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Bihar D.EL.ED 2024 – Apply Online for Diploma in Elementary Education

Name of the Post: Bihar D.EL.ED 2024 Online Form Post Date: 27-01-2024 Brief Information: Bihar School Examination Board (BSEB) has Announced notification for Conducting the Diploma in Elementary Education (D.EL.ED 2023-25). Those Candidates who are interested in the exam details & completed all eligibility criteria can read the Notification & Apply Online. Bihar School Examination Board…

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GATE CE: Exam Date, Notification, Eligibility and Online Coaching

The Graduate Aptitude Test in Engineering (GATE) is one of the most prestigious national-level entrance exams in India. Every year, the exam is conducted by the Indian Institute of Science (IISc) and seven Indian Institutes of Technology (IITs) on a rotational basis. The GATE exam tests the aptitude of engineering and science graduates aspiring for higher education and jobs in the field of…

[greenorangevioletgrass]

give me a minute (2/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 6.6k warnings: established former relationship, discussions of separation and divorce, discussions of moving on, luca and reader has a son, brief mention of blood and minor injury, smut 18+ (fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, size kink? idk luca's big, dirty talk, creampie) notes: it's finally here! thank you everyone for your patience, i am a slow writer by nature and life gets in the way, but i finally got around to finish it! happy reading, and do comment, reblog, and send me asks to tell me what you think <;3 ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted for my latest fics ✨

<<< read part 1 here >>>

06.13 PM

Your apartment has never felt so claustrophobic after that little moment you shared with Luca. You try to stay busy in the next hour —tidying up Alfie’s room even after he made it up, checking your email four times, even doing the laundry, for fuck’s sake— as Luca keeps to himself in the kitchen area. Whether Alfie is obliviously enjoying his screen time or purposely ignoring the weird tension between his parents, you’re not entirely sure. Right now, you’re just grateful that he’s not saying anything at the moment.

The boy simply creeps up to the kitchen counter with a shy eagerness about him. “How long ‘til dinner, Dad?”

“3 more minutes, Chef,” Luca answers, focused on the task at hand, so poker-faced that it makes his son giggle.

“I’m not a chef, you’re a chef!”

“Well, where I work, we call everyone in the kitchen ‘chef.’ Out of respect.”

Alfie climbs onto the dining bench in interest, peering up to watch his father set the dish on the plates meticulously. Luca doesn’t miss how the boy deeply inhales the delicious smell in the air.

“Smells yummy.”

“Thank you,” Luca replies, his excitement seems muted although his heart is soaring. He looks up to find Alfie staring at the plate, chin propped up on his little fist. You’ve always said that he looks just like his dad, but in that moment, Luca only sees you. Alfie has the way your mouth tugs ever so slightly into a smile, the way your eyes shine in childlike wonder. In quiet thoughtfulness.

No Michelin star, earned or retained, would ever amount to this.

“Can you go get your mum and tell her dinner’s ready, please?” He softly asks Alfie, as if not wanting to disrupt this peaceful silence. “Thank you, Chef.”

“Yes, chef.” The six-year-old salutes him and pads over to your home office, which doubles as the guest bedroom. The door is open, and he sees you reorganizing the linen closet with your back to him. He hugs you from behind, startling you.

“Oh!” You put your hand on his head, stroking him lightly. “Hey, bub.”

“Daddy told me to come get you and say dinner’s ready.”

“Gotcha. Thank you.” You half-expect him to run off like he usually does, but he lingers, his arms still wrapped around you. “What’s up, bubbie?”

“Nothing.” He buries his face against your side. “Love you, Mommy.”

“I love you too, bubbie.” This makes you smile, pleasantly surprised at this seemingly random admission.

“Love Daddy too, but don’t tell him that,” he whispers as he looks up at you, putting his forefinger in front of his mouth.

“Why not?”

“Sometimes he gets sad when I say that,” he murmurs. “He doesn’t tell me, but I know it.”

Oh. His playful exterior sometimes makes you forget just how emotionally sensitive he is. And it breaks your heart that he can see through the complicated adult emotions with his childlike eyes. 

“Alfie…” you level with him and pull him closer, “Your dad loves you very very much, and I’m sure he’d be happy to hear you say that. He’s just sad because… he’s been away, and he misses you a lot.”

“He should come home, then.”

It’s so simple, the way Alfie puts it. His Dad comes home and reunites with him and you, and his puzzle would piece together perfectly again. And you all live happily ever after. The end.

The truth, of course, is not so simple. But maybe, just for tonight… Maybe you and Luca can sacrifice a few of your own puzzle pieces. For your baby boy.

So you get back on your feet and guide your son out of the room. “Come on, bub. Let’s see what Daddy cooked for us, hm?”

When you and Alfie turn the corner into the kitchen-living area, Luca is wiping the side of the plate neatly. He smiles at you somewhat nervously, like he’s not sure what to do with himself, so you throw him the figurative olive branch.

“Smells amazing,” you compliment him as you and Alfie take your seats. “What are we having, Chef?”

Luca’s eyes light up and your heart stops. You stopped calling him ‘Chef’ long ago, when the moniker became synonymous with workaholism and neglect. But there’s no venom in the way you say it tonight. Call him sentimental, but it reminds him of the early summer days in the tiny apartment you first shared in Chicago.

Of blueberry pies and barely there bumps.

He has to remind himself that this whole ‘happy family’ shtick is just a charade now, it’s all for Alfie, it doesn’t mean anything for the two of us, but he can’t help but miss this.

And little does he know, so do you.

“Well, buckle up, you guys, because we are having…” He carries the plates over and serves it to you and Alfie with a flourish, “Baked sweet potato wedges with Mediterranean dip, and our pièce-de-résistance… Alfie’s Nuggies.”

It looks nothing short of beautiful, with the wedges fanned out like autumn leaves underneath a colorful burst of cherry tomatoes, cucumbers, olives, and feta cheese. The chicken nuggets are rich golden brown against the brilliant white plate. The splatters of sauce (is that Tahini?) is a hint of thoughtful chaos on the dish.

Your six-year-old let out a little noise of awe and amazement next to you, but no sound escapes you—not for the longest time.

“This is…” you look up at Luca as if he would have the word you’re looking for.

But his blue eyes just look a lot like I love you.

“Thank you,” you ultimately say, with absolutely no pretense whatsoever.

And if he does hear an ‘I love you’ hidden somewhere in there… he hopes he’s not imagining things.

*** 

08:37 PM

If you could travel just a few hours back in time and tell yourself that you would spend the whole day stuck at home in a nasty storm with your son and his father that you’re divorcing—and that you’d be okay with it, you would’ve probably scheduled yourself an MRI scan because clearly something is wrong.

But the night is winding down. Luca is tucking Alfie into bed for the first time in months. You are washing dishes in the quiet accompaniment of steady rain and running water, and everything feels just right.

“He’s out like a light,” Luca informs you quietly as he reemerges from Alfie’s bedroom and stops right by the kitchen counter. “Need a hand?”

“Nah, I’m just about done,” you casually wave him off. “You want anything to drink?”

“Uh… what do you got?”

“Scotch, gin…” you pause, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. The sink tap squeaks a little as you shut it off. “...wine.”

His heart skips. Don’t overthink it, he reminds himself. “Red or white?”

“Take your pick,” you shrug nonchalantly. 

Luca reaches up to see the bottles of wine you have in store, and you try not to pay too much attention as his shirt rides up around the waist—or the sleeve, showing off the remnants of Alfie’s crayon work over his inks… you’re just two co-parents hanging out. It’s normal, right?

“What about the Malbec?” he eventually chooses, taking out the bottle.

He’s always loved Malbec—this particular brand of Malbec you brought him when he first invited you for dinner on your third date.

Don’t overthink it, you remind yourself. “Yeah, sure.”

You pick up two wine glasses and set them down on the dining table, shuffling into the corner bench. Luca settles into the other bench, directly against the kitchen counter, pouring the wine onto both glasses.

“How many bedtime stories did Alfie manage to get out of you?” you pipe up, swirling the purplish liquid around.

“Just one…” he sips on his wine thoughtfully. “Although he made me read it three times.”

You smile, bemused. “Which one was it?”

“‘The Bear Who Did.’”

“Ah, yeah. He’s been into that one lately,” you muse. “But… for what it’s worth, I’m glad he asked you to tuck him in tonight.”

The two of you exchange a soft look. A ceasefire. A truce, at least when it comes to your son. Because you really do want Luca to have a good relationship with Alfie.

“Me too.”

“And I’m sorry you had to… make do with spending the day with Alfie here.”

He shakes his head softly. “Nah, don’t be. I had a good time. It’s nice to just hang out… at home.”

At home, the words echo in your head.

With you, they echo in his, loud and unsaid.

“So, uh… how have you been?”

“Ah, you know how it is. Work is kicking my ass—my current client’s only two blocks away, but the house is a total fixer-upper, and Alfie’s… Alfie.” You don’t want to backtalk your own son, although you both know how trying he can be sometimes. “But it’s all good. My mom helps out with Alfie, and Jess insists that I go out and live a little every now and again.”

“And do you? Live a little?”

“I mean, within reason. I can’t go clubbing ‘til 4am anymore. I think I’m getting old…” you stretch your arms, feeling that soreness just from your daily activities.

Luca grins, raising his glass. “I hear you. I don’t even really go out anymore.”

“Seriously?” 

“Mm-hm.”

You make an incredulous face. It would make sense for you not to go out much, with Alfie and everything. But he was alone, abroad… “Why, though?”

He just shrugs lightly. “I’m working. Whenever I’m off, I mostly just… eat or sleep.”

“I somehow find that hard to believe.” You take a dubious sip. You both know how much Luca enjoys grabbing a cheeky pint. He’s British; it’s in his blood, goddammit.

“Oh come on…”

“You don’t even go out drinking or whatever? Meet people?”

His gaze flashes towards you almost playfully. “Do you?”

Your face falls, not expecting to be caught so off-guard with such an innocent question. And upon seeing that, his face falls. Shit. And with that, the air between you shifts so dramatically.

Stupidly, you still try to save the conversation. “Of course my friends and I go out—”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice darkens, his blue eyes piercing through you. 

This conversation is a long time coming. It’s a natural progression of your relationship—or the lack thereof. You separate, you get divorced, and eventually you move on. Two years is a more than acceptable time to start dating again. And still, you phrase out your next words very carefully.

“I’ve been on dates here and there…”

Luca sucks in a slow, calculated breath. “Does Alfie know?”

You shake your head. “It’s nothing serious so far.”

He’s not sure what’s worse, the fact that it’s nothing serious, or that you’re holding out for something serious in the future.

“Look, we both know this is happening sooner or later…”

“I know,” he quickly recovers—or as much as he can recover. He just stares down the stem of his glass.  “It just… It’s a lot to take in, that’s all.”

“I understand.” The wine feels like gravel down your throat, and the words coming out of your mouth feel like throwing up a boulder.

“Because I do miss you.”

Your eyes immediately dart over to his, as if you’re not sure you heard it right. “Luca…”

“I miss you everyday. I miss us. I miss everything we used to have.”

Your heart catches—no, stops altogether at his admission. “Luca, we can’t do this anymo—”

He swallows thickly, his jaw setting as he braces himself. “I’ve been thinking about it everyday—the whole time I’m away, and frankly, I’m kicking myself over not telling you this sooner.”

“That’s probably just the homesickness talking.” You turn away. This can’t be possible. This can’t be happening. What the fuck?! “It got you reminiscing about the good old days. Give it time, you’ll come around.” You try to maintain a neutral, distant, cold approach to this, although the crack in your voice betrays you.

“No. That’s not it.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

Your words cut through the quiet apartment like a flash bang. Luca stops dead in his tracks in his shock, and honestly, so do you. Awful silence hushes over the room, and both of you are almost too afraid to break it. Neither of you even dare to move.

After what seems like forever, Luca moves first. A tear escapes his eye, and he wipes it away with his knuckle hurriedly. “Noma should’ve been a dream. And it is, in a way. I guess.” He stares blankly ahead, his life in Copenhagen replaying in his head like it’s on fast-forward, and the playback seems to just highlight how lonely he is there. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m utterly miserable there. I get up and go to work and I just feel empty. Because what’s the point? You and Alfie are way over here, being a family while I’m… doing what?” He wants to tear his hair out, because this is everything he’s dreamed of, and yet he is living the stuff of nightmares. “It makes no fucking sense.”

It makes even less sense to you. You can’t even begin to process this tangled mess in your head. “Luca… we are almost officially divorced. You’re telling me this now? When everything is—”

“I thought I was doing what was best for you. I thought I should just… let you cut your losses and—”

“The best for me? How the fuck did you think giving up was the best way forward for me?” The thought of it burns your eyes with angry tears. They melt, and you don’t do a thing to stop it from running down your face. “You didn’t think to fight for us while you still could?”

Luca’s heart aches to see that. He is dying to reach out and wipe them away, but he can’t. His voice is quiet and small and almost childlike. “I tried. You were just so… sure about the divorce. You had it all figured out. And I… I thought you had no room for me anymore.”

“I had to keep it together. I had to figure it out—for Alfie’s sake. For mine.” You stare at your little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “I don’t see the point in being vulnerable with you anymore when you’re already set on leaving.”

The words have run out. The whirlwind of emotions has passed. What he feels and what he wants is now very clear.

“I shouldn’t have left.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have.” You wished he didn’t. Everyday for the last two years. And everyday you set yourself up for disappointment because, the truth of the matter is, he did leave. So you stop wishing. “Because I don’t know how to come back from this. I really don’t.”

Nothing that comes out of your mouth is unexpected. But it doesn’t hurt any less to hear it from the horse’s mouth. “It’s just… seeing you guys today… We were a family again. And I would do anything for us to be a family again. Please.”

You sigh heavily. “What else is there to do, Luca…?”

“We can, I don’t know, figure something out, go to couples counseling—”

You groan in frustration, Jesus Christ not this again, wanting to tear your hair out when— CRASH! You accidentally knock over your wine glass and it shatters as it hits the floor. “Shit…”

“Mommy?” Alfie calls you from inside his room, sleepy but alert.

The two of you freeze just before you can move out of your seat. Afraid the slightest of noises would rattle your son.

“Yes, bubbie?” you try to sound bright and normal. Maybe if you can convince him that everything’s fine, he won’t come running in panic. 

“What was that?”

“I just knocked over a glass, kiddo, everything’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

You and Luca wait a few seconds with bated breath. One, two, three… ten seconds go by, and there’s no movement in the bedroom.

The coast is clear.

You scramble down to pick up the shards of glass. The spilled wine looks like blood in the dim light of the room. It’s a painful reminder of the broken pieces of your former life, the casualties. He quickly follows suit, as if struggling to put it all back together. The irony is not lost on either of you, you’re sure of that.

“It’s fine, Luca. I got it, I—” a sharp piece of glass accidentally cuts your palm as you pick it up in hurry. “Fuck!”

“You okay?” He takes your hand as quick as lightning, wanting to inspect the wound, but you snatch it away.

“I’m fine.” You get up on your feet, teetering over to the sink, away from the crime scene, careful not to step on any piece of glass.

Yet he still follows you, walking over to where you’re standing now. “Come on. Let me just take a look.” He reaches out to your wrist, running little circles with his thumb to ease your grasp.

“It’s not a big deal…” you let him look anyway, you figure it’s easier to just let him do his thing than to argue your way out of it. 

His calluses are brittle against your palm, but he handles you with the gentlest touch. The wound is not too big or too deep, but the sight of blood marring your palm makes his heart drop. There’s no visible piece stuck to it, that’s a good sign, he thinks. He rips off some paper towel and wets it on the sink, and softly dab at the gash, cleaning the wound and wiping the blood off.

You grit your teeth, not wanting to show any sign of pain although it stings. “It’s just a little cut…” your tone bears less and less conviction, as if you have no energy left to argue with him on such a small matter.

There’s a very particular way his eyebrows arch when he’s deep in thought. The left one always sits slightly higher than the right. Blue eyes fixed on the object of his focus. A minute gesture behind the chaos in his head. “You need a Band-Aid,” he points out. 

“It’s in the—”

Luca is already opening the drawer next to the stove, taking out a packet of a Star Wars-themed Band-Aid. He still remembers where everything is, and you can’t tell whether the ache in your chest is a good or bad thing.

He puts the Band-Aid on your cut, then takes your hand close to kiss it better, like he used to do.

“Um.” You freeze in your tracks, taken aback. And it seems he’s just as equally as taken aback by his own action. He is flushed with embarrassment, and you feel your face growing hot as well.

He’s the first to break the awkward silence, quiet and tentative. “I’ll clean up the mess. You just hang tight.”

It seems so mundane, sweeping broken glass and cleaning the floor. His body registers it as a simple muscle memory—he must’ve cleaned up messes on this very spot a million times. But his heart is heavy with the burden of your history, and all the pain that comes with your separation. He might not be able to put the pieces back together, but maybe he can clean up the mess and make it nice again for you.

And all the while, you’re stuck to the kitchen counter, watching him so effortlessly reacquainted with his former home. It’s as if he never left. For a confusing moment, it feels like home again. How did you manage without this view, this presence for so long?

Luca puts away the debris in the trash, hidden away in another kitchen drawer next to you, and hovers in front of you, as if wanting to reach out and touch you… but too afraid you’ll push him away.

“Does it still hurt?”

You can’t tear your eyes off of his. The little cut on your hand is but a dull ache now, but the insides of your chest feels like it’s been mangled beyond repair. You burst into tears, sobs ripping through the seams.

His arms wrap around you, keeping your tattered pieces together. Your face is buried in his chest, surrounded by soft cotton and earthy perfume, and your first thought is you can’t remember the last time you were in his arms like this. You rake your mind through all the memories, all the times you hugged each other hello and goodbye and all the times in between, and you can’t remember the last time you stopped, why would you stop—

“My love…” Luca’s voice soothes you, so quietly murmured against your forehead with a soft kiss, yet rings so clear in your ears. He cups your face with both hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay... I got you.”

The palm of his hand grazes your lips, and you kiss it the way he kisses your Band-Aid earlier. You have no energy left to fight whatever is going on inside you. You don’t understand the nagging urge to be away from him, when being close to him feels this good. You miss his touch and his voice and his face, and you’re so overwhelmed with longing that you close the distance between your lips and his.

Luca gasps when you kiss him—and it feels like the first breath he’s drawn in two years. Your lips are just as he remembers, just as warm and inviting and familiar, and he relishes coming home to them tonight. He didn’t think he would be so lucky ever again, but now you’re here, kissing life back into him again.

