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lambilegs · 3 months ago

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does it happen in a season? (part four: SUMMER - i)

in her senior year of university, lee is ready for nothing more but yet another monotonous cycle of meeting her new roommate, adjusting, then living in separate spheres for the rest of the year. the last thing she's prepared for is: curiosity.

last chapter (SPRING) | nest chapter: (SUMMER ii)

soundtrack: oh girl - the chi-lites; kiss of life - sade, roommates - malcolm todd; real love baby - father john misty; come inside of my heart - iv of spades; let's stay together - al green; into you - fabolous ft. tamia

(contains: 33K words 😋, NOT the last part of this story (summer chapter is super long so splitting it into two/potentially three parts), college!au lee harker, set in the nineties, content warning for: internalized shame over kink, religious jokes as per usual, internalized homophobia, religious trauma, depictions of historical homophobia + towards lesbians, policing lesbians in the feminist movement for being attracted to women (the argument in which this takes place is very woman-centred just because this story is set in the nineties -- it's not at all meant to indicate that people who don't consider themselves women aren't included in feminism and/or can't be considered lesbians. you guys are one thousand percent part of this movement and are one thousand percent part of the lesbian community (if you identify as such ofc)!!), brief ruminations on reader's body hair,sexual content w/ reader's body referred to with the following terms: "pussy," "tits," "breasts," "clit," both reader and lee receiving oral + fingering)

important note about sexual content: the start of sexual content will be marked by ✩ (bolded green-coloured star) and the end of it will be marked by ✩ (bolded red-coloured star). minors, and anyone who doesn't desire to read nsfw content, please use these markers in order to skip nsfw content.

----

SUMMER. SOMETIME IN THE 1990s.

when you wake up in the morning, you can see the golden rays of light flashing under your doorframe. your bedroom has no window, for last year in august, you had told lee on the phone to take it – truly, it had been an offer of kindness to secure a semi-good relationship with your future roommate. in all honesty, you would’ve preferred the room with the window, but had been too anxious to voice that then. but, at least lee has it. you wonder what she thinks of when she wakes up in the morning and has the light streaming into her room, the branches of the tree that curve into her view fluttering with spring’s greenery.

lee. your face breaks into a wide grin, flutters immediately erupting in your stomach. you plant your hands on your face, nearly squealing in pure, unadulterated glee. you and lee kissed last night. you and lee fucking harker kissed last night. if you shut your eyes hard enough, you can reimagine the sensation of her lips on yours. it’s real, you know it is, but such an occurrence had existed in the sole seclusion of your fantasies for so long, so actually acknowledging it, with the security of it being a fact, feels so foreign, so odd, so unbelievable. you cannot believe it. it feels too good to be true – that she actually returns your feelings, that she actually wants to kiss you. but, it is true, and the knowledge of that is immensely heavy on your mind, yet far away and distant, all at once. it feels like the impossible, because you’re so accustomed to it being so, but every miniscule touch from the night before is so seared into your skin that you can’t deny just how real it is. it’s confusing.

it takes a few paces back and forth in your room, as well as deep breaths and some sloshing of mouthwash, before you summon the courage to head out. she’s in the kitchen, as she usually is, doing her round of studying. it’s nearly desperate how badly you want to lurch forward and kiss her again. every fibre of your body is wailing for it, crying out to touch her again.

“hey,” you greet, wanting to break the distance between you two as soon as possible, both the physical kind and her lack of knowledge over your presence.

her eyes dart up to you, then immediately glance away. “hey.”

a little part of you aches at the quiet, strained greeting. is this how it’s going to be? just as before? or worse, even more far apart? you feel your chest tighten. what if it was just one kiss? what if she’s changed her mind? what if she never even liked you – and a kiss was all she was curious about?

you stand in the threshold to the kitchen, your mind overrun with the tornado of thoughts, relentless in their harsh, biting winds and muddling sentiments. the idea that she doesn’t actually feel the same way has the bliss you had woken up with washed away with a burn akin to acid. how could just a mere action, a mere word of hers, have you so confused and anguished? had you always been like this? or perhaps it’s just the kiss. a kiss makes things more confusing, it blurs the lines, it tosses in new feelings and foreign dynamics into the mix. the unsurety it leads to makes every action, every word, count more than usual, because, suddenly, she’s something different than a friend. she’s some puzzle you need to sort through all over again – just like before, she’s a stranger to you in this new dynamic.

you can tell she takes note of your lack of movement, for her eyes tentatively lift to you, scanning your frozen position. “what?”

you shake your head, already feeling the rush of emotions stealing away your ability to speak. “nothing.”

she nods, going back to her papers. you could nearly scream. is that it? your eyes rove along her. her knuckles are white with how tightly she’s gripping the pen, and her jaw is clenched. she’s bothered by something. is it your hesitation? or is it just you?

you wordlessly turn around and head back into your room, selfishly hoping she feels at least a bit guilty when she hears the door loudly shut.

your eyes land on the pile of laundry on your bed. might as well do something useful if you’re going to prolong breakfast.

you’re a quarter of the way through the pile, neatly folding your socks into pairs, when a quiet knock comes to your door. you stiffen, patting your hair down and double checking yourself in the mirror. you rearrange your sitting position, taking in a long breath to steady your voice, then say, “yeah?”

the door creaks open, lee’s eyes trained onto you. one hand is carefully gripping the door’s handle, while another holds one of your mugs. you gulp hard at the sight, feeling your stomach flip at the sweet gesture. god, she’s so good. it makes it all the more difficult to remain petty and distant.

“hey.”

you glance at her before forcing your focus back on your laundry. “hi.”

“I thought I should try that again.”

you can’t hold back the laughter that her words arouse. “and why is that?”

“because…” she steps forward, carefully placing the mug on your nighttable. “we, um, kissed last night.” the words are tense and quiet, and you can imagine she feels some level of awkwardness from acknowledging it, now that the thrill and heat of the night has faded away.

you feel your face burn at the admission. her saying it is like a slap in the face – it’s so real, so true, and her admitting it makes it even more of a fact. it’s something not just remembered by you – another person knows it, and has experienced it, and it’s a fact that co-exists between the two of you. it’s real, there’s no way it can be part of some fantasy. you already knew this, but lee stating the kiss so plainly makes it even more drilled into your mind.

“yeah,” you mutter, eyes pinpointed to the pile of socks at your ankle. “do you, um, regret it?” the question fills you with dread. her confirming that she does would send you into a world of heartache, and it would ruin everything the two of you have, you know it would. but, you can’t just float in blissful ignorance. maybe that worked for your feelings and not knowing if she returned them, but a kiss is real and grounded. you can’t just ignore the implications and feelings involved, especially when it’s bound to impact your guys’ friendship.

“no,” she immediately answers. her voice lowers. “do you?”

“no.” eyes still downcast, you shrug. “I had wanted to do, you know, it, for a while.”

a shaky inhale is your only response, and from this angle, you can see how her hand thrums against her thigh. “okay.”

“do you not want it to happen again?”

“no.” she pauses, before quietly saying, “I’d like for it to happen again.”

“why?” you whisper.

“what… what do you mean?”

you feel your mouth twist at your next words, eyes beginning to grow sensitive with the burn veiling them. “I… did you just want to kiss me because you were curious or something?” saying the words you just want to kiss me feel surreal. you, kiss, me. to say those words and know it means the two of you, and a moment of shared intimacy, feels like some reality floating above you, just out of reach from being fully realized.

“no.”

you finally look up at her, shoulders sagging in exasperation. she looks away as soon as your eyes rest upon her. “then?”

“I…” she shuts her eyes close for a second, then turns back to you with a gaze so direct it makes you feel ensnared. “I like you.”

you feel almost detached from your body, the confession making you afloat. “really?”

she nods. “yeah. I do.” after a pause, she adds, “as more than a friend, I mean.”

your chest swells with the sweetest sort of anxiety, stunned into silence for a few moments before finally pushing yourself to speak. “I was scared you didn’t,” you confess, your voice hushed, eyes welling up more. “that you had changed your mind, or that maybe had wanted to kiss me for some other reason.” you want to tell her these things. she’s still the friend who you can talk to about anything, who you know will listen to your pain, and imprint it onto her mind because it means something to her, then do her best to comfort you, even if she may struggle. you don’t want to lose that – the act of confiding, the friendship.

“that’s not the case.”

“well, I know that now,” you shakily laugh, ducking your head down. “I just meant before.”

“yeah. sorry.”

her voice sounds quiet, a bit embarrassed. it makes you still. you had been focusing so much on your side of things, of the assurance you wanted her to provide for you, that you neglected just how anxious she must be feeling right now. you know how difficult connection can be for her sometimes, and you know as the person who asked for the kiss, there’s a unique kind of doubt she must be feeling herself. and yet, you’ve made no move to comfort her, to give her a sense of certainty. even before, you were upset with what felt like a curt greeting, but you, too, had only given her a single word of acknowledgment. perhaps she had just followed suit out of fear of what was going through your head.

you force your eyes to tear away from the laundry. “don’t apologize.”

“no, I should. I shouldn’t have let you leave just now, I shouldn’t have left it like that. when you said it was nothing. I–I wanted to ask more. I just, I didn’t know if I should. I wasn’t sure how to act.”

“I know. it’s okay.” you swallow hard, trying to ignore how pathetic your next words might come off as. if you two are going to be honest, might as well go all in. “I just felt a bit rejected, is all.”

she shakes her head. “you’re not. rejected, I mean. I want this.”

“I do too.”

you two lock eyes, her dark ones swimming in something, you’re not sure. with a quiet sigh, her shoulders relax, and the contours of her face, which had been tightened in tension, now soften. her lips part, before shutting, and she reaches up, one hand pressing against your face. your face heats up under her touch, your stomach a mess of sensations. but, her touch feels so good, so right, almost as though that hand of hers had been crafted to lay upon your cheek since the beginning of time.

“is this okay?” she whispers.

“more than okay.”

a small smile tilts her lips up.

“sit?” you gently ask, nodding to your bed.

lee looks down, eyebrows drawing in. she’s been in your bedroom before, but it’s mostly been during brief exchanges, like her asking you to pick something up from the grocery store you work at, or letting you know she’s leaving the apartment. but, it’s rare that she’s actually lingered and taken up space in your room. the way a friend would, the way a lover would.

after a moment, she seats herself on the edge, folding her hands in her lap, eyes wandering along your bedroom. she’s clearly uncomfortable in this position, and you ache to kiss the worry away. you freeze at the thought. right. you can actually do that now.

you suck in a breath, slowly rising to your feet, picking up your folded socks. you really just need some excuse to move around under the weight her silent gaze, and something to do as you mentally formulate how to go about another kiss. you two had shared three last night. one, on the bathroom counter, the second again on the counter after a brief laugh exchanged, then the third, a tender press of lips before heading through the door and out of your alcove of privacy. you two had sat next to each other for the night, with long gazes and secret smiles passed between like love notes. amaya and maria had come over after, and eventually, you were too exhausted to wait for them to leave, heading to sleep, partially empty at the lack of kisses.

when you stand back up, lee is eyeing her hands, which wind about one another. you smile. she looks right like this – sitting on your bed, being a part of your bedroom. this is a part of your guys’ apartment that’s home for you, that’s just yours, and her being inside of it makes you feel that she, too, is part of this private sphere reserved just for you. that she, too, is home, and comfort, and a peaceful escape from the world. it feels right for her to take up space here – because she’s not just doing that, she’s simply fitting into a part of your life that she always provided the same needs for, just in her own way.

you walk over to her slowly, feeling suddenly like a predator stalking its poor prey. especially when her eyes widen at your proximity, alert and curious.

you rub your fingers together before cautiously raising a hand to her hair, tucking the strands of it behind her ear. her eyes flutter shut at the movement, and pleasure burns in your stomach. did your touch have such an impact on her? the notion stirs up your sense of confidence, and you mutter, “don’t be a stranger. it’s just my room.”

she hums in response, eyes opening to you. “I’m just not used to it.”

“you should get used to it.”

“why?”

“because, we’re… you know.” you fumble with the words. you guys aren’t officially girlfriends or anything. at least not yet, despite how bad you’d like to be. but, maybe it’s for the best right now. for the idea of becoming official, and having that label hanging over both your heads, makes your stomach tighten with a knot. it feels too soon, with too little to be certain of. but, you know that’s not all it is. even if you had every answer fulfilled about yours guys’ current state, it’s really just one future outcome that lurks in a dark corner of your brain and that stirs the most fear within. “romantic.”

“so, because of that, I’ll be in your bedroom more?”

you glare at her, very much noting the teasing lilt in her tone. “shut up.”

she nods, her lips still upturned. “okay.”

“and, just, well… can I kiss you?”

her smile widens, lines near her eyes deepening. the sight of it makes you nearly bury yourself in your hands. has she always looked at you like this? “yeah.”

you suck in a deep breath. god, how had she managed the nerves of taking the initiative like this last night? you’re struggling with it, and you guys have already kissed – you can’t imagine how nerve-wracking it must’ve been for her.

you lower your torso down, tentatively grabbing her shoulders, her automatic flex nearly making you pant in anticipation. god, she feels so firm and steady. you two lock eyes, hers searching yours patiently. you remain like that for a second, feeling terribly awkward and pressured under her gaze. suddenly, it’s like you’re a teenager having their first kiss.

she gives you a small tilt of her head, eyes skimming over your lips. “it’s okay.”

her small assurance steadies you a bit. she’d never judge you. she wants this too. with those thoughts ringing in your mind, you move closer, planting your lips on hers. the position makes you too uncomfortable to properly make out with her, but for a few seconds, your lips press to and explore hers, softly moving against one another. the wet insides of her mouth mold to yours, making it damp. something in you feels feral at the sensation – her saliva, something that was a part of her mouth, part of her, is now inside of your mouth, and will exist deep in you, for you to own and have infused within.

you two part with a small, wet sound, and you throb at it.

her cheeks are dusted with a pink flush, her breathing a bit laboured, and she stares at you with those shining, dark eyes.

“I, um…” you start, trying to ignore the heated desire bursting through you. “I’ll keep folding.”

she gulps. “okay. should I, uh, leave?”

“don’t.” you sit back onto your bed, crossing your legs. “if you can, please, yeah – stay.”

“okay. I’ll stay.”

“good.”

she smiles at you, and you busy yourself with laundry, hoping she doesn’t notice the way your hands shake slightly.

—

lee doesn’t know how to go about this new position you two have landed yourselves in. the last thing she had expected last year was to end up… romantically involved with her roommate. it feels both natural and unsettling. the friendship between you two has helped in easing the moments of awkward transitioning, but still, she can’t help but feel intimidated at the new territory you two now find yourselves in. she knows romance adds a whole new set of expectations, questions and dynamics that don’t exist in a friendship. especially considering the roommate situation, it plagues her mind with a whirl of questions. like, should she ask you out on a date? over the years, she’s learned that there’s a very organized process to dating, as useless as she finds it. it’s no longer a shared kiss, then automatically going steady. now, two people could go on dates, kiss, and even have sex, but being actually officially together, or exclusively with each other, is an entirely separate dynamic to partake in. she supposes it’s not the most surprising thing in the world – in dating and sex, there have always been these sorts of rituals and practices, even amongst animals. but, this particular one does it make especially harder to know what to expect in her case.

you’ve exchanged a few kisses, but she knows that doesn’t mean she’s your girlfriend. but, she’d like you to be. perhaps it’s just a possessive streak in her, but she wants you to be hers, and she herself has no interest in dating others. but, perhaps you do. maybe you want to explore your options before entering into any sort of commitment with her. but, it didn’t seem like you’re interested in anyone else, based on how enthusiastic you’ve been about spending time with her. but, perhaps her wishful thinking is clouding her judgement. maybe you’d prefer to spend time in this sort of limbo the two of you currently inhabit before entering into a relationship, whether it be due to wanting to explore, or wanting to see what it’s like to be romantic with her. if it’s for the latter reason, though, what does that entail? you already kiss a lot more than you ever did as friends. should you two be going on dates? she reflects on all the outings you two have already gone on together – would dates just be those replicated, but with the title of a “date”? or should she be asking you to attend outings different from those? like the typical fancy restaurant. she winces at the idea. she really does not want to go to a fancy restaurant.

lee rubs her forehead, eyes pressing shut. she’s supposed to be studying, not consumed by her relationship status with you. besides, all this private, internal musing isn’t going to solve her dilemma. what will help is to just talk to you. she knows this. but, part of her feels a bit uncertain at the idea of doing so. she’s scared what she’ll discover if she has this conversation with you. if you are seeing other people, she doesn’t know how she’ll feel about that. well, actually she does. she knows it’ll hurt her, and that a selfish, private part of her will wish you two could only see each other. but, asking you to not do so feels like an overstep. if maria was there, she’d tell lee that it’s fair of lee to ask that, and if you both can’t agree on how to go about dating, perhaps you’re simply not meant to be. lee sighs at the thought. maria’s practical – it’s precisely why lee and her get along so well, and can depend on one another to be a voice of reason when feelings are involved. but, the idea of ending this with you makes lee shift in her seat, the notion a distasteful one.

she knows the sort of complications in dating, as with any part of life, are just a testament to a variety of experience and preference amongst people – it’s the only explanation. but, jesus, does it make things harder to figure out. all the labels, and nuanced decisions and potential actions – it adds a level of social complexity and organized process to something people always say should be purely about feeling. but, lee’s set in that regard. she already knows what she feels. she likes you – plain and simple. and you like her, too. but, she knows romance carries an inherent social aspect to it, in its presentation, identification and process. exactly the kind of stuff she struggles with.

she wishes she could just be one of those people who feel relaxed through the process of dating. she never was. in high school, when her friend first initiated a kiss with her in the privacy of the school’s change room, she spent days racking her brain over how to act, what to do, what to say. similarly enough, in her first year of university, she was only lucky enough to have been with someone who had been a lot more decisive than her in figuring out how they ought to navigate dating. she feels the sting of disappointment at realizing how little she’s changed since then. still, she fears and struggles with how to go about things with someone now.

setting her pen down, she leans back into the chair, head lolling back. her eyes scan over the yellow ceiling of the library, the tops of the wooden pillars. even touching you is something to adapt to. it doesn’t come naturally to her. the urge? yes, of course that comes naturally – in fact, it slams into her, full-force, without warning most of the time. thoughts of kissing you, being the one to comfort you after a long day, to more vivid mental images that flash through her head in a split second and send her eyes squeezing shut.

it’s not that she’s unaccustomed to it, necessarily. to this day, her mom is more than affectionate. always stroking lee’s hair, staring at her with eyes lee cannot bear to meet, rubbing her back with smooth circles. she’s one of the only people lee hugs in greeting without being coaxed into it. it’s gotten more intense since lee moved out. now, when lee visits, she’s sure that her mom would have her stationed at her side at every given moment of the day if lee wasn’t so adept at silently escaping to the confines of the bedroom.

when she was a child, it was just part of everyday life. she was used to her mom’s affection, and even back then, she was keenly aware that it was something her mom did for comfort. after all, lee herself wasn’t drawn to hugs or cuddles, but anyone could see her mom was. and lee loved her mom, so she welcomed the touches. it was that simple. in a way, it brought her a bit of comfort too. their world was a very lonely one, but in those moments, where lee’s sense of loneliness was blurred by tiredness, and her small body was wrapped in her mom’s arms and a blanket, she felt that surely, her and her mom could stand a chance in this world, even if it was just the two of them. and things would be okay, even if she had no one else.

if only she had known what'd happen the day before her ninth birthday.

in the aftermath of that day, the older she got, the harder it became to convince herself of the tender sentiment, no matter how hard her mom tried to hold her. they weren't enough to protect each other.

but, lee can't think of that. the rise of nausea is enough to signal that, so she shifts her mind elsewhere.

maybe it’s because of the loneliness of her childhood that it was hard for her to accept touch. she had always been so used to it being just her and her mom, and with how much of an outcast she was, or at least felt like, growing up, maybe she just settled into a lack of affection from others. maybe she just got accustomed to the distance that still causes an internal division within her to this day, and the lack of connection resulting from this. and so, because of that, anything newly affectionate feels strange. but, then again, even after having befriended maria and amaya, there still continued a strain she felt with compliments, touches, the whole lot of it. she just isn’t certain what the ratio is between simply being empty of it, and used to that, versus having a genuine discomfort with it.

she blinks at the desk, then stands up to exit the library, leaving her work there. there’s a phone booth in the pod just outside the library, and thumbing a quarter from her pocket, she sucks in a deep breath before slipping it in. with memorized confidence, she punches in the number, and waits as the dial rings.

the call finally gets picked up. “yes, who is it?”

“hi, mom.”

“lee?”

a spring of irritation flutters in her. she doesn’t know what’s been wrong with her mom these past few years. just that something happened, and since then, her mom has slowly been losing herself. she’s more lost, more hazy, and more often than not, lee feels like she’s talking to a shell of the woman who raised her. she knows it’s not her mom’s fault, but she wishes she knew what happened. but, her mom still thinks she’s a child, still thinks she needs protection.

“yeah, it’s me.” she pauses. she wants her mom to know how much she cares – not just because of the guilt she’s starting to feel over her momentary frustration, but because she knows through everything, her mom has never faltered in caring for her. but, it’s hard. hard to tell her mom these things when for years, lee has been driven away and trying to seek a life beyond their home. “are you okay, mom?”

“yeah, I’m okay. just came back from the grocery store.”

lee nods. good. that’s good. she actually left the house. “what’d you get?”

“some oatmeal, porridge – things that are easy to make. I got the cereal you like. for when you visit next.”

lee’s mouth twists. visiting, right. she needs to do that soon. it’s nearing to june, and she hasn’t seen her mom since winter break. almost half a year. the realization makes her purse her lips. it had been so long. too long. “thanks. I’ll visit soon. I promise.”

“yeah.” she doesn’t know if her mom’s voice is hushed in relief or doubt, and she’s not sure if she wants to discover the answer. “how are classes?”

“good. finals are coming up, so things will be busy soon.”

“I’m sure you’ll do good, babygirl.”

lee’s eyes close, the words stabbing her with a mixture of anguish, comfort and longing. she misses her mom so much. “I’ll try.”

“and that’s as good as passing.”

her lips curve into a small smile. “I’m not sure about that.”

“I am. even when you were a kid, you’d be more strict about how your projects look than I was.”

lee huffs out a small laugh. it’s true. she was always so exact about the details of anything she knew was getting assessed. not much different from now. “in your defense, you were tired. from work and all.”

“lots of stuff was on my mind.”

lots of stuff is always on lee’s mind, too. her and her mom aren’t so different. “I understand.”

“you always have, lee.”

guilt pierces her. her mom would never know just how much lee doesn’t understand, how much she wishes was different. her mom would never know how frustrated lee feels with her for not confiding in her, for not ever speaking of that night. for letting that night drive an irreparable wedge between them, one that's only gotten wider and deeper with her mother's refusal to talk about it. lee doesn't doubt that even if that night hadn't occurred, things would be tense. there was the religion, the already-existing paranoia, isolation and distrust that her mother forced onto lee since birth. but, her mom's secrecy, her irrational logic that keeping quiet about that night would protect lee, lee who's now an adult, has caused the most damage. for now, since that night, all lee had was remnants of her mother, and she doesn't even know how to handle those. how can she, when her mother has taken a vow of silence whenever january thirteenth brought up?

not that lee even brings it up anymore. she gave up on that years ago. last time she tried, her mother only got upset. spoke of how lee was lucky to have grown up, lucky she was protected. the words are seared into her mind, laced with the guilt lee had already felt for years for not having been able to protect her mom for whatever happened that night, for not even having the strength of mind to remember it now. it's moments like those that still make lee ponder on if her mother resents her. maybe she feels upset with lee for not knowing all she did to protect lee and help lee grow up -- that's how it feels, when her mother narrows her eyes when lee says she's now an adult and can handle hearing all this. but, still, she won't tell lee.

there’s no way to say all this, though, so she just hums in response.

when the silence lingers for too long, lee says, “I’ll call you later, mom, okay?”

“okay.”

if things were different, maybe they’d be the kind of mother and daughter who say I love you before hanging up. but, they aren’t. they haven’t been for a while. and so, they say their goodbyes and hang up.

–

as the days roll along, you become increasingly apparent of the end of the school year looming over your head. soon, you’ll be done. and what then? you still don’t know with full certainty what you’ll do post-graduation. and that fact was easy to ignore in the flurry of classes and lectures. but, finals are coming, which leaves you with many solitary hours of studying, where you have nothing but some music and leaves upon leaves of paper scrawled with your handwriting to look through. and in those hours, it becomes all too easy to get frustrated with your mind that doesn’t seem to be absorbing anything, and your body that can’t withstand anymore hours of being awake late into the night. and with that frustration comes disappointment at your lack of progress, and anger that you can’t handle more. and this only spins into more worries about how you’ll cope with the real world, the one with a real, grownup job. and that leads to the question of: fuck, what will I even do?

it feels like everyone else in the world knows what they’re up to except for you. you know it’s not true, but, still, it feels that way when you hear all your friends talking about their plans for post-graduation, whether it be travelling, working, doing their master’s or even just taking a year off from life. hell, you’re so unsure about what you want you don’t even know if a year off is what you’d like. that’s how lost you are.

it makes you feel small and infantilized. like everyone else is leaving their footsteps on a pathway, while all you can do is just trace the marks with your fingers, only wishing you could trod along behind them.

the whirlwind of thoughts catch you in a storm of stomach piercing anxiety and the tight grip of stress, which skyrockets the further you stray from focusing on your notes. the stress causes you to become distracted, and the distraction furthers your stress. it’s an endless cycle.

you lay your head on the desk in your room, eyes closing, wrapping you in darkness. you wish you could skip to the moment where your life is set into motion, a job secured and certainty of your place in life achieved.

a knock shatters your musings. you raise your head up. “yeah?”

lee tentatively opens the door, eyes latched onto you. for a moment, your train of thoughts cracks in the center, the opening gapping for nothing but lee’s soft eyes and quiet approach. “hey,” she says.

“hi.”

she lingers in the doorway. “you’ve been in here for a while.”

you shakily laugh, trying to ignore the burning of your eyes. “yeah, just – long night, you know?”

she leans on the doorframe, eyes sliding to the pile of notes on your desk. “can I… help at all?”

you don’t see how she could. it’s too much content to ask her to look over and help you make any sort of guide for. besides, you feel like you’re on that fine edge of tipping into complete, all-consuming panic, and you need to handle that alone. “no, no, it’s okay. but, thank you.”

she nods. her eyes skim over your room, and you aren’t sure if it’s genuine observation or simply not wanting to meet your eyes. “I can make coffee.”

you can’t bear to reject another offer that’s as sweet as the one she’s making. “that’d be great. thanks.”

she turns to leave before freezing. you cock your head, waiting.

“you should lie down for a bit. take a break.”

“I don’t know…” it sounds tempting, so tempting, your small bed carrying more allure than it has all semester. but, you know once you get in, it’ll be hard to resist getting back up.

she licks her lips, eyes flickering to your unmade bed before meeting yours again. “just for a bit.”

and apparently, you’re all too susceptible to her quiet persuasion. “okay.”

ten minutes later, you’re curled into your bed, fingers toying with your plush blanket. lee carefully sets the mug on your nighttable, muttering, “careful. it’s hot.”

a smile curls onto your lips, something stirring in your stomach at the kind gesture. now that you two are, well, more than friends, these moments of domesticity have another layer of intimacy that didn’t exist before. it makes your head go hazy and soft with dreams of a future together. one where you two live together post-graduation, maybe share a bedroom that has photos from this past year taped to a wall. “thank you.”

she nods, and you feel yourself heat up at the way a small grin teases at her lips when her eyes linger on you. you barely get to relish under the attention before she swivels around to leave.

“wait!”

lee turns and blinks at you. “what?”

now that you actually have to say what you want, you feel like a coward. because, in all honesty, what you want most is for her to lie with you and hold you in those strong, steady arms. but, for all the kissing the two of you have done, you’ve barely managed a cuddle. never have, in fact.

you pick at a thread, avoiding her face, forcing the words out only for the reason that if it leads to what you want, you know it’ll be so good. “do you… I don’t know, do you wanna lie with me?”

she gulps, and you watch the way her neck tenses, a muscle in it visibly pulsing. there’s something about lee’s body that makes you want to touch spots you never even thought you could want to touch. the bare, smooth skin behind her ear that gets revealed when she ties her hair back. the muscles and bones lining her neck. the parts of her chest that get revealed with those open-collar shirts. her fingertips, her sharp nose. those lashes that fan as she watches you with clear hesitation. you want to kiss them all.

“are you sure?”

“mhm.” you try to hold her gaze despite how much you want to hide beneath the weight of it. “if you want to too.”

“I do.”

your cheeks ache with the wide grin that splits over your face.

“you look satisfied,” she muses, lifting her wrist to remove her watch. god, that’s so attractive. you hate her so much for how effortlessly appealing she is, wondering if other girls look at her the way you do. the thought leaves you with a stinging jab of jealousy.

“I suppose I am.” you shuffle to the side of your bed pressed into the wall, leaving a small gap for her to lie upon.

she slips off her belt too, nimble fingers undoing the latch then dragging it from the hooks on her slacks. you lick your lips at the sight. god, you wish the two of you were having sex. it’d be so easy then to grab her by the belt, slowly tug her forward, kiss her stomach through that shirt, and ask her to give you an hour of nothing but pleasure and distraction. the efficiency at which she rids herself of these uncomfortable accessories has you nearly high with arousal, the gestures so quick, focused and sensual in a way totally unique to her. it’s so effortless, so smooth, and carries a connotation that makes you want to shy away. all the other ways she’d use those swift fingers on you…

she walks over with a slight grin, and you wonder if she can read your mind. then again, you don’t think she realizes just how attractive she is.

gingerly, she seats herself on the edge, looking at you past her shoulder. her fingers fiddle with the material of her pants for a few seconds before slowly raising to your face. you feel yourself freeze with nerves when her fingertips skim along your cheek, tracing over your pimples, marks and bumps. she does it with such lightness, and her dark eyes rove over your face. you feel as though she’s drinking you in.

“you’re warm,” she mumbles, her smile widening.

“shut up,” you mutter, giggling despite the words. “you’re just cool to the touch, so I automatically feel warm.”

“oh? is that your theory?”

“yes, and it’s the correct one.”

“I see. so, definitely not a blush.”

you roll your eyes, stomach still fluttering with how her fingers explore your face. “definitely not. don’t get so ahead of yourself.”

“mm, I won’t.” her hand smooths into your hair, and your eyes nearly rest at the sensation of her fingers getting tangled in it, her palm rubbing at your scalp. “good thing I have you to keep me in check.”

you snort. “and you’re the future agent, too – you should have more objectivity than me. you ought to be embarrassed.”

“I suppose it’s time for a career change, then,” she chuckles, nails lightly scraping against your head.

“not too late to change your degree, either – haven’t graduated just yet.”

“I’ll think about it.”

the banter and soothing touches have you feeling more emboldened, and you whine out, “lie down, lee.”

her smile stretches wider, and she clears her throat, eyes darting between you and the empty space she’s seated upon. her hand slowly slides from your hair, and she shuffles on the mattress from side to side, wobbling oh-so awkwardly, before tentatively lowering to her back. laying on your side, you watch her stretch her legs out, shifting stiffly. she folds her hands over her stomach, and blinks hard at the ceiling.

you burst into laughter at her clear discomfort. “okay, well, now it just looks like I’m holding you hostage.”

she rolls her eyes. “it’s been… a long time since I did this.”

immediately, your stomach is whirring with equal parts curiosity and jealousy. “oh? with who?”

she peaks at you from the corner of her eye. “do I want to answer this?”

you pout, poking her arm. “come on, please, tell me.”

she sighs, glancing away. “I last dated someone in my first year of university.”

you hum, cupping your face as you stare at her. her eyes are avoidant of your gaze, and her fingers are twindling about. “do you not want to talk about it?”

“not really.”

you bite your lip, feeling an ache of worry drop down to your stomach. but, you don’t want to push. the last thing you want is to drive her away. not when you just started having her. “oh, okay.”

lips pursed, her eyes move to your hand, which lies limp near her hip. “but, you want to know, don’t you?”

guiltily, you shrug.

she inhales a sharp breath. “we didn’t date for long. just close to a year. we ended things due to incompatibilities.”

you cock your head at her.

“you know, things like our future. she planned to travel for years after university, I wanted to work here and eventually go to virginia. it slowly became apparent that we had too many differences, and not enough similarities to make up for it.”

“I’m sorry.” you feel your lips pinch into a frown. poor lee. you know she feels things deeply, so you can imagine the pain she must’ve felt to have suffered through such a slow downfall of a relationship. as well as the anxiety from how uncertain a breakup of that nature is. your hand twitches, and before you can let yourself resist, you give into the urge, your fingers stroking through those messy bangs on her forehead. she flinches in surprise, then relaxes a moment later, gaze shifting to you. in silence, you continue aimlessly playing with her hair – running your fingers through it, peeling strands from her sweaty forehead, rearranging them. and she stares at you through it, allowing your gentle touches to proceed.

“it’s okay.” her fingers wrap around your wrist, and you shiver when she presses her mouth to your palm, a soft kiss gifted to you. “it was a long time ago.”

“then, why did you not wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know, it just always felt like a… weak reason to explain a breakup.” she tears her eyes from you. “I should have been more aware of those kinds of things before getting together with her.”

“it’s understandable, though,” you softly say, hands straying to the layers of hair framing her cheeks. “sometimes, you don’t want to realize or figure things out like that – or don’t remember to – when you like someone a lot and, like, you know, are eager to get together.”

she nods. “yeah.”

so, she did like that girl a lot, then. especially to have acted in such an impulsive, and therefore, un-lee, sort of way. you can’t help but itch to ask if she likes you that much, but you know how goddamn desperate and possessive that’d sound. so, you keep your lips pursed shut.

“was the plan to just lie beside each other in the literal sense?” she inquires after another minute of you fiddling with her hair.

her question eases your worries a bit, sending you into a bout of laughter. “no, I thought we could… I don’t know, cuddle.”

“cuddle,” she repeats, her tone so serious and thoughtful. “okay. how do you want to do it?”

“uh…” your eyes search her face in question. “in the most literal sense?”

“no, I mean, what position?”

a joke immediately flies to the tip of your tongue. “I don’t know, how about doggy?”

her eyes widen, head reeling back. after your words seem to settle in, she snickers softly, cheeks evidently growing pink. “forget I asked.”

giggling, you siddle closer to her. “no, no, please, c’mon, I promise I’ll be good.”

she raises an eyebrow at you, then tentatively raises her arm up, leaning back to give you room. you nearly swoon at the sight of her doing so.

you press your chest against her side, pausing before laying your head upon her shoulder, in the slope between it and her neck. when you feel nothing but air against your back, you turn back to find her arm hovering above you. “lee, you can lay your arm down.”

she clears her throat, then follows through, arm tight around your shoulders. yours hangs upon her stomach and you could nearly shudder in pleasure. her body feels so solid under your touch, and, best of all, so real. hard, lithe and strong, she’s solidified under your touch, transformed from your imagination into a work of art, marble and hard. she’s actually here, in your arms, stomach rising and falling with steady breaths. she’s here, she’s real, and you’re actually touching her.

and you can’t get enough. you’re embarrassed to do more, take more, but you push yourself on, anyways, knowing if you both resist taking these steps, you’ll never enter into the steady stream of easy, effortless touches that two partners are supposed to share. and so, you press your face into the firm softness of her neck, breathing her in.

–

lee’s fingers skim along your back in light, feather touches. she tilts her head to yours, chin rubbing against your hair. it feels good to hold you in this way. new and unfamiliar, yes – she had to force herself to remain still and not stiffen up when you first circled your arm around her. but, now, she’s melted into the touch, feeling boneless. each caress of yours is like a whisper of assurance. she tries to not think too hard about her touches and just give into them naturally, her hand moving on instinct to rub along your back. it only furthers her confidence to see the small reactions that indicate your pleasure at her movements, such as curling deeper into her, humming at the back of your throat or sighing. these little telltale signs of your relaxation help her in giving into the natural movements of her body, and after just a few more minutes, her hand is mindlessly playing with your sleeve, rubbing the soft fabric of your t-shirt. the other one is soon met with yours and you two twirl your fingers together, a small act that has her smiling, her body feeling embarrassingly fuzzy at the sight of your hand slipped into hers, warm palm rubbing intimately against her own. she wants to memorize what your hand feels like.

at one point, your hand stills in hers. before she can ask what’s wrong, you abruptly ask, “wait, virginia? why are you going there after university?”

she blinks at the sudden inquiry, faintly amused at whatever trajectory paved the way for you to arrive at that point. but, her answer is quick, for it’s been imprinted into her brain since she finally settled on her plans months ago. “quantico, virginia. the academy for fbi training. I have to work a bit before I go, but it’s the plan.”

your head lifts, eyes wide. “so, you’ve decided, then? to do the special agent route?”

she nods. she’s known since she was twenty that she wanted to go into law enforcement, and being a special agent was the idea that always lingered at the forefront of her mind. it was the choice that felt most appealing, but she had wanted to look into all of her options before deciding on it with finality this year. and it feels right, so right. she wants to assist with crimes of a great weight, and put her analytical skills to use and do something worthwhile in the world.

she hopes you think she’s up to the task.

you lean over and press a kiss to her cheek, eyes bright and pretty. she has to look away, feeling her face heat up. but, there’s no escape to your affection, for you follow her, pressing your nose into her cheek and whispering, “congrats, lee.”

she clears her throat. she doesn’t understand what there is to congratulate her for. she simply arrived at a decision. but, still, she finds herself unable to protest when the congratulatory moment means she gets to bask under your attention.

and bask she does, for you continue dotting her cheek with kisses. she knows you must feel the heat of her skin, and as embarrassing as it is, she can’t find it in herself to coax you away. it feels too nice, and the small kisses have her wanting to both lean away and pull you in for more.

when you stop, much to her unspoken disappointment, you bury your head in her neck again, voice slightly muffed. “how long will you be in virginia for?”

“close to half a year.” she already dreads the social aspect of it. she feels as though she only just started getting comfortable with university, and again, she’ll be thrown into an entirely new place, setting and crowd. she’s prepared to devote herself to her studies and training, for that she’s eager and ready for. but, she knows it’ll be a hard adjustment. especially after this year. especially after you. her breaths become heavier. what would happen to you both? to ask you to come with her feels like too much, considering how far into the future the move is. and she doesn’t want you to feel obligated or tied down to anything. but, she could still try to figure out where your plans linger.

“and you – do you know where you want to go… after graduation?”

she feels your chest heave against her side and the way you shift slightly. something about the question seems to make you on edge. her fingers continue to skim between your shoulder blades, hoping her touch can give you as much comfort as yours gives her.

“I… I don’t know. it’s really stressing me out, honestly. I have no idea what I wanna do after graduation. the thought of graduating makes me feel like I’m losing some sort of security blanket or something.”

she nods. she had suspected as much. you never made explicit mentions of your post-graduation plans, and she had known a possibility could be that you simply didn’t have anything to relay. “that’s okay, though. not everyone knows yet.”

“yeah, but, I want to, though. I feel like i’m looking down into some dark hole, just closer and closer to falling in. in a way, I envy you, lee. you have a plan, something you’re working towards. right now, the only goal I have is to graduate. after that, I don’t know, I don’t know what to do. where to go.”

“hm,” she hums, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. the action comes so naturally, constructed of purely raw instinct, and it almost shakes her just how normal this feels. after a mere two weeks. “maybe I can help you look for jobs. or places.” she lingers on those last words, part of her hopeful you’ll ask to up the lease and stay here. with her.

you shift again. “I don’t know. it overwhelms me to think of it right now. maybe after exams, though?”

her wishful thinking deflates. she needs to stop getting her hopes up like this. you guys just started… whatever it is the two of you have. it’s too soon, too ridiculous, to be asking you to extend the lease with her now, then move with her to virginia. not due to the notion itself of living together. if it were anyone else, yes, the idea of living together would bear a lot of anxiety. but, you two have been living together for months now. to lengthen that doesn’t feel all that surprising to her. but, she knows living together isn’t what would be a big thing to ask – it’d be doing so with no reason other than to remain together. as for virginia – is two weeks enough time to wish for a future? it doesn’t feel like just two weeks. two weeks of romance, sure. but, her time with you has exceeded nine months, and they’ve been nine months of feeling her tight restraints unfurl and her reservations shatter into pieces. nine months of achieving a domestic comfort that she’s not ready to let go of once the year-long lease is up. she knows choosing to live separately doesn’t entail ending things, but the change of it carries an uncomfortable weight.

