in the world. Neither of them looks to see where they landed, they're far too busy leaning in to kiss each other than keep track of their discarded clothing.

Her left hand is wrapped around Art's cock, pumping at a torturously slow pace, as she pulls away from Patrick with a string of saliva connecting their lips.

"Take those off," she says with a pointed look at his crotch.

To say he is sent scrambling to take off his underwear at her command would be an understatement. If this scenario itself wasn't hot enough to make her cunt throb with a desperate need to be fucked, she'd be giggling at his eagerness. But it's hard to find anything funny when she's faced with Patrick standing, one foot on the floor and his other leg braced against the bed at the knee, with nothing to conceal him from her anymore.

It must inflate his ego to heights it has never reached before to see her tongue dart out to wet her lips at the sight of him. The hand stroking Art falters as she admires Patrick's cock. It's about an inch longer than Art's yet equal in girth, curving up a little toward his hair-speckled, defined abdomen. A drop of precome has dripped from his tip, and she has to dip her head forward to get a quick taste. Those pretty lips wrap around him, not pushing down to take the rest of his shaft into her mouth but remaining where she is, flicking her tongue against the slit where the drops of sticky, pearlescent fluid secrete.

A taste is all she allows herself, though.

Her lips pull off of him with a soft popping sound, and she makes sure to maintain eye contact with him as she licks a drop of pre-come off of her top lip.

She turns to look at Art, then Patrick, then back at Art, asking, "How do you want me?"

Seeing that she was a virgin before she started seeing Art, she figures she isn't qualified to direct this in a way that'll be comfortable for everyone involved. No, if she had to bet, Patrick has the most experience between the three of them—with Art following closely behind—and he will have no problem taking control from here based on how he has acted thus far.

To their surprise, it's Art who answers first. 

Patrick was still in a faraway daze from having her mouth around his cock only to be kicked when he was down by the question she asked. How do you want me? God, it's like she's trying to kill them.

"On my lap."

Art pushes himself up from the mattress and repositions so he sits on his knees in front of them, reaching for her hips to pull her closer without a second of hesitation. Her arms instantly reach for his shoulders to steady herself as she maneuvers into the exact position he had in mind. Buried beneath the music that has become white noise to them and the fans running on their highest setting, he thinks he hears her breath hitch in her throat once she's straddling his lap, the tip of his cock nudging against her clit.

Absentmindedly, she starts to grind against him, coating him in the slick arousal that seeps from her, but it's slow. A tease compared to what's coming next.

"Patrick," he says, his voice unwavering despite the excitement that makes his stomach churn. His hand slides down from her neck, caressing her breast as it passes by at a lazy speed, until he takes hold of himself and pumps a few times—as if he isn't hard as a fucking rock already. Over her shoulder, he meets his friend's intense stare. "If you wanna fuck her, you should probably get on the bed."

And while he would usually fire back something equally witty or taunting, Patrick cannot manage to do anything but nod. There's something about seeing Art this way that subdues him. He would like to think that the sole reason he's standing naked in front of his best friend is because there's a girl involved, but that isn't true. Not completely. Although Art would never admit to himself that he feels the same way, there's something familiar about this. Comfortable. Right.

The mattress dips with Patrick's shifting weight, squeaking a little beneath his knees until he settles into place behind her. His chest presses against her back, and his hand reaches up to grab her jaw, guiding her head to tilt so he can kiss her neck while Art lines himself up with her. She feels Patrick's cock pressing against her ass as the broad tip of Art's sinks inside of her.

Having Patrick's face buried in her neck, her shoulder, and back to her neck again provided her and Art a rare second of private intimacy. Her eyes, glazed over with lust, lock into his and refuse to look away. The intensity present in his gaze does not frighten her. If anything, it sends a rush of adrenaline through her body, and she takes a second to admire his soft, wide eyes. She's never mentioned it aloud before, but she has always been fascinated with making eye contact with him due to his right eye. Half of the iris is a striking, clear shade of blue while the other is a warm brown hue.

"Fuck," he says under his breath at the feeling of her squeezing down around him, her tight cunt resisting a little until she relaxes and sinks down until there's nothing left to take.

There's nothing that compares to the feeling of the first thrust he makes.

Every time, it makes her bite her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. To feel him so deep is almost undoing in itself. Then she feels another hand slide between her legs, and her mind goes utterly blank. Everything outside of this room falls away the second Patrick starts to rub her clit in gentle, languid circles to help her adjust to the stretch of Art inside of her. Patrick's lips lavish every accessible inch of her bare skin with kisses as his friend, with a hand on each of her hips, starts to lift her up and down at an unhurried pace.

Their noses and lips brush without completely touching. When she pushes her face closer to Art's, hoping to lock lips with him, he pulls away for the sake of seeing her grow hot in the face from embarrassment. The mouth worshipping the back of her neck curves up into a smirk in reaction to the games Art plays with her. Who knew he's just as fun in bed as he is out of it? Certainly not Patrick.

She mutters, voice breathy and weak, "Feels so good..."

"Yeah?" Patrick murmurs into her skin and presses his fingers hard against her clit. "Tell me how he feels."

If he could see her the way Art can right now, he'd have to suppress a chuckle at how her brows pinch together at the command. Regardless of her sudden shyness, the words he says only make her ride Art harder. Over her shoulder, Patrick searches for those pale blue eyes only to find them staring through him already. Every smooth rocking motion of her hips pushes her ass against his neglected erection, providing him with a brushing touch before pivoting away again.

"He feels"—she says, chest rising and falling faster—"He's so hard." Her sentences are hardly coherent. "Perfect—mmm—fucking me so deep." One of her hands reaches to tug his down to press it against the southernmost part of her abdomen. "Feel."

With her palm molded over the back of his hand and forcing him to push down on her belly, Patrick can hardly keep from groaning at the subtle bulge of Art's cock moving in and out of her. It's strangely intimate for the three of them to share this experience, but for him to feel every thrust through her is more than he anticipated.

Unable to fight what instinct drives him to, Patrick shifts his hips until the angle of her grinding against him allows his tip to brush up against the hole she and Art have yet to touch. He doesn't do anything more, not without her asking for it, but it's clear to both Art and Y/N that he desperately wants to. All of this physical affection shared between the two of them has made Patrick needy and jealous, so she decides to grant him mercy.

She reaches behind herself blindly to guide him elsewhere, nudging him against the hole Art is already filling. It takes them a couple of seconds to understand what she means in doing this, but, once it clicks, they start to go a little crazy. For the moment, she has stopped bouncing on Art's cock for the sake of allowing Patrick to push in beside him, and he has to surge forward to kiss her. If he doesn't distract himself with a kiss, he'll be too tempted to move.

As Art kisses her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth and caressing her own, Patrick's hand wraps around her throat for leverage with his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His hand wraps around where hers grips his cock to guide it to her entrance, and with his help, they manage to squeeze the tip in.

Her jaw drops at the overwhelming sensation, and the sloppy kiss is interrupted when her head rolls back onto Patrick's shoulder. Art doesn't seem to care, though. Now that her head is tipped back, her neck is exposed for him to mark, and he takes advantage of the opportunity as soon as it presents itself. His lips brush against Patrick's fingers a few times as he kisses her fervently, sucking hard on the delicate skin that has already been bruised by his dear friend.

"You're beautiful," Art whispers into her neck between kisses. "So, so beautiful."

Taking it slow for her sake, Patrick has to force himself into her inch by inch, stretching her little cunt to take far more than she's accustomed to. But, as hard as it is, it works. After another few moments of him pushing in and pausing to let her adjust, he finally bottoms out with his cock flush against Art's. Her walls clamp down around them tightly. They both share a nervous look at this, wondering if they'll manage to last longer than thirty seconds if it already feels this good.

Slowly, she raises her head from where it slumped against Patrick's shoulder and meets Art's intense stare with one of her own. His hand raises to cup the side of her face, his fingers grazing against Patrick's, and he brushes his thumb over her kiss-swollen bottom lip. Every breath taken between the three of them is labored.

Pulling her lip down with his thumb, he asks, "Feeling okay?"

A half-second later, Patrick chimes in.

"If it's too much, you have to tell us."

Not a question, not a request, but a demand. The way he said it left no room for debate, so she nods in compliance and responds with an eagerness that neither man can miss, "M'fine, please, just fuck me..."

Patrick does not need to be told twice.

Having been sidelined for too long and forced to watch them fuck without him, he pulls out slowly, then cants his hips back against her ass with a force that takes her breath away. Amidst this, Art cannot do anything but let his face fall forward into her chest and whine in ecstasy. Just the movement of Patrick's cock rubbing against his with every thrust renders him useless. He knew it would feel better than any sex he'd had before, but this...He'll likely spend the rest of his life chasing the hedonism they are experiencing tonight.

One of her arms reaches behind her to grab Patrick's hip and dig her nails in hard while the other closes around Art's neck to pull both of them as close as can be. And now that he has forced himself back from the edge of a premature release, Art begins to move too, searching for a rhythm that feels right. Soon enough, he manages to find it. Both of their heads lift to look at each other, faces inches apart with their chins pressing on her shoulder, and they work with the same synchronicity they had while eating her out not even fifteen minutes ago.

She turns her head to the side to watch their stare-down as they rut into her like feral animals—utterly insatiable and overcome by their baser instincts. And it's only now that it occurs to her that, underneath it all, they want each other as desperately and pathetically as they want her. Patrick's gaze relentlessly bounces back and forth between Art's eyes and lips, and it makes her smirk to herself. The pleasure of fucking her as one, their pulsing cocks rubbing together in the warm walls of her cunt, has lowered their inhibitions, and the idea of being intimate with one another isn't as daunting as it would be if they were fully aware.

Leaning in to brush her cherry-flavored lips against Art's ear, she whispers, "I want you to kiss him."

The arm looped around the back of his neck pulls tighter in encouragement, bringing his body so close to hers that she can feel his ribs expanding with every breath. His only reaction to her request is a quick glance at her face once she pulls away from his ear with a sensuous lick as a parting gift. It's almost as though he doesn't believe what she's saying, but the reassuring expression she wears tells him that it is real. She truly wants him to see him kiss his best friend, not only for their enjoyment but hers as well.

One second, he's looking at her, and the next, he's slotting his lips against Patrick's with a passion previously only reserved for her. Their hands both grapple for purchase on her sweat-slick body, Art aggressively kneading her breasts and Patrick squeezing her hips for dear life, as they moan into each other's mouths.

As they kiss each other hungrily, Y/N has nothing left to do but bask in the tension swelling inside of her. There's something about how wrong this situation feels to her that makes it so much more arousing. Girls are always raised with the idea that promiscuity lessens their value, and she was not an exception. Having been raised in a family of devout believers, she hadn't kissed a boy until she was seventeen years old. The next person she kissed was Art, and in the time since their first kiss, he has thoroughly corrupted her.

And even as distracted as he is by the all-consuming, wet kiss he's engaged in, Art feels her cunt start to squeeze around their cocks and immediately drops one of the hands on her breasts between her splayed thighs. His finger rubs in tight circles on her clit in hopes that she will reach her end before he and Patrick come pathetically soon.

Her body jerks where it's trapped between them when his fingers make contact, pulling their focus away from each other for the first time since their lips touched. Patrick reaches up to hold her neck in one hand and forces her face to the side so both of them can look at every subtle expression she makes. 

"Don't stop," she pleads, eyes glazed over. "M'so close, Art"—Every merciless thrust elicits a high-pitched whine from her—"Patrick, please!"

The body trapped between them has gone boneless and twitchy, utterly useless at holding herself up or aiding them in any way. But they wear it like a badge of honor. With her face falling forward into Art's neck, she loses her grasp on all that is around her and lets them prop her up to fuck her like a toy existing solely for their gratification.

With one hand cradling the back of her head and the other between her thighs, still dutifully rubbing her clit, Art asks under his breath, "Isn't she fucking perfect?"

Although it was a question meant for Patrick, she can't help how she moans and clenches her walls around them when she hears it. Panting breaths from the three of them flood the sweltering dorm room, but they are too far gone to notice or care how much sweat drips off of their bodies onto one another. It's almost hard to get a firm grip on her as a result of it, but they manage to keep her in place by smushing their bodies as close as physically possible on both sides of her.

Patrick bucks his hips up into her with a recklessness that gives away how close he is to his climax.

He says, "Oh, God, yeah." The hand still collaring her delicate neck squeezes just enough to take her breath away for a second. However, once he released his hold on her, that hand moved to wrap itself up the roots of her hair. "Best pussy I've ever had. So fucking tight, it's like she wants us to come inside her." A pause, then, "Is that what you want?"

A second passes of silence from her, and he sharply tugs back on her hair until her face is no longer hidden in Art's neck. This allows them to drink in the sight of her—face twisted up in pleasure and mouth gaping open.

He asks again, "Is that what you want?"

Her response is immediate.

"Yes, yes, yes," she murmurs incoherently and takes quick turns to look between their faces. If the expressions they wear are any indication, it won't be long before her wish is fulfilled. "I'm—mmm-gonna come! I need you to fill me up, please, please!"

To this, Art rubs her clit faster while maintaining eye contact with her and finally lets go of whatever remaining scraps of self-control he has left. Knowing how close she is pushes them closer themselves, and they start to pound her hard. Hard enough that even they, as soon-to-be professional athletes, have difficulty sustaining this intense degree of exertion.

The arm that she looped around his shoulders is still there, but now her hand is sliding down from the back of Art's neck to explore the toned musculature of his upper back. Under her searching palm, she can feel his muscles contracting and relaxing beneath his pale skin.

To both her and Art's surprise, the world begins to shift in their peripheral vision until he falls flat against the mattress on his back with his length still sheathed inside of her. It takes a second for their brains to catch up with what happened and deem Patrick responsible for the position change. He laid his hands flat on her back and pushed with just the right amount of force to pin Art to the mattress beneath them.

Art says, breathless, "I can feel you squeezing us, baby, just let go."

Hearing those words sets fire to her blood, and that, paired with the toe-curling sensation of them pressing deep inside of her, hitting that spot over and over and over, is what tips her over the edge.

Patrick keeps pulling on her hair to force her head up so that they can feel and watch her come, and what a beautiful sight it is. Art, the lucky bastard, is face to face with her as she tenses up with the onslaught of her climax. But he can see the side of her pretty, flushed face and drink up every little sound she makes, so he doesn't feel left out in any way. No, he is experiencing this right beside Art. They're both trapped inside of her, pumping into her throbbing heat and letting themselves be swept away into oblivion by the feeling of her coming undone.

She digs her nails into Art's skin hard enough to hurt as she whines and writhes between them with each pulse of pleasure that runs through her, and it isn't until she's starting to come down, riding out the high, that she feels them spill into her at the same time. Every sensation attached to it prolongs her orgasm—the throbbing, the spreading warmth, and the dying undulations of their hips that grind their cocks together within her. And beyond the physicality of the act, just knowing that they're filling her to the brim with their come makes her head spin from how fucking hot she finds it.

It isn't long before their thrusts slow into a sensuous grinding as they come down from it together, then come to a full stop to keep from overstimulating themselves. They both are starting to go soft, panting and leaning against her limp body in exhaustion, and know they wouldn't be able to continue even if they wanted to.

Her head is laid on Art’s shoulder with Patrick’s nose nuzzling her neck. There's nothing they can do except remain still and try to recover from the euphoria that has rendered them useless, so that is precisely what they do. With their bodies nearly melting together from the heat, the three of them hold onto each other for support until they manage to return to full consciousness after what they went through.

It isn't until another couple of moments have elapsed that Patrick and Art start murmuring to one another while she remains slumped between them. A second later, both pairs of hands are squeezing her hips; lifting her off of their softening cocks, slowly, gently, and minding her sensitivity.

The three of them collapse side by side on the twin bed, bodies squeezed together like sardines, and she finally comes back down from the clouds her head floated into at the feeling of them touching her. It isn't sexual. No, they wouldn't dream of putting her through anything more than she could handle right now. Both touches are tender and featherlight—Art's hand molds over her breast simply to cup it as they cuddle while Patrick brings her hand up from her side to brush a kiss over her knuckles.

The silence continues to stretch on, then—

"We're definitely gonna have to do that again," she says, turning her head to look at each of them before laying her cheek against Art's shoulder. "That is, if don't mind sharing me."

His gaze softens, the hand cupping her breast ghosting up over her skin until it finds her and Patrick's entwined hands.

"I don't mind one bit."

-

Thank you for reading this! I probably won’t write any more Challengers fics but I saw the movie like five times in theaters and needed to crank this out to satisfy the part of me that is obsessed with the hotel scene. I would really appreciate a comment to let me know what you thought if you’re open to that 🫶🏻 The oral part of this fic was inspired by these two (1) (2) I read, so def give them a read cause they're great!

[cher-rei]

Heyy girlll, loved your last Musiala drabble. Could you maybe write another one where reader gets really jealous and Jamal eventually notice and just teases her ?

the boy is mine– jamal musiala [ J.M ]

the boy is mine, I can't wait to try him [the boy is mine– ariana grande]

pairing: jamal musiala x fem!reader

summary: the new intern seemed a little touchy and you felt the need to put her in her place.

genre(s): take a guess... (fluff!)

[w.c: 1.4k] masterlist

notes: *giggles*

jamal was having one of his best practices yet as you watched from your spot in the stands. you wore a proud smile as he deftly maneuvered the ball past the defenders and scored, looking to you with a puppy-like smile to see if you noticed.

when you called to say that your lecture ended early and that you'd be joining him for practice today, he was ecstatic. he loved the opportunity to show off whenever he could and you were more than happy to cheer him on in whatever he did.

you always said that watching jamal play was a privilege and that it was an experience like no other, and were filled with pride knowing that you got to experience it first hand. however, your pride was mixed with annoyance today as you noticed hannah, one of the new physio interns, being a bit too enthusiastic every time he did something impressive.

you noticed how she would stand a bit closer to him than everyone else, giving him pats on the back, high fives, and once, even a playful shove. your annoyance grew with each interaction and you tried to brush it off, but it was hard when hannah was hovering over jamal like a bee around honey.

perhaps she was the main reason you showed up to practice... for the past two weeks jamal had mentioned her a few times, saying that she was so helpful and always offered to help when he needed. to you it was obvious what her objective was, but your boyfriend was oblivious. so instead of calling it out, you decided to see her in action.

with your jaw clenched you sat back in your seat, your attention on the girl who was well aware of your presence and who you were. she even had the gull to smile at you, but there was nothing genuine about it or her competitive glare.

eventually, jamal jogged up to you, his face glowing in excitement. "baby! did you see that last goal?"

the annoyance still evident in your demeanor, you forced a smile with your arms crossed. "yeah, you're doing amazing, sweetheart."

jamal wasn't an idiot, he noticed your tense posture and uninterested look immediately. he leant over on the barricade to get closer to you, a look of worry on his face. "is everything okay? wh--"

he was abruptly cut off by the call of his name. an annoyed groan left his lips at his coach calling him over but he made sure to reassure you that he'd be back. you couldn't suppress the smile tugging at your lips and nodded, watching as he hurried over to his coach, once again leaving you alone.

it wasn't long before that empty presence was filled by none other than hannah herself. she leisurely made her way over to the barricade near you but didn't say anything, instead her attention was on jamal. you couldn't help but look at the back of her head in confusion, wondering what she was trying to do.

eventually, she turned to look at you, her smile in place but her eyes evaluating every inch of you. "hi, I'm hannah. you must be jamal's friend."

it took every single nerve and muscle in your body to stop you from jumping over the barricade and gauging her eyes out. she knew what she was doing, and at some point that annoyance died down and was replaced with shock. you wondered where the hell she got the audacity from to be so blatantly idiotic.

you poked your tongue into the corner of your cheek and nodded. "girlfriend. I'm his girlfriend."

with that, she didn't say anything and just laughed. what the hell was she laughing for??the two of you held your gazes, but all you could think of was how she thought this was a competition. you couldn't blame her for her little crush on jamal, it was understandable. but it was the fact that she thought that she had even a slight chance.

bless him for not having any idea that she was hitting on him. it genuinely made you feel better, knowing that he couldn't care less but this girl was stubborn by the look in her eyes. but she didn't know who you were— not in the slightest and you were more than open to watch her shoot her shot.

you wanted to see how far she could get, but you knew that jamal only had eyes for you. he was yours. and you planned on having it that way for the rest of your lives.

when jamal came back, you didn't even spare him a glance and instead watched how hannah's eyes lit up as he got closer. she straighted her posture and fixed her hair, causing your lips to part in shock.

jamal glanced between the two of you with a sweet smile. "I see the two of you have met." his attention turned to you immediately, your look of utter shock causing him to worry but he couldn't even address it because hannah decided that she had the right to speak.

you remained silent and watched the exchange between the two of them carefully, mentally urging her to test her limits.