Against your better judgment, you stumble into the bedroom, careful to make as little sound as possible as you tread down the hallway. Still tangled in each other. Refusing to let go even for a second. His five o’clock shadow scratches your skin, following the trail of his lips down your neck.

You push him into bed and climb on top of him without a single thought. You need him close, closer than the past two years, closer than now, and your clothes feel like they’re in the way. Of his hands, of his mouth, of his warmth…

You tear your dress off and throw it away, and he stops in his tracks. He has every part of you memorized, every curve and every ridge, every notch of your stretch marks, every inch of your C-section scar from Alfie’s birth… and yet he’s looking at you for the first time all over again.

“Beautiful…” it escapes his mouth just like that, and you kiss him senseless in return. You worry that if you stop, the moment will pass and this whole thing turns out to be just an illusion.

Or worse, a mistake.

You tug his t-shirt over his head, trying not to linger on his broad chest too long. He gets the idea—he is dying to say something, but doesn’t—and just unclasps your bra in response. He keeps his mouth busy by kissing and licking and sucking your newly exposed breasts.

It’s not that you haven’t been touched like this in a while; it’s just that you haven’t been touched by him like this for so long.. “Luca…”

He never thought he’d hear that again. His name in a wanton sigh, uttered by the lost love of his life. He’s not one to waste his chance. “It’s okay. I got you, my love. I got you.”

Because for the first time in a long time, it’s true. He’s got you. He’s got your body underneath him, your nipple in his mouth, your sweet sex in his hand.

God.

You’re so soft, so warm, so wet against his fingers. The little stuttered moan you let out sounds absolutely heavenly. He remembers exactly the last time he was here.

Christmas Eve, two years ago. 

Things had been tense long before that, but Luca was home and able to spend some time with his wife and kid at last. You didn’t seem all that chuffed having him around—whether he was here or not brought out that “neutral look of displeasure” from you these days— but at least you didn’t pull away when he rested his head on your shoulder as the three of you watched Jurassic Park (Alfie’s all-time favorite). Didn’t roll your eyes and turn away when he kissed you and wished you happy Christmas before bed.

And he wanted so desperately for you to openly want him again.

So he tentatively deepened the kiss and reiterated his love for you in every inch of your body that he could get his hands on. Trying to convince you that he was still here. Trying to convince himself that with every orgasm he pried out of you, that you still wanted him there.

But you just… laid there and watched. Hands locked in on the sheets, not even touching him. Motionless as he went through the motions of his thrusts. Numb as he touched and kissed and fucked you the way you used to like. He was fighting a losing battle. He might as well have been making love to a ghost. 

“Luca…” Your breathless voice snaps him out of his own intrusive thoughts, more clear and alive and real than any memory of you posing no desire for him.

“I— yeah, sorry. I just…” he shakes off his own thoughts.

“Hurry up, come on…” you needily thrust yourself into his hand.

“You sure?”

No, and neither does he. But at this point, you’re much too stubborn about your decision in the divorce and much too prideful to admit that you want him back and maybe just a tad too eager to make a mistake with him.

So you nod your head yes, and with a searing kiss, he fingerfucks you the way you needed him to. 

“Oh, God… fuck…” you sigh under the undoing of his fingers. It’s like he never forgot how to work your body. His fingers play a pattern on your clit that makes you sing. And when one slides into you, crooking and curling against your silky heat…

“Luca, I— now.”

He unlatches his mouth from your nipple almost begrudgingly, as if too sweet to part with you. “Not yet, baby. We can’t…”

“What, why?”

“Because…” he nips at the smooth flesh of your chest thoughtfully. How can he explain it to you in a way that makes sense? “I want…” to take as much time with you as possible, he adds another finger inside you deliciously slow. “I need…” to feel you in every way first, he chants in his head as he kisses you through your orgasm.

Your resolve is slipping, but the craving is as ravenous as ever. You try to squirm in protest anyway. “But…”

“Please.” His lips press against your forehead, eyes squeezed shut. “I got you, okay?”

His blue eyes meet yours, as familiar as the sky you’ve walked under your whole life. As sure as day. And before you realize it, you find yourself nodding along.

Watching him slither further down your body. Mouth paving the way between the valleys of your breasts, up the diamond-hard tops of your nipples.

Down your torso.

Between your nether lips.

You don’t remember the last time you did this either. Memories of attempts to rekindle the romance flash before your eyes. The nights that he climbed into bed late at night after work, still smelling like chocolate or mint or whatever ingredient he was working with that day. Waking you up with the parting of your legs and hushed kisses saying, “Missed you so much, baby…”

“Right there. Yes…” you pant as he laps you up where you’re dripping, catching every drop and coaxing more at the same time.

His eyes close, and he swallows back a needy groan. “Come for me, baby.”

The words shoot right into your core, and you’re suddenly overcome with the waves of pleasure running through you, grinding your hips into his mouth shamelessly. Has he always been so greedy in the way he ate you out?

Your head is spinning with need and you hope the broken words you string up are comprehensible enough for him. “Luca, come on, I can’t—”

“No, please—” he seems to understand just fine, but still he shakes his head and buries his face deeper into you.

“Luca…”

“Wait, just let me—”

So insistent. So stubborn. So… needy. You grasp a fistful of hair on the back of his head. Both heaving, you breathe out,

“Please.” 

The word stops him in his tracks. But it’s not so much the word as it is the gravity that comes with it. Whatever the two of you are doing, whatever you’re feeling is beyond words at this point.

It’s just you and him and this need.

And as much as he wants—needs— to satisfy his hunger, there’s just no way of stopping you anymore. Truth be told, he’s not even sure why he’s been stalling you in the first place. Not when you’re so eager to tug his clothes off and touch him absolutely everywhere. To stroke him, and taste him…

“No, baby.” He stops you just before you slither down his body, settling you back on the bed and caging you underneath him.

You throw him a look, indignant. If he’s gonna hold it off some more, you swear to God—

“No, I…” he kisses you hard, hoping you’ll get that he wants you too. More than anything. And that he’ll give you what you want. Hell, he would give you anything if he could come back to this again for the rest of his life. “Just trust me, okay?”

You marvel at the sight before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With dark blond locks tousled in passion and eyes lidded from lust and longing, and it makes your heart stop because… there it is.

Love.

As much as you shut it out and as much as you avoid it, love is permanently etched to his actions. Tattooed onto the smallest of things. In the way he kisses your temple softly, and the way he caresses your skin as he aligns himself against you, and the way he holds you as he pushes in…

“Luca…” you gasp sharply.

He stops halfway into you, his eyes searching your face with compassion. “You okay?”

You’re aching and craving the stretch of him all at once, but you wouldn’t have it any other way, so you ultimately nod your head. I’m okay. 

And he knows that deep down. He feels the same. Soothed and tormented by your very presence, although he can’t help but ask, “Do you want me to stop?” Please don’t ask me to stop…

You shake your head quickly. Neither of you would ever dream of it. You would take everything—the weight and the sting of it all— and he would leave everything behind just to have this again.

Your hips colliding again in a frenzy of a rhythm you haven’t played in so long—still remembering every beat like it’s your own pulse. Your walls gripping him like you wouldn’t let him go.

He shudders a little. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing that…”

“I don’t care,” you murmur into his neck with a kiss, “Come.”

“What…?” He can’t have heard that right… right?

“I want you to.”

“Jesus…” he breathes out. “I wanna make this last, baby—”

You shake your head again and wrap your legs around him almost demandingly. “I want you to come inside me and fill me the fuck up… want you dripping down my legs… please…”

“Fuck!” The images flash before his eyes faster than he can stop his hands from grabbing you by the hips, slamming himself into you. 

Nor can he stop himself from coming deep inside you.

There’s no way to describe the way he feels at that moment. The way tension peaks and snaps into release. How it brings you into your climax as well. Your lips must be swollen from the assault of your own teeth as you hold back the filthy noises coming out of you. You don’t mind the building ache in your thigh muscles, because as soon as that warmth fills you up, your body is overcome by waves of bliss.

“Fuck…” he flops back onto his side of the bed—the right side—and quickly gathers you in his chest. It’s an effortless little maneuver, making sense at last as you lay half on top of him.

Your hand finds his—more puzzle pieces coming together as he fills the spaces between your fingers. You bring it to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Surprised to find the gold wedding band still adorning his ring finger.

***

9:56 PM

“Was that really your first time since we… you know?” Your murmured question rings loud in the absence of the rain. The storm has finally passed, but neither of you move—neither even dare to bring it up— afraid to ruin the moment. 

“It was.”

“Not even in a casual, ‘no strings attached’ kind of situation?”

“No.” He looks almost embarrassed to admit it, but there is no hesitation in his answer.

“Wow…” your heart sinks. Is it possible to feel good and bad at the same time?

Luca pauses for a moment. You can see the conflict brewing in his head. “Did you?”

You don’t have to answer. The sheer silence you take is an answer enough.

The confirmation feels like shit, but he tries to stay neutral. His thumb stills on the back of your hand. “Can I ask how many?”

“Gosh, does that even matter?” You sigh. There’s another argument coming—you can feel it.

“No, I just… I wanna know.”

“You don’t really wanna know.”

“Is it a lot?”

“I mean…”

“How many?” 

You take in a sharp breath. There’s no way out of this now. If the truth is what he wants, then the truth is what he shall get. “Twelve.”

He tenses up next to you. The whole world stops, and you can’t help but think, it’s over. There is no way this marriage is salvageable now. “What…?”

“I know that it’s a big number, and I know you might be upset—”

“That is a big number.” He doesn’t say anything about the latter part of her sentence, but it’s obvious that he’s upset, too. “I just… why?”

“I was trying to get over you.” It’s a pathetic answer, but that’s all it is to it. “I couldn’t sleep in this bed for months. I just couldn’t. Slept on the guest bed instead,” you motion at the next room, “and then one day, I couldn’t take it anymore. It’s like a switch flipped inside my brain, and I needed to—”

“What?”

“I needed to… overwrite the memories of you,” you admit feebly. “On this bed. On my body.”

Knife, meet heart. He’s not sure what answer he was expecting, but whatever it was, this hurts so much more. “And did it work?”

“Up to a point…” you pause, a sad smile in realization. “It’s funny. I keep getting bits and pieces of you somehow.”

“What do you mean?”

You close your eyes, your memories flashing, reminding you that every single time reminds you of Luca one way or another. “It’s… somebody’s perfume, or the timbre of their voice, or the way they hold my hand…”

“And you see me in them?” 

“Every single one.”

“Jesus…” Luca finds himself relieved and choked up at the same time. He doesn’t want you to ever get rid of your memories of him, but at the same time, it’s painful to hear that you tried anyway.

And you tried very hard.

“I’m sorry.”

He hums, and you realize… he hasn’t let go of your hand. Not once. Not even after your little confession. It makes the argument easier, knowing he’s there. It’ll be easier to part with him again after tonight, you hope, knowing you both did your best to understand. Why you needed to be apart. Why you did the things you did.

The armor has been shed, and the two of you are now naked, in every sense of the word.

Luca turns to look at you, studying your profile. He remembers the last time he was here.

He had just told you about Denmark. Stupid of him to feel excited, to tell you he’d just been offered his dream job, to ask you and Alfie to move someplace new with him, because it turned into a fight.

Worse than a fight; it was a death sentence.

You turned away and stared at the ceiling, and told him you couldn’t do this anymore.

And in some fucked up way, Luca feels as if he’d been brought back in time, and this is his one chance to make it right. So he asks you,

“Do you still love me?” 

You breathe out, heart clenching because in spite of yourself, “I do.”

“Do you want us to try again?”

“Luca…” you sigh heavily, “How would that even work? Alfie and I are here, and you have Noma–”

“No more Noma. I’m giving that up.” The answer is straightforward, and he surprises himself over how easily it rolls off of his tongue. How right.

“What? You wouldn’t…” Your face falls as you turn to him.

“I would. And I am,” he says firmly. “Look, I’ve thought about this for months now. I can’t do Noma anymore, I need to be home.” His gaze softens, and you feel the pattern running on the back of your hand again.

Slow and steady and certain.

The tear rolls off the corner of your eye and onto the pillow with the tiniest drop. “I wanted you to come home…”

“Then let me come home. Please?”

“I want to. I just…” you reach out and cup his face tentatively. “I just want to make sure that we’re not doing anything rash.”

His eyes light up. The only thing that matters is that you want him home, too. It takes him everything to let his logical part of the brain take control. “How about this, then?” Luca pauses thoughtfully. “We’ll take a minute. For me to sort out everything at Noma, find a replacement… and for us to figure out if this is really what we wanna do.

“If it starts to feel like a bad idea, maybe we should rethink it. But if it feels good… maybe we can give it another shot.

“And in the meantime, we’ll talk. We’ll FaceTime and… figure out what the hell to say to our lawyers.”

That makes you grimace. You were supposed to have another meeting with your divorce lawyers. Tomorrow is going to be awkward. But awkward beats saying goodbye to the man you’ve always loved, right? It’s a small price to pay.

“What do you say, baby?” He looks at you with all the hope that he has. “Just give me a minute to get everything sorted and then I’ll come home.”

You smile tearfully. “A minute is not enough… how about a month, hm?”

“Yeah, that makes more sense, actually.” He chuckles sheepishly. “A month. I can do that.”

“Good.” You sidle up to him and kiss him where his heart is. You’re willing to settle for having him just for the night, but you can’t wait until he comes home to you for good.

You hope he will.

[mostlymarvelsstuff]

Reader receives Peggys nudes accidentally

Authors note: For Cap Carter specifically (Agent Carter is also hot, but this damn super soldier has me in a choke hold)

Word count: 691

Marvel Masterlist How They React To Masterlist

   Technology is not her strong suit, she'd be the first one to tell you that too. So, it's hardly a surprise that she messed something up regarding her phone and its picture sending abilities. However, it is a surprise that she managed to accomplish sending you not just one, but two full frontal nudes that she had experimentally taken in the mirror after a shower while back. And she'd somehow done so just by shoving her phone in her pocket haphazardly after leaving a meeting. Great.

   She has no idea what to do here, is there a way to unsend a photo? She hasn't a clue. Stark would know, and could probably do it too, but she would rather fist fight an alligator than explain this situation to the smug genius and have him see her pictures

   “Oh, hell…” she mutters as she notices the read symbol showing up below the messages. 

   Knowing that you've now actually seen them, meaning you've seen her in full glory, has her face turning nearly as red as the stripes on her suit. Even though she's sure you're aware this was accidental, she wishes to apologize for her enormous blunder, but currently her hands just won't cooperate. 

   On your end, you really aren't fairing much better. You had been working on finishing up some after mission reports when your phone went off, twice. Now normally you would have ignored it, as you really did need to finish the paperwork for Hill. But from the drop-down notification you could see that it had been Peggy, and since you have a soft spot for the woman, and no it certainly wasn’t because you were crushing on her, you decided to let yourself be distracted

   You come to regret that now though, because you're absolutely certain you were not meant to see those pictures of her. And you feel terrible, because even knowing that, you couldn't stop yourself from looking anyway. You knew the serum had bulked her up, afterall you'd gotten glimpses of some of that due to her workout apparel, but seeing her bare really drove the point home of just how fit she truly was. And the way the water droplets gathered in the recesses of her defined muscles, god was it attractive. But you do your best to shake those thoughts away. Now was not the time to ogle, as she was surely panicking. Now was the time to be casual, if at all possible. 

   She's not sure how long she sat there mentally berating herself for getting you both into this mess before her phone dings. She's all too aware that it was a message coming through and her stomach twists in knots with the anticipation that it's most likely you responding to her photos. She takes a deep breath before picking up the device to read your message

   Jesus Peg, take a girl to dinner first

   Her stomach twists again, but this time for an entirely different reason. You didn’t sound upset that you had gotten them, and you certainly weren’t disgusted by her accidental implication that you’d be into another woman. In fact, though you were trying to be comical about the ordeal, it almost seemed as though you liked them. And the thought alone had her heart pounding in her chest

   Bloody device had a mind of its own, I am truly sorry

   No harm done. Besides, I’d rather get your nudes than anyone else's

   Oh my god, did you really just type that? And hit send?? You slam your head down against your desk with a groan and pray that it goes undelivered, or that somehow her phone spontaneously combusts before she can read it. However, you aren't that lucky.

   Her eyebrows raise at your admission, and she finds herself chewing on her bottom lip in contemplation. Should she take a risk? Surely there'd be no harm in it, if you reacted this well to an unsolicited picture of her naked then your reaction to a date request wouldn’t be anything she couldn’t handle.

Well then, how about we grab that dinner? I can pick you up at 6

[angelic-wh0re]

Out like a light >ᵥ_ᵥ<

Boxer!Eren Yeager x Onyankopon lil sis!black fem reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

Your big brother, Onyankopon, was a well-renowned fighter in the boxing industry, winning belt after belt due to his exceptional skill. You were proud of him, especially considering the hardships you both endured for him to reach this point.

There's a twelve-year age difference between you, with him being 34 and you being 22. Since the moment you were born, Ony has been the one taking care of you because your emotionally unavailable parents felt they didn’t need to. He stole for you, bought you food, and ensured your education by enrolling you in tutoring programs under your parents' name to secure your graduation, admission to a good university, and a high-paying job. Fighting was how he made his money.

When it came to you, Ony didn’t play, so you could only imagine his face when he sees a video of his main opponent basically flirting with you at a coffee shop.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

Today was a very slow day for you. Your lectures were stupidly long and boring, your friends were all busy, AND on top of all that you dropped a cookie you were eating in a puddle when you were walking to class. Now you find yourself working on a assignment for your chemistry class in a coffee shop.

As you were working, you heard a large commotion coming from the entrance of the store. Turning to see what it was, you were blinded by flashing lights emanating from the front windows of the store. Deciding not wanting to have these lights in your eyes, you turned back and continued working.

After about 30 minutes you grew hungry. Cursing yourself out for not getting any food before hand, you made your way to the register. On the way there, you got a notification on your phone causing you to look at it.

Sash 🫡 :

YALL WANNA HANGOUT LATER????

Y/n 💞 :

oh so when I ask if y’all want to hang y’all don’t wanna respond 🙄🙄 (oh and sure>.<)

Con 🤓 :

thats because you be asking us at the most god forsaken hours😒

As you were typing out your response, you bumped into someone. (cliché i know but y’all bare with me 🙏) “Oh I’m sorry..” you say before you see a cake pop fall to the ground. Now you were really sorry. The man in front of you groaned in frustration. “Watch where you’re goin-“ he paused when he turned around. Staring at you as if he was lost for words.