“we can look into it whenever you want,” she mutters. “but, it’s okay that you don’t know. I think lots of people don’t.”

“yeah, but I wish I wasn’t one of them,” you nearly whine against her neck.

she snorts, feeling rather endeared. “I know. but, it’s okay to be. you have time.” her voice lowers. “that doesn’t change once graduation comes.”

when you say nothing, she lightly nudges you. “okay?”

“okay,” you mumble, pressing a peck to her neck. she feels herself clench at the cold, wet feeling. it’s been on her mind more and more. having sex with you, that is. some nights, it feels nearly unbearable to know you’re merely across the hall, the warmth of your body so close. she’s not sure if you’re fully aware of it, but sometimes, she feels the way your hips tense under her hands, how your breath hitches, and the vibrations of your moans. those little reactions worm their way into her thoughts at the randomest of moments, tightly gripping her mind and consuming her with blasts of images of how you’d moan with her hands groping different parts of you. she swallows hard, hoping you don’t notice the way her body re-adjusts on your bed. it’s so hard to manage sometimes. she wants to worship you with her mouth, her hands, any part of hers, so long as you wish it. she wants to memorize your body so well that she could bring you pleasure without even looking.

the feeling only increases by a tenfold one afternoon, when the two of you are walking down the street to the video store. it’s an unseasonably hot day at the start of june, and lee’s sweating through the t-shirt she’s wearing, the material sticky and uncomfortable around her. she hates the heat. the dampness of her skin, the way her upper lip tastes salty when she licks her lips, the itch in the crook of her arm. it’s a lot of sensations at once, and she doesn’t handle that so well. it’s only made more intense from the noises of students yelling and gathering upon the street. most of them are divided into groups, chatting on steps and curbs, sharing soda from the grocery store or running along the sidewalk.

her eyes scan along the surroundings, taking in all the people. she’s never been one to join in on this kind of energized activity. whether it be the dance floor of a party, the rageful debate in a classroom, or even the chase games on the playground. she’s always been content to linger on the sidelines, watching the activity, knowing it’d be too stressful and overbearing for her to join, but finding it interesting to observe from afar.

she hears a sharp scream, and her eyes immediately dart up in concern, gaze relaxing when she realizes it’s just a girl screaming as some guy begins to twist open the fire hydrant.

lee’s mouth lowers to your ear. “I don’t think he’s allowed to do it.”

“oh, lee,” you coo with a roll of your eyes, gently smacking a hand to her stomach. “don’t be so stern.”

her lips purse. “I’m not. I just mean he might get himself in trouble.”

you shrug, smirking at her. “we’re near the end of the school year. everyone’s excited.”

she hums, mouth still pinched in concern. if the fire hydrant gets opened, someone might complain and call the police on the group of students, which will only arouse a lot of unwanted chaos and panic.

there’s no way to stop it, though – a fact that only becomes more apparent when the water begins gushing out of the hydrant. the guy who opened it cups the stream to direct it at the girl who had screamed, her voice raising in pitch when she’s hit with the water.

“watching other girls get wet?”

heat crawls up her neck at your words, the innuendo far from being missed. she avoids your eyes, the sexual implication too embarrassing for her to handle. especially considering all she wants to do is pull you in and tell you you’re the only one wants in that state. she wishes she could – it’s an odd urge, a rare one, but she wants to flirt with you, and watch you get flustered. but, she loses the courage, and keeps her mouth shut, lest for the mumbled, “no. I was just observing.”

“will you observe if I go in?”

she blinks at the question. “in the water?”

“yeah.”

when her eyes flick to you, you’re smiling, eyes twinkling in that way they do when you tease her. she sighs, looking away. “maybe.”

it’s a lie, of course. she’d watch you for an eternity if she could. washing the dishes, flipping through cue cards, soaking in sweat, eyes filled with the stickiness of sleep, picking at your lips that have grown crisp in the winter – you make every sight worth devoting her attention to.

it’s a sentiment that’s brutally interrupted when you grab her hand, urging her to follow you into the blasts of water.

she immediately tugs back. “I didn’t say I want to go in.”

“oh, c’mon, it’ll be fun. didn’t you like doing this kind of stuff as a kid?”

she falters. she never did this kind of stuff as a child. “I don’t know.”

“please, lee, c’mon,” you plead softly, grip tightening on her hand and pulling her close to the small crowd of students that have started to run through the water.

she knows it’ll be a lot to handle, the stimulation and noise, but the idea feels a bit more bearable with the thought of you being at her side. that, and with some preventative measures, of course. “fine. but, then, we’re getting food, the video, and going right back home, okay?”

“okay, grandpa,” you giggle, beginning to yank her forward, sneakers scratching against the pavement as you run headfirst into the water.

as soon as it hits her, goosebumps flare over her skin, coating her in texture as the cold, seering pressure of the water immediately soaks the two of you. the guys controlling the water seem to be glad you two joined, immediately directing the water over the two of you. lee feels nothing, thinks about nothing, other than the cold iciness of the water bursting along every inch of skin. her jeans become heavy with it, her mouth tastes salty, and in midst of the previous burning heat, it’s almost an escape, getting lost in nothing but the coldness, the pressure, people’s laughter and your hand in hers.

when the spray of the water is directed elsewhere, she sucks in a deep breath, taking a moment to process what just happened. she feels her bangs plastered to her forehead, and her ponytail hangs lower with the weight of the water. still, your hand remains in hers, squeezing assuredly. no one bats an eyes. she supposes it’s a lucky part to being a girl – no one raises an eyebrow at any affection she could share with you, so long as it’s confined behind the lines that mark affection from unadulterated lust.

she firmly grasps your hand, coaxing you closer so you can hear her. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” you breathlessly laugh, turning to her.

she swallows hard at the sight of you. the glaring sunshine casts a gold beam along your face, and with the shine of the water, you’re nearly glittering. for a few moments, she finds herself barely managing words at the sight of how… radiant you look. it’s such a dramatic and heavy word, but the only one she can think of to describe you.

a voice in her whispers to tell you. she knows she should. it’s what partners do, it’s normal. and she wants you to know how fond she is of you. expressing it is hard, but she could at least try for you. and maybe with time, she’ll adjust, as she always has in the past with her other partners.

her eyes flick over your face before she leans in, whispering, “you look beautiful.”

any hesitation she might have felt is immediately swept away at the sight of your wide smile.

“thanks,” you say, teeth shining at her.

she wants to kiss you, so bad. but, she can’t. not for a lack of want. but, both past relationships she had had were lacking in such public displays. the first time, it was due to a mutual agreement. the second time, it was just her. now, in her third time, she isn’t sure what to do. she doesn’t know what you want or how you desire people to perceive the two of you in public. but, even if she did, she’s not sure if she’s ready for it. she’s never done it before. while it’s terrifying to imagine all these people casting their gazes upon the two of you, exposing you both to their judgement, another part of her, a strong part of her, wants to embrace you, and show everyone you’re hers. not that you even are in the most technical sense.

she’s only ripped away from these thoughts when you turn to her in the pizza place you’re standing in line for together. “you want mushrooms, right?”

she nods, then freezes at the sight of your bra, which is totally exposed under the sheer transparency of your soaked white shirt.

“lee,” you drawl out with a laugh. “are you checking me out?”

her eyes immediately latch onto the chalkboard behind the counter, desperately hoping she’s convincing in her act. “no.”

“uh huh. totally believe you.”

“good.” she pauses, blinking hard. “because it’s true.”

“oh, so,” you mutter, stepping closer to her, staring at her through your lashes. her abdomen stirs with a warm, molten sort of sensation at the gaze. “you won’t kiss me or touch me once we get back?”

she clears her throat, gaze flicking around, her stomach tightening in nervousness at your bold words. “um, no.”

thirty minutes later, she practically tosses the box of pizza onto the counter, shoving your back against the front door, pressing her mouth to yours. one hand is tightly encircled on your waist, while the other is cupping your jaw, massaging the muscle so your mouth hangs open. she immediately seizes the opportunity, excitement bubbling in her, and her tongue snakes into your mouth. the warmth of it is a refuge in the chills still surging through her body from the water. she eagerly loses herself in it, swirling her tongue around yours.

✩

you pull your head back, and before she can question what’s wrong, you push her in the direction of the couch. she gracelessly tumbles into the cushions of it, immediately feeling a pierce of discomfort at knowing the seat is getting wet from her clothes. but, she urges herself to ignore the mental protest, barely managing to swallow down a moan when you climb into her lap. you stare down at her with a wisp of a smile, eyes gentle, and she finds herself unable to meet them with the tenderness contained in your attention.

“you can touch me, lee.”

her fingers tighten into the couch’s fabric. “where?”

you press a hot, moist kiss to her cheek. “anywhere.”

she grits her teeth at the answer, but protest is the last thing on her mind. “are you sure?”

you pepper kisses back to the corner of her mouth. “yes.”

the breath she draws in is a shuddering one. “okay.”

her hands hesitantly cup the crease of your legs where your shins are pressed into your thighs from how your legs are folded. her eyes flutter shut at the warmth of the spot, palm smoothing over your skin as it roves higher up your thigh. the prick of your hair tickles against her skin, and her fingers curl, digging into the plush of your thighs. she bites her lip at the feeling, wanting nothing more than to feel those thighs in all kinds of ways. under her tongue, lapping at the innermost spot. around her head, as her tongue licks up those folds she’s thought of so many times, usually against her will.

she nips at your bottom lip lightly, and grunts when your hips buck forward. the layers of heavy, wet fabric dim any friction it could give her, but knowing you felt pleasured enough to move in such a way sends a wave of satisfaction rolling through her.

“did you like that?” she murmurs against your lips, not giving you a moment to respond before gently biting on your bottom lip again.

you whimper. your hips flail again and her hands fly to grip them, squeezing into the soft flesh. “do that more,” she rasps.

your face morphs into a quizzical stare. “I… do what?”

she swallows. “move like that again. if it’s okay.”

you moan, and the noise shoots straight down to her center. “it’s more than okay.”

your hips start moving again, and lee’s head hangs back, her breaths becoming shallow as she watches you grind your hips back and forth, clutching onto her shoulders. you’re clearly enjoying the pressure it’s giving you, eyes fluttering shut and mouth hanging open as sighs drift through it. lee just sits, settling into the couch and watching the way you move. your bra is still visible to her, and your nipples poke out. she feels a desperation overtake her at the sight, wanting nothing more than to rip these layers off and have you ride her dildo like that while she puts her mouth on you.

her hands clutch your hips harder, pulling you forward and away on her lap, helping you ride it. you cry out at the newfound pace, palms flat against her stomach as you let her control your movements. “fuck, lee, feels so good.”

“keep going,” she encourages, nails digging into your skin. an animalistic part of her hopes she leaves shapes of crescents in your skin. she wants to mark you up, show everyone you’re all hers. she doesn’t even know if you are, but amongst all the hazy pleasure, she doesn’t care. in this moment you are, and she wants something to show for it.

✩

the phone suddenly rings, the blaring noise making her jerk under you. you also start, your back tilting a bit too much for her liking, and she quickly presses her palms into the small of it. “are you okay?” she asks, her heart thumping.

you nod, a shaky laugh leaving your lips. “yeah, I’m okay.” the hand that was on her stomach is fisting into her shirt, and lee can’t help but want it there forever.

her eyes dart between you and the phone. it could be her mom. it could be an emergency. she pats your thigh, lips pressing into a tight smile. “um, I need to…”

“yeah, yeah,” you breathlessly say, gingerly climbing off of her and sitting on the couch. she immediately feels the coldness of her damp clothes at the lack of you, and with an embarrassing amount of longing, she walks to the phone and answers it.

“hello?”

“lee?”

she clears her throat, an irrational part of her wondering if her mom could sense what she was doing. she tries to adjust her voice accordingly. “yeah?”

“are you okay?”

“yes, mom, I’m fine.” her voice takes on a heightened edge of exasperation, realizing what the call was about. it was like protocol at this point – every few weeks, especially during finals season, when lee tended to forget about calls, her mom would call her to check in. lee knows it’s not a bad gesture. but, she also knows the calls come from a deep lack of trust for the outside world, a lack that has held lee back for years and has added to the layers of tension between them since that night. it started with her mom getting cut off and abandoned, and being forced into single motherhood. and it only worsened since her ninth birthday. it’s a lack that sometimes, truthfully, irritates her, for she acts as though lee's safety constantly hangs in the balance no matter where lee is. and right now, that lack and its resulting call have interrupted lee's time with you.

she speaks to her mom for a few minutes, and she knows she sounds more urgent than usual, fingers itching to end the call. when her mom asks that usual question, she tries not to glance at you.

finally, she ends the call. and is immediately hit with a wave of guilt for how she spoke. it’s not like she gets to talk to her mom often. and it's not her mom's fault that she distrusts the world.

she sighs, then turns back to you.

–

lee pads over and carefully sits on the couch. this time, it’s in the center cushion, right next to you. your face breaks into a smile and yoy shift closer, tossing a leg over hers and draping yourself over her. her arm easily comes to rest on your back, a smooth, effortless gesture that has your stomach whirring.

“was everything okay?” you ask, dotting kisses along her jaw.

a soft grunt comes from the back of her throat, and you bite back a smirk. “yeah. she was just checking in.”

“you sounded impatient on the phone.”

she hesitates, glancing down at you. “I was.”

“I know, but you know, we have all the time in the world. you only have so many minutes on the phone with her,” you gently remind her, pressing another soothing kiss to melt away any burn your words may carry. you know she has things tough with her mom, and you’re still not exactly sure how at fault her mom is, though, of course, a part of you is burning with curiosity. but, you also know lee loves her mom. it’s evident to anyone, and hidden in the pockets of her kind gestures that she reserves to privacy. she calls her mom daily, sometimes even more than once, forces herself to visit despite not liking it back home, and some of the first smiles and laughs you ever saw of hers were solely when she was talking to her mom. there’s a soft underbelly there, lingering beneath the harsh trauma and experiences she’s been through.

you pull away, hoping your words didn’t upset her or seem overbearing. but, she’s only staring down at your hand, which rests on her thigh, eyebrows slightly scrunched in focus. after a moment, she nods with pursed lips. “I know. I’ll do better next time.”

you kiss her cheek, laying your head back on her shoulder. “she seems to dote on you.”

lee’s chin rests on top of your head. “yeah, she does.” the words are hushed, as though she’s embarrassed to admit it.

“and you adore her too, don’t you?”

she stiffens under your arms, her blinks becoming faster. her gaze shifts to you, and you hold it, raising a hand and smoothing your thumb over brown the spots on her face. after a moment, she says, voice low, “yeah. I do.”

you hum and lay on her chest. for some reason, it feels nice. to know how loving of a daughter she is. in a way, it makes you admire her even more.

“and you?” she murmurs. “do you… um, adore yours?” she says adore softly, as though embarrassed to be using so tender a word.

“sometimes.” you fiddle with her t-shirt, feeling unbalanced in answering the question from how much you lean both ways. “sometimes, I look at them, and I see myself in them, and I get why we’re related, how we’re related. and in moments like that, or when we bond or joke, I feel like I could almost call them my friend. but, then, they do something harsh or unfair, and I feel… like, bombarded with the reminder that they’re my parents. and sometimes, it makes me feel stupid, because I feel like a kid again, so small and frustrated.”

“it’s not stupid,” she immediately says. “even I feel… like a kid sometimes with my mom. I think a part of us maybe just reverts back with them.”

“why do you think so?”

you feel her stomach heave beneath your hand. “maybe because since they’re our parents, we always see them as, I don’t know, someone to take care of us. and so we always seek that from them.”

you roll your fist into her shirt. “yeah, maybe.”

she’s silent for a few seconds, then mumbles, “you don’t deserve the harsh parts.”

you rub your head against her, aching from the caring words. “thank you.” after a moment, you ask, “but, it was okay on the phone?”

“it was the same as usual.”

that wasn’t an okay, something you take note of. for all you know, each call could carry something terrible and she’s just accustomed to it – and that’s why she doesn’t call it okay. her calls sound like any other stiff parent-child conversation to you, but still, you’re not sure why that is. just how bad things could be for her. yeah, during the visit to the cherry blossoms, and that night she came back from her mom’s after halloween weekend, she did confide in you about some stuff. but, you feel far from having the entire picture.

you’re about to inquire after it when she tentatively says, “maybe we should talk about what was happening before.”

you swallow hard at her words, slightly surprised at her having been the one to initiate conversation about it. even more apparent is the way you’re throbbing at the reminder of what was happening before her mom had called. god, she held onto you with such a hard, tight grip, dragging you relentlessly. it makes your mind wander to how brutal and unfaltering she’d be in other ways.

you want to ask more about her mom, but refrain. you two have ample opportunity to go back to it in the future, but rare is the opportunity that you both naturally enter into a talk like this.

shifting, you prop yourself up, extending an arm out so it stretches along the couch and behind her head. “yeah.”

she remains silent.

you laugh, leaning a hand over to stroke her hair. “okay, so should I start?”

she glances at you wryly. “sorry.”

you smile, then pause, taking a courage-filled breath before saying. “I… I want to, you know? I want to do it.”

“it?”

you raise an incredulous eyebrow at her.

she shrugs. “I just wanna be sure.”

“fine.” you sigh deeply, then say, trying to ignore the many pauses in between your words, “I want to, you know, have sex.”

her throat bobs, eyes straying to your leg. “I do too.”

it’s almost silly how much you internally brighten at the words. it was pretty obvious from her handsy touches that she definitely wanted something, but to hear her confirm it feels so much more affirming than solely picking up hints that are drawn from touches in the heat of a moment.

“do you want to wait?” you don’t why, it’s probably due to lee’s reserved nature, but part of you feels like she’d be the type of person to want to take things slow.

which is why you’re so surprised when she mumbles, “not really.”

“oh?” you giggle, teasingly running a finger through her hair, which is still thick and damp with water.

she edges her face away, gently grabbing your wrist. “it’s not that surprising.”

“it kind of is! you seemed like a, you know, take-it-slow kind of girl.”

she raises an eyebrow. “is this another ex-catholic joke of yours?”

“no!” you guffaw, shoulders shaking. “I just, I don’t know, I thought you take your time with that stuff.”

she shrugs. “with people I just met, I do. but, we’ve known each other for a while. I already trust you.”

it’s said with such confidence, as though it’s the most natural conclusion in the world. unbeknownst to her, her words have made you feel ascended. “really?”

“yes.”

“okay.” you giggle nervously, fingers going back to her hair, if only to have something to do to distract yourself as you speak. “so, then… we’ll do it?”

“if you want to.”

“I do. do you?”

she nods wordlessly, fingers tapping without rhythm against her knee.

your tone softens. “hey, look at me.”

she does and you feel like her eyes could swallow you whole. something about those dark, wide, brown eyes have you feeling like her gaze is sharp enough to open you and see all the thoughts and words you keep hidden out of fear of driving her away.

you try to hold her gaze, which is so unwavering it makes you feel uneasy. but, not in a way that’s linked to fear. but, rather in a way that makes you feel like the axis of the earth is slightly tilted, like the balance of your body is tossed away, because some sort of world-shattering phenomenon is occurring right before your eyes. you draw in a breath. “it’s just me, okay?”

she shakes her head. “the fact that it’s you is what makes me scared. I want to do right by you.”

“you will just by being there, lee.”

she tilts her head, eyes skeptical.

“it’s true,” you reiterate. “whether or not we click immediately, or take time to adjust, I’ll enjoy it just because it’s you.”

she looks away, eyes flittering about the room. “okay.”

“are you getting shy on me?” you shift closer, the hand in her hair moving to cup the back of her neck. goosebumps immediately rise against the touch of your palm, and you smile.

“no.” the word is said slightly wavering.

you lean your face in, pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek. “uh huh, you know, that’s the same tone you used when you said you didn’t want to touch me. back at the pizza place.”

her head leans away from you. “it wasn’t.”

“it was,” you whisper, and when she turns back to you for what’s probably going to be another quiet protest, you press a shushing kiss to her mouth. immediately, she returns it, her lips caressing yours as one arm wraps around your waist, tugging you closer. it’s a bit ridiculous, considering how much kissing the two of you have already done, but the gesture makes you giddy in knowing she wants you near. maybe wants it so bad that she brings you closer without even thinking of it.

when you part, she pants against your lips, “so, if we both want to, when should we?”

“what do you mean?”

“I mean,” she continues, pulling away, her eyebrows knitted, “maybe we should arrange it for a day when we’re both off from work and have no class.”

you burst into laughter. “‘arrange it’? wow, sexy.”

she rolls her eyes. “you know what I mean. we’re both busy, and–”

“let’s do it when it feels natural,” you laugh. “what if we’re not in the mood on the so-called arranged day?”

her tone is flat, pragmatic. “then, we schedule it for another day.”

“no. lee, it’s sex, not a business meeting.”

she looks away with a huff. “it is technically a meeting. of sorts.”

“one where we’re both naked. I don’t know how well that bodes with formality.”

at your teasing tone, she narrows her eyes. “you know, you’re really just extending the time it’ll take for you to find out.”

“as though you could resist me for long.” there’s a certain power you feel in expressing the words, because you know it’s true. you know if perfectly reserved lee harker can’t even keep her word to not touch you because she wants her hands on you that badly, then you can rest assure that she wants you. the surety in which you feel that in this moment is almost unnerving.

but, she doesn’t respond to your teasing. she just sits in silence.

your previous confidence wanes from the emergence of insecurity and worry, your stomach turning in a sickening motion. “sorry, was that too much?”

“what?” her eyes dart up to you, then widen. “no, it wasn’t. I just – I want to ask you something.”

you grip a bit harder at the couch now. “okay?”

“are you, you know, seeing or involved with anyone else?”

your head immediately jerks back at the question. it was the last thing you had expected her to ask, the mere idea of you being with anyone else so unbelievable that it feels like it exists in a reality far beyond the one you’re experiencing with lee. “what, no! of course not. why would you even think that?”

she doesn’t meet your gaze. “I… sorry, I just– we never confirmed what we are. and I know it’s a common practice to, you know… date other people before becoming official.”

you cross your legs on the couch. “not for everyone. not for me. is that – do you want that?” the question makes something sink into your stomach.

she shakes her head. “no, I don’t.”

you sigh in relief. “good. thank god.”

lee’s lip quirks up, just barely. “did you not like the idea of me seeing someone else?”

you gently push her head into a loll, glaring at her amusement. “don’t be so smug.”

“I’m not.”

“then, what’s that smile on your face for?”

she shrugs. her eyes linger on your face before looking away. “cute.”

your face immediately warms at the compliment. you’re not used to this side of her yet. the side that allows for quiet compliments, sweet mumblings and initiated touches. it still makes you feel windswept, as though her tenderness is a gust knocking you off your feet and into a never ending wormhole of affection. “stop it.”

“it’s just the truth.” her tone is passive as usual, and it makes you even more flustered in a way. she doesn’t say the praise, and state the so-called truth of it, with any embellishment. she says it naturally, with raw honesty. it makes you all the more acutely aware of the fact that she truly thinks of you that way.

you’re still trying to come up with a response when she says, “so, if we’re not official, but we’re only seeing each other… what makes us different than girlfriends?” her voice is low with hesitation, but she eyes you carefully.

you gulp. she’s right, of course she is. you guys aren’t that different from girlfriends at all. you spend so much time together, you kiss, you cuddle, and if your outings just had the label of dates, then you two would be going on dates constantly. but, the idea of actually having the label of girlfriends makes you feel tense in the stomach, as though you’re intentionally tightening your muscles.

“I… I don’t know,” you weakly say.

she purses her lips in contemplation. “I mean, the only thing I can think of is that we haven’t gone through the… procedure of going on dates leading up to an agreement of being girlfriends. but, it feels like we already do that.” she pauses. “unless dates should be different than what we usually do.”

fondness strikes at your heart like a bell. “maybe the only difference is that dates are called ‘dates’?” you’re glad for the momentary shift in conversation from the word “girlfriend.”

“maybe. then, is that the only thing stopping us from being girlfriends?” she swallows hard. “just beginning to call the time we spend together ‘dates’?”

you say nothing, a slightly nauseating feeling churning in your stomach. you hate it. isn’t this what you’ve been wanting for months now? for her to be yours, only yours, to be the one she can rely on, or call when scared, and bored, and happy? you’ve been wanting, wanting and wanting, and now, you’re dangling on the border of having, and you just want to run away from that edge, feeling like stepping over will lead to a steep, dark drop.

“what is it?” she gently asks. you look up to find her staring intently.

when you say nothing, eyes downcast, you watch the hand in her lap twitch, lift and lower back once, then finally reach out, tangling your hand in hers.

she says nothing. she simply waits. it kills you that she has it in her to wait, just for your sake, in what feels like a deeply momentous event.

“I-I’m not ready,” you whisper. “to be your girlfriend yet.”

her hand suddenly tightens. you can’t bear to look at her.

“okay.”

you slip your hand from hers, and stumble into a standing position. “I’m going to shower.”

all she gives you is a nod.

–

lee’s actually thankful for finals this week. because at least it gives her a distraction from you and how things have been at home.

it’s not like she’s angry at you for having said no to her, well, in hindsight, not-so-subtle suggestion. but, her mind and stomach are an uncomfortable mix of emotions. if there’s anyone she’s angry at, it’s mostly herself. she wishes she hadn’t been so lacking in subtlety. maybe now, you feel awkward with her because you suspect she’s trying to push you into an official relationship. she shuts her eyes, embarrassment creeping through her. what if she’s now come off as forceful, or too much?

she’s not sure as to your reasons for saying no. she knows you not being ready is the obvious answer, but she’s not exactly sure why you’re not ready. perhaps it’s too soon? you two had your first kiss a month ago, and while that feels like a long time to her, perhaps it might not be to you. perhaps you want to spend more time in this vague, in-between state before adding a label. but, why should a label mean so much? why should it carry such a weight?

you two already act like a couple, so why does the addition of the title girlfriend matter so much? it’s just a word. ten letters, two syllables – she doesn’t know why society places such a weight in its connotations. a prickly, gnawing sense of frustration itches at her. she doesn’t get it. maybe she’s the one lacking some important piece of knowledge regarding the dating scene. but, it makes no sense to her. you’re content to act like her girlfriend, but to actually be called it is too much? she feels a twinge of guilt at her own emotions. she knows she can’t force you to feel ready, and even if she did possess such an ability, she’d never want to wield it on you. she wants you to choose this, choose her. but, to not be chosen leaves her feeling with a kind of insecurity she hadn’t anticipated.

because does your hesitation have to do with her? has she been too distant and unclear in her emotions? have her reservations made you question her ability to be a sufficient partner?

she wants to rattle her head and rid herself of these thoughts. she should be studying, and instead, her mind is flooding with why, why, why about you, herself, both of you together. she knows logically, her own guesses will never match to the reality of what you feel, and can only take her so far. but, she’s filled with fear over approaching this with you. your answers might be more difficult to bear, and she’s not sure she can handle a shocking or painful revelation.

she progresses through the week fine. long, tired hours of studying keep her up late into the night, tucked into the living room where her desk is and flipping through pages. it’s easy for her to get swept up like this, especially if she enjoys the content. as a child, her time and effort for school ranged based on the class, with her most liked classes being those she could pour over for hours, and the ones she wasn’t drawn to, like math, being the kind she pointedly avoided. the latter would lead to a lot of late afternoons spent with homework sheets discarded to the side of her desk, her small hands devoting hours to drawing or peeling through picture books. it was easy to discreetly engage in such rituals with how often she was alone at home. her mother hadn’t even discovered her decline of grades until weeks after lee’s teacher had first notified her to return her calls. in the whirlwind of hours at the local hospital, lee’s mom had easily missed and neglected the crumpled up note next to the phone.

as a child, lee hadn’t minded the solitude that much. it would usually only last a few hours after school, and she liked the time to herself. similar to her feelings as an adult, she didn’t enjoy the process of conversing with others. even on the days her mom had her babysat, lee preferred to walk the grounds of their home by her lonesome, or watch television. just anything to be alone and have ample silence for imagining herself in the latest film she had seen. and most of the time, whether someone was watching her or she was alone, she didn’t even miss her mom that much. sometimes, yes, but she had adjusted to the isolated existence fast, and it just became second nature to associate home with an empty space.

the only times she had really felt a craving for her mom were on the days her mom was at work for longer than usual. those hours of solitude melted into loneliness, and she would become acutely aware of just how silent the house felt. she would often grow unsettled and anxious in those lonely evenings, the long shadows of the trees creeping through the windows and the branches looking like spindly fingers chasing after her. in those evenings, she missed her mom. some days now, she still felt like that.

but, things were different in how she proceeded with those feelings. she’s sure her mom would still try and comfort her to the best of her ability if lee ever came to her. but, lee hadn’t been vulnerable with her for a long time. not since her mom had started to push her farther and farther from their home, both with the slow decrease of space and the insistence and paranoia.

lee has always wondered what her own home will look like in the future. the idea of it becoming her mom’s home is one that part of her still fears. so many people turn into their parents, replicate their habits. though, at the same time, she doesn’t even know if such a fear has any real value. to her, it feels like the mess of her mom’s home has embedded such a need in her for space and organization that it’d be impossible to repeat her mom’s mistakes. but, still, the irrational fear lingers.

for the longest time, she envisioned any future home of hers to possess only her, the sole owner and guest. a romantic relationship, a family – they’ve never been huge concerns of hers. she’s usually been content to consume her time with her academics and working towards her goal. the only time in her life where she was truly attached to the idea of dating was when she had first realized her attraction to girls in high school. at that time, she ached for, and couldn’t think of anything but, the touch of a girl, the love of one. she just wanted to experience it, at least once. and she did, and it was just as intense as she had anticipated it’d be. but, after high school, she had become determined to do well in her studies, mostly content with the singular romantic experience she had had. she had experienced love once, and that was satisfactory, since at least she knew, then, what it was like. well, satisfactory most of the time. not always.

now, though, she can’t get a certain image out of her head when she thinks of what a future home would look like. it’s a shadow by her side, and its figure holds an all too familiar shape.

she gets through the week. it’s difficult, and filled with hours of exhaustion and stress, but she gives it her all, the pressure of this being her last semester placing a heavy weight on her conscience. she wants to prove that her education, her completion of these four years, were worthwhile. she wants to prove it to herself, and to her mother, that she left oregon for a worthy reason.

she wants you to see this, too. it feels new, the way you now linger at the edge of her subconscious in ways you didn’t used to. now, when she does something, she hopes you’ll approve. when she sees something she finds interesting, she wishes she had a way to send you a picture of it. she wishes for you and wants you in all these quiet, secretive ways. you’ve made a space for yourself in the corner of her mind that had been empty of contact for years before.

you’ve also had a large amount of work too, she knows. you have two exams, one group project that you’ve been complaining about the entire semester, and a graded class debate on friday morning that you invited her to weeks ago. she’s barely seen you this week. though she knows it’s because you’ve been cramming in your bedroom, part of her is gnawed with the deep fear that you’re avoiding her. that she did too much, and is now driving you away. she wishes you would just talk to her. even on the day you confessed to not feeling ready to be her girlfriend, you left her there, showered, then remained in your bedroom for the rest of the night. the next morning, you two drank coffee together, and you struck up conversation with her as usual, albeit more stiff than usual. and before you left, you had pressed a soft kiss to her lips.

and just like that, the week had proceeded in a series of short-lived conversations, mostly about classes, and brief touches. she’s tantalizingly close to the end of her entire college career, and she can’t even feel relieved.

all of this leads to the uncharacteristic decision to break the silence of her study session with amaya and maria, who each showcase some variety of a flinch at the sound of lee’s voice. she’s not one to open up like this, so it takes a few pauses for her to quietly reveal what’s been happening.

when she does, she can’t help but hesitantly glance towards maria. though both of them had been pleasantly surprised weeks ago when lee had revealed your guys’ shift in dynamic, maria still had her qualms with the situation. lee worries that this will only increase her sense of doubt.

thankfully, such a thing does not happen. instead, which actually might be worse, what happens is that maria begins to question you as a person.

“like, are you really sure you wanna be with someone who spends a week not even talking to you about this stuff? stuff that’s important.”

lee fidgets with the ripped strings of paper sticking out from her notebook’s spirals. she didn’t intend for this to happen. she doesn’t want her friends looking down on you, or doubting you. she knows you, she knows you’re kind and considerate. but, she also knows that’s not enough to provide you guys with a lasting relationship. you’ve always been able to talk to her, why are you being so different now?

when the silence lapses for too long, amaya clears her throat, dark eyes flickering between the two of them. “okay, listen, I think one screw up is allowed before we get the pitchforks.” she turns to lee with a gentle smile. “I like you two together, okay? and you guys have a solid friendship going on, even beneath all the mushy stuff. use that to your advantage. talk, and make it clear you don’t like this way of handling things.”

maria ducks her head down, mumbling, “I think that should’ve already been self-explanatory, but okay.”

lee’s jaw tenses. while she’s slightly annoyed with maria, she can’t say she blames her, which somehow, exasperates her even more. she’d also have some reservations towards a person if they were to treat maria or amaya like this. she knows it’s not right of you to do this to her. and it causes a hot pool of frustration to drip into her stomach, because she wants everything to feel right. and everything did feel right up until this point.

and she misses you.

–

you’re tip-toeing around the apartment, carefully placing your plate in the sink then slipping on your sneakers with slow, focused precision. once this is done, you grab your backpack and wrap your fingers around the doorknob.

“where are you going?”

you fucking leap, lee’s voice scares you out of your flesh and bone that bad. “lee, jesus christ, announce yourself!”

“in our own apartment?”

you roll your eyes, though you can’t bite back the smile the words our apartment ignites. it makes you feel like the two of you are living together – actually living together, by choice and with the desire for it to be permanent.

her eyes scan you. “anyways, I’m just here because I thought you wanted me to come for your debate.”

your shoulders deflate at the revelation. it’s not that you don’t want her to come. of course you do – this entire week, you’ve been dousing yourself in buckets of self-pity over the fact that your own stupid behaviour will probably entail her not showing up. and that’s not even the worst of it. you’ve felt like complete shit all week, avoiding her after dropping such an abrupt, harsh confirmation of not being ready to be her girlfriend yet. well, maybe it wasn’t so harsh, but to you, it feels like the worst possible thing you could’ve said at that moment. maybe you’d be less torn about it if you had actually sat down and explained your mindset to her. but, instead, you had scurried away like an idiot, leaving her alone with what was probably an anxious toss and turn of thoughts. and then, what did you do all week? avoid her. you had been overcome with piles upon piles of work, and to say you had been overwhelmed would be an understatement. the idea of talking to her about why you had rejected her advances only accentuated your stress, and you had neither the time nor emotional management necessary for such a talk amidst the finals of your last semester. and you were scared to explain yourself and potentially face disappointment or rejection. and so, you had opted for avoiding her.

you wince. you should’ve fucking told her all of this, all of the reasons for avoiding her like the plague. you should’ve immediately confided in her rather than draw this shit out for a week. you were devastated weeks ago when she had given you a distant greeting the morning after your kiss, and that had lasted just five minutes. she’s been receiving your distance for a week now – you can’t bear to think of how it’s made her feel.

that’s why her coming along to your class now does nothing to quell your worries, and only unfurls a very heavy bout of agony. because you know you don’t deserve this from her today – this support, this encouragement. not after how astrayed you’ve been all week.

you want to throw yourself at her feet, beg for forgiveness. but, you can’t, you’re already running late from all of this staring.

“you don’t have to, lee.”

her jaw twitches.

“no, no,” you rush to explain, stomach plummeting. “please, no, I just mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I mean, you don’t have to just because of obligation or your promise. I’ll understand if you, you know, would prefer not to.” you’ll be heartbroken too, but you haven’t earned the right to be heartbroken.

“I’ll come.”

you shakily sigh, nodding. “okay.” you want to hold her hand to the subway station, you want to pull her by that devastatingly handsome short-sleeved button up and kiss her thank you. but, you can’t. and not just because of the time constraint.

the subway ride is quiet, intercepted by weak attempts at conversation, like asking her how her exams went. she quietly answers, without detail. it feels like it’s fall again.

however, the throbbing, burning heat of summer smacks you right across the face during the last portion of your debate.

it started civil enough. it’s not the most formal debate, despite its inclusion of an introduction and conclusion, and the professor is mostly using it as a way to assess students’ digestion of the course content, as well as their ability to apply it. she’s spent the past three days inviting two groups, each made up of ten people, into her classroom at different assigned time slots. for each group of opposing teams, she’s given them a question, and for two hours, the debate was to take place, the last twenty minutes being free reign discussion. it was all calm and everyone offered research-based, backed up answers to the question of if all sexual attraction towards women is inherently objectifying.

that is until sandra, a girl designated to the side of “Yes” directs a sharp, pointed look in your direction, saying, “this is exactly why lesbians should have their own sub-feminist group. the mainstream feminism movement doesn’t want anything to do with more talk and involvement of sex.”

immediately, someone in the seat behind you jumps in. “that’s so archaic, though! we’re not in the seventies anymore, we need to accept lesbians in the movement.”

“besides,” you add, not before shooting the person a thankful smile, “we can’t just ignore sex as an entire concept. it exists, and we can’t just not address it, whether it be heterosexual or lesbian sex. and also, it’s not fair to inherently tie lesbianism to sex in a way heterosexuality isn’t.” your stomach begins to stir, prickling with annoyance at her words. she can’t choose the side she’s advocating for, sure, but there’s no need to bring up lesbianism in such a… pointed way.

“well, that’s what it is, isn’t it?” sandra scoffs, and you shift in your seat. it no longer feels like this is just an objective, detached form of arguing on her end. you glance warily at lee, who meets your gaze from the corner of her eye, lips pursed. “lesbianism includes the sexualization of women – women who might be part of the feminist movement. why should we put those women in the uncomfortable position of having their own peers within the movement sexualizing them?”

“you do realize lesbians aren’t dogs or some shit, right?” you snap.

your professor calls out your name in the tone of a warning, and you suck in a deep breath. under the table, you feel a hand press against your knee. it’s lee. with a gentle squeeze from her, some of your embarrassment simmers down. you steady your voice, then proceed. “lesbians aren’t just lusting over every woman they see. and even then, you cannot compare the attraction lesbians feel to that of men who have, well, been men their entire lives and have grown up with the social conditions and expectations surrounding men’s attraction to women.”

“how? sexual attraction is sexual attraction, and anyone who is attracted to women is influenced by a culture that objectifies women.”

you grind your teeth together, your stomach beginning to churn harder as the anger within you builds. “yes, but lesbians have had their own experiences with gender that differ from those of cisgender men. so, the sense of entitlement and allowance that cisgender men feel in objectifying women isn’t there for lesbians.”

“cisgender?” sandra’s eyebrows knit together, and even her expression of confusion manages to possess a shadow of condescension. as though you’re the stupid one for having used a word she doesn’t understand.

“dana defosse, university of minnesota? it’s a word meant to describe the opposite of ‘transgender.’ that is, someone who is assigned a certain gender at birth and continues to identify as it for their entire life.” you force a sticky sweet tone to your voice, desperately hoping she feels at least a twinge of stupidity at your explanation. next to you, you hear a quiet huff from lee, and your mouth nearly twitches.

her eyes flick away. “fine.” you sigh, hoping this is a sign of relenting, but nope, she carries on a millisecond later. “but, this doesn’t change my mind. especially with the involvement of bdsm, and more lesbians who dress, like, you know… men, it feels like there’s just a mimicry happening of heterosexuality, as well as aggressive sexual behaviours being incorporated, both of which mean more objectification of women.”

her second point is accompanied with a glance at lee, whose fingers flex against your knee. she’s evidently nervous, or at the very least, uneasy. a sense of protectiveness spikes in you. how dare she put lee, sweet fucking lee, on the spot like this in front of all of these people? how dare she do it at all? your voice begins to waver. “‘masculinity’ and ‘man’ isn’t the same thing. masculinity on a person who isn’t a man doesn’t mean some kind of, like, pretending or copying is happening. even the concept of masculinity itself is subjective and dependent on culture – it barely exists as an objective concept. like… it’s just clothes and behaviours, why do we need to define it by gender and police who can and can't do it? why can't a woman do something just because it fits into what western society deems as 'masculine'? isn’t that against our values as feminists?”

strands of hair move as she cocks her head. “yes, and so is the objectification of women.”

you release a scoff that nearly squeaks with exasperation. “I’m not objectifying women just by being gay.”

she splutters. “I-I’m not saying you do. but, your chances of doing so are higher, and just – that’s why. that’s why there should be a separation between lesbian feminists and straight ones.”