"you know if you ever need someone to help you cool down after practice, I'm available. I could use the extra practice anyway."

oh, so she wasn't embarrassed at all? her lack of shame had your mind running in circles and you wanted to laugh so badly. all you did was lightly scoff, a smirk on your lips. "he's got me for that."

hannah looked to you with a challenging gaze which you happily returned, the smile not leaving your lips. this was pure entertainment right here.

"yeah but seeing as I'm an actual physio, I know more when it comes to that," hannah said with the fakes laugh you'd ever heard. you wanted to wipe that smug smile off her face and bury her six feet under.

from the corner of your eye you noticed jamal's more than confused look but brushed him off. "and seeing that I'm his actual girlfriend, I know just how to help him relax."

jamal quickly interjected when he sensed the tension, knowing just how far you were willing to take this. "thanks hannah, but I think my girlfriend has it covered."

hannah shrugged, her eyes lingering on jamal. "well, the offer still stands." she smiled and sent you one final look. "it was lovely meeting you."

there was a boastful smile on your face as you waved her off, the annoyance slowly dripping away the further away she got. just how you liked it.

when she was gone, jamal looked to you, trying to stifle his laugh. "is that why you were upset earlier, hm?"

you shrugged, eyes darting over to hannah who was gathering equipment nearby. "just wondering how often your intern friend gets all handsy during practice."

with a teasing smile jamal rested his head on his arms, eyeing you up and down. he loved how overprotective you were over him, it made him feel special. "hannah, is just really enthusiastic about her job."

"enthusiastic, huh?" you mimicked, voice dripping in sarcasm.

jamal decided to play along for the fun of it. "yeah, she's like a cheerleader, always there to boost morale. she even asked if I needed a personal watter bottle carrier."

your jaw ticked. "did she now?"

"yep. and she said that I have the 'perfect shoulders for pats'. very specific compliment, don't you think?"

you rolled your eyes, trying to contain your jealousy and got up from your seat to stand against the barrier to be closer to your boyfriend. "she does realise that you're my boyfriend right?" you pointed towards yourself and jamal smiled. "you're mine. nobody else's."

a scoff left your lips. "the audacity."

jamal couldn't contain his laughter anymore and reached over to pull you closer to him, his hand resting on your cheek as he looked into your eyes with a softened gaze. "you're adorable when you're jealous, you know that?"

instinctively, you melted at his touch. "just wait until I'm burying her body then."

with that, he laughed again and kissed your cheek. "I only care about your shoulder pats, baby."

your annoyance melted away once again and you looked up at him with a pout. "really?"

he grinned and nodded. "absolutely. you're the only cheerleader I want. nobody else."

with that, you got up on your tippy toes and gave him a short but meaningful kiss on the lips, squishing his cheeks when you pulled away. "yes, because you're mine. are you mine?"

jamal couldn't hide the blush on his cheeks and simply nodded, an excited chuckle leaving his lips and you could swear that he was jumping in place. "nobody else's. just yours, love."

[hbyrde36]

Midsummer Nights (a.k.a Summer Camp Fic)

It's finally here! This one has been percolating for a while, and I'm so glad to have the start of the story written and out there. Updates might be a little sporadic until my Steddie big bang is complete, but I'm so excited to finally give this fic some attention!

WC: 3154 | R: Explicit (for eventual smut) | Ch 1/? | AO3

Chapter 1

Steve had been a camper at Sunset Lake since almost before he could remember. 

He was seven that first summer, and hadn’t spent more than a night away from his own bed before, for sleepovers with family or childhood friends. 

Regardless, his parents didn’t hesitate to dump him off in the middle of nowhere upstate for the full eight weeks the camp ran, with total strangers, many of whom were hardly more than kids themselves, the second he was old enough to attend. From then on, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington spent their own summers partying it up at the country club, pretending they didn’t have a son. 

It used to hurt, having the fact that they didn’t give a shit about him shoved so blatantly in his face. When he was still young and hopeful he would wait patiently by the front gates every visitor’s day, hoping that the next car full of visiting parents and family would be for him. 

It never was.

And by the time he turned eleven, he had stopped waiting. 

He also stopped signing up for activities that he had chosen only to impress his dad, like tennis, basketball, rock climbing—even if he was good at them—and instead began to fill his days with art, theater, and music. Anything that caught his interest, even if he was terrible at it. 

Suddenly he lived for those eight weeks of summer that used to leave him feeling so lonely and unloved. Knowing it was the one place, the one time of year, where he could be the most himself. And he was too busy with performances and showing off the projects he’d completed on visitor’s days to think too much about the fact that no one ever came to see him. 

That was how he met Robin, his best friend and platonic soulmate. They were twelve and had both auditioned for roles in Shakespeare in the Summer, a series of famous scenes from the playwright's works, a pet project of the counselor who ran the theater department meant to be the big final show at the end of camp that year. They got the roles of Romeo and Juliet, respectively. 

As they rehearsed he developed a very small, but still very embarrassing crush on his co-star and eventually confessed, knowing he would feel guilty about kissing her if she didn’t know how he felt. 

Robin broke it to him gently, explaining that while she’d grown to like him a lot, as a friend, over the time they’d been working on their scene together, he just wasn’t her type. 

The last bit was said with a particular significance, but Steve, oblivious to what she was so subtly trying to convey, had protested that he was everyone’s type. She’d rolled her eyes and given him a fond, if exasperated, smile, and after swearing him to secrecy, put it in plain terms he could understand. 

She was a lesbian. 

Robin liked girls, exclusively, and her tastes ran long in soft skin, cherry red lips, and blonde ponytails—all of which Steve, for better or worse, lacked.

It was the 90’s, and the world was slowly changing, so it wasn't as if Steve had never heard of gay people before… it's just that he had never met one in real life. He accepted her immediately, his crush gone in a flash like it had never existed, and felt a kinship with her snap into place that he didn’t quite understand at the time, but was so obvious looking back. 

In the end they faked the kiss. Steve grabbed Robin’s face with both hands and all the faux passion he could muster, slipping his thumbs between their lips at the last second to keep them from crossing that particular line, and she had trusted him to do it. 

They were inseparable from that day forward. 

As promised, he kept her secret, and exactly one year later after coming to terms with a few realizations of his own—namely that he wasn’t as straight as he assumed, that in fact, he wasn’t sure he actually liked girls at all—when he confessed a secret of his own as they walked along the edge of the lake before curfew, he knew she would do the same for him.

This summer they were eighteen, part of the graduating class of 1999, on the brink of college, and finally old enough to be hired as full fledged counselors with paychecks and days off and everything. 

Not that it paid much, but Steve wasn’t in it for the money. He was in it for the love of the place. Sunset Lake Camp had become a second home to him over the last decade of his life, his real home, and the people there like family. There were always a few new faces that came and went, but most of the kids and staff alike came back year after year like him.

Robin was mainly in it for Steve, excited at the prospect of getting to spend the entire Summer with him for once instead of the single session, two short weeks, she was used to—all her folks had been able to afford each year growing up. 

It was poised to be the best summer of Steve’s life. 

Then he met Eddie. 

Pre-camp was exactly what it sounded like. A full week of cleaning, painting, maintenance, and general setting up of the place before the first crop of kids was set to arrive. It wasn’t mandatory for the staff, and some counselors wouldn’t even arrive until the day before the first session began, but it did come with an extra paycheck and the opportunity to get out of his parents house that much sooner. 

Steve was so in.

And naturally, that meant Robin was too.

They both arrived mid afternoon. Steve had driven himself in his beloved second hand BMW all the way from Hawkins, his excitement mounting as the scenery changed, flat boring highways finally giving way to lush green rolling hills and mountains, the roads eventually going from asphalt, to crushed stone, to dirt as he turned onto camp property and made his way to the employee parking lot. Robin arrived just after, her parents' car rolling to a stop next to his while he was still unloading his duffel bags from the trunk.  

Steve had offered to pick her up on his way so they could ride in together, it wouldn’t have added that much time to his own trip, but Mr. and Mrs. Buckley would never give up the opportunity to see their only daughter off for the summer, no matter how old she was. They were good parents, and just plain good people.

Robin was horribly embarrassed by the sheer number of hugs they gave her, and Steve, before finally getting back in their car to head home, and he couldn’t help wondering if she knew how lucky she was. His own parents had hardly looked up from their coffee when he’d said goodbye to them that morning.

“How was the drive?” Robin asked with her face squished against Steve's chest, as he pulled her in for his own bone-crushing hug. God he fucking missed her. Emails and once a week phone calls just weren’t enough. Damn long distance fees.

“Long, boring, the usual.” He said, pulling away from her reluctantly. 

In truth he didn’t mind the long journey. It was nice getting to shut his brain off, and sing along at full volume to whatever songs had made it on American Top 40 with Casey Kasem that week.

The low rumble and put-put-put of an old engine had them both looking up, signaling the arrival of Director Hopper in his ancient pickup truck, its tires kicking up dirt and rocks no matter how slowly he drove. 

The truck rolled to a stop in front of them, and the man behind the wheel leaned out the open window to wave. “Long time no see, kids!”

“Hop,” Robin whined, “we’re not kids anymore.”

“Oh! My apologies—Miss Buckley, Mister Harrington.”

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Okay, now you're just being mean.”

Hopper threw his head back and laughed, before stepping out of the truck. “You know you’ll always be kids to me.”

After another round of hugs the man helped load their stuff up into the back, then helped both of them climb up on top of their piled luggage.

As the truck bumped along slowly towards the north side of the campus, where the bunks were, Hopper slid open the back window of the truck so he could shout out to them.

“Me and Joyce got two of the cabins fixed up already so you-all have someplace clean to sleep tonight. One for the women, one for the men.” Hopper’s eyes narrowed as he stared them down through his rearview mirror. He, along with almost everyone else, thought they were dating and had been for years. If he only knew how wrong he was. “Dinner is at six tonight in the dining hall, and I suggest you settle in and relax till then. The real work starts tomorrow.”

“You sure you don't need help with anything today?” Steve asked, sticking his head through the little window to make sure the older man could hear him.

“Thanks kid, but I got it covered. All that’s left today really is picking up a few international staff from the airport. I would have been on my way there already, but the flight got delayed, not due in till late tonight now.”

It was one of Steve’s favorite things about this place, getting to meet and make friends with all sorts of people from all over the world. The cultural exchange program that the camp worked with brought in support staff and counselors from other countries that wanted to come work for the summer, many of them visiting America for the very first time.

Soon enough they came to the end of the road, hooking a left through a break in the trees and came out into a huge clearing. Two giant half circles made up of small white and green buildings faced each other, with a wide open field between them where, in a week’s time, kids would be found lounging around on towels and blankets in the sun, or throwing frisbees and baseballs to each other during their free period. 

Hopper pulled over on the girl’s side, which was fair—if sexist—considering Robin had more stuff than Steve did, and got them unloaded before quickly heading off with a reminder about dinner.

Robin slid her backpack on and began to drag her small trunk up the old wooden steps of the cabin. 

Steve heaved her big duffel bag over his shoulder and moved to follow, but she spun abruptly, letting the trunk drop, slapping a hand hard against his chest before his foot even made contact with the lowest board. 

“Woah, woah, woah, where do you think you’re going?” She asked.

“Seriously? I’m just trying to help you with your stuff!” 

“Yes, seriously! You know boys aren't allowed in the girl’s cabins!” She whispered boys as though it were a dirty word.

Steve snorted. “I’m pretty sure those rules are for the campers, Rob, not us, and what could possibly happen?! There’s no two people on the planet less likely to hook up than you and me.”

“Yeah but people don’t know that, Harrington!” 

She was right. As much as camp had always been Steve's safe haven, his sexuality was still something he felt the need to hide, as did Robin. They just couldn’t be sure how their peers would react, and he wanted to believe Hopper would be accepting and open minded but what if he wasn’t? What if he fired them, or used it as an excuse not to invite them back to work next year, because parents might freak out if they knew their children were being ‘exposed to the gays’? 

Steve couldn’t lose this place, for that reason or any other. 

He tossed her bag up the short staircase and onto the porch, letting his shoulders slump in defeat.

“Don’t pout. I just don't want to get in trouble on our first day,” Robin said.

“Yeah, me either,” he agreed.

“Good. Now move along to your own bunk.” She dropped her voice down low, looking around before she spoke again, wriggling her eyebrows. “I’m sure Jonathan will be around to help you get settled in.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that stupid crush down, are you?” 

“Nope.”

“It was two years ago!” Steve hissed.

“I still say you had a chance.”

Steve sighed heavily. “Even if he wasn’t straight—” he began but Robin cut him off with a judgy stare.

“You don’t know that.” She said.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But even if he wasn't, I told you, I'm not getting in the middle of whatever on-again off-again dance he and Nancy are doing.”

Robin tilted her head from side to side. “That’s fair. She scares me.”

“Me too.”

Jonathan was, as a matter of fact, already at the men’s temporary cabin, greeting Steve with a hug and everything, and offering to help him carry his stuff inside. Not that he’d be telling Robin any of that. 

His brief crush had been nothing short of awkward. They’d known each other since they were little, Jonathan’s mom being the camp nurse, and Hopper becoming his and his brother Will’s stepfather a few years ago, and out of nowhere Steve couldn’t even have a conversation with the guy without blushing and stuttering. Thankfully, the other boy’s sad little puppy dog eyes didn’t really do anything for him anymore.

They talked a little, making the usual catching up small talk that you do with people you know well but maybe aren't truly friends with, and soon were joined by a new face, fresh off a days long road trip from California. 

Argyle greeted Steve and Jonathan like they were all long lost pals. He had the longest, shiniest hair, the most colorful wardrobe Steve had ever seen, and his smile was infectious. He also absolutely reeked of weed, and within minutes had talked Jonathan into taking a walk in the woods with him to “open their minds”. It was clear the two stoners were well on their way to becoming best friends.

Steve left them to it, knowing Robin would kill him if he showed up to dinner high and smelling of smoke. 

He chose a bed by the door and started making it up, tucking the sheets in tight and tossing his ugly plaid comforter on top. There was no point in really unpacking until they got their final bunk assignments, the night before the kids came, so after pulling out a few random t-shirts, shorts, and a bathing suit, and shoving them all into one of the cubby holes built into the walls of the cabin, Steve grabbed his discman and headphones and went to lay out in the sun. 

It was late, well past midnight and Steve had been tossing and turning for the last several hours. He never slept well on the first night of camp, the quiet always taking a little time for him to get used to, and It was no wonder he heard the soft footfalls of someone walking up the steps of the cabin.

The door opened slowly, revealing a figure painted in silhouette by moonlight. A riot of wild hair, and a guitar case slung across the boy’s back were all Steve could make out at first through his barely slitted eyelids. 

He watched, careful not to move too much and give away that he was awake as the boy quietly closed the door behind himself, and tiptoed further into the cabin, tossing his stuff down beside the bunk right next to Steve’s. It meant Steve had a perfect view of the newcomer’s backside as he bent to slide his guitar under the mattress frame and unzipped his bag. He straightened with an arm full of linens and hastily made up the bed, not even tucking the bottom corners of his fitted sheet in before throwing a quilt over the whole thing and calling it done, and began to undress. 

Steve swallowed hard, knowing he should probably look away now, or at least close his eyes, if for no other reason than to put on a better show of being asleep in case the other boy’s gaze swung his way, but he was enthralled.

The unfamiliar figure was still blanketed in shadow, but stood close enough now that Steve could make out a pair of huge sparkling dark eyes, brown he assumed, though the night had a way of stealing all the color from the world, to go with the boy’s even darker curls. A rounded nose and full pouty lips made up the rest of a face that would, Steve was fairly certain, now and forever haunt his dreams, as well as his every waking thought. 

He wanted to scream. 

He’d never felt so drawn to someone at first sight before. How much worse would it be once he saw this vision of beauty in daylight?

Powerless to resist the urge, Steve let his gaze roam down past the curve of the other boy’s jaw, eyes drinking in whatever details they could. The bob of an adams apple as he swallowed, the outline of his collarbones, black and gray markings on his chest and arms—tattoos that Steve couldn’t quite make out the shapes of. A trail of dark hair ran from his navel to the top of his pants, stark and inviting against pale white skin.

The boy reached for the button on his jeans and Steve did look away then. It was one thing to see the same skin that might be on display when someone took their top off down by the lake or at the pool, but another to ogle someone below the belt when they didn’t even know they were being watched.

Second passed and a dull thump had Steve snapping his eyes back open, grateful the other boy still had his boxers on at least, so he didn’t feel like too much of a creep. 

“Bollocks,” the stranger cursed softly, hopping on one foot for a second as he sucked air between his teeth, nursing a stubbed toe.

Steve’s stomach flipped at the sound of his voice.

International, right. He had an accent. Of course he did, obviously, Steve just hadn’t thought—

Why was that so hot?

He groaned internally, he hadn’t even properly seen the guy’s face yet and he was already absolutely fucked. 

Finally, mercifully, the other boy climbed into bed, yawning as he pulled the quilt up over his head, turning to face the other way.

And it was to the sound of this intriguing stranger’s breath that Steve finally drifted away into a fitful sleep.

Steve's Summer Mix Eddie's Summer Mix

Thanks as always to the lovely @penny00dreadful for being the best beta, friend and cheerleader.

Permanent taglist(open): @penny00dreadful @pearynice @hitlikehammers @bookworm0690 @wonderland-girl143-blog 

@goodolefashionedloverboi @themagicalari @awkwardgravity1 @rocknrollsalad

Fic taglist (open):

[mayaluvzyou]

Willow Tree

Eddie Munson x Childhood bestfriend!Reader

Warnings: FLUFF. Swearing, slightly implied f!reader if you squint, Eddie being a complete dumbass, angry love confession

A/N: this is inspired by another Eddie x reader fic I found on here. The issue is, I'm not sure who made it. Regardless, I give credits to the original creator of the nickname "Trouble"!!!

You can't recall having a crush worse than this. You were undeniably in love with him. The only problem was that this absolute dreamboat of a boy was your best friend of many years. More than half of said years, you'd had the biggest crush on him.

The two of you were out at the park on a picnic "date" as he called it. Only, he thought of it as a friend date. Nothing more. But you craved and yearned for it to be so much more.

Eddie 'the freak' Munson. Your best friend since first grade. You were head over heels for this man and yet he was absolutely oblivious no matter how hard you tried to nonverbally admit it. He was munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich before noticing how silent it'd gone, nothing but the subtle breeze of mid July heard.

"Hey, you alright, trouble?" He inquired, eyebrows furrowing a little as he lowered his sandwich from his face.

Trouble. The nickname he'd come up with for you years and years ago when the two of you would go exploring in abandoned houses and whatnot. You'd been a bit more rebellious than usual, and decided to spray paint whatever spots hadn't already been vandalized. So, he ended up calling you trouble- in the most playful way possible, of course. And it stuck.

"I'm fine." Clearly you weren't. Every person ever would say that when it was agonizingly obviously they were NOT fine.

Your off-white sun dress that was scattered with little, dusty pink embroidered flowers fluttered very slightly in the warm breeze.

