#personal and only really get shared privately.. um

[angeltism]

how do I even put into words the totally normally and nyat lovestruck things I've been thinking and doing in the last few days

[lilacgaby]

˗ˏˋdon't ask what are we, i like it baby.𖤐

pairing: situationship!gojo x reader

synopsisꨄ. the affection shared between you not only in public but private made everyone think you were together, but the one time they were right about your 'relationship', it made satoru upset. maybe he should make you official.

you honestly couldn't pick out when this started with satoru.

the gravitational pull towards each other, fleeting touches of the hand and the fluttering of eyelashes. the hand holding and kisses, laughing at his jokes even though they weren't always that funny.

finding comfort in each other, even though you really shouldn't grant him your presence. you always did though, open arms or a lap for him to lay on, a person for him to confide in. but even as he kissed you, tucking your hair behind your ear as words were lost to the pumping of your heart in your ears, it'd never progressed further.

no dates were in your future, no promise ring or flowers, no way you'd ever be able to call the satoru gojo yours in the near future.

but that didn't mean he didn't act like you were already his. like he wasn't entitled to your affection and love. as you scrolled on your phone mindlessly in the hallways, he wrapped his arms around you shamelessly. making people raise their eyebrows in confusion as he spoke directly into your ear, asking you what you were doing, where you were going, if you wanted to do things with him.

how he'd walk you to the dorms everyday, walk in like he owned the place as he laid down right smack middle of your bed. patting the side next to him as if it was only natural for you to be beside him so intimately.

how he'd skip out on hang outs with his friends just to come bother you at night, knocking on your door with sweets in hand, smiling at your half asleep self. “got room for one more?” he leant against the doorframe, he knew you'd let him in.

“weren't you hanging out with geto and shoko?” you rubbed the sleep out of your eyes, as he responded while walking in and closing the door behind him. “yeah, wanted to be next to you though.” his face leaned close to yours, you could smell his expensive perfume as he laid his head in your shoulder.

he didn't leave that night.

how he spoke to you so sweetly, so deeply intrigued with you. as he stared as your face, eyes not leaving it as you spoke. “and.. um– what happened was…” he'd moved closer and tilt your head up with his hand. “go on, i was listening.”

the late night talks that always lead to more, your lipstick smudged and smeared against his lips as you grew obsessed with each other.

conversations would take place in the car, his eyes would hyper focus on your lips, you were just trying to speak but it always ended with you two breathless, conversations forgotten.

he didn't feel okay if you weren't right by his side, or if he didn't know your whereabouts. it was like having a clingy boyfriend who texted you every hour, asking where you'd be and if you were okay. though, despite this it wasn't anything more than a friendship.

he always felt truly happy around you. more than a weapon, more than the strongest sorcerer you saw him as him and nothing more. you held him as if you were just two normal people in love, he'd hold back as if your love was fleeting, not timeless but limited. he'd hold on for as long as you'd let him, which usually was until morning.

any conversations you tried to have about your relationship, asking if this was serious or not was quickly played or brushed off, your heart cracking slightly everytime he ignored you. the times you did manage to get a response out of him were full of, “what we have now is perfect, why ruin it?” and “labels are no fun anyways, you're fine aren't you?” you'd kick him out of your dorm, or leave where ever you were at when he said that. but you always ended up back with him again, running his hands through your hair the next day. he'd text you throughout the night, spouting apologies and promises mixed in with stupid emojis. you'd resist the urge to respond for a while, but you gave in. you always did for him.

he who held your heart in his hands, who chose to love and neglect it all within the same hour even, who you'd let continue being in control. honestly, you didn't know why yourself.

your relationship, or whatever you had going on, had just become so obvious to everyone around. people had started questioning you about it, shoko being the first to ask you so directly though. during a random hangout of yours, lazing around as you mindlessly scrolled on your phone, attention drawn elsewhere, she just came out with it. “so, are you two dating or something?” it was obvious who she was referring to, there was no one else who was so outwardly forward with you. but you rushed to correct her, even though it was something you thought about often yourself. “what? me and satoru are just friends, that's all.”

a moment passes over, her eyes locking into yours. “but you want more don't you? it's kind of cruel of him to be doing that to you actually.”

“you have no idea.”

little did you know, gojo was undergoing a similar conversation with geto, who eyed him and shot a knowingly look at him. “so, you and [name] aren't dating right?”

satoru was caught off guard by the comment as well, but he quickly recovered and went to make a joke about it. “what? no way. we're just friends.”

a thoughtful look came over geto’s face as he looked over gojo again. “then, you have no problem with me asking her out, right?”

the look that came over satoru was almost laughable, how his eyes widened and lips snarled into a scowl. how his fists balled up and his finger pressed against geto’s chest as he let out an angry, “no.”

“why not?” a dumb smile came over geto’s face. now mirroring his previous actions to shove a finger against his chest. “you know why.” satoru grabbed his hand and yanked it away from him, then walked off angrily, a puff of smoke almost being visible above his head.

geto could only laugh at how hopeless he was, and he'd be right.

you were still hanging around with shoko, outside and picking apart the clouds in the sky. though, you were cut off by a slightly annoyed satoru gently grabbing your hand. “come with me.” was all he said before he pulled you up with him, you waving bye frantically to shoko as he basically pulled you along, his longer strides being hard to keep up with.

he took you further outside than you were, surrounded by trees as he looked you up and down. you were just so pretty, so understanding, his voice was getting caught in his chest.

“satoru?” your voice snapped him out of his lovesick trance, his hands found yours and gripped them tightly, entangling the fingers within yours. he took a steady, deep breath, his hair was being blown back by the wind as his blue eyes finally landed onto yours again.

“[name].” he started, his heart already racing at the fact that your attention was all on him. “i– i should've done this a long time ago.”

your head tilted to the side, pulse quickening to match his, you bit your lip as you pondered over exactly what he meant, but he continued. “you– you're special to me. the things i do– we do- are special to me. the thought of you kissing, or being with anyone else,” his grip on your hands tightened impossibly, “it.. it upsets me.”

“i know it was wrong, wrong of me to expect you to wait around. to expect you to just be available for me whenever i wanted. but.. i– i just couldn't voice my feelings for you. you're like a safe place for me, a safe haven i could go to.”

he took another deep breath, having to look away from you for a moment. “i want to be that for you. i don't want someone else to come and take you away, i want to be as special to you as you are to me. no matter how selfish that makes me.”

he pressed his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if awaiting rejection. “so, be mine. and i'll be yours. please.” his hands shook in your wake as he waited, hearing the gasp you let out from under your lips. he wasn't sure if it was from his proximity, from his question, or from something else but all he knew is that you let go of his hands.

his heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach, eyes widened and teary as he looked at you, but his words were cut off by the feeling of your hands on his face. of the sight of your teary eyes that matched him. “of course, dummy.” with a kiss that felt as if it was your first, you sealed your promise. he couldn't help the smile that played over his mouth as he kissed you, couldn't help himself from falling back into your embrace.

he couldn't help but realize that you held his heart in your hand, how you cared for it and made him feel alive. that scared him, scared him so bad that he'd willingly played with your heart in the process.

but as you two laid on the grass, pointing out shapes in the sky together as usual, seeing you in the sun as a heart-shaped cloud came out at the perfect time,

he knew he did right by you, finally.

he kissed you again, bound by his love for you. bound by the fact that he wouldn't need to worry about this, not if he dedicate himself to you as much as you did him.

as much as you deserved.

[maxiroff]

Truth or dare ~Wanda Maximoff

Summary: Truth and dare leads to unexpected questions and unexpected answers. You show Wanda what true pleasure is really like.

Paring: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Words: 3711

Warnings: Smut, fingering

Note: English is not my first language and I have not proofread this so there may be some errors.

Once the party started to die down you, Natasha, Wanda and Carol decided to move up to your shared floor. You and Natasha were spread out on the sofa while Wanda and Carol sat in the armchairs in front of you. Both empty and full beer bottles filled the table in between you. While Starks parties more often than not doesn't have a reason, this one actually did. It was to celebrate that Carol was back on earth and that Wanda finally became an official member of the team.

The drinks had started to get to you all and you wanted to keep the party going between you after everyone left. That's how you started playing truth or dare but with a twist. You could not say no. “Truth or dare Y/N?” said Carol while taking a sip of her drink. “Truth” the grin on her face told you that it was exactly the answer she wanted. “What is the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you during sex.” The moment she said those words Natasha started laughing her ass off.

“Why are you laughing Nat?” said Wanda with a confused look. “Well lets just say I was there.” “You were?” Wanda said, questioning. You decided to butt in before Natasha could exaggerate the story. “Okay here's what happens. I happened to have ehh, a friends with benefits with one of the recruits we were training, Lucy. We happened to have the gym to ourselves and we took advantage of that. I was standing up and had her sitting on my shoulders, leaning her against the wall while I was fingering her and eating her out. Right as she was about to go over the edge Natasha walked through the door. Of course we didn't notice because Lucy's moaning was so loud so Nat witnessed the whole thing.”

“Damn, was it hot?” Of course it would be Carol who asked such a question. “Carol, you can't ask that.” Wanda said. “Yeah, Yeah it doesn't matter.” she responded. “Okay since you asked me, it's my turn now.” Considering Wanda had never been asked before, and you simply wanted to know, you decided to ask her. “Wanda” her name being said got her attention and she turned to you. “Yes” “Truth or dare?” “Truth” she said with a slight hesitation.

“I know you and Vision were together before, how many orgasms did he give you in one session?” Her cheek immediately reddened at the question and she suddenly thought the floor was very interesting. “He um-” she cleared her throat “He didn't really give me any.” Her body language showed that she was either embarrassed or nervous, her eyebrows were furrowed and she was plucking at her nailbands while she told us the answer.

Her answer didn't make any sense though. They had gotten together shortly after they both joined the team and they only broke up a few months ago. The time they had been together was torture. Remembering all the times they sat snuggled up together on the sofa, giggling and disturbing the team's movie nights. The jealousy had burned through you. You could treat her so much better than he did, he’s a robot bor fucks sake. You had never felt such relief as you did the day you found out they broke up.

“I’m sorry but you're gonna have to make that make sense to us. You were together for like six months, you have to have done something during that time.” While this seemed like normal talk between you, Natasha and Carol, Wanda had never felt more uncomfortable in her life. She was a shy person and would rather keep her romantic life privat. But with all eyes on her she almost felt obliged to answer your question.

“Well he always, you know, finished quite fast and I didnt want him to feel bad about not being able to satisfy me so I just faked it.” Her answer did not surprise you. Once again hes a fucking robot, he probably had a vibranium dick that was smaller than my finger. Could he even feel pleasure and cum like a real person if he is made out of metal.

“What, so he just believed you all that time and you had to finish yourself off.” Natasha’s voice sounded judging, seeing the look on her face she probably was judging her.

Wanda could feel her cheeks redden even more when she thought of the times where she was left unsatisfied by both Vision and her inexperienced hands. To be right at the edge but not able to get over it, to never experience real pleasure. Of course it was embarrassing to admit out loud, especially to you who she admired and liked in a not so friendly way.

She already felt embarrassed enough but the alcohol made her spill her secrets away. With her arms tightly wrapped around her legs the words flew out quietly. “Um no I never really knew what to do so I never got myself there.” She made the mistake of looking up and seeing the shocked look upon all your faces. She never thought she would feel this bad about being inexperienced.

When you saw how uncomfortable she was at the topic you decided to end her misery. “Okej, we are moving on. Wanda your turn.” “Okej Natasha, truth or dare”

With Nat knowing Wanda would choose something vanilla she decided that dare was a safe bet. “Okej, I dare you to sit in Carol’s lap for the rest of the game.” Maybe she’s not that vanilla after all.

Neither Nat nor Carol complained as Natasha happily made herself comfortable in Carol's lap, wiggling her ass as she sat down. “Now it's finally my turn.” She said as she looked mischievously between you and Wanda. Natasha knew of your longtime crush on Wanda and had been waiting for an opportunity to play matchmaker, she was not about to let it go to waste. “Y/N, truth or dare”

“Dare” You said as you lifted your drink to your lips, what's life without a little excitement. Unfortunately you knew you made the wrong choice as Natashas smirk grew a hundred times bigger. “I dare you to give Wanda her first ever orgasm.”

Wanda's eyes almost popped out of her head in surprise, while you choked on your drink. “I’m sorry WHAT!” Telling Nat about your crush was obviously a mistake and if looks could kill she wouldn’t even be 6ft under ground, she would be a 100ft. “You heard me” This fucking bitch. She was enjoying everything that was happening.

Wanda however did not. She was panicking and didn't know what to feel about the situation. This may have not been a big deal for you but it was for her. She wanted to be with you in every type of way, but not because of a dare. She wanted you to be her “first” and this however, may be the only chance she would get. In the spur of the moment that was enough. Even though she was terrified, her mind was made up.

“Okej” Hearing her agree to do this may have surprised you even more than Natasha asking the question. “What, are you really sure about this Wands?” She didn't know if the surprised look on your face was a good or bad sign and doubt began filling her mind. But then again, her mind was made up. “Yes, I am.”

“Okay then” You stood up from your seat and made your way towards Wanda and held out your hand towards her. She followed through and put her hand in yours and stood up making the space between you only a few inches. Looking at her face you could see her face held a determined look, but her eyes showed something else. She was nervous.

In an attempt to ease her nerves you softly squeeze her hand. The gesture brought warmth to Wanda making her release a shuddering breath and her shoulders lowering in relaxation. “Can we go to my room”

“Yes, of course” You said as you led her hand in hand towards her room. Being that it was only a few doors down it didn't take too long. You let her hand go as you opened the door letting her walk in first. When you followed you closed the door behind you, making sure to lock it.

Turning around you saw Wanda standing in the middle of the room, picking on her nails and cuticles, a clear sign she felt unsure of what was happening. Wanting to stop her from picking her skin you slowly took each hand in your own, bringing her attention back to you once again. “I want to know that if anything we do is making you uncomfortable and you want to stop or slow down, for any reason, just tell me and we will.” You slowly bring her in your arms and hold her tight, her smaller frame being embraced by your own. “I always want you to feel safe with me.”

The feeling of you being wrapped around her and your warm breath on her neck when you whispered in her ear brought a warm feeling in her stomach. She didn't know where the courage to place one hand on your neck and the other on your hip came from. Nor where it came from when she softly pressed her lips behind your ear. “I already do.”

Her surprisingly bold actions were easily turning you on. The feeling of her soft, plump lips on your neck made your hands move lower bringing her hips to your own. Holding her tightly you slipped your thigh between her legs and made her grind down.

Her skirt rode up at the motion and you heard her gasp as she felt the pleasure strike through her. While you kept up the movement you kissed her neck in various places searching for her most sensitive spots. Beginning with slow open-mouth kisses pressed gently to her skin, making her feel all the right sensations before sucking lightly. And when you felt it to be the right time you carefully bit her skin.

It took Wanda by surprise and with the combined pressure from your thigh between her legs she couldn't hold back the moan that slipped from her throat. She hid her head in your neck as her hands gripped onto you hard trying to steady herself.

Hearing her moan made you crave for more. Crave to have her under you, tasting her on your tongue and feel how wet she was. Hearing her moan and whine as she squirms and writhes in pleasure. Hear her scream when her walls squeeze your fingers when she cums.

Wanting to make your imaginations real you slowly push her backwards to her bed, making her lay down as you reach the edge. You slowly come on top of her till you come face to face with her looking deep into her eyes. While you kept eye contact, your hands found their way to the hem of her shirt and slowly crept up inside it. Her breath became heavier when she felt your hand make contact with her bare skin.

“Is it okay if I take this off?” You asked as you went from stroking the skin of her stomach to gripping the shirt. She answered by nodding her head. “That's not good enough Wanda, I need a verbal answer.” You said in a stern tone.

“Yes, it's okay if you take it off.” With that you slowly lifted the shirt above her head revealing more and more of her skin. When it was fully off you noticed that she had opted to not wear a bra. Her light brown nipples hardened from the change in temperature and you couldn't resist from cupping her breasts in your hands.

You looked deep in her eyes as you spoke softly “ Your beautiful Wanda.” Your words made her heart flutter as a blush spread upon her cheeks. Wanda had never felt so cherished before. The way you looked and spoke to her made her understand that you meant what you said, it wasn't something you said just because.

Being too shy to reply verbally she slowly connected her lips to your as a show of her appreciation. As your lips danced together she felt your hands starting to move, massaging her breasts and nipple. You mixed between softly stroking and lightly pinching her hardened buds. She whimpered into your mouth and she felt her arousal drip into her panties, slowly creating a dark spot.

As you had slipped your thigh between her legs yet again you could also feel the wet spot that was created. You detached your lips from hers, instead bringing open mouth kisses down her neck and collarbone until you reached her breasts. You removed one of your hands from their previous position, placing it on her hip instead.

Her whines from the loss were instantly quietened when you circled your tongue around her areola. You then dragged your tongue over her nipple and started to flick and suck on it. Her hand landed on your head, fingers threading through your hair to get a tight grip on it, holding you in place.

As your hand twisted and pinched her nipple you softly bit onto her other nipple with your teeth. As you raised your head, bringing her nipple with you, her back arched from the pained pleasure. Her legs clenched around your own, her hips desperately trying to grind against you.

A soft "Please" you heard come from her. “What do you want Wanda?” You asked when you change your mouth from her right breast to her left, doing the exact same thing as before.

“I want your fingers, please.” At the same time she told you what she wanted, her hand grabbed ahold of yours and guided it down to her panites. “Good girl.” You told her as you let go of her nipple. You started making your way down her stomach, leaving a trail of kisses after you. You were soon met with a pair of beautiful red lace panties. You could also clearly see the dark spot in the middle of them, showing off how aroused she really was.

“Is it okay if I take this off love?” You asked, softly looking up at her. “Yes, please.” She answered whilst nodding. You gripped both her skirt and panties at the same time, dragging them down her legs until they dropped down to the floor.

As you made your way up her body again you left a trail of wet kisses up her legs. When you came up to her thigh you started lightly biting, leaving bruises behind. Coming up to her pussy you placed a kiss right above her small patch of dark hair.

Her hips bucked at the motion and a quiet moan slipped past her throat. You parted her legs, moving to lay between them, coming face to face with her again. “Are you really sure that this is what you want Wands? I don’t want to do anything you're not comfortable with.”

“Yes, I promise I want this, I feel safe with you.” She said that she caressed your cheek. Her words almost brought tears to your eyes. To know that she trusts you fully with her body and her pleasure.

You pressed your lips to hers, dragging your tongue across her bottom lip asking for permission to enter. She opened her mouth, tangling her tongue with yours. You used her being distracted in the interment moment to bring your hand down to her pussy.

You dragged your whole hand from her clit to her weeping hole, gathering her arousal on your two middle fingers you dragged them back up to her clit. You rubbed circles around it, teasing her by never fully touching it directly. She grunted into your mouth in frustration, her hips bucking up into your hand seaking the friction she needed.

“If you want something you have to tell me Wanda.” You reminded her. Your words made her even more frustrated, couldn't you see that she just needed you. She needs you to make her cum, not to draw it out by teasing her. She barely had any control over her own body left, her hips were bucking wildly in need and her folds were puffy and sticky from all the arousal leaking out of her.

“Please, I just want you to make me cum.” She pleaded. You could see the desperation in her eyes, how they were glazed over, only focusing on you. You knew how much she needed this, you weren't blind. You however, also knew how much sweeter her first release would be with how worked up she was.

“It’s okay love, I’ll take care of you.” Your lips connected to hers yet again, you pressed down on her clit with your thumb, tracing her entrance before sinking into her with your middle- and ring finger. “Oh God.” Her back arched as you pumped your fingers inside of her. She was so wet you could hear sounds coming from her at every thrust.

Her nails dug into your back, leaving deep, red scratch marks, desperately wanting to have you as close as possible. She hid her head in your neck as a way of trying to quieten down her moans. “Don’t do that.” you whispered against her ear. “Don’t hide those lovely sounds from me.” You curled your fingers, making them hit the most pleasurable spot inside her. “I want to hear how good I make you feel.”

She couldn't hold back anymore. Nobody had ever made her feel as good as she felt now when your fingers repeatedly kept hitting her g-spot. Loud moans spilled from her mouth and you could feel how her walls clenched around your fingers.

With your thumb playing with her clit and your fingers working inside of her your hand began cramping. The angle was a bit awkward and you couldn't use the force that you wanted to.

When you attempted to move your hand into a better position Wanda's hand shot down to yours, desperately trying to keep you in place. She panicked when she felt you move, being so embarrassing close she was afraid you would stop before she was pushed over the edge. “No, please don’t stop. I haven’t finished yet. ” She said, looking up at you pleadingly.

“I know, don’t worry sweetheart.” You chuckled. “I’m just changing into a better position.” You pecked her lips, trying to reassure her further. You moved your hand so that your palm was pressed against her clit, making it easy for you to grind it against her as you yet again eased your finger in.

The act made Wanda relax and place her hand back around your neck. You picked up the pace making sure that your palm stimulated her clit at the same time. You knew she was close again from how her body started tensing. Her legs locked up around your arm and her grip tightened around you.

“Fuck you feel so good, I’m so close!” She moaned against you. “It’s okay, be a good girl and cum for me Wanda.” And she did. “Ohhhh” She let out an almost pornographic moan as her back arched and her whole body trembled. Her eyes shut tight at the utter pleasure that pulsed through her. You could feel her cum leaking out of her as you slowly brought her down from her orgasm.

“There you go, you did so good my love.” You slowly pulled your fingers out and started stroking her legs and her waist bringing her back in the moment with you. Her body slowly lowered back into the bed as she relaxed against you. You left a light trail of kisses from her shoulder up her neck and ended it with a kiss to her forehead. The muscles in her face instantly relaxed and she opened her eyes looking up at you.

“Hi” You smiled down at her. “Hi” She whispered back with a blush rising up her cheeks. “How are you feeling, are you okay?” You were afraid you maybe had taken things too far in the moment and that she would start to regret what you had done.

“Yes I’m okay, I promise. This was amazing. You are amazing.” She said as she stroked your cheek. The worry in your eyes was clear and she wanted you to know you didn’t do anything wrong. She could also feel the heat that rose to your face due to her compliment, not being used to it.

trying to hide it from her you connected your lips and dragged your tongue against her bottom one asking for entrance. Of course she granted it and swirled her tongue with yours. You took your time to just enjoy the moment and the efter bliss, only parting when air became an issue.

"Stay here I’m just gonna get a towel so I can clean you up.” She nodded and you left to go to the bathroom. When you came back with the damp towel you gently cleaned her between her legs and where you had dragged your hand as you were trying to calm her down. Wanda watched as you made sure not to leave any residue left.

When you were done you threw the towel towards the bathroom not wanting to depart from Wanda. “ Hey Wands, would you like to sleep here tonight?” Her being exhausted and on the verge of falling asleep wouldn't say no to that. “Yes please.”

You laid down besides her opening your arm allowing her to snuggle into you. Your legs ended up being tangled, your arms wrapped around each other and she used your shoulder as her pillow. “Thank you for doing this, good night.”

“Of course love.” “Ehh before you sleep, would it be okay if I took you on a proper date tomorrow?”. She tightened her grip on you and kissed your neck before whispering out “Yes I would love nothing more.” With that you both fell asleep happy and content in each other's arms.

[sophiethewitch1]

congrats on the milestone sophie! i'm so excited to read what you have to share with us! For your 1k celbration, if it's not too much, I'd like to ask for ABXS for Jason and Dick uwu And if ur feeling particularly sharing I'd also love an L from all of them owo

Strei!!! Thank you for the kind words, here's what you asked for. I even did the L's as well for my dearest most beloved mutual <3

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gen yandere behaviour, murder, stalking, worshipping/weirdly religious undertones for Dick, um pet play sort of?? Jason would bark if you asked him to is all I'm saying.