“the chances are not higher!” you gasp out, flattening your palms on your desk. “yes, there’s romantic and sexual attraction, but my experiences with my own gender has earned me the ability to not objectify women in the way a cisgender, straight man is taught to.”

behind sandra, a guy laughs and tosses his arms up. “can you just stop acting like because you’re gay, your attraction is holier than a man’s or some shit?”

“I’m not saying it is–” you try to interject, your body beginning to slowly rise with a harsh dance of anxiety, embarrassment and anger. did you really come off as thinking yourself superior? was everyone judging you right now? the uncertainty begins to trickle in.

“yes, you are,” he continues, laughing. it makes you feel ridiculous in front of all these people, but also indignant that he even forced his way in in the first place. “attraction is attraction, wanting to fuck someone is wanting to fuck someone. it’s not different.”

“thank you!” sandra says, her voice high with an annoyingly relieved tone.

you fumble, now feeling the weight of the class’ eyes on you. when it was one on one, that was one thing, but now with the addition of someone new trying to prove you wrong, you’re overcome with a flood of inadequacy. and the longer the silence drifts into and expands within the classroom, like an infected wart, the more you feel your face heat up in humiliation. your mind feels like it can’t be grasped, your thoughts emptied of what else to say.

“okay, well, let’s call it a day,” the professor says, standing from where she sat perched on her desk. she claps her hands together. “great work students.”

you feel shame at your lack of a rebuttal. were the other people in the class, the people who felt defended by your sentiments, disappointed in you? were they pitying you? embarrassed for you? were people really thinking you sounded as haughty and superior as that guy framed you as? as the stinging, hot stab of anxiety and flusteredness rips through you, you whisper to lee, “I-I need to get out of here.”

without waiting for her response, you shakily grab for your backpack, and rush out of the classroom, beelining to the bathroom.

overwhelmed with emotions, you brace your hands on the sink, crying silently. the heat of the debate, the isolation of feeling two people jump to fight you back, the knowledge you ended the debate with nothing to say to defend yourself or the other queer people in your class – it suddenly takes its toll on you, and you feel your body get heavier with it, begging for release. the tears slip down your face, and you quietly gasp out through them.

moments later, the door creaks open with hesitation, ending with the soft click of the lock. you know it can’t be just any regular student walking in for a bathroom break.

lee quietly approaches you, her bangs swept messily along her forehead, chest rising more than usual. she drops her backpack to the ground, watching you carefully as you stare back with tear-soaked cheeks.

“why didn’t you defend me?” is the first thing you say. it’s stupid, it’s childish, but in the throb of your anger and humiliation, you want to lash out and release it some more.

she blinks at you. “it’s a class debate. I didn’t think I could. I didn’t know if you’d want me to.” she looks away. “sorry.”

what is wrong with you? your body floods with hatred over what you just said. as if you have any right to make demands with how you’ve behaved with her this week. “no, no, I don’t know why I said that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, lee. I’m just stressed and upset from the whole thing. and I just wish it could’ve been stopped earlier. but, it’s not your fault.”

“no. I should have said something. you were being treated badly. even if it was under the… guise of an academic discussion. the setting or circumstance shouldn’t have mattered.” silence hangs for a moment, the only noise her fingers tapping against her thigh. “I’m sorry.”

you gulp. “it’s okay.”

“I’ll do better.” her voice lowers. “it did make me angry. I don’t want you thinking it didn’t.” her dark eyes rise to you.

you flinch. you only now realize she’s never seen you cry like this. not truly. it’s only been moments of tears during a movie or a song, but never full on sobbing like this, let alone for something that happened to you. you want to look away, the uncertainty of what she feels about you in this state gnawing at the edge of your mind. but, more than that is your desire to let her see you in this way. totally exposed and a complete mess. you want her to know and witness this side of you, and you want her to understand it, and with that, understand you fully. most of all, you want to bask in her acceptance and comfort.

you’re left wondering if she’ll give you that for a few moments, the both of you quiet. but, then, her lips press together and she walks over, stopping when she’s behind you, chest brushing along your back. she wraps her arm around your waist, hugging you to her, and dips her chin down, resting it atop your shoulder. “are you okay?” she murmurs.

you cry harder at her concern, one hand reaching up to wipe the tears away. you don’t deserve this. this gentle, tender treatment from her. but, god, it feels so good to receive it. in spite of the tears, your stomach flips at the feeling of her strong, firm arm pressing into you. and her warm words, deepend by gentleness and the lowering in volume, make your shoulders feel weightless. the care in the gesture makes you soften to water, and you want to melt away into the fabric of her shirt, the touch of her hands.

“I… you’re not upset with me? over this week?” you ask, voice shuddering through the quiet sobs.

her arm tightens around you, thumb beginning to stroke your stomach over the fabric of your shirt. “I’m… confused. and I was a bit frustrated. I didn’t know what was happening.” she sighs. “sorry.”

“no!” your voice raises, though its edges are still raspy with tears. “please, don’t apologize. I’m the one who’s been horrible. I’m sorry.” the memory of how you’ve avoided her this week when she was left in the dark and probably needed your support most (for more than one reason), adds layer upon layer of guilt to your heart. you look into your guys’ shared reflection, her eyes downcast. what worsens everything is the knowledge that you had done something to truly frustrate her this week. being on the receiving end of any negative emotion of hers makes you feel crumbled to the ground. “lee, I-I’m so sorry.”

she nods. “we can talk about it later. right now, I just–”

“no.” your voice is so, so shaky, but you push forward. “please. you deserve an apology.”

her eyes tentatively raise to yours, meeting you in the reflection. she tucks her chin deeper into the slope of your neck. “I know.”

you awkwardly shuffle to turn around, her arm continuing to wrap around your body as you do so. you hesitate, then raise your hands to her shoulders, which tense momentarily. god, how long had it been since you touched her like this? it’s only been a few days, but it feels like an eternity. “I’m so sorry, lee. I’m sorry that I said what I said with no explanation, no comfort, and just avoided you all week.” you pause in to suck a deep breath, throat dry. “I was just overwhelmed with work, and knew I couldn’t handle a conversation like this, and I was scared of what you’d think of me when I explained myself. but, I should’ve told you all that. I should’ve explained myself right away. rather than avoid you. I-I’m sorry.” recalling everything you did, vocalizing it without any mincing, makes your gut twist with shame at how you behaved. you, the person who is supposed to not hurt her.

she can’t even meet your eyes, dark brown orbs pinned to your shoulder as her eyebrows furrow, clearly mulling over your words. her lips part, close, and then they open to say, “I wish you had just talked to me.”

“I know. I should’ve.”

her throat moves as she swallows. “please, don’t do that. I don’t want secrets with you.”

your head bobs so hard your head aches. “I promise, never again.” you reach up, cupping her face, thumb tracing over the pimple that’s recently sprouted near her lip. you hadn’t even noticed it, it’s been so long since you’ve explored her face like this.

your thoughts on her face shatter into fragments when she finally looks up, and her eyes are coated in a sheen layer of liquid.

“oh, lee,” you whisper, regret twisting and yanking at you in the most painful of ways. “I’m so sorry.”

she says nothing, her eyes simply flickering over your face. when she blinks, a stray tear falls.

you immediately pull her in, mouth pressing against the drop, mumbling, “I’m so sorry.” you wrap your arms around her neck, tugging her into a hug. her other arm lifts to wrap around your waist, clutching on tightly. “baby, I’m so sorry.”

she makes a small noise against your neck, and you wonder if it’s a sob until starting with the realization of what you just called her. your face warms. it just came out, without you even processing it. the tenderness and protection jolting through because of her tears, the guilt and longing of knowing it’s because of you, because of the absence you drew out that instilled such a want in you – all of it makes you want to be the softest you can be with her. “sorry, I–”

“it’s okay,” she whispers.

you say nothing, reaching up to stroke the hair of her long, brown ponytail, the strands silky smooth. when you feel a cold wetness on your neck, where her face is buried against, your fingers tighten against her shoulders, pressing her in closer. sweet lee. sensitive lee.

you decide to tell her. “sweet girl,” you whisper against her head, rubbing her back in what you hope is a soothing motion for her. the guilt tears at you, the embarrassment at your avoidance claws at you, but what rips through all those feelings, what lathers a soothing balm on them, is your desire to tend to her, be there for her.

the desire for it nearly rips you apart.

–

lee feels embarrassed at being so doted upon, but she can’t tear herself from it. it feels too good to be under your hand’s gentle caresses, your lips sweet presses. it’s been an hour since your class, and still, her face is shoved deep into that spot on your neck, your legs entwined in her bed. you’re on your back, while she lays on her side, leg tossed over yours and arm slung around your waist. your hand continues to comb through her hair, soft words and kisses falling against her forehead as you sweep past her bangs and dote on her. she nearly shivers at the affection. she always thought she could live without this, do without it – but, now that you’ve given it to her, with such unadulterated and relentless pouring, she doesn’t think she can ever be taken away from it. the more you give to her, the more she craves. maybe she’s always craved it – this touch, this attention. maybe she just did a good job at ignoring the lack of it until this point. either way, she’s content to lay here, surrounded by the musky scent of your sweat.

“are you okay?” she can’t help but feel guilty for the conversation of what happened in your debate having shifted to what happened this past week.

“what do you mean?”

“because of the… class discussion.”

she feels you shift under her arm. “I am now. I was just embarrassed before for having ended it with nothing to say. I just felt so, like, confused? I just couldn’t think of anything – there was too much pressure from two people joining against me, everyone watching. I felt like such an idiot.”

lee sighs softly, trailing her fingertips along your shoulder. “you’re not. an idiot, I mean. I understand that feeling. it’s hard to… think on the spot with all that attention.” she sighs. she never would’ve been able to do it herself. if it were her, she probably would’ve frozen on the spot from all the watchful gazes. anything she would’ve been able to offer would have been the result of extensive prior practice. “you did good. really good. I was – still am – really impressed.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

you pat down her head with a soft smile, and lee’s eyes skip away. after a moment, you say, “I also was worried. like, am I really objectifying girls? am I really sounding like I have some superiority complex to say I don’t?”

lee immediately shakes her head, eyebrows furrowing in concern. she doesn’t want you thinking such a thing. for months, she’s been admiring you for how open and unapologetic you are regarding your sexual orientation, and the idea of your confidence waning because of today heightens her regret for not having spoken up. “no. everything you said was fair. how we view and treat women is influenced by, you know, social expectations. and our own experiences. there’s clearly a leniency, and almost expectation, towards – what was the term? – cisgender men’s objectification of women. a leniency that we aren't given. that’s more than apparent.” she looks up at you, hoping you know just how true her words are. “you were right. and objectification has some willingness involved in the act of doing it. it’s knowing you’re taking away someone’s humanity and only caring about… your own self-fulfillment. it’s harder to do that when you’ve dealt with it yourself in the past, and know what it feels like. as well as when society doesn’t give you tolerance for doing it.”

you seem hesitant, your eyes flicking away, mouth twisting in deep thought. “you’re not just saying it for my sake?”

“no. I’d tell you if I thought you were wrong.” and it’s true. lee’s never been one to lie, let alone be good at it. even if she’s afraid to, she’s more than okay with being truthful. she doesn’t understand why she’d hide her own opinions when someone is asking her a question to evidently seek out her thoughts.

this seems to ease you, for she feels you soften under her arm. a small smile creeps onto your face, and lee relaxes at the sight of it. “thank you.”

she simply hums and presses her face back to your neck. it’s nothing, really. she likes being there for you, and doing something to actually help when you need it. she usually gravitates towards doing a silent gesture, one that can easily be missed, or melt into the background. but, she knows you. you need words right now, clearcut assurance. and she’ll give it to you. she’d talk for hours if it meant you got comforted by it.

“listen, let’s talk about… the other thing. why I said I’m not ready last week.”

lee freezes. she inhales a deep breath. take one, take another, then another. her mind is whirling with the possibilities of what you’ll say – is it her? is she the problem?

your voice is hushed. she can sense the worry you, too, must be feeling. “can we – can, like, I talk to you like my friend? not as my future girlfriend.”

lee’s stomach surges with hope at the use of ‘future girlfriend.’ she tries to pointedly ignore it, focusing on your request instead. she isn’t sure what acting like your friend entails. she never stopped being your friend, she still is. there’s just another thing added to it. her head raises from the warm cushion of your neck, the slope containing a sanctuary. “so, should I move…?”

you laugh. “no, no. we can be friends who cuddle.”

“we were never friends who cuddled.”

“well, then, let’s play pretend.”

lee smiles softly, then shuffles into a sitting position, rising to brace her back against the wall her bed is pushed to, crossing her legs.

still on your back, you whine, “hey, I said let’s cuddle!”

she brushes her fingers through your hair. “I want to see you when we talk about this.” she doesn’t trust herself to figure out the subliminal meanings of your words based on auditory signals alone. she wants to be able to see your face and body, and detect if you need her. as overly observant as that sounds.

you look away, pouting. “makes things a bit more nerve-wracking for me.”

“should I not…?”

“no, no!” your eyes flash to hers, widened. “please, no, stay.”

she rolls her eyes, the corners of her lips tilting up. you could be so confusing sometimes.

“okay, I’ll just – I guess I’ll just dive right in.” you suck in a deep breath, and it might as well have been an inhale stolen from lee’s throat, for she feels herself still completely. “it’s just– I’m scared, lee. not to be your girlfriend – I want to be your girlfriend. but, I’m scared of us… breaking up.” at the two words, lee fidgets, picking at her pants. the thought of you two ending what you have, in any capacity, with any label, floods her with an immediate pull of resistance. “I’m scared of us spending months, years, together, then all of it ending in, like, heartbreak. I’m terrified of it, lee.”

she pauses, the gears in her mind spinning as she digests your words. she understands that fear. the mere mention of a breakup has her feeling thrown from balance, and you two have only been… involved for a month. but, she doesn’t understand why it would cause you to resist being her girlfriend when you two have already been romantic. “if we ended things right now, though, wouldn’t it already hurt? wouldn’t it already be a breakup – or at least feel like one? how would being my girlfriend change that?”

“I know.” you sigh, hands twisting together. “I know it makes no sense. if we left things tomorrow morning, I’d be a fucking mess. it’d be horrible. but, I don’t know, the words, the labels, it makes it feel like a bigger deal to me. if we’re girlfriends, rather than in some weird, middle sort of space, there are these expectations from ourselves and others to stay together. and I feel like those expectations make ending things feel all the more terrible. do you get what I mean?”

her hand continues stroking your hair. while she knows the labels hold weight in society, and therefore, possess meaning in people’s minds, she doesn’t feel they’re so important that they will be one of the main contributors towards your pain. “I get it. but, I don’t agree. at least not for me. I think what’d make a breakup hard is what we have. other people’s expectations resulting from our labels can cause embarrassment during a breakup, maybe, but I don’t think it’ll cause a lot of pain. I think the only time expectations will cause us pain is when it comes to things we also would’ve wanted for the future. and those things we’ll want regardless, even if we aren’t girlfriends.”

“yeah.” for a long moment, you’re silent, and lee’s fingers fidget faster in your hair, anticipation swimming in her. “I guess another thing is, I don’t know, being called a ‘girlfriend’ makes me feel like things are more serious, more structured, so I’m scared that because of that, a breakup will feel more severe, more horrible.”

“I’m not going to say that that word is just a word. I mean, it is, technically. but, I know it gives us structure, a way to identify ourselves to each other and other people.” she sighs, shaking her head. “but, I don’t think it’s what’ll cause the most pain. if we were girlfriends, but totally estranged, a breakup wouldn’t feel as… painful as us not being girlfriends, but, well, close. close like we are now.”

for lee, your experience isn’t one she’s accustomed to. whenever she’s dated someone, she’s always been so certain of her choice that calling them her significant other never felt daunting. perhaps this was due to how particular she was with selecting a romantic partner, as well as the fact that any pursuits she made were committed to with the utmost patience, since to move slowly was her preference and she’s never been one to feel romantic notions quickly.

maybe there was a desperation to it, as well. the fact that connection came so rarely to her that once it was in sight, she grasped at it with single-minded loyalty and strength. maybe her lack of connection is what fuelled her ability to commit, what pushed her to throw herself all the way in before someone could leave her. the notion is one that makes her slightly nauseated.

when you’re quiet, furrowed eyebrows directed at the wall, she gulps. she’s not always the best when it comes to giving comfort – it only feels easier with you because of how long the two of you have known each other. but, that doesn’t mean she’s confident in doing so. not many people have relied on her for comfort in her life. and not many times has she felt sure in her ability to match up to the task. but, with you, she feels like she can rely on her instincts a bit more – instincts that only exist because she knows you and what helps you. and she knows what you want is honesty.

“I…” she hesitates, wondering if you’d prefer the silence. when you turn to her, eyes blinking, she musters up the courage to say what she wants. “being close to you is what’ll hurt me if we break up, not being called your girlfriend. and the only thing you can do to prevent yourself from getting hurt is eliminating our closeness. not avoiding being called my girlfriend. I’m not telling you what to do – I just mean this is what makes sense of the situation.”

“but, I don’t want that.”

her lips curl at your immediate interjection, trying to avoid the stinging fear within. “I don’t either.”

your voice cracks. “I’m just scared.”

lee’s thumb strokes your forehead. “I know. if something happens, we’ll handle it together, okay? I just…” she peels a strand of hair away, feeling the heaviness of her upcoming vulnerability bear down on her. “I’d rather try and things end, then not try at all and never know.”

you suddenly reach for the hand in your hair, lacing your fingers and hers together. “me too.” your grip squeezes her. “and you were right. about everything. being called girlfriends won’t account for even half of the pain of a breakup. and I don’t want to end this with you, being like this. and it’s not fair to keep it, but not do something we both want.”

lee is silent. she doesn’t know what to say. while part of her is relieved that you don’t seem to intent on ending things after the choice she’s posed, she can’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable in the turn this seems to be taking. “I don’t want to only do it because you’re scared of this ending.”

she jerks back when you suddenly shoot up from your lying position, shuffling closer to her, your hands cupping her neck. at the touch, she shivers slightly, trying to stiffen her body so it isn’t obvious. she wraps a loose arm around your waist, pulling you in, wanting you close. you play with the hairs on her neck, gaze unfaltering. “I do want to be your girlfriend. I’ve wanted it for months, lee. I want to call you that, I want you to call me it. I’m only scared of the whole breakup thing. that’s it.”

relief pours through her, and she sighs softly. when you keep watching her with those wide, attentive eyes, she clears her throat, head ducking down. she can’t handle it sometimes – how it feels like you cradle her in your eyes. “do you feel scared still?”

“a bit,” you admit gently. “but, I don’t want it to hold me back. not anymore.” you tug on her hand. “it’s okay, though, if I’m a bit scared at first? I’ll be happy, of course I will, but I’m not sure I’ll just immediately feel less scared right off the bat.”

“and you don’t need to.” she doesn’t expect that your anxieties will vanish overnight, even if your thinking and mindset have shifted. she knows that’s not how it works for her, someone who often takes days before her anxiety wanes over something that has happened. she never expected it to be different for you. “we can handle it together.”

“but, lee, know that I am sure of you. I am so sure, lee. I just – every relationship, every connection, has ended in some form of heartbreak. even when I initiated the end, it still fucking hurt. and I’m scared of going through that with you. especially because with you, it’ll hurt all the more, because I just – I… I like you so much, lee.”

when you finish, you draw in a breath that’s clearly trembling. lee wonders how much courage it took for you to say all this. while she feels a twinge of jealousy over the mention of your past partners, she can’t help but feel some of her nerves wash away under the assurance of your feelings. while she knows that neither of you would be together unless liking one another was involved, your bold, honest declaration of it has her feeling unnerved. she’s not used to this – being on the receiving end of such unabashed affection and want, and she feels a tad pathetic at just how easily she crumbles under the sheer force of it. she’s sure you don’t realize it, but your words, your care, your touches – they have this invisible hold on her, as though there are strings linking her body to all of them, and only you have the power to weave it to your will.

“but, we might not break up,” she quietly mumbles, feeling her neck heat up at the words. it’s honest, too honest, and she’s afraid it’ll push you away, but she wants to share the way you do. she wants to bring you some of the hope you’re trying to present to her. “we might… have a future.”

she doesn’t have a moment to glance up at you before she feels the familiar plush softness of your mouth on hers. her breath hitches in her throat, shoulders stiff. after the surprise trickles away, her lips melt to yours and she presses in, mind fuzzy to the gentle pushes and openings of your mouth.

when you part away, an embarrassingly loud groan rumbling in her throat, you tip your forehead onto hers. “you’re right. I want that too.”

joy floods her body at the confession, a swift sensation of lightness overtaking her. she had been so tense and rigid and tight with the anxiety, the fear, the terror at what this conversation might turn into, at the possibility of losing you. to be met with kisses and confessions and promises makes her feel wrapped up in a blanket of safety, like the kind her mother used to crochet for her. it seems like this will be okay, like you guys will be okay.

“lee?”

“mm?”

“will you, um, be my girlfriend?”

her eyes screw shut, her breath shuddering. for a second, she just repeats your words in her head, processing them. as ridiculous of a request as it sounds, she almost wants to leave the room momentarily to linger on your question by herself. despite knowing you’re being genuine, disbelief and shock hang in her head over your words. she didn’t think you’d propose such a request in this very conversation, that you value her words so much that they can inspire enough courage in you to ask the words you had been avoiding all week. the words that she herself needs a moment to digest and swallow down, and let them settle and soak into her mind. she can’t look at you just yet. it’d be too much to.

but, finally, she does. your breaths are short and panting, clearly indicating your nervousness. and you’re staring at her with shining, wide eyes, eyebrows raised. you’re waiting, and with how carefully you’re eyeing her, she suspects you’d wait however long it takes.

it’s almost unbelievable that you’d even ask her rather than just declare it. she knows you’re doing it to be respectful through the act of offering it to, but not forcing, her. but, she feels a quiet amusement in the irony of you asking her, and awaiting her answer, when all her mind is whirring with is how badly she wants you.

she nods. there’s only one possible answer, a singular correct one. any alternative, any minimization, would be pure and utter dishonesty. and that’s not who she is. nor who she would ever want to be. she wants to seize this moment with you, and take it and relish in it. “yes.”

a loud exhale sweeps past your lips, cheeks curving and dimpling as a wide smile takes over. lee feels her chest stir at the sight. you look pretty. after a shaky laugh leaves your mouth, you suddenly lunge at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. she starts at the sudden movement, then curves her arms around you, rubbing your back. she feels warm inside.

“thank god,” you mutter.

she laughs, too. but, not out of relief. well, partially from relief. the other part is drawn out of complete amusement over your reaction. she can’t imagine how you could’ve thought she’d possibly give any other answer.

“you’re crazy,” she mutters, dotting a soft kiss to your head.

and she adores you.

—

when the sky dusks and coats lee’s bedroom in a blue, dim glow, she reaches one arm over to switch on her bedside lamp. music is softly playing, one arm of hers is wrapped around you, and you feel like you could live in this moment forever.

her stomach slowly rises with a yawn, the noise deeper than her usual speaking level. the sound of it makes you smile. “tired?”

“mm. a bit.”

you rub at the material of her button-up. a question hangs on the tip of your tongue. for you don’t want to leave her, not like this, not after having been able to finally hold her after a week of barely doing so. not when her kind words and soft assurances gave you the courage to ask her to be yours. not when the knowledge of her actually being yours is still fresh on your mind, sending butterflies into your stomach. of course, with it, there’s the slightest bit of anxiety, and deep, lurking thoughts, but you try to ignore them, hoping with time, they’ll fade away. for now, you want to focus on the good parts. the excitement you feel at being able to finally call her your girlfriend, the daydreams of the future whirling through your mind of introducing her as your girlfriend to others, and calling her that in your most tender moments. you can’t believe she’s yours. not just in title or reference, but in every way that matters most. the connection, the touch, the want, the comfort. you feel like you could race through your neighbourhood with the overbearing lightness you feel.

“can I… I mean, would you be okay with me sleeping here tonight?”

she blinks up at the ceiling. “with me?”

you nearly joke, but hold your tongue, desperate for her answer. “yeah.”

“yeah, sure.”

“really?”

she nods, face utterly neutral. “yeah. don’t… girlfriends do that?”

you sag against her with a glare. “yes, but I don’t want you doing it just because we’re girlfriends! I want you to want it too.”

“if it were up to me, we’d sleep together every night.” after a second, she blinks hard and clears her throat. “in the literal sense, I mean.”

you rub your cheek on her shoulder with a laugh, affection blooming through you at her words, the petals stroking your stomach and delivering a fluttery feeling. “no, no, please, keep going.”

she hums. “I’d rather not.”

“you’re so boring.”

her eyes, black in the faint light of the room, lower to you. “I’m on the brink of rescinding the offer.”

you snort. “sure you are. you just admitted you’d like for me to spend every night here, remember?”

“yeah, and you have the ability to make me change my mind in under two minutes. impressive, hm?”

the teasing lilt in her voice is crystal clear and you smack her stomach gently. “you’re so mean to me.”

“I think you like it.”

the words, said flatly, make you nearly bury your face in her chest and scream. the quiet surety of them, the mental image they evoke of lee being even meaner in all kinds of ways, have you antsy with sudden arousal. “no, I don’t.”

she hums, ignoring your protest.

“it’s true, I don’t,” you whine, the earnestness of your words broken with a light trill of laughter.

“so, I guess you’ll retire to your own room tonight? since I’ll probably be so mean to you.”

you tug on her shirt with a small groan. it’s an empty threat, of course it is, but your drowsiness has made you more clingy than usual, wanting nothing more than an unwavering, unfaltering amount of doting and attention. “no, it means you should make it up to me by letting me stay here all night.”

“I guess I could manage that. if it’s to make you feel better.”

“oh? so, that’s the only reason you’ll tolerate me for the night?”

a small, amused huff leaves her. “yeah, I’m struggling to pick out another reason.”

“very nice.” with a small groan, you writhe out of her arms, sitting up and tossing one leg over her body to reach the floor and remove yourself from her bed.

in a quick flash, lee’s hand is grasping onto yours tightly. “where are you going?”

her tone is soft with protest and you grin, resisting the urge to lean down and kiss her stupid. “to get my pajamas.”

“oh. okay.” she continues to hold onto your hand and when you raise an eyebrow at her, pointedly glancing to where she’s still gripping on, she lifts your locked hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to your fingers. “I do want you to sleep here. you know that, right?” her voice is lowered with trepidation.

“I do.” you lift her hand, pecking it right back. she looks down after the contact, nodding. “give me a sec,” you say.

in the privacy of your bedroom, your face aches with the huge grin that splits on it. excitement is swiftly spreading through your body, plunging your stomach into a sensation of tinglest. it almost feels like you’re a kid again, eager at the prospect of spending the night in a new bedroom that isn’t yours. she’s just across the hall, but it feels like you’re preparing for the most exciting sleepover of your life. except instead of taking magazine quizzes and playing truth or dare, you’ll be cuddled up with your girlfriend. your girlfriend. you could die.

if it were someone else, you might be picky about the pajamas you’ll wear upon re-entering her bedroom. but, lee has seen you in every pair you own numerous times. still, you want to look good for her. tonight bears a huge milestone, and she’s yours. you check yourself in the mirror, wincing at the dry skin peeling around your nose and your cracked lips. god, had she felt the dryness when you kissed her? you quickly apply some vaseline on both parts, rubbing it in until you’re satisfied.

you change into your pajama shorts and an oversized t-shirt. you look down at your unshaven legs. it’s not the first time she’s seen them, but now, your mind is overtaken with thoughts about if she finds it unappealing. you know that you shouldn’t care. even if she did, hypothetically, find it unattractive, you shouldn’t remove the hair just for her. you’re under no obligation to alter your appearance for lee, no matter how much you may like her. besides, if she preferred hairlessness in the first place for some aesthetic reason, what does that say about her? there’s no reason for you to do anything about it right now, especially in the comfort of your own home. it’s natural, it’s normal. with that, and the reminder that lee has already seen your legs in this state before, you take a deep breath and head into her bedroom.

when you enter, you can hear the faint noise of her in the bathroom. at the foot of her bed, you’re struck with an exploding mixture of nerves and what feels like a neverending thrill. you’re actually going to sink into her bed instead of yours tonight. you’re going to sleep wrapped up in her, and wake up to the sight of her long lashes. you’re going to spend the night with her.

not knowing what to do with yourself, you set the book you brought onto her nightstand, then crawl into her bed. you tentatively pull the sheet over your legs, bracing your back against her headboard.

you tap your fingers along the back of your hands, eyeing her room. as usual, it’s clean, meticulously so. empty walls spare for two artworks of flowers, both of which are in neutral tones. the surface of her dresser is filled with no trinkets, just the necessities of a hairbrush, hair ties, what seems to be a jewelry box, one plant. your gaze strays to the first drawer. you swallow hard.

it’s not like you’re unaware that sex could be a possibility for tonight. and as much as the thought of it makes your stomach itch with nervousness, you can’t help but feel desire stir between your legs at the thought. you’re ready for it, you know you are. you trust lee as much as she said she trusted you, if not even more. you know she’ll be a patient and kind lover. and while your mind is silently swarmed with the nasty buzz of thoughts like how good you’ll be, if you’ll match to her past partners, or she’ll find your body attractive, your desire for her triumphs it all.

when the door to the bathroom creaks open, you scramble to grab your book, flipping it open and forcing your eyes to it so fast you feel a wave of light-headedness.

she steps in. “hi.”

god, you hate her so much. she’s clad in nothing but a white tank top and boxer shorts, her wet hair laid flat along her back. she looks so good you almost want to look away. almost. if only the desire to soak her up in your eyes, and let the memory of her become drilled into your mind forever, wasn’t so strong.

“hey.” god, that sounded squeaky. you clear your throat.

she give you a small, tight-lipped smile. just a formality. she walks to her dresser, carefully placing her hoops in the small, white dish. the sight makes you suck in a breath. those fingers of hers are tantalizingly close to that top drawer and the toy within. if she just moved them a few inches down, she could take it out, strap it on, and lower herself onto you. you wonder if she’s used it since you discovered it. if so, did she think of you?

she turns to you, footsteps quiet as she approaches. it doesn’t feel the same as it did just twenty minutes ago. before, you guys were at the peak of your reconciliation, tender and clingy, needing each other. now, a shower and change of clothes later, the tide has calmed, and all that’s left over are the remaining embers in the quiet, low intimacy of the night. the music still playing, the crickets chirping through the sheer mesh of lee’s open window, the street lights painting the corner of her room in a pale light.

carefully, lee seats herself on the edge of her bed, hands fisted in the white sheets. “are you comfortable?”

“yeah.” your eyes scan the back facing you, white fabric transparent and damp under her soaked hair. “are you?”

“not really.” her eyes dart to you. “not because of you. I’m just not used to this.”

you swallow a shaky breath, trying to calm the onslaught of worry at hearing of her anxiety. it’s okay. it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you, or your relationship with her, or anything. she just needs time. it’s okay. “okay, um, would you prefer we do it another day?”

“no.” eyes lingering on the ground, she silently reaches for your hand. “I want to.”

you grip onto her like a lifeline, feeling immensely fragile under the newness of this all, wanting nothing but the haven of her arms around you. “okay.”

after braiding her hair, she shifts into the bed, curling on her side as she lies down. her bare legs lifted, you can see the thin skimming of brown hair. despite your little pep talk earlier, you can’t resist the ease that settles into you at the sight. you sidle down next to her, feeling suddenly shy and exposed. she’ll be dealing with all of your secret, unconscious habits tonight. you know you two have slept in this bed together before, but for an entire night? it feels different. “pass me my book?”

she reaches over for it, and you nearly whimper at the sight of her slightly toned arm flexing as she stretches her arm out to retrieve it. yeah, a book would be good. you need some fucking distraction.

while you flip through the pages, lee digs into her backpack, pulling out a notebook and beginning to scan her eyes over the pages. unable to resist the urge, you take a peak at her notebook, eyes roving over her scrawled jot notes, red pen used to underline and star certain words. the notes are about social factors in the criminal justice system. you read along with her, taking in the information.

“enjoying it?”

you jolt back at her voice. “oh! I– maybe,” you laugh.

a small, barely present smile brushes her face. “it’s for my exam on monday.”

she brings the notebook closer, shifting it more in your direction.

you kiss her shoulder with a smile.

another half hour passes of her studying, with you skimming her notes. when she closes it silently and slips it back into her backpack, what follows is her turning off the music.

you frown as Sade’s voice suddenly zaps into silence. “hey! I liked that song.”

her legs tuck into the sheets, turning to face you. you turn bashful under her intent gaze locked onto you, the intimate position earning you knuckles that brush against hers. “we can listen to it tomorrow.”

you roll your eyes. “this better be an oath.”

she chuckles. “sounds a tad biblical, but okay.”

“yeah, so right up your alley.”

she snorts. “yes. as I lie in bed. with my girlfriend. the picture of piety.”

she’s so funny. you have a funny girlfriend. god, that’s a nice thought. you try to ignore all the others that linger beneath the surface of that one. wanting them to be forgotten. desiring more of her laughter, her jokes, you teasingly shuffle closer, saying, “hey, we’re not doing anything that’d count as a transgression. to anyone else, we’d just seem like two friends.”

“friends?”

“mhm, friends.”

her lips curled up, she slides a hand to your hip. you flinch at the touch, the firmness of her palm exhilarating. “still friends?”

you somehow manage to keep your voice steady. “oh, yeah. you could just be a friend helping me with… a hip massage.”

her fingers press into your hip, pushing small circles. “that’s considerate.” her hand raises to your face, brushing a thumb on your skin. “now?”

goosebumps trail down your spine. “yeah, you’re just my friend who’s telling me how pretty I am.”

her thumb strokes along your bottom lip, dark eyes latching onto the movement. fuck, it’s taking everything in you to steady your breaths and not gasp out loud. she glances up at you, eyebrow raised.

“now, it’s about how pretty my lips are.”

her smile widens, orbs flicking between yours and your parted lips once, twice, before she leans in, kissing you.

✩

a quiet, squelching noise rings in the quiet of the room as she parts from you. her pink, smooth lips hang right above yours, hot breath hitting your skin as she whispers, “now?”

your thighs rub together, deeply aching in between them. aching so, so bad. “yeah, because now, you’re just teaching me how to kiss. you know, for boys,” you laugh, the irony of it not at all lost on you.

she scoffs quietly, shaking her head. the motion slows to a stop, and her eyes widen by the most miniscule amount. “I suppose I should be thorough, then.”

her words make your nose puff with a loud exhale. how is she so good at this? “yeah, I guess you should.”

“mm.” her lips meet yours again, and you immediately open for her, mouth dancing and moving easily with hers. her thumb presses deeper into your cheek and it encourages you to open wider, her tongue snaking in to rub against yours. the pink, wet muscle is rough and warm and she’s gentle in her licks, the tip of it rubbing against the center of yours. between your soft, wanton whimpers, and the wet, slippery noises of your tongues swirling together, drool dripping from her mouth to yours, your pussy is throbbing.

lee pulls back, lips wrapping around your tongue and beginning to suck gently on it. the slight sting of it has you gasping, but she keeps going, her head bobbing as she entraps your tongue between the tightness of her mouth. the pushing and pulling causes saliva to slide down your chin, the sensation tickling your skin. lee releases your tongue, panting with shallow, short breaths, eyes drinking you in. when she spots the wet sheen of your chin, she ducks down, lapping at it. the unexpected sensation has a weak, strangled whine exiting your throat, the noise only rising in volume when she begins to suck at the spot.

your hips jerk forward, mind flooding with thoughts of how good her mouth is, how good she sucks, how good her tongue feels. one of her large hands dig into your back, muttering against your skin, “this doesn’t feel that platonic anymore.”

“fuck,” you whine as her lips begin to press velvety kisses down the lane of your neck. “y-you’re just… a really nice friend.”

her front presses against yours suddenly, pushing you to your back. the easy, effortless movement has you shuddering at her strength. her knees close around your legs, pinning you in place. you’re cornered, surrounded by nothing but the firm cushion of her body, and it feels so good. she’s staring down at you, the plain scent of her soap surrounding you, lashes fanning beautifully as she takes in the sight of you. you grow shy under her gaze, but will yourself to keep looking. because she’s staring at you like you’re a puzzle for her to put together, like you’re something to solve, piece together. something to work with, work on.

she leans down, her wet, stray hairs tickling your neck as she continues kissing. “and you’re nice, too. for letting me do this.”

“well, I’m just consider– ah!” you moan loudly when her lips tighten around a patch of skin, beginning to suck hard. the spot stings and aches, but the pain-pleasure mix of it sends arousal through you.

lee lets go not a moment later, eyes shooting up to you. “are you okay?”

“yeah,” you reply, breaths heaving. “more than okay. it–it feels good, lee.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

she gulps hard, eyes still warily scanning your face.

“hey, hey,” you quietly whisper, cupping her face. “I’ll tell you if there’s anything I don’t like, okay? but, this all feels good. really good.”

she nods.

“and you tell me too, okay?”

“I will,” she promises, landing a small kiss to your chin. you try not to let your mind race to the way she was devouring it just minutes before. she pauses. “are we about to have sex?”

god, your body is raging for more touch, more kisses, more licking. but, you focus on her question, knowing she needs this clarity right now. and it gives you a moment to linger on her question beyond all the heat. do you want sex with her right now? you mull on it for a long moment. it may not be the most ideal time – she still has a final to prepare for this weekend, you didn’t get to eat lots of fruit in the hours leading up to it like you had mentally planned weeks ago, you’re wearing underwear that’s pure comfort, no aesthetic. you still have your anxieties lingering, creeping along the edge of your subconscious. but, you can’t say no. you want her so badly, in this tight, small bed, during this warm night. the only thing that prevails upon every worry, every doubt, is the sheer, pointed knowledge that this moment you’ve dreamt of for months is right at your fingertips. and to let it go feels like the stupidest choice you could make.

“I want to,” you whisper, combing through those soaked locks. “do you?”

“I do.”

“even if you need to study for tomorrow?”

she laughs. “I’ve managed with less sleep before.”

her words have a pierce of jealousy cutting into you, and before you can decide against it, you ask, “you mean with other girls?”

“I mean when studying.”

“oh.” you look away, the sight of her plain wall suddenly very appealing. god, if there was a spectrum to how cool a girlfriend could be, you’d be sitting right on one end, legs dangling over it.

her lips return to the base of your neck. “did you really think I could think about any other people right now?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, arching up to meet her attentive mouth.

“well, I know.” she sinks her teeth into the soft, sensitive flesh of your neck. you cry out at the sensation, the prickling edges of her teeth pinching your skin. “don’t think that way.”

she pulls back, licking a long stripe along the marks, maintaining eye contact the entire time. jesus. of all fucking times she decides to do that, this is when she chooses to?

lee pauses at the edge of your t-shirt, head tilting up to you. “can I take this off?”

you bite your lip at her bluntness. “yeah, you can.” your mind whirs with questions – what will she think of this part of you? will she find you attractive? will she compare you to her past sexual partners? you try to shake away the thoughts, but they keep slamming into you, and you can’t bear to look at her, scared of the insecurity potentially showing on your face.

does it make a difference, though? for lee immediately hovers her face over yours, murmuring, “are you okay?”

“I’m just scared. of if you’ll like me, if you’ll, I don’t know, like me as much as the other people you’ve been with.”

lee’s eyebrows slightly draw in together, as though your words perplex her. it sends a wave of embarrassment rolling through you. “I already have an idea of what you look like. you know, just based on the outline of your clothes.” she clears her throat, eyes sliding away. “and… I’m attracted you. I’ll definitely like what you look like. as for the other people, you, what we have – it’s all different. there would never be comparison. you’re the one I like right now, not them. you’re my focus.”

you’re my focus. the possessiveness of the words, the way they highlight, and lavish, attention on you, and only you, the firm, hard, proud declaration of them – they make you feel like hers. they make you feel anchored in her surety, even if your own is wavering. she wants you. she wants this. why would you deny the both of you? especially when you know in time, this’ll get easier. it has to, just like the talking, just like the flirting, just like the kissing. it’ll get easier. but, you’ll never reach that point unless you trust her, and yourself, right now.

you nod, face hot from what she said. “okay. do it.”