It seemed like you had too much on your mind. You rarely made eye contact, you barely spoke for the whole "date", and you ate little to nothing.

Something was up.

"Bullshit," Eddie spoke matter-of-factly, dropping his half eaten pb&j onto a paper towel square. "If it were actually nothing, you would've laughed it off by now. So, stop being a shitty liar and tell me what's going on." Very subtly, his expression softened with care. No matter how consistently Eddie teased you, you were always his favorite everything. Favorite person, favorite friend, favorite (and only) person who'd help him after getting beat up by Jason and his goons. You meant everything to him.

"Listen, I already said it's nothing. End of story." Your gaze shifted to meet his with a scowl for a mere millisecond to increase the believability of your annoyance. It didn't work.

"Jesus fucking Christ-" Cutting his mumbles short, Eddie brought a ring clad hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes in growing irritaion. "If it weren't a big deal, you wouldn't be doing this. Just. Spill. It." His face moved just barely a centimeter with his last three words.

You didn't budge, staying silent as a response. You'd given him the silent treatment once or twice before. NEVER was it a common occurrence in your behavior towards him.

The soft wind blew, causing the branches and leaves of the willow tree you and Eddie used to play under sway.

Some nearby child giggled and squealed with childlike joy as it toyed with the family dog.

One minute passed

A bird stopped a few feet away from you two, hoping a couple times before soaring off into a tree.

A squirrel paused it's scattering run up the willow tree to gaze around for a split second before dashing off.

Another minute.

You couldn't do it anymore. You snapped.

"Fuck it.. I love the way you trip over absolutely nothing and then pretend it never happened. I love the way we'd giggle when your hair got all frizzy from the humidity. I love the way you add just a little more jelly than peanut butter to your stupid sandwiches because of your sweet tooth- so, how? How is it not blatantly obvious that I'm in love with you, Eddie. Horribly head over heels in love with you?" You were near breathless after your sudden ramble of pure emotion. Your annoyed speech of how much you truly loved him seemed to take hours in your mind as your heart rate increased the longer you spewed out words like poetry.

Any expression other than surprise and confusion on Eddie's face had dropped. Whilst you were still trying to catch your breath from gushing about him, he was just sitting. Confused. He opened his mouth a few times as if about to speak, yet, nothing more than a few stuttered letters came out.

"Trouble, I- what? I just- I mean, I love you too- it's just that.. Wha?-" Before he could stumble on any more words, you cut him off with a groan of pure frustration, bunching up the frilly hem of your dress with anger. God damn did you love this man.

"My god, Eddie, you're so damn oblivious and I hate how much I love that. I don't love you, Munson. I'm in love with you. Moronically, irrevocably in love with you and your stupid face..!" To anyone else, the tone in which you barked out your confession sounded like you hated him with every fiber in your being, but your words spoke from an entirely different book.

You hadn't noticed how close you'd gotten to him in your fit of angry adoration. Though, one of the few things that did not go unnoticed was the way his eyes flickered down to your lips for a second. The sight of his gaze going only an inch or two down for a puny second made your breath catch.

"Sweetheart," Eddie began, your mind immediately picking up the sound of his now incredibly calm voice calling you 'sweetheart'. Only on some occasions did he call you that. The last time you can recall him calling you sweetheart was years prior. It was freshman year and Jason had ruined a shirt that Eddie had given you as a gift. You sobbed relentlessly before he found you in a bathroom stall, quickly coming in to comfort you.

"I love you too. I can't imagine not being in love with you- and I have no idea why I didn't say anything." He averted his gaze towards the end of his short ramble, wringing out his hands nervously. You rarely ever saw him nervous. Then it clicked. This was raw emotion. He meant it entirely.

Silently, he dragged his eyes back to yours, that chocolate brown gaze meeting yours. Without another thought, you felt his ringed fingers gently grip your jaw and waist, pulling you towards him. Eddie's lips met yours so perfectly to the point where you swore it was dizzying for a split second. Your arms found their way loosely around the base of his neck. What felt like a millennium had only lasted a solid three seconds. A phenomenal three seconds.

With his hands still in the same positions, he spoke again, his voice coming out much softer than the previous time.

"You're my favorite, trouble. Always and forever."

A/N (again): THIS IS ONE OF MY FIRST FICS EVER SO IF ITS SHITTY PLS IGNORE THAT 😭

[klausysworld]

hi can you do one where the reader is with klaus but elijah is also in love with her and klaus knows that but he doesn't have the daggers so he becomes really possesive of her especially I'm front of elijah

Possessive Klaus when Elijah’s trying to steal his girl:

It wasn’t hard for Klaus to tell what was going on. Elijah, his older brother, was blatantly in love with his girl. He would let his hand linger on your shoulder, your arms, not legs. He would lift your legs and rest them on his lap while smoothing your soft skin. Skin only Klaus should have the privilege to touch. He would notice Elijah making you drinks, bringing you food, offering to take you places, offering to do anything for you.

it was clear you were oblivious. the kind smile on your face as you thanked him for his kindness, “you’re basically my best friend ‘Lijah i’m so glad you’re here”

Klaus’s daggers had recently been destroyed meaning daggering him wasn’t an option. Plus you’d be confused and get upset, he didn’t want that.

so he just had to make it clear you were his…Each time you entered a room you were greeted with the most passionate kiss you could receive. Lips moulded to yours, tongue caressing your mouth and strong hands holding you close, he would rub them along your sides, maybe a gentle squeeze of your ass to make you moan or whimper against him. He would briefly make eye contact with his older brother after parting with you, glare obvious in his eyes. But then he would look back to you, heart swelling as he sealed your lips together a few more times.

He would often lift you from the sofa where your legs rested on Elijah’s and would snuggled you on the love seat. Dirty little whispers in your ear just loud enough for his brother to understand while he sucks on your neck and you held in your sounds.

One day he caught Elijah plant a loving kiss on your shoulder. Later Klaus had the seat turned away while he fingered you in the living room, you desperately tried to keep yourself together knowing your best friends were in the room. Rebekah didn’t catch on, you were pretty good at being sneaky with it. Elijah though. He knew, his knuckles would be white, glass in his hand almost shattered and his jaw clenched. Your delicious scent was hitting him in waves as you ever so slightly rocked your body towards Klaus’s hand. Jealousy was all he knew in that moment.

He would make sure he was there for your every meal. Elijah would not get to cook for you, it was not his job and not his privilege.

“how about we bake something together hm? i know how much you enjoy sweet things, or perhaps we should go out? there’s as lovely coffee shop down the road” you would eagerly nod and take his hand always loving your dates, Klaus would be so soft on dates, so human.

of course once you got back he would grow rougher. Carrying you up the stairs past his brother and tossing you onto the bed. Bend you every way he could while fucking you mercilessly. Making sure you were as loud as possible. “who’s making you feel this good hm?” “you are Nik, all you” “louder”

When he spotted you and Elijah reading in the library, he would make sure that same night you were pushed against the bookshelves, the wood smacking against the wall while you called his name

When Klaus saw Elijah still wasn’t giving in he decided to take a more direct approach.

“don’t you think it’s a little pathetic of you being in love with your younger brothers girl?”

“she deserves better than you.”

“i give her everything. she loves me, i love her and she knows it, you know it, i mean come on Elijah she’s basically screamed it in every room”

“she doesn’t want that. look at her Niklaus, shes sweet, innocent, she wants to be making love to not being treated like a sex doll. I will love her correctly, the way a man is supposed to love his wife”

“wife!? you think she would marry you? over me?”

cue a screaming match and throwing each other across the room. Yeah it was difficult for them to come up with a plausible lie when you walked to find them covered in each others blood.

You made sure Elijah was alright before leading Klaus upstairs and helping him clean up. You made them both tidy the house and apologise.

for the next few weeks Klaus decided to treat you as though you were glass. Soft kisses, sweet words of admiration, carefully brushing your hair and massaging your shoulders.

he would ask to have his face between your thighs “you know i wouldn’t hurt you, right?” “i won’t be rough i promise” he would tell you before slowly treating your needs

gently rocking into you on your cloud like bed and reminding you how much he loved you as you clung to his body

You of course picked up on his behaviour, he wasn’t being himself. Much more clingy, much more protective, keeping you safe and closer than normal. You didn’t bother bringing it up but then he became so reluctant in bed you grew confused. He would barely touch you and was second guessing his every move

“Klaus?” “yes my love?” “are…do you still find me um appealing?” “of course i do- what- why would you ask that?” “it’s just you haven’t really been yourself and it’s like you don’t want to…uh look i’m just going to say it, fuck me klaus, it’s like you don’t want to fuck me anymore”

he felt awful. Eventually it finally hit him that Elijah was purposely trying to ruin your relationship.

Klaus then apologised relentlessly to you, he just said he wanted to try something different, he would never want to make you feel that way.

when Elijah saw your relationship blossoming again he realised just how true your love was for one another. Of course he couldn’t just turn his feelings off but he tried his best not to step on any toes

Klaus was silently grateful for this and things went back to some what normal. He remained more possessive to and extent but not as in your face. He just needed to make sure you knew you were safe and loved.

you are and will always be his. nobody especially his brother would ever take you from him

[dreamedfyre-a]

i'm pretty sure i've written something to that effect before but i'm writing more and also i can't find the post so

the greens didn't decide impulsively to take the throne when viserys died. that was the plan all along and i think they were all aware of it (to some extent; perhaps reluctant to see it, but aware at some level). of course, i'll never dictate how other muses felt or should feel about it (and takes like show based alicent never having any intention to do so are 100% valid!). but looking at the overall situation, it's blatantly obvious otto was playing the long game from the moment he started parading his daughter as a replacement for aemma, and that he meant to get aegon on the throne one way or another.

the first attempt was trying to get rhaenyra and aegon married, which would achieve his goal and prevent a war of succession. that failed, he clearly didn't give up. alicent's children were raised with that claim for the throne in mind. helaena was married to aegon to further his claim. when viserys died, aemond's first answer is to ask 'is aegon king?'. they all knew it'd come to that.

which is why i can't see (and don't write) helaena being oblivious to her role and what it entails, to how royalty is perceived and how it matters. if anything, i think that's one of the first things helaena had thrust upon her, still as a child; she's a princess and she has to behave like one, and she would have started to understand why it matters then. struggling with it doesn't mean she cannot understand or is unaware. she forces herself to endure and masks the discomfort, to her own detriment, because it's what she had to learn to do.

she takes her duties seriously. she would have always tried to do her best. this extends to her time as queen. i don't think she was an entirely passive queen, nor that she would have been content to simply let alicent take charge of everything (whether that causes conflict or they work together is up for discussion). helaena didn't want to be queen, but she is. and if she is, she'll be the best queen she can be.

from what we know of consorts in asoiaf, it's suggested there's a strong diplomatic element (associated with how they are perceived by court and winning over and keeping the support of relevant lords and houses, as well as dealing with foreign dignitaries), and honestly a strong public relations sort of thing in regards to dealing with the faith and the smallfolk which is where i think she did best, perhaps inadvertently more so than on purpose. when welcomed by the king, queens can also act as advisors (which i'll get to later).

we know the book suggests helaena was greatly loved as a queen (even when the people's opinion of her brothers wasn't as positive). cultivating a positive relationship with the faith and appearing pious (and letting people see that) is part of what would be expected of her, and part she would have no hard time complying to. helaena does follow the faith; her mom did raise her to go to church and pray, to be charitable to those they meet along the way. (and it's such a small thing, but wouldn't it make a difference for people to know their queen kneels in front of the mother above and prays to the same gods they do?)

and it's the same when it comes to charity; people seeing the crown doing something for them makes a difference. people seeing a queen take the time to go to them and help those in need made her loved. while hesitant to be too close to anyone, helaena would neither be unkind nor arrogant if respectfully approached. she's not sociable, but she's gentle and genuine. it's her duty to help these people, and she takes it seriously.

helaena wouldn't be good at all with court politics, though. she knows how to behave and what she should or shouldn't do, but charming people is not something she excels at and if people go off script she struggles with what to do. she doesn't want them near she doesn't want to befriend them and while she is polite and gentle, she doesn't do as well with this.

if organizing events and feasts falls under the responsibilities of queens, this is a task she could handle with help. because helaena doesn't really like big events and what makes them appealing for most people knfkjdnfjkn (this made me think of aegon's feast to celebrate aemond post storm's end though. i don't think she likes the idea of a public celebration at all, and yet she would still prepare it because like i said the other day ultimately she's holding her brothers' hands no matter how bloody they are)

last but not least, i assume aegon wanted her in his council (otherwise she wouldn't be there) and she wanted to be there (otherwise she'd have refused to be there), and that was the standard from the beginning of his rule, which is why she was present the morning they received rhaenyra's terms. like i said, helaena takes her duties seriously; she would do her best to offer informed advice. to keep aegon's impulsiveness and aggressiveness in check, too, as she does re: how to answer to rhaenyra.

i genuinely think aegon and helaena would've worked well together in that sense, finding a middle ground between too impulsive and angry and too passive and diplomatic. i also think she's one of the few people there who'd be genuinely on his side; not the crown, not their own ambitions, because ultimately helaena is in it for her family. it's them she cares about.

of course, this is short-lived. after jaehaerys' death, all she might yet have been seen doing on occasion would be going to the sept, and even that would stop well before rhaenyra takes the city because helaena can't be bothered to leave her room. before that, though, she did take part on her queenly duties. that's what made her loved, and that's what made the commonfolk react viciously to her death.

[dustofthedailylife]

I'm having a roommate brainrot about Alhaitham and Kaveh meeting reader's childhood best friend(He or she has a crush on them) and the boys are jealous of the person that is stealing reader's attention

It's okay if you ignore this idea I just simply stayed up all night and got kaveh and Candace on baizhu's banner (I also lost my 50/50 pulls on keqing)

I love your roommate brainrots also can I use this idea so I can make a fan fiction? If that's okay with you of course!! No pressure!!

Your lovely Geo anon♡

(≡^∇^≡)

[-> Roommate AU brainrots]

Hello!! :3 Sorry to hear about your 50/50 loss ;_; but at least you're guaranteed whoever you want next. Also, yay congrats on getting Kaveh! <3

And I mean, I can't stop you to write a fic yourself with the concept, but I honestly don't know how I'd feel if it's derived from what I wrote about it so far since I plan to write a fic with what I wrote myself still and I'm currently in the planning stages of that 😅

Anyway, as for your brainrot! They'd both get so jealous about it, that's for sure!

Maybe your childhood friend was abroad for a long time for their own projects and finally returned to Sumeru. So you both haven't seen each other for several years at that point.

As soon as he is back you and him have a lot to catch up on and naturally spend a lot of time together. He missed you a lot too and frequently sent you letters as well - because aside from appreciating you as their best friend, he has a crush on you. Oblivious like you are you have no idea though.

He invites you out for lunch and dinner dates, goes on shopping trips or day trips with you, and generally clings to you like a bloodthirsty tick. And to you, those trips and dates are nothing more than just spending some time with an old friend, but o him they aren't.

The moment Alhaitham and Kaveh spot him with you for the first time they're seething. It's blatantly obvious that he sees more in you than just a friend. Of course, they're scared you could fall for him as well since you knew each other for so long already after all.

I could imagine Kaveh would be the one who would carefully start to ask questions about the guy (he's being very suspicious with his questions after a while. Lord help me).

And then there is Alhaitham who'd, blunt as he is, just directly ask you if you like the guy.

"Are you in love with him?" "Huh, what? Who?" "Your guy friend who keeps coming over." "What, no! He's just my childhood best friend."

Kaveh would go and argue with Alhaitham that this is not how you'd find something like that out. You can't simply just go and ask someone something like that!

[fzzr]

Working!! is the Perfect 8/10 Anime

Now that I wrote On Rating Anime, and "Perfection" I'm going to talk about an exception to that approach. My definition of a 10/10 anime is one that is Perfect In Every Way That Matters. Working!!, also known as Wagnaria!!, is unquestionably an 8/10. It is also, in its own way, Perfect. Working!! does not want to be one of the Great Works Of Art, but it does have Something To Say. Over the course of three seasons and a special, it manages to deliver on multiple stories about love in many forms while never losing sight of the fun.

Working!! is a 2010 comedy anime about an ensemble cast of weirdos who work in a family restaurant called Wagnaria. It is based on a 4-koma (four panel) manga of the same name, so episodes are mostly a collection of shorter scenes with only vague continuity between them. The larger continuity of the show is carried more by the development of the relationships among the characters, as opposed to the twists and turns of any plot.

Characters

It's an ensemble cast, so here come a lot of names.

Popura "Poplar" Taneshima - Female, 17 years old, high school student, part-time waiter. Popura is short enough to be mistaken for a middle schooler, and definitely has a complex about it. She is unfailingly positive, hard working, and just wants everyone to get along.

Souta Takanashi - Male, 16 years old, high school student, part-time waiter. Takanashi is a guy who really, really likes small things. He works at Wagnaria specifically because the diminutive Popura asked him to and working there lets him be around her. Both of Souta's parents are generally absent due to work, so he lives with his four sisters as one of the more functional members of the household.

Mahiru Inami - Female, 17 years old, high school student, part-time waiter. Inami has extreme androphobia, to the point of physically attacking any man who gets within a few feet of her. This is exacerbated by the fact that she is physically very strong, despite her slight build. Despite the obvious disadvantages of this quirk when interacting with the public, she does her best at her job. As the only male waiter, Takanashi is the primary victim of her reflexive violence. For seemingly obvious reasons, Inami is largely estranged from her father.

Kyouko Shirafuji - Female, 28 years old, manager. Kyouko does the absolute minimum necessary to get by, and is more than willing to exploit her position to her advantage. In practice, that mostly just means feeding herself off the restaurant's supplies, to the chagrin of most of the staff. Her apathy is not absolute, and if shenanigans genuinely threaten the stability of the restaurant she will step in.

Yachiyo Todoroki - Female, 20 years old, floor chief. Yachiyo worships the very ground Kyouko walks on. She blatantly enables Kyouko's sloth, and jealously guards against anyone else taking up more of Kyouko's attention than is absolutely necessary. She also carries a katana at all times, while completely oblivious of how intimidating this makes her.

Jun Satou - Male, 20 years old, head chef. Jun is very capable but has trouble communicating anything not related to work. He has a crush on Yachiyo that is extremely obvious to anyone with an ounce of social intelligence (so, barely 1/3 of the cast, and certainly not including Yachiyo herself). His height and stoic manner make him somewhat intimidating, and he uses that to keep things around him (partially) in order.

Hiroomi Souma - Male, at least 20 years old, sous chef. Souma is outwardly pleasant, but is very perceptive and willing to exploit the things he knows about people to get them to do what he wants. Luckily, all he usually wants is small favors around work.

Hyougo Otoo - Male, top head of the restaurant. He is rarely present, as he is often abroad searching for his long-missing wife. When he is in town, he is very subject to intimidation from the frankly terrifying female staff and rarely pushes back on any shenanigans.

"Aoi Yamada" - Female, allegedly 16 years old, waiter. Yamada is clearly running away from home under a fake name. The very forgiving Otoo has allowed her to live in the attic of Wagnaria in exchange for her working as a waiter. Unfortunately she is clumsy, self-important, and generally a pain in the butt.

Summary

The first season of Working!! is dedicated almost entirely to meeting the cast and coming to understand their relationships. It is a comedy at all times, with most of the humor coming from the wackiness that results from very weird people interacting in different subsets and situations. There are many sources of chaos and humor - Yamada causing problems accidentally, Souma causing problems deliberately, and generally all the fun that comes from the wild interactions that follow from the quirky staff of Wagnaria.

As the show goes on, relationships slowly but surely develop. Takanashi and Inami, forced together by circumstance, come to develop feelings for one another. This is very hard for them to recognize, because Inami is still likely to respond to being startled by Takanashi in any way using force. In the meantime, Satou's feelings for Yachiyo only intensify. Yachiyo's fixation on Kyouko make him feel that any approach will be doomed from the start, but with the unsolicited help of other staff members they inch ever so slightly closer together.