A = Affection (Is Their Love All-consuming, Expressed Through Possessive Gestures and Overwhelming Intensity With No Bounds?):

Jason: Spreading my Jason Todd Loyal Dog Agenda here but he’s so unbelievably loyal. Way, way too loyal. It doesn’t matter if he personally agrees with whatever your decisions are, he’s listening like the loyal hound he is. Will push and prod at you, but at the end of the day, he’s devoted. While he’d always prefer to be as close to you as possible, he’s willing to stay away if that’s what you really want. Simple guy, aware of himself, and mostly in control of his more fervent tendencies. He refuses to lose control of you, to take too much, so he doesn’t take any. Just giving, giving, giving. He only hopes you’ll take him.

Dick: Dick is probably one of the most clingy yanderes out there. While others might stalk you, or protect you from afar, that’s not Dick’s methodology. He wants to be with you all the time, and make you happy all the time, and he spends his afternoons daydreaming about sitting between your thighs for hours at a time. All the time, if it was possible. While he’s trying not to overwhelm you, he’ll stay as calm and charming as possible. But eventually, he’s going to have to start confessing his love to you because he feels like he’ll explode with it. Along with acts of service, physical affection, and verbal affection, he also really likes buying you things. He’s an all-rounder. Still, he prefers buying you experiences rather than items, like holidays or trips to the fair. He decides against buying you a private island to visit for the summer, but only after staring at the property page online for three hours straight. Like I said, he really is trying!

B = Blood (How Messy Are They Willing to Get in Pursuit of Their Darling? Would They Embrace Chaos and Revel in the Crimson Tableau Painted by Their Actions?):

Dick: I’ve mentioned before that he’s pretty hesitant to kill. He’s gotten over his wild younger years, and is now more mature and in control of emotions. Now, all of that is one huge lie he tells himself that only lasts as long nobody ever tries to hurt you. Dick wears his heart on his sleeve, and then it gets even worse when you come around because his heart is just walking around outside his chest, with no aknowledgement for the dangers of the world. He does try, he really does, but when he snaps, he snaps hard. He’s not too bad of a sadist (also a lie) but when he easily catches whoever has been bothering you, he… well, he might play with them. Just a little bit. He doesn’t kill, he’s very careful of that, but honestly if I was that poor soul, I’d rather be dead. And then the next day, he goes back to being the cheerful sweetheart we all know and love!

Jason: I’ve also mentioned that Jason, unlike Dick, is very, very eager to get bloody. In canon, he enjoys punishing sinners and whatnot, and when he’s fallen for you, uh… So, basically, Jason would rather die than admit it, but he thinks of himself as your protector, your knight in shining leather armour. And along with that previously mentioned possessiveness, he totally lets it get out of hand. He’s aware you probably don’t want him slaughtering everyone who has ever harmed a single hair on your head, but unless you specifically tell him not to, he’s not going to stop. But if you do, he will. He’s loyal, he’s fervent in that loyalty. He wants to destroy anything that could ever hurt you. But he’d never go against your ruling, your will. He might complain about it, though. Loudly, very loudly. However, if you do want everyone who has ever annoyed you dead, he’s totally up for it no questions asked. Would probably consider it a date night of sorts.

S = Stigma (Can the Roots of Their Obsession Be Traced to a Dark Past, a Blend of Childhood Trauma, Twisted Curiosity, and a Skewed Perception of Love?):

Dick: Oh boy, this guy… He’s the poster child for childhood trauma affecting your perception of love. When his parents were murdered, he latched onto Bruce. And when Bruce kicked him out, he latched onto Bludhaven. And now when even Bludhaven can’t bring him any semblance of comfort, of home, you’re fucking heaven-sent. He latches onto you like a benign growth, and god help anyone who tries to tear the two of you apart.

Jason: Oh boy times two. Not the best childhood, raised on the streets. Taken in by Bruce, things are looking better and then- Well, we all know what happens then. After the trauma of literally digging himself out of his own grave, he feels a bit… disconnected from the world? He feels like a ghost, like he’s still dead, like his death never even mattered and the world kept going after he’d been gone. And that’d fuck up anybody, but someone personally trained by the Batman? Woof. We see in Under The Red Hood that Jason really does think vengeance is proof of love, at least in his case. To him, love is bloody and ruthless. It’s cannibalistic. A give and take. But since he doesn’t want to take from you, he’ll just give himself over wholly.

X = Xoanon (Does Their Reverence for Their Darling Border on Worship, Reaching Extreme Lengths to Prove Their Devotion and Ensure Unwavering Loyalty?):

Dick: He sees you like the sun. Powerful, brilliant, beautiful. And you’ll probably burn him to cinders as he loves you, but he doesn’t care. He probably enjoys the idea a little. Wouldn’t it be nice, to die in your arms? To close his eyes and disappear into you, where he’d never be apart from you again? He realises that sort of thinking is a bit creepy, but it’s one of the few things he simply can’t fight against. Not even the littlest bit. He’s self-aware to know he’s putting you on a pedestal, that you’re not some god or something, you’re just like him. Human. Maybe that makes him worship you even more. He can’t tell, it’s too blurry these days. He just knows you’re important, more so than he is. More so than anything is, really. Also, gotta mention body worship kink. Like, he’s really way too into it honestly. He’ll service you for however long you can last, and then place a hundred kisses against your exhausted body telling you how good you did, how perfect you are. When you look at him after a session like that, you can always see something a little too intense, too crazed to be called love. He knows he’s trying to hide it. He’ll do better next time, okay?

Jason: You’re his master. The hand around the leash. He’s angry at the world, so fucking angry. He wants to destroy it all. Assuming here, you probably don’t want the entire world blown to smithereens, so you’re his… conscience. Whatever you say goes. If you say Joker dies today, then he dies. If you say he can never kill another soul, then he won’t. He’s sassy about all of it, but it’s painfully obvious to literally everyone that he will follow every single order you give. And of course, he wants it that way. Maybe he really should get a collar for himself. He thinks it’d be cute, with your name on it in brilliant gold letters. He certainly thinks that the reaction his goons would give would be worth the effort, never mind your own reaction. Call him your good boy and you will get railed so hard you break the bed, lmfao

L = Love Letters (Is Courting an Intricate Dance Marked by Obsessive Letters and Gestures That Blur the Line Between Devotion and Insanity?):

Dick: I can’t see Dick ever actually sending you the letters he writes, but my god, he writes them. At first, it’s just little doodles in the corners of his very important paperwork, and then he’s scribbling on sticky notes, and eventually, he just gives in and buys a fucking notebook. They’re long winded and silly and he’d absolutely rather die than share them with you. But they make it just the slightest bit easier to choke down his devotion to you, so it doesn’t strangle him right then and there. He almost finds it as addicting as you are, almost being the keyword here. It’s genuinely pretty embarrassing, from an outsider’s standpoint. It’s like what a middle schooler would write in their diary, just lots of your name and hearts and very ridiculous poetry. He’d be good at it if it wasn’t about you, okay?

Jason: Jason, in direct contrast to Dick, writes very good poetry. Especially when it’s about you. It’s the sort of stuff they’ll put in museums, that future historians will write about. Of course they won’t know half of his more demented metaphors are just… straight up things he’s done for you. It’s flowing and beautiful and it’d make you tear up if you ever read it. You probably won’t just because Jason doesn’t really care if you read it, so he won’t share it with you on purpose. However if you find him one day in the library, and you ask to see whatever it is he’s made, you’ll be so very, very lucky. And Jason will turn tomato red, so that’s another plus.

Tim: Everybody knows that when Tim starts a list again, his mental health is on the decline. The list about you is concerningly long. And I’m really not saying that lightly, for Mr ‘I stalk literally everyone at least a little bit’. It’s something at four hundred thousand words by now, he’s not sure exactly. The little note app on his phone has had to suffer through hundreds or even thousands of hours of Tim writing down the most minute details of you and your life. How do you like to sit best? Is your posture okay, or should he worry about it? When you’re hungry, what food do you go for first? What about when you’re sick? If he’s ever around, tapping away on his phone, and you think he’s not paying you any attention, you’d be very, very wrong. Would probably share it with you just to laugh at your horrified face.

Damian: Damian was raised to perfect every form of art, from martial to dance, to even the more traditional ones. He’s always had a fondness for painting, and you’re most certainly his muse. Instead of letters, he paints you. For every memory he has of you, he has at least a sketch. He doesn’t care for almost all of them, as he doesn’t think they capture your beauty properly, so he doesn’t really care what happens with said drawings. Your first meeting has been drawn at least twenty times, and your sleeping face probably double that. Yes, he does draw you in more passionate poses as well. Your face all fucked out, drool leaking from your lips, is a personal favourite of his. He’ll probably share those ones with you, enjoying seeing you squirm. Asking if you want to help him find some extra inspiration because he’s all irritatingly smooth like that. Will laugh if you crush the lewd drawing up, agreeing it doesn’t do you justice. He’ll just have to try again.

[star-girl69]

Too Sweet

Caroline (KK) Harvey x Fem!Reader

—-

synopsis: a niche celebrity yourself, you and caroline try to keep your relationship private and secret- despite the rumors circling. but secrets come out when you’re on live.

a/n: this MIGHT be the worst thing i have ever written… anyways 😍 from this ask, i hope you all enjoy!!

Too Sweet - Hozier

warnings: reader cries like twice, i took this and ran w it lmao, hmmm like hurt/comfort, mentions of sex, kissing, the whole shabang, swearing, pretty chill but suggestive at times so lmk if i missed anything!!

—-

“Oh, my God!” You shout, sitting up in your girlfriend’s bed, blankets slipping off of you. She groans next to you, head falling off of your shoulder and arm still around your waist.

“I was asleep,” she complains.

“Look!” You shout, shaking her slightly as you shove your phone in her face.

Caroline, your very wonderful and very sleepy girlfriend who claims naps just aren’t the same if you’re not in bed with her, blinks a few times as her eyes adjust. You unpause the Tik Tok video, and the song plays, some emotion forming in her eyes that you can’t quite name. The sound starts looping again, and you shake your phone.

“See? It’s an edit! Of me!!”

She smiles. “Oh, wow, baby. You’re really famous now, huh?” Your stomach twists as she watches the edit in total adoration, pupils blown despite her sleepy eyes. It’s just a clips of you from screen recorded lives or Tik Tok’s from someone on the team, but you can’t help but be happy anyways.

You don’t want that whole famous thing, the spotlight and the pressure- you’re just glad your girlfriend is getting the attention she deserves. She’s the most talented person you know- an Olympian, for God’s sake.

“I like this,” she smiles. “It’s cute. Send it to me.”

You laugh but send it anyways, your eyes catching on the small text that says 12 comments.

Nobody knows you and Caroline are dating. At least, the fans don’t. After Caroline started coming to fame and Laila followed, the Badgers become sort of a social media hotspot. They were all talented and hilarious- they deserved it.

You’ve only been dating Caroline for a few months, but you’d been friends with her for years before that- always teetering on the edge of something more. In fact, the first time you were ever brought up was people questioning who you were in the background of lives- questioning if you were dating someone on the team.

Caroline did love her fans a lot, she often ranted about how cool is was being able to share her life with people and how amazing it was to be an inspiration to so many young girls who feel discriminated in sports, but the talk of introducing you to them hasn’t quite come up yet.

Maybe you’re still in the honeymoon phase. Maybe all the people who deserve to know- your friends and family- are the people who already know.

user-1 ok who tf is she. seriously like i love her but WHO

user-2 @/user-1 her name is y/n!! she doesn’t play for the badgers but she’s friends w all of them and hangs out w them a lot

user-1 i heard a rumor she’s dating kk… i would actually go crazy.

user-4 ok she’s pretty but like kk and i are married sooooo

user-3 i don’t even think she’s that pretty tbh

user-2 um ok wow wtf did she do to you

user-3 nothing i just don’t think she’s that pretty

user-3 if she is dating kk then kk could do a lot better (cough me cough)

You can’t help but frown, reading the words over and over again.

“What?” Caroline asks, cupping your hand with her own to angle the screen towards her. She turns from half-asleep to wide awake in seconds. “They don’t know what the fuck they’re talking about.”

You turn your phone off and let it drop onto the blankets, turning towards KK. She sits up immediately, putting both of her hands on your face- but you can’t quite meet her eyes.

“Hey, hey. Don’t listen to them. Look at me. Please. Don’t listen to them.”

“I’m not,” you say after a moment, eyes still shut. “It’s fine. I just… don’t get it.”

“You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, and you’re all I’ve wanted for years. And now that I finally have you, I’m not letting you go. And I’m not letting you get it in your head that you’re not good enough for me- because you are.”

You don’t notice a tear has fallen down your face until she’s kissing it away.

“You’re perfect,” she says, with an air of finality you can’t help but smile at. “I love you. Don’t think otherwise. Of course, if you need some reassurance I’m always down to tell you how much I love you.”

“Thank you, KK,” you whisper, softly clearing your throat as you’re finally able to meet her eyes. “I love you, too.”

All you can do is think about when she won the NCAA championship last year, when she was high off of the win and came out of the locker room to find you- smiling so brightly and gushing about how good she had played- and all she did was smile at you, grab your face, and kiss you so hard you got tilted back onto an axis you didn’t even know you were knocked off of.

And suddenly, with her lips on yours, everything in the world felt right. And it’s felt right since then. It feels right now, 4 months into your relationship, with Caroline holding your face and kissing your tears away.

“Maybe we shouldn’t tell them,” she whispers, kind of blurts it out. “I-I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and, well, this kinda sealed it. I don’t want them to get in your head, like this. I… just want you all to myself, really.”

You laugh, and she smiles back, her eyes moving from your lips to the bridge of your nose to your eyes.

“Won’t keeping it a secret be kinda annoying?”

“I mean, not being able to show you off will suck, but if it means you don’t cry about stupid people again then I’ll do it.”

“Okay, then. We don’t have to tell them.”

“Exactly.” She kisses you, once, like she’s sealing a promise between the two of you. “Besides, nothing about you is ever annoying.”

—-

The edit of you ended up going kind of viral, and then more and more were made, until suddenly you had 2000 followers on Tik Tok and hundreds of private messages begging you to go live with the team, or film some kind of video, or do anything.

The first thing you ever posted was a simple get ready with me, and that received so much support you did another one, and then you did a day in the life- that one featured Caroline, so it went very viral- and suddenly you went live one night, and then it all just kinda fell into place.

There was nothing more exciting then getting another sweet comment or message telling you how much they looked forward to your videos, or absolutely hilarious comments people would leave under your posts.

But, with your own social media fame skyrocketing and Caroline’s still staying strong- she was right. They did judge you, they did get into your head.

And they weren’t dumb, you quickly realized. This sort of abstract group of people you called “they” and listened to, they knew something was happening.

There were three instances that caused the fans to guess you and Caroline were more than just friends.

—-

The girls decided to have another movie night, and all of you were laying lazily about the couches and the floor, Laila on live showing off her fabulous singing skills yet again, and you were sitting with KK on the couch.

You weren’t even that close to each other. Your thighs touched, sure, and she had her arm around her shoulder- but she kept it back, so it was more so on the back of the couch and not touching you. But, her comforting presence was there, and that was enough for you.

Someone had paused the movie a while ago, and it had turned more into a hangout session that was filled with obnoxious singing and laughter.

“I should probably go soon,” you muttered to KK.

“Why?” She frowned, pressing her leg into yours.

“I have a test tomorrow morning, I should go to bed soon.”

You still whispered to each other, even though the room was pretty loud.

“You sure you don’t wanna sleep over? I’ll drive you over in the morning.”

She was always trying to get you to sleep at her apartment. Or just be at her apartment in general- sometimes, you would hang out at their place while they had practice and make dinner for them, and KK would jokingly call you her wife and thank you for having dinner on the table.

You have to cross your legs when she wraps her arms around you and kisses your cheek, saying “thank you, my wonderful wife.”

“I wanna be in my own bed, K.”

She leans in, closer to you so her lips are ghosting over your ear. “My bed is your bed, baby.”

She leaves a kiss to the shell of your ear, pulling away with a small smile on her face and you can feel your cheeks heat. And she knows the reaction she has on you, and she’s very proud of it.

You smile. “I’m sorry, Caroline. Not tonight, okay?”

“Are you sure?” She asks, hand playing with the hair at the back of your head. You turn to her, amused smile on your face she can’t take her eyes away from.

“I am one thousand percent sure that I don’t want to go to your place tonight.”

“You’re no fun,” she teases.

“I’m plenty of fun,” you gasp, faking offense with a hand over your chest. She takes her arm off of your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you gonna prove that? ‘Cause I don’t think I believe you.”

“I think I proved that Friday night.” You place your hand on her chest, fingertip drawing patterns on her collarbone. She visibly swallows. “You remember?”

“Fuck yeah I remember, but I still think you should show me again.”

“Fuck!” Laila suddenly shouts, and you whip around only to find her frantically clicking buttons on her phone before simply throwing it across the room.

The chatter stops. Ava, another girl on the team, picks the phone up from where it’s fallen by her feet and looks at it.

“Um, what was that for?” She asks, and you can see the live ended screen on Laila’s phone.

“I’m so sorry,” Laila says. “They heard you.”

Your eyes widen. “The thing about Friday night?”

“I don’t know! I wasn’t listening to you, what the fuck were you even saying? I just looked at the comments and suddenly everyone was asking who KK was talking to, and like, ‘wow, KK is so hot.’”

Caroline rolls her eyes. “Okay, whatever. That could have been about anything.”

“Caroline,” you mutter. “It’s pretty obvious it was about sex.”

“Okay, shush,” Laila says, holding her hands out. “First of all, why are you doing that when we’re all in the room? Second, oh, my God I am so sorry.”

You sigh, cracking your knuckles. Caroline immediately grabs one of your hands. “It’s not your fault, Lai. It’s fine- I mean, if we ignore it then they’ll probably just stop talking about it. Right?”

“Probably,” Laila agrees. “They’ll forget about it tomorrow. Hopefully it doesn’t end up in the edits.”

You can’t help but laugh. If you don’t laugh, you might cry.

@/user-1 here’s the screen recording!! side note: i NEED to know who kk was talking to at the end.

> View 102 commets

user-2 wait what do they say at the end

user-3 @/user-2 basically kk and another girl are just flirting like crazy

user-4 @/user-3 they could still be friends

user-3 @/user-4 um no that was gay as hell

user-5 WHAT HAPPENED FRIDAY NIGHT KK PLS PICS OR IT DIDNT HAPPEN

user-6 @/user-5 EXACTLY

—-

Your voice felt a little scratchy, and you couldn’t stop coughing- you had been screaming so hard during the entire game that you’re sure you’re going to wake up without a voice tomorrow.

The Badgers just won the last game they needed to win- the qualifying game for the Frozen Four tournament. This was the third year in a row Caroline had gone to the championships, and by the way a huge dog pile had formed on the ice when the buzzer went off- everyone was just a little excited.

You waited as patiently as you could outside of the locker room, but you found yourself again fidgeting with your hands and walking back and forth. All you could think about was just kissing Caroline so hard you saw stars, and telling her how good she did.

You closed your eyes for a moment, finally leaning back against the wall as you thought back to the goal she had scored. Maybe it was weird, but there was honestly nothing sexier to you than watching Caroline in her element like that.

Hockey was where she shined, where she was her truest self- and not only was it exhilarating to watch her in general, but she also looked really good doing it.

The door finally creaked open and your cheeks burned from smiling too hard, all of the Badgers coming out of the locker room and running to great their own friends and family who had gathered outside. It took a second for her face to appear in the line of people exiting, she was laughing with Laila and a few other girls about something, she was smiling just as wide as you were and, God, she looked so pretty.

When she saw you, it wasn’t possible for her smile to get bigger, but her smile changed. Suddenly, you felt so loved just by the way she was looking at you.

You practically ran across the room, half jumping into her arms, pressing yourself as close to her as you could. You kissed her nose as you wrapped your arms around her neck, and her hands ran along down your arms to your shoulders, then down your sides to finally hold onto your hips.

“Holy shit,” she said, smiling, still kind of in disbelief.

“I am so, so, so fucking proud of you, baby.”

Her eyes search all across your face, almost like she’s taking in every inch of this moment. You know that she’s been looking forward to this moment since the buzzer went off- her weird pleasure is that she thinks you’re so hot when you’re supporting her- and she drinks in everything about you like she’s trapped in a dessert and you’re water.

She doesn’t need to say thank you, because the way she kisses you, hands squeezing your hips even closer to her, hard and unrelenting and depriving you of air but you can’t think about anything else when she gets like this with you, is more than enough.

She kisses you like she’s starved, and there’s nothing else you love more than this moment with her.

When she does finally pull away, panting slightly but still chuckling at the way you’re literally about to pass out from lack of air- that’s the one shitty thing about her endurance, you swear she’s gonna kill you with kisses- she presses her forehead against yours.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “Thank you. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

There’s a few tears in her eyes.

Laila suddenly appears next to the two of you, her 6’1 frame quite literally casting a shadow over the two of you and your happy moment.

“We’re having a moment, Laila,” KK groans, but she’s smiling so hard.

“Great, some rando is taking a video, though.”

“Fuck.”

> View 236 comments

user-1 IS THAT CAROLINE HARVEY? IS THAT CAROLINE HARVEY KISSING A GIRL??

user-2 kk harvey girl kisser confirmed… this is a win

user-3 KK HOW COULD U CHEAT ON ME

user-4 @/user-3 KK THE KIDS MISS UUUUU

user-5 ok but appreciation for the hand placement.

user-6 @/user-5 THE WAY SHES KISSING HER??? LIKE A WOMAN STARVED??? that’s a hozier kinda kiss bro

user-7 @/user-6 would do anything to be in that girls place rn

user-8 can’t tell very well from this angle but i think the other girl is wearing a harvey jersey!! how cute

user-9 ok but the way laila blocks the camera from seeing them… that’s my wifey right there

user-10 absolutely obsessed with the way kk covers the other girls face when they walk away

user-11 @/user-10 we love a protective gf

user-12 don’t mind me just watching this video for the hundredth time

user-13 okay am i going crazy or is that y/n l/n??

—-

“Ok, hi Live. Y/N, say hi to the live.”

“Hi guys!” You smiled at the camera, keeping your eyes fixed on the boiling pot of pasta you were currently stirring.

“What are you guys making?” Laila reads, before shoving the camera yet again in your face.

“Okay, calm down,” you scold, setting aside your spoon and grabbing her phone. “Don’t bother me while I’m dealing with dangerous liquids.”

“It’s water,” Laila deadpans.

“Boiling water.”

Laila rolls her eyes but doesn’t give a verbal response, so you just smile and switch the camera around.

“Okay so, as you can see we’ve got some pasta boiling and some veggies and chicken cut up, and then we’re gonna cook that, and like… yeah.”

You look back towards the comments, most of them asking for KK. You decide to be nice, looking around the apartment and finding that your girlfriend is nowhere to be found.

“Carolineeeee,” you call, stretching out her name. “The people want to see you!”

The door to her bedroom creaks open, and she walks out carrying a hoodie. “What?”

“Laila went live,” you explain, flipping the camera around. “Okay, smile! Give us a little wave!”

user-1 y/n is so mom core

KK gives you a bored look, but begrudgingly puts on a very fake smile and waves.

“Aww how cute! What’s the hoodie for?” You ask, turning the camera back around and doing a few poses for the camera, admiring yourself.

“You. You said you were cold, like, two seconds ago.”

“Oops. Yeah, I did.”

user-2 kk is such a sweetheart

user-3 kk who were you kissing in that video??

user-4 i’m 99% sure it was y/n

user-5 i don’t think so

user-4 nobody asked you

user-6 KK PLS ADDRESS THE VIDEO

You prop the camera down against a random glass of water someone left on the counter, catching the hoodie Caroline throws at you and quickly putting it on.