“are you sure?”

“I am.”

she slides her hands under your back, palms bracing to help you sit up. you push your hands onto the mattress, helping her guide you. when you’re half sat-up, her fingers slide to the edge of the shirt, slowly raising it up. your vision is partially blocked when the opening gets caught on your nose, and you hear a quiet laugh from her, which only ignites one in yourself.

when it’s fully off, your vision exposed, you immediately smile at the sight of lee pointedly turned from you, clearly giving you a moment to collect yourself. her hands are wrapped in the fabric of your shirt, neatly folding it up.

when she’s done tucking it into the edge of her bed, you chuckle. “you can look.”

with a sharp, heavy breath, she does, her eyes immediately lowering to your breasts. they rove along with a hungry, direct gaze. with every bit of skin her gaze traces along, the more desired you feel, especially when more telltale signs of her desire emerge through. like the bob of her throat, the flare of her nostrils, the wringing of her hands together. it releases a burst of confidence through you.

you reach down for her hand, raising it to one. “go on. touch.”

her breaths get heavier, and with a small nod, her long fingers grip firmly at your tit. the feeling of her tight grasp, the warmth of palm rubbing at your sensitive nipple, the sight of her fingertips sinking into the plush skin – it immediately has you jutting your chest out to her. “fuck.”

her left hand wastes no time in squeezing the other one. she pushes her palm in and out with slow, patient rubs, fingers curling in to massage. the flat plane of skin of her palm continues to squeeze against your nipples, which are slowly beginning to perk up under the pressure, and the feeling of it has you squirming. “lee, please, I…”

eyes still on your chest, she mumbles, “what?”

“your mouth, please.”

her head immediately ducks down, lips rounding along one and lightly toying with it. the faint, teasing pressure of it makes you ache and you weave your fingers into her hair, keeping her in place, needing more. almost as though she can sense it, she tightens her lips, heightening the suction tugging at your nipple. she keeps her lips like that for minutes, switching between the two as her lips kiss and suck at the perked buds of them. at one point, she unexpectedly sticks her tongue out, laving it over one, getting it cold and wet in the air of the room. she licks and licks like a woman starved, as though you’re her last meal, only pausing to slightly lean back and let the tip of her pink muscle flick and dart around the shape of it. and when her mouth focuses on a single nipple, her fingers toy with the second, gently rolling it between her thumb and index finger. when her tongue flicks, her thumb follows suit, until both are hard, aching and dripping with her spit.

your hips begin to buck, pussy pushing and grinding into her bed. the harder she sucks, the more depraved your movements become, until you’re practically bouncing on the surface of her bed.

lee’s nails suddenly dig into your back, and when she speaks, her voice is hoarse. “can I go lower?”

“please.” as if you could stand any other option.

she lines hard, moist kisses down the soft skin of your tummy, pausing to lick along the waistband of your pajama shorts. with long, nimble fingers she tugs it down, kissing along your thighs as she does. her lips skim along the thick hairs of your shin, one last kiss delivered to your ankle as she drops the fabric to the floor. her arms hook around your thighs, spreading you out.

for a few extremely long seconds, she just stares.

your hips shift, swallowing down the worry. “is everything okay?”

“mm.” a corner of her mouth tips up, and you nearly hump the air at the sight of it. it’s a smirk. a fucking smirk. months ago, the idea of such an expression on her face felt like a mere fantasy. and now, you’re bearing witness to the most arousing expression to have ever graced this earth, all while she’s tantalizingly close to your pussy. “you’re wet already.” the flat of her tongue languidly strokes your inner thigh. “it’s cute.”

before you can protest her words, feeling yourself leak even more at them, her fingers slide into the edges of your underwear. she pauses. “is this okay?”

does she even need to ask? your mind is focused solely on feeling her mouth on you. “yeah. please.”

she remains still, eyes flicking about.

“lee?”

“I want to make you feel good.”

you run a hand through her hair, encouraging her to look up. “and you will. I know you will. even if you need a bit of direction, I’ll give it, and it’ll be great.”

she nods, her breaths measured and deep. you know she’s trying to calm herself, and you quietly continue rubbing her temple, giving her that moment.

finally, she raises her head, kissing your wrist. “I’m good.”

you stroke her cheek once more before releasing the tender caress of her skin. a quiet exhale slides past her lips, then she begins to drag your underwear down.

fully naked, you feel your pussy pulsing and gushing even more. her burning gaze blazes past your skin, lighting you aflame and tingling all over, wanting her tongue and fingers to ease where you’re most swollen and dripping with arousal.

without realizing, your hips begin to bounce up and down, anticipation seizing at your body and teasing at it with its ghosting fingers.

she sinks her face into your curls, one deep inhale tickling your folds before she presses in deeper, beginning to lick at you. a loud moan immediately erupts from you, pussy sensitive and sopping as she flattens her tongue and laps at your crinkled folds, relentless in its strokes against you. she pauses every few moments to wrap her lips around the folds, sucking them lightly into her mouth, as the tip of her rough muscle continues exploring them. the light ache of it sends your hips pouncing up, hands flying to her hair to keep her in place.

she toys like this for a while, lavishing attention to every spot but your clit. she sticks her tongue into your hole, sliding it in and out, moaning softly when you clench down. two of her fingers spread you out, and her mouth slides against each of your pussy lips. she even presses her entire face in, mindlessly kissing at your cunt as her nose rocks achingly close to your swollen, stiff bud. but, you can’t find it in yourself to beg for more, for every touch has you wailing and experiencing different sorts of pleasure with each new spot her mouth makes contact with.

finally, she licks a long trail to your clit, stilling her mouth so that her tongue can encircle the bud, rubbing at the hood and coaxing for more of you to peak out. when she pulls away for a moment too long, you cock your head in confusion.

you jerk hard when she suddenly spits down on your pussy, coating it in saliva then diving back down. your resulting moans are obscene, bordering on pornographic with how loud and drawn out they are. and you can tell lee is enjoying it, her eyes fluttering shut at every noise, sometimes even returning with her own gasps and groans, which send you tightening. to finally see her like this is surreal – licking up your most intimate spot, moaning just from your noises, eyes shutting from pleasuring you. your mind is clouded with a thin layer of astonishment that finally, finally, you’re living this moment with her, sharing this desire with her. it feels like a miracle, something to engrave in your mind forever.

especially when the ache intensifies by a tenfold when she begins to wrap her lips around your clit and suck it slowly into her mouth. low, wet noises mix between your pussy and her mouth, her lingering kisses and pulls sending a deep, burning pleasure through you. she lets go, fingers spreading you open again, then leans in to begin to swipe the tip of her tongue on the nub, pink muscle darting in and out of her lips as she focuses on the motion, eyes screwed shut. the slippery pressure of it has the throbbing of your clit rising even more, and your hips begin to swivel, grinding against her face.

she laughs softly against your pussy, sucking sharply before whispering, “excited?”

“shut up,” you hiss, the bite to your words shattered when you begin whining at the feeling of her lips tightening.

lee ignores the words, raising her hand up. two fingers lingering along the plush of your lips. she parts from you momentarily to say, “suck.”

it’s almost embarrassing how immediate your mouth is to opening for her, lips entrapping her fingers and tongue moistening them.

when she seems satisfied enough, her fingers drag down to your pussy, toying with the edges of your hole. mouth still on your clit, she looks up at you, and with your nod, begins to push a finger in.

you nearly sob at the feeling of it, her long digit not enough to make you full, but stretching you nonetheless. it rubs deliciously against your walls, and the sensation mixed with the toying of your clit has you needing to come.

your hips start flailing, the sheer need gripping at you and sending you into a state of pure want, desiring and craving for nothing more than for lee to bring you over that edge. “lee, lee, please, I need–”

“I know,” she mumbles, and slides a second finger in, fastening the pace of her pumps in and out of you.

you toss your head up, back arching as your hips push harder into her face, keening as her mouth sloppily, harshly tugs your clit into her mouth over and over again, her tongue pressing relentlessly against it everytime. “fuck, yes, yes, like that.”

she keeps going, fingers jamming in and out of you with careful, hard strokes, and after a minute or two of it, you can’t hold back, a loud cry filling the room as your spasm all over her fingers, latching onto and gripping them hard. lee keeps fucking you through it and your orgasm only washes over you stronger with the way she moans into your cunt, her ministrations the producing loud, dripping noises.

you pant, chest rising and falling. as the heated, burning sensation of your orgasm simmers down, you glance down to lee, nearly whimpering at the sight of her tenderly nuzzling her face against your thigh.

“come here,” you whisper.

her eyes widen at the sound of your voice, immediately flicking up to you. at your words, she slowly crawls back up, a small noise jolting from her throat when you tug her down for a hard, impassioned kiss. you wrap your legs around her hips, wanting her as close as possible. you’ve felt close to her, linked to her, so many times in the past, but this feels different. this is a tangible, physical connection, one between your bodies and the learning of it, the memorizing of it. it’s something that’s seared into your skin – the way she touched you, held you, brought you to your peak. she’s imprinted on your body, and you never want her off.

“that was amazing,” you mumble against her lips.

you feel her mouth curve up. “really?”

“so fucking amazing, lee.” ‘amazing’ doesn’t feel like enough to cover the experience. it was probably both one of the most grounding things you ever felt, yet also was detached from reality in the immense, mind-consuming pleasure it threw you into. it had the safety, comfort and laughter of being with lee, but also the surging arousal, excitement and desperation of being with lee in this way. and, then, there’s the mere fact that it was her – and with her, everything was on the cusp of being heavenly.

“I’m glad.” she pecks your cheek. then, does it again. and again. you giggle, sensing how needy she must be.

“let me make you feel good,” you mutter, nipping at the shell of her ear.

she inhales sharply. “but… you should rest.”

the response sparks an idea in your head. with a smirk, you say, “who says I can’t do both?”

–

lee can’t stand it. your tongue on her center, prodding and licking deep, curling into her hole. the vibrations of your moans against her. you’re so loud, so vocal, and lee is just barely hanging onto a thread of self-control everytime she hears one of your noises, no matter how small. the breathiness, the softness, the way your eyes squeeze shut and mouth hangs open. she’d do anything just to secure a lifetime of those noises from you.

but, your noises aren’t the only thing on her mind. not when your tongue is plunging into her hole, licking up the wetness that’s soaking her through. she feels the texture of it against her walls with how deep you go, and the feeling of it has her leaning her forehead against the wall, needing something, anything, hard and flat to anchor herself on while you play with her from underneath. your arms are lazily wrapped around her thighs, fingernails lightly scratching at her knees, just another sensation to add to the ones already turning her mind into a malleable, hazy enclosement of thoughts that turn to nothing other than you.

her tank top is still on, boxers discarded somewhere on the floor after you had practically thrown them off when urging her to climb onto your face. she’s never done this kind of position before, and maybe it was for the best, for her thighs are trembling in the effort to keep herself upright, legs buckling under the ceaseless movements of your tongue deep inside her. but, with you, it’s not so embarrassing. it’s you, and those two words are enough to help ease anxieties of how you might be perceiving her.

especially when you’re taking every opportunity to vocalize exactly how you feel about her. sweet mumblings of, “god, you taste good,” and, “I love how you move,” keep tracing along her drenched lips, and each compliment sends her gasping against the wall, which usually incites a soft laugh from you. your amusement makes her wonder if your praise is being partially said for the sake of teasing her and coaxing all these exposing reactions from her. but, she can rest assure that even if that’s the case, they’re not at all disingenuous. because they usually wind up being accompanied by a harsher suck, a deeper lick, or a heartier devour of her. devour, that’s the word.

when she starts approaching her orgasm, she grows self-conscious of if it’s too fast, if you’d prefer her pleasure slows down so you can take your time. but, then, you press your fingers in deeper, tongue drawing tight circles around her clit, and she trembles with a loud, heaving gasp, nails digging painfully into her headboard as she comes. it almost scares her sometimes, to have such little control over her body in times like these, no choice but to let it lean into pure instinct and desire. but, with how good it feels, her walls pulsing and your wet mouth licking relentlessly, she finds that she’d gladly give up control over and over again if it means she gets to have you like this.

when the two of you kiss, the taste of your shared juices makes her chase the sanctity of your mouth. it unnerves her how much she wants you. already, she wants to kiss back down to your pussy and relish in the taste of you again. she wants to feel the tight grip of your thighs over her ears and untie her hair so you can fist and pull at it. it’s addicting, the feeling of you like this, body writhing and so reactive for her. she wants to discover every little spot that gets you wet, every hidden crevice that makes you shiver. she wants to study you like an artwork, worship you like religion, and taste you like it’s survival.

lee wants to do so much more. but, when she’s sucking on your nipple again, nearly coming undone from how each of you are grinding on the other’s thigh, she looks up to find your eyes fluttering close, watery and faded.

with one last kiss, she releases the perked bud. “tired?”

you pout, cocking your head at her. “maybe. I feel like I’m gonna pass out.”

“that doesn’t sound like a ‘maybe,’” she mumbles, reaching up to kiss your cheek.

it’s an innocent touch, but still, it pulls a moan out of you, and she grits her teeth together, wanting nothing more than to open her drawer, put that harness on and pump into you when you’re on your stomach, pliant and ready to be filled. she tries to redirect her thoughts. you’re tired. so, sleep. you two should sleep. it’s a disappointing thought, but she supposes she ought to reign in some sense, and get enough rest for tomorrow. however, the only part of her that seems to acknowledge this is her brain, for every other inch of her body is craving for more of you.

✩

“let’s sleep, then,” she mutters, looking down to you. your eyes are heavy and dewy with sleep, lips swollen from the harsh kisses you two had exchanged through the night, hair a lot messier than when she had first found you in her bed tonight. you look beautiful. she feels the tightness of possessiveness in her stomach. you’re beautiful, and you’re all hers. the last thing she had expected when she woke up this morning was to both become your girlfriend and have you like this. the word girlfriend in reference to you still feels a bit unreal. but, then, she looks at you, remembers your sweet question, and she’s flooded with pride. you’re all hers.

“okay.” your teeth flash at her in the moonlit night, and she wants to kiss along the row of them. if she were a bit braver, a bit more honest, she’d tell you that your smile was the brightest beam of light in this room. even more than the white orb hanging in the sky tonight. but, under your expectant eyes, she crumbles, looking away. she wants to say these things to you. so bad. but, it feels like right when she’s on the brink of doing so, the sheer openness of the words, and their almost-present accuracy in depicting how she feels for you, spike her nervousness. nervousness about how she’ll say it, how it’ll make you feel.

but, she wants to try harder for you.

when it’s her turn to head to the bathroom to clean up, she feels bashful to stand up half-naked in front of you. it’s not that she’s insecure over her body – in fact, she’s quite content, if not neutral, with how she looks. but, she’s rarely ever this exposed to anyone’s eyes but her own, and the shameless way in which you stare at her makes her both eager and wanting to run away and escape your gaze.

in the bathroom, she braces her back on the door and finally releases a heavy whoosh of breath. she needed this, a moment alone. eyes closed, she recalls and goes over how the night went with you. her mind immediately begins to split and dissect how she did. she knows you said you enjoyed it, and based on that and your body’s responses, you seemed to have, but she wonders if she could’ve done anything more. anything differently.

✩

when she’s cuddled into you, new boxer shorts on (since her original ones were too damp, a fact which she tried to hide from you before your eyes had suddenly opened and you discovered her carefully opening her drawer for another one), she poses this very question.

you snort, looking down at her. “are you already forgetting how hard I came?”

she feels her face heat up, mouth pressing tightly. no, of course she didn’t forget. if anything, the mental image and physical sensation of it are two memories stamped into her mind. that’s how much she focused on it. “no.”

“it was great, lee. amazing. seriously, you know how to fuck.”

she pushes her face deeper into your neck, the compliment doing nothing to make her feel more comfortable. “just… answer me. is there anything more I can do?”

“no, no, baby, I don’t think so.”

lee’s feels like her entire body stutters at the casual toss of baby. this is the second time you’ve done it today, and she feels like a third time might make her implode. how do you do it? call her these things with such ease, as though you’ve been doing it forever? she wishes she could transition into these things the way you do.

“although…”

she tenses up, mind spinning with one question: what did I do wrong?

“you know, maybe we should talk about kink. like, particulars of what we’re into. not because the sex is lacking or anything, but just, you know, things to try.”

lee relaxes at the words, content to know she hadn’t dissatisfied you. but, they also release another stream of worry in her. through her years at university, due to reading and ample time for fantasy, her tastes have diverted somewhat from what would be considered normal, acceptable sex. not that she doesn’t enjoy that. she’s still rearing from your previous activities, the image of your face during orgasm tucked into a corner of her mind through all her ruminations. but, she has her preferences and likes – ones that stray a bit more from the norm, ones that despite amaya’s insistence, she hasn’t even admitted to her, even though amaya herself has gotten more into s and m since her last boyfriend.

but, she was content to keep these things to herself, having spent a long while ashamed of them and only now more accepting. in her first year of university, when she first started mentally exploring, she was fresh out of high school, recently departed from her hometown, still barely able to utter the word “lesbian.” the nature of her sexual desires had only deepened her sense of secrecy, as well as provided more bite to the gnawing worry that she really was sinning, and truly was inherently depraved. after all, she was already experiencing the lopsided attraction of liking girls – what did it say about her that she was now imagining being aggressive with them? did it prove the church right, that her attraction really could never reflect pure love, or was there something wrong with her specifically? the first option seemed impossible after what she had experienced in high school with her first relationship. the second option – well, that had haunted her for months.

✩

it was only when she read more on the topic of this sexual subculture, both in theory and relation to other lesbians, did her anxiety ease and she felt herself becoming more open to her own deep-seeded desires. however, this did nothing to tame her shyness in actually admitting said desires. she wants to, especially because she knows if she does, she might actually be able to explore some of these things with you, a notion that makes her throb in want. but, she can’t help but fear the chance of bringing something up and having you look at her in shock, or worse, repulsion.

it seems she doesn’t need to linger on that possibility, though, and can put it aside for now, for right as she’s about to reply, she hears your soft snores. with a soft huff of amusement, she curls deeper into you. your snores get a bit loud at times, but to her, it’s a lucky tradeoff if it means she gets to rest her head on your shoulder for the night. the last time you two had slept in her bed like this, it was far apart with no touch, no skin-on-skin, just a lot of desire stirring within her from when she had momentarily woken to your parted lips, your shiny drool. being able to now feel the steady lulls of your breathing feels almost miraculous after having wanted it for so long.

the last time she was held like this at night, it was during winter break, when her mom had laid in her bed one late afternoon, falling asleep next to lee. lee had continued reading, eyes wandering to her mom’s face, the creases of it flattened and softened under winter’s light and the deep sleep. lee couldn’t bear to wake her – she knew how much her mom struggled to sleep these days.

after some more careful watching, she had given into the childish want in her, and laid next to her mom under the setting sun. when she was a kid, they used to do this all the time. despite her general discomfort with touch, there was always the exception for her mom. it rang true then, and present-wise, became even more evident when lee woke up at midnight, and found her mom’s arm wrapped around her, fingers pressing into lee’s shoulder. lee couldn’t bear to wake or leave her then either.

maybe that’s what her life is crafted of. never being able to fully leave anything.

when she wakes up in the morning, bright, yellow light streaming in through the long window, she’s immediately met with the sight of your back, shirt stretched up as you hunch over your legs, sitting up.

almost on instinct, her palm rests on the exposed skin, trailing up.

you flinch in surprise, before tossing your head over your shoulder to shoot her a mischievous quirk of your lips. she clears her throat at the sight of it. your hair is mused, your eyes wet with splotches from sleep, your lips cracked and dry. and she feels reverent. she gets to see you like this now – in your first moments of regaining consciousness, half-asleep and groggy, and it feels like the most precious sight. if there is a god out there, at least she has something to thank him for. this private moment, reserved only for her.

“you know,” she mutters, hand disappearing under the fabric of your shirt, “I used to think of this.”

“think of what?”

your voice is raspier than usual, and lee tries not to imagine how you’d sound groaning her name. “feeling your back.” she thinks of that day at the cherry blossom trees, when she had been fumbling thinking of what to say and how she could break the awkwardness that her words at derek’s party had set into motion. she had felt so uncomfortable, yet so softened at realizing that you, too, had missed her. at least enough to invite her out for an excursion.

“oh? so, you’ve been checking me out this entire time?”

she feels her face warm. the truth is, she has. but, she’d rather not admit that to you and undergo the weeks of teasing it’ll ensue. and so, she continues silently lining her nails along your back, smiling faintly when she feels goosebumps rise under the pads of her fingers. she wants to plant her lips on every one of them.

“don’t think you’re going to get let off this easy,” you laugh, back still turned to her. “now, you have to answer.”

“I’d rather take a vow of silence.”

“please, like you even need a vow in order to prompt you into hours of silence.”

her smile widens at your slight dig. it surprises her, how easily you can state something about her. it comforts her. “you’re right. maybe you should take one.”

you guffaw loudly, landing a smack to her knee. “jackass. you know you’d miss my talking.”

she’d probably sacrifice her left limb for your talking. but, instead, she mutters, “I don’t know. could do with some quiet.”

you glare at her. “well, maybe you should date someone more your speed then.” with an indignant toss of your head, you stand from the bed, beginning to step away.

lee’s hand immediately latches onto your wrist, and with a yank, you’re thrown right onto the bed next to her. her other arm winds around your waist, pulling you in. “come on, don’t do that.”

“you said you want quiet!”

though your mouth is upturned, she detects the faint whine in your voice, and falters, hoping she didn’t go too far. “I don’t want that. I was only kidding.”

you pout, pressing your body to hers. “really?”

she leans her forehead against yours. “yeah.”

her answer seems to do some good, for you grin softly, kissing her nose. when you do nothing but continue staring, she clears her throat. “what is it?”

“wait here.”

lee doesn’t have a moment to reply before you’re tossing your legs over her bed and running to your bedroom at the end of the hall. she rolls onto her back, staring at the ceiling, before a sudden memory blinks inside her mind.

when you dash back into her room, slightly breathless, your eyes dart to her. “what are you doing?”

she hits the play button. “you wanted to play this song last night.” it’s not just for you. as soon as you had protested her turning off the song last night, she had mentally taken note of it in order to ensure she listened to it today. just like with the Radiohead tape, she wants to know what you like and which songs hold meaning for you.

“it’s called Kiss of Life. very romantic,” you teasingly coo.

she turns away, sitting back on the bed. “suitable, then.” even to say something as upfront as that has her voice lowering in hesitation.

you giggle, and her eyes lower to your hand, which is clutching the camera she had gotten you for christmas. she always feels a burst of pride at seeing you with it. it was a used one, but had still costed enough that she avoided buying coffee and taking the subway in the three weeks leading up to the purchase. just so it didn’t create too big of a dent in her careful budget. not that she’d ever tell you that, though. she had, and still is, more than happy to just see your eagerness at using it.

you notice her gaze, and raise the camera. “here, I brought it to take some pictures of you.”

“why?” it’s not like she was exactly presentable, nor were you guys in any sort of special landscape, just her bedroom.

“because, I don’t know, you look so comfortable.”

she nods at the camera. “that’ll probably change once you direct that at me.” she was never good at being the center of attention, and photography demanded just that. even last time you had photographed her, at the cherry blossoms, she had only felt slightly more at ease because she was turned away, and smoking – something to occupy herself with.

you laugh. “yes, but you also just, you know, look so relaxed. and to photograph you in this state, a state others don’t see you in – it feels, I don’t know, intimate.”

in spite of the discomfort, she can’t help but feel her mouth twitch. she lingers on your hopeful face, then sighs, reaching over for her box of cigarettes. “fine.”

“ugh, lee, you’ll stink up the room!”

“the window’s open.” she leans back on her headboard, lifting one leg to rest on her bed. “and I need something to do.”

your desire to capture her seems to outweigh your concern of the scent, for her words make you roll your eyes and mutter out, “fine.”

and so, you do. just as last time, lee doesn’t stare at you as you bend in all sorts of angles to photograph her. she rests her eyes on her sheets, her walls, anything that can take some of her focus away from what you’re doing. she takes drag after drag, rays of hot sunlight hitting her leg as the jazzy tones of the song play.

when you seem satisfied, ready to place the camera on the desk, she cocks her head. is that it? did you only want pictures of her? “what about you?”

“no, no,” you respond, shaking your head with a smile. “I feel too awkward.”

she hums, pushing her cigarette into the ashtray, wanting to respect your comfortability. but, then, she lingers on it. if she had a photo of you, she could paste it on her wall. or carry it in her wallet. and have something to remember this moment, and last night, permanently. “can I take one?”

“why?”

she hesitates, the honesty of the confession holding her back for a moment. “I want to have something of you.”

this makes your eyes crinkle, and you hand the camera to her. “okay.”

it takes a few minutes of you showing her how to use it, and she finds herself fascinated by all the gears and mechanics. she wonders if you still have the pamphlet with the guide so she can look through it later.

when you seat yourself on her bed, she reaches out to brush your hair back before leaning back, squinting through the viewfinder and snapping a photo. the knowledge that once these get developed, she’ll have a photo of you, fills her with an unexpected bout of eagerness, and she wants more.

“can I, um, take another one?”

you laugh loudly. “okay.”

“here, do something else.”

“like what?”

she shrugs, looking around her room. there’s barely any space for you to use to pose around, nor does she have any dolls or stuffed animals you can hold. but, she does have her window.

“stand in front of the window.” her fingers itch in anticipation. she used to do this all the time as a child. somewhere in her home is a pile of polaroids containing the random objects and sightings she used to snap photos of. “the lighting will look good.”

“you seem pretty adept at this,” you drawl, following her request and leaning your body into the corner by her window.

she sits on her bed, raising the camera and leaning back slightly to get both you and the window. “I used to photograph as a child.”

“really? of what?”

“dolls I had, trinkets my mom kept, things outside, sometimes even strangers.”

you tilt your head onto the wall with a corner of your lip tucked up. “I’m sure you made many people feel either a boost of confidence or a total lack of it.”

she quietly laughs. she wasn’t aware at that time of the social cues and nuances of privacy contained in photographing someone. for her, it had been as simple as seeing something interesting, and photographing it. that’s it.

though, photographing you isn’t just about how interesting you look. being older means being more aware of just how much photography serves in reminding her of a different time, and how much it does to encapsulate a moment in a single image. so, to photograph you right now feels like something she needs to handle with care. these photos will, years from now, be the only tangible thing she has of this first morning with you. most of all, they possess your form in it, and that’s enough reason to be attentive in her actions.

“you should pick it back up, lee.”

she hums. she hasn’t thought of it lately. once she got into high school, she started doing it less and less, focusing more on her academics and slowly letting her creative hobbies wane. every now and then, she had returned to it, but in the last year, drawing and photography were practices that had almost completely vanished from her life. she misses it. it had always given her, at least for a few hours, a sense of direction and purpose, and in doing so, steadied her mind and thoughts. but, whenever she now thinks of picking it back up, it feels like there’s always something more productive she can be doing. she also feels partially afraid of potentially trying and realizing she’s lost her touch.

but, doing this with you definitely rewards her with some motivation. she feels that same single-minded focus she did as a child, her attention completely pinpointed in capturing your face just right under the sun. while waiting for her to adjust, you turn to stare out the window. the golden light casts on you just right, and she immediately presses down on the button.

at the noise of it, you turn back to her, eyebrows drawn in petulantly. “hey, I wasn’t looking!”

she shrugs, setting down the camera. “candid.” you looked beautiful too, but that she keeps to herself.

though, as she glances at you, she thinks that maybe she shouldn’t. you’re still pouting at her, slowly walking over to her.

when you reach her, palm cupping her cheek, she gulps before murmuring, “you’re beautiful.”

you squirm a bit, then crawl into her lap, straddling her. she immediately grips your thighs, holding you steady. at this angle, desire is pooling between her legs, mind flooded with images from the night before.

your arms wind about her neck. “and you’re sweet.”

“no. just honest.”

and a bit too close to being fully enamoured with you. but, that she definitely keeps to herself.

#s.writing #does it happen in a season?#lee harker x reader #lee harker fanfiction #lee harker #longlegs (2024)#longlegs #longlegs fanfiction #college!au lee ♡

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humanpurposes · 11 months ago

Text

It Will Come Back

Chapter 3, Broken Bonds

Two sides of a family fight for their own claims to the Targaryen inheritance. Amongst the endless infighting, forced pleasantries and PR scandals, Jaya Velaryon finds herself face to face with a demon of her past, namely Aemond Targaryen. Love and hate are not emotions easily unlearned.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Aemond Targaryen x Jaya Velaryon (OFC)

Warnings: 18+, dark elements, targcest (uncle x niece relationship) toxic family dynamics, angst, mentions of violence and trauma

Words: 7.4k

A/n: Also available to read on AO3, if you're that way inclined.

Now…

The heat is relentless this summer. Light bleeds through the stained glass windows of the Red Keep in beams of red, green, blue and gold, only to be lost to the dark wood floors, furniture and panelled walls. It is Aemond’s least favourite time of year, when the weather makes him irritable and the harsh light gives him a headache, when business tends to be busy and everyone is preoccupied with holidays and garden parties. He’s less inclined to distract himself with frivolity.

His sleeves are rolled up, his long silver hair pulled into a ponytail, sweat starting to pool underneath the eyepatch over the left side of his face. He’s leaning over Aegon, one hand on the back of his chair, staring down at a laptop screen as they check over some details for next week’s event.

It’s not often Aemond finds himself in his brother’s office. Technically Aegon is his superior, ‘deputy operations manager’ according to the golden plaque on the door. This is more of a courtesy title because he couldn’t get a respectable job anywhere else, and it would be far worse for their father’s image to have a layabout son.

That’s the funny thing about the family business. It’s no secret that Viserys Targaryen didn’t want his sons involved in Dragon Bank, but his influence is not as all encompassing as he would like to believe, not since the Hightowers got a foot in the door thirty or so years ago… then another… then another. Viserys can make his demands and shout when he’s angry enough, but there is one truth he cannot deny; he needs them. He needs Otto. He needs Alicent. He needs Helaena and Daeron to stay perfect. He needs Aegon to not be a fuck up and that’s enough. And he needs Aemond because he’s good at his job. No one has an eye for detail like him, no one can make sense out of figures or persuade clients and investors like he can.

Why their grandfather wants him to look over PR and marketing nonsense is understandable, but irritating nonetheless.

Their father has been planning this event for years, Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary gala, with all the pomp and grandeur of a bygone era, held at their ancestral seat of Dragonstone Castle, just outside the city. Five hundred years since one of their ancestors forged a throne for himself in King’s Landing, building an empire that still has most of the country under their family’s thumb. Viserys intends to use the occasion as a reminder to the rest of Westeros that they cannot compare to the might of the Targaryens. So there can be no oversights. Everything has to be perfect.

Aemond’s eye scans over the diagram on the screen, circles surrounded boxes with names; the seating plan for the main ballroom.

Then a name catches his eye and it makes his heart stop. He doesn’t want to believe what he sees but there it is on the screen, in Times New fucking Roman: Jaya Velaryon.

He’s hardly heard that name, read it, or heard it in six years. He can already feel a dull ache creeping into his skull, which he knows will catch like kindling and soon become a burning, blinding pain behind the space where his eye should be.

Aegon, completely oblivious, huffs a little laugh to himself. “Shit, yeah, I meant to say there was an update with the seating. So this could turn out to be quite interesting– fuck, are you alright?”

“Fine!” Aemond snaps, staggering back from the chair. His head feels like it’s been run through with a knife and his fingers fumble to get his eyepatch off. “Fine– fuck! I’m fine.”

“Sit,” Aegon orders, quickly standing and guiding Aemond over to one of the leather sofas on the other side of the room, where the sunlight isn’t so direct.

The pain is often like this, striking suddenly, spreading quickly like a forest fire, eating away at him like a disease. He has no choice but to endure it.

He feels the eyepatch slip from his face before something cold presses against the worst of his scar. He reaches up to clasp his hands around it. A glass water bottle, one Aegon is holding. His brother is useless most of the time but he does have his moments.

“Fuck it’s all red,” Aegon mutters. “Have you got meds with you?”

When Aemond opens his mouth to speak his jaw is trembling. “Office,” he says, gritting his teeth together, trying to control his breath and the extent of the pain. “It’s in my office.” He can see where the packet is in the first draw under his desk.

“I can go and get you some–”

“No,” Aemond says, grabbing Aegon’s arm so he won’t move.

He can handle this. Every time this kind of pain flares up he thinks of how much it hurt that night, how terrified he was as he felt the blood gushing from the gash in his eye, slipping through his fingers. The pain had been so great he thought it might kill him. If he can get through that night, the first few hours in the hospital, the months of recovery or the years since, then he can get through a fucking headache.

He closes his eye and breathes in counts of three. In through the nose, hold, and out. Between that and the bottle against his face, the pain starts to feel a little duller and the room doesn’t feel so close.

“Is it… you know,”

Did seeing Jaya’s name shock him so severely that his body went into meltdown? Is his heart still pounding in his chest at the thought of reading her name and the possibility of seeing her again?

Aemond exhales irritably against the back of his throat, defeated, but always stubborn.

“I thought you knew,” Aegon says. “Mum said she was going to talk to you.”

“Evidently that conversation is yet to happen.” Maybe it was meant to happen tonight. It’s a Friday which means Aemond will go to his mother’s apartments in the Keep for dinner after work.

It’s a struggle but he breathes through the worst of it, and blinks a tear from his eye. The pain hasn’t quite faded but something else burns hotter through his blood. He clenches his jaw and his fists. “How long have you known?”

Aegon makes a startled stuttering noise. “I– well–”

Aemond glares at him.

“A few days. The note came from Rhaenyra’s office on Monday or Tuesday, I can’t really remember–”

“Grandfather knew,” Aemond says, a question, but he can guess the answer. If it involves Dragon Bank or a member of the Targaryen family, Otto Hightower will know.

“Of course he knew. He said it was a last minute decision, one that Viserys was insisting we all bend over backwards to accommodate.”

Of course he would, anything for the precious daughter of his favourite child, the girl who slashed Aemond’s eye out with a broken bottle.

He hates her for it. He hates every burst of pain, like an echo of that moment pulsing through his head. He hates every person he catches staring at him, he hates the way his reflection looks with her cruelty carved into his flesh. Most of all he hates that it reminds him of her. In a way he is grateful too. Time helped to heal the wound and eventually he realised how he had been changed by that night, how it made him the person he is now.

But for the first time in a long time he does not find any pride in it, cowering in his brother’s office like a child at the mere mention of her name.

“I can’t go,” Aemond says, hating how quiet his own voice is.

“That’s alright,” Aegon says, “you can sit here for as long as you need.”

“I meant the party.”

“Oh right, sorry.”

“I can’t go, not if she’s going to be there.”

There’s a long silence, filled only by the hum of the AC and the distant sounds of the city far below the keep, car horns, engines, sirens, the occasional cry of a seagull.

“Why don’t you talk it through with mum?”

“Aegon,”

“She’ll want you to go. She’ll be upset if you don’t.”

“I can’t,”

“I know you two were close, but, you know, I’m sure you both regret how things happened,”

“Aegon, for fuck’s sake,”

“She cut out your eye, you said you’d cut out hers if you ever saw her again, we were all caught up in the moment.”

Aemond pushes up from the sofa and tosses the water bottle at Aegon’s head, not stopping to see if he caught it or not, before he’s yanking open the door and marching into the hallway.

The Red Keep is older than Dragon Bank itself, a red brick holdfast that has loomed proudly over King’s Landing for centuries, even as the skyline of the city has come to meet over time. It’s easy to get lost here, with its grand hallways, winding staircases and hidden passages, if old rumours are to be believed. He knows this place like he knows his own mind. He walks to his office through empty stairwells and forgotten corridors.

When he finally makes it to his own office he closes the door and lets his back fall against it.

He takes a slow breath, holds it, pouts his lips and exhales steadily.

Who else knows? Viserys would have sent the invitation, Rhaenyra and the rest of her little runts will know. Otto knows, clearly his mother and Aegon both know, and he couldn’t have kept that secret, he would have told Helaena or Daeron, most likely both.

Everyone knows. Jaya is coming back home to King’s Landing, and everyone knows but him.

His mother told him everything when she thought he was ready to hear it. The bandages had been removed from his face and the cannula had been taken out of his hand. The doctors wanted him to stay in the hospital for a few more days so all the drugs could wear off and he could start getting used to the disorientation of losing half his vision. Alicent wanted him home, in his own bed. So he left the dry air and the white overhead lights of his room in the hospital, back to Dragonstone.

She told him that while he’d been on his knees with his hand over his face, trying to stop the blood and the remains of his eye from spilling onto the ground, Viserys had barked out his orders. He didn’t want ambulances or sirens because it would cause a scene in front of the guests. The shame, the damage it would do to the family’s image. Otto had persuaded him away from such a nonsensical idea and convinced Viserys to get the guests inside the house so Aemond and Jace’s injuries could be seen to.

He remembered shouting and sirens, blue lights and his mother’s hand clinging onto his before he blacked out. He had gone in for surgery almost immediately and woken the following evening surrounded by white walls, his mother and Criston Cole at his side.

Aegon, Helaena and Daeron all stayed at Dragonstone while he was there. They said once he and Jace had been taken away, Viserys had gathered the entire family inside the house. With their faces all still red from crying and Jaya’s pretty white dress still coated in blood, he demanded to know the truth.

They all knew what the truth was. Jace didn’t know his limits and Aegon didn’t care about his.

He could see it all happening in his head, walking towards the orchard with Jaya and Baela, catching Jaya when she tripped over a stone, her tipsy smile as she looked up at him, the pearl and the sapphire pendant settled against her chest.

Who knows what started the argument between Jace and Aegon, but suddenly Aemond had found himself between them.

“There he is,” Jace had sneered, but his voice quickly raised into a shout, “‘perfect’ Aemond Targaryen, fucking mummy’s boy, thinking he’s some kind of fucking diplomat!”

Aegon tried to shout back, “more of a man than you’ll ever be,” Aemond couldn’t make out everything through the way his voice slurred.

“Not so fucking perfect though, are you? You’re no worse than Aegon– no! You’re so much worse, aren’t you? Aren’t you!?

He’d watched Jace’s expression darken, his lips sneering into a sickening smile.

“You’ve got my sister wrapped around your fucking finger, fucking creep.”

He told himself Jace was just drunk. It didn’t matter what he thought… only it did. Jace could tell Rhaenyra or Viserys. Worse, he could talk to Jaya. She had always been devoted to her twin. She had picked Jace over Aemond before, in petty arguments when they were children.

“You want her, don’t you? Don’t you!? She’s too good for you though, and you know it. You want her but you’ll never fucking have her!”

When Aemond’s fist collided with Jace’s jaw it was on pure instinct. He was sober enough to stop himself but he didn’t. He just kept going.

According to Aegon, when Viserys came to Jaya, she said that it was Aemond who had started the argument. Jace was in the orchard with the others, when Aemond had come from nowhere and threw the first punch. She had seen it, so had Baela, so had Luke and Joffrey. It was their word against Aegon and Daeron’s.

The official story was that it had been a tragic accident, one in which Rhaenyra’s children were certainly blameless.

She called him the night he got to Dragonstone but he let the phone ring. A week later she appeared in the doorway to his bedroom. She was hazy, or he was still delirious from sleep, his mother hovering over her shoulder, reluctant to leave them alone together.

He doesn’t remember most of the conversation now. He doesn’t want to remember it. He knows it ended with tears streaming down her cheeks, but her face was completely still. She didn’t flinch, didn’t distort her face, scrunch her nose or make an ugly shape with her mouth. She looked utterly beautiful and cried effortlessly. It wasn’t fair when he still had stitches sewn into his flesh to keep the left half of his face in place.

At one point she approached the bed and tried to touch his hand. He snatched it out of her grasp. When she tried again he pushed her away.

“Why did you do it?” she said. “You attacked Jace, why? Why? Why? Why?”

Because Jace could have taken away the one thing he thought was his, by right, by love. Instead he gave some bullshit excuse– Jace had threatened Aegon, insulted Daeron, insulted him. And what did it matter anyway? Viserys believed her.

He needed her. He needed her and she pushed him away and cradled her coward of a brother in her arms. He needed her and she’d thrown it all back in his face with a slash of a broken bottle. He needed her, but she had made her decision.

“Liar,” he hissed. “You’re a fucking liar.”