Parallel to the romantic plots, the various separated families begin to be pulled back together. These storylines contain the spoilers, so I'll be oblique. At first as we learn about the Inami, Takanashi, and Yamada families, we find that we mostly don't learn about them. For their own reasons and in their own ways, the characters manage to step around exposing those parts of themselves to each other. Yamada is forced to reconnect when her family comes looking for her. Otoo's wife re-enters the picture, but for humorous reasons she is blown back out again. Inami's father is hesitant to re-emerge, but it is clear that he has something to apologize for. Finally, Takanashi's active efforts to avoid talking about his mother become abruptly very understandable when we meet her.

A Different Kind of Foil

Working!! does something a bit unusual with narrative foils. Instead of character foils, it has contrasting relationships. The initially doubly oblivious Inami-Takanashi relationship is contrasted with the unidirectional Yachiyo-Satou relationship. Otoo's quest to reunite with his wife contrasts with Yamada's efforts to avoid reuniting with her own family. In the later parts of the show, Inami's estrangement from her father is compared to Takanashi's disconnect with his mother. These contrasts are Working!!'s secret sauce when it comes to telling its stories about love.

The Inami-Takanashi and Yachiyo-Satou comparison lets it examine developing and recognizing romantic love. Here are multiple ways people can come to develop feelings for each other. What sort of obstacles might they face? What keeps them from recognizing the feelings they have? What are the consequences for their other relationships as things change?

The Otoo and Yamada contrast is about separated families. For Otoo, separation is a matter of circumstance rather than choice, and both of them make great effort to reunify. On the Yamada side the separation is only desired on one side - the other seeks reunification just as intently as Otoo does. What is it that makes returning someone home a matter of persuasion instead of simply finding them? Why and how might someone want to change their family circumstance, and how far would they go to achieve that? How do separation by chance and choice feel different?

The parental relationships of Takanashi and Inami are the most serious part of the show - it's very possible to argue that their parents emotionally abused them. Since these are stories about parents and children, they are largely about control. For Inami, where is the line between raising your child in the way you see fit and manipulating them abusively? For Takanashi, how much control of a child's life trajectory can a parent exercise by fiat?

Never Drop the Smile

Now, with all that heavy business about broken families and whatnot, you may be wondering "hey, is this one of those comedies that actually turns into a drama later and isn't as fun?" To that I am pleased to respond in the negative. Working!! manages to stay funny even through all of that. The way it achieves this is simple, yet genius. Every place a dramedy would have a dark or edgy reason some family fell apart, Working!! has a funny one.

I don't want to spoil all the jokes, so I'll just share one: Otoo is looking for his wife, who disappeared years ago. A darker show would have it be that she ran away, or he did something that pushed her away which he now regrets. But no, he's looking for her because she's lost. As in, her sense of direction is so bad that she has also been trying to get home for years and cannot find her way back.

Conclusion

Score: 8/10. This is a show that wants to be a light and fluffy and comfortable, and it does that to a T. What makes it the perfect 8/10 is that it does that while simultaneously exploring love from many different angles.

Recommendation: You should watch Working!! Yes, you. The power level requirement is nominal, and if you have ever struggled with acknowledging or expressing your love for another person (romantic or otherwise) you will find a way to connect with it. It's also just a lot of fun all around.

Comparisons

Toradora! is the greatest love story ever told, and it happens to be a romcom with a violent tsundere main girl and an extended cast of weirdos with a lot more going on than it seems. Working!! thus stands in the shadow of Toradora! in a few ways. The plot-signifcant cast of Working!! is larger than Toradora!’s, which means the show doesn’t give the core relationships as much time as they might otherwise have - but if it didn’t have a cast of weirdos, it wouldn’t be Working!! Toradora! actually does have to yield to Working!! on one point - the explorations of parental relationships. For Toradora!, it comes up in only a few arcs, whereas in Working!! it weaves through whole seasons and is much better integrated into the last minute will things fall apart twist.

Saekano, well. Instead of turning up the dial on romance, it turned it up on the other themes, and on drama. Season 2 of Saekano and of Working!! are nothing alike. And yet… in the Saekano movie, it brings all the weirdos together and has all the shenanigans fall together in just the right way to make the ending happen. Working!! does that too, particularly in the special. The difference is it never loses sight of being a comedy. It teases being a little dark for a moment here or there, but it never actually makes you worry. The degree of contrast is part of what makes Saekano an amazing show, but sometimes you just want a comfy time and that’s what Working!! does best.

Shakugan no Shana, like Working!!, turned up the volume on romance in season 2. Going into season 3 and the special Working!! managed to keep the volume going up at a gentle pace, while Shana dropped the romance almost completely and decided to be an action show again. They end up not being comparable, but I at least wanted to acknowledge the parallel.

Dog Days is also not quite a fair comparison, because it doesn’t have an ending (the ones above all do). Dog Days is extremely light and fluffy, even more so than Working!! Dog Days unfortunately falls into the harem trap of never wanting to wrap things up or even really move things forward. It also has a massive cast, and most of the show is just mixing them up into different subgroups to see how they bounce off each other. When it does do a very-lightly-dark section, it doesn’t actually make full use of its cast. The shenanigans were fun, but they didn’t mean anything. In every other show listed above, even Shana to some extent, the shenanigans retroactively justify what might have seem like wasted time because they are tied together in the end.

Final Thoughts

Working!! is a tough one for me. I really like it, but I have to acknowledge that it's not as ambitious as 9s like Oregairu or Monogatari nor as technically excellent as 9s like One Punch Man or Fate/Zero. Among my 8s, it is certainly one of the ones I recommend the strongest due to what I would consider its near-universal accessibility and appeal.

[zgvlt]

capture my heart, my voice into art sebek zigvolt x reader

summary: As payment for his help in class, you offer to draw something for Sebek. As the weeks go by, it gets difficult to pretend that you're still drawing Malleus and he's only talking to you about his Young Master. Neither of you do a good job at pretending.

tags: gender neutral reader, sfw, fluff, classmates to friends to lovers, 6.0k+ words, not beta read

author’s note (see end notes for more): The first fic to a mini-series I'm making based on the five senses! The prompt for this fic is the sense of "sound/hearing"

[you can also read this on AO3]

Sebek Zigvolt is, in every shape and form, terribly obvious with showing his interest. Not the most verbally honest, though he usually is rather blunt about everything, but still honest — everyone can tell with his expressive face (the eyes, the mouth, the eyebrows), his stance (he moves with his whole body), and his voice (his words do not always reflect back on his tone).

Sebek is oblivious to this aspect of himself, or perhaps interprets it in a different way — it's only passion and devotion, is it not? 

There is truth to that statement of course, but you can tell he expects that analysis of him to be about his Young Master, the Malleus Draconia, other adjectives omitted. After all, he's aware that he's known to be a person whose prime interest is Malleus, and he is proud of that. 

It's just that he doesn't seem to be aware that those same symptoms of interest are beginning to leak again in the face of someone else entirely.

Sebek is a person who appreciates talent, can take the time to praise it even coming from someone who isn't fae — Epel Felmier would be an example. Sebek is also a person who, upset as he is to admit it, has difficulties with the more subjective, abstract subjects, to wit: the arts, and anything to do with creativity and imagination over formulas or instructions.

Unfortunate. If he were an artist, he would certainly create portraits upon portraits of his Young Master, maybe even create sculptures or, best yet, gargoyles. 

He supposed not everyone could be as talented as the prince, after all.

Despite his inadequacies, Sebek did take an interest in art, and that was how he found himself taking an interest in you.

You usually sat near him — out of coincidence, he assumed — and now and then you would ask him to repeat things the professors had said, clarifications on instructions you had potentially misheard. He, of course, chided you for not listening properly — or perhaps it had to do with your human hearing. Nevertheless, he would repeat everything previously dictated perfectly.

He knows it's perfect because you don't ask him to repeat it again, clearly satisfied. Of course you are! Receiving help from a student like him?

And then Sebek... worries, just a bit. He will call it sympathy (or pity) if asked, but it's worry. He's a natural worrywart, so when you keep asking him to repeat things, or when a wave of confusion or concern flashes over your face, his natural instinct is to act on it. He is a knight (to-be) after all, isn't it okay for him to want to help, even if it's not directly tied to his duties to the heir of the crown?

"Hopefully I got everything..." you murmured, flipping through your notes as soon as class ended. Sebek thinks back to the few times he looked at you the past hour, the way your eyebrows would furrow and the occasional huh you would whisper, and he knows that no, you didn't.

Sebek sighed, almost like it was a chore for him, and said, "let me take a look, human! I'm sure you must have missed out on something again."

"Thank you, Sebek." 

Sebek is used to people rolling their eyes at him, or even blatantly covering their ears, so it's odd when you simply smile and hand him your notebook, like you're relieved to have his assistance... as you should be, and it's good that you recognize that! It showed you have far more awareness than most humans. Still, it doesn't make it any less baffling for him.

"Surprisingly, most of what you've written matches my notes," he said, and promptly ignored the way you seemed delighted by such a fact. It was just notes, it wasn't an achievement or anything, "but you're missing a few key details, i.e., two ingredients for the potion — the geranium and mint."

"Geranium and mint..." you retrieved your notebook from him, your pencil immediately meeting the paper as you began to sketch a flower — Sebek will assume it's a geranium, since mint is more herb and leaves than flower. 

That was another thing he noticed about you — you liked to draw. He saw it on occasion, the motion of your hand indicating you were sketching something as opposed to writing, but this was the first time he had actually seen you at work. 

“Drawing, huh,” Sebek said, subconsciously peering over your shoulder to get a closer look — only because he had been (note: put himself) in charge of making sure you had been writing down the right things. “It’s a useful talent, being good at art.”

You hummed, throwing him an inquisitive glance. “You’re not going to scold me for doing something unnecessary? Every plant in the room is labeled so it’s not like I actually need to draw this.”

“So you mean the bare minimum? Clearly, human, what you’re doing simply elevates your work above everyone else’s! What if we had a test where we needed to identify the ingredients, and Professor Crewel got rid of the labels to test us? To have a reference image without having it developed or looking at a book is excellent thinking!” Sebek explained for you, failing to notice your look of bewilderment. “Now, if only you could listen more attentively to the professor, I’m sure your work would be on par with mine!”

“That’s more difficult than you think, maybe because I have human hearing,” you said with a laugh, although Sebek did think it a possible reason, “so I hope you don’t mind if I keep asking you for your notes after class. Can I look at your analytical magic notes as well?”

“I should really be going back to the dorm now. I don’t know about your after-school responsibilities, human, but I still have to attend to my duties to the Young Master, and you’re holding me back!” he complained, already bringing out a black notebook. “But it’d be troublesome if you fail the exam tomorrow because you missed something important! Heh! Aren’t you so glad to have a responsible classmate like me, human?!”

“Definitely,” you replied, not even hesitating as you swiped the notebook from his hand, “but if you really need to go, you can just leave this with me, then–”

“Out of the question,” Sebek interrupted, “so hurry up, human!”

“Okay, okay, just a minute!” And then Sebek started counting down from 60 in his head, deciding to take it literally as opposed to the figure of speech. 

… 57, 56, 55, 54, 53–

“You know,” you spoke up, just after eight seconds of writing, “I feel kind of bad for taking up your time like this. I feel like I should pay you back somehow.”

“You absolutely should, and it’s good that even a human like you can realize that! But should is different than could, and I question what you’d be able to give me in the first place.”

“It’s a useful talent, being good at art,” you repeated his own words back to him. “And before you say anything, of course I was listening. Your voice is loud enough to hear at any distance, you know?”

Unable to determine whether the latter part was a compliment or insult, he decided to ignore it by taking it as a fact that everyone was simply too quiet by comparison; thus, he focused on the former point instead. Sebek thought about it — while he’s never seen you draw anything else other than a flower and some leaves, though something gave him the impression that you did draw other things during class, your offer carried a hint of determination that Sebek could admire, even if there was barely any basis to prove the extent of your capabilities.  

The first year took another glance at your alchemy notebook — well, he at least liked the way you drew the ingredients. He wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise.

“I could draw you.”

“Just why would I want my likeness taken? There’s no reason for it — I don’t have anyone to give it to,” Sebek asked with confusion, one that you mirrored as you absorbed his reply.

“What? Why would you give…? I mean, is it not the typical request to have a drawing done of you — not of you you, mind you, I mean for someone to request a drawing of themselves?”

“Is it? That’s odd, I doubt that many people in this college are in the midst of courting someone,” and even if they were, would they even have the eloquence to court someone as properly as I would? Sebek sighed — no wonder a majority of these students weren’t in relationships — it wasn’t just that they wanted to focus on their studies like him, but that they were unable to get someone to agree to become their partner. 

That aside, even if one wanted to get a portrait or sketch done, there were far better options for the subject choice. 

“That said, I wouldn’t be against a well-meaning attempt at drawing the Young Master,” Sebek suggested. It was not a requirement per say — if you said you wouldn’t be able to, he would understand it; after all, it was difficult to actually capture the prince’s greatness in one still frame, but was not any paper or canvas with said prince’s likeness great? That was why he would appreciate even the attempt itself, if you agreed.

“I should have expected this,” you replied, a tinge of amusement laced in your voice, “like I could, if you want, but I don’t have a good frame of reference. It’s not like I have the opportunity to get up close and personal with him.”

“Well I’m not giving you a chance to do so either,” he huffed, “so don’t expect that out of this exchange, human! However, I will allow you to go to my room to check the portrait of the Young Master I have displayed! I believe that will make sufficient reference, yes? And, to make sure you are not lacking in passion, I will talk about the Young Master to inspire you!”

A part of him wondered if you would refuse. He knew a lot of people were unappreciative, blind to the splendor of the Great Malleus Draconia, so while he would be appalled he would not be surprised. However, after a minute of you looking down at his notebook, you made eye contact with him once more and nodded.

“If you don’t think I’ll be a disturbance, I’d be glad to.”

There weren’t enough people in school willing to listen to him talk about his Young Master Malleus, so he was more than just a little exhilarated at the opportunity to talk to someone, even if it was just so he could inspire you to draw his dorm leader to the best of your abilities. 

Sebek enjoyed stories, not just reading but telling them as well. That was to say, Sebek, a person who had a lot to say about anything and everything, genuinely enjoyed having someone to talk to, and it just so happened that of all possible topics, he found that talking about the tales of the Malleus Draconia’s Martial Might would not only be the most interesting for him, but for everyone else as well.

Not only was it interesting, but it was incredibly easy for him to recount everything without so much a reference on hand. Reciting everything from memory, allowing him the freedom to move as animatedly as possible and subconsciously showing off his own talent for martial arts — the motion of his hands as he (the best he could with the space in the room) recreated any poses or actions that you might have difficulty imagining from his words alone, eventually standing up to demonstrate a kick or two himself. He would argue he still had a long way to go, though. 

Still, what was even more eye-catching about Sebek at that moment was not his athletic prowess or memory, but his face — a handsome face, yes, but it was always a sight to behold when his serious (or as others would describe, intimidating resting face) expression turned beatific, beaming with pride over Malleus’ achievements and abilities as though they were his own, or perhaps because they represented a goal for him to accomplish, a greatness he wished to become. 

Whatever it was, it lit Sebek’s eyes up like lightning to a stormy sky, and with the lightning came the booming thunder of his voice, loud and yet, paired with his jubilant mood and exuberant expression, it was difficult to find it terrifying. 

(But if you were to be asked, with how often he’s helped you, when was the last time you’ve found him terrifying?)

Unbeknownst to him, he made for quite the captivating sight.

And then, approximately an hour into retelling the first part of his story, he finally noticed it — he understood that looking at the speaker while they were talking was the polite thing to do, just as he was predominantly looking at you as his audience, but you’d hardly glanced at the portrait on the wall! Had you looked while he was looking away? Not impossible, but improbable — he made sure to keep his eyes on you, not looking away for more than a few seconds at a time, so he would have known! Did you not think it was a good painting?

“Is there a problem, human?” Sebek asked suddenly. You had barely asked him any questions but you were drawing in your sketchbook, so he didn’t think you were distracted or uninterested or anything of the sort, but why would you stare at him so inquisitively if not to question him? “You keep staring at me. Do you take issue with something I’ve said, or maybe you’re not sure if you heard right? I know Young Master Malleus’ skills sound otherworldly, but you need not to see to believe, I assure you they are the absolute truth!!!”

“A problem…?” you muttered quietly, or at least quietly by Sebek’s standards. You seemed torn about whether to actually speak up or not, before eventually deciding that you should. “I suppose there is one, but it has nothing to do with you… or your Young Master! It’s just getting late, isn’t it? I should probably go and actually start that essay we have due tomorrow.”

Right. There were obligations to be fulfilled — schoolwork on both of your ends, and his own guard duties that would resume once more for dinnertime. Still, he could not help himself from being the slightest bit upset, a feeling he couldn’t quite keep to himself.

“That’s… unfortunate. I was nearly done with the first part of the tale,” Sebek claimed, frowning as he stood up, already having accepted that he should escort you out of his dorm room. “I was getting to the best scene of that part, too…”

No more than a minute had passed before you made your offer, “I can come back tomorrow?”

Sebek perked up immediately, unaware that his excitement was bleeding through his face.

“Do you want — are you able to?”

“It feels like I should be asking you that,” you replied, shutting your sketchbook tightly, “since you’re so busy all the time… I mean it doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but I can come back to… have more time to refine my sketch and to, you know, listen to you.” At that, Sebek grins, teeth all on display and eyes once more alight. Perhaps lightning does strike twice in the same place.

When exactly did he begin anticipating your presence? When did he start saving snacks in his drawers instead of eating them, storing them to share with you when you came over?

“If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? For me…”

Your sketchbook laid atop his desk, untouched for what must have been twenty minutes — or, practically since the time of your arrival.  

When did he stop asking you about when you’d finish the sketch (sketches? There had to be more than one at this point), and when did he stop caring about how fast he got through his recount of his Young Master’s achievements? When did he start looking forward to the random exciting and yet mundane conversations he shared with you instead? 

And why did it delight him that he was capable of sharing conversations with you outside of his Young Master and outside of academics?

“If I have something I’m lacking in — obviously there’s many things, as I’m far too young to compare to the Young Master and Master Lilia — I just work hard to improve myself,” Sebek replied. Neither of you seemed completely satisfied with his answer, probably because Sebek knew it wasn’t quite right. Not that he owed to you any story or secret about himself, but he supposed he could mention one thing.

“...Although, back when I was younger, I used to pull up my ears a lot, hoping it would look the same as my mother, and the Young Master, and…” and everyone else in the Valley. “Of course, I know now that you can’t change things like that without magic or potions, and certainly not for good!”

You looked up from the papers in your hand, choosing to look at him again, like you tended to do when you were in his dorm room. It still baffled him why you looked at him a lot (was it really just out of politeness?), but he never bothered to tell you to stop for reasons he couldn’t quite understand himself. 

The sound of papers shuffling in your hand prevented silence from encompassing the room. Homework. The both of you were supposed to be doing homework. How did the both of you get here?

“I think I get where you’re coming from,” you commented, “but if you ask me, you’re already fine, though.”

“Fine?”

“As in good. Physical appearance wise, aren’t you already good as you are?” you let out a non-condescending laugh, “I mean, maybe you could let your hair down, it’s always good to let your hair rest from products every now and then, but hey! If having it up is more convenient for you!”

He didn’t really register that part about his hair (although he did hear it, and he might think about it eventually), a little too focused on the first part. He felt like a fool — his heart was thumping, and it was a comment about his ears for crying out loud! Get yourself together, Sebek Zigvolt!

“Compliments are unnecessary, human. I’m already helping you anyway, I’m not going to stop because of some lack of praise on your end!” Not that there was a lack of praise. It embarrassed him at times, how easily the praise and gratitude came from your end, and yet he still looked at you expectantly for it every time he did something to help you, or did anything he thought admirable in general.