“Okay, fit check!” You do a little spin, watching KK smile at the way her last name looks on your back. “Hoodie is from Caroline, bottoms are from… Under Armor, and… yeah, I don’t know where these socks are from.”

A few people compliment you, but the chat is still mostly filled with people asking for KK- or asking about the video.

The video that thankfully hasn’t been connected to you yet… but still, your name has been mentioned as a culprit multiple times.

You sigh, heavily. “I’m not good enough for them, they only want you, KK.”

She smiles but joins you in front of the camera, her eyes catching on your pouty lips for a second before she looks at the camera, wrapping her arm around your waist and standing close to you.

Immediately, the comments flood with questions about the video.

The two of you very pointedly ignore them, and Caroline finally gets up to grab the phone, opening the cabinet above the stove and propping it up in there. You sit on the counter behind them, legs swinging in the air as Laila shows off her vegetable cutting skills before dumping them in a pan to cook.

KK leans right next to you on the counter, her shoulder touching your arm, she squints at the camera before placing her hand on your thigh. You look down for a quick second, seeing that was in fact KK’s hand very not-friendly placed on your thigh, whipping to her with your eyes wide.

“Caroline,” you whisper, trying to subtlety push her away from you.

“Relax,” she whispers back. “They can’t see. You’re still my girlfriend, I wanna touch you.”

You look away, hoping the camera doesn’t catch the heat in your cheeks or the way you smile.

“Y/N,” Laila says, reading yet again from the live. “Someone wants to know why you’re always at our place.”

“What kind of question is that?” KK asks with an amused smile while you laugh. She pinches your cheek with her free hand. “Who wouldn’t want to look at this face all day?”

“You certainly do,” you laugh. Caroline smiles up at you. You’ve long since decided her smiles are your favorite thing in the world, but every time she smiles at you- which is a lot- you still get that same feeling you get when she first kisses you at that game.

“Okay,” Laila says, acting nonchalant as she turns around. “Hello?” She says, so quietly you have to read her lips. “Tone it down?”

You suddenly realize what you said.

You swallow and suddenly find the ceiling very interesting.

Caroline squeezes your thigh to be comforting but doesn’t look at you. You really want her to look at you. You wonder, for just a second, if maybe it would be easier to just tell people.

Then you remember the comments.

You still get them sometimes, the random trolls who don’t think you’re pretty or worthy enough for KK, to be friends with the team in general- and they make you feel so fucking shitty about yourself that KK’s even caught you crying about them a few times.

You know it’s stupid.

You try to listen to her, to not let them bother you- but maybe you’re just not as tough as her. Or you’re stupid, weak, sensitive- they bother you. They cut you deep like a sharp knife.

You hop down from the counter, KK’s hand sliding off of you. “Gonna run to the bathroom,” you mutter.

You can feel Caroline’s eyes on your back as you walk away. And she does come find you, but she waits a minute. She does ask what’s wrong, and you say nothing and she knows you’re lying- so she asks Laila to end the live.

And even though they’re not there anymore, you still carry the fear of their judgement.

@/user-1 screen recording from the live!!! i love kk and y/n’s relationship so much <3

> View 97 comments

user-2 if y/n and kk are JUST friends i’ll pay everyone on this planet 100 dollars

> view comment thread

user-3 really?? idk i think they’re just friends

user-4 kk said “who wouldn’t want to stare at this face all day” and y/n said “you do” that’s gay…

user-5 kk literally got a hoodie for her when she mentioned she was cold and then when she came on camera she looked at y/n’s lips

user-3 i just don’t know if i see it tbh like i don’t see them together

user-5 they’re dating mark my words

—-

It’s been weeks since the video came out, since the clips of the lives started circling, since more and more people starting saying your name when discussing who KK was dating- since everyone pretty much knew she was dating someone now, the only question was who.

Thankfully, despite the initial week where your comments were filled with people asking who Caroline was dating- asking if it was you- it finally died down, and people had either forgotten it or gotten bored by the lack of response.

And, you had found comfort in your own account. There was the occasional hate comment- but you didn’t cry anymore. There were always people ready to defend you, and everyone was just genuinely so sweet to you. They wanted to know about your life, your routines, your outfits- and the KK content you provided was just an added bonus.

That’s what you’re doing, Friday night at 4pm. The Badgers had a home game today, and like most home games, you were going to watch from the stands, cheering on your girl and the rest of your friends.

You decided to go live, sitting on the floor in KK’s room in front of her floor length mirror, pulling out her desk chair next to you, placing a stack of books on it and propping your phone up against it.

It was kind of therapeutic, answering random question about yourself and the team while you got ready. You showed the camera each product you used, and then they watched as you put it on- a few people even managing to give you helpful tips. It made you feel kinda wanted, kinda loved, kinda…good.

The door opens, and you look over your shoulder to see Caroline walking in.

“Hi, K,” you greet.

“Hi,” she says back, kind of distracted, already rifling through her messy bedside table, then her dresser-

“Okay, what are you looking for?” You laugh, smiling.

“Hairtie.”

You roll your eyes. “Babe, they’re on your desk, remember?”

“Oh,” she mumbles, eyebrows raising as she suddenly remembers that, yes, she did put the ceramic jar full of hair ties on her desk last night. She grabs one, standing behind you and pulling her hair back into a somewhat lazy ponytail.

She crouches down behind you, putting her arms around your neck. She looks at you in the mirror, and you look back.

“Well?” You say, teasing her, looking for a thank you.

She smiles.

“Thank you, baby.” She kisses your cheek. “Always keeping me in check.”

Your phone suddenly buzzed about 20 times, and you look over to the desk chair, mouth dropping in horror as you realize you’re still on live.

Fuck.

You’re still on live.

“Shit!” You practically screech, grabbing your phone and panicking, hitting buttons randomly before opting to just close the app altogether. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Caroline is completely frozen behind you.

“Were you… just… on live?”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, and suddenly tears are streaming down your face faster than you can stop them, and all you can do is watch your pretty makeup get slowly ruined. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, I- I don’t- I’m sorry.”

Her hands come to your shoulders and she fully sits down behind you, massaging your shoulders gently as she kisses the back of your head, shushing you softly.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, sweetheart.” Her lips move against your hair. “Baby, it’s okay.”

She doesn’t try to comfort you beyond that, just calling you baby and telling you it’s okay, even though you want to scream that it’s not. It’s not okay.

She just lets you cry. And you cry, you cry for what feels like twelve hours.

“Y/N,” she finally whispers.

“What?” You moan back, sniffling.

“What are you thinking right now?”

You scoff at the ridiculous question.

But, you can’t help but lean back into her. She wraps her arms around you, keeping your arms tucked to your sides, her legs outside of yours, touching you- you never feel safer than you do when you’re in her arms like this.

“I’m thinking I’m the worst girlfriend in the world, and-”

You’re cut off by another sob.

“I’m so sorry,” you say again, because all you can do right now is apologize. “Are you mad?”

“Am I mad? Baby, I’m fine. It’s completely fine. Maybe this wasn’t the most perfect, thought-out way to launch “us,” but it’s okay. I promise, I’m not mad. And I promise it’s going to be okay.”

“Caroline,” you groan.

“What, baby?” She asks, kissing your cheek.

“I don’t know. Why did we even do this in the first place?”

“You cried. Because of the hate comments. And I don’t want to see you cry. But that was so long ago, babe, now you’re really famous. I mean, you have, what, 5000 followers? That’s impressive. We… we were just so new back then, and I was scared that you would break up with me. It was me. I was scared. I told you, I just want you all to myself.”

“I wouldn’t break up with you over that.”

“Well, I know that now,” she smiles.

You finally manage to open your eyes, meeting her gaze in the reflection. You look like a mess.

“I don’t know how you manage to stay so pretty when you cry.”

You try to hide a laugh, but you can’t.

“I’m sorry that we didn’t get to control how we did it, but I’m not sorry that we kept it for hidden longer. It was time, babe- it was getting on my nerves. All the bugging me about who I was kissing after games… I was done with it. I love you, and this is nothing.”

“I love you,” you repeat.

“And this is nothing.”

“And this is nothing.”

“Honestly,” she starts, loosening her grip on you. “We made this into a big thing.”

“We did,” you chuckle. You glance at your phone, still readily receiving texts. The notifications you originally got were from your friends who were on the live, who had saw Caroline kiss your cheek and call you baby, and immediately freaked out and texted you, realizing you had forgotten you were on live. “Whatever. This is nothing. We’re together, everyone knows, it’s fine.”

“And if anyone has a problem with that, you have 5000 followers to attack them with.”

You roll your eyes. “I would argue your, what, 35 thousand is more impressive and effective?”

“Same difference. Wait, hold on, can I get your autograph? You’re literally my favorite celebrity, like, ever. I would die for you, I love you so much.”

“Oh, no, I’m sorry- no more autographs today. My hand is cramping from writing so many,” you frown, flexing your hand dramatically.

“Can I get a kiss then?”

“Very weird thing to ask a celebrity, but… you’re hot, sure.”

@y/n she chose me she don’t want u 💋

> View 327 comments

user-1 most iconic way to announce a relationship ever i fear

kkharvey4 love u baby so glad ur all mine

user-2 @/kkharvey4 hey thanks for ripping my heart out of my chest… happy for u or whatever tho

user-3 GODDDD THEYRE SO CUTE IM DEAD

user-4 fuck she’s beautiful… can’t even be mad

user-5 ok but they ate… power couple fr…

user-6 this reminds me of the day kate martin hard launched. i need to mourn

user-7 bitch i fucking called it

[crowsoundsonly]

dr. barnes

pair: fbi instructor!professor!bucky barnes x fem!student!reader

word count: ~6.5k

summary: you ask for some advice from your reclusive and very attractive professor.

warnings: teacher student relationship so slight age gap but i had pictured it being less than 10 years, super soft bucky, smut at the end (~1.3k), fingering (f rec) but not super descriptive, crime scene descriptions, descriptions of blood, some christian/religious references at the crime scenes, (let me know if i missed any !!)

a/n: this one held me hostage for weeks. i literally could not stop thinking about it. do i have uni exams this week? yes. but did i spend my time writing this? also yes. i hope you guys like it !!

“Explain the killer. What does he do? What motivates him? How would you catch him? A thousand words printed by the next class. Have a good weekend,” your professor, Dr. Barnes, announces with a nod, cueing the shuffling of laptops and bags belonging to FBI trainees eager to get home on a Friday afternoon.

You load up your things, your mind still thinking about the brutal crime scene photos shown on the slides of the lecture today that made your stomach turn over. While you know you have chosen to be at the FBI, you can’t help but wonder sometimes what you are doing there. Your degree in psychology and doctorate in criminology has led you to the FBI Academy, but your mind still swirls when the most horrible acts of violence are placed in front of you. You chalk it up to you retaining your humanity and sanity, so you are not exactly upset over the fact. It just makes your job more difficult.

Dr. Barnes’ class is always the most brutal, but it is by far the most fascinating class you have. It does help that your professor is the most fascinating part, being very good looking and extremely private. He shares very little personal information, telling you only that he used to work homicide at the police department before beginning teaching. You notice that he does not talk to students often, simply giving his lectures, packing up and leaving after the sea of students flood into the hallways.

You are curious about him, about what he is like when he is not lecturing, and figuring that you have little to lose, you decide to come back after your classes to ask for some help. 

…

“Dr. Barnes?” you call out as you step into the lecture hall that is still lit, leaving you to believe that someone is there. You take a few more steps and find your professor sitting at his desk, photos piled around, staring intently at the laptop in front of him. He makes no movement to acknowledge you, his focus completely locked onto his work.

You walk all the way up to his desk, repeating his name which does little to deter him. You reach a hand out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze, causing him to jump in his seat and look up at you, eyes wide. 

“Sorry, Dr. Barnes. I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

At your words, he scans your face, recognition dawning on his features. 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he says quietly, his eyes focusing on the books you are holding in your hands. 

“It’s okay, Dr. Barnes,” you assure him.

“Is there something I can do for you?” he trails off a bit at the end of his question, asking for your name in its absence.

You fill in your name and explain, “I just have a question. I’m writing a paper for another class and was hoping that you could give me some insight on the topic. I’m really just looking for another perspective.”

“Of course,” he says as he leans back in his chair. There is not another chair, so you take to sitting on the edge of his desk.

“The paper is about female serial killers, and I was wondering what you think the most common traits and motives are. We have discussed some examples in class, but I wanted to ask what your experience has been.”

He thinks for a moment, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. “They usually work in health care professions. They’ll, um, they will be married or have been married before. They usually kill to improve their situation, so they’ll target people they know, usually men. But not all women,” he stops and looks up at you before continuing to explain a case he had while working homicide where they investigated a series of killings that followed the signs of a male killer but ended up being a woman. 

Dr. Barnes runs a hand through his hair when he finishes, leaning back in his chair. You can’t help but notice how good he looks in this position and at this angle. His dark hair tousled and glasses twirling between his thumbs, you think about how it would feel to reach out and feel his hair between your fingers. You school yourself, your face becoming hot at the idea. He is your professor, and you would do well to remember that. 

You continue the conversation, asking him questions and prodding for more insight. When you figure you have taken up enough of his time, you bow your head a bit and begin getting up from your place on the desk.

“Thank you for your help, Dr. Barnes. I really appreciate you taking the time.”

He nods in acknowledgment, a small smile adorning his lips which you watch perhaps a little too intently as he says. “It was nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

You begin walking toward the door of the lecture hall but are stopped by your name being called out.

“Would you actually mind taking a look at these pictures? I’d like to know what you see.”

You turn back around. The look on his face is one of curiosity. You wonder why he would want to ask you, and part of you wants to believe that it is because he wants you to stay, but you know better. 

“Sure,” you shrug, making your way back to his desk. “I’m not sure I’ll be of much help, though”

“Just take a look. It’s not a test, if that’s what you’re worried about,” your professor says, standing up to hand you the crime scene photos.

They are gruesome, but you don’t know what else you could have expected with Dr. Barnes. You examine them all the while trying to ignore the way he leans over your shoulder as you fail to concentrate. You are so close that if you took a single step back, you would be flush to him. 

Pushing those thoughts away, you focus your attention on the photos, flipping through them, noticing the odd blood splatter near the baseboard that doesn’t have a body laying anywhere near it. 

“What would make the killer climb on top of the counter to shoot someone, get down, and move the body?” you think out loud as you turn your head to look at Dr. Barnes. You notice how close your faces are and let out a breath at the discovery. “Dominance?” your voice is more shaky than you wanted it to sound.

“I was hoping you could tell me. My guess is they were waiting there, but it still doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking past you and to the picture you are holding. You look back down as well, grateful you did not make eye contact, the idea of the intimacy of it alarming.

“If they were standing on it, that would make sense, but the angle doesn’t really fit. It seems as if they were waiting for them to get home, and they sat, swinging their legs, completely calm and casual about shooting this person,” you pause, mulling over your words before saying, “Maybe they even knew this person. The proximity to the counter could mean that the victim was comfortable enough to approach them, and that the victim was unaware of what was going to happen.”

He hums in agreement in your ear, and a feeling of satisfaction washes over you. Turning back around, you hand the photos to your professor and take a step back. 

“I think you may be right,” he says with a nod, a small smile again creeping onto his features. You make eye contact and keep it, somewhat entranced by it.

“I’m glad I was able to help,” you smile. “Thanks again, Dr. Barnes. Have a good night.”

…

You anticipate going back to classes on Monday, knowing that you have to attend Dr. Barnes’ lecture. You don’t know if anything will be different after the night you spent talking to your professor. Part of you knows that nothing should be different. While there are only a few years between you, you are still his student.

But part of you wants things to be different. The entire weekend, you could not get out of your head the image of his face so close to yours or the sight of him as he leaned back in his chair, legs casually falling open. 

Dr. Barnes is not in the lecture hall when you arrive for which you are grateful. You settle into your seat and wait for the lecture to begin by fiddling with your laptop. When your professor does come in, you notice that he combed his hair today, letting it fall neatly over his forehead. The plaid shirt he wears still doesn’t match his suit, but you find it charming. He slips his glasses on and begins teaching.

The whole lecture you try valiantly to focus on the subject, but you fail rather miserably, unable to think of anything but how you stood right where he is, your back a foot away from his chest with him humming in your ear. It is going to be a long term if this is how every lecture is going to go.

You are brought back to reality when Dr. Barnes makes eye contact with you. He smiles which you quickly reciprocate, then he turns around, gesturing to the screen before anyone notices.

It is definitely going to be a long semester.

…

Weeks go on with you and Dr. Barnes smiling at each other from afar, both of you knowing that you would be playing with fire if you do anything more than smile. But the longer you go simply smiling, the more you want to do something about it.

And one day, he does something about it. On your way out of the lecture hall, Dr. Barnes stops you, calling out your name. You walk over, anticipation coiling in your stomach.

“I’ve another case I’d like your opinion on. Do you have time tonight to take a look?” he asks you quietly so as to not draw the attention of the students still exiting the room.

“Yes. Here at 7:30?”

He nods, making a flash of eye contact which you return with a smile. 

…

You make your way to Dr. Barnes’ lecture hall, your stomach roiling with nerves. You have thought too much about him, fantasized a little often for you to not think about it when you talk to him. The soles of your shoes click on the tile as you walk the hallway. You take a deep breath and open the door.

Dr. Barnes is reclined behind his desk, crime scene photos in his hand as he flips through them intently. At your entrance, his head flicks up to find your figure approaching his desk.

“Hey, thanks for coming,” he says as he stands up. 

“Hi, yeah. It’s – yeah it’s no problem, Dr. Barnes,” you manage to get out, tripping over your words more than you would have liked. Another deep breath to collect yourself. “What can I do to help?”

He leans against the front of his desk and reaches behind him to grab the photos he was examining before. You take a few steps closer to grab them from his outstretched hand.

“A recent set of murders. It’s odd to say the least,” he starts, watching you intently as you study the photos. 

The scene is horrifying, blood smeared across the walls, not as blood spray or splatter, but in an image. A lamb. Your mind spins as you look through more of the pictures, each of them showing blood splashed on the walls. You wonder what the killer did in order to get that much blood. There is too much for it to have come from just one body.

“How many people were found dead?”

“Only one,” he answers, leaning in to help you find the image of the body heaped over the table. You can’t help but notice everywhere his body touches yours, how his breath flutters against your neck, but you cast those thoughts away to focus on the case at hand.

“There had to have been more. There’s too much blood,” you mumble as you cart through the images again, counting as you go. A beat passes as you take in the scene, contemplating before constructing ideas.

“What do you see?”

“In ancient religious practices, a lamb would be sacrificed and the blood would be sprinkled around seven times. There are seven places where the blood was thrown on the wall,” you pause to show him each one. You glance up at your professor who is looking on intently, urging you to continue. “Then you have the body placed on the table. It could be sacrificial. The lamb was supposed to be perfect. Without blemish. Maybe – maybe the killer saw this person as their perfect – their perfect lamb, as someone who would put them in favor with God. The sacrificial lamb is sacramental. Symbolic. Messianic. It’s an act of repentance. So what was the killer repenting from?”

A hum from Dr. Barnes pulls you out of your reverie and breaks your focus from the crime scene photos. You lean around his form to place the pictures back on his desk, your shoulder brushing against his arm. His eyes follow you before he brings a hand up to rub his eyes, almost like he is physically rubbing away the images.

“Do you think the killer knew the victim?” he asks quietly, bringing his hands down to meet your eyes.

“I think they could be family. Family or close friends. They were their savior,” you answer, matching his tone.

Dr. Barnes nods in agreement and in that moment, you can see that he looks like a man who is carrying the world on his shoulders. He slouches forward slightly, his hair strewn around his ears with bags under his eyes. It takes everything in you to not reach out a hand to touch his cheek, to rub a thumb across his lips as you have in your dreams.

Appalled by your own thoughts, you take a step back to give yourself space to halt that train of thought. The movement makes him stand, subconsciously trying to keep the close proximity between you. You don’t break eye contact, making the moment intimate. Intense.

“This case has been keeping me up at night,” he confesses as he brings a hand to run through his hair with a sigh, breaking eye contact. “I wonder where the other bodies are. I can’t seem to get my mind around it.” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” you say in nearly a whisper. “You’re good at what you do.”

“Thank you for your help. It’s some really great insight you had.”

“It’s no problem, Dr. Barnes.”

“Bucky,” he says quickly, rushing it out like he knows he shouldn’t let it pass his lips.

“Bucky,” you repeat, trying the name out on your tongue. 

You then fall into easy conversation, learning more about each other. You discover that Bucky has a PhD in criminology as well, and that he used to be a field agent but decided to leave it to become a teacher at the academy. Part of you wants to ask why, but you figure that it isn’t a conversation he wants to have while still getting to know you. He asks about your life, your family, your education. He is interested in why and how you landed at the academy. You answer him honestly, not inclined to hide away as you normally do when people ask those questions.

Bucky is surprisingly sociable. Based on his reclusiveness when it comes to students, you were not expecting to hold such easy and fun conversation. It makes you want to spend the whole night chatting, joking, exploring. But you know you should not stay. 

When the conversation lulls, you glance at your watch and ask, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Bucky? I think I might head home.”

Before you can even register what is happening, he takes a singular step forward and leans in to meet his lips to yours. In shock, you stand limply, not sure how to respond. You can’t deny that you have thought about this moment for weeks, dreaming about it, imagining what it would be like to kiss him. Bucky. But you hadn’t expected it to happen tonight.

And before you have time to respond, he pulls away, opening his eyes to look at you with wide ones of his own.

“I’m sorry, I–”

You don’t acknowledge his apology, instead leaning in to kiss him again, only you are prepared for it this time. He responds immediately as his lips move slowly over yours, testing the waters. Your hands are still by your sides, but his come to settle in your hair and over your arm. His kisses are controlled and soft, not pressing for more than what you are willing to give. A sigh flutters from your nose which ghosts over his cheeks.

Breaking away for a second, you open your eyes and find his already looking at you. The both of you know that you are playing with fire. You are still his student, and he is your professor, but the feeling of his lips on yours overrules any rational thought at the moment.

You give a slight nod and he takes that as a green light to kiss you again. Bucky pulls you closer, and your hands find their way around his torso, snaking up into his hair. It is his turn to sigh at the action which causes satisfaction to roll down your back in waves that has you leaning further into the kiss, opening your mouth ever so slightly. He takes advantage and kisses you deeper. A soft moan escapes you at the feeling, followed by a shaky breath.

He pulls away, a triumphant smile playing at his mouth. 

“I’m not sorry,” he whispers.

“Me neither.”

He kisses you once more, chaste and short, but it carries more meaning than any of the other kisses. It tells you that he has thought about this, too. It wasn’t a spur of the moment, impulsive decision. And it tells you that he plans on doing it again.

…

You settle into a routine with Bucky. After class on Fridays, he stops you on your way out and quietly asks you to come back to look over a case or his lectures. You always nod and come back at 7:30. 

The unspoken truth of the need for secrecy looms over your blooming relationship, but you are almost spurred on by the illicitness of it all. You haven’t done anything more than kiss. You haven’t even interacted beyond the walls of the lecture hall. You both know that it is safest that way. 

The more time you spend together, the more you find yourself falling in love with Bucky. His quirks make you smile. The way he perks up when you walk through the door makes your heart flutter in your chest. You have never felt so valued by anyone before. He trusts your opinions. He respects your honesty. You admire his dedication to what he does. You find his quiet nature calming. 

The list of things you love about Bucky keeps you up at night as you replay scenes of kissing at his desk behind your eyes as you fall asleep. Bucky kisses you like you are ice cream on a sunny day, slow and hungry like he savors every second of your mouth on his. He never presses you for more, only going so far as to set you up on his desk, pulling your hips to his, allowing you to wrap your legs around him as you wind your fingers in his hair. He always sighs when you tug at it which gives you the opportunity to kiss at his neck, your chin always getting scratched by his stubble. 