He saw it in her face then, her desire to fight melting away. To Aemond that had always meant that she knew he was right.

“Show up here again, utter so much as a word to me again, and I’ll tear yours out as payment for mine.”

Some weeks later Aegon mentioned that she had abandoned her plans to go to KLU and instead found a place at the University of Pentos. She never tried to call after that and neither did he.

A layer of sweat clings to his skin and makes him shiver. He shrugs it off as he sits down at his desk, and spots a handwritten note sitting beside the keyboard of his laptop. Investment figures for Seasnake Shipping back to me by 7pm at the latest. Knowing Otto Hightower, that means an hour before the specified time.

In for three, hold for three, out for three. It always amazes him how well that trick works, he thinks as he takes out a packet from the top drawer of his desk and pushes out two tablets, the one good thing he’d gotten out of his year of therapy. He swallows the medication dry, suddenly regretting throwing away the bottle of water.

It’s nearly 6pm when Aemond has everything his grandfather wants, the names of Seasnake’s investors, the other companies they’re attached to, numbers and details he’s found buried in endless spreadsheets and pages of paperwork. He shouldn’t be able to see most of them but he has his ways. The Velaryons have been in business with the Targaryens for centuries and there are always trails to follow.

A few familiar names appear, Rhaenyra Tagrayren, Daemon Targayren, married to each of Corlys’ children. Aemond was only a year old when his sister married Laenor, but he’s always known how sceptical his mother and grandfather were of the match. It wasn’t something Rhaenyra had to do. She wasn’t going to inherit Seasnake, that had been promised to Laena, the elder sibling, and she was already Viserys’ chosen heir, so what did she think she was going to get out of it? Not a loving husband, surely.

Other investors and partners include the names Stark and Arryn, both wealthy and well established families. He also sees the names Celtigar, Massey, Bar Emmon, old names, though not as respected as they once were.

He leaves a note for his grandfather at the top of the document: Seasnake is being directed by a man who built his wealth to match his own pride, supported by opportunists with more money than sense.

With that task done he opens a new email to inform his father’s office that he’ll be absent from the event. He types it quickly and reads over it once before he can talk himself out of pressing send. He doesn’t give a reason why; Viserys should know why.

This leaves him just enough time to pack up and get ready for dinner.

The Red Keep has a series of apartments separated from the offices, where Aemond spent most of his childhood. The building is known as the Holdfast, with its own gatehouse leading into the city and gardens surrounded by high red brick walls. Historically it was built to house the extensive members of House Targaryen, but it is mostly empty now. His mother has had her own apartment for a few years, since Daeron moved out. The only one of his siblings to still live here now is Aegon, at Alicent’s insistence.

Walking from his office to the Holdfast brings him through courtyards and underneath old battlements, until he comes to a facade with towers, tall windows and an unsuspecting wooden door, save for the armed guards standing either side of it. His mother’s apartments are on the first floor, along a gallery and up the grand staircase, past portraits and tapestries. The hallways get smaller the further in you go and soon he comes to the private rooms.

Alicent often dismisses the staff on quiet Friday evenings. The minute he’s in the door he is met with the sound of one of her 80s playlists, the scent of spices and her favourite lemon and lavender candles. He finds her in the kitchen, dark blue jeans, a white shirt, black pumps and her auburn curls pulled into a bun to show off her pearl earrings, stirring two pots on the stove.

“Criston’s got me learning another one of his recipes,” she says, only looking at him for a moment, “I’ve got rice on too, so I hope you’re hungry.”

Aemond approaches her to kiss her on the cheek and takes a look inside the pots, one filled with chickpeas, the other with black lentils. “Is Aegon here?” he says.

“He’s in the lounge, tell him to set the table.”

Aemond watches her, entirely absorbed in the notebook on the counter next to the stove, with handwritten instructions. Nothing seems to be especially bothering her, even though the centenary event has had her on edge for over a month. She looks no different from the last time he saw her, before he knew about Jaya, when she was supposed to talk to him, supposedly.

“I want a drink first,” he says, whisky with no ice. He pours it for himself slowly while his mother hums along to Tears for Fears. “Do you know why grandfather wanted that information on Seasnake’s investors?”

“Hmm? Oh he’s probably doing one of his checks, you know what he’s like. Good to keep an eye on everyone,” she says. She has a glass of red wine next to the notebook, though by the looks of it she’s hardly touched it. “He said something interesting about Rickon Stark recently, his son Cregan is in King’s Landing.”

Aemond pulls his glass away from his lips, the sweet sting of alcohol slipping down his throat. “Shouldn’t be too unusual, they’re attending next week.” Staying at Dragonstone no less, some of Viserys’ most honoured guests.

“He’s staying at Queen’s Lodge.”

That takes him by surprise. “Hmm,” he says, bringing the glass to his lips again.

“He and Jacaerys are quite close, Aegon tells me.”

The Starks had visited Dragonstone once or twice as summer guests, back when they were all kids. Cregan was always talkative and effortlessly charming, but it was obvious to Aemond that his warmth was far more calculated than anyone else believed. He made sure Jaya kept her distance, but Jace followed him around like a lost puppy for the weeks he’d stay with their family.

They would have studied together at White Harbour, though Cregan was a few years older than Jace. They could have met again and reconnected. Aemond doesn’t interact with his nephew outside of necessity.

“And what would Aegon know about it?” he says.

“More than you,” a voice calls from the doorway. Aegon has ditched his suit for brown cargos and a comically baggy sports shirt, leaning against the frame. “Ran into them last weekend,” he says, grinning coldly and running his tongue over his teeth. “The Starks are making some close personal connections with our sister’s family.”

“Don’t be vulgar,” Alicent sighs.

Aegon scoffs and makes a dismissive gesture. While their mother is still distracted, he looks at Aemond and raises his eyebrows.

“Set the table, Aegon,” Aemond grumbles.

His brother does as he’s told. Aemond helps Alicent bring the dishes in. She sits at the head of the table, Aemond to her right, Aegon opposite him, to her left. She says a quick prayer to the Seven, as she always does. She asks the Mother to protect her children and asks the Crone for wisdom, for a light in dark and uncertain times.

“Speaking of close personal connections,” Aegon says, already having wolfed down half of his plate. Aemond already hates the tone of this conversation. “We’ll finally get to meet Daeron’s new bit,”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Aemond says.

Aegon ignores him. “Are you excited to meet Nettles, mother?”

Daeron talks about her constantly. They met in Oldtwon while they were both studying. Now he’s working for the Citadel Institute, she’s some kind of journalist, and they live together in a perfect little flat that looks out over the Honeywine river. Perfect, perfect, perfect.

“That can’t actually be her name, surely?” Alicent says.

“Perhaps it’s short for something,” Aemond says, prodding his food now to find himself with no appetite. He thinks about the drive he’ll have to make through the city, back to the empty house waiting for him on Silverwing Square.

“Nettles,” Aegon says, eyes on the ceiling like he’s trying to decipher a hidden meaning. “Nettles, like stinging nettles?”

“Oh, Aemond,” Alicent says, looking down at the uneaten food on his plate, “what happened with Maris Baratheon, why is she not on the final guest list?”

Aegon smiles, folding his elbows on the table and leaning forward, eager to hear an explanation like he hasn’t already coaxed it out of Aemond over too many bottles of wine at a steak restaurant on Conquest Street.

“Things didn’t work out with Maris,” Aemond says shortly. An understatement. The thought of their last conversation makes him nauseous.

“Aemond, sometimes I feel like you don’t love me.”

“I don’t think I do,” which felt untruthful, because he knew from the start that he never would. There were lots of things he liked about Maris. He liked that she was interested in him, he liked that she was blunt and unrelentingly honest, he liked that she had dark hair, and that she liked being fucked from behind and would let him press her face down into the pillow to muffle her moans. Soon the things he liked about her only felt like another reminder.

“Maris is old news, mother,” Aegon says.

“What a shame,” Alicent says, reaching for her wine again. “Oh well, I don’t think Viserys particularly likes her father anyway.”

“Well you know Aemond, always striving for perfection.”

Aemond’s eye meets Aegon’s over the table. His brother is trying not to grin, violet eyes bright from the light of the candelabra between them. Shadows catch on the hollow parts of his face, it makes him look tired but vicious.

Then he looks to his mother. She eats slowly with small mouthfuls, not making eye contact with either of her sons. It’s not often he finds himself upset or angry with his mother, not since he was old enough to understand just how hard she has worked, or know what she’s had to put up with as the wife of Viserys Targaryen. Aemond knows she trusts him in a way that does not always extend to his siblings.

But now all he can think is that she knows about Jaya. She knows, and she won’t even look at him.

Jaya could be in King’s Landing this very moment, lounging around Queen’s Lodge, looking out over the orchard she watered with Aemond’s blood while her mother fawns over her only daughter’s return.

He just needs to say it. He won’t go to Dragonstone if Jaya is there, he won’t stand to be in the same room as her, or breathe the same air as her. The thought already sends a feeling like flames licking up his spine that makes him restless with rage, with hurt and betrayal.

Aegon is still watching him and gives him a small nod.

Aemond takes a soft breath through parted lips–

Until a sound comes from the hallway that makes them all freeze, the sound of the front door unlocking, opening, then slamming with an ear splitting bang!

Aemond feels his face harden, brows straining with every footstep that marches against the hardwood floors towards the dining room.

Viserys appears in the threshold, dressed in one of his red and black suits, his face one of stone cold fury. He doesn’t look at Alicent, or Aegon, his eyes are fixed on Aemond.

He steps slowly into the room, placing one hand on the back of the chair closest to him at the head of the table, miles away from the rest of his family. His voice is quiet and clear through the stunned silence. “What the fuck are you playing at?”

Alicent makes a stuttering, scoffing noise. “Viserys–”

He holds up a finger to silence her, his eyes widening in warning. “Aemond,” he says, “you will answer me.”

Aemond keeps his jaw clenched at first. He can feel his teeth wanting to chatter, anger aching in every part of his body. He cannot afford to show any sign of weakness or remorse, not in front of his father. But why does it feel so difficult to speak? He swallows through a dry feeling in his throat. “I thought I’d worded it all very simply–”

“Look at me when I speak to you, boy.”

He hadn’t realised his gaze had fallen to the table. He looks up with an expression that is as passive as he can manage. “I would have thought it would be obvious why I can’t go, with the recent addition to the guestlist.”

His head is turned completely so that Viserys is in his line of vision, but he hears his mother make a small sighing sound. “Aemond, I was going to–”

“ALICENT!” Viserys roars.

Aemond feels himself flinch but his gaze is unwavering. Why does he think he has any right to barge in here, to ask anything of them?

If Aemond were to stand he’d be taller than his father, but he finds himself unable to move.

“That’s all you have to say for yourself?” Viserys says to him. “This could be the single most important night for the family for centuries and you’re still holding onto childish grudges?”

Childish grudges. He was mutilated and forced to carry the blame because of a lie, but of course his father expects him to let go, to forgive and forget.

He feels the leather of the eyepatch digging uncomfortably into his forehead and wishes more than anything he could just tear it off.

There are some things Aemond can argue with Viserys about, but they tend to be logical arguments, work related. The longer he looks at his father the more he remembers that no amount of sense could ever compare to the blind devotion Viserys has for his eldest child. There’s nothing Aemond can appeal to, not love or loyalty, not even sympathy.

“This is not about you, Aemond. This is about the bank, this is about the Targaryen name, our legacy, does that all mean nothing to you?”

“Of course it does,” Aemond says. He’s worked for nothing else his whole life, Dragon Bank, his heritage as a Targaryen, what is he without all of that?

Viserys’ face softens a little, as if he thinks he’s made some kind of progress. “I’ve never known you to be selfish, it’s not in your nature.”

“Well then you clearly know nothing about me,” Aemond says, glaring up at him.

Viserys frowns. “You will be there, and I want to hear no more of it. You will be polite. You will grin and fucking bear it because that’s what the rest of us have to do.”

He’s delusional, he’s fucking delusional.

Aemond looks to his brother, slumped in his chair, his eyes even darker now. He has his hand around the stem of a wine glass. He’s been staring at the crimson liquid since their father walked in. He might have been expecting to be the target of Viserys’ anger tonight; he usually is.

Aegon looks across at him, furious, exhausted, eager for this exchange to be over. He tilts his head in a questioning motion, though his lips stay firmly sealed.

All the years he spent trying to be the best that he could, how hard he pushed himself to get through that final year at KLU while recovering from his injury, all the hours he’s devoted to the family business, all the times he’s kept his mouth shut and his head held high, is this the hill Aemond is going to die on?

He won’t try to look at his mother, but he can guess she would have a similar reasoning.

A fearsome wind from the Narrow Sea howls against the windows of Aemond’s black Jag. The road to Dragonstone is a desolate one, leading through a forest that might as well be nothingness in the dark. The headlights beam against the tarmac which turns and rises and falls, so he can never see what’s ahead of him.

There’s a burst of light as he approaches the gates. He hasn’t seen the gatehouse for years and remembers that he used to be scared of the stone dragon heads that stand open mouthed and teeth bared on either side, at the base of the turrets. Some hired security guard comes to his window, his demeanour changing completely when Aemond glares at him through a single eye.

Cars line the acres of grass before the house, the driveway lined with lanterns and more statuettes of dragons. Dragonstone lies ahead in its full glory, lights on in every window, moonlight shining upon its ancient walls so the castle looms in shadows and silver.

He must be one of the last people to arrive, the last of the important people, slotting the Jag next to a golden Dodge Charger he recognises as Aegon’s. The rest of the Targaryens all drive black cars.

He checks his reflection in the rearview mirror for as long as he can stand to look at himself, glaring at the blunt edges of the sapphire in his left socket, dull and dark in the low light. The flesh around his eyelids are twisted and red, the scar itself deep but clean. His mother had suggested they could get it looked at, to make his eye seem less severe, but that’s what the eyepatch is for, to cover up the worst of his injury, for the comfort of others and not his.

He slips the leather patch over his head and secures it in place, careful not to mess up his hair in the process.

One day he’ll make her look at it, the sapphire and the scar, maybe then she’ll understand what she put him through. Not tonight, no, tonight he intends to play it safe.

He effortlessly exits the car, checking his cuffs as he walks up to the front doors. A server offers him a glass of champagne when he steps into the entrance hall which he takes a small sip from, parched after his drive from King’s Landing. He knows his way through the opulent halls that have stayed the same for as long as he can remember, towards the hum of at least a hundred voices.

The ballroom glimmers with reflected light, mirrors, gold accents, crystal chandeliers, champagne glasses. The guests are all in their finery, tuxedos and floor length gowns, either in black or the colours of their houses. Some have started to take their seats around the circular tables, but many are still mingling.

Any head of silver hair stands out rather obviously, and the first he sees is his father standing in the centre of the ballroom, a smile on his face and his arm around his wife’s waist. Alicent is radiant in a gold gown that catches the warmth of the candles dotted about the room. She looks less than pleased being made to talk to Rhaenyra and Laenor– now there’s a surprise, he doesn’t usually make a habit of appearing at family events. Rhaenyra is in black, as is her husband, with a waistcoat embroidered with swirling gold patterns, like waves on the sea.

His eye continues to scour the room. He sees Helaena and Daeron with the girl he assumes is Nettles. He sees Aegon getting friendly with the Martell siblings. He sees Corlys and Rhaenys with Laena and Daemon. He sees Jacaerys standing with the Starks, closer than is friendly to Cregan. He sees those with the surnames Tyrell, Tully, Lannister, Arryn, all the others, and keeps searching.

She’s not where she’s meant to be, at the table closest to the high table where Viserys will sit with the board members. She’s not with her parents, she’s not at the bar, she’s not at the doors to the gardens. Each moment he does not find her fuels some kind of fire within him, adrenaline pumping through his blood, like he’s chasing something just out of his reach.

A flash of loose, dark hair steals his attention. He doesn’t see her face at first but he notices when she nudges his shoulder as she passes him on his blind side, very nearly ending up with champagne down her silky, off white gown or spilled across the string of pearls sitting on her bare collar.

He apologises on instinct, reaching for a handkerchief in his pocket that has only ever been intended as decorative.

“No harm done,” the woman insists. “It’s good stuff, I would have been mortified to waste any of it.”

He recognises her face, the slanted nose, the sharpness of her cheeks, her bright green eyes and unsettlingly perfect smile. He’s seen her at press events, some kind of relation to the Strongs, but not close enough that she’d ever be invited to any personal occasions.

“Alys Rivers,” she says, holding out a hand for him to shake. “Deputy editor for Seven.” He’s heard of it, a high society gossip magazine, they often run stories about his family, Daemon and Aegon mostly, the rest of them clearly aren’t newsworthy.

“You used to work for the Harrenhal Observer, didn’t you?” he says.

“I did,” she says, “between you and me though, I think cousin Larys felt a little threatened.”

“Threatened?” Aemond says, noticing a pair of girls who are oddly familiar to him. He can’t place their names but he thinks they might be old friend’s of Jaya’s. They approach Jace, turning their heads around frequently like they’re looking for something. “How so?”

“He thought I was too opinionated,” Alys says, keeping her eyes on his.

“I didn’t think there could be such a thing,” Aemond says, though now he thinks he recognises the girls from one of the parties at Maegor’s Square, from years ago. One of them meets his gaze and quickly looks away.

“The Observer is supposedly a neutral publication after all, I had a few things to say about the working conditions at the Casterly Rock mines which caused quite a stir.”

That’s where he recognises her name from. Viserys wasn’t happy with the article given their ties to the Lannisters and their gold. It sets off a silent alarm in his head, suddenly her gaze is a little too scrutinising for his liking and he’s aware of every breath he takes, shallow or deep, soft or sharp, she could use anything against him.

“I heard a rumour you weren’t going to be attending tonight’s event,” she says.

“It’s Dragon Bank’s fifth centenary,” he says, “I’m incredibly proud of all the work my family has put into the last five hundred years.”

“You say that like you’re expecting this conversation to go to print.”

“That’s why you approached me, is it not?”

She hums a gentle laugh to herself as her gaze roams over his suit, black, simple and perfectly fitted. She looks back to his face, he sees the way her eyes flicker to his left side. She smiles lazily in a way that makes him wonder if she’s trying to flirt, and places a hand on his shoulder, leaning in closer until he can smell the classic, musky scent of her perfume. He lets her do it, lets her lips get closer to his ear.

“I only wanted to see if you had something interesting to say,” Alys whispers over the noise of the party.

He glances up, towards the grand fireplace at the end of the room. Gold plated engravings of dragons intertwine and spread their wings, framing the fire that burns within.

She’s standing there, a glass of champagne in one hand, in an emerald green dress suited for summer, loose fabric, exposing her arms, her hair pulled up into a style that’s effortlessly elegant.

Their eyes meet. It’s like electricity strikes his heart.

Six years fades into oblivion, she looks different and exactly the same. He can almost believe he’s never known a life without her, but she’s always been there, hasn’t she? An unspoken secret, living in the lightest and the darkest parts of his mind.

He can see the moment of recognition, when her expression goes from passive and proud to alert, eyes widening, lips falling, her hand lowering the glass to the nearest surface.

It’s dangerous how quickly he can already feel himself start to slip. He’s had seven days to prepare and part of him is still in disbelief that Jaya is a living, breathing person and not just a memory. Another part of him is calm and unsurprised, like he’s always known she was going to come back. To King’s Landing, to the family business, to him.

He doesn’t feel any pain, not in his head or his chest, but he feels empty, starved to the point of ravenous.

Jaya starts to move through the crowd, towards the glass doors that lead to an outlook over the gardens and the sea. It only sparks excitement for Aemond, imagining all the thoughts that could be swimming through her head, anger, pride, fear. By the Seven he hopes one of those is fear.

“It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“What?” he says, looking back to Alys.

“I thought I’d refresh my memory a little before I came here tonight. It’s been six years since Jaya Velaryon was in King’s Landing. The two of you were close, weren’t you?”

Close.

Close like the way Jaya used to hug him when they were children. She’d wrap her little arms so tightly around his chest or his neck that he could hardly breathe. He’d tell her to stop, shove her away, but then she’d only cry, and he could never say no to her after that.

Close like their minds worked in the same way, when they only needed to look at each other a certain way to know what they were both thinking.

Close like the air of his bedroom the first night they kissed, feeling the shared warmth, her body against his, the softness of her skin, when she tasted like wine and smelled like smoke.

Close was never close enough, but what difference did it make?

“Then there was that accident at Queen’s Lodge. The press release was so vague, it only said you and Jacaerys were recovering from minor injuries…”

Aemond glares at her, the same look that would usually silence Aegon, but Alys Rivers is not afraid of his warning.

She makes a gesture to his eye. “I mean, clearly one injury was more severe than the other. Curious that Jaya left for Pentos so soon after that when she was due to start at KLU that year. Why did she leave, do you know?”

Aemond pushes past her without another word, towards the glass doors that only Jaya has passed through in the last minute or so. The other guests are starting to take their places at the tables now. He sees Rhaenyra and Laenor looking around the room, having gathered their other three brats. His own mother tries to capture his attention but his mind can only think of one thing. He walks towards the doors as calmly as he can, even though it feels as if his life depends on reaching them, on reaching her.

The doors lead out to a patio, seemingly empty right up to the balustrade. He walks to the edge, the noise of the party lost to the roar of the wind and the waves in his ears, no doubt his hair will be blown into a mess but he doesn’t care.

Everything below him is black, out of reach from the lights of the castle. Then he spots something, a flicker of flame far below him, down a series of steps, out of view, down at an outlook over the sea. She shields it with her hand, lighting a cigarette by the look of it, until the end glows with a red ember.

He walks slowly, savouring the sound of every step his shoes make against the paving stones. He keeps his hands in his pockets, single eye fixated on the shape of her shoulders, the curve of her spine and her waist through the dress.

He tries to guess the moment she realises when she’s not alone. She angles her head slightly as he reaches the bottom of the steps, still a good distance away from her. He watches her take one drag from the cigarette before she lowers it, resting her hand against the stone balcony.

He comes close enough to realise she’s shaking, jaw clenched, looking almost determinedly out across the sea. The wind cuts across his cheeks like it’s burning his skin, so how she can stand to be out here with nothing to protect herself from the cold is almost admirable. It is also foolish of her.

Goosebumps bloom over her skin, skin he could reach out and touch if he wanted to.

And she won’t look at him.

She won’t look at him.

Tags (comment to be added to either)

General taglist: @jamespotterismydaddy @theoneeyedprince @tsujifreya @dreamsofoldvalyria

Series taglist: @aemondsbabygirl @persephonerinyes @sirenangelroyal @qyburnsghost @adragonprinceswhore @boundlessfantasy @asumofwords @summerposie @thedamewithabook @ammo23 @valyrianflower @jiminie-08 @magnificentdelusionr @hiddencurator

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #hotd #hotd fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction #modern!au #aemond targaryen smut #it will come back #hozier coded #my fics

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huramuna · 1 year ago

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wine red, tears gold - chapter 4.

king aegon II x baratheon ofc

previous chapter | next

a 'what if aegon didn't get poisoned and the greens technically won the dance but at what cost' au. basically aegon, alicent, otto and jaehaera are the only greens alive. and larys i guess. someone get rid of this guy.

word count: 3.5k

please follow & turn on notifs for @huramuna-fics for my fic postings

content: smut (specifics below cut), canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, angst, fluff, arranged marriage, touch-staved aegon, aegon isn't a r*pist in this au but he is still a bad person and has his vices, ofc and aegon need to go to therapy together, justice for jaehaera, awkward sex, kind of a slow burn, infidelity

this comes from the inside - the living tombstone • oblivion - grimes

warnings: p in v, creampie

Being close with another person can be such a precarious thing. Not just in emotional closeness, but physical as well.

Lyanna never much liked being touched, not even as a child. She would shy away from courtiers pinching her cheeks, from her mother’s outstretched arms, from her father’s heavy hand upon her shoulder. Being touched felt like a burden of sorts, as if someone expected reciprocity from putting their hands on another.

She never wished to give it in return.

Since moving to the Red Keep, she has changed— in more ways than one, of course. She quite liked being touched now by her good mother, Alicent’s touches were soft and warm. Mayhaps it was because the queen mother was there to hold Lyanna at her lowest, and she found some comfort in her arms that she never derived from her own mother.

Then there was Aegon. His touches were… confusing. He seemed much at war with himself, like a stray dog wishing for affection, a scratch on the cheek or pat of the head, but didn’t know how to ask, how to convey he wanted it. His proposal to Lyanna of exchange of pleasure for nurture was a strange one, to be sure.

It must’ve been the wine, that would be why she had said yes, wouldn’t it?

Certainly not the fact that her husband seemed… jealous. Jealous of a Dornish prince putting his hands on her and making her laugh. Aegon, being the same one who had said she wasn’t a beauty that men go to war for. Aegon, who couldn’t even flow in the same atmosphere as Lyanna for weeks. Aegon, who fucked a whore the morning after their wedding and many days besides.

That Aegon— was jealous?

The notion of it seemed humorous to Lyanna, as if she held some great power over him, reducing him to his knees before her.

All for a touch.

In truth, it was more than just a touch. He had fallen asleep with his head in her lap, snoozing softly. Lyanna wriggled down, trying to get comfortable. As much as she detested Aegon, at least she thought she did, she didn’t want to wake him. Not when he seemed so at peace with his pathetic prize.

He was a heavy sleeper. She managed to lay on her back comfortably and adjust his position to where he was strewn across her stomach and chest. Lyanna watched him for… who knows how long, being lulled into some sense of relaxation by his weight and warmth on her, coupled with his rhythmic breathing. He was like a living heavy blanket.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, smoothing small circles upon his scalp absentmindedly, as she fell asleep herself.

When she awoke, he was still there— albeit, shifted slightly. He clung to her like a second skin, his leg thrown over hers, his arms draped over her chest haphazardly, still deeply asleep. Lyanna’s breaths fanned over his hair, his head resting under her chin. Whatever spell she had been under the night before had (almost) worn off, the novelty faded.

Gently, more gentle than he truly deserved, she roused him. “Aegon,” she murmured, “Aegon, it's morning— I must get ready soon.”

“Morning…” he hummed drowsily, lips pressed to her neck unknowingly. “No… I will sleep more.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes; it was like dealing with a child rather than a King. “Laze around if you must, husband,” she began to pry him off of her. “But I have duties to attend to.”

“Duties can wait, wife,” he blinked, supplanting his chin upon her chest and looking up at her in a way that made her heart wrench. He looked Gods awful pathetic, like an abandoned puppy. “Stay longer, please.”

“… I have things to see to, Aegon. I don’t wish for your mother to be cross if I’m late to break our fast together.”

He let out a huff, rolling off of her. “May I at least stay until you leave?”

“I suppose. You can help dress me. Do you know how to dress a lady?” Lyanna asked, getting up from the bed to open her wardrobe.

“Ehm— I know how to undress a lady.”

“My Myrish silk from last night begs to differ.”

“Well, you have too many layers, too many loops and ties. This is why whores are so much easier, they’re practically already naked.”

Lyanna shot a glare at him. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t remind me that you frequently lie with other ladies.”

Aegon came up behind her, a bit taller than her by a head, poking his nose into her neck. “Why? Are you jealous?”

She scoffed. “Jealous? Jealous like you were of Prince Qyle?”

“I don’t get jealous,” he grumbled, backing away from her and folding his arms over his chest. “I just don’t think it was appropriate the way he was touching you— like you were a whore.”

“You love that word, don’t you?”

“Mayhaps. I quite like other words, too. Slut, cunt, bitch— the list goes on.”

“You’re truly an ignorant, beautiful creature, Aegon. It’s a wonder to me that you survived infancy.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Lyanna let out a snorting laugh, it was undignified and unladylike— but real. Even more real than the laughs that Prince Qyle evoked from her the night before. She stayed turned away, sorting through her clothes. The noise she emitted, raucous and loud as it was, made Aegon smile for half a moment. He quite liked when his wife laughed— and he had been the one to do it this time.

Aegon ended up not helping her dress, as he took one look at the configurations of a corset and left.

That was fine by Lyanna, in all truths. She descended to the Queen mother’s chambers and broke her fast with her, as was her daily routine. Somehow, in the middle of their eating, their conversation turned to the topic of sex. Lyanna didn't feel much embarrassment talking about most things with Alicent, as she was a good conservationist– but sex was one of the things Alicent was… hesitant to talk about, all things considered, and Lyanna wasn’t exactly an expert.

Poking into her soft boiled egg with her spoon, Lyanna listened intently to Alicent.

“You’re the only one I would talk to such things about, dearest,” Alicent hummed, dragging her utensil through her own bowl of coddled eggs, “I never much liked it with… the late King. ‘Twas my duty, after all. I can only hope that, ehm, Aegon makes it less painful for you.”

“... he does fine, I suppose,” Lyanna murmured, prying the soft white of the egg from the shell and balancing it on the spoon. “... truthfully, we haven’t…” she rolled her shoulders to enunciate her meaning, “Laid together in a way conducive to making an heir– not since the wedding night.”

The queen mother perked a brow, crossing one leg over the other. “So you are doing such things in… other methods?”

“Only once– last night, in fact,” Lyanna admitted softly, poking the bite of egg into her mouth, wiping away an errant drop of yolk from her lip– to which Alicent was watching intently– “After the banquet. Was Aegon… jealous as a child?”

Alicent cracked a small smile, leaning back in her chair. “I’m not sure that he was jealous in the way that some may think. He wasn’t so much envious of what others had that he wished to covet, but rather what others were, comparatively to him. Rhaenyra was his father’s favorite, Aemond was the better swordsman, Helaena more beloved by my father– he was always the odd one out.” she blinked profusely, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “Why?”

“He… followed me to my chambers after the feast and started spewing heinous accusations about Prince Qyle and I.”

“And this… led you both to the bed?” Alicent took a long sip of her tea, her eyes not leaving Lyanna’s.

“No– my boudoir chair, actually.”

The queen mother’s cheeks reddened softly. “Oh my– I cannot say that’s something I experienced. Was it… pleasurable at least?”

“It was certainly enlightening– that he may not be as useless as I thought,” Lyanna paused. “That I may not be as repulsive to him as I thought I was.” she spoke a bit quieter then, the subject still tender to her, a wound not yet fully scarred over.

“It’s his blood.” Alicent replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

“His… blood?”

“The blood of the dragon– Targaryens have dragon’s blood in their veins, which runs thick and hot when situations become… precarious. It may be any sort of situation that might give you or I an adrenaline rush, good or bad– but for them, all my children included, it’s like igniting the spark to a wildfire. Some sort of primal, uncontainable thirst for… whatever it is that spurred them. For Aegon… he quells his blood with wine and whores,” Alicent frowned slightly at the notion, the corners of her eyes crinkling into a silent apology, “Jealousy could very well be one of the things that whipped him into a frenzy– mayhaps you should use such a thing to your advantage? Of course, I won’t condone adultery, my dear– but the illusion of interest in someone else may have Aegon more… inclined to lay with you.”

Lyanna sniffed slightly, putting down her empty egg shell. “I wish he would just want it without me having to… set him on fire, or however it’s put.”

“Men are– for the lack of a better word– stupid, Lyanna. They are blind to the things they need the most.”

–

Lyanna spent the rest of her week planning on how exactly to make Aegon jealous. She didn’t really understand how to put on such airs of that extent– acting confident was one thing, but feining attraction for another person was different, wasn’t it? She didn’t consider herself a massive flirt, either.

They sat in the dining hall, entertaining a visiting lord from the Reach, some Tyrell or Redwyne or other, who promptly gave Lyanna a bouquet of beautiful flowers. She was delighted at the gesture, not because she really enjoyed them, but because it would be easier to start her ruse.

“Oh, thank you, my lord– these are gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous,” she hummed. She was wearing a green dress that, somehow, matched Aegon’s deep green tunic that eve. “How did you know that sunflowers were my favorite?”

“Ah, your grace, the sunflower is my favorite as well,” the lord smiled heartily, chattering on and on about sunflowers. “It very much reminded me of your radiance, my queen.”

His audacious compliment earned a warm giggle from Lyanna, her face blistered with a blush– half of the blush was from real bashfulness, as she wasn’t used to receiving such compliments. She knew it was false, of course. She was more reminiscent of a plain dandelion than a sunflower.

The dinner consisted of Lyanna talking to him, making much smalltalk and overall, talking to him more than she’d talked to Aegon in their entire marriage. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her husband practically stewing, rolling around a brussel sprout around his plate with the tip of his knife, an inhuman heat blistering off of him in waves.

Apparently, to Aegon, enough was enough– his hand slipped from his goblet of wine, drenching the front of Lyanna’s dress. “Ah– my dear, I’m so very clumsy,” he crooned, “Let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

Lyanna nodded slowly as her husband looped his arms around her and led her out of the dining hall. She murmured some apologies to their guests, citing that they would return soon. Aegon led them down a corridor, not far from the hall, into a closed off enclave, where he closed the door.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he grumbled, spinning her around so that her back was pressed against the stone wall in the close quarters of what was basically a servant’s closet. “You’re egging me on purposefully.”

Tilting her chin up defiantly, she spoke nonchalantly. “I have no idea what you’re speaking of, husband, truly.”

Aegon gave an unamused expression, his mouth wrought into a thin line. “I’m not even that drunk and I could plainly see you letting that… absolute peon of a Lord come onto you.”

“So? He fancies me and gifted me a bouquet of flowers– I don’t see anything terribly wrong with that. It isn’t unheard of to pay homage to their queen, is it?”

His hand shot out, gripping her chin and jaw. “I don’t– You– you’re so fucking frustrating!” he growled, raising his voice. Their noses were touching from their proximity, their breaths intermingling. It was the closest they’d ever been.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway, to which the both of them froze. They came past the closet, then descended back down the corridor.

“This is scandalous.” Lyanna murmured.

“How? We are husband and wife, simply having a chat.”

“We are the king and queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not… animals– I’m sure that anyone who opened this door would see you… pinning me against a wall. I’m not sure much could be left to the imagination there, Aegon.”

“You really should get the stick out of your arse, wife.”

“Mayhaps it would do better up yours, then?”

“Careful, I may actually enjoy that.” he grinned, the expression lighting up his usually solemn face. Lyanna considered him quite handsome at that moment.

“You’re vulgar.” she quipped back, biting down on the soft part between his thumb and forefinger gently.

A sound akin to a breathy moan came from Aegon’s mouth at her bite. “And you call me an animal? You’re fucking biting me, you cheeky minx.”

“Yes? Well, if you are to drag me to your level– we are both animals then.” she stared at him with wide eyes and she wondered if he could feel the beat of her heart. It felt like it would abscond from her body at any moment. Her heavy chest fell and rose in weighty breaths.

“That lord is quite wrong, you know,” Aegon whispered, his lips dangerously close to hers– they hadn’t kissed since the wedding ceremony, and even then it was a quick peck – his mouth quirked into a smug grin. “You aren’t a sunflower. You’re a sweet little rabbit. I quite like rabbit, you know. They’re delicious, succulent,” he paused, leaning forward and speaking against her lips, “Tender.”

It was unsure who closed the gap first, but their lips fused together into a ferocious kiss. They both tasted of a deep, rich wine. It was a fight of tongues and teeth, a battle where they both wished to devour one another– Lyanna’s hand tugged at his white curls, nails scraping against his scalp as he held her face in a vice-like grip, as if he was afraid she would dissipate from his clutches at any moment. His lips were soft, surprisingly, where she had expected them to be rough and chapped. His skin pressed against hers and the slight growing stubble upon his cheeks tickled her in kind, her lips perking into a smile as they kissed.

The once silent closet became a cacophony of small sighs and gasps from both the king and queen. Aegon’s free hand trailed to the small of Lyanna’s back, resting right in the divots above her bottom, his fingers splayed out in exploratory fashion. His repose was short lived, as he grabbed the fleshy globe of her arse, emitting a pleased hum of surprise. They parted for a moment to breathe, as it was wholly necessary– if they hadn’t needed to breathe, they wouldn’t have parted at all, reveling in one another’s taste for hours.

“I forbid you to cut my dress, Aegon,” she whispered in a playful warning, staring at him with a look that couldn’t be described as anything else other than fondness. “I refuse to go through these halls with my garment sliced to shreds.”

“But you love it, don’t you? You quite liked it last night.”

“Aegon.”

“Fine,” he acquiesced, his hand retreating from her face to unbuckle his belt. The light of the closet was dim, close to none– the soft flickering of the sconces outside of the corridor bleeding in through the cracked door. She couldn’t see what he was doing, really, but she heard the soft grunts coming from him as his fist slid against his length. Giving her ass a playful squeeze, he used his other hand to ruck up her skirts, the pad of his thumb swiping down her underclothes. “Lovely.” Aegon practically purred, hooking his finger and sliding the wet garb down her legs.

The air was cold against her bare sex, causing her to shiver. She chased the warmth of his body as he adjusted himself, parting from her closeness for just a moment, making her all but whimper.

They didn’t need words, despite their new trend of back and forth quips– and it was nice to not have to say anything. She let him take the lead, as he was more experienced than she. His legs were between hers, keeping them open as he glided his member between her folds, gathering the wet slick that had been ruminating since they came to the closet, then he slid into her. Lyanna stifled a gasp, the sensation still so unfamiliar– it wasn’t painful like before, as she was prepared for it now, but it was a feeling of stretching she wasn’t used to.

Aegon, in turn, huffed a moan into her neck, murmuring something in broken High Valyrian under his breath. He sheathed himself to the hilt inside of her, resting both hands on her hips, which had the perfect little clefts for handles, he noted. He didn’t move right away, savoring the warmth and tightness of her, squeezing around him like she was all but made for him.

“P-please,” she whispered, so quietly, into the shell of his ear.

He set a wonderfully slow pace, which only sped up with each kiss they shared, their tongues mingling and dancing to the soft sound of Aegon’s heavy stones smacking up against Lyanna’s core. Their cacophony became a full on symphony of wet, slapping noises, coupled with their borderline obscene sounding kissing as they moaned into one another’s mouths.

It felt like something of newness for both of them as Aegon’s thumb came up to circle at her clit– Lyanna was experiencing a fullness and indulgence in having her husband slotted in her so deliciously. Aegon was experiencing something akin to euphoria at the fact that he was fucking someone who wanted him, whom he did not pay, and was not doing so out of duty. He had been a bit hesitant on the latter at first, but there was no way in the Hells that she was faking such debaucherous, beautiful little moans. This was sensual ecstasy and closeness that they’d both never felt before in their lives.

Lyanna’s whining became more pronounced as Aegon’s attention on her clit came to fruition– she clenched around him like a vice, feeling a small dribble of wetness soak around his cock. This act alone brought Aegon to his own completion, the wetness of her slick now mingling with his seed as he spilled inside of her, deep enough to hopefully take root. He bit onto the lobe of her ear gently as he came, whimpering.

Lyanna quite liked that sound– of her husband whimpering into her ear as he emptied himself. It made her put both hands on each side of his face and kiss him again– but soft, like his little whimpers. It wasn’t something born of lust, but something completely different. Something that they both really couldn’t name yet.

Coming down from both of their highs, Aegon quickly situated himself back into his trousers– but not before reaching two fingers to his wife’s folds and pushing back in the seed that threatened to leak from her.

“Aegon,” she keened, dangerously close to overstimulation as he gave a cheeky flick to her wrought-over clit. “E-Enough– too much…”

“I couldn’t resist,” Aegon chuckled as he pulled her undergarments back up, snug once more against her. “I don’t suppose we are returning to dinner?”

“Gods– I don’t think I can. I am still reeking of wine and I won’t be able to look them all in the eyes when we come back looking as if the cat just ate the canary.”

“Or the dragon ate the rabbit?”

“... I am sure I can feign sickness just one time– what do you think? Mayhaps we should retire early tonight.” Lyanna flattened out her dress.

“... we?”

“Yes– we.”

“We as in… me and you? In the same room? Together?”

“That is what ‘we’ means, Aegon.”

“... I suppose I could be convinced.”

–

They did indeed retire early that night, but not before going for round two, then three. A thoroughly fucked out Lyanna rested in bed, her body riddled in hickies of Aegon’s doing, her fingers tangled in his hair. She was well and fast asleep, Aegon noted.

He loathed to untangle himself from her– she was so nice and warm and soft… but something inside of him nagged. Something broken and heinous tugged at his humanity, willing him to get out of bed and dress, donning his usual thick black cloak.

Off to the Silk Streets. To sate the broken parts of him and to quell the incessant nagging within his head.