“Except I’m not complimenting you just because,” you insisted, a firm gentleness to your tone, “we’re friends now, aren’t we? I’m just letting you know what I think.”

“Friends! How bold to attach a label like that just on your own!” he exclaimed, and yet he did nothing to discourage it. 

He and Silver were the only two people from Briar Valley born in the same generation, and he would rather drink black coffee (without the milk!) than admit that guy was his friend… which meant that, for Sebek, friends were incredibly few and far between. He never quite considered the importance of having any close confidants, everyone too unworthy, and yet… Friend. It was a label that felt right to describe what relationship he had with you at this moment.

Yes, he supposed there was no shame in having a human friend, not if that friend was you.

He hadn’t known that you and Silver shared a class together. While he knew he shared almost every class with you, hard not to notice when you went from sitting near him to right beside him at every given opportunity, he hadn’t realized the one exception had been a class with Silver. Not that it mattered, he just naturally assumed that because the two of you were in different years…

There really wasn’t an issue with you being classmates with Silver… or there wasn’t going to be, until his fellow guard asked you a question.

“Aren’t you in the same grade as Sebek?”

“Mhm, classmates, even.”

“Really? Then, what do you think about him? Isn’t his voice the most annoying you’ve ever heard?”

Sebek held his breath, stopping himself from barging into the conversation uninvited, even if the conversation was about him in the first place. He stood still against the wall, hiding — since when did he start hiding? — from a person he grew up with in Briar Valley, and from a person he actually considered a friend, a label he attached to you in his head. It was too quiet, he wished either one of you would be a little louder.

“What? Of course not!” you replied, as though you hadn’t even thought of it. He can’t see you from his position, and he’s unwilling to sneak a peek in the case that you coincidentally lock eyes with him, but he thought you at least sounded genuine. Really, you could have stopped there and Sebek would have been able to move on with his day, but you just had to add one more thing.

“Actually, I like his voice a lot,” you admitted, and Sebek loathed that he couldn’t hear what else you had said thereafter — was he too far away? Were you whispering? Today in particular, couldn’t his hearing have been more fae-like? Silver might have said something, too, but he hardly cared about that now, couldn’t care less about why Silver even said such a thing in the first place.

You liked his voice — something that was a part of him, and something that was more than just his usefulness to you, something outside of his identity as Malleus Draconia’s guard. Sure, you mentioned being fine with other aspects of him, but it was one thing to say it to his face, where he could pin it on politeness and a desire to curry favor, and it was a different thing to say it to someone else, not knowing he was just around the corner listening.

There was a part of him that wanted to reprimand himself — him and not you, although he wished he could still blame you for the things you make him do, the things you make him feel. It was always easier to blame you because you were human, you and your humanity that was as warm as sunlight, but if he had blamed you then it would not be instinctive but forced. 

He detested the sudden surge of affection he felt for you then and there. Aside from the fact that it was so simple a statement that he should have felt nothing at all, he hated how he appreciated being seen as someone apart from his Young Master’s guard and devotee. He’s always felt pride in being associated with the prince, so why did it suddenly matter that he wanted to be more than just that classmate you always went to for help, that classmate who was dedicated to Malleus Draconia, when it came to you? 

However, even with the bouts of self-admonishment and confusion, he didn’t do much of anything to stop himself from feeling exhilarated at such modest and meager praise. Sebek was never exactly insecure about his voice, he was proud and always spoke loud enough to be heard, but he still knew what people said about his volume, even if he didn’t necessarily agree. Why did it matter if people thought differently? Why should it matter if he was liked by the human populace? 

Perhaps that was partly why the comment caught him so off-guard. How unexpected it was, how you committed to not simply finding it alright, but to liking it!

Simply put, he was electrified by you. There was the shock that stuck with him for what felt like eons but what must’ve been minutes, something so difficult for him to comprehend, and then the shock died down to what it was now — tingles, all over his body and even his mind. It must have infiltrated his mind as well, for even when he willed himself to finally walk away from the scene he couldn’t quite stop thinking about you, to the point that he had missed the knowing stare Silver had thrown his way as he passed.

Sebek wondered if there were other things you liked about him, and with a newfound desperation he wished he could find out without having to actually ask, for pride’s sake.

Sebek’s never been that aware of his voice before, but because of your words he’s been rendered conscious of it. As he told you about his training today (actually, he was supposed to continue with the fourth part of Young Master Malleus’ Martial Might, but you ended up asking about his day so he ended up deviating from that), Sebek wondered — did his voice sound nice today, and did you like it today as well? 

In his head, he thought himself quite foolish again for not having gotten over it, but since that day it, and by association you, was all he could really think about when he had nothing else to keep him occupied. 

It was strange. He had always assumed thinking of someone who wasn’t Malleus or Lilia would be nothing but a distraction, but that hadn’t been the case. Funnily enough, you had not distracted him at all — rather, he was quite motivated to finish all his tasks so he could have free time to either talk to you or think about you.

He hadn’t tried very hard to stop himself from thinking about you. It was normal to think about things that bother you, and he was no longer that cowardly kid who ran away from things that scared him. In fact, he actually quite indulged himself in imagining what exactly you thought of him.

Did you actually like listening to him talk? Or did you just like the sound of his voice? He knew holding your attention wasn’t something guaranteed, but he’d like it if you paid attention to the times he told you about his childhood or his family, or a memory that he happened to recall while talking to you. 

If you liked the sound of his voice… what did you like about it? Was it the volume? A tone or accent he wasn’t too aware of? Maybe pacing or pronunciation? 

Then there was your voice — Sebek found he quite liked it as well, although unlike you he’s never voiced that opinion out to anyone. You didn’t talk much the first time he brought you to his room to show you the portrait, but the more times you sat down with him on the floor or atop his bed you talked to him more and belatedly, Sebek realized there was something in particular he liked about you — when you talked to him, listened to him, you made it a point to at least lock eyes with him for a few seconds. Even when you weren’t looking into his eyes, your eyes were still on him.

Sebek liked that you looked at him, an intimacy he’s only ever read about and imagined for himself far into the future, but never thought he would get a glimpse of now. It almost felt wrong — shouldn’t these types of feelings be reserved for those in relationships? That was always what he was taught, but the thought of being liked by you in some way or another felt too good to pass up. 

Sebek wanted you to keep looking at him, so just as he was coming to terms with the fact that there were things — many things, so it seemed — he liked about you, the way you kept looking down at your sketchbook whenever he opened his mouth gave way to a bitter taste whenever he closed it. It was annoying, and he wasn’t sure what displeased him more — that you’ve been drawing so much today, or himself for being annoyed that you were drawing his Young Master. He was the one who asked for it, wasn’t he?

At the same time, he was talking about himself and not retelling a tale, so he wasn’t exactly talking to inspire you, was he? When he asked about your day he listened quite attentively, so he would at least like the same courtesy extended to him.

“Human, you’re not being very polite right now!” he scolded, attempting to mask his own frustrations. It wasn’t going too well — Sebek had come off as insulted, glaring at the object atop your lap as though it had personally offended him, and, unbeknownst to him, jealous. “Right now, shouldn’t you be paying attention to me and me alone?”

“I am–”

“Not completely,” he countered, quickly swiping the sketchbook while you were too busy being surprised at his change of attitude. A part of him did feel bad — he knew he was just as impolite to do as such, and you’ve told him before that it was rude to peek without permission, so he loosened his grip in case you wanted it back immediately. “Can’t you just continue this later? What needs your attention so much that you have to sketch while we’re–”

“Wait, Sebek, just let me close it!”

“Close it? Surely I can do that for you,” Sebek sighed, looking down to shut the cover quickly, only briefly getting a glimpse of the page with a smiling man and–

Sebek looked back up to watch your expression shift into one of fluttering embarrassment, a fluster that only affirmed that he had not been affected by an illusion or some newly discovered delusion of his. He knew what his young master looked like better than most people, and that hornless, human-eared boy on the page was no Malleus Draconia.

Oh.

“Could I…?” he asked, even though he had already seen — perhaps he just wanted to confirm it really was him you’ve been drawing, and maybe just for your sake as well. He thought you’d prefer it if he asked anyway.

You reached out a hand, still not making eye contact with him, turning to one of the first few pages with drawings from far earlier. The page you flipped to had a sketch of the First Prince of Briar Valley, and as much as he liked it and would have appreciated seeing it some other time, there was something else he wanted to see more.

“It was probably obvious, but I finished sketching Malleus weeks ago.” As you explained, you allowed him to turn the pages for himself, letting him discover what else laid on the pages. “I drew him a few more times just so you wouldn’t get suspicious, but after a while you stopped asking about if I was done or if you could see so I just…”

He flipped to the next page, seeing multiple sketches, of different sizes and poses and angles, all of the same person. Then he flipped to the next, and the one after, and although you drew other things as well, the fact stood that you had developed a favorite subject. 

“I like the way you talk. I mean, for a while, even before this, I’ve already, you know,” you suddenly confessed, although you didn’t appear or sound prepared for it at all, “I mean you’ve always helped me in class even when you say you won’t do more than give me a few hints, and whenever I ask you to repeat something you don’t just say never mind like people normally would?

“And then you made that request and I thought it was a good chance to get to know you, but then you just had to be so–” you paused for a moment, openly letting out a small shout against one of his pillows. Sebek understood the feeling, he wished he could do the same as well but his will to look good and put-together in front of you would not allow it. Not that he was that put-together at all, with his mind doing sprints and his face and ears heating up as hotly as a dragon’s fire.

“Your expressions whenever you talked about Malleus or Lilia, or something that annoyed you, or even when you were scolding me… all of those were so cute, and cool, and you were so passionate about everything that I just had to–” you made an up and down motion with your hands, “–but that’s no excuse. I should have asked you first if it was alright. If you want, I could just give you those sketches and let you do whatever you wanted with them.”

Sebek didn’t speak immediately. He had listened, yes, but he wanted to flip through the pages a little longer, in particular comparing your first depiction of him to the latest one from today. It would be wrong to say one had more effort put into it than the other, unfair considering he thought they were both excellent, with a bias he thought he was now allowed to have. 

However, there was one clear distinction — the first, and several after that, looked almost like an experiment, as if you were just trying to figure him out. The one from today, though, was drawn as if you knew who he was, like you were sure of your perception of him as a person, and most of all, you drew him as if you enjoyed drawing him, as if you liked him for more than just his voice and his expressions.

It was then that Sebek realized just how you saw him.

“...No,” Sebek replied, oddly softly, but that did not last for very long. The first year cleared his throat, his voice booming once more, “absolutely not. You will be keeping those, and you may continue to draw me as much as you want under ONE condition —

“You… I demand you give me a portrait, a sketch, any artwork of you!” Sebek huffed, attempting to maintain whatever confidence and composure he had left. “Normally, in these situations, I should send in a painting of myself first, but as you already have so many sketches of me, it’s only right that I have something with your likeness as well! That– that is to say, ahem, I can also give you other things, of course. Since you like my voice, surely I can ask Master Lilia for some books containing fae poetry? Or… human! Are you laughing?”

“No! No, I’m just…” you shaking shoulders and puffs of incredulous laughter slowed to a stop, “you’re not mad? And you seriously like me back?” As if noticing the look he was giving you, you reiterate your statement, “I don’t doubt your feelings and I know you’re not lying, I just never would have… you said you wanted to focus on your duties, so I never would have thought you would be interested.”

“I remember telling you once — I did want to, in the future,” Sebek said, openly showing his uncertainty. He had never been in a relationship before, so he had no idea how to proceed — it was as if the advice he’d received from his seniors had mysteriously vanished from his head, leaving nothing but crumbs on how to woo you, “I don’t know now, considering my priorities, but… I want the chance to capture your heart for myself, and just for myself — if you’d let me.”

“Sebek…”

“I now know well how you see me, so this time, let me tell you what I think of you. Make sure to listen closely!”

my other sebek fic end notes | masterlist of all my works | series masterlist

[1] I know Sebek gets slandered for his voice, but I really like it! Personally I like loud people, when I talk to people who talk loudly I understand what they’re saying really well and I don’t have to ask them to repeat 🥺 and, well, Sebek is the type of person who’ll chide you for not listening but will repeat something anyway. It saddens me when people say “whatever” or “never mind”, Sebek would never! Also his diction? His expressiveness? His passion? Sebek would make a wonderful speaker for a talk, or debates, or honestly even theatre! He’s so wonderful! The whole purpose of this fic was just to show how much I love Sebek’s voice! I think it’d be cute if he talked softly for you as well, but Sebek is Sebek so no matter the volume I think he’s cute.

[2] In choosing the reader's personality, I went with someone he can admire (talent wise and eventually personality as well) but also help at the same time, for the sake of his ego and because he wants to be someone useful, wants someone to praise him. Sebek is a certified dog boy, after all, so the reader thanks and praises him quite openly (most of the time). Compared to the rader from the stories told, the charm you hold, they’re a lot less smooth, though. I wanted them to have their typical “teen embarrassing moment”, and in this one it’s drawing your crush and doodling his name on your sketchbook (bc Sebek checks their notebooks they cant play MASH or FLAMES there lol)

[3] Flower symbolism isn’t exactly constant everywhere. Geraniums symbolize friendship and happiness (which is why it’s mentioned at the very start, where they’re just beginning to be friends) but also stupidity and foolishness. The latter two, I wanted to give it a nice connotation, so they’re stupid fools who will be in love with each other soon, of course.

[4] Mint I mostly went with because of Sebek’s hair color (also doesn’t he seem like the type to use mint-scented shampoo…?), but I also like the meaning of “virtue, protection, personal strength”, I thought, “that’s so Sebek!”

[5] You could say this is my second fic with an artist!reader, but compared to the Vil fic I wanted to distinguish how this reader isn’t really a professional or anything (unless the reader imagines them to be). They just like art and they draw, no specific style other than they at least use a pen/cil sometimes, which I feel like is more relatable for people. And Sebek likes what the reader makes, that’s about it, really.

[6] (“Is it? That’s odd, I doubt that many people in this college are in the midst of courting someone,” and [...]) In this part, I just wanted Sebek to call everyone in NRC, excuse my language, bitchless. I just think it would be funny that out of all people, Sebek’s one of the few people who gets himself a significant other. 

[7] Malleus’ Martial Might is a reference to Sebek’s 2022 Valentines Day card

[8] Silver’s question is a line ripped from his SR Labwear card, although I used the JP translation from twstarchives as reference, so I’m not exactly sure if the wording is the same on EN.

[9] The reader could be the prefect (who happens to share multiple classes with Sebek) or from another world but not necessarily Yuu, I just decided to leave it ambiguous who they were and if they were magicless or not since it doesn’t really matter. I just wanted them to be in their first year as well.

[10] For the ending, instead of being in a relationship right away I went with Sebek basically deciding he should go through the “courting” process first… basically there isn’t exactly a label yet, but there’s a mutual affection, or “MU” as we would call it in Filipino terms. I decided to cut it off there because I didn’t want to give too much information about the reader for immersion/imagination purposes.

[cakemousse]

sunset; sunrise

Ladybug felt it the night Chat Noir held out his hand to her on the Trocadéro.  The instant the thunder cracked above them.  She knew what it was.   But getting the Miraculouses back was her top priority. And so, she decided she was going to keep it professional.   in other words, Ladybug chooses to be a clown again.

Rating: T,  Words: 3636, Chapters: 1/1

Read on AO3

heyyyyy Emsy @emsylcatac i'm so sorry it took so long but here's my belated birthday gift fic to you! 9 days later xD  i hope you enjoy this and that you’re having a good hiday ❤

thank you so much Noodles for beta reading this! ❤

━━━・❆・━━━

Ladybug felt it the night Chat Noir held out his hand to her on the Trocadéro. 

When she thought she was all alone. After she convinced herself that she was the worst Guardian that ever existed. 

Her heart responded immediately when he addressed her with her favourite nickname from him, relieved that he still called her that. She first looked at his outstretched palm, then lifted her eyes, and it happened in the moment she saw his soft eyes and pleasant smile directed at her. 

The instant the thunder cracked above them. 

She knew what it was. The realisation flooded her entire being and washed away all the previous feelings of failure and regret, like they’d never been there in the first place. 

There was only him and her. 

And as though he understood exactly what she needed at that very hour, Chat Noir pulled her into a hug, comforting her. Ladybug shouldn’t have been surprised, because deep down, she already knew that’s who he is. Always trying to help, always kind, always loyal to her. Always been there together with her. 

From the very beginning. 

It was embarrassing how long it took for her to see something so blatantly obvious.

Ladybug was not oblivious to what she felt in that moment. But this was Chat Noir, and getting the Miraculouses back was the top priority in their current predicament. 

She couldn’t mess up again. That would be equivalent to letting her Chaton down, and she can’t do that. Not when he’s been there for her time and time again, been her best friend, been her strongest rock, been her best supporter. Even when she’d let him down before.

Ladybug doesn’t want to put him through that again. 

And so, she decided that she was going to keep it professional. No slip-ups, no room for error, no nothing. Defeat whatever-the-fuck-name-he’s-going-to-call-himself-from-now-on, and get back on track with her life. So that she can start dating again, and start appreciating the people she loves. For real this time.

It’d be a piece of cake, she told herself. After all, she had more pressing issues than to stare at Chat Noir and admire him in all his beauty… 

How gentle he is…

How he has also been with her, and there for her…

...

Ladybug had to keep it professional.

No exceptions.

━━━・❆・━━━

She has seen Chat Noir smile plenty of times. In fact, she would go as far as to say that’s when he looks most handsome even. She can stare at his face forever and ever.

And Ladybug’s pretty sure she’s seen his smile at least a million times by now. 

When he’s talking to rescued akumatised victims, when he greets anyone, whenever he’s bantering with her, whenever his eyes light up as he sees her approaching the scene.

God, that last one makes the good butterflies flutter in her stomach. Since when did she start having butterflies around Chat Noir?! He would have loved the pun if she said this out loud, she believes. 

Ladybug is the reason why Chat Noir looks so elevated in battles. She’s seen video clips—no, she did not seek out their Akuma battles on the Ladyblog to watch, who has time for that?—where he looks so thrilled in situations when he shouldn’t be. In situations where she isn’t even sure that she could save him and restore everything to how it once was. Chat Noir trusts her so immensely. He has more confidence in her than she has in herself. That thought is exhilarating and terrifying by itself. 

She knows he’s also happy whenever they have their downtime together, just hanging out and patrolling and making sure that Paris is safe. Those are the times when it made more sense for Chat Noir to smile, when there wasn’t any immediate danger. She thoroughly enjoys that time spent together, too. Seeing him share that same emotion with her, brings about a sense of floatiness within her chest. 

And as she’s said, there are many many smiles. She sees them almost all the time when she’s with him.

But when had it gotten so beautiful? 

They have just defeated an Akuma. And now, it’s their first fist bump ever since the last hug on the Trocadéro. 

The tip of her knuckles touching his feels funky, but it isn’t enough to distract her from the sheer brilliance of Chat Noir’s smile. 

Those upturned lips, sweet squishable cheeks, and the soft but still energetic green cat eyes that gaze at her. His face grips Ladybug’s attention so tightly she could hardly breathe. Her heartbeat picks up pace. 

Chat Noir lowers his hand. “Nothing can beat the Cat and Bug team, My Lady!” 

Ladybug brings her knuckles up to her face to scrutinise, she imagines a band magically materialising over her ring finger, just like how her magical suit comes into form, and cups her other palm to her reddening cheek. 

She knows what this feeling is—

“Buguinette?” 

—but she has to keep it professional. 

“Hmm?” 

Chat Noir tilts his head and regards her expectantly, as though waiting for her to say something.

“Did you hear what I’ve said?” 

Shit! Whatever he had said went completely over her head.

Ladybug moves the hand on her cheek to her back while she brings the hand she was inspecting to her mouth and coughs. “What?”

“Nothing can beat the Cat and Bug team! Don’t you agree?”

Ah! Easy. He’s looking to banter. She can definitely do that.

“Y—You mean the Bug and Cat team?” 