You love the routine. However, it makes it hard to concentrate during the lectures since all you can think about when you look at his desk is how good his hands felt on your hips and how his lips were pressed to yours when you were propped up on the wood yourself.

The semester continues on following your routine. If anyone suspects anything, they don’t say. You can’t imagine that someone hasn’t picked up on the soft smiles he sends your direction during lectures, and stragglers leaving class late on Fridays must hear his whispers for you to come back. 

Steadily approaching the end of the term, you begin to question how long your routine will continue. You will no longer be Bucky’s student. Could you actually date? Would he want to? Is that what you want?

…

The familiar tug of nerves settles in the pit of your stomach as you walk to class with Bucky — Dr. Barnes if you were still professional, but you figure that his lips have kissed you a few too many times and in a few too many places for you to call him that. It is your last class in his lecture hall, meaning that beyond today, you are free to make a decision as to whether this is serious or not.

In your heart of hearts, you want this to keep going. You love how you feel around Bucky. While you have not said it out loud, you love him. You feel yourself aching to hear him say it, too. 

When you arrive in the room, Bucky is already there, nervously flipping through crime scene photos while running his hands through his hair, creating a rather haphazard mess on his head. He looks more anxious than usual, and it takes everything in you to not to stride to his desk and ask him what’s wrong. 

Instead, you brush past him, trailing a quick hand over his arm, hoping that it has a calming effect over him. His eyes flash to yours as you cast a look over your shoulder, smiling at him. He sends you a tight lipped smile back as his shoulders shrug down from their place beside his ears. 

From your seat, you watch Bucky pace around a bit, obviously concerned about something. You rub your palms over your thighs when you discover them clenched in worry. You wonder if his stress has anything to do with the reason you were nervous coming to class today — the talk you know is coming tonight. You figure it does when his eyes glance over at you every few minutes before beginning the lecture.

You find yourself becoming sentimental about the semester as you look around the room, taking in the feeling for the last time. If you and Bucky do decide to continue your relationship, you can never take one of his classes again. If you don’t continue to see Bucky, you doubt you will want to take one of his classes again. You will miss his funny side comments that come out of left field. You will miss his mismatched suits and disheveled hair. 

The sound of Bucky announcing the end of class breaks you out of your thoughts, and the shuffling of backpacks and feet brings you back to reality. A stream of students thank Bucky as they flow out of the classroom for the final time. You stall a minute, waiting for the throng to exit out the doors before approaching your professor.

“Hey, Bucky,” you say quietly, clutching your laptop to your chest. 

“Hey.”

You watch him lean against his desk, hands pressed to the edge of the wood. 

“How are you doing?” you ask the question that has been waiting to erupt since you entered the lecture hall an hour previous. “You seem nervous.”

A chuckle that comes out more as a sigh escapes him. “Yeah. I’m fine. I, uh, I just didn’t get much sleep last night. How are…how are you?”

“Wistfully contemplating the end of my time in your class,” you reply playfully, hoping that the happy tone will hide the melancholy you really feel about the idea.

This elicits a laugh from Bucky as he looks at you through his lashes — a look that always has your knees threatening to come out from under you. You take steps closer and set your laptop down on his desk, then place your hands on his shoulders, running them down his arms to settle in his hands.

“Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?” you ask, the words barely more than a whisper. You want to catch them in the air, afraid that your proposal to disrupt the routine will be rejected.

But Bucky smiles immediately, thinking for a moment before saying, “Why don’t I cook dinner?”

Your stomach flutters at the thought of watching him in the kitchen. You nod in response.

“7:30?”

“7:30,” you repeat before letting go of his hands to walk out the doors, throwing a smile over your shoulder as you go.

…

The drive to Bucky’s house is quiet but comfortable. About halfway through the trip, your hands link together, resting on your thigh. You talk lazily, asking questions about each others’ days since your morning lecture. There is something so calming about Bucky. You trust him. You love him.

Every once in a while, your eyes flick over to watch him drive, eyes intently focused on the road ahead. He can feel your gaze, so he sends a glance over to you with a soft smile playing on his lips. 

“What?” he asks when you don’t shy away from his eyes.

“Nothing, Buck. I just like being with you.”

“I do, too.”

The sweetness of his simple confession does more to your confidence than you ever thought possible. You feel comfortable around Bucky. You need only be yourself when you are with him, and hearing that same sentiment from him gives you hope that he wants this to continue just as much as you do.

You squeeze his hand, at which he laughs softly, squeezing yours back, brushing his thumb over the knuckles on the back of your hand.

Gravel crunching under tires and the faint sound of dogs barking indicates that you have arrived at your destination. You open the car door and follow Bucky to the front steps of a small house on the edge of town. A large open field is situated behind his house, neighbors nonexistent. Given Bucky’s personality, you are not surprised to discover that he lives alone, away from people, away from the city. 

A flash of nervousness pricks at your mind, as no one would be around if Bucky shows you that isn’t the guy you think he is. But you trust him, and you trust him enough to accept your fate if it does prove to be your downfall.

The door creaks open, and Bucky flicks on the light. Two big dogs come bounding to greet you both, circling his feet until he crouches down to give them the attention they are begging for. To see Bucky with his dogs makes your mind go fuzzy and warm, the tenderness of the scene eradicating your doubts from before.

“Charlie and Duke,” Bucky says, showing you which dog belongs to which name, rubbing each of them affectionately before standing and grabbing your hand.

“They’re adorable.”

“They’re good dogs.”

He leans in for a quick kiss, the domesticity of it causing your breath to catch in your throat. He pulls away smiling, then tugs you into the kitchen where he drags a chair out from the table for you to sit on.

“Sit,” Bucky says with mirth in his voice.

You laugh but do as you are told. 

“I was thinking of making steaks. Is that okay with you?”

“Sounds great.”

You watch Bucky make his way around the kitchen, obviously having done this a lot. He looks comfortable. He catches you staring, meeting your gaze head on, an easy smile adorning his mouth before asking, “What are you smiling at?”

“You. I like seeing you here,” you say quietly. 

“Not as much as I like seeing you sit at my table. I’ve thought about this a lot,” he admits with his back to you as he throws the steaks in the pan. “I like being around you. I’m more comfortable with you than anyone else. You make me feel — you make me feel normal. Most people don’t do that. They don’t — they don’t want to understand me. My old friends can only think about who I was before I quit the force. They don’t — they don’t want to like who I am now.”

The words spill out of Bucky before he can stop them, opening up to you in a way that he has not before. He has let you in here and there over the months you have been spending together in the lecture hall, but he has stayed rather private even then. Not sure what to say in response, you simply move from your place at the table to stand behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your cheek on his back. You can feel him relax into your touch, and it is a comfort to you both.

“Bucky, I think I am in love with you,” you whisper into his shirt. His body tenses, the sizzling of the meat in the pan filling the silence. Your heart pounds in your chest as you wait for him to say something. Burying your face further into him, disappointment and embarrassment creeping in your stomach, settling heavily when he doesn’t say anything. When a minute that feels like an eternity passes in silence, you mutter a quiet, “I’m sorry.” 

You let go of Bucky and take a step back. He quickly takes the pan off the heat and whips around to face you, pulling you back to him, whispering your name. 

“I love you,” the words are sure and confident coming from his lips. “I know I do.”

He looks at you intently, not shying away from your eyes before leaning in and kissing you softly. You get lost in his kisses, the pounding of your heart racing at a steady quick beat. Bucky backs you into the counter where he cages you with his hands as you weave one of your hands into his hair, the other running up his spine.

“Stay the night,” he mumbles between kisses.

You pull away and nod, meeting his eyes again, kissing him once without breaking the contact.

…

Settling on his couch after laughing yourselves silly over the dinner table, Bucky is close behind you with bowls of ice cream in hand. He hands you a spoon before sitting down right beside you, pulling your legs to stretch over his lap. He runs a hand absentmindedly over your shins as the two of you eat your ice cream. 

“Why did you come talk to me that night?,” he asks between spoonfuls. “You didn’t really need my help. You knew everything I was telling you.”

You smile like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “I did need your help,” you assert before admitting, “but I also just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

The sound of his laugh makes your heart flutter the same way it does when he looks up at you from behind his desk. 

“Hey, not all my professors are attractive recluses who deserve a starring role in my nightly fantasies.”

“Oh, so you fantasize about me,” he presses, the smirk on his face unlike any expression you have ever seen on him. He looks smug, proud, teasing. It makes heat flash to your core.

You hum but it comes out more as a squeak, your focus turning intently on the ice cream melting in your bowl.

“Do you want to know what I’ve fantasized about you?” Bucky asks lowly, grabbing the bowl from your hands, causing your eyes to lift to his. You watch him set it on the floor. Your heart begins pounding again as he moves to climb over you, settling between your open legs.

“What have you fantasized about, Bucky?” you ask quietly, voice shaky.

You take a breath when he leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You open your mouth to deepen it, and he takes advantage, his tongue pressing to your upper lip. The feeling has your hips rolling and sighs falling from your throat.

He pulls away to murmur into your neck, “Every time I would sit on my couch, I thought about laying you down and kissing you until you can’t remember your own name.”

Your eyes are screwed shut as you tug at his hair, his words forming pools of heat between your hips where his own apply pressure. Your words fail you, only a whimper escaping you. His lips move along your neck, working their way back to your mouth, giving due attention to the places on the way that have you squirming beneath him. You hands tug at his shirt to slip your fingers beneath the fabric, skimming up his back, scratching lightly.

His kisses become feverish at the feeling of your nails down his back. One hand hooks your knee to pull your form even closer to his, hips slipping into place. You can feel yourself becoming wetter by the second, the slow circling of his hips against yours creating friction that has you moaning.

In one swift motion, his hands are gliding up your sides, taking your shirt with you. You lean up to help him before settling back down against the pillows. He sits on his heels to take his own shirt off which allows you to see him in the faint light casted by the lamp in the corner.

You notice a shining scar that extends from one hip to the other below his navel. Fingertips reach out to touch it, barely making contact before his own hand stills your movements. 

“Is this why you quit the force?” you ask barely above a whisper.

He only nods, his feelings of vulnerability silencing him. You aren’t disgusted by it. It doesn’t change how you see him. You don’t pity him. You are simply curious. And amazed at his strength. He survived whatever left him this scar.

“Can I see it?”

Bucky takes a fluttering breath through his nose then nods again. You climb to the floor, resting on your knees between his legs. You glance up at him and see his head lolling to the side as he looks down at you, eyes hazy and soft. His eyebrows are scrunched, letting you know that he is concentrated, but the dam of secrecy surrounding Bucky is breaking with every passing second.

Tentatively, you stretch a hand forward, your fingertips grazing the scar. His stomach flexes beneath your touch. 

No one has seen his scar since the doctor sewed him back up. He has a fear of pity. He knows that people won’t see him the same when they see the effects of what happened to him — of what was done to him. But he doesn’t see pity in your eyes. He sees awe and amazement. 

Without warning, you press your lips to his stomach, the intimacy of it rendering his mind blank. You hear him swear quietly which urges you to keep going. You kiss all along the scar, his hips, then upwards before you climb into his lap. You find his lips again and kiss slowly, surely, passionately.

“I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.”

You share a few more kisses before he stands up, pulling you with him to his room. He fumbles through his dressers to find a shirt and pair of shorts for you to wear. He hands them to you, then rummages through the bathroom cabinets to find a new toothbrush for you to use.

You thank him after he says that he will meet you back at the bed. The calm and comfort of being with Bucky is undeniable. The domesticity of the night has your heart skipping beats. You quickly change and brush your teeth before making your way to his bed. Noticing books stacked on the nightstand on one side, you slip under the covers of the other, sighing contently when you settle in.

Bucky comes in a moment later with only sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He decided to not put a shirt back on, relishing in the freedom that being with you gives him. He doesn’t climb into bed immediately, but rather stands and looks at you for a moment, curled up in his sheets.

“What have you fantasized about here?” you ask teasingly, but your voice comes out thinner than you had intended. 

At your words, his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He approaches the bed slowly, kneeling down beside you. 

“I want to know yours,” he says, his voice husky and low. You bite your lip, your eyes widening. A shaky inhale.

Soft kisses line the inside of your knee, trailing a path up your thighs. You let out a hitched moan when he places a kiss to your clothed core, your hands winding themselves in his hair. You tug slightly, inviting him to come up to the bed with you.

When he climbs up, you lean back, your shirt riding up over your stomach. Wordlessly, you pull his hands to your body, his calloused palms caressing the exposed skin. He runs his thumbs under your breasts, causing you to arch into his touch. Bucky can’t believe that you respond to him so keenly. He barely touches you and you are curving beneath him, aching for more. 

His lips find your neck, behind your ear, sucking gently. Your hands pull his hips to yours, rocking steadily into him. You suck in a breath, gathering the courage to grab one of his hands to lead it to where you want to feel him the most.

Bucky follows your lead without resistance, kissing you softly in an expression of consent. He helps you pull your shorts off, then presses two fingers to the wet patch on your panties. The pressure has your hips jutting into his touch, overwhelmed by the sensation when his fingers push the fabric to the side.

Your hips move in circles with his movements, his lips kissing you through it all. Moans slip and tumble from your mouth, leaving you hiccupping in pleasure. The cords in your stomach begin snapping when he speeds up his ministrations, your body contracting through your release.

“You did so good, sweetheart,” he whispers to you as he helps you come down from your high. 

Your eyes are crimped shut, but after a moment’s respite and a few encouraging kisses from Bucky, you come back to yourself. You open your eyes to find him watching you intently. You smile lazily then breathe, “Your turn.”

a/n: yayayay !! thanks for reading this !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :):) and here is my masterlist if you want to check out my other work ! and check out MY SLEEPOVER going on right now !!

[evergone]

Read between the lines

Theodore Nott x reader

Warnings: limited swearing, kissing

Description: The reader comes to terms with their feelings for Theo through the narrator and the narrator's subconscious.

The Slytherin dormitories were by far the best out of all the houses and that wasn’t something you thought just out of bias or pride for your own house, it was the objective truth. While the other houses shared their dormitories with anywhere from one to four roommates (to foster teamwork or cooperation, you presumed), the Slytherin dormitories were one to a room (likely to foster individuality and self-dependence). Gryffindor had some system to stop the boys from entering the girls’ dormitories apparently, a shame for them, really, because Slytherin trusted its students enough that no such system was implemented for you. Sure, there was the occasional pregnancy scare but no more than the amount that came out of the girls sneaking into the boys rooms in Gryffindor. And, as if that wasn’t enough, each room had its own private en suite bathroom to add that extra level of superiority over the other houses.

Everyone in Slytherin liked to boast that their room was the best. Between the designer decorations their parents bought them and the hours they spent rearranging furniture, it could occasionally get a little competitive. Your own room was nice but nothing too fancy. Of course, your parents were well off (that was basically a prerequisite of Slytherin), but they weren’t the kind to show that off. Only your father had gone to Hogwarts and, unlike you, he was a Hufflepuff, so he was always a firm believer in having a more modest amount of belongings. Your room definitely had his influence, with sketches of his favourite dragons, cuts of plants from his garden, and an old mirror of his.

Of all your friends’ rooms, it was Theo’s that you found to be “the best.” That’s why you were headed there to study with him in the comfort of his sheep’s wool blanket (and occasionally his arms if you were too tired to bother). It was a study nook rather than a bedroom, with enough books to fill a library and a collection of antique pens. Truly, the best place to study, the best place to be and the best of the Slytherin bedrooms.

“Excuse me, Y/n L/n?” You turned at the sound of your name to see a tall, olive-skinned girl with blue lining in her robes standing awkwardly amongst a small group of girls.

Not all of them were from your year but the one who called your name certainly was. Last year you had… What was it? Oh yes, you had Care of Magical Creatures with her. She had her bow stolen straight from her black hair by a pixie and Draco, ever the kind boy, had teased her relentlessly about it for the rest of the week. Quite hypocritical of him, considering his own track record with magical creatures, but it wasn’t any of your concern. Her name was something like, Ann or Sam or… Sue! Sue Li (you were never good with names).

“How can I help you, Li?” You said politely, unsure whether she’d prefer you call her by her first or last name, “There isn’t anything wrong, is there?”

“No, no, everything’s fine, um,” she barely made eye-contact with you, her head tilted to the left to hide her gaze, “You’re friends with Theodore Nott, right?”

A half-laugh escaped your lips at the coincidence that she was asking after the very person you were on your way to see. It took her aback, her face lighting up with offence before you quickly apologised, explaining that you hadn’t meant to laugh at her, rather, at the coincidence you found yourself in. She nodded and her shoulders relaxed, like a weight had been taken off them by your openness to chat.

“I was just wondering, you know, Valentine’s is next week, and, well…” Li danced around the point of the conversation for a while, stalling with enough ‘uh’s and ‘erm’s to last you a lifetime, “I was wondering if he — Nott, that is — had a date?”

Valentine’s day. You’d forgotten about that. Never in all your years had you celebrated Valentine’s day (not that you hadn’t wanted to). Neither had Theo as far as you knew (not that he hadn’t wanted to). He wasn’t really the romantic type, to be honest, he’d never so much as mentioned a crush or told you he found someone attractive, let alone talked to you about a Valentine’s date. Theo was the private type, he didn’t like parties or team sports or group projects, Merlin’s beard, he didn’t even like it when people went in his room (other than you, of course). To think he would agree to a date with someone without talking to you and having an entire identity crisis first was out of the question. So, you supposed the short answer was no.

“I don’t believe so,” you told Li.

“Oh! Good! Well, then, would you give him this?” She asked and handed you an envelope sealed with a little blue and silver spot of wax.

Before you even had the time to answer she had waved a ‘thank you’ and skipped off in the other direction, giggling with her friends. You blinked twice and pocketed the envelope, turning on your heel to continue your journey to Theo’s room. On your walk through the halls you found your fingers blindly playing with the wax seal in your pocket. As if of their own accord they were picking it off. Letters are a confidential thing, and you knew for sure (well, you were pretty sure) Theo would be (maybe slightly) upset if you opened his letter without permission. You already knew what was inside, it was obviously a declaration of love.

Would Theo like a love letter? Truthfully, he presented as the kind of guy that would hate the complexity of a love letter. If, say, you were to confess your love to Theo (not that you were in love with him or whatever, but just for argument’s sake), what would you do? He’d like for you to tell him casually, you thought, as if it was just another everyday conversation. Grand gestures weren’t his thing, he was a quiet guy, a reserved guy, again: a private guy. The intimacy of the moment would be enough for him; your arms slightly grazing each other as you sat side-by-side in his bed, your faces so close that you’d be breathing the same air, your legs interlocked under the sheets (because if no one else saw it, it wasn’t happening, right?). You didn’t love Theo, but you knew how you would love him (liar, you wanted him). What? (You had ripped the envelope in your hand by the time you got to the entrance to the Slytherin common room).

“Password?” The portrait of Elizabeth Burke, an ancestor of yours, asked as if you didn’t see her every day.

“Slytherins are supreme,” you replied and she swung forward to let you in.

“Pass, poppet,” she said fondly, “Remember to make our family proud.”

The response you gave her every day escaped your mouth robotically — something like ‘always do’ or whatever it was — and you stepped into the common room. Almost home. ‘Home’ wasn’t your room, no, despite the multitudes of furniture and decorations that were from your actual house in rural England, you didn’t feel as at home in your own room as you did in Theo’s (I wonder why). Shut up. (Theo’s room was nice and all, but it was just another room. The same bricks that built yours had built his. They were identical down to the centimetre, apart from the odd extra piece of furniture and a few of your own personal touches—) Merlin’s beard, who’s story is this? (— The only real difference between your room and his was that yours didn’t have him.) Pansy interrupted you on your way, her hair in two braids. Over the years it had grown rather long, from just under her chin when you were all first years to her shoulders. (Some of your other friends had grown too, a particular Theodore Nott comes to mind. Where once was a short, meagre little boy, was now a man who towered over you with just the right amount of muscle to attract you). Stop it, please.

“Are you going up there to snog him?” Pansy teased (she gets it), “You guys never get your homework finished and, quite frankly, it’s a little suspicious.”

“We’re just friends who have too much to talk about,” you laughed (but it was laced with a sense of pride. Did other people think you were snogging him? Did the two of you appear like a couple?).

Pansy scoffed, not believing a word you said (as she shouldn’t) but too exhausted from double Defence Against the Dark Arts to argue with you. At the door to Theo’s room, you paused and let your fist hover above the deep brown wood. Nerves? You were just going to study, like you always did. Why on earth would you be nervous? (Maybe because you liked him and it was finally dawning on you that, by Salazar, you’d torn up a love letter that was surely going to get chased up. How did you plan to lie your way out of, or even justify that decision?) The door opened before you got the chance to knock and your eyes were blessed with the sight of Theodore Nott, who looked down at you with furrowed brows.

“Why are you just standing here?” He asked.

“Sue Li gave me a letter for you,” you said, refusing to acknowledge his question.

“That Ravenclaw girl who got her bow stolen last year in CoMC?”

The nod you gave him shook a loose eyelash from your eyelid and you watched it fall down onto your cheek then pushed straight past him and made yourself comfortable in his bed (and he was alright with this despite all these claims of being a “private person” because anything for you, Y/n, dear). It was only Autumn but already the Winter chill was starting to settle into the centuries-old uninsulated castle that was Hogwarts. Professor Flitwick cast a heating spell every year at the beginning of December but sometimes Autumn got nippy enough that students would go beg for it to be cast a bit earlier. Hopefully, that would be the case this year. The sheep’s wool blanket was a blessing on your legs that were previously covered only by your crappiest thin stockings.

“Can I see the letter?” Theo pushed.

You looked up at him through mascara clad eyelashes, one lash less thick than minutes prior, and silently prayed that your tongue would fall out so you’d never have to embarrass yourself by telling the truth. (You couldn’t lie to him, not to Theo). Would you like to take over? (I really, truly would.) Fine. Go for it. (Much appreciated. Theo could see through you, that was something you really admired about him. Transparency came easy when the other party already seemed to know everything.

“I threw it away,” you said.

Were you ashamed? Of course you were. There was always the chance that Theo may have liked Li or wanted to get to know her and you had taken it upon yourself to, quite literally, throw that chance away. Theo didn’t mind, though. He elbowed you until you slid over to the other side of his bed to make room for him under the covers and he sat down next to you. It was perfect. Exactly how you’d imagined it. Your arms were like atoms, so close but never daring to touch. Your faces had closed in and the air you breathed was hot and moist. It was his air. Under the blanket his legs sought yours out like an explorer wandering through uncharted land. When they found yours they locked, knowing they were where they wanted to be.

He took a breath in, inhaling you, “Why did you throw it away, Y/n/n, dear?”

“She wanted to be your Valentine’s.” He breathed out and you inhaled him in return.

He inched closer to let the tips of your noses touch, obscuring your vision and blurring his face, “I don’t even know her.”

He knew you. Theo had known you since the first time he saw you on the Hogwarts Express in your colourless robes with an excited but airy aura about you. Theo had known you since third year when he watched you verbally assault Draco so severely that you were handing his ass to him, stick and all. Theo had known you since fifth year when you slapped that Hermione Granger girl right across the face for insulting your family’s line of work. Although, perhaps, ‘knew’ wasn’t the right word.

“I don’t love her,” he said.

“Good,” you said with a smile, “Who do you love?”

“Let’s save it for Valentine’s day, eh?”

Right there in his face, you scoffed at him. Neither of you had ever celebrated Valentine’s day, there wasn’t a chance in all that is holy that you were going to start then. So, you leaned your chin in and captured his mouth in yours.

You pulled away, “Who do you love?”