Your fault, your fault.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon ii targaryen fanfiction #aegon ii targaryen smut #aegon ii targaryen angst #aegon ii targaryen fluff #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii #aemond targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon #my writing #wine red tears gold

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kilojulietsierra · 11 months ago

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You Promised - 1940s James "Bucky" Barnes x OFC

I LOVE 1940s Bucky so much and so I wrote this!

Summary: Bucky finally wins the favor of the pretty new girl in the neighborhood and together they make the most of the week before he ships out. Bucky makes her a promise the night before he leaves, and he intends to keep it.

Warnings: all my work is considered 18+, shameless flirting the both of them lol, fluff, angst,talk of war, there’s a tiny altercation in a dancehall, protective Bucky, allusions to smut, allusions to premarital sex which was frowned upon, nightmare mention, minor ofc is a refugee, pre serum Steve makes a couple appearances, happy ending

~~~

Bucky had seen her a handul of times around the neighborhood. Had done a bit of chatting up the neighbors to learn the little about her he could. She was new, relatively, to their block. Mrs. Martin in his building had said she remembered her folks before they had moved away, the girl had just been a baby then. He'd heard her talking to Frankie at the deli and her accent wasn't from around here, she'd grown up somewhere else. Mr and Mrs Lewis had even told him, just the other day when he'd stopped to help change their tire, that her family had moved back in to take care of a sick grandmother. Her mothers or fathers side they didn't know, but they lived in the place next to them and she was "such a sweet girl James, she'd straighten you right up."

Today she was walking out of the grocery a paper sack in one arm and a small stack of library books in the other. He smiled. Tis was his chance and he was more than happy to take it. Part of him, admittedly the slgihtly shallow part, wished he was in his uniform or at least dressed better than his work clothes.

That didn't stop him from picking up his pace and cutting across the street to bump into her. "You sure got your hands full. Here let me help." He ducked his head to catch her eye and spare her an easy grin as he gestured towards the sack of groceries.

Her eyes were a pale, sea glass green and they were sharp and skeptical as she appraised him. "I can manage, thank you though."

"No, not a chance, my ma would never forgive me." He deftly snagged the bag from her, grinning wider. "Besides, I think we live across the street from eachother. It's Lettie right?"

Those pretty green eyes narrowed at him, her brow furrowed "It is…"

"James," He settled her groceries in one hand and extended his other to her, "Everyone calls me Bucky though."

"Strapping young man like you can't get them to stop?" She quipped even as she held her hand up for him to take, "Your teeth don't seem that bad to me." One single brow arched and her face was passive as she held her books tight and walked on down the street. Not waiting for him to follow.

Bucky smiled wide as he fell in step beside her, keeping his stride slow and leisurely. "Cute," He looked down at her but she didn't look back. Unphased he elaborated, "Buchanan is my middle name, family name."

"Ohhh," She looked at him finally, tucked her sleek red hair behind her ear as she turned to walk backwards eying him in a way he couldn't quite place. "You're the Barnes boy. Mrs. Lewis told me to watch out for you." She looked pleased with herself, thinking she'd got some sort of upperhand.

Still grinning Bucky picked up his pace, just so he could step past her and lean down close and say, "Funny, she told me the same thing about you." And he continued on ahead of her biting his bottom lip and waiting.

"Now, just a minute, what is that supposed to mean?" She jogged to catch up to him again.

He didn't respond just smiled, kept walking, and threw her a lazy wink as they walked on down the street.

At the next corner she turned on him again, "What's your angle Barnes?"

"What angle doll?" He countered her overly formal use of his name with one that earned him a slght pink flush to her cheeks.

"Just a nice neighbor boy, carryin' my groceries? What is it? All the other girls in Brooklyn had their fill?" She shifted the books in her arms and Bucky saw one was a Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

"No angle," He nodded his head for her to continue and went out on a limb as he put his free hand at her shoulder to turn her and keep her moving, "Okay, that's not entirely true," He nudged her forward again smiling at the triumphant look on her face when she spun on him. "I just mean, that you are prettier than any girl I've ever seen and I've been dying for a chance to steal just a little bit of time with you." He slowed to a stop in front of what he knew was her building and grinned when she continued on a few steps before she noticed.

Her eyes were calculating and predatory as she scrutinized him. Looking for the angle, as she had said.

He noticed then the second book was a copy of the Hobbit he'd borrowed himself years ago.

"Alright, I'll bite, a little bit of time for what exactly?" She looked almost unimpressed, with herself, for asking.

Licking his lips Bucky smiled and took a step closer so she would have to tilt her chin up to look him in the eye. Which she did, standing her ground, and he loved it. "To ask if I could take you out one night this week."

"Just one night huh?" Her face didn't change as she said it

Was she really…? Bucky faltered the slightest bit, cocked his head to the side as he tried to figure out the real meaning in her words. He pushed his luck. "Every night if you'd let me."

She smiled. The barest tilt of her lips and Bucky felt ten feet tall. He was in love with this girl already, or would be if he wasn't careful.

"How about we just start with tomorrow night?" Her face softened but her eyes kept the spark in them.

"Done." Bucky didn't hesitate. "There is one catch though."

She rolled her eyes and then they both had to step away from the stoop as one of her neighbors exited the building. Both of them mumbled their apologies before she continued, "Always is."

"Not anything bad." Bucky assured her. "See i've got this friend, my best friend really, he's a great guy but shy."

Lettie nodded, eyes skeptical again. "So you actually want me go out with this friend?"

"God no!" The moment the words left his mouth he cringed, but the sting of his own embarrasment faded when she chuckled and ducked her eyes to the sidewalk. He caught a peak at the tip of her tongue as it wetted her lips and his confidence came back, "I'm keeping you all to myself sweetheart, trust me."

Her cheeks were pink when she looked back up at him and she was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling too wide. "So, this friend…"

"Steve. Great guy. He just, needs a little push out of his shell if you know what I mean." Bucky almost felt bad, but God help him he desperatley wanted to find his pal a girl. "Was just thinkin' maybe you had a friend, we could make it a double date."

Lettie's eyes were skeptical again and she glanced behind her before she responded, "A friend that likes shy boys or a friend that likes any boy?"

When he caught her meaning Bucky licked his lips and looked her up and down, "Oh sweetheart, surely you don't have friends like that? I had you figgured for a good girl." He was going to fucking marry this girl, God help him.

She flushed a darker shade of pink and laughed, rolled her eyes again but settled her greens back on his blues after a heartbeat. Lettie licked her lips and looked him up and down herself. "Most of the time." Her eyes locked on his mouth as Bucky sunk his teeth into his bottom lip for a fraction of a second.

Unable to stop himself Bucky hummed approvingly and hunted for her gaze again before he spoke, "Then why don't you bring one of your nice, sweet friends with you tomorrow night and she can keep Steve company while you and me see what kinda trouble we can get into?"

Lettie answered by taking back her brown paper bag full of groceries and taking the first few steps up to the front of the building before she turned and said. "You better be right here by seven tomorrow night, Barnes." She settled him with a look which softened after a second. "Earlier if you want to make a good impression."

"Yes ma'am." His cheeks hurt from smiling and he shoved his hands in his pockets. She was almost to the door before he called after her, "Hey sweetheart," she was grinning when she turned around, her face still skeptical but in a teasing sort of way now. Bucky took a few steps backwards towards his side of the street, "Wear somethin' you can dance in."

~~~

Bucky was outside her building at 6:45pm, fighting the urge to smoke a cigarette while he waited.

The front door opened at 6:50pm and Lettie poked her head out, "Why Mr. Barnes, I'm proud." She sounded snarky but she was smiling as Bucky jogged up the steps to meet her. She pushed the door open wider and waved him in.

He stepped right up in front of her and took the door, looking over her he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. "Well hello to you too doll." She looked so pretty he had to force his eyes to meet hers. "You look gorgeous."

She rolled her eyes but blushed that rosy pink color that he liked. "You look pretty sharp yourself."

He'd worn his uniform. Shined his boots and everything. "

That'll help." She added cryptically as she started up the stairs.

Bucky paused at the bottom, "Help with what?" Lettie bounced back down a couple stairs until they were eye to eye. "Help convince papa you're a fine young man that's gonna take good care of me."

"Oh," Bucky felt a rush roll through him as she grabbed his hand. He used the hold to keep her in place as he held her gaze intenesly and added, "I'm gonna take real' good care of ya sweetheart."

Her father had been nice enough, intimidating but Bucky had won him over quickly. Her mother was a looker with the same red hair as Lettie. A younger sister that he'd seen poking her head around the corner to sneak a peak had the same pretty green eyes and looked like she'd be a world of trouble herself in a few years. If the way Lettie and her mother had both scolded the younger girl and sent her scurrying was any inclination.

"I'm impressed." Lettie said once they were back down on the street.

"Already?" Bucky teased and laughed when she playfully shoved him towards traffic. "Kidding." He tugged her close and looked her over, "Thought springing your folks on me was gonna send me runnin'?"

She didn't answer but that was answer enough. Bucky picked up her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. Lettie smiled and rolled her eyes even as she let his lips linger. He liked that little bit of attitude mixed with that soft and sweet. He liked it a lot.

"We should uh, we should go. I told Isaline we would meet her at the station. I wasn't sure where we were going." Lettie seemed the slightest bit flustered but her eyes were still bright.

Bucky smiled, wrapped her hand in the crook of his elbow and led her off down the street. "So is this the nice friend or the really nice friend." He coughed out a laugh as she smacked him in the chest.

"Isaline is a sweetheart, she's a little shy herself but only, well, you'll see."

When he watched her greet her friend at the station the rapid chattering in a different language caught him off guard. He stood back, a little awkward, but with an easy, charming smile on his face.

"James this is Isaline, Isa this is James, or Bucky as he somehow prefers to be called." Lettie introduced them with a big smile.

The friend was pretty and Letties comment made more sense when he heard how heavily accented her English was. On the train the girls sat and chatted while Bucky stood, one hand on the rail and listened as they went back and forth between English and French. As they left the train Bucky grabbed Lettie's elbow softly and leaned into her ear, "Aren't you just a treat?"

The girl with him blushed a bright red but smiled, "What do you mean?"

"You speak French?"

"My family lived in Montreol for most of my childhood." Lettie lowered her voice, "Isaline's family fled France a couple years ago, before…" Lettie trailed off.

Bucky nodded, "Brave girl." He whispered back before he wrapped Letties hand through his arm again. Isa and Lettie linking arms and letting Bucky lead them down the street to the little dancehall he liked best. Steve would like this girl, even if she was shy, she was pretty for sure, a killer smile and brave enough to escape the Nazis. Right up his best friends alley.

~~~

Steve was waiting for them out front. Standing off to the side, hands in his pockets, wearing that same old jacket. Bucky had to grin. He whistled then called out, "Hey punk, over here!"

When Bucky introdruced him to Lettie and Isa Steve was ever the gentleman. Then as Isa rattled something off in French to Lettie, Bucky and Steve exchanged a look. Steve furrowed his brow at his best friend, Bucky just smiled and shrugged.

Lettie chuckled and then linked her arm through Bucky's, whcih pleased him greatly, as she addressed Steve. "She wants me to tell you that she's sorry her English isn't so good, but that she'd like it very much if you would help her practice some tonight. Preferably while she's running her fingers through your hair." Isa giggled beside her friend and Bucky outright laughed.

Steve gulped as Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and pushed him towards the door with the music spilling out. "What're you laughing at Buck?"

Bucky laughed again as Isa hooked her arm in Steve's and began to drag him forward at a jog. "I think we're both in trouble tonight pal." He felt a pinch in his side as he laughed again and turned to tip his gaze down to Lettie, "What was that for doll?" With his same easy grin he walked her towards the line to get in, his pace a slow kind of swagger. Feeling good in his uniform with a gorgeous girl on his arm.

"Isa is not trouble." She defended her friend, "She's just... flirtacious. It's 'cause she's French."

"I'll say." Bucky laughed again, falling in line behind the flirty French girl and Steve. While they waited Bucky ducked down to whisper in her ear, "What would a guy have to do for you to whisper to him in French and play with his hair? Hmm?"

Lettie rolled her eyes and flicked the bill of his cap, "He'd have to take me on at least two more dates."

Bucky smirked and raised his brows as he straightend his cap. In his head he counted out the days until he shipped out. "I think I can make that happen." "

Oh do you?" Lettie smirked as they came to the door, "I think I'll be the one that decides that Mr. Barnes."

He kept smiling as he paid for the four of them to get in, "Y'know, technically, it's Sargent Barnes."

Her cheeks were rosy from her permanent smirk as she shook her head, "Whatever you say Bucky." She teased him, not giving him the satisfaction of acting impressed.

With one hand on her back he guided her through the door behind Steve and Isaline. Once she was in front of him he leaned in to whisper beside her ear again, "You're just a little firecracker aren't you?"

There was a brief moment where she halfstepped, intentionally causing him to bump into her back as he followed her and on reflex he set a hand at her waist to steady them both. WIth him close Lettie glanced over her shoulder and gave him a look, "I thought I was a treat?"

Bucky liked the way she felt just barely pressed against him and the way her waist fit so perfectly in his hand. He smiled, a little mischevious and leaned in so close his nose brushed her hair, "Girl can be both. Perfect combination if you ask me." He caught the way she blushed and smiled wide just before she looked away from him and it was doing dangerous things to his ego.

~~~

Lettie knew she wasn't the best dancer but she had been excited. Impatient even to let Bucky take her out onto the floor. It hadn't taken him long and they'd quickly abandoned their friends in the corner to camp out on the dancefloor. They danced song after song until the band took a break, She was warm and a little breathless when she had nodded and let Bucky pull her towards the back of the hall for something cold to drink.

She stood a little behind Bucky while he spoke with a server behind the bar and busied herself trying to spy across the room at Isa and Steve. Neither of them had ran away yet, which based on what Bucky had told her while they danced was an improvement. She hadn't seen them out on the floor even once, but it looked like Steve had a bit of a pink hue to his cheeks which made Lettie laugh to herself.

"Hey honey, you gonna give anyone else a go tonight?"

"Excuse me?" She turned towards the unfamiliar voice.

"You heard me sweetie. You been lettin' that pretty boy hog you all night. Think I should get a turn, huh?"

The disgust on her face was evident when she spat back, "I think you should quit callin' me names and beat it."

"You little s…" The mans hand was a blur of motion but it froze midair when Buckys hand caught him by the wrist.

"That's a real bad idea." Bucky said calm as can be as he held an iron grip on the man with his left hand and reached towards Lettie with his right. He twisted the mans wrist just enough to cause some discomfort and push him back.

"You outta put muzzle on your bitch there." The man snarled even as Bucky twisted his arm further.

Before Bucky could retalliate though Lettie was pushing past him, "You outta put a bag over your head so the rest of us ain't gotta suffer that ugly mug."

"Okay doll, that's enough." Bucky dropped the mans wrist in favor for catching Lettie around the waist and pulling her back, spinning her around behind him once again. He saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and groaned, "You're killin' me." He caught the other mans sloppy haymaker easily and twisted him around with it, pinning it at what looked to be an extremely uncomfortable angle. He shoved the man back towards his group of friends, "You boys, better sort your pal out there." Bucky gestured to the still fuming, stumbling, loudmouth and then turned back to Lettie

"Nuh-uh." Bucky shook his head as he pushed her back by the hip, "Leave it doll, let's go." He reached for the two cokes he'd bought and gently ushered her back from the scene of the incident.

"You're just gonna let him…"

"I…" Bucky drew out the syllable to emphasize a point, "Am keepin' you outta trouble."

Lettie chewed on her lip, not noticing the way Bucky was figinting back a grin, "You should've let me…"

"Let you what doll? Sock him?' Bucky glanced over his shoulder then back to her, "Was gonna do it myself till you went tearin' after him like a prize fighter."

The scowl on her face softened slightly and Bucky tilted his head to one side, smiling down at her, "Sweetheart, I think you did enough damage without either one of us puttin' hands on him." He tugged her closer, let his arm wrap all the way around her waist and she relaxed into him almost immediatly.

"I'm sorry James." She finally, had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

"Don't apologize, I kinda liked it." Bucky threw her a wink and held her gaze a beat, "My little firecracker."

Lettie scoffed, purposfully ignoring the way he had used 'my'. She leaned back enough to pluck a Coke bottle from his grasp and take a sip. "I kinda liked it too." She mumbled against the mouth of the glass bottle.

"What's that?" Bucky leaned closer so he could hear.

She sighed deep and stood up a little to repeat herself in his ear, "I kinda liked how you… ya know…" Lettie trailed off not sure how to explain that she had found his quiet, confindent, control of the situation so attractive. The way he could have clearly swung on the troublemaker but instad chose to use his brain as well as his muscles.

He must've seen it in her eyes, or heaven forbid read her mind, because Bucky pulled back with a shit eating grin, "Oh really?" He licked his lips and gave her a nearly inappropriate look, "I'm glad." He all but whispered against her temple and followed it by a careful press of his lips. When he pulled back she was grinning too and they left it at that.

~~~

For awhile the four of them had sat at the little corner table and chatted. Bucky had kicked Steve out of his chair, forcing him to go and sit beside Isa so Lettie could sit next to him. Soon he had his arm draped over the back of Letties chair and was smiling contently as the girls chatted across the table.

After awhile Bucky had all but bullied his pal into taking the pretty French girl out for a spin on the dancefloor. Lettie had giggled beside him as Isaline had nearly drug Steve along behind her. Together they sat there, watching from the sidelines as their friends danced, or tried to.

"Gosh is that how clumsy I looked?" Lettie laughed hiding it behind her hand.

'Not a chance," Bucky ducked his head to meet her gaze, "You looked like a dream doll."

She turned that pretty pink color and couldn't hold his eye. Bucky chuckled, "How come you can be so gorgeous, so quick, square up with a guy twice your size without thinkin' twice," He paused and reached a careful hand out to tip her face back to his, "And still get so flustered when I say somethin' nice?"

Lettie bit her lip and shook her head a little, eyes dropping closed for a moment when he stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I don't know."

All he could do was smile. When he caught sight of the others coming back he gave her a soft smile and a wink.

~~~

The four of them had split up at the station, Bucky once again nearly forcing Steve to walk Isa home, giving Bucky and Lettie the chance to walk home together. Alone.

She had ahold of his elbow again, only this time she had both arms wrapped around his and they laughed and teased eachother as they walked. At the front steps to her builing Lettie's heart dropped slightly and she took a fortifying breath. She turned to face Bucky and asked outright, "You're leaving soon aren't you?"

Though it might have caught him off guard he didn't show it. He only took her hand in his and nodded, "My company ships out Friday."

Lettie nodded, looked intently at his hand that engulfed hers, warm, rough to the touch but gentle. She put on a smile, forced but not insincere, "I had a really great time tonight Bucky."

That brough his smile back as well. He picked her hand up to his lips and kissed the top of her thumb, "So did I."

SHe studied him intently, eyes searching for some answer he was more than willing to let her find. He stood there patiently, with his easy grin firmly in place while he waited, hand still holding hers.

"Even though I kinda tried to start a fight?" She chuckled sheepishly.

HIs grin doubled, "Oh especially since you tried to start a fight."

She swatted at his chest and he took it in stride, even tugged her back to him after.

"So you'd consider, maybe, taking me out again?" Lettie was fighting back nerves that evaporated when she saw the way his face cracked into a wide, honest smile.

"Sweeheart, you have no idea how much I'd like that." He took that as a sign that he could get away with wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her against him. "Can I come fetcch you tomorrow? We can get a bite to eat, just you and me this time?"

Lettie was beaming when she nodded, "Sounds perfect."

The way she was looking up at him, matched with the way she had all but melted into him, gave him hope but she was a handful and he was a gentleman. So, he asked, "Lettie," he tipped her chin up with his knuckle and looked her in the eye, "Can I kiss you goodnight?"

"Yes please."

Bucky had to remind himself to keep it short and sweet. The way all the air left her in a rush as he pressed his lips to hers drew him in. He'd meant it to be a quick little peck, empitome of a gentleman, but then her hands had reached for either side of his jaw and he couldn't hold back the happy hum in the back of his throat. He swiped his lips over hers again and spread a hand wide over her back to press her even closer to him.

When he finally forced himself to pull away he saw her eyes still closed and her lips still parted and couldn't help himself. "Look at you." He murmered to her, catching the way her eyes fluttered open only for her to moan and let them fall closed once more as he allowed himself one final kiss. Electricity trilling down his spine as she captured his bottom lip between hers as they pulled away the second time.

Lettie was trying to catch her breath and her eyes were wide and lit from within.

"See you tomorrow beautiful." Bucky tipped her face gently so he could press a kiss to the corner of her eye, not trusting himself to kiss her properly again.

WIth a happy hum she let her hands slide over his shoulders and down to squeeze his biceps as she smiled up at him sweetly. "Can't wait."

Bucky held the door to her building open for her and returned her silly little wave as she scampered up the stairs. He stood there unitil he heard her door upstairs open and close. "Neither can I." He whispered to himself, with the shake of his head, as he let the door swing closerd behind him.

~~~

"You're too good for the likes of him Lettie, you mark my words."

"Sal!" Bucky scoffed, "C'mon, you've known me my whole life"

"Exactly!" The old man pointed at him accusingly as he set another bottle of Coke down.

Bucky shook his head, offended, "Don't do me dirty like that Sal, c'mon." The man behind the counter laughed loudly as he walked away, sharing a conspiritorial wink with Lettie.

Still shaking his head Bucky shifted to face her on his stool, "You might have everyone fooled, but I know better."

Lettie scoffed, "Oh, you know better? Do you? A few dates and you've got me all figured out, is that it?" She propped her elbow besdie her plate and arched her brow, waiting.

"Workin' on it." Bucky grinned, reached down to grab the leg of her stool and drag her closer. It made her giggle and he loved it, "You're no angel darlin' but you are definitly too good for me."

That surprised her and she grinned even wider, licking her lips she spoke softly, "Well then aren't you lucky?"

"Very lucky." Bucky leaned in to kiss her cheek.

"You knock that off Barnes! People eat here."

Lettie snorted out a laugh, as Bucky jokingly growled, "Sal, you're killin' me here." He caught the way Lettie was looking at him out the corner of her eye, "Don't you enourage him doll." She snorted out an even less lady like laugh and went back to her food. "You're both killin' me."

Bucky snuck a hand out to tickle her ribs earning him a squeal of laughter and a hard swat to his forearm. "Behave yourself." She scolded him, jabbing a finger in his direction.

Bucky surrendered, hands in the air and everything. "Okay, okay, best behavior." He tossed her a wink as he went back to his own plate. Both of them fighting back smiles, cheeks aching.

Sal walked back by after a minute and gave Bucky a hard look, "I take it back, this girl, I think she's good for you." He smacked Bucky hard, affectionantly but hard, on the shoulder and turned to move on down to another couple at the end of the counter.

Bucky caught Letties eye and kept his voice low, "Oh, she's very good for me."

Lettie flushed bright red and hid her face in her free hand, "You are the absolute worst." She hissed back at him.

He furrowed his brow, asbsentmindedly twirling his fork between his fingers, "Really? Pretty sure that's not what you ..."

"James Buchanan, I swear..." She left her threat to trail off in the static between them. Her face flushed and Bucky grinned like the cat that ate the canary.

"Okay, like I said, best behavior." He left it at that, only reaching for the hand she had been hiding behind and tugging it to him so he could press a kiss to her palm. Then with a happy, contented smile he remained on his best behavior through the rest of lunch.

When the two of them left, Bucky left a little bigger tip on the counter than he needed to and tucked Lettie into his side as they headed back out onto the street. Neither of them paying attention to the looks that trailed after them. The group of girls in a booth that looked longingly at the handsome young man and the open and obvious adoration for the girl that wasn't them. The older couple that shared a knowing, reminiscint smile, and Sal who shook his head with a chuckle as he cleared their plates away.

Out on the street Bucky and Lettie continued down the sidewalk, his arm over her shoulders and their fingers laced together.

"Buck?" "

Yeah doll."

"What happens while your gone?" She tried to keep her voice light.

Bucky swallowed thickly and did the same, "Told you, we're gonna go over there, kick HItlers ass, and be back in time for you..." He paused mid stride to spin her around and pull her back so they stood face to face, "To take me ice skating for Christmas."

Lettie rolled her eyes in that way she knew he liked. "For me to take you, huh?"

"Well, we already established I don't know how, so... yeah. You're gonna have to hold onto me all night." He fought back a grin as he walked into her, pushing her to step backwards, "I'm probably gonna make a fool out of myself, hanging on you the whole time." He made his point by wrapping his arms around her tightly, still keeping them walking down the street. Lettie trusting him completely as she continued stepping backwards.

"James, I'm serious." She looked up at him with bright but serious eyes. He returned her gaze and slowed them to a stop at a cross walk. His sharp blue eyes left hers to watch the traffic go by for a moment. "We talked about this Lettie." He looked back to her, kept her wrapped up tight. "

You hardly know me."

"Don't matter." His answer was so immediate and certain it took a little of the fight out of her. "You're my girl. We both know this ain't..." Bucky trailed off. For once he was the one at a loss for words, "Don't matter it's only been a week. It's never been like this for me before Lettie."

With a heavy sigh she wrapped her arms around his neck and relaxed into him. "Me either."

"So, you'll wait for me?" He gazed down at her lovingly, hopefully. His eyes nearly fluttering closed at the feel of her nails scratching through the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

"You know I will. " She smiled up at him just as in love, even if neither of them had said those words just yet. "As long as you promise to do your damndest to come home to me."

HIs smile turned into a smirk, "Such a mouth on you." He kissed her before she could say anything back, being so bold as to swipe his tongue into her mouth right there in the middle of the sidewalk. She nipped at his bottom lip as he pulled back and he let her draw him in for another slow kiss. "I promise Doll, I'm comin' home to you."

They stood that way for a moment longer, more unspoken promises being shared in the silence. Lettie was the one that broke them out of it, "You, better let me go, so I have time to go round up a friend for Steve and get ready."

"You look good in what you're wearin'." Bucky almost pouted, carefully bunching up the fabric of her skirt in one hand.

"Thank you, but" She swatted his hand away, "You promised to wear your uniform for me tonight, so I have to go get dolled up." She winked when she used a play on his favorite pet name for her, "So those other girls out there don't get the wrong idea."

"Don't see how they could when I can't keep my hands off you." Bucky offered smoothly as he dropped a short, teasing kiss to her lips. "But, you know I love it when you get all done up for me." His eyes were downright sinful when he looked her up and down and he smiled at the blush on her cheeks. "You sure you're okay meeting us there?"

"I'm sure." She patted him on the chest, took a moment to enjoy the feel of the hard earned muscle under his shirt and then dropped her hands when Bucky gave her a look. "Don't you..."

"Wasn't gonna say a word." He bit his bottom lip and looked her up and down. Unabashedly remembering how her hands had felt on his bare skin, the slight red marks she had left behind. Bucky slowly backed away before he got himself in anymore trouble.

"Hey Sarge!" Lettie called after him, teaasing him again, "Forgetting something?"

WIth a laugh and a shake of his head he joined her back on the corner of the sidewalk, and with a hand on each hip he pulled her into another kiss. "I'll see you tonight."

~~~

It was too bad Isaline hadn't been the girl for Steve, it turns out they were just two different types of shy. Isa was shy becuase she was new to the States and still didn't feel completely at home. Steve was shy because, well, he was Steve.

Lettie liked Steve the little she'd been around him. Bucky was right, he was a great guy, he just was a little unsure of himself. Lettie remembered the first little tiff she and Bucky had had, on their second date, when she had brought up what Isa had said about Steve. But Lettie had apologized for speaking harshly about his best friend and Bucky had apologized for raising his voice.

They had sat in a park down by the water and talked after that, Bucky filling her in on growing up with Steve and she understood better. Even became a little more invested in finding him a girl, vowing to take up the mission while Bucky was overseas along with most of the competition. Admittedly the date she'd found for him tonight wasn't the best match but she'd had short notice. Mae was smart as a whip and pretty, but a little on the stoic side. She had been excited though.

Of course that was after Lettie had told her that Bucky, her handsome Army beau had got them tickets to the Stark Expo and was going to bring a buddy along for her. Bucky had talked him up, sharing all the best things.

Mae had looked at her sideways when the boys arrived, "That's Buckys best friend?"

"Yeah." Lettie called them over and then turned back to Mae. "Don't be rude, he's the sweetest guy. You'll see."

"He could be sweet and look like yours. Is that too much to ask?"

Lettie rolled her eyes already feeling bad about the setup but excited for the expo and to spend the night with Bucky.

~~~

They had stayed out so late that Lettie was certain her folks would be upset, even if they liked Bucky which they did, it was well past the decent hour to bring a girl home. Who could blame them though? He was shipping out in the morning. This would be their last night together in God knew how long.

She swayed with the motion of Bucky bumping into her as they walked, "Where that pretty mind of yours wander off to?" He asked when she glanced up at him.

She gave him a soft, sadly tinged smile and apologized, "Sorry, was just thinkin'."

He didn't have to ask, he just held her tighter and dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "You got the pamphlet right, on how to get letters to me?"

Lettie nodded but didn't trust herself to speak. They were a few blocks from her house now and her throat got tighter with each step.

Bucky breathed deep and tried to lighten the mood, "Wish I could keep you out all night. Keep you all to myself 'till I have to leave. But, I think your folks like me and I don't wanna mess that up. Would throw a real wrench in my plans."

With a snort Lettie gazed up at him, "Your plans huh?"

"Mhmm."

When he left it at that she finally cracked a smile and a hint of a laugh, "Care to share those plans with me Barnes?"

WIth a wide smile Bucky pulled her to a stop around the block from her home. "Nothin' too crazy. Just go to war, come home, convince you to marry me, which admittedly may be difficult but I'm up to the challenge," He laughed at the eye roll that earned him and continued, "Get a good job, find us a place, figure out how many kids we're gonna have."

"So you do, just got it all planned out don't you?" Lettie shook her head.

He nodded once slowly, not saying anything else for a long while. Then he tugged her to him by the waist and kissed her, "How does that sound?" He whiispered against her lips.

Lettie wrapped her arms around his neck and allowed him to mold her body against his and squeeze her tight as they breathed the same air.

She thought of a lifetime of the laughing and smiling, the teasing and squabbling. Of his wandering hands and hugs that set the world right again. With heat rising up in her chest she thought of the one night they'd been able to steal together. The way they had laughed and fumbled and whispered together in the dark. How she had felt so adored and loved and at the same time so alive and indescent in the most amazing ways. She thought of the way he had looked at her, and she at him.

It wasn't that they were the only people in the world, far from it, but that they were only ones that either of them could imagine having for the rest of their lives.

With no sense of how long she'd been thinking she hugged him tighter and whispered into the side of his neck, "It sounds amazing."

His arms held her tighter, closer, if that were even possible, and then her feet were off the ground and the world was spinning. When Bucky sat her feet back on solid ground she was laughing and he was giving her that obnoxiously charming, easy grin she had fallen for so quickly.

Bucky brought his hands up to cradle her face as he kissed her again. More so this time, "I wish I could take you home with me tonight." He barely pulled back from her to say the words and then he was devouring her lips again. "One more time before I go." He wouldn't give her enough time to respond between kisses so she just hummed, moaned more like, happily into his mouth and carded her fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

A shiver rolled through her at the thought of another stolen night spent thouroughly exhausted and wrapped up in his arms. The promise of a future where he wouldn't have to sneak her home after. Where they could stay that way, wake up wrapped in eachother.

Eventually Lettie moaned again, nipped at his lip to get him to give her a chance to breath, and they were both giggling as they pulled apart. Bucky licked his lips like he was savoring the taste of something sweet and it made her heart flutter.

All of the sudden she couldn't keep her hands still. They slid from his neck to frame his jaw and then down to his firm chest and even lower over his torso. The memory of watching the muscles there ripple, flex and contract above her brought heat to her cheeks.

"You're thinkin' too much again doll." He was teasing her now, as he took her hands in his and started them walking back down the sidewalk before they got themselves in trouble.

"You mean it right?" She blurted out as he tucked her back into his side and turned the corner towards her building.

"Every word." He kissed the top of her head again, hugging her to him the whole rest of the block. In front of her building he smiled at her, "Want me to walk you up?" He didn't want to leave her yet.

Lettie took the first step and then turned towards him again, they were eye to eye like this, and shook her head. "It'll be quietter if I go up alone." She draped her arms over his shoulders and closed her eyes, smiling serenely as his hands moved to her waist.

They stroked up and down a few times before he wrapped his arms around her completely. He was going to ask for one more kiss but she beat him to it. One of her hands reached up to tip his cap off his head and the other combed through his jet black, slicked back hair underneath.

His eyes closed with the gentle touch and he smiled when she pressed her lips to his. This kiss was softer, sweeter, a proper good bye, as they held eachother in the dark on their Brooklyn street. When his eyes opened and saw her there, green eyes glassy and lips swollen he hadn't hesitated, "I love you so much." He lifted his own hand to tuck a strand of hair back and swipe away a tear from the corner of her eye, "I promise you doll, I'll do everything in my power to come home to you."

"I love you too, God, so much it scares me." She sobbed out a little laugh and leaned into his hand. "And you better keep that promise."

Bucky laughed too, a lump in his throat and fighting back uncharacteristic tears of his own. "You better get upstairs." He kissed her again, quick and light. Trying to ease the heaviness of the mood.

"Good night Bucky." She tilted her head to kiss him, one more time, and then set his cap back on his head. Crooked, the way he liked it. Then she backed away.

"Sweet dreams doll." He held her hand in his until it had slipped away and he watched her turn at the door and smile back at him.

She waved, that same silly, flirtacious wave, she'd given him every night for the past week and then blew him a kiss. How could he not laugh, shake his head at her and return the wave. He even blew her a kiss of his own, laughing at himself but loving the way she beamed back at him. Then the door swung closed behind her and Bucky was alone in the darkness. With a sad smile he shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to walk across to his own building. He knew he wouldn't sleep tonight.

~~~

Lettie could barely sleep either. She had woke early, her eyes jumping to the clock. In less than an hour Bucky would be reporting to muster at the ship yards, and by lunch he would be on his way to England. Then on his way to war.

Not knowing what possessed her she bolted out of bed and threw a robe over her nightdress. When she had dashed down the hallway she had nearly bowled over her father who stood in the kitchen. The collision slowed her down enough to apologize and clear her thoughts for a moment.

"What are you doing darling?" Her father questioned her, concern etched in his face, "Are you alright?"

She didn't know how to explain. She needed to see Bucky, one more time, if she hurried….

"I'm fine Papa." She blurted as the hurried to the door and nearly ripped it open. When she dashed out of the apartment she collided with a solid form for the second time that early morning.

This time however the man she had collided with cursed slightly under his breath and caught her in his arms, "Easy doll, where you runnin' off to?"

She was speechless when she came to her senses and saw Bucky standing before her. Crisp and clean shaven, uniform pristine and that crooked smile on his face. All she could do was wrap her arms around him and hug him to her. "I wanted to see you, one more time before you left."

Strong arms wrapped her up tight as he chuckled into her messy, morning hair. "Guess that makes two of us."

Lettie didn't see her father poke his head out of their apartment door, nor did she see the look the two men exchanged. Bucky appropriatly sheepish at the current postition in which he was entangled with the other mans daughter, but his hold on her never weakened.

To both of their surprise her father coughed, breaking them apart, and gestured them back inside the apartment. Bucky hadn't planned on sitting at the kitchen table with Lettie and her parents that morning, but it did his heart good. Her father had poured him a cup of coffee and shook his hand. Her mother had kissed him on the cheek. Lettie had sat beside him in her robe and disheveled hair and that was exactly how he wanted to remember her.

Like this he could picture her in their own home, walking into the ktichen in her robe, hair a mess from the night before to kiss him goodbye on his way to work.

After Lettie had walked him down to the front door, he hadn't let her come outisde with him. She shook her head, laughing at him when he said it was one thing for him to see his girl in a robe, but no way the whole neighborhood was getting a peak. They had kissed goodbye again and again and again until he absolutely had to leave.

Then Lettie walked back up to the apartment sat down at the kitchen table with her parents, and cried.

~~~

War was hell.

Even in Brooklyn, war was hell.

Lettie had held her breath between each letter. Each of them a heaving gasp of fresh air as she opened them and read Buckys words.

She focused on her work, she'd got a job at one of the factories like so many of the other girls. She spent all day punching rivets into fuselages and often caught herself wondering what she would do with herself when the boys came back.

Lettie liked the girls she worked with, they had all become good friends. Some of them were married, a few of them had kids, a couple were single but most of her new friends had a man they loved fighting overseas. Those had been the friends she'd confided in when Bucky's letters had stopped.

War was hell.

She knew that.

He wasn't allowed to tell her much about it, but she knew that of course there would be long gaps in communication. There had never been one that had gone on so long before though and fear had settled in her stomach like a lead weight.

Isaline, who worked with her, did her best to keep her friends spirts up. Told her that her boyfriend was just busy fighting Germans, and as soon as he was able he would write her another of his lovesick letters. Telling her stories of the men in his platoon and their rowdy shenanigans.

Just when Lettie had nearly given up hope, had settled into the bleak depression of not knowing, a runner had came to her station on the line with a telegram. Her heart had stopped and her rivet gun had dropped to the ground with a clatter as she stumbled.

No.... No, no, no....

One of the married women had caught her and steadied her, shushing her in her thick Brooklyn accent.

Isa had plucked the telegram from her fingers and opened it with a pale, sickly expression on her face. An expression that had disappeared instantly, replaced with elation, in French she exclaimed, "Listen, Lettie listen. for the love of God, girl listen!"

Lettie's world stopped spinning and her eyes settled on Isa as she read the telegram, beaming.

"Doll, I'm safe, I'll write soon. Love Buck"

After that the letters started up again, this time with even more fantastical shenanigans which included Steve now which he promised to explain later, and even more promises. He loved her, he was safe, he was coming home to her as soon as this was all over.

Then one of her friends from the factory had drug them to the cinema, demanding they get dolled up and go out, boys or no boys. Which is where she saw Bucky for the first time in over a year.

There on the screen, his face scowling in concentration across from none other than Captain America, Steve Rogers. She had recognized a few others in the reels from Buckys letters, men from his platoon and the girls had giggled together as Lettie retold the stories she'd heard. Once she got home that night she had written him and informed him he very much had a lot of explaining to do.

She never got a response to that last letter.

War was hell.

Again, she found herself repeating old mantras, the weight settled back in her stomach.

This time however, it was not a telegram that knocked the wind out of her. It was Sargent James "Bucky" Barnes, leaning casually against the front of her building in the warm afternoon sun, smoking a cigarette and wating for her.

~~~

She awoke with a start, heart racing for some unknown reason. Until a warm, heavy hand settled on her waist, "Sorry doll." His voice was hushed and hoarse in the silence.

Lettie rolled over and saw, once her eyes had adjusted, Bucky lying wide awake beside her, one arm propped behind his head and his chest rising and falling faster than normal. She slid over to him and tucked herself into the space he made for her against his side. "Nightmare?" She whispered softly as she pressed a kiss to a scar on his chest, one of the thick, ugly ones, and then rested her head there.

"Mhmm." Was his only response, aside from sinking back down into the matress and pulling the covers up over them.

"Want to tell me?" She asked against his chest.

She felt and heard him swallow thickly and then his arm around her tightened. "Not this one sweeheart." He murmered into the hair at the crown of her head and then dropped a kiss there. "Just tell me I'm home."

Lettie smiled and shifted so that she could look him in the eye, take his face in her hand and kiss him. "You're home." Kiss, "You're home, in bed, with me." Another longer kiss and then she carded her fingers through his sleep mussed hair. "RIght where you belong."

Bucky hummed appreciatively, wrapped his arms tighter around her and pulled her impossibly closer. HIs body had changed, he had grown into a man over there. His chest filled out, his arms and torso no longer lean but bulky. His back was solid muscle as were his legs. He had changed too. Not for the worse, just changed. Darkness chased him, and so many others, but he was sill her Bucky.

A fact made evident when his lips carressed her throat and he murmured, "Y'know, I'm pretty sure you promised, once upon a time, to play with my hair and talk dirty to me in French if I took you out two more times."

Lettie breathed out a laugh, "Oh really? That just don't sound like me at all." She teased even as she stroked through his hair again. A nip to her collarbone brought out a giggle. "Can't believe you remember that."