Ladybug wants to die in a hole. 

Chat Noir raises an eyebrow and she’s overcome with the immediate urge to flee.

“You ok—”

“Shoot! I left my oven on! Gotta go, see you soon, mon Chaton. Bye!” And she swings away, hoping the wind would clear her mind, and cool down her pinkish hot cheeks. 

━━━・❆・━━━

“… was blushing. There’s no way—”

“Who’s blushing?” 

“My Lady!” He has a hand on his chest. “Don’t scare me like that!” 

She takes a seat beside him and waves her hand, dismissing him. “Not my fault you’re so lost in thought you didn’t hear the yo-yo, it is pretty loud.”

Chat Noir grumbles even more. 

“So, who’s blushing?” 

He leans back, placing his hands behind him. “Ah, a very close friend of mine. But anyway, how was your day?” 

Ladybug stares at his outstretched hand that is just a few centimetres away from her own, “Eh, the usual.” 

Has his hand always looked like that? 

She has always been aware of how big his hands are—that is to be expected, given that he’s taller than her—but there’s something about them that she can’t put her fingers on. Maybe it’s the aesthetics? The roughness of the outline of his hands makes them look hard and bony. Which is such a contrast to his personality. So kind, so warm, so giving, so understanding. And somehow, his large and generous hands fit that quality of his as well. 

Ladybug decides that it’s the duality of his hands that attracts her, and she finds her own hand edging towards his. 

Though, it’s such a shame for his hand to be covered. Hers too. She so desperately wants to know how it feels to be touching skin to skin, but she convinces herself that touching his warmth is still way better than having her hands on the cold, dirty rooftop. 

She glimpses at the area where Chat Noir sits to see him facing forward, not paying her any mind. Ladybug follows suit, hoping to deflect any suspicion rising from him, but she makes sure to glance back at the spot where their hands are every 5 seconds or so, to see if her hand has reached his. 

All the while, Ladybug continues sliding her hand closer and closer. 

It’s a good thing the distance between their hands isn’t that far, because she doesn’t know what she’ll do if it takes her longer than a few moments to touch his hand. 

A peek at him, and he’s still focused on the scenic view before them. 

Good. 

She moves her hand in further. 

Almost there… 

“It’s been a while since we last saw the sunset together huh, my Lady?” 

She halts the moment he speaks and gazes at him when he calls her. 

“It’s beautiful and calming, isn’t it?” 

As much as Ladybug wants to confirm the beauty of the scenery and acknowledge his words, she finds herself captivated by his wistful, shining eyes.  

In fact, she doesn’t even want to look at the scenery now, because she’s sure there’s no way the sunset is more gorgeous than his look of awe. She doesn’t want to look at anything else now that she’s focused on him. 

The beautiful golden hue paints him in colours that she would associate with feelings of happiness and warmth. His eyes sparkle brighter than any jewel she has ever seen, and the sun reflects such a pleasant colour off his cheeks that she just wants to touch them. But she keeps her hands to herself. Ladybug’s glad that she was interrupted before she could hold his hand. What has she been thinking?! 

Touching him was tempting, but just like touching the sun, it’s far too dangerous right now. It was safer to stay at a distance and admire.

She wishes she had a camera with her though, so that she could witness this moment forever and ever. The lovely colours of the golden hour picture added to her room, hung on the walls full of pink and green would be so cute! 

Green…

Wait. 

Green?!

Ladybug finally catches on that she was so deep in her admiration for Chat Noir that she didn’t realise she was staring at him. Her cheeks burn fiercely. She uses both hands to cover them and looks elsewhere.

“L—Ladybug?”

No no no don’t call her that! Call her by the nicknames!! 

“H—Hey,” he scoots closer, “are you alright? Is it too hot here?—”

Stupid.

“—We can always find shelter.” 

Cat.

“Yeah,” she quickly stands up and faces away, a hand on her yo-yo, “that’s probably a good idea!” 

She hates how high-pitched her voice is.

Ladybug hastily throws it in a random direction. She doesn’t even know where she’s going—the heat within her face is frying her brain—but with her luck, the yo-yo always manages to latch onto something. 

And off she goes. 

Forget Chat Noir being her best friend. The wind has knocked him off of his rightful place and is now her best friend.  

She hears the sound of his baton extending behind her, and she looks back, only to see his brows pinched and his nose scrunched up. 

Shit shit shit!

At least he’s following her. That’s got to be something, right?

Marinette plops into her bed face down the moment she enters her room from the skylight. She doesn’t care if she hasn’t showered after that patrol. She doesn’t care if she’s dirty and sweaty and that she’s lying on a newly changed, clean bed lining. 

She just wants comfort now. 

“Tikki Tikki Tikkkkkkkkkkkkiiiiiiii~” she whines.

“What’s wrong, Marinette?” Tikki’s voice appears right by her ear. 

“Didn’t you see? Chat Noir, he—”

“No.”

Marinette grabs the pillow and shoves her head into it more. “I think he hates me now and wants a new partner. I mean, did you see the look on his face?!”

A pause. A pause that goes on for longer than she’s comfortable with. She lifts her head from the pillow to look at Tikki. 

It was getting hard to breathe. 

“Again, no.”

Her head hits the headrest again. “Oh là là !”

“Marinette, are you done?”

She squirms. No, no she’s not. Marinette wants to scream. How did it end up like this? Everything was fine! She was going to keep it professional! She—

She’s in the process of a breakup and she can’t deal with it! Not again! 

A particularly painful impact collides with her temple, and she moves her head to see Tikki’s unimpressed face. “Why would he want a new partner?”

“Because I rejected his offer to help once again!” she cries.

Marinette didn’t think that Tikki’s face could go beyond what she’s displayed to her before, but just then, it did. And a tiny part of her is impressed that such a small creature can convey so much emotion. But she’s mostly offended that Tikki is so done with her.

Tikki then looks at her dead in the eyes, makes sure she has her entire attention on her, and Marinette really thought Tikki was about to gobble her up whole, when she suddenly has the sweetest smile on her face and says, “You need help.” Before floating away to munch on her delicious cookies. 

Marinette watches her go with wide eyes. “Hey! What do you mean! Tikki! HEY!”

━━━・❆・━━━

How did she survive this back then? 

Just. How? 

Okay, she admits—only to herself—this is not a piece of cake. She gives up! It has happened before, why did she think she can be composed a second time? 

Ladybug’s sure all Chat Noir sees right now is a blob of red, with black dots everywhere else except the top, which is where her jet black hair is. Her cheeks are set ablaze and she’s dying, but she really needs to get that cursed Akuma so that she can put an end to this. 

Well… one part of this, not the other. 

Not the part where his hands are on her. 

Ladybug does not hide what she truly likes; she’s a woman of her words after all. 

It seems that the Akuma really hates her today. The aggression towards her never stops and Chat Noir has to dive in to rescue her a couple of times. The force of his body pushing them away from the scene sends them rolling on the ground together each time, arms around each other, and they come to a stop with her on top of him, or vice versa. Either way, her face is always beet red whenever it happens.

She’s sure Chat Noir notices, there’s no way he doesn’t. But she’s thankful that he says nothing each time. 

Anyway. 

It’s not because Ladybug isn’t paying attention to the battle, it’s because her own efforts to dodge all the attacks are turning futile and Chat Noir has to step in. And even with him coming face to face with the Akuma to defend her, Chat Noir is left totally unscathed.

A Chat Noir fan, perhaps? 

They eventually come up with a brilliant plan to make sure Ladybug doesn’t get hit too. 

And it works like a charm. 

Yes, even for her, though she’ll never admit it to his face. 

They still have to evade the attacks, but it’s less intense now that she basically has her body attached to his. 

Literally.

Chat Noir carries Ladybug around like a doll. He piggybacks her at times, and the way his claws dig into her thighs as they swerve the Akuma’s attacks has her squeaking. 

Other times, his hand snakes around her waist, pulling her as close to his body as possible, for some reason Ladybug wasn’t paying attention to, because she’s busy trying her best not to die from how close their bodies are pressed together.  

This time, she is trying to figure out her Lucky Charm. And she’s looking at it intently, but nothing’s coming to her mind. Not when she’s being bridal carried. They found a spot and hid from the Akuma, and Chat Noir is on the lookout while he gives Ladybug ample time to figure out how to win the day.  

“Chaton, you can put me down now,” she squeaks. 

Guess that’s how she sounds now.

He holds her tighter, and her heart skips a beat. “No, it’s too dangerous. Nothing can happen to you.”

Despite how it looks to others with him carrying her around, his touch is always featherlight and tender. 

He has always been so gentle with her, since the beginning. 

The observation sets her heart racing. Ladybug’s going to combust if this goes on any longer. 

“C—Chat Noir, I—I need you to put me down, so that I can figure out how to use the Lucky Charm!!”

And as though he realises her abashment for the first time since the Akuma attacked, he lets her go, and she falls onto the ground. 

“Ow.”

“My Lady!” He kneels beside her to help her up. “I’m so sorry!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” she holds onto his hand and rubs her bottom, “just, stop touching me for a second.” 

Never stop touching her. 

“Just g—grab me when you need me,” Ladybug retracts her earlier statement and goes to the fallen Lucky Charm, putting some distance between them and trying to get her mind to work again. 

She needs this to end fast. 

No she doesn’t. She needs to get back to him fast.

━━━・❆・━━━

Maybe she only has herself to blame for this. 

Her own greed landed her in this situation. Not that she minds, but she’s so hot she can basically cook an egg on the top of her head. 

Ladybug isn’t sitting too close to him at first, she sits at a respectable distance from him—enough for her to throw secret glances at him once in a while. But then there really isn’t much to do during patrol. So she decides to just scoot closer to him. And she didn’t do it discreetly like the last time; she just stands and plops herself down beside him. 

Chat Noir eyes her when she makes the move. She senses his eyes on her even as she sits down. What started as a curious gaze shifts into a mischievous smile when she looks at him again after getting comfortable. 

Then, it was his turn to make a move. He first lays his head on her shoulder, which she really wasn’t expecting at all, so she flinches at the contact. He then starts rubbing his head against her, his hair tickling her chin—that, she had to get him to stop, lest he discovers her weakness. 

“Chat Noir, what are you doing?”

He stops and looks at her with that same grin again and stands to walk to a wider, open space behind her. 

“Oh nothing, just stretching, you see?” He proceeds to stretch one of the most exaggerated stretches she has seen in her life. 

“Silly Chaton,” she giggles and faces forward again. 

He continues his bizarre stretching and she pays him no attention. Ladybug would love to look at him as he stretched, but she’s too scared of doing so. She got caught once, she’s not going to get caught a second time. 

Chat Noir starts counting out loud and her curiosity gets the better of her. Ladybug is about to turn her head when she feels hands on her shoulders, and Ladybug's breath hitches.  

“C—Chato—”

 He places his chin on the crown of her head, sucks in a deep breath, and whines.  

“Patrol is soooooo boooring!”

He swirls her body along with his and she feels her head heating up. He lets go of his hold and stands beside her, taking her hands in his and pulling her to stand. 

“Come dance with me, my Lady!” 

Chat Noir leads her to the place where he did his stretches, with a softer, brighter smile now sitting on his face. His hand is on her waist once they arrive at the middle of the open space, and he starts guiding her around in calculated steps. His touch is so gentle again, and Ladybug does not know how she has not turned into a puddle of goo yet. 

They continue gliding along the rooftop, Chat Noir twirling her around a few times, and she lets him, because why the fuck not? She's getting a dance she didn’t think she would get in the first place and she’s enjoying it, of fucking course she’s not going to stop him. 

She keeps her eyes on her feet, anxious that she might step on him, but he does a great job at making sure she doesn’t. The footwork he sets isn’t hard to follow. And when she’s confident enough to leave her feet to their own accord, Ladybug lifts her gaze to him, and she realises that he has been staring at her the whole time. Those eyes, so full of love directed at her, and her mind is hazy with heat again. 

“Ladybug, are you okay?” His voice is warm and soft. “You’re really red.”

This aggravating cat! 

“I—I’m fine.” 

“Really?” Their dancing has stopped this time, and he touches her forehead before cupping her cheeks. How has she not fainted yet with him touching her so tenderly is beyond her. 

“Buguinette, you’re really hot. Are you sure you don’t want to end the patrol to go home and rest?”

She wants to. She so desperately wants to. She doesn't think she can take this anymore. 

Ladybug looks down and circles her arms around him, hugging him close, one ear on his chest.

It’s so soothing to listen to his heartbeat that she practically melts into him. She thinks this must be enough to show him what’s going on with her all this while. 

It has to be. 

And just like how he always manages to read her like a book, he shows her his way of understanding now, too. His arms wrap around her as tightly as she remembers their embrace back on the Trocadéro. She pushes herself deeper into him. 

“You’re so clingy.”

“You came into my space and started up a convoluted plan to get me to hug you??”

“I can stop—”

“Don’t you dare!”

[depths-of-your-soul]

Hiii! I saw that requests are open so how about artist S/O? Like the reader would be very bored in class and they just, doodle todoroki, bakugou, and tamaki from afar with little notes beside the doodles like "i can't do his hair wtf is this" "why is he so adorable" "stOP MOVING I CANT GET YOUR HANDS RIGHT" and then one day they just saw the little doodles? Idk the thought of it makes soft- unless you already did something similar then I'm stoopid dhxbhxhd.

#Artist!S/o who doodles them during class

Pairs: Katsuki bakugou x reader, Shouto Todoroki x reader, Tamaki Amajiki x reader

Notes: I can personally relate with this s/o HAHAHA I always get annoyed whenever my subject moves around so much that it messes with the anatomy of the previous pose and I would ALWAYS get so irritated that I give up

A reminder that request is open y'all!! :D

Katsuki Bakugou

• Katsuki with his resting face is simply angelic

• You wouldn't think that such a person would cause such havoc around him

• And one of the few places where he has his guard down would be during class

• So naturally, you cry internally trying to draw his unnecessarily spikey hair because IT'S JUST ALL OVER THE PLACE  H E L P

• Where in the world does his hair even come from? It's just a bunch of spikes

• Does it hurt to touch? òmó

• Anyways, you just find his resting face so precious that before you knew it, you had 5 pages dedicated to just him

• And him alone

• Little did you know, Katsuki has been feeling your intense stares throughout the lessons

• 'What are you doing???'

• 'Stop staring at me stupid'

• Those were all in his head

• To be fair, you were being blatantly obvious

• So after class, he couldn't take it and went right to you with his iconic "ònó" face

• Swoopty Doodle Doo you have achieved "Bakuhoe fanclub prez"

• Seriously. That is embarrassing. Not for you but for him

• Everyone knows Katsuki has an 'above average' face (we all know he be hot)

• Expect curses and new found words to be thrown at you while everyone around hears of a daring fan who came out of the closet and presented their fanart to thy lord explosion murder

• It's not the drawings that made him embarrassed

• Oh no dear it's not

• It's the fact that YOU drew him when you could've just asked him in your free time at his dorm

• Truth be told, he might shout at you, but he never raises his fists against you when neither are sparring

• God please stop being oblivious

Shouto Todoroki

• Alright simps, let's get down to simping

• His face, oh so perfect

• Every nook and cranny, it's so beautiful that we cannot explain it in words

• His scar? Merely an addition to his hot and cool nickname

• Those red burns in contrast to his beautiful arctic coloured eyes tells a story that made him for who he is

• Such fine hair strands that flows oh so serene against the gentle breeze that flew great lengths to bless him with their cool element

• Okay I'll stop-

• Shouto is simply a living statue, it's in his genes

• He knows he doesn't look bad but that doesn't mean he doesn't appreciate compliments

• Drawing him will literally be a blessing in and of itself

• Such art should be loved by all forms

• Unlike Bakugou, he won't pretend to not feel your gazes

• He will make eye contact with you at some point and smile at you as a form of greeting

• HAVE YOU SEEN HIS SMILE

• Being so pretty is a sin

• After class, he would go up to you and ask what you are doing

• After you tell him and apologize, he will assure you that he doesn't mind and that he appreciates it

• He will however ask that you let him see it afterwards

• Of course, that is only because he wants to spend time with you

• This mochi is so cute I love him uwu

Tamaki Amajiki

• Don't lie to me

• I know you can see how cute and adorable he is

• His elven ear is his icon

• Your sketches have certain details that never fails to be missed - it's those blush at his ears and the way his mouth seem to always be pursed

• But then again, throughout your sketches, you would constantly go "OMAGAD STOO BEING SO CUTE I CANT HANDLE THIS CUTENESS OVERLOAD" and "Babey I love you but PLEASE stop moving"

• Those frustrations are worth it though, you know love it

• The way he stares off into space at times are the best times to sketch those details

• He may accidentally see you looking at him while he tries to glance at you from time to time

• But that doesn't really do anything except for the fact that his face will burn and he might cover his face out of embarrassment

• To be fair, you know you love seeing that side of him

• It just makes anyone go \(>w<)/

• Honestly, his movements are joy in and off itself

• This babey elf does enjoy the fact that you, too, glances at him

• Though he will admit, the attention does get a bit too much at times

• He won't go up to you after class though, he will instead hide in the comfort of Mirio's presence seeing as he might melt if you stare at him too much

• How did he find out you ask? Well, simple

• It's the cliche bumbparoo. But not with Tamaki oh no my dear not with this elven baby

• Mirio was too busy laughing and accidentally bumped into you... And voila you sketchbook went flying to the wall and opened at one of the countless pages of Tamaki

• Of course he saw, my dear. But... He may or may not have fainted from the affection

• Go talk to him! He may be shy, but he will be so glad that you even look at him

• I love this elf uwu

[inkedstarlight]

Bittersweet: Chapter Nine

Summary: Cassian and Nesta finally meet. Officially, this time. Let the romance commence. Notes: Read it here on AO3! Warnings: very brief/non-explicit mention of sexual assault Bittersweet Masterlist

“Earth to Nesta?”

Nesta snapped from her trance to see Emerie waving a hand in front of her face.

“You’ve been cleaning the same spot for a good ten minutes,” Emerie gestured to where Nesta was scrubbing the counter with a towel. It was squeaky clean.

Nesta let go of the towel and cleared her throat. “My bad.”

Emerie pulled out the chair on the other side of the counter and sat down. It was eleven in the evening on a Monday, and they had just closed. The only other person in Rita’s was Lucien, and he was doing dishes in the back.

“You’ve been acting weird for the past two weeks,” Emerie stated blatantly. Her stare was unwavering. “And you’ve lost at least ten pounds.”

The incidence with Tomas happened two weeks ago. Nesta was doing a pretty good job of moving on with her life all things considered. She felt like shit, but she hadn’t missed a single shift at work. That had to count for something.

But she should’ve known Emerie would notice. She was like a fucking hawk, that girl. She saw everything.

When Nesta didn’t say anything, Emerie shrugged and got up from the stool. “At least try a little harder,” she said, referring to the coworkers’ challenge to get the most tips. She shot Nesta a sad look. “Thesan is beating you. Thesan.”

Nesta mustered a laugh. Thesan wasn’t great with customers, that was common knowledge. Neither Emerie nor Nesta were people persons, but they knew how to turn it on for customers. Thesan, on the other hand, didn’t make much of an effort. It wasn’t that he was intentionally rude, the guy was just quiet in nature. In fact, he was quite a sweetheart.

Which was why it was quite entertaining to watch Thesan and Helion interact. Where Thesan was an introvert, Helion was loud as hell. Not to mention it was clear that Thesan was crushing on him. But unfortunately, Helion flirted with every living, breathing thing and was thus completely oblivious. During Nesta’s first week at Rita’s, Emerie had spilled all the tea about their coworkers. Thesan was head over heels in love with Helion, Helion had never been in a monogamous relationship, and Viviane… well, Viviane had her own little love story. A complicated one at that.

His name was Kallias. They grew up together, from scheming little kids to rebellious teenagers to young adults. Best friends since they could remember.