“I’m so sorry. Please let me buy you another one.” You offer. An unexpected low “Damn” fell from the man’s lips leaving both you and him confused. “No it’s fine” he says when he snaps back to reality. “Oh come on! It’s my fault so I’ll buy you a new one! I’m going there right now anyways!” You insisted eager to fix your mistake. The man turns looks at his friends and then looks back at you. “Ok um sure.” A small smile forming on his lips.

"Here," you said, extending the cake pop to him with a sheepish grin. "Sorry again." "You really didn't have to do that," he replied, his gaze shifting to the dessert now in his hand. "No, no! I had to!" you insisted, your smile widening with sincerity. He returned your smile, gratitude in his eyes. "So... do you have a name?" he asked. "Oh, umm it’s (y/n)! What’s yours?" you responded. "Eren. Oh, um, Eren Yeager," he replied shyly.

As you processed his name, a wave of recognition washed over you. You'd definitely heard that name before. That's when it clicked. The paparazzi, the wounds on his face. everything fell into place, and you suddenly realized who he was.

"You're that boxer, right?" you said, unable to contain your excitement as you grinned at him. "Oh, umm, yeah," he replied, rubbing the back of his head nervously. "Do you like boxing?" he asked, trying to shift the focus away from himself. "I mean, my big brother's a boxer," you replied casually, feeling a of pride as you mentioned your brothers job.

"Really? Who is he?" Eren asked, his curiosity piqued. "Onyankopon!" you replied proudly, the name rolling off your tongue effortlessly.The feeling Recognition formed on Eren's face. That's where he'd seen you before—linked to the famous Onyankopon.

Eren and Ony were headlining for this highly anticipated boxing event, were they are facing each other in the ring. Throughout the years of both of their boxing Journeys, there have been very mild beef between the both of them. But nothing to Extreme.

"Hope you don’t mind me beating up your brother," Eren teased, flashing a mischievous grin at you. "Umm, I don’t think you will," you replied, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you bantered back. With a subtle nod, you motioned for him to follow you back to the table where your belongings stood.

Eren obliged, his smile widening as he fell into step beside you. "So, what do you do?" "I'm in university right now. I want to become a dermatologist," you replied. "Oh, really? That's cool," Eren responded.

"Hey, so um," Eren interrupted you, halting your steps. You turned to face him, curious about what he had to say. His smile was infectious, and you found yourself returning it. "I was wondering if you'd want to talk more," he continued. “I would love to but my class is starting in a few minutes and..” you look at the paparazzi still flashing there cameras at him. “You also look busy.” You return your gaze back to him. He looks behind him and sulks. Their still here?

"Then can I get your number?" Eren asked, eager to continue talk to you more. Your smile widened at his request, flattered by his interest. With a playful glint in your eye, you reached out for his phone, causing a flicker of confusion to pass over his face. "For my number," you clarified with a smirk, enjoying teasing him just a little. "Oh, um, yeah," Eren stammered slightly, fumbling in his pockets until he located his phone. Once he retrieved it, he handed it over to you.

"Here ya go, honey," you said teasingly, handing Eren his phone back with a playful smile dancing on your lips. His cheeks flushed slightly at the nickname, caught off guard by the endearment. "Thank you, pretty," he replied, mustering up the courage to flirt back, his attempt at charm accompanied by a sheepish grin. As you prepared to leave, Eren's gaze lingered on you, reluctant to see you go. "Text me when you get home," he requested softly, his sincerity evident in his tone as he watched you pick your stuff up and leave.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ✦ ‧₊˚ ⋅ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔

>ᵥ_ᵥ< : ITS MARCH BREAK YALL IM FREEE !! I might make a part 2 of this😙

[flightlessangelwings]

FawKtober2024 Part 2- Qimir

Qimir (The Stranger) x fem!reader

Kinks- cockwarming, teasing, riding

Word count- 1315

Warmings- s.mut (18+ ONLY!), implied master/student relationship tho ages or status is never mentioned, just a hint of plot, softness, teasing, praise, no physcial description of reader, no use of y/n

Notes- I've been wanting to write a Qimir fic since he appeared and what better time than Kinktober! I decided to go with a more softer version of him too, and this fic was so fun to write! I hope y'all like it as much as I do! Also, The Acolyte deserves more seasons!!!

@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog so please follow that and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!

~

“Concentrate,” Qimir’s soft voice in your ear was a welcome warmth. He hummed in satisfaction as you kept your hands raised in front of you.

Your eyes were closed, leaving only his voice and the feeling of him around you. Your hands were steady as you lifted large, heavy boulders in the air with little effort. You both felt the force surrounding you, like a comforting blanket on a cold day.

But Qimir also had another comfort surrounding him.

While you sat in his lap on the edge of a rock, Qimir’s cock stayed buried deep inside you. He let out a deep, guttural groan as he pushed himself inside you and nestled comfortably. You mewled as you lowered yourself onto his lap, adjusting yourself to his cock before settling in and relaxing in his grasp.

“That’s it,” his calm voice soothed you as he ran his hands up and down your sides.

You let out a soft moan at his praise and subconsciously squeezed your inner muscles around his cock. 

Qimir hissed your name as he felt a jolt run up his spine. 

A smirk lit up your face, but you kept your concentration in front of you. Twirling your fingers, you made the boulders dance in the air, spinning them carefully one at a time in a specific pattern. All the while, you were keenly aware of his cock inside you, and you fought against every urge to rock your hips along his lap.

Again, he growled your name in a low tone; a warning. His hands landed on your hips as he gripped you tightly. “You’re getting better,” you could tell he spoke through gritted teeth as you felt his cock twitch inside of you, “And bolder.”

“Impressed?” you asked with a satisfied grin.

Qimir squeezed your hips tighter as he nibbled your ear, “You feel so good,” he purred, his honeyed admission rolling off his tongue with surprisingly little effort. 

It was your turn to groan as you shifted in his lap. Finally, you opened your eyes as you slowly and carefully set the boulders down on the ground. One by one each rock settled into stillness, and the less energy you exerted, the more you became aware of the feeling of Qimir’s cock inside you.

“Qimir…” you whispered what you knew was his name as you turned towards him.

Feeling your breath on his lips, Qimir hummed. One hand moved from your hip towards your pussy as he slowly rubbed circles on your clit. When your mouth dropped open to let out a gasp, he took your lips with his, devouring you.

You reached your hands back to grasp at his neck as you slowly rocked your hips. His tongue explored every corner of your mouth as if it was his first time tasting you, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. And when you started to move, you felt him groan into you. Smirking into the kiss, you squeezed your inner muscles again, clenching his cock as much as you could.

“Careful,” he warned in a hiss as he gently bit your bottom lip.

“Maybe I know what I’m doing,” you retorted slyly as you rocked your hips again, “Maybe I know what I want.”

Qimir growled as he yanked you against his chest, wrapping his arms around you as much as he could as he devoured your lips once more. He swallowed the moan you let out as you parted your lips for him once more. 

“Ok then, prove it,” Qimir breathed heavily in between kisses, “Ride,” he commanded as he broke away suddenly. 

You were left bewildered for a moment before you registered what he said. Your lips stayed parted as you blinked your eyes open to meet his gaze. His dark eyes peered into you, sending a wave of anticipation down your spine. His eyes narrowed, as if to tell you he wouldn’t repeat himself, and it broke you out of the trance you were in.

Placing your hands on his knees, you lifted your hips enough to feel his cock drag along your inner walls. A gasp escaped your lips as the movement after being still for so long ignited a fire within both of you. And you heard Qimir groan behind you, telling you he felt it too.

Slowly at first, you lowered your hips back down to meet his. You couldn’t hold back the moan as the tip of his cock hit that sweet spot inside you. Goosebumps erupted all over your skin as you repeated the action, slowly purposefully lifting and lowering your hips as you used his knees to steady yourself.

Qimir watched in mesmerized awe as his cock disappeared inside you over and over again. His fingers twitched as the feeling of you almost overwhelmed him. The more turned on you got as you rode him, the wetter your pussy became. And he could hear the evidence.

“Faster,” he spoke in a low tone that went right to your core.

You whimpered as you complied, bouncing on his cock with more speed. You tried to bite your lip to stifle your cires, but it was no use. Every time you landed on his hips and his cock was fully sheathed inside you, you couldn’t stop the moans that came out of your mouth. Your body felt warmer and warmer with every bounce.

“That’s it,” Qimir purred as he let out a groan of his own.

“Feels so good,” you moaned as your head rocked back.

He hummed as he dipped a hand below your waist to play with your clit once more, “Cum for me,” his low tone made you whimper once more, and he loved the effect he had on you. He wouldn’t admit that you had the same effect on him, though.

The squelches of your wet pussy were drowned out by your cries of pleasure as you picked up your pace. And Qimir decided to help you along by thrusting his hips up to meet yours, which only made you scream louder.

“Cum,” he growled with new found determination.

You landed on his hips hard as you completely fell apart. His cock hit your sweet spot at just the right angle, making you tremble in his arms as you screamed loudly. You fell back into his chest, your limbs unable to hold yourself up anymore as you came on his cock. 

“That’s it,” he murmured as he savored the feeling of your orgasm against his body. He rubbed at your clit as you bucked your hips uncontrolidly in his lap.

“Fuck!” you screamed as you clutched at his legs, desperate for something to hold on to you as you felt him try to extend your climax as long as he could. Tears formed in your eyes as you saw stars the moment you closed them as wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you.

Qimir growled your name as he bucked his hips a few times, rutting his cock into you again and again as he started to chase his own orgasm. With a curse of his own under his lips, he quickly found what he craved as he spilled himself into you just as the aftershocks of your own orgasm pulsed through your body. He groaned in your ear as he buried his cock as deep as he could once more as he came in you, holding you tightly as he did so.

He held you close as you remained limp in his arms, in his lap. Heavy breaths were the only sound either of you made for several minutes. Neither of you moved, though, as you both savored the connection you shared. The setting suns illuminated your silhouettes as you sat together in comfortable stillness once more. 

It was Qimir who finally broke the silence, “Well done,” he smirked, making you grin as well.

[luminoustarlight]

— ANAKIN SKYWALKER MASTERLIST

©️ luminoustarlight // i do not give permission for my work to be translated or posted on any other platforms.

-ˏˋplease reblog writing to support writers and their hard workˎˊ- 

i do not have a tag list. if you’d like to stay up to date with my writing, please follow @luminous-library and turn on post notifications!

organized from newest to oldest // last updated nov 29, 2023

— Sweet Everythings | fluff, 1k

Admissions, cuddles, and kisses.

— As Fate Would Have It (chapter one)* | smut, 3.7k

Anakin Skywalker gets a new assistant, who also happens to be his favorite OnlyFans performer. *see series masterlist for more parts!

— Love Bites, Love Bleeds | smutty themes, >1k

vampire!anakin thoughts

— Saccharine | smut, 5.3k

What do you get when you mix a college Halloween party with beer and a pretty girl wearing a pirate costume?

A jealous Anakin Skywalker.

— Practice | smut, 2.4k

Playing with Anakin’s hair leads to you practicing your dominant side.

— Passionfruit | smut, 2.1k

Ingesting a foreign fruit leaves you and Anakin feeling strange.

— Your Eyes Only | smut, >1k

You leave Anakin a special recording on his tablet.

— State of Grace | fluff/comfort, 1.3k

Anakin finds comfort in you when he can't sleep.

— Had It Up To Here | smut, 4.6k

After argument, Anakin's patience for you has grown thin.

— So It Goes... | smut, coming soon

As a worker at a sex club on Coruscant, you've seen your fair share of characters. However you never imagined a Jedi Knight would be waiting for you in a private room. Anakin's indulgence at the club leads to some complicated feelings for the both of you.

— Good Things Come to Those Who Wait | smut, coming soon

Anakin teaches you a lesson in delayed gratification.

— Devils Roll The Dice | smut, coming soon

“Whatever number I roll, that’s how many times I’m going to make you cum.”

multi-part

— As Fate Would Have It | modern!au, dilf!anakin x onlyfans!/assistant!reader

— Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince | modern!au, high school!au

drabbles/blurbs

dad!anakin x dancer teacher!reader

dilf!anakin’s new assistant is his favorite onlyfans performer - now a series under the title "as fate would have it"!

anakin when he's sick

sin saturday drabbles

◂ main masterlist ▸ other hayden characters

requests are open!

[frenchkisstheabyss]

♡ peanut butter & tears ♡

♡ Pairing: idol!boyfriend!minho! x fem!reader

♡ Summary: A week after Minho goes public with your relationship, a ghost from your past posts a stream of tweets on social media revealing your darkest secrets to millions and, more importantly, your boyfriend.

♡ Genre: angst/fluff

♡ Word Count: 1.1k-ish

♡ Warnings: mention of sex, brief discussion of scars/stretchmarks/self harm/people being assholes on the internet (none of it's graphic but still important to warn you of, my loves)

♡ A/N: I love and appreciate @aprilskillstory not only for submitting this but for being super patient while I wrote it and for trusting me to write it at all. I named this after a DPR Ian song btw. If you haven't heard it, it's magical.

This is a nightmare...

Actually, it’s much worse than that. Nightmares you wake up from. This is real life. No alarm clock will ring to snap you out of it. This is happening. Sinking further down into the lukewarm water of your bubble bath, you look on helplessly as your phone lights up with notifications. Every few seconds the number in the top right corner of a half dozen apps doubles, triples in some cases. 

Minho’s decision to go public with your relationship had initially gone much nicer than you anticipated. A week had passed with minimal backlash and what you did receive had begun to die down before the stream of tweets that have you preferring to prune than to crawl out of this tub and face him.

There's no telling who would have posted them. Tweet after tweet detailing things that you’ve wanted with everything in you to open up to Minho about. You’ve tried a million times and a million times your admissions have gotten caught in your throat, jagged and barbed, refusing to budge.

But someone dragged them out and your soul along with them, putting your secrets on display for a merciless crowd set on tearing you away from their beloved Minho. 

“Trauma like that can’t make her a stable girlfriend.”

“Self harm scars? No wonder she’s always covered up in pics…” 

“Our Lino deserves better.”

“She’s dated girls too? Do you think he knew?”

“If Minho knew he wouldn’t be with her.” 

You scroll through reply after reply until your screen’s too wet for your touch to register. You’re startled by the sound of Minho shouting, his voice muffled through the thick walls of your apartment but his rage is unmistakable. Placing your phone on the chair by the bathtub, you hop out before courage abandons you.

“It’s gonna be okay” you repeat to yourself, wrapping a towel around you to form a lilac safety blanket, “Everything’s gonna be okay. Just breathe.” Footsteps descend down the hall and you breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Slow breaths full of intent like the pink haired girl in the yoga pants on Youtube instructed you to do.

“You’re the only big brother I have. Just, please, don’t let them come here” Minho begs, standing in the doorway with his phone to his ear, “I’ll come after. I promise. Thank you.” He hangs up, turning to you, his gaze transforming you into stone like one of the foolish men who dared to lay eyes on Medusa. The rise and fall of your chest ceases almost to the point of lifelessness.

“Minho, I can explain…” He folds an arm across his chest, nervously tapping his phone against his temple, “That you hid things from me?” “I didn’t hide anything. At least, not on purpose. I didn't mean to do it.” “Then what did you mean to do? Hmm? You know what I do for work. What were you thinking?” “Fuck, I don’t know” you weep, sitting on the edge of the tub.

You tilt your head back, hoping to send the tears rolling back to where they came from but it’s no use. They only pool in your eyes, clouding your vision so that the only thing you see as Minho approaches is the distorted silhouette of his figure. “I wanted to tell you, I did, but I was afraid it’d be too much at once. That you’d hate me like other guys in the past have.”

You’re rambling, breathing heavily, blindly reaching for tissues. Minho leans your head forward, resting your left cheek on his stomach while he strokes the other side of your face, soothing your anxiousness.  “Hate you? Hate…you?” he asks, more offended by your statement than you expect, “I need you to look at me.” Sniffling, you turn to look up at him and he’s…smiling?

“I love you. Nothing could ever make me hate you. I just wish you’d come to me so I could've protected you. If I had known…” “Wait, you’re not mad?” “At what?” “That I’ve, you know, dated women before.” Minho shrugs, “Jisung’s basically my last resort if we break up so, uh, no.” “But my scars and my stretch marks…” Kissing you on the forehead, he backs away and begins to take his shirt off.

“When you asked me to have sex with the lights out did I ever argue?” For the first time since you met, it sets in that he had, in fact, never questioned why you never wanted the lights on. Come to think of it, you usually didn’t need to ask for them to be off. They already were. Minho tosses his shirt to the ground, running his fingers along the scar that marks his abdomen, “I was afraid you wouldn’t like mine either.”

“Wouldn’t like it?” you scoff, unable to fathom how you’d ever find him anything short of beautiful, “It’s a part of you. I love anything that’s a part of you.” Minho sits down beside you, delighting in seeing you even partially uncovered for the first time, “The feeling’s mutual.” The sound of a vibrating phone grabs your attention. You glance over at the chair. It’s not yours.

Minho digs his phone out of his pocket, groaning as he scrolls through text messages. “Shit, I have to go do damage control” he huffs, jumping up to toss his shirt back on, “But when I come back we have to talk. I have questions about the scars if you’re comfortable? Just to make sure you’re okay.” “Uh, yeah, sure that’s okay. I’ll make us some food for when you get back and you can ask me whatever.” 

His phone vibrates again, this time it’s a call. “What?” he whines, “I’m on my way. No, I really am. I’m in the car right now. Oh no, you’re breaking up. Oh…” Minho’s phone hits the bath water with a splash, sending bubbles cascading down the walls. “Oops,” he gasps, knowing very well it wasn’t an accident.

Minho gives you a dozen more kisses on your lips, on your forehead, on your cheeks, before he’s dashing around the apartment searching for his keys. “And stay off of social media unless you plan to make a list of everyone who says something bad so I can fight them! Love you!” he shouts on the way out the front door. “Love you too!” you shout back before it closes.

Left alone in the silence of the aftermath, you nibble at your bottom lip, nervous at having finally found someone this accepting but beyond happy that he exists. That he’s yours. A phone vibrates again. Your phone. Picking it up you see that it’s a call from someone you haven’t spoken to in a while. No doubt with questions about what’s been going on. You stare at it for a moment, contemplating answering but then...

“Oops” you gasp, letting your phone slip into a watery grave beside Minho’s, “Tragic.”