“You, Y/n/n, you, you,” he rushed, stumbling over his words, “I love you.”

“I love you.”)

[steddieas-shegoes]

Request: video gamer Steve who is very very private & constantly has competitions with his friends/followers. But one day he does & q&a and someone asks him about his ring/necklace (or something that is noticeable) & he talks about his partner. & Eddie who is a well known musician who talks about his partner Steve. And somehow their fans put it together that Steddie are together. Then they do a really cute q&a on Steve's channel all about their relationship & its really cute

MY LOVE!!! Honestly, if Liam didn't watch so many gamers on YouTube, I would be so clueless. I never got into video games (because I'm so so bad at them you guys it is actually embarrassing) and I never really watched streamers on YouTube or anything. But I know that some of them have like a cult following and so I am picturing Steve to be one of those here. Please don't ask what games he would play because this is a choose your own adventure part of the story. - Mickala ❤️

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

Everyone made fun of Steve for how much he talked with his hands. Even on camera, his hands were constantly in the frame, moving and emphasizing his passion for whatever game he was playing for that stream.

He should have realized that wearing a ring on his usually bare hands would have given him away.

It was his first livestream competition since Eddie proposed on their trip to the Maldives.

He was still a little high off of, well, everything, and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He ignored the first question that popped up.

who got you that ring?

He shared some basic personal stuff with his fans and followers, but he kept most things private, especially his relationship.

But then questions kept coming in.

R U ENGAGED???

usually the girl wears the ring right

If you’re taken I might have to unsubscribe

The last one made him pause.

It’s not like he was an idiot, he knew that there would always be a handful of people who followed him because he was attractive. He didn’t mind, especially because some of them would message him and explain that they ended up getting into games because of him.

“Okay, wait. Sorry guys. Um. I wanna address something before we start the actual stream.” He held his hand up, looking over at the ring Eddie proposed with. “I share a lot with you guys. I came out about a year ago during a stream as bisexual, and it really shouldn’t have been much of a shock, but it caused a bit of a…thing.” He grimaced. “And I guess most of the reason that I came out then was because my boyfriend had come out as well, and it felt like something we could do together without actually doing it together. Most of you know I was just gone for a week on a much needed vacation. I was with my boyfriend, and he proposed while we were there. I said yes because he is the only person I’ve ever wanted to spend my life with.”

Steve put his hand down, sighing.

“I understand if that makes some of you unfollow me, but I do hope you look at yourself and try to come to terms with why that is what makes you unfollow someone you enjoy watching. Anyways, the ring is beautiful, and it's a simpler version of one he wears every day, so it means even more.”

He felt relieved, but also a little stressed, and knew he’d be calling Eddie as soon as this was over to talk to him about everything.

“Let’s get gaming!” He gave his best smile to the camera.

—-------------------------------------

“Yeah, we had a nice week off together, alone, and I finally got to propose. I don’t think we left the bed for 24 hours after that,” Eddie laughed.

The interviewer laughed too, used to Eddie’s jokes and blunt answers.

“I’m glad you got to spend some time just the two of you. This has been a busy world tour for you and Corroded Coffin and you’re only halfway through!” The interviewer, Hannah, stated. She smiled at him when he nodded. “Anything new planned for the second half of the tour?”

“We can’t give out secrets, Hannah, you know that,” Eddie smirked. “But Gareth did say I should tell you about one thing.”

Gareth definitely had a crush on Hannah and had pouted endlessly about being scheduled for a different interview at the same time as Eddie’s interview with her.

“Oh?” she leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

She maybe had a crush on him, too.

“He actually wrote a song that’ll be on our next album. He doesn’t usually get bit with the writing bug, but someone’s inspired him,” he winked at her, smiling at her blush. “Anyway, it’s been added to the setlist for the second leg of the tour and we’re all really excited for everyone to hear it.”

Eddie felt his phone vibrating in his pocket multiple times. All the guys knew he was in an interview and couldn’t answer a call, so who the hell was calling him?

It was easy enough to ignore through Hannah’s next question, until it started again.

He reached in his pocket and checked to see who it was, eyes going wide when he saw ‘Stevie’ with a picture of them on their vacation lighting up his screen.

Steve never called twice in a row unless it was an emergency. He knew if Eddie didn’t answer, he was truly busy.

He felt his heart racing as he looked back up at Hannah, who instantly seemed to catch on to something happening.

“We’re going to a commercial break, but when we’re back, Eddie’s gonna share a few hints about the next album!” Hannah said, immediately shutting the mics off and gesturing for him to get up.

Eddie took off his headphones and stood, walking out of the room as he answered the phone.

“Sweetheart, are you okay?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, I just-”

“Hey, no, it’s not bothering me. I was just in a radio interview with Hannah so we had to cut to commercial break before I could answer. What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned that something terrible had happened.

“Fuck, I forgot that was right now. I’m sorry. Call me back when you get to the bus,” Steve seemed like he was trying to rush off the phone.

“No, Stevie, wait. What’s wrong?” his tone was firm enough to let Steve know he wasn’t going to let this drop.

“Um. I just had a livestream thing. And like, people asked about the ring, so I told them I was engaged and some people just didn’t take it that well and then I went online and some people have apparently put it together that the Steve you talk about is me because of something I mentioned about my vacation and something you posted about the vacation and so I think everyone’s gonna know and I’m sorry,” Steve was panting by the end, speaking a million miles an hour literally taking the breath from him.

“Okay, well, we knew this would probably happen eventually, my love. I’ll just call the guys and we can talk to Chrissy about it if it gets picked up by the media. No reason to panic,” Eddie tried to calm him down while watching through the window to the recording booth where Hannah seemed to be introducing a song to kill more time.

“But I ruined our plan!”

“No, love. People ruined our plan. And it’s okay, anyway. We’ll figure it out.”

“But your fans will be mad that it’s me. I’m just…me!”

“You’re not just anything and any fan of mine who says or thinks that, isn’t a fan,” Eddie sighed. “I love you, and we will figure this out. Whatever we gotta do, okay?”

Steve let out a long breath before responding.

“I love you too. Tell Hannah I said hi?”

“Of course. I love you so much, okay? ‘Til death and beyond.”

Steve let out a small laugh.

“You’re not allowed to use those lyrics in the vows. But I love you so much, too.”

“We can discuss that later. I wrote you a very metal love song that I fully intend to use some of in the vows. Okay, bye!”

He hung up before Steve could argue and walked back into the studio, mouthing an apology to Hannah, who just waved it off with a smile.

Everything would be fine.

—-------------------------------------------

“The lighting isn’t ideal, but it’ll be fine,” Steve was pacing, double checking his set up while Eddie watched.

He tried helping, but kept being told not to touch things, so he ended up just sitting on the hotel bed.

Steve had traveled halfway across the country to do this, his stress was at an all-time high, and Eddie didn’t need to get his head bitten off.

“Five minutes,” Steve said, shaking his hands nervously.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Eddie said, waving him over to the bed.

“No, you’ll distract me.”

“Yes, which is exactly what you need for a minute. Come here.”

Steve sighed, but went over to him, dropping onto the bed and resting his head against Eddie’s shoulder.

“What’s got you so worried?”

“Everything.”

Eddie sighed.

“But specifically.”

“I just don’t want you or the guys to lose fans because of me,” Steve was playing with the edges of the hole in Eddie’s jeans absentmindedly.

“Sweet boy, we lose fans because we endorse a certain amp brand over another. We’ll be fine.”

“This is bigger, though. I’m just a nobody who got lucky on YouTube playing some games,” Steve whined.

“And I loved you before that. If they don’t want me to be happy, they aren’t real fans anyway. You’re my future, not whatever woman still thinks she has a shot with my gay ass,” Eddie said.

“But it isn’t just you who suffers.”

“None of us suffer. We lose some homophobic, idiotic fans who shouldn’t ever have claimed to be fans at all. None of us want people like that around.”

Steve’s alarm went off to signal one minute before the livestream started.

He jumped up and pulled Eddie up with him.

They’d already gone over everything together, discussed it with Chrissy and the guys, even Steve’s manager, Robin, about how this would work.

Steve would pretty much act like it was any other livestream, but Eddie would be there for the first five minutes or so so they could do a quick explanation of things.

Eddie would do a phone interview with Hannah in 30 minutes while Steve was gaming, covering a bit more and answering some questions about their relationship.

Then they’d both have a night off to decompress in the hotel before Steve had to fly back home and Eddie had to head to the next tour stop.

Hopefully, the buzz would die down relatively quickly.

Steve did his normal intro, but Eddie’s hand rested on his knee out of sight, squeezing once when he heard his voice start to shake a little while introducing Eddie.

“There’s been some rumors about us, and we just wanna be completely honest about things so that the rumors stop,” Steve continued. “First of all, we’ve been together for almost four years. Way before I got anywhere with YouTube, before Corroded Coffin had even released their first album. And we were friends long before that.”

“Even though I had the biggest crush on him in high school, I didn’t admit I was in love with him until we both moved to Chicago. Wasted years,” Eddie shook his head.

“Second,” Steve smirked, looking over at him for a moment. “The week off in the middle of his tour had been planned for Jeff to go home and be with his family for his wife’s birthday and daughter’s graduation.”

“Anyone who thinks Steve threw a fit about needing a vacation and made the band take a break is just saying so out of spite that we had to move around one of the tour dates to make the week off work. It’s not up to you to come up with a narrative,” Eddie added, brow raised like he was chastising children.

“And finally, most importantly, what either of us choose to share is up to us. We do not owe anyone any explanations. Our relationship is ours. Being public figures already takes away a lot of our autonomy, and this is something neither of us will budge on. We are willing to share our happiness, but we are not willing to let everyone become a part of our life together.”

Sometimes, Steve said things in such a way that Eddie couldn’t do anything but stare at him in awe. He loved him more than anything, and sometimes the only thing he could do was kiss him.

He did so now, not exactly forgetting they were live streaming, just not really caring.

Steve tensed for a second, but then relaxed, cupping his cheek and smiling into the kiss.

Eddie pulled away and looked back at the camera.

“On that note, I’m gonna leave Steve here to his gaming. If you aren’t nice, I’ll ban you from Corroded Coffin shows for life,” he waved before standing and leaving the camera’s view.

Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled fondly as Eddie walked out of the bedroom, blowing kisses back at Steve the entire way.

—-------------------------------------------

After that, Eddie made random appearances on Steve’s live streams, and Steve flew out to a handful of shows to support Eddie.

It’s not that they were hiding before, but they just hadn’t felt like they should have to try to.

Now they didn’t.

Steve even did a Q&A with the band on tour while playing games with them.

They were all pretty terrible at it, complaining most of the time about how D&D was so much easier than this. Eddie didn’t play, but he sat next to Steve and braided his hair while he kicked their asses, asking them all the questions that popped up from people watching.

When he got to one for him, he smiled and kissed the top of Steve’s head.

“This question is for me. How did you know Steve was the one?” The guys all groaned, but they were smiling. “Well, I knew he was the one back in my first senior year. I tripped on the step into the gym and Steve was the only one there. He helped me up and smiled at me, and I was a goner.”

“He’s lying to you all,” Steve said without looking away from the game. “He knew when I made him homemade banana bread. His exact words were, ‘I’m gonna marry you so hard someday, Harrington.’ and then six months later he proposed.”

“Both can be true,” Eddie pouted.

Steve paused the game and turned to him, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Every moment I have with you proves you’re the one for me,” he said before turning back to the game and leaving Eddie silently shocked.

“This is the last time we come on this thing, Steve,” Gareth said.

“Yeah. You broke him,” Jeff agreed.

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

two | chapter list

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Sirius Black smells like winter. The deep fragrance of cranberries, pomegranate, maybe cinnamon. You aren't certain, and if he weren't currently an inch from your face, you'd ask him what it is. 

"You poor thing," he murmurs, dabbing very, very gently against the bruised skin of your cheek.

"It's not–" You hiss at sudden pressure. He immediately recedes. "It's not so bad,” you say weakly.

"I've half a mind to rag him around and take up the mantle myself." 

"I'd love to see that," Remus says.  

"I'd look good in the uniform, right?" 

James doesn't look happy at their joking but he's been nothing less than a grovelling puppy since last night, and he breaks his silence to say, "You don't have to wear any make-up if it's going to hurt." 

"Uh, yes she does. Imagine the headlines otherwise: Lost Princess Bruised Under the Imbecilic Watch of New Bodyguard," Sirius announces, sharing a not-so-private smile with Remus across the coffee table. 

"It doesn't hurt," you say to James. 

You're lying. Being smacked in the face with a door isn't just embarrassing, it really fucking hurts. James' biceps aren't for show, that's for sure. He'd swung open the door and you, having tripped seconds beforehand over the cord of your lamp, had been at the perfect height for it to bounce off the highest point of your cheek. 

"Princess," he says now, as he'd said last night, "I'm so sorry. I can’t believe I made such a huge mistake.”  

You think of his hands under your arms pulling you up into a standing position, and the way he'd tilted your head back. The barking order he'd given Frank to grab something to use as an ice pack, and the warmth of the pad of his thumb as it stroked the soft line of your jaw before you’d squirmed away. Crying all over your handsome bodyguard’s nice hands hadn't been something you'd pictured doing, not 12 hours after meeting him.

"It was a freak accident." You smile, careful not to push up your cheeks lest you invite another round of shooting pains. "Please don't feel bad. It's my fault for being up in the first place. I just couldn't sleep." 

"If you want anything for the pain, let me know," Remus says. 

"He has his own personal, extensive pharmacy," Sirius says. "You should take him up on it. I beg him every time we fly for some of the strong stuff and he never says yes. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity." 

"Let's not start on the co-codamols," James says. 

"I have ibuprofen," Remus placates. 

"I don't need anything, I promise." 

Some ibuprofen would be awesome, but you really don't want James to feel guilty. You want to forget it ever happened, embarrassed by both your idiocy and your tears, but the pain pangs white hot in your cheek.

"You want me to do your lips?" Sirius asks. 

"How do you mean?" 

Sirius pulls a metal palette of lip colours out of his small make up bag and shows them to you. He circles two with a disposable brush. "These would suit you. I wasn't sure about your complexion. Now I know, I'll get you more options when we're back in Genovia." 

"Oh, um…" You shake your head at him apologetically. "I don't know. You should do what you think is best." 

He puts the palette away. "You don't need anything you're unsure of. You don't need any makeup at all, darling, it only enhances what's already there." 

"Decide quickly. We have ten minutes before we leave," James says. "Princess, are you sure this is everything you want to take?" 

He taps your suitcase with the side of his shoe. You nod. 

"You can bring whatever you want. All of your things, if you like." He gestures to your bedroom. "Though we can get you anything you need, and we will, you're welcome to pack everything." 

"In a day, you'll know I'm not your princess. Less stuff to carry," you say. 

"You're so sure," Remus says. 

He speaks without timidity, laid back in your chair with an air of relaxation you wish you could master. He has a small mass market paperback tucked into one pocket of his jacket, the yellowed pages peeking over the hem, and his hand stuffed into the other. His pose doesn't speak of any arrogance. He looks happy to be here, and it puts you at ease. 

"Do I look like a princess?" you ask. You don't mean to put anyone on the spot —you aren't fishing for compliments— so you steamroll your own question. "I just find it strange. Surely I'd know. I would've known before, I mean." 

"Like a princess beacon?" Sirius asks. 

"No, but… I don't know. I think I'd feel it." 

Remus straightens a touch, grinning. "You look like him. The Prince. You have the same nose." 

Remus stands up before you can ask him to explain. James offers to take his bag and he shrugs away from James’ hand with an annoyed huff. 

To your surprise, James only smiles, cooing after him, "You know you love me, Moony." 

"Well," Sirius says, zipping his bag closed and clasping his hands on top of it. "You can always have your things sent for once we're home." 

Home for them. 

Truthfully, deep down, you want to be a princess. Something in you is aching, is ringing, a string plucked, a tuner reverberating. Finally, something is happening to you, even if that something is unbelievable.

You're not used to having people around and this entire process has been hard. Getting hit in the face had sucked. But, to have company? This single hour has been one of the best you've had in a really long time. Sirius is sweeter than you'd thought, sarcastic but kind-handed, and Remus' dry humour has caught you off guard enough to laugh aloud. Even James' grovelling niceties have been shamefully enjoyable. You can't remember the last time you had someone around who wanted to comfort you.

And that's exactly why you're afraid to admit what seems true. You can't be a princess, because if you are, you get to have this for a little while longer, and that would be too good to be true. 

Much, much too good. 

"Alright, let's go. Sirius, you have the keys?" 

Sirius swings his bag into James’ arms. “Am I driving?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

Another member of James’ security team meets you at your front door to help carry the bags downstairs and into the back of an SUV. You’ve never seen one in person. James won’t allow you to help and getting inside while they’re still packing the boot feels spoiled, so you stand at the corner with too many eyes on you. James stands beside you, one hand hovering at your shoulders to shield you, ridiculously, from the hedges, the other held aloft in level with his mouth, his fingers curled around a small radio. He’s enunciating clear, short instructions. He doesn’t sound as severe as you’d pictured someone in his occupation would sound. 

“What’s traffic like?” he asks. The answer buzzes down the line, inaudible to you but obviously understood by James. “Alright, brilliant. We should be on schedule, then. Is everyone on team three ready for action?”

You can make the next answer out. “Yep, they’re waiting. You want them at the front?”

“Please. I want everyone we have, ideally.”

“Isn’t that overkill?” Sirius shouts from the passenger seat of the car, bent over the handbrake to be heard. “All three teams? That’s twelve men. None of my sources hint at any leaks.”

“I’m being over cautious.” James smiles at you, so suddenly you smile back on instinct. “Security on call get paid either way. Might as well make them work for it.”

He ushers you into the back seat, a cushy leather bench fit for three people. Sirius is quick to pop a section behind his chair for you to unveil a drinks fridge. 

“Oh,” you breathe, legs lit and cooled by the light and the chilled air, “cool.”

“You’ll want to drink one before James assesses that they’re poisoned.”

You wince back. “Are they poisoned?”

“Probably not, darling girl. Why don’t we try them and find out?”

Sirius is a mixture of flirtatious and genuine that you can’t wrap your head around. He’s awfully handsome, too, which makes it worse: he’s tanned, his curls soft but shining, and he has the most perfect Roman nose you’ve ever seen. He’s almost as handsome as James. 

“Let me be very clear,” he says, turning in his seat to face you, “I’m not an intelligence agent. I don’t know nearly as much as sweet Jamie about security, but I have a lot of friends in high places and, as far as I’m aware, nobody outside of the British or Genovian government knows what we’re doing here. And nobody has reason to hurt you just yet.” He grins. “It’s James’ job to be paranoid, but that’s all it is.” 

You waver, and his cheerful smile fades. 

He lowers his voice, tone sympathetic. “I can really try one first if you’re worried.”

The driver’s door opens and James climbs in. “Try what?” he asks. He moves through a routine quickly of safety checks like a learning driver would. He rolls up the open window and turns in his seat, gaze flitting between you and Sirius suspiciously. “Everything okay?”

“I think the Princess is a little anxious about leaving the country,” Sirius says. 

“Yeah?” James asks, eyes back to the windshield. He turns the key, and the car warms to life with a low roar. 

“A little.” You nudge the fridge closed with your foot. 

“What was that?” James asks. “Is that a fridge? Do me a favour, don’t drink any of that. I'll get you whatever you want at the airport.”

“She can’t have a bottle of water from the fancy four by four but airport drinks are fine?” Sirius laughs. 

“Spike one fridge’s worth or the entire supply chain?” James asks. 

“What if this assassin is inefficient?”

“Assassin?” you ask. 

James glares at Sirius, their joking suddenly culled. "There are no assassins, Princess. He's being ridiculous." He looks to you with a smile. "You have everything?" 

Your sickly grimace has him giving pause. All fake smiles and dramatics fall away, and in its place is the genuineness you'd been met with last night. 

"Hypothetically," he says, "there are assassins. In reality, there absolutely are not. You're not in any danger, alright? Sirius is the master of badly timed jokes." 

"Okay," you say meekly. 

James nods and you buckle in, sitting back in the comfiest car seat you've ever been privy to as you turn your face to the window. You look up at your building, shrinking as the car starts to move. You drive further and further away, until you turn a corner, and your life is out of view. 

—

James is worried about you. As an acquaintance, he's starting to think you're a worrying person. There isn't a whole lot of spark behind your eyes —you rival Remus for number of tired smiles. 

He wonders why you hadn't packed any of your art supplies. Your room is teeming with them. Even if you're correct and you aren't a Genovian princess after all, there's still a day or more before they can actually confirm it. Factoring in travel time, you won't be home for at least a week. A week without your sketchbooks and paints and pencils. 

As your bodyguard, as a bodyguard, James has always taken concern in his charge's overall health, mental and physical. You don't seem ill, but you do seem unhappy. 

"Are you afraid of flying?" he asks, hoping that will explain your distance. He stands less than half a foot from you. He'll allow you some more space just as soon as you're not in an airport. 

"I'm not sure," you answer. 

Another peculiarity, you're a pathological liar. 

Okay, that's unfair. You aren't pathological. James is an excellent judge of character as his job requires. He's gotten good at profiling a person's motivations. Your motivation is to become the smallest version of yourself that you can be, any possible imposition set aside, such as your plain refusal of painkillers when your cheek can't not hurt.

"Is there something I can do? To help you feel better?" 

"Is that your job?" you ask, voice lilting upward with self-consciousness. 

"Kind of. You know, as soon as your paternity test is recognised, you could ask for just about anything. An assistant, as many assistants and attendants as you want. Your security will most certainly increase, especially when the Palace makes a statement." He notes your widening eyes and backtracks. "It's not really my job, but I wouldn't mind. If you think of anything, let me know." 

You hide your hands in the pockets of your hoodie. You're dressed as he advised, comfortably and nondescript. 

"Do you need anything from me?" you ask. 

He hides his surprise, his eyes doing another lap of the semi-private waiting room he's ushered you into. He takes in business men, officials, and diplomats for the tenth time in half an hour. 

"I don't need anything from you, Princess. Thank you." 

"I don't want to make your job any harder than it is." 

"You haven't." 

"That's not true," you murmur, bruised cheek angled toward the floor and away from view. 

"That was my fault, not yours," James says.

He remembers the heat of your tears running down his index finger. 

"That was my mistake," he reaffirms. 

You don't answer, but James knows it isn't an agreeable silence. Which is fine, he isn't trying to dominate your opinion, would never assume he had the right to police what you're feeling. He wants to reassure you more than he strictly should. 

This might be harder than I thought, he thinks. 

"The flight is near enough three hours. You're sure you don't want anything to take with you? If you're worried about dietary restrictions, there's a salad bar in the Mastercard lounge. I'm sure we can get someone to make you something up." 

"I'm fine… Will you be hungry?" 

He laughs. "You really don't understand the employee-employer dynamic, do you?" he asks, not unkindly. "You don't have to worry about me." 

He's teasing you. He knows he's done a good job when you lift your head. 

"I don't think you can talk about employee-employer dynamics," you say, flicking your eyes down to your cheek's bruise.

“Oh, nice! That was a quick one. We'll make a Genovian of you yet, they're all sarcastic." 

"They? You aren't Genovian?" 

"Do I look Genovian?" he asks, gesturing to his face. You splutter. "I'm messing with you. No, I'm not originally from Genovia, but my heart is hers." 

"You've always lived there?" 

"Since I was two." 

Your expression dims. It takes James a second to connect the dots. 

"There are plenty of people living in Genovia who aren't native. Remus is Welsh, can you tell? His accent hasn't quite survived it." 

"James, you and Remus, and Sirius, you've met before? You all seem familiar." 

"We went to the same boarding school. Well, we actually shared a room. We–" He feels heat washing across his face at his unprofessional phrasing. "We're best mates." 

"And you all get to be together," you say. 