Because Emerie grew up in the same small town as them, she knew everything. They all went to school together. She knew that Kallias had been in love with Viviane since freshman year of high school. She knew that Viviane felt the same way, but she would never admit it thanks to the hell she was put through during her childhood. Nesta didn’t know the specifics, and she never asked.

It also didn’t help that Viviane was in a relationship with someone else. They’d been together for almost two years. Emerie thought Viviane deserved better, that he wasn’t a very good person.

Anyway, Kallias visited Rita’s nearly every weekend after his shift at the fire station to grab a drink and more importantly, see Viviane.

Nesta thought it was ridiculous. She’d told Emerie as much when she’d brought Nesta up to date on their coworkers’ lives. Why wouldn’t they just admit they loved each other and get on with it already? It was pretty fucking simple; they were just making it complicated for themselves. Emerie wholeheartedly agreed and the pair then went on an hour long rant on the idiocy of romantic relationships.

And if she was being honest, Nesta didn’t care much about these people. Sure, they were respectable but they were a temporary fixture in her life. Once she secured a job in her career field, she was going to leave them all behind.

“We should get a drink sometime. Outside of work,” Emerie clarified with a look of disgust. “I’m sick of it here.”

Nesta knew that was a lie based on the relationship Emerie had with Rita and her wife. But she didn’t say that.

“Maybe,” Nesta responded distractedly, desperate to think of an excuse. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Emerie; no, Nesta liked her coworker. She just couldn’t muster the energy to go out with friends or socialize like that. “I’m pretty busy right now though.”

Emerie narrowed her eyes and scrutinized her.

“Stop analyzing me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Emerie sighed and receded. She hesitated before saying quietly, “Is… is this the part when I ask if you’re okay and we get all deep and explore a new level of our friendship?”

Nesta slowly met her friend’s gaze. They stared at one another for several moments.

Then, they burst out laughing.

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

The next morning, Nesta was brewing her third cup of coffee when Elain padded into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Elain yawned as a greeting. She wore bunny slippers and an oversized hoodie. Elain only had one evening class on Tuesdays, so today was her only day - save for the weekend - to sleep in.

“Hey, kiddo.”

“How long have you been up?”

Nesta glanced at the clock. It was nine-thirty. She’d woken up at six after a sleepless night of tossing and turning.

But she simply shrugged instead. “Not long.”

Nesta poured the coffee into her mug, sitting back down at the counter. She watched as Elain bustled around the kitchen, scrambling eggs and slicing fruit. The morning light spilled through the dusty kitchen sink window, bars of sunshine reflecting off the tiled floors. Iroh basked in the sunspots, his black fur glistening as his chartreuse eyes blinked closed.

Elain and Nesta hadn’t spent much time together in the past couple weeks. It was Nesta’s doing, of course. She was actively avoiding her sister and everyone else. After Elain had tried to talk to Nesta after the whole thing with Tomas, she stopped asking Nesta if she was okay. Nesta assumed that Elain realized she wasn’t going to get an answer, that there wasn't really a point in trying.

But Gods, Nesta fucking missed her. And even though she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her bedroom as she sat there in the kitchen, she didn’t move from the chair.

You need them as much as they need you, her father’s voice echoed in her head.

Guilt stabbed at her chest.

“How’re classes going?” Nesta asked quietly. Elain looked at her over her shoulder with a surprised yet pleasant smile.

“Great! I’m so grateful to be at such a great college, but…” Elain bit her lip, hesitating. “My bio lab is going to be the death of me."

“You know you’re allowed to complain, right?”

Elain just gave her a smile. “Yeah, I know. It's just, considering where I was a year ago, I couldn't be happier to finally be enrolled in such a prestigious program. Even if that means the classes are brutal."

I wish I was like you. I take everything for granted.

“And have you made any friends?”

Elain had started school at Pryth U months ago and yet Nesta had no idea if she even had friends yet.

Selfish bitch.

A fond smile broke out on Elain’s face. “Yes, I have this really great group of friends: Lucien, Ressina, and Varian. It's just the four of us, but we've gotten really close.”

Nesta asked Elain more questions before excusing herself back to her room, claiming she was going to try to write today, to which Elain squealed and wished her luck.

Nesta hadn't written since their dad died. Prior to his death, she would write nearly every day. She'd been working on a novel for years. The plot had came to her in middle school, and it just grew from there. She'd never told anyone about it. Everyone knows how fucking hard it is to get your writing published, much less get high ratings. Nesta wasn't even sure if she was going to finish it. This was the longest she'd gone without writing or editing it. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't ever go back to it.

Dread filled her stomach as she thought of that prospect. What the fuck was she doing with her life?

Nesta’s phone buzzed, and she fished it out of her back pocket.

 Incoming call from Feyre Archeron.

It kept buzzing, Nesta merely stared at her sister's name on her screen. She couldn't think of a single reason why Feyre would be calling. But she pressed "Accept" before it could go to voicemail.

“Hello?”

“Hey.”

Silence.

“Uh, what’s up?” Nesta asked. She collapsed onto her unmade bed. Iroh scampered past the door and jumped on the bed with her. He didn't waste a minute curling himself around her head.

"I was calling to see… maybe, I don’t know… uh, would you want to come to dinner tonight?”

I was not expecting that. And Nesta was about 95% sure this was Elain’s doing.

“Why?”

“I want you there," Feyre told her as if it were obvious.

“Why?” Nesta asked again. She hadn't seen Feyre since Thanksgiving despite her sister living just on the outskirts of the city.

That had been weeks ago.

“It's complicated," Feyre responded quietly. She seemed to pause before finding the words. "I've been so worried about Cassian, we all have. He'd never been deployed for that long - five months. It was scary. I guess I took that out on you. I don't know why..."

She drifted off. Nesta held her breath.

"I'm sure Elain told you, but he's home now. I've been more myself since he returned, and I want you to come to dinner. I… miss you.”

She rubbed her temple. “I don’t know, Feyre.”

I don't know if I can pretend to be okay for an entire night. I don't know if you even fucking want me there or if you just feel obligated. I don't know if I can be in the same room as your douchebag boyfriend. I don't know if I can be surrounded by your friends, most of whom seem to dislike me. I don't know if I can behave like a normal fucking person.

I don't know.

“Please?” The plea was soft, quiet. It was like she was almost desperate. But for what?

Nesta looked out the window where a blue jay - their dad's favorite bird - was perched on a bare tree branch. The leaves had long ago fallen, leaving the world naked and vulnerable. “Yeah, I’ll be there.”

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

Feyre embraced her with an awkward hug when Nesta and Elain walked into the house. Nesta patted her on the back lightly, uncomfortable with the physical touch. Luckily, no one else seemed incline to embrace her. Rhys actually seemed to make sure he was as far away as possible.

Elain, on the other hand, gave everyone a hug. Mor gave a laugh as she squeezed Elain back, Aurra watching them with a smile. Interestingly enough, when Elain greeted Azriel with a hug, his tanned cheeks glowed red. It was almost imperceptible, but Nesta noticed.

Feyre took a step back to assess her. Nesta could see the judgement in her sister's eyes as she took in Nesta's noticeably thinner body. Luckily, however, she wasn't given the chance to comment on it when Elain piped up, "Where's Cassian? Nesta still hasn't met him yet."

"He's running a bit late," Rhys answered, glancing down at his phone. "Should be here in about ten minutes."

Everyone began to make their way into the dining room and Nesta followed. However, she was quickly tugged to the side when Amren swooped in out of nowhere and basically dragged Nesta into the privacy of the hallway. She stopped, crossed her arms over her chest, and glared at Nesta.

“Where have you been?” Amren demanded.

"What do you mean?" Nesta asked, playing dumb.

She hadn't spoken to Amren in a long time, even though they had each others' numbers. Even though Amren had repeatedly texted her, asking to get coffee or go for a walk or something else of the sorts. All of which went unanswered.

Amren rolled her eyes, and Nesta was convinced they went to the back of her head for a good minute. "Don't play dumb with me, Nesta."

“I don’t know, working?"

"Is that a question?" Amren rose a deadly brow.

Nesta huffed and mirrored Amren's angry stance. "Why are you interrogating me?"

“Because you've been radio silent for weeks. I had to ask Elain if you were still fucking alive," Amren explained. Then, she leaned in close like she didn't want anyone to hear. "I was worried about you, you bitch."

Nesta let out a sigh. "I'm sorry, okay? I've been busy. I do want to hang out, it's just that..." she trailed off.

"What? It's just that what?"

Nesta stared at the floor, unable to form words.

"Nesta, are you okay?" Amren asked, her voice softer.

Just tell her. Fucking tell her.

I was almost raped.

Just the thought was enough to make Nesta want to puke. She couldn't, it was too much and she wouldn't even be able to fucking say it and it's her fault, all her fault.

She breathed in through her nose and looked back up at Amren. She shot her the most fake smile she'd ever given. "I'm good. Seriously, I just got busy. It won't happen again."

Nesta saw the skepticism in Amren's eyes. But she conceded with a small sigh. "Well, don't do it again, okay? I seriously thought you were fucking murdered or some shit."

Nesta just nodded. Amren looked at her once more before gesturing with her chin back to the dining room. Nesta followed her.

When they rounded the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Because sitting next to Feyre was the man who had tried to break into her apartment.

“Nesta!" Feyre exclaimed, calling her over from where she sat. "This is Cassian. Cassian, this is my sister, Nesta.”

Nesta simply stared at him like a deer in headlights and he stared at her, his lips parted in surprise. He was wearing a grey sweater, his long hair hanging down, no longer in a bun like it was the last time. He tucked it behind one ear.

"Are you stalking me or something?" Nesta said incredulously.

"I could ask you the same," Cassian retorted cheekily.

Feyre looked between them, a confused expression written on her face. "Do you guys know each other or something?"

"Something like that," Nesta mumbled.

Everyone's eyes were on them as they waited for an answer.

"Well as everyone knows, I live in the same building as Nesta and Elain," Cassian explained, waving a hand to the two sisters. "The other night, I got stupid drunk with a friend. He drove me back to my place and me, drunk off my fucking ass, tried to get into their apartment thinking it was mine."

The entire room erupted into laughter, Rhys choking on his food and Azriel looking up as if reasoning with the Gods.

"So when Nesta opened the door," Cassian continued, "she nearly beat me to death with a baseball bat."

Another round of laughter.

"Overreact much?"

Everyone's eyes flew to where Nesta sat. They seemed shocked. Nesta was too.

She didn't know why she said it, why she let it bother her. He was just so fucking frustrating, even his mere presence.

Cassian stuck his tongue out at her.

Feyre interrupted, her jaw agape. "You guys are acting like children."

Nesta got quiet after that. The conversation continued, thankfully taking the attention off her. As everyone laughed and conversed, Cassian looked over at her. His smile disappeared when he met Nesta's gaze. She just stared back at him, lips in a thin line. He seemed to try to gauge her reaction carefully, but her face was blank.

And so the night went on. Nesta didn't say another word after what happened. She avoided eye contact with Cassian. Avoided conversation with everyone.

It was half past eight when they all began clearing their dishes. Mor, Aurra, Azriel, and Cassian were all gathered in the kitchen cleaning up. Feyre and Rhys had excused themselves. It was just Nesta and Elain who remained in the dining room.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Nesta leaned over to whisper to Elain.

Elain nodded. "We'll head out right after, yeah?" She must've noticed the exhaustion in Nesta's face.

Nesta agreed, excusing herself from the table.

She walked down the hallway, peeking through every door to find the bathroom. She was about to push through a door on the left that was slightly cracked open when she heard voices coming from within.

“I’m worried about him. He’s not the same.” It was Feyre.

“He never is when he comes home, Feyre," Rhys said dejectedly. "It’s happened before. Cass just needs time.”

Cass.

Nesta tiptoed closer to the door, just enough for her to listen.

“No, what he needs is to see someone!”

“I’ve tried. He doesn’t want to go.”

“Try harder, Rhys!” Feyre cried, her tone frustrated.

“We can’t just force him to go, okay?”

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing? Do you even notice how lost your own fucking brother is? Do you even care?!”

Silence.

“Rhysand, I’m sorry. Gods, I’m so sorry. I know you care. More than anyone. I just… I don’t want to lose him.”

She heard them both breathing deeply.

“C’mere,” Rhys murmured. Nesta heard Feyre's footsteps as she presumably walked toward him.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?”

“Together.”

“Always, Feyre darling.”

They got quiet, probably embracing each other. Nesta crept away from their bedroom door and into the bathroom before they could find her.

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

Elain and Nesta had just unlocked their apartment door when Nesta groaned. “Oh, shit, I forgot my wallet in the car." She fished around in her bag to make sure it wasn't in there. "I’ll be right back.”

"I'll leave the door unlocked," Elain called behind her as Nesta made her way to the elevator.

She stepped between the doors, hitting the button for the parking garage. Gods, she just wanted to go to sleep. The night had been exhausting.

After a minute or so, she was approaching her car. She unlocked her door and grabbed her wallet that was in the middle console when a pair of headlights flashed past her, a car pulling into the spot next to her.

Before panic could set in, Nesta recognized who was driver the car through the window.

Cassian.

His car turned off and he emerged from the driver's door just a moment later. He looked over where Nesta was clutching her wallet to her chest staring at him. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning away and walking towards the elevator. Nesta had no choice to follow.

She walked just a few feet behind him as they made their way to the elevator.

"I'm sorry," Cassian told her, his voice sincere. He cast a concerned glance her way. "For embarrassing you at dinner. And if I scared you that night."

"You didn't embarrass me," Nesta snapped at him. "You were just being annoying as hell."

His entire body seemed to relax at her insult. Cassian tried to hide his smirk but failed. "I'm glad to see you're still your normal, hotheaded self. You got me worried at dinner with your stoic behavior."

Now she really glared at him. "Don't talk like you know me. You don't."

"Oh, sweetheart," he teased. "I think we're more similar than you think."

She scoffed. "I think that hubris of yours will be your downfall."

"You know, it's quite sexy when you use literary devices to insult me," he joked.

Nesta froze.

Was he coming onto her? Chills ran down her spine when she thought of the last time a man expressed interest in her.

It's not the same, she tried to convince yourself. He's not Tomas.

Cassian must've expected a heated response to his comment because he looked surprised when Nesta simply stared straight ahead. She seemed to be in a world of her own, oblivious to everything around her. Any trace of anger was gone, replaced by a cool indifference.

Cassian's face fell. "Nesta, I didn't mean to - "

He was cut off as the elevator door dinged opened and Nesta swiftly walked out.

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

tag list (let me know if you want to be added/removed):

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[creepy-crawley-crowley]

Naive - Crowley X Angel Female Reader

This was requested, and it was requested byyyyy: @adela-topaz-caelon

My lil request is a Crowley x Angel Reader where said Angel is an angel who was booted out of heaven because she's vaguely out of character for an angel, but is definitely one, and often helps the two men and they blatantly love each other but don't know, and Aziraphale is so tired of it, because he's noticed it since the beginning, and he just had enough. I don't mind if it's fluffy or smutty, or both, if you decide to take it on. I just would love your writing on this 😊

One: I FUCKING LOVE THIS REQUEST SO MUCH PLEASE SEND MORE I BEG YOU

Two: Oblivious but in love idiots are the best idiots haha

Warnings: uh, spicy at the end but it isn't full smut because I won't write full on smut like the furthest I will go is clothes removal you can imagine the rest.

You all know the drill, right? Gimme a shout if you wanna be on the taglist, too.

"Oh my, they are...hopeless! Oblivious! Absolutely...agh! Fools in love, that's what they are...ugh." Aziraphale groaned. He was pacing in the back room of his bookshop, fretting about his two closest friends.

Now, the context of this situation: Crowley, a demon, Aziraphale's best friend, is hopelessly in love with Y/N, an Angel, also Aziraphale's best friend. She's also hopelessly in love with Crowley. Why is Aziraphale so annoyed? Because they're so obvious! But yet neither of them seem to notice.

See, it all started at the start, in the Garden Of Eden. Aziraphale was stood on the wall, watching Adam and Eve, yada yada, and Y/N was with him. Y/N was...unique. She'd been kicked out of heaven for being...out of character. Hadn't fallen, though, not really, much to Aziraphale's delight.

And then Crowley came along. He slithered up the wall, and stood beside the two Angels. He knew instantly who Aziraphale was, but who was that? Who was the other one? The thing that confused him most, though, was that Y/N's wings were a mix of black and white.

Was she fallen? Kinda. Was she a Demon? No. An Angel? Yes.

Crowley felt his confusion grow by the minute.

In fact, he was intrigued. He was going to get to know this stranger, whatever it took.

The next time the two really met was in Paris. Aziraphale had gotten himself into a spot of trouble, and Y/N had seeked Crowley out, and dragged him to Paris. Aziraphale, after being set free, wandered off, probably to get food. Perhaps some crêpes.

This left Y/N and Crowley to talk. And talk they did. They'd met many, many times before Paris, obviously, but it had been a while since they'd had a proper chat...3000 years, give or take.

Aziraphale thinks that this moment is when Crowley realised how hopelessly in love he was with Y/N. Aziraphale could see it on his face, they way he looked at Y/N with gentle eyes from behind black glasses. Crowley denied it whenever the subject was brought up. "We're just friends!" He would protest, scrunching his face up in faux disgust.

Or maybe he had fell in love when Y/N had ran off after a unicorn, and returned riding it, smiling as if she had just won the lottery, although that didn't exist then. In fact, that occurred during the Noah's Ark problem.

Aziraphale was a being of love. He knew love when he saw it. He saw the love in shared glances when they thought nobody was looking, he saw the love in the way they spoke to each other, he saw the love in the tiny touches they shared. He saw it all.

He thinks that Y/N fell for Crowley when he saved his books after blowing the church up. Not that it was his fault...kinda. Anyway, Y/N had flown in on trembling wings, having seen the bomb go down, and knowing who was there. She had literally tackled both of them in a hug, engulfing them with her wings too.

"You idiots! You stupid, stupid idiots!" She had yelled. "I can't believe - who made the bomb fall?" She seethed, and Crowley had sheepishly raised a hand, and she had glared that him for a few moments, before her gaze softened, and she smiled, yet again hugging the Demon.

Or perhaps she had fallen for him in Rome.

Don't even get Aziraphale started on the 80's. They were at their worst then, Crowley was trying to hide his obvious feelings, and so was Y/N, but they did terribly, and only worsened the situation, because they both most certainly did not get drunk, and certainly did not drunkenly make out. (They did.)

Yeah, that never happened, as far as Aziraphale thought they knew. But Aziraphale knew, of course he did. That was one image he couldn't erase.

And then there was the 90's. They weren't so bad, actually, Aziraphale had decided. They had fallen out after an argument about Crowley and his need for holy water. Y/N had assumed the worst upon being told.

"You what? Aziraphale gave you holy water?" She had screamed at Crowley, wings out, and her eyes were narrowed to the point that they were mere slits. Crowley had nodded, slightly frightened by Y/N's reaction. "Crowley, you can't have holy water! You know what it'll do to you! It'll...It'll destroy you! Or is that why you wanted it? An easy way out?" And as soon as the words had left her mouth, Crowley had reacted.

Aziraphale shivered at the memory. It hadn't been pretty, actually. Crowley had accidentally burnt a few books in his momentary anger, although as soon as Y/N had left, he regretted it, turning to face Aziraphale, his golden eyes wide, looking rather shocked.

They ignored each other for seven years, which had mildly impressed Aziraphale, who hadn't thought they'd even be able to stay away from each other for a week. But no, both of them were even more stubborn than a mule, and boy oh boy, could they hold grudges.

They managed to fix things in '99, when Y/N had been in the bookshop. She had had a run in with a few demons, and although she had never revealed what had really happened, it had scared her to the point where she was quivering in the back room of the bookshop, curled up, cocooned in her wings. And that's how Crowley had found her. Originally he'd come in to find Aziraphale, but he had heard gentle sobs from the back room, and went in, curious. Upon finding Y/N he had darted over, closing the bookshop with a snap of his fingers as he fell to his knees in front of her.