Bucky hummed again and rolled up onto his side. shifting her onto her back and gazing down at her. "Lettie, I tried not to think about home too much,noene of us did, after awhile it hurt too damn much." He reached a hand up to trace her cheekbone. "But, that week with you, God there were times I played it like a movie over and over again in my mind."

The way he looked at her gave her butterfilies, just like he had back then. Lettie smiled up at him and wrapped her arms around his neck, to bring him closer.

He dropped a sleepy, short kiss to her lips and then added, "And I distanctly remember you promising to do exactly that."

Lettie laughed and pushed him off of her. "You wouldn't know what I was sayin' anyway." She pointed out as she moved back into his side and laid her head on his chest.

"You could read me a diner menu doll, and I'd be just fine." He chuckled at himself and tugged her closer, already feeling the weight of the nightmare fading. They were quiet for a long time, Bucky distracted by the warmth of her slight breath over his bare chest and the feel of her twisting the gold band on his finger over and over. He smiled, content and let his eyes fell closed as he focused on the comforting repetetive motion of his wife toying with his wedding band as she drifted back to sleep.

After awhile his eyes grew heavy and the motion of Lettie's fingers slowed. As if with her last bit of energy before sleep reclaimed her she whispered to him in the darkness, her French slow and whispy as she faded, "You're home, my love, home with me. Where you belong."

Bucky breathed deep and released it in one long exhale, all the negativity of the nightmares gone with it, and then laced his fingers throught hers. "I'm home." He followed her in sleep with his hand holding hers and a soft, content smile on his face.

~~~

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x original female character #1940s #wwii #40s bucky #40s bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic

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kamisama1kiss · 10 months ago

Note

Thank you so much for responding! Would you be okay with writing a male reader x Marc?

Perhaps male reader could be a punk and sings in a band, and he ofc drags Marc to his shows. (If you don’t know what punk shows are like feel free to message me)

Thank you so so much!

First id like to apologise if its not that well written (😭🙏) and also slow updates, had tests all week and finally had a couple days off to write this request. Also my first time writing a male × character and it was fun trying :D🫶 Enjoyy!

~~~

Words: 430 ish

Marc Anciel { Ecstatic Punk }

"Come on, it's this evening." He said with a smile on his lips, crossed arms. Being the main singer has its perks to say the least. Leaning forwards with a tiny head tilt, having burst Marc's personal bubble.

"Please?" A boyish grin appering. "Really? (Name)." The boy with black ravon hair only raised a brow, tightening the hold of his precius notepad. "Crowds and loud places aren't exactly for... me" shaking his head in disagrement.

"Maybe so, but just one song." He suggested with a thinking face, almost as if a bulb light up above his head. "How about that?" He leaned back, resting a hand on his hip wishing for a positive answer from the rather anxious boy

Rolling his eyes, raising a hand in defence. "One song.. but that's it." Finally giving in to his boyfriend constant begging to joining, even if it wasn't anything in his peticulare taste. But rather would want to please his boyfriend and agreeing.

The boy gleemed with utter joy, patting his boyfriends shoulder with a peck on his cheek. "Great, I look forwards to seeing you in the crowd cheering for me." Saying with pure excitment as he heading off, just missing Marc's soft red cheeks.

~~~

There he stood, microphone in hand, hair a mess. Eyeshadow mushed from having sung song and danced around stage for about Maybe 40 minutes? Lost count a while ago yet no sight of his writer boyfriend. Feeling his heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach, motivation following suit along.

Swinging around the cord attached to the microphone, finally seeing a ravon blocked haired boy nudging through the crowd to close to the front. The smile on his face only grew as they're eyes meet, singing with his focus only on the one he truly wished to see.

Emerald green eyes that shine with admiration and adorning of seeing his partner, frozen as a statue as he mentally filmed this moment. Wondering why he hadn't agreed to earlier on, having forgotten everyone else.

Pushing through with a raspy voice, occasunally growling alongside small voice cracking but it only added to the touch, if he was honest.

"Come everyone, bring up the volume!" He shouted into the microphone pointing to the audience, falling to his knees and leaning back with a roar of a singing voice. Sweat trickeling down his neck and forehead.

Pushing up to make eye contact with Marc, sending a wink his direction as his smiled stayed visible the whole time. Being in his own teratori fully. Only leaving him with a bashfull expression, both hearts punding to the speed of the melody unknowingly in sync. Both beating for the other.

#miraculous ladybug x reader #miraculous x reader #marc x reader #Marc Anciel x male reader #x male reader #marc #Anciel #miraculous oneshot

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shadowqueenjude · 1 year ago

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High Lord Lucien

Pretty sure it was always the plan for Lulu to be a high lord. Evidence:

Lucien stepped toward him, exposing his teeth as well. A pulsing kind of air hit me in the stomach, and a metallic stench filled my nose. But I couldn’t see any magic—only feel it. I couldn’t tell if that made it worse. Lucien’s russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn’t meet it. The face of Tamlin’s emissary—more court-trained and calculating than I’d seen him yet.

I eased open the door. The room was similar to mine in shape, but was bedecked in hues of orange and red and gold, with faint traces of green and brown. Like being in an autumn wood. But while my room was all softness and grace, his was marked with ruggedness. In lieu of a pretty breakfast table by the window, a worn worktable dominated the space, covered in various weapons. It was there he sat, wearing only a white shirt and trousers, his red hair unbound and gleaming like liquid fire. Tamlin’s court-trained emissary, but a warrior in his own right.

Lucien, mercifully, appeared like Lucien. I didn’t ask whether that was because Tamlin had informed him to put up a better glamour or because he didn’t bother trying to be something he wasn’t. But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge.

The tang of magic shoved itself up my nostrils. Though his sword was pointed at the floor, Lucien’s grip tightened on it until his knuckles turned white. Magic—a glamour. To conceal me, to make me a part of Lucien—invisible, hidden by the faerie’s magic and scent. (Rhysand didn't even realize Lucien was glamouring him until...)

“I’m looking forward to seeing your face when you—” Rhysand studied the table. Lucien went stick-straight, pressing me harder against the wall. The table was still set for three, my half-eaten plate of food sitting right before him. When I came to, I could open both eyes fully, and my nose—my nose was clear, and didn’t throb or send agony splintering through my face. Lucien was crouched over me, frowning. “I couldn’t heal you completely—they would know someone helped you. The bruises are there, along with a hideous black eye, but … all the swelling’s gone.” “And my nose?” I said, feeling it before he answered. “Fixed—as pert and pretty as before.” He smirked at me. The familiar gesture made my chest tighten to the point of pain. “I thought she’d taken most of your power,” I managed to say.

The brutally scarred face beneath was still handsome—his features sharp and elegant.

All from book 1. Then in ACOMAF... Lucien snarled at the king over the bite of the magic at his throat, “Don’t just leave her on the damned floor—” There was a flare of light, and a scrape, and then Lucien was stalking toward Elain, freed of his restraints. Tamlin remained leashed on the ground, a gag of white, iridescent magic in his mouth now.

In ACOWAR: My stomach growled with every step, and Lucien’s red hair gleamed like the leaves above us as he scanned the woods for anything to fill our bellies. His woods, by blood and law. He was a son of this forest, and here … He looked crafted from it. For it. Even that gold eye. Lucien, to his credit, didn’t back away a step. From Rhys, or me, or the Illyrians.

“I can’t spare a force to guard you—” “I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.” My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.” A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.”

And ofc he succeeded...

As it spread its wings wide, trailing sparks and embers across the waves, and I realized what —who—now flew at that enemy host. A firebird. Burning as hot and furious as the heart of a forge. Vassa—the lost queen. Lucien, haggard and bloody, panting for breath. As if he’d run from the shore. And even in ACOSF...

“Easy,” Lucien repeated, and flame sizzled in his russet eye. The flame, the surprising dominance within it, hit Cassian like a stone to the head, knocking him from his need to kill and kill and kill whatever might threaten—

So whenever people say Lucien is not an important character, I just laugh. You think a mfing High Lord is not an important character? Pls be fucking fr rn. It was ALWAYS the plan for Lucien to be a High Lord, and SJM never got off the High Lord Lucien train. He's my king fr. 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

#lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra #high lord lucien #elucien #my king fr

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dystopyx-blog · 7 months ago

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It’s moth time baby

Ivo the Io moth.

He’s the delusional archetype. Funnily enough, he is the most sane, rational, and normal one of the group. So excuuuuuse me, princess if he assumes that he’s the one you’re dating! hes just a sane, rational being, and you’re his exhausted partner (exhausted cuz you have to deal with the other freaks)

Another weird delusion is he treats the other moth men like they’re your kids?? You’ll tell the others to knock it off/stop fighting and he’ll come in like “listen to your mother.’ And everyone’s just “???” I imagine business casual attire, medium length hair pulled over one shoulder idk how to describe it…

Appearance: Pretty tall, Kuu and Atlas are just fuckin freaks /hj. 5’9 As I mentioned I have a specific hairstyle in mind but ajsjdhdudnududdi idk man. Wears a simple pale yellow dress shirt, his wings draped behind him. The biggest/fluffiest antenna of all the bois. Soft, kind eyes. Fluff around neck, arms, and legs.

Okay so does anyone know the “sex-crazed moths” meme?

Because my obsessive moth i inspired by that.

Kuu the Luna Moth

the poplar hawk moth is the one associated with that particular meme But I’m using the Lunar moth for my obsessive boyo because fuckin look at it. Luna moths, like the poplar hawk and most other large moths, have no mouth and cannot eat or drink. They fuck then die. My boy Kuu has a moth, but that doesn’t make him any less desperate to get with you. He is the prettiest fuckin boy. And he is so so so fuckin desperate for you. He’s also fuckin pathetic. Pretty boy who’d [REDACTED my blog is all ages!!] if you so much as touch him istg With the other boys he’s an egotistical sassy drama queen but with you he’s just desperate lmao

Appearance: Tall and thin. 5’11 Loooooong white/pale green hair trailing all the way down his back. Man exclusively wears robes and kimonos and the like. Handsome man. PRETTY BOY.

Ash the Cinnabar Moth

Okay actually I’m unsure of possessive I want a bigger moth but also I kinda wanna go with cinnabar moth? Edgy boi who feels entitled to you. Gets into the most fights. Possessive but also kind of tsundere. He is smaller than most of the others, arguably a lot simpler looking too, but he has a BIG personality. His name is Ash.

Appearance: Second smallest. 5’6. Least fluffy. Black hair with a red highlight, black antena. Red pants, black boots. Red bandana on neck. Black leather jacket with red accents. Piercings. Rounded sunglasses. And cinnabar wings ofc.

Atlas the… well, Atlas Moth

heheheheheh i am very basic when it comes to protective type yanderes and i refuse to branch out 🫵🫵🫵 My protective guy is a biiiiiiig big big man, big softy, big teddy bear. Who will hammer someone’s head with his bare fist if they hurt you!!! Wraps you up in massive, soft wings 🥺 He just stands behind you… menacingly (to anyone else, as soon as you turn to look at him he’s all smiles!) So what better than the atlas moth? And Atlas is already a perfect name, so Atlas!

ATLAS: BIIIIIIIG BOY BIG. 6’1 Dorito shaped tbh. Wears flannel but the flannel is the pattern of the moth teehee. Brown pants. Work boots. Gloves probably idk. I think for hair hmmmm braided? Man bun? I dunno!!!

Roman the Rosy Maple Moth!

Finally We have our Manipulator. His name is Roman, but darling pleeeease call him Maple 🥺 The rosy maple moth. He’s just a lil guy! He’s baby! But oooo he’s schemin and plottin. With you he’s just baby, just an absolute delight, and so fuckin cute and fluffy. How could you possibly say no to this soft boy?! But he will tear another’s throat out. He will lie and corrupt and manipulate. He’s secretly incredibly rude, vulgar, and sassy. But with you he’s a perfect angel <3

Appearance: the smallest. Like 5’3. Fluffy yellow and pink hair, bog soft yellow attend, big precious puppy dog eyes. Massive fuckin yellow hoodie that is SUPER fuckin fluffy, with pink sleeves. Smallish pink n yellow wings. The hoodie goes down to like just above his knees. Pink leggings and pink calf high converse.

#mothmen #yandere ocs #yandere men #yandere #male yandere #yandere x darling #yandere rambles #Yandere moths teehee

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sinkingteethinwhitenoise · 1 year ago

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Limoncello - Chapter 6

Pairings: Nick Folio x OFC, Bad Omens x OFC

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Fluff, cursing, one mini flashback, I didn't proof read half of this bc I hate myself, a stupid joke? or exchange??, like it's really fucking dumb i'm warning you.

Series Masterlist

“To get the full value of joy, you must have someone to divide it with.” ~ Mark Twain

Mountains of different shirts, shorts, pants, skirts, and dresses littered the floor in Maeve’s bedroom. She couldn’t even see the floor anymore. When Nick had told her that he found it hard to believe that she owned anything black, she hadn’t expected that the nail polish would actually be the only black thing she owned. She also hadn’t realized that she had this many clothes. She growled in frustration as she grabbed yet another colorful article of clothing. She looked over to her vanity where her phone was propped up against the mirror, her best friend’s bored face covering the screen as she watched Maeve through the ongoing facetime call.

“Presley,” Maeve whined to her friend, striding towards the phone and picking it up as she anxiously ran her fingers through hair. “What do I do? I have nothing to wear to this gig.”

Presley sighed and rubbed her eyes. “Your floor looks like the opening scene of Clueless. You have plenty to wear,” she started. “What exactly are you going for?”

“Like…A rockstar girlfriend type of look,” Maeve sounded unsure. “At least something that won’t make me stick out like a sore thumb.”

Presley visibly held back laughter. “Babe, that’s so not you. You’re not going to find anything that fits the bill in your closet.”

“Well what do I do? I can’t go buy anything,” Maeve whined. “I have to be ready in an hour.”

Presley thought for a moment, “Do you still have those dark green corduroy shorts?”

Maeve nodded and set the phone down to dig through the closet once more. She found them relatively quick and put them on to ensure that they still fit. They did.

“Great,” Presley approved. “Now just style those how you’d usually style them. You’ll look gorgeous. If that boy likes you for you, he’ll think so too. Plus, it’s a dive bar. Don’t overthink it.”

Maeve felt her face heat up at the mention of Nick possibly liking her. She hoped he did, but she continuously convinced herself that he was just friendly. Presley had been rooting for them the moment Maeve told her about him on the day the band moved in across the street.

“Presley!” Maeve beamed once she answered the facetime call. “I have new neighbors! Across the street!”

“I’m assuming you already went over there?” Presley questioned, knowing her friend’s tendency to be hospitable.

“I just got back from bringing them cookies,” Maeve confirmed. “It’s four guys. And! They’re a band. From what I can tell, they play pretty heavy stuff. Well, heavy for me at least.” Maeve rambled on with the biggest smile that Presley had seen from her in a long time. Maeve usually was one to get excited about meeting new people. But Presley could tell this was different.

“How did it go?” Presley asked gently, trying to get more information about these neighbors and why they had her so excited.

“It went really well! They’re all so kind! They loved the cookies,” Maeve giggled before she continued. “Oh! Their drummer is really cute.”

Presley watched as Maeve’s face turned bright red. “Tell me more about this drummer.”

“Well, his name is Nick. He seemed a little bit shy. But when we shook hands, neither of us let go when we definitely should’ve. I feel really stupid for that. It’s probably my fault,” Maeve’s smile faded a bit. “Oh my God, he probably thinks I’m so weird.”

Presley laughed and shook her head, “If he didn’t let go either, it’s probably fine.” Presley didn’t say anything then, but she knew that Maeve had a crush and that Nick probably had one too.

Maeve dug through the clothes on the floor and in the closet looking for some very specific pieces. She grabbed a fitted, cropped white tank top, a thin brown belt, and some brown boots. After dressing herself completely she threw on a dainty, gold necklace and matching stud earrings. She backed up so she was in frame to show Presley. “This is cute right? I don’t think I’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Super cute. Super you.” Presley gave her a thumbs up. “I love it.”

“Cool,” Maeve nodded. “One more question. Bubble braids?”

“Oh, absolutely!”

After throwing her hair into bubble braids, doing some light, glowy makeup, and saying goodbye to Presley, Maeve grabbed her purse and made her way across the street. She smiled as she saw the garage door open the second she stepped into their driveway. ‘Perfect timing,’ she thought.

Nicholas stepped outside first, his hair sitting messily in a bun on top of his head. He offered a tight lipped smile. “Hey Maeve. You’re still riding with us, right?”

“If that’s still okay with you guys, then yes,” she grinned as she approached him.

“Well, you’ll be riding with Folio in the truck,” he explained. “And trust me, he’s more than okay with it.”

“Oh you guys take separate vehicles?” Maeve tilted her head to the side.

Nicholas nodded, “Yeah. The drum kit takes up a lot of space, so we have to.”

The door leading into the garage opened and Nick emerged. He seemed to be on autopilot as he went straight over to the drum kit without even glancing in their direction. As he began to prepare it for loading, Nicholas leaned over to Maeve. “Watch this,” he whispered. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Folio.”

Without turning to look, Folio responded with a hum.

Nicholas tried to hold back a smirk, “Maeve’s here. You’re not gonna say hi?”

Folio froze in his spot for a moment. His eyes widened as he finally turned around. His face had turned beet red in a matter of seconds.

Maeve tried to hold back a laugh, “Yeah what’s up with that?” She played along. “You invited me and you’re not even gonna say hi?” He looked nervous, embarrassed and clearly didn’t know what to say. Maeve couldn’t hold in her laughter anymore as she walked over to him, “I’m just messing.” She placed her hand on his bicep and gave it a comforting squeeze.

His face settled into a goofy grin as he looked down at her, “Very funny.”

“Nicholas started it,” Maeve jutted her thumb to point behind her at Nicholas, who had a hand over his mouth still trying so hard not to burst out laughing.

Folio rolled his eyes as he turned his focus to Nicholas. “Since this is so funny, why don’t you help me load this up?”

Maeve stepped to the side as Nicholas began to help Folio. Once they were far away enough from Maeve, Nicholas decided to tease him a little more. “You are so fucking down bad,” he mumbled to him with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Shut the fuck up.”

With all the instruments and equipment loaded up, they all left for the bar. Maeve sat in the passenger’s seat of Nick’s old truck and tried not to stare too hard at his profile while he drove. Nick was trying to keep his eyes on the road. It was proving difficult with how pretty she looked and how nice she smelled, so he kept stealing little glances.

He then realized how quiet it was. Even with the music playing from the radio, he still felt like there was an intense, awkward silence. He needed to say something. He didn’t want it to seem like he didn’t want her there. So, he began to talk about the first thing that came to mind. It just so happened to be a shower thought that he’d had earlier. “You know dog whistles?” he asked her.

Maeve furrowed her eyebrows as she looked at him. “Yeah…” she trailed off, confused. “What about them?”

“So, only dogs hear them, right?”

“I guess…yeah.” She had no idea where he was going with this, but she was curious enough to play into it.

“Alright. Have you ever heard of a death whistle?” he questioned, seemingly changing the subject.

“Like the Aztec ones?” Maeve asked. A smile began to form on her face at the strangeness of this conversation.

“Exactly,” said Nick. “Do you think it’s the same? Like only dogs can hear dog whistles. Can only dead people hear death whistles?”

She bursted into a fit of laughter. “Definitely not,” she responded. “How would that even work? How do they hear it if they're dead?”

Nick started to laugh along with her, “I don’t know! Maybe their souls have ears or something.”

“That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard,” Maeve laughed, clearly amused. She lifted her hand to cover her mouth as she continued to laugh harder and harder the more she thought about the absurdity of the question.

Nick looked over at her fully as he laughed at his own stupid question and her reaction to it. Then he noticed her nails. “Hey, did you paint your nails? They’re black.”

Through heaving breaths in an attempt to control her laughter, Maeve nodded. “Yeah, I painted them last night. Thought it could be fun for us to match.”

Nick swore he felt his heart swell at the admission and he was rendered speechless for a moment. “Yeah,” he said softly, his own laughter long faded but a fond smile still present. “That’s sick.”

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #bad omens x oc #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fanfic #nick folio x oc #limoncello series #sinkingteethinwhitenoise

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grabowskibeepboop · 11 months ago

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OKAY OKAY OKAY OKAY

So when I was younger I made a bunch of ship children for my mha ships, they're not omegaverse, omegaverse can go fuck itself, no offense if you like it but its weird and not my thing, but this is a post post modern world where there are quirks so someone's gotta have a baby quirk and they gotta be rlly famous so if I'm wrong then fuck me idc

And my favourites were ofc the bkdk ones

Older one named Inko Midoriya-Bakugo and a younger one named Toshinori Midoriya-Bakugo

I'm not gonna put pictures of them because I only have gacha pictures which I am kind of embarrased about, and I could also just change how I want them to look whenever, but I think they both have (or gonna have now) curly hair and freckles (I think those are strong features but anygays), Inko has green hair and red eyes and is very Bakugo, she wants to be a hero and I will talk about her quirk later because thats the point of this post and Toshi has blonde hair and green eyes and telekinesis and wanted to be a detective since he could form a correct sentence he was like always playing with puzzles and watching crime solving shows as a toddler when people didn't pay attention to him and ofc both of them have osananajimis because that is unavoidable is you're a Midoriya-Bakugo but I'm not gonna talk about them rn

So umm Inko's quirk used to be just the same as Katsuki's, but one day I realized implosions exist so now I want her to have an implosion quirk but I kind of want some help to figure out how it works, understand I am pretty good at coming up with complex quirks at least I like to think so because I've made a bunch of ocs before and I still have ideas ai haven't done anything with, my mind is very messy anyways if you want to help feel free to either reblog or comment or dm me, amygays good day

#bkdk #bakudeku #katsudeku #ktdk #decchan #boom boom boom boom #iunno #shuddup

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andydrysdalerogers · 1 year ago

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Cross-Check ~ Chapter Nine

Andy Barber x OFC Leighton "Leia" Andrews

Summary:

Andy Barber is having the best year of his life. His game is on point. It’s gets to play with his best friend and his fiancé just... dumped him?!.

Reeling from a sudden change in status, Andy decides it’s time to just focus on hockey. Until his best friend's sister comes out with news that rock the entire organizations world.,

Andy has always carried a torch for the untouchable Leighton but in her hour of need, is now the time to shoot and score or risk getting cross - checked again?

Warnings: Cheating (but not by the MCs); slow burn; friends to lovers eventually; SMUT!; pregnancy; jealousy; handsome goalies, evil exes...

A/N: The tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

Previous: Chapter Eight - Nothing But Lies - Andy/Leia

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter Nine - It's Complicated - Jeremy/Leia

Week 18

Jeremy

Being an NHL goalie is a triumph. Thirty-two teams have only two goaltenders on the roster, and I am lucky to have one. Well, when you’re this good, there isn’t any luck involved. It also helps that Linus Ullmark and I have undeniable chemistry in goal.

That being said, I also have a reputation in the public of being this sweet adorable, caring guy. Not that isn’t true or anything but that is my public facade. Don’t get me wrong, I love being with the kids at charity events or even with Linus’s kids. But that’s not the man that people, especially women, see. I’m a bit of a player. I never wanted to be tied down to one woman. I have good looks, enough money and enough charm that, if I wanted to, I could find a new bunny every night.

But there is always one that is the standard. The ultimate goal.

You know, when I decided to fuck Leia Andrews, I didn’t think it would get this complicated. She was a smoke show, a dime. Something that was unattainable. She was a gorgeous, curvy beauty, with long coffee colored hair and amazing green eyes. She was beautiful, both in looks and in personality. She was a business owner and worked for the team. If she was available, only an idiot would let her go. She had been in a relationship for most of the time I knew her.

Until her brother let it slip that she was single.

Fuck yeah, it was my shot. My chance to fuck this girl and be able to say that I fucked Luke Andrews’s sister. My badge of victory.

Her being pregnant was not on my bingo card.

When she told me she was 15 weeks pregnant, i was stunned. She never gave any indication that she was pregnant. I was pissed. I mean, who wants to fuck a girl when she’s pregnant with some other guy’s baby?

But I was supportive. I mean, I can’t be a douchebag in front of the public, what would that do to my image? I have a few sponsorship deals in the air that I need to think about in the bigger picture. Plus, having Leia, showing myself as a family man might not be a bad idea. Or so said my publicist.

I like my life the way it is now. The freedom to be around, fuck around, party whenever I feel like. I didn’t sign up to be a father. At least, not right now. Eventually, maybe, yeah, I’d do the dad thing. But I don’t want to be forced into it.

I’m sitting at the Red Line, a rare night without Leia. She, Stella and Luke’s fiancé Miranda, went out for a girls dinner. I can trust her to stay away from guys, especially Barber. They’re on the outs right now but I have no idea why. Leia just said they had a difference of opinion and until Andy apologizes, she won’t speak to him. Fine by me, really, because the entire locker room besides Andrews knows that Barber is in love with his sister. And I’d rather not have my captain winning the girl right now.

I wave my hand at Mark for another beer, and I look up to see some highlights of the Tampa Bay vs Minnesota. I snorted seeing my old teammate, Craig Bailey, shitting the bed. Man is a tool. He sleeps with Barber’s fiancé and then she dumps him because she wants to stay in Boston. My buddies are all playing pool and wave me over. I lift my beer to let them know I’m finishing it when I feel a body next to me.

A blonde had taken a seat next to me. I subtly check her over. Long blonde hair, great rack and long legs displayed from tight jeans. She gestures for the bartender and orders a whiskey, neat. I smile. “Rough day?”

She looks at me and I note the way she takes me in, and I smirk. It's never hard to trap a butterfly. She finally looks back at my eyes and gives a soft smile. “Sorry.” She blushes and fuck is she gorgeous. “Uh, yeah, rough day.” She tucks back a piece of her hair but some of it misses. I took the opportunity to add some charm. I tuck the last piece behind her ear.

“Wanna talk about it?”

She huffs a quiet laugh. “Not really. I just want to forget about it and him.”

Rebound girls are so easy.

“Sorry to hear that. Let me buy you another.” I waved at Mark, and he nodded, moving to pour two more drinks. He sets them down in front of us and I raise my glass. “To bad days, may they be a distant memory.”

“Cheers to that,” she says. We drink and she giggles. “I’m Charlie,” she offers her hand.

I take it and lift it so I can kiss the back of her hands. Chicks dig shit like that. “Jeremy. It’s nice to meet you.” I take another drink. “So, if you don’t want to talk about your bad day and obviously bad guy, tell me something else about yourself.”

Her eyes brightened at the attention. Fuck, its just too easy sometimes. “I’m a financial adviser. Work at Schwab. Luckily, I live alone downtown and i have a dog name Peaches.” She smiles at me shyly. “What about you Jeremy?”

“Well, I work for the Bruins Hockey Club, so I travel a lot. I also have my own place, no girlfriend, no dog because I don’t have anyone to take care of it. Well, I guess my best friend’s wife could do it while we’re away but I don’t want to leave her with that burden. And I’m drinking because my life took an unexpected turn and I’m contemplating what I’m going to do.” Yes, I lied a bit about the girlfriend thing but did I really?

“Sounds like you’re having a rough day as well.” She gives a little flirty smile.

I’ve got her.

An hour later, Charlie and I were laughing at the bar, a little tipsy, feeling good. She leans into me. “Wanna get out of here? We could go back to my place?”

Who am I to deny a beautiful girl?

“Lead the way, gorgeous.”

I haven’t had sex since I started dating Leia and I was primed and ready to go. I mean, it's not like we were committed to each other, right? I like Leia but a commitment like that is something I’m not sure I can do at this moment. And at this moment, I have what I am looking for: a good fucking time. I took Charlie’s hand and led her out to a cab.

I’m not ready to be father or be responsible for another person just yet. Opening the cab door, Charlie smiles at me before planting a sultry kiss on my lips. A kiss that goes straight to my groin. I moan a little at her body pressed against mine. Fuck, it's going to be a good night. She climbs in and I follow, missing the fans taking pictures.

As I walk out of her apartment later that night, wiping her lipstick from my mouth, smiling at that fact that most of it is actually around my cock, I send a message to Leia.

Jeremy: I hope you had a good night beautiful

I mean, I don’t have to let her go right away. At least, not until I get a taste. Who know? Pregnant pussy could taste sweeter than the one I just had.

Leia

Week 19

I hate fighting with my best friend. Andy has remained in a sour mood when he is out with the team but when he sees me, he tries to talk to me. I just don’t let him. I know I should be the bigger person and hear him out but right now I want to be petty. His words hurt me so much. Doesn’t he understand that I just want to find true love?

I guess he doesn’t know that I had hoped it would be with him. I’ve actively had dreams about him, seeing us together raising my kid, cupping my cheek so I look him in the eye when he tells me he loves me. Even a few naughty ones, thinking of how that beard would feel between my legs. No, i can’t think like that. He ruined that for us with his words.

On the other hand, Jeremy has been a little subdue with me. I know the news of my pregnancy shocked him but he said he would stand by me. We haven’t been seeing each other as much; he says he’s busy with commitments and a road trip. But I miss hm. Luckily, I have a date with him tonight.

Andy was out when Jeremy arrived for our date. I took in his outfit, all black with a hounds tooth pea coat. Delicious. “Hey handsome!”

“Hey beautiful.” He sounded down and my smile fell a little at his tone.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah, practice was brutal.” He smiled weakly. I nodded, totally understanding. The Bruins are on a three game skid. Its early in the season, but you want to nip losing streaks in the bud. “But,” he continued, “seeing you is making me feel better. You’re coming on the trip right?”

“Yes.” It will be brutal. Flying at almost five months pregnant is going to suck but this is the job I signed up for.

He kissed my hand. “Don’t worry. The team will take care of you.” He started the car and drove us to a quiet restaurant in downtown. I feel at ease knowing that Jeremy will help me while we are away. I know my brother will check in but the thought that Andy will avoid me hurts more. My mood is meloncoly at the thought and I stay quiet during the drive.

Jeremy made a reservation and we have a quiet booth in the back. We talk about nothing really as we order and Jeremy orders himself a scotch. I frown a little. It’s unusual for him to drink when we are out because he is usually driving but I don’t say anything. He gets up to use the restroom and I check social media for traffic on the post I have put up. Everything is looking good until I see a new article from the Boston Globe sports section.

HOCKEY STAR STEPPING OUT ON NEW GIRLFRIEND?

I click on the article and read.

Goalies don’t usually score but it seems like Jeremy Swayman didn’t get that memo. Swayman, backup goalie for the Bruins has been rumored to be in a relationship with Leighton Andrews, sister to assistant captain Lukas Andrews. Miss Andrews is a bright star in the PR world, being the social media manager for the Bruins as well as her own company, providing services to many businesses and athletes.

The rumors of their relationship started ten weeks ago when they were spotted chatting before a game, looking rather cozy. There are also rumors that Miss Andrews is pregnant, although that has yet to be confirmed.

The puzzling part is the photo taken by @Bruinsfan4life just a few days ago with Swayman leaving the Red Line Bar with an unidentified woman, holding hands. The climbed into a waiting cab and left.

What is going on with Swayman and Andrews? Is it all a farce or is Andrews wallowing in shame that her baby daddy is leaving her? Only time will tell.

I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes. I thought that Jeremy and I were solid, moving forward. I thought that he was ok with the baby. I stare and stare at my phone until I hear someone clear their throat. I look up to see Jeremy is back and looks concerned. “Are you ok?”

I shake my head and then hand him the phone. “Care to explain?”

He looks over the article and sighs. “That was just a friend.” He throws back the rest of his drink and signals for another. I glare at him.

“A friend.” I look at the picture again. It is of Jeremy and this woman. She’s blonde, model like. They both have big smiles as they are wrapped up in each other. “What’s her name?”

Jeremy chokes for a moment on his new drink. “Her name is Charlie. The photo... the photo is just after we hugged. Nothing is going on.”

“Right,” I scoff. I look away from him, trying to keep the tears away. Fucking hormones.

“Right,” he repeats. “Like you’re not screwing around with Barber.” My head snaps back to him. “I know you want him, Leighton.” The way my name twists in his mouth is disturbing. He’s never said it that way and I don’t like it.

“Andy is just a friend. A friend that I’m not even speaking to.” I cross my arms over my chest.

“A friend? Really? That guy has wanted you since the day I joined the team. I’ve seen how you were before with him. All the hugging and kisses to your forehead or cheek. Just a friend right? Bet he’s the father of your baby too.”

“How dare you! I told you the truth about the baby. You said you would be there. I thought we were in a relationship!” I hissed at him. The waiter comes by and drops off our plates. I push the food around.

Andy was right. Jeremy was not the wonderful person I thought he was. Jeremy sighs and my eyes go back to him. “Look, i know we’ve been seeing each other but we never defined what we are.” He shrugged. “I thought it was casual. I mean, you never slept with me so were we really that serious?”

That one hurt. I stare at my plate, wishing I had just listened to Andy and his warming about Swayman. "I guess then maybe, we should just be friends. I mean, why would you want to be with a pregnant chick when you could have all the uncomplicated stuff." I can’t stop the tear from falling. I wipe it away.

“Look, Leia, I just don’t think I want to be a father right now.” He tries to take my hand but I pull away. “I mean, you’re cool and everything but we were never going to the next level. I don’t know if I could sleep with someone who’s having another man’s baby. And now I’m going to be taking a hit because you weren’t honest from the beginning.”

“Oh, so what were you going to just sleep with me and throw me away? Your teammates sister?”

He shrugged. “I like you but I don’t do relationships.”

That was the death blow. I calmly stood up and pulled my coat on. “I’m sorry for ruining your life.” I pulled a couple of bills and threw them on the table. “I guess I’ll see you at work.”

He looks scared at my calm look and tries to backpedal. “Leia...”

“Goodbye Jeremy.”

I walked out of the restaurant and I had no idea where to go. I started to walk toward the park, just needing some fresh air. I hated that I did this to myself. I hated that Andy was right. I was upset with my brother because he must of known Jeremy was like this. But mostly, I was sad because I sacrificed so much for someone who wasn’t worth it. Again. And I was now alone, again. Why can’t I find someone who loves me for me, faults and all? I keep getting all of the jerk. Where is my price charming? I wish the one I have wanted all my life wanted me too but he has made it clear that I am just his best friend. Even so, he’s never let me down

I rubbed my belly, trying to feel some comfort. But I knew there was only one place where I always felt complete. I hailed a cab and gave an address.

The house was dark save for a light in one of the window. I hope they were still awake. I knocked on the door. It took a moment but then the door opened.

“Hi.”

Taglist:

@patzammit

@texmexdarling

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@firephotogrl74

@tinkerbelle67

@before-we-get-started

@bunnyforhim

@alexakeyloveloki

@sunnyhummingbee

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@peaceinourtime82

@saucy-sassy-sparkly

@kmc1989

@kandis-mom

@lokislady82

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coredrill · 10 months ago

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bravern

i’m rly vibing w senor bighands design thus far………………i hope it looks good in action!!! the deathdrives’ designs have been pretty hit or miss for me tbh, like i rly love superbia and cupiridas but knuth/pessimism/vanitas are more meh…….like i generally enjoy the unique shapes in THEORY but i just feel like they also suffer a lot from being overdesigned the way a lot of modern 3d mecha are and it makes them kind of hard to parse out on screen which is :/ like so many of the shots are just so BUSY that it’s hard for me to get a handle on what is going on yknow? i can’t stop thinking abt what that shot of bravern saluting smith would look like if there were less details fjdbjfjdndbdn

if burn bravern + superbia gattai. that robot will literally be red + yellow + green + blue + purple. 🤨🏳️‍🌈⁉️

if on the off chance it turns out lulu IS biologically related to smith. i think it’ll make that one scene from ep3 where the hotel owner is like “🤨 she doesn’t LOOK like your sister” a fucking million times funnier LMFAO. also i am still suspicious of why her name is lulu if NOT being just the repeated first syllable of smith’s name like a noriko -> nono situation. this has fr been my tin foil hat theory since ep3 and i am not letting go until the end!!!!!! (although also side note that in general i am not EXPECTING any of this lmao. i honestly am mostly just finding such joy in the fact that this show is batshit insane enough that stuff like this is like. relatively plausible? at least to consider floating around? like it’s the same w the “lulu is biologically smith AND isami’s daughter cause isami’s blood dripped in bravern and her hair is blue and her eyes are red and she pilots the PURPLE deathdrive” thing - like the fact that i’m not immediately rolling my eyes at the idea tickles me greatly LMAO)

the way that the pieces for this episode have been positioned intrigues me to no end. like. it’s bravern + lulu + superbia(? i assume) Who Know and isami Who Doesn’t. and the side characters who ALSO don’t know are also not there (at least in the setup). although tbh i could see miyu having an inkling abt it or at the very least being super chill like she was in the Bad Future. like that rly opens the floor up from both a plot perspective (don’t have to worry about whatever power these new DDs have cause only the core cast will be affected) and from a character perspective (don’t have to cut to the faces of Literally anyone but isami going like 😲 once the truth is revealed. if isami doesn’t figure it out for himself first. or however that plays out) and its so smart on the whole and i’m genuinely so excited to watch it play out!!!!!! like even if miyu et al roll up in the last two minutes to help save the day with um. idk it’d have to be smth completely new i suppose cause they sure do have like one gun that is marginally effective against the DDs FNDJFJJDJS it pares things down for max efficiency which is really smart imo

japan and the US jointly developing a mech that reads your brainwaves is the most sus thing in the world LMAO like i could not sleep at night if that thing were real even moreso than the deathdrives themselves

i think there’s at least one more twist left. like ep9 was The Twist and then they pulled time travel AGAIN in ep10 which is genuinely WILD to me. so like. idk maybe ep11 is Old Man Isami coming back from ANOTHER future to sunbathe in the volcano FNNDNFN

i am also not counting out a g gundam style ending yet and Getting Smith Outta That Thing. obviously my own biases are very much at play here but like. if the moral of this show is that you gotta live no matter what you just HAVE to live and fuck time and space and convention because the people who love you will make sure you live. like. if any show is gonna have its cake and eat it too and keep both bravern AND smith around? i feel like this one could pull it off!!!! not placing bets ofc but like its possible yknow? but again that is also based on the assumption that the end point of the show is at all congruous with its current status quo, and something that my feeble human mind can even conceive of with the information that is given, so we shall see. LMAO. the idea that they’re all just gonna be fucking isekai’d into the florist AU that staff loves so much is ANOTHER idea that tickles me greatly for being something so in line with the insanity of this show that i cannot IMMEDIATELY rule it out even if i very much doubt that’s where we’re going LMFAO. bc smth like that sure would fucking vibe w the final battle taking place somewhere “unexpected” (again, if that’s true, idr if it was just a rumor or not) and also how uninterested the show has been w the state of the world at large barring a few scenes. HM.

anyways final predictions for this ep is that i will cry atleast once 👍

#a: bravern #bravern spoilers #t.bbbb

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orbitfalls · 1 year ago

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AAAAA HELLO CAN YOU TELL ME ABOUT OUT OF ORDER?!?! 80k is SO exciting

YESSS OFC I WILL LOVE!!! and aaaa yes 80k im so proud of myself!!!! out of order is my first ever fic (still a work in progress but she's grown quite long lately heheh!!) so it has a very special place in my heart<33 i definitely do feel like i've improved a lot since i started writing it, but i think that progress is a good thing yk<3

it's wolfstar- and jily centered, or at least it started out that way, but Pandora and Barty lowkey started taking over the story as i got progressively more and more invested in their characters. The plot itself is still about wolfstar and jily, and they're still the MCs, but half the chapters are just pandora and barty being icons at this point😭 then barty and lily started flirting and i was like, WOW, HOLD ON, WE'RE GETTING WAYY OFF TRACK HERE so i invented ✨east of eden✨ to let my inner demons unfold (and east of eden has now become my favourite to write, unsurprisingly). this is also essentially how i got into shipping bartylily lol<3

oh and look at that, i've already gotten off track in my own rambling again... let me tell you about out of order!!

it's a boarding school AU, and a muggle AU with a modern setting. the concept is that sirius and james are your standard it-boy roommates and have been for the past several years (peter erasure:( didn't much like his character when i started writing it and it's too late to change it now), but the story starts off with remus transferring to their school and being assigned to their dorm, which starts a bunch of drama, because remus is a rather famous influencer. The Thing is, though, that wolfstar used to be very close, but a Big ThingTM happened two years ago which sparked a HUGE conflict between the two of them that no one else knows about, and which would be a huge scandal for Remus' career if it ever got out. the whole thing's very dramatic and tense, and there's a bunch of drama happening on the side lines while the story unfolds. i'm adding a little snippet below that's really not that little because i just can't shut the fuck up. it's set at mary's birthday party, narrated by an ecstasy-tripping remus lol<3

(forever pushing the albino rosier twins agenda btw)

As Remus trips through the tightly packed dance floor, even the familiar of faces distort and disfigure, napes growing fingers that stretch through tinsel-decorated locks of hair and eyes that are too wide, or too round, or just misplaced in general. Mostly, they're brown, or green, or blue. Some are heavy-lidded, some are red around the edges, some have dilated pupils. Pandora's eyes have a sort of reddish purple shade. They're the type of eyes that are round and sort of puppy-like, with a little space of white that droops below her irises as if she's always looking up. She's traced them with eyeliner that stands out against the pale surface of her skin, and when she smiles, gentle creases form under her platinum bottom lashes. "Remus." Her voice sounds like she's speaking through a shallow body of water. Her eyes look like little purple suns. Remus sees them rise and fall over the horizon and imagines how his lifespan shortens by another day every time they move. He imagines how ancient she must be. This is why you shouldn't do ecstasy in the bathroom, he supposes. He blinks. She's looking at him still. He blinks again. "Aren't you supposed to hate me?" "Hate you?" Her head tilts to the side. There's something faintly unsettling about the way her features bend with her emotions, not a cold and motionless face like Regulus' or a vivid display of dramatics like Sirius', but some third and different option entirely. "I don't do that much. Why do you think I should hate you?" Remus shrugs. He's sort of forgotten. "I don't know. Aren't you Regulus' girlfriend?" "Certainly not," she laughs. "Regulus is family. Sure if you'd hurt him, I'd hurt you, but I wouldn't have to hate you to do that." She says it easily, not the trace of a threat in her tone. She's quite a small girl, smaller than both Lily and Regulus - still, Remus' intuition tells him that he'd be in deep trouble if she ever decided she wanted him to be. Remus sways slightly. The song changes and more people press onto the dance floor; he feels the pulse of the wood under his feet. It beats in sync with his own pounding head. Pandora smiles, and Remus watches her eyes crease. She says, "But Regulus isn't the one you damaged, at the end of the day, so I hold nothing against you." She's got a pretty voice, softspoken and a little deep for a girl, with a posh finality to the details of her words. She pronounces them properly, pierced lips moving around each syllable like she's blowing bubbles through a piece of gum: Certainly. Pop. Regulus. Pop. Sure. Pop. "Oh," Remus says. He feels like a tree in the wind. "That's good." Pandora laughs. She reaches out a small hand, fingers heavy with silver rings. There's one on her middle finger, shaped like a snake. It hisses at Remus. "Come, let's go to the others," it says. Pandora's hand is sort of warm, but also sort of cold, like when you put your hand into water so cold it seems to ignite your skin.

#SORRY THIS GOT TOO LONG I COULDN'T STOP #anyhow tysm for asking omg!!! i could go on for hours #out of order tag #kara tag

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nami-lvr · 2 years ago

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Correct OP: Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

Ft: Shanks, Law, Ace, Sabo, Marco, Smoker, and princess Vivi

A/N: I love everyone on this list like for real come kiss me Vivi 🙁🙁 SHANKS TOO. HE IS SO FINE. SO IS ACE. LIKE GYYYYYAT!! Next part is Enel, Katakuri, Big Mom, Kidd, Arlong, and Yamato (last part)

Shanks

Loud ass snoring

Does not care

Aaabsolutley pulls bitches

Marines or not marines

Paints his nails the brightest most noticeable colors

Bright yellow

Hot pink

Neon green

Absolutely outstanding father

10/10 dad

The one you call to get drunk or high or cross faded with

Would deal his kids weed to make sure they stay safe

Would also give alcohol recommendations

all when they’re legally allowed ofc

Law

Definitely

A lil fruitcake

Sorry to all Law simps but he is AroAce and atp it’s cannon

Would not be into romance at all

Ever

He would definitely read gay dirty books though

“I WAS JUST CURIOUS-“

Boooo lame excuse

Ok gay ass 🥸

Would dress like a teen boy trying to be cool

Would be an outstanding father if he ever had kids

Would be so into Star Trek not even joking

Speaking Klingon and allat

Stoner

WEED SMOKER

Is a Math/Science kinda smart guy

Ace

I do not give a single shit what this GIF looks like

Ace has a hooked nose

And crooked teeth

And heterochromia

One green eye one brown eye type shit

Is color blind

The green and red kind

Can not drive

Do not let him behind the wheel

Please

Got that greasy hair

That unwashed stench

Overgrown armpit hair

Has a forest under there

A REALLY GOOD LOOKING HAPPY TRAIL ☹️☹️

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW GOOD HIS HAPPY TRAIL LOOKS I SWEAR TO YOU

Sabo

This motherfucker is inSANE

Bro needs to go back to the mental health institution

Has a gold tooth

Has cologne on always

And it smells so good

Doesn’t brush his hair

But its fine bc he really pulls off the messy look

Tried to grow a beard and it did not look good

Is very organized

Is insecure about his scars

(Secretly) looks at guys

Not so secretly looks at girls

Is definitely bisexual

TRANSGENDER

Choked on the devil fruit when he ate it

Messy eater

CROOKED NOSE

It’s basically facts that the ASL brothers have crooked noses

Except for Ace with his hooked nose

Can speak Spanish but not Portuguese

Loser can’t speak the language he grew up around 💀💀

Marco

Just GET A DIFFERENT BARBER GYAT DAMN 😭😭

At least get a fade

Has male pattern baldness

Knows his hair is bad (doesn’t care)

Has cavities

Doesn’t floss

Does not wear deodorant

would definitely dress grungy

And or punk

And have a mohawk sometimes ;p

And think he’s the shit

When he needs to fix that GODDAMN HAIR

He would be gay

Oh my god how gay he would be

Has SEX

This guy FUCKS

Idk how but I feel like he pulls some major bitches

Smoker

TBH I would fuck him and I’m literally asexual

So yk this dude is getting it on

Has tried to smoke 20 cigars at once

Succeeded somehow

Type of guy to say “I bet five dollars that___” and always lose

But does it anyways

GOD at rock paper scissors

You may win the first time you play him, but that’s because he’s watching your tactics

Sneaky little bastard

Straight and Cis but fully supports the LGBTQIA+

“They don’t bother me, and even if a queer person did bother me, it would only be that specific one. Not all of them.”

It makes no sense how people get bullied for things they can’t control

Very stand up kinda guy

Beats up bullies type of fella

Princess Vivi

She is so fine istg

She would for sure pull

Would have an unbelievably dark past by age 30

God of never have I ever

Would just own everyone in it

The coolest backstory

Paints her nails to match her hair

Looks really good in modest dresses

She’s Hispanic

Not sorry

For real she is

I think she would really like cats

Keeps in contact with the strawhats

Buys them things and all that

Gives them supply crates like food and fresh ingredients

Really likes working with kids

Would be an amazing and patient teacher

Would have a really good singing voice

Looks absolutely amazing in white

13 notes · View notes

schrijverr · 2 years ago

Text

A Behind the Scenes of: Robin and Rose's Wedding

With Robin and her wife Rose as special guest, Jonathan gives insight into their illegal wedding that happened in '94.

On AO3.

Ships: Robin x ofc (background: jargancy, steddie, byler, elumax, jopper)

Warnings: homophobia mention