"Yeah, we do. We're lucky. Before this, Remus was working as a royal tutor for the young elites, and Sirius was trying to micromanage Julianna. That's your cousin." 

"The Princess' cousin," you correct. 

"You brought us back together," he says without arguing. "You'll have to forgive me for hoping you are who they say you are." 

"Lily never really explained, how I- I mean, why they think it's me." 

"Well," he says, stepping closer to you still, and lowering his voice, "my assumption is that, because the Prince's passing was a freak accident, they hadn't really planned for a different successor."

"Well, what were they going to do? He'd pass on eventually." 

"I believe there were hopes he'd marry a Duchess." 

"And have a legitimate child." 

"Yes. You are, to the majority, a secret. The Prince would have been seventeen at the time of your conception, which is a royal scandal if I've ever heard one." 

"Seventeen?" you ask. 

"Lily didn't tell you any of this?" 

"Honestly, uh, she might have. I wasn't–” You clear your throat. "Wasn't really listening? I had a pretty bad migraine at the time, and I was tired?”

"You were overwhelmed with finding out that you're a princess." 

"That I might be a princess." 

"Sure. When they told me I might be Prince of Italy, I had the same reaction." 

You wrinkle your nose at him, the most forceful thing you've done in his presence. He laughs a storm, only tamping it down when he remembers he's a  professional. 

Soon, the boys return from their airport traipsing. Remus makes a comment on James' little smile, and he pretends to zip his lips closed when they both spot Sirius' probing glances. James moves your entourage to the aircraft then, not private but almost, and you board into first class seats, two per each side of the aisle and partitioned by a sheet of frosted plexiglass. 

You and James sit together. 

He doesn't subject you to conversation. He's technically working, and so while he relaxes into his seat and stretches out his tired legs, he doesn't completely forgo vigilance. 

You look around in awe for some time. Eyes widened just slightly, lips parted, you sit up and sneak glances at everything you can.

James knocks on the partition. “You want the fan? The heater?" 

"The fan, please,” you say, and he supposes you do look a bit warm around the collar.

He doesn't bother saying of course, or no worries, or no problem. He's a problem solver. If you're going to be under his watch, he's going to make it as easy on you as he can. That means letting you be thankful without shrugging it off. 

Your eyes close quickly. Your eyelashes flutter imperceptibly in the fans slow breeze, and your lips part as you fall into sleep. Last night's disruption had been hard on you no doubt.

James stands and eases sideways down the aisle to check on Remus and Sirius. Remus sits reading, while Sirius leans into his space, a magazine open but unread on his thighs.

"Anything for me to read?" James asks Remus. 

Remus knows exactly what James is up to. If he appreciates or abhors the extra attention is anyone's guess, until he digs through the bag at his feet and pulls out one of his Russian philosophy novels with a smirk. "This or the newspaper." 

James takes the worn paperback with a wry look of defeat and reaches over and across to Sirius head of curls, tugging one cruelly. 

Sirius looks up, but is only irritable when he notices that it had been James, and not his seatmate. 

"What?" Sirius demands. 

"Do you need anything?" 

"No. Quit mothering. And maybe get some rest?" 

"I can't."

"You most certainly can. Swap out with Frank, or Mickey or someone." 

James swaps out with Mickey. Mikkelson, please keep an eye on the entryway. Yes, boss. He returns, finding you weren’t as asleep as he'd thought. You look at him through lashes. You've gone soft, in little regard for your appearance, and he's glad for it. Watching you is like watching a spring stretched tall, and now you've finally snapped into yourself and deflated. 

"You alright?" he murmurs. 

You nod, and he sits, and when he doesn't get up you fall asleep again, like you'd been waiting for him to get back. You sleep for hours through turbulence, Sirius' roaring laughter, Remus' answering chuckles, and the flight attendant who scolds them. James wishes he could do the same, reading a mind-numbing forty pages of Russian literature densely translated and sipping on a glass of coke, the ache of an oncoming headache pinching behind his eyes. 

The hubbub doesn't wake you. The plane lands and you sleep on. 

James whispers your name quietly, louder when you fail to rouse. Finally, he gives in and squeezes your shoulder. Resting heat radiates through the fabric of your hoodie, your hair frizzy where it's rubbed against the seat behind you. 

You wake with a cough. "James?" 

"We're here, Princess, in Genovia." 

"That was," —you yawn, turning to hide your face so he can't see— "fast." 

You look like you might fall asleep again. His heart does an awful little flip, which he dutifully ignores.

"It was hours. You've slept the whole time. A good thing, huh?" He bends down until you're face to face, close enough to share your breath. "That bruise is getting worse. Remus will give you painkillers, and I'm gonna get you an ice pack as soon as we're off the plane." He squeezes your shoulder again. "Up. Come on." 

You nod and rub your eyes, stretching in your seat. He averts his gaze and stands as tall as he can, shoulders hunched to avoid clipping his head. Remus has made no efforts to move yet and Sirius is in the aisle, pulling their bags into his arms. 

"Are you alright, Moony?" James asks. 

Remus has gone ashen. 

"He has a migraine,” Sirius says quietly.

"Can you see okay?" James asks. 

Remus gets blurry, occluded vision when he gets these sudden migraines. He winces, hand over his eyes, and says, "Not really. Can I have your sunglasses?" 

"Yeah," James says, holding in the, of course you can, I'd genuinely die for you, that he wants to add. 

He slides his rucksack off of his shoulder and takes his sunglasses from the front pocket. He taps them into Remus' hand. 

"You'll have to touch up the Princess' bruise for me," Sirius says. 

James startles. "What?" 

"It's easy–" 

"I'll take Remus," James says. 

"You can both go do your jobs, I'll be fine," Remus mutters, flinching at an invisible, biting pain. 

"No," they both deny. 

Remus doubles over. 

"All you have to do is stipple it," Sirius whispers fervently.

"Sirius, I don't know what stippling is." 

"Dots of makeup. She knows what shade we chose. Here, take my bag. There's a clean brush." 

Remus hasn't always let them take care of him. His disabilities have made him the subject of disdain, pity, and misguided attention, which he has never, ever wanted, and he'd mistaken their friendship for lots of things at first. Nowadays, he accepts the help that he needs, help that his friend's are happy to give, and disregards their smothering overkill otherwise. That being said, Remus has always found it easier to accept help from Sirius than James. They all know it and none of them bother saying why that is aloud. James leaves him to it.

James ushers you back into your seat where you'd been standing tentatively in the aisle and presents the little make up bag. He kneels in front of you. 

"I'll get the painkillers," he says, remembering his earlier promise, "Sirius is preoccupied, so you're stuck with me on touch ups." 

"Is it bad?" 

"No. Does it feel bad?" 

Your slow response is telling. "No," you lie, "it's not that bad." You point at one of the colours through the clear case. "I think it was that one." 

"Thank you," he says, murmurs, opening the case. There's a brush tucked inside, and he picks it up clumsily. He is completely out of his depth, but James Potter doesn’t give up, nor baulk in the face of new things.

"Does he have a mirror? I can do it myself, if you want,” you say.

"If he does, he didn't give it to me. I promise not to mess you up too badly, Princess. Put your trust in me,” he teases.

James presses the brush into your chosen colour and pats. The concealer is harder than he'd thought it would be, tough under the brush. It all looks silly in his hands. 

"Lean your head back for me," he says softly. 

You tip your chin up. Your eyes close as he begins. 

He's too careful. The colour doesn't want to transfer. "Sorry," he murmurs, applying pressure. You wince but say nothing to stop him. "Tell me if it hurts too much." 

"It's only a bruise."

"You're allowed to be hurt. And you should be more angry with me." 

"It was an accident." 

"It was my mistake." He watches the bruise blend away under concealer, but the colour doesn't quite match your skin. He tries his best to blend out the edges. "A professional mistake, which means you're more than allowed to be annoyed." 

"I'm starting to think you want me to be mad," you say. You're trying not to move, and so each word is half a whisper. 

"I do. I want you to be furious. It's ten times harder to keep someone safe when they have no self-preservation. And it’s a little concerning. I’m used to immediate revenge." 

He gives up on the brush and uses his pinky finger to smudge out the blocky colour he's left behind. Your skin is scorching under his touch. 

"So if I'm angry with you, that makes your job easier?" 

He hums. "Mh-hmm. Much easier." 

You hold your breath as he finishes up, a gentle patting motion as he was instructed. 

"How some girls do this every day," he mutters. 

"It gets easier." 

"Yeah?" He drags his pinky down your cheek without thinking. "Hopefully this is my last time. It looks fine. Maybe don't stop in direct sunlight." 

He collects all of his things and pulls the makeup bag into his chest, easing his way out into the aisle again. You follow. Everyone else has de-boarded the plane besides a pearly-smiled flight attendant, whose smile grows impossibly wider as they approach. 

"Everything okay today folks?" he asks. "How was your flight?" 

James offers thank-yous and guides you down the length of the plane to the exit. You're quiet from the plane to the steps, his hand ghosting your shoulder, to the tarmac, where your security entourage awaits. Including James there are eight bodyguards. Two stick close, five form a mock perimeter around you. 

"Unfortunately, you might draw attention from the protection detail alone. It's up to you, Princess, but I can hide your face." 

"Is that… dramatic?" 

"It's completely up to you. I don't think it's dramatic. Just depends on how comfortable you are with your face potentially on TV." 

"Can I– Maybe I'll stay close," you say, pulling your hood up. 

"Just prod me if you're uncomfortable." 

He takes you by the elbow and you walk. There aren't any paparazzi waiting outside, and James thinks maybe the news of your arrival has escaped them, and you won't be exposed to the madness that is paps with a story like this one, until he sees Sirius and Remus waiting at the glass doors into the airport with wringing hands.

A crowd of cameras waits inside.

"Can't we go around?" Sirius asks. 

"They have to check our passports, idiot," Remus says.

"You can’t fucking see around them, mate," Sirius says to James. 

James motions for you to stand where you are and crosses the gap to get a better look. Mickey takes his place by your side. 

"Fuck," he hisses, because the crowd is a herd, a sea of Genovian’s waiting to see their new princess, "what the fuck is that? I thought nobody knew we were coming." 

"Should I be worried?" he hears you ask quietly. 

"Mikkelson, give the Princess your sunglasses,” James orders.

"So yes, then," you say. 

James props open the door with his foot. "Princess, you're going first, behind me. They'll expect you in the middle. Hopefully that'll minimise what they can get, we’re going to be quick." He holds out his arm. 

You slot perfectly underneath it. 

"Ready?" he asks. 

You don't look very ready. You nibble your lip and nod anyhow, tucking your face into his front. James walks you forward, into a storm of white flashes and shouting, the precipice of your new life.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed this chapter <3 please consider reblogging if you did, I'd love to know what you thought and what you want to see in the next one! and a happy new year !!!!

[ireadwithmyears]

the art of experience: part 1

we all start somewhere

Part 2

Pairings: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Commander Cody/fem reader

Word count: 3.5 K words 

Tags/warnings: 18+: minors dni, smut, threesome, lite dom/sub dynamics, experience/figuring things out/slight awkwardness in the beginning, oral (F and M receiving), inappropriate use of the force, no plot

summary: Your main objective when you were hired and subsequently assigned to  The Negotiator was to be a beacon of support for the troops, providing them with kindness and a boost of morale. Somehow, you highly doubt that your superiors would have intended this to be a part of your job description. You just prefer to think of it as going above the line of duty for your all too deserving men.

Or 

You enter into a new and thrilling dynamic with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Marshall Commander Cody. Thus begins an exciting series of escapades

Authors note:: Months ago,  this started off as me in my head going man, I love Codywan so much but I also kind of just want to be in between the two of them, then was tentatively pitched to a couple friends on here, @vodika-vibes and I shared quite a few thirsty thoughts on Saturdays, if I recall correctly. Anyways, I finally had the guts to turn my food for thought into a series, and if you want more information on that, specifically, check out the notes for this on my AO3. But regardless, I hope I’m not the only one who has dreams of being in the middle of a Codywan sandwich, because there is a distinct lack of content to feed this desire out there. But if you also happen to share it, then I really hope you enjoy this.

“Sorry, hold on, I’m sorry I um...”

You had convinced yourself that there was absolutely nothing a person like you could do to help out in the war effort against the Separatists. You weren’t a medic. You weren’t a fighter. Hell, you couldn’t even serve as a passable mechanic to help repair banged-up ships. You’d probably, in all likelihood, end up electrocuting yourself or blowing up a ship while you were still aboard it.

So when your great aunt, most likely with the intention of getting you to do something, anything that got you out of the house, suggested that you join up with one of the Republic's newest war relief force efforts—the Doughnut Cart Girls, groups of women armed with sweets and baked goods being sent aboard ships with troops to provide them with morale boosts and cheer—you thought, “Yeah, if nothing else, I can do that

Your poor, dear, sweet great aunt would be absolutely mortified to know that her suggestion had led to you being in quite possibly the most scandalous position of your life in the private quarters of one High Jedi General Obi-Wan Kenobi—in between not one but two high-ranking officers of the GAR.

For your part, however, you couldn’t be more thrilled. 

Lying flat on your stomach, completely naked on the edge of the bed, you’re propped up on your elbows, hips raised by several pillows that arch your back just so. Obi-Wan is right behind you, his eagerness and impatience displayed by the tight grip he has on your thigh, and the way you can practically feel his eyes burning into you, staring down at the place where he knows if he were to lower his head slightly, he could be tasting you right now.

You both make a lovely tableau, but the only person with any actual ability to unpause this frozen moment—and who seems to be enjoying the anticipation that he draws out from both of you so easily by deliberately withholding that permission—is standing directly in front of you.

It’s one very calm, almost to the point of stoicism if you didn’t know any better, Marshall Commander Cody, whose only dead giveaway is the slight twitch of amusement that persists to pull up his lips as his eyes fall to you, hearing the uncertain question in your voice as you shift around on your elbows. You suddenly wish you hadn’t spoken and tainted the sanctity of this stillness. It would make you laugh really, if he wasn’t looking at you with such an intense focus, as if you’re caught in the centre of his orbit and you’re all he would like to look at. The three of you had gone over so much in negotiations and yet this, such a simple thing, had been overlooked.

“Yes?” he prompts, linking his hands behind his back in an effortless show of authority, looming over you and making your stomach twist just a little more as you glance down at the floor. “What is it, lovely?”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” you blurt out, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “My plan was to, well, wing it, but I…” You helplessly wave a hand, unable to look directly at his length protruding expectantly just beyond your reach. If you leaned forward, your lips would brush against him.

The thought makes your cheeks burn. “Force,” you scold yourself sternly. “Get it together. This isn’t middle school.”

This had never been a thing your previous partners had been brave enough to ask you for, and you, if you were honest, didn’t care enough to push, considering how useless they all had been when trying, or maybe the proper term was not trying, to get you off. You had decided that when, if ever, the time came, you would give it your best shot and let experience and four years worth of college improv classes be the best teachers. Now though, confronted with the reality of not one, but two men intently watching your every move, the weight of encroaching failure threatens to crush you, making you feel more than certain that this isn’t just something you can improvise and make look like a convincing effort.

You let your elbows drop, and you're met with the momentary solace of your heated cheek pressing against cool bed covers, hiding your embarrassment from their intense gazes.

“I just don’t want to disappoint,” you conclude, your voice coming out slightly muffled and more than a little bit sheepish against the sheets.

If you weren’t so intent upon imagining a hole opening up in the ground that you could vanish into, you would have had to bite your tongue in an attempt to hold back your laughter. This could be funny. This could be hilarious, considering how thoroughly and thoughtfully details had been discussed and arranged before they even entertained the idea of getting you undressed. It had been going so well, everything falling into place like pieces of a puzzle, and yet, here you are, ruining the moment with your lack of knowledge and embarrassing amount of inexperience.

“Dear one...” Obi-Wan’s voice is warm and smooth as honey as his lips brush against your shoulder and his hand snakes beneath you gently to guide up your chin. “Is this something that you want to do?”

Bless him. Bless both of them, really. You know that they would never, ever try to push you to do something—even as trivial or widely accepted as this—if you weren’t comfortable with it, and it’s that knowledge that allows you to quickly nod your head. 

“I do,” you reassure quickly, adding a small, nervous laugh. “I just don’t know how,” you say with a shrug.

“That’s okay.” His assurance is whisper soft, almost seeming to be carried by a physical brush against your skin that settles and soothes you despite your anxiety. He leans forward to kiss your cheek. “We all have to start somewhere.”

He looks up, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he meets Cody’s gaze, and continues to speak. “And I happen to consider myself an expert in getting Cody off. So, I propose that I am perfectly suited to teaching you the art of it.”

This causes Cody to roll his eyes in fond exasperation, but they soften around the corners when he hears your small laugh, your shoulders beginning to drop away from where they’ve been hunched up towards your ears as the discomfort and embarrassment in your posture seems to ebb. 

“May I, sir?” Obi-Wan asks, looking up at Cody with those big blues that make it hard to deny him on even the best of days, and he sighs, nodding in acquiescence. 

“I’d start with your lips,” Obi-Wan suggests, his voice a soft rumble as his own lips dance along the exposed skin of your neck, always gentle and warm with only the barest hint of teeth—a stipulation of Cody’s when negotiations had begun. 

The man hid his possessive streak behind a neutral, composed mask. But when he had stated with firm decisiveness that he was to be the only one permitted to leave marks along your visible skin, well, you had had to press your thighs together quite tightly to stop yourself from reacting too extremely. 

“Just explore, and I promise that, short of biting him, there’s nothing you could do that won’t lead you to finding something he’ll enjoy as long as you can pick up his cues.”

You don’t see the smirk that overtakes his features as he leans forward, but you do witness the results. Later, you’ll learn that that smirk means mischief, maybe even trouble and a guarantee that it’s intended to put Cody on edge, which it always does. But right now, you watch, intrigued and maybe even a little bit scandalized as he unabashedly reaches forward, giving Cody’s balls a generous squeeze before retreating and listening to the commander's accompanying gasp.

“Lucky for you,” he continues, unfazed except for the telltale tilt of his lips that indicates he’s quite pleased with himself, “Cody’s cues are quite easy to read if one takes the time to listen.”

“Obi-Wan,” Cody murmurs, a low warning edge that seems to be very familiar to the other man creeping into his voice. 

The Jedi has the decency to duck his head. “Sorry, sir,” he demurs, though to your ears he doesn’t sound apologetic at all as his lips return to your shoulder.

From the small scoff Cody makes in the back of his throat, he’s disinclined to believe him either. 

You don’t give him long to waver on that though. Emboldened by the lips that brush along your skin and Obi-Wan’s encouragement, you lean forward, readjusting yourself on your elbows. 

You close your eyes and allow your lips to tentatively explore, kissing up the length of him as if it were any other part of his body, slow and delicate. A controlled, shivering breath from above you indicates that your efforts are being appreciated, and you reach out a hand, trailing it along the edge of the bed until it reaches the broad muscle of his thigh, fingers skimming along it lightly until they come to rest, latching on and feeling it flex and tense beneath them.

“Oh.” A quiet groan greets your ears as your tongue lightly swirls over his balls, a hand, soft and gentle, caressing over your hair. It doesn’t push; it doesn’t insistently tangle to nudge you forward. Cody just strokes, feeling the soft strands beneath the pads of his fingers as he watches, intrigue and pleasure dancing within his brown depths.

“Open your eyes,” Obi-Wan whispers, his voice suddenly very close to your ear which sends a shiver through you as your tongue glides up towards Cody’s glistening tip. “Look at what you’re doing to him already.”

You curiously flutter your eyes open, only to watch his carefully masked expression of control fracture when you take him between your lips, giving the head a small, teasing suck before pulling back. His eyes widen fractionally, and his lips part in a silent “oh.”

“Open your mouth,” Obi-Wan instructs, his hands drawing a trail of heat that tingles down your sides as they traverse their way towards your hips. “Nice and wide. Take him slowly.”

You do, leaning forward and capturing Cody between your lips once more, carefully easing your mouth over him, the deep sigh falling from his lips letting you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Good,” Obi-Wan breathes, and it’s a little embarrassing how that one word so softly spoken and the warm timbre of his voice cause you to blush. “Can you tighten these up a little?” His lips again brush against your cheek, and you have to wonder if Cody is still able to feel a muted sensation because his own breath stumbles. You hollow out your cheeks, enveloping Cody in your warm, wet heat. He groans long and low, and Obi-Wan smiles, his lips against your neck.

You don’t need him to tell you what to do now. Slowly, you begin to move your head, lavishing every inch your mouth can reach with attention as you suck, feeling how heavy he sits against your tongue.

It’s Obi-Wan who stifles a low noise now, the sound appreciative, and you swear you can feel his hips minutely buck, the whisper of a firm erection pressing against your ass.

“Isn’t she a sight, Cody?” Obi-Wan asks, his chin resting against your shoulder as he watches, enjoying the view. His lips tease against the shell of your ear as he leans in to whisper, “You’re all stuffed full of him, dearest, and you’re doing beautifully.”

“She is,” Cody hums in agreement, his eyes fluttering as he is torn between wanting to enjoy how warm, tight, and wet you feel around him and wanting to watch your efforts as you work.

The praise sends a heavy wave of pleasure through you, your eyes fluttering beneath their combined attention. You respond by letting out a soft hum around Cody, pulling back to flutter your tongue around his cockhead before taking him fully back into your mouth. Each sensation pulls something new—a soft, surprised curse, a tightening of his hand clenching into a fist at his side, and breath with control that you can tell is becoming harder and harder to maintain accompanied by a whispered, “good girl,” causing your eyes to widen in response.

“She’s figuring it out on her own, love,” he murmurs, and you’re so distracted by the feeling of running your tongue along his underside and feeling how his other hand instinctively tightens in your hair to stop his hips from twitching forward that it takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you. “You have your own task, Obi-Wan.”

“Yes, sir,” Obi-Wan says with far too much enthusiasm. You can practically hear the smile in his voice accompanied by the soft shifting of him moving down the bed.

Your lips tighten around Cody as you feel Obi-Wan, the slight tickle of his beard, and his lips, followed by his tongue, running along your lower spine, causing your eyes to widen. It’s a testament to Cody’s impeccable sense of control that he remains still, allowing you to adjust to Obi-Wan’s teasing explorations before giving your hair a light, prompting tug.

“You aren’t allowed to come until I explicitly give you permission to,” he says, his voice low and holding the slight threat, the promise of consequences to come if you were to disobey. “Is that understood?”

It takes you a moment—eyes widening with distraction as Obi-Wan’s tongue teases the sensitive juncture of your inner thigh—but slowly, you raise your hand, lightly tapping against the edge of the mattress, the pre-discussed signal for consent if you were in a position where you were unable to speak.

“Good girl,” Cody says in a pleased rumble, his fingers dipping to trace along your lips still wrapped around his cock, eyes closing as he feels himself enclosed in your mouth. “Gods,” he breathes, giving his hips a testing nudge forward. “Such a pretty mouth.”

He tilts his head, looking off behind you. “So quiet like this,” he observes, punctuating his words with another short thrust. “Let’s see if Obi-Wan can change that, hm?”

He doesn’t give you time to wonder at the meaning of his words before a warm, wet tongue is easing between your lower lips, swirling delicately over your entrance before gliding towards your clit. The flat of the muscle slowly presses against it, causing your hips to buck and a surprised whimper to fall from the lips still wrapped around Cody’s cock. The reverberation of sound causes him to let out his own low groan, his hand in your hair now beginning to guide you forward.

Cody lets out a low chuckle, even as his fingers grasp firmly on your hair, causing a tingling, yet strangely not unpleasant sensation at the back of your head as he begins to fuck your mouth in ernest. You can tell he’s holding back, only pushing past what is comfortable but never going too far, letting your expressions dictate the force of his thrusts, for which you are grateful.