[perotovar]

rebirth — a pride month oneshot

pairing: genderfluid!javi gutierrez/ofc/reader (written in 3rd pov) rating: T word count: 2k content: javi uses hey/they pronouns, coming out, discussions of gender identity, mentions of misgendering and worries about being cast out/attacked for one's identity (doesn't actually happen), reader is only referred to as "she", google translate spanish, spanish pet names (used by both javi and reader), if i missed anything lmk! dividers: by @saradika-graphics beta: @qveerthe0ry and @scenaaario ily both ♥

summary: javi has been wanting to let his partner know something for a long time. in fact, this is something that javi has thought about for their entire life, and they're comfortable enough to finally say it.

a/n: written as a part of @romanarose 's pride event for week 1: coming out! i wanted to try something a little different and i hope you'll give it a try ♥

for any future fics, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

They were both in the living room, the credits for their weekly movie rolling in front of them. Javi had been wanting to tell her this for a while now. If they didn’t get it out now, he was sure he never would.

“I believe I am… trans,” Javi said into the quiet room, gaze fixed to the floor.

She blinked, shifting her attention from Instagram and letting his admission settle over her. Javi curled in on himself, still unable to meet her gaze. She locked her phone and set it down on the coffee table, giving Javi her complete attention.

“Oh?” She asked quietly.

Javi closed his eyes briefly and nodded, hands balled into fists against his knees. “Y-yes, I,” he gulped. “Um. I feel… Inside. I feel it inside.”

She had no personal experience in any of this before, but Javi was coming to her in confidence. Javi trusted her with this side of… them? Him? Her? She really wasn’t sure which applied to Javi at this point.

She nodded, considering. “H-have you, um,” she gulped. “What brought you to that… conclusion? I’m sorry, osito, I’m… I’m new to,” she gestured vaguely, but stopped in case that came off as dismissive. “I’m not sure what I should say.”

Javi finally turned to her, huffing out a laugh and wiping his eyes. They grabbed their love’s hand and held it gently in their own.

“I am sorry,” he said softly. “I just sort of… sprung this on you, but. It has been on my mind a lot lately.”

She nodded, urging Javi to continue.

“I did not have the language that is available now, as I was growing up. I’m not sure if I’m… I do not believe I am a woman, but,” Javi paused, looking down at their clasped hands.. She squeezed their hand reassuringly, and Javi squeezed back. “Masculinity is… fragile.”

She snorted at that, making Javi laugh a little as well.

“Well, it is, but you know what I’m saying,” Javi giggled. 

“I do.”

“I have always felt disconnected with masculinity. There were so many things men were supposed to do, to be,” Javi sighed. “I never felt like I– Like I was one of those people.”

“Should I–” she started, but fell quiet. “Sorry, I don’t want to interrupt you, osito,” she said softly, rubbing her thumb across his cheek. Javi leaned into the touch, and gave a small shake of his head.

“Por favor, pregunta.”

“How should… Is there a name more fitting for you now? Or new… pronouns?”

Javi bit their lip, thinking about it. “I like my name,” they said easily. “And… I think I like ‘they’?” Javi shrugged. “It is still new for me as well.”

She giggled softly and leaned closer to press her forehead to theirs “That’s okay. We can… We’re in this together, mi osito.”

Javi’s cheeks flushed. They nodded, steeling themself for their next announcement. “I, um. I was wondering if you could… help me?”

She leaned back to look at him, eyes questioning. “Of course, amor. Whatever you need.”

“Um, I purchased some… clothes and makeup and I was wondering if you could help me put some outfits together?” He rushed out shyly.

She beamed, excited at the idea of helping her love explore something they’d always wanted to.

“It’s just–” Javi gulped. “You always look so put together and pretty and–” “Javi,” she chuckled, taking his face in both hands. “I’d love to help you.”

The smile on Javi’s face could rival the sun.

Javi Gutierrez, he/they, discovered the word “genderfluid” a few months later. He liked that word, but it made everything all the more real. He knew that things were changing, but his mind was filled with brand new anxieties. He worried about being disrespected in meetings with studio executives, being misgendered, blacklisted, or even worse, a target.

For now, at least, he kept his identity private. Only his love, and immediate team were aware. To others, Javi was just a little adventurous when it came to fashion.

Ever since coming out to their partner, they’d gotten really good at applying their own eyeliner and lipstick, always a pretty neutral color that complimented his skin tone beautifully. Having lived in Mallorca most of his life, his wardrobe was already full of color, and he never shied away from the more “feminine” colors. Who knew wearing a pink suit would cause such a stir?

Some days they felt more masculine, and other days he felt more feminine. When they felt somewhere in the middle, they got to play around with some androgyny. The freedom to just… be was such a weight lifted off his shoulders. There were no restrictions to what they could do anymore. No pressures to act or look or be a certain way.

Javi was just… Javi.

And right now, Javi was nervous, but excited. 

“Mi amor, look! What do you think? Do you think it is too much for the luncheon?” Javi asked brightly, twirling a little in their shared closet.

She gave him a once over and felt her heart flutter at just how happy Javi looked. She’d always had her suspicions about Javi, especially the longer they’d been together. Javi always carried themself a little… differently than most men. She understood now that it was because Javi wasn’t like most men. Or even a man at all. Well, not really, anyway.

“I love the color... but it may be a little too short,” Javi pouted, nervously tugging at the hem of the skirt.

“Oh, it’s perfect, mi osito,” she grinned, stepping closer to them. “However,” she started, biting her lip as she gave him another look. Javi’s eyes widened and their cheeks flushed. “I think you should wear your knee high socks with it. Balance it out a little.”

“Are you sure?” Javi blinked owlishly. They looked into the full length mirror turning first to the left, then right, assessing the outfit. He had chosen a matching set in a soft lavender, the delicate shade perfect against his golden skin. The tennis skirt made his ass look fantastic, and the polo shirt hugged his biceps perfectly, showing off his broad shoulders. The strip of skin that peeked out between the two pieces was an added bonus. “I haven’t worn anything this… obvious to this sort of meeting before.”

“What do you want to do, honey? I think you’ll look beautiful whatever you decide to wear,” she smiled, coming up behind them to wrap her arms around their waist. She kissed their shoulder comfortingly, nuzzling into the soft fabric.

Javi bit his lip as he turned in the mirror again. “I love the skirt. I love how it feels, but… Perhaps it is too casual? No quiero ser poco profesional.”

She hummed in understanding. “Maybe the earrings? The new ones,” she offered instead.

The tiny silver hoops with small crystals in the colors of the genderfluid flag were more delicate than Javi usually wore. The gender euphoria he would feel during the luncheon far outweighed the subtlety of the jewelry.

“Good idea,” Javi smiled, turning in her arms to cup her face and kiss her tenderly. She hummed happily into it, keeping her hands on their hips. As he pulled away, Javi’s eyes softened at her blissful expression. “I am not sure what I did to deserve you, but… I’m not complaining,” he chuckled softly.

Her heart thudded in her chest. She felt the exact same way. It would take a little time for her to get used to all the complexities and nuances of Javi’s gender, but she was willing to put in the work. She loved him, loved them for exactly the person Javi was.

“Perhaps I should not question it too much, hm?” Javi winked, then pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

“Probably for the best,” she winked back. “Now, go get dressed so I can take you out later, ok?”

Javi smiled brightly and nodded, parting from her to get changed.

“I am nervous, mi amor,” Javi whispered, clutching her hand tightly in his own. 

“You’ll be just fine. And you’ve got me here with you,” she grinned, and gave him a light peck on the cheek. “Don’t want to mess up your makeup,” she said, rubbing an invisible smudge off his highlighted cheekbone and winking.

Javi exhaled a heavy breath, eyes fluttering shut as he centered himself. “Alright. Press record, por favor.”

“Hola mis amigos,” they said shakily. "I have… I have something I’ve been meaning to share with all of you.” As nervous as Javi was, there was an undeniable determination in their eyes.

To say Javi’s coming out video went viral would be an understatement. Javi Gutierrez, screenplay writer and part-time producer, famed for working with the likes of Nicolas Cage, was coming out as genderfluid. It was on every news article and Twitter account for weeks.

Javi expected there to be mixed reactions, but the only opinions that they really cared about were from the people they’d be working with directly. His team had known for a long time, and they’d been out to themself for two years. They were sufficiently comfortable in this identity, and if he lost out on certain jobs, they weren’t worth having in the first place.

He did a few interviews after his initial coming out video, but made it clear that they didn’t want this to be something he had to talk about in every interview going forward. Yes, he was genderfluid, but it wasn’t the only thing.

Thankfully, lots of Javi’s celebrity friends were on his side. Every new set he worked on, he heard encouraging words from the cast and crew. A co-star who’s brand hinged on being very feminine, said Javi’s video unlocked a lot of feelings they had been trying to repress. One of the lighting guys, a man who could have passed for a member of the Hell’s Angels, quietly asked him for makeup recommendations while blocking a close-up shot. He worried about the people who wouldn’t be supportive, until he realized he had so many people in his corner that the bigots didn’t matter. 

And above all else, he had her. She accepted them for who they were and even if she had questions or didn’t understand something, she made it a point to ask or do her own research. 

Javi had never felt so seen. So respected.

And here, laying in her arms, head resting on her chest, they felt protected and loved.

“Your hair is getting long, mi osito,” she hummed quietly, twirling an errant curl around her finger.

“Sí, quería ver cómo quedaría,” Javi muttered, lifting their head and resting their chin on her stomach. He made eye contact with her, getting lost in the color of her eyes. “I have always wanted to know how I looked with long hair.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll be gorgeous, mi amor. These curls of yours,” she sighed wistfully. 

Javi swayed their head from side to side, those curls bouncing and dancing along the tops of his shoulders. “You have said how much you love them,” Javi giggled.

“Well, it’s the truth. Maybe we can get some things to put in it once it’s even longer,” she offered, smiling softly.

Javi’s eyes grew wide and he sat up, on the bed, legs tucked under his backside. They were wearing a pale blue silk nightie that hugged their thighs and accentuated their shoulders beautifully. She couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I would love that!” Javi exclaimed excitedly.

“Then it shall be so,” she grinned, playing with the bottom hem of the nightie they were wearing. She gazed up at him through her lashes, taking in the sharp angle of his cupid’s bow and full bottom lip. “When do you need to wake up, mi amor?”

Javi’s breath hitched as her fingers crept underneath the silk and across his thighs, and his gaze dropped to the smooth column of her neck. Their eyes met as he crawled over her to straddle her lap. 

“Not early,” he hummed, “Did you have plans for this evening?” They asked mischievously, leaning in to tease open mouthed kisses across her collarbone.

“Maybe,” she sighed, reaching around to squeeze his ass, bare under the nightie.

“Good,” Javi smiled, leaning down to kiss her deeply, hungrily. She moaned into their mouth, relaxing as they found a comfortable rhythm.

And that’s just how it was for them. They were in sync. Javi had a feeling they always would be.

a/n: if you're curious to know what sort of nightie javi is wearing, this is what i was picturing ♥

[ivccseap]

APRS & APRJC సెట్

ఆంధ్రప్రదేశ్ గురుకుల విద్యాలయాల సంస్థ (APREIS), గుంటూరు APRS CAT మరియు APRJC & DC CET – 2023 ఆంధ్రప్రదేశ్ గురుకుల విద్యాలయాల సంస్థచే నిర్వహించబడుచున్న గురుకుల పాఠశాలలు, జూనియర్ కళాశాలలు మరియు డిగ్రీ కళాశాలలలో 2023-24 విద్యా సంవత్సరానికి ఈ క్రింది తరగతులలో ప్రవేశానికై ఆసక్తిగల అభ్యర్థులు దరఖాస్తులను తేది 04-04-2023 నుండి 24-04-2023 వరకు https://aprs.apcfss.in వెబ్సైట్ ద్వారా ఆన్లైన్లో…

[honeykyeom]

white noise / track 2: smoke

pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader

series summary: seokmin had always been there for you. after a rough heartbreak, you find out he’s there for you in more ways than just one.

series notes: uni!au, best friends to lovers, friends with benefits, 97 line antics, 18+

chapter warnings: alcohol & food mention, mcu mention (lmao), the gang actually goes to class?? (not really but), seokmin kinda being dumb, mingyu being pouty (what's new), the full gang!! FINALLY!!!!!, mostly slight angst (not sorry)

wc: ~5k

a/n: after much anticipation, the second track (even though i'm nowhere near done with the third LMAO)! thank you so much for all the renewed interest and love on the first track, i really really REALLY appreciate it. seriously it means the world!

read track 1 here!

Walking out of your shared English Literature class with Jinsoul, you grab your phone from your back pocket, the light from the homescreen illuminating your face even in the cloudy daylight. The weather matches your mind: murky and foggy, obscuring your clarity. As you focus on the LED screen, zoning out Jinsoul’s voice and looking through the endless notifications you received while in class, there was one that was still noticeably absent. 

No messages from Seokmin.

It’s been about a week since the party, since that fateful night, with no word from Seokmin. You were left alone the next morning, waking up next to an empty space and cold sheets. You sat up in your bed, your mind running a thousand miles a minute with the finish line nowhere in sight. You felt lost on the track, stuck on where you two go from here and no chance to speak with him about it. 

Did he regret that night? Was it a mistake to cross that line?

“Hey!”

You felt a sudden pain on your arm, breaking your attention from your thoughts. You look over at Jinsoul, rubbing the sore spot that she playfully hit. “What?” 

“Are you even listening to me?”

“...Yeah, of course.”

Jinsoul rolls her eyes, your dazed expression making it apparent that you weren’t listening to her rant about your class. “Okay, you’ve been out of it all week. What’s up with you?” She asks you, an earnest shine in her eyes, treading lightly on the topic.

You falter in your steps, unsure of how to answer her question. You wanted to tell her, air out your frustrations, explain the current predicament you were in and finally get the heavy burden that was weighing you down off your shoulders. Something in your brain stops you from doing that, however, leaving you to twiddle your fingers and your thoughts taking refuge in the back of your mind. 

You settle with, “Nothing. Everything’s fine,” in a meek voice, avoiding Jinsoul’s worrying stare.

She can tell that you’re lying, your entire frame sinking into itself; it’s not hard to see your demeanor changing, but she keeps her mouth shut, not wanting to overstep her boundaries. Even if she wanted to say anything, her own thoughts are interrupted with your smile and wave to Haseul and Yves, who are both meeting you halfway in the courtyard.

Haseul is the first to greet you back, running up to hug you immediately. Yves saunters, a smirk on her face as she sits at the table that’s situated in the middle of your group. You move your attention to her, continuing to hold Haseul in a tight hug with an eager smile. “So… how was your date with ViVi?”

Jinsoul is even quick to change the subject, her excitement for her friend showing in her bubbly appearance. “Oh my god, yes! Tell us, please!”

“It was good… We just walked along the river and went to a coffee shop that wasn’t too far. Wasn’t like an extravagant date or anything.”

“ViVi asked to see her again,” Haseul adds, ever the overbearing mother, embarrassing Yves with her admission. Squeals contribute to her embarrassment as you and Jinsoul berate her with questions and requests for more details and Yves is unable to hide her excitement, her own screams joining the group. You’re sure to be annoying the sleep-deprived students around you in the courtyard, but nothing can dull the joy in your circle.

“What are we screaming about?”

Your chatter is interrupted by the entrance of Minghao and Mingyu, sliding in beside Yves. You notice quickly that there’s a missing body from the usual trio, only adding to your anxieties of the day. Why is Seokmin avoiding me, you think as the two men join the group.

“We’re screaming about Yves’ date with ViVi,” Jinsoul responds, a laugh coming out of her lips as she excitedly recounts the conversation. Mingyu wraps his arms around Yves when he hears the news, joining in on the celebration and Minghao has a smile of endearment gracing his face, a clear sign of love that’s bursting through the seams.

“It was just one date,” Yves mumbles through Mingyu’s tight grasp, still grinning from ear to ear. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

Minghao interjects in the conversation, “So! You’ve been talking forever. It’s about time you two did something about it.” He brings his water bottle, which was encased in a decent amount of glistening water droplets, up to his lips and clears his throat once he swallows the liquid before he continues his sentiment. “We’ve seen how you’ve been around her. She makes you happy and that’s all that matters and we’re excited for you.”

A rare demure expression is seen on Yves’ face. A tight-lipped, shy and curved smile flashes as she responds quietly, “Yeah… It’s exciting.” Her body relaxes as waves of approval from the group assures her. She never needed your approval, nor does she ever ask for it, but you’ve seen her heart go through men and women, her confidence gliding through the acute pain she never spoke about. 

“Get more excited! It’s about time one of us got cuffed,” Mingyu comments, loosening his grip on Yves, but still keeping an arm around her shoulders and keeping her warm against his body. 

“Yeah, why isn’t it you, Gyu? Being a hopeless romantic and all that,” you retort, falling back into your playful banter with him to hopefully ease your own anxieties. 

“Why are you asking? Trying to cuff me?”

You scoff at his cocky expression, “You wish.” He returns your statement with a cheeky wink, playing up the faux attraction. The back and forth with Mingyu doesn’t make the thought in the forefront of your mind go away as much as you hoped. “Where’s Seokmin? Isn’t he in the same class with you guys?”

Minghao is the one to respond, “He said he had to leave for something. Not sure for what.. He’ll be at movie night, though.”

Okay, he’s definitely avoiding me, you think. He’s never been this MIA before, usually taking any opportunity to casually talk to the group but more importantly, you. 

The hole you were feeling in your life is greater than any heartbreak you’ve ever felt. No breakup, no fallout, nothing hurt like the slow disintegration of the friendship between you and your best friend, all because of a stupid decision. 

“Y/N?”

You look up to see everyone around the table looking at you expectantly. 

“I’m sorry. What was the question?”

“Do you need help with setting up for movie night tonight?” Haseul asks. “Minghao and I get out of class early so we can head over after?”

You bring your mouth up in a lipless smile, trying to muster all the happiness you can fake as you respond, “Yeah. Sounds great.”

At least you’ll see Seokmin tonight and maybe then you’ll get some answers.

“Have you guys noticed anything weird with Seokmin lately?”

Minghao stops setting up the blankets on your couch to catch your gaze, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His expression matches Haseul’s, a slight frown forming when they meet eyes, trying to think about your mutual friend. Their heads come up empty, Minghao returning to look at you as he responds to your inquiry, “Nope. Everything seems normal to me?”

“Yeah, I haven’t noticed anything with him,” Haseul agrees. Her melodic work at making room in the fridge for incoming abundance of drinks fills the otherwise quiet room, the only other noise being the soft r&b coming from the television. She stands up from her kneeled position, slowly joining you at the kitchen island. “Why do you ask?”

Your body tenses, biting your bottom lip as your hands play with the plastic of the popcorn bags you’re prepping. The crinkling sounds fill your mind, playing with the static of your thoughts. You’re certain the pause is suspicious. Minghao and Haseul were naturally attuned to people’s emotions and you were no exception, no matter how hard you tried to hide them. You bring your focus away from the comfort of the plastic wrappers back to Haseul, attempting to steady your mind. “I just feel like he’s been avoiding me since the party. Like, outside of the groupchat.”