~~~~~~~~

“I can’t believe Jonathan Byers is a misogynist,” Robin says. They’re still setting up and both her, Jonathan and Rose are shuffling into frame and sitting down.

“Will you let that go, I never said that,” Jonathan complains as he adjusts the mic on his shirt.

“You let Steve and Eddie talk about their wedding and didn’t ask me,” Robin counters, pouting heavily. “I think that’s very misogynistic of you.”

“I immediately agreed when you asked,” Jonathan exclaims.

“But I had to ask,” Robin counters.

“I’m not a mind reader!” Jonathan says exasperated.

“Be nice to Jon, dear,” Rose speaks up, finally interrupting the argument, though she looks more amused than actually chastising.

“Alright, alright, at least my wedding photographer didn’t have a crush on my wife, so that’s a win,” Robin pretends to give in only to tease Jonathan again.

“Oh my god, did Steve tell you that?” Jonathan groans.

“Of course dingus told me that,” Robin informs him cheerily. “Now let’s start talking about our wedding.”

“Thank fuck,” Jonathan sighs. “Just know I’m keeping that in to show what I put up with when you guys are over. I don’t know when these turned into roast Jonathan videos. Nancy and Jane were lovely guests, you know.”

“I feel like it adds character, shows the wide extend of personalities we have,” Robin grins. “Now dance monkey, dance.”

Jonathan shakes his head at her. Despite it all, he doesn’t actually look annoyed. Then he straightens up and starts the video: “Hi, I’m Jonathan Byers, the main photographer and editor of A Collection of Queer Photography. Today, I’m here with Robin and Rose to talk about their illegal wedding in ‘94.”

“Hi, I’m Robin,” Robin introduces herself. Her bracelets clink together as she waves, there are laugh lines around her eyes and mouth and her hair is dyed a bright green. She’s wearing a funky patterned button up to go with it.

“And I’m Rose,” Rose adds, also waving. She’s wearing a deep green dress and a nice necklace and earrings. Her red hair cascades down her shoulders and she smiles with red painted lips.

“As with the other wedding, there was a structure to the layout,” Jonathan explains. “First you have the proposal, then the ceremony, the wedding photo shoot, the party itself, the morning after and then you two leaving for your honeymoon. That’s quite a lot, so I don’t know if we’re talking about the last two. We’ll see where it goes.”

“Fair enough,” Rose says as Robin snatches up the book and excitedly flips to the right page.

“Okay,” Robin starts once she found it. “First one is Accepted Proposal, ahh, so exciting.”

Accepted Proposal is taken at Argyle’s restaurant, since it had been empty at the time, save for the Boston crew, as well as a known queer safe space. In it is Robin on one knee in front of Rose, in her hand she has a little box popped open to show the ring in it. Rose has her hands clapped over her mouth in shock, tears in her eyes. Robin just grins shyly at her.

“I loved your proposal,” Rose smiles softly. “I didn’t see it coming at all and it was just perfect. You always manage to find a way to sweep me off my feet and make my dreams come true.”

“Oh my god, I am so gay. Steve 100% didn’t prepare me for this,” Robin breathes, before backtracking. “Not that I want to ruin this moment by mentioning Steve, I just meant that that is so sweet and beautiful and I love you and it’s all overwhelming.”

“Ahw, baby, come here,” Rose coos, pulling Robin into her chest and holding her tightly in her arms as Robin melts into her hold. Rose kisses her forehead and says: “I love you too.”

“We’re going to be like this the whole time aren’t we?” Robin speaks up, a little muffled from where she is burying her head in Rose’s chest.

“Probably,” Rose agrees.

“God grant me mercy,” Jonathan sighs.

Robin straightens up to point out: “You’re an atheist.”

“Yeah, but a man can wish,” Jonathan jokes, before he moves back to their task at hand: “This was taken at Argyle’s diner after closing. The diner was a queer gathering place to those that knew, but we also got a lot of drunken students.”

“Yeah, I wanted to ask it somewhere private and safe that wasn’t like our living room,” Robin says. “And there isn’t a better place to go. Our first date was there too.”

“It was perfect,” Rose tells her.

“I’m glad,” Robin smiles.

They hold eye contact for a second, while Jonathan introduces the next one: “Alright, on the same page we also have Wedding Preparations, which is taken by Steve. Wanna tell us what’s going on here?”

The photo in question is of Eddie, Robin and Rose surrounded by fake flowers at their kitchen table. They seem to be gluing them together into one big flowery monstrosity, whose purpose isn’t clear. The flowers are a mix or white, light pink and a dark red.

“We were making the flower decoration piece for our wedding and wedding photo shoot,” Robin says. “We might not have had a big church wedding or some shit, but we were going to have a pretty wedding.”

“It was part of my scrapbook and Robin was determined to make one, since we couldn’t do most other stuff. It was very sweet,” Rose answers.

“Well, what else was I going to do?” Robin asks. “You wanted a nice wedding, I was going to try my damnedest to make it so.”

“And I’m very lucky to have that,” Rose tells her.

Jonathan gives the two a fond smile, before flipping the page. “Okay, page 182 and 183 is the ceremony, starting with Here Comes One of the Brides, which is a reference to the song here comes the bride, but queered, because that’s what we’re all about.”

Here Comes One of the Brides is taken in the apartment Robin and Rose shared. Most of their furniture has been moved to Eddie and Steve’s and the living room has been turned into a wedding location. A few chairs are set in rows facing the place where the flower piece they’ve made functions as decorative piece.

It had been a small wedding, but all the chair are filled. At the front is Robin in a three piece pinstriped suit with bow tie, her buzzed hair freshly shaved. She is biting her lip and crying a bit, though doing a great job of pretending she isn’t.

Behind Robin is Steve, who is the best man, while Rose’s sister is maid of honor, waiting opposite to Robin as Rose walks the aisle, though she isn’t in the image. The wedding was officiated by Argyle, who is wearing a beautiful tiered skirt and blouse, and is grinning happily.

“Ahww, our little makeshift wedding venue,” Robin says. “We truly got married in our living room.”

“I think it was very romantic anyway,” Rose adds. “It was like we were able to visit that memory every day.”

“That’s such a sweet way to look at it,” Robins tells her, making gooey eyes as Rose blushes and thanks her.

“It was a nice wedding,” Jonathan says. “I think your guys properly transformed the space and made it feel fancy.”

“Thank you, Jon,” Rose says. “And thank you for taking all the photos too. I love this photo of Robin, she is so handsome, I love her in a suit.”

“Why thank you, darling,” Robin drawls jokingly, though she’s blushing too.

“No problem, did it with love,” Jonathan assures them. “And it was also personal gain, honestly. It added to my personal portfolio. I’m mostly glad that you agreed to let me use them for this, because your wedding has so many good queering of heteronormative moments.”

Robin laughs at that. “Yeah, it’s almost as if we’re two dykes tying the knot.”

“Yeah, almost,” Jonathan agrees with humor in his eyes.

“Still, thank you,” Rose smiles.

“Totally thank you, like without you I wouldn’t have this very beautiful photo of my wife,” Robin says, pointing at the page.

On screen a photo of Rose appears. She is wearing a gorgeous white wedding gown. It is a princess dress with all the ruffles and frills that fan out around her like a flower. She doesn’t have any sleeves, but she is haloed by her veil, which turns into a train. In her hand she has a bouquet of roses.

She is smiling, practically glowing as she walks down the aisle next to her father, who is giving her away with foggy eyes. She has been one of the lucky ones with accepting parents. Off to the side, her mother can be seen, crying her eyes out. Rose however is repressing the water works, looking like a picture perfect bride.

“For the record she’s pointing at Rose Given Away,” Jonathan informs the camera, before replying: “I love this photo. It such a typical bridal photo, but there is something about it that I can’t describe, but that is just so gay.”

“I think queer femininity is different than traditional femininity,” Rose says thoughtfully after a second. “A lot of traditional femininity is tied to attracting a man, which isn’t really a goal in queer femininity, so there are certain things that just aren’t present. I don’t know if what I’m saying makes sense.”

“It totally makes sense, she’s just being humble, but she’s actually super smart and reads a lot and is into gender theory and shit,” Robin interrupts, hanging off Rose as she does.

“Thank you, dear,” Rose tells her.

“Always, darling,” Robin replies.

“That is super interesting, I like that,” Jonathan agrees with Robin. “That is totally the vibe.”

“Not to mention she is super stunning and beautiful and looking like a fucking princess,” Robin adds. “Like, I’m not going to get graphic here.” “Please, don’t.” “But I regret not doing a garter thing, but it might be better, because I would not have come back out from under there.”

“Oh my god, Robin!” Rose squeal laughs.

“That’s you not getting graphic?” Jonathan chokes, stuck between appalled and dying of laughter.

There are also chuckles coming from behind the camera, before Argyle asks: “Can we please keep that in?”

Robin and Rose exchange a look, before Rose says: “Sure, it’s not me exposing myself.”

“I don’t expose myself, I speak truth,” Robin declares.

“Of course, dear,” Rose says, patting her arm, before she turns to Jonathan: “So, what’s next?”

Jonathan looks back down to the book, which had kind of been forgotten in the chaos. “The next one is First Kiss as a Married Couple and this whole page is about you two being officiated as married.”

The photo that appears is of Robin and Rose’s first kiss at the altar, unofficially wedded. Rose is pulling Robin in by the lapels of her jacket and Robin is enthusiastically clinging back, half pulling Rose’s veil off.

“I love the enthusiasm in this photo,” Jonathan says. “I talked about this with Eddie and Steve, but a lot of straight couple getting married don’t even like each other, which makes it more insane that love like this wasn’t legal. It’s just weird. But I’ll get off my nonsense and just say I love the enthusiasm.”

“I must agree that I also love the enthusiasm,” Robin nods, before she looks at Rose and bats her eyes: “I love it when you pull me into a kiss by my lapels. Very hot.”

“God, you are ridiculous,” Rose giggles. “But you’re so handsome in your suit, I feel like I can’t be blamed. Plus, you ripped off my veil and nearly tripped us both over, it was just practical to hold you put so we wouldn’t fall.”

“You know me so well, woman after my own heart,” Robin fake swoons.

“So are you, handsome,” Rose replies, booping her nose. Then she turns to Jonathan and says: “I think to add to your point, another aspect is that a lot of straight culture is being respectable and especially those that like get married in a church. PDA is kind of demonized and seen as sinful, they’re not kissing like this.”

“Huh, yeah, never thought about that, but that’s probably because the only straight wedding I attended was between mom and dad,” Jonathan says. “And like Steve and Robin if you want to count that. I refuse to count the others, they were queer.”

“And you are so correct for that, bestie,” Robin tells him.

“Oh my god, you are no longer allowed to hang out with the teens when you come visit me at work,” Rose exclaims. “They’re corrupting you.”

“Slay,” Robin attempts to deadpan, but a grin is breaking through.

“I hate you,” Rose giggles.

“Love you too,” Robin replies, letting the grin break through on her face.

The two of them giggle as Jonathan moves on: “Then the next photo is Unofficially Officiated, which is of the ceremony itself.”

It is of Argyle when officiating. He is speaking passionately, clearly visible between the smiling Robin and Rose. The affection from the photographer clearly shines through in the image.

“You are so gay for Argyle it’s hilarious,” Robin comments. “Like this our lesbian wedding and you manage to focus wholly on Argyle and it still be gay, because you use your camera to create fucking heart eyes at him.”

“I can’t help that he’s pretty,” Jonathan defends himself, blushing deeply.

“Ahw, you are pretty too, buttercup,” Argyle comments from behind the camera.

“You did look amazing,” Robin agrees. “And I love your officiating speech. It was very out there, I loved the energy.”

“I tried,” Argyle says.

“Alright, then the last one on the page is Celebrating, which I love. It’s tells such a story,” Jonathan moves on.

Celebrating is of Robin, now turned to Steve with her back to Rose. She is screaming with wide eyes as if she can’t believe that just happened and needs Steve to confirm. Steve is holding her hands, also screaming. Both are jumping with joy. In the background is Rose, rolling her eyes fondly at the duo.

Robin and Rose lean over to see the photo. Rose starts laughing the moment she sees, while Robin flushes red. She complains: “Rose always bullies me for this.”

“No, I don’t,” Rose argues.

“Yes, you do,” Robin pouts. “Remember like last week when you kissed me and asked if I needed to go find Steve to yell at him? We’ve been married for 23 years, this joke can die.”

“But it’s so funny,” Rose says. “It was cute, I swear. You were so excited about it. And I know how you and Steve are, I knew that when I said yes.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Robin gives in.

“I do say so,” Rose promises, punctuating her point by kissing Robin on the cheek.

“You kind of said all that needed to be said about this one,” Jonathan adds. “I do like to point out Rose here. She looks so fond, which I love as a little detail.”

“See, Jon agrees that it’s fond,” Rose says.

“Still a stupid joke,” Robin mumbles, but she doesn’t look too disgruntled.

Jonathan flips the page and snorts when he sees what’s on it. He says: “Okay, so these two pages are the photo shoot we did for your wedding and I love all of them, but I think we should just explain what we were doing and pick two to talk about so it doesn’t get completely out of hand.”

“Alright, I want to talk about my children,” Rose immediately agrees.

“I wanna talk about the Rob and Rose one,” Robin says.

“Okay, so we got two picked,” Jonathan says. “Now the concept for this was a stereotypical wedding photo shoot, but with an edge of ridicule. We took it seriously, but also made it absurd. I think you came up with it, Robin?”

“Well, it was collaborative,” Robin replies.

“No, it wasn’t. You made fun of me and then we did it anyway,” Rose corrects.

“You and I remember this very differently,” Robin says. “Why do you think that?”

“We went through my old wedding scrap book I made when I was fifteen and there were photos like this one in it and you laughed for like twenty whole seconds before demanding we did this. How else was I supposed to interpret that?” Rose asks.

Robin is quiet for a minute, then says: “Okay when you say it like that, I get why you think that, but I was never laughing at you, just the concept of it.”

“It was in my wedding scrap book,” Rose points out.

“That you made when you were fifteen!” Robin exclaims. “Everyone is stupid at fifteen.”

“Yeah, what were you doing at fifteen then, huh?” Rose shoots back.

“I was being jealous of Steve and the attention he got while being mad at him because he left crumbs everywhere,” Robin answers honestly.

“I thought you were seventeen when you two met,” Jonathan pipes up.

“Long story, Jonathan,” Robin waves him away. “The point is, it wasn’t meant as making fun of you, my love, so let’s just look at them and agree about that.”

“Of course, dear,” Rose gives in easily. She never was truly upset about it, but you don’t spend over twenty years around the party without starting silly arguments for the sake of arguing.

“So, first up Newlyweds Rob & Rose,” Jonathan starts out.

On screen the photo that appears is of Robin with Rose standing in front of her. They look to be posing for a family portrait in the late 1800s with serious faces. Robin has her hand on Rose’s shoulder, taller than her, but only because of the step stool that is clearly in frame.

“Okay, so this was meant to be like a typical 19th century family portrait,” Robin says. “And I think it’s so funny that you can just see the step stool right there. Because Rose is a lovely, beautiful, tall queen and I’m the butch one of us two, so to fully parody it, I had to be taller.”

“It’s hysterical,” Rose agrees. “But I was so terrified of you being up on that thing. I love you very much, handsome, but god, your coordination.”

Robin cackles loudly at that, falling into Rose’s side. She crows: “Oh my god, that is amazing, Steve told me the same exact thing when I mentioned talking about these to him. Remember when I almost face planted?”

“I do,” Rose tells her, sounding a little pained at the memory, but amused by Robin’s delight.

“It was a terrifying shoot for all the wrong reasons,” Jonathan agrees, snorting softly. “I also really like the title. Nance came up with this one, she’s said you guys would appreciate the gender fuckery of it.”

“We do,” Robin says immediately.

“Yeah, we are very much a butch4femme couple,” Rose nods. “This felt very accurate of us, while also fitting with the theme. I loved all the titles honestly.”

“The titles were very good and as Rose said, I am very butch. I border on this woman-not-woman edge of lesbianism and that makes me more comfortable with being addressed in a more masculine way, like going by Rob most of the time,” Robin says. “And honestly, I feel really blessed with how I’m represented in this book. Like I love all the other girls in there, but god what I wouldn’t have given to see a butch dyke when I was a teen, you know.”

Jonathan looks very touched by the comment and he replies: “I’m very honored you think that I presently you right, that means a lot.”

“Come here, you,” Robin exclaims, chocking up a little as she pulls Jonathan into a hug. More muffled because of it, she says: “Fuck, I told Steve I wasn’t gonna get mushy and here I am. He’s gonna laugh at me.”

She lets go and both of them wipe their eyes as they pretend not to. Rose puts a comforting hand on Robin’s back.

To move on from the moment, Jonathan says: “Then the other one we wanted to talk about is Wedding Picture with the Children.”

The photo is of Robin and Rose, sitting on the ground together. Rose’s dress fans around her as Robin sits in a mermaid pose next to her. It had been a lot of work to get their huge collection of garden gnomes they usually keep in a display near their front door positioned around them, forming a small army. Robin and Rose are both smiling proudly and happily, albeit a little cheeky too.

“Okay, so a lot of people have asked about the gnomes,” Jonathan informs them. “Why all the gnomes?”

Robin looks to Rose and gestures as if to say: Go ahead.

“Well, I already collected gnomes when we met. I started collecting them when I was nineteen, I think,” Rose answers. “My grandma moved to a care home and she had two in her garden that my mom wanted to throw out, so I stole them. They were so ugly, I loved them. From then on it became kind of a thing for me. I think I drunkly took that one from a garden once.”

She points at one, which gets circled in the photo on screen. The gnome in question has overalls and is holding a little shovel.

“They’ve always kind of hung around my dorms and apartments. A lot of dates thought they were creepy, but that night I met Robin we ended up on the topic. When I told her about it she said ‘gnome way’ and I gave her my number right then and there,” Rose tells Jonathan. “She was the one that demanded we put them in a display case by the door when we moved in together.”

Robin is smiling fondly and looking quite pleased with herself as Rose recounts the story. “Best pun I ever made,” she says. “11 out of 10, would do again.”

“No matter how many times I hear that, it just keeps being iconic,” Jonathan laughs.

“Personally, I consider myself not the stepdad, but the dad that stepped up for these gnomes,” Robin says. “I was channeling my inner dingus for this photo in particular. Don’t I look exactly like him on his wedding with the kids in the party.”

Jonathan and Rose both laugh, then Jonathan glances at the photo again, before gasping: “Oh my god, I can totally see it now.”

“Wait, gimme,” Rose demands as Jonathan wordlessly hands her the book. She looks at it closely, before exclaiming: “Oh my god, you totally do.”

“Of course I did, I know that man inside and out,” Robin says, almost affronted at the idea she couldn’t imitate Steve flawlessly.

“God, you’re ridiculous, I love you so much,” Rose tells her, handing the book back to Jonathan.

Robin’s face lights up in a big smile as she replies: “I love you too. Very much.”

As they gaze into each other’s eyes, Jonathan flips the page. He says: “Page 186 and 187 was the first and second dance. I put them as four in a line to tell kind of a story from left to right, starting with Asking for a Dance.”

The photo is of Robin, bowing as she kisses Rose’s hand. Rose is grinning widely, half hiding behind her other hand.

“Look at you, handsome. Always such a gentleman, made me feel like a princess,” Rose gushes.

“You are a princess,” Robin assures her, making Rose blush.

“Stahp,” she giggles.

Jonathan adds: “It is a lovely photo of you two. Very much a mix of that queering of the heteronormative and queer gender expression.”

“I live to queer it all,” Robin cheers, grinning widely as Rose high fives her.

At that, Jonathan shakes his head, before moving on: “Next to it is First Dance, title kind of speaks for itself here.”

In the photo Robin and Rose are very close together and swaying. Robin’s coordination prevents complicated choreography, however, she valiantly lead Rose that day and they danced for a big part of the night.

“The way I struggled with even this,” Robin groans in embarrassment. “Ask anyone and they’ll tell you I am the most uncoordinated person alive. The fact that we didn’t fall a hundred times is a combination of a miracle and your strong arms steadying us. Even with Steve coaching me for weeks late at night, I barely managed.”

“I think it’s very sweet that you tried so hard and I had a great time dancing with you,” Rose tells her gently.

“Still, I think I did better the second time around,” Robin says.

“Maybe, but I think this first one is still my favorite,” Rose replies.

“Ahw, stop, you’re gonna make me cry,” Robin exclaims, again burying herself in Rose’s chest as she hugs the other closely.

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby,” Rose immediate apologizes, petting Robin’s hair.

“Don’t say sorry for being perfect and lovely,” Robin says, voice muffled.

“Ahww, baby,” Rose coos, hugging her tightly, which makes the muscles in her arms bulge. After a second she lets go again and asks Jonathan: “What’s the next one?”

“Next one is Father-Daughter Dance with you and your dad,” Jonathan says.

The photo that appears is of Rose dancing with her father. She looks much like him, both of them with red hair and big frames. They’re both smiling, pride washing off the image.

“Your dad is so nice,” Robin says. “You look so much like him, it’s insane.”

“My dad is the best,” Rose agree easily. “Both my parents are. I am so lucky to have them and they make it easy to forget that not every parent is like that, but once you start hanging out with other queer people, you start to realize how common it is for parents to not be accepting. It’s heartbreaking sometimes.”

“I think it’s lovely that we got to have your family in here to show that it can be different, just like my mom and dad,” Jonathan says. “It’s easy to get lost in the gloom and doom, but it is getting better. Not perfect, but better. And it can be really hopeful to see.”

“Yeah, you should be fucking proud about it and loud, baby,” Robin adds. “Your parents are the fucking best and it truly shows that all the other shitheads aren’t products of their time, because there are people who knew better, even back then. And, honestly, I kind of love this little piece of tradition we had in our wedding. I love that we got to have that.”

“Ahw, you’re gonna make me cry,” Rose replies, dabbing her eyes as she hugs Robin and kisses her cheek.

Jonathan gives them their moment, before he says: “We wanted to show both sides of how coming out to parents can turn out and the effects of it. Despite the tragedy, I do love The Second Dance of you and Steve.”

Second Dance is Robin and Steve dancing in their suits. Both of them are crying, tears streaming down their faces as they cling more than dance.

Robin looks over to see and tears kind of spring up as she does. Softly Jonathan asks: “You still okay, Robs?”

“Ye- yeah, yeah,” she assures him swallowing heavily. “Just- kind of forgot that was in here. Hit me out of nowhere.” She wipes her eyes.

“Want to tell it yourself or us to do it?” Rose asks kindly, rubbing the back of Robin’s neck with her thumb in a soothing manner.

“I can do, thank you,” Robin says.

“Alright, take your time,” Rose smiles as Jonathan nods.

“Okay, so,” Robin sniffs. “This was my second dance with my favorite dingus. My dad wasn’t there to dance with me, so Steve did it. I- I, uh, also was his second dance at his wedding, because he really wanted one and I did too, honestly.”

She takes a deep breath: “We have this big family, but Steve is the closest to blood I have. He is kind of my whole world. Like, I don’t know what I would do without him honestly. He’s been there for me through everything. He’s the first ever person I came out too and he was my hype-man through everything. When I started dating, he was always my backup, gave me eating out tips and shit.”

Despite it being an emotional moment, Rose lets out a soft snort at that and both Jonathan and Robin crack a grin, the tension slightly broken.

“I’ve seen online people calling us weird for being so close and saying Steve has feelings for me, which is ridiculous,” Robin says. “We’re just way too comfortable with each other, because we care and we need each other to live. If I have to make sure the weird spot on his dick isn’t cancer so he grows old with me, I totally will. Fuck anyone who thinks otherwise.”

“Anyway,” she turns back to the photo. “Neither of us had our parents in our lives anymore and as much as I appreciate Jim or Wayne, it just wouldn’t have been the same. So me and Steve danced and we both cried, because in that moment it just hits you, you know. You just realize that the other is the person you have. That it’s not just going to be over and you can’t go back home and tell your mom that despite all her worries you did get married, that I found someone who loved me even without all those ladylike manners she failed to instill on me. That I was okay.”

Robin now starts crying. She isn’t sobbing, just silent tears streaming down her face as her voice gets tighter and more strained.

“It never truly becomes real that you’re not welcome back. That their love was conditional. That never sinks in after it happens. And it hit me that in that moment it was real and Steve was there to catch me. He is always there to catch me. That’s why I love him so much,” Robin says.

She wipes her eyes again and clears her throat: “I’ll stop being sad now. Just love that man so much, he’s my soulmate.”

“I’m glad you have Steve,” Rose tells her. “He is really cool. He’s one of my best friends too honestly. I remember you crying and wanting to comfort you and Steve just told me that it was okay, that he had you and I should finish the dance with my dad and it was so easy to trust him with you. And sure enough by the time you two were done dancing you were laughing and smiling again. I honestly thought he was a wizard.”

“He never told me that,” Robin says.

“Must have not come up,” Rose shrugs.

“I love him,” Robin sighs happily.

“Me too,” Rose agrees.

“He is pretty great,” Jonathan adds, more to say something, because he feels awkward.

“But not as great as his husband, am I right, Jonny-boy?” Robin jeers, breaking the tension as Jonathan groans and everyone else cracks up again.

“I hate all of you,” Jonathan informs them, before pointedly flipping the page and ignoring their giggles as he reads: “Twirling Trio, is what we’re looking at right now.”

On screen a photo of Lucas twirling both El and Max on the dance floor, the three of them giggling appears. It had been a good day for Max, so her crutches are leaning against the wall in the back, just in case.

“It’s a good day for me when I get to photograph polyam people,” Jonathan says. “They’re a great throuple and I love how close Lucas and Jane are as friends too. That’s really important. Now, this page is early in the wedding and then 189 is later in the wedding. Next one is Wedding Cake and Stolen Kisses, which I think is a hilarious photo.”

The photo is of Steve sitting in a chair with Robin in his lap. The two are sharing a plate of wedding cake, but the photograph is taken when Steve is momentarily distracted by Eddie. Eddie is leaning over the back of the chair, stealing a kiss from Steve as well as a bit of cake, though that might be a fail, since Robin is on her way to stab his hand with her fork.

“I stabbed him so hard, he bled,” Robin reminisces fondly. “I think he still has a scar on his hands.”

“You were very protective over that cake,” Rose comments.

“Of course I was, it took us two days of cake tasting to pick one and it was very expensive,” Robin says, like that is a normal thing to say.

“You and Steve are sharing the plate,” Jonathan points out.

“That’s different,” Robin shrugs.

Jonathan shakes his head at her, then moves on: “I love the storytelling that is happening in it. I love capturing little moments where in people shine through, like in this other one on this page of Mike and Will. The Whipped Cream one.”

Whipped Cream is of Mike and Will both in neat suits. Will is eating some cake, but has some whipped cream on his upper lip. Mike is smiling softly at him, shaking his head fondly as he wipes away the whipped cream with his thumb. Will is staring dumbly, looking very love stricken.

“It was truly luck that I managed to catch that one and I’m so pleased. It’s such a cliché and I love that,” Jonathan says. “And then the next one – sorry, I’m kind of speeding through these, but otherwise it’s too long.”

“Go ahead, baby boy,” Argyle encourages him from behind the camera as Robin and Rose both nod and gesture to go ahead.

“Feel free to interject,” Jonathan says anyway. “So, the next one is Talks of Love.”

The photo that appears is of Argyle, Nancy, Robin and Rose. Argyle is smiling widely, having Nancy under one arm and Rose under the other. Robin is holding Rose’s hand and resting her face happily against her arm.

“This is the transition photo to later in the night when people started drinking,” Jonathan explains. “Argyle had taken his officiant role a little seriously and he was speeching. It was really cute and romantic.”

“He was waxing poetry about you and Nance, of course you think that’s cute,” Robin says.

“Hey, I was talking about the beauty of love and how we’re all connected, man,” Argyle speaks up from behind the camera to defend himself.

“You still remember what you were talking about?” Rose asks, sounding surprised.

“Nah, he’s just has been repeating the same speech about love since ‘86, you just haven’t heard it as much because we had less time to get stoned together since we met,” Robin says.

“And it’s amazing every time,” Jonathan defends Argyle.

“Ahw, thank you, baby boy,” Argyle says, smile obvious in his voice.

“Whipped,” Robin hollers.

“I have let you talk about your wife and your wedding for hours now, don’t you fucking dare do this to me, Robin. Let me live in peace and let’s just go talk about the conga line,” Jonathan says, pointing accusingly at Robin to punctuate his sentence.

“Let me live in peace and let’s just go talk about the conga line,” Robin repeats, dying of laughter as she does.

“What did you name that one?” Rose asks, leaning over to see if she can read it, but her view is getting obscured by Robin, who is still laughing.

“Conga Line of 1994,” Jonathan answers, a little embarrassed about it.

As the title suggests the photo is of Argyle, Dustin, Eddie, El, Lucas, Joyce Robin, Rose and Steve forming a conga line. It is clear that some, if not most, of them have had a little too much to drink at this point.

“Joyce totally started that conga line,” Robin recalls, mirth in her eyes. “She said I do not have to drive or be responsible and I respect that about her.”

“You were the second person in the conga line, love,” Rose reminds her.

“Yeah, because I have taste, thank you,” Robin sniff snootily.

“It was pretty great, I loved it. I couldn’t not photograph it. It’s just delightful and shows the vibes the wedding got when it went on for a little,” Jonathan agrees. “Which is even more visible in the other two, starting with Kiss the Bride.”

Kiss the Bride is of Robin, her bow tie undone along with the top buttons. She is hanging of a smug Rose and is covered in lipstick kisses, looking quite pleased with herself as she grins into the camera. Rose’s lipstick is smudged.

“I have this one framed on my desk,” Robin says. “I love that photo.”

“Really?” Rose asks, blushing. “Don’t you share your office space with your coworkers?”

“Yeah,” Robin answers as if that means nothing to her. “If they want to make a comment about it, they are just getting a ramble about you and how great my wife is. Their choice.”

“God, you’re a doofus,” Rose tells her affectionately, before coyly adding: “I love how you look in my lipstick.”

“Same,” Robin sighs dreamily.

“Not to interrupt you two being gay for each other, but-” Jonathan starts out. He gets interrupted by Robin hollering: “Too late.”

“I knew that,” Jonathan sighs fondly, nudging her with his elbow. “I just wanted to add how this one along with Off to the Wedding Bed is some hilarious visual storytelling. Do you remember yelling that everyone had to leave, because you were going to fuck your brand new wife?”

“Yes, I did, Jonathan. It’s almost like I have two of the most annoying roommates, who like to remind me of that humiliating moment every time they have an opportunity,” Robin deadpans, exaggerating her pout.

The photo they’re referencing has appeared on screen and is of Rose’s back. She has lost her veil and train and currently has Robin slung over her shoulder, obviously carrying her off. Robin is cackling as she looks into the camera. Eddie is whistling in the foreground and Steve is clapping as he grins, next to them is Nancy, who is shaking her head fondly.

“You jumped in my arms right after,” Rose reminisces with a sappy smile. “You’re so cute.”

“It was mortifying,” Robin says. “I had to face everyone of them the next day covered in hickeys. They all knew.”

“I think they all already kind of guessed,” Rose informs her.

“We totally did, brocacho,” Argyle agrees.

Robin buries her head in her hands, before straightening out again. She’s still flushed but determined: “No, I refuse to be embarrassed. I love my wife and I am horny for her, always have been. You all can go suck my dick!”

“Love the energy, handsome,” Rose laughs.

“Same energy you had that night,” Jonathan adds, which earns him a shove from Robin, though she’s laughing too.

Jonathan bounces right back and adds: “I do think that Eddie, Steve and Nancy really add to the photo. I know we’re joking about it, but this book celebrates queer sex too, despite how it is often deemed perverted and wrong. I love how we made something lovely out of it.”

“Same, honestly. I felt like such a predator for so long, because I was attracted to girls,” Robin agrees. “And it’s just as beautiful as other sex. Just as nasty too, but we won’t talk about that right now. Shout out to all the nudes you took that didn’t make it in. We could have had a whole page of Argyle nudes or Nancy nudes.”

“Shut up,” Jonathan squeals, pushing her over this time as she cackles.

Robin pops right back up, like nothing has happened, then demands: “Let’s talk about the morning after photos.”

“Do we have time for that?” Jonathan asks Argyle.

“It’s already pretty long, baby boy,” Argyle answers.

“Maybe we should just leave it here,” Jonathan offers apologetically.

“But I wanna talk about those photos,” Robin pouts. “Can’t we part two it? Come on. I need something to rub in Steve’s face.”

“You should have lead with that,” Jonathan jokes, before finishing up: “That was a behind the scenes of the wedding of Robin and Rose, thank you both for being here.”

“Thanks for having us,” Rose replies politely.

“Yes, thank you for giving into my demands,” Robin teases.

“We’re going to do a hopefully shorter part two, so until then I guess?” Jonathan says. “Bye.”

“Bye!” Robin waves excitedly

“Goodbye,” Rose smiles.

A/N:

I kind of didn’t say a lot about certain pictures, because I didn’t want it to get too long and I let chaos reign and kind of flesh out this relationship more :D

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