“Do that again, Obi-Wan,” Cody orders, tugging at your hair until only the head of his cock still sits between your lips and you’re looking up at him with wide eyes. He watches you languidly swirl your tongue around the tip as he continues. “I want to see the look on your face when he plays with your clit.”

Obi-Wan obliges—eagerly, if his hands latching onto and spreading your thighs further apart are any indication. His tongue flutters over the small bud, causing your mouth to fall open in a whine, your eyes going wide as his lips begin to suckle and he lets out a soft hum that makes your hips twitch.

Several things happen in quick succession. 

Cody, taking advantage of your parted lips and opened mouth slowly guides you back down, giving you enough time to inhale through your nose in preparation. Obi-Wan, his hands digging into your thighs, sweeps his tongue over your clit one last time, relishing in the soft moan he pulls from you before gliding to your entrance, letting out his own pleased sound as he circles around your slit, gathering your arousal on his tongue before his eyes flutter and he presses it inside.

“Mmmm.” You’re unable to stop the moan that is pulled from your lips as you’re drawn closer towards Cody’s pelvis, your nose lightly pressing against the mound of soft hair you discover there. Obi-Wan’s tongue continues to explore, lightly curling within its confines until he’s brushing up against a spot that is completely maddening, causing you to arch your back and buck your hips against his face despite the grip he has on your thighs. Cody, watching the way your cheeks flush as he looks down at you, begins to retreat, only to watch with a pleasured intensity as in a slow, deep thrust he pushes back into your mouth again, the noise of satisfaction rumbling through him sending sparks straight between your legs.

And then, just when you think there’s nothing more they could do—when you are only able to focus on Cody’s hand in your hair, your jaw slack as he lets himself use your mouth for his pleasure, with Obi-Wan’s tongue pressing into you in slow, deep, and rhythmic strokes that have you actually mewling—there’s more.

Something happens that you can’t describe as a specific sensation as much as it is a feeling. It’s warm, pulsing in waves directed squarely at your clit that up until this moment has been dormant with neglect, now throbbing with a warm, molten heat that builds and builds and builds and—oh, fuck! Is he using the Force?

He gives a low sound that perhaps could be a chuckle as you feel his lips curl upwards against you in a smile as he continues to show you the skills of his tongue. It’s almost as if he can hear your thoughts even as the only things that fall from your lips are muffled, cut off whimpers. In response, as if to say, “Yes, darling, that’s exactly what I’m doing,” what feels like a ball of slow, building energy rolls across the nub, fluttering and growing until your clit is surrounded by his pulsing, heated desire.

You can’t help it. You can’t help the way Cody’s cock slips from your mouth and your head throws back and you’re whining, actually whining—not in the soft, needy way but in the high-pitched, desperate, in the throes of something you couldn’t stop even if you dug your heels into the ground and tried with all your might kind of way. It’s embarrassing the way he has so effortlessly, easily, and thoroughly made you come undone, not that you could remotely bring yourself to care as it hits you.

Down come your elbows, your head unable to remain balanced, falling with a soft sound against the mattress as your orgasm seems to wash through you like a wave, traveling through the tips of your tightly curled toes to your tensing and flexing thigh muscles beneath Obi-Wan’s fingers all the way up your back, arching and squirming, resulting in sounds that fall from your lips that you would not have predicted you were capable of making.

And then it fades, slow and gentle and leaving a flush, a tingling heat against your skin as you, almost by some invisible force, are guided to anchor yourself within your breath. Someone, without words, gently coaxing it to settle and slow as you look up, dimly aware of the sweat that’s gathered at the base of your scalp.

And then you realize that you’re looking up directly into the face of Cody, who, despite his cheeks being flushed from the talents of your mouth, appears perfectly calm, composed, and controlled with his hands laced behind his back and oh, the scar that curls around his eye only highlights the glimmer of his disappointment as he contemplatively looks down at you, his gaze heavy and considering. Before he even raises a displeased eyebrow, before he even speaks, you’re hit with the weight of having done something that you were explicitly told not to do.

“Hm,” he muses, reaching down and running his fingers through your hair in a surprisingly gentle stroke that ends in an even more surprisingly sharp tug as he commands your gaze skyward, causing a soft “mm” of pleasure-pain to fall from your parted lips. When he next speaks, his voice is too measured, too conversational, sending alarm bells streaking through your mind, one after the other like passing sirens on the street, making your heart pick up in speed with the euphoric, enticingly dangerous blend of wanting to bow your head in apologetic submission or cower away and flee from the ire of his disapproval.

“And here I was thinking you were sweet and obedient.”

And with those words, you come to the understanding that you are so irrevocably fucked, and despite the anxiety that twinges in your stomach that always accompanies a misstep, having to bite down on your instinctive guilt of disappointing others, you find, for perhaps the first time, that you couldn’t be more delighted.

[life-is-unreal]

Stranger Danger~ {Genshin x Reader} Teyvat Chapter 13 - Welcome Bobetta

Other than a few questions from Paimon on Leila and the drunks, it didn't take too long till the four of you went back into the Angel's Share.

"You're here." Venti grinned at Jean's shocked face.

Did Jean seriously not know? You wondered. She had eyes everywhere, ok, maybe it's just the plot.

"Wait, you're...Aether? Y- Y/N?" 

"Jean?"

Diluc coughed lightly, "Well, first of all, I contacted more than one person. Secondly, she came here as "Jean" herself, not as the Acting Grand Master. A Jean you would never see, even as an Honorary Knight."

Jean frowned, staring at Venti, "What a surprise, I heard about the Holy Lyre, but I never suspected it was you. So, the sound of the Holy Lyre can purify Stormterror and return it to normal... Is that true?"

"That's right! Aether and Y/N is putting themselves on the front line to try and resolve this Stormterror issue. Now that's the hotshot of the Knights of Favonius I'm talking about."

"Feel's like we're breaking the law though..." Paimon mumbled.

"Jean, you wouldn't arrest us right?" You asked. "It's quite stuffy in there."

"I-"

"I understand this kind of absurd explanation is hard to believe. But, we can ask the bard to play the song again to try and persuade-"

"I believe you. And, I promise that I won't arrest you for stealing the Holy Lyre."

"To persuade our stubborn comman- Wait, what?" Diluc frowned, turning his head to Jean.

"I can't think of any reason for Dvalin's betrayal, given it was once one of the Four Winds. However, if it was poisoned in the battle over Mondstadt all those years ago... And then corrupted by the Abyss Mage after it woke up - we can't really blame it." Jean placed a hand to her chin, "But as Acting Grand Master I obviously cannot make such a statement publicly. Diplomatic pressure from the Fatui makes it hard for us to seek a peaceful resolution to the Stormterror issue. People would think I've lost grip on the gravity of the situation. That's why I can only do this in private."

The people in her words doing nothing and pushing aaaalll their problems to her.

"Hmph. That's one of the reasons I don't like the Knights of Favonius." I have to agree with that. "What surprises me is that you would believe an outlander so easily..."

Jean's eyes twitched, "My cautious and meticulous superior, even you trust him. Don't you, sir?"

"I already told you not to call me sir...Never mind. We don't often get to work together after all."

"...Sir?" Aether gaped. Yeahhh, Diluc was the captain of the Knights so basically he's stronger than everyone in the Knights of Favonius except maybe Albedo and Klee.

A moment of awkward silence filled the room. "Wow! Um...This is really awkward..." Paimon giggled, a large fake smile on her face.

"I have a rough idea of where the Holy Lyre der Himmel is." Venti leaned towards you, "Nice recovery! She's really talented at changing the subject..." He whispered. You nodded slightly, pushing him back to his place.

Jean waved her hand, "The conflict between Mondstadt and Snezhnaya stems from the conflict between the seven nations and their respective gods. The Cryo God's fatui seem to be after the Anemo God's power."

"..."

"So are they going to take over the defense of Mondstadt?" Upon Aether's words, Jean's brows furrowed.

"If the Knights of Favonius publicly prevented an attempt on Dvalin's head, then... The only other way to affect the Anemo God's power is to take the Holy Lyre."

"The number of Fatui that have come to Mondstadt is far from limited. I've already managed to... coerce a few reports out of them." More like forced, tortured and interrogated them then killed them."Diluc has determined that the Holy Lyre is not being held in the Goth Grand Hotel. I imagine they don't want to leave something stolen in a place where it could be so easily found."

"Paimon gets it. If too much of a scene gets made then it becomes a big diplomatic issue."

"Hmph, such is the diplomacy between the seven nations. Outlanders, ready to go?"

-.-.-

"Eugh, thank god I left Bob before coming here. He's gonna melt in this shitty place." You scowled, feeling the rising temperature.

"Paimon's melting..." The fairy groaned, her arms wrapped around you like a child.

"How the fuck is Diluc not sweating with his thick ass coat?" You grumbled, glancing at the red head a few meters ahead.

"He left us a chest Y/N!" Aether hurriedly opened the chest throwing the drops to Paimon and You.

"Thanks..." You groaned louder, "I can't even see Diluc now. Hurry up Aether, you're slower than Paimon." 

Aether rolled his eyes. "You're the only one that's not even looking for chests and mora."

"No, NO! Don't eat me! Ah? You're...You're human?"

"...Are you seriously shaking? You're the one with a sword." You mumbled.

"The entire floor's defenses... have been broken. I thought it was the Abyss Order attacking..."

"Brotha, you would've been dead the moment the Abyss Order appears." You commented.

Paimon snickered. Aether coughed, "We have come for the Holy Lyre der Himmel."

"And your life." You added.

"Y/N!"

"Sorry, but come on, look at his face!"

"H-How did you guys know the lyre's here?" The fatui guard shivered as you side eyed him. Now we know, how the hell did he become a guard? The fatui short on people?

"The place it's being kept is locked up tight. If you're after the key, keep going further into the ruins, but d-don't come after me! I don't know which one of the guards have it, but I'm sure you can find the guards and find out for yourselves."

"This guy looks like he's about to wet himself." You and Paimon said in unison. 

"You- you just worry about yourself! One of the Harbingers is already in Mondstadt. Signora. When she gets her hands on you she's going to string you up and torture you. When that time comes, don't you dare say a word about me."

"Aether you go up first to meet up with Diluc, I need to ask some stuff." You pushed him up towards the stairs.

"W- What do you want?" The man squeaked as you turned around with a cheshire smile. 

"Heyyyy, that's a nice sword you have thereeeee. Ehehehehe."

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHh!"

After a few minutes, you cackled, skipping towards Aether.

"You stole his sword?" Aether gaped.

"What do you mean steal? He gifted it to me." 

"Yeah, and- you robbed him of mora too?!" Aether caught a thick pouch.

"Hooray! Can Paimon have 10 mushroom skewers after we go back?"

You ruffled her hair, "Why not." You cast your eyes down, the fatui guard who was absolutely flattered by your smile tumbled out pretty much everything he knew.

"I- I swear, I know nothing of the water problems! I- I just know that when Signora came to Mondstadt she brought barrels with her. I heard from my superior that it was Dottore's new creation. It might be the cause of all the dead fish and changes. Please don't kill me!"

"Il Dottore? So... he is just conducting an experiment?" 

"M-Maybe."

"Do you know of the fatui that escaped the Mondstadt dungeons?"

"U-Um, I just know that they're higher ranked than me and they're all under Signora. For some reason the knights weren't sent after them. Maybe diplomatic pressure? I- can I leave now?"

"Hmmmmm. Give me all your mora or I'll kill you with your own sword."

"WHAT! UM! UM! These are all I have! BYE!"

You shook your head lightly, so Jean did know about Sofiya's escape.

"Did he say Signora? What a strange name..."

"No.8 of The Eleven Harbingers. Goes by the name Signora. The fact the Fatui can run amok across the seven nations like they do is entirely because of The Eleven Harbingers. We need to act quickly before she gets wind if what's going on." Diluc nodded to you.

"Let's split up." You casually walked towards the furthest room on the left.

"Should I bring a pyro slime back home? Hmmm. Yeah, I should." 

You grinned down at the three slimes. "Hi~"

"Hey Y/N! There's no key here- Wait, WHY IS THERE A PYRO SLIME!" Paimon screeched.

Aether raised a brow, "What's the name?"

You grin stretched wider, "Bobetta." 

Diluc stared at you for a moment, "Wait, are you the girl who brings a cryo slime around the city?"

"Oh? You know me?"

Diluc paused, "Kaeya has mentioned you in the tavern. It's quite a surprise that they choose not to attack you."

Paimon flitted closer to you, "That pyro slime seems to be a bit bigger than the smaller slimes."

You nodded, "Yeah, it's three slimes merged to one."

"Th-that works?!"

"It's new to me too."

"Where did you rats scurry out from..."

You whistled, "Mini Boss arrival guys."

"Leave it to me." Diluc charged towards the pyro agent.

"Signora is not going to tolerate this kind of interference in our aff-"

"Aaaand he's defeated." You nodded in affirmation. "Diluc's pretty good ain't he? One shotted him."

"Finally, the lyre is back in safe hands!" Paimon clapped.

"I still don't get how that eye mask fooled the fatui. You literally look the same." You threw your arm across his shoulder.

"Why are you taller than me..." You hissed in his ear.

Aether smiled smugly, "You can always drink milk."

"Bitch."

"Where did that guy go, though? He was here a second ago..."

"Signora is going to end you. The songs bards sing of your demise will be so terrifying- the people of Mondstadt will never sleep again for the nightmares they give them." The agent yelled behind the barricade.

"Big talk for a guy who still ran off in the end... Chicken." Paimon placed her hands on her hips.

You grinned down at Bobetta as she spat out a small fireball in the agent's direction. "Welcome to the family Bobetta!"

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

Teyvat Chapter 14:

https://www.tumblr.com/life-is-unreal/761060053734277120/stranger-danger-genshin-x-reader-teyavat?source=share

[odyssean-flower]

the winding path of fate chapter 13 sneak peak

(this is the second half of the first part. I want to rewrite the first half. tbh i'm thinking of posting the first part of chapter 13 since it is relatively long. ngl i feel like i put too many events in a single chapter sometimes. will put up a poll tomorrow when i finish the rewrites.)

With the new day and the cozy safety of your room, the events of last night seemed like they happened a lifetime ago. The fear had mostly subsided, leaving mortification and regret in its wake, especially as everyone was acting so considerate towards you. Looking back, you had no idea what you were thinking, and you realized once again just how lucky you had been.

Your ankle’s swelling had gone down considerably the next day, but it still hurt whenever you put even the slightest bit of pressure on it, so you spent most of the day in bed, reading books, drawing, or staring out the window at the gray sky. Your knee didn’t hurt quite as much either, but you still had to change the dressing regularly. You weren’t without company, though, as Marie sat with you in your room often, bringing you food and helping you put away your newly bought clothes in your closet. She had been horrified when you came home last night, injured. “Oh, Madame, you should have asked someone to get me!” she had lamented. “The streets at night are no place for a young lady to walk by herself!”

Marie wasn’t the only visitor to your room. The Melusines, including those who hadn’t gone shopping with you, also came to see you throughout the day. You supposed that Neuvillette told them about you, for they all brought you cakes and other desserts as get-well presents (you also suspected that they also reported back to Neuvillette about your condition, for when you mentioned to one Melusine how you would like to drink some Fonta, your wish was granted by the next Melusine who visited. However, she also heartily recommended that you drink water from Snezhnaya instead, which held a coolness that was good against swelling, and if you wished, you could ask Marie to fetch a bottle of it for you from Monsieur Neuvillette’s personal stash. She also added that you need not hesitate to ask, as he had more than one bottle. Perhaps all Melusines shared his specific tastes in water, but you didn’t quite believe that was the case).

Rhemia and the other Melusines who had been with you yesterday had been the most distressed upon seeing you bedridden. “I’ll stick to you like glue from now on, Madame! No criminal will escape my sights!” Rhemia had declared, and her sisters nodded vigorously in agreement.

“There really is no need for that,” you tried to decline her offer. Privately, you thought that there wasn’t much a Melusine could do against muggers anyways. “The whole incident only happened because I was careless and in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’ll be much more careful next time, so I doubt it will happen again. Just because I’m Neuvillette’s wife, it doesn’t mean that I deserve special treatment or anything of the sort. And if he put you up to this, then—”

Rhemia blinked at you in confusion. “But this has nothing to do with Monsieur Neuvillette. Not entirely, anyways.”

“It doesn’t?” Now you were confused.

“Nope! I’d do this for all the people important to me! Oh, but I guess you’re more than that, since you’re married to Monsieur Neuvillette! That would make you our mother, I suppose.”

“Um…” There was the m-word again. You considered correcting Rhemia, but she continued on, seemingly not noticing your discomfort.

“You’re always so kind and patient with us, just like Monsieur Neuvillette. You greet us whenever you see us, and you always ask us about our days and listen to our troubles. Oh, and Madame, you’re such a good teacher too! I’ve gotten so much better at drawing humans thanks to your lessons!” Rhemia turned to her friends. “Am I right?”

Her friends nodded enthusiastically. They began recounting all the times you’ve spent with them.

“I’m glad to hear that you all think of me as your friend,” you said after they finished, a little embarrassed but also pleased. You hadn’t expected them to remember so much about you. But you felt a little guilty as well. At first, you decided to become friendly with the Melusines because everyone knew that Neuvillette treasured them greatly and you wanted to be in his good graces so that he wouldn’t have any reason to kick you out. They had always been the ones to come up to you first, especially in the first few weeks after your marriage, and while you didn’t consider yourself to be a particularly friendly and warm person, even you weren’t heartless enough to be cold to such a cheerful race of creatures.

“It’s not just us! I’m sure all the Melusines in the Court of Fontaine feel the same way. You’re just as important to us as Monsieur Neuvillette.”

“Oh…” Looking at their bright, earnest faces, you didn’t know what to say. Your eyes suddenly became misty. Before this marriage, you hadn’t really given much mind to Melusines. They were just the public servants you would occasionally pass by on the street. But now that you were connected to them through Neuvillette, you were belatedly learning just how wonderful they were.

“Thank you,” you said at last, patting each of them on the head. Your hand still stung a little from last night, but you ignored it. “It means a lot to me that you think so highly of me. Truly. Still, you don’t need to follow me around. If I ever need help, I promise that I will come straight to you. And…I hope that you would all come to the sunflower viewing party we’re holding here next month.”

“Of course, Madame! We wouldn’t miss it for anything!” the Melusines chirped in unison.

By evening, the deluge of visitors had finally ended. You sank into your pillows, feeling exhausted. You weren’t used to having so many people fuss over you. It was unfamiliar territory, one that you weren’t quite sure how to navigate.

Still, as you gazed at the teetering pile of confectionary boxes covered in Melusine stickers on your bedside table and remembered all the get-well wishes you received, a rush of warmth flooded your heart. How did I get so lucky? You wondered. Perhaps even after I leave Neuvillette, we can still be friends…

As you were lost in your thoughts, Marie came into your room again.

“Oh, Madame, I completely forgot to give you this because of everything that happened yesterday. It appears to be from your family.”

Marie handed you an envelope made of thick, creamy paper. You recognized the stationery as the kind used by your father for formal correspondences, and the address written in familiar, flowery cursive on the front was indeed that of your family’s house.

“Ah, that would be from my sister,” you said, tearing the envelope open and taking out the contents. The enveloped contained two cards made of similarly thick paper. They both had an elaborately drawn border of Lumidouce Bells and Rainbow Roses and had an invitation written in the center. This was new.

You are cordially invited

To a celebration

Honoring

Justine’s nineteenth birthday

Semi-formal attire requested (Floral themed outfits are preferred)

P.S. Sister, please tell me if Monsieur Neuvillette has any allergies or requires any accommodations!

“Ugh…” you groaned, putting your palm over your face. “I still haven’t gotten her a present yet!”

That had been the cause of this trouble in the first place, and yet you hadn’t even accomplished your goal in the end.

While we’re on this topic, shouldn’t she have sent the invitations much earlier if she wanted people to RSVP? It’s just like her to do things last minute! And why is she acting like it’s already decided that Neuvillette’s coming?

“Marie, could you please fetch me my pen and paper?” you asked the housekeeper. After you received them, you began to write a reply to tell Justine that while you were coming, Neuvillette definitely wasn’t. But just as you got to that last part, you paused. The idea of the Chief Justice attending a teenage girl’s birthday party all the way out in the countryside was absurd, of course. You tried to picture him sitting at your family’s worn dining table, singing “Happy Birthday” eating the butterscotch cake your housekeeper always made for birthdays, all the while fending off the barrage of questions from your family and friends. I can’t imagine it! It’s just too ridiculous!

It would be better if he didn’t have too much contact with your family, in order to avoid them asking too many questions, and to make the eventual divorce go smoothly.

He rarely even attended the far more glamorous functions of high society, so something like this would be out of the question. His answer would go without asking.

Or would it?

You didn’t really know why you were entertaining the idea. Perhaps being with Neuvillette these past few months had greatly inflated your sense of self-importance—but then again, you thought that the two of you had gotten close enough where asking him wouldn’t be so preposterous. You were friends, and wouldn’t it be ruder to not at least extend an invitation to a friend? Wasn’t the act of asking in itself greatly appreciated?

And…there was a little part of you that would like to show him around your hometown. It was pretty much in the middle of nowhere, and all you could see for miles around were fields of wildflowers and mountains—a common sight in Fontaine—but there were a few spots that you had fond memories of. Since Neuvillette showed you his favorite places, it was only right to repay the favor, even if none of your favorite spots were as exciting as the giant willow tree or Merusea Village.

Recent events, including the latest incident, had taught you the folly of making assumptions, even for seemingly inconsequential things like this. Just because you thought

The worst thing he could say is no, you reasoned to yourself. And it’s not the end of the world if he does. Sure, Justine will be disappointed, but everyone knows how busy and reclusive Neuvillette is, so she’ll understand if he declines.

As if on cue, you heard the front door open downstairs. Neuvillette had returned home. After a brief conversation with Marie, the sound of his heels briskly ascending the stairs and heading in the direction of your room until it stopped in front of your door. There was a soft knock.

“Madame, may I come in?”

“Yes,” you called out, and Neuvillette opened the door and stepped inside your room. He was about to close the door behind him, but then he looked at you. A thought seemed to cross his mind, and he left the door ajar.

Um, why is he just standing there? You stared at him, confused when he didn’t take a seat right away. He simply stared at you, his gaze a mix of worry, uncertainty, and something else. For a second, you wondered if he was that caught off guard by your dishevelled appearance that was a result of staying in bed all day. It took you a minute to realize that he was waiting for you to ask him to sit down. Really, this man… I thought we’re past such formalities.

“You can pull up a chair,” you said, nodding towards the cushioned chairs in the center of the room. He complied, clasping his hands in his lap after settling in his seat and leaning towards you slightly. He stared at you intently, as if afraid that you would disappear before his eyes. You squirmed uncomfortably, suddenly very aware of the fact that you were wearing only your rumpled nightgown and that you were lying in bed. You surreptitiously pulled your covers up to your chest.

Come to think of it, this is the first time I’ve ever had a man who isn’t my father in my room, you mused, though you were also aware that this wasn’t really the occasion to think about such things. Well, I guess it technically isn’t the first time, since he carried me back here when I fell asleep in his study that one time. First time that I was conscious, then.

Thankfully, Neuvillette broke the silence and (once again) prevented your thoughts from going in strange directions.

“The robbers will be tried in court shortly,” he said. “It will be a short, simple trial, considering the number of witnesses at the scene. I will not be presiding over it, however.”

“I see,” you nodded. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

Despite that, his brow remained creased with worry. “How are you feeling, Madame? Should I take you to the hospital after all?” he asked.

“No, that really won’t be necessary,” you shook your head vigorously. “It’s only a bad sprain. I’ll probably be able to walk again tomorrow.”