“That’s weird. Why?”

“I don’t know.” Lie.

“Did something happen during or after the party?”

“Not that I know of.” Another lie. 

Haseul’s hands rest on her hips, eyes downcast as she thinks over your responses. “Huh.” Her tongue comes out of her mouth, pointed out in thought and she looks over at Minghao, who has now joined the two of you at the kitchen island. “Minghao, did he say anything when he got back home?’

“Not at all. He made it back to our apartment before us and when we got back, he was already asleep.”

You were brought back to that night, after everything was said and done. 

You and Seokmin were quiet, his arm around you like a protective blanket, holding you against his chest. You couldn’t lie–his touch was comforting and while unfamiliar, not unwelcome. You two weren’t strangers to cuddling or being close, the behavior at the party making that evident, but this felt different. Maybe it was the obvious fact that you two crossed a line, a line that had been drawn in the sand for the both of you for the past two years–now, the small granules lifted in the air and swept away with the wind, blurring that already thin line.

Despite his own heart's pleas, Seokmin was the first to speak, his own voice small and faint. “I think I should go…  before the guys’ get suspicious.” His actions fail his words, not loosening his grasp. He wasn’t ready to go, not ready to leave your presence, but he’d rather rip the bandaid off now than later before he has to go back to reality–the reality that you two were just best friends and nothing more.

“Do you think they’d be suspicious? I mean you’ve stayed over before?”

He winces at your question, the hopeful lilt in your tone making his decision that much more difficult. He has to do this, he thinks. It’s for his own good. 

“I think it would be better if I go.”

Suddenly, there’s a knock at your door, breaking your memories and bringing you back to Haseul and Minghao, both of them still discussing the behavior of Seokmin. Their conversation stops when they hear the chatter of your friends behind the door. 

You leave the kitchen to open your front door, revealing the rest of your friend group, ready to join in on the festivities. Jinsoul is the first to enter, a bright smile gracing her face as she exclaims that she brought more snacks for the night, leaving the group with plenty of food to satisfy themselves. Yves and Mingyu are quick to follow behind her, carrying cases and paper bags. The clinking of glass and aluminum make it apparent that they did not disappoint with their task of grabbing drinks for the night. They greet you with loud howling, the excitement of the night and finally being able to unwind after a week of exams and assignments getting to them. 

You lock eyes with the lone straggler, the last person in the line of people joining you in your apartment. He keeps his cardigan close to him as he looks at you, a tight-lipped smile emphasizing the small dimple underneath his lips. You drink him in as you realize this is the first time you two have seen each other since that night. 

You almost forgot how attractive he was, the week apart making his features more prominent in your mind. 

“Hey,” you’re the first to crack the ice barrier between you two, hoping for it to thaw enough to make the night less awkward.

“Hey.”

You could cut the tension with a knife with how well this conversation was going. The air suddenly felt thick, so thick and dry that it sucked the moisture right out of you, causing you to swallow any saliva you could muster. 

Alright, you think. Here goes nothing.

“So, um… about that night-”

“Are you guys going to watch the movie from over there? Hurry up!”

Damn it, Yves.

Seokmin clears his throat and quickly moves past you in the door frame, joining everyone else in the kitchen to situate himself for the movie night. You watch him leave, turning around as your front door slams behind you. He grabs a plastic cup, opting for water for the night, much to Mingyu’s chagrin.

This is going to be much harder than you thought.

You didn’t think it was possible to care any less about the fight scene in front of you, but here you are. You thought that picking one of your comfort films, or one where you turn your brain off and ignore all the plotholes, would help with your uneasiness but the absence of a familiar warmth next to you makes your brain aware of how apparent the flaws of the MCU have always been. 

Mingyu’s big body acts like a heated blanket and the plush cushions of your sectional are comfortable enough for you to fall asleep if you wanted to. He happily took the opportunity to get close to you, saddling up to your side and enjoying Captain America trying to save his dear friend, Bucky Barnes and you wish you could do the same. It’s not that Mingyu’s cuddling wasn’t welcomed.

It just wasn’t Seokmin. 

You and him had always sat together during movie night, acting like two peas in a pod, attached at the hip. But now here he sits, on the opposite side of your couch fumbling his fingers with your fuzzy, lilac blanket. It’s hard to keep your attention away, trying to focus on your steady breathing as opposed to his movements. 

Soon as the movie dies down, Steve and Natasha breathing heavily on the doorstep of Sam Wilson, Seokmin stands up and wipes his hands on his jeans. Clearing his throat, he addresses the group, “I’m going to go to the bathroom.”

Although everyone moves their focus from the television, Jinsoul, who lifts her head from your shoulder, is the one to speak. “Do you need us to pause the movie?”

“Nah, you guys are good. It’ll be quick.”

Seokmin disappears into your bedroom, the door to your adjacent bathroom clicking shut. Everyone’s attention returns to the movie and you wish yours could do the same, but it was never there in the first place. You bounce your leg as the time passes, the scenes in front of you blending into one another. It’s not long before your mind settles on a decision, hoping for an end to this madness and before you can change it, you’re breaking away from Mingyu’s grasp and following Seokmin’s footsteps.

“Don’t wait up, I need to use the bathroom too.” You don’t even look back to see the group’s reaction or wait to hear their response before you’re entering your bedroom. 

Looking at the bathroom door, the harsh yellow glow of light seeping through the floor haunts you. The toilet flushes, the sound filling your own brain with water and your head gets fuzzy, almost like you’re underwater. The waves begin to climb, threatening to suffocate you.

It’s now or never.

“What the fuck?”

You slam the bathroom door behind you and you’re met on the other side with a shocked Seokmin. His hands were dripping with water, soap bubbles following the path of his veins that run down his skin. He looks at you incredulously, completely taken aback by your presence in the space that he’s taken refuge in from the increasing anxiety of your current situation. 

He knew it was only a temporary relief, but it was a moment to breathe–a moment away from you. He expected to have just a few minutes to collect his thoughts, regulate his breathing and try not to think about you being in his vicinity. What he didn’t expect was for you to break into that solace, infecting every piece of his mind.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Why are you avoiding me?” you ignore his question, rendering him speechless and babbling, trying to collect his thoughts. 

He walks over to your hand towel, the blues of the fabric bleeding dark from the water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh ok! So, leaving me on read all week, walking away anytime I enter a room with you and saying 3 words to me face to face isn’t avoiding me?” Seokmin takes a deep breath, leaning against the faux marble counter. His eyes stay downcast, evading your accusing stare and he keeps silent. “You’ve been weird ever since last weekend… You promised nothing would change after everything.”

Walking Seokmin to your door, you keep his hand intertwined with yours. You can’t help but notice the change in atmosphere–the glow of your kitchen lights shine a more golden hue, the air around you has a different stillness and even the feeling of his skin on yours clashes with the usual relationship. It’s all subtle, but it’s enough to notice.

You stop in your tracks, Seokmin moving forward until you pull him back, not letting go of his hands. Biting your lip, you look up at him as he gets closer, eyebrows furrowing with confusion as to why you stopped.

“What’s up?”

After a beat of silence, you respond but your apprehensiveness remains, “Nothing’s going to change between us because of this… right?”

Seokmin’s eyes shine with sincerity and his mouth is slightly left agape as he ponders on his response. He’s never been one to be certain of the future, choosing to live in the moment and take each moment day by day–all with a positive attitude. Once he collects his thoughts, there’s  a finality to his tone, as if he’s never been more sure of anything.

He releases your hand, only to present his pinky finger. You chuckle at the silly ritual you two have, but at least you know he’s serious. 

“Nothing is going to change between us. Pinky promise.”

Seokmin can only stare at his reflection in the mirror, dirty water stains peering back at him. “I wanted everything to be normal,” he states, simply. 

“Well, why wasn’t it?”

“Because I liked it, maybe.” He breaks his gaze from the mirror and finally looks at you. The fine lines in his face are more apparent this close, like the stress from the past week had caught up to him. “I liked it. And I didn’t know how to tell you that or maybe, I didn’t want to admit it since it was just a drunk hookup.” Seokmin lets out a shaky breath, unsure how to continue, if he even should. The heaviness that has been weighing him down all week was lifted, his chest heaving from the truth that’s been released. 

You approach Seokmin apprehensively, closing the distance between you two. It isn’t until your hands are touching on the counter do you respond to him, ending the silence. “I liked it too,” you confess.

“Would it be bad to admit that I wouldn’t mind doing it again,” Seokmin’s voice is soft, afraid to break the glass of the situation. He keeps his eyes focused on your hands, not willing to meet your face again. The air around you two has shifted, a fluid current flowing between your hands. 

“Who says that we can’t do it again?”

He chuckles, shaking his head before he says, “The thing is I don’t want to stop.”

“Maybe I don’t want to stop either.”

Seokmin thinks he’s dreaming. When he looks at your face, there’s a playful spark in your eyes and the tone of your voice tempts him, as it always has. He could be imagining the smirk that tugs at the corner of your lips or the slight squeeze you give his hand and the small actions may cloud his judgment on how he should handle this situation, but he doesn’t care. He’s acting on pure adrenaline when he brings his hands to your face, connecting your lips together.

Everything about the kiss is different from the last time you kissed Seokmin. The shivers run down your body all the same but the soft nature of him has vanished, replaced with a fiery exterior. As his fingers leave your cheeks, falling to your waist and bringing your body closer to his, the touch kindles at your insides, your skin on fire. 

Your bodies meld together from the heat, pulling yourselves closer until it was physically impossible. Seokmin’s lips work feverishly, eliciting a moan out of you and your nails leave crescent moons on his skin from the grip you had on him. It all makes his head spin, somehow more than you already did. He was insatiable–confirming that last week, he was not only drunk on alcohol, but drunk on you. 

You feel like you’re floating, on the surface of a cloud, only to realize you aren’t 10 feet in the air when Seokmin pushes you against the bathroom door. His hands hold onto your waist tightly, making sure the impact isn’t too loud or painful. The only thing that fills the air is the heavy breathing shared between the two of you.

Between frantic hands and heated kisses, the two of you weren’t willing to break apart from each other. In the back of his mind, he begins to think of the others that sit in the room next door. 

He could stay like this forever, but he didn’t want anyone to get any ideas. Seokmin separates your lips, albeit reluctantly, and you’re quick to chase him, not wanting the moment to end. Labored breaths fill the humid air and your lips are red from the constant contact. Softening his touch, he brings his forehead to yours in a moment of solace, trying to clear the static in his mind and regulate his breathing. 

“We should get back to the others before they get suspicious,” he manages to get out through his dry throat. Seokmin’s voice is low, raspy and especially cautious, careful to keep his words contained to these four walls. “We should keep this between us.”

You only have enough sense in you to nod, agreeing to his statement. Head still foggy from the heat and dampness of the air, you finally open your eyes and respond, “I think so too…” You take a deep breath before you continue, “Don’t want to change too much.”

“It’s probably for the best.”

Seokmin internally winces at those words, the same ones that left his mouth when he had to leave your place last week. His statement cuts through his heart, exposing his flesh and reality–the reality that he’s helplessly in love with you, his best friend. 

Or best friend with benefits?, he thinks. There’s no way this won’t end in disaster.

But he can’t deny the lightness he feels or the way his stomach churns at the thought of holding you, kissing you, or having you moan his name amidst a dizzy spell from pleasure. The situation he’s bringing upon himself is selfish and foolish and everything he shouldn’t be doing when it comes to his adoration towards you, but your charm has him under a trance; one that he doesn’t know if he wants to leave. 

“I’m going to head back now,” Seokmin giggles with a shy smile, not taking a step away from you to do what he says.

“Okay,” you respond. Leaning off of the door and giving Seokmin room to leave, you return his smile with a coy smirk of your own. 

But before you can get too far, Seokmin pulls you back into him and brings your lips to his in another hasty kiss. It’s quick, it’s rushed and it still leaves you breathless all the same. It’s new territory for you two, deviation from a path you never thought you’d stray. It lights a fire within you to be exploring it with him.

He separates from you to say, “Okay. I’m actually going to go now.” His smile reaches his eyes, his signature wrinkles prominent on his face when removes his hands from your waist. “I just had to do that first.”

“Okay.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, Seokmin,” and with a giddy smile, he leaves you in the bathroom, the sound of a soft click of the door filling the air. The buzz of electricity from your lights adds to your daze. As you lean back against the door, feeling weightless from the pressure of Seokmin’s fingers through the cotton of your t-shirt, you think of how reckless this is and how destructive this could be–not only hiding it from your friends but how fragile it can make your friendship. 

It would be easy to go to a party and cling on to a random person for the night. It would be easy to bat your eyelashes and play with the hem of their shirt, adding a playful lilt to your voice and an air of mystery around you. It would be easy to lose yourself in the moans, chasing your highs and then easily forget each other, as you tried to do with Jaehyun. It would be so easy, so simple and so careful.

If everything could be so easy with someone else, why does it also feel even more effortless with Seokmin? As it always has been with him. 

Even through the carelessness or the secrecy, no random hookup made you forget like Seokmin had. His gentle worship and care of your body had you on cloud nine and seeing the galaxy. Your comfort was the most important thing to him, even after a few too many drinks. There was something about that night, something in the back of your mind, that guides you blindly through this winding road of uncertainty. You just hope that the road you were walking together doesn’t crumble beneath you.

“Sorry, you were gone for so long! I needed a new cuddle buddy.”

Of course, Mingyu couldn’t be alone for even just five minutes. When you return to the living room from the bathroom, Mingyu has his head on Jinsoul’s lap, her hands playing with the strands of his hair. He looks content, more relaxed than when he was on your shoulder, his huge body somehow compressed in the small space that you left. 

Jinsoul’s fingers stop their movements as she states, “I can move,” teasing the boy. 

“When did I say I wanted you to move?” 

Jinsoul chuckles at his retort, bringing her hand back to his scalp and a pleased smile returning to his face. You probably weren’t going to get your seat back if Mingyu’s comfort was anything to go by. 

“There’s room over here if you’re looking for a replacement cuddle buddy.”

Seokmin’s voice carries your attention, his smile hiding a sly intention that is imperceptible to the untrained eye. He does have tons of room. With Yves and Haseul huddled on the floor, a plush gray blanket covering their bodies, Seokmin is able to spread his legs on the sectional, taking up much of the left side. 

Nonchalantly, you shrug and give a casual grin, “I guess you’ll do.”

“Shut up.”

As you saddle up to Seokmin’s side, resting your head on his shoulder, slotting to him like a puzzle piece, you can’t help but notice the small side glances that Minghao and Haseul give you. The flash of confusion on their faces goes quickly, trying to wrap their heads around how the tense situation between you and Seokmin dissipated so abruptly. 

You’ll explain it to them later, you think. At least as best you can without giving you two away before there’s anything to begin with. 

With the movie drawing to a close, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson on a search for their friend and the Maximoff twins revealed, the atmosphere has a much lighter and relaxed feel–the weird awkwardness and walking on eggshells between you and Seokmin gone. There’s retelling of old stories, laughs that could be considered embarrassing to most, and the playful banter that is signature to your friendship group dynamic. From the outside looking in, you would've never known there was a bump in the road.

And to your friends, they were none the wiser as to why Seokmin stopped talking to you or how you suddenly made up. They don’t know the hidden tension that his hand being on your thigh holds, looking casual enough to be considered normal affection.

“What time is it?” Minghao’s voice cuts through the loud noise, everyone turning to him. His shoulder slacks as he relaxes, leaning back and blending into the soft gray of the sectional with his oversized sweats. 

Yves reaches for her phone, the device laying face up not too far from her figure. “It’s like 11.”

“Ugh… I need to head home. I love your sofa, but my bed is calling me.” Jinsoul gently pushes Mingyu off her lap, making a pout form on his lips from the loss of contact. “Can we please go home?” Jinsoul addresses Haseul, hoping that her roommate is ready to return to their own apartment. 

“Yes, we can go.” 

“Minghao?” Mingyu looks over at his own roommate, a pleading smile on his face.

“Yeah, fine, let’s go,” Minghao stands from the couch and turns his body to Seokmin, the remainder of their trio. “You coming?”

Seokmin’s eyes flash between you and Minghao before responding, “I was actually going to stay and help clean up.” He addresses you when he asks, “If that’s okay?”

At first you think, why would you need help with cleaning? The group has never made much of a mess, especially with Mingyu around. The most that needed to be done was putting away the extra drinks and snacks, finding enough room in your pantry. But taking another look at Seokmin, you read between the lines, his eyes glowing and mischief pulling at the corner of his lips. No cleaning is going to get done, not immediately anyway. 

“Yeah, that’s fine with me.”

[whereforarthur]

Unrequited Love Hurts Like A Bitch (Part 2)

Pairing: ArthurTv x Bestfriend!Reader

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 2k

A/n: Part 2 as requested!

*****

“I realized I’m in love. It's always been right in front of me.” ― Richelle Mead

Days turned into weeks, and the messages between them grew sporadic. Y/n threw herself into her work, her videos gaining more traction than ever before. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness every time she saw Arthur's name pop up on her screen, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between them. She missed the easy banter, the late-night talks that had once been theirs alone.

One evening, as she lay in bed scrolling through social media, a notification caught her eye. It was a new post from Arthur, a candid shot of him at a concert, his eyes alight with excitement. But it wasn't the picture that made her heart race; it was the caption. "Missing the days when I had my bestie by my side," it read. The words seemed to leap off the screen, and she couldn't help but wonder if he was referring to her. Was this his way of saying he missed their friendship too? Or was she just reading too much into it?

The following week, Y/n received an unexpected message from Arthur. "Do you want to catch a movie?" it read. Her heart fluttered at the invitation, and she felt a glimmer of hope. Perhaps he was ready to move forward, to find a new normal for them. She accepted eagerly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of something more.

The theater was crowded, but they managed to find two seats together. As the lights dimmed and the trailers began to play, Arthur turned to her, his eyes searching hers in the dark. "I've been thinking a lot about what you said," he murmured. Y/n felt her pulse quicken, her hand clutching the armrest.

"I know I said I need time," he continued, his voice low and serious. "But the more I think about it, the more I realize that I might have feelings for you too." The admission hung in the air, a whispered secret that seemed to resonate through the entire theater. Y/n's breath hitched in her throat, her eyes wide with shock.

He looked away, focusing on the screen as if he couldn't bear to see her reaction. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I don't want to lose you. But I also don't want to lead you on." The movie began, the sound of the opening credits muffling the thunderous beat of her heart.