Not realising it was Crowley, Y/N had scuttled away, backed into the corner, trembling. Crowley was confused, that was for sure, but more than anything he was concerned for his friend.

"Y/N? Y/N what's wrong?" He had asked softly, sitting in front of her. Y/N had looked up with bloodshot eyes, peeking out from behind her black and white wings, and she had flinched slightly. "What happened?" He repeated, removing his glasses. Y/N had shook her head, and Crowley had frowned.

"There were some demons." Y/N had whispered, so quietly that Crowley could barely hear her. She didn't say any more than that. She had then slowly shuffled forwards, towards Crowley, and wrapped her arms and wings around him, burying her face in Crowley's shoulder, and that's where they stayed for a while.

They went back to their usual antics after that.

Aziraphale was relieved that they were back to normal, but now he was dealing with them dancing around their feelings again, and there was only so much dancing he could take, and he loved dancing...and food.

But now Aziraphale was just about done with them both. He was going to take things into his own hands, and began planning his master plan. There was no way it wouldn't work, right?

So, the next day, he led them both into the back room, and then locked them in there together. He had pinned a note on the door, the side that they'd be able to see, and Crowley ripped it off, reading it, and Y/N witnessed a rather amusing event. Crowley went red, and then sighed, and read it out.

"Hello Crowley and Y/N, this is Aziraphale, and I'm not sorry for locking you both in here. You two need to talk about stuff, and when I think you're done I'll let you out." Crowley read, grumbling, and Y/N chuckled.

"We can sneak out, you know." She stated, and after saying that, she shrunk herself, and wandered out, under the door. Crowley followed.

They snuck out, to the Bentley, and they both got in after returning to their natural sizes.

Aziraphale was state in the back, much to their surprise.

"I knew you'd try to sneak out, you know." He stated, smiling brightly. "This was my plan all along! Now I can talk to you both." He grinned. "You two are the most oblivious people ever, and I have therefore decided that I must do this myself."

Crowley realised what was happening, and hissed. "Aziraphale, don't you dare!" He growled, although there was no real threat. Y/N looked on, merely confused.

"Crowley, do it, otherwise I will." Aziraphale sighed. Crowley turned to face Y/N, and made a strangled noise, one of objection. "You can do it!" Aziraphale encouraged.

"No I can't! I've had...since the Ark to do it! If I could, I would have done it by now, Angel." Crowley managed to say.

"It's okay to be scared, Crowley." Aziraphale said, rather softly. Crowley hissed, almost angrily.

"I'm not scared! I'm just...just..." Crowley's shoulders fell. "I'm not scared. I just don't want to lose anyone."

"Hey, can someone tell me what's going on?" Y/N huffed, folding her arms, mildly annoyed, but confused, and overly curious, as usual. Crowley and Aziraphale looked at her. Aziraphale then looked at Crowley, who shrugged, then sighed.

"Don't...worry. Uh, it's not that important." Crowley smiled. Y/N sighed, knowing he had lied. "Okay, okay, Aziraphale get out, just for a minute." Crowley looked at Aziraphale, who smiled at him, before getting out of the Bentley.

"Y/N, I know it's stupid but there's something I really need to say to you." Crowley started, and his eyebrows fell as he tried to think of what to say. "I know I'm a Demon, and you're an Angel, kinda, and were supposed to be enemies, but there's nothing I could do. I tried to fight it because I didn't want to be like a human." He bit his lip, then removed his glasses, and his golden eyes stared into Y/N's. "I...I uh, how do I say this?" He mumbled. "I...like you? I really like you?" He blurted out, sounding slightly confused. Y/N smiled.

"I mean, it'd be problematic if you didn't." She chuckled, not realising what Crowley mean. The Demon groaned, mildly annoyed by her obliviousness.

"No! That's not what I meant! I meant that I really really like you and how on Earth do I say this? Okay...I don't like you as a friend, I like you as...more?"

Y/N realised what he mean, and her eyes widened, and she suddenly disappeared, leaving Crowley by himself.

Y/N had actually teleported herself inside the bookshop, and she had sat down, near Aziraphale. Aziraphale took notice of her shocked expression, and sat next to her.

Crowley stayed inside his car, groaning loudly, instantly assuming that the worst had happened and that she didn't like him back. That she didn't love him. Crowley growled at the thought. Love. What a useless thing.

"Y/N, my dear, what ever is wrong?" Aziraphale asked, confused. Y/N laughed softly, but as she laughed, she seemed to slowly descend into madness.

"He said he liked me as more as a friend, Zira. More than a friend! What does that even mean?" Y/N snorted, and Aziraphale sighed, glancing outside. Crowley was still sat in his Bentley, but now he was listening to Queen...probably.

"Y/N, it means he wants to...date you, I believe that is the correct modern term." Aziraphale hummed quietly. "It means he loves you. Y/N, I know you love him too. Everyone in Heaven and Hell might as well know, you two are so obvious! You've been dancing around each other for hundreds of years and I am just about done with it! Now go and talk to Crowley before he drives off and goes and does something stupid. Go." Aziraphale explained, and Y/N nodded, and ran back outside, clambering into the car.

"Crowley, let's go home, please." Y/N said, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, but drove anyway. "I don't want to cause a scene in the middle of a street. I have no idea what's going to happen next, Crow, but I'm hoping it's good." Y/N added, and Crowley raised an eyebrow, looking at her.

"Explain." He mumbled, mildly confused.

"Okay, okay...just...get inside first." Y/N said, rushing inside, to Crowley's flat. Crowley simply teleported, and sat on his throne as he waited for Y/N. Y/N ran in, and Crowley smirked slightly. "Okay, Aziraphale had to explain what you meant but I know now and I like you more than a friend too, or as Aziraphale said, love you and I guess he's not wrong." Y/N blurted, and Crowley suddenly coughed, standing up and walking to her. "And you're a really...cool demon too, so, I guess that's a bonus. You're pretty nice-" Y/N continued, and Crowley snarled, automatically darting forwards, and he (though gentler than usual) pushed Y/N against the wall.

"I'm not nice!" He snapped, and Y/N blinked. "I'm...not...nice!" Crowley repeated, through gritted teeth, and then he suddenly felt a gentle hand cup his cheek.

"Huh, Zira wasn't lying when he said you didn't like being called nice." Y/N mumbled, and Crowley didn't miss her eyes quickly flitting from his lips to his eyes. Or glasses, rather. He smirked, and edged slightly closer.

"You knew exactly what you were doing, damn. Little Miss Innocent isn't as pure as she seems." He remarked sarcastically.

"Well, obviously, I was cast out of heaven for a reason." Y/N stated, rather dryly. Crowley snorted, and Y/N smiled, and down her eyes went again, and back up, and Crowley hummed softly. "Are you just gonna stand there then?" Y/N asked, starting to shift slightly so she could get away. Not that she really wanted too, but it worked, because Crowley rolled his eyes, before pressing his lips to hers.

It was everything that Y/N had wished for and more. His lips were soft and gentle against hers, and might have well been puzzle pieces, slotting perfectly against hers. She realised that she could faintly taste wine, ands she smiled into the kiss, hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders, holding him as close as possible. Crowley's glasses were hard against her features, but she didn't mind because, finally, after thousands of years she was getting what she wanted. Crowley pulled away, quickly removing his glasses.

"How long?" He asked quietly, and Y/N smiled, lips still brushing against each other.

"Since Rome." She admitted, and Crowley hummed softly. "What about you, Crow?"

"Since the Ark." He mumbled, and Y/N smiled more, before seeking out his lips again.

Crowley gently held her hips, absentmindedly rubbing circles into her skin with his thumbs. "I love you too." He whispered, and Y/N nodded slightly, playing with the ends of Crowley's red hair. She connected their lips again, a little more force, a bit more want, and lot more need and Crowley knew where this was leading but he didn't mind. Besides, he was a demon, he was supposed to sin.

So he went along with it, revelling in the moment, and he unintentionally let Y/N take the lead. But only for now, he thought to himself. But he was still a Demon, and still decided to tease Y/N a little, his hands sometimes moving a little lower than they should've.

Y/N's only reaction was to huff, and gently bite his lip, which would cause Crowley to gasp, and allowed Y/N to have her way, not that Crowley minded. He certainly didn't.

He soon grew tired of just enthusiastically kissing though, and pulled away, pressing a uncharacteristically soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, and he began to trail kisses down to Y/N's neck, humming 'Somebody To Love' as he went. Y/N's grip on his shoulders tightened, and Crowley smirked, gently nipping at her skin, causing Y/N to gasp quietly.

"Crowley, you better not leave marks!" She hissed, and Crowley merely winked, before grazing his teeth across her skin again, before suddenly just nuzzling into the small crook of Y/N's neck. Y/N blinked, confused, but she smiled anyway, resting her chin on top of Crowley's head.

Then Crowley did the opposite of what Y/N had told him. He left a hickey.

Now, Y/N could pretend to be angry all she wanted, but she wasn't really, she never really could be. After all, it was Crowley. Who could be mad at Crowley? (A lot of people.)

So instead, she softly flicked him when he was done, and sighed.

"You're lucky I love you, Crowley." She grumbled, and Crowley shrugged, and pecked Y/N's lips, smiling. He then began working on the buttons of Y/N's shirt, and, well.

The rest is history.

Tags: @dekahg , @steampowerednightvaler

[nobodies-png]

Headcanons for KH3 Riku, Terra, and Ienzo with an SO who's terrified of fireworks? (I'm not scared of fireworks, but my sis is.)

 it’s all good to admit to be afraid of fireworks, no judging here 👀 im sprinkling some new year vibes in here while i’m at it ! 

Riku : 

Ngl, he’ll be a tiny bit disappointed - Riku adores fireworks, even if he tries to not get overly excited about them in front of others. When you tell him that you’re terrified of them, you’ll see Riku lowkey panic cause he was planning a cute date to go see the fireworks with you ! 

And then kiss you once midnight strikes ! ! Like in the movies ! ! ! But he’ll get over it eventually, no worries. There’s a lot of other things you two can do together ! After all, Riku loves you more than a bunch of lights - instead of fireworks, he’d take you out for a walk, somewhere far away from them so you can feel safe and relaxed. 

Terra :

Terra is pretty neutral when it comes to fireworks, so if you’re scared of them, he doesn’t mind staying home to watch a movie with you, cuddle and just talk for a while, cook or bake together - you name it. 

He might act oblivious about your fear of fireworks (if you haven’t told him about it), but it’s very obvious that he’s trying really hard to help you forget about the noise outside, distracting you as best as he can so you can have a nice time. But if that doesn’t help you, then excuse him for a bit while he goes wish the people who are setting off the firework a happy  recovery  new year. Make sure to ignore the sound of fighting ! 

Ienzo :

Ienzo dislikes fireworks - they’re way too loud and always catch him by surprise, so he can relate, he only likes learning about how firework are made. Over the years, he’s learnt to deal with them by just wearing earplugs and moving on so if you want a spare, he’s got you. Loud music is also a good option ! (and now you understand why he used to keep Demyx around during the holidays.)

Ienzo didn’t exactly learn how to properly cope with feelings like fear and such as a kid, so if hiding under the blankets or blatantly ignoring your problems doesn’t help, then it’s okay ! He’ll call some friends over, the more the merrier. With all the joy and fun, you’ll forget about the fireworks and enjoy a nice night with your loved ones !

[questionofdarkness]

Hi! Could i get a match up? I'm female but genderfluid & asexual I'm 18 and 6'1 , I have brown hazel eyes and long super curly brown hair with a neutral red tint. Also a bit chubby. I'm super shy but I love hanging out with friends. I'm super sarcastic but all my friends call me the mom of the group because i take care of everyone and stick up for them. I love baking and it's also my career. I love reading and listening to music and theater musicals. I'm so shy, I just want cuddles!

I match you with… Tamaki Amajiki!

It was a warm Tuesday afternoon, the sun was burning on the streets andthe air was hot and stiff inside the crowded metro. You did your best to keepthe bags in your hands out of the other passenger’s way while not letting go ofthe pole that kept you from falling at every stop. You had clearlyoverestimated your ability to carry all the groceries for the next week byyourself on your way home. Normally, you’d go to a store nearby your smallapartment, but you figured you could safe some time by getting them beforeboarding the train. But you ended up buying a lot more than expected, as youwould have to bake for multiple occasions within the next few days and had justrecently used up your supplies. There was a thing from work that required youto bring two trays of cupcakes and then a friend’s birthday and also a visitfrom yet another friend that hadn’t seen in a while and who had always beenaddicted to your trademark cookies. So now you stood in between a bunch ofstrangers, sweating due to both the weather and the rising anxiety filling yourchest, and wished you could have at least looked at your phone or get yourheadphones out. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, an electronic voice announcedyour stop and you shuffled out the waggon as soon as possible, staring at theground and trying to get past the other people without having to ask them tostep aside. Oh, how much you hated rush hour public transport! The station wassmall and there weren’t many people around, the shade of the big apartmentcomplexes providing some relief. You took a deep breath, glad to have some morespace, and started to walk towards your flat. But you didn’t even manage to getto the first staircase before you heard two voices behind you, a quiet, softone saying “Mirio, wait-“ and the other, not exactly quiet one, yelling “Hey,Miss!” You unintentionally fastened your stride, but the steps behind youremained consistent, fastened actually and the voiced called again. Now it wasunmistakable, they were talking to you, and before you could turn around a handlanded on your shoulder. You jumped a little and took a step back, only to befaced with a huge smile and two comically dark eyes, staring at you with noill-intent in them. “You forgot your bag, Miss”, the man said and his smilewidened as he handed you a white plastic bag. You must have forgotten it inyour hurry when leaving the train. You didn’t dare to tell him that you’drather he used different pronouns right now. Instead, you thanked himawkwardly. The second man behind him seemed around as uncomfortable as you.Half hidden he seemed to be escaping your shy glance on purpose. His black haircovered most of his face and he was staring at the ground with the kind of shyanxiety you knew too well. You didn’t really know if they expected you to sayanything else but you also couldn’t just turn around and leave while the blondone was still staring at you. He seemed oblivious to the mood. “You seem tohave quite a heavy load there. May we help you carry your bags? Which directionare you going?” “Oh that’s… really not necessary. I wouldn’t want to botheryou.” Man, this situation was really strange. “Oh no, it’s no bother at all! Weare heroes, you know? Helping people is our passion!” And without furthercomments he grabbed half your bags and started walking down the street withgreat certainty. Great, now you had to follow him. You awkwardly stayed behindhim while he happily spoke about this and that and everything. The dark hairedboy was silent as well. He seemed even less happy with the situation, althoughhe at least knew Cowlick, and you felt bad for him. “Your friend is very…energetic”, you quietly mumbled. The blond one didn’t even hear you, but hissmaller friend apparently did because he let out a small sigh. “Ah, yeah, he islike that, sorry.” He sounded honestly remorseful, while also fond, like a dogowner apologizing for his puppy jumping at people to lick their faces. “It’s ok”,you tried to reassure him, although it kind of wasn’t, especially because youhad no idea how to get out of what was happening. Were they going to walk youall the way to your house? You didn’t want them to know where you lived, evenif you couldn’t sense any mall intent from either of them. “I’m sorry”, he saidagain, “I should have stopped him. I’m so useless.” “No, no!”, now you felt awful,“It’s really alright.” But he didn’t even seem to listen to you any more, asthough he had withdrawn into himself interlay, his posture defensive. Hequietly grabbed his friends sleeve and pulled at it. The other one spun aroundwithout dropping his smile, looked at the slightly smaller one and then to you.“It appears, this is as far as we can accompany you. It was a pleasure!” “Ah…ehm, likewise?” He put down your groceries grabbed your hand, shook it like afreaking earthquake and left waving you over his shoulder. His friend was stillslightly holding onto his shirt, still defensive and withdrawn, but he alreadyseemed to be doing a bit better. Confused as to what had just happened, youpicked up your bags and started walking back to where you’d come from. Cowlickhad been leading you to the wrong direction the whole time.

For some reason, you started running into the two of them on nearly adaily basis. You never learned where they were going or why Blondie had set hismind on befriending you (or so it seemed?) but he was very persistent and asyou got adjusted to his overly eager personality a bit, you started to be ableto actually pay attention to his words. You learned his shy friends name,Tamaki Amajiki, through that and even picked up Mirio’s through the smallcomments Tamaki sometimes dropped. It was… strange. Mirio greeted you like anold friend, treating you as though you’d known each other for year, withouteven knowing your name yet. Amajiki was the absolute opposite and you wonderedhow they came to be friends. You couldn’t deny there was something slightlycharming about Mirio’s eccentric behaviour though. He seemed so honestly gleefulto see you every time, it kind of made you feel happy. Somehow, you managed togrow more comfortable around the two men. You slowly started commenting onMirio’s tales and he was delighted. One day, Amajiki was covered in bandagesand Mirio looked less happy than usual. Worried you asked what had happened. Itwas like this you learned about their affiliation with UA and all the thingsthat had happened to them. You also found out where they were going every day –a special care centre that did research on Mirio’s condition in the hopes offinding an antidote. Amajiki, as his closest friend, accompanied him to keephim out of trouble and protect him if need be. It was both sad and beautiful atthe same time. And you admired the black haired boy for his selflessness. Hestill barely spoke, but he had stopped looking as uncomfortable a while back.

Your relationship with the two didn’t change. They (or rather Mirio)would come up to you, greet you and hold a casual discussion about everythingwith you. This changed, however, when the third friend of their small group, anequally eccentric but even quirkier girl called Nejire, tagged along and immediatelydecided you were going to join them for multiple activities while also askingway too many way too personal questions about you. You felt thrown back to thefirst time you had met Mirio and again ended up getting dragged placed you hadhad not intention to go to, but it turned out fine. You were able to relaxafter a while and the three of them and Neijire’s best friend were a funnygroup to be around. So somehow, you ended up being friends with some of themost promising future heroes in the world.

To no one’s surprise, you and Tamaki started sticking together slightly.Your similar introvert attitude often leaves you standing on the side-lines.That’s how you started getting close to him, while watching Neijire and Miriofrom a distance and smiling about their stupidly energetic behaviour. You alsolearnt more about him through the other two, about his mental struggles and hislow self-esteem and how hard he was trying to get out of the vicious victimcircle he had ended up in and many other things you had never realized. Ofcourse you had been aware of the issues from the start, he was blatantly obviousafter all, but you hadn’t known that he was actually working on them. It madeyou happy to know, while also rising the wish to help him find the strength towork through them at the same time.

It took a long, long time for a relationship to form between you two.That was mainly due to the fact that neither of you were really looking for oneand he especially wasn’t ready. Only after a long friendship and many smallsteps towards improving his mental condition did you find yourself slowly driftinginto romantic territory. Since both of you are asexual, it had never beenrushed and you had all the time in the world to adjust.

You share not only an understanding for each other’s introversion, butalso similar character traits when it comes to standing up for others. You havestrong believes and are ready to fight for them and your friends, although younormally keep to the background and are happy leaving the centre of attentionto someone – anyone – else. You also found out that Tamaki shared your taste inmusic, which makes for cosy evening, cuddled under a bunch of sheets andcushions. You often watch movies together or read in silence. He also obviouslylikes your baking and food in general. You started to try and design new recipesto see how he’d transform them into his quirk.

He visits you at work as often as he can make time. After having finishedhis studies at UA, that schedule is all over the place though. He loves thesmell of freshly baked goods and the cosy atmosphere there.

Mirio still is an essential part in both your life’s and sometimes it’shard to tell whether he is a part of your relationship or not. He is undeniablyclose to the two of you, especially Amajiki.

Altogether, it was a long road to get where you are with Tamaki. He isnot an easy person to get to know and his personality can sometimes bedifficult to handle. But he truly has a heart of gold and he is a wonderfulperson in general. He’d do anything for you and makes sure you know how much heloves all of you. You have a quiet and private relationship which gives you allthe room you need to be comfortable.