“It is highly unwise to rush your recovery. What will happen if you worsen your injury? The meeting with Furina can be postponed—”

“Don’t postpone it,” you said, leaning over to grab his sleeve and stared into his eyes. “The sooner we get this over with, the better. I’ll drag myself up the steps of the Palais if I have to.”

Neuvillette looked like he wanted to argue, but he swallowed back whatever he was going to say. “There’s no need to exert yourself in such a way,” he said at last. “I would be happy to carry you into my office, if you should ask.”

“Carry me into your office, huh?” you leaned back against your pillow with a smile. You sometimes wondered if Neuvillette realized how unintentionally funny he could be. “Wouldn’t that give people the wrong idea?”

“You do have a point. Then, I propose that we arrive at my office early in the morning, before the Palais employees come into work.”

“How about instead of carrying me, I borrow your cane?”

Neuvillette seemed to be pondering your words seriously. “But that would also run into the problem of rousing people’s suspicions. Someone might wonder why my cane is in your possession.”

You turned your head away to smother your laugh.

“It seems that the Melusines have made their visits,” Neuvillette said, looking at the tower of boxes on your bedside table.

“Yes, they were all very sweet. Although, I’m not sure how they expect me to eat all these…” You liked dessert and all, but not to this extent. Perhaps you could bring some of them back home with you to share with your family and friends.

“Clorinde also asked me to pass on her well wishes to you. She was very sorry to hear what happened.”

“I see. Please thank her for me, and tell her not to blame herself for my foolishness.”

“I will do that,” Neuvillette nodded, then was silent for a moment. His solemn gaze as he looked at you made it seem like you were diagnosed with some terminal illness rather than merely spraining your ankle badly and hitting your knee against the ground.

“Neuvillette?” you called out his name in hopes of getting rid of that grave look in his eyes. It made your chest feel heavy.

“Ah, by the way, I consulted with a friend of mine about your injury. She made this drink for you,” Neuvillette brandished a green, ridiculously adorable cup from out of nowhere. It reminded of you of the cups toddlers drank juice out of. “She says that it will help your body recover quicker.”

“A friend of yours?” you repeated, your interest piqued. While Neuvillette would happily talk to you about the Melusines for hours on end and occasionally talk about his (human) acquaintances, you had never heard him call anyone his friend before.

“Yes. She is the head nurse the Fortress of Meropide’s infirmary, and one of the kindest and considerate people I know. I hope the two of you can meet one day.”

“That’s high praise coming from you,” you said, making a mental note of this mysterious friend. “Why don’t we invite her to the sunflower viewing as well?”

“What a wonderful idea. I shall do just that,” he said, then held out the cup to you. “Now, Madame, you should drink this.”

“Alright,” you took a sip of the drink and nearly spat it out. “Bleakness” was the only way to describe the taste. It almost made you want to get out of bed and walk so that the pain could distract you from the torture of your tastebuds. For a heartbeat, you wondered if Neuvillette was trying to poison you. “A-Are you sure this is h-healthy?”

“Of course,” Neuvillette said, looking baffled by your question. “I’ve drank it on numerous occasions, and I’ve always found myself quite refreshed and invigorated afterwards. I asked Sigewinne to make it taste more palatable for you, as I’m aware that her concoctions are not for everyone. She truly hopes it makes you feel better.”

This is palatable? You thought. Did I do something to this Sigewinne person? Whoever she was, she shared the same incomprehensible sense of taste as Neuvillette.

Speaking of Neuvillette, he was looking at you expectantly. Oh Archons, is he expecting me to finish it in front of him? Just as you were trying to come up with an excuse to not drink it, those efforts were dashed by his next words. “Is it not to your liking?” he said quietly. You were vaguely aware that it had started raining outside.

“I…um…” you didn’t know what to say or where to look. You suddenly had the impression that a large puppy was at your bedside, staring at you with sad eyes. Gah, he must be doing this on purpose! Either that, or he must really be fond of that friend of his. “Well, when it comes to medicine, it’s not really a matter of liking it or not liking it, right? A-And since you’ve gone to the trouble of asking your friend to make this for me, it would be rude of me to not drink it, right?” You sounded like you were trying to convince yourself.

“If you do not like it, then you do not need to force yourself—”

“No, no, I mean, I’ve taken plenty of bitter medicine when I was little, and I survived. This will be no different,” you brought the straw up to your mouth and held your breath. Let’s just get this over quickly, you thought, then emptied the cup in one go. Fortunately, there wasn’t much to drink. However, the lumpy texture was still a struggle to swallow. You felt as though you had just eaten concrete.

“That was…certainly something I’ve never drank before,” you managed, flopping back onto your pillows to recover. You opened a box of lemon tarts and shoved one into your mouth to get rid of the taste. Honestly, you wanted to drink some Fonta instead, but decided that it might be a bit uncouth. Of course, some might say that it was unladylike to eat cake in bed in the first place, but you doubted those people ever had the misfortune of having to drink that so-called “healthy drink.” “Please thank your friend for me.”

Neuvillette nodded, watching you as you ate a second, then a third tart. Lemon wasn’t your favorite flavor, but anything would do right now. YYou offered one to him, but he politely declined. His gaze dropped to the papers in your lap. “…Were you writing a letter to someone?” he asked.

“Oh!” you had almost forgotten about that. “My sister Justine sent us invitations to her birthday party. It’s a bit short notice, but it’s in a few days.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard you mention it before,” Neuvillette took a pause, as if he had only just taken in the entirety of your words. “Did you say ‘invitations’?”

“Yes,” you nodded. Your hands suddenly felt sweaty. What were you so nervous about? “Since we’re, you know, husband and wife, it’s only natural that invitations would be sent to the both of us. Funny thing is, Justine thinks you’re already coming and has asked me if you require any accommodations, but of course you haven’t given any answer as to whether or not you’ll be attending the party. I-I know that you usually don’t attend public functions, but birthdays parties in our party don’t tend to be very extravagant affairs. It’s usually just a small gathering of close friends and relatives. We can even make everyone sign a contract of confidentiality, if you want. You don’t have to bring any gifts either. I think your presence will be a gift in itself for my sister, haha…”

Oh no, I’m rambling again…why do I keep doing this in front of him? You toyed with the edge of your comforter, suddenly too nervous to look at his expression. Would there be a look of disgust there? Why would there be? Your brain argued back. You haven’t asked anything offensive!

Finally, you dared to sneak a peek. He was staring at your face, as though scrutinizing it for answers to a difficult question.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” you said, thinking that he must be trying to find a way to let you down gently.

“…Do you want me to attend?” he said at last.

You hadn’t expected that question. “What do you mean?” you frowned.

“What I mean is…would it please you—would it make you happy if I attended your sister’s party?”

Ah, so the answer is no, then, you thought. That was expected.

“Well, it’s not my party, so my opinion doesn’t matter,” you said slowly. “Justine would like for you to come, but there is no obligation on your part to say yes. If you like, I can make up some excuse about your absence to tell everyone.”

“But your opinion does matter quite a lot to me,” Neuvillette said. He was oddly insistent about this. “I would like to hear what you think.”

“As I said, it’s not my party. It will not affect me one way or another should you choose to come or not,” Realizing that you might be sounding too harsh, you softened your next words. “It’s okay to say no. I’m sure everyone will understand if you can’t come.”

Neuvillette stared at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. You could hear the rain pounding against your window, and you turned your head to it. The sky was a dark, leaden gray. It’s been raining pretty frequently these days, hasn’t it? You thought distantly.

“Unfortunately, I have a trial to oversee on that day,” he said. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him clench and unclench his fists. You wondered why he didn’t mention the trial earlier. “I do not think it would be wise for me to attend, in any case. It would be a needless distraction.”

“Alright then. I’ll tell my sister you can’t attend,” you said lightly, then turned your attention to your unfinished letter. You picked up your pen and began to write. Focusing your mind on producing the words helped distract from the tumult of emotions within you—emotions that you didn’t know quite what to make of. Was it relief you felt, or disappointment? Relief for what? Disappointment about what? You couldn’t tell at all.

In any case, it’s over and done with, you told yourself firmly, signing the letter with a flourish. Maybe too big of a flourish. I’ll post this first thing in the morning—that is, if I can walk by then.

You glanced up to see Neuvillette still sitting there. He was drinking from his cup, but he was watching you over the rim. You had long gotten used to him studying you like you were some kind of strange specimen, but it was still awkward, especially in this silence. Your room, which had always felt needlessly spacious to you, suddenly felt very small.

Just as you were debating whether or not to fake a sleepy yawn and ask him to leave, he spoke again.

“You haven’t yet bought a birthday present for your sister, yes?”

“That’s right,” you replied, wondering what he was getting at.

“I won’t have any time tomorrow, but I do have an hour or two to spare after our meeting with Furina. We shall go pick out a present together then.”

You gaped at him. “Are you serious?”

“Why would I not be? It is customary for married couples to give presents as a pair, is it not?”

“I…suppose so,” you said. Neuvillette was so hard to grasp sometimes. Sometimes, he was clear as a fresh water spring. Other times, like now, you had the sense that you were staring into the sea, unable to see all the way to its bottom.

“Then it is settled,” he said with a note of satisfaction in his voice, then leaned forward and cupped your cheek. It happened so quickly that you didn’t even have a chance to react. “W-Wha…” was all you could manage to stammer out. There was only a millimeter of space between your faces. Your heart sped up a little when his gaze moved to your lips. His thumb moved to the corner of your lip and brushed against it. It took you a moment to realize that he had flicked off a cake crumb.

“I still have some work to finish, so I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave now,” he informed you, removing his hand from your cheek. Despite that, you could still feel the smooth silk of his glove and the latent strength in his long fingers. “Please rest and get well soon, Madame.”

You could only nod as you gazed up at him. He stared into your eyes for a moment longer before turning on his heel and leaving your room. It was only when you heard his footsteps recede to the other side of the house that you realized that it was no longer raining.

[bluxb3rry]

❝𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟!❞↳෴੭˚ ༘♡·˚₊˚ˑ༄ؘ 💙

Hwang hyunjin x male reader!

he/him pronouns!

english is not my frist language!

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

Hwang Hyunjin was someone you could call "perfect" guy, he has the looks, the notes, the charisma, etc, etc. Any girl and boy loves him and drolls for him, everyday having a confess message in his locker, or if the person was confident enough, confess him in person.

In one way or other, it always ends the same "sorry, but no, bye!"

I mean is kinda obvious since everyone that has a crush for him, is mainly because of his looks and Hyunjin is the romantic type, he want to be with someone that know him more than himself, and the only time that it happened, it ended quite......um.

-Yoh! Hyunjin! when we are gonna meet that boyfriend of your's?

It ended quite well, fucking good to be honest, two years, since he had said to his friends "oh, i have a boyfriend btw".

Oh yes, the mystery boy, the man that made Hwang fucking Hyunjin fall in love, some friend that he knew since he remeber.

-oh um, im not sure, i promise you guys are gonna meet him! i promise-

Main reason of why his boyfriend didn't want to be know, is only because he want to keep the relation ship a secret and Hyujin understood that, who really cares when you get 1000 kisses after school?

-uuugh, is been two years already and i haven't meet the guy, is he some mafia guy? that's why you don't talk about him?-Han joked while drinking his coke

-is not that! he just want to keep it private and i respect that-

-is he even real?-

-Hey!-

-c'mon Hyung, if he is from our school we would have noticed that you looked at someone more than normal, yet it didn't happend-Jeongin said beside him, stealing Han coke and drinking it, hearing a "hey" from the guy

-you guys are a pain, i can tell that's real-

The silence in the hall was more noticed when the students started to mutter, the three friend just looked to were the mutter where reffered to, and two of them look suprised to see "the bad guy" walking in the hall, his uniform looking informal, the tie wasn't even tied well, and the loose shirt make look some of the tattoos underneath the clothes, he looked normal and had just some piercings, two in his lips [snake bite] and one in his eyebrow.

-Damn he back-Han said-the bad wolf

-okay, why bad wolf?-said Hyunjin looking at his friend for the dumb reference

-Why? Why not? he litteraly fought with a lot of people, making them have nose blood, some of them needed stitches and a lot of them never came back, he also just ignores all the classes and people but still has good grades-jeongin said finishing the coke

-and he is hot as fuck-a new voice appeard

-Minsug-hyung, ew-said Hyunjin kinda disgusted

-what? oh c'mon, we cannot deny that maybe he IS one of the hottest guys in this god damn school-

-he got suppended for hitting a teacher!-Han replied trying to make sense into the guy

-yeah the teacher kinda deserve it-Hyunjin said

-what?-Han asked surprised

-yeaaah he kinda did, that teacher was a son of a bich, you're just too young-minho replied

-he is still scary to-Jeongin murmurs and Hyujin just looked at him

Yeah scary, he heard all of that, the scary guy with a mistery life, the cold heart, the ice prince, Hyunjin knew about y/n, to be honest he was called a lot of times to the principale office just to take care of him.

With that being said, the y/n walked towards him a smirk in his face.

-the old man said that i have to share all my classes with you now-he said ignoring all the looks from the other guys

-mh really? well, lets get going-Hyunjin said with a small smile and started walking, the "bad wolf" following behind him.

-oh shit-Han mutters looking at his perfect friend leaving with the bad guy

-oh shit indeed, have you looked to that ass?-

-MINHO-HYUNG!-

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

-you know i can't save you anymore from classes, right?-

-as if you want to hear the son of a bitch talking again and again of dumb shit-

Hyunjin laughed a little while hugging his boyfriend, then just looked at him making eye contact.

-stop cursing! at this point is just a problem with you-

-c'mooon you heard me cursing since i remeber-y/n said with a smile in his face

-yep, as bad as i remeber-he kissed him with a small smile

Yeaah in case you havent notice, you, you are his boyfriend, y/n, the bad guy, the mistery guy, blah blah, in a relationship of two years with mister Hwang

-we should tell them-y/n said after the kiss

-them? oh you mean the guys?-Hyunjin asked surprised

-yeah, at this point is a pain being unable to kiss you anytime i want-he looked at him again-only if you want to

-i would love to, honey-

They just hugged for a couple of seconds in silence

-Han called you bad wolf by the way-

-ha, thats a fun one-

── ⋅⋅⋅ ────꒰ ୨ ♡ ୧ ꒱───────

[five-rivers]

Loving the foray back into Generator Rex stuff. I was obsessed with that show but honestly don't remember much that happened after Cesar showed up for the first time. I just remember being really upset that Six never got his memories back. Like SURE he accepts Rex's role in his life but the EXPERIENCES are gone from his memory now. That hurts.

It does. 😭

This isn't quite on topic, but this also gave me an idea for a little snippet. <3

.

Rex drummed his fingers against the leather cover of his journal, thinking.  It had been most of a year since he'd started writing in it, updating it whenever he could.  It was full of thoughts, feelings, speculation, copies of the incident reports White sometimes made him write out, memories from before he'd gotten the journal, summaries of training, dreams, rambling about friends, enemies, and fights, anything and everything that came to mind when he had a spare half hour a pen or a pencil, or when Holiday got on an education kick and wanted him to practice grammar or spelling or something.  

It was only half full.  Rex didn't have a whole lot of spare half hours.  He tried, though.  His interest in filling the journal up was backed at least partially by fear.  There was a lot that he really, desperately, wanted to know about himself, if he ever forgot again.  There was a lot he wanted to know about the people around him.  

There was a lot in the little book about White, Noah, Bobo, and Holiday.  

There was a lot about Six.  

Six, who had just forgotten everything himself.  

Six, who had given him the journal in the first place.  

Six, who had only lost his memory because Rex had been so impatient to test Caesar's machine.  

Okay, he knew that wasn't completely accurate, and he was hardly wallowing in guilt, or whatever.  If anything, he'd blame Caesar's invention skills and Six's weird propensity for stabbing machines instead of, like, going after something "upstream," or unplugging them.  

Rex could do a lot of things with machines, but lack of power was a stumbling block even for him.  

But, point was, Rex was delaying.  It should be easy to give this to Six.  To give him something about what he'd lost.  Rex owed him that much.  But the journal was so personal…  Rex hadn't written it expecting anyone else to ever read it.  Not even Six.  

It was hard.  

This whole thing was hard.  

(It wasn't fair.  Forgetting sucked.  Being forgotten sucked.  It all sucked.  He had a lot more sympathy for Caesar, now.)

He took a deep breath.  He wanted to give this to Six.  He wanted to share these memories with him.  He didn't want to be the only one who knew these things.  He didn't want to be the only one who remembered.  

Not when he might forget at any moment.  

He really wished Caesar's machine had worked.  Either time. 

He stood up and opened the door, journal still in his hand.  He second-guessed himself all the way to the lab, where Six was getting another check up, courtesy of Holiday.  

"Hey, um, what's up?" asked Rex, still not quite ready to make a decision.  

"My blood pressure, apparently," said Six, putting his glasses back on.  "I don't understand how this is more stressful than killing people for money."

"It isn't about stress," said Holiday, rolling her eyes.  "You're just six years older.  Bodies change.  What about you, Rex?  On the way to the Petting Zoo?  Or just checking in?"

"Uh," said Rex.  "Yeah.  The Petting Zoo."

"I still don't understand why it's called that," grumbled Six.  

"It's ironic," explained Holiday.  

"Anyway!" said Rex, loudly.  He walked up to Six and shoved the journal at him.  "I'm lending this to you.  I want it back by the end of the week, okay?  Don't let White see it, it's private."  One of the very few private things he had, actually.  Maybe that's why he was so scared.  "Okay!  Thanks!  Gotta go!  Bye!"

He ran.

.

Six drummed his fingers against the leather cover of the journal, thinking.  Long plane rides, even on jump jets, gave you a lot of time to think.  

It had been nearly seven months since Rex had given it to him.  Six since Rex had disappeared in that fight with Breach.  

It was high time he gave it back to him.  Even if he had to go through Providence to do it.  

[idontknowreallywhy]

WIP Wednesday

Might have a couple of different ones to share today. This one is a bit experimental and may forever stay a WIP (especially if I fail to get the discord skin for ao3 to comply with my will 🙃)

Herewith the thought experiment that nobody needed…

*************************************************

Extract of Discord Chat between rocket46boi and Anarchy_Aunt_Est44

*************************************************

So - big news!

***

You beat the Undead Overlord???!

WITHOUT ME??

***

No, you daft idiot we have a hot date with that guy tonight.

***

Oh of course. I did not forget that.

***

You’ve been having a stab at it without me haven’t you?

***

Noooooooo.

Well a bit.

I mean we both know it’s impossible as a solo run. Just testing out some options… you know so I don’t let you down in the field, right?

***

Haha guilty conscience much?

***

Um, sorry… I just couldn’t resist when everyone was off doing stuff and I just… needed a distraction from all the everything.

***

Mate, it’s cool. And you do have my number you know, if you need a distraction just text me.

***

Aww thanks ☺️

***

Anyway - back here whatever 19:00 GMT is where you are?

***

Cool. Yeah! Looking forward to it!

Usual caveat for if I’m not there it’s not personal just my part time job thing you know sometimes the hours are a bit random.

***

Yeah yeah Mr Mysterious.

Anyway…

***

Sorry!!!! What news, my Queen?

***

I’m not going to college!

***

Wait, what?

Don’t tell me they turned down your scholarship?!! Those ignorant bastards!

***

Calm down hun

(though your rage on my behalf is cute 🥰 )

I did get that, but am not gonna need it.

***

Has someone said something? Don’t let the losers get in your head.

Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean you have so much potential??

You’d smash college!

***

Slow doooown.

I’m not just bumming out.

I have a job!

***

Oh! Uh, ok what kind of job?

***

Not 100% clear yet but it’s in experimental digital tech field and there’ll be a shedload of training on the job and best bit is…

Drumroll please…

***

What? What?!!

***

ACCOMMODATION INCLUDED!

**

Oh! You get out of the SH hellscape!!

***

Yep!!!

***

That must be a relief.

***

Yeah. Oh you have no idea.

Like, I wish them well and all but… my ‘neighbours’ are just constant drama. College would be cool but how on Earth I’d get that kind of study done with all that going on?

Instead I get a sweet little flat with just a couple of other trainees who will actually be On My Level you know?

The only one I’ll miss is Clarry. Might see if I can put a good word in for him when I get settled.

***

Well, congrats! When do you start?

***

Tomorrow!

***

Oh!

Wow that’s fast!

***

Yeah the guy is keen to start on whatever this new project is so - tomorrow I get on a private jet to somewhere awesome!

***

Ok. Wow. You weren’t wrong that’s huge news

I’m really pleased for you

***

Chin up rocketboi, it’s a tech job, gaming has gotta be an unwritten part of the job description! We’ll still hang out ;)

***

Oh ok :) Good to know!

***

Should be a decent WiFi connection there as it’s not paid for by the skinflints at SS! I might even kick your ass more easily.

***

Hahaha like you need any help with that!!!

I really am pleased for you!

***

Thanks ☺️ I’m pleased for me too.

***

Ok I gotta run but, see you later for giant-zombie-crushing?

***

Laters xx

*************************************************

[fkevin073]

Raquel got me into snowbaird so here I am! Lol

Okay so👀

1, 2, 10, 14, 23?

But also nickziggy!😭

1, 21, 23?

omg lol welcome to the club and to another tragic ship for us nickziggy girlies!!

here we go!

snowbaird

who brought up marriage first?

I think I've answered this before so apologies for the short answer but I think definitely Coriolanus. for as cold and rational that he is he just wants to possess her all the time and 'make her his' (because he's a weirdo like that) so he's ready to pop the question at any given moment. I do think in canon universe Lucy Gray would also bring it up because marriage provides her a protection just being his girl doesn't afford her. so that too!

which one proposed? was it private or public?

I think private in every universe - like them in the districts, in the capitol, modern universe, etc. Coriolanus may appreciate a good public image and has interest in selling the narrative, but I think he's also pretty private in his own way, and that's not a moment he or Lucy gray would like to share. I don't think they want to perform their genuine moments after all they've been through, though I don't think Coriolanus is above making them redo it publicly after he's already asked her in private, just for the publicity and all. also Coriolanus definitely proposes because he's too traditional and anal not to.

do they get married through court? church? secret third option?

I don't think there is Church or religion in Panem, so probably the court? I can't imagine either of them being really religious in modern day, but maybe Coriolanus would do it just for appearances... as for secret third option, in canon universe I think Lucy Gray would have them do the toasting ritual from twelve, because even though the covey aren't from there I imagine she'd like it for some reason.

do they follow any familiar, religious or cultural traditions at the wedding?

hmm. we talked about the toasting before. Maybe the covey have some private cultural traditions before hand? Maybe she writes a song as her vows or something, and Coriolanus has to write a poem for her (something he'd only deliver to her privately because again, he's very deeply weird). and maybe for the Snows there's a private tradition of her picking her wedding bouquet from the roses they grow on their rooftop? I like that headcanon

if the couple could describe their wedding in one sentence, how would they?

oou. this is hard. um..... I imagine Coriolanus would be very dry about it because he's a very private person, and Lucy Gray would lean into the romance a bit more. I'm not too sure about this one :/

now for nickziggy

who brought up marriage first?

omg nick hands down no question! he's insane like that. ziggy is more skeptical and non-traditional 100%, but I do think he'd give up marriage if she really didn't want to.

do they have a honeymoon? where to? how soon after?

I think right after the wedding tbh because ziggy doesn't want to have to deal with people coming to say congratulations constantly. about where.... uh, anywhere other than shadyside or Sunnyvale would be great I think for either of them. tbh I think they'd love doing like some cross-country book tour of houses authors they loved live in - or even going to England and doing that. or maybe doing something others rarely do, like going to Antartica or something. anything private - I think a private island would be nick's cup of tea.

if the couple could describe their wedding in one sentence, how would they?

nick - "a dream come true".

ziggy - "none of your fucking business".

:)

thanks for the ask!! ♥️