Throughout the film, Arthur's hand remained tentatively on her arm, a silent question mark in the dark. She could feel the warmth of his touch, the tremble of his fingers as they danced with the possibility of what could be. When the credits rolled, and the lights flickered back on, he turned to her, his gaze filled with a mix of hope and fear.

"What do you think?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the shuffling of the crowd. Y/n took a deep breath, her heart racing. "I think," she began, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within her, "that we should take things slow. I don't want to lose you either, Arthur."

He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "Okay," he murmured, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. "We'll take it slow." They sat in the emptying theater, the echoes of their conversation bouncing off the walls. It was as if the universe had paused just for them, giving them this brief moment of clarity amidst the chaos of their feelings.

As they walked out into the cool London night, Arthur took a deep breath. "You know, Y/n," he said, his voice still low and contemplative, "you feel more like home than anywhere I've ever been." The words hung in the air, a soft confession that seemed to illuminate the path before them.

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her, chasing away the chill. "Arthur," she replied, her voice soft, "you're my home too." They shared a tentative smile, the kind that promised a future filled with more than just friendship.

Their steps grew lighter as they strolled through the city streets, the neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement. The rain had stopped, leaving a fresh scent in the air that seemed to mirror the clean slate they had just been handed. They talked, their conversation a delicate dance around the edges of their newfound feelings. They spoke of their hopes, their fears, and the memories that had shaped them into the people they were today.

The silence that had once felt oppressive now felt comforting, a space where they could let their emotions breathe without the need for words. As they approached the bridge over the Thames, Arthur stopped and turned to face her. "Y/n," he said, his voice a gentle caress in the night, "I've never felt this way before. I don't want to mess it up."

Y/n's heart swelled with a mix of joy and terror. She knew the road ahead was fraught with potential heartache, but she also knew she couldn't walk away from this chance. "Neither do I," she whispered, her eyes searching his. "But we'll figure it out together, won't we?"

Arthur nodded, his hand reaching for hers. Their fingers intertwined, a silent promise to navigate this new chapter side by side. They stood there for a moment, the city's heartbeat pulsating around them, a silent witness to their burgeoning love. Then, with a deep breath, they continued their walk, the Thames flowing steadily beneath the bridge, a symbol of the change that was to come.

*****

The night grew later, and the streets grew quieter, their footsteps echoing off the buildings as they strolled along the river. The question lingered in the air, a daring whisper that seemed to hang between them like mist. "So, when are you finally gonna kiss me?" Y/n teased, her voice light despite the gravity of her words. Arthur's cheeks flushed, and he dropped his gaze to their joined hands.

"The thing is," he said, his voice quieter than the night around them, "if I do, I don't think I'll be able to stop…" The confession was like a bomb dropping into the stillness of their conversation, sending ripples of anticipation through her. She felt her own heart thud in her chest, a wild drumbeat that seemed to resonate with the flow of the Thames beside them.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Then maybe we should find out," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the sound of the water. Arthur's gaze met hers, a question lingering in his eyes. He leaned in, and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek. Time slowed down, each second stretching out like the slow roll of a wave breaking over the shore.

Their first kiss was soft, tentative, as if they were both afraid that the moment would shatter if they applied too much pressure. But as their lips met, the dam of their pent-up emotions broke. The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, a silent declaration of all the love that had been left unspoken for so long. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them standing on the bridge, the heart of the city beating in time with their own.

When they finally pulled apart, Arthur's eyes searched hers, seeking reassurance. Y/n's heart felt like it was going to burst with happiness. "That was…" she began, her voice trailing off as she searched for the right words. "Awful?" Arthur joked, a nervous smile playing on his lips. She laughed, the sound as sweet as the kiss they had just shared. "No," she corrected, her cheeks flushing. "It was perfect."

The moment lingered, a bubble of warmth in the cold London night. They walked back to Y/n's flat, their steps in sync, their hands entwined. The air was charged with a new energy, the weight of their confessions lifting from their shoulders. They talked of their future, the 'what ifs' turning into 'what nows', painting a picture of a life filled with love and adventure.

Inside, they sat on the couch, the room lit by the soft glow of the fairy lights she had strung up for a video shoot. Arthur reached for her hand, his thumb tracing circles on her skin. "I never knew it could be like this," he murmured, his eyes searching hers. "Neither did I," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "But I'm so glad it is."

The tension grew, a delicious anticipation that thrummed through her veins. Arthur leaned in, his eyes never leaving hers, and kissed her again. This time, it was a kiss filled with promise, a kiss that said 'we're going to figure this out'. It was slow, deliberate, as if they were both savoring the sweetness of their newfound feelings. When they parted, Y/n felt like she was floating.

"I should go," Arthur said, his voice a mix of reluctance and responsibility. He had a life to sort out, a relationship to end before they could truly begin. Y/n nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. "I'll be here," she assured him. "Whenever you're ready."

He stood, his hand lingering on her cheek for a moment longer than necessary. "Thank you," he whispered, "for being patient with me." She smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Always," she promised.

*****

As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/n sank into the couch, her heart racing. She replayed the night in her mind, the words, the kisses, the feeling of his hand in hers. It was the start of something beautiful, something she had dared to dream of but never truly believed could happen.

The silence of the flat was a stark contrast to the cacophony of her thoughts. She knew there would be challenges ahead, that their road to happiness was fraught with potential landmines. But she also knew that with Arthur by her side, she could face them all.

The days that followed were a blur of excitement and nerves. She waited for his calls, her heart skipping a beat every time her phone rang. They talked, their conversations a delicate dance around the subject of his relationship. He was torn, and she didn't push, giving him the space he needed to figure things out.

Yet, with every passing moment, she felt more and more certain that this was it. This was the love she had been waiting for, the love that would change everything. The love that had been right in front of her all along, hidden in plain sight in the guise of friendship.

When Arthur finally called with the news she had been hoping for, she felt a weight lift from her chest. He had ended things with his girlfriend, explaining the truth as gently as he could. The silence that followed was filled with unspoken relief and hope. "So," he said, his voice tentative, "does this mean we can try?"

Y/n's heart soared. "Yes," she breathed, her voice filled with a joy she hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity. "We can try."

Their first date was simple, a stroll through the park, the same place where they had spent countless hours filming their videos. But this time, the laughter was different, the smiles more intimate. They held hands, their fingers interlaced, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

As the sun set, casting a warm glow over the city, Arthur stopped and turned to her. "Y/n," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I've never felt so alive."

Tears filled her eyes, and she leaned into him, her heart swelling with love. "Neither have I," she admitted. "Neither have I."

The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, their hearts beating as one. And as they kissed, the promise of a future filled with love and happiness stretched out before them, as infinite as the horizon.

*****

Taglist~

@gvf23 @xxkatxgracexx

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Best Intentions - Chapter Three

Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Angst. Smut. Mentions of shell shock/PTSD. Word count: ~3.9k

Summary: She deals with an unexpected visit and Lois forces her to take action. Final part. Series masterlist.

Author's note: I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is inconsolable when she gets home, having walked the short distance from the wall back to her house, vision blurred with tears.

Her mum rises from the kitchen table, rushing to her and pulling her into a tight hug the moment she sees the state she’s in.

“Oh, love,” she coos, stroking her hair, “he’s a fool to have upset you like that.”

“He’s not a fool, Mum,” she sobs, snotty nosed and shaking, into the wool of her cardigan, “I couldn’t say yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”

She loves Tom. She’s in love with Tom.

Deep down, she knows she’s probably felt that way all along, yet the admission shocks her all the same.

She feels numb for the rest of the evening, though grateful for the soothing reassurance of her mum. If nothing else, her endless cups of tea give her something warm to wrap her hands around, something to focus on besides how hurt Tom had looked when she’d said no to him.

It was the right thing to do, she knows this, they aren’t ready for such an enormous commitment, but she can’t help but wonder if making the right choice was meant to make it feel like her heart was being torn in two.

Puffy eyed and miserable when she awakens the next day, her mum offers to give her the day off from the shop. Wearily, she shakes her head, eager to carry on as normal.

“If I stop at home, I’ll drive myself mad thinking about it all. I just wanna get on.”

Her mum gives her hand a reassuring squeeze and a “whatever you think is best, love”.

Theoretically, the shop should take her mind off things, yet there are reminders of Tom in everything. As she’s restocking the sweet jars, her heart lurches in her chest when she gets to the sherbet straws, thinking about how their fingers would brush against each other when they;d share a bag. They were Tom’s favourites. 

When a man comes in to buy a cigarette, she rolls it around in her fingers after taking it from the shelf. It’s Tom’s brand. She’d always hated the way the smell of the smoke would stick to his hair and clothes. Now, the thought that she may never breathe in the stale scent of tobacco on his jacket when he pulls her in for a hug makes her eyes well up with tears, and she has to sniffle them away before turning back to the till to take payment.

Then there is the more obvious reminder living upstairs; Lois. As if summoned by the thought of her, she appears from the back, Vera nestled against her hip.

“You and Tom left in a hurry on Saturday, thought you’d both stick around after for a drink,” she says, bouncing the toddler gently in her arms.

“Oh,” she says, feeling anxiety gnaw at her insides, as her skin heats up with a mixture of shame and embarrassment, not wanting to reveal to Lois what’s happened between her and Tom. It still feels too raw to talk about. “Yeah, sorry, wasn’t feeling well. You and Connie sounded great though!”

She offers a smile that she hopes looks sincere and Lois looks at her with sympathy in her big, blue eyes.

“You mentioned the other day you were feeling a bit tired, everything okay?”

She swallows, nodding her head, just wanting the conversation to be over.

Her and Tom have the same eyes.

It’s excruciating to look at her. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine now. Run ragged by the shop, you know how it is.”

Lois readjusts Vera against her hip, running a hand over her soft curls, before looking back up. “Well, if you find time to get away tomorrow, I’ve asked Tom to pop round on his dinner break. Been ages since I’ve caught up with him, would be nice to see you too, even if you can only manage time for a cuppa.”

She feels her throat run dry at this. If Lois has invited Tom round then that means he’ll have to come to the shop. She’ll have to see him. She isn’t ready.

She can feel a void opening in the pit of her stomach, dread prickling her skin. “Maybe..” she offers quietly, and is grateful that at that moment Vera starts to fuss, drawing Lois’ attention away from her.

“Better get this one back upstairs anyway,” Lois says, distractedly, “maybe see you tomorrow!”

She breathes a sigh of relief when she disappears into the back and up the stairs again, resting her elbows on the counter and putting her head in her hands.

Tom is going to be at the shop tomorrow. What on earth will I say to him?

Nerves flutter in her belly all morning the next day, her heart racing so fast she is sure that every customer she serves must be able to hear it. More than once her hands fumble when giving someone their change, sending coins spilling across the counter.

If it wouldn’t earn her a stern telling off from her mum, she’d close up for the day and go home, so that she wouldn’t have to see Tom when he inevitably arrives.

She has a hundred different things she wants to say to him; I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so bloody angry with you. I love you.

None of them seem appropriate.

It’s precisely noon when the bell above the shop door tinkles and she looks up from the stamps she’s sorting, met with the intense stare of Tom.

He’s on time. He’s never on time for anything. She feels her hands tremble, her breathing unsteady as she tries to organise her thoughts into something coherent. She curses herself, she’s wasted all morning deciding what to say and still has nothing.

Her hesitation is more than enough for Tom apparently, as he huffs, mouth twisting into a sneer, before striding into the back and up the stairs to the flat.

Bowing her head she feels her throat tighten, lips pulling downwards with the effort not to burst into tears. In all the years she’d known Tom, seeing him had never made her feel so rotten. She swipes angrily at her nose, inhaling a deep shaky breath before busying herself with organising what’s left of the day’s papers.

An hour later, Tom reappears in the doorway that leads towards the back, as she’s standing counting up the till drawer. Up close she can see the haunted look in his eyes, the dark bags underneath them. The night terrors are clearly as bad as ever, he doesn’t look like he’s sleeping properly. She wants nothing more than to go to him, pull him into a hug and comfort him, but can’t stand the thought of him pushing her away if she tries.

Once more she realises she’s staring at him without saying anything, he’s clearly waiting for her to make the first move, and she hasn’t. 

His eyes narrow in anger, and he breezes past her, muttering an irritated “piss off” as he goes.

The casualness of his insolence towards her turns her sorrow into anger, which she feels boil up inside her, erupting as she shouts “no, you piss off!” after him.

How dare he?! After everything, that’s all he has to say to me.

But it’s too late. The door to the shop is already closed. Tom’s gone.

Her sob catches in her throat, and before she’s able to stop it, a piteous wail leaves her, which she attempts to muffle with the palm of her hand. Hot tears roll down her cheeks, the painful twisting in her chest from Sunday returning in earnest.

“Hey, hey,” comes a gentle voice from behind her. The slender arms of Lois wrap around her, pulling her into a warm hug. “What’s all this?”

There’s no use lying to her now, not when Lois has seen her like this.

“It’s Tom,” she says, pulling away slowly, voice thick from crying, “we’ve been seeing each other.”

Lois chuckles quietly. “Well, I knew that, it’s not exactly a secret. What’s he done?”

She closes her eyes briefly, feeling shame wash over her. Would Lois be angry if she told her she’d said no to Tom’s proposal?

“He proposed to me, I said no,” she blurts, “but it’s not because I don’t love him! I still want to be with him, we’ve just never made it official, and I don’t want to rush.”

Lois goes quiet for a moment, her eyes widening in obvious shock at what she’d revealed. “Wow…Tom proposed?” Her eyebrows raise, and they stand in silence as she takes in the revelation, thinking about what to say next.

Chewing her lip, Lois nods and their eyes meet before she speaks again. “So, what did Tom say exactly?”

“Not much, he finished with me,” she says miserably.

“You told him you love him and he finished with you?!” She asks, her mouth agape.

“Well…no…I’ve never actually told him I love him…” she admits, averting her gaze, feeling her face grow hot.

“Well then maybe you should start with that?” Lois suggests.

“I can’t, Lois!” She cries, “He’s not been the same since he came home, you know he hasn’t. He needs to get help.”

“Yeah, he does,” Lois agrees, “but that’s not your job to do. It’s yours to be there for him, to let him know it’s not him you’re saying no to. He needs you, anyone can see that.”

She knows Lois is right. Tom has likely seen her rejection as a rejection of her wanting to be with him, thinking he’s too broken, when that is the furthest thing from the truth. The state he was in when he came to the shop earlier is proof of the fact that he just needs her to be there for him, but she has been too caught up in her own feelings to realise his. 

“Yeah, you’re right”, she says, wiping her eyes, “I need to speak to him. I’ll go to the garage tomorrow.”

“Or you could go tonight?” Lois suggests, “He doesn’t finish for another half hour after the shop closes, so you can catch him before he goes home.”

“Oh, Lois, I look a mess, he can’t see me like this–” she tries to protest, but is cut off.

“Yes, he can! Let him see you’re as upset by this as he is. He needs to know you care.”

She purses her lips. Lois is right. No use in putting it off. The longer she leaves it, the harder it’ll be.

Checking her face in her compact as she stands outside of the garage, she’s grateful that her tears haven’t done too much damage to her mascara. Only the faintest rim of red around her eyes suggests that she’d ever been upset.

The shutter is halfway down, suggesting that Tom is close to finishing up for the day. His feet are the only pair she sees beneath. Drawing in a steading breath, she ducks through the gap, righting herself as Tom regards her with a furrowed brow and widened eyes; an apparent mixture of surprise and anger.

“What are you doing here?” He asks sullenly.

She holds up her hands in mock surrender, attempting to keep her tone even, despite the way her voice wobbles. “Please, Tom, I’m not here to argue. I just wanna talk to you.”

“Got nothin’ to say,” he sniffs, wiping his hands on a rag and closing the bonnet of the sleek black motorcar he’s been working on.

“But I have,” she pleads, “so please just hear me out.”

She spots his jaw tick in annoyance, but he nods all the same, remaining silent, so she presses on.

“I need you to know that when I said no I wasn’t saying no to you, to us, just the proposal. I don’t think we’re ready.”

Tom rolls his eyes, throwing the rag down, sniffing before he replies. “Yeah, I get it, you wouldn’t wanna be stuck with someone that’s not right in the head.”

“Don’t say that,” she says sadly, a dull ache forming in her chest. “You’ve been through so much, Tommy, but you’ll get through it and I’ll be with you every step of the way, because I love you.”

“You what?” He asks quickly, head snapping up to look at her.

Her breath catches in her throat, her heart pounding in her chest.

Oh god. What if he doesn’t say it back? What if he tells her to go away and never speak to him again?

“I–I love you,” she stammers, feeling as though her vulnerability will swallow her whole.

“Say it again,” Tom says lowly, stepping towards her.

He’s so close she can smell the motor oil that clings to his skin. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

“I love you,” she repeats with more confidence, gazing up at him.

In one swift movement, he grabs the back of her neck, pulling her to him and crushing his lips against hers. 

It’s not the four little words she’d expected in return, but the action expresses everything he needs to say.

I love you too.

She melts into it, kissing him back with equal fervour. His kiss is hungry, filled with desperation, yet it feels like coming home after a long journey. He tastes of tobacco and spearmint. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed the pillowy softness of his mouth until it’s moving against her own. Absent-mindedly, her arms wrap around his shoulders, as Tom’s free hand grips her waist.

When they break for air, he presses his forehead against hers, breathing heavily.

“God, I missed you,” he whispers.

She barely has time to tell him she’s missed him too before he’s kissing her again, pulling the shutter all the way closed and maneuvering her backwards towards the car he’s been working on, yanking open the back door.

Bracing her palms against his chest, she pulls back slightly, apprehension at odds with the desire she feels. “We can’t do that here, that’s a customer’s car! What if we get caught?”

Tom shrugs. “Shutter’s down, and I’ve not fucked you for ages. Come on, no one will catch us.”

She giggles, taking in the sight of his lust-widened pupils and kiss-swollen lips. It sends a needy throb straight to her core, and she grabs him by the front of his overalls, pulling him back to her once more.

His tongue sweeps against hers, as he lays her down in the cramped confines of the back seat before climbing on top of her. His tall frame means he has to keep one knee pressed between her leg and the back of the seat, and the other on the floor.

“You sure there’s room?” She purrs playfully, brushing her lips against his neck.

“I’ll fucking make room,” he hisses, awkwardly shrugging out of his overalls, causing her to laugh.

“Something funny?” He mutters darkly, pushing his hand beneath her skirt, his fingers toying with the gusset of her knickers, before slipping inside the material.

She gasps as his digits press through the wetness of her folds, bucking against his hand. It’s been so long since she felt his touch like this that his hands upon her skin feel like a brand. “Tommy…” is all she’s able to whimper.

He smirks. “That’s what I thought,” he says cockily, his words punctuated by the wet sounds of his fingertips moving through the slick of her arousal. “This all for me?”

“Y–yeah,” she breathes out, and he withdraws his hand, making her whine.

“Don’t wanna let it go to waste,” he tells her, pushing his overalls further down, along with his briefs.

She bites her lower lip, watching him stroke the length of his erection, ruddy and shiny with arousal at its tip.

His eyebrows raise, lips parting as a look of realisation flashes across his features. “I haven’t got a sheath..”

“Oh, Tommy!” She cries out in frustration.

He frowns, his tone becoming defensive. “Well, sorry, why would I keep any here? Not like I make a habit of shagging in the garage, is it?”

She feels light headed with the intensity of her need for him. She isn’t sure she can wait for them to get back to his flat. Desire is the only thing fuelling her in this moment, alongside the words that leave her mouth. “Just pull out then.”

Tom’s eyes widen, a grin spreading across his face. “If you say so.”

He leans over her, pulling her underwear to one side, and guiding himself to her entrance. They groan in unison as he pushes forward, stretching her open on his length.

The feeling of being so intimate with him again after being apart is divine all by itself, however, being able to feel him fully without a barrier to separate them has her inner walls fluttering around him as he breaches her to the hilt.

“Jesus christ,” is all he’s able to grit out as he stills, allowing them both to adjust to the sensation.

“Please…please move,” she mewls desperately.

Tom pulls his hips back, before driving forward, the repeated motion causing the car to squeak and rock, yet it barely registers to her. Her only focus is the feeling of him inside of her, the way that every thrust brushes against a spot inside of her that makes her abdomen tighten like a coil.

“I don’t think I’m gonna last,” Tom pants above her, fogging the windows up, “you feel too bloody good.”

“Not yet,” she whispers breathlessly, the coil in her belly almost at its breaking point, “‘m so close…”

Tom groans, snaking a hand between them, fingers reaching beneath her knicker elastic to toy with her pearl in tandem with each deep thrust.

Warmth spreads through her, as she writhes beneath him, the pressure within her building until it finally gives way and she tightens around him with a wanton moan.

“Shitshitfuck–” Tom groans, withdrawing from her and spilling white hot ropes of spend across her thighs with quick, sure strokes.

He hovers over her for a few moments longer, simply looking into her eyes and stroking her hair. She’s certain that at this point right now she’s never felt more in love with him. It feels good to have him back. Her Tommy.

He helps her out of the car, careful not to stain the upholstery and gets her cleaned up. 

Finally, he breaks the silence, turning to her as they straighten up their clothes. “So what should I do with it? The ring, I mean. I can get a diamond put in, I–”

“It’s perfect, as it is,” she reassures him, cupping his face in her hands, “keep it for now. Ask me again when we’re ready.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” he responds, bumping her nose with his.

Over the next six months their relationship blossoms, with her spending more and more time at Tom’s flat. No longer “just mates”, they proudly hold hands as they walk down the street together. Shared lunch breaks are spent on their wall, passing a bag of sherbet straws back and forth.

Tom’s night terrors lessen. Over time he comes to accept that it would be good to talk to someone. It’s still a touchy subject for him, and he refuses to use the term shell shock because of its association with Douglas. Not wanting to explore anything as extreme as electric shock therapy, he opts to see a doctor who has adopted psychotherapy as a means of treatment.

With each session, he looks a little lighter, though still haunted by the memories of what he has endured in combat, the load becomes more bearable to manage, and her heart feels as though it could burst with pride for him.

It’s New Year’s Eve, as they stand on the rain-dampened pavement outside of the Ducie Arms. Tom sways unsteadily on his feet, six pints deep, as they look up at the sky, the colourful crackle of fireworks overhead heralding in a brand new year. 

He pulls her in for a sloppy kiss, and she happily reciprocates, despite the lingering taste of lager upon his lips. His eyes are glassy as he pulls the ring box from his jacket pocket, his words slurred.

“Will you–”

She shakes her head, placing her hand over his, pushing it gently back towards his pocket.

“Ask me when you’re sober.”

It feels terrible to reject him a second time, yet she knows to get engaged when they’re both not in full control of their actions would be a mistake.

Thankfully, in his drunken state he doesn’t seem to mind, simply nodding and pocketing the ring box once more.

When he wakes up the next morning, bleary eyed and complaining he has a headache, he has no memory of most of the previous evening, and she cannot help the pang of disappointment she feels.

Another six months pass, and Tom continues to improve. His night terrors happen irregularly and he has started to fill out again, not quite as bony as he was when he first returned to Longsight. He looks healthy, happy. It fills her with warmth to see him recovering.

Yet there is a constant nagging in the back of her mind. She has knocked Tom back twice now, what if he never asks again?

Vera is now walking and talking, and, needing more space, Lois moves out of the flat above the shop, having found a little terraced house with a garden for her to play in.

Her and Tom decide to take the step of occupying the space. Tom gives up his flat, and the two move in together. They spend most of their time together anyway, so it makes sense.

It’s their moving in day, and she silently curses Tom for being too tight fisted to pay a removal man to do this for them, as they carry his old sofa up the stairs.

She feels clammy with sweat by the time they place it heavily down in their empty living room. Huffing with relief, she sits down, wanting to take a breather before they carry anything else up. She wipes her brow, looking around the space with a slight smile on her face.

A fresh start for both of them. A place to call theirs. A space to create memories.

She is snapped out of her reverie by Tom calling her name.

“I’m not moving anything else until I’ve–”

She freezes, mouth agape as she turns her head and sees Tom on one knee before her, ring box open in his hand.

“Thought now felt like the right time,” he says, “so will you?”

“I’m all sweaty,” she says bashfully.

“You’ve never looked better. My wife, working hard to put all of our old shit in our flat. So how about it?” He asks, cocking his head.

Her heart flutters. He’s right, there will never be a more perfect moment than this.

“Yes,” she breathes, allowing him to slip the simple gold band onto her ring finger.

He leans in pressing his lips to hers and she smiles into it, running her fingers through his hair as he pulls away again, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Still mates though, yeah?” He whispers.

She giggles. “Always.”

[pupkashi]

birthdays

nanami makes your birthday a bit cozier than previous years

a/n: hi friends ! thank u anon for this request I’m so sorry for taking so long to get to it :( happy belated birthday friend, wishing you a years worth of love and warmth !

wordcount: 1,610

masterlist

11:59 pm

you used to expect a roll of messages or phone calls as the clock struck midnight, your birthdate reading across the screen and a smile on your face.

you tried to act like you didn’t care, keeping your mind off the day and keeping your eyes glued to the tv screen, a random movie playing with the plot lost long ago along with your interest.

your fingers itched to grab your phone, hoping the reason for its silence was because it was on do not disturb, not a lack of messages.

the clock on the nightstand read 12:01, and against your better judgement you grabbed your phone, swiping up. you could feel your fingers running cold and your nose and eyes burning as the tears formed in your eyes.

1 notification: light rain expected soon

there’s a stinging sensation in your chest, and you don’t bother fighting the choked sob that leaves your lips, hot tears streaming down your face.

throwing your phone down haphazardly, turning the tv off and burying your face in your pillow.

you’re not sure when you fell asleep, but you’re waking up to the blinds cracked open and warm sunshine on your face.

the flowers on the nightstand make your hazy mind clear a bit, rubbing your eyes and reaching for the small note accompanying the beautiful flowers.

hoping you make it around the sun many more times by my side <3

happy birthday, my love

there’s tears in your eyes, a small smile on your lips and a giggle slipping past your lips. you don’t have much time to do much of anything when the bedroom door creaks open.

“good morning,” nanami smiles, his hair still a bit messy, shirt slightly unbuttoned and tie long gone. he sets the plate of food on the nightstand, leaning down and catching your lips in his. “sleep well? feeling older?”

you can’t help but smile a bit, “not as old as you,” you hum, grabbing his collar and pressing another kiss to his lips. nanami smiles against your lips, slipping his hand under your chin, smiling as he pulls away.

“did you like the flowers?” he asks, “it’s the same bouquet you saw online a couple weeks ago,” he reminds you, watching as your eyes light up.

“oh my god it is!” you gasp, looking at the flowers and smiling even wider, “you’re too good to me baby,” you mumble, pulling him down to sit next to you.

“I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you,” he sighs, pressing a gentle kiss on your temple, “how about you eat up and get ready for the day, yeah?”

you nod, a dazed smile on your face as you watch him get up, setting the food on your lap before walking out of the bedroom.

when you leave the bedroom he’s quick to take the empty plates from your hands, setting them in the sink and washing them. you take a seat across the bar, elbows on the counter and your chin in your hands.

“any plans today?” he asks, setting the plates in the drying rack before wiping his hands.

“no, was just gonna stay in,” you trail off, “thought you were gonna be busy today,” the admission has your cheeks burning as kento looks at you in shock.

“you thought i would go to work on your day?” he chuckles softly making his way to you and wrapping his arms around you, making you lean forward in your seat bit.

“what do you say i go shower then we can crawl back into bed and cuddle?” he suggests, watching the way your smile grows as he continues talking, “we can watch that new movie that came out too.”

kento is off to the shower quickly, smiling to himself when he hears your giggles coming outside the bathroom. by the time he’s out you’re cozied up in bed, blankets wrapped around you and a smile on your face.

you’re only left alone when he goes to pick up dinner, settling on ordering in at your request. it’s only then that you check your phone again, replying to the couple messages you’ve received and thanking your friends.

it doesn’t take too long for nanami to get back home, calling his usual, ‘im home!’ as he looks for you. “my love?”

“i thought you went for the food?” you asked, confused when you see his hands and the table both empty.

“i got called and I’ve gotta go pick something up, do you wanna come?” he asks, heart pounding in his chest as he hopes his plan will go smoothly.

“yeah why not,” you smile, heading to the bedroom and changing into something a bit more presentable, slipping on your shoes as the two of you head out the door.

it’s not until 7 minutes into the drive when you see a familiar park come into view, watching as he turns into the parking lot.

“what do you need to pick up at a park?” you laugh, watching as he gets out of the car and walks over to open the door for you, taking your hand and helping you out.

“some cursed object gojo wants me to get,” he mumbles, intertwining his fingers in yours, pulling you along.

you don’t question it, following your lover, your steps only faltering when the small gazebo comes into view, set up with flowers, fruits, drinks and candles.

“ken- wait- hold on,” you smile, your hand slipping out of his and flying over your mouth.

“cmon doll,” he smiles, hand softly gripping your wrist and pulling you towards the set up. “sit here,” he mumbles, smiling as he pulls a cake out from a small box, sticking the candles in and quickly lighting them.

happy y/n day ! ♡

“happy birthday to you..” he sings, chuckling when you roll your eyes, sitting in front of the cake and swaying along to the melody. “happy birthday, honey.”

there’s nothing on your mind as you blow out the candles, eyes fluttering open and landing on all you’ve ever wanted.

“why are you looking at me like that?” he laughs, leaning over and taking the candle out of the cake.

“no reason, just really love you,” you giggle, only tearing your eyes off him when you hear your phone ringing.

“happy birthday y/n!” the four loud voices make you jump a bit, smiling widely as you register everyone on the other end of the phone. “we hope nanamin gives you the present we picked out!”

“it was all my idea by the way,” nobara calls out, you can hear some grumbling and a small ‘that’s a lie’ coming from who you assume is megumi.

“hope we aren’t too late, the kids took longer i thought they would on a mission,” satoru snickers, you laugh as you hear the three students begin to gang up on him.

“never too late, thank you guys,” you grin, chatting for a couple more minutes before saying goodbye.

kento looks at you with a small smile on his face, placing a couple presents in front of you, “i know you said you didnt want anything but i had to get you something,” he protests, “and plus this one’s from gojo and the students.”

every gift seems more perfect than the next, things you’d wanted that you’d forgotten about, meaningful little trinkets and gift cards to all your favorite places.

“thank you, hun” you smile, wrapping your arms around him and peppering kisses on his cheeks.

“don’t thank me, it’s what you deserve baby,” he mumbles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips before pulling back swiftly, “now let’s eat before this food gets cold, yeah?”

kento sits across from you, soft laughter coming from the decorated gazebo as the sun sets, gold rays on lights hitting both of you as you continue with easy conversation.

it’s dark by the time the two of you finish eating and talking, nanami cleaning up the area and packing up any leftovers, rushing to the car and putting them away, coming back with a blanket in his arms.

“are we sleeping out here?” you tease, watching as he rolls his eyes, motioning you over as he lays the blanket over the grass, smoothing it out and sitting down.

“come,” he grins, blonde hair a bit messy thanks to the slight breeze. you can’t help the butterflies in your stomach, walking over and taking a seat next to him, cuddling into his side immediately.

“the moon looks beautiful tonight,” he whispers, the two of you staring up at the night sky, though a bit cloudy, the stars still managed to shine down on the two of you.

“must be the universe telling me happy birthday,” you smile, giggling when he chuckles at your words.

“must be,” he smiles, placing a soft kiss to the top of your head, eyes fluttering closed as he savors every moment with you.

“happy birthday, lover,” he mumbles, lips still slightly pressed against your hair, moving away only to press another kiss to your cheek.

“thank you ken, really this meant so much to me,” you sigh happily, turning your head to face him, your hand resting softly on his cheek before catching his lips in yours.

the park is quiet, only the sound of the occasional rustling of trees, occasional bird chirp and yours and kento’s laughter.

and as the moon and it’s stars shine down on the two of you, there’s a warmth in your chest and a comforting feeling that settles around your heart. you wouldn’t have to worry about being lonely on your birthday, not anymore.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @sweetheart-satoru

[charincharge]

I Don't Want To Wait, seventy-one

rowaelin high school bff au masterlist

TW: College admissions. Sorry if you’re going through this now! Also, I went through this a longgggggggg time ago, and I know this isn’t exactly how admissions works, so apologies for creative liberties. I was supposed to post this before Aelin's birthday, but I missed May 3. Just by two days, though, so not too shabby! Okay, lets go. Final stretch, my loves.

“What do you mean you don’t want to celebrate your birthday?” Rowan scoffed. “Ace, you love your birthday.”

Aelin stretched her arms overhead and reached to touch her toes, ignoring the way her boyfriend stared at her with his usual hawklike intensity and instead leaned into her shins, helping relieve the ache from sore and overworked muscles. Dance practices had been relentless on her body, especially with the spring showcase just a few weeks away, she seemed to be in perpetual knots always.

Well, she guessed she couldn’t just blame dance on that. She was having a hard time with everything at the moment. While her friends were smiling and laughing at their last few weeks of high school, Aelin was feeling an acute sense of panic. The weeks following spring break had melted away faster than she could process, gone in the blink of an eye, filled with an onslaught of dance practices and AP exam prep and constantly checking her inbox for that little email notification from Wendlyn. And not nearly enough Rowan, who was spending all his free time with his lacrosse team. Not only that but everyone around her seemed more excited than ever with the prospect of leaving Orynth right around the corner, but with each passing day the knot in her stomach grew tighter. Everything was a ~last~ —and she was having a hard time enjoying that. She didn’t want any of this to be her last. Why was everyone excited that time was moving so fast? Why couldn’t she just freeze right here in this moment. In this limbo things were stressful, but they were still fine. Without knowing what her fate held.

College acceptances had come rolling in, one by one, her friends grinning wildly as they opened their emails. But Aelin’s inbox remained woefully empty. So, she wanted her boyfriend to forgive her for not feeling particularly celebratory, but then again, she hadn’t discussed any of this with him for fear of making him feel guilty about it.

As she breathed into her next stretch, she turned her torso to look back at Rowan, who was still waiting patiently for her response.

“My birthday last year was a disaster,” Aelin finally replied, completely ignoring the real reason she was feeling less-than-enthused. “How quickly they forget.”

But Rowan just rolled his eyes. “That was an exception. I have a feeling that no one is going to get arrested or go to rehab this year. Usually your birthday is all you can talk about for months. Are you really telling me you haven’t planned anything? For your eighteenth birthday?” he asked. “It’s in less than a week.”

Aelin shrugged, leaning to the other side and groaning as she stretched out a particularly tender muscle.

“I just don’t want to do anything this year,” she said. “The spring dance show is in two weeks, and I’ve been practicing every night. So, for my birthday I just want the night off.” She paused. “Is that really so bad?”

“No…” Rowan said quietly, picking up his phone and furrowing his brow. She’d know that face anywhere. He looked concerned.

“What?” she snapped and immediately regretted it when she saw Rowan’s face. He didn’t deserve to be the receptacle of her stress or ire. All he wanted was to make sure she had the birthday she wanted. Her sweet, sweet Rowan. “Sorry,” she apologized quickly. “I’m just…”

“Tired?” Rowan filled in, and she nodded and lifted her arms above her head, extending them out for him. He swooped in quickly and helped her to her feet, enveloping her in a warm and comforting embrace. “I’m sorry, baby,” he whispered into her hair, and she could feel her tension melting away with each one of his butterfly kisses.

Aelin finally looked up at him, and his worried green eyes were staring back down at her. “I’m so tired, Ro,” she admitted as she squeezed him against her tighter. “The idea of doing something big for my birthday just seems like so much work.”

“It’s just a big one,” he replied softly. “I don’t want you to regret not celebrating.”

“And I appreciate that,” she said, letting herself melt into his chest fully. His heartbeat helped center her, and she rued the day that she wouldn’t have it there for her at a moment’s notice. “But I just want to hang out with you, eat too much chocolate cake and maybe go to sleep early.”

“So I should tell Lorcan to cancel the surprise trip to the strip club?” Rowan asked. Aelin’s head shot up, and her boyfriend’s answering smirk was telling enough.

“You almost had me there,” she said.

“He tried,” Rowan laughed, “But I shut him down pretty quickly.”

“What kind of strip club are we talking about?” she asked, causing Rowan’s worried expression to disappear, as she intended. As Rowan explained how he had to talk Lorcan off the ledge, Aelin took out her phone and needlessly refreshed her phone over and over. But her inbox remained unchanged.

. . .

“Stay calm and vote Manon and Elide as queens for prom!” Dorian shouted while shoving a rainbow flyer into a passerby’s hands. “A vote for Manon and Elide is a vote against The Man!” he continued, causing Aelin to snort into one of the crown-adorned cupcakes Maeve had contributed to the cause. Dorian had taken it upon himself to run point for Manon and Elide’s prom queen campaign and had recruited Aelin to help him during their shared free period. Not that he needed the help. Orynth High had rallied around the pair of women, and there was no doubt as to who would sweep the vote, but it was still something that Aelin could do without that horrible nauseous feeling taking over her entire body – which might have been helped by the fact that Dorian was also still waiting for a college acceptance email, and so the pair of them were happy to use lifting up their friends as a distraction. Or at least use it as a reprieve from constantly refreshing their email. He’d received a few rejections and was pinning all his hopes on one last college.

“A vote for Manon and Elide is a vote for equality!” he shouted, offering up his own plate of cupcakes to a nearby freshman, who accepted it readily.

As if they’d heard their names called, the pair rounded the corner, hand in hand, smiling softly at each other. Manon pulled away for a second as she tied up her newly dyed turquoise hair into a messy bun, causing Elide to sigh dreamily. Aelin watched as they slid their fingers tighter as they came back together and leaned into each other’s shoulders. They’d both received their acceptances to Perranth, a small liberal arts school nearby, earlier this week and the pair hadn’t stopped smiling since. Aelin was happy for her friends; honestly, she was. But that didn’t stop her stomach from churning with jealousy at the fact that they were going off into their post-high school future together.

“Oooh, are those Maeve cupcakes?!” Elide asked, eyeing the funfetti confection in Dorian’s hand. He lifted the plate, offering it up, and Elide wasted no time in grabbing it and shoving half of it into her mouth.

“Sooooo good,” she mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs. Manon rolled her eyes at her girlfriend’s enthusiasm and used one of her long nails to brush away a bit of frosting from above her lip. Unable to control herself, she swooped down and kissed the spot she’d cleaned, as if to make sure it was completely free of sugar.

“And I thought Rowan and I were disgusting,” Aelin laughed.

“You are,” her friends all said in unison, not wasting a single beat.

Aelin flipped them all off, burying her face into her own cupcake instead as Manon asked Dorian for a status update on his polling info. She was taking this extremely seriously, and it kind of warmed Aelin’s heart to see her cold friend use her ruthlessness for good. Well, for Elide’s good.

Though they were deep in conversation about numbers and which cliques were voting for whom, Dorian stopped and gasped loudly.

“What?” Manon asked, and Dorian opened his phone and showed it to them.

In bold at the top of his email inbox was a brand new email, waiting in bold from Anielle University with the subject: Dorian Havillard, Application Status.

“Oh my god, OPEN IT!” Manon shouted as she reached for the phone, but Dorian clutched it to his chest in horror.

“NO!”

“No?” Aelin asked, raising a brow in his direction.

“I can’t open this in the middle of the hallway,” he hissed. “What if it’s a rejection?”

Aelin’s chest panged with sympathy. She knew how hard Dorian had worked this year with volunteering at the hospital and all his APs to get into the college of his dreams. Aka, one far away from his father. Anielle was as far as it got, and it was a great school, too. Not to mention it was the last one he was waiting to hear from.

“Do it when you’re ready,” she said. “Don’t let these college admits pressure you,” she continued.

“Ah, fuck it,” he said. He closed his eyes tightly as he pressed the bolded link. He took a deep breath, and cracked an eye open before shutting it again. “I can’t look. Someone look for me.”

“Give me that,” Manon grumbled, pulling the phone out of Dorian’s white-knuckled grasp. As a wide smile appeared on her face, Aelin’s stomach clenched further. She knew what that look meant. “Look yourself,” Manon said, handing the phone back to Dorian, whose eyes were still clenched tightly closed.

He blindly groped for the phone before Aelin shoved it into his wandering hand. “Congrats,” she whispered, knowing what the email would say without even seeing it herself.

Dorian’s eyes shot open, darting across the screen as that very same smile she’d seen on all her friends one-by-one ripped across his face.

Aelin tried to smile back as Manon and Elide crowded him with high fives and hugs and lifted celebratory cupcakes into the air and cheersed them together. Aelin refreshed her own inbox, but there was nothing there. Of course there wasn’t. At this point she was just assuming that she would have to reapply to colleges next year and maybe do community college locally for the year. That would be fine, though. She’d continue to teach dance and maybe volunteer at the hospital some more. Get some real-life work experience. Plus, she’d have time to drive out to Wendlyn and see Rowan on the weekends, if he still wanted her to do that, of course.

“Still nothing?” Elide asked Aelin, having noticed her quiet smile.

Aelin shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll get the rejection soon,” she laughed. “I just wished they’d do it sometime soon and put me out of my misery.”

Elide reached across the table and squeezed Aelin’s tense shoulder. “I know this is going to sound patronizing, but I mean it. If they reject you, it’ll be their loss.” She paused. “Have you talked to your mom, asked her if there’s anything she can do?”

Aelin physically blanched at the mention. “No. Not since the interview debacle.” She cringed more, realizing that her mom would most-likely be calling her on her birthday in just a few days, and she’d be wondering what Aelin’s status was. And Aelin would have to admit that she as a disappointment, just as she always assumed she’d be.

Yet another reason why she would not be in the mood to celebrate turning the big one eight. She’d need a full day to recover from whatever her mom said to her. She tried to remember if Evalin had ever forgotten her birthday before. She was pretty sure she had. And those years had hurt, had made her want to celebrate her birthday even harder. But she wasn’t sure if talking to her this year would be worse than not hearing from her at all. I guess only time would tell.

Instead of wallowing in her feelings, Aelin joined the celebratory cupcake party, drowning her feelings in Maeve’s delicious buttercream frosting, and hoped yet again for a single email to arrive and put her out of her misery.

. . .

Three days later, Aelin woke up to a small nudge against her nose. Then a soft kiss to one cheek, then to her other.

“Five more minutes,” she groaned, causing the offending kisser to laugh against the soft skin of her neck as his kisses trailed down toward her shoulder. “I’m serious, Buzzard, fuck off,” she said, but it lacked any real vitriol. After all, the man of her dreams was kissing every inch of her skin as thoroughly as he could while still being gentle enough to rouse her from her dreams with ease.

“Happy Birthday, Ace” he whispered as his lips ghosted over hers.

She finally cracked her eye all the way open and couldn’t help but smile widely at the sight of Rowan kneeling beside her bed, a sparkling glint in her best friend’s eye as she came to life beneath his gaze.

“Eighteen years old,” she whispered back, her voice still hoarse from hours of sleep.

“I know you said you wanted chocolate cake,” he said, “So I considered making you my poor attempts at breakfast cake again,” he laughed, reminding her of the day she’d woken up on her sixteenth birthday and resolved herself to kiss her best friend within that year. How far away that birthday now seemed, even though it was a mere two years ago. They were different people then. They hadn’t known how much they’d go through, how much life they’d live together to come out of it in this moment on her birthday again. Together. “But I decided to do you a solid and just bring a chocolate fudge cake for breakfast. Because you’re a grownup now. And grownups eat chocolate fudge cake for breakfast.”

She loved that despite their long history that Rowan still rambled when he got nervous with her. She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close, kissing him thoroughly. Her tongue slid between his lips and he groaned in response, kissing her harder and letting himself fall on top of her, despite still being on his knees.

“Maybe my first act as an official adult should be having morning sex with my boyfriend,” she mumbled against his lips, tugging him closer. He kissed her back, but shook his head and pulled away, causing her to pout sadly.

“As much as I would love that, your dad is downstairs.”

Aelin closed her eyes and stuck out her hand, revealing a thumbs down. Rowan laughed heartily, and she loved the way it made her feel dizzy.

“But we can eat some cake first,” he said, handing her a fork.

“Thanks, Rowan,” she said in a rare moment of sincerity between the two, not joking at all, and she loved the way his cheeks colored with a dark pink as his head ducked.

“I love you,” he simply replied. And though Aelin had dreaded the approach of this day, she relished in the fact that this boy – her best friend – loved her. For right now, that was good enough.

. . .

“Happy birthday, baby,” Rhoe said, enveloping Aelin into a warm hug.

Aelin quirked a brow up at her dad, who was not usually this sentimental, but she accepted the hug regardless.

“Shut up,” he said, chuckling softly as he pulled back. “It’s the last time I’m going to be with you on your birthday morning, and I deserve a hug. As a reward for getting you to eighteen at the very least. I think I did an okay job,” he said, looking her over.

“You did more than okay, Rhoe” Rowan said, pouring a large cup of coffee into Aelin’s favorite mug and then handing it to her. “You did amazing.”

“You’re already forgiven for waking me up too early,” Aelin laughed, but accepted the coffee nonetheless. “Mmmm, hazelnut,” she said, appreciating that her household had made her favorite flavor, despite not loving it themselves.

“DID I MISS IT?!” Lorcan asked, his voice breathless as he burst his way into the kitchen.

“Missed what?” Aelin asked, looking around at the empty kitchen.

“The gifting of porn and cigarettes, obviously,” Lorcan said with a wry smirk. But Aelin just rolled her eyes.

Her dad narrowed his eyes and looked at Lorcan with disdain. “You’re so lucky I like you.”

Lorcan’s grin only widened in response. “Happy eighteenth, slugger,” he laughed, handing Aelin a pile of scratch-off lotto tickets. “Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Rhoe’s lips curled into an unwitting smile as he wrapped his arm around Aelin’s shoulders, tugging her close once again.

“Dad?”  

“Lorcan is being an absolute idiot, like he always is.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I know you’re still waiting for official replies, but no matter where you end up next year…” Rhoe began. “I’d like you to be able to come and visit as much as you like.”

He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to Aelin. “Happy birthday, Aelin.” He looked around the room. “From all three of us.”

Aelin looked at the men in the room, staring back at her, before processing that the thing now resting in Aelin’s hand was a key. Not just a key. But a car key.

“SHUT UP,” she said, her eyes widening. “SHUT UP!”

“I will not,” Rhoe said, but he couldn’t help but smile.

Aelin sprinted for the door before anyone could stop her, and she was practically crying as she reached the driveway where a dark green sedan waited for her.  

“She’s old, but we gave her a pretty good makeover,” Rhoe said, apologetic. But Aelin knew how huge a gift this was.

“You guys did this?” she asked, and Rhoe nodded.

“One of my crew members was ready to retire it for scraps. It’s a got a fair amount of miles on it already, but we replaced all the important parts. New alternator, air filter, battery, breaks, headlights… pretty much anything that wasn’t up to code from 30 years ago.”

“Dad…” she said, running her hand over the shiny fresh coat of paint. “That must have been really expensive…”

But Rhoe simply shook his head. “It was less than I thought it’d be. The whole crew helped out during their down time, and these two bozos put in a fair amount of labor on some overnight shifts.”

Aelin’s gaze shifted to Rowan, who was pushing the toe of his sneaker into the gravel of their driveway.

“I might have lied a few times about being too tired after lacrosse to come over. Sorry,” he said, tucking his chin into his chest, and Aelin was suddenly buzzing with an warm feeling in her chest. The knot that had been there, tightening for weeks, suddenly loosened. Love. That’s what this feeling was. Just the sweetest, most incredible feeling. To be cared for like this by the people around her. So overwhelmed, she couldn’t help herself; she corralled the three most important men in her life together and widened her arms around them into a giant group hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She made sure to say it three times, thanking each one of them.

“Well,” Lorcan said. “Don’t you want to get in?”

Aelin squealed, throwing herself into the driver’s seat and adjusting the chair to her particular height. She breathed in the pine scented air freshener they’d hung on the rearview mirror and smiled. It was perfect.

The car was old, that was not a question. But that only added to its charm. The seats were a comfortable worn-in fabric with a pattern that reminded her of the old Terrasen airport carpet, with its greyscale geometric patterns. The dash was covered in a faux wood pattern that she recognized as being trendy decades ago, but it just made her love it more. This car had history. She’d seen things. She was well-traveled, and Aelin couldn’t wait to give her a brand-new life and explore even more. She knew they’d have many, many adventures in this car. Overhead, there was a sunroof, which she immediately opened to let in the mid-morning light, and she couldn’t help but tilt her chin into the light and let the glow warm her skin.

“You didn’t have to do this,” she finally said, lowering the window to look at her dad, who was more than pleased with his own handiwork.

But Rhoe simply scoffed at that comment. “So, are you driving us all to breakfast or what?”

Aelin grinned as Rowan pulled up a playlist titled, “A-ight-teen” and connected it to the clearly refurbished stereo system.

She laughed as the first song came on loudly – Not A Girl, Not Yet A Woman – causing Rowan to grin widely, a grin that he reserved solely for her. Their matching smiles morphed into guffaws as Rhoe and Lorcan folded their hulking, tree-like bodies into the backseat, squeezing into the cramped sedan with no complaints.

“To Maeve’s?” Aelin asked.

“Yes, Jeeves,” Rhoe said in a ridiculous fancy accent, causing them to break into laughter again.

. . .

“SURPRISE!”

Aelin literally jumped as her friends popped up from behind the counter of Maeve’s. She glared at her dad and Rowan, who had clearly planned this, despite her specifically telling them she hadn’t wanted to celebrate her birthday with a party. I mean, had she known she was going to see more than just Maeve she would have at least put some makeup on!

As if reading her mind, Rowan wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered, “You look beautiful.”

She frowned but accepted the compliment and a long kiss. As they parted, Aelin was swept into a number of excited hugs from all her favorite people. Manon, Elide, Dorian, Chaol, Lysandra, and Aedion circled around her, and she gasped as Aedion stepped in, surprising her with a bear hug and lifting her off the ground. They were causing a bit of a ruckus, especially with Lorcan making his own rounds saying hi to everyone he hadn’t seen in a few months, so Maeve quickly ushered them all out to the back patio where she’d set up a special table, and Aelin couldn’t help but moan with pleasure at the plates stacked high with all her favorite breakfast foods.

“…stuffed French toast, maple cured bacon, cinnamon rolls with extra frosting…” Maeve started listing, pointing along the table at the overly filled table.

“Anything for someone who doesn’t want to go into diabetic shock?” Rhoe laughed.

“Cheesy scrambled eggs, potato hash, bagels, and toppings for breakfast tacos,” she said, pointing out all the savory options on the table, too.

“Yummmm,” Aelin groaned, her eyes practically rolling back into her head with pleasure at her first bite of French toast, despite having a chocolate cake appetizer barely an hour earlier.

“I think she’s fine with the surprise,” Rhoe snorted, elbowing Rowan, who practically jumped out of his chair, tearing his eyes away from Aelin’s mouth.

Manon cackled with glee. “As if we would let the birthday queen not celebrate her birthday. It’ll probably be the last time.”

A round of awwwws went around the table, but instead of the tightening Aelin would usually in her stomach, her panic was abated by Rowan’s fingers lacing with hers beneath the table. He squeezed, as if to silently say, I’m here and I know and I love you. And Aelin let the familiar feeling of his callused finger pads calm her quickly. As he drew circles on the back of her palm, she couldn’t help but think at how different this birthday was from the one only two years ago – the one where she’d planned to tell Rowan her feelings and chickened out. She remembered the way he’d simply sat in the corner, watching her socialize, and she wondered what would have happened if she’d told him then – would they still have ended up together? Or did they need to go through… everything in order to get to where they needed to be today.

Looking at the way he made conversation with everyone from Lorcan to Lysandra, something shifted inside her. This man would one thousand percent have rather been alone with her all day, but he also knew that – despite her protests – she did actually want to celebrate with her friends. Because he knew her. Fully. And that’s when she knew without a doubt that regardless of what happened between them two years ago, ten years ago, or ten years from now, Rowan would always be with her, silently loving her and helping her be her best self.

Aelin gulped, that knot that had abated earlier suddenly tightening in her stomach again. She had been so panicked for so many months about every moment being the last, progressively becoming more stressed as each of her friends discovered what their future held, while she still didn’t. But what was shockingly clear all of a sudden is that she did know what her future held. I mean, sure, she didn’t know where she’d end up or what she’d end up studying or exactly what her life would look like, but she knew that Rowan would be there by her side no matter what.

She almost laughed at herself. Wasn’t that what he’d been saying to her over and over and over? Why did it take until this moment to make her believe that?

“Presents?” Maeve suggested, and though Aelin nodded and smiled through each one, her mind was elsewhere, thinking about what she needed to talk about with Rowan tonight. Her stomach flipped – although she wasn’t entirely sure that couldn’t be blamed on the copious amounts of sugar she was consuming and her never-emptying mug of coffee.

“You okay, Fireheart?” Rhoe asked, nudging her ankle from across the table.

“Yup,” she answered, forcing a smile back onto her face and actually meaning it for the first time in a while. “Too much frosting,” she laughed, patting at her overly full stomach. Rhoe simply returned her laugh and handed the plate of frosted cinnamon rolls to the other end of the table where Dorian accepted it eagerly. And though she continued to open her presents and bask in the love of her friends and family around her, Aelin couldn’t wait to get Rowan alone.

. . .

“Did you have a good birthday?” Rowan asked, fluffing the pillows on the ground as Aelin gathered a warm quilt and pulled it over their makeshift bed. It’d been months since it was warm enough to go up to Maeve’s rooftop, but it felt like the perfect place to end the day.

“It’s not over yet,” Aelin said, snuggling into his side.

Rowan looked at his phone. “You’re right. You have ninety more minutes to celebrate. How do you want to commemorate your eighteenth year of life?”

Aelin raised her brow. “You think I brought you up here just to talk?”

Rowan snorted and pulled her closer. “You’re a menace. Come on, talk to me. I’ve seen your brain working a million miles an hour all day.”

Aelin looked up. “How do you do that?”

Rowan shrugged. “Do what?”

“Read my mind,” she said. “It’s spooky sometimes. I feel like you know things before I say them out loud allllll the time.”

Rowan chuckled. “I wish I could read your mind,” he said, tapping the side of her temple gently. “Now, come on. Tell me what’s going on.”

The words were on the tip of her tongue when her phone vibrated in her pocket. She’d been so distracted all day that for the first time in weeks, Aelin hadn’t spent every minute of every day refreshing her inbox.

She froze, and then her heart took off in a gallop, racing until she felt shaky with adrenaline. Sure enough, as she pulled the phone up, it was lit up with an email alert from Wendlyn University. Re: Aelin Galathynius Admission Status.

“Oh fuck,” Aelin whispered. Rowan’s eyes darted to the screen, and he shot up, sitting up too quickly and knocking Aelin off him.  

“Are you gonna check it?” he asked, but even as Aelin clicked into her inbox, she couldn’t press it. The email that would tell her whether she and Rowan were going to end up at the same school for the next four years. And then, suddenly, she knew what she had to say. And she had to say it before she opened up that email and revealed her fate. Because her fate could only be one thing. One person, really.

She placed her phone down and looked Rowan straight in the eyes and said with as much conviction as she possibly could, “I think we should get married.”